#the good doctor (tv program)

[dratefahmed1]

No1 doctor

No1 doctor is a free android application designed for all android working devices the app directed to all working in the medical field spcially for medical student and medical doctors in all specaillties the app gives the tips and tricks how to be a good doctor and more how you can becom no1 doctor in your specialty join our facebook group and page the app contain many sections like Be A Good…

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#autism tv #best doctor tv shows #doctor mike #doctor mike reacts to #doctor reviews medical tv show #doctor tv shows #doctor watches the good doctor #dr mike #good doctor #good doctor accurate #medical drama #medical drama review #medical drama tv #medical tv show #real doctor watches greys anatomy #resident #shaun murphy #the good doctor #the good doctor (tv program) #the good doctor 1x01 #the good doctor reaction #the good doctor season 1 #tv doctors #tv medical drama

[emotinalsupportturtle]

Absolutely iconic reasons David Tennant has been cast in roles

Good Omens

cast because he was the only person who Neil could imagine doing this walk

2. Hamlet

For picking up a real skull on a whim on a TV program

3. Doctor Who

literally for playing Casanova and being a fanboy

4. Ducktales

not really sure? Scottish?? pretty sure they said who's a well known Scottish actor who would be down for this and there was really only one answer (he had been the first choice so...)

Dude landed 4 iconic roles by just being a bit weird

(these are just the ones I know feel free to add on)

#david tennant #good omens #neil gaiman #doctor who #shakespeare #ducktales #hamlet #10th doctor #crowley #scrooge mcduck #honestly career goals #and it was some of the best casting ever

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for Writing and Drawing Amputees: Bandaged Stumps

When writing and drawing amputee characters, unless your character only just lost their limb, they don't need to wear a bandage over their stumps.

to be clear, eda's depiction in the show was fine, since she'd only just lost her arm and went (presumably) without any medical attention, but because the show didn't have much time to show her afterwards, I've noticed a tendency of the fandom to draw her wearing the bandage permanently, so that's why I'm picking on her for my example lol.

It's a bit of a trope at this point, and I think it comes from one of a few different places:

Amputees do wear bandages on their stumps, but usually only for the first 6-12 weeks post-amputation, sometimes longer if the amputation was a result of a burn. It's possible people saw this though and assumed it was permanent.

Most amputees wear a sock made of either cotton or silicone under their prosthetics to provide them with some extra padding. These socks, called liners, often stick out from the top of the prosthetic socket and could possibly be mistaken for a bandage from a distance.

Some amputees will wear compression garments for a few months to a few years after their amputations which could also be mistaken for a bandage from a distance. These garments are designed to stop swelling and reduce phantom pain, but they aren't bandages.

Stumps get cold easier because their circulation typically isn't as good as the rest of the body, so some amputees will wear socks over them even if they aren't wearing a prosthetic to keep warm, which again could be mistaken for a bandage from a distance.

This one is funny, but in my experience unfortunately, it's the most common: people think the end of an amputee's stump is just a perpetual open wound that never heals. Meaning to avoid "gore" it needs to be covered. I've met fully grown adults who believed this until I showed up to work/uni without my prosthetics or socks on.

People are uncomfortable with seeing an uncovered stump and so put bandages over it to avoid confronting their biases.

Some combination of these points.

But yeah, unless your amputee has only just lost their limb in the last few weeks, they don't need a bandage.

The ironic thing too, is that for most amputees, bandaging a stump is nearly impossible. I've been in and out of hospital since I was 1 year old and only ever met 3 nurses and no doctors/surgeons who could successfully bandage my stump in a way that the bandage would even stay on. This is because stumps are usually tapered in shape (meaning they are wider at the top, closer to the body, and thinner at the bottom), so gravity will pull the bandage off 9 times out of 10.

On a final note: it's ok to show your amputee's stump, it's not gore, there's no blood, it just looks like a regular limb that just stops early. In fact, if you are writing/creating anything for kids or that is likely to be seen by kids, I encourage you to show your amputee's stumps at least once. I used to work on a disability awareness program for kids, and I lost count of the amount of times kids were terrified of me, because they all expected my leg to be bloody and gory. For a lot of kids, I was their first real-life exposure to an amputee, meaning they'd never even heard of people like me, or they had seen an amputee on TV, but because the show went out of its way to avoid showing the person's stump, they assumed it must have been because there was "something scary at the end" that they weren't supposed to see (kids are surprisingly perceptive, they will pick up on stuff like that without you realising). And scared kids aren't good at articulating why they're scared, and would often say really mean or hurtful things to me. I knew not to take it personally and learned how to handle those situations, but not everyone is used to dealing with kids. For a new amputee (or anyone who's less confident in their disability), the kinds of things those kids would say could be absolutely confidence destroying. I never blame the kids, it's not their fault, but the whole situation could have been avoided if they had seen people like us before they had the chance to hear the wrong info. Good representation like this can be the difference between a kid crying, making throw-up sounds and calling an amputee "disgusting monsters" (all things I've had kids do/say) and them just being like "oh ok, cool."

#Writing Disability with Cy Cyborg #writing disability #disability representation #disabled #writing advice #writeblr #authors of tumblr #writing #authors #writer #on writing #writers on tumblr #writblr #writerblr #creative writing #character design #amputee #amputee representation #artists on tumblr #designing disabled characters #oc #oc art #ocs #original character #artists #character design tips #art tips #art resources #art reference

[fireflysummers]

Good Omens S2

Okay so.

Excellent Job, Gaiman

Ouch???

I don't like to publicly talk about my personal life. My academic life is my professional life is my artist life. But my personal life? Not so much, outside of vignettes.

But for the past several months, I've been deconstructing a lot of personal baggage and trauma surrounding both family and religion, after leaving the cult I was raised in (mormonism).

It's terrifying to realize that the framework you built your entire self on is false. It's exhausting and painful to deconstruct that framework, to disentangle your identity in the way that won't destroy you.

And it's slow.

Nobody ever tells you how slow it is to heal. You can't control the rate you heal either. You just have to be patient with yourself, and give yourself an environment where that healing can occur safely and naturally.

Anyways.

Good Omens, and its weird tendency to be exactly what I need when I need it.

I first read Good Omens in high school. And honestly, I didn't quite get it, at the time. I only knew it was different from every other book I've ever read, one that didn't treat religion as stupid or trivial, but also one that called out the blatant hypocrisy and control tactics involved. It helped me safely challenge a status quo I hadn't even realized existed.

I first watched Good Omens partway into my Master's Degree. It was everything that I could've hoped for. I understood the book a lot better, but the TV adaptation captured my struggles with mental dissonance, trying to understand and accept the parts of my identity that I was taught God didn't want.

I watch S2 a year into my doctoral program. I'm out of the cult, and it's exhilarating and painful and scary and fun, but I can still feel the scars its hooks left when they were torn out.

I feel like S2 Aziraphale is in about the same place. He's exploring his freedom, but also trying to reorient himself. He's trying to let himself be. He's healing, but his boundaries got overridden due to circumstances out of his control (naked Gabriel). He's been pulled back into the gravity of the abusive system he tried to escape, given a carrot on a stick, and isn't yet healed or strong enough to resist.

On top of that, Aziraphale is still holding onto the hope that the problem was bad individuals, not a corrupted system. He thinks if the leadership is different, things can change. He thinks if he had more authority in the system, he could make things change. And... that's not how it works.

And Crowley. Dear Crowley.

He wants Aziraphale to be farther along in his healing than he is. Honestly, Aziraphale wants it too. But again, you cannot force this kind of healing, even when it results in a loved one making some truly stupid decisions.

Crowley sees the system for what it is. He's already deconstructed that part. But he hasn't really started addressing his own trauma. He's hinged his entire existence on Aziraphale, on being what Aziraphale needs, that he hasn't allowed himself to heal either. And Aziraphale, who is vulnerable and healing, is not able to provide the support that Crowley would need to recover safely.

Which is why them separating is probably the best thing for both of them.

It won't be permanent.

But they don't communicate, and their relationship while delightful and beautiful risks unhealthy codependency that prevents either from really growing or healing.

Anyways, what I really hope to see next season is Aziraphale's realization that the system never had his back. That the system is what's wrong, and that he can't win by playing at respectability politics or gaining a higher status within it.

I want Aziraphale to get angry.

He deserves it. He's tried so hard. He thinks he's lost Crowley over it.

I want him to feel the gut-wrenching despair of realizing how conditional and fleeting the system's version of love is, and I want it to turn into a rage.

But not a destructive rage--the sort of anger that Pratchett ascribes to himself and many of his works. The sort of anger that fueled Discworld and Good Omens. The sort that can be finessed into a weapon and a shield, that can be used to protect the people who truly love you.

For millennia we see Crowley fighting for Aziraphale.

For Season 3, I want to see Aziraphale fighting for his demon.

For him to apologize, without the expectation that Crowley will come back, but because he was wrong and Crowley needs to know it. To not expect forgiveness, not even think he deserves it.

And then for Crowley--who is trying to hide his heart eyes at seeing his avenging angel coming to save him for once, who he can tell immediately has changed, and is finally going Crowley's speed)--for Crowley to give that forgiveness, without strings attached.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #long post #text #religious trauma #religious abuse #recovery

[yukoii1]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ! ❞ - 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈 𝐈. 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐅. 𝐡𝐜

⇨⚠︎︎ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 !¡⚠︎︎⇦ fluff, black!reader

𝐀𝐍. made this short story so i’m not starving y’all while i write the second chap for the racer series 🙄, im almost done gotta finish sukuna’s part (half way done) then Toji’s 😋.

- 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞.

- 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈

Everybody knows how Megumi is. Always mean muggin somebody, always “Not in the mood” he would say and always look like he wants to punch someone. But what they didn’t know was that this “Tough” Teenager was clingy as a cat, you of all people were the only one to know this secret because you were his #1 victim. Every other day when he was done with a mission with Yuji and Nobara he would always barge into your room instantly going into your arms with you playing with his hair, you were the only person who he would show this side of him to. You found it cute how he’s always so clingy to you but in public he would act like he doesn’t wanna be touched.

As for now, you were laid in your bed watching your tv show as he was laid in between your legs, head on your chest, hands plying in his hair as he took a nap. All that was heard was his soft snores and the sounds coming from your show, your nails scratched between his scalp as you were focused on the screen. When the program was getting good you stopped moving your hand on his head leaning forward getting lost into it, Megumi felt your hands stop making him grumble opening his eyes, turning his head to look at you with furrowed eyebrows that almost looked like a pout, “Why’d you stop.” He asked knocking you out of your trance to look down at him who glared back at you, you softly smiled moving your hand again against his scalp, “Sorry Megs, my show was getting too good.” You chuckled seeing him roll his eyes laying back down on your chest snuggling into your warmth with a low hum.

Again you smiled to yourself he was like a cat who didn’t want its owner to stop petting them. You couldn’t deny of how cute he was, to be honest you liked this side of Megumi. How clingy he was, how soft he is. “You’re just like a cat you know?.” You said as Megumi hummed, “A cat?.” He questioned in a mumble, nodding your head. “Yeah, you’re clingy as a cat, you have an attitude as a cat, everything. Acts mean but really is just a big softie- Ouch!” You yelped feeling a hard pinch on your waist, glaring down at Megumi was hiding the fact that he had a small blush forming on his face, “Shut up.” He mumbled, you furrowed your eyebrows also mumbling a “Make me.” You said as a joke, expecting him to pinch you again but instead of a pinch, he picked his head back up, picking up his body from yours leaning close to you being face to face..placing his lips ontop of yours.

Your eyes widened feeling his soft lips ontop of yours, not getting a chance to react before he pulled away. He saw your surprised look with a small grin, and blush covering his cheeks “How was tha- mmh..” He didn’t finish his sentence before you leaned in taking his lips with yours again, it was a small kiss only lasted a few seconds before pulling away with a childish smile on your face. “Who knew you would be so bold.” You teased watching his face go completely red hiding his face again.

“S-Shut up!”

- 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈

“And then we’re like pow! Then Gojo Sensei was like whoosh! And then-!” Before he could finish that sentence you covered his mouth with a tired look, “Yuji! Please..for the love of Tengen would you be quiet?” You pleaded, he nodded his head slowly up and down taking your hands off his mouth breathing a “Thank you.” Going back to cleaning up his wounds, apparently during a fight for Sukuna’s finger he had gotten hurt, and Sukuna being a real jackass didn’t wanna heal his body. So you we’re stuck being his doctor, it’s not like you mind behind his doctor it’s just…it’s 1am in the morning and you were awaken form your sleep with a limping and bloody Yuji at your dorm door with that nervous smile on his face.

He knew he was gonna get an ear full of you later.

For the most part you cleaned up all the blood on his body, moving to patch up his wounds. When you got done with the second wound you moved on to the last one, you got a cleaning wipe, wiping around the cut to keep bacteria from entering. Putting a white patch on the wound then wrapping it around his arm to secure it. When you gotten done Yuji moved his arm around looking at the patch that was wrapped with a smile.

He always loved when you were his doctor.

“Now. No training, no moving a lot and no-!” You didn’t finish your sentence before he pulled you into a hug now standing in between his legs with a shock look. His arms were wrapped around you as you soon brought up your own to hug him back with a confuse smile, “What’s this for?” You said with a small chuckle as he pulled back to stare at you, “Thank you..for this. Without you i don’t know what i would’ve done.” He chuckled nervously, shaking your head hitting him in his non wounded arm softly. “There’s no need to thank me Yu, after all you are my favorite patient.” You joked with a small laugh as Yuji laughed as well with a small blush on his ears. The room soon went quiet as there was nothing but soft water hitting each other from your water fall machine, and him looking at you.

Almost like he’s nervous.

In his mind Sukuna was practically telling him to kiss you, sick of his thoughts always thinking about you and the want to kiss you. He was so sick of it he felt like throwing up, he was getting more frustrated with the kid the more he fought with him. After a few seconds of going back and fourth, while you turned your attention away from him getting nervous yourself, Sukuna switched with Yuji, grabbing your chin and interlocking lips with his switching back to Yuji before you noticed the marks on his face. Yuji’s eyes widened pulling away fast, “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to- I mean i did- but!-.” You didn’t let him finish his stammering before putting your lips with his shutting him up making him squeak but soon leaning into it letting his eyes close. It was a soft and gentle kiss with his hand on your cheek and the other on your waist pulling you closer to him.

For a few more seconds he was first to pull away hiding his in the crook of your neck hugging you close with a big blush on your face. In your mind you were freaking out wanting to scream and jump in excitement but had to keep your cool hugging him back with a big smile on your face, “What are we now?.” You said calmly hiding the excitement in your voice hearing a hum,

“You’re mine now.”

#{ 🖋️} writings #black reader #anime x black!reader #fluff #anime x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #yuji itadori #yuji x reader #itadori x black!reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi x black reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

[rustedhearts]

i got you, babe (boxer!steve x librarian!fem reader)

summary: the beginning of your pregnancy leaves you bedridden with illness and dependent on your husband. steve happily dotes on you.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the king of the ring ♡

tags: pregnancy, depiction of vomiting, sappy/lovey-dovey newlyweds being cute!

a/n: just somethin' sweet for the kids. enjoy! see you never

california, june 3rd, 1996

The hum of the television filled the rosy, sunlit room with a comforting thrum. The curtains made the afternoon light tolerable, casting a gentle brightness across the bedspread pulled up to your chin. Who’s The Boss? came on a few hours ago, and you were in too much pain to roll over for the remote. Nevertheless, there was something comforting about that muffled laugh track. Something soothing in the bright pixilated colors and muted patterns. It reminded you of mornings before high school, watching morning programs from the kitchen table with a freezer burnt waffle.

It killed Steve to leave you home alone, but you promised you wouldn’t leave the bed. He’d already missed so many training sessions with Big when you found out you were pregnant. What you assumed to be food poisoning from bad Chinese became a week long stretch of puking your guts out, and one visit to the doctor came with a sonogram print out of your spec of a baby. Steve tumbled into panic mode, and when you kept sprinting from bed in the middle of the night to hurl your dinner, he found it hard to leave your side.

But the puking came in waves now, and only when you were standing upright. So you promised, after thirty minutes of banter and pointed glares from your husband, that you would stay home alone so long as you didn’t leave the bed. At first, you huffed and pouted. But as the tv mumbled and the house fell quiet, you realized: maybe this wasn’t so bad. It was actually kinda nice.

Until the first wave hit. Like drifting atop a massive wave, or how it feels to go too fast down a steep hill on the gas. Stomach plummeting, skin chilling, mouth watering. You hauled yourself upward and leaned over the bed, unhinging your jaw over the pink, plastic trash bin placed at your bedside. You winced at the acidic stream spewing from your throat, coating your mouth and nose with a taste and smell most like ammonia. It made your eyes pool with hot warmth and your palms grow clammy. Every cough, dry heave, or hurl came with a dull ache in your eyes.

Flinging yourself back against the pillows, you fumbled blindly for the glass of water Steve left for you on the nightstand. It dribbled down your chin and across the satin of your pajamas, but you were too tired to care. With careful caution, you rolled onto your side and buried your nose in Steve’s pillow. It still smelled like his Old Spice shampoo and Polo cologne, and you sighed as you rubbed your cheek against the cotton surface.

Something about the pregnancy made you constantly desperate for Steve. It was actually a little ridiculous, how often you found yourself clinging to Steve, pouting and sometimes even tearing up when he had to go to another room without you. You knew you were being childish and whiney, but you just couldn’t help it. He was so big and warm and soft, and you loved the pressure of his arms around you. You felt cold and bare without him around.

You were just beginning to sniffle, lip wobbling, when Steve tiptoed into the room. He grinned when he found you exactly where he left you: lying on your side cuddled into bed, the television running. Steve carefully came around the bed, bending to find your half-smushed and tear-struck face.

Your eyes rounded at the sight of him, a sharp sniffle cutting through the room. “Steve…what are you doin’ back already?”

Steve cooed, fingers coming to swipe away your tears. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you lyin’ in bed all alone. How you feelin’, honey?”

You pulled the blankets closer to your chin. “Not good. Threw up again.”

Brushing your hair away from your eyes with a heavy palm scented of leather and sweat, Steve frowned. “My poor girl. Brought you a smoothie, maybe it’ll help.”

Steve stood, placing a plastic bag on his nightstand. It crinkled as he dipped his hand inside, and you winced into the pillows, mumbling a pitiful ‘loud’ that made him chuckle.

A perfectly pink smoothie with a plastic straw was soon held out in front of you, and when you frowned and refused to move, Steve sighed. “Angel, c’mon. You gotta sit up just for a second.”

When you continued to pout, the brooding boxer rolled his eyes and sank down beside you on the edge of the bed. “You’re such a baby. C’mere," he grumbled.

Palm cupped around the nape of your neck, Steve gently guided you to a seated position, bringing the straw to your mouth. You suck down a few sips, then took the cold cup from him to hold as you sank back against the pillows. Steve instantly fluffed them, arranging them so you could see the television better and drink without choking. You flushed at the firm kiss he left on your head. Being pampered by Steve felt like heaven.

“Got you some other stuff too,” Steve mumbled, heading toward the door.

He reappeared moments later with another bag and a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of pink tulips. You awed, a cheek-aching grin reaching your face as he returned to the bed. His hairline was still sweaty, cheeks flushed from exercise. You placed a cool hand damp with condensation on his hot face and stroked it gently.

“Steve…you didn’t have to do all this.”

He shrugged, setting the flowers gently on your blanketed lap before reaching into the bag for more gifts. A plastic container of plump red strawberries (that you'd been eating like candy), a pair of fluffy, lilac purple socks rolled up, a large glass bottle of vanilla scented bubblebath that looked far too expensive, and a tiny white leather box (which, when opened, revealed a beautiful opal ring). You stared at all of it piled on your legs, overwhelmed and irrationally emotional.

"I want you to be comfortable at home, 'cause...well....'cause I don't know when you'll be feelin' good enough to be up and about, you know? And-and I can go to the bookstore and get you somethin' new to read—I know you have, like, every fuckin' book in the world but—"

"—Steven."

"Yeah."

You shimmied upward, shakily reaching to place your smoothie on the nightstand. Steve was quick to come to your aid, snatching the smoothie to place it down though you were an inch away from doing it yourself. His hands were always open and ready to catch you if you fell. His cheeks grew pinker by the minute, and when you cupped your hands on either side of his warm neck, stroking your fingers through his hair, he seemed to grow tomato-red.

"You're the most wonderful thing I've ever seen, Steve Harrington."

Like a puppy in a storefront or a boy with a boo-boo, Steve Harrington's eyes welled to saucers. His lips parted with playful protest, but he silenced immediately when the warmth of your own pressed against them. Sure, you'd thrown up half an hour ago and tasted like watered-down battery acid, and the awful taste of bile and cigarettes mixed like water and vinegar on your tongues—but Steve loved the fuck out of you. He'd kiss you no matter what.

"Mm," he hummed, chasing the entrance of your mouth, "so glad," he tipped his head again, nipping and pecking, "you like," his hands touched your cheeks, squishing them close, "it."

You pulled away, grinning toothily and heaving for air, swollen-mouthed and matching Steve's flush. "Love it. Love you."

Steve chuckled, swiping his thumb across your lower lip. "Never seen you like this, angel. Woulda gotten you knocked up a long time ago if I knew you'd be this bad."

Eyes rolling, you batted playfully at his firm chest—but soon after you nudged him away, you clawed for his t-shirt and pulled him close again. Steve swooped in and kissed your neck, suddenly just as giddy and adoring as you. You giggled, clutching to the hair at the nape of his neck as he peppered your collarbone in kisses. Steve was just glad to see you were no longer pouting.

"Well, Mrs. Harrington," Steve mused, nosing at your jawline, "feelin' up to takin' a bath? You can take your smoothie."

You nodded. "I'll try."

Steve squinted, rubbing his hand against your side. "We'll bring the bucket...just in case."

You smiled, accepting another loving kiss to your clammy forehead. "Just in case."

Steve stood, carefully collecting your new items to place them on the chair near the bed. As you inched toward a seated position and kicked off the covers, Steve rushed back and snapped his fingers.

"Ah—hey! Don't go thinkin' you can walk, baby."

You gaped at him, an incredulous giggle spewing from your mouth. "What? Steve, don't be ridiculous—"

"—no walking. C'mon, angel, here we go."

Hoisted in his arms bridal style—the way he carried you through your wedding present (a beautiful home in Hawkins for the off season)—Steve took wide strides toward the bathroom. You clung to him, squeezing your eyes shut tight as waves of nausea washed over you.

"Steve, the bucket!"

Steve eased you onto the edge of the jacuzzi tub, rushing into the bathroom for your pink trash bin. It was in your hands with your hair pulled back before you could even lurch with your first gag. Steve rubbed your back and turned on the bath all in one quick go.

"I got you, baby," he mumbled, patting your back as you spewed a smoothie stream. "I got you."

♡ ♡

#rolly! #boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #boxer!steve #joe keery #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve the hair harrington #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington blurb

[wheresarizona]

September Part 4

Jackson House of Worship, 2024

summary: Joel Miller didn’t get a chance to marry you twenty years ago, and now that you’re back together, he’s not wasting any more time—especially after you both bared your souls the night before, revealing your darkest secrets to make your bond unbreakable.

rating: Explicit (18+! No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (10 years), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, dirty talk, praise kink (Joel gets called a good boy), spit mention, spanking, Joel should’ve stuck to missionary, flashback to the first meeting, handwavey medical jargon, mention of period typical sexism, emotions, tons of banter, LOTS of fluff, wedding, Ellie taking her best man duties seriously, Ellie’s handkersleeves, sweet Joel & Ellie father-daughter moments, Tommy being a little shit, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, dancing with Joel, Joel playing guitar, angst with a happy ending, confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, talk of pregnancy loss (stillbirth), talk of child loss, grief/mourning, talk of suicide attempt (Joel), TLOU tv/game spoilers)

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader (reader is a doctor with no physical descriptions)

word count: 24.8k+ (This is who I am.)

a/n: I apologize for the delay in getting this done—March was not great for me. A lot of people wanted Joel to find out about the baby, and oh boy, does he. This chapter is emotional; you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll feel all warm and fuzzy, you’ll swoon, and you’ll have a good time. Shoutout to the love of my life, @juletheghoul, for being by my side through this whole thing. This is unbeta'd all mistakes are my own.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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July 2002 - Austin, Texas

The clinic wasn’t your first pick for where you wanted to do your residency to become a doctor; it wasn’t even your fifteenth choice. You applied to fifty programs across the entire country, hoping for a bustling hospital in a big city or a large clinic somewhere you could have the opportunity to explore different specialties—pediatrics calling to you, but also interested in internal medicine and surgery. And yet, out of fifty applications, the place that accepted you was a family medicine clinic in Austin, Texas.

But what had you expected? You weren’t a prime candidate due to being a lot younger than others fresh out of medical school, and the real nail in the coffin is you’re a woman; gender bias in the medical field is absolutely astounding.

So, here you are in this clinic with its beige walls and oak wood accents, sitting at a desk reading over the chart of a patient the attending physician said would be easy enough for you to handle on your own, with it only being your second week in the program.

The patient is Joel Miller, a thirty-four-year-old male complaining of knee pain. This is his follow-up appointment after he had scans done the previous week, and your job is to go over the treatment plan the physician has already decided on.

Your nose crinkles at the other doctor’s notes, seeing he isn’t offering a long-term solution but instead is basically shoving a band-aid over a gaping wound that will progressively get worse over time. That wouldn’t do; already figuring out better options in your mind that would have lasting effects and offer relief—that’s something that drew you to medicine in the first place, always having to solve puzzles, making your brain work to help people and save lives.

You’re interrupted by Janis, the nurse who you’re pretty sure hates you, though you don’t know why glaring as she lets you know the patient is ready to see you. Maybe she’s just one of those people with resting bitch face, and you shouldn’t take it personally, except she’s so cold towards you. There isn’t anything you can do about it. Shrugging it off as you get up from your chair, your white coat on and stethoscope hanging around your neck, making your way to room four with the chart in hand.

