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d1stalker · 4 months ago

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This is Ours [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It's your first time back at your grandparents' farm in years, and while many things are the same, one thing is not: they've hired a new farmhand.

Warnings: fem!reader, SMUT, sexual tension, angst, fluff, lots of feelings WC: 18.8k - MASTERLIST

A/N: apologies for dropping another long fic but i literally could not stop writing the juices were flowing. i really hope you enjoy this! i think its my fave so far :)

----

For as long as you can remember, summers were synonymous with your grandparents' farm. It was a tradition, one you held close to your heart. To you, your time there embodied your entire childhood—days spent under the sun, where the air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and the soothing chorus of cicadas filling the long, golden afternoons.

Mornings began early, with you bounding downstairs to join your grandparents for breakfast. The kitchen was always filled with the comforting aroma of fresh coffee and pancakes. Your grandfather would be at the table, engrossed in his newspaper, while your grandmother hummed softly as she cooked, the sound of the morning radio playing faintly in the background. Your days were spent exploring the fields, helping with the chores and horses, or sitting on the porch with your grandmother, listening to stories from her youth.

It couldn’t get any more perfect than that.

But as the years passed, things changed. After you graduated high school, the summer visits became less frequent. University took up more of your time, and you were always busy—first with classes, then with internships, and finally with starting your career. The farm, once the centre of your world, became a place you could only visit if you were lucky, and even then, it was never for long.

You miss it.

This year, however, things were different. You found yourself in between jobs, with the first real break you’d had in what felt like forever. And when the moment the opportunity arose, you knew exactly where you wanted to go.

—

The drive to your grandparents' farm is a journey into the past. The country road, lined with trees that stretched out like old friends, brings back a flood of memories from your childhood: where you’re sitting in the back of your parent’s car vibrating with excitement. You pass the same fields, still as vast and green as you remember, dotted with flowers swaying gently in the breeze, and the old oak tree where you used to swing as a child stands tall, its branches reaching up to the sky as if welcoming you back.

When you finally pull up to the farmhouse, the sight of it fills you with a deep sense of nostalgia. The white paint is more chipped than you remember, the porch sags a little more in the middle, and you can tell that it’s been a while since the grass was last trimmed.

Stepping out of the car, the screen door squeaks open, and there’s your grandmother, standing on the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s smaller than you remember, more fragile, but the smile on her face is the same—warm, welcoming, and full of love. “There’s my girl,” she calls out, rushing down the steps and into the driveway as fast as she can.

“Grandma!” you exclaim, hurrying toward her to wrap her in a hug.

She pulls back to look at you, her eyes twinkling despite the lines of age etched on her face. “You’ve grown even more beautiful, but you look tired. We’ll fix that with some good meals, won’t we?”

You laugh, nodding. “I missed your cooking.”

“And I missed having someone to cook for,” she replies with a chuckle, patting your cheek. “Come inside. Your grandpa’s been counting down the days until you got here.”

You grab your suitcase from your car and follow her into the house, the familiar scents of fresh bread and old wood enveloping you the minute you step inside. It’s just as you remember—cozy, lived-in, filled with the glow of years worth of love and memories. Your grandfather sits at the kitchen table, a pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he reads a book. He looks up as you enter, and the moment he sees you, his face breaks into a wide grin.

“There’s my favourite farmhand,” he jokes, letting out a grunt as he places one hand on the table, slowly pushes out of his chair.

“Grandpa,” you say, meeting him halfway for a hug.

“Got here just in time,” he says with a wink. “Plenty of work to do, you know.”

“I figured,” you reply, playfully nudging him. “I’m ready to get my hands dirty.”

“Good to hear,” he says, leaning back against the table for support. “This old back of mine isn’t what it used to be.”

Your grandmother sets a glass of lemonade in front of you and sits down, her eyes flicking toward the window. “We’ve had to make some changes around here, sweetheart,” she begins gently. “Your grandpa and I… well, we can’t do as much as we used to.”

You hum, listening carefully. Seeing your grandparents grow older is difficult—it's a constant reminder that time is slipping away, and the moments you have together are becoming more precious with each passing day.

“We’ve hired some help,” she continues. “A man named Logan. He’s been a blessing, really, taking care of the heavier work. But he’s… well, he’s not much of a talker.”

“Logan?” you ask, glancing out the window.

That’s when you see him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he is out by the barn, carrying some hay. He’s wearing a worn-down flannel with jeans, and his dark hair is slightly tousled. Even from a distance, you can tell he’s strong—he looks like he knows what he’s doing.

“Yeah, Logan,” your grandfather confirms. “Keeps to himself mostly, but he’s get’s the job done. Don’t mind his gruffness; he’s just not used to people fussing over him.”

“He’s been here since last spring,” your grandmother adds. “We needed the help, and he needed the work. It’s been good for both sides. You should go and introduce yourself after you unpack, dear. Maybe get in some work before we sit for dinner later.”

Nodding, you walk up the stairs in the house and make your way to your room. It looks exactly the same as the last time you saw it. Your old stuffed animals are organized neatly on the shelf above the bed, and the quilt your grandmother made for you, with patches of faded fabric from old dresses and curtains, is spread across the bed the exact same way it’s always been.

The posters on the walls, the little knickknacks on the dresser—everything is a snapshot of your younger self, preserved in this room like a time capsule. It’s comforting, but also a little bittersweet, a reminder of how much time has passed since you had last visited.

After a few moments of reminiscing, you stand up and begin unpacking, carefully placing your clothes in the old wooden dresser. Each drawer creaks as you open it, the sound a part of this room’s charm. You smile as you come across some of the little treasures you left behind—a pressed flower between the pages of an old book, a seashell from a family trip to the coast, and last, a picture of you and your grandparents taken one summer when you were about ten.

You’re standing between them, beaming with a toothy grin, their arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace. The three of you are standing in front of the barn, with the sun setting behind you. You can almost hear your grandmother’s laugh as the camera clicked, your grandfather’s playful grumbling about having to pose for ‘just one more picture.’ The photo captures a moment of pure happiness, a snapshot of a simpler time.

Setting the photo down, you quickly begin to change into your designated farm clothes, and head out to meet the new face around here.

The trek to the barn isn’t very long, just a few minutes away from the main house, and from the outside, you can hear the familiar sounds of work—footsteps crunching on the hay-strewn floor, the creak of wood as something heavy is moved. You pause at the doorway, taking a moment to observe him before stepping inside. He’s focused, his movements efficient as he lifts another bale of hay and stacks it with the others.

You take a deep breath, and step into the barn. “Logan?” you call out softly.

He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but with a slight pause and glance over his shoulder, his eyes, sharp and intense, meet yours, and there’s a moment where you’re not sure what to say. “I’m—”

“I already know who you are,” he grunts, cutting you off.

His abruptness catches you off guard, but you quickly recover, nodding. “Right. I guess that makes sense.”

“If you wanna help, there’s a broom in the back shed,” he continues, going back to his work as if the conversation is already over. “You could sweep up the hay.”

You bristle, a little surprised at how quickly he dismissed you, but you’re determined not to let it rattle you. After all, your grandparents did warn you that he wasn’t much of a talker. “Sure,” you say. “I can do that.”

As you turn to head toward the back shed, you find yourself lightly imitating his gruff tone under your breath, a flicker of irritation running through you. “There’s a broom in the back shed. Yeah, obviously, I know where the broom would be,” you mutter.

In the shed, the broom is in fact, exactly where you expected it to be, and you huff, grabbing it and walking back to the barn. When you return, Logan is still hard at work, stacking the hay, and doesn’t bother to acknowledge you yet again. You set to work sweeping, the rhythmic motion of the broom soon lulling you into a steady state. The barn is quiet, save for the soft shuffling of hay under your broom and the occasional grunt from Logan as he moves the heavy bales.

Time seems to pass slowly, the light outside growing softer as the sun dips lower in the sky. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you barely notice when Logan’s footsteps stop. It’s only when his voice breaks the silence that you’re pulled back to the present.

“Your grandma called for dinner,” he says, causing you to jump a bit at the unexpectedness of his voice in the silence. Before you can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with the broom still in hand. You let out a small sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders. This is going to be a long few months, you think to yourself as you return the broom to its usual place and jog back to the farmhouse.

Inside, the kitchen smells like a warm hearty stew. The table is already set, the familiar blue-and-white checkered tablecloth in place, and your grandparents are seated, chatting quietly as they wait for you and Logan to join them.

You slide into the seat across from your grandmother just as Logan walks over from the sink, two glasses of water in his hands. He places one in front of you with a quick nod, and the other at his own seat, beside yours.

“So,” your grandmother says, her eyes shining with curiosity as she looks between the both of you. “I take it you’ve introduced yourselves to each other?”

You hesitate momentarily, your mind flashing back to your brief encounter in the barn. “Yeah, we have,” you reply, managing a smile, if you can call it that.

Logan doesn’t say anything, his focus on the bowl of stew in front of him. He doesn’t seem interested in joining the conversation, which only adds to the growing sense of awkwardness you feel. You glance at him briefly, wondering if he’s always this closed off or if it’s just his way of dealing with new people.

“Well, that’s good,” your grandmother says, either oblivious to the tension or choosing to ignore it. “Logan’s been a big help around here. We’re so grateful to have him.”

Your grandfather hums in agreement, scooping a spoonful of stew into his mouth before adding, “He’s got a strong work ethic. Doesn’t shy away from the tough jobs, that’s for sure.”

Nodding along, you feel the pressure to say something positive. “That’s great. It’s good to know the farm’s in good hands.” Even thought the words are definitely a bit forced, you mean it.

As the conversation continues, your grandparents shift the focus to you, asking about your job search and what you’ve been up to since you last visited. You give them a brief rundown of the interviews you’ve had, the options you’re considering, and the challenges you’ve faced. You try to keep it light, not wanting to worry them with your uncertainty, but you can’t help but notice the man’s presence beside you, still silent.

At one point, when you’re talking about finding a new apartment, you hear him let out a quiet scoff, and you cast a look over, catching the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. It’s gone almost as quickly as it appears, but it’s enough to make you pause. You want to ask him what that was about, to challenge him on whatever it is he’s thinking, but you bite your tongue. This isn’t the time or place, not in front of your grandparents who are just happy to have everyone around the table.

They continue to chat with you, asking more about your plans and offering their usual words of encouragement. When dinner finally wraps up, your grandmother insists on cleaning up, waving you off when you offer to help. “You’ve had a long day, dear. Why don’t you go relax? Logan can help me with the dishes.”

You smile. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He’s already started collecting the dishes by the time you stand up, but it’s like he refuses to recognize your existence, and that pisses you off.

—

The next morning, you wake before dawn, the world still wrapped in the gentle embrace of night, and for a moment, you lie still, listening to the deep, pulsing of the house—the way the wooden floors creak slightly as they settle, the distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees outside. The comfort of knowing your grandparents are asleep down the hall brings a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Deciding to take advantage of the early hour, you slip out of bed, your feet brushing against the cool floor as you stretch, feeling the muscles in your body slowly wake. You dress quietly, pulling on a soft, worn sweater, and pad downstairs, careful to avoid the spots on the stairs that you know will creak.

You move through the kitchen as if on autopilot, your hands knowing exactly where everything is. You set the coffee to brew, and the rich aroma sills the room.

Reaching for the eggs, you crack a few of them into a bowl, and as you’re whisking, you let your mind wander, thinking about how to spend the day. The soft sizzle of butter in the pan gets your attention and you pour the eggs in, watching as they begin to set around the edges.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, the steam rising from the mug in delicate spirals, and you take a sip, savouring the warmth and flavour hitting your tongue, while your gaze drifts over to the window that faces the back of the farmhouse.

Your grandparents’ own horses, and you recognize some of them from when you were younger. It makes you happy knowing that they’re still being well taken care of. The way the early light touches the land, and the morning dew covers the grass, you can’t help but smile into your mug.

Slowly, you walk a bit closer to the window, eager to take in the view you had been missing all these years, when a figure standing over by the horses catches your eye. It’s Logan, a small surprise given the early hour—you didn’t hear him wake up—but he stands there, leaning casually against the fence, an apple in his hand.

You watch as he holds out the apple to one of the horses, his rough hand moving gently over its neck as it eats. There’s something unexpectedly tender in the way he interacts with the animal, a patience and care that you didn’t expect to see from him, given how he acted yesterday.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another apple, offering it to the second horse, who hungrily accepts it. You continue to stare at the sight outside. This side of him—so different from the unapproachable exterior he’s shown so far—stirs something inside you, a desire to connect with him, to see if there’s more to him than meets the eye.

On impulse, you quickly turn off the stove, grab a second cup of coffee and some toast you’ve just buttered, and without overthinking it, you head outside. The morning air is cool against your skin as you make your way over to Logan.

As you approach, he keeps his attention focused on the horses. You take a moment, then clear your throat lightly, holding out the coffee with a tentative smile. “Thought you might want some breakfast,” you offer, trying to keep your tone light and friendly.

He finally glances at you, his eyes briefly meeting yours. His expression is just as unreadable his had been in the last sixteen hours you’ve known him, and then he grunts, “Already ate,” and turns his attention back to the animals in front of him.

His curt, and honestly rude rebuffals really frustrate you. It’s not like you’re asking him to wipe your ass after you go to the washroom, so you have absolutely no idea why he’s like this.

“Alright,” you mutter, lips pressed together in a thin line, and turn to head back into the kitchen.

Once inside, you set the untouched coffee and toast back on the counter with a sigh. This is so fucking awkward. You’re going to be spending the next however-many-months with him, and you would love it if you could at the very least, get along. His rough-around-the-edges personality is not making this enjoyable for you, and you’re sure that he probably just see’s you as an annoying nuisance.

And it’s not like you’re ever going to pull this card on him or anything, but you have been here longer than him, despite the fact that he’s acting like he owns the place. You get it, he’s been here for a for a while, and it’s only been him doing the work, blah blah. But you’ve been helping and doing the work your entire childhood—missing a few years doesn’t take away that fact.

With a heavy sigh, you open a cupboard and pull out a plate, scraping the eggs off the pan and setting them on it. Because your grandparents’ are still asleep, all you can do is eat in silence.

—

You’ve decided that today you are going to trim the grass. There’s always something to do around here, and since the long grass was one of the first things you noticed upon arrival, you think it’s best to just get that chore over with, considering how long you know it will take.

Once you’ve finished cleaning the dishes and pan, you go back upstairs into your room and get changed. Today, you put on a long sleeve, and a small vest over top. Your pants are some hand-me-down working pants from one of your older cousins, and you snatch a baseball cap from your closet for when it begins to get hotter out.

Walking to the back shed, you grab some tools for trimming the lawn. A lawn mower, a string trimmer, and a rake for after everything’s been cut. Moving over to the back section of the lawn, you set the trimmer and rake against the barn and start using the mower. It’s the same one your grandparents have used since you were a child, so it’s a reel lawn mower instead of those newer, more electrical ones you’ve seen around the city.

You can’t really complain about it, so you just begin, the steady repetitive action of moving the tool back and forth being somewhat therapeutic. The smell of freshly cut grass begins to hit your senses, and you truly feel at peace.

As the minutes pass, the sun rises higher, its warmth spreading across the fields. You’re completely absorbed in your work, the rhythm of mowing and the occasional chirp of birds the only sounds around you. You’ve missed this. The sounds of cars honking and early morning city traffic has nothing on the serenity of country life.

You’re just completing the first half when you sense movement nearby. Glancing up, you see Logan walking up to you, having grabbed the trimmer. He doesn’t say anything, just starts up the machine and heads over to the next patch of grass within the area.

There’s a brief moment of eye-contact, like a subtle unspoken recognition to the effort you seem to be putting in. He gives you a small nod, and turns to focus on his task. The two of you work side by side, the hum of the machines, the scent of fresh-cut grass, and the warm sun overhead creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.

When you finally finish, few hours have passed, and you walk back over to the barn and grab a lawn bag and the rake. And because Logan’s machine was electric, he seems to have finished his section as well, so you begin raking up all the stray pieces of grass.

You quick to find out how awkward it is to hold the lawn bag open with one hand while trying to rake with the other—the grass keeps slipping out of the bag, and you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous as you fumble with the task. You scan around, hoping Logan won’t notice, but of course, he’s right there, watching as you flail around.

You feel a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, but before you can say anything, he steps forward. Like usual it seems, he doesn’t say a word, just holds out his hand as if asking for the rake. You falter briefly, not wanting to seem like you need his help, but at the same time you understand how much more efficient it would be if he joined.

Reluctantly, you hand it over, and he immediately starts working with the same steady efficiency he brought to trimming the grass. With both hands free, you manage the lawn bag more effectively, holding it open as Logan rakes the grass into neat piles.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable; instead, it feels like a natural extension of the morning’s work. The sound of the rake scraping against the ground, the rustle of grass being gathered, and the occasional whinny from a horse nearby.

After the last of the grass is finally raked and bagged, you tie off the lawn bag and glance over at him. He leans the rake against the barn wall and meets your gaze. There’s something in the way he seems to stare at you head on this time, rather than just a quick look, that makes your chest fill with satisfaction.

You nod. “Thanks.”

Logan dips his chin in return, then turns and heads back toward the barn. The heat of the sun really starts to hit you now, and you take a peak at your watch, noticing that it’s already lunch time. Knowing that even if you tried to invite him, he’s probably say no, you just walk back to the farmhouse alone.

—

The next couple of weeks unfold in the same way, moving with an almost predictable rhythm. Each morning, you wake before the sun, quietly slipping out of bed while your grandparent’s are still asleep. As you prepare and eat breakfast, you take your usual place by the kitchen window, watching as Logan interacts with the horses.

Then, as the sun rises higher, you head out to begin your chores around the farm. Sometimes, Logan joins you without a word—his presence now a familiar and abating part of your routine—or sometimes, you find yourself working alone, but even then, you know he’s never far away.

You’ve learned to read his silences, to understand that his gruff demeanor isn’t necessarily unfriendliness, but rather his way of navigating the world. And though he doesn’t speak much, his actions have a way of communicating more than words ever could.

One morning, as you’re finishing up breakfast, your grandparents announce their plans to head into one of the nearby cities for the day. “We need to run some errands and pick up a few things,” your grandmother explains, her hands busy packing a small bag. “But we were thinking it might be nice for the horses to get out and see some different scenery too.”

“They haven’t been to the pond in a while. It’s good for them to stretch their legs and take in some new sights.” Your grandfather chimes in.

You nod, smiling at the thought. The pond is a beautiful spot, a peaceful place where the water runs clear and cool, surrounded by tall trees and soft grass. It’s the perfect place to spend a day with the horses. “That sounds like a great idea. I’ll take them out there for the day.”

Your grandmother’s eyes light up as she hands you a basket. “I packed some food and a blanket for a picnic. There are also a couple of towels in case you want to swim. It’ll be a lovely day for it.”

“Thank you,” you say, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind the preparations. You take the basket and head upstairs to get ready, the idea of spending the day by the pond filling you with excitement. It’s been a long time since you’ve been there last.

In your room, you change into your bathing suit, a simple bikini that you’ve always loved for its comfort and ease. You slip on a loose shirt and shorts over it, then grab a few essentials before heading back downstairs. Your grandparents have already left, so you make your way out to the barn to prepare the horses.

As you start saddling them up, you notice Logan nearby, focused on his usual tasks. His presence has become so customary to you that you hardly think twice before calling out to him. “Hey, Logan,” you say, catching his attention.

“I’m heading to the pond with the horses,” you tell him, nodding toward the saddled horses. “Grandma’s packed some food and a blanket for a picnic. There are even towels if you want to swim. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

He hesitates, his gaze shifting to the horses, then back to you. After a moment, he mutters, “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

The admission takes you by surprise, and you raise an eyebrow. “Really? But you’ve been here for over a year. I just assumed—”

He shakes his head slightly, cutting you off. “I’ve always just walked alongside them. Holdin’ onto the reins is one thing, but I’ve never actually been on top of one.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “That’s okay,” you say gently. “You can still join us. You can walk alongside like you usually do, and tomorrow, if you’re up for it, I’ll teach you how to ride.”

Logan peers at you for a long moment, considering your words. Finally, he nods. “Alright. I’ll come with you.”

“Great,” you reply, your smile widening. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

With that settled, you both finish preparing for the trip. Logan helps you load the picnic basket, blanket, and towels onto one of the horses. You mount your favourite horse, and gently click your heels into its side, starting the trip as he begins walking, horses in tow, beside you.

The journey to the pond is beautiful. The green trees that frame the pathway, the soft buzzing of nature, the sound of the horses’ hooves. You and Logan exchange a few words, but for the most part, it’s silent.

When you reach the pond, the sight is just as picturesque as you remembered. The water sparkles under the sunlight, the tall trees casting dappled shadows across the grassy bank. You untie the horses, giving them plenty of room to graze and explore, before you grab the picnic basket, while he grabs the towels and blankets. Making your way over to the other side of the creek, you find a nice open patch of grass to set up on.

“I’m going for a quick dip,” you say as you go about stepping out of your shorts. Logan, who is sitting down, looks up, but his eyes seem to stop dead in their tracks when they settle on your body. You swear you can physically see his gaze darken as he takes in the sight of you stripping off your shirt. It’s subtle, but a small shiver runs down your spine at the attention nonetheless.

Without waiting for a response, you turn and and head toward the pond. The temperature is perfect: just cool enough to be refreshing without being cold.

You dive in, the reservoir embracing you as a much-needed relief from the heat. Everything feels perfect—the gentle current against your skin, the refreshing sensation of being submerged, and the weightlessness of floating just beneath the surface.

But when you lift your head out of the water, you and Logan immediately lock eyes.

He’s lying back on the blanket, propped up on one elbow, and his focus is squarely on you. The intensity of his stare is like a physical force, pinning you in place. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in time. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel a heat build within you, starting in your chest and traveling down, deeper, and deeper…But then, just as suddenly as it began, he looks away, and if you were any closer, you may have been able to spot the red flush creeping up the back of his neck and to the tip of his ears.

The moment is over, but the enduring feeling of it stays with you as you swim back to the shore. Water drips from your body as you step out, and you reach for one of the towels your grandmother packed. Once you’ve dried off, you walk over to where Logan is sitting and drop down beside him on the blanket.

You are aware of eyes on you again, though this time there’s a hesitation in the way they travel over your form, as if he’s trying to be discreet but can’t quite help himself. You pretend not to notice as you reach for the picnic basket.

“I’m starving,” you say, pulling out the sandwiches your grandmother packed. “Want one?”

He nods, sitting up a little straighter as you hand him a sandwich. After a few bites, curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to break the ice. “So,” you start, glancing over at him, “how did you end up here, working on my grandparents’ farm?”

He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he answers, his eyes focused on the food in his hands. “I was passing through,” he says finally. “Didn’t plan on stayin’. But your grandparents… they’re good people. Needed help, so I stuck around.”

You nod, taking another bite. “They are good people,” you agree, thinking of how much they’ve done for you over the years. “But where were you headed before that? Where are you from?”

Logan pauses for a moment, then looks over at you. “Alberta,” he says. “Grew up there, mostly. Been a lot of places since, but Alberta’s home—or was.”

You smile, finding comfort in the fact that he’s sharing a bit more. “Alberta’s beautiful,” you say, remembering the few times you’d traveled through the province. “Why’d you leave?”

He shrugs, glancing out toward the creek. “Needed a change. Wanted to see what else was out there. Guess I got used to movin’ around, never really settlin’ anywhere.”

You nod thoughtfully, taking in his words. “Must have been hard, never really having a place to call home.”

His gaze meets yours, and there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes. “Yeah,” he admits, his voice quieter. “But your grandparents… they’ve made it easier. This farm… it’s good.”

You smile warmly at him. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been a huge help to them. And… well, I’ve liked having you around.”

He glances at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, it’s been alright,” he mutters, a small, imperceptible smirk on his lips. You smile bashfully.

The next couple of hours pass by in a blur. Not much conversation happens, but rather, these weird periods of time where you feel as though your eyes are glued to him, and he you. It’s different—unexpected—and to put it frankly, you feel a bit shy underneath his gaze.

Logan is attractive, anyone with eyes could see that, but it really wasn’t just his face that pulled you in, it was him. The way he would silently help you with chores, his soft moments every morning with the horses, the way he subtly looks over your grandparents’ when he thinks they arent watching. All of it. You want to spend more time with him, learn more about who he is, what he likes… all of it.

Soon enough, you both begin to pack up the picnic supplies, load up the horses, and head back to the farm. The horses seem content, having had a fun day grazing and napping by the pond, and you ride beside him as he walks. Every now and then, you catch him peeking up at you from under his eyelashes, his eyes lingering just a bit longer each time.

You can see your grandparent’s car in the driveway as you near the farm, meaning they’ve also returned from their day in the city. Leading the horses back into the barn, the two of you go through the motions of the familiar routine of unsaddling them, brushing them down, and making sure they’re comfortable for the night.

Once they’re all settled for the night, Logan steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans as he looks at you.

“So ‘bout tomorrow…” He begins, shifting slightly, as if unsure how to phrase what he wants to say. “You really think you can teach me to ride?”

You grin excitedly. “Of course. I’ll come out after I’ve eaten breakfast.”

“Alright then,” he says, pivoting toward the doors, his lips twitching just barely, but enough. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

Your fingers are twitching at your sides as you watch him leave. You wait a few moments, then head out as well, closing and locking up the barn for the night. When you step into the house, you find your grandparents in the living room, their faces lit by the soft glow of a lamp as they relax on the chesterfield.

“How was your day?” your grandmother asks, looking up from her knitting with a bright smile.

“It was nice,” you reply. “The horses loved it, and the pond was as beautiful as ever. We had a picnic, and it was really peaceful.”

Your grandfather, who’s been quietly sipping his tea, sets down his cup and regards you with a knowing look. “And Logan? Did he go with you?”

You nod, feeling a bit of warmth rise to your cheeks at the mention of their helper. “Yeah, he came along. He’s never ridden a horse before, so he just walked with us. But I’m going to teach him tomorrow.”

Your grandparents exchange a look, and your grandmother’s eyes sparkle with amusement and something more tender as she smiles at you. “That’s good, dear. He’s a bit of a mystery, that one, but I can tell he’s got a good heart. Sometimes people just need a little time to open up.”

Chatting with your grandparent’s a bit longer, you listen intently as they fill you in on their activities. You can faintly hear the sound of Logan’s footsteps upstairs as he gets ready for bed. The memory of his gaze on you makes your heart beat a smidge faster.

—

Logan is unsurprisingly already at the barn when you arrive the next morning. He’s leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest.

“Morning,” you greet. “You ready to get started?”

Logan glances at the horses, then back at you. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You lead him over to the horses, choosing one of the gentler ones for him to work with, and begin by showing him how to properly saddle the horse, explaining each step as you go. Logan watches intently, though you can see the slight furrow in his brow as he takes in all the information.

As soon as the horse is all saddled up, you hand him the reins. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Go ahead and mount up.”

He wavers for just a moment, his eyes on the horse as if weighing his options. But then, with a deep breath, he grabs the saddle and swings himself up with ease. He sits stiffly at first, his hands gripping the reins a bit too tightly, but he doesn’t look as uncomfortable as you would have expected. Definitely better than your first attempt.

“You’re doing great,” you reassure him, moving to stand beside the horse. “Just relax. The horse can sense if you’re tense, so try to loosen up a bit.”

