#echo acres

[lunarcovehq]

Rio Tavárez is a vampire that currently resides in Echo Acres and has been a Lunar Cove resident for 18 months.

ITS THE END OF THE WORLD

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Woman, She/Her 

DATE OF BIRTH: December 20, 1995 

OCCUPATION: Curator at Art in Motion and Forger 

FACECLAIM: Priscilla Quintana 

AS WE KNOW IT, AND I FEEL FINE

SPECIES: Vampire 

CLAN POSITION: Member 

AGE AT TRANSFORMATION: 27 

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, RIO TAVÁREZ

Trigger Warnings: Physical and Emotional Abuse, Death, Parental Neglect

The Tavarez dynasty stood like a monolith, a looming shadow over Rio all her life. Spanning generations, her family had accumulated wealth and prestige in the human world, dominating any industry they entered. Their hands touched everything - resources in coal and oil, financial markets, business acquisition, technology development. An empire. What the world they dominated did not know was the magic that fueled their industry. Magic had been in the Tavarez family longer than the wealth had, and it fueled them. Generation after generation, magic was used to bolster their advancement. The family cared little for physical talents, there was always use for someone who could manipulate an element, but the mental magics were favoured, and exploited. White collar crime fueled their empire, fraud, bribery, insider trading, Ponzi schemes. Whatever would get their family ahead.

Their father, Luis, became patriarch of the family at a young age, far earlier than he should have after the untimely death of his father, but he was thriving, he continued to build the wealth and prestige that his family was built upon, but it was not enough, never enough. Luis wanted more, always, the world itself would not have been enough. So he forced the world to bend to him. Their family had always used their magic to be less than fair in their business dealings with human companies, but Luis increased this, causing their empire to thrive. 

This was the world Rio and Santiago were born into, the highest of luxuries, a world that you could not buy your way into, only born. From the outside it was picture perfect, they were the beautiful children of seemingly doting parents that loved them above all. However, it was a gilded cage. They attended the best schools, lived in luxury homes, had everything a child could dream of - but in return they had to be perfect. Not perfect in the ordinary sense, they had to be above reproach in their father’s eyes, look the part, smile just right, be silent unless spoken to, and if they were allowed to speak, they had to say the perfect thing. If they were not the right kind of perfect they would risk their father’s wrath. They never knew what form it would take. They were not children to him, they were merely extensions of himself and the image he wanted to portray to the world. 

Their mother was no better. She had no love for her children, they were merely her duty. The tradeoff for Luis funding her lifestyle was giving him children and cementing the Tavarez legacy for another generation. They would see her sparingly, whenever a photograph needed to be taken, or Luis had a business meeting with someone particularly family focused. They were a family in pictures only.

As soon as Rio and Santiago were each old enough, they were forced to participate, abusing their magic for their fathers benefit. Santiago, the elder and the heir, was first, pulled into Luis’s web, followed shortly by Rio. Santiago tried to protect his sister as much as he could, shield her from the shadier of their father’s activities, but it was no use, she had a natural talent that their father noticed. As they grew, Santiago grew more and more anxious about the effect their father was having on Rio, terrified that she would end up like him. He knew that he would always be the heir, the one to inherit it all, but could also see the hunger in their fathers eyes when he looked at Rio. 

So he did what he had to, he squirreled away funds, employing all the tricks their father forced on him, to try and give Rio a ticket out of the cage. 

She learnt about his plans the day he handed her a plane ticket and a bag of clothes. She was shuffled away in the middle of the night. Santiago prayed he could keep their father occupied, away from their father, away from whatever plans their father had for Rio. 

She ended up in New York with nothing but the cash in her wallet and the clothes in her bag. So she did what she was raised to do, trained to do, she bent the world to her will. Like father, like daughter. She started by using her magic for a price, raising spirits or tracking people - using everything at her disposal to make something for herself. It was not long before she started fencing supernatural wares, then fencing forgeries of paintings. Then came the cheques and bank bonds, forged with a deft hand. Forgery was where she found herself, anything you needed, she could make and fake. It had been a party trick her father enjoyed, the fake masterpieces she painted, and a trick he had exploited with her uncanny ability to forge signatures. Now, it was her life, and she used it to carve herself a little bit of a life. 

For a time life was somewhat good, she was building herself something of a family with the Selvi sisters, she had someone she might be able to love, it was starting to work. 

Then the man fell through her wall like it was water, clutching at his side as blood poured from a wound. He was oddly familiar, she had seen him in passing growing up, someone that had always been around, but never directly in contact with her and Santiago despite their similar ages. Now that she could get a good look at him the resemblance was uncanny. The slope of his brow, the sharp jawline. He looked like Santiago, he looked like her. He didn’t need to tell her that he was her brother, or her half brother, she could see it the moment she saw him. He looked uncannily like her brother, it was almost eerie, but his eyes matched hers perfectly. 

She tried desperately to stop the bleeding, all while she questioned her brother, Javier. Trying to figure out what had happened to him, why he was bleeding out in her living room. He told her about their father, about the work he had to do for him, and about Santiago. He said that their brother was gone, that their father’s work had taken its toll on him.

She believed him, of course she did, here he was, her brother, dying in her arms. 

And then he too was gone, limp and lifeless. 

Grief overtook her like a tidal wave, the loss of both brothers, the one she loved and the one she never had the chance to. The wave swept her up, crashing over her. She didn’t turn her mind towards all of the other people she loved that could be swept up in her magic, the other people that could die, she could only see Javier. It was not a conscious choice, it was the only choice, her magic flooded from her and she raised Javier from the dead and the green eyes of her half brother opened, green eyes that matched hers. 

Javier left that night, claiming he was trying to protect her, that he would need to return to Mexico, back to their father. He said everything right, said all the things Santiago would say in that situation. He didn’t want to draw his attention to her, he didn’t want her to know where she was, and now that she had done dark magic, he didn’t want him to have that leverage over her. She genuinely believed it, every word he said. 

Despite what Javier had said, she traveled back to Mexico City, to the place she had sworn she would never return, to bid her farewells to Santiago, devastated that she hadn’t been able to when he had died. To her horror she discovered that Santiago had been alive when Javier appeared in her apartment and that he was now dead, having died the same night she had brought Javier back. She went to Javier, hoping to get him away from their father as Santiago had done for her, only for the other shoe to drop. 

Javier had been raised on stories of his sister, the ruthless image their father had of her. Javier had pictured her just like he was, a weapon of their fathers ambition, a kindred spirit. Javier wanted her back in the fold, he wanted the weapon of their fathers stories. He claimed he wanted a sister, he wanted the two of them to be their own little family, just as her and Santiago had been. 

Their father was none the wiser, he knew that Javier was in New York, he had always known where Rio was and had mentioned this to Javier, but he didn't know that Javier had intended to go to her. Javier explained to her that his original plan was to approach her, figuring he could talk her into coming back with him, but then he saw her. He had seen her with the Selvi sisters, and the small life she had managed to build for herself. He knew it wouldn’t be enough, so he decided to force her hand. 

He had orchestrated it all, figuring that if she did dark magic she would be easy to blackmail. He could force her to come home with him, and he hoped that one day she would want to stay on her own. Getting rid of Santiago was a happy coincidence, a burden that Javier wouldn’t have to deal with thanks to Rio. When Luis had found out about Santiago’s death he had apparently just shrugged, not particularly caring as he still had Jaiver and Rio, or so Javier claimed. 

Ever her father’s daughter, ever the blade he had welded her into, she made a decision that night. 

It was not a difficult decision to turn into a vampire, she loved her magic, but she hated Javier and their father more. The rage was blinding, more blinding than her grief had been. She would die, and Javier tethered to her, would die with her, never to return. Their father’s disinterest in Santiago’s death would be punished. 

Afterall, she was the child of Luis Tavarez, the ends justified the means. 

With no one left in the world, bar a few friends in a secret town of supernatural’s, it seemed as though there was nowhere else she could go but Lunar Cove, the one place her father would never set foot in. 

[aeli-tan-art]

Carry on

part 1 | 2 | 3

[jerichogallery]

Night of the Soul

[cloneloverrrrr]

My bro just wanted to eat in peace 😩😩

[louisvuittonandleadpipes]

PNW coastal horror

[joelmillerisapunk]

Howdy Honey I. can't get you off my mind

series masterlist masterlist

wordcount: 6,709

summary: After a tumultuous fall from your horse that leaves you with a fractured wrist and bruised ribs, you find solace in the strong arms and gentle care of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand whose rugged exterior hides a tender heart.

warnings: mentions of falling, fracture, eventual smut, slowburn, age-gap, some fluff, two stubborn people falling in love, angst, from both your and Joel's pov

notes: First of all thank you to all of you for supporting the masterlist, I am absolutely blown away! I appreciate the heck out of you all so very much! <3 <3 Second thank you sm to @joelslegalwhre and @mountainsandmayhem for screaming with me about all of this ily both <3 Third I wrote this after my own experiences falling off a horse and being carried by a hot cowboy at work. K I'm gonna go panic, love you all bye. gif is by @tomshiddles divider by @saradika-graphics

The sun is high and unforgiving, casting a golden hue over the sprawling acres of your family's ranch—a place where the West still feels wild and untamed. The ranch, nestled in a valley surrounded by rugged mountains, is a patchwork of green pastures, dotted with grazing cattle and horses. The main house, a sturdy two-story structure with a wraparound porch, stands proudly at the heart of the property, its whitewashed walls and red roof are like a beacon for the lost amidst the vast expanse of land. You can always find your way back home.

To the east lies the stables, a long, low building with enough room to house two dozen horses comfortably. Its wooden walls have weathered to a soft gray, and the scent of hay and horse is always present in the air. Just beyond the stables is the equipment barn, filled with tractors, balers, and all manner of tools necessary for maintaining the ranch. The sound of metal clanging against metal often echoes from within as ranch hands tend to repairs or prepare for the day's work. A little further out is the chicken coop, bustling with activity as hens peck at the ground and roosters crow their morning greetings.

On the southern end of the ranch, a series of fenced-in training pens are set up for breaking in new horses or for practicing roping skills. It's here that you often find the newly hired ranch hand, Joel Miller, expertly mending a section of split-rail fence or guiding a young colt through its paces with patience and skill honed over decades. 

You've grown up with the scent of hay and the sound of hooves on dirt, a life that's as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. Recently, your parents brought on a few new ranch hands, a decision driven not only by their advancing years and a growing wanderlust but also, you suspect, by a desire to ensure you're well looked after in their absence. It didn't seem to matter how many times you'd promised that you and [name] the very first and only other person hired to help around, could take care of the ranch -  they never let go of the fact you weren't five anymore. 

Today you find yourself working a little less hard because of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand that looks like he stepped straight out of a Western movie. You watch him from afar as you make your way to take your horse out, his muscles straining against his plaid shirt as he repairs a section of fencing. He moves with an easy grace despite his age and broad build. His salt-and-pepper hair peeks out from under his worn cowboy hat, and you can't help but feel a pull towards him, something beyond the usual respect for a seasoned hand.

The ranch is alive with activity as you prepare Daisy for her daily run. The horses in the nearby pasture lift their heads at your approach, their ears pricked with curiosity. Daisy nickers softly, her tail swishing in anticipation as you lead her out of her stall and toward the open pasture. As you trot along one of the well-worn trails, you pass by landmarks that tell stories of your family's history; there's an old rusted tractor from your grandfather's time, now half-buried in wildflowers; a grove where you used to play hide-and-seek with your siblings; and further on, an ancient stone marker placed by settlers who once claimed this land as their own. Each sight brings back memories that are as much a part of you as they are a part of this place. 

But today, these familiar sights are merely blurs in your peripheral vision as Daisy gallops across the landscape. The wind whips through your hair, and you feel a rush of adrenaline as the horse's muscles move powerfully beneath you. It's in these moments that you feel most at peace, in harmony with the natural world around you.

Suddenly, a sharp cry from Daisy breaks the rhythm of her gait. You pull sharply on the reins as a jackrabbit darts out from the underbrush, its sudden appearance startling her. In an instant, your peaceful ride turns to chaos. Daisy rears up, her eyes wide with fear, and you're thrown from the saddle, the world a blur of blue sky and golden earth. The impact is jarring, knocking the breath from your lungs as you hit the ground hard. Pain radiates from your side and arm. As you lie there, struggling to catch your breath, Daisy gallops away towards the safety of the stables, leaving you alone in a cloud of dust.

The sun beats down mercilessly upon you as waves of pain wash over your body. You try to move but find that even breathing is a challenge. You try to push yourself up, but a wave of nausea forces you back down. It's then that you hear the pounding of hooves approaching fast and boots hitting the ground. 

"Easy there, easy," a familiar voice drawls as strong hands gently roll you onto your back. Joel's face swims into view, his brow furrowed with concern. "Looks like ya had a bit of a tumble, darlin'. Can you tell me where it hurts?" His voice is deep and soothing, cutting through the haze of pain. You manage to point to your side, wincing as he carefully probes the area. "Just bruised, I reckon," he says after a moment, his touch is surprisingly gentle for such calloused hands. "Your arm too. We should get ya back to the house. Might have t'see the doctor."

Over my dead body, you think to yourself.

With surprising ease, Joel scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You can't help but notice the warmth radiating from his body. It's an intimacy that makes your breath hitch in your throat—a sensation that has nothing to do with your injuries.

"Gave me quite the scare there darlin," Joel remarks as he carries you towards his waiting horse. His tone is light but there's an undercurrent of something else—affection? worry? "What were you thinkin’ taking Daisy out alone after that storm last night? These trails can be treacherous."

You want to argue that you're capable and don't need help, that it was just a routine ride and something spooked Daisy but arguing takes energy—energy that's currently in short supply thanks to the pain radiating from your side and shooting through your arm. Instead you murmur a weak apology. "Didn't think it’d be a problem."

Joel chuckles softly. "Well, I reckon that's part of the adventure, ain't it? Never quite knowing what the day's gonna bring." He adjusts his hold on you slightly, his grip firm yet careful. "But next time, maybe wait for someone to come with you. Safety in numbers and all that."

As he settles you onto his horse, he keeps a steady hand on your back, “you okay darlin?” He asks, making sure you're secure before you nod and he swings up behind you as gently as he can. The closeness is overwhelming; his body is a solid wall of heat at your back, and you can feel the muscles in his thighs as they grip the horse's flanks. It's a strange mix of vulnerability and safety, being so close to this man who just (weeks/days?) ago was a little more than a stranger.

The ride back to the ranch is a blur of sensations—the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath you, the scent of leather and sweat mingling with Joel's unique aroma of woodsmoke and something undeniably masculine. You find yourself leaning into him without thinking, seeking comfort in his strength.

"Almost there," Joel reassures you as the house comes into view. His breath is warm against your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. "We'll get some ice on those bruises and take a look at you."

Once at the ranch house, he carries you inside and sets you down gently on the living room couch crouching beside you to remove your boots. His fingers brush against your skin accidentally as he works them off one by one—a touch that sends sparks racing along your nerves despite yourself and despite any rational thought about how much older he is than you. You quickly blink them away.

"Ice pack," he commands firmly but kindly before disappearing into the kitchen. You hear the clinking of ice being scooped from the freezer. 

As Joel returns from the kitchen, the air in the room shifts subtly. He kneels beside you on the couch, his movements deliberate and gentle. "This might be a bit cold at first," he warns, his voice carrying a hint of gruffness that hadn't been there before.

You nod, bracing yourself for the shock of cold. But when he lifts the hem of your shirt to expose your bruised side, the brush of his fingers against the sensitive skin of your stomach sends an unexpected wave of heat coursing through you. It's a clinical touch, meant only to aid in your recovery, but the proximity of his hands to the curves of your body is not lost on you.

He places the makeshift ice pack against your side, the cold seeping your body. You can't help the sharp intake of breath as the icy chill envelops the tender area. Joel's eyes flick to yours, concern etched across his features.

"Sorry, darlin'," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I know it's uncomfortable, but it'll help with the swelling."

You give him a small, reassuring smile, trying to convey that you understand—that you appreciate his attentiveness. As he holds the ice pack in place, his other hand comes to rest on your hip, a steady presence that seems to anchor you amidst the discomfort.

The room is silent save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock and the occasional crackle of ice as it begins to melt against your skin. You can feel the heat of Joel's palm through the fabric of your jeans, and you find yourself acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

After a few minutes, he slowly lifts the ice pack away, his eyes scanning your side with a practiced eye. "How does it feel now?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate within you.

"A bit better," you admit, the pain having dulled to a manageable ache.

He nods, his attention still focused on your injury. With a gentle touch that belies his rugged exterior, he traces the edge of the bruise with his fingers, his touch feather-light yet firm. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his next move.

"You're gonna be sore for a few days," he says. "But I think you'll live."

As he withdraws his hand, you feel an odd sense of loss, as if the warmth of his touch had become a lifeline in the midst of your pain. You watch as he rises to his feet, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

"Thank you, Joel," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words feel inadequate, but they're all you have to offer in this moment.

The corners of Joel's mouth twitch into a small smile, and he gives a nod, turning back towards the kitchen 

While he's gone, you take the opportunity to study him from afar as he walks through the open room to the kitchen. There's an air of quiet strength about him, a sense of resilience. You find yourself wondering about his past—where he came from, what brought him here to your family's ranch. But those questions will have to wait for another time; right now, just talking and moving is enough of a challenge without adding an interrogation into the mix.

Joel returns with a glass of water and some painkillers. "Here," he says gently, helping you sit up enough to swallow the pills before lying back down against the cushions with a wince at the sharp pain in your side again.

“Rest up now," Joel instructs. “I'll take care of things around here for the rest of the day. You just focus on healin.”

You drift in and out of sleep on the couch and everytime you drift out you see Joel lingering around keeping watch over you like some kind old west guardian angel dressed in denim. 

As the day wanes and the shadows grow long across the hardwood floors, you stir from your uneasy slumber. The pain in your side is a dull roar now, thanks to the medication Joel provided. You blink slowly, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the living room. The ranch is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling and the distant sound of Joel's voice as he talks to one of the horses in the stable.

Your heart flutters at the thought of him—his rugged features, his gentle touch, and those eyes that seem to see right through you. It's a dangerous path your thoughts are taking, but you can't help it. There's something about Joel that draws you in, despite the years between you.

The front door opens with a soft squeak, and Joel steps inside, his boots leaving a trail of dust on the floorboards. He looks weary but satisfied, his shirt damp with sweat from a hard day's work. His gaze finds you instantly, and a warm smile spreads across his face.

"You're awake," he observes needlessly as he approaches. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you admit with a small grimace as you try to sit up straighter on the couch. "But better than before." You didn't want to admit how bad your arm was actually killing you.

Joel nods in approval before disappearing into the kitchen again—a man of few words but many actions. He returns a bit later with a steaming mug in hand and offers it to you carefully so as not to spill any on your lap. 

"Chamomile tea," he explains gruffly when he sees your questioning look at what seems like an unusual choice for someone like him, someone who seems more accustomed to strong black coffee than herbal infusions. "It'll help with any lingering pain and help ya sleep." 

You take a tentative sip; making sure to grab the cup with your good hand it's sweetened just how you like it—a small detail that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly because it means he's been paying attention even when he didn’t have to be.  The warmth seeps into your hands as much as into your insides making everything feel less daunting all at once despite your injuries.

The evening settles in, casting a cozy glow over the living room. The ranch is quiet, the animals bedded down for the night, and the chores all done. Joel lingers, his presence a comforting constant in the otherwise empty house. He settles into the armchair across from you, the lines of his face softened by the dim light.

"You should eat somethin’," he suggests, already rising from his chair. "I'll fix ya up a plate."

Before you can protest, he's back in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the smell of food wafting through the air. You can't help but smile at his insistence. It's been a long time since anyone has taken care of you like this.

Joel returns with a tray balanced in one hand—a simple meal of soup and a sandwich, cut into manageable pieces. He sets it down on the coffee table, pulling it closer to you. "Eat up," he urges, his tone gentle but firm. "You need to keep your strength up."

As you eat, he watches you, his gaze never straying far. It's an odd sensation, being the focus of such intense attention, but you find yourself not minding it. There's a sense of security in his watchfulness, a feeling that you're not alone in this big house.

When you've finished eating, Joel takes the tray away, leaving you to sip your tea in peace. The painkillers are starting to wear off, and as you move to adjust your position on the couch, a sharp, stabbing pain shoots through your arm, causing you to yelp in surprise and discomfort.

Joel, who has been quietly cleaning up the remnants of dinner in the kitchen, is at your side in an instant. "What is it?" he asks, his voice laced with concern. "Did you move wrong?"

"It's my arm," you admit through gritted teeth, cradling the injured limb with your other hand. "I think I might have aggravated it."

With a nod, Joel gently takes your arm in his hands, his touch firm yet gentle. He probes the area with practiced ease, watching your face for any signs of pain. When he reaches a particular spot, you can't help but flinch, a hiss escaping your lips. “Shh, I know. Easy, easy," he soothes you like a wounded animal, before releasing your arm. His brow is furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't like the look of this. Could be broken, or at least badly sprained. We need to get you to a doctor first thing in the mornin’."

"I'm sure it's fine, Joel," you argue weakly, not wanting to cause a fuss. "It's probably just a bad bruise. I'll be okay after a good night's sleep."

But Joel is having none of it. "No, it ain't fine," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You could be doin’ more damage by not getting it checked out. I'll drive you to the clinic myself in the morning. This ain’t up for debate."

You know that look on his face—it's the same one he wears when he's dealing with a stubborn horse or a difficult piece of machinery. There's no point in trying to dissuade him when he's made up his mind. And truthfully, the idea of having a professional assess your injuries is somewhat of a relief.

"Alright," you relent with a sigh, the fight draining out of you. "I'll go to the doctor in the morning."

Joel's expression softens, and he gives your good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's the smart choice, darlin'. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

As he moves away to finish tidying up the kitchen, you find yourself watching him, a mix of gratitude and something deeper swirling within you. Despite the pain and the uncertainty of your injuries, you can't help but feel a sense of safety and comfort with Joel around. You're taken from your thoughts when Joel comes back into the living room. "I should be gettin’ home," Joel says after a while, his voice low and reluctant. "But I'll be back first thing to check on you."

You nod, trying to hide your disappointment. The house feels too big, too empty to be without him in it. "I'll be okay, Joel," you assure him, trying not to worry him, though the words taste like a stale cigarette on your tongue. "Thank you for everything."

He gives you a long, searching look before nodding slowly. "Alright then," he says, rising from his chair. "You remember what I said about not pushin’ yourself too hard?"

"Yes," you reply with a small smile. "Rest and recovery."

"That's right," he affirms, pulling on his jacket. "And don't hesitate to call me if you need anything—no matter the time."

You watch as he heads for the door, his silhouette framed by the night outside. Just before he steps out into the darkness, he turns back to you, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the living room. "Goodnight darlin," he says, his voice carrying a hint of something unspoken.

"Goodnight, Joel," you whisper back, the words hanging in the air long after he's gone.

The house is silent once more, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. You finish your tea and carefully set the mug aside, the warmth of it still lingering on your lips. With a sigh, you settle back against the cushions, the pain in your side a dull reminder of the day's events.