There are many facts you know about the man you’re seeing: his name, age, occupation, vitals, what the inside of both his knees look like—knocking softly on the door twice, you enter, closing it behind you for privacy—those details hadn’t prepared you for what he looks like. When your eyes land on him sitting on the edge of the exam table, you pause, struck by how handsome he is—brown waves of hair, big chocolate-colored eyes, plush lips, ridiculously broad shoulders that have the navy blue t-shirt he’s wearing hugging his chest sinfully.

You gulp, mentally berating yourself for finding a patient attractive, reminding yourself you’re here to do a job to help him feel better, quickly regaining your composure and offering your name.

“...I’ll be your doctor today,” you tell him.

His eyes round, mouth falling open before he catches himself and closes it, seeing that gorgeous throat of his work as he swallows.

You need to stop noticing his attractiveness—he’s a patient.

“Doctor…?” he asks slowly, with a drawl you’re becoming familiar with.

The surprise is clear on his face, which is something you’re used to, the walls rising inside you, readying yourself for a fight because either he’s going to be okay with you taking care of him, or he’ll be a dick and demand another, older, male, doctor—which has happened multiple times this week and is why you’ve only treated a dozen or so patients.

Your chin rises as you reply with a nod, “Yes. I’ll be handling your care.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just I can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

Your eyebrow quirks.

“Because I’m a woman? Young?”

He shakes his head as he speaks, “‘Cause you’re so beautiful.”

That’s an unexpected response that has you so taken aback that your breath hitches, trying to control the butterflies that are wildly fluttering around in your tummy.

His eyes get big, realizing what he said, quickly backtracking, flush staining his cheeks as he looks away. “I am so sorry, ma’am,” he says. “It’s rude of me to be commentin’ on your looks when you’re just doin’ your job. You probably think I’m some creep.”

This poor man is beating himself up about saying the nicest thing anyone’s said to you all week.

“I don’t think you’re a creep,” you reassure him. His eyes meet yours, him gauging if what you’re saying is true, so you smile. “You’re honestly very sweet. A lot of people have a hard time getting over my age or that I’m a female in a male-dominated profession, so you thinking I’m too beautiful is a lovely change and also wonderful for my self-esteem.” You laugh.

His lips curl up.

“Well, I’m happy you’re not kickin’ me out. You bein’ a young woman doesn’t bother me—wish my daughter was here so she could see that if she wanted, she could be like you one day.”

The sincerity of his words has your chest going tight. In med school, a doctor told your class to let the patient ramble at the start of the appointment for five minutes because you’ll learn quite a lot about them. Usually, it’s things about their lifestyle or what’s actually causing them issues. What you now know about Joel Miller is that he’s respectful, a sweetheart, and a caring father—you’re fucked, realizing your eyes are drifting to his left hand, happy that you don’t see a ring.

Not that it means anything to you. He’s your patient. You need to focus.

“How old is your daughter?” you ask.

That’s a safe question. It’s important to build rapport and trust, plus you’re genuinely curious and want to know more about him to ensure you give him the best care—at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

He visibly brightens, and it’s adorable.

“She’s twelve, turnin’ thirteen Saturday after next. Her name’s Sarah and I can’t believe how quickly she’s growin’—feels like just yesterday she was havin’ me check under her bed for monsters.” He has a fond expression on his face.

“Wow, you’re gonna have a teenager. Are you and your wife planning a big party for her?”

There’s no way he’s single, not that it matters to you.

“No wife, or girlfriend, for that matter. Sarah wanted a slumber party with her friends, so I’ll be hidin’ away in my room alone watchin’ a movie or somethin’.”

It shouldn’t excite you to hear he doesn’t have a partner, but there’s a thrill moving through you.

“Sounds like my ideal Saturday night—just relaxing watching tv or a movie.”

“Yeah?” He smiles. “We got somethin’ in common, then.” He scratches at the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. ��I, uh, wanna apologize again. You just caught me off guard, is all—was expectin’ Dr. Carlson with his bad combover.” There’s a smirk on his face when he continues, “But you’re a nice surprise.”

“Because I’m easier on the eyes?” you tease.

Don’t flirt with the patient!

“Yes,” he chuckles.

It’s time to focus on your job and not how his eyes twinkle, clearing your throat as you approach him.

“So, Mr. Miller—“

“Please call me Joel,” he interrupts.

You smile.

“Okay, Joel, I was looking over your chart, and you're having pain in both knees?”

“That’s correct.”

Pulling your pen from your pocket, you ask, “Has it gotten worse since last week? Feel any different?”

“No, ma’am.”

You jot down his answer.

“Well, that’s good.” Your eyes land on his. “May I take a look?” you ask, pointing your pen at his lower half.

“Of course.” He nods enthusiastically. “Look, touch, do anythin’ you want to me, I don’t mind.” He grimaces, whispering to himself, “Jesus, I’m embarrassin’.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips past your lips.

“You’re okay, Joel,” you say, putting away your pen and moving to set the chart down on the nearby counter opposite the exam table to wash your hands in the sink.

He lets out a long sigh.

“It’s been a while,” he says. “I’ve forgotten how to talk to women.”

“That’s gotta be a problem with fifty-one percent of the population being female,” you reply as you dry off your hands with a paper towel, tossing it in the trash when you’re done.

He snorts, you turning around and seeing the amused look on his face.

“I’ve forgotten how to talk to women I think are pretty.”

“Well, thank goodness we’re having no issue holding a conversation.”

“It’s taking a whole helluva lot of effort with your gorgeous eyes lookin’ at me.”

Heat is crawling up your neck to your face, focusing on getting your bearings back together. Taking a few steps, you’re close with a little bit of space, needing to get the appointment back on track.

“So, I’m going to examine your knees over your jeans. If I need to, can I push them up your legs?” you ask.

“Want me to take them off?” he asks eagerly.

It makes you laugh, him smiling.

“There’s no need for you to strip.”

“You sure?” he asks with a crooked smile.

“Positive,” you answer, winking.

What is wrong with you? You need to stop flirting with him. He’s a patient! You’re the embarrassing one here. It’s like something inside you shifts when you look down at his right knee, going into doctor mode, brain whirling as you gently touch it over his jeans. Joel tenses, a reaction that furrows your eyebrows, meeting his eyes.

“Does it hurt when I touch here?”

There shouldn’t be any pain based on the scans; if there is, you’ll need to have more imagining done.

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Okay. I need you to tell me if anywhere I touch hurts.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Your attention is back on what you’re doing, processing what you’re feeling under your fingertips, having him extend his leg so you can see his range of motion, Joel’s face pinching in pain, which you expected.

“I’m going to push up your jeans.”

“You go right ahead.”

Getting them up to his thigh, Joel shivers when you touch his warm skin.

“Sorry about my hands being cold,” you murmur, pressing into the back of his knee to feel his ligaments and tendons, comparing in your mind to what you saw on the scans with how it feels.

“Your hands are nice—soft,” he replies in a gentle tone.

The doctor-patient relationship is sacred and an essential part of healthcare, built on trust, respect, communication, and common understanding. You swore to follow certain ethical guidelines to ensure that your patient gets the highest level of care. Things might be flirty with Joel and you, but his health is your main priority—it’s your job, and you’re not going to cross a line, even if he’s tempting you like forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden. While he’s your patient, that’s all he’ll be and nothing more. You’re focused, being thorough, and checking for anything that’s out of the ordinary.

“You don’t have to answer,” he says, “I know it’s a personal question, but how old are you..?”

You’re busy working, answering distractedly, “Twenty-four.”

“Jesus,” he gasps. “And you’re already a doctor?”

There’s slight swelling but no tears that you can tell—everything matches the imaging.

“I have the degree,” you say. “This is the first year of my residency—basically, I’m a doctor in training, but I’ve treated people.”

There’s a curious expression on his face when you finally glance at him.

“I’m just thinkin’ about all the schoolin’. Are you a bit… younger?”

Smiling, you answer, “Yes. I did a lot of work to get my degree sooner—basically zero life outside of school for the past six years.”

He looks impressed.

“Christ, smart and beautiful, your boyfriend’s a lucky guy.”

“My boyfriend is non-existent—was too busy with school. Well, no changes in this knee from last week—” You pull his pant leg back down. “—so that’s good. Let me check the other.” You move, immediately pushing up his jeans this time. “Does one hurt worse than the other?” you ask, going through the same exam as you did on the other, checking his motion and behind his knee.

“Uh, nope. Both hurt the same. Sarah says it’s ‘cause I’m old,” he chuckles.

“Has Sarah thought about becoming a doctor?”

As you thought, this knee doesn’t have any changes either.

“No—she wants to be a singer.”

You finish, putting his pants back in place, straightening your spine as you look at him.

“Well, she’s got a knack for medicine—she diagnosed you.”

He frowns.

“The pain is because of my age…?”

“It’s a big contributing factor along with the wear and tear from the work you do.”

He runs a hand through his hair, sighing loudly.

“You must think I’m an old man.”

“I don’t.” You shake your head. “You’re only a little older than me.”

He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Ten years is a lot.”

“Not really.” You shrug. “And you’re in excellent shape aside from your knees, but that’s bound to be an issue with your job.”

There’s a change in how he’s looking at you, and it has you gulping, watching him slide his thumb over his bottom lip like he wants your attention to go there, getting his wish, not able to stop yourself from wondering if his lips are as soft as they look.

“You, uh, think I’m in excellent shape?” His voice has gone deeper, ignoring the simmering heat in your belly.

“Ye-yes,” you stutter. He’s smirking, and you need to get back into safe territory, clearing your throat before you start speaking, “So, let me go over what we’re gonna do to help with the pain.”

From the look on his face, he’s disappointed, which confuses you, not understanding his reaction.

A tired sigh comes from him before he says, “I’m assumin’ medication, then?”

Oh, he thinks you’re going to give him a prescription for pain relief instead of actually treating him. It’s a common issue with doctors who are up to their ears in patients—instead of taking the time to figure out the root of the cause and treat it accordingly, they just write out a prescription to make the patient comfortable, a temporary solution, that has them coming back again, and again. Dr. Carlson’s plan was medication for Joel.

You’re moving to pick up his chart, your eyes scanning over the information, and turning the page, seeing that this is his sixth visit this year, and it’s only July—imaging wasn’t even ordered until last week.

“How long have you been dealing with this pain?” you ask.

“Last couple of years, I started gettin’ achy. Then in, uh, December of last year, there was a big job I was workin’ on—twelve-hour days for almost three weeks straight, and they started hurtin’ real bad.”

Your blood is boiling that he’s had to suffer for so long.

There’s a serious expression on your face when you look at him.

“There are other things we can do that will be long-term. With you being a single dad, the sole provider for Sarah, and working a manual labor job, I don’t think you’ll have time to commit to physical therapy, and I wouldn’t want to take away from your quality time with her.”

He looks surprised before his expression softens.

“What are you thinkin’, Doc?”

You smile warmly, jumping into what you planned that he can do at home, Joel listening intently as you explain each of the things in detail, him nodding along, seeming to like what you’re saying.

“You think it’ll work?” he asks when you finish.

“I do.” You nod. “It’s just keeping up on the exercises—we need to strengthen and stretch those muscles to assist with joint movement, and the other things I suggested will help with the swelling and give you some relief.”

He’s nodding. “I understand—do the exercises. Don’t wanna let you down.”

You pull a small notepad from your jacket pocket, placing it over the chart as you start writing out your treatment instructions, replying, “You shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

“Maybe I wanna worry about you. You’re the first doctor that’s actually cared about helpin’ me. Gonna have to come here more often to see you since you take such great care of me.”

“I’m not your primary physician.” You’re almost finished writing. “You’d end up seeing Dr. Carlson.”

“What if you became my primary doctor?”

Tearing off the page, you hold it out to him, his hand taking it.

There’s something here between you two, a connection you can feel, so you tell him truthfully, “Then all I could and would be is your doctor.”

Understanding dawns on him.

“Oh, is the appointment over?”

“Do you have any other concerns?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then the appointment is over. If you have any other issues or questions, please reach out to Dr. Carlson. It’s been a pleasure helping you today, and if there’s nothing else, you’re more than welcome to leave.”

He gets down from the table, groaning when he stands up straight, folding up your note and putting it in his pocket.

Thinking there’s nothing else he wants to say and not acknowledging the disappointment that feels like a stone in your belly, you make your way toward the door.

“Wait,” he says. You stop, turning around to face him. “I have a question.”

Taking a couple of steps closer to him, you ask, “What’s your question?”

He closes the distance, stopping when he’s taking up your vision, focusing on his big brown eyes, noticing his spicy cologne that has you feeling warm. He scratches at the back of his neck, looking nervous.

“Well,” he starts, “since I’m no longer your patient and you’re not my doctor, I’m not usually this forward, and I know I don’t have a chance in hell, but I’m wonderin’ if you’d wanna give an old guy like me a shot at takin’ you out?”

Happiness thrums in your veins that he asks, unable to help when a laugh sputters from you, quickly covering your mouth, his cheeks going red, looking unsure and embarrassed. You quickly apologize, “Sorry! I’m not laughing at you for asking me out—I want to go out with you.” That makes him perk up, rewarding you with a dimpled grin. “It’s just you said I was the first doctor to actually help you, and you’d rather date me than have me take care of you. It’s sweet but also hilarious.” You’re laughing again.

He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, the other perched on his hip, keeping his weight to one side.

“Yeah,” he says, “there are a lot more doctors out there—sure, I can find another, but I’ve only ever met one you, and I’m not gonna miss my opportunity to get to know you better.”

It feels like your skin is buzzing, so caught off guard by how genuine he is, seeing it in those dark eyes of his.

“How are you single?”

Is there something you’re missing? Some deep dark secret? He seems so perfect and adorable. It makes zero sense that he’s unattached.

There’s a sad smile on his face.

“Not a lot of women are into single dads.”

“That’s a lie—I’m very into single dads.”

He laughs, a beautiful flush crawling up his neck.

“I’m happy to hear that. Can I get your number?” he asks, pulling out a Nokia phone from his pocket and holding it out to you. “I just got this.”

“Of course.”

Taking it, you punch in the numbers, saving them to his contacts before giving it back. He looks at the little screen, hitting some buttons.

“‘Doc’?” he asks amusedly, meeting your eyes. “Why not your name?”

“Can’t take the risk of a handsome guy like you meeting another girl with my name—need to make sure I stand out,” you answer with a wink.

“No other woman is like you. I only want your number.”

“You’re really laying it on thick,” you tease. “I can assure you that you’ve successfully seduced me, and I really want to go out with you.”

He smiles.

“Good. I really wanna go out with you, too. What time are you off?”

“Seven.”

“Can I call you later?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Then I will.”

“I can’t wait.”

The joy is evident on his face, and you know you’re wearing a matching expression.

He holds out his hand as he says, “It’s been a pleasure meetin’ you today, Doc.” Holding his chart with one arm, you shake his offered palm that engulfs your smaller one. “You’re already a mighty fine doctor.” He winks, bringing your hand up to place a soft, chaste kiss on the back of it, his gaze staying on yours. Your skin tingles, and your body feels like it's burning from the inside out as your jaw goes slack.

Your voice is rough when you say, “You are a liar, Joel Miller.”

His eyebrows dip together, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“You said you’d forgotten how to talk to women, and that is not true—not even a little bit. Got me thinking about kissing your stupidly perfect face.”

He crookedly grins.

“Stupidly perfect?”

“Yes,” you groan.

“And you wanna kiss it?”

He gets closer, your bodies practically pressing together.

“Yes.”

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, leaning into his touch, his eyes moving from your own to your lips, the tension rising, thinking he might go for it and hoping he will.

His voice goes lower, “Then we better go out soon.” He takes a small step back, putting space between you, your heart pounding hard in your chest. “You busy tomorrow night?”

“No,” you breathe.

“Off at the same time?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It’s a half day.”

“Can I pick you up at seven?”

“Yes.” You nod.

He smiles brightly.

“It’s a date. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Doc.”

“Bye, Joel.”

He brings your hand up to kiss the back of it one more time and leaves you standing there in a daze, thankful that out of fifty applications across the entire United States, this was the clinic that accepted you, inadvertently introducing you to Joel Miller.

Spring 2024 - Jackson, Wyoming

For a cold night, the house is comfortably warm, the room illuminated in a soft glow by the bedside lamp, the sky outside dark and hidden by the closed blinds—Joel’s on his knees on the bed, your legs resting over his arms keeping them spread with his hands tightly gripping onto your hips, holding your ass up as he fucks into you hard.

The nap had lasted a couple of hours, the front of your body snug against his back, his fingers intertwined with yours over his heart, kissing his bare shoulders when you woke. Water was drunk, some food was eaten from the rations in your pack, and the next thing you knew, Joel’s face was buried between your legs.

Now, he’s grunting as he pounds into you, his thick cock pushing into that one heavenly spot that only he’s been able to find with his eyebrows furrowed and teeth bared—your head is dizzy with pleasure, fire burning so brightly in your belly that it’s going to explode at any second.

You’re gasping moans, your fingers digging into the bedspread, feeling so fucking close to coming, every thrust having the muscles in your stomach winding tighter and tighter.

“Come on, baby,” he says through gritted teeth. “Let me fuckin’ have it—you feel so fuckin’ good. Fuck, wanna feel you come.”

“Close,” you whine. “Oh, fuck.” Your body is starting to writhe, not able to control yourself. “You’re fucking me so good, Joel. Oh, god. Gonna come.”

The slap of his hips echoes in the room, the sound magnified by how wet you are, filling the air with the loud squelch of your cunt mixing with rough sounds coming from Joel’s throat and your breathy noises.

The heat builds in the pit of your stomach, growing hotter and thicker until stars are dancing at the edge of your vision, coming with a shout of his name.

“There it fuckin’ is,” he groans, “My good girl—I fuckin’ love you.”

Your body seizes up, the pleasure starting deep in your center and radiating out through your limbs, feeling it spread to the tips of your fingers and toes, your mind going hazy. Joel slows to a grind, letting you feel every ridge and vein of his throbbing dick, working you through your high.

The orgasm ebbs and your body continues to tremble—opening your eyes to meet his lust-blown gaze, a lazy smile on his lips.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks.

Smiling dreamily, you answer, “Yeah, babe. Feel fucking amazing. You’ve always known how I like to be fucked.”

“Yeah, I do,” he rasps, slowly thrusting, “and I know you got one more in ya.” He slaps your hip, making you gasp when he pulls out, letting your legs fall to the bed. “Hands and knees, baby,” he says, helping you get into position, your body thrumming in excitement, knowing what’s to come.

Your knees sink into the mattress, hips up, forearms resting against the pillow just how he wants you, looking over your shoulder to watch him grab onto the flesh of your ass, squeezing hard.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” he says, spreading open your asscheeks, the bed jostling as he moves. His face gets close, moaning when you feel him spit onto your entrance, the hot saliva mixing with your slick and come, your eyes closing, facing forward once more.

He straightens up, wasting no time to press back inside you in one smooth thrust, gasping at how he stretches you. It was something you’d never tire of, the way he fills you and how your body makes space to have him fitting all nice and snug, sliding perfectly along your sensitive walls.

His hands are grabbing onto your hips, digging in his fingers as he starts moving, soft sounds falling from your lips with each push and pull of his cock inside you. He sets a punishing pace, hearing the dull smack of your bodies colliding and his balls slapping into your clit, him grunting in exertion with how hard he’s slamming into you.

Your head falls forward, pressing it into the cushiony pillow, him turning you into a whimpering, drooling mess at how good it feels, the familiar heat in your core growing, expanding, as he fucks you into the mattress.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he grits out, his hand landing on your asscheek in a resounding smack that has your cunt clenching. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

He’s making your ass jiggle and thighs quiver with every hard thrust, whining in reply, “Yes, Joel. So good.”

You have to push back to keep him from fucking you into the headboard, your arms trembling, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your end.

His hand leaves your hip to massage your clit, making you keen, the jolts of electricity ramping you up and setting every nerve in your body ablaze, clawing at the pillow for something to hold onto.

You’re so close—everything he’s doing to you builds you up until you fall over the edge, chanting his name as the waves of euphoria spread through you.

“My good fuckin’ girl,” Joel groans, grabbing your hips once more to fuck you through your climax, going harder to extend it—snapping into you with abandon. It makes your head spin, and feels like the pleasure just keeps going and going—

He comes to a sudden stop with a hiss—pulling out, the bed jostles as he falls onto it beside you on his back. You’re coming down from your high, turning your head to see his chest heaving as he catches his breath with his eyes closed. Reaching over, you pat his flushed, sweaty chest.

“Tire yourself out?” you mumble.

“Yeah,” he pants.

“Shoulda listened to Tommy and stuck to missionary, you old man.”

His head turns a fraction toward you, opening one eye with a grumpy expression on his face, grumbling, “Don’t be fuckin’ mean.” You laugh when he pinches your hip, your body crumpling flat onto the mattress.

“I’m sorry, babe,” you giggle, scooting over to him to throw your arm over his stomach and rest your head over his heart, leaning up to kiss his chin.

“Liar,” he replies.

“I’m not lying,” you say into his skin. “I am a little sorry.”

“Good—did I, uh, tire you out?” he asks.

You snort.

“Need me to get on top and finish you off?”

His cock is still hard and resting on his belly, wetting his skin in your slick.

He lets out a long sigh. “...Yeah.”

“Say no more,” you reply, kissing his stubble.

With a groan, you’re moving to straddle his hips, one hand on his chest to hold yourself up, the other moving to grab his dick to notch him at your opening, him twitching in your palm. It’s a reflex when his big hands land on your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles into your soft skin.

“Fuckin’ love when you’re on top,” he rasps, his glazed-over gaze on yours.

“‘Cause you like watching my tits bounce.”

He’s unable to reply, his mouth falling open as you sink down on him, your eyes fluttering closed at how he feels so much bigger like this, your thighs meeting when you bottom out.

“God, I love your dick,” you moan, both hands on his chest, rolling your hips, adjusting to the fullness.

His voice is strained when he replies, “I know you do—always hungry for my dick.”

“Says the guy who can’t keep his face out of my pussy—fuck,” you gasp, tilting your hips to have him press into something divine.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Gotta make up for lost time.” One of his hands moves to your center, pressing his thumb to your clit it making pleasure spark in your belly. “You wanna come again?” he asks.

Meeting his eyes, you shake your head, “No,” you answer. “I’m spent. Another, and I know I’ll pass the fuck out.”

He smirks. “Nothin’ wrong with that.”

Your eyebrow raises.

“Except that you’d have to get yourself off with your hand—I’m good, babe. It’s your turn.”

“Okay.”

His hand goes back to your hip, your inner walls fluttering around him, starting to move up and down, rising on your knees and falling over and over, his eyes locking on your chest with his jaw slack.

“Fuck,” he groans. “So fuckin’ beautiful. Lean down, baby.”

It makes you grin. Of course, he wants you to lean down.

Your hands move to either side of his head to hold yourself up, riding him in earnest, not surprised when he palms your breasts. His fingers tease your stiff nipples, rolling and pinching them, causing electricity to shiver down your spine, breathily moaning as you work him over, feeling the sheen of sweat coating your skin and your thighs beginning to burn. There’s a beautiful flush covering him, his golden skin glistening in the lamplight, wanting to lick the drops of perspiration along the column of his throat. He feels so good inside of you, his cock moving in and out of you, going at a rhythm he likes, his face screwed up like he’s in pain, knowing he’s getting close with the rough noises he’s making.

“Kiss me,” he pants.

Lowering your face, you hover your lips over his. “Aren’t you needy,” you say between heavy breaths, nudging his nose with your own. “You want me to kiss you?”

“Please,” he croaks out, looking absolutely wrecked.

“My good boy asking so nicely.” He moans loudly, feeling his cock jerk. You give him what he wants, capturing his mouth in a kiss, pressing your lips forcefully to his while you keep rutting against him, his hands squeezing your breasts.

It’s loud between your legs, hearing the wet sounds of you moving on him.

“‘M close,” he murmurs into your lips, making you go harder, your heart pounding in your chest.

It doesn’t take much more for his big hands to finally grab onto your hips, pulling you down all the way to be flush with him, a dirty, low groan spilling from his throat as he comes—his dick twitching, the warmth of his spend filling your inner depths.

You’re wrung out, your head falling into the crook of his neck, panting hot breaths into his skin, Joel sounding just as winded, hugging his arms around you to hold you close.

Minutes you lay wrapped up in each other, your heartbeats slowing together, comfortable, happy, neither of you wanting to move.

Exhaustion is creeping up on you, afraid you’ll fall asleep. Your voice is muffled when you say, “Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m old.”

He swats your ass. “Stop that. You’re not old.”

“Joel, I want to sleep—I’m old,” you sigh. “I’m too tired to fuck.”

He sighs, too, replying, “Fuck, I’m tired, too—bone fuckin’ tired. That doesn’t mean we’re old.”

A memory comes to you. “Remember that one weekend Tommy watched Sarah? You’d been swamped with work the week before, and according to him, you were an absolute asshole because you needed to get laid, so when the job was done, he told you to stay with me all weekend, and we literally fucked the entire time?”

You’d barely left your bed.

“That was a good weekend.” You can hear him smiling.

“It was. We barely slept and fucked like rabbits. Joel, we didn’t even last all of tonight. Face it, babe, we’re old.”

“We just need a good night’s rest, and we could easily go all night.”

“Sure, babe—“ You lightly pat his cheek “—just some sleep, and we can go all night like we’re twenty years younger.”

“That’s what I said, and I know I’m right.”

“You’re cute,” you say, moving to kiss his jaw. “I gotta get up and go to the bathroom—I’ll grab us some water.”

“Mmkay.”

Unwrapping his arms, you carefully got up with a groan, the bed squeaking as you maneuvered off of it.

Your first stop was the en suite to take care of your needs and clean yourself up, relishing in the delicious ache between your legs at being thoroughly fucked. Next was doing the same walk of shame that Joel had taken earlier, not bothering to put on any clothes as you padded down to the first floor to refill your cups, returning with them full of water.

Your eyebrows dip together when you get back into the bedroom, finding Joel in the same spot you left him—his head is cushioned on a pillow, his eyes closed, completely still, seeing his chest's steady rise and fall.