He takes another breath, visibly trying to relax his posture. It’s clear that he’s out of his comfort zone, but he’s determined to push through. You walk him through the basics of steering and controlling the horse, keeping your tone calm and encouraging.

After a few minutes, you guide him around the paddock, walking alongside the horse to make sure he feels secure. Logan follows your instructions with serious concentration, his movements becoming more and more natural as he gets used to the rhythm of the horse’s steps.

“You’re doing really well,” you tell him, smiling up at him. “Want to try picking up the pace a little?”

He glances down at you warily at first, but then he nods. “Yeah. Let’s give it a shot.”

You guide him through a gentle trot, staying close enough to offer guidance but giving him enough space to figure things out on his own. The horse picks up speed, and you watch as he adjusts, his body moving in sync with the animal’s movements. There’s a moment when he looks down at you, a spark of surprise in his eyes as he realizes he’s actually getting the hang of it.

As the morning progresses, Logan becomes more comfortable in the saddle, his confidence growing with each passing minute. You spend the next hour practicing different techniques, guiding him through turns, stops, and even a slow canter. He’s a quick learner, and despite the initial awkwardness, you can tell he’s starting to enjoy himself.

Eventually, you lead him back to the paddock, bringing the horse to a stop. He dismounts, still a bit tense but clearly pleased with himself. He hands you the reins, his eyes meeting yours with a look that’s both grateful and slightly sheepish.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” you say with a grin, patting the horse’s neck.

He huffs a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… you’re a good teacher.”

The compliment, simple as it is, makes your heart skip a beat. There’s something about the way he says it, the sincerity in his tone, that makes you feel a warm glow inside. He begins to walk toward the back shed, undoubtedly going to start on his morning chores, but you find yourself wanting to hold onto this moment just a bit longer.

“Logan,” you call out, stopping him in his tracks.

He turns back, his eyes questioning.

“Thanks for this morning. I really enjoyed it.”

Logan studies you for a second, then he gives you a small smile. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

—

The days come and go, blending into one another as your first month at the farm passes by in what feels like the blink of an eye. The sun seems to rise earlier and set later with each passing day, stretching the hours out in a way that makes everything feel both languid and endless, and the heat only intensifies, something you didn’t think was possible.

Despite the longer days and rising temperatures, you and Logan’s daily routines have now intertwined in a way that feels as natural as breathing. The once solitary moments you spent watching him out with the horses have now become something shared. Every morning, without fail, the two of you meet by the barn, where the horses greet you with soft nickers and eager eyes, ready for their daily ride.

He’s improved a lot. He no longer looks uncomfortable or stiff, and he’s able to guide his horse with an ease that surprises even him. You can see the subtle shift in his posture, the way he holds the reins with a sureness that wasn’t there before.

And just like when you work on the farm together, sometimes, the two of you ride in a comfortable silence—the only sounds being the soft snorts of the horses and the creak of leather saddles. But more often than not, you chat about everything and nothing, your conversations easy and unforced.

Logan, who once spoke only in short, clipped sentences, has begun to open up more, sharing bits and pieces of his past, his thoughts, and his observations about life on the farm. You learn that he has a sarcastic, dry sense of humor, one that often catches you off guard and leaves you laughing in spite of yourself. He even joins you for your usual morning breakfast of eggs and toast, something that started only a few days into your new morning ritual.

Yet throughout all of this, there’s a something growing between you and Logan, simmering just beneath the surface.

It manifests in the little moments, the stolen glances, and the accidental touches that don’t really seem to be as accidental as you may think. It’s in the way his eyes follow you when he thinks you’re not looking, how they intensify when you laugh, or how he seems to fixate on your hands as you work, as if he’s memorizing every movement.

You’re not immune to it either. You find yourself hyper-aware of his presence, the way his proximity seems to alter the air around you. In one afternoon, you’re in the barn, and sorting through a pile of hay bales. It’s hard, sweaty work, but the it’s kind that leaves you with a satisfying ache in your muscles by the end of the day. Logan is beside you, lifting the heavy bales with ease, his shirt sticking to his back, outlining the broad expanse of his shoulders. You catch yourself staring, and quickly look away, but not before he flicks his eyes over to yours.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see it in his eyes. It’s like they’re telling you that he knows exactly what you were thinking, where you were staring.

And when you’re both tending to the horses, something happens again. You’re brushing one down, your fingers working through its mane, when Logan comes to stand beside you, so close that you can smell his natural musk.

“Here, let me help,” he says lowly, not waiting for a response as he reaches out, his hand covering yours. You glance up at him, and he’s already looking down at you. You’re acutely aware of the feel of his hand over yours, the callousness of his skin against your own, and the way his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles as if testing the waters.

Another time, while fixing the fence out in the field, you’re both working in tandem, passing tools back and forth. At one point, you reach for a hammer at the same time Logan does, and your fingers brush against his. It’s a fleeting touch, but it feels like a spark in the summer heat, and for a heartbeat, you both freeze, caught in that split second of contact.

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling your hand back, but the apology feels hollow in the face of what you’re actually feeling.

“No problem,” Logan replies, his voice gruffer than usual, as he hands you the tool.

You can feel it. You’re not stupid. You know something is there, and you wonder how much longer you can resist it—how much longer you can pretend that everything is fine. But Logan is a hard man to read, and you’re not sure if what you’re feeling is reciprocated, or if it’s just wishful thinking on your part. So you stay silent, letting the tension simmer, hoping that one day, one of you will have the courage to break it.

—

You’re not the only who see’s it.

“You know,” your grandmother says one afternoon, as you’re helping them with a puzzle. “Logan has really come out of his shell since you’ve been here.”

You blink, and glance over at her. “What do you mean?”

She looks up from the table, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous light. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” she says with a knowing smile. “He’s been here for over a year, and in all that time, we’ve never seen him quite like this. He’s always been polite, of course, but distant. Reserved. But now… well, it’s clear he’s become quite comfortable around you.”

Your grandfather places a piece in the board and nods in agreement. “She’s right, you know. Logan’s always been a bit of a mystery, keeps to himself mostly. But ever since you arrived, he’s been different. More… engaged, I suppose you could say.”

You feel a flush of heat rising to your cheeks, your heart skipping a beat at their words. “I-I don’t know about that,” you stammer, trying to brush it off. “We just… work together a lot. That’s all.”

Chuckling, your grandmother leans forward slightly. “Darling, don’t be modest. It’d be obvious to anyone that there’s something going on between the two of you. He’s practically a different man when he’s around you. Why, just the other day, I caught him actually smiling while you two were out riding. I nearly fainted!”

“You’ve managed to do in weeks what we couldn’t do in a year. Whatever it is, it’s good for him. And for you, too, I’d wager,” your grandfather pipes in, sending you a wink.

Fidgeting with your hands, you feel like a deer caught in headlights, and you’re honestly not sure how to respond. “We’re… friends,” you say, though the words feel inadequate even as you say them.

The woman across from you raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Hmm? Well, maybe so. But it seems to me that there’s potential for something more there, if you’re both willing to see it.”

“I… I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling flustered under their scrutiny. “He’s just… he’s a complicated person.”

“Everyone’s complicated, dear,” your grandfather says gently. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth the effort. Oftentimes, the best things in life are the ones that take the most time to understand.”

There’s a moment of silence as their words sink in, the weight of their observations leaving you feeling exposed and uncertain. You hadn’t fully allowed yourself to consider what you felt, let alone what Logan felt. But now, with your grandparents’ teasing remarks, it’s impossible to ignore the possibility that there might be something more between you and Logan than just a budding friendship.

Your grandmother reaches over and gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “Just take it one day at a time, sweetheart. Whatever happens, we’re here for you.”

—

The following week, you find yourself itching for something new—a change in scenery. While the farm has been everything you’ve wanted and more, you think it’d be nice to go on a drive, explore a small laketown you used to go to when you were younger. So, one morning, as you and Logan are unsaddling the horses, you muster the courage to extend an invitation that’s been on your mind for days.

“So…,” you begin, trying to keep your tone casual. “I was thinking… maybe we could take a break from the farm this weekend and go into town. You know, just to get out for a bit, see something different.”

He pauses in his work, his hand stilling on the brush as he peers over at you with a raised eyebrow. “The town?” he repeats, as if the idea is foreign to him.

“Yeah,” you say, turning to face him fully. “I need to pick up a few things, and I thought it might be nice to have some company. We could grab lunch, maybe do some exploring… It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just a change of pace.”

There’s a beat of silence as he considers your offer. His expression is guarded, as always, but you can see the wheels turning in his mind. It’s clear that the idea of leaving the farm, even for a day, is something he hasn’t done in a long time—if ever.

“I don’t know,” he eventually gets out, his tone uncertain. “Busy places are not really my thing.”

You feel a pang of disappointment at his hesitation, but you’re not ready to give up just yet. “I get that,” you say. “But it’s not about how many people are there, really. It’s about taking a break. You’ve been working so hard, and I think you deserve a day to relax. Plus, I could use your help carrying a few things,” you tease, hoping to coax him into agreeing.

Logan’s lips twitch as if he’s suppressing a smile, and for a split second you think he’s going to turn you down. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright,” he says, the word coming out almost reluctantly. “I’ll go.”

You beam, unable to hide your enthusiasm. “We’ll leave early on Saturday, okay?”

“Saturday it is,” he confirms.

—

The rest of the week passes quickly, your anticipation for the trip into town growing with each passing day. You find yourself planning out the day in your head, imagining the places you might visit, the food you might try, and most of all, the chance to see Logan in a different environment—away from the farm and the routine that has defined your relationship so far.

So, when Saturday morning arrives, you’re up before the sun, too excited to sleep in. You dress in your favourite casual clothes—something comfortable but a bit more put-together than your usual farm attire—and head downstairs, where you find your grandparents surprisingly already up and about.

“Off to the city today, are you?” your grandmother asks with a smile as she hands you a thermos of coffee for the road.

“Yep,” you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face. “and I’m dragging Logan along with me.”

Your grandfather chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, that should be interesting. Don’t think he’s much of a city slicker.”

“Be patient with him, dear,” your grandmother adds, laughing. “He’s stepping out of his comfort zone for you.”

“I will,” you promise, taking the coffee and heading out the door.

Logan’s already waiting by the truck, and when you see him, you can’t help but falter in your steps. The shirt he’s wearing clings to his muscular frame in a way that draws your eyes, accentuating the strength that’s always been evident. His hair is slightly disheveled, and there’s an almost shy quality to the way he stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets as if he’s not quite sure what to do with them.

You try to hide the fact that you were just checking him out as you ask, “Ready?”

“‘Course,” he replies, climbing into the passenger seat as you slide behind the wheel.

The highways are empty and the sky is clear. You chat easily about the things you need to pick up, the cute boutiques you want to visit, and even a few memories of the last time you visited the place. Logan listens more than he talks, but you can tell he’s starting to relax, the tightness in his shoulders easing as the distance passes by.

When you finally reach the town, the energy along the streets is a stark contrast to the quiet calm of the farm. The buildings tower above you, and the sidewalks are crowded with people going about their day.

Stepping out of the truck, you glance over at Logan. It’s clear that he’s out of his element, but there’s something cute about the way he takes it all in. “Where to first?” He questions.

“Well,” you say, smiling at him, “I was thinking we could grab some breakfast at this little café I know, then hit a few shops. There’s a bookstore I love that I think you’d like too.”

He nods, his expression softening slightly at the mention of a bookstore. “Lead the way.”

You spend the morning wandering around, exploring the shops, and enjoying a nice breakfast together. At the bookstore, you lose track of time, browsing through the shelves and picking out a few titles that catch your eye. Logan surprises you by finding a book on woodworking, something he’s always been interested in but never had much time for. You can see the way his eyes light up as he flips through the pages, and it makes you smile, happy to see him enjoying something for himself.

After spending a few more hours of exploring, you suggest one last stop before heading back—a lookout point that offers a stunning view of the lake and the surrounding landscape. Logan agrees, and you drive up to the spot, parking the truck and leading him to a bench that overlooks the water.

The view is breathtaking. You both sit in silence for a while, just taking in the scenery, allowing the peacefulness of the moment to wash over you. He is staring out into the water with a thoughtful expression when you decide to interrupt his stupor.

“Logan,” you begin, the gentle breeze from the lake rustling through the trees, “what did you think of me when we first met?”

He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting the question. Then he pauses for a moment, looking back out at the lake, as if gathering his thoughts.

“I thought you were different,” he says slowly, each word carefully chosen. “You didn’t act like you were above the work. You jumped right in, got your hands dirty. Most people wouldn’t do that.”

You smile at the memory, remembering how you started working together the moment you met. After all, you weren’t just a visitor—you were there to help, and you knew your way around the farm. “And now?” you ask, your heart beginning to beat just a little faster.

He remains quiet for a few moments, his focus still on the water. When he finally speaks, he’s timid, almost bashful, as if he’s revealing something he’s kept hidden for a long time.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he admits, his eyes flickering back to yours. “I thought that the first time I saw you, too. It was one of the first things that hit me. But it’s more than that. Now… now I think you’re perfect.”

The sincerity in his words catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. Your mouth parts in surprise, and all you can do is gawk, trying to process the depth of what he’s just said.

Logan shifts slightly, his gaze dropping to his hands as he continues. “I was… cold at first,” he murmurs, “Didn’t know how else to act. You weren’t like anyone I’d ever met. I didn’t know how to handle it. But what really got to me was how you didn’t shy away from that—you didn’t let my attitude push you away. That changed somethin’ in me.”

You want to say something—you should say something—to acknowledge what he just said, bearing in mind that was probably the most amount of words to come out of his mouth in one go, but for some reason, you can’t. The only thought running through your head is that you want to reach out and touch him, to close the small distance between you.

“What about you?” His voice is slightly more tentative now, and he definitely just asked that to fill the silence that you were ungraciously leaving. “What was your first impression of me?”

His question snaps you out of your thoughts, and you gulp, now knowing that your first impression of him was very different to his of you.

“Honestly? I thought you were rude as hell,” you say a bit nervously, watching as his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. “You were so gruff, so serious… I didn’t know what to make of you at first. But then I saw the way you took care of the horses, the way you looked after the farm, and… it didn’t take long for my opinion to change.”

He shifts, clearly caught off guard. You can see the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck as he takes in what you said, and it makes your smile widen.

“And…You’re kind,” you continue. “There’s this gentleness about you that I wasn’t expecting.” You suck in a shaky breath. “I think you’re pretty perfect now too, if I’m being honest.”

The tint on his cheeks only deepens, and he looks away, flustered. It’s a rare sight—seeing him like this—and it makes you swoon.

“I don’t know about that…” He mutters, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I do,” you reply firmly. “You’re more than you think you are, Logan.”

The genuineness in your words makes him look back at you, his eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or confirmation that what you’re saying is real. Slowly, almost unconsciously, you both lean in closer, locked in a stare, your breaths mingling as the space between you shrinks. You can see the way his eyes flicker down to your lips, and you feel the same pull, the undeniable urge to close the distance and see what it would feel like to kiss him overriding all your senses.

Your chest pounds as you inch closer, until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. But just as your lips are about to meet, a loud, piercing scream shatters the moment.

You both jerk back, startled, and whip your heads around to see a kid nearby, his face scrunched up in disgust as he frantically wipes at his shoulder. “Ew! A seagull just pooped on me!”

The kid’s parents rush over, trying to console him as they pull out napkins, and you can’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of the interruption. The sound of your laughter is contagious, and soon Logan is chuckling a bit too.

“Well, that’s one way to kill the mood,” he mumbles under is breath.

You’re still laughing, the remnants of your almost-kiss still in the back of your mind, but you know the moment has passed. “Yeah,” you agree, trying to catch your breath. “Guess we should be thankful it wasn’t us.”

Logan grins, warm and wide. “Yeah, maybe we should.”

—

Driving back to the farm, neither of you say a word about what almost transpired at the lookout point, and you’re fine with that. There’s no need to fill the silence with words, no need to dissect the moment or what it could have led to. You don’t want there to be any sort of pressure between you, any expectations. Even if, deep down, all you want is to climb him like a tree, to feel the solid strength of him beneath your hands, and to finally give in to the attraction that’s been building throughout your time together.

Pulling into the driveway and shutting of the engine, you turn to him, and turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. “Thanks for today,” he says sincerely “I… liked it.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. “Me too,” you reply, your voice just as soft. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, his gaze holding yours a hint longer before he turns away, his hand reaching for the door handle. “We should.”

—

A few days later, as everyone sits around the kitchen table after dinner, the evening suddenly takes on a new tone when your grandmother clears her throat and shoots an exchanges a conspiratorial glance at your grandfather.

“We’ve got some news,” she begins, her eyes shining with excitement. “Your grandfather and I have been invited to spend a week at the Summers’ cottage by the lake.”

You smile, genuinely happy for them. The Summers are longtime friends of your grandparents, and the idea of them getting a little vacation away sounds perfect. “That sounds wonderful! You two deserve some time to relax.”

“Well, we thought so too,” your grandfather says. “But that means we’ll be leaving the farm in your capable hands.”

It takes a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in. You and Logan… alone… for an entire week.

Your heart skips a beat and you glimpse over at Logan, who’s sitting across the table from you, his expression neutral as he listens to your grandparents. But there’s a quick flash of something that suggests he’s as aware of the situation as you are.

A voice brings you back to the moment. “Now, don’t worry,” she says with a reassuring smile. “There’s not much that needs doing, just the usual stuff. And we’ll be back before you know it.”

Your grandfather leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he scans between you and Logan. “We trust you both to keep everything running smoothly,” he says, before he drops his voice to an embarrassingly low tone. “And to keep an eye on each other.”

You can’t help but blush at his not-so-subtle innuendo, and you quickly drop your gaze to your hands, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your cheeks. The thought of spending an entire week alone with Logan is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. The lack of a buffer—your grandparents—means that literally anything could happen.

“Don’t worry,” you finally manage to say. “We’ve got this. You two just enjoy your time away.”

Logan, who has been uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation, finally speaks up. “Yeah,” he agrees, “We’ll take care of everything.”

—

Over the next couple of days, your grandparents pack their bags and make sure everything is in order before they leave. You help them with the small details, ensuring that the house is stocked with food and that all the usual chores are delegated properly.

Finally, the morning of their departure arrives. You stand by the front door, watching as your grandparents load their bags into the car. Your grandmother gives you a warm hug, “Take care, dear,” she says, kissing your cheek before hopping into the passenger’s seat.

Your grandfather shakes Logan’s hand, giving him a firm nod. “Take care of things.”

He hums. “I will. Enjoy yourselves.”

With that, your grandparents climb into the car, and after a final wave, they drive down the long, dusty road that leads away from the farm.

There’s a pause.

Suddenly, you’ve become extremely aware of how close you two are standing.

“So,” you start, hoping to ease a bit of the electricity beginning to spark. “I guess it’s just us now.”

Logan swallows thickly, his adams apple bobbing up and down. “Yeah,” he replies a bit deeper than usual. “Just us.”

“What should we do first?” you ask as casually as possible.

He shrugs slightly, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Same old, I guess. Can’t let everythin’ fall apart right when they leave..”

“True. Let’s start with that.”

The two of you move into that familiar routine of farm work. Mucking out the stalls, hauling bags of feed from the shed to the barn, tending to the vegetable garden, you do it all. But even though you’re busy with work, there’s an underlying jitter to everything you do, a heightened awareness of each other’s presence that just wasn’t there before. And it’s impossible to ignore. Each time you make eyecontact it feels charged, almost like a promise of what’s to come, and it has your heart racing with exhilaration.

That evening, after the chores are done and the sun has dropped below the horizon, you’re in the kitchen, preparing dinner while Logan finishes up outside. The quiet of the farmhouse feels different without your grandparents there—emptier, yet somehow more intimate. Domestic. You can hear the soft creak of the floorboards as he enters the house, the sound of him washing up in the sink.

And as the evening wears on, you find yourself drawing out cleaning the dishes, not wanting to end the day just yet. Logan stays close, drying the plates and placing them back in the cupboards.

“Long day,” he grunts.

“Yeah,” you agree, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “But it was nice. Peaceful.”

His eyes find yours. “Peaceful,” he echoes, though the word seems to hold a different meaning when he says it.

You both stay there, unmoving, until eventually, he takes a step back, as if sensing that the tension between you needs a moment to cool. “I’ll check on the barn,” he says gruffly. “Make sure everything’s locked up for the night.”

“Okay,” you reply, your voice softer than you intended.

Logan leaves to check on the barn, while he’s gone, your thoughts are a whirlwind of anticipation and nervous energy as you busy yourself with finishing up the remaining utensils.

Finally, unable to stay inside any longer, you decide to step outside, hoping the cool evening air will help clear your mind. You sink down onto the old porch swing, and pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you observe the darkened landscape.

A few minutes later, you hear the soft crunch of gravel underfoot, and you glance over your shoulder to see Logan approaching the porch. He walks up the steps and pauses momentarily as if debating whether to join you. Then, with a soft sigh, he settles down beside you, his shoulder just barely brushing against yours.

It’s now or never, you think. “We have the place to ourselves now,” you state.

He turns his head slightly, giving you a sidelong look, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a small, knowing smirk. “Indeed we do,” he replies.

The simple acknowledgment—and the way he says it—makes your pulse quicken, and you can’t help the small huff of exasperation that escapes your lips. He’s always been so tame, so careful with his words, and while you appreciate the way he’s respected your space, you’re done with tiptoeing around.

“Do I need to spell it out for you, or—” But before you can finish the sentence, Logan moves.

His hand reaches out, rough and warm, to cup the back of your head. Your eyes widen, and your heart thuds in your chest upon realizing what’s about to happen. And with a firm but gentle pull, he closes the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours.

You lose track of your surroundings—the night, the farm, everything—as you give yourself into feel of his lips against yours. It’s intense and claiming, a declaration of everything you’ve both been too afraid to say.

His hand tangles in your hair, holding you close as he deepens the kiss, his other hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to ground yourself in the moment, to make sure this is real, that he’s really here, kissing you.

Moving your lips against his with equal fervor, you pour the longing you’ve been feeling all this time into it. The taste of him is intoxicating. It’s something that’s so uniquely him—so uniquely Logan—and you can’t get enough. You’ve imagined this moment in the dead of night, but nothing compares to the reality of it—to the way he kisses you like you’re the only thing that matters.

When you finally pull back, out of breath and a little dazed, Logan’s forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants. His eyes are smoldering and intense and his smirk is gone, replaced by a deep look of yearning.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits huskily. The way his voice has dropped three octaves isn’t missed on you. You can practically feel it vibrate down in your pu—

“You’re not the only one,” You whisper, interrupting your own thoughts. The connection between you has finally been acknowledged, and you feel a huge sense of relief.

He exhales a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, and his hand slips from the back of your head to cup your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I can hold back anymore.”

You lean in, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Then don’t,” you whisper against his mouth.

The spark that has been ignited between you flares up into a full blown fire, and the next kiss quickly becomes more heated. Without breaking it, Logan’s grip on your waist tightens and you let out a soft gasp as he effortlessly lifts you onto his lap. Your legs straddle his hips, and you can feel the beginning of something growing underneath you.

The sensation is dizzying, and you instinctively press yourself closer, your fingers curling into his hair. The swing beneath you creaks softly with the movement, but neither of you pays it any mind, too lost in each other to care.

You shift slightly on his lap, grinding your hips against him, and the movement draws a deep, throaty groan from him. He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, “God, you drive me crazy,” and then he’s on you again.

It’s wild. Hot, and heavy, and utterly consuming. His hands move from your hips to grip your ass, guiding you to move against him. It feels so good, you release a relieved sigh into his mouth, before dropping your head onto his shoulder, too caught up in the pleasure.

The sounds of your moans fill the air as he continues grinding you against him, his own hips bucking up into your core.

Biting your lip, you lift your head slightly, a teasing smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as your eyes dart toward the open door of the farmhouse. “You know,” you begin tilting forward to bite his ear, your voice low and playful, “as much as I’m enjoying being out here, I think we should take this inside.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a sexy smirk. “As you wish,” he murmurs.

As you stand up, your legs a little shaky from what just occured, you peek back at him, and see that he’s already risen to his feet. Stepping closer, you slip your hand into his as you guide him toward the door. But just as you reach the threshold, a thought crosses your mind, and you pause, turning to look up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“We gotta go to your room,” you say, running your hands up and down his arms, feeling them flex underneath your touch.“I don’t think I’m ready to defile my childhood bedroom just yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face as he catches on to what you’re implying. “Oh, is that so?” he asks, his tone filled with mock seriousness. You wink in return. grabbing one of his hands and dragging him inside.

By the time you reach his door, you’re practically vibrating with excitement, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. The room is simple, and the bed, neatly made, sits in the center of the room. You can’t help but laugh at the thought of how different it will look in just a few moments.

You turn to face Logan, but he doesn’t give you time to say anything, his hand reaching out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch that is both tender and possessive. His thumb traces the line of your jaw as he cups your face, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation.

But there’s none. You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. The need for him, for this, is so overwhelming that it’s taking every ounce of strength in you to keep from throwing yourself onto him.

His lips find yours once more, this time more urgent, more demanding than before. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours. “Are you sure about this?” he asks in between kisses.

“Absolutely,” you mumble breathlessly, your hands sliding up his chest to curl around the back of his neck. The word barely leaves your lips before Logan reacts, a low hum rumbling in his chest as if your answer has unleashed something primal within him.

He kicks the door shut behind him with a force that makes the room tremble slightly, and in the same fluid motion, he pins you against the wall, lips never leaving yours as his body cages you in.

One of his thighs nudges its way between yours, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against the sensitive spot between your legs. The friction is maddening, electric, and it hits just right, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine that rips a moan from your throat.

The sound only spurs Logan on, his own need evident in the way he moves against you. He moves his mouth to your neck, trailing up and down it with hungrily. The feel of his mouth on your skin, the way his teeth graze your pulse point, causes you to arch against him, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

You can feel the warmth of his breath as he presses his lips to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, as his hands explore your body. They’re everywhere—one gripping your hip, holding you steady against the wall, the other sliding up your side to brush against the curve of your breast. His fingers find the hem of your shirt, tugging it up, and you lift your arms to help him, the fabric sliding up and over your head before it’s tossed carelessly to the floor.

Bringing his lips back to yours, the kiss is fiery, stealing all the oxygen from your lungs as he pushes you even harder into against the wall, his thigh still working its magic. You can’t help the way your hips rock against him, the need for more—more pressure, more friction, more him.

Logan seems to sense your desperation, moaning when his hand slips down from your breast to the waistband of your jeans. He fumbles with the button for only a moment before he gets it open, his fingers slipping inside to brush against the soft skin of your lower belly. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze tempting and filled with a desire that matches your own.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he mutters, voice thick with want. “No idea why I waited so long.”

You can barely think, let alone form words, but you manage to breathe out, “Don’t need to wait any longer.”

The words seem to be all the encouragement he needs. In one swift motion, he slides your pants and underwear down your legs, his hands careful as he helps you step out of them. You’re left standing before him, bare and vulnerable, but the way he’s staring at you—like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—makes you feel powerful, desired in a way you’ve never felt before.

He pulls you back into him, and this time, you can feel the hardness of his own desire against yours—bare— and it drives you insane. His grip finds you thighs as he lifts you off the ground and carries you the short distance to the bed. He lays you down gently on his bed, and breaks away long enough to strip off his own clothes. The sight of him—strong, muscular, yours—makes your breath catch in your throat.

