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#nursing program notes
scalpelsister · 8 months
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i start intensive outpatient therapy on tuesday and i could not be more upset lmao. i know its going to be good for me overall but i cant think of something i want to do less than that sjshdhdh. ALSO it runs all the way up until my birthday with my birthday being my last day (unless i get discharged early) which is just.... no good.
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rizblogs · 1 year
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i think people want to hear those who are nurses wanted to go into nursing since forever but I dont know how a job which is physically demanding, your every move is monitored by not just management but also by patients and their families who are at their worst emotionally, chronically understaffed, were it is normalized to be treated as less than, grossly undervalued, you experience death and pain is supposed to be appealing for people
i value the training and education i am getting and i promise you will be a good nurse cause my baggage is not my patients but also i am just sad that no one supported my wishes and dreams and corned me into a profession like this
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lewisvinga · 7 months
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thank you, nurse ! | lando norris x nursing student! reader
summary; everyone thought it was strange yn never made it to races until it’s finally revealed why
fc; belajuliana_
note; as a future nursing student, i needed this
nclex is the exam you take after finishing the nursing program to become a registered nurse !!!!
masterlist !
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liked by landonorris, bsfusername, and 120,038 others!
yourusername: post-night clinicals, at least it was w bsfusername !
bsfusername: we better get on our professors good side after doing night clinicals 3 weeks in a row😒😒
yourusername: night clinicals are a vibe
bsfusername: they really are especially with a mcdonald’s iced coffee
yourusername: ‘murica 🦅🦅
username: omg
username: SHES A NURSING STUDENT
username: so pretty omg
landonorris: nurse help!! i’m hurt, i think you need to check it out 😏😉
yourusername: i’m not registered yet sorry😕😕😕
landonorris: babe, pls play along 💔💔
yourusername: SORRY BABE, i can heal u quickly 😉
username: she’s pretty, smart, and helps people in need , she really got y’all
username: clinicals are NO joke, no wonder she couldn’t make it to any races
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liked by username, username, and 349,937 others!
f1wags: Lando Norris and his girlfriend, Y/n L/n, were spotted at dinner just 2 days before the Silverstein Grand Prix!
username: the way she looks at him🥹🥹
username: everyone doubting her love for him when she smiles at him like THAT
username: he deserves better
username: like you?? LMFAOO
username: they’re so cute what
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liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,748,927 others!
landonorris: P2 and a 🏆 at my home race !!!!!!!! ❤️you guys are crazyyyyyyyyy 💙 extra thank you to my favorite nurse for nursing me back to health 💓💓
tagged; yourusername
yourusername: do not be fooled everyone, it was just a cut which i healed with a hello kitty band aid!
landonorris: like i said, thank you, nurse !
yourusername: so so so so proud of u🥹🥹
liked by landonorris !
username: lando p2 is everything
username: LANDO PODIUM AT HIS HOME RACE!!
mclaren: 🧡
username: he fr loves her
username: ‘my favorite nurse’ ME AND WHO😫😫
username: the clip of her in mclaren’s garage🥹
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liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 394,038 others!
yourusername: p2 for my love 🧡🧡 so unbelievably proud of you! here’s to many more podiums! i love you so much🧡🧡
tagged; landonorris
landonorris: AWHHH
landonorris: i love you so much , thank you for being my lucky charm and for nursing me back to health w my paper cut🧡🧡🧡💓💓💓
yourusername: i’ll nurse you back to health anytime 💗💗
oscarpiastri: don’t let lando fool you he squealed
yourusername: when doesn’t he squeal
username: omg they’re so cute
username: laying on the highway tonight
username: i want to know what manifestations yn did bc they’re ADORABLE
yourusername posted to their story !
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liked by yourusername, bsfusername, and 1,203,938 others!
landonorris: guess who is dating an official!! registered pediatric nurse!!!! congratulations on passing the nclex my love. so proud of you for making it through nursing school. i love you so much, Y/n L/n R.N.
tagged; yourusername
yourusername: couldn’t have done it w/o our facetime sessions 🥹🥹
landonorris: making sure you study hard, R.N!!
yourusername: R.N. does sound nice 😌
yourusername: i love love love love you!!!!
landonorris: and i love love love love love you!!!
yourusername: happy to nurse my favorite driver back to health any day
landonorris: searching up on how to purposely get sick 🧐🧐🧐🧐
username: OMGOMGOMG
username: she was busy in nursing school that’s why she couldn’t visit 😫😫
username: she helps KIDS you can’t hate her 😫
username: idk if i want him or her
oscarpiastri: congrats!!! now can you visit lando more often so i don’t have to hear him whining all the time!!!
yourusername: i’ll try😌
landonorris: i don’t whine that much !!
carlossainz55: enhorabuena! [congratulations]
yourusername: gracias ❤️🧡 [thank you]
username: lando’s girlfriend being a nurse is everything
username: lando won the lottery omggg
3K notes · View notes
selfishdoll · 5 months
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❛ ..SO, SO MUCH.❜
I need you bad I can't take this pain | Boy I'm 'bout to go insane ⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ♡ NEED U BAD.
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ཐིཋྀ ⊹ 𓈒 SUMMARY.
you thought you were fine breaking up with your highschool sweetheart & avoiding him for a year. when, in actuality, you were not.
ཐིཋྀ ⊹ 𓈒 CONTENT WARNING.
angst (tiny amount), jaded reader (at first) exes to lovers, y’all were highschool sweethearts fr, tattoo artist! choso & college student reader (both 21+), “i missed you” type sex, choso being a sweetheart & very understanding, reconciling, multiple orgasms, oral sex (fem receiving ofc he’s a munch), soft dom choso, pet names & praise, excuse the amount of plot i got carried away, etc.
ཐིཋྀ ⊹ 𓈒 NOTE.
jasmine sullivan & yoci carrying most of my plot ideas. this took way too long omg. also, excuse any typos or grammar mistakes as this wasn’t proofread. also this is 4k+ words so yeah.
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How did relationships work? How did love work? Relinquishing a part of yourself to someone, expecting them to cherish and take care of it; doing the same for them. It was something you found silly, maybe even a little arrogant. You’ve seen too many woman in your life give a part— even their entire selves to their partners, only for the relationship to fall apart. Cheating, lies, simply drifting away from one another; so many excuses, so many reasons on why you avoided relationships like the plague.
Until you met him, Kamo Choso.
You remember clearly as if it was yesterday. Freshman year, he was seated in the back of your shared English class. Boredly looking ahead as if he didn’t want to be there. He looked rugged, maybe even a little depressed; overall, you didn’t see yourself becoming friends.. let alone lovers.
Oh, how wrong you were.
Choso had somehow slipped into your life through your beloved shared friend Yuki Tsukumo. From then on things fell into place. You don’t know when or why you started falling for him.
Was it because he was so caring to his younger brother Yuji? Or maybe how sweet he was to you? Always asking if you were okay, always by your side when things got tough, always encouraging you..
You fell, and you fell hard. But Choso fell much harder.
To him, you were perfection. Carefully crafted with zero flaws. He wanted to get on his knees and thank your mother personally for creating you. That’s how much you meant to him.
The moment these thoughts entered his mind he acted fast, declaring his feelings for you sophomore year of highschool. Not even letting himself linger for a month. He wanted, no, needed you as his. And to his happiness, you returned the feelings. From that day, highschool was nothing more then a bliss-filled blur.
You two became known for your loving relationship, many believing you two would marry after highschool. It was silly, you two were teenagers— yet the thought did make you smile. Everything was just.. perfect. There was nothing more you could ask for.
Until, talk of the future entered the bond you two had.
You wanted to become a nurse, planning to attend a college that had an excellent reputation for its program. While Choso wished to become a tattoo artist in your city. One wanted to stay, and one wanted to go. Choso declared he could handle a long-distance relationship, but you couldn’t. As selfish as it was, you simply couldn’t bare the thought of being away from him for so long. What if he strayed? What if you did? You couldn’t bare it at all— something you tearfully confessed to him the week before you moved onto campus.
You vividly remember the scene, it burned into your mind with no chance of escaping. How Choso stood silently, patiently; listening to your concerns and worries— expressionless when you apologized and ended the relationship. And what did he do? He approached you, carefully wiping away your tears as he’s done for you before.
“Take care of yourself.. okay?” He spoke, taking your cheek in a gentle grasp and leaning down; kissing your forehead— sealing the deal.
That chapter in your life was over. You weren’t with Choso anymore, mind focused on your studies and nothing more. A relationship would drag you down anyway.. you didn’t need him.. you didn’t miss him.
“Shit..” You hissed softly, quickly pulling the wand away from your eye, blinking rapidly. It was your own fault; rushing to put mascara on. You should have better time management skills given you were in college and all— but no. Here you were, fighting against time while attempting to finish getting yourself ready for a block party. You hadn’t a clue who was throwing it, only told — or more like forced — to attend by Yuki.
You jolted in your seat when a loud honk come from outside your house, moving around your vanity to peer outside; spotting Yuki’s familiar car. You breathed softly, standing from your chair and fixing your attire. You wore a cute white ring halter top, along with blue jean shorts and black wedge sandals. Gathering your phone, keys, and purse; the gold chain around your ankle jingled as you exited your bedroom and soon house, locking the door behind you.
Yuki rolled down her window, grinning at you as you walked down your driveway. “Uber for (Y/N)?”
You playfully rolled your eyes at her shenanigans, opening the passenger side door and entering, shutting it behind you. You buckled up after placing your things down, sinking into the chair. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“No problem, I just wanted to see your face firsthand when I tell you Choso would be there.” The words came out of her so nonchalantly, messing with her radio for a moment all while you stared at her blankly.
You reached for your door, but the woman was much faster; locking and starting up the car. You whipped around to glare at her, “Tsukumo! You told me he would be working.”
“Guess the client cancelled..” She mused, taking the car out of park and beginning to drive away from your house. Yuki side glanced, catching your annoyed expression which caused her to sigh, rolling her eyes. “Look, there’s gonna be quite a few people there— maybe you two won’t speak.” She shrugged, raising her eyebrows in hopes you would relax. You only sucked your teeth, leaning into the car door.
An entire year, you’ve two been away from each other. Contact dwindling into nothing after the second month of college. You two were simply busy leading different lives, you told yourself.
But again, it didn’t matter it’s not like you, missed him anyways.
The rest of the car ride was filled with random radio music and brief chatter, Yuki catching you up on things. You had avoided coming back for any holidays, knowing it would be too much for you. Luckily, she was more than happy to tell you about all the dirt she had on your shared friends.
She soon slowed infront of an unfamiliar house, putting the car into park and soon shutting it off. You glanced around, feeling your anxiety lift when you realized you didn’t see Choso’s car. Good, you could somehow melt into the crowd without him noticing you.
Silently you grabbed your phone deciding to leave your purse and charger in the glove compartment, you exited the car and shut the door behind you. Following Yuki up the driveway, porch, and into the house; music quickly overtook you, with the sweet smell of the grill and alcohol. Some people were resting in the living room or crowding the dining room table, but most were in the backyard playing football, or simply shooting the shit.
You glanced around, eyes twinkling at the familiar faces and waltzing up to them. Laughter and hugs ensued, catching up on things given you haven’t seen each other in about a year.
Your arm was locked around Shoko’s waist, talking about nonsense whilst watching Gojo and Geto play beer pong. Or more like Gojo mocking his best friend for missing such an easy shot.
It was nice seeing everyone like this, the stress of seeing your highschool sweetheart leaving rather quickly. For now you were swept away in nostalgia, enjoying being around the people you cared for.
A cup in hand, you recalled the time you walked in on your dorm mate having sex, cheeks burning from the permanent smile etched onto your features. One that faltered the moment excited voices called out to the pink-haired male entering the backyard.
“You’re finally here, Yuji!” Nobara grinned at her close friend, walking over to him; Megumi close behind. The young man apologized, talking about traffic or what not. You weren’t too concerned about that, given your eyes settled on the person walking in behind him.
Anxiety spilled into you, heart thumping against your chest as you took him in, your ex— Kamo Choso. Nothing much had changed about him, still as rugged and handsome as ever; dressed in a simple black compression shirt and baggy pants. It seemed he decided to forgo his usual hairstyle, the black tresses resting on his shoulders in a messy fashion. One that suited him perfectly.
Your breath hitched, watching his eyes zone in on your instantly. You didn’t wait for a reaction, quickly turning away and busying yourself with your phone. Your eyes did lift a little however when the man passed you, the familiar cologne burning your nostrils and causing your stomach to stir. Before you could even think you were lifting yourself from the chair and waltzing back into the house.
Luckily no one noticed or either failed to comment on your disappearance.
You found yourself heading over to the kitchen, grasping ahold of the silver fridge door and opening it; eyes scanning for some water. You murmured to yourself while continuing to look, attempting to ignore the harsh beating of your heart. You sighed the moment you finally found one, grasping it from its place on the shelf and standing up, closing the door.
Taking the cap off you lifted the bottle to your lipgloss stained lips, taking a few sips whilst leaning against the counter— relishing in the cold beverage. Your eyes closed in thought, attempting to map out a perfect plan on how to avoid Choso.
The backyard was a medium size, yet he was bound to be around Yuji. So, as long as you avoided him, Nobara, and Megumi— you could avoid Choso too! It was foolproof and perfect, nearly bringing a smile to your face.
Leaning up you pulled the bottle from your lips, twisting the cap back on and lifting yourself from the counter, turning and freezing. Breaching the threshold of the kitchen was Choso in all his glory, face turning from talking to someone to stare in front of him, eyes landing on you.
A brief silence entered the kitchen, simply taking the other in. Finally, Choso was the first to speak; “Hey, (Y/N).”
“Hey..” You spoke, annoyed by how small you sounded. You watched as he opened the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and shutting it closed. The man leaned against the wall beside the kitchen’s opening, opening the bottle.
You glanced around, noticing there were no many exits. You were trapped.
“How’s college?”
“Huh—“ Your head snapped back to the man, spotting his raised eyebrows, awaiting your answer. You nervously licked your lips, leaning back against the counter. “It’s uh.. been good. Classes are a little hard but, ya know.” You shrugged, feeling a heat crawl from your cheeks to the back of your ears. You dragged your gaze from the ground to him, “How’s tattooing? I heard you got your own booth, congrats.”
Choso nodded slowly, a lazy smile pulling his lips. “Yeah, thanks.” He mused softly, placing the cap back onto his water bottle. “Clientele has been good. Been going to tattoo parties and special events.. and things.”
“That’s good.” You forced a little smile, gaze faltering the moment his eyes landed on you. You felt the way they carried down your form, a familar gaze, one that always made you feel far too warm.
Another silence entered the room, both of you refusing to speak.. or leave. You told yourself time and time again you hadn’t missed Choso, that you were done; stuck on the path you’ve chosen. Yet here you were, anxiously waiting for something, anything to happen. You just.. couldn’t let go.
You gripped the bottle you held, eyes drifting back to him, zoning in on the bracelet he wore. It had red and black beads, ones all to familar to you. Starboy, was the words etched onto seven of them. You knew this, given you had your own pink and white charm bracelet labeled Stargirl.
“You still wear that?” The words left you before you could think, Choso blinking from his thoughts and glancing at his wrist. The man breathed softly, nodding soon after. “Yeah. I do.”
“Why?”
Choso went silent, leaning his head back against the wall as his eyes turned up to the ceiling. Finally he shrugged, “I don’t know.” He spoke lowly, causing you to bite your lip. Feelings you had pushed to the back of your mind began to flood within you, flashes of memories you had kept locked away following after.
You turned, rapidly blinking to eliminate the tears threatening to tread down your face. You were kidding yourself for months, thinking you hadn’t missed him. Thinking you were better then the woman in your life, able to cut a man off without a second thought. Yet your heart betrayed you in the most painful way, wanting nothing more to leap into his arms and cry.
His cologne became stronger, a gentle, familiar hand hesitantly being placed onto the one that held your bottle. Your eyes drifted to his face, spotting the concerned look he wore. That was enough for you, tears spilling and traveling down your dark brown cheeks, mouth opening but unable to speak.
But Choso knew what you wanted to say, knew how you felt. The man gently grabbed the bottle from your hand, placing it off to the side whilst his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. He ignored the wet feeling that tainted his shirt, resting his chin onto your head all while continuing to hold you. Choso breathed as your shaky hands reached around, grasping his shirt as your buried your face deeper into his chest.
“I’m so sorry Choso..” You managed to whimper out, sniffling shortly after. The words escaped you again, delving into a soft mantra that caused the man to pull you even closer, softly shushing and soothing you. You stood there in his arms, feeling every bit of resolve melt away.
You missed Choso so much, it hurt. The pain rendering your whole body limp, using him for stability.
It took a moment to calm yourself down, soon pulling away, warming as the man reached over to wipe your tears. Just like he did a year ago and so many years prior.
“Why are you apologizing?.. You don’t have to—“
“I didn’t compromise. I was so stuck on myself, running at the first sign of conflict.” You spoke softly, leaning into his palm the moment held your cheek. “I want to try again.. I want to be with you again, Choso. You don’t know how much I missed you.”
