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pasukiyo · 3 months ago

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CHAPTER THREE

dbf!joel miller x female reader

CONTENT WARNINGS! smut, masturbation, age gap

Chapter Preview: She looks back over at him and Joel turns, their eyes catching, gazes locking. For a moment, time seems to still and it’s like slow motion, everything around him begins to blur the longer their stares linger. It’s like Joel is the nexus of the universe and gravity’s bringing her closer to him, dangerously close. How would it feel, she wonders, if they crashed into one another, like a meteor to the earth?

word count: 4,025

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SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Blood burns through her cheeks as she tosses her head back into the pillow, hand between her thighs.

One of her old CDs spins in the player on her dresser and she prays the music is loud enough to bury all of the sounds she’s making as she rubs furiously at her poor, aching clit: her heavy breathing, desperate moaning, the rustling sheets beneath her. It was absolute torture watching Joel Miller do farm work all day and she wasted zero time to tear her clothes off the first chance she could get.

Unfortunately, she had to wait all day for that chance, as by the time she and Joel were finally done with their chores, her parents were already pulling back into the driveway.

A spider of shame creeps along her skin as she pleasures herself to the fantasies she’s dreamt up of a man her father trusts more than almost everyone, a man who was already past adolescence by the time she was born. Yet, every ounce of dignity she may or may not have had seems to disappear the second images flash of Joel lifting heavy equipment, of him squeezing the horse hoof between his thighs, muscles tensing as he hammered into the horseshoe, his forehead glistening with perspiration.

Sweat, beading down his face like little pieces of gold glittering in the sunlight, tracing the sharp edges of his jaw, dripping down to his neck and chest, slithering beneath his t-shirt. Sweat, beading down his face as he peers down at her with his dark, magnetic gaze, drawing her into his center just to burn her, making liquid of her insides until she’s a pile of hot magma beneath him. Sweat, dripping down his body as he thrusts into her– in and out, in and out, in and out– repeatedly, dropping onto her skin, mixing with her own perspiration.

Her fingers woven through the damp, dark hair at the nape of his neck, bringing him closer, his lips enveloping hers in a messy top lip kiss. His name tumbling from her lips as he pounds against her cervix, his voice thick and sultry, melting every last ounce of her dignity. What she wants, in this idyll, fantasy world she’s created in her mind, is to be his. To see him like this, feel him like this, submit to him like this all the time.

Her hand not in his hair finds his chin, fingertips tracing over the few prickly gray hairs in his beard. Joel pistoning his cock harder into her, pushing her further into her submission with every crude word spoken in that deep, gravely voice of his.

His mouth trailing kisses down her chin to her neck, down to her collarbone, sucking marks into her breasts, tongue swirling over her peaked nipples. The hair she suspects him of having around his base wet with her arousal, softly brushing over her aching clit. White hot bliss surges through her and she cries out, the flashing images of Joel doing the nastiest of things to her the catalyst for her orgasm.

Joel, one of her father’s most trusted friends. Joel, who's probably old enough to be her father. Her shame burns holes through her skin. But her fingers don’t stop their furious motions over her clit, determined to reach her high.

She prays The Cranberries are playing loud enough to drown her out as she rides out the aftershocks of her high.

It’s… awkward to say the very least the next morning as she and Joel tend to their chores: feeding all the animals, milking the cows, checking the horses’s hooves, etc. etc. Whether or not Joel sensed something was off, she didn’t know, but either way, she’s grateful he doesn’t ask any questions. It’s hard enough having to act like everything’s fine and everything’s cool when she’s forced to spend her morning with the man she fucked herself to just the night before.

She huffs as she cleans the last of the pebbles from Whiskey’s hoof, Joel’s chestnut-colored horse he’s been keeping here. She releases his leg and groans as she rolls her shoulders, trying to work out the kinks in them. Joel peers at her over Whiskey’s back, running a brush along the horse’s pelt as she rolls her neck around her shoulders.

“All good?” He asks and she purses her lips, holding up a thumb.

“Yeah,” she grunts, managing to get her back to make a few small pops. “Fine.”

Totally didn’t fuck myself to you last night, in case you were wondering, she thinks to herself.

A silence impregnates the air as she works the cramps out of her muscles and Joel finishes up brushing Whiskey’s coat. After a moment, he tosses the brush into the kit, circling around the stallion to stand in front of her, a hand on his hip. She doesn’t meet his gaze. She can only imagine the look he’s giving her now.

“You not get enough sleep or somethin’?” He asks and she sighs, nodding. It’s a far better excuse than the real reason why she’s so restless.

Another small bout of silence. Then, “why don’t we go for a ride?”

She nearly chokes on her own spit, stumbling as she stands upright, blinking up at him.

“Pardon me?”

Joel nods towards Whiskey.

“A ride.”

Her heart is pounding so hard against her chest, she’s surprised it hasn’t leapt down to the dirt already. She curses her mind for being so far down in the gutter and sniffs, rubbing her nose with her arm.

“I’m probably a bit rusty,” she says finally, searching for any excuse to spend the least amount of time possible with Joel while simultaneously trying to be amiable enough to not hurt his feelings.

Joel shrugs. “Already told you: muscle memory’ll kick in soon enough,” he says. “C’mon, ridin’ always helps me take an edge off.”

She blinks, long and slow. Quit thinking with your damn crotch, she curses herself mentally.

She huffs and Joel simply stands there, a hand still on his hip, the other hanging at his side, waiting for an answer. She brings a hand to her face and digs her fingernail into the corner of her eye, rubbing her palm down the side of her face. How is it she already feels incapable of telling Joel no? She’s absolutely fucked.

“Sure, let’s do it,” she finally relents and a corner of Joel’s lips curves in a half-grin. He gives Whiskey one more pat on the side before he walks out of the stall, heading for the saddles.

She watches as he does it, already wishing she hadn’t agreed. She’s not sure why she gets the inkling that things are about to change, she feels it and it lingers, buzzing in her ear like a pesky, little fly. And to think just yesterday, she was telling herself she wasn’t going to let her little crush– if you can even call it that– on Joel get any more out of hand.

She squeezes her eyes closed and digs her heels into her lids until stars shimmer in her vision, trying to relieve the ache blossoming in her temples. She throws her arms back down to her sides and sighs, sinking her teeth into her tongue as she steps out of Whiskey’s stall. Joel’s gotten Ivory out of her stall already, working on fastening the saddle around her body. He spares her a glance as she approaches, tightening one of the straps of Ivory’s saddle.

“So… you got an edge today or something?” She says after a minute, watching him as he puts on Ivory’s bridle, doing her best to not notice anything past his sleeves as he does it.

Finally, he’s finished equipping Ivory and he peers down at her, shrugging a shoulder. “Always.”

The wind that cools over her skin when he brushes past lingers in gooseflesh and she trembles, wringing her bottom lip between her teeth to calm herself. She turns, watching Joel as he behind equipping Whiskey, and she turns back to face Ivory, soothing her palm over her muzzle. She leans in close, finding Ivory’s gaze.

“Don’t embarrass me now,” she whispers, quiet enough for only the horse to hear before she grabs the reins, leading Ivory out of her stall.

It’s not long before Joel and Whiskey meet them beneath the eaves of the stable. She gazes out over the fields as the sun rises over the slight rolling hills, casting its golden rays over the earth. The breeze is soft and slight, and the wheat sways in rippling, golden waves. It’s the kind of morning you’d hear about in a country song: warm, summery, and Texan.

Joel shifts beside her. “Pretty, init?”

The corners of her mouth twitch. “I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the sunrise is here,” she admits.

Joel makes a sound, almost reminiscent of a laugh as he pulls himself onto Whiskey’s saddle, swinging a leg over to straddle his back. “Gotta be a hell of a lot better than mornins’ in the city.”

She offers her own short laugh. “You’ve no idea.”

Joel circles Whiskey around and sticks out a hand to help her onto her saddle. She blinks at his palm for a moment, tracing the lines, the callouses. A ball of saliva rolls in her throat when she swallows, reluctantly sliding her fingers into his hand. His palm is rough, etched with the consequence that comes from doing the kind of work he does, and just like the handshake they’d shared when they first met, it’s hard not to notice how large his hand is compared to hers. Her fingers feel so small enveloped by his and it makes her mind wander, imagining what his hands would look and feel like, should they be anywhere else on her…

She clears her throat, slides her foot into the stirrup of Ivory’s saddle, and uses Joel’s hand as leverage to hoist herself up. She drops it hastily, gathering the reins in her hands, hoping the morning breeze will be enough to cool the warmth growing in her cheeks.

He’s just being nice. That’s all there is to it, and all there’s ever going to be to it. You’re one of his best friend’s daughters, she reminds herself. He’s not going to jeopardize that for you.

“Thanks,” she mumbles.

Joel dips his chin, eyes low, lips pressed together. “Well, ready?”

She nods and they both gently click their heels against their horses’s flanks, setting off on Joel’s trail.

Riding on the back of Ivory again makes her feel like she’s fourteen again, going on early afternoon rides, having her run as fast as she can just so she could feel the wind in her hair, at her back, over her skin. It was electrifying, powerful. She used to feel like she could do anything riding Ivory, that she was as free as a bird, riding the wind, unbound, able to go any where they wanted. Perhaps this is what she thought moving to New York would feel like– boundless, liberating, electrifying.

Before she can shake the thought, Joel’s voice slices through the silence.

“So, I have to ask: why New York?” He asks, glancing over her shoulder.

She purses her lips. She supposes the question was bound to come up sooner or later.

She shrugs. “I guess it’s like you said yesterday: the glitz and glamor,” she replies. “Got a scholarship at Barnard. Literature major.”

Joel hums. “So, you’re a writer?”

A bitter taste sullies her tongue and her laugh is equally as sharp. “Pretty sure you have to write something to call yourself that.”

She can just make out the way Joel’s brow dips when he looks over his shoulder. “So… not a writer?”

She rolls her lips together, staring at the dirt trail ahead. “Picked up an internship at a publishing house fresh out of college,” she says with a sigh. “And look where that got me. All the way back where I started.”

Joel shrugs, pulling back on the reins so Whiskey could fall in step beside Ivory. “You think it’s that bad here?” He questions and she rolls her tongue over her teeth, narrowing her eyes as she gazes out on the pasture, at the sun as it stands taller in the sky, rays of light beaming back down at her.

She shakes her head. “It’s not that it’s… bad here or ugly here, it’s just…” she trails off, suddenly feeling silly, unable to suppress the urge to chuckle.

“What?” Joel says.

She looks over at Joel and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t said anything in the first place. Looking at Joel, a man whose experienced more than she has in her entire lifetime, whose seemingly got everything all figured, she feels… small. It makes her feel like everything she’s been going through– searching for herself, for her path, her place in this world– is just a small bump in the road. She suddenly gets the feeling he might think it’s stupid, that she’s being dramatic and she shakes her head again, wrinkling her nose as she looks down to the reins in her hands, idly scratching her fingernails up and down the leather.

“Nothing,” she says finally.

“C’mon,” Joel drawls, clearly disbelieving her. She blinks over at him, brow furrowed.

“What?”

“You think I’m stupid? I know it ain’t nothin’.”

She huffs a laugh, bringing a hand to her face, rubbing the pads of her fingers over her eyelid.

“It’s nothing, seriously,” she says, looking back over at him. Still, Joel looks unconvinced. She sighs again. “It’s just… stupid.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “The hell am I gonna do? Laugh at you?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

Joel tilts his head, blinking. “Listen, I ain’t gonna force you to talk about it but I promise you, whatever it is, even if I did find it funny, I ain’t got room to talk,” he assures. “You wouldn’t even believe some of the shit I pulled when I was in my twenties.”

Her tongue pushes back against her front teeth and she sucks air between them, thinking, contemplating. She forgets Joel has already lived out his twenties, that he’s been there, done that. Though she still can’t help but feel small, that her problems are minute, just minor inconveniences in the grand scheme of things, she wonders whether it’s okay to trust Joel. She wonders if he’ll listen, share some advice no one else is brave enough to give her.

She breathes out a long exhale, rolling her neck over her shoulders, bobbing up and down as Ivory ventures further down the dirt path.

“It’s just…“ she begins, twisting her lips, searching for the right words to express what she wants to say. “...I don’t know. Being here just feels like one big reminder that I failed. That things didn’t turn out the way I planned. I genuinely thought I’d be some big-time author right now but instead I just feel… I don’t know, I guess sort of lost? I don’t know what my future has in store for me and that scares me. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

She says more than she was expecting and Joel must be thinking the same thing as he straightens his posture, blinking slowly, as if soaking in all this new context. Warmth grows in her cheeks and an apology is on the tip of her tongue, but before she can speak it, Joel’s talking.

“Do you not realize how young you still are?” He begins and her brow furrows. He continues. “I mean, shit, if every single one of our failures from our twenties defined us, I’d be an even sorrier son of a bitch today than I already am.”

It’s not meant to be funny, but still, she breathes out a short laugh.

“Look, you’re doin’ a mighty good thing here, lookin’ out for your dad, steppin’ up to help out around here,” Joel says, tilting his head to find her eyes. She stares back, pursing her lips, somewhat entranced. “You got a helluva lot more sense than I did at your age.”

She scoffs at this, shaking her head as she lowers her gaze, fiddling with the leather straps of the reins. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” Joel says, and he means it. “It took havin’ my daughter for me to clean up my act and start gettin’ things right. And I’m still as flawed as all get out.”

