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razzle-n-dazzle · 3 months ago

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Lucifer x F!Reader [Adam’s ExGF]

[context: she’s was an angel created in heaven, and ends up dating adam for a bit this is long after Eden. and ends up leaving him not being able to handle him anymore.]

So~

Another one of his partners is stolen by Lucifer heheh.. she married him and they have a 12 month old baby. Adam being in hell now and is trying to “rehabilitate” is forced to watch his ex partner being happy something he he did so little for her when they were together.

bonus: if Adam snatches the baby’s toy from their hands causing them to cry and everyone to shout at him and argue

. . . 𝘍𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘺 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 Lucifer / AFAB! Reader

‗( content / trigger warning ) not proofread (we die like Adam), AFAB! reader, reader has a kid, technically this is an (yandere?) Adam / Reader hurt fanfic in disguise, It's Helluva/Hazbin there's going to be cursing. ‗( author's note ) I'm going to try and do Lucifer's personality justice here. I had gone back to reread some of my old Lucifer fanfic to see that I mischaracterized him in a rather noticeable way (at least for me), and that doesn't fly here. So let's hope third time is a charm <3

"To be yours was like holding a thorned rose. It was pretty, sure, yet it pierced, stabbed, and bled my hands the tighter I held on to keep it alive. . . So, I let it die."

To say a bone in his body does not loath Lucifer, would be an understatement. Actually, no, it would be the foulest lie that would have ever been uttered. There was nothing in this world that Adam despised more than Lucifer Morningstar; The fallen angel of corrupted dreams, a thief and tainter of pure hearts, the sole creator of sin and everything that is wrong within the world. Simply to put it, if Adam had a chance to fuck as many women as he could want, in all the positions he could ever hope for, or torture Lucifer without a single repercussion until he's dead on hell's floor; He'd choose the latter. After all, who wouldn't hate the guy after everything he did? Well, apparently one person didn't, and Adam couldn't understand why.

You: The love of his life. Adam didn't get it, he really didn't. How could you, one of the most perfect people in creation, end up with someone like . . . Lucifer? And how could, promptly, Lucifer have been the one to end Adam up in Hell! And how, just how, did Adam ever think he needed the help of Lucifer's daughter to quote-on-quote rehabilitate when he's the original dick and would end back in Heaven by default?! And yet, even with all those questions and odds stacking up against him, Adam still found himself sitting at Husker's bar. He still found himself watching as you sat next to Lucifer, holding a literal baby on your lap, while Charlie cooed over her new baby brother. Honestly, he was a second away from slamming his drink down on the counter or across the hotel lobby to hopefully crack Lucifer's skull open. That fucking bastard. He had no right to not only be sitting next to you right now, calling you his lover, but to knock you up with his kid! He didn't deserve you. No one deserved you but Adam and yet you dumbed him! Him! The original dick, the original first man. Pft. It's your loss anyways. He's so much better than what's his stupid fucking face and his stupid fucking kids. Pft, yeah. It's not like he cared at all! After all, he could have that stupid(ly beautiful) grin on your face ten times brighter than Lucifer could ever.

Adam's days were absolutely miserable anytime You and Lucifer came over to the Hotel, as there was little chances of avoiding either of you. Sure, maybe Adam could hide in his room and pretend like he never say either of you on your visit days. Sure, maybe he could go out on the town and possibly meet someone that was ten times better than you. And, sure, maybe he could just do one of the million annoying tasks Charlie had for the residents. Yet, there was still no avoiding either of you. Not for Adam. Because avoiding you would show Lucifer that he won. That he managed not only to take Lilith, yet Even, and now You away from Adam and let it affect him. Adam was not ever giving Lucifer that satisfaction, and he wasn't going to let you have the satisfaction of knowing that he still . . . loves you. Not that you would be paying attention, anyways. You haven't even spared him a glance, other than courteous waves of hellos when Adam was near some of the other residents. So, if you had moved on, so had Adam! And, frankly, much to Adam's dismay, you had. The fall from Heaven hadn't been a pretty one, not at all. The Seraphim had stripped you of your wings, casted you down based on a senseless accusation that could have "threatened the whole order of the Heavens". It was unjust, and it had stung you heavily during the first few months, but you slowly learnt to cope. Finding someone who could share your same pains helped, immensely. Lucifer had been that person for you. The person who, despite everything you had gone through, seemed to always understand where you were coming from; And, likewise, you were that person for Lucifer. You had made Lucifer believe he could fall in love again, and Lucifer had made you believe you could dream again. That you could create without judgement. And, after years of courting, to two years of being fiancés, to the wedding and now a year and a half of being married you two had a beautiful baby boy. And, much like Charlie, he was the little joy of your shared lives. "Ceyx!" Charlie would laugh as her baby brother tugged on her hair. It was a little painful, yet Charlie didn't mind too much. Not when he looked so adorable with his chubby little cheeks and those big round eyes. "Sorry! Sorry, I should have warned you he started his hair pulling phase," You would pull away from Lucifer, who sat besides you, to gently try and coax Ceyx to let go of Charlie's chair. Though, Ceyx apparently only saw this as a fun little game as he let out a spit of babbles and laughs while you were gently attempting to pry his little hands off. "He had only been interested in Lucifer's hair until now." Charlie would wave you off gently, laughing softly, "No, no, it's alright!" As she had to crane her neck slightly so Ceyx's playful tugs didn't feel like he was trying to rip out her hair. A scowl spread on Adam's face, with furrowed eyebrows and hate-filled eyes, as he watched you five from the top of the stairs. This was the second time You had came over in the last week and he got sicker by the passing visit. And this time was no different, his stomach churn with abhorrence, as he watched Lucifer swoop from next to you to in front of your baby, giving him some tickles on his belly. Adam watched as Ceyx would babble happily seeing his father's face before exploding into a fit of giggles and laughter once Lucifer began to tickle him. He nearly vomited seeing the little baby faces Lucifer was making. Yet, his heart broke seeing the way that your eyes twinkled at Lucifer, staring at him so fondly and lovingly. A look you had reserved for Adam. A look, he knew but continuously denied the truth of, he would never get again from you.

It's not like he cared anyways! . . . Not one bit. Not even as he watched as Lucifer would scoop up Ceyx, whose eyes carried the same shade and light as yours, and spin him around. Entertaining the baby while Vaggie assisted Charlie with fixing her hair, while Charlie watched her dad fond over the newest addition to the Morningstar family. Adam didn't even care when you stood up, gently placed a hand on Lucifer's shoulder, and pecked his cheek. It didn't boil his blood. And, of course, it's not like he needed answered from you. No way. And it was not the reason why Adam stalked your figure from above when you went to the bar to order drinks, after asking your family if they needed anything. And it was 100% not the reason why Adam went to the bar while Husk was mixing your drinks and sit down right next to you. He just needed to catch your eye on final time. To prove to himself that he still held some bit of your heart, that he still had some sort of chance against him, against Lucifer. And, yet, he found no such light in your eyes. You had simply glanced over to him, checking who had sat down next to you. Sure, you didn't give him a vindictive or disgusted look, like most of his exs would have, you didn't really react either. A simply, courteous, greeting before your drinks were finish. You, Adam's eyes, took the first chance to leave the conversation. And it stabbed right through his heart. But it's not like he cared! . . . Right? No! He didn't. He couldn't possibly! I mean, there were so many women fishing after his dick that you, oh wonderful you, didn't even matter to him. Once he got back up to Heaven, he'll find another bitch to replace you like- Snap!- that! He was Adam, after all.

You had been trying to keep things civil between You and Adam during every trip to the Hotel, really. Sure, you had been seriously dating but that didn't mean you had to have tension with the man! Even if he had been a douchebag during your entire relationship, you just didn't need that sort of stress, not with the new baby. But, Heaven's dammit, had he crossed the line today! Charlie had bought a little play pen for Ceyx to play in recently, having set it up and everything for your next visit to the Hotel. It sat a in front of the couch that Charlie, Lucifer, Vaggie, and you usually sat at and wasn't particularly in anyone's way. Charlie had wanted to show you both some of the new-new renovations made to the hotel and you had all thought that Ceyx would be alright with Vaggie in his play pen. You didn't miss the way Lucifer's eyes glanced back towards Ceyx, though, as you three walked up the main staircase. His eyebrows furrowed and his steps slowly stopped, so noticeable in fact that Charlie and you were sure he was about to race down the stairs and snatch Ceyx from his playpen and bring him with you. And you knew he didn't not trust Vaggie, he was just cautious. "He'll be fine, Luci," Your soft, whispered, voice was coaxing Lucifer away from Ceyx. It would only be a moment, you had said, as your hands rested gently on his. The gesture would draw his arm up as you took a step, and then a second, and by the third he reluctantly began to follow you up. Heavens, you wished you listened to his worried father instincts earlier. As mid-tour Vaggie's voice peirced through the whole hotel, "What the FUCK do you think you're doing?!" Which was enough for a signal for Lucifer to dart right back around and sprint down the hallway. Leaving Charlie and you in a dust of confusion for a moment, before you shared a worried look at each other and darted off after him.

The lobby of the hotel was in complete disarray when you caught up to Lucifer, to which he was already on the main floor. His heels clacked on the floor as he skidded to a stop between Vaggie, who held Ceyx, and Adam. Lucifer's breath was labored, yet he still raised his chin as his eyes pierced daggers at Adam. In that moment, in the intensity of his look, you truly understood why Lucifer was dubbed the King of Hell; Even with his wings unfurled and stretched out. Ceyx's cries died down for a moment upon seeing his father, though they only stirred back up feeling the tension, as thick as butter, in the room. "Woah, woah! Hey, what happened?!" Charlie exclaimed as she rushed down the stairs, trying to play mediator before someone decided to jump the other. You soon followed after her, stopping by Charlie's side with a hand rested on her shoulder. Vaggie huffed, standing on the couch with one leg on the cushion and the other on the back of the couch, "Your new guest" —she spat with vigor— "decided it would be a brilliant idea to mess with Ceyx and snatch his toy away while he was playing with it!" And, oh boy, if you didn't smell the smoke from the fire that burnt between Lucifer's horns before, you sure did now. It boiled, flared, and smoked out black with Lucifer's outrage. "How FUCKING dare you!" hissed Lucifer as his fingers flexed, the knuckles in his fingers cracking. "You think you can come into MY DAUGHTER'S Hotel—" "Lucifer," you tried to quell the situation, but knew it would be a futile attempt. "—and put your GRUBBY FUCKING HANDS on MY CHILD!—" Charlie attempted next, stretching out the 'a' in a cautious manner as she gently took a step forward, "Dad!" To only scramble the step back as Lucifer growled. "—and think YOU WOULD GET AWAY WITH IT YOU BASTARD!" and you would subconsciously shield Charlie's eyes with a hand as Lucifer reeled back and punched Adam across the lobby. Flinching as he crashed right next to the bar, leaving a nasty dent in the wall, you whispered a small sorry to Charlie for the damage. Vaggie didn't seem too bothered by the whole event though, as she cautiously stepped down from the couch with Ceyx once Adam was away. There was a jolt back when Lucifer snapped his head around, glaring over at Vaggie once he reregistered that his son was balling his eyes out; And you were a bit afraid Lucifer might punch Vaggie too, yet the haunting glow of red slowly subsided when soft pale yellow eyes grew upon seeing Ceyx. And Adam, as he pushed the debris of the wall off him with a groan, sat up to the scene of Lucifer gently picking up Ceyx from Vaggie's hands. The way his eyes shrunk just a little, while his pupils inflated, with a scrunched and worried eyebrow made Adam sick of looking at his stupid face. Especially when he cuddled and coddled the child, who would have been just fine if everyone didn't make a big deal out of everything. "Fucking snowflakes," Adam would grumble under his breath. His glare pierced the wall nearby before a shadow in front of him covered his light and caught his attention. He was sure it was just someone else there to berate him for something that wasn't even a big deal. And he was about to flip them off, to tell them to go fuck off, until he realized who it was. . . You stood in front of Adam, slamming your foot into his his chest with a snarl on her otherwise beautiful (in Adam's opinion) face, "What the hell was that?!" "What was what?!" Choked Adam as he met your eyes again. You gave him your undivided attention, and sure while it was filled with venom and hate, it was still attention. And, for some reason, he couldn't help but fold under it a little. Dammit! He wouldn't do this for anyone else, so why were you so different?!

"On don't play fucking dumb with me, Adam! You know exactly why you did and I want answers from you." You spat at him, venom leaking from your tone like a snake coiling around his body to squeeze him. And for once Adam was at a loss for words. At least, words that would make the situation better, as all that filled his mind was you. You and how you looked over him. How you were so close Adam could reach his hands out and grab your waist, pulling you down onto his lap. The smell of your perfume, it was different than he remembered yet it suited you. You eyes . . . still that same shade he always loved and- "Fuck, Babe," he would groan, not off put by the way your face drew back with suprise and then scrunched with pure, unfiltered disgust. "You're so fucking hot like thi—" Adam didn't get to finish his statement before a hard— SMACK!— echoed in the lobby, swiftly hushing the voiced that came from around Ceyx. They had been cooing at him, comforting him, though sharply turned to watched as you huffed your way back over to the group and away from Adam; Who was slightly flushed on the floor, a crude snicker stretched on his lips, which did almost nothing to mask the pain that filled his eyes.

Adam had always loathed Lucifer. Yet, after that day it became more deep rooted. Lucifer had taken everyone from him, he started two families that were meant to be his, and he did it without a single drop or tear of remorse. You were meant to be Adam's, Adam was meant to be yours. This isn't how it was supposed to go! And yet. . . when you returned to Lucifer, you whispered to you a concerned question, a small smile returned to your face as you rested his query to bed. And Adam would never forget the way you leaned against Lucifer, gently reaching out for your child, more at content and at peace next to him than you had ever been with Adam. That's when it all truly sunk in for Adam. . . and oddly, it made his desire for you burn more.

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anachronismstellar · 4 months ago

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DOES SQH SLEEP WITH WITH A MONK PEAK LORD???

IT'S CALLED SQH GOTTA GET THEM ALL, MY FRIEND, OF COURSE HE DOES

Sorry it took me so long, had to do a bit of research that turned out to be a lot of research BUT HERE YOU GO

I got the name Gao Qinggao from the amazing 00janeblonde and their FAQ of their fic here

Heads up for me bullshiting a lot of things Airplane style lol

Also bondage and praise kink?

I hope y'all like it!

---------

Ku Xing Peak wasn't one of the most prestigious among its siblings, far from it. If one compared it to the beauty of Qing Jing, the forests of the Scholary Mountain would be greener than emeralds. Or if one searched for riches and luxury, they would have better luck going to Xian Shu Peak, Qi Qingqi sparing no coin to accommodate her disciples.

But if they were allowed to take pride in something, it would be their talismans. From the most basic trick like heating water to the most intricate barriers and bindings, their work had been a reference throughout the cultivation world. If there was a talisman, they would have been involved in either its creation or its improvement.

So imagine what a surprise it was to see the An Ding Peak Lord using talismans Gao Qinggao had never seen before.

First, he thought it was an artifact. Shang-Shixiong was close friends with higher peaks, thus being able to pull favors and acquire relics he would never dream to see. The problem with that theory is that he had seen his own surprised mirrored on Shen Qingqiu's and Zhangmen-Shixiong faces as Shang Qinghua took a folded paper from his sleeve and pressed it into the table. It grew in size until it occupied the entire top of it with a huge map, detailed descriptions of the regions, and topography showing next to the main locations. It would be difficult, and it would take a lot of effort, but this effect could be done with a mixture of talismans after modifying certain radicals.

What made him pause was that, during their talk Mu-Shixiong asked about a specific place and Shang-Shixiong just put his both hands over it, dragging them away from each other making the map focus more and more until they could see the vegetation and when they were finished Shang-Shixiong dragged his hands again but closer, making the map to go back to it's original level of detail.

That would be mixing two types of talismans that shouldn't work together, you can't have one without nullifying the other and-

Gao Qinggao was intrigued.

The technique was interesting, yes, but it wasn't his area of expertise. He had always been a more practical person, focusing his studies on suppression of energy and Qi restoration. Meaning, he could just brush it off and send one of his disciples to ask about it later.

