Daydreaming

Gobbling up all your fanfics! - 30’s -

[laupuntoexe]

Harry Castillo × OFC

(a four-part mini series)

Summary: After four draining days in London, Clara escapes to the Electric Cinema expecting nothing more than a quiet evening. Her plan was simple: watch In the Mood for Love, drink an overpriced gin and tonic, and avoid talking to anyone. Then Harry sits down beside her… and ruins all three within five minutes. The film ends. Their story doesn’t.

Warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT MDNI (18+), Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, Flirting, Sexual Tension, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, P in V Sex, Alcohol Consumption, Adult Characters, One-Night Stand, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Foreplay, Orgasms, Aftercare.

~ NOW SHOWING ~

🎬 Part I • Fade In

🎬 Part II • Close-Up (Coming Soon)

🎬 Part III • Final Cut (Coming Soon)

🎬 Part IV • End Credits (Coming Soon)

[noahkahanblog]

Pittsburgh we laugh we cried I became a furry I love this city so much

[littledes1re]

Masterlist | Completed

How to disappear

Summary: after the passing of your mom, you and your dads best friend get close. You find comfort in him and he does the same because he also once lost something. While a relationship between you two sounds wrong and taboo, your feelings grow stronger. But Joel is an old man, guilt and the fear of losing you too, overwhelms him. So he leaves you.

Pairing: Old!dbf!joel x fem!reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut, grief, anger, guilt, alcohol problems, cheating, age gap! (23 and 61), a father who doesn’t care about her daughter, lots of crying and feelings, pregnancy trope

Chapters → Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

[pedroscurls]

blurred lines (pt. 7)

summary: it's day six on the island... and you and harry finally talk.

pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader content warning(s): MATURE (18+ MDNI), fake/pretend relationship, friends with benefits, two idiots in love and neither of them want to admit anything, accidental physical altercation (it's very brief, blink and you'll miss it), y'all this is just so heartbreaking, no use of y/n. word count: 5k a/n: can y'all believe that we have one more chapter left??? THIS CHAPTER literally broke my heart. i really had to tell myself to follow my outline instead of just going off the rails lmao. please don't hate me after this one though. i promise there's a happy ending. hope you enjoy <3 pt. 6 - pt 8. || series masterlist. || read on AO3. song: back to friends by sombr

That following morning, you had woken up in Harry’s arms. You should have felt relieved, but instead, you felt a weight on your chest. You had sex with him last night—drunken, but good fucking sex. You slowly moved away from him, careful not to wake him, but he was already up. 

“Leaving me already?” Harry asked, rubbing his eyes. 

You sighed and sat up from bed. “Last night was—”

“A mistake?” He finished for you. “Is that what you’d call it?” 

“Harry,” you whispered. 

“It wasn’t a mistake for me,” he continued, slowly sitting up from bed now too. “For once since this fucking trip, I’m seeing everything so clearly now.” 

You shook your head. You still had your back facing him. You didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t think you were ready for it either. 

“You hurt me,” you said over your shoulder. “And I didn’t think you would ever be someone who would.” 

Then, you stood from the bed and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind you. 

Harry sighed. When he heard the water run, he stood from the bed too and left the room, walking down the hallway and into the kitchen. 

One more day left and everything would change forever. 

You emerged from the bathroom half an hour later. You were dressed casually—a pair of black spandex shorts and a light grey tank top—for a morning walk and massage scheduled with Harry’s mother. 

When you left the bedroom, you were expecting to see Harry seated in the living area or in the kitchen. You didn’t expect to see him shirtless and in his board shorts jumping into the water. You bit your lower lip and watched him from the living area, the sun cascading down into his tanned skin. 

You shook your head and looked down at your phone. It was a message from his mother, telling you that she’d be seeing you soon. You glanced back outside only to see him climbing out of the water and onto the deck, water trickling down his body. 

“Are you leaving?” Harry asked, a towel in hand as he used it to dry himself. 

“Oh, um, I’m meeting your mom this morning.” 

He nodded. “When you get back… can we talk?” 

You shook your head. “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”

“Baby,” he sighed. Then, he said your name. “Please.” 

“You’re not changing my mind,” you said quietly. 

“I know,” he replied. “I just—I don’t want us to leave things like this.” 

You sighed. 

Harry’s eyes softened. 

Then, he pleaded once more. “Please.” 

“Fine,” you said. “Tomorrow’s the big party before we leave, so we should—we should at least pretend that we’re okay.” 

Harry nodded. He let out a relieved breath. “Okay, great. I’ll—I’ll uh, see you later then.” He took a step forward out of instinct, almost leaning down to kiss your cheek but he stopped himself. 

Especially because you turned on your heel to begin walking away from him anyway. 

Harry watched you for a moment, hoping that you’d spare him a glance before you reached the front door. 

But you didn’t. 

You kept on walking like last night didn’t happen. Like the things you both said didn’t matter. 

Peter walked through the threshold of Harry’s villa and glanced at the other man with a clenched jaw. A part of him felt guilty about finding out that Harry’s relationship with you was fake; Harry felt the need to lie to him and to his parents just so they would stop asking him about Lucy and other prospects. 

“Peter,” Harry said, shutting the door. 

Peter looked around. He didn’t see you. 

“She’s with mom,” Harry added. “She’s not here.” 

Peter sighed in relief. Harry had made him promise yesterday not to tell anyone he knew, especially you. 

“How are you doing?” Peter asked. 

“Terrible,” he answered honestly. “But we leave the day after tomorrow, so just gotta get through that, right?” 

Harry walked to the living area and sat on the sofa. He stared out the dock, having kept the large sliding door open to let the natural light and warmth into the villa. “Did you tell Charlotte?” 

Peter followed him and sat on the sofa next to his brother. “You know I didn’t.” 

“Thanks,” he sighed. 

“I can’t believe you—you had to lie.” 

Harry glanced over at him. “You all wouldn’t let me breathe,” he admitted. “If mom or dad wasn’t trying to set me up, there you were. Trying to hook me up with Charlotte’s friends. I just—I just wanted it all to stop.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. “We just want you happy. Lucy—she—”

“I know,” Harry interrupted. “It’s done and over with.” 

“Did you even love her?” Peter asked. 

Harry shrugged. “Does everything have to be about love? We were both compatible. I would’ve added value to her life.” 

Peter shook his head. “Love is everything, Harry.” 

“Right.” 

“And Adore? You really thought you’d find someone?” 

“You did.” 

“I got lucky,” Peter said. 

Harry sighed. “I had a lot of matches.” 

“Doesn’t mean they’re all going to work out.” 

He looked away. Harry’s mind drifted to you. Always to you. “Yeah, sure.” 

“What is the plan after this? Once we’re back in New York?” 

Harry’s jaw clenched. “She and I go our separate ways,” he answered. 

“Really?” 

He shrugged. “It’s what she wants.” 

“But what do you want?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Peter reached out and rested a hand on Harry’s forearm. “It matters, Harry. What you want matters too.” 

He looked down at his brother’s hand and sighed shakily. Harry had been keeping everything bottled in—away from his family, away from you. Saying it out loud would make it real and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that, especially not if the end result would be you leaving him for good. 

“It doesn’t,” Harry repeated. “I tried, okay? I—I tried. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.” 

Peter sighed. “If this relationship was all a lie, then… then why does it seem so real?” 

“We had a physical relationship before all of this,” he admitted. 

“What?” 

“Sometimes, she’d show up at my place. Oftentimes, I’d show up at hers.” 

“And you both just…” 

“Yeah,” Harry finished for him. “It was only ever sex. Before this trip, that was all it ever was. She’d use me. I’d use her. We knew what the expectations were for each other. I didn’t want her. She didn’t want me.” 

Peter furrowed a brow. “How long was that going on for?” 

“Long enough,” he answered. 

“Even during Lucy?” 

Harry shook his head. “We wouldn’t—we wouldn’t see each other if either of us were in a relationship or exclusively seeing someone else. It really was just only sex.” 

“So, what was different about this trip?” 

“I—I started seeing her differently,” he confessed. “I don’t know, Peter. The plan was to always go back to before once the trip was over.“ 

“But?” 

“But now, she doesn’t want anything to do with me after this,” he sighed, bringing a hand to his face. Harry shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t slept, not really, especially since he was holding you all night. 

“Do you really believe that?” 

“You didn’t see her face.” 

“You love her,” Peter whispered. “Don’t you?” 

Harry opened his eyes and looked over at Peter. His deep brown eyes glistened with tears threatening to spill over. He hadn’t known what love was… not until this trip. 

Not until you. 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I do… and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“Yes, you do,” Peter said. “You know exactly what you need to do to fix it.” 

“But I don’t think it’d be enough.” Harry confessed. “Her finding out that I had an Adore membership… I didn’t think she’d react that way.” 

Peter let a small smile line his lips. He looked over at him and leaned over to squeeze his older brother’s shoulder. “That’s because she loves you too, Harry.” 

He looked over at him. Eyes slightly widened and lips parted in surprise. “What?” 

“Think about it. If she didn’t care about you, or love you too, do you think she would have reacted that way?” 

“I don’t—I don’t know.” 

“Come on,” Peter chuckled. “You had that membership for a reason… and you didn’t tell her for a reason.” 

“I didn’t think she’d care.” 

“And now that you know she does…” 

“Oh,” Harry said. He looked out onto the deck once more. He should’ve felt relief, should’ve felt the weight on his shoulders lift. But instead, it did the complete opposite. 

Because if you did love him, why were you so willing to throw it all away? 

Why would you still want to push him away?

“Just… talk to her.” 

“And what if she still doesn’t want this? Doesn’t want me?” Harry asked quietly. 

“Then, you move forward. You move on.” 

“And if I can’t?”

Peter sighed. “Things will work out,” he said softly. 

Harry scoffed and shook his head. “Things don’t usually work out for me.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Peter replied. “Just be honest with her. Be honest with how you feel.” 

Harry nodded once. 

“I’m serious.” 

“Right.” 

“What do you have to lose, Harry? You’re losing her anyway.” 

He looked at the younger man with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. “I’ll… I’ll try.” 

You were lying on your abdomen on the massage table, eyes shut and next to Harry’s mother. The masseuse had come in and adjusted your towel before applying some oil onto your back. You tried to relax, tried to just revel in the moment, but you couldn’t. 

All you could think about was Harry. 

Last night. 

The sex. 

The falling asleep in his arms. 

The fact that he came inside of you. 

This trip wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was meant to be easy—fake the relationship and then head back to New York once it was done and over with. 

You both established rules. 

Agreed that you both would follow them. 

You weren’t only angry at him, but you were also frustrated with yourself. Before this, it never crossed your mind that Harry could potentially be someone you’d want to be with. 

It wasn’t like he ever showed interest either. The relationship you had with him was purely sex, simply out of convenience. 

But this trip changed everything. You started to wonder if maybe it was there all along. It had to be, right? The physical attraction could only go so far, but the lingering glances and the words you said to each other these last few days had to have come from somewhere. 

You both stopped pretending this was something other than it was. 

Because you slipped into your role so easily. 

And Harry welcomed you like it was second nature to him. 

“You’re tense,” the masseuse said softly, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I just—” You sighed and slowly lifted your head off the table to look over your shoulder at him. “Can I just have a few minutes?” 

“Of course,” he nodded with a smile. “I’ll be right outside.” 

You sat up and wrapped the towel around yourself, climbing off the table to pull on a robe. His mother nodded to her own masseuse who also left the room before the older woman did the same. She sat up from the table and pulled on her own robe before walking over to you. 

“You okay?” She asked softly. 

You nodded and turned to look over at her, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She sighed. “What is going on with you and Harry?”

“Nothing,” you said softly. “I’m just thinking about how things will change after this trip. It was nice… to get away from real life for a bit,” you lied.

His mother arched a brow before she poured two glasses of wine and handed one over to you. “You know, you’re a terrible liar,” she laughed quietly. 

You shook your head and looked down at your glass of wine, taking a careful sip before you looked back out the window to the amazing view of the island. “What if I do love him?” You asked quietly. 

His mother smiled. “I think that’d be a good thing, no?”

You looked at her and your lower lip trembled as you tightened your grip around the wine glass. You were standing in front of a woman that meant so much to Harry, lying to her face, and it all felt so… wrong. Before this trip, they were just your employers. Now, it felt like they were welcoming you to their family. 

“Mrs. Castillo—”

She clicked her tongue. “That’s too formal, honey. I know you have been working for us for years, but I’d like to think that our relationship has changed since then.” 

You felt your breath catch in your throat. 

Tears began to pool at your eyes.

His mother immediately noticed. She set down her wine glass and pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back gently. “I think you need to listen to your heart,” she whispered. “You’re letting your mind do all the thinking. What does your heart tell you?” 

You bit your lower lip to prevent it from trembling even further. You knew what your heart wanted. You knew who your heart wanted, but your mind told you otherwise. Harry didn’t want you. If he did, he’d have done something about it sooner than this trip.

Right? 

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

She let out a quiet laugh and pulled back to look at you. With her gentle hands, she cupped your cheeks and slowly wiped your tears away. “Yes, you do.” 

“Love—it’s scary, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “It is, but when you find it—when you truly find it—it’s the best thing in the world.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” you answered honestly. “I don’t know if Harry—if he’s someone that’s meant for me.” 

She smiled. Wiped away the last tear that trickled down your cheek. “And if he isn’t, that’s okay… but I think there’s something else that’s holding you back, honey. Why do you think you’re not ready?” 

“Because if I was, I wouldn’t be this afraid of it. Of… love.” 

“I think that’s the point,” she replied. “Love isn’t meant to be easy—finding it especially isn’t—but when you find the right person, everything else just falls into place.” 

“Were you afraid? Of loving your husband?” 

She nodded instantly. “Of course,” she answered. “But not taking that risk was something I was even more scared of… because what if I hadn’t allowed myself to love him? What if I didn’t tell him how I felt? What if I just ran away? We wouldn’t be here,” she continued. “Love is all about taking risks, honey… and yes, I’m biased because Harry’s my son, but he has never looked at anyone else the way he looks at you.”

You inhaled sharply.

“And that look—it didn’t only start from this trip.”

“What?” You asked.

“Whenever you worked one of our events, you’d always catch his eye.” 

You bit your lower lip. You knew he would look at you during those events, but you always assumed it was because of his anticipation and impatience to get you alone—to take you to bed like you both had done so many times. You didn’t think that anyone else noticed and you certainly didn’t think that it meant anything more than just the physical relationship you both started. 

“I mean, you are a beautiful young woman, of course, but it was different. He never looked at any other woman the way he looks at you. Not even Lucy,” she said. “And you don’t have to tell me what you want, or explain to me how you’re feeling, but you do need to be honest with yourself.”

“What if I can’t?” You asked. “What if I can’t be honest with myself?”

“Then be honest with Harry.” 

You nodded. 

“Do you mind—do you mind if I end this massage early and just take a walk to clear my head?” 

His mother smiled. “Of course. I’ll see you at dinner tonight though, okay? It’ll be at our villa, just the immediate family before the big party tomorrow.” 

“Yes, we’ll be there,” you said, pulling her back into a tight hug. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For listening.” 

“Always, sweetheart.”

After your walk, you stepped foot into the villa and found Harry standing in the kitchen area with a cup of coffee. His hair was damp and he was dressed casually, but when he saw you, his eyes widened and he set the cup down onto the counter.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” you answered. 

“You’re back early.” 

“I ended my massage early and just went for a walk instead.” 

“Oh,” Harry nodded, rounding the kitchen counter to get a bit closer to you. “How’s my mom?”

“She’s good,” you answered once more, biting your lower lip. Everything about this interaction felt forced—awkward. “I think she’s excited for the party tomorrow.”

Harry chuckled. “I’d imagine so,” he replied. 

“But we do have dinner tonight at their villa.”

He nodded. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” you repeated.

You were about to turn on your heel before Harry reached out for you. His hand slowly touched your wrist and you turned around to look up at him.

“Can we talk?” 

You nodded. “I think that was the plan, right?” 

“Right.”

You pulled your hand gently from his and walked towards the living area, sitting on the couch and pulling your legs onto it. 

Harry wasn’t sure if you wanted him next to you, so he opted for the loveseat adjacent to where you were sitting. It was like he was tiptoeing around you, not wanting to scare you away. So, he took a deep breath and said, “Peter knows.”

“What?”

“I told him about… about us. About our deal. About what we planned.”

You sighed. “What did he say?” 

He shrugged. “He just couldn’t believe I had to lie.” 

“Yeah, well, he’s also part of the reason why you did, so…”

“I know. I told him that. Said that him and our parents just—they wouldn’t let me breathe. It was like I was suffocating.”

You nodded and looked away from him. 

Slowly, Harry leaned forward. “Baby…”

You bit your lower lip, keeping your eyes away from him as you felt tears slowly trickle at the corner of your eyes. You brought a hand up to your cheek and wiped them away slowly. “Harry, I don’t—I don’t think I’m capable of this. You were right. I’ve never been in love before. All those relationships—they were never the real thing.” 

Harry cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, but you continued. 

“And again, you were fucking right. I broke a rule. The one important fucking rule,” you said, finally looking over at him with tears in your eyes. “This stopped being fake that minute we shared that dance. You know it. I know it.” 

“Yes, and I think we should—”

You shook your head. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” You interrupted quietly. “None of this would’ve happened if you didn’t bring me on this trip. We never—we never wanted each other like that. We understood what we were to each other.”

“Things change,” Harry said. 

“You never wanted me that way,” you whispered. “And that’s okay because I—I didn’t think I ever wanted you that way either.” 

Harry felt his own tears now. “I can’t—I can’t go back to New York like this.” 

“You’re gonna have to… because I will have to as well,” you said, voice shaky now. “We both just got caught up in this trip, that’s all. Once we’re back in New York, I’m giving my resignation—”

“Baby, no,” he said, standing from the loveseat to sit on the coffee table in front of you. Harry reached for your hands, but you pulled them away slowly. 

“Be honest with yourself,” you whispered. “You had Adore’s services for a reason, Harry. I will never be someone you want and you know what, that’s okay. I—I’m happy for the time we shared with each other.” 

He shook his head, tears trickling down his cheeks now. “Stop—”

“We’re going to finish out this trip like we planned—pretending that we’re in this relationship, but once this trip is done, we go back to New York and go our separate ways.”

“No.”

You reached up to cup his cheek now, wiping away the fallen tears slowly. “You’ll find someone that’s a better match for you. Someone honest, someone real… and I’m sorry. For the things I said before.”

“I canceled Adore,” he blurted out. 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have.”

Harry shook his head. “How—how can you look at me and pretend that I’m someone you’ve never met? After all this, how—”

“Because I have to,” you interjected. “Because if this was real, it would’ve happened a long time ago.” 

“You can’t keep telling me what’s real and what isn’t,” Harry mumbled. “What I feel for you—it’s fucking real… and I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, but it is. You’re—”

“Let’s just get through tonight and tomorrow,” you whispered quietly, slowly standing from the couch. 

“Baby,” Harry pleaded. 

“We have one more day, Harry,” you said, wiping your tears away and straightening up. “Let’s make it a good one, okay?” You turned on your heel and walked down the hallway, leaving him in the living area.

Harry stared at the couch, tears strolling down his cheeks now. He clenched his jaw and when he heard the bedroom door shut, he finally stood up and walked towards the kitchen area again. He didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t know how to change your mind. 

If this was what you wanted—if this was going to make you happy—then he’d listen. 

Even if it was breaking his fucking heart.

Later that night, both you and Harry walked into his parents’ villa. Even now, it felt awkward. He wouldn’t touch you and you wouldn’t look at him. The walk to the villa was quiet too—almost like you both were just counting the minutes before the trip ended. 

“Harry!” His mother smiled and looked between the both of you. She noticed it instantly. You leaned up to kiss his cheek, but he pulled away before your lips could touch him. You sighed and excused yourself, leaving Harry alone with his mother. 

“You okay?” She asked.

“Fine,” he answered. “Drinks?” 

His mother sighed and pointed to the kitchen. “Pace yourself.”

“I’m fine, ma,” he said, kissing her cheek quickly before he made his way to the kitchen. Harry saw you with Charlotte, sitting on the couch and laughing at what she was saying. Harry tightened his jaw. 

How could you act like nothing was wrong? 

How could you act normal when his heart was breaking? 

Peter stepped up to him and clasped a hand on his shoulder. “So… how’d the talk go?”

