'play with me', a drunken blurb written by yours truly,,, because I'm fiending for robby
(MDNI; 18+) not proofread and do NOT copy my work or feed it to AI,,, I WILL haunt you.
You were on your knees, the hard wood biting into your senstive skin exposed by the lack of clothing on your body— specifically your legs. You were in one of Robby's old purple t-shirts with crackled, worn down yellow lettering that you couldn't be bothered to remember what it said. You had grabbed it from the top of his pajama drawer in rush to dress yourself after your shower, not bothering to grab underwear or shorts. The material was long enough for your comfort to walk around the house in.
Robby, who was watching the Steelers' game in the living room, didn't mind your wardrobe choices. You in his shirt and your exposed legs excited him, a small smirk etching itself on his face.
He certainly didn't mind your exposed cunt when you bent over in front of him to pick up the remote you "dropped" on the rug when placing it on the coffee table, tempting him to touch what you both knew was certainly his.
His eyes flashed from the TV, to you, and then back to your sultry eyes peering over your shoulder all within a second before reaching for your hip to pull and twist you to the ground in front of him. You gasped in fake suprise as he unzipped his jeans and pulled them and his boxers down enough to withdraw his cock. The tip was red and pulsating at the sight of you, leaving a droplet of clear arousal at the slit.
"What do you think you're doin, sweetheart?" He grumbled, his big hand fisting itself behind your head, fingers threading between your still-wet hair.
"Wanna have fun with you," you look up at him through your lashes, moving your hands to wrap around his thighs, giving you leverage as you pull yourself closer to him.
"Fun? You think teasing me is fun?" You giggle at his exasperation before wrapping your fingers around his dick, leaning your face in close to kitten lick at the tip. When he didn't do anything but groan and give your face a once over, you tried to spread your knees further apart on the floor.
Still, no response from him outside of expectant patience. You give your best puppy-dog-eyes and decide to let him have what you knew he wanted from you: your desperate begging.
"C'mon…play with me?" You whined, something flashing in his eyes before he spread his legs and loosened the grip he held on your head, not quite letting go. See Michael needed to be needed, and the best way to get what you want from him is to appease his ego.
"Oh, honey," he groaned, tugging you closer to him. You take him in your mouth, slowly. You always took your time when blowing him, he was so large it made your jaw ache. And he didn't mind that you were careful either, the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt you or push you past your limits.
Your tongue flattened underneath his shaft, running across the thick veins you came to memorize, as the thick tip poked past your uvula and began to intrude into your throat. His groans were music to your ears. He whimpered and moaned with his head resting on the back of the couch. You hollowed out your cheeks, taking him in deeper than you normally do. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes as you felt your throat walls constrict and your gag reflex threatened to kick in. The sudden feeling made his cock twitch in excitement and his breath to stutter above you. Slowly, you pull back just enough let air through, but move your tongue to supplement stimulation.
He was close. You had been with him long enough to know that he was, but you would be damned if you didn't get him inside of you first. Pulling your mouth away, drool down your chin and a strand of saliva connecting your to him, you look up at him. He inhaled at the loss of contact, hips bucking up in need of more friction.
"Mikey," you whine, moving a hand to stroke him.
"What, sweetheart?" He groaned, shifting under your touch. You opened your mouth to say something, but closed it, suddenly feeling warmth in your cheeks and down your neck. He opened an eye, raising an eyebrow at your sudden shyness. "What do you want, sweetheart?"
"I want…" you trailed off, not wanting to sound too pathetic as you beg for his touch. Beg for him to fuck you.
He smiled at your inability to finish a sentence, before pulling you up by your arm, settling you on his lap. His hardened dick rubbed against your wet folds, making you jump at the sudden contact.
"Mikey," you shove your face in the crook of his shoulder and neck, too conscious of yourself to let him see you. You felt the vibrations of his chuckle through his chest. Reaching his hand under your (his) shirt and up your back, he rubbed your soft skin.