But the fact that he could just ask and understand was a compelling argument.

"Shixiong used a very unique technique today at the meeting. I had never seen someone use talismans to make images show up like that," he approached the other when he had finally left Shen Qingqiu's side. "This one is very interested in learning how Shang-Shixiong did that."

"Oh er," Shang Qinghua blinked, fiddling with the folded paper on his hand before hiding it away. "This little thing? Uh. I don't know if- Uh, I don't know the technique, I just found it- yea! I found it in ah. Oh I don't remember but-"

"Oh?" He wouldn't deny he was a bit disappointed, but not surprised. "Do you mind if I borrow it for research? I've never seen talismans interacting like that, I know some disciples that would be delighted to see it as well."

Shang-Shixiong started to fidget, picking on his sleeve where the paper had been hidden, looking everywhere, but Gao Qinggao.

"I'd love to, really, but this is kinda vital for my peak? I'm afraid I can't lend it. It has got all the trading information and our suppliers, I can't risk it."

"I understand. Would Shixiong allow one of my disciples to go to An Ding to examine it then?"

"I'm afraid the information is too sensitive to be examined by someone outside Lord ranking and-"

Ah. He almost heard the sound of a coin dropping.

He was a bit younger than the others, coming to his position by an urgency of appointing someone to fill his master's place. Not to say he wasn't competent, far from it, but he was aware that his situation and age made the other peak lords underestimate him, or dismiss his opinion when the topic diverted from talismans.

Another disadvantage of his age: he hadn't had the time to mellow down; to reign his fury as expected from a monk. He was no Liu Qingge, of course, but with enough pressure...

"This one apologies for bothering Shang-Shixiong." He spit through clenched teeth, making a point of leaving without a bow, his breathing so labored that one could hear it all the way from the demon realm.

How dared Shang Qinghua hide this knowledge from him?! From his peak?! And what was the point of hiding it anyway? Wouldn't be wise to share it so they could improve it?

Maybe Shang Qinghua was using something forbidden. But there were layers upon layers of protective arrays in the meeting room. The smallest fizzle of demon energy would set off the alarms.

So there must be another reason for Shang-Shixiong to not let him at least look at the desing. Could it be- No.

Did Shang Qinghua think he couldn't learn it?

Ooooh, that just made him more furious.

It might be difficult, but now that Gao Qinggao knew it was possible, he would be able to replicate somehow. His Head disciple could handle the next weeks by themselves, he would grab all the books and parchments they had about redimensioning images, also the ones they had about crystal mirrors and how they were made.

Then he would rub it off Shang Qinghua's face. And maybe spend two weeks in inertia to balance all the spite and anger he was feeling.

---------

It didn't work.

Gao Qinggao laid on his private quarters with piles of papers around him, some crumbled up, others torn into pieces. Blessed be the Heavens that he had never minded being under inertia for long periods of time, because he couldn't remember the last time he ate.

Every single attempt he had made, failed.

Not for his lack of knowledge, he could see where the logic behind it, but it was if the structure kept dancing in front of him, fluttering away like a bird as soon as he reached to grasp it.

Where in all realms had Shang Qinghua found this technique?! Maybe in the Demon Realm? But none of the books that they collected from there had anything like it.

To put it mildly, he was furious.

He was starting to consider that Shang Qinghua was the one who wrote it, and his handwriting was so atrocious he created something without intention. The problem with this is that one, he hadn't seen the talisman close enough to see if it was Shang-Shixiong's handwriting. Second, it was impossible for him to have created it accidentally, the amount of contradictions and spells that had to be put on the paper, on top of using the right ink for it...

He just needed to look at it. Just to look to have a direction to where to start.

He put everything away and stood up, dusting his clothes, calling for a bath even though it was the middle of the night.

He was going to An Ding.

----

"You are a good person, and you will be an amazing Lord, Gao Qinggao," his old master said while passing the Peak Lord robes to him, the soft brown and gray so plain one wouldn't recognize him as a high cultivator outside the Peaks. "Just promise me you will work on your temper."

And he had promised, with heavy heart and aware that would be an ever losing task. He had done his best over the years and had made progress.

But not enough it seemed.

"I have all night, Shidi, and we know I'm more patient than you."

Gao Qinggao ignored the voice across the room, testing the bindings around his wrist as he controlled his breathing. When he had flew to An Ding and tried to sneak inside Shang-Shixiong's house, he wasn't exactly thinking. All he could remember was his blood boiling, eyes seeing red while his mind kept going on and on and on that he was doing this for the good of the Sect, that Shang-Shixiong was the one in the wrong for keeping secrets, that he was just going to look that's all.

He failed to consider that a man with secrets like Shang Qinghua wouldn't survive this long if he weren't good at keeping other people away.

"Shidi," Shang Qinghua gave him a tired sigh that Qinggao ignored to focus on more important things such as at least getting his hands free. "If Shidi doesn't talk to me, I have no way to help you."

He kept his mouth shut. To be honest he didn't even know what to say. He had no plan, he just wanted to take a look at the map! Frustration burned his face red, showing up in blotches that went all the way up his shaved head.

"Very well, Shidi. Let's do it your way then."

He glanced at Shang Qinghua, but a second later the other peak lord left his line of sight. There was the sound of a chair dragging through the floor, then callous fingers grabbed both of his wrists, the thumb pressing against his pulse.

It was as if Shang Qinghua had dropped snow water down his spine, the array drawn on the ground shinning for a second or two before the was released. He felt his body sag, his quick reflexes barely saving him from falling on his face.

"Now, Shidi, this is a very simple array, one that you know very well, I believe," Shang Qinghua dragged the chair again, this time sitting in front of Gao Qinggao, elbows on his thighs, the low light playing shadows on his face, turning his expression somber.

Gao Qinggao couldn't help but shiver, dread tickling down his neck and chest, realizing that he might have entered the tiger's den. And once more, he was hit with a mix of feelings towards the other man. He couldn't help the anger bubbling under his skin, forcing him to slam the barrier with his open hand, all in vain. But at the same time-

At the same time.

His mouth felt dryer than a desert. He exposed like an open wound as Shang Qinghua stared at him up and down and then up again, the usual bubbly and warm expression nowhere to be seen. No, that face he had seen only a handful of times, either when the Sect Leader was about to do something stupid to protect Shen Qingqiu, or when the peak lords were not behaving during peak meetings.

To be under the entire focus of it felt as if the rest of the world grew quieter, a little darker, the lights clinging to Shang Qinghua as if he were glowing with unreleased power.

"A simple truth array, but I bound you to it, so you may not leave." Shang Qinghua's low voice reverberated in the tiny room, their faces separated only by the shimmery wall. "As you have decided to be difficult, I have decided it was time for you to be a bit more truthful."

"How dare you demand truths when you are the one holding back secrets!" He couldn't help but shout, unable to hold back in face of such hypocrisy.

Like clouds parting after heavy rain, Shang Qinghua’s face relaxed, his whole posture softening up to his usual friendly self. He groaned, his deep sleepy voice waking up something in Gao Qinggao's belly, making him blush for another reason entirely.

"Oh Gao-shidi," he kept his voice down, followed by a chuckle. "Is this still about the map?"

His amusement only fanned the ember of his anger, making it burn brighter. How dare Shang Qinghua mock him? How dare he laugh at him like a cruel demon trapping Gao Qinggao and treating him like a play thing?

"Of course it is! You denied my single request for you while raining gifts to all the other lords! I'm tired of bland favoritism, my peak and I might live a frugal life, but aren't we also requested to share our precious knowledge?!"

He had been so worked up he didn't realize the moment Shang Qinghua shifted his feet, ready to pounce, releasing the array but grabbing Gao Qinggao hands once more, twisting his arms to bind them against his chest.

"You're a feisty one, I've forgotten that," he commented as he slowly lowered Qinggao on the floor, making him kneel, the sound of paper followed by the dry sensation of it on his legs making him flinch. He struggled for a few moments, giving up as soon as Shang Qinghua gave him another chuckle.

He was truly trapped.

"Tell me shidi, what is upsetting you? The fact that you were denied something you took for granted as yours or the fact that you haven't been praised for your contributions to the Sect?"

He was rendered speechless, the fire in his belly almost an inferno, his breath picking up but not in anger. He couldn't hold back a gasp, shame and desire clashed upon him as he felt stripped naked by how easily Shang-Shixiong had seen him.

"Is that it then? Praise?" Shang Qinghua started to walk around him, humming as he touched the back of his robes, fixing the sleeve that had slipped down his shoulder, inked fingers brushing over his clavicle. "Gao-shidi has been so good for us. So kind to share his talents."

He felt paralyzed, hands closed in a tight fist, desperate to cover his face, to hide his shame, unable to move. He was pinned down by burning brown eyes, the light reflecting on them, turning them into gold. It had been years, so many years since he had felt so stricken by desire. And to be hit full force with his sultry voice was- was unexpected, that's all!

"This Shixiong apologies for denying your request. You've been one of the most valuable resources for our Sect, you should be told how good you have been."

"W-What?"

"You're such a good craftsman, Gao-shidi, your talismans are without flaws. I can release you and show you a few of my own."

He didn't mean for the low soft "Please" to leave his mouth, not even sure anymore of what he was asking for. Yes he desperatly wanted to see the talismans, but he was also desperate to feel Shang-Shixiong touch him, somewhere, anywhere, just to do something, take responsibility for setting off this fire on him!

"... Unless you prefer to stay like that?" Shang Qinghua's asked as he touched Gao Qinggao's cheek, brushing his fingers along his jaw so he could tilt Qinggao's face up. "Bound by talismans you can't break?"

"Oh heavens-" he moaned, truly moaned as he closed his eyes, wishing for any Gods that might hear him to swallow him whole when he noticed the damp spot on his pants.

"It's okay shidi," Shang Qinghua's hands went down his neck, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of his shoulders, sliding under his robes. "We can work on your patience as we go."

------------------

do I feel slightly blasphemous for writing this? Yes

Do I believe that this is what Airplane would have wanted? Abso-fucking-lutely

And as we can see I'm upping my rating as we go fjsbskdnskfm not full explicit but maybe,,,,,,,,,,,, who knows

Thank you so much for the ask and for giving this a read!! :D

Here is the masterpost of this insane AU asdhfiusdh

6/12 peak lords, Wine Peak here I gooooo!

#scum villian self saving system #svsss #sqh 12/12 achievement #sqh gotta catch them all #shang qinghua #Gao Qinggao #how many times did I blush while writing this? yes #LISTEN I WAS NOT EXPECTING THE PRAISE KINK EITHER #oh heavens #ANYWAY

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awkward-walking-potato · 7 months ago

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Hello~ I really appreciate your writing of x-mens and honestly think you're doing great job! Can I request Remy, Logan and Kurt (or just Remy and Kurt if three is too much ^^) with an s/o who often depreciates themself, maybe on some joking way at first but there's a feeling of something more behind this all (like they're not joking, they really believe in it but try to hide this behind the smiles and laughs)? I'm sorry if this idea is hard to understand, if it is, I'll try to write IT more clearly ^^" Take care of yourself and everything nice to you!

Here are some headcanons for how Remy (Gambit), Logan (Wolverine), and Kurt (Nightcrawler) might react to an S/O who often depreciates themselves:

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Remy is incredibly perceptive, often catching onto your self-deprecating humor even before you realize it. He can sense the underlying sadness in your words, even when you're trying to laugh it off.

He'll immediately counter your jokes with his own brand of smooth, playful charm. "Chère, if you could see what I see when I look at you, you’d be smilin’ from ear to ear."

When it becomes clear that these jokes aren’t just jokes, Remy will take a more serious approach. He’ll sit you down, look you in the eyes, and tell you exactly how much you mean to him and how incredible you truly are. "I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t deserve the good things, but you gotta know you do. And I ain’t just sayin’ that."

Remy will go out of his way to show you how much he values you. Whether it’s surprising you with your favorite things or taking you on spontaneous adventures, he’s always finding ways to make you feel special.

He’s patient with you, never pushing too hard but always being there when you need reassurance. Remy understands that confidence takes time to build, and he’s more than willing to help you see your worth.

Logan (Wolverine)

Logan’s protective instincts kick in the moment he hears you making those self-deprecating remarks. He doesn’t like hearing you talk down about yourself, especially knowing the harsh world he’s seen.

He’s not one to sugarcoat things, so he’ll be upfront with you. "Darlin’, cut that crap. You’re worth more than you give yourself credit for, and anyone who says otherwise can answer to me."

Despite his gruff exterior, Logan has a soft spot for you. He’ll pull you close and remind you, in his own way, how much you mean to him. "I’ve seen a lot in my time, but someone like you? You’re one of a kind."

Logan might not be the best with words, but he’s always there for you. Whether it’s sitting quietly with you, holding you when you’re feeling low, or just being present, he makes sure you know he’s got your back.

Logan knows that building self-worth is a slow process, and he’s committed to being by your side through it all. He’ll celebrate your small victories and be there to pick you up when you stumble, always encouraging you to see yourself the way he sees you.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

Kurt is incredibly kind and understanding, always the first to pick up on your self-deprecating jokes. His sensitive nature allows him to see through the humor to the pain underneath.

Kurt is quick to gently counter your remarks with positive affirmations. "Liebchen, you are more wonderful than you give yourself credit for. Please, don’t doubt that."

He’ll offer you spiritual and emotional comfort, reminding you of the inherent value every person has. "God doesn’t make mistakes, and you, mein Schatz, are a beautiful creation."

Kurt expresses his love through acts of service, always looking for ways to make your life easier and to show you how much you’re appreciated. Whether it’s making your favorite meal or surprising you with small gestures of love, he’s always finding ways to lift you up.

When the time is right, Kurt will gently bring up your self-deprecating comments in a more serious conversation. He’ll listen to your feelings and offer his perspective, always with love and without judgment. "You are so much more than you think you are. Please, let me help you see that."

#wolverine imagine #wolverine one shot #wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #remy lebeau imagine #remy lebeau x reader #gambit one shot #gambit x reader #gambit imagine #kurt wagner imagine #kurt wagner #nightcrawler one shot #nightcrawler imagine #nightcrawler #x men imagine

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cocodotgreen · 3 months ago

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Simynthos - (almost) cc-free

With all testing done I am happy to share with you the (almost) cc-free version of Simynthos today! I was actually surprised by how quickly it could be transformed, and I have to say I'm very happy with how it turned out!

For this version I removed all decorative cc. The only cc you now need for full functionality are the rabbit hole rugs. The lots are so small, there wouldn't have been nearly enough room for the in game rabbit holes. The rabbit hole rugs can be downloaded here.

I still recommend using the performance mods from the original post here, just to make things a little more smooth and enjoyable during gameplay. But they are not strictly necessary. You could also go completely vanilla (more on that below).

There are a couple of things to note:

Some of the double beds are placed against a wall and therefore only one sim can sleep in them now. You can replace them with the one sided beds for two sims, the ones I used in the original version, if you like. The mattresses by sketchbook pixels can be found here, and some nice custom bed frames from @aroundthesims can be found here.

I did make use of @omedapixel's S3DT (Sims 3 Decorator Tool) in two or three places, just to place decorative items on surfaces where they cannot be placed in a vanilla game. You do NOT need the mod for these items to stay in place, as long as you don't move them when redecorating. Then they may slip back into normal mode and you will only be able to place them back with the mod. But it's only in a couple of places, so even if that happens, it will not have a significant impact on your game.

Replacing some of the cc did result in some interactive items not being usable at first, but I hope I caught all of those cases during the (quite extensively 😉) play-testing. So now all interactive items should be usable. If you find any place where an item can't be reached by the sims, please notify me and I will update the world.

How does it run?

I have tested this version of Simynthos in two scenarios: With the routing optimization mods I recommended for the original version (that's the save all the screenshots are from 😉), but also in a completely vanilla game, playing just a small family with one child, and it actually ran pretty well on my gaming laptop, even without any routing improvement mods (my game is optimized though)! If you're going completely vanilla, it may get a bit annoying in some places though, with sims not being able to pass each other, and toddlers not being able to be put down on the ground due to lack of space. But if you do not want to use any mods at all, it would probably still be playable with a small household that doesn't host huge parties 😉

Thanks again to the creators who have made this world possible:

Thanks to @nilxis, the creator of „Sa Pineda“, for the beautiful base to this world. The island on which Simynthos was build is entirely their creation. I did not change the island itself or the terrain painting outside the lots (except for some places where I placed the walkways/paths). All credit for that goes to them! You can find the original version here. Also make sure to check out their other worlds, while you‘ re at it. They are some of my favorite worlds!

