#timeline: early outbreak days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 7 months ago

Text

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss.

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway.

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual.

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant.

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly.

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side.

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned.

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.”

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you.

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing.

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence.

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin.

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach.

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back.

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest.

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind.

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch.

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need.

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency.

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours.

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss.

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness.

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth.

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you.

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure.

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts.

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits.

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

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alternate-real-ities · 3 months ago

Note

Hey, something's happening in my office... my coworkers are disappearing, or I guess, maybe the office is shifting? It seems like there's less office guys around and more and more guys from the warehouse division showing up, although why'd they show up to the office park is beyond me. Just more huge, asian dudes keep coming. I was asked to direct them over to shipping department, they all seemed nice enough but man, they stunk. Think my clothes need a wash now, I can still smell them on me.

I feel like I'm one of the last guys around in button down and a tie. If you can help explain what's going on, just look for me, I'll be the only short, lean, clean cut, Mexican American guy trying to keep this office above water.

Investigation Report: Office Outbreak

To the distressed individual who reached out for help - We are truly sorry, but by the time our team arrived at the scene, it was already too late for you. Your family has been notified and dully made to forget about this incident. We are now working on containing this outbreak and preventing it from spreading further. May you be at peace in your current state.

Overview

An investigative unit was dispatched to assess the circumstances unfolding at the corporate office of [REDACTED], now Subject C. Unfortunately, Subject C was not found at the office when the team arrived, but substantial evidence was gathered from the scene. Camera footage from the building's security system allowed the team to piece together a timeline of events leading up to Subject C's current state.

The following report thus details the team's findings and a possible timeline of events that led to the current situation. For physical reference, we include an old photo of Subject C, which was found in their office.

Timeline of Events

[48 Hours Prior]

The video footage of 2 days prior shows Subject C entering the office with a noticeable change in demeanour. He appeared to be bothered by something, constantly looking over his shoulder and fidgeting with his clothing. The office was relatively quiet at this time, with only a few employees present.

Our team's observations suggest that Subject C was already experiencing the effects of the Asian Flu at this point, though the symptoms were not yet severe. This is deduced from his contact message, where he mentioned his encounter with a new group of employees from the warehouse division. It is likely that Subject C was exposed to the virus during this encounter.

Video footage from this time period also shows Subject C seemingly struggling to focus on his work, sweating profusely, and exhibiting signs of confusion. These are common early symptoms of the Asian Flu, which can cause disorientation and cognitive impairment in its early stages to distract the host from the virus' effects on the host's body.

As the day progressed, surveillance footage shows Subject C subtly changing in appearance. His clothes seemed to fit a bit tighter than usual, hinting at a slight increase in muscle mass and overall body size. However, these changes were not drastic; he simply appeared more filled out and energetic compared to his typical demeanour. Subject C also exhibited increased activity levels, frequently getting up from his desk to pace around the office or stretch, as if excess energy was coursing through his body.

The rest of the workday passed without incident, and Subject C left the office at the usual time. However, the changes in his physical appearance and behaviour were becoming more pronounced. Video surveillance shows Subject C leaving the office filling his shirt more than usual, while sweating heavily.

[24 Hours Prior]

The video footage from the day before Subject C's current state shows a significant escalation in his symptoms. Upon entering the office, Subject C was visibly larger and more muscular than the day before. The increased height and bulk are evident in the footage, as previous recordings can be compared to his current state. He came in with his sleeves rolled up, revealing his newly developed biceps and forearms. He had also forgotten to wear his tie, which was unusual for him. The office remained mostly empty like the day before, with only a few employees present.

Our team's analysis of the footage suggests that Subject C's transformation was accelerating rapidly. Footage from the rest of the day shows Subject C exhibiting increasingly aggressive behaviour against his computer, which he seemed to be struggling to operate. He was also seen pacing around the office, but his remaining colleagues appeared to be avoiding him. This may have been due to his probable newly acquired scent, which was likely becoming more potent as his transformation progressed, as some people are seen holding their noses or coughing when he passed by.

Our team also caught an interesting moment in the footage where Subject C seemed exhausted and sat down at his chair, his shirt now straining to contain his growing muscles. He was sweating profusely, and his breathing was heavy. He appeared to be in pain, clutching his chest and grimacing. His facial features appeared to be changing as well, with his hair physiology changing, becoming more curly and darkening, and his face becoming more masculine and asian-like.

We believe that Subject C was nearing the final stages of his transformation at this point, as his symptoms were becoming more severe and his behaviour unpredictable. The office was completely empty by the time Subject C left. He was seen exiting the building, his pectorals straining against his shirt, as his shirt's top button had popped off. He was still sweating heavily, however, his breathing had become more controlled. Our team also captured moments where Subject C seemed to be sniffing the air, as if he was tracking something, however, he was most probably smelling himself. This behaviour is consistent with the heightened sense of smell that is a common symptom of the Asian Flu.

[Present Day]

Our team arrived at the office the day after the last recorded footage of Subject C. The office was in a state of disarray, with furniture overturned and papers scattered everywhere. No employees were present, and the building was eerily quiet. We discovered Subject C's discarded clothing in front of the warehouse entrance, which was open and unguarded upon our arrival. A strong, musky scent lingered in the air, which is consistent with our knowledge of the Asian Flu's effects.

Upon further investigation, our team noticed a glistening trail leading from the discarded clothing towards the open warehouse door. The viscous substance was unmistakably semen, suggesting that Subject C, in his transformed state, had left a trail as he moved about. Following the trail inside, we were greeted by a scene that defied belief. The once orderly warehouse was now filled with muscular Asian men, all visibly transformed by the Asian Flu.

And there, standing amidst this chaos, was Subject C. But he was barely recognizable in his new form. Gone was the scrawny, unassuming man from the office photos. In his place stood a colossus of rippling muscle and tanned, glistening skin; he was easily 6'5" with a physique that could only be described as grotesquely exaggerated. His pecs were each the size of watermelons, glistening and flexing independently under his sweat-slicked skin. Ropes of muscle rippled down his eight-pack abs to his V-cut hips, disappearing into a waistband straining to contain an impressive bulge.

His bronzed skin seemed to emit an almost supernatural glow, beaded with exertion under the harsh warehouse lights. High cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes hinted at his East Asian heritage, now exaggerated by the virus's influence into a face of rugged, masculine beauty. A light dusting of dark hair across his chiselled jawline framed full, sensuous lips curved in a predatory smile. The scent emanating from him was overwhelming - pure, concentrated pheromones that would have made our team swoon if not for our protective gear. Subject C's transformation had not only enhanced his physical form but also amplified his masculine allure to dizzying heights.

Behind Subject C, the rest of the warehouse was a sea of similar forms - the other office people he had once worked alongside, now transformed into muscular, sweaty Asian bros like himself. They lounged against pallets stacked high with boxes bearing cryptic markings in languages we didn't recognize. Others stood in loose groups, engaged in low conversations that were punctuated by "bro speak" and the occasional burst of laughter.

They hefted pallets and machinery with ease, their bodies built for hard labour rather than office work. The air hummed with a symphony of grunts, groans, and the clanking of metal. It was clear that in this new form, Subject C and his crew were thriving. Their minds may have been dulled, but their bodies were powerful tools, perfectly adapted for manual labour. In this world of grunts and muscles, critical thinking was obsolete. They only needed each other now, their minds unaware of the world they had left behind.

Conclusion

The evidence gathered by our team suggests that Subject C was exposed to the Asian Flu virus during an encounter with a group of warehouse employees. Incubation time took approximately 48 hours this time, during which Subject C exhibited common symptoms of the virus, such as hyperhidrosis, cerebral cellular decay, and a heightened sense of smell. His transformation accelerated in the final 24 hours, culminating in his current state as a muscular, Asian bro (as he calls himself).

A containment squad has been dispatched to the warehouse to secure the area and prevent further spread of the virus. The sweaty beasts within will be quarantined and studied to better understand the virus's effects and potential treatments. The investigation team will continue to monitor the situation and provide updates as necessary. The situation is dire but not hopeless. We recommend a thorough decontamination of the office space and a review of existing safety protocols to prevent future outbreaks. This concludes the investigation team's report on this recent outbreak of the Asian Flu virus.

Please refer any further inquiries to the investigation team's lead, Dr. Ming.

[End Report]

#asian flu #asianization #male transformation #muscle tf #muscle transformation #musclegrowth #race change #alpha man #alpha muscle #asian hunk #asian muscle

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deantfwinchester · 1 year ago

Text

Neighborhood Walgreens

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader like always

This one takes place before the other two timeline-wise, I guess - just a few months into knowing each other. No established relationship, and some ridiculous flirting.

Summary: A busy, sick Joel gets a little care from the people in his life - including the neighbor and friend he's been crushing on for the past few months.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff-fluffity-fluff. Bout to get a standing root canal appointment, tbh.

A/N: The bulleted fics are piling up in the notes app, but boy are the well-crafted girlies a bit of a trek. More to come, if the functioning part of my brain has anything to say about it.

Word Count: 5.9k. absolute unit.

——————————————————————————————

Joel wakes up feeling like shit. He’d felt a bit of a scratch in his throat the night before, but tried to write it off as allergies or something - until he woke himself up coughing before his alarm could even go off. He knows he has a cold the second he tries to breathe through his nose - no dice. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and it’s pounding before he can open his eyes. He shivers when he moves the blankets aside to get up, and each muscle in his body begs him to crawl back into bed.

Ever the trooper, he rises anyway, heading to the bathroom and checking the medicine cabinet to find what he’d feared - no cold medicine. Awesome. Resigning himself to trucking through the day, he blows his nose, pops a couple tylenol, and gets ready. His respiratory system isn’t too fond of the assault, however, and he’s coughing up a lung before he can finish. Today should be fun. He’ll need to stop by the drugstore on his way home.

Once he’s dressed for the day (trying his best to look alive), Joel trudges down the stairs to see Sarah at the kitchen table, half-eaten bowl of cereal in one hand and a pencil in the other as she finishes the last of her homework. She hears him shuffle in and looks up just as he sniffles, locking eyes right before he can still his features into a facade of rested wellness. The look on her face tells him he’s not getting away without worrying her, and he hates that. She doesn’t say a word as he makes his way to the coffee pot, she just watches him, only speaking up when he shivers at the mug’s warmth in his hands. The weather’s typical for an early autumn morning, but nowhere near chilly. Though the temperature should drop today with rain in the forecast, Sarah knows her dad and he’s never cold.

“You know, I could just head next door. I guarantee she’d be happy to drive me,” she says smiling into her textbook, trying to be nonchalant with her concern. She was referring to you, their neighbor of a few months now, who’d given Sarah rides, helped her with homework, or checked in on her when Joel needed. You’d been around since the day you moved in, and neither of them could complain — certainly not Joel. Maybe she was hoping to fluster him a bit as well, suspecting his feelings for you were a bit more than the friendship he insists they are.

He chokes on his coffee and coughs a little, shaking his head as she closes her book and begins leafing through her notes. Joel’s been worried enough lately that he’s taking advantage of your kindness too much — afraid he’s inconveniencing you and you’re too nice to say no, despite your insistence to help on more than one occasion. Besides, he already feels crappy, the last thing he wants today is for you to see him like this, hardly able to keep himself together. Or worse, to get you sick as well. Absolutely not. He opens his mouth to respond, but she speaks first. “It’s not like she hasn’t before. Maybe just one day? You need…,” she trails off, losing the battle with her expression as her eyebrows knit together and she notes the pallor and exhaustion on his own.

He takes a swig of his coffee hoping it will soothe the growing soreness in his throat before responding, “That’s alright kiddo, I-,” but the words catch in his throat before he can finish, and he cuts himself off coughing harshly into his elbow. Sarah grabs a glass and fills it with water while he coughs, longer than he has all morning, and hands it to him when he catches his breath. The look on her face is challenging now — she knows she won’t win this game, but she’ll still put up a fight. Predictably, Joel continues his previous thought as though unfazed by the fit, though his voice tells another story. “It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to be worryin’ about me, babygirl,” he says hoarsely, waving her off with a sniffle. “You got a science test today, worry about that. You feelin’ ready?,” he asks, subverting talk of both his illness and mentions of you.

Sarah relents with a sigh, “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, gesturing to the textbook and notes on the table. He’s more confident than she is, and he smiles brightly at her.

“You’ve got it down, not a doubt in my mind. Now finish getting your stuff together before we’re late. I’ll get the car runnin’,” he says, moving his coffee to a travel thermos before grabbing her lunch from the refrigerator and getting it packed up. She looks back at him hesitantly before leaving the room to gather the last of her school stuff.

Joel’s got his coffee in hand and Sarah’s lunch in the seat next to him as he waits in the truck. It’s nice enough outside, but he’s still chilly, and wonders if he should run back in and grab a jacket. He forgoes this idea when he realizes Sarah’d put up more of a fight if he did, knowing he’s warm-blooded as all hell, and vocally hot until at least November. Not to mention Tommy’d see right through him the second he shows up to work. No, it’s just early in the morning. The day will warm as the sun climbs to its apex for sure. He’ll be alright.

While he’s thinking too hard through the fog in his head, Sarah climbs into the car with her backpack on, pulling it off to throw into the seat next to her. But not before she’s placed two additions in the seat between them - a box of tissues and a water bottle. She doesn’t say anything to him, just gives him a knowing look before loading her lunch into her backpack. Joel stills a moment — he’s not surprised by her care, but softens at the gesture. As Sarah shuts the passenger door, Joel wonders how the hell she turned out so sweet, and kisses the top of her head in silent thanks before pushing the truck into drive.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Joel gets to work, his headache has bloomed into pain behind his eyes, leaving him squinting hard in the bright morning sun. He’s also used quite a few tissues since he dropped Sarah off at school. He’s definitely grateful she thought to grab them, but unfortunately, his congestion won’t budge. He’s not naive enough to think he can hide from Tommy, but hopeful that his brother might at least leave him be today. He can muscle through if he’s just working and not being nagged by his brother for hours. He’s sure of it.

—--------------------

Tommy’s not an idiot, but he lets him slide for the first few hours. It’s clear he knows something’s wrong. Joel’s a quiet enough guy, but never this silent, only speaking up when the work demands. He noticed when Joel got out of the truck this morning looking particularly drained - both in face and demeanor - and had checked in as casually as possible, hoping to avoid his brother’s evident and exceptional irritability. Joel, of course, had promptly brushed him off and clammed up for the remainder of the morning. Speaking only when spoken to hadn’t stopped Joel from making noise, though, much to his brother’s dismay. Tommy had seen him all morning, breaking into intermittent fits of coughing he’d attempt to mask beneath the racket of power tools. Tommy’s just about as good at hiding his concern, and Joel catches him looking in his direction in the thick of it on more than one occasion. After which Joel would rip his eyes from his brother’s fretful gaze, hoping to deter him from moving forward to give him a once-over.

Despite his many efforts otherwise, Tommy knows Joel’s sick - too sick to be working like he is today. It’s when the guys break for lunch around noon and Joel just quietly nurses a bottle of water (which he only has because Sarah made sure of it, no less), that Tommy decides he’s got all the evidence he needs. Tommy sidles up next to his brother who’s leaning against his truck bed, and by the looks of it, allowing it to hold most of his weight, too weary to do so himself. Tommy sighs next to him, and Joel braces for what’s coming.

“You know, we’ve pretty much got it covered over here today, not a lot left to do before we pour anyhow. Probably a good thing, bottom looks like it’s gonna fall out before long,” he says, gesturing to the darkening sky above them. “We can manage for the day if you wanna head on home, maybe take a nap? Hate to tell ya, but you look like hell.” Tommy nudges his brother’s shoulder with his own playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. Joel rolls his eyes at Tommy, sniffing and clearing his throat to talk.

“Nah. ‘S just a cold. I’ll be alright,” Joel says, hoping to end the discussion with his curt response, but failing when his throat catches on the last word. Tommy’s face is etched in worry at the sound of the cough tearing up his brother’s throat.

While Joel attempts to catch his breath, Tommy takes in the reddened flush on Joel’s otherwise pale face, and the distant glassiness in his eyes. Taking advantage of his distracted state, Tommy places the back of his hand against Joel’s forehead. He’s barely there long enough to get a read on his temp before Joel swats his hand away, but it’s enough. No wonder he’s caught Joel shivering more than once today.

“Dammit Joel, you know better. We’ve sent guys home for less and you know it,” says Tommy, face twisting in frustration and concern.

“Tommy it’s fine I-“ Joel attempts to reply, but Tommy cuts him off.

“Did you even bother to check it before ya left? You know this is a fuckin’ hazard on the job. Damn accident waitin’ to happen,” his tone is grave, but his expression is worried and achingly sincere. Joel pushes the thought from his mind and shapes up - not his little brother’s job, he can take care of himself.

“No. I’m fine to keep workin. That’s it. We got stuff to do,” Joel says with finality, turning on his heel and promptly returning to his tasks. Tommy’s not happy about it, but he could spend all day arguing with his bullheaded brother, tiring him out more without making any headway. No, he’ll just keep a closer eye on him while they work. That’ll have to do.

—--------------------

It’s when the rain starts coming down a little after two that Tommy hits his limit. Once he notices a couple drops beginning to fall, he looks to Joel, just in time to see his brother shivering when the drops make contact with his overheated skin. That’s enough of that. Tommy stalks over to his brother, whose reaction time is significantly slowed, and Joel turns to look at him a bit dazed.

“Alright, that’s it. Rain’s coming down, you’re shaking like a fuckin’ leaf. Go home.” It’s Tommy’s turn to remain steadfast in his convictions. Joel looks over at him with tired eyes and Tommy can’t help but soften.