As the night deepens, you find yourself reaching for your phone, your fingers typing out a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Hey. Just wanted to say thank you again for today. I'm okay, just wanted to say thanks. Hope you got home safe.

What you really meant was, “please come back I'm fucking scared being alone.”

You hit send before you can change your mind, the message disappearing into the ether. Minutes tick by with no response, and you chide yourself for expecting otherwise. Joel is probably already asleep, or at least on his way to getting some much-needed rest after the day he's had. But just as you're about to set your phone aside and try to get some sleep yourself, it vibrates in your hand, startling you. A notification lights up the screen—a new message from Joel.

Of course. That's what I'm here for. Got home just fine. How are the ribs? Any better with the meds?

You can't help but smile at the concern in his words, the gruff affection that seems to come so naturally to him. You reply, telling him about the tea and the meal, about how much better you feel with him looking out for you.

His response is quick, as if he's been waiting by his phone for your message. 

Glad to hear it. And remember, there's no rush to get back in the saddle if you're not feeling up to it. Everything will still be here when you're ready. Your health is the priority now. If there's anything I can do for you, just holler. I've got your chores covered. Take care of yourself and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything or just want to talk about what happened.

You read his words over and over, each one a balm to the lingering ache in your side—and to the unexpected emptiness in your heart. With a contented sigh, you finally set your phone aside and close your eyes, the sound of the ranch at night lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, you're awakened by the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. You rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock—it's early, barely past dawn. With some effort, you manage to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the couch, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles.

The front door opens, and Joel steps inside, his hands full of a large wicker basket. "Brought you some things," he announces, setting the basket down on the coffee table. Inside, you find an assortment of items—fresh fruit, a few paperback novels, a soft, hand-knitted blanket, and a small potted plant. "I figured you could use some company," he says, gesturing to the plant. "And the books are from my daughter's collection. She loves a good western—thought you might enjoy them."

The revelation that Joel has a daughter is something that catches you off guard, a piece of him that he kept carefully tucked away, a piece you want to know more about. 

You're touched by the thoughtfulness of his gifts, each one carefully chosen to bring you comfort during your recovery. "Joel, this is... it's too much," you protest half-heartedly, even as you reach out to run your fingers over the soft wool of the blanket.

"Nonsense, darlin’," he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

The way he calls you darlin’ brings heat to your cheeks, and you quickly look away, busying yourself with arranging the items in the basket. When you finally gather the courage to meet his gaze again, you find him watching you with a soft smile on his face and you assume he's forgotten about the doctor until he speaks up.

“Alright let's go.” Joel's stands up and holds a hand out to you. 

You look up at him and chuckle “It's fine Joel. It barely even hurts.”

The argument is brief but intense, with you stubbornly insisting that a trip to the clinic is unnecessary despite the pain in your arm. Joel, however, is just as adamant, his concern for your well-being overriding any protests you might have.

"I ain't gonna stand by and watch you suffer when there's somethin’ that can be done about it," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You cross your arms defiantly, wincing as the movement sends a jolt of pain through your injured wrist. "And what's the hard way?" you challenge him, though there's a hint of amusement in your voice.

Without warning, Joel strides toward you, scooping you up into his arms before you can react. You let out a startled yelp as he hoists you over his shoulder with surprising ease, his strong hands holding you securely in place.

"Hey! Put me down!" You pound on his back with your good hand, your cheeks hot with embarrassment and indignation. But beneath the surface, there's an undeniable thrill at being so close to him—at feeling the muscles in his shoulders and back move beneath his shirt as he carries you effortlessly toward the front door.

"As soon as we get to the truck," he replies calmly, unfazed by your struggles. "We're going to see Dr. Simmons whether you like it or not."

You continue to squirm and protest as he carries you across the yard to where his truck is parked. The other ranch hands look on with barely concealed grins but wisely choose to keep their comments to themselves. They know better than to get between Joel Miller and something he's set his mind to.

With a gentleness that belies his gruff exterior, Joel sets you down on the passenger seat of the truck and buckles your seatbelt for you before closing the door and heading around to the driver's side. 

Joel.

He grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he navigates the familiar dirt roads that lead away from the ranch. He can see you out of the corner of his eye, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the passing landscape. A vision of stubborn beauty, your jaw set in a way that makes his heart do things it hadn't done in years. He can feel the tension radiating off you—a mix of pain and frustration at being manhandled against your will. He can't blame you for being upset. If someone had picked him up and carried him off like a sack of feed, he'd be mad too. But when he saw you lying there in the dirt, hurt and vulnerable, something inside him shifted. It awakened a protective instinct that he thought had died along with Sarah.

Damn it, Joel, he chides himself. She's young enough to be your daughter. But the thought feels hollow, a weak defense against the pull he feels toward you. You’re strong, fiercely independent, and yet, there’s a vulnerability to you that calls to something deep within him, the need to care for someone - for you. He glances over at you again, taking in the delicate curve of your jaw, and the way your hair falls in waves around your shoulders, taking in the way the morning light plays across your features. You’re a sight to behold, all fire and spirit wrapped up in a package that is far too tempting for his peace of mind. Every time he looks at you, all logic seems to fly out the window. There's an undeniable connection between you, a spark that ignites whenever you're near each other. It's terrifying and exhilarating, you make him feel young again. 

He risks another glance in your direction, and his heart skips a beat when he finds you watching him with those big doe eyes of yours. Joel swallows hard, forcing himself to look away before his thoughts can wander any further down that dangerous path. He needs to focus on getting through this day without letting his guard down completely.

The clinic is just up ahead now, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the early morning sun. He pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine, turning to face you with a stern expression that belies the turmoil he feels inside.

"Ready?" he asks, though it's clear from his tone that it's more of a statement than a question. He's not going to let you talk your way out of this one—not when your health is at stake.

You nod reluctantly, your gaze fixed on the clinic entrance. You're nervous; he can see it in the way your fingers worry at the hem of your shirt, in the slight tremble of your chin. He wants to reach out and wrap you in his arms, to offer some semblance of comfort, but he holds back. It wouldn't be appropriate—not here, not now. Instead, he climbs out of the truck and comes around to open your door for you, offering a hand to help you down onto solid ground.

The interior of the clinic is cool and sterile-smelling—a stark contrast to the fresh air and open spaces of the ranch. Joel checks you in at the reception desk while you sink into one of the waiting room chairs, wincing as even that small movement sends a twinge of pain through your side and arm.  Joel takes a seat beside you in the waiting room, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. He can feel the tension emanating from you, a coiled spring ready to leap to action at the slightest provocation. He knows that look—it's the same one he's seen on injured animals over the years, a mix of fear and defiance. It tugs at something deep within him, a primal urge to protect those he cares about most.

He wants to say something to ease your discomfort, but words seem inadequate in the face of your pain. Instead, he reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering just above your knee before he gives in to the impulse and rests it there gently—a silent promise that he's not going anywhere.

You startle at his touch, your gaze flicking to his face in surprise. But as you meet his eyes, you see nothing but sincerity and concern reflected back at you. Slowly, deliberately, you place your own hand over his.

The waiting room is filled with the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of magazines being flipped through by other patients. Joel's thumb traces idle patterns on your leg as you sit there together in silence.

"Joel," you say finally, breaking the silence that has settled between you. Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the ambient noise like a knife. "I want to thank you - for everything."

He shakes his head dismissively, though there's a warmth in his eyes that wasn't there before. "No need for thanks," he replies gruffly. "I did what anyone else woulda done."

"No," you insist firmly, turning in your seat so that you're facing him fully now—ignoring the twinge of pain it elicits from your injuries. "Joel," you say again, your voice steady despite the pain you're clearly in. "I mean it. You've been... you've done so much for me. More than I could have asked for."

He opens his mouth to respond, to downplay his role in your care, but the words die on his lips as the nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She calls out your name, scanning the room until her eyes land on the two of you.

Reluctantly, Joel withdraws his hand from your knee, the connection between you severed as you rise to follow the nurse. He stands as well, intending to accompany you, but the nurse shakes her head. "Just the patient for now, please," she says with a polite but firm smile.

You shoot him a reassuring look over your shoulder as you follow the nurse down the hallway, leaving Joel alone with his thoughts. He sinks back into his chair, his hands clasped tightly between his knees again as he waits for you to return.

The minutes tick by slowly, each second stretching into an eternity. Joel's mind races with worry and concern. He knows the ranch like the back of his hand, can handle any crisis that comes his way—but this is different. This is about you, and the thought of you in pain, of you being afraid, is more than he can bear.

He can't shake the image of you lying in the dust after being thrown from Daisy, the fear in your eyes when you realized you couldn't get up on your own. It had been years since he'd felt that kind of raw terror, the kind that gripped your heart and squeezed until you couldn't breathe. But in that moment, with you hurt and helpless, it all came flooding back. Joel had always prided himself on his strength, both physical and emotional. He'd had to be strong after Sarah passed, but with you, he felt something shift inside him—a crack in the armor he'd spent years building up around his heart. He cared about you, more than he should. It was a truth he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried. You were young, vibrant, full of potential and promise. And he, well, he was just an old cowboy with more yesterdays than tomorrows. But when he looked at you, when he saw the fire in your eyes, he felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears your name called again. He looks up to see the nurse beckoning him forward with a gentle smile.

"You can come back now," she says, her voice soft and reassuring. "She's asking for you."

Joel's heart skips a beat at her words. He rises quickly, his boots thudding against the linoleum floor as he follows the nurse through the maze of hallways to the examination room where you're waiting. His mind races with possibilities—none of them good. 

Why would they need me if everything was fine? Had something happened while you were back there? Was the injury worse than they initially thought?

The door to the examination room creaks open, and Joel steps inside, his eyes immediately going to you. You're sitting on the edge of the examination table, your face pale but composed. The relief that washes over him at seeing you unharmed is palpable; it leaves him momentarily lightheaded as he crosses the room to your side.

"What's goin on?" he asks urgently, his gaze flicking between you and the doctor who is standing nearby with a clipboard in hand. "Is everything alright?"

Dr. Simmons gives him a reassuring nod before turning his attention back to you. "I was just explaining to your friend here that it looks like she's got some bruised ribs and a fracture in her wrist," he says matter-of-factly as he jots something down on his clipboard. "We'll need to keep an eye on those ribs—make sure there's no internal bleeding or complications—but I think she'll be just fine with some rest and proper care.We gave her some pain medication before the x-ray. It may make her tired so she will need to be watched. No driving, etc. And she will need to come back in three weeks from now to get an updated x-ray of her wrist."

Joel lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, relief flooding through him like a tidal wave crashing against jagged rocks. He reaches out instinctively, taking your good hand in his own as he listens intently while Dr. Simmons goes over your care instructions.

Once the doctor finishes his instructions and hands over the prescription, Joel helps you down from the examination table, his hand at the small of your back providing a steady, reassuring presence. "Let's get your meds and then getcha home," he says softly, guiding you out of the clinic and back to his truck.

The drive to the pharmacy is quiet, the air between you thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Joel keeps stealing glances at you, noting the way you're cradling your injured wrist against your chest, the way your breath hitches ever so slightly when the truck hits a bump in the road. He wants to say something, to offer some words of comfort, but he's never been good with this sort of thing. He's a man of action, not words.

At the pharmacy, Joel takes charge, handling the paperwork and payment while you sit quietly on a nearby bench. He can see the exhaustion etched into your features, the way your eyelids are starting to droop. He knows you're running on fumes, and the pain medication will likely knock you out soon.

He heads back to the ranch, the truck's engine humming softly beneath the weight of the silence that stretches between you. You're fading fast, the medication they gave you at the doctor taking its toll. He can see you struggling to keep your eyes open, your body swaying slightly with each turn of the vehicle.

Once he reaches the ranch house, he parks as close to the front door as possible and hurries around to your side of the truck. You're already half-asleep by the time he opens your door, your eyelids fluttering as you fight to stay awake. "Easy now," Joel murmurs, unbuckling your seatbelt and scooping you into his arms with a tenderness that surprises even himself. You let out a soft sigh as he carries you into the house, your head lolling against his chest. The trust you place in him is both humbling and terrifying and the sweet little noises coming from your mouth don't make any of this easier. 

He settles you onto the couch, propping pillows behind your back to keep you comfortable. You smile sleepily up at you, a smile that sends a jolt straight to his heart and many other places. "Stay with me?" You ask quietly. 

How could he possibly say no?

Joel nods, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, “‘course darlin, just gonna make you somethin to eat real quick.” Joel heads into the kitchen to prepare something for you to eat. An Eggo waffle seems like a safe bet—simple and comforting in its familiarity. He pops one into the toaster and waits impatiently for it to brown, his thoughts consumed by the woman lying on the couch.

Joel returns to the living room, the scent of warm waffles wafting through the air. He sets the plate down on the coffee table, along with a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication the pharmacist had given him. "Here you go, darlin'," he says softly, offering you a small smile. "Eat up, and then we'll get you settled in with a movie or somethin."

You nod, managing a weak smile in return as you reach for the waffle with your good hand. The simple act of eating seems to revive you somewhat, though Joel can tell you're still in a considerable amount of pain. He watches as you take a tentative bite, followed by a sip of water to wash it down.

"Thank you," you murmur between bites, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange of gratitude and concern.

Joel nods, his throat tightening unexpectedly at the sincerity in your voice. "Anything for you," he replies gruffly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. He quickly clears his throat and changes the subject. "What do ya feel like watchin’? There's some old western tapes layin around or we could find somethin else.”

“Hmmm” You think about it for a moment before responding with a slight shrug of your shoulders—a movement that causes you to wince slightly, “I'm not picky. Whatever you want cowboy.” 

If only I could tell ya what I want darlin’

Taglist: @mermaidgirl30 @maried01

[jolalibrary]

met you once, saw you thrice

lucien flores x f!reader

summary: the first time, he kissed you. the second time, you found yourselves in a bathroom. the third time, well, the third time.

warnings: 18+ smut, fingering aka hands go inside underwear under a tree. not-friends to not-lovers. tension. lots of references to past debauchery. slight mention of lucien's sobriety. lots of plot for some sexy rewards. wc: 5.3k an: this is my submission to summer lovin', brought to you by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy. i got Lucien, and this gorgeous moodboard. im a touch nervous about this man as i usually need the source material to write, so be kind. huge thanks to @pedgito for hand holding and to my circle for lifting me when i kept falling.

You shouldn’t be here.

That’s what you think, hovering under the white canopy away from the sun, surrounded by expensive bottles of champagne chilling in silver buckets, their labels catching the flickering candlelight strategically placed around the sprawling garden.

Another bead falls down your glass, the ice in your drink melting. Thick rolls of condensation drip over your knuckles, along your hand, and down your wrist. Each one falls like rain, landing on the flowy skirt of your summer dress.

It's a new purchase, far too expensive, the label tucked inside, hidden away—pressing and cutting into your skin when you move—doing so each time you nod and over-pronounce a hello to those draped in designers and silk, while the grill sizzles and steams as more is added to it.

You shouldn’t be here because you don’t belong.

Not an actor, not someone on stage; not a writer or a producer. Not the girlfriend of one either. Just a friend of a friend—one ditched, left to ferment with the salad wilting in the warm temperatures as Smith flits between flirting with a waiter and the one he really wants.

You’re not sure why you let him convince you to come. Even as you take another sip, glancing at the time on your wrist, the free food and drink are slowly becoming less worth it. Assessing through sideward glances where the hand needs to be before you can dismiss the worries of being a bad friend and hail a cab.

Not that Smith would notice.

To him, you had completed your role, and earned your accolade in his eyes—the role of not allowing him to come to this alone. It would be criminal to do that. To let him arrive at a house tucked into acres, with Dom Perignon on tap and a grill larger than your kitchen.

You know you should be grateful Smith hadn’t traded you for his new friends. The ones who walk red carpets and call him Smithy. You suppose you should also be thankful he brings you so you can take home stories that make you not hate that you live in a studio apartment and work a 9 to 5.

It’s hard not to be bitter right now. On your own. Exhaling and staring around, wearing that plastered-on half-smile perfected from shitty customer service jobs.

Bringing your glass back to your lips, doing one last sweep before you sneak out, fighting the scent of split open apricots and pungent flowery perfume, you see him. Spot him. The crowd practically parting for him to come into view, creating a gap that would make a romantic swoon.

But, you’re no romantic—more thrillers and mysteries on your nightstand than meet cutes and midnight kisses. If anything, you’re more a cynic, a twisted-up, poisoned hater of hand-holding and Sunday mornings.

Especially when it comes to him.

Lucien Flores.

His name echoes around your skull in the same way it did when it was first introduced to you. Dropped to you, honeyed and elongated as though by stretching it out, you’d fall under some spell as he seated himself beside you—a deck of cards in hand.

Tipping the glass, your mouth fills with lemonade, holding his gaze—willing to do so until your eyes burn, until it feels impossible. All stubborn to a fault. Obstinate and arrogant.

You’re saved as a group moves in between the two of you—breaking it for you.

And you decide, rather quickly, it’s time to move—hoping the sight of your back will be enough for him not to press further.

You’re not counting—but he waits an hour.

Crosses the garden, where the tables have moved into standing groups around various points of the green. Some have stood to mingle, to mill around with their flutes and their tales of marriage, honours, and complaints once the grilling finished and the bubbles got to some of the louder women. Others begin the garden games, the ones which had no rules but also had some, as though the aim was to confuse rather than create fun.

Smith had returned between the salad being offered and the grilled steaks. A leaf between his fingers, he whispered he was going back to his tennis match. A twinkle in his eye, a kiss to your forehead, a promise there but one that never really seals itself or makes itself solid. Just confirms that your use was done—You don’t have to wait for me, pumpkin.

A nickname which had once made you smile and now just makes your heart lurch when you let go of his hand and watch him vanish into the house.

One person who hasn’t vanished is Lucien. It surprises you that he’s waited so long to make his approach. Almost as surprising as it is to see him, having heard rumours he’d landed a role in a movie—something British, remote, taking him overseas.

But he’s here. All brown eyes that attempt to drown you, pull you under—dig into you. You feel you should be used to them; they’ve been fixed on you for so long. Soaking you in deep chocolate, thick enough to make it feel like it’s hard to move, to fight it—akin to sludge, mud—as he begins to smirk as he nears.

And maybe he remembers too.

Able to recall a time similar to this. Not the first, but the second. When instead of barbecues and setting suns, it had been wine, cheese and a much later evening. Card games having caused outrage, shrieked words from a woman who should have been cut off a while ago, having caused you to slip out, escape to the first-floor bathroom. Finding he followed.

Don’t think about him—

The opposite sprouts so easily, you have to wonder what soil lives in your mind.

Because, of course, you had thought about it, about him. More than you should. Heat gliding up your neck now, making you shift your shoulders as the straps of your dress cut in, as you do. You think about how his lips felt on the juncture of your neck when you sit in conference calls, and how his hips had dipped before you felt his hardening cock slide over your covered ass. At night, you think about how it feels to have his thick fingers sliding open the button and zip of your pantsuit, how they’d slid inside your new lace undies and collected your slick to enjoy a taste.

The more you stopped yourself, the worse it became. Craving him when the moon was at its highest, hand delving between your thighs as you tried to replicate all the places he touched. Wanting, needing—desperately desiring until you arched from your sheets, sprinkled in sweat as you hissed his name out between gritted teeth.

That’s all you allow.

No second-glances passing newspaper stands when he makes the front page, no secret Google searches when you were frustrated and impossibly lonely. Knowing, and comprehending, that if you did, it would only lead to further disappointment. It would land you somewhere close to remembered disinterest, like those times when you’d found yourself sat across from charm and wit—making you disassociate when your palm rested on white linen with a candle flickering in the middle as you hoped, prayed, internally begged for a comment on how nice you’d looked.

Not again.

Never again.

So, you placed him where you suspected he had placed you. Out of sight, out of mind. Yours a box, right at the back of your mind—the lid sliding free when you needed release, and only then. It marked in thick Sharpie: a good time, even better cock, but comes with baggage.

It’s why you stand as he takes the final steps to you, your hand retrieving your glass, only to find it empty, drained, with only the little bits of fruit and a smidge of ice at the bottom. But his hands were not.

Extending one to you, one that looked close to the one you’d been enjoying—all mint leaves and lemon slices swimming in lemonade.

“What are the chances?”

You snort, taking a sip. “You’ve used that line.”

“Have I?”

“The last time.”

It’s his turn to snort. Staring. Looking you up and down in a soft drag that makes your stomach flip and your skin prickle with heat.

“Next you’ll tell me your name, tell me that you’re a movie star and that you’ve not seen me around.”

For a second, he gives you a silent stare, eyes speaking volumes that you couldn’t hear as he chews his tongue, and flicks his eyes from your chest back to your face once, twice. “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

Swallowing, wrapping a hand around your middle, you smile—cold, wickedly. “No.”

“S’that why you won’t look at me?”

You eye him, as he does you. Despising that he looks good—that it’s another silk shirt, slightly unbuttoned, similar gold chains hanging from his neck. Hating that he looks so broad, that you remember how it feels to have them spreading your legs, how his chest feels pressed to your back with his cock in your pussy.

Loathing that right now, as you will a quip, a response, your thigh remembers how his palm felt on it as he held it and speared into you. How much of a mess he made of you, that you’d come so hard you’d seen galaxies and not just stars.

“Never known you to be this qui—”

Scowling at him through your eyebrows, you slide your lips into your cheek and straighten your spine. “Do I still look nervous?”

Your pulse quickens as he takes another step closer. His aftershave smothers you. It’s wooden and earthy this time, it flooding your senses as blood hammers in your ears. Every muscle in your frame going taught, tight—so close to snapping that you expect with one breath you’d play a tune like a harp.

Scoffing, a roll of his eyes and he’s taking a long drink of his water—a pebble of it remaining on his lower lip, it commanding to be stared at, to be wiped, to be noticed and applauded like the rest of him as he replies no.

You’re quick not to react, to let pride flood your expression. Something warning you against it, telling you not to—especially when he places his bottle down. The sound echoes out in the quietness of the moment.

“You do look fucking miserable though.”

There it is. Expecting it, the doorway to show itself so he can use a line to cheer you up, to have you smiling, as though he’s a gift. His cock might be, not that you’ll admit it—not even if he begged, if he pleaded.

“Maybe that’s because this asshole keeps staring at me.”

“You think I’m an asshole?”

Eyes narrowing, head tilting to the side as you shrug. “I don’t think you’re not an asshole.”

Rolling his lips, pursing them, before they flatten into a line—hand stroking the hair along his chin, his jaw, he bathes in it, your insult. Let it simmer, cook, before clearing his throat. “Is that why you gave me a fake number?”

Your mouth falls open. Your eyes quickly widen—all cards gone, knocking the air out of your lungs as your heart slams into your stomach for different reasons as he sneers, and shakes his head.

“Enjoy your drink.”

“I—I…”

But, he’s already turned his back.

While a perfectly good exit window had cracked itself open for you, you don’t take it.

Even if it would have allowed you to bid the ache in the arch of your foot goodbye, slide out with the people moving into the house to avoid the chill and those making their own escape.

But, guilt gnawed, chewed. It there ruminating when you catch sight of his silk shirt between other guests. When the scent of his aftershave lingered in the air when you stepped inside to catch your breath from having to re-explain what it is you do to the same people you had done hours ago.