Normally, he would’ve gotten up to clean himself up and use the bathroom.

Did he pass out?

You set the glasses on the bedside table next to him. “Joel?” you whisper. “Did you fall asleep?”

You’re afraid that if you touch him, you might startle him.

“No.” He says the word clearly.

Stepping closer to the bed, you push his messy hair away from his face.

“You just comfortable?” you ask.

“...no.”

Well, the slight pause has alarm bells ringing in your head.

“What do you mean?” You stroke your hand over his cheek. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He lets out a really long breath, finally blinking open his eyes to look at you, a frown on his lips.

“Don’t make fun of me…”

Oh, god, he’s hurt. Immediately you’re looking over his body for any sign of injury, noting that his breaths are even, your fingers moving against his neck to feel the steady thump of his pulse.

“What’s wrong?” you ask again.

“I… can’t move,” he answers, grimacing.

That narrows things down. “Jesus Christ, Joel. Hips or back?”

“Back—pulled somethin’. Fuckin’ hurts to move.”

Your brain is making quick work on how you will treat him, remembering you saw some ice in the freezer.

“Well, at least you didn’t break a hip,” you murmur. “Tommy and Ellie would’ve never let you live it down.”

That grumpy expression comes over his face.

“My hips are fuckin’ fine,” he grouses. “Just gotta lay here for a bit, and I’ll be okay.”

“Um, no,” you reply. “You’re not laying here and suffering.” Grabbing a glass of water, you ask, “First, I need you to drink something. Does it hurt to lift your neck?”

His frown becomes more pronounced, him lifting up as much as he can, and your hand immediately going behind his head to help him up, the other bringing the cup to his lips and tilting it for him to drink. Once he’d drunk the whole thing, he laid back against the pillow again.

“Thank you, baby.” He looks so sad, and it has you putting the glass back onto the table before cupping his cheeks and leaning down to kiss him softly.

Breaking it, you look him in the eyes, smiling. “You’re welcome, and don’t be upset. I believe you said it was sexy that I could treat your sex injuries, and I’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

His eyes are big. “I know you will,” he says softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, I gotta flip you over to make sure it is a pulled muscle and you didn’t slip a disk or something worse.”

“Okay,” he sighs.

Helping him get onto his stomach involves him making a lot of pained sounds and muttering ‘fuck,’ repeatedly. Luckily, after a quick exam, you confirmed it was just lower back strain.

Earlier in the evening, Tommy had dropped off a bag filled with clothes. Rummaging through it, you found a white t-shirt that was clearly meant for Joel that you put on before going downstairs to grab some ice that you wrapped in a small towel.

When you got back to your injured fiancé, you applied the cold compress to help reduce the pain and swelling.

You’re lying beside him, your hand holding the ice to where his pain is, his head turned toward you.

“I refilled the ice tray,” you say. “We just need to do this every three or four hours over the next couple of days, and you’ll have to take it easy. No strenuous activity.”

“Yes, Doc,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You wanted to fuck for a couple of days.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” you reassure. “I was dreaming big and did not account for the fact that I am no longer an energetic twenty-something. Honestly, I am so fucking exhausted. I think everything is catching up to me—saving Ellie, finding you, us walking here to Jackson. I want to sleep for days. Then there’s the fact you fucked me so good, I’m gonna need some time to recover—I’m sore.”

“We overdid it.” He lets out a breath.

“We overdid it.” You nodded.

“But it was good..?” He looks hopeful.

You smile. “So fucking good—worth the pain.”

“Yeah?” He smirks.

“Yeah.”

“I reckon it was worth the pain.”

Once his back is iced, he’s able to get up, and you both take a quick shower together, deciding to call it a night. Joel’s protective instincts have him sleeping closest to the door with a gun and knife on the bedside table, you nestled into his left side, your leg hitched up on his thigh, resting your head over his heart, the strong beats so calming that it has you relaxing. There’s no doubt that you’ll sleep more than a few hours—you’re beyond tired and sated, so comfortable and happy that your mind is already beginning to drift. Add in Joel’s fingers sliding along the bare skin over your ribs, the shirt you’re wearing pushed up under your breasts, and you’re in heaven.

It’s the early hours of the morning, the room is dark and quiet, save for your even breaths filling the air.

His voice is gentle and barely above a whisper, “Baby?”

“Hmmm?”

“In the shower, you asked about my scar?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s one below your belly button that I don’t think is from bein’ stabbed. How’d you get it?”

His question has your eyes flying open, the sleepiness now replaced with panic as your mind races and heart pounds, knowing exactly what scar he’s talking about—it’s surgical, a cut made by a scalpel that’d been hurriedly stitched up after the doctor sterilized you.

It’s an easy enough answer to give him since he’s aware you can’t get pregnant. But it feels like a lie; it’s not the whole truth that you’ve buried so deep down inside your conscious because of the pain of remembering.

You’d been adamant about wanting to protect Joel from the anguish of discovering the extent of all he lost twenty years ago. You didn’t see the point in upsetting him and knew without a doubt he’d blame himself. Yet, there’s a part of you that feels he deserves to know, that he needs to know, and that this isn’t something you should have to carry by yourself. He’s the love of your life, the man you’re going to spend whatever days you have left on this earth with, and it feels wrong to keep a secret like this from him. If he found out later, he’d be even more devastated, and you don’t want to betray his trust like that—you don’t want to keep anything from him, like how you hope he doesn’t keep anything from you. You’re partners, you’ve always shared everything, and this is no different.

The resolve hits you that you’re going to tell him the truth, the whole truth.

“We don’t have to talk about it…” he says when you’re silent for too long. “It’s late anyway.” The last word turns into a yawn.

“No, I’ll tell you,” you reply. Moving, you get on top of him, your thighs bracketing his naked hips, leaning over to turn on the lamp. His eyes squint from the light, looking uneasy, your body pressing into his to hover your face over his, holding yourself up on your elbows beside his head, stroking your fingers through his damp grey hair. His arms automatically wrap around your back to rub his hands along your shirt-covered spine.

“I’m not gonna like what you’re about to tell me, am I?” he asks with a frown.

“No, Joel,” you answer softly. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, so take a deep breath for me.”

The expression on his face turns serious, clenching his jaw, his hands stopping their movements.

His voice is low, “How’d you get the scar?”

“We’ll get to that in a second. First, I need you to understand that everything that happened to me is not your fault, okay?”

“Just fuckin’ tell me.”

“You tell me first that you understand what I just said.”

“Yes—not my fault,” he says impatiently. “Tell me.”

One of the things they teach you in medical school is how to give a person bad news. There are times when you have to tell someone they’re dying or have an incurable illness; a patient dies in surgery, and you’re having to inform the next of kin. It’s a step-by-step process, starting with finding out the person's understanding of the situation for a place to begin and build upon. Next is the warning shot, which you delivered by telling Joel that what you’re about to tell him is going to hurt. Then you present the news in plain words to avoid any misunderstandings. It’s common for there to be silence, so you wait for them to make the next move and validate any emotional responses. It’s a little fucked up that this is the process you’re going to use to tell him, but it’s the best way to ease him into it and not cause too much emotional distress all at once.

“Good,” you reply. “Remember in the truck when I told you I took measures to ensure I couldn’t have children?”

“Yes. The scar’s from that? Surgery?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… what aren’t you tellin’ me?”

Taking a deep breath, you answer, “The reason I had it done.”

His eyebrows crease together, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“But you said—”

That you had a fellow doctor help you out.

“Yes,” you cut him off, “except after the Outbreak, especially right at the beginning, doctors weren’t doing elective surgeries, and still aren’t with the lack of supplies. They only do sterilization at the time of childbirth or in conjunction with another abdominal surgery.”

“Please, for the love of God, say surgery,” he says desperately, and it makes your chest ache, hating that you’re putting him through this.

Cupping his cheeks, you give another warning shot, saying as gently as possible, “Joel, I’m sorry I have to tell you this, but I was pregnant.”

His eyes go wide. “When?” he breathes, but you can tell he already knows the answer.

“2003.”

He looks like he’s just been punched, his face pinching in pain, squeezing his eyes shut as he absorbs the blow and processes what you said.

There’s a roughness to his voice when he speaks again, hearing the hurt when he whispers, “The baby?”

“Didn’t survive the pregnancy.” Swallowing hard, your eyes are burning at remembering all that’d happened, knowing something was wrong, and discovering the worse when an ultrasound was done. “I, uh, lost her in December of that year. I was a little over five months along.”

The devastation is clear on his face when his gaze meets yours, seeing how hard he’s trying not to cry with the tears brimming his eyes and his bottom lip trembling.

His throat bobs, the word cracking when it leaves his mouth, “Her?”

“Yes.”

“Five months? Five? You were… you were…” He can’t even say the whole sentence. “Before? On my, my… On my birthday?” Tears start falling down his cheeks.

Your throat is so tight that it’s hard to speak, answering morosely, “Yes.” Wiping at the wetness on his face, continuing, “I found out a few days before.” The next part, you say so quietly, “I was going to surprise you—it was your gift.”

You can see his heart break, and it makes your own squeeze so tight it steals your breath. It was the right thing to tell him—he deserved to know, but it comes at such a great cost, feeling terrible that you’re causing him so much distress. A pained noise comes from him as he crushes you in a hug, pressing your face into his neck, his body shaking as he cries hard, giving in to your own sadness.

“I’m so sorry, Joel,” you sob.

He’s in agony. It hurts. The pain is gut-wrenching, the sadness so deep inside of him he can feel it twisting him in knots, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. It’s like someone is trying to skin him from the inside out. What he’s feeling is unbearable, and he is unsure if he will survive.

Getting stabbed felt better than this. He’d rather get stabbed because that’s something that heals and scars over, but this? It’s a gaping wound that’s going to stick with him just like Sarah’s death had.

There was nothing he’d wanted more than to have a baby with you all those years ago, and now knowing how close he got to his dream—that he lost two daughters without even knowing, he’s at an utter loss, the anguish consuming him, and overflowing into the tears he can’t hold back, letting it all out as he holds you close, needing your comfort.

His body is trembling uncontrollably, wracking with sobs. “We lost our baby,” he chokes out. “Our baby girl—I lost my babies.”

It feels like his chest is caving in, his heart getting crushed under the weight of his sadness, and he’s thankful you’re here with him—you’re keeping him grounded, your presence stopping him from simply checking out, and he’s allowing himself to feel the emotions, and grieve, something he couldn’t do with Sarah.

He can’t even imagine what you went through alone—losing the baby, him, and Sarah. At least he still had Tommy, but you had no one, having to deal with it all by yourself. Joel feels like shit that he wasn’t there for you in your time of need, wondering if he had been, would the baby have survived? Did another of his kids die because he failed to protect them again? Maybe he wasn’t meant to be a father—he’s not supposed to outlive his children, and he has with two of them, fucking delivering the third to people who wanted to take her from him, too, and barely saving her. He’s a failure as a father, unable to keep his kids safe, and now he’s very aware of how much stronger you are than him. After all the loss you went through alone, and you kept going? He’s weak in comparison, a coward; he barely survived—a failure of a father, partner, and human.

Your words are muffled, your tears hot on his skin, “I’m sorry,” you cry. “I did everything I could to give her the best chance, and it wasn’t enough.”

It’s not right that you’re blaming yourself, and he’s so angry at himself that he’s stopped crying, needing to make you understand it wasn’t your fault—if anyone’s to blame, it’s him.

He pulls you up to look you in the eyes, seeing your face is wet, his large palms caressing your cheeks. “I know you did all you could.” He speaks the words clearly, making sure you can hear the truth. “It’s not your fault, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I… I,” he stutters, “failed you both.”

Your eyebrows dip down, going serious. “I told you everything that happened to me isn’t your fault, Joel. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to the baby, or Sarah, for that matter. I’m the one who fucked up and got a flat tire. I’m the one who became a doctor for the army and had to deal with the stress of treating people caught in the blasts when they tried to stop the spread of infection by bombing Alberquerque, which didn’t even work. The city was lost, the army cut their losses and sent us to Phoenix, we just…” You pause, sounding ashamed when you say, “We abandoned the survivors—left people in the medical camp who’d die without treatment, and as a doctor, I was horrified, but as an expectant mother? I was one of the first people on the truck because the baby was all I cared about.” Taking a deep breath, you continue, “I figured having the protection of the military and access to medical supplies was the best option I had to safely bring her into the world, even at the cost of my morals—she was all I had left of you, and I was willing to do anything to protect her, and in the end, she didn’t make it, and none of it was your fault.”

“There’s a chance she would’ve survived if I was with you.” Pain cuts through him like a hot knife, the regret stinging. “They both might’ve survived if I’d been with you.”

It’s weighing on him how things could’ve been different, feeling like it was all his fault for not finding you sooner. After Sarah’s death, he doesn’t remember much about the days or weeks that followed—he’d completely disconnected from everything and wasn’t himself, simply an emotionless shell of a person that did whatever he needed to keep Tommy safe, looking for you in every QZ, settlement, or army camp they entered. That night everything went down, they should’ve checked the route you took, they should’ve tried harder to find you. His mind is whirling with all of the different choices he could’ve made.

Your hand cups his cheek. “Hey,” you say softly. “Don’t think about the what ifs. I know it’s hard, but all it will do is drive you crazy. What happened, happened, and you don’t need to torture yourself over it by thinking of how you could’ve changed things. So, stop blaming yourself. I don’t blame you. I’ve never blamed you. It gave me the strength to keep searching for you, thinking that you and Sarah were out there looking for me, too. We can’t go back in time, so we focus on the present and the fact that after everything we’ve been through, we still managed to find each other again.”

Hearing that your grief spurred you on to keep looking for him makes guilt roil in his stomach over how weak he’d been and that, by his own hand, he’d almost made your search pointless.

There’s no sugarcoating it, and you should know after all you’ve revealed to him, so he just says it, “I tried to kill myself.”

It makes you flinch, shock coming over your face. “What?” you whisper. “Joel, when? Why?”

Taking a deep breath, he lets it out slowly, his eyes darting away because he feels so much shame.

“Second day,” he answers. Swallowing thickly, he continues, the emotion making his voice rough, “Sarah died in my arms, and after all the shit I saw, I thought you were gone, too, and that was why you never made it to my house. I lost you both and couldn’t see the point anymore.” He takes a second to figure out his next words. “I’m, uh, not as strong as you are. The two people I love most were taken from me, and I didn’t want to keep living. Simple as that. Wasn’t even scared,” he admits. “I was ready—more than ready.” He pauses, his jaw flexing as the memory of holding the gun and feeling so calm comes back to him. “When I…” He has to swallow again, a lump forming in his throat, it just as hard telling you as it was with Ellie. “When I went to pull the trigger, I flinched.” His gaze meets yours, seeing the sadness in your eyes. “I, uh, told Ellie this story the other day, and I said I don’t know why I flinched, but some part of me likes to think it was Sarah tellin’ me to keep goin’ and not give up.” A sad smile turns up on his lips. “You know how she was always bossin’ me around.”

You sniffle, sharing the same look as him, both thinking fond memories about his daughter. “Because you’re a fucking disaster, Joel,” you reply. “You need someone bossing you around.”

He’s not going to deny the truth. “That I do, and I’m so fuckin’ happy I did keep goin’ ‘cause I found you, and there’s Ellie.”

The only kid he has left.

If he was protective of her before, he doesn’t know what he is now, a little afraid he might become one of those annoying helicopter parents. He can’t risk anything happening to her. He needs to keep her safe, ignoring the sudden urge to jump out of bed to go over to Tommy’s to check up on her.

After the resort town, and what she’d gone through, he’d been so worried about her change in demeanor—how quiet she became, closed off, distracted, aloof. She wouldn’t talk about it, but from the look in her eyes and the blood that’d been on her clothes when he found her, she’d had to kill a person or people, and Joel felt like he’d let her down by not being able to keep her safe.

He hated when she had to shoot the guy in Kansas City to save him, and he hated even more that she had to kill when he wasn’t there to do it for her—she’s still just a kid, his kid, and he knew it’d be traumatic for her, even if she tried to put on a brave face, and sure enough, it’d fucked her up, Joel worried sick that he’d lost his upbeat, chatterbox, bad pun telling Ellie forever.

He’d done everything he could think of to cheer her up and get her out of her head as she’d always done to him, pretty sure he said more words to her on their trip to Salt Lake City than he’d said in the past twenty years combined.

Then she met you, and he knows it was you who brought her back to him—you’d literally taken him to her, helped save her life, and given her hope that everything she’d been through, the good and bad, all meant something, freeing her conscious of the guilt she’s held over those who’d died for her.

And since Joel and Ellie are cut from the same cloth and terrible with emotional shit, now that she’s better, they’re pretending like it hadn’t happened.

Thank Christ you were there to call him out on his lie about the Fireflies finding someone else and telling her the truth—she never would’ve forgiven him.

“I’m happy you kept going, too,” you say, “so you could be there for her. Ellie needs a parent, someone to love her unconditionally, and I know you love her like she’s your own kid.”

“I do.”

“Have you told her?”

He looks away. “...no. We’re, uh, not very good at that kinda thing.”

“I figured as much. You’ll have to tell her one day. I think it’d make her happy.”

“Maybe…” He looks at you again, frowning. “That little girl has been alone her whole life. No parents—abandoned with FEDRA when she was born. I reckon she’s never been loved or cared about, and she isn’t quite sure what to do now that she’s got a… a…”

What is he to her?

“Dad,” you finish for him. “You’re her father, and she’s your daughter. You’re still a dad, Joel. You’ve got another teenager to raise or at least guide. She’s no longer alone and now has people to love and care about her, all thanks to you.” You poke his nose.

“She’d hate me sayin’ I’m her dad…”

“Because it’s so foreign to her. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have one, and I think she’ll warm up to the idea after some time.”

He couldn’t help feeling hopeful. “It’d be nice,” he replies. “Easier way to explain our relationship, and I do know she loves me.”

She’d never had to say it. Her actions and how she said she’d follow him anywhere were enough for him to know. That’s how their relationship has always been—doing their damnedest to talk around their feelings because they’re both just so fucking awkward. He told Ellie it wasn’t time that healed him, and she’d understood what he meant: I love you, and you’re the reason I’m better. When she responded that she was glad the attempt on his life didn’t work out, he heard: I love you, too.

They get each other.

“Good,” you say. “I know she loves you, too.”

It’s an understatement to say life has been unkind to him. Frankly, it feels like all he’s gone through was some kind of sadistic test of his resolve to live, it getting harder and harder with every passing year.

Joel thinks he’s finally catching a break or at least hopes.

He’s got you, Ellie, and Tommy all together someplace safe.

It still hurts like hell everything he lost to get here, unable to stop himself from imagining what it’d be like if his other two daughters had survived—all of you settling in Jackson, him and you taking care of Ellie, Sarah in her thirties with her own home and a family, and then there’s the girl who would’ve recently turned twenty that looks like a mix of you both; he pictures a face with your gorgeous eyes, his mouth, your chin, and he’d feel awful that she got his nose, but she’s beautiful just like her mom.

What would she have been like? Would she have looked how he’s imagining? The thoughts have his chest squeezing so tight, feeling like he’s lost another piece of his heart after he just put it back together again.

His eyes are watery, his voice wobbly when he asks, “Did she have a name?”

Your face goes soft, sadness gleaming in your eyes, your fingers sliding through the hair above his ear. “Yes,” you answer.

“I’d like to know it,” he says softly.

“When I first found out, she was Jellybean.” There’s a fond expression on your face. “Then, after everything, I started calling her Hope? Didn’t even know if she was a girl, but to steal from Star Wars, she was my only hope and kept me going, so that’s what I referred to her as. If she’d ended up being a boy, I would’ve named her Joel.” That makes his breath catch in his throat. “Then I found out the gender, and Hope just stuck.”

“Hope was perfect.”

“Hope Miller.”

Tears are rolling down his cheeks. “Hope Miller,” he says, the name ending on a sob, Joel crying once more.

He hugs you close to him, breathing in your hair while he breaks down, your body shaking as you let go, too, needing each other at this moment, mourning together, sharing in the sadness.

It could’ve been minutes or hours later that there were no more tears to shed, both of you overly exhausted, feeling like your bodies had been wrung out of everything inside of them.

You lean over him to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, and with a hand on the back of your head, he brings you down for a tender kiss.

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he murmurs into your lips.

“Thank you for telling me,” you reply.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, no matter what.”

“No matter what,” he agrees.

It’s comforting when you end up half on top of him, your leg thrown over his waist, your head on his chest, your arm across his belly. He holds you, everything that happened tonight, making him fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He turned onto his left side as he slept, and It’s the bed jostling, you sitting up quickly beside him, that has him waking abruptly, adrenaline pumping in his veins over not hearing the intruder enter the room. You’re in danger, his heart pounding, breathing hard, and he’s out of the bed immediately, needing to neutralize the threat, not seeing any weapons, his hand grabbing the unarmed man by the throat.

He’s being shouted at by you, it finally registering in his brain, “Joel, it’s Tommy!”

His brother’s eyes are wide, his hands clawing at Joel’s arm, using what little air he has to repeat, “It’s me, it’s me…”

It breaks him from the spell, letting go of the other man, who starts coughing.

“Jesus Christ, Tommy,” Joel growls. “I coulda fuckin’ killed you!”

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes. “I knocked, and nobody answered.”

“So, you broke in while we were sleepin’? You got a fuckin’ death wish?”

Tommy catches his breath. “I wasn’t thinkin’.” He looks sheepish. “Doc’s here, and I thought it’d be funny, like back in the day when I’d barge into your room when she was at the house.”

Joel’s hand is on his naked hip, the other pressing to his face.

One of Tommy’s favorite past times, back in Austin, was showing up at his house on Saturday mornings when he knew you’d be staying over and annoying the fuck out of you both until you got out of bed to go have breakfast at the diner with Sarah—after the first time, you started sleeping in a shirt much to Joel’s chagrin.

“You’re fuckin’ stupid, Tommy,” Joel sighs. “You can’t be doin’ that anymore. There’s a real chance I’d end up murderin’ ya, and I don’t need Maria hatin’ me more than she already does.”

“Maria doesn’t hate you.”

He moves his hand from his face to narrow his eyes at his brother. “Maria hates my fuckin’ guts,” he replies.

“Wait,” you say, Joel stepping to turn his body toward you, confusion on your face. “Why does Tommy’s wife hate you?”

There’s a thrill running through him because he knows that as soon as you find out, you’re gonna rip into his brother. He looks at the younger man, nodding his head toward you, “Tell her why Maria hates me.”

Tommy looks uneasy. “Well, like I said, she doesn’t hate you. She’s just gotta warm up to you, is all,” his brother says.

“Uh-huh.” Joel doesn’t sound convinced. “Stop beatin’ around the bush, and tell her.”

“I told her the truth of all we did in order to survive,” Tommy says quickly. “How we fuckin’ murdered innocent people and all that fucked up shit. I didn’t leave out anythin’ ‘cause she’s my wife, and I tell her everythin’.”

“Tommy,” your voice has gone low and serious, and Joel can’t help his smirk. “Did you blame everything you did on Joel and make him sound like a fucking monster?”

Tommy looks mad. “You don’t know what we did—all the people we killed. We could’ve done things differently. It was Joel’s fault.”

“For keeping you alive, Tommy?” she asks, Joel glancing her way to see her looking just as angry. “His daughter died in his arms. His daughter. He lost me that night, too, thinking I was dead, and you’re fucking blaming him for doing fucked up shit to keep the only person he had left alive? Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy? If anyone has survived to today, they’ve had to do horrible shit to get here—I’ve done horrible shit that I’m not proud of, but I’m still breathing, and that’s all that fucking matters.”

“There were other ways we could’ve survived,” Tommy says. “Maria—”

“Maria,” you interrupt, “wasn’t in the same situation as you and Joel. You make her sound like a goddamn saint, but I have no doubts she’s had to do fucked up shit, too. Get off your fucking high horse, Thomas. You were the last person Joel had, and after the shit that happened to him, you’re gonna bet your ass that he would do anything, no matter how shitty, to keep you alive. Frankly, you should be thanking him that you survived long enough to make it here.”

The other man breathes in deeply before replying, “Look, it’s in the past, and I get it now that he was just desperate to keep me livin’. I still feel pretty fuckin’ guilty about the shit that went down, but I understand why he did it. I’ll, uh, talk to Maria.”

“Yeah,” you say. “You better.”

“I will.” He nods.

“Did ya come over just to annoy us?” Joel asks his brother.

“No,” Tommy replies. “Brought y’all breakfast, like I said I would. It’s in the kitchen, and I’m also here to find out what the fuck happened ‘cause Ellie is a goddamn liar.”

Joel’s stomach twists. “What’d she say?”

“I know I said I tell everythin’ to Maria, but I kept my word to you and didn’t mention Ellie’s… condition. She thought you were takin’ the girl to find her family.”

“Thank you.”

“Ellie said y’all found the campus in Colorado abandoned and that you ended up in Utah at a hospital the Fireflies were usin’, and that’s where you found Doc. She said the place got hit by raiders, and you had to fight your way out.”

“I did find Doc at the hospital in Salt Lake City, and Colorado was abandoned,” he says. Scratching at the back of his neck, he looks away. “We got to Utah, found the Fireflies, but they’d wanted to kill Ellie in order to try and make a cure…”

“What the fuck did you do, Joel?” his brother asks through his teeth.

“Joel and I killed them all,” you answer for him, Tommy’s attention moving to you. “I was a doctor there and have been researching a cure for the last five years. Ellie was our key, but Marlene and the head of the facility wanted to murder her instead of doing a procedure that she would’ve survived. It was fucked up, so I helped Joel save the girl, and we took out the Fireflies in the process.” You shrug.

“You saved her instead of everyone else on the entire fuckin’ planet?” Tommy sounds like he can’t believe what he’s saying.

“I couldn’t let her die,” Joel replies, his eyes meeting his brother’s. “Not after Sarah—she’s my kid, Tommy.”

His brother sighs. “Yeah,” he replies. “I get why you’d do it. It’s just fucked that there coulda been a cure, and now what the fuck are we gonna do?”