Only when a few chilled drops hit Joel’s face and neck making him colder than he’s felt all day that he concedes. “Yeah, alright.” It’s clear he doesn’t have the energy to put up a fight, especially when Tommy pats his shoulder comfortingly and he slumps a bit. Joel’s shivering again as Tommy ushers him back toward his truck.

“We’re heading out soon as we get cleaned up anyway. How ‘bout I pick up Sarah? Just go home and get some sleep?” Tommy asks, hopeful now that his brother’s folding.

“Okay,” he breathes out, running a hand down his face before trying in vain to rub out the pain behind his eyes. Joel stops just outside the driver’s side door and looks to Tommy to thank him.

“‘Course. Now head home. I’ll see you in a little bit,” Tommy responds, to which Joel nods, then climbs into the truck. Tommy takes another look back to find his brother sitting in the driver’s seat gathering himself, mildly satisfied with this result

_____________________________________________________________

For once you actually make your way to the parking lot right after school on a Friday. You're notorious for staying too late, grading, planning, or straight up yapping, but today you’d made a rookie mistake. You’d showed up to work on Day 2 of your period without checking your advil stash. Fuck.

After a day of cramping, crabbiness, and guilty apologies after being kind of a bitch to your students a couple of times, you head to your car as soon as the bell rings. You’ll stop in the Walgreens around the corner from your neighborhood for a quick supply run, then head home to be comfortably horizontal for the remainder of this fine Friday afternoon.

—--------------------

Truth be told, Joel is relieved to be done for the day by the time Tommy makes him leave. The last of his resolve had crumbled and fallen with the first raindrops and the chill they set in his bones. He turns the heat on in his truck and settles in, letting the air warm him up and willing the pounding in his head to subside just long enough to focus on the road. A few minutes and a bout of coughing later, he finally works up the strength to drive home, only to realize he’s still horrifically unmedicated. Shit. Guess he’s stopping at the drugstore on his way home if he wants even a little relief.

—--------------------

Joel’s standing in the cold and flu aisle of his neighborhood Walgreens, sniffling miserably and squinting heavy-lidded at different cold medicine boxes in each of his hands. He remembers one particular medicine helping at least a bit more than others last time he was sick, but for the life of him he can’t remember which one it was. Dammit, he really just wants to get out of here. He’d much rather keep this cold to himself than be hacking in public, but he needs something if he’s ever gonna stop coughing long enough to get the sleep he desperately needs.

The tiny white letters on the back of these orange and green boxes are starting to run together, and the pain behind his eyes digs its heels into his frontal lobe. He squeezes his eyes shut and curses a little louder than he realizes, triggering a coughing fit in the middle of the store. Great. Now everyone in the store knows he’s carrying a respiratory plague. He’s sniffling and feeling like a walking germ when he hears his name called.

“Joel?” you call from the end of the aisle, having heard his voice from a few lanes over. Joel turns his head to see - oh no. Jesus. Boy did he wish you weren’t the one seeing him look so gross right now. As you come closer to find him squinting under the clinical brightness of the drugstore, you get a good look at him. He looks… rough. His hair’s a bit damp, and more disheveled than usual - not the fresh, styled damp you see when he leaves the house after a shower, but a clammier mix of sweat and rain. His posture is far from the typical confidence and swagger he typically wields with each step, and is more evidently haggard. You notice his eyes first though, with dark circles and brows creased in confused exhaustion. They’re half-closed too, like he’s fighting to keep them open.

He tries to open them wider and stand up straighter as you approach, clearing his throat to speak, but he’s coughing again before he can get a word out. He’s shaking with the force of it and you notice his shirt is damp in places as well - must have gotten caught in the rain. Just minutes ago, he’d have been uncomfortable under your scrutiny, but he’s too wrapped up in catching his breath to be embarrassed at this point. You draw nearer with pure concern in your eyes as his coughing subsides, and his resolve melts a bit more.

“Whoa, hey, you okay over there? That sounded painful,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. He notices the fretful tone in your voice — it’s gentler than his brother’s but carries the same intention.

“Yeah, can’t say it feels great,” Joel says hoarsely before attempting to clear his throat once again, hoping his lungs will cooperate this time. “Can’t seem to remember which of these damn pills will give me a hand though.”

“Didn’t I just see you on Wednesday? When did you start feeling bad?” you ask, leaning against his side to take a closer look at one of the boxes from his hands. Maybe with some details you can help figure something out to get him feeling better, or at least let him rest.

“Last night, I guess. Came on pretty quick. Was workin’ okay this morning, but once the rain started, Tommy sent me packin’.”

“You went to work like this, Joel?! Isn’t that like, dangerous? You could really hurt yourself,” you chastise, rubbing his upper arm comfortingly while staring up at him looking utterly devastated. Christ he may melt into a puddle right here. He’s seen this look before, and though he doesn’t want you close enough to catch this, he doesn’t have the heart to shove you away like he did Tommy. He bothers to look at least a little guilty, and you sigh before continuing: “Bad idea. And you know it. Now, let’s figure this out. You’ve got the cough down for sure - what are your other symptoms?”

Before Joel can respond, he looks down into the small basket hanging over your arm and notices its contents: a box of pads, tampons, a bag of peanut M&Ms, a resealable bag of bite-sized chocolates, sour gummy worms, two different pain medications, and a box of peppermint tea. Pain relief, pads, and candy salad. Caught. This is not a conversation you want to have with Joel — men get weird about periods for some childish reason, and you’re really not in the mood. You glance down and move the basket behind you a bit, ready to brush him off and keep the conversation on him, but when you meet his eyes they’re wider and his brows are furrowed above you, drinking you in.

“You sure you’re feeling alright?,” he asks, gesturing to the contents of your little black basket. His tone mirrors the worry you’ve been bleeding since you turned onto the aisle. You’re taken aback by the question at all, given the obvious nature of today’s dilemma — one most men you know wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. His voice doesn’t waver, and his expression doesn’t falter, or express an ounce of discomfort. It’s interesting, but you’d rather not dwell on it, and laugh him off anyway.

“Oh, yeah. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before of course,” you smile and wave your hand in the air to brush off his concern, but his eyebrows inch closer to one another, and his head tilts slightly to the side. You’re the one growing warm under his perusal now, so you turn the subject back to him. “Anyway, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

Joel stares a moment longer, but begins to rattle off a list of fairly standard cold symptoms. You’re glad it isn’t anything too serious, he’ll probably just feel crappy for a couple of days while his immune system does the heavy lifting. Now to figure out what can be done to make him more comfortable in the meantime. One thing you know for certain after hearing the growing congestion in his voice and the rasp in his throat — he’s gonna need the stronger stuff. You take the boxes from his hands and return them to the shelf. He looks at you perplexed, struggling to sniffle against the congestion that — according to the pained squinting he’s still doing beneath the fluorescent lights — is giving him a hell of a sinus headache, and keeping him from breathing through his nose. Fine as he may be in a few days, at the moment he looks devastatingly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, this crap on the shelf isn’t gonna work. Let’s get ya some of the stronger stuff,” you say, patting his shoulder before tugging him along to the pharmacy. He doesn’t ask any questions, just quietly follows your lead. Along the way, you explain the useless nature of the phenylephrine in the easy stuff, and how the good stuff requires you to show your ID. You tell him why the drugs with the pseudoephedrine are more helpful, and he nods and snuffles in understanding. Sounds good to him, he’ll let you take the lead on that one. As smart as he knows you are, he more than trusts your judgment.

You approach the counter and begin perusing the options, talking with the pharmacist about what you need, when Joel starts coughing again. You can’t help but rub his back and whisper soft words in comfort when his face twists in pain from the fit wreaking havoc in his chest. As your hand moves in soothing circles across his back, you can feel the heat of his skin through his t-shirt. Shit, he didn’t say anything about a fever. You need to get him home as soon as possible.

When he’s composed a bit, you wrap up with the pharmacist, and she asks for your ID. You pull yours from your bag and hand it to her, but pause. Should you show her your own? Does she need to see Joel’s too?

“Oh, for sure. Uhm, do you need to see his too, since he’s the patient?” you ask, wanting to get done with this as quickly and smoothly as possible so you can get him out of here. She’s looking at the card in her hand intently and entering your information into the computer, busy with the transaction.

“No ma’am. We don’t need your husband’s ID since you’re the one purchasing,” she responds, not lifting her eyes from the computer. You blush at this, but she doesn’t seem to notice until Joel’s eyes go wide and he chokes, forcing him into another bout of harsh coughing. Jesus, his throat must be torn up. You reach for him with one hand and place your own basket and a few other sick day supplies on the counter with the other before she finalizes the transaction.

“Thanks for all your help!,” you say a bit frantically as you begin to usher him toward the exit. You walk out of the store in silence, neither one of you looking at the other, each of you trying to keep a nervous smirk at bay. Only when the automatic doors shut behind you do you turn to look at each other and laugh heartily, extremely entertained by the pharmacist’s assumption. The laughter only ceases when it sends Joel coughing again — you need a read on that fever he’s sporting. Once he’s mostly caught his breath, you move closer and place a gentle hand on his forehead, then move it down toward his cheek. Joel closes his eyes and without realizing, leans forward into your soft touch. When your hand leaves his face, his eyes open to find that look again, and he muses that you may make him sweat before the fever gets the chance.

“You didn’t mention this earlier. Did you know you’re running a fever, Joel?” you ask him, and he looks guilty toward the asphalt.

“Tommy mighta mentioned somethin’ about it earlier, but I’ll be alright,” he responds, but fails to suppress a shiver when the breeze kicks up. Your heart breaks a little seeing him shaking — how did you miss that earlier? You sigh deeply before telling him you’re hesitant to let him drive home. He insists it’ll be fine, and you understand it’d be more of a hassle to come get his truck later on. You concede since it’s such a short trip back, but you’ll follow him back to your adjacent homes.

—--------------------

After parking your car in the driveway next to his own, you meet Joel at his truck. You bat his hand away when he attempts to grab the bags from yours, and tell him to go unlock the door. Ever the gentleman, he’s a little perturbed, but follows your instructions anyway. Once you’re both inside the house, you set the items on the table and sit him down next to it before heading for the cabinet and filling a glass with water. After passing him the glass and watching as he slowly sips, you unload the bags, and begin reading the back of the box from the pharmacy.

“Have you eaten anything today? It’s probably not a great idea to take this on an empty stomach,” you say. He goes a little green at the thought of eating anything before swallowing and huffing a response.

“No, haven’t really felt like it. Don’t think it’d sit well right now, to be honest. I’ll be alright with just the medicine, I bet.” You sigh in response, a little anxious it’ll make him feel worse, but either option could do that at this point. At least the thought of the medicine isn’t nauseating for him at the moment. You’ll let it slide, for now.

“Fine. But you’ll definitely need to eat something substantial later,” you tell him, giving him a once-over, taking advantage of the single instance he’s below you to get a good look at him. You’re already thinking through take-out options that might help tonight. Another day, you’d make some soup for him — get him full and warm him up. Hell, tomorrow you might. But today you’re exhausted, with the period fatigue and the cramps that won’t let up, you’re definitely ready to get into some more comfy Friday Afternoon Clothes.

“Alright, you get changed and get comfy on the couch. I’m just gonna run home and get outta these work clothes, then I’ll be right back.”

“You’ve done plenty already today, darlin’, really. Helped me out more than you know. And I’d hate for you to catch this too,” he explains, looking guiltier than you’d like. You’re plenty aware of the risk here but at the moment you couldn’t care less. You don’t really feel like sitting by yourself in your house right now anyway. No reason both of you should feel crappy alone.

“Uh, Joel, did you forget that we’re ‘married’ now? I’ll be back in just a minute to check on you,” you insist, smiling at him. He looks at you admonishingly and smiles back, shaking his head. You have no idea how happy that makes him — his stomach flutters at the joke, and it isn’t from his illness. You hesitate on the way out the door, and turn to check with him once again. “If having me hovering is gonna keep you up though, I can totally leave you be. I don’t want to keep you from getting the rest you need.” Your voice and expression are apprehensive, afraid to be a bother.

He probably doesn’t still his face well enough, and he’s certain you can see desperation in his eyes when he shakes his head. He can’t tell you quite yet, but he’s over the moon you want to stick around. All semblance of nobility is dropped - having you near him could never be unwelcome. “You don’t hover, sweetheart. Nothing about you is bothersome. I’d love the company, actually,” he tells you in earnest.

Your expression settles at the reassurance, and you smile back at him. “Good. I’ll just be a few minutes,” you begin, but your smile turns to a grimace with the last few words as you feel a sharp twisting in your stomach and lower back. Your hand instinctively grips your stomach, hoping to ease the pain. There’s definitely no escaping that one. Joel’s eyes widen, but you cut him off before he can ask if you’re okay. “Yep, I'm gonna get out of these pants and into something loose before my uterus tries to kill me,” you joke, reaching for the knob.

Joel chuckles in response but he’s frowning a bit. The look from the drugstore is back, and you don’t know what to do with his sympathy. You can’t look long before heading out.

He hates seeing the pain you’re in, but what upsets him most is the way you brush it off. Like your pain is smaller, or insignificant by comparison — one he wouldn’t draw anyway. It sticks with him more than it probably should, but he can’t seem to shake it. He needs to act, somehow. Once he’s changed, he grabs a few blankets from the closet and the heating pad they keep around for his back and for Sarah’s own cycles. He knows how much it can help her, so he figures it couldn’t hurt to offer, at least.

He sets up a spot on the couch for you both — a little nest for staring at the tv and, (he hopes), cozying up just a bit for extra comfort. He’s still not hungry, but he microwaves a bag of popcorn and grabs some other assorted salty snacks to join the candy you’d picked up. He’s seen how snacky you can get after school sometimes, and wants to make sure you have an array of options, prepped for any craving.

You return as he’s placing the last of these items down on the coffee table — he’s rather proud of his little presentation — and sees your hair up and a comfy set of sweats that are just a little too long in the arms and legs. Lord help him, you look fucking adorable. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face when you walk toward him.

“Well don’t you look cozy,” he says with eyes shining at your improved expression. You give him an exaggerated little twirl to show off the baggy outfit you’ve adorned yourself in for this evening’s activities.

“Damn right! I’m ready for anything now,” you say, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your hoodie. He’s laughing in response before it catches in his throat again and he starts coughing.

“That makes one of us,” he jokes once he’s caught his breath.

“Yep, I want you on the couch. Right now. Go ahead and get comfy and I’ll get the medicine. We gotta get you drugged up enough if you’re gonna get any sleep.” You’re ushering him to the couch when you stop in your tracks. When you catch sight of the coffee table snacks and the heating pad set up on one side of the couch, already plugged in and waiting, you nearly tear up. You’re speechless for a moment — no one’s ever done anything like this for you before. This little thoughtful gesture means the world, and you’re not sure what to say.

“Joel! You didn’t need to do all this. You’re sick, I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you insist, nudging his arm with your own, leaning lightly into his side.

“Wasn’t hardly anything, darlin’, just some stuff I know helps Sarah when she gets to feelin’ like you do. She likes her snacks salty, and always feels better with this little fire hazard next to ‘er,” he says, gesturing to the heating pad on the couch. His grin turns mischievous before he starts again: “Besides, you said it yourself, we’re ‘married’ now, huh? I oughta know what my wife needs just as well,” he finishes, voice too satisfied, and eyebrows raised in jest.

You’re giggling when you grab his hand and squeeze it, thanking him. “This goofy little bit we’re doin’ ends the second Sarah and your brother walk through the door, by the way. Not looking to scare her, that’s the last thing I wanna do,” you instruct.

“‘Course, but fuckin’ with Tommy sure woulda been fun,” he says to you, and you laugh in agreement. Once you see he’s settled, you make tea for the both of you, hoping it’ll work magic with the medicine to get him resting comfortably and — with any luck — napping before long. He’ll probably protest, but with a little coaxing, you’ll get it into him.

When you return with the tea, he takes it from you with both hands, before using one to pull you down on the couch next to him. He’s pulled you a little closer than you may have sat yourself, and he’s pleased when you don’t pull away or readjust. You just grab the heating pad, crank it up, and stick it behind your lower back while leaning forward to grab the medicine. You check his temperature again with the back of your hand while he’s preoccupied taking the medicine you’d doled out to him. He’s a little warmer than he was outside the drug store.

“Maybe we should get a number on that. Where do you keep your thermometer?” you ask, worry written on your face all over again. You attempt to rise from the couch to go hunting, but he grips your hand again, keeping you in place.

“Nope, nope, it’s fine sweetheart, I promise. You need to get some rest too. Sit,” he directs, his tone leaving no room for discussion. You roll your eyes, but wriggle back against the couch again before pulling a blanket into your lap. Joel fiddles with the cord of the heating pad and readjusts it behind your back, making sure it isn’t folded or sitting uncomfortably against you. You sigh in relief and fall a bit toward him as you settle in, and he inches you way as well. You arbitrarily turn on a movie you’ve both seen, fully aware neither of you will be making it to the end, and snuggle closer. The fevered heat humming beneath his skin is pleasantly warm against you as he settles deeper, and he’s slipping in and out of conversation within minutes.

_____________________________________________________________

Sarah walks through the door with Tommy in tow while end credits roll across the tv. They head into the den to check on Joel, but conversation falls silent and they stop in their tracks at the sight they discover. You’re sleeping peacefully, legs tucked up under you and head lolled against the back of the couch. Joel’s head has somehow found its way into your lap, and he’s resting warmly on your stomach, no doubt alleviating some of the pain with his warmth and weight. Your hand rests on his shoulder, holding him securely.

