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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

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Title: Seek

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Divorcee! Reader

Summary: You are forced to share your hiding spot with one incorrigible cretin—Joel Miller. But, maybe that’s not so bad.

Word Count: 8,369

Warnings: 18+ Only, Fluff, Comedy, Shameless Smut, Breeding, Pre-Outbreak, Intoxication, Fluff, MINORS DNI!

A/N: a little peek at the night Joel and the Reader first got together. AKA that time Sarah played matchmaker with two grown adults. 😂 enjoy! divider is by @firefly-graphics

“Hello, neighbor.” The low, sultry drawl, makes you swallow tightly. Oh God. You’re glad your hands are stuck wrist deep in the dirt, otherwise they’d be shaking. You take a few tries to school your features into what you hope is a casual smile, and not a grimace of abject panic as you glance over your shoulder at him.

“Hey, Joel.” Your ruggedly handsome neighbor leans against the fence, folding his thickly corded forearms over the pickets. You offer him the sincerest smile you can muster. God his fucking sleeves are rolled up—you fight the urge to ruin it by sinking your teeth into your lower lip. His eyes flick down, and then back up to your face.

“You doin’ some gardenin’?” You don’t know why, but the quirk of his lips makes your stomach knot.

“Y-yeah. W-well, you know. I thought I’d get outside today, since it’s been raining so much.” You say, sticking the spade into the dirt as you turn to face him. You’re acutely aware of the mud on the hem of your yellow sundress now, and you know he must see it too. Goddammit. You feel like every time you talk to him you embarrass yourself—especially now. Nervously and out of habit, you touch your thumb to your ring finger through the gloves, feeling its absence.

Before, at least, you’d had Howard as a buffer, though Joel had never much seemed to like your husband. Ex-husband.

“Mm, yeah. Hopin’ it stays nice, you know Sarah’s birthday’s on Saturday,” He says, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the pickets. “Comin’ up fast.”

“Oh yeah,” you say, nodding with a smile. “I’ll have to bring something over. Wait—she doesn’t do dolls anymore, right? She’s too old for that now.”

“Dolls? Damn kid’s asking me for a phone,” Joel mutters darkly, smoothing a frustrated hand down his face. “A phone.” You can’t help but laugh. “Anyway, I wanted to, you know, let you know you’re invited. Whole neighborhood is, we’ll have games and food. The works.”

“Oh, sure!” You’re not sure why you’re nervous. It’s not a special invitation, it’s open to the entire block. Still, you feel an apprehensive sort of giddiness growing in your tight stomach when he smiles at you encouragingly.

“I’d love to come, I’ll um, I’ll bake something.” You pass your tongue over your lips, and Joel’s eyes follow the movement, lingering before his eyes dart back up to yours. Imagining things. You’re definitely imagining things. You’d have to be—you’re a thirty-something year old divorcee with little to show for it other than the fixer-upper Howard had been glad to leave you. You’re not hot-single-neighbor material.

“That’ll be great.” He fixes you with another boyish smile and you hate the way your stupid stomach tightens when he does. “Sarah loves your apple crumble.” You try to hide your bashful smile behind one of your gardening gloves.

“Joel Miller, you know better than to lie to me over my own fence,” you chide, and he chuckles.

“Yes ma’am I do,” he says, winking at you as the corners of his full lips turn up underneath the mustache. “That’s why I told the truth.” You cluck your tongue at him, and begin gathering your gardening tools into the wide wicker basket you keep them in. You heft them up with a grunt, and he shakes his head.

“Looks heavy. Let me give you a hand.” Before you can protest, he’s jogging around to the spot where your fences meet, and slipping in through the open gate.

“I-I can handle it,” you protest meekly as he holds out one calloused hand, beckoning with his fingers. You step back a little defensively, hesitating. “I carried it all the way out here from the shed by myself.” Joel merely raises an eyebrow and lifts his hand a little higher.

“I know, Sugar. You’re a big girl, you can do it all by yourself,” he says in that filthy smooth baritone. “Doesn’t mean you have to.” Flustered, you let him have the basket, brushing hopelessly at your dress as you follow him to the backyard shed.

“Well, it’s just me, so,” you scurry forward to pull open the door, and you watch him place the basket on the dusty work table. You’re not much of a crafts person, beyond the occasional gardening DIY, so it’s gone mostly unused since Howard moved out.

“I’m real sorry about that, by the way,” Joel says, dusting his hands off on his jeans. The look of pity on his face makes you shift uncomfortably. “But I can’t exactly say that I’m sorry he’s gone.” You laugh. The sound is brittle. Like my marriage was.

“Don’t be.” Joel’s fingers trail across Howard’s old work-bench, leaving lines in the dust as he inspects it.

“Oh, hey,” Joel says, leaning over. He reaches underneath bench and pulls something bright yellow out from underneath it. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters. After a confused second of squinting, you realize it’s a staple-gun. “Knew he never returned this.” Your face burns with embarrassment as you pinch the bridge of your nose. The result, no doubt, of one of Howards many unfinished DIY projects, the ones you always seemed to end up cleaning up and finding space for in the basement.

“God, he’s not even here and Howard’s still embarrassing me,” you say. “I’m sorry, I would have given it back if I’d known.” You watch Joel shake his head.

“That’s not on you. Besides, I’ve got it back now, so. No harm, no foul.” He tucks it into the waistband of his jeans before stepping out of the little shed and closing the door behind him. He smiles at you again, and you swear the only thing keeping you from melting into a puddle of jelly is the force of your will alone.

“You let me know if there’s anything around the house that needs doing. You cleaned your gutters since Howard left?” He asks, and your face burns again as you hurriedly shake your head.

“N-no,” you admit. “But you really—I don’t want to put you to the trouble, Joel.”

“S’no trouble.” He says with a wink, heading for the back gate. “I’ll be by tomorrow. You’ve got a ladder, don’t you, Sugar?”

—

You’re in your pajamas when Joel shows up, bright and early. The sound of the doorbell jolts you up from the kitchen table, where you’d positioned yourself so that you could see the television through the doorway. Watching the morning news rather mindlessly while you had your coffee was your new morning routine, and though it felt a little lonely and empty, it was certainly better than screaming matches with Howard about how inadequate of a wife you were to him, so you relished it.

You realize belatedly that the tie for your robe is upstairs as you’re fumbling with the locks, pulling open the door with an exasperated Hello before you realize exactly who’s on the other side of your front door.

“Howdy, neighbor.” That southern twang—the one you don’t have—is like syrup, each syllable running smoothly into the next as it slides pleasurably into your ears. You’re sure the heat rising in your chest and neck is due to your own embarrassment as you unsuccessfully try to tug the flaps of your robe shut with one hand. It’s definitely not because Joel is looking at me funny.

“J-Joel, I—morning,” you say, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears self consciously as you offer him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t, um. I didn’t know you’d be over so early. I thought you, um. Liked to get a, a late start in the mornings.”

“That’s true,” he says, nodding as he tucks his thumbs into his belt loops. “But I can get up for the important things.” He rocks forward on to the balls of his feet, the leather on his boots creaking. “So, Sugar, where’s that ladder?” You feel warm when he looks at you, so warm you’re surprised steam isn’t whistling out of your ears like a kettle.

“In the, um, in the shed.” You turn to head back into the house, but stop. “Do you need me to—” He meets the glance you shoot him over your shoulder with a stern lift of his brow.

“I got it. You go on and enjoy your coffee, now.” Joel tips his head at you, and then reaches forward to pat you just above your hip. “Go on. Scoot.”

The screen door swings shut behind you as you turn smartly to do as you’re told, and it’s only when you’re two steps into the kitchen that you realize your hip is still warm from where he touched you. You shiver.

Joel’s just friendly.

You repeat that back to yourself dozens of times as you shower, dress, and ready yourself for the day. It’s embarrassing, but you don’t have much to do now that you don’t have Howard to pick up after. Stay-at-home-wife was just another word for nanny to him, and now, five years into your marriage and ten months post divorce, you’re still struggling to find a way to fill your time. You can live off the alimony, sure, but you want something more meaningful to do, even if it doesn’t pay much.

Joel is still up on the roof by the time you come back downstairs, but you aren’t down there long before you hear him tapping at the kitchen window. You unlock the back door, and the sight of Joel leaned up against your doorframe greets you when you open it. He’s busy toeing off his muddy workboots, but he glances up at you with a lopsided smile.

“Mind if I clean off? I’ve got to head to the site after this.”

“Totally, sure, um, you remember where the bathroom is?” You ask, and he nods.

“Down the hall to the right, innit?” He asks over his shoulder, and you nod. His arms and cheek are splattered with the same muck that you assume has been clogging your gutters, and you feel even guiltier knowing he has to head to his actual job after this. Where are my manners? You ask yourself guiltily, hurrying to fetch a glass from the cabinet. You don’t have any food you can offer him, but you go for the peach iced tea in the fridge and pour him a tall glass. He’d come over and done hard work for you, and you hadn’t even offered him something to drink.