“Well,” you start. “If I can get my hands on the right equipment, I can do the biopsy and work on developing it myself, but I’d basically need a lab.”

“You could do it?” Surprise is in Tommy’s tone.

“Yeah? The assumption is that Ellie has had Cordyceps growing inside her since she was born—my theory is that her mom was bit while pregnant and somehow gave birth before turning.” That has Joel’s stomach falling through the floor at the thought of Ellie’s mother making sure her baby survived even after being handed a death sentence, not knowing if the child was infected, too. He understands, though, if he’d been in her shoes, he would’ve done the same thing to ensure his kid was safe—hell, he murdered an entire hospital, risking the lives of millions for Ellie, and he thinks her mother would’ve approved. “Anyways,” you continue, “what we think happens is when Ellie gets bit, the normal Cordyceps think she’s Cordyceps or that she’s already turned, making her immune. If I biopsy some of her mutated Cordyceps, I can multiply the cells to make a vaccine to give people that will cause the same immunity, or at least that’s what I’m hoping. There’s no guarantee it will work.”

“Fuckin’ A, Doc!” Tommy’s grinning. “I always said you were too fuckin’ smart to be with this fucker.” He points his thumb at Joel. “We got a clinic, nothin’ fancy, but I’m thinkin’ I could probably convince Maria that we need more medical shit. The town’s gettin’ bigger, anyway. It’d make sense. We can send raiding parties to nearby towns and cities to gather whatever they can find—you give me a list, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I can do that,” you reply. “Does Jackson have a doctor?”

“Yeah, Dr. Jones is an old, ornery motherfucker. We could use some new blood if you’re up for it.”

You smile. “I’d love to.”

“Great! The other reason I’m here—” he focuses back on Joel “—is findin’ out when you wanted to get hitched.”

Joel looks at you. “You got a preference, baby?”

“The sooner, the better?” You shrug.

He smiles, thinking the same thing as he nods his head, facing Tommy again. “You heard the lady. The sooner, the better.”

His brother’s smiling big, looking delighted. “In that case, be at the House of Worship in two hours.” He holds up two fingers.

“Will do. How’d Ellie sleep?” Joel asks. “You fed her, right? Let her take a shower?”

The younger man’s eyebrows are up to his hairline. “Jesus, you really care about this kid.”

“Congratulations, Tommy,” you say with a smile. “You’re an uncle again.”

“I guess I am—missed it.” He’s smiling softly. “She had no complaints when she woke this mornin’, and, of course, I fuckin’ fed her. Couldn’t believe how much food she scarfed down. I should be askin’ if you’ve been feedin’ her,” Tommy tells Joel as he pokes him in his bare chest. “She showered first thing at the house, and Maria got her more clothes.”

“Thank you for takin’ care of her. You didn’t have to,” Joel replies.

Tommy smirks, saying, “Based on all those fuckin’ hickies coverin’ your naked ass—” He points at Joel’s torso “—it’s safe to say it was better she stayed at mine last night.”

Joel’s cheeks heat, having not realized that he is, in fact, completely nude. Walking over to the bed, he groans as he sits down on the edge, pulling a blanket over his thighs to cover himself up, his back twinging in pain.

He sighs. “Yeah, yeah,” Joel says. “Thanks again for watchin’ her. Can you make sure she’s at the weddin’? You, too.”

“We’d really like you both there,” you add. “It’s important to us.”

“What about Maria?” Tommy asks, looking unsure.

“Like you said last time I was here,” Joel starts. “She’s family and allowin’ us to stay here, so she can come.”

You speak behind him, “But, if she isn’t civil and ruins my wedding, I get to kick her ass.”

Joel snorts, and Tommy puts his hands up in a placating gesture. “Woah, Doc,” his brother says. “Maria isn’t gonna start shit—she’s seven months pregnant, for Christ’s sake, she’s got enough on her plate.”

The blood leaves Joel’s face, feeling like he’s been kicked in the gut with all the air leaving his lungs.

He’d forgotten about his brother having a baby, or maybe he’d pushed the thought away because he didn’t like to think about it. It wasn’t his proudest moment how he acted when Tommy first told him the news. He’d been jealous and resented his brother for living his dream of being married with a kid on the way. Tommy was getting to live this happy, idyllic life, and Joel, at the time, was struggling with his fears of failing Ellie and getting her killed. It’d been too much to hear his brother had a kid on the way, making Joel dwell on the fact that Tommy had been right, his life had stopped all those years ago, and he couldn’t stand how his brother and everyone else in this town were living like the world hadn’t ended.

It didn’t feel fair to him, not with all he’d been through.

Of course, he wants to be happy for Tommy. He really does. He wants to be able to share in his joy, but it hurts so fucking bad being reminded of how close he’d gotten to having what his brother has now.

He lets air fill his lungs and slowly lets it out.

At least he’s got you back. And Ellie.

He’d started living again the moment Ellie had forgiven him, shoving her bag into his arms the last time they were in Jackson and telling him, ‘Let’s go.’ They went, and the journey wasn’t easy, both coming far too close to death to be comfortable. He found you, or you found him as it were, and now he’s getting his chance to live a happy, idyllic life married to you, and together, you’ll care for Ellie.

That sounds pretty fucking perfect to him.

A wife and a kid. Wouldn't have even crossed his mind a year ago—a fever dream.

“Someone married you,” you say in disbelief, taking Joel from his thoughts, “and is having your baby? I know the apocalypse happened, but did hell freeze over, too?”

“I forgot how fuckin’ mean you are, Doc,” Tommy chuckles.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Joel whispers, receiving a playful swat to his shoulder from you.

“I’m not mean,” you grumble.

He has to hold in his groan as he twists his body to pat your thigh. “No, you’re not,” he tells you. “You’re perfect.”

“Stop lyin’ to her,” Tommy says. “And I’ll have you know that I’ve matured, Doc, now that I’m older.”

Joel turns back, squinting his eyes at the other man. “You almost got yourself killed by bein’ dumb…” Joel replies.

“It was for old time’s sake.”

“Well, congrats, Tommy,” you tell him. “You were always so good with Sarah. I know you’ll be a great dad.”

Tommy smiles. “Thanks, Doc. I’m nervous but excited. Put together the nursery myself.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair and see y’all in a bit. Joel?”

Their eyes meet. “Yeah?”

“For all that’s holy, put on some fuckin’ clothes. We don’t need you bein’ our first prisoner in the town jail for public indecency.”

Joel glares at his brother. “You’re right,” Joel replies. “It’s time for you to get the fuck out. We’ll see you at the church.

Tommy laughs as he leaves, hearing his footsteps thudding down the stairs and the slam of the front door.

He presses his hands to his face, “Fuckin’ asshole,” he mumbles into them.

There’s movement as you crawl up behind him, wrapping your arms around his front and resting your chin on his shoulder.

“You okay, babe?”

His arms go over yours to keep you in place, turning his head to look at you. “Yeah,” he answers. “I’m fine. Had a rude awakenin’, is all.”

“Do you wanna talk about becoming an uncle?”

He lets out a long sigh. “There’s nothin’ to talk about—I’m happy for Tommy.”

“Joel, you don’t have to lie to me. It would be reasonable if you were feeling hurt that your brother is living such a great life and having a baby. I’m…” you pause, chewing on your lip. Your voice is small when you keep speaking, “I’m sorry I can’t give you children, and I’d understand if you wanted to find someone else you could have a family with.”

Hissing in pain, he’s standing quickly and turning around to face you, getting back onto the bed on his knees, not understanding why you’d even say such a thing—not after everything you’ve both been through to find each other again.

Is this you getting cold feet? Do you not want to marry him? Did he rush things?

His hands cup your face, making sure you’re looking him in the eyes.

“What?” he asks. “Are you second guessin’ marryin’ me? Was it ‘cause of how I woke up?”

He’s scared.

“What?” You look confused, your hands rubbing up his bare chest. “I want to marry you. Your reaction this morning was warranted.” Letting out a slow sigh, you continue, “Just, I know how much you’d wanted kids, how we wanted kids, and I wouldn’t blame you, now that you’re in a place like this, if you wanted to settle down and start a family.”

His face pinches in confusion, saying slowly, “Baby, we have a family… You, me, Ellie, we’re a family, and you’re all I need. You’re the only woman I want to be with.” He swallows hard. “I can’t stomach bringin’ any more children into this world—I’ve lost too many.” He inhales deeply, letting it out slowly. “I… uh, struggle with my need to keep Ellie safe. It’s always on my mind, and it scares me that I’ll end up gettin’ her killed like… like…”

“Sarah?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Like Sarah. I know Ellie isn’t her. I’m very aware. They’re so… different.”

You smile softly. “But they would’ve loved each other.”

He smiles, “Yeah. I reckon they would. Sarah would’ve found Ellie funny.”

“Oh, yeah.” You grin. “Would’ve loved Ellie’s terrible puns.”

He’s fondly thinking about it as he says, “She had a book full of ‘em. They were fuckin’ awful—if you think my jokes are bad, these were worse.”

Laughing, you reply, “I love your dad jokes. They would’ve enjoyed music together, too.”

“That they would. Both would’ve given me shit if I played guitar for them.”

“Affectionately, because they can’t reveal how much they actually love it to avoid seeming uncool. I miss your singing. Remember the first time you played for me?”

“Sarah’s thirteenth birthday party.” He nods. “We were hidin’ away in my bedroom while the livin’ room was overrun with teen girls, and I was tryin’ my damndest to woo you by playin’ some Ben E. King.”

“Oh, you wooed me.” You smirk. “Stand by Me was always my favorite.”

“I know.” He smiles. “I’ll have to see about findin’ a guitar.” He’s gotta play for Ellie and you. “What we were discussion’,” he says. “Ellie’s different, and I know it. She can shoot a gun and protect herself—has protected herself when I wasn’t there.” He frowns. ”I worry about her constantly. Somethin’ inside me needs to know she’s okay. If I’m like this with a girl capable of killin’, how would I be with a baby? It honest to god frightens me, and I’m sure I’d end up worryin’ myself to death.”

Your arms loop around his neck, a tender expression on your face. “As a doctor, I can tell you it makes sense that you’re overprotective of your living child. Hopefully, being here in Jackson and not constantly on guard will ease some of the worries. Just know I’m here if you ever wanna talk.”

“Thank you, baby,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you. When he pulls back, he looks you in the eyes. “I’m happy with all we have,” he says truthfully, “and there’s nothin’ for you to be sorry about—Ellie is more than plenty.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” There’s something he can tell you to ease your mind, and it makes him smile crookedly. “As a matter of fact, me bein’ able to fuck you full of my come with no risk of knockin’ you up really riles me up—gets me harder than a fuckin’ rock. I’m happy as a fuckin’ clam, baby.”

Your eyes go a little wide. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “You’ve got whatever the opposite of a breeding kink is.” You looked away, eyebrows creasing as you thought aloud, “Would it just be a creampie kink? No, ‘cause it turns you on that, there’s no risk of pregnancy. Wait, a birth control kink. You’ve got a birth control kink.” Your gazes meet, a grin on your face looking beyond delighted, as you playfully slap his chest. “I thought I knew all your kinks and fetishes, and look at you keeping me on my toes.” Leaning forward, you kiss him, Joel moaning when you shove your tongue into his mouth to tangle with his own, his hands holding your face, meeting your energy until you both need to breathe and separate. “I feel better knowing you’re happy with what we have because I’m happy, too,” you pant.

“Good,” he replies, smiling. Joel kisses you quickly. “We better get ready,” he says when he pulls back, a grin on his lips. “We got a date with an officiant.”

You’re smiling just as brightly, and it has butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He almost can’t believe this is happening, that you’re here, and in—he looks over at the clock on the bedside table—an hour and a half, you’ll be his wife, something you should’ve been twenty years ago. He’s missed too much time with you and won’t waste any more.

“It’s about damn time,” you reply.

“Don’t I know it.”

It’s obvious you’re both excited with how quickly you’re getting off the bed. Turns are taken in the bathroom, then it’s going through the bag of clothes Tommy had brought over. Neither of you expected to look like a traditional bride and groom; wedding dress stores no longer existed, and there definitely weren’t places to buy a suit. He asked your opinion on what he should wear, settling on a black and charcoal-colored plaid shirt with some dark wash jeans that were a tad tighter than he was used to. You did the same, showing him potential outfits and trying things on before you went with a cream-colored cable knit sweater over a white tank top and some light blue jeans that hugged your hips perfectly, but were too long in the legs, having to bunch them over the top of your boots.

Once dressed, you’d made your way down to the kitchen to eat the breakfast Tommy had left. Sitting at the kitchen table, you’re across from each other, barely coming up for air as the two of you eat your plates of eggs and bacon, the best fucking thing Joel has eaten since the last time he was in Jackson. You’re setting your water down after taking a gulp, a thoughtful expression on your face.

“You know what would’ve made today perfect?” you ask him.

“Hmm?” Joel hums around a bite, his eyes on yours.

“If Sarah were here.”

The sadness hits him like a truck, taking him off balance with how it slams into him.

He swallows his food, setting down his fork, frowning as he looks at you. “I wish she were here, too,” he says sadly.

A small smile appears on your lips. “I’d been so nervous the first time I met her because I didn’t want her to hate me.”

“There’s no way in hell she would’ve hated you.”

“Kids are really protective of their parents, and you’re the only one she had since birth,” you point out. “Then, for the first time in her life, you started dating. The cards were stacked against me—there were a ton of reasons for her to hate me.”

“She, uh—” he scratched at the back of his neck “—was always tellin’ me I needed to find someone, and then I met you and told her about meetin’ you. When our first date went so well, she was beggin’ me to meet you. I’d tell her about you, and she approved. You had nothin’ to worry about.”

“That makes me happy. You know, almost a year in, she said she hoped you’d marry me.”

He smiles. “Oh, she was tryin’ real hard to get me to pop the question—kept suggestin’ romantic places, she even said I should take you to Paris,” he chuckles, “and I’d have to remind her that I was waitin’ for the first year of your residency to end so you wouldn’t be stressed about a weddin’. Then there was the hiccup with you gettin’ fired—”

“Forcibly relocated,” you interrupt.

“Right.” He smiles. “There was the hiccup of you bein’ forcibly relocated and out of work for those few months, just didn’t seem right at the time, which was dumb, I know. So, by the time you’d started makin’ up your time at the clinic, I was done waitin’. I asked Sarah’s permission a week before my birthday, and she’d wanted to help me pick out a ring.” He frowns. “I’d been busy with that job, and well...” He sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair, leaving it unsaid because you two were very aware of what happened. “What I’m tryin’ to say is—” your eyes were on his “—Sarah loved you from the very beginnin’, and she would be so fuckin’ happy that we’re finally gettin’ married.”

You sniffle, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “I miss her so fucking much, Joel.”

His throat was closing up, having to clear it before he could speak. “I miss her, too, baby—every fuckin’ day.” He has to wipe at his eyes, something coming to him suddenly. “Last time I was here in Jackson, Tommy tried givin’ me a picture of her and me—one of the Polaroids that’d been on the fridge.” Sarah had been obsessed with the Polaroid camera you got her for her thirteenth birthday, the refrigerator littered with pictures of her with Joel, you, and Tommy, some a combination of the four of you. “I didn’t take it, couldn’t, not when I was thinkin’ if Ellie stayed with me, she’d end up like her. I didn’t want the reminder.”

There’s sadness on your face. “Oh, babe,” you say, “we’ll have to get it from him. Maybe put together a little memorial for her somewhere in the house.”

“I’d like that.” He nodded. “We could do somthin’ for Hope, too.”

“I’d like that,” you reply softly.

He nods. “We better finish eatin’” He points at your plate. “They’ll be expectin’ us.”

You smile. “Yes, they will.”

It’s a beautiful spring day, the sun shining high above in the clear sky.

It caught him off guard when you took his hand as you exited the house. Normally he wouldn’t want to be without his dominant hand in case he needed to use a weapon, but then your fingers intertwined with his, reminding him of times spent walking around the mall or the park, and the little smile on his face said that he didn’t mind, he actually quite liked it. Hand in hand, the stroll to the House of Worship has you taking in more of the town. It throws him a bit how people smile as they pass or offer quick greetings, it feeling foreign when Joel tries to politely smile back.

“I can’t believe it’s an actual functioning town,” you marvel beside him. “Electricity, water, sewer. I wonder how they found people to get things working again. They’d need engineers, electricians, and plumbers, too. Add in the fact they’re producing enough food to feed hundreds of people, and that’d require people with ample husbandry knowledge. They really got lucky.”

“Probably found people with backgrounds,” he replies. “I did construction, but I know my way around some electrical and plumbin’. Don’t know if I could get a dam workin’—if I had a manual, I’m sure I could figure it out.” He shrugs.

You glance at him. “It’s true you can learn a lot just from reading—don’t need fancy degrees anymore.”

“I reckon you’re a much better doctor than anyone who learned after the outbreak. Your fancy degree still means somthin’.”

“I guess.”

“I know it does, baby,” he says, leaning over to kiss the top of your head.

The House of Worship is an old church along the main street, the wooden siding of the building painted a deep red, with the entrance coated in white. It’s traditional looking, with the tall steeple containing a bell and its gabled roof that made the front look like an ‘A.’ The inside had the vaulted ceilings that you’d expect and rows of pews that led to the front where a plain podium stood, no holy symbols anywhere since it was multifaith. The place was empty, the tall windows along the walls letting in light from outside and illuminating everything.

“Five bucks says Tommy’s late,” your voice echoes in the large room, turning your head to look at Joel, his hand still engulfing your own.

“That’s easy money, baby.” He meets your eyes, looking amused.

“Wanna walk me down the aisle?” you ask.

Letting go of your hand, he straightens his back, it aching a little as he offers you his arm with a grin, answering, “Gladly.”

You hook your arm through his. “Ready?” you ask.

“Born ready,” he responds.

It doesn’t feel right that there’s no music, imagining that if this was before the outbreak, you probably would’ve walked down the aisle to the “Bridal Chorus.” Now, though, you’re thinking it needs to be something different, wracking your brain for the perfect song when it hits you, your lips turning up when you both face forward.

As you slowly start walking, you start humming loud enough for Joel to hear. He’s silent for a second, and you know with how much he loves music, he’ll recognize it.

“Etta James?” he asks, glancing at you with a curious expression.

“It felt fitting,” you reply, not feeling any embarrassment when you do your best impression of the singer, singing the opening line of “At Last.”

He huffs out an amused breath.

There’s a reason you studied sciences instead of the arts, and it’s because you’re not very talented in any of them; your singing voice is pretty lousy. Warmth spreads through your body when Joel jumps in on the second verse, sounding a bit rusty as he softly sings with you, making your way down the aisle.

The song isn’t finished when you get to the front of the church, both of you stopping on the same line. There’s a pause where you’re standing in silence, a circular window high above behind the podium showing the blue sky.

There are nerves swirling in your belly, even though you know you have nothing to worry about. Marrying Joel felt so right and was always what you’d wanted, now getting to make your dream come true. You’ve been alone for so long and lost so much in the past that you’re nervous about having people in your life to love and care about again, knowing they could be taken from you in the blink of an eye. You’re not sure how you’d survive if you lost Joel again; hell, it’d fuck you up if something happened to Ellie or even Tommy. These are your people, they’re all you have left, and you can’t worry about the morbid possibilities. You just need to focus on the right now and enjoy what you have, living every day to the fullest.

There’s something else you know without a doubt that Joel is feeling, too, and it’s the sadness weighing on your chest that Sarah is missing today.

Joel clears his throat beside you, his voice rough with emotion when he says, “You know, she’s here with us.”

“I know,” you reply truthfully.

Unhooking his arm from yours, he undoes the button on his left cuff, carefully rolling up the sleeve to his forearm, doing the same with his right. He turns to face you, and you do the same to look him in the eyes, seeing that sadness in the dark depths.

Gently, he grabs your left hand, bringing it up to softly kiss each knuckle, lowering it after a moment, his thumb rubbing over what he kissed. “It’s silly,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “She, uh, fixed this watch and gave it to me as a gift?” He holds up his left arm to show you his favorite watch that had broken, the glass now splintered. “It broke again when she died. The time it stopped on, well…” Your heart squeezes, feeling your eyes burn. “It’s,” the word cracks. He takes a deep breath, trying again, “It’s all I’ve had left of her. I keep it to keep her with me. She’s here.”

You cradle his cheek with your right hand, replying, “She is.” You nod. “She’ll always be with us, Joel.”

The door at the back of the church opens, both of you tensing, and looking toward it, the emotions dispersing as you go on high alert.

“It’s so much bigger than it looks outside,” Ellie’s voice echoes while walking quickly down the center aisle, looking around at everything, a visibly pregnant woman waddling slowly behind her. Ellie’s nose crinkles. “Smells fucking weird.”

“It’s an old buildin’,” the woman replies. “Old buildin’s smell.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Ellie’s finally made it to you, her attention on Joel as you both turn toward her. “Well, you’re not in a wheelchair, so your hips—”

“Are fuckin’ fine,” he grumbles.

The amusement is clear on the young girl’s face.

“Thank god for that,” she says. “Imagine traveling across the fucking country and almost dying multiple times, only to get to your destination where you cripple yourself from not being able to keep it in your pants. That’d be so fucking embarrassing,” she laughs.

“Well, that didn’t happen, so there’s nothin’ for me to be embarrassed about,” he retorts.

“Oh, there’s plenty for your old ass to be embarrassed about, Joel,” she replies. “You couldn’t even make it to the top floor of that building in KC. There was that time you couldn’t find the shit you stashed or, oh my god, how fucking smelly you get—which good on you, cleaning up for Doc.”

He lets out a long sigh, his hands on his hips. “You done?” he asks.

“I’m sure I’ll think of other shit, but for now? Yeah.” She nods.

“Thank you for bein’ here,” he tells her.

“Like I’d fucking miss you assholes getting your happily ever after, or whatever. Plus, I’ve never been to a wedding. Read about them, though. Wanna see what the fuss is all about, you know?”

“This should be pretty straightforward,” you respond, Joel and Ellie looking at you. “Just someone leading the ceremony and us saying vows to each other. Back in ye olden times, some people had crazy long ceremonies with a lot of speeches, but that’s not really us. We’re doing this more traditionally.”

“Yeah,” Joel agrees. “We’re not needin’ no sermons or someone waxin’ poetic about the sanctity of marriage.”

“Weddings sound exhausting,” Ellie replies.

“Oh, they could be,” you say. “Super boring, too.”

The woman spoke up, standing beside Ellie, “Tommy and I just did a small ceremony, like what y’all are doin’ with some close friends, and we exchanged our rings.”

“You must be Maria,” you say, sticking out your hand and introducing yourself, wanting to be cordial. “Most people call me Doc, and it’s kinda stuck.” You shrug as she shakes your hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she replies, letting go of your hand.

“Are you guys gonna get rings?” Ellie asks, pointing between you and Joel.

“Rings are hard to find…” you answer.

“Not when you live here,” Maria responds, smiling. “We’ve got a smith in town who can make you some—she does it for all newlyweds as a gift.”

Your eyes widen.

“Oh, I’d love a ring,” you say. Looking at Joel, you ask, “Joel?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I’d like one, too. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You can call me Maria, Joel, and there’s no need to thank me,” she says. “It’s Valerie who makes ‘em, and I’ll let her know you’ll be stoppin’ by to get sized.”

“Well, thank you for doin’ that,” he responds.

“You’re welcome, Joel.” She nods.

You can tell Maria doesn’t particularly love Joel, but there’s nothing about how she’s looking at him, speaking to him, or her body language that says she hates him. If anything, it’s more indifference, her coming to terms with him being her brother-in-law and now a part of her life, so she has to make some kind of effort for things not to be awkward. Joel’s doing the same thing. It's almost like they’ve silently agreed that this is how things will be—civil and nothing more.

“Thank you for giving us a place to stay, Maria,” you tell her. “The house is lovely, and Jackson is so wonderful.”

“Y’all are more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” she says. “Joel’s family, and you’re about to be family, too. I know Tommy’s excited to have all of you here.”

“Speakin’ of my brother,” Joel cuts in. “Where is he…? And whoever's officiating, for that matter.”

As if on cue, the door to the church opens, and Tommy comes striding in. He’s in jeans, a light blue button-up tucked into them, with the ugliest brown and mustard yellow striped tie around his neck, and a navy blue suit jacket about a size too big for him—he even slicked back his hair. “Sorry, I’m late,” he announces. “Had the worst fuckin’ time findin’ a goddamn tie.”

“Going without one would look better than whatever that abomination is,” you reply, pointing.

He frowns. “This is a tie-wearin’ occasion, so I’m wearin’ one.”

“You didn’t wear a tie when we got married…” Maria says slowly.

“‘Cause I love ya and wouldn’t want you havin’ to look at this eyesore.” He replies, holding up the tie.

“So, you don’t love us?” you ask him. “What are we, chopped liver?”

“Liver and onions ain’t too bad,” he answers. “And, of course, I fuckin’ love y’all, too.”

He makes it to your group, going over to Maria, his hand on her swollen stomach as he kisses her sweetly. “Hey, honey.” He smiles at her, and she grins back. He looks toward you and Joel. “I’ll take it introductions were made? Doc, you met my wife—” He’s rubbing her belly. “—and mother of my kid?”

“Yep,” you answer. “We met.”

“Good. Well, everybody’s here, so we can start.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Joel asks. “Where’s the minister or whoever the fuck you got to do the ceremony?” His arms cross over his chest.

A shit-eating grin appears on Tommy’s face, the one that means he’s up to no good and is about to say something that is going to aggravate Joel. “You’re lookin’ at him.”

Joel’s eyes squint. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he grits out. “You’re not marryin’ us—the towns gotta have someone ordained or somethin’.”

“It just so happens Jackson does: Me.”

“This ain’t funny, Tommy.”

“Remember when you told me you were gonna marry her?” Tommy nods his head toward you.

“Yeah..?”

“Well, I went ahead and got myself ordained to do your weddin’—ain’t no skin off my back. I did it on the computer.” He looks proud of himself.