Tommy’s face goes slack, but Sarah’s smiling ear to ear, and turns to her uncle, trying to quiet her laughter. He looks at her wide-eyed, but says nothing, and she holds her hand out between them, fingers curling toward her palm.

“Pay up,” she says, way too satisfied for Tommy’s liking, and far too much like her father. He rolls his eyes, and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He really thought his brother would be too chicken to do anything about this — at least for a little while longer.

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year ago

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Voicemail

A Seams oneshot, but can be read independently of the series

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: You find Joel's old Nokia at the back of a drawer.

Warnings: Angst, description of a panic attack, grief, comfort, no use of Y/N, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has no physical description, definitely incorrect description of how mobile phones work, very lightly edited.

As always, Seams oneshots are set on a relaxed timeline. Voicemail can be considered to take place at an unspecified time after Part IV.

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: I don't know if anyone has written anything similar, but I've always wanted to write something about Joel's Nokia (the idea for Butter actually came from the phone scene in episode 1 - can't you tell? lol). This idea took me by surprise one night and didn't let me go.

Important note: I know voicemails don't work this way, but let's pretend that they are saved onto the mobile phone itself and can be accessed decades later, and that a Nokia can indeed survive the apocalypse.

After the outbreak, after Sarah, after missing his shot - he doesn’t remember much of those early, blurry days. Tommy barely managed to drag his catatonic ass to an abandoned house somewhere on the outskirts of town, where he had to punch him in the face to snap him out of it.

It being a cocktail of shock, grief, pain and numbness that should’ve killed him, could’ve killed any man. And for the longest time he wished that it did.

It was in the aftershock of that punch, left cheek snapped to his shoulder and his eyes downcast, that Joel saw his Nokia was still clipped to his belt, by some miracle unscathed when everything else had fallen apart.

And he keeps it all these years.

He hadn’t meant to take it with him when he packed up his meagre life to leave Boston behind. But the grubby afternoon light glanced off the screen when he was grabbing maps and hammers from under the dusty floorboards, and with a fuck it, he shrugged and shoved it into the bottom of his backpack.

If he was being honest with himself, it didn’t feel right leaving it behind.

And so the phone made it to Jackson, and survived the detour to Salt Lake City, largely forgotten. Joel was almost surprised by the sight of it when he finally unpacked his bag in the house that was now his and Ellie’s.

With a wry smile, he tossed it into a nondescript drawer in the garage, never to see the light of day again.

Until one weekend, Joel asks you to help him find some obscure screwdriver in his garage, not able to get up from where he’s on his back, stemming the flow of the perpetually leaky sink in Ellie’s bathroom.

The space is cool, the shutters down and the air dank from the lack of sun. Under the flickering fluorescent light, you go through a frankly ridiculous number of toolboxes without sighting the elusive screwdriver. With a sigh, you try the middle drawer in the workbench, which is clogged with what looks like everything under the sun.

Your lips twitch - Joel Miller is a messy man.

Digging around the random clutter, you startle when your fingers brush the long-forgotten, yet instantly familiar plastic case of the Nokia.

Wrapping your hand around the rectangular frame, you smile, in disbelief that you’re holding a mobile phone. You had a similar one that got lost in the confusion of the first days of the outbreak, and you haven’t seen one in the years since. At least not one in such good condition.

Joel’s faraway voice jolts you out of your thoughts. ‘Found it, sweetheart?’

‘Just a second!’ you call back.

Tucking the phone back where it came from, you grab the nearest screwdriver and hope for the best.

It takes you a few days of asking around town, poking around dusty storerooms and untangling twenty year-old electric cords, but you eventually find what you’re looking for, and there’s a spring in your step as you cook dinner that evening.

Joel seems to pick up on your energy, and he grins, amused, when he brings in the empty dishes after you eat.

‘You’re buzzin’ out of your skin, sweetheart,’ he teases, grabbing you by the waist. ‘What’s up with you?’

You cock your head to the side. ‘Well, I have a surprise for you.’

‘Is that so?’ he hums, then lets his voice drop an octave in playful insinuation. ‘What kind of surprise, hmm?’

‘Not that kind of surprise,’ you huff with a smile. ‘It’s - it’s hard to explain.’

‘Try me.’

Twisting out of his grip, you open a cabinet and pull out something that fits neatly in your palm. Joel frowns, confused by what looks like - a charger.

When you speak, it’s slow, as if you don’t want to startle him. ‘There’s a whole warehouse of wires and things down by the canteen. A patrol stumbled across an electronics shop in a nearby town a few years ago.’

He gives you a crooked smile. ‘And what am I s’pposed to do with it, sweetheart?’

You take a moment, making sure that his eyes are on you before the words come out. ‘I found the Nokia in your garage the other day, when I was looking for the screwdriver.’

You watch as Joel processes your words, and he goes still, stiller than you’ve ever seen him.

Then he blinks and shuffles his feet, glancing down at the charger. ‘I - I didn’t expect this.’

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ‘I know. And you don’t have to do anything with it, really, but I just wanted you to have it.’

He nods, slowly. ‘Ok.’

Hesitating, you stutter, ‘So, um, do you - want to take it -?’

Joel holds his hand out, calloused palm quietly upturned. You half expect him to jump at the contact, but he doesn’t move a muscle when the black wire lands in his grasp, and his thick fingers curl around them.

‘I got the dishes, if you want to go first,’ you prompt softly.

Joel swallows, then nods. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll do that. If y’ don’t mind, sweetheart.’

‘Of course,’ you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips.

It’s cold outside, but he doesn’t feel it, not when the charger seems to be burning a hole in his hand. When he gets back to his house - empty, Ellie is at Lucy’s for dinner - he heads straight to the garage, and tugs open the drawer.

The Nokia stares back at him, screen blank.

Flinging the charger into the drawer without seeing where it lands, he shoves the drawer close with a snap.

Weeks pass. It hangs in the back of his mind like a spector, even though you don’t bring it up again, and he doesn’t either.

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all - hopeful of what he would find on it.

It’s been twenty years. Electronics don’t last that long. It’s gotta be wiped clean.

One Wednesday night, Ellie is upstairs, music blaring, doing ‘homework’ or whatever she does on a weeknight (he doesn’t believe in helicopter parenting), and Joel finds his thoughts drifting to that damn drawer.

Feeling reckless, he reaches for the top shelf in the kitchen, pours himself two fingers of whiskey, and charges into the garage.

Hopping onto a workstool, he takes a big gulp of liquid courage and sets the tumbler on the work surface. Before his resolve slips completely out of touch, he yanks on the handle, and he winces when the drawer yawns open with a screech.

The Nokia feels foreign to the touch, like he’s forgotten how to hold a phone. It was, of course, glued to his ear almost all hours of the day and night once upon a time. He turns the plastic case over and the other way around again, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the buttons.

There’s no putting it off forever.

In goes the plug into the electric socket, and he looks down, phone in the left hand, the end of the charger in the other.

He thinks he’s seeing double until he realises that his hands are fucking shaking.

In one determined motion, he slots the charger into the bottom of the phone and drops it like it’s acid.

Then he downs the rest of his whiskey.

He’s not sure how long he stares, the very air around him as unmoving as himself, and he feels the alcohol spread its warm fingers through his veins.

Just when he’s about to look away, it happens.

The battery sign appears on the screen.

Joel almost chokes on a chuckle. He can’t fucking believe it. You really can’t kill a Nokia if you tried.

It doesn’t take long for the familiar home screen to pop up, the time on the top right corner, the battery in the bottom right. The bright green glare casts a cool glow in the dim. Joel picks up the phone, only to be nearly knocked backwards off the chair when the words flash across the screen.

1 NEW VOICEMAIL.

He’s sure his heart has stopped, it definitely feels like it, a deadweight in his chest sinking into his stomach. But he hears it, the relentless beat of it, pounding violently in his ears. Too fast. Gripping the edge of the work surface, he tries to breathe, mouth open, but air isn’t getting in.

It could be nothing. Could be a voicemail he missed from a client that night, or a junk call.

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all -

He’s trembling so badly that he needs both hands to hold the phone steady, just so that his thumb presses the selection key.

He doesn’t hear the pre-recorded message, his brain skips it entirely. Then there’s five seconds of silence, and his life flashes before his eyes at the familiar beep -

Dad, are you on your way home? Please tell me you remembered the cake. Uncle Tommy bet me ten dollars that you won’t and I kinda need that lunch money tomorrow. See you soon, love you dad -

And everything goes white.

When Joel comes around, he’s on his knees, the empty tumbler in crystalline pieces around him. The phone is no longer attached to the charger, clutched so tightly in his hands that he feels the imprint of every button in his palm.

He won’t know that his face is wet with tears until you thumb the streaks off his cheeks on your doorstep minutes later, no memory of how he got there. You draw him into you, but your embrace barely contains his broad frame.

You can’t get him far in his state, whiskey on his breath and shivering all over. You drag him across the living room and onto the couch, where you curl up against him, warming him up with your body heat, cradling his head on your chest. The candlelight bounces off the phone screen, which glows green in his grasp.

It will take him weeks to get his head around what you have given him. And when he does, he will ask if you want to hear Sarah’s voice - shyly - as if you would ever say no.

Watching him watch you, Sarah’s warm, fun-loving voice in your ear, the seams of your lashes sting with tears as your heart clenches, swells, breaks for him - and then put together again by his hand finding you, fingers filling the gaps between yours.

But for now, he lies prostrate, his weight pinning you to the couch, as you comb soothing fingers through his hair, anchoring him to you.

‘I got you, Joel,’ you whisper in his ear, and his eyelids droop and his breathing evens out, as if he’s run a thousand miles. ‘I got you.’

As he drifts off to sleep - his baby girl's love you dad echoing between his ears - he knows that you do.

More notes: I don't lean too hard into angst in my fics as a rule, so this took me places I haven't been for a while, but it's ok cos Pin's got our man 🥺 Thank you for reading, as always! ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller oneshot #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction

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rae-gar-targaryen · 2 months ago

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The one thing I keep thinking about with the show's timeline moving up to have outbreak day in late 2003 is how certain things that were extremely popular at the time would sort of remain amongst the survivors. Since new clothing would cease to be manufactured, the world would be sort of frozen in an early aughts fashion phase.

So you're telling me we're perpetually stuck in 2003, and I haven't seen a SINGLE Juicy tracksuit on any of these characters??????????

#tlou hbo #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us spoilers #i have to believe tommy wouldve been all over the tracksuit girlies in 03 #joel miller #tommy miller #ellie williams #abby anderson

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millerskitty · 2 months ago

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Running If You Call My Name

❥ dbf!joel / f!reader x joel miller

❥ (18+) nsfw

❥ reader insert

❥ medium burn, no outbreak au. some timelines are changed to fit the story.

dividers by @/saradika !

warnings: pure smut, hand on throat, not quite choking, cunnilingus, daddy kink!!!!, dominant!joel, rough sex, protected piv, dirty talking

word count: 1.4k

author’s note: oh my god ~ the love that this story has received has made me so happy to continue writing and sharing with you all. tysm for the comments!

masterlist

Chapter 9

Pop was in Odessa for work again and Sarah was hellbent on spending Thanksgiving camping with her friend Dex and their family. It took some convincing, but Joel gave in eventually, gearing her up with bear spray and her own large tent. You would be left alone with Joel which was both exciting and nerve wracking. Little sparks of anxiety flew around in your stomach as you wondered how things would play out the moment you were alone together.

Work had let out early for you the day before the holiday. You stopped at the grocery store for a very hectic last minute shopping trip to prepare a small dinner for the two of you. You grabbed a bottle of wine and a chicken to roast; a turkey wouldn’t be appropriate for a party of two. You planned to also make honey roasted carrots, macaroni and cheese, roasted potatoes and a cherry cheesecake pie for dessert.

Joel knocked at the door as you were putting the groceries away, letting himself in after a beat. You walked over to greet him with a kiss, burying your fingers in his hair. You tugged at the short strands that tangled between your fingers and Joel moaned, squeezing your hips possessively. He walked you backwards until your back met the wall, breaking the kiss to bury his face in your neck and nip at the tender spot that drove you crazy. You squealed when he grabbed a handful of your ass.

“Well hello to you too, sir.” You giggled.

“Need you baby.” He said, his voice gravelly with lust.

“Um, now?” You squeaked.

“Now.” He said, leading you to your bedroom.

He wasted no time at all pulling your clothes off. You helped him by shimmying your jeans off and he pulled them down and off of your ankles, pushing you back onto the bed. Joel pulled a condom out of his wallet and tossed it onto your bedside table. Your body was ten steps ahead, heat pooled below your navel and you felt your panties sticking to your soft flesh beneath them. You’d be lying if you tried to deny that they were soaked from imagining this very scene playing out in your mind.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you watched him pull his shirt over his head and toss it onto your bedroom floor. The sound of him unbuckling his belt sent shivers down your spine. You leaned forward and unhooked your bra, tossing it beside his shirt. Joel’s reaction to your naked body never failed to amuse you. When his cock sprang free, you had to keep your own jaw from dropping. He was well endowed and without a doubt the most impressively hung partner you’d ever had.

Joel practically pounced on you, taking liberties with your breasts on impact. His delicious teasing was met with your whimpers and moans filling the silence in the air. When he hooked his thumbs into your underwear and pulled them down, you reflexively tensed. You were his, you knew this. But you still shied away from his gaze when he came face to face with your sex.

“Don’t close your legs, open up for daddy.” Joel said huskily.

“Hmm,” You whined, obediently following orders.

“Atta girl.” He practically dove down between your thighs and smothered your soft mound with kisses. If there was anything that man loved it was devouring your cunt. His kisses became suckling on your tender flesh, leaving little wet bite marks over your thighs and mound.

He was driving you crazy, the ache at your core was growing so quickly you thought you might explode at the first contact of his tongue to your clit. You almost did. He gently licked a stripe up your slit and then pulled your folds apart to directly press his tongue against you. Your back arched involuntarily and your thighs threatened to smush his head.

“Be a good girl and take it for me.”

“Joel…” You whined. You thought you were taking it already.

“I’ll let you come soon, just let daddy have a taste first.” He said, going to absolute work on you.

His tongue lapped at you with a desperation that could only be described as love. He was eating you like you were his last meal on death row. You were ruined, absolutely ruined for anyone but him. No other experience you’d ever had could compare to the heaven that was Joel Miller’s fucking mouth.

You were whining and moaning, your fingers gripping onto the sheets on your bed. You were nearing the peak of pure bliss, crying out for Joel to keep going as if he was showing any indication of stopping. He slipped two large fingers into you without warning and it was the last nail in your coffin. He’d barely nudged that soft spot that made you fall apart when your walls began to flutter around his fingers.

“Fuck, give it to me, baby.” He said, lapping at you like a starved man.

Your walls clenched down repeatedly around his large digits and your hips bucked forward as you rode out your orgasm against his face. The white hot bliss was blinding; You had no idea how you’d gotten from point a to point b so quickly, but you were in no state to ask questions. As the waves of pleasure stopped Joel slowly removed his fingers, licking them clean. You blushed, hiding your face in your pillow and retreated back into your shell.

“Nuh uh, show me your pretty face, baby.” Joel said, pressing his weight down onto you.

“How do you do that to me?” You whined.

“Do what to you, darlin’?” Joel smirked, pulling the pillow off of your face.

“Make me lose my mind like that?”

“I spread those pretty legs and put my mouth to good use.” You felt his own arousal poking at your hip and suddenly you felt recovered, arousal coiling below your navel once again.

You leaned forward and kissed him; the taste and smell of yourself was sweet, slightly acidic and sensual. You tried to slide off of the bed to get onto your knees, but Joel grabbed your wrist.

“I need inside, baby.” He said, reaching for the condom on the table beside you.

You nodded, kissing his shoulder, as he unwrapped and rolled the condom on. Joel leaned forward, guiding you onto your back and positioned himself at your entrance. He leaned over you as he lined himself up with your aching sex. He gathered your slickness and groaned as he pushed in, your warmth swallowing his cock. He was halfway in when he retreated and then fully sheathed himself inside of you.

Your moans were loud, melodic and raw. He was stretching you out, the sound of skin slapping skin made you blush. He fucked you with pure need, his eyebrows furrowed as he buried himself to the hilt, teasing your cervix. Your whining and panting only spurred him on.

“Fuck, baby, you fit so perfect around me.” Joel grunted as he leaned down to suck on your bouncing breasts.

“Mmnnneed you daddy.” You moaned, locking your legs around his waist.

“Can I hold you like this?” Joel cautiously pressed his hand around your throat.

“Only if you press harder than that.” You whispered and you swear you fell in love with him the moment the words left your lips and you saw his eyes darken.

Joel pressed down firmly on your throat. His thumb stroked your skin, tickling you as he pounded into your cunt. You were nearing your second climax, the familiar throb was building up and threatening to send you toppling over the edge.

You reached down between you and began to circle your clit with your own two fingers.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl.” Joel panted, his strokes becoming deeper, slower..

“Yes, yes, yes.” You whimpered as he split you open with his cock. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as he lost his rhythm, his hips faltering. A telltale sign that he was crumbling, losing control and about to find his release. You rubbed faster, coaxing your orgasm right to the edge, waiting for his command.

“Good, good girl.” Joel said, pressing into you once, twice and finally burying himself into you completely. He called out your name, telling you to follow him and you did. You shattered around him, burying your face into his neck as he dropped his weight on top of you. He went perfectly still and you felt everything. His cock twitched and throbbed as your warmth clenched down, milking every drop of come from him. He grunted in your ear, slowly pulling out and peeling the condom off, disposing of it in your trashcan before collapsing beside you and pulling you onto his chest.

“You’re mine.” He said, his voice rough and tired.

