Latest Posts by guessyourenottheone - Page 6
shot by jason nocito for homme girls
where are all of my josh jenkinson girlies?? i feel like there are NONE OF YALL.
Ollie Bearman speaking to Paul Mescal on media day - Austin, 2024
headphones are not enough i need to fuck at least two of the band members
Please do not ignore our suffering and leave us alone My name is Salman Helles, from the stricken Gaza Strip. We were displaced from the north of the Gaza Strip to the south of the Strip, and the family was dispersed in tents and displacement shelters. Our situation is very miserable. We do not have any of the necessities of life. We would not have asked for support and donations except because of our dire circumstances. Please donate to me as much as you can and make sure that your donation, no matter how small, contributes to saving us. If you cannot donate, share my campaign on your blog
My campaign has already been verified by 90-ghost
‼️‼️‼️
girls when they lay on the horn to prove that it haunts them
"There's a little witch in all of us." PRACTICAL MAGIC (1998), dir. Griffin Dunne.
ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ
sum: Having a hazy memory about last night. Was it just a one time thing, or would he be the one to accompany you on your lonely nights?
word count: 4.3k
pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader
warnings: Cringe, Translated French, bad writing (English is not my first language. ) and smut insinuation.
Spotify - Apple Music
ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ - ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴜ
"Alone, unless you wanna come along?" .
A ray of sunshine woke me up. I groaned, due to the headache I had to lay in bed. Closed my eyes again just in hopes so that I would fall back to sleep, spoiler alert: I didn't.
I was probably in bed for 5 minutes, till my headache was bearable, I decided to sit up. Legged crossed on the bed, I opened my eyes, first noticing a really nice home decor.
Home decor...
Where the heck was I?!
It was as if I was slowly downloading the data surrounding me.
Messy bed, my dress on the bureau, my heels tossed on the floor.
Not a hotel room, and I was using a mans shirt.
I stood up quickly, causing me to groan instantly. My head pounded.
But I shut myself up, deciding to go through one of the two doors on the bedroom.
I was in my underwear, only the black shirt was covering me so I wasn't fully exposed. As quietly as possible, I was almost on my tiptoes so I wouldn't make any noise.
What even happened last night?
I took in my surroundings, yup, this was definitely a single man's house.
Don't get me wrong, it was beautifully decorated, but you always notice this type of things.
The pool table, along with a mini bar, beside it a wide couch in which Charles was sleeping.
Holy shit, Charles!
The memories of last night came flooding into me... "Why don't we leave, would you like that?"
Leaving in a black car. (ironic, my brother is obsessed with motorsports and I can't even tell you two Car brands)
I was sleeping the whole ride, till he carried me into his house, I couldn't understand him.
At all.
I can't tell you if it was because of how drunk I was, or how charming he was. Ugh, I hated him for that, the way he'd touch me, but not the way I wanted him to.
He had me under his spell in just one night, and I can't even be with him.
I'm supposed to be in love with another.
_
"You're awake" a deep voice said. I had a book in my hands, it was in french. If it weren't for my French classes, which I missed every chance I could get, I wouldn't have understood anything. "Bonjour!" I said.
It was probably the worst french accent he has heard in his entire life, "Ah, vous parlez français ? Je ne te connais pas depuis un jour et tu es déjà plein de surprises !"
"Oui?" he started laughing at my stupidity, his contagious laughter making me do the same until my belly ached.
"I haven't laughed like that in quite a long time" I exhaled after we calmed down. He now laid down in the edge of what I assume is his bed, the sun hitting his face, making him look angelic. He turned to look at me, his eyes sparkled and I think I can't ask for anything more.
"I know I met you last night, but thank you so much for taking care of me, I know it wasn't easy with me being drunk." I half smiled at him.
"You look gorgeous when you smile like that, did you know that?"
I scrunched my nose, of course I was, and I wanted to say the same thing to him. Have you ever looked in the mirror? But I stopped myself, and got up from the bed. He followed my every move with his eyes.
"Should we get breakfast?" He couldn't stop looking at me up and down, and he just nodded.
It was as if this was my normal routine.
The first time I saw him, I did not know he'd had me on my knees.
_
"No, 'cause you were literally about to barf, and by some miracle you didn't and fell asleep"
"ugh, I won't be drinking that much next time" I had my head buried in my hands so that he couldn't notice my crimson cheeks. "Maybe next time you'll be the one taking care of me"
I looked up at him, and offered a smile. Haven't had this much fun with someone, since... forever. "I called Lando and he was as wasted as you, Carlos had to take him to his room, I guess the Norris know how to have fun, huh?"
"Oh my god, Lando!" I grabbed my phone and called him right away, Charles laughed, I guess he just realized how forgetful I could be.
"hmph?" I heard a tired voice from the other side of the phone. "I woke you up, didn't I?"
"yeah, is everything alright?"
"I'm alright, I just remembered you existed"
"Haha... so funny, love you too peanut. Oh! now that I'm awake, I gotta catch you up on some stuff!"
I was about to interrupt him, I would gladly hear gossip about what happened last night. But I was having breakfast with Charles, I couldn't leave him there alone eating…
But I watched as his phone buzzed, and I couldn't read the name, but it had a heart right next to it.
pfft, it must be nothing. But his smile got wider as he started speaking on to the phone. "... and then I was like, 'woah, is this really happening?!' and heck yes it was happening! Then..."
At some point, I stopped listening to Lando, and tried to focus on what Charles was saying on the other side of the table. Was he talking to a girl? Or why did he get so excited with a phone call?
Does he have a Girlfriend?
I didn't thought of it last night... but would that be so bad? There is nothing I hate more that what I can't have.
Maybe if he has a girlfriend I could get over this… whatever you wanna call it.
But… if he's single it would honestly be worst.
When I felt a small pain in my chest, I knew I had to stop overthinking. Why do I even care about what he does?
I have bigger things to worry about.
"So, yeah, basically we all ended fucked up and vomiting all over the place. But what about you, did you had any fun last night?" He chuckled.
"That sounds... horrifying and amazing Lando, and yes, I had the best night of the year" I was now looking at Charles, he grinned at me, and I copied his actions, I could feel the heat on my cheeks.
He left his phone on the table, and focused on his food.
"Told you!" a lot of movement was heard at the back of the call. "Oh, there's Carlos, I'll leave you peanut, call you later"
"See you Lando." I hung up
"So you had the best night of the year, huh?" Charles smirked. "C'mon, it was fun!" I answered.
"Of course, you spend most of it with me." He raised his hands to rest them on his head. With his gaze to the sky.
"I couldn't have had it any other way." He chuckled, his dimples showing off, making my heart beat faster, and my chest feel a warm and welcoming sensation.
_
It has been months. Months of calls late at night, whispering so Jake wouldn't find out.
If he ever payed any attention to me...
Every time my phone would buzz at around 11 p.m. I'd go to the balcony, or any other place where Jake wouldn't be around.
Quiet laughing, my stomach would turn over every time he said to me 'ma chou' or any time he'd speak in French or Italian, really.
He was truly and angel in disguise.
Was it wrong? Yes. Did we care? Not at all.
"When am I seeing you again?" He asked. I was in the sofa of the living room, Jake was fine fast asleep in my bed.
"Charles, I'm way too busy here, I'm barely able to leave my apartment , much less have the whole weekend to myself"
"Why don't I fly down there, hm?"
In my hands I had paper with chords and new lyrics for songs. But it was all a jumble, I didn't even know how it was going to work.
"I don't think that's a great idea. You need to practice for the next season, and I have to make new songs, which will take more than half of my day off-"
"Do you know how to play the piano?"
Piano?
"Uh, no, I never learned how to. I'm much more of a guitar girl, why?"
"You have no excuses, I'll be there by tomorrow night. Make some space for a piano at your home, I'm teaching you." I could hear him at his computer typing God knows what.
"IF you came, wouldn't it be easier to have a keyboard piano?"
"No, believe me, it is not the same. You'll love it, I promise" I smiled to myself, he will be here tomorrow night.
Wait, he'll be here tomorrow night.
"Charles, you can't come."
"Give me a good reason, and I'll cancel the plane tickets"
He already bought tickets?! shoot he’s fast
"Uh, my boyfriend is here, and you won't have a place to stay."
"I'm still waiting on that good reason, you know?"
"Charles-"
"It's not like I'm trying to flirt with you, am I?" We are playing a very dangerous game, we both know it, but I never thought we would get this far.
"Well..."
"we'll solve it once I'm there, goodnight ma ange." There are so many things that could go wrong. So many factors I should have said 'No' to, but those thoughts went out the window as my heart pounded knowing that he would come for me.