She looks back over at him and Joel turns, their eyes catching, gazes locking. For a moment, time seems to still and it’s like slow motion, everything around him begins to blur the longer their stares linger. It’s like Joel is the nexus of the universe and gravity’s bringing her closer to him, dangerously close. How would it feel, she wonders, if they crashed into one another, like a meteor to the earth?

The apple in Joel’s throat visibly bobs when he swallows, tearing his gaze away, thus, breaking the moment. She eyes his side profile, hoping, wishing that he’d turn so she can meet his eyes again.

“Anyway, how hard can writin’ a book be?”

Her brow dips and her eyes narrow, glaring into the side of Joel’s cheek. “That’s a stupid question,” she quips, surprising her own self with the abrupt defensiveness laced in her tone. “There’s more to writing a book than just putting words on a page. You’ve got world-building, characterization, character development, plotlines, rising action and climaxes, red herrings, outlines–”

“Alright, Jesus,” Joel interrupts, the smallest hint of what she thinks may be humor in his tone. “Didn’t mean to offend. I’m clearly not as well-read as you. Different lines of work, and all. I just mean… y’ain’t gotta be so hard on yourself.”

She inhales deeply, taming the blaze of defense his remark had ignited. She sinks her molars down into the inside of her cheek. “Don’t start feeling sorry for me now,” she remarks lowly, calmer than before.

Joel’s brow furrows as he meets her eye again. “You think I’m bein’ sorry?”

“A little, yeah,” she replies. “That’s all everyone’s been towards me. Hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”

Joel tilts his chin, eyes narrowing. “Would you rather I tell you somethin’ like ‘get off your sorry ass and go do somethin’ about it’?”

She purses her lips, shrugging, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Kind of, yeah.”

Joel exhales and it sounds like the most genuine laugh he’s given her yet. “You know, people are always tellin’ me I need to start bein’ nicer,” he says. “Would be a little counterproductive if I said somethin’ like that.”

The corners of her lips twitch and this time, she lets her smile come to fruition. She peers back over at Joel. “You already did.”

Joel’s chest puffs a bit when he makes that sort of half-laugh-half-scoff again and she rolls her lips together, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than before.

And then it dawns on her that the feeling she got earlier that things were going to change was right. She’s starting to feel more comfortable around Joel, closer to him. That feeling like there was some sort of gravitational pull comes back and it lingers no matter how hard she tries to push it back down. Her heart thuds against her chest as a silence falls over them, pregnant with possibility.

She’s not sure how much time passes before they stop at the pond near the end of the property, golden rays of sunlight rippling in the water. It inspires another memory from her childhood to appear in the forefront of her mind, of playing in the water with her friends all day long until the sun disappeared behind the trees and it was time for them to leave. It’s the same pond her father taught her and her brother to fish, and she recalls all the days spent lounging in fold-up chairs, waiting for the pole to make the slightest of movements.

She and her father would talk for hours at this spot about anything and everything. Baseball, softball, school, horses, people around town. It’s at this pond she broke the news to her father, that she was ready to leave Texas behind and stretch her wings in the big city.

Looking back and even then, she knew she was breaking her father’s heart. But in her father’s typical fashion, he simply locked his fingers together, gave a curt nod, and asked her what her plan was. Even when her father’s heart was being shattered into a million pieces, he still managed to be calm, sensible.

The memory is like sour diesel, seeping through her skin, setting her ablaze within.

“He still fish out here?” She asks Joel, finally breaking the silence that had stretched between them.

Joel purses his lips, shaking his head. “Nah. Never seen him out here.”

There it is again, that guilty conscience of hers. She wonders if he stopped coming out here after that last time they spent together on the mossy shore. She wonders if it hurt him too much to come here, if it reminded him of the day his little girl began to slip through his fingers, when he realized she was growing up.

She sniffs. “Oh.”

She can see Joel turn to look at her from the corner of her eye but she doesn’t return his gaze, unable to break hers from the shimmering undulating water. They say water holds memory— she wonders if the old pond remembers that day too.

If Joel was planning on saying anything, she changes the subject before she can dwell on the past too much more.

“So, you an Astros fan?”

She looks at him and Joel presses his lips together, gaze searching hers and for a moment, she fears he can see right through her. Alas, if he was wondering why the visible change in mood, he isn’t going to question it.

He shrugs. “More of a Rangers guy. Your dad sure loves his Astros though.”

She titters. “Yeah.”

She clicks her heels against Ivory’s flank and they start walking the trail again, Joel following suit. Though her heart pangs with the guilt of having not been there for her father again, the sun still kisses her face, warmth blooming over her skin. The day is still beautiful and something’s changed between her and Joel. A silence hangs in the space between them, but she still feels it.

She feels it the rest of the ride back to the stable, as they’re walking Ivory and Whiskey back to their stalls, as Joel fishes his truck keys out of his back pocket. She walks with him to his truck and he opens the driver’s side door, lingering there for a moment before turning around to face her. He must know she has something to say.

“Thank you,” she says.

A small dent forms between Joel’s brows. “For what?”

Her teeth catch her bottom lip and for a second– just for a second– she swears his eyes flicker there.

“You know…” she rocks back and forth on her heels a little awkwardly, gesturing into the air vaguely. “...for not feeling sorry for me.”

A pause.

And then, “I guess I’ll be seein’ ya tonight.”

She presses her lips together for a short, tight-lipped smile and nods, clasping her hands behind her back as she watches him climb into the truck, the engine roaring to life soon after he closes the door. She takes a couple of steps backwards, the gravel crunching beneath his tires as he backs up and she watches as he drives down to the gate, turning onto the old dirt road, disappearing behind the trees. From the front porch, the door swings open and Jovi pads down the wooden steps, trotting towards the grass to drop a squat. Her mother stands in the doorway with her arms crossed, calling her name, asking her if she’d go to the store to grab a few things.

All she can do is nod, because her mind is still with the truck rolling further down the road, reeling with possibility.

a/n: i think this is my favorite chapter of this series i've written so far! i really hope you all are enjoying this series so far 🥹 i know it's a little slow burn but WE'LL FUCK JOEL SOON!

🐎 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

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pasukiyo · 3 months ago

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5k notes! 🥹 thank you all so so much for the love and support on this one, reading all your feedback and kind messages makes me feel so happy :( thank you so much for reading!

A PLACE IN THE SEA OF STARS

anakin skywalker x f!naberrie!reader word count: 10.4k (my longest yet... i'm so sorry) warnings: two idiots pining, pining, reader is padme's younger sister (whether biological or adopted is up to you), first time having sex, soft smut, angst synopsis: a life spent in padmé amidala's shadow and never once did she ever think she'd be envious of her sister. that is, until anakin skywalker walks his way into her life and she finds herself praying that one day, he'd look at her the way he does at padmé, that she'll be given a place in the sea of stars, that her destiny will include him.

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It came as no surprise that Anakin Skywalker would be enamored with her second-to-oldest sister.

After a life spent behind Padmé Amidala’s shadow, she’d grown accustomed to it— being overlooked. But for once, just this once, she wished history wouldn’t repeat itself, wished the prophecy could be rewritten and for once, let it be her who was chosen, who was noticed.

But of course, it’s futile.

You can sink to your knees and pray to whatever higher being is in the sky but at the end of the day, there are millions of lost souls just like you doing the same. You can have faith, you can believe that someday you’ll be heard but with each silent day that passes, your voice still falls on deaf ears.

She’s done her time playing the fool who sinks to her knees and pleads with the night sky to find her a place in the sea of stars, so that she may fit in a constellation too. She’s been the statue who's been made to wait— and she’s started to crumble.

She remembers the day she started to pray like it was yesterday. It was the day she first met Anakin Skywalker, back when he was only a Padawan, still searching for his own place in the world. Her parents were restless then, having heard of the multiple assassination attempts on their dear second oldest daughter. Of course she was worried too, but she still could feel the guilt that settled into the marrow of her bones when she found herself pondering whether her parents would react the same way if it had been her life at stake instead.

She remembers helping her eldest sister, Sola, and her mother with dinner in preparation for the arrival of their sister Padmé and her Jedi escort. She’d been tasked with bringing a bowl of fruit to the table and she remembered nearly being trampled over by her nieces, Ryoo and Pooja, as they squeal Padmé’s name, sprinting for the door.

She remembers huffing, mumbling a curse in an alien language beneath her breath just as their guests step inside, looking up from where she leaned over the table, dropping the bowl down onto the surface. She remembers her breath catching in her throat when her gaze found a sea of blue that put the Naboo waters to shame.

Padmé’s lips curved into a grin as she exclaimed her sister’s name, circling the table to capture her in an embrace. Her sister wrapped her arms around her and her chin found Padmé’s shoulder as the blue that took her breath away crashed into her and she swore everything changed in that moment.

She remembers the first time Anakin Skywalker looked at her. It was a brief, friendly locking of the eyes but a fleeting moment for him felt like lightyears for her. His eyes were the blue of the water where the sun’s reflection gently ripples and warps. They were the blue of the sky after it rains and the sun begins to spill through the cracks of the wall of clouds.

She’s never understood what it meant to be speechless, for something to literally steal the breath away from her lungs. But from the moment her eyes met his, she began to understand.

“Anakin! This is my youngest sister,” Padmé announced, pulling away from their embrace. Her spine stiffened when her sister introduced her and she watched as his full, pink lips moved to form her name. His voice is like nails scraping against the itch she can’t reach on her back, his voice is like velvet she can swallow, deliciously soft and rich against her throat.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Anakin dipped his chin in greeting, the silly, little braid falling off his shoulder. She drained the lump that had formed in her throat, bowing her head. Her lips trembled and her breath was shaky as she prepared her salutations but her words fell dead on the tip of her tongue when Padmé’s squeal permeated the room.

“And my eldest sister Sola!”

And just like that, all attention rolled away from her and onto her eldest sisters but she still watched him, heart beating against her chest.

And that was the moment she began to pray.

She prayed, even though the looks he’d given Padmé didn’t go unnoticed. The way he watched her, even when she wasn’t the one speaking, the way he’d soak in every word, every praise for her that fell past her parents’ mouths. The way he stared longingly at her sister when he was certain nobody was watching— and no one was, for their attentions were on Padmé, save for hers.

It was typical.

It should come as no surprise that everyone would worship the ground her sister— the former Queen, current Senator of Naboo— walked on. She’s not surprised that someone young and benign like him would fall in love with her sister— she’d only seen it happen more times than she ever really cared to count.

And she’d never really cared about all the suitors on their knees at Padmé’s feet before— they were her sister’s problems, not hers. She’d never even really envied her sister, at least in that sense.

But everything changed the moment Anakin stepped through the door. Everything changed the moment their eyes met, if only for the most fleeting of seconds.

So she prayed.

Inside the inner realms of her mind, she sinks to her knees and stares into the void above her, the stars that beamed down at her twinkling, almost as if they taunted her. She swallowed her pride, folding her hands together and raising them to her chin, brow dipping as she pleaded with the higher being in the sky to hear her cry.

“Please, hear me, Maker,” she whispered into her mind, externally staring at Anakin, internally losing her gaze amongst the stars as if the Maker himself would appear between them. “Hear my plea. Whatever destiny you’ve pre-written for me, please be sure it includes Anakin Skywalker.”

She didn’t see Anakin Skywalker again for another year after that.

Apparently, being a Jedi means he’s constantly from place to place, but next time they do end up in the same place, it’s even more fleeting than the last. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever see him again, if she was foolish to continue hoping that he might notice her, that he might even love her. But she still remembers the way his eyes flickered in recognition when they caught hers across the courtyard of Theed Royal Palace. His hair was longer and he didn’t have that ridiculous braid or tiny ponytail on the back of his neck anymore. The Chancellor was speaking to him and another Jedi with umber hair and a matching beard, but his attention was on her.

He looked… darker. As if the years of war had finally begun taking its toll on him. But he’s still the same man he’s always been, still the same one she’s dreamed about. He even looked better.

They don’t get the chance to talk, only share knowing glances, as he was on duty and their paths unfortunately didn’t cross. But that gleaming in his eyes, the one that blazes with knowing is all the kindling in the pit of her belly needs to bloom, to blossom into a raging wildfire.

So, she prayed again.

“Maker,” she said into that night sky inside of her head. The stars shone brighter, as if to laugh at the foolish girl beneath them. She ignored them of course— because she truly believed that one day, she’d prove them wrong. “Please. Hear my plea. Let Anakin Skywalker see me again. Give me a place in your sea of stars and make sure it is in Anakin Skywalker’s orbit.”

She doesn’t see him again for another two years.

But still, he lingers, just like a phantom weaving through every corner she passes, cloaked in shadow. She sees Anakin Skywalker everywhere she goes— in the lakes of shining waters out in the country, in the rain that falls on a dark, cloudy day, in the litany of stars that idle in the sky.

She sees him in her dreams, staring the way he did at Padmé. Only, in her dreams, his gaze finds her. Almost like he had that day in the courtyard, but in her dreams, his eyes would linger longer.

His voice calls out to her whenever she’s sleeping and it lingers in gooseflesh on her skin, frosting over her bones. She’ll open her eyes when he calls but she’s never truly awake. Alas, if dreaming is the only way she’ll see Anakin Skywalker again, she’d gladly succumb to her sleep and trick herself into believing it is real.