You know he’s presenting a chance to leave, yet your hand grabs another glass bottle of water, the lemon slice bobbing around as you venture down the lit path no one else seems to be trekking.

The one you know he escaped down earlier, seeing it after you’d heard some of them talking about him—the man who doesn’t settle, the one who’s clean but not really clean, the one who has talent and charm, and they wonder in their hushed voices if his cock is really as big as it’s rumoured.

It took all you had to bite back that it is, wanting to point out you’d discovered it in one of their new bathrooms only three months ago.

You pause when you reach the end of the path as it morphs into perfectly manicured grass. Feet sliding from your shoes as you grab the straps, wondering what you’re doing—cursing yourself as your chest heaves and presses roughly against the too-expensive fabric as you question all life choices.

Because you wouldn’t survive him.

A man too big for you, who wouldn’t fit in your world. There’d be no farmers markets and Chinese takeout boxes in bed; no quaint coffee shops and sharing of woes of the day. It would be unbalanced, wrong, awkward, in the same way, it would be if you let him step into your shoebox of an apartment and battle feeling smaller than you do when you’re alone.

Adventure, you think.

He’d said that the first time—when his fingers had wrapped around your wrist and tugged you further into someone's hedge you didn’t know. All green leaves and the scent of flowers sticking to your skin as his mouth pressed to yours. He’d repeated it in the bathroom, your palm flush to the white tiles above the sink—clawing at grout as he hissed it in your ear, filling you, making your mouth contort around a moan of his name as he dragged his cock in and out of your puffy, needy hole.

You suppose adventures are fleeting, not ever after.

Something momentary, nothing serious.

You wonder if he’s actually an adventure or if he just thinks he is. Whether he struggles to leave the fun of who he plays or whether it bleeds into him—a patchwork personality of who he’s had to morph into. It gives him the tools to be an escape, becoming a pause from the mundane, but nothing that stretches itself out passed an evening into the daytime.

When you spot him, your adventure has his phone in hand—spinning it, round and around. Lit cigarette between his lips, the tip burning, paper crisping.

“You seem like trouble.”

Lucien doesn’t turn, but he hears your announcement.

The phone pauses in its 180—it catching the light flickering in the tree above, making the leaves and branches more ominous than they do surrounded by the vivid oranges and reds of the sunset, all fiery intensity. As though the horizon itself had caught fire from the tension, the sun sinking slowly into it, leaving a trail of molten gold and crimson streaks.

“Trouble?” he asks, deep, guttural—caked in smoke and disbelief.

“Trouble.”

Taking another step closer, you stop close to his side. Handing him the bottle, feeling him take it as drop your shoes and stare in the same direction he is—taking in the shades as they deepen before the sun bids the day goodbye.

“That realisation come before or after you came on my cock?”

Nostrils flaring, you regret finding him almost instantly. Shame blooming, filling you from stomach to throat. “A-after.”

He makes a noise, and leaves you in the cold of his mood. To the point, you question again what it is you’re doing. Why you fucking care. Because you don’t. Not really. There’s nothing to know, to latch to—no feelings that could become anything more than a crush.

Incompatible, you think. Incompatible. Incompatible. Incompatible—

“You brought me water.”

His head turns, takes you in—and sweeps you in the familiar brown from earlier. And this time, you let it hang on your shoulders like a sweater. Let it warm you, and bring you comfort. Allow it to smother the shame and force it to seep away as he blows out rings of smoke.

It quickens in its retreat when he pushes off from the trunk, pocketing his phone—it stretching the pocket of his dark jeans as you will yourself not to stare at the bulge already there.

“I did.” It’s matter of fact, no further questions—head dipping, a tightness forming as you shake your head and exhale. “I… I just don’t think your sobriety is a joke.”

You feel his gaze snap to you as the words hang—stringing themselves together like twinkling lights. Unwilling again to meet him, wondering if he was thinking about it, that first time. When a sentence was said in response to a casual joke as the two of you hid out of view. It was made by someone you didn't know, at a party where people pretended to be friends when really they were trying to belittle one another, and Smith pretended he wasn’t in love with the older man he’s vying for.

His cigarette is almost out when you look at him, the lit end illuminating his face in some ways, and casted shadows in others. But, you could see his eyes searing—likely able to even in the darkest night. It etches into you as he takes another drag, as your nose tries to capture the scent of it, it so him, a thing which comes to you when you’re close from your own hand, blotched by it.

“Do you have a collection of silk shirts or something?” 

Smirking, blowing a smoke ring between the two of you. “Do you not like my shirts?”

Breathing, you fight saying I do. Not enjoying that you think of how they feel between your thighs when he'd spread you with his thumb when his tongue had licked from clit to hole and made you sob.

“They’re okay.” 

“Liar.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes. “Says you.”

“She miss me?” Stuffing the cigarette under his shoe, leaning the water against the base of the tree as his chains catch the light as he straightens. “Bet she’s missed me.”

“She?”

His lips curl, eyes flicking down to the place your thighs meet, before he hauls them back up.

And it’s instant, the way heat floods your cheek, pussy fluttering around nothing—remembering.

The noise is first, recalling whispering sweet nothings as he slid inside you in one thrust. Next is the feel of him, the stretch, how impossible it had felt as he kept going, and going, until those fingers, thick and dexterous slid over your swollen nerves. Then, there’s the aftershave, the same as he’s wearing tonight. How it mixed with smoke and liquor, and roses and expensive hand soap—

“D-don’t flatter yourself.”

But you swallow, give it away. Shaky on two legs as you try to look unfazed.

Because you’re pulsing between your legs, starving, aching. Trying to blink back memories of his tongue, of his thigh, or his crooked smile in the mirror as he repeated your name, over and over, like it held weight—like it lived on his tongue and in his mind—

“Parched, are you?”

“Parched?” you hiss. “Who the fuck even are you? Who the fuck says parched—”

Snorting harshly, leaning in his stance as he shrugs, “Oh, you know who I am. I’m baby, baby, right there, baby, I’m gonna come, Luci—”

In a step, your chest is flush with his—hands steadying you on your hips as your palm flattens to his words. You’re aware of him smirking, gloating, right against your skin; feeling the wiry hair around his mouth scratching at you, the same one that left your skin raw and irritated from lapping up the taste of you both before sending you back out to smile.

Lowering your hand, you become conscious of how close you are and how his fingers spread out, holding you tighter, keeping you pinned against him as you descend into his web all over again. Embers spreading out, electricity pulsing out from where his fingers touch you over your dress, as your body recognises, identifies.

“I’m trying not to be an asshole.”

“Is that what you’re doing…”

His hand reaches up, stroking your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip as you take in a deep breath. “Tell me you don’t want me to make you come.”

You should. But, you don’t.

Instead, you close your mouth around his thumb, swirling the tip of it with your tongue as he grunts, right in the back of his throat before he slips it out with a pop. A second brews, and then another before his mouth crashes to yours, all impatient, hungry—rough. Lips parting for him as you feel him lick into your mouth, tasting cigarettes and lemon, at the same time as your back meets bark.

And you’re desperate, yearning.

Tugging him close, palms sliding over silk as you make a note that it’s softer than the faux-paint-splattered one. More velvety, smooth. Hooking your hands around the back of his neck as you pull him closer, practically feeling each breath as coolness slides up your leg, the heel of his hand gliding behind as he bunches the fabric in his hand, his jean-covered thigh coming up between yours as you hiss into his mouth at the contact. Lost in it, in him.

In how intoxicating he is, how wrong it is, clawing at him to come closer, to touch you, whining as he teases you by rocking his knee and slides his palm to cup your breast through your dress. Thumb expertly hardening your nipple, tongue lathing over a spot on your neck that has you keening.

You forget, for a moment, blissfully allow yourself to until he’s pulling at it—tugging at the label as you try to pull his face up.

“Shit, Lucien, no.”

He grunts. Not mockingly, but not full of surprise either. “Planning on returning this?”

Clenching your teeth, you take a breath—needing air to fill your brain to help you think. To ignore the way your lips are swollen and your underwear is already soaked and pressing to his thick thigh.

“Yes.”

“You look too fuckin’ good in this dress to return it.”

“Well unless you’re going to buy it, I have no other choice—”

“I’ll buy it.”

“No you fucking won’t.”

Because it would be wrong.

More than an exchange of your body, more than a mutual appreciation and hunger and need. It would be a gift. A something more. A thing that would fester in your closet and make you hope when you see it, make you dream when your finger slides over the fabric.

“Lucien.”

His fingers drop it, let it hang—the tag. Both your embarrassment and the price of it, just there, as his lips slide down your jaw.

“You won’t want to return it. You’ll want to see it hung in your closet—bury your fingers in your underwear as you stare at it, thinking of this.” Teeth grazing over your pulse, tongue swirling a signature you suspect is his own. “You’ll think of me when you stick that toy in your pussy, wishing it was me, turn it on right between your perfect fucking thighs and—”

You blame his fingers ghosting over your upper thigh for what you let escape, let slip free. “Already think of you.”

Pausing, his shoulders bow—somehow becoming even broader before his head comes up from his place buried in your neck. You see it, words, kindness—a bunch of things he could likely reel off that would make you ruin the wet patch on your gusset even wider.

But he ingests them, consumes them like they never existed. A different offered kindness, you suppose—as though he knows, can see, and begins to understand.

“Be rude of me not to say hi to her then.”

“Why do you…”

His thumb hooks into one side of your underwear, dragging it from its place. Aware of it, the way he’s gentle in shifting the fabric down, handing you the bunched-up dress with a pointed stare, before he’s teasing your lace from between your slick, soaked core. Tugging it down your thighs, eyes not breaking from yours, exhaling as he licks his lips at the sight of you bare to him in the middle of someone's fucking garden.

“Lift?”

And you do, without question. Taking a deep inhale in, closing your eyes, hand covering your face as you lift one foot, then the other.

Finding him staring when you look down. Ogling. Admiring you like what is there between your thighs is some art piece, an exhibit, a thing he’d queue for—as he pockets your panties.

“I’m keeping these.”

“Lucien…”

His hand urging yours to take the balled-up fabric of your dress as he rises, places kisses on your outer thighs, dragging his face slowly up your frame—breath fanning out, somehow feeling it under your layers.

“I’m. Keeping. Them.”

You swallow, silently surrendering. Back of your head flat against the tree as his hands nudge your thighs to part.

“Gorgeous.” He whispers. “You’re so gorgeous—prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

A protest readying, but stolen as one of his thick fingers slides over and through your folds. Knowing you, understanding you. Standing as he drags your slick to your desperate, swollen clit, swirling it, massaging it as you hiccup his name and forget all about his compliment and chase his lips instead. Instead, your hips move on instinct, desiring—determined to find more friction even as he just slowly draws a circle.

You know he’s grinning. Cockily. Frame pressing to you as you feel his hard cock against your thigh—hips keeping you pinned. Fixed.

“You want my fingers? Let me give you my fingers, baby.”

Nodding, fingers tangling in his curls you say it, more in a whisper, something close to a whine: yes, please, yes—

Aware of the heaviness in the air, how thick it feels, even in the breeze. In the same way, you’re aware of the way he breathes good girl. It makes you shudder, yearn, more so when he slides his fingers down from your clit and works two into you.

You gasp. Almost crying out. Unable to stop yourself when he curls them inside of you, bearing down on him, squeezing him, hand releasing your dress as your fingers grip his forearm.

“Want me to stop?”

Shaking your head, no, no, no—

“Good,” he breathes, kissing the side of your mouth. “She’s the best pussy I’ve ever had my fingers in.”

You almost hiss your bet that he says that to all the girls. But, your teeth grit. Not wanting him to stop. Not as your head tilts, eyes opening to see the navy blue smothering burnt orange, blurring the afternoon into the night through your lashes. Shh, he coaxes, as your nails dig into the bark, as he finds that spot inside of you that makes you dizzy, makes you pant. He works it, makes you roll your hips and his palm catches your clit in teased movements—

“Feel so good clenching down on me.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs, and buries it right into your neck as he nips, as he grazes his teeth over your skin. “You tell me one thing but she’s giving you away, baby. Telling me all your secrets.”

Your hand tightens around the fabric in your palm, mouth falling open, paused around words that won’t appear—

“Said you’d tried to make your fingers feel like mine. But they just, wouldn’t, do.”

Each word is punctuated by his fingers fucking into you, crooked, making you messier, wetter, hearing the evidence of it, all filthy, obscene. Enough to get you barred from one of these events again.

Good you almost think, until his mouth slants over yours. Then, it’s bad. Very bad. Each flick of his wrist, and curve of his fingers solidifies it. How bad it would be to lose this, to lose him. The man who has your vision spotting, darkening in the corners.

“Fuck me, Lucien. Please—”

“Not tonight.”

Blinking, hearing it over and over: not tonight, not tonight, not tonight. Your body is lit, more electric than skin and muscle. Thrumming, vibrating bone against blood as he drags his moistened lips against your cheek.

“That’s it. Give it to me, can feel you squeezin’. I know you’re close, baby. So, soak my fingers, want you to stain them, make—”

You come somewhere amid his sentence—right when he kisses you properly. When he presses his vulgar words to your mouth and curls his fingers to meet that spot that has you arching, tensing and chasing. It’s maddening, and everything else before that. Hitting you, and exploding out—something like liquid fire erupting through you as you bear down on his fingers. Each cry and whine muffled by his mouth, by his tongue licking past your teeth and his hips being flush to yours. Pinning.

Because he doesn’t slow or stop even as you tremble. Not doing so until you’re gasping, frayed, all shaking nerves and splintered edges. Lucien swallows each heaved and hissed version of his name until you’re nudging him with your forehead, face scrunching, fingers pushing on his forearm until he retracts.

And, like it does in the movies, your dress falls back down into place. Creased, likely ruined. But nonetheless perfect to anyone who may glance.

Not that you care. Not as you chase normal breaths, as you blink and he comes back into vision, all ridiculously handsome and wide, brown eyes.

Because he’s watching you, seeing his lips curl into his cheek, fingers being brought to his mouth before he wraps his tongue around them. Licks and sucks you clean from them—

It makes you breathe heavier. Want more.

Even on shaky legs, you take a step closer to be flush to him. Arms sliding around his neck, finding your mouth glues back to his as though it should be there. Tasting yourself now, discerning it from the other things he’s enjoyed tonight.

“You do make me nervous when you stare.”

He gives a short laugh, hand on the back of your neck, tugging you back so he can stare into your soul. Something there. Something hurt that has healed all wrong, left things poisoned and rotten as you.

“You know I’m too fucked to be anyone’s anything, right?”

You smile, fingers teasing the hair on the back of his neck. Swallowing, seeing it shift back—the usualness of the two of you.

“See, this is where I think you’re an asshole.”

“For being honest?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head—lips ghosting over his. “Because I think you’re a liar. I think you’d kill to be something, never mind an anything.”

Smirking, but you suspect he stops it from being a smile. Offering silence, instead of a lie—a thing that’ll hurt and sting.

“You going to keep the dress?”

Shrugging, offering a roll of your eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

“You think I could have your number now?”

Biting your lip, you tug on a particular curl. Hearing a dull yelp, watch him narrow his eyes. “I think you can have an email address and take it from there.”

Snorting, he tilts his head back as the both of you hear a commotion from the other end of the garden. Private time likely ending, his name called out in confusion by the same high-pitched voices you’re sure were comparing his inch size earlier.

“I fucking hate these things.”

“Yet you come to them every time,” you reply.

And then his head moves; stares at your side profile as you pretend not to notice. “So do you.”

So you do, you think.

hope you enjoyed! this was so much fun, and also so scary. but i did it, wahayyy. now, i should admit, i may have fallen for him...

npt's [added from the liked post]: @yorksgirl @maggiemayhemnj @janaispunk @sawymredfox @angiewatson

@survivingandenduring @saradika @purplerain04

[testrella]

CRAZY RICH ASIANS..! G. SATORU X READER

𝜗𝜚 | CHAPTER THREE : just..friends!

NEXT… CHAPTER FOUR : tutoring.

gojo was reclined on his couch, legs sprawled out everywhere. the comfort of his own home at 17 was a luxury not anybody could afford. yet, it was gifted to him by his grandma on his 16th birthday. a 32 acre estate mansion designed by switzerland’s best architect. a blend of traditional japanese and a mix of modern luxury. despite the mansion being large enough to home a village, it was only filled with servants, gojo and silence.

which is why his father thought it was a great idea to have him take on a responsibility, a quite immense responsibility. 

“who the hell are you?”

gojo glances up from his phone and looks for what voice peeped from the entrance of the lounge room. the large dark oak doors were fully opened yet from his peripheral vision, there was no one there. that was until he looked down at a young boy.

his jet black hair, fair skin and green eyes stood out from any other kid has ever laid his eyes on. a shiver runs down gojo’s spine and goosebumps slowly form on his forearms as he continues to stare at the young boy.

“satoru,” his father’s voice echoed from the hallway, slowly becoming more apparent as he got closer. “this is megumi fushiguro, he will be staying with you from now on.”

the young white haired male’s jaw drops to the very floor as he repeated the last name out loud, “..fushiguro?” he glances at the boy then back at his father before raising an eyebrow, “and why is that?” there was no curiosity in his tone, just genuine concern. 

his father opens his mouth to respond before shutting it as megumi turns around to face him, seeming to have the exact same question. why is he staying with 17 year old gojo satoru?

“his father has..business to take care of. it required him to leave for a certain period of time so i’ve agreed to take him in.”

the explanation was typical; vague and left no room for any further questions. gojo knew better than to further poke the sleeping bear and just nod in agreement. but even though he answered gojo’s question, his eyes told a different answer. there was no doubt the boy’s father got into some trouble and was taken out for good.

gojo shrugged the lingering thoughts away before making his way to megumi. he knelt down to megumi’s height, to come off as less intimidating, and patted his head. “megumi, right? i’m satoru, looks like we’re gonna be roommates for a while.”

“i am not sharing a room with you.” megumi spat out while clutching onto a small dog plushie. even if he tried to come off as fearless, gojo couldn’t help but notice the way he was violently shaking. 

he chuckles at megumi before pulling him into a tight and unwarranted hug. “sure man, whatever you say goes.”

the busy streets of tokyo were alive every night, capturing the life of the city and its residents. honking horns, distant chatter, and the same rhythmic footsteps of busy people wanting to get from point A to point B. gojo suggested the two shopping the day after the party, which clearly irritated megumi.

“do we really have to go shopping during rush hour?” megumi grumbled and shoving his hands into his pockets. “i have better things to do.” 

satoru only chuckled at the angsty teen’s behavior. he watched megumi grow from a know it all toddler to a slumped moody teenager. “oh come on megumi! i’ve been meaning to buy you something nice. besides, it’s not like you actually have friends to hang out with.”  

megumi shoots him a glare, “i do have friends, and i could have plans that only involved myself.”

“like what? brooding in your room all day?” gojo teased, ruffling megumi’s hair before he slapped his hand away.

as they entered a high end luxury store, gojo’s attention was immediately caught by a limited edition pair of sneakers. he nudged megumi towards the display before picking it up and carefully inspecting it. “what do you think megumi? these would look great on you!” 

megumi barely glances at the shoe before mumbling a response, “they’re fine i guess. can we get them and go home now?” irritation was written all over the poor boy’s face. 

gojo was able to immediately pick up the teen’s attitude towards him. he rolled his eyes at the moody behavior, “you’re in a mood today. something bothering you?” 

“i don’t know… maybe it's the fact you're texting my teacher and asking her out for dinner again!” he whispered-yelled in the middle of the store.

gojo clicks his tongue. “ah, so that’s what this is about huh?” he said with a stupid smile plastered on his face, “well i happen to think miss. l/n is a lovely person to be around. she’s humble, intelligent and she seems to talk to me like a normal person. she’d be a wonderful friend!”

megumi scoffs and crosses his arms across his chest, “you’re not fooling anyone, you know there’s more to it!”

gojo leaned slightly towards megumi with a slight mischievous look in his eyes, “it’s refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t obsessed with the whole gojo clan nonsense. she’s not stiff and never talks about business.” he leans further into megumi’s personal space, “but you seem to be real caught up on this. are you jealous..?!”

megumi’s face flushed in a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. “i am not jealous! i just don’t think it’s appropriate for you to make plans with my teacher. it’s  weird..” he mumbled the last sentence. 

gojo raises his hand to scratch his chin and pretends he’s in deep thought. “hm, well if it makes you that uncomfortable then i suppose i have no choice but to cut contact.”

“r-really?! you’ve decided that quick?” 

“of course,” gojo said, ruffling his hair once again. “you’re more important to me than making a new friend.”

a small pang of guilt hit megumi’s chest, and his expression softened. “i mean, you don’t have to stop being her friend. just..stop trying to invite her to private dinners.”

“deal!” gojo says with a wide grin, “now, let’s go find some shoes you’ll actually like.” despite megumi’s outburst, he knew he cared for him in his own way. no matter how many times gojo has been a victim of megumi’s prickly demeanor, he would still let him have his way.

the duo exits out the store, with gojo swinging multiple bags over his back, into the bustling streets. the both continued to have a quiet conversation about tonight’s dinner options. just as they turned the corner, a small figure collided with him, again. 

“ah, miss. l/n!” gojo exclaimed, caught completely off guard. standing before them was today’s topic of discussion dressed casually with a few bags in her hand. 

“megumi, mr.gojo! what a lovely surprise to see you two here.” you smiled.

gojo cleared his throat, trying to regain any composure he had left “y-yes, quite a surprise indeed! we were, uh, out shopping for new shoes for megumi.” he tried to reach over to pat megumi’s shoulder, with his eyes on remaining on you, and ends up patting his face.

you glance at the multiple bags being held by gojo, “seems like you guys found something nice.”

“yeah thanks to this idiot.” megumi muttered before swaying gojo’s hand out his face, “he insisted i get new shoes.” 

“well, it was nice seeing you both.” you replied. “i’m actually on my way to a movie. i’ve been meaning to watch the new action movie that recently came out.” 

gojo’s eyes light up at the mention of the film, “oh really?! we were just about to grab something to eat but a movie sounds even better! right megumi?” he glances back at the teenager who seemed to be absolutely mortified by the sudden turn of events. 

“uh, sure but we really shouldn’t intrude-”

“don't be ridiculous!” gojo chuckled before turning to you, “we’d love to join you if that’s okay with you miss. l/n. tickets and snacks on me!” 

you laughed softly at the man’s eagerness, “i don’t mind at all, some company would be nice.” 

megumi gave gojo a “what are you doing?!” look but he was too infatuated with you to even notice. 

as they made their way to the theaters, gojo makes an attempt to make conversation to fill in the comfortable silence. but his nerves seem to hate him.

“s-so, miss. l/n.” gojo’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat before attempting again. “i hear that the, uh, curriculum changed throughout the year. i-is it difficult for you? but i mean i wouldn't be surprised if not since someone like you is capable of handling it well..”

you smiled kindly despite being confused at his sudden awkwardness, “it’s just an adjustment. i’m fine as long as the students are.” 

megumi sighed before yanking gojo aside and whispering, “ please stop, you’re embarrassing yourself. can we just-”

“relax megumi, i’m just trying to make conversation.” gojo said while nervously chuckling.

when they reached the ticket counter, gojo confidently stepped in front of both of them. “three adult tickets please, i’ll be paying.”

the young cashier smiled, “sure thing. i’ll be sure to add on tonight's family discount.” she prints out the tickets and hands them over to gojo. “enjoy the movie and your family night out!”

both megumi and gojo froze, processing her words while you chuckled at the misunderstanding.