There’s a moment where he’s standing above you, just staring, his chest rising and falling with the effort to control himself. But then he’s on you again in an instant, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his lips claiming yours and leaving you dizzy.

You lean up into him, your hands sliding up his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin as he moves against you. The need for more builds up to a breaking point, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as he grinds into you, hard and insistent against your core.

“Logan,” you breathe out. “Please.”

His name on your lips seems to break the last of his control, a desperate groan ripping out of him. He begins travelling down your body, taking his time, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path, each kiss leaving a burning trail in its wake. His hands follow the curve of your waist, your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. Your body is practically begging for him, and you know that you’re on the verge of begging too.

Once he makes it down to your thighs, he nudges them apart, giving him better access to you. He nips and bites at them, moaning along with you. And then, with a deep, almost possessive growl, he finally lowers his mouth to you, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You react immediately, a wave of pleasure coming over you, your hands fly into his hair, tugging at the strands as you try to pull him closer.

Logan’s hands tightening their grip on your thighs as he delves deeper. You’re lost in the sensations, the pleasure growing and growing until it’s all you can think about, all you can feel. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending alight with desire, and the only thing that matters is the way he is making you feel, the way he’s driving you toward a release that you know will be earth-shattering.

And then, just as you think you can’t take any more, he pulls back slightly, his lips still hovering over you as he looks up at you, eyes black. “Tell me what you want,” he commands.

You can barely think, let alone form coherent words, but you manage to breathe out, “You. I want–I need you.”

That seems to be wanted he wanted to hear, so with a final kiss to your inner thigh, he moves back up your body, connecting his lips to yours again. You can taste yourself on his tongue as his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you slightly to position himself at your entrance.

The anticipation is almost too much, the need for him so immense that you can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your lips as begins to push, the tip of him just barely inside you, teasing, testing your patience.

“Oh god,” you moan. “I need you. Please.”

And then, finally, Logan gives you what you’ve been wanting since that time at the pond. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside you, filling you up completely.

Everything seems to stop for a moment, the only sound the ragged gasps of breath between you, the only feeling the overwhelming pleasure of being joined together like this, of finally having what you’ve both wanted for so long.

He pauses, lowering his head in the crook of your neck as he lets you adjust to the feeling, his breath hot and heavy against your collarbone. And then he begins to move, slow and steady at first, each thrust driving you closer to the edge, the coil inside you tightening with every stroke. The feel of him inside you, the way he moves against you, is everything you’ve been dreaming of and more, and you can’t help the way your body responds to him, your hips lifting to meet his every movement.

The gentle, deliberate pace soon gives way to something more urgent, more desperate, as the need for release takes over. Each thrust drives you higher, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level, until teetering on the edge.

And then, he sends you over it. The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your entire body shuddering with the intensity of it, your voice lost in the cry of pure ecstasy that escapes your lips. Logan follows you a moment later, his own release crashing into him hard, his body trembling against yours as he buries himself deep inside you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as a loud, deep, groan reverberates in his throat.

Neither of you can move, lost in the aftermath of your shared pleasure, your bodies still entwined, as you come down from the high. He tightens his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple as he tries to catch his breath. And when he does, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, reaching up to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs gently brushing over the rough stubble on his cheeks. “I’m more than okay,” you whisper back, voice full of emotion. “That was… everything.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Logan’s lips, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms still wrapped securely around you. “Yeah, it was,” he agrees.

Eventually, he eases out of you with a tenderness that makes you sigh softly. He walks out into the washroom, and gets a warm towel, wiping you and himself down. After, he settles beside you on the bed, his arm draped over your waist, holding you close. The two of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, until the exhaustion of the day begins to catch up with you, and you feel your eyes growing heavy.

“Get some rest,” you hear, “We’ve got plenty of time… no need to rush.”

You nod sleepily, snuggling closer to him as you let your eyes drift shut, the steady pulse of his heart lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

—

You wake to the feeling of warmth and security, Logan’s breathing against your ear, his arm still clinging possessively over your waist. The events of the previous night come rushing back, and a satisfied smile curves your lips as you snuggle closer to him.

But it isn’t long before that peaceful contentment becomes something more. As you move around, the feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his breath on your neck, and the memory of the passion ignites a familiar heat low in your belly

He stirs beside you, his hand tightening around your waist as if sensing your thoughts. Pulling you closer, his nose nuzzles against your neck, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there.

His voice is rough with sleep as he murmurs against your skin, “Morning…”

The simple word, spoken in that deep, gravelly tone, is enough to make you ache for him all over again. You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze, and the look in his eyes—dark and hungry—tells you that he feels the same way.

The morning starts in the best way possible, the both of you breathless, spent, and with the knowledge that this isn’t a one-time thing. The connection between you is too strong, too consuming to be satisfied with just one night or even one morning. And as the day stretches out before you, the realization hits that this hunger, this need, will follow you both everywhere you go.

Throughout the week, the two of you are completely insatiable for each other. It’s like the floodgates have opened and have no intention of closing. Every moment you’re together becomes an opportunity.

It starts innocently enough—just a kiss in the barn when you’re supposed to be checking on the horses. But that kiss quickly spirals and before you know it, Logan has you pressed up against the wooden wall, his lips on your neck, his hands roaming your body. The scent of hay and leather mixes with the heady scent of him as he takes you right there, the barn filled with the sound of your moans and the creak of the old wooden beams.

Or when you’re in the back shed, ostensibly looking for some tools to finish up some chores, the moment the door closes behind you, and you both know there’s no point in pretending. Logan’s hands are on you before you can even say a word, lifting you onto the workbench with ease as he claims your lips in a searing kiss.

At the pond too, the tranquil, secluded spot now holds an entirely different kind of allure to what it had before. One afternoon, you find yourselves there again, the cool water calling your name. But as you strip down to swim, the sight of him watching you is enough to make it seem less inviting than the feel of his hands on your skin. You pull him in with you, the rippling water doing nothing to muffle the sounds of your shared pleasure.

By the end of the week, you’re exhausted but in the best possible way, your body and soul both filled with the kind of satisfaction that comes from truly giving in to what you want, to who you are together. And as the sun sets on the final day of your week alone together, you find yourselves back in Logan’s room, the place where it all began.

The bed, once neat and tidy, is now a tangle of sheets and pillows, the evidence of your shared moments of bliss scattered around the room. Logan lies beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair as you rest your head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“This week… it’s been more than I ever expected,” he admits quietly, his fingers brushing gently over your skin. “I don’t want it to end.”

You lift your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his, and you can see the same emotion reflected there—the same desire to hold on to what you’ve found together. “It doesn’t have to,” you reply. “We don’t have to go back to the way things were before.”

Logan’s hand tightens around yours, a small, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips. “No, we don’t,” he concurs.

—

The morning your grandparents arrive, you and Logan are in the kitchen, finishing up lunch. Your grandmother is the first to step through the door, her face lighting up as she sees the two of you. “We’re back!” she announces, her voice cheerful as she sets her bag down by the door.

You rise to greet her, giving her a warm hug. “How was the trip?”

“Oh, it was lovely,” she replies, her eyes twinkling as she pulls back to look at you. “The cottage was just as beautiful as ever. And the Summers send their love.”

Your grandfather enters next, a gleeful smile on his face as he takes in the sight of you and Logan in the kitchen, together. “Everything go smoothly while we were gone?” he asks.

You blush. “Yes, everything was fine.”

Then they do that thing they’ve been doing the whole time you’ve been with them, where they exchange a glance—and share a look that speaks volumes. It’s the kind of look that only comes from years of understanding each other without words, and you can tell they knew exactly what they were doing when they left you and Logan alone for the week.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” your grandmother says with a mischievous smile, her eyes flicking between you two in a way that makes you wonder just how much they’ve guessed.

“Seems like you two managed just fine without us.” Your grandfather says, patting Logan on the shoulder.

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you steal a look at Logan, who meets your eyes with a small smirk. It’s a way to tell you that he’s just as aware as you are of what your grandparents are thinking. But there’s no embarrassment on his face, only a quiet confidence, a certainty that whatever happened between you was exactly what was meant to be.

—

The next month flies by, the routine of everything staying largely the same except for one thing. You and Logan are inseparable, drawn to each other like magnets, and with each passing day, it seems like that attraction only grows stronger.

It’s not just the passion that binds you, though that spark is always there, and most often times doesn’t go ignored. It’s the little moments that fill your days—the way his hand brushes yours as you walk side by side, the way he rests a gentle hand on the small of your back when you’re working together in the barn, or the way his fingers grip your waist as he helps you mount your horse (even though you don’t need it).

The work on the farm continues to get done, but there’s a new layer to everything you do—a sense of shared purpose, of partnership. And even though the days are long and tiring, you find yourself looking forward to each task, knowing that Logan will be there beside you, sharing the load, offering his quiet support and his easy, comforting presence.

As the sun begins to rise one breakfast, you grandfather announces that he needs to run into town to pick up some tools for a repair project. He’s heading out the door, and as he grabs his keys from the hook, he turns to Logan with a nod.

“Logan, why don’t you come along? Could use an extra pair of hands,” he suggests, his tone casual.

Your man agrees without hesitation, always ready to lend a hand. But as he follows your grandfather out the door, he pauses for just a moment, whirling back to look at you, and what you see on his face is insane—there’s a deep yearning, a longing that tugs on your heartstrings. It’s almost as if to say that he wishes he could stay, he doesn’t want to be apart from you, even for the short trip into town.

You have half a mind to join them.

The intensity of that look lingers in the air long after he’s turned away and stepped out the door, and your grandmother doesn’t miss a thing. Once the men are in the truck and begin to drive off the property, she turns to you with a teasing smile, one eyebrow raised in amusment.

“He’s really got it bad for you, doesn’t he?” she says affectionately. “I’ve never seen a man look at a woman the way he looks at you.”

Your heart blooms in your chest. “I guess he does,” you reply, your voice soft, breathless as the weight of your feelings for him wash over you.

Your grandmother chuckles, stepping closer to place her hand on your arm “And you’ve got it bad for him too, I’d say.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

—

Several weeks later, it’s raining. That should have been the first sign that this day wasn’t going to go to plan. You’re sitting inside, curled up next to Logan on the old chesterfield, his arm wrapped around you as you both enjoy the warmth and quiet of the afternoon.

But then you decide to go through some emails—just a quick check, nothing more, to clear out any lingering notifications. You unlock your phone and start scrolling through your inbox, Logan’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder as you do. Most of the emails are routine—newsletters, updates, the usual clutter—but then you see it, nestled among the others like a tiny, unexpected bombshell.

It’s an email from the company you applied to months ago, the one you almost forgot about in the blissful haze of farm life. The subject line makes your heart skip a beat: Congratulations! Offer of Employment.

Your breath catches, and you sit up a little straighter, your heart pounding in your chest as you open the email. The words leap off the screen: We are pleased to offer you the position, starting in two months.

You stare at the email, a mixture of shock and elation washing over you. This is it—your dream job, the opportunity you’ve been working toward for years. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, the kind of position that could set the course for your entire career. But as the initial wave of excitement begins to ebb, a heavy weight settles in your chest, pulling you back down to earth.

You glance over at Logan, who’s still relaxed beside you. His eyes are closed, his head resting back against the couch. The sight of him, so content, makes your heart ache, because with this job offer comes a harsh reality: accepting it means leaving him, leaving this life you’ve built together, at least for a while. And you don’t know when—or even if—you’ll be back.

Suddenly, his eyes flutter open in response to your shifting, and he looks over at you, concern flickering across his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I… I just got an email,” you begin shakily as you turn the screen toward him so he can read it for himself.

He takes the phone from your hand, his eyes scanning the email. You watch his expression carefully, searching for any sign of what he’s feeling. At first, there’s no reaction, just the steady, focused way he reads the words. Yet as he reaches the end, you see it—the subtle tightening of his jaw, the pinching together of his eyebrows.

He hands the phone back to you wordlessly.

Then, “This is what you’ve been waiting for.” His voice is steady, but there’s a sadness there too, a heaviness that you can’t ignore.

You nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah… it is.”

There’s a long stretch of nothing, the sound of the rain outside filling the silence between you. Logan looks away, his gaze fixed on the fire as if trying to find the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, measured. “You have to take it.”

You swallow hard. “But what about us? I don’t know when I’ll be back… or if I’ll even be able to come back.”

Logan’s hand tightens around yours, his grip firm, grounding. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, though you can hear the strain in his voice, the way he’s trying to hold back his own emotions for your sake. “You’ve worked too hard for this to pass it up.”

His words are supportive, encouraging, but you can see the the way he’s starting to close in on himself, as if already bracing himself for your departure. The thought of being apart from him is unbearable.

You lean into his touch, your head resting on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “I don’t want to leave you,” you whisper as the tears finally spill over.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as if trying to convey all the things he can’t bring himself to say. “I don’t want you to leave either,” he admits. “But I’ll be here when you get back. However long it takes.”

And so begins the countdown to your departure. You always knew it was going to come, always knew you were going to have to leave your grandparents again, but you didn’t expect to find the love of your life here, and that makes it so much harder.

—

The remaining two months become a bittersweet blend of cherished moments and a looming sense of inevitability. Each day feels both precious and fleeting, a constant reminder that your time together is running out, and it shapes every decision, every action, every word between you.

In the past, your days had been filled with the rhythm of farm life—early mornings, long hours of work, and evenings spent in each other’s arms, exhausted but content. But now, there’s a conscious effort to carve out time just for you two, time that’s not dictated by chores or routine. You start taking more trips to the pond or into town, something you hadn’t quite as often before.

These dates are different from the intense, passionate moments you’ve shared on the farm—they’re softer, more tender, as if you’re both trying to imprint each other’s presence into your memories. You hold hands as you walk on the streets, your fingers intertwined, and every now and then, Logan will pull you close, pressing a kiss to your temple or your lips, as if he needs to reassure himself that you’re still there with him.

Even the way you make love changes during these months. The hunger and desire that had once defined your physical relationship are still there, of course—Logan’s touch still ignites a fire in you, and the need for each other still burns as hot as ever—but now, there’s a new dimension to your intimacy, a slow, sensual depth that hadn’t been there before.

Your grandparents, upon hearing the news, immediately noticed the change too. While they were so extremely happy for your new job opportunity, they also knew what it meant. They’ve seen the way you and Logan have grown closer, the way your connection has deepened, and there’s a quiet sadness in their eyes whenever they see you together.

It’s not a sadness for themselves, but for the both of you.

They don’t say much, but their understanding is palpable. They seem to give you more grace when it comes to doing work around the farm, trying to volunteer and do as much as they can so you two can spend time alone. No matter how much you refuse, they insist, pushing you two out the door with picnic basket and blankets.

Sitting on the porch one evening after a long day, your grandmother comes out to join you. She sits beside you, Logan’s arm is draped around your shoulders, and for a brief second, the three of you just sit in silence, watching the sunset.

“You know,” your grandmother begins, her voice soft and filled with emotion, “I see the way you two look at each other. It reminds me of your grandfather and me when we were young.”

You smile, leaning into Logan’s side as you listen to her. “You two have always been such an inspiration,” you say, meaning every word.

She chuckles, a wistful sound. “It wasn’t always easy, you know. There were times when we had to be apart, times when I wasn’t sure if we’d make it through. But we did. And looking at you two now… I know you’ll find a way.”

Logan squeezes your shoulder gently.. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, echoing the promise he made when you first told him about the job.

Your grandmother nods, reaching out to pat your knee. “I believe you will. But just know… it’s okay to be sad, to be scared. That’s part of loving someone.”

The words resonate with you, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

She smiles, a small, sad smile that holds a lifetime of wisdom. “You’ll be alright, my dear. Both of you.”

The days continue to slip by, and as the final weeks approach, your chest constantly feels tight. You try to make yourself feel better by lying in each other’s arms at night, whispering about the future, about the dreams you have, and the plans you’ll make when you’re together again. But still, it’s sad.

—

Your last day creeps up on you like a shadow at dusk—inevitable, inescapable, and suddenly there, looming over everything. You wake up with a rock on your heart, the realization that this is it—your final day on the farm, your last full day with Logan before everything changes.

He is still asleep beside you, holding you close, his face peaceful in the early morning quiet. For a moment, you just watch him, memorizing the lines of his face, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way his hair falls across his forehead. You want to remember everything, to carry this image of him with you when you leave.

With a soft sigh, you carefully slip out of his embrace, trying not to wake him. You pad quietly to the window, staring out at the familiar landscape that has become so dear to you. The fields, the barn, the trees swaying gently in the breeze—it’s all so beautiful, so full of memories.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the wetness on your cheeks, and you quickly wipe the tears away, not wanting to start the day with sadness. But as you turn back to the bed, you see that Logan is awake, his eyes open and watching you. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes says it all—he knows what today means, and he feels it just as deeply as you do.

Wordlessly, you crawl back into bed, curling up against him, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your voice trembling slightly as you press your face into his chest, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall..

You just lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the day pressing down on you both. Eventually, Logan pulls back slightly, his hand cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “Let’s go to the pond,” he says delicately. “Just you and me.”

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. The pond has always been your special place, a sanctuary where you’ve shared so many intimate moments, where it feels like it all began, and so it’s only right that would spend your last day there, away from everything else, just the two of you.

You decide to walk to the pond. Logan’s hand is warm and solid in yours, and you hold on to it tightly, physically unable to tear yourself from his touch. And when you reach it, a fresh wave of emotion crashes over you.

You and Logan stand at the water’s edge, just staring out into the pond. Then, you turn to him, your eyes filled with tears, and without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close.

The kiss that follows is desperate, full of the need to feel connected, to hold on to each other for as long as you can. It’s not like the slow, sensual lovemaking of the past weeks—this is something desperate. Stumbling back toward the soft grass by the water’s edge, Logan gently lays you down, his hands trembling slightly as he undresses you, tears stinging behind his eyelids. As he moves over you, his body pressing against yours, there’s only this moment.

With his skin against yours, his breath on your neck, your bodies move together. Tears spill from your eyes as you hold him tight, your hands unable to stay still, running over every part of him you can touch, needing to feel him, to anchor yourself. His lips find yours again, and the kiss is deep, full of all the love, all the emotion that neither of you can put into words.

It’s a kiss that says goodbye, that says I love you, that says I’ll wait for you.

After reaching the peak of pleasure, you cling to each other, the tears flowing freely now, a mix of sorrow and love and everything in between.

Logan holds you close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged, his eyes wet with tears. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ll always love you.”

“I love you too,” you choke out. “More than anything.”

—

Driving away from the farm was probably the hardest thing you've ever had to do in your entire life. Harder than moving away for university, harder than securing your first full-time job, harder than living alone in a city where you knew no one. This was different—this was leaving behind a piece of your heart, a part of your soul that you knew would never be whole until you returned.

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles white as you try to focus on the road ahead, but it’s impossible to shake the image that’s burned into your mind—the image of Logan and your grandparents standing on the porch as you drove away. The sight of them, standing there side by side, watching you leave, is something that will haunt you for a long time.

Logan, his stoic expression barely masking the pain in his eyes, his hands clenched at his sides as if holding himself back from running after you. Your grandmother, her face a mixture of sadness and pride, eyes glistening with unshed tears. And your grandfather, standing tall and strong, but with a heaviness in his gaze that spoke of understanding, of experience, of knowing just how hard this had to be.

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally break free, streaming down your face as you drive, blurring your vision and making it hard to see the road ahead. You swipe at them angrily, frustrated with yourself for breaking down like this, but it’s no use. The emotions are too strong, too overwhelming, and soon you’re bawling your eyes out, the sound of your own crying filling the car.

You can barely catch your breath, each sob wracking your body with a force that leaves you feeling drained, exhausted, and utterly broken.

—

The time apart is worse than you ever imagined it would be. In the beginning, you and Logan make every effort to stay in touch. The calls and texts are your lifeline, little threads that keep you connected to the farm, to him, to the life you left behind.

At first, you talk every day. his voice a comfort, a reminder that you’re not alone, that he’s still there, waiting for you. He tells you about his days, about how he still rides the horses every morning, just like he used to when you were there.

But as time goes on, the time between each call grows. Your demanding work schedule, and the unreliable service in the countryside, make it harder and harder to find moments when you’re both free to talk. The texts, once long and filled with details about your lives, become shorter, more practical. You try to stay connected, but the distance feels like a growing chasm between you, one that neither of you can quite figure out how to bridge.

Years pass by in a blur. You have no time to spend at the farm, with it being too far away for just a weekend trip, and other commitments seem to always get in the way.

Then, one day, the call comes—the call you’ve dreaded but somehow always knew would happen. It’s your grandmother, her voice trembling as she tells you that your grandfather has passed away.

You take leave from work immediately, making arrangements to drive back to the farm and spend a night. The funeral is simple, attended by a few close friends and neighbours, but the absence of your grandfather is felt deeply by everyone.

And he’s there too—Logan. He’s standing off to the side, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his face etched with grief. When your eyes meet, it’s as if no time has passed at all. You walk over to him, and without a word, he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid to let go.

The few years apart, the pain of the distance, all of it melts away in that embrace. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him that you’ve missed so much, and the tears you thought you had run out of begin to fall.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, everything hitting you at once—the loss of your grandfather, the years you’ve spent apart, the life you could have had together.

He hugs you tighter, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I miss you,” he murmurs thickly. “Every damn day, I miss you.”

You spend the rest of the day together, holding each other, talking, catching up, and remembering your grandfather. Logan tells you about the farm, about how he’s kept things going, but you can hear the weariness in his voice, the toll that time and loneliness have taken on him. It’s clear that the farm hasn’t been the same without you, just as your life hasn’t been the same without him.

Later that evening, after the guests have left and the house has grown quiet, your grandmother pulls you aside. Her eyes are tired, full of sorrow, but there’s a calm acceptance in her expression. “I’ve made a decision,” she says softly, her voice steady. “I’m going to sell the farm.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but before you can protest, she continues. “Not to just anyone,” she adds quickly. “To Logan. He’s been more than just a farmhand, you know that. This place is as much his as it was ours. But… I need to move into permanent care. I can’t manage on my own anymore.”

You nod, understanding but feeling a deep sadness all the same. The farm has been a part of your life for so long, and the thought of it changing hands, even to Logan, feels like another loss. But there’s also a sense of relief, knowing that it will be in good hands, that it will stay in the family, in a way.

That night, you’re tangled in Logan’s arms. Leaving him the next morning is just as hard the second time as it was the first.

—

Five years since that fateful summer have passed, and in that time, your life changes in ways you never expected. You’ve built a successful career, made some amazing friends, travelled the world, but the hustle and bustle of city life has taken its toll. The stress, the strain, the dissatisfaction—it begins to weigh on you more and more.

So, you make a decision.

You quit your job, find something remote, something that allows you to work from anywhere, as long as you can drive into the city every few weeks to drop off documents. It’s a drastic change, but it’s one you need. You realize that the life you want, the life you’ve been yearning for, isn’t in the city.

It’s back at the farm.

As you step out of your car, you see him. He’s by the paddock, feeding the horses apples, just like he used to. His back is to you at first, but then he turns, and his eyes meet yours, and time stops.

There’s a lifetime of emotions in that look—love, longing, hope. Most of all, there’s recognition, as if both of you know that this is it, that this is the moment you’ve been waiting for all these years.

And when you’re finally standing in front of him again, he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek the same way it did all those years ago.

----

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r4di0h3ad · 3 months ago

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just practice part 2

part 1!

pairings! bsf!jj x reader

in which! you cant stop thinking about the night you lost your virginity to jj…. even though you have a boyfriend

warnings! 18+ smut. cheating. fingering. oral sex (m. recieving) pnv sex. unprotected sex. not proof read.

it had been two months since you lost your virginity to jj and almost a month and a half since you started officially dating your new boyfriend.

he was nice. he took you out to eat once a week, he bought you small gifts, he complimented you and you never argued. but the sex was just…bad. it was always over way too quickly and he never payed any attention to your body or what you wanted. you figured he was just one of those boys who was too scared to go down on a girl, which was fine, but it probably wouldn’t suit you in the long run.

you hadn’t been hanging around your friends very often, usually turning them down to go out with your boyfriend and jj was getting increasingly frustrated with this.

but every time you were around your friends, jj in particular, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. when you talked to him, all you thought about was the way he called you baby when he came on your stomach and the way he made you cum on his face. you felt so completely guilty for these thoughts, but nothing would stop them. you figured the best plan of action was to avoid him. not entirely, but just try not to be around him alone.

but, you did end up alone with jj by mistake one afternoon.

you had just finished surfing with kie as the swell had come in that day. you both planned to stay at the beach a little longer, but you were hungry and didn’t have any food. kie decided to go pick up something from the heyward’s shop and you went back to the chateau to grab a six pack, only to find jj working on his bike, his shirt off and his shorts dirty, probably from engine oil.

you didn’t say anything as you walked up the steps to the porch, but jj noticed you and called out.

“hey, y/n!” he yelled, wiping his hands off on a towel and throwing it on his bike. “thought you were gonna stay at the shore until later?”

you were in your damp bikini top and bottoms and a pair of sandals. you turned around at the sound of his voice and met his gaze.

“yeah..” you said. awkwardly. “i am, i was just grabbing some beers.” you turn back around, pulling open the screen door and stepping inside. once you’re in the kitchen with the refrigerator door cracked, you hear jj come into the château after you.

“what’s going on with you?” he asks, standing in the living room. you shut the refrigerator and look over at him with furrowed brows.

“what do you mean?” you question, although you knew exactly what he meant. you didn’t expect the confrontation to happen now of all times.

“don’t act like you don’t know.” he crosses his arms over his chest. “you’ve been weird around me ever since we..”

you didn’t want to hear him say it.

“jj, i’ve just been hanging around my boyfriend a lot,” you try to defend yourself, hoping he’ll stop questioning you. “i’m sorry i haven’t been talking to you. ‘been busy.”

he nods, biting his lip and looking down at the floor.

“do you regret it?” he asks, looking back up at you.

“what?” you shake your head. “no, i just-“

“you promised you wouldn’t make things weird between us and now you barely even talk to me.” jj said. “you sure i didn’t do something wrong?”

“no jj!” your voice raised slightly. “i-“ you cut yourself off, not knowing what to say. “it’s just that every time i try and talk to you, i think about what we did.” you blurt out, almost making it sound like you both murdered someone and hid the body. you made it sound like a crime, and it pogue rules, it technically was. “i thought that avoiding you was gonna take my mind off it until i got over it.”

he walks closer to the kitchen, tossing his hat somewhere on the counter.

“so you do regret it?” he questions, leaning against the counter and looking straight at you.

you shake your head no.

“i don’t, but it’s kind of wrong of me to think about you while my boyfriend’s fucking me.”

you realized what you said after it had already left your mouth and your eyes widened.

“what’d you say?” he asks, cocking his head a little at your admission, a barely visible smile playing on his lips.

“uh-“

you quickly turn around to open the fridge again, looking for some beers to take and get the hell up out of there.

“no, say it again.” jj pulls your arm, twisting you back around to face him so that your bodies were dangerously close together. your face flushed with embarrassment and your heart was thumping out of your chest.

“jj,” you say, shrugging off his touch. “i really gotta go back to the shore.” you say, but you weren’t moving. jj knew that wasn’t what you really wanted.

“i’m not stopping you.” he pulled back from you and leaned against the counter once again, showing that you had free will to leave, but you still didn’t budge. your feet were glued in place.

you wanted to kiss him so bad and get that ridiculous smile off his lips, but the thought of your boyfriend who did little to please you was the only thing that was keeping you from doing it. you bit the inside of your cheek, nervously. the tension between you two was going to make your head explode.

