#but my grandparents are so fragile | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

d1stalker · 3 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. You feel a tad bit 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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mermaidonsororityrow · 1 year ago

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as much as i love seeing someone’s else tourist town i miss my tourist town <3

#i did figure out my summer living situation tho! so i can have my tourist town summer and keep my old job and also my new job #i can’t stay w my grandparents bc we both get stressed and i can’t be around fox news that often w out getting depressed n i can’t stay w #my cousins family bc their marriage is sort of fragile n i love his wife a lot n we r very good friends but she’s like. bipolar depressive #anxiety adhd. n it’s a weird environment. i think i’m watching their kid again tho #but i was gonna stay w my aunt but then they tracked down my other cousin n brought her home n she’s like. on the verge of relapsing n very #unwell so i can’t really stay there. then i was talking to my cousin (one w the kid)#s friend who owns the minigolf place n the ice cream stand bc he offered me a job manning mini golf when i’m not working at the theatre #n he was like. oh u could stay w us n babysit when ur not working! which would’ve been amazing if they lived in town but they live a town #over n im working till 1am at the theatre most nights n there’s a lot of bar hopping between towns in like. the dark mountain roads. which #is why drunk driving is the top cause of death in both towns so i don’t really wanna do that. but my mom has a friend in town who has #a basement apartment i can stay in! which is great. so now i’m just trying to convince my friend who has no job or plans to come live w me #n work in town. but anyway.#luna.words

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xoheewon · 4 months ago

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His Majesty- PSH

synopsis: you’re the prince’s new attendant, attending not only to him but also to his son. what’s in store for you in the circle of the “cold” and “heartless” prince?

genre: fluff, angst(?), smut (one smut scene lmao), royalty au, dilf!sunghoon, prince!sunghoon

pairing: sunghoon x f!reader

wc: 5k

warnings: smut, pussy eating, unprotected sex, breeding, dick sucking, cursing, fingering, violence(?), gossip

note: ignore the formatting, i’m too lazy to change it, also excuse any typos/grammar inaccuracies 😁 i hope y’all enjoy this! this is my second time writing smut so hopefully again, not ass lol.

Becoming the prince's new personal attendant was a huge honor and opportunity you could not pass up. Your family was struggling immensely and taking this job would help stabilize you financially.

You’ve heard rumors about the prince, that he’s cold and heartless. You didn’t care, as long as your family was taken care of. You’re not fragile, you’ve been through enough to handle him.

You currently find yourself in the presence of the head attendant. The one who attends to the king and queen.

“You will attend to any and all needs of the prince, regardless of its difficulty or convenience. This also means attending to the prince’s son. He’s a year old and requires attention at all times.”

Wait, the prince has a son?

“I can see the look on your face. Yes, the prince has a son. It was unexpected and sudden but he loves his son very much, and you must treat him with the utmost care.

You nod, taking in her words with complete seriousness.

“The prince also has his concubines, you do not need to attend to them, but do be mindful of your interaction with them.”

Of course he has concubines, a typical man.

“How many are there?” You ask.

“3, Seyoon, Ana, and Jiseul. Don’t get in their way and you’ll be fine. And don’t tell anyone I told you this, but the prince definitely favors Jiseul.”

She leans in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper,

“I know she hopes for a more…romantic relationship with him and for that reason she’s very possessive. Definitely don’t get in her way, the other two are nicer, but I would still avoid them.”

You take everything in and nod. Okay, you can do this.

The attendant continues, “You will address the prince as ‘your majesty’ and that only. Same goes for the king and queen shall you ever encounter them. You will address his concubines as ‘ms’.

The only one you can address informally here is the prince’s son, his name is Taesun,” she takes a breather, “you will begin attending to the prince immediately, go to him and do what he tells you. If your services are not needed at the moment you shall attend to his son.”

With that, she takes off, giving you an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

You already memorized where everything is in the castle after your tour, your own room is in a section of the castle reserved for staff.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to the prince’s room.

Before you can knock, you hear a loud moan from behind the door.

“Fuck, Sunghoon!”

Oh. He must be busy.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, how uncouth.

Figuring he doesn’t need you at the moment, you instead venture off to find Taesun.

The attendant, who said to call her Yeeun, told you the baby was with his grandparents.

This may give you the opportunity to introduce yourself to the king and queen. Even if the prince is cold and heartless, maybe they’re not.

You make your way to their chambers, hearing a loud coo, telling you Taesun is with them.

You knock, albeit hesitantly, waiting to be invited inside.

“Come in!”

You open the door, immediately bowing and introducing yourself, “Your majesties, I am the prince’s new personal attendant. It's an honor to be in your presence.”

“And what’s your name, dear?” The queen asks, holding Taesun. You can’t help but coo internally, he’s the cutest baby you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N, your majesty. I went to the prince’s room to see if my services were needed but he seemed…preoccupied, so I came to find Taesun instead.”

Both the king and queen roll their eyes at your words, “That boy, he’s too obsessed with sex. Maybe you’ll be a breath of fresh air for him,” the king says.

“I’ll do my best. Does Taesun need to be attended to?”

“Yes actually,” the queen starts, “it’s time for his feeding. You can take him.”

You walk forward, carefully taking Taesun into your arms.

“You’re very pretty dear,” the queen says, making you blush.

“Coming from you, your majesty, I’m honored.”

You bid them farewell, taking Taesun to the kitchen where his milk and bottles are.

It’s somewhat hard to do one handed, but you manage to make a bottle for him.

You weren’t told where to feed him, so you take him back to your room.

Inside your room, it’s somewhat dark and dingy but it’s enough.

You notice a crib in the corner of the room, you figure you’ll have Taesun enough to have a place for him to sleep in your room.

As you feed him, his big eyes look into yours and he smiles. You smile back, brushing your thumb along his soft cheek.

He takes about 20 minutes to finish the bottle, and after he’s done, you gently begin to burp him, with a cloth over your shoulder in case.

Within another half an hour, after he’s been burped, he begins to yawn, and you gather he’s ready for a nap.

You gently lay him in the crib, making sure there’s nothing restricting him or in his way.

He falls asleep quickly and you do your best to not make any noise.

There’s a small dresser with books in it, so you pick one up to pass the time.

It’s only an hour later when there’s a faint knock on your door.

You check to make sure Taesun hasn’t woken, before answering the door.

The prince stands there with a woman you can only assume is one of his concubines.

You bow immediately, “Your majesty, Ms.”

“You're my new attendant?”

His voice is rough and monotone.

You look up, meeting his eyes, they're dark with no light in them.

Nodding, you stand up straight, “Yes, your majesty.”

He moves past you as does the woman, and you don’t miss the dirty look she gives you.

You shouldn’t assume, but you have a feeling this must be Jiseul.

The prince makes his way to the crib where his son rests, running a hand over his forehead.

“Has he eaten?”

“Yes, your majesty, he ate and was burped. I put him down an hour ago.”

“It’s about time for him to wake up,” the prince says, and just as he finishes his sentence, Taesun begins to cry.

Sunghoon immediately picks him up, shushing him, “It’s okay, daddy’s here.”

You see his eyes change in that moment, from dark and lifeless to full of love.

Taesun continues to cry, no matter how much his father coos and shushes him.

“Here let me,” the woman says, taking Taesun from his father, “Hi sweetie, it’s auntie Jiseul!”

Ah, so you were right.

But no matter how much Jiseul rocks him, he refuses to stop crying.

It’s starting to hurt your ears with how loud his cries are, you walk forward, “May I?”

Jiseul gives you another look, but you ignore it as you take Taesun into your arms.

Once he sees you, his cries immediately cease, and instead he begins to smile and laugh.

You murmur sweet words to him, tickling his belly as he laughs loudly.

You look up and the prince and Jiseul are looking at you astounded.

“No ones ever been able to get him to stop crying so quickly,” the prince says.

You give him back to Sunghoon, who smiles down at his son.

“Is there anything you need from me, your majesty?” You ponder.

“No, not at the moment. We’ll go.”

With that, he and Jiseul leave with Taesun.

You huff, Taesun wasn’t any hard work but something about the other two made you suddenly feel exhausted.

The next day, after washing up and making yourself presentable, you make your way to the prince’s room.

You knock and enter after hearing him invite you in.

“Good morning, your majesty, may I be of any assistance?”

“Yes, we’re having breakfast with the Sim’s, please attend to me. Afterwards, I’ll have you take Taesun.”

You immediately begin gathering an outfit for the prince.

He’s in a robe, you assume fresh out of the shower.

You get undergarments for him as well as a shirt and slacks.

When you turn back around, the prince has dropped his robe.

You squeak, turning back around immediately.

“What? Never seen a man naked before?”

He’s teasing you, you can tell by the tone in his voice. What happened to the cold and heartlessness?

Suddenly, you feel his presence behind you.

His hand runs up your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Shouldn’t you turn around and face me?” He teases, lightly pushing your shoulder so you’re turned.

You avoid looking in his eyes or looking down.

His hand finds your chin, pushing your head up so your eyes meet.

“You’re a pretty thing, you know that?”

You can’t think of a response without making a fool out of yourself, so you just hand him his underwear and pants.

He chuckles, taking the garments from you and stepping back to put them on.

Once his bottom half is covered, you assist him in putting on his shirt and buttoning it.

Taesun is in his crib, watching intently.

“Take Taesun to the garden, he likes looking at the flowers,” Sunghoon says, adjusting his collar.

You nod, taking Taesun out of his crib as he babbles.

You open the door to find Jiseul about to knock.

Bowing, you walk past her, making your way to the garden.

Taesun immediately starts grabbing at the flowers, giggling and smiling.

You point out the types of flowers to him. Dahlia, carnation, rose, tulip, iris.

You know he doesn’t understand, but you enjoy talking to him anyway.

After soaking in the sun and admiring the flowers, a servant comes outside, garnering your attention.

“Your presence is requested in the dining room, Y/N,” she says, not giving you a chance to ask what for.

You waste no time and make your way to the dining room, Taesun in your arms.

The dining room is full, with the king and queen along with who you assume are the Sim’s.

“There they are,” the queen says, gesturing to you and Taesun.

You bow your head slightly, not wanting to rock Taesun too much, “Good morning.”

“This is Chaeyoon and Hyungjae Sim and their son, Jake,” the king introduces them, bowing their heads to you.

“Y/N is lovely and already has Sunghoon’s favor which is unseen,” the queen says, looking at you adoringly.

“Dada,” Taesun mumbles, and you begin to hand him over to Sunghoon.

Sunghoon stops you, instead pulling you down into his lap.

You blush, whispering “Your majesty, this isn’t appropriate.”

“Whatever I want to do, is appropriate.”

That shuts you up and you quietly bounce Taesun in your lap while everyone else stares at you.

Sunghoon continues the conversation like nothing is off and you keep quiet, not speaking unless you’re spoken to.

“It’s time for Taesun’s feeding,” you whisper to Sunghoon as the baby starts to whine.

“Let’s go then,” he replies.

You stand up as does the prince.

“Excuse us,” he says to the table, “Y/N and I must attend to Taesun.”

Sunghoon doesn’t waste another second, nor wait for an answer before guiding you out of the dining room with a hand on your lower back.

Neither of you say a word, making your way to the kitchen to fetch a bottle.

Sunghoon watches you feed Taesun, feeling something he can’t describe.

“I’m intrigued by you,” he says.

You look up, eyes wide.

“What do you mean, your majesty?”

“There’s something about you,” he responds, “I can’t put my finger on what it is though.”

You nod, “Well, I hope whatever it is, it’s good.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything else.

Once you’ve finished feeding and burping Taesun, you hand him over to his father.

“I’ll take care of him from here, you go rest,” the prince tells you.

You bow, “Yes, your majesty.”

You leave him in the kitchen, making your way back to your room.

Before you can make it there, a hand grabs you from behind, making you spin around.

Jiseul stands there, looking furious.

“Can I help you, Ms?”

“Yes, you can, by staying the hell away from Sunghoon!”

You sigh, “That’s kind of hard, considering I’m his attendant, Ms.”

“I saw you in the dining room, all cozy on his lap. Don’t act like you don’t want him. You’re nothing but a whore tasked to help him, no more, no less.”

You gulp, trying not to get frustrated, “I do not want his majesty, and yes I am nothing more than an attendant. I will continue to do my job with less interaction.”

“Good,” she says, “and don’t let me see you all over him again.”

With that, she turns and walks away.

You finally get inside your room, trudging to your bed.

You’re ready for this day to be over.

As you lay down, you close your eyes and surely enough, you fall asleep quickly.

When you open your eyes, it’s night time.

You don’t know how long you slept for, but clearly, you needed it.

A loud babble catches your attention, and you see Taesun in the crib of your room.

“What are you doing here?” You say sweetly, making your way to him.

Picking him up, you rock him in your arms as he giggles.

“Your dad must be busy, huh?”

Taesun just gurgles in response.

“I hope he keeps our relationship professional, I don’t need anybody targeting me.” You sigh, taking him back to bed with you.

As you hold him in your arms, your eyes begin to droop again.

You don’t even hear the knock on your door.

It opens and Sunghoon stands there, looking around until his eyes find you, half asleep with Taesun in your arms, he chuckles.

He closes the door, making his way over to you.

You suddenly perk up, “Your majesty! I didn’t hear you come in!”

“You look comfortable,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed by your feet.

“I’m so sorry. I woke up and Taesun was watching me so I figured we could just rest for a couple more minutes. He’ll probably be up now, I’m sorry.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it.”

Before you know it, you and Sunghoon are engaging in rapid conversation.

He asks about your life in the kingdom, why you wanted this job, and other minuscule things.

You ask about him, trying not to be too intrusive.

But Sunghoon opens up well, telling you everything you want to know.

He’s actually not cold and heartless, in fact he’s the opposite. He’s sweet, kind and loving.

Especially towards his son, who you learned was conceived by a former concubine who baby trapped him.

She thought she’d be given the honor of marrying the prince, but instead she was kicked to the curb and had custody taken away from her.

It’s terrible that the prince's trust was betrayed like that.

You wonder if any of his other concubines wish for a higher position than just concubines? Probably Jiseul, at the very least. She’s the only one you’ve encountered, the other two seem very…in the wind.

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” Sunghoon asks, pinching your leg.

“Nothing,” you say, “just…surprised. You’re nothing like what people think of you. Like what I thought of you.”

He waves his hand, “It’s common, you have nothing to worry about.”

Taesun suddenly begins to squirm in your arms, having woken up from his own nap.

He looks at you, smiling and babbling.

“Hey, look who’s here. It’s daddy!” You hold him up, facing Sunghoon who smiles gleefully.

“There’s my big guy,” he says, taking Taesun.

He kisses his son on the cheek, while Taesun has his eyes focused on you.

“You like Y/N, yeah?” Sunghoon coos.

Taesun is suddenly reaching his arms out, making grabby hands towards you, “Mama.”

Both you and Sunghoon freeze, looking up at each other in somewhat horror.

“Mama!” Taesun repeats, still reaching for you.

“I- oh my god. I’m so sorry! I don’t know why he’s saying that,” you say, fully in shock.

“I don’t know what to say,” Sunghoon responds, “he’s never said mama before. Don’t say sorry! I just don’t know where this is suddenly coming from.”

You curl up, putting space between you and the prince.

Sunghoon stares at Taesun in his hands, before looking up at you.

“If you don’t mind, can he continue to call you that? It’s totally okay if not, but he’s never had a mother figure.”

You’re flabbergasted. The prince is asking you to act as a mother to his son?

“I… okay. That’s fine, your majesty.”

“Sunghoon, call me Sunghoon.”

You take a second, feeling it at the tip of your tongue, “Sunghoon.”

You make eye contact with the prince and he smiles at you, a genuine smile.

Smiling back, the moment is interrupted by Taesun, “Mama! Mama!”

“Okay,” Sunghoon laughs, “go to mama.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, you, mama?

Taesun crawls on the bed, back into your arms.

“Mama’s here.”

In 2 days, you managed to capture the attention of the prince and his son.

You just hope this doesn’t put a target on your back.

It’s been about 2 weeks since you started your job and you’ve been loving it.

You and Sunghoon actually feel like friends, as crazy as that sounds.

Taesun is obsessed with calling you mama.

It comes out of his mouth almost every minute.

You’re starting to love him, as if he was your own.

Making your way through the hallways, you hear a whisper of your name.

You pause in your step, hiding behind a corner to hear the conversation.

“I heard she was so desperate, she begged the prince to make her one of his concubines.”

What?

“Rumor says he only allowed it because Taesun likes her.”

What bullshit are they spouting?

You frown, why would people think this of you?

“Eavesdropping? That’s not very nice,” a voice says behind you.