“we’re not-” megumi started but was quickly cut off. 

“thank you and we will!” gojo said before snatching megumi by his collar. 

as they entered the theater, megumi gave gojo a stern look before muttering “did you seriously go along with that?!” 

gojo only laughed at megumi’s response to the situation. “why not? it’s kind of nice to be seen as a family, don’t you think?” he turned to you, waiting for your approval. 

your eyes softened towards megumi, “the two of you certainly give off the dynamic of a family. it’s cute to see.”

the theater’s lights start to dim and the chatter that was once there starts being hushed. gojo, being sat in between megumi and you, couldn’t help but keep up his playful demeanor. whenever a dramatized scene came on, he would whisper in your ear witty but funny remarks on it. all megumi heard were giggles coming from his teacher, and being caused by his mentor. 

it was annoying enough to see gojo play his classic playboy persona in front of his teacher. that was what he thought until he further inspected him. despite the horrible lighting, he noticed the subtle signs of nervousness.like the way gojo would lightly tap his fingers on the shared armrest, how he would stumble over his words, or the way he constantly looked over at you as if he seeked approval.

no matter how much of a distraction the both of you were, he couldn’t help but find amusement in watching the two of you. it was a rare sight to see gojo, the overly confident playboy, be genuinely flustered. for once, he decided to let gojo’s antics slide. 

once the credits rolled, megumi leaned into gojo’s ear. “you owe me for this.”

and before gojo could question what he meant by that, he sees him turn his attention onto you. “miss. l/n, i’m actually having trouble adjusting to the curriculum you mentioned earlier. would it be okay if you could tutor me at gojo’s house? he’ll pay you!”

and being the dedicated teacher you are, you respond with genuine concern in your tone. “of course! why didn’t you say anything sooner?!” 

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[lunarcovehq]

Prescott "Scott" Reese is a witch that currently resides in Echo Acres and has been a Lunar Cove resident all his life.

ITS THE END OF THE WORLD

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Male, He/Him

DATE OF BIRTH: March 30, 1987

OCCUPATION: Owner of PC Barleys

FACECLAIM: Jesse Williams

AS WE KNOW IT, AND I FEEL FINE

SPECIES: Witch

INHERENT ABILITIES: Botanical Communication, Omnilingual, Water Manipulation

COVEN POSITION: Member

COVEN ABILITY: Healing

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, PRESCOTT REESE

Trigger Warnings: bloodletting, maternal death, broken engagement

The dynamic in the Reese house was never typical, nor was it conducive to anything resembling a happy childhood. Given that both of his parents, Crispin and Cordelia Reece, were witches, Prescott was never believed to be anything else. Given that his mother was the more ambitious and powerful of his two parents, and his father had grown resentful of her inherent abilities and the ways he perceived they made her better by the time Scott was old enough to perceive anything, no one really knew how their kids would shake out.  Plus, he had the example of Crispin staying with his mother because he hoped, somehow, she could elevate him.  It was an odd sort of power play that never really worked or resulted in more power. 

  When Scott’s inherent abilities began coming to light, he was a blend of both his parents.  Things his dad thought were mostly useless – botanical communication and omnilingual abilities – were the first to appear.  There was no evidence Scott shared his mother’s eidetic memory or duplication talents.  Although Crispin seemed relieved, he had Scott bracing to be a disappointment almost immediately.  It’s the reason he worked for perfect grades, followed rules, stayed out of trouble, and put enormous pressure on himself since the beginning of time. It’s the reason Scott actively strives to hide the fact he’s terrible at potions from his father, even as an adult. He doesn’t crave approval the way he once did, but it’s just easier not to have daily conversations front-loaded with self-deprecation.

  The thing they never talk about, under any circumstances, is that Scott shares one ability with his mother: water manipulation.  He uses it in his favor, combined with ability for botanical communication, to ensure his brewery is a success.  He grows his own grain to brew or distill from and, through his fastidious attention to detail, it’s widely well-regarded, allowing him to have a successful home-grown distribution operation to as many of the bars and restaurants in town as are interested.  But absolutely all of it started as a way to mask the fact that he can’t mix a potion to save his life.  He can secure high-quality ingredients, but he can’t mix them.   It was quickly apparent when he joined the coven, at least to him, and he’s pretty sure he’s been successful at hiding it by trusting his more capable friends without admitting to his reasoning.  He’s not above a little flattery to get his way.  But it all comes down to one thing: he limits his use of this inherent ability to only something he can gain, because he’s absolutely terrified of what it will do if it gets out of control or if he flirts with something darker.  After all, he saw what happened to his mother when it killed her.  He doesn’t particularly want to carry that sort of generational experience forward.  

  The other thing he and his father never talk about is what happened the night his mother died.  It wasn’t exactly altruistic, trying to save his younger sibling who was bleeding following a car accident.  With no healing ability between them, Cordelia lent herself to dark magic just to see if she could do it.  He suspected it wasn’t the first time, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to say anything as he watched it all play out.  Yes, it saved his sibling, but the consequence for her ambition was swift – she died a grisly death in front of her husband and two young children.  Prescott remembers it well enough for all of them, even if the memories are slanted with the odd and inaccurate perspective of youth.  He mainly remembers being terrified, and then all but shunned by his father.  He’s come to believe Crispin’s perspective on it all is a toxic, masculine insecurity that he couldn’t help, wasn’t powerful enough, was too afraid to try.  Regardless of the particulars, what it meant was Scott’s family fractured and has never recovered.  While what happened is either not a secret, or is at best a poorly concealed one, it’s definitely not something they ever discuss. 

  It prompted him to look outside his family for close ties, throwing himself at any available relationship for comfort.  The only thing stable about his high school, then college, self was who the baseline he found in her.  (He can’t bring himself to think of her name, but that’s a whole other conversation.)  Though they certainly weren’t perfect, they were consistent in their inconsistency.  He always figured the details were rooted mostly in their joint fears – of growing up, overarching themes of growing up to be insufficient or lacking somehow, of being alone.  As long as they had each other, they weren’t alone and eventually it became something more steady.  

  He’d always planned on leaving Lunar Cove for college, but the best offer he’d gotten was close to home.  That all changed with graduate school offers and he seriously considered going away, but he wasn’t brave enough to do it alone.  He didn’t really want to.  In spite of being young, he proposed and it somehow didn’t seem like a terrible idea.  In fact, he was really excited about his future. 

  Of course, it crumbled.  By the time he left for school as planned, he did it alone and while he studied hard, he also didn’t hold back, cutting loose for the first time in his life now that his father wasn’t there to look over his shoulder. 

  He returned to Lunar Cove willingly enough, appreciating it for the security it provided.  He’d started brewing beer in his bathtub during grad school, upgrading when he moved back to kegging.  He began distributing on a whim, and once he realized he had plenty of hours to fill, he started figuring out how to distill liquor, too.  For all he lacks in potions ability, he’s got the brewing and distilling down to a science, and it’s busy enough he isn’t bored.  Plus he’s just starting to dabble in grape growing and wine making.  It’s enough to keep him busy, plus he’s more active with the coven these days than he was even as a young adult.  With all the chaos happening recently, he has a feeling that’s the best place for him.  It feels less precarious than being completely on his own, though.  

  At least here, he can openly discuss and debate topics like light versus dark magic and examine how dark magic affects more than just himself or his family.  He can focus all his energy into studying that, however unstructured the study is, and it seems like the next step.  He could never really do that outside of Lunar Cove, though, so it might be part of what drew him back.  It’s certainly not his father, who still resides in the same house as always.  It’s certainly not his ex-everything, who he almost lives in fear of seeing and has managed to avoid by living on outskirts and making a farm where he spends most of his time.  He just has to hope it’s the fight against dark magic that drew him back years ago and not something worse lurking around the corner.   

[strayrockette]

A Daughter Who Loves

A Daughters Letter

Masterlist

A/N: I can’t believe I’m finally knocking this one out of my drafts! I’m so happy to no longer see it sitting there taunting me to finish it😂 hope you guys enjoy ❤️please comment, like and reblog❤️

Summary: Takes place a couple years after the initial meeting with the unnamed soldier. You’ve found a new life for yourself far away from the unresolved trauma and issues of your past.

Dearest Father,

I used to love you. I still love you. But if news got around that you were dead, it wouldn't hurt as much as losing Mother. The worst part about loving you...is knowing that we'll never be a true family.

Despite it all, I must thank you.

-

The pen stilled in her hand. For the first time in years, her mind had failed to slather seething words upon the awaiting canvas. Y/N’s eyes drifted to the open window of the study.

The study was a room of serene contradiction, a place where history and modernity danced together. Heavy oak bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that whispered of the past. A large, mahogany desk sat in the center, its surface cluttered with papers, a brass inkstand, and a small, framed photograph of her and Thomas Shelby. The rich, dark wood contrasted sharply with the lighter tones of the pale, floral wallpaper, giving the room an air of understated elegance.

Through the tall, arched windows, the view of Arrow House's sprawling grounds unfolded in tranquil splendor. The vast acre of land stretched out like a lush green carpet, dotted here and there with the vibrant colors of blooming flowers. The manicured lawns seemed to reach out to the horizon, framed by clusters of ancient oak and chestnut trees. A winding gravel path meandered through the grounds, leading to a quaint stone bridge over a gentle brook. The distant hum of life from the village beyond was faint, almost like an afterthought, allowing the peaceful solitude of the estate to take center stage.

The study’s window was open just enough to let in a fresh breeze that rustled the heavy, velvet drapes. The scent of earth and flowers mingled with the cool air, creating a soothing atmosphere. It was in this moment of calm that Y/N found her thoughts drifting back to her father, whose presence was now as distant as the last whisper of the city’s bustling streets.

The room was silent except for the occasional chirping of birds and the distant chime of the grandfather clock in the hallway, marking the passage of time with a gentle, rhythmic insistence. Y/N's gaze lingered on the horizon, her mind grappling with the complexities of her feelings. The serenity of the estate contrasted sharply with the turbulent emotions that swirled within her, a reminder of the painful distance between the past and the present.

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her emotions lift slightly with the breeze. For now, the letter remained unfinished, an echo of her unresolved feelings. But in this moment of stillness, she found a semblance of peace in the quiet beauty of the land outside.

Her husband, Thomas Shelby, entered the study with the quiet confidence that was uniquely his. The door swung open just enough to admit his tall frame, and his eyes, sharp and calculating as ever, softened when they fell upon her. He crossed the room with his usual deliberate stride, his polished black shoes making a subtle, almost reverent sound on the wooden floor.

Y/N, lost in the tranquil view from the window, had been sitting in the study for a while. Her thoughts had wandered to a time long past, a time when her life had intersected with the Shelby brothers.

Thomas’s presence was a welcome interruption, though it took her a moment to shift her attention from the peaceful scenery to him. He placed a warm, familiar hand on her shoulder, a touch that carried the weight of his love and the assurance of his support. His voice, though low and steady, held a note of playful affection as he spoke. “Love, are you planning on joining us for dinner with the family tonight?”

His words were like a lifeline to the present, pulling her from the swirl of past grievances and into the here and now. She looked up at him, her lips curving into a faint, mischievous smile.

“Dinner with the Shelby clan?” she teased, her eyes twinkling with a mix of affection and amusement. “Is that the same family that turns every meal into a battleground? I’m surprised they’re all in the same room at once. Last I heard, you lot were still debating over who got first dibs on my chocolate chip cookies.”

Thomas chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound that seemed to resonate with the room’s deep, warm tones. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing her ear as he spoke. “It’s not quite a battleground, though it can be lively. But I promise, it’s not all chaos. We have a few moments of civility before it all kicks off.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and unburdened. “Well, in that case, I suppose I can brave the family dinner. Someone has to keep you all in line.”

Thomas’s gaze softened, and he gently squeezed her shoulder before releasing her. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to face them alone.”

As he turned to leave, Y/N watched him go, feeling a renewed sense of connection to the life she was building with him. The letter and the unresolved emotions of the past seemed to drift away, if only for a moment, replaced by the comforting reality of the present and the anticipation of a shared future.

She returned her gaze to the window, the sprawling grounds of Arrow House now seeming even more serene in the quiet aftermath of their conversation. The promise of a lively family dinner ahead brought a new layer of anticipation to her day, a reminder of the vibrant life she was now a part of.

In her reflective mood, Y/N thought back to her time as a nurse during World War I, when her path had first crossed with the Shelby brothers. It felt like a lifetime ago, those days spent tending to the wounded in a makeshift field hospital. Each brother had come through her care, their lives touched by the trauma of war. Thomas, Arthur, and John—each had been a different story, each had left a mark on her heart.

She remembered the late nights spent in the dimly lit wards, the quiet conversations that had unfolded amidst the beeping of machines and the rustling of sheets. Thomas had been the most reserved, his eyes betraying the weight of his experiences even as he tried to mask it with a veneer of stoic bravery. Arthur had been volatile, his wounds reflecting the turmoil within, while John had been more approachable, his easy smile a rare comfort in those dark times.

Y/N had tended to their injuries with a professionalism that masked her own fears and uncertainties. In the midst of the chaos, she had been a silent witness to their struggles and their unspoken camaraderie. The war had been a crucible that tested their mettle, and she had seen firsthand the bonds that had formed between them, forged in the fires of adversity.

As she sat in the study, the weight of those memories mingled with the serene beauty of the present. The sprawling grounds of Arrow House, with its manicured lawns and distant trees, seemed like a world apart from the grim reality of the wartime hospital. Yet, it was here, in this peaceful setting, that she had found a new chapter in her life.

The juxtaposition of past and present was not lost on her. She had moved from the sterile, oppressive environment of wartime care to the warm, welcoming embrace of her new life with Thomas. The contrast was stark, yet she embraced it with a sense of gratitude and acceptance. The Shelby family, for all their complexity and dysfunction, had become a part of her world, and she had become a part of theirs.

As Y/N glanced once more at the window, the promise of the evening’s dinner seemed to symbolize more than just a family gathering. It was a testament to the journey she had undertaken, a journey that had brought her from the battlefields of war to the hearth of Arrow House. The anticipation of the dinner ahead was a reminder of the new beginnings and the connections she had forged along the way.

Dearest Father,

The man I love has given me much more than I anticipated. I no longer ache at the thought of what could have been for my former family. I no longer wonder and question if I have a place in the world. Because I have found it beside the one man who has yet to let me down.

My heart is filled with love and warmth I have never felt. My days are spent basking in affection and care that you were unable to give. I am…happier than ever.

But I wish you were here, to see the women I have become. To know that, I am loved and cared for.

Sincerely,

A daughter who no longer grieves you.

_

tag list: @mysticalpandora @ultimatreality @lovecleastrange @watercolorskyy @rockerchick05 @lyarr24

[littlemisskookie]

Crocodile Tears: Chapter 2

Crocodile Tears: Index  Ship: Stoner!Reader | Stoner!BTS  Description: You accidentally eat brownies with aphrodisiacs in them. Even worse one of your asshole friends catch you reading smut to cope, and decides to airdrop your collection of your dirtiest fantasies to the rest of the house. Just your luck. Warnings: Dub-Con, Degradation, Humiliation, Dom!Taehyung, Sub!Reader, A/B/O Roleplay, Choking, Headlock/Chokehold, Slapping, High Sex, Intercourse, Primal Play, Outdoor Sex, Kinkshaming?, Overstimulation, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Oral, Blowjob, Deepthroating, Edging, Really just PWP, Also Praise Kink somehow?,Taehyung has a ridiculously big penis, Taehyung is SUPER mean, like, very sadistic, lots of ABO names used a lot so if you don’t like that skip, Weed Word Count: 6,197 A/N: sorry for the wait. Here’s this!

You stepped out of the bathroom after cleaning yourself up, praying to god no one could smell the sin coming off you in waves. Jungkook provided no comfort, either, only giving a teasing grin as you stepped out. "Looking kinda wobbly, Y/N."

"Don't tease me," you hissed, trying to ignore the echoes of pleasure still residing in the pit of your stomach. Your hands roamed over your neck, faintly tracing at the marks Jungkook had left. You couldn't bear to stare at them any longer in the mirror, but one look at you and everyone would see what you were up to. "How am I going to hide these from the others?"

Jungkook shrugged. "Don't really see a point, honestly." You glared up at him, his lack of concern for your situation irritating you. A whining beep emitted from the laundry room you were previously in, and Jungkook's on the move. "I've got an idea."

Jungkook came back with an oversized hoodies, probably one of Namjoon's, straight from the dryer. You beamed up at him, grateful, reaching out to get it. He held it away from you, however, a sly tug at the corner of his lips as he stared down at you. "Nah ah, give me a kiss first."

You flushed at his words, quickly rising to your toes to reach him for a kiss, yanking the hoodie for your own as soon as your lips meet Jungkook's. He doesn't let it remain short, however, leaning into you and pulling you against him to kiss you deeper. He hums against your mouth, only pulling back when he felt you were wanting a bit more. "You wanting to smoke again?"

You're yanking the toasty fabric over your head as you contemplate the question. Jungkook had fucked one high out of you to replace it with another. Truth be told, though, you were still too anxious to return to the living room where the majority of the guys would be. You still couldn't face the predicament you were put in, and who knew what the afterglow you emanated would reveal to them. You couldn't risk it. "Do you know where I can find any? I don't want to be a bother to the other guys."

There seemed to be a knowing glint in Jungkook's eyes when you say that. "I think there's a bong on the back porch. Why don't you check over there?"

You were surprised that Jungkook didn't insist on coming with you, but figured you needed the break. Being around Jungkook was intense enough as it is, and you didn't want anyone to be able to tell right now that you two had fucked. Guys typically paid attention to that sort of thing, and with your different clothes and mussed up hair you were basically begging to be teased- in more ways than one as evident by the men you've encountered tonight.

You were not granted the liberty of being alone, however, when you stepped onto the back porch.

"Oh, Taehyung, sorry to bother you." 

Taehyung was sitting on an outdoor sofa, bong in one hand and phone in the other. He ignored the woods before him, an acre or so of land that Namjoon's parents owned in addition to the house. He looked up from his phone to grin up at you, smoke curling around his lips. "Y/N! Come join me."

You obliged and sit down next to him on the couch, grabbing the bong and taking a hit from it. You enjoyed the feeling of the smoke filling your lungs and muddying up your mind, giving you a hazy high that rivaled that of an orgasm. Taehyung's droopy, red-tinged eyes roved over you, lingering your lips pressed against the top of the bong as you took a hit. He bit his lower lip, pinching the thick fabric of your hoodie and tugging you closer. 

You shivered under his intense gaze, suddenly feeling too warm. The hot summer night suddenly made the amount of clothes you wore suffocating, but perhaps the added heat was due to Taehyung's stare. You ignored the lingering effects of the brownies, assuring yourself that was the reason behind your horny thoughts and need. You had just been fucked by Jungkook- but here you were feeling excited over Taehyung's bit lip and touchiness. You obliged, letting him pull you to sit over his lap, your back turning against the woods behind you.

Taehyung pulls the bong towards him, encouraging you to light the bowl. He takes a hit, inhaling for as long as he can before putting his hand on the back of your neck, tugging your face closer to his. For a moment your heart raced, thinking he was about to kiss you. As though knowing what you were thinking, however, he cruelly smirked, hand sliding towards your jaw. He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lips to part open as he blew smoke into your mouth. You inhaled it, only closing your lips once Taehyung finished and moved his hand over your mouth. "Hold it," he commanded, eyes dark as he watched you. You obeyed, letting it settle into your lungs, catching your breath so it wouldn't travel out. You did your best to suppress any oncoming cough, and after a few seconds Taehyung removes his hand. "Breathe."

You let it pour out from your nostrils, disappearing into the air and it wisps around your face. Closing your eyes, you imagined yourself as a dragon, the smoke warning of the fire inside you. You didn't feel very intimidating right now though- Taehyung held that power. Then again, when did he not? You're glad you were told to breathe, smoke or not, as you would've been anxiously holding your breath now in anticipation of his next move. He only looks up at you, relaxed eyes peering up at you. 

Weed was different from alcohol in certain ways. When you're drunk everything you're feeling comes pouring out. When you're high everything around you pours in. When you're drunk, everyone can see exactly how you're feeling and you're more transparent than ever. Being high, especially those who are good at it, made it far easier to hide your emotions. Taehyung was the type. You could never read his emotions or expressions when he was high, he was basically unreadable. Taehyung was always a little unpredictable like that. 

He rubbed the fabric of your hoodie between his fingertips. "I don't remember you wearing this earlier."

"Got it from the, uh, laundry room." Not a lie.

"Oh? Why? It's summer, and it's so hot out here. Aren't you too hot in this?"

"I'm fine, really, I was cold earlier."

"Are you cold now?"

"Well, no-"

"Take it off."

You stared at Taehyung, eyes locking. He said it so casually, but the small smirk on his face being your only indicator that this wasn't as innocent of a request as you'd like to believe. "Don't want you passing out from heat stroke, do we?" He tugged at the hoodie again, impatient. "Take it off."

His words left no room for argument. With shaky hands, you reached for the bottom of your hoodie, lifting it. Taehyung's fingers slid from the hoodie down to your bare thighs, hands running over the exposed skin and brushing over the hem of your shorts, but no further. He licked his lips, watching the hoodie fly over your head. "Well well well, where'd these come from?"

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as his fingertips lightly brushed over the hickeys Jungkook left, leaving goosebumps in his wake. "I- um, I can explain-"

"Who were you in the laundry room with, Y/N?"

As though a deer frozen in the headlights, you felt caught. "I..."

Taehyung's featherlight touches became more sure and firm, his hand as now curling around the column of your throat with unquestioning authority. "Be a good girl and tell me."

You gulped, feeling your throat move under the pressure of his palm, unable to resist holding in the secret."Jungkook," you softly admitted.

Taehyung hummed, his pointer finger lightly tapping against the temple of your neck. "Figures that asshole would go before me."

You gasped in shock, eyes widening as you realize just what Taehyung had probably been doing on his phone when you walked in. "You know?"

He flashed his teeth, a smile gracing his features as he took in your surprise. "Mhm. Jungkook showed me it, said you airdropped it to him. Big reader, huh?"

As though on instinct, you jerk your neck back out of embarrassment, wanting to hide your face in shame where he couldn't see. You lifted your hips, wanting to jump off his lap to run away from the situation of being confronted. Taehyung has none of it, however, and pulled your thighs down to slam down against him. It's now that you can felt his erection against you, his grip forcing you to grind down on his dick. "Now, where do you think you're going, huh? I haven't even gotten my fun yet." He chuckled in your ear, his ministrations suddenly less gentle as he roughly grabs the back of your neck, the action so similar to what he did before. He brought your face close to his, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Wanna guess which one I was just reading?"

You squirmed on top of him, holding onto his shoulders to keep yourself upright. Biting your lip and shaking your head in embarrassment.

"But I think you'll like it," he laughed. "In fact, I know you will. It's one of the stories you touched yourself to, isn't it?"