“he doesn’t fuck you like i do, does he?”

his words were your final straw.

you grabbed both sides of his face and instantly connected you lips with his. he kissed you back without a second thought, wrapping his arms around your waist. he backed you into the refrigerator as his lips moved perfectly with yours.

his fingers trailed down your hips and to your clothed core. he pulled away from the kiss to look at you, silently asking for permission for him to touch you, and you gave it.

still having you against the refrigerator’s surface, he skillfully moved your bikini bottoms to the side as two of his fingers sunk into your entrance. you were embarrassingly soaked already. you fight back a moan as he pulled out of you, just to slide right back in, hitting the spot he knew you needed.

“all this and i’ve barely even touched you?” he mocked, taking his fingers out of you and bringing them to his mouth. he looked you in the eyes as he sucked your slickness from his fingers. your lips were parted as you watched, desperately needing his hands on you again.

he then picked you up, his hands hooked under your thighs. you giggled as he carried you to the bedroom, kicking the door closed.

he gently placed you on the bed and reconnected his lips with yours, his tongue swiping yours. you reached to work on his belt, swiftly undoing it and pulling it off while never breaking the kiss. you slid his shorts down, his boxers barely hiding his desperation for you.

you palm him through the fabric, eliciting a groan from him against your lips that you needed to hear more of.

you sunk to your knees in front of him, yanking his boxers down and allowing his painfully hard cock to spring free. you took him in your hand, pumping a few times before your tongue poked through your lips to lick a long stripe from the base of his shaft to the tip.

he gently grabbed your hair, trying to pull you away, but you licked him again, which loosened his grip.

“you don’t have to-“ his eyes rolled back as you finally took him all in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you sucked his cock. your hands were placed on his knees. the moan you heard from him encouraged you to keep going, although his tip was hitting the back of your throat and you were trying hard not to gag. “fuck- baby, you don’t have to do this.”

you pull him from your mouth, a string of spit connecting your lips with his tip.

“i want to.” you say before taking him in your mouth again. he tries to keep his eyes locked with yours, but his head falls back in pleasure, his fingers lacing into your hair.

you only knew how to do this because your boyfriend showed you. you had to keep your eyes closed the whole time so you could pretend it was jj.

his breathing was getting heavier with each rise and fall of his chest as soft moans and strings of curses fell from his lips. he couldn’t help but thrust his hips forward, forcing his cock farther into your mouth. there were tears brimming your eyes as you tried to focus on pleasuring him.

“fuck- m’not gonna last much longer like this.” he said.

you kept going, desperately wanting to bring him over the edge, but he pulled your hair back, taking you off of him.

“gotta stop you, princess.” he grabbed your hands and helped you up from your knees. you sat on the bed, pouting. he stood over you, brushing your hair out of your face and noticing your change of attitude. “didn’t wanna cum like that.”

as much as you wished you could make him cum by sucking him off, you couldn’t complain now that he was giving you attention.

his hands guided themselves to your waist, where he then told you to turn around so you were now on your hands and knees, your ass facing him. he was still standing as he held your hips from the edge of the bed. you felt his tip at your entrance.

“this okay?” he asked.

you give him a yes, and then you feel him slowly enter you. it felt so much different than when he had been on top of you before. there was a slight pain due to how much deeper he could push into you from this angle, but the pain melted into pleasure within seconds.

he pulled out just to drive himself back into you. his pace was slow until you adjusted to the position, and then he steadily began going faster. his fingers dug into the sides of your ass, pulling you into him with every thrust.

as he went harder, you gripped the sheets and stuffed your face into the mattress under you, trying to keep yourself quiet, but you couldn’t stop the moans that escaped your lips.

“fuck-“ jj cursed under his breath, his grip on you getting even harder. “feel so good, can’t get enough of this pussy”

his words brought you closer and his pace increased. you could feel him getting tenser, his thrusts getting sloppier.

“could have you like this every day if i could- shit.”

you were almost over the edge, the knot in your stomach threatening to undo.

“fuck- m’gonna cum princess” he moaned.

his last thrusts were deep and slow and they led you into perfect ecstasy. you came undone around his cock, moaning into the sheets right in time for him to pull out and finish on your back- your name leaving his mouth with curses and moans.

your body was limp when he cleaned your back with a towel, still in a haze from your orgasm.

“you okay?” he asked, running a hand down the middle of your back, feeling the ridges of your spine.

you nodded and sat up, grabbing your bikini from the floor and slipping it back on.

“kie is gonna kill me.” you say, slipping your sandals on your feet. “she’s not gonna believe any excuse i try to give her.”

“i’ll drive you down there.” jj offered. “i mean- are your legs alright to walk all the way to the shore or-“

you threw his shirt at his face and scoffed at him.

you had agreed to let him drive you to the beach while you fixed your hair in the visor mirror, trying to make yourself look presentable. although the whole way there you could only think about the words he said while he fucked you. you had no idea if he meant it or if it was just a thing he said in the moment. and this definitely wasn’t going to help save your thoughts about your boyfriend.

a/n: don’t know if i will write a part 3 to this, but requests are open for any jj or rafe fic!

tag list! (comment or message to be added or removed!)

@ifilwtmfc @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @xcallmetaniax @moondustedlily @x-0-madi-0-x @tumb1rgir1z

#jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x y/n #jj obx imagine #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #jj x you #jj x reader #jj obx fic #obx4 #obx smut #obx fanfiction #obx #outer banks #jj maybank obx #outerbanks 4

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 3 months ago

Text

the butchery of the beloved, the boulder, the bimbo and the brilliant

kinktober, day twenty-five

a/n: ahhh, it's finally time to share the kinktober fic you all helped shape!! it turned out so fucking unhinged and i love it. happy halloween, folks!

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

summary: “they–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

warnings: dark!rafe cameron x innocent!reader, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, slasher au, final girl!reader, 00’s slutty horror movie vibes, found family, nonverbal, murder, violence, blood, gore, crying, alcohol consumption, smoking, possessiveness, jealousy, mask kink, kissing, size kink, belly bulge, manhandling, dirty talk, just the tip, pussyjob, oral, spit kink, impact play, pain kink, choking, bondage, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, references to anal/painal

word count: 7400

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2024

It all started at a lunch table, as so many friendships do.

The first one to sit was Hana, the nurturing soul of the group who had been a genius even back then. The next to join was Brian, the blonde bombshell whose smile brightened any room he entered. Then came Oliver, the guy who at twelve years old had stood up to the bully you couldn’t face yourself and swore from that day on he’d do so for each and every one of you till the end of your days. And lastly, there was you, in many ways the glue of the little pack.

To say that the four of you were thick as thieves didn’t even begin to cover it, as you’d been there for each other in every up and down in each of your lives since adolescence. Even when your mother passed, especially when your mom passed, that’s when you truly knew that they weren’t just your pals, but your family.

“Oh wow,” you breathed as you gazed out the window to the destination you’d finally reached, “is this really your dad’s cabin?” you glanced over your shoulder at the man behind the wheel, a proud smirk ever on his lips.

“Yep,” Rafe nodded and reached down to put the car in park.

You’d met him at the beginning of this semester and it hadn’t taken you very long at all to fall embarrassingly and completely head over heels for the guy.

Though he wasn’t the first boyfriend to grow to be a part of the tight-knit clique, he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms as you remembered Jerome, Brian’s partner, had two years ago. The gentle giant of few words had melted into your dynamic so naturally that none of you remembered any longer a time before him. But it wasn’t like that this time, not with Rafe. For some reason, your friends just couldn’t warm up to the frat guy you loved so dearly.

As you heard the other car roll to a stop behind you, the vehicle where the four remaining resisted, your fingers dipped down into your pocket and fished out your phone to snap a photo of the luxurious lake house and its breathtaking views, though that’s when you noticed the lack of bars up in the upper corner of the screen.

“Oh, damn it…” you squinted down at your phone, “is there seriously no service out here?”

“Yeah, sorry I forgot to tell you,” Rafe snatched out the keys, “this place is pretty off-grid, you have to probably walk half an hour or something to get any signal.”

The dry leaves on the forest floor crunched beneath your shoes as you stepped out of the car and tipped your head back to glance up at how high the surrounding pine trees stretched up towards the cloudy sky.

As Rafe hopped up onto the wide porch and fiddled with a bundle of keys to unlock the place, your gaze kept finding him as you hung back a while and helped your friends unload their car.

“Can you all please promise to play nice this weekend?” you quietly asked them.

“Yeah,” Oliver huffed, yanking out a heavy duffle bag, “I’ll play nice if he does, which I sincerely doubt since I haven’t yet discovered one kind bone in his body.”

“Oh, come on,” you defended your beau, “he’s the one who suggested this trip so that you could all finally discover what a sweet guy he actually is,” before you all ascended the short steps and filtered into the abode.

Not soon after you all crossed the threshold, Rafe’s arms seized your waist and drew you back against him, whispering in your ear that he wanted to give you the grand tour of the house.

However, when you reached the room that was to belong to the two of you for the rest of the weekend, his ulterior motives for the journey around the cabin became crystal clear.

At first, when he wrapped his arms around you from behind as you gazed out the tall windows at the foot of the bed, a giggle bubbled in your belly as you felt his desire poke the small of your back. Though it was already during his palm’s swift voyage under the hem of your shirt and up towards your boobs that he let slip what crucial item he’d neglected to pack.

“You didn’t bring any condoms?” you twisted around to glare at the persistence that still sparkled in his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t let that fact spoil our fun,” he pulled you back into his arms, “don’t you want me to dick you down this weekend, huh?” he murmured in your ear.

“Well, I don’t wanna get pregnant,” you slowly pushed him back, “so it’ll just have to be another weekend.”

But then he seized your hand and brought it down to the palpable tent in his jeans, “babe, come on. Just feel how hard I am. You can’t just leave me like this, not when it’s your fault to begin with.”

Your mouth then fell open as a shy scoff rolled off your tongue, “I literally haven’t done a thing, how is it my fault?”

“Come on, don’t act like a prude,” his grip around your wrist shifted and it slid down to rub your palm against his hardness, “be a good girl and at the very least get down on your knees.”

“No,” you chuckled lightly and pushed yourself off of him enough to stumble closer towards the bedroom’s exit, “if you’re so desperate, then take care of it yourself.”

Even though winter was creeping ever nearer, each one of you still dared to go down to the lake’s small pier and soak up the mild rays of autumn sun that peeked out behind the clouds. Both Hana and Oliver even gathered enough courage to take a dip in the cool water, though weren’t successful in any of their attempts at talking the rest of you into the same.

Though when your friends in the water began to splash at one another, Oliver teasingly let some splatter upon Brian as he sat on the edge, eyes closed and face turned up towards the sky as he relaxed back against his boyfriend.

“Oh my god! Don’t!” he tensely straightened up, his tone startling Jerome enough that his palm that rested on Brian’s waist tightened, “stop! You’re giving me flashbacks to summer camp!”

As you heard your grinning friend in the lake apologise, you opened your mouth to note, “that’s right, I forgot you went to camp when we were kids.”

“Yeah, it was honestly revolting,” Brian recoiled slightly at the recollection, “mosquitoes, terrible food, even worse people. Had a big old lake just like this one,” he gestured to the surrounding landscape.

“Actually,” Rafe then spoke up, his voice booming to your ears as he sat directly behind you, his legs slotted on either side of your frame as his chin rested atop your shoulder, “this place used to be a summer camp too back when my dad bought it.”

“Really?” Hana glanced up from the water, their childish game now halted.

“Yeah, I mean,” Rafe cast a glance over his shoulder at the structures on the bank just behind him, “it had been abandoned and completely deserted for a long time, but a lot of the buildings, the main house and the shed and stuff, they’re the original cabins just renovated.”

“Your dad bought an abandoned camp?” Oliver scrunched up his face, “okay, creepy…”

“Oh, hell no, I’m out,” Brain began to unravel, “babe, if we wake up in the middle of the night to a ghost child standing at the foot of our bed, it’s your job to take care of it,” he glanced over his shoulder at Jerome, “I’m too delicate and pretty to deal with the paranormal, especially if it’s kids,” to which his boyfriend simply hummed in agreement and soothingly let his palm run down his partner’s arm.

“Oh, this place isn’t haunted,” Hana said after she’d swam up to clutch against the side of the pier, “calm down.”

“Well, you don’t know that, it might be,” the blonde man behind you shrugged, “especially with what apparently happened here back in the day…”

“What are you talking about?” you looked back at him.

“Well, back like forty years ago or something, when this was still a camp, there was this one counsellor who one day just went nuts, like snapped and murdered every single person there,” Rafe told, purposely making his tone more ominous the further into the story he got, “that’s why the place was shut down and abandoned, why no one ever wanted to return it to its former glory. It’s one of the most gruesome unsolved cases in this entire corner of the country.”

“Wait, unsolved?” Brian clutched his imaginary pearls.

“Yeah, the guy was never caught, supposably never even left these woods…” he then leaned in and attempted to truly spook you all, “at night if you listen closely, you can still hear him sharpening his blade, getting ready to hunt his next prey…”

Hana, assuming that he was only joking, let out a dry laugh to cut the tense silence that had fallen over you all, “okay, very funny, ha-ha.”

“Yeah,” you gently rubbed your boyfriend’s arm as you tried to shake the tale off of you, “let’s maybe not joke about psychopaths running around a rural area when we actually are in a rural area,” though goosebumps still pricked and tingled every inch of your skin.

“Wait, how did it go?” your giggle mingled with Oliver’s as you both leaned against the kitchen counter, nearly bumping your foreheads together from how hard you were laughing, “was it…” and you began to hum a faint melody.

“No because, remember, at the end it went,” your friend cut you off and then made his own attempt, though much more accurate than your own, causing your eyes to promptly light up with recognition before they crinkled together in laughter as he tried to hit the high note at the end.

Once the woods surrounding the cabin had succumbed to darkness, the group of you all decided to wrap the day up in a bit of merriment, going through Rafe’s father’s liquor stash and turning up the music.

During your and Oliver’s secluded moment in the kitchen away from the rest, your laughter caused you to sway even closer to one another, your palm naturally planting itself on his chest as your faces nearly touched.

Though just as the pair of you were doubled over, a figure appeared in the doorway.

“Oh,” your grin continued as you spotted your boyfriend, “hey baby,” though your laughter finally began to fade.

Staring daggers at the man beside you, Rafe then uttered coldly, “hey,” before his feet carried him straight towards you, seized your waist and twisted you away from your friend and towards himself to capture your lips.

“Okay, right,” Oliver exhaled as Rafe kept marking his territory, kissing you way more passionately than he needed to, “I’ll just see you guys back in the living room then…”

You tried to tilt away enough to utter your friend a reply, though your boyfriend didn’t allow you, only let you go once Oliver was long gone and Rafe returned to his original plan of cracking open the fridge to get a cold beer for himself.

Walking back out into the living room while your boyfriend scavenged for a bottle opener, you plopped yourself back down on the couch, on the opposite side to where Brian and Jerome were snuggled up. Next to where the lit fireplace crackled sat Oliver in a chair and not far from his feet on the fuzzy carpet rested Hana, legs crisscrossed as she held up her wine glass to stare through it.

When Rafe rejoined you all, a freshly glowing cigarette trapped between his lips as he sauntered out of the kitchen, he situated himself right beside you, making space for himself where there hadn’t really been previously. In his hand, he didn’t just balance his own drink, but also a stout glass filled with an amber liquid, one he swiftly handed off to you even though you hadn’t asked for it, yet that had still been the routine of the evening, and after the first one was sloshing on your belly, the others became harder to deny and not accidentally sip absentmindedly, especially when he’d playfully help you along by tilting the glass the remaining distance up towards your lips.

“Sweetie,” Hana soon leaned closer to utter for your ears only, “don’t you want a glass of water instead?”

Though your boyfriend beside you unfortunately overheard and grasped his cigarette between two of his longer fingers, a puff of smoke accompanying his words as he answered before you got the chance to, “she’s fine.”

From across the couch, as Hana scooted back to her spot on the carpet, having not caught the quiet interaction, Brian then suggested, “why don’t we play a game or something?”

“What, like truth or dare?” Hana leaned back against an unoccupied armchair.

“No, this isn’t a slumber party. Isn’t there like board games here?”

Brian’s glance then drifted to Rafe as he smothered his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and, without warning, pulled you into his lap and caught Oliver’s eye from across the room as he shamelessly let his hands wander across your frame.

“Uh, yeah. There should be some in the cabinet over there,” Rafe vaguely gestured before his lips began to nip at the side of your neck, making your eyes flutter and only half watched along as Brian then got up to skim through the aforementioned cupboard.

“Okay,” he glanced through the options, “there are cards, so we could play poker or something,”

“No way,” Oliver swiftly shook his head and shot a glance at Jerome’s bulky form, comfortably slumped on the couch, “I’m not repeating that fiasco again.”

“Aw,” Brian glanced back at his friend, “but it was so cute seeing my boyfriend fucking demolish you,” and Jerome, the quiet man he was, just let out a grunt in agreement.

“No, pick something else,” Oliver waved a hand.

“Well, we’ve got monopoly, scrabble, cards against humanity–, uh! There’s clue!” he excitedly picked up the box and spun around, “oh, work! Let’s play that!”

With his kisses still dancing along your skin, they then suddenly ceased as Rafe announced, “you guys go ahead, I think Y/n is ready for bed.”

Shooting a concerned glance at how your intoxicated form wobbled slightly as your boyfriend helped you up on your feet, Hana uttered, “oh, are you sure?”

“She is,” Rafe’s touch clung to you, “aren’t you babe?”

“Oh, uhm…” you hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that he mentioned it, as if he himself planted the thought in your hazy mind, all of the alcohol had in fact made you pretty sleepy, “yeah, I guess so.”

“Alright, well then,” Hana’s voice stayed slightly hesitant, “sleep tight.”

“I love you guys,” you blew the group kisses as Rafe helped you over towards the stairs.

His kisses made you even more dizzy than you already were, so when you stumbled over the threshold into your shared room, you flopped down onto the mattress, though you weren’t quite sure if you’d just fallen or if Rafe had manhandled your intoxicated and pliant frame, giving you a push before his form was atop of yours.

Though now that you were horizontal and with the weight of a frat boy squishing you further down into the bed, that was when you truly noticed just how much you’d had to drink that evening.

The room was spinning as Rafe made out with you, his palms raking across your body like a wild storm, squeezing every soft curve he could get his hands on. As one hand disappeared up your skirt, his kisses wandered down and over your throat to the bit of your chest that was exposed in the neckline of your top. Wasting no time at all, he then yanked down the hem, catching one of the cups of your bra as well as he unwrapped your tit like a present.

As his face was buried in your boobs, surely giving you hickeys from the way that he sucked at your pebbly nipple and the surrounding sensitive skin, a breathless attempt at halting his affections left your lungs, “baby–”

Though he didn’t take the whimper as you’d intended it and simply continued, “shit, you’re so fucking hot,” he yanked down the other sliver of mesh fabric covering your other boob, “god, these tits are just insane.”

Weakly, you ran your fingers through his buzzed hair and gasped as you felt his hardness grind into your covered core, “Rafe, I–”

“Yeah?” his lips began to flutter back up to your own as he let himself rock against you with more intent, “you want this big dick, huh?”

“No, we can’t, we don’t have a–”

“Oh come on, baby,” he shifted, slipping a hand down under the waistband of your skirt and into your underwear, not hesitating to sweep his fingers through your wetness and bully your little button, “I know you want to…”

“Stop, that feels too good,” you tried, but couldn’t yank his strong hand away, “you can’t–, I have to get up and brush my teeth.”

“You know, all my exes let me tap it raw,” he purred in your ear and attempted to guilt you, “why won’t you? Don’t you trust me?” his touch then suddenly disappeared, but only to tug down the zipper on the side of your short skirt.

“Of course I do, I just–”

“Then why won’t you let me make you feel good, huh?” he yanked both your skirt and panties down your legs, so fast it nearly gave you whiplash. Crawling off of your jelly-like form, he stood tall and loomed at the foot of the bed. Wasting no time, he yanked your core closer to the edge before he desperately freed his fat cock. The taps he then offered your glistening cunt, letting you reel in the weight of his length, “doesn’t that feel nice, baby?” he smirked at the way your mouth fell open, “because it sure seems like your little pussy thinks so, just look,” you followed his command and glanced down to spot how his intimidating girth nudged at your weepy petals.

Even after months of dating, you still hadn’t gotten used to the daunting size of him.

“Oh, fuck…” your brows knitted together.

“Just listen to that,” he flicked the bulbous tip through your slick folds with more vigour, causing the melody of your want to echo even louder throughout the bedroom, “you’re so fucking wet. You want it so bad…”

You then felt yourself fade away into the intoxicating sensation, letting him continue to fuck your fold and make your pussy drool even further till your eyes fluttered shut.

However, it didn’t take very long at all, through all of the hazy motions, before the very tip of him caught your entrance and slipped inside.

“Rafe!” you gasped, eyes snapping back open as your spine lurched off the mattress just an inch.

“Fuck,” he let out a loud groan, “sorry, babe. You’re just too soaked, it slipped in,” though didn’t move at all to pull it back out, since it had secretly been completely on purpose, “christ, you’re so tight…”

As he slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, you pleaded once more, “Rafe…” quietly begging for him to take it out through the conflicting haze as the familiar sensation of him stuffing you full always shut your brain completely off.

“This doesn’t count,” he claimed as he began to move, pumping just the bulbous head of himself in and out of your little hole, “not really. I can fuck you with just the tip, right?” a few of his fingers then lowered to strum your clit and summon a loud moan from deep within your soul, “yeah, that’s what I thought…”

As he removed his fingers from your clit, he then stuffed them in your mouth, muffling your soft whimpers and letting you suck them clean of your juices. As the taste of yourself coated your tongue, your own hands came up to clutch his, holding it near as you soon let your pecks wander across his palm and even down to plant a soft kiss to the gold ring that never left his finger.

“Oh–,” a gasp then left your lungs as he suddenly pushed in a bit more of his length, “Rafe, that’s too deep,” selfishly letting himself feel more of your warmth.

“No, that’s not too deep,” he began to fuck you properly, making you lose your breath, “you wanna know what is too deep?” a purposefully harsh thrust then buried itself so far inside of you that a tingle of pain joined the pleasure, “that’s too deep,” he then retracted just a tad, though still filled you up completely with each long stroke, “this is just right.”

“We can’t–,” you foggily tried to shake your head.

“Yes, we can. Just look how good you’re taking me, baby,” the palm you’d been clutching then escaped your grasp and scooped behind your head to tilt your neck and lock it there, directing your glance down between your bodies and forcing you to spot the faint bulge that appeared at each one of his mind-melting thrusts, “you don’t wanna stop…”

Feeling that all too familiar high begin to fuzz up your periphery, you trembled, “o-oh, fuck…”

“You feel so fucking good…” he grunted as your pussy began to clench around his fat girth, “just let me use you for a bit, yeah?”

“I–, I–,” gasps of air expanded your lungs as his pace then thrust you over the edge, “holy shit…” and your cunt helplessly clambered around him.

In your orgasmic haze, Rafe then abruptly flipped you around for you to lay on your stomach, and you barely managed to process it before you felt the weight of him settle atop of you, smooshing you down into the mattress as he slid back in.

“Ah!” you yelped at the way he didn’t hold back, “Rafe, it’s too much,” not even bothering to grant you a chance to recover, but simply fucked through your soreness, “I can’t–”

“Oh, shut up, you can take it,” he growled in your ear, his feet hooking your ankles and spreading your shaky legs further for him, “take it like the good little slut you are.”

It was strange how he’d taught your body to love the pain he inflicted. Even if the source was just his god-given gift of a girth, or curse, all depending on your point of view, and not the roughness he occasionally let slip out of the dark depths he tried to hide his jagged sides in for you and you alone.

“Fuck,” you soon heard him groan as his heavy sack slapped against your cunt at each one of his furious rocks, “I’m gonna cum!”

“Pull out–,” you managed to mumble into the sheets.

“What?” he kept on pounding your poor pussy.

“Not inside,” you tilted your head a bit to beg, “please!”

“Oh my god, fine,” he then begrudgingly pulled out and with one hand flipped you back onto your stomach as the other wrapped around his cock and he began to fuck his fist. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he crawled further up your body till his thighs caged you in, denting the mattress on either side of your face. He didn’t even wait for your lips to part before he shoved his dick down your throat, making you gag as he groaned loudly above you, “fuck…” and fed you his load.

When he soon flopped down on the bed beside you, the both of you catching your breaths, you instinctively gulped down what he’d given you before you curled your frame into his side.

As he wrapped an arm beneath your head, his glance then flickered down to you as he caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting you up to him before he asked, “did you swallow it?” digging his digit slightly into your skin and making you open your mouth for him, letting him discover the answer him himself, “fuck… that’s my girl…” he groaned before dipping down to kiss you.

The peck however didn’t carry on for long as his warmth then suddenly disappeared.

“Where are you going?” you watched as he got up, reaching out your arms to him in a silent plea for cuddles.

“I’m thirsty,” he zipped his pants back up, though didn’t bother with his shirt, “you just try and fall asleep, I’ll be right back.”

Flashing him a drowsy smile, “okay,” you then tug the duvet over your form and let your gaze shadow him as he made his way out of the room.

You thought you hadn’t managed to fall asleep, but evidently, you had as when the door to the room suddenly burst open, you were jolted awake, Rafe as well stirring as he was now settled behind you with an arm draped over your frame.

As three of your friends rushed to slam the door behind them, Rafe propped himself up and mumbled, “hey, what the fuck–”

But Hana then cut him off, a downright terrified look plastered not only all over her own face, but the rest as well.

“Oliver’s dead,” she uttered through the tears that thickened up her voice.

Still groggy, you slowly sat up and murmured, “what?”

Snapping her bloodshot eyes to lock with yours, she bellowed, “Oliver is fucking dead!”

As your gaze flickered over the group in search of any sign that what she claimed wasn’t true, you heard Rafe behind you exhale, “okay, this isn’t funny.”

“Oh shut up, you dick!” Brian shot back, doubled over in the corner, hyperventilating as Jerome kneeled before him, trying to calm him down.

“Hey, hey,” you gently raised up a hand, “don’t talk to him like that. What the hell do you mean Oliver is dead?”

“I mean that he’s dead as in dead, dead,” Hana explained, her words causing the world to suddenly crumble all around you, “Jerome went outside to get something from the car and found him on the porch, not moving and with his head stuck under the water in the hot tub.”

With tears now stinging the corners of your eyes, you struggled to suck in a breath of air, “what?”

“It’s that fucking ghost story you told us,” Brian panicked in the corner, “it’s real, isn’t it?”

“Okay,” Rafe uttered as the both of you leapt out of bed and scrambled to get some clothes on, “let’s all just calm down.”

“We gotta call the police,” Hana said, to which Jerome swiftly pulled out his phone, only to then curse quietly as he discovered what Brian too noticed when he glanced over his shoulder.

“Fuck, we can’t, there’s no signal!”

Hana then glanced around at everyone, “well then one of us has gotta drive and find some, right?”

“Hell no,” Brian shuttered, “if there’s some psycho out in these woods, then I’m not staying behind to get murdered. We’re all going.”

So that’s how, after you’d all scurried downstairs and filtered out through the sliding door to the porch, that you saw the truth with your own eyes.

Even though his head was obscured beneath water, the unmoving corpse of your dear friend still caught your eyes and stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh my god…” you sobbed, your blood running cold.