_
God, what am I doing, what am I doing.
3 a.m. and I'm still awake. I had his phone in my hands, I just needed his face to unlock it. I was so desperate to find what broke me months ago.
Messages, photos and screenshots. He even admitted it, but he said he would change. Am I dumb for staying? Yes. Am I dumb for giving him a second chance? Yes.
Now I'm paying what he did to me. Except I'm having the balls he didn't have to break up with me.
I just need the perfect excuse.
I tried to believe in him, I tried to ignore all my friends when they said 'paparazzi took pictures of him with another girl'
'That doesn't mean anything' I'd answer.
'But, he had his arms around her shoulders' They'd be even more concerned to the fact, that I did know it meant something, much more than just ‘something’
'He's like that with his family too.' normalizing everything he did wrong was all I knew how to do, well, ruining his reputation was always a choice.
He'd beg me to speak highly of him, saying that all the rumors where never true. But everyone knew they were. I'd clean his ass on social media so that his status wouldn't be broken.
All because I thought I liked him.
Now I'm paying the price. I should have broken up with him the second I saw the girl in our bed. My bed.
The second I saw him with flowers that were not meant to be for me.
The second I saw the photos all over the internet. I disappeared for months as not to be ashamed when people saw me. And the only one who should have been ashamed was him.
Charles treats me like a princess, heck, he makes me think everything is possible.
If he told me unicorns were real, I’d believe him!
I had to leave Jake. It's not like he was handsome or anything anyway.
It was probably social media who pushed me into believing we would be the perfect match.
Well, your sweet boy is a cheater. and I won't stand to it anymore.
I finally got it open, and the first few chats were girls.
unbelievable, yet not surprising.
This would have broken my heart, but oh, my heart was stolen by someone else.
Now all I felt was disgust.
I couldn't figure out if it was at him, for texting all these girls.
Or myself, for letting this happen.
I stood up and went to his suitcase and I started looking all over my apartment for things of his, everytime I found one I'd place it in his suitcase. I wanted him gone by this morning.
_
"So you're just throwing it all away?!"
"Did I, Jake, or did you?"
"You did, we worked it all out!" He raised his hands exaggeratedly.
"Oh heck no, why don't you tell that to all of the girls in your phone? I'm tired of this bullshit, I'm not being your little girlfriend just so that you look good in front of people!"
"As if you were important" He scoffed.
"You were always scared of that, I made myself look as if I were nobody just for you to show off! Believe me, everything you've accomplished is because of me, but I'm not even going to reproach you for that." I crossed my arms.
"Oh, I'm so so sorry miss universe, never knew you were important. Guess you'll have more songs to write about, thanks to me!"
What a dick.
He was now at the door with his suitcase, we both screamed at each other since he saw me in the living room with his stuff. He didn't even looked into my eyes, just started throwing shit at me.
As if it was all my fault.
Just wasted my last year there. Thank god it's over, I could now visibly breathe.
I closed the door silently. Locked it to never let him back in.
I looked into my apartment, and without his stuff all over the place... It made it seem cleaner, and as if this apartment actually belonged to me.
I played music all afternoon while remodeling the whole apartment, changing it to a way that I liked.
Months ago I wouldn't have thought moving on was this easy to do.
I guess all the love I had for him disappeared and I didn’t really noticed it did.
_
I've never felt so alive.
5 hours after a breakup, and I've never felt so alive. I called Lando, and told him about everything I kept from him.
He told me he was going to murder him, obviously joking (I think), but I told him I haven't felt this happy in years.
He said he was proud of me for getting out of that toxic relationship. Which made me cry, in the last few hours I have experienced I think every emotion a human could have.
I was watching a bit of what was happening on the internet from my Instagram. I told my manager that he can announce it when the time is right. But without any further explanations on why we weren't together anymore.
And so it was, it was one of the top themes of today, with only one hour of announcement.
How gossipy people are.
guilty.
I heard my home cell phone ring, the one that always rings when someone asks permission to enter my house.
And I knew exactly who was going to enter by my door any second. I rushed downstairs, and I opened the door he was there by the other side.
Looking charming, just as I remembered him. He held up his hand showing me a bouquet of flowers, with the same ones I told him a few weeks ago that I loved.
"So… the rumors spread out, can I buy you flowers now?"
He gave the flowers to my hand, hugged me with one hand around the waist and kissed me on the forehead.
"You have a goal, don't you?"
"I came to claim my prize, how am I going to do it if I don't put up a good fight first?"
I signaled him to come in, and he gladly did.
"Ah! Would you look at that?" Charles screamed from the living room, I was too busy looking for a place to put the flowers he gave me, so I didn't see what he was talking about.
These would look perfect here, I said to myself finding a plain white base I bought in Venecia, I never found a good purpose for it till now.
"You should take it as a compliment that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk?"
Holy shit.
"Oh my, give that back!" I basically ran to him as I heard those words.
Now I know what he found, and it was hell of embarrassing.
In his hands, the sheets with my handwriting all over them, lyrics all over them.
But he kept going, walking quickly around the room so that I wouldn't take those papers away from him.
"I've got a boyfriend he's older than us. Hey, this sounds quite familiar doesn't it?" He mocked me. Oh he fucking knows who I'm talking about.
"Dickhead!" I said between laughters, I was already running out of air from running. I felt like a child, but in a good way. He just made it so divine.
He stopped to finally hand me in the papers with the lyrics, the sun was setting and it peered through my large window. I was looking down at my papers trying to figure out how much had he read.
I grab my chin to lift my gaze and look him in the eye. "You can say anything you want, ange"
Look down at his shirt to start talking. But he slowly brought it back up again. "To my face"
"What can I say? You're... gorgeous." He softly chuckled, I bit my lip.
I felt the moment stop, right here, right now.
It's just me and him.
His hand went to my jaw, caressing my cheek with his thumb. His other hand went to my waist. Mine went to his shoulders, and he finally closed the gap between us.
Sweet, simple and loving kiss.
_
I rushed through the hallways. My hair was a mess, the climate changing was finally hitting. Warmer breezes came so now I didn’t had to use cold weather outfits.
A black sparkly dress suited the occasion, I was finally presenting my project. The best of my career.
Finally reaching the office, I quickly introduced myself, since I was already running late.
My idea was not complicated at all, dark romance was in it.
Revenge was all written over it.
"This will totally be a hit, you made it again!"
"Thats so kind of you to say, thank you"
"It's well deserved, 4 months was more than enough for you to give us these amazing songs. Ugh, you're so amazing sweetie!"
None of it would have been possible if it wasn't for Charles. Most of the songs on my about-to-be new album were based from the piano. Later, in the studio, the arrangements were made.
Miracles do happen after all.
"Can't wait for what comes next." I shrieked.
"Neither do we, but you know this takes time, we can do a little more fixing and a lot a lot a lot of marketing. I can already see you on the hot 100 billboard" She smiled to me, and the team gave me thumbs up in approval.
Most of the time getting them to like one of my song, is quite hard, but I guess I'm getting their respect.
It all went as smooth as butter.
I excused myself from their office, eagerly waiting to get home.
The drive over there seemed like an eternity, but it was all worth it, getting out of the car I padded my dress so that the bottom part looked decent. Charles was waiting for me, before my meeting he had told me he had a surprise for me.
I finally opened the door, and soon my nostrils smelled pasta. Fresh pasta.
I physically relaxed, I realized I was home.
My eyes fixated on the piano, the one Charles bought so that he could teach me how to play it. That piano made miracles.
On top of it, fresh flowers were carefully placed in the edge, light pink popped from them. I smiled to myself, he must have listened when I told him my favorite color was pink.
I left my purse on the table, and decided to take a look at the kitchen.
There he was, my handsome man. He had an apron, with no shirt to cover him underneath. Some jeans, messy hair and his glasses gave him the final touch.
He had music on the background, and he was whistling to the melody while stirring the pasta, taking a close look at it so it wouldn’t burn.
He didn’t notice me, so I came up and carefully wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my cheek on his back.
His hand came up to mine, tangling our fingers together while the other kept stirring the pot, I smiled feeling his warm fingers on mine.
The next song played, a more upbeat song, and one of my favorites too.
I let him go, and he instantly turned around to see me, his sweet smile just made my whole day. His dimples were brighter than ever, and his eyes made my heart skip a beat.
I reflected his smile on my lips. He cupped my face and planted a deep desperate kiss, I chuckled in it.
“Ugh, I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea ma chérie” he said in between, I stretched my arms and wrapped them tightly around his neck.