The words had barely left you before his lips were covering your own, taking your breath away easily. The familiar, wonderful feeling took over your mind, hands sliding up to wrap around his neck; fingers curling into his messy hair. The moment his tongue swiped across your bottom lip you were parting them, pressing your body into him as a needy sigh escaped you. His hands traveled to the underside of your thighs, lifting you up and placing you on the counter— all while continuing the kiss.
Your legs opened wide, locking around him the moment he stepped between them. The kiss deepened, his hands resting on your ass as soft moans and hisses entering the atmosphere. Sooner then you hoped the kiss ended, pulling away as soft pants fanned on each other’s skin.
“I missed you too.. so, so much.” Choso murmured softly, gripping your plush form as if you would disappear in thin air. No other words followed, the man capturing your lips with such intensity you were tugging at his tresses. Languidly moving his lips, leaving you breathless, threatening to devour you. Your legs tightened around his form, feeling hot beneath your clothes.
His name fell from your lips in a soft whimper, pulling back and resting your head against the cabinet— gasping the moment his lips attached to your neck. Your eyebrows knitted close together, biting your lip as his teeth gently grazed your skin. “Choso, Choso.. not here— we can’t..”
While his lips didn’t stop he listened to your warning, sliding his hands underneath you and lifting you off the counter. You tightened your arms around his neck, face hot with embarrassment as he walked you from the kitchen and towards the back of the house— everyone luckily none the wiser given they were all in the backyard now.
Moving towards a random bedroom he opened the door, shutting and locking it behind him. Waltzing over to the bed he sat down, placing in you in his lap all while his lips continued to press gentle kisses against your neck, collarbone, and throat. Your hands traveled, finding the edge of his shirt and tugging on it, feeling his hands fall from your body to his shirt— peeling it off for you. Tracing his skin, feeling his sculpted sink in the moment your feathery touches reached low— gasped as Choso gently bit your neck, pushing to lay you down on the soft blankets.
“Missed this.. missed your touch, smell, how you taste..” His words drifted, catching onto the the edge of your shirt and slowly pulling off your body. Choso breathed, taking in your naked chest, leaning down. The cool, silver chain he wore tickled your skin as his lips ghosted your chest, a warm hand grabbing your breast to gently squeeze.
You gasped as his tongue glided across your areola and slowly hardening nipple, feeling his free hand flicking the button on your shorts, entering them shortly after. Choso began to suck on your hardened bud, all while his fingers breached your panties, two fingers slowly circling your clit. Your legs rose, hips rising into his touch as your head leaned back against the mattress. Soft breaths of pleasure escaped you, gripping his hair as your eyes were pinched closed.
“You missed this, pretty girl? Missed how easily I could drive you crazy from just my fingers?..” He questioned softly, fingers lowering to push into you, hissing at the way your walls clung to his digits all while his thumb busied itself, rubbing tight circles onto your hard button.
You nodded, clinging onto him as his fingers thrusted and scissored inside of you. “Yes.. fuck— yes.. Missed this so much, Choso.” You gasped, whimpers escaping you as another finger came to stretch you. Wet muffled squelches carried with each thrust and curl into your pussy, bruised lips parted as melodic moans escaped you.
The man hummed softly in enjoyment, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. Sweeter, softer then the way he was ruining you with his fingers, pushing against your gummy walls affectively leading you closer and closer to your orgasm. You whimpered in his mouth, nails dragging from his hair to his arm, feeling the muscles tense with each movement of his hand.
You legs tightened around him, pulling back to gasp, throwing a hand over your mouth the moment you came— muffling the moan that escaped you. Your mess soiled his fingers and your panties, legs shaking as you felt him slowly withdraw his fingers. You breathed into your palm, barely registering his hands latching onto your shorts and peeling them off your body, panties following.
There, his hands slid to the inside of your thighs, pushing them open to reveal the price between them. Choso moaned softly from the sight, hands rising to place his thumbs onto your soaked folds, spreading them. “So messy, princess.” The man teased softly, reaching to press his thumb against your sensitive clit, grinning at the way you whined.
“Choso, please..” You breathed, watching as his body lowered, breath hitching the moment his cool breath fanned across your wet cunt. You whimpered as his thick tongue dragged a stripe up to your clit, the tip circling the button. Your legs threatened to close, causing the man to pull you closer, legs stretched out and resting on his shoulders. Your fingers curled into his hair, crying out the moment his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and running the flat of his tongue against it.
The man pulled back for a moment, hands sliding under your ass and gripping the warm globes, lifting you a little just to smother himself in your pussy. His tongue moved wickedly, gliding up and down your slit before dipping into your warm entrance, thrusting and curling against your walls.
Your fingers clung to his hair, free hand placed against your mouth as you bit your palm, covering the desperate moans that escaped you. Your hips moved, grinding into his face as little tears built within your eyes. Slurping and lapping, enjoying every single drop that dripped from your pussy, moans escaping him. His hips ground into the blankets, chasing your orgasm with such intensity.
Your stomach clenched, arching up off the bed as a muffled swear escaped you, creaming all over his face, feeling his hands tightened as he licked you clean. Your limp body fell back against the blankets, breathing heavily as your legs shook. Soon enough he released you, rising from his spot between your legs and dragging his hands from your ass to your thighs, soothing the warm flesh.
Pushing forward he leaned over your body, hand carrying to your throat and gently grabbing it, pressing his wet lips against your own; you softly moaning at your taste. Slowly, the two of you continued to kiss, his other hand drifting to his sweats to push down his body, boxers following.
Choso pulled away, placing his forehead against your own, sliding his cock between your slit— rubbing against you slowly. Your fingers locked around his wrist, desperate pleas escaping you as your hips rose, searching for more. The man gave a breathy chuckle, smoothing his thumb against your throat. “Needy aren’t we?” The man mused, leaning to kiss between your eyes, hearing you whine.
“Need you, Choso..”
“You need me so bad, put it in yourself.” The man spoke, watching you bashfully blink at him, grinning as you attempted to shy away from his gaze. His hand rose, grabbing your wrist and carrying it between the two of you. Your much smaller hand wrapped around his cock, a hiss escaping his lips from the touch. “Go on, princess..” Choso breathed, gripping the sheets beside him as your hips rose, adjusting to line him up with your entrance before slowly sinking inside.
You never got accustomed to how Choso stretched you— not the first time and definitely not now. Your lips parted, soft moans escaping you as your hips continued to slowly rise. A choked cry escaped you however the moment he flicked his hips forward, burying himself deep inside. “Ch—choso! You..” You whimpered, walls pulsing around his heavy length, feeling him kiss your cheeks.
“Guess I’m just as needy as you baby.” Choso spoke, lip twitching into a subtle smirk. He rose, releasing your throat and resting on his hutches. Hands found the back of your knees, a steady grip as he slowly pushed them down to your chest, watching you breath sharply. Pulling his hips back until the tip was inside, Choso thrusted forward, taking in the way your body jumped and the prettiest moan escaped you.
His rhythm stared quickly, hips snapping back and forth, reaching deep inside; pushing against a spot that caused you to see stars. Your fingers balled up the sheets underneath you, moans escaping you. You had long forgotten the party going on outside, long forgotten the fact you two were separated for an entire year— your mind only focused on how his cock so easily ruined you, toes curling and anklet jingling with each thrust.
The man leaned down, folding you even more as he pressed a hand against the bed, the other curling in your hair, lifting you into a messy kiss. Tongues curling, teeth bumping into each other, eating up the other’s moans as pleasure consumed you. His chain tickled your heated skin, dragging across each time he rutted into you.
“Fuck..” Choso gasped, pulling back to breath, hand moving to gently grabbing your cheeks. “Keep your eyes right here, princess.. that’s it.. look so pretty like this.” He spoke, feeling you clench with each praise that left his mouth.
You felt so damn good, hugging him close; sucking him in each time he pulled back. Your arousal dripped down his length, a sticky ring forming at the base of his cock. Just when your hand rose to cover your mouth again, Choso was snatching your wrist, pressing it against the bed.
“No, no— waited far too fucking long to have you covering your mouth.” He hissed harshly, intertwining your fingers as he buried himself deeper, hitting your cervix.
The pain was quickly washed away with pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you came around his cock— a high pitched cry escaping your throat. Tears trickled down your cheeks, other hand falling to his waist to push, and whine; the overstimulation becoming too much.
All for Choso to simply shake his head, pace quickening as he drilled you into the bed. “Know you got another in you.. come on (Y/N).”
You whimpered, head pressed into the blankets as sobs escaped you. “Cho—Choso! Hah.. Can..can’t think, fuck!”
“Then don’t.” The man chuckled in a breathy tone, leaning close as his lips ghosted your lips. “Let me fuck everything out of your mind except for how good I’m making you feel..” A groan escaped him shortly after, eyes glossing over as he felt himself getting close.
Thrusts became desperate, the two of you dissolving into pathetic fits of moans and whines, hands moving across the other’s skin to grip and mark up. Just when you felt your mind going blank you shook, convulsing as you came all over his cock again.
Choso was close behind, burying himself deep and coming; eyes pinched close as he gripped you tightly. His hips stilled, heavy pants escaping the two of you.
The man pulled out shortly after, rolling off your body and falling to your side. Choso didn’t leave you alone long, reaching for your waist and pulling you into his side, turning to place a feverish kiss to his forehead.
A blissful silence covered the silence, simply enjoying the other’s company and warm bodies. Soon though, you rose up slowly, ignoring the aching of your body as your hand found his cheek. “I love you, Choso.”
He smiled at you, thumb caressing your skin as he kissed you gently— mumbling the same on your lips. Moments passed before you two pulled away, you snuggling in his neck arm strewn across his body.
Until.. you blinked, glancing around the room. “Wait.. whose room is this?”
“It’s a guest room.” He murmured back, chuckling softly after. “Gojo might be a little pissed if he finds out about this.”
You shook your head a little, sighing softly. “Choso..”
2K notes · View notes
cy-cyborg · 8 months
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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.
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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."
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hannyoontify · 8 months
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your cherry flavored kisses - choi seungcheol
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member | basketball player!seungcheol x student medic!reader ft. the rest of svt
genre | fluff, high school!au, established relationship!au, secret dating!au(?)
word count | 2.8k
synopsis | as his mom always said, kisses are the best kind of medicine for boo-boos
warnings | cursing, kissing, minor injuries, one joke about sex, reader is a bit shy when it comes to relationships and pda, a bunch of romantic cliches but pls js let me have this one 🥲
notes | realized that i can’t write intimate scenes for shit!!!! but also happy (late) birthday to the best leader!! hope your day was full of laughter and love because you deserve all of it and more <33
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The entire gym seemed to grimace collectively when Player #1 was shoved over by the opposing team member, and so did you. Choi Seungcheol, the captain and star player of your school’s varsity basketball team rolled over onto his back, clutching his knee and face scrunched up in pain. 
The stands booed when the zebra-patterned referee blew his whistle and signaled it as not a foul. Students and other on-lookers from both sides began to yell, petitioning that it was a flagrant foul, but the referee stood his ground. You and your friend Vernon ran out onto the basketball court with the stretcher as your school’s head coach tried to reason with the referee.
“Hey, hey. Seungcheol, where does it hurt?” Vernon asked as you set down the stretcher. You reached over and scooped your hands under the sweaty athlete’s shoulders, ready to lift him into the gurney. When you first joined your school’s new sports medicine and therapy program, you thought no one actually used the medical device and the school had invested in one just for show. Obviously, you now stand corrected.
“The area-” The brunette gasped for air. Every square inch of his face was glistening in sweat, the collar of his jersey absolutely soaked through. Seungcheol had been giving it his all this entire game, scoring almost 21 points and it was only halfway through the second period. This aggravated the opposing team, who were losing exponentially, enough for them to push Seungcheol over when he was dribbling down the court. “The area below my knee cap. Hurts like a bitch.”
Vernon nodded in understanding and glanced over at you. You returned his gaze with a determined nod of your head and the two of you gently lifted shifted him onto the carrier. 
“Sorry. Would try to help but-” Seungcheol’s words were cut off with a loud groan. “Can’t. Right now.”
You tightened your lips at the sight of his face stricken with pain and with the help of Vernon, heaved him up and carried the injured player out of the gym to the nurse’s office.
Once Seungcheol was laid down on a cot, Vernon ran off to find Ms. Jung, the school nurse who had momentarily left her post to “get some fresh air” while you looked for an ice pack. As soon your friend left the room, Seungcheol grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer from where he was lying down, forcing you to sit on the edge of the cot he was lying on.
You rolled your eyes and tried to pull away but he kept an iron grip on your wrist as he tried his best to make eye contact with you. “Are you mad at me?” He asked with a small pout.
“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You huffed, refusing to face his direction. From where he was lying, Seungcheol could catch a glimpse of your side profile. Your lips were jutted out into a firm pout and your cheeks puffed out. 
“I’m sorry, love. I tried to take it easy but you know how I get-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just… don’t like seeing you get hurt,” You said, in a much softer voice this time. “Damn you and your competitiveness. It doesn’t hurt to lose sometimes, you know.”
Seungcheol smiled when you turned around to finally face him. “Look at me, I’m all fine! I was just fibbing on the court to- OW WHAT THE FUCK?!”
Your boyfriend yelled out in pain when you poked at his knee, right below the kneecap where he said it was hurting earlier. “Fibbing, my ass. Stay here while I get an ice pack.”
Seungcheol whimpered in pain, rolling around on his back with his arms clenched around his leg while you searched through the mini freezer. He watched from behind, staring at your hunched over form. Despite the extreme pain he was currently feeling, he felt a warm feeling blossom in his chest that spread throughout his body all the way past his limbs to the tips of his fingers. God, he cared for you so much.
“Here, I think we ran out of ice packs so you have to use this bag of peas,” You came back with half a bag of iced peas, offering it to your boyfriend who looked up at you with teary heart eyes. 
(FYI, they were only teary because he was in immense pain.)
After sitting up, Seungcheol accepted the makeshift ice pack and pressed to his knee, knowing how to treat his injuries better than you or any other sports medicine and therapy student. You sat down next to him, gathering your knees close to your chest and lightly resting your head on his shoulder. It felt like your heart was going to leap out of your throat because of your close proximity.
You’ve had a crush on Choi Seungcheol for as long as you can remember. In elementary school, you found yourself drawn to him because of how he selflessly gave away all of his candy during lunch. (Looking back on it now, you might’ve been attracted to the candy not him, but that makes it sound less romantic so you like to leave that part out). In middle school, you always caught yourself staring in his direction because he was good. He excelled at whatever he did. He always knew the answers in math and shared interesting perspectives in English for a middle schooler. But he shone in gym class. Choi Seungcheol looked invincible with a ball in his hands, somehow pulling off the tacky and scratchy gym clothes that smelled like a mix of sweat and old socks. It was in eighth grade when you started doodling ‘[Name] Choi’ in the back of your math notebook before erasing frantically whenever your teacher walked by.
In high school, it was no different, except Choi Seungcheol just got really, really tall and really, really, really attractive. He was scouted into the school’s junior varsity basketball team as a freshman and became a point guard for the varsity team as a sophomore. He was completely out of your league. Choi Seungcheol was the star player of your school’s basketball team while you were just a staff member in your school’s newspaper. The closest you’ve ever gotten to Choi Seungcheol was when you assisted Seokmin in interviewing him after winning a game. 
That was, until this past summer. You were taking summer school classes to make room for sports med. and therapy in your schedule, and your seat partner was none other than Choi Seungcheol, who had failed Economics the semester before. It took you by surprise that the smartest boy you knew since third grade had failed a class, but you thought it was impressive that he even managed to take Economics as a junior. 
You found yourself bonding with the star player, joking around during class and taking turns to take naps so someone could take notes while the other slept. The system worked, and the teacher looked like they weren’t being paid enough to be there, so the two of you considered it a win. The entire summer flew by like that, talking and hanging out with Seungcheol, even outside of class. This was when you learned about his performance anxiety, his self-doubt, and the pressure he feels from not only his coach and teammates but also the rest of the school. You offered him the most comfort you could possibly muster; a few words of encouragement and a big, big hug. 
When Seungcheol asked you out on the last day of summer school, you didn’t see it coming at all. From what you knew, he only recently broke up with his past girlfriend, the captain of the cheer team. Everyone had said that they were like a match made in heaven, but evidently not, considering how messy their breakup was. But who were you to say no?
Fast forward two months, to your current situation. You guys weren’t intentionally keeping the relationship a secret, rather you were just shy and Seungcheol understood that. He promised you to wait patiently until you were ready. 
“Can I see your knee?” You asked softly. Seungcheol nodded and took off the bag of peas, revealing his now bruised knee. The skin was discolored in different shades of blue, black, dark purple, and green and you drew in a sharp breath. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Seungcheol pouted and pointed to his cheek, where he had a small nick, probably a scratch from the other player as he fell. You smiled and cautiously brought your hand up to his face. Despite having been dating for well over 2 months, PDA still felt a bit awkward for you. You occasionally held hands and hugged, and you liked to rest your head on his broad shoulders. Seeing Seungcheol’s face this close to yours made your stomach erupt into butterflies and you could feel the heat quickly spreading up to your cheeks.
