#when coming back from the farm house

[halfelven]

i am so upset. someone stole my locked bike from the courtyard of my building (which is locked at night.) it’s not even a new bike! it has rust on it! it’s just gone. i have seen the same bikes sitting in that courtyard for years not stolen. this bike has been there less than a month. this is literally devastating to me

[fictionadventurer]

"It looked like a good day for setting fence posts, and my mother said so while taking the biscuits from the oven. 'Some morning early, when I can get away, I want you to come with me along the edge of the hill in the wood-lot," she continued. "When the shadows of the trees begin to come down the slope, as the sun rises you feel the turning of the earth. You feel the whole globe under your feet rolling into the sunlight. . . . That's something I found one morning when I was driving the calves to pasture. I've been saving it up for you. I wonder if you've seen a more beautiful dawn in any of the places you've been.'

On my fingers I count the dawns I have seen--memorable, just in being dawns. Sleepy-eyed dawn from the Paris markets after a night of dancing; mist dawn against which I was just to late to see the minarets of Constantinople--all the fault of the stupid stewardess who didn't wake me in time; one startling moment of color on the hills around the Dead Sea before they went colorless in merciless heat; sudden dawn like a clap of light over the freezing-cold Syrian desert. Four dawns in twenty years. No, I do not know dawns as my mother does."

-- Rose Wilder Lane, "A Place in the Country" (1925)

[nomairuins]

itis very funny i post so much abt myself but i dont actually post that much abt what goes on day to day . mainly bc there isnt much but like. u guys arent even aware of mine and lamps current music phase .. crazy

[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. 

----

[kyseya]

You reap what you sow

Yandere farm brothers x f.reader

—————-

Just your typical luck, your car had suddenly broken down in the middle of nowhere. What will you do now? You can’t stay there, there’s no food or water available. Luckily, you hadn’t run out of recourses just yet but it was very close to being gone.

You stepped out of the car and went around it, staring it down with waves of irritation rolling off you. You tried coming up with a plan. The next stop was miles away and it was nothing but a daydream that you’d be able to make it there on foot.

Right as you were about to give up and let the animals take you, the sound of wheels on gravel caught your attention. Turning around, you saw another car speeding towards you. Yes! You were saved! You waved at the person in the car and luckily enough it stopped. ‘I’m gonna pray it’s not Michael Meyers lost cousin or something.’

The door to the passenger side opened and you spotted a man sitting behind the wheel. He was young, around your age, probably a little older perhaps. He had dark brown hair and equally dark eyes. You instantly noticed a scar below his left eye as you glanced at his face. You had to admit, he was very handsome; in a rugged type of way. You couldn’t help but eye how his plain shirt hugged all the muscles on his body. You mentally slapped yourself, ‘Geez (Y/n), you’re here to ask for help not ogle him like the last piece of cake at the party!’

“Your car broke down?” He asked, looking at the worthless piece of junk that had decided to betray you just minutes ago.

“Yeah, it did.” You scratched the back of your head in slight embarrassment. “I couldn’t trouble you for a ride, could I?” He was quiet for a moment, in which you hastily added, “Not for long! Just so I can get proper help from a mechanic. I won’t be a bother I promise.”

The man nodded. “Alright then, hop in.”

Your eyes lit up at his response. You gladly took a seat beside him and thanked him again for his help. “Thank you so much. You’re literally saving my life.”

He nodded once more. Guess he wasn’t much of a talker. Well not that it mattered much. You’d only stick around until you got to a town and found someone who could fix your vehicle. You didn’t have to be all buddy-buddy with each other. You only had to be happy he didn’t seem to want to kill you and hang your organs like Christmas ornaments. The chance of you meeting again was down to basically zero.

Or that’s what you thought, but life has a funny way of messing with you. It must have a grudge against you or else you wouldn’t be seated in the same position you were previously, only it being about 3 hours later. The drive to the nearest town was long(you definitely wouldn’t have made it by walking) and when you got there, you found out the one mechanic they had was out of town.

You thought you were going to have to spend the night in a bush, but you were pleasantly surprised to have your muscular helper offer a nights stay at his farm. You were grateful(once more) and also confused. Why was he being so nice to you when he didn’t have any reason to? It didn’t make sense. The two of you had just met, plus that you’ve only spoken a number of times and none of the conversations were noteworthy.

It was after you accepted you got to know his name, Weston. It fit him quite well, you thought. He told you there was a spare room you could use. It would be further away from his, to offer you some sort of privacy. He also mentioned there was one other person living on the farm, his younger brother. If he annoyed you, you could just tell him off, Weston said to you.

Your butt was sore from all the sitting, both in your own car but also from this little trip. The sky darkened and the sun had nearly completely disappeared when you finally arrived at the farm. It looked like you imagined. There was a large house which you assumed was the main house. Behind it was a big, red barn. You thought you could hear the faint sounds of animals.

Climbing out of the car, you glanced expectantly at your host, waiting for his initiative. You didn’t want to be rude and march right up to the house. As you were waiting, another figure came into view. He was much like his older brother, with brown hair and eyes to match. He was smiling at the both of you, although you caught a slight suspicion towards you.

“Who’s the new kid?” He asked his sibling, who gave him a rundown of what’s happened. You were a bit annoyed at how he called you ‘kid’, you were very much a grown person. And he’s one to talk, you were sure he was younger than you, even through all that brawn. He wasn’t as tall as Weston but he was no joke either. The younger brother looked at you with sympathy, “Really? Well that’s unfortunate. What’re you gonna do now that the mechanic’s gone- since you need him I’m guessing you don’t exactly know how to fix cars.”

You sighed, “I’m not sure yet. I’ll come up with something tomorrow. I’m too tired from all the driving and thinking.”

“Alright, I get it. I’m Lucas by the way.”

You shook his hand. “(Y/n), and thank you for having me. You’re really saving me here.”

“Haha, well Weston likes to pretend he’s heartless, but he’s really just a giant teddy bear.” Lucas said and smirked as he received a glare from the ‘teddy bear’.

“Come in (Y/n), I’ll show you your room.” Weston led you into the house.

Right as you stepped over the threshold, you felt a slight chill. Something felt wrong. You turned around to see Lucas’ beaming face. He tilted his head in confusion.

“Everything good?” He asked, concern lacing his voice. You’d gotten the impression that he’s a chill guy, but now you started wondering if you’d made the wrong choice.

“N-no, everything’s great!”

There was no turning back now, you thought as you descended deeper into the house.

It was unfortunate that every time you followed one of the brothers into town again, for supplies and other things, the mechanic was never there. Sadly it seemed like his vacation wasn’t over yet which meant no way home for you. However, you didn’t have it so bad. The brothers had been kind enough to let you keep staying with them at their farm.

Honestly it was pretty good there. Sure, it wasn’t what you were used to, but some change of scenery was good for you. Not wanting to appear lazy, you helped them to the best of your ability around the farm. You couldn’t lift heavy things like they could even if you really put your back into it, and you certainly didn’t trust yourself to milk the cows; something you could do was cook! It’d become a routine for them to do their work during the day and you’d make them lunch and then dinner in the evenings. You’d never seen yourself as a homemaker, though this was kind of fun. Maybe it was the heat poking your brain or it was that you genuinely enjoyed their company.

Besides, it was really nice looking out the kitchen window and catching a glimpse of them at work. You weren’t proud, but it did something for you. The way droplets of sweat ran down their backs, not in a gross way though, in an appealing manner. During the instances they took of their shirts, you got a front row seat to see the muscles in action. You now knew Lucas had stone-hard abs and that Weston had a very nice back.

Despite the fun in getting to know both of them individually, there were some things you couldn’t deny making you uncomfortable. For example, there was the curfew. That one had a good explanation; there were wild animals sometimes running around and they didn’t want you to get hurt. That made perfect sense! Though you couldn’t shake off that one time you couldn’t sleep and had gone outside on the porch for some air. You were just relaxing and looking at the bright stars when shouting woke you up more than your insomnia. Lucas had come rushing towards you in panic. He’d frantically asked you what you were doing up. You responded honestly and he slowly calmed down. He said you shouldn’t go out by yourself anymore. If you can’t sleep you can see the stars perfectly from the living room window, or better yet, you can come to one of their rooms instead.

Then there was the room furthest back in the barn. Although it could be excused as well, they told you that’s where they slaughtered the animals. But you could swear you heard something from inside, something that doesn’t sound at all like a cow, a pig or a chicken. Suspicion arose in you, but fear held you in a chokehold and prevented you from investigating. However nice they were to you, there was no way you’d risk pissing them off. Especially since the mechanic still wasn’t back which meant you had no way to escape, if it would be necessary.