He hold me and spun me around lifting my feet.
Laughter was in the air, the one feeling where he and I just existed, nothing else. Not media talking about my love life, not Jake calling on me at late hours at night, not his followers doubting about our relationship.
I did too, before he showed me all the love in the world. More than anyone has showed me in years, he showed me the stars and depths of the ocean with just a few weeks.
I needed nothing else, but him.
He stopped spinning, looked at me in the face, and removed a string of hair falling from its place. I can feel my cheeks burn, and it only took one look at him.
“Charles, you are the best thing that ever existed, you know that, right?”
I asked with concern, I want him to know.
To know he is my everything.
He laughed, warming my heart. “I know, you don’t need to say anything or do anything. I think- just think I love you” he whispered the end.
“I love you too.” I answered with the same tome he did. He caught my lips, deepening it. He almost desperately lifted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his torso.
In a matter of seconds, I felt a knot forming on my lower stomach. I should feel ashamed of how fast Charles makes me feel this way.
Soft moans fill the room along with the loud music.
“You don’t have to do anything” He said in-between kisses, repeating what he said earlier.
“I want to” I replied, tangling my fingers in his short hair. He did a final push, so that I could feel how hard he was.
My heartbeat rate was seriously not natural at this point.
He lifted slightly the bottom of my dress. I did not stop him, so he continued.
Slowly, his fingers where so close at my sensible area, I could almost feel them.
I closed my legs so that I could feel a little bit of friction. He quickly opened them again, wider this time.
His lips left mine he devilishly smiled at me as he got on his knees. If I wasn’t on the table I, for sure, would´ve folded.
He trailed wet kisses on my thighs, taking his sweet time to get where I wanted him to. With his hands, he opened my legs even more, finally, his tongue touched the sweet spot.
-
I didn’t know what to do.
Charles along with Lando made a big party for my new album, it had just been out for a few hours, and It was trending everywhere.
Every. Single. Song.
My relationship with Charles was relatively new, the new F1 season started, and I’d travel with both of my boys.
We were currently at Monaco, just after Friday practice.
I decided to throw Reputation out to the world this day, because of Monaco. Here is where everything started, and here is where I wanted to celebrate it.
I wanted everyone to know who my heart belonged with, and it was not going to be a soft launch.
Charles came to me with two shots on his hand, he handed me one and passed his arms around my shoulders, joining the conversation I was having with my team.
“Here he is, the golden boy!”
One of them said, he smiled and kissed my forehead.
“Oh he is handsome! No wonder all those songs were written about you.”
“Thank you Janet, I’m sure he knows how head over heels I am for him by now”
I said embarrassed, the lyrics on the songs weren’t that saint. Not at all.
Besides, everyone here knew who I was talking about in those songs, they all knew who was by my side all along.
I quickly took my shot, and Charles followed. I excused us from the group, they all waved us goodbyes as my lover and I went to a much more private place.
“I’m so proud of you” he said, kissing me gently and lovingly.
“Couldn’t have done it without you” I said in between. I felt his smile on my lips. I caressed his cheek, feeling his short beard on the tips of my hands.
“So… can I tell everyone how good I make you feel? Cause I wouldn’t want anyone else taking my place.”
“I think they will all know who I’m talking about, mon bel homme” he laughed at the horrible accent I was carrying.
“Ma belle fille” Charles sweetly said.
-
Taglist
@delicatepeanutsublime @leclercera16 @ironspdy @architect-2015 @cmleitora @lauralarsen
Sugar Hits. // Elijah Hewson X Reader! (Fluff)
request: maybe you could write something like reader supporting Eli at a concert or something. Like, he's nervous about playing the new songs (your house, eddie in the Darkness) because he doesn’t know if the fans will like them and reader just comforts him before and after the show.
words: 2K.
That wasn’t your first gig of theirs. By the end of their last tour, you were already close with Eli and had really started to enjoy that "rockstar girlfriend" side of things. You managed to enjoy them more, and it felt good to have them back. As you walked down the hallway, Bobby spotted you, greeting you in his usual down-to-earth manner. He pulled you into a quick hug that made you feel a little guilty—it had been a while since you’d seen him, even though you didn’t live that far from each other. You exchanged a few words, catching up on your lives briefly, but then he noticed your eyes wandering around the room and shared something that had been on your mind.
"Eli's with Josh, sorting out something about the soundcheck," he said with a smile. You returned it, but it was a shy, almost embarrassed grin, worried that Bobby might think you weren’t paying attention.
"It's all good; I bet he's missing you too," he teased, bumping his shoulder against yours before letting you know he had to go meet up with the others. Your cheeks flushed, and it was funny how, even though almost a year had passed since the last gig you’d attended, you still felt like an outsider. Not because they treated you that way—in fact, it was quite the opposite. They always made you feel welcome, part of it all. But you understood this was their moment, their time together.
You waved at a few familiar faces as you made your way to a quieter balcony, finding solace in the semi-isolation. Eli always knew how overwhelming those spaces could be for you, especially after a long time. He always made sure his hotel room was organized with thoughtful touches—handpicked playlists, your favorite snacks—so you could have a retreat when the chaos got too much. This time was no different. He’d texted you the room number and even let the front desk know you'd be stopping by. If you didn’t already know that Eli needed you more this time than you needed a quiet place to recharge, you would’ve gone straight there. Usually, you’d take a short nap, listen to some good music, and breathe in his scent that lingered on the pillows, comforting you before heading back to watch him perform.
“I thought you'd take longer.” His tone was sharper than usual, the words fading into the atmosphere, his voice growing weaker. His eyes, tired yet still shining with a soft light, were fixed on you as you sat with a cigarette in hand. The night before, you’d stayed on the phone with him until he finally fell asleep—though it took a while. Eli masked it well, the calm tone in his voice, the gentle look on his face, and eyebrows that showed no sign of concern. But you knew his chest was heavy with worry.
That phone call had mostly been filled with quiet, just the comfort of having each other there. But he had briefly confessed his anxiety about singing the new songs, how his mind kept spiraling into everything that could go wrong. You knew him well, knew you could remind him how amazing he was and offer rational solutions, but he’d already tortured himself enough over the past week. So, instead, you listened, letting him pour it all out, hoping it would make him feel lighter, even though it was painful to hear someone you loved, someone so capable, talk that way about themselves and their work.
"You're doing great, El," you had whispered, your own throat tight, fighting the urge to cry, praying he'd understood you, even though your voice had come out so softly. And here you were again, saying the same thing, in the same quiet tone, after a six-hour flight because of your work, as he rested his forehead against your shoulder and melted into your arms.
His body was cold, muscles tense, and you wished this would all pass soon so he could see how well everything was going to turn out.
"I need you."
"Well, here I am, huh?" His back was resting against the balcony railing, legs spread slightly with you standing in front of him so that you were at eye level, close. Your fingers combed through his hair, which still held defined curls, and you peppered soft kisses on his cheek. He wasn’t one to easily show his emotions, but just having you there, all your gentle touches, made him feel better. He nodded as your delicate hands cupped his face, helping you see him more clearly. His tired eyes met yours, and you gave him a light smile, trying to lift his spirits.
"You've done this before, haven't you?" you teased him gently. His hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer. He tilted his head, wearing a stern expression, clearly weighing the situation in his mind. "I know, I'm being an id—" you cut him off, pressing your lips to his. Surprised, he gripped you tighter, but gradually relaxed as you felt the tension ease from his muscles, bit by bit. He kissed you back, a soft, relieved sigh escaping into the kiss.
You squeezed his shoulder through his black leather jacket—a piece he’d only wear for show since he always took it off mid-gig. He made more room for you to deepen the kiss. You could taste your lip gloss, and he had the familiar hint of mint candy on his lips, but nothing compared to the warmth that filled you as his scent wrapped around you, making you feel at home. You pulled back slightly to look at him. His eyes were still closed, and he gave you a few more soft kisses. Before he could speak, you murmured, “Only I can talk like that about my boyfriend. Anyone else? Not a chance.” He laughed, more relaxed now, his cheeks and lips red.
"Everything’s gonna be okay, El. You’ve done this before, and it went fine. You’re not going to disappoint anyone. Your fans are here because they love your work. I’m not dismissing how you feel, just saying you’re worrying over nothing, love." He nodded, and while it didn’t completely lift the weight from his shoulders, it felt like having that so-called voice of reason gently soothe his mind.
