the-wrong-providence

[the-wrong-providence]

i love you queer people

i love you fat queer people

i love you queer people of color

i love you queer people of different cultures

i love you disabled queer people

i love you differently able queer people

i love you queer systems

i love you neurodivergent queer people

i love you queer people of different religions

i love you intersex people

i love you unlabeled queer people

i love you mentally ill queer people

i love you all queer people

happy pride <3

[the-wrong-providence]

Pedro Pascal the man you are.

[the-wrong-providence]

A Week On The Water - Chapter 2

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter

Pairing: Harry Castillo x F!Reader

Summary: You're used to being the youngest, unseen and unnoticed by the people you're surrounded with, not particularly wanting the life that your parents intended for you and your siblings. Harry, on the other hand, is used to being seen for the wrong reasons. But at your sister's wedding, you find each other. After only an hour of his company, you offer an impromptu invitation to your family's lakehouse vacation, where you're hoping you'll finally have someone who understands you.

Word Count: 3812

Chapter Warnings: A Little Fluff, A Little Angst, A Little Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is late twenties, Harry is in his forties), Parents Being Unsupportive of Your Job, Siblings and their kids, Psychoanalysis that might stem from my own issues, No Use of Y/N, Excessive and Insistent Use of Commas When Completely Unnecessary,

Additional Notes: I have tried to avoid using descriptors for the reader, but if you notice any, let me know and I'll remove them. I have also not watched Materialists yet, so I may have interpreted Harry completely wrong, but oh well. I have been so unwell this week so poor editing on my part lmao.

The lake house was quiet. Harry looked out across the lake from where he stood in the kitchen, a little awkward in borrowed pyjamas. In his hand was a freshly brewed coffee, far better than the one he would make back at his penthouse. He wasn't sure whether that was from the beans or from the way his mind seemed to be unclenching. Out here, the office couldn't reach him, and his anxiety had already started to blur at the edges.

He'd had the best night sleep he'd had in a long time. Sure, it helped that he was exhausted after the wedding yesterday, but the peace that seemed to blanket this small part of the world had to take its credit too.

The house was beautiful. He should've expected it given how rich your family was. The kind of wealth that made the expense of weddings vanish into nothing with no questions asked. He knew that Javi had offered but your father was determined to fund his precious Jules' wedding himself. Just as he did for Beth. Harry wasn't entirely sure whether it was fueled by pride or generosity.

He took another sip of his coffee, leaning against the counter that overlooked the small dock that they arrived on yesterday. The water was calm, gently kissing at the wood. He took a breath. This was the perfect escape from work. No emails, no phone calls, no deadlines to think about.

His secretary had practically bullied him into signing off of work for the week. "All you do is work, Mr Castillo." She had said down the phone last night when he called her up. Her voice was sharp, yet there was an underlying tone of care which he always felt oddly grateful for. She knew him better than most - both a blessing and a curse. She'd been updating his calendar before he had even finished his sentence. "You can't hide behind your desk your whole life."

Of course, she was right. He spent his time hiding behind his work, as if the number of correspondence he received would keep life from passing him by.

"Good morning," You interrupted his thoughts, which had somehow slipped back to work. He turned to you. Even in a tank top and sweatpants you were somehow the most relieving sight he could imagine. There was something so real and grounding about you. "You sleep okay?" You asked, approaching the window he stood by.

For a moment he stayed quiet, just staring at you. You were looking at him like you saw something that he didn't. "Yeah," He said, his voice a little quieter than usual. He cleared his throat. "Best sleep I've had in months." He mused, sipping his coffee again.

You came to a stop in front of him, humming in acknowledgement. He was suddenly struck by your proximity. "This place gets into your bones," She agreed. "Even if you do have to stay in Jules' room."

"Oh? That was Jules' room, was it?" Harry smirked. "I couldn't tell. Thought that the LEDs and books on modern spirituality were your brother's."

You laughed out loud. Your eyes crinkled and your cheeks lifted. There was something so intimate in the sight of it. Harry couldn't help but chuckle back, immediately trying to memorise the lines of your face and figure out a way to make you laugh again.

Peace fell between you. It was different to that peace Harry felt watching the lake by himself. He preferred this type.

"Enjoying the coffee?" Your gaze dropped to the steam that curled up from the cup. "Ed's a coffee-snob, so we all benefit," You added, pinching the mug from him.

It caught him a little off-guard, yet felt oddly familiar to him, like you could do that every morning and he wouldn't mind. He couldn't help the slow grin that pulled at the corner of his mouth, eyes following your every move, eyes on your lips as you took a small sip. "I'm pretty sure that's mine," he said, mock indignation in his voice.

You smirked, holding the mug to your chin. "You should have drunk it faster," You said back, taking another sip.

His brow arched, clearly amused. "Bold of you," He crossed his arms as he watched you drink his coffee. "Stealing a man's morning coffee without warning is dangerous."

Glancing at him over the rim of the mug, you seemed unbothered. "It's not stealing if you were clearly about to forget it."

Harry scoffed. "Forget it? I was thinking. Deep in thought. I was distracted. You distracted me."

Grinning, you took another sip out of spite. "Mmm, sounds like hesitation to me."

He laughed, rich and genuine in a way that warmed you more than the stolen coffee could. He shook his head with feigned exasperation and then gently reached for his mug back. "Alright coffee thief. Share custody or I'm gonna start charging," he smiled.

You smiled, leaning against the counter, mirroring his stance. "So," You began, head tilted to the side. "What had you so distracted?"

A slow genuine smile spread across his face. He couldn't tell you that your laugh made his chest ache. Instead, he looked outside the window and decided to tell you a half-truth. "I was thinking about how peaceful it is," he said, free hand resting on the surface, his fingers just close enough to brush the fabric of your tank top. It was barely noticeable. "It's quiet here."

"Hm," you softened, taking a slow breath. "Just you wait until the kids are up and about." As much as you loved them, your nieces and nephew were chaos in human form.

Harry's brow furrowed. "Kids?" He asked.

Your smile faltered, the realisation that you hadn't told him hitting you. "Beth and Ed have three kids," you explained. "I should've…"

Your words trailed off as you studied him. Was he regretting agreeing to come? You figured he knew, given you'd said it was a family lake house, and funnily enough that included your siblings. But then again, he’d agreed to come with you, not with the extended family. You shrugged a little, trying to keep your tone light. "I didn't think it was relevant," you murmured.

Something softer flickered in his gaze and his lips quirked. "Sounds like mayhem," he teased, fingers twitching just a bit closer, as if hoping to make contact without quite trying yet.

Your shoulders untensed slightly. "You might want to hold onto your coffee," you teased back, the ease of the moment returning.

He shook his head a little as he laughed, a few of the curls of his sleep-tousled hair falling from being tucked back. "I'll keep it close." He said, fingers finally touching, holding, steady and safe.

The room fell quieter again, as you both just looked at each other.

"I like to escape it sometimes," You said after a moment, voice soft at your admission. Like a well-guarded secret that you were entrusting to him. "I'll go on a walk, or sit by the lake for an hour or so."

He put his coffee down on the side before he reached to hold your hip. It was less hesitant than it had been yesterday yet he was still careful, settling lightly. His fingers splayed over the curve, warm through the thin fabric of your pyjamas.

Your brows furrowed and you stared at a point of his borrowed t-shirt. "It's not about getting away," You clarified thoughtfully. "It's just… making space to breathe. You know?"

Harry nodded, his thumb brushing softly against your side. "Yeah. I know." He murmured back.

"You should come with me," You suggested, eyes meeting his again. "If you need quiet. Unless I'm the loud, chaotic mayhem you're trying to escape."

He chuckled, head dipping slightly. "Sweetheart, I'm not here for the quiet." He said softly, lessening the distance between the two of you.

Your heart stumbled a little in your chest, and you swallowed thickly.

Neither of you said anything at first, just letting the words settle between you. For a moment, the only sounds were the hum of the fridge and the sound of the water lapping at the dock. Then he leaned in a little more, neither sudden nor hesitant.

"I'm glad you came," You murmured, glancing down at his lips.

Somewhere in the background, a door creaked upstairs. Both of you turned your heads enough to acknowledge the inevitable storm of little feet about to cause chaos.

Harry's lips turned up to a grin. "I guess this is my final warning?"

You grinned back. "Oh, it's already too late."

~

Breakfast was a lawless affair. The two youngest, Eva and Teddy, managed to get pancake everywhere, much to their mother's dismay. Her desire for order wasn't limited to the flawless organisation of Jules and Javi's wedding.

Ben seemed surprised to see Harry at the table with them. That didn't particularly come as a shock, given how drunk your brother had been by the time they were getting in the cars to drive to the marina. Nevertheless, he had made his best attempt at embarrassing you the entire time.

That included when you suggested to Harry that you give him an impromptu tour. It was very much an excuse to escape the carnage that was simply your family gathered for breakfast. Ben, ever the big brother, wiggled his eyebrows and mentioned something about sneaking off for a tryst. Naturally, you hit him on the back of his head.

After a quick few minutes to change out of your pyjamas, you stood on the deck of the lake house. Taking a deep breath, you sighed. You'd lasted all of forty minutes with them and even that had been pushing it.

Harry soon joined you, dressed in a linen shirt and jeans that had been pulled straight from Javi's closet. It wasn't the first time he'd had to borrow Javi's clothes, and it wouldn't be the last, given he hadn't had a chance to pack anything from home. He hadn't anticipated being invited on vacation with the bride's family. "Good to see everyone so enthusiastic in the morning," he teased.