Shameful, your grandmother’s shrill voice hisses at you through your memories. Just shameful. No wonder you couldn’t keep a man. With your teeth set into your bottom lip, you head for the hallway, intending to head Joel off before he gets to the front door.

You aren’t expecting to crash headlong into him.

“Shit!” You curse as cold tea splashes against your chest and the glass in your fingers tumbles to the rug. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t get you, did I?” You look guiltily up at Joel and your heart seizes in your chest. He’s shirtless in your hallway, his face and chest damp and his t-shirt balled up in one fist. Logically, you know it’s because he obviously can’t go to work covered in gutter-crap, but you can’t think about that now, not when you’re following the happy trail starting at his belly button all the way down the waistband of his pants and God fucking dammit I’m staring like a creep—

“No, Sugar. All dry,” he laughs, interrupting the rambling chain of your thoughts. “Can’t say the same for you.” He gestures down at your shirt before shrugging into his own. “Was that sweet tea?” Joel asks, a mournful note in his voice.

“Yes—let me get you another glass,” you say quickly, bending over to pick up the fallen glass before you rush back into the kitchen. Clumsy, stupid—you put it carefully in the sink before fetching a fresh cup from the cabinet, and you fill that one too. “Joel, I—oh.” You turn to call him into the kitchen, only to find him right behind you. His smile is slow syrup the way his voice is, and you find yourself feeling like a knock-kneed teenager at the sight of it.

“That for me?” Joel asks, and you nod wordlessly, unable to form words around the hot lump of embarrassment that forms in your throat. “Thank you, Sugar,” he purrs, plucking the glass from your limp fingers. “I was powerful thirsty.” He tips his head back, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob beneath the scruff of his beard as he swallows.

You’re grateful for the refrigerator against your back, because you know you’d slide right down to your tasteful linoleum tiles in a heap without it when he lets out a satisfied moan. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and then chases the stray droplets with his tongue.

“Should bring a whole pitcher of that by the house when you come by on Saturday. Folks’ll go crazy for it.”

Your brain is still short circuiting from his closeness, the smell of his cologne, the sight of his tanned, perfect chest—so you just nod dumbly, your lips slightly parted as you stare. Closing mouth in three, two, one—

“Uh, um. Yeah. Tea.” Jesus fuck, why is my mouth so dry? You stumble over the words, feeling like there are a hundred glass marbles in your mouth as you try to pronounce them properly. “So, um. Saturday?”

“Saturday.” Joel hands you back the glass, and winks. “Don’t drop it this time.” He pauses in the doorway, tapping his hand against the frame a few times. “And you’ll let me know when I can come by to cut that grass, wontcha, Sugar? Needs mowin’.”

I absolutely will not. “Sure thing. I-I mean, you don’t have to, really—”

“Just bein’ neighborly is all,” he calls over his shoulder as the screen door swings shut behind him. You watch the top of his head go by the kitchen window before you slump against the refrigerator.

“Neighborly.” You mutter in disbelief, pinching the bridge of your nose. You make your way back upstairs to change your shirt—the tea is starting to get sticky against your skin.

—

By the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve almost talked yourself completely out of attending.

You should not be this nervous about am eleven year old’s birthday party, you chastise yourself, shifting from foot to foot as you wait for someone to answer the door. There’s music coming from the backyard, and you can smell food, and the charcoal from the grill. You step back a little as the door opens, and you’re both surprised and relieved to see it isn’t Joel. And you’re glad for it, considering you’ve been studiously avoiding him.

Sarah greets you with a friendly smile, waving you inside. “Mrs. Leeman, hi!” She closes the door behind you. “Thank you for coming! You didn’t have to do that,” she says, gesturing at the covered apple crumble and sealed jug of peach tea in your hands. Sarah moves to take one from you, and you hand over the jug gratefully. “But this is way better than the cake uncle Tommy got. He went to Penny Saver.”

You laugh. “You’re welcome. I wasn’t exactly sure what to get you,” you admit, “but your dad said you’ve been wanting a phone?” You ask, and she rolls her eyes, starting towards the kitchen. You’ve only been here once or twice, to use the bathroom the few times Howard had deigned to take part in any neighborhood festivities. She sets the jug on the table.

“Ugh, yeah. But he says I’m too young.”

You lean in conspiratorially. “Well, how about I join team get Sarah a phone and try to help convince him, huh?” Carefully, you place the crumble on the table. “I’ll pay for your first month.”

Sarah’s eyes brighten. “Really? Yeah, oh my God that might actually work! Thanks, um, Mrs. Leeman. And for the crumble too, I asked special.”

“Just ‘Ms’, now,” you say with a little laugh. Sarah’s smile widens a little, turning up at the corners like she knows something you don’t know. And it isn’t Leeman anymore, either.

“Oh, right. I’m sorry,” she says, and you can tell she’s really trying to pour on the sincerity. She’s good—but she’s not that good. “I forgot you’re single now.” You quirk an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” You answer slowly. “Kind of a weird way to put it, but yes?” You chalk it up to teenage awkwardness, watching amusedly as Sarah plucks the candles out of the admittedly generic cake Tommy bought, and presses them into the crumble instead.

“Everybody’s outside,” she chirps, wiping her hands off on her jeans. “Uncle Tommy, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, my dad,” she adds. “You should totally go say hi.” Casting another suspicious glance at Sarah, you make your way over to the back door. Once your eyes adjust to the bright summer sun, you see that Joel’s backyard is chaos; every kid in the neighborhood is there, along with most of the families in your corner of the cul-de-sac.

You pretend you don’t immediately spot Joel on the grill, his sleeves rolled up as he chats with his brother. You’ve only met Tommy once or twice and only in passing, but you remember him just fine. Your eyes meet, and he leans over, elbowing Joel. He says something too, but you’re too far away to hear it. Joel begins to turn around, and you hurriedly busy yourself at the punch bowl.

God, this is pathetic. You berate yourself as you spoon out punch into a little paper cup. Just say hi, you stupid idiot. You feel stupid and giddy around Joel, like a middle-schooler with her first crush only worse, because you’re two decades past the expiration date on this behavior. Not to mention he’s your neighbor.

And God knows you aren’t the best at reading signals—it had taken you years to realize that your marriage, your relationship, was dead in the water. Joel isn’t interested, he can’t be. At most, you assume he feels a sort of half hearted pity for you. I’m like the one-eyed cat at the shelter.

“Hey there Judy, thanks for comin’.” You hear Joel’s voice behind you, and you tense—He’s coming this way. You chance a glance over your shoulder and swallow audibly. He’s making a beeline right for you. Is it too late to go back inside? You know the thought is futile, it’s most certainly far too late for that.

“Hi, I mean, you know, welcome to the party,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets after an awkward moment of holding them out, almost like he was going to hug you and then thought better of it.

“Yeah, Sarah was…enthusiastic about the cake.” You’re trying to think of a word to describe her weird behavior. “Maybe a little too much,” you laugh a little. Joel shakes his head and mutters something under his breath you can’t quite make out—“damn kid sticking her nose in where it doesn’t—” Before he shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Kid’s a mystery to me sometimes,” he replies with a huff. He squints, like he’s looking for her in the crowd. You follow his line of sight right to Sarah, laughing with her friends.

“She’s a good one.”

“Lord knows,” Joel sighs. “I was raising hell at her age.” He turns back to you. “I’m really glad you could make it.” His smile is so bright you’re forced to look somewhere else, for fear of going weak in the knees.

“N-no problem. I’m, um, I’m happy to get out of the house,” you admit. “I’ve been kind of… I don’t know. Bored? Since Howard left.” You look down at the punch cup in your hands. “Is that weird? I don’t miss him or anything, I just… I guess I never realized how much time he was taking. Wasting.” You shake your head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No, no, please,” Joel looks at you almost imploringly. “I don’t mind.” He leans against the table behind you. “I’ve been there. Losing yourself is surprisingly easy. It’s the finding yourself after that’s hard.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Listen I—”

“Joel, you wanna serve burnt burgers or what?” Tommy calls from the grill, pointing at the thick smoke curling up from it. Joel curses.

“Dammit, Tommy—I’ll be right back.”

He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, and you swallow back the unexpected disappointment at the interruption. It’s probably a good thing though, you think to yourself as you spy Tricia Gibbins, also newly divorced, eyeing you with a scowl.

You offer her a weak smile in response, before turning back to your drink. Joel’s a hot commodity, and you know you’re not the only single woman in the neighborhood with eyes. Joel has an easy sort of confidence about him, the kind that comes from working with your hands and being good at it. The kind that isn’t unearned.