But before you could let your feet carry you closer to the scene of the crime, Rafe seized your arm and uttered, “baby, come on,” before pulling you along the last short distance towards the cars, “I’m sorry, but we gotta go.”

Though when you did reach the vehicles and attempted to start them, neither one of them would as they’d seemingly been tampered with, forcing the panicked lot of you all to run back inside.

“Shit…” Brian clutched onto the back of the couch in the living room for support, “what do we do now?”

“We can’t go on foot, not in the dark through this forest,” Rafe spoke, “so we gotta stay here till morning.”

Glancing around the space, Hana uttered, “then we gotta make this place safe. Lock all the doors and windows, find somewhere to hide.”

“Yeah, good idea,” your boyfriend nodded before suggesting, “let’s split up, it’ll be faster that way. Y/n with me, we’ll take that side of the house, and the rest of you stay over here.”

And before anyone could protest, he’d yanked you down a dark hallway.

You nearly stumbled twice as Rafe dragged your shaking visage through the lake house, only stopping once you’d reached a large closet.

“In here, baby,” he shoved you inside, though began to shut the door before he nuzzled himself in as well.

“No, what are you doing?” tears streaming down your face, you attempted to stop him.

Though he only halted his efforts a second, grasping your face as he uttered, “please, just stay here.”

“No, it’s too dangerous,” you clutched onto his dark t-shirt, “you can’t–”

“Babe, I can’t let anything happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he then collided his lips with your own, a sob escaping your lungs as he briefly kissed you, “please, just stay right here, hide, for me.”

Slowly, you loosened your trembling grip on his shirt and cried, “I love you.”

“I’ll be right back!” he promised before shutting the closet door and bathing you in darkness.

You had no idea how much time passed, if it was only a few seconds or hours that you stayed in the dusty and dim abyss of that closet, but then when a loud crash and a shrill scream suddenly found your ears, your shaky hand pushed the door back open.

You’d never in your life been as terrified as you were when you found yourself tip-toeing down that long, dark hallway. Though, as you sneaked past the ajar door to the study, your entire body suddenly froze up at the massacre that met you within.

Unmoving and slumped over the threshold, there lied Jerome, his face beaten to a pulp, rendering it nearly unrecognisable as blood slowly trickled into the tight curls on the top of his head.

Past where Hana was lying in the middle of the room, battered and coughing, in the corner you saw as a tall figure, masked by a dark motorcycle helmet, crouched over the still form of Brian and landed the last few blows to claim his life.

“Please,” Hana’s words were gurgled by blood as the killer slowly straightened back up. Twisting ever so slightly, the assailant plucked out one of the clubs from the gold bag that leaned against one of the tall bookcases, “just let me go,” your last living friend begged as you watched the murderer wrap his long fingers around the handle and take the few steps to where Hana lied, “just let me–”

As he took a wide swing and hit your friend right in her temple, the loud crack that echoed throughout the cabin made you shutter in terror and let out an uncontrollable scream, causing the killer’s head to snap up to spot you in the dark hallway.

For a second you both just stood there, frozen and staring at one another, like two deer in headlights. But then, as he began to move, taking his time as he stepped over the bodies littering his path, you stumbled back and collided with the wall directly behind you.

You tried to run, but even though you managed to slip out the wide glass doors and escape a good distance into the dark forest surrounding the house, the masked man still caught up to you and flung you against a tree. As he had you cornered, you felt him drag the cold tip of the golf club up your right leg and over your shuttering skin, drawing a crimson line of your beloved’s blood across your goosebump-ridden flesh.

“P-please don’t kill me, please–,” you cried, but just then, the moonlight that streamed through the dense treetops caught in a glint of gold that adorned the hand that clutched the club, a recognizable ring that caused your heart to drop.

As your eyes then flickered up to the dark helmet, that too seemed oddly familiar now that you truly looked at it.

In some sick and twisted way, you hoped that the killer had just stolen the jewellery from your boyfriend as a trophy of the night’s conquest and not the horrifying alternative.

But when you then tried to slip away and the man pushed you back, your hands defensively shot up, though only managed to knock the helmet off his head and let it tumble to the dark forest floor below, unveiling the earth-shattering truth.

“Oh my god…” you gasped, eyes wide as you now stood face to face with your boyfriend.

“Shh,” he took a step closer to you, caging you in even further, “calm down, baby. Don’t do anything stupid now.”

“They–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

A low sigh then escaped Rafe’s lungs.

“You really should have just stayed hidden like I told you to… I didn’t want you to find out this way… it would have been so much simpler if you’d just bought into the story I made up…”

“You killed my friends…” your chest ached with every painful gasp of air, “how–… how could you?”

“Oh, honey…” his head tilted slightly as the corners of his lips twitched, “do you really think this is my first time?”

Staring back at him in horror, you sputtered, “w-why?”

“Because of you,” he uttered as if it was obvious, “it was all for you,” his feet shifted him even closer to you, “they were a bad influence, so this was the only way.”

“They were my family!”

“They were like a poison, all of them, trying to control you, trying to take you away from me,” he inched in even closer, making you wish the harsh bark that scratched up your spine would simply open up like a portal and let you escape, “I know Hana was trying to get you to break up with me… Oliver always followed you around like a lost puppy, just hoping you’d one day spread your legs for him… and Jerome and Brian? They were just plain annoying,” his hot breath fanned across your skin as he petted the edges of your features with a knuckle of the hand clutching the golf club, “I did it all for you, for us, because I love you… fuck, you have no idea how much I fucking love you, baby…” he uttered before bringing the bud of the improvised weapon down upon the side of your head and knocking you clean out.

When you came to, the flicking light from a lit fireplace was the only source of light in the dim room you found yourself in. Arms folded up behind your head, a long rope was tangled around them and stretched up to a beam in the ceiling above. Your legs too were tied, keeping your naked frame upright and locked in place in the middle of the room.

“Fucking finally,” a low voice echoed from the chair across the chamber, causing you to wince as the tone pierced your soul and worsened your splitting headache, “you really took your sweet time waking up.”

Blinking back at your boyfriend as he leaned back in the seat, pants undone and his hard length tight in his fist, a murmur escaped your lips, “…you knocked me out…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he got up and walked towards your suspended form, “but you didn’t give me any other choice.”

As he slowly neared you, your glossy eyes flickered up to meet his.

“Rafe, please,” you heard your voice break as you tried to keep your tone soft, “you don’t have to do this. Just untie me, I promise I won’t be mad at you.”

“Oh yeah?” a small scoff slipped through his smirk.

“Yes. I’ll do whatever you want, just please let me go,” you begged, “please don’t hurt me.”

“Shh, shh,” his palm rose up to stroke your hair before letting it rush down and over the curves of your exposed body, “but you’ve been such a bad girl. I think you deserve a lesson that hurts a little bit,” his palm then slapped your pussy, still soaked and sore from earlier, rendering you to let out a shrill yelp, “it’s okay, you can cry…” he briefly leaned in to kiss your cheek before he shifted, though still staying so close that his nose ghosted along your skin as he made his way around to stand directly behind you, “you look so pretty when you do…”

You then squirmed as he reached down to grasp his cock and nudge at your sensitive entrance, “Rafe, please–, ah!” a cry then left your form as he ruthlessly rammed his way inside, plugging you up so completely that his balls nuzzled against your slick skin.

“Fuck!” his moan tickled the shell of your ear as he tangled his arms around your torso, “you’re so perfect…” he began to move, finding a selfish pace to wreck you with, “so perfect and all mine…”

As his thrusts caused your tits to jiggle, one of his wide hands soared up to grasp one while the other one snaked up to wrap around your throat. He then squeezed it fiercely enough that all your noises eventually faded away and he kept you completely quiet for a good moment before his hold slackened and he once again granted you the privilege of gasping for air.

“This is all you need, just me, only me,” he grunted, “just like this, using your pretty little hole for exactly what it was made for… you were made for me and nobody else… no one…”

His grip then drifted down to dent your hips before he lifted them, raising your bound frame till your tip toes were barely grazing the cold floor. Your back arched slightly as he repeatedly brought your hips back to him, his balls sloppily slapping against your swollen clit each time he manoeuvred your body and treated you like a toy.

When he then hooked an arm around your front to keep moving your body greedily against him, it granted the other one the grace to roam your frame freely.

As his fingers found one of your nipples in a harsh pinch, he let out a groan at the way you began to clamper down around his fat girth, “are you gonna cum, baby? Huh?” his palm then slapped your tit, “because it sure fucking feels like you’re close,” before he suddenly retracted completely, slipping out of your drooling cunt and causing a shy whimper to slip from your lips, one he swiftly cut off when he smacked your cheek, “too bad. You’re not allowed to.”

As you shakily struggled to stay on your unsteady feet, you panted, “Rafe, my legs, I can’t–”

“Oh yeah?” he mockingly pouted at you as he sauntered around to your front, “do they hurt? Are you tired?” and as you offered him a nod, his fingers grasped your chin, “well,” his thumb slowly stretched up to trace your bottom lip, “if you promise that you’ll be a good girl for me, then I’ll give you a little break.”

“Yes, I will,” a tear rolled down your still stinging cheek.

“You will what?” his palm briefly slapped the side of your face once again before returning to the same hold.

“I’ll be your good girl, I’ll do whatever you want,” you begged and as he then sank down to his knees, grabbed a pocketknife resting on a nearby table and held up his end of the bargain, slicing through the ropes at your legs and cutting them loose. A new wave of sobs tumbled out of your form, “thank you! Oh, thank you so much!”

Tossing the blade far away before he rose back up, “you’re fucking welcome, baby,” he then caught you off guard as he suddenly plucked your lower half up into his arms.

“W-wait, I thought you’d give me a break!” your legs trembled in his grasp as he slide you back onto his fat cock.

“Yeah, your legs were tired, so I’m being nice and giving them a break,” the wet claps of your skin roughly colliding once again filled the dark room, “your pussy doesn’t deserve one yet… unless of course, this is you begging me to fuck your ass…” a wicked wish that he’d been begging you for ever since the very first time he banged you.

“No! No, not there, please, I’ve never–”

“Oh, I know you haven’t,” he smirked, “that’s what makes it so much more fun…”

“Please, Rafe,” you blinked back at him, “don’t.”

“You told me I could do whatever I want…” he angled his bucks right against that spot that caused your teeth to dig into your lower lip, “you promised to be a good girl for me and just take whatever I give you…”

“I will,” your eyes couldn’t help but flutter, “just please not that.”

He then let a dollop of his spit splatter directly against your face, “alright, but only because I love you,” before he dipped down to plant a feverish kiss against your lips, “tell me that you love me too.”

“I love you,” you murmured against his mouth.

“Huh?” one of his hands let go of you and he shifted to balance you with only one, letting the other instead drift down between your forms to bully your puffy pearl, “what was that?”

“I lo–, a-ah!” you suddenly whined as he pressed one of his fingers inside your pussy, not caring in the slightest that you were already completely filled up as he forced his digit in alongside his fat cock.

“Come on, baby,” he stared down at you, “tell me you love me,” and kept up his ruthless pace as he hooked the finger inside of you, “tell your soulmate just how much you love and adore him, how you want nothing more than to worship him at his feet.”

“I–, I–, Rafe,” you gasped, feeling as if he was splitting you in half, “it’s too much–”

“No, it’s not too much, it’s exactly right, you can take it, baby.”

“I can’t–”

“I don’t fucking care,” he continued to fuck you without remorse, slamming his intimidating length so deep inside of you that you nearly couldn’t breathe, “I wanna feel you cum, just like this.”

“Rafe–”

“Do it or I’ll get a lot meaner,” he warned you before he finally got what he wanted. Your squirt drizzled down on the floor as the intensity caused a scream to erupt from your form, “there you go, fuck,” he groaned as he watched your pussy gush around his girth, “that’s it,” before the way your cunt clambered down around him caused him to let go as well, “shit,” and pump you full of his cum.

Rafe pressed a peck to your forehead before he pulled out of your warmth and you breathlessly glanced down to watch as his hot load began to leak out of your quivering hole.

“Alright, baby,” he exhaled and then uttered words that caused a shiver to trickle down your spine, “foreplay’s over. I think you’re ready for your punishment now.”

2K notes · View notes

braindeadjaidyn · 1 month ago

Note

Rafe following his babysitter into the bathroom

Fucking her against the door, holding her mouth closed with his hand

His family just outside in the living room, while he is fing her as hard as he can

BABYSITTERS CLUB!

summary:..-> reader and rafe always had a thing for each other. everything changes once she picks up a babysitting job, babysitting the one and only kook king.

warnings:..-> smut, p n v, bad dirty words, wards a douche, rough sex, rushed sex, both cum quick:(, sex that could’ve got them caught?? EVERYONE IS OF AGE!!!

word count:..-> 2700.

a/n:..-> hello pookie and pookies! okay so don’t be mad….i know I didn’t do the bathroom but I hope this okay! i got tunnel vision and didn’t even realize! im sorry if i edged yall with the constant build up. yall writing sex is HARD. anyway requests are open bye love u. AND BE NICE.

It was almost laughable that Rafe fucking Cameron, kook king needed a babysitter. It WAS laughable. Ward Cameron had contacted you through Facebook knowing of the fact you babysit. Yeah, you did, but not 20-year-old frat guys.

Ward Cameron: Hello Y/n! Your father told me you do babysitting and I’m looking to hire one for tonight! It would be for my son and daughter, it may seem a little odd. My apologies. I will be having some important meetings with a large group, and I don’t trust either to be on their best behavior. Please contact me back so we can discuss further! I’ll pay 500$ for 3 hours.

The message sent you into a fit of cackles, screenshotting the text and sending it to all your friends. The idea was so tempting. So fucking tempting. 500$ for 3 hours was a literal steal…Yet you were going to be in the presence of the insufferable Rafe Cameron. You hadn’t had many interactions with Rafe, he usually just teased you for being the ‘prude good girl’ every time you told him no to hook up. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think about letting him fuck the shit out of you, hell you almost did. Every time you’d open your mouth to try and agree he’d open his spewing his bullshit, immediately forcing you to shut your own.

You bit at the soft flesh on your bottom lip, tapping the phone with your eyes trained on the text. Fuck it. 500$ for keeping the cocky frat boy in line sounded so good, so so fucking good. You agreed, and your thumbs moved quickly over the screen. Your lip was still tucked firmly between your teeth as you waited for his father’s reply.

Y/n L/n: That sounds good! Thank you so much Mr. Cameron! I’ll be there. When should I be there and can I have the address?

Ward Cameron: Of course Y/n! My meeting is in about 40 minutes, I would like you here as soon as possible. I will be here the whole time so I’ll give you a rundown of responsibilities and such when you arrive. *address*.

This soon? You immediately scrambled to your feet, throwing on some more appropriate clothes than your lounge ones. You were so quick you thought your heels were on fire.

Soon enough here you were on the Camerons porch knocking on the front door. Jesus, why did you agree to this? Fuck. The only time you ever interacted with Rafe was when you were fucked up, now here you were sober about to babysit the grown-ass man. This is ridiculous. The door swung open, of fucking course Rafe Cameron was the one to answer it. Sporting his stupid handsome smirk and backward cap. “You’re the one who’s keepin’ me on a leash tonight girl?” He drawled, flashing you his teeth.

Goddamn, his fucking fine ass. You tongued the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at his comment. With a tilt of your head and a soft huff, you finally met his gaze. “Just shut up and let me in Cameron,” With that Rafe chuckled, shaking his head as he moved from the door opening it further. You could feel his sharp stare as you walked past him and into the house. You were a little in awe at the niceness but quickly masked it, tucking your face back into its resting expression. Rafe didn’t miss it as he sidestepped around you, his smirk only growing.

“You never been in a house this nice princess?,” Rafe taunted, his smirk replaced with a smug smile.”Come on, my dad’s in here,” He led you further into the home, and you lagged behind. Cursing him internally at his snarky comments. Why was this dude such a diva? You followed aimlessly looking around at the different decor, this was so different from your own house.

Ward Cameron sat on the sofa, his attention on the laptop resting on the marble coffee table, his fingers working against the keys. He just looked like a dick, great….Rafe cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. You picked up his sudden change in demeanor, his once arrogant self replaced with a look that looked like a kicked puppy. It was sad, actually very sad. But you shrugged off your sympathy as Ward glanced up his face lighting up in foe friendliness. “Y/n my dear. Thank you for coming,” Ward greeted, closing the distance between the three. “Right well, I'm having a large meeting this evening. Lots of colleagues and other investors are joining me today. We will be using the living room, my office would be far too cramped. I’m just asking you to keep an eye on everyone and out of the living room.”

This man just screamed condescending. You nodded, sending him a soft smile. Once again you fought the urge to roll your eyes, how did he expect his grown son to listen to her? He was Rafe Cameron. It was widely known he doesn’t listen to anyone. “Yes sir, I can do that.” You spoke softly and sweetly, it was an act yet you wanted that 500$. Rafe sent you another smirk before he licked his lips to keep his dirty comment to himself. Ward nodded, reaching out to softly pat your shoulder. He quickly pulled away, and you fought the urge to jerk away. “Great! Well, Rafe behave. You’re 20 years old. It’s ridiculous that I had to even hire her.” Ward shot his son a pointed look, which made Rafe emotionally cower. Rafe just firmly nodded, his arms folded over his chest. You had to divert your gaze, your cheeks heating as you noticed how his shirt sleeves were straining against his muscles. Fuck.

A firm rushed knock at the front door thankfully interrupted your sinful thoughts. Ward immediately jerked his head to the noise, moving past the young adults. “Right, that's my meeting. So see you both later.” Ward called as he barely bothered looking over his shoulder at the two. He disappeared out of the living, and you could feel Rafe's eyes on you. Jesus Christ, does he have an off button? You met his gaze, surprised to see it was blank. “What?” You questioned, your face slightly twisted and your eyebrow arched.

Rafe just sighed deeply, running his hand over his cap. “Let’s get upstairs before he throws a bitch fit,” Rafe muttered, his body already moving toward and up the stairs. You followed, your heart beating wildly. It felt weird how domestic? No. Casual. Yeah, how casual this was. His long legs ate away at the distance of the stairs, you lagged behind feeling a little awkward by everything. I mean you’re fucking babysitting Rafe Cameron and his little sister, it was weird. You made your way to the top of the steps, glancing at him awkwardly for his next move. You could already hear the chatter from the men downstairs.

“Quit actin’ all fuckin shy girl, Les’ go Sarah’s in here,” Rafe smirked his head cocking over to a door, his hand pulling the door open. “How’s it hangin’ Sar?,” You were now standing in the doorway of what you assumed was a movie room, you knew they were rich but they were richhh. Sarah barely glanced up from her phone at the duo, shrugging her shoulders in response. Rafe plopped down on one of the sofas, legs spread open as he looked you over. “Sooo, are you always this weird when you're sober princess?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his words. He was so damn cocky and for what? You scowled at him, your pretty face twisting. “Do you always need a babysitter at your grown age?” You snarked, your hands crossing over your chest and you shifted your weight to your hip. Rafe took notice of that and eyed your hip for a moment, chuckling as he tongued the inside of his cheek.

“Real cute baby, don’t be throwin’ that up in my face.” Rafe rasped, his eyes looking over you cocking his brow at the fact you were still standing in the doorway. He patted the cushion next to him, a smirk on his lips. “Don’t be shy princess, I won't bite.”

You thought for a moment before begrudgingly plopping yourself down next to him. It was a small couch, so small you were brushing thighs with him. You averted your gaze as you felt your cheeks flush at the contact. You knew he was planning something, you could feel it in his stares. Rafe was planning something, more so just thinking about fucking you stupid over the armrest of the couch. He was going to hell for what he was about to ask, especially with Sarah in the room. He leaned forward, bracing his hand on the top of the couch. Rafe's chest was flush against your shoulder, his head ducked down by your ear fanning his breath down your neck. “Why won’t you let me fuck you princess?”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, his breath sending your mind into overdrive. You bit your lip, adjusting your skirt to try and compose yourself. You were bright red and you could feel it, you could also feel the ache between your legs at his tone. You had to remind yourself Sarah was in the room. You looked over at him and felt like you could melt when you met his smug gaze. “I mean..I-I would-,“ Your voice was low and quiet, careful for Sarah's listening ears, but before you could finish Sarah's dramatically loud groan and the thump of her phone cut you off. You were so down bad.

“The fuc- The wifi just went out, ugh. Rafe fix it,” Sarah whined, looking at her older brother with pleading eyes. The only issue was the router was in the living room. Rafe sighed deeply at the interruption, glancing over at Sarah with narrowed eyes.

Rafe definitely couldn’t go down there and fuck with the router with his dad having a meeting. It was the whole point why Y/n was there. But he could get her downstairs and alone…So tempting in his pervy brain and worth a shot. “Fine. Come on Y/n. Be my cover.”

Seriously? He was going to go down there, practically asking for a meltdown from his dad. Before you could protest he had you by the forearm and dragged you out of the movie room. “Rafe-“ You went to speak but he cut you off as he pressed his finger to his lips, silently shushing you as the two of you crept down the stairs. You both met at the bottom of the stairs, the living room just around the corner, a wall protecting the view of the duo. The laughs and voices of multiple men were slightly muffled from the distance.

You crept forward, keeping close to the wall not without shooting Rafe a pointed look. You were falling right into his dirty trap, just like he wanted. His mind only focused on fucking that cunt and your interrupted words. Before you could peek over the corner he pressed your back flush against the wall, his body eliminating the distance as he pressed his front to yours. He smirked down at you, his eyes roving over you like you were prey. “Finish your sentence, pretty girl.” He commanded, his voice low, careful to not attract anyone’s attention.

Your mouth opened to speak but the words were lost in your throat. Your mind was spinning at the closeness, your pussy was practically pleading. You could only hold his intense stare, his hand snaking around to grip the back of your thigh. “Say it. Tell me you want this dick baby.” Rafe cooed his mouth coming to your ear, his lips brushing the skin. Fuck this. You were already soaked from his touch, his words only increased the throb. You couldn’t believe what you were about to do, but it was Rafe fucking Cameron…

You nodded weakly, hands fisting his shirt as you lifted the thigh he grasped. “I want it, please.” You wanted to smack yourself for the desperation in your tone, but you never wanted to get fucked like you did now. Rafe pounced, his lips immediately crashing into yours. It was sloppy and full of need. God, he kissed like a fucking whore. You couldn’t help but mewl against his lips, your body felt like it was on fire. His hands were everywhere, leaning his body against yours as his hands grabbed the flesh of your ass from under your skirt. Which earned him another soft mewl, yet it was muffled by his soft lips. He rutted himself against you, god this was so nasty. So down bad. But you were fucking loving it. So was Rafe.

He pulled away, his chest heaving with heavy deep breaths. His lips were wet, and he looked sinful. You moved your hands to the waistband of his shorts, working away the button and zipper. You couldn't help it truly. Rafe liked your eagerness, his ego inflated as well as his dick. “Needy fuckin’ girl.” Rafe tsked lowly, assisting you as he tugged away down his shorts, his hands moving to the waistband of his boxers, he couldn’t help but smirk at your reaction to the tent in his boxers. Your eyes were wide, pretty lips parted in need. He freed himself from the boxers, fisting his cock as he looked you over. Fuck. He was so hot. You took this as your cue, you moved your panties to the side. This wasn’t the best spot to get caught fully exposed…

“Rafe…What if someone- fuck- mph-“ You whispered, cut off by Rafe thrusting his cock into you his hand clamping over your mouth. He kept his other hand on the back of your thigh, as he pounded into you. His cock was moving in your slick walls at a relentless pace, his fat tip brushing areas you never knew existed.

Rafe had his lips parted, his head hung back as your pussy clenched tightly around him. He kept his hand firmly clasped around your mouth, he smooshed the side of your face into the wall, his cock fucking into you at an unforgiving pace. The sound of your pelvis’s kissing was sinful. “Take it, take this fat dick,” Rafe growled lowly, his eyes glancing to the corner of the wall as he heard a couple of men speak louder.

You couldn’t even muster a response, let alone voice it due to his harsh grip around your mouth. You could only pathetically whine and cry against his palm, as his cock brushed that spongy spot deep into you. Your teeth grazed the flesh of his hand as he repositioned his thrusts, fucking you upwards against the wall. You clawed at his arms, your cunt squeezing tightly around his cock. God, you couldn’t believe how close he had gotten you so quickly. Your lower stomach burned with need, your core aching for release. You could tell Rafe was close, his brows knitted and his lip tucked between his teeth. His cock twitched in your velvety walls, he dropped his hand from your thigh moving his fingers to firmly rub your clit. You bit at the flesh of his hand, hoping to muffle your screams as you crashed over the edge. Your body trembling, eyes rolled back as you made a mess on his fat cock. You clamped down on his cock as Rafe let out a deep groan, planting his cock deep into you as he painted your womb with his warm cum. Your chest heaved with fast shaky breaths, you just let Rafe Cameron fuck you against a wall, while his father and however many men were on the other side.

Rafe pulled out of you, a sly smile on his lips. He pulled your panties back to the side and tucked himself back into his boxers with a chuckle. He held your wide blown-out gaze as he pulled his shorts up. “You’re a shit babysitter princess.”

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tojigasm · 5 months ago

Text

I've Got a Thing About You, Baby

Warnings: kissing, pet names, Logan shotguns the reader, cigars, smoking, fluff, domestic logan

It's late one night in the summer that it happens; when the air's still warm under the moonlight and the crickets hum against the breeze.

You've been watching him for the past hour or so. The trickling of smoke dancing into strange shapes and pretty lines through the screen door of the mansion, leading out to the back porch.

It's far past your bedtime, and the rest of the students and professors have long since retired to their own bedrooms.

Except for you, that is. A part of you too exhausted to actually sleep and the other too anxious to.

If you listen closely, you're able to hear the bird fountain from the garden.

You can hear the rocking chair sway back and forth against the chipped wood of the porch.

A weird feeling passes over you. It feels like the heat of the sun on a spring day, and it settles into your stomach warmly.

That feeling reminds you of home often.

You can't tell if Logan knows you're awake – scribbling away at your notes for the day and sipping Coca-Cola from the bottle through a straw. If he does, he doesn't make it known.

It's only when you make your way towards the back door, bare feet padding against the cool wood floors that you know he knows.

You wait by the door for a moment, gripping the neck of your Coca-Cola bottle as you watch him take a drag of his cigar.

You've always thought he was beautiful. The dark tufts of his hair and hazel eyes, paired with the brute strength he bears, was Renaissance-like.

You briefly wonder if he'd been alive that long.

"Y'gonna come out here or just keep staring at me like a freak?" Logan's voice breaks you from your spell and has you pushing past the screen door instantly.

You sit down in the rocking chair across from him, pulling both of your knees to your chest and your Coca-Cola to your side.

Your eyes follow him as he takes another drag of the cigar, thick brows relaxed as he exhales a pillow of white smoke and sinks into the chair.

"Why aren't you in bed?" You ask, thumbing the ends of your pajama bottoms

Logan snorts at the parroted sterness in your voice. You had to've picked that up from Jean, he thinks to himself.

"Why aren't you in bed?" He hums with a slight shake of his head, tapping his fingers holding the cigar against the armrest of the chair.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Hm," He picks at the fabric of his jeans momentarily, "is that why you were hiding behind the screen door thinkin' I couldn't see you?"

"I wasn't hiding!" You nearly jump from your seat, almost cringing at the hightened squeal of your voice.

