#the air just felt so familiar and i felt like a tall child it was just like mitski said

[fairycosmos]

polling Station today was in the nursery i attended as a child so i was really normal about that and definitely didn't tear up

[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. 

----

[theonottsbxtch]

Hiii I have a request for you. Can I pls have a princess!reader x Max Verstappen. Something happened (maybe like too much royal duties) and she had to get away for a bit. And she ran across Max and they ended up hanging out together. And then he made her feel normal so she kept sneaking out to see him.

Maybe you can make it a little angsty with a HEA pls.

Ps, I love your writing! Can I be 🐴 anon?

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT1 | MV1

an: thank you for this request and yes of course you can be 🐴 anon! i'm having way too much fun writing this and i've yapped my buttocks off, i'm already at 14k words so i'm going to split this into a few parts and i hope you enjoy it! <3

wc: 6.4K

The Princess had spent the evening pretending everything was fine. She’d smiled through the formal dinner, nodded politely at endless conversations, and held herself with the grace expected of her. But as the night wore on, the weight of it all pressed down on her chest like a tight corset, squeezing the air from her lungs. Every curtsy, every forced laugh, had added another layer to the suffocation.

By the time the palace halls had grown quiet, she couldn’t bear it any longer. She needed to get out—away from the golden chandeliers, the careful whispers, and the constant eyes that watched her every move. It felt like she was drowning in expectations, and the only way to breathe was to leave, even if just for a few hours.

The stables were her refuge. She’d discovered that long ago, as a child, when the pressures of the court were less heavy but still present, lurking in the background. Now, as she slipped into the stables’ cool shadows, she felt her heartbeat slow just a little, her muscles loosening in the familiar surroundings. The smell of hay and horses grounded her, bringing her a small sense of peace.

She walked softly, the thick, polished soles of her boots barely making a sound against the stone floor. The horses stirred as she passed, their gentle snorts and soft whinnies acknowledging her presence but not alarmed. She stopped for a moment by her favourite, Orla, a chestnut mare who nudged her shoulder affectionately. She stroked the mare’s mane, whispering a quiet apology for not taking her out tonight. Orla would understand; this wasn’t a night for riding.

Moving to the back corner of the stable, she crouched down and brushed away the loose straw to reveal a wooden panel in the wall. With a soft grunt, she pried it loose, the way she had done so many times before. This was her secret—a gap that led to the fields beyond the palace grounds. Not even her personal guards knew about it. She had discovered it as a young girl, slipping through the hole in search of adventure when the confines of the palace walls grew too small.

Now, that same urge pulled her through the narrow opening, but it wasn’t adventure she sought—it was escape. The cold air hit her face as she emerged on the other side, the smell of grass and earth filling her lungs. For the first time all night, she felt like she could breathe.

The field stretched out in front of her, wide and dark under the night sky. The moon hung low, casting a silvery glow on the tall grass that swayed gently in the breeze. She pulled her hood over her head, hiding her most definitely recognisable hair, and stepped forward. The ground was uneven beneath her feet, the soft squelch of mud and grass a welcome contrast to the polished marble floors of the palace.

As she walked, the palace grew smaller behind her, its golden lights dimming until it was just a distant glow on the horizon. She paused for a moment, turning back to look at it—a fortress of expectations and responsibilities. It felt strange to see it from here, like it was part of someone else’s life. Someone who wasn’t her.

Turning away, she continued across the field, when she saw it. A karting track lay just beyond the hill, the faint hum of engines already audible in the distance. She had heard the sounds many times before while sneaking out but had never been, the laughter and cheers carried on the wind, but had never dared to go closer. Tonight, though, something was different. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the desire to feel something other than the heavy weight of duty. She wasn’t sure. But tonight, she would go. She would see what it was like to be just... normal.

The lights of the track grew brighter as she crested the hill. From here, she could see the racers whizzing by in small go-karts, their faces blurred by speed and excitement. A group of people stood by the sidelines, watching, some laughing, some leaning against the fence with drinks in hand. It was a world apart from hers, and yet it called to her.

She lingered at the edge of the track, keeping her hood pulled low as she observed. No one paid her any attention, and that in itself was a relief. She wasn’t a princess here. She was just another person, another face in the crowd. The knot in her chest loosened slightly, the familiar ache of expectation easing.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice someone approaching until a voice broke through the hum of engines.

“First time?”

Startled, she turned to see a man standing beside her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He had a relaxed posture, his expression open and friendly, like talking to a stranger was the most natural thing in the world, but he too had a hoodie fully covering his face. His eyes were bright, but not with recognition. There was no flicker of surprise, no hint that he knew who she was. Just casual curiosity.

“Uh… yeah,” she replied, her voice hesitant. She tugged her hood a little lower, instinctively trying to hide.

The guy turned around and she could see his face properly, he was gorgeous as he smiled at her, a lopsided grin that was both easygoing and warm. “It’s fun,” he said, nodding towards the track. “You should try it.”

“I’m not really dressed for it,” She said, glancing down at her boots. They were sturdy but far from practical for something like this.

He shrugged, still smiling. “Doesn’t matter. Half the people out there don’t know what they’re doing either. It’s just for fun.” He paused, then added, “I’m Max, by the way.”

His name hung in the air for a moment, simple and unassuming. He didn’t ask for hers, didn’t press. It felt strange—refreshing, even. No titles, no formalities. Just... Max.

She hesitated, glancing at the track. The racers zoomed by, their shouts of excitement echoing in the cool night air. For a moment, she could almost imagine what it would feel like—no duties, no one watching, just speed and laughter. It was tempting. More tempting than she wanted to admit.

“I don’t know...” she started, but her words trailed off as Max leaned casually against the fence beside her, his posture easy and unbothered.

“No pressure,” he said, with a shrug that was so natural it almost made her laugh. “You can just watch if you want. But trust me, once you try it, you won’t want to stop.”

She looked at him, studying the relaxed set of his shoulders, the comfortable way he seemed to fit into this world. He didn’t have that tight, rigid way of standing that she saw in the palace—where everyone was always conscious of how they looked, of what others thought of them. Max was... easy. Uncomplicated.

It was such a stark contrast to the world she’d just left behind.

“Is it always like this?” she asked, her voice softer now, more curious than hesitant.

Max turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Just... fun.” She felt a little silly asking, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “Depends on who you ask. Some people get real competitive out here, but for most of us? Yeah, it’s just a way to blow off steam. No big deal.” He glanced at her, a hint of curiosity in his eyes now, though still no recognition. “You from around here? Never seen you at the track before.”

Her heart skipped a beat. For a second, she almost blurted out the truth, but the words caught in her throat. No, I’m not from here felt too close to I’m the princess of this country, and she wasn’t ready to give up her anonymity yet. Not here. Not when it felt so good to be invisible.

“I don’t get out much,” she said, keeping her answer vague. It wasn’t technically a lie.

“Figured,” Max said with a teasing grin. “You’ve got that ‘I’m-too-good-for-this-place’ look about you.”

She blinked, then laughed, the sound surprising even to her. It wasn’t the forced, polite laughter she had perfected for royal gatherings. This was real—spontaneous, like the feeling of breaking the surface after holding your breath for too long.

Max grinned wider at her reaction. “See? Already starting to loosen up.”

She shook her head, but she couldn’t stop smiling. She liked this—liked how easy it was to talk to him, how he had no idea who she was and didn’t seem to care. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she could just... be.

“I guess I could give it a try,” she said after a moment, surprising herself with her own words.

Max’s eyes lit up. “That’s the spirit! Come on, I’ll show you how it works.”

He led her towards the pit area, where a few go-karts sat idle, waiting for the next round. Her pulse quickened as they approached. The karts looked small, but the thought of actually getting in one and racing felt exhilarating—and a little terrifying. She had never done anything like this before. Her life was too controlled, too polished. But here, surrounded by the hum of engines and the laughter of people who didn’t care about titles or status, it was easy to forget all that.

Max handed her a helmet. “Here, put this on. And don’t worry—everyone’s a little nervous their first time. Once you get going, it’s a blast.”

She took the helmet, her fingers brushing against the cool surface. For a moment, she hesitated, the weight of her real life lingering at the back of her mind. But then she thought of the palace, of the endless duties and expectations that would be waiting for her when she returned. Tonight, she didn’t want to be a Princess. She wanted to be someone else. Even if it was just for a little while.

Slipping the helmet on, she pulled the strap tight and climbed into the kart. It felt strange, sitting so low to the ground, the engine rumbling beneath her like a living thing. Max knelt beside her, adjusting a few straps and showing her the pedals. His voice was calm, instructive, and for the first time in a long while, someone was teaching her something without being stiff or overly formal. She liked it.

“Alright,” Max said, standing up and giving her a thumbs up. “You’re all set. Just take it easy on the first lap—get used to the feel of it. After that, let loose.”

She nodded, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Her heart pounded in her chest as the flag waved and the others sped off, leaving her sitting still for a beat longer. But then she pressed down on the gas pedal, and the kart jerked forward, the wind rushing past her face.

At first, she was cautious, her fingers gripping the wheel tightly as the kart bumped along the track. But as she rounded the first corner and the engine roared, a spark lit inside her. The fear melted away, replaced by a thrill she hadn’t expected. The sensation of speed, of being in control of something that moved so fast—it was intoxicating.

She leaned into the next turn, feeling the kart glide smoothly along the curve, the tension in her shoulders easing. The wind whipped against her face, but she didn’t care. She laughed—loud and unrestrained, the sound swallowed by the night. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so free, so... alive.

Max was right. Once you started, it was hard to stop.

When she finally pulled back into the pit area, her heart was still racing, her breath coming in quick bursts. Max was waiting for her, his grin wide and approving.

“Well?” he asked, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the fence. “Not bad for a first-timer.”

She took off her helmet, her hair wild and her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t care. “That was... amazing,” she admitted, unable to stop smiling.

“See?” Max said, laughing. “Told you.”

For a moment, standing there with the wind still rushing through her hair and her body buzzing from the ride, she forgot who she was. She wasn’t the princess here. She wasn’t responsible for the weight of an entire country. She was just a girl, laughing at a racetrack with a guy who didn’t know her, and it felt... perfect.

She leaned against the kart for a moment, still catching her breath. Her pulse was racing, and not just from the speed. She couldn’t shake the pure, unfiltered exhilaration that had coursed through her veins. The feeling of freedom, of shedding the weight of expectations, even if only for a short time, was unlike anything she had felt in years.

Max was watching her with a casual smile, clearly amused by the joy lighting up her face. She caught her breath, realising how utterly at ease he seemed, as though this was his world and everyone else was just passing through it.

“Not bad, right?” he said, his voice still warm and relaxed.

“Not bad?” she laughed softly, shaking her head. “That was... incredible. I didn’t know something so simple could feel that good.”

“Simple?” Max grinned, looking genuinely entertained. “You’ve never been karting before, huh?”

She shook her head, wiping a loose strand of hair from her face. “No. Never.”

He leaned closer, his expression still friendly but with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “You really don’t get out much, do you?”

The question was casual, but it hit closer to home than she cared to admit. She shrugged it off, pulling her hood back over her head, as though it would somehow shield her from further questions.

“I guess not,” she said, her voice softer now.

Max nodded, seeming to accept that without prying. “Well, if you liked that, you’d probably love a real race. You ever watch Formula One?”

The mention of Formula One caught her off guard, and she shook her head. “No... not really my thing.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Really? You don’t even know any of the drivers?”

She could only smile awkwardly, realising that she had no idea how big of a deal Formula One was, let alone the names involved in it. “Nope. Can’t say I do.”

Max let out a soft laugh, as though the idea of someone not knowing about Formula One was a little unbelievable, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he smiled again, more to himself this time, and shrugged. “That’s refreshing, actually. You’re not missing much, anyway,” he added with a wink, making it sound like an inside joke she didn’t quite understand.

Just as she was about to respond, the faint chime of a clock echoed in the distance. It was so far away, nearly drowned out by the hum of engines, but it pierced through her, pulling her back to reality. She froze for a moment, the fun of the evening abruptly replaced by the realisation of what time it was.

“Oh no,” she muttered, standing up straight and glancing toward the palace grounds, hidden behind the field and trees.

“What?” Max asked, his brow furrowed.

She gave him a tight smile. “I should probably go. It’s... getting late.” She didn’t want to leave. Not yet. But she knew she had to.

Max studied her for a moment, his playful grin fading into something softer. “You sure? I can walk you back if you want.”

The offer was kind, but the last thing she needed was Max seeing the palace guards and connecting the dots. She could only imagine how complicated things would get if he found out who she really was. She shook her head quickly, hoping her refusal didn’t seem rude.

“No, thank you. I’m fine. Really.”

Max didn’t press, though something in his eyes told her he was still curious. “Alright,” he said with a small nod. “But hey, I’m gonna be in town for the next two weeks, so if you feel like sneaking out again, I’ll be here. Same time, same place.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. The idea of doing this again—of stepping back into this world where no one knew her, where she could just be—was more tempting than it should have been. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice soft but genuine.

She turned to leave, feeling the cool night air brush against her skin, but something made her glance back. Max was watching her, leaning casually against the kart with that easy smile, as though none of this was out of the ordinary. It was strange how comfortable she felt with him—a stranger—and how much she didn’t want to go.

“See you around, stranger,” Max called after her, his tone playful but sincere.

She gave him one last wave before heading back across the field, the lights of the track slowly fading behind her. The palace loomed ahead, a reminder of everything she had to return to—her responsibilities, her duties, her carefully controlled life. But even as she slipped through the hidden passage in the stables, the thrill of the night lingered, like a secret she carried with her.

Once inside the palace walls, she moved quickly, keeping to the shadows. Her heart was still racing, but now it was from the fear of getting caught. She slipped back into her room unnoticed, quietly closing the heavy door behind her. For a moment, she stood there in the silence, the warmth and grandeur of her surroundings feeling strangely suffocating after the openness of the track.

Kicking off her boots, she padded to the window, pulling aside the heavy velvet curtain to look out over the darkened palace grounds. The karting track wasn’t visible from here, but she could still imagine it, hear the hum of the engines, and feel the wind on her face. She hadn’t felt so alive in years.

As she changed into her pyjamas and prepared for bed, her mind kept drifting back to Max. The way he had spoken to her so easily, without hesitation, without any of the reverence or caution people usually showed her. It felt like they were equals. No expectations, no carefully chosen words. He had no idea who she was. And she hadn’t known him, either.

The following evening, she sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection. Her hair was pinned perfectly, her skin glowing under the soft light of the chandelier. But all she could think about was the wind in her hair, the roar of engines, and the unfamiliar freedom she had tasted the night before.

She was expected at dinner in an hour, a formal affair with visiting dignitaries—yet another night of forced smiles, stifling conversations, and the suffocating weight of being a Princess. The thought of sitting through it made her chest tighten with the same anxiety she’d felt the previous night. She couldn’t do it, not tonight.

Her heart raced as she made her decision. She needed to feel that freedom again.

Standing up, she walked toward her door and opened it just enough to see the palace corridors beyond. Quiet. Perfect. She padded down the hallway to her parents’ private chamber and knocked softly.

Her mother’s voice answered from inside, “Come in.”

She entered, finding her mother seated at a desk, reviewing documents. The Queen looked up with a warm but distracted smile.

“Hello darling. Ready for dinner?”

She hesitated for just a second, but her face betrayed nothing. “Actually, Mother,” she said softly, “I’m not feeling well. I think I might be coming down with something.”

Concern flickered across her mother’s features. “Oh no, my dear. Is it serious? Should I send for the royal physician?”

She quickly shook her head, her heart pounding as she forced a smile. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. I think I just need to rest. A quiet evening in my room should help.” She tried to sound as casual as possible, hoping her mother wouldn’t press further.

The Queen studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Take care of yourself, darling. You can join us tomorrow.”

“I will,” she promised, relieved that it had been so easy. She gave her mother a small smile before excusing herself from the room, and the moment the door was closed, her heart began to race for an entirely different reason.

She wasn’t going to her room. She was going back to the track.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she was once again slipping through the hidden gap in the stable wall, her pulse quickening with every step she took away from the palace. The familiar field stretched out before her, bathed in moonlight, and the sound of distant engines filled the air as she drew closer to the track.

A thrill surged through her. She hadn’t felt this kind of anticipation in so long—years, maybe. As she crested the hill, the track came into view, the floodlights illuminating the karts zooming around the circuit. Laughter and shouts echoed in the night, and there, standing by the fence again, was Max.

He hadn’t seen her yet, but something about the sight of him—so at ease, so comfortable in this world—made her heart race. For a moment, she stood still, wondering if this was a terrible idea. But then Max turned his head and spotted her. His face lit up immediately, and before she could second-guess herself, he was walking toward her.

“You came back,” he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth and a hint of surprise.

Before she could respond, Max pulled her into a quick, unexpected hug. It caught her off guard, but the gesture was so natural, so friendly, that she relaxed into it. It wasn’t formal or calculated like the stiff embraces she was used to. It was warm, real, and surprisingly grounding.

“I’m glad you came,” Max said as he pulled back, his smile still wide. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

She smiled, a little breathless from his easy affection. “I wasn’t sure either,” she admitted, though a part of her had known she would return the moment she’d left the night before.

Max gave a playful shake of his head, as if amused by her uncertainty. “Well, you’re here now, so I’ve got something for you.”

“For me?” She blinked, confused.

Without a word, Max walked over to a nearby bench where his gear was piled, rummaging through the bag until he pulled out a sleek black helmet. It gleamed under the track lights, the design simple but stylish. He turned and handed it to her, a grin tugging at his lips.

“For next time,” he said. “Consider it a welcome-back gift.”

She stared at the helmet, her fingers brushing over its surface. It felt substantial in her hands, the weight of it unexpected. “This is... for me?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded, his expression softening. “I thought you might like your own, since it seems like you’re gonna be coming back more often.” He paused, glancing at her. “Unless you’re planning to disappear?”

She felt warmth rise in her chest. The idea that Max had thought about her after last night—enough to get her a gift—was strangely touching. She didn’t know what to say at first, only that her heart was doing a strange, excited dance in her chest.

“No disappearing,” she said with a small smile. “At least, not yet.”

Max’s grin widened. “Good. Because I think you’re a natural at this. You belong out here.”

The words struck something deep inside her. Belong. She wasn’t sure where she belonged anymore, but for the first time, standing here with Max, holding a helmet meant just for her, she felt a flicker of that feeling—like maybe she did belong somewhere outside the palace walls.

She turned the helmet over in her hands, then looked up at him. “Thank you. Really.”

Max shrugged, the gesture so casual it made her smile. “It’s just a helmet. But hey, now you’ll have no excuse to not race me next time.”

The princess laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’d have a pretty big advantage.”

Max winked. “Maybe. But who knows, you might surprise me.”

They stood there for a moment, the sound of engines and laughter filling the space between them. She clutched the helmet a little tighter, feeling the pull to stay here with him, to keep being this version of herself. But she knew she couldn’t stay long—not tonight. There would be questions if anyone realised she hadn’t been in her room all evening.

She stared at the helmet in her hands, her fingers tracing the smooth curve of the visor. Something about the gesture—Max giving her something that was entirely hers, something from this world—made her feel bolder than before. Maybe it was the way he had smiled at her, or the fact that she didn’t have to be anyone other than herself around him. Whatever it was, a playful spark ignited inside her.

She looked up at Max, who was watching her with that easy grin, clearly amused by the way she was studying the helmet. Without thinking too much about it, she raised her chin and asked, “How about that race, then?”

Max blinked, surprised, then his grin widened. “You serious?”

She shrugged, her smile growing. “Why not? You said I’m a natural, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean that natural,” he said, laughing softly. “You sure you’re ready to take me on?”

The challenge in his voice only fueled her. She had tasted the thrill of the track last night, and now, with the helmet in her hands, the idea of racing Max—even if she was far from a professional—was too tempting to resist.

“I’m sure,” she said firmly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Unless you’re scared you’ll lose.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, princess,” he teased, the nickname rolling off his tongue in a playful, light-hearted way that made her grin. He didn’t know how close to the truth that was. And while it would usually make her panic, it was clear he didn’t know who she was. “Let’s do it.”

She felt a rush of adrenaline as she followed him over to the karts. Max helped her adjust the helmet and get settled in the driver’s seat. The moment she gripped the steering wheel, that same electric thrill from last night returned, only now, it was heightened by the fact that she was about to race him.

Max hopped into his kart, giving her a wink from across the track. “Alright,” he called, his voice muffled by his own helmet, “just remember, it’s all about control, not speed. Don’t push it too hard.”

She nodded, her heart pounding as the engines roared to life around them. The buzz of excitement in the air was contagious, and she found herself gripping the wheel tighter, anticipation humming through her veins.

“Ready?” Max shouted over the noise.

“Ready!” she called back, her voice filled with a mix of nerves and excitement.

