#girl if I could graduate and then just come live with you and farm I would be soooo happy

[southislandwren]

Can’t wait to sob hysterically into internship boss’s arms on Sunday after I’ve been day drinking since 10am and I’m so incredibly overwhelmed with school I am AT my breaking point after a 3 day weekend

[d1stalker]

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. 

----

[shy-urban-hobbit]

“I mean, you’ve got to feel a little sorry for them really haven’t you?” Jaskier said from where he was mopping up the last of the evidence of the half dead rat Roach had thoughtfully decided to gift them (the first time it happened he’d shrieked in surprise before Geralt put it out of its misery with a matter of fact “Welcome to country living, city boy”). Geralt gave a non committal hum from where he was warming milk up for Ciri on the stove. The little girl sat colouring at the large kitchen table - too large for two, but that would change when Geralt’s brothers and any guests they decided to bring descended on them.

“I mean they’re just minding their own business like, Oh I’m a hungry rat. Please don’t kill me.” Here Jaskier put on a slightly squeaky voice and held up his hands in imitation of paws, still holding onto the mop, “And then wham one of the last things they see is Roach’s teeth coming towards them. So many teeth.” He gave the resident farm cat a critical stare and received a dismissive tail flick in response.

Ciri giggled at his antics which caused him to grin back at her in return. It always felt like a special sort of personal victory when he managed to coax a laugh out of the little girl.

Despite being together for six months, he was still being introduced to her as her father’s ‘friend’ (which was true enough, they wouldn’t be dating if they didn’t get along) and Jaskier was happy to go along with it. Geralt had explained without revealing too much that the little one had been let down by too many adults in her life already, himself included, and ‘boyfriend’ was maybe just a little too official sounding for the time being (and if he said his heart hadn’t broken a little for the five year old smiling at him from Geralt’s phone, he’d by lying), especially after the shit that had gone down with his ex. Geralt hadn’t gone into detail but from what Jaskier had gathered, the woman had had a hidden agenda in wanting to get back with Geralt and Ciri had almost gotten seriously hurt as a result. Geralt had blamed himself for jumping back into the relationship too quickly and so, any potential partners now had to pass what Jaskier had dubbed ‘The Ciri test’.  

He liked to think he’d passed the first portion with flying colours, the tiny blonde seeming perfectly comfortable with him in public places. Now they were dipping their toes into Jaskier staying in their home for longer periods, with Jaskier having graduated from the guest bedroom to sharing with Geralt the previous visit (the brunette wanting the ground to swallow him up when she happily informed her Uncle Eskel of ‘Daddy’s sleepover’ when the man had dropped by unexpectedly the following morning. Geralt had just shrugged and told him to be thankful it hadn’t been Lambert; who could and would, happily take the piss forever).

“Alright Ciri, put your things away and then go get your bedtime book. I’ll be in in a minute.” Geralt said, pouring the warm milk into a plastic My Little Pony cup.

“I want Jask.” Ciri declared form where she was trying to force the crayons back into their box by the (relatively small) handful, Causing both adults to stop what they’d been doing and stare at one another. This was new.

“You sure you don’t want daddy?” Jaskier asked, looking to Geralt for some sign as to what he should do.

“You do better funny voices. Daddy’s all sound the same.”

It took everything Jaskier had not to burst out laughing at that as he took in the minute eye twitch from the other man at that statement, “Geralt?”

Geralt nodded, “Mind if I stay and listen? You know how much I love The Gruffalo.”

Jaskier snorted and felt a surge of fondness. The lies we tell for our children.

It ended up being a joint effort, with Geralt guest starring as The Gruffalo “On account of you being so, well...gruff.” and admitting to a slightly too smug looking Jaskier and a mostly asleep Ciri that “Yes, Jaskier does better voices for everyone else. Especially Mouse.”

"Everything ok? You’ve gone all quiet on me.” Jaskier said from where he had his head in Geralt’s lap as they watched some mindless Netflix show. “I didn’t overstep did I?” He was suddenly frantic, his anxieties bubbling back up to the surface now that he didn’t have a performance and an audience to focus on, “I know you probably just said yes so things wouldn’t be awkward. I probably should have told her no and come up with an excuse but how can anybody say no to that face-“

“Jaskier. It’s fine, honestly.” Geralt said, rubbing his hands up and down Jaskier’s arm in a way he knew calmed him, “I’ve built up something of an immunity to Ciri’s puppy eyes. I would’ve said no if I had a problem with it. I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“About how I might have a question for Ciri.”

The next morning saw Jaskier seeing both of them off with a hug (also accompanied by fishing a stray cheerio out of Ciri’s hair which he had been too tired to question) before heading back to his city apartment and his job as a music tutor.

“Ciri?” Geralt asked, putting her school backpack by the door as he knelt down to help her button up her coat, “You know how Aiden is Uncle Lambert’s boyfriend?"

It had slowly been killing Jaskier not to check his phone as soon as the text notification came through but he was nothing if not professional and he would not check his phone when he was in the middle of a lesson. Thank the Gods he did wait as he was prettu sure he gave his retreating student a minor heart attack with the squeal he let out at Geralt’s message:

‘Ciri has been proudly announcing to her classmates this morning that Jaskier is her daddy’s boyfriend. Much disappointment from the single mums.’

[violenteconomics]

Your first year oneshots are so big-brained I love reading them all :)) What would the first year gang do if they found out Yuu had found a way home but because of timing issues, they didn't get to say goodbye? (Other brainrot idea which could be with this idea or seperate, Yuu Hometown event where the First Year gang get to visit Yuu's world for a couple of days 👀)

anything 4 u, baby.

the idea of what the first-years will do after yuu goes home is already sad, but you dare bring up the possibility that yuu won't get to say goodbye??? how could you /affectionate

like, i sort of imagine this to be a "seven years later" scenario, where all of the first-years have drifted apart without yuu's grounding presence. they were the ones who brought them all together, after all, and now they're just... gone. (inspired, i admit, by this AMAZING first-years fanfic right here!)

the freshmen have all done their best to move on with their lives — ace has joined riddle's popular legal firm as his suave and smooth-talking legal partner; epel is at harveston, working on an potion that's going to revolutionize farming forever; jack is a rising star in the world of winter sports; deuce is working hard as a respected member of the royal guard; ortho has founded a popular video game studio that specializes in rpgs; and sebek has begun a humble little life as the owner of bookstore, too burned by the best friendship of his life ending in such an abrupt manner to even think about returning to how life used to be.

but the stories of their once legendary friendship continues to spread through the halls of night raven college, even though it's been a while since they've graduated. nobody really knows their names, but they do know them.

the intelligent heart. the good-natured spade. the honorable wolf. the persevering apple. the optimistic flame. the loyal knight. and of course, the underestimated companion.

they've become legends, almost like the the great seven of old, for their ability to withstand so much, yet come out stronger all the same.

(until they day they just... disappeared from public view altogether.)

and so, everyone notices when history starts to repeat itself.

at this point, jack has taken a mentee under his tail — a young teen named magne beihof (twisted from sven from "frozen (2013)"). one day, magne comes running up to him, excitedly holding an invitation to night raven college. jack congratulates him, but secretly, he can't help the feeling of dread crawling up his back... and he's not even sure why. maybe because sven's too nice for nrc, but he's strong enough that jack's not too worried about that. he takes him out for carrot soup to celebrate, but the trepidation never goes way.

it comes to him when magne leaves for school, and starts writing to him about how weird his orientation was... about a random girl who just showed up, claiming to be from another world... about a nice person he met from ignihyde... until magne's eventually going on and on about how nice his new friends are and how much fun they're having and how stressed his housewarden has been lately...

and jack panics.

he furiously starts looking up the mailing addresses of the others and writing to them. he doesn't if they'll answer or even read it, but he just has to tell someone before the worst can occur.

to his surprise, they all end up responding, agreeing to meet with him at his house to discuss it further. turns out, this pattern of history repeating itself goes even further than just story beats. ace and ortho's interns, one of deuce's junior knights, one of epel's baby cousins, and the kid who comes by sebek's bookstore every saturday are all freshmen at night raven college... and all of them are part of sven's little friend group.

on a whim, jack writes yuu a letter, too, that simply says:

Yuu,

I'm worried.

Jack

he obviously doesn't expect a response, so he leaves the letter on the top of his bookshelf, expecting it to just collect dust. so imagine his surprise when it goes missing, and suddenly there's a letter on his bed, with a stamp on it from a place he doesn't recognize.

he reads it, and it says:

Jack,

I can't find my little sister.

Is she with you?

Yuu.

and jack's world comes crashing down.

///

(or, to make this less ominous, maybe the new freshmen plot never happens, and jack just decides to write letters to yuu who somehow recieves them. this eventually spirals into the freshmen making a large package and stuffing themselves inside to test a theory, only for yuu to open the lid and find their long-lost friends inside.

cue a fluffy reunion, and a nice yuu hometown event :3)

[wishmaster]

Hey wishy! I’ve been bullied my hole life for being an out and proud gay guy. I’m as femme as they come, singing showtunes and prancing my way through life. I was wondering though. I’ve always thought about how the other, straighter half live. So, like could you turn me into an obnoxious straight dude. Whose whole personality is about be anti woke and straight?

straighter half

Barely out of high school now you ooze douche bag jock. Your ripped body every girl's dream. Though spending the summer at the homestead in the south wasn't your ideal at least you get one last hurrah with all the pussy you missed out on before graduation.

You reek from the chores you did today, you decide to go to the gym keep the stench alive. Hey Billy Ray, one of your ex girls said as you left you ignore her looking to trade her in for a better piece of ass in the big city. She's still pissed you broke it off and decides tp pants you, putting your bare ass on display, reveal a pride flag tattooed on your ass thanks to yours truly. Suddenly you're furious, ain't having no god damn woke faggot shit on me and in your new dumbass way yo look for the stupidest ways to get it off.

You grab your gun hellbent to find out who put that there.

You spit your chewing Tobacco and hop in your truck, heading out to raise hell while your girl shames you on the socials, by the time you make it into town, you're a disgrace for having that filth on your body

You go as far as fucking a girl in front of your buddies just to prove you ain't no fag, but you've been marked. It's too late, the life you lived was over ruined my some dumb ass tattoo. that night you end it all feeling the shame you brought on your family even though that wasn't who you were.

When you awoke, you found you were your old bubbly self, the memories embedded in your mind of the antiwoke straight dick still haunted your mind as you head outside, spitting tobacco from you mouth as your cute hillbilly boyfriends came in from tending to your family farm. You're so happy you grew up in an accepting family that don't care if you're a fag or not.

[skyewritesstuff]

cruel summer (kenny's version)

my masterlist.

entry 4 in my (taylor’s version) songfic series.

summary: a detailed account of your summer fling with kenny mccormick.

pairing: kenny mccormick x reader (college!au kinda)

fandom: south park

warnings:  implied nsfw. substance use (alc/weed/nic). language. vomiting.

notes: based on cruel summer by taylor swift. this was not beta read. we die like kenny.

word count: 7.9k

It all started and ended in Kenny McCormick’s rundown, single cab pickup truck. It was summer time and Kenny’s main friend group had all separated for this one lone week despite everyone being home from college. Stan was still on the outskirts of town at Tegridy Farms. Eric had been dragged out of state to visit family. Kyle was in Denver doing a week-long intensive course. 

Kenny was in community college, about to wrap up an associates in computer sciences, a few classes short of graduation. He was also working full-time at the local Best Buy doing tech support, but somehow he’d managed to have three days off in a row towards the end of the week. However, this had to be the worst time for him to have next-to-nothing to do.

You were in Marjorine’s bathroom, standing over her as she sat on the toilet, pink dye that was scented like lemon drop candy was coating the ends of her naturally blonde hair when your phone rang.

“Marj, can you see who that is and let me decide whether or not I”m gonna get you to answer that?”

The blonde girl laughed, “Sure thing!”

She grabbed your phone and looked at the screen, “It’s Kenny!”

“Kenny McCormick?” 

You said that like there was any other Kenny in your hometown. There was no confusion in your question, though, just a slight bit of disbelief. You’d had feelings for Kenny since high school that’d been a long-kept secret for various reasons. First, you thought Marjorine liked him, but apparently not. In reality, Marjorine is just a helpless romantic who has a slight attraction to all of her friends, you included. Then, he ended up in a weird situationship with Tammy Mullins and then “cheated” on Tammy Mullins with his ex, Tammy Warner, if you can even cheat on a fuckbuddy. 

Kenny didn’t have the most savory reputation in South Park when it came to women. He was a flirt who made it known to everyone how much he liked the ladies and with his charm and rugged looks, he oftentimes was able to pull any girl that he fed the right line to. You felt like it was pointless to pursue him, because you’d inevitably get your heartbroken and look like an idiot much like Tammy Mullins when she attempted to beat the ever living shit out of Tammy Warner for the aforementioned incident. 

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Marjorine spoke in a sing-song voice that let you know that she was highly anticipating overhearing this conversation.

You rolled your eyes, “Go ahead.”

Marjorine swiped the answer bar, “Well hi, Ken!”

“Hi, Barbie!” Kenny didn’t miss a beat, a chuckle to his voice, “Where’s Y/N?”

“I’m right here. What’s up, Kenny?” You spoke, distracting your nerves by finishing up Marjorine’s hair and making sure that the color was evenly spread with meticulous attention to detail.

“Just wanted to see if you ladies wanted to chill at Stark’s Pond later. The guys are all out of town doing fuck knows what and I have like...three days off of work and I’ve already bored myself to death.”

“You mean to tell me you’ve already gotten bored with jacking off and hitting up girls on Snap? Are you feeling okay, bud?” You said with a smirk, eliciting a gasp at your language from the blonde sitting underneath you.

“Ha ha…hilarious. I haven’t jacked it at all today. I’m waiting to see you in a bikini at the pond so I can have that mental image to cross that off my list.”

