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yvesette · 8 months ago

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BUZZCUT. | ── [ j.jh ]

── ⭒ staring .ᐟ ౨ৎ jaehyun x afab!reader

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀　　₊　˙　✃ ⋆　 † ⠀๋⠀₊ -

SUMMARY: ── in a bittersweet farewell, the night before your close childhood friend jaehyun leaves for military service you both take a walk along the han river as well as navigate your complicated feelings for each other.

GENRE: friends to lovers, SMUT (18+, mdni), angst, fluff, idol!jaehyun CW/TAGS: dom!jaehyun, sub!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv sex, spanking, hair pulling, reader is refered to as a girl, praising, bigdick!jaehyun WORDS | 6.8k A/N | this is in honor of jaehyun's enlistment - enjoy !!

‪　゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒 ◌ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

── the night is cool against your skin, a gentle breeze wrapping around you as you walk down the narrow streets, winding your way toward the river. your steps are deliberate, even though your heart thunders against your chest. you’re thinking too much, and you know it, letting each thought flicker and fold over the last like waves, endless and unknowable, churning somewhere deep inside you.

it’s been a long time, you think. a long time since you first saw him, all easy smiles and casual charm. a long time since you first felt that jolt of something you didn’t yet have a name for but that, in hindsight, you recognize as love. you’ve never told him, not once—not in all these years of close calls and almosts, of lingering touches and moments that you always held on to longer than you should have.

you inhale deeply, trying to slow the pace of your thoughts, but each step closer only winds you tighter. the han river glimmers faintly in the distance, a line of silver beneath the night sky. and there, by the water’s edge, is jaehyun. he’s leaning against the railing, looking out at the river, his face partially shadowed but somehow softer, framed by the quiet of the night. the sight of him, so familiar yet distant, almost pulls you to a stop.

there’s something about him tonight—a weight you hadn’t noticed before. it’s as if he, too, is looking to hold on to everything here, everything he’s about to leave behind. and yet, he doesn’t turn to look at you until you’re almost right next to him, his gaze steady as he catches your eye.

“you made it,” he says, that soft, reassuring warmth in his voice. his smile, though, is smaller than usual, like there’s something unsaid between you both, lingering just below the surface.

“i made it,” you answer, and you try to keep your tone light, but it comes out quiet, touched by an edge you didn’t mean to reveal. you’ve imagined this moment—this last chance to see him—over and over in your head, each version of it different. and yet, standing here now, everything you thought you might say seems to slip through your fingers.

he watches you carefully, that subtle intensity in his gaze, as if he’s trying to memorize the way you look, standing there in the glow of the distant city lights.

he clears his throat, breaking the silence as you both start walking along the path that follows the river's edge. “how’ve you been?” he asks, giving you a sidelong glance. it’s a simple question, and yet the softness of his tone makes it feel like he’s asking for something more, like he’s trying to make up for all the times he’s missed out on in the last few months.

you smile, shrugging lightly. “same old, same old. work, school—nothing too exciting. but you, mr. idol, you’ve been busy.” jaehyun chuckles, the sound low and warm, as he brushes his hair back with one hand. “yeah, i guess that’s one way to put it.” he looks down at his shoes for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “we were doing concerts. that’s why i’ve been, you know… hard to reach.”

you nod, already knowing. his life has been moving at a different pace—one that has taken him across oceans, into arenas filled with fans chanting his name. it’s a reality you’ve grown used to, but still, there’s a tiny ache whenever you remember how separate his world can sometimes feel from yours. but tonight, it’s as if none of that matters. tonight, he’s here, and there’s only the two of you.

“still can’t believe that’s real,” you say, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “remember when you wouldn’t even sing in front of me?”

jaehyun laughs, shaking his head. “i was terrible back then. don’t lie to me.”

“no, i’m serious!” you grin, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “all those late nights, trying to get you to sing while we were ‘studying’ for exams. it was tragic—”

“oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad,” he interrupts, nudging you back with a smile that’s both embarrassed and pleased. “you’re making me sound hopeless.”

“hopeless? maybe a little,” you tease, watching his face light up in a way that feels achingly familiar, like something you want to freeze in time. “but i guess you’ve come a long way, huh?”

he nods, a soft hum in his voice. “feels like forever ago, though. remember the first time we stayed out all night? trying to find that coffee shop you swore was ‘just around the corner’?”

you laugh, covering your mouth at the memory. “and we got so lost! i was ready to give up, but you…” you trail off, looking at him with that same warmth, thinking of the way he had insisted on keeping on, even when you both had practically wandered into the outskirts of the city.

“i wasn’t about to let you down,” he finishes, a hint of pride in his voice.

the two of you continue walking, memories spilling out as naturally as the river flowing beside you. nights spent at convenience stores with cheap ramyeon and cola; that one time he convinced you to go to karaoke and made up for years of not singing; all the secrets you whispered between laughter and yawns, half-asleep in the early morning light.

and yet, despite the familiarity, tonight is different. the laughter dies down quicker, and each memory feels like a bittersweet treasure, something you’re both afraid to hold too tightly for fear it will slip away. you’re acutely aware of every step, every glance, every brush of his shoulder against yours. it’s all slipping through your fingers, each second a reminder that you’re both on the brink of a sort-of goodbye.

the quiet stretches out between you as you walk, and though his hand rests loosely in his pocket, jaehyun’s other hand rises to press his fingertips to his mouth, lost in thought. his gaze wanders out over the river, his usual warmth dimming, replaced by something heavier. it lingers in the air around him, that tension, that uncertainty—like the night itself is waiting to exhale.

“honestly… i don’t know what to expect.” his voice is lower now, almost a whisper that the wind could easily snatch away. “everyone says you just get through it. that it’s over before you know it. but…” he trails off, his words floating into the dark like something fragile and fleeting. “it’s strange, thinking that life just… pauses. for two years.”

you walk a few more paces, silent, each step a reminder of time slipping by too fast. you look at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to hold onto the image: the faint furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw, that expression he wears when he’s trying to seem brave but doesn’t quite manage it. and your own heart twists at the sight of him—of jaehyun, here with you, with all the things you’ve never said pressing against your chest. but you push it down, that ache, until it’s tucked somewhere deep inside you. instead, you reach out, letting your hand rest on his arm, feeling the warmth of him under your fingertips.

“you’ll be okay yuno,” you say quietly, feeling the words reverberate through you, anchoring you to this moment. “you’ve always found a way to be.”

he looks at you then, really looks at you, like he’s seeing something for the first time. there’s a hint of disbelief in his eyes, almost as if he wants to question what you’ve just said, even using his real name - to pick it apart. but he doesn’t. he just nods, a faint, grateful smile tracing his lips.

“sometimes i think you believe in me more than i do,” he murmurs. “like you’ve always known something i haven’t.”

you want to say something to that, to answer, to reach through all these walls of silence that have built up between you over the years, but you don’t. instead, you only look back at him, holding your smile steady, letting the quiet carry all the things you can’t say.

after a moment, you find a bench tucked away at the edge of the path, overlooking the river’s glimmering surface. the world around you fades into the background, and for a brief moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended in this fragile stillness. as you sit, jaehyun turns toward you, his fingers brushing against yours before he takes your hand fully, squeezing it gently.

“i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he admits, his voice steady but low, a hint of vulnerability hidden beneath the surface.

your heart races at the contact, warmth spreading through you like a soft glow. you’re on the verge of confessing everything—the weight of your feelings that you’ve kept hidden, the love that has thrived in the silence between you. but you hold back, unwilling to add any more emotional weight to a goodbye that’s already too heavy. instead, you meet his gaze, trying to capture this moment, every detail of him etched in your mind—his soft features, the way his eyes reflect the shimmering river, the gentle press of his hand against yours.

jaehyun clears his throat, breaking the quiet between you. “it’s getting cold,” he says, his voice soft, almost reluctant. “i’ll walk you home.”

you nod, and without another word, you both stand, falling into step beside each other. the silence between you now is thick, layered with the things neither of you have said, and each step you take feels heavier, like the night itself is pressing down, reminding you that this is the last time—for a good while—that you’ll have him beside you like this.

the streets are emptier now, just the distant glow of streetlights casting long shadows as you walk side by side. you can feel the tension building, each step drawing you closer to the inevitable. your hand brushes his once, and though neither of you speaks, there’s a quiet comfort in that brief, familiar contact. when you finally reach your apartment, you stop, and jaehyun does too. he stands there, looking at you with an expression you can’t quite read—something mingling with the sadness in his eyes, a softness, a question, maybe. and he hesitates, his hand hovering just beside yours as if he wants to reach for you, as if he’s searching for something in your face that he’s not sure he’ll find.

jaehyun’s gaze flickers, lingering on you as if he’s committing every detail to memory. he rubs the back of his neck, breaking eye contact for a second before looking back at you.

“so…” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of all the unspoken words between you. “guess this is it, huh?” you force a smile, nodding even though it feels like your chest is tightening. “yeah. tomorrow.”

he bites his lip, his eyes searching yours, like he’s waiting for you to say something, anything to make this moment last longer. “it’s just… i don’t know. doesn’t feel real yet.”

you swallow, the words caught in your throat. “it doesn’t,” you reply softly, your voice barely steady. “we’ll still call and text all the time…and if you want we can hang out every other weekend or something.”

jaehyun’s expression softens, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, sad smile. “you’ve been there for everything,” he says, his voice quiet, almost as if he’s admitting a secret. “since we were kids. it’s hard to think of… going through something without you around.”

your heart races at his words, and you force yourself to hold his gaze, even though every instinct tells you to look away, to hide what you’re feeling. “i’ll still be here,” you say, and the promise feels fragile, yet unbreakable, hanging in the space between you.

he lets out a small breath, his hand lifting as if on instinct, brushing your cheek, his fingers barely grazing your skin. “i know you will.” his voice catches, and for a moment, you see something raw in his eyes—a tenderness that feels almost too much to bear.

you stand there, suspended in the silence that follows, the weight of everything unsaid filling the space between you. and before you can second-guess yourself, before you can think of all the reasons not to, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his. his hand slips around to the back of your neck, gentle but firm, as if grounding you both in this moment, and he kisses you back, slow and unhurried, like he, too, is trying to capture everything he feels in this one breath, this one touch. the kiss starts softly, a gentle brush of lips that feels almost tentative, as if you’re both testing the waters of this new territory. but as the world around you fades, that initial hesitation melts away. the warmth of his hand cradling your neck sends a shiver down your spine, igniting something deep within you that has long been simmering beneath the surface.

jaehyun's lips are sweet, tinged with the warmth of honey and a hint of smoky undertones from the cigarette he smoked earlier. his lips move against yours with increasing urgency, a mix of longing and a bittersweet awareness that time is slipping away. you lean into him, feeling the solid weight of him against you, and it’s as if every memory, every unspoken word, pours into that moment—every shared glance, every moment of laughter—colliding in time.

jaehyun deepens the kiss, tilting his head slightly, and you feel his breath against your skin, warm and inviting, igniting a fire that spreads through you. it’s a heady mix of sweetness and heat, and you find yourself responding instinctively, matching his intensity, losing yourself in the sensation of him.

your heart races as you feel his fingers slide into your hair, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as if he fears letting go. the world around you blurs, the distant sounds of the city fading into a dull hum, leaving only the two of you, caught in this fragile moment that feels both infinite and fleeting.

breathless, you pull away just enough to rest your forehead against his, the warmth of his skin lingering. your eyes meet, and in that charged silence, a shared understanding pulses between you—fragile yet undeniable. with a shaky breath, you fumble for your keys, the metal cool against your palm as you unlock the door, hands trembling. jaehyun steps in behind you, his presence a comforting weight, solid and unwavering in the dim light.

the moment the door closes, he's there, pulling you close again. his lips find yours in the dim light of your apartment, urgent and needy. you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he walks you backwards toward the couch. the familiar scent of his cologne envelops you, a heady mix of leather and lillies that makes your head spin. your legs hit the edge of the couch, and jaehyun gently lowers you onto the soft cushions. he follows, his body a comforting weight above you as he settles on top of you.

“god, i’ll miss this,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your jaw. then, without another word, he kisses down your neck, his lips trailing warmth that ignites every nerve in your body. you gasp softly, feeling the heat radiate from him, his touch igniting a fire deep within you.

“jaehyun…” you breathe, your voice a mixture of longing and urgency. “i wanna remember this.”

his kisses trail back to your lips, deepening as he pours everything he feels into the moment, as if to make sure you both carry it with you, etched into your hearts. “are you sure?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, “that you want this.”

you nod, your eyes locked with his. "i promise," you whisper back, “i’ve thought about this for so long.”

jaehyun’s eyes soften, a blend of tenderness and desire flickering within their depths. he shifts slightly, fingers finding the hem of his shirt, and you hold your breath as he pulls it over his head, revealing the smooth contours of his chest and abs. the dim light from the street outside casts shadows that accentuate every curve, transforming him into a living, breathing sculpture.

without thinking, your hands reach out, tracing the lines of his torso as if drawn by an invisible thread. his skin is warm beneath your fingertips, a tangible warmth that makes your heart race. you marvel at the firmness of his abdomen, the subtle ridges etched from countless hours of dance practice and grueling workouts.

a soft hitch escapes jaehyun’s breath at your touch, his gaze darkening with desire as he watches you explore. hesitantly, you reach for the hem of your sweater. jaehyun's eyes follow your movements as you slowly pull it up and over your head, revealing the delicate lace of your bra underneath. the cool air of the apartment raises goosebumps on your skin.

jaehyun's gaze is reverent as he takes in the sight of you. his fingertips ghost along your collarbone, tracing a feather-light path down to the swell of your breasts. you shiver at his touch.

“is this okay?” he asks softly, his hands hovering at the clasp of your bra, the question hanging in the air like a fragile promise. you nod, unable to find your voice, the weight of his gaze anchoring you as he leans closer, a whisper of breath brushing against your skin.

with gentle fingers, jaehyun unhooks your bra, his touch reverent as he slides the straps down your shoulders. the fabric falls away, revealing your breasts to his gaze. his eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight of you, vulnerable yet unafraid beneath him.

"so fucking pretty," he murmurs, voice husky with emotion. he lowers his head, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. his lips trail downward, leaving a path of warmth across your collarbone. when he reaches your breast, he pauses, his breath hot against your skin. then his mouth closes around your nipple, drawing a gasp from your lips.

his tongue swirls patterns as he sucks gently, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. one hand cups your other breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. you arch into him, a gasp escaping your lips. one of his hands kneads your other breast as he lavishes attention on the first. the dual sensations make your head spin. jaehyun releases your tit with a soft pop, his eyes meeting yours as he begins to trail kisses down your body. his lips brush against your sternum, then trace a path down the center of your abdomen. each touch is feather-light yet charged, sending shivers cascading through you.

he takes his time, mapping the landscape of your skin with worshipful attention. his tongue dips into the hollow of your navel, eliciting a soft gasp. you feel the curve of his smile against your skin as he continues lower, his teeth lightly scraping your sensitive flesh.

jaehyun's fingers trace along the waistband of your skirt, his touch light as a whisper. he looks up at you, eyes dark with desire but still seeking permission. "can i take this off?" he asks softly, his voice low and loving.

you nod, breath catching in your throat as he slowly unzips your skirt. he slides it down your legs, his hands caressing your thighs as he goes. the cool air raises goosebumps on your newly exposed skin.

jaehyun's gaze travels over you reverently, taking in every curve and dip of your body. his fingers ghost along the lace edge of your panties, barely touching. "you're so beautiful," he murmurs, “let me take care of you baby.”

he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, just above your knee. then another, slightly higher. his lips trail a path of fire up your limbs and when he reaches the edge of your panties, he pauses, looking up at you with dark, desire-filled eyes. "god, you're so wet," he murmurs, his voice low and cursing. "fucking soaked, all for me.."

his fingers trace along the damp lace, barely ghosting over your most sensitive areas. even that faint touch sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you. you squirm slightly, desperate for more contact and whimper.

"such pretty noises," he purrs. "i wonder how you'll sound when i really touch you."

"please," you whimper, not even caring how needy you sound.

a slow smile spreads across jaehyun's face. "please what?" he asks, his tone commanding. "tell me what you want, baby."

"touch me," you gasp. "please, i need you to touch me."

your breath catches as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties. with agonizing slowness, he slides them down your legs, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. the fabric clings to your damp skin as he peels it away, exposing you fully to his hungry gaze.

jaehyun's eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail. his hands caress your thigh, “perfect fucking pussy, better than i ever imagined..” he praises, before his tongue finally makes contact with your folds, you gasp at the sensation. he starts with long, slow licks, savoring your taste as he explores every inch. his hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he works.

jaehyun's tongue swirls around your clit before sucking gently, sending waves of pleasure through you. he alternates between broad strokes and focused attention, building your arousal steadily higher. you thread your fingers through his hair, guiding him where you need him most.

jaehyun holds your trembling thighs firmly apart, his strong hands steady and warm against your skin. his touch is gentle yet insistent, opening you up to his hungry gaze. jaehyun's tongue delves deeper, parting your folds and exploring every sensitive ridge and valley. he hums softly against you, the vibrations sending shivers through your core. his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, anchoring you as pleasure builds within you.

you feel the heat of his breath against your most intimate places as he works, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on your clit. each pass sends sparks of sensation coursing through you. your hips begin to rock involuntarily, seeking more friction.

"such a good girl," jaehyun murmurs against you, his voice low and husky. "i love how you taste."

he slides one finger inside you, curling it upwards as his tongue continues to lavish attention on your clit. the dual sensations make you gasp, your back arching off the couch and you curse.

jaehyun slides one hand up your body to cup your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. the added stimulation heightens every sensation, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as your hips begin to move of their own accord.

you arch your back, grinding against his mouth as the tension mounts. soft whimpers and gasps fall from your lips, growing more desperate as you climb higher. jaehyun redoubles his efforts, sucking your clit between his lips as he slides another finger inside you. the dual stimulation has you seeing stars. his fingers curl, finding that perfect spot inside you as his tongue lashes your clit. you cry out, your hips bucking against his face as the first waves of orgasm crash over you. jaehyun doesn’t stop, only slows his efforts as you come down from your high. after you catch your breath, he moves his head from your thighs and moves up over you to kiss you.

jaehyun's lips meet yours in a deep, sensual kiss that is almost like a thank-you from you. you taste yourself on his tongue - tangy and sweet with a hint of musk. as he presses his body closer, you feel the hard length of his cock through his sweatpants, hot and insistent against your thigh. the thin fabric does little to conceal his arousal. the heat of him sears into your skin, igniting a fresh wave of desire low in your belly. your hands roam over the planes of his back, tracing the lean muscles there. his skin is fever-warm, and you pull back from kissing him to look down at the print of him through his pants. you make eye contact, and there’s a question hanging in the air along with the heavy breathing of you both.

you break the beat of silence, “i want to,” you say, giving him the permission that he needed.

jaehyun pulls away slightly, his eyes still locked on yours, the heat of the moment lingering in the air. with a quick, decisive movement, he gets up from the couch, the dim light casting soft shadows over his form.

“condom?” he asks.

“it’s in my bedside table,” you reply, watching him as he nods and strides toward the bedroom.

as he disappears from view, the atmosphere shifts. you stare up at the ceiling, feeling the room spin slightly, an unexpected loneliness settling in without his presence. the faint sounds of the city outside filter in, but they feel distant and hollow compared to the warmth he brought just moments before.

a part of you aches for him, for that connection you’ve both been dancing around for so long. time stretches as you wait, heart pounding in your chest, your thoughts swirling with anticipation and uncertainty.

finally, he returns, the confident smile back on his lips, and in his hand is the small foil wrapper. the moment he steps into the light, the heaviness in the air dissipates, replaced by a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. you sit up as he slips down his sweatpants and boxers.

as jaehyun's sweatpants fall away, your breath catches in your throat. his cock springs free, thick and hard, jutting proudly from a nest of dark curls. your eyes widen, taking in the impressive sight before you. he's long - longer than you expected - and girthy, the shaft curved slightly upward. the head is flushed a deep pink, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. the sight of him, fully aroused and wanting you, sends a fresh wave of heat through your core.

you swallow hard, a mix of desire and nervousness fluttering in your stomach as he gives it a few pumps, wrapping his veiny hands around his length and then slipping the condom on.

you lay back against the arm of the couch, heart pounding as jaehyun moves over you. his eyes are dark with desire as he positions himself between your spread legs. you feel exposed yet safe under his gaze.

jaehyun braces one hand beside your head, using the other to guide his cock to your entrance. the latex-covered tip brushes against your sensitive folds, making you gasp. he runs it up and down your slit, coating himself in your wetness. when he reaches your clit, he circles it slowly, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through you.

jaehyun's eyes lock with yours, his gaze intense and full of longing. the air between you is charged, buzzed with anticipation. he runs the tip of his cock along your folds once more, coating himself in your slick heat.

"god, you're so wet for me," he murmurs, his voice rough. "such a good fucking girl, all ready to take my cock.”

his praise sends a shiver down your spine, arousal pooling low in your belly. your breath catches in your throat as he begins to push forward, stretching you slowly inch by delicious inch. you gasp at the fullness, your body adjusting to accommodate his impressive girth. he moves with careful control, giving you time to adjust. when he's fully sheathed inside you, he pauses, letting you adjust to his size. his breath is ragged against your neck, his body trembling slightly with the effort of holding still. his breath ghosts over your skin as he leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "that's it, baby," he praises, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "take me in. you're doing so well."

you whimper softly, rocking your hips to encourage him to move. jaehyun takes the hint, slowly withdrawing before thrusting back in. he sets a steady rhythm, each stroke long and deep.

"fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his voice low and husky in your ear. "such a perfect little pussy, taking my cock just right."

jaehyun's thrusts become faster and more urgent, his hips snapping against yours with each movement. your bodies move together in a perfect rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

"yuno," you moan, your hands gripping onto his shoulders as he pounds into you, “feels so good, oh my god.” he leans down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as he continues to move inside you.

jaehyun's thrusts grow more powerful, driving deep into your core with each movement. the couch creaks softly beneath you as he picks up the pace. you feel every inch of him sliding in and out, the delicious friction sending waves of pleasure through your body.

his hands grip your hips tightly, angling you to hit that perfect spot inside. you cry out as he brushes against it, sparks of sensation radiating outward. jaehyun groans in response, the sound low and primal.

you can feel the tension building in your lower belly, a coiling heat that threatens to consume you. jaehyun must sense it too, because he redoubles his efforts. his hips snap against yours forcefully, driving into you with renewed vigor.

just as you're teetering on the edge, jaehyun slows his movements, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in torturously slowly. you whimper at the change of pace, your body aching for more. he repeats the motion several times, drawing out each thrust until you're writhing beneath him.

"please," you gasp, "i need more."

jaehyun kisses you deeply before pulling out completely. "turn around for me, baby," he murmurs, his voice insistent. you listen, adjusting your position until you’re on your hands and knees and he’s behind you.

jaehyun's hands grip your hips firmly as he positions himself behind you. you feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing you. he runs it along your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

the anticipation builds as he lines himself up, the tip just barely breaching you. before you can respond, jaehyun snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. you cry out at the sudden fullness, your fingers gripping the couch cushions tightly. he gives you only a moment to adjust before pulling back and slamming in again.

jaehyun sets a punishing pace, his hips pistoning against you. the new angle allows him to hit spots deep inside that make you see stars. jaehyun's hands grip your hips tightly as he pounds into you from behind, his movements growing more frenzied. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your breathless moans and his low grunts.

"god, you feel so fucking good," he groans, his voice rough with desire. "my perfect baby, s-so fucking tight."

his praise sends shivers down your spine, arousal pooling low in your belly. you arch your back, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. the new angle allows him to hit even deeper, brushing against that spot inside you that makes you see stars. suddenly, jaehyun's hand comes down on your ass with a sharp crack. the sting blooms across your skin, quickly followed by a wave of heat. you arch your back, changing the angle slightly, and cry out as he hits that perfect spot deep inside you. jaehyun notices your reaction and adjusts his movements to hit that same spot with each thrust.

jaehyun's hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair. he grips it firmly, tugging your head back as he continues to thrust into you. the slight pain mingles with pleasure, heightening every sensation. you gasp at the new angle, feeling him even deeper inside you.

"that's it, baby," he growls, his voice low and husky. "take it all for me." his hips snap against yours with renewed vigor, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. the couch creaks beneath you, the sound barely audible over your breathless moans and the slap of skin on skin.

jaehyun's grip on your hair tightens, pulling your head back further. “gonna c-come,” you manage to get out. the arch in your spine deepens, changing the angle just enough to hit that perfect spot inside you with every stroke.

“be a good fucking girl and come for me baby,” he says, leaning against your ear. stars explode behind your eyes as waves of pleasure crash over and you scream his name. jaehyun's grunts become more urgent as he continues to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm. he can feel you clenching tightly around him, milking him for all he's worth. with a loud groan, he follows you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he empties himself inside you.

jaehyun carefully pulls out, both of you wincing slightly at the loss of contact. he sits up, running a hand through his tousled hair as he catches his breath. the dim light from the street outside casts a soft glow on his skin, highlighting the sheen of sweat on his chest.

with a quiet grunt, he stands and makes his way to the small trash can beside the couch. you watch the play of muscles in his back and legs as he moves, admiring the lean strength of his body. he removes the condom and ties it off before tossing it in the bin.

jaehyun turns back to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. his hair is a mess, sticking up in wild tufts where you ran your fingers through it. he ruffles it absently, making it even more chaotic. you run a hand through his hair and scowl playfully when you feel how sweaty he is.

"gross," you tease, wiping your hand on his shirt. "you're all sticky."

jaehyun's smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "you weren't complaining a few minutes ago," he quips, his voice low, “and say goodbye to my hair - i’m shaving it tomorrow.”

you feel a blush creep up your neck, remembering the heated moments that led to his current disheveled state, and then a sadness rushes over you - that he’s leaving tomorrow. jaehyun notices your reaction and chuckles softly, pulling you closer. his arms wrap around your waist, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he grabs a blanket from the other side of the couch and places it over you both.

"what's on your mind, beautiful?" he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. you hesitate, not wanting to ruin the moment with your woeful thoughts.

"it's nothing," you reply, forcing a smile. but jaehyun knows you too well. his fingers gently tilt your chin up, brown eyes searching yours.

"tell me," he insists softly.

you sigh, your defenses crumbling under his gaze. "i just… i can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow. it feels too soon."

his expression shifts, the teasing glimmer fading as he brushes a thumb across your cheek. "yeah, i get it. it’s not easy."

"but what if things change?" you murmur, your heart tightening at the thought.

jaehyun raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "change? as in me forgetting you? not a chance. you think i could forget the girl who drove me crazy for all these years?"

you roll your eyes, but there’s a flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "well, you’re going to be busy with training and everything else."

he leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. "busy? sure. but you think i’ll be able to focus when all i can think about is you? not a chance."

your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but tease back. "is that your way of saying you’ll miss me?"

jaehyun chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "it’s my way of saying you better miss me too. because i’m about to confess something."

you lean in, curiosity piqued. "what’s that?"

jaehyun's expression shifts, becoming more serious as he searches your eyes. "i’m in love with you. like, really in love with you. i think about you all the time—when i'm practicing, when i'm on stage, even when i'm just hanging out with the guys. it’s like you're always there in the back of my mind."

your breath catches, the weight of his words settling around you. "but… why didn’t you say anything before?"

he runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you’ve come to know well. "i didn’t want to ruin what we have. i thought maybe it was better to keep it as friends. but now? i want to try things with you. i want to see where this goes."

the confession hangs in the air between you, charged with possibility. you can feel your pulse quickening, excitement mingling with uncertainty. "and what if it doesn’t work out? the timing of this is just-"

jaehyun shakes his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "i don’t care about timing. what matters is how i feel, and i can’t let that go without saying something. i want you in my life, no matter how far apart we are."

you raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. "you make it sound so easy. you do realize i’m not just some object you can claim when you feel like it, right?"

he chuckles, leaning closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "oh, i’m fully aware. that’s why i’m trying to make my move before someone else scoops you up."

you laugh lightly, shaking your head. "good luck with that. i’m pretty sure no one else would bother trying."

"yeah? you think i’m the only one?" he teases, raising an eyebrow. "you must have a whole line of admirers waiting."

"right, because i’m just so irresistible," you reply, a smirk on your lips. "but let’s be real. you’re the only one who’s actually putting in the work."

jaehyun’s smile fades just a little as he leans back, studying you. "look, i know this isn’t easy. but i don’t want to just be some random fling. i want to be in your life, no matter where we are."

you take a breath, weighing his words. "and if things get complicated? you know they will."

he shrugs, unfazed. "shit’s always complicated. but i’d rather deal with that than let this slip away. you’re worth the trouble."

you meet his gaze, feeling the sincerity behind his words. "okay, i get it. but don’t think i’m going to make this easy for you."

he smirks, the challenge evident in his eyes. "i wouldn’t want it any other way."

the morning light filters in through the window, casting a soft glow on the cluttered room, and you find yourself perched on a stool, an electric razor in your hand, staring at jaehyun’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. he sits in a chair, a towel draped around his shoulders, looking slightly apprehensive but oddly amused by the situation.

“are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice that doesn’t quite mask the tension beneath. you grip the razor tighter, suddenly aware of how little you know about haircuts.

“i kinda have to,” jaehyun replies, a hint of seriousness creeping into his tone, “no long hair.”

you nod and take a deep breath, bringing the razor closer. with a gentle buzz, the razor hums to life, and you press it against his scalp. the sound is oddly satisfying, a gentle roar that fills the small space, and you watch as a tuft of hair falls away, landing softly on the towel draped around his shoulders.

“oh my god!” you squeal, barely able to contain your dumbfoundedness. you can’t help but laugh at the sight of jaehyun’s shocked expression, a blend of surprise and amusement. you can’t stop the laughter bubbling up as you buzz away the rest of his hair, the once dark locks falling in tufts around him. each pass of the razor reveals more of his scalp, and soon he’s left with a clean, smooth surface that glints in the morning light.

jaehyun tilts his head, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “so, how do i look? sexy?”

the question hangs in the air, and without thinking, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips sending a rush of warmth through you. his surprise melts into a smile, and you pull away slightly, a grin still playing on your lips as you meet his gaze.

　　　˳ 　　౨౿　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　　 end.

copywrite @yvesette 2024

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mcrdvcks · 8 months ago

Text

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1973 - we meet again my dear...

chapter summary: After leaving Team X behind, Logan finds himself back in New York City working as a bodyguard for various people. Until he finds himself acting as a bodyguard for you, a mobster's daughter.

word count: 18.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i'm a sucker for the bodyguard trope (and also just dofp logan in general, that man makes me go feral), so you know i had to do it when given the chance! i had so much fun writing this version of reader, especially because this is the closest to 'modern' times that we've gotten and i didn't have to do a ton of research about this year. the tags might give away a little bit of the plot, but i promise it's gonna be a fun ride ;)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, 70s!logan, mafia/mob, implied age gap, flirting, smut, thigh riding, unprotected piv, creampie, arranged marriage

series masterlist - chapter 4 → chapter 6

He left Stryker, Victor, and Team X behind, settling in New York City as a bodyguard, hired by various people: politicians, the mafia, anyone.

Logan was now getting his fifth job, protecting a mobster’s young daughter.

He was used to jobs like this by now, but something about this one felt... different. As he walked through the large estate, the details blurred around him. His focus was on the job—until the moment he saw you.

You were standing by the window, the sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your face. There was something familiar about the way you held yourself, the way your hair fell over your shoulders. For a second, it felt like the air was sucked out of the room.

Logan’s chest tightened.

It was you.

Same face. Same presence. Same pull that had haunted him for over a century.

But you were different, too. This time, you weren’t a schoolteacher, a nurse, or a coal miner’s wife. You were his new job.

You turned, eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, it felt like you recognized him too. That sense of familiarity flickered across your face before you smiled—polite, but distant.

“Y/N, this is Logan,” the mobster—your father—introduced. “He’ll be your new bodyguard.”