You turn, facing Jiseul as she smirks at you.

“Did you start those rumors?” You ask, anger making its way onto your face.

“Maybe I did, it only makes sense, doesn’t it?”

You hate that smug tone in her voice.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand is coming up and making contact with her cheek.

The sound resonates in the quiet hallway.

“You bitch! Did you just slap me?” She nearly screams.

You hear footsteps shuffling towards you as the two servants who were talking about you make their way to you.

“Y/N! What are you doing?” One of them says, grabbing your shoulders.

You yank yourself out of her hold, “Don’t touch me!”

Turning to face Jiseul, you step closer until there’s little space between you.

“Don’t fuck with me, you’ll regret it.”

She gapes at you, as do the servants watching you walk off back to your room.

Once inside, you just scream.

“Fuck!” You scream, you just did something really bad.

You start to pace.

That was a mistake, you shouldn’t have done that.

But god, that bitch just pisses you off.

She clearly can’t stand the fact that you’ve gotten closer to Sunghoon but to stoop low enough to start rumors? What is she,12?

Your door suddenly opens, Sunghoon enters the room and he doesn’t look happy.

“Did you really slap Jiseul? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Of course she ran to Sunghoon.

Is he going to believe you?

“She started rumors about me and was mocking me about them, I just snapped!” You defend yourself diligently, refusing to back down.

“What rumors?” Sunghoon asks, closing the door behind him.

“That I,” you sigh, tears prick your eyes and you look up to not let them fall, “that I begged you for sex. To be one of your concubines.”

Sunghoon’s face poses one of confusion.

“Jiseul did that? Are you sure?”

“She doesn’t like the fact that we’re kinda friends! She told me 2 weeks ago to stay away from you. You may not believe me but honestly I don’t care, but I know the truth!”

You wipe the tears now falling from your eyes, not wanting him to see you vulnerable.

He stands there, taking in everything you said, “I’ll handle it. Just don’t go slapping people, okay?”

You nod, sniffling as he leaves the room.

Making your way to your bed, you lay there as you cry.

He said he would handle it, but why does it feel like you just got scolded?

You don’t know how long you lay there crying, but after what seems like forever, a knock is heard at your door.

Getting up, you wipe your eyes and face, trying to make yourself look presentable.

When you open the door, the queen is standing there with Taesun in hand.

“Hello dear, he was asking for his mama.”

You take Taesun eagerly, at least one person here didn’t think the worst of you.

“Is something wrong, sweetheart?” The queen asks, stroking your shoulder.

Shaking your head, you speak, “No, your majesty. I’m fine, especially now that he’s here,” gesturing to Taesun.

“My husband and I were hoping you’d join us for dinner,” she says.

“You want me to join you?” You ask in shock.

Oh no, are they going to fire you for what you did?

“Yes, we want to get to know you more, so please, do join us.”

You give her the okay and she leaves Taesun with you.

Putting Taesun in his crib, you begin to wash up and change for dinner.

As you're changing your dress, your door opens, Sunghoon enters.

“Sunghoon!” You squeal, your arms coming up to cover your bare chest.

You turn away from him, making him see your back.

Hearing the door close, Sunghoon makes his way to you, his hand running up your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “I should’ve knocked.”

His chest meets your back as you stand with little to no space between you.

“Sunghoon,” you whisper, licking your dry lips as his hands cup your shoulders.

He pulls your dress up, covering your breasts as you let your arms fall.

Once you’re fully situated, he zips your dress, his cold hands ghosting across your warm skin.

“Let’s go to dinner,” he says.

You pick Taesun up, holding him with one arm while Sunghoon takes the hand of your other.

Making your way to dinner, you ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

Why does this feel so domestic? Like, you’re a family?

Is that what you secretly want?

Maybe Jiseul is right, maybe you do want the prince.

Dinner goes smoothly, the king and queen ask you plenty of questions about your life, but never do they sound condescending or rude.

After dinner is finished, Sunghoon asks his parents to take Taesun.

“Y/N and I have some business to attend to,” he tells them.

They look at him suspiciously, but don’t question him.

But that doesn’t mean you’re not confused, what business is he talking about?”

Sunghoon leads you through the castle until you’re faced with his own bedroom door.

His bedroom, somewhere you’ve never been.

As he opens the door, the smell of mint and pine make their presence known.

Both of you take your shoes off.

“What are we doing, Sunghoon?”

He closes the door behind you and you can hear the lock turn.

There’s an ottoman in front of his bed that Sunghoon sits on, his legs spread.

And oh, does his lap look inviting.

“Come.” He pats his lap.

You’re hesitant but don’t want to disobey him, so you quietly walk forward, steps slow.

You sit on his lap and his hands immediately find your waist.

“I took care of Jiseul,” he whispers into your ear.

You gulp, his voice is husky and you try not to let it get to you.

“What did you do?”

“Told her if she ever threatens you again, she’ll pay the price.”

“But why?” You ask, “I’m nothing more than your attendant, at best your friend. She’s been with you for how long?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, “I care about you in a way I’ve never cared for another person, other than Taesun that is.”

You can’t help but squirm in his lap.

The way he talks is mesmerizing. You can’t help the wetness that pools between your thighs.

You know it’s wrong, you shouldn’t be thinking of him in this way, but damn if he’s not attractive.

His hand trails up your back, pulling down your dress zipper.

Your breath catches in your throat as his hands pull your arms out of the dress, dragging it down until it’s bunched at your waist.

His head hooks on your shoulder, hands coming up to cup your breasts.

You gasp, “Sunghoon, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why,” he hums, “what’s so wrong about this?”

His fingers tweak your nipples and a moan rips out of your throat.

“Sensitive hmm?” He teases, squeezing your breasts in his large hands.

You lean back, your back meeting his chest.

“Sunghoon,” you whimper, squirming in his lap again.

You can feel his dick hardening in his pants.

At least you’re not the only one feeling something.

“Stand up,” he says, and you listen.

He pulls your dress the rest of the way down, leaving you in your panties, before taking you back into his lap.

“What do you want from me, baby?” He asks, rubbing his hands up and down your arms, leaving goosebumps.

“Want you,” you whine.

“Want me where? Show me.”

You take his left hand, bringing it down to your soaked panties.

Sunghoon breathes heavily, “All for me?”

You nod, squealing as his fingers make their way inside your underwear, rubbing up and down your folds.

He pulls them out, bringing the fingers to his mouth, moaning around them at the taste of you.

“So good, baby.”

He brings them back to your folds, this time, rubbing soft, lazy circles on your clit.

“So fucking wet for me, god I could drown in this pussy.”

He inserts a finger inside your hole, the tightness making him hiss in need.

Soon he has two fingers inside, pumping them in and out, curling them in just the right ways.

Sunghoon takes his fingers out, making you whine in protest.

“Patience,” he says.

He gathers your legs in one hand while the other wraps around your back, lifting you up as he stands.

“I need my mouth on you immediately.”

He places you on the bed, climbing on it and in between your legs.

His gaze is hungry as he begins to pull your panties down your legs.

Throwing them somewhere, he wastes no time.

His tongue swipes up and down your folds, his lips coming up to suck on your clit.

“Fuck, Sunghoon!” You’re nearly screaming as he moves between sucking your clit and fucking your hole with his tongue.

Your hands grab his hair, messing up the previously near locks.

You feel your orgasm approaching quickly, letting Sunghoon know with a whine and a tug on his hair.

He doesn’t stop thrusting his tongue inside you until you’re cumming on it.

Lapping up all your cum, he leaves one last kiss on your clit before coming up.

His mouth is covered in your release and you feel almost proud, like you’re claiming him.

Snapped out of your daze, you see Sunghoon pulling his pants and underwear down, letting his cock spring free.

It’s thick and long, veiny and bulging with the tip raging red.

You salivate, wanting nothing more than to have him in your mouth.

“You want my cock in your pretty little mouth?” He says, noticing your eyes on it.

You hum, opening your mouth and lolling your tongue out.

Sunghoon curses, head thrown back as he makes his way up the bed.

His knees rest on either side of your body while he taps the tip of his cock on your tongue before sliding it into your awaiting mouth.

He groans at the heat and wetness, sliding in and out, fucking your mouth.

Your tongue swirls around his head, dipping it into his slit.

“Fuck, such a warm, pretty mouth. All mine, yeah?”

You nod as best as you can with his cock down your throat, gagging slightly as it reaches the back.

Sunghoon picks up the pace, using your mouth until he’s cumming inside it.

You swallow all his cum eagerly, showing him as he chuckles, “Good girl.”

Sunghoon maneuvers back down the bed until he’s faced with your cunt again. Your hole is clenching, begging for his cock.

He guides his cock to your hole, slowly slipping inside as you moan.

Starting slow so as not to hurt you, he thrusts taking in the tightness around his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, love this pussy.”

The only thing you can manage is to moan, repeatedly.

“Fuck Sunghoon, so good. Love your cock, so much,” you say, a permanent whine in your voice.

“Yeah? You love my cock?”

You nod incessantly.

He picks up the pace, thrusting faster and harder as his tip kisses your cervix.

You scream, the pleasure almost painful.

“Gonna cum in this cunt, breed you. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Sunghoon, yes! Love it.”

Tears roll down your cheeks as he fucks you.

Soon, you’re cumming again, creaming around Sunghoon’s cock.

He follows, cumming inside, painting your walls white.

Once he’s done, he pulls out, his cum immediately leaking out of you.

He takes two fingers and stuffs it back in, making you whimper.

“I meant it when I said I’d breed you.”

He lays next to you, as you breathe heavily, coming down from your own high.

“You know, after this, I know I can’t let you go, ever,” Sunghoon says.

“I don’t mind that, but what does that make us? I don’t wanna be one of your concubines, Sunghoon.”

“You won’t be, you’ll be mine. And I’ll be yours.”

“You’d give up your concubines, just like that?”

“For you? Anything.”

He looks into your eyes, leaning forward and leaving a passionate kiss on your lips. You kiss back with equal passion, pulling him closer.

Sleep overtakes you soon enough, with Sunghoon’s arm wrapped around your waist.

Seyoon, Ana and Jiseul move out the next day.

You don’t miss the glare Jiseul sends you, but you ignore it.

Sunghoon is yours and you’re his.

Whatever that means for the future, you’re not sure, but for now this is good enough.

As you change Taesun’s diaper, Sunghoon comes up from behind you, leaving a kiss on your neck.

“How’s my beautiful girl?”

“Good, great, amazing, everything,” you laugh.

“That’s all I could ask for.”

Washing your hands, you put Taesun on the floor.

Sunghoon pulls you towards him, dropping a kiss on your lips.

Something moving out of the corner of your eye catches your attention.

“Oh my god! Sunghoon, Taesun is walking!”

Sunghoon whips around and sure enough, his son is on his feet, walking towards the bed.

“Holy shit!”

Taesun makes it to the bed, holding onto the railing as he giggles up at you both.

“Taesun, you’re amazing!” Sunghoon picks the boy up, swinging him in his arms.

You take him into your arms, kissing all over his face.

“Mama’s so proud of you!”

Sunghoon looks at you both, the most important people to him, and smiles.

This is his family.

363 notes · View notes

xthejazzdalorianx · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter One ~ Fragile

Pairing(s): Logan (the Wolverine) Howlett x Non-Mutant!Female!Reader, Uncle!Wade (Deadpool) Wilson x Non-Mutant!Female!Reader

Warning(s): This story explores grief, personal trauma, and mature themes with strong language. It addresses loss, childbirth, and includes elements of chaos and irreverent humor, blending serious and unconventional situations.

Author’s Notes: Hello everyone, thanks for joining me on my first fan fiction. I hope you enjoy it! If you'd like more and want to support future updates, please like, follow, and share. Note: This story features a slow-burn romance with mature content in later chapters. Your feedback is appreciated! :)

Word Count: 4,079

When you first met Logan Howlett, it was at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. You were just starting to find your footing there, and he was the first person who reached out with genuine warmth. He was charming but with a temper that could flare up out of nowhere. Yet somehow, you always managed to be the calm in his storm.

Over the years, your friendship deepened, and you never imagined that anyone could balance you so perfectly. But there was that summer. That unforgettable summer when everything changed.

The memory of your first kiss is etched in your mind like a cherished, worn-out record that never seems to lose its magic. It was one of those moments that felt so right. It was almost like the universe was aligning just for the two of you.

It happened under a dark blue sky with stars twinkling above. You were heartbroken, having just lost both of your grandparents.

The grief was overwhelming, and you found solace in Logan’s arms. He held you close, his embrace a quiet sanctuary in that flower garden.

Time seemed to stretch on as he kept you safe and warm. When you finally looked up, your tear-streaked face met his gaze. His blue eyes were full of an unspoken understanding and a love that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

In that moment, you knew that he was more than your best friend—he was the one who had always been meant to be by your side. And even now, as you look back, you realize that he will be with you, come what may, until the end of time.

After that night under the stars, you and Logan fell into a passionate whirlwind. Every spare moment seemed to be an excuse for a touch, a kiss, or something more. It was intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough of him. Whether it was infatuation or something deeper, you didn’t care. All that mattered was him.

But then, things started to change. The fiery passion that once brought you together now seemed to drive you apart. Arguments became more frequent, and what had been tender moments turned into heated exchanges. It was rough, and you tried to hold onto the love you once shared, hoping it would carry you through the storm.

Then came that final, shattering night. Logan's confession hit you like a freight train—he was in love with someone else, and to him, you were nothing more than a temporary distraction. He admitted that you were just a plaything until the other person was ready to have him back. Those words pierced your heart, leaving it in a thousand jagged pieces.

In the months that followed, you tried to pick up those pieces to mend your broken heart. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, it always seemed to lead back to him. The echoes of what you once had lingered, and despite the pain, a part of you remained irrevocably tied to him.

After that devastating night, you knew you needed to make a clean break. Packing up your bags and leaving Xavier’s school felt like the only way to escape the memories that were suffocating you.

Thankfully, there was a sliver of hope in the form of Wade Wilson. You’d met him a few times during your summer with Logan, and while Wade could be… well, let’s just say, interesting, he offered a glimmer of an escape.

Wade, ever the unconventional friend, extended an invitation to stay with him and his roommate, Blind Al. It wasn’t exactly a typical offer of refuge, but at that point, you were ready for anything that wasn’t a reminder of the life you’d left behind.

So, with a mix of uncertainty and relief, you packed up your life and headed to Wade’s place. It was a far cry from the familiar halls of the school, but maybe, just maybe, it was the fresh start you needed.

As autumn began to settle in, the days grew cooler, and the leaves started to drift from the trees. The heat that had once made you grumpy was replaced by a more manageable chill. You found a rhythm in your new life: cooking, cleaning, working a regular job, and occasionally joining Wade on one of his unpredictable missions.

It was a shift from the life you’d left behind, but it offered a sense of normalcy, or at least as much normalcy as Wade Wilson could provide. A few weeks into your new routine, though, you started feeling nauseous.

You chalked it up to the dust and the not-so-gourmet meals you’d been enduring. But one evening, as you were leaning over the bathroom sink, clutching the porcelain in an attempt to steady yourself, Wade burst through the door. He didn’t bother with subtlety.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Is this a new, avant-garde method of redecorating the bathroom? Because I gotta say, it’s not exactly my style,” he quipped, trying to lighten the mood despite the grim situation.

As you retched again, he gently held your hair back and yanked off his mask with an exaggerated flourish.

“Alright, buttercup, let’s not pretend this is just a case of the chimichangas playing hard to get. What’s going on?”

You could barely manage to speak through the waves of nausea, but you forced out, “Wade… I need you to get me a pregnancy test. Now.”

Wade’s usual bravado faltered for a moment. His eyes widened with genuine concern, and he gave you a tender, almost clumsy pat on the back.

“Pregnancy test? On it! And don’t you worry, I’ll be back faster than you can say ‘regret eating that last taco.’”

He carefully tucked your hair back, making sure it stayed out of your face, and darted out the door, leaving you alone in the bathroom. Within ten minutes, he returned, juggling a trio of pregnancy test boxes like they were prizes at a carnival.

“I wasn’t sure which brand to get, so I figured, why not all of them? It’s like a sampler platter of pee sticks!” he announced with his usual flair. You thanked him, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment, as he settled down beside you on the bathroom floor.

He rubbed your back with a surprisingly gentle touch and asked, “So, do you really think it’s Logan’s kid? I mean, I don’t wanna be the bearer of bad news, but that guy’s as stable as a Jenga tower in an earthquake.”

He flashed you a concerned look, trying to add a touch of humor to lighten the mood. You managed a quiet laugh, finding a moment of solace in his attempt to distract you from the stress.