“Let’s get some ointment on this,” You left your spot and began digging through the medicine cabinets, ignoring the hot burning on the apples of your cheeks. Going through every cabinet except the one that actually held the ointment, you talked loudly to yourself and Seungcheol held back a laugh at the sight. He thought it was cute, how flustered you got at the smallest amounts of physical touch. “Here it is!”
You ceremoniously held up the treatment and bandage box up in the air with a triumphant grin and Seungcheol couldn’t help but return the smile. Sitting back down next to him, you ignored the fluttering in your stomach again as you dabbed on the ointment onto your boyfriend’s face, trying your absolute hardest not to stare into his dark, chocolate-y brown eyes or his pretty pink lips-
“[Name], sweetheart, the scratch is on the other side,” Seungcheol said softly and you wanted to dig a hole, crawl into it and stay there forever. Your lover simply chuckled at your quiet ‘sorry’. “You’re cute.”
Now you really need to dig a hole. This was getting too much for you.
“Psh. Whatever,” You mumbled under your breath as you finished applying the treatment and brought out the bandage kit. “Stay still or else I won’t finish treating you.”
Seungcheol tried his best not to move when he felt your fingers lightly grazing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. It tickled, and he giggled.
You bit back a smile and lightly hit him in his shoulder for laughing. “I told you not to move.” 
“I couldn’t help it! It tickles,” With a small shake of your head, you put the kit away and sat back down next to him. Seungcheol stared at you for a minute before speaking again. “[Name], I think you’re forgetting something.”
You looked at Seungcheol with a confused look. “What do you mean?”
He crossed his arms across his chest with a pout. “Aren’t I supposed to get a lollipop for being a good patient?”
God, he was not good for your heart.
“How could I possibly forget?” With a fond smile, you handed him a bright red heart shaped candy on a stick. “You have been a good boy, have a lollipop!”
Seungcheol’s eyes twinkled at your reference to one of his favorite movies and gratefully took the candy. “Okay, now one last thing.”
“What?”
He pointed towards his injured knee. “You need to kiss it to make it feel better! It’s a part of the official medical procedure. My mom said so, and she’s a nurse.”
You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend’s childish antics but nonetheless bent over to kiss his knee. “And when’s the last time she’s said that to you?”
Seungcheol thought about it. “When I was four or five. But it’s you, so it’s gonna work, I promise,” He beamed triumphantly and pointed towards his right wrist, where he had injured it last season. “Here too.”
Thus began a little game, where Seungcheol pointed at all of his injuries, new and old, and you would follow wherever his finger pointed to kiss it and make it feel better. It was his knee, then his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder blade, his collar, all the way up to his cheek.
Your face is inches away from Seungcheol’s and you were pretty sure he could hear your accelerating heartbeat that thrummed loudly in your chest and ears. The sudden close proximity makes your breath hitch as you glance down at the candy stick that stuck out past his pretty lips. The warmth that radiated off his body sent chills down yours as you locked eyes with him. 
You felt sick. You really, really needed to dig a hole.
With your hands fidgeting in your lap, you leaned in closer, almost feeling drawn to his presence, like a moth drawn to a light or a sailor drawn to the sweet melodies of a siren’s voice. You wondered if Seungcheol would also lead you to your demise, just like those sirens. 
He leans in even more, his warm breath ghosting over your lips. The lollipop was nowhere to be found but you could still smell the overly sweet artificial cherry flavor and you licked your lips. If you moved just the slightest bit, your lips would graze his. 
“Cheol... can I kiss you?” The words leave your mouth without thinking and you want to kick yourself. 
Seungcheol pulls away for a second to get a better look at you, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. “I’d be pretty sad if you didn’t.”
That was all the confirmation you needed before you screwed your eyes shut and pressed your lips against his. You felt your teeth knock against his and you winced, but Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind. His hands naturally find the side of your face and waist as he gently pulls you in deeper into the kiss. Your hands remain in your lap, ever fidgeting and fussing at the new feeling. 
His lips tasted like cherry. A swirling combination of the cherry flavored lollipop and his cherry flavored chapstick he always wore before his games. He claimed that his lips get chapped easily during the game when you questioned him about it once. You decided that this was your new favorite flavor. Combined with the feeling of his soft lips against yours, you wondered how you made it this far without kissing him. 
Seungcheol pulls away hesitantly, his hands still on their respective places on your cheek and waist. “Too much?”
You shake your head with a smile. “You taste like cherries. I like it.”
He took that as a sign to continue and pulled you back in. This time you were prepared and angled your face so as to not bump your teeth with his again. You smiled into the kiss, the fluttering feeling in your stomach making you feel even more giddy than before. One hand slowly made their way onto Seungcheol’s shoulder, gripping onto his jersey as his lips captured yours.
“So that’s why our captain’s been in a good mood lately.”
You basically shriek as you frantically pull away from Seungcheol, who seemed just as surprised to see his entire (sweaty) team standing by the entrance. In the front leading the group was Yoon Jeonghan, another star player who co-captained the team and Seungcheol’s best friend. He stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. You could see the rest of his teammates standing behind him, noticing Mingyu and Soonyoung who seemed excited out of their minds to catch their captain in love.
“Go awayyyy,” Seungcheol complained, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Go bother someone else, I was doing something!”
You heard someone mumble, “More like doing someone,” that was immediately covered up with a cough.
“I heard that, Boo Seungkwan.” 
Jeonghan uncrossed his arms and took a step back. “We all came to check up on you but it seems like you got all the kisses you need to make your boo-boo feel better. I expect you to be on that court once halftime is over!”
You basked in the silence that followed soon after the 10 rowdy boys left. Guess the cat was out of the bag then.
“... Can I seriously play after halftime?”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Choi Seungcheol?!”
“Sorry, sorry! It was a joke!” A moment of silence before, “Can I kiss you again?” 
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reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^
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gatheringbones · 5 months
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[“As computer programs determine how many patients can be profitably squeezed into a day, doctors become tools. Then the actual machines march triumphantly into the wards.
Nurses are now separated from patients by computers on wheels that roll everywhere with them: their bossy robot taskmasters. When you first see a nurse, she or he will likely have eyes on the screen rather than on you. This has dreadful consequences for your treatment, since you become a checklist rather than a person. If you are having a problem unrelated to what is on the screen, some nurses will have a hard time gathering themselves and paying attention. For example, after my first liver procedure my liver drain was improperly attached. This was a serious problem that was easily reparable. Yet although I tried for four days to draw attention to it, I could not get through. It was not on the lists. And so I had a second liver procedure.
When I read my own medical record, I was struck by how often doctors wrote what was convenient rather than what was true. It’s hard to blame them: they are locked in a terrible record-keeping system that sucks away their time and our money. When doctors enter their records, their hands are guided by the possible entries in the digital system, which are arranged to maximize revenue. The electronic medical record offers none of the research benefits that we might expect from its name; it is electronic in the same sense that a credit card reader or an ATM is electronic. It is of little help in assembling data that might be useful for doctors and patients.
During the coronavirus pandemic, doctors could not use it to communicate about symptoms and treatments. As one doctor explained, “Notes are used to bill, determine level of service, and document it rather than their intended purpose, which was to convey our observations, assessment, and plan. Our important work has been co-opted by billing.” Doctors hate all of this.
Doctors of an older generation say that things were better in their time—and, what is more worthy of note, younger doctors agree with them. Doctors feel crushed by their many masters and miss the authority that they used to enjoy, or that they anticipated that they would enjoy when they decided to go to medical school. Young people go to medical school for good reasons, then find their sense of mission exploited by their bosses. Pressured to see as many patients as possible, they come to feel like cogs in a machine. Hassled constantly by companies that seek to pry open every aspect of medical practice for profit, they find it hard to remember the nobility of their calling. Tormented by electronic records that take as much time as patient care, and tortured by mandatory cell phones that draw them away from thinking, they lose their ability to concentrate and communicate. When doctors are disempowered, we do not learn what we need to be healthy and free.”]
timothy snyder, from our malady: lessons in liberty from a hospital diary, 2020
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lizzieisright · 2 days
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Stop the world (I wanna get off with you)
masc!reader x fem!Abby
Palestine: what can you do
Summary: You're tired of all this mandatory social stuff during another charity gala you attend. You watch Abby and wish for the time to stop so you two can have a moment.
Tags: Rich reader wears tuxedo, no other descriptions otherwise. Abby wears a dress (and she looks fucking stunning). For smut in the second half: fingering (r!abby), oral (r!abby), no power dynamics.
Notes: I blame Arctic Monkeys for this. (it wasn't even supposed to have smut, but I got carried away.)
/-/-/-/-/-/
It's been two hours since the gala started. You don't like those things: your social battery dies after the fifth person starts small talking with you - but you visit them anyway. It's for the greater good and you love charity, especially since your successful business lets you earn more money than you'd ever need in this lifetime - so you put them to work.
There's also two other, smaller reasons why you visit these events, and they're personal to you.
The first reason is vain. It's an excuse to wear the finest tuxedo you have - even though right now your bow-tie is undone and lies on your collarbone quite fashionably, and you can't be bothered to stand up from your seat as you nurse your non-alcoholic drink and stare at the most expensive pair of leather shoes you own. You're tired and ready to go home, but you catch the glimpse of yourself in the mirror and smirk - you look hot. Hot and rich. Your ego can’t get bigger.
The second reason has been going around the room talking to people and laughing, holding a glass of champagne and barely drinking from it. 
The second reason is wearing a gorgeous silk golden dress that shows off her cleavage, her shoulders, her waist and her long legs. Her hair is plaited into a fluffy braid which makes it look weightless and beautiful. Your second reason looks like an amazonian goddess and you can’t take your eyes off of her. 
You kinda wish the world would just stop for the two of you. 
Abby catches your gaze and smiles - you smile back and raise your glass. You don’t want to go and talk - she is really the only person you like in this room - and you’d prefer to have your conversation private; although getting Abby alone isn't easy to do when she is working. Abby chuckles at your tortured expression but goes back to the conversation, nods as she listens. 
Abby is magnificent and you admire her for what she does: she is very successful for her age, one of the leading doctors in the hospital that is hosting the gala. It’s rare when you could see her in anything else than scrubs, let alone a beautiful dress, and you don’t even feel bad about it - Abby wears scrubs because she helps people. She saves lives. All these fancy dinners and galas and dresses are tools for her to help her cause - to create more charity programs, to get medication more accessible, to get medical care accessible. There are no words to describe your admiration for Abby, but you hope your actions show enough. 
So you don't distract Abby from doing her work, but keep watching her from afar, enjoying her every move, every curve that this dress shows, every flick of her braid and every sparkle of her eyes. She is just so fucking beautiful. 
Half an hour later you start to get a little impatient - so you go to the balcony to let your ears rest from the whole buzz around you. You’re tempted to find Abby at this point, but she finds you first. You hear the clicking of her heels on the marble and smile before turning to face her. 
“Hi.” Abby says sweetly and you melt. 
“Hi.” You say almost dreamily, as if you can't believe she is here. 
You take your jacket off to put it around her shoulders, and Abby blushes, beautiful pink highlights her freckles. You watch her in adoration and she blushes harder when she notices the depth of tenderness and love in your eyes.
“You look gorgeous.” You tell her and Abby can’t keep herself from smiling, a little shy. “I’m glad you decided to wear a dress today.”
“If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I would’ve dared to.” Abby says. She is impossibly cute when her youngish shyness takes a hold of her. “I still have to meet some people.” 
“Yeah. We’ve got people to see, places to go. I know.” You chuckle and caress Abby’s cheek reverently. She closes her eyes for a moment, basking in your touch. “I wish we could just stop the world and get off.”
Abby laughs quietly, a melodic sound that feels like home. 
“I love your tuxedo.” Abby admits and toys with the ends of your bow-tie. “It does look better undone.” There’s a small implication of something dark and hot in her words and you feel the fire starting in your lower stomach.
“Love, you’re impossible.” You sigh, not letting yourself gently grab Abby by her hips. Not the time, not the place. “You have to meet some people, remember?”
“Yes.” Abby grins and gives your jacket back. Her perfume and your cologne are now mixed and you love it. “Maybe there is someone you’d like to talk to as well?”
“With the exception of you, I dislike everyone in the room.” You deadpan and Abby laughs.
You follow Abby inside anyway and now you have her on your arm, her forearm resting on yours. You’re tired, but Abby is tired too, and you support her as she goes on the last round of meeting and talking and telling people about her projects. Abby is very determined and passionate about her work, and you chuckle in your head - you have enough money to spoil Abby for the rest of her life, and you honestly dreamt about it: just having a housewife to take care of - but instead the love of your life is a constantly exhausted overworked doctor who wants the best for people. The irony of the situation never fails to amuse you. 
“It was nice to meet you, Dr. Anderson.” The last person on Abby’s list tells her and you sigh in relief. “You’re doing very important work for all of us.”
“Thank you. It was nice to meet you as well.” Abby smiles politely and you finally walk her away from the crowd.
You put your jacket around Abby’s shoulders again and support her as you lead her to the car. You can’t wait to be home already.
“The night is cold today.” Abby notices when you get in the driver’s seat. You push the temperature higher and turn on the seat heating for Abby. “Thank you.”
“I know you love it when your butt is warm.” You tease her and Abby smacks your thigh lightly. “It’s cute.”
You live in a penthouse with a gorgeous view over the city - Abby felt a little awkward the first few times she came here, this level of luxury wasn't something she was used to even coming from a neurosurgeon's family. Now she calls this place home.
At home you open a bottle of wine and take Abby to the balcony. She looks stunning in the city lights as the wind plays with her hair and the free silk of her dress as she stands leaning on the glass railings. She looks at you and there’s so much tension between you you feel like it’d be a good idea to undo a button on your shirt. Abby’s eyes are piercing and warm, the dark trickle of her pupils follows your hand as you open your shirt. 
You love how it feels as if you took her home for the first time, as if both of you are uncertain how the night will go but you also hope for the same ending. It makes you chuckle when you hand Abby her glass of wine. 
“It reminds me of the night we met.” You tell her and Abby matches your chuckle. “I couldn’t look away from you.”
“You looked so grumpy and you kept staring at me, I thought you didn’t like me.” 
“I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful before.” You take a sip of your wine and Abby blushes. 
She is still not used to being found attractive when she presents more feminine - it took her years to gain confidence when her trained muscled body was enveloped in gentle and fragile silhouettes of dresses. But the night you met you looked at her like she was holy - and you still do - and it definitely helps. 
“I’ve never seen someone so hot being so miserable before.” Abby teases you and you both share a quiet laugh. “I don’t think if it wasn’t for your scandalous donation I would’ve come up to you.”
You remember how fast your heart was beating when Abby approached you to thank you - she was shy but cheerful and you put all effort into making a good impression that night. 
“I love you so much.” You tell Abby and finally put one of your hands on her hip. You rub your thumb over her hip bone and feel like you’re home. 
“I love you too, my antisocial knight with an undone bow-tie.” 
You beam but try to conceal it. 
“My love.” You kiss Abby’s forehead, your lips linger on her skin. “My life.” You kiss her cheek and squeeze her hip a little. You move your mouth down and leave a kiss behind her ear. “My wife.”
Abby giggles and kisses you, her mouth pleasantly cold and you wrap your free arm around her waist to press her closer. Abby feels the fabric of your slacks and your belt buckle through her thin dress and it makes her shudder; she suddenly feels hot. 
“Fuck.” Abby sighs and opens her legs, her golden dress riding up on her hip when she tries to wrap her leg around you. 
You chuckle and kiss her cheek apologetically before moving away. Abby pouts a little and you laugh kindly before you take her glass of wine from her and put both of your glasses on the near table. You don't want to ruin Abby's dress by spilling wine on it, although you wouldn't mind having Abby's perfect body covered in wine so you could like every drop and watch the dark liquid contrast with her light skin.
“Come here.” Abby sighs and you obey, kissing her again and finally hooking her thigh over your hip. 
You push Abby into the railing behind her and she hugs your shoulders while she kisses you back. You moan into her mouth, your hands roam from her waist to her hips, hungry and ready to devour her piece by piece. Only now, when you hold Abby so tightly, you notice that the silk of her dress is smooth under your fingers - there’s not ridges or bumps that would evidence there’s something underneath.
“You’re not wearing underwear?” Abby shudders when she hears your voice drop an octave, desperate. 
“It ruined the look.” Abby shrugs and pushes her cunt into your crotch, the cold silk is so thin she thinks she can grind against your belt buckle and cum just like this. “And now it seems I’m ruining the dress with how wet you got me.”
You growl and kiss Abby again, rough and passionate, not letting her take a breath. You knead her waist and thigh, riding up her dress until the slit is high enough for your hand to slip under, to the wet heat between Abby's thighs. You cup her pussy and kiss her neck, and Abby whimpers quietly. 
“Wanna know what I'm thinking about?” You murmur into her ear while your fingers find her clit and start rubbing it slowly. 
“Yeah.” Abby presses you closer, squeezes your waist as if you will walk away. As if you'd ever leave her.
“That I should've fucked you back on that balcony.” You growl into her ear and chuckle when Abby's hips start moving against your palm. “Should've gotten you dripping and shaking for me. Let you walk around and pretend to be okay while clenching your thighs so your cum wouldn't drip down on the floor.”