Your father’s voice faded into the background as Logan’s gaze remained locked on you. You gave a small nod, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”

Logan stared at your hand for a beat too long before taking it. That brief contact sent a shock through him, an old memory he couldn’t quite shake.

“Likewise,” he muttered, his voice rougher than he intended.

Your father clapped Logan on the back. “I expect you’ll keep her safe. There’s been some... tension with a rival family.”

Logan only nodded, but his attention stayed on you. You were right in front of him, alive. But you didn’t know him. Like always.

After your father left the room, you leaned against the window frame, crossing your arms. “So, how long have you been doing this?” you asked, your tone casual.

Logan leaned against the wall, watching you closely. “Long enough.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “That’s vague.”

He didn’t respond, and for a moment, silence settled between you two. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something unsaid hanging in the air.

“What about you?” Logan asked, more to fill the space than out of curiosity. “How do you feel about having a bodyguard?”

You shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

That earned a faint, almost imperceptible smile from Logan, but he quickly covered it with a grunt. “Glad to hear it.”

A pause. Then you looked at him, your eyes narrowing slightly, like you were trying to figure him out. “You seem... familiar.”

Logan stiffened. “Don’t think we’ve met before.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “No, but... I don’t know. Something about you.”

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his expression neutral. He couldn’t tell you. Not about the past lives, not about how many times he had watched you die.

You shrugged it off, smiling again. “Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

“Maybe,” Logan muttered, not meeting your eyes this time.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions, schedules, and instructions from your father. Logan followed at a distance, keeping an eye on you, but his mind was elsewhere.

That night, Logan sat on the balcony just outside your room, staring out at the city lights. His thoughts raced, the weight of the engagement ring in his pocket feeling heavier than usual.

You were alive. Again.

But for how long this time?

---

You plopped onto your bed, the wire from your rotary phone stretching with you, “he is good looking though.”

You could practically hear Jennifer’s grin through the phone, “oh, yeah? Man, all your bodyguards are good looking. It’s not fair!”

You laughed, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. "He’s… different though. I can’t quite put my finger on it. He’s quiet, but not in the usual 'I’m-paid-to-watch-you' way."

"Is he mysterious?" Jennifer teased, her voice light. "Maybe he’s got some dark, brooding backstory. Mob families always hire guys like that—‘strong and silent.’"

You snorted. "Maybe. But he’s not like the others." You hesitated, leaning back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “There’s something familiar about him… like I’ve met him before.”

Jennifer paused on the other end of the line, then her voice softened. "You think he’s one of your dad’s guys from back in the day?"

You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see it. "No, it’s not that. It’s… weird, Jen. Like I know him, but I don’t. It’s been bugging me since I met him."

"Maybe it’s fate," she joked, but her tone had a hint of seriousness. "You’ve been going through bodyguards like they’re tissues. Maybe this one’s here to stick around."

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "Fate? You’ve been reading too many romance novels."

"Hey, a girl can dream!" Jennifer laughed. "But seriously, if you feel something, maybe it’s worth looking into. He’s hot, right?"

You smiled at that, though your thoughts wandered back to Logan. The way his eyes lingered on you, like he was seeing something no one else could. "Yeah," you admitted softly. "He’s definitely that. He’s probably as old as my dad or somethin’. But man, Jen, if you saw him you’d lose your mind.”

You twirled the phone cord around your finger, still smiling to yourself, but your thoughts kept circling back to Logan. Something about the way he looked at you—like he knew more than he was saying—stuck with you. It wasn’t creepy or overprotective. It was... familiar. Comforting, even.

Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Hey, don’t overthink it, okay? Enjoy the view for once. Not everyone gets a hot bodyguard with a mysterious vibe. Maybe he’s the silver lining to your dad’s whole ‘paranoia’ problem.”

You laughed quietly. “Yeah, maybe.”

You hung up not long after, still feeling the weight of that odd, lingering sense of déjà vu.

---

The next morning, Logan was waiting for you downstairs. Dressed in his usual dark clothes, he stood near the front door with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but alert. His eyes flicked toward you the second you entered the room.

There it was again—that heavy gaze that made it feel like he could see right through you.

“Mornin’,” you said, offering a small smile.

“Mornin’,” Logan replied, his voice gravelly.

Your father wasn’t home—out dealing with ‘business’—which gave you a rare moment to yourself. Well, mostly. You slipped on your leather jacket and glanced at Logan, your lips quirking up in a teasing grin. “What’s the plan, bodyguard? Gonna follow me around all day?”

Logan grunted, something close to amusement flashing in his eyes. “That’s the job.”

“You always this chatty?”

“Only when I meet interesting people.” His tone was dry, but there was the faintest flicker of a smile beneath it.

You snorted, heading for the door. “C’mon, hope you like running errands.”

Logan followed without complaint, falling into step beside you as you made your way to the car. The streets were quieter than usual, but the tension between rival families was palpable—something was brewing, and everyone knew it.

Still, Logan’s presence made you feel... safer. Like nothing bad could happen as long as he was there. It was strange. You barely knew him, but being around him felt easy. Natural. Like you’d known him for a lot longer than a day.

---

When you said you were going to run ‘errands,’ Logan hadn’t expected you to walk straight into an animal shelter. He followed you through the entrance, nodding politely at the woman at the front desk as you greeted her like an old friend.

“Morning, Lorraine!” you said with a bright smile.

Lorraine, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, smiled back. “There’s my favorite troublemaker. The pups will be glad to see you.” She cast a curious glance at Logan. “And who’s this?”

“My latest babysitter,” you said with a smirk, glancing at Logan. “Logan, meet Lorraine. Lorraine, Logan.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

Lorraine chuckled. “A man of few words. I like him already.” She waved you both toward the back. “Go on, they’ve been waiting for you.”

As soon as you walked past the front desk and entered the back area, the sound of excited barking filled the air. Dogs of all sizes pressed their noses against the bars of their cages, tails wagging furiously at the sight of you.

You crouched down in front of one of the kennels, talking softly to a scruffy little mutt as it whined and pawed at the bars. “Hey, buddy. Miss me?”

Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the way you scratched behind the dog's ears. There was something easy about the way you moved here, something soft. For a mobster’s kid, you had a surprisingly gentle touch.

"Didn't expect this to be part of the job," Logan muttered after a moment, his voice low but teasing.

You glanced up, grinning. "What, thought I’d be shopping for fur coats or shaking people down for cash?"

Logan raised a brow. "Somethin’ like that."

You laughed, standing up and dusting your hands off. “Sorry to disappoint. I’ve got a weakness for strays.” You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a small bag of treats, tossing some into the kennels. "These guys have it rough enough without me skipping out on them."

Logan watched as the dogs practically fought over the treats, barking happily at your attention. You moved from cage to cage, giving each dog a little affection. It was... unexpected.

Logan watched you toss the last treat into one of the kennels, the scruffy mutt practically vibrating with happiness. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, an amused glint in his eyes as you turned and dusted your hands off with a grin.

"You’re full of surprises," Logan muttered.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you folded your arms. “Oh, yeah? Disappointed?”

"Not exactly." His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile.

You took a step closer, tilting your head. "Well, what did you expect?"

Logan shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. "Spoiled. Entitled. Maybe a little dangerous."

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Logan’s chest tightened in a way that felt too familiar. "Dangerous, huh? Guess I’ve got some layers." You gave him a playful once-over. "What about you? Big, scary bodyguard with a brooding vibe. Got any surprises I should know about?"

Logan snorted. "Not really."

You narrowed your eyes like you didn’t quite believe him, but instead of pressing, you motioned toward the door. "C’mon. I’ve got one more stop."

Logan fell into step beside you as you exited the shelter and made your way toward the car. You chatted casually, filling the silence with stories about your favorite dogs at the shelter. But Logan stayed mostly quiet, his mind racing. It wasn’t just your voice—it was you. The way you carried yourself, the way you teased him like it was second nature.

He stole a glance at you as you drove. God, it felt the same as always. Like gravity pulled him toward you whether he wanted it or not.

---

Logan should’ve expected the second time around that you weren’t taking him to a normal place for errands. He was even more surprised when you parked in a nursing home parking lot and got out with that same pep in your step.

The sliding doors opened as you walked up to the front counter, where a middle-aged woman with tired eyes peered over the top of a blocky computer monitor. Her name tag read Carol.

“Morning, Carol,” you chirped with an easy smile, tapping your fingers on the desk.

Carol looked up and brightened at the sight of you. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite visitor. Here to cheer up the old-timers again?”

“Always,” you said, flashing a grin. “And I brought backup today.” You gestured behind you to Logan, who gave a brief nod.

Carol gave him a once-over and arched an eyebrow. “Well now, you didn’t tell me you’d be bringing a tall drink of water.”

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder at Logan. “Yeah, figured I’d mix things up.”

Logan just grunted in response, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly—half amusement, half something else. Carol winked at you before waving toward the hallway. “You know where to find them.”

You led Logan down the hall, your steps light and familiar as if you'd been coming here for years. He followed quietly, his sharp gaze flicking between doorways and hallways, always alert.

“You spend a lot of time here?” Logan asked as you slowed near a door marked Activity Room.

You shrugged. “Yeah. Most of these folks don’t get many visitors. It’s nice to stop by and remind them they’re not forgotten.”

Logan gave a small grunt of acknowledgment. It was such a simple thing—volunteering at a nursing home—but it hit him hard. It was just like you to find the overlooked parts of the world and give them your attention, like the dogs at the shelter, like the people here. You always had that streak of kindness, no matter which life you were living.

You nudged open the door, stepping into the room. A group of residents sat in mismatched chairs, some knitting, others half-watching a daytime soap on an old television. At the sight of you, faces lit up.

“There she is!” one of the older women called, setting her knitting aside with a delighted clap of her hands. “I thought you forgot about us!”

“As if I ever could,” you replied warmly, walking over to give her a light hug.

Logan lingered near the doorway, watching as you moved through the room like you belonged there, chatting with each resident, asking about their week, their families—if they remembered them. His heart twisted, both with admiration and an ache that wouldn’t quit.

You noticed him standing off to the side and shot him a teasing grin. “Don’t be shy, Logan. They won’t bite.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not worried about them.”

You laughed, turning back to an older man with a deck of cards spread out in front of him. “Logan, meet Mr. Russo. He’s got a mean poker face.”

Mr. Russo gave Logan a once-over, then grinned, his false teeth gleaming. “You any good at cards, tough guy?”

Logan shrugged. “I can hold my own.”

You slid into the chair beside Mr. Russo, motioning for Logan to join you. “Care to test your luck?”

Logan hesitated for only a moment before pulling out a chair, the legs scraping against the linoleum. As he sat down, you dealt him a hand, your fingers brushing his in the process—a fleeting touch, but enough to send a jolt of familiarity through both of you.

You caught Logan’s gaze over the cards, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. There it was again—that sense that you knew him somehow, though you couldn’t quite place it. It nagged at you, but you let it pass, offering him a playful smirk instead.

“Careful,” you warned. “I don’t go easy on anyone.”

Logan returned the smirk, something dangerous glinting in his eyes. “Neither do I.”

---

After the game, which you won—barely, you said your goodbyes to the residents, promising to visit again soon. Logan followed silently as you made your way back to the car, the soft clinking of your keys the only sound between you.

“Not what you expected for today, huh?” you asked as you slid into the driver’s seat.

Logan leaned against the car door, arms crossed. “Not exactly.”

You smiled, starting the engine. “Bet you thought being a mobster’s kid would be more... glamorous.”

“Something like that.” He gave you a sidelong glance. “You like keeping people guessing, don’t you?”

You grinned, shifting the car into drive. “It’s one of my many talents.”

The two of you drove in companionable silence, the hum of the city filling the space between you. Logan rested his elbow on the window frame, glancing at you every so often. You were like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve—different from the others, yet still unmistakably you.

“Why do you do it?” he asked after a while. “The shelter, the nursing home. You don’t have to.”

You shrugged, your expression thoughtful. "Dunno. Just because I was born into this life doesn’t mean I like what my dad does. I guess sometimes I feel like I’m tryin’ to balance the scales."

Logan leaned back against the seat, his sharp gaze on you, but he didn’t respond right away. You could tell he was chewing on that—probably picking apart your words, trying to figure you out. He always seemed like the kind of man who noticed everything, even if he didn’t say much about it.

You flashed him a teasing grin, trying to lighten the mood. "What about you? Any skeletons in the closet? Or are you just a man of mystery with perfect timing?"

Logan snorted softly, his lips twitching in that almost-smile he had. "I’m no mystery. Just do my job."

"Oh, come on," you pressed, throwing him a playful look. "You gotta give me something. Favorite food? Ever been married? Deep, dark secret?"

He gave you a sidelong glance, amused but guarded. "Steak. No. And not a chance."

You huffed in mock disappointment, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel. "You’re no fun, Logan."

"Never said I was," he muttered, but there was warmth in his tone, like he didn’t mind your teasing at all.

The conversation paused for a moment, the soft hum of the engine filling the space between you. Logan’s eyes lingered on you a little longer than they probably should have—taking in the curve of your smile, the way your fingers tapped a rhythm on the wheel.

And damn, if you didn’t make it hard to stay detached. You were so... alive. Every glance, every smile, every little laugh. You carried yourself like someone who knew how fleeting things could be—and even though Logan knew you couldn’t remember, he remembered every time you’d slipped through his fingers. That thought settled heavy in his chest, like a weight he carried everywhere.

You shot him a grin. "You know, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna think you’re interested."

Logan’s lips twitched. "What makes you think I’m not?"

The boldness of his response caught you off guard for a second, but you recovered quickly, leaning a little closer, eyes glinting with mischief. "Careful, tough guy. You’re supposed to be protecting me, not flirting with me."

"Who says I can’t do both?" His voice was low, rough, and it sent a small shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. "I think my dad might disagree."

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly, though his expression didn’t change. "Your dad’s not here."

There it was—that pull again, the quiet, unspoken gravity between the two of you. It was like standing on the edge of something dangerous and thrilling all at once. You felt it in the way his gaze lingered, in the weight of his words. He wasn’t just playing along.

You cleared your throat, breaking the tension with a teasing smile. "Well, if you’re planning on making a move, Logan, you better make it good. I’ve got high standards, y’know."

Logan let out a low chuckle—quiet, but genuine—and for a moment, you thought you saw something softer in his eyes. Something like... affection.

But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that familiar guarded expression.

"Noted," he muttered, shifting his gaze back to the road ahead.

You grinned, satisfied that you’d managed to chip away at his walls, even if only a little.

---

The two of you finished your errands without any trouble, stopping by a grocery store for some essentials and grabbing a late lunch at a small diner tucked away from the main streets. It wasn’t much—just burgers and fries—but sitting across from Logan in the booth, you felt surprisingly content.

He was quiet most of the time, but not in a way that felt awkward. It was... comfortable. Like he didn’t need to fill the silence just for the sake of it. And every now and then, he’d throw out a dry, sarcastic comment that made you laugh harder than you expected.

You leaned back in the booth, sipping your soda and watching him over the rim of your glass. "Y’know, Logan... you’re not half as scary as you look."

Logan raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Disappointed?"

"Not at all," you replied, your smile turning a little softer. "I like surprises."

He held your gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind those sharp blue eyes. And for a second—just a second—you thought maybe, just maybe, there was something familiar about the way he looked at you. Like you were more than just a job to him.

But before you could dwell on it, Logan glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. "We should head back. Your old man’ll be expecting you."

You sighed dramatically, sliding out of the booth. "Guess my fun’s over."

Logan chuckled, tossing a few bills on the table for the check. "For now."

You gave him a playful nudge as you walked past him toward the door. "Don’t sound too excited."

---

By the time you got back to the house, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting the streets in a soft orange glow. Logan followed you inside, his quiet presence grounding you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

"Thanks for today," you said, tossing your jacket onto a chair.

Logan gave a small nod, leaning against the wall near the door. "No problem."

You hesitated for a moment, then shot him one last grin. "You know, you’re not as bad as I thought."

"Same to you," he replied, that almost-smile creeping back onto his face.

And just like that, the unspoken connection between you simmered beneath the surface, waiting.

Maybe Logan was right. Maybe your dad would be pissed if he knew how much you enjoyed your new bodyguard’s company.

But standing there, watching Logan’s gaze linger on you for just a beat too long, you found you didn’t care all that much.

"Goodnight, Logan," you said softly, turning toward the stairs.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replied, his voice low and steady.

And as you climbed the stairs, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the first time you’d said goodnight to him like this.

Not by a long shot.

---

Your dad told you not to leave the house today, which was fine by you, you had laundry to do anyways.

It had become habit to do your own laundry, even if you did have maids around the house. Nancy, one of the older maids, was the one to teach you that, along with cooking and cleaning since your mother has been gone since you were little.

You had a radio set on the washer, the familiar croon of 70s tunes filling the small laundry room as you pulled warm clothes from the dryer into a basket. You’d been at it for the better part of the morning, the simple domestic task giving you a sense of normalcy. The soft hum of the machines, the crackling radio, and the scent of clean laundry— it was all routine.

Routine helped keep your mind off the storm brewing outside your little bubble.

You sighed, swaying your hips a bit to the music as you lifted the basket. The house felt quieter today, with your dad off dealing with ‘business’ as usual. And Logan? He was somewhere nearby, probably lurking in the shadows like the brooding protector he was.

As if on cue, Logan appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He was dressed in his usual dark clothing, looking as stoic as ever. You wondered if he ever wore anything other than flannels and a leather jacket.

"You know, I didn’t take you for the laundry-doing type," he remarked, his gravelly voice cutting through the music.

You raised an eyebrow, throwing a playful glance over your shoulder. "What, you think I’m too spoiled to do my own chores?"

Logan's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Something like that."

You smirked, grabbing the laundry basket and turning to face him. "I like to surprise people."

"You’re good at it," he replied, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. There was something behind those eyes, something deeper, but as always, he kept it hidden beneath that calm, impenetrable exterior.

You tilted your head, leaning your hip against the dryer. "You sticking around or just checking on me?"

Logan shrugged, though his eyes never left yours. "Just making sure you're not running off anywhere. Your dad was pretty clear about staying put."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips softened the gesture. "I’ll be a good girl. Promise."

Logan grunted in response, pushing off the doorframe and walking closer. "You’re a lot of things, Y/N. Not sure ‘good girl’ is one of them."

You let out a laugh, swatting at him with a towel. "Hey, I can behave when I want to. It’s just more fun not to."

He caught your wrist with ease, holding it for a second too long before letting go. There was that familiar tension between you again, the unspoken something that crackled in the air whenever the two of you were close. He probably didn't mean to linger, but you could feel it—that pull.

"Maybe it’s the company," you teased, grabbing your laundry basket. "You bring out the best in me."

Logan didn’t respond immediately, but there was something in his eyes, something that made your breath hitch. He was quiet, but not in the usual way bodyguards were. With Logan, there was a weight to his silence, like he was always holding back, always watching.

You pushed past the lingering tension with a grin, heading toward the door with your laundry. "Come on, broody. Let’s get out of the laundry room before we both go stir-crazy."

As you passed by, you brushed against him—just lightly, but enough to send a small jolt through you. He didn’t move, but his eyes followed your every step, that silent intensity never wavering.

You stopped in the hallway and shot him a look over your shoulder. “You’re making this way too serious, you know. I’m doing laundry, not sneaking out of prison.”

“Old habits die hard,” he replied, crossing his arms with a slight smirk. “Besides, I think your dad’s idea of ‘safe’ is pretty different from yours.”

You rolled your eyes, hugging the laundry basket closer. “Right. Next, he’ll say I need an escort to the mailbox.”

Logan raised a brow, clearly amused. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

That earned him a laugh, and you shook your head, settling the basket on the table in the hall. “Guess you’re stuck with me then, bodyguard.”

“Doesn’t seem so bad,” he said, his voice softening as he glanced at you. His gaze was familiar in a way you couldn’t place, like he’d looked at you this way a hundred times before.

“Yeah?” You took a step closer, crossing your arms with a playful grin. “And here I thought I’d be driving you crazy.”

“You do,” he murmured, almost too quietly. His lips turned up slightly, but he looked away, that unspoken wall going back up.

“Good,” you teased, reaching out to poke him in the chest. “Keeps things interesting.”

Logan caught your hand before you could pull it back, holding it just long enough that you could feel the warmth of his touch, the quiet strength in it. There was something in his eyes that hinted at… more. Like he’d known you far longer than you could’ve ever guessed.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart thumped, but you kept your tone light. “Depends on what you’re offering, doesn’t it?”

His gaze dropped to your hand, still caught in his. He let go, but there was something in his expression that lingered. It was like he was searching for the right words, something he couldn’t quite say. Or maybe didn’t want to.

Instead, he settled back with that guarded look. “Better get used to me being around,” he said, nodding toward the front of the house. “Your dad won’t have it any other way.”

You glanced down the hall and shrugged. “Guess I can live with that. For now.”

Logan’s lips twitched, just barely. “For now,” he echoed, and there was something heavier in those words, something he wasn’t sharing.

You lingered for a moment, the silence stretching between you, before you picked up the basket again. “Well, I’ve got more laundry to fold. But if you feel like helping out…”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, shooting him a wink. “Fine. I’ll let you off easy this time.”

“Appreciate it,” he said with a smirk, but his eyes softened as he watched you turn to go, like he was holding back something he couldn’t quite name.

As you walked away, the light-heartedness of the moment stayed with you, but so did something else. It was that look Logan had, the one that made you feel seen, like he knew you better than anyone else ever had.

Maybe he did.

Or maybe, in some impossible way, he always had.

---

“No, no, no, cara. Give it to me.” Nancy took the mixing bowl away from you, stirring the batter while muttering something in Italian.

You leaned your hip against the counter, placing your head on Nancy’s shoulder with a pout. "I was doing what you’re doing.”

Nancy shook her head, stirring the batter with a practiced hand, her warm, familiar presence comforting. “No, cara mia, you were doing what you think I’m doing.” She shot you a look, one of those fond, chiding glances she’d perfected over the years. “And it was not the same.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Fine, but you’re teaching me bad habits. This is how I stay spoiled, you know.”

She chuckled, patting your cheek affectionately. “You think you need me to be spoiled? You do just fine on your own.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, watching you with a slight smirk that was becoming all too familiar—and endearing.

“Careful, Nancy,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “She’s already hard enough to handle.”

You turned, hands on your hips, feigning offense. “Excuse me, hard to handle?”

Logan shrugged, crossing his arms with a smirk. “You said it, not me.”

Nancy chuckled, eyes sparkling as she looked between you and Logan. “Ah, Y/N, he’s right. You do have a little spirit.”

You scoffed playfully, giving Logan an exaggerated glare before grinning back at Nancy. “What? I’m an angel, and you know it.”

Logan snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “Right. A real saint.” He gave you a knowing look, one that made your stomach flip despite yourself. That unspoken energy simmered between you two, even as you tried to keep it casual.

Nancy just shook her head, muttering something in Italian as she set the bowl down. “Angels don’t cause so much trouble,” she teased, pinching your cheek. “I taught you better.”

You rubbed your cheek with a grin, leaning back against the counter. “I’m blaming Logan. His bad influence must be rubbing off on me.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “That right? Thought you didn’t need any help there.”

“Oh, I don’t,” you said, crossing your arms with a challenging look. “I’m fully capable of trouble on my own.”

Nancy watched the two of you with a satisfied smile, turning back to her baking. “Ah, I see,” she murmured, her voice light. “It’s good to have someone who knows how to keep you in check.”

The glint in her eye wasn’t lost on you, and you rolled your eyes. “You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of wild child.”

“No, no,” she replied with a grin, waving her hand. “Just that I think he knows you better than you think, cara.”

Logan’s gaze softened a little at that, and though he didn’t say anything, his look lingered, as if he were silently agreeing with her.

You cleared your throat, feeling the familiar warmth creeping up your neck. “Well,” you started, trying to brush off the moment, “if Logan’s going to stick around, he might as well help.”

Nancy gave a sly smile, turning to Logan. “What do you say, Logan? A little kitchen work wouldn’t hurt.”

Logan shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender. “You two are doing just fine without me.”

You shot him a grin, taking a step closer. “Oh, come on. Big, tough Logan afraid of a little flour?”

His smirk softened as he looked down at you. “You keep pushing, and I might just teach you a lesson in troublemaking.”

Your stomach fluttered at the way his gaze stayed locked on yours, that familiar pull tugging you closer. “Is that a threat?”

“Call it… a warning,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand brushed against yours, just for a second, but it was enough to send a spark up your arm.

Nancy cleared her throat, clearly amused. “Okay, okay. I don’t need you two making a mess of my kitchen.”

You stepped back, giving Nancy a sheepish smile, and Logan chuckled, the sound low and easy. “She’s right,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Guess I’ll just keep an eye on you from a safe distance.”

Nancy gave him a knowing look, shaking her head with a chuckle. “If only it were that simple.”

---

“Ah, stay still, cara.” Nancy chided you, taking out a roller from your hair.

You gave Nancy a pout, eyes skimming your reflection in the mirror with clear discontent. "I don’t like it." Your voice held more weight than just the hair and makeup, though, and Nancy seemed to pick up on it.

She clicked her tongue, smoothing out a curl before looking at you through the mirror. “Ah, cara mia, tonight is important to your father. Besides,” she added, eyes glinting, “you look beautiful, yes?”

You gave her a half-hearted smile, brushing your hands over the bright yellow fabric of your dress. The dress was elegant and too formal for your taste, the kind of thing you’d never have chosen if it weren’t for your dad’s insistence on making you ‘presentable’ for his associates.

Nancy sighed, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, it’s one night. Then you’ll be back to your regular clothes, hmm?”

You grinned, rolling your eyes. “Can’t come soon enough.”

Just as you were about to add more, there was a quiet knock at the door. You looked up, already expecting Logan’s familiar silhouette. He leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, his usual air of calm doing little to hide the intense look in his eyes as he took in the sight of you in the dress.

“Looks like they’ve got you all dolled up,” he remarked, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

You shot him a look, half annoyed, half amused. “Yeah, laugh it up, tough guy. Bet you’re glad it’s not you in this thing.”

Logan chuckled, stepping further into the room. “You could say that.” His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, there was something in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite put into words. But just as quickly, he looked away.

Nancy gave you a knowing smile, patting your shoulder before stepping back. “Logan,” she said, with a gentle warning in her voice, “take care of her tonight, yes?”

Logan’s expression softened, his gaze turning protective as he looked at you. “Always do.”

Nancy winked, then left the room, leaving you alone with him.

You let out a sigh, reaching for the hem of your dress as if you could somehow make it less constricting. “Do I really have to go down there?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You think your dad’s throwing this party for fun? Whole point is for you to be seen.”

“Great,” you muttered, moving toward the door. But as you passed him, Logan placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, his voice lower, more reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything from you. Just show up, smile, let them know you exist.”

You looked up at him, searching his face. He was steady, calm, his expression soft in a way he rarely let others see. You didn’t know why, but having him there made you feel a little more at ease. “Guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Nope,” he replied, his mouth twitching into that almost-smile.

With a resigned sigh, you squared your shoulders. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

---

The party was everything you’d dreaded: formal, suffocating, and filled with people whose only interest in you was as your father’s daughter. You’d stuck close to Logan most of the night, exchanging quiet remarks whenever the chance arose, his presence the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. But as the night wore on, a few glasses of champagne and the tension of the evening started to wear on you.

You tugged on Logan’s sleeve as you leaned in close. “Think anyone would notice if I snuck out?” you murmured, your breath warm against his ear.

Logan chuckled low, his gaze flickering over you. “Considering your dad’s been watching you like a hawk? Probably.”

You rolled your eyes, letting your hand brush his arm. “Figures. He can’t just let me have one night off.” You shifted closer, feeling his warmth through his jacket, and gave him a mischievous smile. “Bet you didn’t sign up for babysitting duty.”

“Didn’t realize you’d need it,” he replied with a smirk, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear.

You nudged him playfully, letting your hand linger on his arm. “I don’t,” you said, a little more insistently. “You just don’t know what to do with me.”

His eyes met yours, and there was something dark and unspoken in his gaze. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice dropping. “I might take you up on that.”

The hint of challenge in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you leaned closer, your hand settling on his chest as you whispered, “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

You could feel his heartbeat, steady beneath your hand, but his expression gave nothing away. He looked down at you, his jaw tight, but his eyes held that familiar intensity, the kind that had always made you wonder just how long he’d been watching you. It was intoxicating, that pull between you, and tonight, with the champagne loosening your guard, you felt bolder than usual.

When you finally pulled away, you could feel his gaze following you, but you didn’t let yourself look back. Instead, you mingled through the crowd, smiling politely, pretending to listen to conversations while stealing glances at Logan across the room.

After what felt like hours, your father’s attention finally shifted, and you took the chance to slip away to your bedroom.

As you walked up the stairs, Logan trailed behind you, like always. You were tired of this, of the flirting, how he did it back to you, but how nothing ever happened.

Well tonight you were done with that.

You opened your bedroom door and sat on the bed, quickly slipping off your heels and tossing them carelessly across the room. The muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filtered up from downstairs, where the party raged on. Logan stood in the doorway, as he always did, watching you in that silent, intense way that had been driving you crazy for months.

You looked up at him, your fingers playing with the hem of your short yellow dress, the fabric brushing against your thighs as you shifted on the bed. “You comin’ in, or are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Logan didn’t respond right away, his jaw ticking as his eyes flicked over you, taking in the sight of you sitting there, legs crossed, your dress riding up just enough to tease. He sighed, stepping into the room but staying near the door. “Your old man’s got half the city downstairs, Y/N. This ain’t the time.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Since when do you care about my dad? He’s not your boss.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, the leather of his jacket creaking. “He pays me to keep you safe, not… this.”

You stood up from the bed, taking a step toward him. “This?” you repeated, voice playful, but you could feel the tension in the air thickening. “And what is ‘this,’ Logan?”

He didn’t answer, just stood there, his eyes dark and unreadable, but you could see the way his body tensed when you got closer, the way his gaze flicked down to your legs before snapping back up to your face.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the rough material of his flannel, and you could feel the heat of his body through the layers of fabric. He stiffened, his hand catching your wrist, but it wasn’t harsh. Just enough to stop you.

“Y/N, don’t,” he warned, his voice low, rough.

You tilted your head, stepping even closer until your body was almost pressed against his. “Why not?” you asked softly. “You’ve been following me around for months. Always there, always watching. What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid,” he muttered, but his grip on your wrist tightened just a little, like he was holding himself back. “You’re too young for this. I work for your dad.”

You pulled your wrist free, undeterred, your hand now resting against his chest. “I’m not a kid, Logan. And you don’t work for him—you work for me. You’ve been protecting me, haven’t you?”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Then what do you mean?” you shot back, moving even closer, your fingers trailing up to his shoulder, over the leather of his jacket. “You’ve been pulling away from me every time I get close, but you keep coming back.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands hovering near your waist, as if he was afraid to touch you. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “And you know that.” You pressed a little harder, your lips just inches from his jaw, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “You don’t have to keep pretending like you don’t want this.”

His hands shot up to your shoulders, gripping you tightly, but he didn’t push you away this time. His breathing was heavier now, the muscles in his arms tensing as if he was fighting against himself. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe not,” you admitted, your lips brushing the stubble on his jaw as you spoke. “But I know what I want.”

Logan groaned low in his throat, his fingers tightening on your shoulders, but still, he didn’t push you away. His resistance was crumbling, you could feel it.

“You’re not a kid,” he repeated quietly, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“No,” you whispered back, your lips ghosting along the side of his neck, your hands moving to his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. “I’m not.”

In a swift movement, you pushed him back toward the chair in the corner of the room, his legs hitting the edge as you guided him down. He sat heavily, his hands falling from your shoulders to your hips, still trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

You straddled his thigh, your dress riding up as you settled against him, the heat of your body pressed against the denim of his jeans. His hands moved up to your waist, holding you in place, but the look in his eyes told you he was barely holding on.