Lucas had been right, Weston wasn’t as scary as he seemed in the beginning. Sure, he was a bit rough around the edges but he had sweet moments too. Once during one of your little adventures on the porch, Weston had suddenly appeared by your side, giving you a scare. He apologised and asked why you were out. You were worried he would get angry considering you’d just recently had the ‘no more going out’- conversation with Lucas. To your surprise he chuckled at your nervous demeanor and did not reprimand you. He told you that in his opinion, Lucas was too paranoid for his own good and sometimes didn’t know when to stop. You don’t have to walk on eggshells, though you probably shouldn’t wander off the porch after dark. Better to be safe than sorry, right? Afterwards he declared he’s going to bed before wrapping you in a blanket, you didn’t even notice he had it with him until he turned you into a burrito. He was very sweet in his own way, you realised. From then on you paid more attention to the affection he undoubtedly showed. Sometimes it was hard to see, but it was definitely there.

Lucas on the other hand was more open with his affection; pulling you into hugs, asking about your day, petting your hair. All these thing he did daily. He, too, was incredibly sweet. Sometimes it was hard to comprehend that him and Weston shared DNA. They were so different. The only thing confirming their relation was little things how their eyes lit up the same way or how their smiles were similar(if you were fortunate enough to witness Weston smiling, that is). Lucas also had a protective streak. He constantly worried over your safety and wellbeing. Which was kind of nice, when he wasn’t nagging you about it every five seconds.

You better listen to them. It’s all for your best. Because if you don’t, you might end up walking into the barn, and then you might end up finding the remains of the mechanic you’ve been so desperately looking for. And that wouldn’t be very good now, would it?

[hedgehog-moss]

I usually buy one stere of firewood per year, one and a half at most, but this year I saw an ad at the farm store promising a discount if you ordered 5 or 10 steres and I thought, well, I have a brand new wood shed, so let's go, five steres, why not!

Then a big truck came to my house and threw up this lava flow of wood in front of my shed and I realised that my mental representation of 5 steres, in terms of volume, was a bit off.

But that's okay! My friend D. was coming to visit. She's very convenient to have around in early autumn because she enjoys the real-life Tetris aspect of stacking wood—not only that, but she's uncannily talented at spotting blackberries, and September is blackberry season. (I do also invite her in other seasons so she doesn't feel exploited for her gifts.)

I was a bit concerned about the wood-stacking part of her visit though, partly because of the truckload of wood awaiting us and partly because this year's wood is completely shapeless and looks like whimsically sea-sculpted debris from an ancient shipwreck.

(On the left: the pretty logs that /I/ cut, which are shaped and easy to stack. On the right: the nonsensical wood that I bought.)

(My friend saw this and almost went on strike. She was like, "Not a single log has a shape that makes sense with the others... it sucks. That's not Tetris 😠") (Me: "Think of it as having reached a higher, more challenging level of Tetris." Her: "😠")

On top of that, because of the cold and rainy summer we've had, blackberries were very scarce this year, like everything else. Brambles are so ubiquitous in my woods I used to think I would always get more blackberries than I know what to do with, but last month I actually had to go look for them which I'm not used to doing. Every fence is usually covered with blackberries in September, and in some parts of the woods there are hazel trees taken over by brambles so that blackberries are dangling in front of your face temptingly and you don't even need to bend down to pick them. But not this year.

I feared this visit would be quite disappointing for D. if the wood stacking and the berry picking were less fun than usual—but the fact that blackberries were much harder to find than the previous years made her amazing berry-dar all the more necessary and appreciated, and she enjoyed our blackberry hunt. We'd get lost in mazes of giant broom bushes and I'd be like, let's go somewhere else there are no blackberries to be found here, and she'd stop dead and go, "Here!" And here they were!

I don't know how she does it.

One fun thing that happened is that at one point, while D. was somehow finding kilos of blackberries in a field I'd already searched two days before and which had seemed empty of berries, I wandered away into the forest to photograph some pretty mushrooms. Then I heard a strange bird call which, when I looked up and paid more attention to it, sounded more like my friend calling my name from afar. I figured I was being called out for getting distracted from the berry harvest, so I returned to the field. She was crouching down at the other end of the field with her back turned on me and didn't look like she'd just called me.

Half an hour later, when it was getting dark and we were about to go home, she told me, "Hey, did you have something to show me earlier? When you were in the woods." Me: "No, why?" Her: "You called my name."

...

Me: "I didn't call your name. You called MY name." On second thought, she said that it sounded quite shaky and high-pitched, not like my voice, more birdlike. Me: "I initially thought it was a bird too!" Problem: our names sound nothing alike.

We stood there mystified for a minute, wondering if there could be a bird capable of articulating both of our names, or if it was some other animal or thing that somehow knows our names. (We were quite sure there were no humans in the area, because Pandolf is very good at sensing nearby people and always wants to go say hi to them.)

We looked at the woods, then at my car parked nearby, then went, "Okay! Time to go home and never investigate this further 😊"

My friends are a good influence on me—there were people a bit concerned about my sanity in the notes of that post where I talked about going out into the woods at night because something was screaming, and I think they'll be happy with the moral of this story! We went home and sat by the fire eating blackberry tart and talked about what a great decision it was, all things considered, to not try to figure out what sort of creature wanted us to wander deeper into the forest at dusk. The end.

[2024skin]

My ideal economy is highly authoritarian which sucks because who the hell is ever going to get on board with that

[fishofthewoods]

I see a lot of people clowning on the people of Pelican Town for not repairing the community center themselves or clowning on Lewis for embezzling and. like. Those criticisms aren't entirely unfair. But I think instead of coming at it from a perspective of "why can't the townspeople do this" we should be asking "why and how can the farmer do this?"

Like. Think about it. The farmer arrives in Stardew Valley on the first day of spring. By the first day they're obviously different. By day five the spirits of the forest who haven't been seen by the townsfolk in years or generations are speaking to them. By the second week they've developed a rapport with the wizard that lives outside town.

In the spring they go foraging and find more than even Linus, who's spent so many years learning the ways of the valley. Maybe he knows, when he sees them walking back home. Maybe he looks at them and understands that they're different, chosen somehow.

In the summer they fish in the lakes and the ocean for hours on end, catching fish that even Willy's only ever heard of, fish that he thought were the stuff of legend. They pull up giants from the deep and mutated monstrosities from the sewers.

In the fall, their crops grow incredibly immense; pumpkins twice as tall as a person, big enough that someone could live inside. The farmer cuts it down with an axe without even batting an eye. Does Lewis wonder, when he checks the collection bin that night and finds it full to the brim with pumpkin flesh? What does he think? Does he even leave the money? Does he have the funds to pay the farmer millions of dollars for the massive amounts of wine they sell? Or is it someone--something--else entirely?

In the winter, the farmer delves into the mines. No one in Pelican Town has been down there in decades. No one in living memory has been to the bottom. The farmer gets there within the season. They return to the surface with stories of dwarven ruins and shadow people, stories they only tell to Vincent and Jas, whose retellings will be dismissed by the adults as flights of fancy. People walking by the entrance to the mines sometimes hear the farmer in there, speaking in a language no one can understand. Something speaks back.

The farmer speaks to the the wizard. They speak to the spirit of a bear inside a centuries-old stone. They speak to the shadow people and the dwarves, ancient enemies, and they try to mend the rift. They speak to the Junimos, ancient spirits of the forest and the river and the mountain. They taste the nectar of the stardrops and speak to the valley itself. They change Pelican Town, and they change the valley. Things are waking up.

And what does Evelyn think? She's the oldest person in the valley; she was here when the farmer's grandfather was young. (How old *is* she, anyway? She never seems to age. She doesn't remember the year she was born.) Does she see the farmer and think of their grandfather? Does she try to remember if he was like this too, strange and wild and given the gifts of the forest?

And does their grandfather haunt the valley? He haunts the farm, still there even after his death; his body died somewhere else, but his spirit could never stay away for long. Does Abigail, using her ouija board on a stormy night, almost drop the planchette when she realizes it's moving on its own? Does Shane, walking to work long before anyone else leaves their house, catch glimpses of a wispy figure floating through the town? Does the farmer know their grandfather came back to the place they both love so much?

Mr. Qi takes interest in the farmer. He's different, too; in a different way, maybe, but the principles are the same. They're both exceptional, and no matter what Qi says about it being hard work and dedication, they both know the truth: the world bends around the both of them, changing to fit their needs. Most people aren't visited by fairies or witches. Most people don't have meteorites crash in their yard. Most people couldn't chop down trees all day without a break or speak to bears and mice and frogs.

The farmer is different. The rules of the world don't work for them the way they work for everyone else. The farmer goes fishing and finds the stuff of fairy tales. The farmer goes mining and fights shadow beasts and flying snakes. The farmer looks at paths the townspeople walk every day and finds buried in the dirt relics of lost civilizations.

The farmer is a violent, irrepressible miracle, chosen by the valley and destined to return to it someday. Even if they'd never received the letter, they would've come home.

They always come home eventually.

[slowdivinqs]

Golden

Summary: A Sunday afternoon on your farm with Joel.

WC: 4K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Soft, dorky Joel. We pretend Abby and Joel chatted it out. Joel and JJ moments. Breeding ( ? ) kink. Oral sex f! receiving. PinV. In da farm house we’re in love baby! Joel doing physical labor…yeah. Can imagine Pedro or game Joel. Reader can paint!

