#but it was still full of so many good tips

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

with a hand on the back of your head and another holding your throat, nanami curses under his breath, the sight of you gagging around his cock so filthy that the usually composed man has his knees threatening to buckle from underneath him. 

sweat trickles from the side of his face and there’s a deep shade of blush spread across his nose and cheeks, hiding the freckles you love so much. even the tips of his ears burn, the pleasure blooming everywhere under his skin as he rocks his hips against your face. the first buttons of his dress shirt are undone, a few hickeys already starting to darken on his skin from you nipping at him before dropping to your knees. he’s been working so very hard, and you just want him to let off a little steam – he just needs a bit of a push sometimes. 

so with you sat on his lap, sucking on his earlobe while pleading for him to take a break, it was impossible for him to say no. how could he when he’s got an angel in his arms, playing with his hair and kissing his neck ever so sweetly – he’s a weaker man than he thinks. 

when you slithered down between his thighs and stared up at him with big, hungry eyes, he found himself loosening his tie, his mind already beginning to cloud with the nastiest thoughts. 

ghosting your fingers over the growing bulge in his slacks, you rested your head against his thigh with a mischievous smile etched onto your lips. “c’mon, ken… i want to make you feel good.”

your words come out as a purr, as a siren’s call – you always have been a little tease, always the one to make him break and crumble. 

so here he finds himself now – slacks pooling around his ankles and the hem of his shirt caught between his teeth, trying his utmost best not to fill your mouth with cum after the first ten minutes like some damn teenager. his hair is a fucking mess, dusty blonde strands falling over his forehead no matter how many times he tries to push them back. he’s given up on it now, realizing that there are better things to be doing with his hands – the one on the back of your head, protects you from knocking against the wooden cupboard while the other rests on your neck, marveling the way his cock slides up and down your throat. 

it’s mesmerizing, the feeling of the bulge under the palm of his shaky hand. he’s in there, filling you up like nothing else and it’s the hottest fucking thing in the world. 

his pace is slow and steady, every roll of his hips has your nose nuzzling into his pubes, your chin pressing against his heavy balls. drool trickles from the corners of your mouth and it’s a sight to behold – it dribbles all the way down onto your thighs and from there on onto the floor and nanami can’t help but feel the coil in his stomach tighten faster than ever. you’re the only one that makes him feel like this, who manages to mold him to your own liking all while being down on your knees. 

the tip of your tongue tickles his balls and the growl he lets out makes you clench your thighs together. his shirt falls from between his teeth and he rushes to undo the rest of the buttons, desperate to get the material off of him, so he can give you his full attention once more. it’s exciting to see him this needy. 

you try to look up at him with him still down your throat and as a reward, he moves to stroke your cheek with his thumb. “you’re– you’re doing so good for me, darling.” 

his voice is raspier than ever and the praise that tumbles from his bitten lips has you moaning around his cock. his vision goes blurry for a moment as the pleasure overwhelms his senses. you’re something else. 

you’re fucking perfect. 

the ache in your knees fades in your mind as you get to watch him unravel above you. his strokes become more languid; he pulls out only a little before pushing back in, his tip reaching deeper and deeper with every thrust he makes. he wants to stay inside you, he wants to stay there forever. 

squirming below him, you screw your eyes shut and try to focus on your breathing – but as he stays slotted deep down your throat, it’s getting harder and harder and you can’t hold back the few tears that have been brimming at your lashline.

“f–fuck, i’m sorry, sweetheart… i– “

he feels you struggling, but doesn’t pull out even an inch, only grinding his hips into your face as if he was fucking your tight little hole instead. you claw at the backs of his thighs, your nails marking up his sensitive skin as you gag around him. but nanami’s mindful not to go too far, to make sure that he wouldn’t miss the moment your scratching should turn into tapping instead. as much as he’s enjoying himself, he’d rather die than to hurt you.

he waits for your signal but when it doesn’t come, he presses himself even further down your throat, moaning loudly when you gag around him. his blonde pubes stick to your skin, your spit acting as glue between you. 

your mouth is so fucking warm and tight and, fuck– the obscene sounds that fill his ears are making him lose his mind. you feel divine and it has him wondering what ever did he do to deserve a lover like you. 

all it takes is two pats against his thighs and he’s pulling away, his eyes locked onto your face as you gasp for air. crystalline droplets brim in the corners of your eyes and run over the apples of your cheeks, leaving behind salty remainders of your hard work. your lips are swollen and covered in a mixture of his precum and your own spit. trying to catch your breath, you take a moment before looking back up at him. 

the way his lips part in a silent groan the second you make eye-contact, his chest rising and falling as he strokes his fat cock right in front of your face. there’s still a strand of spit connecting the two of you, from your lips to his tip, and nanami wants to hate how big of an effect such a small thing can have on him. it’s romantic. 

you look ruined. 

he thinks you look absolutely fucking beautiful.

leaning down, he presses a fiery kiss to your lips as a thank you, as another form of praise. he loves the way you taste and they way you feel against him. 

you breathe into his mouth. “more…” 

nanami squeezes his fist around his base, another groan falling from him as he pulls away from you. the grin on your face, the hearts in your eyes and the love pooling on your tongue are more than enough to have him taking in a sharp intake of air – you reach out to him, gentle fingers wrapping around his way bigger ones as you guide him back to your mouth. your heavenly lips. 

as embarrassing as it is, it only takes another few minutes for him to cum down your throat with a loud, deep groan. he holds your neck just as before, feeling the way his own cock twitches inside of you as he gives you his all. 

there’s so much of it that despite you swallowing around him a couple of times, it still pours out from the corners of your mouth, turning you into an even bigger mess than before. but it’s not like you mind – this is exactly what you wanted in the first place. he’s panting like a dog above you, face red as a tomato as he bucks his hips into your mouth one last time. 

the sound that leaves his lips as he finally pulls out resembles a whimper and he lets out a sheepish chuckle, a bit flustered that you managed to pull that out of him. but then again…

it is you. 

his beloved, his love – the one who knows him the best, the one who knows what he needs without ever having to ask. you read him like an open book and he couldn't be more grateful. you're more than he could've asked for. hoped for.

and he loves you.

[thewritergremlin-rae]

Hi! If you wanted to could you write a Soulmate AU or Drunken confessions (Loki x reader) pls thanks <333

Thanks for the request anon! I have way too many soulmate AU ideas already so I went with drunken confessions ehehehe

A Casual Exchange

Pairing: Loki x Reader Rating: M Words: 763 Content: 2nd person, fluff, drunken/tipsy reader Summary: Your night winds to a close - your parting words leaving Loki stunned. AO3: HERE

Banner by cafekitsune

You hadn’t meant to get drunk. 

No. Really. 

You’d been nursing one glass, only it had never ended. You had a feeling your favourite Asgardian had something to do with it. Plopping down on the couch, your drink sloshed but you didn’t feel a splash and, looking over at Loki, none of it had spilt on him either. 

Your eyes got a little stuck on Loki, like they always did. Such a beautiful being. Skin - flawless, cheekbones - sharp enough to cut yourself on, legs - never ending. 

The sound of him clearing his throat brought your gaze back to his face but you didn’t feel any of that familiar, heavy embarrassment in your stomach. You laughed as he arched a delicate eyebrow. 

“Yes, dear?” His eyes sparkled with mischief, his gaze washing over your swaying, the slight dazed look in your eyes, and the curve of your lips as you giggled. 

The giggling was his favourite. 

“Are you having fun, Loki?” You laid your arm out over the back of the couch and flopped your head down on it as you waited for his answer. Fingers caught the end of his curls, twisting and twirling them, brain fizzing and focusing on the silky feel. 

Loki snorted softly, you having no idea you’d missed his answer. “You seem to be having far more fun.” 

You giggled again and tugged a little on the curl, watching it bounce back into place. “Yeah…  Do you use magic on these?” You flicked a curl again and his long fingers curled around your traitorous ones. 

“No, that would be pointless when I can simply use products. And I certainly would never be so strange as Midgardians as to put dangerous chemicals in my hair to change the colour.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you processed the information. “Guess you’re right. See, that’s why humans should be feared. What other race kept eating mushrooms until they found the ones that made them trip balls?”

“You also season your food with peppers that developed semi-poisonous defense mechanisms to avoid being eaten, your race deciding that that makes them taste good.” 

You laughed and grinned. “Jalapeno poppers are the best and you’re just jealous you don’t have processed sugar on your planet.”

Loki gave an elegant shrug. “I concede that chocolate is certainly one of your species’ better inventions.” He smiled, pulling a bar seemingly from nowhere as he traded it for your drink. 

Probably a good idea, you were just on the edge of sober enough to know that as you dug in and nibbled. “Thanks, Loki, you’re the best.” 

A subtle twitch in his expression caught your eye but you weren’t sharp enough to figure it out right now. Actually, Loki should have some of this chocolate too but his hands were pretty full. 

You snapped off a piece and held it to his lips, grinning when he accepted it with nothing more than a cocked eyebrow. But he soon got his own back, dragging a gasp from your soft lips when he nipped the tip of your thumb. 

You stared at your thumb as you brought it back to you. It tingled a little, still warm. 

A distant laugh had the sounds of the party around you filtering back in and you realised it’s a little loud. “Me and the chocolate are going to go to bed.” Loki seemed a little sad to lose your company but perhaps he shouldn’t have refilled your cup so much. No-one was ever thankful for a hangover. 

“A good idea. Good night.” 

“Night night, Loki. Love you.” You leaned forward with a bounce to kiss his cheek and got to your feet, leaving him stunned.

Did you just say…

You waved to him as if you didn’t just profess your love for him and disappeared inside the elevator. How could you not realise….? 

You hummed to yourself, nibbling at the chocolate. Head empty, no thoughts as you crossed to your bedroom door. 

Wait.

Did you say ‘love you’ to Loki? Your brain slowly swings back to the memory and your eyes widen when you hear the words in your own voice. 

Oh shit. You hurried back to the elevator, cut short by the appearance of a firm chest in your narrowed field of vision.

“Did we perhaps realise what we said, love?” Loki whispered, hoping he looked not the least bit flustered by your casual admission. His arms caught you and held you close before he caught your lips. 

“Loki…” you breathed and he chuckled. 

“I might be persuaded to remind you come morning.” 

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Tags: @kindadolly @ilovetaquitosmmmm @satan-ate-my-sandwitch @ravenswritingroom

[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. 

----

[fairy-angel222]

𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

— warnings: size kink, cervix fucking, belly bulge, creampie/breeding, throat fucking

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who tie your smaller frame to their bed, their body almost twice the size of yours as they stand over you, their eyes dark with lust at how vulnerable you look.