“Y/N,” he rasped, but his voice was shaky, uncertain.

You didn’t give him time to think. You started moving, rocking your hips against his thigh, slow at first, testing. His grip on your waist tightened, his eyes darkening as he watched you, the tension in his body radiating through his hands.

He wasn’t stopping you.

You bit your lip, your breath hitching as you pressed harder against him, the friction sending a jolt of heat through you. Logan groaned, his hands sliding down to your hips, holding you steady as you moved. His control was slipping, and you could feel it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his head falling back against the chair, his eyes squeezed shut.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing his ear. “Still think I’m too young?”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping you harder as you rocked against him, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing against the thin material of your underwear. Every movement sent sparks of pleasure through you, and you could tell from the way his breathing quickened that he was feeling it too.

His hands slid up your sides, fingers digging into your skin as he tried to pull you closer, but you were in control now. You pressed your lips to his neck, kissing the exposed skin, feeling the tension in his body as you kissed down toward his collarbone, your fingers tangling in his shirt.

Logan groaned, his hands gripping you tighter as you moved faster, grinding against his thigh with more urgency. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable now, the pressure building with every movement, every gasp that escaped your lips.

Logan's eyes were shut tight, head thrown back against the chair, his hands gripping your waist like he was the one trying to stay grounded. But you weren’t stopping, not after all the months of back-and-forth, all the moments you’d caught him watching you with that dark, unreadable look. The friction, the heat pooling between your legs, was everything you’d been waiting for, and it was clear from the roughness of his breathing that he wasn’t far behind.

You pressed harder, your hips rolling against his thigh as you gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. The thin fabric of your dress had ridden up, and you knew he could feel just how soaked you were through the denim of his jeans. His hands were at your waist, digging into your skin in a way that bordered on painful but only made you push down harder, rocking your hips with more insistence.

Logan’s voice was rough when he finally spoke, his hands tightening as if he was trying to keep himself from pulling you in closer. “Y/N… you’re playin’ with fire here,” he growled, the words thick, like he was barely holding back.

You ignored him, pressing a little harder, your lips hovering just over the edge of his jaw as you breathed, “Maybe I like the heat.”

His jaw clenched, but his hands slid up, settling just under your ribs, holding you steady as you moved. Each shift of your hips brought another groan out of him, the sound vibrating through his chest and sending a thrill straight through you. You could feel yourself getting closer, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the pressure built, the heat between your legs almost too much to bear.

“Logan,” you whispered, your hands slipping up to tangle in his hair, pulling his face closer. You could see the restraint etched across his face, the way his jaw was clenched tight, like he was struggling to keep himself from giving in. “I need you.”

His hands tensed on your waist, fingers digging in harder, his breathing growing rougher with every word that slipped from your lips. But he didn’t pull away; if anything, he held you tighter, letting you grind against him, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against you in a way that left you breathless, desperate.

“You know what you’re doin’ to me?” he muttered, his voice barely more than a growl as his eyes met yours, dark and full of something you’d been longing to see for months.

“Maybe,” you replied, a small, breathless smile tugging at your lips as you kept moving, kept pressing closer, feeling the tension between you both thicken until it was almost unbearable. “Maybe I want to see how far you’ll let me go.”

Logan groaned, his grip tightening as his eyes fell shut again, his hands shifting to guide your hips, helping you keep up the steady rhythm that was driving you both closer to the edge. You leaned forward again, your lips brushing against his neck, pressing soft kisses along the exposed skin as you rocked against him, the heat building with every second.

“Y/N,” he rasped, his voice so low it sent a shiver through you. “You’re… you’re so damn—”

You cut him off, pressing your lips to the spot just under his ear, feeling the way his breath hitched as your hips ground down harder. You were close, every nerve ending on fire, and you could feel that he was, too. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your back, pressing you closer, holding you tight like he was afraid to let go.

And then, finally, the pressure broke. You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders as your hips stilled, your body shuddering against him. Logan’s grip on your waist tightened, his own breath hitching as he held you steady, his hands warm and solid as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

He was quiet for a long moment, his breathing heavy, and you could feel the way his body had tensed beneath you, the strain in his hands as he held himself back. Slowly, you looked up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch all over again.

Without a word, Logan shifted, his hands sliding down to hook under your thighs as he stood, lifting you with a strength that sent another thrill through you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he carried you to the bed, the heat in his gaze leaving no room for second thoughts, no hesitation. This was it, and you were ready.

He laid you down, his hands lingering on your thighs, his fingers brushing over your skin as he looked down at you, his expression a mix of hunger and restraint. You reached up, tugging him closer until he was hovering over you, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel secure, safe.

This was what you’d been waiting for, what you’d both been skirting around for too long. Logan’s hands slid up your sides, his fingers trailing along the fabric of your dress, and you felt your breath hitch as his gaze darkened, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His thumbs brushed the exposed skin just above the low neckline of your dress, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You watched him, eyes locked on his as he leaned in, his jaw tight, the hunger in his gaze barely restrained. The room felt smaller, warmer, like the air had thickened between you.

And then, finally, his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was desperate, wild, like he was making up for lost time. His lips claimed yours with a roughness that sent a shiver down your spine, his hands moving to cradle your face, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the distance. You gasped against his mouth, your fingers finding their way into his hair, tugging him down harder.

It had been seventy-three years since he’d last kissed you—nearly three quarters of a century of holding back—and the intensity of it showed. It was all-consuming, like he was trying to make up for every second he’d denied himself this.

Logan groaned into your mouth, a deep, almost pained sound, and the desperation in it made your blood race. He kissed you like he was starving, like he needed this, needed you, and you felt your body melt into him. His hands slid down your body, rough and sure, stopping at your hips to pull you flush against him. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, and the friction of his jeans against your thighs only made it worse.

You broke the kiss for air, your breaths coming fast, but Logan didn’t stop. His mouth found your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your throat, teeth scraping against your skin just enough to make you gasp. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, gripping you with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through you.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice breathless, needy. You tilted your head back, giving him better access as his lips continued their descent, leaving a path of fire along your skin. Your hands fisted in his flannel, pulling him closer, and he groaned again, the sound vibrating through your body.

“God, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire, like he was barely holding on. His hands slipped under your dress, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your thighs, and you shivered, your breath catching in your throat. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with need. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, but the words were laced with something softer, something that made your heart skip.

You didn’t reply, just pulled him down for another kiss, this one just as desperate as the first. Your hands roamed over his chest, slipping beneath the open flannel to feel the heat of his skin, the hard muscles that tensed under your touch. Logan shivered, his breath catching as your fingers brushed against his bare chest, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the way he reacted to you.

His jacket slipped from his shoulders, landing somewhere on the floor, but neither of you paid it any mind. Your hands were already pushing the flannel off him, revealing more of his skin, and Logan helped you, shrugging it off with a growl of impatience. The white beater he wore beneath clung to his chest, and you could see the way his muscles flexed beneath it, the way the fabric stretched taut over his shoulders.

He leaned back down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, and you moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders. Logan’s hands were back under your dress, sliding up, leaving trails of heat in their wake. His touch was rough, calloused, but so incredibly gentle in a way that made your heart ache. You arched into him, your body pressing closer, desperate for more, for everything he was willing to give.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, his hands sliding higher until his thumbs brushed the edge of your panties. He paused, breathing heavily, his eyes searching yours, looking for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. You were all in, had been from the moment you’d first seen him.

You reached down, grabbing his wrists and guiding his hands further up, silently urging him on. Logan’s breath hitched, and his eyes darkened even more, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and you could feel your heart pounding as he tugged, the thin fabric slipping down your legs.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, his voice thick with need as his calloused hands slid back up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. "You're so damn wet already."

You gasped as his fingers brushed against your center, your hips jerking up instinctively. "Logan, please," you whimpered, reaching for him.

He leaned down to kiss you hard, his tongue pushing into your mouth as his fingers began exploring you properly. The roughness of his hands contrasted with how gently he touched you, like he was afraid of breaking you. You moaned into his mouth as he slid one thick finger inside, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmured against your lips. "Let me hear you."

Your dress was bunched around your waist now as Logan worked another finger into you, stretching you carefully. Your earlier orgasm had left you sensitive, making every touch feel electric. His thumb found your clit and began rubbing slow circles that had you writhing beneath him.

"Logan," you gasped, your nails digging into his skin through his beater. "I need—ah!—I need more."

He growled low in his throat, curling his fingers inside you. "Tell me what you need, Y/N. Say it."

Your face flushed but you met his eyes. "I need you inside me. Please, Logan. I've wanted this for so long."

Something dark and possessive flashed in his eyes. He withdrew his fingers, making you whimper at the loss, and reached down to undo his belt. The metal clinked as he pulled it free, the sound sending a thrill through you.

You sat up enough to pull your dress over your head, leaving you in just your bra. Logan's eyes raked over you hungrily as he pushed his jeans down his hips. The obvious bulge in his boxers made your mouth go dry.

"Come here," he growled, pulling you into another searing kiss as his hands found the clasp of your bra. It took him only seconds to undo it, and then you were bare before him, your nipples hardening in the cool air.

Logan's mouth moved to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks as his hands cupped your breasts. You moaned as he rolled your nipples between his fingers, your back arching into his touch.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough. He shifted to take one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as you gasped and squirmed beneath him.

Your hands found the hem of his beater, tugging insistently until he pulled back long enough to yank it off. The sight of his bare chest, all hard muscle and dark hair, made heat pool between your legs. There were old scars scattered across his skin - remnants of wounds time hadn't quite erased.

You reached for his boxers but he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head with one large hand. "Not yet," he growled, his free hand sliding down between your legs again. "Want to make sure you're ready for me."

His fingers found your clit again and you cried out, oversensitive and desperate. "Logan, please," you begged, trying to buck your hips up against his hand. "I'm ready, I swear. I need you now."

He studied your face for a long moment, his eyes dark with desire, before releasing your wrists. "Take them off," he ordered, nodding to his boxers.

Your hands shook slightly as you pushed the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock. He was huge, thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, and Logan's breath hitched.

"Careful, darlin'," he warned, his voice strained. "Been wanting this too long to end it early."

He pushed you back onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. The head of his cock brushed against your entrance and you both groaned. Logan braced himself on his forearms above you, his eyes locked on yours.

"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough but gentle. "Once I start, I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I'm sure. Please, Logan. I want you."

He kissed you hard as he began pushing inside, swallowing your gasps as he stretched you open. The burn was intense but perfect, your body gradually adjusting to his size. Logan moved slowly, giving you time to adapt, but you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held himself back.

"Fuck," he groaned when he was finally fully seated inside you. "So tight, darlin'. Feel so good around me."

You clutched at his shoulders, panting. "Move," you urged. "Please, I need—"

Logan pulled back and thrust forward again, setting a steady rhythm that had you seeing stars. Each stroke hit something deep inside you that made pleasure spark through your whole body. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he fucked into you with increasing force.

"That's it," he growled, watching your face contort with pleasure. "Take it, Y/N. Take all of me."

Your nails raked down his back as the pressure built inside you again. Logan's thrusts grew harder, faster, driving you both toward the edge. The headboard banged against the wall with each movement but neither of you cared about the noise.

"Logan," you gasped, feeling yourself getting close. "I'm gonna—ah!"

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice rough. One hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit. "Want to feel you come on my cock."

The added stimulation pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Logan growled, his rhythm faltering as your walls pulsed around him.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his thrusts growing erratic. "Where do you want—"

"Inside," you gasped, still riding the aftershocks. "Please, Logan. Wanna feel you."

He cursed, his hips snapping forward a few more times before he buried himself deep with a growl, spilling inside you. You could feel him pulsing, filling you up as he collapsed onto his forearms above you.

For several long moments, the only sound was your heavy breathing. Logan's forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he caught his breath. You ran your hands up and down his back, feeling the sweat-slick skin under your palms.

Finally, he pulled out carefully and rolled onto his side, pulling you with him. You winced slightly at the soreness between your legs, but it was a good kind of ache. Logan's arms wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest.

---

Logan let out a low groan as he woke, the bed beneath him feeling far too comfortable, unfamiliar in a way that immediately set him on edge. It took a second for his mind to catch up, piecing together where he was and, more importantly, who he was with.

He didn’t need to look over to feel the warmth beside him, or the way your hair fanned out across the pillow. It hit him all at once—the heat of your skin against his, the way you’d leaned into him last night, confident, unrestrained. He opened his eyes, gaze finding you lying beside him, face soft and peaceful in sleep, an arm draped over his chest as if you’d claimed him in the night.

Logan sighed, glancing at the ceiling, but couldn’t help looking down at you again, still asleep and blissfully unaware of the storm in his head. He’d known it was a bad idea from the start, coming upstairs with you last night, letting his guard down. But damn, when you’d gotten close, pushing him toward that chair with that look in your eyes—he’d been gone the second you’d touched him.

He was even further gone when he had finally kissed you—it was one of his biggest regrets the last time he had seen you back in 1943—he never held you the way he wanted to. Too afraid that maybe he was the problem, the reason you kept on dying over and over.

And because of that, he hadn’t been this close to you since 1900.

It was strange, being here like this—letting his guard down after all those lives, all those memories of watching you fade out of his reach. A part of him had always tried to keep a distance, to save himself from the heartbreak he knew was coming. But last night… last night, he’d been weak.

He brushed a thumb over your arm without thinking, lost in thought. It was impossible not to wonder, with you lying beside him like this, what it would be like if this time were different. If, just once, he could hold onto you, let himself believe you’d stay.

But he knew better.

His hand lingered on your skin a moment too long, and he felt you stir, your lashes fluttering as you slowly opened your eyes. A soft smile touched your lips when you saw him, and he felt his resolve crack just a little more.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he’d meant.

“Mmm,” you hummed, still sleepy, your fingers tracing a lazy pattern over his chest. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.” You said it lightly, but there was a hint of something else there—relief, maybe. “Guess I finally wore you out.”

Logan huffed, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Guess so.”

You shifted to look at him, your eyes bright with that familiar mischief. “So, what’s your excuse this time?”

He raised a brow. “Excuse?”

“Yeah. For pulling away,” you said, your tone casual but pointed. “You’ve always got one.”

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he broke eye contact, looking away. “It’s complicated, Y/N.”

You reached up, cupping his face and guiding his gaze back to you. “That’s what you always say. Doesn’t mean it has to be.”

He was silent for a moment, searching your face. He could feel the weight of his past with you, all those memories stacking up like a dam holding back a flood. But he couldn’t let you in on that. Couldn’t make you carry the burden of knowing you’d lived—and died—so many times before. It was his cross to bear, not yours.

“Maybe I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he finally said, his voice quieter, a touch raw.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Please, Logan. You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

Logan just shook his head, but he couldn’t help the small, amused smile that crept onto his face. “You’re a handful, you know that?”

“I’ve heard that once or twice,” you teased, running your hand along his chest. “Lucky for you, I don’t scare easy.”

That hint of defiance in your voice tugged at something deep inside him, and he caught your hand, holding it in his as he looked into your eyes. “You say that now. But I’ve got a way of… complicating things.”

Your gaze softened, but there was still a spark there, unyielding. “Good thing I like complicated.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, and for a second, he felt that familiar pull, the urge to tell you everything—to let you in on the truth of why he was here, why he couldn’t stay away. But he stopped himself, the weight of all those lost lifetimes bearing down on him again. He couldn’t do that to you, not this time.

“Then I guess I’m stuck with you,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, even though his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“Guess so,” you replied with a grin, shifting closer. You tilted your head, eyes narrowing as you studied him. “Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you ever gonna stop acting like you’re some kind of curse?” Your voice was soft but firm, like you were daring him to argue.

Logan went silent, his gaze flickering away from yours. You’d hit closer to the truth than you knew.

“Don’t know if I can,” he admitted after a pause. “It’s… complicated.” He shrugged, hoping you’d leave it at that.

But, of course, you didn’t. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep proving you wrong,” you murmured, pressing a light kiss to his jaw, a warm reassurance that only made him feel the pull of his past even stronger.

He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes, letting himself savor this one small, stolen moment with you. Just this once, he’d allow himself that. Because deep down, he knew he’d always lose you in the end.

And this time, he was determined to make it last as long as he could. Maybe, just maybe, even put that ring to use.

---

You were back at the dog shelter, this time staying a little bit longer since one of the workers, Amelia, was out sick.

Lorraine handed you a few leashes, “mind taking some of ‘em out for a walk?”

You happily grabbed the roped leashes, “of course.” Then you glanced over at Logan, who had been eyeing the dogs with a mix of amusement and reservation. “You up for walkin’ some too?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, then at the leashes in your hand, but there was a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Didn’t take you for a dog wrangler, Y/N.”

You laughed, clipping one of the leashes onto a small brown mutt who was practically bouncing with excitement. “Come on, Logan. What’re you afraid of? They don’t bite—well, not all of them, anyway.”

Logan chuckled, reluctantly stepping forward. “Right. Long as they don’t try to drag me down the street.”

You handed him a leash attached to a shaggy, medium-sized dog with big brown eyes, looking up at him expectantly. “Here. This one’s named Ringo. He’s a sweetheart.”

Logan eyed the dog suspiciously before giving the leash a little tug, testing the waters. “Ringo, huh?” He knelt down and patted the dog’s head, a faint smile crossing his face as the dog leaned into his touch. “Guess you’re alright.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “See? He likes you already.” As you finished leashing up a few more of the dogs, you handed the leashes to Logan. “Think you can handle these guys too?”

Logan took the leashes without complaint, looking down at the little group of dogs at his feet. “Guess I don’t have much choice.”

“Good answer,” you teased, giving him a wink before heading toward the door. You led the way outside, the two of you walking side-by-side with the dogs trotting happily along. It was a warm day, and the sun was shining down, casting a soft glow over everything.

Logan glanced over at you as you moved down the sidewalk together, the dogs tugging excitedly at their leashes. You had a carefree smile on your face, and he found himself watching you more than the path ahead, the memory of a few nights ago still vivid in his mind. The thought of it sent a thrill through him—yet at the same time, a pang of dread.

“You always this happy walking dogs, or is it just ‘cause I’m here?” he teased, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

You shot him a playful look. “Guess you’ll never know.” You nudged him lightly with your shoulder, eyes bright with mischief. “But if you keep coming with me, you might find out.”

He let out a small laugh, his gaze softening as he looked away. Even after all these years, you could still surprise him—like the way you’d drag him to places like this or the way you talked about the little things with such enthusiasm. It was one of those qualities he remembered about you from lifetimes ago, and it hadn’t changed. It made him feel like maybe, somehow, this was different.

As you walked a little further, one of the dogs—a scruffy little terrier—yipped and tugged at Logan’s leash, trying to chase after a pigeon. He grunted, holding the leash tightly and muttering, “Settle down, mutt. You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

You laughed, glancing over with an amused smile. “Ringo’s got more energy than you’d think, huh?”

Logan shook his head, but he couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, well, maybe I should be takin’ notes from him.” He looked at you then, and his expression softened. “You’ve really got a thing for these dogs, don’t ya?”

Your smile faded into something more thoughtful as you looked down at the furry pack in front of you. “I dunno. I guess they’re just… easy to be around. They don’t care about who my father is or what I do—they just want someone to be with them, you know?”

Logan nodded, watching the way you interacted with the dogs, your fingers lightly brushing over their heads, your voice soft as you spoke to them. You’d always had that kindness about you, that gentleness that made him want to believe in something better, something… safe.

“You’re good with ‘em,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You looked up at him, a smile in your eyes. “You know, you’re not so bad with them either, Logan.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I think I’ll leave the dog-wranglin’ to you.”

For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the bustling city around you fading into the background as you wandered through the neighborhood with the dogs. Finally, you reached a small park, and you stopped to let the dogs sniff around.

As they explored, you took a seat on a nearby bench, patting the spot beside you. Logan hesitated for a second before joining you, stretching his legs out in front of him.

You looked over at him, your expression soft. “Thanks for coming today. I know this probably isn’t your ideal way to spend an afternoon.”

Logan shrugged, trying to act casual, but he couldn’t hide the warmth in his gaze. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be,” he said, his voice low.

The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat, and you looked away, feeling a little bashful. You fiddled with one of the leashes, clearing your throat. “You know… the more time we spend together, the more I wonder how long you’re planning to stick around.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he considered his answer. He wanted to tell you the truth—that he’d been watching you, waiting for you, for so many lifetimes. But he couldn’t. Instead, he reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the bench.

“As long as you’ll have me,” he said quietly.

The words hung between you, and for a moment, it was like the whole world had faded away. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, trying to read the depths of his expression.

A soft smile touched your lips, and you squeezed his hand. ��Then you’re gonna be around for a long time, Logan.”

He felt a strange, hopeful ache in his chest at your words, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, this time, things could be different.

The dogs barked, breaking the spell, and you both laughed, pulling away as you got up to wrangle them again. But even as you continued on your walk, he stayed close by your side, his hand occasionally brushing yours as you walked—almost as if he was reminding himself that you were real, that you were here with him.

---

Late one night, you lay beside Logan in the dim light filtering through the window, the city’s night sounds a steady hum in the distance. Your head rested on his chest, your fingers tracing lazy circles over the skin above his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your touch.

Logan shifted slightly, his hand coming up to rest gently on your back. For a long time, he just lay there, watching you in silence, his thumb brushing along your spine. You could tell he was relaxed, but there was something else—a quiet intensity in the way his gaze lingered on you, a heaviness in the air that made your heart race.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” you murmured, letting your fingers trail up to his collarbone. You glanced up at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile as he met your eyes.

“Just… wonderin’ how I got roped into all this,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. But the glint in his eyes gave him away, and you saw something softer there.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem like you mind too much.” You smirked, giving his chest a light pat. “I’d almost say you’re gettin’ attached.”

He snorted, pulling you a little closer, his arm tightening around you. “Could say the same for you,” he replied, his voice low, almost teasing. “You’re insatiable, y’know that?”

You laughed, and the sound was soft in the quiet room. “You’re the one who keeps showin’ up, Logan. If you wanted me to behave, you’d stay away.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe I don’t want you to behave.”

Your fingers stilled on his chest, and you looked up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “So you like me like this, then? A little reckless… a little spoiled?” you teased.

He chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Think I do.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you settled back against his chest, letting your hand rest over his heart. For a while, neither of you said anything, the silence comfortable, his warmth grounding you. It was a rare kind of peace—one that you’d come to cherish whenever you were with him.

But then, curiosity got the better of you, and you lifted your head, giving him a thoughtful look. “Logan,” you began, your voice hesitant. “How long are you gonna stick around? I mean… I know my dad thinks you’re just here for protection, but… it feels like more than that.”

Logan’s gaze darkened, a flash of something unreadable passing over his face. He glanced away, his jaw tensing as he seemed to search for the right words. “As long as you want me here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “Then don’t,” you whispered, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I don’t want you to.”

He didn’t say anything in response, but his hand slipped up to cup the back of your head, pulling you down into a slow, lingering kiss. There was something different about it this time, a quiet desperation that made your pulse quicken, like he was trying to hold on to this moment, to keep it from slipping away.

When you finally pulled back, you searched his eyes, wondering what was going through his mind. “You’re not gonna let me go, are you?”

A small smile tugged at his lips, though his gaze was still shadowed. “Not a chance, darlin’.”

You felt a surge of affection for him then, this man who’d somehow become both your protector and your closest confidant. He was rough around the edges, guarded and distant with everyone else—but with you, he was different. You brought out a softness in him, a warmth that felt as though it had been buried for a long, long time.

Without thinking, you reached up and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “You know, for a guy who’s supposed to be my bodyguard, you’re doing a terrible job at keeping things professional,” you teased, though there was no bite in your words.

Logan let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re the one makin’ things complicated, Y/N.”

“Maybe.” You smirked, your fingers still tracing over his chest. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

He looked at you then, something fierce in his eyes, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the man he’d been—a man who’d loved and lost, who’d carried scars from lifetimes past. You wondered if he would ever tell you his story, if he would ever let you in on the secrets he guarded so closely.

But for now, you were content with the silence, with the feel of his heartbeat beneath your hand, with the quiet reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

As the night wore on, you lay there together, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

---

Your father had asked you to come to his office in the spacious house. At first it was nothing but muffled voices from outside the door, until Logan heard your father speak again, for a longer period of time, causing your own voice to rise.

While Logan couldn’t make out the words you were saying even with his enhanced hearing, he could tell you weren’t happy. Your voice carried that sharp edge you only got when something really struck a nerve, and judging by the way you didn’t hold back, it had to be serious.

Logan lingered just outside the heavy, mahogany door of your father’s office, his fists clenched as he heard your voice rising behind it. It was clear you were upset, and whatever was being discussed inside, you didn’t like it. He’d seen you frustrated, angry even, but never like this—there was a desperation in your tone that sent a chill through him.

Moments later, the door flew open, and you stormed out, cheeks flushed with anger, eyes flashing as you spotted him. You barely paused, brushing past him, but Logan caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low. “What happened?”

You turned to face him, anger and hurt swirling in your eyes. “He’s… he’s marrying me off, Logan. To that family. After everything he promised me—he said he’d never force me into something like this.”

Logan’s expression hardened. “What are you talkin’ about? He can’t just… marry you off like some kind of deal.”

Your hands were shaking as you brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, struggling to keep your composure. “Apparently, he can. There’s been this feud with the Romano family for years, and he says this is the only way to keep the peace. To protect me. Protect us.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. He felt a familiar anger rising in him, a deep, protective instinct he’d been fighting to keep under wraps. “So, he’s just gonna throw you into a marriage you don’t want? You don’t even know this guy, do you?”

You shook your head, looking away. “I met him once. He was… polite enough. But that’s not the point, Logan. I don’t want to marry him—or anyone like this. My father always said he’d let me choose, that he wouldn’t… sell me off.” The bitterness in your tone stung, your gaze distant as if replaying the conversation.

Logan searched your face, feeling an ache he couldn’t put into words. “And he knows how you feel about this?”

You swallowed, nodding. “I told him, but he says I don’t understand the bigger picture, that this is what’s best for everyone.” You gave a hollow laugh, looking down. “For everyone but me.”

He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was just a bodyguard, technically part of the arrangement meant to keep you safe from any threats. But you were more than just a job to him, and the thought of you being forced into something like this made his blood boil. He let out a rough breath, stepping closer. “Y/N, you don’t have to go along with this. Not if you don’t want to.”

Your gaze softened as you looked up at him. “And what am I supposed to do, Logan? Run off in the middle of the night?” You gave a small, bitter smile. “I don’t even know where I’d go.”

He didn’t hesitate, his voice dropping low. “Then we go together. If you don’t wanna go through with this, we’ll figure somethin’ else out.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, the anger and hurt seemed to fade, replaced by something warmer, more uncertain. “You’d really… leave everything?”

He shrugged, almost nonchalant, but there was a fierce determination in his eyes. “I got no reason to stay here if you’re not here, too.”

You hesitated, torn between the depth of his offer and the weight of the decision you knew would follow. Finally, you gave a small nod, as if grounding yourself in the moment. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Logan, but… I just need to know you’re here. That I’m not going through this alone.”

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Y/N. You got my word on that.”

There was a silence between you, thick and charged, each of you processing the weight of everything unsaid. His gaze stayed locked on yours, and for a moment, the anger and fear in your eyes softened, replaced by something closer to relief. And then, almost impulsively, you took his hand, squeezing it tight.

“Thank you, Logan. I… I needed to hear that,” you said softly, glancing away before meeting his gaze again, vulnerability written all over your face. “Just… don’t let go, okay?”

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not a chance, darlin’.”

---

Nancy was doing your hair once again for the dinner with the Romano family. You had tried everything over the past few weeks, trying to convince your father that this didn’t have to happen. That he promised you he would never do this.

But no matter what you did, he was firm in his stance, "you're getting married to Clyde, and that's final."

You sat still, staring at your reflection in the mirror as Nancy pinned up the last of your curls. Your face looked composed, serene even, but beneath it, there was a storm brewing—a knot of anger and dread you couldn’t shake. Every time you thought about that dinner tonight, your stomach twisted. Clyde Romano. A stranger. And yet, your father had decided this was your future, and nothing you said seemed to change his mind.

Nancy, sensing the tension, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "It’ll be alright, Y/N. You’ll be surrounded by family."

Family. Right. But none of them seemed to understand how trapped you felt. You forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding. "Thanks, Nancy."

As she stepped back, there was a light knock at the door. You turned to see Logan standing there, looking slightly uncomfortable in his formal attire but as steadfast as ever. His gaze softened as he took in your appearance, though he quickly masked it.

"Didn’t mean to interrupt," he said, glancing between you and Nancy. "Just wanted to make sure you’re ready."

Nancy finished adjusting your hair and excused herself, leaving you alone with Logan. You looked at him, searching his face, hoping for some kind of lifeline.

"Logan," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I’m being dragged somewhere I can’t escape from."

He stepped closer, his expression darkening as he listened. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. You know I’m with you, whatever you decide.” His hand reached out, brushing against your arm, his touch grounding you.

You drew in a shaky breath, steadying yourself. “What if I decide to just… disappear?” you asked, half-joking but mostly serious.

Logan’s eyes met yours, and you saw the unspoken resolve there. “Then I’ll be right behind you. Doesn’t matter where.”

For a moment, you let yourself believe it—that you could simply run, with Logan at your side. But reality crashed back in, and you dropped your gaze.

"I wish it were that simple," you whispered, clenching your fists. "But if I leave, it could tear everything apart."

Logan’s hand settled over yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "Then we make it through tonight. And tomorrow, we figure out the rest. You’re not facing this alone, darlin’. Not as long as I’m here."

You looked up at him, finding strength in his gaze. He’d been your rock through all of this, his presence steady and unwavering. And tonight, that was what you needed most.

“Alright,” you murmured, giving him a small, grateful smile. “Let’s go face this… together.”

He nodded, his grip on your hand a silent promise. Whatever came next, you knew he’d be there, just as he always had been. And with that thought, you found the courage to head downstairs to face your family—and the Romanos—one more time.

---

The dinner was at an Italian restaurant, one your father owned as cover for his business. Your dad sat at the head of the table while Clyde’s father sat at the other end. In front of you was your uncle Ermanno, who was also your dad’s consigliere, while Clyde sat next to you.

Logan, along with the other bodyguards, stood watch at the entrance of the private dining room, their silent gazes sweeping the place. He wore his usual hard expression, though his eyes softened just a touch when they found you across the room. He’d been watching you all night—catching every little shift, each moment you looked down or forced a smile, every subtle tightening of your hand on the tablecloth.

Clyde Romano leaned in a little closer, his arm casually brushing against yours as he tried to make small talk. "So, Y/N, I hear you’ve been helping out at a shelter?"

You nodded, barely meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I volunteer with the dogs mostly. It’s…nice to get away from all this sometimes.” You forced a smile, trying to keep things polite. You could feel your father’s gaze on you, watching for any misstep.

Clyde smiled back, but it felt too rehearsed. “Well, once we’re married, you won’t have to worry about shelters or anything like that. You’ll have enough responsibilities as a Romano.”

You felt your stomach twist at his words. Logan’s gaze sharpened from across the room as he picked up on the slight shift in your expression. You shot him a quick look, your eyes pleading for any kind of rescue. Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, he almost looked like he’d step in. But he stayed put, his hands clenched behind his back.

Instead, he looked for the smallest opening. Just as Clyde’s attention was pulled away by his father, Logan slipped into view, leaning down beside you. “You alright?” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

“Not even close,” you whispered back, your eyes fixed on your glass. “He’s already talking about our future like… like it’s set in stone.”

Logan’s eyes flickered with something fierce. “We’ll get through this, Y/N. Tonight’s just another show. Nothing more.” His fingers brushed the back of your chair, the barely-there touch sending a wave of calm through you.

But Clyde’s voice cut back in before Logan could say anything more. “Y/N, we were thinking of heading to Italy for the honeymoon. It’ll be a good chance to meet the rest of the family there.”

Your heart sank further. Italy. An entire ocean away, away from everything you knew, from everyone who mattered to you. “Italy,” you echoed, your voice strained but steady.