“Fuck.” Abby whimpers and her movements become more energetic. “Fuck me, please.” 
“What do you want?” You lick Abby's collarbone and she whines. 
“Fingers.” 
You hum and smear Abby's cum all over her cunt before sinking two of your fingers in. You watch Abby's face as you slowly feed her your fingers: she is beautiful. Her cute little frown, mouth opened but no sound escaping it and crimson red blush on her cheekbones - she is God. Your God. 
“Gorgeous.” You whisper and curl your fingers inside her. 
Abby's pelvis jumps and you giggle, surprised at her sudden sensitivity. You fuck her slowly, carefully - Abby might be big and strong, but she is such a delicate woman. You make sure you treat her as such. 
“I love you.” Abby sighs while her cum drips down your hand and her thigh. 
“I love you too.” You kiss her shoulder lovingly.
You move away just enough to have some space between the two of you, your fingers still slowly fucking Abby's hole and your thumb lazily playing with her clit. Now the world has stopped and you can have her all for yourself. 
You gently brush your fingers over her shoulder and move the strap of the dress down so you could free her tits. Abby helps you and soon the top half of her dress is bundled up at her waist. You lick your lips as you watch Abby's nipples tighten from the wind, her cute little tits are all for your eyes only. 
You lean down and take her left nipple into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and Abby twitches, her cunt fluttering around your fingers. You're still slow - Abby gets so turned on when you take your time with her; the anticipation makes her so much more sensitive. 
“Baby.” Abby whimpers and presses your head closer. “You're so good.” 
You tenderly nip at her nipple and thumb her clit at the same time, and Abby clenches on your fingers.
“Baby, give me one more. Please. Make me full.” 
You buck your hips instinctively at her words, so turned on your brain barely functions by this point. You're not packing today and it's a damn pity, but you don't waste time on thinking about it - instead you take your fingers out fully. 
“You're drenched, love.” You smirk and push three fingers slowly to the hilt. “Take it.” You rasp into Abby's ear as her walls close on your digits.
Abby whimpers and bites her lip, her eyes rolling back from how good you feel inside her. It's a little tight, but Abby loves it, loves how you're stretching her. She loves the feeling of your fingers brushing over her hot walls, your soft fingertips and hard knuckles and the pad of your thumb on her clit. 
You push at Abby's sweet spot to make her moan and she digs her nails into your shoulder, her thighs starting to shake. 
“You look like a goddamn goddess.” You tell Abby in awe, but you're so turned on you can't keep your hips from bucking against her. You step closer and start grinding on her thigh, the harsh fabric of your underwear and slacks making the pleasure more intense. Abby moves one of her hands down and squeezes your ass, moaning desperately. 
“Fuck, cum with me. Baby, please, cum with me.” Abby moans and you start grinding rough and fast, grunting when the stitch on your pants digs into your clit just right. “Go faster, please.”
“So polite.” You say, panting, but you pick up your speed and Abby just gets wetter and wetter: you think you've got her cum on your cuffs by now. 
You pinch her nipple with a free hand and Abby moans louder. She puts her forehead on your shoulder and whimpers right into your ear, making you rut on her thigh harder. You're close, and Abby is close - you feel her beautiful cunt getting tighter and tighter around your fingers. You slow down and Abby clings to you, her hips bucking into your hand. 
“I'm close.” Abby pouts and you lick her neck. 
“Oh, I know. Can feel how tight you are now.” You smirk. 
It's a sweet torture for both of you - you also slow down with your grinding - but you know Abby's orgasm will be stronger after being close like this. 
“Can't wait to bury my tongue in your cunt.” You tell Abby and she gets so desperate in your hands. She clings to you, bucks her hips and tries to take your fingers deeper, and it melts your heart. 
Fuck it, you think, and then you drop to your knees. If Abby is your God, you need to worship her accordingly. 
“Baby, what-” Abby tries to say, confused when she loses the feeling of your hot cunt on her thigh, but then it dawns on her. “Please-please-please.” 
You put her thigh that was on your hip over your shoulder and push her dress up, until the entirety of it is bundled around Abby's waist. Abby is looking down at you, her mouth open and her eyes pleading, and you finally lock your mouth on her pussy. 
“Oh my god.” Abby whimpers when you suck on her clit. “Oh my god, baby, I'm gonna cum, fuck-” 
You hum, your eyes rolled back in ecstasy as Abby's taste envelopes your senses. Her cunt is always so soft and so hot, and you can't help yourself: you bury your face in it, licking her up from her hole where your fingers slowly fuck up into her, and to her clit. Abby holds your head with her hands and starts bucking her hips into your face, riding your tongue, and you relax: you let her use you as she pleases. 
Abby's voice becomes higher and louder, and she presses you closer with the heel digging into your back. It's kinda painful since Abby is still wearing her stilettos, but you don't care. You're high on her, and being pulled closer, having her scent and taste and warmth surrounding you is pure bliss. You're still slow and it makes Abby more desperate as she chases her orgasm, but she doesn't ask you to go faster - instead she bucks her hips rougher and doesn't leave you a choice but to eat her out like she wants it. 
“Baby, wait, fuck, wait-” 
Her approaching orgasm feels different, too intense - and she knows what is going to happen, but she is always embarrassed when she squirts right on your face - she wants to ask you to stand up, but she can't, lost in her pleasure. 
You know she is going to squirt as well, her walls are so tight around your fingers it is literally hard to move them and your wrist starts to cramp now, but you keep fucking her, because you want her to squirt all over your face. 
“Fuck!” Abby screams and folds, holding to your head for dear life and unconsciously pressing you closer to her cunt with her thigh on your shoulder, almost suffocating you, drowning you in her cum. 
You would die as the happiest woman on Earth if this would be your last moment: between the legs of the love of your life, drenched in her cum. 
Abby is still whimpering and you keep your fingers moving gently just to prolong her pleasure, and you keep eating her out just to get all her cum, softly moving your tongue around. 
“Fuck.” Abby pants and watches you between her thighs. You're absolutely pussy drunk, soaked to your chest and you look high. Abby giggles, embarrassed, and puts the loose hairs away from your forehead. “I soaked you.”
“Yes. Thank you.” You kiss a trail up Abby's thigh that's on your shoulder. 
“Come here.” Abby says weakly and you carefully put her leg down and get up, holding Abby by her waist. You know her legs are shaky and you want to support her. “I'm a mess.” Abby chuckles and you kiss her neck. 
“You're beautiful. I'm definitely fucking you next time we go to an event. I don't care.”
Abby giggles and kisses you, not minding that your whole face is covered in her cum. You kiss her back and pinch her nipple gently just to make her jump. 
“Let's get you warm.” You tell Abby when you notice the goosebumps covering her arms and chest. 
“You haven't cum yet.” 
“You can worry about it when you're warm and clean.” You kiss the tip of her nose and lead her back inside. 
Abby repays you thoroughly in the shower. 
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thiswaytwoinfinity · 1 month
Text
it's a bad idea, right? — sneak peek
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can't two people reconnect? i only see him as a friend (the biggest lie i ever said)
I'm still working on this one but I'm really excited about it so I wanted to share a little sneak peek at it because Jake Seresin definitely needs a warning ;)
---------
“Sorry about that, ma’am. I thought those beers were mine. Didn’t mean to steal from you,” his low, twangy drawl went right through you, settling warm and comfortingly in your stomach. “I’d offer to buy you a drink to make it up to you, but, well …” 
Texas. That’s where that accent is from, you thought, instantly being transported back to your nursing school program in Austin. How many wannabe cowboys had spoken with that same drawl, trying to charm you and your friends during a night out? Not too many of them had succeeded with you, especially not after — 
“Jake? Jake Seresin!?” 
It had to be him. You’d know that smile anywhere, had seen those green eyes in your dreams for far too long after you both had moved on.
He was bigger now, muscles more pronounced and jaw more defined, more of those cheeky smile lines creasing around his eyes. His voice was deeper too, some of his accent smoothed out after years in the military, but it had to be. 
He swore under his breath, eyes widening as he made the connection as well.
He practically whispered your name, as if it felt a bit rusty on his tongue, but the second you nodded, he repeated it louder, warmer, like he was slipping back into his favorite jacket. 
“Shit, how long’s it been?” Jake wondered aloud, looking you up and down as if to make a note of every infinitesimal change that had occurred since you last saw each other. “You look great, honey. Beautiful as ever.” 
You rolled your eyes but felt your cheeks heating up at his compliment. Jake always had a way of making you feel like the most special person in the room — but then again, he made everyone feel that way, as you later found out.
“You look good too, Seresin. Like a proper, respectable Navy man,” you admitted, though the words don’t sound nearly as begrudging as you hoped. 
You’re rewarded with one of those thousand-watt grins and for a second, you’re back in a Texas dive bar, flirting with the most handsome man you’ve ever seen to the tune of some cheesy country-rap remix. 
“I am good,” Jake promised, eyes locked on yours, and you think he might be back there with you, leaning up against the jukebox, the floors sticky under your feet. “I don’t know how respectable I am, but I am definitely good.” 
His voice drags out that sentence, low and flirtatious, and butterflies fill your stomach the same way they did all those years ago.
You could practically feel the ghost of his big hands on your hips, your lower back, caressing your cheek as the world disappeared around you that night, just the two of you creating your own little world in the corner of that dingy bar.
Your lips parted — to say what, exactly, you’re not sure — and you see his eyes drop to them for just a moment before — 
The woman behind the bar called out “Hangman!” with a tone of voice that makes it clear that it’s not the first time she’s said it and you both startle and turn to see her holding four bottles of beer out towards Jake, a look of exhaustion on her face. He jumped forward to take them, apologies pouring from his lips and he pointedly shoves several bills into the tip jar in order to earn an eye roll and a small smile from her.
Two sweating bottles in each hand, he turned back to you and almost seems a bit relieved that you’re still standing there. (As if you’ve ever been able to walk away from him.) 
“I have to drop these off with my friends,” Jake said, nodding to a table somewhere behind you, “And you should probably get those drinks to the people who sent you over here. But do — do you wanna catch up? There’s a deck out back with some tables, it’s usually pretty quiet this time of night.” He waited for you to nod, before pressing a quick kiss to your cheekbone. “I’ll meet you in five minutes.”
With one more charming smile, he’s off into the crowd and — not for the first time in your life — you’re left speechless and a little stunned, staring after Jake Seresin. 
-----
Tagging some people who asked to be added: @tvshowgirl81 @redbarn1995 @stoneyggirl @keepingitlokiii @averyhotchner
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bonny-kookoo · 1 month
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Hey, I found Sweet Tooth and absolutely loved it.
I wanted to ask you if you'd write an intermediate scenario or something before she's warmed up to Yoongi, where she throws a tantrum and hurts herself, and they go to the doctor, where she overhears someone advising Jimin that it's totally normal to let go of a problematic hybrid or pet especially if your partner doesn't like them, and there are shelters that take them in?
And with her heightened Cat hearing it freaks her out into shutting her tantrums down long term - but jimin is oblivious to her fear because things are going so well with Yoongi?
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"So, just for protocol, how exactly did it happen?" A nurse asks, while you're being treated in another room, door slightly opened just in case she's needed at any point.
"She.. her living situation changed quite drastically. And she has trouble adapting." Jimin admits to her gently, tone soft to not be heard by you. "My partner and her.. don't get along very well. And she sometimes acts a bit out, which causes accidents like this." He further details, sighing. "They were fighting over something, and my partner accidentally closed the door on her tail as she went out. It was absolutely not intentional!"
"Hm, yeah, it's sometimes hard for hybrids to adapt. You also have another hybrid?" She asks, reading your medical info on the computer screen while she taps away some more info.
"Yes, my partner's. A canine hybrid." He informs her, and she nod.
"You know, it's a totally reasonable thing to think about moving one out." She suggests to jimin, who's face starts to become a little confused and irritated. "Giving her past history, she's a bit problematic, so her behavior is quite natural. There's tons of good places for hybrids like her though- since it's generally recommended to keep hybrids of both her category and behavioral issues in stable families as a single hybrid."
"Thats.. no, she's just.." jimin stammers, having never even thought about it once. But how are you feeling right now? Is he really doing the right thing, or is he just being selfish by hoping you'll adapt at some point?
And will you really adapt, or just admit defeat?
"I'll write down some numbers, alright? It's your choice to make." She suggests gently. He can sense that she really only has your best interest in mind. "This down here is Dr. Kim Taehyung, he's an expert in hybrid behavioral therapy. He might even take her in himself!" She suggests, before giving jimin the note. "Think about it."
He doesn't have to. He could never give you away like that.
Back home, something's definitely wrong though, ecer since that incident. You're quiet, detached, don't even interact with Jungkook anymore- the poor canine hybrid having tried everything from your favorite snacks to a collection of his personal favorite plushies. Nothing seems to get a reaction out of you anymore.
And what's the oddest, is how you just.. listen to whatever yoongi tells you to do.
Wash the dishes? You'll do it, quietly. You'll even dry them and put them away to your best abilities.
Make your bed? You even do laundry if he tells you to, even though you struggle to memorize all the different settings and programs.
Set the table? You'll just do it, robotically, not even a roll of your eyes.
One might think yoongi would enjoy this new, quiet side of you- but he doesn't. The guilt about accidentally hurting you that day still eats him alive, the sound of your painful cries still haunting him in his sleep.
Jimin, however, doesn't seem to realize the secerity of the situation. He tries to reassure his partner by saying that you'll just need some time, that hospitals just spook you, and that you maybe just want to be a good girl for once.
But Jungkook especially, is concerned. This isn't like you, and it's not a normal change of mind either. No one just flips around like a switch over night like that.
"I'll go to work now, yeah?" Jungkook tells you- but you just nod, no protest coming from you. Jungkook's ears droop down, tail limp behind him as he throws Yoongi a helpless look, before he leaves for work, leaving you and the oldest human alone in the house.
"Alright, I'm done with this." He says, and you look at him at that, fearful.
He hates it. Why are you scared of him?
"I promise you, I didn't mean to hurt you that day." Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, before he sits down on the couch next to you, with respectful distance. "I'm sorry. I really am."
"Its fine." You just state, but he shakes his head.
"Its not fine. Nothing is fine at all." He denies. "Is there anything else that happened? Something bothering you?" He asks, but you just shake your head. "If you don't want to talk to me, then talk to Jimi-"
"He wants to give me away." You say, pulling up your legs to yourself.
"...what?" Yoongi asks in disbelief. Jimin loves you- he'd never give you away- he'd probably much rather admit defeat in this relationship than give you up.
"The nurse and him.. talked about stuff." You mumble into your knees. "He got like.. she wrote down some numbers for him. One of them a doctor.. for behavior problems and stuff.." you explain, tail wrapping around yourself in comfort. "Because it's alright to give up shitty hybrids like me. You know." You shrug. "Cause I'm supposed to be alone."
"Thats bullshit." Yoongi declines, crossing his arms. "Everything about this. He'd never give you away, and neither are you shitty or supposed to be alone." He denies, getting up to get his phone- accidentally digging in the pockets of the wrong coat, fingers finding a note instead.
Three numbers. One of them labeled 'Dr. Kim Taehyung'
..are you possibly telling the truth? Does jimin really want to go this far just to save his relationship with him? He knows he should probably feel flattered. But he doesn't.
Not one bit.
"Its probably the best." You say from the couch still, looking over the backrest of it, ears down low. He's never seen you this.. insecure before. Vulnerable. "Then you'll all be happy. And maybe I can get fixed." You shrug, when Yoongi walks closer, hand on your head making you look up.
"There's nothing wrong with you." He denies, note clenched in his fist as he just crumples it up. "And you're not going to be alone." He says, walking upstairs into his office.
And you swear, just for a second, his eyes seemed to sparkle a little from unshed tears bubbling up.
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ginnsbaker · 9 months
Text
In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (9/22)
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Chapter summary: Several weeks later, an unfortunate situation drives Wanda to seek you out, only to be met with someone she least expects.
Chapter word count: 9k
Pairing: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader (heavy in this chapter)
Author's note: And we start the second phase :)
Next chapter: Ten
AO3 | Masterlist 
Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife
-
Nine
Five Weeks Later
“By the power invested in me, by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister reads from his pamphlet without as much as a glance to the enamored audience.
Wanda hadn’t known that she was going to attend a wedding near the start of autumn; if she had, she’d have been more than ready with an ensemble that’s appropriate for both the event and the cold season. To be fair, Pietro hadn’t known either. Just a week ago, Shannon surprised him with a date, a venue, and a business card of some designer that she commissioned to provide Pietro’s suit for the ceremony. Wanda might have considered it a trap if it hadn't been for the fact that Pietro was the one on his knees with a ring a year ago. Shannon had simply grown tired of his excuses and took matters into her own hands. Wanda still thinks it’s a colossal mistake but his history with women and commitments tracks. She just wants to know how many more of these she’ll have to attend for the rest of her life. 
“You may kiss the–”  
The minister is cut off by Pietro diving in for a sloppy kiss, and the small crowd of thirty people cheer the newly weds. Wanda claps for the sake of being a good attendant. She almost feels sorry for Shannon, but if she wanted this, she probably wanted it for the wrong reasons. 