Thanks to @nornities for their extremely helpful CAW guide here. Unfortunately I only found this guide when Simynthos was almost finished. I could have avoided some of the mistakes I made, had I found it sooner!

Some of you may know, that I am not the first to make a Greek version of Sa Pineda. Back in 2016 Vendela created Simtorini. This super cute world has the typical blue and white houses another Greek island, Santorini, is famous for. Go check it out here.

Download Simynthos (almost) cc-free (SimFileShare)

Alternative Download (Dropbox)

Link to original post for Simynthos (version with cc)

#sims 3 #sims 3 cc #sims3 #thesims3 #ts3 #ts3cc #the sims3 #ts3 worlds #sims3 world #sims 3 custom world #sims 3 worlds #sa pineda #simynthos #simynthos cc-free

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cryptidghostgirl · 1 year ago

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so sorry for this (very) specific request hope it's not ocish

anyways alastor x wife reader who's a virologist / kinda a mad scientist??(girl just wants to start a apocalypse without anyone to bother her)

Like they got married for mutual benefits (whatever benefits he would gain and her having access to money for her wildest dreams) when they were humans (whether he actually loves her or not is up to you lmao)

They both die (I assume that she would die around when he died from her own negligence caused by her 'freedom' to do her work more often without actually worrying about him finding out) and she avoids him like the plague (not that hard to realize this so called radio demon is your 'husband' when you find his secret stash of 'local cuisine' in the fridge)

Then he goes missing and she finally kinda goes out of makeshift hiding, just chilling doing her evil deeds before finding about the Hazbin Hotel from some gossip

Deciding that, while redemption is most likely not gonna happen mostly for the fact she does not care, she joins Charlie's little program. For her own little project (just wants to have a angel test subject, gotta see if they can be a good carrier for her little virus)

The reader doesn't know that Alastor's back (you think she's gonna use vox tech? Or listen to the radio? Girl uses a non vox tech phone and maybe a computer and does her work) so she goes and knocks on the door to the hotel

Thinking that this shit is gonna be easy, after all her husband is gone so she won't be bothered by him. She can focus on her beautiful creations and maybe destory hell and heaven with a apocalypse for some laughs. While also getting access to heaven through Charlie somehow (maybe even Lucifer, girl doesn't know nor care)

Anyways you can just IMAGINE her surprise that right after Charlie greets her (Vaggie ofc suspicious af cause she knows damn well no sinner wants to be redeemed for the most part) then here comes the strawberry pimp coming to say hello

Would he recognize his lovely wife? Maybe

Ofc reader had a plan, and by plan I mean she just says they were married and now acts like their divorced (death do us part and we fuckin dead)

(Just for example, do what you want <3)

Anyways I'm sorry again (can you tell that I've been watching a lot of mlp infection aus :') )

A/N bestie,, i love an overly detailed request. no apologies. i hope i did it justice <3 <3 I have literally been obsessing over the whole 'we're dead. we've been parted.' reader idea. It's so fun. Also I am very sorry it took me so long to get to this. Also, I am not a woman nor am I in STEM (I'm an enby in history) so apologies if science stuff in this is bad. I'm basing the character off of Entrapta (my love) from Nate Stevenson's She-Ra remake.

Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Gore. Murder. Bodies. Animal cruelty (not detailed at all just like test subjects and burning ants as a kid). Viruses/plague talk. Just capital d Death all around in this one folks. Suicide and starvation briefly mentioned.

Word Count: 2,584

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n hadn't been sad when Alastor died. It didn't really even register on her radar that he was gone until the police showed up at her door. Their marriage was more of an agreement than anything else, a division of labor. Y/n was a talented virologist who came from a rather wealthy family. He got access to her money, using it to start his own radio studio, and Y/n? Well Y/n got a clean up crew.

She had always been fascinated by death. It was a morbid curiosity that had followed her since childhood. The typical 'burning ants with a magnifying glass to mass murderer' pipeline only, murder was not exactly her objective. Since learning of the Black Death in school, she had been fascinated by biological warfare and weaponry. The stories of soldiers throwing infected bodies over the walls of city's to break down their defenses? It was magnificent, masterful, absolutely awe inspiring. Living through the Spanish Flu epidemic in 1918, watching how it tore through her city of New Orleans, only furthered her determination.

As soon as she had had the knowledge base to do so, she began working on bio-weapons on her own. She wanted to create a disease, to devastate the world. She wanted to watch the things around her crumble into ruin and know it was by her hand.

She'd found out about Alastor's hobby by accident. They were friends, of a sort, in that Y/n would show up randomly where ever he was and quiz him about radio waves. He worked at a radio station and she knew that. She had followed him, tracked him down. There was no reasoning behind it save he was the first person she'd really found out about that was involved in the business in New Orleans. She would pick his mind about getting the word out about things, marketing, advertising. She was prepping for the main event, for the day she finally created her magnum opus.

One day, when she had shown up unannounced at his door and broken in when he didn't respond to her knocking, Y/n had discovered him dismembering one of his victims. Alastor had stared at her, wide eyed in shock, fear and adrenaline mixing into an intoxicating combination in his veins. Y/n had just smiled.

She had been wondering about human experimentation for a while now. Animals were easy to cover up, easy to bury in the back yard but people? It had always been too risky, up until now anyways.

So it went like this: Y/n funded Alastor's dreams and he hid the side effects of hers. When he died, Y/n didn't really feel anything too strongly about it at all. Yes, it made life harder in that if she wanted to keep using human guinea pigs she'd have to figure out a way to dispose of them on her own but it also made it easier. Alastor had always been so obsessed with image, dragging her to office parties and forcing her to sit down to meals with him. Now that he was gone, she could work on her projects in peace once again. The body thing was something she would figure out along the way. She was smart and she wasn't going to let something like that stop her, not when she was this close to cracking it.

As it turns out, Alastor had been more of a help than Y/n believed. So used to his nattering and persistence, she had stopped eating. It wasn't long before she joined her husband in death. The papers of course had a field day with it. Heiress and Virologist Y/n L/n Withers Away Due to Heartbreak. Y/n L/n Starved Herself to Death and Joins her Murderer of a Husband. Virologist Commits Suicide After Revelation of Dead Husband's Criminal Deeds.

When Y/n had woken up in Hell, her whole world had been turned upside down. If there was life after death, what was the point of killing everyone on earth? She was back at square one.

Rumors were already buzzing through the streets of Hell about some new overlord, some Radio Demon, who had a strikingly similar MO to her husband. Not wanting any distractions this time around, Y/n secluded herself in the outskirts of the pride ring to reformulate her plans.

For decades she worked, trying to create a poison to wipe out the dual planes of the underworld. Work was easier here. No one questioned why she bought the things she bought, no one got upset when people went missing. Hell, no one even blinked twice if they saw her burying a body. It was a veritable paradise for Y/n.

Eventually, news reached her of the Radio Demon's disappearance. Y/n had never been the biggest fan of technology that wasn't involved in her work. In the world of the living, she had barley read the papers. All the machines in her laboratory were ones she had built herself through trial and error. But still, somehow, the news reached her and she felt elated. The last thing weighing her down, the last road block had officially been lifted.

Within seven years, she had perfected the disease. Having run tests on lower rings of Hell, she prided herself on her ability to make it so infections, so deadly. The survival was on par with that of unvaccinated human's infected by rabies. But her plan wasn't complete, no. Taking out everyone in Hell wasn't good enough, she had to figure out how to get it into Heaven as well.

That was when the perfect opportunity fell in her lap. Y/n nearly cried when she caught sight of the interview through the window of a shop selling Vox branded TVs. Charlie Morningstar, Lucifer's little brat, was creating a hotel for sinners, where they could be rehabilitated and sent to Heaven. It was perfect, almost too perfect. Y/n didn't question it, her own excitement blinding her. She barley even took the time to come up with a plan that consisted of more than get into the hotel and get her hands on an angel. She figured that was something that could be dealt with later on.

After a few days of research and snooping, she finally made her move. Having packed her bags and woven her way through the streets of Pentagram City, she found herself before the brightly lit marquee of the Hazbin Hotel. Placing her bag on the ground beside her, the test tubes and various paraphernalia inside clinked gently against one another. Raising her hand, she knocked on the door.

It was Charlie herself who answered, with wide eyes and an earnest smile. A smaller moth demon beside her crossed her arms, eyeing Y/n with doubt. It barley registered with the excitable demon, she was used to the strange looks. The new form Hell had granted her with when she died was odd, after all. She was still the same height, still held a roughly human shape, but her hair had become its own beast. It moved like secondary limbs, falling nearly to the floor from the pigtails she had tied it up into. It shot up into the air around her in joy at the sight of yet another open door in her path, this one literal rather than figurative.

"Hello!" Charlie exclaimed, "Are you here to check in?"

"Yes, check in." Y/n nodded, using her hair to pick her bag back up.

She took a step forward, trying to enter the hotel, but found her path blocked by the smaller grey demon. Her arms were uncrossed now, one of them pointing a spear right at Y/n's neck. Y/n didn't flinch, she simply looked down at it in curiosity, reaching a finger up to touch the end.

"Ow." she said flatly as the spear's tip pressed into the pad of her finger.

Raising it to her eyes, she rubbed the droplet of blood that had pooled on her pointer finger with her thumb before turning back to the spear.

"Is this..." Y/n leaned forward, grabbing the spear's shaft.

"Hey!" Vaggie yelled threateningly as Y/n crouched down, examining the weapon carefully.

"Oh my stars, this is an angelic blade, isn't it?" she exclaimed, her eyes still fixed on the spear.

"Uh..."

Vaggie was more confused now than anything and she took the slightest step away from the excited demon. Y/n followed her and soon, they were in the entry way to the hotel. Charlie watched the scene play out with mild amusement, finding her girlfriends bewildered state rather charming. She let the door fall shut.

"It is, isn't it?" Y/n asked again, "But how did you get it? Did you make it? What do you do with it? Is it more effective than normal weapons? Why a spear? I-"

"What's this, we have a new guest?" a crackling voice cut Y/n off.

"Uh, yes!" Charlie stepped in, turning to face the newcomer.

Y/n, still preoccupied with the spear, was now engaged in trying to get Vaggie to let her hold it.

"I think..." Charlie doubtfully added, her brow furrowing at the site.

"Well well well, a little devil." Alastor hummed, turning to watch the show as well, "Honestly, reminds me of someone I knew back when I was alive and kicking. Ah well, what's her name?"

"I don't... actually know that yet." Charlie admitted, fiddling with her hands a bit as she spoke, "But she seems really enthusiastic about being here!"

"It seems she more interested in that spear of Vaggie's than the idea of redemption." Alastor noted in response.

"Are either of you going to help me or are you just gonna sit and watch?" Vaggie exclaimed, trying her best to pry the spear out of Y/n's grip.

Alastor sighed and with a twirl of his microphone, a shadow arose, pulling Y/n off Vaggie. There was a split second where the smile on the girl's face fell. It quickly returned as she caught sight of what exactly had interrupted her escapades. Placing her bag on the floor with her hair, she wormed around in the shadow's arms, turning to face it. Tentatively, she poked it.

"Would you stop that?" Alastor asked, his voice thick with irritation.

Y/n poked the shadow again.

"What is this? How are you doing this?"

When no response came from the demon in question, she at last turned to face him.

"Oh."

She stilled in her movements and Alastor allowed the shadow to disappear.

"No reason to be scared." Charlie quickly stepped in, "I know Alastor here has a bit of a... reputation, but he is actually helping us at the hotel. He's really a great once you get to know him."

Alastor's smile widened as he bowed his head slightly in recognition of the praise.

"If you're going to be staying her-"

"You can't seriously be thinking of letting her stay here, Charlie." Vaggie cut in, "She's been here what, five minutes? And all thats come of it is chaos."

"Vaggie, come on, don't be like that." Charlie turned to her girlfriend, "Everyone deserves a second chance, that's the whole reason we built this place."

"But does she even want to be redeemed? I mean, what if she's... I don't know, trying to take us down from the inside out? What if she's a journalist or some shit trying to write us bad reviews?"

"You flatter me." Y/n smiled and Vaggie scoffed.

"See?"

"Isn't that all the more reason to let her in? Vaggie, if she is undercover as a journalist or something, we just have to prove to her how amazing what we're doing here is."

"I don't know... I've never seen her before, what if she's another one Vox sent?"

Y/n shook her head, sticking her tongue out slightly in disgust at this notion and Alastor chuckled. There really was something so familiar about this demon and her antics. Even if she was a tad irritating, it was a comfortable familiarity.

"Then we will figure it out, same way we did with Sir. Pentious. Okay?"

"Fine." Vaggie relented at last with a sigh.

Smiling brightly, Charlie turned back to Y/n.

"So, hi. I'm Charlie, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! What's your name?"

Y/n's eyes flicked back and forth between Alastor and Charlie for a moment before settling on Charlie.

"Y/n L/n."

Alastor let out a little laugh of disbelief, a sound he had meant to keep in. He couldn't help it. Of course this little mess of a demon was his favorite crazy wife. Alastor had looked for Y/n on occasion, always keeping an eye on news involving anything scientific but, he had never found a trace. Not that he'd admit it but, in their time together, he had grown rather fond of the girl. Not love, never love, but a sort of familial feel. Everyone turned to face him.

"Are you alright, Alastor?" Charlie asked, walking over to him and placing a hand on his arm which he quickly brushed off.

"Yeah, do you know her or something?" Vaggie added, "Is she dangerous?"

"No..." he paused, his brow slightly furrowed, "She's my wife."

The room fell silent.

"You... you didn't recognize your own wife?" Vaggie asked in disbeleif.

"Ex-wife." Y/n corrected with a little sigh.

This was all becoming so tedious. She hadn't come here to sit and talk with people. While the spear and the shadow had been fun, they had both run their courses and she just wanted to get to work.

"I..." Alastor turned back to Y/n, "Ex-wife?"

Y/n shrugged.

"So you didn't recognize your wife and you didn't know you were divorced?" Vaggie asked, rubbing her temples, "Jesus fuck, man."

"I..." Alastor cleared his throat, "We were married when we were alive. I didn't even know she was dead yet."

"Yeah." Y/n shrugged, "Turns out all your nattering was what was keeping me alive. I forgot to eat, starved to death."

Alastor's eyes softened slightly for a moment at the notion. She had needed his care so badly that she had died with out it. It felt good, in a strange way. Satisfying. They darkened again as he recalled her earlier statement.

"Ex-wife?" he asked again, taking a step towards Y/n.

She looked up at him, her expression blank.

"Yeah?"

"When did we get a divorce!" Alastor exclaimed once he realized she would say nothing else on the matter without his prompting.

"Oh! We didn't." Y/n nodded, smiling slightly, "Now, can I go to my room?"

"No, Y/n. Why are you calling yourself my ex-wife? We are still married."

Y/n looked around at Charlie and Vaggie, seeing if they were going to back up her claim. Sighing, she turned back to Alastor.

"Do I really have to lay it out for you?" she paused and Alastor just stared at her, eyebrows raised, "Jesus. Uh, Al, we died."

"Yes...?"

"Till death do us part? That was the agreement."

"I... Well..." he was at a complete and total loss for how to respond.

She wasn't wrong, he just didn't like her answer very much.

"So... the agreement is done... yeah?"

"I mean," Alastor shook his head slightly, "I guess?"

"Great! Can someone please show me to my room now."

---

Next Part -> Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2

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disfrutalakia · 4 months ago

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Arkanis Lore and where it stands at October 31! A quick rundown by me Kia disfrutalakia

Ok hi hello guys, so I'm assuming that you guys know me from qsmp times and I'm also assuming that most of you are not into Arkanis be it because of the language barrier or lack of time, but you still want to watch your favorite cc in the event tomorrow? Well, I'm here to help, under the cut will be a rundown of the main story (I won't get into characters individual lore, only if they tie into the main story which most do to be fair) plus links to some resources that you can use to understand Arkanis!