“Yeah. The Romano estates are beautiful—beaches, vineyards… a real paradise.” He seemed oblivious to your hesitation, already dreaming up plans you’d had no say in. Your father looked pleased, nodding his approval from his end of the table.

Logan straightened, but the look he gave you was unmistakable: You don’t have to do this.

You swallowed, shifting in your seat as Clyde rambled on. When his focus shifted to his own father again, you leaned back just enough to whisper to Logan, “I’m not sure I can keep pretending.”

Logan’s expression softened, and for a second, he let a hint of his guard down. “You don’t have to, darlin’.” His voice was low, almost tender, meant for you alone. “Say the word, and we walk outta here. Right now.”

The thought made your heart skip, but your gaze drifted toward your father, seated across the table with a look of satisfaction. Leaving wasn’t just about you; it would mean defying him, challenging the life he’d molded for you. The thought felt like a mountain on your shoulders.

“I can’t just walk away,” you said quietly. “He’s… he’d never forgive me.”

Logan’s hand brushed yours under the table, a quiet show of support. “Maybe he’s the one who should be asking for forgiveness,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a light circle over your knuckles. The warmth of his touch settled something in you, steadying your breath.

You gave a tiny nod, squeezing his hand for just a second before pulling away. Logan straightened, stepping back to his post but still keeping his gaze on you. Clyde was oblivious, caught up in a conversation with his father about future business plans, each word feeling like a nail in the coffin.

Dinner dragged on, a blur of forced laughter and stiff conversation. Every time you felt yourself sinking, you looked toward Logan. He was there, solid and watchful, like a silent promise of something real in a room full of facades.

Eventually, the families began to wind down, talk shifting to more casual chatter. Clyde, emboldened by the night’s success, reached over and took your hand, his grip possessive. “Soon, you’ll be part of the family, Y/N. You’ll see. You’ll come to love it.”

Your mind screamed at the thought, every fiber of you wanting to pull away. But you held still, not daring to make a scene. Logan’s gaze narrowed, his jaw set as he took in the sight of Clyde’s hand around yours.

Finally, as the night came to an end and the families started to stand, Clyde leaned in with a smug smile. “Ready to go? I thought we’d take a walk, just the two of us.”

Before you could answer, Logan was there, stepping in with a casual yet firm presence. “Mr. Romano,” he said, addressing Clyde but looking right at you, “your father asked to speak with you in private before you head out.”

Clyde frowned but nodded, reluctantly releasing your hand. “I’ll be back soon, Y/N.” He disappeared toward the far end of the room, leaving you alone with Logan.

You let out a slow breath, the tension finally loosening from your shoulders. “Thank you,” you whispered, looking up at him, gratitude spilling from every word.

Logan gave a slight nod. “Couldn’t let him drag you out there without a say.” His voice was rough, but his eyes softened as he held your gaze. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. Whatever happens… you got me.”

The weight of the night lifted just a little, and for a moment, you almost believed you had a choice in all of this.

---

“A week?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood in your father’s office. The weight of the word seemed to pull you under, even as you fought to keep your voice steady.

Your father’s expression was impassive, arms crossed as he looked at you. “Yes, Y/N. The Romano family wants to move quickly. They think it’s best, and I agree. It’s time you take on this responsibility for the family.”

Your jaw clenched. You remembered the promises he made, back when you were younger, that he’d never force you into something like this. “I just… I don’t understand. You always said—”

“People change, Y/N,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “This is what’s best for you and for us. For the family.”

You shook your head, feeling a rush of helplessness. “And what about what I want? I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks that I don’t want this, and you’re not listening.”

He exhaled sharply, the kind of sigh that signaled his patience was running thin. “This isn’t about what you want. I didn’t raise you to be selfish.”

“Selfish?” The word stung, and you couldn’t help the surge of anger that rose within you. “I’m asking for my life. How is that selfish?”

He frowned, unyielding. “Enough, Y/N. This is happening. We’re done discussing it.”

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay composed. The walls of the office seemed to close in on you, the reality of it settling heavy and cold. You had a week—seven days—to either submit to this life he’d chosen for you or… what? You didn’t even know.

Without another word, you turned and left, fighting the urge to slam the door behind you. The hall felt stifling as you walked out, your thoughts churning.

When you reached your room, Logan was there, waiting. The moment he saw your face, he stiffened. “What happened?” His voice was a low rumble, the concern clear.

“A week,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “I have a week before he marries me off to Clyde.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and you could see the flash of anger in his eyes. He stepped closer, his hand moving to rest on your shoulder. “So that’s it, then? He’s just… throwing you to that bastard?”

You nodded, the words catching in your throat. “I don’t know what to do, Logan. I tried everything, but he won’t listen. He’s set on it.”

Logan’s hand slipped down, finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze, his rough fingers warm and grounding. You tightened your grip, the frustration and helplessness boiling inside you finally having somewhere to go.

“I’m supposed to just go along with it,” you muttered, bitterness seeping into your words. “Act like I’m thrilled to be Clyde’s obedient little wife. Like my life’s just… his to take.”

Logan’s gaze darkened. “It’s not. You know that. And anyone who tries to take it without your say? They got me to deal with.” His voice was low and dangerous, a promise just for you.

You looked up, searching his face, a flicker of hope stirring. “But what can we do, Logan? He’s not going to listen to me. And if I push back too hard… I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Then let me get you out of here,” Logan said, leaning in closer. His voice softened, gentler now. “We can leave, right now if you want. Just say the word.”

Your heart twisted painfully, the temptation so fierce you almost said yes then and there. But reality clawed its way back, the weight of your father’s expectations and the tight grip he kept on every part of your life. Leaving would mean giving up everything—and, deep down, you weren’t sure you could risk it.

“What about my dad?” you whispered, feeling the weight of it pressing down again. “He’s… he’d see it as betrayal, Logan. And what if he goes after you?”

A flicker of something familiar crossed Logan’s face, a shadow from a life you couldn’t remember but that he clearly did. “Y/N, don’t worry about me,” he murmured. “Been through worse.” He squeezed your hand a little tighter, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture so tender it nearly undid you. “And if he’s got a problem, then he can take it up with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the anger and fear give way just a bit. “You say that now, but you haven’t seen how he gets when people cross him. He’d never forgive me, Logan. He’d never forgive us.”

Logan’s hand moved to cup your face, his touch steadying you as his eyes met yours. “Then we don’t need his forgiveness. We get you out, and I keep you safe. Whatever comes after, we face it together.”

The fierce certainty in his voice sent a warmth flooding through you, your resolve hardening under his gaze. “But Clyde, the Romano’s… they won’t just let it go.”

A smirk tugged at Logan’s mouth, the edge of defiance clear. “Then they’ll learn what happens when they mess with you. Ain’t nobody’s right to take away your freedom, Y/N. Not your old man, not Clyde, not anyone.”

A beat of silence stretched between you, his hand still warm against your cheek. Your fingers tightened around his, and for a second, all the anger and dread faded, leaving just you and him in the quiet of the room.

“What about… us?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and for a second, you held your breath, waiting for his reaction.

Logan’s eyes softened, his gaze never leaving yours. “What about us, darlin’?” He brushed a thumb along your cheek, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You think I’d just leave you here to face this on your own?”

His words sent a rush of warmth through you, and before you knew it, you were leaning into him, his presence steady and unshakable. He let out a low sigh, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer, his other hand tracing gentle circles over your back.

“You’re all I’ve got in this,” you whispered, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I can’t lose you, too.”

“You won’t,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his hold tightening just enough to reassure you. “Not now, not ever.”

You stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in his embrace, the weight of everything slipping away in his arms. But eventually, reality crept back in, and you pulled back, catching the flicker of resolve in his gaze.

“If we do this…” You paused, steadying yourself. “If we leave, we need a plan.”

Logan gave a small nod, his hand still resting on yours. “We’ll figure it out. Tonight, we’re just gettin’ you through this.”

It was a promise, simple and unbreakable, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope stirring deep inside you.

---

The rehearsal dinner was held in a private room at the church a few days later; a grand, echoing place with gilded walls and tall stained-glass windows that cast colored light over everything. Clyde, his parents, and your family were all gathered, discussing wedding arrangements like it was a done deal, each word chipping away at any illusion of control you had left.

Logan and the other bodyguards stood at a respectful distance, keeping watch. He tried to keep his gaze neutral, but his eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, catching every forced smile and stiff nod you gave.

As the minister went through the motions, you and Clyde practiced exchanging vows. You held his hands, repeating words that felt like a foreign language—lifeless, meaningless. Your eyes drifted toward Logan, and he gave you the barest nod, grounding you with that single, unspoken promise.

After the vows, Clyde leaned in close, his voice low and smug. “I think you’ll come to love our life together, Y/N. Just give it time.”

You forced a polite smile, biting back the words you wanted to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Logan clench his fists, his face darkening.

Finally, as the rehearsal ended and people began drifting off, you made your way to a quiet corner, needing a moment alone. Logan slipped over to you, his movements subtle as he came to stand beside you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

You shook your head, feeling that familiar knot of dread twist tighter. “Logan, I don’t think I can go through with this. But I don’t know if I can run, either. I’m… I’m stuck.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze intense as he looked down at you. “What if I told you that you didn’t have to decide tonight?” he asked quietly. “That we could just… take it one day at a time. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

The tension in your shoulders eased a bit, and you met his eyes, finding strength in the certainty there. He wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t forcing anything on you. He was just… here, with you, in whatever way you needed.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding slowly. “One day at a time.”

Logan gave a small, reassuring smile. “That’s all we need, darlin’.” His hand brushed your shoulder, lingering just a second longer than necessary before he stepped back.

---

The day of the wedding had arrived, and you were dolled up, your makeup and hair were perfect, and your wedding dress was heavy, constricting, and large.

Once the makeup artists and hair stylists left, you had fled to the bathroom in the bridal suite and were currently hunched over the toilet. You hadn’t thrown up—yet—but you could feel the nausea and anxiousness rising.

You braced yourself against the counter, taking deep breaths as you tried to calm the twisting feeling in your stomach. The dress felt like a vice, heavy and restrictive, pressing on every nerve, suffocating in a way that went beyond fabric and lace. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping the queasiness would pass.

A knock at the door pulled you from the spinning in your head.

“Y/N?” Nancy’s soft, steady voice filtered through, full of that motherly concern you’d come to rely on all your life.

You took a steadying breath, swallowing hard before calling out, “Come in, Nancy.”

The door creaked open, and Nancy stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her. Her gaze immediately softened as she took in the look on your face, her expression a mix of sympathy and something else—resolve, maybe.

“Oh, cara mia,” she murmured, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t look well. This whole business—it’s too much, isn’t it?”

You managed a shaky nod. “I… I don’t know if I can do this, Nancy. Every time I think about it, I just…” You trailed off, not sure how to put into words the suffocating dread that had settled over you.

She gave you a small, encouraging squeeze. “You know,” she said quietly, “there are other paths besides the one your father chose for you. And you don’t have to walk it alone.”

Your heart skipped at her words. “You… you’d help me? Even if I…?”

Nancy nodded, a spark of fierce protectiveness in her eyes. “Logan’s already got your things in his car,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you’re ready to go, he’s waiting.”

You blinked back tears before grabbing one of her hands, “y- you want me to go?”

“SÌ. Your father is a bastardo, breaking that promise him and your mother made.” She squeezed your hand, “Logan’s a good man. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He won’t let you down.”

You swallowed hard, Nancy’s words settling like a quiet fire in your chest. She was right. Your father had broken his promise, and you didn’t owe him your life just because he controlled every other part of it.

With a shaky exhale, you gave her a nod. “Alright… I’ll go.”

Nancy’s face softened, relief mingling with pride. “Good girl. Now, take this.” She pressed a small envelope into your hand. “Cash. Just in case.”

You looked down at it, blinking back tears. “Thank you, Nancy. For everything.”

She pulled you into a hug, her hand stroking your back gently. “Go, cara mia. Go live your life.” She pulled back, eyes glinting with fierce determination. “And don’t look back.”

You nodded, holding onto that resolve as you slipped out of the bathroom and made your way down the hall, heart pounding. Every step felt heavier, weighed down by fear and the voice in the back of your mind that told you this was dangerous, reckless. But when you stepped outside and saw Logan waiting by his car, the weight lifted.

He looked up, his gaze intense but soft, like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had. “You ready?”

You hesitated, just for a moment, before giving him a small nod. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Logan opened the passenger door for you, helping you in, his hand lingering on yours for a second longer than necessary. He closed the door, then climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a low rumble that matched the pulse pounding in your ears.

As he pulled out of the church’s parking lot, the weight of the decision hit you again. You were leaving everything behind—the security, the expectations, the people who’d shaped your entire life. But with each passing second, the fear melted away, replaced by a strange, liberating sense of excitement.

Logan glanced over, noticing the small smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t look so panicked now.”

You shook your head, unable to hide your grin. “I’m not. Not with you here.”

He gave a soft chuckle, that familiar warmth in his gaze. “Good. Because we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

You settled back, feeling more at ease than you’d felt in months. There was silence for a moment, comfortable and charged, before you turned to him, voice barely a whisper.

“Where are we going?”

Logan smirked. “Anywhere but here.”

You laughed softly, relaxing into your seat. The road stretched ahead, open and endless, and for the first time in a long while, the future felt like something you could shape.

logan is 141 years old and reader is around 23-25 years old

what!? is that a happy ending? who would've thought... next up, is origins!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #i love you in every time #logan ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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ribbonskiss · 6 months ago

Text

THE LEANOVER -> OP81

Part 1 of 2. Read Part 2 here.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: You come home on uni break to find your brother’s best friend, Oscar, is visiting. You both fall back into old habits, but some things are not the same.

Tags: brother’s best friend, friends to lovers, slow burn? kinda?, fluff, suggestive content (18+), very gentle reading tbh

A/N: Here it is finally, the highly requested full length version of the drabble I posted. Sadly I’ve reached my limit of dividers for this one and have to split it into two parts :( Very funny that it took off so much because it was honestly just a warm up for writing 😭 Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait, enjoy <3

“You’ve gotten soft, kiddo.”

He leans against the doorframe, that same mischievous smile on his face as he watches you do the dishes.

“Well,” you say, rinsing a cup over the running faucet, “Some of us have to.”

Oscar quirks up an eyebrow, arms folding over his chest. “Really? Fascinating. I had no idea.”

“And some things never change, I see,” you chuckle.

It’s December, and you’re home for the first time since moving away for university. It’s been an eventful year, one that’s brought about many successes, mistakes and surprises. Your mother marvels at how much you’ve grown; you’ve ditched the old frumpy haircut, started slouching less and finally found the perfect shade of lipstick. Your father is just glad you’ve managed to achieve a pretty impressive grade average.

When Oscar arrived, he caused so much commotion you had to stumble down the stairs to see what all the fuss is about. His presence was a surprise, but a welcome one. He was always your mum’s favourite—you remember the day he set off two years ago to pursue Formula One full-time. She cried as if he was her own kid. (Your brother stayed in Melbourne, so it’s dubious whether or not she would’ve cried harder if he moved away. For what it’s worth, when you went off to ANU yourself, she cried about the same amount.) Always a charmer, he came bearing big bags of gifts for everyone, and your family gathered around him like bees to honey.

He pulled your brother in for a hug. They’re too close to just settle for a dap-up after another year apart. “Looking good, mate,” your brother chuckled. “Look at this guy. Dapper, eh?”

“Says you, man, look at yourself,” Oscar laughed, throwing his head back in delight before patting him roughly on the back. “Fucking hell, you finally filled your beard in.”

From a distance, you smiled, watching as they started to roughhouse, laughing as they wrestled and wrung one another. Eventually your brother released him from his headlock, throwing him out of his grip, and Oscar ruffled his hair back into place before turning and spotting you, standing at the staircase.

He smiled at you fondly. You’d forgotten how nice it feels to be the recipient of it. He’d forgotten how he can recognise what every expression you make means.

You’ve grown a lot. Maybe not physically, but definitely mentally. He never had a problem with you before, far from it, but he likes this new you a lot—more graceful, tactful, a skilled conversationalist eager to help out whenever. Not to mention he didn’t even realise you could grow even more beautiful. Well, you’ve managed it somehow.

Now dinner is over and he’s still standing there, watching as you shut the dishwasher close. “Just can’t be fucked,” you sigh with relief. “Too many fuckin’ dishes.”

He comes closer, ruffles your hair with a hand while the other wraps around your waist, pulling you to him. The action is familiar, but the feeling that arises in you from it is not. “Well, you used to just not do them at all, so,” he reminds you. “This is a big improvement, Tiny.”

You flush. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember everything,” Oscar smiles at you. “Why would I forget anything?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “it’s normal to forget the little things.”

But his smile never falters. “They’re not little to me.”

“Well fuck, you’ve put me in a difficult position.”

The two boys you’ve known your whole life stand in front of you in the living room, where you’re sitting on the couch, legs sprawled over its full length, reading your book. Your brother sighs. “I just wish you’d told me beforehand, like, I know you wanted it to be a surprise but,” he continues. “If you told me you were coming, I wouldn’t have booked the trip—”

Oscar shakes his head. “Nah, don’t sweat it, come on,” he says. “It’s fine. Either way I’m back home, I can catch up with some guys from school, and your folks are lovely to me.”

Your brother starts up again, but Oscar puts his hands up. “Mate, really, it’s fine. I’ll be right on my own.”

“Say swear?”

“On my life,” he nods. “You just enjoy Bali with your missus.”

Your brother looks at him for a moment, shakes his head and smiles. He nudges him on the shoulder. “Don’t let her do anything stupid.”

“What, that little thing?” Oscar smiles, turning to look over where you sit on the couch. “She’ll be right. I got her.”

They talk for a little longer before one of them bids the other goodnight, retreating into his room. Oscar stays, looks at you for a moment as you pretend to not notice, eyes scanning over the pages of your book like your life depends on not looking back at him. He runs his fingers through his hair, lets out a breath before he comes closer.

“Looks like it’ll just be you and me this holiday season, Tiny.” No one calls you that except Oscar. He stands in front of you, towering over your sitting figure. You can’t find the bravery to look up at him, but you just know he’s smiling again.

You flip to the next page. “Where’s your family?”

“Off to the Alps,” he shrugs. “But I’ve just been last year with a few guys.”

“How convenient,” you comment, earning a chuckle from him. Oscar nods his head, smiling still, unashamed.

“Very convenient.”

“Good morning, sleepy.”

You stand in the kitchen, rubbing your eyes with the sleeves of your jumper where the counter is. He brushes past you to the coffee machine, and you feel his warmth close by for a split second. “Don’t do that,” he tuts at you, chuckling at your sleepy state. “It’s bad for your eyes.”

“Is he awake yet?” you ask, and your voice is still hushed, soft from slumber.

“No,” he says. “But I’m making coffee anyway. He’s a bit of a cunt in the morning.”

You suddenly remember that he’s sleeping on the spare mattress, very inelegantly smack dab in the middle of the floor in your brother’s room. You can’t help but snicker. “You know him too well. You’re like an old married couple,” you tease him. “Aren’t you too old to be doing sleepovers still?”

“Aren’t you too old to be reading your porny little novels on a Friday evening?” he retorts. You feel yourself flush almost immediately, the blood rushing to your cheeks as embarrassment overwhelms you, knowing you’ve been caught. Oscar glances over at you from where he stands, pouring out cold milk while the espresso shots continue to drip into his mug, and he chuckles.

“I’m right, no?” he continues. “You’re all grown up now, Tiny. My question is, why stay in? Why read about fucking a soccer player when you could just, you know, actually do it?”

You glare at him, but the sight of him this early in the morning with his soft sleepy smile and tousled bedhead hair makes you falter a little. “That’s not even a book I own.”

“I know that,” Oscar nods, holding the little pitcher to the steam wand, gently frothing the cold milk inside. “But I have seen one on your desk. Think it was about another sport, actually.”

Then the frothing stops, and he pours the milk foam into the mug slowly, carefully. He snickers. “It was about racing, wasn’t it?”

Your cheeks grow hot, hotter than you thought was possible, and your eyes drop immediately to the ground at his words. It amuses him to no end. He hands you the mug; it’s a latte, with a cute little heart on top of it. Now he’s just being cruel.

You take a sip of the searing hot coffee immediately just to avoid having to speak about this topic any further. “This tastes like shit.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and grins. “You’re welcome, love.”

“Can you even speak to me this way?”

“What way?” Oscar says, cocking up an eyebrow again. “You’re a big girl now. What, you can read about sex but you can’t talk about it—”

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper-yell, shushing him in a panicked tone, but he can barely take you seriously, chest rumbling with soft laughter.

“Alright,” he nods. “If it’ll please you, Tiny, I’ll do it.”

Then he leaves the kitchen, retreats into your brother’s room and starts yelling at him to wake up. You’re left on your own to figure out why he put so much emphasis on the word please.

“You’re leaving?”

Alright, now it’s getting fucking ridiculous. You’re sat in the back of your dad’s car after sending your brother and his girlfriend off to the airport, absolutely flabbergasted by what your parents have just said.

“You’re leaving me alone for two weeks,” you continue. “Since when? How long has this been in the works? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“God, no, it’s not like that,” your mum sighs, turning to you from where she sits in the passenger’s seat. “They invited us to their beach house in the Central Coast a month ago. We said no because we knew you were coming but, with Oscar here now… Why not?”

“We just thought it would be nice to have some time to ourselves,” your father continues, eyes still on the road. “With our friends. And you’re on break for ages! We’ll only be gone for two weeks.”

“You’re an adult now,” your mother smiles hesitantly. “And with Oscar… Well, I honestly trust him more than your own brother to take good care of you.”

Oscar is touched, but you’re less than satisfied by all this still. “I’m sorry, honey,” your mum starts again, but you shake your head.

“No, no, I get it, it’s fine,” you say, waving off her concerns. “I just wish I had a heads up, but I get it.”

Looking out the window now, you feel Oscar place a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch soft and warm, wordlessly assuring you things will be okay. He means well, but it worsens your worries. Your stomach feels strange. Now you can’t escape how you feel.

You look out the window, waiting for the bread slices in the toaster to pop out. In the back garden, Oscar is dutifully watering the plants blooming around the wooden benches and table where your parents like to host barbecues. (It’s one of the many tasks listed in the list of chores your mum left the two of you.) He takes careful steps, acutely aware of the blossoming flowers near his feet, and slips his gloves off where the shelf with all the necessary gear is.

He calls out to you, nudging the watering can with his foot to where it should be. “Smells good in there.”

“Almost done now,” you call out back to him, turning back to the kitchen counter where two dishes are lined with omelettes and chorizo sausages. When the slices pop out, you smear smashed avocado all over one side of them. When he finally comes through the back door, you’re finishing the already-salted avocado toast off by grinding up some pepper. Oscar stands behind you, watching as you do it.

“Looks amazing, too,” he chuckles. “Or maybe I’m just real hungry.”

“I think you’re just real hungry,” you say. “What took you so long?”

He shrugs, taking both plates from the counter to the dinner table. “Your dad’s tool shelf is weird as fuck.”

You don’t question it; he’s probably right, your dad is weird as fuck in general, so you just take knives and forks to the table. “Dig in,” you tell him, placing a fork down where he’s sat. He turns his head to look up at you, smiling.

“Thank you,” he says, softly, and Oscar’s looking at you with genuine delight. You turn away. Your chest is tightening. You go to sit where he’s put the other dish, and he watches as you take a small bite of your toast.

“So,” he starts up again. “They’re all gone. It’s just the two of us. Should we throw a rager?”

You chuckle at his words, and he beams, eager to make you laugh. “Yeah,” he nods, smiling gently again. “Wasn’t feeling like it either.”

“We don’t really have to do anything today,” you say, chewing on your food. “We’ve still got a whole two weeks ahead of us.”

“That’s true,” Oscar hums. “Well…”

You look up from your plate, giving him a curious look. “Well?”

“Well,” he continues, “I just haven’t had a chance to say—well, I’ve just wanted to say… It’s nice to see you again. You’ve grown a lot. You look good. Really good.”

You must be bright brick red in the face now. “Thank you,” you mumble back, and when you both finish your food he helps you load the dishes into the dishwasher before vacuuming the living room, ticking off another thing on the list.

“Tiny, I’m sure you look amazing,” he says from the other side of the door. “Can you please come out now?”

You look at yourself in the mirror, huffing. “No.”

Oscar frowns to himself. “Well, can I at least come in?”

“No!” you exclaim, the thought of him seeing all the clothes tossed onto your bed embarrassing you too much to even consider opening the door.

“You’re not naked in there, are you—”

“Oh my god, Osc, no.”

“We’ll miss the whole thing at this point, we’re late as is,” he tries to reason with you. “Please, Tiny, I could help you.”

“Yeah, because you’re so fashionable. I can’t just throw a linen shirt and beige shorts on like you do.”

You hear him snicker from outside. “Mee-ow. Touché.”

Sighing, you come closer to your door. “Just,” you say. “Don’t be cruel, okay?”

Oscar leans his head against the door. “Of course,” he mutters quickly. “I mean, obviously. Yeah.”

With another big huff, you unlock the door, and his eyes widen at the sight of you in a dress, soft blush pink silk hugging to your curves all the way down to your ankles. The thin straps leave little to the imagination, your collarbones and shoulders exposed to the sunlight filtering through your curtains. Oscar wonders how soft your skin must be, supple arms smoothing over your waist.

“I don’t know if I feel good in this,” you say, and his eyes dart back to your face, wincing in worry. “I don’t know if I necessarily have the body—”

“You look fantastic.”

You turn around to face him. He’s standing behind you, a little flushed as his eyes rake over your figure again. “You look great, I mean,” Oscar says. “Just… bring a cardigan.”

You chuckle. “It’s the middle of summer—”

“It could get cold at night.”

There’s a bite in his voice that makes you shiver, especially as you turn back around to face your mirror and he comes closer, towering over you.

“Who knows how long we’ll be out for.”

The Christmas market stays open until late. It doesn’t get dark by the evening hours in the summer, so you never slip on the cardigan. Instead, Oscar insists on having his arm around your shoulders the entire time, leading to more than one stall owner mistaking you for a couple. The commotion makes you blush every time.

“What are you so embarrassed about?” he chuckles. The two of you meander through the paths of the market, barely taking note of any of the stalls at this point. “People used to mistake us for a couple all the time in school.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Nuh uh,” you retort. “They thought we were siblings.”

Oscar gags. “What? Christ, no.”

“Exactly,” you chuckle. “Or they thought we were cousins.”

He looks at you, cocks his head to the side curiously. “Well, what’d you tell them?”

You shrug honestly. “I don’t know. I told them you’re my Oscar,” you say, and your answer makes him laugh softly.

“And what exactly does that mean?” He prods.

“Well, there’s no other way to put it.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “We’re not friends?”

Well, I hope not, you think. “You’re my brother’s friend,” you say. “And I think even he detests you sometimes.”

Now you’re approaching where the crowds are down the street. As you slip through the mass of people, the heat starts to rise even more in temperature, making his skin stick to yours in the humidity as he holds you close still.

“But we’re close,” you nod. “Not friends, not family. Just… My Oscar.”

He chuckles. “Your Oscar?”

“Ha-ha,” you roll your eyes, though the heat starts to get to your cheeks now. “Yes. My Oscar.”

Well, he likes the sound of that. It’s very intimate, he thinks. And he definitely likes that. “You know,” you continue as you finally escape the crowd, walking down the street and away from the market now. “They never stopped asking me.”

“Asking what?”

“About whether or not you were single,” you giggle.

Oscar sighs dramatically, halting to a stop as he shakes his head in great disappointment, making you laugh even harder. As the years went by, Oscar’s racing aspirations became more and more apparent to the student population, propelling him to celebrity status at school. It’s funny; the more lenient his schooling arrangements became, the less he showed up at school, and rumours started spreading, making him a sort of mythical figure that would drive girls wild whenever he did show up to class.

“You know I always fucking hated that,” he grumbles to you, eyes narrowing. “Fuckin’ hate how they treated you—I mean, you’re not my guard dog, you’re a human being.”

“It’s not that serious,” you snicker. “Schoolgirls are schoolgirls. You were a heartthrob, you know?”

Oscar lets out a hesitant chuckle. “Not by choice. I didn’t have time for girls,” he says, turning the corner towards the train station. “Well. Maybe just the one.”

“Oh?” you laugh. “How did I not know about this? Who was it?”

He smiles, turns to look at your curious face, and ruffles your hair like he always does. “The tiniest girl I’ve ever known.”

But you’re not that girl anymore. Later that night he knocks on your own door just before bedtime; you tell him to come in, and when he does, you’re standing in front of your mirror, clipping your hair back. In the sweltering heat of Australian December, your choice of pajamas is a camisole that wraps loosely around your bare chest, the shape of which is too apparent for him to not flush, and heather grey shorts that are dangerously short. It is now that Oscar realises that the tiny little girl he used to play wrestle with as a child really is, as he had told you before, all grown up now. When you turn around, smiling so sweetly and innocently and wishing him a good night’s sleep, he dryly swallows and silently nods, closing the door when you wave goodbye. If he didn’t leave right that minute he would’ve put his hands all over you, feeling that soft skin he’s been wondering about all day.

It’s not that that girl you were or the boy in him has vanished. But now you have both come to a situation where a certain passion shows its naked face, and that girl and that boy can now see the true spirit of the relationship they share, and it was there all along. Oscar sleeps scarcely that night, stirring in your brother’s bed in a cold sweat as his mind replays the images of your figure standing in front of your mirror, blissfully unaware of how gorgeous you have always been in his eyes. The ultimate standard of the perfect girl in his mind. What a pleasant affliction this is, a small price to pay for his heart to blossom.

He ignores the tent in his boxers and shuts his eyes. Your brother’s going to kill him.

Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Questions? Leave them all in my askbox, and sorry for any mistakes/typos!

#oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic

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moraxine · 8 months ago

Text

Fragments of Us [Ekko]

pairing: ekko x reader

words: 2k

summary: ekko wakes up in an alternate universe where you’re alive and everything feels right—but it’s not his world. torn between love and duty, he must leave to save his reality.

ARCANE SPOILERS!

“Powder. Ugh, she’s so annoying sometimes. I told her that the graffiti on Sevika’s stupid bar wasn’t even that good—like, come on, who even uses pink for a skull?—and she just flipped out ! Called me a ‘wannabe artist.’ Like, okay?”

Ekko’s chest burns as he violently jolts awake, aware , coughing as if he’s been drowning moments before. His head is pounding, all memories flooding his mind and spinning round and round. It takes a few moments for his vision to stabilise and start clearing up.

What the hell happened?

“Hey, are you okay?”

Hearing your voice, familiar yet a voice he never thought his ears would detect ever again, he freezes. His eyes snap open, adjusting to the dim glow of the neon streetlamp. After a while of simply blinking, right hand on his forehead, he dares to turn your way, only to face you in utter shock.

There you are, right beside him, nervously fiddling with a small gadget in your hand while waiting for his answer.

Ekko’s breath gets caught in his throat.

His gaze desperately darts around, taking in the distorted version of Zaun. The buildings look eerily familiar but cleaner, more polished. And then there is you —alive, bright-eyed, rambling as if nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

“You’re staring at me like I’ve got two heads or something. All good in there?” You ask, leaning closer as you gently tap his head.

No, no, no.

This must be some kind of twisted joke, a dream soon to turn into a nightmare, like the ones he experienced after your passing.

A strong wave of dizziness takes over and he loses balance. You’re not fast enough to catch him and he collapses on the floor, tears gleaming in his eyes.

“Shit, Ekko, I told you I’m fine walking home by myself! You need to focus on fixing that sleep schedule of yours. You work too much….”

You kneel down to check on him but as soon as you reach for his arm, he manages to pull himself up, wincing as his muscles protest. “I’m fine,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “Just… where am I?”

Your brow furrows. “Zaun, duh. Did you hit your head?��

Zaun. But not his Zaun. This is different. Cleaner. Sharper. Brighter. Wrong.