You turned to look at him and immediately you felt your cheeks flush. Javi was smaller than him. Not by much, but the way the shirt pulled around the shoulders had you desperately trying not to ogle him. The fabric was barely holding together at the seams.

You looked up at his face, trying to stay focused. "Hm?" He'd said something, right? You blinked a few times before his words registered. "I… yes, it's crazy." You said, clearing your throat. He didn't seem put off, which was a relief. "You got off easy, actually."

He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. Oh god, that didn't help. "It's nice. I always wanted a big family." He said whilst looking at you with all the warmth he usually did. With all the familiarity of someone who had known you for years. It felt like he had.

Your shoulder brushed his slightly. "I'll show you around," You said, looking at the grounds surrounding the lake house and desperately trying to get your mind out of the gutter. There was a lot to the lake house and Harry had barely seen a glimpse when he got here last night.

The two of you began your little tour. You pointed out the tennis court and the yoga pavilion that Beth had insisted on being built. "She was probably there this morning," You said with a slight grin. "She might try and convince you to join her for a sunrise yoga session one day this week. You do not have to agree."

Harry let out a breathy laugh. "What, you don't think I like early morning yoga?" He asked, following you past the guest lodge.

You smiled up at him. "You're welcome to go with her," You said, raising your eyebrows. "Just don't knock on my door, because I like to sleep during sunrise."

He tilted his head, a teasing look on his face. "Noted. Do not disturb during unreasonable hours."

"I don't recommend it before I have coffee either," You added.

Another chuckle. "Is that why you stole mine?"

You let out a slight laugh as well, beginning down the gravel path again. It looped around the lake house property. "Consider it payment for your stay."

"You invited me," He pointed out following after you, feet crunching softly with every step. The morning haze was lifting, sunlight shining on the water in a way that made you forget the chaos that was breakfast. He had the familiar gleam in his eye that he often did when looking at you. It made your stomach flip.

"Mm, very generously, I might add." You said.

He smiled. "Very generously." He echoed.

It was a little unnerving, the way he so easily fit into the space next to you. You were starting to become desperate for him to stay.

You led him down the slope toward the boathouse where the dock stretched out into the glittering lake. The water was calm - disturbed only by the occasional ripple of a fish. "You swim, right?" you asked, coming to a stop near the edge of the dock.

"Yes, I swim." He chuckled, a little endeared by the question. "Although I can't imagine the swimming that your family does here is very…" He trailed off, turning to face you.

You looked over at him too. "More like floating." You agreed.

"Well, I'm excellent at floating." Harry said solemnly.

Unable to help the grin that appeared on your face, you hummed. "Ben would argue it's harder than swimming," you said. "Especially when you add a drink in one hand and sunglasses you're too scared to lose in the other."

Harry laughed, head thrown back a bit. The tension and mayhem that came with spending time with your family seemed to melt away with Harry by your side. You'd known him less than a day, but it felt like forever.

You watched the way he laughed, the dimple on his cheek deepening. Did he know how handsome he was?

"I'm glad I came," He said with a wide smile, something soft in his gaze.

That calm, unreadable expression that made you feel like he saw something in you that you hadn’t even admitted to yourself yet. Another little flutter of your heart and your shoulders eased. “I still can’t believe you did,” you said after a minute, softer now, your tone touched with something more honest. “It’s not exactly your idea of a relaxing getaway, is it?”

Harry glanced at you, one brow raised. “Why not?”

You gave a small, amused snort. “Because it’s not really a vacation when you’re stuck with a bunch of people you barely know. Can't be very calming."

He tilted his head a little. "Like I said earlier, I'm not here for that," He said, a little more intimately than he had been speaking. More certain.

You met his eyes, unsure how to respond to that. There was something open in his expression. Clearing your throat again, you were suddenly very aware of the distance, or lack thereof, between you. He didn't have to elaborate.

Another brief period of quiet, they seemed to be frequent with him.

"Is there more to see?" He asked, not taking his eyes off of you.

You stared for a moment. He made it difficult to think sometimes. "There's always more to see."

He smiled. "Lead the way, sweetheart."

~

It was tradition on the first night at the lake house to sit around the firepit and have s'mores together. It had begun in your teen years, when your father had first bought the place. It continued as you got older, with additions over years; Ed and Javi and the kids were the most notable. Ben's partners had of course been invited, but they never stuck around long. Nathan, your ex, had had a promising run at it. This was the first time someone new had joined in a while so, naturally, your father was grilling Harry instead of the marshmallows.

You'd sort of zoned out, watching the flames licking at the new log that Ed had put in. It crackled a little, sparks spitting into the night sky. Your eyes stayed fixed on the flicker of orange and red, the heat warming your face. On the other side of the fire, Ben was entertaining the eldest of your nieces, Addie. Eva and Teddy had been tucked into bed already. Ed and Beth were cuddled up on the loveseat, talking with your mother about something to do with one of your cousins. You weren't listening.

And Harry, in the seat next to you, was talking business with your father. He had been incredibly interested to find out that Harry's family were the Castillos behind Castillo Capital Partners, one of the biggest private equity firms in the country. The man was even more fascinated when Harry told him he was the CEO. It had started a discussion that immediately went over your head.

So you weren't paying attention to them either.

Until your father said your name. Then your attention snapped back to him and Harry. "She's never been interested in the family business," Your father chuckled. "Far too busy playing at being a hero."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. He didn't know what you did, he'd assumed you had worked in luxury and commercial real estate like the rest of your family. "You don’t work in property?" He asked, a curious expression on his face.

You cleared your throat. Your father had made it very clear how he felt about your work. "I work for a nonprofit," You said, a little awkwardly. "It's this youth outreach program. I help connect kids with resources they need to build better lives, like… workshops for life skills, counselling, social workers. That sort of thing"

It's not that you were ashamed, far from it. You loved your work, but your father always had something to say about it. You'd heard it all. "Wasting your potential" and "You can't save everyone" were some of his favourites. Not to mention that Thanksgiving dinner where you had argued about the cost of their success. The look on your father's face when he had asked "Do you think we're the villains?" was forever burned into your memory.

Your mother was a little easier to deal with, although she very much enjoyed the circles that being the wife of a millionaire brought. She was constantly concerned about reputation. "Could you at least do this through a foundation? Something with a board and a dress code?" To her, success meant financial security and status in high-society, things that working where you did just didn't offer.

Harry stared at you. "That's incredible," He said, with far more sincerity than you'd expected. His words hung in the air for a moment and you turned to him. The honesty in his voice caught you off guard.

Your father let out another chuckle from his seat. He reached for his glass of whiskey that sat on the table covered in opened s'more supplies. “Well, I suppose someone’s got to do that kind of work. But let’s be honest, it’s not exactly scalable impact.” Ever the critic.

However, Harry didn't take his eyes off of you. "Scalable impact doesn't always mean meaningful." He said evenly. "We can throw millions at projects and communities from the top down, but that's not going to do anything unless there's people on the ground doing the hard work. You're changing people's lives."

That… was not the kind of response you were expecting. He wasn't conforming for your family's benefit. You blinked a few times, risking a glance at your father. Usually, that sort of comment around your family would result in mockery or dissection. Your father's expression was stuck somewhere between bewildered and annoyed. As much as he wanted to pick Harry's comment apart, Harry had the kind of status and wealth that your father dreamed about. It translated into a level of respect that prevented any thought of argument.

So instead your father gave a tight-lipped smile. “You’d be surprised how much you can do from the top, with the right strategy.” He countered, trying to win a debate that he was unaware he had very little stake in.

Harry turned to him, a hint of impatience on his face. "And yet we still have the same social issues we did thirty years ago. Maybe the strategy needs changing. Or maybe it was never enough." He said firmly.

The air had grown a little tense. The others had looked over, having noticed the shift in tone.

Harry looked at you again. “Your kind of work matters,” he paused, searching for the words, "It's real. You actually get to see the impact you’re making.”

Your father let out a small, disapproving grunt and poked at the fire with a stick, sending a burst of sparks skyward. “Impact doesn’t pay the bills.”

“I’m not exactly living in poverty, Dad,” you replied, keeping your voice even, though your jaw was tightening. This was a familiar path, a well-worn one even, and you didn’t want to walk it tonight.

Ben let out a chuckle, smirking from the other side of the fire. Your father glanced around before smiling to ease the tension. "Of course not, darling." He murmured, fingers tightening around the glass in his hand.

As the air slowly calmed, you turned to Harry. "Thanks," You said, low enough that only he could hear. "A lot of people in our circles don't really understand it."

He softened. "Well, I'm not sure I do," He admitted. "But I respect it."

And just like that, the mood shifted again. Ben let out a loud laugh at something Addie had said, pulling everyone’s attention for a moment. Your father excused himself to go get another drink. Your mother followed, probably to keep him from saying anything more, not that you cared.

For a period, you and Harry sat quietly, the fire crackling in front of you. He nudged you. "So that's why you looked so bored when we were talking about capital structure." He mused.

You grinned, something that he was increasingly good at making you do. "Honestly? I blacked out somewhere around leveraged buyouts."

He laughed, shoulder brushing yours. “You’d hate attending the meetings.”

“Rather you than me,” you said back as you looked up at him. You studied the way that his lips were turned up at the corners. 

"Sparky?" Addie's voice sounded as she approached you. "Can you help me open the chocolate?" She asked, small fingers struggling with the stubborn packaging.