"Right." He smirks from behind the cigar, voice laced with sarcasm as he takes another drag.

You watch him for a moment. Your skin warm from the summer air, a shiver runs up your spine.

There's something oddly paternal in his demeanor; legs spread as he rocks himself back and forth in the chair, flicking his lighter shut and throwing it back into his jean pocket.

Logan looks up momentarily, meeting your gaze through his brows, and just as quickly as he's turned away to blow smoke out into the hot air.

"Never smoked before." You comment, crossing your arms over the fronts of your legs.

Logan hums, "Good. Bad habit."

"Can I try some?"

Logan hesitates. Eyes meeting yours sternly.

"Aren't you a bit young to be trying to get people to pass off drugs to you?" You can hear the smirk in his voice before it's visible on his features.

You roll your eyes and place your Coca-Cola bottle onto the floor beside you.

"Never been one to try and get people to start bad habits." Logan adds, picking at his nail absentmindedly. "Seems to happen around me anyways."

You don't say anything to that. The pads of your fingers still folding and twisting the fabric of your pajamas.

An owl hoots from somewhere across the garden, and the crickets sing in the breeze again.

Logan turns his head towards you and folds his free hand behind his head, taking another drag of the cigar before turning it towards you.

You feel stuck. Suddenly, very aware of where you are and who you're with and the uncomfortably humbling fact that you have no idea how to actually smoke.

You hadn't realized you'd only been staring at his hand until Logan's voice peeks through your mental fog.

"C'mere, baby."

There's something domestically paternal in the deep of his tone that nearly makes your knees buckle as you shyly make your way over to him.

He makes room for you in his lap, guiding you to sit on one of his thighs.

"Y'never smoked before?" He reaffirms, resting a large hand over both of your thighs.

You shake your head.

The sound of his lighter makes you turn before Logan pulls you back towards him, lighting the end of the cigar again.

"I'll hold it fr'you. Just take a deep exhale like you're breathin', easy peasy."

You nod, watching the tobacco simmer at the end of the cigar, illuminating Logan's hand in an orangish red hue.

There's a moment of quiet where you're lost in thought, memorizing the preparedness of it. You turn towards Logan at the silence to see him watching you already, a thick brow arched.

"You gettin' shy on me?"

Immediately, you fluster at that, shaking your head with a "uh, uh." Before leaning down to wrap your lips around the end of the cigar.

Logan meets your eyes with a warm smile, "uh uh," He chides, voice pitched in mimic.

You giggle lightly before inhaling from the cigar.

It's warm against the back of your throat; a burning stroke that has you pulling away, coughing instantly. Your mouth feels dry and cotton-like as drool fills your mouth in an attempt to relax the forgein feeling.

"Woah," Logan chuckles loosely at you, stroking his hand up and down your back. "Y'okay?"

You give a weak thumbs up, smiling wobbly before bursting into a fit of coughs again.

Logan reaches for your coca-cola bottle mid giggle, bringing the straw up to your lips.

"Here, drink this. Yeah, there y'go."

The drink cools your throat, soothing the dry attack on your lungs as you gasp for clean breaths of air again.

Logan keeps his hand on your back, letting you relax into it.

"Y'okay?" He asks.

"Yeah, I didn't realize that it'd be that aggressive." Your voice still scratchy.

"I probably should've told you not to take such a deep breath," He strokes his hand over the curve of your jaw. "Sorry 'bout that, kid."

You wave him off, "it's okay."

Logan takes a drag of the cigar, thumbing it between his forefinger and middle.

"That is a bit strong, huh."

You nod.

"Here, I might have a better way to do it."

You watch as he tilts his head upwards, holding the cigar to his plush lips as he takes another inhale.

The glow of the auburn porch light creates a halo around his hair tufts and makes an outline of his sharp nose.

He blows smoke through his nose, hardly acknowledging it.

You're entranced with how easy he makes it seem, as though he's been throwing back cigars for the majority of his existence, and for all you know, he has.

Your betwitchment must be obvious on your face by the way Logan peers down slyly at you midst another drag.

He motions for you to come closer to him, curving his hand to hold your jaw steady.

Parting his lips some, a small whisp of smoke trails from his mouth as he softly says, "Open."

You can smell the burning tobacco, and it settles a warmth into you.

You part your lips, jolting slightly in his hold as he exhales the cloud of smoke into your mouth with a cocky smile.

The smoke is much easier to take this way – already diluted by whatever super regenerative powers he holds.

Logan brings you closer to meet you in a kiss, dragging his tongue over your lips and past your teeth to stroke the insides of your cheeks.

You're completely at his mercy, shivering and whimpering in his hand.

The plush of his lips has you grabbing at his forearm and gasping against him. You can feel him smile into the kiss with a hum.

He pulls off of you with a 'pop' before relasing his hand from your jaw with a smile.

"That better?"

You reduced to just stare at him.

"Maybe I need it one more time." You say under your breath, and you're almost afraid he doesn't catch it.

"Yeah? One more?" He asks, moving to hold your chin again.

"Mhm," you nod.

#wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader

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despressoslatte · 1 month ago

Text

not the zoey you wanted (two)

pairing: zach maclaren x female reader!

summary: you waited all weekend for your boyfriend, Zach, to call or text, anything, to explain why he had just went and ghosted you when you were supposed to go with him on a family ski trip to meet his parents, his sister Avery, and his cousin, Miles.

content warnings: angst; victims of catfishing; miscommunication trope

masterlist | < one

⟢a/n: if you want me to add you to the taglist for this fic send me an ask! and remember to like and reblog if you enjoy!

ᯓ⟢

Zach watched the girl on his driveway, drive away. The dumbfounded look didn’t leave his face as everyone stood there confused as to what the hell just happened.

“I knew it,” Miles muttered, looking over at Zoey from his spot on the porch. “You’re not Zach’s girlfriend.”

The accusation rang loudly in Zach’s ears, almost hurting his head as everyone’s heads snapped from Miles to Zoey. She stood there with a shocked look on her face, like a deer in headlights. Zach looked to the car that was turning off of his street now.

He whispered out, “Y/N…” He looked at Zoey, blinking a few time as his memories were slowly coming back.

Zoey looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

“What are you talking about?” Zach asked his cousin, needing someone to put together the pieces of the puzzle because the pieces he kept trying to make fit wouldn’t connect.

“She’s not your girlfriend, dude,” Miles reiterated, pointing at Zoey with a shake of his head and an unbelievable scoff. “I thought when you introduced her to us… you just got a thing for Zoey’s.”

“Miles, honey, what are you talking about?” Connie asked, looking between the three college students with a look of bafflement splayed across her face.

Miles walked down off the porch, phone in hand, and jammed the screen towards Zach’s face. He was looking at a photo of his own Instagram page, full of photos of himself and the girl who just drove away nearly in tears.

Zach looked between the phone and Zoey, who stood there biting her lips as tears filled in her eyes.

“Look… I…” Zoey started to explain, and everything from the ski trip started to make sense. The signs Zach didn’t realize at first.

ᯓ⟢ THE SKI TRIP

Zach MacLaren was confused, to say the least. Ever since that car hit his bike and he went flying onto the pavement outside the bookstore, everything felt… weird, out of place almost. When the doctor had said that he was experiencing some form of short term memory loss from his concussion, all he could be was glad that was all that it was, and that Zoey was there with him. Though, that felt weird, too. Especially when he could’ve sworn he called her something other than Zoey and was confused why she was confused about the ski trip.

Hadn’t he invited her to that, or is he forgetting about that, too? Sign one.

At dinner, Miles came through the side door that lead to the kitchen, and Zach watched the way he paused for a second when he saw Zoey standing in the kitchen with his mother and father. Zach just smiled, getting up from the couch and placing a hand on the small of her back.

“Miles, this is my girlfriend, Zoey,” Zach introduced them.

Miles’ eyebrows furrowed downwards, not that Zach knew why. Maybe he thought she was out of his league, which honestly, he felt like she kind of was. They shook hands and when Zoey walked away, Zach caught Miles pulling his phone out quickly, looking down at it and then back up to where Zoey had sat back down in the living room a couple of times. It was like he was comparing something, not that Zach knew what.

He just figured after his amnesia concussion, he wouldn’t understand a lot of things for a while.

“Why are they all named Zoey?” he heard Miles ask under his breath, and while that also confused Zach, he didn’t question it. Sign two.

At dinner, his mother, Connie, made the comment, “I thought your name was Y/N?”

Zach tilted his head to the side, confused where that name came from. It did sound familiar. Zach’s dad, Matt, reached for his wife’s hand.

“It’s her middle name, remember, honey?” Matt reminded Connie. “Zach told us her friends back home call her Zoey, but she goes by her first name at their university.”

Zach nodded slowly, as if being reminded of that conversation while his mother said, “Right!”

He looked at Zoey, seeing a small awkward smile on her face. So, her first name was Y/N… He remembered that… didn’t he?

“You guys can just call me Zoey like the people back home, though,” Zoey interjected sheepishly. “I’m still not fully… used… to being called… Y/N…” Sign three.

“Zoey it is,” Matt smiled in agreement.

“So, Zoey, how’s Zach doing in tutoring now?” Connie asked.

“Knowing Zach? Horribly,” Avery teased, earning a mocking “ha ha” from her older brother.

“Tutoring?” Zoey asked, confused as she ate the food on her plate.

Zach just smiled, putting an arm around the back of her chair. “See, my grade in English is so good that I don’t even need tutoring anymore,” he said proudly. “Not that she doesn’t still help me. But as girlfriend, not tutor.”

“Right, English,” Zoey laughed awkwardly, grabbing her water to chug from so she didn’t need to answer any other question she wouldn’t know the answer to. Sign four.

ᯓ⟢ THE MACLAREN HOUSE

“I’m just surprised Avery didn’t say anything either, since I’m sure she’s seen photos of Zoey on your page,” shrugged Miles as he put his phone back in his pocket.

Avery was waving her hands over her neck, as if to tell Miles to shut up.

“You have an Instagram young lady?” Connie shot her daughter a disapproving stare. “You know you are not allowed to have social media.” Then to Zach. “You know she isn’t allowed to have social media.”

“She doesn’t,” Zach shook his head at the change of topic. “I made her give me the password, changed the password, locked her out, and now she can’t use it at all.”

All eyes fell back onto Zoey after the short detour. She had already explained why she did what she did—at first, it was to not stress him out like the doctor requested. Then, it was selfishly to get closer to Miles. Zach felt a pit in his stomach knowing he was actually feeling some sort of connection to her before this, but now he just wanted to throw up.

God, the look on your face when you had walked away… You thought he… Well, technically he… Oh, god.

Zach really looked like he was about to be sick, his head throbbing as the photos of you and Zoey’s story started to job his memory.

“I cheated on my girlfriend…” he muttered under his breath, aching and hating himself. He glared at Zoey. “You made me cheat on my girlfriend,” he spoke louder, a scoff leaving his throat. “How could you do that to me? To her?”

He could barely hear her excuse over the thoughts racing in his head over how he was going to make this one up to you.

“You’re the girl from the bookstore who called me an idiot,” it dawned on Zach.

“No, no,” she shook her head. “It was the name of the book… You’re not an idiot, Zach. You’re so smart… and so sweet… and I didn’t expect to like you, but I… I felt like we really connected this weekend.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zach said with raised shoulders, pointing out into oblivion for emphasis. “Whatever you felt for me this weekend, and whatever the hell connection I thought we had… none of that was real! Me… Me and Y/N… we were real… are real, if I can…”

If he can fix it.

“I’m sorry, I-I…” Zoey tried to find the words to explain.

“I… I need to get back.”

He had no classes on Mondays, but there was soccer practice later that evening. He planned to eat lunch at his parents’ before hitting the road, but now he needed to get back to you. God, his phone was broken, and you were going to spend the next two hours driving thinking he cheated on you.

He grabbed his luggage, looking at his parents for a second.

“I gotta go,” he said quickly.

“Good luck,” Avery called out after him as he got to his car, absentmindedly throwing his luggage into the backseat.

He needed to fix this. He needed you to know this was all a misunderstanding, a miscommunication really. That… that Zoey Miller was just a catfish who pretended to be you to a freaking amnesia patient. That he remembered clearly now.

It didn’t matter that his phone was broken when he got hit by that car. He knew the route back to your on-campus apartment like the back of his hand. He turned the radio on and just drove.

three >

#drew starkey #zach maclaren #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #zach maclaren fanfiction #zach maclaren imagines #zach maclaren x reader #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #drew starkey angst #zach maclaren x angst #zach maclaren angst #the other zoey #the other zoey fanfiction #the other zoey imagines

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rootedinrevisions · 2 months ago

Text

Just...Stay

SUMMARY: When he rolls back into her life every few months, Tyler Owens brings with him all the irresistible charm and warmth that first captured her heart, leaving her breathless and hoping for more. But as the years slip by, so do his promises, and every departure leaves her with another fracture in her heart and fewer illusions about the man she loves. Caught between the comfort of the life she’s built and the pull of the only man who’s ever felt like home, she must finally decide: will she wait for him one last time, or find the courage to let go and forge a path on her own? PART 2 HERE

Inspired loosely by "All the Cowboys" by Alexandra Kay.

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

WARNINGS: Angst. Unrequited love. Mentions of/Implied Smut.

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists or be tagged for a specific character please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Twisters (Mostly Tyler right now, but possibly others soon)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

The screen door creaked as you settled onto the back porch steps, the sun beginning to dip beneath the horizon. You held the phone close, balancing it between your shoulder and ear as you traced absent circles on the weathered wood with your fingertip.

Your mom’s voice crackled on the other end, warm and familiar. “You’ve been keeping busy out there?”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, Mama. Got a load of wash done, fixed that fence post that was leaning. Even tried to fix the gutter on the barn.”

She chuckled. “You sound like you’re doing just fine then. So, what’s got you out on that porch, calling me like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

You hesitated, glancing out at the fields stretching endlessly before you, caught between the quiet beauty of dusk and the ache you felt blooming inside. “I don’t know, Mama,” you said, almost whispering. “Just feeling a little lost, I guess.”

There was a long pause on the other end, and you could almost hear her piecing it together. “You saw him again, didn’t you?”

A sigh escaped you, a mix of regret and resignation. “Yeah, I did. He was just… there, like nothing had changed.” You shook your head, remembering the way he’d looked at you, that familiar glint in his eye. “I know what you’re gonna say, Mama.”

She didn’t hesitate. “That boy’s no good. He comes ‘round whenever he pleases, but he leaves just as quick. You can’t be holding out for someone like that, honey.”

You felt your chest tighten, the truth of her words hitting harder than you’d like to admit. “I know, Mama. Believe me, I know.” You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, fingers fidgeting. “But when he’s here… it’s like I forget all that. I forget how many times he’s done this before, how I feel every time he leaves.” Your voice grew softer, thick with frustration. “And then he’s gone, and it feels like… like there’s this empty spot he left behind.”

There was a pause before she spoke again, her voice gentle but firm. “Why do you let him do this to you, sweetheart?”

You exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping. “I don’t know. Maybe I keep hoping it’ll be different. That maybe… he’ll stay.” The words sounded hollow even as you said them.

You could feel her weighing her response, the silence heavy between you. “Honey, some people just aren’t made to stay. They get what they need and they’re gone, leaving folks like you to pick up the pieces.” She paused, and you could almost see her shaking her head. “But that doesn’t make it right.”

A lump formed in your throat as you thought of Tyler driving off into the sunset, no promises, no goodbyes—just gone. You let out a weary breath, looking down at the chipped paint on the porch step beneath you.

“Why do they always leave, Mama? Every time things get good, he just vanishes.”

“Oh, honey…” She sighed, the sound deep and knowing. “It’s in some folks’ nature to chase what they don’t have, always looking for something else just over the next hill. Doesn’t mean you have to keep getting hurt by it, though.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the truth settle heavily in your chest. The silence stretched on, filled only by the chirping of crickets and the fading warmth of the sun. You knew your mother was right, but as you sat there, a small part of you still hoped that maybe, just maybe, he’d come back one day and stay.

The memory came back in a slow, aching wave. Just two nights ago, you and Tyler lay tangled up together under the sheets, his arm wrapped tightly around you. The world felt quiet in those moments, like the whole world had shrunk to just the two of you, his warm skin against yours, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

You tilted your head up to look at him, his face softened in the dim light. “So… how long are you sticking around this time?” you asked, half-joking, though you both knew the question carried a heavier weight.

Tyler’s gaze drifted, his lips twitching in that familiar, evasive way. “Maybe longer this time,” he mumbled, though he couldn’t quite meet your eyes when he said it. Instead, his thumb traced absent circles over your shoulder, a touch meant to soothe but only deepening the pit forming in your stomach.

You wanted to believe him, wanted to hold on to that maybe, but his tone, that shift in his eyes as he looked away—it was the same pattern, the same script. You’d been through this dance too many times not to recognize the truth hiding behind his words. He would be gone by morning. And as much as he’d tried to sell you that soft maybe, the two of you understood this wasn’t a visit that would last.

But in that moment, as you curled up against his side, you pretended you didn’t know. You buried yourself in the warmth of his embrace, letting yourself have just one night, pretending you wouldn’t wake up alone.

And sure enough, the next morning, when your hand reached across the bed to his side, it found nothing but cool sheets. You stared at the empty space beside you, that hollow ache settling deep in your chest. With a sigh, you threw back the covers and padded over to the closet, grabbing one of his old T-shirts he’d left on one of his previous stays, back when you still believed he might keep leaving pieces of himself behind to build something more permanent with you.

The shirt smelled faintly of him, a hint of cedar and summer nights that made your throat tighten. Tugging it over your head, you went to the kitchen, the floor cold against your bare feet as you filled the kettle, automatically going through the motions of your morning coffee.

And that’s when you saw it—the note, lying in the center of the kitchen table, his handwriting scrawled across the torn piece of paper.

It was a short message, just a handful of words that were supposed to feel like a promise, but instead felt like one more empty reassurance. You picked it up, reading the rushed lines that only served to emphasize his absence.

Didn’t want to wake you. Take care, darlin’. I’ll see you around.

The words felt flimsy, like the paper might disintegrate under the weight of your disappointment. You crumpled the note in your fist, feeling the familiar sting behind your eyes. This wasn’t new—this cycle of him drifting in, leaving pieces of himself in the form of old T-shirts and half-hearted promises, only to vanish before you could say goodbye.

You’d been through this so many times before, and yet, as you stood there, clutching that note, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this time was the one that would finally break you.

Your mom’s voice cut through the silence, gentle but firm. “Honey, you still there?”

You blinked, realizing you’d let the silence drag on too long, your mind caught in the weight of memories you could barely hold onto. “Yeah, Mama,” you murmured, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I know you love him,” she continued softly, but her words carried a strength you weren’t sure you had anymore. “But I need you to ask yourself if he’s treating you like he loves you, too. ’Cause, baby, love isn’t something you only hold onto when it’s convenient. It’s there in the hard times, in the moments that aren’t so pretty. And if he’s not showing up for you… maybe it’s time to ask yourself why you’re still waiting.”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see you, staring down at the crumpled note still clutched in your hand. The truth of her words was painful, like a splinter lodged too deep to pull out.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know you’re right.”

“I just hate seeing you go through this, time and again,” she said, her voice tinged with a sorrow that made your chest ache. “You deserve someone who’s there for you, who doesn’t keep running just because things start feeling real.”

You exhaled, forcing a smile that felt as brittle as glass. “Thanks, Mama. I… I just needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, baby,” she said, her tone softening. “You take care of yourself. And remember, it’s okay to let go.”

After a quiet goodbye, you hung up, setting the phone down beside the note. Your mom’s words echoed in your mind, a steady reminder of what you deserved, a grounding tether pulling you back to reality. She was right, of course. She always was. And yet…No matter how many times he left, or how much you knew he wasn’t treating you the way you deserved, there was still a part of you—a foolish, stubborn part—that couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he stayed. Just once.

You closed your eyes, letting the bittersweet ache of a daydream settle over you, imagining what it would be like if he stayed. Just once.

You could almost feel him there beside you, his arm still wrapped around you as you stirred awake. In this vision, his side of the bed wasn’t empty; he was there, his breathing slow and steady, a soft smile tugging at his lips as you rolled over to nuzzle closer. The warmth of his body against yours made you feel safe, grounded, as though he was finally, truly yours.

Later, you pictured the two of you in the kitchen, the early light streaming in through the window as you handed him a mug of coffee. He’d take it, wrapping his hands around yours just a second longer than necessary, his fingers warm against your skin. You’d share a quiet laugh over something simple, something easy, while the steam curled between you. And as he sat across from you, his eyes would linger like he was savoring the moment, like he was savoring you.

In your mind, you watched as he’d finish his coffee, rising from the table to head out to the fields with you. He’d tug on a worn cap and grin over his shoulder, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made your heart stumble. You’d walk side by side, falling into the comfortable rhythm of working together, your boots crunching over the soil as you talked about things that never came up in his fleeting visits. What you’d plant next season, what you’d add to the place if you had the time and the money. He’d joke about the future, and for once, you’d let yourself believe in it.

Evenings would come, and you’d find yourselves on the back porch, watching the sun dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over everything. He’d reach for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You could almost feel the weight of his head resting against yours, his soft murmur of how he’d missed this, missed you. And as night fell, the stars would come out, and he’d pull you close, wrapping you in his arms as though he had nowhere else to be.

And then, in this daydream, he’d follow you back inside, his arm draped around your shoulders as you led him up to bed. There, tangled up in the sheets, he’d hold you close, his touch lingering and gentle, making you feel like you were the only person who’d ever mattered to him. His whispered promises wouldn’t be half-hearted or hesitant; they’d be real, as solid as the feel of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. You’d fall asleep in his arms, knowing he’d be there when you woke, that he’d finally found a place with you he wouldn’t leave behind.

But as you opened your eyes, the reality settled around you like a familiar chill. It was just a daydream, a vision of something you’d never have, as fleeting as his footprints fading from the dirt driveway. And yet, you couldn’t help but hold onto it for one more heartbeat, wishing with all the fragile hope you had left that someday, somehow, it could be real.

* * * * *

A MONTH LATER

It was a late afternoon, the sun dipping low and casting long shadows over the gravel drive as you stood on the porch, the distant rumble of an engine reaching your ears. You recognized that sound before you even saw the dust cloud rising in the distance, stirring up memories you’d been trying to put to rest for weeks. His truck rounded the last bend, and there he was, windows down, that easy, rugged grin spreading across his face as he slowed to a stop in front of the house.

Tyler stepped out, stretching his arms like he belonged there, like he hadn’t left you picking up the pieces last time. Dust clung to his boots as he walked toward you, his eyes fixed on yours with that familiar spark—one that made you feel seen in a way that was hard to shake, even when you wanted to.

He looked just the same, though maybe a little more sun-worn, his t-shirt clinging to his shoulders, his jeans frayed in a way that was somehow endearing, like they’d seen as much of the road as he had. He stopped a few steps away, his gaze softening as it met yours.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm and low, as if no time had passed at all.

You stayed still, hands clenched by your sides. You’d prepared yourself for this—told yourself a hundred times that if he showed up again, you’d keep your distance, guard the pieces of your heart he kept leaving behind. But as he stood there you felt the walls you’d built begin to crack.

“Hey,” you replied, the word catching in your throat.

A beat of silence hung between you, heavy with all the things left unsaid. Then his face softened, his smile widening in that way that always undid you. And, as if by instinct, he reached for you, his hand lifting to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with a gentleness that felt almost like an apology.

For a moment, you considered stepping back, holding onto the anger and hurt that had filled the empty space he left behind. But as his touch settled, as his thumb traced a line just below your cheekbone, all your defenses crumbled.

Before you knew it, you were reaching back, your hand settling over his as you let yourself lean into him. It was like slipping back into a familiar dream—the one where he stayed, where he was yours for longer than a fleeting moment.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you, and you sank into his embrace, feeling the weight of his chin against your hair, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. And in that moment, against all reason, you let yourself believe that maybe this time would be different, that maybe he’d come back not just to leave again, but to finally stay.

He held you close, his arms wrapped around you with that familiar, unguarded tenderness. His chin rested on top of your head, and for a moment, it felt as if the world beyond his embrace had faded away. His fingers traced slow circles on your back, a quiet, grounding rhythm that felt as real as his voice when he finally spoke, low and rough against your hair.

“I missed you,” he murmured, the words so soft you almost didn’t catch them. He shifted, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “I’m glad to see you again.”

You looked away for a moment, the words stirring both warmth and ache deep in your chest. It was unfair, the way he could come and go, the way he could leave you longing for more, but when he looked at you like that—with his guard down, that rugged charm softened by something raw and honest—it was hard to hold onto your resolve.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, barely able to meet his gaze. He smiled at that, a slow, almost relieved smile, as if he’d feared he might’ve lost his place in your heart.

He let his hand drift to yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a familiar gesture. “Come on,” he said, tugging you gently, “let’s make a day of it.”

With Tyler by your side, you found yourself lost in the rhythm of farm chores that felt lighter, easier, with him there. He was quick to lend a hand, reaching for the same tools you did, working alongside you with that easy, capable grace he seemed to carry everywhere.

You walked through rows of vegetables, pulling up the last of the summer crops, the sun warm against your skin. Tyler watched as you tossed a few stray weeds into a pile, a hint of amusement in his gaze.

“So,” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence, “how’s the team? Boone, Lily, Dani, Dexter?”

He chuckled, swiping a smudge of dirt from his forearm. “They’re all good. Wild as ever. Boone’s still dragging his feet over settling down, though I keep telling him he’s a fool if he lets Lily go. And Dani’s got herself a new truck she’s way too proud of. Dexter? Well, you know him; he’s just happy to tag along for the adventure.”

You smiled at the thought of his friends, feeling a pang of longing for the life he lived—a world of movement and adventure, so different from the one you held steady here. “They sound like they’re keeping you busy.”

“Yeah, they do.” He looked at you, a softness to his expression that made your heart skip. “But they’re not the only ones.”

“What do you mean?”

“Been thinking about you too, you know. Wondering what you’re up to when I’m gone.” He paused, glancing around the fields before adding, “How’s your mom doing?”

You swallowed, touched that he remembered to ask. “She’s good. Stubborn as ever, trying to do too much on her own. But we manage.”

He nodded thoughtfully, reaching out to steady you when you stumbled on a loose patch of earth. “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you?”

“Guess so,” you said, shrugging with a small smile. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He looked at you then, his gaze lingering, as if taking in the way you belonged here, rooted to this land and this life. For a moment, you thought he might say something more, but he only squeezed your hand, wordlessly acknowledging that unspoken divide between his world and yours.

Later, after a simple dinner you’d shared at the kitchen table, you both made your way out to the porch as the sun dipped low in the sky. He settled onto the swing beside you, letting his arm drape casually over the back of it as you leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his shoulder beneath your cheek.

The evening was calm, the colors of the sunset stretching across the horizon in soft shades of pink and orange, and you found yourself sighing into the quiet.

“This…this is nice,” you murmured, glancing up at him.

Tyler gave a soft hum of agreement, his thumb tracing small, comforting circles along your shoulder. “Could get used to it,” he said, his voice soft, as if testing the thought aloud. “It’s different from the rush of things out there. Being here with you—it just feels right.”

The words settled between you, gentle and unassuming, but laced with a longing that you felt all too acutely. He looked down, catching your gaze, his eyes holding yours in the fading light.

“I know you’ve got your life on the road,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “But sometimes I wonder…what it’d be like if you stayed.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze drifting out over the fields that stretched into the distance. Finally, he gave a small nod. “I think about it too. More than you know.”