This is by no means perfect and was made from using stuff from my own memory, which is not the best, others can feel free to add onto it as they wish <3

1 - What is Arkanis?

Arkanis is a portuguese speaking server that started back in September, it's powered by twitch and was started by Boiss Studios and Ostra Content, it has a heavy focus on rp.

2- Who are the creators in Arkanis?

As of now we have 25 creators in the cast, this includes ex qsmp participants like Pac, Mike, Bagi and Felps as well as some faces you might recognize from purgatory like Guaxinim, Himaru, Gabepeixe. The complete list of creators is bellow:

Pac, Mike, Himaru, Febatista, Bagi, Matt, Felps, Yayah, Guaxinim, Cherry, JVNQ, Choke, MeiaUm, Guhzera, Gabepeixe, Quel, Coreano, Wuant, Maethe and FunBabe were the first batch of creators that we met.

Last week there was the addition of new members consisting of Moonkase, Malena, LBeatriz, NickLink, Al3xey and Kazzio.

Most of the members are brazilian except for Kazzio and Wuant who are portuguese.

3- What's the story of Arkanis?

The story takes place in the small city of Valigma, and it starts with with mayor Jota hiring people that are known to us as specialists to help the town.

Valigma used to be a beautiful town and very rich but recently things have been going wrong, with the water being poluted and the citizens wearing a strange kind of mask.

4- Rundown of what we have by now (this will contain spoilers skip to section 5 if you don't want them <3)

After the specialists arrived in town, we are quickly introduced to the mayor, Jota, who has been in power for 8 years now being in the end of his second term when we meet him, he appears to be a strange sort of character who hides many things although at the time the specialists weren't sure of what.

Apart from Jota we also have two other big characters Bia Raux and Araldo. Bia is a witch of sorts who was banished from the town due to the chaos she caused while Araldo is the owner of a factory that produces batteries in town.

A big part of the story focuses on arkanya, or what we would call magic in our world, a type of energy that lets the person who controls it cast sort of spells that can either be for something good or something bad, there is always a consequence to using it tho

One of the first big events in Valigma was the discovery of ghosts, small creatures that are consistent of pure arkanya and don't have any memories from before their deaths, they form a bond with the specialists calling them their parents even

Remember Araldo, the factory owner from earlier? Yeah he comes into play now, since the beginning he seemed like a suspicious kind of fellow, not showing up to speak with people and forming a sort of rivalry with Gabepeixe, there are cases of Araldo trying to dig into Gabe's lab and even trying to stop him from the creation of machines, not wanting the specialist to become more powerful than him.

You guys will have to forgive me here cause my memory is not the best, but there was an occasion where Araldo cast a illusion over the specialists where they got to see what would happen if they went against him, including robots who destroyed the town. This ilusion. due to needing certain power led to the death of Alice who was the mayor's secretary.

This occasion led to the discovery that Araldo was also capable of using arkanya just like Bia.

That event deeply effected most of the specialists making almost all of them distrust Araldo and even go directly against him by allying with others like Bia and Jota.

For the safety of not only the specialists but also the ghosts who they called children JVNQ made a truce with Araldo, he wouldn't attack them for 25 days and the specialists wouldn't go near the factory in return

Things seemed to be working out, that is until one night Bagi and Gabepeixe (two of the specialists who hate Araldo the most) decided to sort of challenge him or at least taunt him and broke into the factory (which remember, it was banned) and stole/destroyed a creative motor that was powering up the place, nothing happened at the moment but the next day all the specialists were called and Araldo did the most horrible thing, he killed Amora and Denix (two of the ghosts I will introduce them in the next point) draining all of their arkanya and making them dissapear.

This led to three important events, most of the specialists began to choose real sides it was either Bia or Araldo. Jv trying to get Denix back (his son) strikes a deal with Araldo and is taken for days while Choke strikes a deal with Bia to begin her training

Currently Araldo status is banished from the town and his factory is no longer part of Valigma, he remains a big threat tho.

Now what about Bia? Well, she is a witch and seems to have connections with the town from before it was made even, she is extremely powerful and even if when we met her she seems to be weaker than normal she is no less of a threat.

Bia has one objective, to destroy Valigma and she will do that doesn't matter who stands in her way.

She has recently been gaining the trust of many people in town, due to the act of bringing Denix and Amora back.

And what about Bad and Fit? Where do they fit into the lore? Well the truth is, we don't know. the character Bad seems to be playing (Mister X) had never been talked about before, so they are pretty much fresh and new, we don't know how their stuff connects yet

5- Ghosts

As I mentioned earlier, there are small entities in Valigma who are tiny ghosts that act as children for the specialsts, they include:

Denix - The first one to be found, his parents are Gabepeixe, Coreano, JVNW and Yayah

Gris - The second one to be found, her parents are Guaxinim, Quel, Maethe and Mike

Amora - third one to be found, her parents are Bagi, Felps, MeiaUm and Matt

Milo - the fourth one to be found, his parents are Pac, Himaru, Guhzera and Febatista

Tucupi - the last ghost, his parents are mostly Choke and Wuant

6- Links to help you with Arkanis:

First of all, the summaries made by Tayr (one of the founders) are essential and probably your best resource to understanding the story without having to watch all the stream: Link to his channel

Second the Arkanis wiki, it's not complete but can help with knowing the characters better a little bit: Link to the wiki

Now you guys won't like this but, their twitter or bluesky, it's where they post the schedules for the week and do important announcements, personally I try to post all they announce in here: Link to their twitter Link to their bluesky

Their youtube where they post all of the cutscenes that are shown in game: Link to their youtube

And of course the beautiful Arkanis tag here on tumblr <3 it's a small one but it's a good place to find art and some liveblogs!

#Arkanis #long post #like real long #this is not complete but was made with love <3

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soapsilly · 1 year ago

Text

Oblivious - Zoro Imagine

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Summary: Zoro isn't known for being nice. Quite the opposite actually but with (Y/N) it's different. The problem? Everybody seems to notice but her.

Requests are closed

************************************************************************

"Hey, can I get a Cuba Libre, please? But could you maybe use lemonade instead of cola?", (Y/N) leaned over to the barkeeper to order her drink.

"No", the man deadpanned.

"What? Why?", the girl furrowed her brows.

"Because that's not a Cuba Libre", he retorted.

"Well, yes obviously. That's why I'm asking to put lemonade instead", she questioned him - seemingly more confused than angry.

"No accomodations. Just order what's on the menu"

"But Cuba Libre is on the menu?", she inquired.

"Yes"

"And you do have limonade?"

"Yes"

"Then just swap the two ingredients?", her voice grew louder, not understanding why the barkeeper was being so difficult.

Zoro silently watched the interaction. He was sitting only a few barstools over drinking his rum.

"It's easy, sweetheart", (Y/N) and Zoro both pulled a face at the condescending nickname, "if I start accomodating your request, soon everybody in this dump will want to have their own special creations", the barkeeper ended.

"Fine! Just a beer then", she exclaimed.

"See? Was that so hard?", the barkeeper said as he slid the bottle over towards her.

(Y/N) sent him a mocking smile as she slammed a few coins on the counter, grabbing her beer and then leaving before she did something that would result in a house ban for her and the crew.

Zoro's eyes followed the girl as she took a seat with the others, who managed to find a table in the corner of the room.

It only took a few minutes for Zoro to follow her aswell - in his hand a drink that, for some reason, was still full.

"Here", he shoved the drink towards the girl.

"What is this?", she asked but didn't even wait for an answer as she already took a sip. Her eyes widened when she realized what it was that she was drinking, "That's a Cuba Libre with lemonade! How did you do that?"

"I asked nicely", he grinned.

"Oh god. What did you do to that poor man?", she scrunched up her face, knowing her friend likes a hands-on approach to conflict.

"Nothing he didn't deserve, sweetheart"

"Uh, don't call me that...", she shuddered, "Anyways, what do I owe you?"

"Oh no, it's fine...", he shrugged.

"Are you sure?", she asked again just to make sure but when he confirmed yet again, her face spilt into wide grin, "You're the best! Next round's on me!"

Nami raised her brow at the interaction. It wasn't like Zoro to be so nice - especially not without any type of reward.

************************************************************************

"Oof, I'm tired", (Y/N) moaned not feeling like doing the night watch at all.

"Too bad, it's your turn", Usopp mocked the girl, a happy laugh leaving his lips which earned him a raised middle finger.

"I need my beauty sleep", she whined knowing there wasn't a chance to get out of the situation.

"What? No! You don't need any beauty sleep, (Y/N)-san! You're already so beautiful ~", Sanji gladly protested.

"Oi, whose side are you on?", she scolded the cook, "Do you want me to suffer?"

Sanji started to back paddle immediatly. It wasn't his intention to upset her further but rather to compliment the girl.

"I'll do it", Zoro's voice cut through the discussion.

"Huh?", (Y/N) thought she misheard the swordsman.

"I'll do the guard duty for you", he repeated.

"What? No!", now it was her time to protest, "I can't ask you to do that for me! It's not that bad... you know, I was just being silly"

"It's no problem at all. Really!", he insisted.

"Are you sure? You love sleeping even more than I do", she wasn't quite convinced yet.

"Yeah, yeah! Don't you even worry. You said it yourself, you need your beauty sleep and I'll be napping anyways", he shrugged.

"Hmmm", she seemed to consider it for a moment before finally shaking her head.

"If it's that important to you, you can keep me company until you get too tired. That way you didn't completely abandon your responsibility while still getting at least some sleep", he grinned sheepishly.

The girl hugged the taller man happily, "You're the greatest!"

"Oi, how come you never offer to take over my guard duty", Luffy furrowed his brows.

"Do I look like a charity to you?", Zoro's voice was harsh. The kindness replaced by a holler.

************************************************************************

"You're tired, go to sleep", he told (Y/N). He had lost count of how many times he's seen the girl's eyes flutter shut only for her to jolt awake immediately after. She was struggling to stay awake.

"Nu-huh", she weakly protested.

"It doesn't make sense for the both of us to lose sleep", his voice was soft.

"It's fine, I'm awake. You can go to sleep", she mumbled, eyes already half-closed as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I can see that", he chuckled but didn't get an answer anymore as her even breaths indicated that she had finally fallen asleep.

He looked down at her. There was a strange feeling in his chest and he thought to himself that he could get used to this. He laid his arm around her to make sure she wouldn't start freezing later on as he prepared to spend the rest of the night like this - his plans for a nap long forgotten, not wanting to miss any moment of this.

The sun was already out when Nami found the two of them like this.

"You really like her, huh?"

"Do you even know what you're talking about, woman? I was just helping her because now she'll have to do me a favour in the future... Quid quo pro or something", he denied Nami's accusations but couldn't hide the soft blush that turned his ears a deep shade of red.

The navigator defensively raised her hands. Usually she would've kept pushing but she noticed how uncomfortable the swordsman was.

"Well, night watch is over. Sanji is serving breakfast as we speak. Wake her up and come eat before Luffy eats your portion"

With that Nami left Zoro to deal with waking the sleeping girl tucked underneath his arm.

"Hey, uhm... (Y/N)?", if he was completely honest, Zoro didn't feel like disturbing their togetherness just to be confronted with these other idiots, but he knew that wouldn't be fair to her as she was probably pretty hungry, "You have to wake up now... Uhm, breakfast is ready..."

(Y/N) groaned as she woke up not wanting to leave her perfect pillow but when she realized what position she was in, she immediately slipped away from him.

"Oof, Zoro, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you! Why didn't you wake me?"

"I uh- Don't worry about it. It was only for like twenty minutes. We had to be up soon anyways so I just didn't bother", he lied, not wanting her to think bad of him for not re-positioning her.

"Oh... Still though. I owe you one", she laughed happily, "Twice actually. Once for saving me from guard duty and twice because of the absolutely amazing nightsleep I just had"

Zoro was glad that the girl was already stood up with her back towards him so that she wouldn't see the stupid smile that he couldn't fight back. What was wrong with him? He already gathered that he had a crush on (Y/N). As much as it pained him to admit but he couldn't deny it any further. The thing that bothered him about it was rather that he couldn't conceal it better.

"I sure hope Sanji made pancakes", she said more to herself than to him.

************************************************************************

Zoro stared daggers across the room. The bar was loud but he still clearly made out (Y/N)'s laugh - he would've loved the sound if it weren't for the guy who was the reason for her happiness.

The swordsman knew he should probably look away. That he'd only hurt himself if he continued. But still his eyes were glued to (Y/N) and the way her hand reached out to touch the stranger's arm.

"You should ask her out, you know?", Nami seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Usually he'd be more aware of his surroundings but at the moment he wasn't thinking straight.

"Don't you have anyone else to annoy?", he answered her without taking his eye off of their target.

"You know? I'm just trying to be nice here. You're making it hard though", she retorted.

"Did I ask you to be nice?", his question was clearly rhetorical.

Nami raised her hands in defense and left the man standing. If he wanted to stay there and wallow in his self-pity, then so be it.

Zoro's heart skipped a beat as (Y/N) came over towards him and the crew - her little flirt seemingly forgotten. The swordsman felt stupid when he realized how giddy it made him.

"Hey guys", she smiled at her friends, "We're staying here a little longer, yes?"

"Uh, sure", Nami was confused, "We're staying for at least another night until the Log Pose recalibrates"

"Great, don't wait up for me", (Y/N) grinned, "Because this gentleman over there has asked me to dinner"

(Y/N) turned around and sent a flirty wave towards her suitor, who was already waiting for her by the door.

"My drink's empty", Zoro murmured.

"Can you bring me another one, aswell?", Usopp shouted after the swordsman.

"No", his answer was short as he left the group to make his way towards the bar. Nami's eyes following him closely.

"Uhm, (Y/N)? Can I talk to you for a minute?", she didn't even wait for an answer as she already grabbed (Y/N) by the elbow, dragging her away from the group.

"So what's up?", the other woman furrowed her brows. What was the problem?, "Do I look bad?"

"No, no, no! You look great actually"

"So what's the problem?", (Y/N) didn't want her suitor wait for too long.

"I'm not trying to spoil the mood but you do realize Zoro's got a crush on you, right? I mean, you can do whatever you please but maybe don't do it infront of the mosshead" - there was no sensible way to soften the blow, so the navigator just said it.

"What? Zoro? Nah, he's just being nice", (Y/N) waved away her concerns.

"Yes, exactly!" - how oblivious could one person be? - "When did you ever see Zoro being nice to any of us? Except for maybe, MAYBE sometimes Chopper?" - Did she have to spell it out for her?

(Y/N)'s eyes moved rapidly as she thought about what her friend just told her. But when she finally realized what Nami was not so subtely implying, her eyes widened.

"Oh my God! I think you're right...", she could've slapped herself.

"Yep", Nami popped the 'p'.

"Shit, I-I need to go", and with that (Y/N) let Nami stand there as she made her way towards the man that was still waiting for her by the door.

Nami shook her head. She didn't have a problem with innocent flirts and sometimes even one-night stands but to say she wasn't at least a little disappointed would be a lie. The red-head shrugged as she made her way back to the table - she did her due diligence in telling (Y/N) about Zoro's feelings, now it wasn't in her hands anymore.

Back at the bar, Zoro downed his cup for what must've been the fourth or fifth time. He stopped counting after a while. He didn't even know what he was so upset about. (Y/N) didn't owe him anything. She had every right to go back home with that guy. This didn't mean that it hurt any less though.

"Hey, is this seat taken", he didn't look up from his drink as (Y/N) greeted him.

"Shouldn't you be with your date?", he asked bitterly.

"Nah, told him I changed my mind", she said almost nonchalantly.

Zoro was shocked when he heard that - finally looking up from his drink.

"Why?", there were a thousand thoughts running through his mind. He was happy to hear that she decided against leaving with some stranger. He knew that she could take care of herself and he knew that he didn't have a chance with her anyways but the thought of some random man placing his hands anywhere near her made his blood boil.

(Y/N) shrugged, "I thought, I'd rather spend my evening with you"

"You- you don't have to", he hated how insecure she made him feel. He was a master swordsman goddamnit! Why couldn't he think clearly whenever she was close to him?