“Always.”

tag list: @foxin5billion, @persiar9, & @victoriaholland

#joel miller #pedro pascal #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x original character #joel miller x you #tlou2 #joel x y/n #smut #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, allusions to suicide, morning sickness.

A/N: Okay, I screwed up on some of the timeline. I made a change in chapters 1 and 2 that reader and Daryl met up every 3 days instead of every 6. Also, I adjusted the amount of time between Rick waking up and actually making it to Atlanta. So instead of it being about 9 weeks into the outbreak, we’re about 12-13 weeks in when they are at the CDC. Rick’s timeline was really the only one I could work with, so I hope to hell it makes sense now. Anyway, on with the show!

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

Morning came way too quickly. In an environment where you should have felt at ease and been able to get restful sleep, you were a wreck. After fleeing Daryl’s room, you spent a long while curled up on the bed, folded into yourself as tightly as physically possible. You cried until you were exhausted, your eyes red and sore. In the end, sleep was not merciful enough to take you.

When the wall you were staring at began to distort and move, you finally deemed it necessary to leave the bed and force yourself to shower. You felt dirty. You had responded so vehemently to Daryl’s advances, quick to repudiate the pressing matter that would most certainly only continue to grow. You couldn’t blame the hunter for your actions.

With the water running and steam filling the small bathroom, you shed your clothing and stepped beneath the spray. It had been months without a proper shower, the water itself feeling like heaven against your skin. You hadn’t even realized how filthy you truly were until you saw the grimy water swirling at your feet. Scrubbing your skin was something you decided to savor; the same with washing your hair. You shampooed it twice before deciding you had probably abused the hot water rule and reluctantly shut it off.

The air in the bathroom was humid, still steamy, which made it a little less shocking to step out of the stall. After toweling yourself off, you wiped off the mirror with your hand, taking in your reflection. Circles under your eyes and a more angular look to your face; not sleeping and eating less and less as the world continued to deteriorate.

The mirror was small so you had to step back to get a look at your body, taking stock of things you hadn’t noticed while in a state of constant stress and fear. Your breasts were tender, but Daryl hadn’t exactly been gentle with them the night before. Other than that, nothing appeared different that could be blamed on pregnancy. You had definitely lost weight as you examined your stomach. Trying to track the days in your head without your calendar, you eventually estimated that you were only about 7 weeks. You would need some sort of book or would eventually need to ask Lori or Carol about the changes you could expect.

But that would mean telling them.

As you dressed, you wondered how long you might be able to hide it, assuming Daryl wouldn’t want his comrades to know since even giving them your name had been privileged information as far as he was concerned.

You left your room as quietly as possible, figuring it was really too early for anyone else to be awake. They would all probably sleep in now that they had the chance. You left your boots off, padding barefoot through the halls to the kitchen. Maybe there was some tea that would help settle your nervous stomach. It was dark, the lights off to conserve power. Pursing your lips, you looked toward the ceiling, feeling a bit ridiculous.

“VI, could you turn on the lights?”

The response was immediate with soft lighting chasing away the shadows in the room. You raised your brows in shock that the system had operated for you.

The kitchen was well stocked but you settled with some black tea and an apple. You probably wouldn’t be able to keep anything else down with the relentless nausea. Was this the result of stress or could it be morning sickness?

The silence and solitude helped more than you could have imagined, but all too soon, people began to shuffle in. Most of them appeared to be hung over, especially poor Glenn. To your surprise, almost everyone greeted you and asked how you slept. You dodged the question with a shrug each time. They seemed content with that and moved on to the next person.

T-Dog came into the cooking area and began digging through the contents of each cabinet and then the refrigerator, obviously intending to make something either for himself or perhaps for everyone. Carol came around to start coffee, offering you a squeeze to the bicep and a gentle smile that you returned.

You were nearly finished with your tea when the smell wafted through the air, sending your stomach into a revolt. You were quick to cover your mouth and nose, spinning to find T-Dog scrambling eggs. You audibly gagged before your feet moved of their own accord, carrying you quickly toward the door. To make matters worse, you had to bodily maneuver past Daryl to make your escape toward the privacy of your room.

Your meager breakfast was flushed down, the act of bringing it up leaving you more exhausted than you had already been. Maybe spending the day in bed wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.

You crawled onto the bed, melting into the soft mattress. In pure contradiction to your earlier predicament, your mind went blissfully blank and sleep found you almost immediately.

You jerked awake to the sound of a small knock at the door. You didn’t feel quite rested but you did feel better. Your stomach still felt uneasy but you didn’t foresee it forcing you to pray to the porcelain god anytime soon. Your body was reluctant to comply with your brain’s order to leave the bed but you soon found yourself in front of the door, pulling it open to meet the concerned face of Carol.

“Honey, how are you feeling?” She asked softly.

“I’m okay.” You answered tiredly, leaning against the door. The urge to go back to sleep for the foreseeable future was quite difficult to ignore.

“I know it’s none of my business but,” the woman dropped her gaze to her wringing hands, “it’s just that I couldn’t stand the smell of eggs when I was expecting Sophia. And I wasn’t just sick in the mornings. It was all the time, which made Ed—well, that doesn’t matter.”

You were already feeling the familiar tightness return to your chest, the uncomfortable fluttering inside your gut. “I—” You couldn’t possibly tell Carol. You hadn’t even told Daryl yet and he was the baby’s father. Still, the way she was looking at you. It was as if she was as desperate to have a friend as you were. “Please don’t tell anyone.” You relented, slumping even further against the door.

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t. I just figured having someone that understands couldn’t be such a bad thing.” She shrugged with that sweet smile of hers.

You have no idea. You returned the smile. “Thank you.”

“Here.” She extended a hand, opening her palm to reveal several red and white candies. “Peppermint will sometimes help with morning sickness.” You stared for a moment before accepting, stuffing all but one into your pocket. You quickly unwrapped it and popped it into your mouth, yearning for some relief from the constant waves of nausea.

“Thanks. Really. You could tell me to sacrifice a chicken while standing on my head and I’d do it at this point.”

Carol covered her mouth and chuckled, the moment hanging briefly before her expression turned suddenly grim. “That isn’t the only reason I came by. I wanted to fill you in on some things Dr. Jenner told us this morning.”

That did not bode well. “Yeah, okay. Come in.” You stepped back and allowed her to enter, closing the door behind her.

Carol had finished retelling Jenner’s explanation and the two of you were sitting in solemn silence when the lights shut off. You figured the other woman was looking as puzzled as you were before the two of you clumsily found the door in the darkness. You opened it to find Dale and Lori in the hallway, others with their heads peeking out of their rooms.

Footsteps caught your attention just before Jenner passed you by, intercepted by Dale.

“Why is the air off?”

“And the lights in our room?” Lori added.

Another door opened, Daryl leaning out with that same bottle of liquor from the night before firmly in his grasp. “What’s goin’ on? Why’s ev’rythin’ turned off?”

Jenner seemed unbothered by the inquiries, casually swiping Daryl’s bottle in passing without missing a beat. “Energy use is being prioritized.”

Dale appeared taken aback. “Air isn’t a priority? And lights?”

Jenner tipped the bottle to his lips for a long swallow. “It’s not up to me. Zone 5 is shutting itself down.” Everyone filed out into the hall and began following the doctor, Daryl yelling at him as they walked.

Carol touched your arm but you nodded and gave her a gentle push to encourage her to go to her daughter. “I’m gonna put on my boots and I’ll be right behind you.”

Moments later, you entered the big room and started down the stairs to join everyone just as Daryl snatched back the liquor bottle from the doctor. Jenner failed to react, his eyes on Andrea.

“It was the French.”

The blonde stood puzzled. “What?”

“They were the last ones to hold out as far as I know. While our people were bolting out the doors and committing suicide in the hallways, they stayed in the labs till the end. They thought they were close to a solution.”

Jacqui spoke up as you came to stand next to her. “What happened?”

Jenner was utterly nonplussed. “The same thing that’s happening here. No power grid. Ran out of juice. The world runs on fossil fuel. I mean, how stupid is that?”

Shane stepped forward, his face twisted in anger. “Let me tell you—”

Rick was quick to interject. “To Hell with it, Shane. I don’t even care. Lori, grab our things. Everybody, get your stuff. We’re getting out of here now!”

Jacqui gently took your arm and urged you toward the door. “Oh, okay.” She said. It was obvious she was trying to maintain calm. Meanwhile, your heart was attempting to beat out from behind your ribcage. You barely made it to the middle of the stairs before a shrill alarm began blaring.

Amidst everyone’s panicked inquiries, the AI sounded overhead.

Thirty minutes to decontamination.

Daryl was worked up, his posture tense and expression angry. “Doc, what’s going on here?”

Jenner had weaved through the consoles to one on the end, scanning his badge and punching numbers on a keypad.

Shane continued to rally everyone onward. “Everybody, ya’ll heard Rick!”

Rick joined in the urging. “Get your stuff and let’s go! Go now! Go!”

Others were shouting as you climbed the remaining stairs and headed for the exit. There was a whirring clang as the door slid shut just before you could reach it. You were trembling, steps on autopilot while your brain raced through every possible outcome of the situation. None of them were pleasant. You didn’t even remember descending the stairs again but found yourself back on the lower level, watching Shane and Rick restrain Daryl.

You were in shock, only registering key words in the intense conversation happening around you.

“…locked down…”

“…28 minutes…”

“…catastrophic power failure…”

“…it sets the air on fire…”

Daryl ran past you with an axe, threatening the man that had just condemned you all to die.

And then, as Daryl was being held back and everyone shouted and cried, the doctor was speaking directly to you.

“You. You don’t want to bring that innocent baby into this nightmare. This is a mercy.”

Your eyes widened and immediately sought out Daryl, who had gone still and silent. T-Dog was able to pull the axe away from him, the redneck being too busy staring back at you, his expression equal parts anger and shock.

“You’re pregnant?” Dale exclaimed, releasing his hold on Daryl.

“You do want this! All of you!” Jenner secured everyone’s attention with the exception of you and Daryl.

While the pandemonium dragged on, the two of you were frozen. Your eyes pleaded with him to understand. He had no way of knowing how long you had known; whether or not you had lied about taking a test. He was only aware that you knew and you didn’t tell him. He was breathing fast through his nose, nostrils flaring.

When he finally looked away, it felt as if your bones turned to jelly. You slid down in front of one of the stations and pulled your knees to your chest, fighting off yet another episode of panicked emotion.

Distantly, you were aware of things happening around you. A shot was fired. The axe was hitting the door again. Everyone was yelling, pleading.

Jenner hadn’t been offering you a medical alternative. He was telling you that this was going to happen. You could have warned everyone. You could have done something!

Now, everyone was going to die. You were going to die. Your baby was going to die. Your choice was made for you and the only thing you could think was that it was not the choice you would have made. You wanted this baby, Daryl or no Daryl. You wanted the chance to be a mother. You wanted your baby to have a chance.

Feet began to pass by in front of you, but you were slow to respond, only looking up when someone grabbed your upper arm.

Blue eyes. Angry, concerned, panicked blue eyes.

“Get up.” Daryl ordered, hauling you to your feet. His hand slid down your arm to your wrist, and he pulled you along behind him. When you reached the hallway of rooms, he let go. “Get your bag.” You watched him start to walk away but found yourself still unable to make your feet move. Daryl snarled and ran back to you, grabbing your shoulder to give you a none-too-gentle shake. He leaned in, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing but voice calmer. “Y/N. Get your bag.”

It only took a heartbeat, but finally, you nodded and pulled away from him. You only had the clothes from the day before to grab and shove inside the bag. You had to shuffle around in the dark but somehow, you successfully gathered your things and stepped out into the hall just as Daryl was approaching. He still had the axe in one hand, his crossbow hanging from one shoulder and his pack from the other.

“Go. Go, go!” He threw out his hand to urge you forward. This time, you didn’t hesitate. You met up with the group, gathering at the front doors. They were still sealed. While the men were trying to break the glass of a large window, you noticed missing faces. Hoping you weren’t overstepping your boundaries, you laid a hand on Lori’s shoulder.

“Not everyone’s here.” You felt stupid once the words were out. Of course she knew people were missing. They were her people. Surprisingly, she just gave you a mournful look and shook her head. What did that mean? Your expression shifted to disbelief. Unless Jenner had killed them or sealed the doors with them still inside with him, they had a chance. You had to go get them. You had to help. You had to—

“Get down!” You heard Daryl yell just before he dragged you to the floor, shielding you with his body. The surface beneath you vibrated, glass shards scattering across the lot of you. “C’mon!” He pulled you along again, this time by your hand.

“Wait!” You yelled, your sudden stop causing him to lurch backward. The hunter growled in annoyance as you stopped to pick up his crossbow and bag. He didn’t take your hand again but you were right behind him, careful of the swinging axe when he took a walker’s head clean off.

Everyone sought shelter in the separate vehicles, Daryl leading you straight to his truck and opening the driver’s side door while snatching the weapons and bags to toss them carelessly in the back. “In! Get in!” He was almost shoving you while you scrambled inside and tried to cross into the passenger seat to give him room. However, his fingers snagged the back of your shirt and pulled you back toward him while, at the same time, he closed the door. You were pushed down toward the floorboards with Daryl’s body covering you once again.

The explosion was massive. The truck rocked violently; the blast so loud that it left your ears ringing. You felt Daryl’s weight shift before it was gone completely, his hands on your arms to help you up into the seat even as he stared out the window. You followed his line of sight and gasped. The building had all but disintegrated. Cars, trucks, tanks: just gone. You felt only a slight relief at seeing Glenn wave Andrea and Dale into the RV. Maybe Jacqui was in there too. You weren’t a part of their group, but they were living breathing people. And that meant they mattered.

“Hey.” You slowly turned your head toward Daryl, his hands patting down your arms, your face, your stomach. The concern he was showing was odd but not unwelcome. “Y’alright? Hurt anywhere?”

You shook your head. “No. No, I’m okay.” And right before your eyes, his expression morphed and twisted into bitter anger.

“Good. Best sit there an’ just be quiet.” His voice was low, bordering on threatening. He started up the engine, cracking his neck while his eyes burned into the vehicle in front of the truck.

“Daryl, I was gonna—”

“Did I stutter or ya just hard’a hearin’?” He roared, not even looking your way.

You took in a deep breath, fighting back the tears with everything you had. You had fucked up, that was true. Maybe you deserved his wrath but you’d accept it with grace. Well, you would at least try. If there was any hope at all of fixing this—of getting through it at least civilly—you would need to let him cool down.

As Daryl turned the truck around, pulling up the rear of the caravan, you watched the column of black smoke from what once was the CDC spiral up to layer across the Atlanta sky.

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creedslove · 2 years ago

Text

MEANT TO BE ❤️‍🔥

No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel seemed you were meant to be, but he broke your heart thinking he was doing you a favor. You're back in town and Tommy ends up inviting you to his brother's birthday party

(I don't know if this will be a series or not, but enjoy it ❤️)

Warnings: screwed up timeline (no outbreak but the story takes place nowadays, Joel's in his mid/late forties, Sarah is in her late teens/early twenties), age gap (reader is in her mid/late 20s because well, she's me), angst, hurt, breakups, broken hearts, two idiots in love, fluff

A/N: I don't know besties, this is just a very specific scenario that got stuck with me for DAYS because all I do is daydream I'm Joel's housewife and well, I had to write it down eventually because just imagining it wasn't enough I had to share. Also, this is extremely self-inserted so I'm sorry if you guys don't like it but I deserve to be happy with Joel 😭

3.2k words

"So, you're breaking up with me Joel? Is that it?" You asked him, pacing the living room, trying to hold back your tears and not let the anxiety get the best of you just yet, and instead, look at the situation with a rational attitude. Joel couldn't possibly be breaking up with you, not after the time you spent together, - a short one, you had to admit, but it was enough to see you two were meant to be together. Everyone seemed to agree. His brother was nothing but nice and sweet to you, sometimes even protective of you, as if you were his sibling and not Joel, his daughter was thrilled to see her dad in a relationship after a lifetime of loneliness, even if you didn't see each other very often, only when Sarah was home from her school breaks, always making Joel the proudest dad to see her impeccable grades, a clear reflection of the scholarship she got, she was always so friendly, treating well the woman his dad loved, because she knew he deserved to be happy.

And your family? They really liked Joel too. Your parents admired him for being so hardworking and successful in his business, the way he managed to raise a daughter by himself and your grandmother simply loved Joel. She was a supporter of your relationship from the beginning, always telling you to ignore any mean comments you might get just because he was older than you or anything like that, she just loved to see how good Joel was to you, how happy he made you and what a gentleman he was whenever he visited your family, despite being nervous and blushing slightly like a young boy. And for that, your grandma always baked him cookies or cakes, just a small, sweet way to thank him for being so good to you.

So it came as a shock, when he broke up with you.

"Yes, Y/N I'm breaking up with you" he said simply and looked down, his heart clenched and he felt so upset to be letting you go, but he knew he had to, you had been offered a great job, a great opportunity, high salary and you couldn't just stay with him, living a small town housewife life, you had so much potential, you were so pretty and full of life, Joel didn't want to trap you there, you deserved better than that, you deserved to be successful and free, and not with an old guy like him, Joel didn't have the same education you did and he felt bad about it, he would never want to embarrass you because of it.