As you reached to take it from her, you couldn't help your smile. You felt a whole lot less lonely with Harry around.

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[the-wrong-providence]

A Week On The Water - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist - Next Chapter

Pairing: Harry Castillo x F!Reader

Summary: You're used to being the youngest, unseen and unnoticed by the people you're surrounded with, not particularly wanting the life that your parents intended for you and your siblings. Harry, on the other hand, is used to being seen for the wrong reasons. But at your sister's wedding, you find each other. After only an hour of his company, you offer an impromptu invitation to your family's lakehouse vacation, where you're hoping you'll finally have someone who understands you.

Word Count: 5106

Chapter Warnings: A Little Fluff, A Little Angst, Alcohol Use, Weddings, Age Difference (Reader is late twenties, Harry is in his forties), Siblings, Mentions of Failed Relationships, Psychoanalysis that might stem from my own issues, No Use of Y/N, Consistent and unapologetic overuse of commas, Mixed use of British and American spellings of words because I didn't go through and change them to one specific variation of dialect,

Additional Notes: I have tried to avoid using descriptors for the reader, but if you notice any, let me know and I'll remove them. I also let my partner edit this chapter (he's better at sentence structures than I am), but he got distracted partway through, so I finished it myself. I have also not watched Materialists yet, so I may have interpreted Harry completely wrong, but oh well.

As the CEO of a flourishing private equity firm, Harry was very much used to wearing tailored suits. He was the kind who seemed to thrive in business meetings about investments and buyouts and the like. The kind who exuded quiet confidence and an easy authority over people. He had all the trappings of success.

He stood, alone, at the edge of the dance floor, leaning against the bar with a glass of red wine - Harry was fairly certain that Javi had had several crates of his own wines shipped from Majorca. The celebration was in full swing, guests were dancing and laughing, enjoying the wedding. Of course Harry was enjoying it as well, it's not every day your best friend gets married to the love of his life. He'd given a heartfelt and earnest speech which resulted in a few teary smiles and several laughs at Javi's expense. But now, in the afterglow of vows and a gorgeous wedding cake, he found himself quietly observing rather than participating.

Javi had given him a plus one to the wedding but he hadn't used it. He'd much prefer attending by himself than with someone he barely knew. He'd yet to meet someone who he clicked with, unlike Javi, who was currently dancing with his new bride in their blissful bubble of love. Too often, his dates had ended with questions about the profit his company brought in, or subtle comments about the value of his home. People tended to want what he had rather than him. It's what now left him lonely in the middle of a room as full as this one.

Watching Javi and Jules dancing together made it easier. Harry had been there through it all. Initially, Harry had been skeptical when he mentioned a matchmaker but seeing Javi fall in love had eased his doubts. Harry had listened as Javi had nattered on and on about this wonderful woman. He'd watched Javi stress over the perfect bottle of wine to take to her parent's home when he first met them. He'd helped set up the yacht on the evening that Javi had proposed to her. Witnessing their relationship had been something he considered a privilege, so naturally he was intrigued by the magic matchmaker.

Javi had been the one to introduce Harry to Lucy, and he was immediately enchanted. She was beautiful. A picture of elegance and sophistication that caught him off guard. Logically, intellectually, even socially, they were easily compatible - she had this quick wit that made it easy to strike up conversation. For a moment, he let himself believe that she was everything he was looking for.

Yet there was something about her that he couldn't pinpoint: sure, they had just met, but the superficial conversation they were having made him think. She didn't seem like the type who would want more than that with him. So, when she stood to greet someone else she knew, he excused himself. He found a reason to slip away, back to the bar.

That's why he was leaning against the bar, nursing the top-shelf wine that Javi brewed in his vineyard, deep in thought as he watched people dancing. Maybe he was asking for too much. Or maybe the connection he wanted just wasn't an option for a man like him.

But then he saw you.

He'd spoken to you very briefly, amongst the endless number of family photos that Jules wanted. The younger sister. The other bridesmaid. You'd seemed slightly awkward earlier, holding your bouquet and waiting for the bride to tell you where she wanted you. That awkwardness had apparently vanished with the several glasses of champagne you must have had to drink since the reception started.

You were currently barefoot on the dance floor, holding a little boy in your arms as you twirled around with the two flower girls. It's not that you were a particularly good dancer, you were out of time with the song that Harry was fairly certain was Earth, Wind & Fire. But he was utterly absorbed with the joy on your face. You were enjoying the moment, not caring who was watching. He couldn't stop.

Unlike him, you didn't seem to be trying at all. You didn't have to. The children were giggling as you let them tug you along, tiaras askew and little outfits rumpled. Everything about you seemed so genuine, authentic, easy. The toddler you were holding had his head rested against your shoulder, a tired smile on his face as you smoothed the flyaway strands on his hair. It was obvious that exhaustion was seeping into his little bones so you let him use you as a pillow. You were warm and gentle with him and it was very clear that he adored you for it.

Harry watched as the toddler's father came to take him from you and for a moment he was thrown by the idea that maybe he was your child, maybe that was why it seemed so easy for you. It shouldn't have bothered him, yet there was still a tangible sense of relief when the boy was handed to the maid-of-honor and the flower girls ran after them.

He took another sip of wine, watching you meander through the guests and towards the bar. You smiled at familiar faces, said hello to family members and listened attentively to people who stopped you to talk. It was a stark contrast to the type of person he was used to.

You stopped at the bar several feet from him, ordering. Something with bubbles is what you asked for. He studied you as you laughed at what the bartender said: eyes crinkled in the corners, cheeks lightly flushed. Harry couldn’t decide if it was from the drink or from having to keep up with the three young children who demanded your attention on the dancefloor.

He finished his drink, placing the empty glass down on the bar, although he didn't order another yet - instead he drifted towards you. You stood alone, absently stirring your freshly made drink with a cocktail straw. The straps of your heels were looped over your wrist, having long since chosen practicality over pain. He wasn't quite sure what to say yet but he knew he wanted to say something. He swallowed, glancing at your glass and took a breath: "You don't like wine?" He asked, with as much confidence as he could muster. He was a millionaire, CEO of one of the most profitable financial firms, and he was struggling to talk to a pretty woman right now.

You let out an easy laugh, looking at him as you took a sip. "Wine-drunk me is not someone I want half of the people here to ever meet," you replied, smiling as your head tilted to the side.

His brows furrowed, leaning on the bar as he faced you. "No? Why not? You get wild and go crazy?"

You giggled. He liked it. "No - I just get a little soft and dreamy. I get very clingy and tell people I love them." You said as your thumb idly traced the condensation on your glass.

"That doesn't sound so bad," he teased, fingers fiddling with the ring on his right hand. "So what are you drinking instead?"

The smile on your face turned to a slightly cheeky grin. "Gin and lemonade."

Harry grinned back. "I see, you've gone straight for the spirits," he said. "A very different kind of drunk, I imagine."

You took another sip of your drink, the citrus of the gin lingering. "Everyone's best friend."

After a brief pause, you spoke again. "I liked your speech," you said. "It was surprisingly sentimental."

He huffed, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I was hoping to impress with my emotional range," he admitted, though his voice carried the light edge of self-deprecation. His fingers tapped on the bartop, a hint of nervousness running through him.

In truth, the speech had been a source of anxiety for months. There were several times he caught himself typing and retyping when he was supposed to be in meetings with shareholders. One afternoon he had spent an hour trying to find the right metaphor, interrupted only by his secretary knocking on his door telling him to go home.

"Well, you made Javi cry," you pointed out, eyebrows raising.

He chuckled. "Javi cries at everything," he countered. But his shoulders eased, the tension bleeding out with each small laugh. You both paused as the low hum of music filled the space between you. "You're the baby sister, right?" He asked suddenly, his eyes lingered on your face, expression a little softer now.

You hummed. "What gave it away?" Your line of sight drifted to where your sisters stood, bride and maid-of-honor, crouched together and laughing as they made an attempt at bustling the wedding dress. You sipped your drink.

He studied you a second longer before he followed your gaze. "You act like no one is watching," he said, his voice quieter, more thoughtful.

You glanced at him, surprised by his observation. "Is that a bad thing?" You asked, adjusting your footing as the grip you had on your glass tightened slightly.

Harry looked at you again as a slow and gentle smile reappeared on his face. "No," he said back with a sincerity that eased the tightness in your chest. "Must be a little lonely though."

For a moment, you were quiet. "It's their day," you murmured looking at where Jules was heading back to Javi, the train of her dress now safely stowed.

He chuckled. "Yeah it is," he said, eyes still on you. "But that doesn't mean you don't exist right now too."

You paused, your curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Harry took a small step closer, his voice lowering just enough for you to hear. "You're allowed to take up some space," he said, a quiet wisdom in his voice.

You paused, considering his words and the warmth behind them. "Let me guess," you said with a sardonic smile, a playfulness in your voice despite the apparent tension: "you're an only child."

He laughed, low and easy. "I'm just saying, even if people don't notice you right now it doesn't mean they don't see you," he said, watching the dancefloor. The band were playing an early noughties pop song, the room alive with the young adults that still had the energy to dance and sing along.

You opened your mouth to respond but let it close again, words caught somewhere between thoughts.

"And besides," he added with a hint of mischief on his face, "sometimes not being noticed means you get to have the most fun." He extended a hand toward you, steady and sure.

You glanced around, fairy lights glowing overhead, music pulsing, the floor still alive with music.

"I promise I won't step on your toes," he said, nodding towards the dance floor.