"I know that I don't have to, Silly!", the little nickname made Zoro's heart skip a beat, "But I want to"

(Y/N) slowly maneuvered her hand towards his own, interlicking their pinky fingers. Usually the swordsman would've pulled his hand away - not a big fan of physical touch - but with her it was different. When she realized that he allowed her advances, she decided to test the waters a little further. Almost gently, she leaned her head against his shoulder like she had during their guard shift together. The position felt right to her.

As she looked up at him, she met his eye. His gaze was so full of love and she asked herself how she didn't notice sooner.

"Zoro?", she casually continued, "You know, I was promised dinner..."

"Dinner?", he didn't catch on to her proposal immediately, which made her chuckle.

"Yeah... I don't think I should have to miss out just because I changed my mind"

Finally the pin dropped and a goofy smile lit up his features.

"I could eat", he said as he hopped off the barstool, helping (Y/N) down in the process.

With his hand on the small of her back he guided her towards the entrance.

"Oi, where you going?", Luffy yelled over to the two lovebirds when he noticed them leaving.

"Dinner", (Y/N) yelled back - a happy smile on her face.

"Oooh, dinner sounds good", he already was about to join the two when Nami held him back.

"Nope, leave them alone. Sanji can make us something back on the Sunny. Right Sanji-kun?", she knew how to play the cook to get what she wanted and of course the blonde man was like putty in her hands with the way he immediately started to assemble a possible menu for the crew. Nami only listened with one ear though - too occupied with patting herself on the back for successfully playing matchmaker.

Once outside, (Y/N) turned towards Zoro. That same happy smile that made his heart beat fast and his mind go blank still on her face. She laced her fingers with his calloused ones and decided she liked the feeling of it.

"So, where are we going?", he awkwardly asked. He still couldn't believe that this was really happening.

"I think I passed a nice little restaurant on the way here", she already pulled him with her towards the direction she remembered the restaurant to be. But then she stopped abruptly. She didn't want to overwhelm the poor guy but decided to press a sweet little kiss on his cheek anyways. A dreamy smile lit up his features and (Y/N) asked herself yet again how she never noticed how handsome the swordfighter was.

"I'm sorry for not noticing sooner", she almost whispered but Zoro didn't care at all. What mattered to him now was that he finally had the girl of his dreams right next to him, holding his hand.

"You should probably thank Nami though", (Y/N) continued, "If it weren't for her I'd probably still be oblivious..."

"Ugh, she already has such an inflated ego to begin with", he dismissed the thought - not wanting the red-head to boast about her achievement. In fact, he didn't even want to think about her at all at the moment. The only thing on his mind was getting (Y/N) to that restaurant and having dinner.

"C'mon let's go", he told her as he lead the way.

A soft chuckle disrupted his plans though.

"Zoro... the restaurant is the other way!"

#roronoa zoro x reader #one piece imagine #roronoa zoro imagine #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro imagine #one piece x reader #one piece

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

Text

My Girl 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your brother’s friend from work starts hanging out a lot more often. (short!reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You carefully pull the pastry over the slices of apple a cinnamon. You twist the corners together to complete the effect and hold it in place. Your blossoms are your specialty. You'll sprinkle coarse sugar over the top before you put them in the oven but for now, they'll have to rest. Your mother still has food cooking for the main course.

You start another one, roll it out the pastry, slice it just so, wrap, and twist…

The front door clatters and you hear Isaac say hello to your mom on her way in, “where's dad?” He adds on.

“He'll be home soon,” she chimes. She's indulging in some wine for all her hard work in the kitchen.

You can't help but long for your bed and the book you left on your pillow. The real world is always so monotonous. You enjoy baking but you'd rather finish the chapter. Sigh, you suppose that comes with the human condition; you're obligated to acknowledge the non-fictional slog.

“Hey,” the deep rumble cuts through the air like the distance approach of some lingering dragon in its lair. You pop your head up and look over as Sy sets down his usual courtesy; beer and wine. He looks at you then the pan you line with pastry and fruit. “Er, whatcha making?”

You look back to your hands and finish the twist, “apple blossoms.”

“Mm, I like apple,” he steps closer to the counter, stopping at the counter, wavering as if he's afraid to come any further.

“Thanks, er, oh, me too,” you shrug awkwardly, “my grandma taught me.”

“Ah,” he nods and looks to the side, scratching his beard as he puffs out, “how's… how's your book?”

You rinse of your hands, drying them thoroughly, “it's alright. I read it before.”

“Tolkien, right?” He wonders.

You nod.

“Ahem, yeah, I… I started… the Fellowship one… pretty good so far.”

“Oh? You did?” You face him.

“I pick it up on my break, get a few pages here and there,” he chews his lip and pats his front pocket, feeling along it before dipping his fingers into the fabric, his brow slanting, “I… I made this.”

He slides out a long flat piece of metal. It's slender and delicate, corner rounded to an oval, with elven patterning along its face. You squint and lean in to have a better look.

“Wow. What is it?”

“It's for you,” he says abruptly, “I mean it's a bookmark. I made it for you.”

“Me?” You wonder as your eyes round, “that’s…” you look him in the face, “why– you didn't have to do that, Sy.”

“Eh, it isn't much,” he holds it out, “be good to keep your place and all. You never drink the wine or nothing so…”

“That's… sweet,” you smile and accept the book mark, turning it over. Your name is wrought in beautiful calligraphy on the other side, “it's beautiful.”

He's quiet as you admire his handiwork. You don't know what else to say. You didn't expect it. You wouldn't expect him to think that much about you.

“Anything I can help with?” He breaks the stuffy silence, made more stolid by the radiating heat of the stove.

“Um, no, I'm pretty much done,” you move the pan of blossoms to the other counter, “but thank you.”

“Ain't no trouble,” he assures and taps the countertop with his thick fingers, “s'pose I'll see ya at dinner.”

“Sure,” you say over your shoulder.

You wait until he's gone and back up, looking down at the bookmark. You can't believe how nice it is. How delicate. How can someone like him make something so elegant? Once more you’re reminded of the brutish dwarves and their renowned creations.

You'll have to do something for him. To make it even. You don't know much about Sy but you know about Tolkien. You're sure you'll come up with something.

📖

You sit down for dinner. It seems a lot for just a Wednesday. You won't complain even if you would rather be reading. Your mom has put together a merry feast which could feed a king himself.

The chair beside you scrapes out and you expect Isaac to elbow you as he always does. Instead, he takes the chair across from you. Sy claims the seat to your left. He’s so big, he can’t help but brush your arm with his thick one. You send him a meek smile and he nods.

As you serve yourselves from the glistening roast and potatoes and medley of salads and veggies, your mother flutters around offering to fill glasses. When she finally sits, she can barely stay still.

“So, I know this is a lot,” she begins, “but I have news I wanted to share and this is my little surprise celebration.”

You quirk your head and Isaac barely reacts as he cuts into the pork.

“I've been given a really big opportunity at work and I'll be heading up a new project,” she's shaking with excitement, “in London.”

“London?” You echo and look around.

Isaac chews around his confusion as he finally reacts but your dad only smiles at your mother. You try to muster some positivity but you’re too surprised. This is a bigger twist than any book you’ve read.

“I'll be gone for three weeks,” she says, “so yeah, I'll miss you all. I know it's all very sudden but I can't pass this up and I know you'll be okay.”

“What?” Isaac chokes down his food.

“Congratulations,” Sy says, “that's big news.”

“When do you leave?” You ask.

“Friday.”

“Friday?” You gasp.

“I know it's short notice but there were details to be confirmed and–”

“Mom,” you squeak, “that's… that's great. I'm happy. Just… surprised.”

“What are we gonna do?” Isaac whines. He dramatically sits back and rubs his cheeks.

Sy clears his throat, “you're grown. You'll figure it out. You should be happy for your mother.”

“He's right,” your dad growls, “your mom worked hard for this.”

“We'll be okay,” you wisp, assuring yourself as much as everyone else.

“Won't be long at all,” your mother beams even as she gets teary-eyed, “I'll call you every day.”

📖

After dinner, you offer to clear the table. You want to think. You’’ll miss your mom when she’s gone. You assume you’ll be doing much of the cooking in her absence. You don’t mind, she always does so much. But that isn’t the only thing that will go away with your mom.

It’s just disappointing that you were away for college and finally get back home and she’s leaving. You wasted the time you did have. You shouldn’t have spent all those hours with the Fellowship. You should have spent it in reality. Funny how fast your perspective can shift.

You finish up tidying as you hear the voices from the front porch. The smell of the apple blossoms lace the air with cinnamon. You take them out of the oven, they’re perfectly golden and some of the apply good noose oozes out the little slits in the side. You plate each with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and take them out two at a time.

You elbow out onto the porch, the snap of the screen door announcing your arrival. Your mom and dad sit on the porch swing as Sy stands across from them leaning on the railing. You force out a ‘hi’ and hand your parents their plates before you step back.

“I’ll grab yours,” you say to Sy, “does anyone want tea or coffee?”

“Oh, peanut, you’re so sweet, I wouldn’t mind some tea... even though I’m sure I’ll have more than enough in England,” she chuckles.

“Decaf, please,” your dad grins.

“Alright, will do,” you say.

“I’ll help,” Sy stands straight, “you’ll have your hands full.”

“Aw, Sy, you are too much,” your mother preens.

“Where’s Isaac?” You wonder allow as your hand hovers on the screen door.

“Moping, somewhere,” your father scoffs. “let him come out for his own dessert, if he wants it.”

“Oh, right,” you accept and as you turn, a hand grabs the door above yours and pulls it open. Sy is close as he reaches above you to let you inside. You flit ahead of him and he follows with his sturdy steps, pausing to leave his boots on the mat.

“You don’t have to help,” you say as you grab his plate and offer it to him as he enters the kitchen, “I just gotta put the water on.”

“Wanna,” he says, “leave mine there. Why don’t you have some?” He insists.

“I will,” you assure him and reluctantly put the plate back on the counter.

You turn and flip on the electric kettle. You take out your mother’s favourite mug and a tea ball. As you do that, Sy nears the counter next to you.

“Where’s the decaf?” He asks.

“I said you don’t have to,” you giggle out your nerves, “really, I got it.”

“I said, I want to,” he shrugs, “I don’t mind.”

You don’t want to argue. How can you? He’s being helpful and you won’t have much of that. Isaac and your dad work so naturally, you’ll be taking on more of the housework. You’re not unhappy at that prospect, you just don’t want things to change so fast.

“You’re gonna miss your mom?” Again, his questions sound like statements.

You wince and nod, “yeah,” you close the tea ball and hook the chain on the rim of the cup. He works diligently to loud the coffee maker, measuring out the grounds deliberately. You can’t really explain everything you feel.

“Well,” he snaps the lid down, “if ya need anything, let me know.” He backs up and goes to the other end of the counter. He slowly turns the plate of pastry and ice cream, “make sure you get some too. Can’t be doin’ all that hard work for nothing.”

He slides the plate towards him and lifts it. He turns his broad shoulders to you and stalks out. You hear the spook clink into the porcelain before he reaches the front door and he lets out a rumbling purr. Well, at least the dessert turned out.

#my girl #captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #dark captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #au #series #drabble #sand castle

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themareverine · 2 months ago

Text

God Laughs | DoFP!Logan x fem!OC

— God laughs

dofp!Logan x fem!reader

synopsis: 'I'll love you in every time, Logan, that I know. Just say the word." So much hinged on so little, and it doesn’t make any damn sense. They all knew it—their moments, any of them, ceased to exist if he didn't do this—this unspeakable thing, the only thing that would keep any of them alive.

warnings: time travel elements, AU, pre-established relationship, some angst, a big age gap due to time travel, a little angst, unedited, will do later, PG-13. 🌶️🌶️🌶️

a/n: happy thirtieth birthday to me. 🎉🥂i am sorry this is so long, but i'm actually not, and this fic has been taking up space in my brain for like a month and a half. please enjoy.

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | TAGLIST🏷️ let me know if you want added!

Time in the ether is both cold, and slow.

Being alive 200 years leaves Logan nowhere near shortchanged when it comes to dreams. Really the only peace a man who cannot die—a living weapon—finds is sleep, walking in and out of dreams. Digging graves to bury secrets, the horrors of living. Phantoms of his living moments, somehow though, manage to follow him into REM, into the colorful, twisting pictures of dreamstate—they rob him of purest joys. Highest highs. Through their boneless fingers he falls, time and again, even in his sleep—some nights, he doesn’t even rest. Barely breathes. Just wrestles with the things his mind shoves into dark recesses during daylight, vampires bleeding him dry.

And much like the nightmares that find him as he fitfully sleeps, the ether between time is equally harrowing. A scythe that cuts slow and deep, through certainties and everything humans, once, thought they understood.

Nothing in the world like it, slipping through the sands of a timeglass—lives already lived, time already elapsed. Unable to fully blot from the universe moments already bled, God Himself, Logan is sure, laughs—laughs as he chases moments, daylights. Nights. Stretches of time in the bend of space the Almighty must just chuckle at. No more than a mouse chasing reward, trapped in the grand scheme of an oversized cat.

He’d jumped through the waters of time before. Drowning in pain, his body fighting to stay alive and knit together when travel would otherwise viscerally rip apart.

Logan supposes it is not far removed from shaking a bottle, a tornado of contents spinning together to form some perfect union of chaos and beauty, bouncing off walls and wholly contained within units of matter. Hurricane on steroids, rushing to find somewhere to land, but in no hurry to do so all at the same damn time.

That is what the ether feels like—a hurried state of asystole, neverending, that somehow doesn’t seem to mind at all. And Logan has never felt more intimate, precise pain than he does here, filtering through time and space—everything hurts. Whitehot fire that laps at his spine, racking every thought, every movement, every cell with the finest, knife-edge agony.

Like a blacksmith’s hammer beating to life creation from the hottest flame he burns, beat into oblivion while slowly knitting together something that resembles signs of life.

“Need you to do this, Pryde.”

Kitty had an overwhelming ability, he knew. Taxed her to the point of soul crushing. He’d rocketed through time, balancing in her hands, times before—and some part of him always felt her during the process, guiding and sifting his moments in the past through careful, graceful hands.

Truly gifted, Logan understood this was not a bowl of cherries request—he knew it would shave years off her life, steal heartbeats she’d never get back. Days of recovery, horrors of readjusting back to the present. Not a light lift for either of them—as he was ripped apart only to be stitched back together in a younger, former life, she was there, with nobody to put her back together as strain and pain played her like a drum.

And as painful as it was, Logan knew Kitty—she would die for things like this, consequences be damned. Young and reckless, she’d skipped through the folds of the time space continuum for less than what he was asking, but one’s own desires were another thing entirely. Couldn’t fault her for that. If he were able to rip open the universe, go back to former days, well—he didn’t know. So many nightmares, so many phantoms.

Logan wasn’t even sure if he was whole, anymore.

“And you’re sure you wanna do this, Logan?”

Cigars had never tasted so flat, so sour. Maybe if he rolled it through his fingers harder, it would shapen up. But nothing could change the broil in his gut, the ripple of consequences hanging out on the edge of history. They all knew it—their moments, any of them, ceased to exist if he didn't do this—this unspeakable thing, this thing God had gifted. To ensure his future, the future of Charles Xavier, had never felt so—so cold. Dead. Excruciating.

So much hinged on so little, and it doesn’t make any damn sense. And then the voice of reason, a cherubim amongst thieves. Stealing minutes, ripping away time none of them have. Light in a universe of darkness, his sun. Adonis to his Icharus, Aphrodite to his eternal, cold war—she’d looked as if the world had stopped, and in a way, it was not far off. His world had stopped spinning, their world. Threatened to collapse.

“Kitty, we have to. We need to–if we don’t, we don’t have this conversation.”

No other conviction necessary. Decided, on a whim—on the bleeding edge of should we? they’d made a plan. Go back decades, retrace steps already taken. Cool trails already blazed. Forge new irons, cast new stones—do everything to ensure this moment, this moment that cannot be barren, paralyzed. Do what God commissions, what heaven allows.

Follow me, Logan.

A bed of stone had never felt more like a grave, and the very idea sends an unfamiliar shiver down his spine. Like a seance, candles burn in the darkness—easier for Pryde. But in some twisted way, Logan finds it fitting—fitting, this supernatural undertone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wishes it were light. Prays for morning, for the innocence of blinding daylight streaming through open windows, the fresh bounce of sun on his skin. Something about this being dark, tucked under the earth, feels eerie. Backwards. Graven.