“Cute.”

“Gross, Ken!”

He chuckled again, “Are you guys coming or what?”

You looked at Marjorine and she looked at you. Before you could contemplate a response, she replied for you, “We’ll be there! Does 3:00 work?”

You shot her a look and she grinned mischievously. “Yeah, for sure. You make sure to look cute too, Marj. I’ve got a lot of free time coming up.” You could hear his smirk through the phone, earning him another eye roll.

“Oh shut it, Kenny. We’ll see you later.” 

“Okay! Love you guys, bye!”

“Love you too!” Marjorine replied, hanging up the phone and looking over her shoulder at you with a smile.

“I hate you.”

“Nuh uh.”

“I’m going to drown you when I rinse you.”

“Oh, hamburgers.”

A few hours later, you were in your room putting on high waisted black bikini bottoms with a black and white striped top as you were trying to call Marjorine to determine whether or not the suit was too modest or just right. You’d called several times, but she still wasn’t answering. You turned your attention to your hair, putting it in two braids, when you finally heard your ringtone.

“Hey, are you okay? I tried calling like a hundred times.” You spoke over speaker phone, starting on your other braid.

“Yeah, I suppose I’m alright…well, a little anyway.” She sounded sad. You’d be willing to bet the $500 sitting in your savings account that you knew where this conversation was going. 

“What happened?” 

“Well, you see, my dad was real sore about my hair. He said it made me look cheap and…”

“You’re grounded…”

“Yeah…”

You sighed, “Marj, we’re twenty. Your dad can’t ground you forever.” 

She sighed back, “I know…I keep hoping that maybe he’ll stop the older I get, but really, I’m getting older everyday and he’s not stopping!”

You groaned, flopping back on your bed, “So, I’m just going to go hang out with Kenny alone…”

“You say that like you haven’t wanted to date him since we were in high school.” Marjorine said, a smile clearly perking up on her face. You could tell by her tone.

“Yeah, but like..” You tried to start replying back.

“But nothing! Go and have a good time!” she said, “And use protection!”

“Marjorine!” You gasped, shaking your head at her response.

“I’m just saying.” She replied. Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door.

“Marjorine, are you on your phone?!” Her father’s voice boomed.

“No, dad…I’m just…uh…talking to myself!” She replied back nervously. You could hear her father barking out orders at her to stay quiet and to think about what she’d done. Quickly, she wished you luck and ended the call.

You looked at your phone, noticing it was almost time for you to leave and decided that you would start gathering your things so that you could go. Once you arrived, you immediately noticed Kenny’s truck. It was an older model with rusted parts, chipped paint, and numerous crude and comedic stickers littering both the back glass and the door to the bed.

Part of you wanted him to not show up. Sure, you’d been harboring a crush on Kenny, but to think you’d be able to pull him? There was no way. He liked girls with big boobs, curves, full lips, and gorgeous skin. Compared to those girls, you just felt normal, like there was nothing special about you. You’d been told you were beautiful, funny, and smart, but going after Kenny still felt futile.

You parked next to his truck and then got out, walking towards the pond with your bag in hand. You soon noticed the blonde boy laying on a tattered quilt blanket. He was wearing only orange swim trunks and a pair of aviator sunglasses. His head turned toward you and he did a double take, tossing his hand up to greet you.

You walked over and sat your bag down next to the blanket. Kenny let out a soft wolf-whistle. “Baby, baby, baby…” He said, “I thought the view of the pond was beautiful, but you’ve got it beat.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting down on the blanket. “You’re full of it, Ken.” you said. He chuckled, shaking his head, “I’m just observing.”

“Uh huh…”

“Where’s Marj?” 

“Grounded”

“Shit…I mean, that sucks, but hey…” He turned on his side to look at you, “At least we get some time just you and me, right?”

Your chest tightened and you took a deep breath, “Mhmmm…”

“So…you seeing anyone?”

You rolled your eyes again. He was always so flirty with everyone. This was his baseline. You had to keep this at the front of your mind and just roll with his advances and play along with the game he was initiating. 

You shook your head, taking out your sunscreen. You twisted the nozzle so that it would spray and went over your arms, chest, and legs. Kenny held his hand out and you handed the bottle to him, expecting him to apply a coat to his already tanned skin. Instead, he sat up and slid behind you and sprayed your back.

“What are you…?” You lost your train of thought as he reached up and started gently rubbing it into your back.

Your breath hitched in your throat, “U-Uh…it’s…it’s touch free…”

“Oh?” He said. You could hear the smirk in his voice, “I didn’t read the bottle.” He leaned in closer to you until his breath was on your ear, “My bad…”

A shiver ran down your spine and he laughed under his breath again, moving back to the blanket. “So, why’d Clyde say he’d been talking to you if you’re single, then?”

“Because he’s full of shit.” 

It was a plain reply to the question because that was the honest truth. Clyde tended to be a bit of an attention seeker and this kind of behavior was a norm with him almost as much as being flirtatious was to Kenny. 

“Interesting…” Kenny laughed, “I think you should take that up with him.”

“It’s not that serious.” You laughed, laying back on the blanket, turning your head to look at him.

“I think you should tell him that you’re not talking to him because you’re talking to me.”

“Lie to end a lie?”

“Doesn’t have to be a lie.”

“You’re something else, you know that, right?”

The small talk and banter between the two of you went on for what felt like minutes, but upon looking at the clock on your lockscreen, you found out it’d been hours. The sun was starting to set and the two of you were the last people remaining at the pond.

“We should go get food.” You suggested, gesturing towards him with his sunglasses that you were holding, having taken them from him hours ago upon realizing that yours had been left in Marjorine’s car days ago.

“Or we could skinny dip and then get food.” He retorted, shrugging as if he didn’t ask you to get naked in public with him.

“You’re insane.”

“Some people would find that hot, you know?”

“Pretty sure skinny dipping is illegal.”

“No guts, no glory…plus, our police force is a joke. I think we’ll be fine.”

“You think.”

Kenny got up from the blanket and started down to the water. He turned towards you and smirked. “I know…” He then jumped into the water, making a large splash that landed on the blanket and your legs.

He re-emerged only seconds later and held his swim trunks over his head. “Kenny!” You gasped.

“Yes?” His smile was absolutely devious. You got up and walked to the edge of the water only for him to pull his hand back and send his swim trunks launching towards you, only landing on your feet due to the weight of the water in the fabric.

You couldn’t think of anything else to say so you just crossed your arms over your chest and watched the blonde who was currently smiling so widely you could finally see the small gap in his smile from his missing tooth. You had to admit…the colors and lighting of the sunset mixed with the beads of water rolling down his shoulders and his wet hair…If Kenny was anything, it was beautiful.

“Take a picture sweetheart, it’ll last longer.” You’d gotten caught. You took a hard swallow, choosing not to respond to his comment. “Man, this water is getting cold…it’d be nice if someone else would join me so I could suck up their body heat.”

He couldn’t be that desperate. You sighed, “Okay…okay…”

You jumped in, resurfacing right in front of him moments later. He grinned playfully. “Lucky me.” He closed the gap between you two, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing your body in close to him.

“You are ridiculous.” You tried to sound stern, but you couldn’t help but form a smile at his reaction to your presence. He seemed genuinely happy to have you in the water with him with your bodies so close together…but of course he does. It’s Kenny. Something like this is his idea of paradise. You were brought back to your thoughts earlier about Kenny’s baseline and his affinity for the ladies.

“You still with me?” he asked, noticing how your thoughts had drifted from your current position to the depths of your mind. You turned your attention back to him, “Yeah, I was just…thinking…”

“Bout what?” he asked, reaching up to play with the end of your hair delicately, 

“You”

“Me? Huh, it really is my lucky day, isn’t it?”

“Who says it’s good?”

“Well, damn, the thought didn’t cross my mind, but I guess you’re right.” He chuckled.

He leaned in, his lips curved up in a smirk as he leaned in in an attempt to kiss you. You reached up with two fingers and pressed them to his lips to stop him. He pulled back and laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re naked in a pond with me right now…I don’t think that should be our first kiss.”

“So, you’re telling me that if I put my clothes back on, you’d kiss me?” 

“We’ll see…”

“I never thought I’d want to get my clothes back on with you instead of staying naked.” he said.

A few minutes later, Kenny was redressed and you’d dried off and put the t-shirt he’d come to the pond in over your suit. It was now fully dark, the only light coming from his headlights after he’d turned the car on. 

“So…where do you wanna go for food?” he asked, leaning against the car. You shrugged and stood beside him, leaning your back against the vehicle as well. “I”m up for anything, really. I’m not picky. Anything beats frozen waffles for the fourth time this week.”

“McDonald’s?” You questioned, earning a nod in response from the blonde.

“Before we go, though…you said that if we weren’t naked and in the pond you’d kiss me.”

You let out a deep breath from your nose and looked at him, not responding, but raising both eyebrows questioning him ever so slightly.

“So…can we?” He grinned.

“Why do you want to kiss me anyway? You can have your pick of any girl in South Park…or have you just blown through all of your options over the years and I’m the last girl on the list?” You questioned, “It’s not like you’ve actively tried pursuing me before. Why now?”

Kenny looked taken aback by your question, “I…” He paused, as if trying to gather his thoughts. You must’ve honestly thrown him a curveball he was never expecting. “I don’t know…guess I thought you’d never go for me. You’re kind of too good for me. At least, that’s what Marj says.”

“Marj? What’d she say?”

“Oh, I told her I wanted to ask you out like…Christmastime-ish…and she was like ‘Nah, she’s too smart and too good for you. She won’t put up with your shit.’ and one night, after smoking a blunt, I thought some more about it and realized that she’s probably right and that you’re not going to put up with my shit and that even though you’re totally one of the most gorgeous girls I’ve ever seen I…”

You cut him off by leaning in to kiss his lips. He smiled against your lips and instantly kissed back, moving over you to lean you even further back against the hood of his truck, resting both arms on each side of your head until one hand slid down and came to rest on your hip, hooking his finger into your belt loop to pull you in closer. You kept kissing him, letting your hands slide down his bare chest, a shiver running down your spine at the small moan that left his lips as your hands moved. Finally, you had to pull back to catch your breath.

You took a second, just looking at him, your E/C eyes staring into his baby blues. Then, you spoke up, “I'm still not putting up with your shit, though.” You both laughed in response and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Makes sense.” He said, leaning in to kiss you again. The kiss once again turned heated, you locking a leg around his waist and his hands traveling past the hem of his shirt that you were wearing to caress the slightly exposed skin of your abdomen and then move to your back, reaching up to play with the tie on your bathing suit. You stopped him, putting a hand up to his arm to get his attention.

“Shit…” He shook his head, “I”m sorry, I–”

“Don’t apologize.” You began, “I just think it’d be a little more private in the truck.”

That’s how you found yourself on your back in the cramped single cab of Kenny’s truck for the first time that summer. His lips were traveling down your body and your chest was rising and falling at a rapidly increasing pace the further he maneuvered himself downward. You glanced down at him and met his eyes as he looked up at you, his fingers hooked themselves in the sides of your swimsuit bottoms. He shifted his position a little as he was still partially standing outside of the truck. 

You could barely make out his features in the dim overhead light of the truck, but you could notice how his eyes were a deeper shade of blue than earlier. His face was flushed, his shaggy mullet was even messier from the presence of your hands, and he was wearing a shit-eating grin that looked absolutely devious, but you could’ve sworn you’d never seen anything more attractive and enticing in your life.

“G-Go ahead…”

From that point forward, any nights off you both shared were spent in either his bed, the backseat of your car, or the bed of his truck. You remembered recalling the first two weeks to Marjorine after finally deciding that things were stable enough to share with at least your best friend.

You didn’t notice that she was about to take a sip of her can of soda when you casually stated “Kenny and I are like…seeing each other…well, if fucking counts as seeing each other.” Marjorine promptly started coughing, the bright green can of Mountain Dew coming back to the carpet of her floor as she tried to regain her composure. 

“Excuse me, what?”

Despite the harsh way that you would describe your encounters with the blonde, the affairs themselves were anything but. Kenny was nothing but a gentleman to you, always asking if you were alright, taking care of you afterwards, and only getting rougher with your permission. Even then, he’d talk you through it, ensuring you felt safe and comfortable no matter what. It didn’t take too long into your “relationship” for the crush you’d been harboring for years to evolve into full feelings.

Your kisses became more passionate and more frequent. Your touches became more forward and increased in frequency as well. As far as you could tell, Kenny was eating it up and taking it all in and there was no doubt in your mind that he absolutely felt the same. After consulting with Marjorine one night, you decided to finally ask Kenny the burning question.

“What are we?”

You didn’t expect the question to hang in the air the way that it did. You were sitting up in your bed, knees pulled into your chest wearing only his t-shirt and a pair of panties. Kenny was redressing himself after Cartman disrupted the nap you two had been taking by blowing up his phone, asking him to help him with some ridiculous scheme since Marjorine wasn’t answering her phone.

He turned back to you looking like a deer in the headlights. “What do you mean?” he asked as if the question wasn’t clear cut as is. You let out a mild sigh of frustration. Kenny wasn’t stupid by any means. Despite the rumors, you’d see his grades when he’d log on and check them and he was able to hack into just about any video game to make mods to fit any desire he may have during gameplay. 

“Are we like…together, or?”

“Like…dating?” He was buttoning up the tacky orange Hawaiian shirt he’d been wearing, completely missing a button, obviously jarred by this conversation.

“I mean, yeah.” It came out like a question when it was definitely a statement. 

He leaned against your dresser, sliding on his slip on Vans, “I mean…I don’t know.” He shrugged, “We do like…everything couples do…but I hadn’t put much thought into it.”