You looked at your heels still dangling on your wrist. For the first time that evening, you realised that being invisible might have its perks. So you placed your glass down on the bar and took his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm as his fingers wrapped gently around yours. He was steady, a welcome change from your uncertainty. "I'll never speak to you again if you do." You said with a smile. Wouldn't matter either way, you'll probably only ever see Harry at parties that Jules and Javi throw.

He grinned. "Sounds like a reasonable consequence," he said, leading you towards the dance floor.

You couldn't help but smile. "I have to warn you, my last dance partner was my three year old nephew," you said, letting him pull you through the groups of people dancing.

He raised his eyebrows. "What happened? You messed up the steps of your waltz too many times?" He teased, finding a space to pull you just a little closer.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "It was his bedtime, actually," you said as Harry smirked.

The band continued their uncanny ability to play every noughties anthem. Hips swayed side to side, knees bending low to the beat. Well, it was mostly you, Harry seemed more uncertain of his dance moves. Even so, he spun you under his arm before spinning under yours. He couldn't help but smile every time you giggled.

The more you loosened up, the easier it was to shift the weight from both of your shoulders. Somewhere between the verses of semi-familiar lyrics he found a connection, like he was finally standing with someone who didn't just see but noticed.

When the music shifted to something slower, neither of you made a move to leave the dancefloor. Instead, Harry's hand tentatively found your waist, the other tracing up your arm to reach your hand. His palm was warm. Bigger than yours.

The buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses had melted into the background. "You're a good dancer," he said with a wry grin, filling the quiet that had settled between you.

He watched as a small grin curled on your lips, your head tilting as you let out an entertained exhale. "I used to go clubbing a lot," you admitted, daring him to make something of it.

He hummed in amusement. "Hm. Youngest Child Syndrome again." He tsked, a faint smirk tugging on his features.

You rolled your eyes as you scoffed. "And how's that?" You asked incredulously.

Leaning back, he studied you for a second. "You always felt overlooked, right?" He said. "So you probably acted out, annoyed your parents by rebelling. Loud outfits, louder friends, staying out late..." His words trailed off. "Did I get that right?"

You blinked once, and then again, unsure whether to be impressed or pissed off. He somehow had this unnerving ability to see right through you. For a moment, it was quiet. "Are you psychoanalysing me now?" You asked, unsure whether to argue or beg him to keep looking.

Harry paused, his smirk softening. "I'm sorry," he murmured lowly, earnestly. "I'm not judging. Just... trying to understand you a little more." He said as you both turned on the dancefloor. His eyes dipped away from yours. "We have a lot in common."

You shook your head as you laughed. "I doubt that." Your hand on his shoulder shifted.

He looked at you again. "You don't believe I had rebellious years?" His smile warmed you. It felt familiar, almost.

Your eyebrow raised. "Aren't you the CEO of-"

"Before that," he chuckled. "I inherited the company from my father."

"Ah, a nepo baby," you teased, as though it was any different for anyone else at this wedding.

Harry's fingers tightened on your waist as he laughed. "Yeah. Yes." He said. "And my father won't let me forget it." He added, slightly more subdued.

Studying him, you saw the way that his gaze lingered somewhere far off. "Sounds like he casts a long shadow," you said softly, with a slight exhale.

He gave a humorless smile. "He doesn't leave much room for anyone else." There was a brief pause and then he looked at you again, more present this time. "I guess that's why I noticed you. Because I used to go unnoticed too."

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you stayed silent. The quiet settled comfortably between you.

He took another breath, face twisting into one of thoughtfulness. “I’m not trying to dissect you,” Harry added after a moment. “People are more than what they show. You especially.”

You give him a dubious glance, a little unconvinced. “Me especially?”

He nodded, eyes locked with yours now. “You walk into a room like you’re invisible. But I don’t think anyone really is.”

The music petered out and came to a quiet stop. Your fingers brushed against his nape inadvertently. “You’re surprisingly observant for someone who inherited an empire.”

Harry grinned, letting out an entertained exhale. “Maybe that’s why I am. When everyone hands you the world, you start wondering what part of it is actually yours.”

Something about that stuck with you more than you wanted it to. The moment hung between you, suddenly delicate. Like if either of you said too much, it might break. You glanced down briefly before tilting your head. “So what part is yours?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then smiled. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

Before you could say another word, you were interrupted. The moment of silent understanding was broken when your eldest sister approached. Beth, the maid-of-honor, known for being the most organised person in human history, was all over her duties. "Harry," she began, barely noticing how he pulled away from you. Your waist felt cold quickly. "Would you mind dancing with Javi's mom? He and Jules want to do their first dance and they don't want her to feel left out." She said.

You pulled yourself away further as Harry cleared his throat and glanced at you again. "I… yes, I can dance with her," he said, ever the gentleman. He looked over at the mother of the groom, who was still sitting in her seat at the top table.

Beth turned to you, her determination to make this the best night of Jules' life was evident. "You have to dance with Ben, and please make sure he doesn't ruin it." She said, almost exasperated. You looked over at your brother, who looked like he intended on drinking half the bar. He had never really grown out of his frat boy phase despite never having attended a single frat party. Or college at all. Still, he was your brother and probably the only person who could make you laugh while dragging his feet onto a dance floor.

You sighed, looking back at Harry. He looked back at you again before offering a polite smile. "I'll catch you in a bit?" He said, voice low enough that only you could hear. His hand brushed your arm slightly, a warm gesture that had you inhaling sharply.

Words didn't quite manage to form so you simply nodded. Something about the way he spoke to you was making your chest feel fuzzy. Either that or the gin was hitting you all at once. Why did he always sound like he meant more than what he said?

As soon as Harry had walked away, you were heading to Ben. He stood at the bar, fingers tapping impatiently on the surface, chin leaning on his palm as he waited for his drink. "Benji, we have to dance together," you said, sliding up to stand next to him.

He groaned. "Why?" He grumbled, looking at the dancefloor and then back at his shot of… something that he'd just been served. He picked it up. "Dance with someone else-"

You took the shot from him just before he could lift it to his mouth. "It's Jules' wedding. Just do this one thing." You said, clearly beyond his level of immaturity. "I don't particularly want to either." Your eyes drifted back to where Harry was talking to Javi's mom.

Ben looked at you. "Ouch," he muttered before following your gaze. "Him? Really? He's like… twice your age." He smirked a little, reaching for the shot you stole from him.

Scowling, you downed it before he could get his hand on it, cringing at the taste of tequila. That does take you back to your college years. Still grimacing, you placed the shot glass back onto the bar surface.

"That was mine-"

"Shut up," you sighed again, pulling on his hand to get him to the edge of the dancefloor with you. "It's an open bar, get another one later."

Ben rolled his eyes dramatically but let you drag him toward the dance floor. “You’re lucky I love Jules more than I love tequila,” he grumbled.

You didn’t respond, not wanting to encourage him. Instead your eyes drifted back to the top table where Harry was gently leading Javi’s mom to the dance floor. His hand was steady at her back, his smile genuine. God. Was he just charming with absolutely everyone?

As the newlyweds moved to the center for their first dance, you stood watching from the edge. The band started to play something soft, unassuming, the kind of melody that was just about familiar enough; probably a request from Jules to avoid clichés. Javi and Jules stood in the center and the sound of the music drifted through the air. You watched the pair of them begin to sway in sync to the music, reminded of just how sickeningly perfect they were for each other. Unpracticed but so easily natural. That's what you get when you work with a professional matchmaker.

Jules was beautiful in her expensive blush-coloured A-Line gown. She was beaming at Javi, who was undeniably handsome in his three piece suit. He, naturally, was beaming back, his forehead against hers as they whispered things only the other could hear. The crowd was hushed, too busy watching their affection for each other.

After a minute of the pair of them alone on the dancefloor, Javi glanced at Harry who took it as his cue. He led Javi's mother onto the dancefloor. She laid a hand on his arm like they'd known each other for years. Which they had, if Harry's speech was anything to go by. He was practically a second son to her.

When they were followed by your parents, and Beth and her husband, Ben tugged you onto the dancefloor too. He awkwardly positioned his hand somewhere between your elbow and your wrist. He clearly wasn’t planning to take this seriously. You rested your hand on Ben’s shoulder and he made a show of pretending to swoon.

“You’re awful,” you muttered, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear you.

“And yet here you are dancing with me, Sparky,” he grinned. Sparky. God. You hated that nickname - especially when it came from him. “Seriously though, what’s going on with you and the dilf?”

You tried to play it off with a scoff. “There’s nothing going on. And he doesn't have kids, so he can't be a dilf.”

“Please." Ben snorted. "I watched you two dancing. He looked like he wanted to eat you alive. And dilf is a state of mind.” He teased.

Your glare deepened. He was being a dick. As usual. It was his job as your older brother. “Can you not be disgusting for, like, five minutes?”

Ben smirked but dropped it, spinning you slowly like he actually knew what he was doing. He caught your hand as you came out of the spin, steadying you with more grace than you expected. You gave him a look.

“Okay,” you said, suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” You glanced around the dancefloor that you were on, surprised by the ease with which he seemed to be dancing. Not nearly as stiff and unpracticed as you'd expected.

He shrugged, a feigned look of hurt on his face at your shock. “I’ll have you know I was very briefly enrolled in a ballroom dance class.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

“Cute instructor.”

You huffed. Of course. It was pretty much the only thing that could motivate him.

He laughed at your reaction, and before long, the two of you had fallen into an easy pattern. It was the kind of familiarity that stemmed from a shared childhood of stupid family games and impromptu kitchen concerts.

