˖ † ׄ ˳    𝕬 𝕳𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝕵𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗠𝗔𝗡 𝕱𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡     ✶ ۫
⋆˚｡⋆౨ৎ ⋆｡‧₊°♱༺   𓆩𐚁𓆪   ༻♱༉‧₊˚. ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆

❛  i guess i couldn't help trying
to be your best american girl ❜

CHARLOTTE ❪ scarlett johansson ❫ : So, what are you doing here?

BOB ❪ bill murray ❫ : Uh, a couple of things. Taking a break from my wife, forgetting my son's birthday. And, uh, getting paid two million dollars to endorse a whiskey when I could be doing a play somewhere.

CHARLOTTE ❪ scarlett johansson ❫ :  Oh.

BOB ❪ bill murray ❫ : But the good news is, the whiskey works.

LOST IN TRANSLATION, 2003

ᰋ 🦅 ?! # SUMMARY   ˖ ☆

˚ ༘ ✶ ⋆ the late afternoon, the ghost in
your  room rust you always   thought
didn't approve ⋆ 𓃗   ❪ 𝙺𝙽𝙴𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙺𝚂  ❫

ASHLAND, WISCONSIN ( 1990 )

MARISOL DILAURENTIS arrived in a town where time didn't move so much as it lingered, stretching out in the heat like a dog too lazy to chase its own tail. It was the kind of place that made you feel watched, even when the streets were empty. Dust hung in the air, clinging to the wooden slats of houses that leaned into one another, tired but proud. Every sound was sharper here—the metallic creak of a screen door, the scrape of boots on gravel, the rustle of leaves caught in a hesitant breeze.

Her grandmother's house was the last one on the road, a stubborn old thing with peeling blue paint and a yard overrun by weeds that refused to be tamed. It stood like a sentinel on the edge of the town, overlooking fields that stretched out to the horizon. Marisol leaned against the porch railing that first evening, watching the sun sink low and wide, bleeding orange into the sky. She felt like she'd stumbled into someone else's dream, a place too small to hold her restless thoughts but too strange to escape.

The locals called her city girl—a label spoken with both amusement and suspicion. They weren't wrong. New York was still in her, in the click of her heeled boots against the uneven sidewalk and the way she walked with purpose, even when she had nowhere to go. She didn't belong here, but that didn't stop her from trying to act like she might.

She spent her mornings running errands for her grandmother and her afternoons exploring the town, her presence rippling through the stillness. Everyone seemed to know her without knowing her at all. She was "Elena DiLaurentis' granddaughter," a title that came with its own weight. But they also saw the flash of red lipstick, the sway in her step, the way her laughter came too loud and too free. To them, she was trouble—though none of them dared say it outright.

None of them, that is, except Wells.

She first saw him outside the garage at the edge of town, leaning against an old truck with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wasn't what she expected. There was nothing polished about him, nothing rehearsed. He looked like he belonged to the land—dust in his hair, sun on his skin, a quietness in his eyes that felt older than he was.

"You lost?" he asked, his voice low and even, like he didn't care much whether she answered or not.

Marisol hesitated, startled by the sharpness of his gaze. "No," she said finally, brushing off the moment with a smile. "Just looking."

Wells didn't smile back. "For what?"

Marisol didn't have an answer, not one she could give him anyway. Instead, she shrugged, a half-smile curving her lips. "I'll let you know when I find it."

If he was impressed, he didn't show it. But he didn't walk away either.

That first meeting didn't last long, but it stayed with her. There was something about him that unsettled her—a steadiness that felt like resistance, like a dare she wasn't sure she could win.

Wells Ashford was everything she wasn't. Where Marisol was sharp edges and quick words, he was deliberate silences and unspoken rules. He had lived in this town his entire life, and he wore it like a second skin. She didn't know much about him—only that he was older, alone, and seemed to carry the weight of something she couldn't quite name.

But it was his quiet that intrigued her. It wasn't the kind of silence that came from emptiness; it was the kind that came from knowing too much and saying too little. And despite herself, Marisol wanted to break it.

The town noticed the way she started to linger near places he might be—outside the garage, at the diner where he sometimes sat in the corner nursing a coffee, or on the porch when he walked past in the evenings. They noticed the way her laughter softened when he was near, how her boldness flickered into something else.

People whispered about them, of course. What else was there to do in a town like this? A girl like her—young, brash, and unafraid of making herself heard—and a man like him, who had spent his life blending into the background. It didn't make sense. But then again, maybe it didn't have to.

Their interactions were small at first, inconsequential. A glance here, a word there. But there was a tension between them, an undercurrent neither of them could ignore. Wells kept his distance, but Marisol wasn't one to back down from something she wanted. And the more he tried to avoid her, the more determined she became to draw him out.

There were rules in a place like this, unspoken but firmly understood. Marisol had no intention of following them, and Wells had spent his life doing exactly that. Maybe that was why they collided—two people too different to fit together but too stubborn to let go.

𝓒AST  ━━ ❛    how many secrets
can you keep? ❜     ˚ ༘ .˚🍸 ୭ ˚. ⋆  𐙚

╭                ━━━━  𓇢𓆸  ━━━━              ╮

╰               ━━━━  𓇢𓆸  ━━━━               ╯

✶⋆.˚          𝓦ELLS 𝓐SHFORD       ˙⋆✶
𝒊.          ✧        hugh jackman

✶⋆.˚    𝓜ARISOL 𝓓ILAURENTIS ˙⋆✶
𝒊.          ✧          lily rose depp

▌  WARNINGS  . . .
this book may contains strong language, injury and mention of death, sad scenes, use of alcol, use of drugs, mentions of sex and overall mature scene. these themes are used for storytelling purposes and are not meant to minimize or trivialize the complexity or seriousness in real life.

⚠️ The characters of Marisol and Wells share an age gap that may be significant in the context of their relationship ( Marisol is on her late 20 - almost 30 while Wells is on his mid forty ). While the age difference is relevant, both characters are grown adults and their relationship is consensual. The story explores the complexities of human connection, with a focus on personal growth, emotional depth, and the challenges of navigating such an age gap. The narrative does not aim to trivialize the inherent dynamics of this relationship but rather seeks to portray it with the respect and nuance it deserves. ⚠️

▌  DISCLAIMER  . . .
All rights to the characters belong to me !!!
Graphics are mine as well.
This is a work of fiction. the characters in this story are used for narrative purposes only and do not reflect the real-life opinions, experiences, or actions of the actors. any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons is purely coincidental.
▌  PUBLISHED   . . .
29-11-2024

i apologize for any grammatical mistakes as
english is not my first language 🤍

dedicated to AALUCARRD trulyjohnlock BRBIECANDID vortexclubs carefleur bunnyangel- kyorevs sugrcoatjng 001klis cassiopeafloreale glamrots pughdts glenpowells
thank you for the support !!!! ♡ ( i've tagged also the people who seems interested when i published the drafts dump !! sorry if you didn't wanted to be tagged !! )

SOOO HAPPY TO FINALLY RELEASE THIS  STORY !!!!!! tell me what you think and leave a star if you want ⭐️⭐️ ( please do it ).
thank you for the attention!!! hope you'll enjoy this book.

©innermoons