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themareverine · 4 days ago

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God Laughs | DoFP!Logan x fem!OC

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.

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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.”

taglist: @thevoicefromanotherworld @sidkneeeee @misscrissfemmefatale @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @eternallyfrustratedwriter@ayamenimthiriel @pandapetals

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blackbat05 · 2 years ago

Text

After Missions

Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Plot: Miguel rarely let’s anyone in after missions. But he does make exceptions.

Genre: PG-13

A/N: Movie was amazing! I would say more but I’ll stop myself. I see a lot of fics for Miguel but there’s few SFW ones, that needs to changed. Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

“You sure you don’t need to get yourself checked out?”

“I’m fine.”

“I can literally see a gash on your side, Miguel.” Jess deadpans.

“I’m fine.”

“Is that all you know how to say?”

“No-yes-argh! Just leave me alone please.” Miguel widens his stride, entering his private space. Well, almost private space.

“I can call her.” Lyla and her uncanny ability to pop up despite not being called for.

“You will do no such thing.” Miguel winces as he takes a seat. Peeling off his suit, he groans as the gash looks at him with a nasty red smile. This was going to take a while.

Lyla shrugs, “Suit yourself boss.” Her hologram switches off quicker than usual and Miguel knows that she’s up to something. Not that he had the energy to care.

Using his left leg, Miguel pulls out the first aid kit with difficulty. The gash was just all in a day’s work, but that didn’t mean he looked forward to stitching it up after every mission. You always did it much better.

“So, are you even going to sleep tonight?”

Miguel sees you standing at the entrance and curses internally.

“One of these days, I’m going to shut Lyla down.” He mutters, loud enough for you to hear.

“It was Peter actually. Thank god because he knew you would be to stubborn to call for help.” Despite your jab at Miguel, you didn’t seem to bothered at how grumpy he was.

Sitting across him, you take the needle from Miguel’s hands. “You didn’t think of taking some painkillers before I don’t know- you try and sow yourself up?”

“I don’t need it.” Miguel grunts as you prepare to clean the wound. He hisses loudly as the cotton touches the raw skin.

“Sure tough guy, keep telling yourself that.” You chuckle. “Here, take these.” You pass him a couple of painkillers before getting to work.

Silence takes over as you steadily work on his wounds. Pursing your lips in concentration, you finish the last bit, cutting off the excess string.

“Done!” You stand up slowly to stretch your body. You stand beside Miguel who is still sitting down, tossing on a grey sweater. You run your fingers through his curly hair, giving Miguel a head pat.

“What are you doing?” Miguel doesn’t seem annoyed. In fact, he seemed more confused at your actions.

“A head pat. I thought that would be obvious. For a job well done. Usually the people that I stitch up are way more fidgety.” You mused. “Besides, isn’t it nice?”

Miguel’s about to tell you that he isn’t a domesticated animal but your fingers somehow work magic on his scalp. He finds himself automatically leaning into your touch, letting out a soft purr.

“Not a word to anyone about this.”

“As long as you come straight to me after missions.”

“Deal.”

***

Afterword

“Did you guys see that! Miguel just smiled! Oh the world’s going to end soon.” Peter gasps dramatically as he paces up and down the room with a babbling Mayday.

“I knew our boss had some color to him! He’s not just multiverse business and all.” Pavitr grins. “Hobie come on, gimme my 10 bucks.”

“Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this. How was I supposed to know O’Hara had a soft side to him?” Hobie passes him a couple of bills.

“Alright guys, let’s get outta here before Miguel finds out.” Gwen ushers the group towards the exit before all four come to halt to see an unamused Miguel glaring at them.

“Oh shit.”

***

Feel free to explore my other Miguel works here!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099

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fandoms--fluff · 2 years ago

Text

Family Therapist

Female vampire reader x Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: Elijah is your husband and you've been basically the family therapist. Well, one night you both became one for his little brother.

Warnings: mentions of death I think?, mentions of ghosts,

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elijah and you have been married for well over 400 years and over time you have gotten used to the family's drama and dynamic.

There have been many times when you acted as the family therapist, and let's not kid ourselves, you still are. Just somehow in weirder ways than some may think.

(But let's also be real, you still have to lecture Klaus out of daggering any of his siblings or hurting them 'just because', being the only one who he actually listens to, which is a miracle by itself.)

A great example is what just happened one night.

Surprising enough, this is the first time you've ever been in a situation like this. It's definitely not the worst or anything of it, but this was very different to say the least.

You were sound asleep in your husband's arms until you hear the door to your guys' room slam open. Both of you separate in alert, but the only danger there is, is the body that crashed between the both of you.

"What the?" You said sleepily and reached over to turn the lamp on.

Once the light lit the room in a yellow glow, you both look at the visitor in your bed.

"Kol? What are you doing?" Elijah asks, surprised that his younger brother is there, without acknowledging one of you.

"Oh you know, just missed my older brother and his wife" his voice was muffled by the pillow he pressed his face in to.

"Uh huh, and how does that explain you gripping onto the blanket for dear life?" You raised your eyebrow at the youngest brother.

"Because it's soft?" He asked unsure, rather than answering you.

"What happened?" You kept your eyebrow raised at the immortal teenager, no way for him to get himself out of this conversation now. Elijah saw that look on your face, knowing, now you won't budge until you get the truth out of Kol.

Kol looked up at you, letting out a huff, seeing no way of getting out of this. At least this is better than Nik, he'd just throw him in a box, he thought.

"I swear I saw someone move in my room, but I couldn't find anything, so I came in here to make sure if the ghost comes back there'll be alibis" he rapidly said, and hid his face back into the pillow, feeling his cheeks starting to turn red.

You and Elijah shared a look of concern before your husband placed a hand on Kol's back. "Kol, you don't have to be embarrassed about that, considering your experience with ghosts in the past, you have a right to react the way you did," he told him.