Once you felt a bit better, you asked Wade to step out of the restroom so you could take the pregnancy test.

“Hey, Wade, could you give me a moment alone?” you said, trying to sound as calm as possible. Wade’s face fell a little, but he nodded, rising to his feet.

“Sure thing, I’ll just be out here, nervously pacing and pretending I don’t need a drink,” he said with a forced grin.

He exited the bathroom, and you shut the door behind him, the click of the latch echoing in the stillness as you turned your attention back to the test.

You flushed the toilet and opened one of the pregnancy tests. The instructions seemed like they were written in a different language. Positive was a plus sign and a line, negative was a minus sign and a line. You sighed, taking a seat on the toilet, and mentally prepared yourself.

“I love Logan so much,” you whispered to yourself, “but you’re never really ready for something like this.”

Wade was pacing back and forth in the living room, his usual energy now tinged with worry.

“Hey, are you almost done there? I’d make a joke about pregnancy cravings, but I’m too nervous to be funny right now!” he called out, his voice a mix of anxiety and levity.

You called back, trying to keep calm, “Yeah, just give me a second, okay? It says to wait three minutes and leave it on the counter to make sure the results are accurate.”

Wade hummed in acknowledgment, continuing his restless pacing until Blind Al emerged from her room, rubbing her eyes and looking around with mild irritation.

“What’s all this racket? I don’t get enough sleep as it is,” she grumbled, clearly disturbed by the commotion.

He shot her a sheepish grin. “Oh, nothing much, Al. Just a little, uh, life-changing test-taking party. Don’t worry, it’s not a mutant emergency—just a personal one.”

Al sighed, shaking her head with a knowing look. “Well, whatever it is, just keep it down. Some of us still need to dream about better things than pee sticks and existential crises.”

You apologized to Althea, feeling a pang of guilt for the disturbance, and then finished peeing on the stick, carefully capping it before setting it on the flat counter.

“Three minutes and I will know. Three minutes,” you whispered to yourself, trying to steady your racing heart.

Tears threatened to spill, and you weren’t sure if they were from joy or sadness—or maybe a mix of both. You cleaned yourself up, flushed the toilet once more, and washed your hands.

As you gazed into the mirror, you turned to the side and placed a hand on your stomach, lost in thought. You tried to picture what life would be like with Logan by your side, but the fantasy felt painfully distant. You gave yourself a sad smile in the mirror, the reflection a stark reminder of the uncertainty and longing that had become a part of your reality.

Althea, clearly exasperated, went back to her shared bedroom. She tried to slam the door, but it only shut slowly with a soft thud.

“Okay, Wade, I don’t think I can handle looking at the test,” you called out from the bathroom. “Can you please do it for me?”

You opened the door so Wade could come in. “The instructions say if the first circle has a positive sign, even if it’s faint, I am pregnant. If it doesn’t, it’s negative. Got it?”

Wade nodded, his face a mixture of determination and curiosity. You stepped out of the bathroom and sank onto the living room couch, the nerves gnawing at you as you waited.

Wade Wilson, ever the showman, was practically vibrating with excitement as he examined the pregnancy test. The positive result was faint, but it was there, and it made his eyes widen with a mix of disbelief and joy.

He tried to keep his expression casual as he walked out of the bathroom, but the excitement was clear in the way he barely contained his grin. He plopped down next to you on the couch, his face a mask of controlled eagerness.

You turned to him, confusion etched across your features. “What’s going on?” you asked, searching his face for answers.

Wade’s grin broke wide open, his eyes dancing with happiness. “You’re pregnant,” he said, his voice almost trembling with emotion.

The words hung in the air between you, filled with a kind of awe that seemed to make the moment almost surreal.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his excitement spilling over in the warmth of his hug. You wrapped your arms around him, letting the reality of the news settle in. A baby. In this chaotic little apartment. The thought was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but think about all the adjustments that would need to be made.

As you pulled away, the tears you had been holding back finally broke free. The loss of Logan was still fresh, and the idea of having a piece of him in this new life was both comforting and heart-wrenching. You missed him so much. Was this baby a link to what you had lost or a new beginning?

Wade, noticing your tears, softened his expression. He gently cupped your face with his hands.

“Hey, I know this is a lot. I’m here for you, whatever you need. If you want to talk about Logan or anything else, just let me know.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in. The tears began to ebb, replaced by a tentative hope.

With Him and Althea beside you, maybe, just maybe, you could start to find your way through this whirlwind of emotions and begin to imagine a future that honored both the past and the new life that was unfolding.

The morning light filtered into the apartment as Wade Wilson darted around the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy. With the sun barely up, he was already hard at work, making pancakes, bacon, and eggs with a flair only he could muster.

Surprisingly, Althea accepted the news as she was seated at the table, sipping her coffee and watching him with a bemused expression. Wade, ever the showman, had even managed to stamp his logo onto the pancakes. He looked back over his shoulder, grinning like a kid with a new toy.

“Hey, you know my last three movies were huge hits. Maybe these pancakes will be too! Or at least not poison anyone.”

You tried to smile at his antics, but your mind was still tangled in the whirlwind of the news. The breakfast was surprisingly delicious—Wade’s enthusiasm translated well into his cooking. But the joy was fleeting. Just as you were about to enjoy your meal, a wave of nausea struck, and you hurried to the bathroom.

From the other room, Wade’s voice rang out, full of mock offense.

“Oh, come on, sweet cheeks! I know I’m not Martha Stewart, but my food wasn’t that bad!” He chuckled as if he’d just delivered a brilliant punchline.

Althea shot him a look and smacked him gently on the side of his bald head. “Really, Wade? I’d rather wrestle a chimichanga than listen to your cooking critiques,” she retorted, though her tone was softer. “Thanks for the breakfast, though.”

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, still feeling queasy but slightly better, you collapsed onto the couch.

Your mind churned with questions. “Why now? Why me? Why him? Why us?”

The doubts and uncertainties swirled around, mingling with the raw memory of that final night with Logan.

In a twisted way, it all made sense. That night had been a chaotic whirlwind of heated, passionate sex, driven by a mix of intense desire and unresolved anger. Now, his absence left a deep, aching void. You missed him fiercely and craved his presence, but he was out there with someone else, living a life that didn’t include you.

A few months into your pregnancy, your belly was undeniably prominent, and managing a job to cover rent was becoming increasingly difficult. Climbing the stairs to your apartment felt like an ordeal.

Wade had taken to buying you more clothes, each one carefully chosen to fit your growing belly and keep it discreet. The last thing you wanted was for news to leak and reach Logan. The thought of him finding out filled you with dread—what if he reacted violently? What if he hurt you or the baby? The uncertainty was overwhelming.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even realize you’d arrived at the apartment until Wade’s concerned gaze pulled you back to the present. He was watching you with a mixture of worry and exasperation.

“Welcome back to Earth,” he said with a wry smile. “You doing okay? Don’t tell me this is about that guy with forks for hands.”

His hands were on his hips, his frown reminiscent of a parent scolding a child. You shook your head, too exhausted to engage in conversation. All you wanted was to rest.

Wade, ever the attentive friend, guided you to the couch. He gently massaged your feet, his touch soothing as you drifted into a much-needed sleep. The warmth of his care was a small comfort in the midst of the chaos and uncertainty that surrounded you.

The final stretch of your pregnancy was surprisingly smooth. Your cravings were manageable, and Wade and Althea did their best to make you comfortable. Althea had taken on the task of building a crib for the baby, but her attempt didn’t go as planned.

So, you ended up helping Wade by handing him tools as he wrestled with assembling it. Despite the small size of the apartment, their efforts were heartwarming. You often thanked them, and their response was always a warm hug.

It had been a long time since you felt so loved, surrounded by people who had become like family. You knew your grandparents would have adored this baby, and you felt their love in the support you were receiving now.

Then came the baby shower, thrown by Wade and his quirky X-Force crew. The news that you were expecting a little girl added an extra layer of excitement.

Wade was officially declared the baby’s “uncle,” while Althea was delighted to take on the role of “grandma.” The X-Force team gifted you a range of... interesting items. Colossus, ever the gentle giant, had gifted you an Easy-Bake Oven. Sweet gesture, but not exactly suitable for a newborn.

The baby shower was a lively affair. The room was filled with chatter, laughter, and a spread of desserts decorated with baby onesie designs. The atmosphere was warm and joyful, a testament to the love surrounding your baby.

As you moved through the apartment, chatting with everyone and keeping your hand gently on your belly, each conversation reminded you of the incredible support you had. Gratitude and hope for the future swelled within you, buoyed by the warmth of those around you.

Of course, this wouldn’t be a Deadpool experience without a little unexpected flair. Just as you were savoring the joy of the moment, the apartment lights dimmed, and the door burst open with a dramatic flourish. Wade, dressed in an elaborate superhero costume, complete with a cape and mask, strutted in with a grandiose entrance.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced with exaggerated flair, “prepare yourselves for the most epic surprise of the century!”

Behind him, Althea was maneuvering the custom-made, neon-lit baby carriage into the room. However, since she was blind, she was heading in the wrong direction, veering the carriage awkwardly toward a lamp and nearly colliding with a potted plant.

Wade, trying to hold back his laughter, rushed over and gently placed his hands on Althea’s shoulders.

“Whoa, there! Easy does it, Daredevil. Let’s steer clear of the furniture and save our baby from a potential apocalypse,” he said with a grin, guiding her back on course. “The last thing we need is a baby carriage with battle scars.”

As Althea corrected her path, she gave Wade a playful smack on the arm.

“You know, Wade, if you didn’t have so many grand ideas, I wouldn’t need you as my personal tour guide,” she quipped. “Maybe next time, let’s leave the surprise planning to someone who doesn’t make everything look like a circus.”

The carriage, now properly aligned, rolled into view with its LED lights flashing, a mini sound system playing baby-themed dance beats, and a built-in cooler for drinks. It was an over-the-top spectacle, straight out of a sci-fi movie—classic Deadpool.

The room burst into laughter and applause, and you couldn’t help but smile at the joyful chaos. Despite the unpredictability, it was clear that these moments of absurdity and love were what made being part of this unconventional family so special.

Summer had arrived, and you were nearing the finish line of your pregnancy. In the middle of the night, while you were attempting to sleep on the futon, your water broke. The pain was sharp and relentless, and despite your best efforts to stay calm with slow, steady breaths, you couldn’t help but scream.

Wade burst into the room, his appearance a bizarre mix of urgency and chaos. He was wearing nothing but his mask and boxers, and in his hand was his infamous baby knife. Why? At this moment, you couldn’t care less.

“My water just broke! I need to get to the hospital, NOW!” You shouted through the agony, feeling like you might pass out any second.

Wade’s eyes widened in panic. “Holy chimichangas, it’s go time!” He dashed off to change, calling his friend Dopinder to get a cab over as quickly as possible. “Dopinder, this is not a drill! Get here NOW!”

As Dopinder sped toward your location, Wade yelled to Althea, who was still in bed. “Althea, I’m taking her to the hospital! Don’t miss me!”

Althea merely scowled and mumbled something unintelligible before turning back to her pillow, clearly not up for the middle-of-the-night drama.

Wade hurried back to you, helping you off the futon and carefully sliding your slippers onto your feet. He draped your arm over his shoulder, supporting your weight as you both made your way down the stairs of the apartment building.

At the entrance, Dopinder was waiting, holding the door open with a look of concern. You were breathing heavily, each contraction making the outside air feel like it was blazing with heat.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Wade exclaimed, trying to stay upbeat despite the urgency.

With Dopinder’s help, you climbed into the cab, ready to face the next chapter of your chaotic yet strangely comforting life.

“Dopinder, if you don’t hit that gas pedal, I swear I’ll make sure you’re never able to drive again!” You screamed, the pain making your grip on Wade’s hand tighter than a vice.

Wade was trying to breathe along with you, attempting to keep you calm, but his efforts weren’t exactly working.

Dopinder, clearly feeling the urgency, slammed on the gas pedal, and they arrived at the hospital in record time. He pulled up to the emergency room entrance, and Wade, in a flurry of action, leaped out of the cab and sprinted to find some nurses.

“Help! We need a wheelchair, like, yesterday!” Wade shouted, waving his arms frantically.

The nurses rushed over, assisting you out of the cab. Wade gave Dopinder a hurried thanks before he sped off.

“You’re the best, Dopinder! Try not to get into any more car chases!”

Wade pushed you into the hospital, maneuvering the wheelchair with all the speed he could muster. You were on the verge of meeting your beautiful baby girl, and the fact that you hadn’t picked a name yet felt like a huge oversight.

The pain was reaching new heights, and the baby was already crowning. The nurses and Wade helped you onto the hospital bed, with the staff scrambling to find a doctor and prep the room for delivery.

Wade flashed a goofy grin and said, “Alright, I’ll be right outside if you need me, okay? Just holler if you need a superhero!” But his playful demeanor was met with your intense look.

You grabbed his wrist with a desperate grip. “No, Wade, I need you here. Please? I’m freaking out.”

Wade’s expression turned serious as he nodded. “Okay, okay, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, kiddo.” He settled into a chair next to your bed, his presence a comforting anchor in the chaos.

Within an hour, you welcomed your beautiful baby girl, Mara Howlett, into the world. The nurse gently placed the tiny bundle into your arms, and you couldn’t help but smile through your tears. It was the most painful yet incredibly beautiful moment of your life.

Wade, practically bursting with excitement, leaned in with his trademark grin and said, “Look at that! We’ve got ourselves a future superhero! And guess what? As her brand-new, totally cool uncle, I’m officially on diaper duty. I hope she’s ready for a lifetime of epic adventures and, of course, Uncle Wade’s questionable life lessons!”

You laughed softly, looking up at Wade with gratitude. “Thank you for being here,” you said, your voice filled with emotion.

At that moment, Mara, your beautiful baby girl, gave her first smile. It was a tiny, precious glimpse into her future, and it melted your heart.

As you looked at her, a thought crossed your mind: hopefully, things won’t get too crazy, and she won’t inherit Logan’s more intense abilities. But if she does, you reassured yourself that Wade would be right there, ready to help and teach her with his usual mix of humor and unconventional wisdom.

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #deadpool x reader #deadpool and wolverine #angst #pregnancy #slow burn #poolverine #hugh jackman #ryan reynolds #deadpool #wolverine

130 notes · View notes

slightlymore · 2 years ago

Text

death of peace of mind

train conductor haechan x fem reader

genre: magiccore/miyazaki/tim burton, broad industrial revolution/victorian setting, romance, soulmates au, enemies (?) to lovers, !!slow burn!!, angst, smut, multiperspective

warnings and content: +18, explicit sexual content, virgin reader, fingering, unprotected, nipple play, biting, some level of corruption, sexual tension, oral fem receiving, hand job, pet names (darling, love, baby, my girl, my lady) and titles (Sir, Miss), begging, praise, spanking, sexual tension, gentlemanly and lady-like behaviour etc etc

words: 19k

other characters: mark as reader's friend, jeno for a moment, johnny mentioned

synopsis: The Train. That's where your parents met a few years before you were born and that's where your grandparents met as well as their parents before that. Oh to be grown and travel on the Train as well, meeting your soulmate and falling so madly in love that you'd become consumed by it. And there you were years later, your only travel case in your hand and your best dress on, standing in the Train Station at exactly 1:05am on the 1st of May. You looked up and let the night sky calm you down and when you looked back in front of you, the train was there. What were you supposed to do now? But then one door opened, engulfing you with the freshest flowery scent. The most gorgeous man you've ever seen in your life descended and tilted his hat lifting one gloved hand to guide you inside. "Welcome aboard, Miss."

for the lovers of dream sorter haechan

__________

When the curtains call the time

Will we both go home alive?

It wasn't hard to realize

Love's the death of peace of mind

The Train.

That's where your parents met a few years before you were born and that's where your grandparents met as well as their parents before that.

The tales of those encounters enriched your childhood and your fragile dreams. Oh, to be grown and travel on the Train as well, meeting your soulmate and falling so madly in love that you'd become consumed by it.

You’ve always desired it. You’ve always longed for it.

The teachers would get shiny eyes and beaming smiles on May 1st. You remembered the first time it happened. The air felt different and the town felt more alive than usual.

"Today is a special day for all of us," your parents also smiled at the breakfast table. They looked almost shy and they exchanged gazes they would usually let themselves have in a more private moment.

You were in your first year of elementary school but from what you could understand, that day sounded like a big deal for the adults and it started to be a big deal for you as well.

"This is the day when people go on a Journey to find their soulmate," the teacher repeated what you've already heard at home.

The Train, the children would whisper, the giddiness in their voices making you almost escape your skin with excitement.