As Joel averts the crisis at the grill, you mingle. Chatting up the neighbors you haven’t really seen since the divorce. It’s awkward at first, but you get over that quickly enough. It’s oddly comforting, feeling like you’re part of the community at large again, instead of the weird shut-in with the mean husband. Oddly, Joel keeps finding reasons to be close to you, joining in the conversations you’re having as he sidles up next to you, offering to refresh your drink each time you finish it. And when he brings out the crumble from the kitchen—much to Tommy’s chagrin—he thanks you specifically for providing it, and your cheeks heat as you duck your head, embarrassedly enduring the round of applause that follows.

If Gibbins didn’t hate me already, she definitely does now.

You help cut and serve it, trying to ensure each partygoer at least has the option of having a piece. As Sarah wolfs down her piece after blowing out her candles, she and her friends share a conspiratorial look.

“We were thinking of playing a party game, dad,” she says, cocking her head at him. “Kids versus grown-ups.” Joel takes a sip of his beer, cocking his head skeptically.

“And what game would that be, young lady?”

“Manhunt! Come on, dad, please? Everyone really wants to play!” Sarah gestures eagerly at the gaggle of kids behind her, pushing and shoving and giggling nervously as the adults look them over. Sarah rocks excitedly back and forth on her tip-toes as her father debates it. Sarah looks at you imploringly.

“Please? Last game of the night, I promise! You’ll play, won’t you?”

“Ah hell,” Tommy curses, finishing his beer before slinging the empty bottle into the trash-can by the picnic table. “Why not? Used to play this all the time growin’ up.” He casts a nostalgic look at Joel before elbowing Sarah conspiratorially. “Every summer I used to whoop your daddy’s—”

“No lying to the girl on her birthday, Tommy,” Joel replies with a chuckle, and you laugh too. “Fine then. Who all’s playin’?” Hands go up, all across the yard, and Joel nods as he takes stock of them. Howard would have insisted on leaving right about now, your charitable appearance over and done with. But Howard isn’t here to make the decision for you, and you find yourself raising your own hand, too. Perhaps it’s the warm buzz of the beer settling into your stomach making you foolish, but it’s a warm summer evening and you feel… good.

“Ground rules—nobody leaves the block, understand? No hidin’ in strangers yards.” Joel delivers the rules sternly. “

“We were thinking… we’ll seek. Time limit?” Sarah asks, suddenly all business as she leans back to consult her friends, now apparently her war-council.

“Thirty minutes.” Joel replies, holding out his hand. Sarah shakes it exaggeratedly, grinning at him. She holds up two fingers, gesturing between the two of them. “And you’ve got to find everybody to win.”

“Yeah, yeah, old man,” She calls over her shoulder as she jogs toward her friends. “You’re going down!” They’re all clustered around the side of the house, some of them already counting. You’re already thinking of the perfect hiding place, where the rosebushes meet on the left side of your porch—it’s impossible to see from the sidewalk. The participating adults are already splitting up, heading in different directions to try and outlast their children.

Giggling, you hurry back across the street, casting a suspicious glance around before you duck down behind your rosebushes. It’s silly, you know, but… it feels good too. Like you’re actually enjoying yourself instead of pretending to. Howard never would have approved of this—These are children’s games, come on—but he isn’t here, and you don’t need him to. The thought makes you practically giddy; Howard is gone, gone!

And he isn’t coming back.

You lean back against the porch, ducking lower as you hear the sound of approaching voices. As you reach back to steady yourself, your hand brushes against another. You gasp, loudly, and whirl around to see Joel, looking equally surprised. It looks like he’s come around from the opposite side of the house, staying low underneath the roses, just like you. You open your mouth to speak, but he holds up a finger, pointing behind you.

“I heard something! I think one of the grown-ups is hiding over here.” You wait with baited breath to be discovered, but the gangly teenager on the other side of the bush doesn’t come all the way up the porch steps, stopping halfway.

“Whatever, I don’t see anybody. Let’s look by the Simmons’ place!”

The sound of your gravel crunching under sneakers gradually recedes, and you let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were there,” you whisper apologetically, and Joel laughs.

“Well you know. Great minds, and all that.” He scoots closer. “Do you mind? I can risk finding another spot if you do.”

“No, no,” you say, shaking your head. Maybe it’s the beers, making you foolishly confident, but you… want him to stay. “There’s room enough for the two of us.”

“You’re damn right there is,” Joel replies. “Grass is tall enough that we could stand in it.” You pretend to be shocked, raising a cartoonishly offended hand over your heart.

“Oh, is that how it is, Miller?” You ask. “You come over here, barge into my hiding spot, and then insult my grass? I’m pretty sure them’s fighting words, around here at least.” He edges closer, close enough that when he settles down into a sitting position, his thigh presses against yours.

“It’s almost calf high, Sugar,” he says seriously. “That’s dangerous.” You try to look sufficiently scared, and Joel smothers a laugh behind one hand.

“Danger? Here?” You bring a hand to your cheek. “How dangerous are we talking?” He fixes you with a serious look, brows knitting together as he presses his full lips into a tight line.

“Very dangerous. Trip and falls, termites, biting ants—you know. Just to name a few things.” Joel is handsome, not a fact you’re unfamiliar with. But up this close… You can see the beginnings of salt and in his thick black hair, how his warm brown eyes are flecked with gold and green, the cinnamon spice of his breath—Fireball, he was drinking Fireball—

And how soft his lips are when they brush against yours.

You’re not sure how long it takes you to realize that you’re kissing Joel Miller. Later, when you look back, you’ll realize there’s a gap in your memory, a skip, a blank space spanning from the moment his hip pressed against yours until you feel the warmth of his hand on your hip through your jeans. It’s a chaste thing, a simple press of his mouth to yours, but the realization of what’s happening makes you gasp, pulling away. For once, you’re speechless, the nervous ramble that usually accompanies these moments is notoriously absent.

Of course it’s Joel that speaks first.

“I been waitin’ to do that for six months.” He breathes. And then he leans forward, gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, and does it again. You release your death-grip on the latticework beneath the porch, and instead tangle your fingers in Joel’s t-shirt. He mumbles something against your lips that you don’t understand before deepening the kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth as you sigh against him. Joel tastes like cinnamon whiskey, hops, and faintly of tobacco—likely from the cigarette you’d seen him bum from Tommy in secret earlier.

He tastes so good you could cry. Like beer and warm summer evenings, like catching lightning bugs in jars. He tastes exactly like you thought he would.

When you part, you’re both panting, staring wild-eyed at one another as the rest of the world filters back in. Joel lets out a little laugh, resting his forehead against yours. You like how he smells, too, sandalwood and leather.

“Six months is a long time,” you say after a minute, and he laughs. Somehow, you feel both validated and incredibly stupid at the same time. “And here I thought you felt sorry for me.”

“I did, being married to that prick,” he scoffs. “I hung over that fence every other day for six months, and you never thought—?”

“No! I thought, you know, you… really wanted to mow my grass.” You answer defeatedly, and this time Joel’s booms in your ears so loud you fear the children will discover you. You laugh too, and when he pulls you close to kiss you a third time, you lean into it, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he pulls you practically into his lap. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you card fingers through his thick hair. You’re glad you’re sitting down, because the answering husky moan he releases would have brought you to your knees.

“Dad! Thirty-minutes!” The sound of Sarah’s voice shocks the two of you apart, and you scramble off of Joel, your cheeks burning. You peek through the rose bushes, pulling aside a bud to see Sarah, standing in the middle of the street. You snicker at the sight of her. She and her friends seem to have already rounded up the other adults, and, armed with water-guns, are escorting them back to the party. You can see that Tommy’s wet, and you wonder if he tried to outrun them.

“Time’s up,” she calls. “You guys win!”

“You stay here. I’ll go first.” Joel says with a wink. “I’ll see you back at the party, okay? And we’ll finish this… discussion.” He licks his lips.

You nod, not trusting your voice not to give out on you. You watch as Joel gets a very rules-illegal squirting with Sarah’s supersoaker, and you’re glad he took the bullet for both of you as they head into the backyard. Once you’re sure no one else is really watching, you creep out, brushing stray bits of grass and twigs from your clothes. Your face still feels warm, your lips tingling where Joel’s had met them.

There isn’t much “party” left when you let yourself in through the side gate, people cleaning up with trash bags. You begin helping, clearing the tables of plastic cutlery and paper plates. There isn’t really time to talk, not really. Every time he begins to, something, someone, needs his attention. As you’re tossing bags into the trash bin, Tommy comes up behind you with another load. You hold the lid open for him, and he ducks his head gratefully.

“Thanks. So, you and my brother, huh? Manhunt neighborhood champs.” He grins at you, and you feel your face heat.

“In my defense, it was my hiding spot first.”