"Lijah's right, we would never judge you about that. So what if you're a bit wary about ghosts, it's normal, a lot of people are" you added.

Kol's breath hitched before speaking, "Really?" He looked up at both of you.

"Of course" You and Elijah nodded.

He smiled softly before a cheeky grin appeared on his face. "Just so you know, I'm not leaving. And if that ghost takes me, I'd rather have my final moments with you guys over Nik, who would most likely yell at me."

He laid his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes, knowing that he was laying between you guys. "I know you guys probably want to be laying together and be all cute and couply, but I don't want to think about you two doing anything over pg-13. My poor innocence couldn't handle it" he said and let out an 'oof' when you smacked him with a pillow for the comment.

"Have you ever even been innocent?" You asked and looked at Elijah with amused eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like a tired father that just had to put up with his child. Honestly, he just did, considering what Kol had just said and he can sadly be even more immature.

"Of course I have...like that time...okay maybe when I was human, but that still counts" he mumbles and sticks his tongue out at you. And he hates it when you call him a child? Really?

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firefly--bright · 10 days ago

Note

What are your Jean headcanons regarding Christmas morning?

i love soft morning hcs HERE WE GO also again i chose to do this in modern au, if you'd like canon au, lmk! also brief warning erm VERY SMALL talks of marraige :3 also ft mama kirstein :3 taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy , @1ovede1uxe ❅ masterlist is in pinned post! ❅ enter my taglist! ❅ requests for headcanons are open! ❅

❅ hes a fucking grump. lets get that straight. dont get me wrong, he's more of a morning person than a night one, but that doesnt mean he'll be happy about getting up in the mornings. more so in the winters because he wants to stay warm under the covers with you

❅ and youre wearing his hoodie, right, and his arms are wrapped around you which is his definition of a perfect nap/sleep so excuse him if he wants to stay in bed with you forever.

❅ but! regardless! he wakes up super duper early because he wants to surprise you. he's bought you the perfect gift and of course he's extremely excited about it <3 something you'd been wanting for months but never got around to buying, as a necessity, but also on top of that he'd bought something he knew you'd like. + a note. yeah his love language is gift giving because he's a fucking sap

❅ anyway. he makes you your favourite breakfast because he knows youre tired after the last night YOU WENT TO A CHRISTMAS EVE PARTY WITH UR FRIENDS GUYS its pg 13.... (i mean. i leave it upto your imagination). anyway. he wants to impress you even if youre already his.

❅ but halfway through trying to make pancakes that seem to be sticking to his pan, you wake up because he'd accidentally been making too much noise :') nothing he plans ever goes well but its endearing.

❅ he wishes you a merry christmas and tries to coerce you to go back to bed until he finishes his plans, but you insist on helping him. he lets you. somehow your pancakes dont stick to the pan. "you werent putting enough butter," "i was scared of it burning," he argues, but he notes down the improvements for next time :3

❅ and then he guides you to sit on the floor next to your tiny lil christmas tree that the two of you had decorated, excitedly putting up all the ornaments. a couple of them were given as a housewarming gift by his mother and sister, a couple were a hand-made activity with his neice (air dried clay shaped into gingerbread men with...eery smiles and a couple paper snowflakes) and some given to you by sasha (sanrio themed. because @ppushable made me think about it too much. thx) right.

❅ hes a sucker for tradition. makes you sit down, relax, babe, ive got this, and then turns some christmas music on, sets the tv up so theres a loop of the same fireplace video, sits infront of you criss-crossing his legs.

❅ its perfect. hes perfect, even if he's still in his pyjamas (his cars themed pants, mind you, a secret santa gift from connie) and an old grey hoodie, hair untamed, uncaring of how it was viewed as long as it was seen by you, and he's wearing these fuzzy socks that you had given him last christmas that had surprisingly still held up pretty well. its just the two of you.

❅ anyway. you play rock paper scissors to see who gets to open their gift first. he wins (which is not what he wanted. he loved winning but he wanted to see your reaction first). your smile is worth it, he thinks, because even as youre trying to contain your excitement, its very visible on your face. or maybe he can just read you too well.

❅ you feed him bites of the chocolate chip pancakes as he opens his gift. hes one of those people to both carefully wrap and unwrap presents :3 and he very gently pries the wrapping paper open, finding the exact points you had taped it shut. your work is a little sloppy, but he somehow finds his way around it.

❅ i hc that he cries relatively easily but hates showing it but he also cant hide it from you, so when he opens your gift imagine him immediately teaaring up because he loves it and then hugs you and burries his face in your neck. when you try pulling away he doesnt let you because hes embarassed :') what a sap i hate him

❅ after both your gifts are open and recieved you settle onto the couch with a warm cup of coffee to watch your favourite christmas movies that he claims he doesnt like but come on. look at him. he (begrudingly) puts it on because he wanted the fireplace recording to play for the whole day.

❅ at one point before you start the movies his mom calls to wish you guys a merry christmas!!!! its very cute she's very adorable and tells you that she's made you guys her famous tiramisu and buche de Noel (had to search that one up lol) and tells you that shes packadged and kept it in the fridge especially for you guys for when you visit <3 she tells you that she'd give you the recipie when you do come and then asks jean when hes going to "finally ask you to be a kirstein-" before he takes the phone from you and cuts her off. later on tells you "hey yeah so,,, you dont have to take my last name btw,, like when we do get married... i mean ive thought about it, ofc, and haha... like i'd completely understand if you dont want to take my last name-" and it turns into a cute lil conversation about you guys' future before he spirals more about you taking his name?? he was tweaking over NOTHING

anyway. complimentary moodboard because this is such a cute ask <3

hope you liked this!! v cute ask now i cant stop thinking about it <3

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirstein x you #shingeki no kyojin #aot #attack on titan #jean kirschtein

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mikrokcsmos · 2 years ago

Text

Chubby Bunny

synopsis; in which your son steals the show, and hearts of thousands of people.

pairing; idol!jungkook, dad!jungkook x non idol!reader, mom!reader

genre; fluff, humor, established relationship, marriage au, dad au, PTD LA au

rating; PG-13

warnings; best dad jungkook will destroy your ovaries (along with best uncles as well)

w/c; 2,077

a/n; y’all writing this gave me so many feels, my heart is full. pls leave some love. like and reblog if u wanna see more <3 this is a repost from my old account.