A/N: I just wanted to give a HUGE thank you for all the love, kind words and support on Magnetism! You all melt my heart. Thank you! I’m not so happy with the smut in this but whatever :,)

The Sade record crackles before your favorite song on the album begins drifting through the air. The birthday gift Joel gave you last year that made hot tears fall out of your eyes, just like him when you gave him a painting of Sarah and Ellie for his birthday that hangs in his woodworking space. Your birthday last year ended with 8 hours spent in the sheets, passed out by the end of it, Joel with a sore back for a week - yet claims it was worth it.

You look up at him right now, peering outside the large kitchen windows and spotting him pulling out carrots, in a tight shirt and his work jeans, arms flexing at the particularly stubborn ones. Banjo following along and sniffing inside Joel’s wicker basket filled with vegetables, his tail smacking into Joel’s side. Rosie and Posie bleating in the distance, their fuzzy woolen coats glowing in the sun, seeming to also take an interest in watching Joel work, just like you.

You hear Banjo’s excited barks before Joel closes the dog's mouth shut with his hand playfully, shaking Banjo’s head side to side lightly, riling him up. The sun starts to set behind them, past the fence surrounding your ranch, behind the tall Wyoming mountains. Orange, pink, and yellow, exploding in waves. The bees returning to their hives from the flower box in front of the kitchen windows．

You laugh when Banjo manages to knock Joel over lightly, the two tumbling onto the grass. Joel laughs too, holding the border collie back with his forearm as he tries to lick Joel’s face with all his might.

You smile to yourself as you get back to work, just as Sade starts singing about ‘his hands’ and ‘the way the mountains look’. Lost in the haze of measuring out ingredients, 2 and 3 quarter cups flour, a quarter cup of sugar. Feeling the weight of the ingredients slide into the bowl. Just as you see Joel slowly walk towards the chicken coup, Banjo waiting in the grass - knowing he’s not allowed there.

Milk and salt are next, and you drift over to the fridge to grab the milk, your long white skirt, embraced with abstract flowery patterns flows against your bare ankles as your toes feel the comforting wooden floors of your warm farm home that Joel made sure to install after you mindlessly talked about your love for warm wooden accents. Sat a 20-minute walk outside the walls of Jackson, a small distance away from Ellie’s farm, closer to the lush woods atop the hills.

As you settle back by the kitchen counter, lit up by warm - almost honey-colored rays of sunlight, you try to spot Joel amongst the chickens, but he seems to have vanished, Banjo too.

You glance around surprised for a moment, your eyes flitting from the coup to the vegetable patches, to the flower beds he planted for you, the fairy garden that he denies he took part in yet carved all of the little toadstool homes for you, and Ellie to paint, and even to Old Beardy grazing in the distance, yet Joel is nowhere to be found.

You even turn to the back door, yet there’s no sign of your man. How can a big teddy bear like him disappear in less than a minute?

You jump and let out an embarrassing squeak as a sudden flash of salt and pepper pops up right on the other side of the window pane. You clutch a hand over your chest as Joel’s face comes into view, his cheeky smile and scruffy beard. Utterly pleased with himself at his success in startling you.

You glare at him half-heartedly, trying to hide the smile that’s inching up your face.

He reaches into one of the large pockets in his jeans, and your attempt at hiding your smile fails when he pulls out a little yellow chick. He lifts it to your view, the little fluff ball wiggling and chirping, looking tiny in Joel’s large, dirty palms. His smile grows wider and tender as he sees you beam at the sight through the window.

He scratches the chick’s head with one of his fingers before walking back to reunite the yellow baby with its mama.

You laugh to yourself at his antics. At a grown, grizzly man, surprising you with a baby chicken. He’s a dork and doesn’t deny the allegations when they’re thrown his way.

Banjo runs circles around the vegetable garden just as the back door opens, closing softly with a click. Joel’s heavy footfall, accentuated by his boots, sounds behind you, getting softer as he heads to the guest bathroom. The house creaks and groans as the water turns on. You’re back to baking.

“Smells real good.”

He hums, his, now soft, footfall appearing once again as he approaches from behind you, burying his face in your neck and sniffling dramatically, you feel his wet beard and hair drip onto your neck, giving you goosies. He’s splashed his face and washed his hands, probably so he can distract you without your scolding.

“Me or the food, old man?” You ask with a smile, continuing to knead the dough.

“‘Mm, both.” He hums, rubbing his facial hair against your neck like a cat. You suspect he might start purring soon. It’s not unlike him, even though he ignores you when you tell him that he basically purrs while snuggling against your chest as you read whatever novel you two have picked aloud to him in the evenings.

“Cinnamon rolls, bread’s in the often.” You hum, tilting your head to the side so he can keep giving you his beard scratches. He starts nibbling too now. You sway your hips slightly to the music, and the way his hands fall to your hips tells you all you need to know.

“Cinnamon rolls.” He repeats amused, smiling against your skin, nibbling again to make you tut at him, grinning when you do.

“Ellie and Dina are comin’ over later.” You say as you grab the jar of cinnamon on the shelf, leaving Joel to step back and watch.

“They bringin’ JJ?” Joel asks, voice loosing his husky tiredness and instead replaced with a lighter sound.

“Yes baby, they’re bringing JJ.” You say with a soft smile, looking back at him only to find he’s disappeared once more. That man is silent as a mouse usually - a habit you suppose. Although, whenever he walks into the house, he does three stomps of his boots - just to make sure you know it’s him. He may have gone soft, but there are some things time will never strip away entirely. His knack for safety is one of them.

Just as you’re finished adding all the wet ingredients to your dry ones, you hear Joel in the living room lowering a box, a few things spilling out. An obnoxious squeak of a toy - you think it’s banjo’s plastic chicken that Joel hid away after the noise drove Joel so insane he accidentally beheaded a cowboy carving he was working on for a month. You catch Banjo’s head shoot up as if he got a sense that his long-lost soulmate is near. Joel hides the chicken away again quickly.

He’s brought out the small bundle of toys you two own - JJ’s toy box - Joel calls it, even made one of those shape sorters and toy soldiers for the little boy to play with, and asked you to paint them when he was done, as he does most of his carvings.

This is the one thing Joel doesn’t try to hide his excitement about. Whenever he sees JJ, or ‘potato’ as Ellie calls him, they might as well be the only people in the world. You think it’s the sweetest thing, makes you want to beg him to have a potato of your own, your body going into overdrive imagining how he’d look at your child while putting them to sleep, how he’d kiss their forehead softly.

Joel begins to organize the toys, placing the few dinosaurs, soldiers, and stuffed animals in a battle scene. The soldiers are apparently no match for the fluffy bear, as he’s flung them around in defeat.

Never did you think you’d see the day that Joel Miller would organize a battle scene between stuffed animals and wooden soldiers, just to see JJ’s face light up in excitement - like the little boy's face doesn’t already do that when he just sees Joel as the front door opens.

You manage to pull your eyes away and start folding your dough. Smiling to yourself at your sweet sweet man. Your stomach swoops the more you think, kneading the dough mindlessly as you’re painfully reminded how badly you want it. How badly you want him to pump you full, make you swell. You don’t even notice how your eyes have gone hazy, kneading the dough harder and harder until you jump at Joel’s big hands cupping your wrists from behind, pulling them upwards slightly to relax them. His beard tickles the fly always at the back of your neck as he kisses the soft skin there.

“What’s got my lady all worked up, hm?” He murmurs against your neck, kissing down the side and inhaling, almost like he wants to brand himself with you.

“You.” You whisper shakily, squeezing the dough slightly like an anchor. You feel his cheeky, boyish smile against your skin, only for a moment before he replaces that smirk with a nibble.

“Me?” He asked softly, planting his chin over your shoulder to watch as you ‘work’, definitely not to watch the way his calloused hands cup over your tits. The dough between your palms is the only thing keeping you stable right now.

“Yes, you.” It’s a breathy whisper, and although he doesn’t see it - Joel already knows your eyes are drooping when you tip your head back slightly, able to breathe in that perfect scent of him after he’s spent the day working in the sun. The musk that is uniquely Joel, that screams man man man.

“Don’t know what you mean, honey bee.” He hums, his mouth ghosting over your earlobe just as his thumbs circle over where your nipples are unfortunately hidden away from him. He knows exactly what you mean.

“Why don’t you head South and find out then, cowboy?” You tease, expecting a playful slap and pinch of your ass before he wanders off to the shower, but instead, you find his hands, then his whole self sliding down down down until his knees plant themselves on the floor.

“Gonna let me spoil my desert?” He hums, his hands sliding slowly up from your ankles, bringing your skirt with them, until he can see the little cotton-lace panties that are hidden underneath. He bites the soft swell of your right asscheek that the cotton doesn’t cover.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip softly as you arch your back slightly, leaning your weight on the dough, squeezing harder as the soft caress of your thighs leaves you dripping - more so than before.