"C'mon, pretty girl…play with me," he whispered your own words back to you, kissing the side of your head. His hand wrapped around the back of your neck to pull you back to look into his deep brown eyes, "Don't leave me hanging, baby."
I'm patiently waiting for my partner to get back from work so we can watch the pitt,,, I didn't plan on writing this, I was bored and just sat down and wrote this blurb that ended up being just a bit longer than intended and 100% porn,,heheh
anyway, I hope y'all enjoy!
(MDNI; 18+) not proofread and do NOT copy my work or feed it to AI,,, I WILL haunt you.
Ever since you and Robby began dating about a year ago, there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you that y'all could use each other whenever needed. Robby, who gets off of work usually after the sun goes down and you're already wound down for the night, always has a pass to use you. And similarly, on his days off when he's lazing around the house, you're allowed to take him wherever you want—kitchen, living room, shower, bedroom.
It was a mutual understanding—he was yours and you were his.
So when you woke up to Robby sucking on your clit and working two fingers into your pussy at 9:28 pm, you weren't surprised.
You hadn't been asleep long, you kind of just dozed off while looking at your phone on your stomach. A video still playing in your hand and the side lamp washing the room in a soft yellow light was proof of that. You look over your shoulder to see your brown eyed partner had manuevered you to the edge of the bed, spreading your legs apart to give him access to your weeping folds.
You rub the sleep from your eyes, pushing yourself up a little and subsequently away from Robby. His focus broke as he whined—actually whined—at you pulling away from him.
"Hey, baby," you smirk at his pout, turning around to lay on your back. "How was work?"
You see his jaw work under his scruffy, salt'n'pepper beard. Obviously, he wasn't particularly happy you took his stress relief from him.
He grumbled out a low "don't wanna talk 'bout work right now." You smile at his petulance, and fall back on your elbows while maintaining eye contact with him. Batting your eyelashes slowly, you let your knees spread, giving him a front and center view of your cunt.
"Oh, yeah?" You whisper, "What do you want to do right now, then?"
Lust filled his eyes, his lips parting in hunger. He didn't say anything in response to your question, he just kept his wide eyes on you while leaving heavy open-mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs, working his way up, up, up, before reaching your clit. He kissed it once, and then again, before wrapping his soft, whiskered lips around your little bundle of nerves.
Head thrown back on the comforter, you let out a sigh that had been building up in your lungs. His tongue swirled and suckled around you, saliva and arousal slipping down your thighs and coating his mouth. It was slow, but intentional. Every movement of his brought you closer and closer to the edge. The noises from your lips escalated from airy whimpers to low moans, every sound from you egging him on. He divereted his attention from your clit to your entrance, delving his tongue in and out of you. His pace started slow but picked up speed as you got louder and more restless.
"Mmmhh," you drag your hand to thread itself through his hair, your body feeling like it's stuck in molasses. "Michael…"
"Hm?" He hummed flicking his eyes to your writhing body. The shirt you had on was bunched up, exposing your tits, perked from the cold air. He released from you, pulling back to see you entirely. You jolt from the loss of him, whining at his absence. Slowly, you move your hand from his head down to the neck of his blue hoodie, tugging him up to you. He climbed over your body, the material of his cargo pants brushing against your sensitive skin. "What, sweetheart? What d'you need?"
Your grip on his jacket didn't loosen til you felt the gentle caress of his callused fingers on your pussy, rubbing your soft skin and spreading your slick around. He nudged his nose across the skin of your neck—a silent command to move to give him better access. You comply, and his lips attach to you, sucking gentle love marks.
You squirm at the different stimulation across your body. All the different points of contact between you and him were overwhelming your senses. Moans escape your lips, and he pulls back just enough to whisper in your ear, "answer me."
At that, he stops all of his movement, his hand leaving between your thighs, drawing up your body, and finding a new place on your jaw. He turns your head so you look him in the eyes, his breath now mingling with yours. His grip on your face isn't hard or painful, just firm enough to move you and keep you where he wants.