Who lower themselves onto you as they measure the length of their cock with your body, whistling lowly before looking you in your eyes with a sinister smirk.

“Shit baby, think you can take it?”

Who watch as your eyes widen with a quiver as you tugged at your restraints, only blinking up at them through your lashes with an incoherent mumble, your wet pussy clenching around nothing in anticipation.

No matter how many times you guys did this, you still never got used to how big they were. After all, they were practically a tower next to you, and their dick was nothing short of that size.

“Sorry sweetheart.” they laugh. “forgot you were gagged.”

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who make you watch with teary eyes as their cocks bulge visibly in your stomach. Only halfway in before you’re crying, whining about it being too much. You get so full. Your mewls loud and broken as you moan their name.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Whose cocks still grow when they’re hard, swelling within the warmth of your walls. Who beg for you to take it. Telling you how good you were doing and how happy it would make them if you take them all the way. Take them deep.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who love when you make them bleed, sharp nails scratching down their backs as you try to adjust around them, tearfully wincing at the sting that came with it.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who love to stuff their fingers down your throat while encouraging you to ride them, their hands on your waist as they guide you up and down just the beginning of their length.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Whose thick fingers fill you like a second dick, making you cry out loudly as they pushed against that spongy spot. Cooing at you and telling you to take it as their fingers harshly curl into you. Thrusting mercilessly until you’re squirting all over their hand with a scream.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who fuck you in every position and against every wall or surface.

Their mouths on your clit and tongues lapping up the wetness between your folds with your legs spread on their shoulders, strong hands being the only thing holding you up.

Their feet planted into the floor as they bounced you on their cock. Folding you like a sex doll by holding your bent knees flush against your chest, roughly lifting you off and back onto their cock. Loud sobs filling the room as their mushroom shaped tip pierced painfully past your cervix, your moans high pitched as your cheeks stain with tears.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who always have to be so careful with you, knowing they could easily break you even if they didn’t mean too.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Whose hands are twice the length and width of yours, easily pinning both your wrists above your head when during sex.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Whose big hands easily bruise your delicate skin, your neck always painted purple and blue from him accidentally choking you too hard. Who engulf you with their body in a tight hug to apologize, kissing your head and promising you that they didn’t mean to hurt you.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who groan when you try to suck them off. Your plump lips stretched around their fiery red tip, slobbering down their thick length. Who get off to your struggle, cock twitching with a loud groan when you look up at them innocently. Trying (and failing) to take their cock all the way, your eyes welling with tears when it pushes to the back of your throat.

Who shoot their cum straight into your awaiting mouth. Watching you gag softly as the liquid forces itself down your throat, trickling down the sides of your lips when you smile up at them. Sticking out your tongue to show that you swallowed it all, their thumb running over your bottom lip before letting their spit fall into your awaiting mouth.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who get so carried away by how snug your pussy feels around them. Unknowingly bullying their cocks deeper and deeper. Their brain so foggy that your loud choked cries don’t even register.

Who when riding them, accidentally force you to bottom down. Your salty tears clouding your vision as you sob out that you can’t take it— that they’re so deep and it hurts. That you can feel them fucking past your cervix. Who know that you’re only able to whimper and mewl when the pain turns pleasurable, groans sounding from the back of their throat as their eyes fixed on their tip’s imprint on your belly. Who continue to jerk themselves off with your tight pussy, voice deep and raspy as they praise you for taking it all.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who love when you ask them to be rough with you. Toss you around and slap you when you talk back. Who slam their hips into you with no care, telling you to shut up and take it or they’d leave you empty instead. Who choke you while fucking into you, digging their fingers into your cheeks to shut up your constant cries, scoffing and spitting in your face when your tears begin to fall.

Who bruise your pussy and your neck for days to come, purple and red littering your skin from you being used as nothing but a flesh light. Eventually passing out as orgasm after orgasm was forced from your swollen, aching and sensitive cunt.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who make sure to check up on you afterwards, not letting you sit or walk on your own because they know how sore they left you. Happy when you keep reassuring them that you wanted it, like the fact that they were so rough.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who smirk at the jealous looks you get when he walks hand in hand with you in public, people whispering to each other about the extreme height difference.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who love when you wear their clothes, snuggling into the softness of his hoodies that swallow you whole. The pieces of fabric being sizes too large on your body.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who love when you melt into their lap, muscular arms around your waist as they kiss down your neck softly. Whispering words of praises into your ear with his hot breath fanning against your skin.

“God i love you so much.” they smile, “My pretty little baby.”

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Pt 1(you’re here)

Pt 2

warning: dubcon, somno, size difference(big time)

A/N: my requests are closed for the foreseeable future, but my commissions are open! Consider reading my commission info and helping me out! Slots are limited(2 left), so get a commission while you still can~

Having thoughts about a fairy that’s the last of his kind.

He usually spends his days lounging around in flowers or by the lakeside, sometimes visited by woodland creatures.

After his species died out, he's been quite lonely. Being the last of your kind was a fate worse than death, and all he wanted was someone to call his own.

And then he sees you, a normal human woman walking home through his forest.

Usually fairies would play tricks on wandering humans or even curse them for entering their forest, but he couldn’t take being alone anymore, so he followed you home instead.

He just planned to take up residence in your garden, maybe help your plants grow if he felt like it… but one night he ended up flying by your window.

The sight of you undressing made his wings flap in excitement. Your ample breasts, soft belly, and plump thighs were a lot to take in, but he sat in the windowsill, his eyes fixated on your body as he stroked his cock.

He’d never seen a fairy that looked like you, they were all so little and dainty. You had such soft features, all he wanted to do was bury his face in your breasts and fuck that fat pussy of yours.

But alas, he was too small, barely the size of your hand. Never before had he wanted to be the side of a human. Their bodies seemed so clumsy and cumbersome… but now the only thing on his mind was finding a way to grow to your size.

As you slept, he flew in through your cracked window, settling on your chest. It was softer than he imagined, like lying atop two doughy mountains. The fairy couldn’t help but marvel at your hard nipple poking through the fabric of your top.

He held your perky bud in both of his hands, marveling at the way you whimpered under his touch.

Before he knew what he was doing, the little fairy pulled out his cock. He pushed up the fabric of your shirt just enough so he could rub the tip of his sensitive, needy cock on that pretty nipple of yours.

“Mmph…”

He stopped rutting against your nipple when he spotted your soft, plump lips, glistening in the moonlight. The fairy’s shimmering wings fluttered as he gently walked between the valleys of your breasts and climbed up your face.

He positioned his cock between your slightly parted lips, gently pressing the tip against your tongue, testing the waters.

When you didn’t wake up, he began to slowly fuck your mouth, glancing up to your eyes every once in a while before picking up speed.

It was like heaven for him, fucking into your warm, wet mouth, imagining you tasting his cum on your tongue come morning time.

He lost count of how many times he was pushed over the edge by your soft tongue, and ended up passing out on your breasts. He looked like the cutest little thing, all curled up in your cleavage…

When you woke up the next morning, everything was the same as usual. You just had this weird taste in your mouth…

After a nice breakfast, you went to water your plants, only to find out your vegetables had doubled in size over night! As you stared on in awe, your little fairy admirer sat on your windowsill, his cheeks pink as he watched you smile and harvest the plants he had tended to.

You were his lover now, after all… and he didn’t want you going hungry, did he? Especially not when he was planning to find a growth spell and fill that chubby belly of yours full of his young so he could rebuild his species.

You’d need lots of nutrients to carry his young, and he was a good little mate~

part 2?

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljr @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143

[lxnarphase]

━━ ❝ it's sticky, toshi... ❞

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : you help ushijima finally realize that he's got a breeding kink

ᯓ ❤₊‧⁺...cw : u. wakatoshi x fem!reader, dirty talk, messy and wet, teasing, marathon sex, pet names, breeding kink, talks of pregnancy, ushijima can't stop cumming

ᯓ ❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : haikyuu save me, save me ushijima wakatoshi, SAVE ME !! anyways hi i spent 150$ on ushijima merch yesterday and i don't regret it, so say hello to my haikyuu phase coming back !!!

ushijima having a breeding kink isn't a surprise to you at all.

what is surprising is how long it takes for him to figure it out.

sure, at first it wasn't clear, but after being with him for so long, you quickly pick up on whenever he'd mutter in your ear as he slid his stupidly big cock inside of you, saying how badly he wished he could cum inside of you instead in the condom.

afterwards, he's so focused on cleaning you up and making sure you felt good and satisfied, you don't get a chance to question him on it. not that you were complaining, ushijima is so cute when he's asking if you need anything and constantly reminds you to get up and go use the bathroom.

it's even cuter when he realizes you can't walk.

"ah. i'm sorry, i didn't realize how hard i went...here, let me help."

eventually, you to suggest things to ushijima, trying to test out the waters with him.

you start by just asking if he’d want to fuck you without the condom, what he thought about cumming inside, even jokingly saying you’d make him a dad one day.

but it seems like that last part was swimming around his head for a while...he can't get the thought of you getting chubby and round with his kid out of your head. and knowing he'd be able to take care of you all the time? that thought alone made him shiver a little.

what can he say, he loves doting on you more than anything.

however, you aren't expecting the way he reacted weeks after dealing with your teasing and questioning, fueling the thoughts swirling inside his head.

"toshi, if you ever cum inside me, you should set it as your phone background! actually, wait, no, because what if your teammates see it..."

"..."

"mm, maybe a video instead? ooh, yeah, i want a video of you cumming in me then pullin' out so i can see it spill out, toshtosh, would you do that f' me?"

he doesn't reply and doesn't give you a chance to comment again. the visual you painted in his mind just too much for him.

next thing you know, ushi's got you folded in half on the bed, making sure you feel every drag of his stupidly fat cock against your hot gummy walls. he's pulling out to just the tip before slamming back inside you, groaning each time you let out a whimper of his name or squeeze down on him.

"toshi, t-toshi! h-hoohmygod, please, baby, c-calm down, 'm sorry f' teasin', oh my goddd...!"

you're so fucking wet and noisy, he wants to make you be quiet because he feels like your going to make him cum too fast but he'd never ever do it as the thought of not being able to hear you is painful.

he's lost track of time, your cunt making him brainless as he pumps his cock in and out of you as he groans your name, one of his hands pinning your arms to your back while the other presses your head into the pillows.