“You haven’t put much thought into it?” You repeated, dumbfounded at this response. He’d started saying something else, but it sounded like white noise to your ears and you quickly cut him off, “You’ve had a month and a half of spending many nights a week balls deep in me and you haven’t taken a single second to think ‘Hey, would I actually like to date this person or am I just wasting both of our time and fucking them until something better comes along?’”

Kenny really looked shocked now. Somewhere in your rant, he’d started re-buttoning his shirt, but he stopped midway when you started talking and was now looking at you with both sides of the shirt in his hand and his eyes blown wide in shock. He finally let go of the shirt to run his hands over his face.

“Y/N…”

“Kenny, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”

“What…like…I just…I don’t know and Marj has been asking me the same thing and like…I haven’t even told anyone, if I'm honest.”

“Kenny what the fuck!?” Your voice was getting louder, “Why am I some secret of yours? Is it so you can go around and fuck other girls like you’d been doing? I told you, I”m not putting up with your bullshit.”

“Oh my god…” He groaned, throwing his head back, “Listen, it’s not like that. I just…I don’t know. That’s it. I don’t know.”

Tears were welling up in your eyes, “Just get out, Kenny.”

“But…”

“Go.”

He shrugged and let out a sigh, “Okay…fine. See you around.”

As soon as you could hear the tell-tale aged, loud roar of his truck’s engine, you dissolved into tears. You pulled his shirt over your head and threw it at the wall, burying yourself under your covers as your tears turned into full sobs. How could you have been so stupid? Everything you’d ever heard about him was true and Marjorine was right. You deserved better than him.

Weeks had passed since your breakup, if you could even call it that, with Kenny. You hadn’t spoken to him since and made sure to avoid him at all costs. You were not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d hurt you.

 It was now nearing the middle of August and the now-annual college send-off party at Tegridy Farms was rolling around signaling the end of summer and the parting of ways of all of your childhood friends that happened at this time of year.

“I still don’t want to go.” You said plainly, looking at your reflection in the mirror that hung from your bedroom door.

“It’s a tradition, Y/N and we always have fun! Remember last year when Mr. Marsh got on the karaoke machine and started singing Nicki Minaj and blacked out and broke the coffee table right before the best part of the song?” Marjorine stated, touching up her black eyeliner.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s a good spot to people watch. Maybe Clyde will get shitfaced again and end up screaming and crying for Bebe to take him back and then throw up in the yard, still crying.” You chuckled.

“See, that just makes me sad. He loves her so much and she just uses that boy whenever she wants something because he’s got money.” Marjorine glanced over at you, “Clyde’s got man written by a woman energy.”

You chuckled, “Marj, just because he’s kinda got a dad bod at 20, is sensitive, and is a male Swiftie doesn’t mean that he’s written by a woman. He killed his mom because he wouldn’t put the toilet seat down. That’s giving Mojo Dojo Casa House.”

“Ken was written by a woman, though!”

Not realizing she was following up your reference, you scoffed, “Oh, he most definitely is not. He’s written by some middle aged man that thinks shock value and sex jokes are still funny at their big-old-age.” 

“No, he’s not! Ken is just a himbo! He…” She paused and then realized what you’d said, “Oh…oh hamburgers…not the same Ken. I’m sorry.”

You realize what you’d said too, “My bad. I just…whew…I had a whole response to that. I’m so sorry, Marj.”

“It’s fine…and I agree. All of the broship were written by men of different ages…except Kyle…”

You stopped applying mascara to think about what she’d said and then nodded, “Sheila Brovlofski is the greatest author of our generation.”

The music was already blaring from inside when you pulled up to Tegridgy farms. Once you got out of your car, you could already smell the weed pouring outside. Typical party at Tegridgy. You reached into the pocket of your denim jacket and pulled out your vape, taking a few hits to calm your nerves. You knew, without a doubt, that you’d be running into Kenny tonight, and you weren’t sure how to handle it.

As you both approached the door, you knew you had to make up your mind sooner rather than later as to how you were going to handle this. In true fight, flight, or freeze nature, you could either avoid him at all costs, turn away and ignore him if he approaches you, or just freeze up and end up talking to him like nothing was wrong…and at this point, there was no telling as to what you’d choose.

You walked inside with your hands in your pockets, looking around to scope out the general area. There was a makeshift dance floor where multiple of your peers were either dancing or standing around, two tables of beer pong, and then the kitchen where the counters were littered with various alcohol bottles and almost artistic looking bongs.

You headed over to the counter and took a hold of the ingredients to make one of the only drinks you could confidently make for yourself: a tequila sunrise. You made yourself a double and Marjorine a single and handed it to her. “Aw, shucks, I really shouldn’t…you know how much of a light weight I am.” she said, staring into the cup, “Last time was bad…”

You chuckled, “It wasn’t that bad. You just called Eric sexy in front of a bunch of people which isn’t necessarily like…morally wrong or bad…just questionable and objectively incorrect.” You took a large sip of your drink, trying to get the alcohol to kick in as quickly as possible in case of an inevitable emergency and to drown the still lingering sorrows from that day in your bedroom.

Within the first hour of being there, you’d drank the double tequila sunrise you’d made for yourself, taken an old fashioned that Tolkien was preparing for multiple people, and had been consistently refilling your red cup with the jungle juice someone (Kenny) had prepared and put into several empty milk cartons of all things. Now, you were currently positioned at a bright green and black bong, taking a hit before passing it to one of the goth kids. Michael? Pete? Did it really matter? No, as long as it wasn’t Kenny.

You got up, fully preparing to just stride out of the kitchen and go find Marjorine but found out oh too quickly that you were too inebriated to stand up that quickly. You stumbled, vision a little blurry and your entire body feeling fuzzy.

“You okay?” The goth kid got up and leaned against his cane, extending his hand to you.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m so good. I’m great, actually.” You blew him off, grabbing your cup and taking another sip as you stumbled off towards the living room where the couches and dance floor were. You flopped down on the couch next to a boy you were actually quite familiar with. His shaggy, dark hair was peeking out of his blue and yellow chullo and he was cutting his eyes over at you almost cautiously, as if he were afraid of you doing something.

“Hey Craig!” You slurred, leaning over onto him.

“Hey, Y/N.” His voice was as monotone as ever and he kept looking around and then over at you.

“Where’s Tweek?” You asked, reaching up to play with the side of his chullo as you put your legs into his lap. The brunette took a deep breath to gain his composure, “He got a little anxious so he’s outside smoking with Bebe. Do you need something?”

“Nuh uh…I'm so good!” You said, inching closer to him.

“Uh huh…sure you are.” His eyes stayed forward despite your close proximity to his face.

“You’re so hot, you know that right?” You said.

He fully turned to you, face burning red, riddled with shock. He was about to respond, when all of a sudden a flash of an orange hoodie dropped down on the arm of the couch next to him.

“Craig Tucker, what’s up, dude?”

“Ugh, not this guy.” Your tone shifted and your lack of filter continued.

“I know…you’re mad at me, sweetheart…but I promise, you’re going to be madder at yourself in the morning.” he laughed and then looked at Craig, “Swap with me.”

Craig muttered something. You only caught, “Good luck” as he got up and reached into his pocket, taking out a box of cigarettes as he headed towards the back porch.

“Get away from me.”

“I'm not trying anything. I’m just trying to keep you safe, because you’re kinda getting messy. I’ve been there, done that…and I just don’t want you to end up trying to fuck Cartman too.”

“I wasn’t trying to fuck, Craig! You’re such a fucking idiot!”

“Babe, relax. I was talking about Marj…New Years Eve.” He leaned his head back on the back of the couch, looking over at you. You could tell that despite his ability to hold a consistent conversation, his eyes were bloodshot. He’d most likely been smoking.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone turning more serious and soft.

“I”m fine.” You took your phone out of your pocket and attempted to unlock it, or so you thought, until Kenny reached over and snatched the phone away, pressing some buttons before sliding it in his pocket.

“Hey, give that back!”

“Babygirl, you were about to summon the pigs. Randy would’ve shit his pants.” he chuckled, “Pretty sure that’s a dead giveaway that you’re not okay.”

“This is a weed farm, not like an actual farm. There’s no pigs.”

Kenny laughed rather loudly, “You are absolutely right, baby. That it is. Thanks to me.”

“Stop calling me that.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest, “And give me my fucking phone back!”

He shook his head, “Can’t do that…either of those things, actually.”

“Fine.” You stood up and walked off. It must’ve taken Kenny a moment to process, because you got a little bit of a head start before he caught up with you in a hallway, where you stumbled slightly and then ended up leaning against the wall. 

You were dizzy and your body felt both light and heavy all at once. You wrapped your arms around yourself, craving some kind of pressure. You started to slide down the wall when you felt someone’s hand on your arm, following you down until you were both on the floor with whoever it was’ arms wrapped around you giving you the physical touch you’d been desiring.

“I’ve got you. You’re fine.”

You groaned. Of course, it was Kenny. You wanted to pull away, but instead you flopped over onto him, laying your head on his shoulder. He gently trailed his fingers down your bare arm, your jacket long since missing in the chaos of the party. 

“You just sleepy or do you feel like you’re going to be sick or something?” he asked softly. You shook your head, “No. Where’s my fucking vape?”

Kenny chuckled lowly, “I don’t know, babe. Did you bring it in with you?”

You nodded, wrapping an arm around his middle, “My jacket.”

“You’re not wearing a jacket.”

“I am.”

“You definitely aren’t. You’re wearing a sparkly pink dress.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your exposed shoulder, “See, no jacket.”

You let out a whimper of disgust before Kenny reached into his pocket and handed you a hunter green colored vape pen, “It’s not your peach mango whatever the fuck that shit you smoke is, but…”

“Ugh, it’s menthol. Just give it to me.”

“How’d you remember that?” 

You shrugged and took a long hit, holding it for a moment before exhaling. You handed the pen back to him and watched as several people walked by, barely missing stepping on you or tripping over your feet. Kenny took notice of this and started to stand, helping you up along the way.

“No, I wanna sit.” You slurred, shaking your head.

“Why don’t we go home…” He said, “My parents are out for the night doing fuck knows what and Karen’s at her friend’s. It’ll just be us and you can get some sleep.”

When you were back on your feet, you shook your head, “No…I'm not sleeping with you. Not again, not after all that shit.” 

“No, no, no…not like that. I wouldn’t do that. I meant like…actually sleep.” He corrected himself, putting an arm around your waist as he started subtly leading you towards the door.

“Stop…why are you holding me? You don’t even like me!” You were starting to get louder as you spoke and Kenny looked at you with concern. He tightened his grip on you as you walked down the steps and headed towards his truck, hoping you wouldn’t fall.

“I do like you! I wouldn’t be helping you if I didn’t.”

“No, like…like me, like me…you dont like me.”

“Y/N…”

“Just shut up, Kenny.” You opened his truck door and flopped yourself in, slamming the door haphazardly behind you. Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose before walking to the other side of the truck, getting in and starting the engine. He leaned over and buckled you in and then took off his hoodie, leaving him in a white wife beater. He folded it up and then nudged you gently.

“Sit up.”

You moved a little away from your position of leaning up against the window long enough for him to slide the hoodie under your head. However, as soon as he positioned it, you sat up and pulled it down. You unbuckled your seatbelt and threw the hoodie onto your body. 

You heard Kenny mutter some curse words as he stopped backing out of the spot he was parked in to reach over and buckle you back into the seat with a sigh. You were about halfway to Kenny’s house when you felt your chest tighten. At first, you thought you were going to throw up. You were about to reach over and get Kenny’s attention so that he could pull over when you realized what was truly building inside of you and you broke down in tears.

Your head went into your hands as you sobbed. “What the…” Kenny spoke under his breath, turning his attention from the road to you briefly, reaching over to put his hand on your back, rubbing small circles.

“Hey…no…shhh…what’s got you so upset, babygirl?” he asked.

“Stop it!” You sobbed, reaching behind you to swat his hand away, “Stop saying that. Stop touching me. You don’t love me, so stop it!”

Kenny was silent momentarily, “What’s gotten into you? Like, I know we haven’t seen each other since that day in your room…and that’s my fault. I should’ve like…reached out or something, but I thought you hated me and…I promise. I fucking promise…I didn’t mean for it to come out the way that it did.”

“How else could it come out?” You cried, “You basically admitted that you didn’t want to be in a relationship with me and only wanted to fuck me even though I wanted to be with you and then you told me that you hadn’t told anyone about us probably because you wanted to fuck every girl you could this summer before they all packed it up and went back to college. That’s fucking ridiculous, Kenny. I thought the whole ‘McWhoremick” thing was like…a joke or like…the way your friends shit on you, but Jesus Christ.”

“I hadn’t told anyone because I didn’t know what we were and like…I knew that I liked you, but I didn’t know what else to do about it because Marj had told me so many times that you could do better and like…especially after that fight in your room…I knew you could do better so I just…tried to let you find that better? I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

“You never know! That’s the problem! How do you not know? You either love me or you don’t!”

“I just…”

You scoffed, “I love you! I love you. Is that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

He was silent for ages, only saying something about how you were drunk a mere seconds after your confession. You didn’t know at what point you’d pulled into Kenny’s driveway, but as soon as you registered where you were, you got out of the car and tried to storm towards the door, but stumbled, falling to your knees on the pavement. The sting of the scrape only added to your tears. You reached up and wiped your eyes, your crying becoming quieter as you were lifted to your feet by the boy who pulled you into his arms, running his fingers through your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Let's get you inside. We’ll clean your knees up…and wash your makeup off…and get you some water…and you can lay down.”

And that’s exactly what he did for you. You walked in and almost immediately collapsed onto his bed. He took this opportunity to clean your scraped knees and then got you up into a sitting position and helped you change into his hoodie and a spare pair of his boxers. You were half-asleep by the time that he took a makeup wipe to your face and started wiping the messy makeup off of your features. 

Lastly, Kenny got you situated in his bed, pulling the covers up and kissing your forehead. “I’m right here on the floor if you need anything. Popcorn bowl is on the floor. Water bottle is right next to it. Please, wake me up if you need me. I’ll be fine.”