"You and I are never gonna work, we had our fun, it was nice, but you want to live your life and I've already loved through all that. I've been married and I'm not marrying you, Y/N. You want kids and I don't want any more kids, we're incompatible, can't you see that?" He said "just take your job and go live your life, think of us as an adventure and nothing else…"

You swallowed and took one step forward, grabbing his shirt and making him look at you "w-was I just an adventure to you?" You needed to know the truth, it didn't feel like just an adventure to you at least, it felt like true love, intense and real. You thought Joel was the real deal, you thought that maybe you found each other and you would stay together, of course the opportunity you received was good, but you were ready to give it all up. You'd never thought of your life together as something bad, you liked the simple, you liked the calm quiet evenings with Joel, you liked waiting for him with dinner ready after a long day of work, and all that because you loved Joel and up until then you assumed he loved you too. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his hand running through his hair as he sighed

"Yes, you were an adventure, you were a hot young girl giving me your attention and your body, I enjoyed it a lot at first, but now it's just getting old" he sighed, hating himself for breaking your heart, but he also knew that was the only way you would leave him behind and start living your life. He was lying, he would marry you, he had actually already bought a ring, a very simple one though, he wished he could buy you something better, but he had gone with the cheapest option and now he felt ashamed of it.

"Just… don't make this too hard on the two of us, leave and take the job, you will be happier that way" Joel turned his back at you and waited until he heard you slamming the door. He sighed and tried blinking back his tears, he hated to seem weak and vulnerable around whoever it was.

•••

Eight months had passed ever since you broke up with Joel, or rather Joel broke up with you. Eight months you'd left Austin behind and moved to a bigger city, got into a better-paid job and made more money. Eight months you were earning well but you were feeling miserable, because you were away from your family, your friends and the man you loved, even if he didn't love you back, even if you were nothing but an adventure to him, you still missed him everyday.

It wasn't just the sex - although that party took a heavy toll on you, as it was so intense, good and hot. You had never been fucked properly until Joel Miller fucked you, that was for sure. But you missed the everyday with him. The domesticity with him, the evenings spent together, the lazy weekends you would stay in his bed, just cuddling, sleeping, fucking and doing it all over again. You missed how his big, rough hands would hold you at night, how you would snuggle closer looking for his warmth, or how you'd play with his hair as Joel rested his head on your lap whenever he watched some cheesy action movie.

Yes, the money was good, you couldn't deny it was good being able to pay for your expenses and also save money and also spoil yourself to clothes, shoes, restaurants and anything else really, that part was great, but you would be lying if you said you wouldn't trade that for a happy life with Joel in a heartbeat; you hated to be still in love with him, he didn't deserve your love, you knew that. He had treated you just like an adventure, like an ordinary affair he could enjoy as he pleased and then discard you once he got tired of it. Still, it puzzled you how genuine he seemed, how caring and lovely he was towards you, how he actually made you believe he loved you. You felt cheated, tricked, and embarrassed to think you were so easy to fool like Joel had done to you.

One of the perks of your job, was able to take a few short trips to your hometown every couple of months, it was good to revisit your family, especially after your grandmother fell ill and you felt the need to see her as much as you could, but with those trips back to town always brought your fear of encountering Joel.

You didn't know how you'd react to seeing him again, maybe you would feel emotional? Or sad? Would your heart still beat fast? Probably a mix of those all.

You shook your head wanting to push those thoughts aside and got ready to enter the clothes store downtown when you heard someone calling your name. You knew that voice, but thought maybe you were just confused, but still, you turned around and saw as a smiley Tommy Miller walked towards you

"Y/N hey… you look great! Nice seeing you?" He was definitely the friendly brother.

"Hey Tommy, I missed you. How've you been?"

"Good.." he placed his hand on his hips - very similar to his brother - and the two of you made some small talk, catching up on things as you hadn't seen each other in nearly a year. "So listen… it's Joel's birthday today, I don't know if you remember" you nodded with a sad smile "and well, I'm throwing him a party tonight, maybe you should show up, I know he was a dick to you, but I'm sure he didn't mean it, he misses you a lot" you bit your lips and shrugged softly, and Tommy didn't need to say anything else. He just hugged you goodbye and told you again how nice it was to see you.

•••

"You did what?" Joel asked with annoyance and shock as his brother stood in his kitchen, a bottle of beer in hand as he placed the plastic bag with a few things for Joel's party that night. Tommy blew the air out of his mouth and scratched the back of his neck "what? You like her, I mean, no, you love her, Joel, so I thought you'd appreciate it if she showed up, it would be like a nice present to you after all" he shrugged simply as it made perfect sense in his mind. Joel, on the other hand, couldn't believe how stupid his brother was. How could he simply invite you as if nothing had gone on between the two of you.

"First you simply plan a party without even asking me, inviting a bunch of people I don't even know-"

"Because you have no friends…" Tommy interrupted and it made Joel's blood boil, he gritted his teeth and took a deep breath

"What I am saying is that I didn't want a party and now I will have to face a party I didn't want and possibly with the presence of a girl whose heart I broke and-"

"You broke her heart because you are a moron" Tommy shrugged again and folded his arms "you are a real big fat moron who can't see shit even if it's hanging in front of you! You love her and she loves you, and don't give me that pathetic talk about you not wanting to trap her because I know you bought her a fucking ring, Joel! A ring! And if you had proposed she'd be here, either planning the things for your wedding or you'd be already married, and don't start with the shitty baby talk either because you practically drool when you see her holding a kid, I'm sure if she asked you'd be on your second Miller kid right now!" Tommy told his brother, running out of patience at how stubborn his older brother was "so yeah, I invited Y/N and I doubt she'll come because you are a dick and you don't deserve her attention, in fact you don't even deserve this party, I was just trying to do something nice for you, so I'm sorry I'm such a terrible brother" Tommy groaned and went upstairs.

Joel didn't want to admit it, but he did spend the whole day checking his phone every five minutes to see if he'd get any messages from you. Joel was a man to receive and give phone calls, he didn't like texting, but most people insisted on doing that so he had to surrender, even his daughter would rather text than call, which Joel hated but he had to do it eventually. On your birthday, Joel spent the whole day battling if he should text you or not, on one hand he didn't want to simply pretend he had forgotten about your special day; on the other hand he didn't want to make things weird between the two of you, well, more like, more weird. What was he supposed to say?

"Hey babe, happy birthday 🎈 I know I said you were just an adventure but I miss you"

No, that'd be too awkward, so eventually he went to bed that day and ended up not texting you.

Another thing Joel didn't also want to admit was how he had showered, applied some cologne and put on the flannel shirt you always told him looked good in him before the party started. Fortunately, his argument with Tommy didn't change any of his plans and in the evening people started to arrive. Joel smiled politely, made some small talk, thanked people for the gifts but he kept glancing at the door frequently, always in hopes to see you walking in. He felt so stupid for even expecting that, so he tried focusing on his party. He saw the girls his brother had invited but didn't care about any of them; they all chatted and giggled and Joel watched it from afar as if he were an outsider at his own birthday party. Joel grabbed a beer and walked outside, sitting by the front steps and watched as the hours passed by and people eventually began leaving the party. He just enjoyed his own presence, knowing you wouldn't come, clearly you'd never come again and he had to face that, at the same time he silently thought of what his life had been like and what was left for him to do in the future, when a voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Joel?" You called him, hesitantly at first, as you swallowed and looked around, it was kind of crazy to show up at your ex's birthday party after he dumped you in a cruel way like he did, but you also felt like you had to do it, ever since Tommy had invited you, something in your heart begged and screamed for you to go see Joel even if it was the last time.

When he saw you, his eyes widened, he didn't trust them at first thinking it was just a trick of his longing imagination, but as you walked towards him, he could see you were real. And you looked gorgeous, making that fool old man's heart beat fast.

"Darlin'..." He said but you placed your index finger gently against his lips, the way his beard tickled you brought a warmth within and you felt like you could melt at that moment.

"I'm here just to wish you a happy birthday" you said with a sad smile and handed him a bag. Joel frowned softly, clueless to what it was but a soft smile appeared on his face as he saw it was his watch. He had forgotten about it as it had been so long since the last time he saw it.

"Remember your watch stopped working after we jumped in the pool on the last fourth of July we spent together? I had it fixed but then we bro-" you interrupted yourself "anyway, I know it's been a while but it's yours"

"Thank you darlin' I don't even know what to say… it's already a gift you're here tonight" Joel could swear he was blushing and that embarrassed him, he was a grown man and shouldn't be acting like that, but still, there he was.

"Did you get the cake?" You questioned him curiously and only then Joel noticed you had a second bag in hands

"I forgot" he rubbed the back of his neck and you laughed softly, that was just so Joel it felt kind of stupid.

"So this is yours too…" you offered him the second to which he grabbed it even more puzzled. Two presents? Joel Miller was a simple man, and quite shy, he didn't know how to act properly when he was given gifts, let alone two in a row and especially when it came from you.

It was his turn to laugh when he found a box with cupcakes inside. He raised his eyes from them and smiled at you, taking you by the hand with no warning and sitting you next to him, on the front step.

He helped himself to one and insisted for you to take another, and even if you should have just wished him a happy birthday and driven back home, you obliged and took a small bite of yours, and that cupcake was indeed really good.

After the cupcakes were long gone, you and Joel still caught up on everything: he told you about his job and you told him about yours; you asked him about Sarah and he asked you about your grandmother's health, just random, ordinary things like it should be between two people who once knew everything about each other and now spent long enough apart to step on eggshells around each other. Though the party had pretty much ended, Tommy's playlist was still at full steam inside the house and when Joel recognized that guitar strumming he smiled, the lyrics coming back to him as it took him back to one of his favorite moments with you.

"Listen, it's our song"

"What?" You frowned softly "our song? What do you mean?" You questioned curiously not exactly knowing where he wanted to get.

"Californication, it's our song" he blushed softly and felt upset to see that maybe you didn't remember the summer night you spent listening to music sitting in the back of his truck, and how you two sang it together. Maybe that wasn't as special to you as it was to him, but at that night he'd felt so young, so full of life and hope. You finally nodded and closed your eyes, listening to it and thinking of the same sweet memory you and Joel shared.

"I just didn't know it was our song, Joel" you said amused and he shrugged, getting to his favorite part of the song and taking your hand in his, your eyes locked as his lips moved

"Marry me girl, be my fairy to the world, be my very own constellation"

He sang along, even if it wasn't a romantic song, that part was for you, it had always been for you. When he saw you sing that specific part of the song for the first time he knew he wanted to marry you, he wanted you to be his fairy to his world and be his very own constellation. It was cheesy, but he didn't care, he was just in love at the time, and he continued so.

You blushed and looked down, knowing it was time to go, but before you could get up, he squeezed your hand gently

"Do you want to get inside?" His eyes were full of hope, maybe and just maybe you could say yes and you could maybe pick up from where you left off but you shook your head "I'm sorry, I have to go Joel" you got up and ignored his sad eyes, even if they were your weakness, you two were finished and there was nothing you could do about it.

"Joel?" You called one last time and he got up, walking to you, still hopeful you'd give him any crumble of affection.

"Yeah?" His voice was a soft purr, the anticipation burning bright inside of him

"Happy birthday" you said and went to your car, leaving him standing there, his mind full of might-have-beens and his heart breaking as it did every time you walked away from him.

_____

A/N: don't yell at me besties, i've had this idea of joel being sure he would want to marry reader (me/us) while listening to this part of the song and Californication is a very delicate subject as I sang this song in a karaoke session at the mall yesterday in front of hundreds of people and I was so nervous at first but then I relaxed and had such a great time and it was amazing 😭 I know it's not a romantic song but I want those lyrics to be about joel and his beautiful wife 😭 I hope you've liked it besties ❤️

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pedroacrossthestreet · 3 months ago

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The Last of Us - Series 1, Episode 1

When You're Lost in the Darkness

Decided to do a rewatch before the next series and jot down all the little things that I love about each episode.

Starting the episode talking about global pandemics and influenza straight off the back off of Covid-19 situates the narrative in familiar terms for the audience. Immediately, the sense of uncertainty and fear is exacerbated once fungi are mentioned as something far worse than what the real world has just lived through. Oh, and also there's no cure.

The shots of the television audience watching show them in a transfixed state, just as the epidemiologist describes the host ants under the mind altering control of the fungi.

Throw in a mention of global warming and Craig Mazin has successfully terrified every anxiety ridden millennial.

The attention to detail in the Miller's house firmly cements the timeline in 2003. What more could we expect from the mind behind Chernobyl?

The juxtaposition of Joel being a dishevelled single dad who cares as he asks Sarah about her homework when she's so clearly the one looking after him. Uncle Tommy's appearance and equal reliance on his brother and niece to provide food for him further shows how Joel is barely keeping everything afloat.

Joel's proud little smile while Sarah schools them both on geography. Tommy saying "There's hope for us yet" foreshadows the loss of Sarah as their guiding light.

The watch repairer is Lebanese. The phone rings in the background, probably a relative informing the couple of the outbreak starting in Lebanon, causing the woman to panic and shut the shop early.

Generally, the amount of clocks in the episode is an excellent way of building tension throughout.

Joel is surprised that Sarah locked the door for once, the events from the day seemingly making her cautious.

Still not over the genius of how the Miller's avoid so many different opportunities to eat wheat.

How Pedro managed to make the life disappear from his eyes as Joel cradled his dying daughter is beyond me.

How his eyes were still so lifeless when he threw the boy into the fire.

(But seriously, what happened to Sarah's body? Did Joel carry her? Did he leave her? I really hope Mazin fleshes that out more in the next series)

Even in the QZ Joel is still constantly working. He's a provider. Whether it be as a smuggler or as a worker for FEDRA, he needs the ration cards to keep himself and Tess going.

Tess being the badass Big Spoon from her introduction. Joel answers to her, Robert. It's just too bad that Tess wants Joel to hurt him as much as Joel wants to avenge her.

Seriously, I fucking love that Tess is the big spoon. And I love that that was a fucking choice that they made, to have her shove the dead weight of a passed out Joel over in order for her to cradle him. And he just accepts it.

And then Joel is relegated to just watching as she completes business quietly and finds out where Robert is.

I would take a whole series of their relationship please and thank you.

"You don't have a fucking ear on your fucking head" is still hilarious.

Bella is able to switch so perfectly from brat to scared child in an instant.

Joel trying to scold Ellie for breaking the code is so father.

The way young Joel backed away from the soldier is such a stark contrast to how QZ Joel lunges towards the threat this time. He's already placed himself between Ellie and the FEDRA soldier even though he's just met her.

Closing the episode on the 80s song playing through the stereo to signify trouble ahead, just to remind the audience that their sense of foreboding is well placed.

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the-torchwood-archive · 1 year ago

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Torchwood Timeline (May 2024)

This is my canon timeline for the Torchwood TV stories, novels, and audio productions. It's fairly similar to the wiki timeline with a few small tweaks. It's also completely spoiler free, unlike the wiki timeline.

Some entries have firm dates, some have months, some have general decades, so I've tried my hardest to fit them into where I feel they fit. If anyone spots anything that I've missed or sees any glaring problems let me know and I'll try to suss it out. New stories will be added as they are released.

1879:

TV: Tooth And Claw

1885:

Torchwood Cardiff is founded

December 24th 1894:

Audio: The Empire Man

1897:

Audio: Infidel Places

1898:

Audio: Save Our Souls

December 24th 1898:

Audio: The Crown

1899:

Scenes from TV: Fragments

Jack joins Torchwood

May 17th 1899

Audio: The Victorian Age

1908:

Torchwood Glasgow is founded

1915

Audio: What Have I Done

Post TV: COE Day 5 in Jack’s timeline

1940s:

Audio: Curios

Audio: The Dying Room

1953

Norton Folgate projects himself to 2016 for Audio: Ghost Mission

1955:

Norton Folgate is projected to 2009 for Audio: Outbreak

1956-1959:

Audio: Goodbye Piccadilly

Audio: Madam, I’m

Audio: Parasite

Audio: Ashenden

Audio: The Unbegotten

Audio: The Black Knight

1965:

Scenes from TV: Children Of Earth Day Four

First contact with the 456

1970s:

Audio: The Dollhouse

1973:

Audio: Double

Torchwood Los Angeles severs all ties

1978:

Audio: Dead Plates

1980:

Scenes from Prose: Trace Memory

Toshiko’s scenes

16th-22nd August 1987:

Past scenes from Audio: Disco

1999:

Alex Hopkins kills his team and Jack Harkness becomes head of Torchwood Cardiff

2000-2004:

Audio: Piece Of Mind

Ben Brown hired by Jack Harkness

Suzie Costello hired by Jack Harkness

Ben Brown deceased

2001-2004:

Scenes from Prose: Trace Memory

Owen’s scenes

2004:

Scenes from TV: Fragments

Toshiko’s scenes

Late 2004:

Audio: Blind Summit

Ianto returns to Wales

Audio: Suckers

February 2005:

Ianto is hired by Torchwood London as Junior Researcher

Scenes from Prose: Trace Memory

Ianto’s scenes

26th March 2005:

Audio: One Rule

Ianto is working as Yvonne’s PA

2005:

Audio: The Last Love Song Of Suzie Costello

Audio: Tube Strike

Audio: New Girl

Audio: Through The Ruins

Audio: Uprising

Audio: My Guest Tonight

Audio: Lola

Audio: Less Majesty

Audio: The Law Machines

Audio: 9 To 5

Sebastian Vaughn hired at Torchwood Three

Audio: The Vigil

Late 2005:

Scenes from TV: Fragments

Owen’s scenes

March 2006:

Owen Harper is recruited into Torchwood Cardiff

TV: Aliens Of London

April-September 2006:

Audio: Sync

September 2006:

TV: Boom Town

Jack confines the team to the Hub

September-December 2006:

Audio: Wednesdays For Beginners

Audio: Crush

Audio: Retirement Plan

29th November 2006:

Audio: Moving Target

January-Feburary 2007:

Audio: Locker 15

Audio: Dinner For Yvonne

Present day scenes from Audio: Disco

Audio: By Royal Appointment

Audio: Nerves

Audio: The Rockery

February-March 2007:

TV: Doomsday

TV: Army Of Ghosts

Scenes from TV: Fragments

Ianto joins Torchwood Cardiff

Audio: War Chest

February 2007-September 2009:

Audio: Coffee

Scenes take place between TV: Army Of Ghosts and TV: Children Of Earth Day Five

August-November 2007:

TV: Everything Changes

TV: Day One

TV: Ghost Machine

Prose: Another Life

Prose: Slow Decay

TV: Cyberwoman

Audio: Broken

Scenes take place between TV: Cyberwoman and TV: They Keep Killing Suzie

TV: Small Worlds

TV: Countrycide

Audio: The Great Sontaran War

TV: Greeks Baring Gifts

Audio: Restricted Items Archive Entires 031-049

Audio: Instant Karma

Audio: Ex Machina

Audio: Drive

November 2007:

TV: They Keep Killing Suzie

November-December 2007:

TV: Random Shoes

Audio: The Last Beacon

Audio: The Conspiracy

Audio: Fall To Earth

Audio: Uncanny Valley

Early events of Audio: The Office Of Never Was

18th-26th December 2007

TV: Out Of Time

Audio: The Grey Mare

December 2007-Janurary 2008:

Audio: SUV

Audio: Missing Molly

TV: Combat

Audio: Hidden

TV: Captain Jack Harkness

TV: End Of Days

January-May 2008:

Audio: Zone 10

Audio: Lease Of Life

February 2008:

Prose: Kaleidoscope

14th February 2008:

Audio: Dinner And A Show

February-August 2008:

Audio: Sigil

May 2008:

Torchwood goes to Tibet

Jack returns to Cardiff after TYTNW

TV: Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

TV: Sleeper

Audio: Serenity

20th June 2008:

TV: To The Last Man

June-July 2008:

Prose: Something In The Water

Audio: Everyone Says Hello

Prose: Trace Memory

TV: Meat

29th June 2008:

Audio: The Lincolnshire Poacher

July-August 2008:

Audio: torchwood_cascade_CDRIP.tor

Audio The Office Of Never Was

Audio: In The Shaodws

TV: Adam

Audio: Tropical Beach Sounds And Other Relaxing Seascapes #4

August 2008:

Prose: The Twilight Streets

August-October 2008:

TV: Reset

TV: Dead Man Walking

TV: A Day In The Death

August-December 2008:

Audio: Corpse Day

Audio: The Hope

Audio: The Three Monkeys

Audio: Gooseberry

31st October 2008:

Prose: Pack Animals

November-December 2008:

TV: Something Borrowed

Prose: Skypoint

TV: From Out Of The Rain

TV: Adrift

Audio: Believe

TV: Fragments

TV: Exit Wounds

Audio: Expectant

Prose: Into The Silence

Audio: Lost Souls

January-February 2009:

Prose: Bay Of The Dead

Prose: The House That Jack Built

Prose: Almost Perfect

Audio: Department X

February 2009:

Audio: Ghost Train

May-September 2009:

Audio: Dissected

Audio: Rhys And Ianto’s Excellent Barbeque

TV: The Stolen Earth

TV: Journey’s End

Audio: The Sin Eaters

Prose: The Wrong Hands

Prose: Virus

Audio: Asylum

Audio: Golden Age

Prose: Consequences

Audio: The Dead Line

Prose: Risk Assessment

Prose: The Undertaker’s Gift

Audio: The Devil And Miss Carew

Audio: Submission

Audio: Outbreak

September 2009:

TV: Children Of Earth Day One

TV: Children Of Earth Day Two

TV: Children Of Earth Day Three

TV: Children Of Earth Day Four

TV: Children Of Earth Day Five

Late 2009:

Prose: Long Time Dead

March 2010:

Audio: House Of The Dead

Events of TV: The End Of Time and Audio: One Enchanted Evening in Jack’s timeline

March-June 2010:

Prose: First Born

June 2010:

Prose: The Men Who Sold The World

October 2010:

Audio: Poppet

18th-21st March 2011:

TV: The New World

22nd March 2011:

TV: Rendition

March-July 2011:

TV: Dead Of Night

TV: Escape To LA

TV: Categories Of Life

TV: The Middle Men

TV: Immortal Sins

TV: End Of The Road

September 2011:

TV: The Gathering

TV: The Blood Line

September-December 2011:

Audio: Army of One

Audio: Fallout

Audio: Red Skies

Audio: Mr Invincible

2012:

Prose: Exodus Code

Audio: Cadoc Point

November-December 2012:

Audio: Dog Hop

Late 2016

Audio: Forgotten Lives

Audio: Visiting Hours

Audio: More Than This

Audio: Ghost Mission

Audio: Made You Look

January-June 2017:

Mr Colchester joins a rebuilt Torchwood

Audio: We Always Get Out Alive

Audio: Night Of The Fendahl

Audio: Smashed

Ng joins Torchwood after this point

Audio: Driving Miss Wells

Audio: Sonny

Audio: Changes Everything

Audio: Aliens & Sex & Chips & Gravy

Audio: Oor

Audio: Superiority Complex

Audio: Love Rat

Audio: A Kill To A View

June 2017-October 2018:

Audio: Zero Hour

Audio: The Empty Hand

Audio: Poker Face

Audio: Tagged

Audio: Escape Room

Audio: Herald Of The Dawn

Audio: Future Pain

2017-2018:

Audio: The Man Who Destroyed Torchwood

Takes place between TV: Superiority Complex and TV: Herald Of The Dawn

October 2018:

Audio: Cardiff Unknown – October 2018

October-December 2018:

Audio: See No Evil

Audio: Night Watch

Audio: Flight 405

Audio: Hostile Environment

Audio: The Green Life

Audio: Sargasso

Audio: Another Man’s Shoes

Audio: Eye Of The Storm

January-March 2019:

Audio: A Mother’s Son

March-August 2019:

Audio: Scrapejane

Audio: Day Zero

Audio: Thoughts And Prayers

Audio: Red Base

Audio: Aliens Next Door

Audio: Colin Alone

August 2019:

Audio: Misty Eyes

2021:

Audio: Goodbye Piccadilly, Audio: Ashenden, and Audio: The Unbegotten for Andy’s POV

Early 2022:

Audio: The Red List

2022:

Audio: Moderation

Audio: Propaganda

Audio: At Her Majesty’s Pleasure

Audio: Cuckoo

Audio: Pariahs

Audio: How I Conquered The World

Audio: The Five People You Kill In Middlesborough

Audio: A Postcard From Mr Colchester

Audio: Death In Venice

February 2023:

Audio: Doomscroll

2023:

Audio: Heistland

Audio: The Apocalypse Starts At 6PM

Audio: Thirst Trap

Audio: Another Postcard From Mr Colchester

Audio: Sabotage

Amendments/Additions:

Feb 2024: Moved Audio: The Vigil from 2007 to 2005

April 2024: Added Audio:Another Postcard From Mr Colchester and Audio: Sabotage to 2023

April 2024: Added Audio: Tube Strike to early 2005

April 2024: Added Audio: Missing Molly to early 2008

May 2024: Moved Audio: Wednesdays For Beginners, Audio: Crush, Audio: Retirement Plan from 2007 to 2006

May 2024: Added Audio: Dinner For Yvonne, Audio: By Royal Appointment and Audio: Nerves to January-February 2007

May 2024: Added Audio: Disco to August 1978 and January-February 2007

May 2024: Moved Audio: Hidden from November-December 2007 to December 2007-Janurary 2008:

#torchwood #timeline #resource

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gallifreyanhotfive · 1 year ago

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Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 19: Gallifrey at War Part 3

TW: more gruesome Time War/Civil War shit, lots of death, disturbing stuff

The Last Great Time War had several simultaneous origins for both the Time Lords and Daleks. For example, tensions have been rising from the very beginning for the Daleks since the Time Lords tried to avert their creation.

During the War in Heaven, the Army of One project saw the regen-inf soldier Chris Cwej multiplied into an entire Cwejen army.

The Neverweres are creatures that should never have existed. They were built from pieces of evolution that never actually happened.

The Time Lords allied themselves with the Technomancers during the Last Great Time War. The Technomancers used their magic to resurrect dead Time Lords, providing Gallifrey with soldiers that were eternally renewable and disposable.

In reality, the Time Lords were nothing more than pawns in the eyes of the Technomancers. The Technomancers worship the Horned Ones, and the reanimated Time Lords carried pieces of the Horned Ones in them. Once enough pieces of the Horned Ones were inside Time Lords, the Horned Ones would have been able to rule over all life.

Because of this, the War Doctor used the Annihilator to erase the Technomancers from the timeline. The only thing of them that remained were the memories of people who had met them before, memories of people who now never were.

There have been at least two Gallifreyan Civil Wars. The Time Lady Pandora was involved with both.

After the First Gallifreyan Civil War, Pandora was dispersed so thoroughly she never existed, but a copy of her consciousness remained in the Matrix.

From here, Pandora manipulated Time Lord genetics to produce a host she could use. This is what led to Romana's creation. When the Shadow's torture awoke Pandora's influence in her, Romana I regenerated into Romana II to suppress her.

Once freed by Darkel, Pandora latched on to Castellan Wynter. This made the Castellan consume the Dogma Virus in order to fight back.

The Dogma Virus was created by the Free Time organization under direction of the Daleks. The virus laid dormant in Time Lords until their regeneration. Then, it would hijack the Time Lord’s symbiotic nuclei and basically turn them into zombies (was Time Lord zombie plague on anyone's bingo cards?).

During the War in Heaven, Lady President Romana at one point had an epileptic fit resulting in the release of 300 Shada prisoners, including Grandfather Paradox.

When Darkel tried to remove Romana from presidency during the Second Gallifreyan Civil War, Romana declared herself Imperiatrix, basically the Gallifreyan dictatorial leader.

Pandora used the Dogma Virus and force-regeneration of other Time Lords to increase the size of her army. Romana relied on destroying infrastructure and the Rassilon Imprimaturs to stop this civil war from becoming a time war.

Even after the Second Gallifreyan Civil War, there was still an outbreak of Dogma Virus. A biodata archive was eventually used to restore the Time Lords from a backup (their last save point), but the reset left Gallifrey vulnerable to Dalek attack.

In the early days of the War in Heaven, the "jungle children" experiment was conducted by House Arpexia. The intent was to see how Homeworlder biodata was changed if they were raised by humans. When Kaspar Hauser was placed in 1828 Nuremburg, he remained relatively unchanged, but the timeline around him began to reshape. When the experiment concluded, Hauser was killed.

The anima device was a psychic weapon in the Omega Arsenal that took away its victim's free will and allowed the user to control the victim's mind. During the Last Great Time War, the Doctor used it to try to create a peace where Daleks and Time Lords were farmers.

The War Doctor forced Dorium Maldovar to come with him to Villengard to destroy a bunch of weapons factories before they could be taken by the Dalek Fleet. The Doctor turned the factories into palm trees with a molecular fruit bomb.

During the Battle of Rodan's Wedding in the Last Great Time War, years were used as ammunition. In the one battle, shrapnel aged the Eighth Doctor to be five million years old. The next shrapnel hit de-aged him to a whimpering infant.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

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deantfwinchester · 6 months ago

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Gingerly

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader, same timeline

This one is set not long before the events of "A New Chapter" - before Reader & Sarah pick out Halloween costumes :)

Summary: Early mornings in the first trimester present a new set of challenges for the growing Miller family. Joel does his best to find remedies for their dilemma.

Warnings: pregnancy, so many euphemisms for vomit, so beware

A/N: this one isn't very long. it's lowkey a prequel to the one I'm posting next. Very similar stories at two different points in their lives. <3

Word Count: 1.8k.

____________________________________________________________

You’re spending longer than usual this morning hugging the porcelain. It didn’t take long after discovering your pregnancy for the morning sickness to kick in, and it’s a killer. This is happening more often than you’d like, but at least it’s over pretty quickly most days — just a little eviction of last night’s dinner to make room for breakfast, apparently. Isn’t this kid supposed to make you hungrier? What’s their deal?

Today’s a little different, and you’re left retching long enough to impact your punctuality to work. Gotta send a text to some coworkers to get your class covered. You hate it, but it’s not exactly a willpower game at this point — this kid wants all of yesterday’s food GONE, but your stomach is putting up a fight. Unfortunately, you’re the one losing.

Joel’s wandering anxiously in and out of the bathroom, worrying like hell. He’s going back and forth between sitting with you and rubbing your back —he’d pulled your hair up for you after the first evacuation — and checking on Sarah, making sure she gets ready for school. He’d hovered for a while until the two of you heard Sarah come downstairs, and you insisted he go get her some breakfast, just please don’t tell you what it is. He’s in and out as Sarah eats, and she pops in to check on you and tell you she made him sit down for a minute and eat something too. You shoot her the most grateful smile you can muster on the green-around-the-gills visage you’re sporting at the moment. He’s got a full day ahead as well, and you’d been worrying right back… from your position on the bathroom tile, at least.

When they’ve both finished breakfast, Joel returns to your side, waiting until the last possible second to leave before Sarah’s late for school. You assure him it’s not a big deal, you’ll be okay in a little while. He knows this, and that it’s normal, but it breaks his heart to leave you there on the floor.

“How ‘bout I drop Sarah off and come right back? Tommy can get everybody started at the site, and I’ll just stay long enough to get you to work,” he questions, placing the back of his hand to your cheek to check your temperature again “just to make sure that’s all it is!” before sighing and tucking some loose hair behind your ear. You shake your head slowly, trying to minimize the nausea.

“There’s not really anything for you to do, sweetie. As much as having you here with me afterward makes me feel better, we can’t both be late to work every day for the next month. Maybe longer than that. I’ll probably be fine by the time you get back anyway. Just be a wasted trip.” You huff at the end, hoping the nausea is reaching its end for this morning and you can get up and get ready to leave.

Joel looks at you with a pained expression and cringes at the word month. Just seeing you dealing with this the last few weeks has been agonizing for him — he doesn’t even want to imagine how it feels.

“No such thing as a wasted trip when it comes to you, darlin’. ‘S my job, you know that,” he responds, with a sympathetic smile, and continues before you can rebut. “But alright, I’m goin’. Promise you’ll text me if you’re feelin’ any worse?,” he lifts a pinky to you, and you hook yours right back, turning your cheek when he tries to kiss your lips. You chuckle at his disappointment when his own lips meet your cheek.

“Gross, you do not wanna kiss me right now,” you laugh through. He begs to differ but understands your reluctance. He tells you to hang tight for just a minute before he finally leaves, and returns with an armful of supplies. Next to you on the floor are a water bottle, some plain crackers, some tylenol, and something with bubbles to settle your stomach.

He asks you to “please try and eat a little somethin’ before you leave, baby”, to which you nod and assure him you’ll do your best, trying to get him satisfied as possible and light a fire under him before Sarah’s late for school. He bends down, kisses the top of your head, squeezes your shoulder, and heads out the door to meet Sarah in his truck.

______________________________________________________________

Joel's texting to check on you around the time you get off the floor. You’re nibbling the crackers he left and trying small sips of water like he asked — which he’s reminded you of again — but you’re struggling with it. He calls you as you’re packing your things to leave.

“Hey sweetheart, how you feelin’? Get any of those crackers down for me?” he inquires.

“I’m fine, just about to leave. I ate a couple of them, and I’ll bring them with me,” you respond, trying and failing to keep the exhaustion from your voice. He pauses for a moment.

“Level with me, baby. You don’t sound up for it, you sure we don’t need to talk to the doctor? I can come home, we can go today, I’ll just—” but you cut him off before he can spiral any further.

“Joel. You’re sweet, and I know you’re worried, but it’s not any worse than normal. It’s just sticking around longer today. Yes, I’m still a little,,, blech,,, but it’ll be gone in a bit. I’ll make some tea before I leave, that’ll help,” you affirm. He lets out a sigh that tells you he’s not convinced, but resigned to the fact you’re going to work regardless. Soon enough, he arrives at the site and asks you to keep him updated, which you promise and wish him a good day and an “i love you” to get you both through the day.

______________________________________________________________

You get to work right before the switch to 2nd period, still not feeling great, but stable enough to drive there safely and get your kids started on something to keep them busy. Today’s a good day for a documentary, a worksheet, and a dark classroom. The kids will thank you for it anyway, but somehow still need something every three minutes. That’s at least one thing that won’t be unfamiliar when the baby arrives — even though you have high schoolers.

You shoot Joel a text, letting him know you got to work okay, and that you’ve chosen something to help you take it (slightly) easy today. You hope this message will ease his mind so he can get back to work as well.

Joel responds with a brief message in the affirmative, but he’s still worried sick. He’s seen you deal with this each day for the last couple of weeks, but this morning your voice was shaking and your face was ashen. What if this isn’t just today? What if it’s getting worse? He's afraid you’ll end up dehydrated or won’t bother to eat enough at work. You struggle with remembering lunch on days you feel good, he knows you won’t even bother today, and it’s eating at him while he works.

He decides to surprise you at lunch time with something filling that won’t upset your stomach, and that’ll entice you to eat. He wants to make sure you’re fed today, and that there are some more options at the ready — for your sake and his own. He does a little research and stops by the grocery store to grab an array of plain foods and a bunch of liquids. By the time he leaves there are multiple types of crackers in tow, applesauce packets, a few bone broths, some of your favorite juices and teas, a bag of ginger candies plus a jar of ginger gummy vitamins, and more. He’s no technology wiz, but the man can google up a storm when the need arises.