"Can we go and see it?" you asked with your heart in your throat from the emotion. You really wanted to see all the young adults go to the Train Station and embark.

The teacher smiled as if that was the most common question asked. "Unfortunately, it's a very private moment. But when you're ready, you will finally see the Train and you will find the love of your life during the Journey."

You were an only child so besides your parents' tale of how starstruck they both felt upon seeing each other on the Train, you had no other immediate example of how the experience would go.

"My brother Johnny said the place they ended up in is way more gorgeous than our town," one of your classmates and your best friend said one time. "But not as gorgeous as his partner, he said,” making a throwing-up motion with his fingers.

A choir of grossed out children made you giggle at the time and you joined them, but deep inside you knew that it was indeed possible to meet a person more gorgeous than the most gorgeous place on earth.

You wanted that. You desperately wanted that.

Your parents also said their towns of origin weren't as beautiful as the one you were living in and although you could objectively see it was decently cute and cozy you were sure they felt that way because of the rosy love glasses.

"Why do I have to leave this place when I find my soulmate?" you wondered one time as you were growing older and having more and more thoughts about the Journey.

Your mom patted your head. "When you find the love of your life the Train stops and lets you both off. The couple has to live in the place they ended up in."

"What if I want to come home?" you argued.

"Your partner will be your home," your dad explained with a fond smile. "We will see each other often the way you see all of your grandparents. Don't worry about missing us."

"Also it is too soon for you to think so deeply about it," your mom chuckled, pulling at your cheek.

Yet, there you were years later, your only suitcase in your hand, which you bought for the occasion, and your best dress on, standing in the Train Station and feeling like the too soon came, well, too soon.

Your mom helped you put on some makeup as well that day and you had to admit you were feeling pretty cute.

But oh so anxious.

You couldn’t believe you were about to initiate the Journey on the Train. Thoughts of how your soulmate looked like adorned your mind since you could remember but in the latest months you found yourself fantasizing about them more and more.

But with the pretty thoughts, some thoughts of doom would send rocks to your mind as well feeding your anxiety even further.

The mixed emotions made you uneasy.

"What if there's no soulmate for me?" you looked yourself in the mirror as your mom finished her last touches on your hair.

"Nonsense," she reassured you.

"But has it happened before?" you insisted.

She sighed. "Yes but it's very rare. What happens, in that case, is that you need to come back home and you need to go on the Journey the following year."

"And are there people who went on for many years and they met no one?"

"Not as far as I know. Everyone met someone sooner or later. Your grandma met your grandpa after 3 years."

You exhaled. Maybe you'd just go on a little train ride and come home before sunset.

Maybe you'll also need 3 years.

Maybe no one would fall in love with you ever.

You expected the Station to be full of people but it was completely empty.

"Don't worry about it. The Station doesn't let you see your friends until you're all on."

You bit your lower lip and waited. There was no moon on the sky and the stars were very visible.

You looked up and let the night sky calm you down and when you looked back in front of you, the Train was there.

"Heavens," you swallowed the little surprising gasp and looked to your right then left feeling your breath accelerate. You didn’t hear it arrive.

What were you supposed to do now? Was it supposed to feel this ominous?

But then one door opened with a slow hiss, engulfing you with the freshest flowery scent.

The most gorgeous man you've ever seen in your life descended and tilted his hat lifting one gloved hand to guide you inside.

"Welcome aboard, Miss."

His hair was black and a bit longer in the back. Your father would have said it looked a bit messy; he’d probably offer some gel and suggested him to comb it backwards. But the man wore it so well that you found yourself thinking how it would feel like to pass your hand through it and mess it up even further.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly. Then you cleared your throat and tried again.

The man’s face was a polite mask, not one muscle of his perfect face twitching or moving. On the contrary, you felt your face in flames as you walked near him to enter the wagon.

“Please, choose the coach you’re most attracted to,” you heard his voice behind you. The fresh flowery perfume followed you both and you realized it was his scent. Taking a few steps forward you found yourself shaking ever so slightly.

“Who are you?” you turned around before having a chance to look down the dark but cosily illuminated wooden corridor of the train.

His chest was so close that you could see the little silvery tag on it. Conductor.

Then you took a step back not realizing how close he was.

“I apologize for not having introduced myself earlier. I am the Conductor, Miss,” he simply replied. “I’ll be around the Train if you need me. Also, if you ring the bell you’ll find in every wagon."

His eyes were a dark shade of marine blue, you realized, like the ocean during a storm, when you can’t distinguish between the water and the sky.

Your grandpa told you many tales of his life at sea. He used to say it was the most beautiful and terrifying thing, and at the time you didn’t understand how something scary could be beautiful, but that man’s eyes made a shiver go down your spine yet you didn’t want him to stop looking at you.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I'll leave you to get comfortable,” he tilted his hat again, making a shadow appear over his eyes, as if reading your mind and seeing your fascination with them.

You gave him a little bow as well, as your mother has been teaching you it was polite to do when meeting gentlemen, then you stared at the way he turned around and took the opposite direction in the tight corridor. His shoulders almost touched the walls when he walked and his legs looked extremely long in his black uniform.

The coach you chose was the first on your left, a luxurious dark brown space, with deep bordeaux seats which you realized were softer than any other material you’ve ever felt before. You placed your suitcase on the designated space and sat down, looking at the windows showing your town’s Train Station, then you inhaled and exhaled looking down at your dress and rubbing your lace-gloved hands together.

What were you supposed to do?

Would your soulmate come barging in your coach?

Would you meet over breakfast in the morning?

Why were you all supposed to go at exactly 1:05am?

You suppressed a yawn wondering where you were expected to sleep, then with the corner of your eye you noticed the curtains slowly close and you gasped feeling the train depart at the same time.

Your older cousins liked to joke about ghosts roaming around the Train but you thought you were grown already to believe such things. Yet, the movement felt uncanny and you were so on edge that you haven’t realized you were squished against one of the seats’ corners until a ding made you scream.

On the little table a small card boarded with gold appeared out of thin air.

“Dear Miss, you are invited for Breakfast in the Dining Car. Please turn the card around for the Train map. My warmest regards, the Conductor”

You touched the paper with your fingertip as if it were a poisonous snake and the ink smudged a bit as if it has been freshly written.

Breakfast? At 1am? Maybe he meant tomorrow morning?

You turned the card around as instructed and the display for the train was illustrated. A little “you are here” red mark told you that your wagon was the one in the middle of the train.

You wondered how did the Conductor know you chose that specific coach when he left you just a few minutes prior and didn’t even check back.

The Dining car was towards the head of the train, the direction in which the Conductor walked, and the name Steam Locomotive adorned the first car. You wondered if he was in there or if his coach was one of the wagons close by.

The train was moving swiftly so it wasn’t bothering you as you thought it would. The closed curtains made you sad that you couldn’t see the scenery so you got up and extended your hand towards them, trying to perhaps see the machinery through which they were able to close on their own.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice made you jump in place.

“Mark!” you turned around and walked the few steps towards the door to hug a very dumbfounded young man.

“Hey, hey, you okay?” he awkwardly stood there even after you retrieved your arms from his neck and stared him up and down.

“I was so scared to be alone. It’s good to see your face,” you explained.

Johnny’s younger brother has been your best friend and the one you spoke about the Train Journey the most growing up. You were still ashamed to remember the way you cried for the whole night the time Mark told you his brother hasn’t come home from the Journey because he has found his soulmate. You had a very intense childhood crush on him.

“I get it,” he smiled then his eyes went down to eye your dress, then up, noticing your prettily arranged hair and makeup.

Then he sighed, almost disappointed.

Without realizing you touched your cheek. Did he think you were ugly?

“What?” you blinked at him.

Mark shook his head. “I just-,” he started then interrupted himself, a bright dust of red moving in towards his cheeks and ears. “I thought that maybe you could be- you know-sometimes it happens that even friends-”

You blinked at him then you felt your own face on fire. “Oh,” you realized what he wanted to say. The scarf you tied around your neck made it difficult for you to breathe.

“Well,” he scratched the back of his head. “I guess we’re not soulmates. That, of course, if you didn’t feel anything in particular either.”

“I felt relief,” you said.

Mark nodded, agreeing with you. “I was also just glad to see a friend.”

Was he disappointed you weren’t his soulmate? Or was he happy it wasn’t you?

“Same.”

The following silence made him clear his voice once then his eyes fell on the card in your hands.

“Oh, I got one too. I was wondering if it was a prank inviting me over for breakfast. I was going towards the Dining Car to at least check it out.”

“Right? I thought I was the one misunderstanding the invite,” you chuckled. “I’ll come with you now if you don't mind.”

Mark took a few steps back to let you exit the coach and his eyes fell on the window again. “My parents said that if you open the curtains when the train is moving you’ll be forced to descend in the first place you see. Alone. Without the possibility to return on the Train ever again.”

A shiver ran down your body at his words.

“There’s also a warning,” he indicated with his chin.

You followed the direction and noticed the golden plate near the curtains.

You could have sworn it wasn’t there before.

_________

The corridor was gorgeously decorated with fresh flowers and paintings. You and Mark took your time to peek into most of the coaches too, giggling a bit when you noticed some of their residents weren’t alone.

“How long do you think it takes for people to meet everyone on the train?” Mark asked, impressed that some were already coupled.

You thought about it. “The train stops in every town, doesn’t it? There's so many people. I feel like even a few weeks."

Mark winced. “That’s a long time. My parents met within 15 minutes of boarding. They had neighbouring coaches.”

“My parents met after a few days,” you recalled. “My maternal grandparents met after three years of trying.”

Your friend hummed. “That’s hard. I’d be losing hope.”

You swallowed the dry lump. “That’s a bit scary, yes.”

You didn’t want to tell him that you were afraid you might end up just like them.

The Entertainment wagons were about five, and you both held your breaths when entering the first as it was roaming with people. The strangers’ faces turned towards you both with inquisitive eyes, as if checking if one of you were their soulmate.

You bit your lower lip taking a few steps inside.

“What exactly do you think we need to feel when meeting the one?” you whispered as some people sighed and turned around, sign you weren’t interesting.

“No clue. But it has to be something,” Mark answered. “Maybe a sharp feeling. Awe. Even fear?”

“Fear? Why would I be afraid if I meet my soulmate?” you both walked slowly, staring at the board games people were playing.

Mark hummed. “Not actual fear. More so like the fear you get right before sliding down with a sleigh. It’s scary but you know it will feel very nice.”

The example made you chuckle and it broke some of the tension you were feeling. Then his words actually arrived to your brain.

Like the fear before sliding down with a sleigh…

…or the fear when you see a sea storm.

You shook your head and exited the coach to enter the rest.

_________

“I can’t believe there’s actual breakfast,” Mark repeated for the third time already, cheeks full with eggs and bacon.

You giggled, impressed by your own appetite so late at night. Or early in the morning?

“The train has different time zones than your town of origin,” a voice explained.

The scent came first and it froze you in place, the piece of banana you were about to devour still in mid-air.

Mark lifted his gaze to the side and greeted the voice.

“I hope everything is to your liking,” the Conductor added. When you put the banana down on your plate and looked up, he was already looking at you. His stormy eyes were slightly squeezed in an attempt to look polite. His uniform looked impeccable as usual and with his hands clasped behind his back his chest popped underneath it.

You forced yourself to look away.

“Yes, thank you. The train is gorgeous,” you said.

The Conductor smiled a bit more. “And I hope this is a congratulatory meal?” he asked, looking at Mark for a moment as well, who furrowed his eyebrows.

“Oh,” you shook your hands, realizing what he meant. “No no, it’s not like that.”

“We’re just friends,” Mark butt in, a bit scandalized.

You nodded fervently. “Classmates. From the same town.”

“Yes. Our coaches are close-by and we just found each other.”

The Conductor listened to one then the other, looking at both of you intermittently with his everlasting smile. “Well, then. I’m glad you enjoy each other’s company. I wish for you to find your soulmate when the time comes as well.”

You and Mark both thanked him and watched the Conductor bow enough for his eyes to get the same shadow you saw the first time you met him.

But he lifted his gaze to look at you this time. Slowly, letting his long lashes fan on his cheeks for a moment.

The pupils were very deep and you imagined yourself drowning in the almost black blue of his irises.

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around and look at his back as he walked away to greet other passengers.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to reach and grab the fork because your hands were tightly clasped together on your lap to hide how badly they were shaking.

_________

On your way back Mark got welcomed by his male friend group in the third Entertainment wagon. Some of them had new faces around and from their shy gazes, you assumed they met their partners already. Some were alone and in the mood to party.

Mark invited you to stay but you decided to go back to your coach and have some rest.

You wished to be able to party like Mark did. In the end, for him that was also a well deserved holiday after spending most of his days helping his father with the lands. Many thought the same and not everyone wanted to go on the Journey to meet an actual soulmate. For a lot of people it was a nice break from studying or work and that was it.

But you felt uneasy to be that free-spirited, and you needed time alone to understand what was going on. After all, you’ve been day dreaming about the Journey and the Train your whole life. And now that the desired moment arrived there was something off about it all.

And you couldn’t point it out.

You’ve never felt more relieved to enter your coach and see a fluffy small bed in one of the seats’ places. You sat on it and you also found it very comfortable. How it got there you had no idea and by that time you decided to stop asking yourself questions on how that Train actually worked.

The spring dress you chose for yourself was easy to slip into but quite hard to undo, you realized, grunting a few times as you tried to untie the light corset. When you managed to open it you exhaled deeply and you let it fall to your feet.

Then your eyes darted towards the warning sign near the window as you slowly got under the covers.

Curiosity killed the cat but you really wanted to know what was behind those curtains and why you weren’t allowed to know.

Before you could realize that you didn’t brush your teeth or wash your face, the train stopped and you opened your eyes in the silence.

“Thank you for traveling with us. I wish you happiness,” the Conductor’s voice was muffled outside your window and you remembered your coach was the first near the main train entrance.

Did someone already get off as a couple? Or was that someone who looked outside and was now forced to live alone?

You walked slowly and stealthy and you were about to turn the corner to where the entrance you came in was when the voices stopped you in place.

They were many, perhaps six different ones, thanking the Conductor and chatting away, making already plans for the future. Imagining you in their place gave you anxiety - after all they all met a few hours ago and already thought of getting married - but you were also glad they were all soulmate couples and not any forsaken person who went against the rules.

Somehow, you also felt a but envious that it has been that quick and smooth for them.

The Conductor’s back was towards you and you looked at his long fingers behind his back as he greeted the people away. His white gloves covered them and for some reason you wondered how they looked like naked. His waist was visibly smaller than his shoulders and the spine line descended so beautifully that you felt the urge to draw him, although you were no artist.

You shook your head trying to get rid of thouse thoughts and realized that in the meantime the chatter died down as the passengers walked towards the Station.

The Conductor was still outside, probably seeing them away for good before departing, and his scent was slowly engulfing you the more you remained in his presence.

You swallowed. How could a man smell that good?

Then you realized you had a full-on view of the Station so you squatted down behind the corner and tried to make sense of what was outside. That was your only chance, you figured.

“You know that’s forbidden, right?” the man’s smooth voice made you jolt.

The Conductor was still standing stoically without looking back and you let your gaze fall around as to understand who he was addressing, because he definitely couldn’t have seen you.

“Yes. I’m talking to you, Miss,” he turned around enough for you to see his relaxed expression.

You could see only half of his face and the only visible eyebrow was lifted in a way that made his gaze look- well, sexy, you realized with a certain degree of embarrassment.

You got up and took a step forwards. “Well, I am not looking out through a window, so it is not technically forbidden. There’s not a sign near the entrance telling me I can't do this.”

The Conductor turned around fully. His lazy gaze rested on your face then slowly went down your body and stopped on your nude feet. His eyebrow lifted even more. You wigled your toes in embarrassment.

“I forgot to bring shoes,” you mumbled, your burst of confidence suddenly dying down.

“And a dressing gown,” he added, his pupils darting back down to your chest and hips in the almost sheer underdress you were wearing to sleep. “And some common sense,” he added, locking eyes with you.

You crossed your arms on your chest to prevent him from looking any further. Then you lifted your chin in disdain at his last phrase.

“That’s not very polite of you. Gentlemen avert their eyes.”

“Tell me, Miss. What prevents me from grabbing you and making you descend here in this town with the excuse of you not following the rules?”

You gulped. “Common sense, of course. Why would you even do that?”

“Why not? Maybe I forgot to bring it with me the way you did coming here.”

You let your arms fall down in anger. “That would be very inappropriate and illegal!”

“Says who?” he smirked. “There’s no warning near the door saying I can’t do that.”