And, well, karma is a bitch.
Having been sober for exactly thirty-two days, Wanda’s been nursing the same mocktail she’s had before the start of the program, and she finds it difficult to enjoy anything that’s watered-down. A longing to light a cigarette tugs at her, but the establishment's strict no-smoking policy extends even to the outdoor gardens. Pietro asked that she stays until the party’s over, and knowing how much her presence means to him, she reluctantly agreed. 
“Stop brooding at my wedding, for god’s sake.”
It’s Shannon, dressed in her second gown, a simpler one that makes it hard to tell her apart from her bridesmaids.
"Hi, Shannon," Wanda drawls, swirling the tiny ice left in her rocks glass.
"It's Mrs. Maximoff now," Shannon mutters proudly, displaying both her wedding and engagement rings.
Wanda hides her grimace behind her drink. “Try not to get used to it though. I’m pretty sure you’re aware that there had been two other Mrs. Maximoffs in his past.”
“Don’t sass me on my wedding day, it’s just disrespectful.”
“Point taken. I’d offer to get you a drink, but I think that’s just gonna push the stick further up your ass.” 
Shannon sourly responds with one of her signature fake smiles, but Wanda can see through the facade. She takes pride in having hit a nerve.
Taking the seat next to her, much to Wanda's dismay, Shannon changes the subject. "Anyway, your ex-wife is doing exceptionally well at our company. She's managed to turn around all the bad practices that have been going on for ages."
Wanda’s brows stitch together in confusion. “Your company?”
“Stark Industries.” Shannon says, taking a sip of Wanda’s untouched water.
The revelations throw her off. You didn't appear too thrilled when Wanda saw you right after your interview, so she had assumed you either didn’t get the position or you passed up on the opportunity. But what surprised her even more was discovering that someone like Shannon held a high-ranking position at a popular tech company–which now explains where the extreme confidence comes from.
Shannon smirks. “Don’t look so surprised that I work for the number one company in the world.” 
“Number one?” Wanda scoffs, rubbing her nose with her middle finger. “Hardly. And why are you keeping tabs on her?”
“She works in my department and I interviewed her. She was a disaster, by the way,” Shannon says. “But her references were solid. I mean, Scott Lang? I hired her solely by his recommendation.”
Wanda can't help but smile at the mention of Scott, reminiscent of the old days when she used to host dinners for your boss and your co-workers. She doesn’t, however, dwell this time about the people you’ve brought with you when you walked out of her life. The reality is, people take sides, and rightfully, they have chosen yours. 
"I'm happy for her. She's brilliant and hardworking. You won't regret having her on your team," Wanda says softly, her voice a little bittersweet; she remembers a time when she used to be the first one to know every little thing about you, and it's a feeling she misses.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re hearing this just now?” Shannon smacks her lips together and then fixes her lipstick that has stained the rim of her drink. “I thought I saw you at our lobby right after her interview.” Shannon gives her a knowing look, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and malice. It's as if she's perfectly aware of the unspeakable things you did to Wanda that day.
"Y-You did?" Wanda stammers, her blood rushing to her face.
“I assumed you were seeing each other again. You looked like a lost little housewife in your little jeans and little shirt.”
“I stopped by to bring her food. I didn’t know I had to dress up for that.”
“How sweet,” Shannon says, though her tone is barely mocking. “Well, if you’re not back together, then I have a piece of information you might find useful.”
Wanda leans back on her chair and crosses her arms in front of her. “And what makes you think I’m interested?”
“Because despite my wrong assumptions earlier, it’s clear that you’re still head over heels in love with her,” Shannon says. “Or am I wrong?”
Wanda looks away and takes a sip of her watered-down mocktail and tries to hide the displeasure on her face. 
Shannon takes this as her cue to continue. “She recently changed her address in our database. I know because those things usually undergo my approval.”
You moved out? Wanda hadn't attempted to contact you, but while running errands for her cafe, she had found herself in your area a couple of times. Each time, she observed that your curtains were drawn and the lights in the living room were always turned off.
Wanda looks on quietly as Shannon reaches into her purse, retrieves an eye pencil, and grabs a napkin from the table. With deliberate movements, she begins to scribble on the napkin.
“Here,” Shannon hands Wanda the napkin with your address scrawled neatly on it. “You’re welcome.”
Wanda hesitantly accepts it, and then asks, “Why are you doing this?”
"Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic," Shannon shrugs, though the glint in her eye betrays her nonchalant demeanor. It almost penetrates Wanda’s defenses, but then she says, “Or I’m supporting your unhealthy obsession knowing it won’t lead anywhere.”
Wanda finds herself laughing. Unlike Pietro, Shannon had never treated Wanda delicately, even after her hospitalization. She finds it oddly refreshing and, in a peculiar way, endearing.
Shannon adopts a small, awkward smile herself. 
“Fair enough.” Wanda says, folding the napkin carefully before putting it inside her bag.
Shannon gets up and runs her palms over the creases on her gown. “Good luck, Wanda. I’m sure you’ll be needing a lot of it.” 
Pietro finds her in the gardens, rubbing her arms to keep herself warm. The nighttime breeze isn’t particularly chilly, but Wanda’s always been susceptible to the cold regardless of the season. He looks particularly dashing in the dark blue suit that Shannon picked for him; and with his hair back to its natural brunette color, the similarities between them have become uncanny once again.
“Sorry about that.” Pietro mutters as he approaches.
Wanda tilts her head at him, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Sorry about what?" she quips, her voice laced with humor. "You mean this wedding?"
Pietro laughs and then shakes his head. “I saw you talking to Shannon and I could tell you weren’t having the best time.”
Wanda doesn't hold back as she speaks her mind. "She's still a bitch," she says bluntly, not mincing her words. "No offense."
“Do I hear fondness in the way you said ‘bitch’?” 
“Not a chance.”
“Between me and her, you forget I’m actually the asshole, right? I know she told you I cheated on her countless times.” Pietro says, somewhat seriously.
“You are,” Wanda says. “But I stand by what I said.”
Pietro sighs. “Anyway, I’m not here to negotiate how you feel towards my wife. I’m here to say goodbye.”
Wanda sobers at that. She’s been so used to having her brother in the same city, a call and a cab away. 
“You’re returning to LA?”
“The day after tomorrow.” Pietro confirms with a nod. 
“Doesn’t she work at Stark Industries?”
“Oh, did I tell you that?” 
“She told me a while ago.” Wanda says.
“She can work remotely,” Pietro explains. “And she prefers doing that from our home in LA.”
The wind begins to pick up, its gentle breeze evolving into a stronger gust. The air becomes alive, stirring the surroundings and causing leaves to dance and swirl in a mesmerizing display. 
Wanda sweeps her hair back from her face, and asks, “Tell me, honestly, why did you stay here for so long? Even before the–” Wanda finds herself having difficulty naming the accident she had more than a month ago. 
But if there’s something she’s learned from therapy so far, it’s that confronting her inner demons requires acknowledging their existence.
“Before my overdose.” Wanda finishes, managing to keep her tone even.
Pietro regards her with a tender look that conveys his immense pride in her recent growth and progress.
“At first, I just wanted to check in on you,” he says, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. “And when I saw you and the cafe, I thought ‘see, she doesn’t need you’. But at the same time I also realized it was me–I needed you.”
Pietro pauses and rubs the back of his neck–something he does a lot when he’s trying not to be emotional. 
"I missed you, Wands. These past few months, I've felt more like myself than I have in years. I know I'm free to visit you anytime, even when you and Y/N were still together, but it's just not the same when–"
“–when it’s just us.” Wanda finishes for him, her voice thick with emotions that her brother is trying so hard to hold at bay.
“Yeah. I had a really great time with you here, it was good to be home after so many years.”
“LA is your home.” Wanda reminds him. 
"You're my family, Wands," Pietro says, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a warm side hug. "You're my home too."
“I love you, Piet.” 
“I love you too, sis,” Pietro says. “I’m rooting for you–your happiness. Whether it’s with Y/N or someone else or no one. You deserve to be happy. You have a big heart–I know this because you love me just as I am.”
“Then why don’t you just stay here so we can be close to each other all the time?” Wanda sniffs. So many losses. So many changes. Wanda craves normalcy and consistency–things you used to provide in her life with your steady presence.
“Shannon’s family lives in LA, and we’ve already talked about settling there once we’re married.”
Wanda shakes her head, smiling in contempt.
Pietro notices the change in her demeanor and starts rubbing her arm in comfort. “Don’t blame Shannon for this. I suggested it because she’s more comfortable living there if we’re going to start a family.”
“You’re already talking about babies? Piet, that’s a huge step.” she says.
Pietro falls into a thoughtful silence, weighing the decision of whether to share the news with Wanda now or wait a little longer. However, the anticipation and joy of becoming a father soon overpowers his doubts.
With a burst of excitement, he finally speaks up. "Actually, she's pregnant."
"Wow," Wanda exclaims, embracing him tightly, more than thrilled at the news. But as suspicion creeps in, she pulls away abruptly. "Hold on, is that why you rushed into marriage? Because she's pregnant?"
“No. She actually just told me last night, as a wedding gift.” Pietro says. 
“I’m going to be an aunt?” Wanda giggles. “I mean, congratulations! You’re going to be a dad!”
"Thank you, Wands," Pietro says, returning the hug.
Wanda pauses for a moment, a realization dawning on her. "I should stop being mean to her," she admits.
Pietro chuckles. "My advice is to take everything she says or does with a grain of salt."
Wanda's expression softens. "I'm going to miss you, you know? Your future kid, and, fuck it–even Shannon. I'll try to visit this Christmas, okay?"
"You better. I already got you plane tickets."
“Oh, and Piet?”
“Yep?”
“I’ll cut your balls off if you cheat on your wife again this time. Not because she’s having your child, but because it’s… not normal. It’s fucked up. We’re fucked up. The stakes are higher for you now, but even if it wasn’t, it just ruins everything in its wake. it's the biggest regret of my life," Wanda states firmly. Although she feels like a hypocrite as the words escape her lips, she feels compelled to express her feelings in the hope that it carries some weight.
“I know,” Pietro says, looking down at his feet. “I’ve been seeing a professional for two months now.”
“You are?”
Pietro smiles and takes Wanda’s hand, leading her back inside the reception. “Where do you think I got your therapist from?”
***
"You've really nailed it with this restaurant choice," Natasha exclaims at you, her fork stabbing into the juicy medium-rare steak. Her mouth waters as the meat releases its flavorful juices. She’s sitting to your left and Yelena’s right, and when you haven’t developed a psychic link with your partner yet, navigating a delicate situation feels like a sailor and a pilot has come together to figure out how a tractor works. 
Natasha had phoned you earlier today, informing you that her flight from Washington D.C. was scheduled to depart in a mere two hours. This left you with approximately three hours to prepare for her arrival, as well as to have a conversation with Yelena on how you’re both going to break the news to her unsuspecting sister. However, due to Yelena's demanding work schedule, it was difficult to abruptly pull her away from her assignment and so you took it upon yourself to organize this impromptu dinner. 
Your girlfriend, in a state of panic, had only just read your texts an hour ago and arrived late. Since then, there has been absolutely zero opportunity to discuss what your relationship entails for Natasha.
Delaying the inevitable, you focus on other topics.
“So, how was your flight?” you ask Natasha.
“Quick.” 
“When did you find out you’re coming home?” you inquire, eyebrows wiggling at Yelena, attempting to seek her support in engaging in the conversation
“The other day.” Natasha says.
“How do you like your steak?”
Natasha gives you a funny look.
Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you try to think of more questions to ask, but Yelena beats you to it.
“We’ve been seeing each other.” she announces over her plate of untouched meatballs. 
Your eyes widen in alarm as you look at Yelena, but she nonchalantly shrugs at you, then whispers, "I thought that's what you were trying to tell me with your eyes."
Natasha serenely savors her steak, taking a graceful sip of wine before responding, "Yes, I'm aware."
Surprised, you murmur, "How did you...?"
With a hint of amusement, Natasha replies, "If I were to reveal my skills, I would be violating at least ten pages of a non-disclosure agreement."
"Right," Yelena huffs, a feeling of ease finally settling over her. She indulges in her own plate, eagerly digging in and savoring each bite.
“You know,” You start, shoulders dropping and feeling some of the tension leave your body. “I thought I’m used to what you do, but it’s still weird that you disappear for several weeks and then you come back like,” you snap your fingers. “And we can’t ask you questions.”
“It’s why I love my job so much. People are literally not allowed to ask questions,” Natasha says with a satisfied smirk, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “But I can. So, how did this happen?” she says, motioning between you and Yelena with her finger.
“Didn’t you already know?” you say with a teasing smile. 
Natasha fixes you with a piercing gaze, the kind she typically reserves for her job, making you retreat but not before a nervous gulp catches in your throat.
"Yelena?" she prompts, noticing the uncharacteristic silence.
“I, uh–”
"Hotdog sandwich," you blurt out abruptly, interrupting Yelena's non-existent train of thought, while your mind drifts back to the night when you and Yelena officially started dating. Two pairs of eyes fixate on you, their faces a mix of surprise and bewilderment, as if questioning your sanity. Realizing the awkwardness of your outburst, you quickly clear your throat and gather yourself to continue, "I asked her out one night, shortly after I started my new job, and we kind of just decided to give it a shot while eating a hotdog."
When you look up, Yelena’s eyes carry a fondness, effectively deepening the blush on your cheeks.
“That’s a nice story, Y/N, but I didn’t mean literally. More like… how did you arrive at the decision to be together?” Natasha says, her gaze on you unwavering. You avoid her eyes, suddenly determined to finish the remaining vegetables in your dish.
“It came to us organically, Nat. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding a bit cheesy.” Yelena says. 
“I don’t mind cheesy. Cheesy is good. Love is often cheesy, right?” Natasha says, her gaze directed at you. The mention of the word 'love' catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your peas. Although you feel it deep in your heart that you love Yelena, neither of you have actually said those words to each other.
Yelena nods, her expression serious. "Okay, then. It happened because we still have deep feelings for each other, and we felt it was necessary to give it a chance."
You smile, fully understanding and appreciating Yelena's sentiment. "I agree." 
“Can I speak to Y/N in private?” She tells Yelena, who just shrugs, and then turning to you, Natasha says, “Is that okay?”
“Sure.” you reply, rising from your seat.
You and Natasha emerge from the cozy Italian restaurant, deciding to take a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. The rain has just subsided, leaving behind glistening streets and puddles that dot the pavement, making each step a bit precarious. The dampness in the air seems to mirror the tension in your chest, and you can't shake off the feeling that this walk holds more weight than just enjoying the post-rain atmosphere. The droplets on the ground reflect the streetlights, creating a mesmerizing shimmer that momentarily distracts you from your unease. 
Yet, as you walk alongside Natasha, the silence between you only heightens your anticipation for the impending "sister talk." 
You value your friendship with Natasha deeply, and the prospect of jeopardizing that bond fills you with uncertainty. 
Just as your pulse falls into a steadier rhythm, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice filled with a sense of pride. "I'm proud of you," she declares. "Honestly, I half-expected to return and find you still unemployed, living in my apartment. But look at you now: a new job, a new place... and a new girlfriend," she adds, without a trace of animosity in her words.
“I was the crutch you had to get rid of after all.” Natasha says. 
You laugh nervously at the ‘girlfriend’ remark, appreciating the genuine support from your best friend. "I suppose I relied on you heavily after my divorce," you admit. "It was easy to succumb to self-pity and a meaningless routine because you were there to take care of me. Eventually, I knew I was rotting away no matter how indulgent these Netflix shows are,” you laugh a little. “And well, things simply worked out, you know?”
“Yeah, I can see that it worked out pretty well with my sister.” Natasha quips.
"I care about her, Nat. I always have." you say, coming to a stop to face Natasha and properly look her in the eye.
Natasha nods and takes hold of your elbow, urging you to continue walking. "I know," she acknowledges, a knowing smile touching the corners of her lips. "She may not have shown it earlier, but she’s giddy as fuck. Kind of grosses me out seeing her eyeing you like a piece of candy.”
“But kidding aside, you have my blessing.” Natasha says, and you give her a soft smile in return.
A slight pang of guilt tugs at your heart as you decide not to mention your encounters with Wanda. You understand why Natasha requested this private conversation, and you don't wish to complicate matters by bringing up the brief rupture caused by your connection with Wanda. You and Yelena had reached a mutual understanding regarding Wanda, recognizing that your current relationship should not be overshadowed by your past with your ex-wife. 
Besides, you haven’t talked to Wanda since you and Yelena entered into a relationship. Things have been going well; consequently, you see no justifiable reason to stir up any unnecessary complications or rock the boat.
But nobody reads you the way Natasha does, as she brings up the person you’ve been trying to forget all this time.
“And Wanda? Is that over?”
Lying to Natasha is akin to attempting to deceive a lie detector machine; there’s just no way out of it but the truth–or at least some of it.
“We were briefly in touch,” you admit, carefully filtering the story in your mind as you speak. "Coincidentally, she happened to be at the same club where Clint organized your going-away party."
Natasha raises an eyebrow; you read her well enough too, and it tells you that she hadn’t had an inkling that Wanda had reentered your life at one point.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asks, the level of her tone masking how she feels about that new information.