"s-shhh, honey, let...let me make you feel good, y're so loud..."

it's so fucking messy and sloppy, his cum is dripping out of your tight pussy from how many times he’s emptied his load into you, but he still isn’t stopping, no, he can't. it’s leaking from between your thighs, leaving a milky white sheen on his dick, dripping down onto the bedsheets.

"m-mmh, nooo, toshi, don' wanna be quiet, i-i wan' you to hear how good you make me feel, baby," you purr between moans, knowing that your voice was enough to get him off. the throb of his dick inside of you told you that you were right.

“i...i thought 'bout fucking you like this all day, during practice…that i’d fuck you full of my cum, get it so deep inside you," he mutters with a grunt, moving his hands off you so he could drape himself over your back.

"f-fuck, everyone knew something was off, kageyama kept asking me if-if was okay, how 'm i 'posed to tell him my pretty little honey is waiting at home for me to fill them with my cum?”

with an affirming coo, you manage to tilt your head to the side to look over your shoulder, wanting to see how ushijima is holding up and god, the sight is so sinful.

ushijima's dripping in sweat, his bottom lip swollen and puffy from his teeth digging into it. his fluffy hair is messy and sticking to his damp forehead, and his eyes are shut, squeezing in pleasure when the head of his cock brushed against that sweet spot just right, making your cunt spasm around him.

but his eyes keep opening to see the mess between the both of you. each thrust causes his cum to spill out around him, loud, wet squelches filling the bedroom. and it's only fueling his need to fill you up again, and again, and again, until he can’t anymore.

ushijima can’t stop himself, flipping you over onto your back and folding you into a mating press and, god, he's so fucking happy he did. the way you sob his name, your nails clawing at his back as you cry in pleasure about how much deeper he is now driving him insane.

“t-toshi, cum in me, please, wanna make you a daddy, please.” “I know, baby, I’ll give you all of it, fuck you full of cum until you can’t take anymore.”

“i-i know, honey, i’ll give you all of it, stuff you full of cum until you can’t take anymore.”

fuck, he’s so loud, he sounds so good. ushi's deep, drawn out groans and pants of your name making you go dizzy, his big hands squeezing your waist tightly each time your hands tug at his hair.

“mm, fuck, that’s right, take all my cum, look at you, so good, can you take more? let...let me cum in you again, baby, you promised you’d make me a daddy, right? i-i need to make sure it sticks.”

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[xanaxspritz]

an: a continuation of these perv!nanami headcanons. im a journalist for my work and i had so many deadlines this past week. sorry for slight inactivity !!!

synopsis: nanami knew he was in trouble when you mentioned you were a virgin. he's been obsessed with bedding you ever since then

cw: perv!nanami, creampie, overstimulation, slight power imbalance, virgin afab! reader

nanami felt his own heart pounding when he opened the his apartment door for you. you looked so sweet, so delicate in the mini soft pink sundress you wore. your lips upturned into that shy flirty smile of yours that always drove him crazy. you looked good enough for him to eat whole.

he wondered if his intentions had been clear enough when he invited you over for the first time. unknowingly or not, you teased him relentless for weeks and weeks, from batting your doe eyes at him to slowly, day by day, showing up to his office at work in a much more revealing outfit than yesterday. you made him mad with lust.

and now he has you squirming on his couch, panties soaked and pulled aside with his thick fingers sliding in and out of you, thumb rubbing on top of your clit.

"that's it princess. you're doing so good," he says softy into your thigh, digging his fingers even deeper inside you. "need to stretch you out first."

"p-please i can't..." you mewl out. "it feels too g-good!"

"i know, i know. don't fight it, stay with me love." he reassures. determined to give you your first orgasm, he took out his digits and fully removed your pretty pink panties, diving into your wet heat, savoring and licking up all your deliciousness. the deep heat you felt down inside blossomed into a bright, mind numbing feeling that took over your whole being, as if you were floating on a cloud.

"good?" he asked.

you nodded, your head in a haze. never in your life have you felt this good, and you didn't want him to stop.

"im going to fuck you now. okay?"

"o-okay..." you watch him strip down to boxers, wondering how much trouble you would be in taking his girthy length.

"just relax," he whispers hovering on top of you, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

you felt his tat tip rubbing at your slick entrance, feeling every inch of him slide into you until he was fulling seated. it felt like he was slowly ripping you apart.

"kento, it hurts..." you whine.

"shh..ill go slow."

your pussy was intoxicating, so tight and snug around his cock, like a fitted glove. the fact that he was even fucking your little virgin pussy made him want to cum instantly, but he refrained, fucking deep long stokes into you.

"so fucking good," he moaned. "like you were made for me."

your eyes started to roll into the back of your head with pleasure as each stroke of his fat cock filled your pussy up. the living room filled with your soft whimpers and moans that made nanami's cock impossibly harder.

"i want to cum in your sweet little pussy. will you let me?"

too much of a daze, you nodded your head yes. loads and loads of his warm cum filled deep inside your womb. nanami pulled out, leaving the rest of the sticky substance to drip on to your inner thighs.

you didnt realize how tight you were gripping nanami's shoulders until he pulled off you, red finger marks rippled along his collarbones.

still fucked out, you rolled into his arms, where he holds you so dearly as if you were a piece of fine china he was scared to drop.

"good girl," he mumbled into your hair. "taking my cock so perfectly."

next time he would fuck you even harder, faster. he wanted to absolutely drunk on his cock, like it was only thing you knew. and since he was so blessed to be the one to take your virginity, he wouldn't let anyone else inside you.

[utilityknif3]

Nsfw!!! tehee

Imagine being Simon Ghost Riley’s ex wife who he can’t forget. You two have a son together and after being on a mission for a few weeks, he wanted to take him out somewhere for some quality time since you had full custody.

Even though he’s been away for only a few weeks, you two haven’t seen each other for months now.

…

Simon knocks on your door hesitantly. He wants to see you, he needs to. But when you open the door, he doesn’t know what to say.

You’re so beautiful, you changed but you’re glowing.

You just greet him with a simple “hi” and let him in. Simon walks in, lowering his head so he doesn’t hit it on the doorframe and you both sit on the couch and wait…

“He’s not here” you say, breaking the silence and trying to make the situation less awkward after a moment of silence.

“Where is he?” He asks with his deep voice and thick British accent that makes your heart melt each time.

“He’s at his friend’s birthday, he’ll be back later…in a few hours” you reply not daring to look at him in the eyes.

“In a few hours…aight” Simon passes a hand through his short blond hair, trying to think of something to say.

…

You two have been trying to hold a decent conversation for an hour now, catching up on your respective lives. He tells you about the struggles of his job and you tell him about whatever’s been bothering you lately…until you felt his gaze lower to your hand, especially the finger where your ring is placed, the ring he placed. The ring you can’t get rid of even though you tried to.

“You still have your wedding band?”

He asks as he stares at the ring he passed on your finger a few years before, as if he was mesmerized. He wished to do it again, and again… see you all dolled up in your pretty dress for him with that beautiful smile on your face. You two were so happy that day, like it was the best day of your lives.

He wished he could fuck you again like the night of your wedding, slowly and steadily. It was so intimate, just the two of you, his hair tickling your jaw as he pounded into you. He remembers the way your arms were wrapped around his neck and the way your hands would move to touch his hair. He remembers the sloppy kisses he gave you while he was listening to the soft symphony your moans were composing.

Simon snaps out of his transe when you answer

“Yes…it’s a pretty ring after all”

He nods.

He feels dumb for thinking that you two still had something; you moved on and it was clear.

He doesn’t want you to know that he kept the ring and a few of your things too. He doesn’t want you to know that you’re the one in his mind when he’s alone jerking himself off and overstimulating his soaked cock trying to recreate what you would do to him. He’s ashamed. The shirt that you forgot to get back from him had already been stained with his cum so many times that it doesn’t even smell like you anymore.

You already moved on but he didn’t, he never forgot your dates where you’d be just the two of you on the couch watching an old crappy movie. He never forgot the long hours he’d spend sleeping on your pregnancy belly while you’d caress gently his freshly cut hair. He never forgot the way your son would grab his big tatted arm in his small hands…He never forgot the feeling of your pussy squeezing him and taking him so well. The way you’d ride him on nights he felt tired, or the way your tongue would swirl around his tip, trying to milk every drop of cum he had left in him.

Simon loves you, he loves everything about you and never stoped loving you…

…

…that’s why you’re on the couch right now with his face buried in between your thighs. Simon’s tongue passes through your folds and teases your clit slowly while you scratch his hair. He’s so good for you, going a bit faster each time he hears you whimper.

The tip of his tongue teases your soaking hole while your toes curl around nothing.

After a moment of this sweet torture, he finally decides that his pants were getting too tight and stops licking you. He lifts his eyes to look at you, his face all red from embarrassment as your hand leaves his hair.

“Please, let me fuck you like you deserve” He asks politely while you’re panting heavily. At this point, his dick is the only thing you’ve been wanting. It’s been a while, too long.

You agree with a nod and he doesn’t hesitate to lift you up and put you gently on the kitchen counter. He used to make love to you for hours on it, it was the perfect height. He could fuck you from the front with your legs over his shoulders or from the back with your boobs pressed against the cold granite countertop.

He takes a moment to appreciate your body and watches you all vulnerable and needy for him. He wants to make you cry, to make you beg for more because he knows you will want more. He’s the only one who knows what’s best for you.

As you adjust your body on the counter, Simon hurries to take his fully hard boner out of his pants and boxers. It’s bigger than you remember, covered of his precum and ready to stuff you full of his semen.

You bite your lip in anticipation the moment he grips your thigh to holds it up. He’s so hot when he’s on top, his eyebrows are furrowed as he lines up his dick with the hole of your soaked cunt.

He puts it in with a low “fuck” escaping his lips. You feel so good around him.

Simon pounds into you, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs, making sure to leave dark bruises on your skin. He’s loosing himself into your folds feeling your burning walls squeeze his cock too much for him to hold his orgasm.

He burries his dick deeply into you, his tip kissing your cervix at each thrust and eventually it begins to feel too stimulating, too good. Simon cums into you but doesn’t stop his hips from moving. The white substance drips down to the counter and his moans are higher and louder. Now, his thrust are messy and uneven because of the overwhelming pleasure he’s feeling trying to bring you to your climax.

You reach it eventually, your own juices melting with his as you two are panting messes. Simon looks at you, at your beautiful face he missed so much. He won’t let you go again.