You bit your lower lip. “I get it. I should not be here. But you can’t push me out of the train. That would be barbaric.”

The Conductor stepped back inside in one fluid movement. “Usually passengers rest in their coaches or entertain themselves with the others in an attempt to find their soulmate. They don’t go wandering about.”

You dropped your gaze to his chest as he was getting way too close for your liking.

And when he unbuttoned his jacket, slowly, and let it slide off his shoulders and fall on yours instead, you visibly shuddered.

It was warm and big, and it smelled like him. Like that overwhelming flowery perfume.

You felt dizzy.

“I was just curious,” you whispered, feeling like a little child being scolded. But the Conductor’s expression was warm when you dared to look at his face again.

His lips were full and plump and you felt a tight lump in your throat seeing them move.

“Go back to sleep, Miss.”

His deep voice rang in your head the whole time you washed your face and brushed your teeth, feeling it incredibly warm. You let his jacket fall on the seat in front of your bed but as you slid under the covers you wore it again, and nuzzled you face into the material.

_________

In the morning, or what you felt was morning, you wore another dress you packed, a deep blue one you instinctively chose with little black flowers around the crown of it.

Some people were walking against you in the corridor and you could audibly hear them stop their breathing as you locked eyes.

They were wondering if you were their soulmate.

Yesterday you would have walked slowly and looked around shyly as well, but today all you wanted to do was to bring the Conductor his jacket back and all of those people were just in your way.

You were about to start pushing against people’s shoulders when Mark’s head pocked out of a coach and his ruffled hair made you realized he just woke up.

Not in his bed.

“Mark Lee!” you stopped in place.

“Fuck,” he blinked at you. “You out of all people. I mean, so nice to see you-”

“Did you find your soul-”

Mark exited the coach quickly and closed the door behind him. “Shh,” he was about to place one hand on your mouth but then looked at it and put it behind his back instead.

“Let’s not- do not say anything.”

You blinked at him. “Are you telling me that-”

“Maybe,” he interrupted you again. “Listen, people here are gorgeous. There’s no need to save myself for marriage or anything.”

Your jaw fell. “Mark Lee, did you just sleep with some random woman?”

He scratched one eyebrow. “Did I offend your sensibility?”

“You’re just some man, aren’t you?” you looked him up and down. “Whatever. Have fun,” you rolled your eyes and started to walk again. “And wash that hand, would you?”

“How do you even know-”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” you turned around to quickly let your tongue out at him.

“Is that the Conductor’s jacket?” he asked before you could exit the car.

“No? I just found it around,” you answered quickly, leaving him behind with his questions.

The Conductor said you had no common sense but you had enough common sense to know that being seen around with his jacket would somehow be a mistake. He was the one who didn’t have the common sense to know to not send you to bed with it.

Lost in your thoughts you didn’t realize how far up the train you arrived and when the cars started to be empty safe for storage items you stopped in place to catch your breath.

It was very silent up there, the only sound coming from the rails outside and the steam locomotive.

You were close. And you had no idea why you knew that.

The walk towards the locomotive was slow and the spaces less fancy. Some coaches were on your right and you wondered if perhaps the Conductor was in one of them.

Or maybe you were stupid and he was way back in the train, doing his job.

When you felt like that damned train didn’t even have an end, in front of you a big dark door with a skull on it indicating some type of danger opened and the swish of fresh flowers made you close your eyes for a moment.

The Conductor’s head was tilted to the side as if amused.

“I see that this time you’re decently dressed,” he said, the his gaze fell on your chest. “Almost.”

You gulped and put on a brave expression. “I came to give you this back. Thank you.”

The man looked at the jacket you were holding and reached towards it slowly. His fingertips touched your knuckles for a brief moment and it made you so tense that you felt your head pulsating.

“You could have rung the bell. There was no need to come all the way up here.”

You let the air come out your nostrils. “You always scold me. You should be thankful I brought this back to you.”

“I am scolding you because you keep taking the most convoluted decisions instead of the straight forward ones.”

The informal conversation and the lack of Miss from his part made you nervous so you tried to look around his shoulder to see if any staff, or worse, the train driver could hear it.

Although you found his tone aggravating you didn’t want him to lose his job or anything.

“So you didn’t make me come because you were curious to see the Locomotive instead,” the Conductor added, seeing you snoop your nose around.

You straightened your back. “I was just trying to see if someone was listening to your inappropriate comments towards a passenger and a lady.”

The Conductor smiled and took a step to the side. “No one is here.”

For a second you forgot about him, the curiosity of how that Train actually worked exciting you more. “Who drives this then?” you stepped in and looked around the small space.

“No one,” the man explained and his breath caressed the back of your neck. When you looked behind your shoulder you realized he was staring at the goosebumps on your exposed skin.

“Why is there a chair here, then?” you cleared your throat and walked around it.

The Conductor wore his jacket and put his hands on the back of the big chair. “I like to sit here and look outside.”

You lifted your gaze towards the small window in front of you. You hadn’t even realized you could see outside.

“Do you want to try and sit down?” he asked.

You bit your lower lip. “Would that be alright?”

“I thought you didn’t care for rules,” he smirked.

You lifted your chin and sat down. It wasn’t much, just the railroad in front of you and some trees on each side. But it was peaceful and your curiosity got fully fed.

Now you wondered when it was the time to be killed like a cat.

“Why are you really here, Miss?”

The Conductor’s voice was so close to your ear that your spine curved. But you didn’t move away.

“Don’t-” you gulped. “Don’t flatter yourself or anything. I came here because I was curious and I had to give your jacket back.”

His index finger touched one of your hairs near the ear and you jolted in place, moving your head away. The man was smiling. He was holding a small feather that was probably stuck there.

“I hope you’re satisfied at all times, Miss,” he replied. “And I am here to make sure all of your future needs are fulfilled as well.”

That tone and those polite words were meant to be professional yet your mind went to Mark’s ruffled hair and half naked body. You imagined the Conductor’s dark hair on your pillow and his scent engulfing you all as his touch made your spine curve. And his hand, would he also use his hands on you like Mark did with his woman?

You shook the thoughts out of your head and got up quickly, feeling it hard to breathe in that narrow space.

“Thank you. I will leave now,” you voice was wavering and if he noticed it he didn’t say anything about it.

“I hope you have a pleasant journey,” he wished as you exited the car.

He didn’t mention anything about finding a soulmate this time.

__________

Your scent lingered on Haechan’s body the whole day.

It was in his hair, his nostrils, his skin, around his neck and his hands. He wondered if you slept with his jacket the whole night and the thought of your naked body pressed against the material of it made him almost knock heads with a passenger.

“Good day to you, Sir,” he tilted his hat last minute.

The young man barely noticed him, as his eyes were directed towards another person in the corner of the car.

Haechan was very acustomed to that gaze. He saw it every day for the past few years - the look of someone madly in love at first sight.

That was how your eyes looked like the first instant he saw you on the platform waiting for the Train.

Waiting for him.

He wondered how that gaze looked on his face but he was sure you didn’t notice it.

He wasn’t even sure it was there in the first place.

His instincts got the best of him and he worked on autopilot. Polite face, good smile, distance.

Hell, he even took the sign away from your windows for five minutes. But then you almost opened the damn curtains - as he intended for you to - and he realized he couldn’t physically let you go.

It was probably a mistake, he thought the first seconds of seeing you. He took the job of the Conductor because his old grandpa couldn’t work anymore. Haechan lived on that train since he could remember. It was always him and his old grandpa, in the middle of the swarm of people looking for soulmates. It made him sick to death to see all that love around him.

I wish you didn’t hate your parents for falling in love, Haechan, his grandpa used to say.

But it would have been different if they fell in love with each other.

But they didn’t.

The boy has been told the tale of his family of Conductors many times. It was a curse, they said. No one in his family had soulmates and they were tasked with assisting the Train instead.

How did you and grandma decide to be together then? small Haechan asked at the time.

Sometimes you just choose who to spend your life with. This is how your parents met as well. Your father came on this train often and never met his soulmate. Your mother understood he might be a good husband choice so she approached him and that’s how they got together.

But then dad met another woman on the train and left my mom.

The grandpa sighed deeply. He just met his soulmate. He didn’t do anything wrong.

Haechan as a child couldn’t know what to say to that.

He knew something was not right but he didn’t have the vocabulary to argue back.

But as a teenager he finally understood.

He abandoned my mom, your daughter, and he abandoned me. Don’t speak about that man ever again.

Haechan’s grandpa would only sigh and pat his shoulder. You’re growing into a fine young man. I am proud of you. And I am sorry that happened. When you’ll meet your person you’ll understand their choices.

I will never understand it because I don’t have a soulmate. And I surely as hell won’t marry a woman that might meet her rightful soulmate years later and leave me.

Your grandma never left me, he used to remind him. And I wish for you to have children. Who’s going to assist this Train otherwise?

To hell with this fucking Train, Haechan would explode and run away.

He didn’t hate the Train.

It was his home.

So when he’d calm down, sitting on the outside metal stairs and looking at the scenery no one besides him and grandpa were allowed to see, he’d realize he didn’t hate his parents either.

His mom remarried and left the Train after dad left.

Haechan wasn’t sure if she was actually in love although from her letters she seemed happy, but the memories of her time closed off in a coach on the verge of death were still haunting him. Haechan stopped reading his father’s letters altogether and started to burn them in the Locomotive.

A young woman approached him and Haechan shook off the memories and the convoluted thoughts about you from his head.

“How may I help you, Miss?” he placed his hands behind his back with the best custom service expression plastered on his face.

The woman seemed embarrassed.

“If you need anything, please, don’t hesitate to ask me,” he tried to reassure her.

She inhaled and took a step forward. Haechan leaned down to hear her better. “Well, you know how you said the coaches makes appear everything that you want? I was-, well, I met a man and- I know he’s not my soulmate but it’s not against the rules and we’re doing fine together for now and we were well, we were wondering how to make- how not to-”

“Get pregnant?” Haechan simply asked and the woman’s pale face turned purple from embarrassment.

She surely didn’t expect him to be that straightforward. “Usually if you really don’t want that to happen, it doesn't,” Haechan continued. “If you’ve encountered difficulties then maybe you or your partner have-,” he interrupted himself. “-a breeding kink?”

The young woman placed her palms to her cheeks and gave him a little bow. “I understand. I think I need to go now, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“You just have to-” Haechan tried again but the woman already ran away.

“I see I’m not the only one you’re being not so professional with,” a voice made him turn around.

__________

You were on your way for lunch. Or dinner? You lost track of time. You’ve been on that Train for less than 24 hours yet you felt like a lifetime already passed. To think you had to stay there until meeting your soulmate made you almost throw up.

“I thought you were very excited to meet your soulmate,” Mark commented that morning, eyes closed under the fake sun in the fake seaside car.

You sighed.

“I am.”

You were.

Or you thought you were. But somehow you lost interest. You imagined yourself inside the Train for so long that the moment you actually got on it it all lost meaning.

And how was it possible that none of the men looked interesting enough to even have a mere conversation? The only ones approaching you were trying to get under your dress and you soon realized that romance was not the way you imagined it to be.

“You don’t sound like excited. It’s as if you can’t wait to get off of here,” he opened one eye then turned to his side to see you better. “If you haven’t met the one yet, then what about enjoying it to the fullest until you can? It’s a place with free food and entertainment.”

You gave him the side eye. “I do not intend to sleep around with random men. I’m a lady.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “I’m also a gentleman and going down on people doesn’t make me less gentle.”

You almost spat your water. The Train somehow made everyone change or it opened your innocent eyes because you had no idea your childhood friend had that side of him.

“Did you really not find anyone who’s kinda attractive? You don’t even have to know his name,” he insisted.

Actually, there was a man whose name you didn’t know who you found very attractive. That was probably the worst part of that experience. Was it normal to be attracted to the Conductor like that?

You shook your head. “Nonsense. I will wait for my soulmate. And no, no one around is attractive enough.”

Mark exhaled and went back to his previous position. “I just don’t like seeing you sad.”

“I’m not sad.”

“Then angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You’re angry now.”

“Because you’re pissing me off,” you sat up. “I’m going to eat.”

You were already too confused for your liking. You didn’t need Mark Lee to investigate further.

The desire to have a soulmate was still there deep inside, the longiness and the need, yet for some reason you also felt numb to everything around you.

Still feeling like Mark rubbed you the wrong way you almost missed the figures of the Conductor leaning down to whisper in a young gorgeous’ woman’s ear in the middle of the Library wagon.

The woman seemed scandalized and so red that she looked like a tomato. The Conductor’s face was unfazed but a bit confused as she ran away.

“I see I’m not the only one you’re being not so professional with,” you couldn’t help but say.

The car was empty safe for the two of you and when he turned around you smelled his ever present scent.

It drove you insane. What kind of damn cologne was that man wearing?

“What do you go flirting with passengers for?” you crossed your arms on your chest. Maybe Mark was right and you were actually angry but seeing the Conductor’s face just added to the whole irritation, especially catching him flirting with your shy women.

The Conductor tilted his head to the side as if genuinely surprised but also intrigued at your reaction.

“What if someone else besides me saw you? What would happen to your position and reputation?” you went on.

The man took his time to open his mouth and talk. “I don’t understand if you’re mad at me or if you’re worried for me.”

You lifted your chin. “Maybe both.”

“It takes a good amount of care for both. Do you care about me?”

He took a few steps towards you and the closeness made his voice quieter.

You didn’t let him intimidate you with his charm.

“I was raised a lady of good principles and seeing the Conductor of a Train meant to help people find their soulmates flirt with its passengers is not appropriate and I have to speak on it.”

The Conductor’s smile widened. “And lurking at the time of descent in a skimpy night gown and nude feet is appropriate?”

His dark blue eyes were more stormy than usual and the moles on his face reminded you of the nightsky above you as you were waiting for the Train.

“Coming all the way to my coach with a dizzying cleavage is appropriate?”

His voice was so deep and close that you had to avert your gaze to catch your breath.

“Shaking like this in my presence and being unable to look me in the face is appropriate?” he whispered so close to your lips that you inhaled and took a few steps back.

“You’re also here to find a soulmate, Miss. Concentrate on doing that and leave other people’s business to themselves,” he added in his usual calm voice and walking around you he left you breathless and alone in the middle of the Library.

________

Haechan reached for his tie to undo the knot and he realized his fingers were slightly shaking.

Your scent made him more on edge than usual and the fact he could still smell you on his jacket made him unreasonable mad.

And your face and expression, your hurt eyes seeng him talk to that woman, as if you were jealous, was driving him insane.

What were you thinking roaming around him like that? With your delicate blue dress and your cleavage moving up and down in that damn corset with every quick breath your took?

He should have let you move the curtains and never see you again.

Haechan walked the distance from the entrance door of the car to the Bar and without caring about anyone he walked behind it and poured himself a shot of whiskey.

“Hard day?” a voice made him sigh deeply before turning around.

He forced himself to smile. “I am not in service right now,” he lied to excuse his drinking on the job.

The young man waved his hand. “No one would care anyway. They’re either on a date or uhh fucking.”

“Would you like one?” Haechan indicated the bottle, ignoring the man’s choice of words.

The other nodded. “I’m Jeno.”

He expected Haechan’s name in return but the Conductor never tells his name to passengers. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay,” Haechan said instead, pushing a glass towards Jeno.

The latter took it and winced after downing it. “I’m not here for that. I’m actually a journalist.”

Haechan fought the urge to roll his eyes. There was one of two of them every year trying to gather some kind of hidden information about the Train. Haechan also thought there were some secrets about it growing up but it was a pretty straight forward thing. Just a Train in which you can meet your soulmate. Nothing more.

Well, that until he met you and your scent got under his skin.

“Is there something specific you’re writing about?” Haechan politely asked.

“Is it true that soulmates understand they’re soulmates because of each other’s scent?” he asked, and a writing pad materialized in front of him.

Haechan eyed his pen ready to take notes then his face. “You should ask the passengers. I am not someone who has a soulmate.”

“So it’s true that the Conductor has no soulmate.”

“Yes. It’s not a secret.”

Jeno nodded, not writing anything as if that wasn’t the information he was actually seeking out of him.

“My parents said there’s no such thing as scent. They’re also divorced,” he said.

Haechan sighed. Another young man hurt by that Train and his parents. “Sometimes people come here and go home together even if they’re not sure they’re actual soulmates. Maybe your parents mistook their union for a soulmate bond but it was just infatuation.”

“Shouldn’t this place guarantee a soulmate union?” Jeno asked. He looked very angry and Haechan could understand why. “What’s the purpose of this Train then? Let people choose each other on land at this point.”