Your son, Hiro’s, favorite song was Permission to Dance. Especially since his father, Jungkook, taught the five year old how to do the chorus choreography, perfectly. Which was a pretty easy task to accomplish, considering Hiro also helped come up with that dance, albeit with a little direction from Hobi in the dance studio during group rehearsals. But mainly it was Hiro’s imagination. Cause let me tell ya, that kid loved to dance, just like his daddy.

Grinning fondly, you clapped your hands to the beat, watching your son dance with his daddy in front of the big floor to ceiling mirrors located in the rehearsal room for their upcoming concert in Las Vegas. It was so cute to watch Hiro with such a look of determination on his face, being just as serious about rehearsals as Jungkook. Wanting to hit every mark with an expert precision.

“You’re doing so good, baby!” You exclaimed enthusiastically, encouraging your son further.

“Thank you, mommy!” He replied without missing a beat.

“What about me?” Jungkook pouted at you in the mirror wanting some form of praise from you as well. Rolling your eyes fondly, you decided to humor the big man baby of yours.

“You’re doing exceptionally well, kookie. Just like you always do, honey. I’m so proud of you!” You feigned being lovesick, batting your lashes at your husband, smiling cheekily. He winked at you in response, accepting the praise, however fake, gratefully.

As they finished up practice for the day, you stood up from your seated position on the floor. Purposely dancing the wrong moves while walking towards your boys, knowing it’ll get a giggle out of your son. You were right. His father lifted him by surprise, throwing him up in the air to catch him. Hooking his arm underneath his son’s bum holding onto him tightly, Jungkook began dancing terribly along with you. All of you making silly faces in the mirror. Your son threw his head back against his father’s shoulder in a fit of laughter, his bunny toothed smile on full display, a direct replica of Jungkook’s current smile. His chubby cheeks making you want to pinch them, so you did, cause you’re mom and you’re allowed to do so whenever you want too. It’s common mom law.

After your little fit of laughter, your son let out a big yawn and rubbed his eyes, a sure sign he was ready for sleep. Perfect, the parents thought. Now he’ll crash for the night and be ready for the big day tomorrow. Day one of Las Vegas.

It was a beautiful day in Vegas, you thought. Sunglasses on your face, and one of Jungkook’s bucket hats on your head to help block the sun, you stretched your hands up in the air and took a deep breath. Letting it out, you put your arms back down and set them on your hips in a superwoman pose and looked out at the ginormous stadium around you that would be BTS’s venue for the concert tonight.

All the boys started to come on the stage to start rehearsal chatting animatedly to each other, so you started to walk back down the long catwalk towards them. Upon close inspection of the group you noticed that your son somehow convinced Yoongi to let him sit on his shoulders. Your son’s chubby thighs were on either side of the normally reserved rapper’s head. His hands settled next to his ears, holding on for dear life and smiling like crazy upon seeing you.

“HEY MOMMY!” He bounced excitedly, making the rapper’s eyes widen and clutch onto your son’s ankles tighter not wanting him to fall off and face the wrath of you and Jungkook. Especially Jungkook. He’s even more protective of Hiro than you, and that’s saying something. As a matter of fact you could see Jungkook’s line of vision go from you with a smile and a wave to a look of absolute terror once he noticed his son start to get excited while on the rapper’s shoulders. His entire body shifted towards the duo ready to jump in at anytime to catch his son incase he somehow did end up falling. Thankfully, it never came to that.

“Be careful baby, you don’t want to give your daddy a heart attack do you?” You asked playfully, shaking your finger at your son, smiling at him to let him know you weren’t serious. “And remember, you have to be more careful with Uncle Yoongi’s shoulder, yeah?” You stated the fact softly in your motherly voice.

“Right mommy. I’m sorry Uncle Yoongi.” Your son then leaned down to kiss the top of the rapper’s head, making his cheeks get a dusty pink color to them. All the members, including you, awed at the sweet gesture.

“No worries, kid.” He replied in typical Yoongi manner, but made sure to give your son a genuine smile to thank him for his apology.

The rest of the members came around Yoongi and your son to take turns ruffling his hair, each greeting you with a hug or high five before walking past you to the markers to start rehearsing. Jungkook being last in line, picked his son up off the rapper’s shoulders finally giving him some relief. Rolling his shoulders, Yoongi walked towards you and gave you his usual fist bump, you complied knowing full well he didn’t do hugs that often, and took his spot at his marker. Jungkook carefully set Hiro down on the floor. Kneeling down to his son’s height, he gave him a hug and a kiss on the forehead and quietly praised him for his good manners. Promising him some sweets later that you weren’t aware of. He never failed to spoil his son any chance he could get.

Jungkook straightened himself up as you stepped closer to them, wrapping his arms around your waist briefly, giving you a short but sweet kiss on the lips, which you happily returned with your hands splayed against his chest. He gave you one last forehead kiss, tapping the tip of your hat with his fingertip and playfully said, “nice hat.” before winking, and walked to his marker, joining the rest of the members. Time to begin.

There was only one song left in the set for their concert for tonight. Your son grinned knowingly, clapping his hands in delight and anticipation. Noise cancelling headphones adorned his head to be sure his ears were safe from the loud speakers that were all around you, you donning your own, having been watching from the side of the stage like you always do.

Jungkook started the song effortlessly, all the members joining in singing during their respective parts and choreography. Then it got to your son’s absolute favorite part, when he watches all the back up dancers join the members on stage to finish off the song in a huge flash mob. You had to be honest, it was your favorite part as well.