You wave a hand in front of his face when he’s up on his feet again, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Seriously, you’re acting super weird.”

He shakes his head, trying to gather himself. “I’m… just tired.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you say, leaning back on your heels. “Well, you can sleep at my place if you want. It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s better than the middle of the street.”

“Why…Why are you helping me?”

I didn’t protect you. I let you die-

You scoff, crossing your arms. “You have to be kidding me, really.”

He stares at you, his chest tightening. You are so casual, so warm, so alive. This isn’t his world—it is someone else’s. Someone’s whom was able to keep you safe and happy.

You wave a hand in front of his face. “Helloooo? You good, or do I need to drag you there myself?”

He blinks, shaking himself out of his trance. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Finally,” you say grabbing his arm. “You’re lucky I’m such a good friend, y’know.”

As you lead him down the street, continuing your pointless rambling about Powder and some argument over graffiti, Ekko follows silently, his mind racing. He doesn’t belong here, but for the first time in years, being near you feels like he is home.

ii.

Ekko is standing in the corner of your cluttered workshop, his fingers trembling slightly as he tightens the final screws on a device he barely understands anymore. Weeks have been spent scavenging parts, tearing apart old tech, and sketching blueprints on scraps of paper. The machine is almost ready—his way out of this world is almost ready.

You, of course, don’t know. In fact, you seem to know nothing about Ekko lately. Ever since that incident outside the bar, he’s been acting strange in a way you can’t pinpoint.

“Hey, genius,” you call from across the room, pulling him out of his thoughts. You’re perched on a high stool, playing with a broken clock. “You’ve been staring at that thing for hours. What is it, anyway?”

He stiffens at your question, keeping his face carefully neutral. “Just… something to help me get around. It’s nothing.”

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Since when do you get all secretive about your projects? You used to brag about your tech every chance you got.”

“Since now,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze.

It’s been this way for quite some time now—Ekko growing quieter, more distant, all while you try to bridge the gap with your usual chatter. You’ve noticed the way he avoids your eyes, the way he flinches whenever you stand too close. It’s not like him.

And it hurts.

“You’re acting weird, Ekko,” you admit, setting the clock down and leaning back on your hands. “Like, even weirder than usual. Did I do something?”

“No,” he says quickly, but his voice sounds strained, and the single word only makes you more assured that there is indeed something going on.

“Then what?” you press, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. Is this about Powder? Because if so, she’s the one being difficult, not me.”

Ekko clenches his jaw, his hands tightening around the tool in his grip. He can’t tell you. You wouldn’t understand—not fully. How could he possibly explain that you’re not even supposed to be here? That this version of you isn’t his you? That in his world, you’re just a memory he carries like a scar?

“It’s nothing,” he says finally, his voice low. “Just… drop it, okay?”

You flinch at the coldness in his tone, but you force a laugh, trying to mask the sting. “Fine. Be mysterious, then. See if I care.”

Turning away, you pretend to focus on the clock again, but your heart isn’t in it. You want to push him, demand answers, but something in his expression stops you. There’s a pain in his eyes that you can’t quite place, and for the first time, you wonder if this is bigger than any conflict he might have had with people in the past.

Ekko exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging. He hates doing this—pushing you away. But if he lets you in, it’ll only make leaving harder.

Because he is leaving. As much as he wants to stay, to pretend this is his life, he knows it isn’t real. He doesn’t belong here. And the longer he stays, the harder it’ll be to say goodbye. Especially to you.

“Hey,” you say suddenly, breaking the silence. “For what it’s worth, you’re still my favorite nerd. Even if you’re being a jerk.”

He looks up at you, startled by the softness in your voice. For a moment, he wants to tell you everything—to explain why he can’t let himself get too close. To tell you he loves you. But that would be partially true as you’re not his. Instead, he just nods. “Thank you.”

You offer him a small yet warm smile and his resolve falters for a moment. But then his gaze falls on the machine again—his way out—and he reminds himself why he has to do this.

It’s almost done. Just a little longer.

iii.

Ekko stands in the middle of the workshop, his hand resting on the activation lever of the machine. The room hums faintly with power, the cobbled-together contraption sparking faintly as it waits for his final command. It’s ready. After days of work, this is it—it’s time to go back to the people who need him.

But his chest feels tight, and it’s not just from the lingering ache of exhaustion. It’s because of you.

The door creaks open, and his heart sinks. You’re standing there, your expression caught somewhere between confusion and anger. “What the hell is this?” you ask, stepping inside. “Ekko, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t look at you. He can’t. “It’s… nothing.”

“Nothing?” you snap, gesturing at the machine. “You’ve been shutting me out for God knows how long, and now I find you messing with… whatever this is you’ve made? Don’t lie to me, Ekko.”

He finally meets your eyes, and the raw emotion there almost makes him crumble. But he takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “I can’t explain it.”

You take a step closer, your frustration giving way to hurt. “Why? Why can’t you just tell me? I’m not mad—I just… I don’t understand why you’ve been acting like this.”

Ekko clenches his fists, his mind racing. He could tell you the truth—about the alternate universe, about the fact that you don’t even exist anymore in his world. But what good would it do?

“It’s better this way,” he replies quietly.

Your hands drop to your sides, and the look in your eyes nearly breaks him. “Better for who? For me? Or for you?”

“Y/n…” His voice cracks, but he quickly swallows it down. “I don’t belong here. I need to leave. That’s all I can say.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “You’re lying. You’ve been here all this fucking time, and now you’re just… leaving? Without a word?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do!” you shout, stepping closer until you’re right in front of him. “Whatever this is, whoever you think you are—you’re my… friend, Ekko. You don’t just get to disappear without telling me why.”

His hands tremble as he reaches up to touch your shoulder, his gaze locked on yours. “You are—” His voice breaks, and he has to force himself to keep going. “You’re amazing. You’re… everything good about this place. You’re the reason I’m still alive. But I can’t stay.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding. His words feel final, and the weight of them crushes you completely. You fail to understand. Nothing makes sense, absolutely nothing. “Why?” you whisper, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Why can’t you stay? Is it something I did?”

“No!” he says, more forcefully than he means to. He takes your hands, holding them tightly. “It’s not you. It’s… me. It’s my world. I need to go back to where I came from.”

You can’t comprehend what he’s saying, but the desperation in his voice silences your questions. You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Fine,” you say, even though it’s anything but fine. “If you have to go… go.”

His hands linger on yours for a moment longer before he lets go. “I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me,” he says softly. “But I can’t. Not here.”

Tears spill over as you watch him turn back to the machine. “Will I ever see you again?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

He hesitates, his hand hovering over the lever. “I don’t know.”

That’s all he can give you.

With one last look at you, his expression filled with regret and longing, he pulls the lever. The machine sparks to life, and the air around him ripples with energy. You take a step back, shielding your eyes as the light grows blinding.

When the light fades, he’s there, his tired body slumped down on the ground. You immediately run to his side, kneeling down and pulling him to your lap. The room falls silent, the only sound the faint hum of the now blown up machine. You gently caress his cheek, tears running down your hot cheeks.

After a while, he wakes up.

And it doesn’t take you very long to realise.

You glance at the remains one last time.

And you hope that wherever he is, he’s doing what he set out to do—saving his people, his world, even if it meant leaving this one behind.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane ekko #ekko x reader #ekko x you #ekko angst #ekko fanfiction #ekko x reader angst #ekko #ekko league of legends #ekko arcane #league of legends

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calcifiedunderland · 13 days ago

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hey so can I have a scenario where Lilia vanrouge falls under a sleeping spell by another more powerful fae and your true loves kiss is the only thing that can break it and reader steps up for this? (They’ve been good friends for a while. They have no doubts about loving him themselves. It doesn’t matter to them at this point if he will reject them when he awakes. They just want him alive and laughing with his friends and family like he always is)?

💌 Request received! Thank you for your message~

The Prefect’s Kiss: Lilia’s Version!

— This is similar to some of my other works, so I’ve linked them here:

Riddle, Azul, Kalim Leona, Vil, Idia, Malleus

💚Crowley had the audacity to come to Ramshackle, lamenting as usual, but something was different. He looked clammy and shifty-eyed. “Y-you see… oh who was it again… L-Lilia…” That got your attention immediately, and you forced Crowley to talk. “What happened?”

💚 Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean Lilia’s under a sleeping curse?” It baffled you that he of all people would fall under it. Clever, mischievous Lilia who somehow could see things coming from a mile away? It was odd indeed.

💚 You thought maybe Lilia fell victim to his own cooking again, but things were even more nefarious. While the headmage was talking to you, Sebek all but burst down the door to Ramshackle. His voice was loud, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him to quiet down. Sebek looked devastated, “MASTER LILIA HAS FALLEN!”

💚Silver was right behind Sebek, looking very alert. He breathed heavily, clearly trying to stay awake. His eyes were intense, “you need to come with us.” It was no secret that you and Lilia got along like a house on fire - you thought the world of the strange, adorable bat fae.

💚When you three reached Diasomnia, you were met with a grim-looking Malleus. “This is dark magic at work,” he said lowly. Dark clouds gathered outside, and you heard thunder in the distance. Sebek’s frown deepened, and Silver’s eyes held a haunted look. “What do you mean?” You asked, heart beating hard.

💚Lilia had felt comfortable after a while to tell you about his past. You were shocked to learn he was over 800 years old, and a general. You also learned that he made many enemies over the course of his life. Malleus informed you that this sleeping curse affecting Lilia was no coincidence - his past had come to haunt him.

💚One of his enemies managed to sneak Sleeping Death into one of Lilia’s late-night gaming snacks. And somehow, it was potent enough to knock Lilia out. The more Sebek and Silver explained, the more panicked you felt. This couldn’t be happening. You had to do something.

💚At some point, your feelings had turned into genuine love for him. He was mischievous, but never unkind to you, and you both grew close. You never tried to push anything with Lilia, however. You would always be content with getting into hijinks with him, and spending time with Silver, Sebek, and Malleus. You valued your friendship over everything, pushing your feelings to the side.

💚 When the topic of True Love’s Kiss came up, you felt your gut clench. “I… I want to try,” you said. All three of their gazes fell on you, and your throat went dry. Still, you’d be damned if you didn’t do this, not only for Lilia, but for your friends.

His dorm room felt cold. Diasomnia was normally chilly, but without Lilia’s mischievous cackles and quiet comfort, the dorm wasn’t the same. Unbidden, you for a lump in your throat when you saw Lilia lying on his bed, eyes shut.

It was strange seeing him actually asleep. You’d spent many an all-nighter with him, hanging out on his bed or floor while he crushed a few bosses with Gloomurai online. It inevitably would end with you falling asleep to him furiously at the console, and the morning would start with someone tossing open the curtains, making you both hiss at the sunlight.

Despite yourself, you chuckled at the memory, eyes feeling wet. You were conscious of Silver, Malleus, and Sebek being in the room. “I just…” you bit your lip, “it’s strange to see Lilia like…” like this.

Thunder boomed in the distance and rain pattered the window. Malleus’s gaze was unreadable, while Sebek’s eyes looked glassy. Silver looked heartbroken, and you were sure you mirrored all of them. Silver spoke up, “Father wouldn’t want us to be upset. I… I’m sure he’d want us to find a solution.”

You took a deep breath, swallowing thickly. “The best way to do this is with True-“ your voice caught, “True Love’s Kiss, right?” At their nods, you bit your lip, falling silent. “Could I try?” Your voice was quiet. The room’s silence was loud as they all stared at you.

Sebek opened his mouth, and you fully expected to be yelled at, when he shut it. He looked deep in thought, before Malleus spoke. “I believe,” he said lowly, “it is what he would want. Silver, do you agree?” The second year nodded without hesitation. “I believe Father would agree. In any case,” he glanced to the other two, “we don’t object.”

Sebek nodded slowly, “although you are merely a human, I can’t deny that you are important to Master Lilia.” All three of them stood behind you, leaving you sitting at Lilia’s side. You sighed shakily as you turned to him.

You badly wanted him to wake up. Even though he’d only been asleep for the morning and some of the afternoon, you couldn’t bear the idea of Lilia being away from everyone. You couldn’t deny that you missed him. And deep down, though it would hurt, you knew that even if he didn’t return your feelings, you would still try.

He shouldn’t be cursed like this, you bit your lip, brushing his pink and black hair from his face. He should be up and smiling with everyone. Like he always is. “I… I don’t care if you hate me after this,” your voice wavered, not caring that Malleus, Sebek, and Silver were behind you. “I just… We just want you to be okay.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, squeezing out a few stray tears onto Lilia as you pressed your lips against his. You pulled away in time to see Lilia open his eyes groggily, mouth parting with a groan.

“Ugh- now that was a nap indeed.” He sat up with a yawn, blinking blearily. He looked over at the four of you, and started. “Now what’s with the long faces?” The three of them broke out into smiles. Silver looked absolutely relieved, while Sebek started crying openly, “MASTER LILIA!” Malleus merely smiled, but you could see his eyes turn glassy. You patted his arm gently, while turning to Lilia.

As Silver explained the situation, Lilia’s face grew serious. “I see…” he looked deep in thought, “well, perhaps I ought to teach those fiends a lesson.” Lilia’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but you gently patted him, “Maybe later, old man,” you teased to diffuse the tension. It seemed to work, as Lilia cracked a smile.

“I suppose I have you to thank, don’t I?” His gaze softened. “Could I have a moment?” Silver nodded, eyes shining as he lead them out. Sebek sniffled, rubbing his nose, and Malleus looked back before leaving. He gave you a smile, before closing the door.

You breathed, “Lilia, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but-“ he held up a palm, smiling at you. “My my, you look all worked up. Were you really so worried about me?” You made a face, and he chuckled, patting you on the head. A soft look came over his face as he lifted your hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly.

“you know, my dear,” he mused as you hugged him tighter, “I am glad you were the one to wake me up.” Your eyes widened, and you moved back to look at him. His ruby eyes sparkled, and he grinned impishly. “It seems that even after all these years, this world can still surprise me.”

First time writing for Lilia actually AUGH I hope this was ok!! Thank you for your request!!! 🥰 xoxo Calci

#calci’s 500 follower event #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge #calcified writing

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kxsagi · 23 days ago

Text

“𝐦𝐫. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐫𝐬. 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢”

a/n: welcome to the wedding of kura and isagi!!!

this is peak delusion, i just wrote a 1.2k fanfic about me getting married to isagi, but call me kura isagi now

(GUYS I'M SORRY I WROTE THIS A DAY LATE, I HAD THE DRAFT ALREADY WRITTEN AND COMPLETED I JUST NEEDED TO PUBLISH IT, BUT I LEFT HOME AT 8 AM, WAS BUSY RUNNING ERRANDS AT THE BANK ALL MORNING, WORKED FROM 11 AM-7 PM, AND THEN WATCHED THE NEW JOHN WICK BALLERINA MOVIE RIGHT AFTER SGSLGJLAG PLS FORGIVE ME 🙏)

suggestive content inside! it ends with us about to do the boom shakalaka

the soft rustling of kura’s dress echoed through the bridal suite as the final pin was tucked into place, locking her veil against neatly slicked back hair. the light caught the intricate beadwork of the dress – a masterpiece of lace and softness that hugged every curve. kura stared into the mirror, heart in her throat. not because she was nervous – no, she was ready. ready to become isagi yoichi’s wife.

but then came the sound she hadn’t braced for.

her mother.

“wow…”

kura turned slightly and saw her mom standing in the doorway, hands clutching her chest, tears slipping freely down cheeks that still held the glow of years gone by. she didn’t say anything else. she didn’t have to. the sight of her daughter – radiant, grown, glowing with love and purpose – was enough to crumble every wall she’d tried to keep up all morning.

kura blinked hard. “mama… please don’t cry, or i will too,” she warned, a half-laugh, half-plea in her voice. “and i just did my makeup.”

her mom walked up slowly, reaching out to touch her daughter’s arm like she wasn’t quite sure this was real. “i knew you’d be beautiful,” she whispered. “but this? you’re a dream.”

kura hugged her tightly, careful not to wrinkle the fabric too much, but the warmth of that moment – mother and daughter, standing in the final seconds before everything changed – would stay with her forever.

the ceremony was outside, under a clear sky that seemed like it’d been painted just for them. the white chairs were filled with faces both old and new, friends and family, blue lock boys in suits trying (and failing) not to draw attention to themselves, and kura’s friends whispering over champagne flutes about how the groom looked like someone out of a drama.

but isagi only had eyes for one person.

his hands trembled slightly at his sides as he stood at the altar, smile wavering the moment he saw movement at the end of the aisle.

and then there she was.

kura, walking slowly, steadily, her arm looped through her mom’s. the sunlight caught her veil just right, making her look like a beam of light had stepped off the clouds and decided to marry him. his breath caught. the crowd disappeared. he didn’t know whether to cry or laugh or fall to his knees in worship, but one thing was clear:

he had never, ever seen anything or anyone so beautiful.

his lips parted slightly, eyes glassy, heart practically crawling out of his chest to run to her. and when kura saw his face – the mixture of awe and adoration, the shaky inhale he took just to stay upright – she bit her lip and whispered, “don’t cry, yoichi…”

and he almost did.

the vows came like waves crashing against the shore of their love.

“yoichi,” kura began, voice calm but strong, “i’ve never been good with words, that was always your thing. but somehow, you made me want to learn how to say everything better, just so you’d know exactly how much i love you. you taught me patience, you taught me partnership, and most of all, you taught me that real love doesn’t ask for perfection – it just asks for honesty. and today, with everyone here… i’m saying yes to every version of you. past, present, future. goals, losses, morning hair and all.”

he laughed through his tears.

his turn.

“kura,” he said softly, then cleared his throat because damn, his voice cracked, “i knew from the moment i met you that you were something i couldn’t predict. and i love that. i love the way you challenge me. i love how you believe in me, sometimes more than i believe in myself. i love how you hold me like you were always meant to. with you, i’ve never felt like i had to win just to be worthy. i just… had to show up. and i promise i’ll keep showing up for you. always.”

the officiant didn't even get to the formal line before everyone erupted into quiet sniffles and blurry phone camera zoom-ins.

“by the power vested in me… you may now kiss your bride.”

isagi didn’t wait. he stepped forward, cupped her face, and kissed her with a kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred things – temples, trophies, dreams come true. but kura kissed him back like he was all of those and more.

the afterparty was chaos.

bachira was the first to hit the dance floor, dragging kura’s friends into an aggressive conga line before the salads were even served. reo and nagi showed up in matching suits “just to mess with people.” nagi took a nap in the gift table for twenty minutes. chigiri gave a heartfelt toast that got ruined halfway through because shidou stood up and shouted, “BOOM SHAKALAKA TO MARRIAGE!”

oliver stole the bouquet toss with shocking grace and then winked at every bridesmaid as he handed it back. ness sobbed the entire first dance. loudly. even though no one asked him to.

isagi was glued to kura’s side, except when his blue lock teammates kept pulling him for “one more photo” or “one more shot.” but even then, his eyes always searched for her. always returned to her. like a magnet. like gravity.

“mrs. isagi,” he whispered at one point, spinning her under twinkling lights.

“ugh, that sounds hot,” she replied with a grin, resting her forehead against his.

“you think so?”

“you can call me that every day from now on.”

they arrived at the hotel penthouse just before midnight.

massive windows framed the skyline like a moving painting. champagne was already on ice. rose petals, because of course. a bed so wide they could probably sleep on opposite ends and still not touch. but they didn’t plan to.

kura kicked off her heels the second the door closed behind them, sighing with relief. “if i had to smile for one more camera…”

yoichi chuckled, watching her shimmy out of the afterparty dress with the kind of hunger and awe that made it feel like he was seeing her for the first time again.

“you still have the ring on,” she pointed out, holding her left hand up.

he looked down at his own. “you, too.”

“you know what that means?”

he stepped closer, hands on her waist now. “what?”

she leaned in, lips brushing his ear, voice low and dangerous. “it means i own you now.”

he smirked. “you’ve always owned me.”

they kissed like it was round two of the ceremony. hands everywhere. mouths breathless. rings catching the dim light as their fingers laced together.

“yoichi,” she murmured, dragging him toward the bed, “you ready?”

he nodded, voice husky. “with you? always.”

the last thing heard before the lights dimmed was the thud of his jacket hitting the floor and her whisper:

“let’s make this marriage official.”

taglist (my bridesmaids + you can be added here if you want to just lmk): @simpingmyassoff @kissbabie @nensi @jnkosstuff @mymeloreo @mihyas-dieehefrau @beepbopzlorp @byzantiumhollow @6riix @gh0stlightdiva1100 @sasukevrz music anon @lylisimps @cutonmyhrt @youdontneedtoknowlol

#kxsagi #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #isagi yoichi #yoichi isagi #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #isagi x kura is the best ship to ever exist #kura x yoichi

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astraljedi · 1 month ago

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The First Night (Miss Americana - Joaquin Torres)

President's Daughter AU Series | Joaquin Torres x Female Reader

Warnings: political setting, sexism/microaggressions, emotional vulnerability, reference to past injury

Word Count: 2.6k

Song: Vienna by Billy Joel

A/N: I grew up watching First Daughter and Chasing Liberty all the time! And this idea has been storming my thoughts the past few days and I just had to sit down, plot it and write it. I hope you guys enjoy my version of this trope and let me know your thoughts!

Chapter 1

Chief of Shade Podcast: "DM from Anon says: What’s the deal with the First Daughter? She’s everywhere—charity events, White House galas, but we never see her out on dates. Any rumors if she’s seeing someone? From what I hear, the President’s daughter just finished her PhD, and Miss Americana doesn’t exactly have time for dating with that hectic schedule. And honestly, who wants to date with the Secret Service as chaperones? No thank you."

The champagne in my palm is growing offensively low as I try to smile and half-listen to Senator Williams ramble about how things were done in the old days. Of course I get cornered by the most conservative man in this entire gala while I’m trying to keep my opinions to myself for the rest of the night. I pretend to care, to actually look like I’m taking all his words into consideration and quietly reconsidering my entire political identity.

My father—well, the President—eyed me earlier with his usual tense stare when I accidentally let my tongue loose in a debate with another sixty-something white politician about basic human rights. Someone who wasn’t exactly on my dad’s good side to begin with. I promised him—and the chief of staff—that I’d keep my mouth shut for the evening if I was allowed to sneak out of the event early.

Even though my father moved into the White House two years ago, I’ve learned from his long political career to bite my tongue and focus my energy where it actually matters: outside, with the community.

“Your father tells me you’re a doctor,” Senator Williams says, and I try not to laugh. I shake my head, placing my empty champagne flute on a silver platter a passing waiter offers.

“Not really. I’m not a medical doctor,” I say, forcing a polite smile. “I have a doctorate in environmental engineering. My research focused on developing technology to reduce emissions and improve the air quality.”

“Oh.” He steps back slightly. Now he’s the one who wants out of the conversation. “You’re one of those.” His entire face shifts, scanning me with that familiar brand of disapproval. Even his tone changes, from civil to presumptuous.

I shift on my heels. My feet are starting to ache from all the standing, and I scan the room for an excuse—anyone—to rescue me from this sleep inducing conversation.

That’s when I feel a shoulder brush against my back. I turn around while the man mumbles an apology, and I latch onto it—onto him—without thinking. My hand finds his solid, muscled bicep, and I pull him into my vicinity, not bothering if he was having another conversation with someone else.

I focus on the confused dark brown eyes looking down at me, my eyes scanning him entirely. He’s my age, maybe a few years older, but the odds are in my favor tonight.

Clean-shaven jaw, dark hair styled back—though a few curls have stubbornly broken free—and a black tailored suit that fits him too well. This gorgeous man is my escape plan.

“I’m sorry, Senator, but I did promise him a dance,” I say, stepping closer to the stranger. A hint of his cologne hits me, warm and woodsy, and I close my eyes for just a second, letting it sink in.

“Is that right? Well, I mustn’t take more of your time. Enjoy the dance, kids.” Senator Williams quickly forgets me as I lead my unexpected savior to the dance floor—whether he can dance or not.

His hand is large and warm in mine, but he lets me lead us into the center of the room, surrounded by other couples chatting and swaying.

The quartet plays an elegant version of They Way You Look Tonight as he pulls me in, one arm resting on my waist, the other holding my hand in an almost perfect ballroom frame. He leads and I follow, surprised—and a little impressed. I fix the position of our hands slightly, perfecting our posture as we fall into the rhythm with the music.

“I’m sorry,” I begin, glancing up at him. “For making you my escape plan. I couldn’t handle another conservative man telling me to find a husband and shut my mouth.”

I exaggerate—kind of. No one says it outright, but the intentions are there.

My handsome partner laughs, a real jubilant laugh. A few couples glance over, eyes wandering over to us as I can’t help but laugh too, the sound escaping me before a second thought.

“It’s an honor to be your victim,” he says, flashing a smile that nearly makes me miss a step and step on his polished shoes. “Now I can proudly tell my mom that those dance classes finally paid off.”

“A little rusty,” I tease, “but luckily I’m a pro. Comes with the territory from attending more than a handful of these galas.”

The music shifts, something slower, softer, more intimate—but neither of us stops. We draw closer and the crowd around us thins, but we’re still in the center of the floor, like the moment belongs to just us.

“This has been my favorite song for years.” I confess, as the nostalgic, bittersweet notes of Vienna by Billy Joel fill the room. “I always make sure to dance at least once at these galas, for the photos, you know. Don’t tell anyone, but I always ask the quartet for the setlist so I can at least get one dance to my favorite before the night ends.”

His hand settles against my lower back—not too high, not too low—his warm fingers grazing the skin exposed by my backless black dress. We move easily together, like we’ve done this before.

“It’s a beautiful song,” he says, leaning closer. “And the perfect song to dance with a beautiful woman.” He whispers into my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

We sway through a couple more songs as he talks to me more about his mom. How she signed him up for dance class, saying that it would help him get all the girls in high school. Additionally, he admits that he was the class clown in school, always getting in trouble for interrupting the class, but that always worked hard for his grades.”

“I’m thankful for the sacrifices my mom made,” he says. “And I regret how I made it harder for her everytime the teacher called her while she was at work to complain about me distracting my classmates. Even though she would scold me, she didn't tell me to stop, just help me direct my energy somewhere else and that was football. ”

I nod, my eyes softening noticing his face light up. He was grateful.

“Now she’s having her payback,” he adds with a grin. “Trying to set me up with all her friends’ daughters every time I come over.”

I laugh again, cheeks aching in the best way. I don’t even remember the last time I smiled this much at one of these events. Or laughed genuinely.

“I never had a rebellious phase,” I whisper, resting my head lightly on his shoulder. “Never snuck out to meet friends or secret boyfriends. I was valedictorian, President of the debate club and the Environmental Science Club in high school. I’ve always tried to live up to my family’s image and I tried not to be a burden, so I did everything right. I was the perfect daughter and left no mistakes for the media to broadcast and spin it into something it wasn’t.”

“Are you a rebel now?” he asks softly, and I can hear the smile in his voice as he guides us around the floor.

“Sometimes I forget I’m not in the debate club anymore and don’t bite my tongue when someone’s spitting ignorance about climate change, women’s rights and gun control...” I pause, breathing out the frustration that’s been bubbling all night.

“I need to remind myself that if I want to make real change… it starts out there, not within these architectured walls.” I nod toward the window, where D.C. glows alive in its chaos while the rich sit, drink and gossip behind these highly protected walls.

“It starts with the people, the community.” Joaquin adds, validating me.

I remove my head from his shoulder and I look up, the chandeliers glistening sequin stars across his rich chocolate eyes, lighter than they looked earlier.

The quartet announces their break, the crowd disperses–but we don’t. We just keep looking at each other like we’re in our own world.

My mind sparks and I realize I don’t even know his name. We spent a couple of songs talking so openly that asking him for his name didn’t even cross my mind, or his apparently.

But as I open my mouth to ask his name, Sarah—the White House press secretary—abruptly taps on my shoulder, pulling me out of our trance.

“Sorry, it’s time for the press photos before the event ends.”

I sigh, stepping back from the warmth of his body. “Duty calls.” I pout, already missing the way his body melted with mine.

Our hands linger, fingers squeezing once before I force myself to let go. I follow Sarah off the dancefloor, and I don’t get a chance to look back.

Carmen, my favorite agent, falls into step beside me as we head down the hall toward the photo corner, already decorated for the official family portrait for the press to display on the front cover tomorrow morning on every newspaper and newsblog.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you have more than one dance,” she teases, opening the door for me.

But before I can get swept away into the sea of flashes, I grab her wrist. “Can you find out his name?”

She smirks. “Sweetie, I can find out way more than just his name.”

Before I can say thank you, my mother appears and pulls me into a sea of cameras, my media smile planted on my face like a professional.

The next morning, I sip my coffee, trying to shake the exhaustion from my body. I never dance more than one song—and now my aching legs and back are paying for it.

“Good morning,” Carmen sings, energetic for someone who probably went to sleep at four in the morning. She closes the door behind her and strides happily into my spacious loft. “I come bearing gifts, my lady.”

Carmen slaps a navy-colored folder onto my white counter and stands proudly, a wide smile on her face. She wears her usual work attire: a fitted black blazer and pants set, a neat white shirt underneath, and the tiniest United States flag pinned to her blazer, right over her heart.

“You found him?” I don’t know why I sound so surprised—it’s the Secret Service. Of course they’d find him. The odds were even higher since he had to be cleared to get into the party last night.

“For someone so smart, you sometimes forget the power the government has,” Carmen says, shaking her head.

Trying to act calm, I pour her some coffee. What if I don’t like what’s in that file?

“Hey, this is the first time I’ve used my privilege for something like this,” I defend, my fingertips lingering over the file.

“It’s not going to attack you,” Carmen teases, hiding a smile behind her cup.

I shoot her a glare and finally open the file.

I look at the picture clipped to the side. Joaquin Torres.

“Spoilers—he’s actually a decent guy. Sam Wilson vouched for him,” Carmen adds.

“You talked to Sam about him?” I place my almost-empty cup on the counter, careful not to spill it on the file.

“Joaquin was invited by the White House with Sam. Joaquin is The Falcon, sweetheart.”

It all clicks.

I remember the news, reporting on The Falcon’s condition after a horrible incident during a mission overseas. It was almost a year ago—I was finishing my thesis. The news was the only thing that didn’t distract me in the middle of the night, not like The Nanny that never failed to brainwash me away from my laptop screen.

I flip to the next page: A photo of him in his suit, in the clear blue sky.

“I remember. Didn’t he have a horrible accident?” I read through his accomplishments, security access and his basic information.

“He did, but Sam says he’s better. Physical therapy helped. He’s a strong guy, if anyone was going to make it out of that, it was him.” Carmen scrolls on her phone, coffee in hand.

“Do you know what happened?” I ask.

“I do, but that’s not my story to tell. I’ve got to get back to work, my break is almost up.” She moves around the kitchen and washes her cup. “His number’s on the Post-it note. You should call him.”

“What? That’s crazy—and a complete violation of his privacy! What if he doesn’t want me to call him?” I ramble, eyes wide.

Carmen grabs my shoulders and meets my gaze.

“Trust me, he’s probably asking about you to Sam,” she chuckles. “And I think,for the first time,you should do something you want. Not for your mother or your father. For you. This feels like something that could be good and fun. Maybe even for him too.”

“You know you just said not to do something for the President of the United States—your boss—while on the clock.” I try to change the subject. I shut the file and look down at my feet.

“He’s my boss, but you’re my responsibility. But as your friend, I’m telling you to live. You’ve done so much in your life—aren’t you tired of not having someone to celebrate your wins with?”

“I’ll think about it.” I bite back a smile, and Carmen claps her hands together, content.

Once she leaves, I grab the file and drag my feet across the wooden floor toward my bedroom. I crash onto my bouncy mattress and open the file again in front of me.

None of this is normal.

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esotericflame · 3 months ago

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On the elephant in the room.

I know my two cents might not matter to most, but I feel the need to share my thoughts on this situation. As an older fan I am really disappointed and disgusted with what has happened on twitter.