…

About an hour later, after a good shower, he randomly decides to kiss you and mumbles “I love you”

I know the end is ass idk how to end fics 🤯 and tbh I know that my writing sucks also bc I have great ideas but poor grammar and vocabulary 😓 I promise to get better bear with me 🙌🏾

[feedthefandomfest]

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[screampied]

hey i LOVE your work and ykk ou ur toji is just like… UGHHHH

could you do a mean toji who just mocks the reader and makes fun of her while she gets off on him (like idk his thighs or whatever) or when he fucks her? i feel like you would write this very well;)

❤︎ ໋𓈒 toji mocking your moans while you ride him

warnings. fem! reader, thigh riding & cowgirl, dirty talk, praise, ōrgasm denial, breath play, spanking. + thank you sm !! mdni

“we’re quite handsy today, huh,” he’d mumble once his eyes flicker down towards your nude body—you suck in a single breath as he’s got you just barely straddling his lap. with an unsatisfied pout, you’re just here moving up and down against his beefy thigh—oh so desperately wishing that you were riding him instead of his stupid, stupid leg. toji’s amusement only fuels the more you frown and scowl, pawing your hands up his perfectly chiseled thighs before he snickers. “what’s the issue? my thigh not enough to satisfy the pretty girl?”

“no..” you immediately say, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders. he could hear the irritation linger on your tone before you bury your face into his neck . . a good waft of his loud cologne scent infiltrating inside your nostrils.

two rugged hands drag down your back, sending you multiple shivers from his touch before he replies in a hoarse tone. “well, that’s too damn bad,” and his chortling laugh only makes you throb from how close it’s against your ear—fuck. “actually, y’know what. i feel like bein’ nice today, baby. you want more than my thigh? how ‘bout ya jus’ ask me nicely.”

“but—”

“but—nothin’ girl, now speak,” toji utters, feeling your grinding against his thigh—grabbing your chin softly before making you stare him right in the eyes. he slyly grins, a thumb tracing down your dampened lip. “i’ll wait.. talk to me nice, girl.”

your eyes avert towards his dick, just laying there on his stomach—so ridiculously lengthy, a mere tannish color coats it - including his leaky tip that stares right back at you.

it looks so good, you wanted him inside so bad that it hurts—he could tell too, you found it hard to stay still as you made a cute attempt at rutting against him once more.

“i— i want you, ‘toji,” you claw at his body with doe lit eyes, his swollen base—so full of unused seed that you desperately yearned for it to be inside of you, filling up your pretty little womb. “want you s'bad.”

“oh i know you do, babygirl,” he rasps, he can’t help but notice the sudden boner that makes his jaw tighten. coarse big hands grip both of your hips before he gawks at you with that same tantalizingly smug grin. “can’t just spoil ya all the time though, talk more for me. i like listenin’ to that needy voice.”

ugh, you start to grow impatient and he only laughs at your sheer annoyed expense.

“please,” you murmur out in a whiney tone, slowly wrapping your clammy fingers around his length. he doesn’t stop you, he lets you touch all over him, aligning yourself with the fat weight of his cock that was just aching to be buried within you. “i wanna ride you so bad, ‘toj. need it, need your cum.”

“girl you don’t need . . . shit,” he swallows, a cold sweat breaking onto him.

you’re fucking hot—especially whenever you just take what you want, toji could have creamed his pants at just your voice and your voice alone.

you had him so hard, he sucks his teeth in total exasperation before he feels you slowly start to sink him down. “fuck, y’er such a little brat,” he mutters, feeling the warmth of your walls swallow him whole. it was a moist feeling, you were already a bit soaked—purely from riding his thigh for how many minutes, you weren’t even sure anymore, nor did you even relatively care. “ride me then, do y’er fuckin’ worst then.”

“shut up and i will.” you snap back.

he rolls his eyes, feeling your ass thrash against his lap and it makes him squeeze the plush mounds of your rear.

“eh, i really don’t like that mouth,” and he spanks you harder, this time it stings and you moan—he’s so thick that your stomach starts to seize once you feel him gradually reach into the depths of your pussy. “when you ride me, there shouldn’t be any back talk, girl,” and he grabs your chin for the nth time, pressing a sweltering wet kiss right onto your glossed lips. “. . . are we clear or do i gotta let this pussy know what goes ‘round here.”

…so cocky,

you gnaw at your lip—fighting back the urge to roll your own eyes backwards before you thrust against him harder.

it’s relentless, the brutal skin-to-skin contact makes a raw moan harshly yank from the back of your throat as your hands continue to claw on his chest.

his bare chest that was already glistening with droplets of sweat. he was so toned, his pecs—his nipples that were swollen and a sheeny pink color, you even attempt to lean in to lap your tongue against his nipple but he lightly shoves you back.

“leave those alone, slut,” and you conceal back a laugh—by 'those', he was most likely referring to his tits broad pecs. “ride me, ‘n hurry up. ‘m gonna fall asleep at this rate.”

toji never knew how to simply shut the fuck up, such a talkative man—whispering filthy sweet nothings into your ear as you’re taking every thick inch of his cock. he stretches you out so good that you’re already whimpering, eyes goggling profusely at the way his angry tip just thwacks and thwacks against your g-spot. “s-shiiit, toji,” you’d curse out in a sharp breath, continuing to drag your hips further against him at such a pace.

in and out, in and out, you’re rotating your waist a bit before he grunts lowly, head throwing back and he smacks your ass yet again, and again, and again. “fuck yeah, ride me jus’ like that. such a good girl, takin’ this dick like the good girl you are, mhm.”

“t—tojiiiii,” you’d mewl out right against the flapping shell of his ear. your cunt felt so stuffed, a straining exhale snatches from your lungs before you whimper once his base kisses against your ass. his base was so full, you only imagined how much build up cum was stored in there just for you.

“t—tojiiiiiii,” he mimics your tone as you mash against him, the sofa he sits on sinking down a bit from both weights combined. you pout once he starts mocking you, a gruff laugh dies from his throat before he squeezes your right ass cheek. “feels good, yeah? keep moanin’ for me like that.”

“shut up, s-shut uppp,” you moan, burying your face into his neck. doing so, you get a concise whiff of his cheap cologne and it smells so good. you’re a mess, spasming as your stomach continues to seize before he grabs both of your hips so that you could slam down onto him even harder. “close, toji. ‘m really close, fuck.”

he groans, feeling the hefty weight of his balls smack against your skin each time you move up, then down, then up . . . all over again. toji’s a big guy, it was no secret. the way your pussy constricts around his length, paving way for more movement . . . simply hypnotizing.

“yeahhh,” he snarls, strong hands still attached to your ass. green irises of his dilate, his eyes turn hooded for a second as he glances back at you. an entire mess, tongue all lolled out and you’re feeling it steadily about to approach. “look so fuckin’ dumb,” he points out with a subtle head shake, grabbing your chin again. “my dumb baby,” he corrects himself and your pout softens.

he’s so fucking big— you’ll point this out a million times if you have to, the stretch was so immaculate.

toji groans, pressing another saturated kiss onto your lips and you taste a brief mixture of his saliva and alcohol—presumably rum, you lean into his touch before feeling his big hands snake near your neglected tits. his growing stubble tickles against your face as you quicken your pace. so good, so fucking good.

all you can think about is that you’re getting off, you’re about to finish— gush out so much, you feel a familiar pit in your stomach arise. he feels you starting to shake and twitch, it’s cute.

“. . easy, now,” he teases, finding it adorable how whenever your orgasm approaches—you’d be an entire mess, pussy convulsing all on his cock as if it was the first time you ever took him. “oh my just look at that pout,” he points out, reaching towards your chin before bringing you all up close towards his face. not to mention, toji’s so pretty up close—ten times more intimidating with his low hazy eyes and wide sleazy smile. “such a baby. want me to talk ya through it?”

“p—please,” you whine, barely even giving him a chance to finish his seductive sentence.

with a playful eyebrow furrow, he makes you grind against him even harder. the sofa creaks and you squeak out a whimper, feeling yourself about to make such a mess. “please, please,” he copies your tone again, and it’s so embarrassing. toji purposely pitches his tone to sound like you and he snickers at the growing glare on your face. “please what, babygirl?”

with an irritated grumble, your flimsy arms still thrown over him, you moan out a desperate, “please let me c-cum. toji, i want it s’bad, pleaseplease let me be a messy girl.”

“. . . ahhhh,” he parts his lips, and he’s oh so dramatic, flickering his eyes towards the ceiling as if he’s deep in thought. “let me think about it.”

you didn’t know how much you could take, you’re sopping wet and his raspy deep voice that was right up against your earlobe doesn’t make things any better.

jagged breaths rip out from your esophagus as your shaky limbs could barely keep themselves up. he cackles, feeling your soft quavering lips kiss near his face, brushing against the scar that runs near the right lower part of his lip. it twitches as a response from your touch, how cute..

“hurry the fuck up then, lay it all on me,” he finally grunts, witnessing the way your dilated irises light up at his sudden permission— you whimper out, finally coming undone and it’s like a rough wave that crashes over you. the calm before the storm, once it comes, you’re left pulsating with his thick dick still buried inside of your cunt. you hug him tight with your walls like a vice, never wanting to let go. “you make such the silliest noises, girl.”

“s— shut up,” you moan, the under parts of your thighs aching heavily as you’re still in the midst of your teeth-shattering release. it feels so good, your maw drops and the contracts inside of your pussy only duplicates. it’s mouth watering, you grind against him just slightly and he spanks your ass, head going back. “i- i love you, toji.”

“i love me too,” he jibes with a cocky grin, sweat beads racing down the sides of his brow. you shoot him a glare and he rolls his eyes for the nth time. “. . kidding,” and he plants a kiss near your forehead, rough hand still attached to your right ass cheek like velcro. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

you’re still panting, but he’s clearly not done talking— it’s toji, figures.

“now bend the fuck over,” he grouses, eyes gazing towards your ass— a tongue goes against his lips like he was preparing for an appetizing meal. “i’m not finished. we gotta work on that lazy arch of yours, girl.”

[ssunnysdream]

big tits reader

🧷 NSFW (18+ minors dni), afab reader, reader has big tits, consensual sex, titfucking (sampo), nipple play (sunday, kaveh), nipple piercing (wriothesley), cuming on tits (wriothesley), they are basically all obssessed with you oops ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝<꒱ྀིა

–‧˚꒰💌꒱༘⋆ 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄

"No matter how many times I fucked you, you're still as tight as ever baby... I love your pussy, could spend hours taking care of it" Aventurine's breath is hot, his hips stuttering as you clench around his lenght. "And don't get me started on your breasts..." he moves back from your neck to look down at your bouncing tits, flushed and covered with lovebites. "They're yours to use", you murmur softly as you know Aventurine is obssessed with them. "That's right, all mine." He eagerly grabs your legs, bending you in half, fucking you deeper and harder. He fondles your tits all the while fucking the shit out you, whispering the nastiest words into your ear.