You should’ve known that your son was up to something, being the clever little one that he was. The way he kept fidgeting in your lap more than normal, a sure sign of his impending plan to escape your grasp. And he did, taking advantage of the fact that you always trusted him not to run off without permission. But not this time. This time it was his turn to shine like daddy.

He hopped off your lap in a flourish, swiftly pushing the headphones off his head and ran straight onto the stage with the backup dancers.

Your eyes widened considerably, hands flying to your mouth, covering your gasp of shock. All you could do was watch as your son, knowing the layout of the stage, and his dads foot paths, made a bee line towards Jungkook. He was left center stage down the catwalk with the rest of the members, gearing towards the final steps of your son’s favorite choreography. Not even noticing how his son just ran on with the back up dancers, nearly blending in perfectly in his matching outfit he wore like his father.

Popping out from behind the dancers, Hiro stood proudly next to his daddy and executed the dance with a precision that made Hobi wanna cry tears of joy. And you. And Jungkook, of course, who started laughing while still singing his lines and dancing. The entire stadium erupted into laughter, applause, and awe at the little mini me. All the phones being pulled out to catch the intimate moment between father and son that you know will be headline news for days, if not weeks, or months. Never doubt the power of ARMY.

Once the song was over, Jungkook swiftly picked his son up and held him tightly, one hand behind his head and the other under his bum. Crying silent tears of joy and love and straight pride for being the father to this perfect little human he was lucky enough to call his son. Purple balloons and confetti were falling all around them in waves.

Pulling away slightly to give Hiro a kiss on the cheek, Hiro wiped away his father’s tears with his little hands, making Jungkook smile softly at him in response. Jungkook brought the microphone up to his lips, chuckling into it slightly before speaking to the crowd.

“Everyone, I would like you to meet my son, Hiro.” Once again, the stadium erupted into applause, your son starting to get shy by all the praise, hiding his face in his father’s chest.

“Isn’t he such a great dancer?” Hobi chimed in his mic with pride, clapping for the little one exuberantly. The crowd clapping louder in response to the dancer’s words.

“Isn’t he so handsome, like me?” Jin, Mr. Worldwide handsome himself, stated. Winking at the camera that’s been following the members throughout the concert, projecting his image on the large screens. The audience once again erupting in shared wolf whistles and laughter alike.

“I think Hiro is more handsome, actually.” Your voice boomed across the stadium, you holding a mic that the staff gave you, still looking on from the sidelines of the stage. Smirking to yourself, with a wide grin.

Hearing your voice made all the members double over in laughter and scattered applause, nearly crying from laughing so hard. Minus Jin of course, who just cutely pouted towards the camera, once again being displayed on screen. Jungkook could only throw his head back in laughter, still holding onto his son, your son giving a little giggle of his own upon hearing your voice.

“Mommy!” Your son excitedly yelled into the mic being held by Jungkook, wriggling in his father’s hold, making him hold onto him tighter in response.

“Hey, baby.” You replied a second later, gazing adoringly at him.

“That would be my amazing wife, ladies and gents.” Jungkook stated with pride and a gleaming smile in your direction, locking eyes with you for a second and winking at you. You winked back at him, blowing a kiss and mouthing an ‘I love you’ at him.

He mouthed it back right away, turning to look at the crowd once again with a bunny tooth smile and signaled to Namjoon to close the show with his usual heartwarming speech for ARMY.

Hiro signaled he wanted to be put down to his father, which he did a little reluctantly, scared for the boy’s safety on the stage not wanting him to fall off, even though he knew he would never let that happen.

The five year old, in classic five year old behavior, began kicking the purple BTS themed balloons around the stage in glee. Picking up piles of confetti and throwing them over his head. Taehyung leaned down towards Hiro, and even let him throw it on his head willingly. Jimin and the other members mirroring V’s actions, wanting to make the boy equally as happy as he makes them on a daily basis.

Sighing to yourself in content, you crossed your arms over your chest and watched your entire family all become little kids in the span of two seconds. And, you thought lovingly, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Pushing the headphones off your ears, you gently set them on the chair you were sitting on with Hiro earlier and immediately sprinted onto the stage, joining your family, and deciding it was your turn to turn into a little kid as well.

#jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook #bts jeon jungkook #marriage au #PTD LA au #dad au #family au #idol au

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eydi-andrius · 1 year ago

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F*ck, Marry, or Kill (Gojo Satoru x Reader)

summary: Somehow, Gojo and you always work together in missions

cw/tw: some foul language but tolerable and PG-13, Gojo being Gojo, fluff (?)

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a/n: This will be a series of drabbles I wrote for Gojo but I cannot pieced together as a oneshot or story. I hope you all will like it. Appreciate the likes, comments and reblogs! ✨

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💕

"Fuck, Marry, Kill! Me, Nanami or Ijichi!" Gojo asked. Looking unfocused and obviously, caffeine drunk.

It has been three days since they gave you this mission and on those days, you two barely slept and had to stay up for consecutive days to catch this curse.

You don't know if this work was the torture or the constant noises Gojo makes every time he tries his best to joke around, and throw random questions to help you stay awake.

His efforts should make you feel thankful but at this point, you were so tired of how noisy he was that you have this tiny voice inside your head that tells you to wrap his mouth and gag him using his blindfold.

Truthfully, you have no trouble staying awake. But whenever you are with Gojo, you get so tired that sometimes, you just feel your eyes fluttering-closed because you run out of energy to deal with him.

That's when he will slap you awake and ask the most random question.

The curse this time kills so fast that if you ever just try closing your eyes and taking the shortest nap, you're dead. It had killed so many lives and was getting on everyone's nerves, that's why they assigned this mission to Gojo.

You're just not sure why you were dragged on this absolute hell of a mission though. You've heard this blue-eyed man child threw a tantrum at the principal. But that was just a rumor amongst the first years.

