#country love

[rowofurviolets]

[parisgateauxqwerty]

Countryside love story(poor village boy Sebastian x city girl reader)

The city was a distant, shimmering memory, a place of glass towers and honking cabs that felt like a dream. Your reality now was the oppressive, humid stillness of your grandmother’s village, a punishment for a semester of failed classes and a maxed-out credit card. Your parents had called it “character-building.” You called it a prison sentence.

Grandma’s cottage was quaint, smelling of dried lavender and old wood. The silence was the first thing that assaulted you—a deep, ringing quiet broken only by the buzz of insects and the distant lowing of a cow. You hated it. You spent the first week sulking on the creaky porch, scrolling through a single bar of service, your designer suitcase a glaringly out-of-place monolith in the humble home.

That’s where you first saw him.

You were trying to get a photo of a hideous, gnarly tree to send to your friend with the caption “My new view, send help,” when a movement in the adjacent field caught your eye. A boy, maybe your age, was chopping wood. His shirt was off, stuck in the waistband of his worn trousers, and his skin gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat under the afternoon sun. His dark hair was damp and stuck to his forehead, and the muscles in his back and arms corded with each precise, powerful swing of the axe.

He was poor, that much was obvious. The cottage he came from, a little ways down the dirt path, was even smaller and more weathered than your grandmother’s. But there was a raw, untamed beauty to him that made you pause your complaining for a moment. He stopped, sensing your stare, and turned. His eyes were the color of dark earth, intense and unwavering. He didn’t smile, just held your gaze for a long, unsettling moment before wiping his brow with his forearm and getting back to work.

A few days later, your grandmother sent you to the well at the edge of the property. You fumbled with the bucket, complaining under your breath about the primitive setup. Of course, you lost your grip. The rope burned through your palms and the bucket clattered noisily down into the darkness.

“Perfect,” you muttered, kicking the stone rim in frustration.

“It’s stuck on a ledge. I can get it.”

You jumped. He was there, leaning against the old oak tree, as if he’d simply materialized from the shadows. His name was Sebastian, you’d learned from your grandmother. He lived with his ailing mother and did odd jobs for anyone who would pay.

“I don’t need help,” you snapped, the city girl’s pride flaring up.

He just looked at you, that same intense, silent stare, before walking past you. He descended into the well with an easy, practiced grace you could never hope to possess, retrieving the bucket effortlessly. When he handed it to you, his fingers brushed against yours. A jolt, warm and entirely unexpected, shot up your arm.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You’re not from here.”

It wasn’t a question. “Is it that obvious?”

“Everything about you is obvious,” he said, his dark eyes tracing the line of your neck, the expensive gloss on your lips. “You shine too brightly for this place.”

It was the first time anyone here had said anything that didn’t sound like a reprimand or folksy wisdom. A strange, fluttering feeling started in your chest.

That was the beginning. Sebastian started appearing. He’d bring wildflowers and leave them tied with twine on your windowsill. He’d show up to help Grandma with her heavy lifting, his eyes always finding you. He began walking you through the woods, showing you hidden streams and the names of birds. He was quiet, but his attention was overwhelming. It was like being under a microscope, but a warm one. He listened to your complaints about the boredom, the lack of wifi, your friends back home who never texted, and he never judged. He just… absorbed you.

You started to change. The constant ache of wanting to be somewhere else began to fade, replaced by a curiosity about the world he showed you. You found yourself looking for him, a thrill going through you when you saw his familiar figure on the path. His intense focus, which once felt unsettling, now felt like a balm. No one had ever looked at you the way Sebastian did. As if you were the only thing in his world worth seeing.

One afternoon, you were laughing with him by the stream, telling a silly story about a party you’d crashed in the city. A local boy from the village, Piotr, came by on his tractor. He was friendly and handsome in a conventional way, and he stopped to chat, flirting with you clumsily.

You were polite, laughing at his jokes. You didn’t even notice Sebastian go still. When Piotr finally drove off, you turned back to Sebastian, still smiling.

The smile died on your lips.

His expression was completely blank, but his eyes… His eyes were black pools of pure, unadulterated possession. The air around him seemed to crackle with a cold, dangerous energy.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and raspy, devoid of its usual softness.

“Don’t what? He was just being friendly.”

In two strides, he was in front of you. He didn’t touch you, but he loomed, his presence suddenly suffocating. “He was looking at you. He doesn’t deserve to look at you. You don’t smile for him. You don’t talk to him.” His hand came up, not to strike, but to gently, almost reverently, trace the line of your jaw. His touch was feverishly warm. “Your smiles are mine. Your laughter is mine. They have been since the day you came here, shining like a fallen star. I caught you. You’re mine.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. This wasn’t the sweet, devoted boy who brought you flowers. This was something else entirely. Something feral. Something that had been hiding in plain sight.

“Sebastian… that’s crazy,” you breathed, taking a step back.

The moment you moved away, a fracture of pain shattered the cold possession on his face. He looked devastated, like a lost child. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Don’t pull away from me. You’re all I have. You’re everything. Before you, it was all grey. You brought the color. I’ll… I’ll do anything. I’ll be anything for you. Just please, don’t let anyone else see you. Don’t leave me.”

He dropped to his knees in the damp grass, pressing his forehead against your hand. His shoulders shook. “I’d rather burn this whole village to the ground than watch you leave. I’d rather die than see you smile at someone else.”

The fear was still there, icy and sharp. But beneath it, a terrifying, understanding warmth began to spread. Your parents had sent you here to be punished, to be forgotten. They’d pushed you away. But Sebastian… Sebastian saw you. The brat, the spoiled city girl, the disappointment. He saw all of it and didn’t just accept it—he worshipped it. He wanted to hoard every part of you, to keep your light all for himself.

You looked down at him, this beautiful, broken boy from a poor village, kneeling in the dirt, offering you a devotion so absolute it bordered on madness. It was the most terrifying and the most wanted you had ever felt in your life.

Countryside love story masterlist

My masterlist

[floridagrowngirl]

Johanna Rose Photos

[sweetlikebeaches]

[rebel-heart-gypsysoul]

[kentuckymud]

[velvetbriar]