"Can you stay visible today?" The tip of his nose was pink, and his curls nearly covered his caramel eyes in supplication, but you didn’t mind. You usually stayed to the side of the stage, not wanting to be in the way, but this time it was different. "Of course, I’ll be there." He smiled, grateful, pulling you into his chest and holding you even tighter. You nestled into him, knowing you’d stay like that for a good while, arms wrapped around his waist. It felt even better than being in his hotel room—it was perfect.
…
Your back ached slightly, the exhaustion of just standing was starting to catch up. It had been a long flight, and you hadn't slept, but it was worth it. The lights dimmed, the crowd roared, and the thrill of seeing them live again was unmistakable. It was busier than last time, and it felt so good to see them getting the recognition they deserved. As the first chords played, the atmosphere was electric. Eli glanced at you every now and then, a warm smile on his face. You found yourself jumping and cheering for him, just like you did when you were beside the stage, though you always felt a bit embarrassed doing it in front of him. But it was impossible not to.
The first new song started, the silence filling with Eli’s steady voice, and he kept looking at you more frequently. You reassured him with your gaze. It was your first time hearing the new tracks in their entirety—the lyrics, the instrumentation—and you were so proud of him. As the next few songs, also new, played, you could see him loosening up, interacting with the crowd even though they weren’t singing along. Everything went smoothly.
As the show ended, a few fans stopped you on your way out. You felt a bit bad for standing in front of people who had paid to be there, so you made an effort to talk to them. It was awkward because their excitement was meant for Eli, and you weren’t as natural in these moments as he was. But you didn’t want to seem rude. They were enthusiastic, and you ended up asking what they thought so you could pass it along to him. They shared their love for the performance, and you told them it was your first time hearing the new songs too. It was a brief exchange, though your nerves made it feel longer.
As the fans thinned, Eli eventually stepped in, taking their attention off you. He placed a hand on your back, sharing in their excitement as he spoke to them. He knew you’d disappear from the conversation if given the chance, and it always amused him—he understood. You loved how attentive he and the band were in moments like this, always so considerate. You hated the thought of interrupting his time with fans, so you stood back, watching him chat and take photos, all smiles and joy.
He had been so nervous he hadn’t slept, but seeing him like this, radiant and confident, you knew he was being ridiculous. He was perfect.
…
You found yourself distracted, chatting with Lewis while waiting for the boys to come back so you could head to the hotel. The room filled with laughter as Eli's arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground and giving you a playful scare. You turned to face him, and there he was, beaming as if he had never been worried at all, and you threw your arms around him as he picked you up again.
"I'm so proud of you. It was amazing," you whispered just for him. His eyes sparkled, hair now a mess. He was drenched in sweat, his white tank top almost transparent. "I love you so much, you know that?" he said, his voice softer than usual. You nodded, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks. Then, he rubbed his damp hair against your face, making you laugh out loud, which made him laugh too. There was never any doubt he loved you—it wasn’t something he said all the time, but when he did, it filled you with buzzing bubbles.
"Do I know this one?" he teased, running his fingers over the buttons of your brown vest that matched your boots. He’d noticed your outfit during the gig, appreciating that you always made an effort for their shows. It was something casual and routine for him, and now for you too. You could’ve easily shown up in something more comfortable, and he wouldn’t mind—he’d understand, especially since you’d come straight from the airport. But the fact that you took the time to choose something, thinking about what to wear and anticipating the gig, meant a lot to him. Even after seeing them live so many times, you still made it special.
"I got it a few weeks ago," you replied, happy he noticed. "Saved it for tonight. Figured it deserved something special." He chuckled, resting his hand on your waist as he gave you a little twirl. "Your eyes too," he said, cupping your cheeks for a closer look. "You’re stunning." He stared at your black eyeliner.
You smiled, closing your eyes as his thumb traced gentle circles on your jaw. "I told you," you whispered, bringing the conversation back to earlier. He kissed your nose, then your lips, finally accepting your words of wisdom. You let out a yawn, and he followed suit, making you laugh again. "You did, but it’s a good reason to have you here with me," he said, pulling you closer as you both made your way to the car.
He couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel either, to shower with you, to crawl into bed, and fall asleep wrapped up in your arms. "I’ll always be here, El."
Shadows of the past
Hello, I made this blog solely to publish this fan fiction I wrote because the idea for the plot has been tugging at the back of my mind for months. I tried requesting it from a few writers but since they didn’t write it I remained unsatisfied. Then I remembered I also do have the ability to write.
Pairing: Oscar Piastri x named!female character
Plot: Oscar's new relationship is strained by his family's constant reminders of his ex, Lily, and he fails to notice how this is affecting his girlfriend.
Tag: angst, hurt/no comfort, sad ending.
Word count: 2989
Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though. I also haven’t written any work of fiction since I was a teenager, so this could be bad, I just had a need to get this fan fiction out of my brain. And once I wrote it, it felt like a waste to keep it on my laptop.
The new girlfriend has a name as I wasn’t able to write this without a name, I apologize, I made it a shorter name so it can be skimmed over. There is no physical description of them.
I would like to explain that I do not think that Oscar's family would behave this way. This idea came from watching Nicole's interview in which she spoke highly about Lily and an unrelated conversation that day about families still speaking about and with ex-girlfriends.
Oscar sat in his motorhome, absentmindedly scrolling through social media notifications and posts. He wasn’t really paying attention to them. His mind was already on the track, anticipating the feel of the car and revising the strategies for the weekend. But, even as he tried to focus on the race ahead, something distracted him at the back of his mind. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on yet, something that had been running in his head for weeks.
Across from him, Mia sat quietly, going through her phone, though he knew it wasn’t holding her attention either. She hadn’t said much all day, her silence stretching thin between them like a thread on the verge of snapping. It wasn’t like her. At least, it wasn’t like how she used to be. When they first met, Mia had been a burst of energy, her laughter infectious, her smile like a safe heaven that had pulled him out of the chaos of being a public figure. But now… something had changed.
"Oscar, did you hear what I said?" Mia’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he had been paying attention to what she had been saying. But he hadn't.
Oscar blinked, eyes tearing away from his phone. "Sorry, darling. What did you say?"
Mia smiled, a small, strained smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "I was asking if you wanted to go out for dinner later. You know, somewhere quiet, just the two of us. I found this place…"
Oscar nodded absentmindedly, his attention already drifting away. "Yeah, sure. Sounds good."
Mia noticed his lack of attention, but she didn’t press the issue. She had grown used to his distracted responses over the past few months, so she just sat there, her fingers gripping her phone a little too tightly, and the silence between them growing heavier. It had been like this for a while now—Oscar lost in his racing, and Mia fading quietly into the background, unnoticed.
It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when his attention had been solely hers, when Oscar had looked at her with the kind of focus he reserved for the track. Lately, though, she had started to feel like she was slipping out of view, like she was losing her place in his world. And Oscar, so wrapped up in his career, didn’t see it. Not yet.
-----
It had started subtly, in ways Mia hadn’t been able to notice at first. When she had met Oscar, she knew this relationship wouldn’t have resembled her previous ones; she was stepping into a world of fame, pressure, and expectations. But she had been prepared for that—at least, she thought she had been.
The first time she had met Oscar’s family had been over a casual dinner. Nicole had been polite, her eyes studying Mia a little closely but never purely cold. And then there were his sisters, who seemed stuck between curiosity and indifference, their questions friendly but calculated.
It wasn’t until halfway through the meal that Mia first heard the name.
“Do you remember when Lily got us pizza in Monza?” Hattie had asked with a deliberate tone, her gaze flickering toward Oscar.
Mia had frozen for a second, her fork suspended midair. Lily. She had heard the name before, of course, Oscar had talked about her, the ex-girlfriend who had been with him through his early career. Mia hadn’t worried about her, assuming she was just part of his past.
“Oh, yeah,” Mae chimed in, laughing. “From that little family-run restaurant, right? God, I miss that place.”
Nicole smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Lily was always so thoughtful. She always knew how to make us feel at home, no matter where we were.”
Mia’s chest tightened, the casual and affectionate mention of Lily, compared to how she had been addressed throughout the evening, slicing through the conversation like a shard of ice. She forced herself to smile, to nod along, pretending it didn’t bother her. But it did more than she wanted to admit.
Oscar had shifted uncomfortably beside her, clearing his throat. “Yeah, Lily was great” he had said quickly, then tried to change the subject. But the damage was done. The ghost of Lily hung over the rest of the evening like a shadow, lingering at the edges of every conversation and Mia’s mind.
-----
As the months passed, Mia couldn’t shake the feeling that she was living in someone else’s place, that no matter how much Oscar claimed to love her, no matter how much she tried to integrate herself into his life, she was no comparison to Lily. It wasn’t that his family was blatantly rude towards her, they were kind, but there was a warmth in their voices when they spoke about Lily that they didn’t extend to Mia.