You nodded in agreement, but then spoke up, “Can you stay with me?”

“Huh?” he asked, looking up at you from where he was sitting on the floor.

“Please sleep with me…” You said, reaching out towards him.

He chuckled, “You sure?”

You nodded again and scooted over to make room for him. He slid into the bedsheets and carefully positioned himself next to you, allowing you to move over and lay with your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

The next few hours were littered with infrequent bouts of sleep mixed with burying your face into the popcorn bowl as your stomach purged itself of the alcohol that remained in your system, running to the bathroom on the few chances you felt you could make it, crying, and drinking water. The entire time, Kenny held you, held your hair back, and wiped your face with a cool washcloth. 

By the time you woke up the next day around 1PM, you were still exhausted, not feeling well, and fairly lost in regards to the events of last night. You just knew that you woke up with Kenny wrapped around you and you were in his hoodie and boxers and you prayed to whatever higher power may be out there that you hadn’t fucked him again.

You sat up and ran a hand through your hair, looking around until your eyes fell on your charging phone laying on the ground. You picked it up and saw two texts from Marjorine on top.

She’ll be okay.

Hehehe I knew it ;)

“What?” you whispered, unlocking your phone. You went straight to Marjorine’s text thread. Under your last response to her, a “kk!” from when she arrived at your house before the party, there was a longish thread of messages that clearly went between her and Kenny.

Where are you? I’ve been looking for you for an hour! Are you okay?

Hey, Marj. Thanks for giving me her passcode. My phone died right after I called you and I put her phone on the charger in my room. I can charge mine when she wakes up.

Is she okay? Omg.

Yeah, just going back between screaming, crying, and throwing up…literally. At least she started that once we’d already left or it would’ve been real bad. 

Bless her heart! What’d you say to get her so upset?

It wasn’t me! Damn. She just got upset…about us…and then screamed at me that she loved me.

And you said?

Nothing. She was drunk. 

Drunk words are sober thoughts. ;)

So, you think Cartman is sexy, huh?

Oh my goddddd stop. That isn’t true and this isn’t about me. What do you think of her?

I…might’ve realized I fucked up literally the night we had that fight…and I haven’t known what to do about it…so…I just…loved her in secret and accepted that she deserved better. I’m just worried she’s going to wake up and like…regret saying all of this and like trying to have this conversation with me again.

She’ll be okay.

Hehehe I knew it ;)

Your chest felt full and tight all at the same time and your eyes soon fell upon the sleeping blonde, who was still wrapped around you despite you sitting upright at this point. You reached down and ran your fingers through his hair gently. A few passes through his blonde locks and he stirred, looking up at you.

“Morning, beautiful.” he spoke groggily, “You okay?”

You nodded, “Just tired…”

“Mm…come lay back down then. Let's go back to bed.”

It was your turn to smirk over at him, “You love me, huh?”

“What?”

You pulled up the texts again, showing him and then reading his own words to him verbatim, “So…I just…loved her in secret and accepted that she deserved better.”

“Hey, that’s a private conversation!” he laughed.

“On my phone…” You retorted.

“Yeah!”

“So, do you love me?” You moved back down to laying next to him, turned on your side, propped up on your elbow. He blushed, lips curving back up into his famous devious grin.

“Ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

“I think I've heard worse.”

With a giggle and a kiss to his lips, your relationship with Kenny transitioned just as the seasons outside had started to move from the bright colors of an otherwise dark summer for you to the warm, comforts of fall…all starting and ending in that beat-up pickup. 

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

What doesn't kill me makes me want you more

[skittlesmcgee]

I have been struggling for a while now. Struggling with a sense of grief at imaginary losses. The 'what ifs' and 'what could have beens'. My mother would have called it a pity party, in such a derisive tone. And her voice in my head only made it worse.

Somehow I became the possessor of all things photographic. All the pictures that we rescued from Grandma and Grandpa's farm, I had them. All the pictures from Mom and Dad's house, I had them. All the pictures from the girls growing up, I had them. I know how I got each batch. In each moment, no one else wanted them. But I knew that at some point in the future, they would become ready to possess them again.

So Friday night, I went from closet to closet and pulled everything out and into the middle of the living room. I did some initial recon while I watched some TV. Saturday morning, I started in earnest.

If you have ever cleaned a closet, you know that the project gets awful in the middle. This one did too. But I persevered and by mid-afternoon, I had four piles. I made a list and bought a few things. By late afternoon, I had three lovely totes, with inner packages of pictures, and a big envelope of random stuff that belongs to my ex.

In the process of doing all things, I found lots of pictures of me. Most of which are under the age of five. And while they look like me, I'm so far removed from that person, I honestly have no memories. It might as well be another person.

I did find my high school graduation picture. That sent my struggle into high gear. I do have memories of highschool and college and beyond. What would I say to that version of me?? What could I tell her, naive...holy shit naive girl, about what the next years would hold??? Today, I finally realized that the only thing I could tell her is this...

"You got this!!! You got this!!! No matter what happens, you got this!!! You're going make choices...a few great, some good, a whole bunch that don't completely suck, some bad, and a couple...well yeah. There are going to be a lot of times when you are absolutely sure that you can't go on. But you will. You got this!!! There are some plot twists coming. You got this!!! You will have some wins and some losses. You got this!!! No matter what happens, you take the hit and you keep going. You got this!!! Trust me when I say, we're still winning and losing. We still got this!!! Until our dying breath, we got this!!! So hold on, the ride is bumpy. Enjoy the view from the summit. Find the flowers in the valley. Just know, we got this!!!!"

[istalauuu]

Ola, everyone!! It’s me, Crista! So for today’s blog, I'll introduce myself, where I came from, and how my life actually went.

I am Angelie Crista, but I prefer to be called Crista, especially by my closest friends. In contrast, people that I don’t know just call me by my surname, which is Brita. I hated to be called Angelie because I just don’t like it, and I find it cringe and a little bit weird. But lately, my mom told me the reason why she named me that, and I found out that it is a female French name that means "Messenger of God". like wow?!?!?! At first, I wouldn't believe her, and she even made me search for it on Google. BUT GIRL, IT IS. (sarcastically crying). Going back, I am 19 and currently residing in Brgy. Nena San Julian, but I grew up in Paranaque City, Metro Manila. Let’s get to know it, and here’s the history of my hometown..

PARANAQUE CITY

Is a highly-urbanized city was once just a simple fishing barangay during the Pre-Spanish days of the Philippines.

When Miguel Lopez de Legazpi and his group of Spanish colonizers landed in Manila, it is said that they discovered a small community who lived near the Manila Bay where fishing or “paglalayag” were their only source of income. But on the other side of the community called Muntinlupa, the natives, who were living on rice farming, were called “taga-Palayan”. These two groups of people intermingled with each other, often on little celebrations.

It was said that once upon a time, these two groups had a feast to decide what the name of their place would be. The rice farmers wanted to name the place “Palalayan”, but the fishermen protested and wanted the place to be named “Palalayag”. In order to reach a conclusion, both parties agreed to a compromise and instead decided to name the place “Palanyag”.

Several years later during the Spanish era, the placed was renamed “Para Aniya Ake” because of several instances where Spanish soldiers would tell the native coachman “Para aqui, para aqui (Stop here, stop here)” whenever they reached Palanyag. These native coachmen would tell their humorous versions of this story until the name stuck in the hearts and minds of the inhabitants of old Paranaque.

Paranaque City is also known as the fashion capital of Metro Manila and is home to the largest fashion boutiques and shops.

Just so you know, guys, my life there is quite adventurous and fun. Serving me the things I wanted and making it easier for me to do the things I needed. Spoiling myself almost every day by going to the malls or even with friends. That’s why my money only lasts for a few minutes. Yes, I am too irresponsible when it comes to handling money.

But for some reason, that life I had vanished when my parents decided to let me study here in our province, which is located in Brgy. Nena San Julian, Eastern Samar. So, moving forward, as a girl who grew up in a city, I am having a hard time, especially since I am new to this place. I find it difficult here since there are big differences between the place where I grew up and the place I am today.

But since this is the new chapter that God gave me and a life that I needed to take, I don’t have a choice but to accept and love where I am today. I made adjustments, and it’s not easy to do. The transportation here is so hard. It’s like I am more tired of the transportation than of my classes. Also, the grocery stores are too far, and it’s quite tiring. The things I used to do were gone, and I came to a point where I badly wanted to graduate immediately so I could go back to Manila. Sounds ridiculous, right?

But after staying here for a month, a realization hit me. I should’ve been enjoying my life here and being content. I should let things flow and love every single moment that I have here. And, so, little by little, I didn’t notice that I'd been falling in love with nature and appreciating its beauty more than before. The fresh wind that blows within my hair, the calmness it gives, and the silence of every corner of the trees.. oh! I'm in love with this nature, which captured my heart softly. Too dramatic, am I?

But anyway, what I also love about this place are the beaches. The waves that slowly moving, making a little sound. Bringing my soul into peace and letting my inner self to be healed.

Finally, I can say that I am doing great today and am hoping for the next day to come. I will probably end my blog here, and I hope you like and enjoyed it. Again, I am Crista, and I hope to see you on my next blog! Bye, everyone, and have a great day ahead!

Source:

[blessthisbrckenroad]

@laviexenrose sent: can i pls have a drabble of callum and lexi happy together? or maybe when they first met?? anything you want! go wild

———

Callum and Lexi weren’t trying for a baby, but they weren’t exactly trying to prevent one either. Still, it comes as a shock when Lexi sees those two little pink lines. Suddenly, she feels giddy and terrified all at once. She ends up so lightheaded from it all that she has to sit on the edge of the bathtub to steady herself, her eyes locked on those pink lines the whole time.

They weren’t prepared for this. Both she and Callum were so far from home and she still had two semesters left before she graduated. His full time job and her part time job were supporting them, but they still weren’t making enough to be comfortable with all the expenses that now lay before them - diapers and wipes, clothes, nursery furniture, doctor’s appointments, formula if they ended up needing or wanting it. Lexi had never given much thought to how her future children would eat. Now it felt profoundly important.

But they were having a baby.

She couldn’t help but wonder already if it was a boy or a girl, if it would look like her or Callum or an even mix of the two. Maybe it wouldn’t look much like either of them. Maybe it would look more like their parents or grandparents instead. Would it like sports or dance or something more academic than either she or Callum were interested in? Did Callum want a boy or a girl more? A boy might be more keen on hanging out with him on the farm but he would be an adorable girl dad too.

God, she already couldn’t wait!

But…would Callum share her sentiments? Was he ready for a baby or would their impending parenthood upset him? They had talked about children at length but it was usually after several years, a wedding, their move back to Wimberly, and after her bakery was up and running successfully. How far would a baby set all of that back?

Lexi suddenly felt like she was going to be sick and she couldn’t be sure if it was because of the nerves or if it was the morning sickness that prompted her to take the test in the first place. How was she going to tell him? Just saying it sounded kind of…boring? Anticlimactic? Doing it over a nice celebratory dinner or hiding the rest somewhere for him to find it just seemed a little on the cliche side. Maybe she would just…hold on to this little secret until she figured out the perfect way to surprise him. Callum already thought her nausea was just a little stomach bug. She could easily milk that for a few more days while she formulated a decent plan. There would be no harm in that, right?

———

Callum returned home from work about two hours later, give or take - two hours Lexi had spent scouring the internet for ideas. She clicks out of the tab in a panic when he moves across the living room to kiss her but if he notices, he’s doing a fantastic job at hiding it.

Good.

“Feeling better?” Callum asks as he pulls away, moving into the kitchen to drop several plastic bags on the table. “I stopped at the store on my way back and grabbed some groceries. I need to shower first but I’m making soup tonight. Should be a bit easier on your belly.”

“It comes and goes,” she answers, “but soup sounds great.”

Lexi can’t help but smiles as she watches him, imagining a baby with his ginger hair sitting in a high chair at the table or a child with her blue eyes standing on a little stepping stool beside him, learning to cut up carrots and celery. That, she can tell he notices because he looks at her for an extra beat before turning to head towards the bathroom. She was going to have to be more careful if she was going to make this work.

———

But the time Callum returns, Lexi has already unpacked the groceries and started preparing some of the ingredients. She was actually chopping the celery herself when his arms snake around her waist, making her jump. He laughs along with her.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “I’m supposed to be making dinner and you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I just started it,” she’s quick to reply. “I’m not entirely incapacitated.”

She wasn’t even sick!

“Go sit down. I’ll finish it.”

“Fine,” she groans as she moves back to the couch, eliciting another chuckle from Callum.

Lexi sits twisted backwards, arms folding on the back on the couch so she can rest her chin there as she watches Callum cook. The wide smile she can’t help but wear is thankfully disguised by genuine laughter when he turns on the radio, taking to dancing around the kitchen as he cooks.

It isn’t until later, as Lexi cleans their dishes and Callum puts them away, that he finally confronts her.

“Alright, spill it,” he says. A teasing smile spreads across his lips but the question is genuine all the same and it shows in his suspicious gaze and the uneven tilt of his brow. “You’ve literally never been so happy to do dishes. What’s up?”

“What? I’m always happy to do dishes!” She laughs her way through a failed attempt at defensiveness.

“You hate the dishes.”

“I do hate the dishes.”

He puts the last Tupperware in the fridge and moves to lean against the countertop beside her.

“Mmhmm. So what is it?”

Lexi wanted to wait. She needed to wait. The reveal would be so much better with some forethought, creativity, and planning. Pity that her tongue did not agree…

“We’re having a baby!”

She stands before him, water still dripping from her hands, bouncing on her toes like a little kid in a candy store. Callum, on the other hand, freezes in place, eyes widening.

“Wait, what?”

The way his voice deepens on the words makes her still instantly, suddenly more nervous than excited.