Man was not meant to live in the dirt, but to die there—man was not meant to venture alone.

I'll love you in every time, Logan, that I know. Just say the word.

Pain in his chest had ripped him from the cool ether, snapped him awake in an arctic sweat. Pebbled with goosebumps and twisted in damp sheets, he’d ripped off the layers of blankets with gusto enough to carve canyons.

Rousted from apparent sleeping arrangements, the world swims as he attempts to scrub life back into his face—to feel.

Parts of him were still sorting themselves out deep in his tissues, Logan could almost count his cells unscrambling. Never would he wish the kinesthetics of memories sorting themselves into brain matter on any man, enemy or otherwise.

One thing was painfully clear from the jump, a branding iron seared into the folds of his brain—her face. Her features. Every moment spent together, every sweet nothing she’d ever said. Honey salve on gaping wounds, he could smell her. Taste her, even in time.

It’s the one memory that doesn’t need sorting, that seems welded into his biology, his very being—her.

Her face, her name, her laugh. More a part of him than he’d ever know, he carries her in the low of his spine, a simmering heat that starves. A man could die, aching for a woman like he burns for her.

Aching in memories that feel foreign in this body, like dreams. But they are more real than he’ll ever confess—more real than sunlight or air, than scripture etched into faraway stones. The song of the world, the prayer of the universe.

Logan had never believed in soulmates—until fate had split him down the middle. He’d never known he was missing part of himself, until he’d tasted her goodness. Her sweetness. Her beauty and strength and insecurity that had fallen through his fingers like butter.

Time is his enemy, and there’s very little room to reminisce. That comes later. Much, much later.

Her presence a grounding rod to the now and here, excitement pistons through him like a locomotive. Logan wasn’t around in this period of her life, decades ago. He’d met her years after—in the blossoming glow of things to come. He can only fathom where she is, what she does in the twilight years of knowing him—of better, safer years.

Often he catches himself, watching her march through the days of their life together, wondering where she’d have gone, who she would’ve become if not for him. What better she’d have done in the world, what good she may have accomplished beyond his tether.

Never lasts long, though. He mauls the high fantasy of letting her leave. Crushes the beastial part of him that warns she’s better off without him, navigating life alone. Safer, whole. Selfishness always catapults his justifications, his rationales. She stays, she’s yours, and nobody else gets her. Just the way it is, and he’d worked hard to ensure it. Logan wears enough blood to fill a reservoir—blood she’d helped him spill. Lives he’d taken for her. The cost for her was higher, atmospheric—he’d rob hell to pay it, even today.

And in a way, he isn’t far off.

Thoughts of her send him buzzing with a little thrill he hasn’t known since boyhood, pulses his brain. Windows in this room are his stage, daylight a rapturous, blinding audience that sparkles with anticipation. He breathes and feels her, somewhere, in this universe.

There’s a presence, an energy— the world is alive with the promise of her, things to come. He doesn’t know how, perhaps it’s cosmic, built into the foundations of God’s creation. Or maybe it’s divine, maybe supernatural. Maybe just biology. Whatever it is, it tastes sweet, pulses through him like a live wire strung tight on five thousand molten-lava volts.

A groan slips through streaks of daylight crisscrossing the floor through floor-length, heavy curtains. Logan all but springboards from bed, about-facing with the poise and grace of a fighter much younger than himself, heart racing. Somehow he manages self-control—the claws don’t come. Instead, his arm draws back into a fist far quicker than he remembers, almost sending him off balance. His arm—it weighs next to nothing.

Mind spinning, he remembers. Adamantium—no adamantium. It’s a foreign, blissful feeling. At this point in his lifetime he hadn’t been cursed with steel bones, hadn’t been ripped apart to be stitched back together into whatever atrocity hell had born across the earth. Hadn’t been anyone’s lab animal, a plaything. That would come, he imagines—and briefly, Logan wonders if he’ll remember this feeling. If it will crop up in memories when he returns to his time, when future Logan is put back in time, and this is all but a dream.

It doesn’t matter—assumptions come to a burning halt when blonde hair flips from beneath the covers of his former grave, his resurrection site. Blonde spirals of curl, muffled from obvious extramarital affairs, spill over milky skin. A hit of perfume hangs out beneath his nose, but it’s seared like a branding iron with the familiar, unmistakable scent of sex. Orgasm rides the air like it’s a jet plane, and very quickly Logan can’t breathe.

Thoughts spin through his brain, a kaleidoscope of horror and shame and confusion, watching his bedmate rise into a stretch not all that far removed from a cat.

He doesn’t remember this. Oh, fuck, not even a little. His future self’s mind pistons for any recollection, any silver cord of remembrance of who she could be, but it comes up blank. Distressingly blank, pitifully void. A blackhole of lust and perverted nothingness, his stomach hollows. Pitches up against his esophagus. And Logan isn’t a man to easily toss his cookies, but—he’s not far off. His dick numbs as she glances over her shoulder.

“You’re awake,” voice heavily tainted with sleep, his feet suddenly burn with the itch to move. Get the hell outta dodge. Eyes scout the room quickly, picking out pieces of clothing he can only pray belong to this version of himself. “It’s early, if you’re hungry I can make breakfast—”

Unable to think of anything —get the hell out of here, Logan, “—no!” It’s more of a bark than it is an answer, and he bristles, fingers swiping at the discarded pants hanging out on the floor by his feet. Wrangles into them in time enough to split atoms. Hiking them up his legs, he works the belt, tongue suddenly thicker than winter molasses as it attacks his back molars, trying to raise some moisture in the Sahara his mouth has become.

He doesn’t miss his bedfellow flinching, though. Her shoulder shifts a little sharply in reaction, and he curses himself. “Girls are sensitive creatures, Logan,” years from now, she’s suddenly so there in his brain matter. Cascaded by the sun, rapturous in white. He can feel her against his ribs, her smile cutting paths through territory unexplored in the dark chambers of him, “Be careful with us, love.”

Spiraling blonde curl and bare shoulders say everything that clothes don’t have to, and he’d laugh if this wasn’t the most depraved thing he’d ever felt crawling through his gut, clawing like it’s hell. Future him remembers wandering through these mirages of life—mindless fucks, one-night stands that get him off, little more than cold graves of satisfaction. Briefly he wonders what the fuck, what happened to him. Once detached, now he’s tethered to starlight, stars to which he breathes to revolve.

Fingers burning, weightlessness threatens to topple him like Rome, conquering him slowly.

Shifting her hair in front of her, he feels a twinge of appreciation run him through—but he isn’t surprised. In a different world, he’d move mountains for a girl with curls the color of how he takes the coffee she so faithfully makes; curls that flick and move in private dances for him, God’s perfect design, conceived among the canyons of time. It’s a foreign memory, amputated almost—umbilicated to nothing in this world to give it life, but he knows. He just feels them tangle through his fingers something perfect, in a way that hair never has.

Always a sucker for a girl with curls—they were different. Feral. Wild.

His canines hit sharply on the plush of his bottom lip as the stranger angles to shift against the sheets, probably to face him. Logan all but bullrushes the mattress to put a hand on her shoulder, “—sorry,” bumbling like an idiot, he sucks in a breath, “not real hungry, but thanks. ‘S early, go back to sleep—I gotta hit the road,” barely above a constrained whisper, adds a little pressure to his hand to encourage the behavior.

She complies, and he dives for his shirt and what he can only assume is his jacket tangled in the sheets of his side of the bed.

Surprisingly, she says zilch. Content to let the subject drop, a mercy from God. Thank you God. He’s dressed. Barely registered that punch of hunger a good fuck always leaves behind before he’s out the door, palming his jeans for keys—bingo.

Fingers grazing sunglasses in his pocket, he slips them on the low of his nose. Shakes in his blood tell him he needs a smoke, booze, something for the cold edge peaking through his bones.

Spinning keys to the punched-out and snowkissed Bronco on his finger, Logan slips out the door, fighting boots onto his feet as he skirts the curb, looking for his ride.

It takes him a day to find her.

Well, more specifically, twenty-two hours—and finding isn’t the right word for it, either. He knows where she’ll be, she said so herself before he’d slipped into the sands. There’s only one place in the world she’d ever received formal education, property lines of a familiar farm and prairie grass amidst old farmhouses teaching her more than any public education ever could.

He’d been there, her childhood home, more than a dozen times. Been here, tasted this air. Watched the frost kick up on windows, slick up highways that have carried him all over farmland America, almost-Canada. The wilds of this place remain, scattered in and out of industrial complexes and pop up bedroom communities.

She’d always hated it here, all the snow and cold — people. Made no sense, honestly. She’d loved their home in Alberta, where winter was, in a sense, arguably worse. Had fostered a love for that place unlike anyone he knew, and he was from there. Never complained, though.

Logan had always known, secretly, that she missed the States, its freedoms and culture, a pretty that rivaled none. Faithfully and with duty she’d followed him everywhere, skiptracing across the globe like it was a game of hopscotch and not a fight for life.

While he’d been running all his life, she’d been firmly rooted—but he’d be damned if she didn’t pluck roots to keep after him, to keep them alive. Together they’d rested their heads in some less than Eden hotspots, places phantoms wouldn’t even tread—places purity went to die, holiness turned its face.

She’d counted it joy, just to scout the lines of living beside him. I’ll love you in every time, Logan.

If the tires on his Bronco could heave, they would. Twenty-two hours and no sleep, Logan could pretty well feel exhaustion lapping up the marrow of his bones, needling away at his eyes. Highway 7 signs, painted with snow and wobbling in straight winds greet him as he guides his Ford off the asphalt, out from between guiding lines that had shifted oh so many times the last day and a half—prophecy not much unlike his life.

And pushing the Bronco along the tree-lined lane, lights shining in the last fingers of fading night, Logan realizes that he’s white-knuckling the steerwheel. Maybe for the first time in his life.

He’s never been an anxious soul. Never a point to it, anxiety was wasted emotion. But all the same he feels a pit open in the depth of his gut, a fierce burning not unlike a lake flaming with inferno heat rising up his spine. Feeling feverish, his palms pearl with moisture.

A quick glance in the rearview at the darkness hanging out under his eyes punches home the marriage of piglet pink rising beneath his unkempt shave, which is now a handful of days overgrown. Muttering, he guides the wheel with a knee, working fingers through his hair—it’s thick. Dark, darker than future him remembers, styled in a way he hasn’t worn in at least four decades.

Popping the Ford to a stop in a parking spot overshadowed with packed, plowed snow, he snaps the shift into park. Sits there, in his leather jacket and jeans, staring at the front door of the college complex. A stone Goliath, it towers in the fading darkness, sunlight beginning to stretch the horizon to a new morning. There’s a few cars belonging to the overly ambitious, his eyes scan them.

Logan remembers the plan, all the details of the debrief—of a dossier that came from her lips, to his ears. Not a stitch of paperwork, no documentation to erase. So unlike the old days.

The most informal of the informal, perched across his lap, topless and smiling as her nails pull sharply at the flesh stretched across his collarbones. Scarlet lines to match fake but not inexpensive nails, he forgets how she manages them in an apocalyptic world. Twilight their only audience, four walls conferenced them as she’d relay detail after sweet detail, his brain pulsing with the weight of her against his chest.

If he closes his eyes, he can feel her again—even in a body that doesn’t even know her.

His dick twitches with a needy throb that reminds him where he is, where she isn’t. Absently his mind spins, his hand skates across the bench seat of the 70s Bronco, palming for her familiar presence. Void coldness ices over the space, and when the Wolverine opens his eyes, the cab is deceptively empty.

Forty years from now his brain weaves an image of her, flashing like a film reel. Supplants her in this seat next to him, smiling—-as young and beautiful as she was the day he met her, age hardly more than a number even as it joins itself at her hip.

Hips bucking up off the bench out of habit, with rebellion, his head falls back over the seat. Sinks lower on the bench, knees kissing the dashboard as the heels of his boots dig into the floorboards, anchored to nothingness. Bone grating against bone on his back teeth, the growl he releases is animalistic.

Painful, sharp, it licks up the heat in his blood. He palms at his cock buried in his jeans, suffocating in heat. Her mouth, sucking at his pulse, tongue flicking against his—tasting like lipstick, like chap and sweat. How her hair brushes his shoulder, raises his skin like he doesn’t remember. Her little noises, breathy little moans. Praying his name as he feasts on her presence, consumes her closeness, union almost supernatural, galactic. Otherworldly, divine.

And it hurts, his starvation for her. Loneliness he doesn’t remember cracks like a whip, canyons open his spine to perform surgeries that’ll leave him a barren, cold wasteland. Oh, fuck.

God, he missed her—hasn’t been gone but two days, and he misses her. An unmovable hunger mountains in the low of his belly, rearing an ugly head Logan knows won’t be turned but only one way.

A way that won’t exist for another decade, ten long years of arctic cold.

You’re a sick fuck, Logan.

Eyes snap open, pops the latch on the door. Freezing wind chases in and smothers tornado heat kicked up in the cab, amongst the radio buttons and film developing on the windows from his hot breath. Slipping out, Logan bats the door closed behind him. Pockets his keys. Considers the landscape, it’s pretty, then looks to the front door.

Marching after it, his eyes sweep the parking lot—her car. It’s here, sentinelled, standing guard in an otherwise empty lot of asphalt and fading starlight.

He chuckles, shakes his head. Much to his surprise when he tries the door, heavy doors open. Unlocked. Whisking inside like a silent shadow, Logan breaches the foyer. The first coordinator. Nobody is here, hallways as dark as skeletons in squirreled-away closets, the air stuffy with age and ventilated air.

An old smell creeps up and down the hallway, wraps around him—but it’s quiet. Serene. She said it would be, one of the happiest places of my youth, Lo, and she doesn’t really lie. It bleeds from walls like open arteries.

Something hangs in the air, a sweet lightness, airlessness that he can breathe, but doesn’t know. When his finger brushes the wall, curiously, the earth doesn’t split open, the air doesn’t move—-it’s just still. Unmoving. Patient, like a lover. Fortressed between thick pines and Midwestern snow, it’s a sleeping giant Logan doesn’t know. When he pauses to listen, to think, he can feel it try to touch him—-that weightlessness, that solace.

He could sleep here a thousand years, felt like he could breathe for the first time in a century.

Unsure where his feet point, but he knows where to go. Senior year, first class is theatre—-she’ll be in the auditorium.

One by one he ticks off the details in his brain, smoothing his hand over his mouth, trying not to miss his past, his future, whatever the hell it was. But parts of him claw to go back, memories that don’t belong in this body—and very suddenly, Logan wishes for the first time he were older, time wasn’t now. That he survived long enough for the day, ten years from now, that the rest of his life came marching through the doors of a dimly lit bar to rattle steel cages.

Wandering corridors eventually finds him standing outside the door. Metaphorically, crossing this threshold will change his life—it will ensure the future of everyone he’s come to care for, to know. It will ensure them, in a life far from now that feels faraway down and lightyears away.

He opens this door, crosses the place where carpet meets cheap linoleum, and he’d write in stone events that will play out forty years from now.

And he hesitates, only briefly. Hand hovering over the knob of the double doors, waiting for something to tap him on the shoulder. Opportunity to rip him away, fate to call out behind him, stop, you fool. His blood sings with anticipation, ripping through his ears in a way that blocks out everything but him in the shadows, standing here.

Waiting has never felt so smothering, so earthquake. It’s hard to swallow, but he manages. About to open the door, movement behind makes him flinch.

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow! Creeps in this petty pace from day to day—to the last syllable of recorded time—and all our yesterdays have lighted fools—”

Oh, shit. If that doesn’t fit.

For the first time in nearly 200 years, Logan’s heart stops functioning.

He forgets to breathe, the familiar weight of suffocation launching his lungs forward, pitching them against his ribs. Every part of him simmers with flames of ice he hadn’t known but only one other time in his life, fingers itching as they rest at his sides, motionless. Paralyzed.