“Fucking horrible,” he answered, downing a shot of tequila before pouring himself another one. “I shouldn’t have listened to you.” 

Peter furrowed a brow. “What?”

“You and your wife shouldn’t have fucking meddled either,” he muttered. “From now on, leave me alone. My life is my own.”

“Harry, I—”

“Do I make myself clear?” He interrupted, staring at his brother with narrowed eyes.

“Y—Yeah,” Peter replied. “Got it.” 

“Good.” Harry downed another shot and instead of pouring himself another shot, he just grabbed the entire bottle of tequila and walked outside of the villa to the deck, sitting down on the edge as he stared down at the water. 

His mother noticed the interaction between both her sons, furrowing a brow at Harry before she glanced over at you. You looked at him and excused yourself from your conversation with Charlotte, stepping out onto the deck where he was. 

“You wanna share?” You asked, moving to sit down next to him.

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“We still have a role to play,” you whispered. 

“Don’t fucking care anymore,” he said. When he turned to look at you, his eyes were red, tears brimming his eyes. “If they find out that it’s fake, who fucking cares?” 

You cleared your throat. You reached out and grabbed the bottle of tequila before he shook his head, using  his free hand to stop you and accidentally shoving you backwards. 

You fell onto your back, eyes wide as you looked at him. 

Then, it suddenly registered what he just did. Harry’s eyes softened instantly.

“Baby, I’m so sorry—”

“You act like you’re the only one hurting,” you whispered, voice trembling and the tears that you held back now falling down your cheeks. “But you hurt me too.” 

You stood from the deck and Harry did too.

He took a step closer.

You took one step back.

“Harry?” His mother said. 

“I didn’t mean to push you,” Harry whispered, ignoring his mother. 

“I know you didn’t… It’s okay,” you said. “But I think—I think I should just head back,” you turned to look at his mother and gave her an apologetic smile. “And I think maybe you should just spend the night here.” 

Harry tried to reach out for you again, but you were already walking away. He watched you whisper something to his mother, who nodded in understanding, before he watched you walk away. It wasn’t until you were out of his parents’ villa that he finally broke down. 

His mother immediately caught him, wrapping her arms around him as he cried into her shoulder. “I—I ruined everything…” 

She sighed and began rubbing his back gently, trying to get him to calm down as she sat back down on the deck with him next to her. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on, Harry?” 

“I love her, ma,” he mumbled, pulling back and away from her. “I love her so fucking much and it hurts.” 

“If you love her, then why are you both treating each other like you don’t?” 

“Because—” Harry looked at her and bit his lower lip. “Everything about this—it was all fake.”

Once you were finally alone and back at the villa, you collapsed onto the bed and cried into the pillow. You screamed into it, gripping the edges of it tightly. You didn’t think that Harry would have this big of a reaction—you honestly thought he’d agree, that going back to New York and parting ways would be something he’d agree with. 

But you knew that it wouldn’t work outside of this environment. If you and Harry did give it a real try back in New York, you knew that there was a big possibility it would only end in heartbreak. 

So, you figured why not end it now? And it hurt, it fucking hurt, because you did love him. But the fact that it took this trip for you both to see what you both felt for each other made you wonder how real it was. 

There had to have been a reason why both you and Harry never wanted each other in that way prior to this trip. Right? 

Sitting up, tears streaking down your cheeks, you reached for your camera. When you turned it on and navigated to the gallery, you felt your chest tighten at the pictures you had taken so far on this trip. You hovered over the delete button on the ones that you took of Harry, but you couldn’t bring yourself up to actually delete them. 

You thought about your conversation with Harry earlier—how he looked at you so completely wrecked and broken. 

Then, you thought about what his mother told you earlier that morning. 

Love is all about taking risks. 

When you find the right person, everything else just falls into place. 

He never looked at any other woman the way he looks at you. 

Why did everyone else notice this but you and Harry? 

Your thumb clicked a video recording on your camera that you didn’t remember taking. Furrowing a brow, you pressed play and heard Harry’s voice come through the camera. 

It was the day before everything changed. 

The day that you both shared that intimate dance on the beach.

The day that everything shifted. 

“You said to never touch your camera, but I couldn’t help myself, baby,” he laughed into the camera, panning it to face you as you swam in the water outside the deck of your villa. “But look how beautiful you are.”

“Harry, what are you doing?!” You exclaimed, swimming to the surface and rubbing your eyes. The camera zoomed in on you and Harry chuckled once more.

“Nothing!” 

“Liar!” You giggled, disappearing under the water again. 

Harry sighed contentedly. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, baby,” he whispered into the camera. “I better turn this off before you catch me using this… but if you’re seeing this later, I’m sorry in advanced. I just couldn’t help myself.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you continued to watch the video. 

“I just want to make so many more memories with you,” Harry continued. 

“Harry! Join me in the water!” 

“Okay, that’s my cue.” He set the camera down. 

You bit your lower lip when you saw his face finally come into view. 

He took a deep breath, smiled softly, and then quietly said, “I think I always loved you, baby. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Harry!” 

“Okay, coming! Jeez, you’re so impatient,” he laughed, reaching up to turn the recording off. 

Then, the video ended. 

You gasped.

You could feel your heart beating out of your chest.

Harry recorded that before everything happened. Before you finding out about Adore. Before the awful things you said to him. 

He was sure about you. 

This trip had opened his eyes to the person that had always been there. 

He was looking for love in other places, when it was in front of him all along. 

It was you.

It had always been you.

taglist: @kellyxo1 @natdouble8 @maryfanson @pascalgold @jaxmom66 @chewie-bars @gothcsz @pascal-mynightlyobsession @sunnytuliptime @ultimatewolverine @notyourlovemonkey @myotakureprieve @nutbutterjellie @burninglovedreamsdepp @isabellaboo2025 @johnssherlock221 @missadangel @longlivekingminnn @vickie5446 @joelmillerpascal @the-curator01 @ivoryandflame @canonisoptional @armandispunk @lilacs97 @sincerelywithheartt @lizzie-cakes @woodxtock @goonersquad101 @callmebyyournick-name @kakiki3 @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @taniamiller @burningnerdchild @dotyoureyez

[vodkaandpizza]

The Man and The Moon Master List

Summary

Clint Flood took his baby as far away from Oakland as he could get. Moving and working his way east and eventually north, far north. Nowhere felt far enough to keep his little girl safe until he found himself in a job as the cook and keeper of a remote marina in a place named Mooney Harbour. He finally thinks he's found a place they could make a life in and now that summer's come and gone Clint is getting ready to hunker down for his first ever Canadian winter.

In the first weeks of fall She appears. A mysterious vision across the water, staring at the little lighthouse at sundown night after night, he can't help but wonder about the woman who seemed to appear in his new home just as everyone abandons it.

Warnings: WIP, eventual smut and mentions of violence.

AO3 Link

Part One - The Man

Part Two - The Light Keepers

Part Three - Contraband Wood

Part Four - The Harvest Moon

Part Five - Goddess of the Hunt

Part Six - Clint Flood Buys a Turkey

EXTRAS

Clint Flood's Turkey Troubles

Devana (or Dziewanna) is the goddess of the hunt, forests, and wild nature. She is often associated with the moon, protecting wildlife, and the essence of nature. In Slavic tradition, she is revered as a guardian of the wilderness and was heavily featured in fertility festivals during spring.

[queenofslowburn]

Day Dreams | Masterlist

Pairing: AU!Harry Castillo & f!reader (keeping description to a minimum, but you have a name for the sake of the story)

Summary: You thought being the assistant at Parson & Co. was a safe, comfortable gig. Then Harry Castillo took over as CEO - and safe flew right out the window. Sharp suit, sharper smile, and way too hot for your sanity. Fantasies turn dangerous when you realize your new boss isn’t just looking at numbers… he’s looking at you too. And it’s only a matter of time before the line between work and desire is crossed.

Warnings: This is slow burn, but luckily Harry & you both got a filthy mind, so even when reality takes some time, your fantasies quickly go somewhere else... power dynamics, age gap (reader in her early 30s, him in is late 40s), mutual pining, smutty smut incoming, no use of y/n

Chapters in total: 43, new chapter every sunday

wc: 95k

My Pedro-Character-Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

[jadevaderr]

Seashore

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel takes you on a surprise trip to the beach

Warnings: MDNI 18+, unprotected pinv (don't!!), beach sex, riding joel underwater, creampie, fluff

Word count: 3k

Note: hii this is a part of chapter 23 of my fanfic in progress Miller's Party, go read the full story! AO3 WATTPAD

You’ve been on the road for about half an hour when Joel pulls onto the highway entrance of a gas station. He stops the car next to the gas pump and looks at you, giving little taps to the wheel.

“I’m gonna get some gas,” he says with a deep voice “won’t take long.”

You nod, stretching up in your seat and using the time to scroll in your phone a bit. Joel gets out of the car and walks towards the convenience store after pumping the gas.

Some minutes later, he opens the door with ease and gets inside, dropping in your lap a bag of chips and your favorite chocolate, you don’t remember ever telling him about it.

You look at the goodies and then at Joel, who’s buckling up like he didn’t do anything. 

“What’s this for?” you ask with a silly smile.

“So you shut up and stop asking where we’re going,” he answers, trying not to smile as he starts the car “eat it now before it melts.”

There’s still an hour or so ahead of you, so you decide to spend the time doing what you like the most: annoying Joel. 

“Joel,” you call.

“Mhm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course.”

“If you were a mermaid, what color would your tail be?”

He turns his head slowly to look at you with a dead stare. “What?”

“Your tail, if you were a mermaid.”

“I heard you.” his attention goes back to the road.

“Then answer.”

“Don’t know much ‘bout mermaids.”

“Just pick a color, Joel.”

“Blue?” he finally answers.

“Oh, that’s cute, you’d have your matching shell bra and all.”

He looks briefly at you, shaking his head before looking away again.

You smile, knowing you have plenty of questions waiting to be asked. “Would you pick me from the ground if I were a flower?”

“Yeah, whatever. I’d put you in a jar in my living room.”

“Oh.” you pretend to be hurt. “So you want me to rot and die away from my flower family”

“You’re impossible,” he says.

“Would you kiss a man to save my life?”

“Why would that ever be a condition for nothing?” he asks, starting to lose it.

“I don’t know, but I’m being held at gunpoint and you have to kiss a man to stop it. Would you?”

“I guess.” he shrugs.

“Has to be passionate, though. Can’t just leave a peck.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“It’s fun,” you answer with a wide smile. “One more question.”

His silence is your sign to go ahead, you’ve learnt that with time. “Would you still do it if you had to fuck Karen to save me?” the sound of her name in your mouth makes your guts wrench.

“Jesus…” he looks at you concerned, wondering why you brought her up. After some hesitation, he speaks. “You’re gonna be mad at me no matter what I say.”

“Probably.”

“Baby, I don’t know, I’d do anything for you so I guess option one. Even though just thinking about it makes me wanna throw up.” He’s being careful with his words, trying to not mess it up, but you outsmart him. 

“So you think I’m not capable of saving myself?”

He turns his head to look at you in complete shock now, not believing your ability to tease him so well. After his eyes are back on the road again, he says “that mouth needs some fixin’, but we’ll do something about it later, don't worry.”

You chuckle at his threat. The car ride goes flying after that, you listen to music and keep talking — no more questions, though. When the sky starts to turn orange, the landscape changes and the scent of sea salt fills the air, Joel pulls over a private entrance full of palm trees until he fully stops the car.

When you see where you are, you lose your breath.

It’s an amazing house, the type of house you only see in magazines or movies about rich people. Modern style with big floor-to-ceiling windows and spotless white walls. The best thing is that it’s right on the beach, literally, the sand begins where the terrace ends. The sound of waves breaking not so far away and the squawk of seagulls is the only sound. 

“Fuck, Joel…” you mutter, open mouthed, not able to look away from the house.

He doesn’t say anything, just turns off the engine and gets out of the truck. You follow him immediately, standing in front of the house amazed. 

Joel walks towards the backseats to start retrieving your stuff. You watch him out of the corner of your eyes and then the house again, something is off. 

“Hey.” You get closer to him, crossing your arms. “How the fuck could you afford this?”

He grabs your backpack, his own and your purse with an unfazed ease. He laughs, looking you in the eye. “Big client,” he says. “Wants to change a few things, I got the project and they offered me to stay while I work since it’s far and all that”

“And they let you bring me?” you ask, still skeptical.

Joel starts to make his way to the front door ahead of you. “Well… Didn’t really ask ‘bout it.”

You follow him with fast steps as he puts the key in the keyhole. “Mmm, lying at work for me. I like it.”

“Ain’t lying, just didn’t tell.” He opens the door and steps aside to let you in first “Come on, get in,” he says, spanking your ass slightly so you get inside. 

You get upstairs and find the master bedroom, which is practically as big as your living room and has an enormous bed — Alaskan king you guess, with amazing ocean views. 

Joel lets your backpack resting on the bed and throws his on the floor. “I’m gonna take a look downstairs,” he says, turning around. “Go through your bag if you want.”

As soon as he’s gone you open your bag. Even though you tried to spy him through your mirror, you want to see  what exactly he brought. 

You start to search trough your clothes.You see a couple dresses, shorts, bikinis, underwear — only thongs, and a couple of his tees you’re sure he wants you to keep. You find the red bikini you saw him put inside through the mirror. You take it out and observe it. “So clever, Miller,” you murmur, shaking your head. 

You take off your clothes quickly, hyped to take a swim, and you put the red bikini on with a beige beach dress. When you get downstairs, you find him looking inside the fridge. “Are we going to the beach or not?” you ask, leaning on your side on the doorframe with a sly mile. 

Joel turns and looks you up and down, smirking. He knows damn well what you're wearing underneath and he loves it. “Let me get changed first”

He doesn’t take long. You two walk out by the backdoor, as soon as your feet touch the sand you notice it’s still warm by the afternoon sun, but it’s starting to cool off.

You stop walking until you reach the shore, resting your stuff on the sand. You can’t wait any longer so you pull your dress off and throw it away with the rest of the stuff, being left in your bikini. Joel stops dead, crossing his arms as he watches you with what looks like a smile, but doesn’t get inside the water. 

“You’re not gonna swim with me?” you ask, walking backwards so you can see his face.

“Not a chance,” he says. “That must be cold as fuck. View’s better from here anyways.”

“You’re soooo boring.”

You get inside the water without second guessing. He’s right, it’s cold, but it feels nice, You start to get down slowly. Joel is still standing there, with his dark blue trunks and arms crossed playing his “tough guy that doesn’t like the beach” role. 

You smile, knowing perfectly how to make him change his opinion. 

Now that the sun is almost gone and there's nobody around, you turn around and start undoing the knot of your top, taking it off completely. Before you turn around again, you sink until the water reaches your shoulders, giving Joel a playful smile on the way. He observes you with attention from the sand.

When you’re fully facing him, you realize he’s not smiling anymore but walking to you. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days,” he says with a deep voice. 

You don’t have to wait a second longer. He forgets about the temperature and gets closer to you with confident steps. 

You try to swim away from him, but you can’t stop laughing and that makes your legs weaker, letting him get you. His broad and steady hands grab you by your waist under the surface, bringing you closer to him. Joel’s shoulders are also under the water. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, ending up a little taller than him like this but still having most of your body hidden under water.

Joel pulls you closer, if that’s even possible, and hugs you tightly. Still with the bikini in your hand, you wrap your arms around his neck and give him a cheeky smile. “See? Wasn’t that cold.”

He snorts, but can’t hide a small smile forming on his lips. “You’re a public hazard,” he mutters. His hands grip your waist. 

You don’t have time to answer. Joel starts to lower his head and leaves a trail of wet kisses along your collarbone, getting lower down your chest. Between kisses, he looks up to meet your gaze, rushing your heart rate. The brush of his beard on your wet skin gives you goosebumps and sends shivers down your spine. 

You let out a shaky sigh and open up your legs more for him, making your bodies fit perfectly and grinding against him boldly. Joel smiles. He got what he was searching for. 

You don’t have time to get your breath back when he places a hand on your lower back, making sure you don’t go anywhere, while he rushes the other up, trapping one of your breasts. 

Joel gets his head lower, still staring deeply at your eyes, and his mouth finds your nipple, hardened by the cold. He sucks and bites it softly, switching between his lips and licks that make your back arch and your nails dig on his skin.

He’s watching you enjoy his ministrations as he switches to your other breast, repeating the process. He bites and sucks, leaving marks you know won’t disappear in a couple days. He doesn’t leave the previous one unattended, his hand does all the work giving a gentle massage. You think you could die happily right now. 

In the middle of all this, you can easily feel he’s getting hard under his trunks. It’s being impossible to ignore. With steady hands on his nape, you move your hips  gently, creating a friction that’s making you both pant.

Joel stops licking your nipple and grunts roughly. “You’re helpless.”

You completely ignore him. Joel runs a hand down your thigh until he riches the small, drenched, bottom. He hooks the down part with his finger and makes space with urgency. 

His hand doesn’t take long to reach between your legs. As soon as his fingers make contact with your sensitive bud under the water, you let out a moan and your hips move unwillingly, searching for more. He’s following a slow, punishing pace, and you know it’s payback, for making him get inside the cold water. You try to rush it up, but Joel’s hand on your lower back makes it impossible, pressing you more and impeding your movements. 

He clicks his tongue and talks in almost a whisper “Don’t be impatient, baby.”

Your head rolls back and you snort in desperation. He’s gonna drive you crazy. 

When he’s finally done teasing you and has his back and shoulders covered in claw marks, Joel pulls down his trunks enough to free his hard and warm cock. 

He slightly lifts you by your hips with both of his hands, not having to make an effort, to place himself on your entrance. 

Joel doesn’t wait any more. He thrusts upwards, making his way inside without hesitation. Any other day he would’ve worked you open with his fingers before using his cock, but this is different, this is desperate. You gasp in his ear when you feel the stretch. He buries his face in your neck, breathing raggedly while he hugs you with strength, giving you your time to get used to his size. After a couple seconds, you encourage him to keep going and he obliges, thrusting you slowly and deeply. 

Now the sun is completely gone and you’re surrounded by darkness. It would creep you out if you didn’t have Joel’s cock in your deep inside. You can’t stop thinking about his lips, so you grab his face to kiss him and get his attention. When he pulls his face away, he looks at you with eyes full of lust. “Fuck,” he mutters with a broken voice. “You’re making me lose my mind.”

You answer with a muffled moan, even though you’re alone you don’t want to draw attention and be caught. It’s being difficult for you to handle the angle, being where you are it’s making it harder than other times with him. You’ve been like that for a while when you start to get a bit overwhelmed. “Joel.” you gasp “I can't, I'm being for real, I’m gonna pass out.”

“You’re doing so good for me, don’t quit now.” Right after saying that, he lowers his hands from your hips to the back of your knees. He pulls them up, completely changing the angle and opening you wider. Then, he wraps his arms tightly around your back and thrusts, bottoming out in one go. He grunts as he hits your cervix and you feel his balls slap your ass.

This new position is so good and your head falls back, but you bite your lip quickly to try and stop the noise swallowing your scream. The beach is deserted, but you can still be heard. 

Joel realizes what you’re doing and grabs your chin to make you look at him. “Don’t,” he orders you. “Want to hear you,” he pants. “Need to hear you.”

 You do as you’re told, your mind is fogged, you can’t be bratty and ignore him right now. You let the first loud moan out and Joel’s reaction is fast, almost feral. He thrusts you over and over again, burying himself to the hilt, making you moan and pant even more. The constant rubbing on your clit and his thrust are making you feel your orgasm pool in your abdomen and, with a last moan, you come undone.

Your whole body tenses and, by instinct, you close your legs hard, trapping him in between while you come down from your high.

Seems like that was the only thing he needed to cum, because the next thrusts are brutal, fast and deep, followed by some slower and floppier, he’s so close. His whole body relaxes and he pulls you tighter on his arms, your chests are pressed against the other and his head finds his place on the crook of your neck again as you feel how he spills inside you. 

After catching your breaths, you say “That was… Interesting.”

“That’s the best you can come up with?” he tilts his head.

“Can’t think properly when I’m still shaking.”

He shakes his head with a smirk and grabs your hips to lift you up a little and free his softening cock, making you gasp with your hands still around his neck. 

“Hate when you do that,” you complain.

“Do what?”

“Pull out, feels so empty.”

“Poor baby,” he mocks. You pout in response.  “We should head out now, before you catch a cold.”

“Don’t think I can walk right now.”