–‧˚꒰💌꒱༘⋆ 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐎

"Here you go, you're doing such a nice job for Sampo. I will reward you well, you won't be disappointed", Sampo chuckles breathlessly as he stares down to watch you squeeze his cock between your tits. "You better keep that promise this time", you mumble before squeezing his lenght tighter, earning a surprised gasp from Sampo. Before he could reply something back, you slowly open your shiny lips and swallow his flushed tip, swirling your warm tongue over it to collect all of his salty precum. Sighing in pleasure, you suck the tip all the while working his cock up and down between your tits. Sampo hisses but he simply tightens his grip on your hair, encouraging you for more. And how could you refuse ?

–‧˚꒰💌꒱༘⋆ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘

"M-mh fuck... this feeling is delightful my dear", Sunday is struggling to keep his composure as you ride him into oblivion. What's even harder for him is to keep his cool from the sight of your tits bouncing up and down. The urge to grope, to pinch, to lick... Sunday can't stare away, those sinful thoughts leading him to attach his lips on one of your nipple as the other makes its way to grab your breast. The sudden sparks of pleasure is making you slow down, shivers running all over your body. You flush as Sunday stares up at you, "Dearest, why did you stop ? Keep riding me as I take care of your pretty nipples." You oblige, rising your hips up and down over Sunday's cock, his moans muffled as he keeps on nibbling your nipples desperately.

–‧˚꒰💌꒱༘⋆ 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

"You're gonna be the death of me I swear", Kaveh takes a deep breath before wrapping his arms around you, bringing you closer to admire what you're offering him. Your breasts are covered with a lovely lacy bra, the fabric embracing your clevage and making it look perkier. Kaveh's cock twitches at the thought of gropping them as he fucks you nice and deep. You let out a tiny sob as he lazily traces some patterns over your bra with his skilled tongue, paying more attention to your nipples poking through the thin fabric. Kaveh looks out of it already, eyes filled with arousal and mouth slacked. You widen your legs, giving him more space as he pulls down your bra, your tits on full display for him. "I'm so hard for you baby, feel that ?" Kaveh grinds his covered cock against your pussy. "Got hard just looking at them", he groans as you roll your hips up against him, ready to make him cum just like this.

–‧˚꒰💌꒱༘⋆ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

Pupils blowed with lust, Wriothesley can't hold back his grunts when all he can focus on his your nipple piercings. The cute jewels making your tits even more gorgeous. And to Wriothesley, it makes them sexier. "Look at you, you're loving this uh ?" he says lowly, twisting your pierced nipple and watching you squirm over his lap. His thick cock streching you open is overwhelming, but so is the constant tug on your perky nipples. "I'm gonna fuck you properly now. Be good for me and pinch them as I destroy that pretty pussy of yours". Your arousal is clearly messing Wriothesley's thighs but he doesn't seem to care as he keeps bouncing you up and down on his lenght, manhandling you like you weight nothing. It soon becomes too much, Wriothesley's cock twitches and he quickly pulls out and pumps his cock over your chest until hot cum spills all over you.

© please do not repost and/or claim my posts as your own

[taintandviolent]

Turbo Lover ; Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: After getting fed up with Jason Carver and his gross attitude, reader decides to take him up on a dare. That dare, is kissing Eddie Munson on the mouth. Something she's been longing to do since she arrived in Hawkins.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.5K | female reader, smut, use of pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, etc.), fingering, handjobs.

a/n: started writing this back in *checks watch* july of 2022....... ahem. finished writing this to turbo lover by judas priest, if you wanna listen! just felt like an eddie song to me, don't ask for clarification. this could possibly be a multi-parter, haven't decided yet. my first (technically) eddie fic...... do not come for my throat, thanks. not beta-read, yada yada yada. divider by @/strangergraphics!!

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

“Oh, choke on it, Jason.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Mrs. Cowan for a replacement lab partner.”

Rolling your eyes, you resist the urge to fling your forkful of corn at him. “Hah! Please do. I’d rather stick my tongue down Eddie Munson’s throat and spend the weekend with mono than spend another blissful second trying to watch you figure out anatomy, dipshit.”

“Go do it then. I dare you.” Jason barks, nostrils flaring. He was going to call your bluff. There was no way that you were going to go over to that weird satanist’s table. Being more of a rocker, you weren’t posh and cute like Chrissy was, but you still had boundaries. And a good head on your shoulders. He knew you did. He hoped you did.

“Fine,” you snap, slamming both palms onto the table. “I hope you fail your science project.” Jason’s confident expression falls. Your rings scrape against the plastic as you push yourself up. With more determination than you’d had the entire semester, you swing both your legs over the bench and head for Eddie’s table, navigating around the other tables. The rest of his little dungeon buddies are already gawking at you as they’d been paying attention to the shouting. Confidently, you take a running leap up onto the table, and stomp your way down its length like a soldier marching towards enemy fire. The target, Eddie Munson, was staring at you with wide eyes and brows lifted.

“Outta my way.” The pointed tip of your boot sends an empty lunch tray flying off the table and clattering onto the floor.

“Hey, Munson!” You drop down onto your haunches, and now, eye-level with him, grab his face and pull it towards you, crushing your lips against his. The roll he’s holding drops from his grasp, falling lifelessly onto his tray. As soon as his plush lips press into yours, giving way to your tugging, your shoulders relax, melting into the kiss. You had been waiting for an excuse to get his attention since you’d sat down in your first class at Hawkins High, daydreaming about talking to him. You’d spent many a class period staring at Eddie’s lips, so you expected the kiss would be enjoyable… but not like this.

At first, both of your lips were closed, smushed together in the hurriedness of the moment, but when you exhale and his lips part, your tongue delves into his mouth, sweeping along his. To your surprise, he reciprocates the action, and presses his chin up into yours, asserting a new sort of need. Despondent groans and laughs of shock pepper the cafeteria around you, and from behind you, came the confusion of the other residents of the table. As you take Eddie Munson in literal mouthfuls, you felt something shift in him, and the noise started to fade away. You tilt your head, and push deeper into the kiss.

“Who the hell is she?” One of the boys asks, clearly as confused as everyone else was.

You shudder against him, feeling a burning heat between your legs, and immediately pull away to stand up, turning to face the far table. Jason was staring at you, looking more embarrassed than disgusted, but he did well hiding it with his scholarship scowl. You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, drawing your — Eddie’s— the mutual saliva across your cheek. Triumphantly, you hold your arms out, daring the blonde haired moron to say anything further. He doesn’t. 

With a proud smirk on your face, you pivot back to Eddie, lips parted to speak, maybe to apologize to him for being so forward. All that comes out though, is the jarring echo of the lunch bell as it rings loudly through the cafeteria. You take that as an excuse to get out of the situation, and step down onto the bench between two of his little minions, then onto the floor. With your heart pounding in your chest like a drum, you make a beeline for the lockers. You’re practically running down the halls, and for what? To get away from Eddie? The guy you had just swapped spit with? And liked it?  

After shaking his head free of the shock, Eddie hurriedly bins his lunch and takes off after you, leaving the boys to their own devices. He was panting quietly once he’d finally caught up to you. “Hey, just wait a minute, okay?”

You say nothing, and keep digging in your locker for a book you knew wasn’t there. You’d left it at home, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

“Come on, you can’t just plant something like that on me and run away, man.” You hear a thump against the locker next to you, and out of the corner of your eye, see him leaning his shoulder into it. You huff and keep digging.

“You really think I’d give you mono?” He asks, sounding hurt.

Forcing your breath out through your teeth, you stop digging, and lean back to look at him. Those puppy eyes…

“No,” you say, feeling bad that he even heard that to begin with. You shut the locker. “I don’t. But the point was that I’d rather suffer with y— errr suffer any sort of wicked sickness than be even remotely happy around him.”

“So… why’d you stop? Was it that bad?”

“No, actually. It wasn’t. I stopped because I… um, the bell was going to ring.” That was a lie. You stopped because your beating heart had sunk between your legs. Kissing him was a massive turn-on, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“That it did…” he starts, absentmindedly playing with a strand of his own hair. “And now we’re late.”

You narrow your eyes. His brows flick upwards and the tip of his tongue presses pointedly into his lower lip, a little glimmer of mischief in his expression. Ready to prove him wrong, your eyes dart to the clock above the lockers, the visual causing you to curse under your breath. You hadn’t even heard the second bell, but he was right. Three minutes past. And Mr. Jenkins? Didn’t let anyone in after the bell rang. Fucker. Eddie shimmies closer, his soft, brown eyes falling to your lips. He was smiling, watching you and looking like he was daydreaming about having those soft lips against his again. 

“You wanna’... maybe show me what else you’d rather be doing than spending your time with brainless Ken dolls?”

You considered the offer for a moment. You had been pining after him since your first English class with him, and now… your split decision had thrown open the door to opportunity. When you’d tried to close it, Eddie had put his dirty white Reebok right in the way.

“Screw it, let’s go.” 

“Yeah?” He confirms, excited.

“Yeah.” 

Eddie wastes no time, taking hold of your hand as he passes you, towing you in the direction of the doors and out into the parking lot. 

How did you end up here? In retrospect; you’d probably have to thank Jason for pissing you off that day, in that particular way that really drove you over the edge. Because if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been crawling into the back of Eddie Munson’s van while he stood behind you, looking at the gentle curve of your ass.

After throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder, making sure there weren’t any prying eyes watching the two of you, Eddie follows you inside and pulls the door shut behind him, the metal squeaking loudly. You sit down and cross your legs, resting against the interior wall. The inside of his van is warm, having baked in the sun all afternoon. Cassette tapes litter the floor behind the seats, and a Judas Priest shirt hangs over the headrest of the passenger seat. A few undisclosed cables are wadded up in the corner, you assume they were musical in nature. He seemed like the type. It’s exactly what you’d pictured his van to look like. 

Eddie clears his throat. “Sorry about the… mess.” 

You chuckle, looking brightly at him. “I don’t care. Plus, Judas Priest is rad. That song that came out last month… Turbo Lover? Gets stuck in my head all the time.” 

Delighted by this reaction, Eddie knee-walks over to you, that same mischievous smile on his face as before. He leans down, exhaling over your lips before looking into your eyes with a burning curiosity.

“Why were you sitting at his table anyway? You don’t seem like his type.” 