As many of you know by now, Justin Taylor (aka Swiss) is officially off the band’s current tour. I won’t rehash every detail—I’m sure if you’ve spent any time online, you’ve seen the accusations flying around. Justin was accused of inappropriately touching an underage fan and “grooming” two others.

As a victim of sexual assault and grooming myself, I always want to believe victims first. But this situation? It never sat right with me. And this isn’t coming from a place of idolizing Justin or putting him on a pedestal. I don’t do that with celebrities. Justin is just a man. A talented one but he is still a human.

First, I want to address the photo incident: this was investigated by the police, and nothing came of it. I’ve also heard reports that the person in the photo wasn’t even the one making the accusation. There are so many holes and versions of this story it feels more like a smear campaign than anything solid. And maybe accidents happen. I’m a short person; I know what it’s like when someone accidentally brushes against me in a crowded space. It doesn’t mean intent. If Justin was regularly “touching fans,” wouldn’t we have heard more from others by now? Use your brain.

Second, the grooming claims. Grooming is the act of forming a relationship with a child with the intention of sexual exploitation. The people accusing him were 18 or a bit older. Now, is an older man flirting with an 18-year-old gross? Sure. But it’s not illegal. It’s not grooming. Look at our culture—18-year-olds can work in strip clubs, sell explicit content online, and there are entire genres of porn centered around barely-legal themes. I’m not saying that’s right—but in the eyes of the law, 18 is an adult.

I say this from experience: I was groomed at 16 by a man ten years older who waited until I was “legal” to make his move. That’s grooming. Not some flirty messages exchanged between adults.

Third, let’s talk about the crowd pushing these accusations. They’re mostly young, extremely online individuals. These are the same people who preach tolerance but are the first to send death threats the moment someone disagrees with them. And death threats? That’s disgusting. (I’m looking at the ones who threatened TF’s kids)

This insane behavior is never okay. You think you’re doing good, but if Justin were to hurt himself over this, that blood would be on your hands.

I am all for justice when it is done correctly. Let a band handle their internal affairs. But this rise of online justice has devolved into mob rule, where accusations alone are enough to condemn someone. Facts no longer matter—only public outrage does. Innocent until proven guilty? That’s dead. The internet now plays judge, jury, and executioner.

Instead of wasting energy tearing down someone you’ve never met, maybe channel that passion into something real—volunteer at a survivor’s shelter, support real victims. Get off the site run by a literal Nazi and go do something good for your community.

Finally people need to stop going after Per, Randy, Cos, Olivia, Hayden, and Tobias. These people are Justin’s friends—they’ve spent years touring, rehearsing, and performing together. Don’t you think they know Justin better than strangers on the internet? They’ve chosen to stand by him for a reason.

I’ve been a Ghost fan for 13 years—since the early days when they played Maryland Deathfest. And honestly? I’m disappointed and embarrassed by the behavior of so many fans today. Since MOAC blew up, it feels like there’s this new wave of fans who have made Ghost their entire personality, turning the band into some toxic obsession.

I do hope Justin gets a lawyer and holds every person who spread hate and lies accountable. But if it comes out that I am wrong about everything then I’ll eat my words. Period.

#ghost #jutty taylor #namless ghouls #the band ghost #swiss ghoul

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corroded-hellfire · 4 months ago

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Hii!! I love your As You Wish series sm, and I was wondering if you could write about Eddie and reader's wedding because I feel like that would be so insanely cute (not that everything you write isn't insanely cute). Anyways, that's all I have to ask, have a great day!

omg hey!! I love your AYW series SO MUCH and all my friends and family can vouch for the fact that I am sat and ready every AYW Wednesday because I love your writing so much! Anyways, I was wondering if you could write about eddie and reader's wedding? we have the bachelor party and the honeymoon but i'm so curious about how you imagine the actual wedding would be? That’s all I have to say here, byeee<3

What about a sweet little callback to reader watching The Princess Bride and Eddie saying as you wish? Like in wedding vows or something 👀

thinking about AYW!Older!Eddie and reader’s first dance at their wedding being to Uptown Girl but it’s a slow dance version that Eddie sang and recorded just for the wedding 😿

I have been thinking about this story for so long! Thank you to everyone who requested and wanted to see this day too. I apologize if there are any errors in this because I I basically purged this onto paper lol. I hope you all enjoy ❤️

There are two covers of songs mentioned in this and here are links to hear how they sound! I’ve actually started making an AYW playlist! We’ll see how that goes lol

Nothing Else Matters / Uptown Girl

Words: 15.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Dude, your face is going to start hurting.”

Dustin watches Eddie from where he’s leaning next to the cracked window. The five men are in the small room that’s reserved for the groom and his groomsmen. The February breeze cools down the otherwise warm and small area. There’s one chair in the corner and Steve is currently perched on it, leaving the others to become wallflowers against the periwinkle paint. Lucas stands near the door, head cocked to the side as she watches Eddie excitedly pace on the opposite end of the space. Gareth is crouching near the mirror that the groom keeps checking his hair in from time to time.

“I’ve never seen him smile so much,” the former Corroded Coffin drummer says.

Eddie ignores his friends, even as all four pairs of eyes burn through his tux; their words mean nothing to him. All he can think about is you. How you’re somewhere in the same building as him, in your wedding dress, just minutes away from marrying him. He wonders if you’re as excited as he is–though he doesn’t think that’s physically possible. What kind of dress did you pick? It doesn’t matter, he knows you look perfect. He keeps picturing you walking down the aisle toward him and it’s impossible to keep the goofy smile off his face. At least there aren’t any cameras trained on him to capture this particular look.

“You two aren’t married, you don’t get it,” Steve says.

“Um.” Gareth looks at Steve and narrows his eyes. “I’ve been married for years.”

Both Lucas and Dustin snicker.

“Oh,” Steve says. “Well, I wasn’t at your wedding.”

The doorknob turns and Ryan and Luke stroll in. Ryan’s eyes are a little red, but his little brother has full-on tear tracks running down his cheeks.

“Hey.” Eddie’s at their sides in a heartbeat. “What is it?”

Luke shakes his head, a smile almost as big as his father’s on his face. Ryan also looks happy despite the evidence of past crying.

“She looks so pretty,” Luke says.

Eddie’s shoulders sag in relief and his heart thuds against his ribcage.

“So pretty that you cried?” Eddie asks, using his thumb to wipe off the nine-year-old’s cheek.

“Oh yeah,” Luke answers. “You’re going to cry, too.”

“We all knew that,” Dustin says, making the rest of the guys chuckle.

“Okay, you’re definitely not married,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows at his younger friend.

Ryan tilts his head as he inspects his father, and Eddie catches the look out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” he asks his oldest.

“You’re like…lighter.” Ryan shakes his head, not happy with the words he’s chosen. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“He’s so happy!” Luke provides.

“Yeah.” Ryan nods his head. “So happy you look different. But in a good way.”

“I look okay?” Eddie asks, reaching up to smooth out his hair for the hundredth time in the last hour.

“You look really good,” Luke says. Though no new tears form in his eyes, the little boy’s voice is thick with emotion. He had no idea this day would be so much–he was just expecting the fun from the party later.

Ryan tugs on the lapels of his dad’s coat before giving the man a thumbs up. Instinctively, Eddie goes to ruffle the eleven-year-old’s hair but at the last moment remembers it’s gelled down nicely already.

“You guys all ready to go?” Eddie asks.

“Just need our stuff,” Luke says, gesturing to the cardboard box in the corner.

Gareth is the closest one, so he slides it towards the boys. Luke opens it and pulls out Ryan’s prop first. It’s a small wooden box, hand-painted by both boys, you, and Eddie. You’d had a family craft night about a week ago where each of you got to paint one side of the box any way that you’d like. Luke painted a big sun and a blue sky on his side, and Ryan had painted stick figures of the four of you, each slightly altered to look more like yourselves. You had painted two large red hearts with one singular black arrow going through both of them, and Eddie painted two large golden rings intertwined with both of your initials in them.

Ryan takes the box from his brother and opens it. Two silver rings gleam up at him from the inside, as well as two pink carnations. Next, Luke pulls out a large Ziploc bag and shakes it enthusiastically.

“I’m ready to load up!” he says.

Eddie chuckles and kisses Luke’s head before there’s a knock on the door. The venue coordinator pops her head in and gives all the men a smile. She’s a small elderly lady that reminds Eddie of Queen Elizabeth for some reason. He has to keep reminding himself that her name is Janet and not to accidentally refer to her with the monarch’s name instead.

“Are we ready?” she asks.

“Very,” Eddie answers.

“Alright.” She smiles at the boys and smooths down the rosy skirt she’s wearing. “Time to come with me, boys.”

Luke throws his arms around his dad, which is almost enough to get Eddie choked up.

“See you in a few minutes!” Luke says, giving his father an extra tight squeeze.

“I can’t wait to see your little performance, pal.” Eddie grins and presses a kiss to the side of the nine-year-old’s head.

“Eh, I know I’m just the warmup act.” Luke steps back from Eddie and sketches an overdramatic bow. “I cannot compare to the beautiful princess!”

“Nah, you’re the troll under the bridge,” Ryan teases good-naturedly as he tugs his brother towards the door. “Bye, Dad.”

“I love you guys,” Eddie calls after them.

“Love you too!” Come twin replies as the door closes behind them.

The moment the boys left your dressing area to go find their dad, honest to goodness butterflies started spiraling around in your stomach. It’s impossible not to smile to yourself in the full-length mirror. The A-line gown conforms to your body perfectly; accentuating every curve and stretch of your body. The sweetheart neckline and short lace sleeves show off just enough decolletage for the silver necklace hanging around your neck to shine. The two intwined hearts with an emerald in the middle that Eddie had given you seemed the obvious choice to wear today. As a surprise, Nancy bought you emerald stud earrings to match it. They gleam in the light when you inspect them in the mirror.

“Max, can you hand me the veil?” Gin asks.

“Yeah, here you go. Alright, I’m going to head out to the holding space to meet the boys when they’re done with Eddie. Not that I don’t trust them not to get into mischief back there on their own, but…well, I don’t.”

You giggle and nod to Max as she opens the dressing room door and slips out. She crosses paths with your mom as she steps into the room. In the mirror you can see tears flooding her eyes as Gin situates your veil just right in your pristine hair.

“Aw, Mom,” you say with a chuckle.

“Are we surprised she’s crying?” Gin asks you with a snort.

“Not at all,” you reply.

“You look so beautiful, sweetheart,” your mom says.

“Thanks,” Gin replies before you can open your mouth.

Your mother tuts and you playfully swat at your older sister.

“Thank you, Mom.”

“Are we just about ready?” your mom asks. “I’m not trying to rush you, I promise, it’s just that I saw the two most adorable little boys out there and I’m ready to have them officially be my grandsons.”

Hearing those words from your mother adds another layer of emotion to your already giddy state. Your family is joining Eddie’s family. You and Eddie are joining. You are going to be a Munson now and for the rest of your life.

Giving yourself one more look over in the mirror, you nod to yourself, then turn to look at your bridesmaids. The deep purple gowns look stunning on them, despite the across the board differences in coloring and body shape. They flatter your friends and sister so well that it starts another round of tears pressing behind your eyes. Determined to push these ones away, you shake your head and take a step towards your mom.

“I think we’re ready.”

Your mother nods and reaches for the doorknob. As she pulls it open, it reveals you in all your bridal glory to your dad, who is standing on the other side. A softness grows on his face that you’ve never seen before.

“My baby girl,” he says, his right hand coming to smack down over his heart. “All grown up.”

“Daaad,” you whine, but beam at the praise, nonetheless.

“You look perfect, honey.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

You loop your arm through his and your mom walks on your other side. The three bridesmaids trail along behind you, the sound of several pairs of heels clicking along the hardwood floors with the absence of a rhythm.

“She’s here!”

Luke’s voice carries across the sparsely furnished holding space. You grin and wave at the boys once they’re in your line of sight.

“Ready to rock and roll, little Munsons?” you ask.

Ryan gestures to the box in his hand and nods, while Luke pats his bulging pants pockets with an almost maniacal smile on his face.

“Everything is all set in there.” Janet slips in from the main room and gently closes the large double doors behind her. “We’re ready to go whenever you are.”

Max scoops up the large brown wicker basket that is carrying the bouquets for you and each bridesmaid. She hands Nancy, Jess, and Gin their bouquets of white roses and violets. When she gets to you, Max hands you the red roses and baby’s breath, her face full of pure joy and pride.

“Ryan?” Janet smiles kindly at the older boy. “Are you ready to escort the mother of the bride to her seat?”

Your soon-to-be-son nods and adjusts his posture so he’s standing up taller. He hands the wooden box to Luke for the moment and walks over to your mother. Though he is much shorter than the older woman, he offers him her arm all the same.

Before she loops her arm through his, your mom pulls you in for a hug.

“Congratulations, my beautiful daughter. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” These goddamn emotions are driving you wild and you haven’t even laid eyes on Eddie yet. You know you’re screwed and it’s inevitable that you will cry—it’d just be nice to push it off for as long as possible because there’s a good chance it won’t stop once it starts.

Janet holds the door open, and you watch Ryan and your mom walk through. That’s my mom with my son. It’s not the first time the boys have seen your parents, but watching Ryan and your mom walk towards the aisle, arm in arm with one another? It’s an utterly serene feeling, all the puzzle pieces in your life slotting together perfectly. And so far, they’re creating a beautiful picture.

“Alright,” Janet says, coming back over towards you. “I believe that Max will be the first bridesmaid out, yes?”

“Yes,” you affirm just as the aforementioned woman steps up to take her spot at the front of the line. “Then Nancy.”

Nancy gives your shoulder a playful nudge as she passes by you to take her place behind Max. You smile and fight the urge to tug on one of her immaculately styled curls.

Next up is Gin, then Jess, the maid of honor, capping off the bridesmaids. Ryan pops through the door just in time to join his brother at the end of the line. Ryan will go first, then Luke. And after that? Every eye will be on you as your father walks you down the aisle. The thought is nerve wracking honestly, but you’ve been assured by many people that once you see Eddie, it’ll be like no one else is in the room. It’s not hard for you to believe either since that is something that happens on a daily basis when you see him anyway.

As you and your father move into position, you notice both Luke and Ryan watching you.

“What’s up, bubs?” you ask, looking up to meet their eyes as you settle into your place.

“Nothing,” Luke says with a smile and a shake of his head. “Just excited.”

“Me too.” You lower your bouquet and gently boop it against the tip of Luke’s nose.

Ryan doesn’t speak, but the look on his face says it all. He’s happy. He’s not afraid to be happy, either. Joy can run rampant now that this little family is becoming official.

Music begins playing, and though it’s soft through the solid oak double doors, you can still make out the instrumental cover of Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters that you and Eddie chose to begin the ceremony with. Eddie is very lucky he was able to find this particular rendition of the song because when he first mentioned having Nothing Else Matters played before the ceremony, you were ready to shove the spoon cradling milk and Cheerios in your hand down his throat. But this version is beautiful and now, hearing it play out there, you know it was absolutely the right call. It just adds another personal touch to your wedding. Neither you nor Eddie wanted some stiff, formal affair. This wedding is meant to reflect the two of you; both as individuals and as a couple. A simple, sweet, loving ceremony with friends and family.

“Ready, ladies?” Janet asks, not waiting for a response. “Max, you’re up.”

This is it. The wedding is officially starting. The groaning of the large double doors opening makes your stomach feel as if it’s about to make an escape from your body. Max steps forward and the sound of her heels as she walks down the aisle sets your body on fire. This is happening. It’s finally here.

“All good, pumpkin?” your dad asks softly.

“Yeah,” you breathe out with a rush of air. “I’m so excited.”

Luke turns around and gives you a mischievous smile.

“Don’t worry,” he says quietly, “if you get nervous just imagine everyone in their underwear!”

You giggle and gently bop the top of his head with your bouquet.

Next, you see Nancy disappear as she takes her turn down the aisle. Did she really wait the twenty seconds Janet instructed for between bridesmaids? Of course she did, you tell yourself. It just seems like time is trying to skip ahead, wanting to jump to the part where it’s your turn to walk down the aisle, your elegant shoes walking over the white runner. At the same time though, it feels like it will be an eternity until your turn finally arrives. How is time contradicting itself right before your very eyes?

It’s Gin’s turn now. Hold twenty seconds, now Jess. But the doors close before the boys can make their grand entrance. In true Munson fashion, they have to wait for the right musical cue.

Nothing Really Matters fades out, leaving silence for a few beats before Slash’s iconic opening guitar riff of Sweet Child O’ Mine plays overhead.

Your eyes fall on the boys and their excitement and eagerness to get going warms your heart. There is no way anyone could possibly ever have the coolest, funniest, most loving stepsons like you do.

“Ready?” you ask them.

“Yeah!” Luke cheers.

“Go ahead, my little Lord of the Rings.” You blow a kiss to the first boy up.

Ryan nods before giving a smile to Janet to let her know it’s okay to open the doors again.

A different vibe permeates the air now that the music has switched from instrumental to pure rock. It’s lighter, calmer, and more relaxed. All the things that those three Munson men make you feel on a daily basis.

Ryan takes a deep breath and takes his first step forward right as Axl Rose comes in with the lyrics. But to you, everything fades into the background except your boys. The back of Ryan’s head bobs down the aisle and you’re already looking forward to watching the video recording of the wedding so you can see how this looks from the front. Your oldest smiles at some people seated on either side of the aisle but mostly keeps a steady pace as he makes his way towards the altar. The eleven-year-old has never been much for the spotlight, so he’s probably relieved when he and the wooden box make it to the front of the room.

Now, on the flip side of that coin, Luke thrives as the center of attention.

“Have fun, Lord of the Petals!” You give him a wink.

He looks over his shoulder and throws a wink at you in return before he starts to walk—no, strut—down the aisle. Luke makes it about a quarter down the aisle before he stops and jumps up and down in time with the drum, his hands making little rock and roll signs as he does. When he lands, his legs are spread shoulder length apart. He whips his head to the right—where the groom’s side is seated—and his eyes find Mia Harrington in the crowd. Since both of her parents are part of the wedding party, Mia is seated with her siblings and her Aunt Holly and Uncle Mike. When the almost five-year-old sees that Luke’s attention is on her, her cheeks turn as pink as the tulle dress she’s wearing.

Luke smiles and points to her and juts his hip out in the same direction his arm is raised. The heel of his black Oxford taps along with the beat of the song as he slowly lets his arm fall back down to his side. A few people in the audience chuckle at Luke’s adorable performance. But you know they haven’t seen anything yet.

As the song winds up towards his cue, Luke slips his hands inside his pockets and takes one small step forward.

Sweet love of mine

Luke’s hands come flying out of his pockets, red rose petals flying into the air just as the guitar solo fills the room. They rain down like confetti on those guests closest to the aisle, the white runner beneath his feet, and on Luke himself.

The laughter grows as Luke steps forward, making his way up the aisle as he gathers more supplies from his pockets, and spins around on one foot, letting more petals ricochet into the air in a spiral. Luke looks up at Eddie standing at the altar and gives him a big grin. The grin grows even larger when he sees the happiness and laughter on his father’s face as well.

Where do we go?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go?

As the outro of the song rolls in, Luke fills up on petals once more and tosses them in indiscriminate directions at every “where do we go?” that Guns N’ Roses sing.

It turns out he proportioned the petals well, because when he comes to the end of the aisle, Luke has just enough left to sprinkle them up to the altar.

Before the song ends, Ryan opens the lid of the wooden box in his hands and Luke plucks out two whole pink carnations. With a smile, he smells each of them. Then, he proceeds a few steps back to the aisle to present one of the flowers to your mother. She kisses his cheek in thanks, then Luke skips across the aisle and hands the other flower to Wayne. His grandpa chuckles and happily accepts it from Luke before tucking it into the front pocket of his suit jacket. It gives the black material a pop of color.

As the final notes of the song play, Ryan and Luke stand together just in front of the altar and bow. The crowd gives them an enthusiastic round of applause, and there are even a few whistles and cheers. The two share a laugh before heading over to stand in their designated spots next to Lucas.

The doors at the back remain open this time but there is another music change. The opening notes of Here Comes the Bride begin to play and suddenly your skin feels like it’s vibrating. The time has come to play your part in this show. But what better of an opening act could you have asked for with those adorable boys?

“Ready?” your dad asks softly.

It’s one of the easiest questions you’ve ever answered.

“Yes.”

Together, you walk towards the main room and pause in the open doorway. Both sides of the guests rise from their seats and it’s surreal to think they’re all standing because you walked into the room. Every eye is on you as you begin walking again, and you take a quick chance to look around at the family and friends gathered here, because you know they’ll all become invisible to you the moment you see Eddie waiting up there for you.

You take a deep breath before you allow yourself to look up at the altar. And there he stands. Beautiful as ever but seeing him in a tux really takes your breath away. Thank God you took that deep one just a moment ago or you fear you’d be flat out on the runner. His hair is tucked into a bun at the base of his neck and shorter pieces frame his face in the way that you simply adore. And there are tears in his eyes.

Until you saw the water welling up in those dark brown eyes, you were overstimulated enough by the excitement of the moment to not think about crying yourself. But now the two of you match, tears building as you watch one another, then both chuckling softly as you realize you’re both crying.

As you and your father approach the altar, Eddie steps forward to receive you from him. Your dad kisses your cheek, then transfers your hand from his own into Eddie’s.

The moment your skin touches his everything feels right. The madness, the excitement, the hubbub of the whole day has led to this serene moment. Your hand is where it belongs forevermore: in Eddie’s.

“You look beautiful,” Eddie whispers loud enough for only you to hear as you take your spots at the altar, in front of the officiate. Jess takes your bouquet from you so you can properly hold your betrothed’s hands.

“Thank you.” You feel your face heat up regardless of how many times Eddie has told you that over the years. It’s different now that you’re in your wedding gown. Every item you put together for this look, every moment of time spent on it, was in the hopes that Eddie would think it looks good on you. Of course, deep down you know that you could have worn a garbage bag, and he would’ve thought you looked nice, but you happen to agree with him when it comes to your wedding look. You do look beautiful.

The officiant steps towards the two of you, and you mostly look at him and offer a smile out of politeness. All of your attention yearns to be on Eddie. How heart-stoppingly handsome he looks in his tuxedo. The bow tie around his collar somehow looks both out of place on your metalhead fiancé, and also utterly swoon worthy. Your already rapid heart rate speeds up when you take in the details of his hair up close. It’s tied back at the nape of his neck, not in a ponytail, but in a bun, the way he knows drives you crazy. It must be written plain as day on your face that you’re checking him out because Eddie gives you a wink and tries to keep his smile from contorting into a satisfied smirk. Who can blame you though? You know you’re the luckiest woman in the world to be standing up here with him.

“Welcome,” the officiant begins, “and welcome to the family, friends, and loved ones of our beautiful couple. We are here to witness and celebrate this joyous union. Marriage is a bond built on love, trust, and mutual respect, and today, these two stand before us to declare their commitment to one another. As they exchange their vows, they invite us to share in their joy and to support them in the journey ahead.”

You hear what the man is saying, but your brain is doing its damndest to train your focus on Eddie. He holds your hands in his and lets his thumbs gently brush over your knuckles. When his right thumb passes over where your engagement ring usually sits, both of you notice the lack thereof. It feels wrong not to be wearing it, but you know it’s only until Eddie slips another ring on your finger. Then the two will live together on your hand for the rest of time.

“If anyone here has just cause why these two should not be joined in marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence follows the officiant’s words. You knew it would, but something about watching any wedding movie ever has planted the dreaded “what if” in the back of your mind. But there’s no one in attendance who thinks you and Eddie are less than perfect for each other.

Just as he opens his mouth to continue, a small but audible whisper is heard from one small voice behind Eddie.

“Wow, they really do say that.”

A handful of adults close enough to hear Luke’s words—including both you and Eddie—chuckle softly. From what you can see past Eddie, it looks like Ryan tugs his little brother backwards a step or two to be closer to him. Big brother has no trouble keeping Luke in line right now.

“Let’s move on to the vows,” the officiant continues. “I believe these two have written their own that they’d like to share. Ladies first?”

You nod and glance over at the officiant who nods encouragingly at you. Talking in front of a lot of people who are all focused on you is a bit overwhelming if you’re not used to it. But Eddie gently squeezes your hands and when you look back at him, his eyes say everything. These vows aren’t for the people watching. They’re not for anyone else but each other.

A large inhale fills your lungs, and you let it out slowly. You give Eddie a nod in thanks. All that matters in this moment is Eddie and the words you promise to uphold in your marriage.

“Eddie, the first time I ever saw you is still so clear in my mind. You opened the front door, and I quite literally forgot how to breathe for a moment. I’ve never been someone who has believed in love at first sight. But when I saw you, I knew you held the future of my heart in your hands; you could break it or fill it with more joy than it’s ever known. And as time went on, there were ups and downs, bumps, and hurdles, but there was never a second when you didn’t still hold my heart. Every milestone, big or small, is etched not only in my brain, but in my soul. Little things that you may not have even noticed at the time, like the first time I made you laugh? I remember it so vividly because I felt euphoric. Our moments and memories together are part of who I am. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner to spend the rest of my life with. And I will spend every single day of that life being there for you in whatever way you need me. For you and the boys. My family—my whole world. My heart is still in your hands. You’ve filled it with so much love and happiness that I don’t know how any more is going to fit inside. I know it will, though. Because we still have a lifetime ahead of us to add to it.”

Eddie’s chocolate eyes are swimming in unshed tears. A watery smile plays on his lips, and he swallows thickly. His hands squeeze yours just as a tear spills from his right eye. You have to sniffle yourself just to keep your tears at bay.

The warmth and love that Eddie gazes at you with on any given day will never cease to amaze you. But the absolute adoration in his eyes right now makes you feel more cherished than you thought possible.

“That was beautiful.” The officiant commends you. “Edward? Your vows?”

Your fiancé nods and clears his throat. So much emotion has washed over him in just the past few minutes that he feels the need to shake it off or there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to get through his own vows.

“My princess,” Eddie starts, the nickname causing you to beam, “you are very literally a dream come true. I could live to be older than all the elves in Middle-Earth and still not be able to figure out what I’ve done to deserve you. You’ve seen me at my worst, but you never balked or made me feel less than. If anything, you held my hand tighter in those moments. I promise to never let go of your hand either. I promise to spend every day trying to make you feel as loved and safe as you make me feel. Do you remember the first day we met? Well, you mentioned it in your vows, but I already had that line written in so we’re just gonna go with it.” You giggle as a few laughs ring out from the seats as well. “You played the board game Trouble with me and the boys. Luke started to get upset because he couldn’t move, and you calmed him down with a natural ease I’ve never seen in anyone else. And Ryan talked about school, and you hung on his every word, truly enthralled in what he had to say. Ryan won the game that day. He got all four of his little pieces into the home spots. Today, I won, because you are the fourth piece officially taking your spot in our home. You make all of us better. You make it your mission to show me and the boys how much you love us each and every day.” Eddie pauses, collecting himself for a moment before continuing. “There were so many things I lost hope for in my life. But you have proved me wrong at every turn. You are my proof that there is hope because you are my hope. Getting to call you my wife is the greatest honor. You deserve the world, and I promise to spend the rest of my life loving you exactly as you wish.”

When he finishes speaking, you go to remove your left hand from his to wipe away a tear falling down your cheek, but Eddie beats you to it. Gently, he brushes the tear away with his thumb and retakes your hand in his own.

“It’s time for the rings,” the officiant says. He looks down towards the boys and smiles. “I believe we have a ring bearer—oh no, excuse me, we have a Lord of the Rings.”

A small murmur of laughter comes from the crowd.

Ryan walks around Lucas to stand before you and Eddie. He lifts the lid of the wooden box and gently lifts the rings from their small cushion inside. He first hands you Eddie’s wedding ring, then hands his father yours. You blow the eleven-year-old a kiss and Eddie throws him a wink before he goes back to take his spot next to his little brother.

“The wedding ring is a symbol of love, unity, and the promises you make today. As you place these rings on each other’s hands, may they remind you always of the commitment you share. Edward, let’s start with you. Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor, and stand beside her for all your days?”

“I do.”

Eddie’s enthusiasm with the two words was the opposite of hesitation. He was chomping at the bit for the officiant to finish so he could proclaim his declaration of love.

“Now repeat after me,” the officiant says. “With this ring, I thee wed. I give you my love and my promise, now and forever.”

“With this ring,” Eddie repeats, slipping the white gold band past the manicured nail on your ring finger, “I thee wed. I give you my love and my promise, now and forever.” He settles the ring securely at the base of your finger.

Tears trickle from your eyes as you watch him slip the ring onto your hand. You’re so mesmerized by the tiny diamonds that litter the band and how they catch the light that you almost don’t realize it’s your turn to present Eddie with his own ring.

The officiant gives you a kind, understanding smile before continuing.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love, honor, and stand beside him for all your days?”

“I do.”

Right next to saying “yes” to Eddie’s proposal, this was the easiest question you’ve ever answered.

“Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed. I give you my love and my promise, now and forever.”

Your hand gently tremors with excitement as you lift Eddie’s matching band to his left ring finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed.” You look up at Eddie’s face and find him watching you with the most lovestruck expression on his face. It makes your pulse flutter. “I give you my love and my promise, now and forever.”

“By the power vested in me by the state of Indiana, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”

The words have barely finished coming out of the officiant’s mouth when Eddie gently cups the sides of your face and presses his lips against yours. Your hands go forward and land on Eddie’s waist as you kiss him back with fervor. In your periphery you’re aware of the giddy applause surrounding you, but nothing is as important as your husband’s mouth on yours right now. Your husband’s. It has such a lovely ring to it.

It seems like seconds or hours later that the two of you finally pull apart. Time has stopped and you are the only two who exist. The bubble only pops when the officiant speaks again.

“It is my honor to present Mr. and Mrs. Edward Munson.”

“Mrs. Munson,” Eddie repeats, low enough for only you to hear.

“My husband,” you reply in kind.

The cheering around you only grows in ferocity and volume. Eddie laces the fingers of his left hand with the fingers of your right and together you turn to face the crowd. The first thing you notice as your eyes scan the people is that Wayne is crying. Thick tears roll down his cheeks, but he looks the happiest you have ever seen him. Your mother is also crying, though you expected that one. Little Tiffany Sinclair sits next to the four Harrington children, and they all clap their small hands together, Mia bouncing up and down in excitement. Friends, family, co-workers, all gathered here to share in this momentous occasion. It’s a bit overwhelming to look out and see all this support. All this love.

The Wedding March begins to play and that’s your and Eddie’s cue to head back down the aisle. Your feet feel like they’re gliding through clouds as you take your first steps off the altar. Eddie’s hand is snugly in yours and Jess hands you back your bouquet before you get too far down the aisle without it. You shoot her a grateful glance, then turn back to the filled seats, grinning at people as you pass them.

You don’t look behind you, but you remember from the rehearsal yesterday how the rest of the bridal party will exit behind you. First, Steve and Jess will walk out together, as the best man and maid of honor. Then, Ryan and Luke will make their way back up the aisle. After them, Gin and Dustin. Nancy and Gareth will follow them, and then Max and Lucas will bring up the rear.

Once you and Eddie reach the atrium and have a moment to yourselves, you turn to face each other and find you have matching expressions of giddiness and excitement radiating from you in waves.

“Oh my God,” you say.

“We’re married,” Eddie says.

The two of you share a euphoric laugh as you lean in to kiss each other again.

Steve and Jess walk in as your lips are still attached, but that doesn’t stop the respective best friends from whooping and hollering their congratulations at you. The moment your lips are no longer touching Eddie’s, you’re being pulled in for hugs by both of them.

“You did it!” Jess cheers.

“It was beautiful, guys,” Steve adds.

“Incoming, incoming!”

You’d know that little voice anywhere. As soon as they’re past the threshold into the atrium, both boys come running at you at full speed. Their dress shoes squeak against the floor as they hurry towards you with faces full of glee.