Except tonight, she does not think she can take it much longer.

“Anakin,” she whispers one day when she peels her eyelids open after he calls. She says his name like it’ll be the last time she ever will. That look is on his face again— the one she’s seen so many times directed at her in her dreams, she’s nearly forgotten it wasn’t meant for her in the first place.

She used to wake and long for sleep to come again, just so she could watch him look at her like that.

But three long years of waiting and foolishly praying to beings who do not hear have begun to rust the illusion she’s deluded herself into hopelessly believing in. Three long years of silence and she’s finally cracked. She is broken— she sees it now. She’s grown weary of hoping he’d be the one to fix her.

His lips curve to form a smile and for three years, she’s fooled herself into believing it could be for her— truly be for her, outside of her dreams. But to be forthright, she’s tired. She’s grown tired of pretending, tired of clinging onto the dying embers of mere memories of how a man looked at someone that wasn’t her— but rather her sister. She’s grown tired of hoping, waiting, praying that one day, he may wander back into her life and thread his way into the tapestry that her destiny’s been woven into.

Tonight is the night she forfeits with her palms to the sky, tonight is the night she yields to the stars that have taunted her for far too long and admits her defeat. That they were right all along. Tonight is the night she blows away the ashes she’s desperately held so close to her chest and sealed away in secret urns inside for far too long.

Tonight is the night she lets go.

When she wakes the following morning, birds chirp outside her window. Sunlight spills into her room as it rises over the mountains across the lake and she yawns, stretching her arms over her head. Today is merry— it is the day her sister, Padmé Amidala, marries.

Today is merry but instead, she feels dread seep into the marrow of her bones. She’s happy for her sister, really, she is, but it serves only as a reminder that her time is ticking, and time has turned vexing. It serves as a reminder that she must make haste to find her own purpose, to find someone who will cherish her the way she’s spent many fortnights dreaming about. Sola’s already married and found her purpose, and Padmé’s had her entire life laid out before her since she was only fourteen years of age.

Sola, the wife and mother, Padmé, the Queen and then the Senator, and then there’s her. Unsure. Undecided. An ellipsis.

She’s envious. How could she not be? She’s envious that she’ll never be the perfect mother like Sola, envious that she’ll never live up to Padmé’s legacy, she’s even grown envious of the stars: they simply idle in the night sky but even their idleness has a purpose because their places have reason, to create constellations that in turn, tell stories.

She knows that after today, the pressure of fulfilling whatever destiny’s been written for her will only further suffocate her. She will suffocate beneath the weight of this pressure and she will be expected to continue breathing. She’s tried for so long to keep the air in her lungs but it’s so hard when with each day that passes by, the darkness grows more appealing.

She’s tried so hard to find the right path she’s supposed to take, but there are so many roads, so many choices and so many consequences. She’s afraid— and it’s why she’s allowed herself to hide in her sisters’ shadows for so long. But it feels so stifling now.

She sighs and blinks up to the terracotta ceiling. And then of course, dread wears her bones for an entirely different reason. Because it’s inevitable that she’s going to see Anakin Skywalker today. And things will be different.

It’s been lingering like an annoying, little insect since Padmé announced she’d invited her Jedi friends to the wedding, ever since she heard Anakin’s name being read off the list. Things were certain to change because he is but a mere guest, and not the groom.

It may have come as no surprise that Anakin would fall for her, but it certainly came as a shock that Padmé wouldn’t fall for him.

It makes her flesh blaze with a strange anger she’s not quite sure how to describe. How could her sister have something she so desperately wanted but not pursue it? How could she reject Anakin when he would willingly break and bend to her every whim? Why must her sister take his infatuation for granted— why could it not be given to her instead?

She thinks it must be some cruel trick the Maker is playing on her, dangling Anakin in front of her like that, cursing him with an unrequited love when she was right there. She thinks it must be the Maker’s— damn him— cruel way of taunting her, as if the sneering stars had eyes, his eyes. Even if part of her is relieved Anakin is not marrying her sister, it still feels like a blaster wound to her chest, puncturing her skin and searing her insides.

She hears her name called from outside her room’s door and groans.

“What do you want?” She replies in displeasure as the door slides open. Her eldest sister, Sola, steps into the room and glowers at her youngest sister’s tone.

“Well, good morning sunshine,” Sola remarks and she rolls her eyes. Sola makes her way towards the bed, dropping a dress the color of fire onto the mattress. “Is there a reason for your ill-temper today?”

She pushes herself to sit upright, wrinkling her nose at the dress as she takes a fistful of it in her hand. “Orange?” She scoffs, tossing it back down onto the bed. “I thought we were wearing blue?”

Sola shrugs, plopping down onto the mattress. “Padmé changed her mind last minute,” she says. “I suppose if we wore blue, we’d mesh with the background, don’t you think?”

She sighs and flops back down against her pillows, one arm folded over her stomach, the other folded behind her head. Sola pokes her forefinger against her knee and she grumbles, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling.

“Now, answer the question,” her oldest sister insists. “What’s the matter with you?”

Her eyelids flutter closed and she wishes more than anything that she could simply wink out of existence. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be here for Padmé, she does, but she’s uncertain how she could possibly explain how she feels to Sola in a way she could understand. It’s exactly this that’s made her feel so alone all these years.

She’s never had someone who could understand her, really get her. She’s always been different from her sisters, even before marriage and coronations and political promotions. It’s something she’s certain her sisters have known, that even her parents must’ve known. She’s never been jovial and nurturing like Sola, or clever and independent like Padmé. She’s always preferred silence and privacy, and maybe that’s been her problem. But it’s all she knows, being alone.

Sola’s never spent years yearning for a boy who yearns for another, so she couldn’t possibly understand. She doesn’t think she could even make her understand.

She sighs, lolling her head to the side until her gaze finds Sola’s.

“Not looking forward to wearing that dress for the entire evening,” she says instead. Sola’s eyes roll and she leans over to pinch her calf beneath the covers. She hisses and swats her sister’s hand away as she clicks her tongue, moving out of the way.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Sola tries to reason.

“It’s hideous,” she deadpans.

Sola deflates with the acceptance of her defeat. She grabs her sister’s knee, giving it a shake. She glares at her older sister.

“Come on, that can’t be the only reason why you’re in such a foul mood,” Sola insists, her bottom lip rolling in a pout and she swears it’s almost comical how her eldest sister can act like such a child. It’s a wonder how she has children of her own.

She blinks at Sola as a sort of realization creeps onto her eldest sister’s face and she blinks, internally grimacing. For she knows that whatever is bound to come out of her sister’s mouth next is going to be completely and utterly wrong.

“I think I get it now,” Sola’s tone is softer, her face falling to match it. “You’re upset you’ll be the last of us to be married.”

And there it is.

She internally cringes at just how wrong Sola is but she says nothing, further prompting her sister to lean forward, reaching for the hand that rests on her stomach. Her muscles stiffen when she takes it and she wills herself to stay still. It was better to let Sola say whatever she had to say than recoil and deny it— it’s not like she had any better excuse anyways.

“I know it can be tough,” she begins. “Feeling like you’re left out. Believe me, I had my fair share of it. I was so jealous of yours and Padmé’s relationship when you were younger because I was so much older, I felt like I just didn’t quite fit in with you two.”

Her eyes finally meet Sola’s and she begins to see her eldest sister in a different light. All this time, she’s believed she’s the only one who’s felt this way— lost, left behind. While this isn’t quite the same context, she still feels her heart tremble in her chest for her sister, still feels like something’s shifted. It’s at least one thing they can understand each other on.

“But then, I found my husband. And then I had Ryoo and Pooja,” Sola continues. “And it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

Sola’s grip tightens around her hand and she leans forward to place her other one on top. “I know it must seem hard, seeing as both Padmé and I are married— well, almost anyway.” Her lips curve into a soft, reassuring grin. “But you’ll find that same happiness one day. I just know it. So don’t fret, little sister.”

And there, she fears, is where her sister misses the plot.

She almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all sounds. She remains silent, however, and Sola gives the back of her hand one last reassuring pat before she lets go, sliding off of the mattress.

“Anyways, I’m going to breakfast. You should come too before all the blue waffles are gone.”

She watches as her eldest sister slips out of the room, the door sliding closed behind her and she sighs, digging her knuckles into her closed eyelids until the galaxy shimmers before her. How could Sola have come so close to understanding her one minute only to read her so wrong the next?

She doesn’t make any effort to get out of bed and in all honesty, she wishes she could simply stay here forever, or at least for the rest of the night. At least long enough that she doesn’t have to face Anakin Skywalker.

Because even though she’s already promised herself that she’d let him go, she wasn’t entirely certain she could hold true to her own word when she sees him again.

The day goes by in a blur. In the blink of an eye, she’s wearing a satin dress in that deep orange she finds hideous beside Sola who stands beside Padmé. Padmé stands facing her husband-to-be, fingertips delicately placed in his palms as they recite their vows.

The sun paints the villa’s terrace with an orange glow and she watches it sink beneath the mountains across the lake from the corner of her eye. The sunlight looks like fire rippling in the gentle waves of the water below and she has to look away because she thinks of Anakin, how his eyes glimmer just the same.

She’s determined to keep her gaze away from the audience, however, because she knows he’s there, the incarnation of all she’s ever wanted, of all her bad ideas, of everything she cannot trust herself with in one. She searches the ground below, watches the way her dress ruffles with the breeze, like fire askew in the wind.

Padmé says something that makes the audience erupt in laughter and it startles her, so much that the hair on the back of her neck erects. When she flinches, she makes the mistake of blinking up— right into the eyes she’d been bound to avoid all night.

The world around Anakin Skywalker seems to stir until it’s all wet, blurry hues of orange, green, and white. Anakin is the only one she sees in high resolution— she can see every lock of wavy, dark blonde hair, every rippling wave in his irises, the scarlet line that slices just beside his right eye. She’d never seen this scar before— it must be new.

But what’s the most peculiar of all is that she meets his eyes— she meets his eyes. She’d blinked up to find he’d already been staring, already transfixed on her by the time their gazes met and his eyes had illuminated with that same knowing gleam she’d seen in them that day in the royal courtyard.

Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she is not in a dream. It’s both momentous and utterly devastating all the same.

She isn’t quite sure whether to look away or not. This is what she's mooned over more times than her pride will allow her to admit. She’s dreamed this many nights, for Anakin Skywalker to simply look at her and now he is. Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she should feel elated but instead she feels… conflicted.

Does her heart flutter in her chest? Sure.

Does her stomach twist itself into knots? Certainly.

She felt so confident just the night before when she threw her hands up in surrender to the black sky, admitting her defeat to the stars who spent many moons mocking her that she was done. She felt so confident that she was ready to move on, to let go of this desire she’s harbored for Anakin for so long.

With the simplest of looks, Anakin Skywalker has proven capable of crumpling the paper walls she’d placed around herself. She was left feeling feeble, exposed and any sense of courage she thought she had was now lost.

Because three years of waiting and praying to higher entities who did not hear her pleas could not cease overnight. Her attraction to Anakin Skywalker could not cease in hours. She thought she’d extinguished the last flames of her withering hope but, as it turns out, a single dying ember remained. It means a part of her still yearned for him. A part of her still burned for him.

She wonders now, that he’s still looking at her, what possibly goes on inside his head. Why does he look at her now? Why does he stare, why do his lips twitch before curving in a smile when their eyes meet, why do they irradiate the longer her gaze lingers on his? Why does he not look sad at the wedding of the woman he loves? Why does he not even look at Padmé?

Her mind swirls like a tempest— churning with unhinged, vicious anguish. She has to look away before the acid that bubbles in her throat can come to fruition but she can’t, and Anakin seemingly can’t tear his gaze away from her either. It’s all the more sickening and earth-shattering nonetheless. Her heart swells and pounds in her chest, the border of her vision beginning to blur with the familiar sting of tears. Her head is aching and it’s all just too much— she needs an escape.

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife.”

She blinks away her emotion to the best of her ability, using the end of the ceremony as an excuse to look away as the crowd around her thunders with applause. Her mind is reeling and she feels like her head is spinning as she subconsciously claps her palms together, the sound muffled like water in her ears. The watercolor around her stirs until it’s clear again and the entire world suddenly seems to move again— it’s her, this time, that’s in slow motion.

The cheering sounds like thunder, the applause like rain pelting against a window, and her mind begins to crumple, just like metal. She longs for escape, to flee and to be beside herself for the rest of the night. Padmé and her husband begin walking back down the aisle as their guests congratulate them, tossing flower petals into the air above them. She thinks that this is her chance to escape, she thinks everyone is distracted enough that no one will notice her leaving.

They never cared to notice her before anyways.

She begins to shuffle away but she doesn’t make it very far before her stomach lurches when someone clasps a hand around her wrist, tugging her forward. She snaps her head to the source to find her eldest sister, Sola, with her face illuminated by a grin.

“Come on!” Sola exclaims, dragging her down the aisle and back inside the villa. “It’s time to party!”

Dread drains the blood from her cheeks but she’s given no time to protest before she’s being dragged down the aisle, right past Anakin Skywalker. She doesn’t dare look up but she feels him when she passes by, a mere brush of the arms, the feeling of his elbow brushing going just as fast as it came.

And it’s still enough to make liquid of her insides.