"I-It's mainly just f-fantasies-"

"Your little fantasies about having big alpha cock to finally satisfy you?" Taehyung laughs sadistically in your face as he sees you whine in embarrassment. "Oh yeah, saw a lot of those, baby. Getting fucking bred and knotted, you just wanna be someone's bitch, don't you? I was just reading one about a little omega who needed an alpha to help her through... what's the word they used again? Oh right... her heat." He pressed you down harder against him, gliding your hips over him. "I thought it sounded a bit familiar..."

"It was an accident, Tae. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"But it's what you want, isn't it?" His nose nudged against yours, lips so close to yours, barely brushing as though to tease you. It was akin to the hanging grapes in front of Tantalus, but you may actually have a chance of getting what you so desperately craved. "Little omega just wants to be stuffed by an alpha, huh?"

You shuddered, fingers curling against Taehyung's shoulders. "Y-you're not being easy on me!" you whimpered out of frustration.

"Mm, I'm not, am I?" Taehyung's nose grazed along the side of your neck, his breath tickling your ear as you shivered in his grip. "I don't think you want easy, though, do you?"

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, unable to deny his accusation. "No... I don't."

"Hm," Taehyung hummed, slightly satisfied. His hand slid from behind your neck to caress your cheek. He tilted his head, still not giving in. "Yeah? Wanna be my bitch?"

"So bad," you admitted, finally giving in.

Taehyung finally rewarded you, connecting your lips to his. Kissing Taehyung, to put it bluntly, was hot. He was slowing down at the parts that he wanted to drive you crazy, and overwhelming you the next second. You kept up as best as you can, Taehyung's kiss making you hornier than ever. You had no doubt that even without the weed or the aphrodisiacs, he would have been able to get you aroused with a mere kiss. By the time you're pulled back, you're breathless but wanting more. 

Taehyung seemed to know how good of a kisser he was, his satisfied expression from winning taking over his handsome features. He wasn't done conquering, though. Far from it. "Strip."

Taehyung's bluntness was still alarming to you. "Here?" You were outside. Anyone could walk outside and see you guys. Sure, there were only woods outside and no nearby neighbors, so the only ones who would see you would be the boys. You were having issues of your own with them already, though.

You're brought to surprise when Taehyung's palm struck your face, stinging your cheek. "A good omega does what their alpha tells them to do," he growled out under his breath. "Don't you want to be a good bitch for your alpha?"

You nodded, tears springing to your eyes as you got to work. You lifted your shirt and shorts, but were unsure whether you should leave your underwear on. Taehyung answered for you, an impatient and irritated tone lacing his voice. His hand landed against your ass, smarting the skin. "Are you stupid? All of it."

You obeyed until you were completely naked before him. You were glad for the summer air warming the night, but felt horribly vulnerable being so exposed in the open. If anyone saw you, naked, on top of a full clothed Taehyung, what would they think?

(Part of you was really excited to find out.)

"Go on and spread your legs. Let me see how wet a real slut gets."

Your face burned with embarrassment as you hesitantly do as told.

“Look at me,” he commanded. Taehyung didn't seem concerned in the least. His eyes glazed over your naked form, appreciating and admiring the view before him. His hands ran over your thighs, but remained respectful. Taehyung would be good, for now. "Nervous, little omega?"

"J-Just f-feel so embarrassed-"

"I think you like it, though," Taehyung grinned, his hands venturing up your waist and to your breasts. He fondled you before attaching his lips to one of your nipples, sucking and licking at the bud while keeping eye contact with you. You wanted so desperately to close your eyes and look away from his dark, piercing gaze, but remembered his words. He let you go after giving a small nip with his teeth, making you squeal above him. "Think you like being humiliated and exposed like this. Slapped around and treated like a toy. You secretly love this." You whimpered as Taehyung's hand ran over your folds, still slightly swollen from Jungkook's earlier battering. "Jungkook did a real number on you, huh?"

Your knees buckled into the chair cushions as Taehyung's fingers rubbed circles against your clit. "He was real mean to you, wasn't he sweetheart?"

You nodded pathetically, accepting the sweet kiss Taehyung's offered to your pouting lips. "It's ok baby," he said comfortingly. "I'm gonna be even meaner."

He plunged two fingers inside, movements hard and deliberate, making you practically crumple on top of him. He waited until you're practically quivering on top of him to stop, pulling back. You blinked in confusion as he lit the bong beside the two of you. He lit the bowl, inhaling to let the smoke fill the clear glass. "I'm gonna give you a head start to run into the woods. You have until I clear this and come catch you."

"What happens if you catch me?" you questioned, trying to regain composure, already off kilter from his rough fingering that left a pleasurable ache in you. You knew you were going to be sore by morning. 

"What do you think? I'm gonna fuck you full of cum right where you stand," he informed you, taking the first hit of the bong. He blew the air out with nonchalance, as though he hadn't said what he said."I suggest you get started on your head start."

You weren't sure you were able to process this at the speed it was going. You found yourself fumbling over your words, mind trying to keep up with what was happening.

"C-Can... Can I-"

"Can you what, sweet girl?"

"Can I at least put the hoodie back on?" You'd feel especially terrified if you had to run through the woods naked. The hoodie would be the only thing big enough to completely cover you.

Taehyung doesn't seem especially pleased by the idea, but relented, reaching down by your other discarded clothes for the hoodie. He tossed it your way, taking another hit. "Fine. Only because I don't want you to waste the rest of the time you have left. Otherwise I'd think you'd want someone to walk in on you being a slut on the back porch."

You quickly yanked the hoodie over your head and turn towards the woods. The light from the house and the full moon peaked between the leaves, acting as your only light. You were terrified, adrenaline rushing through you like never before as you dashed between tree trunks, leaves crunching beneath your feet as you tried to get as far away as you could. You felt the sweat against your skin on the thick material of the hoodie, and felt hot from the running. You weren't expecting to do a workout today. You shouldn't have dawdled so much. Taehyung probably had only one more hit at best from the bong before he was going to be hot on your tails. 

You ducked down behind a bigger tree, catching your breath and hiding away in the shadows. You tried to quiet your harsh breaths, heart pounding as you listened in on the night. Seconds passed. You heard nothing but crickets. You let out a sigh of relief, but it was too soon.

It started off as a faint, distant sound. The crunching of leaves beneath shoes approached. You heard the sound of steps coming closer, a few yards away. "Come out, come out, little omega. I want to hear you scream for me."

You held your breath, mind racing as you heard Taehyung get near. Your heart pounded in your chest and the hairs on the back of your neck stood straight up. You peeked around the trunk to Taehyung, who was turned away, searching for you. Taking your chance, you leapt on your feet, running in the opposite direction towards the house. Wrong move.

Your anxiety peaked as you heard his footsteps get louder and faster the closer he got to you, his shoes causing the leaves on the ground to crunch loudly behind you, reminding you of your impending doom. You practically flew between the trees, dodging trunks and branches, not even looking back. You focused on the light from the house in the distance, a beacon you ran towards for safety. Your hair flew behind you, and you didn't dare look back to the man chasing you. You could hear him, though, his harsh pants as loud as yours. It was hopeless, though, as you were soon tackled, Taehyung's strong arms wrapping around you as you both fell on the ground with him on top of you. Luckily you weren't hurt, Taehyung's large body taking the blow as the two of you fell on the ground. It wasn't until Taehyung pinned your shoulders down to the grass that you were able to process what happened, the starry night sky and overhead branches spinning before you.

"Gotcha," Taehyung said with a breathless, triumphant- no, cocky!- smirk. 

You thought of all the items that you guys would get high together, and Jungkook would have the tendency to want to wrestle everyone in the group in a high stupor. As a result, you had participated in a few matches and knew all to well what it was like to be pinned down by Taehyung. In your high wrestling matches he would simply want you to stop moving, however, in order to win.

Now, he was wanting to dominate.

His hands enveloped your wrists like cuffs, locking you to the ground as he trapped you between his thighs. He sat down on your upper thighs, giving you no room to escape. You twisted underneath his grip, body writhing as you tried to get away, hopelessly stuck. He was breathing harshly, pants escaping his lips, nostrils flared. He snarled at you. "Get this stupid fucking hoodie off." He roughly tugged it off of you, practically tearing the article clothing off of you. You crossed your arms as he grabbed the fabric, trying to preserve your decency when exposed to both Taehyung and the night sky. It was pointless, though, and soon enough Taehyung is gifted with the visual of your naked form. He lifts you up to put the hoodie under you, the fabric replacing the rough ground and patches of grass beneath you. He grins a big, toothy smile when he sees your naked body beneath him. "There's my pretty girl."

Taehyung harshly grips your hips and forces them up, practically folding you in half as he pulls your lower half closer to him. You're leaning against your upper back now, shoulders pressed into the ground, hips suspended in the air to Taehyung's mercy. His hand reached out to grip your face, forcing you to look up at him. The lights from the house in the distance softly illuminated his features in the darkness of night, the shadows only making his handsome features more mysterious. "Told you I'd catch you, little omega."

"I tried-"

"I know you did, baby," Taehyung assured, arm curling around your leg to hold you up, fingers brushing against your folds. "Fuck, you’re so wet, huh? You liked being chased down? Like being a little afraid?"

"N-No, I-"

"So you’re a dirty little liar too? I can feel how drenched you are, stupid slut. You like a little danger, huh? Like being forced down?" You gasped at the feeling of him spitting on your pussy, and before you can respond his mouth is enveloping you, tongue rapidly flicking against your clit. He hums, sending vibrations through your body before he detached. "You liked the idea of being pinned and fucked where you stood, huh? Helpless to do anything when I make you cum over and over again?" Your back arches at his onslaught of impossible questions, fingers curling into his hair as your thighs trap him in, his mouth once again on your cunt. Your eyes twisted shut as you moaned from the onslaught of pleasure. You're overwhelmed, trying to squirm away from his skilled tongue, but seeing as you were practically folded in half, escape was impossible. Tears of pleasure were brought to the corners of your eyes as he switched to a suctioning sensation, and soon you were riding closer to the edge.

"Oh fuck! I'm gonna c-cum-"

Taehyung lifted up, giving you a moment to breathe as you come down from your edge. You frowned in disappointment, Taehyung's fingers coming up to your clit to replace his tongue not doing enough to satisfy you. "You can only cum if you call me alpha."

You give him a wide eyed look. "Tae-"

"Not Taehyung." His deep voice and raspy growl left no room for argument.

Cowering under his gaze and desperate for release, you caved. "A...Alpha."

His smirk of satisfaction was almost worth it in itself, but when his lips enveloped your clit without hesitation, you knew there was no turning back. You moaned out the new pet name over and over again until you reached your climax, Taehyung's greedy tongue lapping up your release and everything you had to offer. His eyes were locked with yours, eyes trained on your expressions as he thoroughly wrecked you with just his tongue. You were left limp and tired, Taehyung still holding your hips up to properly access his meal. It wasn't until you were lifted fully back to the ground that you were able to feel the ache in your upper back from the pressure put on it, but given the much more pleasure able ache in your pussy, you'd say it was a fair exchange.

Taehyung didn't seem to be done exchanging, however.

His hand fisted your hair and lifted your face to his, his mouth crashing against yours as his tongue delved into your mouth. The taste of your cum on his tongue sent your mind into a tizzy. Your head was spinning, still shaking in his hold from the tremors of your orgasm. You did your best to keep up with his kiss, but he devoured you completely, making you submit with just his tongue once again. You let out a gasp for air once he finally pulled away, but his pink, swollen lips tempted you to go in for more.

"Time to return the favor, omega," Taehyung said, licking his lips. "Take my cock out, baby. You've earned a taste."

Your face flushed at the insinuation that you've earned the right to give Taehyung a blowjob, but something about how cocky and arrogant he was, with plenty to back it up, made you squirm under his gaze. Though he had practically ripped your clothes off your body with demand, your shaky hands were far more subservient and methodical when you were pulling down his pants. 

You should've known Taehyung had an unusually- no, unfairly- large dick. The smirk that he wore once he saw the surprise in your eyes told you that he knew it, too. Your expression must’ve been one he was familiar with. You held it in your hand, surprised that your short digits aren't even able to completely curl around the shaft. Sick of your admiring and stalling, Taehyung delivers a swift slap to your cheek, drawing you out of your trance.

"What're you waiting for? Fucking put it in your mouth, bitch," Taehyung hissed, beckoning your lips closer to the tip. You did as you were told, obediently opening your mouth and offering a kitten lick to the tip.  Gaining more confidence, you put the entire tip in your mouth, laving your tongue around it to provide stimulation as you began bobbing your head up and down. Each time you went down you tried to take him in deeper. Luckily for you Taehyung's fist in your hair didn't force you further than you can take, instead helping you find your rhythm as you started properly fucking him with your mouth.

Taehyung's throaty growls and moans were likely music to your ears. Every curse that escaped his lips, every praise directed at you, turned you on even more. "Such a good girl, letting Alpha fuck your mouth like this," he groaned, tilting his head back to gift you the view of the column of his neck, his Adam's apple bobbing along his throat as he swallowed. "Fuck, gonna let me fuck your throat, omega? Want that?"

You nodded dumbly, humming around his cock. Your eyes widened, tears pooling in your eyes as Taehyung suddenly pushed you closer to the base of his cock, his dick plunging deeper into your throat. His grip on your hair tightened, yanking your head and bobbing your mouth over him over and over again. You focused on trying to breathe when you were pulled further up to the tip, and you could feel the tears slipping down your cheeks already. You didn't want to stop, though. Taehyung's moans became later, his thrusts more sloppy and erratic as he used your mouth. "Fuck yeah, oh my god, such a good little slut..." he murmured, grunts emanating from his throat. "Mm, you love this, don't you? Love the taste of my cock, huh?"

Your were forced all the way down to the base of his cock, your nose pressed against his pelvic bone as his full length sheathed inside your throat. You gripped onto his thighs, nails digging in as you tried to keep your place pressed against his body. You looked up at him with tearful eyes, his dark, sultry gaze encouraging you further to please him. You could feel his cock twitch inside your throat as he stared at your pretty face. “Fuck, look what you’re making me do to you,” he growled, as though all of this were really your fault. It felt like he was close to busting at any moment. After a few seconds, you were pulled off of him, spit falling down to your chin and chest as you were separated. You gasped for breath, coughing from his rough usage. 

"Mm, you did so well for me baby," he purred, thumb wiping away at your face as you stared up at him. He slapped his cock against your face, the wet smacks bringing a smile to your face. 

"W-Why didn't you cum?" you sputtered out, panting.

"The only place I'm cumming tonight is in your little pussy," Taehyung clarified, catching his breath. He offered himself a few strokes, trying to calm himself down. "Now, present yourself so Alpha can breed you."

You felt the blood rush to your face with embarrassment, but did as you were told. "Yes, Alpha." Your hands and knees pressed into the hoodie below you, and you arched, presenting your ass properly for Taehyung's viewing pleasure. 

His hands roamed over you, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He got closer behind you, bending over so his lips would be close to your ear. "You want Alpha's cock, baby?"

You nodded, shivering as his hand curled around your neck, and then his entire arm. His bicep flexed against your neck, holding you in a chokehold. "Yes!" You gasped out. "Wanna be a good omega for you. Want you to breed me. Please please please-"

Your begging was cut short when you felt the tip of Taehyung's cock against your entrance, and soon he was pushing himself in. One of your hands reached up to dig your nails into Taehyung's bicep, and he loosened his hold, letting you breathe. You moaned as you felt him slowly enter you, your slick from your previous orgasm allowing him to slide in. Had he not eaten you out before you doubted you would've been able to take such a big dick so easily.  He hissed with pleasure, a deep moan emanating from his chest. “Fuck, knew you’d have the perfect pussy. You’re so fucking tight. Always knew you’d get this wet for me.”

"F-Fuck! It's too big," you whimpered.

Taehyung only cruelly chuckled in your ear. "Yeah? Can't take it? When you begged so much for it? Acting like you don't want it when you're so wet and keep sucking me in?"

It was true. With each word he was only getting deeper in you until he was pressing against your cervix. You felt so full, you weren't sure you could take much more. Taehyung pulled his hips back, beginning to fuck you. You clasped at the hoodie and the grass, gripping whatever you could on the ground below you, whimpering as you took the brutal thrusts.

Taehyung's moans were more delicious than ever, now enjoying your cunt wrapped around him. His deep groans and grunts were now directly in your ear, letting you know just how much he was enjoying using your body for his pleasure. He dropped you from the chokehold, letting your chest fall limply to the floor, your hips still raised. His fingers dug into your hips as he slammed you back into him, his hips digging deeper into your ass. His hands pressed into your back, making you arch further like the pliant slut he knew you were.

He snickered as he saw your expression, a grimace of pleasure and tear-brimmed eyes, your sobs of ecstasy only bringing him closer to the edge. It was almost comical to him. "You're really fucking crying because it's too much? You begged for this. You should've thought about that before you decided to act like a horny little slut."

"I-It wasn't my fault!" You whined out, barely able to let out a coherent sentence due to Taehyung's rough thrusts. "The br-"

"Don't go blaming those, Y/N. We both know you wanted me to breed you like this long before tonight," Taehyung snidely remarked, his words causing you to hang your head down in shame. It was true. So often when you would read your smut you'd think of one of the guys in the love interest's place, the mere thought of them doing such taboo and pervasive actions making your heart race even when you were alone. For it to be happening in real life? Unreal.

"I did," you admitted with a sob, biting back an unseemly groan as Taehyung's large hand slid around your waist and to your cunt, cupping your heat and letting his fingers run along your sopping wet folds. "I wanted this for so long. Wanted you so bad, Alpha."

"I know, baby, I know. I'm here now," Taehyung assured you, his unrelenting digits on your clit and the battering against your g-spot driving you closer to the edge. You let out a high pitched whine, feeling your orgasm building up again. "Alpha's gonna knot you like the perfect omega you are. You gonna be good and take it all?"

You nodded your head rapidly, biting your lip as you felt your high approaching. "Yes, please! Give it to me. Gonna cum for you, Alpha."

"Yeah? My selfish little bitch is gonna cum again before Alpha gets to even once, huh?" The hand that wasn't currently determined to contribute to your undoing fisted your hair, raising you from the ground and closer to his body. Your back pressed against his chest and you arched, the pain of his fist pulling your hair and the sweet feeling of his mouth adding more hickeys to your neck making your head spin. 

"I'm s-sorry! I can't hold it anymore, please A-"

"Tch." He interrupted you with a rough shake of his fist, causing you to whimper in both pain and shame. You were unable to turn away from his unforgiving eyes, though, his grip stern and demanding. "I should've expected it from a horny slut who gets off to wolf-fucking. Thought you were a good omega."

"I am!" you persisted, thighs beginning to quake. Taehyung put more of his body weight on you, letting you feel the brutality of his thrusts as he tried to go as deep as possible, determined to wreck you with every fiber of his being. You started to be bent forward again, your back arching and your chest getting closer to the ground as you were folded to Taehyung’s whims. For particularly deep and sharp thrusts he’d stay buried in you for a few seconds longer, letting you feel his balls like pressing up against your cunt and making contact with the fingers playing with your clit. 

"You are?" A throaty chuckle vibrated in your ear. "Then why are you about to cum all over me?"

That's all it took for your last bit of resistance to be put down, and you let out a sob as you came harder than before, your legs quaking as you struggled to hold yourself up. If it weren't for Taehyung's firm grip you would've crumpled to the floor in exhaustion. Taehyung didn't stop, though, your orgasm only driving him into a frenzy as he snapped his hips into you at an animalistic pace.

"Stupid little slut," Taehyung growled, thrusts getting sloppy as he berated you. You squealed in pain as he slapped your ass, his blows brutal and swift, sparing no mercy. "Bad omega, cumming on my cock without permission."

"I'm sorry, Alpha!" you cried out, lips trembling as you felt him overstimulate you from one orgasm into another. Your body was unable to resist the overwhelming pleasure Taehyung brought. "Ah! Please, fuck, cum in me."

"Yeah? Want my knot? Want me to breed you?" Taehyung questioned, his growls turning closer to rasps as he got closer to the edge. "When you've been nothing but a- fuck, ah- dumb bitch?"

"Your bitch," you gasp out dumbly, your mind flying far into the heavens as Taehyung continued to fuck you with vigor. "Yours, yours, yours."

"Yeah, that's right." Taehyung smiled, hand sliding from your hair to your throat, squeezing as he felt your walls spasm around him as you entered your next orgasm. It was enough for him to be driven to climax, his warm cum filling you up as deep as he could. "My bitch," Taehyung confirmed, nails slightly digging into the skin of your neck as he emphasized it.

You panted for breath as you felt his cock twitch inside a few more seconds, Taehyung giving every drop he had to offer. You almost did feel like you were being knotted, the sore feeling in your body and Taehyung's enormous size making you feel just like those omegas in the smut you read. Eventually he dropped you from his grip, letting you slump down onto the hoodie beneath you. You whined at the feeling of Taehyung slipping out, though kept your ass raised obediently.

Taehyung cursed as he saw his cum dribble out of your hole and down your folds, the white liquids practically glowing under the moonlight. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, enjoying the sight. He offered a wry smile your way. "Good girl. You earned that."

[cloneloverrrrr]

Oh my sweet babies you deserved so much better & so did all your brothers 😢😢😩😩🩷🩷

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Enchant Me Chapter 1: I Was Enchanted to Meet You✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: I want to thank that purple house for giving me this whole idea in the first place, but reader and Joel are so soft in this series I’m crying 🥹 Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for listen to me babble my ideas and rant about how cute these two are in this series! We don’t have enough witchy, nature reader Joel fics, so thought I should make one ☺️✨🌙 Comments and reblogs are always appreciated, I always love hearing your feedback! 💜

Summary: Joel delivers a custom built table to a little house out in the middle of the woods, but he doesn’t realize he’s going to fall for the girl behind the doors of that small purple house. He falls head over heels for her special herbal tea, tarot card readings, and talks of nature and plants as he keeps going back to see her.

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader (Fic is in both reader and Joel’s POV)

Word Count: 7.7k

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Tags: Soft Joel, lots of fluff, Joel falling in love, witchy reader, eventual smut in later chapters, plant and animal lover reader, lots of cute nicknames for reader

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again. These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon. I was enchanted to meet you. Please don't be in love with someone else. Please don't have somebody waiting on you. Please don't be in love with someone else. Please don't have somebody waiting on you.”

- Taylor Swift “Enchanted”

The spring breeze of April rustles through Austin as green leaves blow gently down the street, light streaks of sunlight glistening in the open shop as Joel finishes the final touches on a lilac handmade wooden side table. Tiny, intricate white flowers he’d hand painted cover the lilac material. Joel had no idea who he was making it for, he only saw the order request in the computer on his list of custom orders. Tommy must’ve talked to that particular customer when Joel was in the back crafting something.

As Joel finishes the final touches on polishing the little table, he yells for Tommy to come over. “Hey, Tommy. Who’s this order for? I just got finished, guess I can go ahead and deliver it today since we aren’t too busy,” he says as he stands up with a huff, placing a hand on his lower back as he gets up from the rough ground.

“Ahh, that one is for this sweet girl that came in a couple weeks ago. Kinda shy, quiet, but sweet as pie. Pretty thing, too. She sure talked a lot about nature,” Tommy laughs as he grabs the thick white notebook and gets your contact information out, handing Joel the address and name of the customer who had bought it.