Luke makes it to you first and practically leaps into Eddie’s arms. Ryan’s there a heartbeat later, immediately throwing his arms around your middle and squeezing you tighter than any corset ever could.

“You’re married!” Ryan cheers.

“We’re married!” Eddie echoes.

Luke wriggles out of his father’s grip and jumps up and down in front of both of you, excitement more intense than any amount of sugar could cause. Ryan goes to hug his dad next, who gently cups the back of the boy’s head and leans down to press a few kisses against his gelled hair.

“You’re our stepmom!” Luke pumps his fists into the air as he starts to jump around in a circle.

“You’re my sons!” Saying those words aloud brings a fresh wave of tears. Unable to express your love and happiness any other way, you bend down and gather both boys into your arms. They cling to you as you wrap them up in the warmest of embraces.

“I love you,” Ryan says softly.

“Me too,” Luke adds. “I love you too.”

“I love you both so unbelievably much,” you tell them. “I promise I’m going to be the best stepmom I can.”

“You already have been,” Ryan says.

The rest of the bridal party crowds into the atrium and you and Eddie are pulled into countless more hugs. It’s a flash of violet dresses and black tuxes as everyone mingles to embrace one another.

Gin pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you ponder if she’s ever hugged you like this before.

“I am so proud of you,” your sister says. “And so, so happy for you.”

“Thank you.” You pull back and look at one another. Laughter bubbles up in the space between you and she pulls you in for another hug. Gin’s wedding to her husband Owen was much more low-key, only at a local courthouse. So, this is the first time you two sisters get to have this experience with each other.

Wayne bustles into the atrium, a grin splitting his face in half like you’ve never seen before. The older man goes to give you a hug first, which Eddie acts like is a capital offense.

“I’m so happy for you, kiddo,” Wayne says, gently resting his hands on your shoulder. “Both of you.”

Eddie steps in to hug his uncle and it’s enough to spill any remaining tears down your face.

“I’m so proud of you, boy,” Wayne says, smacking Eddie on the shoulder with one hand and wiping his face with the other. “You got yourself a good one. Ed. More than a good one. A great one.”

Heat rises to your cheeks. Eddie’s only response Is a smile that says he already knows that.

“Grandpa!” The two boys get their hands on Wayne, and he is brought into the fray of people, leaving you and your sister with one another.

“My baby!”

You turn to see your parents coming towards you and your mom immediately envelops both you and Gin into a hug. It’s almost impossible to breathe with the way your mom practically pressed your face against her shoulder.

“Darling, don’t kill the girls on such a special day,” your father says, coming up behind your mother.

“I think she’s trying to put us back in the womb,” Gin mumbles from wherever face is squished against the side of your mom’s neck.

“Are we ready for pictures?” The photographer slowly approaches the group, not wanting to interrupt or intrude.

“Yes,” you say, taking the excuse to pull out of your mother’s arms. “We were thinking of taking some back inside.”

It takes a little over an hour to get all the desired pictures taken. Some up by the altar, some in the middle of the aisle, and even some down by the pond tucked into the back corner of the property. There are so many combinations of friends and family members that it feels like you had a smile plastered on your face for ages. Luke decided he was a little model and kept coming up with poses for everyone to do. The most heartwarming, though, is that each boy wants a picture with you individually. Yeah, one with Ryan and you and Eddie, and then the same for Luke. But they both want a one-on-one photo with you. It’s almost enough to make you cry, but then Luke stubs his toe and says, “dang flabbit,” causing you to laugh instead. You’re also pretty sure the photographer got a shot of him just as he squeezed his eyes shut in pain. It’s going to be an interesting wedding album, that’s for sure.

Your favorite pictures to take are the ones of just you and Eddie, though. Pictures where you’re gazing into one another’s eyes, while holding hands, while you’re wrapped up in Eddie’s arms, while he kisses you so deeply that the world spins around you. A particular shot of his hands on your hips from behind and you turning your head to look at him, booming smiles on both your faces is one you already know you want blown up to hang in the living room.

Once all the photos are finished and most of the guests have cleared out to head to the reception, it’s time for you, your families, and wedding party to follow in kind.

Two long black stretch limos wait at the curb, a uniformed driver standing ready to open the back door for its passengers. Both your parents and Wayne insisted on driving over to the reception themselves, so these limos are just for you and the wedding party.

“Come on, you two.” You hold your bouquet in one hand and reach for Luke’s with the other. Eddie rests his hands on Ryan’s shoulders and gently ushers him along to the first limo.

“We’re riding with you guys?” Ryan asks.

“Of course,” Eddie says.

“We’re one big happy family now,” you add.

The driver opens the back door as your bridal party is ushered into the limo behind yours. Luke pops his head inside first and looks back at the rest of you with a slack jaw.

“There are lights on the ceiling in here!”

“What?” Ryan shoos his brother fully inside so he can take a look for himself. “Whoa!”

After the boys are exploring the interior, Eddie offers you his hand so he can assist you into the limo. Truth be told, it would probably have been easier to do it on your own but you’re not about to turn down your husband’s lovely gesture. Eddie makes sure that all of your dress comes in behind you before he slides in as well. The driver closes the door behind him, and you watch the boys look around in awe.

Luke reaches up and runs his fingers along the lights bordering the interior ceiling. Ryan looks over at the bar that Eddie is sitting across from. Small hands run down the bar as Ryan’s eyes take in every glass that sits in wait. When it gets to the end of the bar, he sees two bottles.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“Ah,” Eddie hums as he leans forward to pick up both bottles. “These are for our celebration.”

Ryan sits down next to his father as the limo begins to drive down the street. He carefully takes one of the bottles and inspects its label.

“Sparkling grape juice?”

“For you and your brother,” you say.

“And champagne for us adults,” Eddie adds.

“C’mere, Luke.” You pat the seat next to you and Luke crawls along the floor until he comes to the back bench that’s facing forward. He pulls himself up into the seat and Ryan takes the seat catty cornered from him on the bench that’s facing the bar.

Eddie grabs four glasses from the bar and hands them out to everyone. He then takes a seat next to Ryan and pops open the bottle of sparkling grape juice.

“Now don’t drink it until we have a toast,” Eddie tells the boys as he fills their glasses. He grabs the champagne bottle next and unwraps the foil around the top. “Alright, let’s see if I can get this cork out.”

The three of you watch Eddie as he takes the cage off of the cork and angles the bottle away from everyone. He gives the cork a little twist and it jumps out with a satisfying pop.

“Yay!” you cheer as you and the boys applaud.

Eddie grins as he pours the first glass and hands it to you. He pours his own before setting the champagne bottle down in an ice bucket on the bar across from him. He lifts his glass in the air and the rest of you follow.

“To the newly official Munson family!” Eddie toasts. “I love the three of you more than anything in the entire world. I can’t wait to see what kind of adventures and trouble we all get into together.”

“Hear, hear!” You echo as everyone clinks their glasses together.

The bubbles tickle Luke’s nose as he takes a sip, and he laughs into the glass.

“This is good,” Ryan says before taking a second sip.

“So is this.” Eddie raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise as he looks down into his glass.

“Only the best for us Munsons, right?” you ask.

“Yeah!” Luke cheers.

He holds his glass up again and everyone clinks together for a second time.

The limo approaches the reception hall and both boys flock to the window, hands leaving behind smudged fingerprints as the two stare in awe at the large building. Your reception is being held at an old barn that’s been renovated into a banquet hall on the far edge of Hawkins. It’s a tall, sturdy building, the outside painted white with beautiful strings of light hung up all around the perimeter. The parking lot is decently full, with familiar cars like the Wheeler’s already there.

“Whoa,” Luke says, eyes taking in every inch of the rustic location.

“It’s huge,” Ryan says.

“Wait until you see the chandelier inside,” Eddie tells them. “It’s gigantic because it has to light up such a big space.”

Instead of pulling up to the front of the building, the limo goes around to the side, the second one following behind, to allow you all to walk into a side entrance.

The boys hop out and Eddie helps you out of the limo, helping to straighten the skirts of your dress out. You can’t help but press a quick kiss to his lips before you head inside.

There’s a spacious room set into the side of the building that you four and the whole bridal party fall into. Your parents and Wayne join you there. Though you had your own champagne (and grape juice) toast in the limo, the staff at the banquet hall has provided another bottle of champagne for you to have a toast with the whole wedding party.

“To the Munsons!” Steve cheers.

There are hoots and hollers of agreement before everyone, sans the children, drains their glasses.

You all get to relax there for a little over twenty minutes while the rest of the guests filter inside and find their seats. The staff are on top of everything as well. They make sure you are all comfortable in your holding room while also getting any last-minute details finished out in the hall.

“How long are we gonna be here?” Luke whines. He stretches across the laps of Max and Lucas where they sit on a couch. Max tickles the little boy on the side of his ribs and he curls in on himself with a laugh.

“Not too much more, bud,” Eddie tells him. “Then they’re going to announce us all when we walk into the party area.”

“What do you mean?” Ryan asks.

Eddie crouches down next to his oldest son and straightens his adorable bow tie.

“The DJ out there has a microphone and he’s going to call two names at a time. Like, he’ll call Aunt Max and Uncle Lucas’s names and then they’ll walk in together.”

“Because we’re all special!” Luke declares. “We’re in the party!”

Dustin looks over at Lucas and one side of his mouth quirks up in a smile.

“Weren’t we, like, their age when we started our party?” he asks.

“Shi—uh, shoot. We’re old.” Lucas sighs and wipes his hand down his face.

“I know what you were gonna say,” Luke tells his uncle, giving him a devious smirk.

“Nuh uh,” Lucas playfully whines, taking his turn to tickle Luke. The boy squeals and unsuccessfully tries to roll off the adults’ laps.

The door opens and the event coordinator pops his head inside.

“We’re ready whenever you all are,” he says.

“I think we’re ready,” Eddie says, looking to you for confirmation.

You nod and step forward to take his hand.

“Let’s get this show on the road.”

Those who were sitting stand up and Ryan gently tugs on Eddie’s hand.

“Do we line up again?” he asks.

“Yep,” his dad tells him. “You and Luke are going to be right before the beautiful bride again. And me.”

“The gorgeous groom,” you gush, slipping your arms around his waist. Eddie grins and leans in to press his mouth against yours.

“Ugh,” Luke groans, already over all the public displays of affection today. “Come on, come on.”

The speakers crackle to life in the banquet hall, catching the attention of the guests mingling with one another at their respective tables. The DJ taps the microphone, testing it before he speaks.

“Hello, everyone!” he says. “My name is Jake, and I will be your emcee for the evening. We are all here to celebrate a very happy day. How about we get the stars of the show in here, huh?”

The applause from the guests can be heard on the other side of the door leading into the hall, where you and the entire wedding party stand. There are loose lines leading up to the door, nothing strict like before the ceremony, since this is a much more relaxed atmosphere. Plus, everyone knows their name will be called when their turn is up.

The first announced into the reception are your parents, followed by Wayne. You and Eddie stand at the back of the group, hand in hand as you watch some of your favorite people be announced into the room.

“Now, please welcome Max Mayfield-Sinclair and Lucas Sinclair!”

Luke pretends to usher the couple through the door when their names are called. Lucas smiles and tugs on a curl that’s gone rogue on the nine-year-old’s head before he heads through the door with his wife.

“Nancy Harrington and Dustin Henderson!”

The boys become rambunctious, waiting their turns as Gin and Gareth are announced next.

“Us now?” Luke asks.

“After us, you little goblin,” Steve teases, gesturing to Jess, who loops her arm through Steve’s.

“Next we have the maid of honor, Jess Oldford, and the best man, Steve Harrington!”

Ryan and Luke take their spots right in front of the door, Ryan bouncing on the balls of his feet and Luke rubbing his hands together in anticipation. You and Eddie share a look of amusement as the four of you await hearing their names.

“I’ve been told these next two don’t want their names announced,” the DJ teases, as Eddie had secretly instructed him to.

“No! Yes, we do!” Luke shouts from behind the door.

You bury your face into Eddie’s neck to muffle your giggles while the laughter from the guests outside rings out loud and clear.

“Oh, okay, I must’ve had that mixed up,” Jake says, amusement leaking into his tone. “These are very special guests; that must be it!”

The two Munson brothers look at one another and nod their agreement.

“Please welcome the Lord of the Rings, Ryan Munson, and Lord of the Petals, Luke Munson!”

Ryan pushes the door open, and you lean forward to watch the boys bound into the banquet hall to loud applause. Luke is clearly basking in it while his older brother shyly takes it all in. The bridesmaids are lined up on the right side and the groomsmen across from them on the left. The boys make their way down the middle and Steve shows them where they should stand at the end of the line, one next to him and one next to Jess. There’s a small squabble about who gets to stand on the side with the men and who with the women, but eventually Ryan stands next to his Uncle Steve while Luke stands next to your best friend.

“And now…” Jake plays audio of a drum roll. “Please welcome, for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Munson!”

The grin on your face could not possibly be bigger as you walk out into your wedding reception on Eddie’s arm. The guests cheer as you walk down the aisle of your wedding party. You make sure to take in every moment of this, not wanting to forget a single detail once this day is over.

Once you and Eddie are in the middle of the floor, you take the time to admire the gorgeous space you find yourself in. A number of round tables with white satin tablecloths surround the area that is considered the dance floor, and there is a long head table straight ahead, where the entire wedding party will sit. The large crystal chandelier illuminates the open space in gentle but sufficient light. Beautiful bouquets of white, pink, and purple flowers linger by the walls, enhancing the already romantic setting. The cherry on top is the crowd full of elegantly dressed loved ones, all gathered to celebrate your and Eddie’s love.

“If we could please have the beautiful couple on the dance floor for their first dance,” Jake says.

The wedding party all step to the edges of the roomy area, surrendering the spotlight to solely you and your new husband.

Eddie’s right hand takes your left and brings it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. You almost melt in front of everyone, a breath away from becoming a puddle of white chiffon and lace. Eddie keeps your hand securely in his and rests his other hand on the small of your back. Your free hand rests on Eddie’s shoulder as he delicately uses his hand on your back to bring your body closer to his. There’s hardly enough room for a piece of paper between the two of you when he stops—not that you’re complaining one bit.

The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar floods from the speakers, a few notes playing before the slowed down lyrics begin.

Uptown girl

She’s been living in her uptown world

I bet she’s never had a backstreet guy

I bet her momma never told her way

There was never a doubt that this song would be what your first dance is to. This acoustic cover brought you to tears the first time you discovered it, immediately telling Eddie that this is the one. There are also tears in your eyes now as you and Eddie slowly sway from side to side.

“I love you,” Eddie whispers.

“I love you more,” you say before sniffling in an attempt to keep the tears from falling.

“Oh, you want to start this now, huh?” Eddie teases, grinning at you as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.

“I’m your wife now,” you remind him. “You have to let me win.”

His laugh makes you feel light-headed, the immense joy that surrounds the two of you intoxicating.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the winner,” he replies. “You know, because you’re my wife now.”

“Your wife,” you repeat.

“My wife.”

Eddie steps back, removing his hand from your back so he can spin you around. He watches you twirl, admiring every little detail of you. Not just the dress and jewelry that you have on for the wedding, but the natural details of you that he adores every single day. The sight of your smaller, delicate hand in his. How the light makes your hair shine brighter than any star in the night sky. The way your smile makes him desperate to keep you happy for the rest of your life.

When he takes you back into his arms, he leans in towards your left hand and presses his lips gently against your wedding band. You tilt your head as you gaze at his handsome face. It feels like he becomes more beautiful every single day.

“Will the wedding party please join?” the DJ asks.

You don’t even notice at first, everyone dancing around you. Your everything is consumed by the man in front of you and the thought that you are legally and officially joined for eternity. A cooing “aww” from some guests is what gets your attention and you look at the couples dancing around you.

Max and Lucas are the closest couple to you, but when you look just beyond them you see what everyone finds so adorable.

Ryan has his hands on Natalie Harrington’s waist, his face beet red. Natalie’s hands are on Ryan’s shoulders as they sway from side to side. Right next to them Luke dances with Mia Harrington. Well, you’re not sure if it can really be considered dancing. The five-year-old girl has her arms wrapped tightly against Luke’s middle and her head rests against his chest. Her eyes are closed there’s a beaming smile on her face. Luke looks slightly less enthused, but more uncomfortable with the dancing portion than Mia. The nine-year-old arguably has the best coordination out of the Munson men but his awkward steps from side to side surely aren’t proof of that.

“They’re so cute,” you say to Eddie.

“Here I thought Ryan was over his crush on Natalie,” he responds with a chuckle.

“I think he’d be red no matter who he was dancing with,” you say. “But he might have a little bit of that crush left. But look at Mia! She’s in heaven.”

The small redhead looks as happy as if this was her wedding.

“Oh, what is it with these Munson boys and Harrington girls?” Eddie jokes.

“Steve might have a red face for a different reason,” you say with a giggle.

“All the more reason to encourage it!”

You laugh and lean up to kiss your husband.

The song fades out and the guests clap as the couples finish their dancing.

“That was beautiful,” Jake says. “And we’re going to keep that love going. We have two more special dances in store. If Ryan Munson could join his new step-mom on the dance floor?”

The wedding party, Eddie included, make their way over to the head table as Ryan walks towards where you stand on the middle of the dance floor. He has a bashful grin on his face, and you open your arms to him. The tears that had previously been kept at bay spring back to your eyes as Ryan grips you around the waist and squeezes tightly.

You’d known right off the bat that you wanted to have a poignant dance with each of the boys after you and Eddie had your first dance. Both of them happily agreed to it and you’re so proud to share these dances with them.

Ryan’s hand holds yours and he rests his other hand on your waist, while yours sits on his shoulder. He looks up at you and you give into the urge to press a kiss to his forehead as the music starts.

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder

You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger

May you never take one single breath for granted

God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed

Together, you sway back and forth, simply smiling at one another.

“I’m so happy,” Ryan says.

“Me too, sweetie. I love you so much.”

Ryan glances to his left and lets out a small giggle.

“I think Daddy’s crying.”

You look over, and sure enough, Eddie’s wiping at his eyes. He’s doing his best to hide it, but you know his every little tell by now.

“So mushy,” you tease to the little boy.

He leans in and rests his head against your body which fills your heart with warmth that could rival the sun. Neither of you talks for the rest of the song but it’s perfect. Just dancing with your oldest boy now that you can officially claim him as yours. Even if you’ve been doing it long before now, something about sharing the last name makes it seem so much more real.

After the song ends, Ryan stands up on his tippy toes and you lean down enough so he can press a kiss to your cheek. You give him a big hug before he heads over to the table Eddie is at.

“That was great, guys,” Jake says. “Last but not least, can Luke Munson come to the dance floor?”

Typical for his usual energetic self, Luke skips onto the dance floor and over to you. He puts one hand on his stomach and bows at the waist. You curtsy in return, enjoying the royal feel he’s adding.

“May I have this dance?” Luke asks, holding out his hand.

“Of course you may.”

You place your hand in his smaller one and he gives yours a squeeze. He steps in closer to you, back straight, and wraps his other arm around you as much as his short child limbs will let him. The music begins and instead of swaying from side to side like his brother did, Luke takes actual steps from right to left. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to be an approximation of the steps in a waltz, but it’s adorable regardless.

If you're lost you can look and you will find me

Time after time

If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting

Time after time

If you're lost, you can look and you will find me

Time after time

If you fall, I will catch you, I will be waiting

Time after time

Luke starts to hum along and his curls bob along in time with his steps.

“You look so handsome.”

He smiles so wide you can see the missing molar that fell out a few weeks ago.

“Not so much as you are pretty!”

The sentence might make his English teacher cringe, but the compliment warms your face.

“Do you know how much I love you?” you ask.

“Mhmm,” he hums in response. “Yes. Because you never forget to tell me. And that’s one of my favorite things about you. You wanna make sure I never forget it.”

Luke is the one to finally make a rogue tear fall down your cheek while you dance.

“You’re right. I need you to know it.”

“I love how much you love us. Me and Ryan and Daddy.”

“And I love how much you all love me.”

The song ends and Luke bows to you again, which you answer with another curtsy.

Now that your solo dances are finished you assume you’ll get the chance to get off the dance floor. No one warned you beforehand though that almost everyone will want to dance with the bride. Eddie is also brought back onto the floor, your sister the first one who insists on dancing with him.

Flashes go off as the photographer snaps shot after shot of everyone enjoying themselves. You’re so glad you’ll get to relive this day over and over again with the photos and video.

Wayne catches you for a dance and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen the older man so emotional. For another song, you dance with Steve while Eddie dances with Nancy. The thought that the three of them have a decades old friendship and now you’re included in that inner circle? It adds another layer of emotion to the heart of everything on this day.

More upbeat songs play one after the other and you watch on in amusement as the kids gather together to make their own form of a mosh pit. Eddie comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you.

“Think they’ll do this if I put Master of Puppets on?”

You chuckle and lean back against his sturdy frame.

Finally, it’s time for dinner to be served. The kids are having so much fun on the floor that it takes some convincing to get them all to sit for the meal. Unsurprisingly, most of them inhale their food—especially Luke.

As the waiter takes away your plate and you wipe your mouth off with a napkin, a knife tings against a glass from the other side of your husband. Steve sets his champagne down and clears his throat.

“I’m so excited to hear his toast,” you lean over to whisper to Eddie.

“I’m not sure if I should be scared or not,” he whispers back.

“Probably,” you reply with a shrug.

“Uh, good evening, everyone,” Steve begins. “My name is Steve and I’m the best man. I know a lot of times in these types of speeches there are mentions of cute or sweet things that the couple have done together that show that they’re made for one another. I started to think about some of those stories but then I realized there are just way too many instances of these two being all cute together. I mean, I thought I was a hopeless romantic deep down, but I think I was put to shame by Eddie here. I went to high school with Eddie, so we’ve known each other about twenty years now. And other than the four years my wife and I moved to Boston for her undergrad, we’ve lived within five miles of one another. Eddie and I have seen each other in our best moments and our worst moments. But throughout all of that, all of those years, I never saw the look in Eddie’s eye that he has when it comes to his beautiful new bride. It’s such a uniquely expressive look that I struggled to put a word to it. So, I started to think about words that can describe Eddie in general. Now, as he can tell you, I do often come up with some choice words to call him, but I was looking to be nice this time. I thought back to high school, and I was brought back to the days when he was in Hellfire club, which all the other groomsmen here were in as well. I could never understand the fascination of these fantasy creatures and the battles that are won with dice. There were many a conversation when things were dumbed down for me to grasp what these so called ‘campaigns’ were about. Eventually, I understood how much magic played a part of it. And then that word hit me. Magic. Enchanting. Bewitching. That’s the look in Eddie’s eye whenever it comes to his girl. It doesn’t matter if he’s talking about her, talking to her, or even just thinking about her. There’s this unmistakable glint of magic that lights up his whole face. All you have to do is look at him when she’s around. There is no story I could tell you that would convince you these two are meant to be more than the look in Eddie’s eyes will. It’s plain as day right there. And when she looks back at him? Well, if you didn’t believe in soulmates before, it’s enough to make a believer out of you.” Steve lifts his glass of champagne and turns towards you and Eddie. “I am so happy that you two found each other in this upside-down world. But there’s not a doubt in my mind that it was supposed to be this way. We were always meant to be here in this moment, at your beautiful wedding. I love you both. I look forward to seeing what the future has in store. Because with you guys? I know it’s going to be magical. Cheers.”

The guests clink their champagne flutes against one another’s, the twinkling sound echoing around the open space. As soon as you take a sip and set down your own glass, you push your seat back and stand up. You maneuver around Eddie's chair as he goes to stand as well and pull Steve into a hug.

“That was lovely, Steve,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“And every word was true,” he tells you.

You gently cup his face in your hands, much like you sometimes do to the boys, and give him one last grateful smile before stepping out of the way.

“That was a great speech, man.” Eddie pulls his best man in for a hug. “Thank you. I know you’ll be back to calling me those choice words tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I took the day off,” Steve says, waving a dismissive hand as if it’s nothing. “I figured I could give you one day. Since it’s your wedding and all.”

“How generous.” Eddie rolls his eyes and retakes his seat. You take yours as well and Jess takes a deep breath from the other side of you.

“Guess I’m up then,” she says softly.

With a smile, you grab her hand that’s closest to you and give it a small squeeze.

“You’ve got this.”

The smile she gives you in return isn’t as confident as you would’ve liked it to be, but you’ll take what you can get right now. She inhales one large breath through her mouth and slowly releases it through her nose. Her tight brown curls bobble as she nods to herself. She rises to her feet and grabs her champagne flute. Using the side of her fork, she gently taps the glass, just as Steve did to get everyone’s attention.

Once everyone is looking in her direction, she sets the items down and anxiously rubs her hands down the side of her purple gown. Her gaze is on the table in front of her but you hear her take one more deep breath, then she looks up and smiles back at the crowd.

“Um, hi. I’m Jess and I have the privilege of being this lovely bride’s maid of honor. I have also had the privilege of having a first row seat to see this love story play out. It’s been quite an amazing saga in many ways, but by far the best, is that not only did this lucky young lady find the man of her dreams, but she also found the family that was, let’s face it, tailor made for her. I heard story after story about the Munsons in the beginning and I always thought…she had to be exaggerating. I have a gaggle of nieces and nephews and there was no way I could reconcile that there were two little boys who were as well-behaved and as fun as they were made out to be. Oh, was I proven wrong when I met them! Not only are Ryan and Luke as well-mannered and amusing as I was told, but they are also so intelligent, so kind and caring, and love with their entire hearts. And it’s easy to understand why once you get to know Eddie. He carries all the same qualities that he’s imparted in his sons, and he treats my best friend like the queen that she is.” Jess pauses and lets out a small chuckle. “I actually remember the first time I met Eddie. It didn’t start off under the best of circumstances, but it only took me a matter of minutes to see what was so obvious between these two. In fact, after Eddie left, I said, ‘I don’t normally tell you what to do, but if you don’t marry this man, I will.’” Jess turns and gives you a wink. “You made the right choice, my friend. I hope that the future holds only the best for you two. Well, you four, actually. May your lives be filled with the happiness and joy that you so willingly give to others. Have fun today and don’t forget to stop and breathe. This is such a beautiful wedding, and I am so honored to be a part of it. I love you guys. To the Munsons.”

Jess raises her glass and the rest of the guests echo, “To the Munsons!”

Before you even swallow your sip of champagne, you stand up and pull your best friend into a crushing hug.

“I love you too,” you tell her. “Thank you. That was so sweet.”

“Anything for you,” Jess says as she hugs you back.

Eddie is next to pull her into a hug.

“Did you really say that the day we met?” he asks her, looking between the two of you.

“She did,” you tell him with a laugh.

“Well, then thank you,” Eddie says to her.

“You’re very welcome.”

Now that both the best man and the maid of honor have given their toasts, you expect that the speeches are done for the evening. But Jake, the DJ, grabs the microphone and makes an announcement that surprises you.

“Both great speeches, weren’t they?” he says. “We’ve got one more. Well…two? No, one speech, two speakers. Ryan? Luke? You guys wants a microphone?”

Your eyes widen as you whip your head around to look at the boys at the end of the table. Ryan nods in response to Jake’s question and walks over to the DJ booth to collect a mic. When you turn to look at Eddie, he looks just as shocked as you are.

“Did you know?” you ask him anyway.

“No idea.” He shakes his head, a grin blooming on his face.

Instead of coming back over to the table with the microphone, Ryan stands in front of the large sound system and nods for Luke to come over and join him. Your youngest runs over and skids to a halt at his brother’s side.

“Uh, hi,” Ryan starts. His cheeks are already cherry red, and he’s only said two words. He doesn’t even need to express any sweet sentiments—the fact that he’s willing to talk in front of people says it all already. “I’m Ryan.”

“And I’m Luke!” Luke leans over and speaks into the mic. Even the kid who is the life of the party looks nervous. You can hardly blame them; they know a lot of people who are here, but not all of them. This is scary territory for such young boys.

“We wanted to say something for our Daddy and new stepmom,” Ryan says.

Luke gently tugs Ryan’s hands so the microphone is closer to his mouth. “She only got the last name Munson today, but she has loved us like we’re hers since, like…ever.” The crowd lets out a small chuckle as Ryan moves the mic again.

“We weren’t really sure what people say at weddings cause the only ones we’ve been too we were too little to pay attention,” Ryan explains. “But our grandpa said that sometimes people tell stories and Luke and I thought of a story we could tell.” This time, he properly hands the microphone to his little brother.

“So, um,” Luke begins, “a long time ago, me and Ryan came up with an idea to try and make them fall in love. Them.” Luke points to the two of you sitting at the center of the head table. You already have tears leaking from your eyes and Eddie isn’t far behind. “They took us to Chuck E. Cheese, which is the best! It’s got games and prizes.”

Ryan takes the mic back, sensing his brother is about to go off topic.

“And so, we thought of a way to get them to hold hands. Luke is littler so he still had to hold hands in the parking lot then. Maybe I did too, I don’t remember. But we said Luke was gonna do this plan. He asked–”

“I asked both of them to hold my hands!” Luke says, hijacking the story. “And we got closer to the doors and Ryan went to open them. When he did that, I tugged on both their hands and put hers in his. Then I ran ahead so they were behind me holding hands!”

“They walked in that way while I held the door open for everyone,” Ryan says, taking back to mic. Luke leans in to speak again.

“I don’t know if that’s when they fell in love, but I do know they love each other now! Because of me and Ryan? Maybe!”

“So, yeah, that’s the story,” Ryan says, taking a deep breath. “And we’re so happy to have a stepmom. ‘Specially one that loves us so much and is so good at helping me with my homework.” “She’s so smart!” Luke adds, making you laugh through your tears.

“And our daddy is so happy with her. We never seen him this happy before. It makes us even happier.”

That’s when Eddie’s tears officially start. He sniffles and quickly wipes them away before wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“So, yeah,” Ryan says, clearly not knowing how to end this. Luke takes the microphone from him, having one more thing to add.

“Yeah! We love you two so much. And we’re really happy you got married today.”

Luke holds the mic down by his side and nods his head once, signaling he’s done. The guests and everyone at the head table start to cheer. You even see some of the banquet hall staff applauding their speech. Luke bends down in a bow and tugs Ryan down with him to do the same. You carefully wipe your face, being cautious not to smear any makeup, while Luke hands the microphone back to Jake.

“Thank you, Ryan and Luke!” Jake says.

Eddie takes your hand in his and rises from his seat and you follow his lead. You both walk around the table and open your arms as the boys come bounding back in your direction. Luke runs into Eddie’s arms and Ryan runs into yours.

“That was perfect, guys,” Eddie says as he squeezes Luke.

“Thank you so much. We love you so, so, so much.” You kiss Ryan’s head before you and Eddie swap boys to embrace.

“Can we dance again?” Luke asks.

“Sure,” Eddie tells him with a chuckle.

There’s a tap on Luke’s shoulder and he spins around to see Nancy smiling down at him.

“May I have this dance?” she asks, extending her hand.

“Yes!” Luke slaps his hand into hers and tugs her onto the dance floor.

Jake starts up with the music again and it brings a rush of kids back to the dance floor. In your peripheral vision you see Steve approaching Max and you turn to watch the interaction. He offers her his hand, and though she rolls her eyes and pretends to be annoyed, there’s a smile on her face as she puts her hand in his and they head to the floor.

“Oh my God, Max is dancing with Steve,” Eddie says, having seen it as well. “I gotta get her to dance with me now.”

“Will you two ever not be competing with one another?” you ask.

“Nope.” Eddie grins and presses a kiss to your cheek. “You married into this competition, babe.”

“Well, I see another redhead who doesn’t have a dance partner,” you say, gesturing to Mia in the middle of the dance floor, more spinning in a circle rather than dancing.

“Oh, no,” Eddie playfully gasps. “I can’t have my favorite five-year-old dancing by herself!”

Your husband quickly walks onto the floor and scoops Mia up from behind. She squeals in surprise and Eddie laughs as he spins her around in his arms. Once she realizes who has her, Mia’s face splits into a grin and she squeezes Eddie around the neck. You chuckle as you watch the two of them, your hands gently going to rest on your stomach as you tilt your head. Everyone on the dance floor is full of smiles and laughter and it warms your heart.