“Because you hate her?” You say, daring her to deny it but Natasha only rolls her eyes. “And, uh, I don’t know… Maybe because I knew you’d be disappointed?”
Natasha takes a deep breath, the crisp evening air filling her lungs as she gathers her thoughts. "Did I," she begins, "did I push you into making choices in the past that you weren't entirely comfortable with?"
"Why would you say that?" you inquire, puzzled by Natasha's question.
Natasha's gaze softens, and she replies with earnest sincerity, "Because I never wanted you to feel like you couldn't be completely open with me about anything. I never wanted you to fear my judgment regarding your decisions."
You wonder if Natasha would say the same thing if she knew you had fallen into Wanda’s bed post-divorce. You think about how Natasha urged you to file for it in the first place, how she helped in preparing everything from finding a suitable lawyer to ironing out the details of the agreement. Despite your emotional state during that period, you acknowledge that you made those decisions and chose to take responsibility for them.
“You’re like family to me, Nat. Of course your opinion of me will always matter.” you say.
“I’m happy you stood by your decision without me,” Natasha says. “I was worried you’d go back to her as soon as I was gone.”
A nervous smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your eyes flit to anywhere but your best friend; the weight of deliberately concealing a significant portion of the story makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Now more than ever, you regret being with Wanda that way. It had every potential to jeopardize your friendship with Natasha.
“How about you and Bruce?” you say, taking the spotlight away from yourself.
Natasha’s smile is sad as she shakes her head. “That ship has sailed. For good.”
“I’m sorry.” you say.
“Don’t be. He can finally allow himself to be happy. He’s a good man. He deserves more than I can give him.”
“What about you?”
“I’d like to believe I deserve more than he’s willing to give,” Natasha says, her voice not harboring any resentment; but it’s clear that she has accepted the fact that their desires and needs diverged, leading them down separate paths. 
“Are you happy?” you ask suddenly, widely curious.
Natasha takes a moment to reflect, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "As happy as I can be," she contemplates. "I've learned that life shouldn't solely revolve around falling in love, you know? I have my work, my sister, my friends, and well, you're not that bad either," she adds with a light-hearted chuckle.
Turning the last corner back to the restaurant, you both bump into Yelena who’s wearing a frown after being left for so long.
“You were both gone for a while already so I thought I’d settle the bill and join you guys for a walk.” Yelena says. “You guys are okay, right?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?” you say, taking her hand and interlacing your fingers together.
Natasha ignores Yelena’s question and says, “How much do I owe you for the food?” 
Yelena pushes the receipt in her sister’s hand and says, “Everything.”
Settling beside Yelena on the bed, you reach for the lamp on your nightstand and switch it off. The room is cast in a soft, bluish glow, as the moon's radiance filters through the blinds. It hasn’t been too long since you and Yelena started sharing this room, and despite initially intending to take things slow, the pace of your relationship accelerated naturally. With busy careers, it felt right to embrace the opportunity to spend more time together without the added complexities of planning and scheduling dates.
“It was weird introducing you to Nat as my girlfriend,” Yelena says, turning on her side to face you as soon as your head hits the pillow.
"I think you handled that quite smoothly," you say with a quiet chortle, the sarcasm failing to come across as strongly as intended.
"You were absolutely perfect though," Yelena whispers, her hand gently cupping your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss. It begins with a slow, tentative pace, reminiscent of the other kisses you have shared since becoming a couple. 
Tonight, however, there's an undeniable intensity in Yelena's kisses that sends a fiery sensation rippling through your body. Her touch, tracing the skin below your belly button, ignites a rush of heat that intertwines with the passion of the moment. With your hands threaded in her hair, you boldly deepen the kiss, your tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, eliciting a surprised moan that you eagerly swallow.
As Yelena's fingers venture past the waistband of your underwear, a sudden jolt of surprise shoots through your body, causing you to abruptly sit upright. In the process, Yelena loses her balance and falls back onto the bed.
“Y/N?”
"Sorry," you stammer, attempting to calm your nerves and the racing of your heart. "I just remembered I have an important work email I haven't sent yet and..."
Yelena nods understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I've got some editing to do anyway."
You offer a grateful smile and lean in to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Then, you trail another moist kiss just below her ear, eliciting a soft sigh from Yelena's lips. 
“I’ll wait up, okay? Hurry,” Yelena purrs against your neck. 
“I’ll be back.” you say.
At half past midnight, you return to a snoring Yelena, her arm sprawled over the empty spot where you’re supposed to be. It was one email and you got carried away. And even if Yelena’s awake, you’re too exhausted to continue earlier’s steamy exchange.
Carefully, you remove her arm from your side of the bed and mold yourself to Yelena’s sleeping form. 
You haven’t had sex with her yet. The desire is there–a hot burning coal of it–and you have entertained the thought numerous times, but each time the moment draws near, you find yourself hesitant and not quite ready to take that step. It's a decision you have consciously made, respecting your own boundaries and wanting to ensure that the timing feels right for both of you.
Kissing the back of Yelena's head, you savor the softness of her hair against your lips. With a contented sigh, you nuzzle your nose into her locks, finding comfort in her presence as sleep gradually envelops you.
***
“Ms. Maximoff? Over here.”
Wanda looks up to find Sparky’s doctor motioning for her to come inside the check-up room. She gets up and hurries to where Sparky has disappeared into for almost twenty minutes now, and sees him hooked up to an IV, dozing off on his side. 
“Is he going to be okay?” Wanda asks immediately.
“The results of Sparky’s blood test don't look good. His liver is significantly higher than the normal range, and that could be the cause of his recent vomiting. For now, we’ll keep him confined here for one or two more days, depending on his condition, and if he’s responding to medication, you can continue giving them at home.”
“And what if he doesn’t respond to his medication?”
“We will conduct further tests to see what’s going on there. Surgery could be an option, depending on the outcome. While liver diseases in dogs can be treated and managed, there is always the possibility of expiration, I’m afraid.”
Expiration. Dogs have significantly shorter lives; Wanda knows this. But hearing it spoken so soon directly shatters Wanda’s heart. “W-What could have caused this?” she asks.
This is her fault, Wanda makes the conclusion, even before the doctor is done explaining the common causes in detail. She successfully fucked up another important thing in her life. 
In the absence of a little furry baby wagging its tail to greet her, Wanda returns home to a dark and empty apartment. Seeking solace, Wanda clings to the hopeful possibility that Sparky may return home in the next few days. 
Without bothering to turn on the lights, she kicks off her shoes and curls up into a ball on the couch. Her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, eventually focusing on the small desk where the potted chrysanthemums you gifted her rest. The faint light casts a peculiar shadow on the wall, capturing her attention. Yet, it is the piece of napkin discreetly slipped beneath the pot that her mind is apprehensively fixated to; a thin, fragile thing that would ultimately lead her to you.
It has remained tucked away in Wanda's study, for a month now, as she couldn't bear to disrupt your life once again. She imagines that you are likely doing well, leading a quieter and less tumultuous existence without her. As for Wanda, she has been diligently working on herself, taking each day as it comes. However, the passage of time hasn't diminished her feelings for you, not even in the slightest. The void in her heart, shaped by your absence, remains steadfast, but she has learned to adapt and coexist with it, allowing herself to grow while carrying its weight.
And she wouldn't—not even for a moment—consider disturbing your peace if it weren't for the dog. If your roles were reversed, and you were the one keeping him, Wanda would undoubtedly want to be informed if his brief existence was endangered by an illness.
But then again, you've made your choice. You didn’t want anything to do with her. It was evident in your absence, when you stopped your visits to her apartment, her café; when Wanda's phone could no longer detect any recent online activity from you. You had simply vanished without a trace.
It would be unjust to intrude on your decision when you clearly didn't want to be found.
…And she’s still, quite literally, debating it when she finds herself at your doorstep an hour later.
Your new building looks lavish, Wanda can only imagine how much you’ve spent on the deposit alone. It was a little intimidating when she was asked to leave an ID and the receptionist had to ring your unit to inform you that you had a visitor–dropping her name to you in the process. More interesting than that, however, is that she gave Wanda the go signal to proceed to the elevators, meaning that you gave your consent for her to see you.
There's a sense of relief in realizing that you wouldn't go to the extent of turning her away just to avoid her altogether. She sets aside the questions that her heart desperately wants to ask, knowing they would only thwart the initial intention she has of seeing you.
She is fully aware of how guarded and cautious you were the last time; memories of her well-crafted plans to lure you and get close to you for the obvious reason of winning you back are still fresh in her mind. Wanda understands that she needs to approach this meeting with sensitivity and genuine concern, keeping her intentions clear and focused on Sparky's well-being.
But as she’s about to knock, the door swings open.
“Hi, I–” Wanda’s words die on her tongue and the nervous smile on her face fades into uncertainty.
Standing there, clad in nothing but a t-shirt (which she recognizes having bought it for you) that goes past her thighs, is the woman from the club. The woman who drew the curtains for you in your living room. Her blonde hair cascades in messy beach waves, framing her face and reaching her shoulders. 
She is breathtakingly beautiful. 
But what strikes Wanda the most is how effortlessly the woman seems to blend into the space, appearing more like a tenant than a mere guest who just happened to visit you at this particular time.
Does she live with you?
“Is Y/N home? I’m Wan–” 
"Wanda. I know. I’m Yelena," Yelena interrupts, her tone firm yet not unkind, like she’s struggling as much as the brunette. "She's still at work. Is there something you need from her?"
“You’re Yelena? Natasha’s sister?” Wanda asks.
Yelena nods tentatively, her eyes studying Wanda's reaction; she was surprised to get a call from the reception that a certain Wanda Maximoff wanted to come up to her unit. Despite the nagging question of whether you've been seeing Wanda all this time behind her back, she makes a conscious effort to maintain her composure in front of your ex-wife.
Meanwhile, something in Wanda's mind clicks. It's Yelena, not you, who allowed herself to go up to your floor. It's her, not you, who wanted to meet her. Wanda's mind races with questions. Does Yelena know about her? Did Yelena feel the need to introduce herself to your ex-wife?
"Uh..." Wanda's voice trembles with the onset of a panic attack. It turns out, coming here was a mistake, and she’s just grateful you’re not around to witness it. "I'm sorry. Please forget that I came here. Don't let her know I was here, please? I'm really sorry. I'll just go."
Yelena sucks in her cheeks as she reads into Wanda’s sudden panic. "Sure," she replies before softly closing the door on Wanda.
-
The nights are longer at Stark Industries. You knew what you signed up for when you accepted the job, but now you're starting to feel the repercussions. The stress is taking its toll not only on your work-life balance but also on your relationship with Yelena. You haven’t had dinner together recently, much less a conversation that lasted longer than a few exchanges of “how are you” and “I’m fine”. There’s a lot to make up for, but no date in sight to actually start doing so.
The office is empty except for you and the maintenance worker assigned to the night shift, so when your ringtone cuts through the stillness, the sound of it reverberates off the walls of the empty room, making it too loud for you to ignore.
With your eyes concentrated on a formula on your spreadsheet, you answer your phone without looking at the caller.
“Hey, I’ll be home soon.” you say, assuming it’s Yelena on the line.
“Y/N.” A vaguely familiar voice that’s definitely not Yelena greets you. That’s when you remove your phone from your ear and notice the unknown number on the screen.
“Who’s this?”
The caller doesn’t answer right away. Instead, you can hear rain pouring heavily in the background, something you haven’t been aware of due to the thick windows of the office blocking out outside noises.
“It’s Vision,” The voice cracks over the speaker before you can decide to drop the call. “Wanda needs your help.”
The rain had been relentless throughout the day according to the weather app on your phone. You’ve just been too busy to notice, and so you find yourself without an umbrella. Thankfully, by the time you arrive at the location Vision instructed, the downpour has subsided into a gentle drizzle.
“Jesus, it’s freezing.” you mumble to yourself, wrapping your jacket tighter around your body.
You recognize this part of the city, having gone here numerous times in the past to visit your favorite dive bar where you, Natasha, Clint, and Wanda would hang out for hours just talking and having a good time. Although Natasha and Wanda don’t really talk, they engage in group shots, and Wanda would always challenge you to a game of pool, and you would win one or two matches in a best of seven, because your wife–ex-wife–is just so gifted in just about all kinds of sports. 
However, it's not the same bar where you find Wanda. Instead, it’s near a dead-end street and you stumble upon her slumped against a light post in a sorry state. It's obvious that she has consumed a significant amount of alcohol, leaving her almost blacked out. It makes you suspicious if this happens often–Wanda getting shitfaced in random places with Vision in tow. 
The sight of Vision doesn’t bother you as much as before, but it still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth to see them together in the same place. Vision, to his credit, keeps a respectful distance, yet the yearning in his face is unmistakable. It's a familiar look, one you've witnessed on Wanda's previous boyfriends when they believed you weren't paying attention.
As you draw closer, Wanda's head tilts back, and her intoxicated eyes, heavy-lidded and unfocused, widen ever so slightly in recognition as they lock with yours.
“Y/N? Is that really you?” Wanda drunkenly slurs, her struggling eyes attempting to focus on your face. “If you’re not, please tell Y/N that I’m not with him,” Wanda says, pointing her thumb in his direction, refusing to even look at Vision. “He just showed up out of nowhere and I told him to stay away. I swear, I’m telling the truth. Vision, tell her, please. Tell her to tell Y/N.” 
The street lights become too much for Wanda to bear, and she buries her head into her arms, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks so small and insignificant against the backdrop of a vibrant metropolis. 
Steeling yourself against her sorrowful pleas, you turn to Vision instead. “How did you find her?” you demand.
“I was out with my friends, and happened to pass by this area on our way back,” Vision recounts. “I saw two men trying to take her home, and we intervened. I tried asking Wanda where she lives so I can take her home myself, but she refuses to tell me. I tried calling you using her phone, but I think you blocked her number, so I tried calling you myself.”
You’re inclined to believe him, but there will always be bouts of suspicion lingering on the surface when it concerns Wanda. Though as your eyes return to Wanda’s shivering form, you can’t help but wonder if she would truly rather die in the ditches than accept help from him. For the first time, you find yourself contemplating the possibility of believing her, although a part of you wonders if it's simply your enduring soft spot for her attempting to sway your judgment.
“Thank you,” you say to Vision, surprised to find a little sincerity in your voice.
“If I find out you’re the reason why she’s this miserable, I’m putting everything on the line to make sure you stay away from her.” he declares, igniting a cigarette as you support Wanda, draping one of her arms over your shoulder and lifting her up. In that moment, she feels noticeably lighter than before, and your hand can discern the protrusion of her ribs as you secure her against your side.
“Is that a threat?” you say, clenching your jaw, your own clothes getting soaked fast, not realizing early on just how drenched Wanda is from the rain.
“It’s a warning,” Vision answers coolly. “As far as I know, you haven’t atoned for anything. And it’s not because you don’t deserve it. It’s because of her.”
He’s right–you walked out of that bloodied room unscathed from the law. All along you thought the consequences of what you’ve done to Vision just miraculously resolved on its own with the help of Natasha, but if Wanda had anything to do with how you’re not being served with at least damages for physical assault, what price did she have to pay in return?
It’s a conversation for later–you don’t need Wanda to protect you, especially if it means being coerced into complying with Vision's demands.
“I’m ready for anything,” you tell him, goading him with a smirk as you feel Wanda nestle closer to you, seeking your warmth. “Now, get your jacket off her and I’ll take it from here.”
As Vision gently takes off the garment from Wanda's shoulders, your eyes catch sight of a distinct mark on her finger, a faded indentation left by a ring that she no longer adorns.
-
Upon arriving at Wanda's place, there is no sign of Sparky. You feel a twinge of disappointment, as you had been somewhat anticipating him despite the circumstances. However, your attention swiftly turns to Wanda, who appears even worse now that you have brought her home: her lips are dry and pale, the flush all over her face down to her neck is still there, and she feels excessively warm to touch, almost as if she is–
“Shit, you’re burning up,” you mutter as you place your hand on her damp forehead.
Then all of a sudden, Wanda forcefully pushes you away, her hand covering her mouth, as she rushes towards the bathroom. In her haste, the straps of her sandals snap, breaking under the pressure. Swiftly, you trail behind her, conscientiously removing your shoes along the way to prevent leaving any dirt tracks on her pristine floor. 
When you enter the bathroom, you find Wanda hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach. Grimacing at the sight, you kneel beside her and carefully gather her dark hair, holding it up while you wait for her to finish. Once she's done, you flush it down for her. Wanda, seemingly drained, rolls away from the toilet and crawls towards the shower where she simply sits in one corner, closing her eyes with the clear intention of settling down for the night right there.
Faced with a decision, you find yourself contemplating your next course of action. You weigh the responsibilities you had undertaken which was to get Wanda to her apartment safely. What happens to her thereafter should no longer be your concern. After all, Yelena is most likely still waiting for you back at home.
Home. A year ago, the extent to which your definition of it has changed would have been unimaginable.
“Y/N,” Wanda’s weak voice draws your attention away from your thoughts. “You should g-go.” she says hoarsely.