“You know I’d let you do anything.” You whisper to him, and it’s all he needs before you feel his calloused fingers on your lower back, sinking into your underwear before dragging them down, burying his head under your skirt.

He throws your panties somewhere, with a proper flick of his wrist. You can see them land somewhere in your periphery, the white lace discarded, very Joel-like in the most crude matter possible.

“Joel!-“ you begin to exclaim before his warm tongue parts your slick folds with an obscene sound. Slurping up the wetness he’s found as his calloused hands grip the front of your thighs. Squeezing tightly like it’ll let him get his tongue deeper into your pussy.

You almost want to laugh at what it must look like: his head buried under your long white skirt, like a ghost he probably dressed up as for Halloween. But fortunately for him, you can’t laugh when his mouth has sealed around the hood of your clit, when it’s hot hot hot and wet.

“Oh, Joel-” you moan in a breathless gasp, your head falling back and then forward as his tongue licks the underside of your clit, making you squeeze the poor dough for it’s life.

He groans into your pussy, tongue leaving your clit to lick side to side, sliding down your cunt until it’s breaching your drenched hole. His hands grip your ass-cheeks tightly, eating at you like it’s his last meal.

He pushes two of those thick fingers inside you, instantly curling forward so deliciously you think you might die. You lose your voice, moaning hoarsely as you clench around the intrusion. He starts moving his hand faster, paired with the suckling of his hot mouth on your clit, you’re not going to last much longer.

“Give it t’me baby- let me have it.” He whispers against you, and it’s his words that do it, as well as that final crook of his fingers that hit you right where you need him. You’re cumming with an intensity only he can give you. He slurps up all the wetness he can until you’re whining at him that it's ‘too much, too much’ and he stands. Gripping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger before kissing you deeply. Guiding his tongue into your mouth just as he had done your pussy.

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips, and your chest blooms, blinking up at him as he looks into your eyes with a calm tenderness like you’re exactly what he always dreamed of - like he lay awake at night as a little boy getting giddy at the thought that one day you might be real, and now you are, more importantly: you’re his, and he’s yours.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, kissing him once more before he’s once again lifting your hands from the dough, which now looks positively mixed from your absent-minded squeezing.

“‘M gonna go shower, baby.” He says softly, stepping back from you just as you turn to look at him.

“You’re gonna deny a woman her fun?” You ask with a raise of your eyebrow, looking down as he re-adjusts his jeans. His hands glancing at your ass before smirking at something you don’t see yet.

“You’ll get your fun later, baby.” He says with an amused smile, before he’s turning and heading upstairs. You sigh and look around the kitchen, laughing brightly as you see your panties dangling on the hook by the back door, how he flung them so far, you’ll never know.

There’s a knock at the door at 5pm sharp, and Joel bounds down the stairs before walking to the door, the creak of it sweet before the sounds of ‘hello!’ and ‘how’s it going, old man?’ ring through the house. You move away from the kitchen to great Dina and Ellie as they walk in, JJ already cooing excitedly in Joel’s arms as he hugs Dina, then Ellie from the side. Smiling widely at the little boy.

“Hey Els, Dina.” You say softly as Ellie gives you a tight squeeze, her mullet brushed neatly, most likely done by Dina. The Ellie you know would let her hair stick in every direction like the wild child she is and always will be.

“Smells good.” Ellie says softly, a hand on the small of Dina’s back before she’s walking to the kitchen to inspect what you’ve made. You see Ollie - JJ’s favorite toy elephant that Ellie won in the Jackson Fair at 19 - hanging out of her back pocket. You smile at the similarities between Joel and Ellie, clear that he raised her in subtle ways. The most obvious being her recent taking for boots, jeans and flannels. She goes over to Joel and JJ after that, crouching behind Joel who’s sat on the carpet by his battle scene, giving him a bear hug from behind.

The afternoon is spent chatting away with Dina, Ellie occasionally chiming in, yet all three of you mainly watch Joel and JJ playing on the living room rug. Your home is filled with the delighted laughter of a child. Ellie joins in soon too, taking on the role of the toy dinosaurs which makes JJ shriek with laughter as they attack Joel’s stuffed bear, then Joel himself.

Everything is warm.

You all eat together. Roasted Venison with salad and bread, cinnamon rolls later that JJ tries to devour whole while sitting on Joel’s lap - similarly to Ellie who sneaks an extra two with Joel in the kitchen when they think their respective partners aren’t looking.

They stay in the small cottage outside which Joel made sure was perfect before their arrival. JJ and Dina fast asleep as you, Ellie and Joel find place on the couch watching some cheesy action movie that Ellie picked. Just like old times when she was a young teenager. She still leans against Joel’s shoulder all the same. Both of his girls in his arms as lights flash across the screen. You glance up at his face once, and smile when seeing he looks as happy as can be.

He deserves this, he deserves to be happy. Even if he might not believe it, you do, and you’ll let hell freeze over before you stop trying to make him happy.

Ellie bids you goodnight before going to curl up in bed with Dina and JJ. Similarly to the way Joel follows up the stairs behind you as you make your way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Smirking at the twinkle in his eye you see as you pull out his favorite night dress of yours

You’ve just finished up in the bathroom when you walk back into your shared bedroom. Joel shucking off his shirt, leaving him in his boxers. You admire his broad back in the low light of the bedroom. The shadows dusting along his muscles like rivers.

You float up behind him this time, your nose pressed to the line down his back, hands wrapped around his stomach.

“I want one.” You whisper into the quiet night, and it feels like you’re the only two people in the world. He turns to face you - you rest your chin on his chest and look up at him.

“Want what, darlin’?” He whispers softly, his thumb running over the apple of your cheek as he breaths softly. You can hear his heart beating, in sync with yours.

“A baby.” You whisper, and it’s so silent, so quiet. His eyes glimmer and brighten, his breath bated as he looks down at you.

“You want that with me, sweet girl?” He whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse and thick.

“More than anything.”

He kisses you deeply, his hand burying at the hair on the back of your head. Cupping the bowl of your skull so tenderly you can feel his love for you pulse through your veins. Your arms wrap rest on his broad shoulders.

“Me too, baby. Me too.” He whispers, and emotion wraps around your throat, as you can tell it does his when you see the shine in his sweet eyes.

You fall to the bed together, his boxers discarded as he makes quick work of your night gown. Kissing along your breasts until you’re driven so positively crazy you need him to soothe it with his mouth.

Your hand wraps around his shaft and you gaze into his eyes as they flutter slightly at the sensation of your fingers, his own meet you there, guiding him inside you until you both gasp softly at the sensation. He lets his hips push in all the way moments after. Your walls grip around him, the thick, hot - length of him, pushing its way through you until he fits into the space he’s made for himself within you. The noise of your wetness clenching around his girth as he holds himself over you on his strong forearms is nothing short of one of Joel’s favorite erotic sound.

“I love you, I love you so damn much.” He whispers, his large - paw like hand cupping your skull as he grinds his pelvis against your pulsing clit, listening to the soft shk shk shk as his cock twitches inside you, pushing up against that spot inside you that turns you stupid.

“I love you too.” You whimper, barely able to think past the way your eyes are rolling. He hasn’t even thrusted yet. You don’t catch the way he’s gazing down at you, like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, like you own every part of his heart and soul, like you might as well be living and breathing within his ribcage : as if you’re the sole thing causing that glow he seems to have.

He starts moving, slow, deep slaps of his hips against yours. Holding you against him as you arch your back slightly, making sure he digs against that spot that drives you wild.

Your fingers dig red lines down his broad back. His head falling forward as he groans so deep and roughly you think you might die from being overly aroused. This man does things to you that you can’t even explain with words, your cries of pleasure seem to communicate it well enough though. Everything is hot and wet and sticky as he whispers into your ear.

“You’re gon’ be such a good mama- fuck darlin’ - take it, yeah-“ he groans into your ear, and your whole body shivers. You clench tighter around him, making his gasp slightly as his hand finds your clit. “Got me achin’ f’you all day baby-“ he whines - whines - into your ear, the soft skin of his balls drags against the curve of your ass, just like his tip dragging through your walls, taking you higher and higher until you can’t even hear the noises you’re making.

He rubs your clit harder, round and round on that pulsing nub until you open your eyes and see his disheveled face. Skin flushed, hair a mess, and his gaze fluttering as he moves his hips against you- his big strong body shining with sweat.

You’re done for.

You dig your heel into the soft flesh of his ass, pulling him closer and locking your legs around him, trapping him deep inside of you.

“Please cum inside me-“ you whimper, gazing into his eyes as he fights with all his might to make sure you cum first, his hand doesn’t let up on your clit, and you clench. “Please let me have it-“

His groan breaks into a soft whine as he drops onto his forearms, face right in front of yours, his nose bumping into your own. You can feel his harsh breaths against your swollen lips.

When you feel him start to fill you up on a slamming thrust, you cum with him, clenching tighter every time you feel one of his thick, sticky ropes shoot inside you while his cock twitches wildly inside you - his moans even sweeter than the sensation.