With a sharp rev of the engine, they were off.

The first few moments were a blur of motion and sound. She felt the kart lurch forward, the wind whipping against her as she sped down the track. Her nerves spiked, but she quickly remembered Max’s words—control, not speed. She focused on keeping steady, her hands firm on the wheel as she navigated the turns.

Max was ahead, of course, but she could see him glancing over his shoulder, slowing down just enough to let her keep pace. She knew he was going easy on her, but she didn’t mind. The thrill of racing him—of racing anyone—was more than enough to make her feel like she was flying.

The world around her blurred into a mix of bright lights and the roar of engines. For the second time in her life, she wasn’t thinking about the palace, her duties, or the expectations that constantly weighed her down. It was just her, the kart, the track, and the rush of adrenaline surging through her veins.

Max pulled ahead slightly as they rounded a sharp corner, but she was right behind him, her competitive spirit kicking in. She leaned into the turn, feeling the kart respond beneath her, and for a brief moment, she let herself push just a little harder.

She caught up with him, and when he looked back, his eyes met hers through their visors. There was a flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or pride. He grinned, then slowed again, letting her pass him just before they hit the final straightaway.

She laughed, the sound muffled by her helmet but still filled with pure, unfiltered joy. She knew he was letting her win, but the thrill of it was real, and she couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride as she crossed the makeshift finish line.

She slowed to a stop, pulling off the steering wheel as she’d seen Max do, her laughter bubbled over. Max pulled up beside her, his own helmet off, his face lit up with a grin.

“Well, look at you,” he said, hopping out of his kart and walking over to her. “You actually made me work for it.”

She climbed out, still catching her breath, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “You’re lying. You let me win.”

Max shrugged, clearly not about to deny it. “Maybe I did,” he said, smirking. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you were pretty good out there.”

She beamed at the compliment, still riding the high of the race. “That was amazing. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

Max leaned back against the fence, watching her with an easy smile. “Yeah, it’s a rush. You looked like you were having the time of your life.”

“I was,” she admitted, her voice softer now. She hadn’t felt this free, this alive, in... well, she couldn’t even remember. “I really was.”

Max’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes studying her for a moment, as if he could sense there was more beneath her words. But he didn’t push. Instead, he smiled and got close to her, pulling up her visor so he could see her eyes better.

She laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“We’ll see.” He winked, leaning back on the kart again, clearly in no rush to leave. “So, you coming back tomorrow?”

Her heart skipped at the idea. “Maybe,” she said, feeling the tug of responsibility from the palace, but also the undeniable pull to return here—to this track, to Max, and to the freedom she had only just started to discover.

“I’ll be here,” Max said, giving her that same playful smile as the night before. “Same time, same place.”

She smiled, feeling lighter than she had in years. “I’ll think about it.”

As they stood there, the night air cool against her skin, she felt something shift inside her. For the first time in a long time, she had something to look forward to—something that wasn’t bound by duty or expectation. She had this—this world, this track, this chance to be someone else, even if just for a little while.

And as she walked away, the helmet tucked under her arm, she knew she’d be back. How could she not?

Her pulse was still racing as she slipped through the gap in the stable wall, her heart light with the thrill of the night’s race. The cold night air stung her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. She hadn’t felt this alive in years—her mind still buzzing with the memory of the wind whipping past her as she sped around the track, Max’s teasing grin as he let her take the lead, and the helmet now tucked securely under her arm.

She quietly crossed the stable yard, the moon casting long shadows over the cobblestones. The palace was still, its lights dimmed, as if it, too, was resting from its heavy burdens. She let out a breath of relief, thinking she’d made it back undetected.

But as she rounded the last corner towards the servant’s door leading into the palace, a figure stepped out of the shadows.

She froze, her heart plummeting to her stomach.

“Princess,” came a low voice, steady and unmistakable.

Her personal guard, Lukas, stood there with his arms crossed, his expression stern but not angry. The tall man’s silhouette was familiar—broad-shouldered, dressed in his midnight-blue uniform, with the polished silver crest of the royal family gleaming faintly in the moonlight. He had been her personal protector for years, and though he had always been professional, there was a softer side to Lukas that she had come to trust.

She swallowed hard, her mind racing for an excuse. She hadn’t expected to run into anyone, much less Lukas. She opened her mouth to say something, but her words stuck in her throat.

Lukas stepped forward, his sharp gaze landing on the helmet tucked under her arm. His brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, she feared he might drag her straight to the King and Queen.

Instead, he sighed, shaking his head slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Out racing, were we?” His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the disapproval in his tone.

She winced, shifting uncomfortably. “I... I just needed to get out for a while,” she admitted, her voice small, but she couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at her lips. Even now, standing in front of Lukas, knowing she was about to get a lecture, she couldn’t help but feel a lingering joy from the night.

Lukas’s sharp eyes softened as he took in her expression—the light in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks. He sighed again, longer this time, and his shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Your Highness,” he muttered, glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby. Then he looked back at her, his tone a little gentler. “You can’t keep sneaking out like this. It’s dangerous. If the King or Queen found out...”

She bit her lip, feeling the weight of his words, but the exhilaration of the night was still thrumming beneath her skin. “I know, Lukas,” she said softly, her smile faltering for the first time. “But... just for a little while, I needed to be something other than...” She trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence, but Lukas understood.

“Other than the princess,” he finished for her, his tone quieter now.

She nodded, her eyes dropping to the helmet in her arms. “I just... It felt so good. No one recognised me. No expectations. I was just... me.”

Lukas studied her for a long moment, his stern expression softening further. He had been by her side long enough to understand how heavy the crown weighed on her, even though she wasn’t Queen yet. He saw it in the way she carried herself, always poised, always controlled. But now, standing here in the moonlight, he saw something else—something he hadn’t seen in her for a long time. Happiness.

Another sigh escaped his lips, and this time it was more resigned. Without a word, he reached out and gently took the helmet from her arms. She watched, surprised, as Lukas examined it for a moment, running his thumb over the smooth surface. Then he looked up at her, his voice firm but not unkind.

“I’ll cover for you tonight,” he said quietly. “If anyone asks, you’ve been in your room since before dinner. But,” he added, fixing her with a pointed look, “you absolutely cannot sneak out again. Not this week, not ever—not like this. It’s too risky. Do you understand?”

Her heart swelled with a mixture of relief and guilt. She had expected anger, a stern reprimand, maybe even being dragged straight to her parents. But Lukas’s understanding, his willingness to protect her, caught her off guard.

“I understand,” she said softly, grateful. “Thank you, Lukas. I— I’m sorry.”

Lukas’s expression softened even more, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’ve watched you grow up. I know what this life asks of you. But you need to be careful, princess. You can’t take these kinds of risks.”

She nodded, her throat tight. “I won’t. I promise.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them easing. Then Lukas glanced down at the helmet again, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re getting into some interesting hobbies, Your Highness. Kart racing, huh?”

She grinned, a small laugh escaping her. “It’s... different,” she admitted. “But I love it.”

“I can see that,” Lukas said with a rare hint of amusement in his voice. “Just—if you’re going to be tearing around tracks at night, maybe let me know first. That way I won’t have to worry about losing you to some street racer.”

Her eyes widened, her heart skipping at the thought of Lukas discovering who she had been racing with. She quickly shook her head, laughing nervously. “No street racers,” she said. “Just... fun.”

Lukas gave her a knowing look, but he didn’t push. Instead, he held up the helmet and gestured toward the stable door. “Go on. Get inside before someone else spots you.”

She nodded, stepping past him, but before she could go, Lukas added, “I’ll keep this for now,” referring to the helmet in his hand. “Safer that way. I’ll give it back to you when it’s... less suspicious.”

She smiled, grateful. “Thank you, Lukas.”

Lukas just gave a small nod, watching as she slipped through the door into the palace, her heart still pounding with the remnants of the night’s excitement.

As she quietly made her way back to her room, she couldn’t help but smile. She had managed to keep her secret—thanks to Lukas—and despite the risks, she didn’t regret a moment of it. The track, Max, the rush of the race—it was all worth it.

But she knew Lukas was right. She couldn’t keep sneaking out like this. Not without being more careful. Yet even as she crawled into bed, the memory of the night’s freedom stayed with her, lingering like the glow of the moon outside her window.And as her eyes drifted closed, a small, rebellious thought crossed her mind: Maybe just one more race.

part two

[yearningaces]

Thinking and thoughts here

Could you just imagine the impossible with me? Being in a loving marriage with your beloved husband -who you believe is human because why wouldn't you? He looks and acts like every other human and monsters aren't real. And he just adored you so very much, he communicates when he doesn't understand something or when a miscommunication is had. He never fights with you but you both work together to fix any problems, and focus on showing how much you care for each other. Truthfully he's the model husband. Almost to a scripted degree, but you've never felt so adored. Especially when he mirrors your affection and never seems to expect anything explicit, nor want it either. It feels safe, and comfortable... So why do you feel the sense of dread in your gut as you're looking at him right now?

Well, it might be how he's standing in the doorway, bag of takeout in hand, smile on his face. Mirroring how he always stands. But it's a brief moment, a flash of dark lines almost like thread wrapping around his joints, moving him like a giant flesh puppet.

And just as quickly as they were seen- they're gone again. Just your loving husband, Dorrin. Standing tall and gazing down, as though the mountain was watching the river below. Absolutely enamored and unyielding to everyone except you who he'd mold himself to better love as time goes on.

At your expression, his smile fades into a look of concern. His gaze follows yours, to his hand. And the brief flash of threading is gone but he knows exactly what you've seen.

His gaze returns to you, hollow. Slowly setting down the bag he was carrying and slowly crosses the room to get to you.

He seems... Empty. As if any signals for how he should be acting have been cut off. His looming figure almost listless as he gazes down at you with a dull gaze, no life behind his eyes. After a moment, his voice finally rings out. "Has this one displeased you, little love?"

You feel an inherent wrongness about how your beloved husband is speaking presumably of himself as if he isn't even here, with a slight stumble back it answers his question well enough.

Dorrin slumps, like a wind up toy who's finished it's final dance. The voice that drifts through the air is so familiar yet leaves your brain trembling at the sheer magnitude of the being behind it even if unseen. "I apologize, this puppet has proven defective for its sole purpose. Rest assured, such an oversight will be rectified promptly. Only the best shall be allowed closest to you."

With a horrified expression you can only watch as Dorrin- what you know to be Dorrin is... Folded away. Limbs snapping together into a ball not unlike when a child is ready to toss away their doll. And it's... Not there anymore. No blink of an eye, no noise or sight, it was there and it wasn't. And now you stand in the empty living room of a home you've shared with someone you thought you knew so very well.

What do you do?

What can you do?

You can feel gazes on you still, the same when that thing would watch you while you rested together. You can try to move towards a door or even a window and find them consumed in darkness. There is no threat here, but you are not allowed to leave at the moment.

You don't know it yet, but Dorrin just wants to keep you safe in the home he's so carefully crafted for you alone. Tonight he'll leave a new puppet at your door, identical to the last hundred that had done something leading to any inconvenience on you. You've never noticed before, and he doesn't know how to condense himself into a small enough form to be loved by such a miniscule creature he's so deeply fallen for. But that puppets strings weren't good enough to remain hidden. The new one will be better.

Only the best for you.

He will ensure it.

(Basically what happens when an endless creature of Eldritch being falls for a little bitty human? Why not craft a puppet to express his love for them on a scale they can comprehend! But those fickle puppets- never perfect enough for his little love)

[highonmarvel]

You Can Cry

Bucky Barnes: Biker!Bucky takes a liking to a sensitive girl. 18+ only!

content warnings here!

You wipe away tears as you impatiently wait for your ride to arrive, tapping your foot and hugging yourself. You don’t know why you always get so emotional, get brought to tears so easily, and your sensitivity slightly angers you, being irritated that you still cry like a child at the most silly things.

Your date had only laughed when you stared at him blankly, asking him to explain his joke again, and the rational part of you was sure he didn’t mean any harm, the rational part of you was sure it was lighthearted—he was a nice guy—but still you felt that familiar sting in your eyes at the response.

Even when you brought the night to a close, you refused a ride home from him, denying it so harshly he was stuck at the table for a bit when you stormed out, hot tears staining your cheeks, and you didn’t see him leave—maybe he was still inside and talking up another girl who didn’t take every little thing so personally.

“You sad, pretty girl?”

You startle at the voice and snap your head up to follow the sound, leading your eyes to a tall man wearing a leather jacket, leaning against the wall of the next building over to the restaurant you had stomped out of. He cards a hand through his hair and steps forward, and instinctively you step back, feeling an air of danger about him, darker than just a mugger in the night.

You wipe away the last of your tears and sniffle softly before quickly bring your focus back to the street, mentally pleading for your driver to pull up, too scared to fish your phone back out of your bag to check how far he was, and clutching your purse tighter.

He groans, “Please, sweetheart, I’m talkin’ to you.”

“No,” you reply, quietly, not making a move to look back up at his captivating blue eyes, a slight fear that if you look back at him, you’ll never be able to look away again. Or he’ll be the last thing you see, “I’m not.”

“You sure, princess?” he takes another step toward you, and this time you can’t muster up the courage to move away, frozen still, “Looked like you were cryin’.”

You grow irritated not with him but more with yourself, for somehow having shown such weakness to a man in the shadows—but how could you have known?

“I wasn’t,” you lie, finding yourself holding back tears again, begging any higher power out of the dozens believed to help you out just this one time and have your driver pull around the corner. The streets are empty and quiet, the only two people in the world you and him, and the only noise his painstakingly slow footsteps towards you, and your rapidly beating heart, “I wasn’t,” you repeat again, predicting you would sound more confident, but your voice cracks, and you wince at the sound of his sigh in response.

“Aw, don’t cry,” you gasp as he suddenly pulls you flush against his chest, caging your body to his with his right arm pressing into your lower back and his left gently gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him. A smile spreads across his gorgeous face as your tears well up. You want to look to the sky to stop drops from falling, but you can’t, not because of his light grip, but because of that sadistic glint in his eyes, absolutely fascinating you.

A drop spills from an eye, and he tilts his head, watching it roll down your cheek. Your eyes glisten with tears and his glisten with delight, relishing in each drop that rolls down your cheek, as you can do nothing but stare up helplessly at him, paralysed by fear.

He leans down and presses a light kiss on your cheek, one you might have found loving if given to you by someone close.

“You’re so pretty,” he remarks, bringing his other hand up to cup your face, unconcerned with keeping you near, knowing you can’t move if you tried. He rubs calloused thumbs across your cheeks, wiping the tears away as he admires your features, “So pretty, doll,” he murmurs, gaze roaming your face until they land on your terrified eyes, and he smiles again.

“What? Never learned how to take a compliment, princess?”

You blink up him, starting to tremble very slightly, your mouth slightly agape. He raises an eyebrow at you, and you manage a meek, “Thank you…”

“Bucky,” he mumbles.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you repeat, just wanting him to let you go, at this point completely disinterested with where your driver is, just him to leave you alone.

“Now, won’t you tell a nice guy like me why you’re cryin’? Did someone hurt you?”

You shake your head weakly, willing yourself to just stop fucking crying.

“Don’t lie to me,” he grips your face slightly firmer, not hard, but enough to make you understand his determination, “Did some guy make you cry, angel?” he asks, gently.

Despite your better judgement, you nod; maybe that is the best judgement, to just respond the way he wants so he might just leave you alone. No, your compliance is only seeming to spur him on, as shown by a pity frown taking shape on his face, and you can’t quite place if he’s mocking you or trying to seem more empathetic in some weird way.

“No, a sweet girl like you?” he places a kiss on your forehead, “You’re precious, angel.”

You shift uncomfortably, unable read the situation, unable to tell if he’s just fucking with you or if he feels bad. And you don’t have to, because just as he pulls away to look at you, you hear tyres against gravel, a car pulling around the corner, snapping you out of your… trance, and whipping your head to see a white corolla.

“Stay beautiful, doll,” Bucky says, and he slips into the shadows before you can grasp it. Cold air rushes against your cheeks—you hadn’t realised his hands were relatively warm—making you feel more exposed. For good measure, you quickly wipe away tears before hoping into the car with a smile to your driver.

Your date texts you the next morning, apologises for upsetting you—even though he doesn’t know how—and asks for a redo, or a second date, kinda, he puts it. With a clear mind, you do feel bad for being so dramatic and overly sensitive last night, and thinking back on it, a little rude with how short you were being with him when all he did was laugh lightly, it wasn’t malicious. He was a nice guy. You’re still shaken from the previous night, but maybe a casual date will relax you.

You agree, and he immediately responds, suggesting another restaurant for that evening.

You feel very pretty in your dress as you enter the restaurant and sit at table. You had arrived only 10 minutes late, so maybe you should just give him more time to show up. You didn’t want to order, but the waitress seemed to be getting impatient, and so you order something light and ate alone. An hour and he still wasn’t here. Your plate is cleared away, barely anything touched, and a few teardrops splashed at the edges.

You’re sniffling in the corridor of your apartment as you fumble with your keys and stumble in, trying not to completely break down as you kick off your shoes and head straight for your bedroom, thinking that you could escape some crying if you just fell asleep.

You’re sobbing quietly as you enter, pushing the door behind you, not even caring that it didn’t really close, ready to flop onto bed.

“You sad, pretty girl?”

You gasp and spin to the sound of that familiar voice, the same words being spoken in the same tone as the previous night.

Bucky pushes the door and this time it clicks shut. He looks up at you, and his blue eyes catch the moonlight in a soft yet sinister manner, causing you to stumble back. You can barely see him through the tears blurring your vision and the dark room.

“Bucky?” you whisper, unnecessarily, seeing as of fucking course it’s Bucky.

He bends his head back slightly with a smile, “I love the way you say my name, doll. Can you say it again for me?”

You take a few steps back, heart racing faster than you ever thought it could, and let out a quiet shriek as your heel hits the foot of your bed and your fall back onto it. Bucky is hovering over you in a flash, one hand propping him up and his right slipping under your dress to rub soothing circles on your thigh.

“Did he stand you up?” he leans down, lips between your ear and neck, “He doesn’t like you, princess.”

You try not to let out a sound, but you can’t stop a choked sob from escaping, and he smiles against your neck. You turn your head away, but he stays near, his voice hovering just above your ear, “He doesn’t like you, and he can’t take care of you, sweetheart, he can’t.”

Despite your efforts, another choked gasp escapes you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping he’ll just go away.

“You’re shaking,” he notes, changing his circular motions from clockwise to anti, “Are you scared, doll? Am I scaring you?”

“Yes!” you gasp as he kisses your neck.

“No…” he replies against your skin, faux-disbelief coating his tone, “But I won’t hurt you, angel; he will.”

He lies down next to you and brings his left hand up to stroke your face, “It’s okay, you can cry,” he coaxes, and you do, breath escaping your lungs in short gasps as tears fall and he wipes them away, kissing your neck and still rubbing circles on your thigh, “You can cry…”

His thumb slides to your inner thigh and you squirm, but he quickly stops you by harshly gripping your thigh. Once he’s sure you won’t twist again, he runs his finger up and down your inner thigh with a sigh.

“You’ll learn to love this, doll, but for now… you can cry…” he shifts downward and pulls your dress up, “A sweet girl like you’s gotta taste sweet too.”

✪

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Chan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Suicide, Death, Grief, Slight Age Gap, Life after loss, Cursing, Angst, Blood, Brother's Friend, Manic Behavior, Depression, Panic Attacks.

If you or someone you know is suffering from suicidal ideation or thoughts of harming themselves, please reach out for help. You never know when someone's last day will be; no one ever does. But if you can help - even just a tiny bit, sometimes a word, text, or even a call can be a catalyst for positive change.

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pt2 Part Three

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The plane touched down with a soft jolt, pulling you from the haze of exhaustion and a slight anxiety. As the aircraft came to a full stop, you stared out the window at the sprawling airport. Korea was now your home - or at least, it would be for the foreseeable future.

As long as things worked out.

Slowly, you disembarked and moved through the crowded terminals, your mind racing. Not with many coherent thoughts, but thoughts none the less.

You could feel the slight stares of some people, but they looked away almost as quickly. You hadn’t been in Korea for years, and the reality of stepping back into this world was a bit overwhelming.

Especially considering last time you were just a small child, watching your brother kickstart his career. You had seen the streets and people over countless video calls, but it had been a while since you had breathed the same air as them.

You ran through the differences in cultural norms and no-no's in your head as a way of keeping busy. It would be a culture shock; but it would be one you were prepared for.

You collected your luggage and made your way to the arrival hall, the bustling noise and movement swirling around you.

You stood there only a second before your attention was drawn. Through the crowd, you spotted a familiar face, even if the one with that face wasn't well known: Mr. Kim, your brother’s old manager, waiting by the barrier.