“That tracks.” He laughs. ”And I’m not mad, even though you dethroned my cake.”

You grin. “Sorry. I was asked.” It’s easy to see that Tommy and Joel are related, you think as you chat. They have the same easy way of moving, the same slow drawl. You think of the way his lips felt against yours again and your face warms. It had felt so right to do in that moment, but now you can’t help but wonder if it had been a mistake.

“He’s droppin’ Sarah off at her friend’s place,” Tommy says suddenly. “In case you were wonderin’.” His knowing look makes you wish the earth would open right up and swallow you into the resulting abyss. It doesn’t though, and you are forced to shoot Tommy a painfully embarrassed smile instead.

“I, um. Thanks.” You tuck your hands into your pockets to stop their nervous twitching. Somehow, this feels like a higher-stakes interaction than any of the others you’ve ever had with Tommy, and you aren’t sure why.

“No problem.” Tommy dusts his hands off of his jeans. “And he’s… Stupid. My brother. But he means well.”

“I think that makes two of us.”

You finish helping clean up, hanging around the yard awkwardly until Tommy asks you if you want to wait inside. You shake your head. Joel’s probably realized his mistake by now, you think to yourself, shaking your head as you make your way back across the street. Keys in hand, you head up the steps and unlock the door. As it swings open, the blast of a car-horn makes you yelp, jumping as you press yourself against the doorframe.

Joels truck swings haphazardly into your driveway, and he’s half out of it before it even stops. He hops the little gate in front of your porch steps, taking them two at a time as he strides towards you with purpose.

“Sugar.”

“Joel, I—” There are a thousand thoughts, all jumping to reach your mouth first. You want to kiss him again, you want to run inside and hide until he leaves, you really want to kiss him again—

“I thought I told you to wait for me,” Joel says lowly, his fingers sliding through the belt loops on your jeans to tug you close against his chest. “Weren’t finished talkin’.” His mouth is against yours before you can answer, and he gratefully swallows your gasp of surprise as his tongue presses insistently at the seam of your lips. You are aware, on some level, that you’re standing on your porch, in full view of every watchful eye on your end of the street. However, your concern for your reputation is kept well in check by the feel of Joel’s hands passing hungrily over your hips.

His fingers skate up underneath the hem of your t-shirt, and you gasp at the feel of them trailing up your sides and over your belly.

“I-inside,” you say, the word muffled by his lips. You feel the corners of his mouth curl up against your cheek as Joel loops his arms underneath your thighs. You gasp as he hoists you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you inside. Joel kicks the door shut behind him before pressing you against the wall, fitting the hard planes of his body against the softness of yours. He fits so well in between your thighs, his jean-clad hips slotting against you perfectly.

You want to be ashamed at the way your hips roll into his, your heels digging into the backs of his thighs. His hand fists in your hair, tugging your head back so that he can trail his teeth and tongue down the side of your throat.

“Fuck,” he mutters, teeth catching at the shell of your ear as one hand cups your swollen cunt through your jeans. You feel like you’re on fire, heat running underneath your skin, sparking where Joel touches you. Your head is swimming, like you’re drunk on more than just a couple of beers. Your fingers tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck, and the throaty moan Joel releases makes your pussy clench down hard around nothing.

You drop your feet to the floor as his fingers play at the button of your jeans. He’s breathing heavy, hair askew from your attentions and eyes hungry.

“We can stop if you want to,” he says, his voice strained and husky. “You say stop, we stop.” You can tell he wants to do anything but stop, his thigh wedged between yours, and the half hard weight of his cock throbbing against you through his jeans. But you can also see he means it, that he’ll turn around and walk right back to his truck if you tell him to.

You hesitate, feeling Joel’s steady breaths against your lips as he waits for your decision. This is crazy, you reason. We’ll both regret this, and it’ll be awkward and we’ll never be able to talk to each other again—But what’s crazier is that you know you want him to stay. That you’re willing to risk it.

Maybe you’ll just be crazy for tonight.

“Stay.”

Joel surges, crashing over you like a wave. His hands—God, his hands—are everywhere, tugging up the rumpled hem of your t-shirt to cup your breasts through your bra, wiggling down under the waistband of your jeans to touch whatever skin he can—

“Y’know, Sugar,” Joel’s voice is simmering honey, is burnt sugar—“I don’t think we’re gonna make it upstairs.” You don’t think so either, not with his eager fingers tugging open the button on your jeans. Not to mention that you’re pretty sure that if he stops touching you, you might actually die. You’ve never felt this before, the all encompassing need that drives you to grind down against his proffered thigh, your hands fisting in his shirt.

Definitely not making it to the bed. He kisses you again, sucking on your tongue as you feverishly work at the buttons on his shirt. You push them apart to touch his bare skin and he hums with pleasure.

He grunts frustratedly when there isn’t enough room for his huge hands in your tight jeans, tugging at them until they stick fast about halfway down your thighs. He anchors his hands underneath your hips, and you gasp as he hoists you up, taking a few wobbly steps towards the stairs.

He only makes it up three of them before he abandons the effort, setting you down. You let out a little giggle as your ass makes contact with the wood, and Joel sucks his teeth.

“Goddamn house. S’got too many stairs,” he mumbles against the side of your throat. The raspy burn of his beard against your skin is delicious as he trails kisses down your neck until he meets the collar of your shirt. “Take this fuckin’ thing off, Sugar.” Joel’s teeth tug at the fabric. He chuckles lowly when your breath catches. “Or d’you want me to do it for you?” You hurriedly tug your shirt up over your head—with Joel’s eager assistance—and his mouth crashes against yours as before it’s even cleared your hair.

Joel’s cinnamon and whiskey spiced kisses leave heat in their wake as he presses them between your breasts, pulling down the cups of your bra. He releases a pleased hum when your puffy nipples spill lewdly over the lace. The way he grins at the sight of them makes you want to combust, heat creeping up your chest and neck as he pinches them softly between his fingers. You whine, and he clucks his tongue at you, fixing you with a serious look.

“Don’t you rush me, Sugar,” he says, flicking his thumb against your nipple, and he grins when you wriggle. “Haven’t I been patient?” You’re hard pressed to disagree. His heavy lidded eyes go even darker as he laves his tongue across your nipple, and you whimper pathetically when he rolls it between his teeth.

“Yeah,” you pant as Joel taps his very patient fingers against the fleshy curve of your hip. You lift for him, and he hums with approval as he tugs them down your legs and flings them to the floor. “Practically a saint—ah, Joel!” Joel cups your pussy, clapping his hand against the fatty curve of it with a groan.

“If I were a saint, Sugar,” he drawls, pulling your panties tight until the puffy lips of your cunt pop out lewdly around them, “You know I’d never miss a day at this fuckin’ church.” He traces the shape of your swollen clit through the fabric with the rough pad of his thumb. “A-fuckin’-men.” The elastic band snaps against your skin as he pulls them off completely, your panties joining your jeans in an undignified heap at the bottom of the stairs.

Joel delivers a stinging little slap to your thigh that makes you yelp.

“Open.” You do, your cheeks burning as you spread your legs apart and let him see. He cards his fingers through his hair as a low “fuck” falls from his lips. He drags a thick, calloused finger up your slit, swirling the tip through your sopping folds. “Christ, Sugar,” he says, holding up his fingers so that you can see your own slick shining on them. You can’t look away as he lowers his head, his breath puffing across your heated skin. It’s only when he drags his tongue up your slit that your head falls back, and you curse at the ceiling.

“S’right,” he mumbles against your cunt, wrenching your legs further open. “Fuck, you taste good, baby.” Your fingers tangle in his hair, and you feel him chuckle against you before his tongue finds your clit and you loose a stream of curses and his name—

“Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, Joel—”

“Say it, Sugar,” his beard rasps deliciously against your inner thighs. “Let ‘em hear my fuckin’ name.”

It’s impossible to think. You’re fairly certain the amount of electricity currently thrumming through you would be enough to light up a whole goddamn city. Your thighs tremble in his grip and you can’t stop the shameful push of your hips against his face. And then you’re cumming with a pitiful little whine, tears gathering in the corners of your wide eyes. Joel pulls away from you slowly, wiping at his glistening mouth with the back of his hand as he looks at you with dark, lidded eyes.

“Don’t cry yet, Sugar,” he rasps. You can’t help but stare as he looses the buttons on his jeans with nimble fingers. The heavy weight of his cock pushes insistently against the plaid fabric of his briefs before he hooks his thumb under the elastic and tugs it down too. “Oughta wait till the good part, at least.”

Oh my fucking God.

Joel Miller’s cock is thick. Like a fucking coke-can with veins. He palms it with one hand, and your traitorous cunt clenches wetly as you stare. The head is red, angry and leaking, and you find yourself with the sudden urge to swipe your tongue across it and see how he tastes. You can’t stop your eyes from following the movement as he strokes himself slowly, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest.