He rolls up to your classroom’s back door when he knows it’s time for lunch and texts you, grabbing his things and stepping out of the truck to meet you. You walk out to find him with a big bottle of cold gatorade and a takeout bag hanging from his fingers. You muse that the pretty big gatorade bottle looks normal-sized in Joel's large, gentle hands. You don’t even take anything from his grasp before you lean forward into his chest and wrap your arms around his waist. He smiles, and wordlessly puts his chin atop your head before wrapping his free arm around you, rubbing lightly up and down your back.

Neither of you has to say a word for him to tell you’re still not feeling 100%, and he’s whispering sweet things while you stand there in his embrace. You hide your face in his chest trying to quell your tears before they start. You know him well enough that this gesture doesn’t exactly surprise you, but he’s so thoughtful that his kindness moves you every damn time. It’s not something you ever felt before Joel, but he’ll never stop trying to get you accustomed, and you know that.

You look up at Joel like he hung the moon, memorizing every warm shade in his bright eyes, hoping your own reflect the appreciation and admiration dancing in your chest. He holds you tight and sits you in the passenger seat of the truck before pulling out the takeout boxes and cracking open your gatorade. The cool, lightly-flavored liquid soothes you in a way water hasn’t quite accomplished today — doesn’t even matter that neither of you knows what “Glacier Freeze” means, it’s effective.

You lean against his shoulder while you both eat lunch, talking to each other and the baby. Joel laughs and praises you for putting on a movie for your kids before recounting the events of his morning. He shares everything he learned from his research, and even more he heard at the grocery store from a couple of older women who saw him contemplating the ginger options by the prenatal vitamins. You imagine him staring intently at bottles in the pregnancy aisle of the Health & Beauty section and laugh, thinking of how his concentration and concern would’ve made the old ladies he spoke to melt. You’re surprised he didn’t get a cheek pinched at this rate.

You sit together until the school bell breaks your reverie and you have to kiss him goodbye. He hands you an already prepped ziploc baggie of even more shelf-stable snacks he bought to keep in your desk to settle your stomach as needed. You grin at him again, shaking your head.

“Joel, this is too much trouble. I can’t believe you did all of this just this morning!” you exclaim, before he scoffs and responds.

“I told you — no such thing as a wasted trip for you, baby.”

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herewebingo · 4 months ago

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timeline 1/2

transcript

Age 16- (1993)

Leon Scott Kennedy was born in the Midwest US in a town about two hours from Raccoon City.

His early life was marked by two prominent events. Firstly was the death of his uncle, who perished during a crisis in the 80s. He wasn’t close to the man, but was close enough for it to have a haunting impact on his life, specifically in how his extended family responded to the news.

His mother’s side of the family disowned his uncle, and did not speak to his mother in the fallout that occurred because of this.

The second event put his life into upheaval. Both of his parents died in a car accident, leaving him unintentionally emancipated at 16. At the funeral, his godmother reconnected with him while also taking his family’s home to sell after he graduated high school.

Leon was already working by 16, and balanced his graduating years by taking up smoking instead of more permanent solutions to complex problems he didn’t know how to deal with.

He was shuttled into a state university, and tolerated it for the extent of an associates degree in History.

Afterwards, he saw an advertisement for the Raccoon Police Academy. Wanting to do something “useful” and supposedly “meaningful” with his life, he enrolled and completed the course.

Age 21 (1998)

September 28th, 1998. Leon awoke the day after a nasty breakup to the realization he was an entire day late for his first day at the R.P.D. He had drunk himself into a blackout after the fact. This consequently saved his life.

Leon drove into Raccoon City, stopping at a gas station in the outskirts, and met Claire Redfield while they both were being attacked by zombies.

They drove into the city and were hit by an out of control truck, and were separated. Claire and Leon agreed to head to the R.P.D. and regroup. There, they managed to navigate a way out of the city through Umbrella’s secret laboratory underneath the city sewers.

While in Raccoon City, Leon met a woman named Ada Wong. Not knowing she was a spy, he fell into her mission to steal the valuable and coveted “G-Virus”, while also uncovering some of Umbrella’s secrets. Leon took a bullet for Ada in the shoulder, and was patched up by her using a butterfly emblazoned compact to hide her medical equipment.

Leon did not in fact end up giving Ada the G-Virus. Instead, as the Umbrella Lab Nest was self-destructing around them, he confronted her.

Annette Birkin shot Ada in the shoulder before any resolution happened, and she slipped off the edge of the NEST catwalk. Leon grabbed onto her, trying to pull her up, but she fell into the abyss. Pursued by the T-02 “Mr. X” and the mutated form of Dr. William Birkin for the majority of his escape, Leon defeated G-3 Birkin and the Super Tyrant T-02 with help from the shadows.

Leon escaped with Claire Redfield using a train system, and both of them walked out with Sherry Birkin to an uncertain future.

Leon vowed from that point on to “scrub the virus from the face of the earth.”

Age 25 (2002)

Adam Benford, a CIA intelligence officer coerced Leon into military special operations service under USSOCOM, leveraging the infected Sherry Birkin against him. For the sake of Claire and Sherry, he agreed. Prior to conscription, Leon kept tabs on Claire, contacting her brother when Claire reached out for help during the events of Code Veronica. Leon went through an absolutely brutal training regimen at the behest of President Graham, who in response to the Raccoon City Disaster, codified “Anti-Virus Weapons Protocol No. 7600”. The protocol gave a lot of decision making power to soldiers under the protocol. Leon was sent with orders into South America, after target Javier Hidalgo, following a purchasing trail of bioweapons. On this operation he met and worked with Jack Krauser against an outbreak of the T-Veronica Virus harvested from Antarctica. They met a girl Manuela, who later turned out to be the daughter of Javier. Manuela was born with a degenerative sickness that left her terminal, and Javier could not accept it. Javier used the T-Veronica virus, and stolen organs to keep his daughter alive. Racing through the jungle, Leon and Krauser eventually fought a mutated Javier to defeat, and Manuela was rescued. She was taken into U.S. custody shortly after.

Age 27 (2004)

In 2004, President Graham’s daughter was kidnapped by a Spanish cult named Los Illuminados, and tracked into the village of Valdelobos.

Leon was not initially meant to be sent on this mission, but due to internal breaches, he ended up going. With local PD, he was meant to rescue Ashley Graham, but this did not pan out simply. His escorts were killed, and Leon and Ashley uncovered that the cult was actually a group of humans that had been infected by the Las Plagas parasite.

Leon fought enormous mutated giants, and lake monsters, and was infected himself with a Las Plagas egg that hatched and began to sink into his spine. When he found Ashley, she had been infected with Las Plagas as well. They both escaped the village and were kettled into an old castle of castellan and Illuminados cult member Ramon Salazar. Salazar intended to capture and deliver Ashley to the cult lord, Osmund Saddler.

Luis Serra, an ex-Umbrella researcher on parasites, ended up being one of their most valiant allies in their race to escape the Valley of Wolves and the cult. Luis mentioned there was a way to remove these parasites, and haunted Leon and Ashley’s steps through their escape.

Meanwhile, Ada Wong reintroduced herself to Leon in the background, and assisted him in the shadows, while he assisted her with his destruction-first approach in her mission.

Leon fought his was through hordes of cult members and parasite-infested monsters, eventually losing Luis Serra in the process to Jack Krauser. Luis handed Leon the key to his lab, trusting him to do what he had to to rid himself of the parasite.

Leon and Ashley fought their way to Osmund Saddler, and alongside Ada, defeated him.

Ada provided a way out for Leon, as the island was set to be destroyed, and he was commended for his service upon his return.

Age 28-29 (2005-2006)

In 2005, Leon was deployed during a bioterror outbreak in Harvardvale, and helped quell the attack alongside Claire Redfield and Terrasave.

2006 proved to be one of the most painful years of service. Early in the year, Leon was involved with combatting the outbreaks in Pennsylvania, combatting the fanatics and fascist movement of the Population Control Movement. Directly afterwards, he was pulled away to D.C.

Leon immediately got involved in the politically brutal Penamstan Coverup, which saw Leon get involved in the plot of Jason and Shenmei, who resorted to using the virus to uncover more sinister actions by the US Government. Alongside Claire Redfield, Leon collected a wealth of information on the current internal corruption. Claire insisted he hand over the collected information on the incident, but Leon did not report his findings directly. He instead took them to his F.O.S. handler, Ingrid Hunnigan. Together, they took steps to form their own solutions to internal corruption at the tail end of Graham’s tenancy as the President.

In the summer of 2006, Jill Valentine was declared dead. Jill was seen as virtually invincible, and downright superhuman. She was considered something of a guiding light for anybody in this seemingly endless fight.

That light gone, the people close to her had to learn to cope without it. Leon turned to what he always did, and drank after her funeral.

Age 32 (2009)

In 2009, United States Senator, Doan Everett disappeared on a diplomatic visit to China, and suspicions arose that a strange group was responsible. The group was suspected of being in possession of a strain of the T-Virus, the virus responsible for numerous biological disasters, including Raccoon City.

Leon alongside Manuela Hidalgo journeyed to China, following a seemingly endless trail through neighboring countries and then further distanced countries, to find evidence of Doan’s whereabouts.

They tracked her down to the country of Daijoon, and further, into the city of Nohsava. The city was gripped in a family’s religious schism, with one side of the family engaged in worship and use of a sacred tree (the Savaviens), and the other, insistent on its protection and secrecy above all else.

Leon and Manuela discovered Doan hanged by the Nohsava in the “Tree of Ages”. This tree seemingly reanimated the corpse, planting “ghosts” in the bodies.

Things go horribly wrong, when Leon and Manuela are trapped in Nohsava by the Savavien, and call “ghosts” into the bodies of the deceased to detain Leon.

Leon was separated from Manuela, and fought through horrific creatures in an effort to reunite with her. He succumbed to a fever halfway through a howling rice field, and collapsed.

Stricken with illness, a strange woman in a raincoat, who seemed eerily familiar, approached him as he was fevered. Flanked by sweltering undead, the woman took a look at him, and handed him some water, before vanishing.

Leon had to be evacuated by Manuela, and succumbed to malaria, and was rushed to a hospital in neighboring Vietnam. While there, he received a visit from the old Nohsava leader, who contracted him for a task off the record.

Jill Valentine was rescued simultaneously alongside this mission, and morale was given a much needed boost.

#hc #mine #timeline post #:)#happy w/this

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freelancearsonist · 1 year ago

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✨ wip wednesday ✨

thank you to my love @covetyou for the tag <3 this is actually perfect bc i've been stumped on what to work on so i need y'all to decide for me

free falling love addict [dieter bravo]

this was supposed to be a porn w/o plot one-shot and is now a 5-part series full of feelings 💀 basically dieter falls hard and fast for a non-binary co-star who just so happens to be playing his daughter. there's a lot of drama and uncertainty and angst and it's a whole roller coaster ride (thank u to @beskarandblasters for the title and an absolutely STUNNING graphic that y'all will see later)

You wake up from your four hours of sleep with a little clearer mind, surprisingly. Dieter’s hot and he’d be a once-in-a-lifetime lay, but you’re playing his daughter in this show. How seriously do you want to be taken in this industry? Because banging the actor who plays your father in your first serious project is decidedly not the route to being taken seriously as a moviestar; in fact, it’s the kind of scandal that could end your career before it even starts. You shower, do your basic morning skincare routine, get dressed, and head to set. All the while, you chant your new mantra: Dieter Bravo is off limits no matter how badly you want to play right into his hands. His big hands. His big meaty hands that you want all over your–

(untitled) dad's best friend wedding joel [no outbreak joel miller]

BILL X FRANK SUPREMACY. this is bill x frank's world and we are just living in it. but anyway it's 2013, no outbreak, we're fixing the timeline, reader is frank's adopted daughter and maid of honor, joel is bill's best friend and best man. there's an age gap and a lot of trying to deny attraction until it all comes to a head and they work out their frustrations in the coat room after the wedding

You would’ve sworn, when you first met him, that an elaborate wedding would be the very last thing Bill would want. And yet this has been as much his planning as it has been your dad’s. It brings so much joy to your heart that your dad has found someone who matches him so completely. You couldn’t be happier for them; and at the same time, you couldn’t be more miserable for yourself. Because, as dedicated as you are to making this day perfect for them, Bill’s best man and long-time friend is maybe even more dedicated. He’s been turning this wedding into a friendly competition between the two of you, trying to one-up you at every opportunity he gets. It’s infuriating—especially when he wears that smug grin that’s become his signature expression around you. It’s torture, too, because all you want to do is kiss that stupid smirk right off his handsome face.

(untitled) blind date [dieter bravo]

basically dieter goes on a blind date with someone who has no clue who he is (you) and falls in love so hard

He never should’ve agreed to this—and really, it’s not even his fault that he did. His assistant should know better than to ask him questions when he’s a joint and a half in. Maybe it’s a sense of obligation after he pushed her into the pool last week—in his defense, she really needed to loosen up—or maybe he’s just plain lonely. Whatever it is, he’s here, the champagne is good, and there’s no point backing out now. He takes another peek at his watch and lets out a slightly-too-loud groan. You aren’t supposed to be here for another ten minutes, and he’s already been seated and drinking for fifteen. How Jennifer—the aforementioned assistant—managed to get him here early, he’ll never know. But he does know it’s the first and last time he’ll ever be early for an engagement; the anxiety of anticipation is far too stressful. Plus, he’s worried it makes him look desperate—too eager to meet a complete and utter stranger.

(untitled) dieter crashing your graduation party (consensually) [dieter bravo]

this is my baby 🥹 probably the most self-insert thing i will ever write tbh. yet another series that was supposed to just be a one-shot, i haven't actually planned how many chapters this is going to be yet but i know what i'm doing with the story line lol. basically your family throws you a graduation party when you finish cosmetology school, and because you're antisocial and don't want a huge crowd you tag people that won't/can't come on your invite post--but the one person you thought for sure wouldn't come actually shows up and it sets off the craziest series of events

The crowd has lulled a bit, and you’re just about to go find that bar you’ve been so excited about when someone you do recognize walks up the brick path to the gate. And god help you, your jaw actually visibly, physically drops. You blink once, twice, and then once again for good measure. But he’s still there–not wishful thinking, not a mirage. He’s real and solid and here. Dieter Bravo stands on your garden path with all the air of a god amongst men. He’s dressed in black from head to toe–perfectly tailored black suit pants and an open suit jacket over a silk button-up shirt. If it was anyone else, he would be overdressed; but he manages to make it look like the perfect mix of messy and put together. There’s a part of you that still thinks maybe it’s not him, that the dark sunglasses he wears hide the eyes of someone who has an uncanny resemblance to your favorite actor. But the other, larger part of you knows. You’re face to face with Dieter fucking Bravo.

(untitled) joel x hairdresser [jackson era joel miller]

i think this is going to be a 2-3 parter bc god forbid i write anything short. basically you're the resident hair stylist in jackson, and joel has hair that needs to be cut. he does you little favors in turn bc that's how jackson runs, but he ends up falling for you in the process

He starts to see traces of you everywhere, and he’d be bothered by it if thoughts of you weren’t so soothing. He sees wildflowers while he’s out on patrol and thinks they would be perfect to replenish the vase on your counter. He finds hair gel in a nearby drugstore and wonders if it’s something you could use. He pulls anatomy textbooks from a shelf in an abandoned library because he remembers you mentioning that you’d like to expand your services to include massage. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t be thinking so much about someone who’s half his age–that it’s borderline creepy to see so many things and want to bring them to you as offerings. But then again, that’s how Jackson operates. If he wants a service, he has to be able to give something in return. And he wants your services most of all.

(untitled) shotgunning filth [lucien flores]

the doc title pretty much says it with this one 😂 i've only just started this one but here's what i have:

You see his car in your driveway when you get home and it makes you shiver. That stupid mint-condition hot-rod red 2003 Ford Thunderbird activates the most ridiculous Pavlovian response–your heart rate quickens, your stomach tightens with anticipation, your pussy starts preparing itself for the inevitable delicious torture you’re about to endure.

and if you want to hear more about any of these options, pls send me an ask i love talking about my stories :)

#wip wednesday #dieter bravo x reader #joel miller x reader #lucien flores x reader #dieter bravo #joel miller #lucien flores #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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hereticpriest · 1 year ago

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Mercy Chapter 3: Instincts

Rating: Explicit 18+

MDNI

Relationship: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

To begin with, some warnings about this story: A/B/O Dynamics, Female Alpha, Male Omega, Some chapters may involve messing with the whole 'alphas are always dom and omegas are always sub' because I think nuance exists even in A/B/O dynamics, Fucking with the timeline (this is a blend of Canon, Legends, and original lore), Minimal use of Y/N (Explained in the first chapter), Reader is an alien species of my own creation and thus has a physical description, Familial bonds explored heavily, Clone rights explored heavily, Violence is more graphic than canon-typical however any graphic descriptions will be noted, AFAB reader, Not beta-read so I apologize for any mistakes.

Chapter Warnings: Frottage/dry humping/thigh grinding, more exposition, fantasizing about your friend, manipulation and discussion of violence. If you notice any missing warnings, please let me know!

Read on AO3

Masterlist - Part One - Part Two - Part Four

Chapter 3: Instincts

By the time you turned twenty-three, you had been going on missions without your Master for a couple of years, often paired up with other similarly aged Padawans or Jedi Knights. You were preparing for the trials at the advice of your Master, as the Council wanted you to take them a little earlier than normal - within the next year or so. You understood why - despite your blockers and your self-control, your Alpha nature was obvious to anyone who saw you. Even other Alphas that you encountered on missions had a habit of deferring to you, which often made your job easier as a diplomatic mediator. Your nature was tamed, but the Council wanted you to face the trials early, believing that that would help you further in your efforts to suppress the instincts that you battled every day.