“Oh god, I love you-“ he whimpers, his moan cracking as you push him impossibly closer with your heel, his hands gripping the sheets next to your head for dear life. He kisses you messily, tiredly as you both lie there - sweaty and catching your breaths.

“I love you.” You whisper back to him, your hand running through his messy hair as you litter kisses along his damp forehead. He nuzzles into you like a big bear still inside you as he softens.

“You need somethin’?” He asks once he’s found his thoughts again, sitting up slightly before you pull him back down with an ‘oof ’.

“Just you.” You whisper back sleepily, your eyes closing shut as you bask in the feeling and love he gives you. You feel a soft kiss to your jaw. His hand splaying over your tummy.

“You got me, baby. Always.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading ! ♡ please lmk if you enjoyed it and reblog if you did ◡̈

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Hybrid Town (1) | Only Human

In a world filled with humans and hybrids attempting to find balance with one another, you are but a simple human trying to integrate into the town on the property your late grandparent bequeathed to you. The town just so happens to have a small population of farming hybrids, with hardly any other humans around. 

“So you’re the inheritor…(Y/n)? (L/n)?”

“Yes, I have my I.D. if you want to check.”

“..Right….but the owner of the original property was a hybrid…you are not.”

“Not that it matters. But my grandfather’s partner was a Wolf hybrid…They both agreed to give it to me when they both passed.”

“I..see.”

It might be right to call it racism or maybe more accurately it’s specism and the townsfolk aren’t all that keen on hiding it. They openly sneer at you when you do come to town, whispering loudly about what they’ve heard, and rolling their eyes if you have the gall to ask them a question. 

“Can I get these bags of mulch in bulk?”

“...so what are ya talkin’ to me for? Just grab ‘em.”

“Your sign says to ‘ask for more at the front desk.’”

“...Fine dirt monkey. How much?”

It doesn’t bother you…sometimes. You mostly spend your days on your property, having picnics in the open fields you now own. Spending time renovating your cottage with all the custom plumbing and electricity you learn to install yourself. Wouldn’t want some unfriendly technician in town doing it instead. Anyways you get into the routine of sustaining yourself in your lonesome working from home and relying on your savings to help you enjoy your new life. That doesn’t stop until the one fateful day…you’re lounging on your deck when you hear something faint. It sounds like crying. 

“Waaaaa!”

It sounds like a child…which isn’t unfamiliar, after all your neighbors do seem to be a little family. Of course, they don’t want to talk to you but that’s fine.

“Waaaa!”

It sounds pretty intense but you’re sure it’ll stop soon. 

“Waaaaa! Somebody help, please!”

Now it feels wrong to ignore it any longer. You quickly fix yourself to head over, driving the tractor that you ride across your property to the fence that represents the beginning of your neighbor’s property. It was short work to hop over the fence and hear the crying persisting. Running to the back porch of the house, you see a little dog boy crying his heart out. 

“I heard you crying what’s wrong?”

The kid starts blubbering wiping at tears and snot on his face. After some calming pats between the ears and some promises to help you can get a clear picture.

“Mama fell ‘ver and she won’t wake up!”

You run inside to find exactly that. A dog woman face down on the floor while the soup on the stove boils out and whatever’s in the oven beginning to smoke. Stopping the appliances you flip over the woman in search of a heartbeat and breathing. Thankfully you find it and ask the little boy where you can lay her down. He points you to the bedroom down the hall passing by another bedroom and a bathroom. 

Once you’ve laid her down, check her temperature, and decide in your not-so-expert opinion that she’s suffering from a fever. Assuring the little dog boy you have him help you carry some cold water and a rag to place on her head. While making sure she drinks some water, you finally get to talking to the little dog boy who’s started to calm down now.

“That was real brave of you, good job for asking for help.”

“Big brother always said I gotta since I’m too tiny to do much myself.”

“Well, I thought you were very helpful and you don’t seem that tiny to me.”

“Thanks!” 

“No problem! My name’s (Y/n).”

“And my name’s Titan! By the way (Y/n) I’m real hungry!”

That’s how you ended up cleaning the dishes, Titan’s mother started and using what you could to make something new. You stuck with one of your old family recipes, relying on your memory the best you could to avoid another charred disaster. Eventually, you finish up able to set a plate in front of Titan who is more than happy to dig in. 

“More! More!”

“Okay Titan just a little bit more but you can’t eat it all we’ve got to save some.”

“Whyyyy!?”

“Because your mom hasn’t eaten yet and I’m sure your brother will want some when he gets home–”

“But he’s never aroun’ we’ll be waiting forever for him to come!”

Creak.

“Titan who is this?”

The new voice comes from a much larger dog man with a sturdy build, sun-kissed skin, and overalls barely hanging off his shoulders. His ears are narrowed back and his shoulders are hunched as he easily towers over you. With Titan’s help, you explain how you came to help and that his mother had fainted, likely from the fever she had. When you show him to her, his bared teeth and impending growl quiet down. Fussing over her as he checks for any sign that you might be lying. Finding that you’re not, he skeptically accepts the meal you made as you alternate watching over her and entertaining Titan–who’s far too chipper for a pup ready for bed. 

“Hey uh, wanted to apolog’ze for earlier”

“For what?!”

“Fer how I acted when you’re just helpin’ out.”

“Oh, it’s okay! I’m just happy no one’s hurt.”

“I’m also sorry for misjudging you. I think I had the wrong impression bout ya.”

As you continue to chat with the young dog man–Tank you both work together to finish up whatever chores his mom would usually do. Between you both Titan is convinced to finally get some sleep if it’s in your lap close to his mom. Tank suggests you stay over bashfully offering his bed if you need it. You decline, encouraging him to get some much-needed rest considering he was working on the farm tomorrow. 

“A-a-are you sure you don’t want to stay in a bed? I feel like it’s the least we could do.”

“No worries Tank, I’m going to watch over your mom until this fever breaks. Besides I don’t have the heart to move Titan now.”

“Fair I guess. Hopefully, I’ll see ya tomorrow?”

“Yeah if I’m not still here in the morning you can come to my place anytime.”

His fluffy tail wags a lot harder than he likes at that.

“R-really?”

“Yeah, anytime!”

With another ‘thank you’ he’s off to bed. It isn’t until sunrise that the fever breaks and the dog-hybrid mother is coming to. Assuring her that her boys and the food she left in the oven are not burning the house she calms down to thank you.

“Oh thank you thank you I don’t know what I would have done without you!”

Where you’ll have to fight her off from her barrage of kisses, hugs, and propositions to stay long enough for her to cook something for you to take home, as much as you wanted to stay and indulge in her acts of thanks, you missed your bed and it was plenty exhausting now that you were being spoken to positively. Convincing her that you were such a short drive away that she didn’t need to keep you too much longer and after promising that she and her boys were welcome anytime you could finally go home. 

“You promise?”

“Yes, Miss Tiffany I promise, anytime you’d like.”

“Just not now?”

“Yes, not now so please get some rest!”

Back in the comfort of your home, everything is more or less the same except for the recently obsessed friendly neighbors who make all the quiet time you used to have nonexistent. 

“Wake Up! Wake Up! Let’s play!”

“Egh Titan how did you get in here?”

“Through your doggy door!”

“But I don’t have one!”

“Now you do!”

Thus begins the first few to fall for the lone human in this hybrid town. Hardly shy about their newly discovered attraction as they fill their dull hours up with time next to you. Lucky them as your neighbors they’re the only ones privy to your addictive affection and comforting scent. 

“Oh! I was about to drive over to drop off Titan!”

“What a coincidence! We were just coming over to have dinner at yours!”

“Huh?”

“Well, you did say we can come and thank you anytime!”

“So we figured why not now!”

“In fact, maybe every week we come over to yours and you come over to ours!”

“I mean I guess-?”

“Wonderful Titan, Tank clear the kitchen I’m going to make this dinner the best yet!”

“Yes’m!” “Yes’m

The Dog hybrid family next door is all too eager to take up all of your time. Since the moment you moved in they’ve been eager to truly get to know you, woefully settling with the distant wafts of your scent during a favorable breeze. Unlike others in the town their curiosity for the human was a positive one blaming it on their all too friendly instincts they couldn’t deny the urge they got to close to the distance between you two. But alas everyone in the town was so averse to the idea they were pushed off the desire for far too long but after your sweet words and intentions, they’d be foolish not to return the affection. 

“(Y/n) if you’d like me to cut the grass, I don’t mind.”

“That’s really sweet, Tank but I told myself I wouldn’t allow myself to sit back and let others do all the work.”

His tail droops at that. “Ah I see.”

“But you won’t tell me to go away will you (Y/n)? After I made that doggy door and everything.”

“You just chewed a hole in my door and I’m not saying you can’t stop by Tank I just don’t want it to be because you’re doing more work.”

His tail is wagging a mile a minute again. “I don’t mind if it’s for you!”