You swallow, regaining control of your thoughts and motor functions once again. Looking into his hard stare, you blink and some of the haze ebs away. Tightening your grip on his collar, you simply say "I want you to fuck me."
Robby smirks, and mutters a soft "say less." He doesn't waste a moment more, reaching down to unbutton his pants, and stroke his rock hard cock. Taking your arousal as a lubricant, he rubs himself between your fold, teasing your entrance. While he stays busy prepping, you press your mouth against his. You taste yourself on him, his dampened beard tickling your soft face. The sensations cause a new wave of pressure through your abdomen, a string coiling itself tightly between your legs. Not long after, he opens his mouth, giving you access, which you immediately take, pushing your tongue over his.
As you kiss him deeper, he pushes into you. His absurd size stretches you so blissfully, your eyes roll back into your head and you gasp into his mouth. Robby's large hand slides from gripping your cheeks to holding the nape of your neck gently. Seeing you so blissed out from the weight of him gets him a new kind of excited.
Once he's sure you've adjusted from his intrusion, he begins to thrust up into you, noting every single feeling you give him. His tip brushes up, hitting your cervix and causing you to cry out in painful pleasure. Every time he hears that cry, it's like the first time again, causing his hips to embrassingly stutter against yours.
After you regain your bearings, you rock against him, seeking out more from him. When Robby's inside you, you feel so full, so complete. It's as though you're starving and he satisfies every single craving you could ever have.
You moan out his name lowly into his mouth. He groans as your walls pulsate around him, choking up on his cock.
"Baby, please," he begs into you, "'m'not gonna last much longer."
You don't say anything back, you just move your hips more and more, with increasing urgency, enticing him to his—and your own—release. Kissing him harder, you pull back slightly to scrape your teeth along his lower lip.
He gives one particularly deep thrust with a moan, and stills, spurting white hot ropes in you. Not a moment after, your breath seizes along with the rest of your body, that band in you snapping—a gush of your arousal rushes down you and Robby.
Robby's still holding you tightly against him, and both your fastened breathing are in sync with each other. When your chest loosens, you pull back looking at his flush, out of breath, face. He opens his eyes, looking at you with the utmost adoration.
No words are said as you lie there, connected, in the soft yellow light.
To you he hung the moon and the stars, to him you were the moon and the stars.
WC: 2.7k
Warnings: blog & my work is MDNI, established relationship, hurt/comfort (?), fluff, sweetheart!joel, no use of y/n, descriptions of pain/headaches/nausea, my emetophobic friends may want to skip this one, established relationship, mention of Ellie/Dina/Tommy/Benjamin/Maria, mention of animal death (rabbit [for food]), pixel joel or hbo joel can be imagined for this
Author's Note: this had been sitting in my drafts for a while now, but i wanted to post something because i'm freaking done with finals (yay!), got a new job (yay!), but unfortunately have been suffering from consistent cluster headaches (not yay),,, so please please please enjoy this self indulgent fic for my headache/tummy ache girlies out there.
i love y'all sm, reach out if you ever want to connect with me,, i'm terrible at reaching out so i'm so sorry but i try i really do <3
You had felt it building up behind your eyes for hours. Your skull was a pressure cooker, as though your bones were pressing in on your brain. The temperature in the house seemed to be steadily rising, causing sweat to bead at the nape of your neck, just under your hairline—despite the shivers that slithered down your spine every minute or so. To say you felt awful would be an understatement.
Joel had the day off from patrol. After he had gone hunting—bringing home a fairly large rabbit—and taken care of a few things around the house, like finally fixing the leaky faucet in the bathroom and replacing the light bulbs in the dining and living areas, he made his way to his workshop to carve the little wooden figures he liked to give to Benjamin. You had your own chores to finish, and although you felt unwell, you didn't want to burden him with even more work. If you had told Joel that you weren't feeling well, he would have made you lie down and taken over your chores without hesitation. He liked taking care of you, but you couldn't help but feel guilty about all the things he did for you without question.