Joel looks at it carefully as his eyes scan the address. “She lives out in the middle of nowhere,” Joel says as his eyebrows knit together.

“Yeah, all the way in Cedar Lake. Not too far, but that’s definitely not in the city. It’s only twenty minutes from here though. So, you want me to take it? I don’t mind,” Tommy replies as he leans to grab the notebook. Joel brings it out of his reach and clutches it to his chest.

“Nah, I’m the one that made it so I’ll be the one delivering it.”

“Suit yourself,” Tommy scoffs as he holds his hands up. “Tell her I said hello, will ya?”

“Sure,” Joel says as he grabs the paper with your name and address on it and shoves it down in the denim pocket of his dark jeans. He rolls his blue flannel sleeves up to his elbows and exposes tanned skin as he grabs up the table and loads it in the back of his white Chevy truck.

Once he’s inside and has the engine revved up, he pulls away from Miller’s Woodshop Creations and heads down the street, toward the direction of a long, gravel road that will take him to your place.

Cedar and oak trees fill the last half of the drive while deer scurry off from grazing in the grass as soon as they see Joel’s truck. The houses get thinner in this area, only one or two spread out with acres of land behind them. Joel keeps driving through the thick of the green, eyes trained on the narrow road ahead of him.

“Now who lives all the way out here?” Joel asks himself as his GPS stops him right as he pulls up to a single house that’s surrounded entirely by the woods.

He puts his truck into park and turns off the engine, grabbing his keys and shoving them in his pocket. Just as he steps outside into the grass, a wild rabbit runs off into the opposite direction of him and a black raven caws and flies off into a tall cedar tree.

Whoever lives here must like animals a lot.

Joel carefully retrieves the furniture from the bed of his truck and grunts his way to the front door, making his way up the few wooden steps that lead him to the front door. When he sets the side table on the wooden porch, he takes in the outside of the house.

The house is painted a deep purple color with yellow wooden rails outlining the edge of the porch. All types of different floral plants of names he doesn’t know lines each side of the cobbled stone path that leads to the front of the house. Colorful stained glass windows are sprawled on the top windows as the bottom windows sit wide open for the warm breeze to seep into. It’s unique, a house like he’s never quite seen before. Now he needs to know who lives way out here in the middle of nowhere in a little purple house that’s stacked with plants.

He knocks on the sturdy purple door three times and stands back while he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, fidgeting with his fingers as he patiently waits. Before long, he hears the creak of the door opening and looks up to say his greeting.

“Hi, I’m from Miller’s Woodshop Creations and I came to…”

He stops when he takes in the sights of you as you open the door wide, stepping out onto the porch in a lilac colored sundress that goes down to the middle of your thighs, exposing long legs as the bodice hugs your hips perfectly. He gasps at the beautiful shades of your eyes. He’s never seen such beautiful eyes before, a color that reminds him of warm summer days and clover covered fields. Your hair is in soft curls, held back by a pink ribbon as you flash him a smile that can knock him down to his knees. He thinks you’re absolutely breathtaking. The most gorgeous thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Oh! My little table I ordered. I had no idea it was finished! Let me see it,” you say excitedly as he steps out of the way and lets you bend over to analyze the table.

You rake your fingers over the smooth, polished wood and carefully trace the edges of the hand painted white flowers that cover the surface of the table. It’s so beautiful, exactly what you were looking for when you placed the order. You were afraid they wouldn’t see the vision you were going for, but this was exactly what you wanted. It was perfect.

“This is incredible! Exactly what I pictured it to be. Who made this?” you ask incredibly as you hover over the top of the smooth wood.

“I did,” he says nervously behind you.

You drop your hands and push yourself off the porch, turning to take in the man who made this himself. “You made this?” you ask quietly.

“Mhm. Just finished it up today,” he answers, his eyes locking on yours as he nods his head up and down slowly.

“Oh, well it’s exactly what I wanted! It’s gorgeous, thank you.”

“No problem, sweetheart,” he says with a Southern accent that stops you in your tracks.

Sweetheart. You like the sound of that a lot.

“And you are?” you ask with a raised eyebrow, curiosity swirling in your eyes at the handsome gentleman who stands in front of you.

“Oh, sorry. My name’s Joel. Joel Miller.” He holds his arm out, waiting for you to take his hand patiently, his eyes flicking over yours carefully. You slowly place your hand in his and shake.

You almost gasp when you feel his calloused fingers close over yours. He feels like magic, like shooting sparks are flying in his soft brown eyes as he holds your hand in his. You’ve never had this reaction shaking a man’s hand before. This feels… different. The magic dies as soon as he drops his hand, and you almost reach for his hand again just to feel that buzzing sensation through your body that was there when his hand was in yours.

“Miller. Is Tommy Miller your brother?” you ask with a curious smile.

“Yes, ma’am. He helps me run the shop.”

“Oh, I see. Well, Joel, I’m glad it was you that brought this by for me today,” you smile gently, fluttering your long eyelashes up at him as he blushes and pushes a hand through his tousled curls nervously. You think he’s absolutely beautiful.

“It was no trouble. And your name? I didn’t catch your name, darlin’.”

Darlin’. There he goes again with the little nicknames. You wish he’d never stop. He could just keep going. He could call you anything he wanted to, and you’d let him. As long as he came back here again.

You tell him your name, and he repeats it like honey dripping off the tip of his tongue. It sounds beautiful the way he says it. Like sweet tea that simmers in your soul. It sounds all lilty and dreamy, and you decide then that you do want to see him again.

“That’s a pretty name,” he says softly as his lips curl up into a dreamy smile that almost takes your breath away.

“Oh, uh - thank you,” you smile in return.

You take in his full features now. See the way his eyes shine like caramel in the warm sun that glazes over them, see the dark brown flecks mix with warmer colors to make the prettiest soft brown eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. His skin is tan like gold, his broad shoulders filling out the blue button-up flannel shirt that presses firmly to his strong chest. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows as they expose thick veins that cascade down his arms to end in big, thick hands. Hands you’d like to hold on more than one occasion.

And his smile. God, his smile sends your insides spiraling. He’s so fucking beautiful, and you hope he’ll stay for tea. Maybe, just maybe he’ll want to try your famous hibiscus herbal tea.

Please, stay.

“Here, let me put this inside for you. It’s a little heavy, so don’t want you to try to lift it,” he says adamantly as he bends over and scoops up the little side table in his arms.

You open the door wide for him and watch him walk through the entrance as you point to your cream colored couch that sits up against the soft pastel purple colored walls. “Just right next to the couch will be fine, thank you,” you say as you watch his biceps cling to his flannel shirt, watching the way his back muscles pull against his shirt to expose thick muscles that you’d kill to run your fingers down.

He’s so gorgeous.

When he sets down the table on the dark wooden floor, he takes in your little living space. He examines your white shelf that holds purple orchids, different colored carnations, and potted hanging plants whose vines spill over the edges fluidly.

Next, he notices the windowsill that has amethyst and pink quartz crystals lined against the edge as a stack of flower tarot cards lay against the crystals. He takes in the bright colors of your kitchen as the sunlight beams through the open windows as robins chirp their melodious songs outside the window. Lavender and white tulips encase the edges of the light colored wooden countertop as it overflows with various herbs that stack neatly together.

The air smells dewy-fresh as the aroma of flowers and tea fill the air. You watch Joel take in his surroundings carefully and see his lips part open just slightly as he spins in a slow circle. You lean against the wooden countertop and rest your chin in the palm of your hand as you watch him dreamily. He’s just so handsome, so intriguing, so curious.

As he turns back your direction, you straighten up and try to act normal, but it’s so hard around him. So very hard. “You uh, you sure like flowers don’t ya?” he asks as you blush from the question.

“Is that a bad thing?” you ask nervously as he comes over and leans against the opposite side of the counter, staring up into your eyes as he gently smiles.

“No, s’not a bad thing. Just I haven’t seen a house quite like yours before. It’s very… unique what you’ve done to the place,” he says as his eyes skate across your lit up kitchen.

“Well, I’m a unique person,” you giggle out, letting the single pearl necklace bounce along your tan chest.

“I can see that,” he smiles as his eyes skate down your lilac sundress, gulping when you see him rake his eyes over your full breasts and down your curvy hips and smooth thighs. You suck in a breath when his warm eyes land back on yours as you watch the sunlight trickle warm golden colors against his gentle brown eyes.

He’s so fucking beautiful.

“Purple your favorite color?” he asks as he examines the soft colored walls in your kitchen.

“How could you tell?” you ask as a soft giggle echoes around the small living space.

“I’m good at observations,” he says with a smirk that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

Oh, this one is gonna be a tease. You just know it.

“You live out here alone?” he asks as he walks around the counter, dragging his finger along the wooden edges as he stares at the purple orchids that lay across your wide open kitchen window.

“Yeah, it’s just me and my flowers. Also, my cat, Oliver. He’s probably outside hunting mice or something,” you laugh.

“Ahh. I see.”

You watch the way he furrows his eyebrows at the flowers, looking at them as if he’s trying to figure out what they are. Somehow you think he doesn’t know a lot about plants. Maybe you could teach him.

“Orchids,” you say as you walk up next to him, laying your hand on the wooden counter as you place your eyes on the vibrant deep purple colors of the flowers.

“Huh?” he asks as turns around and faces you.

“These are orchids.” You nod your head to the lush flowers, and an understanding grunt comes from deep within his chest.

“Oh, I see. They’re pretty,” he says as he drops his hand back to the counter. His pinky finger drags along the side of yours, and you feel hot fire run through your fingertips.

You drop your hand and watch him take a step back, eyes melding into yours as the sunlight bursts through his brown irises. You can’t help but to fall for him right then. This man was going to make you pull out the tarot cards, see if love was in your near future. With him.

He shifts his weight and leans into the edge of the counter, contemplating his next actions. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time. It was nice to meet you,” he says as he starts to walk toward the front door.

You freeze, almost choke up as the words run dry in your throat. “Wait!” It comes off desperate, loud, and you think you just ruined your chances with him. He turns back around with his eyebrows raised, maybe even alarmed that you almost screamed at him.

“Tea? Do you like tea?” you ask, desperate for him to stay a little longer. You want him, need him to stay just a few more minutes. You want to get to know this man, maybe want to give him a tarot reading, if he wanted one.

“Tea? ‘Course I do. Why do you ask?” He knits his eyebrows together as if he’s concentrating a little too hard on you, and you gulp at the sight of those gorgeous flecks of brown staring back at you.

“Will you stay for tea? I just picked some fresh herbs from the garden, and it’s the least I can do for having you deliver my furniture for me. Please,” you say as you nod to your cream colored couch, asking him to sit while you prepare the tea.

He flicks his eyes over the smooth material of the couch and back at you as his eyes blaze into yours. “Sure, darlin’. I’d love to,” he says as he moves to the couch and sits down gently as his body presses against the soft material. You have to avert your eyes from his large thighs that pull against the dark material of his jeans.

He’s so fucking broad and muscular. He was going to get you into trouble if you were already practically drooling at his Southern charm and good looks.

You smile and get to work chopping up lavender and rosemary herbs as you mix them together with elderberries and hibiscus flowers while you pour almond milk and a dash of water together. Everyone loves your herbal teas, you just hoped Joel would, too.

“So, is this one of your specialities or somethin’? You sure do have a lot of herbs and teacups around,” he says as he assesses your china cabinet full of floral tea cups and fine china that you’ve been collecting for years. Call it a hobby or an addiction, but you’ve been making tea for as long as you can remember. That’s why you have your own tea shop just a few miles down the road. A business you’ve loved every since you got to open your little shop a few years ago.

“Something like that,” you giggle as you continue mixing the various ingredients together in a large glass pitcher. “I actually own my own little tea shop a few miles down the road. It’s called Starlight’s Corner.”

“Starlight’s Corner, huh? Strange, I’ve never heard of it. Where is it located?” he asks as he leans his elbows against his knees and places his hands under his chin, eyes focused on you. You try not to blush as he watches you mix together the tea, but you fail to no avail.

“It’s just off Fourth Street, right next to a little boutique. You can’t miss it.”

“Wait, that’s not too far from my shop. I guess I’ll have to come check it out sometime,” he says with a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. You can’t help but smile back at him.

“Yeah, guess you should.”

After mixing the ingredients together and throwing a dash of sugar in there, you pour two glasses of the floral sweet smelling tea and walk over to him slowly. You hand him a glass and when he takes it your fingers brush up against his, causing you to jolt your hand back as purple liquid splashes over the side of the cup and lands on top of Joel’s denim covered thigh.

You gasp and set your own drink down on the glass coffee table as you run to grab a towel from the kitchen. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that, really I’m so sorry,” you apologize hurriedly as you go back over and hand him the dark hand towel, your face beat red with embarrassment as you say sorry another five times.

“Darlin’, relax. It’s alright. It’s just a little spill. Nothing I can’t handle,” he says as he hushes you, circling his hand over your wrist as all worries seem to vanish at his soft touch.

Your breathing calms as you relax your shoulders, his fingers still pressed firmly around your wrist as you feel every single callous that covers his thick fingers. It’s soothing, relaxing, mind numbing as he stares up at you with those warm brown eyes of his, his chest rising and falling calmly as his other hand presses the towel to his damp thigh. And suddenly it’s like you’re in the middle of your lush garden outside, smelling the sweet scents of wildflowers and fresh air as you breathe in his mahogany scent. He smells like fresh wood and pine trees, a scent you could get completely lost in, drown in.

He suddenly drops his fingers from your skin, and it’s like you wake up from a trance. You want him to touch you again, you want to feel the flames that ignite your skin every time he traces his calloused fingers along your soft, silky skin. You want to know what he tastes like, what he sounds like if your lips ever pressed up against his soft, plush lips.

You shake your head out of your lovesick daze and grab your glass of tea as you go around to the other side of the couch and sit down next to him, just inches from your thigh meeting his. You watch him towel off the damp spot on his thigh, rubbing the material harshly as he calls it good and sits the now damp towel on the coffee table.

“Joel, again, I’m so sorry. Let me…”

He holds his large hand out and silences you as your voice stops cold. “Sweetheart, ya gotta stop aplogizin’. Really, it’s fine,” he presses as he goes to grab the half filled glass of tea. He grips it in his large hand and brings it close to his plush lips.

“I hope you like sweet tea,” you say before he takes a sip, hopeful that he won’t hate it.

“If it’s as sweet as you, I’m sure I’ll love it,” he smiles.

Your cheeks flush crimson as you take in the compliment and watch him bring the rim of his glass up to his lips, throwing back his head as you watch the hibiscus tea run slowly down his throat. You watch the way the liquid pulls at his lips, watch the way the veins in his neck bulge and flex as he drinks it down. You can’t help but lick your parched lips as you watch him gulp the liquid down. You wonder what it’d feel like to hang on his lips like that, wonder how it’d taste to run your tongue along his soft, inviting lips.

He tilts his head back up and sets the now almost empty glass back on the table as he licks his lips and smiles sweetly over at you. “Darlin’, how did I not know you had a tea shop so close to my store? This is the best tea I’ve ever had in my entire life,” he muses as you smile over at him in wonder.

“Really? You really liked it that much?” you ask with wide eyes glazing over his big brown eyes that you want to get lost in.

“Mhm. I mean it when I say that was the best glass of tea I’ve ever had,” he says as he nods his head. “Especially when it’s from a gorgeous girl like yourself,” he blushes.

Gorgeous? Oh. He called you gorgeous.

“Oh, stop,” you laugh as you stand and grab his glass up. “You want some more? I have plenty.”

“Absolutely,” he nods.

You pad your bare feet into the kitchen and find Oliver sitting at the edge of the window. His large green eyes hover over at Joel and his calico markings dance in the sunlight as he creeps into the kitchen and slowly makes his way over to Joel, inspecting the newcomer in his house.

“This must be Oliver?” Joel asks as he bends over and pets Oliver as he rubs against Joel’s leg. You giggle to yourself as that’s a sign Oliver likes someone. Looks like Joel is now welcome in his humble abode after all.

“Yep, that’s sweet Oliver. I think he likes you,” you giggle as you watch him scratch the clean fur on his back, hearing Oliver’s loud purrs echo into the open kitchen.

“Looks like it,” he chuckles out. The sound is so warm, inviting as it reverberates through his chest. It’s a sound you’d like to hear around here more often, a sound you could get used to fast.

“You have any pets, Joel?” you ask as you pour more delicious liquid into his glass and saunter back over to him, setting it on the table as to not spill anymore tea on him.

“Can’t say that I do. Never really was a cat person, but for some reason this one seems to like me,” he says as Oliver rubs up against his leg and jumps up into your lap the moment you sit down.

“Hmm, guess he has a good sense of judgement,” you wink at him, watching him nervously run a hand through his tousled dark curls. You want to run your hands through his curls, down his patchy beard that’s sprinkled with salt and pepper grey. He looks to be in his mid forties, an older man who you’d love to get to know better.

“How ummm, how old are you, sweetheart?” he asks as he drags his thick fingers through his patchy scruff, ending at his chin as he drops his hand gently back to his lap.

“Twenty-nine. And yourself?” you ask as you cock an eyebrow up at him.

“Forty-three,” he answers nervously as if to await a harsh judgement his way. You have no issue with an older man though. You wouldn’t even mind if he was your same age, you just wanted to know him. You were intrigued by his charm and creative hands.

“Forty-three, huh?” you ask as your eyes flick up and down him, memorizing his lean jaw and the way his fingers lightly flex in his lap when he has his eyes fixed on you. You were starting to read him well. He was nervous, maybe a little shy around the edges, but you definitely saw that he was nervous about his age. He shouldn’t be.

“Yeah, I’m an old man,” he jokes as his cheeks turn slightly pink from nerves.

“Nah, you’re definitely not old,” you confirm. “If you were old, you wouldn’t have been able to carry that table in for me,” you smile.

“Forty-three ain’t too old for ya?” he teases, but his eyes focus intently on you, needing to know he had a chance. And he definitely had a chance.

“No, it’s the perfect age,” you smile shyly.

He laughs and shakes his head, making a stray curl fall against his forehead. Without even thinking, you take your hand and push it back out of his eyes and feel just how silky smooth his hair really is.

His lips part open as you realize just how close to his face you are now, just a couple inches from his plush lips that probably taste of velvet. Your heart speeds up as you stare into his beautiful eyes, seeing every single golden brown fleck that glistens like galaxies in his eyes. You feel your hand drop to his chest, feel him lean forward as you inhale that woodsy scent that draws you to him. You’re so close, so close to a taste of heaven you so desperately want to reach.

When you realize just what you’re doing, you push back from him and put some distance in between the two of you as you catch your breath and come back down to reality. You almost kissed him. Why the fuck did you stop? You take a large drink of your tea and let the floral flavors float down your throat, hoping it’ll cool off your flushed cheeks as you feel fire burn through your core.

Get a hold of yourself. You just met this man.

Joel clears his throat and shifts his weight on the couch, grabbing his glass as he takes another generous gulp of the purple tea. Oliver sits across the room now and stares in between the two of you, meowing as even he feels the connection in the quiet room.

Joel clears the air as the heated moment disappears for the time being. “So, you’re a flower girl, huh?” he asks as his eyes gaze around the room at all your colorful hanging pots of flowers and plants that line the walls.

“How could you tell?” you ask with a flirtatious gleam in your smile.

“Oh, you know. Lucky guess,” he smirks as you feel your insides coat with warmth.

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you giggle. “I have an entire garden out in the backyard, too. Actually, more like an enchanted forest, but you know. You’d have to see it to believe it.”

“Oh, yeah? You gonna show it to me?” he asks as a smile curls against his lips, making a dimple appear that nearly brings you to your knees. He’s so pretty that it hurts.

“If you want me to,” you say through long lashes that fan out for him.

He chuckles lightly and nods. “C’mon then. Show me,” he says as he stands and reaches for your hand. You’re hesitant at first, but he keeps it extended and nods down at his hand. “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you want to show me.” That’s all the encouragement you need.

You take his hand as he helps you up, feeling his calloused fingers close around yours as he pulls you off the velvety surface. He keeps his hand latched around yours until you make it to the back door, feeling a sigh escape your lips as his warmth leaves your hand the moment he drops his fingers from yours. His hand in yours felt so good, it felt right.

You slide on a pair or sandals and lead him down your back porch, past the flowing stone fountain where birds are sitting getting drinks and ruffling their feathers as they bathe in the cool water. You lead him down a winding stone path and watch as he follows close behind.

You trail your fingers on some tall standing cedar trees and push past a small field of sunflowers, watching as the golden finches hang on the flower stems and feed on the seeds. You look behind you and see Joel looking all around him as he takes in the sights of crowded red rose bushes and white tulips that sit side by side as their colors paint each other crimson and white.

“Where are you taking me?” he laughs as he follows close behind.

“You’ll see,” you smile back at him as you grab ahold of his wrist and whisk him to the left, nearing your favorite spot in the place you call your enchanted forest.

As you round a small corner and go through a vine wrapped awning, you pull him into the middle of a large circular field that has rows and rows of different colored wildflowers that scatter across the entire field. Beds of strawberries, grape vines, and all types of various herbs have their own raised beds. Lavender, white lilies, purple irises, and different types of carnations display every which was as the sound of the rushing stream that sits behind a forest of trees carries through the wind. This is home to you.

You spin around and find Joel looking dazed as he takes in his surroundings. He runs his large hands across the growing lavender as he lets his fingers dwindle on the green stems, looking carefully over everything that sits in front of him. He looks to be in awe.

“Welcome to my little place I call my enchanted forest,” you say as you continue staring at him as he slowly turns your direction, releasing his fingers from the lavender that sways slowly in the spring air.

“Did you grow all this?” he asks with wide eyes as you see a Monarch butterfly land softly on the side of his sleeve.

“I did. Took me a little over a year to get everything going, but I think it turned out nicely.”

You walk over in front of him and hold your finger out to the butterfly, watching it come to you as it crawls over your index finger, letting you hold it carefully in your hand as you smile and say hello to the beautiful butterfly.

“Beautiful creatures, aren’t they?” you smile, watching it flap its bright orange wings as it flies off in the direction of some pink wildflowers.

You turn slowly to Joel, and he’s just standing there staring at you as if he’s stuck in a trance. His golden brown eyes gaze into yours as his lips part just the slightest. “Yeah, they are,” he says quietly. But he’s not looking at the butterfly anymore, he’s looking at you. You feel your cheeks burn hot at the way he’s looking at you. He makes you feel so nervous yet so beautiful at the same time. It’s strange, really. Nothing you’ve experienced before.

“Did you know they’re the state insect of Texas?” you say proudly as you pick up a fallen lavender rose off the ground.

“No, I didn’t know that. Fascinating,” he says awestruck, his voice quiet again as his eyes never waver from yours.

You twirl the purple rose in your hand and smile down at it as your fingers brush over the soft, velvety petals. Lavender roses mean enchantment, wonder, and love at first sight. You can’t help but giggle to yourself as you walk over to Joel and slip the rose inside the pocket on his blue flannel shirt, accentuating his look as he looks down and runs his finger over the flower.

“You know, all roses have different meanings, depending on their color,” you say as you rock on your heels, your hands behind your back as you play with your fingers nervously.

“Oh, what’s this color mean?” he asks as he runs another finger over the soft petals.