Anyway, this was a tricky curse. It was so smart and hard to catch if you're awake, that even the self-proclaimed strongest sorcerer was having a hard time catching it.

"Marry Nanami, Fuck Ijichi and Kill Gojo." You replied, uninterested. At this point, you also developed a skill wherein you just reply to whatever question he asked of you and you answer right away.

"Huh!? No way you'll fuck Ijichi! He looks like he will die from excitement the moment you start foreplay! Man, you're so mean to him!" Gojo whined while stomping his feet when he heard your answer.

If you just have the energy, you probably have punched him in the face before he even realizes it.

"I mean, I agree with marrying Nanami but you can fuck me!" All the colors drained from your face when he said that with no shame at all. He looks smug, hurt and kinda offended as he frowned at you.

You two were sitting at a bench, in a public park when he said that loudly. Those nearby looked at you differently. Some with disgust, others mouth agape, while the teenagers giggled and cheered Gojo's efforts. And you don't blame them at all. He sounded, as if, he wanted so bad to be inside your skirt.

You were about to retort back when you were stopped.

It's probably the fatigue and shame mixed together, but you started feeling dizzy and lightheaded. Visions blurry and swimming, you slowly lose all your strength. You've heard Gojo calling your name but it sounded as if you were submerged underwater.

Not having any control of your work-beaten and sleepless body, you succumb to the feeling of sleep. However, before you fully lose consciousness, you've heard someone apologize.

It sounded like Gojo but you were not sure.

"Sorry, I was so tired I started talking about the weirdest things. While I enjoyed our time together, I think it's time to kill this curse. I will make sure he will feel my anger after the embarrassment he put me through."

[BONUS]

Megumi was inside the convenience store when he watched the fiasco his teacher did outside.

He muttered repeatedly to himself, to remind him that he doesn't know that person at all.

He was so embarrassed when he heard what he was talking about and kinda felt bad to his cursed spirit for asking it to hear and relay the conversation they're having.

Gojo asked him to come today. He said that you were too tired and he would need another hand killing this curse.

What he did not expect was that, even his sensei was too tired to even think straight.

Or that's what he thought.

Within a blink of an eye, Gojo killed the cursed in front of him. He brought Megumi inside his domain and taught him how to kill it, precisely and fast.

When he opened his eyes, he was back at the convenience store, with his shoulder heavy with you leaning at him. You looked uncomfortable and he kinda felt bad.

"Help her up. I already called Ijichi, he will be here soon. I need to report to the higher ups today. Those damn old geezers." With contempt, Gojo almost spit in anger by just mentioning his superiors.

Realizing that the mission was done with just that, he nodded and his sensei vanished.

With a deep sigh, Megumi looked at you with pity.

He wasn't sure if you were unfortunate or lucky to catch his teacher's attention.

His teacher, his guardian, stayed up for days, forcing you to join him, when he could have just killed the curse for a second.

Even though he wasn't religious, he prayed for your safety.

#gojo sensei #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo saturo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #drabble: f*ck marry kill #eydi andrius

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moonlightspencie · 2 years ago

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… Angels Roll Their Eyes

Description: A new recruit to the BAU catches Reid’s eye. Unfortunately for the both of them, she has a past with someone very close to him. Are they willing to keep secrets just to keep one another? (TWO-PART MINISERIES)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, reader gets a minor injury, sexual references/content (i’ll accept 16+ because its definitely not more than pg-13 material but writing anything sexy makes me feel weird if i know teenagers are reading it)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: READER’S POV!! this is where the bridge kicks in teehee. (also savannah is more of a minor character at this point, nobody really knows she and derek are together)

Devils Roll the Dice… (click for part 1)

I walked up to the figure illuminated by vending machine lights. His head was down as he looked through the options, not really intending on buying anything at all. I slowed my steps on the approach, just barely catching his attention before I was right next to him.

“Hey,” he said quietly, giving me a soft smile.

I grinned in full, not bothering to hide my feelings. Nobody was around, anyways.

“Hey. You come here often?”

He laughed. “Only this once. Waiting around for this girl who said she’d meet me here.”

“Sounds like she’s into you.”

He nodded. “I think so.”

I grabbed his hand, attempting to pull him closer. He took the advantage to bring me in instead, my back against the hard plastic of the machine’s display. Rather than kissing me then and there, he leaned in, lips unbearably close to my ear.

“I feel like we’re sneaking around past our parents,” he said quietly.

“You never got that ‘teenage dream’ experience. Maybe this is your second chance.”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

His lips pressed to mine, silencing our whispered words for good.

We were far from teenagers at this point, but he was still a dream. I found myself feeling giddy at every turn, completely ignoring the impending doom that loomed over our relationship.

We both knew we weren’t trying hard enough to hide it. Neither of us knew what would happen when it finally came to light.

Until that happened, we’d pretend it wasn’t in the cards at all. Summer love was still sweet, even being far removed from the romanticism of anything resembling the movie-loves I’d grown accustomed to religiously watching. This was somehow better. Maybe because it was more realistic. Probably because it was always more thrilling to live it out.

I smiled into our kiss, feeling his wandering hands trying to get themselves under my legs to lift me up. Sadly, we never got the chance.

We heard footsteps coming down the hall quickly, breaking apart and trying to look as nonchalant as possible as we mindlessly gazed at the snacks inside the machine.

“I’m thinking M&Ms,” I noted, almost laughing.

Spencer hid a smile. He clicked the right buttons right as our visitor reached us. The little package dropped, our secret still somehow concealed from a slightly-confused Aaron Hotchner as he stood behind us waiting for his turn.

“Night,” I said, giving a slight nod.

“Goodnight.”

Spencer followed behind me, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious that he didn’t have some cheap snack of his own in hand as we walked past. I rationalized that he looked too tired to notice, anyways.