But that twinge of ache, deep in his skeleton, rockets to life between the bones of his hand—-and Logan lifts one, to consider the claws. But there are none, they are still sheathed deep within himself, but they echo. They ring and shake, trembling as the speech continues again, restarts. This time louder, with more life—from the gut, it stirs him in a way that pays homage to curiosity killing cats.

Carefully he pops open the door, peeks through. Light spills through the opening, warm tones that force him back, squinting as his eyes adjust. Washed in light and emptiness, the room is vast. Pitches down to a floorstage, theatrical seating a quiet giant waiting to throw stones.

Instead, the air is still, motionless among the seats. Only thing moving within the four walls is the body rearranging a rolling podium, collecting things off the floor. Running lines under rushed breath, bare feet so at home center stage that it is almost treacherous.

He can’t breathe, every cell in his body pistons into an overdrive that sends his head reeling.

It’s her.

He shouldn’t be surprised, forty years in the future she’d told him she’d be here. Was always the first one here, in the auditorium, the only time I can use the stage, Logan, and the truth of it smacks him across the face as if he’s been whipped with a milkstrap.

Castor wheels on the stage are loud, rattle the air as the podium rolls back to reset, and Logan realizes he's standing stupidly in the center aisle, looking lost and enchanted with her—and he is.

Even as he slips into the last row, sitting low in a seat to observe, he aches in a way that only God designed for the most violent, deep love.

Even at distance, the detail of her springs after him like a predator. It overtakes him, powers him into corners of himself that Logan didn’t think to ready. The first thing that he thinks is that she’s young, so young, young in a way that even a decade from now couldn’t know.

You ain’t ready for who you’re going to find, honey, it was a warning, shadowed between kissing him and making love in a way that would imply the world’s end.

When she told him he wouldn’t be ready for her, he thought she couldn’t be serious.

But she was righter than he is alive, he wasn’t prepared—innocence. Purity. Naivety. It spins around her in a dance he can almost taste, and his memories struggle to assimilate this precious little thing with the woman his heart knows, his body craves.

And Logan thinks it’s wrong, feels absolutely filthy, falling in love with her all over again, in the mere seconds he’d seen her standing there, reading from a frayed and tattered Macbeth.

How she’s the same person, he doesn't know—how she couldn’t be, is another thing entirely.

Logan realizes she’s been the same height practically forever, and that makes him smile. High heels tossed stage left beside a backpack in the shadows, what he wouldn’t give to see her conquer the world in thrift store heels the color of darkness. Familiar curves pull at denim jeans that take every ounce of his self-will not to notice, full hips on Hollywood display with the same leather belt and buckle she’d be wearing in ten years, when this body first makes eyes at her.

And her style hasn’t changed—high heels and jeans, a tucked-in tank top and left-open buttoned shirt that floats almost ethereally.

And his head cants to the side, not unlike a curious dog—he could cry, he thinks. Probably.

Brunette curl spills down her back, nearly to her ass, a lazy slipknot hanging limp at the base of her neck. Righteous indignation rises up in him like a wild animal—in a decade, he’ll meet her with cropped hair, curls cut to not-even shoulder length. His stomach knots, solidifies like it’s concrete. Memories spinning—Logan realizes he’s never known her with long, full hair. Hair like this, curls that make him insane, almost threaten to send him up the wall with ferality.

Insane, sick the way his mind immediately shoots to all the things he wants to do with it, with this little thing pacing downstage and back, humming and reading lines to what she thinks is open air.

Straight to hell with him, thinking about bending her over that stage and fucking her until she weeps. He won’t get the privilege of her taste for at least a decade, if not a few years after.

And that’s enough to gut him completely, punch a low moan from the base of his spine as blood rushes to take up space in his cock.

Subliminally, he feels for the ring that’s been hanging out on his left hand for twenty years—alarm snaps his gaze to his hand, its absence alarming and unfamiliar. Takes a second for his heart rate to still, realizing it isn’t there—and that’s right. It won’t be for a while.

But it’s become an engrained thing, a usual part of his life—memories relay that he does this often times a day, it’s almost a coping mechanism. Hilarious how it so easily translates to this body, this time when it isn’t even reality. The ring probably isn’t even crafted, he’s missing something that doesn’t exist.

“Excuse me, what are you doing in here?”

Klaxon alarms rings through his blood like a warning shot, and Logan for a second considers that he has been shot, a burning hole through the center of him widening to swallow him almost body and soul.

A steel beam drops to replace his spine, and he catapults to his feet like he’s on fire—scrambles out of his chair like an upset cat. Heart pounding, heat flares across his skin like his life depends on it, palms riding up the denim on his thighs as he tries to wick away bubbled moisture.

Swallowing a shallow breath, he watches her gracefully hop off the platform, finding her feet as she tosses the book on the stage.

Realizing she’s meeting him up the aisle, he steps to greet her halfway.

“This is a closed classroom,” her tone is firm, but not entirely uninviting—memory serves that he’s not unfamiliar with this, and won’t be, in their future together. “I’m running lines, did you need something?”

Her little way of always assuming the best of people—of prying without making it feel like she’s digging. God, she was good—-it’s no surprise to him that she’ll become a journalist, the nosiest person in the world, in but a few short years from this very moment.

Even up close she glows with a radiance that alarms him. Wearing the makeup she always does, mascara that sets off icy blues like a plague, Logan fights his way out of the depths of her gaze. Claws for purchase at anything he can get his hands on, which at the moment, is a quicksilver smile this body knows. It’s worked well for him, disarming the opposite sex.

He knows he looks good, always has, and Logan has weaponized his sexuality for his betterment since years ago. It’s a toxic thing, one that this very girl will dismantle in about twenty years—-will continue dismantling, claiming, for the next forty.

Absence of any reply has her taking more conversational territory. Her hand extends, she offers her name.

“I don’t know you,” no room for argument, God she’s still so forward, “are you a student here, or faculty?”

A polite way of asking what his old ass is doing at a college at ass o’clock in the morning, and very suddenly he realizes, off like a shot, he has no alibi. No backstory, no agenda for this moment.

Logan can’t even think past her bludgeoning pheromones and scent, much less the assault of her eyes. Like a wolf she takes him apart, plays with the carcass of his resolve like it’s a plaything.

Never usually unprepared, he fumbles for words. Arms crossing over her chest, she waits. Stands there for all of a few seconds, before she does that thing that all girls, seemingly, do—she fills up the silence.

“You’re not Graingly’s theater buddy from Pensacola, are you?” The look on her face tells her that not being whoever such a person is probably isn't a good thing, the way her hip cocks and her jaw flicks with the tight of muscle.

She doesn’t wait, not even a second, “You’re not supposed to sub until Friday—I’m his student lecturer, I set that date.”

Well there it is, his perfect in.

She won’t learn to interrogate and intimidate with silence for a while, and he finds her battle for dominance amusing. It’s even more raw and unpolished in her youth, she’d mastered it already in the years after this.

If he didn’t already know, he’d find it hard not to be curious how she’ll stonewall in the coming years—as she ages, matures. Instead, he just revels in her presence, in the floating feeling taking up space in the empty of his gut. He’d slaughter for a cigar but couldn’t move from his weld right here if the earth split open to consume him.

Logan’s chuckle is low, off the base of his ribs. Even if it is a little weak, a little breathless and ashamed of the thoughts sounding off like nuclear bombs in the back of his head—their first meeting, in a crummy Canadian bar in May.

The first time he sees her cry, an awful first date ending with an argument, him at her door asking to see her again in the straightline winds of a near tornado. How he asks to marry her, that first look at her on the day he makes her his own. That look on her face when they move in together, when they buy their first house—when they spill first blood together.

Pain raptures him to new worlds when he realizes what she becomes, what he gives her—mutation that traps her in this world, this life for an indefinite future.

And he can’t shake the reminiscence—their first fuck, her first time, his first time with someone so virginal, so holy and sweet and good. Burning through him like a branding rod dripping with white heat, he struggles to assimilate this young little thing with the woman, ten years in this body’s future, she’ll become.

And as legal as it may be, Logan can’t imagine touching her like he will, someday—she might break, such a fragile little thing. And yet all he can picture is taking her, right here and right now, unraveling the strands of time to hurry the fuck up what is meant for a decade from now.

She’s still talking.

“Listen, I really think you should—-” agitated. She's pissy, that same edge he will walk well, that same edge he’ll teach her to teeter, to exaggerate.

It’s a beautiful thing, really, watching their life together unfold in his brain—it’s like a movie he never wants to get up from, a picture he creates.

It tastes good, it feels perfect.

He puts up a hand, offering her an easy smile. Her mouth snaps closed, bingo.

“I figured,” if you only knew. He extends his hand, “Logan,” and she shakes it, hers fitting in a way that confirms God’s very existence. “'M not a teacher, and sure as hell ain't from Pensacola.” About three thousand miles north, actually—-a mountain house so pretty, we’re going to spend our honeymoon not leavin’ it.

But of course, it hangs out in the open wound his heart has become, unsaid.

That hits home, seems to fit the bill. Her posture loosens, and she crosses one leg over the other. Still does that, forty years from now, and he still finds it adorable.

“Good to meet ya,” and good God if she still drag her ‘o’s’ in that little Midwestern way that ticks up the corner of his mouth, amusingly. “Can I help you with anything?”

Again, always so willing—so naive. He could’ve been here to ruin her entire world and she’d help him do it, patient as a flower.

“Yeah, actually,” he runs fingers through his facial hair, gestures to her. “Believe it or not, honey, I’m here to see you. Sent, actually.” It’s going to sound so ridiculous. Unbelievable, and at this point, it is.

More sci-fi than reality, no human in this universe is aware that time can be so manipulated. Kitty Pryde, his very vessel, isn’t even alive.

And that hollows him out like a canoe, bloodlets any confident air in his sails to the ground. It cries out unforgivingly, laughs at him.

God was laughing at him, he was sure.

Her airy snort is dismissive, aggressively derisive. “Yeah, right,” she shakes her head, turns on the ball of her foot, “I don’t know any Logans. You can go, now,” turning back around, she backpedals away from him.

Hand flitting through the air, her chin lifts in an away gesture, “Like I said, closed classroom. Nice meeting you,” moving to the stage, she hauls herself back up, moving to retrieve the text she’d discarded.

Stalking after her, Logan hauls up on the stage. Comes up on her, grabs her arm. Starting, she whirls around at speed, knocking into him. Fingers clamping around the muscle of her arm, the look on her face is horrified for all of a few seconds, fear skittering in and out of the blues that flash in her eyes like dreams he doesn’t want to rise from.

His hard look into her face is quelling, and she shrinks back. Pages fall from her hands, hitting the floor at their feet with a hard thunk.

Logan can feel her heart throbbing, her blood singing with heat. Color creeps up her neck as she pulls at his grip, investigative. Eyes holding his gaze, they put up a fight—they disarm him in a way that he should fear, that shouldn’t be so difficult for a man that will endure the unthinkable.

Pain flashes between his ribs like a flare, lighting up his chest. Shuffling her a few steps closer, his other hand moves to loop a finger through a belt hoop, knuckle rubbing against the familiar leather.

“What are you do—”

He remembers what she told him to say, “I have a word for you,” it’s assured. Hard. Riddled with a confidence that bleeds out of him like his arteries have been sliced, pumping lifeblood onto the floor at his feet. He’ll beg, if necessary. Grovel at her beautiful feet like it’s worship, and in a way, she’s deserving.

Her eyes snap up from where he’s conjoined them, Logan watches her swallow a handful of shallow, doing-nothing breaths. “Sent to find you, darlin’.”

Ripping her arm away, her brow mottles with scarlet heat and confusion that isn’t concrete, but instead unsure. She said she’d be confused, uncertain of him when he walked up out of nowhere and called her darlin’, a petname that meant something. The name, the one she conjured up in showers and feel asleep to. Logan knew it was her favorite; she’d told him so their first time, You had me at darlin’, Lo, and you always will.

Poetic justice, really—and maybe, now, this will be why.

He’ll be why she falls in love with that name, with how he says it, how he calls her.

“I don’t understand,” she tries to make it sound strong. Logan releases her, expecting her to rear away like a upset horse—surprise lands in his gut when she doesn't.

Instead, she faces him. Draws her shoulders back. Lifts her chin and steps up to him, closing daylight. Her head cants slightly, eyes narrowing in that what’s up with you way that is curious, but hesitant.

Unsure rips off of her like heat he can only feel in every cell of his genetic makeup, in a way that regenerative mutation could only ever hope to heal.

“You may not,” he challenges, it falls off a sigh as he upturns a hand. Offers it, kindly. “But try, honey. A whole lotta world needs you to try.”

And she does. She tries. Business hours and daylight interrupt them, but she tries—and it’s a bloody fight, making her understand. Challenging every quip, every reasonable logic that she hurls at him like knives.

Moving to the auditorium’s lobby, then to the corridor, then up into the library. And after an hour, when she really started believing him, he drags her out to his Bronco—where they can be alone. Thrive in the uninterrupted them.

Cranking the heat and turning to rest his back against the door, he accepts her denial. Any question she throws at him for another hour, every rabbit trail of You’re absolutely wrong and this is why.

She pauses to breathe and remember what class she’s blowing off, and oh does he love her. He’s already so in love with her that it hurts, bludgeons that space behind his ribs with the knowledge that soon, when this is over, he may not remember.

Multiple times Logan has had the thought to fuck everything and just run away with her, take her anywhere she wants to go and start their life right now, to explore and give life to memories he doesn’t already know.

No matter how much he rationalizes, that idea doesn’t leave him—the high fantasies of what she’d look like, attached to him at the hip.

Of who they could be, before adamantium, before the X-Men, before—

And questions finally metamorphosize. A standstill, like after a hurricane—her chest is heaving, curls sticky with sweat. Memory recall tells him that his normal for her—she’s argumentative, by nature. Defends what she believes, is not so open. Doesn’t back down from a fight, which is why, in years from now, she’ll be his perfect match. His soulmate.

The one God designed for him, since the foundation of the stars and the bends of time.

It’s what makes her so her, a Wolverine. In a roundabout way. Another version of the same monster he becomes, but a holier one. If that’s possible—and he reminds himself it is, she becomes it. This young woman, on the cusp of living, will become everything Logan had only ever fantasized, more than he could ever conjure up in wild imaginations and greedy headdreams.

It’s surreal, sitting in this cab of this Bronco, watching windows film up with the heat of their breath. His knee knocks against the steering wheel, adjusting to glance at her milkwhite grip on the door handle. His eyes skate from hers to her grip, and he knocks his head back against the glass of the door’s window, a lazy smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

“Still don’t believe me, huh?”

After an eternity of silence, she side-eyes him.

“It’s only a little ridiculous,” exaggerated sarcasm drips like sour honey off her tongue, “I mean—put yourself in my shoes here, Logan.”

His heart flatlines and then resurrects—she’s called him Logan a handful of times, now. It sounds like it never has from anyone else—at points in his life before this, he’d always thought his name sounded so good, at its best coming from a woman he was balls deep in, hearing it chanted like a prayer.

But that’s gone, so anemic that it’s sick—it will only ever sound so orgasmic again if she says it. Nobody else is worthy, all graven images in comparison to the goddess she has become, him at her feet.

“It’s unbelievable.”

Whatever else she’s said fails to land. He can’t stop hearing his name in her mouth, consonants and syllables so delicious it turns his spine to jelly, stirs up his cock in a way that makes him adjust his leg on the floorboards. Suddenly uncomfortable, sardined into a too-tight space crowded with her and everything he wants, he rolls down the window with a few pumps of his arm. Forces air in, underneath his collar.

Logan swears he’s boiling alive beneath his jacket and shirt, there will be medically evident boils when he’s finished with her.

The Bronco rocks slightly with her moving to mirror his posture, back against her own door. Her knee knocks against the seatback, other leg bouncing anxiously against the floor.

Picking nervously at the buckle of her belt, Logan has to force himself to look up from the cut of her shirt, the way it pulls taut across her tits with the angle of how she’s sitting.

Aw, hell. Fuck him for being such a filthy, sexual creature.

Fairly certain he will die if he doesn't have her, he repositions—sits up, leans his arms over the steering wheel to knuckle mindless patterns into the fog hanging out on the windshield. She manages an uneven sigh that may as well rip open the world—Logan cuts her a look from the corner of his eye.