He was still the same as you had remembered- tall and authoritative, yet his eyes softened as he saw you. "The last time I saw you," he said with a nostalgic smile, "you barely reached my knees." His hand was level to your previous height, and his eyes crinkled.

He didn't seem old, but the age in his face showed years beyond the time he had spent on this planet. The lines of stress and sadness marring his objectively attractive features.

You managed a faint smile, feeling a lump in your throat. "It’s been a while." Hajun hadn't had a proper funeral. Your parents wanted something small, and he was buried quietly. A part of you were angered at the fact. You wished your parents had given him a proper funeral, so others who knew him also could mourn, but they had amounted it to saying there would be other services held by the company and those he knew in Korea; and that his immediate family of all people were the ones who deserved the most intimate goodbye. Which is why they decided to forgo any big production and just have him buried within days of his passing.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and you searched your mind for something to say.

How do you go about things like this? Sorry for your loss? Sorry our loss?

Before you could say anything, a young man with dark hair and a warm smile stepped forward. It was Haru, one of Hajun’s group members. He hesitated briefly, giving you a look before pulling you into a gentle hug.

You instinctively shut your eyes, letting yourself breathe in his scent. It was a while since you had a hug, and it felt so good it was almost as if Hajun was the one holding you in his embrace.

Haru had always smelled like the flowers of his native country. You remembered the distinct cherry blossom and an earthy musk. Smelling it, it was impossible not to think of springtime breezes, and you knew as long as you lived it would be a smell that evoked a sense of peace and grounding within you, a scent that would always remain familiar.

"It’s good to see you again Hime," Haru said softly. He rested his hand on your head gently and smiled. He had referred to you as princess for as long as you could remember.

He was who you would consider Hajun's very best friend. His company was one of the more gracious ones offering substantial rest after great work- and with every holiday Hajun had been able to make it home, or every time the group was resting between comebacks and he decided to fly home, even if only for a weekend, Haru tagged along.

He had been calling you Hime even longer. The first time you had seen him on stage, dancing next to Hajun your 9-year-old self fell in love with the guy who in your eyes was as beautiful as a Prince. Even if Haru was 16 at the time.

"Juju, you met a Prince!" Your lisp due to your missing teeth was endearing, and your parents had laughed at how rosy your cheeks were as you watched Haru dry his sweat with a towel. Hajun grunted as he lifted you into his arms, then laughing as you wiggled wanting to be put down.

"I'm not a baby! He'll think I'm a baby!" You whined, perching yourself behind Hajun's leg as you watched Haru interact with a staff member. He chuckled and turned.

"Haru! Atarashī fan ga dekita to omoimasu. (Haru! I think I've found a fan)" Your eyes widened as unfamiliar words rolled off of your brother's tongue, those words causing the dark haired boy to turn in your direction. You immediately slinked back behind your brother even more, as Haru squatted down to your eye level. "Kanojo wa anata no koto o ōji-samada to omotte imasu.(She thinks you're a prince)"

He had smiled and waved. "What's your name?" You just stared and didn't answer, honestly a little shocked to how well he spoke English, little you blind to the fact that he had spent a few years of his youth in America. He gave a mock pout. His eyes bright and kind. "I didn't think Princesses were usually this shy. I guess I'll just have to call you Hime. Is that okay, Hime?"

His eyes had held that same kindness that you had first seen in them all that time ago and every time after. A type of kindness that couldn't be ignored. The followers of Eclips3 often referred to Hajun and Haru as their "spring" due to their similar demeanors. Haru being more so the start of Spring, the transition of cold to warm, and calm. While Hajun was the warmth into something a bit fierier and more energetic. The countless videos you had seen captioned "Our Spring" that captured the wholeness of their relationship made your heart ache with longing.

Another two men, Jiho and Sunwoo, stepped forward, their expressions mirroring Haru’s kindness. They also gave you warm hugs, and you could sense their familiarity. You had met them a few times maybe at most three, but they had always been friendly and welcoming, treating their beloved maknae's family as their own.

Jiho and Sunwoo looked at each other, and the older one spoke first.

"Y/N...we...we wanted to say-"

You shook your head. "You don't have to apologize or say sorry for your loss... or our loss. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's..." You felt robotic as you said those things, as if you didn't believe them yourself. "I'm just glad that while he was here, he had you guys. So thank you." Your tone wasn't rude, but it conveyed that Hajun was something that you wished to not talk about at the moment.

Mr. Kim placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We’re here for you now- to support you, Y/N. We’re your family now, just as we were for Hajun."

A surge of emotion welled up inside you, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You had done so good keeping it in since you had embarked on the plane journey, so good as your feet touched the ground at Incheon. But the presence of these familiar faces, people who had known your brother and had shared moments with him, provided a strange mix of comfort and sadness, that was threatening to break down that wall.

"We should get going," Haru said, his voice gentle. "The car is waiting outside. And while I'm sure paparazzi wouldn't recognize you in quick, they'll recognize us, and I'm sure you don't want the cameras on you at this point in time."

You nodded, allowing them to guide you through the airport and out into the crisp air. You watched as a few people snapped pictures, and it felt odd to you that they had that much audacity to invade their personal lives in a time like this.

Shouldn't they at least give them time to mourn before taking pictures? It's been a little over almost two months but still.

Haru and Sunwoo stood in position to cover your face in a subtle enough way that it seemed to be accidental.

As you settled into the car, surrounded by people who had been part of your brother’s world, you felt a small flicker of hope. This new chapter was beginning with a sense of connection to your past, even if Hajun wasn’t there to walk through it with you.

As the car pulled away, you glanced out the window, taking in the unfamiliar landscape.

"So, uh, if you don't mind me asking what made you want to come to Korea...and take after...take after Jun..." Jiho asked quietly. He was sitting in the middle row with Sunwoo. He was turned slightly in his seat and so was Sunwoo.

You felt Haru tense in the seat next to you, and visibly saw Mr. Kim's shoulders grow stiff.

Your jaw twitched slightly as you stringed together the right words to figure out what to say.

Jiho took this as you being angered by the question and started to apologize, but you spoke in a firm an even voice.

"This is my gift...my...favor to him. He left things behind. No reason in letting it go to waste."

It was simple. Maybe too simple. But if you said anymore, it would be hard to explain your thought process to him. It seemed like it worked though, since rather than continue the conversation Mr. Kim changed the direction of your chatter.

"First, let me say that the company is very interested in you," He began, his voice calm but deliberate. "When the proposal was first brought up, there were mixed reactions. It’s not every day that we consider bringing the sibling of a deceased idol into the fold, especially one as beloved as Hajun. There were concerns, naturally, about how the public would react - whether it would be seen as a tribute or as something exploitative. But once we discussed it more those concerns began to fade."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking with yours in the rearview mirror as if to make sure you understood the gravity of what he was saying. "The company recognizes that you’re not just Hajun’s sister; but you’re an individual with your own talents and dreams. It didn't hurt that when Hajun was alive, he tended to brag about you and your abilities a lot." That sparked a couple of smiles and laughs from the guys in the car- and even a smile from you. "They want to help you develop those talents, or teach you the skills you need to learn in order to do well, but they’re also aware of the weight of expectations that will be placed on your shoulders because of who your brother was. That’s something we’ll have to navigate carefully."

Mr. Kim paused for a moment, letting the words sink in before continuing. "Training will be intense, as it always is. You’ll be put through rigorous training. While the language training deosn't seem like it will be a big issue, we'll still have to focus on dance and vocal training, regardless of how well you think you can perform. The company will expect you to work hard, just like any other trainee. But because of your connection to Hajun, there might be additional pressure - both from the public and from within the company - to see you succeed quickly. If you adapt well, there’s a possibility you could debut within a year, maybe even sooner, depending on how fast you progress."

He glanced at the group of Hajun’s former bandmates - Jiho, Sunwoo, and Haru, who were watching you both with a mix of concern and quiet encouragement. "Your relationship with the remaining members of Eclips3 will be important," Mr. Kim continued. "The company is considering the idea of you training alongside them, possibly even joining them in some capacity. They’ve already agreed to help you with your training, especially since they know you and care about you. Sunwoo, for instance, has volunteered to assist with your vocal training, and Jiho is eager to help you refine your dancing skills whenever needed. Haru, as the one closest to you, will likely take on a sort of mentor role for you."

He hesitated for a moment, then added, his expression turning more serious - "While you most likely won’t officially debut until a year or so from now as I said, due to the special circumstances, you’ll almost instantaneously be thrown into the spotlight. Given your background and connection there’s no avoiding it. Not to mention you won’t be participating in survival shows like a lot of trainees; the company is already planning to arrange for you to appear in other media - variety shows, interviews, and even special features. They want to introduce you to the public in a way that builds anticipation and interest..." He paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. "I want to be honest with you and say while we don’t intend for this to be exploitative, the reality is that everything in this industry is, at its core, a business. Simply put, the company agreed to this path so easily due to the amount of pull it will have to the public. Meaning more money for the. Your journey will most likely be one that is broadcasted extensively, with the story behind it being a focal point. I wouldn't even be surprised if they made a documentary off of it one day. Not for his legacy but for money..." His voice was sad, tinged with what sounded like regret. "The public will be fascinated, not just because you’re Hajun’s sister, but because of the emotional narrative that comes with it. I wished it didn't amount to this. But it all comes back to money, even in delicate situations like this."

"Regardless I admire you greatly for doing this. Because I know your intentions are pure, even if the industry's isn't. We’ll do our best to protect you from the harsher aspects of this process, but you need to be prepared for the fact that your every move will be watched closely. This journey, while deeply personal for you, will be a spectacle for others. It’s a difficult balance, but if we handle it right, it could also be an opportunity for you to share your story on your own terms. To share Hajun's story..." He took off his glasses and wiped the bridge of his shirt with his nose, giving himself a minute. "It'll be a great opportunity for you to cement his memory as something positive rather than a tragedy. To allow us to remember him the way we knew him." His voice was somewhat shaky and you turned away not wishing to see him cry. Jiho, Sunwoo, and Haru were all sitting in a deep silence, and you didn't look up in case you were to see a stray tear.

"Housing will be arranged close to the other members, so you’ll have a support system nearby." Mr. Kim's voice was back to an even enough tone as he pulled himself together. "The company understands that this is a strange and difficult situation, so they want to make sure you feel supported - emotionally, not just professionally." Mr. Kim stopped once more, as if in thought. "You’ll have access to counseling and any other resources you might need as you transition into this new chapter of your life."

His words hung in the air, heavy with both promise and the unspoken weight of what lay ahead. But there was also a sense of hope, a belief that, despite the challenges, this could be the start of something meaningful -not just for you, but for everyone who had been touched by Hajun’s legacy.

And he was right, it was an opportunity for you to shape the narrative of Hajun.

"What about you guys?" The words almost flew off your tongue, you didn't even comprehend thinking of the question. "What is going to happen with you guys?"

Jiho’s voice was low, a hint of resignation coloring his words as he explained the situation. "We’ve disbanded," he said, the finality of the statement hanging heavy in the air. "Losing two members back-to-back...losing Hajun..." His breath was soft. "None of us want to step on stage again. Music doesn't bring that same joy. If it wasn't for you, than I more than sure all of us would have completely departed from the idol life."

"We were already on hiatus after...after the scandal..." Sunwoo didn't even speak their former leader's name. "And now that we lost our maknae..." His voice held a deep affection and love for Hajun, and your heart pounded with an ache. "It was inevitable."

You nodded in understanding. Haru's voice ringing last.

"Music isn't something I enjoy anymore." He spoke in Japanese, and looked up as if he could see through the roof of the car. If he could see his best friend. "It's just a means of work to distract me."

His dark eyes met yours. "But at least it'll be with you Hime. So, I get to see a little bit of Hajun. Right Hime?" His voice was cracking and his eyes watering.

That kindness being flooded by something that mirrored your own woes. But never disappearing. No, not fully. Never fully.

Even in the quiet, aching absence of what once was, Haru still radiated a brightness that couldn’t be dimmed. Even with the knowledge of the torment he carried inside, you still selfishly basked in the compassion that encompassed him. His smile would remain as warm as ever, even if there was a subtle shadow behind it, a testament to the internal struggle against the anguish he bore in silence.

He was light. He was good. Too good.

Hajun was good. He was so good. Too good. Too good for whatever this world was.

The fandom had been right to call Hajun and Haru their spring. The love and warmth and peace and life that had radiated from both of them was like an eternal spring. Like the fresh blooming of flowers after the melting of the winter snow.

They were spring.

And Hajun's loss was like the wilting of the first cherry blossoms, their vibrant beauty fading too soon.

A death that left Haru standing alone in a season that would never fully return.

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

If you or someone you know is suffering from suicidal ideation or thoughts of harming themselves, please reach out for help. You never know when someone's last day will be; no one ever does. But if you can help - even just a tiny bit, sometimes a word, text, or even a call can be a catalyst for positive change.

988 - USA Suicide Prevention Hotline | 24 Hours 111 - Helpline UK | 24 hours 1393 - Suicide Hotline Korea | 24 hours

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@0325tiny @resi4skz @soaplickerrr

@leezanetheofficial @stressymessyana @istglevi-gotmesimping

@hannamoon143 @kayleefriedchicken

[shitsndgiggs]

I love your work, and I was wondering if you could do a fanfic where Kenan is absolutely obsessed with the reader who is his baby mama, but he and reader broke up, and she has a new partner. She's legitimately in a new relationship, but Kenan doesn't know until one day he goes to pick up their child from reader's house and her boyfriend opens the door.

I know you've done something kinda similar to this, so I'm hoping you're willing to do this.

NEVER BE - KENAN YILDIZ

Kenan can’t believe that you have moved on

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Kenan couldn't get you out of his head. No matter how hard he tried, you were always there—your laughter echoing in his mind, your scent lingering on his clothes, your voice whispering to him in the quiet moments of the night.

It didn’t matter that you were no longer together, that you had both agreed to move on. He was obsessed, consumed by the idea of you, of what you had, and of what he had let slip through his fingers.

The only thing keeping him tethered to you, to your world, was your child. The one piece of you that he still had, the living, breathing reminder of the life you once shared.

Every time he picked up your child, every time he dropped them off, he saw you—saw the way you moved around your house, the way you smiled at your little one, the way you looked at him with that cold indifference that drove him insane.

He had tried to keep his distance, to give you space like you had asked, but it was impossible. He needed you, wanted you in a way that was all-consuming.

And it was driving him crazy that he couldn’t have you, that you were slipping away from him with each passing day.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and Kenan was on his way to pick up his child from your house. He had done this countless times before, but today felt different.

There was a tension in the air, something unspoken that made his heart race as he approached your front door.

He knocked, expecting to see you—expecting to see that familiar flash of irritation in your eyes when you opened the door, like you always did. But when the door swung open, it wasn’t you standing there.

It was a man.

Kenan blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. The man standing in the doorway was tall, well-built, with an easy smile that faded slightly when he saw Kenan.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, his tone polite but firm.

Kenan felt a surge of anger, of possessiveness, rise up in his chest. Who the hell was this guy? What was he doing in your house? Where were you?

“I’m here to pick up my kid,” Kenan said, his voice clipped as he tried to keep his emotions in check.

The man nodded, stepping aside to let him in. “Of course, they’re just finishing up their snack. Come on in.”

Kenan walked past him, his eyes scanning the house, looking for any sign of you. When he didn’t see you, his frustration only grew.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, but failing miserably.

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering. “She’s in the kitchen. Do you want me to get her?”

Kenan’s jaw clenched. “No, I’ll go.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just walked straight to the kitchen, his heart pounding in his chest.

When he saw you standing there, casually preparing a snack for your child, his anger flared again.

But it wasn’t directed at you. It was directed at himself. At the realization that you had moved on, that you had someone else in your life now, someone who wasn’t him.

You looked up when he entered, your expression neutral, as if you had been expecting this reaction. “Kenan,” you greeted him calmly, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “You’re here early.”

His eyes narrowed, not missing the way you avoided mentioning the man in the other room.

“Who the hell is he?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

You sighed, as if you had anticipated this reaction. “That’s my boyfriend,” you said, your tone firm, but not unkind. “We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now.”

Kenan felt like the floor had been ripped out from under him. Your boyfriend? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You had someone else? How could you have someone else when he was still so deeply, madly, obsessively in love with you?

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation, of doubt.

He wanted you to tell him it wasn’t serious, that it was just a fling, that you didn’t really care about this guy. But you didn’t.

“Kenan, we’re not together anymore,” you reminded him gently. “I didn’t think I needed to.”

He could feel the walls closing in on him, his chest tightening with the realization that you were really, truly, moving on.

That you were building a life with someone else, a life that didn’t include him.

The thought made him feel sick, made him want to scream, to do anything to stop this from happening.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at you, his heart breaking all over again.

“Are you serious about him?” he asked, his voice trembling with barely contained emotion.

You hesitated, just for a moment, before nodding. “Yes, I am.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. Kenan felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the air had been sucked out of the room.

He wanted to argue, to tell you that you couldn’t be serious, that you were making a mistake. But deep down, he knew that it wouldn’t make a difference.

You had moved on. And he was left standing in the ruins of the life you had once shared.

When Kenan left with your child that day, he couldn’t shake the image of you and your new boyfriend from his mind.

The way you had looked so calm, so content, like you had finally found the peace that had eluded you during your time together.

He knew he had to let you go, to stop clinging to the past, but it was the hardest thing he had ever done.

The obsession he felt for you wasn’t something he could just switch off. It was a part of him now, a constant ache that reminded him of what he had lost.

As he drove away, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, he couldn’t help but glance in the rearview mirror, back at your house. Back at the life he had left behind.

And for the first time, he allowed himself to cry—not just for you, but for the man he had become, and for the future that would never be.

[little-otter-writes]

No one asked for these but I'm in my period rn and felt like making 'em

How the Main four help with readers period [hcs]

Reader is gender neutral here, no specifically female btw :3

Edd

Surprisingly calm and focuses on getting you everything you need

Chocolate? Pads? Extra blankets? He's on it!

I hc that he still has powers from poweredd and his body is very warm from the radiation

so he's basically a big heating pad and he just loves to let you cling to him- he's happy he's helping :]

Will drop everything to help you if he needs too

Always sets up a warm bath to help you relax, he even puts those fancy bath salts in for ya

Tom

Very confused and even a but panicked but tries to help

Like Edd, he has a high body temp, but since he's the smallest he's much easier to just curl up with(he loves it and is happy to be your heating pad)

Has no idea what he's doing and just does whatever you tell him you need him to do- he's trying but he's a bit confused lol

Very protective of you and hardly let's you leave the bed. He's determined to do everything while you rest and relax

His monster form is even better to cuddle- he's big and fluffy and purrs like a freight train and it does wonders

Matt

He's also pretty confused but does his best to help

He's dated around a lot, especially in highschool, but his pasts relationships didn't usually last more than a week or two so he isn't used to this stuff

His mom never taught him much about it either(he's an only child as well)

Does as much research as he can to help

Unlike Tom and Edd he has a cooler body heat, but that helps sometimes too

He's also very tall and can purr in my hc so he basically just holds you and purrs a fuck ton a lot of the time- it's very sweet

I hc him to still be at least a little part vampire, so the smell of blood can make him a bit twitchy and hungry

so he does his best to mask the smell using stuff like scented candles and air freshener since he doesn't want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable

Buys whatever you need and at the upmost quality, only the best for his beloved.

His family has fuck you money so he can afford it anyway

Overall very sweet and caring, even if he's a bit confused about the whole thing

Tord

He knows a bit about this stuff- like matt he's dated around a bit but his relationships usually lasted longer, so he's a bit more familiar with this stuff

Buys you everything you need, from pads to comfort foods and whatever else

Surprisingly attentive, he will drop anything to comfort you

He's probably made a device or two to help with your periods, whether it be a heating pad of sorts or some other thing

He always has your comfort food in stock, as well as some meds to help out

Let's you use his anime body pillows- they're a bit weird but hey it's Tord

[hyunnie04]

snow falls

i hope this cute lil fic would be able to warm you up in these cold winter nights <3 my song rec for this would be PP1 by frakkur (best played while reading ^^) two quotes inspired by lsfm yunjins holiday note

summary: you and jisung play in the snow.

pairing: childhood friends! han jisung x reader

genre: fluff, one sided pinning (? perhaps...)

the night was unforgivingly cold tonight. the sun had set not long ago, leaving no more warmth to comfort you. winter had always made the sun retreat back to the clouds earlier than it used to. the roads were icy and the houses in your neighborhood were covered in white crystal sheets. but that did not stop you and jisung from going out, only wearing two layers and scarfs haphazardly thrown over each other’s shoulder.