You fell into a comfortable silence, his arm around you, your head resting on his shoulder as the last light slipped below the horizon. And in that quiet moment, you let yourself imagine a world where he was yours—not just for today, but for all the days and nights to come.

In the quiet glow of the fading sunset, Tyler’s gaze grew heavy, lingering on yours with a kind of tenderness that always seemed to pull you in too deep, too fast. And in a heartbeat, he was scooping you up, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as you laughed, breathless and already feeling the rush of surrender. He carried you down the hallway, his eyes never leaving yours, each step filling the space with anticipation you could feel in every beat of your heart.

The bed was cool beneath you as he laid you gently on the sheets, his body following close, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of any distance between you. His hands were careful yet urgent as he traced familiar paths along your skin, murmuring against your ear, his voice low and rough with want.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he whispered, his breath warm against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, letting the sound of his voice wash over you, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. “I’m lucky,” he murmured, his lips brushing your collarbone. “I’m the luckiest damn man alive that you’re mine.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to cling to those words and tuck them away, to let them soothe every doubt he’d left behind. But you pushed the ache aside, banishing it to some quiet corner of your mind where it couldn’t reach you now.

Instead, you let yourself get lost in him, in the way his hands knew every inch of you, how his touch left you dizzy, breathless, like you were the only thing that mattered in his world. Every whispered word, every gentle kiss pressed to your skin, they all felt like a spell you couldn’t break. And for that one perfect night, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth.

Afterward, as you lay tangled together in the sheets, your body pressed close to his, his arm wrapped around you, it was almost easy to forget. To ignore the hollow ache in your chest and pretend that this time, he wouldn’t slip away with the sunrise. And so, for those last quiet hours before dawn, you let yourself exist in that fragile, fleeting moment, letting go of everything but him.

The soft sound of Tyler stirring pulled you from the haze of sleep. You opened your eyes to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, already reaching for his clothes. The early morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over his figure as he moved quietly, carefully separating your clothes from his in the pile by the bed. For a moment, you wanted to reach out, to pull him back, to press your face into his shoulder and beg him to stay. But something in you had finally had enough.

He noticed you were awake, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile that you’d once let yourself believe was meant just for you. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand brushing over your shoulder.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured. “You need the rest.”

But you couldn’t—not anymore. Watching him move through the room, watching him get ready to leave again as if it were just another morning, you felt something inside you finally shift, that last fragile bit of hope you’d clung to finally snapping.

Sitting up, you took a steadying breath. “Tyler,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. He looked over, a hint of surprise in his eyes at your tone. You struggled to keep your voice even, the words tangled in your throat. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting for someone who always leaves when things start to feel... real.”

He stilled, the easy expression on his face fading as the weight of your words sank in. You saw the conflict in his eyes, the same struggle you’d seen a dozen times before, but this time you weren’t going to let it end with an unspoken understanding. You were done with the quiet promises, the hope that somehow, one day, he might change.

“Stay,” you whispered, feeling the tears prick at your eyes. “Just... stay. I’m not asking you to give up chasing. I just want you to come home—to make this your home. To choose me.”

He looked at you, something like regret flickering in his gaze, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words you wanted.

Instead, he let out a shaky breath and looked down, and when he looked back up, all he managed was, “I’m sorry.” And you knew, in those two words, he’d already made his choice.

As he turned and started for the door, you found yourself following him, your steps echoing in the silence of the house as you trailed him through the hallway, the kitchen, the living room—all the way out onto the porch. You watched as he opened the truck door, throwing his bag into the backseat like he had a hundred times before.

“Don’t come back,” you said, the words escaping before you could stop them. Your voice wavered but held firm, steady with a finality that startled even you.

He froze, his hand on the truck door, then turned to look at you. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—shock, maybe even hurt—as he crossed the driveway and came back up the steps, stopping just a few feet away.

“You don’t mean that, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and careful, as if he could talk you back from the edge. “You’re upset, I get that, but... you don’t mean it.”

But you shook your head. “I do, Tyler. I can’t keep doing this. If you’re not choosing me, then... then don’t come back.”

He held your gaze, searching for something, as if hoping to see the softness he’d come to rely on. But when he only saw your resolve, he let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

“I’ll call you later,” he murmured. “We’ll talk.”

And just like that, he’d told you everything you needed to know. You didn’t need a call. You didn’t need another apology. You’d waited long enough.

You stood on the porch, watching as he climbed back into his truck. He didn’t look back as he drove down the driveway, the morning sun casting his truck in a halo of light as he disappeared into the Kansas countryside. You watched until he was just a speck on the horizon, your heart breaking and mending all at once with the realization that this was truly goodbye.

You’d loved him with everything you had, but you knew now that you couldn’t keep waiting for him to choose you. And when the phone finally rang, you knew you wouldn’t pick it up. Not this time. Not ever again. Because the next time he came back, you’d be moved on, ready to start again without him.

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens x you #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction #Tyler Owens Angst

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theonottsbxtch · 2 months ago

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PREACHER'S DAUGHTER PT 2 | MV1

an: GUYS IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS AU! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this au im so ready, it'll be tagged as #preacheraumax on my page if you want to find all the posts. i'm already writing pt 3, feel free to talk to me abt this au!!

wc: 6.3k

part one

The late-afternoon sun spilled golden light over the trailer park, painting the rusted edges of Max’s trailer with a soft glow. From the open window of his trailer, the smell of dinner drifted out—pasta, he thought, though he wasn’t sure. She’d insisted on cooking again, and he hadn’t had it in him to argue. He leaned against his car outside for a minute, absently wiping his hands with an oil-stained rag, trying—and failing—to ignore the way his T-shirt hung loose on her frame when she flitted through the tiny kitchen through the small window.

A week of this. A week of her brushing past him, all sweet smiles and quiet thank-yous, like she didn’t notice the way his pulse spiked every time she tucked her hair behind her ear or hummed while folding his clothes. He’d been respectful, giving her space, knowing she needed time to heal, but damn if she didn’t make it difficult.

The screen door creaked open, and there she was, standing on the step with a plate in her hands and a soft grin. “Dinner’s ready.”

He bit back a groan, tossed the rag onto the bike seat, and followed her inside.

They ate quietly, the scrape of forks on mismatched plates filling the small space. She’d been unusually quiet all day, and when she finally set her fork down, her eyes were a little too bright, her voice a little too soft.

“I talked to my aunt,” she said.

Max froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah?”

“She’s expecting me next week. She’s got a room for me, and she says I can stay as long as I need to.”

He nodded, keeping his face neutral, even though something sharp twisted in his chest. “That’s good. Safe place for you. Close to college.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the table. “You’ll take me, won’t you?”

“Of course.” His voice came out rougher than he meant it to, and her eyes flicked up, searching his face.

The week passed too quickly. Every time he came home from work to see her curled up on his couch or folding laundry to some old song on the radio, he told himself not to get used to it. But it was impossible not to, and when the day came, he couldn’t shake the weight in his chest as they loaded the last of her bags into the back of his truck.

The drive to her aunt’s house was quiet. She played with the hem of her dress, and he kept his hands tight on the wheel, like if he gripped hard enough, he could keep her there.

When they pulled up to the modest house on the edge of town, she didn’t move right away. He cut the engine, the silence stretching thin between them.

“I’ll come back on weekends,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“Promise?”

Her head turned, and for the first time all day, she smiled—a small, fragile thing that made his chest ache. “Promise.”

He stepped out, helping her with her bags, and when they reached the porch, he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around her waist. She stiffened for a moment, then melted into him, her head resting against his chest.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, you know,” he murmured into her hair.

She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to his cheek, her lips warm against his stubble. His heart stopped, then kicked back up at double speed.

“Don’t forget me, Max,” she said softly.

“Not a chance.”

The door opened behind her, and a woman—her aunt, he assumed—stepped out, eyeing him curiously.

“And who’s this?”

She glanced back at Max, her eyes lingering on him like she didn’t want to let go. Then she smiled, a little sadly.

“Just a good friend.”

The words stung, but he smiled anyway, stepping back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Take care of her,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Her aunt nodded, ushering her inside. Max stayed on the porch for a moment, watching the door close behind her, the ache in his chest settling into something heavier.

When the weekend came along, Max was in the middle of patching up an old carburetor on a kitchen counter when he heard the knock at the door. He wiped his hands on his jeans and squinted at the clock on the wall. It was late—closer to eight than six—but the knock came again, firm and impatient.

Grumbling under his breath, he crossed the room, swung the door open, and froze.

She was standing there on his porch, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, her hair pulled back in that effortless way that always drove him crazy. She smiled up at him, all innocent charm and a hint of mischief, like she hadn’t just made his heart stop.

“Hey,” she said, stepping past him and into the trailer without waiting for an invitation.

“Hey?” he echoed, spinning to follow her. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to call.”

She dropped the bag onto his couch, her smile not faltering in the slightest. “It’s the weekend, isn’t it? I promised I’d come back.”

“Yeah, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to sound stern. “You’re not supposed to just show up. I could’ve come and picked you up, you know.”

She waved him off, heading toward the kitchen. “I’m not helpless, Max. I caught a bus. Besides, I liked the idea of surprising you.”

Max sighed, leaning against the counter as she poked around his cabinets, clearly unimpressed. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Hmm.” She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For not fainting when I walked in here.” She gestured to the cluttered counters and the pile of laundry shoved into the corner. “Honestly, the state of this place would make half the church faint.”

Max smirked, crossing his arms. “Well, my cleaning fairy hasn’t been around this week.”

She turned back to him, arching an eyebrow. “Your cleaning fairy?”

“Yeah, little thing. Shows up unannounced, makes herself at home, organises my life for free.” He shrugged, his voice teasing. “She’s gotten kinda bossy, though.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the grin spreading across her face. “Well, your cleaning fairy is back.”

“Don’t.” His voice softened, and she looked up at him in surprise. “Don’t clean, okay? You don’t have to do all that. You’re not here to look after me.”

“I like it.”

Her words were simple, but they hit him harder than they should have. She liked being here, liked taking care of him, even if he didn’t deserve it.

Before he could think of how to respond, she stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm. Then, leaning up on her toes, she kissed his cheek, quick and light.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his throat tight. “Anytime.”

Her fingers lingered on his arm for a moment before she turned away, diving into the mess with a determination that made him smile despite himself.

He leaned against the wall, watching her, his heart feeling lighter for the first time in a week. She was impossible, infuriating, and everything he couldn’t stop thinking about.

“I was supposed to go out tonight,” he finally said.

She glanced back at him, her hands covered in soap. “Oh?”

“Yeah, Danny called earlier. Said he wanted to hit the bar. I told him I might swing by.” He paused, watching her reaction.

She didn’t seem fazed, just smiled. “You should go. It’s fine.”

He frowned. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

She rinsed a plate, setting it on the drying rack with a satisfying clink. “Max, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“That’s not the point.”

Her gaze softened as she turned to face him, drying her hands on a dish towel. “I know you want to stay. But you shouldn’t put your whole life on hold just because I’m here.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she stepped closer, her expression gentle but firm. “Go out. Have fun. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he debated pushing back. The idea of leaving her here, even for a few hours, felt wrong. But the quiet certainty in her voice eased something in his chest.

“Okay,” he relented. “But only if you promise to text me if you need anything.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a playful smile on her lips. “Yes, daddy.”

He shot her a mock glare as he grabbed his jacket and keys. At the door, he turned back to her, his hand lingering on the frame. “Don’t clean anything, all right? Just relax.”

“Sure,” she said, a little too quickly.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she waved him off with a laugh, and he finally stepped out into the night.

When Max got to the bar, it was loud and crowded, the kind of place Max usually thrived in, but tonight felt different. Danny was mid-sentence about something—or someone—when Max’s attention drifted again.

He found himself staring at his beer, her voice echoing in his head. I like it here.

“Max, you listening?” Danny nudged him with an elbow.

“Yeah, yeah,” Max muttered, though he wasn’t. His mind was back at the trailer, wondering if she’d actually taken a break or if he’d come home to find everything spotless.

“Man, you’ve been spaced out all night. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Max lied, draining the last of his beer. “I gotta head out.”

Danny raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Suit yourself.”

When Max got back to the trailer, the place didn’t feel like his.

The counters were wiped clean, the laundry folded and stacked neatly, and even the perpetually sticky spot on the floor by the fridge was gone. He sighed, shaking his head as he locked the door behind him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, though a smile tugged at his lips.

His gaze landed on the couch, and there she was, curled up under one of his old blankets, her chest rising and falling in soft, even breaths.

“Of course,” he whispered, his voice soft as he crouched beside her.

Carefully, he slid his arms under her, lifting her with ease. She stirred, her head resting against his shoulder as he carried her to the bed.

“Max?” she murmured sleepily.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice low.

“I wanted to wait up,” she whispered, her words slurring slightly.

“I know.” He laid her down gently, pulling the blanket over her.

He moved to the dresser, rummaging for a clean shirt to sleep in when her voice, still soft but more awake, stopped him.

“You usually just sleep in boxers.”

He turned, eyebrows raised. “Noticed that, huh?”

She smiled, her eyes half-lidded. “I don’t mind if you do.”

For a second, he didn’t move, her words hanging between them like an unspoken promise. Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

Her smile widened, but she was already drifting back to sleep.

Max sighed, tugging his shirt off and tossing it onto the chair. He slid under the blanket beside her, careful not to disturb her. As her breathing evened out again, he let himself relax, the weight of the night fading as he listened to the quiet.

She was here. And for now, that was enough.

The warmth was the first thing Max noticed as he stirred awake. His trailer was always cold in the mornings, the thin walls doing little to keep the night chill at bay, but now there was a soft, comforting heat pressed against his side. He cracked one eye open and immediately froze.

She was curled into him, her head resting on his chest, one arm draped across his torso like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her breath was slow and steady, her face relaxed in sleep, and her fingers clutched lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

Max’s heart thudded hard against his ribs, a deep ache settling in his chest. She fit so perfectly against him, like she’d always belonged there. He lay still, not wanting to wake her, though he couldn’t stop his hand from coming to rest lightly on her back.

The quiet moment stretched, his mind racing with thoughts he wasn’t ready to face, until the smell hit him. Warm, buttery, sweet—pancakes? His brow furrowed as he sniffed the air. Was he imagining things?

He shifted slightly, and her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at him, her expression soft and drowsy, and he swallowed hard.

“Morning,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice low. “You smell that?”

She smiled, untangling herself from him and sitting up with a yawn. “Yeah. Pancakes.”

He frowned, sitting up as well. “I didn’t even know I had stuff to make pancakes.”

She turned to him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “You didn’t. I snuck out earlier and grabbed a few things.”

He blinked. “You went shopping? Without waking me?”

“You looked peaceful,” she said with a shrug, climbing out of bed, not bothering to put the skirt she must have left with earlier back on.

He was sure that his cause of death was going to be her walking around his trailer in one of his shirts and her stupid cotton panties.

He followed her to the kitchen, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of her slipping out and coming back unnoticed. Sure enough, there was a stack of golden pancakes on the counter, a jar of syrup beside it, and two mismatched plates waiting to be served.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, though there was no heat in his words.

“Thank you,” she replied with a grin, flipping the last pancake onto the stack before turning to him.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, gesturing to the pancakes.

“It’s Sunday,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.

“Yeah, and?”

Her smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of something—nervousness, maybe—crossing her face. “It’s church day.”

The realisation hit him like a freight train. Of course. It was her first Sunday since she’d left home. A pang of guilt tugged at him as he imagined what this day must mean to her.

“Right,” he said softly. “Big day.”

She nodded, fiddling with the edge of his shirt.

“Do you want me to come with you?” The words were out before he could stop them.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and he immediately regretted it. “I mean, I know I’m not exactly the church-going type, but—”

She cut him off with a laugh, her expression softening. “Max, you don’t even own a church-appropriate outfit.”

He scratched the back of his neck, glancing toward his wardrobe. She wasn’t wrong. His idea of formal wear was a clean pair of jeans and a button-up he hadn’t worn in years.

“You sure you don’t want me to tag along?” he asked, feeling strangely out of his depth.

She shook her head, her voice gentle. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine. You can wait outside for me this week if you want.”

“Deal,” he said, relief and a hint of disappointment mingling in his chest.

She smiled again, stepping closer and resting a hand on his arm. “Thank you for offering, though. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, clearing his throat and looking away. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

She laughed, her fingers lingering on his arm for a moment before she turned back to the pancakes.

Max leaned against the counter, watching her as she plated their breakfast. She moved with a quiet confidence, her presence filling the small space in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying.

As they sat down to eat, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this Sunday—this moment—was going to stay with him long after she walked out the door.

Max didn’t know what he had with her, but he loved it. He loved every weekend she spent with him, loved the way her presence brightened his space. He loved the little things she did—the soft hum of her voice filling his trailer, the way she folded his shirts with the corners lined up perfectly, and the way she always looked at him like he was more than the guy with grease-stained hands and a rough past.

He didn’t deserve her, and he knew it. But damn if he wasn’t going to soak up every moment she gave him.

It was midweek when she surprised him. The steady rhythm of clanking tools and revving engines filled the garage as Max worked on a beat-up old Ford, grease smudged across his forearms. The day had been uneventful so far, the usual grind of repairs keeping his hands busy and his thoughts on autopilot.

Then she walked in.

He didn’t see her at first, his head buried under the hood, but the sound of her soft “Hi, Max,” was enough to make him straighten immediately, his heart giving an uncharacteristic jump.

She stood near the door, a paper bag in hand, wearing one of those sundresses that always made him weak. Her hair caught the sunlight streaming through the open garage door, and she looked so out of place among the grease and oil stains that it made him grin.

“Hey, angel,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag as he walked over to her. Without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The scent of her shampoo—something floral and sweet—hit him, and he lingered for just a second longer than he should have.

“What’s this?” he asked, nodding toward the bag.

“Lunch,” she said simply, holding it out to him.

His brow furrowed as he took it, glancing inside. A neatly packed sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water stared back at him. “I was fine for lunch,” he said, a little sheepishly. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Her lips curved into a knowing smile, and she crossed her arms. “A hot dog and a beer is not healthy for you, Max.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “What, you been spying on me now?”

“I’ve been paying attention,” she countered, stepping closer and poking playfully at his stomach. “You keep eating like that, and you’ll lose your figure.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” he teased, setting the bag on a nearby workbench. He leaned down slightly, lowering his voice to a flirtatious drawl. “You trying to cop a look at my abs, angel?”

Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it just enough to reveal his toned stomach, a smirk playing on his lips.

Her face turned bright red, and she quickly looked away, stammering, “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, you started it,” he said with a laugh, dropping his shirt back into place. He couldn’t help but admire the way her blush crept down her neck. She was too easy to fluster, and he loved every second of it.

“I have to catch the bus back soon,” she said after a moment, still avoiding his gaze as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

The mention of her leaving tugged at something in his chest, but he nodded. “All right. Thanks for the lunch, though. Really.”

Her smile returned, softer this time. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Always.”

After she left, Max stood by the workbench for a moment, staring at the lunch bag like it was some kind of relic.

“Who was that?” a gruff voice broke his reverie.

Max turned to see his boss, Tommy, leaning against the frame of the garage’s office door, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Just a friend,” Max said, though the words tasted wrong. She was more than that, even if he couldn’t quite put a label on it.

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, sure. A friend who packs you lunch and makes you look like a lovesick puppy every time she’s around.”

“Shut up,” Max muttered, grabbing a wrench and returning to the Ford.

Tommy laughed, taking a long drag from his cigarette before speaking again. “You’ve got balls, kid. Being with the preacher’s daughter? That’s a whole mess I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.”

Max stiffened, but he didn’t respond.

Tommy continued, his tone softening. “But I gotta say... I haven’t seen you this happy since the day you bought that trailer. She’s good for you.”

Max glanced over his shoulder, his grip tightening on the wrench. “Yeah. She is.”

Tommy nodded, stubbing out his cigarette. “Don’t screw it up, kid.”

Max didn’t answer, but as he went under the Ford, he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. Whatever this thing was with her, he wasn’t letting it go.

No less than a few days later she was stepping out of her last lecture of the day, her bag slung over her shoulder and her friend Sarah chattering animatedly about some party happening over the weekend. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the campus, and the warm breeze carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass.

But then she saw it.

Parked just beyond the gates was a familiar motorbike, its polished chrome glinting in the sunlight. Leaning against it, arms crossed and looking every bit the troublemaker he was, stood Max.

Her breath hitched, a smile spreading across her face before she could stop it. He didn’t belong here—his grease-streaked jeans and leather jacket a stark contrast to the sea of students with their backpacks and books—but somehow, he looked perfect.

“Is that... your boyfriend?” Sarah asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

She hesitated for a split second, then shook her head. “Just a friend.” But her cheeks betrayed her, flushing pink as she adjusted her bag and headed toward him.

As she approached, Max straightened, his expression softening in a way he reserved only for her. “Milady,” he said with a playful smirk, holding out the spare helmet like a knight presenting a prize.

She laughed, her smile widening as she took the helmet from him. “You’re ridiculous,” she teased, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

He didn’t bother hiding the grin that spread across his face as she slid the helmet on. Swinging her leg over the back of the bike, she settled behind him, her arms wrapping securely around his waist.

“Hold on tight, angel,” he said, revving the engine.

The ride to her aunt’s was a familiar one now. She’d spent so many weekends at his trailer that the route was second nature, but it never lost its charm. The wind whipped past her, carrying away the stress of the day, and all she could think about was the solid warmth of Max in front of her and the way her heart felt light every time she was with him.

When they pulled up outside her aunt’s house, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the world in hues of orange and pink. She slid off the bike, pulling the helmet off and shaking out her hair.

“Drive home safe,” she said softly, her eyes lingering on him.

“For you, always, angel,” he replied, his voice low but steady.

Her lips curved into a small, grateful smile as she turned and headed up the walkway. She glanced back once, just in time to see him watching her, the faintest hint of a smile on his face before he started the engine and roared away into the fading light.

Max never would have referred to his trailer as a home. For years, it had been little more than a roof over his head—a place to sleep and keep his stuff, nothing more. It wasn’t like the house he’d known she’d grown up in, with its creaking floors and warm kitchen smells, or even the crummy apartment he’d shared with Danny in his early twenties.

But now...

Now there were little reminders of her everywhere. A book she’d left on the coffee table, its pages dog-eared in the way she knew drove him crazy. A neatly folded throw blanket she’d brought over one chilly night. The small vase on the windowsill, holding wildflowers she’d picked on a whim.

She hadn’t moved in—not really. But every item she left behind, every small touch of hers that lingered, made the space feel warmer. More alive.

More like home.

Max sat on the couch, his gaze drifting over the room. His place was still rough around the edges—there was no hiding the peeling wallpaper or the worn linoleum floors—but with her here, even in these small ways, it felt different.

He picked up the book she’d left, turning it over in his hands. The corners were bent, and a faint scent of her perfume clung to the pages. He shook his head with a smile, setting it back down.

Yeah, he thought, leaning back against the cushions. She made it feel like home.

<3 <3 <3

Max’s life continued with her like this for another eleven months. Each day, it felt like he was living in a dream he never wanted to wake up from. They fell into a rhythm—a routine that felt as comforting as it was impossible to believe.

She was no longer just the preacher’s daughter he had met outside a Church. She was part of his life, his home. More than half the time, she stayed at his place now, spending her nights curled up on his couch, reading or laughing at some ridiculous things he'd say, more often than not in the same oversized t-shirt she’d first worn when she moved in. Her presence filled every corner of his small, humble space, making it feel less like a place where he merely existed and more like somewhere he belonged.

He had never pushed her for anything—never tried to rush her into kissing him, never demanded more than what she was willing to give. There were moments where he could feel the pull between them, when their eyes lingered a little longer or their hands brushed in ways that made his heart race, but he was patient. She had her own pace, and for once, he didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast. She had her own life to rebuild, and he was content to be a steady presence in it.

She still went to church every Sunday, keeping that part of her life separate, even though she never spoke to her father anymore. Church was the one thing she still clung to, the only part of her old life that hadn’t unravelled completely. Max didn’t understand it—he couldn’t—but he never asked her to give it up. If it brought her peace, if it helped her hold on to a piece of herself, then he respected it. He just wished she would let him share in it, but he wasn’t going to force it.

And then, the day finally came.

Max had been saving for months, every extra penny he made going toward the dream he’d never dared to voice out loud—the dream of getting them out of the cramped, creaky trailer and into something better. A place where she didn’t have to worry about the walls being thin or the smell of grease lingering in the air. Something more... theirs.

He had found it. A small but cosy apartment uptown, with high ceilings and a view of the city skyline. It was perfect for them—quiet, private, and just far enough from everything they both needed to escape from. He’d signed the lease that morning, a rush of pride and anticipation filling his chest as he pictured her reaction.

When she walked through the door that evening, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. His heart was racing, his palms sweaty as he met her at the door.

“I got us a place,” he said, his voice thick with excitement.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the suddenness of his words, but the moment she saw the joy in his eyes, the realisation hit her. She stepped forward, her face lighting up with the kind of smile that made everything else fade into the background.

“Max...” she whispered, and without thinking, without hesitating, she threw her arms around him, pulling him close.

Her lips found his in an instant.

It wasn’t a soft kiss, not one of those cautious first kisses that came with hesitations or uncertainty. It was full of the weight of everything that had built up between them—the months of waiting, the slow burn of tension that had been simmering beneath the surface. Their kiss was deep, heated, urgent, as if they both had been holding their breath and were finally allowed to exhale.

Max’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body against his. He deepened the kiss, his lips claiming hers as if he had waited an eternity for this moment. He felt her fingers thread through his hair, tugging him closer, her body pressing into his with a desperation that matched his own.

It was the kind of kiss that shook him to the core, that made everything else in the world fade into the background—her soft breath against his lips, the quiet hum of the city outside, the rush of blood in his ears. All that mattered was her.

Her arms slid up around his neck, her body melting against his, and for the first time in a year, Max felt like he had finally found the place where he belonged.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, their breaths ragged, she looked at him with something that could only be described as wonder. Her eyes were wide, her lips swollen from their kiss, and there was a softness in her gaze that made his heart stutter in his chest.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion.

Max smiled, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. “Yeah, me too.”

There was a moment of silence, the kind that spoke volumes in the space between them. Her hands lingered on his chest, and he could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his. He had never known a kiss could feel so much like coming home.

He cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. “We... we really did it, huh?”

She nodded, her smile widening. “We did.”

Max had never been one for big, sweeping gestures. But with her, it was different. Everything about her made him want to be more than the guy who had nothing. He wanted to be the man who made her feel safe, cherished, loved. He wanted to give her everything—everything she deserved.

He kissed her again, slower this time, his lips brushing over hers as if savouring the sweetness of the moment. When they finally pulled apart, he smiled down at her, his hand gently cupping her face.

“I’m so damn lucky to have you,” he said softly.

She grinned, her eyes sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place, but it was the kind of look that made his heart stutter in his chest. “No, Max,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “I’m the lucky one.”

And for the first time, in a long time, Max allowed himself to believe it. He wasn’t just living with her. He wasn’t just sharing space with her.

He was building a life with her. A life that, even in its quiet moments, felt like everything.

And for the first time, he realised what home truly was.

The kiss lingered in the air between them, warm and slow, as if time had stretched to accommodate the overwhelming intensity of the moment. Max’s hands rested gently on her waist, feeling the soft press of her body against his, and the faint sound of their shared breath was the only noise in the room. They were tangled together—hearts racing, bodies melting into each other—as though nothing else mattered.