Every race weekend, every family gathering, even every private moment with Oscar was tainted in her mind by the weight of someone else’s ghost.
It wasn’t until one afternoon in Monaco, when Mia stumbled across the ring, that the full weight of it hit her.
She had been tidying the bedroom while Oscar was out, taking advantage of the free time to clean the apartment, cleaning up a drawer of old clothes when she found it—a small, velvet box. Her heart had skipped a beat as she opened it, revealing a stunning diamond ring.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She wasn’t unrealistic, Mia knew this wasn’t meant for her, her relationship with Oscar still too young to warrant a proposal. No. This ring wasn’t for her. It had been bought for someone else. For Lily.
Mia closed the box with trembling hands, her chest tightening as the realization washed over her. Oscar had been planning to marry Lily. He had been ready to propose, to make her his wife, to share his life with her in a way that as of lately Mia wasn’t sure he would ever want to with her.
She had never brought it up to Oscar. She couldn’t. How could she confront him about something like this? How could she admit that she had found evidence of a future he had once planned with someone else, a future that might have happened if things hadn’t fallen apart between them?
From that day on, the weight of it pressed down on her like a constant reminder. She tried to ignore it, to push the self doubt away, to remind herself it was all part of the past. But every time Oscar’s family mentioned Lily, every time they talked about her like she was still part of their world, Mia felt herself slipping further away from the confident, energetic woman she had once been.
-----
The Monaco GP was supposed to be a new start. Mia had somewhat convinced herself that her doubts were unreasonable, that her presence in Oscar’s life was concrete. She had been trying so hard to convince her mind, to smile through the subtle slights, to act as if Lily’s constant presence in conversations didn’t bother her. But Monaco was different. Monaco was where everything changed.
The paddock was buzzing with energy as usual, the yachts in the harbor reflecting the morning sun. Mia stood beside Oscar, her hand in his as they made their way through the crowd. Fans called out to him, snapping photos, but Mia barely noticed. Her attention was elsewhere—on the small group standing near the McLaren garage.
There stood Oscar’s family. And Lily.
Mia felt her heart skip at the sight. Lily was just standing there, laughing with Nicole, looking as comfortable and at ease as she had in all the stories Mia had had to listen to in the past months. She was so effortlessly beautiful, with an air of confidence that Mia had always admired but now found unbearable.
Nicole’s eyes found Oscar, lighting up as she waved him over. “Oscar, darling! Come say hello.”
Mia felt herself stiffen, her stomach twisting into knots. Oscar hesitated for a moment, glancing at Mia before offering her a quick, apologetic smile. “I’ll just be a minute,” he murmured, squeezing her hand before walking over to his family. To her.
Mia couldn’t bring herself to do anything but watch as he greeted them, his interactions with Lily casual but friendly, too friendly in her doubt filled mind. It was like watching him slip into an old role, a role he played with ease, with a counterpart Mia couldn’t quite replace.
They talked for what felt like hours, though it had only been minutes. Mia stood there, frozen as her heart pounded in her chest as she watched Oscar laugh at something Lily said, as his mother beamed at them, as if this was how things were supposed to be. As if Mia was the outsider, the intruder in a story that had never been hers to begin with.
-----
That night, the silence in their room was deafening.
Oscar had been talking about the race, but Mia hadn’t been able to focus. She hadn’t really said much all weekend, her responses short and her mind elsewhere.
“Mia?” Oscar called, his brows furrowed as he looked at her. “Is everything okay?”
She just stared at him for a moment, unsure of how to put her thoughts into words, unsure of how to explain the feelings that had made a home in her mind. “Oscar… Do you ever think about her?”
He frowned, confused. “Who?”
“Lily,” Mia whispered, voice barely audible. “Do you still think about her? About… what could have been?”
Oscar blinked, startled by the question. “Mia, no. Of course not. I’m with you now.”
She shook her head, as she fought her anxiety and tried to gather the courage to say what had been haunting her mind for months. "You say that, Oscar, but… it feels like I’m always competing with her, against her presence in your life. And I don’t know how to stop feeling like I’m constantly fighting against someone who’s not even here anymore."
Oscar’s expression softened as he stepped toward her, one of his hands reaching out to gently cup her face. "Mia, you are not. I don't think about Lily like that anymore. That part of my life is over."
"Is it?" Mia’s voice cracked, her eyes searching his for the reassurance she so desperately needed. "Because I’m not sure your family feels the same way. They still talk about her, still invite her to races. Nicole talks about her like she could still be a part of your life, like she is supposed to be a part of your life. And Oscar… I found the ring."
Oscar’s hand dropped from her face, his eyes widening in shock. "What ring?"
"The one in your drawer," Mia said, her voice trembling. "The engagement ring. The one you bought for her."
Oscar froze, his breath catching in his throat. "Mia… I didn’t mean for you to find that. I—I should have gotten rid of it a long time ago."
"Why didn’t you?" she asked. "Why didn’t you get rid of it if you had moved on? You kept it, Oscar, that has to mean something. And every time she is brought up, every time I notice her presence still somewhat in your life, I feel like I’ll never be good enough. Like I’m standing in her shadow, no matter what I do."
Oscar sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Mia, I didn’t keep the ring because I still have feelings for her. I kept it because… I never knew what to do with it. You are right, I did want to propose to Lily at some point, I couldn’t see that our relationship was dying, I was trying to deny it. But I didn’t propose in the end. I realized it wasn’t right. I never told you because I didn’t want to hurt you."
Mia hugged herself, staring at the floor. "But it does hurt now, Oscar. And it hurts every time they bring her up, every time they talk about how perfect she was, how much they loved her. It feels like I’m just… filling a spot that’s still meant for her."
Oscar stood up and reached for her again, his voice carrying an underlying urgency. "Mia, you’re not filling a space. I love you. I want to be with you. I thought you knew that."
"I thought I did too," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "But… I don’t know anymore. And I feel like I’m losing myself trying to live up to the memory of someone I’m not while you didn’t even notice how much it’s been affecting me."
Oscar’s heart sank as he took in her words, the weight of his and his family’s actions finally settling on his shoulders. He had known that they still cared for Lily, but he hadn’t understood how much it had been hurting Mia. And he hadn’t noticed how distant she had become, how her bright light had started to dim under the constant comparisons.
He sat back down, hands resting in his lap as he stared at the floor. "Mia, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I didn’t know it was this bad."
Mia took a deep, shaky breath, tears staining her face. "You didn’t. I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Oscar. I love you, so much so that I have been willing to hurt myself to be with you, but I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough. Like I’ll never be enough."
Oscar looked up at her, desperation in his eyes at the implications of her words. "You are enough, Mia. You’ve always been enough."
She shook her head, wiping her eyes. "If I was enough, your family wouldn’t still be holding onto Lily. They wouldn’t be talking about her like she’s still the one for you… They wouldn’t make me feel like I’m always in second place in a one person competition."
Oscar felt his throat tighten, his guilt and frustration rising to the surface. He had been so focused on his career, on the races, that he hadn’t noticed how much this had been affecting Mia. And now, standing in front of him, she looked so lost, so hurt, that he wasn’t sure how to fix it.
"I’ll talk to them," he said, his voice firm. "I’ll make sure they understand. They can’t keep doing this to you—to us. I’ll set boundaries. I don’t want to lose you, Mia."
Mia’s gaze softened for a moment, but the pain in her eyes was still there. "It’s not just about them, Oscar. It’s about how I’ve been feeling invisible, like I don’t matter as much in your life. I don’t know if talking to them will change how I feel about myself now. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to fix this."
Oscar’s heart clenched. He could see the cracks in their relationship now, the ones he had been too blind to notice before. And he realized, with a sinking feeling, that this wasn’t something he could just fix with a few words or promises. This was deeper.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly, his voice almost breaking. "Tell me what I can do to make this right."
Mia stood there for a long moment, staring at him, the weight of the decision she had come to after months of suffering heavy on her shoulders. She loved him, she had given everything to this relationship, but the constant reminders of his past with Lily had killed her confidence, her sense of security.
"I think…" she began, her voice shaky, "I think I need some time. Time to figure out if I can keep doing this, if I can keep being in this relationship without losing myself further."
Oscar felt a chill run through him at her words. "Mia, please don’t say that. Don’t say you’re leaving."
"I’m not leaving," she clarified, though the look in her eyes betrayed her uncertainty of their future. "But I need space. I need time to think about what’s best for me, because right now… I don’t feel like I’m good for you. And I don’t feel like this is good for me."