“What?” Joel sounds like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Why on God’s green earth would you think we’d have you do our weddin’? We probably would’ve had the minister at the church ma, and pop went to do it.”

“That man was older than sin and long dead now.”

“You’re not marryin’ us.”

Tommy matched Joel’s pose, crossing his arms over his own chest and staring his brother down.

“Then I guess you’re not gettin’ married.”

Joel scoffed. “We’re gettin’ married. We can do it ourselves.”

“Joel?” you said, putting your hand on his arm.

He met your eyes, the angry look on his face immediately disappearing. “Yeah, baby?”

“I don’t have a problem with Tommy marrying us. I think it’s sweet he got ordained.” You pointedly look at Tommy, saying in a tone that brokers no argument. “And I know Tommy would be very serious about the whole thing because he knows how important this is to us.”

Tommy’s hands go up in defense. “Hey, now, I’m not takin’ this job lightly,” he says.

Looking back at Joel, you say, “See, he means well, and I kinda like the idea of him doing it. We’ve got our whole family here—him, Ellie, Maria. Why not let him be involved?” You shrug.

He’s frowning, sighing out, “Fine.” He glares at his brother. “Don’t say anythin’ stupid—this is a big day for us. Keep it simple.”

“I can do that.”

“Okay.” Joel nods. His face softens when he looks over at Ellie. “Would you, uh, care to be my best man or woman, as it were?”

Surprise is on her face. “You want me to be your best man?” She points at herself.

“Well, yeah?” He sounds unsure as he keeps talking, eyes darting away, “Or, if you’d rather be the maid of honor, I’m sure Doc would be happy to have ya by her side.”

Ellie makes a face, meeting your eyes. “No offense, Doc, but I’m not feeling, ‘maid of honor.’” Her attention moves back to Joel, grinning. “But best man sounds fucking cool. What do I do?”

Joel’s smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Just gotta stand next to me and be my moral support. Unfortunately, I don’t have a ring for you to hold.”

“That’s fine,” she replies. “I can stand beside you—catch you if you faint, make sure you say your lines, oh! Offer you a handkerchief when you start crying like a baby.”

“You don’t have a handkerchief…”

“Or do I?”

“Do you?”

“Of course not. Where the fuck would I get a handkerchief? My plan if you become a blubbering mess is to just, like, wipe at your face with the sleeves of my sweater.” She holds up her arms to show her maroon zip-up hoodie that’s a little baggy on her.

“I’m not gonna cry…”

There’s a shift, her playful expression melting away, replaced with a soft look showing earnestness and trust, her voice a little quieter like she’s trying not to scare him away, “You know it’s okay if you do, right?” she asks. “I won’t think any less of you, Joel. This whole thing is really fucking exciting, and I’d expect some tears, so don’t worry about me, okay?”

“Okay,” he replies, the word coming out rougher.

“So,” she starts, looking around at the adults. “How is this going down? In the books I’ve read, there’s music and people walking down the aisle and shit.”

Tommy walks around everyone to stand in front of the podium, everyone turning to look at him. “They’ll be over here and stand in front of me, you next to Joel, and I’ll get this show on the road.”

“I’m sitting,” Maria says, taking a seat in the first pew, her hand resting on her belly.

Your head turns toward Joel, him meeting your eyes. “You ready?” he asks.

The nerves you felt earlier had disappeared, and now you’re just excited. Sure, you hadn’t envisioned Tommy Miller doing your wedding ceremony, but you know, without a doubt, he’ll do his best. Even with him being a pain in the ass sometimes, he’s always been a sweetheart who loves his brother dearly—loved his niece a whole lot, too—and he’ll go out of his way to make this special.

You smile, taking his hand. “Let’s get married,” you answer.

He gives you a beaming smile, and quickly you’re moving to where Tommy had indicated, you on his left and Joel on his right.

Ellie pats Joel on the back, hearing her whisper, ‘You got this,’ him twisting a little to say back, ‘Thanks, Ellie.

Tommy pulls out a piece of notebook paper from his back pocket with writing on both sides, unfolding it to read from, and you’re impressed that he put in so much thought. Your hands are in front of you, Joel holding them, his thumbs rubbing over your knuckles, him smiling softly.

“Welcome, everyone,” Tommy starts, looking between you all and glancing at his notes. “Now, I’ve been to my fair share of weddings. They were all before everythin’ went to hell, and a lotta them started with how gettin’ married was the beginnin’ of some remarkable journey, yadda yadda yadda, you get the picture. That don’t quite work for Joel and Doc. No, their remarkable journey started in the summer of 2002, and I remember the day they met ‘cause Joel called me askin’ if I could come over the next day to hang out with Sarah since he asked his doctor out on a date—let me just tell y'all, I was confused as all get out ‘cause our doctor was a man in his 60s, with a bad combover, that was happily married, and I was under the impression, Joel was only attracted to women. My brother and I were raised that you love who you love—skin color, gender, none of that shit matters, which was pretty progressive for Texas. So, Joel tellin’ me he was goin’ on a date with his doctor, I thought he was comin’ out to me, and Joel, do you remember what I said?”

Joel snorts, replying, “‘Dr. Carlson’s a great guy. Where ya fellas goin’?”

You remember what Dr. Carlson looked like, which has you laughing hard with everyone else.

“That’s what I said,” Tommy continues, amused. “I was just happy my brother was goin’ on a date, didn’t care who with. He’d corrected me that it was a new doctor, and I’m not jokin’ when I say that Joel jabbered on and on about her for a solid hour, and I knew he had it bad. That was only the beginnin’ and after their first date? I knew he’d found the one.” Tommy looks at Joel. “I apologize for airin’ your personal business—” he went back to addressing everyone “—but Joel had bad luck with women, mostly ‘cause he went out with the wrong ones who didn’t much care for him havin’ a kid. But then he met Doc, who loved him, and his daughter, and I can tell y’all that Sarah—” Emotion is thick in his voice, already feeling tears starting to form in your eyes. “—woulda been happier than a hog in mud that they’re finally gettin’ hitched.” He’s fondly smiling. “I think her exact words would be, ‘Oh, thank god, took ya long enough.’” You and Joel chuckle, a tear falling down your cheek, his eyes watery, knowing he was hearing in his mind her saying those exact words just as you were. “Seein’ these two together,” Tommy kept speaking, “they just make sense. Aside from my wife, and I, I’ve never seen a more perfect couple—they complement and balance each other, and honestly, couldn’t have picked better partners. I only saw their relationship from the outside, but boy, could I feel their love; I can still feel it, and that love is what’s brought them here today. I don’t know that remarkable is the right word to describe their journey to get here—impossible seems more fittin’, and if there’s one thing they’ve shown me, it’s that soulmates exist.” Ellie scoffs, Tommy looking at her with a smile. “I know it’s cheesy, but hear me out. You familiar with Greek mythology?”

“No…?” she answers, and you’re wondering where he’s going with this.

“Myths are stories passed on by people that explain things about the world, like how it was created and such. Pretty much just people makin’ shit up and tellin’ each other until they thought it was true, but there’s this one I heard once about soulmates. It goes that when humans were created by Gods—the Greeks had more than one,” he clarifies, “they had four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. They weren’t fragile like we are now, they were pretty freakin’ powerful, and it made them fearless enough to challenge the Gods, and they sure didn’t care for that, so to take the humans down a peg, they were split into two, and were forced to spend their lives searchin’ for their other half. Sounds kinda familiar, right?” he asks her.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

“Right? You’ve got these two who had a happy life together and were torn apart. I, uh—” Tommy audibly gulps “—didn’t know if Joel could live without her if I’m honest. They kept searchin’, ‘cause that’s how deep their love goes, just never stoppin’, and it took twenty goddamn years for them to find each other again, but they did—found their other halves, ‘cause they're meant to be together. So, us bein’ in this church today? It’s been a long time comin’ and marks the beginnin’ of a new chapter in their lives—one where they’re back together and finally gettin’ to live as husband and wife.” Tommy looks between you and Joel. “Before we get into it, I gotta thank you both. Even though I was jealous of what you have, it gave me a blueprint for what I wanted in a relationship.” He smiles softly. “Our story isn’t as crazy as yours, but I found it with Maria—she’s my soulmate.”

His wife starts booing from her seat, and everyone erupts in laughter. “This ain’t about us,” Maria teases. “You’re embarrassin’ me.”

“Sorry, honey, was just tellin’ the truth.”

“You can tell it later. Keep goin’.”

“Gotta listen to my wife,” he chuckles, looking at his paper quickly. “Does anyone object to this union? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Do people actually object?” Ellie asks. “What happens if they do?”

“Nothin’,” Joel answers, looking over his shoulder at her. “The person gets kicked out.”

You lean to the side to meet her eyes. “The objection part was for back before there were public records, so if there was a legitimate reason for the couple not to wed, like one of them was already married, someone with the knowledge would object, and the wedding would stop. In modern days, people who objected usually wanted to proclaim their love to the bride or groom.”

“That sounds really fucking awkward.”

“It was.”

You straighten, your attention back on Tommy as he starts speaking, “We are gathered here today to join these two in the union of marriage and celebrate their love. We all know the seriousness of the commitment bein’ entered and recognize that they have a truly special bond. Go ahead and look at each other; you’re gonna wanna remember this.”

Looking into Joel’s eyes, you take in the rich chocolate color and how they’re gleaming with unshed tears. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, those grey waves of his combed back from his face, and his pouty lips turned up in a happy little smile, him looking so unbelievably handsome. There may be more lines on his face, signs that he’s aged, but staring at him in this moment, he still looks like the man you fell in love with all of those years ago, and you can see him, can perfectly picture that Joel having this same expression on his face.

“And now,” Tommy begins reading from what he’d written, “Joel, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to protect her, to comfort her, to share in the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, and whatever life might throw your way?”

“I do,” he answers so clearly, hearing how much he means the two words, and it makes you sniffle.

Tommy says your name, addressing you, “Do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to protect him, to comfort him, to share in the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, and whatever life might throw your way?”

“I do,” you reply with the same conviction as Joel, and he smiles, a tear falling down his face.

The other man’s attention is on Joel, “Joel, repeat after me, I, Joel Miller, take you—” He says your full name, “—to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and protect always, holdin’ unto you forevermore.”

Joel’s gaze is locked on yours, his voice thick as he repeats what Tommy told him to. Your lip is trembling, feeling so happy you want to cry.

“Doc, repeat after me,” Tommy starts, “I—” He uses your full name, “—take you, Joel Miller, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and protect always, holdin’ unto you forevermore.”

“—take you, Joel Miller, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and protect always, holding unto you forevermore.” He can hear the truth in every word you speak, knowing you mean them all, and it has warmth spreading through his veins, feeling like he might be floating with how happy he is.

You’re on the verge of tears, smiling at him, and looking so beautiful that he’s saving it to memory how you look at this very second, wanting to remember it always.

Tommy’s grinning. “By the power vested in me by some online church, I forgot the name of and the town of Jackson, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” He looks at Joel, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice, his hands moving up to cradle your jaw while he moves in, fusing his lips to yours in a searing kiss, ignoring the tears falling down both your cheeks. It’s a little wet, but he puts everything he’s got into kissing his wife for the first time.

His wife. He got you back, and now he’s married to you, and nothing else has felt more right in the world. You’re his wife.

He’s deepening the kiss, wanting you to feel his love, his happiness, his devotion, that the vows you made to each other are the real deal, and he meant every single one—he will live as your husband until the end of his days, following you even in death, loving you forever, doing everything he can to honor you, protecting you with his life, being there when you need comfort, happy to share whatever good times await you and be with you through the bad, knowing he’ll never leave your side in sickness and in health, and that you’re stuck with him no matter what life throws in your way, because like Tommy said, you’re meant to be together—went through literal hell to find each other, and he never wants to lose you again.

There might be some credence to the stuff his brother said about soulmates. When Joel lost you, it felt like he’d lost a chunk of himself, and having you back has filled that void.

“Is the kiss supposed last this long?” Ellie whispers to Tommy. “It’s like he’s eating her face.”

You must hear her with how you snort, breaking the kiss so you can giggle, Joel sighing, Tommy and Maria laughing.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about,” he replies, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

“Let’s all hit the bar to celebrate,” Tommy says.

Joel nods at his brother, who starts walking over to his pregnant wife to help her up from her seat.

It just seems like the natural thing, Joel taking your hand as you both turn around toward the door, his attention moving to Ellie beside him.

“What’d ya think?” he asks her.

She smiles. “Disgustingly sappy, but I liked it. That soulmate shit was cool. I gotta do my best man duties—can you get down a little? You’re too fucking tall.”

Confused by her request, his eyebrows crease, but he slightly bends his knees. Ellie covers her hand with her maroon sleeve, pressing it to his left cheek, and it feels like his throat is going to close up that she’s wiping away the tear tracks. Her tongue is peeking out in concentration as she gets one cheek, then the other, giving him a once over and moving her head to get different angles, ensuring she gets all the wetness.

“Done!” she says, her arm dropping to her side. “How’s Doc’s face? Does she need me to help her out, too?”

He stands to his full height, his head swiveling your way and finding you’ve used your own sleeve to clean your face.

You lean past him to look at her. “I’m good, Ellie,” you reply with a smile. “Thank you, though.”

“No problem.”

The young girl is next to him as you leave the church, Tommy and Maria leading. His brother has an arm around his wife’s waist as they walk, and Joel’s holding your hand.

“So,” Ellie begins. “If we’re going to the bar, does that mean I get to have a celebratory drink, too..?”

“No,” all four of the adults say simultaneously.

“Geez, you guys are no fun.”

“There’s juice for you and me,” Maria replies, looking over her shoulder at the teen.

“Great,” Ellie grumbles, and it makes Joel smile.

The bar is how he remembers it from the last time he was here, except the mood is lighter this go around, and the place is just as empty as before.

“Holy shit!” Ellie exclaims, beelining for a corner. “Mortal Kombat?!”

He remembers how excited she’d been seeing the old arcade game when they’d stopped on their way to Bill and Frank’s. She said her friend knew everything about it, and Ellie seemed to love the character Mileena. She’s pressing the buttons and jerking the joystick. “Does it work?” she twists her body to ask.

You and Joel are standing with her while Tommy goes behind the bar, Maria taking a seat at a table near her husband.

“No,” Tommy replies, frowning. “Sorry, kid. We tried gettin’ it to run, but somethin’ in its fried. The jukebox works, though.” He points to the opposite corner where the machine sits. It was one from the 80s modeled after jukeboxes from the forties and fifties but updated to play CDs, with colorful lights glowing on the front. “There should be quarters in the bucket on that table by it.”

Ellie immediately went to it, the arcade game forgotten, hearing her clicking the button to flip through the track listings. The two of you headed for the bar, Tommy having set five glasses onto the bartop and was currently using an ice pick to break ice from a block.

“Tommy?” Maria calls.

“Yes, dear?” he answers, putting ice into each cup.

“Can you show ‘em what we got?”

“Yeah.” Tommy moves a few steps away to grab something, then sets it up next to the glasses.

On a plate sits a small round cake covered in white icing.

His brother is smiling. “She says ‘we,’ but it was really her,” Tommy confides in you both. “An olive branch, if you will.”

You’re turning to tell Maria, “Thank you. This was very thoughtful of you.”

The other woman waves away your words, replying, “It was nothin’. Can’t have a weddin’ without cake.”

“Well, thank you. We appreciate it.” You’re hugging Joel’s arm, looking up at him. “Right, Joel? We appreciate it very much.”

“That we do,” he responds, his head moving to look at the other woman. “Thank you, Maria.”

“You’re welcome, Joel.” She nods.

He doesn’t think they’ll ever be best friends, but she’s been friendlier this time around.

“I’ve never heard this song,” Ellie’s voice is loud as she speaks. “But based on the title, I’m pretty sure it’s how Joel feels about Doc.”

“What song?” he asks, both of you turning in place, looking in her direction.

“Gimme a second. I’m trying to figure out how to work this fuckin’ thing.” There’s the sound of her struggling, and before he can go help her, you’re already heading her way.

There’s a pull for him to walk over there, too, and he has to fight it to stay back, resting his side against the bartop with his arms crossed, watching from afar.

He glances at his brother to see him pouring drinks, putting what looks to be apple juice in two of them.

His attention goes back to you and Ellie, her pointing at what he assumes is a song, which makes you laugh, and him frown because he’s dying to know which one it is.

“You’re right on the money, squirt,” you tell Ellie as you show her how to use the jukebox.

A second later, the opening to “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” by The Police starts playing, Joel snorting and shaking his head as the lyrics run through his head, seeing how they are pretty accurate—every little thing you do is magic, and you’re always turning him on.

Something inside him soothes when you beckon him over, Joel quickly walking across the bar.

He’s in front of you, and you lean in so your lips are close to his ear, asking in a whisper for only him to hear, “Is your back okay?”

You’re pulling back, searching his face. His back isn’t bothering him at the moment, and he’s able to move around fine. “Yeah,” he answers.

A toothy smile appears on your face. “Dance with me, then,” you say. “Please.”

There’s an empty space in front of the jukebox that you’re standing in that must’ve been used as a small dancefloor. He feels heat licking up his neck because he hasn’t danced in years, and there’s an audience—Ellie watching off to the side with an amused look, Tommy with a matching expression over at the bar.

“Yeah, Joel,” Ellie ribs. “Dance with her.”

“Remember, Joel,” Tommy yells. “Happy wife, happy life!”

He sighs, gulping at your hopeful expression, not wanting to disappoint you. “Apologies in advance if I step on your toes, ma’am,” he says as he pulls you into his arms—a hand around your waist, the other holding your hand, while you’re grabbing his shoulder. He goes the safe route, starting to move you both in a swaying shuffle, you grinning at him with stars in your eyes that make his heart pick up in speed.

It’s not really a slow-dancing song. It’s too upbeat and moves too quickly. His heart is in his throat when the steps come back to him as if he’s riding a bicycle, you laughing softly when he begins leading you in quicker movements around the small space. He’s smiling at your glee when he throws in a spin here and there, knowing it amuses you, always pulling you back into his arms.

Ellie is standing by the jukebox with an expression on her face like she can’t believe what she’s seeing but is delighted by it anyway.

It’s reminding him of going out with you to the bar in Austin that did live music, having a few drinks, and you pulling him onto the dancefloor with the rest of the couples. With how happy you look, he thinks you’re remembering the same thing, the both of you just letting loose and having fun.

Fun.

When was the last time he got to have carefree fun like this? Sure, he and Ellie had some fun on the road, but he was always on alert and couldn’t let his guard down. Christ, he sure as hell wasn’t having any fun before the teenager came into his life.

That means the last time he got to enjoy himself like this was on his birthday, watching his favorite movie with Sarah while waiting for you to get off work. He hadn’t found it odd you were working at such a late hour that night since your clinic in the big city was open twenty-four hours, and there were times it was so busy you couldn’t call him until the end of your shift.

And here he is, having the best time dancing with you.

He’s taken aback by how normal this all feels. He woke up that morning with you beside him, in the new house you share, got married in a church, and is now celebrating in a bar with a cake, having drinks, and dancing to music as if outside the town walls, there isn’t desolation and unimaginable horrors.

How long can Jackson remain being this little oasis amongst the apocalyptic hellscape? How much time will he get in this bliss? Too many things have happened to him to think this will last—it’s too good to be true.

The song comes to an end, and he lowers you in a dip, causing you to giggle while Ellie claps.

Pulling you back up, you grab his face and kiss him, Joel losing himself in the sensation of your lips on his, feeling you smiling.

He focuses on you in his arms and your mouth on his, grounding him and pulling him from the darkness of his thoughts, giving him hope.

Joel will do whatever he can to help keep this town safe. It’s a new beginning for the three of you; Ellie can have a somewhat normal life and get to be a kid, you can relax, and the two of you can settle down together, hopefully living out the rest of your many years here.

“Thank you for dancing with me,” you say when you pull back, taking him from his thoughts.

“Any time,” he replies, smiling.

There’s a possibility you might explode from how happy you are.

You’re married to Joel. He’s your husband.

Staring into those big brown eyes of his, a sweet smile on his lips, you start speaking, “I need you to do something for me.”

His eyebrows dip together. “Anythin’,” he responds, rubbing his big hands over your arms.

“I need you to pinch me—I’ve gotta make sure I’m not dreaming and you’re really here with me.”

The expression on his face melts into something soft. His hand dips down to pinch your hip, his other one caressing the side of your face. “There,” he says. “Believe I’m here now, baby?”

Tears spring to your eyes, grinning as you crash your mouth to his, kissing him desperately, your hands wrapping around his neck.

“I suddenly want juice,” Ellie announces to no one in particular. “So, I’m gonna go get some, so I don’t have to see this. Seriously, guys. Gross.”

Her comment has you breaking apart from Joel, giggling as you face her.

“Sorry, Ellie,” you tell her, seeing her face pinched in disgust. “We did warn you about the excessive PDA.”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Still gross. I mean, who wants to see their… their… their.”

“Dad?” you finish for her.

“He’s not my dad.” It’s said almost like a reflex, and you can see fear in her eyes.

She’s like a wounded animal, and you’re going to need to be careful. You close the distance slowly; it’s only a couple of steps.

Joel’s moved beside you, and you’re surprised when he speaks, his voice low so only the three of you can hear. “It’s okay,” he says, her gaze on him. It takes him a second to figure out his next words, and he looks away with his hands perched on his hips. “That shit I said last time we were here? I was lyin’.” He sighs. “Thought if I said it out loud, it’d be true.” He meets her eyes. “You can, uh, call me whatever you’d like—caretaker, guardian, ward, Dad. ‘Cause—” he audibly swallows. “—I think of you as my kid,” he says softly. “You’re not cargo. Never were. You’re family. My family.”

“You’re my family, too.” Her voice is quiet, looking hopeful. “Feels weird calling you, Dad, though—” She points at him “—you’re Joel.”

He smiles. “Then keep callin’ me, Joel,” he reassures. “If people ask, can I say you’re my…?”

“Daughter?” she finishes for him, smiling. “Sure.” Ellie shrugs. “And you’re my father, but—” She looks around like she’s making sure no one is listening, saying conspiratorially, “—I’m pretty sure I’m adopted.”

He snorts. “That was stupid.”

She grins. “I thought it was pretty funny, Dad.” She makes a face. “Oh, yeah, that’s fucking weird—no offense,” she adds quickly.

“None taken.”

Her eyes dart away. “I’m glad you brought me here,” she says. “And that I’ve got you—both of you now.”

“Yeah, I’m happy you’re here, too, and Ellie?”

“Yeah, Joel?” They look at each other.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Okay?”

“Okay.” She nods. “That juice sure sounds good,” she says a bit louder, making you smile because Joel hadn’t been lying that they’re both terrible at expressing their feelings to one another.

“Let’s go, kid,” he replies.

She’s already moving toward the bar, and you take his hand, both of you mosying your way over.

“Congratulations, Joel,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“It’s a fourteen-year-old girl.”

He chuckles. “What can I say?” he whispers back. “I’m a girl Dad.”

“Yes, you are.”

Taking seats at the bartop, Joel is between you and Ellie, Tommy placing drinks in front of each of you before walking out from behind the bar to take Maria her juice, holding his own glass.

“To Mr. and Mrs. Joel Miller!” Tommy toasts.

Everyone raises their glasses before taking a drink.

It’s whiskey—actual facts whiskey, and not moonshine, it sliding down your throat smoothly, relishing the burn. This was quality shit from before the outbreak that was extremely hard to find.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, staring at the glass. “This is the real fucking deal.”

“We save it for special occasions,” Tommy replies. “But we also have shit we’ve made.”

“Thank you for letting us have some,” you say, turning your head to look at him. “I haven’t had a decent drink in years.”

“You’re welcome, Doc.” He holds his cup up to you.

Joel sets his glass down, you taking another drink.

His arm goes around your waist, his other hand scratching at the back of his neck, and you can tell he’s trying to figure out what to say.

He keeps his eyes forward. “I just wanna thank y’all for makin’ today real special for us,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear. “It means a lot to us havin’ ya here.”

“Psh—” Ellie playfully punches his arm. “—like I’d miss my chance at seeing you so happy it makes you cry, and I wasn’t disappointed.”

“Yeah…”

“We ain’t done celebratin’!” Tommy exclaims. “There are gifts.”

You and Joel are turning in your seats to look at his brother.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. “You’ve done more than enough. The house, the beautiful ceremony, the cake, this booze. We can’t accept anything else.”

“Yeah, Tommy,” Joel adds. “We don’t need anythin’ else.”

“Oh, quit it,” he replies, walking back behind the bar. “Let us spoil ya today. You sure as fuck deserve it.” He’s leaning down to grab something behind the bar and coming back up, keeping his hands low so you can’t see what he’s got. “This first gift is from Maria and me.”

“Why are you lyin’ to them?” his wife asks. “That gift is all you—I got the cake.”

“‘Cause we’re married.” He sounds exasperated.

“That one’s too damn special, it’s solely from Tommy, and I had nothin’ to do with it.”

He sighs.

“This first gift is from me,” he says, the last word a little louder. “And only me.”

“We read you loud and clear,” you reply. “I am dying to know what it is.”

He looks a little unsure as he speaks, “Well, now that y’all are here together, I��m hopin’ you’ll want them.” Two Polaroid pictures are placed between you and Joel, both having faded a little over time, your breath catching in your throat, covering your mouth with a hand.

The first one is of Joel and Sarah making silly faces at the camera—him with his hair still brown and his face less worn from age. You’ve worried that over time your memory of what Sarah looks like had decayed, but here she is with her dad’s eyes, her beautiful smile, and her head full of curly hair, just as you remember.

You’re reaching out to touch the second photo of the three of you on her fourteenth birthday at Joel’s house. You’ve got your arms around her, Sarah resting her head on your shoulder, Joel hugging you both from behind, all three of you smiling at the camera.

“I, uh, told Joel this last time I saw him,” Tommy starts. “But I went back to the house some years ago. Place was picked clean—found those, though.” He points at them. “Kept one of her and me—hope that’s alright.”

Joel’s voice is thicker from emotion, “Of course it’s alright,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Tommy,” you add.

“You’re welcome.”

“Look at her,” you murmur.