“Didn’t say you had to walk.” He gets on his haunches to stand. “Hold on tight.”

He gets up pretending his body doesn’t hurt, but you know he’s aching right now. You’ll take care of that later. For now, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, pressing your bare chest against his. He squats slightly to grab your stuff from the sand and even though you offer your help, he insists it’s not necessary. 

You run a hand down his arm, grabbing muscle and leaving a kiss on his neck. “You’re so strong.”

“Sweetheart, stop it now before you make me hard again, don’t think you can handle another round.”

You giggle. “Boring.” 

“Still have to do something with that mouth of yours.”

“You love my mouth.”

“Damn right I do.”

He brings you inside but doesn’t let you on the floor until you’re both in the master bedroom’s bathroom. It’s big enough to match the room, with a shower and a bathtub, something you’ve only seen in movies. Joel is starting to turn on the shower when you have a better idea.

“Wait,” you say. “There’s a bathtub.”

“There is one, yeah.”

“So why not use it?” you approach it, sitting on the edge.

“Baby I’m hungry, wanna shower quick.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Fine. But you’re not escaping it.” You go outside the bathroom. 

“Where you going?” he asks.

“To get us clothes, unless you wanna stay naked which I’d appreciate but might be weird.”

You put on an old, worn out tee of Joel that he sneaked in your bag and underwear, he does the same. As you walk down the stairs, he says “there’s not much food, we should order some.”

“That sounds great.”

And so you do.

Thanks for reading :)

WATTPAD AO3

[ppaattrriizziiaa1]

We Met Over Champagne | A Harry Castillo mini series

Pairing: Harry Castillo x reader

Summary: One night on his mother’s New Year’s Eve party is enough to change Harry’s whole life. He meets you.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: alcohol consumption, language, slight angst, barely mentioned sex, fluff, one use of y/n, reader is younger than Harry but it’s not specified, just love love and more loveeee

Notes: Umm, Hi! So at first it was supposed to be just a one shot, Champagne Problems, but then you guys convinced me to write more. So here is a mini series. It’ll be just three chapters, but I believe it’ll be fun. As you probably already noticed… I love naming chapters after songs. I apologize for any mistakes, English is not my first language. Please, do not copy my work. Thanks!

| my main masterlist |

Chapter 1: Champagne Problems

Chapter 2: Snow On The Beach

Chapter 3: You Are In Love

The second chapter is coming soon! If you want to be tagged just let me know🥰

Taglist: @orcasoul @purplerain04

[missadangel]

⊱AMOR MEUS AETERNUS⊰ I Masterlist

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

little preview is under the information!!

Summary:  You are an assistant to a costume designer on a busy movie set, where the pressure is high and the work is exhausting. One difficult evening during a lunar eclipse, you suddenly spot a man in a Roman military outfit materializing out of nowhere. At first, you think he’s just a drunk or a bit off his rocker. Unbeknownst to you, he is General Marcus Justus Acacius, who has time-traveled from 205 AD to 2025. authors note: It's a bit of a romantic-comedy-drama stuff because Marcus doesn't know that he traveled to 2025, LMAO poor baby (and you know I'm a hopeless romantic). I'll explain in more detail in chapters why he ended up here and what led him to meet the reader, but I'm avoiding spoilers. And the reader will help him get back to his time but accidentally travel to ancient Rome because of something; i can't talk more, lol. Wait for the episodes, please thank youuuu. if you wanna be tagged lemme know! every chapter will be its own warning and music theme Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, modern woman x ancient man dynamic, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 45, reincarnation angel's masterlist

Little preview from chapter 1....

-------This wasn’t the first time you’d encountered someone like him. He had to be one of those extras, probably underpaid and known for causing trouble on set. He likely hadn’t bothered to change out of his costume and was relishing his small role in this odd setting.

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble, but I really need you to take off that costume. I’m responsible for the outfits, and if anything happens to it, it’ll come out of my pay, okay? Didn’t anyone give you a heads-up about this?” You stepped closer, but he just froze like a statue, clearly sizing you up. 

Taking another look, you noticed the armor under his robe was totally different from anything you’d ever seen. Were they filming something new without you? That couldn’t be right—or worse, what if he’d swiped it? Great. You reached out for a closer look, but before you knew it, he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and shoved you away like it was nothing.

“Aaaah!” You winced, clutching your sore wrist, glaring at him in frustration. “Are you out of your mind? Get those clothes off right now! Can’t you hear me? Are you deaf or what?” 

The guy sighed as he wiped his sword with the hem of his robe and sheathed it as if he were doing it every day. He did it with such flair that even a top-notch actor would be impressed.  

“I see you’ve been really getting into character. Nice job!” you quipped with a hint of sarcasm. “But like I said, I need to grab the costume. So, come on, take it off.”  

"What kind of shameless woman are you to demand that I undress?"

What the hell was that? The accent, thick and unfamiliar, rolled off his tongue in a way you had never encountered before. It felt like a whisper from another age, as if echoes of ancient times were woven into each word he spoke.--------

ao3 link

I. Sol Invictus

II. Tensio

III. Amor Primus

IV. Matrimonium

V. Confessio

VI. Memento

VII. Praeterita

VIII. Sol et Luna

IX. Reverto

X. Perfídia

XI. Dolus

XII. Inopinatum

XIII. Periculum

XIV. Avulsio

XV. Heros Domum Redit - the final chapter-

epilogue -coming soon-

[auteurdelabre]

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

a03 link here

Summary:

You move back to your childhood home in Florida to care for your ailing mother, only to find the past waiting for you in every room. Your always kind older cousin Santiago refuses to let you disappear into the sadness, pulling you into his world without hesitation. But Santi's world involves Frankie Morales; your cousin's best friend and the boy who broke your heart decades earlier. Thrust into each other’s orbit again old memories make their way to the surface, blurring the line between hatred and desire.Because the boy you learned to despise is the man you can't seem to forget.

THIS STORY IS ON A03

tags: Friends to Enemies, First Love, Childhood Friends, Brother's Best Friend trope kinda, Angst, Smut, Flashbacks, First person POV, Protective Frankie, First kiss, parent with terminal illness, HEA.

notes: There will be two more chapters after this! A finale and an epilogue! I got carried away... Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews and reblogs and shares how my story makes them feel.

THEN

You're on the lip of the ledge curled tight, the window open, letting the smoke out. You use a small cup as an ashtray and it's full.  

Frankie went back to Texas today. 

You heard it from Santi over breakfast. He mentioned it along with other innocuous facts like the girl from the party that he met is weird, that he's thinking of doing a backpacking trip to South America, that he's going to miss you when you're gone to Seattle for school.

You had to sit there at the table with your heart breaking, forcing your face to remain neutral. 

And now your throat burns and your eyes are swollen. You pull your knees to your chest, inhaling deeply from the cigarette before holding in the smoke. You hold it so long in your chest it feels like a punishment, the curling wisps exhaling from you in a rush. 

"Since when do you smoke?" 

Hilary stands at your door, eyes kohl-rimmed, tank top low. You scowl.

"What? Like you don't do it all the time?"

Hilary isn't put off by your vitriol. To her you'll always be an amusing little puppy, nothing to fear; all bark no bite. 

"What is your deal? You've been a bitch all week." 

It's been five days since Frankie broke your heart. Five days of his silence, of your sobs. Five days of not understanding how he could claim to like you and then turn around and fuck someone else. 

And now he's gone. 

You think of Frankie entering the plane, all shoulders and muscled arms. You think of Christy who probably drove him to the airport. You think of him settling in, eyes closed as he returns to a life you'll never know. 

"Leave me alone," you say turning back to the window. You stamp out your cigarette in the cup, the ash bitter on your tongue. 

You hear the pad of Hillary's footsteps over the carpeted floor, her voice nearing you. 

"Are you nervous about leaving for school or something?" 

In two weeks time you'll be in Seattle going to school and forgetting everything about this summer. You can’t wait.

"No." 

"Is it Frankie?" She steps even nearer, voice softer than you've ever heard it. "Did he... try anything?"

You go rigid, eyes burning. "Of course not."

He just broke my heart. 

"I didn't think so. He's always been really respectful." Now she's at your feet, looking to your face in concern. "I just noticed he hasn't been here since that night he brought those flo-"

You jump down from the ledge, eyes burning in fury. Why is she trying to act like a big sister now? She's always pushed you to the side, ignored you. And now, what? She thinks that she's going to offer some great life lessons?

"I don't ever want to hear the name Frankie again." 

This stuns her into taking a step back, eyes surveying your face. She even gives a soft, disbelieving huff. 

"What? I thought he was, like, your best friend." 

"Well, you thought wrong. Just fuck off, would you? Pretty sure there's a bedpan that needs washing." 

It comes out so much uglier than you were expecting, but you don't even flinch. This bitterness inside of you wants to splay out its tendrils and infect everyone. 

Hilary goes red in the face, mouth curling into a snarl. 

"I can't wait until you're gone," she throws over her shoulder as she exits the bedroom. "Do us all a favor and never come back."

Then she's gone, rushing from the room and slamming the door to hers. 

Fuming, you stride down the hallway preparing to exit the house. Maybe you'll go for a walk. 

But your mom is just entering in from the back door. She's wearing her nursing scrubs and about twelve hours of crumbly looking mascara. She carries a brown paper grocery bag in one arm. You can see several vodka bottles peeking out the top. 

"Hello honey. Can you start the ov-"

"I'm heading out," you mumble, slipping on your speakers. Maybe Santi is at home and will want a visit. 

"Wait, I brought home dinner," your mom insists, kicking off her nursing shoes; ugly white loafers.

"I'm not hungry." 

"You will sit down and eat this dinner. I'm not made of money," she snarks, placing the bag onto the counter. 

"Could've fooled me," you bite back. "How many vodka bottles did you get?" 

She goes completely stiff, not unlike your reaction earlier in the bedroom. You've gone too far. You wait for a harsh reprimand, a slap across the face. But what comes next is so much worse. 

She just lowers her head, face crumpling. A single tear rolls down her left cheek, disappearing into the starched collar of her nurse's uniform. 

"Just go." She says quietly. "Just leave."

Those worlds will run through your head for the rest of your life. In the face of adversity, uncertainty, you will always just leave. 

Your mom is confused to see Hilary arriving from the airport, squinting up at your sister when she steps through the door with her suitcase.

"Why are you here?"

"Good to see you too Mom," Hilary replies, un-phased. She kisses the top of your mom's head before rolling the suitcase down the hall. "I'm unpacking."

You follow her down to the old bedroom. You made her bed up with fresh sheets, plumped her pillows to try to make it look cheery.

You stand at the doorway, shoulder pressed against it. It is like old times with you uncertain if you should enter.

"This is weird," she says, looking your way as she unpacks into the dresser she'd used since she was a teenager.

"What's weird?"

"Us being here at the same time again."

You can't help but nod at that. It does feel strange being back here. Like being slingshotted through time.

"Yeah."

You think about what she'd said in the truck earlier. About people never changing. It hurts to hear it. You don't want it to be true.

"I'm really glad you're here," you eventually tell her with wet eyes.

She doesn't face you but her voice is thick when she replies.

"Me too."

THEN

The day you leave for Seattle is a morose one. Your mom isn't sober enough to take you to the airport and Hilary had to work.

Santi is already gone abroad for training and so it’s just you, your second hand suitcase and a backpack taking the bus to the airport where you sit with your dog eared copy of ''Dandelion Wine" and watch the happy couples. 

A serious looking man is reading a magazine while his girlfriend rests her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. Another couple is stealing kissing and blushing, the rings on their fingers making it obvious they're heading to some tropical honeymoon. An elderly man and woman smile as they start playing cards on a food court table. 

Every sight makes you sick with both revulsion and jealousy. It makes you think about how Frankie doesn't have your school apartment address. How he won't be able to send you letters. Not that he would. 

If he had written you a letter, you would have mailed back black bits of charred paper to his return address. Curled bits of parchment with his chicken scratch on it. 

But not before you read it. 

Not before you pored over it like you did with his letters the years before. Only now you would be scouring each line for an explanation of his behavior. How a man you were in love with could suddenly change overnight. 

You think about your mom passed out on the couch that morning. The crumpled envelope full of a few twenties she gave you the night before, her voice slurred as she told you to be safe.  You think of the cloying humidity and the sharp pain and bad memories that linger back in Florida and you have to force your stomach to stop it's rocking. 

When your plane eventually touches down in the Seattle airport hours later you instinctively you know you're never going back home. Not if you can help it. You're going to step off the plane into a new life. 

And you're never looking back. 

Rosalita doesn't have to come by as often during the day with the two of you there. But she stays most nights and her steady presence in the home seems to calm you all enough that you can get some sleep. 

Rosalita doesn't bother trying to get your mom to walk anymore though. She makes sure she's got the right medication, that her lips aren't too chapped and that she's comfortable.  

"Right now it's all about comfort," she tells you both quietly over tea one evening. "No more worrying about calories or smoking. Now’s the time to say yes." 

Having Hilary at home is such a relief. You've had two weeks of her brash attitude and constant chatter to fill your brain to the brim. There's no room left for Frankie. No room to think about his perfect mouth or the way you melted into his arms.

You take on extra projects for your job, work late into the night, until your eyes are blurry and your fingers cramped. You appreciate the distraction. 

But even through that, memories of Frankie's mouth won't leave you. The murmured hush of 'baby' in your ears. And the memories that keep flooding back with every day you stay here. 

You want to leave.

Want to run.

Want to forget. 

Santi comes over to visit with Hilary, the two of them standing on the back porch sharing a covert cigarette while you wash the dishes. You watch the two of them laugh lowly, shoulders shaking. It feels good to see. There's not a ton of good these days. It feels like there may not be much good ever again. 

Later that afternoon you lay on your side, looking to Hilary resting on the couch opposite you. She looks younger, more peaceful without that habitual scowl she wears. For the first time in forever you consider that there's a reason she wears a scowl. 

You got to leave, she didn't.

A Frasier re-run plays in the background, the gentle laugh track rousing your sister from her nap. She yawns, mascara smudged under her eyes. She was up late with your mother last night. You could hear them talking low and quiet in her bedroom. You envy how easily she does this. How unaffected she appears. She's always been the stronger one. 

"I used to be able to sleep on this couch all night," she says blinking over at you. "Now I think I've thrown out my fucking back."

The two of you exchange quiet chuckles and you remember giggling late into the night on the evenings she felt like indulging you with stories about her teenage adventures. You had clung to those stories in fascination, dreaming of the day you would be able to go to the mall and wear low rise jeans. 

Now you're both older, lines around your eyes and fatigue in both your bodies. And it feels less intimidating to ask her questions. 

"How come Justin didn't come back with you?"

She looks away from you, lashes fluttering. You shift, body tired from the position. But you don't rush her. You just wait until she inevitably raises her eyes to you. 

"We broke up right before I decided to come back." 

"Why?"

"He was too..."'she trails off, one hand aloft. She's searching for the right description. "Nice."

A beat. 

"He's... Too nice?"

She nods again, looking nauseated. "Yeah. I mean, I have these ideas, right? Pick up and move to a new country, start a new life, and he just... Went with it." She frowns. "No arguing, no complaining." 

"... Right." 

"Plus he was just there all the time. Wanting to hang out. Wanting to hold my hand and be all mushy." 

"It sounds like he just cares about you." 

She gives you a rueful look. One that communicates everything. She doesn’t trust it. That stops you short as you realize your sister has only known the transactional relationship. The thought of being given love so freely doesn't compute for her. 

"He just loves you, Hil." 

"Whatever. It’s over now." 

She waves the idea away. The conversation is closed, her body language clear.  

A light rain has started tapping on the roof. One that will bring more humidity and short fuses. You think in the face of this you might as well keep talking. To ask the hard questions. 

"Hil, did you ever resent me leaving here? For barely coming home when we were younger?"

She stretches her back, speaking around a yawn.  "No. Not really." 

"How is that possible? I barely came around."

You watch her settle again, eyes half open. She tilts her head your way.

"The same reason I didn't let you drink or shoplift at the mall with me." 

"Because I was your annoying little sister?"

"I mean, yeah, you were," she grins before sobering. "It's because I knew that you were meant for better things. I knew your future wasn't here in the same town we grew up in. And I knew if you started doing all the shit I did, you wouldn't be able to leave." 

She settles on her back.

"If you'd stayed, I would have felt like I failed as your sister," she continues. "You needed space to breathe. To become your own person." She beams over at you and you can see her eyes are damp. "And look at you. You did. Your own apartment, a job you're good at. No booze or drugs or criminal record ruining your life." 

You say nothing; the only sound in the room is the wet blink you give. 

"I like to think I'm part of the reason you're so successful."

If she was anyone else you would tackle her with a hug. But you know she would want nothing less. You want to thank her but know how she feels about that as well. So you’re quiet, coiled in gratitude.

"But I forced you to stay here with Mom," you whisper, not trusting your voice to stay even. 

She rolls her eyes, arms going behind her neck. "You couldn't force me to do anything and you know it."

That draws a small little giggle from you. She gets a strange look on her face. A mixture of embarrassment and amusement. 

"You know, I actually liked living here with Mom."

"What?"

"I liked having someone in the house when I got home. I actually missed this house if you can believe it." 

You can't. This house is everything you've tried to forget.

"I liked how the sun felt on the porch in the morning. How I knew everyone in town. I didn't mind my life. I liked being useful, I guess." 

"You did a lot for her." 

"Happy to do it." 

"How were you not resentful for it? After what she put us through as kids?"

Hilary goes quiet, mouth pressed together in a tight line. 

"Because when I needed bail money, she was there. When I needed a place to stay she let me move back in. She talked to me when I was down, made me meals when I was too depressed to get out of bed." Hilary sniffs. "Yeah, she drank too much. But we all have our vices, you know?" 

You're quiet, taking this information in. You wish you'd had this conversation with her years ago. 

"No, she wasn't a perfect mom to us as kids. Not by a long shot. But she also tried to make up for it." Hilary yawns again. "I guess I don't want to judge her for who she used to be. I just want to accept her for who she became." 

She's a complicated person, your sister. A living contradiction. Loving, withdrawn, cold and warm. You find yourself captivated by her straightforward sincerity.

"I wish I could have seen more of that side to her," you admit. "I shouldn't have stayed away so long." 

"But you're here now," she tells you. 

Yeah. You're here now. 

Back in your childhood home with your sister and mother. Back on the couch you used to watch Saturday morning cartoons on. 

You think of your childhood together. Of Hilary and her popularity. Of the summer bonfires and days in the water.  Of Hilary protecting you in her own, strange way.  For some reason something sticks out to you as you dance through time, a comment Hilary made around the bonfire that one summer. The time she told you to stay away from Travis without much reasoning. 

"Why did you dislike Travis so much?" You say after a pause. "I mean, I know he was an asshole but..."

You're surprised when your sister's face goes pink. She ducks her head slightly, pulling her sweatshirt up over her chin. She mumbles something that you can't hear and you ask her to repeat herself. 

"Because I slept with him,” Hilary says louder with a groan. 

Your eyes blow wide. "You did not."

"Sure did," Hilary says, lowering her hands from her face. "Why do you think I told you to stay away from him? He was sleeping with anyone and everyone. Thank God I was smart enough to use a condom." 

Your stomach drops as you think of that party, of you backed up against the tree and Travis's filthy words at your ear. At the discomfort you felt being so close to him and the way he told you he wanted you for so long. 

"We were, like, fifteen. We'd all been drinking and Travis saw an opportunity," she explains with a sobering look. "Only happened once but it was enough. Worst sex of my life." 

"Wow." 

"Is not like I was the only one!” Hilary defends, clearly embarrassed. “He and Christy had a whole hook up thing going on for years." 

"Excuse me? Christy could barely stand him." 

"In public," Hilary says with a smirk. "But trust me; it was common knowledge in my friend circles. They were fucking all the time." 

You stare into space and parse through the interactions between Christy and Travis, unable to see any link, any proof. But your sister wouldn't lie. 

The two of you go quiet, the rain still heard through the partly cracked window. After a few minutes you can hear your sister begin to snore. She's asleep and soon you follow. 

THEN

Your college graduation party is fairly muted compared to the parties you used to attend back in Florida, but it's still riotous enough to go late and involve your entire dorm floor in on the festivities. 

The furniture has been moved, your roommates have bought plenty of booze and someone keeps playing shitty Eminem beats while people get drunker and drunker.  Some guys from nearby dorms are here as well, all rules about co-ed mingling in the dorms after 11pm forgotten.