“wait up!” cheery giggles from the two of you are muffled by the snow. footsteps trek through the white heaps, leaving a trail of shoe-shaped tracks littered all across the snowy landscape. ignoring the bitter cold that stings your lungs, you two both ran.

it was silly, sneaking off outside this late at night during negative temperatures and with barely anything on. you felt like a child again, whisking your best friend to god knows where and him just following along anyways. it was just like the old days.

upon seeing a sliver of the familiar concrete sidewalk that used to greet you everyday, you both finally stop under a tall street light. it's warm, heavily contrasting against the snowfall and the stark darkness of night. a ray of light somewhat offering refuge over your figures.

“it’s so... so cold...” he sees you shiver, rubbing your palms together in a futile attempt to warm yourself up. jisung watches you blow out a puff of air. he could see your hands pale as they get colder, pulling the ends of your coat a little closer to your body.

i want to hold your hands.

the words are lodged uncomfortably inside his throat, itching to be spoken. jisung wants to desperately say it out loud. but he doesn't.

“i wonder when is spring going to start.” you say while sighing wistfully, closing your eyes. you seemed to have stopped squirming from the temperature now. the winds roar occasionally, sending a flurry of snowflakes upwards and into the sky, as if to whisper "not yet."

he stares longingly at your solemn expression. noting- memorizing every detail of your face. his gaze lands on your lips, tight lipped and closed; opposed to the grin that he so fondly remembers loving.

it's silent, but jisung is no stranger to it. the quiet understanding between you two was something to be treasured in all those years of friendship, knowing when the other doesn't want to talk.

your eyes open, grinning softly when they land on him. jisung decided long ago that your smile is his favorite thing in the world. you see his cheeks increasingly redden as you kept staring, chalking it up to him just being out here.

jisung had a lot of friends now. he was grateful to be close with a good amount of them but, none of them understood him like you did. friends come and go in jisung’s life, but not you. never you.

a painful but welcomed constant in his life was also his feelings. the juvenile infatuation with you from all those years ago had never dwindled, in fact it grew larger and harder to ignore as he got older.

jisung follows your hand as it slowly reaches out to the sky, the tiny delicate snowflakes melt as it makes contact with the warmth of your palm.

“you look beautiful.”

a smile easily makes it out of your face as you look to him right after. his hands are practically numb, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. he hears his own heart thump loudly in his ears.

you gaze into his eyes for a second, tilting your head in question. he realizes words go unnoticed. the onslaught of snow drowns out his confession. he shakes his head with a smile. jisung decided that it was for a different day.

“you’ve got some on your hair,” you laugh, leaning in to brush away the snowflakes with your bare hands. jisung’s ears burn again from the proximity, making him freeze in place.

your hands fall to your side, upon seeing his reaction, hands twitching lightly.

both of your faces, now tinted with a rosy hue and the cold nipping at your noses. puffs of foggy air comes out everytime either one would breathe. it seems like eternity, the way you stare at each other.

“i'll warm you up.” jisung finally smiles, opening his arms wide to slot yourself in. you grin once more, diving in with much enthusiasm.

he was content in holding you close, offering the warmth you needed. maybe he’ll never really know how you feel but, jisung would gladly stand in the frigid cold, if it meant staying here with you. maybe spring would come faster this way.

[ostentatiouslyonigiri]

"ONBOARDING"

[A/N: Seriously guys, there is no reason why Alucard should be so hard to write XD. He (in cannon) is such a discordant, confusingly consistent mess, OMG. Though I suppose that’ll happen after centuries of consuming souls…Well, at least he’s found a job that he loves! Also, reader is female and American] [EDIT: Forgot to @thirstyforlulu 😅]

“B-by myself!?”

You were at a loss for words. Asset management, training, recruitment. For the latter, you weren’t even sure of the logistics behind that. How could you run an entire HR department by yourself!? The background of the elegant room, the somber undertones, and the echo of your voice did nothing to salve the already desperate disposition of your nerves. As the smoke from the cigar of the steely eyed woman across from you dissipated into the air, a naughty thought appeared:Maybe the reason she puffs on that foul-smelling bundle of herbs is because of the stick she keeps up her—Suddenly, you felt the advance of many tiny legs up your arm and instinctively moved to swat away the possible offender. Nothing…

"Is that a problem?"The woman said as another puff of smoke left her plump lips. The unyielding nature of her gaze pinned you to the spot.The way her blue eyes bore into yours and the enunciation of your name made it clear that she dared you to respond. You did not.The decision was already made for you.There was no getting out of this. "You are to ensure the proper conduct of all personnel under the employ of my organization. You will be solely responsible for the results of this endeavour, be it success or failure. If the conditions in which you will do so do not accommodate your skill, then consider yourself terminated. If this is not the case, you are dismissed".

The openness of the hallway was a refreshing reprieve. Walking a short distance away from Sir Integra's office, you caught your bearings and reflected on your circumstances. "I guess that means I'm hired..."

You walked down a corridor, not really having a destination in mind. You just needed to think. ‘Am I really cut out for this?’ It all just felt so overwhelming. What if you failed? How would you be able to afford to get back home? Could you go back home? Already, the familiar warmth of tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes.

The eerie silence of the hallways seemed to swallow you whole as the weight of your uncertainty bore down. Your muffled footsteps left soft thuds against the carpeted marble floor, the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. As if sensing your distress, the door lining the corridor slowly creaked open and beckoned you forth, revealing dimly lit rooms. Shadows danced within, casting an unsettling atmosphere that matched your turbulent thoughts. The soft yellow glow of the hallway lights bounced off of your ID badge and mixed with its myriad of colors. Your eyes traced over the hard piece of plastic, already sick of seeing the organization’s namesake. You shook your head. No, you can't think like this anymore! Stop with the negative self-talk! You’re not in America anymore— this is your chance to start again and prove yourself. You deserved to be here! As you continued to wander, the air within the building began to grow colder and clammier. The sudden oppressiveness of the atmosphere made even breathing uncomfortable. ‘What's going on?’ From your periphery, a particular painting caught your eye. It was of an aristocratic woman. Elegant and tall. Though beautiful, something was off. The eyes...Why were they red? You stood under the painting, observing it like a child would an attraction. Though sizable, you felt like the painting’s dwarfing effect couldn’t exactly be attributed to the painting's breadth.

"I see you've discovered Lady Integra's collection." For a short time, your surroundings were a blur as your eyes searched for the new variable.Your sights found its prize when it rested on the source of the rich baritone and smokey cologne: A man. As his chiseled jawline, silky raven hair, and broad shoulders emerged from the darker corners of the hall, more of his appearance came to light. Atop his dark tresses, laid a red wide brimmed hat that matched his red duster , and underfoot, were long leather boots. To complete the man’s strange ensemble, was his pair of orange sunglasses that reflected a brilliant sunset orange amongst the backdrop of shadows. Was this a popular dress style in England? You regarded the strange man with a level of suspicion, allowing the swell of goose pimples that were beginning to form to justify your apprehension. Clearly, this man must be an employee here; after all, he just spoke of Sir Integra. But where is his ID badge? You released a cold puff of air and gathered yourself.

“Y-yes, I have. It’s quite beautiful.” After a short pause, the man gives an appreciative hum. He approached the painting- and by extension, you- with measured strides.Though you tried not to make it obvious, the way your eyes tracked every inch of the man’s movement made your anxiety palpable. You eyed the man’s Adam’s Apple as it bobbed, like he was drinking in your fear. You chided yourself for the silly thought. Peeking through the sides of his glasses, you swore you saw crimson. It’s just a trick of the light.

“Aye, it is, isn't it? A true testament to humanity's will to rebuke what is their natural inheritance. It is but an inevitability, the grip of death, yet pieces like these ensure one will forever persist; even if it is through mere paper and colored earth. Humans…are so fascinating.”

You look up at the strange man, taking into consideration his words. “I…never really thought about it in that way. I suppose the tendency for humanity to preserve itself can be admirable, but I also can’t help but wonder when it stops being worth it to try. How many hours of labor and hardship did it take for one to even get the materials for this? Was the artist that was commissioned for this even compensated? Were they under duress? Countless resources, likely at others expense, just to spite the inevitable. At what point does it become insanity to continue?” To some extent, you wonder if the investment in such decadence could ever not be seen as tasteful. The man tilted his head in confusion, though his glasses made it difficult to tell. He later meets your gaze once more with a wide grin. “And yet it is here for you to ponder on. You still admire it, do you not?” You suppose he’s right about that…you suppose. “Mmh.”

“Alucard” What? Oh, of course, your name! “ W-here are my manners? It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Alucard!" You extended your arm for a handshake. Alucard raised an eyebrow, his expression hinting amusement at your sudden enthusiasm . Despite this, he gently took your hand in his. "The pleasure is all mine, dear" he murmurs, his voice smooth like velvet. As he released your hand, but not before a moment of arrest. The man was unnaturally cold. This made little sense considering he was wearing gloves. You stared down at them, noticing the odd symbols that traced along the smooth fabric.

"So, do you work here?” You ask nervously. “...My dear child, military compounds are not known for hosting tours” Alucard chuckles. You blushed as you kicked yourself for having asked such a stupid question. Unfortunately, it was not the last, but as the conversation between the two of you progressed, you found his biting sarcasm to be…entertaining? Clearly, the man was just as (if not more) entertained by you. From the sneaking glances at his spectacles, hints of amusement expressed itself through the veiled outlines of his eyes.

“Say, earlier when we were talking about that painting, you mentioned something about how humans are ‘fascinating’...” His strong jaw tilted to give you a cryptic expression. The corners of his eyes crinkled in delight as his cheshire smile welded together to tease a truth not yet privy to you. “Yes, and what of it?”

Swirling sunset eyes met with yours. Questions went unsaid and the impossibility of his eye’s inhuman color went unattended to by your psyche. Drawn to his preternatural beauty like a moth to a flame, your delicate digits found respite along the cool angles of Alucard's jaw; his long arms wrapped around your delicate waist in turn.

The satisfied gleam in his eyes turned a bright vermillion, though this did not register to you. After all, how could it when the point of his nose felt so good against the curve of your neck? How could anything matter when the light feather kisses along the new trail of bruises felt so right? You were floating on a fluffy cloud. You leaned in more to seek the comfort of his tongue's girth as he further suckled upon your skin. Pads of your breasts being kneaded was the button needed to release the breathy moan that escaped from your lips. You ached with need, he could smell it. A whine escaped from your lips as Alucard withdrew slightly, a wicked grin spread across his face as he assessed your feeble state. Your arm tickled at the way his gloved fingers danced along your skin. Your jaw felt good in between his fingers, you thought.

“My dear, you wished to know what I meant when I spoke of humanity…Do you still want to know?” It was unfair really. How could you possibly answer such a thing when he was toying with your body like this? When his large hands dared to roam under the fabric of your clothes and to your heat? When his tall nose tickled its way so sweetly along the surface of your cheek until his lips could reach the shell of your ear to continue whispering sweet temptations? Bent sinfully, the Vampire King sampled more of your flavor, though careful not to break any skin—Yet.

“Why do you reject it? Why deny yourself ? Sweet thing, allow me to show you the pleasures of surrender.” 'That... Maybe that wouldn't be so bad...', your mind drifts. The ghost of affirmation clung to your lips by a finger. That shouldn't be a problem, right?

“Is that a problem?” Your mind thought back to that woman..

Blood, as Alucard has learned over the centuries, tasted better when given freely. He just needed the word. He began to coo at you, sure that his prize was soon to be had. Your eyebrows knitted together and your hands reached to push at Alucard's broad shoulders. From your periphery, true would be found. His teeth…His eyes…You couldn't even recall when he'd taken off his glasses…

He's going to kill you, isn't he? Your first day on the job... Will be your last. Though the bulk of your freewill had mostly seeped out and left a vast space for persuasion, the 'bulk of' didn’t mean all. Blunt nails made harsh contact with soft skin. Streaks of scrapped flesh mirrored the streaks of salty water that cascaded down your cheeks. Quickly, reserved defiance turned into a desperate fight for life. Just as quickly, however, your body tired and could no longer accommodate your frantic attempts. Your mind followed suit when the previous bloody tears against pale flesh sealed; leaving no sign of damage behind. “H-help!” It seemed that no such thing would come. Worse than before, the echoes of your voice did nothing to salve the desperate disposition of your nerves. You were truly alone…Never had a smile looked so sickening.

You weren't going to win. Whoever this is, whatever this is, was going to kill you and there was nothing you could do about it.

"Please... Make it quick” Alucard, at your words, sniffed in disgust. His initial features of surprise quickly turned into an acrid distaste. Suddenly, the rotten blood of ghouls would be more preferable than the presence of a coward. Humans who were so willing to just forfeit their life...

"Disgusting," Alucard spits out, recoiling as if offered a meal of festered meat and a chalice of pus. Disdain etches itself onto his angular features, a look of utter contempt. His venomous glare pierced through you, freezing your very soul. Though “free”, you were not sure if you were better off in this situation or the former. Meek human eyes locked gazes with hot coals from the depths of hell.

“BACK AWAY FROM THE GIRL OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO SHOOT!"

The man in the familiar tactical gear,‘Birminghamman’, you vaguely recall, shouts as he points his firearm at the haunting figure. The presence of another human did not, unfortunately, improve your spirits. In fact, the presence of more bodies and more guns made the situation ironically more tense. Red eyes laid no heed to the crowd forming around the spectacle; it's attention only on you.

There was no other form of acknowledgement other than a mere scoff. The specter of a man swiveled on booted heels and was welcomed by the darker expanse of the hallway. Crimson lined shadows retreated, leaving nothing but dotted black plumes in its wake.

Birmingham was the last to lower his gun. "M-miss, are you alright?” You really weren't sure how to answer that question. Were you okay? “Listen, if you need to go to the infirmar—”, You recoiled at his reassuring gesture, only able to stare back owlishly.

You were told everything.

[psuedosugu]

only him ★

suguru geto x reader

synopsis: a strange man you meet on your way back home gradually coaxes you into his way of thinking

cw: manipulation

notes: i don’t know if i like this,,,,might rewrite,,,the vision was there tho

the crescent moon shone above you as your shoes pitter-pattered on the hard pavement you walked on.

you had just closed up shop for the night, and you were on your way home.

being one of the only employees at your small bakery, to say that you were tired was an understatement. to you, though? it was worth it.

you lived in a small town where everyone knew eachother, and you were known as the town baker, a title that you wore with pride. the fact that you were able to bring joy to people through your work made it all feel worthwhile.

you followed your usual route, the one you had taken dozens of times before. left then left then right and left- until something caught your eye.

around the corner, right beside the usually deserted building you always passed, was a….creature?

any other, reasonably normal person would’ve started screaming, but you were used to this. you had been seeing these…..things (for lack of a better word) since you were little. you were terrified at first, but attempts at telling others what you were seeing only earned you confused glares, so you kept it to yourself. the smaller ones you could easily fling away, but you had learnt the hard way that it was better to leave the larger ones alone.

this one was different, though. there was a man next to it, but he didn’t seem distressed. the creature wasn’t violent, but was subdued, almost like the man was controlling it. with a snap of a finger, the creature was gone.

you watched the scene before you, lips slightly parted in awe, before the man’s eyes diverted to you. before he could ask why you were staring, “how’d you do that?”you blurted out, blunt and straight to the point, like a child asking how an item works.

a hint of surprise flashed through his features before his lips crinkled into a soft smile. “how does what work?” he asked, playing dumb.

“the- the, um. where’d it-?” you stumbled over your words. he laughed at your confusion, and your face heated up in mild embarrassment.

“the curse? it’s mine.” he said matter-of-factly, as if that explained anything.

“curse? yours?”

he nodded.

“…i’ve never met anyone who can see them too.” you were intrigued by this strange man. you’d never seen him before, so he must’ve been an outsider.

he seemed intrigued in you too. “you haven’t?” he asked. you shook your head no.

he walked towards you. “well,” he started, “you’re a curse user, no? you have a cursed technique?”

you thought to yourself. you had always known you were different, too hyper aware of the air around you. you could somewhat control the wind, you could even lift small items if you tried hard enough.

you nodded, hesitantly. “i-i can control the wind.”

“the wind?” he questioned.

“the air.” you corrected yourself, and to prove your point you lifted a small pebble that was near your feet to eye level.

the man looked impressed, leaning on the wall next to him. “…and you’ve never met any other curse users, so you taught yourself?”

“yeah..” you responded, tossing the pebble to the side.

“that’s impressive.”

the man was tall, with long, ebony hair that cascaded down his back. he had a dark aura to him, which contradicted with how pulled you felt towards him, despite only knowing him for a few minutes.

“oh,” he exclaimed, “forgive me, i haven’t even introduced myself.”

his name was suguru. suguru geto. not a name you were familiar with, so he definitely wasn’t from here.

the two of you talked for a while longer. he was there to collect curses, he said, to add them to his arsenal of some sort. he answered some of your questions, but left you with many more, and when he said that he should start heading home, that his girls would be waiting for him, you felt a pang of disappointment.

he did leave you with his number, though, and a promise that he would be back, so you walked the rest of your way back home with a bounce in your step.

turns out that he wasn’t lying. the two of you met again, a second time, third time, fourth time, etc. he did spy on you a bit between said meetings, not in a malicious way, suguru justified to himself, just to make sure you were safe and doing well!

his presence lingered around you, whether it was outside your window, across the street, he just wanted to be near you, and could you blame him? you were stunning, would be the perfect addition to his “family” in time. though you were trapped, shackled by this society that saw sorcerers as lesser, he would free you. he would be the savior that you needed.

he became obsessed with this thought, and as he learnt more about you, you gradually learnt more about him. he told you about his 2 adoptive daughters, who he loved dearly. he also told you more about his views on the world, and the people in it.

“we’re special, [name]. different from them. better than them.” he told you one day.

“them?” you asked.

“non-sorcerers.”

you blinked at him. “i mean, we are different, yeah. i wouldn’t say better-“

“what are curses made out of?” he interrupted.

“….cursed energy?” you quoted his teachings.

“and where does cursed energy come from?”

“the emotions of non-sorcerers.”

he let out a small hum of approval before pulling you closer to him.

“the leaches of society.”

he had talked down on non-sorcerers before, small little jabs, but you were able to brush them off. he didn’t want to scare you off, of course. he had started to find a liking towards you, as the girls also had when he brought them around. he couldn’t let you slip away, not now.

you had grown attached, though. you were in his grasp now, and through carefully curated words, he planted the first seeds in your mind, letting his ideals bloom. “ they’re monkeys,” he would tell you, “you shouldn’t waste your time, talent, and effort on them.”

you loved your bakery more than you loved yourself, but the more that you listened to him, the more that you started to understand.

you had always been alienated from people, like they could just tell that you were different. you felt like you had to do favors, like you had to bend over backwards so you wouldn’t be alone, but with suguru, you could just be you, and that was enough.

you were infatuated with him, exactly how he wanted you to be.

you knew now, how cruel he could be. you knew that the same hands that held you so softly had struck down many. you knew that the same voice that told you such sweet praises was the last thing some heard before their demise. you knew, and yet you didn’t care. they were non-sorcerers, after all. they didn’t matter.

and so when he’d eventually ask you to uproot your life and move in with him permanently, to become a part of his family, you’d say yes, of course, because nobody else mattered. only him.

[theonottsbxtch]

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT.2| MV1

an: ahh i'm really enjoying writing this dynamic, although this isn't set in the victorian era. i am a SUCKER for historial romance so this feels very similiar.

wc: 5.5k

part one

Two nights later, under the cover of darkness, the princess found herself slipping through the quiet halls of the palace again. She knew Lukas had warned her not to sneak out, but the pull to return to the track was stronger than the caution in her mind. She missed the feeling of freedom, the wind against her face, and—though she hadn’t admitted it to herself fully yet—Max’s easy company. The memory of the last race, of his smile, of the way she’d felt like a completely different person, made her restless.

She had to go back.

The stable yard was silent, the smell of hay and leather heavy in the air. The familiar path to the hidden exit was just ahead, tucked behind the horses’ stalls. Her heart raced with excitement, and she moved quickly, eager to feel that surge of adrenaline again.

But as she reached the spot, her steps faltered.

The small gap in the stable wall—her secret exit—was blocked. Heavy wooden planks had been nailed across the opening, crisscrossing over the stones, sealing it shut.

Her stomach dropped. She stared at it in disbelief, her pulse quickening for all the wrong reasons now. She hadn’t been gone long—only two days—but someone had found out. Someone had noticed.

No... not someone.

As if summoned by her very thoughts, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind her.

“Princess,” came a familiar, deep voice.

She turned slowly, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. The head of the royal guard, Commander Alfred, stood just a few feet away. His tall, imposing figure seemed to fill the space around them, his grey uniform stark against the soft, moonlit stable. His expression was calm, but there was a hardness in his eyes that made her stomach twist.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t try this again,” Alfred said, his voice low but firm.