For the first time in a year, Max felt completely alive. Completely whole.

She pulled away slightly, breathless, her cheeks flushed and eyes wide, still processing the heat of the kiss, the weight of what it meant. Her lips parted, but before she could speak, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers one last time, a soft whisper against her skin.

“Marry me.”

The words were so quiet, so soft, that for a second, she thought she had imagined them. She blinked, drawing back slightly to look at him, her chest tightening with uncertainty. “What?”

Max smiled at her confusion, a hint of something deeper in his eyes. His hands gently cupped her face, his thumb running along her jawline as if trying to memorise every detail of her. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers as he whispered again, more seriously this time, “Marry me, angel.”

She froze for a heartbeat, thinking it was some sort of joke, some playful teasing. The idea of Max, the guy who’d never believed in love or commitment, asking her something like that was almost impossible to believe.

But the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability she had never seen from him before, made her heart skip a beat. There was no hint of jest, no trace of humour. He meant it.

Max saw the hesitation in her eyes and gently kissed her lips again, his voice rough and low as he pulled back just enough to speak.

“I never thought I’d make it past twenty-one,” he began, his gaze intense, almost haunted, as if these words were ones he had carried inside him for far too long. “I’ve been lost for so long. I didn’t think I’d ever have a reason to keep going, to fight for anything.”

She could hear the rawness in his voice, the weight of everything he had lived through—the loneliness, the struggles, the doubts. His eyes searched hers, looking for understanding, for a connection that only she could give.

“But you, angel...” His voice softened, but the words still hit her like a wave, sweeping away any doubts. “You’ve given me hope. You’ve given me a reason to live. A reason to fight for something better.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was peaceful, full of something unspoken, something they both felt but had never truly expressed until now.

She could feel her heart racing, her emotions swelling inside her chest, a warmth spreading through her like wildfire. Max—rough-around-the-edges Max, the guy who had been her rock for so long—was here, telling her that she had been the reason he had found the strength to keep going.

With her, he had found his reason.

“I...” Her voice faltered, thick with emotion, and she cupped his face in her hands, leaning in closer. “Yes, Max. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before he kissed her again, this time softer, more tender, as though sealing a promise. She melted into it, her fingers threading through his hair, holding on to him as if this moment was the only one that mattered.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, the weight of their promise hanging in the air, Max’s hands moved slowly down her body. He smiled as he reached for her purity ring, the symbol of the life she had left behind. With the gentleness of someone who understood the significance of the gesture, he took the ring off her finger.

“I’ve got something for you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Max took one of his necklaces, a simple silver chain that had always felt like a part of him, and threaded her ring onto it. He placed it around his neck, letting the cool metal of the ring rest against her skin. “This is you now,” he said quietly, his eyes not leaving hers. “And I’m the only one who gets to wear it.”

Her fingers gently touched the ring, feeling the warmth of her promise against him.

Then, Max reached down to his own hand, taking off a ring—one he never took off, the one that had been his symbol of defiance for years. He hadn’t given it to anyone else, and he certainly hadn’t planned on giving it to anyone. But now, with her, it felt like the only thing that made sense.

With a steady hand, he reached for the cross necklace she always wore, taking it between his fingers and slipping the ring onto it. The cool metal of his ring clicked against the chain, its weight heavier than it had ever felt before.

“This one’s for you,” he said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear as he tucked the cross back against her skin. “Because we’re in this together now. No going back.”

She stared at the ring hanging from her necklace, her heart swelling with a mix of emotions—love, disbelief, and gratitude. She had never imagined a life like this. But now, with him, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

“I’m ready, Max,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m ready to start this new part of my life. With you.”

Max pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if she was the most precious thing in the world, and whispered against her hair, “I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you.”

And in that moment, with her purity ring around his neck and his own ring on her cross necklace, it was clear to both of them that this was only the beginning.

The beginning of forever.

taglist: @sinofwriting @le-le-lea @vanicogh @iamred-iamyellow @rayaskoalaland @spookyanamurdock @iimplicitt

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lovebugism · 11 months ago

Note

Hi!! I an so obsessed with your writing and characterization. Congrats on one year!! Can i request something for Steve?

Prompt:”i didnt realise we still weren't..."

Where someone asks reader and Steve how long theyve been together, Steve thinks theyd been dating this whole time, reader is confused cause Steve never asked her! Best friends to lovers and theyre both a little clueless. Thank you!!

i changed up the prompt a bit but i hope you like it :D — jim and joyce force you and steve to have an important talk about your relationship (established relationship-ish, also best friends to lovers-ish, fluff, 0.9k)

“Does it feel any better now?” Steve asks, cuddled next to you on the porch swing outside the Byers’ home. He’s been wearing the same worried glint in his honey eyes since the sun went down — when he tried to give you a piggyback ride and then slipped in the mud. He broke your fall for the most part, but your ankle got caught underneath him.

You nod, then grimace when you try to twist your foot. “Sorta…” you shrug.

“Have I said I’m sorry yet?” he jokes with a scrunch to the bridge of his chiseled nose.

“Only a billion times.”

“Well, I’m gonna make it a billion and one now. ‘Cause I’m sorry.”

“I’ve already said it’s okay,” you assure with a giggle, leaning over to knock your shoulder against his. “It doesn’t even feel that bad anymore. I swear.”

“I’ll kiss it better when we get home,” he offers, just to make you get all shy. His soft smirk widens to a fuller beam when his ploy works. “I mean, you are staying over tonight, right?”

“Of course,” you shrug. “How else are you gonna kiss my sprained ankle better?”

“Touché.”

He leans in for a kiss. The tip of his nose just barely grazes the side of yours when the screen door shrieks open. The Talking Heads playing from inside grows suddenly louder, then muffles again when the door shuts. Jim and Joyce stumble out together — eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, obviously not totally sober.

The woman pops a cigarette between her pink lips. Hopper lights it for her. “You know… I’ve already booked the reservation for Enzo’s,” he tells her lowly. His back faces the two of you, totally unaware of your presence and blocking any view of you.

“Oh,” she hums sarcastically, blowing smoke from her lungs. “Is that right?”

“Yep. So either I sit there all alone with my chee-anty, or you come and keep me company,” Jim lilts in a quiet, honeyed tone. “And if that doesn’t sound like a good time, then maybe the bottomless breadsticks will win you over.”

Steve leans against your shoulder. His mouth rests outside your ear. “Do you think they know we’re out here?” he asks.

You raise a silent hand with a pointed finger, shushing him without saying a word.

Joyce giggles like a teenage girl. “Look. I don’t even know if I like you,” she teases.

“But you’re thinking about it, right?” Hopper wonders, with all the hope of a schoolboy asking out a girl way out of his league. “‘Cause you should.”

Steve shifts. The porch swing squeaks. Both parents turn to face you, features softly agape. Jim blinks once. “You guys been sittin’ there the whole time?” he asks in a strangled voice.

“Enough to hear you groveling,” you answer.

“Alright…” he grumbles half-heartedly.

“The bottomless breadsticks are actually pretty good, Joyce,” Steve chirps obliviously, smiling wide and flitting his eyes between the two standing across the porch. “But, you know, if she doesn’t wanna go with you, Chief, I’m always available—”

“Okay, let’s go around back,” Hop announces, guiding Joyce down the steps with a hand curled gently around her elbow. The woman giggles when you whistle suggestively at them. Jim shouts at you over his shoulder. “Watch it! And ice that ankle when you get home!”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Harrington, don’t let her walk on it,” the man sighs, already exasperated. “Be a gentleman, alright? Give your girl a day’s bed rest, dote on her or whatever—”

“Oh, we’re not— I’m not his girlfriend,” you correct with a forced laugh.

Your words seem to take Steve by surprise. He flashes you a look, scruff features swirled with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re not dating, Steve.”

He scoffs an awkward laugh, brows pinching. “You’re joking, right?”

“Well, this is awkward,” Jim mumbles, grateful he’s not the butt of the joke for once.

Joyce slaps his arm. “Hop.”

“We’re gonna go,” the man announces, heading towards the backyard. “Have fun with… this.”

Steve waits until they’re gone to face you fully. He turns on the swing until his knee brushes the outside of your own. The hurt puppy expression on his face hasn’t quite ebbed. “You don’t think we’re dating?”

“You do?” you retort.

“Yes!” Steve shouts, talking wildly with his hands. “Our first date was at Enzo’s! I brought you flowers and everything!”

“You never asked me to be your girlfriend, Steve—”

“I thought it was implied!”

“—I thought you didn’t wanna be, like, official with me or something!”

Steve goes suddenly silent. His chest starts to ache like there’s a fire rising behind his ribcage. He swallows hard. “Have you been… Have you been seeing other people?”

“No!” you answer instantly, face twisted in abhorrence of the thought. “Of course not!”

“Okay. Good,” he nods, raking a hand through his wild hair and settling again. “‘Cause I haven’t either, so… We’ve basically been dating this whole time.”

You meet his smile with a playful glower. “You still shouldn’t asked me, though.”

“Well, I’m asking you now,” he announces and wraps an arm around your shoulder. He leans in until you can smell the birthday cake and soda on his breath. You don’t notice until now that your lipstick is smeared on his mouth. “Do you wanna be girlfriend-boyfriend with me?”

You purse your lips to the side with a playful hum. “Mm. I’ll think about it.”

“Oh, c’mon!”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble

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javiercigsrete · 4 months ago

Text

Bad idea

dbf!joel x f!reader.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

main masterlist

summary: teasing joel while on a road trip to houston for a concert was a bad idea. especially with your father tagging along. 3.9k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (23/40), smut, unprotected piv, fingering, dirty talk??, shit load of pet names, banter??, gas stations, no use of y/n, cursing, readers father is oblivious ofc, not beta read we die like losers, uhh idk what else so if i missed anything lmk !!

a/n: omfg this took way longer to write than i'd hoped for but it's here !! it's not the best and it's truthfully my first fic i've completed, written, and posted so if it's horrible that's why. that and i've also never written smut before so this was definitely a learning experience, hopefully as time goes on i'll get better at it but for now it's fuck it we ball, live and learn, anyways enjoy this and also happy birthday to joel miller the loml <3

The tree leaves dance in the wind, a few cars crushing the ones that have fallen and blown into the street leaving only tiny pieces to scatter in the air. It's only the middle of August but the leaves have already started to change colors and fall. at least it's still warm out.

You've watched at least four cars pass since the time Joel was supposed to show up, your dad planned some overnight trip to a concert in Houston. You're all supposed to ride in Joel's truck – he'd offered to be the one to drive there and back – but he still isn't here.

Be nice if it was just you and Joel. It would be like a date, the two of you alone together, spending the day together and having the hotel room all to yourselves for the night.

But that could never happen.

You can hear him from where you're sitting on the porch. your dad. He's been on the phone for the past hour arguing with whoever, he'd gotten loud enough you'd sought reprieve outside, it's proven useless.

You're thankful when you spot the familiar black truck pull up along the sidewalk, you stand from the steps and make your way over to him as he steps out of the truck. “You're late,” you say.

Joel grabs up your bag, tossing it into the bed of the truck. You're not entirely sure how safe that is but you don't bring it up yet.

“Sorry baby, lost track of time and got stuck in traffic.” When he turns to you he leaves one hand on the bed and the other on his hip, you watch the way his hands flex, like he wants nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you.

But your dad could walk out the door any second, so he doesn't.

You nod, giving a slight raise of your eyebrows. “Traffic,” is all you say.

“What?” He cocks his head, raising his own eyebrows questioningly.

“Nothing,” you mutter when you hear the screen door open and your dad's voice travels through the air.

“We ready?” he tosses his own bag in the bed, eyeing you two curiously. You both nod in confirmation. “Alright then, let's go.” He rounds the truck, hopping in the passenger's side.

You look at Joel who gives you an apologetic look as he opens the door behind the driver.

This is going to be a long trip.

Joel was right about the traffic, you spend thirty minutes waiting for it to move along the highway. You'd understood the plan of it being an overnight trip but at this rate it might as well be a two day trip.

“God damn, the hell’s takin’ so long?” You hear your dad say, finally breaking the silence that filled the car. “might have to stay longer at this rate, if we even make it,” he mutters.

“‘S why we left so early,” Joel says, there's a hint of agitation laced in his voice, no doubt from the traffic.

You feel the need to make it worse, poke the bear if you will.

“You were late,” you mumble, but you can tell he heard you from the glare you receive through the mirror.

The concert doesn't start till seven, you'd left early – far too early if you're being honest – enough so there was time to get ready, you aren't too sure how that will plan out now from the traffic but Houston isn't very far now.

You honestly wish it was just you and Joel. The car ride so far has been pretty boring, if it was just the two of you the ride wouldn't be so dull. Instead you've listened to your dad talk about sports and work while Joel nodded along, occasionally replying with a sentence or two.

You'd be lying if you said it didn't bother you that all of Joel's attention was elsewhere. But you'd also be lying if you weren't about to make his life impossible.

Because that's exactly what you do.

It's honestly not a good idea, it's risky, but you're beyond caring at this point.

You reach over for your bag, grabbing out a few snack foods you'd packed earlier. You opt out of the chips, they're probably not the most sultry thing you could eat, instead you reach for the cream puff you'd bought a few days ago and forgot about.

You'd packed it for that reason, but now it has a new purpose.

The sound of the wrapping catches the two men's attention, your dad turns in his seat to see what the noise was when he spots the pastry between your hands. “Be careful with that, don't go makin’ a mess in Joel's truck,” he says, scolds almost.

You roll your eyes slightly. “I won't,” your eyes meet Joel's in the mirror, you smile at him as you take a bite of the puff.

His eyes track you, occasionally flitting back to the road. You can tell he's trying to figure out your game, not that it's too complicated to figure out.

You pull the pastry from your mouth, your other hand coming down to cup under your chin slightly. Joel's eyes are like daggers on you as he watches you, you can see the moment he spots the cream on your lips – you spotted it too.

Your tongue darts out slowly to lick at your lips, cleaning the mess left behind running your thumb along your bottom lip for extra measure. Joel stiffens in his seat, his hand tightening on the steering wheel, his jaw ticking to the side as he watches your little performance.

You smile innocently, but you both know what you're doing.

“Light’s green bud,” your dad's voice booms, breaking Joel from his trance as his eyes move from the mirror back to the road.

You’ve stopped for gas twice now, the first time was before you’d left because Joel forgot to fill his truck up the night before. You’d be worried about not making it on time but you’ve made pretty decent time.

You’re about half way when Joel pulls into a gas station, pulling up to a pump and shutting off the car. The sound of the passenger door opening catches Joel's attention. “We all goin’?” he asks, looking back at your dad who’s already out of the car.

“Yeah, figured we could stretch our legs and all that,” your dad says, emphasizing his statement by stretching out his body.

You’re wondering about the candy section when your dad finds you. “Hey, Joel's outside filling the truck, you almost done?”

You scan the aisle one more time, snatching up a lollipop as you nod. “Yep, now I am,” you say, following him to the counter.

You swear the line takes forever, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a gas station so busy before, you stand next to your dad as he checks out, your eyes wander out one of the windows, you spot Joel almost immediately. His broad shoulders squared as he stands next to the pump.

You feel a tap on your shoulder, turning to see your dad gesturing towards the door. You follow him out, unwrapping the lollipop as you both make your way back to the truck. “Shit,” your dad mutters, ruffling through the plastic bag. “I'll be right back, forgot something.”

You nod, leaning against the side of the truck, watching as your dad jogs back into the store leaving you and Joel to finish filling the tank.

Your eyes catch Joel's, he’s standing at the bed of the truck his arms crossed along his chest, you watch the way his shirt stretches along with it.

You can tell he’s caught onto your game, has for a while now if the way the muscle in his jaw jumps says anything.

“The hell you doin’?”

You smile, pulling the sucker from your mouth with a pop. “What do you mean?”

Joel shakes his head, grabbing the pump and putting it back freeing up his pathway as he steps closer to you. “Don’t give me that, you know what I'm talking about,” he says, crowding your space slighting.

You look up at him through your lashes, doing your best to keep your expression unreadable. “You’re going to have to be specific joel,”

His jaw ticks to the side, scanning the area quickly before gripping your chin between his fingers, tilting your face upwards more as he leans in. “Your little stunt in the car with the cream puff, tryna get me hot and bothered, hm?” He whispers, his tone dropping an octave sending shivers down your back.

This is the closest he’s been in hours and he still isn’t close enough.

“Wanna get us caught, hm? Is that it?” His hand slides to the base of your throat, “let your daddy find out i’m fucking his daughter?”

You part your lips, his eyes drop at the movement, you want nothing more than for him to kiss you right now to run your hands through his hair while he all but devours you. He’s thinking the same, the way his hand tightens ever so slightly around your neck as his eyes flit between your lips and your eyes.

“Joel,” you breathe, you’re not sure what you’re trying to ask but you never get a chance before the sound of your dad’s voice causes you both to spring apart.

“Are we ready?” your dad asks, tossing his things in the car and looking at you both.

“Yep,” Joel clears his throat, running a hand across his face before getting in the truck.

Your legs are practically screaming at you, sitting in the back of a pickup for hours and then climbing a set of stairs is leaving your calves burning in the worst way.

You’d finally made it to the motel you’d be staying at for the night with plenty of time to spare thankfully. When you walk into the room you’re immediately met with the ac, it’s a relief on your skin from the hot air outside.

The room’s what you’d expect a motel room to be, two double beds spaced apart with two dark night stands next to them. They’re neatly made, meaning it’ll be a battle to get into. You venture further in the room, passing by the bathroom and heading towards another door within the room.

When you open the door you’re met with another room, it’s slightly smaller with no other way out of it than the main door, there’s a single double bed in the center of the room that’s made up the same way as the other two.

Conjoined rooms. It makes sense, you toss your things on the bed closing the door. You rummage around in your bag looking for the dress you’d packed, you didn’t pack a whole lot given that you weren’t staying for very long but now as you’re searching for something to wear it feels like you did.

You end up dumping the bag, your pajamas and make up layed out on the bed as you flatten out the wrinkles of your dress, it wasn’t anything too extravagant just a simple dress that fell just above your knees.

You’re just about to put your hair up to do your makeup when the door opens, you turn to see Joell standing in the doorway, his broad frame practically taking up the entire space. He’s dressed in the same clothes he’d shown up this morning in, — save for the flannel he’d stripped himself of — a dark blue shirt that hugs his arms paired with dark washed jeans.

He stands leaning against the frame in silence as his eyes rack up your body taking you in. “Y’look pretty,” he says, finally pushing off the frame taking slow deliberate steps towards you.

You watch his movements stood in the middle of the room, your heart rate picks up heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach from the way he’s looking at you. The atmosphere in the room is thick with need, you have half a mind to ask where your dad is.

“Oh, now you’re worried ‘bout your dad?” your eyes widen, you hadn’t thought you’d said that aloud. Joel crowds your space, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb under your chin as he tilts your head slightly.

“He left to get food, won’t be back for a little while,”

“It’s just us then?”

“Mhm,”

You all but drag him down to your lips, your hands locked together around the back of his neck. Joel stumbles at your eagerness catching himself before he can fall, his hands falling to your waist bunching up your dress as he squeezes your sides.

You gasp softly when Joel pulls you closer, the prominent bulge of his cock digging into your hip, you grind your hips upwards seeking some sort of friction for the ache already forming between your legs.

Joel pulls away, you whine at the loss. “Should finish gettin’ ready sweetheart,” he mumbles, putting distance between you, his hands still firmly in place at your waist.

He’s teasing you now, getting you back for the car ride. But you’ve lost the patience to be teased right now, your core practically throbbing already and Joel is looking at you with a smug smirk well aware of the state you’re in.

“Joel,” you whine out, trying uselessly to pull him back towards you.

He raises his brows, keeping his distance. “Yes babygirl?” He says, rubbing circles along your sides.

“Please,”

“Please what, darlin’?”

You groan in annoyance, if you weren’t so worked up you’d strangle him for making you beg, but you are. “Please, fuck me,”

Joel hums, looking up as if he’s contemplating, you’re certainly starting to reconsider strangling him. “Dunno know baby, might just make you wait til we get home,”

You could honestly start screaming, you’re running out of time and he’s just messing with you. You look up at him, his eyes already on you an almost amused look on his face.

You lay your hands on his shoulders as you plead. “Please. I’ll do anything just, please,”

“Yeah?” He steps closer, leading you backwards towards the bed, you nod slowly carefully walking til the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

Joel lays you back, pushing whatever's on the bed to the floor as he follows you down, he nudges your legs apart so he can nestle himself between them. You wrap your hands around his neck again, pulling him down once more to your lips.

His mouth slots over yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your body is on fire as his hands wander, sliding lower to where you need him most.

You moan into Joel's mouth, your hips grinding upwards as one of his hands slip under the hem of your dress finding your clit through the fabric of your underwear, damp from the slick leaking from your core.

He rubs gentle circles against your clit, kissing his way down your neck. You run your hands through his hair gripping the strands as you gasp and moan.

Joel pulls his hand away from your core, you whine at the loss, he pulls away from you, his hands sliding up your legs. His fingers slip under your waistband, pulling your underwear down off your legs and stuffing them in his pocket.

“Joel,” you squirm under him, his eyes flick back up to yours, he watches you, his eyes never leaving yours as his hand slides back up your leg spreading them so he can nestle between them again.

“I know,” he rasps, two of his fingers running through your arousal, collecting the slick before sliding the two digits past your entrance slowly, your head falling back against the pillows as you moan softly.

He thrusts his fingers, a slow back and forth rhythm, curling them upward on every inward thrust. Your hips rock up encouraging him to move faster, every inward thrust paired with the rock your hips has Joel hitting the spongy spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

His thumb finds your clit rubbing circles on the bud, your hands seek purchase on his shoulders, rumpling his shirt as you ball your fists. “This what you wanted, baby?” He taunts, pulling his fingers almost completely out then thrusting them back in.

You nod, your voice lost to the moans and gasps. “Could've asked ‘stead of teasin’ me all day,” Joel drawls, his voice thick with lust, his hips slowly rutting into the mattress.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” You finally breathe out.

You hear Joel grumble something under his breath, you don’t catch what before he’s back to thrusting his fingers at a fast pace, his hips grinding down matching the rhythm of his fingers.

You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, the warmth building at the bottom of your stomach. Joel can sense it too, his fingers working more determinedly, his thumb applying more pressure on your clit as he works to push you over the edge. “You gonna cum?” He drawls in your ear lowly, placing delicate kisses below your ear.

A soft moan elicits itself from your throat, nodding your head quickly, your toes curling up as your orgasm approaches. “Words darlin’,” he nips at your earlobe.

“y– ha – yes,”

“That's it babygirl, let go,” he coo’s gently, encouraging you, and you do. You grip Joel's arms, tossing your head back, your mouth agape, a chain of moans escaping. Your walls clench around his fingers, your body shuddering under the weight of your orgasm.

“There you go, good girl,” Joel praises softly, slowing his fingers as you come down from your high. He watches the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, your body relaxing into the bed. You haven’t fully come down from your high before beginning to fumble with the button of his jeans, Joel's hand lays over yours stopping your movements. “Woah, slow down darlin’,” he chuckles.

You groan in frustration, throwing your head back against the pillows once more. “Joel.” you grumble.

“Ask nicely,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

You groan again looking up at him again. “Please,”

He pulls your hand away, carefully pinning it above your head as he deftly works open the button of his pants, swiftly pushing them past his hips along with his underwear. You can tell he’s running out of patience — and time — to keep teasing you from the way he all but hurriedly frees his aching cock.

You watch as he strokes himself, a careful back and forth motion, his brows furrowed in pleasure. He nudges your legs further apart nestling his hips between your thighs, you wrap your legs around him pulling him closer to you. The head of his cock nudges against your clit eliciting a gasp.

“Fuck,” Joel breathes, closing his eyes tightly, his teeth grinding together slightly.

He lets out a breath, composing himself, he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, sliding the tip along your folds and through arousal using it to slick himself up. Holding your breath everytime the tip catches your clit.

He does that a few more times, his cock only catching your entrance before pulling away. “Just, fuck me,” you huff irritatedly.

“Bein’ a real brat, y’know that?” Joel grumbles, lining his cock up with your entrance. “Should leave you like this, let you go to the concert soakin’,” he never gives you the chance to say anything before he’s pushing his hips forward, stretching you open.

You moan out your legs tightening around his hips, he sets a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping upwards, the head of his cock pushing further on every thrust.

Your hands find their way to Joel’s hair, pulling the strands as you toss your head back in pleasure, your eyes rolling backwards. Joel groans, his head falling on your chest, his hot breath ghosting the skin there.

The room was filled with both of your breaths, soft moans mixing with heavy groans as Joel fucked into your heat. His hand slides down your side, his thumb finding your clit once more drawing tight circles, your moans growing in pitch. Joel slots his mouth over yours, muffling your moans slightly in a heated kiss, your teeth clashing together.

“Be. Quiet.” He manages to gasp out between kisses. You mumble out what sounds like an affirmative, he moves down your neck leaving open mouthed kisses along the skin there, his teeth lightly nipping there. But he knows better than to leave any marks.

His hips continue to ground into you, his cock pushing further and further, his tip grazing against the spot inside you that leaves you breathless. “Yeah? Right there?” He quirks an eyebrow, watching as you bite your lower lip in an effort to muffle your moans.

You nod your head, unable to form any words, your walls tighten around him, you can feel yourself getting closer. His pace quickens, his hips pounding into you faster working vigorously to get you there before him. “Go on baby, le — fuck — let go,” he stutters, his hips faltering slightly.

Your legs tighten around his hips as your orgasm gets closer, the feel of his cock pushing you over the edge. Your walls clamp down, your legs practically going numb as your eyes rolling as pleasure washed over you. Joel’s movements slow as you come around him. “That’s it babygirl, there you go. Cum around me, good girl,” he soothes, a desperate moan escaping.

When you finally come down from your high Joel’s movements pick up speed again, working desperately to push himself over the edge he’d been teetering on for a while now.

You run your hands through his hair, pulling him closer, trailing kisses up his neck and below his ear, lightly biting the lobe as his hips begin to stutter. “Fuck darilin’, so fuckin’ pretty it hurts,” he rambles, his head falling to your shoulder.

He groans, his hips stopping as he cums, his warm load coating the inside of your walls. His body slackens slightly, careful not to put his weight on you. For a while the only sound filling the room is that of both your breaths.

After a few more bouts of silence Joel finally speaks up. “Should get cleaned up and finish gettin’ ready,” he says, groaning as he slowly pulls out, carefully tucking himself away before extracting himself from the bed. “C’mon,” he pats your leg, moving towards the door.

You sit up on your elbows, watching him from the bed. “What about my underwear?” You ask, Joel turns to face you from the doorway.

“What about them?” He doesn’t say anything else, never gives you the chance to say anything either before he’s out the door a smug smirk plastered across his face.

You stare out the door at a loss, eventually falling back against the bed, you know you should get up and finish getting ready before your dad gets back, but if you’re being honest you don’t think you could get up right now.

Instead you lay there staring at the ceiling, a ridiculous grin spread across your face. Teasing Joel with your dad around may have been a bad idea, but you’d do it again if it got you here.

#joel x reader #dbf!joel #road trip #smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #i'm literally terrified to share this omg #concert without the concert #happy tlou day and happy birthday to joel #dbf trope has me in a chokehold

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