“It’s called free choice. The Train knows who’s an actual soulmate pair and usually it doesn’t stop for couples who are not actually bonded. This is why the train is not stopping now for all the people who are- uh, fucking.” Haechan was too exhausted to choose a more gentlemanly term for that.

Jeno didn’t seem to care. “Then why did it stop for my parents?”

“They probably insisted for it to stop. The Train doesn’t go against the free choice.”

Jeno poured another shot, gave it to Haechan and took a deep gulp straight from the bottle.

“Nice chat, Conductor. Can I ask to leave now?”

Haechan kept quiet for a moment. “You should stay until you meet someone or until the Journey comes to an end. If you leave now you will not be allowed to come back.”

“There’s no such thing,” Jeno whispered and got up, walking towards the windows. With one quick hand he moved the curtains away. The Train stopped slowly on its tracks and Haechan sighed.

“Please follow me. I’ll escort you to the exit for going against the rules."

__________

Is it true that soulmates understand they’re soulmates because of each other’s scent?

That phrase has been haunting you for the following hours.

You were rolling in bed from the moment you decided to try and sleep after pacing your coach for a while.

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

You didn’t even mean to follow the Conductor but his pace was urgent and the curiosity still hasn’t killed you, especially after that heated conversation you had in the Library.

Shaking in his presence and being unable to look him in the face? He could see that? What was going on and why were you feeling like committing the biggest crime you could think of?

No, why was the Conductor with his deep eyes and his pillowy lips and his smooth voice the only thing you could think of when you were on that dam Train to find your soulmate?

The Conductor walked towards the Bar and you remained back in the smaller corridor, watching his throat gulp that brown liquid like it was water. Why did he look so upset? Was it you? Or was it his missed opportunity with that lady that you interrupted?

You felt stupid spying him like that and you were about to turn around and walk away when the voice of a second man made you stop in your tracks.

I’m actually a journalist, the man said and you wondered what the Conductor would say back. Would he accept to give the journalist information?

Is it true that soulmates understand they’re soulmates because of each other’s scent? You felt your blood turn to ice. What did he mean by that? Scents? Your parents didn’t tell you anything about that.

But then the following exchange of information made you feel even worse.

You should ask the passengers. I am not someone who has a soulmate.

So it’s true that the Conductor has no soulmate.

Yes. It’s not a secret.

Mark looked like a baby chick with his hair ruffled around his face. But you could tell it was from simple sleeping and not messing around with someone’s daughter’s insides.

You pushed him back into his coach after he opened the door and you sat down.

“Wow, when I told you to look around and decide who to fuck I didn’t think that someone would be-”

You interrupted him. “Mark, tell me everything you know about the Train, soulmates, and-” you stopped for a second, “the Conductor.”

Mark blinked hard as if unable to keep his eyes open and laid back in his bed. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Actually I’ve been trying to keep track of the time and it should be middle of the afternoon.”

“Well, everything here is fucked and for me it’s middle of the night. Why are you so curious all of a sudden?”

You sighed and relaxed in the dark red velvety couch. “Have you ever heard of people feeling their soulmate’s scent more that other people’s?”

Mark hummed, one hand to scratch his forehead. “Yes. Johnny talked about it but at the time I thought it was something stupid people in love notice about each other. He said his partner smelled like patchouli and warm spices.”

You lifted your legs up to warm them under your night gown. “And your parents?”

“Dad said mom smells like lavender and mom said dad smells like woody herbal amber or something like that,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

He then opened his eyes and got up to sit, mirroring you. “Why? Did you meet someone whose scent is intense for you?”

You wondered if telling him the truth. “No, I just-” you played with a loose string along the hem of your gown, “I overheard a man talking about his parents never mentioning any scent and they’re divorced now.”

Mark leaned forwards. “Are you worried that your parents are not real soulmates since they also never mentioned scents?”

Actually that didn’t even cross your head but you realized that might be a possibility. You didn’t want your parents to divorce or anything.

“Oh, come on. I’m sure that’s not the case at all,” Mark came to sit beside you and wrapped your shoulders with his arms. You weren’t there because of your parents but Mark felt warm and comfortable to lean on so you didn’t correct him.

“What about the Conductor?” he then asked and you hoped he couldn’t feel the way you tensioned in his hold. “What did you want to know?”

You gulped and sat straight, letting Mark’s arms fall to your waist instead. “I’ve heard he doesn't have a soulmate.”

Mark nodded. “I’ve heard that too. Honestly I thought he would be some kind of very ancient man. At least, my parents said he’s very old, but maybe this is a new one.”

You kept quiet, biting your lower lip.

“What is it that you’re not telling me?” Mark whispered.

You lifted your gaze and his big sparkly eyes gave you the courage to open your mouth.

“If the Conductor has no soulmate, and soulmates feel each other’s scent, then why do I feel the Conductor’s scent everywhere I go?”

________

After Mark collected his jaw from the floor and you kept him up brainstorming the whole night, you met both early in the morning over breakfast to further discuss the possibility of you and the Conductor being soulmates.

“Not to put you down or anything,” he repeated, “but I’ve never heard of anyone bonding with the Conductor.”

You sighed staring down your coffee with no desire to drink it but knowing it would wake you up.

“I know, Mark, this is why I’m so dumbfounded.”

“I mean, also the original Conductor was a mummy of an old man. Maybe that’s why no one bonded with him. Maybe he was married already and that's how the rumour of him not having a soulmate started.”

You had a sip of the bitter liquid and winced. You were glad Mark was playing devil’s advocate with himself because you had no more force to discuss all the different points of view.

“I don’t even think it matters. He warned me multiple times to leave him alone and find a soulmate. How would being soulmates with him even work? Where would the Train stop? Would I be forced to stay here? Being the Conductress? Forever?” you felt like descending into madness.

“Listen, calm down. I think the solution is to check it myself first. We find him, I smell him. If it’s just his high quality cologne then you can put your mind at ease.”

You didn’t want to ask what would happen if he couldn’t smell anything but maybe your desperate eyes told him your feelings because he sighed.

“And if I don’t smell anything, I try to rizz him up and I’ll be like dang you look like you know your cologne. Can you show me your collection? And I go to his coach and I smell all of the bottles and if it’s any of them we know it’s just his perfume and not his actual scent.”

You opened your mouth.

“And-” he interrupted lifting one finger, “if it’s none of them then we will come back here and brainstorm together. He’s an attractive man. Maybe you’re just sexually attracted to him. I bet that if you tried and fucked-”

“I will not fuck the Conductor,” you said, perhaps too loudly. You both looked around.

You lowered your voice. “I don’t know what’s going on but having that kind of relation with him doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

Mark leaned back in his chair. “Okay then. I’ll start by going on with my plan then we’ll see.”

You exhaled and nodded once. “That sounds like such a stupid plan.”

Mark’s smile widened. “At least something fun is happening in this stupid Train besides drinking and sleeping around.”

________

Haechan finished his morning routine walk across all wagons and sighed looking at his pocket watch. Soon everyone would be done with breakfast and would go about their business. He had to go and assist in the enternatinment wagons in some time as well.

Then he felt a pair of eyes on his back and lifted one eyebrow.

“What can I do for you, sir?” he turned around to see your little friend fake confidence leaning on a wall.

If Haechan didn’t know better he’d think the young man was trying to flirt.

“Oh, hello there Conductor. Or maybe I should say-” Mark stopped his phrase as if waiting for Haechan to say his name.

“Conductor is fine,” he smiled, joining his gloved hands together in front of him.

“Right right. I will not push any boundaries. I was just wondering, like from a gentleman to another gentleman, if you can aid me choosing a cologne.”

Whatever Haechan expected that man to say it wasn’t that.

He had to suppress a laugh.

“A cologne, sir?”

Mark walked around him casually. “I mean, I am here to meet a soulmate and I thought damn what if I don’t smell good? That’s my biggest fear actually, you know?” he put his hand on the chest to convey how intensely he felt about not smelling good.

“When you’ll meet your soulmate, sir, they will think you smell like their favourite scent, so no need to worry.”

Mark stopped in his tracks and his stupid fake expression fell. “You said soulmates smell like their favourite scents just now?”

Haechan exhaled. “That’s what I said, sir.” He really hated repeating himself.

Mark kept looking at him so Haechan was about to excuse himself and bid the weird man farewell but then the awareness of his behaviour washed over him like a cold wave and he stopped in place.

Haechan lifted his gaze and met Mark’s intense black eyes.

“Are you not curious why I am asking you about scents, Mister Conductor?” his voice suddenly became lower.

“I am not a curious man, sir,” Haechan straightened his tie with the intention of leaving. He didn’t like where all of that was going.

But Mark took a step to the side, blocking his way.

“So what’s your favourite scent?”

Haechan fought the urge to grab the dude and physically move him away. “I like clean and fresh scents, sir.”

“And what does Y/N smell like?”

Haechan put his tongue in the cheek and flared his nostrils. “I wouldn’t know.”

_________

Mark thought about keeping this all a secret from you. Being soulmates with the Conductor of the Soulmates Train didn’t sound like a great time. It was like falling in love with Death when it comes to kill you. But he wasn’t going to be a bad friend.

He told you to wait in the Seaside wagon in hopes you could relax hearing the sea waves, but when he entered he found you fidgeting instead.

“How did it go?” you walked up to him but he exhaled and dragged you towards the lounge chairs.

He didn’t know what you wanted to hear, if confirmation that the Conductor was your soulmate, or if you wanted nothing to do with him.

“First of all, he doesn’t smell like anything to me,” Mark said. “He just has a normal clean person scent. Like any other person.”

You swallowed and inhaled shakily, letting the information sink in.

“Second of all, he said soulmates smell like each other’s favourite scents.”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out of it.

“What does he smell like to you, Y/N? Is it flowers?”

Mark knew you’ve always loved that scent. The sweet but fresh perfume of flowers with their infinite colours.

He didn’t need you to answer, he saw it in your pupils. You watched Mark close his eyes for a moment and exhale then open them again.

“It’s not all,” he said. “He behaved weirdly when I mentioned you. I have a hunch that he can sense your scent as well.”

________

I think you should talk about it together, Mark suggested, but you couldn’t just do that, could you? He was the Conductor after all. Such thing was impossible.

Also, for how much you loved Mark, risking such improper behaviour only because of a hunch was too much for you.

You thought you were afraid of not finding a soulmate. Growing up that has been your everlasting fear; yet your brain has never even taken into consideration the perspective of finding your soulmate in a man you could not have.

For how much you’ve been wanting to see him, bump into him, or exchange a few stupid words to each other in the past days, your felt the same equal amount of desire to avoid him at all costs.

You thought you wanted Mark to come back and tell you that it was just the Conductor’s overbearing cologne. You wanted him to say he smelt it too and that is confirmation that he couldn’t possibly be your soulmate.

Yet when he fed your idea that the Conductor might be your man the relief was so intense that you almost cried.

It drove you insane.

The following days you haven’t seen the Conductor once. Perhaps the encounter with Mark made him uncomfortable and he decided to avoid you as well. What if he though you were some kind of creep? He did warn you to leave him alone and concentrate on finding a soulmate instead. Was it possible to have a one sided soulmate?

Somehow you felt like that situation was all your fault. Maybe that was the death moment of the curiousity saying, because you kinda felt like dying slowly if you thought about any other man. Maybe if you didn’t go to see the descending moment, maybe if you didn’t sleep with his jacket, maybe if you didn’t go and find him in the Locomotive, maybe if you didn’t confront him in the Library, you wouldn’t feel like that.

Maybe maybe maybe.

“I know this is not good friend advice, but you could get your mind off of him by, you know, using someone else,” Mark shrugged, peeling an apple with a knife.

You sighed, pulling your summer hat lower on your eyes. The seaside car soon became you and Mark’s favourite. “You know what? Maybe you’re right.”

“You finally gave in my temptation?” he wigled his eyebrows.

“Yes. You’re the little devil sitting on my shoulder.”

Mark cut a piece of apple and ate it off the knife. “I can introduce you to some fine gentlemen.”

You snorted. “I saw the gentlemen you have around Mark Lee.”

“And? Are they not fine?”

“You can have them.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Do you want to have fun or not?”

“I do. But I’m not sure if fucking random men is what I consider peak of amusement,” you replied. Mark didn’t say anything so you kept going. “Although, I noticed that the light brow hair man is not bad. I think his name is Jaehyun. He has nice hands and a great smile. I do enjoy a good dimple.”

You expected Mark to laugh at you but he remained quiet safe for a little nudge he gave you. You sighed. “The other J name man is not bad either. He’s tall and he looks gentle like a puppy.”

“Uhm,” Mark said and nudged you again.

“What? You said I should sleep with one of them,” you slid away the hat to give him a venomous side eye when your mouth dropped open.

Mark was looking at you with a little tight smile and in front of you, almost covering the artificial sun of the wagon, was standing the Conductor.

“I apologize, Miss. I didn’t want to interrupt your- uh lovely monologue,” he tilted his stupid hat.

You sat up feeling your body on fire. Then you looked at Mark who gave you a small apologetic smile.

Your mouth was dry and you had no idea what was the appropriate thing to say to someone who overheard you talk about fornication.

His scent should have told you he was there, but maybe you got so used to it that you were feeling it everywhere, messing with your perceptions.

“Good day, sir,” you stupidly said.

“I was just making sure you’re enjoying your stay,” the Conductor looked at you first, then Mark. “From your conversation I assume everything is fine.” His eyes looked black in the shadow and the little line between his eyebrow looked like a crack in his otherwise perfect face.

You gulped and bit your lower lip.

“Just a precaution. I told this the lady that stopped me in the Library the other day also, if you remember. As a contraceptive, please make sure to strongly desire to not get pregnant, so the Train can take care of you.”

________

The fact that useless friend of yours ambushed him like that told Haechan that you probably felt his scent everywhere as well.

And you must have spoken about it in such a way that made Mark investigate.

It made Haechan’s fingers tingle and they’d tingle ever more when he’d slid them underneath his covers at night, and fuck his fist to the image of you until he had to push his face into the pillow to muffle his groans.

Everything was a mess and for the first time in his life Haechan didn’t know what to do.

The letter he wrote his grandpa asking for advice was still unsent, looking at him from his desk.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to expose himself like that to his family. His grandpa would be nothing but supportive.

I knew you’d find a partner. See, now you understand it. It makes sense how your parents felt, doesn’t it?

Because no. Haechan didn’t understand it and his parents’ behaviour still didn’t make sense to him. Also, he hated to hear others say I told you so.

But also, his family never mentioned the possibility of a full-on soulmate. They said someone random. Someone that couldn’t find anyone else. Someone who would accept Haechan as a second choice.

He rolled in bed, the stickiness of his desire still coating his hand. Then he huffed and got up to wash.

His desire. It was such a foreign feeling to him to leave him breathless.

Yet it felt so familiar that he felt like he could finally breathe deeply. It felt like things were finally right, like he was finally home.

That morning he didn’t follow with his duties thoroughly as usual. The Train stopped twice and he looked behind his shoulder to check whether you were there, in your skimpy underdress and nude feet.

But you weren’t.

He tried to ignore you for the past few days and apparently you were doing the same.

Yet, he could feel your scent in the whole Train, as if you’ve just left the wagon he entered.

He wondered if you felt him everywhere as well.

In the afternoon, he couldn’t take it anymore so he followed the trail. He would just give you a short look, something to further fuel his autodestructive night fantasies.

You were in the Seaside car, as usual, your dress ridden up your thighs on that chaise longue and Haechan wondered how could Mark concentrate on cutting that apple without cutting his finger when you looked like that besides him.

“I know this is not good friend advice, but you could get your mind off of him by, you know, using someone else,” Mark shrugged.

Haechan stopped in place. He wasn’t eavesdropping. You were talking loudly enough for everyone to hear. But he didn’t want you to sense him.

You wanted to get your mind off of whom? Haechan?

“You know what? Maybe you’re right,” you replied and Haechan tightened his fist in his white glove. The image of you sleeping with someone else suddenly appeared in front of Haechan’s irises made the seaside car look like the north pole instead.

“You finally gave in my temptation?” that useless fellow asked and Haechan has never wanted to have a fist fight with a passenger more.

Of course, he wondered already if Mark was your soulmate and you both dumb idiots didn’t notice.

Maybe that’s why Mark even inquired about scents in the first place.

But why was Haechan sensing your scent if you were taken and why did the Train not stop for you two if that was the case?

Could the Conductors curse be that cruel? Making Haechan fall in love with a woman he could not have?

“I can introduce you to some fine gentlemen,” Mark said and Haechan didn’t know if he should feel relieved Mark wasn’t offering himself for your entertainment or be jealous at the idea of someone else touching you.