She drowns in a sea of people as she and Sola find Padmé, wrapped in their mother’s arms. She can hear her heart drum in her ears as Sola releases her hand to draw Padmé into an embrace, tears streaming down the apples of her cheeks. Everyone around her is so happy and she should be too— but she still feels like she’s beside the altar, caught in the trap Anakin has seemingly laid out for her.

A tear that’s been painfully dormant in her eye falls and she’s certain her distress shows on her face but it must be easily mistaken for tears of joy, because Padmé pulls away from Sola to turn to her, drawing her in for a hug. Her sister’s arms wrap around her body, a palm on her back, the other cupping the back of her head. Even Sola reaches forward to give her upper arm a reassuring squeeze, undoubtedly thinking back to the conversation they’d had earlier.

“Don’t cry for me, baby sister,” Padmé laughs tearfully beside her ear. She can feel Padmé’s smile against her shoulder. She pulls away and rubs her palms up and down the length of her arms. “I’m still the same Padmé I’ve always been.”

She’s unable to reply— again, she’s misunderstood. But it’s her sister’s wedding day, she won’t burden her with her own confliction. So she swallows the boulder-sized lump in her throat, curving her lips just enough to form a tight-lipped smile.

“I’m just… happy for you,” she manages. Padmé cups her cheek and soothes the pad of her thumb over her skin before Ryoo and Pooja draw her attention away. Padmé’s hands fall from her arms and finally, she can breathe.

But even that is momentary.

“You make a perfectly fine bride if I do say so myself, Senator.”

Her spine stiffens. She knows that voice. And she knows exactly who is near when she hears it.

Padmé laughs and tosses her hands. “Obi-Wan,” she greets him just like an old friend would, pulling him in for an embrace. “And little Ani.”

How is it that she’s already seen him more tonight than she has in the past three years? She sees Anakin’s dark boots from the top of her vision, not daring to tear her gaze from the ground.

“Padmé,” Anakin’s deep, enriching voice sounds and rumbles deep in her belly. She shifts uncomfortably where she stands, desperate to flee. She thinks she can manage it now— Obi-Wan and Anakin are engrossed with Padmé now, right?

She begins to make her first attempt of escape, taking slow, careful steps to the side until her second effort crumbles when Anakin speaks her name.

Ice frosts over her spine and she’s no choice but to acknowledge the man she was so intent on avoiding the entire evening. Padmé and Obi-Wan are engrossed in their own conversation but Anakin’s gaze remains on her, eyes even sparkling when she finally meets them.

Her mouth is a desiccated oasis and her throat feels like a desert as it constricts painfully when she swallows. Still, she manages to breathe out, “Anakin.”

It’s the first time she can ever recall having a true, proper conversation with him. The last time being when they said their goodbyes that very first time before he and Padmé left for the Lake Country. It’s confusing how this is everything she’s ever wanted yet, she feels an urge to push it all away.

Anakin clears his throat and his eyes flicker to his feet for a moment as if he could possibly be nervous before they find hers again. “You look good,” he says and her heart stops beating in her chest. “That dress is beautiful on you.”

She thinks she could punch him.

Or kiss him.

She has to look away, or she may very well do the latter.

She wonders if this is some cruel, senseless joke the Maker is playing on her. She wonders if she’d upset him by unlatching herself from his hook and this is his way of reeling her back in. She hates that it has the potential to work.

“I…” she stammers and closes her lids frustratedly, willing air back into her lungs. She shakes her head— she cannot be here any longer. She may very well explode if she has to succumb to this torture for even a second more. “…thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

And then, she bolts.

She’s lost track of how long she’s been locked in her room, sitting in the window, staring at the moonlight that ripples in the water below. It was long enough for the chatter downstairs to quiet to murmurs until it finally ceased altogether. The villa is now quiet and suddenly, her room feels suffocating.

With a sigh, her feet meet the floor and she pushes away from the window seat, cupping her neck to roll it around her shoulders as she pads towards the door. It slides open and she slips through, making her way down the hallway leading towards the main foyer. Her dress flows behind her like flames in the wind, the satin cool against her legs as she walks. Fresh, night air greets her and she inhales, letting it flood her lungs as she saunters to the wide terrace ahead.

She stops at the stone arches of the railing and exhales, feeling the wind sift its fingers through her hair, breathing on her skin like a lover in the throes of passion. It caresses her neck and rolls down her back, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

She’d spent many nights just like this one. Staring at the moon rippling through the water, at the stars that twinkle overhead, the sky that blackens behind them. She’d spent many nights praying, releasing her pleas into the air and letting it drift away with the breeze.

She does not pray this time. When she lifts her head to brave the dark that faces her, she merely asks why.

“Why, Maker,” she whispers beneath her breath. There’s an edge, a strain to her voice that stings her throat, that feels like daggers to her chest. “Why must you be so cruel? I have done everything, I have given you everything. Why wasn’t it enough? Why do you mock me now?”

The stars overhead gleam as they cackle, sneering at the misfit below. “You’ll never have a place among us,” they seem to say. Tears well in her eyes and she drops her head, fingernails scraping the stone edge of the railing. She leans back on her heels and wills herself to breathe before a sob could wrack her body.

She feels lost and utterly alone, and she truly begins to feel like the weight of this prolonged pain has started to fall on top of her. She’s lost and alone and her entire world has started to crumble around her. And then she hears her name.

It’s like the call that haunts her every time she closes her eyes, the same velvety voice that caresses her ear every night when she lies down in bed. But it is not a ghostly whisper this time, because it is real.

Footsteps sound behind her and she further scratches her nails against the railing.

“I was wondering where you wandered off to,” Anakin remarks as he approaches and she can feel him beside her, like a whisper of shadow creeping along her skin. She rolls back onto the balls of her feet and stands straight, sniffing.

“Anakin,” she says, steadily, methodically. As if it took great effort to say it without stammering. She can see him out of her peripheral, dark blonde curls falling when he leans an elbow against the railing, tilting his head in an attempt to meet her eye.

She does not move.

“I was looking for you, you know,” he continues. “You must’ve found a good hiding spot.”

She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “I was in my room,” she replies simply, a steely, monotone in her voice.

Anakin inhales and hums. “Then it makes sense why I could not find you. I would never barge into a lady’s room.”

It’s an attempt at humor but she feels anything but. She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place with seemingly no clear solution in sight. She could walk away. She should walk away. She shouldn't spend a single second more in Anakin Skywalker’s presence— she simply couldn’t trust herself to not betray her own vow.

Or she could stay. She could stay and once again succumb to the fool’s game she’s been playing. She could stay and let Anakin Skywalker tie another noose around her neck, allowing him to drag her along for another three years.

She knows what is right. She knows what she should do.

But she’s frozen.

She cannot move, cannot even bring her lips to move so she can speak. She instead wilts, like a rose who once stood beautifully now losing its color, shriveling in on herself until she inevitably withers away.

She can feel Anakin draw himself just an inch closer beside her, and he’s like a single drop of rain that’s enough to somewhat salvage the husk of who she once was.

“Why do you avoid me?” He asks and it’s a question so simply but so damn infuriating all the while. She’s been a volcano in dormancy up until this point, but there’s a rumbling deep within her, threatening to erupt.

“Why are you doing this?” She questions, snapping her head towards him, brows dipped and drawn. Anakin blinks and draws back, a dent forming between his own brows.

“Doing what?” He asks and that feeling of wanting to ram her fist into his face comes back. She turns to fully face him and he pushes off the railing, uncertainty warping his features.

“This,” she gestures between them. “Staring at me. Talking to me. As if we’ve spoken more than hellos and goodbyes to each other.”

Anakin raises a brow, the one his scar pierces, and it warps with the movement.

She continues. “And then you have the audacity to tell me I look beautiful in this gods-awful dress just to spite me.” She is a volcano, no longer dormant, no longer overlooked. She is exploding and Anakin is unfortunate enough to be in her wake.

He shakes his head. “Spite you?” He repeats. She begins to pace, a hand on her hip, the other rubbing her chin. Anakin follows, exactly like a lost puppy. “I wasn’t— I would never—“

“Don’t say you’d never,” she turns on him, sticking an accusatory finger in his face. He blinks from it back to her, that ocean in the irises of his eyes raging, lightning cracking in the sinkhole at its center. She drops her hand and it curls at her side, her fists two shaking balls of fury. Blood bites her cheeks and she thinks of all the times she’s imagined speaking with Anakin Skywalker, of being alone with him.

This certainly was not how she’d ever imagined the scenario playing out.

She inhales. “Don’t say you’d never do anything to spite me while you are actively using me to get over Padmé,” she exhales, braving the stormy sea in his eyes. The tide shifts and his manner does too and she believes she’s already cracked him. She thinks she’s already shattered the illusion he was trying to create, that she’s lifted the wool he’s tried to veil over her eyes.

She thinks that he believes whatever game he was trying to play was over.

Anakin straightens. “You have no idea what you are talking about,” he says and she scoffs, backing away.

“Don’t I?” She retorts. “You don’t think I’ve noticed how you’ve always looked at her? How you’ve always loved her?”

It brings her great pain to merely mention it. Her palms wipe at her face as tears begin welling in her eyes again, her cheeks warm as she desperately tries to quell the beginnings of a sob that stutters through her chest. She realizes now that by keeping all of these emotions, these feelings she’s harbored for Anakin for so long bottled has made her restless, has made her tick like a time bomb.

And her time to detonate has come.

He says her name again and tries to step forward, reeling back when she steps away from him. His hand wrapped in a leather glove hovers in the air between them and he drops it with an exasperated sigh.

“Your sister means a great deal to me, yes,” he begins. “But it is not—“

“My sister is the sole reason why you torment me!” She snaps. “And you have no right to use how I feel against me just because she does not love you back.”

Her words are an arrow meant to strike, to pierce through his chest, his heart her target. Her words are meant to cut deep, to draw blood, to make him bleed just like she has everyday since they met. She thinks they will, she thinks her blows will etch deep, will even leave scars in their wake. Part of her longs to see that pained expression upon his face, just like the one she wears now.

But her arrow merely grazes, soaring past until it sinks in the shining waters below.

Anakin’s face shifts but it is not in the way she thought it would, not in the way she hoped it would. His brows dip and his eyes swarm with a pained sort of desperation she’s never seen before in someone. She certainly never expected to see it in someone like him. His chest rises and falls with his breaths as he steps forward again. She stands still, unable to move. She is stunned— Anakin Skywalker has surprised her.

“Padmé does not love me,” he admits. “I met her when I was only a child. The only girl I’d ever seen before her was my own mother. So, of course, I felt drawn to her.” Her jaw tightens and her lips fall together in a firm, thin line. Anakin’s brows knit closer together and there’s a flicker in his eyes that she swears looks like the predecessor to tears.

She doesn’t quite want to believe it. He could not cry.

“And I spent a decade pining, a decade praying that I’d one day see her again, a decade hoping she’d been counting down the days until she saw me again, just like I was.”

She doesn’t believe what she’s hearing. It’s a reflection of her own story, her own foolish pining, her own foolish praying but not hers, but Anakin’s. Her heart stutters in her chest and she forgets to breathe, having to gasp to gather air back into her lungs.

She’s never once felt like she could be understood. She’s never once felt like anyone else could experience the inner turmoil she has, the seemingly fruitless yearning she has.

But she’s realizing now that that's not true. Not anymore, at least. Everything is changing right before her eyes.

“And then I did,” Anakin shakes his head, a humorless laugh leaving his lips. “And I felt nothing. But I tried. I tried to convince myself I loved her. But I just… didn’t.”

Her brow furrows and Anakin’s gaze darkens as it finds hers.

“I spent a decade obsessing over someone I didn’t really know, and how could I? I was a child.” His eyes search hers, searching for something unbeknownst to her. But she lets him. “I didn’t know what love was. All I knew was infatuation. I didn’t know what it meant to truly feel seen, to truly feel drawn to someone.”

Anakin pauses and she gets the feeling that whatever he says next will be calamitous.

“Until I saw you again, that day outside the palace.”

Her lips tremble and her breath shudders, an icy chill frosting over her skin. To think he’s thought about her everyday since their eyes briefly met in the midst of a crowded courtyard was hard to believe yet, when she looks at Anakin Skywalker now, she sees the softening of his brow, the quiver in his lips, the honesty in his eyes.

She’s only ever imagined one look in his eyes. Desire.

But she looks at him now and finds an entire galaxy— there’s longing, there’s earnest, there’s optimism, there’s burning. As it turns out, living creatures are not black and white like she initially thought them to be. Anakin Skywalker is a complex creature, made of flesh and blood and of an intricacy she’d never stopped to consider before.

He’s even better than she’s imagined he’d be.

Every moment spent under the stars, praying that she’d one day have a place among them, that she one day would sit among them with purpose rather than in an ellipsis suddenly begins to feel like it wasn’t all for nothing after all. Every prayer she’s whispered into the night breeze with Anakin Skywalker’s name in it suddenly feels like they begin to matter, like they begin to come true.

Still, she is wary, and Anakin seems to recognize this caution.

He takes a step closer and he steals the breath from her chest, just like he had the first moment she saw him. Her fingers twitch, itching to find his, her palms tingling with the desire to feel his skin, her lips buzzing with yearning. She does not touch him, she does not kiss him, she does not do anything. She simply waits for the rest of his story to unfold and her brain aches with the hope that it will unravel into hers.