With your canine hybrid neighbors so close it’s hard to forget you were ever left alone. Now quiet and sometimes confrontational trips are filled with at least one member of the family accompanying you. Willing to bargain at stores for you or impressively growl when the cashier’s being a tad too snippy. It does make you nervous when the tiny Titan politely asks the nosy bird-woman who had the nerve to whisper about you to a ‘nice chat’ in the alley between the store. Returning with tufts of feathers and blood in his baby teeth. Or how Mama Tiff will oh so politely mention her bloodhound heritage at the fox bullies that hang around your car. Or when Tank all too eagerly pulls you into his side when he finds you cornered by the snake librarian.

“Back off my human!”

After any confrontation, you’ll ask your questions. Head on or round about they’ll all only smile at you, tail wagging wildly behind them. As if they’re proud of the slight fear in your eyes when you ask what that was about.

“We just want to protect you! You are only human after all!”

Part 2: It's Here!

[loganhowlettshousewife]

currently thinking about feral!logan from x-men: origins and what if it had lasted longer. i am a v strong believer in letting logan be feral! it's a part of his mutation, he's not fully human and that's okay! let him act like an animal sometimes!

-

you had inherited your grandparents farm after they died. it was out in the middle of nowhere, peaceful and quiet.

when you find logan in the old barn that hasn’t been used in a few years, he reminds you of a frightened animal. he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be human, has no memories, and so his animal instincts from his mutation have taken over.

he growls at you when you approach, claws coming out, and so you stop a few feet away from him.

“i won’t hurt you, it’s okay.” you say soothingly. despite his threatening exterior, there’s something that tells you he isn’t a danger to you. he could hurt you, the sharp claws make that clear, but you don’t believe he will.

you run back inside the house to heat up some leftovers and bring a plate out to him. he eats like a man starved, and with him distracted you manage to get closer to him. 

afterwards, he follows you into the house. you can tell he trusts you more now.

you offer him clothes that you find in the guest room, clothes that are too small for him but it’s better than nothing, and you set him up there to sleep.

he doesn’t know what to do with the bed, and hates the fact that you left him alone. he grows restless, and so later that night when you’re already asleep he sneaks into your room and curls up on the floor to watch over you.

he becomes really protective of you after that, like a guard dog.

he can smell the dip in your scent when you’re upset and he tries so hard to brighten your mood. he cuddles you and scents you because that’s what his instincts tell him will make you feel better and it does, you giggle and tightly hug him back.

eventually you convince him to sleep in your bed, since no matter how many times you tell him not to sleep on your floor, you always wake up to him there.

he starts to become more human with time, but you remind him that he doesn’t have to be. it’s obvious he’s most comfortable when he can be what he is, although you do enjoy it now that he can verbally respond to you.

his first word is “mine”, when he wakes up in the darkness of your now-shared room from a nightmare he doesn’t fully understand, pulling you closer to him as if you’ll leave if he lets go.

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 𝐏 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𖥔

⊹ being a good girl and letting him use your mouth

⊹ daryl said he was handy, in more ways than one, so you tell him to prove it. he took it literally.

⊹ he comes back from a run to find you waiting for him in his cell

⊹ he loves taking you from behind, burying you deep in the couch

⊹ he loves to tease you and get you dripping wet first

⊹ he says he's inexperienced but he's always hitting the right spots

⊹ he's been away on a run all week and he’s feeling touch starved

⊹ him needing you so badly the second you're alone in alexandria

⊹ the group notice you and young!daryl missing from time to time when you’re supposed to be helping out around the farm

⊹ when the cell block is empty, daryl refuses to waste an opportunity to be inside you

⊹ you love helping him relieve tension when he comes home after a long day at the commonwealth

⊹ you sneak into daryl's cell but there's only so much you can do without risking getting pregnant

⊹ you were being extra bratty and he needed to teach you a lesson

⊹ young!bf!daryl who always sneaks into your room during the night when he needs to get away from his own house

⊹ young!daryl loves treating you like the pretty little slut you are

⊹ young!daryl loves watching you squirm as he thrusts deep into you

⊹ you’re always shocked by how good it feels when he’s inside you

[riminiscensce]

5 + 1

CHARACTER ... kinich

SYNOPSIS ... 5 times Kinich protected someone, and 1 time he felt protected

NOTES ... a kinich fic because what the fuck was that backstory bro CUT MY GUY SOME SLACK 😭

CONTENTS ... sfw , kinich-centric , spoilers for kinich’s character stories , gender neutral reader , can be read as platonic

Word Count ... 3367

1) His mother

From before he was seven, Kinich always remembered waking up to the smell of breakfast his mother would have ready at the table. 

Being the child that he was, he never fully understood how his mother was able to do it; to wake up before the sun could even rise, and still last long enough to make it past through sunset. 

Having a mother like her made Kinich feel included within the small group of kids that would pass by their house once in a while. 

The one they would often talk about is how their mothers would always be up early in the morning to prepare delicious food for them. Kinich, though not a part of their conversation, felt like he could empathize with them. 

He felt connected with the other children because of his mother.

Then the children started to talk about how close their own mothers were with the others. That they would have family dinners, share advice, talk about their family…

That was the one thing that separates his mother from the rest. 

Kinich always felt a stinging pain in him whenever he would watch his mother farm by herself.

Instead of like the mothers other kids have, his mother was different in a way that she would spend most of her time on her own.

At that age, Kinich was already aware of the reason as to why this is. 

If it was not for his father's behavior, his mother wouldn't have been ashamed of talking about her family to their neighbors. 

She wouldn't have to spend her time alone, dreading the moment her husband comes through the door with that sickening smell of alcohol and another empty pouch of Mora. 

That's why he took it upon himself to be there for her. 

To share the same silence as she did when no one else would. 

Kinich had a particular quietness around him, the same kind his mother had; it was one of the things he remembers about her.

But there was a time when they talked while they were farming. 

Most of their conversation was starting to grow torn and forgotten in Kinich’s memory. But there was one thing that his mother said that always stuck with him as he grew. 

“Thank you,” His mother once said with a heavy hand on his unkempt hair, and a somber look on her face that one could only give to her protector. 

When he first heard this, Kinich felt content, like he had done the right thing. He felt like he had saved his mother from ever truly being lonely.

But that would be the first and last time he felt that way with her.  

Things only went downhill when they were forced to move out of their house and into the mountains because of his father’s betting addiction. 

Then his mother left them—left him. 

It was something that never comes up between him and his dad. 

Looking back, Kinich thinks of his mother’s abandonment as the payment for the care she has given him and his father.

But he was just a child then, of course he wouldn’t have decided on an answer of his own back then. 

So he asked someone else.

2) His father

It was his seventh birthday when it happened. 

Kinich couldn’t have waited for a better timing than this. His father likely knew of his birthday, and so he might be more lenient with him for the day in return. 

That could’ve been what happened. 

Instead, a pair of bloodshot eyes drilled their way into his own—it felt so different to the eyes that he inherited.

Then the next thing he knew, he was running past trees, his father closely behind him, yelling drunken curses that a child should never have heard.

It was the waves of adrenaline that saved Kinich from being caught in his father’s violent hands, weaving through the thick bushes and trees while avoiding the wild saurians that were scattered around the area. 

It was also that same adrenaline that made him fail to notice the sudden absence of his triggered father. 

Only then was he forced to stop and look around. 

It wasn’t until he reached the edge of a cliff did his jittering get replaced with trembles. 

His father was at the very distant bottom, his inflamed eyes matching the color of his blood splattered around him. 

Looking back, it was the only time that Kinich almost cracked out a drop of tear. 

When he made his way down, he was no longer greeted with the enraged glare of his father. What remained of his expression was only of shock. There were no signs of regret or guilt of what he had done prior to his death. 

But Kinich can never be truly mad at his parents. 

He grew up with his father, and he was usually the one that brought home enough Mora to feed the three of them plenty.

And to add more, it started raining. 

The rain helped with washing the blood away and with imbuing the sight he was seeing. 

Kinich could only think of carrying his father’s corpse back to their house. What else can he do anyway?

If his dead body remained there, it would get washed away or land on a starving creature’s plate. 

So he decided to repay his father one last time and protected what remained of him. 

It was a tiring trek back home. 

3) K’uhul Ajaw

Kinich has formulated this understanding that anything can be done with Mora as an exchange, no matter how risky or dangerous the commission may be.

He is willing to do any favors, be it simple or treacherous, all for the right price.

But there was a time Kinich bypassed this ethos of his.

An organization dedicated for saurian research came up to his doorstep, asking to buy this relic he found in an unearthed ruin in exchange for a sum of Mora.

There were many pros in this proposal, and merely only one con.

Kinich could live comfortably for the next few months with that amount of Mora without having to worry about receiving another commission, he could even last to about a year if he remains humble with spending.

If he gave the relic to the association, it would stop them from bothering him ever again. Kinich would go back to a life without having to confront a desperate bunch of researchers.

And to add more to that, it would get rid of this nuisance that calls itself K’uhul Ajaw from ever causing trouble for him again.

Those advantages he had listed off were nothing but tempting to Kinich, luring him into tossing that wristband into the association’s business and going off to return back to his normal life of being a lone wolf.