“We’re having a baby,” she repeats, more seriously this time around. “That’s why I’ve been sick. It’s not a stomach bug. It’s a baby.”

A best of silence passes, then two, then three. She can see the cogs turning behind his startled brain, slowly processing her confession, and then all at once he matches her ecstatic grin and she’s gathered up in his arms, toes barely touching the ground as he spins her. His hands come to her face after he sets her down again.

“Are you serious? This isn’t a joke?”

“If course not! I promise! Look, I can prove it!”

Lexi slips from his grasp and runs down the hall to retrieve the pregnancy test and had hidden in the drawer of her nightstand. He takes it in his hands gently like breaking it would somehow be akin to harming their baby.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, thrilled at first but then again with much more fear. “Oh my god. We have so much to do…”

“I know! I have to call the doctor and the guest room is going to have to be emptied for the nursery and we have to tell everyone else still. I don’t even know who to tell first. I mean, our parents obviously but then there’s everyone else. Maybe we should tell them together? We’re gonna have to call Isabelle, though, and she better answer me this time. I will not take being in Africa as an excuse.”

Callum laughs and pulls her in for one more kiss.

“God, I love you,” he breathes in the narrow space between them.

“I was worried you’d be upset,” she says. “It’s much sooner than we thought it’d be.”

He gives a breathy laugh. “I don’t care. We’ll make it work.”

Lexi nods, tears welling up in eyes. She’d claim pregnancy hormones but everyone knew she was a crier anyway.

“As long as our little bug is healthy, we can figure out the rest as we go,” Callum adds.

“Our little bug,” she laughs. “I like it.”

[bonjourentrez]

I graduated from High School in 2005. 

Since graduating, I have not only come out as not-straight but also as not-cis. I didn’t tell anyone when I was in High School because I DIDN’T KNOW YET. Because no one had told me I *could* be. 

Eight years ago (!?!?!) our 10 year high school anniversary rolled around. I was living on the other coast by that point but I was invited to a Facebook group and joined out of mild curiosity.

Growing up in a small town in Eastern Oregon- farm country, only a few miles away from a Native Reservation, with a graduating class of I think around 100 people? You’d think, statistically, that I was *the token trans person*. 

You’d be wrong. In that Facebook group were two other guys, guys I had known as girls when we were in school together. They’d changed their names, they had both obviously been on T. I still recognized them, in fact I probably recognized them *better*. Because when I looked back at our time in school together, when I thought of those two, I thought, ‘You know? That makes sense.’  So no, no one “told me” they “wanted a sex change”. They just went and did it when they had the opportunity. 

Duh. 

I graduated high school in 99.

There was a student at our school named Wayne.

Wayne was gay. It was obvious. He was unable to stay in the closet even if he wanted to. To make matters worse, he was also Black. From a bullying standpoint, that was not a great combo. Both Black and white students made fun of him relentlessly. He was ostracized from the only community that may have given him protection. Only us theater kids stuck up for him, but not to significant effect.

Wayne was bullied so much that at one point he finally snapped and attacked his bullies with a lunch tray. I was actually seated in perfect line of sight and just sat there chewing my soggy fries in stunned silence. It didn't even seem real as I was witnessing it. The image of him wailing on his main bully as the food on his tray flew off is permanently logged into my long term memory.

The bully he attacked had blood all over his face and went straight to the nurse. Other than superficial cuts, he was not injured.

Before the attack, Wayne went to teachers for help. He went to guidance counselors for help. He went to the principals for help.

He did all of the things you were supposed to do. No one helped him. They wagged a finger at the bullies and warned them to stop.

Wayne's lunch tray melee was the only thing that worked. His bullies stayed far away from him. But a week later Wayne was expelled and the bullies were given no punishment.

So... no.

No one in my school talked about being trans.

Because the only way to survive being openly queer was to bash people with a lunch tray.

[midwestdiscontent24]

Thats methed up man

Breaking news on my facebook feed today: my old middle school sceince teacher got arrested for possession of meth! Thats actually fucking crazy. And from what ive been hearing from other people, i guess he was a pedo creep to guys and girls. Apparently married a former student then got divorced when she realized she was preyed upon and propositioned a 14 year old boy in the bathroom at school.

The school district i was in was very small. My graduating class was around 70 kids and the middle and high school were in the same building. So something like this coming out is fucking nuts. Its not a stretch though, that something like this happened at that school. I could name five teachers right now that i feel like would have done some shady shit like that. My high school science teacher literally got left at the alter because he beat his girlfriend up all the time.

All of this shit coming to light makes me wonder what kind of stuff got swept under the rug and covered up or just straight up ignored. And the thing about it is that that school has a reputation for being some sort of innocent little school system thats some kind of heaven on earth and its like, yeah if youre a cis white person who lives on a farm.

Another thing im curious about is how he even got started with meth. Like youre a 70 year old retiree, how the fuck do you find meth? Things like that boggle my mind man.

[perfectsoyeggz]

Stardew Valley fanfic im planning! Heres what I have planned out/written so far:

Main character: Jonathan (Johnny) Pike

- 29

- He/Him

-Bisexual/Demiromantic

- 5'9"

Birthday: Fall 27(? Cant remember)

Likes: Dogs, scavanging, woodwork, simple clothing, sleep, heat/summer, music

Dislikes: Birds, small talk, cold/winter

Facts: occasionally smokes, used to have curly hair at a young age, when he lived in Zuzu city he occasionally played in a local neighborhood band, takes depression meds

Appearance: Lean but has a little bit of belly chub, dark brown hair (you can really only see its brown in the sunlight), dark brown eyes, long hair that goes down to his shoulder blades (its a bit messy, but when done properly its wavy and has a bit of volume), spotted with permanent sun spots all over but especially his arms and back, has decently sized hands and can easily grab his tools.

Everyday outfit: wears a clean white T shirt with dark blue jeans and brown boots, wears his hair either in a low pony tail, or in a messy bun

Story plot:

Jonathan woke from another nightmare, one where he kept running and running with no end, a constant dread, but no threat to be seen. Ever since his Papaw passed he felt a constant restless feeling. Finding the letter he gave to him when he was just 18, as a graduation gift, he opens it and discovers the deed to Pike Farm, residing in Stardew Valley.

Jonathan used to visit with his parents when he was younger, running around the farm and attending local events were a staple of his childhood.

Although Johnny wanted to go, there was something, or someone holding him back, but he had to go, his life in the city was miserable and his depression wasnt letting up, even with meds.

1st day

Johnny was a quiet man, but tried his best to be friendly with the red haired woman blabbering on about home renovations. Her name was Robin, another man named Lewis was suppose to have come along, but had business to attend to, so only said a quick hello before running off.

The two eventually come to a stop before an old withering home, it showed its age, but looked recently retouched.

Robin turned and smiled at the man, "So... what do you think Jonathan? I know its not much of what it used to be, but it should be livable for the time being"

Johnny knew he had to be careful with his words, "Well.. it is something alright, I think itll suit me fine for right now" he gave a polite smile, "Thanks.. Robin was it?" He inwardly cringed for already forgetting the carpenters name, but felt relief when she gave him a hearty smile,

"You'll get the hang of it, luckily this is a small town, you'll know everyone's names by the end of Summer"

He chuckled a little at the claim, considering he knew how badly he forgot things, but took the woman's words regardless.

After a few minutes of chatter, Robin checked her watch, "Shoot, I was suppose to help Demetrius with some gardening. Im so sorry Jonathan I gotta go" panic rising in her voice.

Jonathan gave the panicked woman an assured smile, "its alright Robin, I have things to do anyway, thank you for you help"

She sighed in relief, and quickly bid her goodbyes before running off.

Johnny didn't have much to pack, the heaviest thing he owned was probably the blow up mattress, but soon realized Robin and Lewis had already set up sleeping arrangements for him.

"So well for the mattress.." he scoffed as he set his stuff on the nearby table.

Deciding to take a stroll through town, he decides to leave the introductions for later, he needed some quiet time.

(Event)

Runs in Leah and Haley, who were hanging out near the river, taking photos with Haley gossiping about drama in the nearby town, Leah quietly listening as she whittles a small figurine.

Significant dialogue

"Yknow if it werent for the clothes you might actually be cute" before Leah could say anything to the rude girl Johnny pipes in

(Insert something funny Johnny says)

(After the event)

After the walk Johnny takes the path up near a ranch, where he sees a small child playing by herself, figuring her parents must be somewhere nearby, he moves along up to his farm.

The pathway up was covered in decaying logs and bushes, making it extremely difficult for the inexperienced man to get through, he eventually makes it though, and heads up to his home only with a few splinters and scratches.

Earlier he had planted the parnips Mayor Lewis gave to him, and so far everything looked okay with them. He never farmed before except for helping out his grandpa when he was younger, but he still wasnt sure what exactly he should be doing.

"Maybe I should check if theres a library.. there should be something there" he mumbled to himself as he dragged himself in the house. That would be a job for tomorrow however, the busride from Zuzu, the introduction to Lewis, Robin, Haley and Leah, planting and watering his first crop, plus the walk home; tired him out more than anything.