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Admit it. You’re having a good time.”

“Good time, my ass.” You muttered back.

He twirled you again, this time dipping you dramatically enough to earn a slight squawk of surprise. You came up laughing, your cheeks warm. When the song wound down, changing to something livelier, both of you were smiling and a little worn out. Ben leaned in as polite applause came from the guests, many of them joining the dance floor.

“Still awful?” He asked.

You considered it before relenting. “Maybe slightly less than awful.”

“I’ll take it.”

He gave you a small salute and retreated back to the bar, already plotting his next cocktail. You hesitated before following behind him, glancing back at Harry who was making Javi's mother practically cry with laughter as he stepped with her on the dancefloor. His gaze shifted, just briefly catching yours. 

Ben followed your line of sight and let out a low chuckle. “State of mind,” he whispered smugly.

You elbowed him hard in the ribs and he wheezed.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but you were smiling and, unfortunately for you, your brother seemed to notice everything. "Can I have my phone please?" You held out a hand.

He sighed, rolling his eyes and reaching into his pocket to pull your phone out. "The fact Jules didn’t think about bridesmaids dresses with pockets is beyond me." He murmured more to himself than you as he passed it over.

Unlocking it, you expected to see a photo from the wedding breakfast, or perhaps a video of you dancing with your nieces and nephew. What you didn't expect was the message you'd received.

Nathan: Hey. Just wanted to congratulate Jules and Javi. Hoping you can pass this on to them. They deserve all the happiness in the world.

Your fingers hovered over the screen. For a moment, everything else disappeared. Your thumb brushed over the absence of a ring on your finger. The name alone stirred up a strange mix of guilt and ache. It'd been a while since he last messaged.

You read it again. It was… sweet. Nothing wrong with it at all. But still, it felt uninvited. He didn't have to say anything. You broke up with him months ago.

It almost felt targeted. He might as well have just said, Look, your sister got married. Could've been us, but you ruined that. Hope you're miserable xx

Well, maybe that was a little too much, but you wouldn't blame him for thinking that. It'd make you feel a lot better if he was a dick about it, but here he was being mature and making you feel worse.

Before Ben or anyone else could read it, you swiped away the notification, handing the phone back to him. "Thanks," you murmured. Ben took it and slipped it back into his pocket, far too busy ordering a Long Island iced tea to notice the change in your demeanour.

You needed some air and the door to the balcony suddenly seemed impossibly far away.

Just a few steps towards it and you felt a hand on your arm. Turning quickly, you were about to make an excuse when you saw those brown eyes again.

"Hey sweetheart," Harry smiled at you.

Another glance at the door and his brows knitted together. Given how easy it was for him to read you earlier, it came as no surprise that he knew something had changed. It was like he could read all those thoughts in your head. "I need some air," he said, fingers curling around your arm. "Come with me?"

You stared at him. Gorgeous and considerate? "Yeah, okay," you murmured, letting him guide you to the balcony.

The cool night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside. It was sharp, refreshing in comparison to the warm buzz inside. Stepping up to the railing, you let out a heavy exhale. It was cold and solid as rock as you leaned against it. You hadn't anticipated thinking about Nathan today and it brought up a lot of feelings you'd been trying to suppress for a while.

"You okay?" Harry's voice was gentle, like a balm that soothed the guilt you felt.

You hesitated. It felt like a lot to admit to a guy you barely knew. You looked up at him, to see his look of concern. You shook your head before you could stop yourself. "I mean... yeah. No. I'm... it's kind of complicated," you glanced away, towards the skyline of the city. The sky was streaked with blends of oranges and blues, the sun slowly setting over the buildings on the horizon. 

Harry's expression softened but he didn't press further. Instead he stood beside you, his arm warm and soft as it brushed yours. "Weddings are hard for some," he said simply. There was a beat of silence between the two of you before he spoke again. "You don't have to pretend it's not.” He looked at you, that knowing look in his eyes.

The ache in your chest loosened, replaced with something safer.

"You're weird," the words left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

He let out a huff of laughter, turning to look at you. "Weird?"

"Yeah, like..." You paused as you thought, narrowing your eyes. "Wise."

For a moment he simply studied you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Your fingers rubbed at your forehead, exasperated by your own behaviour. "Sorry, I'm... I'm not usually like this," you admitted, letting out a slightly self-deprecating laugh. "I may have had a shot of tequila."

He laughed out loud, his hand moving to rest on your hip. "Yeah, tequila will do that," he mused.

His hand felt nice there, good even. Warm. Steady. Firm. Like your own personal anchor. 

"You should come with me to the lake house," you murmured suddenly, staring up at him.

Harry blinked, surprise flickering across his face. "The lake house?"

A smile tugged at your lips. "Yeah, my family has this lake house," you explained, scraping stray strands of your hair behind your ears. "We're spending a week there, heading down tonight. Well, obviously Jules and Javi are going on their honeymoon instead."

He stared for a moment. Silence stretched between you and a hint of doubt crept in. You barely knew him, he was twice your age, he was just being nice. “You’re inviting me on your family getaway?” His eyebrows raised.

"I mean, you're a CEO. Busy. You can't just take a week off-"

"Hey," he interrupted, his voice low and sure, silencing every second thought you were having. "You want me to come with you?" He asked.

Your shoulders relaxed a little. "It'd... be nice. Having someone easy to talk to."

Another smile from him. "Then yeah. I'll come. My secretary keeps telling me to take time off anyway." He said, hand still warm on your hip.

Your features softened, the tension from the evening melting away. "Yeah?" The anxiety of a week with your family was already easing.

He squeezed your hip gently. "Okay."

Hi!

Thanks for reading this first chapter! I've been super into writing this series for a couple of weeks now - I was finally motivated to write for the first time in a couple of years. I hope you enjoyed it. I intend on sharing chapters on Mondays, but life is busy, so we'll see! Love you :)

Taglist (Let me know if you want to be added, I'm figuring it out as I go): @strawberrylemontart1

[the-wrong-providence]

A Week On The Water

Pairing: Harry Castillo x F!Reader

Summary: You're used to being the youngest, unseen and unnoticed by the people you're surrounded with, not particularly wanting the life that your parents intended for you and your siblings. Harry, on the other hand, is used to being seen for the wrong reasons. But at your sister's wedding, you find each other. After only an hour of his company, you offer an impromptu invitation to your family's lakehouse vacation, where you're hoping you'll finally have someone who understands you.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst at times, Alcohol Use, Pining, Talks of Breakups, Financial Talk, Wedding Talk, Age Difference (Reader is late twenties, Harry is in his forties), Psychoanalysis that might be from my own issues, No Use of Y/N, Other relevant warnings to be added as I post chapters,

Additional notes: I know nothing about Harry and haven't watched the movie, so forgive me for any inaccuracies about his character.

Status: In Progress (New chapters on Mondays)

Chapter One - 16/06/2025

Chapter Two - 23/06/2025

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

[the-wrong-providence]

look at your dad. such a dork. keeping bees. i mean it’s… at least it’s interesting, though. at least like, i wish my dad kept bees. i mean it’s kinda cute, like… your dad keeps bees. how old is your dad? i mean, he’s obviously beekeeping age.

[the-wrong-providence]

Vent art

[the-wrong-providence]

people i want to get to know better

Thanks for the tag @evolnoomym 🥰

Last song: See You Soon by Coldplay Favourite colour: Green 🦎 Currently watching: Jane the Virgin and Game of Thrones lmao Last movie: Legally Blonde 👩‍⚖️ Current obsession: Cheese toasties Relationship status: Married 💍 Last thing I googled: The menu of where I'm going to dinner this evening

I don't know anyone here 😬 if you see this you're tagged

[the-wrong-providence]

Familiar

Joel Miller X F!Reader

Word Count: 417

Warnings: Fluff? Angst? Who knows | Jackson era

Summary: Happy birthday Joel

Author’s note: I wrote this in like twenty minutes

Joel had forgotten what restless nights felt like. He’d grown a little too used to things here, where soft sheets and the smell of you were enough to ease him into sleep. 

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, a monotonous tick marking the passing seconds. It was nearing midnight. Jesus. He lay in bed, sheets twisted around his legs like a cocoon, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. The faint glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room.

He wondered if you knew what today was, whether Tommy had told you. He hoped not. His eyes found your silhouette in the dim light, your bare back to him as you slept, so unaware of the hurricane of thoughts that wracked his head. Part of him wanted to wake you. You would listen to him, hear his thoughts, let him cry, be his rock, just like you always were. But maybe that's also why he couldn’t bring himself to rouse you.

Instead, he shifted closer, his broad chest sliding against your back, his arm slipping around your waist. Finding his place with you was easy. His nose pressed into the crook of your neck and he inhaled your scent. It was a comfort, like a thunderstorm after a dry summer, or a whiskey after a long day. Something familiar.

"Joel?" You murmured, half-asleep, your fingers brushing his arm where it rested above your hip.

He simply hummed, not wanting to wake you further, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

It didn't work. Of course it didn't, it never did. You seemed to know him better than anyone. Delicately, you laced your fingers between his own, squeezing gently, just a reminder that you had him. Your shadows intermingled, becoming one in the faint moonlight. He twisted himself around you, his legs weaving with your own. He focused on the soft sound of your steady breathing, a metronome to sync his heartbeat to. His eyes closed shut knowing that, when he opened them, you would still be there.