We wound up back in my room, giggling with each other like kids at a sleepover. I made him do a face-mask with me while he made me listen to a lecture on how the hyaluronic acid in the formula provided moisture for our skin. I gladly listened with a smile on my face, and he happily accepted a hundred kisses as I wiped his face clean afterwards.

We laid on my bed, mindlessly talking about whatever came to mind. He took my hand in his, running his thumb across the back of my hand in repeated motions as we talked.

“What do you say we stop hiding us?” I asked at last, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve established myself on the team at this point, I think.”

He was quiet for a moment, still running his thumb over my hand.

“I don’t know. I think it’s better that we keep it quiet.”

I paused, taking in his response. I’d hoped that after a while we wouldn’t be hiding anymore. As much fun as it was to sneak around, it could be utterly exhausting. But, if he still wanted to, I’d agree.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he questioned, turning his head to look at me.

I looked back at him, giving him a small smile and a nod.

“Yeah. If that’s what you want, it’s fine by me.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I sprung up a moment after, standing at the foot of the bed. I grabbed my phone, clicking around on the screen as he propped himself up to look at me. I held out a hand to him.

“Dance with me, pretty boy,” I sang out, hitting shuffle on one of my playlists.

He quickly obliged, not wasting a second in worrying about whether or not he could actually dance. He knew I’d be there to guide whatever movements he didn’t know how to do yet.

Whispers of ‘are you sure?’

I smiled at him, admiring the way he payed way too much attention to how he moved. I made it a goal to loosen him up. After a minute, he was letting me guide, leaving his body to its own devices. He was really better off for it.

I can see us lost in the memory

We swayed along to the song, silently praying it wasn’t some kind of sick foreshadowing of how our summer would end. I pretended not to care much about the lyrics. He pretended not to listen to most of them.

August sipped away like a bottle of wine

Cause you were never mine

“Do you think that’ll happen to us?” I asked, still smiling past the gravity of the question.

“Of course not,” he answered with finality.

Wanting was enough

For me it was enough

To live for the hope of it all

I took his hands, the both of us spinning around in circles with smiles on our faces that were real and genuine despite a nagging feeling that something might be wrong.

I knew mine had a lot to do with very real feelings I was scared to talk about. I was too afraid to think about what may have filled his head. It was really none of my business, anyways, so I cleared my head of it all. Wanting was enough. I didn’t have to doubt that. It had been enough for two months so far. That had to count for something.

Weeks later and it was August. That lingering question of “will it last” was ever-present in my head. I just kept pushing it down. Fuck compartmentalization. That question was locked in a dungeon, chained to a wall, and I intended on keeping it there until we were either burning to the ground or eloping in Vegas.

Those seemed like the most viable options, anyway. An extremely-attached, yet no-strings kind of situationship could really only go one of two ways.

I almost wanted him to hate me at that point. It would certainly be a thrilling end if he revealed that he never cared about me and was only doing all of this to screw with my head. Almost like he was a spy, trying to uncover whatever boring substance made up my psyche.

I knew that was… Slightly less realistic, though.

I probably shouldn’t have been thinking about it so thoroughly, especially since it was merely theoretical. It would have caused a lot less mental work. It also might have prevented me from being off my game.

I had a habit of being a bit clumsy when we weren’t in life-threatening situations, but messing up while we were on a case? Unbearably embarrassing.

I looked up as my arm hit the wall to stop me from falling over my own two feet, disgusting to find that an exposed nail head had given me quite the scratch. It looked pretty gnarly, and frankly I was thanking my lucky stars I’d already gotten a tetanus booster after my last injury. However, I probably couldn’t go much further with my arm bleeding. Especially if they didn’t necessarily need me. It was one man they were going after, and we didn’t even know if he was in this house.

I voiced to Hotch what had happened, and he told me to leave if I was safe enough to do so. JJ and three officers occupied the house anyways, so I booked it out of there.

I cleaned myself up as well as I could with the first aid kit in the car, planning on doing a better job when I got back to the precinct. The house we were in turned out to be a bust anyways. Our unsub was still in the wind. He clearly hadn’t even been in the house in weeks. It was wildly frustrating.

Until Miss Penelope Garcia called in to save the day as she always did. She let JJ and I know that the others were currently heading across town to an apartment that she was certain housed the unsub and our most recent victim.

“Finally,” I sighed, leaning my head back in the seat.

JJ was quiet, and I looked away from my driving to see her. She smiled at me when I turned my head.

“What?” I questioned with a laugh.

“Can I ask you something?” she inquired, sitting up a little more straight. “It’s a little personal.”

I quirked a brow. “You can ask, but I reserve my right to remain silent.”

She laughed. “Alright. Fair enough. Uh, I’m just wondering about you and a certain team member.”

I swallowed. Uh oh.

“Okay?”

“I’ve just— I’ve heard rumors, and I wanted to ask you directly about them rather than letting the rumor-mill run.”

I nodded slowly. “What have you heard?”

“Word on the street is that you and Morgan used to be an item.”

Oh.

“Ah,” I replied with a chuckle. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we were a thing. But that was a while ago, and I’m pretty certain we’ve moved past it.”

“Right, yeah,” she nodded. “You know, he has a secret girlfriend now.”

I smiled, glancing at her. “Really?”

She nodded again. “Yeah. He’s been trying to hide it, but Garcia loves to talk.”

I laughed, thinking of the bubbly, well-meaning woman. She had a hard time with secrets, though she tried her hardest.

“That’s good. He deserves to be happy, he was always a great guy,” I said.

“Just gotta look past all of the mindless flirting and the jock-persona,” JJ noted jokingly.

I hummed in agreement, turning down the road that would lead us to the precinct at last. It was a good thing, too, since my arm was really starting to irritate me now. My discomfort must have been obvious, as JJ looked at me once again.

“You okay?” she questioned. “That cut on your arm looks pretty painful.”

I looked at it, noticing there was some bleed-through on the bandage. I sighed, not looking forward to cleaning it up.