“Want a taste, Sugar?” He purrs, the accent dripping down every vowel. You don’t have enough working neurons left to lie, and so you nod meekly, licking your lips. “Say aah for me, baby.” You open your mouth wide, sticking out your tongue a little and he groans, balancing one hand on the bannister and the other against the wall as he leans forward. You nurse at his head, wrapping your lips around it as he thrusts slowly. You work your way down his thick, throbbing shaft, stopping when his head taps the back of your throat.

“—gotta be fucking kidding me,” you catch bits and pieces of his mumbled praise, his fingers tangling in your hair as he holds your head still, enjoying the sensation before pulling out. You wipe at the spit on your chin as Joel pumps his cock, squeezing as his head falls back.

“If I wasn’t so determined to make a mess of that pussy, Sugar, I’d let you finish.” Joel sinks down to his knees on the stairs, cupping your chin with sure fingers as he kisses you, and you taste yourself on his tongue. You’re sure that tomorrow, you will find the time to be appalled that you’re here, like this, with your neighbor—

But there is no space in your head for it now.

Now, Joel is settling himself between your thighs, the head of his cock sliding deliciously against you. And then fuck, he’s pushing inside, making your head fuzzy with that blissful, burning stretch.

“G-God,” you whimper, pressing your face against his throat, tugging at the skin there with your teeth as he seats himself all the way inside.

“Sorry, Sugar,” he mumbles the words into your hair, groaning as his heavy balls come to rest against you. “Best you got is me.” Joel draws out, taking all your air with him, before slamming back down, his hips meeting yours with a lewd squelch. You let out a choked gasp as he sinks his cock in to the base, his eyes rolling to half mast. His slow, steady pace is enough to make you see stars while your eyes are open, bright spots tattooing themselves against your retinas.

You don’t notice the hard bite of the wooden stairs into your back and the curve of your ass as you wrap your thighs around Joel’s hips. It feels so good, you’re drowning in it. In Joel. He knots a fist in the curls at the nape of your neck, tugging your head back. You let him, and are rewarded with his teeth and tongue scraping deliciously down the line of your throat.

“Where’ve you been hidin’ this pussy, Sugar?” The words are breathed hotly against the shell of your ear, followed by his teeth. “Why’d you hide her from me?” He punctuates his questions with a hard thrust that makes you bury your fingernails in the meat of his shoulder and sob. “Coulda been givin’ you your dick months ago.”

You’re not paying attention, not really, not when the white hot pleasure building at your core is all you can think about. You whine out an apology, not because you mean it, but because you think it’s what he wants to hear—and at this point, you’d tell him anything just to be able to crest the wave he’s been building inside of you. Fuck and you’re so full—

Every slow, heavy thrust punches the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping and whining as Joel takes you to pieces.

“H-holy shit,” the words stick to your lips and tongue as you struggle to get them out around the moans you keep trying unsuccessfully to swallow. It was never like this with Howard, this dizzying rush of pleasure that leaves you aching for more—begging for more, even if you’re not sure you can take it.

“P-please,” you keen, lifting your hips eagerly to meet his thrusts. “Please!”

“Please what, Sugar?” Joel asks teasingly, before dropping lis lips to yours. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it. “I’d tell you to use your big girl words but I know you can’t right now, can you Sweetheart?”

You cum with a sob, your back arching as you dig your heels into the backs of Joel’s thighs. They buckle, and he sinks down to his knees as you feel his cock throb inside you. Joel curses into your hair, both hands gripping the lip of the stair next to your head hard enough to drive the blood from his knuckles. You lay like that for a minute, panting on the stairs as you luxuriate in the sticky, warm afterglow.

Thank God for the pill.

All you can smell is the piney scent of his aftershave, tucked against his chest like you are. For a moment, you allow yourself to bask in Joel, your face pressed against his sweat-damp skin, the feel of his pulse thrumming beneath your cheek. You don’t know why, but it makes you think of mornings. Of waking up like this, tangled up in each other, of hot coffee and quick goodbyes over rushed breakfasts, of long nights—

“You okay?” Joel asks, leaning away from you. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s wearing a dopey smile underneath his scruffy beard. He cups your cheek, and you blink it all away, squashing those thoughts back down into your subconscious where they belong. He slips from between your thighs, and you pretend you don’t feel something like a suspicious cross between longing and disappointment.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You offer him a weak smile as you sit up, wincing. There’s an ache in your back from where you’d been pressed against the stairs, and as Joel tucks himself back into his pants, he grimaces, rubbing his knee. You let out a little embarrassed laugh. “Probably should have tried harder to make it to the bed, though.”

Joel fixes you with a sly smile. “There’s still time.” Your face heats and you sputter.

“I—”

“We can just sleep,” he says, chuckling. “Scout’s honor.”

It feels too natural to lead him upstairs, dodging stray hands as you fish a towel out for him from the hall closet. He starts stripping before you’re even out of the bathroom, and when he holds out a hand to you from the shower, you take it. Joel tugs you against his chest, tucking you beneath his chin underneath the spray.

“I thought you said we could sleep?” You say, peeking up at him through your lashes, a smile playing at the edges of your lips. Joel laughs, nosing along your jawline and pressing wet kisses to the corners of your mouth.

“Well we’re not in bed yet, are we Sugar?”

the end.

for now.

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller drabble #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us imagine #pre-outbreak #boxofbonesfic #Before | After series #fluff #smut

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cultofdixon · 1 year

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I will follow you into the dark

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • It’s the end of the world. It’s hard to keep up with old routines, especially when one involved a daily medicine. Skipping a day isn’t that bad, two can be pushing it, but inevitably running out…you’re screwed. You last this long with rationing but the world is starting to look grey again. Until your sunshine returns…in him • ANGST/SFW • TW: Depression

Requested by: @sweetnightmares333

“Y/N” Daryl calls out for her attention as Y/N was currently knees deep in the gardens of the prison she and Rick have started. “Wanna go for a ride?”

Her face lit up when he asked such feeling the warmth in his chest as he couldn’t help the twitch of a smile gracing his lips for a second.

“You’re really gonna take my gardenin’ buddy?” Rick jokes setting down a bucket right beside Y/N as she takes the mulch collected not that long ago and started to put it on their garden before standing. “You owe me tomorrow”

“You know I’ll be here” Y/N smiles taking her gloves off and tossing them into the bucket before following Daryl to his bike.

The Grimes helped open the gate for Daryl to ride right through with no issue as Y/N held on tight for the ride.

This was their routine in a sense. Daryl would take care of his chores or whatever is asked of him in the morning, while Y/N took care of the gardens. Then they would go on a ride just the two of them. Then when they get back, Y/N takes over for Beth watching Judith so she could handle a few things and Daryl would tweak his bike and fix any vehicle the previous group took out on the run. And by night, they were rejoin in their cell. You can imagine what else they do during their open windows.

Daryl found a new spot for them to relax at and instantly took Y/N there. Even if her favorite things about the rides were him and watching the scenery go by.

“What’s goin’ on in that beautiful mind of yours?” Daryl asks his partner who was more focused on the beautiful view he provided for her just from exploring on a few hunts back.

Y/N ignored his question at first to watch the birds fly by like they have no idea what’s happening around the rest of the world. Daryl taps the top of her hand resulting in her smiling and finally addressing him.

“Just admiring the moment, my love” She smiles watching him blush to one of the smaller things she calls him. “Besides always thinking about you…again, just admiring the now”

The archer intertwines his fingers with hers watching her shift a bit enough for him to instinctively bring his arm around her shoulders. Enjoying the moment with her.

Once it was curfew and everyone was settling in for the night, Daryl left to take his night shift in the watchtower but not before kissing Y/N goodnight. She watches him leave their shared cell after picking up his crossbow on the way out. Y/N gave it a few more second before leaning over the bunk to reach for a box underneath and opening it revealing trinkets Daryl would bring back from runs that would remind her but she hid something in there.

A pill bottle.

Y/N opened the cap to find only three pills left, it will be two after she takes one. She’s rationed her whole bottle given there are no longer pharmacists to refill her prescription. But it’ll be fine. She’s lasted this long. Maybe it won’t be too bad when it gets to her.

It was the next morning and Y/N missed breakfast. Carol gave Daryl her breakfast to take to her cell where she was sleeping. She decided to sleep in that morning and no one held her against it, just that she would join Rick in the gardens later and their ride later would be shorter. Daryl sat on the edge of the bed watching her stir a bit moving onto her back and giving the archer a smile.

“Missed breakfast”

“Mm…but you brought it to bed for me”

“Didn’t want yea to miss a meal” He gave her smile setting the plate on the makeshift nightstand that was an old milk crate. “But I’m thinking…five more minutes?”