Pushing through the pounding in your head and the fatigue in your muscles, you, effortfully, dusted the windows, swept and mopped the floors, and stripped the bed sheets to be washed. By early afternoon, the sheets needed to be clipped to the clothesline strung between the trees in the yard, and your head felt like it was going to implode. To make matters worse, your stomach was now twisting and turning on itself, threatening to bring back up the contents of your breakfast. Every sight, smell, and touch—everything—was excruciatingly unbearable. It was all getting to be too much for you.
As you stepped back into the house, you made a beeline for the bed room, tears stinging your eyes. Breathing grew more difficult as you paced the length of the room you shared with Joel—door to dresser, back to the door, over and over and over again. Somehow, you found yourself in the darkness of your closet, curling into the far corner and resting your head on the floor. It was a soft comfort, to be hidden and enclosed.
Lying there, arms over your head and knees tucked into your chest, you didn't even notice as you drifted off to a space between the real world and a dreamlike state.
Joel sat hunched over his workbench, eyes beginning to ache behind his glasses from the prolonged, intense focus he had lost himself in. When he finally looked up, the sun was still high above the trees, casting pale white light through the windows of the home he shared with you.
He stood, stretching his tired, creaky back, and walked out into the kitchen, glancing at the clock you'd hung on the wall—6:26. You hadn't started dinner yet. Odd, he thought. Most days, you would've at least asked him to stoke up the fire or start prepping the meat by now. Assuming you simply just lost track of time, he started the fire himself and began peeling the potatoes to to go with the rabbit meat. Humming a soft melody he had heard you singing the day before, he tossed the potatoes and trimmed rabbit meat into a cast iron pot, along with some butter, herbs, and spices.
After hanging the pot on the fire iron, he began looking for signs of you. The sheets outside swayed gently in the soft evening breeze, and he noticed the broom resting against the wall by the back door, rather than in the hallway closet where you usually put it in. Walking into your bedroom, he called your name, only to be met with silence. He peeked into the bathroom, his brow furrowing when you were nowhere in sight. Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed and glanced back across the room toward the closet.
That's when he saw you and your socked feet poking out from behind his flannels hanging on the bottom rack.
He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until he let out a long exhale the moment he laid eyes on you. He strode over to the closet, where you were laying on your side, head buried in your arms.
"Y'alright there, darlin'?" Joel asked, sinking down beside you. You didn't look at him, mumbling something unintelligible. He tried to make sense of what you said, but ultimately gave up and said, "Can't understand you, baby."
He had found you like this before. Every few months or so, he'd discover you curled up in the closet, lights off, rubbing at your temples in a desperate attempt to ease the ache.
"I'll tell y'what," he murmured, gently moving your arm away from your eyes just enough so he could see them unobstructed, "I'll go put on some ginger tea for you, and we can eat dinner. And later, after I make the bed, I'll rub your back for you. That sound okay?"
Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, it wasn't from the pain. It was from the unrelenting kindness Joel offered you, day after day, week after week, never once faltering.
"With honey?" you asked, your voice trembling as your throat constricted. Another spill of guilt rushed through you. Here you were, practically incapacitated, needing Joel to take care of you, yet again, on his day off. He deserved rest, a change to turn his mind off…not to carry the weight for the both of you.
Joel just smiled at you softly, and whispered, "Of course, darlin'."
He scooped you up into his arms and carried you to the living room so he could keep an eye on you while he worked in the kitchen. Placing you on the sofa, he left to get you a warm compress—just a warmed towel, really, but it meant the world to you.
"Is Ellie coming for dinner?" You asked weakly, digging your fingers into the space behind the bridge of your nose, hoping for just an ounce of relief. Ellie had been going to Dina's for dinner most nights lately, despite you and Joel extending consistent invitations. Earlier in the day, you had hoped she might've changed her mind, but as much as you loved her, you just wanted to eat, sit, and sleep in silence—something Ellie wasn't the best at.
"No, she's at Dina's again. You want me to call her over?"