“I’ll live. It just itches pretty bad right now, and it’s fairly sore.”

“I can help you when we’re back at the station. You shouldn’t have to do that alone.”

“Thanks Jayje,” I said, resting a hand on her arm briefly.

She covered my hand with her own, giving me another smile. It felt like she could see through me on occasion. She had quickly become one of my closest friends on the team, which took me a little by surprise. She seemed a little too unironic-girlboss when I first met her, but the second Penelope helped me see her true colors… We were fast friends.

I almost found myself telling her about Spencer and I on multiple occasions, but always ended up thinking better of the idea. That moment was one of the times I almost said something.

Of course, I thought twice about it, but she gave me that look like she knew what I was thinking.

I found an out when we pulled into the precinct, and took up her offer to help me with properly fixing up my arm. We made light conversation as I tried like hell not to focus on the stinging pain that occurred every time she probed at the cut.

We did whatever we could to help after she was finished. At least until the rest of the team showed up. But, to my delight, we rounded out our night by heading home and going straight to the bar.

I didn’t often let myself get well and truly drunk. Especially not when I was around Spencer. I knew I had been staring at him once I downed my sixth shot, but by the third mixed drink he was pulling me out of the bar. He threw out some kind of excuse that he was tired and I needed a ride home.

“What’s up with you?” he asked after bidding a goodnight to everyone else. “You’ve been acting weird, and now you’re getting wasted.”

I was annoyed by the comment, but there was concern in his voice over everything else. I leaned into him as we walked towards my car.

“I just wanted to have some fun, Spencie.”

He sighed, continuing to help me walk until we reached my vehicle.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, helping me into the backseat of the car.

I slumped over into the seat as he did, just barely letting him put the seatbelt around me and click it into place. He was fairly quiet as he did so, which really only furthered my concern. Even drunk I knew well enough to see that something was off with him. He shut the door, and I let myself drop against the seat, listening as he opened and closed the driver’s side door.

I glanced up, seeing him adjust the mirror to keep an eye on me in the seat rather than the road. It was dangerous and stupid. And so sweet it made my stomach flip.

I let my mind wander as he turned on the radio, thought he kept it low, and started driving. I thought of him and the summer we’d shared thus far. Three months is nothing in the grand scheme of life, but it felt like everything when I was with him. He felt like everything in that time. I hated keeping him a secret so much.

Maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much.

I let out the tears I was holding back, sniffling as the snot starting trying to weasel its way out of my system. If I was going to cry like a baby, I wasn’t going let myself get all gross and grimy. That’s where I drew the line. I’d make sure at least some of my dignity was preserved.

He looked at me in the rear view mirror, brows furrowing.

“Y/N?”

I sniffled.

“Yeah?” I managed, knowing I sounded absolutely pathetic.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft. “Why are you crying?”

I met his eyes as he continually glanced at me in the mirror. I had to have looked ridiculous, laying on the backseat with tears streaming down my face for seemingly no reason.

“I’m fine.”

He deadpanned. “You’re sobbing in the backseat of your own car.”

“I’m fine,” I said again through tears, voice coming out much more whiny than I’d intended.

He said my name as a warning, seeing through my… untruth. I felt more happy calling it that than anything else. I looked at him, admiring his pretty face through the mirror as he looked on at the road ahead. Maybe it was a good idea for him to practically drag me out of the bar. I could be a messy drunk, and I definitely would’ve outed us by wanting to be messy with him in front of the team if I’d drank any more.

Keeping secrets sucked. It was stupid and annoying. Especially when he was so hot.

I whined out loud at the though, squeezing my eyes shut.

“What?” he whined back, a laugh on his lips.

“I’m sick of this.”

“Sick of what, baby?”

I sighed, wiping away tears that kept on rolling.

“Keeping secrets. I don’t want to have to keep hiding this just to keep you.”

He sighed to match mine. “I know.”

“I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Honey, we don’t have much of a choice.”

“But I’m going to explode if I can’t kiss you in public anymore.”

“No, you won’t,” he said, looking at me again.

I pouted. “I will.”

“You’re drunk, baby. We’ll get you into bed and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Will you come to bed with me?”

He smiled softly. “Of course.”

I felt the car starting to slow, and though my vision was a little blurry, I saw the green light ahead turn to yellow. I looked at him again, a small smile coming to my tear-soaked face.

“Spencie?”

He hummed in question, not yet looking at me.

“Can I tell you something really stupid?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

I paused for a moment, letting my inebriated state wipe away any inhibitions I may have had otherwise. The car stopped at the light at last. I smiled softly.

“For what it’s worth, I love you,” I mumbled. “And it’s the worst fucking thing you could hear right now.”

I hoped he’d say it back, though part of me expected him to pretend he hadn’t heard me at all.

I definitely didn’t expect him to look at me through the mirror with a devilish smirk.

“I know you do,” he stated. “And it’s not the worst thing I‘ve heard by a long shot.”

I bit my lip to hold back a smile as he pulled away from the light. We ended up back at my apartment, Spencer still helping me stumble the whole way there. I pushed him back against the door as soon as we were inside, but he held my wrists to stop me from feeling him up. I pouted.

“Ow,” I said, pulling my injured arm from him.

“You okay, princess?”

I nodded, quiet. He simply looked at me, certainly not believing me.

“Why are you doing that?” I questioned.

His eyes widened. “W-why am I stopping you?”

I nodded silently, still pouting.

“Baby— You’re drunk. I’m not doing anything with you while you’re drunk.”

I dropped my hands, whining as I leaned my full body into his. He wrapped his arms around me, walking— more so waddling— with me until we reached my couch.

“I just wanna kiss you,” I grumbled into his chest, letting him drop me onto the cushions.

I stared up at him, trying to look alluring. I probably just looked a little out of my mind.

“I love kissing you, but not while you’re so drunk you can’t even stand up by yourself without almost tipping over,” he said, smiling softly as he crouched between my legs.