The Council called for you while your Master was gone on a mission to Dac to help the Mon Calamari with an investigation, and you were pleasantly surprised to find Master Qui-Gon Jinn waiting for you by the entrance to the chambers. Since your old Master left the Order, Qui-Gon had been kind enough to meet with you when he had the time, rare as that was. You would have tea together, sometimes with Obi-Wan if he was around. Something felt very right when all of you were together, and you knew you weren’t the only one who felt it. The older man smiled warmly, placing a hand between your shoulder blades as he guided you through the doors.

“It appears we will be working together, young Padawan. I am pleased to have the chance.” He said as he led you in. The Council was in limited attendance today, though Masters Yoda, Mace Windu, Coleman Trebor, and Ki Adi Mundi were present. You knew many of the Masters were busy on their own missions right now - it was a busy year with many small outbreaks of violence. Master Windu offered a small smile at the sight of you both, and brought up a holo of a planet you hadn’t been to before he began speaking.

He explained that there was a bar on Daiyu in which a Twi’lek bounty hunter named Ros Bartim often collected work and rewards. He was known very well in this bar, and appeared to either know the owner or be one himself. Ros Bartim had information about an exclusive bounty that the Council heard involved an unknown senator on Coruscant. He’s looking for assistance on this job as he is known as a criminal on the Core worlds and can’t travel very easily there. According to Council intelligence, Ros Bartim is an Alpha who only respects Alphas, and won’t entreat with any other designation. He has a lot of respect for powerful Alphas especially, and has been known to gossip a little when loosened up with their presence. Your job was to get the details of the bounty from Ros Bartim, including the origin of the bounty, the reward, the target and the timeline.

You had been selected for this job not only because you were identified as an exceptionally powerful Alpha during your presentation and thereafter, but also because the Council believed that you would be able to follow the will of the Force and the Jedi Code while embracing your natural instincts. This was a huge show of trust, and you felt a hundred feet tall, bolstered by their belief in you.

“You will need to remove your scent blockers for this mission, young Padawan. You will need to listen to your instincts, and behave as an Alpha while retaining your presence of mind. Master Qui-Gon will masquerade as your pack-bonded Beta, and will help you keep your head even if the situation were to get difficult. We trust that you will get this job done without compromising yourself. We’ve sent the details of the mission to your datapad. May the Force be with you.” Master Windu dismissed you, and you bowed before leaving with Master Qui-Gon.

“You’ll need to shower. Pack your things, and I will meet you in one hour in your rooms.” The older Beta instructed, giving you a nod of his head before departing from your side. You put your robes through the laundry to remove the lingering sterile odor of the scent blockers you wore every day of your life as soon as you got through the door. It took you twenty minutes to shower thoroughly enough that you had removed all traces of the scent blockers you had worn, and another ten to pack your bag with necessities. Running entirely on instinct, you began to rub your chin against your cloak, scenting the fabric so it wouldn’t smell so clean and fresh.

“Ah, that’s a smart idea.” Master Qui-Gon commented idly from the doorway, and you looked up at him sharply, startled that you hadn’t noticed him in your distraction. It took you a second to blink back to reality and relax your posture.

“Hello Master Qui-Gon. I should… probably scent you before we go as well. If you’re to be…” You hesitated to say mine, even as the thought made your teeth ache.

“You will need to lean into your instincts for this mission, young Padawan. It may be uncomfortable, but I will not hold anything you need to do during this mission against you. I will need to follow your lead, as I am not as familiar with Alpha to Alpha dynamics. I trust you, Mercy. Do you trust me?” He asked, and you took a deep breath to calm yourself before nodding.

“I do trust you. You… You should refer to me as Alpha. I’ll have to call you my Beta. I apologize ahead of time for any displays of possessiveness - it will take me some time to lean into my instincts, and it will be better - easier - if I start now. Do you mind if I scent you?” You asked, and had to bite back a pleased chuff when he exposed his neck in offering. In the back of your mind, a chorus of your Alpha instincts roared with delight. He wants to be mine, wants to be mine. Big strong Jedi Beta wants to be mine. My pack. It was embarrassing how right it all felt. You’d long known that you were destined for a pack of your own, even if it wasn’t exactly in line with the Jedi Code.

His scent of petrichor, jasmine and frankincense met your nose as you leaned in to rub your chin and cheek against his scent glands, and you grasped at his back, arms around his broad torso. Strong hands closed around your waist, and you chuffed in response, earning yourself a muted purr that had your tail curling around your Beta’s hips. Once his natural scent had begun to blend with your own cinnamon, forest and vetiver, you finally forced yourself to pull back, tamping down on the instincts that drove you to fortify your claim. Two steps back, and Master Qui-Gon coughed quietly, smoothing out his robes as he looked you over.

“That took wisdom and restraint, young Padawan. The Council made a good choice assigning you to this mission.” He complimented you, and you offered him a smile in return.

“Thank you. We should go, before my scent causes a stir.” That drew a laugh from the Jedi Master, and he nodded, leading you out of the dormitories. Like you, Master Qui-Gon only had a small bag with him, and he let you know that you would be taking a small cruiser for this mission. A delighted trill greeted you as you approached the cruiser, and an unpainted astromech zoomed out in front of you. It looked similar to the R2 series, though it had a more complicated holoprojector and optical system than any astromech you’d ever seen.

“D41-Z3, huh? Daisy. Do you like that name?” You patted the top of the droid gently as it gave a happy trill, checking it over for any scuffs, “You need a paint job, Daisy, you’re too cute to be plain silver.”

“That will have to wait, Padawan. Come along.” Qui-Gon encouraged as he began to walk up the ramp into your cruiser. Daisy rolled over to the front of the cruiser and was swiftly loaded into the cockpit, while you followed your companion into the ship. The journey to Daiyu was long, but you spent most of it reading your favourite holonovel with Qui-Gon sitting beside you and pretending he wasn’t reading over your shoulder. The closeness helped temper the storm inside you ignited by your newly freed instincts.

As you neared your destination, you slipped into the fresher and changed into a pair of brown padded flight pants, a white undertunic, a black armoured vest and a dark brown flight jacket. Your lightsaber fit into one of the pouches on your belt, but you also strapped a blaster to your hip, the solid weight of it comfortable enough after all of the years of blaster training you’d had to go through. Qui-Gon met you in similar clothing a few minutes later, though his outfit was looser.

Daiyu was a mess of neon, a cluster of people whose scents were so varied it was almost overwhelming. Qui-Gon’s gentle hand on your shoulder was grounding, and you led the way to the bar via the directions on your wrist comm, projecting strength with your gait alone. You pushed the door open confidently, striding towards the bar while keeping your gaze fixed forwards. A human man bumped against Qui-Gon, and while the Beta didn’t seem perturbed, you let out a low, bone-chilling growl. The man froze, hackles raising at the challenge of a fellow Alpha, but his spine turned to jelly when you bore your teeth at him. Your ears were pressed back to your skull, tail looped around Qui-Gon’s waist possessively.

“Apologize.” You sneered, and the other Alpha dipped his head submissively.

“Sorry for bumping into you.” It was directed both to Qui-Gon, and the ground, but it was enough to relax you. Combined with the way that your Beta rubbed his wrist against yours, the posturing was over, and you turned your gaze back ahead to the bar. Qui-Gon ordered you both drinks, and you scouted the bar for threats, then remembered your purpose here and took a second look around for Ros Bartim. There was a green-skinned Twi’lek Alpha in the prime booth, the one you would have chosen if you were to be in his position, and you made eye contact shamelessly. You only looked away when he dipped his gaze, but you noticed an eager grin tugging at his lips first.

Qui-Gon handed you a mint-green, translucent drink, and you sipped it calmly as you surveyed the room, bringing his wrist up to your mouth so you could press a couple of possessive kisses to his scent gland. It sent waves of calm through you, and you chuffed quietly against his skin as the tension bled out of you. You had never felt so wired in your life - on edge and tense enough you were nearly grinding your teeth. The bartender caught your attention carefully, and you narrowed your eyes at him for a second before calming.

“Your attendance has been requested at a table, Alpha. If you wouldn’t mind, a valued client of ours would like to speak with you.”

You hummed like you were considering it, checking your wrist comm as if you had better things to do, before nodding at the bartender. He directed you to your target’s table, and you led Qui-Gon over, keeping him close as the music thumped away in your chest. There was an invisible barrier around the booth in question that was being projected by a small disc under the table, and if your innate danger sense hadn’t warned you of it first, the Force would have. You walked through regardless, and once inside, the sounds of the bar dulled as if rooms away.

“You look like a woman who knows her way around a blaster.” Ros Bartim greeted you, and you gestured for Qui-Gon to sit first, guarding him with your body. You sipped your drink before answering, voice lax and casual.

“You look like a man who knows better than to waste my precious time.” You replied, watching the effect that had on him. Smelling it too. A hint of tang overtook the spice of his scent, and Qui-Gon met your gaze briefly. He was an Alpha whose interest lay in other, stronger Alphas. Not necessarily an uncommon thing, but useful, in this instance.

“Of course. I have a job, you see.” Ros declared, gesturing to the bartender with two fingers out horizontally, swiped from left to right. It clearly meant something to the other man, as he immediately headed around the circular bar to the far side. You would be nervous, however you didn’t feel anything necessarily malicious from the other Alpha. More… mischievous. “I’m looking for a… business partner. Someone a little more mobile than I am. How are you enjoying Daiyu, by the way? D’you need help finding accomodations?”

Impatience flared within you. A low growl rose in your chest, and the other Alpha stiffened, pressing his back to his seat away from you. Qui-Gon calmly took your wrist in his strong grip, rubbing his chin over your scent gland while pressing your palm to his cheek, a display of possession that sent waves of calm through you. Your ears gave a delighted shiver, exposing you, though Qui-Gon only smiled fondly at you despite very obviously noticing.

“You’ve got a pretty devoted Beta. That’s a lucky thing… rare to find one so attuned to you.” Ros commented, and you chuffed at Qui-Gon approvingly before turning your attention to your target. Your hand fell low on your Beta’s thigh, unassuming but possessive.

“Tell me about the job. I’m not here for a social call.” You informed him while the bounty hunter grinned boldly at you.

“You could be, though.” He informed you, an offer in his voice. He seemed thoroughly disarmed, no longer looking for the trap and instead looking for a treat in your presence. He glanced briefly to the side, then smiled wider and sat back in his seat. The sweet scent of honeysuckle and pear reached your nose, and you watched as a pretty human woman approached in a slinky, shimmery dress of silver sparkle. Ros nodded to her as she climbed boldly into your lap, straddling one of your thighs so as to not obstruct your conversation.

“This is Lani. She’s been pinging my comm since you walked in the door wanting an introduction.” Ros informed you, and you placed a gentle hand on the Omega’s hip to keep her from falling as you adjusted in your seat.

“The pleasure is mine, little one.” You hummed to the sweet woman in your lap, the smell of tang sharp and demanding in your nose, “Tell me about the job. We’ll talk social calls when the work is done.”

Ros grinned widely, watching the Omega girl in your lap as she began to gently rock her hips, but he finally slid a puck across the table to you. You covered it with your hand, sliding it across the table to Qui-Gon. You weren’t stupid - the Omega was both a distraction, as well as a test of your composure and control. Her arousal was real, and she wasn’t drugged, but it was a convenience for Ros. It only made the bait more tempting. Thankfully, while the woman was beautiful, you were able to keep your composure - no Omega had ever affected you nearly as strongly as your Beta’s Padawan, and you doubted one ever would. Qui-Gon stroking his thumb over your tail where it wrapped around his waist certainly helped your concentration, tuning you back into your surroundings instead of distracting you. Your ears flicked with irritation at the position you’d been put in.

“A… unique buyer wants the Corellian Senator out of the picture. It’s a high profile job, I know. It won’t be easy, but the pay is more than worth the effort. We’ll split the reward 40/60, since you’ll be doing most of the work. I can provide any weapons, transport or access that you need.” Ros explained, drumming his fingers against the table.

“Who commissioned the job?” You asked disinterestedly, bouncing your leg to the rapturous delight of the Omega in your lap. She preened under what she assumed was attention, grinding against your thigh eagerly, chasing her undoing. Frankly, while she was surely a lovely thing, you wanted her out of your lap and out of the way.

“They want the job to be private.” Ros replied, and you snorted.

“And I want to be a Queen. We don’t always get what we want. I’m not going to take a job with that much heat for someone who can’t put out.” You retorted, answering the Omega’s soft whimpers by rocking your thigh for her. Ros watched intently as she took her pleasure from you, and you could tell from the soft pulses in his signature that he was taking more pleasure in your composure than he was in the little Omega’s orgasm. You stroked her hip comfortingly as she trembled, panting for breath, her legs shaking. Your thigh was soaked. You had a brief flash of blue eyes pleading, a soft mouth lax with your affection, and pink cheeks dotted with freckles. You blinked it away.

“Okay, okay. So serious. I bet you’d be real pretty if you let loose, but if you’re gonna be a drag about it… Look, it’s a group of political extremists based on one of Corellia’s moons. The Iron Fists. They want to destabilize the Corellian government for… Stars knows what. A coo of some sort, I’m sure. Either way, they have the funds to bankroll this bounty easily.” Ros finally gave in, and you could tell he’d been dying to tell someone. Dying to brag about the bounty he’d picked up. His eyes lit up as he told you the details, and you hummed appropriately, acting as if it had caught your interest. The small reciprocation had the other Alpha grinning as he leaned back in his seat, at ease when he should have been anything but.

You almost felt bad for him. Almost.

Your form shimmered into view on the holotable in the council chambers, and Qui-Gon stood beside your spectral form, arms folded in his sleeves. He was aching to get back to his chambers, knowing despite his weaker Beta nose that the scent of Alpha clung heavily to his form. He needed a shower, and to do his laundry before his Padawan got back from his mission. He didn’t want to throw Obi-Wan’s hormones out of order - the young man had such careful control of his instincts, but something about you seemed to tilt him off kilter.

“Masters, I beg your forgiveness for not coming to the Council meeting. I do not think I would be presentable, and frankly, I wouldn’t want to subject you to how overwhelming my scent is right now. I humbly request time to recalibrate, and recentre myself in the ways of the Force.” You said politely, standing in the living area of your shared chambers with your Master. He was still gone, thankfully. Despite his filtration mask, you would hate to subject him to even the trace amount of your scent he might catch. It was pouring off of you like sweat in the desert sun, and a Beta could be bothered by that even with their weaker nose.

“Grant you this request, we do. Read your reports, we have, and impressed we are with your control.” Master Yoda said, and you felt your cheeks get hot at the praise and the reason for it. You could still smell the Omega’s slick on the flight pants you’d worn, sitting in the laundry waiting for your robes to join them.

“Thank you. I will spend my time in meditation, and return to duty once I have… settled.” You promised, and Master Windu gave you a respectful nod, knowing as you did how much you needed this time. Even now, you ached to have your Beta close to you, calming you. But Master Qui-Gon was not yours, and you could centre yourself without his aid, like it or not. You simply had to remember how, after 36 hours straight of playing the role of Alpha while you arrested the Iron Fists at the Council’s behest. You’d been running on instinct for days now, and even meditation on the cruiser ride home did not even begin to lift you out of it.

You closed the hololink and stripped out of your robes, throwing them into the laundry. Naked, you locked the door to your chambers and placed a keycode override on it to ensure that even the most adamant person would have difficulty getting in. You took the longest, most indulgent shower you’d had in years, scrubbing your skin raw until you finally felt clean. You practically drowned yourself in scent blocker, and opened the windows to let out any lingering scent in the air, then got dressed in only your undertunic and pants, sitting on the round meditation cushion in the centre of the living space.

And there you remained for the better part of seven days, only getting up to eat the meals delivered to your door, or visit the fresher. You decidedly did not think about the reason why the Omega on Daiyu didn’t truly tempt you, nor did you imagine said reason sprawled in your lap the way she had been, desperately rocking his hips into your strong thigh, making the same soft whimpers. By the end of the week, you almost believed yourself.

“Master, did you get a new cologne?” Obi-Wan Kenobi asked as he walked into the chambers he shared with Qui-Gon. The man in question was standing in the fresher, changing into his casual robes that he often wore between missions. The bounty hunter disguise and his nicer set of robes were piled in the laundry closet haphazardly, as if he’d stripped in a hurry and tossed them on his way to the fresher. It smelt of crackling campfires and lush forests, of roiling waves and aged leather, of cinnamon and vetiver. It smelt right. It smelt like home. Obi-Wan breathed in deeply, a soft sigh rolling from his lips at the instant relaxation that settled across his shoulders.

“Ah, no, my young Padawan. Let me put my robes in the wash. I’ve just returned from my mission with Mercy.” Qui-Gon explained, and Obi-Wan understood very suddenly. He eyed the robes in the laundry room, pupils dilating. He wanted those robes. They smelled like the comfort of his Master and the warmth of home - like his Alpha. They belonged in his bed.

Qui-Gon placed a soothing hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, guiding him away from the laundry room. Once he felt relatively sure that the young man wouldn’t try to get past him, Qui-Gon put his clothes directly into the wash, starting it before Obi-Wan could protest. The older of the two opened the window, then grabbed a scent-blocking air freshener to spray the chambers, ignoring the soft whine of protest from his Padawan. The younger man accepted an extra dose of heat blockers with a bit of a pout that he’d forever deny, then joined his Master for their normal post-mission ritual of tea and idle conversation about missions, temple going-ons, and whatever philosophy question Qui-Gon happened to be pondering at the time.

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