"It's okay, don't worry about it. Maybe next week we invite the both of them over."
"If that's what you want, darlin'. I can take off patrol and make us somethin'. Wanna ask Tommy and his crew too?"
The thought of little Benji coming over to the house brought a smile to your face. "Yeah, invite them too. It'll be a Miller family dinner."
But as soon as the words left your mouth, another wave of pain surged, settling sharply behind your left brow. You grimaced, eyes squeezing shut, muscles tightening and seizing up. Joel looked up from the kitchen toward you, then quickly turned back to pour a spoonful of honey into the steaming mug of tea he had made.
As he carried the mug over to where you lied on the soft leather sofa in the living room, he couldn't help but want to savor the moment. He reveled at the thought of attending to you. He loved getting opportunities to take care of you, especially outside of patrol. It made him feel as though he had a sense of purpose. It was almost tangible, real. Something he could gauge in real time through the smile lines on your face and the sparkle in your eyes.
He moved through the steps of plating dinner and eating with you in a comfortable, loving silence. You always preferred the quiet when you felt this way, and if there was one thing that Joel was damn sure he knew he could do for you, it was that. When your meal together was over, he rose to clean up the dishes and to get you another cup of tea.
You had found it to be a struggle to eat more than just a few bites of the meal he prepared—not because it wasn't good; it was delicious. But your body seemed determined to reject anything of real substance at the moment.
Still, you quietly thanked him and tried your bed to keep down what you could of the food he had so lovingly made for the two of you. As Joel cleaned up the dishes, he tried to make as little noise as possible. But the hiss of the water against the pots, and the scrape of the brush against the plates, and the clattering of the silverware against the sink basin made your temples throb and your vision blur.
You made your way toward the bedroom, fingers trailing along the walls of the hallway to steady yourself. Joel was still tidying up, granted much faster now that he caught your migration out of the corner of his eye. If only the black dots in your line of sight would go away, if the nausea that was bubbling up in your stomach like an overheated pot of water would subside, then maybe you'd be able to actually want to lay down and catch some sleep. But all you wanted to do was to pace the length of your room again, willing the pain to go away, to dissipate into thin air.
You paced, breathing in for four counts, holding for four and breathing out for another four. You counted each beat in your head; 1, 2, 3, 4…1, 2, 3, 4…1, 2, 3, 4... Over and over, you repeated to yourself, pacing in the dark. Your stomach clenched, and a wave of discomfort clambered up your esophagus, burning your throat. With little time to think, you bolted for the bathroom, slammed the door behind you, and threw yourself over the rim of the toilet, heaving up your dinner—the dinner that Joel made for you.
Tears stung at your eyes as your body trembled, the cool air against your overheated skin sending a shock through you. It had been a while since one of your headaches had gotten so bad that you became physically ill. But even so, you were grateful. Grateful that you weren't alone when it was happening like usual, and that Joel was home to make sure you were alright.
Everything seemed to feel a little bit lighter with him in the picture.
When you had gotten up earlier, Joel glanced over at you as you made your way to the bedroom, then turned his focus back to the task at hand. He dried each dish with the same care and attention you always put into the very same chores yourself. But the moment he heard the bathroom door slam shut, he gently set the last cup down on the counter before making his own way to the bedroom.
His brow furrowed at the closed bathroom door—no light peaking put from underneath it, only the sound was your soft sniffles and strained, frantic breaths.
Joel knocked on the door gently before letting himself in with a quiet, "Darlin'?" In the dark, he saw your head resting on your arm, your body shuddering with every breath. You turned your head slightly, pressing your ear against your upper arm now. His heart ached, and his features softened at the sight of your pained tears streaming down your face.
Joel took pride in protecting you, in keeping you safe and secure. So when your headaches attacked you with all the stops, he did everything he could to take your hurt away, anything to ease the pain. He couldn't help but feel the little bit of guilt that would eat away at his gut when he couldn't immediately relieve you of your pain.