Oscar’s chest tightened painfully as he stepped toward her, his hands trembling as he reached for hers. "I love you. I don’t want to lose you."
Tears spilled from Mia’s eyes again as she looked down at their hands. "I love you too, Oscar. But love isn’t enough if I don’t feel like I belong in your life. If I don’t feel like your family accepts me. Like I can accept myself."
He swallowed hard, fighting his own tears. "I’ll make them understand. I’ll fight for us."
She pulled her hands away gently, taking a step back. "I need to fight for myself first."
Oscar felt the floor drop from under him as Mia turned toward the door. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the doorknob, before looking back at him with tears in her eyes.
"Please don’t hate them," she whispered. "I know they didn’t mean to hurt me. But… they did. And I don’t know how to fix that."
And with that, she slipped out of the room, out of the apartment, leaving Oscar standing alone, silence deafening around him. The weight of his family’s actions, of his own inaction, pressed down on him.
He had always thought he could balance everything—his career, his family, his relationship—but now, as the door closed behind Mia, he realized that he had been wrong. He had been so focused on winning races, on making his family happy, that he hadn’t seen the cracks forming beneath the surface of his relationship and in the heart of the woman he loved.
And now, he wasn’t sure if he would ever get her back.
Tonight’s setlist! Inhaler’s new songs are called Your House and Eddie in the Darkness!
📸 HEWSONLUVR via Twitter
These may be my last words,The war is as if it has returned again. Idk when this usurping entity will stop perhaps when they kill us all.
This link is our last hope.I will'nt urge you to publish it as you are free.There is no longer any meaning to anything
I want to tell you that Israel killed more than 30 members of my family. I am just trying to help the rest of my family.
Every dollar will make a difference in protecting them.
My campaign has already been verified.
@\nabulsi @\el-shab-hussein@\ibtisams
@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @just-browsing1222-deactivated20 @mothblossoms @aleciosun @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @camgirlpanopticon @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sygol @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbuns @palistani @dlxxv-vetted-donations @illuminated-runas @imjustheretotrytohelp
URGENT URGENT URGENT HELP, Stay tuned, please PLEASE please donate what you can.
Raise my fundraiser €4,028 raised of €5,000 target
a single $ save a life, save My family and I 🥹
I appreciate any contribution and support 🙏🏻✨
Direct donate 🔗 https://www.gofundme.com/f/last-call-last-attempt-save-our-kids-from-gaza-crisis
Or via PayPal🔗
https://paypal.me/weconnect12
We are not fine, all places are dangerous 💔
That's today near us 🥹🥹💔
@bookiezzz @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @palipunk @gatitobladee @el-shab-hussein @nabulsi @junior-high-rui-official @junior-high-mizuki-official @junior-high-enanan-official @sar-soor @90-ghost @commissions4aid-international @rice-ballin @vakarians-babe @plomegranate @aces-and-angels @official-saul-goodman @wabatle
IMPORTANT update on mohammed's campaign!
mohammed almanasra @save-mohamed-family has unfortunately been having issues with fundraising. his first campaign was shut down by the bank and GFM without him getting any of the money he raised. recently he had some concerns about the person hosting his second campaign because he has only been receiving a small percentage of the funds raised and the host wouldn’t send receipts. he thought it'd be best if we started a new campaign with me hosting it and shut down the old campaign. i'll be organizing this now so hopefully there will be no problems and i can be transparent with him about the finances. also in a stronger currency (USD)
mohammed has been verified by @el-shab-hussein and is on the Vetted Gaza Fundraiser List #192 with this updated link now
you may have seen my other posts about his campaign, mohammed and i talk frequently and its so awful what he's been through in this genocide:
mohammed lost his mother, father, and four sisters who were killed in a bombing, and is now living in tents with his remaining family members, his wife and three young children. he was seriously injured in his foot and it may need to be amputated, but he told me that hes doesn't care if he loses his foot he just doesn't want to lose his family. his wife has uterine cancer but hasn't been able to get treatment recently because the genocidal israeli army has destroyed health centers. his children are suffering from infectious diseases spreading throughout gaza, and the little medical treatment available is very expensive. here’s a photo of his kids who instead of having a normal childhood have to struggle to survive.
they've been displaced recently again, because of the israeli army changing the location of so called 'humanitarian zones,' and every displacement is expensive and exhausting, with no guarantee that where they are forced to move to is actually safe. right now mohammed told me he doesn't have good enough internet to use tumblr unless he goes to a internet hot spot which are often more dangerous because the idf targets people there. he knows it's risky but fundraising online is the only way he can support his family right now.
mohammed has made posts on his blog about their situation and i do encourage you to read his own words, because i am merely summarizing conditions that are far worse than any of us from outside can really comprehend
the pain of losing so many family members, your home, your job, your city, and everything you have is already unimaginable. please dont let him lose any more of his family. donate to this campaign and if you cant, share it with someone who can.
especially if you have a degree of disposable income i implore you to think about what you can reasonably give. it could be relatively small adjustment for you but make a significant difference for someone else. thank you very much everyone who participated already for starting this out with some donations.
$205 raised of $50,000 USD
Hello, my name is Fadi from Gaza. I am 35 years old. I work as a carpenter. I have lived through all the harsh details of the war on Gaza, including hunger, displacement, fear, terror, and the loss of my dearest people.
I no longer have anything to lose after the death of my father in this war, the destruction of my home, and the destruction of my workplace, which is the source of my income and that of my family, and that's why I'm speaking to you today.
I was in good condition before the war on Gaza, and I didn't imagine for a moment that I would ask for support from anyone, but as fate would have it, I lost everything I had:
my father, my home, my family’s home, and my place of work (the carpentry), and I would have no choice but to ask you to help me rebuild my workplace at least.
The amount required is much less than what is necessary, but I don't need more. I just want to have this amount with which I will be able to open smaller carpentry than the one I had, but at least I will be able to start my working life faster when this war ends.
Some achievements👇
This picture
Go found link ..Help, even if just a little
https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-me-establish-my-business-after-it-was-destroyed-in-gaza?lang=en_US&utm_campaign=fp_sharesheet&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link
im posting this video on behalf of @fidaa-family2
fida is 29 year old woman currently trapped in gaza with her husband and two very young children. one of her children was born during the war and has only known the devastation and suffering of this genocide. please watch this video as it explains her situation. the conditions in gaza are horrible and get worse every day. its completely hostile to all life, especially for infants who need care and resources. imagine how would you feel if it was one of your loved ones living in these conditions? what would you do to help them? the people of gaza are not any less important than any other person in this world and deserve to live and i dont know how else to impress this to people. help this family survive genocide
please share and donate to this campaign, and if you cant donate yourself, share it with someone who can
there is more information on her blog but fida is the sister of @wafaaresh6 and @mohiy-gaza who are both verified
$8,695 raised of $30,000
One year gone
One year of killing civilians
One year of bombing hospitals
One year of bombing schools
One year of destroying a whole city
One year of starving people to death
One year of making people leave their homes to live in tents
One year and still the world just watching us dying
One year thousands are missing under the rubble thousands arrested with unknown future
One year of thousands of children lost either one of their parents or both
Thousands lost parts of their bodies
I can’t imagine this will continue for a year
Fuck this world fuck everyone
“nobody is making you do this” i am driven by unnatural forces you will never even begin to comprehend
Please stop and help my family
I am Nour, a Palestinian girl from Gaza. I am 5 years old. We were displaced from our home after the occupation bombed. We were displaced to southern Gaza. I, my father, my mother, and my grandmother, who also lives with us.
And the three sisters: Bana, Dana and Menna
I saw the ravages of death on the way to the south, where I had to walk long distances on my feet .....
After arriving in southern Gaza, we saw all forms of suffering. After living in a tent for 8 months, we do not have any necessities for life. My sisters and I suffer from illness and weight loss due to malnutrition and lack of it. There is no source of livelihood for my father, who lost his job there in Gaza.
Sometimes words cannot describe what happens
We need your help and support to provide a better life for me and my family
Who suffers from all aspects of life
Please help me share
My life and my family's life is in your hands
Hi everyone hop this find you very well and you all read my sade story
I am ahmad 22 years old im a palestinian student in 4th level of dentistry college , i was fully of Passion and love my life and dreaming benig an excellent dentist in this life
After the war has started Our beautiful home has been destroyed, we have been displaced from our country, and all our lifelines have been taken away from us.