“I saw you that day at the palace to find you were already looking at me. That you were already seeing me,” he mutters, a little breathlessly. “It may have been for… for only a moment but when you looked at me, I felt…” he trails off, a furrow in his brow as he searches for the correct word. “…I felt… like something shifted.”

She watches as he rolls his lips together, watches as the moonlight catches how they glisten with spittle. Her breath catches a little bit, her gaze lingering there, her desire to lap it all up flaring.

“It felt like there was a string there between us I’d never noticed before,” he continues. “There was a connection I’d never realized until the moment our eyes met. I felt you, and I felt you see me. There hasn’t been a day that’s passed by since where I didn’t feel you, where I didn’t feel like we were connected, like we were two stars written in the same constellation.”

Her chest rises and falls to the erratic beating of her heart as Anakin draws nearer, the hand with his glove meeting her cheek with a tenderness she’d felt from no one before. She’d never realized how starved of touch she’s been until now and it feels so invigorating. Her stare drops to his lips and she feels that string Anakin must’ve been talking about, feels it drawing her closer into his mouth.

“Padmé does not love me back, and I do not care,” he says in just above a whisper, his voice rising and falling in a way that jellifies her knees, that makes liquid of her insides. “Because I am burning– foolishly, maybe, yes– for you.”

She inhales sharply and it truly feels like all her prayers are finally being answered, like she’s being inducted into her rightful place in the sea of stars. And in her constellation, Anakin Skywalker resides too.

She reaches up with a hand to hold the crook of his elbow that’s strung between them as he brings his other, ungloved hand to rest on her other cheek. She feels his skin on her cheek as the pad of his thumb soothes over the warmth of her flesh and her body quakes with shivers that roll down her spine all the way to her toes. He begins to lean in, his breath hot where it fans against her skin but she tilts backwards, just enough for him to halt, a quirk in one of his brows.

“I will not let you settle for me, Anakin Skywalker,” she whispers, admitting that insecurity still lingers, despite his words. Anakin’s eyes narrow as he uses his hands on either sides of her face to draw her in, his lips but a mere whisper away from hers when he murmurs, “settle? This is not settling. This is binding.”

Then, his lips are on hers in an electrifying bind that shatters her spine with cracks of lightning and she falls into him, her hands on either of his forearms to keep herself steady.

Anakin kisses her with an ardor she could never even dream up in all of her wildest of fantasies. He kisses her and she feels like she finally fits in her dress, as it is the color of fire and she’s engulfed in flames. He kisses her and he is the flame that lights her candle, the flame that melts her from the center, that makes heat course through her that washes all the way down to her toes. He kisses her and she is melting, right into him.

His tongue pirouettes over hers and she hums into his mouth, feeling his fingers thread through her hair. Her heart is pounding and her lips are buzzing but all she feels is Anakin, she feels the muscles in his arms, the warmth that radiates off his body and spills into her. She feels the push and pull of the passion, the yearning he’s kept inside all this time. She feels her own longing and fervor pour into him and they are floating, two clouds that collide into one another to become one.

Anakin steps forward and steps backwards until she hits a wall. When they pull away for breath, she realizes he’s backed her into one of the pillars, a vine caught in the hair on the back of her head. Their chests heave with the weight of their breaths and she watches as Anakin’s hand, not the gloved one, but the one with skin rises, following it as it reaches for her neck. She shudders when he touches her collarbone, exposed from the side of the fiery satin of her dress. His fingertips sear her skin as it drags to the neck of her dress, following the satin where it wraps around her throat, all the way to the back of her neck where the lace falls.

Her breath catches when his fingers find the small strings keeping her dress together. Her gaze finds his again to find he’s already staring, a narrow, earnest look upon his face that darkens his eyes and hardens his features. There is a silent question that hangs in the air between them: “do you want to stop?”

Maybe they’re moving too fast. Maybe this is crazy, maybe they’re simply caught up in the moment, high off the feeling of burning for someone who burns for them too. But after years of pining, of waiting, of praying, it only feels right.

But still, she asks, “what if someone sees? Someone like Obi-Wan who can get you in trouble?”

Anakin shakes his head, “they won’t. Now, I don’t want to talk about Obi-Wan. Do you want to stop?”

The shake of her head is all Anakin needs to see before he unlaces the strings holding her dress together, the satin falling like a spark blazing down the frayed edges of a rope until it pools at her elbows. Her breasts spill from the dress and the night’s ghostly whisper chills her skin, peaking her nipples.

Anakin’s eyes devour and she is prey.

His stare pierces through her skin to the marrow of her bones that catch a chill and she quakes. He meets her eyes again as his hands drift lower, dipping until they finally find her chest. A sharp gasp escapes when his palms cup either of her breasts and she arches into his touch, already aching for more.

“Anakin!” She gasps in a breathy exclaim when he dips his chin to press a kiss over the top of one of her breasts, heat blossoming in his lips’ wake. His eyes catch her again, a little warily. “Is this okay?” He asks, his voice low and gravely, scratching the itch in her brain she didn’t even know she had. It makes her knees feel weak and if it hadn’t been for his body pressed up against hers, she would’ve crumpled straight to the ground.

“Yes,” she breathes, chest heaving into his palms. “I’m sorry, I’ve just… never…”

Anakin’s lips curve and she can see a flash of white peek between them. He shakes his head. “Me neither,” he admits with a breathy laugh and she titters too, grateful for the fact that she’s not the only one who’s a little green.

“Can I keep going?” He questions and his voice is liquid desire, melting straight down to her core. She swallows the lump that’s formed in her throat, nodding. “Please,” she adds, feeling her heart beat straight into his palm.

Anakin’s head dips again and she watches, cheeks warm as he places an open-mouthed kiss just above her nipple. His palm kneads the other breast as his lips venture just an inch lower, finding the peaked bud that awaits, suckling it into his mouth.

It’s like electricity flooding through her veins.

She throws her head back, lips falling agape as her eyelids snap closed, soaking in the pleasure of Anakin’s lips on her nipple. He cautiously flicks his tongue against the bud, watching through his lids as a moan falls from her lips, encouraging him to do it again. He flattens his tongue against her nipple and licks a long, fat stripe from the underside of it up, feeling her tremble in his arms. He lets go of her breast with a wet pop, trailing kisses through the valley between them to make his way to the other.

Touching him, feeling him, kissing him is somehow even better than she’d ever imagined, even after all those years of dreaming for moments like this. She can’t believe she’s gone so long without feeling him like this, she doesn’t think she can ever stop touching him.

Anakin suckles on her breast, flicking his tongue against her nipple as his hand not wrapped in a glove ventures down her body, past her waist, down her hip. He pulls the satin material of her dress up until his arm can sneak his way beneath it and she shivers when his fingers find her center over her underwear. Her nails dig into his sleeves above his shoulders, holding her breath as he finds the wet spot in her underwear, gently pressing against it.

Her hands tighten on his shoulders and ceases all movement, peering up at her. “You’re wet,” he says rather matter-of-factly because of course she is, how could she not be? She nods down at him, swallowing thick layers of saliva down her throat. “Can I touch you here?” He asks and his voice drops to that silky, velvety tone that makes her core ache. She presses her lips together to stifle her groan, head vigorously nodding up and down.

“Gods yes, Anakin,” she moans, slowly rocking her hips against his finger. “Please.”

She feels filthy in a way for asking, for needing friction so desperately. She’s only ever taken her own fingers when she’s too lost in pleasure at night to sleep, never been touched by anyone else but it’s all she craves now, for Anakin’s fingers to touch her, for him— whatever part it may be— to be inside her.

A flame had been ignited in the pit of her belly long ago, back when Anakin first stepped through the door the day they met. It’s sat stagnant for too long, waiting for its moment to further bloom and now it has. It blossomed when her eyes met Anakin’s that day in the courtyard but it’s now in full bloom, now that they burn together, now that his kisses have seared her skin, now that his fingers are pulling her underwear down her thighs, just enough that he can reach her center.

When his fingertips brush her clit, she bursts.

Anakin’s arm wraps around her waist as she practically collapses into him, his middle finger drawing circles against her clit, his breath hot as his lips rest on her brow.

“Is this good?” He asks against her forehead. “Do you feel good?” He questions again as he adds his forefinger to the mix, applying just a little more pressure and it makes her eyes roll.

“Yes, just… just don’t stop,” she exhales, feeling her stomach twist itself into a knot, his fingers against her clit threatening to pull it undone any moment.

So he doesn’t.

He’s unrelenting in the way his fingers press to the aching bud in her center, tracing tight circles until her eyes squeeze closed so hard, milky-ways shimmer behind her lids. He dares venture lower, gathering her slick on the pads of his fingers as he teases near her entrance. It’s a foreign and strange feeling, it’s a pattern she’s traced many times with her own fingers but never been touched by someone else. Even in spite of how many nights she spent trekking that path wishing it was Anakin’s fingers instead, but it’s still strange feeling him there now.

She clutches his arm tighter and he slows, beginning to retract his hand. She stops him, lifting her head until their eyes meet again.

“No,” she pants, shaking her head. “Don’t stop, just… just take it slow.”

He nods, his finger a little unsure as it circles her entrance, unintentionally teasing until she begins to crack. She’s panting, trying to wiggle her hips so that she can draw his fingers in, seeking that feeling of being full. Anakin dips his forefinger into her hole and she tosses her head back, her lips parting for an “oh” to emit.

He watches her face, even if she can’t see it, she can feel his gaze behind her closed lids. He is testing the waters, learning what makes her moan, what makes her squirm, what makes her come. Slowly, he sinks his finger further in and she feels every single millimeter that drags along her walls until he’s knuckle deep. Her legs feel like jelly and her knees begin to wobble, nails clinging to his sleeves like they were her lifeline.

Pressure builds in the pit of her belly as Anakin carefully retracts his finger, just to sink it back in again, a slow, cautious rhythm that leaves her mind spinning. His fingers are so much bigger than hers and she already feels so stuffed despite it only being one finger. Somehow, it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

“Ana… Anakin,” she gasps, peeling open her lids to find he’s already looking. His finger slows but picks up its pace again when he realizes she’s not in any pain. “Another.”

His brow dips and his head tilts in confusion, uncertain what she means. She gathers moisture on her lips, trying to speak through the pleasure-driven haze in her mind.

“Another finger. Please.”

Their eyes lock and there’s a flicker in his, a hint of doubt.

“Are you su—“

“Please.”

So, Anakin gathers her lips with his and she mewls into his mouth when he presses his middle against his pointer, sinking them into her cunt until they reach as far as they can. She’s trembling against him but he keeps her upright, with his arm and with his lips.

Just one of Anakin’s fingers had made her feel stuffed but two of his fingers made her feel full to the brim. Her walls clench around his fingers and she gasps his name like the beginning of a prayer, pleading for more.

It’s a twist on the prayers she recites to the Maker every night. It’s rewriting her every broken hymn, transforming it into something entirely new. She moans Anakin’s name and his fingers turn it into a song so that she cries like a dove into the night. The Maker may have left her feeling broken, wasted, unimportant but Anakin has found her, patched her up, polished her until she’s brand new.

The tangle in her belly begins to rupture, slowly unraveling and so she pushes his arm away, his fingers sliding out of her cunt, her walls pulsing with the loss. They both pant and Anakin’s face hardens in question as his chest heaves.

“What is it?” He asks, searching her face.

She gathers air deep in her chest. “I want…” She trails off, her embarrassment washing over her cheeks in blood. Her gaze drops and Anakin tilts his head to find it again, their eyes locked. He says nothing, only the nod of his head encourages her to continue. “…I want more. I want… I want you to…”

She purses her lips in frustration. For heaven’s sake, she’s talking to the man who just had his fingers inside of her mere moments ago. Why does she feel embarrassed now?

She takes another deep breath, mustering the courage to tell what she truly wants. “…I want you to feel good too.”

Something shifts in Anakin’s eyes. It could be easily mistaken as a trick of the light but she sees it, she feels it. Anakin is burning just the same as her, his pupils becoming a backdrop behind the fires of desire, and she burns within it.

She watches as Anakin’s hand sinks below the belt around his middle, all the way down to the waistband of his trousers beneath his dark tunic. She watches with her breath lodged at the base of her throat as he pulls down his pants, just enough for his cock to be set free and oh, it is just like her dreams but even better.

Nothing could have ever prepared her for the sight of Anakin Skywalker’s cock. Not even the wildest of her dreams could ever capture the essence of the art of Anakin Skywalker. He is handcrafted by the gods themselves— he is the physical embodiment of masterpiece.

He steps forward and towers over her, his breath like smoke rolling over her face. She peers up at him, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing. His hands find either side of her face and she stops breathing altogether, wondering what he will do next.

Then, “put your arms here,” he whispers, guiding her arms over his shoulder. “And hold on.”

She squeals when he drops his hands to the undersides of her thighs, lifting her off the ground so that her ankles lock behind his back. Her arms tighten around his neck as he presses her back against the pillar, his chest pressed into hers. She can feel his length as it’s squeezed between either of their bodies and her walls clench around nothing, practically sobbing to feel him inside.

For a moment, the world stills around them and it’s like when she sees him in the audience during Padmé’s wedding. The night stirs and blurs until it’s dark watercolor, but Anakin is what she sees in high resolution. It’s the perfect mirage— she and Anakin feel like two stars in the middle of the black abyss above, forming their own little constellation.