Your fingers close around the doorknob, silent and unmoving, as anger wells up within you; Anger at Wanda for getting herself into this mess. Anger towards Vision for asking you to come to her rescue. Anger at yourself for feeling unable to leave Wanda behind, despite everything.
"Did she tell you about me? I told her not to, Y/N. I'm so sorry..." Wanda's whisper reaches your ears, her eyes remaining shut and her head tilted back, revealing the graceful column of her neck. You instinctively avert your gaze.
“What are you talking about?” you ask.
“I-I went to see you. But she said you were still working. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted you to know about Sparky…”
She? Yelena? You didn’t think Yelena would allow Wanda to go up to your apartment just like that.
"He's not well," Wanda continues, her gaze focused on your face as she takes in every detail of it, as if trying to capture the memory of you in case this is the only opportunity she gets.
Your grip on the doorknob tightens. So that explains why Sparky is nowhere to be found.
“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? Is he okay?”
Wanda hiccups, thoughts too jumbled to put together anything coherent. "Liver–not normal," she manages to say, her voice trailing off. She had convinced herself that she wanted to see you for a legitimate reason, but as she gazes at you now, it becomes painfully clear that it was her deep longing for you that has ultimately prevailed.
"Is there anything I could-" you start to offer your help, your concern for Sparky overriding whatever tension lingers between you and Wanda.
"You should leave, Y/N," Wanda interrupts, mustering the strength to open her eyes and meet yours. The shame and despair swirling in those green orbs are hard to ignore, but you try to remain steadfast. "She's probably worried about you."
You chew on your lower lip for a moment, and then, instead of doing as she says, you close the door behind you. Silently, you begin removing your own clothes, stripping down to your underwear.
"I have to dry them anyway," you mumble after feeling the weight of Wanda's stare. "Come on, let's fix you up and get you ready for bed."
Wanda reaches for the hem of her shirt, her hesitation evident as she refrains from removing it. Sensing her struggle, you take the initiative, hoping to expedite the process so you can attend to her needs and leave soon. With gentle care, you lift her shirt up and over her head, exposing her trembling form. 
That's when you notice it–her wedding ring that Wanda used to wear on her finger, even after your divorce. But now it has taken on a new form, transformed into a pendant hanging delicately from a chain around her neck. It rests there, nestled between her breasts, a symbol of a past chapter in her life–and yours–that she carries with her, in a different way.
Wanda notices where your eyes are lingering and removes the necklace herself when you remain passive and unmoving. 
The next task is unclipping her bra, and as your fingers reach for the hooks, Wanda's hand covers yours, halting your actions.
“Is this–I mean, do you think should…?” she stammers out, and you’re unsure if the blush on her face is still from the alcohol.
"It's nothing I haven't seen before," you say, feeling your own face heat up. "I think you have a fever. I need to get you out of these wet clothes, is that okay?"
Wanda nods meekly, giving her consent.
A few seconds later, Wanda is naked except for the pink she wears on her cheeks. You help her get up and move under the shower. You twist and turn the knob of the shower until you find the desirable temperature, and then start shampooing Wanda’s hair. 
As the water cascades over her and rinses away her self-loathing, Wanda finds herself surrendering to your care, allowing her to cherish this rare, tender moment she never knew she’d get to experience again. She is grateful for the water, realizing how weary you must be of seeing her cry; it’s just not possible to restrain herself from it when you’re this gentle with her.
“Can you handle the rest?” you ask Wanda, putting your hands under the shower to get rid of the soap.
“Yes,” she answers.
“Okay. I’ll go get some towels.”
Collecting both yours and Wanda's clothes from the floor, you quickly step out of the bathroom before you can start processing what you’ve just done.
Don’t think, just do, you say to yourself as you put the clothes in the dryer. 
Don’t think, just do, you repeat as you get fresh towels from the cabinet.
Don’t think.
When you’re both dry and you’re back in your work clothes and Wanda in her pajamas, you accompany her to her bedroom. You tuck her in and touch her forehead once again to check her temperature. The heat still radiates from her body, and it becomes clear that her fever isn't letting up soon. It won’t go down unless she takes something, but with alcohol still in her system, you don’t think that’s a good idea.
Here, drink this," you offer, extending a sports drink to Wanda.
"Thank you," Wanda murmurs, taking a generous sip before returning the bottle to you.
"Try to finish it. You're likely dehydrated," you suggest. Wanda, acknowledging your advice, obediently continues to drink.
“Better?”
Wanda nods with a small smile. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m sorry you had to go through all that trouble. I didn’t think Vision would–”
“You’re welcome,” you interject as soon as she mentions his name. “We’ll talk soon.” 
Wanda's gaze remains fixed on her folded hands in her lap. "You don't have to," she whispers. "You don't have to talk to me or see me if you don't want to. I'm sorry. This doesn't happen a lot anymore—not as often as you might think. Just something happened, and... I didn't mean to involve you, Y/N. I'm really sorry."
Something? What exactly happened? Regardless, you don't think it's healthy for Wanda to subject herself to such a high level of intoxication, no matter what the circumstances may be.
"We'll talk soon," you repeat, keeping your tone firm but gentle. "Take care, Wanda. Good night."
-
Yelena is wide awake in the living room, her attention focused on a book resting on her lap as you arrive home. The soft glow of a lamp illuminates her features, casting a gentle light on her face. There's a stillness in the room, interrupted only by the turning of pages and the sound of your footsteps.
You hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of her. 
"Hey," you greet her wearily. "You're still awake?"
“I couldn’t sleep without you,” she says, somewhat bashfully. "There's salad in the fridge if you haven't eaten." she offers.
You pause for a moment, and then meeting her gaze, you ask, "Do you have something to tell me?"
Yelena levels you with a look, putting her book down, she says, “No. Do you?” 
Taking a deep breath, you tell her you do. “I took Wanda home,” you declare, bracing yourself for Yelena’s reaction but her face remains stoic. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, almost as if she had been anticipating your words.
“Can you clarify?” Yelena finally speaks up when you make no further effort to elaborate.
"In the office, I received a call from Vision," you explain. “He said Wanda needed my help. She was in no condition to go home on her own so I took her.”
“Why didn’t he take her home himself?”
You shrug slightly. "Wanda refused to go with him.”
There's a quiet intensity in her eyes, a depth of emotions that she holds back, yet you can sense them lingering beneath the surface. And then, she asks, “And nothing happened?”
“I helped her get change and manage her fever,” you say. “Nothing else happened.”
Yelena's gaze softens, and any trace of her being bothered by your confession finally reveals itself in the form of a soft sigh that escapes her lips.
"Thank you for telling me," Yelena says, wrapping her arms around your neck. "In that case, I should have mentioned that Wanda came by, and I let her come up here."
"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask curiously.
"She told me not to let you know," Yelena reveals quite casually. "And I didn't think it was important anyway."
You hum in response, grateful for her honesty and openness at least. Although, you sense that there might be more to the story than meets the eye.
"Aren't you going to ask me if I've been in touch with her?" you inquire, unable to ignore the nagging curiosity in your mind. Yelena's seemingly mild reactions in response to her encounter with Wanda is slightly unsettling.
“I wasn’t going to,” Yelena confesses, lowering her gaze before they come back up with a vulnerability that wasn’t there before. “But have you?”
You shake your head in response, indicating the truth. Yelena’s shoulder slackens and she steps closer to you. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore. I missed you,” Yelena mumbles the words like a secret, before capturing your lips in a short, sweet kiss, effectively stealing you away from your thoughts.
"Me too," you whisper back, feeling the day's events weighing on you, you take her hand and guide her towards the bedroom. "Let's go to bed."
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snaillock · 7 months
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all patched up
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becoming infatuated with the infirmary nurse after getting socked in the face by your own teammate. just a regular ol' day in blue lock. wc: 0.8k
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rin stepped into the infirmary with blood-stained tissues held up to his aching nose. he heard the sound of anri closing the door behind him as he looked up to see you sitting on a desk, writing something down.
both of you guys were very surprised to see each other, though for very different reasons. rin’s mind flooded with different questions. who is this? why is there someone about his age in the infirmary? is this the person who’s supposed to fix his nose? there’s no way.
you immediately stood up from your chair and walked up to him, staring at his nose.
“oh god, what happened to you?”
“i don’t wanna talk about it,” he grumbled. getting kneed in the nose by shidou was already humiliating enough. how was he supposed to share it with his supposed doctor who looked young enough to be his classmate.
“that’s perfectly okay. we don’t have to discuss it right now. just sit down over there.”
he sat down on the paper-covered infirmary bed you gestured to and eyed you suspiciously as you took some gloves out and put them on.
“you seem way too young to be doing this,” he said almost accusatorially.
“oh me? i’m just a part of a program my school is doing for colleges. i joined since i plan to study sports medicine,” you said as you moved your chair over and sat in front of him to feel the bridge of his nose, making rin flinch from the unexpected touch and slight pain.
“they really hired a teenager for this?” rin questioned, shifting his eyes away from your focused look on his nose. he tried to keep his focus off the unfamiliar feeling of a hand on his face as he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him from letting another person around his age do this. still, he complied, not wanting to inconvenience you or him
“hey! i’m very experienced in this, alright? besides, the person supervising me isn’t here right now,” you then leaned in closer to whisper, “and between you and me, this whole establishment here seems mad shady. however, it was one of the few places that were willing to pay me for this so i won’t be complaining.” you shrugged as you finished checking his nose, mentally noting his sudden quietness.
“ok so luckily, it’s only a minor fracture -i’m assuming from blunt trauma- so you’ll need to wear a splint for about a week, then you should be good to go.”
he simply nodded, staying silent as you rolled your chair to the desk to get some things out of the drawers. you then scooted back in front of him.
“ok rin, can you tilt your head back for me?”
he did as you said, feeling his palms getting clammy for reasons unknown to him. he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut in, anticipating any pain, when you pinched his nose's bridge to ensure it was aligned beforehand. the feeling of your fingers gently but firmly moving his chin back into place whenever he slightly moved was fleeting yet brought him an unfamiliar and uneasy sensation to his stomach.
halfway through, he opened his eyes to see your focused face working. he felt way too awkward to close them again so he was stuck staring right at you, unintentionally gazing at all your features. his overwhelming nervousness practically overtook the pain of the splint being applied and inserted into his nose.
“alright, there! you’re all done now and you’re free to leave,” you declared. rin unconsciously let out a huge sigh of relief before you stopped him from getting up.
“wait hold on.” you took off your gloves and pressed the back of your hand on his forehead, feeling an unusual amount of heat. “are you feeling feverish in any way?”
“no, i’m not,” he answered a lot more shakily and less audible than he wished. god, he really wanted to crawl into a hole right now.
“hmm okay,” you hummed to yourself while observing the flush on his face that he seemingly wasn’t aware of. you then took another glance at him and all the suspicion and concern instantly left your eyes, replaced with something else. a slight smile creeping on your lips. “oh i see… well rin, you can go back now.”
the sudden switch in your tone surprised him but he nodded and got up quickly to head to the door, wanting to leave before his mind could process all these feelings.
when he was already out in the hallway, you rushed to the door and called out for him. “wait, one last thing rin!” your voice made him immediately stop in his tracks to turn and look at you.
“next time, try to avoid picking fights with your own teammates,” you said with a knowing grin, watching the flush on his face deepen, “yeah, i saw the footage. good luck out there and stay safe, number 1.”
you went back inside the infirmary, shutting the door behind you, leaving him out and alone in the hallway. rin sighed and turned around, wondering how he was supposed to return with his face looking like this.
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taglist(sign up): @userwithlotsoftime @lucas2060 @kiiyoooo
happy birthdayyy to my beloved edgy bastard!!!! to celebrate, i decided to dig up this lil old prompt i randomly came up with about a month ago or so and finally use it.
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wheresarizona · 1 year
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.”
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“—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.
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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.
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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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mariacallous · 1 month
Text
(JTA) — As we mark the grim second anniversary of the Ukraine conflict this Shabbat, I’m reminded of a haunting melody I heard in the city of Poltava last month.
I was standing before Sonia Bunina, a plucky 17-year-old, when she opened her mouth to sing when an air raid siren rang out.
I flinched. Not Sonia — she didn’t miss a beat.
“Kol haolam kulo gesher t’zar meod, veha’ikar lo lifached k’lal,” she belted out before seeking shelter. “The whole world is a very narrow bridge, and the most important thing is to have no fear at all.”
Sonia, like so many Jews I know in Ukraine, is many things — determined, grieving, focused — but she’s certainly not cowering.
As she sang those words by Rebbe Nachman of Breslov — the Ukrainian Jewish sage whose followers continue to come by the tens of thousands to his grave in Uman annually — she embodied the prayer’s indomitable spirit.
Sonia and I met outside Poltava’s Hesed, part of the network of Jewish humanitarian hubs founded by my organization — the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, or JDC — more than three decades ago. Today they’re a lifeline to tens of thousands of Jews facing loss and strife. Since she was a toddler, Sonia has been attending activities at Hesed — her mother coordinates cultural programs for the elderly, and she connects teen volunteers like herself with isolated seniors, a critical source of comfort these last two years.
These days, traveling to Ukraine feels like a pilgrimage — there’s a pull in my soul to visit family near Lviv, to bear witness to Ukrainian Jewish resilience, and to be inspired by the clarity of purpose that is so palpable there. Since my first trip in 2011, I’ve been eight times. Last year, I wrote about how a year of crisis had transformed the ordinary into the sacred in Ukraine. Now, visiting feels even more essential with the worsening humanitarian situation.
Ukrainian Jews aren’t blasé about these challenges — far from it. Just take the delicate ballet of emotions on their faces when checking their phones during an air alert — contacting loved ones, scrolling through photos of devastation, and analyzing Telegram chats speculating on a given rocket’s make and trajectory.
But life goes on — there’s work to do — and though they’ve lost so much, they refuse to give any more away.
Showing up for each other, whatever it takes, is now baked into their very essence as Jews, and in Ukraine, there are tens of thousands to serve — hungry old women and displaced young families, disabled Holocaust survivors and stunned middle-aged professionals, shocked to now need help when they were once donors and volunteers.
They act fearlessly to ensure their communities make it through this crisis, body and soul intact. Can we expect anything less than boundless creativity from the people who birthed Sholem Aleichem and the Baal Shem Tov?
“These bombings, all these things that are killing people, destroying houses, leaving children homeless … it’s very scary,” Galina Limarenko, an 82-year-old retired nurse, told me in her small bedroom in Berezivka, taking note of the warm blanket, firewood, and other winter supplies my colleagues provided. “Thank God for the Jewish community, which never gives up and always shares even their very last piece of bread.”
I saw that irrepressible spirit again at our Beit Dan JCC in battered Kharkiv — a shapeshifting wellspring of strength just a few dozen kilometers from the eastern border. Shortly after Feb. 24, 2022, the center became a staging ground for truckloads of emergency aid — part of the 800 tons of humanitarian assistance we’ve delivered so far.
A few blocks from missile strikes, it now hosts children’s camps and soulful Shabbat services and operates a “kids hub,” offering academic enrichment to children who haven’t had in-person school for years — robbed of normal childhood by the pandemic and now the ongoing crisis.
And amidst blizzards and blackouts, Beit Dan has also become a “warm hub,” a safe place for beleaguered Jewish Kharkivites to charge their devices and obtain a hot drink and warm meal.
“If you share in our pain, and provide support where it’s needed, I’m forever grateful,” said Nika Simonova, Beit Dan’s program director. “The ability to remain human is the main thing. Done right, I believe that can save the world.”
That’s why we at JDC, aided by a coalition of partners including the Jewish Federations, Claims Conference, and International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, deployed a historic response to this conflict and remain committed to the Jewish future here.
We’re focused on ongoing humanitarian support for more than 41,000 Ukrainian Jews, expanding trauma relief, closing children’s educational gaps, and getting unemployed Jewish community members, among millions of Ukrainians plunged into poverty, back to work.
There is no doubt that the Jewish world is now responding to crises on multiple fronts, including this one, but we have been here so many times before. We must draw strength from our history and from the sure knowledge that this is what we’re built for. Our compassion and commitment, when leveraged with that timeless sense of mutual Jewish responsibility, means we can tackle the challenges we face — and come out on the other side even stronger.
As I walked through Lviv on my last day in Ukraine, I asked my cousin Anna Saprun, a 25-year-old business analyst, how this period has changed her.
“I hate what’s brought me here, but I love who I’ve become,” she said with a fierce and feisty smile. “Nothing scares me anymore. I feel powerful.”
Two years after the conflict began, Ukraine’s Jews are inspired anew each day, resolute in the sure knowledge that they know exactly who they’re working for — each other.
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pinksugarscrub · 12 days
Text
Starstruck
Hobie Brown x fem! reader (high school au)
@rexlroze, @the-kr8tor What better place to stir up drama than high school? ✨️Enemies to lovers✨️
Part(s): Prologue, ???
Visions Academy. Elitist? Yes, but the school of your dreams. An hour trip from Harlem on the subway. But if your mom’s dingy blue bug held up for another year you wouldn’t have to worry about paying for a Metrocard.