My family now live in the badest conditions that no one could imagine and no one could live 🥺
They are now living in tents without any necessities of life in a very polluted environment full of diseases. 🤕😷
My father, Jamal Hussein Shamia, He is a criminal lawyer
He is currently in Gaza , He is suffering of many diseases hypertension and diabetic mellitus and Muscle spasms and always got shocked and coma
He is disabled man and need Personal health care🥺
Unfortunately, my father was injured in the war and suffered a very serious injury, which was a blood clot in the hip joint area, which caused him many infections and the infection spread in the area.
My family are burning from the high heat of the sun and there is nothing to protect them from that, there is no drinkable water and they have no food to eat
I created my link to get fund to evacuate my family from war zone and to have better life
Time is runing out and My campaign is going very badly 🥹
I’m really lost hope that this campaign will save my family , because invasion of Rafah is approaching 💔
Please do your best 🙏🙏
Please donate to reach our target as soon as possible
🔀 1100 SEK = 100 $
Every single dollar $ gonna have difference
I hope my family to evacuate #Gaza soon. 🙏
My account vetted by
@gazavetters no#82
I would like to inform you that my account is vetted from @sylvianritual by publish in this post that im close to @dodoomar12345who is vetted from @90-ghost here
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don’t smile | franco colapinto
pairing: engineer!reader x franco colapinto
summary: after franco signs with williams to finish the 2024 season, your relationship takes a punch
fc: different girls from pinterest
a/n: as you can tell, i just love a good star-cross lovers trope
—
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I want you to imagine yourself, fifty years from now, sitting with your grandchildren. Imagine them asking you “what did you do during the Gazan Genocide?” What will you say? Will you say “I did nothing?” Will you say “I did what I could?” By donating to this fundraiser, you will be able to say “I saved a man from cancer.” I’m sure many of you have seen the fundraiser for @mohiy-gaza2 . What you might not know is that Mohiy himself is very sick. He told me himself that he recently had an MRI to diagnose a tumor in his pancreas, and now needs surgery to remove his spleen. Dealing with these illnesses is difficult enough for those of us lucky enough to live in peaceful countries; in a warzone Mohiy’s task is nothing short of horrific. I know pancreatic cancer is a difficult disease, but with our help, I believe Mohiy can beat it.
I know there are other fundraisers on your dash. I’m sure your bank accounts are already low from the donations you’ve already made. All I can do is beg you, from the bottom of my heart: help Mohiy and his family. I’ve already donated; please find it in your heart to donate whatever you can. To quote Mohiy himself:
Thank you for reading this. I know Mohiy and his family are grateful for anything you can give.
Hi friends
thank to everyone who donates and RT
I'm sorry,but the situation here is getting worse,and displacement is approaching us again😔
I may not be able to connect to the Internet in the coming days💔
So please donate and RT as much as you can🫂🍉
MY LINK
best wishes:
Abed rashad
My account vetted by :
@el-shab-hussein
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#🫒🫒🫒
This is Ours [Logan Howlett]
![This Is Ours [Logan Howlett]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6479692bdb3da15d93373ea502d3fa21/25c099258821a96b-27/s500x750/aea3c69e3211143668ee02f992b80425da724fdb.gif)
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.
----
Oscar's latest interview with AMuS..quite insightful and mature and realistic
Heartplace. // Elijah Hewson X Reader (Fluff).
prompt: about how you handle a light argument, where Eli said things he's truly sorry for and wants to apologize.
words: 2.1K
It affected you in a way that left your mind distant throughout the day, but deep down, you understood. He was tired, and though he was in the wrong, his sleepless nights without you and his swollen eyes as he watched you leave each morning made it clear—he knew he had hurt you.
Knowing Eli, he would be brooding over it, silently reprimanding himself while figuring out how to reconnect with you and make things right.
"Come closer," you whispered, foam already covering his tiny beard. Under normal circumstances, he would have kissed you, making a mess. You appreciated how, despite complications, you never neglected each other. You loved him too much to go long without touching him, and he felt the same.
…
Despite the thoughtless and cruel words from the night before, he still came to pick you up from work, waiting outside with a cigarette as usual, and kept your favorite songs playing even after you got into the car without giving him your usual long, lingering hug. He stayed silent, his hand brushing over his eyes during the drive, and you’d have been foolish not to notice him struggling to keep them from misting over.
You didn’t fight often, but you had been together a long time, so this wasn’t the first. As you gazed out the window, you placed your hand on his, intertwining your fingers, listening to him sniff softly—so discreet and embarrassed that, if not for the years, you might have missed it. His rings against your skin were comforting, so familiar.
He squeezed your thigh affectionately; his fingers were cold, but yours quickly warmed them. As you gently stroked the short hair on his arm, he felt foolish—both for what he’d done and for still not knowing what to say or how to say it. You weren’t angry with him, not at all, but you didn’t like the way it felt.
…
He took a deep breath, settling between your legs, which quickly wrapped around his waist. His long fingers grazed the hem of your shirt (which, by the way it hung to your thighs, was clearly his), gradually stealing the warmth from your hips into his palms. You smiled softly as his eyes met yours; at times, he felt like he didn't deserve you. You could feel his breath close as you wet the blade and steadied his face with your hand. It felt good to have him near, even with the tension still lingering in the air between you.
“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” you asked, continuing to remove the excess before resuming the grooming process you loved so much. Eli was never very patient with his beard; whenever he had to do it himself, it usually ended with intense itching and irritated, red skin. You never failed to take good care of him, and he appreciated it deeply. It didn’t usually grow too thick, but it bothered him, and you were so good at handling it.
“Like what, darlin’?” His voice was velvety yet cautious. His eyes sparkled at you with a faint smile, freckles prominent, as if pleading for kisses. Realizing it had been a while since you’d heard him, your body tingled. You tightened around him, wanting him close as if he could heal the pounding in your head. You wanted to say everything was fine, but you also wanted to be honest about your hurt. Above all, you were waiting for him to take the first step. Things are always much easier said than done.
Your face was furrowed in concentration, or perhaps annoyance; at that moment, he couldn’t quite tell. It seemed as if you were about to carve a look of distress into his features, yet he couldn’t help but smile at how beautiful you looked.
"I don't know," you whispered. Despite looking tired, he still wore a sweet expression as he looked at you. The wrinkle between his relaxed eyebrows and the way his caramel eyes shone, even on not-so-great days, were things you loved about him.
He nodded, tracing circles on your skin, waiting for you to continue. When you finished, you dried his face with the still-warm towel and applied the soothing lotion. The bonus you loved most was that you’d fall asleep with his comforting scent lingering on you. You ran your hands over his bare shoulders, appreciating every freckle, and then, with quiet sincerity, he pulled you into a hug.
Your forehead rested against his chest, your hand entwined around his waist, and gradually, his breathing comforted you. You murmured softly, feeling warmth in your chest, the hairs on his chest tickling your cheek, which made him laugh as well. He nuzzled his red nose against your cheek, then down to your shoulder, and after lightly kissing it, he playfully nibbled, wanting to hear you smile. It was a pleasant and new sensation to feel him against your skin without the facial hair.
“Thank you for takin’ care of me, tiny one,” he said, still feeling weighed down. His face nestled into your neck, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. “I really like these little moments with you.” He felt like an idiot for stating the obvious, as if it would somehow make things better. His fear wasn’t about apologizing but rather about recognizing how much he had hurt you with his actions.
You nodded against his skin, feeling small in his embrace. "You know when we go to the market?" Your voice trembled, and he felt the dampness spreading quietly across his chest as you rubbed your hand against him. A lump formed in his throat as he held you tighter. "This is going to sound silly," you said, laughing without much humor.
He watched you through wet eyelashes, cradling your face as your foreheads rested together, allowing you to gaze into each other’s eyes. Your hair stuck to his, and he tried to pull it away in vain; perhaps it was meant to be tangled together. "I wanna hear you out," he said, his voice catching as he spoke.
You swallowed hard and closed your eyes. "I love how you smile at me when you 'find' me in the market, y’know? Your eyes, even your freckles seem to sparkle. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but it always happens, even though you know I’ll come back to you after I find something from the list. Sometimes, I think I do it on purpose—disappear among the shelves and then reappear with something in hand to show you. It never fails. You squint your eyes and then break into a smile, your cheeks rosy and your teeth showing, and it makes me want to hug you." You sniffled, feeling vulnerable.
He was just as emotional, yet he held you close, making you feel heard. "I’m afraid this will end," your voice trailed off, and then you shook your head vigorously. "I hate thinking that you might get tired of being with me. Even though I know you acted in the heat of the moment, I can't shake the feeling that it’s a possibility." Those were the truths that weighed heavily on you, and you felt apprehensive about sharing it.