He lazily kicked off his boots, and climbed into the suprisingly comfy bed, he quietly hummed as he pulled the comforter over him, absorbing the comfort it gave him, despite the fact still wearing his t shirt and jeans, but thatd be a problem for tomorrow.

~~~~~

Very heavy wip I know, but once I get more written I'll make another update; in the meantime, my A03 account is Neon_toast !

[noro-noro-noro]

oh yeah the dream i had earlier had a lot in it! however i woke up like 9 hours ago so it’s not as much. the gist is that we are having a nnormal time in an area and then there are zombie dogs.

me & my dad were the main characters, we were on some tour with a lot of people i knew in elementary school & their families. we were touring some kind of area. very specific i know. it was like outdoor? but also if the bonus room in my mom’s house was turned into a place. and the only part of the tour i really remember is that some girl wanted to get a photo of everybody! so she had us sit on some metal stadium bleachesr that were folded up & had everyone go in the back & prressed the button to extend it, but it extended like upside down& people were screaming & hanging on for dear life. behind the bleachers was like a dark foggy area. the girl was really embarassed even though it wasn’t really her fault, which is fair. 

we got on the bus & were driving away, & as we got further away we could see the world was split up into large squares that had totally different vibes - the one we were touring was sunny & kind of sporty, & then there was the area that awas like a giant version of the upstairs of my mom’s house, & a little further away was the evil mud mist area. i remembered “hey after i graduated college, i ran away & lived in there for a year since i didn’t know what i wanted to do. i had all the memories come back in - the mud was cold & the mist was cold, & i was having the time of my life squatting around some shitty fire in some camp i made & splsashing around in the mud. however, then i got scared & retreated into a hole i dug when some distant ominous bell was ringing - the area was kind of like an abandoned farm. there was a big farmhouse that was absolutely 100% haunted full of evil ghosts. 

the bus turned into a car & there was some girl driving me & one other person to my mom’s house at night. there was a big sad dog in the backseat with us & i was like aww doggy & was patting him, but the driver was like is there a dog in my car?? that’s not my dog. it’s not safe that’s not my dog get him out of here so i was like “ok dog get out of the car” but it didn’t want to go! so i shoved it & it went out of the car & i closed the door &7 it turned into some skinless meat creature with huge teeth. it was really nasty looking, like he was mostly naked except for raggy chunks of skin & all his muscles were sopping oozy & there were like weird lesions & shit. so like typical horror movie fare. more kept running out of the trees. they kept trying to run in front of the car to slow us down & give the others a chance to tear the thing apart, but the driver dodged most of them except the last one, but we just thumped over it. 

then we got to the street corner where you make a right turn & go down there (my bus stop used to be there in middle school!) & then suddenly it was top down aerial view like you were dropping in fortnite into some quaint colorful cartoon town. i found the parents of the person whose body i was inhabiting & managed to land in there. mom was making pancakes! she created 2 blue tier Tasty Pancakees & 1 green tier Pancake. then the interior of the house started disappearing piece by piece until we were in a small restaurant with glass windows instead. the chef looked like this >:( very intense lines. he had yellowish gray skin & stomped outside to go buy more ingredients from across the street. there were dogs outside still disguised as regular dogs, trying to opent he doors with their jaws & poking their faces in. i told the person’s mom to lock the doors & not to let any dogs in, & we did, but eventually they got to people & the people were like that too. we had front row seats due to the glass windows! eventually the chef came back, but he was one of them now & he tried to open the door, broke the window & reached for us. he grabbed one of us but i remembered - oh right i’m the alice of the universe! so i can just say the magic words & it’ll take me back to safety.

it only took me & 2 othe rpeople though - the person who was grabbed was alice’s vessel’s mom though or smth so i felt guilty about it. anyway wonderland was the upstairs of my mom’s house from earlier in the dream, except in a more roughly painted style, as if i was in a cutscene or something. the old TV shelf we used to have was up there, & turning it on overlaid a kind of shimmery blue & pink filter on everything. anyway that’ss all

[themidnightcrimson]

Hayloft. | w. maximoff

summary: in which nat takes you to her friend wanda’s farm where you find that a hayloft makes a great place for company.

warnings: top!wanda, strap-on (r receiving), bondage, choking

this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.

masterlist.

It was only for a few days, you kept telling yourself. Natasha's words rung in your ears as she drove the car down a narrow dirt road. It was blistering hot and deathly dry out in the country, which caused a curtain of dust to billow up around the car that was bumping over the many potholes and stray rocks.

"She's an old friend, and I told her I would come visit her once I came back home," Natasha said, sitting up and looking over the steering wheel to avoid any potholes. The tires of the car went right over one anyways, and she pursed her lips in frustration.

"An old friend, huh?" you echoed, looking over at the redhead and raising your eyebrows suggestively.

Nat glanced over at you before rolling her eyes. "She may go that way, but I don't."

"Your college days beg to differ," you argued, referencing the many times that Nat, who was your roommate and your first friend in college, would be found making out with girls at frat parties.

"Give me a break," she scoffed, leaning back in her seat and giving up on trying to navigate the bumpy road that her sports car could barely make down. "Wanda was my best friend in high school. We were practically sisters."

"I don't think being related would make much of a difference down here," you muttered, turning to look out the window at the large mountains. You knew Nat was from a small town, but this ranch was located thirty miles outside of that down, deep in the Wundagore Mountains where there was nothing but fields and hills and cattle. You'd passed maybe one vehicle since turning off the highway and onto this blasted dirt road, and it was a dirty old pickup truck with a dirty old man who looked like he didn't know his left from his right.

You were officially out in the sticks, in the boonies, the boondocks, the absolute fuck-all middle of nowhere. As you glanced down to your phone, you realized that you had no service. You groaned and threw your head against the seat. "And remind me, dear Natasha, exactly why I had to come out here with you?"

Nat sighed, pursing her lips as she always did when she found something hard to say. "I don't want you to be alone." Her eyes glanced to you, filled with that knowing look of hers.

You quickly glanced away to stare through the window again. It was true, after all. You were a fresh graduate of college, and you had nowhere to go. Nat offered you to accompany her on her visit home so you wouldn't be alone as you figured out what it was you were going to do with your life. The option was to either stay at Nat's where her younger sister, Yelena, practically verbally abused you, or to go with Nat to visit her friend Wanda, who clearly wanted to be sure that no one would ever know she was alive.

"Did she always live all the way out here?" you questioned, glancing to a distant hill where you could see a little ranch nestled at the top. Somehow, you knew that was where you were going.

"No, she used to live in town. Her parents died when she was young, and she was fostered by a couple families around town until she turned 18. She had a twin, too. But then after he..." Nat trailed, clicking her tongue. "We had just graduated high school when Pietro died. I chose to go to college, and Wanda chose to isolate herself forever." Nat sighed, shaking her head. "I begged her to come with me, but Wanda was always a very stubborn individual."

"Wonder where she got that from," you drawled, rolling your eyes to Natasha who only punched your arm.

You knew you were right about the distant farm being the one you were headed to when Nat turned into its long, even bumpier dirt driveway. She could barely see where she was going as dust flew around the car, and you squinted to make sight of something through the dust. Suddenly, through a clearing in the dust, you saw something that at first startled you.

A tall figure stood way out in the field around what looked like crops. They were standing so still at first you thought it was a scarecrow, but as the dust cleared you made them out more clearly.

It was a woman standing in the row of a crop field. The silhouette of her black cowboy hat moved as she raised her head upon hearing the sound of the car, and somehow you felt her eyes connect with yours even from so far away. She was wearing a white tank top which was clearly dirty along with some dirty jeans, her toned and tan arms flexing as she reached up to take the hat off by its top, her other arm holding a rake. You could see redness on the tops of her shoulders, undoubtedly blistered from the bright sun shining down on her. Sweat glistened off her chest as she wiped sweat from her forehead, finally lowering her arm to reveal dirty blonde hair that sat right above her shoulders, swooped back from being under her hat.

Wanda stuck the rake in the ground on front of her, crossing her wrists over one another on the handle of the rake and leaning on it. She squinted in the sun, and you noticed a smile on her face as she realized it was Nat's car.

Your heart fluttered in your chest. Nat hadn't told you that her friend was shockingly hot, even with her simple dirty tank top and jeans. You'd never cared for the country style, being someone from a big city, but something about the way her large belt buckle shone in the sun made your lungs stop working properly.

Wanda tossed the rake upwards and caught it, placing the hat back over her head as she began walking towards the car as Nat pulled it to the front of a quaint little farmhouse with a wraparound porch. Windchimes hanging from the porch chirped as a soft breeze blew through them, a tiny windmill sitting on top of the house whirring in a circle. A few trees, admittedly beautiful, offered shade over the house, and you noticed a large barn and a few other little shacks behind it. What caught your eye the most was a chicken walking on the front porch.

"Nat, please for the love of God get me out of here," you gasped, already panicking and feeling shut out from the world. "I'd rather have Yelena practice karate on me than be here with fucking chickens! Look! There's a fucking chicken on the porch!"

"Y/n, y/n, calm down," Nat said as she turned the car off and turned to you. "It's just for a few days, and I promise you that Yelena would end up killing you if you stayed alone with her. Would you rather be dead?"

Your eyes slid to the chicken again before back to Nat. "Yes."

Nat rolled her eyes and sighed. "Please, y/n, stop being so judgmental. I know we're in backwards country, but Wanda isn't like that."

You turned to watched the woman who was nearing the car, swinging the rake in her hands while her boots kicked at the dirt. "Are you sure about that?"

Nat rolled her eyes. "One day. Just give it one day, and you if you feel like you're going out of your ever-loving mind after one day, I'll drive you back to my place myself. Alright?"

You stared hard at her, and you could see that she really wanted you to stay. Maybe she was nervous to see her friend again after so many years, and she needed you as much as you needed her.

You sighed in defeat, and Nat grinned. As she unbuckled her seatbelt, you did the same while remarking, "She doesn't have guns, does she?"

Nat hesitated, looking thoughtful for a moment before shrugging and quickly opening the door before you would demand that she tell you. You opened your mouth to do just that, but she was already slamming the door shut.

"Nat!" Wanda exclaimed, jogging towards the car as Nat circled it. You watched her laugh as Nat grabbed her in a tight hug, Wanda setting the rake down on the ground. Her cowboy hat tipped upwards as Nat hugged her, and she patted the redhead's back, obviously happy to see her but still not very affectionate.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly stepped out of the car, immediately seeing Wanda's eyes dart to you. Even under the shade of her hat, they were bright green, and they looked just as puzzled to see you as you were puzzled about her. You awkwardly stood there as Wanda let go of Nat and looked you up and down as if you were an alien.

"Who's this, Nat?" Wanda asked. She didn't have a hick accent like you'd expected her to, but rather a soothingly deep voice with just an edge of a twang laced in her words. It was shockingly elegant.

Nat turned to you with a sheepish smile. "Oh, this is y/n. We met my first year at the college and have been roommates ever since."

Wanda continued to size you up and down, as if she couldn't figure out what species you were. You were about to notify her that you were, in fact, human, until Nat quickly began explaining why she had brought a total stranger to her farm.

"She doesn't really... I mean, she's staying with me," Nat explained in the best way she could without making you seem like a pity case. "And you know how Yelena is, so I thought it best if y/n came with me... here." Wanda looked at Nat wordlessly, which urged Nat to keep rambling. "If that's not okay with you, I can totally just drive her back—“

Wanda waved her hand in the air to shush Nat. "No, it's fine, Nat. A friend of yours is a friend of mine." She gave a tight smile as she glanced back to you, obviously feeling uncomfortable by your presence. There was a glint in her squinted green eyes that made a chill run down your spine. You felt like a deer in headlights, completely frozen under her stare until she said, "Is she mute?"

Your cheeks brightened in embarrassment, but you somehow still could not find the formation of any syllables. Nat furrowed her brows at you. "Not that I remember."

"Sorry," you blurted, "I'm just a little... overheated," you said bashfully, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on your forehead from something other than the sun. "It's, uh, nice to meet you."

Wanda placed her hands in her pockets, eyeing you from under her hat. "Where ya from?"

"A long ways from here," you responded with a nervous laughter that was cut off when the chicken that had been on the porch was suddenly walking right in front of you. You gasped in surprised and jumped backwards away from the bird.

Nat tried to hold her laughter, and while Wanda found some amusement in her reaction, she had already sniffed out the city in you. "Ain't never seen a chicken before?" she lulled, hooking her thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans and tilting her head at you.

"Only in nugget form," Nat answered for you, brushing past you and giving you a discreet pinch on the arm to tell you to stop being so weird. She went to the trunk of the car and popped it open, and Wanda followed after her, eyeing you with much more disdain now that Nat wasn't looking. Her look was borderline offensive, and you didn't know whether to feel upset that she obviously didn't like you already, or angry that she was judging you so quickly when you felt you should be the one judging her.

Nat pulled her suitcase out of the trunk, and you went to take yours out, too, but Wanda pulled it out before you could. "Wouldn't want you to break a nail," she remarked with a smirk that immediately imbued you with agitation.

Using one muscular arm to easily hold your rather large and overfull suitcase, she used her other arm to slam the trunk closed. Nat just smirked at you as she and Wanda began lugging the cases towards the house. "Better get used to her humor, y/n. Wanda's heartless, but she means well."

Wanda gave you a smoldering gaze, her jaw clenching. You could see the shadow of dirt across her cheek, probably from working outside, and there was a general sense of grime to her appearance. Nonetheless, there was something helplessly attractive about the way she carried your suitcase up the porch steps and through the screen door of the farmhouse.

You stayed put beside the car, eyeing the little house that seemed to creak simply under the weight of the gentle breeze. You didn't want to go in, but there was something pulling you after Wanda. Your strange sense of existential crisis was startled by the chicken who suddenly fluttered right at your feet. You gasped and jumped away, hightailing it up the porch steps. You turned before entering the door to point at the chicken and mumble, "Stay the fuck away from me." The chicken blinked and cocked its head at you dumbly.

+

Wanda's little farmhouse offered only two bedrooms and a tiny bathroom, so it looked like you were going to have to share a bed with Nat. It wouldn't be the first time you were sharing a bed, given that you had been roommates for years and sometimes, on hard nights, you'd wake up with Nat sprawled across your mattress from having snuck in there in the night. Your biggest issue with it was how much Nat moved in her sleep. You still had a scar on your arm from her pushing you right off the bed in her sleep, resulting in you on the floor and your arm scratched from the edge of the nightstand.

By the time you had taken a nap, with Nat sprawled over you, and gotten rather settled into your little room, Wanda had cooked up dinner for the three of you. You followed Nat into the kitchen where a tiny round, beaten-up, wooden table with three mismatching chairs sat around it. Wanda was putting the food on the table, still in the pots and pans it was cooked in. She was serving cube steak with mashed potatoes, greens, cornbread, and some strange fried things that you couldn't make out.

Wanda looked much cleaner now, obviously having taken a shower, and her hair was still slightly wet. She wore a black t-shirt tucked into a nicer pair of jeans, but she still had those dirty boots on. A silvery cross necklace sat on her chest, but you had a feeling it was sacrilegious.

"God, I have missed your cooking," Nat exclaimed as she quickly sat down at the table, grabbing a plate and slopping a big spoonful of potatoes onto it. Wanda chuckled as she sat down, finally taking off her hat and setting it on the floor beside her chair.