It's graduation after all. 

Grady from your Intro to Business class is here, nursing a warm beer and catching your eyes every so often. He's got light brown hair that falls into his dark blue eyes. He wears cargo pants and an oversized rock T-shirt from some band you've never heard of. He's handsome in a classical way and pretty clever. 

You've been busy at school, keeping your head down. You're social, you love to laugh and smile. Things you find easier to do now that you're not back in Florida. You feel like a different person here, someone who doesn't carry baggage of an alcoholic mom and an absent father. You get to just be you; a woman with goals. 

You haven't dated anyone since the Frankie debacle, and you don't want you. Despite how everything went down, the thought of inviting another man into your life that way seems too intimidating. 

And that's worked for you, but now? It's your graduation and you realize as you look around at your friends that you haven't had much of a life outside of your studies and these four walls. 

Maybe that's why you smile when Grady offers to stay behind when the rest of the party files out. When your roommates have gone to their separate bedrooms and the two of you remain in the kitchen cleaning out cups.

"I can't believe I waited until our last day to tell you this, but I've had a crush on you for years," he admits, blush going to his cheeks. 

"Well I'm glad you told me, even if it is our last day," you tease. 

"Guess we better make tonight count then, huh?"

He says it in a sweet way, eyes searching yours. It's not said with brash confidence, something you find utterly repulsive in the other men you've met here. With Grady it's just a sweet earnestness, a hope that you feel the same way he does. 

"Yeah," you say, rinsing a sudsy cup before holding it his way. "We better." 

He takes the cup, drying it with a goofy grin on his face. You're about to say something to him when the dorm phone rings. 

It's nearly two in the morning, definitely too late for phone calls. 

"Want me to answer it?" Grady asks wiping his hands and heading over to lift the receiver when you give him a nod, your soapy hands working on more of the dishes. You hear the dorm phone being lifted from the cradle.

"Hello?" 

You continue washing the cups, glancing over your shoulder when there's a long stretch of quiet. 

"Hello?" Grady says again, a little bit louder. "Is anyone there?"

He pauses, looking at you with a quirked brow, shaking his head. "Nothing." 

"Just hang up," you reply, shrugging with a yawn, wiping the soap from your hands. "And then let's go to bed." 

He nods, replacing the phone to its cradle and coming your way. He kisses you softly on the mouth, too soft. But you let him; you tilt your head and welcome his tongue behind your teeth. 

You invite him into your bed, you watch as he slithers down your body, kissing your inner thighs and murmuring about how beautiful you are. But you can't enjoy it because your body still craves the touch of a man you left behind in your memories. The scent of his sweat, the way he groaned your name. 

The life you were supposed to lead with him. Letters and phone calls and long distance love. This graduation would have marked the end of your distance. The star of your reunion. Instead, it's just a bitter reminder of the tie that has been severed. 

Grady doesn't notice your reticence until his mouth latches over your sex and you let out a hiccupping sob. He stops abruptly, and despite you covering your face and insisting that you want to continue he begins dressing again, murmuring that it's late and he better get back to his dorm. 

At the sound of your door closing you roll onto your side, hugging a pillow to your chest. Tears slide down your cheeks as you imagine the life you'll never lead with a man you'll never have. 

"Blue Heron is out." 

You glance up from your laptop, brows tight. You've just finished a meeting, your eyes sore from staring at your laptop. 

"Huh? Why?" 

Hilary holds up her phone, the screen cracked. "I just looked and the place is pretty much condemned." 

You stand, crossing the room to take the phone from her. You scroll, reading quickly. 

Blue Heron Campground Condemned Following Structural Safety Concerns Blue Heron campground has officially been closed after local inspectors condemned several of the property’s main facilities due to severe floor instability and structural deterioration.

"Fuck."

You two sisters share a look, a silent frustration and devastation mixed into one stare. 

It's a helpless feeling; the one thing the two of you thought you could control is slipping through your fingers. Much like your mother in the next room. This was the one thing you thought you could do for her.

"Yeah." She finally nods grimly. "Fuck." 

There's a sudden commotion from the kitchen. What sounds like Rosalita gasping and the two of you take off running towards the sound. 

You hear a deep voice as you prepare to round the wall, heart dropping to your feet. 

"I'm sorry, Ros-"

"No no, it’s fine; you just surprised me, Mister Frankie." 

You slam back against the wall, hiding from the duo as Hilary shoots you a confused look. Still, she silently passes by you, walking into the kitchen. 

"Hey Morales." 

"Hey, Hil. Glad to see you back." 

"Yeah, couldn't stay away from the muggy weather and gators, I guess." 

Frankie chuckles gently, but you feel like it sounds forced. Like he doesn't actually want to be here, but he can't stay away. 

"What did you bring?" You hear Hillary cross the kitchen floor. "Triple fudge brownies?"

"Yeah, I thought you guys might want them."

"That's sweet of you." There's the chatter of dishes being pulled down from the cupboard. 

You wait for Frankie to excuse himself, but the silence between them lingers a beat. You wonder if he's waiting for you to appear. 

"You want one, Rosalita?" Hilary asks. 

"No. I'm fine, thank you. I am just going to the store." 

The door opens and closes and you wait, ears straining to see if Frankie exited along with Rosalita. Hilary finally speaks again, voice gentle. 

"How about you Morales? You want one?" 

"Uh... Sure." 

Fuck.  

You cover your face with your hands, knowing that if you walk off you'll make noise, but not wanting to enter into the kitchen either. You feel stuck. 

There's the clink of cutlery on plates, quiet chewing. 

"So were you in the neighborhood carrying brownies?"

A pause. 

"I wanted to how everyone is doing." 

The subtext isn't subtle. He probably wants to know where the two of you stand after that day you fell into him, kissing him as if you had longed for the press of his lips for years. Maybe, if you’re honest with yourself, a part of you had been.

"We're doing okay," Hilary answers lightly "I mean, Mom can't really leave bed much. I don’t think she has much time left." 

Frankie makes a soft, clicking noise against his teeth. It's authentic, sad and slow. 

"But, you know, it's nice all of us being under one roof again. Feels like old times when you and Santi used to drop by and annoy the shit out of me." 

The two chuckle before lapsing into a comfortable silence. 

"And your sister? How’s she?" 

There's your answer. Your pulse tics in your neck as you think about him sitting there, beautiful and sad, asking about you.

"She's having a tough go, I think," Hillary admits. "I'm used to being in the house, being with Mom. She's more... Sensitive than I am."

You wonder if she thinks you've ducked back down the hall, or perhaps she wants you to hear this. 

"She's a lot tougher than people think," Frankie tells her. For a moment you wish you could see his face. 

"You're probably right," Hilary says. You hear the gentle scrape of forks against plates again. "I mean, you would know. You knew her best." 

"I thought I did," Frankie says. His words are soft around the edges, hesitant. "Not so sure I ever did though." 

"Trust me, you did." 

This gives you pause. You didn't think Hillary really observed much about you and Frankie. But now you're starting to wonder. 

"Thanks so much for bringing these," Hilary says. "I haven't had them in ages."

"Yeah, your mom usually goes crazy for them. Would it... Could I say goodbye to her?" 

"Of course," Hilary says. "She's kind of in and out of consciousness but I think she'd appreciate it."'

They move too quickly for you to back away in time without giving yourself away. When his tall frame comes into view from around the corner he pauses, eyes widening when he sees you there pressed against the wall. 

"Pip..." His voice is husky and soft, eyes stuck on your face. 

Just the sight of him has your face hot with shame. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. You recall his plump lips against yours, the scent of his skin, the sensation of being held in his lap as if cherished. 

Hilary is behind Frankie now, giving you a curious look. But you say nothing. Instead you lower your gaze to the ground and remain silent. 

Frankie swallows lightly, eyes on the ground as he passes you. Your eyes shutter when he moves by you in the narrow hallway, warm arm grazing yours. 

Then it's too much. His body, his nearness, your mother in the next room. It's all too much and you rush into your childhood bedroom, heart in your throat. 

Even with the door closed you can still hear Frankie's footsteps leading to your mother's room, can still hear the dark timber of his voice. Despite it being muffled through the walls, it's still a rich sound.

You think you can hear your mother's faint rasping voice, then the sound of gentle laughter. You're surprised by this. You don't know how much time passes but eventually you glance up to see Hilary cracking the door open, brows raised. 

"He's gone." 

"Okay."

She has that look of a person keeping something contained. Like she wants to voice something but it's carefully side stepping it. She adopts a more casual pose. 

"Santi just sent a text asking if we want to go play pool. You wanna go?"

"Rosalita is leaving soon." 

"Oh, shit, that's right." Hilary fishes her phone from her back pocket, preparing to compose a text. "I'll tell him we can't make it." 

You shake your head and push yourself off the mattress. You move to her, forcing your voice to sound steady. 

"Not a chance. Go get your ass to the pool hall. I'll stay here with Mom." 

She hesitates, in decision clear in her overly-plucked brows. 

"You sure?" 

She knows you feel more and more uneasy being at home alone with your mother. Terrified that something terrible will happen when you're alone. 

"Yes," You say firmly. "I'll be okay." 

THEN

You're twenty six when Santi's 30th comes around. His birthdays are always a cause for celebration and this year his party is being held at the beach. It's a BBQ and bonfire back home. He begged you to fly home to attend. He wants you to meet his army friends he served with not so long ago. Will, Benny, Tom. 

You are three and a half years into your first real job and you love it. But you've taken no vacation time and no sick days in those two years. Diane from HR had commented on this only a week before, her instructions to 'book some time off ' still in your head

"Is Travis coming?" You ask lightly, phone held tightly to your ear. 

"Nah, I don't really see him anymore." 

"And Frankie?" 

You hold your breath as Santi replies. 

"He's working." 

The last you heard through the grapevine, Frankie was overseas flying helicopters, so if he's working you know you're safe to go. 

You try not to sound too relieved when you agree to attend. Santi is delighted, giving you the details before you hear girlish giggling in the background. 

You didn't ask for details on Frankie, even though you thought about him. You worried for him, imagining his handsome face contorted, ears covered in oversized headphones. He wouldn't still wear your hat of course. 

But in your fantasies he did. 

Knowing you'd get to avoid his big, beautiful eyes and sweet dimple, you flew back home with only the faintest twist in your stomach. 

You're mom is working part time now. The mortgage paid off which means she has plenty of time to drink. You observe she's already three sheets when you arrive as she stumbles towards you, arms extended. 

"There she is," she slurs, the gin wafting over your cheek. "My little girl."

When she pulls back to look at you with bleary eyes you notice the red spider webs under the skin of her cheeks and along the end of her nose. 

"You're here."

You glance over to see Hilary holding a bowl of cereal, munching away. She gives you a small nod. Hilary lives with your mom from time to time when her relationships fail or she's not working. Right now it's both. 

"You coming to the BBQ?"

"Yep." 

"You get him a gift?"

"My presence is his present." 

You laugh, telling her that you'll put her name on your card. You got him an engraved flask. She hesitates before thanking you. 

Later that night when your mom is passed out on the couch, you and your sister take sweating jars of sweet tea onto the porch.

"You seeing anyone?" She asks, a lit cigarette hung loosely at the corner of her mouth. 

"There's this guy I started seeing recently, Greg," you tell her with a shrug. Ice clatters in the mason jar as you take a sip of your drink. 

"He nice?"

"Very." You feel yourself grow shy. "He's a really great guy." 

She surveys your face for a long while, a calm smile on her face. Like she's proud of you for picking a good one, unlike the string of losers she brings home. 

And even though you'll never voice this thought out loud, you can't help but think that Greg is nothing like Frankie. Not as tall, not as handsome, voice not as deep. His hair doesn't have that natural tousled look. Doesn't curl under one ear. He doesn't have pouty lips and big hands. 

But he is kind. He doesn't take you to parties and fuck other women. He doesn't act like he loves you and then toss you aside. 

You tell yourself he won't hurt you like Frankie did. That Greg is safe. 

You're okay.

Hilary is soon gone to the pool hall in a plume of cigarette smoke and heavy eyeliner. She promised she wouldn't be too late but you told her to be. She's earned it. Rosalita has left for the night, giving you a gentle hug and promising she'll be back tomorrow. 

So now it's you and Mom.

Since your mother stopped leaving her bed, you can admit that like a coward, you haven't ventured into her bedroom very much. You don't say it out loud but you're petrified of finding her rigid corpse there one morning. Her concave chest and milky eyes in a waxen face. 

So you usually stand at the doorway, always with a task. Does she want water? Crackers? New blankets? 

These tasks keep you busy, focused. You can't let your mind drift to dark places if you're over-scheduled. So tonight you do the same.  You stand at the doorway of her bedroom, peering in. She looks distantly into the room, eyes unfocused. You wonder what she’s thinking about.

"Hey Mom. Want a brownie?"

She looks your way and cracks a huge smile, which, if she wasn't so thin, would look less ghoulish. 

"Yes." 

You bring out the lap tray and the plated brownie, sitting it in front of her.

"My favorite ones!" She exclaims.

You rise up the back of her bed, pushing pillows until she's comfortably seated up. 

She weakly jabs at the brownie, lifting the fork shakily to her mouth before abandoning the plan all together. She drops the fork with a clatter onto the plate and picks the brownie up in between two trembling fingers. You watch as she pops a few crumbs onto her tongue. 

The bliss that crosses her face makes you want to call Frankie and thank him personally

"It's so good," she murmurs. 

You nod; charmed by the sweet way she smiles at you. As if life is just so simple when you have a brownie to eat.

"Frankie dropped them off earlier," you say quietly, just for the pleasure of saying his name to someone else. 

Her eyes are small and confused. "Frankie?" 

You shuffle more onto the bed, one leg crooked as you lean back on your palms. 

"Francisco Morales. He came to see you earlier."

She takes another bite of brownie. "Is he still in the front yard?"

"Huh? No. Why would he be?"

"He carried you home. You twisted your ankle." 

For a long moment you just stare at her, one brow arched before a memory hits you acutely. 

You were eleven at the time, playing baseball with the three boys. Santi's arm was in a sling from a bike accident the week before so he was designated pitcher. Travis was the one at bat and he hit the far ball. Frankie was nearer to them, you were deep in the outfield. 

In your eagerness to prove your athletic prowess to the older boys, you backed up rapidly not paying attention to your surroundings. 

When your foot landed wrong in an unseen gopher hole and you went toppling back, felt the sharp twist of your ankle. You yelped so loudly you think the neighbor heard you. You were crying, face warm from the sun and sticky from your tears. The throbbing your ankle was overwhelming. 

And suddenly Frankie's strong arms were crooked under your knees and back, pulling you into his arms. You're face landed in the slope of his neck and inhaled his old spice deodorant and fresh sweat scent.  

"Hold on," he told you breathlessly. "I've got you, Pip."

The pain was insurmountable. No wonder you barely remembered it, your mind must have pushed it out. But you do remember wrapping your arms around his neck and crying gently into his throat. 

You barely remember him rushing you home, the way he panted against your ear as he raced through the neighborhood, or the way Santi was shouting after him about getting you ice. Travis hadn't bothered coming along, not that you were disappointed. If anything you were thankful for it. 

But you do remember the terrified look on your mother's face that day when she saw Frankie carrying you home. The way she ran his way, the scent of vodka. You'd been in too much pain to be embarrassed about it. 

It's funny that this is a memory that sticks out in your mother's mind. 

"Did he find the mop?"

You peer at her, torn from the memory as she looks up at you. Her eyes look too big for her face. You try to register what she's asking you. 

"What mop?"

She sighs, frustrated with your confusion. Her mouth goes a little slack before she smacks her lips together and motions to the brownie. "I'm done with this." 

You remove the brownie and the tray placing both on the dresser before returning to her side of the bed. 

You watch her eyes go soft around the edges, her chin trembling slightly. 

"You know I would do it differently," she says in an ardent tone of voice. 

"What would you do different, mom?" 

"I would do so much differently. No more booze. No more Florida and paying off a mortgage for a home your dad wanted." 

You watch her wince before placing a shaky hand over her swollen belly.

"Do we have more medicine? It hurts." 

"Of course."

You rise, shaking a morphine tablet out of its container and placing it on her dry tongue. You urge some water into her, watching in relief as her throat bobs. She’s still fairly coherent, still looking at you with interest. It emboldens you as you take your seat at the edge of her bed again.

"Mom, why did you stay here after dad left?"

"Your friends were here. Family. It was bad enough your father left; I didn't need you and your sister..." Suddenly she's gone from that, mind moving through time as you sit there staring at her. "Is your boyfriend coming by again?"

"Who?”

"Francisco." 

"He's not my boyfriend, Mom. He never was." 

"Of course he was," your mom says with a light laugh. "He was always here with your cousin. I remember how you looked at each other." 

Your pulse is pounding in your temple, confusion and heartache combined. Your mom was so often home and sober. When would she have ever noticed? 

"Are you going to marry him? I remember one phone call..." she trails off, voice slurring.

You watch her eyes start to shutter. She's groggy now, the medication taking hold. 

"Mom, what are you talking about?" 

But she's fading too quickly to answer you, eyelids heavy as she struggles to listen to you. And you realize that this could be the last time you speak to her. The last time to tell her everything you've had pent up. 

You think of the acidic words on your tongue that have been there since you returned. All the ugly things you've wanted to say to her about her alcoholism, about how she wasn't there enough. 

But it all seems so... Unnecessary. 

You think of the long hours she worked. The loneliness of being a single mom to two girls. You think of the things she must have had to see at her job and still come home with a smile and sometimes, muffins. 

You think about how she always encouraged your education, and while she couldn't afford to send you anywhere, it was her cutting out scholarships from the paper. It was her giving you the last of her booze money before you left. 

You realize you've looked at so much with the expectation of disappointment. Of being pushed aside. Your mom. Hilary. Greg. Frankie. 

And now? Now it just feels so much better to let it go. To accept that your mom could have done better, but she could have done a lot worse. 

So when you take her gnarled hand in yours, thumb tracing over bony knuckles, there isn't any ire left in you. Only a heart swollen with compassion. 

"I wasn't fair to you these last few years," you say gently. "I blamed you for a lot. Some of it deserved, but some of it just carried anger I should have let go a long time ago. " 

Her heavy lidded eyes tell you she wants to apologize. That she wants to explain but she's so tired so you just smile gently at her, brushing her hair back from her face. 

“I need you to know that I forgive you, Mom. More than that, I love you." 

She doesn't reply, but her shuttering eyes are wet. Her wrinkled lips are trying to form words, but they can't. But that's okay because you don't need any. 

"I love you, mom," you repeat, feeling the words deep in your soul. 

You mean them. 

You continue to hold her hand long after, watching as her face turns placid, chest rising slowly. She's asleep. Before you tuck her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, you think you see the faintest whisper of a smile accompany the single tear that slides down her cheek. 

THEN

The afternoon of Santi's birthday party you put on your best sundress, put a ribbon in your hair and dab color to your lips. You spritz some perfume to your neck and wrists, looking at yourself in the cheap mirror you had as a child.

You look good. 

You snap a photo of yourself, sending it off to Greg with a giggle, your thumbnail wedged between your front teeth. 

"Ready to go?" 

Hilary is wearing a jean skirt and a black tank that shows off her cleavage. Her body has always been incredible and you feel slightly insecure as the two of you drive over to the beach with a cooler in your trunk. 

The sand is gritty under your feet as you hold your sandals loosely crooked on your second and third fingers. 

The crowd is in the distance, lots of laughter and the scent of hamburgers drifting your way. 

"Hope the guys aren't gross," your sister mutters. "I'm just glad Travis won't be here." 

"Me too." 

Travis moved out west a few years ago with his girlfriend. No one mourned the loss of him.

Your nose wrinkles in disgust when you think about the party at his place. You can't seem to forget his groping hands, the way he wouldn't stop, the things he said. And that always leads you to remembering Frankie's furious face. The anger that radiated off of him.

You're thankful that you won't see either of them today.

At least that's what you're thinking until you approach and see a familiar head of dark curls partially hidden under a green hat. 

For a minute you don't even register that it's him. His back is facing you, and it's even broader than last time. He's filled out, his body that of a man in his early thirties, not his mid twenties. He's wearing a grey T-shirt and when he lifts the beer bottle to his mouth you see it flex, the gold of his skin creamy in the fading sunlight. 

"Hil! Pip! There you are," Santi says with a wave, excusing himself from the crowd around the BBQ. 