“Hm. If those five minutes mean more than sleeping…I can get down with this” Y/N smiles wrapping her arms around Daryl’s neck when he leaned into her pressing his lips against hers.

Rick watches Y/N finally step out of the prison in overalls that Daryl found her on a run as she thought it’d be fitting for farming. He was more so looking at the sadden expression on her face when she draws closer right until she locked eyes with him. Bringing that signature smile of hers back.

“Hey. Finally” He scoffs playfully seeing her roll her eyes in response. “Slow morning?”

“Uh yeah. I guess” Y/N shrugs picking up her gloves seeing him work on getting a pig pen up. “Doubt Daryl would let wild pigs live long enough for you to cage them in”

“That’s why I have you to convince him” The retired sheriff shot her a smile of his very own as he held up one of the panels for the pen’s wall. “Mind?”

“Not at all” Y/N rolled up her sleeves and replaced him in holding it up so he could nail in the conjoining wall.

“HEY YO DOLLFACE” One of the Woodbury folk going on the run that Glenn was leading called out directly to Y/N as she turns to the voice confused. “Mind opening the gate for us?”

“Uh. ONE SEC” She yells back waiting for Rick to finish as he could also help her with the other door.

The guy that called out to her stopped his car that held a now annoyed Glenn just to roll his window down leaning halfway out to Y/N.

“Hey sweet cheeks. Think when we get back that uh…I can take you out?”

“Well you see…whatever your name is—-“

“Avery”

“Avery. My boyfriend who currently has his crossbow aimed for your head from the watchtower” Her words made his eyes look up to the watchtower seeing exactly what she said. “Wouldn’t be too happy about that. Now get the fuck out of here before you let the dead in”

“Right. Right!” Avery nervously scrambles back into the truck with a now laughing Glenn beside him as they left.

Daryl scoffs lowering his weapon as he quickly looks at his partner seeing her annoyance toward the stranger stay for a moment on her face before drooping. That shot him right through the heart.

“Hey!”

Y/N looks up to Daryl giving him a small smile.

“Wanna stay in tonight?” He yells watching her body relax and her smile grow a little.

“You okay with that?” She yells back watching him nod.

“As long as I get to spend my time with yea. I don’t care where we’re at” Daryl states smiling when she blew him a kiss before returning to help Rick with the pig pen.

After another long day outside, Y/N found herself washing it all away in the showers. She told Daryl she was and to wait for her outside once it got dark enough to watch the stars. She just wanted to get out of the clothes she was in from farming and wash it off…the water was cold and the room only had her in it currently so it was okay to let it out.

The tears burned her face as if she’s been holding it in all day. Y/N wasn’t a very vocal crier and that made it easier to do it in private and not have people check in on her.

How do you even explain…that you don’t know why you feel this way?

Daryl felt her soft hands run through his hair indicating Y/N finally came out after a much needed shower. He smiles happily watching her move around him and stand before him waiting for the archer to open his legs so she could sit in between them. Pressing her back flush against his chest feeling his arms wrap around her securely making her current thoughts wash away.

“You alright, sunshine?”

“Mhm. I’m good. Are you?”

“Yeah, when I’m with yea” Daryl kisses her temple feeling her relax in his embrace.

Once her prescription was all gone, Y/N had an even harder time trying to keep her smile present on her face when she ran into her friends, especially her partner. Even if most the time she would rather stay in bed a little longer or skip meals to avoid being around people that would always have something to talk about with her.

A cold morning finally graced the prison and Daryl expected to be awake before Y/N but when he opened his eyes. She wasn’t in the bed with him and that drove his anxiety a bit. But right as he shot up in the bed is when he heard someone shushing him. The archer turned to his best friend at the entrance of his cell as Carol gestures him to come with her.

“I think it’s going to rain” Carol kept her voice low as Daryl looked at her confused.

“So? Everyone should be inside”

“Mm. I thought that when I went on the early perimeter check” Carol opens the door outside holding it open for him and that’s when he spotted the familiar form in the middle of the field. “But she’s been there since I first came out”

“Yea didn’t talk to her?”

“I just suspected she needed a moment alone. I’m only telling you that in case it does rain, you go get her”

The archer stayed by the tables in the quad behind the prison yards keeping his distance but still having his eye on his girl in case she needed him. But all she did was sit in the grass…listening to the wind…the sounds surrounding her…and her heart beat when she rest her hand on her chest. Reminding herself mentally that she is okay.

Breathing.

Living.

Everything.

Daryl straightens up watching Y/N stand up but he also had to look like he was busy doing something instead of watching her like some creep. He took his knife out and went into his jacket pocket to find the sharpening block he thought he lost a week ago. But it was perfect to make it look like he was sharpening his knife instead of watching Y/N do her thing.

“Hey baby”

“Hey” Daryl looks up from the block, smiling when Y/N kisses his forehead before joining him on his side of the picnic table. “You weren’t in bed when I woke up”

“Sorry, wanted to watch the sunrise and got lost in my train of thought” Y/N rests her cheek against his shoulder. “Did breakfast get started?”

“Nah, Carol thinks it’s gonna rain. Might make it inside”

She hums to his words bringing herself close to him enjoying his warmth as Daryl stops sharpening his knife resting his head on top of hers for a moment.

When the two went back inside that’s when Rick asked both of them to help hand out blankets to the families with small children before giving it out to the adults. The prison didn’t have heating so the blankets and Tyreese getting a fire started in a makeshift fire pit in an empty can was going to help for now.

“Hey Y/N can you do me a quick favor?” Beth gave her her puppy dog eyes instantly as Y/N nods with a small smile. “Zach just asked me to hang out with him today since the council agreed for it to be a down day”

“Okay?”

“But I promised the kids I’d read to them, can you do that for me?” She begs with a following ensemble of pleases.

Y/N couldn’t say no to her or anybody and once again only nodded and smiled.

“Thank you thank you!” Beth squeals hugging her quickly before parting and heading toward Zach’s cellblock.

Her body slouched with the realization of having to read to kids when her mind wasn’t really up for it. Daryl watches her once again while handing the last blanket to Maggie and Glenn as the two noticed his expression went from neutral to worry.

“Somethin’ on your mind Daryl?”

“Huh? Oh. Nah” Daryl tried to brush it off but neither of them were having it.

“You can talk it out man. It’s better to work the problem if there is one” Glenn states wrapping the blanket around his wife’s shoulders when the archer pulled an empty chair over to them.

“I think something’s up with Y/N”

“What do you mean?” Maggie instantly frowns as she started to worry and her sadness was always noticed by her father who had to join the conversation.

“This about Y/N?”

Daryl isn’t a whisperer. “Yeah. Have you seen her act odd lately?”

“Mm. Not really, no.” Hershel was given Daryl’s seat once he made his way over. “She’s always in a good mood when I talk to her. Even when she needed stitches that one time closing the hole in the fence”

“That cut was pretty gnarly. But that was weeks ago, when the governor was still a problem. Hell speaking of that. She was very optimistic about that whole problem” Glenn adds as a shiver went down his spine thinking about that time in Woodbury.

“Y’all ever think it’s cuz we finally got somewhere safe that it’s alright to fall apart?”

Of course it’s Rick to point out an obvious thing at the last second. Then again, he’s the only other person always around Y/N because they were working on the garden and before that they were getting a water system in that was envisioned by T-Dog.

“Explain” Daryl now back to his neutral but stern expression waiting for his brother to explain.

“Not saying she puts up a front like regular people, since she is a human ray of sunshine 99.9% of the time…but people have their off days. Where everything is fine but they aren’t.” Rick leaned up against the wall close to their small huddle. “Could be depressed”

“Hm” Hershel thought of something.

“What, daddy?” Maggie continued to have her frown plastered as she really hated to think that her friend was silently struggling.

“When the Woodbury folk first moved in, Y/N helped me organize the medicine we got from their community with ours. She was reading the labels to me and my OCD likes to have it alphabetized. But she’d linger over a few and read more into it…maybe she was lookin’ for anti-depressants.”

“Did see her taking something all the time when we were back in our quarry days. Maybe it was”

She never told me about that Daryl frowns now thinking the spiel about how sometimes people don’t tell others about what they are on because they don’t want to be seen as weak. Which only made him feel bad when he did have those thoughts that she looked weaker one day compared to a previous one.

“Daryl, if yea didn’t know, you know why right?” And like always Maggie knew what he was thinking in that moment and all he did was nod in agreement to her small question. “I know Beth asked a favor from her. Y/N is willing to do anything when feelin’ anything…but when she’s done. Just be there for her and take it at her speed”

And he did exactly that. By starting with leaving the small huddle to go listen in on story time until it was done so that he could be with his girl. The small huddle agreed to not bring up the realization unless Y/N wanted to. Or if something were to go in that direction. Just to be more appreciative for when she does things on days she doesn’t feel well enough to do so.