“Just like I remember,” he whispers. “God, I miss that smile.”

“I do, too.”

“Can I see this one?” he asks, pointing at the one with the three of you.

“Yeah.” You move your hand to pick up the other, him taking the one he wanted gingerly between his fingers.

He stares at it for a second before showing it to Ellie. “This is Sarah,” he says to her. “My other daughter. I just know she would’ve liked you. Not that I think you’re the same. Definitely different kids, but still mine.”

“How are we different?” she asks.

“Well, she was a lot more, I wanna say girly?” He’s quickly adding, “And I’m not sayin’ that you’re not girly...”

She snorts. “I’m not.”

Joel smiles crookedly, “Yeah, you’re not. So that. She was taller. She had that killer smile.” His eyes widen, worry on his face, speaking fast, “Again, not sayin’ you don’t...”

“Chill out, Joel,” she laughs, him visibly relaxing. “She did have a killer smile. You really think she’d like me?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “You’d get on like a house on fire. She would’ve liked you ‘cause you’re funny. I think you would’ve made her laugh,” he answers thoughtfully. “The two of you love music—she had a small CD collection she would’ve liked showin’ you. And I know together you would’ve had too much fuckin’ fun givin’ me shit. Can picture you gangin’ up on me,” he chuckles. “She would’ve liked you a whole helluva a lot, and I bet you would’ve liked her back.”

“Yeah, I think I would’ve,” she replies. “Sarah sounds really fucking cool.”

He’s softly smiling, looking at the picture. “Yeah, she was the coolest.” His head swivels in her direction, “Not sayin’ you’re not cool—you’re really fuckin’ cool, too. The two of you are way cooler than me.”

She’s laughing. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” she says. “It’s okay, and it doesn’t take much to be cooler than your old ass.”

“Yeah,” Tommy speaks up, Joel and Ellie looking at him, smirking. “Sarah would’ve found you hilarious, and y’all would’ve had a blast terrorizin’ the fuck outta this asshole.” He nods his head toward Joel.

“God, Joel’s right,” you add. “They would’ve ganged up on him, just a constant Joel roast.”

“It’s already a constant Joel roast…” Joel grumbles.

Rubbing his arm, you reply, “But it’s done affectionately.”

“I guess,” he sighs.

“There’s one more gift for ya,” Tommy says.

You’re staring him down, telling him, “Tommy, the pictures are more than enough—way more than enough. We can’t accept anything else. We won’t.” You shake your head.

“She’s right,” Joel cuts in. “You’ve given us too much. There’s no fuckin’ way we can ever repay you.”

“This gift isn’t from me,” Tommy responds with a little smile. “It ain’t from Maria either.”

“Then who’s it from?” Joel asks, confusion on his face.

You’re wondering the same thing. There’s no one else in Jackson you know.

“Ellie.” He points at her, both of you turning your heads to look at her, you having to lean around Joel.

“Hey.” She puts up her hands in defense. “Tommy helped!” She points at him. “Told me I could pick out a gift for you guys, and we went around to a bunch of places last night looking at shit, and I saw something I thought you might like, but it’s probably super fucking lame, so if you wanna trade it, go for it. I have no fucking clue what to get people when they get married.”

“Hey, don’t stress,” you reply, giving her a reassuring smile. “We’re gonna love it.”

“Yeah.” Joel smiles, knocking his shoulder against hers. “We’ll love anythin’ you got us.”

She looks unsure. “I hope so.”

“What’d you get us?” you ask.

Her attention moves to Tommy.

“Is it back there?” she asks him.

“Yep,” he answers.

Ellie jumps off her barstool, walking around the bar, to lean down and grab something that seems big, but you can’t see since it’s so low, her moving back toward you both.

When she’s in sight, your eyes go wide, realizing it’s a black hardshell guitar case.

There’s pink on her cheeks, holding it out to Joel, looking down at her feet. “When, um, we were on our way to Salt Lake City, you, um, said you wanted to find a guitar?” she says it as a question. “Said you hadn’t played in forever and that you’d teach me. Which you don’t have to,” she quickly adds. “But, um, I figured if you used to play, you probably played for Doc and Sarah, and she’d maybe wanna hear you again, so a guitar, for your wedding or whatever.”

“It’s perfect,” he chokes out, and you can see his eyes glistening as he gently takes it from her. “Thank you, Ellie. I, uh, didn’t think you’d remember all that.”

She meets his eyes. “I do. Remember a lot of it. So, there you go.” She’s wringing her hands in front of her, Joel carefully setting the guitar against the bar and getting up from his chair to stand in front of her.

“Would it be alright if I hugged you?” he asks softly.

“Sure.”

He’s slow in his movements, not going too quick as he wraps his arms around her, one behind her back, the other hand cradling the back of her head, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Her own arms go around his middle, his chin nestled atop her hair.

A father holding his last living child, a daughter being held by the only parent she’s known, a comfort they’ve both needed and something to cherish.

“Thank you, baby girl,” he whispers.

This seems like a private moment, averting your eyes, Tommy doing the same.

“I’m happy you’re, uh, better,” he continues.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” she says just as softly.

“Never in a million years, I… care about you too damn much.”

“I care about you, too.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

They stay like that for seconds longer before separating, his hands on her shoulders.

“I think I promised I’d sing for you,” he tells her with a warm smile. “I apologize if I’m a bit rusty.”

“I didn’t save the world.”

“There’s still time, kiddo.” He moves back over to the black case to open it up, pulling out the mahogany acoustic guitar, its sides stained black, him admiring it. “Well, isn’t she a beauty.”

“You gonna play the thing or take it out on a date?” Ellie asks, making you giggle.

Joel’s eyes narrow at her, him moving to sit on the barstool with the guitar resting on his thighs.

“Gimme a second,” he replies, strumming his fingers over the strings, it clearly out of tune. “I gotta fix it.” His eyebrows are creased in concentration as he turns each peg to adjust the pitch of the strings until he’s satisfied, nodding his head when he strums, and it sounds right.

He’s not playing any particular song, just reacquainting himself with the chords, doing little melodies to get back into it.

Tommy walks out from behind the bar to go sit next to Maria at her little table, his arm over the back of her chair, while nursing his drink with his other hand, both of them watching Joel in interest.

Since Joel was a child, he’s been passionate about music. By the time he turned seven, he was playing guitar, and as an adult, he was so good that he only needed to hear a song once to know how to play it.

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” he says to Ellie while still playing.

She’s smiling, replying, “I won’t.”

He gives her a look.

“I won’t, I promise,” she says.

He nods his head.

“I’m trustin’ you.”

It makes sense that only after some minutes, he seems to have the hang of it, things sounding smoother, and you grin when he moves into a familiar tune—the steady rhythm with the twang as he plucks the strings, excitement bubbling in your belly over what was about to happen.

He’s focused on the guitar, his voice a deep, throaty rasp, as he starts crooning the beginning of “Stand by Me” by Ben E. King.

Tears are back in your eyes, feeling emotional that he’s playing your song.

This was the first song he’d ever played for you all those years ago, the song you’d ask him to play again and again because of how much you loved it, the song you thought would play while you shared your first dance after saying ‘I do,’ the song you could imagine him singing to your children.

And here he is, playing the guitar for the first time in over twenty years, and this is the song he’s chosen to sing, knowing how much it’d mean to you.

Joel Miller is the love of your life, has always been the love of your life, and now you get to call him your husband.

She’s honestly surprised that he’s not bad—kind of reminds her of the singer from Pearl Jam, but, like, if he were Texan and his voice was a bit deeper.

God, she misses her Walkman so fucking much, she’d kill to hear “Take on Me” again. Wait, maybe Joel knows it, and he could play it for her. She’ll have to ask him when he finishes with this song.

It’s crazy to her that this time last year, she’d been in FEDRA school, getting up to shit with Riley, and now she’s across the country, in a small town that fucking works with her—Jesus, it’s even fucking weird to think about calling him her Dad—Joel, he’s her Joel, it’ll take some time to ease into the name change. Anyways, she’s now here with Joel and Doc, who’s honestly a great addition to their team.

If anyone deserves to be reunited with their one true love like he’s living a fucking fairytale, it’s Joel, and Ellie is so fucking relieved that Doc is actually pretty great; she’s more than pretty great, actually. Doc is fucking awesome and has always been honest with her, so she knows that when Doc told her she’d try to figure out a cure, she was telling the truth, and that gives Ellie hope that she might actually get a chance at saving the world after all.

Everything she’s gone through, all of the people who’ve died for her, it all needs to fucking mean something. It has to.

Ellie’s happy for Joel and Doc, she really is, and she’ll never admit it out loud, but she’s scared. Not that, like, Joel will forget about her now that he has a wife. No, they care about her too much, and that’s what scares her.

For the first time in her entire fucking life, she has a family—Joel, Doc, even Tommy, and Maria—she has people who give a shit about her and love her. Joel wants her to call him ‘Dad,’ he thinks of himself as her father, and she sees herself as his daughter, and now there’s Doc, too, who’s so warm and comforting, and fuck, what if something happens to them? What if she loses them like she’s lost every other person who’s ever given a fuck about her? This time last year, she had Riley, and now Riley’s dead, and not only that, but Ellie’s the one that had to kill her.

A year and so much has changed.

What if she loses all of this?

She told Sam she’s afraid of ending up alone, but really she’s frightened of outliving the people who care about her, and now there are so many.

She just has to remind herself that Joel is the strongest man on the entire fucking planet. He got her across the country, basically came back from the dead, and took out a hospital full of Fireflies—they’re not in danger here in Jackson, and if they were? Joel will keep her and Doc safe, she’s positive about that, and Ellie will help, she can hold her own, and she’s not going to let anyone else die for her.

They’re safe.

Everything is going to be okay. Joel will make sure of it.

The song finishes, and he sighs, not looking at her as he asks, “Well?”

“Well, that didn’t suck,” she replies, smiling. “I’m honestly impressed ‘cause I figured you’d be fucking terrible, but you weren’t. You were pretty good.”

He looks at her with big eyes and a little smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nods her head.

“You still got it, babe,” Doc says.

He turns to look at her with a grin. “Yeah?” he asks her.

“Yep.” She smiles back. “You had me swooning—you know how much I love that song.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replies in a different tone that has Ellie making a face.

Jesus, they’re so gross, and now they’re kissing—of course, they are. She’s pretty sure they can’t go five fucking minutes without their lips locked.

Her attention moves to Tommy and Maria, who aren’t much better sitting close together fucking canoodling.

Disgusting.

She’s got the ick.

“Cake sure sounds really fucking good right about now,” she says loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

“Hell yeah, it does,” Tommy replies, getting up from his chair. “I’ve got plates and shit.” He’s walking back behind the bar.

Joel and Doc have unlocked their lips, thank god.

“Joel?” she asks.

He meets her eyes. “Yeah?”

“This is probably a long fucking shot, but there’s this band I loved called A-ha? Listened to the tape on my Walkman all the time, and they had this song called “Take On Me.” Do you know it?”

He smiles. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

He’s already playing the beginning, the familiar melody making Ellie smile so big she thinks her cheeks are gonna hurt.

Yeah, everything is gonna be okay, and her life has never been better.

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Tagging: @theorganasolo @thefictionalgemini @pinkninja200 @lol-im-done @koryianders @pointlessandfutile @flyingmushroomss @abbyhaslongshorts @savage-aespa @sofietargaryen @kpopslur @superflymaterial @virtuallia @moobaggg @shaunthesheesh @marsrox @fandomtash5092 @whore4dilfs @majdoline @mandowhatnow @hereforkylo @okjewels7567 @autobotgirl15-blog @silhxvette @lentil-s0up @myloveistoolittle @perksofbeingamultifandomm @squirtlebob @joliettes @aonungs-tsahik @javierpenasimp @thewayiknowyou @magic-magnoliaa @casssiopeiaaa @vanemando15 @kiricomics @eddiemunscns @gracie7209 @fan-fiction-floozy @butterscotch-mafia @myloveistoolittle @icygurl56 @deliriousfangirl61 @khaylin27 @notyourlovemonkey @a-wild-haggis @scorpiomindfuck @fandomandotherthings @seitmai @therealcap @littlemisspascal @iamskyereads @theewokingdead

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #wheresarizona writes #september series #the last of us #hbo the last of us

[adultbabystories]

Doctor’s orders - It Is Done - Part 10

After an hour since Gregory had put Stan to sleep, the man knew he could return to the boy’s nursery. The sound already stopped and it was safe to get in. A small exposure to the sound and lights wasn’t a significant risk, and yet Gregory didn’t want to take any chances with the regression program affecting him. He stood by the door, looking at Stan in his crib, sound asleep. He learned about what these sounds and lights can do to a person. How somehow it tipped men over the edge towards infantilism. Not exactly sure how, but the results were almost a hundred present proof within a few sessions. His boy Stan, he thought, only needed one session. He was in need of an authority figure, he was in need of guidance, he was in need of letting go and just being. So many men need it, but Gregory was happy to give it to Stan.

Stan was dreaming the weirdest dream he had ever dreamed. He walked into a huge office building made of cold gray concrete with cold floor tiles and a high ceiling. 

As he walked to the receptionist, someone yelled “Stan come over here now and send these forms!”. He ran towards the voice while papers emerged in his grip. He got to an old dial landline phone and a voice screamed in his ear “Answer me now! I’m a mad client!” He let go of the forms and picked up the phone, just to hear a busy sound bip.

Hot men and women walked in front of him, smelling good, looking good, and touching each other in a non-appropriate way. He wanted to take part in that, but his feet were stuck on the cold tiles. He couldn’t move, he felt that he wanted to take part, but couldn’t. The lobby became a nightclub, and the men and women started taking off their clothes and having sex in front of him. He tried to move his feet again, but as he looked down, he saw he was naked as they were. Just in front of him people were having sex, but as he looked down again, his dick was soft and small, not paying attention to what was happening.

Waves of emotions had started to hit him. He began tearing up. His eyes were so wet he couldn’t see anything anymore. Once he succeeded in drying them up, he was in a middle of a field, looking up to the night sky. Stars and planets surrounded him from up above, it reminded him of something he saw in the past. Strange sounds echoed into the night, a lullaby maybe, with a voice talking.

“It’s okay to cry.” the voice said.

A figure appeared from the distance, it looked like a giant teddy bear, with a loving and warm facial expression. 

“Are you Stan?” the teddy bear asked.

“I am, yes” Stan sniffled.

“Why are you naked?” the bear looked down at Stan’s soft penis.

“I don’t know” he answered with a worried tone.

“All these horrible people with their horrible demands. I can take that away from you. Would you like that Stan?” the bear asked and spread his arms for a hug.

“Yes Teddy” Stan answered and went in for a hug.

In his dream, Stan opened his eyes to find out he was in a playpen, inside a huge nursery. The smell of baby powder was in the air. He was wearing a thick diaper, a full PJ, and a dangling pacifier clipped on him. Uncle Gregory came by the playpen and kneeled.

“How is my good boy today? Having fun watching his shows?” he raffled Stan’s hair.

A big screen TV was playing some kind of babyish show, which seemed to calm Stan down. Uncle Gregory grabbed the pacifier and stuck it into Stan’s mouth.

“You need it. Now, here’s your best friend Teddy. Put your little head down and take a nap.” he presented a stuffed teddy bear that looked like the same one from before. Stan took the bear into his chest and laid down. He felt so content, so warm, so safe. His uncle was watching over him, his best friend was in his arms, not a single worry. A warm feeling started in his diaper, he peed, but he didn’t care, it felt great. Looking at his fuzzy friend, he rolled over to his stomach, holding his friend with one arm, he felt the need to hump his wet diaper.

Gregory was standing there for twenty minutes. He loved to watch the first hyno night process. Especially the part when the boys start to hump their already-wet diapers. Stan’s diaper came up and down, softly, slowly, in a rhythm. In the dark, Stan made soft cooing and whining sounds while he was humping a bit faster than before. With a final whine, the boy lowered his diaper to the mattress and stopped moving.

He broke Stan, he is now the little boy he needed to be, it is done.

#Doctor’s orders ABS

[anonymousboxcar]

TTTE Headcanons: Engines’ TV Habits

This is pretty goofy, but I’m thinking about what sorts of TV the engines might watch if they had a TV or a streaming device in their sheds. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far!

—————————————

Henry loves nature shows, of course. In addition, after his fireman lamented his spilt hot cocoa, he wanted to understand why humans care so much about food. This led him to cooking shows, which he found very relaxing. He likes to watch raw, disparate ingredients become something beautiful and complete.

Edward goes for mysteries — lighter, cozier shows like Midsomer Murders, Rosemary & Thyme, and Murder, She Wrote. He’s also a fan of Granada Studios’ 1984 Sherlock Holmes. It tickles the same part of him that enjoys ghost stories, giving him a slight thrill alongside a pleasing mind-teaser.

Gordon watches the news every morning and evening. He likes to feel up-to-date on important events, expounding on them to his colleagues. Any program about opera and orchestral performances also appeals to him. There’s some snobbery involved, but he does enjoy hearing and learning about musical genres.

James likes game and talent shows, often shouting answers and opinions at the TV. He’s so attuned to these shows’ editing that he’ll guess a season winner, set up a betting pool, and rake in all the favors after the finale with a smug grin. (Gordon and Henry only keep placing bets because they want to show him up someday.)

All three big engines indulge in the guilty pleasure of soap operas. They think nobody else knows about this. Pip and Emma “obliviously” intrude on their watch parties to make them squirm.

Thomas and Percy watch ghost hunting shows together. They scoff at the idea of ghosts, accuse each other of being ‘fraidy-cats, and huddle close in fear as an episode progresses. They also watch late-night airings of schlocky films with Toby, whose sly commentary cracks them all up.

On his own, Thomas watches motorsport broadcasts. Bertie hooked him on it not long after they started racing each other. He’s a fan of some F1 drivers and their cars, often comparing notes with Bertie in serious (and sometimes heated) discussions.

Percy has a soft spot for period dramas. He’ll laugh at historical inaccuracies, get invested in all the characters, and ponder common tropes. He’s not afraid to ask about the servants who have to endure the wealthy protagonists’ dramatics.

Toby doesn’t watch much TV outside of what he sees with Thomas and Percy. However, he and Henrietta are partial to some late-night talk shows. If the show’s interviewing someone they’re interested in, or if they think the host is funny, they’ll give an episode a try.

Duck adores How It’s Made. It’s very satisfying for him to watch a bunch of moving parts at work, slotting pieces into their rightful places to assemble something. Other nights, he watches travel shows. They explore locations all around the world, scratching his itch to see what’s beyond his horizon.

Donald watches stand-up comedy specials, going for a good laugh at the end of the day to decompress. Ever since Duck “gifted” him Dilly, he also watches nature programs and shows about training/caring for pets. (He and Dilly are working on some tricks.)

Oliver picks sci-fi shows, with Star Trek and Doctor Who as his favorites. He’s drawn in by the pulpy adventures, moral dilemmas, and complex protagonists. It all makes him feel better about himself: you can mess up on an astronomical scale, but still be capable of good things. You don’t have to be a perfect hero to be a good person.

Douglas enjoys shows about antiques and vintage items — things in the vein of Antique Roadshow, or American Pickers. He’s a sucker for knickknacks that meant something to someone, for all the stories behind each one, and for their loving restorations.

Bill and Ben think fitness shows are hysterical. They’re forever amused by the odd ways the instructors contort their bodies. But they also scheme for their crews to watch these shows, hoping they’ll participate and stay healthy for years to come.

Daisy’ll watch any program about fashion or body art (tattoos, piercings, etc). Being so attentive to her swerves, she’s curious about the ways that humans adorn themselves. She’ll sometimes take inspiration from what she sees, but she’ll always argue that fashion is an art form, pointing to these shows for examples.

——————————————

What are your guys’ thoughts/headcanons? I’d love to hear them!

#ttte #rws #ttte headcanon #rws headcanon #my headcanons #ttte henry #ttte edward #ttte gordon #ttte james #ttte pip and emma #rws pip and emma #ttte thomas #ttte percy #ttte toby #ttte duck #ttte bill and ben #ttte douglas #ttte donald #ttte oliver #ttte daisy

[abibeur]

Headcanons about the "Serveur du Lundi" and how it integrates to QSMP lore

Somebody had to do it one day, and I had some ideas, so... Bear in mind these are mostly headcanons, even if I'm basing these on what we already have. Oh also, even if I don't write "q!", if I mention our French streamers' names, know that I'm obviously talking about the cubitos.

The server in itself

Vacations for the friends on it, think of it as wild camping

The land was bought by JDG (more on that later)

Aypierre wasn't here, because he fled in the wilderness due to being pursued by Ayr0b0t (yeah, funnily the "hardcore" season of his LP coincided with the Serveur du Lundi). Etoiles could still call him, tho', so he wasn't totally cut off.

Kameto also wasn't here, but we could imagine he was actually already spying for the Federation, lurking in the shadows, watching the Serveur du Lundi doing their thing...

The players (and their skins)

JDG / Jidège / Frederic Mollas / Fred / "Pepito Kawazakii"

Is actually pretty famous, like in our world

Big entrepreneur, responsible for many things: parkings, factories, recycling plants, architectural design, talk shows, tv programs...

"His theme" Antoine taught to Pomme is the theme of his talk show!

Antoine was the first to met him personally (probably due to being a doctor). He introduced him later to his other friends.

Aypierre didn't really met him, but he knew of the guy. He did talk to his engineer, though!

Was the one who bought the land for the Serveur du Lundi, under the name "Pepito Kawazakii"

"Pepito Kawazakii" is actually one of his (many) aliases (which include "Odessa Silverberg" and others), when he wants to travel incognito (or do some shady stuff without facing the consequences).

Horty / Hortense

Is a weird humanoid sea creature (and I must restrain myself from doing any Splatoon reference)

Met Baghera in her childhood, while she escaped Quesadilla Island

Both are pretty good friend (even besties!) since this, so Baghera introduced her to her other friends

Both of them are pretty close to nature (due to their animal nature?), causing conflicts between them and JDG

Due to being an aquatic being, she can actually come and go from Quesadilla Island, visiting Baghera sometimes, even if she can't help her escape (because she can't carry her and also because the Federation watches, this time!)

AngleDroit / Florence

Judge, PhD and lawwoman extraordinaire

Actually a furry (even if the idea of her being a human-animal hybrid without any link to the Federation was funny)

Met with Antoine and Etoiles through friends (Antoine really likes befriending powerful and influent people)

Baghera likes to make fun of her but they're still very good friends

Zerator / Adrien

Showman, he met most of the others through social events he organised

Even if he organises caritative events for environmental causes, it doesn't stop him from partnering with JDG in his urban projects

Once again, Antoine can't stop himself from befriending influent people-

Mynthos

Normal headcanons:

A man of the land: farmer, worker, miner, baker...

Met with Zerator through friends (well the French viewers reading this know which friend it is)

Has a Ricardo Milos shirt because why not

Probably the friend with who Antoine bickers the most

Unhinged headcanons:

IT'S A GIANT FLOATING HEAD (oddly similar to Ricardo Milos')

Antoine introducing him to the others, who quickly brushed off the fact that he is a giant floating head, telling themselves that if Antoine said it's a normal human, then it is, why would Antoine lie about that?

Has a weird obsession with animal reproduction

Seems to be abundantly secreting a mysterious liquid, which apparently is edible, but only Antoine dares to drink it

#qsmp #qsmp antoine #antoine daniel #qsmp aypierre #qsmp baghera #qsmp etoiles #jdg #joueur du grenier #hortyunderscore #horty #qsmp kameto #mynthos #angledroit #zerator #serveur du lundi #yeah this was fun to make

[sunohws]

irresistible - choi soobin

pairing: top!biker!soobin x m!reader

synopsis: After receiving a phone call from the Hospital, you find out your ex-boyfriend had gotten into a minor accident. You also find out that is impossible to resist him.

genre: smut, minors dni.. please stay away. its kind of angsty idk

word count: 3.1k

a/n: made this while listening to maze in the mirror and happily ever after. my ears were busting from that eargasm. I was waiting for skipping stones to play but unfortunately it never came... also this is super SUPER long.

The workday was coming to an end. You found yourself fantasizing about your night. You in your cozy pajamas with some fried chicken and the new episode of his favorite tv show. A great way to end your work week. Your favorite way in fact.

You were just about done with your paperwork. Just ironing out the final details. So close to going home for the night. Your phone began to ring. It was an unknown number, so you ignored it. You continued the work until the same number rang again. You thought 'Maybe they have the wrong number and will figure it out soon.'  However, the phone rang again.

You sigh in frustration and annoyance as you pick up your phone to answer this troublesome caller.

"Hello?" You says with a huff.

"Is this Kim... Y/N?" The voice on the phone speaks. You were just about to hang up. You aren't really interested in whatever program they want to sign you up on.

Regardless he continues the conversation, "Yes this is he. Who is this?" You ask.

"Hi I'm Yoon Dayoung. I'm from Asan Medical Care. You are the emergency contact for Choi Soobin."

"Soobin?! What happened!?" You panic. You shoot out of your chair in shock. Your heart racing at the sudden movement and the anticipation of the verdict.

"Mr. Choi was in a motorcycle accident. From what we can see, he is alright. He has some minor bruises and some wounds. His in the bed now being treated. We need someone to pick him up. He should be ready to be released in a few hours or so."

"O-ok! I'm on my way now!" You jolt out of your chair. Grabbing your jacket on the way out. You squeeze out a jumbled sentence to your manager about an emergency at the hospital on your way out.

While on the road, your adrenaline cooled, and anger raised. You began cursing out Soobin. You were angry for his recklessness. You were angry that you were still the emergency contact. But most of all you were angry that Soobin scared him. You thought you'd lost him. Just thinking that brought tears to your eyes. Yes, you'd been broken up for a few months now. But there was still love in your heart for the man.

When you made it to the hospital, you checked in with the same receptionist who had called prior. She told you where to find him. And off you went. Your mind had simmered when you saw Soobin.

He was laying in the hospital bed with a few bandages wrapped around his body. One around his right wrist. Another across his chest. A few band aids on his head and arms. You had analyzed every part of Soobin that was hurt.