You see Frankie's shoulders flinch, like he's been hit in the side. And when he turns slowly and finally looks at you, really looks at you, you see the years of silence and resentment locked away until this moment, now set free. 

You think it must match your hardened gaze because your teeth clench, your face forcing itself into a smile as your cousin comes to wrap you and your sister in a hug. 

"Lemme get you a burger!"

"Here, take this first," you say handing him the wrapped gift. He smiles even broader, becomes even more handsome if that's possible.

"You didn't have to do that." 

"Of course I did!" 

"She just put my name on the card," Hilary snarks behind you. "Me showing up is your gift."

"Do they accept returns?" 

Hilary grins widely. "Fuck you, you brat. Get me a burger." 

You laugh with them, watching out the corner of your eyes is Frankie slinks away to the opposite side of the BBQ, ensuring that the two of you won't collide.

Santi wraps an arm around your sister, leading her to the burgers and some friends she clearly recognizes from around town. All of a sudden it feels like old parties, with you standing awkwardly while your sister goes off being Miss Popular.

"If you want a beer I think you should know the ones on top are really warm. This once is nice and cold." 

A beautiful south Asian woman appears, a beer in one hand extended your way. She's stunning with long legs and dark hair loosely braided down her back. 

"Oh, I don't really like beer." You don't usually enjoy any alcohol. But you can't tell people the real reason why. "I'm designated driver," you add.

"Oh. Smart," she says, cracking the beer and taking a sip. She motions in the direction of the group. "We just took a cab here." 

She remains there at your elbow, her big dark eyes gazing at you with obvious interest. 

"Any chance there's a Pepsi?" You ask, trying to break the silence. 

She nods, speaking as she digs into the ice chest, fingers rattling the quickly melting ice. 

"You’re Pip, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Inaya," she says as she grins widely, you're not surprised to see she has the most beautiful smile. 

"It's so nice to finally meet you," she says brightly, passing you the drink. "Santi has told me so much about you." 

This must be Santi's latest conquest, you think. She looks the type - beautiful and delicate looking. 

"That's sweet of him, considering we grew up together and he has tons of dirt on me." You laugh, taking the can. "If you want, I can share the stories I have on him. Just ask." 

She giggles, and her laugh is melodic. 

"Actually, do you have any on Frankie?" She says as she covertly points his way. "I need some good stories to torment him with. He's always so tight lipped about his past." 

You follow her pointed finger to see Frankie chuckling with a blonde man, dark eyes crinkled under the rim of his cap. It's a new one bearing the logo of some lumber yard. 

With a devastating swoop of your stomach, you realize that she's not with Santi. She's here with Frankie. 

"I was surprised to see him," you mutter, trying not to breathe too heavily. 

"He got home a day early," she gives another tinkling laugh, which you now find grating. "And I'm so glad because I was way too nervous to come alone. This is my first time meeting all his friends. Aside from Santi. He's your cousin, right?" 

"Yep." 

You don't know if she's privy to what happened between you and Frankie. And if she is, Santi's birthday is not the place to discuss it. 

"So," she prompts, running her hands for her hair in a way that's completely unforced. "Any stories I can torture Frankie with?"

You smile weakly. The heat of the day feels oppressive, the stench of the barbecue overpowering. The nearby shrieks people and low murmur of sunbathers are already giving you a headache. 

"None worth telling," you insist. "He was always the good kid.”

Almost as if he can hear your kind, Frankie's 's attention drifts amongst the partygoers. You stand rooted to the spot as his eyes make their way to you, the surprise registering there as he watches you and his girlfriend talking. 

You're convinced that familiar scent of Old Spice and fresh sweat is carried on the breeze to you. It makes your palms grow damp. 

You excuse yourself, going to stand with another group of women you don't recognize. They're loud and funny and they welcome you into the conversation without thought. 

It's an hour later when your stomach grumbles and you decide is time for a burger. You saunter up to the picnic table, eyes on the topping and variety of chips. You swipe your arm over your forehead, brushing hair out of your eyes.

Music is playing faintly, the sight of the water quite calming. Hilary is laughing with a group, and for a moment the day feels almost relaxing.

But as you go to reach for a burger bun it's like something in the air shifts behind you, the hair on the back of your neck prickling.  

You know without even looking over your shoulder that it’s Frankie.

He moves to stand beside you, his hand going for a paper plate. 

After a few moments of breathing deeply, eyes lifting to sneak a glance at him. 

Up this close you see the new lines to his face. The cheeks that have filled out, the light scruff that covers his chin and above his top lip. He's a new person. A man, no longer the boy you remember. 

But still there is that same hair tucked under a cap, still those watchful eyes that slant your way now. Ever calculating, ever observing. 

"Didn't know you'd be here," he mumbles. 

You don't answer him; you just look back at your plate squirt the mustard over your bun. 

"Didn't think you'd fly back for it," he adds before clearing his throat. 

"Sure," you reply, voice tight.  

You watch his large hand go to grab a burger bun from the center of the table, momentarily hypnotized by the deep shores of his knuckles, the width of his fingers. 

You toss some potato salad onto the plate, trying to quell the frantic tempo of your heart. 

"Your girlfriend seems nice." 

His hand stops mid hover over a plate of onions. At least he has the good grace to look embarrassed, pink crawling up his neck and splotching his tanned cheeks. 

"She's not really my girlfriend..." He trails off, voice hushed. "We just... Hang out together sometimes."

Hang out. He means fuck. 

Something about his intentional ambiguity takes you right back to that night at the party. To the night he betrayed you. When he said one thing and then did another. Here he is again, leading a girl on for his own selfish gain.  

It makes your insides flame with fury. Years of repressed anger and emotional avoidance all culminate in a maelstrom behind your ribs. 

"Guess some things never change,” you say with a vicious snarl his way. 

He blinks slowly, dumbly. "Huh?" 

The reaction makes you even more infuriated.

“You’ve just always been good at making girls think they mean more to you than they actually do," you clarify. 

Now his brows drag down, mouth in a frown. His eyes bounce back between your own, true confusion clouding his expression. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

You hear your name being called. Santi is waving over at you from the portable BBQ.  A group of handsome but serious men stand around him, beers in their hands. You think you recognize them from the photo Santi showed you: his army buddies. 

You turn back to Frankie, noting that his glare hasn't left your face. 

"It means whatever you want it to, Frankie," you say with a disgusted scoff. "Just keep me out of it." 

You turn, walking over to Santi and the group of guys. All the while you feel Frankie's eyes on your back. The way you know he's still glaring at you.

You introduce yourself, being as charming as possible. Benny, Will and Tom. Women who are as gentle as they are intimidating. And when you finally turn several moments later you see Frankie and Inaya hand in hand, moving across the beach to his truck. 

When they drive off you expect to feel a sick sort of satisfaction, but instead all you're left with is a hollowness in your chest and tears that burn along your waterline.

The scent of oil and coffee hangs in the air, wafting over the busy restaurant. Denny's, a former haunt for you and your cousin. 

"Are you excited about going back to South America?" You ask, leaning back in the cracked red faux-leather booth. 

Santi sits across from you, curled over a steaming mug of black coffee. 

"Being home for a bit was fun, but I feel ready to get back into things again." 

He leans back in the booth, arms stretched wide. He looks so relaxed, so happy. It gladdens you to see your normally stressed cousin looking so restored. 

You know his job is hard combating drug cartels. That he puts on the careless playboy act because his real life has real stakes. 

"I must admit it's been nice having you around this summer," you say, perusing the menu. "I think I would've stayed inside all this time without you forcing me to be social." 

He grins. "The guys love you. Benny says if you need anything when I'm gone he's got you. Frankie too." 

Your jaw shifts. "Mhmm." 

Santi must note your quiet displeasure because he shifts focus. 

"Auntie seems to be..." Santi trails off, briefly worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "I'm glad I got to see her this summer." 

"I'm glad too." 

"How are you doing with it?"

"Surviving," you offer, finger scraping against the plastic menu, tone light.  

Santi removes his arms from the back of the booth and tilts your way, voice low. 

"C'mon, Pip. Be real." 

The server comes to deliver your breakfasts of pancakes, eggs, bacon. All your favorites that you share with gusto. 

"I have no idea how I'm feeling," you say with a weak laugh as you mix sugar into your coffee. "I just kind of wake up go through the motions and then go to sleep and do it all over again the next day." 

Seeing your increasing solemnity, you watch as your cousins broad smile turns muted. "How is Hilary doing?" 

"She's good... I mean, I think." You pat some butter onto your toast. "I mean, she broke up with Justin." 

"Yeah she told me." 

"She tell you why?"

"Sounded like it just ran its course." 

You fold your hands on the table. 

"She broke up with him because he was too nice." 

"No shit?" Santi almost laughs. "Damn, she's crazy sometimes." 

"Tell me about it."

You're amused when you see syrup slip down your cousin's chin. 

"You eat like you're on the run." 

"Who says I'm not?" He winks at you.

Your pancakes are barely touched, your mouth dry. You can't stop thinking about what Hilary said about Travis fucking everyone.  

"Can I ask you something?"

 "Go ahead." 

"Did you... Did Travis ever talk to you about Christy?"

"Travis? Damn, I haven't thought about him in years. Why would he be talking about Christy?" 

You shrug. "No reason." 

Santiago takes a bite of his bacon, making an upset groaning noise. 

"She was at pool the other night and I swear I was going to claw my eyes out." He shakes his head, left cheek full. "No one likes to talk about Christy as much as Christy does. Why do you ask?" 

"No reason," you lie. "Hilary and I were talking about old times last night and I guess she's stuck in my brain." 

"Well, she wouldn't leave me the fuck alone," Santi says taking a swig of coffee. "I mean, I slept with her once during a visit back, like, six years ago and she won't let it go." 

You fall quiet and nod, poking at your quickly cooling eggs. Seems like everyone fucked Christy at one point.

"The only one who can't stand her more than me is Frankie," Santi scoffs into his chipped coffee mug. 

You go rigid, jaw feathering. You feel like you're vibrating and not just from the coffee you've been drinking all morning. 

"She was all over us both at the pool hall and he was so annoyed he left early." 

You bite back a scathing retort about how Frankie probably didn't mind it as much as Santi thinks. And yet, a fire heats low in your belly. An ugly, pulsing jealousy. 

"You two seem to be getting on better this visit though," he says. "Not as much bickering." 

"I guess," you mutter to your plate.  

"Anything you want to tell me?" Santi wheedles, tapping his fork against his plate lightly. 

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on, Pip," Santi says with a roll of his eyes. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that you're not into each other?" 

The waitress comes by to refill your emptied coffee mugs, giving you a moment to collect yourself. Finally she leaves and you lean over the table, voice a hush. 

"What are you on about?"  

"Frankie asked me for your number. He keeps asking how you are," Santi says. "And you keep getting weird every time I bring him up." 

"I'm not getting weird."  Even as you say it, you can hear the strain in your voice. 

"I'm just saying, maybe it's time to bury the hatchet." 

You say nothing as you shovel a bite of pancake into your downturned mouth. 

You think about Frankie and the couch and the safety you felt wrapped up in his arms. The perfect feeling of calm serenity along with the scorching heat of need when he kissed you. How it felt like no time had passed at all. 

"Or maybe it's time you two finally made a serious go of it," Santi croons with a waggle of his dark brows.

The pancakes go tacky in your mouth, fork almost clattering onto the tabletop. Everything starts going slow, and then your heart hiccups and it begins speeding up at once. 

"... What?" 

"Like a real relationship." 

You watch your cousin take another bite of pancake. The syrup clings to his lower lip and you stare at it in a confused daze before he rubs it away with a napkin. 

"Why the hell would Frankie and I want to be in a real relationship?" 

"Because you've been into him since we were kids," Santi says with a playful cock of his head when your eyes blow wide. 

"It was a crush at best," you say with a withering look his way. Pain exists there in your chest. A low, burning sensation that feels just as acute as it did in your youth.

"I dunno. I was picking up some serious vibes from both of you until that stupid party Travis threw. Then you both got weird." 

You try to raise the mug to your mouth without it shaking but are unsuccessful. Little creamy dots dribble onto the plate next to your breakfast. Santi notices.

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," you snap, letting the mug slam down, spraying more coffee onto the table. "I just don't know where you're getting this crazy information and why you think Frankie and I should give it a shot." 

A woman with two children scowls over at you for disturbing them. An old man with a hat scoffs under his breath. You sink down in the booth, cheeks hot. 

"You don't have to lie to me, Pip." 

You raise your eyes, feeling more vulnerable than you ever have in the presence of your cousin. He's looking at you with eyes soft around the edges. The eyes of someone who observes, who keeps information close. 

And in that moment you realize he's known all along. That it was more than a crush you felt for Frankie, that your feelings weren't always just surface level. 

"I really cared about him," you whisper, tears starting in the corner of your eyes.

"I wasn't blind. I knew, Pip."

Something about the way he says the nickname makes you feel like an awkward teen again. It makes years of resentment bubble forth. 

"Yeah, well, did he tell you that he strung me around all summer and made it seem like he felt the same? That he told me he wanted us to do long distance?"

Santi looks like you've just told him the moon landing was faked. He just stares, mouth slightly dropping. You've never seen his eyes so wide and round before. 

"And did he tell you that hours after telling me that he had feelings for me that I caught him fucking Christy upstairs in Travis' parents' bedroom?" You say, voice finally cracking. "Did he tell you that he broke my fucking heart?" 

The tears are free flowing down your cheeks, the sobs catching in your chest as you try to slow your breathing. 

"Then he has the nerve to hate me all these years? Because I, what? I kissed Travis because I was devastated? What is that in comparison to fucking the girl who made my teenage life miserable?"  

Your chest is heaving, cheeks and neck on fire. You know nearby diners are looking your way, watching the altercation. 

But you can't stop, it just spills out of you, years of pain and hurt and anger. You cover your face, embarrassed and livid in one swoop. 

And you expect Santi to apologize, to insist he had no idea that Frankie had done this to you. But he's not. He's just staring at you with a concerned look. 

"Pip," he finally says. "That's not what happened." 

dividers by @saradika-graphics

taglist

@ashleyfilm

@beezusvreeland

@doblasftcisco

@harriedandharassed

@joeldjarin

@maried01

@menshipsandthesea

@peppermintfury

@severelysentientnova

@speaktothehandpeasants

@vickie5446

@yellowbrickyeti

[notyourlovemonkey]

The Right Life | Masterlist

Summary: Joel Miller’s life is already full; work, responsibility, long days, and Sarah at the center of everything. He is not looking for change, much less for someone who unsettles the careful balance he has built around himself. Then he gets sued and risks losing money he doesn't have. He needs a lawyer... And he gets someone competent, sharp, impossible to keep at a distance for long, and somehow fitting into places he never intended to make room for.

Pairing: Joel Miller / f!Reader (reader is a lawyer, minimal physical description). Story rating: E (+18). Story tags/warnings: No outbreak AU. Grumpy Joel. Domestic fluff. Dating. Fluff. Smut. Alcoholism (not reader or Joel). Moving in. Marriage. Pregnancy. Word count: Still ongoing.

a/n: Basically this is a self-indulgent story about Joel Miller. The life he should've had if the world hadn't gone to hell.

This is supposed to be like a quiet boat ride, something to read when you want no drama or misunderstandings... just a simple life that and Sarah he should've gotten. This story has been in the making for many many months, only now I dare to star publishing when it's almost done writing. I love it very much, it's very close to my heart. I hope you like it too!

Important notes:

- Joel's POV only. Don't know why, but the story asked to be written this way 😅.

- Reader has a name, it's a long story (more than 20 chapters) and I didn't want to use a nickname so... yeah.

- It was not originally written as a reader insert, so I had to edit it all. There may be some things that have escaped me, if so, I'm sorry! Let me know and I'll fix them!

CHAPTERS:

Part 1 - The Lawsuit

Part 2 - The Number

Part 3 - The Date

Part 4 - The Night

Part 5 - The Introduction

Part 6 - The Call

Part 7 - The Home

Part 8 - The Brightness

Part 9 - The Crack

Part 10 - The Trust

Part 11 - The Cabin

Part 12 - The Question

Part 13 - The Countdown

Part 14 - The Girls

Part 15 - The Knot

Part 16 - The Promise

Part 17 - The Name

Part 18 - The Possibility

Part 19 - The Waiting

Part 20 - The Arrival

Part 21 - The Settling

(more to come, but not too many! It's almost done!)

[cherubnthechaoschoir]

THANK YOU, MR. MILLER. (series masterlist) - bfd/dbf!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: caught up in the devistation of you parents ever crumbling marriage, you seek help and comfort from your older neighbour.

a note from lucy:  i wrote this ages ago before i took a long break from the fandom, but only posted it to ao3 and not to tumblr. a lot of my mutuals arent writing anymore or just arent as active so i feel like im going into this completely new again. i'd love to get to know people again so please send me a message or leave a comment of any fic recs/blogs for anything pedro (self plugs are so welcome too). i also have loads of other fics so if you liked this please feel free to check them out. dont forget to follow @cherub-notifs and turn on ‘get notifications’ to be notified when i post. xxx

playlist | m.list

PART I

wc: 7789 | smut, angst, fluff

summary: caught up in the devistation of you parents ever crumbling marriage, you seek help and comfort from your older neighbour.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!  no outbreak au! bfd!joel, angst, fluff, smut, p in v smut, fingering, oral - fem receiving, light choking, age gap (reader is twenty one, joel is in his forties), swearing, mentions of infidelity and divorce.

PART II

w/c: 5736 | smut, angst, fluff

summary: it was everything. it was perfect, too. but like all perfect things, it didn't last. now you're back to square one, begging like a dog lost without its owner.

warnings: 18+ no outbreak au! bfd!joel, angst, a tiny bit of fluff at the end (happy ending), smut, p in v smut, techinaclly dubcon, fingering, choking, spitting don't look at me like that, you're here too!, age gap (reader is in her twenties, joel is in his forties), swearing, use of drugs (ketamine), heavy drinking. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

[pedroscurls]

blurred lines (pt. 1)

summary: harry asks you a question that catches you by surprise.

pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader content warning(s): MATURE CONTENT (18+ MDNI), friends with benefits, established situation-/friendship, fake relationship trope, slight age gap (not specified, but implied), both are bad at love/communication, mentions of lucy, minimal physical description, no use of y/n. word count: 3.7k a/n: here we go y'all!!! missed writing for my man, harry, and i'm so excited to explore a different side of him in this story. we're gonna go through a rollercoaster of emotions in this one, so buckle in and hope y'all enjoy <3 pt 2. || series masterlist. || read on AO3.

You had been hired by the Castillo family almost five years ago. As a commercial photographer, your goal was to help promote their business and brand. Your relationship with the family extended to them permanently hiring you for your services, which also meant you had to photograph corporate events. 

You had gotten used to their extravagant parties and the family had always been so very nice to you. 

But it was their oldest son that you had more of a personal relationship with. It started off as a one night stand, a drunken night where you both spent the entire night just pouring your hearts out to one another. 

You wanted marriage. 

So did he. 

You felt like you couldn’t find the right guy. 

He felt like no woman could meet his standards. 

You wanted someone simple, someone that could challenge you but ground you at the same time. 

He wanted a partner, someone equal to him. 

And by the end of that night after realizing that you both would likely end up dying alone, you ended up sleeping with each other. 

You both agreed it had been a mistake, that you both just had too much to drink and were just in your feelings. 

But then, it occurred again later that month. 

After a failed first date. You had stepped into his penthouse and just… used him, and he didn’t care either. You were helping him as much as he was helping you. 

And so, your relationship with Harry shifted. He’d use you just as much as you used him, but never did it pass that threshold into something more. 

Because he wasn’t what you wanted. 

And you weren’t what he wanted either. 

For now, both of you were just a warm body to each other. 

Someone to pass the time with. 

Someone to help him get his mind off a particularly rough date. 

Or someone to help you move on when you’ve been broken up with.

That was just the type of relationship you had with Harry and you didn’t mind. 

He didn’t either. 

When he met Lucy, you knew to keep your distance. Just like he would when you were exclusively seeing someone too. 

But it was different with her, you knew that already. 

The last conversation you had with him was after Peter’s wedding. He told you all about Lucy, how interested he was in her, how such a good match she was. He wanted more with her right away and you knew better than to get involved in his personal relationships. 

Because you knew that was just how Harry was. He had told you once before that love was always the most challenging thing in the world. It wasn’t his job, it wasn’t the endless meetings he had to attend, it was love. 