“It means enchantment, wonder, and admiration,” you smile, leaving the love at first sight out as you feel the sun warm your rosy cheeks.

His eyes look up into yours as a small smile curls against his lips, his eyes lighting up like warm honey that you want to drown in. “Enchantment, is that right?” he asks as he takes a step closer to you, his leather boots meeting the edge of your open sandals as you suck in a breath.

“That’s right,” you say quietly, eyes never leaving his warm colored irises.

“Well, you sure enchanted me, sweetheart,” he smiles, his eyes staring straight into yours as you feel warmth overwhelm all your senses.

You enchanted him.

You break his gaze and look down shyly, unable to say anything to that sentence except just to blush and turn around so he doesn’t see the ridiculous smile that’s covering your face. Turns out he enchanted you, too.

“Come here, I want to show you something else,” you say as you lead him over to the large white trellis walls where blackberry vines trail along the ladder. You fill your hands with the deep colored blackberries and tell Joel to follow your lead.

He looks at you with knitted eyebrows as you tell him to be quiet and watch his step. You take him to the edge of the woods where the trees are thick and tall, a sea of green sprawled out in front of you as you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, calling to the family of deer that usually greet you every evening.

“What are you doin’, darlin’?” he asks quietly as he leans up against the smooth bark of a tall cedar tree.

“Why don’t you take a look?” you smile as you nod your head in the direction of the woods. He straightens up as he watches the pack of deer walk cautiously out into the open as they gather around and greet you.

“Hey there, guys. You hungry?” you ask as you hold your hand out for them to come up to. They come all at once, their reddish-brown coats glistening in the sun as their long legs patter lightly against the green grass. Their wet noses kiss your skin as they eat the berries slowly out of the palm of your hand. You giggle as their wet noses tickle your skin.

Joel stares in wonder, his eyes focused on you as you laugh and smile as each of the deer take berries from your hand. He watches how happy you are as you reach out your open palm and stroke gently over their backs, amazed that wild deer allow you to touch them.

He watches how your eyes light up each time one of the females rub their head gently against the middle of your arm, watches the way you interact and speak to them as if they’re human themselves.

He’s smitten with your smile. That damn beautiful smile that takes the breath from his lungs. And God, he thinks he’s falling in love. He’s never seen someone quite like you before. You’re so soft, so gentle. Almost as if you’re a delicate rose yourself.

You catch him watching you with the daze of his warm eyes, a soft smile etching the corner of his mouth as he stares at you. It’s like he’s in a trance, and it makes you tingle with pure delight inside.

“Joel, come here,” you instruct as you nod your head and call him over.

“Oh, no I couldn’t,” he says timidly as he leans harder against the tree. You’re not letting him get off that easily.

“Joel, please. Just give me your hand.” You reach for him and take his hand in yours, leading him over carefully to the family of deer. He doesn’t pull his hand away, he just keeps his fingers tightly closed over yours.

“Here, wanna feed them?” you ask as you scatter some blackberries in his calloused hands. He slightly hesitates at first, but then he eases up as he holds his hand out and lets one of the females eat out of the palm of his hand. You watch him carefully as his face relaxes, his shoulders lowering as his hand lays flat with the berries inside them. Another deer comes over and starts grazing out of his hand, and you swear you see a little twinkle in his brown eyes.

“I think they like you,” you giggle, watching the way they crowd around him just like they do with you.

“I’ve never fed wild deer before. It’s… well, it’s…”

“Amazing.” You finish his sentence for him as he nods his head up and down.

“Exactly that,” he replies.

When the blackberries are gone, you gently take his hand in yours and reach his arm out, showing him how to pet them the right way so they’ll remember him and want to come back later. You keep your hand on top of his and guide it along the soft fur as one of the females lets you stroke the top of her head. You drop your hand from Joel’s and watch him still trail his hand up and down the deer’s side, seeing the way a soft smile spreads across his face.

“There you go. You’re a natural,” you beam as his honey eyes meet yours, sending a wave of bliss down your entire body.

He just shakes his head and chuckles out a deep laugh. “I swear, it’s like you’re Snow White. You’re really somethin’ special, aren’t ya?” he asks as his eyes sink into the pits of your soul.

Special. He thinks you’re special.

“Thank you for thinking that,” you giggle shyly. “I just know how to get in touch with nature. It’s one of my favorite places to be,” you say with a sing-song voice as you tilt your head and take in the splashes of warm sun against your skin.

Joel just watches dreamily as you close your eyes and take in the sun. He thinks you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, knows just how special you are. He thinks he knew the moment he laid his eyes on you.

When all the deer have left, you give him a tour of your grand garden, telling him all about your favorite flowers and take him down to the edge of the stream as little minnows swim around the middle of the clear water. When you start to lead him back to the house, he starts up light conversation again.

“You really are an expert on nature, aren’t ya? Anything from flowers to planting herbs to animals. You’re really quite somethin’,” he says mesmerized as he stops on the edge of the porch and lingers his hand next to yours, grazing his thumb lightly against the back of your hand as you feel the sparks light up like a million fireworks going off at once. It’s warm, feels safe, makes you feel alive as you trail your pinky finger against his. You want to dance in the flames, let the orange sparks ignite your soul as they take you down to devour you whole.

“You think so?” you smile, watching his honey glazed eyes trail over yours.

“Mhm. Just like a little garden fairy,” he teases as he traces his calloused fingers down your jawline slowly. “Gonna have to teach me more, enchantress,” he whispers as his fingers drop from your jawline, your face burning with desire as you beg to be touched by him again.

Enchantress. The word echoes through your mind as his Southern drawl crashes through your ears. Enchantress, you repeat back to yourself. He’s so sweet, just like the honey that swims in his captivating eyes.

“I’d like that,” you swallow as nerves build in your chest.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up a blank contact page on the lit up screen, handing it to you so you can type in your phone number. You take the phone from his hands and dance your fingers over the keyboard, putting a fairy emoji next to your name as you push save. You hand it back over to him as he slides it back into the pocket of his jeans.

The sun starts to set as colors of deep purple, bright orange, and dark pink paint the sky red as the sun slowly slips beneath the fluffy clouds. He rakes a hand through his tousled curls and nods your direction as he steps down the porch steps. You wish he’d stay for dinner, but you should probably let him get back home.

“It was nice meeting you, darlin’.” He says your name slowly as it drips off his tongue like sweet molasses, sending butterflies flitting through your stomach. “You gonna save some of that sweet tea for me next time?”

Next time. That means there will be a next time. Another day with Joel Miller sipping on your herbal tea as you teach him all about your favorite things. It sounds absolutely magical.

You smile gently at him and shake your head. “I’ll have a pitcher waiting for you,” you promise.

He chuckles as a smile splays against his gorgeous face, painting his eyes the color of hazelnut coffee. So fucking beautiful. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll hold you to it.”

He turns and walks back to his Chevy truck, but before he makes it he turns around and gives you one more long, waning glance. His eyes full of admiration. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight,” you whisper back to him, letting the soft wind carry your voice over to him. He gives you one more lingering smile and then walks away. You watch him start the engine and watch as the his headlights disappear through the trees, down the gravel road that’ll lead him back home.

You turn and slide down your porch, leaning your elbows against the edge of your lilac dress as you let out the longest sigh you’ve ever breathed out of your mouth. Oliver comes up and brushes up against your hip, meowing as he stares up at the lingering dirt in the air from Joel’s truck.

“Yeah, Oliver, I think I like this one, too,” you sigh, daydreaming about the next time you’ll see those dreamy brown eyes of his again.

Joel lays in his bed that night, twirling the lavender colored rose between his fingers, inhaling the scent of fresh gardens, sweet smelling flowers, and you. He’s already memorized your exact smell. You smell like rose petals, lilacs, and sweet tea. It’s intoxicating, a fragrance he can’t seem to get out of his head.

And your smile. God, that sweet smile you give him makes him a weak man. He could never say no to you as long as you fluttered those long, dark eyelashes up at him as you flash him that beautiful smile. The one that makes his heart swell in his chest. He can’t wait to see you again. Just the thought of him pulling you in his arms with that form fitting lilac sundress sends chills down his spine. Joel Miller is not one to fall easily, but for you it might be as easy as putting one foot in front of the other.

He places the soft purple rose on his mahogany bedside table and takes a picture as his camera flashes over the rose. He pulls up your name and attaches the picture with a cute little message.

Please, don’t mess this up, Joel. She’s too perfect.

Your phone chimes on your cream painted nightstand, and you roll over in your queen sized bed, taking the lilac sheets with you as you reach for your iPhone. You see a number you don’t recognize on the lit up screen and slide the lock open. Your heart jolts as soon as you see the picture of the lavender rose on his nightstand, the words take your breath away. It’s him, Joel.

Joel: Thanks again for the rose, little enchantress.

You melt as you read the text over and over and over again. Little enchantress. The nickname nearly makes you fall out of bed with how sweet it is. You text him back a couple minutes later.

You: You’re so very welcome. You’re always welcome to come get some more. My garden is always open.

You end the text with a smiley face and a rose emoji, setting your phone back on the nightstand after pushing send and then hug the silky purple pillow to your chest.

He kept the rose you gave him. He kept the rose. He was thinking about you just like you were thinking about him.

You turn again in your silky lilac sheets and inhale the soft vanilla candles that burn in the corner of your room. The gentle breeze of night slips through your cracked window and blows the sheer white curtains to the side. Shadows dance across your lilac covered walls, and it almost looks like two people slow dancing in the moonlight. You pretend it’s you and Joel, dancing under the moonlight as he pulls you close and grazes his lips against yours, pretend his hands envelop yours as his calloused fingers graze the edges of your face.

You turn back around and close your eyes, wishing for dreams of dark eyes and tousled curls. Joel, Joel Joel. You were all his, all for the taking. He just needed to come sweep you off your feet, and you’d be his. You already knew, he was the one you wanted, the one you’d been wishing for for your entire life. He was the one.

Joel was the one.

Tags: (Please let me know if you do not want to be tagged. I figured you guys would want to read!) @joelalorian @joelmillersblog @vividispunk @tuquoquebrute @mountainsandmayhem @princesatracionera @blueseastorm @janaispunk @amyispxnk @bambisweethearts @vivian-pascal @strawberri-blonde @dugiioh @akah565 @ka-x-in @orcasoul @lotusbxtch @reddedmiller @r3dheadedwitch @pedrostories @jasminedragoon @msjarvis @littlevenicebitch69 @ezrasbirdie-main @cherrybombsxxx @thischarmingmandalorian @prettytulips @burntheedges @sweetercalypso @keylimebeag @casa-boiardi @vvitchesh3x @laurrrra

[the-fiction-witch]

Caraxes

Media House of The Dragon

Character Daemon Targaryen

Couple Daemon X Reader

Rating Sweet + A bit flirty

Daemon slowly climbs down from his black stallion he gives his clothes an adjust before he turns back with a smile to his soon-to-be bride Y/n, sat on the horse in her black gown, He takes her in his arms and helps her down from the horse gracefully before He began to walk off with her hand held tightly in his, until they arrived at the entrance to the Dragon pit. Before entering, however, he stopped.

"Before we go in my love, I must ask you to remain calm. Would you be able to do that for me?"

She held his arm the whole walk rather excited even if she was clearly nervous, she nodded and smiled trying her best not to show her fears, Daemon found her so adorable, an innocent sweet girl, and he wanted to protect her at all costs.

"Then come on, my love."He smiled kissing her hand before he began to walk in,

First was the smell of the scent of dragon, The warm reptilian scent with burnt flesh and stone.

Second was The noise of the Dragons echoing through the large caverns of the dragon bit,

"Now. You must remain calm as I introduce you. I know that it may be difficult, but I ask that you please try not to show your fears,"

"I promise to do my best Daemon" She blushed,

"Your best is more than enough, my love." he cooed kissing her forehead,

"thought I admit Imagined them having a bigger house.”

Daemon chuckled as she spoke. "The Dragon pit here are much smaller than the space they have back at Dragonstone. Back home they have hundreds of acres only for the Dragons to roam. Here we are limited to the cavens,"

“Ohh… poor things,”

“I never like keeping him here long, and even when I do I make sure to take him out alot.”

“That’s very sweet of you,”

"Do you want to meet my most beloved dragon?"

she nodded hiding her eyes behind her hands to be surprised

Daemon smiled wrapping his arms around her waist and giving her a kiss, The dragon keepers brought Caraxes in from a smaller caven to be admired in his full glory as Caraxes lifted his head and looked down at the two of them already the dragon was tense as he knew his master and bonded Targaryen but did not know Y/n. Daemon could already see this would be a beautiful moment that would forever be burned into her memory.

"My love. I want you to open your eyes, and I want you to look up now."

y/n moved her hands and her eyes began far lower but then she quickly corrected from her expectations of the dragon being far smaller than he was and immediately she gulped, fear washed over her for a moment but she did her best to be brave, as she looks up at Caraxes the dragon tall with fiery red scales, bright yellow eyes, a beard of horns and wings large enough to strange a ship, his body long and serpentine like with a neck that slithers and slicks,

Daemon smiled and watched her reaction as she took in the sight of his dragon.

"My dragon, my oldest and most trusted companion, Caraxes." He said,

"he's...big,"

Daemon laughed at her comment as he spoke. "He is indeed very big, but he is a gentle dragon. Come on."

He began leading her to Caraxes, The dragon did not seem happy about this woman approaching but given she was still being held by a daemon he seemed to accept her… for now.

“How uhh how old is he?”

“No one knows for sure, my uncle Aemon rode him as a young dragon all the way until his death,”

“So he was your uncle’s?”

“He was, dragons can only have one living rider. So when Aemon died by crossbow. He was riderless.”

“And then… You?”

“And I found him, after all riderless dragons are often ignored. I was merely a boy but he gave me structure, and purpose at a young age.”

“That is very sweet,”

“Come on, you can touch him,”

She slowly moved closer clearly nervous, "will he eat me?" she whispered her fears already overwhelming her,

"He wouldn't dare try such a thing. Caraxes would never even dream of harming you. Come, he wishes to meet you." Daemon could see how nervous she was, and it only made him want to protect her more.

she moved maybe two more steps closer "...can he hear me?" She whispered

Daemon raised an eyebrow at her question and then nodded as he spoke. "Of course he can my love. He can hear everything we say." Daemon chuckled, and looked to her. "He is a gentle soul really. You see, I have trained him well. He even understands me, come closer, you are nothing to fear my love."

She moved closer now so close caraxes could investigate her with Daemon still behind her protectively Caraxes sniffed at her, his nose rubbing slightly against her. Daemon could see his eyes narrowing as he studied her, and as she remained in place.

Daemon smiled, and gave her hand a tight squeeze. "He likes you. See? Caraxes is quite a sweet dragon."

"I suppose so... Uhhh... Thank you for not eating me caraxes..."

"You see!? Such a nice dragon... Would you like to try and touch him now?"

She was clearly still full of fear as she moved her hand closer and touched the dragon scales for maybe a second, if that. Before she moved her hand away as quickly as she could. Daemon chuckled and took her hand resting it against Caraxes scales his hand ontop of hers as the dragon shifted accepting Y/n as an extension of Daemon,

Daemon smiled, quite impressed by her calm demeanour around such a large beast. "See? You're doing great, he certainly likes you my love."

"he is very nice, very sweet. And a very handsome dragon" she smiled as she began to stroke caraxes by the nose with both her hands

Daemon smiled wide as he continued to watch them, feeling a sense of pride in her. She was so sweet, and had certainly won Caraxes's heart. Which was more then enough to melt his own to see the woman he loved and was to marry bond so happily with his dragon, "He is quite a handsome dragon, isn't he?"

Caraxes responded to her petting by tilting his head back against her, he seemed quite contented with her attention.

"mhm very handsome"

It made him so happy to see her and his dragon enjoy one another, As she continued to stroke Caraxes, Daemon smiled and spoke. "It seems you have my dragon's heart."

"I do?"

"You have. Caraxes is clearly quite fond of you, I can tell. You won him over, and as such I am quite pleased with you. I have the feeling you two would get along just fine with one another."

"I hope so, hello caraxes your very lovely thank you for being nice to me. I think your a very big very nice dragon" she smiled

"I think he appreciates your kind words my love. I believe he would like you to become his friend."

"awww I'm sure we'll be freinds"

Daemon gave her hand another tight squeeze. "I think he's grown fond of you already. I must say, it is rather nice to see him with a woman who does not scream in fear while looking at him."

"I admit he shocked me I didn't imagine he was so big but he's very sweet and handsome. Just like someone else I know," she smiled giving caraxes nose a kiss and then daemons nose a kiss

"I would certainly say the feeling is mutual." He rubbed his thumb against his caraxes nose too, "See? Even my dragon finds you as irresistible as I do, my love."

"he does?"

"He does, I think your kiss has quite won him over now."

Caraxes nudged his head against her again, and looked up to Daemon with an expectant look.

Daemon smiled, and chuckled before speaking."See. He truly does enjoy your affection."

"awww," she smiled doing her best to hug the gigantic dragon with her tiny arms,

Daemon chuckled at the scene before him "I think it's safe to say the two of you are getting along quite well. Would you like to try and climb on him my love? I believe he would hold you safely if you wanted to try."

"ohh... I don't know, isn't it dangerous?"

"Caraxes would never allow you to come to any harm, and nor would I. I will assure you, you would be perfectly safe."

"well... If you think it's safe. Could I give him something before we go? A treat perhaps... If... Uhh if dragons have treats?"

“A treat?”

“I’m sorry… do dragons get treats?”

Daemon smirked at this, as he spoke."I'm sure he would like a little treat. Would you like me to go and get him one love?"

"Mhm"

Daemon laughed at her answer and nodded slightly. "I shall be back with something in a moment." he gave her a kiss and went to talk to the dragon keepers,

she was a little more nervous now she was alone even if daemon is just across the room, but she smiled and stroked caraxes nose "ummm your a very beautiful boy, I see why Daemon loves you so much"

Caraxes whimpers in response to her words, moving his head against her now that she was alone with him. He seemed to enjoy her words, and after a moment of her caressing him, he began to lean toward her.

she giggled and ran her hands over his scales and gave him kisses softly singing a gentle song like a lullaby

Caraxes seemed to be enjoying the gentle singing and her caressing. Caraxes leaned his massive head against her, his red scales feeling quite hot from her touch. After a moment or two that she spent giving him gentle kisses and caresses, it was quite clear he had found himself quite smitten with her now. After a moment he nudged his cheek against her in an attempt to get her to scratch it, the gentle red dragon wanted all the affection he could get from her. She began to gently scratch his cheek as the dragon nudged her. Caraxes's small yellow eyes seemed to be locked onto hers, and his tongue licked at her hand at one point.

Daemon came back over the keepers having fetched a pig, "I believe Caraxes really likes you my love. I wonder why that might be."

"who knows? Maybe I just smell nice?"

"Perhaps that is it. That you may be filled with a scent that just so happens to attract such powerful dragons." He teased her,

"or maybe... He's just so much like you. You fell in love with me only makes sense a dragon that is such an extension of yourself would love me too,"

He chuckled lightly as he spoke again. “I suppose that could be true,” He nodded, “You think my dragon and I are quite similar then?"

"Umm my big handsome sweet boys"

Daemon smiled brightly. "Really?"

"Mhm, But ones a little more special" she smiled wrapping her arms around daemons shoulders,

"And which of us is more special my dear love?"

"hummm I wonder" she Giggled before she stood on her toes and kissed his lips

Her attempt was quite cute, and his mouth met hers as they kissed. He could feel the passion building, and he couldn't quite contain himself now. He took her in his arms, lifting her body up against him. Their lips locked in an intimate and passionate kiss, Daemon's lips continued to play with her own, as one of his hands found her back while the other hand moved to her soft neck. Their kissing grew more intense now, and he found himself enjoying the moment far more than he thought he would. Daemon's body pressed hers against the wall, and he could feel her curves pressing against him. His hand moved to hold her back while his other hand continued to run its fingers through her soft hair. She was incredibly attractive, and the passion between the two was clearly growing larger and larger. Daemon felt his heart beating faster and faster. And Y/n felt as if she was to faint from the passion, The adrenaline between the two increased as their kisses became more heated. His body moved closer, pressing up against her. He could feel the heat of her body as it pressed against him, it was quite intoxicating to say the least.

they are both suddenly interrupted by the harsh sound of caraxes blowing fire into the roof of the cave they both jumped at the loud noise of Caraxes's fire, Caraxes stared at them both in a disapproving manner.

After a moment Daemon spoke, trying his best to contain a chuckle. "I believe he does not approve."

"I think he might be a bit jealous? Of me or you?"

Daemon chuckled as he spoke. "I believe he is most likely jealous of me." he smirked, "He must be smiutten with you, and now he will want to have your affection all to him self my love."

"ohh I'm sorry I didn't mean to cause any trouble"

Daemon chuckled lightly at her apology. "There is nothing to apologize for my love. You have done nothing wrong. I do believe Caraxes is simply a bit jealous, so I must go back to giving him what he wants. Do not worry about it my dear."

"All alright I do hope I didn't cause any trouble between you" she said nervously

"Don't worry, I admit I got a little jealous seeing him with you too so I can't blame him for getting jealous of you and I?"

"You did?"

"A little my love," He cooed, "Do you think you'd want to ride on Caraxes back with me?"

"Now?" she gulped,

"Not today, another day, with less wind when it's safer for you." he explained, "But? would you want to?"

"I think so," she nodded, "I'd like to,"

"You are just perfect aren't you," He cooed, "I can see it now, you and I riding on dragon back together around dragon stone"

"It does sound nice," 

"And perhaps we will have dragon eggs settled by the cradle,"

"The cradle?" she giggled,

"Umm, Our children will be Targaryens my love. Dragon riders. We could lay eggs in their cradles and have them bond at birth, so we can go riding around dragon stone with our children on caraxes when they're young and then... their own when they are grown." 

"Riding on Caraxes? with our children?" she laughed at what seemed so absurd but she found it sweet at the same time that Daemon wanted his children to ride on his dragon with him,

"Of course," he nodded, "My mother took me to the sky with me in her lap when I was merely three weeks old, as she rode on Meleys," He explained, "Would you deny me giving our children the same?"

"Ohh..." she smiled, "Of course not, I could never deny such a thing. It's very sweet Daemon, I am sorry if my joke of it offended-"

Daemon smiled at her, stroking her cheek for a moment before letting his fingers play with her hair. "There is nothing to worry about my love. come on He likely just want’s his treat." he chuckled

she nodded and cuddled into his chest happily, Daemon wrapped his arms around her body as he held her to his. She was so comfortable, and her being this close felt quite warm to him. His fingers ran through the soft strands of her hair, and he could feel the softness of her skin against him as he ordered the keepers to give Caraxes the pig,

"You are the embodiment of beauty and grace to me, and I cannot help but be drawn to you. The moment I lay eyes upon you I could feel the passion brewing between us, my love. I do believe that the gods themselves must have created you for my own enjoyment, though I would rather have you all to myself and not share you even with my own dragon." he smirked, "you shall utterly be all mine once we are made man and wife. There shall be nobody that can come and steal you away from me, or the gods themselves will hear of my anger my dear."