He decided to intervene.

“I do. But I’m not sure if fucking random men is what I consider peak of amusement,” you replied right when Mark lifted his gaze and a piece of apple fell from his mouth on the fine sand at his feet.

Haechan gave him a venomous look and opened his mouth to interrupt your scandalous monologue.

But you went on. “Although, I noticed that the light brow hair man is not bad. I think his name is Jaehyun. He has nice hands and a great smile. I do enjoy a good dimple.”

Haechan felt his jaw muscles twitch. “The other J name man is not bad either. He’s tall and he looks gentle like a puppy,” you continued.

Mark had the decency to look scared.

“I apologize, Miss. I didn’t want to interrupt your lovely monologue,” Haechan finally said as you finally realized what was going on.

He came there like a thirsty man to have a single drop of water and you were thinking of sleeping with other men instead.

Haechan felt like stopping the Train and descending himself.

Your eyes were glossy when you looked up at him, maybe from the sun but also from the embarrassment.

Haechan felt like making you feel even worse.

________

Your gaze followed the Conductor’s spine as he exited the wagon and you let a single pained whine as you burrowed your face into your palms.

“Mark Lee.”

The poor Mark got up and away from you as if he could sense you might take your frustration out on him.

“It’s not my fault.”

You let your hands fall in your lap. “Now he thinks I’m a whore.”

“I don’t think that changes anything. You don’t need his opinion or approval.”

You got up with another whine. “He ignored me for days and now that he approached me again he overheard me talk about who of your friends I might fuck.”

Mark finished his apple. “Hey. Wasn’t that your intention? Getting rid of him? Forgetting him?”

You exhaled.

Yes, but why did it feel so bad?

_______

They all eyed you the following night - the first ball party of the season, the little card said.

This time the ink didn’t smudge when it appeared on your nightstand out of thin air and it didn’t look like it was written by hand.

One detail made you bite your lower lip. Wear masks, the card said.

The car that was hosting it was huge and you realized it must have been some sort of optical illusion to make the space feel so big. The center was empty and you assumed it was for dancing. Most people were standing near the refreshment tables or near the walls and the exciting but nervous air made your skin shiver. Everyone from the train was there and you realized it was the perfect moment to meet a soulmate.

With uncertain feet in your high heels you reached towards the drinks but the glasses didn’t move from the tray.

“You need to say what you want and the glass unglues itself,” the Conductor said and his long fingers appeared in front of you. They wrapped the leg of a glass. “Champagne,” he said and the glass remained in his hand.

You didn’t dare to look at him. “I didn’t know Conductors were allowed to drink,” you tried, remembering the time he felt the need to have that wiskey shot in the bar.

“How do you know I am the Conductor?” he asked. His voice was low but light and amused.

You turned around quickly to see a black mask, leaving nothing but an anonymous jawline and a pair of lips. His hair was covered by a silver crown and in his elegant suit no one could have noticed who he was.

But you did.

You cursed at yourself.

The Conductor leaned closer. “Is it because of my scent?” he whispered.

You gulped and looked away towards the drinks tray.

“So you admit it,” you murmured, wondering if someone was looking at you.

“Admit what?” he asked.

The crowd of people cheered and you assumed a new couple formed.

The intermission helped you cool your head.

“I don’t know the names of all the drinks,” you changed subject.

The Conductor didn’t seem surprised. “Which one do you want?”

“I don’t know. The least dangerous looking one.”

“Bubbles,” he ordered and then gave you the glass full of sparkly liquid. It smelled fruity.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Do you always go for the least dangerous looking thing?” he turned around and looked towards the hall.

Some brave couples started to dance and you enjoyed the way the ladies gowns flowed under the golden lights.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” he smiled once before taking a sip of his drink.

“Yes,” you took a sip of your bubbles as well. They buzzed on your tongue.

“So you didn’t avoid me because you were afraid of me the past few days.”

It wasn’t a question.

“You knew where to find me if you wanted to see one of your passengers. This is your Train.”

The Conductor let his gaze fall on your face. “I did find you. You were talking about very interesting arguments.”

You gimaced, thinking of the Seaside Wagon incident. “It was just talk. I did not-” you started to explain the you realized how stupid it sounded trying to justify your actions, or non-actions, to him.

The Conductor sipped from his drink in silence. You couldn’t read his face normally, and with that mask you really had no idea what he was thinking.

“Are you upset I didn’t contact you all of these days?” he asked instead. "It was my understanding you were trying to forget someone by engaging in those actions and I am self centred enough to think that someone was me."

His honesty left you breathless. You considered lying. Admitting it would have been too humiliating. “No. I understand why you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“Which is?”

“I look like a crazy woman who claims you’re her soulmate because you smell like flowers,” you blurted out before realizing what you just said.

Your hands in your white lacey gloves started to shake.

The man remained quiet for a moment then he chuckled. “Really? I smell that nice to you?”

You exhaled. “This is not a laughing matter.”

The Conductor analyzed your expression. “I apologize. I didn’t realize how this made you feel.”

His tone gave you the courage to look him in the eyes. Even behind the mask they looked alive, torbid like the dark deep sea.

But looking was a mistake.

“I suppose it’s something common for you,” you inhaled, starting to hate the everlasting flowers perfume surrounding him. “Women with soulmate claims over you, that is,” you explained.

The Conductor looked in front of himself and took another sip. “Yes. I am a charming man afterall.”

You hated him. Was he punishing you? Or did he actually not care about you at all?

“Well, I avoided you because I wanted to say I had no claims. Take this as a compliment on you smelling decently and let’s move on.”

“And what moving on means for you?” he inquired.

“Acting as normal Train Conductor and Passenger,” you took another sip of your bubbles. It started to taste too sour.

“Tonight many couples will make the Train stop,” he announced. “Would you like to see?”

You turned towards him and you locked eyes. “Does that sound like normal Conductor and Passenger behaviour to you?”

The young man laughed at your scolding. “I just know you’re curious.”

“Why would you be kind to me like that? Do you want to push me out of the Train as you’ve expressed your interests towards doing before?”

“I wouldn’t mind getting rid of you actually,” he joked and you could tell he didn’t mean it.

But the tears that secretly collected in your eyes during that conversation were close to falling to your cheeks. You left his side quickly but not before hearing him call out your name.

________

Y/N.

For some reason you thought he didn’t even know the names of every passenger.

Was that normal behaviour? From Miss to nothing to your actual first name.

He pissed you off.

He pissed you off so badly that the tears streaming down your cheeks were tears of anger, you decided.

“Oh heavens. Are you alright, dear?” a young woman stopped in tracks with her man.

“Yes, thank you, Miss,” you bowed a little holding your skirts. You wanted to get out of that car.

No. You wanted to get out of the damn Train.

Was it normal for love to hurt like that? Was all of that even love?

You had no idea afterall.

Everyone said you would just know and everything would fall into place. You’d have the best experience and make the Train stop to settle down with the love of your life. Then why all of those people felt like nothing around you and the only man your heart ached for you couldn’t have?

“Hey hey hey,” Mark stopped you by putting his hands on your shoulders.

You were barely seeing where you were walking.

“What happened?” he asked. “Did you see him?”

Bless Mark and his everknowing third eye.

You gave him a little nod and he pouted his lips, holding you into his arms. “There there. It’s alright. It’s okay.”

The people walking around you gave you some looks as they tried to reach the ball hall but you didn’t care.

“Mark, can you be my soulmate so we can go home and live together in a cottage?” you joked, your voice was muffled against his shoulder and you heard him chuckle.

“Actually-” he trailed off and you let him go, rubbing your eyes and finally eying the person on his side who was patiently waiting for you to calm down.

“I want to introduce you to my-” he added then interrupted himself again, looking at the smiling person with eyes you’ve never saw him have. “-the love of my life,” he finished.

________

Your coach felt like the safest place on earth and your cell at the same time.

After the congratulatory moments and after starting to cry again because you realized how happy you were for your best friend to have found the person he was going to spend his life with, the sad tears came along again as you realized that he was probably going to leave the Train that same evening.

We’ll come visiting often. Afterall I’m leaving my parents and friends behind as well and I want to see them again, he assured you.

You sighed and sat down on your bed.

The reflection the mirror in the corner gave you back made you jolt a bit. You cleaned the running mascara from your cheeks and laid down waiting for the Train to stop, trying to empty your brain.

The Conductor’s voice echoing in your head couldn’t let you fall asleep. Why was he behaving like that? Was he that cruel? Couldn’t he actual see what was going on?

When the Train’s rumbling stopped and you heard the chatter of some couples walking down the corridor you sat back up and opened the coach’s door.

Mark squeezed you in a tight hug then gave you a thumbs up as he passed in front of you with his luggage and, after some other people, you saw the Conductor closing the line.

He stopped in front of your door and opened his mouth as you locked eyes but then he probaby changed his mind because he closed it soon after in a tight line and followed the rest of the people.

You remained quiet behind his back and none of the passengers looked like minding having another spectator, so deeply lost in their partner’s eyes.

“Thank you for traveling with us. I wish you happiness,” the Conductor said, repeating the same phrase you heard him say that first time you witnessed a passengers descent.

Mark lifted his hand to wave and you exhaled, waving back, feeling tears prick your eyes as he turned around and walked towards the Station.

The Conductor remained there for the following moments and you somehow knew he did it for you.

“He’ll do fine,” he said after a moment of quiet.

“I know,” you simply replied.

“Y/N,” he turned around and you inhaled taking a step back.

“Don’t call me by my name. We’re not on those terms.”

The Conductor hesitated but then he took a step inside and the doors closed behind him.

Your gaze was on his shiny shoes so he hunched his back a little to make you look at his face instead.

The cry and the other events calmed you down by now but seeing his face made all of those feelings resurface.

You forced yourself to look at his eyes the way he cleary wanted you to.

“My name is Haechan,” he murmured straightening his back. “Would that make us be on those terms now?”

Your fingers fidgeted at the sound of his name and your lips fought the urge to say it out loud.

“Why?” you asked instead. “Why are you being mean to me?”

“I’m not trying to be mean,” he got closer to you and you took a few steps back again.

“I don’t want to be close to you. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to be on first name terms with you. I wish for you to leave me alone if you don’t want anything to do with me.”

Haechan kept moving forward as you moved back until you hit the wall with your blades. He got as close as to rest his palms near your head on the wooden wall.

And when he leaned in and rubbed your cheek with the tip of his nose you forgot how to breathe.

“You smell like fresh cotton and linen,” he whispered with the most desperate tone you heard a man speak. It was so tender that it clouded your mind. “It engulfed me the same instant I opened the doors that night. You’re not insane, I feel it too.”

He straightened his back and looked you in the eyes. “The soulmate bond,” he added. “This is why you’re irritable when you’re away from me. This is why no one seems interesting to you, why this Journey feels boring. It’s not because you haven’t met the one yet. It’s because you have.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“And? What now?” you didn’t let his sweet words sway you although all you wanted was for him to wrap his arms around you and press those pillowy lips on yours.

“The truth is I am as lost as you are,” he let his arms fall to his sides. “This is not supposed to happen.”

“I figured.”

“I come from the Conductors family,” he started. “Traditionally we do not have soulmates. Our people-” he stopped, as if unsure of how to explain. “-breed by choosing random people they want to be with. Sometimes the couples stay together. Sometimes they don’t if the person who’s not from this family actually meets their rightful soulmate.”

“Do you know of anyone who separated that way?” you asked although from his eyes you could tell that he did.

“My parents.”

You bit your lower lip. “I am sorry,” you wrapped your nudes arms.

“Are you cold?” he asked but you cut him off seeing his hands going to unbutton his outwear.

“Don’t you dare giving me your jacket,” you warned him. “It-” you stopped suddenly very embarrassed. “-was a lot to handle the first time,” you settled for, as drove me insane felt too much.

“I know,” he looked as nervous and for a moment it made you feel better. You also never realized how young he was. He was probably just around your age. “It made me feel a certain well, too,” he added.

You looked behind him and you realized your coach was just around the corner. Haechan let you walk around him and open the door, grabbing a shawl to put around your shoulders.

“Come inside. It’s warmer here,” you let your head peek around the corner.

Haechan felt too big for your coach, you realized, seeing him sitting on the deep dark chairs.

As if knowing to not give you any kind of temptation, there was no bed inside.

You made a mental note to ask Haechan how did the Train knew such stuff.

“I am as unprepared as you are,” he spoke after a while, resuming his discourse.

You knew that conversation was due to happen but it didn’t make you feel less nervous.

“My grandfather never mentioned something like this happen to me. He just assumed I might end up seeing someone with no soulmate. My grandmother was one of them and they haven’t separated. Although now I wonder if she met someone else and actively chose my grandfather instead because of some kind of principle sentiment.”

All of that raw information made your heart ache. You’ve never thought about the Conductor’s family growing up. You’ve never ever heard of people with no soulmate whatsoever.

“Would that be that bad?” you asked in a tiny voice.

His eyes were fiery when he looked at you but you knew he wasn’t mad at you. “Would you enjoy the thought of someone being with you because they feel sorry or because of a promise they made although they’re madly in love with someone else?”

You gulped and looked down at your hands in your lap.

“You think that would be our situation?”

The man didn’t reply. You took it for a yes.

“Or are you afraid I’d leave you after a while? Because you think you’re not my actual soulmate?”

“I don’t know,” he exhaled. “You’d think for a Conductor of the Soulmates Train I’d be more well versed in these heart affairs,” he chuckled bitterly.

He closed his eyes and you felt brave enough to stare at his face. You’ve never had the opportunity to see his features for that long. He was so gorgeous that your heart felt like bleeding and the thought of you meeting someone else that would make you feel more than that that felt inimaginable. The thought of him with some other woman felt even worse.

“If I can’t have you-” you started unable to keep your mouth shut. “I think I’ll just not have anyone else. I can’t even imagine-”

The man smiled and opened his eyes. They were the same deep blue that made you feel like suffocating the first time you saw them. “I am flattered you think this way now.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

“I love a challenge.”

He was pissing you off. You told him just that.

His laugh was so pristine that you felt a little smile bloom on your face as well.

“Then what? I’ll just finish this Journey and go home? Then I’ll see you next year? Does this make sense to you?” you tried to reason.

His story was so sad that it made your heart bleed but the relief that washed over you felt so good that it was making you dizzy. He was into you too. He could sense your scent too. He desired you too. You would not let him go away.

“Sounds good,” he replied with a tiny breathy voice.

You rolled your eyes. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Then what? You wish to stay here with me? Forever? On the Train?” he asked instead.

You bit your lower lip. “Where do you stay when it’s not Soulmates season?”

Haechan sat lower on the chair and his extended and spread legs made you curse at yourself for finding that attractive. “I live on the Train. Always had.”

“You just stay here alone? The whole year?” you leaned in surprised.

The man shrugged. “I had my Grandpa before. It wasn’t that bad. And I don’t know another world besides this one so I don’t miss it.”

“Where is he now?”

Haechan looked towards the window as if actually seeing what was behind that curtain. He probably knew what was behind it, you realized.

“He’s living with my mother. He couldn’t work anymore as he was too old.”

You leaned back in your chair as well and lifted your legs to rest them near him.

Haechan turned his head towards them and lifted one hand, letting his fingers trail the arch of one of them making you twitch.

He looked at your surprised expression and his eyelashes were heavy on his eyes.

Then he inserted two fingers between the hem of one of his white gloves and took it off, letting it fall to the ground. Then he did the same with his other hand.

You couldn’t speak.

No, you couldn’t think.

His fingers were slender and his touch was warm as he caressed your arch again, this time making you fully shiver. Seeing his bare hands shouldn’t have made you feel that way.

“Haechan,” you murmured, maybe as a warning, or maybe because you simply wanted to say his name.

“Y/N,” he said back, taking your feet and placing them on top of one of his thighs. He then looked down at them, slowly touching your ankles too, going up as much as he could reach which was too much for your dizzy head giving the crampness of the coach. You could have sworn it wasn’t so small before.

You hummed as he reached your knee, letting your skirts fall to your thighs in the movement. And when he reached the clasps of your garter keeping the tights up you jolted.

“I don’t think we should be doing this,” your voice wavered.

“I know,” he breathed out, yet his hands didn’t move away and you didn’t push them away either.

They kept going up, over your skirts this time until reaching the back of your corset which was starting to feel way too tight.

Haechan slowly slid down between your legs, on his knees, as if guided by a string coming from inside of you. The view made you mewl and the thought of doing this with anyone besides him sounded abhorrent in that moment.

The first pull made you inhale and put your hands on his shoulders. They felt firm.

The second pull at your corset made you bite your lower lip and Haechan’s pupils darted to it.