And when Anakin finally slides himself inside of her, she feels like her place in the sea of stars has been cemented. She finally feels like she’s where she belongs.

a/n; SO! MY LONGEST IMAGINE YET.... may or may not have gotten a bit carried away (more like a little too wordy...) BUT! i really hope some of you enjoy and i truly appreciate anyone who reads this all the way through. i know 10k words is a lot 😭 also i hope this doesn’t seem too insta-lovey… this idea just came to me in a dream so i wrote what I dreamt lol

💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@k1ttenmittonz

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pasukiyo · 4 months ago

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harry castillo fic by yours truly coming soon 🤭

#pasukiyo #pedro pascal #harry castillo #materialists

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pasukiyo · 4 months ago

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CHAPTER TWO

dbf!joel miller x female reader

CONTENT WARNINGS! reader’s father has cancer, age gap between joel and reader, farmer!joel, i am not a farmer myself so if anything i write sounds wrong please do not come for me i am just a girl okay, fantasizing

Chapter Preview: She knows she has no room to disagree. Joel’s been there for her father when she was too far up her own ass to even bother visiting on holidays, while her brother is still far enough up his own to see out of his damn mouth. She’ll have to learn to work past this attraction sooner or later. And it's not like she has any real feelings for him anyway– hell, she literally just met the guy. What she’s feeling right now for Joel is mere attraction– physical attraction at that. And she plans to keep it that way.

word count: 4,074

join the TAGLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST // previous chapter

It’s warm and girthy and strangely soft. Her hands wrap around as much of it as she can hold and she gives it the hardest squeeze she can. She purses her lips, her hands already beginning to ache but still, she tries her best.

She wrinkles her nose when the first drop spills from the tip.

“Eugh, fuck!”

She thinks she might vomit.

“You’re tellin’ me your dad ain’t never made you milk a cow before?” Joel asks from the cow beside her, voice still gruff, although she’s almost certain she hears a hint of humor in his tone. Joel’s version of humor, at least.

She wrinkles her nose, trying to mask her distaste as she squeezes and pulls the cow’s teat, trying not to think of what the motion reminds her of.

“Out of practice,” She says to her defense after a moment, pressing her lips back together when she feels a particularly large glop of milk pump through the teat before it plops down into the bucket. ”You know, I’ve always wondered: doesn’t this hurt them?”

Joel shrugs and shakes his head, continuing to pump more milk from his cow’s teat into the bucket.

“They don’t seem to mind,” he replies and as if right on cue, the cow she’s milking moos, a deep, loud guttural sound and she doesn’t even want to imagine the reason why. She decides she needs a break, dropping the teat altogether, rising from the wooden stool in search of a rag.

“I can’t, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to seem like some spoiled princess or anything, it’s just—“ she shivers as she finds a washcloth hanging over a wooden panel, feeling the jitters roll beneath her skin. “—so much grosser than I remember.”

Joel makes a sound that’s eerily similar to a titter as he leans backwards, reaching for his own rag. She turns away, trying to play it off like she wasn’t looking at his biceps again, or the way the fabric of his t-shirt clings to his chest. Good God. She really needs to get a grip on herself.

“C’mon, you’ve only been in the Big Apple for what? Couple o’ years?”

She titters, though far from amused. “Try five.”

Five long years she’s been in Manhattan. Five long years she spent in New York and hardly anything to show for it. The reminder sort of makes her head ache again. She brings a hand to the crown of her head, scratching an itch there, sighing as she sits back down on her stool. Joel watches and though she can feel it, she doesn’t meet his gaze, feeling somewhat embarrassed she can’t even do the simplest of things when she’s expected to take care of most, if not all of the farm.

Might as well add this to her ever-growing list of failures.

“Muscle memory’ll kick in soon enough,” Joel replies finally, tossing his dirty yellow hand towel back over the wooden panel.

She hides the face she makes at that.

She rests her hands on her knees, already feeling defeated and the day’s barely started. There’s a brief silence, and then Joel speaks again. “So, city life’s not all glitz and glamor, huh?”

Her brow furrows and she blinks, finally meeting his gaze.

“What?”

He rolls his tongue over his teeth behind his lips and it takes everything within her not to have some sort of visible reaction.

“You don’t seem all enthused about all those years livin’ in the city,” he says matter-of-factly with a shrug. “Don’t sound like you miss it any.”

She blinks a few times in a row out of pure disbelief. All she can think is: wow. Is she really that easy to read? No one’s ever been able to read her like that before– but then she wonders if anyone’s ever really tried. Nevertheless, she’s unable to shake off her incredulity, staring at Joel.

Joel tilts his head at her in the silence. “What?”

Finally, she shakes her head, breaking herself out of her stupor. “Nothing, it’s just…” she waves him off. “...no. I guess its not. I don’t– I mean, I don’t really miss it.”

And it's true. All New York reminds her of is her failure, all very many of them. When she tries to bring herself to think about New York now, all she can think of is every failed exam, every bad interview, every ridiculously over-priced bill, every stupid fucking heartbreak. In all honesty, if she knew then what she knew now, she’d never have left home. And she’s grown tired of being told that she’ll become better because of everything she went through– she’s failed to see what good the big city’s done for her.

Joel clears his throat, returning to milking his cow. “I couldn’t do it,” he says after a moment. She looks at him and his eyes find hers in the corner of his. “Livin’ in a big city like that. Even Austin’s gettin’ too big for me.”

She can’t help but snort at this and his brow dips. “What?” He asks and she shakes her head, waving him off.

“Nothing,” she replies. “What makes you think you couldn’t handle it?”

Joel purses his lips, shrugging after a moment. “Just seems claustrophobic. Wouldn’t be able to handle feelin’ like people are breathin’ down my neck every damn day.”

He isn’t wrong, she supposes. Its one of the things she actually missed about Texas while she was gone– the space. Everyone practically lived on top of each other in the city, especially where she lived. It's different here. They’ve got over three hundred acres of open land and not a single neighbor within a few mile radius. It's much quieter here too and though her first night back home was sleepless, it was at least nice to hear the crickets chirping outside as opposed to the noise of the city: car horns blaring and seemingly never-ceasing club music and shouting.

Though it's hard to believe Joel Miller wouldn’t be able to hold his own, she can’t really imagine him living in a big city either, being confined to an apartment, forced to ride subways and taxi cabs. She humors herself and imagines him in a business suit, hair slicked back, bulky leather briefcase in hand. Though blood creeps along her neck at the image of Joel in a suit, tailored to hug all the right places, it just seems so unnatural.

No, men like Joel were meant for the country. They weren’t made to be confined to the limits of a big city, working nine-to-fives, slaving away behind a desk in a corporate office. Men like Joel were as wild and stubborn as the untamed grass that grows through concrete, climbing over fences. Although she’s known him for less than a day, she thinks it’s safe to say that it’s true.

“Yeah,” she sighs, finally reaching back for the teats of her cow with a single hand, grimacing as the weight of its girth presses into her palm. She can’t believe she used to be able to do this with a straight face when she was younger. The city must’ve changed her more than she’d initially thought.

Dawn had finally broken by the time Joel leads her out of her father’s barn towards the wide open wheat field that seems to go on forever and ever, stretching far beyond the slight slopes of the hills. Her father’s horses roam in their fenced area, heads bowed low to feed from the earth. She and Joel had unlatched the gate of the barn earlier and the cattle now roam freely in their pasture, some sticking to their cliques, others venturing out on their own. The sun pokes its head out from the horizon and the wind blows through her hair and it all just screams Texas: home.

She feels like a girl again, running in the wind with her dolls and toy horses, sun kissing her cheeks. The only thing missing is her father, sitting in his tractor or tending to his horses or his cattle, sprinkling chicken feed on the ground and the sound of her brother’s bat hitting a baseball into the net of the batting cage. She looks over her shoulder at the old batting cage, just beside the garage. The weeds have grown tall, so tall, she can hardly make out the shape of the tee and they curl around the holes of the net. She can’t even imagine the last time its been put to use.

Joel’s teaching her the basics of growing wheat now, when and how to fertilize, how to control the pesky weeds endangering the harvest. She means to pay attention– she really, truly does– but it's hard to focus when Joel speaks so authoritatively, when the muscles in his arms bulge as he points and demonstrates various tasks, when the crinkles by his eyes deepen with effort. As Joel’s briefing her on basic tractor controls, her eyes trace the muscles of his back, outlined through his t-shirt. Then her eye catches a lone bead of sweat as it begins to trail from his hairline all the way down his cheek, past his dark beard, until it drips down to his thigh, leaving a small, dark drop in its wake.

When he turns to look at her to ensure she’s listening, she blinks, somewhat managing to pull herself out of her trance-like daze.

Joel eyes her skeptically, wiping perspiration from his brow with his arm. “You listenin’?” He asks and she nods, blood creeping up her neck when his gaze narrows. “Right,” Joel says after a moment. “Well, I’ll take tractor duty today. You just go make sure everyone’s fed and we’ll rendezvous at the stables. There’s not enough chicken feed in the shed so there’s a new bag in the back of my truck. Big bag. Yellow label.”

She wrinkles her nose, though she knows there’s really no room to argue. It’s not like she’s entirely eager to maneuver such a big piece of machinery anyways, but she feels ashamed to have been caught daydreaming when at the end of the day, this is all for her father. It’s wrong to rely on Joel for everything when he has a whole life of his own: at least a daughter and a brother to account for.

She nods and swings a leg as she steps backwards, watching Joel climb into the green tractor. It roars to life as soon as she turns around to head for Joel’s truck and she peers over her shoulder just to watch as he turns the wheel– muscles, again, practically on the verge of bursting through his skin– driving the tractor through the field.

She kicks a rock as she turns back around, approaching Joel’s blue truck. She drops the tailgate and climbs into the bed, stepping over various bags and equipment. She finds the one with the yellow label and a large image of a rooster smack in the middle she needs, latching her fingers around the top, pulling with all her strength. The bag is a bitch to drag out of the truck but she’s eventually able to toss it down to the gravel.

She pauses a moment to catch her breath, hand on her hips as she stands on the tailgate, tractor engine echoing in the distance. She swallows a good lungful of air and crouches, jumping to the gravel just as she hears the opening and closing of a door. She turns to the sound, finding her father standing there on the front porch, dressed in his trademark flannel and jeans, like he’s ready for a whole day of work.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” She calls as her father makes his way down the steps, grunting amusedly. Jovi trots down before him, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he runs over to the grass, nose to the ground in search of the right place to do his business.

“Now you sound like your mama,” he snorts, waving her off. He staggers a bit as he approaches and she jumps down from the truck, reaching out, ready to catch his arm should he take a fall. He holds out a palm, taking a moment to find his balance. “I’m fine.”

She wrinkles her nose, eyeing him as he grabs the bill of his hat, scratching his scalp.

“Besides, it’s not like I’m useless. I can still do things ‘round here, y’know,” he grunts, resting his hands on his hips, squinting. “Joel put you on chicken duty?”

She glances back over to the field, watching Joel as he drives the tractor, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth and tearing her gaze away before any more less-than-appropriate thoughts can plague her mind. “Yeah,” she replies, kneeling down to grab one end of the heavy bag, hoisting it up as far as she can with a groan.

Her dad chuckles, watching as she drags the bag of feed over to the chicken coop, following close behind.

“So, how’s everything goin’?” Her dad asks once she finally managed to drag the feed all the way to the chicken coop, grabbing the switchblade her father holds out for her to tear into the bag.

She shrugs, handing the knife back. “Fine,” she replies, standing up, in search of a bucket. When her father doesn’t respond, she turns, finding him with his arms crossed, an eyebrow cocked in incredulity.

How some things never change.

“Good,” she speaks firmer this time, snatching a metal tin from the ground, scooping it down into the feed. “Joel’s been helping me get back into the swing of things just fine.”

Her father reaches over, grabbing a handful of feed from the bucket, tossing them around the coop. The chickens cluck as they hop down to the ground, pecking seeds off the ground, flapping their wings when another gets a little too close.

“Hm,” her father hums. “And you’re gettin’ along alright with Joel I hope?”

She peeks at Joel again, still driving around in the tractor, doing… well, whatever he was talking about while she was lost daydreaming. Outside of his outward attraction, he seems like a pretty genuine guy and he must be, being good friends with her dad and all. It only seems to make him more attractive in her eyes, damn him. She tosses feed to the ground mindlessly, clearing her throat before she can get lost in her daze again, nodding.

“Mhm,” she hums. “Just fine.”

“Good, good,” her father says, the corners of his mouth curving, satisfied. “He’s a good man, y’know. Good father, good brother, a damn good friend.”

Great. Feeding her more positive things about Joel, feeding further into her attraction to him. Just what she needs!

“Is that right, daddy?” She says passively, tossing a handful of feed to the ground perhaps a little too aggressively.

“Mhm. Baseball fan too,” he chuckles, tossing the last of the feed in his hand. “Y’ already know that gets him extra points in my book.”

Its something that makes her feel that guilty conscience of hers again, the reminder of just how lonely her father must’ve been after she left. Without her brother here, who else did he have to talk to about things like baseball, wheat farming, fishing? It certainly wasn’t going to be her mother– so it’s nice her father found someone like Joel.

She just wishes it could’ve been someone… less attractive. At least that way, she wouldn’t be so distracted and might actually get some damn work done around here.