“His type? Gah, gross. No. We’re lab partners. Regrettably. Turns out, he’s kind of a massive dolt when it comes to science.” You pause and heave a sigh, your breath rushing out over his cheeks. He blinks. “I really don’t want to talk about Jason right now, Eddie.” 

“Oh yeah, totally.” With that, his hand snaps to your jaw, where he holds it gently, his thumb stroking your cheek. “You wanna’ makeout or something?” 

You can’t help but laugh, unsure if it’s because of the butterflies in your stomach, or because he’s kind of a dork. Smooth and very charming, but a dork all the same. You chalk it up to a combination of both and lean forward until the tips of your noses touch. “Yeah, Eddie, I wanna’ makeout. Again.”

This time, Eddie is the one to initiate the kiss. He presses his lips against yours softly a few times, your lips sticking together each time he pulls away. Relishing in the taste of you, he hums into the kiss, pressing himself closer to you. After a few moments, he breaks the kiss to readjust his position. The break is too long, it seems, because before you know it, he’s back to leaning over you and craning his neck down to kiss you from above. His hands drop to find your neck, his thumb trailing down over the front of it while the others stay tenderly wrapped around the side, squeezing slightly. The motion sends a deep shiver down your spine, reigniting the embers of your arousal. Eddie laughed breathily into the kiss. 

“Quite the reaction…” he murmurs over your lips.

“Oh, shuttup.” Your hand makes a fist in his shirt, pulling him back onto you. “Keep kissing me.” 

“As you wish.” He says dreamily, with lust woozying his speech. His voice is slightly deeper now, laced with hunger, and you whimper, pressing your knees together. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie notices this, and moves his free hand to your kneecaps, wriggling in between them to separate them. They fall apart with no resistance, and again, Eddie’s chuckle vibrates against your lips, sending a tickling wave over them. Your willingness almost embarrasses you, but when Eddie says nothing, only moves to slot himself in between your thighs, you realize that he’s into it. 

“No need to be shy here, princess. Just you and me.”

Your hands wrap around his neck, fingers splaying out over his back. “God, you’re cute.” 

“So are you.” 

“No, you’re really cute.” 

Eddie pulls away, furrowing his brow as if he’s confused. He is – he’s confused on whether or not you realize he thinks you’re a catch, too. You sense the confusion, and roll your hips up against his. His breath hitches in his throat, eyeing you pleadingly. It’s a warning – you can’t do things like that lest he lose control.  

“Uuughh,” you moan. “I don’t know why it took me this long to kiss you.” 

“Me neither.” 

He presses his lips against yours again, his tongue slipping past the two plush pillows, tasting the waxiness of your lipstick. Swiping his tongue along yours, he deepened the kiss, enticing you to join in a painfully erotic dance of spit-swapping. He exhales hotly over your mouth and grinds his hips against yours, groaning softly into your mouth. You grind back, knowing exactly what you’re doing. You can feel what you’re doing to him; it was currently pressed against your inner thigh. 

You reach down between your bodies, finding the warm bulge in the front of his black jeans and give him a soft squeeze. The sudden contact makes him lurch forward, crushing himself somehow further against you. He can’t get any closer to you without melting into your body which, in truth, makes him crazy. He makes a sound — something between a whine and a gasp — and ruts his hips against your center. The pressure has you reeling, pressing your back against the inside of the van. 

“Eddie, fuck…” 

“Yeah,” he echoes your sentiment, nodding his head so enthusiastically that his soft brown hair flutters. 

“Can I…?” 

He grins. “You can if I can. It’s only fair.” 

You let your legs fall farther apart, granting him access. With a newfound urgency, you quickly yank on his waistband, pull the silver button from its slit and maneuver your hand inside the elastic of his boxers. On the way down, you rake your fingers through the thatch of brown hair above his cock. Eddie responds by tightening his grip on your neck instinctively. The tips of your fingers find the searing hot head of his cock, precum leaking from the slit. With an audible mmmm, you swipe your thumb over it, smearing around the underside of the tip. Eddie hisses through his teeth, rutting his hips over and over again – forcing you to jerk him off a little. The tip slides through your fist, slippery and warm and you can’t help but let out a satisfied sound. 

“Wow,” you breathe, in awe. You weren’t sure what you expected, but feeling a cock this heavy wasn’t on the menu. You’d been with a few metalheads before, and they were all average at best. You thought he’d follow suit. Not heavy in your hand. But he is. God, he is. Eddie licks hungrily at your mouth before running his tongue along your bottom lip and taking it between his teeth, biting down slightly. You groan, pressing your head back against the wall. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” you say, breathlessly before squeezing his cock again. It twitches in your grip, hardening just a little bit further. You can feel the tension in his lower abdomen every time you slip your hand deeper into his boxers, tugging at his cock as you slide back up. 

His hands drop from your neck to your waist to your hips, his thumb making circles on the strip of exposed stomach flesh between your black leather skirt and your shirt. One hand sinks lower,  moving from your hip to your leg, sliding against the pillowy, cream soft flesh of your inner thigh.  It slides up your skirt, pressing against the nylons, and grazing your cunt from the outside. Inside his jeans, your hand starts to go slack, but Eddie quickly snaps you back to attention.

“I’m gonna’ need you to stay focused, baby. Don’t stop.”  

“S-sorry.” You pick up the pace, stroking his cock again at a much steadier speed. He lets out a soft groan, the feeling of your hand gently stroking his dick sending him into a haze of pleasure. But, he, too, has to focus. 

Eddie gets back to work, carefully undoing the zipper on the side of your skirt. He tugs, shimmying the skirt down over your hips and continues pulling until he pauses to pull your legs from the black circle, tossing it towards the van doors. Now, the only thing between him and your cunt is the fabric of your tights and your white satin underwear. You’re painfully aware of this fact and so is Eddie – the look on his face says it all. He sweeps you into another kiss. 

It’s almost as if he was using the kiss as a distraction from the adept way he’s rolling your nylons off your hips and down your thighs. You almost don’t feel it and don’t notice until he’s got them down around your ankles. 

“May I?” 

“May you? What is this –” You asked, trying to tease him, but your voice is so high pitched, so feathery with lust, that it just sounds ridiculous. You huff and nod, giving him whatever permission he felt he needed. 

His middle finger traces the visible slit in your underwear and embarrassingly, your whole body responds. From your legs snapping shut on his hand to the utterly humiliating moan that tumbled off your lips, there’s no coming back from that reaction. Eddie laughs quietly, almost devilishly and you relax your legs again. 

“Sorry, I’ve… I’ve been…. Um…” 

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart.”

“Oh god, fuck… I’ve kinda’ sorta’ had a thing for you since English with M–”

“Mrs. Lawrence? Last semester.” 

Your mouth hung slack. He knew? 

“You really thought you’d walk in, looking the way you do, and I wouldn’t remember?” 

Your stomach tightens underneath your shirt; butterflies are erupting beneath the skin. Any further jabs to your heart and they actually might rupture through your ribcage.

His finger sweeps along your center again, before hooking around the scalloped edge of the panties and pulling them down over the curve of your hip. A clear, slick strand stretches between your cunt and the fabric before snapping. Eddie growls, a deeply pleased sound erupting from his throat. 

Two fingers part your folds, sweeping tantalizingly at the underside of your clit before sliding down to your entrance. He prods the opening with his middle first, making tiny circles and spreading your arousal around your cunt. Finally, he inserts both fingers, sinking them to the knuckle. Moving his arm, you watch as the bats literally fly back and forth and let out a small, breathy laugh. The way he was working you felt so good, your hand instinctively tightened around his cock. Eddie shuffled closer, his knee in front of your cunt. Before you have time to react, Eddie abruptly takes hold of your left hand and brings it above your head, holding it tight against the wall of his van, his rings pressing into your fingers. Your digits tangle with his and he flays them open.

He continues thrusting his fingers in and out, watching your every move. You looked up and whined loudly; the sight of your smaller hand entangled with his larger one was divine, and sent another shockwave through your core. The coil in your stomach wound tighter, and tighter. Your body flushed with heat, and you were suddenly wishing you were naked underneath him. Eddie suddenly leans over you, pressing the side of his face against yours. 

“I’m your turbo lover…” He sings quietly in your ear, his tone honeyed and low, absolutely dripping with sex appeal. Your eyes roll back in your head, your jaw falling open. “...tell me there’s no other…” 

“Oh fuck, Eddie, oh my god-!”

At the singing, your needy pussy clenched around his digits, shivering violently. His thumb moves to your swollen, tender clit, rubbing it back and forth expertly. The coil snaps, and you moan loudly, banging your head against the wall a few times. 

“OH MY GOD!” 

You shouldn’t have found it so hot, but the way he sung the lyrics into your ear sent a wave of electricity through your entire body. As the sound of your moans reach his ears, Eddie groans and bucks his hips rhythmically, pumping himself closer to the edge of orgasm. 

After a few more pumps from you, his back arches and he groans your name – another surprise that he knows that – as his hot, sticky release coats your fingers as wave after wave of pleasure surges through him. The flushed, pink tip was exposed enough that when he does finally lose it, the first spurts of cum find their way onto your shirt. He doesn’t notice right away, still thrusting his hips into your loose fist. Finally, he brings his head forward to look at you again. His chest is heaving, panting from the exertion, and his eyes trail from your face down to your shirt. The wanton look is replaced with one of horror. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry! Here uh,” Eddie paused, stretching over to yank the shirt from the seat. “Wear this. I promise it’s clean. Decently… uh… clean.” 

You didn’t care if it wasn’t. The fact that he had given you his shirt because he accidentally came on yours was single handedly the cutest thing you’d ever had a guy do for you. You withdrew your hand from his boxers, and he let go of your other hand. Quickly, you pulled your shirt over your head and wadded it up in a ball, setting it next to you. His shirt was baggy, but you quickly remedy that by tying the front in a knot. The way that Eddie’s eyes skirted over your breasts wasn’t lost on you. You smirk. 

“Think Mr. Jenkins noticed we were both gone?” He asks as you fluff your hair. 

“Probably. F’s for both of us.” 

Eddie smiles.

You look down at the shirt, trying to talk your blushing cheeks down. “I’ll give this back to you. Remind me.” 

“Sure,” he says, not fully convinced he wants it back. He likes the idea of you wearing his shirt around school. A dirty little reminder of what occurred. “You should come to one of our meetings.” 

“Meetings?” You ask, quirking a brow. 

“Yeah,” he says, plucking his shirt. Your eyes drift down to the red, snarling demon on his chest. The words Hellfire Club crown the demon, decorated with medieval looking weapons.