“I can’t wait till we’re married Daemon,”

“I can’t wait either Y/n,” He cooed, 

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 13

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

---

The way that Chan slumps straight down onto your sofa suggests that it has either been a long day or he is expecting a long night ahead. You're almost too scared to ask which is true; not that there's a way for you to wheedle out of blame for either being difficult. It's all related to you joining the group, and whatever was going on with your schedule.

In the end, Chan doesn't give you a chance to ask, his eyes roving around the apartment. "Your dorm is nice," he comments, in the sort of voice that would insinuate his isn't nice if you hadn't already seen it.

You glance around too, at the white walls and years-old pieces of furniture that clutter the space. They've all seen many singers come and go before you, and then were never built for that kind of handing down - but they're robust, if not entirely pretty. Dependable as a place to keep a home. "It's alright," you say, sinking into the seat beside him. "It's small. There's no way all eight of you would fit."

"It's loud enough in our dorm," Chan agrees, cutting a grin. "You should have seen when there was nine of us living on top of each other in one dorm."

Nine of us. Not you, of course, but the long-gone boy you were supposed to replace. You're not sure how the echo of the words over inside your head makes you feel. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you're distinctly aware that you've never heard him say that before (not even since you joined; always, it was the eight of them and one of you).

"Nightmareish," you say dryly, but the response is lacklustre, the joke weak and watery. Chan's smile fades. 

"I guess I should stop stalling," he says, mistaking your tone for a different kind of distraction. 

For two weeks, a heavy, curling tension has been holding itself steady in your gut; at the reminder of it now, it clenches its fist tight, your ribcage retracting and your breath shallow. You're going to debut, Minseo had said, and you'd thought it and thought it and thought it; but surely, it was unbelievable-

"I want you to perform at K-Con," Chan says, before the thought can finish flashing through your mind, and you freeze. "Not the whole concert, just God's Menu, or whatever you're confident in. Anything you want."

"Isn't K-Con in three weeks?" you question, and try to ignore the pounding of your heart in your chest. "You want me to debut in three weeks?"

A light dances in his eyes, that funny, coy smile he wears when he wants to mess with someone playing on his lips. "Technically, it doesn't count as a debut until the album comes out."

You’re seized by the sudden urge to push him off the couch - not that your hands move. You're still stuck in place, fingers twisted together in your lap; and even if you weren't, it's one thing to make playful threats in a text under his encouragement. It's another to enact them in real life, when he wants to sit across from you and offer you all of your dreams-

"Why?" you blurt out, and then realise belatedly that that might be just as rude as the actions you were trying to avoid. 

Not that he cares, that smile slowly fading into something that isn't anger or humour. Even if you'd asked in Korean, you're pretty sure he wouldn't have minded. He was always telling you there was no hierarchy within this group, no reason to treat him with any respect.

"Because I want to," he insists. "The company agreed that you're ready - and you are ready. You've worked really hard."

You can't stop staring at him; that smile that's plastered across his face, the order of the words that come out of his mouth. You can't put your finger on why it gives you a bad feeling, and yet...something is off. You're sure of it. There's something he's not saying.

But what would he be keeping from you? Your mind wanders back through the things you know about him, the conversation you've had. Is this about the agreement you made, that you would stop working so hard once debut came? But he had just offered you a loophole out of that...and you've never known him to be that kind of sly anyway. Unless you don't know him as well as you think you do - which you suppose would be disappointing but not unexpected-

"What's wrong?" he asks, that pleased smile slipping from his face, and you can see it there under the crack; the secret, and the worry that holds itself stiff in his shoulders as he wonders if you've figured it out.

You have to take a deep breath first, and then another. The air won't quite reach the bottom of your lungs.

"It just doesn't make sense," you say, as kindly as you can. Your fingers twist at each other, tight enough to hurt.

"Doesn't it?" Chan asks. "You're ready for this, I promise."

"No," you say, certainty growing with every moment. "There's something you're not telling me."

Chan looks desperate. "There's nothing else to it."

He's a bad liar. You shake your head. "I'm just going to worry about it if you don't tell me."

"It's not something you should worry about," he insists. "I've got it under control."

"But there is something."

"No."

"You just admitted there's something."

He stops, thinking back through what he's said. Blanches. "Chan," you say, leaning forward, your elbows braced on your knees. You're surprised by the surprise on his face at the way you say his name - strong and unquestioning, free of honourifics and any kind of doubt. "Don't keep secrets from me. Please."

It's the weak little please at the end that makes him waver, the cracks of your resolve on the second syllable as the doubt over how far you can reasonably push him sinks its teeth in. He's still not angry though; if anything, he's scared, apprehension holding his tongue and reeling him, straight-backed, into the couch.

"It's better if you don't know," he says like he's delivering an apology. "I don't keep secrets. I just don't tell you things that are only going to hurt you. It's the same for all the boys - I don't see a reason in upsetting any of you when I've already resolved it."

You digest this slowly, your frustration melting word by word. "You're a really good leader," are the first words that blurt out of your mouth, a compliment that has him shaking his head and avoiding your gaze before the words are even out of your mouth. "And I appreciate it. Really."

There's a pause where you swallow the words that were about to come out of your mouth, too afraid to voice criticism, to risk the tenuous position you've built for yourself here.

"But?" Chan prompts as soon as the silence gets too loud.

Breathe.

"But," you say, intentionally slowing yourself down to one word at a time, "I've been around long enough to know when something's up, and I've looked after myself long enough to be able to handle it. If it's about debut and my career, I want to know what it is. Hurtful or not."

Chan's mouth twists unhappily. "I understand," he answers - and though he looks unhappy, you don't disbelieve him. "But also, you're not alone anymore. You're one of my people now, and it's my job to look after my people."

"I know that." Your hands are trembling, you realise suddenly, your head buzzing from the thrum of your heart beating in your ears. "And I know you like taking care of people and making sure the others never have to worry and all of that, but...that doesn't work for me. If I think something happened and I don't know what it is, I'm only going to sit here and think about it."

Inexplicably, a small smile twists at Chan's mouth, his eyes softening. "That's not going to help any more than me telling you is," he says lightly.

"Yeah," you sigh, leaning back. "I know." 

For a moment, silence falls, the tension in the air unwinding itself into something a little more comfortable as you work your way through all the things you think you should say. Chan waits patiently; understanding, maybe, that you need a moment to think, that what you're trying to say might not come out the right way the first time you say it. That would be nice. It already feels like you're risking everything to have this conversation.

"Don't baby me," you say eventually, and then cringe at how blunt the statement sounds coming out of your mouth. "I'm old enough, I can handle whatever it is. I've taken care of myself all this time."

"You're not alone anymore though," Chan repeats, stronger this time. 

"I still want to know what's happening though," you insist. "Where I stand with you, or the company, or - whatever it is. Even in a group, it's my career. I deserve to know."

"Okay," Chan says, and then again, "Okay." He stops for a moment, eyeing you appraisingly, and then says, "It's important to me that you listen to what I'm saying though. You're not alone anymore. We're a family, and we work so well because we're all committed to each other. If you want to be a part of this, you have to be as well. Do you understand?"

Your chin dips towards your chest - first in a nod, and then to stare at your hands rather than the unyielding intensity of his gaze, waiting for your answer. Waiting to see if he should be worried about you and whatever commitment he's made to you without you knowing. "I'm trying," you say, and you try your best to colour your voice in that raw honesty that burns at your chest. "I really am - I just don't want to pretend to be one of you if you're not all ready to accept me. I don't want to just come in and say I'm part of Stray Kids, I'm the same as the rest of you who have been here from the start-"

"You are one of us," he says over the top of you, cutting you off short. "We've all accepted you. If you want, in the morning, we can go and ask every single member and they'll tell you the same thing, but I need...I need you to let go of that. Forget Midnight and all the other groups that you nearly joined and being by yourself, and be part of Stray Kids. That's the person I want to show to Stay next month. That's the person I need in this group."

You swallow hard, blinking back tears. It feels big, this moment - bigger than the climax of any reality show, or the flight and fall of your time in Midnight, or the countless monthly evaluations that have passed you by in your time here. Bigger than auditions and leaving your home behind, the hardest moment you'd once thought you'd live through, when you were younger and less wary of the world. And for it to be Chan that sits there and asks this of you, his heart on his sleeve and his nature so honest and well intentioned, so hard to let down-

"I can do that," you say, around a tongue that feels thicker and heavier than it was before, a mouth stuffed full of cotton. You look up, meeting his eyes, and you're surprised to find a smile there, slowly lifting his face and crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Pleased. Relieved.

"Okay," he says, a breath blowing out with the word. "Good. Because I really want to keep you."

"Good," you echo. "Because I really want to stay."

He laughs; a small, soft thing that unwinds the tension in your chest. You pull in another breath, push back the tears again; preparing for what you need to say next. 

"I meant what I said earlier though," you add, your shoulders squaring and your jaw clenched tight. "This is important to you, and it's important to me that I know exactly what's going on."

You hate watching that smile struggle and fade again, gone as quickly as you had earned it. "You're not going to like it," he warns, but he doesn't try to fend you off again.

"That's okay," you sigh. "Nothing unusual."

His mouth twists against words that he decides not to say. "The company offered last week to let us continue as eight members," he admits, one of his hands reaching up to pick mindlessly at the pillow of your couch. "They were pretty insistent about it, actually. I told them we wanted to be nine."

Your gaze turns sharp, your head swivelling to stare at him. "Why?" you ask, your voice gasping - because you can't fathom, after the back-and-forth of the last three months and the drama of delaying your debut when they'd been so hell-bent on revealing you in time for the last album, why they would turn around and try to take you out just as quickly.

"Because God's Menu did so well." Chan shrugs. "We weren't doing very well as a group before that; the last two albums were rough, and losing a member...I guess they thought without him we weren't ever going to be able to do as well as we did at debut, and then we went and proved to them that we are profitable as eight members. And they thought they could just use you as a backup plan."

"And you-"

"I told them they already spent the last three months fucking around to make us a nine member group, so we're going ahead as nine." You're surprised at the way his voice turns sharp, the hardening of his eyes and the dig of his fingers into the cushion. "They asked me if you were ready to debut, and I told them you could debut at our next concert if they wanted - which I probably shouldn't have said, because they decided that was a great idea, but-"

It's him that's rambling now, you that cuts across him with a, "Chan." He stops short, looking up at you with eyes that remind you of how you'd felt just moments ago - unsure, wary of how you're going to react. Sure that you're going to be angry for some reason, even though what he's done is...

"Thank you," you say, your voice dropping away to almost nothing - tears well in the corners of your eyes, unbidden, dripping down your cheeks even though your throat aches with the effort of trying to swallow them back down. "No one's ever done anything like that for me before."

"Hey, don't cry," he says, alarmed. His weight shifts across the couch, his arms reaching out -  before you can wave him away, they envelop you in a hug, pulling you into his chest. It's been a long time since you hugged anyone; you're surprised at just how much you didn't know that you missed this kind of comfort, the tightening of someone else's arms around you and the warmth of another body close. 

"You better get used to it," he says over the tuck of your head into his shoulder, your tears drying on his hoodie. "You're stuck with me now."

"You didn't even ask me first," you say, and listen to the way he laughs. "I'm going to do a good job at K-Con. I promise."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," he says, before you can continue on. "We're going to have to plan how to show those idiots that they were wrong."

"It's my special talent," you joke weakly. "They haven't got rid of me yet."

You can hear the satisfied smile on his face, the amused huff of breath that ghosts over the top of your head. "And they never will," he says, and it sounds like a promise. A prophecy.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night @d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk @minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification @starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace @amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002 @hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff @splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit @jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @slutfortits @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

[wherethefireliliesgrow]

Moonlight Sunrise (Part 1)

Minatozaki Sana x reader

GENRE: angst, fluff, non-idol

TYPE: Short fic Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Slowly making your way down the dusty, unfamiliar roads, you passed several guards waving large indigo-purple flags.

“Only two more days before the labyrinth opens!” they yelled, “Find the Luminite Stone and save the princess from the labyrinth!”

Several men, presumably the best knights and warriors of their kingdoms, crowded around the guards, sizing each other up and boasting about their wins.

As you passed by the crowd, you quickly pulled down your hood, trying to avoid any suspicion. There was a low possibility that anyone recognized you, as you were more of an assassin, always with your face covered. However, you were worried that others from the same profession might be present as well.

It was almost time for the annual labyrinth challenge, where warriors and knights from all over the world traveled to the Minatozaki kingdom, one of the most powerful kingdoms existing, to save the princess and win her hand in marriage. The only child of King Minatozaki had been cursed by one of the eastern witches after they were accidentally omitted from the baby’s birth celebration. It was rumored that she had one of the most angelic faces to grace the earth, but right after her 17th birthday, she disappeared from public view altogether.

A labyrinth of a thousand acres suddenly appeared at the borders of the kingdom, shrouded by dark clouds and vine-covered walls thousands of meters high. In the core of the labyrinth was the Luminite stone, a stone that grants the beholder any wish, and the princess’s soul was also bound to the stone. The princess was said to only be seen in the labyrinth, forever lost in the dark.

King Minatozaki loved his daughter dearly. Although he was reluctant to marry her off to just anyone, he knew that he himself couldn’t manage to retrieve the stone with his daughter's soul from the labyrinth. He wanted his daughter free from the grasp of the labyrinth, so the only way to do so was to hold a competition every year when the gates to the labyrinth opened.

Anyone who managed to make it out alive with the stone would be able to have their wish granted, but at the same time, as they now had the stone, they would be in control of Princess Sana, and the entire kingdom would be inherited. This prompted countless greedy men to try, hoping to have their deepest desires fulfilled and to possess the most beautiful human to grace the earth. However, not once had anyone made it out alive from the past ten competitions, all disappearing mysteriously.

You couldn’t care less about owning an entire nation, let alone marrying a random princess that you had never seen. You were there for the one wish that would be granted by the Luminite Stone. You had someone to save, and that brought you out from the private, invisible life as an assassin.

.

.

.

.

The sun was setting as you finally reached the golden gates of the castle. Its towering walls, adorned with intricate carvings and banners bearing the kingdom's crest, loomed majestically against the dusky sky. Each night leading up to the competition for the week, the King hosted lavish banquets within the castle's celestial halls.

These gatherings weren't just about food; they were a spectacle, ensuring the competitors were not only well-fed but also immersed in the grandeur of the kingdom. Newcomers were welcomed with open arms, and given the chance to register, mingle, and familiarize themselves with the labyrinth's complexities before the daunting challenge ahead. After all, this was probably the last time they would ever have something to eat before they met their end in the labyrinth.

The banquet hall buzzed with hundreds of men, their voices echoing off the walls. You spotted a few familiar faces from your past travels but made a beeline for the reception, preferring not to draw attention. After all, the labyrinth held not only unknown monsters but human threats as well.

“Name?” the page asked without looking up, his tired face buried in countless scrolls of paper.

“Hwang Y/N,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably and pulling your hood even higher over your face.

The page paused, his hands trembling slightly as he looked up at you. His eyes widened in shock, and he pushed his glasses closer to his eyes, clearing his throat.

“Hwang Y/N? The NightWalker?”

You nodded, expressionless, as the man cowered in fear.

“I-I didn’t expect you to participate in these events.”

“Is that a problem?”

“N-no… of course not. I guess even assassins have an eye for beauty,” he nervously laughed, expecting you to agree.

You narrowed your eyes at his comment, disbelieving how even those who worked for the princess treated her as an object.

“You should keep your mouth shut before I cut off your tongue,” you whispered in his ear, watching with satisfaction as he fumbled with his pen.

Before you could do anything else, a warm arm wrapped around your shoulders. Instinctively, you reached for your small knife, but the intruder's hand firmly grasped yours, firm yet unthreatening.

“Now now, Hwang. That’s not how you greet an old friend, is it?”

You turned to see Momo, one of your close colleagues before she became head of security for the Minatozaki Kingdom.

“Hirai,” you sighed, pulling her into a hug.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger. It’s been, what, three years since I last heard from you?”

“Five,” you grinned, feeling more at ease with Momo by your side.

“Yes! Exactly! Ever since you took down the Kim Clan, you just disappeared,” she sighed dramatically, leading you toward a table filled with exotic cuisines. She grabbed a bottle of champagne, taking a sip before passing it to you.

“The hero of the century, gone without a sound, forever remaining a mystery. Face unseen, name forever known. Until now,” she said as if narrating a fairy tale. “She shows the world her face, to save the damsel in distress.”

You rolled your eyes and took a swig of champagne. “I’m not here for the princess or power.”

“Whichever reason you are here for, I won’t pry. I’ll just be cheering you on from the sidelines.” Momo smirked, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. Her respect for your privacy was always something you loved about her.

“Anyway, I have to get back to my duties. Let’s catch up tomorrow before the challenge.” She says loudly, before whispering in your ear, “take the door on the left, and go down two flights of stairs. You’ll find the backdoor to the garden.”

As if nothing happened, she straightened up and breezed away toward a small crowd that was about to break into a fight.

You watched Momo easily tackle a barbaric man down to the floor, without drawing her sword. The crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed as Momo stood up with one of her feet on the man’s stomach, looking challenging for anyone daring to cause more trouble in her land. She caught your eye and grinned, giving you a goofy thumbs-up before changing back to her serious face.

You chuckled, grabbing an apple and the champagne, before slipping to the darker corners of the kingdom undetected. Momo working here was a blessing in disguise, she gave you the chance to get to investigate the labyrinth before the challenge.

.

.

.

.

As you navigated down a murky corridor, the air thick with the scent of age and dampness, you descended what felt like more than two flights of stairs, each step creaking under your weight. At last, you stumbled upon a wooden door, its frame nearly crumbling with decay from years of neglect and exposure to the elements.

Pushing it open with a groan, you were surprised to find yourself greeted by a scene of unexpected beauty. The garden beyond was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, casting ethereal shadows upon the grounds. Dewdrops reflected the moonlight like diamonds on the grass, their gentle shimmering a stark contrast to the dark, cloudy skies looming over the labyrinth just meters away.

The metal walls that surrounded the garden appeared rusted and weather-beaten, their once sturdy facade now worn and rusted. You couldn't help but wonder if they were enough to keep people out, let alone the rumored monsters said to lurk within the labyrinth's depths.

Taking another swig of your champagne, you wandered around the walls, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the still night air. Peering into the swirling mist, you strained your ears and thought you heard faint roars emanating from within. Yet, in the eerie silence of the garden, you couldn't be certain if they were real or merely figments of your imagination, born from the ominous atmosphere that surrounded you.

"Guess I won’t be getting anything out of this tonight," you thought, sighing as you took a seat on one of the forlorn benches near the metal bars.

Taking an apple out of your coat pocket, you polished it on your sleeve. Just as you were about to bite into it, an eerily soft voice echoed from the shadows looming over the corner.

"Can I have some?" A hooded figure emerged, causing you to leap to your feet.

Despite your assassin training, you hadn’t heard her approach.

The figure slowly removed her hood, revealing long, almost white blonde hair that seemed to reflect the moonlight. She was around the same age as you, her face perfectly sculpted but haunted, with dark circles under her eyes.

“I mean no harm,” she raised her ghostly pale arms in surrender.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion but nodded nonetheless, despite the blood in your body pumping in a fight. It was obvious that this being was not entirely human, but you were in no condition to fight a monstrous being before the competition. The stone was what was important, so you were willing to do anything to avoid conflicts before the challenge.

The girl walked slowly towards you, her posture and grace as if she came from royalty, and sat down on the bench. She looked up at your standing figure expectantly, giving you a soft smile as you finally sat down.

You reached into your coat to pull out a small knife, and the girl immediately flinched. But you simply used the knife to peel the apple, before slicing a piece and putting it onto her hand.

“Thanks,” she muttered, before nibbling on the piece of apple.

You took a good look at the girl. She was thin, too thin, as if she would be blown away by the wind.

“You can call me Luna,” she said finally, still nibbling on the small piece of apple.

You gave a small chuckle at the irony of her name. She did indeed look like the moon goddess herself.

“What’s so funny?”

You shrugged, continuing to slice more pieces of apples for the girl. You saw her glaring at you from the corner of your eye, letting out huffs of frustration when you never said anything.

“Normally when someone introduces themselves to you, you do the same in return,” she said annoyed. Her annoyance made her seem human, and this eased your nerves a bit.

“I’m Hwang Y/N,” your lips twitched, trying not to smile at the way Luna chewed on the apple angrily.

“I like your name,” she said grudgingly, reaching over to grab your champagne without asking.

“What about it?” It wasn’t often that someone didn’t flinch when they heard your name.

“Hwang,” Luna explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, before chugging down half the bottle of champagne.

“It means bright, right? Like the sunrise.”

“Yeah, and?” you asked, reaching over to grab the champagne from her hands. “Stop stealing my shit.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the sun,” she muttered. “Wish I could see the sunrise.”

“Why can’t you?” you asked, turning around to look at her.

Luna ignored your question, instead turning her body towards you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” she raised her big eyes to look at you, her eyes suddenly glowing a faint crimson in the honey-brown hues.

She was definitely not fully human.

You shivered slightly, both in fear and something else, attraction. No, it must be because you felt sorry for her. The poor girl seemed to not have access to much food.

“Thought I could get some clues here before the challenge,” you said honestly.

“Are you looking to win the princess over, too?” she asked with a hint of bitterness in her tone. “To control her as if she was a puppet?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

You hesitated, knowing it wasn’t smart to share anything with strangers, you knew that. But there was something about this girl that you couldn’t seem to put a finger on, it was as if her aura could power all your feelings. You couldn’t do anything but tell her the truth. It was as if she casted a spell on you, her glowing eyes controlling every move.

“I need that stone. I need to get that wish so that I can save my sister.”

Luna’s eyes softened slightly, the glowing red fading and turning back to the original brown color. You felt your body instantly relax.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s sick. She’s been sick for a few months and there’s nothing the doctors can do. Time is running out so I have to hurry.”

The image of your little sister lying in bed, her once lively face now sunken and yellow, her eyes devoid of their usual spark, sends a shiver down your spine. The very thought grips your heart. It was her condition that drove you to show your true identity and take part in this dumb challenge, revealing yourself to the public eye, and relinquishing your assassin status. Now that everyone knew what you looked like, it was inevitable that a bounty would be put on your head.

“I’m sorry,” Luna said, her voice gentle.

Her hand raised slightly as if she wanted to hold yours in comfort but thought better of it.

You shook your head and looked down at your knees. You couldn’t let anyone sense your weakness.

You heard Luna get up from you, this time finally being able to hear her movements.

“I hope you win, Y/N,” she said, her voice soothing, passing warmth throughout your body, instantly making you feel better.

She put a small black object in your lap, a compass.

You looked up and found her walking backward towards the metal walls, a smile playing on her lips. She looked younger when she smiled, innocent even.

"Take the path on the far right, then follow my compass," she instructed, her voice echoing faintly as she effortlessly passed through the metal bars and vanished into the dark mist.

"I'll lead you the way."

You shivered, utterly enchanted and spooked by that humanlike being.

After a moment, you finally shifted your attention to the compass in your hands. It was an exquisite piece, adorned with golden rings and silver arrows.

You flipped to the back of the compass, and there, engraved in elegant wording:

Minatozaki Sana

Next chapter

Been wanting to get this out to you guys for a while now! It's quite different from what I usually write, so let me know if you want to see more of this.