There was another moment of quiet before you spoke, more awake now than before. “Joel-”

He shook his head, stopping you in your sentence. Don’t speak. Even if you know what day it is, don’t tell him, though he already knows. Just let him have this moment, where he doesn’t have to acknowledge it. That would be the best gift you could give him. He didn’t need you to speak, he just needed you.

[the-wrong-providence]

no but if 2003 joel miller was my man i’d be constantly pregnant sorry lmao. you just know that man has a crazy breeding kink 🫠 when you’re fertile and he’s fucking you.. he helps you lock your feet over his ass to feel him so deeply and he tells you he’s gonna make you a mama, baby. gonna make it stick

[the-wrong-providence]

contractor!Joel Miller who's always groaning and grunting while doing the heavy chores, reeking of pure masculinity as he works so hard, unaware of how sexy he truly is

contractor!Joel Miller whose muscly arms glisten with sweat and his shirt hangs tight to his fit strong body while he wipes sweat off his forehead

contractor!Joel Miller who always asks for a glass of water and doesn't notice how you watch his neck attentively, his strong muscles working as he swallows the water and it gives you so many ideas

contractor!Joel Miller who pauses a little to catch his breath and observe his own work and places his hands on his hips, never realizing how tight his jeans are around his thigh

contractor!Joel Miller who never notices when you stare at his big bulge while he's working

contractor!Joel Miller whose hair is all messy and curls as sticking to his sweaty forehead and yet he manages to look so hot

contractor!Joel Miller who brushes his fingers against yours slightly when you pass him a cup of coffee like he asked in between his breaks

contractor!Joel Miller who grips your hair tight and calls you baby when you are on your knees choking on his cook in the middle of work day

contractor!Joel Miller who stops everything he's doing to spread your legs apart and eat your pussy with hunger and need until you are shaking and his beard is dripping with your juice

contractor!Joel Miller who loves stuffing you with his thick cock, pounding into you during work hours, and can't get enough of you dirty little game

[the-wrong-providence]

Monster

Fandom: The Last of Us

Characters: young!Joel Miller & tiny!Sarah Miller

Rating: tooth rotting fluff, diabetics DNI

Note: I saw this post and it single-handedly broke my writers block so here you go

“That’s not a thing, babygirl.”

“No! Julie told me it’s real. Her daddy checks every night,” Sarah said with too much vigor for someone the size of a pillow.

“Oh well since Julie said so…” he rolled his eyes but caved, walking back into her bedroom and lying on his back under the bed.

“Let’s see these monsters your wise little buddy told you about,” he said, shining the flashlight she brought before dragging him for the monster inspection.

“Monster?” He sang, playing along even though she couldn’t see his face. “I can’t see anything but I’ll look harder.”

“Is it there?” She asked after only a couple of seconds.

“Stay right there, honey. I think I see something.”

“What do you see?” She squeaked out.

“Shhh, don’t alert the monster,” he said waiting a moment to talk to the definitely real monster he definitely saw.

“Hey Mister Monster. I’m Joel. How are you doing?”

He held his hand over his mouth, a laugh threatening to escape at his own plot to entertain himself at his kid’s expense.

“Oh? I didn’t know. I’m so sorry about her Mister Monster. I’ll tell her. Yeah. Yeah. You have a good night, Sir.”

He straightened his smile and emerged from underneath the bed. She suckled on her thumb, a remnant from an earlier stage that crept in when she was afraid or sad. Big beady eyes stared at him anxious to know about this monster.

“So, you were right.” She looooved being right. “There is a monster but he’s not going to hurt you.”

“Did you talk to him?”

He settled down next to her on the little bed and picked her up, seating her on his lap.

“I did. And he said he’s just a little monster who won’t hurt anyone. But he said there’s a bigger monster in this room.”

Her eyes bulged out comically and her little hands grabbed onto his t-shirt for dear life. “He said it’s not under the bed. It’s on the bed.”

She gasped, her little mouth open like a goldfish, plump little cheeks on either side. “He said it wears sparkly purple shoes and it’s tiny and causes so much trouble.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It throws toys all over the house and doesn’t get dressed on time for daycare. And it jumps on the bed really hard so the poor monster under the bed is very very afraid.”

Her face scrunched up and her eyes narrowed at him. Someone was catching on…

“I met the monster’s dad and he said the little monster always asks him to check above the bed for the jumpy monster.”

“You’re talking about me!” She squealed, making him laugh.

“Am I? Nah! The monster said that jumpy monster has two little buns on her hair. You don’t have that,” he said, rubbing the purple bonnet on her head. It was always purple with his girl.

“Daddyyy!” She whined in protest, pulling the bonnet off her head to reveal the little buns on either side of her head. “You’re talking about me!”

He mock gasped, placing a hand on his chest. “Babygirl, you’ve been scaring the monsters under the bed.”

“I’m not a monster!”

“You are. Daddy’s the tickle monster, remember? So you’re my little monster,” he said, covering her face in kisses. She giggled, all the fear draining from her features as she kicked her legs about. He stopped when she told him yet picked her up from her bed.

A little tickle wouldn’t be enough. Even if it was, he didn’t want to risk her lying awake and alone worrying about monsters under her bed.

“You should let the monsters sleep peacefully under the bed. Just tonight. Wanna sleep in the big bed with me?”

“Yeah,” she said, her buns bouncing on her head as she nodded enthusiastically.

“Bye bye, monsters,” he said as he switched the lights off.

“Bye bye, monsters,” she parroted, waving towards her bed.

“Daddy, can you read me a story?”

“I already read to you tonight, remember?”

“It doesn’t count. Because I’m not sleeping in my bed. New bed, new story.”

“The tickle monster is not going to be happy about that,” he said showering her with more kisses. Her giggles filled the hallway and his room. He pretended to bite her cheek, claiming the tickle monster had to eat. And when he tired her out with the jokes, she fell asleep on his chest, his heart heavy from the realization that one day she wouldn’t be tiny enough to do this.

[the-wrong-providence]

Ladies and gentlemen...Marcus Acacius is a fucking art

[the-wrong-providence]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

summary: the world crumbled before you could experience the touch of another. Joel does his best to keep you innocent for as long as he can.

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x afab virgin!reader.

warnings: 18+ mdni. established, undefined relationship. PUSSY RUBBING. fluids galore. just the tip. perv!joel. unspecified age gap. fingering. dirty talk. overstimulation. male masturbation. FEELS. Joel is a conflicted old man. reader is able bodied. no Ellie. w.c. 2.9k

an: i watched a porn clip and instantly went rabid thinking about jackson!joel.

-> follow up to a glimpse of heaven but it's not necessary to read the first part.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Like most of Jackson, the house you share with Joel is quiet and calm when night falls. Rain softly patters against the window as you lie in bed, wide awake. Another night of fruitless sleep under your belt.

You huff irritatedly, your hand collapsing against the mattress as you bitterly kick your bedspread onto the floor. Your oversized shirt clings to your body, your skin dewy from the exertion, and you're close to crying. Your limbs are wrought and overworked after hours of touching yourself with no orgasm to show for it.

Your hand won't cut it; it isn't enough. It can't reach all those sensitive spots that make you float among the stars.

Warmth pools in your abdomen as you think of one that's the perfect size.

A hazy hue of yellow light pours under your bedroom door as it spills from the room across the hall.

Joel.

It takes a long time to get to know someone, but they tend to meld with your soul once you do in one way or another.

From the start, Joel was intimidating. He was so frayed around the edges that you were afraid he'd completely unravel in the middle of your journey. He didn't seem to care for your company as the two of you traveled across the plains to Jackson, hesitation poisoning every fiber of your being, but you kept on with the strange man since no one else was willing to trek across the states. You desperately needed a new life, a fresh start away from the Boston QZ, and Jackson sounded like the perfect spot.

Over time, Joel opened up, conversing little by little as you drove for miles across the now barren US. Usually, after you had a close call with raiders or the lone gunman, he'd go silent, the weight of protecting someone other than himself sinking further into his soul, consuming that much further.

What you never expected was for him to be your first touch.

Sweltering tension slowly grew like a wildfire. Catching each other's curious stares, lingering fingers, and salacious banter until, one night, he slid a cautious hand into your panties. He claimed your untouched sex when you confessed over a roaring fire and a bottle of whiskey that you'd never been with another. His weathered hands were gentle as he sunk his fingers into your core, watching with rabid fascination as you came for the first time, gasping from his touch.

The following day, as he drove you across the interstate with the sun slowly rising, he made sure you knew that wouldn't happen again. "I'm much too old. Don't wanna waste your time with a mean ol' grump like me."

You didn't bring it up again.

One month after settling into Jackson, picking bedrooms, and deciding who would do which chores, Joel had his first taste of you.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

You chewed your dinner slowly in the modestly sized dining room across from Joel. You were so lost in thought that he was concerned enough to ask what was wrong.

"What does it mean when a man eats you out?" you naively pondered, causing him to choke on his veggies.

Joel had never looked so red before as he took a long drink of whiskey. You instantly apologized, explaining that you overheard a group of women conversing while you tended the communal garden.

He raised a hand, curbing your frantic rambles. "S'ok. Figured you'd be learnin' things. Just didn' think I'd be the one you'd ask."

"But I trust you."

His jaw twitched at your words.  

Later that night, Joel fell to his knees at the edge of your bed and tossed your legs over his broad shoulders. "Never tasted a pussy so sweet," he mumbled against your glistening folds as you ran your fingers through his graying curls. You came multiple times on his tongue, grinding his whiskered jaw while he hungrily lapped at your soaked folds like he was dying of thirst.