He couldn’t understand how difficult that seemed to be—how someone like him couldn’t find anyone worth settling down with. 

But Peter’s wedding had gotten him to start reflecting on the type of life he was living and the kind of life he wanted. 

And he wanted someone to love, someone to come home to. He wanted what his parents had, what Peter was able to experience with Charlotte. 

So, when he met Lucy, Harry thought he found the one. He knew that he could add value to her life, just how she could add value to his. Everything had been going smoothly too. He bought a ring, bought two plane tickets to Iceland, and was planning to propose to her just after a few months of seeing her. 

But when she found out about his scars late one night, Harry knew something wasn’t right. His relationship with her didn’t feel right. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t hurt when she had broken up with him, but there was a bit of relief that he felt too. 

When she left, he went to your apartment. Didn’t say anything when you opened the door, he knew you weren’t seeing anyone. And before you could even ask what he was doing there, he had just leaned in to kiss you. 

It was urgent, messy, almost like he was trying to forget everything with Lucy. 

Because the conversation she had with him in his kitchen did made him feel like a child. 

Love is supposed to be easy. She said it so casually, so matter-of-factly too. 

So, he went to someone familiar. Someone that knew all parts of him. Someone without any strings attached. 

He went to you. 

And he knew you wouldn’t argue, wouldn’t push him to ask him what was going on. That wasn’t the type of relationship you had with him anyway. 

You welcomed him almost immediately and he spent the rest of that night fucking you into your mattress. It wasn’t a great relationship—you both knew that, but it worked for the two of you. 

When you both finally had enough of each other that night, Harry was already pulling on his sweatpants while you laid there in bed, naked with a sheet covering you. 

“I’m going to Iceland,” he blurted out. His tone was cold, hurt. 

“Okay,” you said. 

“Without Lucy,” he clarified. 

“I figured.” 

He sighed. 

And for a moment, your eyes softened. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Harry’s jaw tightened. “She said love is supposed to be easy… what the fuck does that even mean?” 

You sat up and reached for your shirt on the floor to cover at least your upper half. You knew Harry, knew the surgery he and his brother went through, knew how difficult it was for him to feel something that normally other people wouldn’t have trouble feeling. 

“Sounds like she was in love with someone else,” you answered honestly. 

Harry sighed. “I know.” 

“And yet, you still wanted to marry her.” 

He looked at you. “We could’ve been great together.” 

“In what sense, Harry? Because if love is what you’re really looking for, you weren’t going to find it with her.” 

“Oh, and you just know that, do you?” 

You sighed. “Don’t get all snippy with me, okay? I’m just—I’m telling you what I saw.” 

He sat down at the edge of your bed. His eyes softened too. You both knew how to regulate each other’s emotions in a way that no one else could. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

“I know,” you said, reaching out to run a hand through his hair. “And you’re hurting, I get it, but she wasn’t for you… and I think you knew that too.” 

“But we were compatible,” he reasoned. 

“On paper, maybe,” you whispered. 

“Exactly.” 

“Harry,” you sighed. “Did you love her?” 

He bit his lower lip and pulled away from you. “I don’t know.” 

“If you can’t answer yes right away, then the answer is already a no.” 

Harry looked at you and nodded once. You always had a soft spot for his deep brown eyes, but right now, he looked like a kicked puppy. So, you leaned in and gently pecked his lips. 

“You’re not old,” you reassured him. “You’ll find the perfect woman.” 

“I’m not getting any younger,” he said. “And maybe there just isn’t a perfect woman out there.” 

“Of course there isn’t.” 

His brows shot up slowly. 

“You just need to find the perfect one for you,” you finished. 

Harry looked into your eyes and moved a hand to your hip. The air felt charged now like something unspoken was now lingering in the air. You knew how to calm him down, how to get himself out of his head. He leaned in again. 

“Will you wait for me?” He asked. 

You let a small smile line your lips. “You know I won’t.” 

Harry chuckled, pulling away from you as he stood from your bed. “That’s fair.” 

“You wouldn’t wait for me,” you argued. 

“I know,” he said quietly. “Will I see you when I get back?” 

You nodded. “You know where I live and you know where I work, Harry.” 

He nodded and bent down to kiss the crown of your head once more. “Thanks,” he whispered. “For tonight.” 

“I know you’d do the same if I was in your position.” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I would.” 

You laid back in bed and turned on your side face him, arm tucking underneath your arm. “Have a fun trip to Iceland.” 

Harry scoffed. “I’ll try.” 

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll find someone while you’re there.” 

“Doubt it.” He walked towards the door and turned back to look over you at his shoulder. “Good night.” 

“Night, Harry,” you smiled. “Turn the light off on your way out.” 

He chuckled to himself and nodded. He left your apartment that night feeling a bit more relieved, but the pain of rejection still lingered. Harry ended up boarding his plane that following morning, sending you a quick text that he was leaving. 

He stared at his phone and couldn’t help the smile on his lips. It was a simple text, nothing that showed you were interested in something more, which was the kind of relationship you both already established. 

You forgot to turn the light off, he read your message repeatedly before shutting his phone off. 

Maybe leaving to Iceland would be for the best. 

Harry had come back to Iceland two months ago. Nothing changed. He went back to work like he didn’t just get his heart broken and he still visited you almost every night to get his mind off of it. 

You didn’t mind though. Sex with Harry had always been different than with other men. You weren’t sure if it was because he knew what you liked or if it was because he knew every spot on your body that would bring you closer to the edge, but it was easy with him. 

He never stayed the night too. 

That had been one of the rules you both established and even if there had been some nights where you had no choice but to stay, you always slept in different rooms. 

Never together. 

Because that meant also crossing a boundary that neither of you wanted to cross. 

But tonight, Harry was nervous. He planned to show up at your apartment, just like he did last night, but for a different reason to see you. 

All day, his parents had been hounding him about Lucy, about how he wasn’t getting any younger and that their hope to see him married likely wasn’t ever going to happen. 

It started distracting him from his work too because they got in his head. Late to meetings all day, staring out the window of his office when he should be looking over reports.

His mother even came into his office and said she had some friends whose daughters could be good for him. He shook his head and just blurted it out. He didn’t mean to, truthfully, he didn’t, but he was tired. It was already bad enough that he had his own standards that having his parents go on about it just made it worse. 

“I’m already seeing someone,” Harry told her. “And I’m bringing her to the Maldives.” 

His mother’s eyes lit up. “What?” 

“Yeah, I—I didn’t want to make a big deal about it.” 

“You’re taking a woman to our family trip for an entire week to celebrate me and your dad’s anniversary?”

Harry nodded. “Yes.” 

“Must be serious then,” she grinned. “It isn’t Lucy, is it?” 

“No,” he sighed. 

Then, Harry said your name. 

“The photographer?” 

“Yes,” he answered.

His mother’s grin grew. “Perfect.” 

“Perfect?” 

“I always knew there was something between the two of you,” she winked. 

Harry cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure what she was referring to because even when you did come to work at certain events, you both tried to keep your distance. Sure, you’d have conversations with him, but never to the extent that anyone could see there was something more. 

“Did you?” 

She nodded. “I see the way you look at her sometimes. It lingers.” 

His brow furrowed. Harry didn’t know what his mother was saying and it wasn’t something that he could tell you either. “Anyway, can we just stop with the trying to set me up and everything?” 

“Well, if we’d have known that you were already with someone, we wouldn’t have hounded you all day,” she chuckled, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head. “We just want you happy, Harry.” 

“I know, ma,” he mumbled. “And I am,” he lied.” 

“Good. Your dad’s gonna be so excited to hear that you’re dating her.” She smiled, pulling away. “I’ll let you get back to work.” 

When his mother left his office, Harry sighed and grabbed his phone. Sent you a quick text, asking to see you tonight, before he continued working. He thought by lying to his mother about his relationship status would help him focus, but instead it just distracted him even further. 

Harry stepped into your apartment so casually once the door opened. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his blazer before moving to your living room to sit on your sofa. He moved around your place so effortlessly, like this had become his second home. 

“Your text was… ominous,” you pointed out first, moving to sit next to him with your legs tucked underneath you and your body facing his. 

“Don’t be mad,” he said. 

“Uh oh,” you replied. “That usually means I’m going to get mad if you start with that.” 

Harry sighed. 

You noticed the tension in his shoulders, the concern and exhaustion written across his features. “What is it, Harry?” 

“You’re coming with me to the Maldives,” he answered. 

“Okay…” you said, brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?”

“For my parents’ 50th anniversary trip.” 

“Oh, did they want me to work while I’m there?” You asked. 

“No.” 

“Right, so then…”

“You’re going to pretend to be my girlfriend,” he blurted out. 

“What?” 

“I panicked. I was just tired of hearing my parents go on and on about Lucy and how I should be like my brother, settling down already, and it just came out.” 

“Harry—”

“I’ll pay you,” he interrupted. 

“Well, that’s a fucking insult.” 

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t—” Harry shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked down at his feet. 

“Listen, I know we don’t really talk much… I mean, we don’t do much talking when we’re together anyway, but,” you sighed. “I know you’d do this for me if I was in your position.” 

He turned his head to look at you. Hope filled his dark brown eyes. You could see him relax now. “I would,” he whispered. 

“How long’s the trip?” 

“One week.” 

You nodded, contemplating on what that trip would look like. One week with Harry and his family, pretending to be someone special to him. You knew there was a part of you that knew it’d be easy to slip into that role, but you kept thinking about how it’d change after that one week was over. 

“Okay,” you nodded. “I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend. When do we leave?” 

“This weekend.” 

“I don’t know if I have any appropriate clothing for the Maldives.” 

“I’ll give you my card.” 

“Wow, already being the best boyfriend I’ve ever had,” you teased. 

The corner of his lips lifted. He felt himself relax. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” He asked. 

You nodded and reached out to rest a hand over his. “It’s one week at the Maldives. I think it’s perfectly okay.” 

“And being my girlfriend?” 

“We’re already sleeping together, so it’s not like we have to tiptoe around that.” 

He nodded. 

“But we do need to establish some kind of rules and get our story straight too. They’ll probably ask us how we got together, what our favorite things are about each other… all of that couple stuff.” 

“Right,” Harry said. “That makes sense.”

“And we also need to talk about what happens after.” 

“After?” 

“Yes,” you said. “After.” 

“Okay,” he nodded. 

“Let me get us some drinks. I don’t think this night is gonna end with you on top of me,” you teased, standing from the couch. 

Harry looked up at you and grabbed your wrist, standing too, and gently tugging you to him. With his free hand, he reached up to cup your cheek as he leaned in to lightly peck your lips. 

“Thank you for doing this,” he whispered. 

“I’m getting a free trip and a new wardrobe,” you teased, smiling against his lips. “But anything for you, Harry.” 

Then, you walked away to go into your kitchen. Harry watched you slowly and bit his lower lip. He did feel a bit more at ease, but now he couldn’t help but ponder on your words and the words his mother said too. 

Anything for you, Harry. 

I see the way you look at her sometimes. It lingers. 

It was late and both of you already three drinks in by the time you both decided it was time to lay out the ground rules for the trip. You were laying on your side on the couch and Harry was seated on the floor, tie loosened around his neck and sleeves folded to his elbows. 

“Sex,” you said first. “We can definitely have sex.” 

Harry chuckled. “It’s always sex with you, isn’t it?” 

“You’re good at it,” you winked. “Are you really going to say sex isn’t allowed for the entire week that we’re there? I’m guessing we’re also sharing a room?” 

“Yeah,” he answered. 

“Exactly.” 

He smiled. “Well, sex was a given anyway.” 

“Right, right,” you teased. “What’s the story for how we got together?” 

Harry bit his lower lip. He looked over at you and let his eyes take in every inch of your frame before settling back onto your face. “Maybe we can go with it happened after one of your shoots for company. I was helping you clean up and it just… it happened.” 

“Hmm,” you pondered. “Not good enough.”

“What?” 

“It’s not good enough. You’ve never stayed back to help me before. I don’t think it’d seem realistic.” 

“Fine,” he said. “What about…” Harry leaned over to get closer to you, one arm resting on the couch as he reached up to cup your cheek. “What about we bumped into each other on the way to pick up coffee? It was after Lucy and we just… started talking.” 

“Ooh, I like that,” you smiled, leaning against his touch. “Then, I asked you out for dinner that same night.” 

“You did?” 

“Yes,” you answered. “Shows I like to take initiative. Besides, the men don’t always have to be the one to make the first move.” 

He grinned. “Okay, that’s good. So, we bumped into each other getting coffee, started talking, and you asked me out.” 

“Mhm, and then dinner was a disaster.” 

“You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be,” he laughed. 

“We can’t make it seem all perfect,” you reasoned. 

“Sure, right,” he said, thumb brushing along your cheek. “Dinner was a disaster… we waited so long for our food, they gave us the wrong dishes—”

“And it started raining while we were waiting for the valet!” You chimed in. 

Harry chuckled and dropped his hand. “You know, that actually sounds like something that would happen if we were to go out on an official date.” 

You sighed dramatically. “Exactly.” 

He sat up from the floor and moved to sit on the couch, placing your head on his lap. “So, how do we go from a disastrous first date to officially dating?” 

“I kissed you,” you answered simply. “Because despite everything working against us, we still had fun.” 

Harry smiled. “Romantic.” 

You turned on your back and looked at him, feeling his hand move back down to your cheek again. “That’s something you don’t know about me,” you teased. “I’m a hopeless romantic.” 

“Oh, I knew that about you,” he laughed. “But it’s cute. I like it.” 

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a romantic too.” 

“Good point.” 

“Okay, we have that established. How about during the trip?” 

“What about during the trip?” He asked. 

“Are we affectionate?” 

“Naturally, yes.” 

“Okay, fine with me.” 

“And after?” You asked. 

“Nothing should change,” he answered. “We make it through the week and then we come back and just… slip back into our normal routine.” 

You nodded. “Okay, good.” 

His eyes narrowed as he watched you move to sit up and face him. “What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing. I know that look on your face. What is it?” 

You sighed. “What happens if one of us… develops something for the other person?” 

Harry cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.” 

“Me too, but we need to have some kind of plan in case it does.” 

“Fine,” he said. “If that happens, we talk to each other about it.” 

“And you’ll listen?” 

“Me?” He scoffed. 

“Fine, okay. We’ll both listen.” 

Harry nodded and then gently pulled you onto his lap, watching you place both legs at either side of him as he sat firmly on you. He moved his hands to your hips as he looked up at you, tilting his head. 

“One week,” he said quietly. 

“One week of pretending,” you nodded. 

“And if at anytime you feel uncomfortable, you tell me, okay?” Harry said, reaching up to cup your cheek. 

“You know I will.” You replied, leaning down as your hands ran through his dark curls. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Again.” 

You nodded and leaned in to brush your lips with his. “Guess you’ll just have to owe me.” 

He chuckled and gripped your hips before moving to lay you on your back on the couch, settling himself between your legs. “I can think of a few things to start with.” 

You squeaked out in surprise when his fingers moved along your sides, digging into them teasingly as you erupted in a fit of laughter. You tried to squirm away from him, but he was stronger than you. 

“Harry!” 

He laughed to himself and grabbed your hands, pinning them above your head as he stared down at you. “You tired?” 

You shook your head. Both your gazes darkened. “You know I’m not.” 

“Good,” he grinned, leaning down and pressing his lips firmly against your own. 

taglist: @kellyxo1 @natdouble8 @maryfanson @pascalgold @jaxmom66 @chewie-bars @gothcsz @pascal-mynightlyobsession @sunnytuliptime @ultimatewolverine @notyourlovemonkey @myotakureprieve @nutbutterjellie @burninglovedreamsdepp @isabellaboo2025 @johnssherlock221 @missadangel @longlivekingminnn @vickie5446 @joelmillerpascal

[inkandstardusts]

That's What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas (Complete)

summary: Having just lost your job you agree to a trip to Las Vegas with your best friend, her boyfriend and his grumpy brother. How you end up with a ring on your finger and a marriage certificate you have no recollection of signing is beyond you.

Or, a What Happens in Vegas AU.

rating: 18+, MDNI

tags: Accidental Marriage, Forced Proximity, Eventual Smut, Drinking and Alcohol, Age Gap (reader is 30-ish and Joel is however old you want him to be really but I wrote him as mid 50s <3), Grumpy Joel, Romance, Miscommunication, Enemies to Lovers vibes (sort of)

a/n: i've been thinking about this fic for a while now and have an outline for all 3 parts. i have a good chunk of part 1 done and hope to have it up by the end of this week. i also don't usually make a fic post before posting the fic but really wanted a post to organize the chapters because i hate how i've organized my other multi-part fics. if you'd like to be tagged, feel free to let me know <3

Part 1 - Read here! (Posted April 10th)

Part 2 - Read here! (Posted April 18th)

Part 3 - Read here! (Posted April 25th)

Part 4 - Read here! (Posted May 7th)

[isabellaboo2025]

Where Our Shadows Meet - Part Eleven

Pairing: Joel x Reader.

Plot summary: In 1870s Texas, Joel Miller loses his wife and son in childbirth, leaving him to raise his five year old daughter Sarah alone. Faced with losing her to his wife's grieving parents, or being forced into marrying her younger sister, he turns to you - the town's thirty-something spinster - and asks for your hand in a marriage of convenience.

Chapter summary: Your health slowly improves, then Maggie drops a bombshell about something Joel’s been keeping from you.

Warnings: 18+only due to eventual explicit smut. Also references death and grieving.

A/N: Moving forwards, I’m aiming to post on Tuesdays and Fridays 🥰

Masterlist

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The journey back from the edge of the grave is not a sudden, miraculous leap, but a slow, agonising crawl.

For the first few days after the fever breaks, you’re entirely confined to bed, your body completely hollowed out by the fire that’s consumed you. Your limbs feel like they’re made of water and lead and simply lifting a cup of broth to your lips makes your arms tremble violently with exertion.

But you’re never alone.

Joel becomes your shadow, your anchor, your entire world, abandoning his duties on the ranch to become your caretaker, his hands capable of the most breathtaking tenderness you’ve ever experienced.

When you’re too weak to stand, he brings a basin of warm water and a cake of lavender soap into the bedroom and bathes you. He strips away your sweat-soaked nightgown with a clinical focus that completely ignores his own starving desires. He washes your pale, trembling body with a soft cloth, hands moving over your collarbones, your ribs, the swell of your breasts, and the curve of your thighs with a reverence that makes you want to weep. He doesn’t look at you with feral, predatory lust, but rather like you’re made of the most precious, fragile glass on earth, terrified that if he presses too hard, you’ll shatter.

"I've got you," he murmurs as he lifts you effortlessly against his chest to change the damp sheets beneath you. "You're safe, just rest."

By the end of the week, Sarah comes home from Maria’s and the moment you see her dark eyes wide and shining with unshed tears, your heart swells until you think your ribs might crack. Joel lifts her onto the bed, and she crawls carefully against your side, burying her face in the crook of your neck.

"You didn't go away," she whispers into your skin, her tiny fingers clutching the fabric of your nightgown.

"I'm right here, my sweet girl," you promise, your weak arms wrapping around her solid little body, "and I'm not going anywhere."

Joel stands at the foot of the bed, watching the two of you without saying a word. But the look in his eyes is so profoundly, overwhelmingly full of love that it physically takes your breath away because you can see that he’s looking at his family.

At night, the dynamic shifts into something deeply intimate, yet entirely chaste.

Joel refuses to let you sleep alone, instead stripping down to his drawers and climbing into the bed beside you. He doesn’t, however, make a single attempt to ravish you. The dark, filthy promises he whispered against your neck before the fever struck are completely suspended. He knows your body is still knitting itself back together, and he absolutely refuses to take an ounce of your recovering strength for his own pleasure.

Instead, he holds you flush against his chest, wrapping his arm securely around your waist, anchoring you to the mattress and buries his face in your hair, his hot breath washing over your neck in a slow, steady rhythm.

It’s heaven. But as the days bleed into the second week of your recovery, you begin to notice a subtle, dark undercurrent beneath his devotion.

You’re growing stronger, able to sit up in the parlour and walk to the kitchen with his arm around your waist, the colour returning to your cheeks. But Joel isn’t relaxing, if anything the tension in his body seems to wind tighter.

You begin waking up in the middle of the night to find the bed beside you empty, only to see him standing by the bedroom window, staring out into the night, his shoulders hunched, his jaw locked so tight the muscle leaps under his skin. When you call his name, he turns, returning to the bed to pull you fiercely against his chest, telling you that everything’s fine and you don’t have to worry.