"It hurts," you simply said in a weakened voice. "I just want it to go away."
"I know, I know," he murmured, kneeling beside you, rubbing your back gently. Every now and then, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear or out of your face. "You're strong, though. You're my strong girl, right? You'll kick this before you know it."
A tear slipped down and over the bridge of your nose as another wave of pressure crashed against your skull.
"Joel, could you—" You winced, eyes squeezing shut. "Could you get me some water? Please?"
"Of course, darlin'," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as you finally asked him for something. "Y'wanna stay in here or move to the bed?"
"I think I want to go to the bed?"Your voiced wavered making it more of a question than a statement, but Joel didn't mind.
"Okay. Why don't you stay here while I go make it up for us?" He pressed a kiss to your temple before standing up and leaving to grab the sheets and bedding from the clothesline.
Continuing to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, you listened to the sound of his heavy boots pacing the wooden floors. He moved from corner to corner of the bed fixing it up the way he knew you liked it: fitted sheet, loose sheet, blankets and pillows.
A few moments later, he led you back to the room and helped you change into an old t-shirt of his, your normal sleepwear. After tucking you in beneath the covers, he left and returned shortly with a glass of water in one hand and a damp hand towel in the other.
You sighed at the sight of him. He looked so handsome and domesticated in that moment that, if you didn't feel like straight garbage, you would lure him into bed and kiss him, touch him. You would show him your gratitude through gentle hands and soft, low sounds. But his eyes shone with love when he looked at you looking at him. To you he hung the moon and the stars, to him you were the moon and the stars.
He sat down on the bed beside you, placing the cloth on your forehead and easing you upright just enough so you could drink the water without choking on it. You took a few gulps of water and he smiled, chuckling at you.
"Easy there, darlin', easy."
You laid yourself back down on the bed, resting your head on your folded pillow, reaching for him to follow suit. He obliged, slipping under the covers next to you and propping himself against the headboard. A faint smile graced his lips as you inched your way closer and closer to him, to the point where you were practically laying on his lap, your cheek moving from your pillow to his thigh.
He brought his heavy hand to rest on your shoulder, rubbing into the muscle of your upper back working out the tension. You let out a deep sigh, groaning at the relief he gave you, the pressure behind your eye shifting itself to the back of your head. You inhaled, feeling as though you could breathe for the first time in what fel like hours.
"Thank you," you whispered, sleep lacing your words and weighing down your eyelashes.
"Don't gotta thank me, just doin' m'job," he continued to press his skilled, calloused hands into your back, following the curvature of your spine. "Tell me next time, 'kay? When you get like this? I don't like findin' you on the floor of the closet. I'd rather take care of you from the start."
"It's comfy, though. I like it in there."
"Y'know, you're the strangest person I've ever met," he chuckled, his hands stilling to rest warmly on you. "Just tell me next time, so I'll know where to find you and where to bring you water."
"Yessir," you attempted to joke, though it came out as little more than a whisper.
"Attagirl," he smirked, resting his head back on the headboard, eyes drifting shut as his thumb traced soft, slow circles across your warm skin.
beyond the yellow brick road | ii. price of the past
jmxf!oc
pairing: raider!joel miller x f!oc
there's a cost to remembering what was.
wc: 1.7k read on ao3
warnings: my blog is 18+, MDNI, original characters, slow burn, angst, fluff, language, hurt/comfort, multiple povs (kinda), post outbreak/pre boston, grief/mourning, references to guns
series masterlist | previously | next
"You'll take Ben's room," Dani pointed to the room on the left, "we'll be across the hall. Now, I'm giving y'all a lot of trust here. My brother would rather send y'all off to fend for yourselves or put a bullet in your heads, so don't do anything stupid." She turned on her heel, making her way to the room her and Ben were staying in. As she reached the doorway, she tossed her head over her shoulder to give the brothers one last warning. "Do not mistake my generosity for weakness. I'm a more accurate shot than Ben is."