Right as Daryl entered the room that the council decided to make the library, he watches Y/N read the last book from the pile that the kids had set out for her to read to them. Her smile was ghostly there but her eyes still held that shine to them when she had that joy of hers inside.

“The End” Y/N smiles closing the last book. “Now you guys go back to your guardians…there should be warmth waiting for you” she continues to hold a smile watching the kids flood out and Daryl step out of their way. She rises to her feet from the chair approaching Carl. “And you can stop keeping an eye on me, but thank you” even Carl suspected something was up and kept an eye on Y/N for Daryl and their family without any of them knowing. She of course hugged him on his way out before Daryl stepped in. “Hey…”

“Hey…wanna go lie down? Cellblock should be all to ourselves for a little while” Daryl slowly approaches her watching her eyes question if there was an ulterior motive to his statement but he shook his head. “Let’s go back to our cell…and just let me hold yea”

His words were always so soothing to him and she couldn’t help but fall apart in her silent way before him. The tears came suddenly and she didn’t say a peep, all she did was bring herself even closer…enough for him to wrap his arms around her protectively. Providing her the security she needed in that moment letting her silently sob into his chest, releasing the weight from her heart and her mind.

The two eventually moved to their cell and Y/N curled up into Daryl sniffling a bit, feeling his thumb gently wipe away the tears that fell every now and then as his other hand played with her hair. He left kisses to the crown of her head or her forehead every now and then listening to her breath.

Simply just being…

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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random-thot-generator · 9 months

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Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 9

Frenemies/Tenderness AU

NINE: Grow Me Something Better

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

Summary: While staying at Riley's house to heal and recuperate, he presents you with a surprising proposition.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mention of minor character's death, Unapologetic Fluff, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Been a minute. Hope it's worth the wait.)

Word Count: 3.2K

Chapter Nine

'Looking around and all I see is people happy with what they're given Life is pretty sweet, I'm told I guess I'm just shit outta luck growing a lemon tree I'm gonna burn it down And grow me something better...'

— Post Malone, "Lemon Tree"

Simon wakes slowly, his conscious mind rising like an air bubble in deep water.

He floats up through the dark depths of sleep, passing through the amorphous shapes of dreams to pop awake in the warm reality of his own bed.

His eyes are open but remain hooded, a sigh escaping his lips as he rolls onto his back. It's been ages since he slept this hard. It feels strange, waking lax and loose-limbed, thoughts fuzzy. He blinks at the muted brightness of the room, brows furrowing as he glances down to see sunlight laddered across the foot of the bed. Grunting, his head turns to squint at the clock on the nightstand, shocked when he sees it's nearly fifteen after ten in the morning.

"…the bloody hell?" he mumbles, confused and feeling unaccountably late for some unknown reason.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, head swiveling to take in the empty but rumpled sheets beside him, brows furrowing deeper.

Where are you?

His hand slides over the sheets, cool to the touch, and a frisson of cold panic takes hold. "Dee!" he barks out, his voice pure gravel.

The house is silent.

Grumbling under his breath, he throws off the covers. Plucking at the front of his T-shirt, he notices the tell-tale stain on the left side of his chest where you had drooled on him in your sleep. His gaze softens at the sight even as his anxiety propels him from the bed.

"DEE!" he bellows, his deep voice booming through the house like a sudden clap of thunder.

Still no answer.

He's in the hall and jogging down the stairs in seconds, socked feet slipping as he rounds the banister in the foyer. His eyes dart into the sitting room, noting that the telly is on before his eyes zero in on the kitchen door. He barges into the room, sees an abandoned mug and a protein bar wrapper on the island, but you're nowhere to be seen, and neither is Fiona, for that matter.

Had you talked her into taking you home?

He sees the kettle is still switched on and circles round the island with a muttered curse to turn it off. He's already making plans to find you and bring you back when his eyes catch movement through the window above the sink. His heart thuds hard in relief when he sees you ambling around the back garden, looking over the fallow flower beds.

"Bloody hell," he mutters with a sigh, bracing his hands on the edge of the sink. His eyes track your meandering progress around the yard.

You're moving slow and stiff, but you're moving, bare feet shuffling through the wet grass. Shaking his head, he goes back upstairs to retrieve a towel, a pair of socks and his shower slides, before heading out to join you.

He sees your head turn as he steps outside, pausing to drop the bundle in his hands on the patio chair before walking out to meet you. The corner of your mouth ticks up as he comes to a stop beside you.

"Your garden looks like shite, Ri."

Simon grunts. "Never here long enough t'mess wif a garden. 'Sides, don't know owt 'bout gardenin'. Pay a lad t'mow an' trim. Tha's good 'nough."

You cluck your tongue in disapproval. "Shame to let it all go to waste. You could have a lovely garden with this much space."

"Tha's more yer thing than mine, doll. I'd muck it up, fer sure."

"You would not," you mutter, nudging him. "You'd be a good gardener. You've got the patience for it."

He hums, unconvinced but not in the mood to argue about it. "Never had a garden before. What about you?"

Your eyes took on a distant look, a wistful, sweet smile on your face. "My mum kept a garden. I can still remember it."

Simon slants a cautious look your way, taken by surprise. You rarely speak of your mum. You had mentioned a car accident when he had asked, but didn't say more, the subject closed. He understood enough to know to say no more about it.

Of course, he had looked up the news articles and police report. It had gutted him, reading it. Your mum had slid off the road during a rainstorm, the car flipping over into a flooded ditch. Too injured to free herself, she had ordered you to unbuckle yourself and climb out a broken window to safety. You had sat on the muddy bank and watched as the car slowly filled with water, unable to do anything as your poor mum drowned. You were only six.

"What was in her garden?" he asks, his voice a low, soothing rumble.

Your eyes widen slightly as your mind travels back in time. "Roses along the fence line, a lilac bush outside the kitchen window. She had vegetable and herb beds; I remember weeding them with her. She planted daylilies in the back left corner and..." You pause, then sniff out a little laugh. "Her 'apple-less' tree was planted on the right side."

"Apple-less tree?" he repeats, confused.

You nod, an amused light shining in your eyes. "Mum bought the sapling not long after she and da got married. No one told her that she would need at least two apple trees to get them to bear fruit. They produce by cross pollination, so with no other apple trees nearby, no fruit. It was pretty to look at when it bloomed, but it never produced a single apple. Da used to tease mum about it, called it her 'apple-less' tree. He loved winding her up, making her laugh..."

Your words trail off, a look of longing on your haunted face, and Simon feels his chest constrict, then has to look away. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and guides you back towards the patio.

"C'mon, doll. Need to get ya outta this wet grass. Too cold fer ya to go barefoot, yeah?"

He leads you to the chair, having you sit down before he kneels by your feet. Taking up the towel, he begins to gently chafe your feet with it to dry and warm them up at the same time.

He glances up at you, then looks back down. "Ya know, if ya wanted, ya could plant yerself a garden here. Be nice, comin' home an' sittin' in my back garden with summat to actually look at."

You sniff a laugh, shaking your head. "I'd have to be over here all the time to tend to it. I wouldn't torture you like that," you joke, prodding his chest with your toes.

He grunts a laugh then moves to the other foot, pausing when he sees the bruised shape of Finch's fingers wrapped around your ankle. His fingers graze it with the lightest touch before he curls his hand around it, hiding the mark. "Wouldn't mind it— havin' ya around." His hand slides down from your ankle to cradle your foot. "Least I'd know yer safe."

You can hear the concern in his words, marveling at his penchant for taking on your problems, like you're his responsibility to bear. You wiggle your foot in his grasp, drawing his attention back to your face. Smirking at him, you quip, "Should I move into the garden shed, so you can keep a closer eye on me?"

He goes very still as he peers up at you, caught up in your words. His fingers flex around your foot, deep umber eyes gleaming and earnest when he answers, "No. Ya should take the room across from mine."

You try to make light of it, sniff in amusement like he's still joking, but you can see that's he not, and your smile fades. "Ri..."

His eyes dart between yours, his body coiling, ready to pounce on any argument you might pose and rip it to shreds. "I mean it, doll. If ya want t'put my mind at ease, then move in wif me."

You heave a sigh. "Ri, I know this whole thing with Jerry has put you on edge, but—"

"No," he says emphatically. "Listen t'me. This ain't a spur o' the moment decision. 'M not over-reactin' 'cause o' wha' happened las' night. This has been on my mind fer awhile now."

His accent has grown so thick, you know he means every word he says. "Ri, you just avoided me for a whole week because of a bad row. How are you going to do that if we live together? I'd be in your personal space— all the time."

"Then be in it, I don't care," he growls, clasping your foot to his chest. His eyes have grown fierce with his determination. "Get in my face, give me fuckin' hell, run me outta my own bloody house. Doesn't matter. 'S what I want."