"Sweet tea?" Wanda offered Nat, who nodded eagerly, before pouring the iced sweet tea from the pitcher into Nat's glass. She glanced to you and paused, raising the pitcher up slightly in offerance.

"No, thanks," you murmured with a tight smile, still off-put from earlier. You took your plate and filled it with the food that admittedly looked really good, but when you got to the fried things, you had to ask, "What is that?"

Already halfway through her cornbread, Nat glanced to what you were pointing. "Fried green tomatoes," she answered through her mouth full.

"There's such thing as green tomatoes?" you questioned, and a wave of silence dropped over the table. You looked between the two who both were staring blankly at you, but when they slowly looked towards each other, they suddenly burst out laughing as soon as their eyes met. "What?!" you exclaimed.

"Nothing," Nat laughed, taking a sip of her tea to keep from choking on her food.

As much as you wanted to join in on their laughter, you felt like you were being made fun of, which was a feeling you hated. Your face burned red, and you suddenly lost your appetite.

"You weren't kidding when you said you're from a long ways from here," Wanda mentioned as she sighed from all her laughter.

Something inside you ticked. Your face got red all over, from both the humidity in the house and from Wanda's indiscreet mockery of you to which Nat kept playing along without defending you. Was that why she brought you here? Comical relief? To be the butt of all their jokes?

"You're right," you snapped, taking your glass of water and bringing it to your lips. "Where I'm from people actually know how to read and write," you said before taking a sip of your water. Through the glass you watched Wanda's lucid green eyes meet yours. You swallowed and continued, "And they don't wear cowboy hats or live in the middle of the fucking mountains, and they also don't have fucking chickens walking around their front yard!"

With that, you scooted up from your chair, letting the rickety old thing fall right over onto the floor before you stormed away to you and Nat's tiny little room. Slamming the door shut behind you, you plopped onto the bed and buried your face in your hands.

You were surprised when Nat came rushing after you. You'd assumed she would stay in there with Wanda and continue making fun of you when you weren't even present.

"Y/n," she sighed, closing the door and coming to sit down next to you on the tiny bed that creaked and dipped way too low under your weights. "I shouldn't have brought you here."

"No shit," you snapped, rubbing circles into your forehead.

"Wanda doesn't work well with other people. She's very... territorial, and I should have asked her if it was okay that I bring you with me," Nat breathed, rubbing her hands together.

"Sorry for being such a burden," you murmured, and the emotion in your own words made tears well in your eyes.

Nat immediately looked to you with wide eyes. "Don't say that. Don't say that, y/n." She hooked her arm around you and pulled you closer to her. "You've never been a burden, and you never will be," she spoke into your hair as you wrapped your arms around her torso. She knew what had happened with your parents, and she knew how sensitive you were feeling these days, especially about matters like this one.

Even Wanda, who stood outside the door overhearing the interaction, felt a pang of guilt in her chest. She hadn't meant to be rude to you, but she wasn't fond of new people. Every new person in her life always went out in tragedy, and the last thing she needed was tragedy. That was why she isolated herself out in Wundagore and never went into town and never talked to another soul. She wanted to be alone. She needed to be alone. But something about you made her want someone like you around, and the realization of that made her feel deeply lonely for the first time in years. You were pretty, and sexy, and what little glimpse she got of your smile, it was to die for. It was only Wanda's instinct to push away those she wanted near, but maybe she had gone too far.

+

You were close to strangling Natasha by the time night came. She was even more active and clingy that night, constantly rolling over on you and slapping her hand over your face. You kept having to push her off, and push every single blanket off due to how unbearably hot it was in the house. There was no central air conditioning, apparently. There was only the squeaky little ceiling fan that was too obnoxiously loud for you to sleep anyway.

You had even stripped your pajama shorts and wore only a t-shirt and underwear, but it wasn't enough. The back of your hair was becoming matted with sweat, and you desperately needed to flee the bed before you kicked Nat right onto the ground out of spite.

Jumping up, you waltzed out of the little room and through the house, needed some fresh air in your lungs. By the time you made it onto the porch, you grabbed the railing and leaned over it, gasping as if you had been holding your breath. Somehow, it was a little calming outside. There was a cool breeze, the sound of crickets and cicadas chirping nocturnally, and other than that, complete silence. Maybe there was a reason people wanted houses out in the middle of nowhere, albeit much nicer than this shack and minus the chickens. The city could be overwhelming and suffocating, admittedly.

As you listened to the quiet, you heard something tapping from behind the house. All the scary movies that took place in the woods started coming back to you, and you slowly lined the railing of the porch to the very edge where you peered over to look behind the house. In the dark, you couldn't make out anything at first, until a strange dark blob came rolling down the hill behind the house. You squinted, and as the figure came into the moonlight, you realized it was Wanda sitting atop a beautiful, black horse. The horse's coat was glossy under the light of the moon which also shone down over Wanda's hat and the side of her jaw. She noticed you immediately, slowing the horse down and trotting leisurely towards the stables.

Why was she out there in the middle of the night on a horse? Where had she gone? When did she even leave?

You couldn't help but let curiosity get the best of you when Wanda put the horse up in the stables and started walking towards you, holding a long rope and tying it in a loop around her hand.

"Going riding at night clears my head,” she explained upfront. “Is somethin' wrong?" she asked you as she came closer to the porch, her accent coming out stronger. Something about it made you stiffen.

She was so cool and collected, waltzing up in her jeans and tucked-in black shirt with her black hat low over her eyes, a jean jacket resting over her lean shoulders. You had previously thought the look she'd been giving you the whole trip was one of malice or judgement, but there was something else in those emeralds. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on, but it made your brain buffer.

"Um, no," you finally answered as she started walking around the side of the porch towards the front steps. As she did, you watched her eyes lower and slip to the side, catching sight of your bare thighs and legs through the railing. You had forgotten that you were not wearing pants, and you felt sheepishly exposed. When she looked away to walk up the steps, you tugged the shirt down as low as it could possibly go.

Wanda looked down to the rope in her hand as she slowly walked towards you, her boots hitting the wooden porch in heavy footsteps as the end of the rope trailed up the steps behind her. You grew uneasy at first as she came weirdly close to you, but she moved to lean against the railing, crossing one pointed-toe boot over the other as she continued tying the rope up in a circle.

You leaned against the wall of the house right across from her, crossing your legs like hers. She glanced up at you from under her hat for a fleeting moment before her eyes fell again.

"I didn't mean to make you upset today," she muttered, undoing a bit of the rope before tying it back up again. You watched the way her strong, veiny hands moved. "I s'pose I'm just not good with strangers," she said, chewing the inside of the her cheek.

"It's fine," you said quietly, twirling your thumbs around one another awkwardly.

She glanced up at you, clearly unsure of your acceptance of her apology. "Nat didn't tell me much besides that you don't have anywhere else to go."

A hot wave of embarrassment passed over you, but you waited for her to continue. Her eyes fell again, and it was obvious she was unfamiliar with the act of talking about her feelings.

"I just..." she began, uncrossing her legs to stand up straighter. "I know how it feels." Her eyes met you again, and there was no malice or judgment in them. "I really do."

You remembered Nat telling you about Wanda's parents and brother, and you realized she probably had it even worse off than you. At least you had a friend to rely on, but Nat hadn't even visited Wanda in years, ever since her brother died.

Wanda tossed the rope to the corner of the porch, rubbing the palms of her hands that were coarse from handling the rope. As she moved, the silver cross necklace jumped forward before swinging against her chest again, glinting under the moonlight.

It caught your eye, and it somehow made you smile. "I guess religion is about all anyone can look forward to out here?"

Wanda glanced up at you with a look of confusion before she looked down to her necklace. Instantly, she chuckled. "I'm no Christian, darling," she spoke, looking at you with a crooked, humored smile across her lips. You noticed how soft and pink they were, how her jaw clenched when she smiled just right. Her smile faded softly, like a setting sun. "It was my brother's."

You felt stupid and rude for asking the question, but you would feel even stupider and ruder if you apologized. So you just nodded, looking down at your feet and thinking about what little Nat told you about Wanda's brother. In fact, all she said was that he was dead.

"What happened?" you blurted without even thinking.

Wanda seemed to freeze. Her lips pursed as she stared thoughtfully at the ground. "He was always the cool twin, and I was the weird one." She laughed through her nose as reminiscence crossed her features. "While I was smoking cigarettes behind the school with Nat, he was doing track. My God, was he fast." She grinned, looking to the side as she mindlessly twirled the silver cross in her fingers. "He had a scholarship and everything. He was going to one of them big universities to run for 'em—biggest thing anyone around here could do." She paused, taking a deep breath as you watched a film of moisture well in her eyes. "After graduation, we went to a party. A big one. Everyone within 60 miles was there, and a fight broke out. People were pulling guns out. Pietro got between them to mediate it, as he always did, and..." You caught a tremble in her lip. "He got in the way." She could barely get the words out, quickly turning away from you to grab the porch railing and lean on it, lowering her head. Finally, she whispered, "No one saw it coming."

You didn't know why, but tears welled in your eyes. There was something about Wanda, whom you had just met, whose pain radiated off her. You could feel it seeping through your bones like a cold hug. You didn't know this woman. So far, she'd been mean to you. But your heart tugged for her.

Stepping forward, you first placed a hand on the back of her shoulder. Although you were gentle, she jumped at the feeling. Your hand slid down to her waist, and you brought your other hand to the other side, and wrapped your arms around her, pressing your face against the denim on her back. She was completely stiff in your arms, having not received affection since... well, she couldn't even remember since when.

Wanda's first instinct was to push you off, to kick you off her farm, but something inside her melted. She eased, leaning into your touch and fluttering her eyes closed. Finally, she turned around in your arms, looking down at you. You were so close to her now, you could really see how beautiful she was.

Without warning, Wanda grabbed your face and pressed her lips against yours. You gasped at the suddenness, barely able to kiss her back before she pulled away. "Sorry," she breathed, "Can I kiss you?"

You blinked at her before chuckling, to which she grinned. "Yes," you whispered, and she bit her lip for a moment before pulling you in for a much softer kiss. Her lips were heavenly against yours, her hands holding your face tightly. She kissed you slowly at first, waiting for you to pull away or tell her to stop, but you didn't. In fact, you found yourself filled with desire, grabbing her by her belt loops and pulling her closer to you. The rim of her hat was sitting right on top of your head, and so you reached up and slowly took it off her. You finally moved away from the kiss, taking a few steps back as you placed her hat on your head. It was too big for you, falling right over your eyes which made Wanda chuckle through her heavy, bothered breaths. You tilted the hat upwards so you could see as you leaned against the house.

Wanda's eyes devoured you. You looked so sexy in her hat, not to mention your bare thighs looking more irresistible than ever. She licked her lips, eyes darkening. "Come to my room," she husked, a command rather than a question.

As much as you wanted to, Nat was sleeping in the room right next to Wanda's, and you weren't sure how Nat would feel about you sleeping with her old best friend on your very first night of the visit. "Nat's in there," you whispered to her, but she already had another idea in her mind.

A few minutes later, you found yourself in the barn, climbing the ladder to the hayloft. Wanda was ahead of you, crawling onto the loft before leaning over and reaching her hand out to help you up. You were almost to the top when you felt yourself slipping, so you quickly reached out for her hand. She grabbed your wrist and pulled you up surprisingly easily, so easy that you came up way too fast and ended up falling right over her lap.

Wanda tumbled back from the force, and you grabbed onto her shoulders for balance. You were straddling her now, and more desire burned in Wanda's eyes as she slowly sat up and placed her hands over your hips.

"It's dark," you whispered, looking around at the little loft which you couldn't make out. Wanda leaned over and clicked something on the wall, and just a moment after, you watched a little electric lantern glow to brightness, casting an orange light in the resemblance of fire over the hayloft. You looked down to see that it was a shockingly small space, with creaky wooden floorboards littered with straws of hay. There was a large, maroon knitted blanket resting in the center of the loft, along with a pillow.

You looked to Wanda curiously. "I sleep up here sometimes," she explained, "When the house gets too lonely."

"Right, because cows and horses are the best company," you laughed, leaning over to see the cattle down on the ground level of the large barn. You couldn't believe that you were about to get fucked in a barn, but it became easier to believe when you felt Wanda's hands pulling your shirt up.

You lifted your arms and let her pull the pajama shirt over your head, revealing yourself to her. The cool night air hardened your nipples, but Wanda wasted no time in warming them up with her mouth. She wrapped her lips around one of them and sucked while her hand squeezed the other one roughly. Your breath stuttered as you moved your hands through her hair, arching your chest to her mouth. While she was gentle, she nipped you rather hard, causing you to jolt.

It had been a long time since you'd had sex. Whether it was that or Wanda being an expert, she was making you feel so good at only second base.

Eventually, you were growing so flustered that you started to grind your hips down on her, signaling that you wanted more. When you did, you found something hard in her jeans that made you shudder. She bucked her hips up towards yours, letting you grind right against her strap.

"You like that, darling?" she whispered, yanking your hips downwards to roll over her.

"Yes," you breathed, feeling completely overwhelm with lust. You needed her to fuck you right then or else you felt you would explode.

Wanda pressed another kiss to your breast before she wrapped her arms around you and leaned forward, gently laying you on your back on the soft blanket. As she leaned up, she reached up to the wall and grabbed something. Before you could look up, you felt her grab your wrists and start tying them together with something. Slightly panicking, you looked up to see that she had taken a braided leather bullwhip off the wall and was now tying your wrists together with it.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she had already tied them tightly and was now hastily taking off her jacket while eyeing you lustfully. As uneasy as it was, you found it extremely sexy. Once she had thrown her jacket to the floor, she grabbed the hem of your panties and ripped them off you, tossing them to the side. She was being much rougher than you had expected her to. She seemed like she would be the gentle giant type, but she was not being gentle in any way.

"I've been wanting to fuck the attitude out of you since you got here," she murmured as she leaned up again and started to undo the buckle of her belt. You could feel yourself throbbing in need for her, as careless as she was being. "From the moment you stepped out of that car I just needed to put my cock inside you."

She unzipped her jeans and tugged them down just enough to pull out her large strap-on dildo that was bigger than anything you'd taken before. She stroked it for a moment before she leaned down, placing her hand near the side of your head. "Don't make too much noise, darling. Don't want the coyotes to hear us."

With that, she roughly pushed herself inside you, immediately stretching out your unused hole. Your mouth flew open, and you had the instinct to grab at her, but you remembered your hands were tied together above your head. She grunted and watched her cock disappear inside you to the very hilt, until the tip was pushing past your cervix and your eyes were rolling to the back of your head. She moved her hips in a slow circle to push her cock around inside you, and by the look on her face you could tell the strap was double-sided.

You were so filled up that you could hardly think clearly as she pulled out before slamming back in again, the stretch burning even more the second time. You let out a whine when she started to fuck you with a steady pace, making sure to stuff every inch of herself inside your little pussy.