The only thing stopping Kinich was the thought of Ajaw going absolutely rabid without him around.

He tells himself that that was the only con there was, not because he had already formed a pact with Ajaw, but because he would get involved with threatening matters if Ajaw goes wild.

As much as he tries to stay excluded from other people’s business, Kinich was human enough to at least concern himself with this possibility.

It would be a tragedy if people from different tribes were to be a victim of someone so awful as Ajaw after all.

All it took was a glare from Kinich, saturated with enough indignation that the researchers could feel it and eventually welcome themselves out of Kinich’s door.

It wasn’t even long before Ajaw awoke that Kinich suddenly regrets his decision.

Looking back, maybe he should have given K’uhul Ajaw to the association after all.

Oh well, he figures life would be more clement with him now that he made a choice to protect Natlan from this ancient dragon, if that’s how it even works.

4) “Uthabiti” Kachina

When Kinich first saw an enlisted job to sabotage a kid because their Wayob regarded her potential, he wondered how low those lowlifes could possibly achieve.

Ever since he saw that commission, he hasn’t paid much mind to it. The tribe leader of the Children of Echoes was a deferential man after all, he wouldn’t let a child get hurt by others simply because they were envious.

Then he saw this bullying in action.

Kinich only caught a glimpse of one final shove to the poor kid before the rowdy bunch willingly left, trailing only mocks and insults.

He eventually came to the assumption that Kachina was just selfless.

Not in the way that she would let others vent their frustration to her, but because she doesn’t want to bother the people who do care about her.

This assumption of his came into precision when he heard it from Kachina herself. She didn’t want to worry the people around her, and instead took the oppression as a means to get stronger and be more independent.

That’s what Kachina wanted, to rely on herself.

A thought came into Kinich’s mind, a rather debatable thought but, in a way, Kinich could see himself in her shoes.

Kinich grew up having to rely on himself for his own livelihood, and Kachina wants exactly that, to bring less concern to the people she doesn’t want to concern.

He had also dealt with a fair share of bullies in his childhood. Whenever they striked, Kinich never really fought back, that was another thing he and Kachina have in common, though his reasoning was far less modest than that of hers.

He knew Kachina would never fight back, and that will fuel more enragement to those haughty buffoons. 

So instead, he took it upon himself to act on her behalf.

It was one of the few situations when Kinich would throw away his preference for Mora.

This simple action of standing up against someone would have a far more personal approach for Kinich. He just wanted to do what he didn’t back then.

When doing so, a wave of satisfaction would come crashing against him at the sight of Kachina's struggling bullies.

That was it, that was his payment, to know the feeling of contentment if he did teach those bullies a free lesson.

And while at it, he protected a different version of his younger self from having more problems to deal with.

Looking back, the worst thing Kachina’s bullies had gone through was Ajaw’s nonstop degrading.

In a way, they at least had a taste of their own medicine.

5) “Malipo” Kinich

He always had to look after himself.

He took in his mother’s nature at farming, remembering the way she neatly handled the crops and applied that to his own way of farming for his food.

Like his father, he was the one who provided Mora for himself. But unlike his father, he knows about restraint and how to spend it wisely.

He has honed his fighting capabilities enough to not make him so dependent on a vision or an enigmatic wristband.

And of course, he relies only on himself.

He relies on this grown version of him who has seen and witnessed many things as he continues to grow older, a young man who inherited the ancient name of Turnfire.

Because of this, nobody knows much about him, much less knows about the little boy that remained with him from his early childhood.

It acted as a little consciousness, one so small that he could so easily fall asleep if it ever yelled at him.

But there were some nights when he would stay up at the smallest wails of this consciousness of a little boy.

Some nights, he wonders not about what went wrong, but what could have gone right.

It was something that he shouldn’t have brought up, what use is dwelling in the what-could-have-been anyway?

He isn’t an all-knowing being to change and weave through the past, he can’t fix it, he can’t abandon it.

He isn’t entirely certain if he can make it better.

But he can salvage and protect what good was left from it.

He doesn’t want to look back or look forward, he just wants this little boy to continue existing, to continue burning longer enough to keep him warm and alive.

Because what would he be without it?

+1) You

People usually come to Kinich whenever they want something deadly to be accomplished.

It was the usual get rid of rogues in the area, get rid of wild saurians, get rid of wandering automatons…

What they don’t come to Kinich for is when they need help to cook dinner.

You were the first to ever commission him for something so uncomplicated as this.

He had just been resting up in a tree during dusk when he felt the knocking of pebbles against the trunk. When one pebble hit him, it suddenly stopped.

When he looked down, he saw you, an apologetic gesture on you as you swiftly tossed away the remaining rocks in your hands.

Then you waved your hands to him, urging him to come down.

When he did, the first thing you greeted him with was a proposal. “Can you help me prepare dinner?”

Kinich would’ve been taken aback at the simplicity of the commission. You could probably ask that to your local elderly and they would agree with no payment required.

Then he starts thinking of another explanation, maybe you had meant gathering ingredients, or help with cooking for a large serving of people.

But he knows you, you live alone, and there weren’t currently any celebrations within the tribe that required a feast.

Was your request really that simple?

Then, you offered him a pouch of Mora.

Along the way to your house, Kinich held onto the Mora and to the silence the two of you shared. It wasn’t at all alike to the ones he shared with those unwilling of his company, this time, it was completely mutual, like there was no need for a conversation despite the odd request.

It wasn’t long before the two of you arrived at your front door, while twisting the lock with a key, you brought up a question to Kinich.

“Hey, what do you think I should eat, vegetables or meat?”

Kinich’s reply was fairly simple. “Whatever you have more ingredients of.”

He thinks his answers weren't up to your expectation when you gave him a look of discontent. “I have plenty for either,”

He wasn’t entirely sure what answer he should pick simply from this. He has an inkling suspicion that you would still feel the same if he were to pick one over the other.

“Then, both?” He was convinced that his uncertainty was obvious from his tone.

But it didn’t seem to mind you as you broke out with a satisfied smile at his answer. “Alright then. Help me gather some vegetables from the garden.”

When you led him outside, Kinich was surprised at the amount of crops you grew. The size was practically the same as he had at his place, and you even grew some that others wouldn’t typically have in their garden anymore.

Gathering farm crops with you was a quiet experience. The kind he was so familiar with as a kid that it felt like he was reliving the moments he had with his mother.

If it weren’t for the cold gusts of wind that evening, Kinich would have been fooled into thinking that he had gone back to that exact moment of his life.

He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something comforting about seeing another pair of hands in the corner of his eyes.

The quiet consciousness started to become a bit more audible, enough to make Kinich realize that he could start hearing the crackling of firewood.

It had been a while since the last time Kinich cooked with someone in a homey kitchen before.

The last he could remember was with Elder Leik, and that had been years ago when he was still a young teenager.

This time, instead of his elderly hands, it was yours that occupied the busy counter beside him. The sound of sliced ingredients dropping down onto the simmering water filled the area of what would have been just him.

The moment he stopped working the knives through the vegetables, his eyes would find their way to you, beside him. 

Completely mindful of your own business, humming a catchy tune as you gently mixed the ingredients in the pot. He was sure he had heard of that tune before.

Probably during one of the rare moments when his mother would break the silence between them, emerging with a simple, yet unforgettable melody.

Yes, that was probably it, his little consciousness confirms it to be so.

Like another piece of firewood had just been tossed in, the air around him started to become warmer than usual.

When the food had been served on your dinner table, Kinich figured he had finished his job.

“Where are you going?” He was about to leave the house.

“I helped you prepare dinner, my job is finished.” At this, your head seemed to have been afloat in the air for a while.

You then cracked into a small laughter. “Ah, right, I did say that.”

With that, you left the table and disappeared into some room within the house.

Kinich was about to use this time to leave the place, as he was about to put a glove back on, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Turning around, he sees you, holding another pouch of Mora in your hands. “Can you help me finish all this food?”

It was purely instinct at how his hand already accepted the payment before even processing what you had meant.

But just like how you are, you don’t further explain as to why, simply walking back to the table and taking a seat. Kinich noticed another plate laid out beside you, like you had intended for him to eat with you.

Well, an odd request still serves the same as a normal one.

So he walks back to the table, taking a seat and grabbing a humble serving of food.

The first bite of the meat stew felt weird.

It tasted different, different than how he would usually do it at least. 

You cooked this, it was a subtle reminder that other people have their own preference when measuring their seasonings and what they put in the dish.

It was a simple reminder that he didn’t cook this by himself, someone was there with him.

The more spoonful he ate, the more fuel was fed to the fire of his little consciousness.

It had been a while since he had dinner with someone with such normal circumstances. 

He realizes all of this was part of the what-could-have-beens that slipped into his mind during one late night.

He could have experienced gathering crops until late at night with his mother, hearing her hum a quiet melody while they cooked, and sitting around the dinner table along with his father… It could have been those.

But what’s the use of residing in it? He already made up his mind to not look back.