“Right, right. Dungeons and Dragons… I’ve never played it.”

“I’ll teach you, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 

[PART TWO HERE]

[ghoulphile]

run rabbit run | c.h/the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 869 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, mildly dubious consent (kinda?), dom!coop, bareback, cum play, degradation kink, biting, pet names (bunny), man-handling, doggystyle, drabble, coop's gotta fuck you full so the ferals can't smell you ➥ summary | "the drabble thing HNNNGH think about coop calling you bunny from the start bc he clocked that you were always a down for it and you not getting it until he after you fuck for the first time" ➥ notes | do not look @ me rn 🫣 i feel like i've exposed myself too much lol masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

He found the rabbit among endless dunes of rock and rubble; a frightened, jumpy little beast that required a firm hand to tame, and an even steadier one to control.

And while it would’ve been easier to dump ‘em at Super Duper Mart -- get his caps worth, pounds of flesh for vials of chem -- he took a shine. Now, what exactly it is about you that captured his attention so thoroughly, he can’t be sure (though he could hazard a few guesses).

What he does know is this: if it wasn’t for him, you’d have been killed a million times over by raiders, fiends, and ferals alike. Always finding your way into trouble as soon as his back is turned.

Like now.

So if he’s a little rough with you, it’s only because he had to haul ass half-way across the flooded district when he heard you scream.

Nevermind the hard lurch of his heart, the sensation of his stomach droppin’ to his feet. You were supposed to be safe, holed up in the building he cleared yesterday.

Surprise, surprise; you decided to go poking where you shouldn’t, and now he’s gotta rescue your dumb ass. Skidded around a bombed out building only to find you fighting off a small pack of ferals, their rotted hands scratching at your arms and their teeth gnashing at your face.

Goddamn it.

Same shit, different day.

“What did I fuckin’ say?” he snarls, chapped lips pressed tight against your ear as sharp hip bones rut into the softness of your ass. “You’re dumber than shit sometimes.”

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t - hhahh, slow down - didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Your hands scramble for purchase, nail beds aching from how hard you’re digging at the dirt.

Shoved onto the ground, pants sagging around your thighs as a stray rock digs into your cheek, scraping up the tender skin. “Won’t do it again, I promise.”

The Ghoul snorts, delivers a stinging nip to the tip of your ear. Your reedy whine soothes some of the agitation but he’s still bristling, aggression threaded through with tendrils of panic he refuses to acknowledge.

“I highly doubt that.”

You hiccup, knees spreading wide as your back dips - trying to get away, to get closer.

The fat head of his cock keeps hitting your cervix with every stroke, little fissions of pain kissed pleasure racketing up your spine as he stretches you past your limits and fucks you open.

Your gummy walls swollen and raw from the constant friction of his shaft, the rad burns scraping your insides up. Clit aching and so wet you’re dripping, a damp patch of earth beneath you.

“No, promise I’ll be good!” You pant, the scent of sunbaked soil and stagnant water heavy in your nose. “Please, please, please.”

Everything aches, limbs sore from your tussle and pride bruised as sweat dapples your brow, sticks the fine baby hairs to the back of your neck.

A hand clamps down on your hip so hard bones grind, yanking you back into every punishing thrust. Heavy balls smack against your clit on the in-stroke, stoking the embers of your desire. Your toes curl in your boots.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, bunny.” The Ghoul grabs your elbow with his free hand, tugging you up into his chest so his chin hooks over your shoulder, breath puffing along the side of your cheek. “You just don’ know when ta learn. So I’m gonna have’ta teach you. An’ I’ll do it as many times as it takes, you hear?”

You sniffle, nuzzling the back of your head against his face. “I mean it,” you say. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know there’d be any ferals around. Was just trying to find some more food.”

Groaning, his hips kick forward in a softer grind, still so deep you feel him in your stomach - pussy filled to the brim with cock - but not as harsh as before. As close as you’ll get to an apology until he’s done.

“This is your fault - you got ‘em all riled. Now, we gotta make you smell like me so take your punishment like a good bunny 'fore I decide ta eat you instead.”

And you do, letting him rut into you until he’s satisfied, aching and so swollen by the end of it that he has to bully his way in with every thrust, your pussy clamping down and milking him for all he’s worth.

When he finally does pump you full, you’re dumb and dripping. Limp limbed and sagging into the ground - only held up by the cage of his arms. Thighs shaking and clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat as he wrings every last bit of pleasure out of you.

“Sometimes,” he says, sitting back on his heels to watch as his cum oozes out of you in a sticky rush, dripping down your folds, “I think dumb bunnies like you are only good fer one thing.”

You whine when his thumb whispers over your clit, caressing your folds as he gathers up his spend. Gently fucks it back into you with shallow thrusts of his fingers. 

“But that’s all right, I like ‘em a lil dumb.”

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Virgin! Simon "Ghost" Riley

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Inexperienced! Simon, Virgin! Simon, Riding, Unprotected Sex, The Mask Stays On, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except 'You'.

Virgin! Simon who can hardly believe his luck as he watches and feels you ride him, your walls tight as you bounce on his cock, calling him your 'big guy'. His hands are on your hips, his own slamming up into yours in a rhythm you'd set for him.

He's sloppy. Unaccustomed to the euphoric stiffening of the knot in his stomach, pulling ever tighter with every slap of your ass against his thighs. Sure, he's had many an orgasm before, but never at the hands of another. Never so strong; a force of nature in its own right. He's breathing heavily - panting; you swear you can see him drooling from the corner of his mouth. Something viscous is filling you now. Not the full force of his seed, but a precursor to it. A warning.

The mask stays on (of course) during this exchange, but you can see the way he fights to keep his eyes open, to keep himself from betraying every sensibility and throwing his head back, screwing his eyes shut as his length is nestled inside you, a thick bump forming in your stomach with every thrust. Your hand slips down your front and you press it. Simon jolts, moaning between gritted teeth as you press, hard, harder still, forcing his cock into an even tighter position.

He's arching into you, the sensation of his veins and his bulbous tip throbbing against your insides enough to let you know that he's close.

You coax him. Goad him. "Y'gonna cum just for me, big boy? Gonna fuck me 'til I can't walk straight?"

He can't talk. Can't even think. For the first time in his life, he's fucked dumb. You can see it in the way his eyes roll back into his skull when you clench around him. Suffocate him. His hips stutter. His cock nudges something deep within you. You gasp.

It only took your calling him your "Good boy," to have him unravel before your eyes. He can't contain the strangled growl that is exorcised from him as he cums, deep and hard, thick, hot ropes of semen filling you. You can feel it, as if painting your insides white, bathing you in an unfettered warmth. His hands are cast-iron on your hips, pulling you down onto him as if to stop you from pulling away, to prevent even a drop of his seed from escaping you. He digs his heels into the bench beneath you, grounding himself.

And, as your orgasm sparks and ripples through you, you hunch over Simon, hands gripping his shoulders, squeezing him. You moan, long and loud, milking Simon for all he's worth. And now, between the sheets of his post-orgasm haze, he watches you, the ring of light above your head from the luminescent bulb of the changing room painting you as a saint in his eyes.

He's never going to let what you have - what you've shown him - go. No matter the cost. Not when this feeling of completion is steadfast within him, electrifying every fibre in his body, all the way down to his bones.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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[tojisun]

the lights are on

!! simon riley x afab reader; chubby reader; confidence and body issues; past bullying (not by simon and briefly mentioned); smut - minors dni // divider by @/plutism!

i projected too much of myself onto the reader so do forgive me for that. this is a milestone celebration for me, mostly, but also for you all so i hope you all would like it too <3

this is inspired by rachel wiley’s “10 honest thoughts on being loved by a skinny boy” - a slam poetry

you are told that love comes easily — that it is the budding of spring, shimmering and vibrant, and blooming oh-so tenderly. unfurling oh-so carefully, like you are melting into padded sheets and cashmere sweaters.

you are told that love comes easily — that it stands out amongst a vast ocean. that it is distinguishable; a beacon so familiar you run towards it, unafraid and unashamed. like fate or destiny; like fairytales being remade.

you are told that love comes easily, but you know they mean to people who don’t look like you; only for the girls with slim arms and robust legs, with dips in their waists and hour-glass figures, with bones pressing against their skins like carved mountains.

love comes easily to thin girls. to the girls whose loud laughter are heard as wind chimes, whose jolly isn’t sneered at or embarrassing to see, whose confidence is just is — that it isn’t an act of empowerment or a statement or a message.

so you slink back into your shadows with little laughs and curled shoulders, like maybe if you diminished your presence enough, you would be seen physically small too. petite is a word no one has used for you but how else can anyone explain the way you trim yourself into bite-sized pieces?

you aren’t the first to be chosen; not the one people fight over. when you walk into a room, the best that could happen was that no one would notice you. that you would blend into the shadows or the walls, quiet and peaceful. painfully lonely, yes, but peaceful, nevertheless.

(you still have nightmares of high school.

of boys using you for their dares, like the only thing good about you was to be the butt of the joke; like asking you out was a comedic show.

of girls and—

sometimes, they’re meaner than the boys with all their lilac and softness; you thought that at least they were a kindred soul, but so many times, during lunch, you were cornered into tears until you became full from nothing but your anguish.)

when simon first walked into your life, you knew it — whatever ‘it’ could be — was impossible.

you had already ended the tragedy before something could even begin. you saw his beauty — in a way that you cannot explain; in a way that is rugged and scarred and terrifying, almost, but beautiful, still — and knew there was no way he would fall for you, anyway.

but simon was… persistent. charming you in a way that was painfully absent of all suave but he was still so charismatic, he always left your stomach in knots. hope bloomed in your chest and you realized that maybe it needn’t be a tragedy; that it mustn’t be a joke nor a dare; that you must be—

loved.

that you are loved — just that. just as is.

.

.

simon watches as you lay down on the bed, your cheeks tingling with heat as embarrassment rises from the base of your neck, dancing past your shoulders and devouring up until even the tip of your nose thrums with feverish touch. you look away from him, feeling so shy at the intensity in his eyes. he looks at you like he is ravenous for you; like you are the only nourishment he needs, and that you have made him hungry, his gums aching with the need to sink his teeth into the soft parts of your body.

you have never been looked at like this before, and it is intoxicating. it makes you heady, breathless, lips parted open as you gasp for air—

rustling fills your ears and you perk up, getting ready to snap your bra off, only to find simon naked, bare, his cock chubbing up from underneath his bush, and you have never loved a body until his. lust coils in the tendrils of your heart, stretching into the yawning that burrows in the pit of your stomach to capture you whole.

you want him.

god, do you want him.

he falls to his knees, stalking close to where you are splayed on the bed like the offering you are that he says he will never deserve, but you stop him with a hand up and a quiet breath, and, “the lights.”

your voice trembles. shame slowly snuffs out the greed.