Her mouth went dry. Her mind scrambled for something to say, an excuse, anything, but nothing came. Instead, she just stood there, frozen, caught like a child sneaking out past curfew. The thrill of the night evaporated, replaced by a cold dread settling into her bones.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on this exit for a few days now,” Alfred continued, stepping forward with measured, deliberate steps. “I saw you the other night. I didn’t say anything, hoping you wouldn’t make it a habit. But here you are.”

Her throat tightened. “I just... I needed some air,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alfred studied her for a moment, his stern gaze softening ever so slightly. He let out a slow breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re a princess,” he said, his tone gentler now, but still unyielding. “The world outside these walls isn’t safe for you. There are risks you can’t see—people who would take advantage of you, who wouldn’t think twice about using your title against you. You can’t just... sneak out and pretend none of that matters.”

The weight of his words pressed down on her, heavier than her own guilt. She knew he was right. But that didn’t make it easier to swallow. All she had wanted was a few moments where she didn’t have to be the princess, where she could just be... herself. Not the heir, not the symbol of royal duty. Just a girl who liked racing karts and laughing with a stranger who didn’t know her name.

But now, even that small slice of freedom was being taken away.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” she murmured, her voice cracking slightly.

Alfred nodded once, his face unreadable. “Go back to your room, Your Highness,” he said, his tone final. “It’s late.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. There was no arguing with Alfred, not when he was right. Slowly, defeated, she turned and walked back toward the palace, her heart heavy with disappointment.

As she crossed the yard and disappeared into the dim halls of the palace, she felt the sting of tears building behind her eyes. She blinked them back, forcing herself to hold it together until she reached her room.

Once inside, the silence of her chambers was deafening. The weight of everything—the closed exit, Alfred’s disapproving words, the suffocating sense of responsibility—pressed down on her all at once.

She sank onto the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands as the tears finally came.

She hadn’t realised just how much she needed that escape until it was taken away from her. The walls of the palace suddenly felt smaller, closing in on her, trapping her in a life she wasn’t sure she could keep living. The image of the boarded-up exit flashed in her mind, a cruel reminder that her freedom, however small, had been ripped away.

She curled up on her bed, pulling her knees to her chest as the sobs wracked through her. The palace, her family, the expectations—it all felt too heavy, too impossible to carry. She thought about Max, the thrill of the track, the brief joy she’d found in being someone else, and how, for a few short hours, it had made her feel alive again.

But now, that world seemed farther away than ever. Untouchable.

The tears kept coming, long after the moon had risen high in the sky. And when she finally stopped crying, the exhaustion weighed her down like a blanket, pulling her into a restless sleep.

For the next few days, she didn’t leave her room. She couldn’t bring herself to face anyone, not even Lukas, who she knew had done everything he could to protect her secret. She felt numb, lost in the overwhelming sense of disappointment that she couldn’t shake.

No one came to question her absence from meals or the usual royal duties. Maybe they thought she was unwell—sick with some quiet illness that kept her hidden away. In a way, she was.

Because now, more than ever, she felt like a prisoner in her own life.

Days had turned into a week, and she still hadn't left her room.

At first, her absence had gone unnoticed. It wasn’t uncommon for her to retreat after the long banquets, charity events, and royal meetings that often took up her time. The palace staff had simply assumed she was taking a break, maybe indulging in some much-needed rest.

But as the days dragged on, it became clear that something wasn’t right.

She barely ate. Meals delivered to her chambers sat untouched on the tray by her door. The curtains remained drawn tight, shutting out the warm autumn sunlight, and her once neat and orderly space had become a mess of discarded clothes and rumpled sheets. The sparkle that usually lit up her presence had dimmed, buried under a weight that no one could see but everyone felt.

Her ladies-in-waiting whispered among themselves, their voices low as they passed in the corridors. They traded worried glances, unsure of what to do. Should they call the Queen? Inform the King? She had never stayed hidden away like this before—not like this. Even when she needed space, she always re-emerged, ready to face her responsibilities. But now, the princess seemed... lost.

Her mother was the first to express concern openly.

One afternoon, as the palace staff hurried about preparing for a royal dinner, the Queen stopped one of her ladies-in-waiting in the hall. The Queen had always been poised and composed, but there was an unmistakable hint of worry in her sharp green eyes.

“How is she?” she asked, her voice tight, betraying more emotion than she intended.

The young woman fidgeted under the Queen’s gaze, lowering her head. “She’s been... resting, Your Majesty. But she hasn’t left her room in days. I don’t think she’s well.”

The Queen’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Has she spoken to anyone?”

“No, Your Majesty. She’s refused visitors.”

The Queen’s worry deepened. She had always been headstrong, independent. But this felt different. Something was wrong. And it wasn’t just the physical withdrawal—it was the silence. She had never shut herself off like this before, and the Queen couldn’t shake the sense that her daughter was sinking into something far deeper than exhaustion.

The next day the King himself stepped into her chambers, expecting to find his daughter reading or quietly working through whatever troubled her. But when he saw her lying on the bed, her back turned to the door, still wearing the same clothes from days ago, the sight struck him harder than he’d expected.

“Darling,” he said gently, stepping into the room.

She didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge his presence.

The King’s brow furrowed. His daughter had always been the stronger one, the one who pushed through no matter the burden placed on her. But the stillness in the room, the absence of life in her usually vibrant eyes—it unsettled him.

He walked to her side, sitting down on the edge of her bed. For a long moment, he simply watched her, unsure of what to say. As King, he was used to fixing things, solving problems, and making decisions. But this... this felt like something he couldn’t fix with words or power.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” he asked softly. “Talk to me.”

She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the wall, eyes red-rimmed and empty. She didn’t trust herself to speak. If she opened her mouth, she was afraid she might fall apart completely, and that scared her more than anything.

The King sighed, reaching out to gently touch her hand. “You don’t have to do this alone, darling. Whatever it is, you can tell us. We’ll help.”

But she didn’t respond, her body tense under his touch. She didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling—the pressure, the emptiness, the suffocating weight of her title, her future, and everything in between. And the only escape she had found—the one place where she could breathe—had been taken from her.

The King remained by her side for a few more minutes, but eventually, he rose, his expression more worried than when he’d entered. He had hoped she would open up, give him some clue as to what was going on, but her silence spoke louder than any words could.

As he left the room, he quietly summoned Commander Alfred. The head of the royal guard appeared swiftly, his usual stoic expression in place. But even he couldn’t hide the concern that flickered in his eyes when the King spoke.

“Have you noticed anything unusual about the princess lately?” The King asked, his tone quiet but filled with authority.

Alfred’s jaw tightened. He knew precisely what was troubling her. He had been the one to stop her the night she tried to sneak out again. And though he had done his duty, he regretted the way it had crushed her. But now, standing before the King, he couldn’t very well admit he had allowed her escapades to go on unnoticed for so long.

“Your Majesty,” Alfred began carefully, “I believe the princess has been under a great deal of stress. It’s possible she’s... struggling with the weight of her responsibilities.”

The King frowned, frustration creeping into his expression. “We all have responsibilities, Alfred. But she has never shut down like this before. This is different.”

Alfred hesitated, his mind racing. Should he tell the King about the racing, about the brief moments of rebellion that had clearly meant so much to her? It wasn’t his place to reveal such things, especially when the princess had already been punished for it in her own way.

Instead, he simply nodded. “I will keep an eye on her, Your Majesty. But I believe she needs time.”

The King gave a short nod, though his unease was palpable. “Time. Yes. But not too much time. If this goes on any longer, we’ll have to intervene.”

That night the moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the palace grounds. Inside her room, the shadows loomed larger than life, stretching across the walls like silent sentinels. She lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts swirling like the dust motes dancing in the moonlight. She had tried to find solace in sleep, but each time she closed her eyes, her mind spiralled back to the karting track—the laughter, the thrill, the fleeting moments of freedom that now felt like a distant memory.

As the clock struck midnight, a soft creak broke the stillness of her room. She turned her head, heart racing. The door slowly opened, and Lukas slipped inside, his silhouette cutting through the darkness.

“Your Highness,” he whispered, urgency lacing his tone. “I know you’re awake.”

“What are you doing here?” she gasped, sitting up quickly. “You can’t be in here!”

Lukas held a finger to his lips, a mischievous grin breaking through the concern etched on his face. “Shhh! Just trust me. I need you to change. I brought something for you.”

He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, pulling out a pair of dark jeans, a fitted black t-shirt, and a lightweight jacket. “You need to get out of here.”

Her heart pounded as she processed his words. “What? But Lukas, I can’t just—”

“Please, princess. You’ve been stuck in this room for too long. You need to breathe. Change quickly!” He urged, his tone more serious now.

Despite her hesitation, a flicker of hope ignited in her chest. She nodded, her resolve strengthening. “Alright,” she murmured, taking the clothes from him. “But you have to promise this is safe.”

“I promise,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with determination. “I’ll be right here.”

She hurried to the bathroom to change, her heart racing with anticipation and fear. The soft fabric felt foreign against her skin after days of wearing nothing but the same loungewear. She took a deep breath, catching her reflection in the mirror—her eyes still heavy with sleepless nights, but the spark of rebellion ignited within her once more.

When she emerged, Lukas was waiting, a grin on his face as he took in her new look. “You look ready for an adventure.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she breathed, feeling exhilarated yet terrified.

“Don’t worry. Just follow me.” He took her hand, leading her through the darkened corridors of the palace, down the stairs and into the depths of the guard quarters.

After what felt like an eternity of cautious footsteps and whispered exchanges, they reached a door that she had never noticed before. It was tucked away at the far end of the guard barracks, partially concealed by a thick tapestry.

Lukas turned to her, his expression serious. “This is a guard exit. It’ll take you out to the stables, but you need to move quickly. Once you’re outside, make your way to the track.”

Her heart raced at the thought of being outside the palace walls, free once again. “And you?”

“I’ll be keeping an eye on things from a distance. If you need anything, just call. But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t afford to let anyone know you’re gone.”

As he spoke, he reached into his bag and pulled out the helmet she had been gifted the last time she was at the track. “Here. Take this. It’s yours now.”

She stared at the helmet, a mixture of gratitude and exhilaration washing over her. “Thank you, Lukas. I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”

He smiled softly, but there was an intensity in his gaze. “You deserve to feel free, princess. You deserve more than what this palace offers. Now go. Run.”

She stepped forward, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered, pulling him into a tight hug. The embrace was warm and reassuring, a promise of friendship and loyalty in a world where she often felt so alone.

Lukas held her for a moment longer, then gently pulled away. “I’ll be right here, watching you,” he promised.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped back and nodded. The door creaked open, revealing the moonlit stables beyond. She could feel the cool night air beckoning her, the thrill of adventure coursing through her veins.

With a final glance back at Lukas, she stepped through the door and into the night. The world outside felt alive, electric with possibilities. She sprinted toward the stables, adrenaline surging as she imagined the karting track waiting for her, the laughter of her new friends echoing in her mind.

As she reached the edge of the stables, she turned to look back one last time, seeing Lukas standing by the door, watching her with a proud smile.

Then she turned and ran, feeling like she was breaking free for the first time in ages. The track awaited, and with it, the promise of freedom.

Her heart raced as she sprinted down the familiar path leading to the karting track. The thrill of freedom surged through her with each stride, the cool night air whipping around her. She had longed for this moment, to feel the exhilaration of the track beneath her feet, the adrenaline that coursed through her veins as she raced.

But as she burst through the gates, her excitement faltered. The track felt eerily quiet, devoid of the laughter and energy that had once filled the air. The karts sat silently in their spots, the pit area dark and still, the bleachers looming like forgotten memories. Disappointment washed over her as she realised she might have come back to an empty space, a place that had felt so alive just days ago.

“Pity” she muttered, her voice echoing into the void.

Feeling the weight of solitude, she hesitated at the edge of the track. She had envisioned this moment—the thrill of the race, the rush of speed—but now it felt as though the universe had conspired to leave her alone once again.

Just as she turned to leave, something caught her eye. A figure sat cross-legged on the ground near the barrier, partially obscured by shadows. Curiosity piqued, she squinted, and her heart leapt when she recognized the silhouette.

“Max?” she called, the name tumbling from her lips as a rush of hope surged within her.

He looked up, surprise washing over his face, and in an instant, he stood up, a wide smile spreading across his features. “Angel!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of excitement and disbelief.

Without thinking, she rushed toward him, her heart pounding in rhythm with her footsteps. The distance between them vanished in an instant as she barreled into him, relief and joy overwhelming her senses.

Max caught her in a warm embrace, and the world around them faded. “I can’t believe you came back! I thought maybe you weren’t going to,” he said, his voice warm and sincere as he held her tight.

“I missed it too much,” she admitted, pulling back to look into his eyes. “And I missed you.”

He stepped back slightly, his gaze searching hers, and there was a moment of stillness between them. The excitement of their connection lingered in the air, an unspoken understanding that made her heart flutter.

“I was here the whole time, waiting for you to show up again,” he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “You really know how to make an entrance.”

She laughed, feeling lighter than she had in days. “I almost didn’t make it. I was worried I’d be the only one here.”

Max shook his head, chuckling. “Nah, I couldn’t stay away either. This place is too good to abandon. Plus, I was hoping you’d come back. I wanted to see how you were doing after our last race.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” she replied, her heart swelling at the thought of their last adventure together. “It was one of the best nights of my life.”

“Same here,” he said, his expression softening. “It felt real, you know? Just us, no pressures, no expectations. I’ve missed having that, it’s been a long time.”

She felt her cheeks warm at his words. “I’ve missed that too. It’s hard to explain why. Everything in my life feels… complicated.”

He nodded, understanding glimmering in his eyes. “I get it. Sometimes you just want to escape from everything. That’s why I love coming here. It’s my little slice of freedom. I came here once a year with my mother and I come back each year.”

“It feels like no one cares who you are or what you’re supposed to be here.”

Max stepped back, his eyes playful. “So, you ready for another round? I’ve been practising, and I’m pretty sure I can beat you this time.”

“Is that a challenge?” she teased, feeling her competitive spirit ignite.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his smile wide. “But you’d better keep up.”

As they walked toward the karts, she couldn’t shake the feeling of exhilaration that buzzed through her. The emptiness she had felt moments ago faded, replaced by the warmth of their connection. Here, with Max, she was just a girl—not a princess, not a royal burdened by expectations.

They reached the karts, and Max gestured for her to take the lead. “You go first. I’ll watch you and see if I can learn a thing or two.”

Shr grinned, her nerves dissipating as she settled into the familiar seat of the kart. “Okay, but don’t blame me if I leave you in the dust!”

As she tightened the helmet over her head, Max’s laughter filled the air, and for the first time in what felt like ages, she felt free. The night stretched ahead of them, full of possibilities, and with a deep breath, she fired up the engine.

The engines fell silent as she and Max brought their karts to a stop, both panting from the thrill of the race. The air was thick with the scent of gasoline and the excitement that still hummed between them. As they climbed out of their karts, a shared laughter lingered in the air, buoyed by the adrenaline that coursed through their veins.

Max leaned against his kart, catching his breath, his eyes sparkling with exhilaration. “You really held your own out there,” he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I thought I was going to lose for a moment.”

She smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Well, don’t get too used to it. I’ll get better every time,” she replied playfully, wiping the sweat from her brow.

But as their laughter faded, the atmosphere shifted. The thrill of competition transformed into something deeper. Max’s gaze lingered on her, his expression softening as the playful banter shifted into a moment filled with unspoken understanding. They stepped closer, the warmth between them drawing them together, filling the space with a tension that felt electric.

Max brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek, and her breath hitched in her throat. In that moment, the world around them faded away—the empty track, the quiet night—everything became a distant blur. The only thing that mattered was the connection they shared, the desire that surged like wildfire between them.

“Schjate,” Max said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Her heart raced at his words, and she felt a rush of emotions bubbling to the surface. “Me too,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about our last race.”

As their eyes locked, the air around them crackled with intensity. Without thinking, they moved closer together, their breaths mingling as Max leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that ignited the night.

It started softly, a gentle brush of lips that deepened as the world melted away around them. Her heart soared as she kissed him back, savouring the sweetness of the moment. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, as if he were afraid she might slip away. She melted against him, losing herself in the warmth of his embrace.

Their kiss was filled with a mix of exhilaration and longing, each moment stretching into eternity. Time seemed to pause as they lost themselves in each other, the warmth of his body grounding her in a way she had never experienced before. Every doubt, every fear faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in that electrifying moment.

But as they finally broke apart, a rush of reality crashed down on her. She stepped back, her heart racing, panic rising in her chest. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Why?” Max asked, confusion clouding his eyes as he searched her face. “It felt right, didn’t it?”

She turned away, trying to catch her breath as her thoughts raced. “I can’t offer you anything,” she admitted, the weight of the words heavy on her tongue.

“Why not?” he pressed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “What do you mean?”

“Because I can’t just… be with you like this,” she said, her chest tightening. “It’s complicated.”

His brow furrowed as he stepped closer, determination shining in his eyes. “What’s complicated about it? It’s just us here.”

“No, it’s not just us!” She exclaimed, her voice rising. “You don’t understand what I’m giving up.”

“What are you giving up?” he asked, his voice laced with hurt. “What do you think this is? I’m not just some guy to you.”

“No, you’re not,” she replied, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “But I can’t pretend that this is simple. I have responsibilities—things I can’t just ignore.”

Max’s expression shifted, disbelief etched on his face. “Responsibilities? What does that even mean?”

“It means I’m the princess of this country!” she blurted out, her heart racing as she revealed the truth she had kept hidden.

Silence fell between them, the weight of her confession hanging in the air. Max’s eyes widened, shock replacing the warmth that had just been there. “Wait… what?”

“I have a life I can’t escape from,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can’t be with someone when everything I do has consequences.”

Max took a step back, the hurt in his eyes cutting deeper than any blade. “So that’s it? You’re just going to run away because of some title?”

“No!” she cried, tears threatening to spill over. “I wish it were that easy. But I can’t risk everything for something that might not even be real!”

The tension crackled between them, pain and frustration hanging thick in the air. He shook his head, disbelief etched on his features. “So what that kiss was fake? An act of pity?”

“I don’t know what that was,” she admitted, her heart aching. “But I can’t let myself get lost in it. I have too much at stake.”

Max’s expression softened for a moment, but the hurt lingered. “And what if this is your chance to find something real?”

“I can’t take that chance!” she replied, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Max.”

With that, she watched as he turned away, the distance between them feeling insurmountable. Her heart shattered as she took in the sight of him walking away, the warmth of their moment fading into the night. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she realised the weight of her choice, the finality of what she had just done.

“Max,” she whispered, but the words were lost in the night.

As he disappeared into the shadows, she felt an unbearable ache in her chest, the reality of her world crashing down on her like a tidal wave. She turned away, her heart heavy, and made her way back to the palace, each step feeling like a loss.

The thrill of racing, the taste of freedom, and the warmth of connection had been swept away, leaving only a hollow ache where joy once resided. As she walked through the familiar halls of the palace, the burden of her title felt heavier than ever, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had lost something precious.

As she made her way back to the palace, the cool night air felt sharp against her skin, mirroring the ache in her chest. Each step felt heavier than the last, the thrill of her escape now replaced by a deep sense of loss. The weight of her reality bore down on her, and she could hardly breathe as tears streamed down her cheeks, each drop a cruel reminder of what had just happened.

The familiar silhouette of the palace loomed ahead, its grand façade illuminated softly in the moonlight. It had always felt like a sanctuary, but tonight it felt more like a prison, trapping her within its walls of expectation and duty. She quickened her pace, desperate to escape the memories of her time with Max, yet somehow knowing that they would haunt her no matter where she went.

As she approached the entrance, she spotted Lukas standing near the guard post, his usual stoic demeanour replaced by an expression of concern. The moment he saw her, his brow furrowed, and he stepped forward, instinctively sensing that something was terribly wrong.

“Princess?” he called, his voice low but urgent. “What happened? You look—”

Before he could finish, she crumpled, the weight of her emotions crashing over her like a wave. Without a word, she rushed into his arms, burying her face against his chest as sobs wracked her body. The warmth of his embrace felt like a lifeline, and she clung to him, desperately seeking solace.

Lukas stiffened for a moment, clearly taken aback, but then his arms encircled her, holding her close as she cried. “Princess, what’s wrong?” he murmured, his voice soothing as he stroked her hair gently. “Talk to me.”

She pulled back slightly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she looked up at him. “I—I can’t,” she stammered, struggling to catch her breath. “I messed everything up, Lukas.”

“Take your time,” he encouraged, his voice steady and calming. “Just breathe. You’re safe here.”

With a shuddering breath, she began to pour out the words that had been trapped inside her, the turmoil spilling forth like a dam breaking. “I went back to the track, and I saw Max,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “We raced again, and it was incredible. I felt so free, so alive. But then… we kissed, and it was everything I wanted, but I can’t have it. I can’t be with him.”