You didn't bring it up again.

It's warmer in Jackson now. The sun hangs longer in the sky. Snow boots and jackets are stowed away until the next freeze.

You slink from the warmth of your bed and pad sockless across the hall. Lightening flickers brightly under the starry sky. The night rain storm slowly whirls through the city, soaking everything in its path.

Joel's door is open. A soft smile tugs at your lips; it's his way of saying he's still up. He keeps it ajar while he reads before rolling onto his side and bidding goodnight to the world.

Three soft knocks alert Joel from the guitar-building manual he's currently reading. Dread clouds his mind for a moment, wondering why you'd be knocking on his door at this time of night, but he takes a deep breath and grounds himself in the softness of his bed.

"Yeah?" he calls out. His tone is rough around the edges after a long day on patrol.

You poke your head around the door with a timid smirk. He looks at you over his reading glasses before marking his spot and laying his book on the side table.

You don't say anything as you stride into his room. He notices your oversized shirt swaying at your knees before you climb into his bed and curl against his side like a cat. 

He drapes an arm around your shoulder, unconsciously pulling you closer.

"'Nother bad dream?" he questions with a low rumble.

You shake your head. "Can't sleep."

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his shoulder and feel him nod, understanding the endless struggle for a night of peaceful sleep. It's improved since moving to Jackson, but the dreams never end.

Silence fills the bedroom except for the soft pitter-patter of rain against the roof. Joel leans against the headboard, sighs through his nose, and lets his thoughts drift. He's content to sit with you in his arms for as long as possible, even if that makes him selfish.

He wonders if you hope to find someone to settle down with, someone less ridged and mentally maimed, someone less him.

The thought drives a stake through his heart.

He'd be crazy to say he didn't love being around you. Your laugh and lopsided smile took the first brick out of his impenetrable fortress when you spied a deer and her calf frolicking in an open field in Kansas. From then on, it became easier for him to let his walls down.

When you came to him with those big doe eyes and urges about wanting to know what it's like to be touched and desired, he gave in each time despite his reasoning.

He would masturbate each time after getting his hands on you, also thinking about the early days when he'd catch glimpses of you changing or the time he first saw you naked while showering at the YMCA. 

He's still trying to figure out what to make of you. Friends? Lovers? He certainly didn't mean to fall head over heels. Love had no place in his heart, but he'd be a fool to say he wasn't extremely fond of you.

"Can you make me feel good again?" your lithe voice broke the silence.

Joel stops breathing. Your question doused him like a cold bucket of water. He knew this would come back and haunt him.

His hand curls tight around your shoulder as he wrestles with the devil on his shoulder. "Told ya we shouldn't keep doin' this, Sweetheart," he reasons, trying not to break your heart.

"But I can't make myself feel as good as when you've done it. I've tried!" You whine, burying your face into his chest.

"S'not that I don't wanna," he admits, soothing your soft cries. "S'just, you're too precious to do that wit' someone like me."

You lift your head and brazenly brush your lips against the exposed skin of his collarbone, earning a low groan as he curls a large hand around the back of your neck. He tugs you away from his skin, your lips still forming a tight 'O', and pins you with a stern gaze.

"Joel, it hurts." Your watery eyes and trembling bottom lip are his downfall.

"Lay back, Sweetheart, and spread your legs," he orders with a husky tone.

You don't make a noise; too afraid he'll stop if you do. Your cunt beats against the gusset of your panties as you lay on your back, spreading and bending both legs at the knee, just like he taught you.

A warm breath fans down your face as he shifts down your body before kneeling between your legs and tracing teasing fingers over your covered mound. His nails lightly scratch along the worn cotton, making you suck in a frantic breath. He slips a practiced hand beneath the crotch of your panties and deftly explores your folds, gently rubbing small circles on your clit after wetting his fingers with the arousal that's pouring from your cunt.

"Oh, she's achin' real bad, huh?" he groans as your opening clenches beneath his wandering touch.

"Joel, please, I need-" You gasp, hips wantonly grinding against his hand, desperate for any type of friction.

The muscles in his jaw ache. It's only natural you'd be wanting more.

Before he thinks twice, Joel draws his cock out from his sweatpants. Your stomach cramps at the sight as it smacks against his belly; he's massive.

His cock hangs heavy between his thighs like a solid, dangerous threat. It weeps from the dusky tip, shiny liquid dripping from the crown as he squeezes his hand around the girthy base peppered with dark gray, wiry hair.

"Got somethin' that'll make you feel good, sweet girl." he grits, tapping his cock against the covered crux of your pussy. It thwaps devastatingly against your clit, forcing a gasp from your lips as mind-numbing pleasure races up your spine and leaves you staring dumbly up at him.

"S'that what you need? Need my cock to keep 'er from achin so bad'?" his cock is searing as it lies in wait atop your panty-clad mound. You swear you can feel his blood pumping steadily into his shaft.

He cautiously thrusts his hips, sliding his length along your cotton-covered mound. Your slick arousal seeps thru the material, wetting the thin cotton and creating a sensuous touch as he glides along your cunt.

He shoves your shirt up over your chest, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He licks his lips, "Such'a beauty."

Your cheeks flame at his words. Having such a man say things about you makes you lightheaded.

Joel groans as your panties practically are now see-through from your combined fluids staining the cotton, "Oh, baby." You whine at his pet name. "I got ya. Keep those legs open, just like I taught ya. S'good girl."

He keeps a steady pace, sawing back and forth over your extremely soaked mound. Your puffy pussy lips stick to the soaked cotton, leaving nothing to Joel's imagination. He glides easily along your slit, your juices smoothing his path until your arching your back and chanting his name like a prayer.

Watching you orgasm under his touch is enough to drive him wild. He throws all sense of logic out the window. He's okay with being selfish again.

"Let's get these off, yeah." He hooks two fingers under the elastic and slides your panties off before his words register in your euphoric haze. "Feel even better without 'em."

He swallows hard at the sight laid out before him. The sheets splay and curve around your naked body, making you look like an ethereal being sent to test his limits.

"Gonna give 'er a kiss, Sweetheart," his deep timbre vibrates your body as he draws close and touches the bulbous tip of his cock to your exposed folds. Blood rushes to your cunt instantly, bordering on the edge of pain. You cry out from the intense contact, and arousal slips freely down your crack as he traces his cockhead up and down your soaked slit.

"How's she feel?" He anchors his head, looking down at you from under his lashes.

"S'nice," you half whisper, half moan. The wanton bliss slowly consumes you the more he rubs against your sticky folds, keeping a hand locked around his girthy base, his crown glistening with your combined arousal.

Your eyes tear open, back arching like a bow, when he cants his hips and taps his cock square in the center of your cunt.

"M'not gonna fuck you, sweet girl, wanna keep you whole," he declares, holding true to his word despite the overwhelming need to claim you.

He can't be the one to sully you. "Ain' much left'a this world that's as sweet n' pure as you."

Your core quivers as his dusky, throbbing crown glides along your glistening seam. He tentatively explores uncharted areas, brows furrowed with concentration, fighting with inner demons who want to claim, corrupt, and mold you for only his touch.

His name leaves your lips with a mess of desperate, frustrated moans, "Please, Joel."

He snaps out of his haze. He's done almost everything he can to keep you safe and protected in this new way of life. He'll be damned if he doesn't grant you anything you ask for.

"S'hurtin' somethin' fierce, huh?" He grunts, angling his hips until his cock lines up with your fluttering hole. "Bet she needs somethin' big'er than fingers to ease 'er throbbin'."

His cock catches on your opening, forcing a hiss through his clenched teeth. As tight as you are, he can't stop from pushing into your warmth. He blocks out any sense of reasoning that's shouting from the back of his mind as he slowly nudges his cock into your weeping, inviting hole.

Joel goes brain-dumb momentarily, watching in immoral awe as your core ever so slowly swallows his fat tip and breaches your quivering hole, forcing a raspy whine from your throat.

So warm, safe, and wet.

Joel's never felt anything like you. He wants to bury himself, slide his cock as deep as he can, claim every inch, endlessly fill you with his cum, and keep you only for him.

You frantically reach for him, hands clutching the air as he rubs a callous thumb over your clit while keeping a steady hold on the base of his cock.

"S'all she's gonna get," he states, returning to his senses and hissing when your cunt tightens. "S'just the tip."

A soft begging whine bubbles from your lips as you extend your arms, needing something solid to hold before latching onto his wrists.

Your hips move on their own, desperate to feel his length completely shunted in your velvet warmth, but brute hands envelop your hips and pin them to the bed.

He shakes his head, salt and pepper curls fraying across his forehead. "Don' be greedy now." He tuts, narrowing his gaze down at you.

A garbled mess of nonsense tumbles from your lips as your fingernails dig into his muscular, hairy forearms.

"I know. S'big, huh?" He lands a solemn thumb on your clit, rubbing tender circles around the tiny bud. "Stay wit' me, sweet girl. Wanna feel you come on my cock."

Your mind spins. It's all too much, and yet, not enough. Your head tosses from side to side, and you're frantic to survive, breathing hard and fast, waiting for the drop to come and, at the same time, never wanting it to come.

"Don't I deserve it? Keepin' you safe all this time." Joel muses, stroking his cock in time with his teasing thumb. His eyes never leave where he's splitting you open. He's barely penetrating you, but it's enough to know if he had, you'd be struggling to take him.

"Come on, Sweetheart. Let go f'me," he urges, his touch growing faster. Severe, tightly drawn circles tease you closer to the edge.