“can you turn them off, please?” you ask because it is a courtesy you were taught to—

‘can you bathe me in darkness so that the two of us can pretend that i am not undesirable and that your love is not a fluke?’

‘can you hide me from your eyes so your mind does not give you reason to pull away?’

‘can you reduce me into a body to fuck into, so that our pretend-love story does not end?’

your question makes simon still, his heady eyes lightening up again. recognition slips into his consciousness and he rouses up — you tell yourself that the caving in your chest isn’t a heartbreak — to reach forward.

to reach for—

you.

simon’s scarred palm falls to your stomach, planting atop the sea of stretch marks. his thumb traces their ridges, so soft and slow and intimate, and your eyes burn because why is he so cruel?

why must he touch you like you are something to revere? like you are something priceless and that he is undeserving of you? like you are, all parts, beautiful?

“won’t you let me love you like this?” is what he says instead, and he moves, desperate to meet your eyes. “can we do it with the lights on, from now on?”

all the air in your lungs is knocked out of you.

his words were quiet but they resonated so loudly, almost booming and deafening. the world doesn’t freeze nor does time slow, but there is something in that moment that makes you feel like you are at the throes of something divine. like you are finally sewn together.

you do not sob but you are so close to doing so. instead, you pull him close, trembling, and give him a kiss. he melts into it, his hands mapping the softness of your body, digging into the fat and never letting go.

he devours you like this — hot lips against your own. spit is shared, moans fall in between the tiny cracks whenever you pull away to breathe only for simon to push close again, never letting you stray alone any longer, and clingy as he fits you into him.

the first drag of his fingers into your cunt makes you gasp, your head falling back to the pillows as a mewl drips from your mouth. he pulls away, huffing, and positions himself so he can watch you. you keep your head tipped up, still so embarrassed by being exposed this way, but simon curls his fingers just right, and he strokes against something that punches a gasp out of you.

“shit—”

“like this, sweetheart?” simon croons, nuzzling his face on your rib, his cheek bumping against your boob. he pulls his fingers out, dragging with him muffled squelching noises that tickle your ears, before fucking his fingers in you again.

you whine, a drawn hiccupped sound, and claw at the sheets at the pace he adopts. it is fast, overwhelming, but still not enough. it seems like he’s spoiled you rotten, and left you needy for nothing but his cock.

“fuck me,” you whimper, arms looped around his wrists. you feel so weak from the pleasure, wrung out of orgasms with his fingers in your cunt and his palm against your clit. you flick your eyes up, meeting his gaze. “si, please?”

he lets out a snarl, his softness and need peaking into something dangerous. you find that you are not scared, instead, you are besotted — inviting him in by spreading your legs wider, showing him how wet your pussy is and that it is ready for his taking.

your face crumples at the slow slide, his cock fucking you raw like this is the first time again. like you two have more to explore, more to uncover, and you keen at the intensity of it all.

missionary has never felt this good before; simon thrusts his hips, humping the remaining inches in, and you scream — your hips snapping up, and your throat burning with the ache. simon holds you by your waist, his fingers dimpling your flesh, and fucks you with gusto.

he chases his orgasm as he melts into you. he is louder today, and more guttural with his desires. he snarls his praises, the words curling from the backs of his teeth until they drip on you like hot wax — scalding, overwhelming, and leaving you to feel all tender and raw.

“si!” you cry out, reaching forward to play with your clit. “m’close, baby. m’close!”

“yeah?” he rasps out, his balls slapping against your ass. you go dizzy, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as goosebumps rise across the expanse of your body. “do i make my baby feel good? tell me, sweetheart, go on. tell me, huh?”

he is rambling, untethered, himself, as he loses in his own swelling euphoria.

you sob, toes digging into the mattress because you are unable to properly vocalize the pleasure, your mind all razed by the way he fucks you, but your baby is asking you to do so, so you tell him, “s’good. baby, s’good! i feel so full an’ only you can fuck me good an’— an’ si, i’m gonna— i’m gonna—”

your orgasm hits you like a fever breaking; like you are feeling a sense of release that has never been felt before. you feel like you are suspended, floating, your skin buzzing with lightning. you don’t even know you are screaming, deaf to anything but the explosion of ecstatic pleasure.

your teeth rattle at the first spurt of simon’s cum, and he presses uncoordinated kisses on your lips. it makes you giggle, all sluggish now that exhaustion is weaving in, and it is then that you meet simon’s eyes.

they are so clear and vibrant, the way they only ever are under light. they crinkle in his smile, and you puff, snuggling close, feeling like you can drop to sleep with his cock still in you.

“love you si,” you murmur, your words sticking together in your drowsiness.

he presses a kiss on your temple and breathes you in. then, “i love you too, sweetheart.”

and the lights are still on.

thank you once again for the 15k, and i hope you have loved this the way i loved writing it <33

i was struck with the poetry, and the way wiley described the way she is loved. she started her performance with the lines: “i say, ‘i am fat.’ he says, ‘no, you are beautiful.’ i wonder why i cannot be both.” and i have never related to anything more. wiley then talks about how their relationship unfurls, and in ‘6’ (it is a list poetry), she says, “he tells me he loves me with the lights on,” and i sobbed.

so i wrote a fic of me, and i hope thats alright.

[casiia]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; newlyweds.

warnings .: x reader, smut, mdni 18+, afab! reader, v! penetration, heavily unedited

.: masterlist.

simon was not thrilled when you told him you didn’t want to sleep with him before the wedding, something about it being “bad luck”. at first he didn’t understand but he was willing to oblige, sleeping in the guest room didn’t sound too bad; although he didn’t like the idea of sleeping in a cold bed while you were just a room away — but fighting with you was never a battle he won. 

except, when you clarified that you didn’t want to ‘fuck’ before your wedding, he was not having it. he couldn’t stop the baffled laugh that slipped from his lips. it didn’t make sense, you weren’t a virgin; he had the pleasure of stuffing you full of his cock many times while dating. to say he was confused was an understatement. 

but, what the bride wants, the bride gets. so weeks go by where simon has to take care of his growing problem by himself; just to tease you, and hopefully make you regret your decision, he’ll get off in bed, right before you go to sleep. 

simon will have you watch the way he tugs at his cock with need, his head tilted back with grunts and an uneven breath. his chest heaving as thick ropes of his cum spurt onto his exposed abdomen. he’ll give you a sly smirk before climbing out of bed, his boxers tugged up but hanging too low revealing his v-line. 

it takes everything in you to stick to your word, watch every night as simon adds the lewd task into his daily routine. eventually, he’s the one that breaks, the way he stumbles into your shared bedroom and finds you with a hand between your thighs – his name spewing from your lips when you catch sight of him.

he wishes he could say ‘i told you so’ when you’re begging for him, needing to relieve the ache that’s been dwelling in your tummy for so long. he takes one look at your sopping cunt and wonders how long you’ve been trying to stuff your fingers inside of you knowing that they couldn’t reach that gummy spot only he could. 

simon shakes his head with a chuckle, taking his time to settle himself between your legs. he kisses your knees, hiking them over his shoulder and winding his arms around your thighs to keep you still. with his thumbs, he’s spreading your folds – a teasing tut and tilt of the head are all you need from him to know that he’ll never let you hear the end of it. 

he has to swallow a groan, hard eyes glued to your leaking hole. your juices dribbling from your cunt and dripping onto the bedsheets. “you sure you wanna keep up with your stupid idea? i can make you feel good, take care of you the way you need.” simon asks, almost begging for you to quit being stubborn this once and let him relieve you – to let him fuck you stupid so he can spill his cum deep inside of you instead of wasting it and wiping it off of his chest with a towel. 

he just wants to feel your tight cunt wrapped around him, hear your moans as his fat tip nudges against that one spot that makes your walls flutter around his cock. simon’s rutting his hips into the mattress, too lost in his lewd thoughts to hear you reject his suggestion. when he does he’s dropping his head with a low growl. 

he never thought he would hate your friends, but he could kill the person who told you about this stupid suspicion. simon is a good boyfriend, he’ll show you how good of a husband he will be too. reluctantly accommodating to your wishes, he stuffs his fingers inside of you instead of his throbbing cock.

oddly enough, he finds himself loving this more. the way your slick coats his hand – his engagement ring. simon is moaning at the sight, his simple soon-to-be wedding band glistening in the dim light as he finger fucks your tight hole. 

“aw, honey. s’too much?” he coos, curling his fingers inside of you and pressing his thumb to your clit. he nips at the inside of your thigh and grins at the way your legs tremble, your back arched off the mattress. with his free hand he wraps it around your wrist, squeezing it lightly so you’d loosen your tight grip on the bedsheets below. intertwining your fingers with his, he works you up to another orgasm, talking you through it.

“just like that, baby.” “cum all over my fingers, soak this pretty lil’ ring.” 

as much as he enjoys fingering you with his ring on, he loves it when you take a bit of control and take care of him the same way. rubbing over his clothed erection with your left hand, the big diamond on your engagement band looking small next to his sore, hard cock. 

simon’s eyes flutter when you squeeze his shaft, precum leaking from his slit and slowly dribbling over your fingers – over your ring, coating the big diamond. he’ll guide your hand up and down his shaft urging you to go quicker, he loves the way your soft hands feel compared to his calloused ones.

 he’s bucking his hips upwards into your hand, his head tilted back while he’s whining desperately. simon normally keeps his noises under control but he hasn’t felt your touch in so long.

“fuck, a-ah. can’t wait to marry you and fuck you right.” 

his breath hitches when you squeeze his angry red tip, the cool metal of your ring rubbing against his slit. with a deep groan he’s cumming all over your hand; watching with wide eyes, the way your fingers play with his hot, sticky cum. 

after your wedding ceremony, simon drags the both of you into the bathroom. shamelessly, he’s bending you over the sink, unzipping his trousers, and hiking your wedding dress up. 

“si, we can’t. people are waiting for us.” you squeal when he snaps the garter against your thigh, his rough hands squeezing your hips and pulling your thong down. simon only rolls his eyes, leaning down and spitting on your exposed pussy. he rubs his cock between your folds, using his spit as a lubricant.

“they can wait, m’gonna take care of my wife first.”

how could you say no, especially to your husband?

AN: i know nothing about weddings or marriage, but i heart hubby si