But you can tell that he’s carrying something. A heavy, suffocating weight that he refuses to let you see.

You assume, quite naturally, that it’s the ghost of Tess. You assume the sheer terror of watching you nearly die in the exact same bed his first wife perished in has left him with a deep, psychological scar. So, you try to soothe him by pressing soft, reassuring kisses to his jaw, running your fingers through his hair and promising him over and over again that you’re healthy, you’re whole and that you’re not going to leave him.

He always kisses you back, a desperate, bruising pressure against your lips, but the dark shadow in his eyes never fully dissipates.

On the Tuesday of your second week of recovery, he finally agrees to leave the house for more than ten minutes, Tomás having come to the porch, insisting that a section of the northern fence has completely collapsed, leaving the cattle free to wander toward the ridge.

"I'll be back in two hours," Joel tells you, his eyes sweeping over you as you sit in the armchair, a quilt draped over your lap. "Don't get up. Don't try to cook. If you need anythin’, you wait for me."

"I’m perfectly fine,” you smile softly, reaching out to squeeze his thick wrist. "Go and fix the fence. I promise I’ll just sit right here and read, and Sarah can keep me company."

He leans down, pressing a hard, lingering kiss to your mouth, his thumb dragging possessively over your lower lip before he finally forces himself to walk out the door, leaving you wishing, not for the first time, that he would confide in you.

****

An hour later, the sound of wagon wheels crunching against the dry dirt of the yard breaks the quiet of the house, Sarah having dozed off for an early afternoon nap. You set your book aside and slowly push yourself up from the chair, your legs still slightly shaky, and walk to the front window.

When you look out, you see Maggie, easing herself slowly down from the seat before heading to the back of the wagon and lifting a large, covered tin pot. Walking to the front door, you pull it open as she climbed the porch steps.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she gasps, her eyes widening as she takes in your pale, slightly thinner frame. Rushing forwards, she practically shoves you back inside the house. "Get back in that chair right this second! You have no business being on your feet!"

"It's so good to see you," you laugh weakly, allowing her to herd you back to the parlour where you sink back gratefully into the armchair. "I'm doing much better, truly. The fever broke over a week ago and I’m getting stronger every day."

“You’ve had us worried sick! Pa’s been climbing the walls, but I told him I’d come out to make sure you were fine before he makes the trip. He’s been looking a little wan himself of late,” she clucks, bustling towards the kitchen to set the heavy pot on the stove. "I brought you a venison stew, thick and rich, exactly what you need to put some meat back on your bones. Joel’s going to run himself into an early grave trying to do the work of three men and nurse you at the same time."

"He’s been wonderful," you murmur, a soft, involuntary flush warming your cheeks at the thought of your husband’s tender care.

Maggie walks back into the parlour, pulls up a chair and sits down opposite you, her sharp eyes studying your face with a mixture of profound relief and a strange, nervous hesitation.

“You weren’t to know, of course you weren’t, how you might catch that fever. You’re too caring for your own good – I’ve always told you that – and now all this business with the Reverend, odious man that he is. Why the Lord sees fit to bring such troubles to our doors I’ll never know.”

You blink, brows drawing together in genuine confusion. "The Reverend? Why, what happened?"

Maggie freezes, her mouth opening then snapping shut and she stares at you, her eyes darting toward the hallway, then back again, the colour slowly draining from her face.

"Are…are you telling me you don't know?"

"Know what, Maggie?" you ask, a cold, prickling sensation of dread beginning to uncoil at the base of your spine. "Joel hasn't said a word recently about the Reverend and he hasn’t darkened our door since I came here. I’ve been considering that whatever legal claim he wished to bring has long been extinguished in his mind.”

Maggie lets out a long, heavy breath and shakes her head. "Oh, Lord…so Joel didn't tell you? That stubborn, foolish man."

"Tell me what?" you demand, your voice gaining a sharp, desperate edge.

Maggie leans forward. “The day your fever was at its worst... Reverend Sawyer came out to the ranch. He told folks in town he was coming to offer a prayer over you, but you know how he is.” She pauses and lets out a long breath.

The cold dread in your stomach turns into a block of solid ice. "What did he do, Maggie?"

"Nobody knows exactly what was said," she continues, “but according to Mrs Smart, the Reverend came tearing back into town looking like he'd seen the devil himself. His suit was torn, his neck was bruised black and blue and he ran straight to the jailhouse, screaming that Joel had tried to murder him right there in your yard.”

Your breath hitches violently in your throat.

"He swore out a warrant for assault," she says grimly, “and Sheriff Hayes rode out here the very next afternoon with two deputies to arrest Joel."

"Arrest him?" you gasp. "But... Joel’s been here every single day. He hasn't left my side."

"Hayes came back to town and apparently told the council that Joel was standing on the porch like a mad dog. Mrs Smart said he told Hayes that if they wanted to take him to a cell while you were dying, they were going to have to put a bullet in his head to do it."

The room completely stops spinning as you suddenly understand the origins of the heavy, suffocating weight Joel’s been carrying, the dark, brooding tension in his body as he stares out the window into the night. He hasn’t just been terrified of losing you to the fever – he’s waiting for the law to come back and drag him away from you.

"Hayes is a good man," Maggie sighs, shaking her head. "Apparently, he told the Reverend that Joel wasn't on the property when he got here, to buy him some time. But the town council is breathing down Hayes's neck now and the Reverend’s demanding justice. Hayes told Joel that once you were better, he needed to turn himself in or he’d come back to get him."

You can’t breathe, the sheer, overwhelming magnitude of what Joel’s done crashing over you like a tidal wave. He’s assaulted a man of the cloth, drawn a line in the dirt against the law itself, risked absolutely everything, just so he wouldn't have to leave your side while you fought the fever.

"Why?" you whisper, tears of absolute shock and terror welling in your eyes. "Why would Joel attack him?"

"Come now, you know what the Reverend’s like," Maggie says gently, reaching out to squeeze your trembling hand. "He’s still convinced that he holds higher claim to Sarah than Joel does, not forgetting how badly he wanted – and still wants – Belle to be the new Mrs Miler, even if he hasn’t, so far, done anything about it. But Joel loves you. Anyone with eyes can see that, and if the Reverend perhaps said something un-Christian about you... well, I’m sure Joel wouldn’t have taken it kindly.”

You pull your hand away, your heart hammering a frantic, deafening rhythm against your ribs.

He’s a wanted man. Your husband, the man who’s bathed your feverish skin with agonising tenderness and held you tenderly every night is facing a jail cell.

“This can’t…he can’t…”

“You must speak with him,” Maggie says firmly. “You have to make him tell you about this, because it isn’t something he can fight alone. If he does turn himself into Hayes, then the judge will have to come and…” she trails off.

“Yes,” you say weakly, fighting down the lump in your throat. “Yes, I’ll speak with him.”

Maggie lingers a little longer, tentatively revealing that she’s expecting another child, news you greet with appropriate delight albeit your mind is completely overburdened with the news about Joel. When she finally bids you farewell, you sit alone in the parlour, the silence of the ranch pressing down on you with suffocating force.

When Sarah wakens, she comes and sits on the floor at your feet with her dolls, then you read together, but the words blur before your eyes, the prose making no sense as you wait for Joel to come home.

An hour later, the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots sounds on the porch, and the screen door whines on its hinges as he finally steps inside. He looks exhausted, but the moment his eyes land on you, the tension in his shoulders instantly softens.

"Hey," he rumbles, tossing his hat onto a peg and walking straight toward you. "You look pale. Did you get up?"

Dropping to one knee in front of your chair, he kisses the top of Sarah’s head then reaches out and gently cups your face, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones, searching your skin for the heat of the fever.

"Maggie came by," you say, locking your gaze on his, your voice perfectly steady, but incredibly quiet.

Joel’s hands freeze on your face and his eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw instantly locking tight. He takes a breath and turns to Sarah. “How are the kittens today, babygirl?”

“Good Pa,” she replies.

“Have you fed ‘em yet?” She shakes her head. “Well, you run along and do that. I’ll be out to help you in a minute.”

Sarah scrambles to her feet and rushes out of the room, Joel waiting for the door to close behind her before turning back to you.

"What did she tell you?"

"She brought stew, and she told me that Sheriff Hayes rode out here with two deputies while I was unconscious. She told me…she told me that you assaulted the Reverend and that the Sheriff means to arrest you."

He remains on his knee, chest heaving with slow, deliberate breaths, then looks away from you, staring at the braided rug beneath his boots, his jaw twitching violently.

"Joel, look at me.” He doesn’t move. "Look at me!" you demand, your voice cracking with a sudden, fierce spike of adrenaline.

He slowly lifts his head, the look in his eyes terrifying. It isn’t guilt you find there, or regret, but rather a dark, lethal, entirely unapologetic defiance.

"Did you attack the Reverend?" you ask, your heart pounding in your throat.

"I pinned him to his buggy," he says quietly. "Tomás pulled me off ‘fore I could break his jaw."

"Why?" you whisper. "Joel, I know he’s said and done some terrible things, but…”

Joel surges upward, unfolding from the floor with a sudden, violent speed that makes you gasp. Then he stands over you, the sheer, radiating heat of his anger completely filling the air around you.

"Because he stood in my yard and told me you were gonna die!" he snaps, his voice making you flinch and grip the armrests of the chair.

His chest heaves frantically, his hands flying up to grip the back of his own neck as he paces a tight, agitated circle in front of you.

"He stood there with his damn Bible," he snarls, his voice a raw, ragged scrape of pure hatred. "And basically, told me it was God's will for you to burn to death in that bed, so that I could marry Belle and give Sarah a proper mother. He smiled about it. He stood in my yard, and he smiled at the thought of puttin’ you in the ground!"

He turns back to face you.

"I told him if he said another damn word about you dyin’, I would bury him right next to his daughter, and I meant it.”

He drops his hands from his neck, his shoulders slumping slightly as the adrenaline burns off, leaving behind a raw, exhausted desperation. Then he takes a slow step toward your chair, eyes locking onto yours with an absolute, unbreakable intensity.

"And then Hayes came. He wanted to drag me to a cell, wanted to take me away from you while you were burnin’ up and I told him no. I told him he'd have to shoot me dead on the porch, ‘cause there was no force on this earth that was gonna pull me out of this house ‘til I knew you were safe."

You stare up at him, completely paralysed. The sheer, overwhelming magnitude of what he’s done – what he’s been willing to sacrifice – is staggering. It feels like a terrifying, violent, entirely unhinged kind of love, and God help you it’s exactly the kind of love you need.

Throwing the quilt off your lap and ignoring the trembling weakness in your legs, you push yourself up from the armchair.

"Don't…" Joel starts, his hands instantly coming up to catch you.

But you don’t fall. You step directly into his space, wrapping your arms tightly around waist, and press your face flush against his chest. He freezes for a fraction of a second, then crushes you against him with a desperate, bruising force, burying his face in the crook of your neck, a deep, shuddering groan tearing out of his throat as he breathes you in.

"You foolish, wonderful man," you weep into his skin, your tears mixing with the dust and sweat on his shirt "You could have been killed. They could have shot you right there on the porch."

"I didn’t care," he swears fiercely against your neck. "I still don't care. If I had to do it again right now, I'd break the Reverend’s jaw and throw Hayes off the porch. You’re mine and I protect what's mine."

You cling to him, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart hammering against your own ribs. "What are we going to do?" you whisper, pulling back just enough to look up into his face. "Sheriff Hayes said you have to turn yourself in when I'm well. You can't go to jail, Joel. Sarah needs you. I need you."

Joel reaches up and gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. "I ain’t goin’ to jail," he says. "Hayes is a fair man. He knows the Reverend’s a snake, and half the town council buys their beef from this ranch. They can't afford to have me locked up, and they know it."

He frames your face with his hands, eyes burning with an absolute vow.

"Tomorrow mornin’, I'm ridin’ into town. I'm gonna walk into the Sheriff's office, and I'm gonna pay whatever damn fine I need to for disturbing the peace. But I ain’t sittin’ in a cell. I’m comin’ right back here to you."

"I'm coming with you," you say instantly, your chin tipping up in defiance.

"No. You're still too weak to ride in the wagon. You need to stay here with Sarah."

"I’m your wife, Joel," you insist, pressing your hands flat against his chest, “and I am going to show every single person in Sawyer's Creek exactly who I am to you. We face this together."

He stares down at you and a slow, breathtakingly proud smile breaks across his face. “God, I love you,” he says, through a watery, exhausted chuckle. “I love you so much.”

Then he leans down and captures your mouth in a deep, branding kiss that tastes of salt, dust, and absolute victory, kissing you until your knees buckle, his arms holding you up.

“Thought I gave up believin’ in the Almighty a long time ago,” he finally murmurs against your hair. “But I thank him every day for bringin’ you to me.”

You sigh gratefully into his chest, well aware that your own prayers have been lacking of late. “Make sure – next time – you thank him for the both of us.”

****

That night, Joel’s bed – your bed – feels like a sanctuary, completely insulated from the judgment of the town and the threats of the law.

The moonlight spills through the window, casting a soft, silver glow over the tangled quilts as you lie on your back, your head resting against the curve of Joel’s shoulder, the sheer, radiating heat of his body a soothing balm against your recovering muscles.

You can tell he’s awake by the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, and the gentle, absentminded tracing of his fingers up and down your bare arm. The adrenaline of the afternoon has faded, leaving behind a deep, aching vulnerability, and you shift slightly, turning your body toward his, your leg sliding over his thigh.

He lets out a low, vibrating hum and shifts his weight, turning onto his side to face you fully, his eyes dark and incredibly soft in the moonlight. He doesn’t speak. Instead, he reaches out and gently cups your jaw, his thumb brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

Slowly, deliberately, his hand moves down, tracing the delicate line of your collarbone as though he’s worshipping at an altar, acutely aware of how close he’s come to losing you, completely devoted to cherishing the life beating beneath his palms.

His hand sweeps lower, tracing the curve of your waist and the swell of your hip, the sheer gentleness of his touch sending a slow, heavy wave of liquid heat pooling deep in your belly.

You let out a soft, trembling sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as his fingers find the hem of your nightgown. Slowly, he gathers the soft fabric, drawing it up your calves, past your knees and over the sensitive skin of your thighs. The cool night air brushes against your bare legs, instantly replaced by the scorching heat of his palm resting flat against your inner thigh.

"Joel," you whisper, the sound incredibly fragile in the quiet room.

"Shh," he murmurs, leaning forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Just let me love you, darlin’. You don't have to do a damn thing."

His hand slides higher, fingers brushing against the damp curls at your centre, making his own breath hitch. He pauses, his thumb gently parting the slick, swollen folds of your sex to find you completely, overwhelmingly wet. The sheer emotional intensity of the day, combined with the intoxicating safety of his arms, has left you weeping for him, your body aching with a deep, needy throb despite your lingering weakness.

He groans softly and strokes his thumb slowly over your slick flesh, coating his skin in your arousal.

"So sweet," he murmurs, his voice a dark, velvet rumble against your cheek. "So damn responsive for me."

He moves down the mattress with a slow, deliberate grace, but he doesn’t go straight for the aching, dripping centre he’s just uncovered. Instead, he leans over you, his bare shoulders blocking out the moonlight as he presses his hot, open mouth to the erratic pulse beating at the base of your throat.

You let out a soft, trembling sigh as he drags his lips slowly across your collarbone, then moves lower, to the hollow of your shoulder, his hot breath washing over your flesh before his tongue darts out to taste the salt on your skin.

You feel completely overwhelmed. For thirty-four years, your body has been a practical, ignored vessel. You’ve never been touched, never been cherished, never been the sole focus of a man's absolute, undivided devotion and the sheer, overwhelming magnitude of his reverence brings hot, silent tears prickling to the corners of your eyes.

You moan softly, your hands coming up to weakly tangle in his hair as his mouth moved lower.

"I'm right here," he murmurs against your skin as he pushes the bunched fabric of your nightgown completely out of the way, baring your chest to the air. His hands gently cup your breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over the tight, aching peaks and he leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss, his lips incredibly gentle, before taking one tight nipple into his mouth, laving it slowly with the flat of his tongue, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

He worships you – there’s no other descriptor for it. He kisses the soft curve of your ribs, hands spanning your waist, thumbs tracing the delicate dip of your navel. Every press of his lips, every stroke of his skin against yours feels like a silent, physical vow.

You are beautiful. You are mine. You are safe.

You feel as though you’re floating on a warm, liquid ocean, the aching, throbbing need between your legs building into a frantic, heavy pulse. But you don’t want him to stop. You want to drown in the feeling of being utterly adored.

His mouth trails lower, pressing hot, damp kisses over the soft curve of your lower belly, right above the curls at your centre. You shift your hips instinctively, a tiny, involuntary buck seeking the friction of his mouth, but he simply smiles against your skin, then gently guides your knees further apart, opening you up completely to his burning gaze.

You know what he’s about to do – at least you think you do. You’ve heard tales of such things and yet, part of you, has never quite believed that they could be true. It doesn’t seem proper somehow for a man to put his mouth…there…or for a woman to crave it.

He presses a kiss to the inside of your right thigh then moves to your left, his tongue darting out to taste the sensitive flesh just inches away from your weeping core. The anticipation is intoxicating, a slow torture that leaves you completely unspooled.

"Please," you whimper, your fingers tightening in his hair, your body begging for the release only he can give.

He lets out a low, rough hum of pure masculine satisfaction, then shifts his weight again, settling his forearms on the mattress beside your thighs, and finally, gently, lowers his head.

The first touch of his tongue makes you gasp, your spine arching off the sheets.

It’s a completely different sensation than the desperate, feral way he touched you in the barn. This is excruciatingly slow and exquisitely tender. He traces your delicate, swollen folds with the flat, hot surface of his tongue, tasting your slickness with long, lazy laps that send warm, honeyed shivers radiating outward from your core.

"Oh, God," you breathe, your head tossing back against the pillows.

He hums against your wet flesh, his breath sending a fresh wave of arousal straight to your brain. Then he finds the ultra-sensitive nub of your clitoris and begins to lap at it with agonising care. He doesn’t use suction nor his teeth. He simply strokes the aching bundle of nerves with the soft, wet tip of his tongue, a steady, rhythmic pressure that builds the pleasure in slow, beautiful layers.

You melt into the mattress, all the lingering tension, all the fear of the fever and the town, completely dissolving under the tender, devoted worship of his mouth.

He takes his time, learning the exact, delicate pressure that makes you whimper, the exact angle that makes your hips give a tiny, involuntary buck against his chin. He uses his hands to gently stroke the insides of your thighs, keeping you grounded, making sure you feel perfectly safe and entirely cherished.

The climax doesn’t hit you like a violent lightning strike. It blossoms like a sunrise, a deep, radiant warmth that starts in your chest and spreads slowly downward, tightening the liquid pool in your stomach until it overflows – a sensation you’ve never experienced before. You let out a soft, weeping cry, your inner muscles clenching in a series of long, rippling spasms that wash over you in beautiful, exhausting waves.

Joel swallows your soft cries, his tongue continuing its slow, soothing rhythm until the very last tremor fades from your limbs.

He slowly pulls back, his chest heaving softly, then crawls back up the mattress, shifting until he’s lying beside you once again. He gathers your limp, thoroughly sated body into his arms, hauling you flush against his chest and pulls the quilt over you both before kissing your forehead gently.

"Sleep," he whispers into the dark, his arms wrapping around you like an impenetrable fortress. "I've got you."

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰❤️➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

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[lvely-prose]

— get around

“ all the boys wanna love her when she bats

her fuck me eyes ”

pairings: joel miller x fem! reader

synopsis: living on a farm never gave you the full opportunity to be a normal girl. but your mother wouldn’t let that happen. you got around, being who everyone wanted you to be. the perfect girl living the perfect life. not that anyone cared how lonely you were. then, at a bar you weren’t supposed to be at, you met him.

word count: 4.5K

warnings: drugs, alcohol, age gap, daddy issues, familial issues, mentions of sex, use of tlou names but not location accurate, creepy men, crude language, implied sex

pae speaks ~ been wanting to write this for a while so i’m super excited to share this with you all! also, this is written as pedro pascal’s joel, not the video game !

part 2 here !!