It was incredible when you visited on a campus tour. The music program was world renowned. You plan to take every course available but you need to be in that music room. Smell the polish from the guitars and touch the marble of the grand piano. You shiver just thinking about standing in the auditorium. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. Everything your family could ever have dreamed of for their daughter.
So it doesn’t bother you to work until the dead of night with customers that make you want to tear your hair out. Visions makes it all worth it and well, being able to pay for your own gas is nice too.
It’s Friday, the parlor is loud and bustling with families, high schoolers, and disgruntled adults who just want to pay. Life couldn’t be any better than this.
“Manolo where are my damn pizzas?” Yuri screams over the bar separating the kitchen and the cashiers. Stacking empty boxes into her hands before shoving them under the counter.
“What do you expect me to do!?” He yells back. Antonio, his younger brother slipping on what you assume is the ghost pepper Manolo never picked up. “I’ve got six other orders before damn what’s his name. Tell him to wait his fu-”
You tune them out as you smile politely to the little girl in front of you who’s asked for a to-go cup.
“Thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” you chuckle. Watching her run back to her parents. It was sweet, reminding you of your own dad and mom back home.
“(y/n)!’
You don’t react as Yuri spins you around, pushing you towards the kitchen where boxes and boxes of pizza are stacked up. “Go, I expect you back within two hours eh?”
You also don’t react when she glares down at Antonio. Who is usually your delivery boy but is currently nursing a burn on his hand. The poor guy really was as clumsy as a deer.
“Two hours (y/n)!” She repeats.
Then the door slams shut behind you. Your car keys in hand and a bag draped over your shoulder that burns into your side with how many pizzas are stuffed inside. Don’t even ask how that worked, Yuri has her ways.
You sigh as you hop down the steps. Gently setting the bag in the passenger's seat once you reach your car. It takes you a second to set up your phone with directions along with music. The speakers are surprisingly clear as you turn the volume up and drive off. The city becomes a blur and the clock ticks back at you with each and every stop.
The last apartment. A pink building that’s chipping and full of overgrown vines that reminds you of a photo you saw at a pop up show once. You walk up the steps, the last two boxes in your hand.
“O’hara…”You mumble, “O’hara, O’hara- ah ha, there.” The loud buzz of the intercom makes you recoil as it echoes across the street. A minute later a voice rang through, words muffled and unintelligible
You shift nervously on the balls of your feet. Leaning close to the speaker against your better judgment.
“Hi! For Mr. O’hara?”
More words? You’re sweating at this point. You’re almost hitting your two hour mark. A second later another buzz rings through and the door unlocks.
You sigh, muttering under your breath. “Oh thank god.”
You quickly swing the door open. Scaling the steps once you see yellow caution tape and a note stuck to the elevator.
By the time you reach the fourth floor you’re huffing. Holding onto the railing you catch your breath.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,”You huff in exasperation. Eyes wide as you see every door number is faded or falling apart. “These people need a better landlord.”
You almost shriek as you see what time it is when you look down. You have less than fifteen minutes.
Running through the numbers as best you could. You settle on a door with punk themed stickers. You hope this is the apartment or the tenants will at least be nice enough to point you in the right direction.
Before you can even knock the door swings up.
“What do you mean-”
You stand there visibly in awe as you stare into the most beautiful set of eyes you’ve ever seen. Silver piercings and earrings decorating his face. Wicks pulled back into a ponytail.
“Oh hey! Can we help you?” A second face pops out from the side of the door. A kind smile on his face.
You clear your throat as you avert your gaze. “Yes, uhm, I’m looking for 4D?”
“O’hara?”
You melt inside as you hear his accent. British? But not exactly?
“O’hara,”you confirmed. Smile wobbly as you force your butterflies down. You really need to get out of here.
You don’t notice the two exchange a look.
“Oh, that’s us love.” He grins as he stares down at you.
“Great!” You beam. Mentally storing the name in the back of your mind. For what? You don’t know. It’s not like you had the courage to ask for his number.
It takes you less than a minute to hand the boxes over.
“How much do we owe you?”
This confuses you but your smile never wavers. “I’m sorry, I’m pretty sure you prepaid online.”
“Right right!” The second boy nods. Dragging his friend inside by the arm and snatching up the pizza with his free hand. “Thanks!”
The boy with wicks sends you a wink before closing the door behind them.
You wait until you’re out of sight to swoon. It lasts for about five seconds when you realize it’s been exactly two hours.
-
Yuri’s too busy when you come back to scold you. So the rest of your shift goes smoothly. Your mind drifting to the boy every once in a while. A small smile on your lips.
The phone rings and your bliss is broken. You hold your breath as insult after insult hits your ear through the receiver.
You feel like an idiot. The boy’s pretty face fading into obscurity. You blink back tears as you talk with the real Miguel O’hara.
What a shitty night.
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forthelostones · 5 months
Text
𝚙𝚝.𝚘𝚗𝚎 ; 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 ─── ⋆
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⟡⋆˙୨ᥫ᭡. 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚞 - 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ᥫ᭡.୧⋆˙⟡
synopsis: abby was a woman whose presence was becoming deeply irresistible to you. in your final year of nursing school, you toil with the idea of pursuing her — ruin what you have or enjoy what’s in front of you?
warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!abby (eventually), mini slowburn, suggestive language, jealousy, nora & mel ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parental death, nickname: dummy, and modern au - pre-established relation.
an: hi everyone, waaaa thanks for all the follows! i appreciate you all sooo soo much. this is something i just thought of idk, maybe a series who knows! i am thinking abt putting this on ao3 too!
(no y/n)
wc: 2.4k
The noise you dreaded hearing the most pulled at your heart, jolting you wide awake at 4:45 a.m. You roll over to the screaming phone and detonate your alarm for clinical. Not even one minute later you get a message from your neighbor, Abby, who is also your classmate. 
Anderson: Rise and shine Dummy. 
In the final year of your nursing program, every day became harder. You feel your body morph back into the cavernous mark you left in the mattress, so warm, you could just… You let your heart settle before you toss your feet off the edge of your mattress, tuck your feet into your slippers, and head to the bathroom. You couldn’t risk the temptation of laying back in bed. On clinical days you were the most nervous but it felt real, like what you had been working towards was actually obtainable. These days were also the longest, so mentally preparing for that was a large part of your success. 
You slip your legs into your light blue scrubs and grab your backpack that was heavy with supplies. Flickering all the lights off and then slipping into your shoes you open the door to find Abby in the corridor at 5:20, ready to head out. You pull your hand over your hair in an attempt to parry any imperfections you might’ve missed in the mirror. She had her keys laced in between her fingers, peering down at her watch. Her scrubs were pressed and well-fitted, hugging her thighs comfortably and falling just above her ankle. Her arms bulged out of the cap-sleeved top complimented with a slick back bun, and her badge attached at the hip, perfectly placed. Meanwhile, you were struggling to find clean scrubs this morning, do your hair, and search for your badge floating in the mess called your backpack. 
“Ready?” She muttered. 
You just nodded your head with your eyes fluttering, fighting off any lingering sleep. 
Ever since freshman year, you have been deeply inspired by Abby. She always aced her tests and made it her mission to become a real nursing student. Which sometimes meant taking on more than she could chew. In one of your entry levels, sophomore term, you became her patient — or dummy — for the year. Your professor explained the patient's situation and you sat limply, very anxious. 
“Anderson, go ‘head.” Your professor spat. 
“Hello, I’m Nurse Anderson, I’m here to take some vitals.” 
You just nodded your head as her large hands reached for her stethoscope, heading towards your back. 
“Come on you need to be a better dummy than that.” Your professor said. 
Her comment made Abby break character and laugh, since then, you’ve been her Dummy. 
You settled into the passenger seat, letting the familiar scent of pine infiltrate your senses. On clinical days Abby insisted on driving you both to the sites. Abby was meticulous about everything and you noticed that early on. Her car was in pristine condition, even though it wasn’t very new. There was no trash or any misplaced items, it was faultless, and it baffled you how she kept up with life and school. 
“Wanna review notes?” She suggested. 
“No, I didn’t get any sleep last night I was studying for Pharma. Didn’t finish the midterm study guide we made until 1 a.m.” 
“Shit. Today’s gonna be rough for you.” She said, pushing the button to start the car and turning the heat on, which made you sleepier. The sun wasn’t even peaking out yet, and you cuddled up to the window listening to Abby mutter off terminology that turned into nothingness as you fell into a sleepy abyss. 
“Dummy. Hey, we’re here.” She said tapping your thigh. 
You had really fallen asleep and were embarrassed at how deeply and easily it happened. The sun was dull in the sky and you shuddered at the cool air as you opened the door. 
The NICU was peaceful. A few of your classmates were cooing over the babies with the instructor, while Abby was observing and taking notes while they were talking. 
“Sorry, another question —" she’d probed, with her iPad in hand. Watching her scribble small annotations and pictures distracted you. Her brows would dip into each other, mentally absorbing every small detail, you just stared at her until she caught you. 
“You’re staring again.” She’s said many-a-times. 
“Anderson, can you send me your notes after?” Mel asked as we packed up our book bags to head out of the hospital. Of course, Abby obliged, even though she and Mel were coveted enemies, she would photo-copy them and email her notes anyway. 
“I don’t know why you even entertain her.” You whispered. 
“I feel bad, she’s struggling, least I can do is help her out.” She shrugged. 
Back at your apartment building Abby invited you to her to drink a little, and you couldn’t say no. Due to the fact that you lived next to each other and that Abby was introverted, you were one of her few friends. But then again you didn’t know much about her outside of being classmates. You changed into sweats and then walked into Abby wearing a tank top and grey shorts. The white, ribbed fabric clung perfectly to her chest, exposing the outlines of her upper body, hugging the cusps of her breasts. Which made you lock your eyes sweetly onto her without fault. She had set out two glasses and brought a bottle of wine to the coffee table in front of the TV. 
Her apartment was cozy, the temperature was perfect, it always smelled nice, and the warm lighting was inviting. You sigh as you join her on the couch, it felt good to sit down, not to mention on something other than your shitty couch. She grinned as she handed you the glass. 
“Now what’s this?” You smirk. 
“Just Prosecco, to start.” 
You both keep eye contact as you take the first sips. Her lips perched onto the edge of the glass and while she was staring into your eyes, they drifted slightly downwards to the pinky pillows on her face. She raised her eyebrows and peered into her glass with a nod of approval. 
“I think today went well, I wouldn’t mind —"  
“No school talk.” You interject.
“Oh, so now you wanna be like friends?” She smirked. 
“I mean…” You trail.
She shrugged as she took another sip. “It’s not. I’m pretty boring.” 
“Come on, talk to me.” 
She was pressed into the opposite corner of the couch, but you felt inclined to lean in more and inch closer to her body. She tucked her leg under herself, so you really saw the stretch of her willpower. Her quads leading up to her thighs were sucking you in like a lazy river guiding you to her estuary. 
“Well, I hit a new number at the gym.” 
“Is that why you’re wearing this little number tonight?” 
Her face turns pink as she turns her head away in guilt. You watched her break into a nervous laugh pressing her lips together tightly. 
“What’s the point if I can’t gloat?” 
You both share a silence for a moment before she composes herself as she feels the heat of your eyes on her. Your vision trailed from her thighs back to her warm eyes. Her fingers turn white while she pinches the stem of the glass. 
“You make it hard to look away, so I don’t blame you.” 
“See, I told you I’m boring.” She said ignoring your comment. 
“I guess I’m curious to see what goes on in that brain of yours. How can you be so put together and still be sane while everyone else is drowning? I admire you so much but I think you’re fucking crazy.” 
She reaches up to her scalp to remove the ponytail holder that held back her blonde locks. Her hair falls just above her chest in a long bob, perfectly cut, not a wrinkle from the hair band anywhere.
“My dad was a surgeon so I guess I became familiar with his lifestyle while growing up. He was crazier than me, super detailed, borderline obsessive,” She glanced toward the ground. “He’s the reason I’m here.” 
“Is he still working or did he retire.” 
She dipped her head down and sipped the last dribbles of her wine, “He passed away a while ago. Just before I came to university.” 
“Abs, sorry.” 
You didn’t have the right words, no one ever did with that type of thing. 
“Ah, it’s fine. So, I just bought this new mezcal, I’ll be right back.” 
She ran to the kitchen and brought shot glasses. 
“So you want me tipsy or what?”
“Just enjoy this with me?” 
Her request was soft and inviting, how could you even think of saying no. She poured more alcohol into the small glasses, “Come here.” she demanded. 
Her command made the pit of your stomach wobble. She took her right arm and looped it with yours, pulling you into her. You didn’t realize it but your heart was beating faster than its resting rate. Her skin was so warm and her hair smelled like honey, her bicep was curling against yours and suddenly you realized your lack of muscle. She lifted the glass to her lips and you followed, not breaking eye contact, her arm tightened, pulling you upwards slightly. She took the shot like a fucking champ. You pull away gasping. 
“So smooth.” She teased. 
“Sure.” You gagged. 
She tucked a strand behind her ear and licked her lips, looking at you fight a fire. She gets a notification on her watch and instantly breaks the tension. You see her eyes light up and a smile creeps up as she reaches for her phone and begins pecking at the screen. You didn’t understand but you felt slightly jealous of whoever was interrupting your night.
“Who’s thattt.” You say in a sing-song voice. 
“What? No one, it’s just a friend.” 
“The fact that you told me it was a friend tells me…” 
“Fine. It’s Nora, remember from freshman bio?” 
“The TA? What? How didn’t I know any of this?” 
“No, because it’s nothing. She’s in grad school, we rekindled recently — I don’t know it was random.” 
“Abby, you are literally blushing.” 
It was true, her skin had turned to the likes of a strawberry. She looked up to you and shoved you in a playful way, slightly embarrassed. You shove her back and she tosses her phone and retaliates. In one swift moment in between the laughter, she pinned you down on the couch cushions. You look up at her, hair flowing into your face, her straddling your legs, and an unwavering smile. Her phone dings with another message which she ignores and it makes you stifle your breathing. 
“You should get that.” You whisper. “And why is that?” She tilts her head playfully. 
She stumped you, no smart rebuttal this time. Another notification slides through and she finally releases you from her grasp. She runs her hand through her hair and reads the messages slightly biting her lip. 
“Well what did she say, come on.” You say leaning over to which she pulls away. 
“No! I, okay. You. Okay. Okay okay.” 
She looked and sounded like a teenager nervous about a pending text. 
“So, context, I told her I was unwinding you know after clinical… So, she said ‘ah, the best. how do you unwind’ right? So I just said, drinking a little, letting my body settle in, you know comfy — being comfy. She said ‘maybe I can help?” Like okay, that means… what I think right. Anyway, I said, how can you help? She said ‘tell me what you have on and I can assess the situation.’” 
You sat taken aback at her brute honesty. 
“So.”
“She’s flirting, isn’t she?” Her eyes sunk at this discovery. 
“Indeed she is.” 
You felt a sense of betrayal, fucking Nora, you thought. 
“Help, what do I say. You know better than me.” She admitted. 
“I am so honored you want my help. Say it again.” You scooch closer. 
She refused. “You know what never-mind.” 
“Abbbbyyy, say it.” 
A minute passes before she finally gives in. “You know better than me.” 
Suddenly you became an expert for Anderson. 
“Let me see your phone.” 
She was hesitant but finally handed it over. You type a possible reply with her looking over your shoulder. 
“What? I’m not wearing a lacey thong.” 
A bit of you wished she was.
“Abby, it doesn’t have to be true.” 
“Yes okay. Red thong. Send it. No-no, just say nothing. I mean that’s more realistic right, oh add that I just got out the shower.” 
She replied instantly. 
Naked, just for me?  
“Why would she say it like that?” Her face turned sour. 
Not for you, just me and my eyes only, you reply. 
“Okay, I like that.” 
When can I see you? 
Abby took her phone back and turned it off while you two shared loud laughs. 
“Fuck, I am not good at this flirting stuff.” She groaned. 
“So, I finally found what you’re not good at, huh?”
She flicked her eyes up at you and away, she was hiding something, a secret. 
“Abigail…” you trail. 
“What.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. 
“Have you ever been with someone before?” 
Deep down you knew the answer. Her ability to not get wrapped up in bullshit led to her hyper-focus on life and not the fun parts. 
“I mean, describe with.” She said going back to the fridge. 
“Had sex with, made out with, also just dated.” 
She brought back two bottles of cider, her lips already pressed to one. You grab yours by the neck patiently awaiting her answer. She just sips her cider.
“Abby,” you say theatrically. “What is it, no one has tickled your fancy or maybe you’re too much of a workaholic to prioritize your needs.” 
Her mouth fell open slightly. “The second one. I’ve gotten there but something always felt off.” 
Hearing Abby talk about sex made you giggle, she couldn’t even mutter the word. Your mind swarmed with all the stuff you could teach her, the positions you could put her in, and the way you would make her feel. 
“Hmmhm.”
“Wait, what the fuck does that mean.” 
“What?” 
“Hmmhm.” She mocks.
“It’s nothing, right now it means I should go, we have Pharma remember. This has been fun,” you stand. “Good night Anderson.” 
You reach out to nip her chin with your cold hand and in that moment when peered at you through those thick lashes you could melt.
“Good night, Dummy.” She smiled goofily.
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