“You know, I was thinkin’ of invitin’ him over tomorrow evening. He and his brother, and his little girl, if he fancies,” her father says, wiping off his hands. “Astros playin’ the Sox, can make my famous burgers too.”

As if having to be around Joel in the mornings wasn’t bad enough, having to watch him as he works, sweats, explaining tasks around the farm. All this while she has to fight to suppress the heat blooming in places she’s ashamed to even feel anything when she’s around a man she just met. Now she’ll have to spend an entire evening with him? Seriously, when will some of the odds ever start being in her favor?

She knows she has no room to disagree. Joel’s been there for her father when she was too far up her own ass to even bother visiting on holidays, while her brother is still far enough up his own to see out of his damn mouth. She’ll have to learn to work past this attraction sooner or later. And it's not like she has any real feelings for him anyway– hell, she literally just met the guy. What she’s feeling right now for Joel is mere attraction– physical attraction at that.

And she plans to keep it that way.

She sets the metal tin down on the top of the bag of feed, dusting off her hands. She meets he father’s gaze and smiles, nodding.

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” she says. “I’ve sure missed those hamburgers.”

Joel finally kills the engine of the tractor and she, her father, and Jovi watch beneath the eaves of the stable as he hops down, wiping sweat from his brow as he’s making his way over to them. She plans to make good on her vow to keep her attraction towards Joel at just that, so she draws her gaze to the ground, hands in the back pockets of her jeans, kicking rocks around on the dirt.

“Everything lookin’ alright out there?” Her father asks as Joel comes within earshot, nodding towards the field. Joel nods, stopping before the, giving Jovi a good pat on top of the head before resting his hands on his hips.

“S’ growin’ real good,” he replies, eyes crinkling against the sunlight. “Treated it today, should be all good to go come fall.”

“Good to hear,” her father says, a grin curving his lips.

From the porch, her mother’s voice calls her father’s name and they all turn as she waves him over, making her way down the steps to her car. Jovi barks and makes a break for her, black and white tail wagging side-to-side as he jumps on his hindlegs in front of her.

“Going somewhere, daddy?” She asks, spinning back around to face him.

Her father nods. “Gotta run for the hospital,” he replies, waving a hand through the air when she softens her gaze. “Don’t worry. Your ol’ Pops ain’t goin’ nowhere yet. Just goin’ in to talk about treatment and such.”

It’s remarkable how strong her father is, even while facing something like this. He may be incapable now of doing some of the things that made him seem so strong to her when she was little, but she thinks he’s stronger now than he’s ever been. She sucks in a breath, swallowing the lump in her throat to give her father a smile.

“I’m not worried,” she replies, though she‘s speaking in half-truths. “Let me know how it goes, ‘kay?”

He nods, reaching forward to rub his thumb over her cheek.

“‘Course I will, hun,” he says before turning to Joel. “Before I go, wanted to ask if you’d wanna come over for dinner and the game tomorrow evenin’. Bring Tommy and Sarah if you’d like. Burgers, beer, and baseball all night.”

Joel purses his lips, shrugging. “Don’t see why not. ‘Oughta be fun.”

Blood hammers in her temples. That makes one of us, she thinks.

“Good man,” her father says, clapping Joel on the shoulder before turning, giving her a quick squeeze. “I’ll be back later. You be good now, right?”

She nods, watching as her father makes his way to the driveway, pulling open the passenger side door of her mother’s car, disappearing inside. Jovi barks again and Joel whistles, beckoning the dog towards them. He complies, running over to where she and Joel still stand under the eaves, watching the car as it peels out of the driveway, driving past the old oak tree and past the gate to the main dirt road.

After a moment, Joel is the first to speak.

“Your dad ever teach you to change a horseshoe?” He asks and she turns, arm crossed over her chest.

She purses her lips, shaking her head. “Only taught me to clean the hooves.”

Joel shrugs, leading her inside the stable where a few new horses inside the stalls along with a few familiar faces as well. “You’re about halfway there then,” he says, leading her to a rose gray mare, one of the ones she remembers: Ivory. “Ivory here’s in need of a changing.”

The horse’s dark eyes blink at her as she approaches and her mouth curves, reaching out to run her palm along her muzzle, just like old times.

“Hey there,” she whispers to the mare. “Long time no see, huh?”

Ivory snorts and nudges her muzzle further into her palm, as if in agreement. She chuckles, reaching to rub her palm back and forth down her neck, scratching her fingernails against her withers. Joel appears beside her, leaning with an elbow against the top of the stall gate.

“I thought your Pops showed me pictures of you on ol’ Ivory,” he says, patting the mare on her side. “Beautiful horse. Rides like the wind too.”

She huffs out a laugh. “You should’ve seen her when we first got her,” she says. “She still stubborn?”

“As much as she is loyal,” he replies and her mouths cracks into a grin, patting her back one last time.

Joel grabs a bag full of tools and opens the stall, stepping aside to allow her inside first. He shows her all the tools first, some she’s seen her father work with, others she may or may not have just seen in passing. He explains the purpose of each tool and she focuses, as much as she can on his words anyways, rather than his lips or his facial hair or his arms.

She watches as he demonstrates how to remove the shoe, squeezing Ivory’s hoof between his thighs as he works and good lord, she’s trying to focus, really, she is. But this is just getting ridiculous. Watching him use his thighs, his muscles flexing as he hammers the buffer into the side of the shoe, clenching his jaw with the effort– her mind is just a swirling mess of lewd thoughts and ideas. She breathes in a lungful of air and exhales a little louder than intended, causing him to halt his movements, peering up at her through his lashes.

Fuck me, she thinks. Figuratively, not literally…

Joel tilts his head, his lips moving to ask if she’s okay, his voice low but thick.

…Well… she curses herself mentally. …so much for keeping her attraction at bay.

“Yeah. Fine,” she quips, though she’s sure she doesn’t sound too convincing. “Just… getting a better look.”

Joel blinks but must not think too much of it, because he goes right back to work, explaining things as he goes along. Finally, he nails the new shoe onto Ivory’s hoof and he releases her foot from between his legs, holding the buffer and hammer towards her.

“Here,” he says. “Have a go at it.”

She blinks between his face and his hand for a second, rising as she reaches for the tools, their fingers brushing for the briefest of moments but still, it’s long enough for her to feel something– call it heat or electricity– surge through her. Whatever it may be, she shivers in its wake and there’s a warm, fluttery feeling in her chest that she has to swallow a lump of saliva at in order to quell the erratic beating of her heart.

She moves past Joel and he guides one of Ivory’s hooves between her thighs, instructing her to squeeze them together and with every fiber of her being, she tries to set her mind away from the fact that his hands are practically in between her legs. There’s a kindling deep in her belly, blazing down the frayed ropes of her desire all the way to her core and she sucks air between her teeth as she works at hammering the buffer against the side of Ivory’s shoe, hoping, praying Joel doesn’t notice how much he affects her.

NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: SOOOOO SORRY THIS IS BEING POSTED LATE! Between finals and my birthday and work, I’ve been stretched thin lately. Thankfully I’m finally getting so time opened up, so I’ll try and make sure this won’t happen again! Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoyed! The next chapter is probably my favorite I’ve written for this series so far 🤭 I also will begin posting this fic on ao3 soon!

🐎 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

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@luckypurins

@all-in-the-fandoms

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note: please let me know through private message if you’d like to be taken off the taglist!

#wanderin’ far don’t mean you’re lost masterlist #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us imagine #joel tlou

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pasukiyo · 4 months ago

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thank you for all the birthday wishes!! i was really hoping i’d be able to post my anakin fic yesterday for my bday/may the fourth but unfortunately, i wasn’t able to finish it in time 😭 still, thank you all so much!!

also, the second chapter of wanderin’ far don’t mean you’re lost will still be posted today, but it may be later than 2 pm!

#pasukiyo

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pasukiyo · 4 months ago

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AHHHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! Such a sweet thing to wake up to 🥹🫶✨

#pasukiyo replies 🪩#y’all are so sweet omg

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pasukiyo · 4 months ago

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guess whose birthday it is!!!

#i’ll give you a hint #IT��S ME!#pasukiyo

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pasukiyo · 4 months ago

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CHAPTER ONE

dbf!joel miller x female reader

CONTENT WARNINGS! reader’s father has cancer, age gap between reader and joel, farmer!joel

Series Synopsis: In the summer of 2003 as she’s already feeling down on her luck, she’s called back home upon news of her father falling ill to take over his farm. Soon upon arrival, she meets Joel Miller— a friend her father made during her absence. Joel made a promise to her father to help get her back into the swing of things around the farm and he intends to make good on his word… but things are complicated when an undeniable connection inspires a world of trysts and starts them down a path they may never be able to turn away from. But like how all good things must come to an end, their secrets are bound to break, or else they’ll be their destruction…

word count: 4,012

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SERIES MASTERLIST

SUMMER 2003

The odds, it seems, are never in her favor.

To think that just last summer, she thought she’d have it all: a book deal, a nice job, a nice car, a nice house, a nice salary, a nice man. She supposes she can at least tick off one of the things on the list— though moving back to her childhood home wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind.

In a perfect world, she’d be living the dream fresh out of grad school. She’d sip cups of coffee on her own front porch, a delightful morning breeze through her hair as she builds other worlds on a word document, the sun rising over the horizon to break the dawn. She’d maybe have a dog or two running in the yard, a hand on her shoulder and a kiss on her cheek to bid her goodbye, a boyfriend, fiancé, husband waving as he peels out of the driveway, honking his horn the entire way down the street until he was out of sight. She wouldn’t feel a hollowness in the pit of her belly, or feel the presence of an annoying little insect at her ear, buzzing with the reminder that there’s something missing.

She’d feel happy, accomplished, fulfilled.

As the car turns and they pull onto the old dirt road she hadn’t seen in years, that dream seems to fade until it’s nothing more than a dark shape on the horizon, setting with the sun.

That old familiar ache pulses in her lower back as her mother drives them over the bumpy, gravel road, the metal gate leading to her childhood home rolling into view. She sucks air between her teeth and grimaces— partly due to the pain in her back, but also because this is when the feeling truly sinks in: she’s moving back home.

She’s never hated Texas. Though she’s never been too fond of its cruel summers, she missed how green it was, how much space there was to live, breathe, grow here. Six years of living in the cramped city, she’d forgotten how free the country could be. There’s always been a special place in her heart for home that no amount of distance or time or bigger cities could ever fill. You never forget the place where you had all your firsts, after all.

When she was younger, she used to idolize living in a big city like New York or Los Angeles. She’d daydream about being a famous Hollywood actor or Broadway star, about being a beloved singer in LA, a well-esteemed writer in NYC.

The movies and television shows all made it look so easy to make it big. Truly, she thought the world was her oyster, that she could go anywhere she wanted and be anyone she wanted. It’s why she made the decision early on to go to school in Manhattan— she believed she’d never look back, that she’d prove her parents wrong and make them proud once her dreams inevitably came true.

Those dreams, however, were not as inevitable as she thought.

It was a cruel thing, realizing she only believed her dreams would come true just because she was young and naive. The movies and television shows never show what it’s like to risk everything and not get that happy ending. Unfortunately, she had to find out the hard way. She moved to Manhattan thinking she’d have everything she wanted and instead, she left with brand new scars, a broken pride, and an emptiness as dark as a damn lump of coal.

Still, she didn’t come back to Texas entirely by choice.

It’s another piece of evidence to suggest the odds are never in her favor. She’d gotten the call just over a week ago, and she knew whenever her mother called, it must be something serious. Her father had fallen ill, cancer in the pancreas, the doctors had said. He tried to keep the ball rolling on the farm by himself after his diagnosis but with each day that passes, he grows wearier, weaker. Her mom can’t do the work all by herself between caring for her dad and doing upkeep on the house, and her older brother, Wyatt, has practically fallen off the radar.

When she heard the news, she knew she wouldn’t have much of a choice to begin with. Besides, looking around her measly one bedroom apartment in one of the shittiest streets of Manhattan with hardly a penny to her name, she realized she dodn’t have much keeping her there anyways. Honestly, it wasn’t all that difficult nor tedious, packing everything up and catching a flight back to Texas.

The engine revs as her mother presses her foot harder down on the gas to make it up over the curve of the driveway, sputtering once they reach level ground. Every square inch of her body aches but she’s finally here, and she rolls her head around on her shoulders as her mom kills the engine.

For a moment, they each take the time to sit in the silence that falls once the engine stops, and the image before her of her childhood home seeps back into her skin, the familiarity of it filling old gaps in her memory. It’s been years since she last visited— she never took the time to visit for holidays, not since her third semester at least. She was still clinging to the dying embers of her delusions then, justifying her absence from every holiday by telling herself she needed all the time to study and work she could get.

And look where that got her– right back where she started.

Things are tense between her and her mother to say the least. She supposes she can’t entirely blame her for it. Being back here now only because her father was ill and dying gives her a bit of a guilty edge. But there are other reasons why the silent air between her and her mother feels so thick.

Her mother is the first to speak, pulling the keys out of the ignition and pushing open the driver’s side door. “Welcome back home,” she says icily, enthusiasm far from her tone.

Her mother slams the door shut and she takes a deep breath, letting her mother’s coldness melt off her skin. There’s no sense in starting a fight now, not right when she’s come back home.