“M’lady,” you hear from behind you. You turn and see Dustin with one arm tucked behind his back and the other reaching towards you. “May I have the honor of dancing with you.”

“Absolutely, Lord Henderson,” you reply. The nickname makes him smile as the two of you join everyone else on the dance floor.

After Dustin, Lucas pulls you in for a dance, and then you’re hounded by the Corroded Coffin guys until Eddie shoos them away and tells them to kick rocks. You laugh as your husband pulls you into his arms. The song ends and out of the corner of your eye you see Max sitting down.

“Looks like someone is free,” you tell Eddie, nodding in her direction.

Eddie cradles your face in his hands and presses a slow, steamy kiss to your lips.

“You really are the best wife ever.”

The combination of the kiss and his words warms your cheeks.

“For setting you up to dance with someone else?” you joke, trying to dispel the heat from your face. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I would never,” he vows, putting a hand over his heart. He gives you a wink before darting off to even the score with his best friend.

After Eddie finishes his dance with Max, Dustin grabs her for one as well. You’ve never seen Max look so exasperated and content at the same time. But you decide enough is enough once the current song ends. You walk up to Max and slip your hand in hers.

“I’m tired of these men hogging you,” you tell her. “Dance with me?”

“Finally,” Max says, her free hand thrown out to the side with exaggeration. “A desirable dance partner!”

Jess, Nancy, El, and Robin join you and Max for the next song and it’s a thrill to be surrounded by girlfriends and get to act as wild and free as the children are.

After a few more songs, the music fades out and Jake’s voice reverberates out of the speakers.

“Alright! Looks like everyone is having a great time out there. How about we play a little game? How does that sound?”

There are cheers as you watch two of the staff members each grab a chair and situate them in the middle of the dance floor. They’re set back-to-back and you meet Eddie’s eye a few feet away as you realize what time it is.

“We’re going to play The Shoe Game!” Jake announces. “For those of you who don’t know, The Shoe Game is where the bride and groom sit back-to-back, having one of their own shoes in one hand, and their partner’s shoe in the other. Then I’ll ask a series of questions like, ‘who is more dramatic when they’re sick?’ and they’ll each raise the shoe of whoever it is. And since they’re back-to-back, they aren’t able to see one another’s answers. Although, it’s usually pretty easy to tell by how the crowd responds. Are we ready?”

Eddie comes to take your hand and lead you over to the chairs in the middle. He kneels down in front of you and unbuckles your white strappy heels. You breathe a sigh of relief as he pulls each piece of confining footwear off. He hands one of your shoes to you and keeps one in his own hand before he stands up and kicks his own black dress shoes off. He then hands you one of those while keeping the other for himself.

“Daddy is the more dramatic one when he’s sick,” you hear Luke say to Wayne as Eddie takes the seat at your back.

“I heard that,” Eddie quips.

“He’s right,” you say with a giggle. Eddie reaches back and playfully swats at you.

“Okay, let’s get started,” Jake says. “First one: who is the better cook?”

Instantly, both you and Eddie raise up the white strappy shoes.

“Oh, that’s so easy!” you hear Ryan say.

“Ah, seemed to be no hesitation there,” Jake says. “Next, who is more likely to grow old and continue playing pranks?”

Almost as quickly as you’d both lifted your shoe last time, you both lift Eddie’s. The guests chuckle as well as Jake.

“Yeah, kind of saw that one coming,” the DJ says.

“He’s already old!” Luke says from Wayne’s lap. You burst into laughter, bending in half in your seat. Wayne claps his hand over Luke’s mouth, but there’s no use now. The rest of the guests laugh as well, but Eddie just shakes his head while looking at his youngest son.

“Hush up,” he calls out. “No one asked you.”

Luke’s boisterous laugh echoes out as he pulls his grandfather’s hand off his face.

“Oh, okay, this one might be a little more controversial,” Jake says. “Who has the better taste in music?”

It’s the third time that neither you nor Eddie have any hesitation, except this time you both proudly raise your own shoes in the air.

“Put your shoe down,” Eddie says without looking behind him.

“No way,” you counter.

“Interesting!” Jake calls. “Huh, alright. Maybe we should get the boys to be the tie breakers here. Who might the bride and groom’s favorite artists be?”

“Metallica for me,” Eddie says. He wrinkles up his nose as he speaks your preference. “Billy Joel for her.”

“Okay, boys,” Jake says, looking over towards your sons. “Metallica or Billy Joel?”

“Metallica!” Luke shouts the same time that Ryan yells, “Billy Joel!”

“Ah,” Jake hums. “I guess we’re just going to have to call this one a tie. Moving on. Who is the most stubborn when arguing?”

Again, you and Eddie lift each other’s shoes in the air.

The crowd laughs and Jake shakes his head.

“You know,” he says, “I’m not even going to try to settle this one. The speed with which they put their hands up says it all. Alright, next one. Who said, ‘I love you’ first?”

Both of you raise Eddie’s shoe, matching dopey grins on your faces.

“Who made the first move?”

You lift each other’s shoes in the air, but Eddie looks behind him and scoffs.

“It was you!” he says.

“It was not,” you argue.

Eddie clears his throat and tilts his head to the side in impatience.

“Babe. You climbed into my lap.”

“Oh,” you say, remembering that moment with crystal clarity. “I did.” You shrug and switch from Eddie’s shoe to your own.

“Thank you.”

“Who is most likely to stay up too late either playing guitar or reading a book?”

Two of your shoes go up.

“Who is more likely to randomly start a deep conversation at midnight?”

Two of Eddie’s shoes go up.

“Who is most likely to cave when the kids ask for a pet?”

Eddie holds your shoe up straight away while you shyly lift yours into the air.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows at the boys.

“Okay, final question,” Jake says and clears his throat. “Who is more excited about having more kids?”

You both lift black dress shoes high into the air. That’s absolutely no secret between the two of you with Mr. Breeding Kink sitting behind you.

The guests clap, talking amongst themselves as the game ends. Eddie helps put your shoes back on and pulls you to your feet. Somewhere a glass clinks at a table and Eddie takes the cue, tugging your body against his and lowering his mouth to yours.

You’re unsure how long you’re lost in Eddie’s lips before you hear someone mention cake. Next thing you know, you and Eddie are standing in front of your three-tiered wedding cake, and he picks up the large knife. He settles the blade over the bottom level of dessert and waits for you to put your hand on top of his. Together, you slice the first piece of cake and serve it onto a plate.

“Smoosh it in his face!” Luke yells.

Eddie narrows his eyes at you, but you subtly shake your head to tell him that you’re not going to. Your husband goes first, pinching a piece of cake between his thumb and forefinger and feeds it to you. The decision to let your tongue flick against the tip of his fingers proves successful as a low groan rumbles out of him.

“Evil,” Eddie whispers as you pick up a small chunk of cake.

You shrug innocently before holding your fingers up to his lips. He opens them and you feed him the piece. Luke huffs somewhere behind you, disappointed this all went so calmly.

Cake is cut for the rest of the guests and Luke tries to pull his own face smooshing prank. He grabs a small bit of his cake in his hands and tip toes (what he thinks is) quietly up behind his dad. Your husband looks over at you and you share an amused glance before Eddie strikes, snatching Luke up by his waist and wrangling the cake out of his messy hands. Luke laughs as he lays like a ragdoll over Eddie’s lap and the older man happily pops the piece of Luke’s cake into his mouth.

“Darn it!” Luke says through his laughter.

“Better luck next time, sticky fingers,” Eddie says, shoving his son back up to his feet.

After the cake is thoroughly enjoyed, it’s time for you to throw the bouquet. You approach the middle of the dance floor, eyes scanning the single women who are coming to try and catch it. There’s a handful of them but Jess looks especially motivated. You turn your back to them and listen to Jake count backwards from three. Shouting erupts behind you as soon as the flowers soar above your head. There’s cheering as you turn around to see who caught it. Holly Wheeler stands in the middle of the group of ladies, a bright smile on her face as she lifts the white and red arrangement in the air. You catch the smile on Jess’s face and get the sneaking suspicion that your best friend let the pretty blonde win on purpose.

The only thing left for the rest of the time is more dancing. Even without a clock visible, it’s obvious that the night is coming to a close as the kids get more tired, and you even see Steve sitting at a table with a sleeping Mia’s head resting on his shoulder.

“Always the babysitter,” you hear him say.

“Excuse me?” You arch an eyebrow at him.

Steve laughs and shrugs his free shoulder. “Fair.”

As the reception comes to an end, you say goodbye to all your guests who have stayed this late into the evening. Finally, Wayne approaches the two of you with exhausted little Munsons in front of him. Their grandfather is taking them back to the house and staying with them tonight while you and Eddie have a nice bridal suite awaiting you at a local hotel. You’ll meet up with the three guys tomorrow for breakfast before you and Eddie catch your plane to begin your honeymoon.

“Alright,” Eddie says, pulling Ryan in for a hug. “Be good for Grandpa, okay?”

“Always am,” Ryan answers through a yawn.

“Maybe I should be telling you that, then.” Eddie hugs Luke next and the little boy doesn’t even have the energy to argue. He just grunts as he hugs his dad and then you. You press kisses to both of their heads before giving Wayne a hug.

“It was beautiful, guys,” he says. “I’m so happy for y’all.”

“Thank you.” You kiss his cheek. “We love you.”

“Love you, too. See ya in the morning.”

Now all that’s left to do is join your husband for a quick limo ride to your hotel where you’ll both summon a whole new surge of energy. Eddie loops your arm through his as the two of you walk out of the banquet hall. You’re contently quiet, taking in the cold night air before slipping inside the warm vehicle. As soon as the door is closed behind you, Eddie pulls you into his lap and cups your cheeks in his large hands. He presses kiss after kiss to your lips.

“Did you have fun, wife?” he asks once he’s satisfied.

“I had an amazing time, husband,” you reply.

He gazes adoringly at you and gently runs his thumb along your cheekbone. The limo starts to pull away from the renovated barn, two words painted onto the back window of the limo for anyone behind you to see.

Just Married.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #older!eddie #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie Munson fan fic #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS #request

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starlessea · 7 months ago

Text

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙙 [𝘿𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙡 𝘿𝙞𝙭𝙤𝙣 𝙓 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧]

Chapter 2: Wide-Eyed

Series Masterlist: The Ties That Mend

Summary: Three-hundred-and-ninety-six days after the outbreak, you are discovered in an abandoned community college, covered in filth and barely able to speak a word. Despite the showers (multiple) and rehabilitation attempts (also multiple), it's apparent that your mind is elsewhere. Beyond saving.

This new world is chaos, but you're lucky to find good people in it. More so than any is a man named Daryl, patient enough to let you put yourself back together—one stitch at a time.

Daryl had seen eyes like that only a few times before.

The first, he’d been seven-years-old, roaming the streets of Northern Georgia with his no-good brother. Their parents never did care a rat’s ass about where they ended up, and this time, they’d found themselves in the bad part of town. The epicentre of trouble.

Merle had been hanging around some older boys back then, the type who got off on taunting his kid brother. Sneak up on the local kook, they’d told him. It’d be funny; he’d be a chicken if he didn’t. So Daryl—filled with a newfound sense of bravado—agreed, and dumped his can of orange Crush over some man too cracked out to notice.

Until he did.

The way the guy’s eyes popped open—bloodshot, bulging—was burned into Daryl’s memory. Even now, thirty-some years later, he could recount them in astounding detail. They were the same shell-shocked eyes as those nasty bastards his daddy used to hang about. The ones hardened by their daddies and so on.

They were eyes Daryl saw far more often these days. Came across them in the fleeting glances of their ragtag community—from the stragglers of Woodberry to the drifters that had no place else in the world. After a few weeks of decent meals, sleep, and a safe place to shit, most of them lost that look. Replaced it with all sorts of stuff he didn’t really care for.

But most recently, Daryl had found it again, stamped onto the face of Glenn’s newest rescue. Whilst he’d pitied you at first, shaking like a newborn gazelle on Carol’s arm, that pity quickly morphed into something colder.

Catching your eyes, Daryl suddenly felt seven-years-old again. It wasn’t a passing thing, that look, nor did it mask something deeper. It was simply a fixture of your face. The result of whatever shit storm you’d endured.

Even with all the time in the world, Daryl wasn’t sure you’d ever shake it.

“Man, I’m telling you. Shit felt like The Shining—”

A voice drags Daryl back into the room. Around him, a group had gathered in their usual corner, chairs pulled together in a circle. Bob has the floor, soaking in the attention as he recounts an abridged version of the day’s events.

He’s new, too, and Daryl hadn’t taken to him yet.

“—Glenn will tell you. Suddenly, she’s staring at us with those big bug eyes,” Bob goes on, bringing his pointer fingers to his face. “Kept getting wider by the second.”

Across from him, Glenn shifts uncomfortably. “It wasn’t that bad,” he retorts. “She’s not deranged just because she doesn't blink much.”

Daryl feels himself scowl. He’s got his back against the stone, arms crossed as he watches the exchange. He doesn’t usually involve himself in these little powwows, but something about this one is wearing his patience thin.

“Fifteen times,” he gruffs. Eyes turn to him as he pushes off the wall. “Tha’s how much most folks blink in a minute—fifteen.”

Daryl moves in closer, stopping just short of the circle before shaking his head. “She blinked once in three.”

The chatter is replaced by silence, thick and uneasy.

“I’ve seen people like that,” Bob says after a moment. His voice is more subdued now, like he's been grounded back to that floor and not the pedestal he'd been put on. “Usually, it’s on their way back from war.”

The words hit hard. For once, Daryl finds himself agreeing. There was something about you, something off that made him feel like a kid again, standing in the shadow of a stranger’s unpredictability. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Wha’ever shit went down there,” he says, “ya can bet yer ass it weren’t pretty.”

“It wasn’t,” Glenn confirms.

His tone leaves no room for elaboration.

At the other side of the room, Rick, who—like Daryl—had been doing his utmost to not get involved, straightens. “Glenn, brother,” he starts, “I know you mean well, but do you think she’s—”

Rick doesn’t say it, but Daryl can hear it in the silence. They all can.

Beyond saving.

Carol clears her throat. “A bit of a feral cat,” she adds, after a beat.

It’s a poor attempt to lighten the mood; no one laughs. Least amused is Glenn, who rakes a hand through his hair before letting out a hefty sigh. “What was I meant to do, just leave her there?”

He doesn’t aim the question, but the lack of response only urges him on.

“You didn’t see it—that place was hell.” His voice tightens, the day’s frustrations bleeding through. “Not everyone’s lucky enough to have someone to pull them out of it. That could’ve been me, or you, or any one of us.”

The group slinks back as Glenn gestures around, trying not to let themselves land at the end of his pointer finger.

Michonne—who’s been sitting quietly at the edge of the group until now—finally speaks. “Give her time,” she says simply. Her words are directed at no one in particular, but carry the kind of weight that can’t be disputed.

Daryl glances at her, and for a brief moment, their eyes meet.

He’s come to appreciate Michonne; her short replies made life easier in the months they’d spent tracking the Governor. She never wasted breath on stuff that didn’t matter.

She has a point now, too. You hadn’t been here long—a couple hours at most. Hell, Daryl had taken longer naps. And it’s not like you were going anywhere. Not on those weak knees.

For the time being, Cell Block D was the best place for you. It was the only one still needing repairs, a little dingy and a whole lot of space, which worked out fine. You likely wouldn’t cope well in the ones filled with people.

That’s why Daryl slept in Block D, too.

In the minutes that follow, an air of deliberation settles over the group. It’s an uncomfortable sort of quiet, with everyone seeming to retreat into their own thoughts. Daryl considers leaving; he’s got plenty to be getting on with. In truth, he’s not sure how he ended up here in the first place. But before he can make it across the room, he crosses paths with Maggie, coming in like a storm through the main entrance.

She looks dishevelled: her shoulders rounded and tiredness evident in the contours of her face. Sidestepping Daryl, she picks out Rick in the crowd. She shakes her head at him. “That pregnant lady in Block E is having trouble again,” she says, “My daddy’s gonna keep an eye on her tonight. Beth too.”

She takes a moment to flatten her hair, willing the stray strands into submission.

“They’ll come see the new girl in the morning,” she explains. Then, with a sidelong glance toward Glenn, asks, “What’d you call her again—loony bin?”

Glenn cringes. He reiterates your name, which he’d likely pried from you earlier in the truck.

The sound of it takes Daryl by surprise. It’s a pretty name—one he’d never pin to you. He almost wonders if hearing it can give him a glimpse into your past, at the person you used to be. But then again, not everyone suits their name. Perhaps you never had.

“Well…” says Rick, more decisive now, “let’s get ‘er to eat in the meantime.” He stands to dust off his jeans. “Or clean up.”

There’s a collective murmur of agreement, and almost immediately, the group starts to disperse. Daryl’s first to move, but Carol catches his arm before he can make it out the door.

He throws an annoyed glance back at her.

There's an apron tied around her waist; Michonne had brought it back from some tacky gift shop they’d raided not long ago. The fabric was already stained—the pattern made dull from hard work. Carol was on cooking duty again; Daryl knew because he unintentionally looked forward to those days.

“Any chance you could get something for her?” she asks, gesturing to the crossbow over his back. “Fresh?”

There’s hesitation in her voice, her lips pressed together like she’s bracing for something.

Daryl raises an eyebrow. “Sure. Ya want ribeye or sirloin?”

Carol bats him lightly across the shoulder. Then she offers him a small smile—one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Daryl dislikes it.

“She’s just so skinny,” she eventually says. That teasing tone he’d grown to expect is gone now, replaced by something more serious. “I lifted her, and—well, it was like lifting Sophia.”

The name lands like a stone. Daryl stills, his jaw setting.

“I’ll find something,” he mutters.

Carol nods, sending him off with a small ‘thank you’.

Daryl readies his crossbow and hunting gear before heading out into the yard. It’s bustling, as it always is these days—children weaving around him, adults trying to strike up conversation. He shuts them down with a look that says he could care less for chit-chat right now. There’s too many of them for him to handle.

Already got another damn mouth to feed.

He has half a mind to turn around, but Carol’s words propel him forward, clinging to the back of his mind like burrs.

He'll find something.

—

The cropped-haired woman comes to collect you at dinner.

She tells you her name is Carol, and that she has something special prepared for you. Her tone is light, airing on excitement as she helps you along the metal catwalk and down the stairs. It’s an easy, practiced motion—her arm brushing against yours. But with each stroke, you feel it: that itch in your chest.

You’ve never been fond of surprises. In fact, you hated them. The uncertainty, the lack of control, the unfamiliarity of this place… Every step tightens the grip around your lungs.

Breathe, you remind yourself. In. Out.

Carol notices the shift in your demeanor, must feel it in the stiffness of your shoulders. So she opts for distraction. As the two of you walk arm-in-arm, she attempts to fill the space between you with reassurance—even if it doesn’t quite reach you.

She details life at the prison—everything they’ve worked towards in the last few months—and the other refugees who now called this place home. There's a semblance of stability behind her eyes as she recounts it all. “We’ve come a long way,” she says. “It’s been hard, but we’re getting there. You’ll see.”

You want to believe it; you almost do. But talk of warm-water showers, birthday celebrations, and even tending to livestock leaves you doubtful. It’s too reminiscent of life before everything fell apart.

There had to be a catch. There’s always a catch.

Whatever it is, Carol doesn’t let on. But you’re not convinced she believes the narrative she’s selling, either. She won’t say it, but you can hear it in the pauses. It’s something you’ll have to decipher for yourself.

When the two of you pass a mirror at the end of the hall, your step falters.

Who is that?

You recognise Carol, of course. Her face is familiar enough, grey hair catching the light like silver, but the one beside her—you—is someone else entirely. Your throat tightens as you take in the face staring back at you.

That’s not you; it can’t be.

When had you become this gaunt—this filthy?

Your cheeks are hollowed out, their colour lost entirely. The lips below are dry and cracked. Whatever was on your head, you could no longer call it hair. It was a matted thing that trailed like rope to the backs of your knees.

Staring into the mirror, you find nothing of yourself in that reflection. Everything you’d ever thought endearing, gone. Even your voice is not as it was. You doubt it could still carry a tune.

It’s all too much. The sight of yourself—the thing claiming to be yourself—triggers emotions you hadn’t encountered in quite some time. Before you can stop it, your eyes are burning.

You fight the sensation. Squashing it down to the depths, you stamp it dead. You can’t afford to break now. Not here. Not in front of her.

“Come on,” Carol says gently, nudging you away from the mirror.

Could she feel it? The way your heart jumped in your chest—how your legs threatened to give way?

You try not to think on it. Instead, you nod.

Once you reach the communal area of the cell block, you’re escorted to the same dilapidated table you’d noted earlier. People are still gathered there—some you recognise, others not. They don’t stare outright, but you feel their eyes. You begin to tremble in response, as though your body is trying to shake them off. Wordlessly, you let Carol guide you to your spot.

A plate is already set in front of you. There’s meat on it; you're told it’s rabbit. One look, and you’re reminded of the bunny you raised as a kid—a fluffy white thing, pure as snow. It was decapitated by the neighborhood fox one evening. You never did find it's head. At the thought, nausea grows within you, but like everything else, you push it down.

No one else is eating, you notice. You’re aware that you’re likely turning their stomachs just sitting here. The word ‘shower’ had been thrown in your direction more times than you could count, but nobody had followed through with the threat—yet. Instead, you are offered a bucket of water to rinse your hands. It turns brown from just a few passes.

“Thought you could use some meat on those bones,” Carol quips, the words blunt but not unkind. “Daryl caught it fresh.” She then gestures for you to take a bite, to eat rather than stare.

You nod. Stowing your hatchet safely on a nearby seat—you had refused to leave it in the cell—you reach for the cutlery laid out on the table. There’s a knife and an odd spork-like utensil. They seem intentionally blunt, and in your hands, too, they don’t properly fit.

It’s been far too long. How did you use these, again?

With each stroke of the knife, your anxiety mounts. You can’t seem to get a clean cut. The meat is sinewy, too alive—nothing like the canned mush you’d survived on for the last year. It takes everything in you to keep the tremors from taking over, to keep your hands steady enough to continue.

As you poke about the rabbit on your plate, a woman who introduces herself as Maggie strikes up a conversation. “The old community college, huh?” she asks, in spite of cautionary glances. “My sister used to go some weekends. Probably finger paintin’ or singing kumbaya,” she adds.

You catch the playful hint in her tone, and when she laughs, it’s a sound you’re not sure you remember how to respond to. It’s pretty—the kind that’s easy, like it hasn’t been twisted by everything bad.

“Did you start there, or just end up there?” she asks, casually.

“St—started,” you manage. You’re not sure she hears you, but she leans in, trying to catch the words.

“Hmm?”

“Started,” you repeat, louder, though it feels like a strain.

Beside Maggie, a darker, leaner woman shoots her a look. “Let the girl eat,” she says. There’s something practiced about the way she carries herself. You sense she’s the type not to pry, and you’re thankful for that. Her kind are few and far between.

"You're right, Michonne," replies Maggie, and with her answer, you learn another name.

Despite the warning, a boy, not even in his teens, lingers near the table. You’d noticed him earlier, coated in a sort of pessimism unsuited to his age. “Were there a lotta walkers?” he blurts. He’s wearing a sheriff’s hat—one he hasn’t quite grown into—and is eyeing you from under its rim. “My dad said the worst place to be is somewhere like that. Bet there were a bunch of people during the outbreak.”

The leader of the group, Rick, flicks his hat in warning. But it’s too late—the question’s out. Your stomach twists again as you focus on the meat, trying to chew through the knot forming in your throat.

Across from you, your eyes meet Glenn's. He’s the only one here who saw it: the halls rotting with bodies, the blood-soaked floors. Even then, he still doesn’t know the full extent.

And what would he do if he did know? If he found out what happened there—what you did? Would he have brought you back?

Your mind starts to spiral. You shove a piece of the rabbit into your mouth, hoping to distract yourself. It goes down like tar. Your hands are shaking now, clattering the mismatched cutlery against your plate. No matter how hard you try, you can’t prevent the shudder that rips through your body.

Carol, tempered by concern, leans in. “Did you get separated from your group?” she asks gently. “Is there anyone—”

Before she can finish, Daryl speaks up. “Would y’all quit it?” he says, his eyes flicking from Carol to the others. The gruffness of his voice stands in complete opposition to their concern. “Yer givin’ me indigestion and I ain’t even eatin’.”

For a moment, all attention is directed away from you and onto him. You’re grateful for the space it grants you—no matter how small. The next breath you take is intentionally drawn.

“I—” you lock eyes with Daryl, hoping to convey your gratitude. Instead, something else makes its way to the surface. “I’m going to be sick,” you announce.

There’s no time to stop it. The first to react, Michonne dumps the bucket of water out over the floor. You can’t hold it in anymore. Your head falls into it just in time to let the bile spill out. It’s a pitiful sort of retching. There’s no vomit; your stomach is too empty to give up anything more.

Behind you, someone rubs your back. You don't know who, but their cool hands are a welcomed reprieve to the clamminess of your skin. Your body betrays your mind as you instinctively arch into them. It’s only for a split second, before you pull away.

What have you done?

Head emerging from the bucket, you force yourself to look up. There are eyes on you again, more persistent than before. And in them, you see it, the swell of emotions:

Pity. Annoyance. Indifference. Disgust—

Your chair screeches against the floor as you dart out of it. You leave the table smelling even worse than before.

—

It’s mid-evening when Daryl catches sight of you again, scurrying along the catwalk to your cell.

You’re still a mess, though slightly improved since dinner. He takes a passing look. You haven’t bathed yet—probably still shaken by that whole interrogation—but there’s something less rabid about you now. Your hair, still a matted mess, is pushed behind your ears, and you’re wearing an odd ensemble: jeans far too big for you and a shirt likely belonging to Glenn. They were clean, at least.

Daryl crosses you without a word. Tired eyes and heavy steps, he’s hell-bent on returning to his own cell for the night. He’s halfway down the catwalk, hand on the door, when he registers it. A voice, barely above a whisper:

“D—Daryl?”

He stops upon hearing his name. Turning, he finds you right behind him—staring up with that wide-eyed expression.

He tries not to flinch. When the hell had you gotten there? You were just…

Daryl’s gaze drops instinctively. Bare feet. That’s why you hadn’t made a sound.

“—m sorry about the food.”

He tunes in to your words. They’re coming out too haltingly, too polite for the situation.

Daryl doesn’t know how to respond. Eat the food, don’t eat the food. Normally, he wouldn’t care. But something about the way you say it—so fragile, so damn apologetic—leaves him grasping at straws. He’s not good at this, never has been.

You keep going nonetheless. “It wouldn’t stay down... I’m sorry to w—waste it.”

A nervous stammer creeps into your words, and with it, fans Daryl’s agitation. He wants to bite back. To let you know he’s got better things to do than watch you throw up food he went out of his way to catch. But something inside of him chooses restraint.

You’re teetering on the edge; everyone within a five-foot radius can see it. And when he looks at you, for some reason, his mind deciphers it as fear. He’s just unsure whether it’s the fear of breaking you, or the fear of what you’ll do if broken.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Mm,” he mutters. “Don’ matter. Can always get s’more.”

You don’t say anything after that. The silence hangs between you, heavy and awkward. Daryl shifts on his feet, mapping out the route back to his bed, and how quick he can get there.

“Jus’ eat the next one, a’right?” he says, with finality.

You nod, your gaze not lifting from the floor. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Daryl mutters back. Then he watches you disappear into the darkness of your cell, waiting for the clink as you lock it shut.

But it’s not a good night.

It starts a few hours after they all turn in. Daryl bolts upright at the curdling scream ripping through the air. His heart slams against his chest, and instinct kicks in. He’s already got his crossbow in his hands before the panic can register.

Torchlight flickers along the catwalk as the others begin to scramble awake. There’s a cacophony of voices, footsteps on metal, guns cocking, and Rick barking orders as he joins Daryl to locate the source.

The sound echoes again. It’s coming from your cell, a god-awful shrieking that has him preparing for the worst. Rick’s master key turns in the lock, and the door swings open.

Daryl steps in behind him, crossbow aimed high as he searches for walkers—hell, for anything that could warrant those screams of utter terror. His heart pounds in his ears as he sweeps the room.

There’s nothing. No threat—no you.

A flashlight shines over your cot, but it’s empty. Daryl follows the edges of the light,into the shadows and all four corners of the room. He finds you in one of them, curled up in a ball, rocking on the soles of your feet.

He gestures to Rick, who—spotting you there—lowers his gun. “Hey,” he says, with a tone like he’s negotiating you off a high-rise building. “Hey, it’s okay.”

There’s no response. Your head is buried in your knees, arms wrapped around your legs as you sit twisted in blankets. The shrieking has stopped now, but your silence, Daryl finds, is far more unsettling.

Rick steps aside, exchanging a glance with Daryl. It’s a subtle signal for him to take the lead. He’d rather not, but it’s Rick, so he listens.

Lowering his crossbow, he edges forward. “C’mon, snap outta it,” he growls. The cut of his voice makes him cringe; he’s never been good with words.

When you don’t react, Daryl tries again—a little closer this time. His hand reaches for your shoulder despite his better judgement.

A switch flips the second he touches you. Without warning, your arm shoots out, a blur of motion that sends your hatchet swinging wildly. The instinct to defend yourself—to fight—is so ingrained that it comes as natural as a breath.

Daryl barely manages to dodge the assault. He pivots back, feeling the blade against strands of his hair. Then, as quick as it started, it's over.

You're looking at him now—not through him. Sweat is beading on your face, running down your cheeks like tears. Daryl knows better than to wipe it. As he stands out of his crouch, realisation flashes behind those massive eyes of yours.

“God—I’m sorry,” you gasp, breath ragged. “I’m so sorry... I thought you were—” You don’t finish. You don’t have to. He knows. Everyone knows exactly what you thought you were seeing.

Rick let's out a sigh: half relief, half exhaustion. He throws a backwards glance at the gathering crowd, raising one hand in a calm gesture. “Go on,” he says to them, “back to bed.”

Daryl hears their protests. It's understandable; they'd raced from their rooms only to find the source of the threat was some raging loon having a nightmare—as harsh as it sounded.

“You gave us quite the fright there,” Rick continues, turning his attention back to you. At this moment, he's demonstrating more tact than he shows his own children. “Do you need someone to stay with you?”

You shake your head, barely lifting your eyes. “No.”

Rick shifts his weight, searching for something else to say. He doesn't believe you, Daryl can tell by his stance. But that's not his problem.

By now, Daryl had already retreated to the door, watching you from a safe distance in the dim light. He’s seen this in people before—the way the world cracks them open like an egg. It’s never pretty. And it would have been less pretty if he'd been standing just a half-step closer to you.

“Well, if ya do,” Daryl says, his voice still edged with sleep, “it ain’t gonna be me. I wanna keep my head.”

The words come out harsher than he intends, but he doesn’t care enough to fix them. He’s tired, irritable, and the way you can’t meet his eye right now is getting under his skin. So Daryl steps back into the corridor, leaving Rick alone to deal with you.

His cell isn't the same as it was a-half-hour ago. It looks the same, doesn't feel it. It's quiet, but in his mind, that scream still rings like an alarm he can't shut off. On his cot, too, he fights with the covers. They're everywhere—too hot, too stifling. Too reminiscent of your emaciated body, tangled in bedsheets as you looked to Daryl for answers.

And he'd just left you there: wide-eyed and afraid.

Daryl doesn’t sleep that night.

Neither do you.

A/N Merry Christmas and happy holidays, lovers! I hope you've had a good one. I have eaten such ungodly amounts of cheese. That said, enjoy this lil gift from me. I busted my balls to get it out today - alternating between stuffing me face and putting words on the page. So do let me know if you like it! I also hope the change in POV isn't too confusing. I want to tell this story from both of their perspectives, since reader is a little bit of an unreliable narrator haha. Enjoyyyy x

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