Your stomach flips. A heaviness settles in your throat, your heart lodging in the tight confines, your blood pumping faster and faster. A lithe whine slithers free, escaping into the dimly lit room and burrows into Joel's mind.

His jaw clenches, and a dark growl rumbles from his chest, "Thatta' girl. Make'a fuckin' mess'a me."

Your dripping hole quivers and throbs around his swollen tip as you come with a silent scream, body locking taut, trying its best to engulf his length entirely.

Joel curses, jerking his length with long, steady tugs and rubbing his weeping, cream-covered tip around your soaked folds before his spine goes straight, and he yanks his cock from your core, curling in on himself and spilling his seed all over your belly with a deep, gravelly moan.

You sag into his sheets, spent with a shiny thin layer of dew and white ropes of spend painted across your abdomen.

"Shit." Joel curses, breathing heavily as he holds himself by his hands, which press into the mattress by your head, keeping you locked beneath him.

You hold his studious gaze. His dark eyes ruminate, tinged with mood, as his gaze drills down into your very core, threatening to demolish your soul. You resign that this was nothing special. Just night, another night you won't talk about again.  

Joel eases off of you with a grunt, his bones aching from the tension despite the brief, pleasurable relief, and tucks his cock back away into his sweatpants. He shuffles to the bathroom momentarily before returning with a damp washcloth.

He wipes the cloth over your belly and between your thighs, cleaning the combined arousal from your skin before chucking the rag into the hamper with a sigh.

"I know," you mutter, grimacing as you roll onto your side and sit up, tugging your shirt down. "I won't mention it again."

A solid, warm hand on your shoulder stops your retreat. "Stay," Joel whispers with soft, yearning eyes. "I wan' you to stay, sweet girl."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[the-wrong-providence]

@fuckyeahdindjarin mentioned Prima Nocta and since I can't sleep, I thought about soft General Acacius.

General Acacius x f!reader

Just fluff and feelings.

Warnings: Prima Nocta, arranged marriage.

The festivities are in full swing. The musicians' lively playing echoes around the ornate hall. The wedding is over, everything went smoothly, your mother is beaming with pride. Still your hands won't stop shaking. The thought of your wedding night has your heart clawing up your throat.

Soon, you'll have to retire to your new shared bed chambers and let your husband have his way with you. The thought leaves you cold. The man seems nice enough. Your father had assured you that he was honourable and would make you a mother as soon as possible. His station in the army would bring you respect and prosperity. Still, your hands wouldn't stop shaking. The booming voice of an announcement shakes you further. The announcement proceeds the arrival of General Acacius. The General speaks to your husband in hushed tones before approaching you. Even with the feelings you have nursed for the General over the years that your father had worked for him, your stomach dropped at the serious, almost predatory, look on his face. General Acacius has a fierce reputation. He can cut men down where they stood with ease. He can inspire men to fight with their last breath. To you, he is kind, caring, and intelligent. He treats you with respect well above your station. More than once you had hoped that you could be promised to him.

“Come with me.” The General's tone is short and clipped as he leads you out into the night.

“General Acacius? May I ask what is happening?” The quiver in your voice is unmistakable, yet he doesn't react to it.

“I have invoked my right to have you on the first night of your marriage.” Again he is short with you.

The short ride to the General's home is silent aside from the sound of the horses and the rhythmic sound of wheels turning on stone. The silence continues right up until General Acacius escorts you into his bed chambers. All the silence has just given your imagination room to run wild. Even with someone like the General, the thought of performing martial duties fills you with fear. With the door to his chamber safely closed, the General lays a hand on your arm. He retracts it at the feel of you flinching away.

“It's alright. I was surprised when I heard you were getting married. I thought that your father would find you someone more…suitable.” General Acacius doesn't even try to hide the distaste in his tone.

“My mother wants to make sure I am with child before I am too old.” Once you find your voice, the words come a little easier. “Is that why you want me General? Do you wish to have another child?”

“No, I…” The General sighs. “...I have known you for many years. The thought of someone such as yourself marrying a man like that…it did not sit well with me. I feel the decision was made in haste. I thought, by bringing you here, I could give you more time to reflect on the decision.”

The man spoke as if you had a say in any of this.

“Here, you may sleep in the bed.” The General lifts the thick woollen blanket back for you to slip beneath. His warm breath ghosts over your face as he leans over to tuck you in before laying down himself on the accubitum in the corner.

The sleep that takes you is restful after all the worrying. In the morning the General is gone and his staff make sure you are fed and returned home safely. The house is a buzz when you enter. Your mother takes your hands to break the news that your husband has been sent to war.

Months go by before you hear word of your husband's fate. They are delivered by General Acacius himself. “I am deeply sorry.” The look in his eyes doesn't match his words. “For your loss and for robbing you of your wedding night. The Gods must have been smiling upon you as you were already married, so your late husband's land and possessions will be yours for you to do with as you please.” With that, the General turns away, leaving you to ponder his words as his God-like form retreats.

[the-wrong-providence]

looking for the light

Rating: Everyone Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel and Sarah, Sarah Miller, Joel Miller, baby Sarah, soft!Joel, Joel needs a hug, Joel is trying really hard OK, angst, angst with a happy ending, but mostly just angst, sorry Word count: ~750, it's a baby fic

Note: Y’all can blame @frannyzooey for this little bit of heartache.

You can also read on AO3.

~*~

She screams for what feels like hours.

“C’mon, baby girl,” he whispers, a note of desperation creeping in. He’s been through the checklist–formula, diaper, swaddle, rock–but she won’t settle. “Sweet girl, Sarah girl, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

We’re okay.

And she screams.

Her little face scrunched up, tears streaming down–those are new, he thinks dully–body arched taut as a bowstring.

Pace and rock and sway and prep the bottle only for her to spit it out, check the diaper, rub her back in slow, firm circles, pace and rock and sway and shush.

Screaming.

He turns 23 today. Or maybe it was yesterday. He doesn’t know what time it is, doesn't know how long she’s been like this.

“It’s alright, you’re alright. C’mon, baby girl. I got you.”

Screaming.

And then his hands are shaking too hard to hold her, his vision blurred with tears of his own.

He can’t do this.

He sets her in the crib, the one she hasn’t used since they brought her home, tiny limbs poking out of her car seat harness like a starfish, practically swallowed by the thing, so small.

Fleeing from the room. He doesn’t make it far. She is gravity and he is stuck in her orbit.

He slides down the wall in the hallway, curling in on himself, chest so tight he thinks he might pass out. When he finally sucks in a decent breath, it’s a barking, wheezing thing, and he wastes it on a sob.

Laureen walked out two weeks ago. No note, no call, just went back to her parents in Albany. The paperwork signing over her rights is sitting on the kitchen table, stained with coffee rings and sour milk.

Tommy’s bedroom is empty and he’s god knows where, probably drunk or fucking around with some girl. He’s 17, still a kid himself, another responsibility he isn’t ready for.

Joel bites down hard on his fist and wishes desperately for the mother they buried six months ago.

He can’t do this. He can’t. He can’t raise a baby and pay the bills and keep his brother out of trouble. He should…

No. No, he can’t do that. The nurse handed her to him in the hospital, all red-faced and slick, and she’d taken his heart when she wrapped her tiny hand around his thumb.

So that’s not an option.

But Christ, he’s drowning.

“Please.”

He doesn’t know who he’s talking to. Doesn’t know anything but the needling sound of her cries that he can no longer ignore.

He stands, swipes at his eyes, goes back into the room. Picks her up.

Pace and rock and sway and shush.

“Please, Sarah.”

Whispers swallowed by screams.

“Please, baby, tell me what you need. Please.”

Tears on his cheeks to match hers as he begs. He begs.

“Please, baby girl.”

And then he must bounce just right, or pat her just right, because she lets out the loudest, most magnificent burp Joel has ever heard. It shouldn’t be possible, such a big sound coming from such a tiny body. It rings in his ears and settles her quaking limbs, spit-up soaking the back of his shirt. He never has the burp cloth on the right side. It doesn’t matter.

Quiet.

“Was that it?” he sniffs, pathetic. “Was that all, sweet girl? Jus’ had a bubble, huh?”

Shuddery little hiccup against his chin.

“There she is,” he murmurs, cupping her tiny head in one palm, pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead. “My girl, my Sarah girl.”

He collapses into the plush glider rocker, the one that cost a full month’s pay, the one Laureen insisted on. He hadn’t blinked, just wrote the check.

One foot on the floor, one on the ottoman, rocking. She settles on his chest, ear to his heart, already drowsy.

“We’re gonna be okay, you an’ me,” he whispers, nose pressed to her crown, tears still drying on his cheeks, willing himself to believe it. “We’re gonna be jus’ fine.”

~*~

Dawn.

She stirs, little snuffling noises, mouthing one tiny fist. 

He shifts her into the crook of his arm, sleep-crusted eyes blinking open to look at her, lets his thumb trace the velvet-soft curve of her cheek.

“Mornin’, baby girl.”

Dark brown eyes mirror his. The softest coo in answer.

And something new.

Tentative, hesitant at first, then blossoming.

“Yeah? You like that?”

Throat thick with love, shaky in-breath. Happy tears this time.

“Yeah,” he whispers, returning her first smile. “Yeah, we’re gonna be okay.”

[the-wrong-providence]

Spent a ridiculous amount of time last night obsessively editing my hand written zines in Photoshop to take away any tiny blemishes so they were definitely readable.

Whatever. Understand or don't.