“You think I’m lyin’,” he sighs. Falls back against the seat.

“Hell yeah I think you’re lying.”

And if that doesn't make him laugh.

“You laugh, Logan-whoever-you-are, but—honestly. C’mon,” her hand extends to serve a point, “time travel? This isn’t Star Trek. You don’t just waltz up to someone and tell them that and expect it to be believable,” her hand flits, through the air, through whatever she uses to rationalize the anger creeping up into her words.

“And then, if that isn’t good enough, you tell me this, this Hollywood bullshit that I’m going to meet you in ten years in Canada, somewhere I’m not even ever planning to go—and that kicks off the next forty years and the survival of mutants in the future!”

Her hands fly into the air, as if trying to pull down reason from heaven, “That’s a bunch of bullshit, if you ask me.”

It’s quite the line of reasoning—he can’t fault her for it. Just chuckles, shrugging as he leans forward to pluck sunglasses off his dashboard, slip them along the cut of his collar.

Arms crossed over her tits, her chest rises and falls with nervous breath after breath, eyeballing him with enough force to rip the sun from the canopy of sky. He flicks off the heater, sweat between his shoulder blades sign enough that it’s too warm in here—she’s already damp, sweat raising the makeup on her face.

“That’s the highlights,” didn’t mention how you’re the love of my life, how I can’t hardly think straight with you sittin’ right there, he cards his fingers through his hair. “Not askin’ you for anything, sweetheart. I’m just telling you—it’s gonna happen, and when it does, you need to remember me, this moment right here, and trust that it works out.”

He lifts a shoulder, hand turning through the air in a so-so way, “It’s like—fuck. It’s kinda like a prophecy, right? I’m telling you what’s gonna happen, and you just gotta wait to see if it does.”

“Prophecy? You’re mocking me now, right?”

His sigh is excessive, roughs up the wind in the tissue of his lungs with more froce than he thought possible. Knitting his brow together, his fingers pull at the cartilage in the bridge of his nose.

Stubborn little thing, always, stubbornness was both a strength and a weakness—nevermoreso underestimated in her, right now, by him.

He nods out the window.

“This is a Bible school, right? Yeah, I know it is—you graduate here, in the spring,” the look on her face implies that he’s backhanded her, hinge of her jaw failing entirely to instead, sit there. Agog.

Rolling his eyes, he holds out a hand, begins counting off his fingers, “I told you, honey. You graduate, you get a job working for some lowlife newspaper editor–you fall in love with mutants, in that sick and twisted ADHD way of yours that you obsess about everything, and—” he stops, mostly to breathe. Halfway to bludgeon everything he wants to tell her to the point of pain, “—just listen. If you’re as high an’ mighty as you say you are—and you are, I know that about you—then you can’t say you don’t at least believe in prophecy, darlin’.”

Knifing a sharp smirk over to her, his brow lifts. “And last I checked, a whole helluva lot of unbelievable stuff happens in God’s history book, sweetheart—but I ain’t the expert.”

That’s why I have you, in a decade or so.

There is absolutely no time for his words to land anywhere other than nowhere.

Her dismissal happens swiftly, like sharp jabs. The laugh bites, more of a bark than anything. Bam.

“Oh, I so get it now.” She absolutely does not, but he tastes the first blood. Pow. “You’re a messenger from God—right. Yeah, yeah I’m sure,” her eyes roll. Angles to pop the latch on the door.

In one go she’s out of the Bronco, letting all the hot air and frustration of the moment out into the arctic wasteland the parking lot has become. Bam bam bam.

“I don’t say this very often, and pardon my language, but—fuck off, asshole.”

Shouldering her backpack, staring at him from the cresting daylight that bleeds into the cab from behind her—if Logan didn’t believe in the celestial, he would’ve, exactly now.

Near frantic—and Logan has never, in all his 200 years been frantic—his hand slaps at the door for his own latch, and he rips out of the Bronco like a shot, hustling to stalk after her marching across the parking lot to her car like a soldier with orders.

And he is.

Not so fast, tiger—that ain’t right, nah. Wolverine, you’re a wolverine.

My Wolverine.

“Honey, listen—”

He grabs for her arm again, but something whips her about-face of her own volition, stepping up into his chest like a powerhouse of pride, absolution.

Her eyes cut through his armor, what will someday be adamantium bones like knives, hot and thrilling as they grab him by the absolute balls. The ferocity at which her eyes scout through his is wild, sends his blood spinning through his ears. He can’t hear anything but the thrum of his heart and every one of the breaths she sucks into her chest.

There she is.

“I am not your honey, so quiet calling me that,” she bites, and it’s venomous—snapping fangs that sink deep into his veins, slavering at this soul.

And Logan should be upset with her, he should shake some common sense into her. Scream in her face the logic that she so lacks—but he can’t. He can’t move beyond the boundaries her eyes set, deep pools that empty oceans and rival the very stars hanging in the universe.

She could echo jump, and he’d beg her to know how high—and that may make him a fool. A pathetic shadow of the man he was hours ago, laying in someone’s bed, getting all the tit he wanted, without waiting.

“You say all this, this stuff about me—ok. We meet in ten years, sure. I’ll give you that. You’re hardly forgettable,” her eyes narrow, and Logan can’t miss how she shivers—how her lip trembles in the cold air, how snow clings to her lashes and sticks to her hair, carries it away across her features.

“Explain to me how you know everything about my life forty years from now, Logan.”

Oh, fuck. This entire thing could be wrong, but it feels so right.

Her eyes skate over him—down, up, and then back to his face. Like she’s summing him up—maybe she is. It would be the first time, but never the last.

Logan weighs the words in his chest, wishing for the first time that his bones were adamantium—that way, they’d cut through what to say. They’d bear the weight of her statement and haul them up the mountain-ing uncertainty he feels rising against the tail of his spine.

He’s never been so out of control, felt so out of his element than he does right now in the ripping wind of Minnesota cold and sunlight.

She’s lined up the shot for him. All he has to do is take it.

He does.

“We marry,” barely there, it’s the only thing he thinks to say. So much more happens, “A lot of shit happens, a lot of it bad, but a’lotta good— takes a while, but eventually I get my head outta my ass and marry you, like I should years before I actually do.”

“What?”

Logan isn’t ready for the look of surprise on her face, and she’d told him before that he wouldn’t be.

A series of emotions pass through her eyes that he’s able to earmark, he watches them fall like dominoes—denial. Anger. Disbelief and hurt and really? that knots his guts up like the Sesame gates.

And Logan could watch the revolution of the earth around the sun in her eyes for all eternity, but their clarity is clouded by a mist of tears that rise—-she drops her head away, reaching fingers to swipe at the sting in her eyes.

She goes to turn away, and that may as well rip every organ out of his body.

His heart leaps up into his throat, he snags her arm. Coming back willfully, he can’t miss how freezing her hand is in his. Logan pulls her close, against his chest, wraps his arms first around her shoulders, then around her waist, fingers gently skimming the rise of her jeans, the leather of her belt.

Her heart against his ribcage pistons like a locomotive, and he fears if it beats any harder, it’ll drive him into an early grave.

When her head lifts to consider him, she isn’t crying. There’s a whimsical, faraway look on her face. He’s never seen it before, and somewhere deep inside the places you don’t show anyone but God, it terrifies him. Watches her swallow thickly, her tongue fill the pocket of her cheek. How it skips over her bottom lip, accompanies the way her eyes subliminally move back and forth, looking for him in the depths of his.

And Logan can see the thoughts spinning alive in her brain, wheels that have no place to go—that turn, over and over, looking for memories, thinking. Grasping at straws, clawing for the surface.

Her eyes flick beyond him, back to the Bronco. Taking his hand as if she’d been doing it her entire life, she tugs him behind her, back to this Ford. Logan opens the door to tuck her inside.

Slipping in, she drops her backpack at her feet and shifts in the seat. And before he can bat the door closed, her fingers find the front of his leather jacket. Twisting into the leathers, she pulls him forward until his thighs brush the frame of the truck—until he’s flush against her chest, closer, somehow, than before.

A hairline moment and her lips find his, soft and curious but starving.

Jumpstarted to life, every organ in his body flings forward against bone, fighting for air as she sucks the very breath from his lungs in the best way he could ever fathom.

He can tell she’s never kissed before. The way she moves, clumsy like a new calf. Can’t breathe. Her teeth knock against his, and despite how hard he tries to urge her tongue forward to meet his, it retreats. All thumbs and clumsy, it would be humorous if lightning bolts weren’t rocketing down his spine, if he wasn’t burning alive.

And fuck, if it isn’t enough to wake up every part of him he’d been fighting to bury.

Insane, how even so foreign to him she could feel like home, like everything he’s ever been missing. His missing rib, created from dust.

Nothing aside from God’s grace keeps him composed, keeps his mutation leashed to the walls of his prison—God’s grace and how he absolutely is not actively ripping at the leather of the Bronco’s bench, nails buried so far that they ache.

Fingers find her hair, playing through brunette curls he knows will never be this long again—wraps them around his fists, nails gently pulling at her scalp in a way that makes her hiss, arches her forward against him.

And if she doesn’t mean for that little mewl to be so lascivious, he’ll never know—it punches him low, in his dick, enough that rips a groan from the back of his throat, rattling around his teeth. She breaks first with a wet pop, a string of sticky saliva drawing him back to her in a way that leaves him stunned and breathless.

All traces of the frigid world gone, her skin coats with a sparkling sheen of slick sweat, she almost glistens. Racked with ache that he wouldn’t be able to admit in therapy, he drinks in every one of the shallow breaths she releases, as if it’s the air he needs to live.

It’s not far removed.

Her eyes hold his captive, enraptured in his attention before they flick down to his mouth, the heave of his chest. Logan is fairly certain that fire laps up the heat in his blood, wolves eating away at the marrow of his bones, hungry in a way that nothing short of her will ever touch.

Her teeth snag her bottom lip, gnawing cautiously, and her fingers curling into his jacket are the only greenlight he requires—his hand at the back of her neck pulls her in for another kiss, a part two he’ll never stop writing, as his other hand slips behind her knee, gently guiding her down to the seat so he can slip in over her.

It’s worship, how he crawls up her body—an altar that, memories recall, he worships at like it’s religion. She’s a fast learner, picks up the cues like a champ, finally allows him to French her in a way that should be unforgivable.

This him has never done this with her, doesn’t know her like he wants to—but memories. Fuck him, the memories; movies, their own future pornography feeds him just how she’ll react, what she likes.

In his mind, a life he's never lived, he can hear her crying out his name. Sobbing as he splits her wide open, body and soul—stares at her heart, takes everything God had given her. Greedily, he takes—he wants, desires, lusts for everything now, in a time that isn’t right, and can’t be, for the next decade.

His hand anchored on her hip is enough to arch her back, her head tipping back into the leather of the bench, brow pulled taut into a hard line that makes his head reel. Keening, Logan angles to run his nose along her jaw, tongue lathing at the pulse pounding in her neck like a racehorse, steady like the sun.

And it takes willpower not to touch her the way his body demands, the way he lusts after. Instead his nails bite into the back of the seat, others far too busy playing with the hair he prays she never changes but knows she will.

“Oh my god,” Logan isn’t sure it’s a prayer to him or heaven itself, but—he won’t complain how it rousts his blood, stirs his cock something good. “It’s—you’re, Logan—-shit,” His smile is wolfish, of the devil.

Perverse and twisted, he sinks his teeth into the words vampirically, rips the lifeblood from them like it’s soulworthy.

“I can’t breathe,” he knows she can’t. He knows, in some deep and faraway downs part of himself that this is all so new—so living color, so all over the place.

Part of him, a more rational Logan, knows that overstimulation stalks.

But he chuckles all the same, brushing aside the collar of her buttoned shirt to suck hard at the soft flesh of her collarbone. Lathes his tongue into its pool, tastes her sweat. Dies, resurrects to taste it again.

“You can and you will,” he prays it into her skin, hopes it takes, “hmmmm—-just feel, darlin’.” And it hurts, the way he absolutely wants. Knows he can, but won’t. Fuck, fuck, “Fuck, yes—just, honey, just feel.”

Her hands buried in the front of his shirt pull him back from the haze, from where he’s lost. Kiss him again. Again and again, he drinks at her well like a man who will die, and he will.

Logan will die if he doesn’t have her, if this isn't real and is nothing but a sick and feverish nightmare plagued upon him like the dead firstborn in Egypt. She’s already ripped open his chest and clawed out his heart, balancing it raw in her fingers where it bleeds out all of his will, his absolution.

There’s a chance he doesn’t remember this.

If he dies from thirst of her, he’ll never know why.

That’s sick.

Absently, his finger tugs over the waist of her jeans, dips beneath the denim. Grazes the buckle of her belt, investigative. She gasps, breath cut short as her back arches off the seat as his knuckle brushes her sensitive skin—she arches so far that he fears she’ll snap.

But the low of her belly is soft, inviting—inferno. He can feel her womb from here, the kiss of her cervix that memory serves is so good.

Breathless and hard, a light tug at the waist of her jeans makes him groan—all the way from the depths of his soul. It’s so familiar, so easy—he expects her to acquiesce, but it’s demonic. Torturous.

Fuck yes, this is right—

His drifting hand snaps her eyes wide open. She’s propped up on an elbow so quickly that it sends him for all of a heartbeat. Her hand shoves at his shoulder, off, and he falls back on his heels, breathing hard.

Unable to catch his breath, cut his eyes from the swell of tit peeking up over the top of that barely-there tank top she dares to call a piece of clothing.

“No,” and there it is.

Absolution and righteousness that could strip him of his skin, if she desired.

Embarrassment sets in as she wrangles out from beneath him, to the farthest side of the Bronco that she can get. Unable to breathe, unable to think, her hand shakes as it settles over her stomach, her other propping her head up in the heel of her hand.

“Logan, I—”

He knows. Doesn’t cure the sigh. Reaching behind him, he pulls the door closed and traps them both in the sex swirling through the Ford, unfilled and thick.

Guilt plants deep stakes into the soil of his soul, and he scrubs his hand down his face—looks out the window. Shifts against the seat, ignores the absolute agony of a hard cock festering low between his legs.

They sit.

It’s a full silence ready to give birth, until she sweeps her hair up into a high knot, off her neck, twists to sit fully in the seat, fingers slipping through the slots on the steering wheel. He noticed when her breathing levels, when the cardio rhythm in her blood bleeds away into a normal heart rate—but it takes time. A full minute or two.

And he doesn’t know what to say, how to bridge this chasm—how to proceed from here.

“What happens ten years from now?” She’s quiet, doesn’t look up from her hands for a few heartbeats, until sapphire eyes cut to him with a raised, interested brow. “You coming here to tell me this—does this change what happens to us when I find you, in the future?”

The question of the ages, indeed.

“Dunno. Might not remember this, might not know you,” leaning across the seat, he moves his hand to take one of her curls, rubbing it gently between his fingers.

His other takes her hand, his thumb skipping over the familiar ring anchored firmly on her right hand—a ring she will gift him in the future, a ring that he will wear through time and space, should it be asked of him.

“Or I might. Not quite sure how the memory’s thing works when I wake up in our future, honey.” It doesn’t answer her question, and he knows that. He doesn’t have answers, never has. “Not sure how it works for you, either.”

“Wow. You’re so helpful,” she teases.

He cracks a small smile. “It don’t improve, trust me.” He gently brushes a knuckle over the apple of her cheek, her angling into the touch a little farther. “Still as pretty as you will be the first time I see you, sweetheart,” she said she’d need to hear this, that this alone will spare so much of the pain she has yet to live.

“You remember that, yeah? ‘Member that someone out there wants you, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

She slips across the seat to brush shoulders with him, her palm along his cheek guiding him for another kiss—this time, it’s what he expects. Soft, sweet, young. So her, so familiar. He could die a thousand deaths to experience this, over and over.

Softly carding his fingers back through her hair, she breaks firs. Curls a finger beneath his chin to draw his attention to her. He gives it, willingly, up unto the half of his soul and any kingdoms he possesses.

“Are you still in love with me?” Want me, Logan—do you want me?

He smiles, nods. Presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, her lifeblood. The very pulse that will bring her back to him, that carries him away.

“I’ll love you in every time, sweetheart. Just say the word.”

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