Lukas’s expression softened, and he held her tighter as she continued. “He thinks it’s real, but I can’t offer him anything, not with who I am. I’m a princess, and I have responsibilities. I can’t just run away and live a normal life.”

Lukas remained silent for a moment, absorbing her words. “Princess,” he finally said, his voice low and earnest, “you deserve to be happy. It’s okay to want something for yourself.”

“But what I want isn’t an option,” she replied, shaking her head, her tears still flowing. “I can’t put him in danger because of my title. I can’t risk my responsibilities for a fleeting moment of happiness. It’s not fair to him.”

“I understand that it feels complicated,” Lukas said, his tone gentle yet firm, “but you can’t sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of your duty. You deserve to feel loved and to have someone who cares about you.”

“I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But it’s all too much. I thought I could be someone else, even just for a little while, but I can’t escape who I am.”

He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression earnest. “Princess, running away from your responsibilities won’t change who you are, but it doesn’t mean you can’t find moments of joy. You have the right to seek happiness, even in a world that tries to dictate how you should live.”

She met his gaze, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. “But what if it all falls apart? What if I lose everything?”

“You won’t lose everything,” he reassured her, his grip tightening around her shoulders. “You have to take risks sometimes. You won’t know what could happen unless you allow yourself to find out.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for the first time that night, she felt a flicker of hope ignite within her, a small voice whispering that maybe there was a way to reconcile her desires with her duties.

“But what if I mess it up again?” she asked, her voice still shaky.

“Then you try again,” Lukas replied softly, a small smile breaking through the concern etched on his face. “You’re not alone in this. I’ll be here to help you navigate it. You can’t let fear dictate your life.”

As she looked into his eyes, she felt the bond of their years deepen. He had always been there, her steadfast protector, and tonight he was more than just a guard—he was a confidant.

“Thank you, Lukas,” she whispered, gratitude swelling in her heart. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he assured her, his tone lightening. “Now, let’s get you inside before anyone else sees you like this. You deserve a moment to breathe, away from everything.”

[ogh-rambles]

In Your Absence.

summary: you finally get to see things (things mostly comprised of pretty people) and console a crying child in the midst of it all. joy. word count: 2.1k status -> unedited

Chapter I: Familiar

It has been a few hours, you guess— since you had last been sent to the ‘Knights of Favonius Headquarters’ to be put into a more comfortable bed.

Unable to do as much as lift a finger, you had listened to the person everyone had all called ‘Honorary Knight’ leave with his companion.

Barbara left to tend to her deaconess duties, Jean had not yet returned after leaving to find this ‘Albedo’, and now you were all alone again.

The room is painfully quiet. So quiet that you could feel your head spin. Now that your ability to see and to move had been taken from you, every other sensation had been multiplied tremendously. Every click, tick, and rustle makes you shudder and want to writhe out of your skin.

It certainly doesn't help that you had been covered head to toe in oily gauze and bandages. The material clings to your skin making it tickle and itch. It was overwhelming to say at least. You want to move.

You want out.

So, it could only be a relief to you when you hear the muffled sound of voices outside the door, Jean being the most familiar.

“... Have you been getting enough sleep, Acting Grand Master?” You overhear a cat-like voice, teasing Jean with the slightest snappy undertone. “You’re telling us that… they’re here? The one who—”

“ --- I know. ” Jean cuts the other off, frustrated, and rightfully so. “I… know. It sounds outright bizarre and impossible to me as well. But that is exactly why you both are here, Kaeya… Albedo.”

A pause of silence encapsulates the conversation before eventually, you hear an exhausted sigh.

“Just, please. Take a look at them.”

“I do not see any reason not to.” Another voice responds, soft-spoken and aloof. You pick up on a shuffling of a pencil on paper before you hear them speak again. “Shall we head in? Or would you like to stay—”

“It is quite alright, Albedo.” Kaeya is fast to refute and you can essentially hear his thin-lipped smile underneath all that bedazzling demeanour. “Let us go inside then, shall we?”

You hear the doorknob promptly shift and creak open, bringing the waft of wind with it... There's a feeling in the air, you can tell. But you can't seem to put your finger on what it is. The three had paused as soon as the door had opened. It was as if Jean was giving them a moment to take you in like if she had not, they would just believe it to be a dream. A well-thought-out morbid prank if you will.

Your hand trembles at your side. Come on, move, move, move...! Open, open, open. Your damn eyes! You were so sick and spent at the lack of sureness and knowing that this darkness had cast upon you. 

Your brow twitches, furrowing the slightest amount. Jean gasps. It divots once more.

"They look like they are in pain," Albedo states plainly after clearing his throat subtly. It was as if he hadn't been expecting himself to react in such a way. Hadn't been expecting... You. "Their injuries seem very similar to the ones that they had before they..."

"Does it not?" Jean agreed rather hastily, the clicks of her shoes swiftly approaching you.

She did not wish to hear the end of that sentence, you realised... You would have been less irritated if you had felt the same way.  

A sliver of brightness beams through the dark that is your world. 

Finally.

Your eyes flutter open to a dimly lit bedroom and... a face. Wavy blonde hair frames it perfectly as pretty blue eyes search your face. Jean. She looks at you like she’s waiting for… something. Anything. But what, you wonder?

Your gaze flickers to the corner of the room, where standing next to the door — are people equally as breath-taking as Jean.

The tall man you think is ‘Kaeya’ stares at you warily. With lengthy blue hair tucked into a ponytail and a narrowed periwinkle eye (and hold on, was his pupil a star?), his stance emanated a sassy energy. Over his right eye was an eye patch, embellished with gold lining. 

While his relaxed stature doesn’t let up, his expression grows more rigid as he notices your eyes on him. How mysterious, you quip to yourself— before your stare flits over to the other.

Standing a bit further back is an ash-blonde of smaller stature, that you guessed is Albedo.

He has some kind of tattoo on his neck, in the same star shape you had noticed in Kaeya’s eye— only in gold. The mark was hard to miss, almost as if it were drawing you in. Teal eyes follow your gaze to his neck before glancing back up at you with an imperturbable look.

Witty and teasing. Reserved and observant. Both men somehow radiate the way they speak, you think. 

“(Name)...? ” 

Jean’s voice snaps your attention back to her. The bare mention of your name sends another shiver down your spine and if she had noticed your flinch, she had ignored it.

“How —” You grimace at the initial scratchiness of your voice before clearing your throat. “... How do you know my name?”

Her breath hitches in her throat and her greyish-blue eyes go wide and misty. Oh joy, you wince. The sheer mess that your voice has become after not speaking for a short while, has brought someone to actual tears.

“You are… really (Name)?” She asks again, slowly.

“Yes… I think so.” You suddenly feel a lot more nervous than you were under the eye of these three strangers. “It’s the only thing I can remember, really.”

Jean purses her lips, finally tearing her eyes away from you to Albedo. 

“Could you…?” She begins and Albedo nods— quickly understanding.

Side-stepping around Kaeya, Albedo approaches your bedside. Jean leaves the chair she had been sitting on and makes way for the blonde. She swiftly ushers Kaeya out of the room with little hassle, giving you one last look you can’t decipher before turning and leaving herself.

And then there were two.

Now that you were much closer, you notice a strange pattern in his eyes as he looks away from you to pull out his pencil and clipboard. You swear it swims and swirls around in his pupil every time he moves around. 

“Is there something about me that you find interesting enough for you to stare so passionately at?”

You blink. Albedo is staring at you and he seems genuinely intrigued, maybe even a bit amused.

“Ah. No, I just think your eyes are very strange,” you catch yourself before continuing. “Sorry, I mean... In a good way, of course.”

He lifts his brows slightly. “A good way?”

“They’re strange in a pretty way.”

“Hmm.” Albedo’s lips part a bit as he searches your face, just as Jean had— albeit more curiously. “... Thank you.”

Silence overtakes the conversation again, but it’s unlike the ones that came before— so loudly silent.

It’s a mellow stillness that sits well in your stomach. Doesn’t make it churn and holler like the other did and somehow it feels familiar to you in a way. A lot of things had felt familiar to you in a way, you reckon.

“Have we met before?” 

Albedo’s head snaps up at you, frozen. His eyes go wide, slightly. It’s an expression that you feel as though it isn't like him to have, but you have no clue why.

You blink at him. He blinks back before reverting back to appearing passive, shoulders relaxing.

“... Why do you say so?” He asks.

“I have no idea.” You ignore the way he refutes your question with another. “You feel familiar to me, I think... The others too.”

He looks at you pointedly. 

"You sound unsure about a lot of things. Do you know anything?"

It was strange… and a little irritating. What was with all these pretty people being overly ambiguous and avoiding your questions? You wanted to know.

You shrug. “I know about as much as you do about me.”

Albedo taps his pencil lightly on his clipboard, shuffling to make himself comfortable in the chair. He scribbles down something obscure to you. While he does whatever he’s doing, you look around the room. It was a guest room, you assume, a bit cramped sure— but okay. You can see a bit outside the window from the bed, the hundreds of tiny little stars blinking back at you as you gaze at them.

“She never answered.” You say after some time.

Albedo looks up from his writing. “ Pardon ?”

“How she knew my name, I mean. She didn’t answer.” You glance back at him. “Do you know how she knew? Did you also know my name?”`

Albedo does not answer, he just… stares at you.

You press on despite the unease that grips your heart.

“Do you know… me? Did you know me?” 

The blonde runs a gloved hand through his hair, the strands falling gracefully in place. His face slightly contorts into a subtle frown, a crease forming between his brows.

“So similar…” He catches your gaze. “Ah, never mind.” 

You sigh.

---

Albedo asks you a few more questions before he leaves, explaining how he needs to go 'check up on his experiments' as he has not been keeping an eye on them for a while.

He hadn't needed to explain to you a reason why he was leaving, but he had anyway, to your surprise. You asked him if he was some sort of scientist. He had responded with a quirk of the lip and a curt 'somewhat' before shutting the door behind him.

Then there was one.

Albedo hadn't given you orders to stay in your room, but you still were somewhat hesitant to go outside your bubble of short-term familiarity. 

In the meantime, you found the silence wasn't so overwhelming when you could finally move about and see things. The room wasn't much to stare at, though the window would give you an opportunity to distract yourself from your amnesia.

So you sat, in the chair that you had dragged over -- with more effort than you had thought you needed -- staring through the misty window into the chilliness of the night.

Mondstadt was stunning at night. The houses, paths, and architecture remind you of storybooks that you could barely recall. What would the city look like in the day? You wonder.

You’re not sure if you should go out so soon though. Your lips twitch into a grimace.

You did give the citizens quite a first impression when you arrived looking half-dead in the Honorary Knight’s arms. Speaking of whom, you still had to thank them for, to put it simply, saving your life.

A couple of rapid knocks ring from behind you, making you jolt.

“Helloo ?” The person whispers, voice slightly muffled. “Can I please come in, I need to ummm… hide from someone!”

You stiffen. “Ah, sure…?”

The door opens ajar slightly, and you see a red blur come in and quickly close the door behind them. 

You stare absentmindedly. It’s a... child. 

Platinum blonde pigtails bouncing wildly under a red beret, they turned to face you. What an interesting eye colour. You watch crimson-red eyes comically widen as the silence stretches onward.

Suddenly, she barrels into your stomach in a blur— hugging where it hurts the most. You hold back a grunt of pain as you look down at her, confused.

Her eyes look up at you, all teary and shaky. Your heart clenches at the sight, hands hovering everywhere and nowhere. What do you do??

“Big sibling (Name), I knew you’d come back!” Her grip, although small, tightens around you.

“That’s…” You froze. “ What ?”

“Miss Lisa said you had to go somewhere and weren’t coming back! And, and, and —” She sniffled loudly, making your eyes furrow as you listened closer. “When I asked if I could follow you, she told Klee that she would never, ever get to see you… ever !”

“I… Big sib… ling?” You stammer — unable to take in anything — barely settling on resting a hand on her back. “I’m...  sorry, Klee. I don’t seem to remember a lot.”

“You don’t remember… Klee?” She looks up again with big, wide, and watery eyes.

... You don’t think you can handle another tear from her. You pat her back, racking your head as to what you can do for a crying child. 

“Uh-- But! But, maybe… you could help me?” You quickly cover for yourself, watching her red eyes light up with a new fervour. 

“Okay!” She chirps. "Klee will help Big Sibling (Name) remember everything. Then we can go fish-blasting like we did before!"

Your shoulders visibly sag in relief as you let out a quiet sigh, closing your eyes a bit. When you open them, you do so with a wonky smile that Klee happily returns with much more enthusiasm.

“Okay.”

You pause, backtracking slightly.

“What’s… fish-blasting?”

Prologue > Chapter 1 > Chapter 2

[primalsouls]

Nilotpala Lotus

tighnari x m! reader

moon, tell me if i could

send off my heart to you

theme: general, fluff

warning: a teeny tiny mention of nipple piercing, allergic reactions, 1.5k word count, little ooc Tighnari(?)

summary: Tighnari, Cyno, and Collei decided to go on a walk and patrol the Avidya Forest for a couple of hours, but before an hour can even be completed, they were met with a loud shierk.

notes: I've been thinking about tighnari a lot lately and wanted to write something that kept coming to mind, haha. im also writing pt. 3 of Inner Visions, but the motivation comes and goes every three to five business days. currently has over 350 words that fic lol. please, someone talk to me about Tighnari (╥﹏╥) i need more of him 😔 also meant to make this short under 1.5k words, but i guess i dont know my own limits. xD comments & reblogs are appreciated!

Tighnari, Collei, and Cyno were out on a walk when they came across a loud shriek. Tighnari flinched and covered his ears right away, wincing at the loudness. Cyno and Collei looked around before another yell was heard. The trio quickly picked up their pace and headed in the direction of the sound. As they got near, the fennec fox was able to pick up more than one voice. Panic filled in them. Cyno took the lead, his polearm already in hand. Tighnari followed behind, keeping a close watch on Collei next to him.

“—should we do!? Is he gonna die!?” The high-pitched voice sounded familiar to Tighnari. Shrill and panicked. So loud, it made the dendro user flattened his long ears against his head. When the trio reached the area where the voices were heard, Cyno held a hand up to stop on their tracks, his grip on his polearm tightened to be ready to use. He was the first one to walk closer with cautious steps.

“He's gonna pass out, compadre! He's burning up!” Now there was an unfamiliar voice. The electro user peeked over the large tree that stood between them and the owners of the previous voices. A small flash of shock crossed his features and turned to look back at his two friends.

“It's the traveler and Paimon with two unfamiliar faces.” Cyno reported. When he confirmed their identities, the trio walked around the tree and up to the small group. Tighnari looked at the sight.

As Cyno mentioned, Paimon floated beside Aether, her small hands covering her face as she floated back and forth with a scared look. Aether was crouched next to an unknown face. He wore a concerned expression on his face, trying to keep a calm demeanor as he kept a hand on the back of the first stranger. Beside them was a white haired, tall man with red markings and horns sticking out on the front of his head. He also wore a panicked look. Between Aether and the other fellow was a (hair color) male who looked fatigued and had reddened skin, almost looking like he had a fever. His eyes were casted down on the ground and his breathing sounded irregular.

“Aether, what's going on?” Cyno broke the tensed air around the group. Aether and Paimon looked over and relief washed over their faces. The traveler stood up after making sure the other man was sitting comfortably against a log before he walked over to Cyno with Paimon. “Is he alright?”

“No, he's not! (Name) suddenly felt sick!” Paimon exclaimed, a pout on her small face. Aether gave a small smile before telling the floating child not to exaggerate the situation. “We were just coming from Liyue and were taking a small break. Aether and (Name) stayed in this camp of ours to make snacks while Bull-chucker Itto and I went out and gathered some wood for the fire.” Paimon explained after calming down. Cyno glanced at the two Paimon was referring to, nodding his head for the story to continue. Tighnari stepped closer to the fatigued male Paimon called (Name), but kept his distance. He only studied to see what was wrong with him, a small frown on his face.

The man certainly had reddened skins around the nape of his neck and forearms. His face was flushed like he had a fever and his eyes looked exhausted. Their (color) eyes glanced up at him. Tighnari let out an apology as he stepped back again.

“(Name) was fine with me. Paimon and Itto here came back with wood and a couple of the Nilotpala Lotus.” Aether continued, pointing down at the small pile of wood beside the log his friend rested against. The two Nilotpala Lotus he mentioned were scattered away from (Name), as if someone dropped them without a care. Tighnari turned his attention to the two lotuses with a tilt of his head, his hand taking hold of his chin as he put himself in thought. “Then out of nowhere, (Name) said he felt terrible and almost faint on us. He started to get red on his arms and said he was having a hard time breathing.”

“Paimon thought he was gonna die!” Paimon said, floating next to (Name).

“C'mon, Flying Lavender Melon, (Name) is too strong to die!” Itto said, a frown on his face. Paimon nodded in agreement, a look of determination on her own face. Aether shook his head as he let out a sigh.

“He might have an allergic reaction to the Nilotpala Lotus.” Tighnari broke their conversation. Their eyes turned on him. Paimon and Itto glanced at each other in shock. “He has shortness of breath, an itching rash, and a fever.” The forest watcher leaned a bit over (Name) as his eyes squinted. “And hives. His eyes are also watery. Have you been sneezing?” He asked, crouching next to (Name). He nodded, his lips parted slightly as he took swallow breaths. “We have to take him back to the Gandharva Ville. I could prepare him a quick relief cream for the rash and hives.” Tighnari stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. “This must be your first time in Sumeru, if I'm guessing. You never came in contact with Nilotpala Lotus before, so he must not know he was allergic to it. Who gave you the lotuses?’ The watcher tilted his head before turning his attention to Paimon and Itto, both wearing a guilty look.

“Paimon swears we didn't know! We just found the lotuses pretty and decided to give it to (Name) because he said he had never seen a Nilotpala Lotus.” Paimon explained quickly as Itto nodded along.

“Yeah, if we knew that our amigo was allergic to the flower, we wouldn't have given it to him!” The oni added in, his hands held up in defense. Tighnari sighed as he shook his head.

“Just help bring him in. When we get to the ville, you can take him to my room. C'mon, let's go.” With the help of Cyno and Itto, (Name) stood up. His legs almost gave out but Itto held him close. Aether reassured the others he would catch up with Collei, who decided to help stay behind to clean around the camp with Paimon.

The trip back to the ville wasn't too long, luckily they weren't too far off. Cyno and Itto helped (Name) lay on Tighnari's bed. The forest watcher busied himself in his corner preparing the cream. Thankfully the cryo user wasn't deadly allergic to the lotus. When the cream was ready, Tighnari knocked before he walked in. (Name) laid on his side. “I've brought the cream. Should help relieve some of the itchiness and hives, reducing the rash as well. I've also prepared medicine to help lower down your fever and a gel to apply on your chest and back so you can breathe with no trouble.” Tighnari placed the small bowls and bottle on the nightstand next to his bed. He turned to the other man who carefully sat up with a pained groan. “Here, let me help you apply them, if it's fine with you of course.”

Once given the go to, the long eared fox removed his gloves. He helped the guy remove his shirt, taken a bit back when he was met with a tattooed back of two vicious tigers in red lining. Tighnari cleared his throat and picked up the cream, scooping a bit up with a few fingers. He gently rubs the cream on the reddened part of the skin, watching (Name) let out a satisfying sigh. He could tell the (hair color) man closed his eyes and leaned into his touch. Tighnari continued to apply the cream on the nape of his neck behind. With the cream applied, he cleaned his hand with a wet rug he had brought with himself and took the other bowl, this time the gel. Like the cream, he scooped the gel and massaged it on the back of (Name). The feverish man turned when asked to let the watchleader place the gel on his chest. Once again, he was taken back, this time by the sight of scars and pierced buds. Tighnari tried not to let his stunned look linger as he finished off with the gel, cleaning his hands once more.

Clearing his throat, Tighnari stood up from the bed and looked away from (Name), placing the bowls on the nightstand. “Um, you c-can go ahead and drink a spoonful of the last medicine.” The fox-hybrid was surprised with his stuttered words. What was going on? “After that, you should rest. I'll, uh, I'll bring you dinner when it's ready.” Without a second word spared, Tighnari left his own area. (Name) blinked, thinking nothing wrong about the forest watcher's behavior. Taking his advice, he laid back down on his side and took a nice deep breath for once, smiling a little as breathing became easier to do again. He closed his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep. Now, it was time for the night to fall upon them all.

[botboots]

unfamiliar familiarity [mirage x reader]

a/n: very soft. very short. hes all thats been on my mind since rotb and i needed to get some of my silly little feelings about this man out of my system. its 6am as i finished this & am posting and its not proofread yet so good luck <3

warnings: none word count: 505 (GN reader)

-----------------

It was quiet.

The air was still - only flickers of soft wind caressing your skin every now and then. Green leaves above you rustled with it, along with the tall grass only a few feet away. You were comfortably warm sitting under the summer shade of a tree.