When you walked all the way in Soobin was asleep, most likely due to the amount of medication they had given him. So, you sat down in a chair near him and waited for the raven-haired man to awaken.

A few hours had past, the sun set and the night cooled. Soobin decided to open his eyes.

"Y-Y/N?" His voiced crooked.

"Oh. You're up. That's good. I'll go get the doctor." You respond back.

"Wait-what are you doing here?"

"Apparently I'm still your emergency contact?" You say before he walks out the door. You left Soobin there to sit in embarrassment.

While he waits for You to return. He sits up with a groan and a curse. Soobin swivels his head around to get a look at the time.

9:45 it reads. He wonders how long he's been out for. All he remembers is going out for a ride around 4 or 5ish then another motorcycle swerving into his lane. After that, everything went black. He hopes the other racer is okay if they did get hurt.

His bones feel swore but nothing too crazy to slow him down. Soon enough You come back with the doctor. However, you don't stay, you leave. Soobin assumes you're going to sign him out and wait in the lounge.

After the checkup, the doctor writes Soobin's prescription to pick up and clear him to go home.

Soobin walks out into the lounge with his damage helmet in hand, reminding you why they are here in the first place.

"I can find a way home from here. Thanks for coming." Soobin tells you. He can't bother to look into your eyes due to the embarrassment.

"No need. I'm dropping you off home." You insist. And Soobin doesn't fight it. He follows you out into the parking lot. You both get in the car. Not another word announced.

The drive was awkward and silent. The air, tight and thick. Soobin contemplated making small talk. But you and him knew that y'all were past that. The drive continued for about a half hour before they got to Soobin's place.

"Thanks for the ride." Soobin said as he gathered his things and exited the car. You gave him a head nod and a pressed grin in response.

When Soobin was gone you let out a huge sigh. You felt like you'd been holding in this breath for what seemed like forever. Your car now smelt like Soobin. A smell you had missed. The faint smell of cologne. His cologne. As you were basking in the smell, a gentle knock on your car window snapped you back to his senses.

It was Soobin, with his same ivory grin. A sparkle in his eyes that only You knew what it meant.

"Yes?" You say as you rolled down your window. "Come inside for something to eat or a drink. It's the least I can do." Soobin implored.

"Nah. I'm okay. Go inside. Get some rest." You turned down his offer.

"Come on Y/N. I know you just got off of work. I know you're hungry. Who knows how long you've been waiting on me. Come inside." Soobin appealed. It was something about his tone or how well he knew you. His voice hooked you in and you couldn't say no anymore. Not that you put up much a fight anyway.

"Alright fine. I guess I am a bit hungry." You agreed. But you'd try to remind himself to remain composed. Don't let things get crazy. Just a meal. Just a meal. He repeats.

Before You knew it you had been swept up in Soobin's charms.

Soobin's place looks the same as it did a few months ago when You had last been there. Dark and masculine. Clean as well. You sat at the dining table for two near the kitchen.

"I have left overs from my mom. It's really good." Soobin says as he gets the food from the refrigerator.

"Oh great. I missed your mom's cooking." You recalled.

"You missed it?" Soobin teases, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He then heats up the food in the microwave.

"Well yeah! My mom is in Japan! Of course, I miss home cooked meals from a mother figure!" You corrected. Your head drops, eyes looking in your lap.

"Oh okay." Soobin taunted.

"It's the truth." You whined.

"I believe you. Now eat." Soobin hushed the blond. He placed the warmed food on the table. He went back to get utensils and such.

The two began to eat and talk. Picking up as if they never stopped talking. They laughed and recalled fond memories. Dinner was over and you began to clean up. It was like your body went into auto pilot mode. Just like before.

"Oh you still remember where the plates go." Soobin noticed.

"Shut up." You say as you continue to wash the dishes. Soobin had been making remarks like that all evening. He did it on purpose. It's a game to him you think to yourself.

"You know, I've missed you..." Soobin confesses. All of the sudden, the room gets thicker. And you can feel Soobin's eyes burning on your skin. His voice was raw.

You can't find anything to reply back with, so you continue with the dishes. Your heart began to quicken. Your mind wondered. You thought about you and Soobin's more intimate moments. The little touches, kisses, dates. All the things you love about Soobin. All the things you hated about the man.

Like a snake Soobin slivers his way back to you. He takes your hands to wrap around his waist. His body is warm against you. And you can feel yourself fall into the embrace.

"Soobin..." You let out a breathy plea. Soobin plants a soft kiss on the back of your neck which sent unwanted flurries through your now sensitive body.

"I miss you Y/N." Soobin confesses again. This time he twirls you around so that their faces are close in proximity. Your wet hands fall onto Soobin's white tank top. It had faint red stains, predictably Soobin's blood. You stared at the bandage going across the man's chest.

This was the very reason the two broke up in the first place. Soobin's motorcycle. You couldn't handle the stress of the motorcycle, especially after the major accident Soobin had a few months back. Early in their relationship. You worried every day since then. The stress became too much for you so you left.

Soobin can see the gears turning in the your eyes as you look at his scars. He sees the worry build in your eyes, so he takes your wrist to plant a soft kiss, before he runs your hand over the wound to let him know that he was okay.

You looked at him with so much softness, that Soobin could actually give up the motorcycle for good.

It was so easy for you to fall back into Soobin's old tactics. His old charm that wins you over even when he doesn't want to admit it. Staring into Soobin's eyes it's like nothing has changed. You want to go back but you just can't. Today just proved his point.

However, the longer you stay in Soobin's presents the more his will chips away. And Soobin knows this, so he grips harder onto your waist and he doesn't break his stare on you.

"Soobin." You repeat.

"Y/N, please." He testified.

"Look what happened today. Do you not understand how terrified I was when I got the call? Thank goodness it was a minor accident. But what happens if the next time it's not. Like before. What if you-" Your voice breaks off as your throat get clogged. Your eyes began to redden as tears began to form.

"Baby. You don't have to worry about that stuff. I'm standing right here, aren't I? You can't break me." Soobin cups your face.

"Can't you just give it up?" You respond.

"Y/N it's my passion."

"A dangerous one!" You shout. Tears prickled at his eyes threatening to fall.

"Baby." Soobin cautioned.

"Stop calling me that." You throw Soobin's hands off your face and walk away.

You don't make it far before Soobin grabs your wrist. He pulls you in. And without a word he kisses you. His lips swallow Yours. His lips are soft and welcoming. His grip on your neck deepens as he becomes more passionate. It had been multiple months since he felt your lips against his.

And you didn't break the kiss instead, you endured it. Taking hands to grab at Soobin's biceps. He would get turned on just by looking at his muscles. The pure strength on this man was crazy.

The kiss disregarded any discourse they had before. A new argument was being fought. But with their tongues. Soobin's hands traveled around your body. Making you feel just, how badly you were deprived of psychical touch. It had been so long since you were touched by a man. Your body yearned for more.

The kiss finally breaks but it's not for long, Soobin swirls your back into the counter in the moments that they parted. He goes straight for your neck. Soobin plants sloppy thick kisses down your neck. Making you grab onto the countertops for support. Enjoying every second of this.

Fuck the breakup. Fuck the motorcycle. Just fuck me. You thought.

Soobin dragged soft lips along your neck. Kissing, tugging, biting. Everything lips, teeth, and tongue could do to a person. Your moans vibrated on Soobin's lips and your body pulled him closer.

"My room?" Soobin says words hot on your skin.

"Your room." you reply. There was not a moment for you to turn back, even if you wanted because Soobin dragged you across the house to his dark bedroom. Throwing you on the bed quickly. Your bodies connected instantly, Soobin taking his needy hands to trail vigorously upon your body. Grabbing anything in its path.

Soobin goes back in for a kiss. He's messy and sloppy as his tongue explores corners of your mouth. Your tongue is also grazing every inch of Soobin's mouth. With such passion it would be impossible to separate you two. They stopped every so often for air.

"W-wait." You try to catch your breath.

"What's wrong?"

"We should stop. You're injured." You sit up, he rearranges his clothing. Wiping his lips off as well.

All Soobin can do is laugh.

"What's funny?!" You look serious but Soobin laughs harder. "Hey!" You repeat.

The laugh stopped as if a switch was turned. Soobin's eyes darken, and his dominance spewed over you, as he leans over. "Do you really think a few scratches is going to stop me?" His voice is low, so low that it sends waves to your core.

"Uh...?" you respond meekly.

"Exactly." Soobin grin. He waits no time ripping your shirt off. Planting his soft lips onto the bare skin. Continuing his work through the rest of your body. And you didn't protest anymore. You wonder why you even questioned Soobin. There are many nights and scenarios where he knows Soobin's true stamina. You can only hope there's mercy for you tonight.

As passion burns, clothing gets removed and fingers start entering new territories. Causing many yelps from you. Two fingers crossed and swirled inside of you. Warming you up for what's to come. Based on how tight you were, Soobin could just tell he wasn't with anyone after him. That pleased him in many ones than just one. Soobin thrusted deeply one last time before abruptly yanked his fingers out. Causing your back to arch under him. Spiting an inaudible curse. Soobin just smirked and gave you a quick hard kiss.

Impatiently Soobin took his cock and lined it up with your hole, then invited himself into you with no mercy. Moaning into the tightness. Tightness that griped him so well. You let out a deep moan, your eyes shut and you throw your head into the bed. Soobin finding his breath after the first thrust. The entering is always the best feeling. Anything after it is just trying to chase that same feeling. Soobin dragged his cock practically out of you before shoving it back in. To chase that same feeling. He was going to fuck you hard. Make you feel it in your soul, make you not want to ever leave again.

Soobin continued with a pattern he knew drove you crazy. Hearing his name come out of your mouth in dirty moans made this even better. This was makeup sex at its finest. A sick part of him wanted to keep breaking up with you so he could enjoy this type of sex more often. However, that was just a horny thought and he no real plans of letting you go. He was his and only his. You would have to go back to Japan for Soobin to leave him alone but then again that's not far enough.

You wanted to pass out due to the pleasure being too much. It overwhelmed him. He hasn't had sex since the last time Soobin touched him. You couldn't be bothered to entertain a new person after Soobin. You had just been getting by with TV and work.

You were almost angry with how sensitive you were. Your cock was hard. Really hard. His body betrayed him instantly. The slight touch from Soobin and the war was over. Soobin won.

Not to say you didn't miss Soobin, you really did. Your relationship didn't have many flaws, only the motorcycle issue. They got along just right and when they didn't, Soobin knew just how to make thing better.

Just like now, Soobin knew all the spots to hit to drive the man under him crazy. Slamming into you like the car that ran into him.

"I'm close!" You moaned.

"Fuck- me too." Soobin bit his lip as he picks up the speed. Everything suddenly got louder and faster. The moans, the strokes, and their hearts. Soobin pumped harder and you squished their bodies closer. With one finally deep thrust they both let out the longest cry with white filling their eyes. The climax roughly coursed through them. Leaving you twitching under Soobin and Soobin groaning.

You too were still as their bodies registered what just happened. The room was still. The air still hot but filled with heavy breaths.

"That was..." Soobin says finally.

"Wow." You finish the sentence. You look at each other and smile like love struck idiots. Like routine, Soobin springs into action with aftercare.

"No, I'll do it this time. You're injured remember?" You stop him.

"I'm fine. Let me-" Soobin tries to protest.

"Sit." You demand and Soobin abides. He watches as You goes to the bathroom to get warm rags to clean up. He admired his work, the redness on the back side of You from his insane thrusts to the purplish-red love marks all over the man. You can feel Soobin watching you, so you blush a bit.

You continue cleaning you both. You grab one of Soobin's shirts to wear to bed and a pair of shorts for Soobin. When all is done you lay in bed with Soobin.

"Phew. That was a lot. I'm tired." You say as you snuggle closer to Soobin.

"I could've done it."

"But I did."

"I know and you did a great job." Soobin kisses the top of your head.

"Soobin...I missed you too." You finally say back. you kiss Soobin's neck.

"Round two?" Soobin says with that look in his eyes. It was supposed to be sweet!

"NO! I just cleaned us up! Go to bed." You turn the other way.

"I'll do it this time." Soobin grabs on to you, dragging his hands all over your body. He kisses your neck and whispers tempting things. You giggle and fight back. You knew you were going to lose but it was worth a shot.

For a man who just was in the hospital he had a lot of energy. In the end, He ended up cleaning you up after many, many rounds.

YALL THIS STAR DIVIDER IS SO CUTE IM IN LOVW WITH IT.. USNG IT FOR EVERYTHING ATP. also isnt my new pfp cute :33

#txt smut #soobin smut #soobin #txt soobin #top!soobin #biker!soobin #soobin x m!reader #kind of angsty #exbf!soobin #makeup sex #soobin hard hours #soobin hard thoughts #soobin x reader #huening kai #beomgyu #hueningkai #taehyun #yeonjun #txt x reader #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #kpop idol x reader #idol x m!reader

[milflewis]

Gewis + ‘just trust me’

When George is seven and three quarters, he learns off all his times tables up to ten and gets his dad to quiz him at the dinner table. His mum has made them cottage pie with leftover mince from the day before. He is allowed one glass of dilute.

He gets all his sums right — his dad grinning at him as he sits up straighter, saying them faster and faster — apart from seven times seven.

(His dad still messes up his hair and tells him that he’s going to smoke that prick kid with the hair, Billy what’s his face, tomorrow and his mum rolls her eyes, peeling his sister’s potato skin off and mashing it up.)

—

When George is ten, he and his sister stay up late on Halloween and eat nearly all their sweets and watch Coraline. They swap sour worms for jammy dodgers, and suck on gobstoppers.

Their fingers smell of oranges and chocolate in the morning and George’s stomach aches for hours.

(He hates Coraline. His sister loves it, laughing at all the scenes where his heart jumps into his mouth. They watch it for five more Halloweens.)

—

When George is twelve, he has his first kiss. It’s quick and dry and kind of sore — more of a bumping of teeth together than anything else. The second time is not much nicer, if a little wetter.

He isn’t sure if kissing is for him. That’s okay, though, she doesn’t seem that into it either. The sleeve of his school jumper, where he’s always trying not to pull on the threads and failing, gets caught on her earring and it nearly comes right off.

(He is sixteen when he first kisses a boy. He’s two years older, in the class above him, and tastes of cigarettes and energy drinks and his hands are hot on George’s cheeks. He enjoys this one a lot more.)

—

When George is thirteen, the Kaiju come and flatten half of Greece.

(This is when he first hears of General Lauda and Commander Hunt and the Jaeger Program.)

—

When George is seventeen, two Kaiju break through the half built London Wall and he drags his sister all the way deep into the English countryside to stay with their aunt. He doesn’t see his mum again.

(His dad presses his face into George’s hair, voice cracking, and tells him to be good, to stay safe, that he loves him, that he is going away to make sure that the next Wall stays up. He asks him what is seven times seven and wraps his coat around George when he starts to cry.)

—

When George is twenty, he meets Alex Albon, who is tall and always smiling and knocks George flat on his back in basic training. He moves over on the bench, later on during lunch in the mess hall, jerking his chin at the empty seat beside him, spoon in his mouth. George sits down beside him.

(It’s one of the few things that George never comes to regret.)

—

When George is twenty-two, there is a four Kaiju alarm and the entirety of Western Europe duck behind their walls. Michael and Mika’s Flying Rainmaster is retired after, her pilots lost to the sea, and Webber refuses to ever get into a Jaeger again after losing Alonso.

Commander Hamilton looks tired on the tv screen, face thin, uniform buttoned up to his throat. He moves carefully now when the cameras catch him, as if he’s favouring his left side. Rosberg’s body was not recovered.

(Doctor Button punches out a reporter who tries to sneak into Hamilton’s room, Alex tells him later.)

—

When George is twenty-five, he and Alex get accepted into the Jaeger Program, and score a drift compatibility rating of eighty nine percent on their first run.

What, Alex says, trying to trip George up as they climb out of the CONNPOD, like it’s hard? George elbows him away, and Commander Vettel looks amused, jotting something down in the little notebook he always carries around.

Lewis is always trying to get me to watch that movie, Vettel says. And then continues as if that isn’t life shattering news to drop at twelve in the morning on a Tuesday in May: Get in, bitches, time to go training.

You know, Alex laughs in George’s ear, arm bony around his shoulders. I am starting to get your old man boner.

George shoves him off, cheeks hot to his frustration. It is not an ‘old man boner’. What the fuck.

Alex gives him a deeply unimpressed look. George comes very close to regretting him. George, mate, kid, you do know that your boner being just for Hamilton is, like, way more embarrassing than just having one for old guys in general.

(George steals all his fluffy socks, even the really nice expensive ones.)

—

When George is twenty-five, he watches Bottas and Hamilton spar each other with wooden sticks.

He watches them circle each other, defence flowing into offence and back out again, footwork like a dance, one step forward for every one step back. He wants like nothing before in his life.

(It sticks to the back of his throat and stays there for a very long time.)

—

Who is Charlie, George thinks, fingers feeling all tingly and weird as he remembers a man with messy hair and strange pants laughing at something he says. Something Alex says.

Charles, George remembers, seperate from Alex. He works for Bottas; one of his nurses. He reset George's right shoulder a few weeks after it had dislocated. Again.

And then, because Alex is terrible and deserves it, George asks it out loud. "Who is Charlie?"

Their comm crackles. "Can you repeat the question, Ranger? We didn't catch that." Bono sounds amused.

George laughs, the drift between them shivering with it, as Alex scrambles to answer, ears red.

—

When George is twenty-five, his sister, aged twenty two, graduates from college with an engineering degree and heads right to the French Wall to work. George isn’t able to go to the ceremony. He also isn’t able to convince her that working in the safety of a Shatterdome would be more worth her while. He calls her and they both pretend like they aren’t crying.

Hamilton finds him later that night, head slumped onto the cold metal counter of the kitchen island. His cup of camomile tea is cold in front of him. His mum used to drink it.

George watches his hands as he takes the lids off of tubes of ice cream, scooping out spoonfuls into two bowls. He wonders if his tattoos feel any different than his unmarked skin and feel silly with it.

Hamilton tells him about his brother, Nic, and learning to be a Ranger with Rosberg in the bunk below him, Bottas the one below that, and Alonso in the bunk above, Button across the room with Vettel under him.

“Probably a miracle this place is still standing,” Hamilton remarks, dry. His face is terribly soft. He looks like he’s been through the wash one too many times.

George must make a face when Hamilton finishes with the chocolate sauce and shakes out salt into his palm.

“Listen,” he starts, already grinning. It transforms him, his whole body moving with it. “Just got trust me, man. Give it a go, okay?”

“Is that an order, sir?” George asks just to be annoying. Hamilton only rolls his eyes, flicking the last bits of salt at him.

It’s delicious, even with the salt, or maybe, perhaps, because of it. George ignores the smugness radiating off of Hamilton.

He tells him instead of his dad buying books upon books of sudoku because his mum likes to do them while they watched nature documentaries. He talks about how his sister’s pockets had to be checked before she came inside every evening, for any creepy crawlies that she decided needed a warm home for the night. The story about when Alex and him got lost in Tokyo, each missing a shoe, sends the older man into giggles.

(This is the moment that Commander Hamilton becomes Lewis, ice cream in the corner of his mouth, eyes tired.)

—

Seven times seven is sixty three.

—

His and Alex's Jaeger is an old Mark Three one, still half powered by a nuclear reactor. She’s clunky and big and they fight with a massive long-staff, crackling with electricity at the end. George loves her.

Lando takes a bit of getting used to. George wishes he’d stop calling their Jaeger his.

“Veteran,” Lando says one night, feet dangling off the platform edge. George leans back on his elbows to look at him around Alex, who only hums, arms folded over the railing.

It’s late. There is only the skeleton crew working in the Shatterdome’s garage tonight. They’ve already made their way through a bottle of Yuki’s toilet paint cleaner masquerading as alcohol.

Their chief mechanic shrugs on shoulder and turns to look at them, one leg pulling up to his chest bend at the knee. His mouth does something awkward, but most of what Lando does is awkward so George doesn’t really take notice of it. He finds it rather comforting actually.

“Because they’re always going on about how young you guys are. The Rookies and whatever. And, like, fuck,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I get so much shit for my age here too. Be ironic and all that.”

“Veteran,” George says, trying it out. He likes how it fits in his mouth.

“Probably better than Geriatric Fuck,” Alex admits, and they’re all silent for a moment before cracking up.

—

Whenever they drift, Alex likes to lightly trail his fingers through George’s want for Lewis. He runs his knuckles over the backs of longing and warmth and terror and relief and lust and that sweet aching joy that sits in George’s chest when he makes Lewis laugh.

He rarely says anything. Just stands there as George clears his mind, humming softly. He told George once that it’s one of the few parts of George’s mind that is quiet.

“You think too much,” Alex likes to remind him, which George thinks is a bit unfair because Alex once woke him up at three in the morning when he nearly fell out of his bed in excitement, having finally solved Sebastian’s puzzle after hours of staring at the ceiling.

“You think too little,” George replies instead and the shape of Alex’s smile curls around him in the drift as they move as one.

—

Lewis likes to read.

Lewis specifically likes to read fiction. Romance if he can get his hands on, and he loves fantasy or anything sci-fi.

“I’m a bit weird about space,” he says, smiling sheepishly. It is only slightly less devastating than Lewis’s smiles generally are.

I’m a bit weird about you, George thinks. “Space is cool,” he says, and wants to die.

“Yeah,” Lewis says, slow and amused. “So cool.”

They’re sitting down at one of the corner table in the mess hall. George looks at the stupid spoon they gave out with his potato and leak soup in despair.

“I have a book I think you’ll like,” he tries.

Lewis, because he is made to make George feel insane with everything he does, honest to god, perks up. “Yeah?”

George nods, blowing at his soup like a twat. Somewhere Alex is laughing and doesn’t know why. It’s so hot though. He hates when he burns his mouth.

“About bounty hunters in space. There’s pirates too. I’ve written in the margins though, just rubbish really, but you’re welcome to borrow it, if you want?”

Lewis grins at him. “I want.”

Holy cow.

“Can I write my own thoughts in it too? I can use a pencil if you want.”

George thinks he might give Lewis his firstborn if he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he says casually.

—

George finds himself scribbling arguments to counter Lewis’s comments across dozens of books. Some of them are his. Some of them are Lewis’s.

Lewis is sharp and funny and George disagrees with half the things he says but the other half come a such a wildly different angle to how he took the material that he has to sit there and piece through it.

He gets ink on his fingertips as he traces some of Lewis’s words, laughing quietly to himself.

“Normal people send nudes,” Alex murmurs sleepily on the bed across the room from him. George lifts his head, pulling a pillow from behind him to chuck it over at him.

—

When George is twenty seven, he starts to think that maybe Lewis might —

That he might look at George too and —

That Lewis might maybe too.

(When Alex catches this in the drift, he laughs so hard he ends up disconnecting completely. General Susie Wolff is not that impressed.)

-

Valtteri Bottas is in Italy when the Kaiju attacks. Lewis Hamilton is not. He stayed behind in the Tokyo Shatterdome to welcome in the new cadets.

George has never seen Lewis scared before. He decides he doesn't like it.

"We'll get him," he tells Lewis, wasting precious seconds to stand there in front of him, in his piloting suit, because he couldn't just walk past a Lewis who looks as lost as he does. "We'll get him," George says again, even though the very first thing they tell you is to never ever make promises.

I'll get you your Alex, George thinks, and they have never drifted together before, and never will, but he thinks Lewis understands him anyway. He nods at him and sets his shoulders, broad and unfaltering. George sees, not for the first time, how he is the only person to ever successfully pilot a Jaeger on their own.

"See that you do, Ranger Georgie."

George groans, walking away backward. He's going to kill Lando one of these days. Lewis smiles, eyes still tight at the corners, and George can't help but say, "Just trust me."

When George is strapping in minutes later, Alex a comforting noise beside him, he thinks of how Lewis's face went all slack and blank for a moment before he looked away, jaw tight. I do, Lewis had said then, quiet, and it had sounded like something else.

Seven times seven is sixty three, George reminds himself like he always does before drifting, clearing his head until there's nothing but quiet.

#i hope u got some sleep a promise is a promise this is how much i love u. all of it and all of it and all of it #gewis #little fics #mark tag #niamh.asks

[weixuldo]

Enigma// ch 23

anakin x reader

A/N: So ani is a lil uncharacteristically emotional in this one, but it's because he’s going through withdrawal which takes a heavy toll not only physically but emotionally too. Also this chapter mentions the fourth of July (sorry to my readers who don’t live in the USA) . I just thought the holiday would be a good plot point for this specific iderration of Anakin, I do not mean to use the holiday politically AT ALL!!! Anyways, with all of that out of the way- I hope you all enjoy it!!

The fourth of july came at a bad time

warnings: cursing, alcohol abuse, alcohol withdrawal , self hatred, depressive thoughts, throw up, basically ani is just miserable, ptsd

______________________________

Things had been going as well as they could regarding his liver- but the biggest problem at the moment was the withdrawal of alcohol.

Last time he subsided with his drinking, he had time to wean himself off slowly- but now he couldn’t because any amount of alcohol could be fatal to his condition. 

The past few nights had been restless for him- cold sweats, headaches, nausea, and he was just generally miserable. 

Last night wasn't much different, he was pretty miserable, curled up on his side trying to ignore the pains in his stomach- it took him forever to get comfortable and when he finally did, he only got about an hour of sleep before he woke up shaking and disoriented. 

You rushed to his bedside to find he was running a fever (a normal symptom of alcohol withdrawal); instead of freaking out you sat by him trying your best to soothe him while also bringing down his temperature. 

Later on he emptied the contents of his stomach into a trash bin you brought for him and finally fell asleep.

You weren’t so sure tonight would be any better, he had been acting squirrely all day and seemed kind of in a haze. 

He skipped dinner because he felt like if he ate anything it would just come back up. So the two of you sat on the couch with a program about different species of the Amazon playing in the background; not that either of you were actually paying attention to that. 

You were worried about Anakin, how much longer was this routine going to be sustainable for him?