After a few moments, the haze in your head started to clear, and the stinging died away, and you could feel her thrusting up against your g-spot. She was grabbing at your thighs and pushed them upwards to reach an even deeper spot inside you, putting you in a position where you were basically folded, with your knees pressed against your chest. The metal of her belt was digging into your inner thigh, the coarse fabric of her jeans sliding painfully against your ass with her every thrust.

She was fucking you like a pure animal, pounding into you so hard and fast that your breasts were bouncing with each thrust. Her grunts filled your ears, and your moans filled hers. Your wetness was dripping down the back of your legs, causing for a wet, sloshing sound to fill the loft. The lantern flickered, and you realized you had your eyes closed the whole time.

When you opened them, the sight alone was enough to cum. Wanda was hovering over you, a look of pleasurable frustration clear on her face. Sweat was accumulating on her forehead, and her chain necklace was swinging right over you.

Wanda's hands found your breasts, fondling them as she continued to rail you. She was getting so deep that you could feel her in your stomach, and you were getting so close to climax.

"Thought it'd be a lot harder to get in your pants," Wanda remarked, throwing her head back as she started to come close, as well. "I didn't think Nat made friends with sluts." Her hand moved to your throat, wrapping tightly around it. "Take my cock like the whore you are, darling. That's it. Feels so deep and nice, doesn't it?"

She was choking you hard now, and you opened your mouth to gasp for breath. Yet you were still moaning as she started to fuck you even harder.

"Maybe you should stay here and be my personal little fleshlight," she husked, smirking down at you. "Be nothing but a pussy for me to fuck every day. Do you like the sound of that, darling?"

You could only let out a whine as your vision blurred. So much pressure was building inside you, and when Wanda's thrusts started to become sloppier, signaling that was about to cum, you couldn't stop the hard orgasm that crashed into you. You moaned out loud as you came, your pussy throbbing and pulsing around her cock that was slowing down but still fucking you through your orgasm.

Wanda let out grunts of pleasure as she came, pushing herself as deep into you as possible to the point where it was painful. She pushed her face into your neck and bit down sharply as her own orgasm crashed through her. Her hand was gripping the blanket under you so hard that her knuckles were pure white.

"Fuck," she mumbled into your neck, her teeth releasing your sensitive skin. You were trembling all over, never having been fucked so hard or came so hard in your entire life. You'd had plenty of lovers in college, but you didn't expect some girl on a farm to fuck you better than all of them.

Wanda slowly pulled out and tucked her wettened strap back into her pants before zipping them up. Her face was flushed and sweaty as she buckled her belt. The loft now smelt like sex, and you felt dizzy as you slowly sat up.

"Better get back to bed," Wanda told you as she found your shirt and underwear and handed them to you. "Before Nat realizes you're gone."

You took your clothes and slowly started to put them on as she watched you, chewing the inside of her cheek as a smirk passed her lips.

+

You woke late the next morning, for obvious reasons. The smell of breakfast led you into the kitchen where Nat and Wanda were eating at the table. Wanda's eyes caught yours as soon as you entered the room, and if it weren't for the soreness between your legs, you would've forgotten about the escapade and only remembered by the look in her eyes.

"Are there any wild animals around here?" Nat questioned, biting into a piece of bacon as you sat down in the chair beside her.

Wanda was chewing on toast when she answered. "Sure. It's the mountains; of course there's wild animals." She slowly stopped chewing. "Why do you ask?"

Nat shook her head as she took a sip of her orange juice. "I just kept hearing weird noises last night. Like grunts or something." She shrugged. "Maybe it was just the chickens."

Wanda nearly spit out her orange juice, and you had to hide your face to keep from laughing. You caught each other's eye, and you watched a knowing smile slowly spread across her face.

Maybe you could get used to the country life.

[call-memissbrightside]

Katsuki Bakugou knew you were home based on the coffee your mama brewed that morning. It’s sweeter than the bitter drink he and the other farm hands are use to. One sip and his teeth ache. You liked that sweet shit, and your daddy would tolerate it because you were his little girl. Katsuki drank it hot, feeling it burn all down to his stomach and he felt queasy.

“She came in last night,” your daddy said, patting him on the shoulder as he and the others chatted before the sun came out, a whole day of work ahead.

He grunted, face impassive but he was shitting bricks. Your mama gave him a reassuring smile, and he couldn’t help but imagine they too felt the awkward shift in the dynamic between him and their daughter.

Thankfully, you didn’t wake up for morning chores. Bakugou kept his red eyes steady on the main house, hoping to see any sign of you. For what? He didn’t know if he’d confront you or just ignore you like you’d done for months.

“You alright?” Kirishima asked during a water break, noting how the usual scowl on his best friends face was worsening as the hours dragged by.

Bakugou scoffed, “Just peachy.”

Everyone knows the story, it was hot gossip for months. Katsuki and you were high school sweethearts, dumbly in love. You were going away to city college, your dream for so long because before there was love, there was a need to escape that small town you were born and raised in.

He’d propose after graduation not knowing you accepted your admission, it was something you just couldn’t bring up because it’d upset him. He showed up on your front porch with a big fancy ring he’d save months of paychecks for. You’d come home to him on a ranch he’d been eyeing to buy and settle down while he took care of you and the family you’d build one day. He got your daddy’s blessing and your mama couldn’t be more excited to finally have him as a son, they already loved him like he was. He was shaking as he got down on one knee, excited but nervous.

You couldn’t look him in the eye when you said no, to give you more time before settling down.

His world collapsed after that. He couldn’t stick around and listen to your promises that you’d call and visit and still love him but from afar. Bakugou wanted you here, with him. He didn’t understand why you wanted to leave, to leave him. The night before you left for college, you tried one last time. You showed up late to his house, crying and begging to give you time to live before settling down. Katsuki didn’t even open the front door.

So, you left.

He expected to see you again for thanksgiving, or maybe Christmas but your parents would say that you were busy in school, that you didn’t have time to come home. He’d ease drop on your parents from time to time talking about you, which they always did because they were so proud of you. How you were in the big city, how you got a job that you loved, you were going to France for a study abroad trip. Bakugou could’ve found work elsewhere than your family’s ranch, but he saw how much overtime your daddy put to make sure you could afford your schooling and he just couldn’t leave.

The bitterness he had in his heart changed into guilt.

He was a jackass all those months before, and he knew the reason why you never came home was because of him.

When the work day was over, Bakugou walked back to the main house for dinner with his eyes low.

“Hey.”

He knew it was you, how could he forget your voice?

You were standing on the same porch you’d broke his heart on, still managing to take his breath away.

“I heard you were in France,” he said. Bakugou couldn’t look away. Your hair was longer, more wild. And your eyes were wide and rich, the same lips that haunted him were pulled back in a smile.

“C'est correct. Je suis heureux de vous voir.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrowed, a familiar scowl returning on his face.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Your giggle encapsulated his heart.

“It means ‘it’s good to see you’,” you reply.

Bakugou walked up the front steps, his boots hitting the wooden deck hard.

“Im glad you’re home,” he said in passing, holding the screen door open for you.

You walked into the house, before turning to look at him with a soft smile.

“Im glad too.”

[super-unpredictable98]

All Shook Up | Killing Bono AU

Chapter 1: Hello, Neighbors

Warning: Strong language, drugs and alcohol

(General Masterlist) | (All Shook Up Masterlist)

"Crying again, Joy?" Gloria huffed as she walked into the apartment. "Come on, it's been five months, if you didn't wanna move out of your parents' why did you come to London anyway?"

"I did wanna move out, I just didn't imagine it would be so hard," the girl wiped her tears with the collar of her shirt. "I just keep thinking I let them down you know? They wanted me to be a doctor or something, but now I'm a failed musician living with a failed actress..."

"Hey! Who are you calling failed actress?" She gasped. "Anyway, disappointing your parents to make your dreams come true is a part of life, everyone does it. Parents just like to shove their dreams onto their kids thinking they'll get to live through them, but that's not how it goes. Maybe one day you'll have your own kids and want them to be musicians, but they'll run with the circus or something."

"Wow, you really know how to comfort someone, Gloria."

"I don't exactly have time to comfort you right now, call your mom- actually no, don't call your mom, that'll make it worse. Talk to Karl, or the new neighbors, I don't care."

"Since when do we have neighbors?"

"Since today, a couple of guys pretending to be gay, but the older one wouldn't stop checking me out," Gloria laughed. "The younger one looked like a malnourished 14-year-old boy, but he was cute."

"A cute malnourished 14-year-old? Really?" Joy was finally able to smile for the first time that day.

"With curly hair too, you like guys with curly hair, right?"

"Stop, I'm not doing that, I have to focus on getting a job. I can't think of boyfriends now."

"Who said anything about boyfriends? I'm talking about sex."

"I don't wanna have sex with a curly-haired malnourished 14-year-old!"

"He's Irish too."

"Okay, I might think about it," she tilted her head.

"You're such a slut... Are you coming tonight? The party? I can't stay for long, but I think it'll be good for you. Nothing like getting drunk to forget about your stupid parents in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma."

Gloria wasn't wrong, Joyce was born in the middle of nowhere, on a watermelon farm in Oklahoma. Her parents got the farm from her grandparents, and that's how it had been for over five generations. 

Her brother, Lenny, would be the one taking over one day, so her parents had big plans for her. Going to the city, becoming a doctor, and marrying some rich guy to have lots of kids that would eventually work on the farm. 

That story wouldn't exist, though, if Joyce followed their plan. Truth is that rock had been running through her veins for as long as she could remember. 

Being the punk-rock princess she was, what better place to start her new life after graduating high school than London? The Beatles, David Bowie, Fleetwood Mac, Queen! Those were the people she wanted to be like, not a doctor who would one day die and have no one remember her name.

"Yeah, I'm going tonight."

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"Hey, Karl!" Gloria greeted as they entered the club. It was a completely new scene for Joyce, she had no idea what these people were about, but maybe it would be nice for her to forget about everything else and have fun for once.

"Hiiiii," Joy ran to give him a hug. 

"My favorite girls," Karl held her tightly. He knew how much she had been hurting ever since leaving her home and her country, so it made him happy to see her smile. "Meet your new neighbors."

"Hello neighbors," Gloria grinned in that charming way she always did.

"Hey, I'm Joyce, you can call me Joy," she studied both men. They were definitely trying to look extravagant... Both of them were handsome, the older one had an arrogance she couldn't get over, but the younger one didn't match at all the description Gloria gave her. 

He was a bit scrawny and baby-faced, yeah, but he was also incredibly cute. He looked like an angel almost, and his eyeliner only accentuated those beautiful green eyes he had. His smile could light up the entire town, or maybe it was his Irish lilt that had her hypnotized. Didn't matter, what mattered is that she was soooo happy she decided to come.

"You're American," the boy gave her the most innocent look. Oh, he's sweet, he's really sweet... she thought.

"What gave it away? Was it our accent?" Gloria teased.

"Sorry, this is Ivan, sometimes he acts like he lives in a field," the older introduced, clearly trying to impress the girls.

"Is there something wrong with living in a field?" Joy laughed uncomfortably. "I grew up there, it was pretty nice."

"N-no! That's just something we say back home, it's not like that!" 

"And this is Neil," Ivan smirked. "Sometimes he acts like a massive knobhead. I'm sorry."

Joy was left wondering why someone as nice as Ivan would be hanging around (and pretending to date) someone as presumptuous and stupid as Neil. 

"Gloria used to be in your game, the original punk rocker," Karl gestured toward her. "And little Joy is currently fighting for a record deal as well."

"Really?" Ivan's face lit up. "Do you play something?"

"I play the bass and sing sometimes... I'm looking for a band, but it hasn't happened yet."

"Neil! That's perfect! Joy can join our band!"

"Don't be stupid, we are the band," Neil scoffed.

"Back in Ireland we had more members," Ivan grumbled.

"And they all abandoned us like the massive twats they are, so now it's just us. And no offense, but we don't even know if she's good."

"You do know I'm still here, right?" Joyce muttered. "I would be more than happy to audition..."

"B-but you're a girl!" Neil yelped.

"Wow, thank you for pointing that out, I never noticed before," she shook her head before marching away, not wanting anyone to see how close she was to crying.

"You're such a fuckin' cock! She was sweet and you're a massive dickhead like always!" Ivan grumbled, following after her.

He tried to catch her attention, but the place was too noisy and he couldn't go after her in the girl's bathroom, where she entered to wash the back of her neck with cold water and hopefully calm down.

It was no news for Joyce that people in big cities were assholes, but from what she could tell, they were not from the big city. They were newcomers just like her, shouldn't they all help each other out? They needed musicians for their band, she was a musician looking for a band, was it really that much of a stretch?

The feeling of impending doom, that twisted sickly sensation in her stomach telling her that everything would always go wrong in her life and her dreams could never come true was getting too overwhelming and every day that doubt would grow more and more. Going back home and following the plan her parents imagined for her seemed to be her best option sometimes. 

"Why are you so stupid?" Joyce screamed at herself, staring in the mirror, fanning her eyes trying not to let her tears ruin her eyeliner that took at least fifteen minutes to perfect. 

"You aren't," a tiny voice came from the other side of the door.

"What?" She winced, thinking she had finally gone nuts from all of her delusions and stress.

"You are not stupid, he is."

"Ivan? How long have you been waiting?" She opened the door to find him leaning against the wall. "Oh, you have coke on your-"

The young man quickly wiped the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, most certainly cursing himself for looking like some junkie idiot in front of her. Great first impression... 

"I just wanted to say you are not the problem, that's just how Neil is sometimes. Most of the time. He likes things to be his way or no way, and that usually gets me fucked over somehow, he has the worst decision-making I've ever seen! I didn't even wanna come to London if I'm being honest. I had my friends, my family, I had a girlfriend. And now I'm here, without a job, pretending to be gay in a nightclub and doing drugs, my mum would kill me!"

Joyce couldn't help but laugh, which made Ivan laugh as well, happy to see her smile again. He seemed genuinely nice, she didn't understand how he could possibly be related to someone like Neil. It was the only explanation as to why they were hanging out together in the first place. 

"Why are you pretending to be gay?"

"We thought Karl would be more open... it would be easier to get the flat. He just assumed we were a couple and my brother didn't bother correcting him."

"If it makes you feel any better, I really like your look. It's really sexy, especially the makeup and the earring which-" she pulled it and it came off easily in her hand. "Yeah, I knew it was fake. Pity, it really suits you."

"What I heard from all this is that you think I'm sexy?" Ivan asked hopefully.

"You're all coked up, kinda drunk... I'm definitely not sleeping with you."

"Why not? Maybe a kiss? I can put the earring back, I'll even pierce my ears for real!" He pouted.

"It's not it," Joyce shook her head. "If we ever kiss or have sex, I'd want you to remember it and be fully aware of what you're doing."

"Jesus, you're really sweet..." he cried.

"Thanks, you are too. Or you might just be in comparison to your brother," she teased. "Also, Karl would've been fine knowing you're straight, he doesn't care. He's literally the nicest person I've met since I arrived in London."

Ivan narrowed his eyes in thought, an idea taking place in his mind. He never stood up to Neil, not when he stopped them from accepting help from Bono, not when he messed up their big gig, not when he dragged him to a whole new country against his will. Maybe it was time to take a risk. 

"You're gonna audition to join our band," he blurted out. "I don't give a shit, you're gonna audition. If you're bad, then fine, Neil is right. If you're good, you're gonna help us get where we need to be."

"What about-?"

"Don't worry about him, I'll deal with him later. I wanna hear you play, tomorrow night at our place."

"Sounds good," Joyce grinned, leaning against the wall next to him. "Thank you, Ivan. If you weren't on drugs, I'd definitely kiss you."

"I'll never do drugs again," he huffed a soft laugh. "Can't risk missing out on the chance... Would you at least dance with me? It's a start innit?"

She smiled even wider and hid her blushing cheeks behind her hands. Maybe, just maybe things could work out after all.

"Fine, I guess a dance wouldn't hurt anyone."

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