Quiet was nice, you thought, settling against the cool metal at your side and letting your eyes fall shut with a deep exhale. A servo rested on your shoulder and you hummed.

You hadn’t felt at peace like this in… however long it had been.

Too long.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughtless trance by the quiet murmur of your name. Lazily angling your head back, you looked up at the familiar face above you. He observed you for a moment, bright blue optics flicking over your features before soft metal lips parted to give you a soft grin. A warm feeling bubbled in your chest, spreading through to the rest of your body.

Safe, you thought.

Mirage made you feel safe.

“Somethin’ on your mind, pretty?”

A quick huff of a laugh left your lungs. You didn’t reply, just taking in his face; eyes, nose, cheeks and lips. Speaking of…

Lifting an arm, you made a grabbing motion with your hand. Like a child, you knew, but neither of you really cared too much. The mech eagerly lowered his helm, resting it in your outstretched hand. Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly to focus as you reached up with your other hand, thumbs grazing the sides of his face. His metal was mostly smooth - the occasional scratch or scar littered across it. Despite his best efforts to keep his finish clear and shiny, you actually liked all of the marks that were either too small or too deep to buff out. You thought they were pretty on him. You thought he was pretty.

The metal under your palms seemed to warm the longer you stared. When your previous thought returned to you, you gently tugged his helm towards you. He got the message and leaned further down, face mere inches from yours. Eyes flicking from optics to lips, you didn’t waste any more time in meeting him the rest of the way.

Your lips met. He sighed into the kiss, lifting a servo to rest it on top of your smaller hand. There was nothing desperate or rushed in it. It was soft. It was nice. Thoughts melted away as you closed your eyes, running your other hand over his jaw and just focusing on the feeling of him.

Even as you broke the kiss for air you just kept looking at him, caught in the most unfamiliar but simultaneously most familiar set of eyes you’d ever known.

The giant mechanical alien from somewhere out there in the universe who had been the only one to ever make you feel so genuinely safe and cared about tilted his helm.

“So… this definitely means I’m your favorite, right?”

You scoffed, giving him a light swat, “You always were, stupid.”

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Master and Pet~

i really love this one. it is so cute. it is inspired by the wonderful art of breedtheseed or @sir-tater-of-the-tot. this is an cult of the lamb small au but adam's another lamb ~

@adamsappleweek

In a world cloaked in shadows, a dark tale unfurled, whispered on the wind like a haunting melody. The gentle lambs, once symbols of innocence, were now hunted mercilessly. Rumors slithered through the air like smoke, speaking of a creature born from the depths of despair—a lamb of hell, brandishing hellfire, with blood-red eyes that glowed like embers in the night. Its demonic hisses and growls sent shivers down the spines of all who dared to listen. The bishops and their lords, fearful of this unholy apparition, dispatched their teams, relentless in their pursuit to capture the lamb and drag it back for sacrifice.

Amidst this turmoil, young Adam was born into a world of darkness. His parents, upon seeing him for the first time, were seized by a chilling shock. Tiny and fragile, he was wrapped in a shroud of black wool, his large green eyes gleaming with an unsettling curiosity. In a world where fear ruled, they knew that the bishops’ gaze could fall upon him at any moment. Desperate to shield their child from the impending doom, they hid him away, their hearts heavy with dread. When he learned to walk, they abandoned him, urging him to remain concealed, whispering warnings as they faded into the shadows.

Yet, even as they left, a part of Adam felt a bittersweet relief. It was during one of his solitary moments, nestled within the dense expanse of a field of vibrant red camellias, that he overheard a small band of hunters trudging through the thick blossoms. Adam dropped low, his tiny form melding effortlessly into the ground, his midnight-black wool a perfect disguise against the earth. As the hunters spoke, their voices trembled with a mixture of fear and fascination. They mentioned a white-as-snow lamb, a creature that had already slain one bishop, driving the remaining three into a frenzy of desperation.

Joy surged within Adam, nearly bringing him to tears. He wasn’t the lamb of prophecy; he was just another forgotten soul among many, a mere shadow in a world of light. And in that thought, he found solace. He preferred being a nobody, away from the wrath of the bishops.

Once the hunters’ voices faded into the distance, Adam lifted his head, shaking his fluffy black ears, which flopped like those of a bunny, framing his gentle face. He was peculiar in his appearance, but he cherished this uniqueness. Clad in a simple black poncho, he found comfort in its familiarity, knowing it cloaked him from prying eyes.

The field of camellias was his sanctuary, a realm where he could lose himself in the sea of crimson blooms that swayed gently in the breeze. Each blossom was a reminder of life, vibrant and resilient, yet each held a deeper secret. Adam had learned to use the petals for healing, crafting poultices from their velvety softness to mend his wounds and soothe his scrapes. The rich scent enveloped him like a protective embrace, grounding him in his solitude.

In his endless days among the flowers, Adam revelled in the beauty of their presence. He fashioned camellia crowns to adorn his head, their brilliant red a stark contrast against his dark wool, creating a sense of belonging in a world that sought to cast him out. He wove camellia chains, delicate strands that danced around his small form, each bloom a testament to his fleeting existence. They became his companions, vibrant reminders of a world filled with colour amidst the grim shadows lurking just beyond the field’s edges.

In this sanctuary of red, Adam felt an unspoken bond with the blossoms. When the wind rustled through the tall stems, he believed they whispered secrets meant only for him, tales of hope and despair, of love and loss. It was here, amongst the camellia fields, that he felt truly alive hidden from the world’s cruelty, cradled in the gentle embrace of nature’s beauty.

Yet, as the sun dipped low, casting elongated shadows across the field, an unsettling tension lingered in the air. The distant echoes of the hunters reminded Adam of the ever-looming threat that hung over him like a storm cloud. Each rustle in the underbrush sent his heart racing, but he clung to the hope that perhaps he would remain unnoticed, just another shadow in a world desperate to forget him.

And so, he waited, nestled among the blossoms, longing for the day when he could emerge from the shadows, not as the hunted, but as something greater, a soul who could finally claim his place in the world, beyond the reach of those who sought to extinguish his light.

Adam sighed deeply, stretching his stubby legs out with a small, satisfied grunt. For a lamb, he was quite short, it was true—but he was thickly built, with a round, fluffy body that made him look like a black puffball that had rolled off the edge of midnight itself. Still, despite his bulk, Adam had mastered the art of hiding. He rose to his full, modest height, stretching his arms out as he let the warm summer breeze of Darkwood wash over him, stirring the dense field of red camellias. Their sweet, heady fragrance filled the air, a scent that Adam loved so dearly it felt like home.

A low chuckle escaped him as he adjusted his black cloak, lined carefully with camellias he’d picked and tied himself. One especially full blossom sat proudly on his chest, fastened by a thick red ribbon tied into a neat bow at the back of his neck. With the cloak pulled around his head, Adam looked more like a camellia bush than a lamb, which he counted on in moments when stealth was essential.

With light steps, he wandered through the camellia field, his gaze soft as he inspected each bloom, noting which were in full, brilliant health and which needed a bit of his gentle care. He knew this field like the back of his hoof and tended to it as though it were a beloved friend, nurturing the blossoms and making sure they grew strong and tall. Adam felt like he belonged here, hidden away among the rich red blooms.

But then, just as he knelt down to admire a particularly beautiful flower, the sharp sound of metal clashing on metal cut through the field, causing him to jump. He whirled in the direction the hunters had gone, his heart pounding, and held his small hooves close to his chest. The noise was chaotic, each clang and shout hinting at a fierce struggle. Adam rocked on his hooves, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, wondering if he should sink back into the blossoms and wait for it all to pass. But then, as quickly as it began, the noise ceased. Silence fell, cold and unsettling, as though the whole forest had held its breath.

A painful whimper echoed through the stillness, faint but filled with such raw anguish that it made Adam shiver. He tried to ignore it, willing himself to focus on the flowers, but each laboured groan tugged at his heart, tearing his resolve. He knew he should hide, knew he was safer nestled in his field of red, but something in the sound wouldn’t let him rest. Taking a shaky breath, he steeled himself and crept toward the direction of the sounds.

He reached the edge of the camellia field, hugging the rough bark of a Darkwood tree as he peeked around it. His breath caught in his throat at the scene before him: the area looked like a battlefield, with stones scattered, grass slashed to pieces, and broken branches littered everywhere. Dust hung in the air, thick and grim, marking where the hunters had fallen. Adam’s heart pounded, realizing that the strange piles of dust were all that remained of them.

But in the center of the chaos stood a figure that stole his breath entirely. A small, snow-white lamb struggled to stand, his coat as pure as untouched snow, yet stained with grime and flecks of red. The lamb wore a striking red cloak, with a tiny bell on his chest that jingled softly as he tried to find his balance. Adam’s eyes went wide. Could this be the lamb of prophecy? The one said to wield flames and bring ruin to the bishops? Had this white lamb really defeated all those hunters on his own?

Adam’s heart leapt as he watched the lamb stumble forward, hooves shaking before he collapsed to his knees, utterly spent. With a final, exhausted sigh, he sank to the ground, too weak to rise again. Adam glanced around, fear flashing in his emerald eyes. He knew he should run back, escape to the safety of the camellias and let this lamb—prophecy or not—fade away. But just as he took a step to retreat, he froze at the sound of a distant hiss, one that sent chills down his spine. Chaser worms, drawn by the scent of battle, slithered into the area, their dark, coiling forms advancing hungrily toward the fallen lamb.

Adam clenched his jaw, his wool paling with terror. He hated the creatures of Darkwood, and the chaser worms were especially dreadful, with their long bodies and keen, unerring sense of smell. His eyes darted anxiously around, hoping the white lamb would rise and flee. But the lamb didn’t stir, lying prone in the middle of the carnage, a fragile figure in a sea of violence.

Another whimper broke the air, soft and pained, and Adam’s resolve crumbled. He couldn’t leave him. Drawing in a deep breath, he gathered his courage, bolting forward in a swift dash across the torn battlefield. He slid to the lamb’s side, flaring his cloak outward to mask them both in a sea of red. Huddling close, he pressed himself against the white lamb, praying the chaser worms would mistake them for a harmless patch of camellias.

Adam held his breath as one of the worms approached, its snout only inches from his face. He bit down his fear as it sniffed curiously at the red camellia he’d carefully tied by his cheek. A sneeze exploded from the worm, and it recoiled, twisting back to slink away with the others as they retreated, disappointed by the lack of fresh prey.

Only when the last worm disappeared into the depths of Darkwood did Adam allow himself to breathe. He flung the cloak back, his heart racing as he turned to inspect the lamb at his side. His stomach dropped when he finally took in the lamb’s condition. The poor creature’s face was swollen, smeared with blood, his once-bright coat marred with scratches and bruises. Adam pressed a hoof to his mouth, stifling a gasp.

“Oh… oh no,” he murmured, glancing desperately toward the camellia field. The lamb was in bad shape, barely clinging to consciousness, and if he didn’t tend to him soon, he wouldn’t last the hour.

With a steely determination, Adam shuffled around, sliding his hooves under the lamb’s arms to drag him back toward the safety of the flowers. He moved as quickly as his small frame allowed, pulling the lamb through the tangle of blossoms until they were nestled in the heart of the camellia field. Surrounded by his beloved blooms, Adam felt a surge of comfort.

Adam’s hooves trembled as he gently placed a cluster of freshly plucked camellia blossoms by the injured lamb’s side. He’d always known the flowers held powerful healing properties, and he worked with careful reverence, feeling the softness of each petal as he pressed them lightly to the lamb’s wounds. Next, he unrolled one of his handmade bandages, wrapping it snugly around the lamb’s head, securing it with a knot at the nape of his neck. Adam couldn’t help but pause when he noticed the faint blush of pink and red across the lamb’s cheeks. At first, he thought it might be from bruising, but when he brushed the soft wool, he realized that the hues were natural, an enchanting blend unique to the lamb.

“Whoa…” he murmured under his breath, eyes wide with wonder.

Once the bandages were in place and the flowers had been arranged to maximize their healing power, Adam sat back, a weight settling on him as he stared at the slumbering lamb. Now, it was just a matter of time—if this was indeed the prophesied lamb, he would need all his strength to pull through.

As Adam watched him, curiosity bloomed within him. Could this truly be the lamb from the prophecy, the one powerful enough to have defeated Bishop Leshy? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. To take down an entire team of hunters and stand against the bishops was something only legends spoke of. Adam tilted his head thoughtfully; this lamb must possess extraordinary strength. What a sight that must’ve been.

Eventually, the sky darkened, and the moon rose high, casting its silver glow over the red camellia field. Exhausted from the day’s harrowing events, Adam dozed off, his chin nestled against his black wool as he drifted into a fitful sleep, completely unaware of the white lamb beginning to stir beside him.

The injured lamb’s bright blue eyes fluttered open, wincing at the faint ache that throbbed through his body. He took a shaky breath, his gaze moving to the bandages covering his wounds and the gentle arrangement of camellias placed thoughtfully around him. A sense of surprise washed over him, and he glanced around the moonlit field, his eyes soon landing on the figure of a small, black lamb curled up nearby.

His breath caught. Another lamb.

Another one of his kind, alive, after he’d long believed himself to be the last. The bishops had killed so many, wiped out his entire flock, leaving him to wander in solitude. He thought he was destined to walk this path alone, the last of his kin. Yet here, in this field of red, a single dark lamb lay sleeping, unafraid and blissfully unaware of his stare.

A strange warmth bloomed in the white lamb��s chest, a sensation he hadn’t felt in so long—hope, and perhaps even a flicker of joy. The loneliness that had gnawed at him, the weight of knowing his kin were gone, softened, if only for a moment. He continued to watch Adam, his glassy blue eyes wide and captivated, the feeling of connection washing over him like a cool breeze.

The lamb reached out instinctively, his hoof brushing lightly against the camellia blossoms that Adam had so carefully arranged. A quiet sense of gratitude filled him.

Adam’s stomach grumbled, the noise cutting through the dawn’s quiet, making him sigh and stretch his legs as the memory of the injured lamb returned. He quickly turned to check on him but found only the gentle blooms of camellias where the white lamb had been. Disappointment weighed heavily in his chest. Had the lamb not made it through the night? Had he done something wrong with the flowers, or missed a wound?

Just then, a small pile of glistening berries fell next to him, startling him as he squealed and jumped back. He looked up to find the white lamb standing above him, grinning with a mouth full of sharp, glinting teeth.

“Hi!” the lamb chimed, his voice bright and lively. “Thank you so much for helping me last night! I really appreciate it!”

Adam blinked, stunned, and nodded as bewilderment rolled over him. The lamb’s grin widened as his gaze dropped to Adam’s rumbling stomach. “You must be hungry! Go ahead; I gathered these berries just for you as a thank you!”

Unsure, Adam glanced up at the lamb, then back at the berries. The lamb nodded encouragingly, gesturing for him to eat. Adam hesitantly took a berry, biting into it slowly, savoring the sweetness as his hunger took over. The white lamb sat down beside him, eagerly munching on the berries, his cheerful eyes catching Adam’s each time he looked over, a smile never leaving his face.

“Um…” Adam mumbled after a while, nervously wiping his hooves on his wool and climbing to his feet, shuffling back. “Thanks for breakfast, um, I…”

The white lamb leapt to his feet too, matching Adam’s movement. “My name is Lucifer!”

“Oh, um…” Adam’s voice trailed off, his eyes meeting Lucifer’s bright blue ones. “My name is Adam.”

“Adam!” Lucifer repeated, grinning as though savoring the sound. “Are you alone out here, Adam? I’ve never seen another lamb before! I thought I was the only one left.”

Adam tried to edge back toward the carnation field, but Lucifer’s stream of questions kept him rooted. “Why were you out here? Have you always lived in Darkwood? How did you know how to use the camellias?”

Adam shuffled his hooves uncomfortably, his gaze darting between the camellias and the path back to his field. “Look, um… Is there something you want from me? I don’t have anything worth much, only some camellias… if they even count.”

Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with a strange, excited glint as he took a step forward, gripping Adam’s hooves. “Yes! That’s exactly what I want!”

Adam frowned, confused. “My… camellias?”

Lucifer nodded, though he seemed to struggle to find the words. “Well, yes! Or, well, not just the flowers… you! Your skills!”

Adam’s brows knit together as he stared blankly at Lucifer, who puffed out his cheeks in frustration, clearly anxious.

“I need your help,” Lucifer blurted out. “I can’t seem to figure out how to use the camellias to save my followers. They’re sick, and they’re only getting worse. I came here to gather more camellias, but I found you instead! This must mean something!”

Adam shifted, unease bubbling within him as he watched Lucifer’s pleading eyes. He tried to step back, his instincts telling him to slip away to the safety of his flowers. But Lucifer clasped his hooves tighter, his bright blue eyes large and glistening, practically begging him.

“Please, Adam,” Lucifer murmured, his voice softening. “My cult needs help, and I don’t know how to save them. I don’t have anyone else who can.”

Adam’s resistance wavered as he took in the lamb’s desperate expression. After a long pause, he finally sighed. “Alright… I’ll help you.”

Lucifer’s face split into a wide grin, lighting up with gratitude. “You will?! Thank you so much! Hold onto me, okay?”

“W-wait,” Adam stammered as the ground beneath them began to glow with an eerie red light. “What’s going on?”

Lucifer wrapped his hooves tightly around Adam’s middle, his gaze warm as he looked up. “I had to hide my cult deep, far from the bishops’ sight! Hang on—this is the fastest way back!”

Before Adam could react, red and black light erupted around them, bathing the Darkwood in a glow that pulsed and shimmered. The world blurred, twisting around him as his heart raced, leaving him breathless, with only Lucifer’s grip grounding him.

The world settled, and Adam found himself standing in the middle of an eerie clearing, the cult’s sanctuary. Scattered remnants of banners and humble offerings marked the area, faded and worn, surrounded by twisted trees that swayed with ghostly whispers. In the centre stood a carved lamb statue, red paint—or was it something else?—dripping down its stone face. The place felt hollow, its silence thick and foreboding, and Adam felt his heart sink. Only a few figures were present, hunched over on tattered sleeping bags made from dried leaves and grass, each one pale and barely able to move. He could see their fur matted, breathing laboured, each one struggling as though even that were a burden.

Adam gasped as Lucifer spun him around, his face etched with worry. “Can you help them?” he asked, looking up at Adam with desperate, pleading eyes.

Adam glanced at the sick cult members, then back at Lucifer, uncertainty knitting his brows. “I—I don’t know. But… I can try.”

Lucifer’s eyes lit up with hope, and he quickly grabbed Adam’s hooves, leading him to the frail figures who lay groaning softly. Lucifer eagerly unpacked the camellias he’d gathered, petals scattering as he handed them to Adam. “What else do you need?” he asked, practically vibrating with anticipation.

Taking a deep breath, Adam examined the camellias, their rich red colour vibrant even in the dreary surroundings. He’d worked with them countless times, but never on creatures this sick.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, reaching for one of his pouches. “I’ll need to make a paste to cool their fevers.”

With practiced movements, Adam plucked petals and ground them between his hooves, adding water from a small bowl Lucifer had fetched, until a thick, fragrant paste began to form. He worked quickly, blending the camellias until he had enough, and then turned to the nearest sick creature, a shivering rabbit whose fur clung to her skin. Gently, he smoothed the cooling camellia paste across her forehead, then onto the others, one by one, careful with every stroke of his hoof.

“Keep the water coming,” Adam murmured, and Lucifer hurried to refill the bowl, his blue eyes never leaving Adam’s face as he worked.

Lucifer’s followers moaned as the cooling paste soothed their fevered brows. Adam checked each of their breathing, applying more of the camellia paste wherever he found hot, swollen patches. The herbs alone might not be enough, he knew, but they could ease the pain and buy the followers precious time. Every now and then, he’d glance at Lucifer, who did as he was told without question, his usual lively nature replaced by a quiet, focused resolve.

Time passed in a blur, the two of them moving from one follower to the next, changing the compresses and keeping the camellia paste fresh, making sure each of them had sips of water to drink. Finally, as the last bandage was set, Adam slumped back against the lamb statue in the middle, his hooves aching from all the kneeling and mixing. He let out a heavy breath, stretching his tired legs with a small wince.

“That’s all I can do,” he said, his voice weary but hopeful. “It’s up to them now if they want to survive.”

Lucifer sank down beside him, a worried hum slipping from his lips as he gazed at his followers, each face etched with gratitude. Adam noticed the tender way Lucifer looked at them, his eyes filled with genuine care and a fierce protectiveness that belied his often carefree, mischievous demeanour.

“You really care for them, don’t you?” Adam murmured, glancing at Lucifer from the corner of his eye.

Lucifer nodded, his expression softening. “They’re all I have. And now… I have you, too.”