“You want me to get in trouble again?” You asked with a soft laugh. Smoke billowed from the space between your glossy red lips, filling the quaint room with the smell of cigarettes. Not a great habit but in your mind it was better than my mother. Your head lolled to the side, staring at the barn a few feet away from the house. You’d memorized the way the peeling red paint looked like between dusk and dawn—a constant reminder that you were built on a firm foundation and yet it felt like you were falling apart.

“C’mon,” your friend’s voice crackled through the receiver. “You’re the best at bribing the cashiers. Especially Randy.”

You could practically hear the smirk in the girls voice. But she was right.

A cow mooed from the pasture.

The end of the cigarette flared red.

You exhaled. “He’s too busy staring at my tits to even care.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Charlotte. “Put on that top of yours and come with us. It’ll be fun.”

You sat up, hair spilling over your shoulders. “Give me five minutes.” Once the call was over, you jumped out of bed and grabbed a bunch of bobby pins. The curls you’d done with the rollers the other night went up smoothly into a pretty updo. You drew on some eyeliner and glossed up your lips before slipping into a pair of shorts that were probably cut too close to be decent and tying on a red checkered top. You looked in the mirror, making sure your breasts were accentuated.

Then, with a pearly smile, you slipped on your cowboy boots and skipped downstairs. The old wooden steps creaked, the ancient walls riddled with family pictures and taxidermy settling. You’d always hoped you would be able to escape the confines of a house trapped with childhood memorabilia and teenage mistakes.

But so far it looked like the road ahead was a dead end.

Country music drifted from the living room where your mother was sat on the rocking chair. Her hair, once silky and long, was now frizzy and gray. She was a beautiful woman at one point in time. Even now she was still young since your parents had you in their late teens. Unfortunately drugs didn’t allow for beauty to stay.

“Where are you off to?” The woman asked, crushing the end of her cigarette into the ashtray. Her husband had banned her from using any hard drugs inside the house which you had always been grateful for. Although it was just another thing for her to yell at him about and she still kept the pill bottle next to her. Just to keep an eye on it, she said.

“Charlotte invited me out,” you answered, leaning against the doorway with one hand braced on the frame.

Your mother gave a hum, picking at her blanket with a bloody finger. She was supposed to be wearing bandaids to keep her from cutting up her cuticles. “Your daddy know that?”

Why she was asking that you weren’t sure. You were an adult. A woman with a life free of her parents. But your daddy did have tendencies to keep you sheltered, to keep treating you like a little girl.

“He doesn’t need to.”

A moment passed, filled by country music and the sound of the tractor starting up outside, before the woman gave a gapped tooth smile. “I raised you well.”

You gave a little smile. You believed her. While your father gave all his time and energy into his farm, at least your mother stuck to her role. Even if she was high most of the time. She didn’t question you further as you headed to the front porch, keys in hand. The red Cadillac was parked in the long, dirt driveway, looking out of place among the worn property.

Once you started it up, you turned the radio to full blast and checked your sunglasses in the rearview before peeling off down the dirt road. It was a hot day, the sun beating down on you—the downside of having a convertible car. It wasn’t ideal but Texas was your home. Somewhere deep down you believed there wasn’t another place out there where you belonged more.

The ride to the convenient store was short. Your car came to a stop beneath the red awning where the gas pumps were stationed. You turned down the music but it was no use because people had already glanced in your direction.

You plastered on a big, white smile. It was so rehearsed. That smile was the product of the pageants your mother had put you through as a child—one that you still never managed to shake off because it made you likable.

A pretty smile for a pretty girl, as most boys around town would say.

“There you are!” Charlotte threw her arms open wide as you approached the group. She was the only one you really considered a true friend considering the other girls talked bad about you behind their backs and the boys… well, they were just pigs.

The eight of you headed inside, the little bell chiming to announce your arrival. You pushed your sunglasses on top of your head before leaning against the counter. “Good evening, Randy.”

The man—probably in his early thirties—immediately flashed a smile, gold tooth glinting in the dull light. “Evenin’, Miss America.”

You knew they only called you that because of your mother. You were nearly a copy and paste of her yet you had never been crowned Miss America in your life. But you still acted like you did. “Doing anything tonight?” You asked, leaning forward so your arms subtly pressed your breasts together.

Randy’s eyes immediately darted south, not even trying to hide it. Then he looked back up at your eyes that had narrowed, looking up through your lashes—your signature. The look everyone knew you for. The one that made men fumble over their words and grab their belt buckles.

He swallowed hard. “Nope. Not much to do in this boring town. You uh… you going out?”

“Just don’t tell my daddy,” you said in a conspiratorial whisper, bringing a red nailed finger to your lips.

Randy nodded like his head was going to come off before he reached for a pack of Marlboro reds from behind the counter and tossed them down. “Let me guess… the club?”

You let out a little laugh. Polite but fake. “Close enough.”

Not even a second later was he smirking, ringing up the pack of cigarettes as he said, “You know, if you’re free after, you have my location.”

You fought the urge to cringe at that. The image of doing anything with him in the cramped confines of a storage closet was not particularly appealing. Instead, you gave a knowing smile before your friends came up, placing down tiny bottles of alcohol on the countertop.

Randy quickly cleared his throat, pulling his mind out of the gutter as he rang up the items. After you paid, you blew him a kiss before leaving.

Four of you hopped into your convertible while the other four got in the other car. Girlish laughs carried with the wind on the way to the bar, some of them already pulling out their flasks. It was cheaper that way. It was a thing now—buy small bottles at the liquor store, pour it into a flask, and not have to buy expensive drinks later.

However, you didn’t drink. Smoking was a nice way to take the edge off but alcohol made you lose it. All sense of control vanished after a few sips so it no longer had a place in your life.

Didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun, though.

The Tipsy Bison was the towns hotspot for old and young alike. It was a cozy atmosphere provided with decent music and lively conversation, attracting locals who needed a break from their lives. As you entered, there weren’t many people there considering it wasn’t too late in the day yet. It didn’t bother you or your friends much. It meant faster service and more space to breathe. It wouldn’t last long considering it was a Friday night and once people got off work it was straight to the bar they went.

Tommy Miller stood behind the counter as you sauntered up, shining a glass. He was one of the only men in town who you didn’t feel the need to flirt with. He was good friends with your father so there was really no use for it.

“Hello, Tom,” you said with a kind smile, sliding into one of the black leather seats.

He raised an unimpressed brow. “It’s Tommy to you, missy.”

“Hmm… I think Tom suits you better. I bet Maria thinks so too,” you grinned a little as he rolled his eyes and set the glass aside.

“What can I get for the lady of the hour?” He asked, bracing his hands against the counter. You liked that he still felt the need to ask even though he already knew what you wanted. Most men never asked.

“Shirley Temple with extra cherries please.” You watched as his mustache twitched upward, pushing off the counter and going to fix you up a drink.

Moments later Charlotte sidled up next to you, her boyfriend next to her like a parasite. He was always touching her in some way and you wondered if it ever got annoying. You liked being touched but only for so long. Then it got annoying if it felt like grimy hands were clinging to you all the time which was more often than not.

Charlotte and her boyfriend fell into small talk with Tommy about the new house developments off the freeway—something about Tommy’s brother being a contractor. You didn’t listen. Didn’t care to either.

You sipped your sweet soda, popping cherries off the stem between your pearly teeth as you thought about the thousands of outcomes the night could bring you. Perhaps it’d be some guys bed or—because it had happened before—on your back in the middle of the desert, contemplating your choices.

The bar was filling up fast, just as you expected. Old music drifted from the jukebox in the corner, curtesy of someone with taste and a quarter. Men and women of all ages found themselves a seat at the tables while others ordered beers and held a cue stick between their fingers, leaning over a pool table. Everyone always seemed to be having a good time which was one of the reasons it was so appealing to you.

You were laughing at something Maria said to her husband when Charlotte leaned over to whisper in your ear. “You’ve got eyes.”

The both of you glanced over at the pool table. At first all you saw were men knocking back bottles and being obnoxiously loud. And then, when you looked a little closer, three men all in cowboy hats and flannels were practically gawking at you.

Did any of them interest you? No.

Were you bored? Yes.

You slid off the stool, the uneven wood beneath your feet creaking slightly as you pushed through the crowd. For those who recognized you, they all had to make it known. Every reply you gave was the same as ever, promising to let your father know they said hi.

When you finally reached the boys, one of them handed you a stick. With a smile, you bent over the table with ease. The trick you found was that they liked it best when you pretended to not know what you were doing. They shamelessly checked you out, eyes locked on the sliver of your ass that the shorts failed to cover.

By the fifth round, one of their arms was secured around your waist. Despite him looking like a second hand cowboy, his arm was lacking in the muscle department. His breath wreaked of alcohol as he buried his face in your neck, sucking on the skin. His hands were everywhere, feeling you up like it was a normal Tuesday.

Smoke billowed between your lips, cigarette dangling from your fingers as you watched them continue to play. Charlotte was laughing over something someone said. You’d stopped paying attention a while ago but still managed to smile and laugh at the appropriate times.

It was later in the night now. Your father was probably wondering where you were. Not that you cared much. You were just trying to keep your mind off of the emptiness.

One of the boys stepped forward, putting a hand on his friend’s arm. “C’mon, Mickey, let me have a turn.”

Mickey, the guy holding onto you like a prize to be ripped away, held on tighter. “She’s good here with me. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You took another drag, showing how uninterested in either of them you were. You stepped out of his possessive grip but his hand still held on tight to your hip. “You boys figure it out,” you said simply, putting out the cigarette on one of their belt buckles and walking away without a care.

“Whore,” one of them whispered under his breath. You had brushed off that insult more times than you could count because at the end of the day, it wasn’t entirely wrong.

The Tipsy Bison was rowdy as the people now were more than a couple drinks in, the music louder which made their voice volume also increase. The ones at the bar were nearly toppling out of their seats, laughing and hollering at each other.

As you walked up, you snagged the eyes of some old men. Not the ones you usually got with, but ones who had white beards and grandchildren with children of their own.

You spared them no attention, instead working on getting Maria to come assist you. They were slammed tonight but good thing you had the privilege of being close with the bartenders. Or maybe it was the privilege of being the farmer’s daughter, you weren’t sure.

Eventually, Maria came up to you, hands on her hips, belly round. Tommy had been the one to tell you his wife was pregnant and it made your heart swell.

It was also a reminder of something you’d never get to experience yourself.

“What can I do for you, love?” Maria asked, that motherly tone you had come to be quite fond of prominent in her tired voice.

You leaned your elbows against the sticky countertop. “Just a—”

A sudden crash cut you off. Your gaze snapped over to the commotion quickly, landing on the sight of a new worker who had just accidentally knocked over a shelf of wine glasses. Maria sighed, scratching her head. You couldn’t even imagine how exhausted she must be. To be honest, you were shocked Tommy was even still letting her work.

“Be right back, sweetie,” she said, going over to the mess before you could offer to help.

The sound of your nails tapping against the counter was drowned out by the chaos of the bar as you watched Tommy try to persuade his wife that she shouldn’t be picking up broken glass. In the time you’d known them, you’d always been in awe of their relationship.

At one point in time, maybe your parents had been the same way. But not anymore. When you had grown into a teenager, that was the last time you’d ever seen them in love. It was rare that you ever saw it and it was practically impossible that you’d ever experience it either.

But Tommy and Maria? That was love in its truest form.

You glanced sidelong down the bar top to see those men still ogling you. It was getting annoying and a little creepy if you had to admit.

Then you noticed one who sat at the far end.

He seemed younger than them—still old but not ancient. But he wasn’t paying even an ounce of attention to you. His eyes were locked on the beer sweating in front of him, rough hands hovering around the glass. From what you could see, there was some silver speckling his beard and hair. The brown jacket over his shoulders easily showed how broad they were.

Stop it you mentally berated yourself. This had become a habit for you since your junior year of high school. When the boys your age didn’t give you what you wanted, you found it in older men. Not that you were proud of it—you never had been—but the town was only so big and you didn’t want to further your reputation as the town whore.

Your gaze was drawn away when Maria came back over to you, giving a weary smile. You admired her strength, somehow still smiling between sore ankles and rude customers. “Sorry ‘bout that. As you were saying?”

“Um…” you were just going to order some water but now the noise and heat of sweaty bodies was starting to get to you. “Actually, I think I’m gonna head off.”

Something in Maria’s gaze softened. You weren’t sure why but you weren’t going to ask either. “Okay, love. Be careful out there.”

A small, genuine smile graced your lips as you stepped back. “I will.”

You scanned the room for Charlotte so you could tell her to get a ride home with her boyfriend but the bar had become so packed that she was swallowed by the crowd. You were sure she’d be fine so you just left.

Even though the strong Texan sun had set hours ago, the air was still heavy with uncomfortable heat. But it was quieter outside. In the distance you could hear crickets chirping and the sound of passing cars whizzing by.

If you never managed to get out than maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Loose gravel crunched under your boots as you headed to your car, another cig glowing red in the dark of the parking lot. A neon sign buzzed overhead by the street, a bison lit by a flickering yellow light.

Right as you reached the red Cadillac, another set of footsteps followed after yours.

You turned around, pulling the cigarette away from your mouth as you saw one of the men from the bar crossing the length of the lot. He didn’t seem to be going near you but it was only a trick of the light.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawled, country accent thick with the slur of alcohol. “You need help gettin’ home?”

The sign flickered across his face—sagging wrinkles, yellow teeth, skin spotted with age. It took everything in you not to cringe.

“No, sir,” you said politely, the smoke from your lungs disappearing into nothing. “I can get along just fine.”

He laughed but it was more just a painful wheeze that came from deep in his diaphragm. A chill shot up your spine even though you were sweating. “Little thing like you? I don’t believe it for a second.”

Your free hand gripped the door handle but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get in and start the engine quick enough.

You swallowed hard. “I can assure you I can handle myself.”

Over the years you’d had your share of creepy old men trying to get at you but you’d always been careful. Tonight, however, your mind wasn’t set on hooking up with a boy in the back of his mom’s mini van or getting high with your friends. For once, your bed actually sounded like a nice place to be.

When he inched closer, that’s where you wished to be.

“You women don’t know a thing about how to handle yourselves,” he slurred, only a few feet from you now and you could already smell the tobacco radiating from him, making your stomach turn. “You need a real man to teach you.”

You nearly shuddered. “I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to get going.”

And when you got home, you’d probably sneak one of your mom’s rolled up joints.

When you finally turned to open the car door, wrinkly fingers wrapped around your wrist. You gasped, immediately trying to yank your hand away but he was strong for a drunk guy.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let me…” the man said, a sick smile creeping on his lips and the smell radiating from him nearly made the contents of your stomach make an appearance.

Your heart was slamming against your ribs now as his hand snuck to the buttons of your shirt but before you could scream, a hand gripped the man’s shoulder.

“Back away from the lady,” a deep voice laced with a southern accent demanded flatly. With wide eyes you saw the man who was sitting alone at the bar.

How did he know to come outside? Had he noticed you leave? Did he want what the creep wanted?

The man whose stubby fingers were still wrapped around your wrist looked at him and realization washed over his aged face. “Boss, I—”

“Go home to your wife, Ted,” the man commanded, shoving the drunken guy back. “And expect a cut on your next paycheck.”

You watched intently, on edge as your eyes darted between the two men. But then it occurred to you that no one had stuck up for you like this. Now a stranger was? There was no way he didn’t want something from you, you thought. Why else would he be doing this?

“But Miller, I need that money,” Ted pleaded, too drunk to even make sure his words were coherent.

Miller.

The name resonated in your mind and you scrambled to make sense of it. You remembered seeing signs on empty house lots that read Millers Contracting in bold yellow letters with a phone number under it. Then you recalled Tommy talking about how his brother was a contractor and it just so happened that their last names matched up.

You stared at the man helping you and suddenly the resemblance between him and Tommy was clear as day.

“Too damn bad,” he replied. “You know better than to put your hands on a woman and your what? Pushing seventy? You should be damn grateful that’s all I’m letting you off with.”

The old man nearly collapsed in on himself in defeat.

“Now get on outta here before I let the cops do it themselves.”

The man walked away, shoulders hunched as he disappeared into the darkness. You watched until he was out of sight before turning back to the man who had saved you for no reason at all.

You shifted on your feet, still shaken by the fact something terrible could’ve happened to you had he not stepped in. “Thank you, sir.” Those words felt too simple but you weren’t sure what else to say.

He kept his distance from you which you appreciated. If he really was Tommy’s brother, how had you never noticed him before? Now that you could properly see his face, you couldn’t help but notice how ruggedly handsome he was. He was aged in a way that told you he’d seen things, done things he wasn’t proud of. His face was worn, almost weathered by the years.

Clearly he kept to himself or else you would’ve already known his name.

“No need to thank me,” he replied simply as if he hadn’t just saved you from who knows what.

The longer you stared at him, the more the question burned your tongue. “You’re Tommy’s brother, right?”

He seemed to tense a little at that. But it vanished quickly and he gave a curt nod, folding his strong arms across his broad chest. “I am.”

A man of few words, you noted. You thought long and hard about your past conversations with Tommy and the times he’d mentioned his brother until a name finally surfaced. “So you’re the infamous Joel Miller.”

His dark eyes seemed to study you for a moment. It felt like a refresher to have someone listen instead of immediately speaking before they think.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment. “And you must be Rhett’s daughter.”

“You know my dad?” As soon as the question came from your mouth, you felt like an idiot. Of course he knew your dad. Everyone within town knew your father.

Not to mention the fact you’d seen him around the farm from time to time. Probably helping your father out with heavier equipment and loads of manual labor.

Joel must’ve noticed your slip up but he didn’t make fun of you for it. “I do. He talks about you a lot.”

Those words made your stomach feel sick again. Your father tried to keep you contained to his life on the farm but he was so absent that it had failed. But you never thought he’d be talking you up to anyone let alone a man like Joel Miller.

“Right,” you replied, looking down at your boots before feeling that emptiness slam back into you. You didn’t want to go home anymore. You looked back at Joel and gave a small smile. “I really appreciate your help tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?”

Joel shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’re safe and that’s all that matters.”

You went to protest before you stopped yourself. He didn’t want anything. That was new on so many levels. Even here, standing in an empty parking lot with a girl in provocative clothing, he didn’t want anything from you. Not even your thanks.

Before you could dwell too much on it, you got in your car and bid him goodnight before driving off.

Your phone was going off like crazy, a sharp chime cutting through the small trailer. Your body was sore, eyes heavy as you blinked through your grogginess and threw an arm over your eyes.

Last night had been too much. The complete opposite of what you had planned it to be.

An escape from home turned into wanting to go back to ending up here.

“Turn it off,” Randy groaned into his pillow, lying on his stomach and turning his face away to try and avoid the loud pinging notifications.

You huffed, glancing over at him under the thin sheet that barely covered the both of you. His trailer was a mess, cluttered with empty bottles and dirty clothes. Your own were strewn around his small room and suddenly regret smacked you in the face.

Hooking up with Randy was the last thing you wanted to do but after last night, anything would’ve been better than thinking logically.

Holding the sheet to your chest, you reached over and picked up your phone. The screen glowed too bright for your eyes this early in the morning. But when you saw your father’s contact lighting it up, suddenly you weren’t so tired anymore.

The annual farmers market was tomorrow and you had promised him you’d help set up his stand. Every year since you were a little girl you had helped out selling fresh produce to the community. It was a chance to show everyone that the farmer had raised a well behaved and respectful daughter. And no matter how hard it was to still pretend like you had a good relationship with him, you wouldn’t miss it for the world.

You jumped up, throwing your clothes on and when Randy called out after you, you just let the door slam behind you.

Maybe you were the town’s whore. Maybe you had no clue what you were doing with your life. But you weren’t going to drag your family through the mud because of it.

Not even if it killed you.

[isabellaboo2025]

You’re such an amazing writer. What are some of your fav Joel miller x reader fics?

Thank you so much! 🥰

There are so many amazing Joel x Reader fics that have/continue to inspire me. Here’s some of my favourites (complete and unfinished) that I’ve enjoyed and where I’ve primarily read them.

A03

All The Sinners Crawl

Ain’t No Grave

Strawberry Wine

So Much To Lose

Take On Me by @ctrlaltthea

Tender Payment For Our Sins

That House In Nebraska

Somewhere To Land by @thelastoftays

Gifted Kid Burnout by @hanahleah

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Feral by @mcthsman

Blood Between Us by @rosebuds-and-moonlight

That’s What You Get For Waking Up In Vegas by @inkandstardusts

Terms and Conditions by @followyourfleart

There are so many more too! 🥰