Outside the distinct pew of a firework being sent up into the night sky could be heard before it made a “bang”.

You Jumped at the loud noise, you never were really a fan of fireworks. But why were they going off tonight…?

Oh fuck. Today was the 4th- there would be fireworks going on all night. 

You looked over your phone to see Anakin’s wide blue eyes and distant stare. Another one went off and you observed as he flinched at the initial ascent and closed his eyes and tensed as it exploded. 

You didn’t need to ask why he was so jumpy… the fireworks sounded eerily reminiscent of the explosives he was accustomed to hearing on the battlefield. 

Anakin’s PTSD was not something that came up often- he didn’t really like to talk about it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have it. 

“Ani, do you wanna change the channel to something a little louder? It might drown out the sounds outside” you offered after you noticed him shaking under his blanket.

Half of you expected him to be peeved that you insinuated he wasn't ok, but to your surprise he looked towards you with wide eyes, 

“Could you come sit with me?” he asked in a small voice. 

“Of course” 

His blue eyes watched as you took a seat beside him; as soon as you were sat, one of his bionic arms pulled you gently in by the waist. Once you were close enough you leaned over to peck him on the cheek before turning the volume on the TV on.

Anxiously you watched the clock, it was nearing midnight and you knew that would be the worst.

A sharp inhale diverted your attention from the screen in front of you to the man beside you. His eyes were clenched shut and he gripped his side. 

“Anakin, what’s wrong?” you asked anxiously. 

“Nothing, it’s just…my side hurts” he groaned.

The doctor said that was normal for someone with liver issues but it still hurt to see him struggling. 

“Would you like me to hold-”

He nodded his head and you scooted closer to him; as of now it wasn’t clear what the two of you were in your relationship, but you did want to be there for him.

Soon he was lying across your lap and held tightly onto your hand that draped over his side. Your free hand was gently running over his side and occasionally brushing against the side of his face. 

It was evident that he was shaking in your hold; unfortunately there wasn’t much you could do to aid his condition, so you offered all you could.

The clock in the corner chimed and your eyes widened, it was 12- well, almost; the clock was about two minutes fast, but that just meant the majority of the fireworks would be going off in no time. 

“Ani, do you wanna sit up for me?” you asked, lightly patting his side. 

“S-sure”

Now the two of you were sitting face to face, holding hands. The first of many colorful explosives fired into the night sky- the initial ascent made Anakin flinch in your arms, but he still tried to focus on you; your soft skin, the faint blush on your cheeks, the growing bump of your stomach…

Another twinge of pain plagued his side at the same moment a loud bang interrupted his internal commentary and he yelped. You quickly drew him into a tight embrace and rubbed his strong back.

His cries had subsided but he was still quivering a little; it was painful to see him in such a state. 

At first you said nothing then you soon subconsciously began humming a soft tune; a song your mother used to sing to comfort you when you were distressed.

You hadn’t heard that song in ages, but here you were- doing your best to comfort a man in need. 

____________

Anakin was still trying to drown out the noises outside with thoughts of his own, but no matter how hard he tried- his mind kept teleporting him to the fucking battlefield he left so many years ago.

The cacophony of bullets and choppers slicing through the sky. The melody of screaming and detonated bombs... The symphony of war. 

He hated it there.

Usually he was able to stay far far away from that place, but sometimes he just couldn’t fight the darkness cruelly pulling him back in. 

But this time he heard something else, a new chord to the song.

It was nothing harsh or dangerous, instead it was soft and smooth- it felt safe. 

His eyes moved rapidly under his closed lids, searching for the origin of the sound, until he was pulled from his personal hell and opened his eyes again.

With a deep breath he took in his surroundings; he was on his couch (ok, it was still the 4th). He registered that you were hugging him tightly and…

Singing.

The voice, the light at the end of the tunnel, his safe place- was you. 

He closed his eyes once more but this time was not in anguish, rather in pure adoration. He wanted to focus solely on your voice and forget everything else- in this moment you were the only thing that mattered. 

_____________

Before you knew it the familiar melody came to an end and you finished your song; it felt so natural you barely realized you had started singing. 

You smiled as you felt Anakin relax in your arms; the worst was finally over.

He nuzzled further into your embrace and you felt the motion of his brows furrowing against your chest. You brushed his locks and wiped the thin layer of sweat from his forehead. 

Another straggler firework went off and he cringed once more; you continued to softly comfort him.

Though, as much as he loved your embrace, he wanted to see your face. So he raised himself up to gazed upon you; on your messy hair, your eye bags, your endearing smile…

You were radiant. 

“Thank you, y/n” he said.

You smiled and peppered his flushed face with kisses, “of course, Ani”.

After you pulled away, his blue eyes still lingered on you.

“You are so beautiful”.

You smiled; no matter the state he was in, Anakin would be there to remind you of your beauty. Even if you woke up feeling like you looked terrible, he would quell your worries. 

“Thank you Ani, so are you” you delivered another soft kiss to his temple before straightening your back against the couch. 

It seemed that the majority of the fireworks were done (finally). Anakin was able to relax his muscles and sit comfortably beside you. 

The TV was still playing the nature channel; the show changed to one about baby animals in different habitats. Instead of going back to your phone, you watched as the screen flashed clips of fluffy seal pups and tiny polar bear cubs. 

“You like polar bears, right?” Anakin asked.

“Yea, I think they’re pretty cool. They’re Apex predators yet so cute” you smiled.

He smiled at your response.

“Do you like ‘em?” you returned his question.

“Mhmm, I was stationed in Alaska for a few months when I first joined the military and I became friends with this guy who ran a bear sanctuary. He had one polar bear and she was an absolute sweetheart” Anakin reminisced. 

Your eyes lit up; Anakin had so many great memories and experiences.

“That’s amazing! I would love to see one in real life. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get the chance though, because we’re driving them to extinction.” you frowned.

“If we had the time, I would’ve taken you up there to see her. My friend still runs the sanctuary” Anakin replied.

If we had time…

Another disappointing reminder that no time was guaranteed; you would have loved to do that with Anakin….You would have loved to do a lot of things with Anakin…

With a sad smile, you responded, “That’s very sweet Ani… but who’s to say we won't go someday?”.

His cerulean blue eyes gave you a knowing look before responding, “I guess you’re right”.

You were about to respond to him when you felt an odd sensation in your lower abdomen;

“Oh!” you exclaimed and you grabbed onto the arm of the couch to steady yourself. 

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Anakin asked without hesitation. 

The sensation came again and you placed a hand on your stomach, “Yea, I’m ok Ani”.

“Is it the baby?” he asked worriedly. 

“I think so; it’s kicking” you said, calming his already high strung nerves. 

You turned towards him with an endearing look, “Would you like to feel?”.

His eyes lit up when he processed your question and he sat up straight; he looked as excited as a kid who just got told they would be going to disney world. 

“Please?” he asked.

“Of course,” you smiled. 

You turned your body towards him so he could have a better angle to feel.

“Could you help me-” he asked as he offered one of his arms. 

How could you forget?

With his arms on he wouldn’t be able to directly feel the baby; gently you took the bionic arm in your hands and broke the suction seal, allowing him to pull his stump out. 

You placed the arm beside you on the couch and turned towards Anakin once more. 

He was examining his arm (just a small habit he had) and you laid back into the cushions. He gazed upon you with such adoration. You could tell how much he loved you- how much he meant his apologies…

“Ani, give me your arm” you asked, to which he darted his eyes towards yours. 

“It’s alright, I can just-”

“Please?” you asked. 

Even after all of your time together he still got self conscious sometimes- honesty his insecurities came in random waves and apparently, now, was just one of those times. 

He sighed and offered you his arm; you wrapped your hand around his tender skin, eliciting a small gasp from him (your touch still gave him butterflies).

You slowly guided him to your stomach and pulled up your shirt; the bump was very noticeable now. 

You placed his soft stump against your belly and laid your hands on top of him. You sighed at his touch, you hadn’t felt him so intimately in a long time. 

Out of the corner of your eye you saw that he had his eyes closed; his brows were drawn in concentration and his plump lips were slightly parted. 

Once the baby kicked again his eyes shot open, he leaned forward and placed his prosthetic hand against your stomach too. 

“It’s amazing”

You giggled at his wonder. 

“That’s…” he began.

“Our baby” you finished; gazing into his water eyes as he turned towards you. 

Today had already been an emotionally draining day, but he still had a few tears left to shed.

“Oh, Ani. It’s alright” you sighed when you saw trails down his cheeks. 

Before you could sit all the way up, he gathered you into a warm embrace and laid gently atop of your chest (careful not to bump your belly). 

You ran your fingers through his hair as he continued to hold you as tightly as he could. 

You knew he wasn’t the best with words, but his actions were telling you everything you needed to know. 

“Thank you” he said against your neck.

You drew your brows together, you didn't expect him to say anything. 

“Thank you for staying”

“I know I’m far from perfect and I got shit I gotta sort out… but it means so much to me that you believed in me enough to stay… and to sharing our baby with me” his voice began to waver. 

“...just thank you for everything”

Anakin didn’t need to thank you, his actions were enough to tell you how grateful he was, but the fact that he did vocalize his feelings just meant the world to you. 

He was trying.

You held his head closer to you and kissed his hair.

���I love you” he whispered softly. 

Your heart fluttered because deep inside you knew you still did too. 

***

a/n: getting out of angst??? also i added the polar bear hit cause i was just thinking abt them and was like- “ig i’ll put it in the fic” lmfaooo

taglist : @dnamht @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote @poisonedsultana @imarimone12 @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot

#darth vader #darth vader x reader #anakin x reader #vader #sw darth vader #anakin #darth vader fic #star wars #star wars x reader #anakin x you #enigma fic #enigma #anakin star wars #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fluff #anakin angst #x reader #anakin needs a hug #veteran anakin #ptsd

[punk4ndisorderly]

light on

The one where Y/N is the daughter of a legendary Team USA coach and used to attend the development program with the boys. 8 years after they last saw each other in person, a reunion brings Jack and Y/N back into each other’s lives... and hearts.

if you keep the light on, i'll keep the light on

III IV - knowing me, knowing you V

Distracted by the tv, they hadn’t noticed the storm brewing up outside. The sound of thunder roared loudly in the hotel room, instantly causing a blackout. They dropped each other’s hands, caught by surprise.

“Oh, shit.” she whimpered, going back to bed.

Jack did the same, slightly disappointed their little trip down memory lane had been cut short, resting his hands on his stomach as he thought about the moment they had just shared and the way he his head was currently a messy knot of conflicting feelings.

“I’m not hurting as bad as I thought I’d be.” he confessed, breaking the silence that had suddenly become too loud.

“What?” Y/N asked, confused, sitting up straight against the headboard.

“About the break-up. I’m not as heartbroken as I thought I would be, and that makes me feel… Uneasy.” the Devils' player explained, looking down at his hands, finally letting himself process his life’s most recent events.

Somehow he felt safe in that hotel room, with her. Something inside him told him he could trust this woman, just like he had back in camp.

Y/N scooted closer to him, not saying a word, but touching his hand gently, letting him know she was listening.

“I really have no idea how I got to this point.”

She glanced at him, watching the way his eyebrows were furrowing, deep in thought.

“Okay… First off, I’m going to get the complementary bottle of wine from the mini-fridge and then you, sir, are going to tell me all about what’s going on in that head of yours.” she instructed, getting up to walk to the appliance, grabbing the cheap bottle of wine, taking the corkscrew by it with her and handing it to him.

Unscrewing the cork, he tried giving the bottle back to her, only to have her refuse to take it.

“You get a sip first. Trust me, if we’re having this conversation, you’re going to need it.”

Alina had a point. He did as he was told, passing it off to her afterwards. This time she accepted it, taking a swig.

“Go ahead.” the doctor urged. “I’m all yours.”

He ignored the way his heart skipped a beat when she said those words, sighing heavily.

“Well, I thought this time I was headed towards what I wanted my future to be, but along the way I realized I was just stuck in the same place, feeling somewhat numb and indifferent.” he began, pausing to glance at his old crush, only to find her hanging on every word he said. “I never want to feel indifferent when it comes to love. I want to feel excitement, passion, fear of losing that person. I want to have the urge to shout from the rooftops how in love I am. I want an extraordinary love, something that completely scares me and positively overwhelms me at the same time.”

Y/N could see the sadness in his deep blue eyes, even though the lights were out. She took the bottle to her lips, leaning her head back, before handing it back to the conflicted man beside her. He gave her a half-hearted smile and did the same.

“I want the exact same thing.” she admitted, after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

Jack raised his eyes from his hands and waited for her to continue.

“I feel as unlucky in that field as you do.” the coach's daughter added, avoiding to meet his gaze. “It seems like I’m making a puzzle and I can’t seem to find a piece that fits. I’ve tried similar ones but you can’t really do ‘similar’ when it comes to a puzzle, can you? Either you’ve got the real deal or you’re stuck with a twisted version of what the final result should be. It ends up looking nothing like the picture on the box. I think love works that way.”

He took in what she had just said. She had always been good with words. Only Y/N Y/L/N could explain what he was feeling better than himself.

Without realizing it, they were scooting next to each other as they passed around the white wine.

“How do you do that?” Jack blurted out, after little to no consideration.

Raising her eyes to meet his, a quizzical expression in her face, she took a minute to think about what he might mean.

“How do I do what?”

“Take the words out of my mouth?”

“I guess we’re not as different as we thought we were.” she shrugged.

“Maybe not…” the Devils' player concluded. “I’m not really good at dealing with feelings… I tend to bottle it all in… Love fucking sucks.”

Taking his hand in hers, holding it in her lap and gently caressing the back of it with her thumb, she smiled kindly at him.

“I know, babe. But it plays a pivotal part in our lives. I’m sure you’ll find your perfect pic and get the picture on the box. Something tells me you absolutely will.” Y/N assured him.

*

The wine had mellowed them out, slowing down their thoughts and turning off certain filters. They were now facing each other. Jack's fingers tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Y/N shivered when she felt his hand touch her skin, every hair in her body standing up as if electricity was coursing through her veins.

Their hands were still intertwined. Her breath hitched in her throat when he leaned in, his forehead meeting hers.

Loud moans mixed with the sound of rain brought them back to reality. The pair backed up away from each other, bewildered looks on their faces.

“What the hell is that?” Y/N inquired looking up at the ceiling.

“Someone gets in the mood during storms…” Jack chuckled, leaning back against the headboard of her bed.

“It’s almost five a.m., who the fuck gets up at five a.m. for a quicky?”

“A cow and a cat, apparently.”

“What?”

“Whoever they are, they sound like a cow and a cat that are having an angry face-off.”

They both started laughing loudly and uncontrollably.

“I’m officially disturbed.” Y/N stated, leaning back again, her eyes closed.

Rain continued to pour outside, no signs of it coming to a halt anytime soon.

“If we were in camp right now, that mean assistant coach would be making us run outside, freezing our asses off.” Jack commented absentmindedly, staring out the window.

“We’d probably make it into a mud fight.” she pointed out, grinning cheekily.

“Oh, for sure. We’d be going at it.”

She chuckled quietly in response, before she saw another lightning thread the dark sky.

“I actually hate thunderstorms so much.” she mumbled, laying down.

“Really?” the brunette man questioned, mimicking her moves.

“Yeah, I know it’s childish but I can’t sleeping alone during these. So…” Y/N began, reaching out and touching his face. “I’m actually happy you’re here right now.”

The way she was looking at him was driving him crazy. The skin on her stomach was left bare as she laid down next to him. He wanted to touch her, cover every inch of her body with sloppy wet kisses, make her see how beautiful she was in his eyes.

Closing the space between them, Jack engulfed her in his arms, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. Y/N immediately responded to him, allowing his tongue into her mouth and burying her hands in his brown hair. The kiss they were sharing grew more desperate as he pulled them up and she moved to straddle his lap, panting heavily. The doctor helped him take off his shirt, running her hands through his chiseled chest. Jack's lips left hers and she whimpered softly at the loss of contact, only to rejoice internally when she felt him leave kisses all over her neck.

His hands moved from her face to her band t-shirt, pulling it over her head. He stopped, looking at her, as if he was asking for permission. Y/N smiled wickedly, biting her bottom lip, nodding. Jack didn’t waste any time, kissing and nibbling the skin above her full breasts. She threw her head back, moaning his name.

“Jack… Oh Jack…”

“Jack… Jack!”

He opened his eyes as he heard her voice and felt her hand on his back. The early sunlight filled the room. Who would’ve thought that after such a rainy night the birds would be chirping under the warmth of the sun, that was shining bright in the sky?

Jack was laying on his stomach, his left arm pinning Y/N to the mattress.

“Mmm… I really need to pee.” she admitted, looking down at her stomach, where his strong arm was holding her down.

Realizing their compromising position, Jack removed his arm from where it rested, rubbing the sleep off his tired eyes.

“What time is it?” he asked, trying to act casual and keeping his voice low, taking in that his head was pounding.

“It’s a quarter to eight.” Y/N almost whispered in response, rushing to the bathroom.

The Devils' player tried to process the night they had shared together, since finding Y/N in the corridor, to singing with her, almost giving into temptation and sharing a bed. His thoughts drifted to the dream he was having right before she woke him up. Speaking of which…

Jack's eyes were averted to his shorts, that, at that moment, felt like they had shrunken three sizes. His cheeks blushed a deep shade of pink as he got up and took a pillow from her bed, covering his prominent bulge, picking up his room key and knocking on the bathroom door. He heard the water running and couldn’t help but think of what it would be like to join her in the shower.

Down, boy. You’re not really helping yourself right now. Focus.

“I… I’m heading out. Thank you for… You know. See you at breakfast?”

A muffled okay was all he heard before making his exit. He padded to his room, praying to the saints no one saw him leave her room in the morning while sporting an erection. Jack made it to his destination safely, but the key wasn’t working, the door to his safe haven remaining closed as he silently cursed himself out.

You must’ve picked up her key card, you dumbass.

Heading back to Y/N's accommodations, the brunette mam had just knocked on her door when the elevator’s doors opened and Trevor walked out, holding a small grocery bag and a card just like the one he had in his hand.

Oh, fuck my life.

His longtime friend saw him immediately, no chance to escape, raising an eyebrow once his eyes spotted the pillow he was holding over very specific body parts. Jack froze in his place, not daring to move an inch.

Maybe if I stand very still he won’t…

“What’s up, beauty!” Trevor greeted him enthusiastically. “Daddy’s home.”

“That is honestly the creepiest thing you’ve ever said.” Jack cringed at his loud voice and kink.

“What’s with the pillow? But first, what the hell happened to you? You look like crap, almost like you haven’t…”

The blond man was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, Y/N making an appearance in nothing but a hotel robe, her damp hair having yet to be tamed by a brush.

“…slept at all. Oh. Nice!” he completed his sentence, shooting the pair a knowing look. “That’s totally a boner, isn’t it?” Trevor chuckled, pointing to the pillow.

Y/N's eyes widened and all the blood was drained out of Jack's face.

“This is not what it looks like.” she began to explain, tightening the robe around her otherwise naked body.

“Of course not.” their friend winked at her, raising his hand for a high-five. “Anyone? No? Alright, I’ll just retreat to my room so you guys can continue doing the dirty. Remember to use protection, though. Zegras out!” he almost shouted, going full-on Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club as he took a turn at the end of the hall and left their sights.

#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes #jack hughes blurb #team usa #hockey #hockey boys #trevor zegras #quinn hughes #luke hughes #cole caufield #alex turcotte #y/n x jack hughes #fanfiction #blurb

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Alvin Childress

Alvin Childress (September 15, 1907 – April 19, 1986) was an American actor, who is best known for playing the cabdriver Amos Jones in the 1950s television comedy series Amos 'n' Andy.

Alvin Childress was born in Meridian, Mississippi. He was educated at Rust College, from which he received a Bachelor of Arts degree in sociology. When he initially entered college, Childress intended to become a doctor, enrolling in typical pre-med courses. He had no thoughts of becoming involved in acting, but became involved in theater outside of classes. Childress and Rex Ingram in the Federal Theatre Project production of Haiti (1938)

Childress's first wife was the former Alice Herndon, who established herself as a successful writer and actress under the name of Alice Childress (1916–1994); the couple was married from 1934 to 1957 and had a daughter, Jean Rosa. From 1961 to 1973, Childress worked as an unemployment interviewer for the Los Angeles Department of Personnel and in the Civil Service Commission of Los Angeles County.

Childress moved to New York City and became an actor with Harlem's Lafayette Players, a troupe of stock players associated with the Lafayette Theatre. Soon, he was engaged as an actor in the Federal Theater Project, the American Negro Theater, and in all-black race film productions such as Keep Punching (1939). His greatest success on the stage was his performance as Noah in the popular drama, Anna Lucasta, which ran for 957 performances. He also worked at Teachers College of Columbia University. Childress also operated his own radio and record store in New York City. When he learned about casting for the Amos 'n' Andy television series, Childress decided to audition for a role. He was hired a year before the show went on the air.

In 1951, he was cast as the level-headed, hard-working and honest Amos Jones in the popular television series, The Amos 'n' Andy Show, which ran for two years on CBS. Childress originally tried out for the role of The Kingfish, but Charles Correll and Freeman Gosden cast him as Amos. Since he had been hired a year before the show began, Gosden and Correll turned the search for an actor to play "The Kingfish" over to Childress. In a 1979 interview, Childress shared information about some of the candidates. Cab Calloway was considered but found wanting by Gosden because of his straight hair. Childress said there were many famous men, with and without actual acting experience, who wanted to play the role. Eventually, old-time vaudeville comedian Tim Moore was cast as the Kingfish.

Shortly after the television show had ended, plans to turn it into a vaudeville act were announced in 1953, with Childress, Williams and Moore playing the same roles as they had in the television series. It is not known if there were any performances. In 1956, after the television show was no longer in production, Childress and some of his fellow cast members: Tim Moore, Spencer Williams, and Lillian Randolph along with her choir, began a tour of the US as "The TV Stars of Amos 'n' Andy". The tour was halted by CBS as the network considered this an infringement of their rights to the program and its cast of characters. Despite the threats which ended the 1956 tour, Childress, along with Moore, Williams and Johnny Lee were able to perform one night in 1957 in Windsor, Ontario, apparently without legal action. When he tried for work as an actor, Childress found none as he was typecast as Amos Jones. For a short time, Childress found himself parking cars for an upscale Beverly Hills restaurant.

Childress also appeared in roles on the television series Perry Mason, Sanford and Son, Good Times and The Jeffersons and in the films Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (1974) and The Day of the Locust (1975). When Childress appeared as a minister in a 1972 episode of Sanford and Son, he was reunited with two former cast members: Lillian Randolph of Amos 'n' Andy in the role of Aunt Hazel and Lance Taylor, Jr. of Anna Lucasta, with the role of Uncle Edgar.

Childress suffered from diabetes and other ailments. He died at age 78 on April 19, 1986, in Inglewood, California. He was buried at National Memorial Harmony Park in Landover, Maryland.

#historical #black history month #actor

[sirianasims]

We had decided to just let things happen naturally after the wedding, and it didn’t take long until I was pregnant.

We were both overjoyed, and our roommates were excited for us. Griffin immediately started changing our weekly meal plans around the nutritional requirements of pregnant women.

I asked if he was sure he still wanted to be a surgeon and not become a nutritionist instead, but he laughed it off.

“Freya, don’t be silly. You can do more than one thing with your life! Just look at Daria. Would you tell her to choose whether she wants to only do programming or podcasting or animal rights activism?”

“You know I’d never dare tell Daria what to do, but I honestly don’t understand how she finds the time.”

“Exactly, priorities!” Griffin looked at me like he’d just won the discussion and went back to his meal planning.

I thought about it. Sports had always taken up most of my time, and the rest I spent with friends and family. I didn’t really have any other interests, unless you counted reading a book or watching a movie. Griffin had his cooking, Daria seemed to be doing all the things, and even Jessica had a fashion blog.

At least Samuel was more like me, we both tended to focus on our careers and family. He wanted to specialise in paediatrics, he really loved working with children.

He was so excited about becoming a father. He kept flipping between ‘doctor mode’, spewing random facts about child development and asking me how I was feeling, and ‘dad mode’ where he obsessed about names and insisted on talking to my belly in silly voices.

It was pretty adorable. I couldn’t wait for us to finally meet our baby. We were going to be the best parents ever, together.

Nothing like my own parents.

I wasn’t even three years old when they split up. My father then proceeded to spend almost five years drinking and whoring his way through a pretty miserable existence.

Still, most of my memories of him back then were good. Even though he was troubled, he was always so happy to see me, and he always came to my games or picked me up from practice.

I remembered our trip to Mt. Komorebi vividly. The snowboarding had been amazing, and I loved spending time with my dad.

But then I had woken up from a nightmare in the big, dark, and unfamiliar house. I had felt very alone.

I was used to living by the harbour with my mother, used to the constant noise outside.

Here, the thick snow blanketed everything and it was eerily quiet.

I couldn’t remember how to turn on the lights, so I stumbled into the dark hallway, blinded by tears, only vaguely certain of where my dad’s bedroom was.

He wasn’t there.

It wasn’t the first time in my life that I’d gone to his bedroom to find it empty, but at home, it just meant that he was downstairs watching TV, or had fallen asleep on the couch with Cooper snuggled up next to him. Here, there was no sound of a TV or any light anywhere. The house felt completely deserted.

I knew I wasn’t really alone, my grandparents were in their bedroom somewhere downstairs, but I was afraid to go down there. I didn’t even want to go back into the dark hall.

I curled up on the big, empty bed. Surely, my dad would come. He had to sleep sooner or later.

I don’t remember crying myself to sleep, but I remember waking up.

My dad had been there, moisture still in his hair, fresh from a shower. With the smell of toothpaste and only the faintest hint of alcohol left on his breath.

I always hated that particular combination of smells.

He’d promised never to leave me again, and he hadn’t. Much later, I learned that he had started therapy as soon as we got home, and as far as I knew, he hadn’t touched alcohol for over fifteen years now. But I still remembered the smell.

I put my hands protectively on my growing belly.

“I’m going to do a better job than they did, no matter what it takes”, I whispered.

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