“Oh… um…” Adam stammered, feeling a warmth creep up his cheeks. He wasn’t used to such direct attention, and Lucifer’s bright, pleading eyes made his heart skip in a way he couldn’t quite understand.

“You will stay, won’t you?” Lucifer asked, voice barely above a whisper, his wide blue eyes gleaming with a softness that made Adam look away.

“Please say you’ll stay.” There was a quiet desperation in his tone, a vulnerability Adam hadn’t seen in the little lamb before.

Adam fumbled with the edge of his cloak, smoothing the petals of the camellia flowers stitched along the hem.

“I—I don’t know… I mean, this isn’t really my place,” he mumbled, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground. His life was simple, quiet, spent among his beloved camellias, and he couldn’t imagine fitting into something as foreign as Lucifer’s cult.

Lucifer scooted closer, his hooves reaching out to rest gently on Adam’s.

“You’re exactly what we need, Adam,” he said, his voice filled with earnest warmth.

“We’re a small family here, but we’re all that’s left of… well, us.” He gestured to the sparse gathering of sick followers, who now lay resting peacefully. “They need you. And… I need you.”

Adam’s heart raced, a whirlwind of emotions churning inside him. He’d never been needed, not really. He’d lived in the shadows, hidden among the tall flowers, content to let the world pass by. But here, with Lucifer’s hopeful gaze fixed on him, the weight of being truly seen and wanted settled on him like a warm, heavy blanket.

“I… I suppose I could stay a little while,” he murmured, finally looking up to meet Lucifer’s eyes. “Just until everyone’s healed.”

Lucifer’s face lit up with pure joy, his whole body practically vibrating with excitement.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he cheered, throwing his hooves around Adam in a tight hug. “You won’t regret this, I promise! I’ll make sure of it!”

Adam’s initial shock melted, and he found himself smiling shyly as he returned the hug, his woolly cheek brushing against Lucifer’s soft fur. For the first time, he felt something in his heart that he hadn’t felt before—a quiet sense of belonging.

Adam’s quiet agreement to “a little while” had turned into something far more permanent without him even noticing. As the seasons shifted, his initial intentions to leave faded, wrapped up in the pulse of the cult’s vibrant life. Lucifer may have been the cult leader, the one who called the shots, but he listened to Adam’s every suggestion, even turning to him for advice.

The first big project Adam suggested was setting up farmland.

 “If you plant the berry seeds you collect from Darkwood, you can have a steady source of food,” he had explained, a bit hesitant. “And… well, camellia seeds, too. You’d always have a supply for healing.”

Lucifer’s eyes had sparkled with interest at the idea, nodding intently, and then he’d disappeared for an entire week. When he returned, he came back with hundreds of different seeds, most of which Adam had never seen before. Adam stared in amazement, organizing them into tidy rows and sorting them with care. Lucifer beamed beside him, thrilled at the look of awe on Adam’s face.

What began as a small gathering of lambs and a few followers soon blossomed into a thriving cult. The once-empty clearing was filled with new faces, all working together to transform the barren land. Trees were felled to build shelters, stone was chiselled into strong walls and ornate altars, and a tiny garden flourished, its soil rich with the seeds Lucifer had brought back. A simple chapel rose from the ground, built by hand and heart, where followers gathered to worship in hushed reverence, casting glances of gratitude in Adam’s direction as they admired the fields of camellias and berries.

At Adam’s suggestion, sleeping bags were traded for sturdier huts, cozy and welcoming, each one decorated with little personal touches the followers had added. It felt like a real home, and Adam found himself wrapped up in it all, hardly noticing as the days slipped by. Seasons passed in a blur of peaceful, busy days, and one evening, a thought stirred in his mind—a flicker of the life he’d left behind in the Darkwood.

Sensing his distant expression, Lucifer leaned gently against his side, his fluffy warmth soothing Adam’s restless thoughts.

“You know,” Lucifer murmured, “You don’t have to leave. You can stay… with us. With me.” His voice was soft, his words lingering in the quiet evening air.

Adam’s heart fluttered as he glanced out at the cult grounds, watching his friends busily tending to their tasks and murmuring their daily devotions at the statue in the centre.

"I don’t know…” he began, his voice trailing off as he looked back down at Lucifer.

But Lucifer only leaned closer, nestling into Adam’s wool as he whispered, “I’d really like you to stay with me, you know.”

Adam’s cheeks flared with heat, his green eyes widening as he stammered, “M-master, you… you shouldn’t speak like that,” he mumbled, barely able to meet Lucifer’s gaze. “Everyone will get jealous… they’ll accuse you of… of favouritism…”

Lucifer laughed, his bright blue eyes crinkling as he gave Adam a gentle nudge.

“Let them,” he said, smiling softly. “I want you here, Adam. No one could replace you.”

Adam swallowed, feeling his resolve weaken, wrapped up in Lucifer’s warm gaze and his own blossoming feelings.

“Addie~” Lucifer whispered sweetly. “Before you make up your mind, come to my tent tonight. Let me give you a reason to stay.”

Adam’s heart skipped a beat, his cheeks flushing under his wool as Lucifer’s words lingered in the air. The gentle teasing, the warmth in his voice—it all stirred a feeling in him he wasn’t used to, something he didn’t quite know what to make of.

"W-What do you mean by that?” he managed to stammer, unsure if he truly wanted the answer.

Lucifer only gave him a mischievous, innocent smile, shrugging. “I dunno.”

“You’ll have to come and find out.” His eyes held a spark, as if he enjoyed watching Adam squirm.

Just then, a voice called from deeper within the camp.

“Master! Master, we need your assistance!” Another follower waved from the makeshift altar near the centre, where they seemed to be struggling with a stack of supplies.

With a cheerful grin, Lucifer waved back.

 “Comin~” he chimed, though his gaze didn’t waver from Adam’s. Just as he started walking away, he paused and looked back over his shoulder, his blue eyes half-lidded and glinting darkly.

“Trust me, Addie,” he purred, “you don’t want to miss it~”

Adam’s pulse thundered in his ears as he watched Lucifer stroll away, leaving him with thoughts that only seemed to tangle and grow more confusing. The whispers of the Darkwood seemed to carry Lucifer’s words back to him, playful and haunting. Taking a shaky breath, Adam sat back against the lamb statue, his mind spinning as he considered the invitation.

Adam was beside himself, his nerves reaching a new level. It was difficult to focus on his duties, tending to the camellia flower bed, cooking for everyone and tending to the folk that was feeling under the weather or hurt. Until finally the moon was raising, and everyone was retiring to their camellia hunts. Adam stood on the edge, swaying slowly as he debated just going to his own hut or moving towards lucifer's tent. His face grows warm again as lucifer's words echoed through his head.

He whimpered and glanced towards the tent framed with camellias and was most a rich red in colour. Breathing in deeply, Adam moved towards it, his heart beginning thump.

“M-Master?” he called anxiously, pushing the thick fabric of red aside and peeking inside.

At first, he didn't see Lucifer, just a massive pile of cushions and feathers. He nervously stood on the outside, wondering if he should really enter or not? Just as he was debating this, hooves grabbed his and he was playfully pulled into the tent.

“Why are you hiding out there?” Lucifer purred, pulling Adam close, “I told you come inside, didn't I?”

Adam gasped shyly, “M-Master, i didn’t want to be disrespectful.”

Lucifer gazed him warmly, leading him towards the pile of cushions and pushed him so he was sitting, “Oh Addie, you're so cute. it's not disrespectful. I invited you, remember?”

Opening and shutting his mouth, Adam nodded, “I guess you did Master.”

Beaming brightly, Lucifer placed his hooves onto his hips, “Now, Addie, I asked you here because I want to play a game with you.”

“A game?” Adam blinked up at him.

Dropping to his knees before the black lamb, Lucifer smiled so warmly, so lovingly at Adam, “I wish to play a game with you Addie. A special game.”

He reached his hooves out, touching Adams, “For this evening, you will be the Master and I shall be your pet.”

What?

Adam stared and stared…and stared. He waited and waited. He thought this must be a joke. A prank. Something, because surely Lucifer was not serious.  However, Lucifer did nothing but gaze up at Adam seriously.

“You what?!” Adam finally exclaimed in disbelief, “Mo master! no, no, you're the Master! Your the cult leader, I’m - I’m a nobody!”

Shaking his head with a frown, Lucifer leant forward, “Oh Addie. You’re not nobody. You're special. You're important to me and I want to show you how much I trust you.”

“I want too…” Lucifer whispered, nuzzling his face up to Adams, “I wish to show you how much I need you. How much I trust you.”

Adam’s breath hitched as Lucifer leaned close, his touch soft but sending a shiver down his spine. Lucifer’s warm, velvety nose brushed against his cheek, and Adam could feel his heart racing in a way he’d never felt before. The dim, flickering light from the candles scattered around the tent cast an inviting glow over Lucifer’s face, highlighting the gentle smile that didn’t falter as he gazed at him.

“You’re special, Addie,” Lucifer murmured again, his voice warm and slow, each word carefully chosen, “and I want you to see that. I trust you to take care of me… even just for tonight.”

Adam’s heart thundered, his mind lost in the entangling mix of admiration and unease as Lucifer’s warm voice pulled him closer, breaking through his nervous hesitation.

“B-but... I mean, I’m just…” he faltered, his voice barely above a whisper.

His cheeks burned fiercely, and his gaze dropped, only to be drawn back by Lucifer’s gentle touch, his hooves guiding Adam’s chin to meet his gaze once more. Those deep, oceanic blue eyes held him, unwavering and softened with something tender, something almost vulnerable.

“Just tonight, Addie,” Lucifer’s voice was a low murmur, his tone intimate yet steeped with a hint of mystery. “Just us. No titles—no labels.”

 As he settled beside Adam, their wool brushing softly together, Lucifer reached out, guiding Adam’s hoof to his cheek, where he leaned into it with an unguarded warmth that was nearly disarming. The intensity in his gaze softened but remained piercing, as though unravelling the thoughts Adam tried so hard to keep hidden.

The cool night air filled the tent, but Adam felt anything but cold. He shivered at the sensation of his hoof gliding down Lucifer’s cheek, every touch slow and uncertain, but with each passing moment, he felt steadier. Lucifer’s hand pressed over his, anchoring him, that familiar smile still lingering on his face—only tonight, it held a new edge, a shadowed softness that made Adam’s heartbeat just a little faster.

Lucifer’s voice, thick with allure, broke the silence.

“Tonight, you lead,” he whispered, a glimmer of vulnerability slipping through as he looked at Adam, eyes half-lidded and waiting. “Let me feel the kindness you’ve shown everyone else.”

A strange, tender resolve blossomed in Adam’s chest, and his anxiety softened as he nodded, tracing his hoof lightly down Lucifer’s wool-covered shoulder, feeling each delicate fibre beneath his touch. Lucifer’s breaths slowed, his eyes closing as he leaned into each touch, the stillness between them electric with unspoken emotion.

Adam’s voice was barely a murmur, the words like a breeze. “Then… if that’s what you truly want, we’ll make tonight ours.”

The warmth in Lucifer’s gaze darkened, his blue eyes glinting under the moonlight as he brought Adam’s hand to his lips, brushing them in a gesture filled with reverence.

A softness melted his expression as he whispered, “Master,” the word slipping out like a secret, barely audible, yet heavy with meaning.

“You… are beautiful.”

A shiver raced down Adam’s spine at the name, his cheeks flaming as he stammered, “M-Master? I—”

“Ah, ah,” Lucifer laughed, shaking his head as he raised a hoof in gentle reproach, the humour in his voice laced with something deeper. “No, not tonight, Addie. Call me ‘pet not Master~”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat, heart pounding. He could hardly bear to meet Lucifer’s eyes, the words catching in his throat as he whispered shyly, “Um, p-pet…”

“Nooooo~” Lucifer continued, “My Pet.”

“M-My Pet…” Adam gulped as Lucifer smiled at him again, “My – My Pet, um…I…”

Lucifer’s face softened, a pleased smile growing as he caressed Adam’s wool, his touch lingering in a way that was almost reverent.

“And to be here, like this, with someone like you… you are truly remarkable, Master,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a warmth Adam had never quite heard before. Lucifer’s hoof traced patterns across Adam’s wool, whispering, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful as you, Master. Like the midnight sky… endless, soft, yet mysterious.”

Adam closed his eyes, his breath trembling as he took in the words, a feeling of warmth and wonder filling his heart, weaving between them in the quiet of the night.

Adam could barely manage the words as he lowered his gaze, cheeks pink.

“M-My pet…” he murmured, his voice a soft whisper. The title felt strange and delicate, yet warm on his tongue, as if it held a power he hadn’t known before. “You’re – you’re too kind…”

Lucifer’s eyes softened, his smile tender as he leaned closer, his gaze filled with unspoken affection.

“Master,” he replied gently, letting the word fall like a quiet promise. He reached up to twine a hoof through Adam’s dark wool, marvelling at its softness. “You’re everything to this cult, Master. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

Adam’s heart fluttered, a shy smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“I just… I just did what I could,” he stammered, looking away. But Lucifer’s gaze stayed fixed on him, unwavering.

“Oh, but you did so much more than that.” Lucifer’s hoof traced a gentle line through Adam’s wool, his expression filled with admiration. “You’ve given us life, Master. The crops, our food... everything grows here because of you. Without you, we wouldn’t be able to harvest the berries or vegetables you’ve taught us to grow. Every bite we eat, every meal we share, is because of you.”

Adam shifted, feeling his cheeks flush even deeper.

“I just thought… I thought it would help,” he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.

Lucifer chuckled, his eyes shining as he leaned in close. “And you were right. You didn’t just help—you made this place a home. I see you at the cooking pot, making sure everyone’s well-fed. The way you sing to yourself while you cook… it’s like you’re adding love into every meal.”

He smiled wider, a fondness glowing in his expression. “The little ones in the cult adore you for it. They tell me they feel better, like you’re bringing them light.”

Adam’s heart raced, and he turned his face away, feeling bashful.

“I… didn’t know they felt that way. I just want to make sure everyone’s taken care of,” he whispered, his voice shy.

Lucifer pulled him back gently, resting a hoof on his shoulder. “Exactly. That’s what makes you special. You look after everyone, no matter what they believe or where they come from. You welcome them all, even those who come here a little lost or uncertain.”

His voice softened. “Without you, we would have lost our way.”

Adam tried to protest, his voice flustered. “I didn’t do that much, honestly…”

But Lucifer shook his head, leaning even closer. “Yes, you did, Master. You’re the heart of us all.”

His hoof traced over Adam’s wool once more, a quiet admiration shining in his eyes. “I’m so grateful to have found you out there in the Darkwood. Without you, this place wouldn’t be the same. I wouldn’t be the same.”

Adam felt his heart swell, his cheeks heating as he looked up at Lucifer.

“I… I’m just glad I could help,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

And as Lucifer continued to play with his wool, a warmth blossomed between them that felt as deep as it was gentle, a quiet, steady feeling that neither of them could bear to let go.

Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, and he tilted his head, leaning close enough that Adam could feel the warmth radiating from his fur.

“Master,” he cooed, the word dripping with affection, “Can I give you a massage? You’ve been working so hard.”

His hoof slid gently over Adam’s shoulder, thumb tracing soft circles.

Adam’s cheeks flushed, and he shook his head quickly, his voice a stammered protest. “N-No, really, I’m fine! You don’t have to—”

Lucifer’s face fell in an exaggerated pout, his ears drooping slightly as he reluctantly pulled back. Not a moment later, though, his gaze lit up again as he reached for a woven basket nearby, packed with ripe, sweet-smelling fruits. He picked out a bunch of glistening grapes, holding them up enticingly as he shuffled closer to Adam.

“Then perhaps,” he whispered, “my lovely Master would like a little something to eat?”

Adam smiled shyly, waving a hoof. “No, really, I’m good. Still full from… well, the, um, grass earlier…”

His voice trailed off as he noticed Lucifer mumbling under his breath, his expression disappointed. With a soft smile, Lucifer set the basket aside but stayed close, his gaze unwavering.

He slipped his hoof over Adam’s, his touch both gentle and grounding as he gave it a warm squeeze.

“Adam,” he said softly, his tone now holding a quiet seriousness. “I want to pamper you; to show you how much you mean to me. You’ve given me—and everyone here—so much.”

His eyes softened, and he squeezed Adam’s hoof a little tighter. “I want you to feel how much I appreciate you, to trust me as I trust you.”

Adam blinked, his heart skipping at the depth in Lucifer’s words.

“But… Master,” he stammered, his voice laced with surprise. “You don’t have to do that for me—I’m not worth all of this.”

Lucifer let out a dramatic sigh, his free hoof coming up to gently cup Adam’s cheek, brushing over his fur with a tenderness that made Adam’s cheeks burn.

“Adam,” he whispered, voice low and sincere, “You deserve the world and more. Everything good in this place exists because of you. I wish I could give you all of it, and even that would never be enough.”

The weight of Lucifer’s words wrapped around Adam like a comforting blanket. As he investigated those familiar, earnest eyes, he felt a warmth bloom in his chest—a soft, steady reminder of the deep bond they shared, one that only seemed to grow stronger with each day.

Lucifer’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, his gaze flickering to the ground as he took a shaky breath. “Adam… I…”

He started hesitantly, voice just above a whisper, and then, as though the words had broken free, they poured out in a rush. “I don’t think you understand just how much you mean to me. Being with you feels like—I don’t know, like I’m floating, like everything else fades away, and it’s just us.”

He laughed softly, almost shyly, as he continued, his sapphire eyes bright. “You’re so gentle, so thoughtful… I’ve never felt like this before, not in all the time I’ve led this cult.”

Lucifer squeezed Adam’s hoof as he rambled on, a light of pure admiration shining in his eyes. “From that day you found me… I didn’t think anyone would have helped a stranger like me, especially out in Darkwood. But you did. You saved me, you stayed with me. You gave me all this, all of you.”

He paused, glancing down, his blush deepening as he continued in a softer tone. “And I… I don’t think I’d even be able to breathe without you now.”

Adam’s eyes widened, his heart pounding as he watched Lucifer, his usual playful confidence replaced by a vulnerable warmth that made his own cheeks flush. Lucifer hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his tunic as he looked up, a rare shyness shining in his eyes. For the first time, Adam saw his confident Master look almost timid.

“I… I love you, Adam,” Lucifer whispered, his voice barely audible. “I love you so much, more than anything else in this world.”

He gave a small, bashful laugh, the blush blooming even deeper across his snowy cheeks. “And if you’ll have me, I want to make you mine. Truly.”

His voice caught, but he managed a smile, gazing at Adam with pure adoration. “I want to marry you, Adam. I want us to be together, to share all of this… forever.”

The words sent a shiver down Adam’s spine, and he could only stare, mouth slightly open as his thoughts scrambled to catch up.

“Marriage?” he echoed in disbelief, a hundred thoughts racing through his mind. Him? Worthy of something as incredible as this? “But… But I’m not worth all of that. I’m nobody. Just… a shadow in the background, a helper…”

Lucifer shook his head immediately, his voice full of emotion. “No, Adam. You’re wrong. You’re so much more than that. You’re my everything. More valuable than gold, than anything I could ever own or offer. You’re the heart of this place, the one who keeps us all going, who’s kept me going.”

His voice softened, and he brought his hoof to Adam’s cheek, brushing it tenderly. “You’re worth more than you realize, and I want to show you that… if you’ll let me.”

Tears stung Adam’s eyes, the weight of Lucifer’s words settling into him as he looked into those sincere, adoring eyes. He had no words, only a fierce blush as he reached up, letting Lucifer’s gentle touch ground him. In that moment, he felt the truth of it—this was more than just a home. It was a place where he belonged, with someone who truly, deeply loved him.

Adam took a deep breath, the weight of his decision settling warmly in his chest.

“I’ll stay,” he whispered, voice soft yet resolute. He looked up at Lucifer, his own uncertainty melting in the face of the pure joy lighting up Lucifer’s eyes. “I’ll stay with you. I’ll be part of the cult… with you.”

A soft, delighted gasp escaped Lucifer, and his face lit up as he leaned closer, his voice a sweet murmur. “Does that mean… you’ll marry me too?”

Adam’s breath hitched as their eyes met, a blush rising as he gave a small, trembling nod. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, Lucifer.”

Lucifer’s face broke into a radiant smile, and without another word, he closed the distance between them, capturing Adam’s lips in a firm, devoted kiss. Their wool blended together, soft and warm, as Lucifer rolled him back into the pile of cushions, his laughter like a joyful melody. Adam felt the weight of Lucifer’s love surrounding him, a feeling of completeness that left him breathless.

Nestled together, their foreheads pressed close, Lucifer’s hand found Adam’s, entwining their fingers as he whispered, “With you here, Adam… I finally feel like I’ve found where I belong.”

Adam shyly smiled in return, “I…I love you too, Master.”

“Oh Addie~” Lucifer sighed in bliss.

The two kisses again.