“Haechan,” you called out again, this time softly, like a prayer.

“Yes, darling,” he leaned even closer to you, attentive to your expression and reactions.

The pet name knocked the air out of your lungs.

“If-” you swallowed thickly, “if we have to separate-, please, I want-”

Haechan patiently waited for more. His eyes, his fucking eyes, they were so deep, and his lips, so so close to you. You could have just leaned forward and tasted them.

You felt like going insane.

“Remember when you said that you’d-” you changed the route of the phrase thinking it would be easier but you stopped again.

Haechan exhaled and pulled another string from your corset. “What is it that you want?”

“I want you to be my first.”

________

Something inside Haechan’s brain was screaming that it was all a mistake, that he was doing something he shouldn’t have.

But Haechan has been a very good boy his whole life while everyone around him made mistakes with not a single worry in the world. Warm between your legs he didn’t care if he’ll regret it.

But hearing you he stopped, inches away from your mouth. Your heavy breath was matching his and your cleaveage still tightly restricted in that corset made him wonder if you could feel how hard he was against the heavy skirts of your dress.

“I need to hear you ask me again, explicitly, and I need to hear you say that you’re aware this might be a mistake and you might regret it,” he grunted.

You fanned your lashes at him with that pure expression of yours.

“I want you to make me yours and I am aware of all of the consequences,” you murmured.

Your tone and the polite choice of words made him want to scream.

“Please,” you added and Haechan couldn’t take it anymore.

He leaned towards you and grabbed your chin with one hand, tasting the tender skin of your neck instead of your lips.

You exhaled and trembled against him, your pulse beating so fast underneath his tongue that he wondered how plump and wet you were between your legs.

So soft and malleable in his arms you let him gently push you into the bed that materialized underneath you.

________

The Conductor’s eyes were so deep that they looked almost black. His body felt so good on top of yours that you wondered if he could let his weight down even more to fully engulf you with his presence.

You couldn’t imagine feeling such intensity with someone else. He didn’t trust you with your feelings but the moment his lips pressed on yours you were sure he had to be your soulmate or nothing in life would have made sense.

And when you finally slid your hands in his hair you found it was as soft as you imagined.

His wet velvety tongue on your throat made you mewl in ways you’ve never heard yourself sound before.

Then he kissed your boiling skin on your clavicle and when he reached the swell of your breasts you felt on fire.

“Hng,” you whimpered, feeling his warm and wide palms press on your waist and slide underneath until he pulled up to sit. He never stopped kissing your body, not even when he pulled harshly at the corset strings to finally undo it.

You gasped at the sudden freeing sensation and shyly let your arms up for him to drag it up and let it fall to the side.

He cupped your free breasts soon after under the thinner dress material and you threw your head back.

Not in a million years you would regret that. It wasn’t possible.

And when your back hit the mattress again Haechan finally kissed you, slowly, brushing your lips together first, then delicately taking your upper lip between his, letting you taste his bottom one. Your fingers deepened the pressure on his shoulders the same moment you felt his tongue nudge at your mouth. You opened further and timidly let yours meet his. It tingled all over your body and when he slid it fully inside your mouth you moaned.

You couldn’t breathe nor think. You couldn’t even move.

Was this the love everyone was talking about? Because you were starting to understand.

In that moment it didn’t matter what you two would end up doing. The only thing you could concentrate on was the ardent kiss and his hands on your arms, reaching up to slid the dress straps off your shoulders.

Then he touched the spot with his lips and you finally gasped, taking in as much air as you could, extending your neck in the opposite direction, giving him more space to fully drive you crazy.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured against your skin as you twitched ever so slightly. Your breast was almost bare and the thought of him seeing you as no one had before made your nipples poke the dress fabric until it hurt.

“Tell me to stop anytime and I will,” he added.

“I don’t want you to stop. Please,” you found yourself saying.

________

You were so warm. You were warm and soft and Haechan desired you so much that he had to bite his lower lip almost to blood to prevent himself from devouring you completely.

Insane, he thought, you were insane to ask him to fuck you like that, and he was also insane for going with it.

His cock was so hard that it was painful and he imagined you felt the same, so he leaned down and wet your hard nubs making you gasp so deliciously that he made a mental note to do it often.

The thoughts of that being your first time together but maybe also the last was banging into his brain but he decided to ignore it. Your little sounds were grounding him and the way your breast felt underneath his hands, overflowing between his fingers as he squeezed just added to his brain haze.

He was starting to feel feverish and if he didn’t ended up with his mouth between your legs soon he thought he was going to go insane.

Your hands on his shoulders made shivers go down his spine and when they moved to his hair, he hummed with your nipples against his tongue.

He wanted to make you feel good, he wanted to make you feel so fucking good.

And he told you, murmuring it on top of your skin, sliding down your torso and letting your scent and warmth guide his clouded brain.

Haechan took your dress with him and when he couldn’t take it anymore he lifted himself on his knees and dragged it up your legs, throwing it as far as he could.

Your chest was falling and dropping so fast underneath him and he took a moment to enjoy the view, letting his gaze caress you where his hand was, slowly from your ribcage down your navel until reaching the slit between your legs.

You gasped, the little O on your face making his almost growl.

“Have you ever touched yourself before, darling?” he asked with a voice he barely recognized.

You shivered and he leaned back down to shelter you with his body, his hand still lazily drawing circles around your plump and soaked clit.

__________

You tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck but he was quicker.

You couldn’t believe you were completely naked in front of the man you desired so desperately. Was that the cruel joke of the destiny? Giving you all before taking it away from you?

Haechan kissed your lips, this time deeply and rougher than the first. Then he breathed on them. “Answer me,” he demanded.

You melwed, unable to think. His fingertips were so delicate and gentle that they almost weren’t there, yet you felt them so well that you couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

“Only outside,” you admitted.

Haechan rubbed his nose against your cheek. “I thought you were a curious person. You never felt the need to know how it feels inside?”

You swallowed thickly. Not in your most depraved thoughts you imagined a gentleman talk to you like that. And you loved it.

“I was afraid,” you admitted.

Haechan hummed, kissing slowly alongside your neck then licking your ear. “You’re so sensitive. Were you afraid it was going to hurt?”

You nodded as a reply.

“Are you afraid now?” he looked you in the eyes, his fingertips never stopping for a moment.

“No,” you whispered.

Haechan’s wet lips were open as if to let more air get inside his lungs and the thought of you being the cause to that decadent expression made the wetness between your legs just get worse.

You bit your lower lip, wondering if he noticed and when he dropped his hand by a mere centimeter you could feel his finger nudge at your hole and collect every drop of it.

You closed your eyes in embarrassment, clasping the material of his shirt on his bicep, and it just made Haechan more eager to rub your clit in ways you never even thought of.

“Show me,” he said, his voice so thick and rough that you felt like swimming in it. “Show me how you touched yourself.”

“Please,” you begged unsure yourself for what.

“Don’t be shy. Put your hand on top of mine and guide me, love,” he murmured with a twinkle in his eyes that made your insides burn.

You let one of your hands slide down his arm and you reached the back of his hand between your legs. It felt so erotic that you felt like combusting.

“Yes, just like that,” he prompted you, his lips now back on your chest, gently biting the softness of your flesh.

You gulped and pressed your fingers on top of his, moving them in little circles you knew felt good. Haechan hummed. “Yeah? Do you like it like this?”

The little nod you gave him made him smile. Then it turned into something more ferocious.

“What about this?” he changed the movement, his fingers now gently flicking your nub up and down as well, pressing a bit more that you did it yourself, sending jolts of pleasure across your body.

“Yes,” you stuttered.

“Yeah?” he spoke in the crook of your neck. “Did you make yourself cum as well?”

You threw your head back at the sensation and his tone and his words didn’t help you feel grounded at all. “A few times.”

Or at least you thought you did. Because the way Haechan was making you feel didn’t even come close to the way you managed to make yourself feel alone.

“May I?” his words buzzed against your lips, so polite in contrast with the way his fingertip felt like nudging at your core.

You bit your lower lip and Haechan rubbed his lips on you as a in invitation to bite his lip instead. You inhaled and nodded, pressing your hand on top of his.

He sucked the air between his teeth and kissed you deeply, letting his tongue smack against yours in the wettest and most desperate kiss.

And when you felt his finger slide inside of you it felt so overwhelming that you clenched so hard he had to break off the kiss to shush you. “You need to relax for me, baby, yeah?”

You felt your whole body shake and Haechan kissed the corner of your mouth then your cheek, doing on your jaw and neck.

“It’s going to feel very good, I promise,” he murmured against your clavicle. “That’s right,” he exhaled, feeling your melt in his hold. “My sweet sweet girl, just like that.”

The praise went to your head so badly that you almost didn’t realize the way he managed to move inside and out of you slowly and when he reached a specific spot and curled his finger upwards you jolted in place, grabbing his shoulders with a strong grip, the moan that escaped your throat probably loud enough to wake up the neighbouring passengers.

“You like that, darling?” Haechan kept fucking you on his finger until you couldn’t close your mouth, the sensation sending the most intense jolts of electricity up your legs and torso.

“Fuck,” you exhaled and Haechan chuckled.

“Yeah? My lady became this dirty for me?”

“Shit,” you couldn’t stop yourself. “Oh, heavens.”

The wet sounds and Haechan’s quick breaths made you curl your toes, and when he stopped his hand and you felt his finger exit you mewled a protest.

“More, please?”

Haechan gave you a cocky smile, lifting himself on his knees in front of you and letting you stare at the way he took off his jacket then slowly, so fucking slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt.

His pristine skin peeking underneath the white fabric made your mouth water and you had to sit down as well, leaning in and pressing your lips on his chest.

________

Haechan exhaled and cupped the back of your head and when he felt your delicate fingers open the rest of his buttons he thought he’d cum on the spot.

Your touch was heaven on his chest and your lips started to get too low, very low, down his abdomen until reaching the band of his dress pants.

Your ass was full on display the way your were crouching on all fours and when you lifted your gaze up, your mouth so close to the tip of his clothed cock, he reached and gave you a light spank that made your eyes shine and your tender throat mewl.

He desperately wanted his cock down that throat but he knew it would be insanity.

So he grabbed your chin instead and pulled you upwards to kiss your mouth again, and this time when he pushed you into the mattress he didn’t care to be gentle.

The grunt that left your chest made him worried that he had been too harsh but the way your grabbed his hair and pulled him into the kiss again, wrapping your thighs around his waist told him you weren’t a porcelain doll.

And when he left your gasping mouth to devour your cunt the moan you made and the way your body curved almost broke him.

“Haechan,” you called out and he has never heard someone pronounce his name in a sexier way.

He hummed back, deeply, licking a stripe up from your hole to your clit and resting on it heavily before rolling the tip around it, tasting you, flicking it until he felt your nails dig in the forearm he snaked around one of your thighs.

He pressed his palm on your lower stomach and the way you inhaled deeply made him suck ever more.

________

Legs around his head - the Conductor’s head - and his mouth on you, his arms around your limbs and his scent all over your body, you’ve never felt more ready to die.

“God,” you moaned, shaking in his hold so much that he added more pressure on your hips and when you felt his fingers nudging at your hole again, this time two of them, gently pushing past the rim, you grabbed the sheets underneath your until you had no more strength.

“Please please please,” you mumbled, his fingers hooked in so deliciously that you couldn’t see anymore. You had no idea there was such pleasure out there.

Haechan hummed, almost growled, his mouth full of your and his deep blue eyes staring at you with such intensity that you just had to let go or you would go insane.

“I feel-” you tried, your voice rough.

The man let your clit go for a mere second. “Yeah? Come on, cum for me darling. Come on, my love.”

It was like a switch, his tongue back on you and his fingers stretching you so well that you could only bury your had in the pillow and scream, coming undone until the only thing you could hear was your own breaths and the gentle rumbling of the Train underneath you.

Haechan’s little kisses made your shaking thighs relax and you realized you were clasping his wrist so you let go with trembling fingers.

“My good good girl,” he came towards you, peppering kisses all over your body, his fingers still deep inside of you, feeling the way you kept rhythmically clenching around them.

His lips were wet and red when he reached your mouth.

You exchanged a deep look that made all the hairs on your body rise and when he kissed you slowly and you tasted yourself on his tongue you felt like pouty in his arms.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you whispered against his lips.

Haechan hummed and slid his fingers out, making you hiss. Then with his wet hand he grabbed yours gently and directed it towards his pants.

“Open the buttons,” he ordered and you gulped, sliding your second arm between your bodies and obeyed, opening them one by one and feeling the heat coming from his body.

“Now touch me,” he breathed against your temple and you felt like rolling your eyes back from the sheer intensity of that energy.

You looked up and saw the man of your life close his eyes and furrow his eyebrows almost in pain when you caressed his length from tip until base.

“Fuck,” he gulped. “Harder,” his order made you bit your lower lip and you added a second hand, grabbing it loosely and moving them both up and down.

Haechan wrapped your hands with his and you inhaled shakily at the darkness of his eyes. He guided you, making you squeeze more until his breath went missing.

“Like this?” you asked. He was hot and hard but so velvety that you were afraid to hurt him.

“Just like that, darling,” he reassured you and when you felt the drops of something sliding under your palm Haechan’s jaw clenched. “You’re making me feel so fucking good, good heavens Y/N.”

You picked up the pace, loving his sounds and his expressions and he groaned.

You wanted more. You needed more.

“Please, I need you,” you murmured against his cheek.

Haechan leaned in and bit down on your neck, sucking on your skin and the sting felt so good that you felt your cunt pool up again. “Say that again, darling.”

You exhaled. “I need you, Haechan, please.”

“Where?” he breathed on your open mouth.

“Inside of me,” you choked on air as he reached down and slid his cock out of your hands with a wince, letting it rest between your fold instead.

“Yeah?”

You nodded and gasped, feeling the heaviness on if rub against your sensitivity.

“I need you to stop me at any given moment of discomfort. Do you understand me?”

His tone and demeanor made you almost chuckle. He drove you crazy.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered and Haechan put his tongue inside his cheek at your choice of words.

He intertwined his fingers with yours while the other hand held the base of his cock to align himself with you.

It was so big and thick, two veins running down it similar to his forearms and it made you swallow dryly at the sinful thought that came inside of your head.

But you felt drunk and you didn’t care.

“I want it in my mouth,” you locked eyes with him and Haechan visibly crumbled between your legs.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth and pushed inside of you slowly making you gasp and squeeze his fingers.

“Mmmm,” you furrowed your eyebrows and Haechan stopped, leaning down to shush you, kissing your neck and guiding your breaths until you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him forward.

“Does it hurt?” he murmured, moving his hips ever so slightly, making more and more space for himself.

“It stings, outside, but it feels good, inside,” your phrases were broken and Haechan chuckled against your lips, giving you a quick kiss that you couldn’t concentrate on as he was getting closer and closer to the spot you oh so desperately wanted him to reach.

“It’s going to feel better soon,” he reassured.

“I know. How does- it feel-for-you?” your tiny voice, stuttering because of his shallow thrusts made Haechan dig his other hand in the mattress.

“It feels like heaven, my darling.”

You hummed and then gasped as Haechan felt you open even more, swallowing him so well that he had to compose himself before he could start losing it and ram inside of you.

“Does the thought of me feeling good turn you on, love?” he grabbed your waist, keeping you in place and finally bottoming out.

Your face scrunched and the moan you let out sounded like music to his ears.

“Haechan-”

“Yeah?”

_______

Your breath was so irregular that you felt not enough oxygen getting to your brain.

There were no words to describe how he felt inside of you, intoxicating, sinful, full, so fucking full, he was all over you, inside your body and mind and heart, you wanted him more and more, you wanted him forever.

You stared at him between your lashes and you hoped he could see all of that. You hoped he could understand how he made you feel and you hoped he felt the same.

“I know, baby,” he shushed you, his hips picked up the pace and he was heavy and deep, the sound of his skin slapping yours making you hide your face into the crook of his neck in shame. He let you do that and lifted your hand above your head, pushing into it as much as he wanted to push into you and couldn’t for fear of hurting you.

Your brain went to the image of him fucking you desperatly and animalistically, fast and with no worry.

You desperately wanted that.

You wanted him again. That couldn’t be the last time you saw each other.

No way.

“Haechan, kiss me, please,” you managed to speak between the gasps.

The man leaned down and kissed you deeply, fucking you both with his tongue and his cock, until you moaned into his mouth.

His eyes were feverish and his forehead shining with a thin layer of sweat.

You let his hand go to wrap his neck and dig your hands in his soft messy hair, not breaking eye contact until with no words you both orgasmed and you lulled each other’s shaking bodies to sleep.

---will continue---

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