There was silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. He cradled your face in his hands, the tip of his nose nuzzling against your skin as he pressed soft kisses onto your cheek. He offered you the same affectionate look he always had. "It won’t end, I promise. I’m sorry.” He held you tighter, hating himself for leaving you alone to deal with those feelings. Sometimes, he wished you would be angry at him and scream in his face, but fortunately, you both knew better than that. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I was tired and ended up unloading my feelings on you when you were just trying to help. I didn’t realize you felt this way.”
He chuckled at his own words, his cheeks and the tip of his nose flushed. He hadn’t realized it before, but reflecting on those memories, he loved having you close. In public—whether at the market or any other event—the voices in his head and the external noises became more persistent, almost paralyzing. But having you by his side made him feel lighter, grounding his thoughts. Loving you made him more patient, filling him with that warm feeling in his chest and the assurance that everything would be alright because the person he cherished most in the world was with him.
“I know you didn’t mean it.” The tips of your fingers brushed against his nose, trailing your thumb to his eyes as you smiled weakly at the sight of his tears. “I’m upset, but I’m not angry with you. I know I can be stubborn, and I’ve been forgiven for my questionable actions in the past.”
The difference was that he knew you would know what to say, expertly resolving everything without leaving room for insecurities to take root in his mind. He didn’t have much to say; he had failed you in less than two minutes, and he still replayed the sad look in your eyes and the way you had lowered your head the previous night as punishment.
You opened your arms, noticing how he had withdrawn into himself, lost in his own thoughts. “Take me to bed, Eli.” He forced a smile as he held you close, his hands firm on your waist while you intertwined your legs around him.
“I won’t do it again; I won’t make you feel this way again. I love you. I promise.” His voice was breathless but not desperate, polite and well-articulated. It was as if he felt the need to prove something to you, believing that words alone wouldn’t suffice. Despite knowing he would apologize many more times out of concern, you were fine. He had always been good at listening.
Your back sank into the mattress as your fingers wove through his hair, his face nestled against you. “I don’t like sleeping without you,” he whispered, lifting his head. His hand caressed your cheek and chin, captivated by how he closed his eyes at your touch and sighed. You kissed him lightly, and as you sank back into the bed, he stole another kiss from you. Soon, the tips of your fingers traced the path of his freckles, and he understood that he would miss you if fate decided that you didn’t want him anymore.
“Yeah?” Your eyebrows arched, eager to hear more as you snuggled closer to the pillow, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.
“Yeah,” he laughed, his face lighting up. “I love how you share your day with me and listen until we drift off to sleep.” He paused, fingers tracing your skin as he sighed contentedly, grateful for your closeness and the kisses you shared. “Mornings are great too, when you play with my hair until I wake up to see you smiling beside me, or when I catch you washing your face with the bathroom light on.” Holding your chin, he reflected on how often those moments happened, all equally cherished. He missed you when filming kept him away, and he found himself longing for your daily updates and photos. “I need you, I’m sorry,” he began, but you covered his mouth, smiling.
“If you apologize again, I won’t forgive you; you’ll be on your own. I know you won’t do it again.” Your tone was light, easing his tension. You pulled him closer, enjoying the warmth of his embrace as his hands found their way to your waist. He nuzzled his beard-less face against your forehead and planted a kiss there. “Elijah?” you sang softly.
He grumbled, pulling you even closer.
“Your mother called earlier, inviting us to lunch. I said we’d go.” Your breath against his chest was light, and he chuckled at the thought that you might hold a grudge. It was funny to think that you didn't hesitate at all to decline the request.
lay all your love on me - op81
📍santorini, greece
synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance
prose (6.0K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆
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index guide:
01: The Thermodynamics of My Hot Mess 02: Love, Sweat, and Secondhand Embarrassment 03. Making a Splash In the Pool of Love
summary:
On a summer getaway to Santorini, Greece, Y/N finds herself staying in a charming Airbnb with her family, soaking in the breathtaking views and vibrant atmosphere of the island. However, what was supposed to be a peaceful vacation takes an unexpected turn when she discovers that they’ll be sharing the house with none other than Formula One driver Oscar Piastri, who’s also vacationing with his family.
At first, the arrangement feels awkward, the two worlds of celebrity racing and her relatively normal life as a collegiate student colliding in the most unforeseen way. But as the days go by, the initial surprise gives way to something deeper. As they explore the sun-drenched beaches, dine in quaint tavernas, and experience the lively nightlife of Santorini, Y/N and Oscar find themselves drawn to each other in ways they hadn’t anticipated.
As the sun sets over the Aegean Sea, and the lively energy of the island comes alive at night, Y/N and Oscar find themselves spending more time together, entertwined in a steamy and fast-paced romance. The backdrop of Santorini's iconic white-washed buildings, azure waters, and the laid-back Greek lifestyle set the stage for a summer romance that's as unexpected as it is intense.
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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09
we used to have more pt. 3 | oscar piastri, pato o’ward
part 1 part 2
pairing: oscar piastri x reader, hints at pato o’ward x reader
summary: while working at indycar, you found yourself growing closer to a certain mclaren driver, but those plans get interrupted when you have to get back home and oscar drops a bomb on you
fc: different girls from pinterest
warnings: some more inaccurate work dynamics, this is mainly text messages <3 sorry <3 i got carried away
a/n: work and school have been keeping me very busy this past few days, but i hope you’ll enjoy this part! tysm for all the support, i really really appreciate it ❤️🩹
—
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yourusername ain’t no love in (texas) 🤠🐎🧡
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username i’m being delusional and taking this as a sign that she’ll go to the grand prix in austin and all the f1 races after that
username we’re different because i’m taking this as a sign that she’s dating pato and she’s staying at indy
username girl is that freaking norbi? 😭
username she really thought she was slick
username not to be THAT person but everything about this post screams patricio o’ward
username ahhh i love casa rio!
milesbaldwin they say you don’t go to san antonio if you don’t go to casa rio 😋
miguelsossa great mexican food! absolutely recommend
username omg they all went TOGETHER?
username not me thinking it was just y/n and pato …
username not but honestly when is y/n not with any of them
elbaoward beautiful! 💗
yourusername elbaaa💘
username nahhh this is all the confirmation i need
liked by gfusername, landonorris and others
oscarpiastri i ❤️ split
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username ignoring that second slide
username i love that he’s in croatia!! 🥰
username so boyfriend coded
username UGH oscar give me a chance i swear we’re not gonna fall into a toxic cycle of breaking up and getting back together
username you might not be his type in that case! sorry!
username you know what you might be right 😔
username my brain can’t stop comparing this to y/n’s post ….
username no they’re both in completely different parts of the world with the wrong people!!
username they HAVE GOT to get together at some point
username no really they’re just delaying the inevitable
gfusername ❤️ (liked by oscarpiastri)
yourusername’s instagram stories
[caption 1: 🎀] [caption 2: 🍝]
liked by patriciooward, oscarpiastri and others
yourusername it’s incredibly sad to say goodbye to this place that has become my absolute favorite in the entire world. i had some of the best days of my life in these race tracks and i met the most amazing people during my time here ❤️🩹 i loved everything about this experience and i can’t wait to come back (hopefully very soon)🏎
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lissiemackintosh i’m gonna cry 😭
yourusername my honest reaction
davidmalukas so sad y’all are leaving 😔
yourusername we’re gonna miss you!
declanmurray specially lissiemackintosh
davidmalukas good ☺️
lissiemackintosh you’re dead declanmurray
milesbaldwin what if we just stayed? :(
miguelsossa we stayed like four more months
yourusername rebecca would fire me actually
fernandoalo_official happy to have you back soon y/n 👍🏽
yourusername i’m happy to go back! 🤍
username SHE’S COMING BACK LET’S GOOOO
username im dyingggg she’s mourning her lasts days in america and everyone in the comments is celebrating 😭
username is not everyday the people princess returns where she belongs 😩
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taglist; @heavy-vettel @a-beaverhausen @astroniii @chunkpiboli @theonottsbxtch @eclecticcreatorweaselsalad @charli123456789 @stopeatread @coriyaps @nina-or-anna-or-nora @ninasw0rld @loveelylani @marauders-wife @dramallama9 @mxdi0 @piastrigate @ladyoflynx @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @southernbaguette @ellelabelle @emryb @fastfactory @comicalivy @seasonswinter @no-144444 @lunamelona @saachiep81 @nataliambc @patis643 @softtina @chemiru @obxstiles @eiaaasamantha @youre-on-your-ownkid @wcnorris @hwalllllllelujah @soleilgrec