You shake your head, dubious. "Ri, I know it's in your nature to be protective, but you don't have to take care of me. I've been on my own for awhile; I know how to take care of myself." Then you consider what occurred the night before and amend your statement. "So long as I use my common sense, anyway."

His strategic mind tells him to fall back, go at it from a different angle instead of pushing the same point. He focuses on your foot, rubbing it gently between his big hands, bits of dead grass littering the paving stones between his knees.

"'S not jus' about protectin' ya," he murmurs lowly, keeping his voice even and soft. "Ya work yerself to the bone, doll, jus' t'keep yer head above water. If ya live here, ya won't have t'pay rent. Place is already paid fer. We can split the bills, if tha's what ya want, or don't. Doesn't matter t'me. It's worth it t'have ya here lookin' out fer the place while 'm gone. It would help us both out, don'cha see?"

He's wise to your hesitation, but he knows he's got those cogs turning in that sharp little mind of yours. He's revealed his strategy, appealing to your common sense, the one thing he knows you will always fall back on when making an important decision; your practical nature is your default setting. Now, he just has to wait for the other shoe to drop.

"And what about what happened in Shoreditch?" you push back, and there it is.

"I was... outta line," he admits, gaze dropping. "I took it too far. When ya wouldn't say where ya were goin' or what ya were doin', comin' home exhausted, I was convinced ya were seein' some bloke who was usin' ya fer what he could get. 'S why I decided to track ya. I wanted ya t'lead me to him. Was gonna have a word with the sorry bastard."

You scoff at the notion, but don't comment on it, more pressing questions needing to be addressed. "And how did you do it? Follow me, I mean."

He almost balks, but then grumbles it out. "I stole yer phone, had yer GPS signal boosted an' linked to a receiver. 'S how I found ya so quick las' night. I know it was a shite thing t'do, but 'm glad I did it, now."

While you aren't pleased to hear what he did— you're right pissed about it actually, yet you're somehow not surprised. On the one hand, he basically stalked you, but on the other, you couldn't deny his actions were done out of concern and ended up saving you from a terrible situation. Not knowing what to do or how to feel, you chose to set aside. For now.

"I want to talk about what you said to me in the alley. You accused me of giving lap dances to pervs to pay my rent. Why even ask me to move in with you if that's your opinion of me?"

This is the one question he has been dreading above all others. This could all blow up in face if he did a bad job of explaining himself. He didn't expect you to excuse what he said to you, but he wanted you to understand what led him to do it.

"Ya tol' me once that yer da taught ya self-defense, yeah? When yer bein' attacked, ya go on the defensive— ya fight. What did yer da tell ya do?"

Your brows knit together, wondering where he's going with this. "Go for the weakest points on the body. Hurt them before they hurt you, so you can get away."

He nods. "Tha's wha' I did in the alley that day. I wasn't expectin' ya t'catch me out there. Then when ya tore into me, and I... I went on the defensive; I went fer yer weak spot. I didn't say what I did 'cause that's what I thought of ya; I said it 'cause I knew it would hit ya the hardest."

He ducks his head to meet your gaze. "I ain't in no position to judge ya, doll. I kill fer a livin'. Wha' the hell could be worse than tha'? I won't pretend I like the thought o' ya strippin', but I won't judge ya fer it. Yer jus' tryin' t'get by the best ya can."

You scoff again, shaking your head at how dense he can be sometimes. "I'm not a stripper, ya fuckin' eejit. I clean the private rooms at The Grind. Did you not notice the club was closed that day?"

Simon had never been so glad to be proved a fuckin' eejit. Your words are like a soothing balm to his mind. For the past week, the thought of other men seeing you naked, putting their filthy hands on you, had eaten him alive. Yet as pleased as he is to finally know the truth, he's also confused by it.

"Then why go t'all tha' trouble t'hide yer job?"

"Would you want to admit you make your money scrubbing cum stains off the walls? It's basically a brothel, Ri, and I get paid to deep clean sex rooms and toss out used condoms. It's disgusting; it's bloody embarrassing."

Simon nods in understanding and returns to his task, working his too-large socks onto your cold feet, then slips the slides on them. It's almost comical how big they are on you. Gripping your knee, he looks up to meet your eyes again. "Ain't no shame in makin' an honest livin', doll. I would never think less of ya fer it."

He gets back to his feet, resolute to see this through to its end. "I know we fight, doll, an' I doubt that'll ever change. Thing is, no matter how hard we fight, no matter how pissed we are at each other, when we need each other, we show up. We take care o' each other. Tha's as close t'family as I'll ever get, doll. It ain't perfect, but it's real an' it's ours."

With that, he leaves you to make up your mind.

You're quiet the rest of the day, and Simon knows you're thinking, picking over everything that was said, analyzing it, deciding if his offer is the best thing for the both of you. He leaves you to it, gives you your space, knowing there's nothing else to be done for it; you either will or you won't; he'll accept your decision either way.

When you knock at the door to his office and poke your head in to say goodnight, he wishes you the same, then listens as you go about your routine before bed. He wonders if you'll get much sleep tonight, because he doubts that he will. Still, there's a calmness that settles over him as he gets into bed and turns out the light, the knowledge that you're just a room away and safe giving him the peace of mind to close his eyes and rest.

The next morning, he wakes, checks in on you, goes for a run, checks in on you again, then goes to the Dog to fix the door he broke, leaving a note on the island to let you know. He hopes you'll still be there when he returns.

As he replaces the door, Ollie tells him about the police investigation that's been opened on Finch for multiple sex offenses. His informant relayed the news that Finch is now considered a fugitive on the run, after his car was found abandoned in a car park near Heysham Port in Lancashire. Simon is pleased, glad that their plan worked, glad that he played a part in ensuring that Finch never hurts you or anyone else again.

When he returns home, the house is empty, but your old messenger bag is still hanging on the peg by the door, your trainers still set next to his old boots in the corner. He wanders to the patio doors and there you are, almost ankle-deep in the mud of one of the garden beds, a pile of dead plants uprooted and tossed to the side.

Simon crosses the yard, his heart beating fast in his chest. "What're ya doin', doll?"

You stop, stand up straight and arch your sore back, hands on your hips. "Decided I want the vegetable garden here. Need to go by the nursery later, and the hardware store, too. Need some proper gardening tools."

Simon nods calmly, though he's pumping his fist on the inside. "I'll take ya. Jus' say when, an' we'll go."

You nod, sniff, then slant a look at him. "When I move house, I'd rather keep my couch. Yours is shite. Like sitting on a slab of concrete."

He huffs but nods. "Tha's fine but keep your grubby mitts off my Barca. Tha' stays, no matter what."

You shrug, then start picking your way out of the garden bed, taking his hand when he holds it out to you. You both peer down at your mud-caked bare feet, and Simon shakes his head. "Get over t'the hose an' wash yer bloody feet. I'll go get ya a towel an' some clean socks."

Later, while you're wandering the nursery perusing the plants, Simon goes off on his own, returning a few minutes later with a receipt that he tucks in his pocket without saying a word. You end up bickering over who's going to pay for everything as the cashier looks on with bored disinterest, then split it down the middle.

The following morning, you get up and head downstairs to make yourself some coffee, when you happen to spy Riley in the garden, the water hose extended out to the far-right corner of the property. Curious, you go out to see what he's up to, but your steps slow to a halt when you see what he's done.

There are now two new sapling trees planted at the back of the garden, a muddy spade and empty soil bags tossed into a nearby wheelbarrow. You step up to stand beside Riley as he waters them, looking up to meet his gaze when he bumps you with his shoulder.

"Couldn't get ya one like yer mum's. Had t'get dwarf apple trees cause o' the housing code restrictions. Figured ya'd still want apples, though, so I got ya two."

Linking your arm through his, you turn your head to swipe at an errant tear, but your smile is radiant when you look up at him again.

"They're perfect, Ri. I love them."

He's smiling underneath his mask when he says, "Ya know I did this fer purely selfish reasons. I like those little apple hand pies ya make."

You laugh, poking him in the side. "You'll be waiting awhile, then. It takes a couple of years at least before they'll produce any apples."

He shrugs, not bothered at all. "Tha's alright. I don't mind waitin', if you don't."

You stare up into his warm umber eyes and shake your head, heart overflowing. "No. I don't mind waiting at all."

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@stillinracooncity @cumikering @cutiecusp @deadbranch @ghostlythots @thetiredtoad0-0 @glitterypirateduck @gothgirl6-6-6 @sofasoap @cathnoneofyourbusiness @shuttlelauncher81 @luminousbeings-crudematter @crunchlite @delilah-grimes @bobochacha @igotmajordaddyissues

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x fem reader #simon riley x fem reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #cod ghost x fem reader #Love Thy Frenemy #Frenemies/Tenderness AU

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