And with that she left them standing in the darkness of the hallway, candle in her hand, taking the only light left with her. For a brief moment, Joel and Tommy just stood there, debating in their heads if they really should be running by now. The kindness Dani had offered them after they broke in, tied them up and hurt Ben was…odd to say the least, and made Joel suspicious of her intentions. All he could wonder was what she was playing at; what her grand scheme was.
"Should we stay?" Tommy asked lowly, voicing Joel's very thoughts. He looked at his brother wearily, before gesturing him to follow into the room. He shut the door with a quiet snick, and turned to Tommy.
"Not sure. I don't know what their idea of 'stupid' is. M'worried that leavin' before the morning would be seen as ungrateful or somethin'," Joel muttered, pausing to think, before shaking his head with finality. "We treat it like we're out there," he gestured with his head to the window. "I'll take the first shift, you take the second. We'll get up in the morning, express our gratitude and keep on movin'."
Tommy nodded, putting his pack down next to the bed before climbing on top of the covers. Joel set his own pack down next to Tommy's, grabbed his gun, and sat in the wooden chair by the door. Joel sighed, his bones releasing bouts of tension that had built up in the last few hours.
Despite not knowing what Dani's intensions were, he was appreciative of her kindness. She had every right to fight back, kick them out—hell—even kill them right then and there. But she didn't. She made the whole situation, which should've been an utter shit show, a, surprisingly, decent interaction. And what's more, she stuck up for them when her brother doubted her. It took guts to stand ground like that, and Joel had to admit that it impressed him, even though the trait itself was a necessity in this world.
Joel sat in the shadows, listening to Tommy's snores—the fucker still fell asleep quicker than what should've been possible, especially in an apocalypse—and the creaking of the house in the cold wind.
The house was well built, he had taken note of the structure during their dinner. Probably went up in the 1920s give or take. It had definitely received repairs and updates over the years, some more cosmetic than functional, but the foundation was solid, and the insulation still held itself up. The style of the house was conflicting, but still somewhat cohesive. He noticed that the fireplace seemed original, but the kitchen was more reminiscent of the 90s. Even the room he was in now—Ben's—was stuck in the 2000s. Tony Hawk and Eminem posters lined the walls, stacks of CDs (bought and burned) were everywhere.
The house was a time capsule of all that was before. Before cordyceps, before the Outbreak.
The longer Joel sat, the more relaxed he became. He almost felt like he was just in a neighbor's home, rather than a stranger's. He took in the details of his surroundings, details he never would have had to entertain him if they hadn't found the place. And one detail in particular had caught his eye.
Just above Joel's line of sight was a bulletin board above the desk. Pinned in the center was an acceptance letter to the University of Alabama, surrounded by pictures of a football team in black and gold uniforms. As Joel looked closer, he saw a younger Ben, kneeling down on the bottom row, three from the end. There were also a few pictures of just Ben in the very same uniform, some holding a football in one arm and some with a helmet obscuring his rounded-childlike face.
The boy in the photo was very different from the scrawny, roughed up man across the hall, and Joel felt a pang of pity settle in his chest, melancholy washed over him. The siblings were young when the Outbreak happened, their life was only just beginning. They were on their way to becoming adults, finding out who or what they wanted to be. Their life that they were promised was stripped from their hands. Years of preparation taken from them like it was nothing in just a few short, hellish hours.
Joel forced his gaze away, counting the seconds as they passed. The Outbreak had changed everything, had changed everyone. The world would never be the same, and it was survive or die out there. There were no exceptions, and there was no point in getting hung up on 'what ifs'. Nobody could afford to.
Dani and Ben laid in her bed, the door left open so Ben could keep an eye on their guests, per his request. Ben was thankful Dani allowed him that, at the very least. She knew that he wasn't ecstatic with her at the moment, and she understood why he wasn't happy. To be completely honest with herself, if Ben had done what she did, she'd be fucking pissed, so it was only fair to let him keep the door open.