“Hm? Something wrong?” Your voice suddenly became more distinct in Kinich’s thoughts. “Oh no, were the seasonings a bit off?”

Without having answered, Kinich diverts his eyes to the nervous fidgeting of your hands. The same pair he saw in the corner of his eyes when cooking and gathering ingredients.

The same pair that have unknowingly hovered over his little consciousness’s fire, feeding it more and more kindlings to make its voice more evident.

It was strange, somehow he felt like the little boy left of him had just been preserved—protected even. 

Like how a pair of hands would wrap around the faintest of flames to keep it burning, to keep it hidden from the harsh winds but still not so much that it would be forgotten.

Just enough to know that it’s still there.

Don’t look back, but don’t forget either.

Kinich then answers you. “It’s sweeter than what I usually have.”

rimi’s notes

can I just say how bad I felt when reading his story bro like what the fuck

but I hope yall enjoy cuz I definitely did when writing this lowkey

hearts / reblogs / follows are very much appreciated !

[dixonzzgirl]

imagine… 

finding daryl a really cool zippo lighter and seeing him mindlessly flick it open and close throughout the day.

sitting with your feet in his lap while you both relax on the porch swing (alexandria era).

pinky linking instead of full on hand holding. 

finally getting to the playful butt swat stage of your relationship + him winding up his t-shirt and chasing you around the house. 

him praising you whenever you kill an animal: “nice shot, girl.” “look at you.“ “atta girl.” 

reading a book with your legs crossed on his work bench as he tinkers with his bike.

getting a cold and when daryl dips down to kiss your lips, you turn your head away from him. “daryl, don’t! i don’t wanna get you sick!” and then he grabs your chin and presses a firm kiss on your lips anyway.

daryl finds a cowboy hat and drops it on your head. you let out a giggle. “what’s that saying? save a horse, ride a cowboy?” you smirk. his cheeks darken and he turns away from you. “think ya’ got tha’ backwards..” he drawls. “no? pretty sure i’m right…”

eating a lollipop and daryl walks right up and pulls it out of your mouth and puts it in his (or vise versa).

having a journal that you can both communicate in. we all know daryl isn’t the best at communicating his feelings verbally and maybe you aren’t either, so you just write back and forth to each other.

i love the journal idea because you would use it for everything. daryl has to be up early to help rick with something? he’ll scribble a quick “helping rick. come find me.” and as soon as you wake up and feel the void in bed beside you, you go right to the journal.

him getting hard as fuck when you give shane attitude (farm era).

you get into an accident on a run and ending up losing a lot of blood and you wake up later in the infirmary. “ya’ lost a lotta blood,” he says. “then i bet you did too…” you smiled groggily knowing that he gave you some of his (he’s a universal donor).

rubbing aloe vera on his sunburnt skin and he just lets out these sexy ass heavy breaths.

him watching you get visibly frustrated when someone else is helping you with something, but not doing it the way you want it done, so daryl steps in and tells them to get lost.

daryl giving you cold medicine while you’re sick and he makes you take it in front of him and open your mouth to show him that you swallowed it.

a/n: these are my favorite scenarios to imagine when I'm in class :) if you wanna use any of these ideas for a fic, tag me! i'd love to see them!

[mcmansionhell]

pre-recession, post-taste

Hello, everyone. I hope this blog can bring some well-needed laughs in really trying times. That's why I've gone back into the archives of that precipitous year 2007, a year where the McMansion was sleepwalking into being a symbol of the financial calamity to follow. We return to the Chicago suburbs once more because they remain the highest concentration of houses in their original conditions. Thanks to our flipping predilection, these houses become rarer and rarer and I have to admit even I have developed a fondness for them as a result.

Our present house is ostensibly "French Provincial" in style, which is McMansion for "Chateaux designed by Carmela Soprano". It boasts 7 bedrooms, 8.5 bathrooms, and comes in at a completely reasonable 15,000 square feet. It can be yours for an equally reasonable $1.5 million.

Every 2007 McMansion needed two things: a plethora of sitting rooms and those dark wood floors. This house actually has around five or six sitting rooms (depending if you count the tiled sunroom) but for brevity's sake, I'll only provide two of them.

With regards to the second sitting room, I'm really not one to talk statuary here because beside me there is a bust of Dante where the sculptor made him look simultaneously sickly and lowkey hot.

Technically, if we are devising a dichotomy between sitting and not sitting (yes, I know about the song), the dining room also counts as a sitting room. The more chairs in your McMansion dining room, the more people allegedly like you enough to travel 2.5 hours in traffic to see you twice a year.

Here's the thing about nostalgia: the world as we knew it then is never coming back. In some ways this is sad (kitchens are entirely white now and marble countertops will look terrible in about 3 years) but in other ways this is very good (guys in manhattan have switched to private equity instead of betting the farm on credit default swaps made from junk mortgages proffered to America's most vulnerable and exploited populations.) Progress!

Okay I really don't understand the 50 bed pillows thing. Every night my parents tossed their gazillion decorative pillows on the floor just to put them back on the bed the next morning. Like, for WHAT? Who was going in there? The Pope?

Here's a fun one for your liminal spaces moodboards. (Speaking for myself.)

Yes, I know about skibidi toilet. And sticking out your gyatt for the rizzler. I wish I didn't. I wish I couldn't read. Literacy is like a mirror in which I only see the aging contours of my face.

When your kids move out every room becomes a guest room.

Anyway, let's see what the rear of this house has to offer.

The migratory birds will not forgive them for their crimes. But also seriously, not even a garden?

Anyway, that does it for this round of McMansion Hell. Happy Halloween!

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[hedgehog-moss]

I volunteered to help the florist with her Mother's Day deliveries today, it was fun! My favourite parts of the experience:

early this morning I delivered flowers to women who were busy with morning farm chores, usually out in the barn; some had forgotten it was Mother's Day and were pleasantly surprised to see me show up holding a bunch of flowers above my head (so it wouldn't get eaten by barn animals on the way)

speaking of: one woman let a cow smell the flowers, then said "they're probably treated with chemicals—better not have a taste" with an apologetic look (at her cow)

a little boy opened the door at one point and I said, flowers for your mum! and he called her and while waiting for her to come downstairs, he said, "I learnt a Mother's Day poem at school", so I said, let's hear it! And apparently he hadn't expected that, and he lit up upon realising he would get higher returns on his poem investment than expected. He thought he'd recited it once and it was over but here was a fresh new audience!

a woman whom I found at the back of her garden hanging out with ducks deplored the fact that she didn't have a coin in her pocket for a tip, then said "Do you want to see my baby pigeons?" Yes of course I want to see your baby pigeons. That's a good tip

I delivered a bouquet to someone and a woman next door, who was in her garden, turned to the open window of her house and said, "[Neighbour's name] got flowers! For MOTHER'S DAY."

I later had to return to that street after a last-minute order was placed to this woman's address. Whomever she was talking to inside the house got the message loud and clear :)

at one point I entered a barn that seemed empty (except for cows), said "Is anyone here?" and a goat SPRUNG UP out of nowhere and poked me with her hoof and gave me a heart attack

I returned to the shop and the florist let me pick a couple of plants as thanks, and we had the usual conversation—"Would this cheerful yellow plant thrive in my house?" "No. Your house is under 10°C. Try this one instead." Me: "This one isn't yellow :( It's more austere" Her: "So is your house" (She entered my non-heated kitchen in December once, and ever since I've been trying to convince her that it's not always like that) (just six months per year)

as I sat in the shop waiting for more bouquets to deliver, a man came in to buy roses and the florist started wrapping a ribbon around the bunch and the man asked, could you put a ribbon around each rose? I said aw they're for several mums? :) And he said yeah—that he was going to visit his mum at the retirement home and he wanted to get something "for all her friends too, why not!" It made everyone smile

admiring the florist's skill as she quickly put together a bouquet for a new order, I said something like "at least AI won't steal your job" and she said "with quantum computing, you don't know... not sure what it is but I read an article and it sounded scary." I said, I heard it's still impractical because the quantum computer particles need to be kept in very cold environments, like close to absolute zero, and she said "Quantum plants would thrive in your house."

Florist: "I'll accompany you for this delivery because the person who filled the form gave a 'turn left after the third mossy rock'-type of address"

I was invited at her house for lunch, and I asked warily "Does your husband still have swans?" She said "No, we only kept the geese. We have just 3. They're evil too but not as bad as the swans"

one of my favourite interactions was when I delivered flowers in a hamlet that could fit in my pocket, and a young girl who came to the door asked me in what village I lived, and I said, it's not a village, just a lone house in the woods, and she sighed "I wish I could live away from civilisation." I looked around us. Asked, how many people live in this village? She said, "Sixty." I said, "That's too many?" She said, "Yeah."

Final stats for today: I was offered a coffee 4 times, Mother's Day chocolates 2 times, and 1 meeting with baby pigeons; was startled by 1 goat and terrorised by 3 geese; petted 2 windowsill cats, and was asked if Pampérigouste was currently in her pasture 4 times.