She pushes open her door and inhales as southeastern Austin’s warm summer breeze sifts its fingers through her hair, its sun beaming down on her face. Home smells just as she remembers it: like earth, wood, livestock, wheat, everything that you’d like think sum up to the smell of a farm. It’s strange how everything seems to be in the exact same places they were when she left, like nothing really changed at all. The wooden rocking chairs on the front porch seemed to not have even moved an inch, her father’s old truck is still parked in the same spot in front of the garage, even the number of wood in the pile by the old shed seems the same. The old oak tree doesn’t seem any different and the same old tire swing hangs from one of its branches. A black and white dog sits on the front porch, wagging its tail, barking as her mother makes her way to the door. Her father must’ve gotten it while she was gone but other than the dog, everything feels the same as it was.

It almost feels as if she’s never left and it would had it not been for the unfamiliar truck parked behind her father’s near the garage. She moves the hair away from her eyes and holds it above them, squinting at the old truck.

“Whose truck is that?” She asks, pointing towards it when her mother turns around to face her. Her mom glances over her shoulder, waving a hand through the air.

“Just Joel’s,” she replies simply, as if she was supposed to know this already.

Her mother begins making her way up the front porch steps, snapping her fingers at the dog and gesturing for it to get inside the house. She shakes her head, dropping her hand to her side.

“Well, who’s Joel?” She asks, a little impatiently.

Her mother sighs and turns back around, falling back against one of the columns holding up the roof of the porch. Before she can get her answer in, a deep voice sounds from behind her and she starts, spinning around on her heel to face the source.

“That’d be me, miss,” the voice says and she blinks at the man standing behind her, squinting in the sunlight, cleaning dirt off his hands with a stained yellow rag.

It almost seemed strange how matter-of-factly her mother introduced Joel, like he was nothing to worry about, something to brush off. Because she meets his eyes, the kind of brown that reminds her of the warm cup of chocolate her father used to make her on winter evenings when she was little, rounded with the sweetness that reminds her of a puppy. Perspiration glistens along his brow and there’s dark spots marring his blue shirt from hours of work in the summer Texas heat. He lifts an arm and wipes his sweaty brow on his bicep and she can’t help but notice the way his muscles flex when he does it, the product of years of in farmwork and whatever else he does.

It’s strange how quickly her mother brushes Joel off, as if he were unimportant, because she’s looking at him now and to be frank, she’s not sure how to tear her eyes away.

It’s the outstretching of his hand that sort of breaks her from her stupor, enough to make her reach for it to give it a firm shake, at least.

“Joel Miller,” he formally introduces himself and she focuses on how warm his hand feels, if not a bit damp with sweat. She can feel the lines of his palm and every callous made rough with work, and how large his hand is compared to hers fails to go unnoticed.

She swallows and releases the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in. Finally, she’s able to breathe, blood biting her cheeks. She gives him her name and he gives her a small, brief smile, nodding his head.

“You must be the daughter I’ve heard so many things about then,” he says and she blinks, nearly forgetting why she was there in the first place. Joel slides his hand away from hers and she swallows again, trying to play off like she wasn’t already missing his touch.

“I hope you’ve heard them from my dad then,” she replies with a chuckle she hopes doesn’t sound too terribly nervous. She hears a scoff behind her and the opening and closing of the screen door, almost forgetting her mother had been standing there to begin with. Joel blinks up at the front door, clearing his throat as his gaze drops back to the ground.

Joel tosses the rag over his shoulder and she tries not to notice how small the piece of dirty cloth seems compared to the breadth of him.

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know I have,” he says not unkindly, despite having not so much as smiled at her poor attempt at humor. He meets her gaze again, squinting against the harsh sunlight. “I’m a friend of his, been helpin’ out around the place as much as I can since he got sick.”

She nods, taking the opportunity to look away before the heat in her cheeks makes her break into a sweat. She curses herself— here she is, practically drooling over a man (an older one, mind) she’s literally just met, and he’s her father’s friend. She searches the ground as if she may find her shame there.

“How’s he been doing?” She asks, squinting back up at him.

He shrugs. “Been better. Been worse. I know he’s been lookin’ forward to seein’ you,” he replies and there it is again, that guilty edge of hers slithering back into her brain like a python, her shame for not having seen her father sooner curling around her throat.

It suddenly feels painful standing out here with Joel, admiring him when her father is laying in bed, sick and missing his only daughter. She clears her throat, giving him a small smile when their gazes briefly meet again.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Well, I should probably go in and see him,” she says, taking a few small steps backwards. “Are you going to come inside? It’s awfully hot.”

Joel purses his lips and shakes his head, waving a hand through the air. “Nah, I’ve gotta run home for dinner. My daughter’s apparently makin’ my brother and I chicken alfredo,” he says and she feels a pang in her temple. He has a daughter. Does that mean he already has a woman in his life? It would be very on brand for her: being attracted to unavailable men.

She shakes the thought away and smiles, nodding. “Alright, well, it was great meeting you, Joel,” she says and she swears his eyes flutter to her lips when she speaks, though she supposes she’s already deluded herself enough, so she brushes it off, telling herself it was nothing.

He nods too and swipes his fingers over the hair beneath his nose, bidding her farewell with a small wave. “You too. I’ll be seein’ ya,” he replies before they both turn, heading in the opposite directions. She’s painfully aware of his presence though and she hears the sound of his truck’s engine starting behind her as she reaches the door, his tires crunching the gravel beneath them as she slips inside of her childhood home for the first time since college.

The house smells the same as she remembers it too– it seems her mother still uses the same fruit-scented candles she did before. The same photographs hang on the walls and over in the bookcase in the living room, some of her old softball trophies remain displayed. There’s photographs from her graduation and her brother’s too, photos of her and Wyatt on the farm, holding chickens, sitting on the backs of horses with arms wrapped securely around their father’s waist.

Memories flood and it all just feels so bittersweet, being back. Perhaps some part of her missed Texas more than the others were willing to admit.

The black and white dog from before pads into the room upon her arrival, tongue hanging out of its head, tail wagging. She holds out her hand for it to sniff, letting it get accustomed to her before giving it a scratch behind the ears. The tags on the dog’s collar jingle as she pets it and she hooks her finger under it, turning it until she finds the bone-shaped nametag. Jovi. She titters, giving Jovi one last good scratch behind the ears before rising from the floor. Seems her father’s obsession with Bon Jovi still hasn’t gone away.

She hears voices, growing louder the closer she gets to her parents’s room. Her heartbeat quickens and she swears she can hear her own blood pumping as she prepares herself, but nothing, nothing could’ve prepared her for the sight she sees once she steps into the room.

Her father, the man she always looked up to, the man who always seemed like some unstoppable force, the strongest man she’s ever known now lays bundled beneath a heap of blankets, but even still, he’s half the size she’s already remembered him being. Her mother sits at his bedside and upon her arrival, her parents both turn and although everything has seemingly stayed the same, this is the moment she really feels the prolonged time between her last visit.

The odds have never been in her favor. Ever since she left home, she’s been nothing but down on her luck. But she’d go through it all again– every exam, every all-nighter pulled for studying’s sake, every hangover, every failed class, every shitty job, every shitty friend, every shitty heartbreak– if it’d meant she’d never have to see her father, the strongest man she’s ever known, like this again.

The corners of her father’s mouth curves and though his face is sullen, the sight of his daughter is able to return some of that glow she’s always remembered seeing her father in. Her father says her name and his voice is so fragile, so soft, so different that she just breaks.

“Daddy,” her voice cracks when she says it and it’s like she’s a little girl again, running to her dad during an especially frightening thunderstorm, seeking the comfort only a father’s arms can bring.

She practically falls onto the mattress, wrapping her arms around the thin shape of her father, her tears spilling onto the heap of blankets over him. It takes a moment, but she eventually feels his hands in her hair, on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs into the blankets, unable to lift her head, to meet her father’s eyes. Shame sears her skin and it feels like she’s burning alive. Why was she so sure everything was going to work out? Why was she so sure that everything she’d ever wanted– success, comfort, love– would just be handed to her? Why didn’t she ever stop to look back? Why didn’t she ever visit home? Why didn’t she ever even call? “I’m sorry,” she cries again, sniffling, still unable to lift her head. “I should’ve called. I should’ve came. I should’ve been here.”

His fingernails scratch her scalp, his palm soothing circles into her shoulder.

“Shhh,” he shushes her and she lifts her head, blinking tears away from her vision. She meets her father’s gaze and he gives her a smile, the hand in her hair falling to her chin, his eyes glossing over with his own set of tears. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She feels the bed dip beside her and she turns just as her mother reaches a wary hand for her shoulder. Her mom’s hesitant and for a moment, she is too, holding her breath as her hand finds the curve of her shoulder. The fabric of her relationship with her mother has been torn and loose threads poke out of every one of their edges, torn by time and cruel words that have been both spoken and unspoken. To be honest, she’s no idea how to even begin sewing the threads of their relationship back together.

But her mother’s hand upon her shoulder tells her that she’s at least willing to try. And when their teary gazes meet, she thinks she’s willing to try too.

It was a strange day to say the least. She spent the entire evening talking to her father, asking him about everything– what he’s been up to, what’s been going around the farm, which MLB team he’s rooting for this season, Joel. It turns out her father met Joel in the city a couple years back at the workshop he and his brother, Tommy, work. Joel’s apparently helped build her father’s new barn, which she hadn’t even noticed during her homecoming, and has become a good friend of his, even coming over to watch baseball games and have a beer with him every once in a while. After her father’s diagnosis, he started helping getting all the chores around the farm done.

Never once did her father mention Joel having a wife or girlfriend or any sort of partner for that matter. It’s most definitely a selfish thought for her to have, if not an entirely inappropriate one. It isn’t like her to be so interested in a man older than her, but she just can’t stop thinking of how he looked earlier: tired, sore, and glistening with sweat after a day of work. How warm his hand was in hers, how rough with work it was in contrast to hers who’d grown so accustomed to city life in her adult years. How attractive his eyes were with their way of drawing her in, as if the brown in his irises were quicksand. The fatigue drawn in dark circles beneath them, potential proof of sleepless nights or merely long, long days.

In her own sleepless night, she wonders if Joel is too, tossing and turning thinking about her the way she was him.

The last words he’d said to her orbited her mind, making her restless. “I’ll be seein’ ya,” he’d said. If he’s been helping out around the farm, she’s certain to see him again soon.

She still can’t decide whether or not that’s a good thing when she wakes to the sound of a series of knocks on her bedroom door. She grumbles and stirs, stretching her limbs out over the expanse of her childhood bed. Her old room was one of the only other things that’s seemed to change since she’s been gone because, well, she’s been gone. A lot of her things still sit in their respective places on the dresser and the bookcase, but the vast majority of her things were packed away in boxes, now either sitting on the shelves of a thrift shop or packed into new boxes that she still hadn’t gotten out of her mother’s car in the driveway.

The world is still dark outside her window and she narrows her eyes, blinking the bleariness away from her vision as she peers over to the alarm clock sitting on her bedside table. Five o’clock in the fucking morning. What could possibly be the reason for someone to wake her up this early?

Another series of knocks raps on her door, this time more aggressive and her mother’s voice calls her name. She groans and her mother must take this as her cue to open the door, peeking inside.

“What?” She grumbles, an irritated edge to her sleep-ridden voice.

“Joel’s here waiting on you,” her mother states. “Get up! You’ve wasted enough of his time already.”

The sound of Joel’s name is like a splash of cold water in her face and she blinks, trying to make sense of the situation. Joel’s waiting on her? What could he possibly be waiting on her for?

Her heart skips a few beats in her chest and she hates the slight air of giddiness it seems to give her– it makes her feel like a lovesick schoolgirl when her heart seems like it’ll pump out of her chest any minute at the idea of meeting up with an attractive guy. It’s not like she has any real chance with Joel anyways. Whether or not he already has a woman in his life, he’s probably got way more important things to worry about, like his daughter. Not to mention that she’s probably at least a decade younger than him. Still, taming her heart in her chest proves to be a tedious task as she dresses herself and hurries down the stairs where Joel waits in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of coffee her mother must’ve made.

“Good morning,” she says and Joel looks up at her, the light above the dining table reflecting in those eyes she spent practically all night thinking about.

“Good morning,” he replies, voice a little thicker and huskier than the day before, more than likely due to that lack of sleep she suspected him of having.

She gulps, a nervous, uncertain smile on her face. “I’m sorry, I must be missing something. What exactly are you waiting on me for?”

Joel swallows a small mouthful of coffee and her eyes flicker to the bump in his throat when he does. She inhales sharply, adjusting her feet as heat blooms at her core. Jesus, she thinks. Maybe all this is just because she hasn’t gotten laid in a hot minute.

“Your dad asked if I’d show you the ropes ‘round the farm,” he replies, cocking an eyebrow. “Did he not get around to tellin’ you?”

NEXT CHAPTER

a/n; A NEW SERIES!!!!!! i've decided to approach this one a little differently than i have with other series i've done in the psat. i've been working ahead a little bit and i'm hoping to be able to keep up with a weekly post schedule for this one. we'll see how that goes. in the meantime, i hope you enjoyed the first chapter!

🐴 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the entire world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

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@all-in-the-fandoms

@luvrgreyy

@joeldarling

#wanderin’ far don’t mean you’re lost masterlist #joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller #joel #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us imagine

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