She stared up at the ceiling, counting her breaths, counting Ben's. He too was awake still, staring at the ceiling. They never could go to sleep without resolving a fight, it was as if everything was off kilter, as if the world was slanted. Even when they were little, if there was a fight over toys or who got the last cookie, it always ended with a quiet apology.
Anger simmered on Ben's side of the bed, it was suffocating. Dani could feel it choking her, so she did the only thing she could think of, and she initiated a truce.
"I wonder why they left Texas. The QZ is there," Dani whispered to Ben as she turned on her side to face him. He didn't move, not even a twitch or physical indication that he had heard her. She felt her stomach drop, and a rock form in her throat. Dani shifted her weight, moving to nudge her hand on his arm, but before she could, she heard his voice break the stagnant silence. Relief flooded through her system as he spoke softly.
"Overcrowding probably. 'Specially since they took in residents of Oklahoma and Arkansas. You remember?"
Dani nodded, she remembered alright. The soldiers who piled families into trucks to go to the Quarantine Zone in Dallas, the quiet panic that had settled into the house. She remembered her Pa hiding them away in the attic for weeks because he 'didn't want to leave the home his grandfather had built'. That's what he had told them. But her Ma had quietly added to the twins that it was really cause he didn't want them to all get separated.
At the time, Dani didn't understand. Why would they get separated? All her friends had gone to the quarantine zone with their families, and they left together. That's what Carlos had said.
Carlos…
She remembered Carlos, and she would never be able to forget him, so long as she was alive.
She would never forget riding the bus to school with him when they were little. Or riding around the dirt roads in his truck when they were in high school. Or the nights they would sneak out of their houses to go see each other at the edge of the orchard. Even after the Outbreak, they tried to keep their routine of seeing each other, unbeknownst to their families of course.
She remembered Carlos telling her there were soldiers going from neighborhood to neighborhood and packing everyone up. They were even allowed to take a bag or suitcase with them. He told her that the QZs were safe from infected, and that they were protected by FEDRA. He said that there would be jobs and schools and housing.
Carlos made the QZs sound like a haven compared to what her parents whispered about late in the night…compared to what they ended up being.
She remembered the last time she saw Carlos. He and his family were going to leave the next day. She remembered her heart breaking clean in half at the words. How could he leave? Her Pa would never let her go with Carlos. He knew it too.
Dani couldn't live without Carlos, nor could he without her.
In the quiet of that last night together, they shared the last of what they had with each other, whispering sweet nothings and promises of plans that never happened.
"Yeah, I remember," she said quietly, not allowing herself to remember those nauseatingly awful months of the Outbreak. Clearing her throat and blinking away the wetness that had welled in her eyes, she forced herself back into the present. In her room, with Ben, and the two Texans across the hall.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I should've talked to you before inviting them."
Ben was quiet, processing her words. After a moment, he turned on his own side, facing his sister, "I know. But I trust you. If you think they're okay, then they're probably okay. You did good, Ma and Pa would be proud," he paused, before offering his own olive branch. "I'm sorry for doubting your judgment."
Dani finally felt herself smile hearing those words. She knew that Ben trusted her, just as she trusted him. Not only was it the trust that had forged itself in their Ma's womb, but it was trust that had grown and solidified and built upon itself as they got older. If anyone was to survive the Outbreak, it was the twins.
Content with the peace, she finally felt her body regulate itself. Ben felt the same heaviness roll over him. As they laid facing each other, exhaustion tided over their eyes, lulling them deeper down into a state of rest.
Joel and Tommy Miller trek their way away from Texas. Away from people, away from FEDRA, away from infected. The Ozarks don't seem like a bad place to be.
A set of twins, Dani and Benjamin, stay in their childhood home. Away from people, away from FEDRA, away from infected. Till two men appear with unknown intentions.
warnings: my blog is 18+, MDNI, original characters, slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, strangers to lovers, eventual romance, eventual happy ending, hurt/comfort, multiple povs (kinda), post outbreak/pre boston, found family, grief/mourning, tags will be added as story continues