He leaned up, softly kissing my forehead. He kept my face in his hands, looking at me. He let one hand drop, running it across my arm. I pulled back again, feeling the discomfort in my arm from my earlier injury.

He furrowed his brow, looking down at my arm as it was covered by my sleeve.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You pulled away twice when I touched your arm.”

“It’s okay.”

He sighed, grabbing my arm and gently moving my sleeve up over the bandage. He let out a sharp breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he asked, trying not to be annoyed with my concealment. “When did you get hurt?”

I deflated. “Today.”

“How?”

“I got cut. Fell into a nail in the wall.”

He ran a hand over his face. “You should’ve told me.”

“Why?”

He glanced up, furrowing his brow. He was clearly annoyed with me, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel terribly about it.

“Because I want to know when you’re hurt.”

I swallowed. Okay, that made me feel a little guilty.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is. That’s a pretty big bandage.”

I was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“It’s my job to worry about you.”

“No, it isn’t.”

He quirked a brow. “Why not?”

“We aren’t even like… A real couple,” I said, closing my eyes. “All we do is sneak around and you don’t ever want to tell anyone and I just don’t think that we can keep acting like it’s gonna last forever if we can’t even tell friends about—”

“It’s not my fault you dated Derek first,” he said, cutting me off.

I scoffed. “He doesn’t even care. That was forever ago and he has his secret girlfriend now anyways.”

“You wanted to keep this secret in the first place.”

“Well I’m sick of it,” I yelled. “I’m sick of keeping secrets and I’m sick of you not caring that I’m in love with you.”

“Not caring?” he asked, voice raising as he leaned back on his knees.

“You didn’t even say it back when I said it.”

“Because you’re drunk! How am I supposed to know if you even mean it?”

“Because I do!”

I groaned, my head dropping back against the cushions. My buzz was starting to wane, and I wished it would hold on a little longer.

“You were crying in the backseat. We said we’d talk about this tomorrow when you were sobered up. Why don’t we stick to that plan?” he said after a moment.

“Why can’t you just tell me how you actually feel about me?”

“I don’t want to say something and have you not remember it.”

“You’re so annoying,” I grumbled.

He rolled his eyes, standing abruptly. I readied myself for him to leave. I knew I was being childish, but I was tired of keeping everything bottled up. I wouldn’t blame him for dropping me then and there.

But, he reached out a hand.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

I looked up at him curiously, not yet taking his hand.

“You’re staying?”

He nodded. “Of course. I don’t want to leave you like this.”

I reached out, letting him help me up. We walked to my room, quietly undressing. I climbed into bed, watching him as he finally tugged off his pants, leaving him in just his undershirt and boxers. He shut my door, turned off the lights, and got under the covers with me.

He reached out for me under the sheets, tugging me against him. I sighed, resting my hand over his arm.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“It’s okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I woke up to a horrible headache, and a nauseous feeling that I was convinced would probably never ever go away. I was 100% certain I would never drink again ever in my life. It was a set rule that I made very quickly.

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asked.

My next rule was that nobody was ever allowed to speak to me again.

I broke it immediately.

“Like crap.”

“Here,” he said, a stupid smile in his voice from the one word.

I opened my eyes to see him offering me a couple of little pills and a glass of water. I took them, grateful, even though I wanted to tell him to leave me alone in the dark for the next few months. Thankfully, he let me lay in his arms until the medication kicked in and took the edge off of my stupid hangover. I was at least thankful we didn’t have work that day.

My head was buried in his chest when I felt his lips against the top of my head. He rubbed my back, coaxing me back to the real world. Unfortunately I’d been a mess in the real world the night prior and did not want to deal with the aftermath.

“Baby,” he said quietly. “Are you alright?”

“Mhm,” I hummed, leaning back a little. Just enough to see him. “Medicine helped.”

“Good,” he smiled. “I was a little worried. You drank a lot more than you usually do last night.”

“I know. I was a mess.”

He smirked. “A little bit.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, brushing hair out of his face. “I’m sorry we argued.”

He was quiet for a second, then perked up a little when his phone dinged.

“You hungry?”

“I really don’t want to go out, love.”

He laughed softly. “I know. I ordered in while you were laying down.”

“You’re a dream, Spencer Reid.”

We tumbled out of bed, Spencer insisting on preparing everything after he thanked the delivery person at the door. He made me sit at the table and wait for him, not allowing me to do anything at all until all of the food was laid out. He delighted in it.

“There,” he said, setting down our drink at last as he sat next to me. “And you tried saying I didn’t love you.”

My eyes widened, not expecting him to say anything, but especially not like that. He looked at me.

“What?” he questioned.

“That’s how you’re going to tell me?” I asked with a laugh.

“I thought you knew anyways,” he shrugged. “I do love you, you know?”

I felt heat in my cheeks at that, a smile on my face that I couldn’t control. He smiled right back at me, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand.

“Do you really think we’ll last past summer?” I asked, hoping he was feeling honest.

He sighed, the smallest grin on his face.

“It’d be a cruel end if we didn’t.”

#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #luna’s spence fics

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winterchimez · 1 year ago

Text

Nonsense | Jacob Bae

SUMMARY: never would you have thought that joining the music club is where you would develop an abnormal crush on your senior/club president Jacob Bae. so when the university's annual school performance is around the corner, you have decided to give a shot to confess your feelings in the most extravagant way possible.

PAIRING: senior!Jacob x junior g.n!reader

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: pg-13, kissing, yall this is just pure tooth-rotting fluff

WORD COUNT: 4,473

A/N: we're back with another fic for the emails i can't send fwd: collab that i'm doing with @heemingyu 😉 shoutout to both sana & @sungbeam for beta reading & helping me out with this one!! love you both loads 💕 also, lowkey this was written for you @zzoguri aka cobster's future, i hope you'll enjoy this (and may this somehow be a little something for you during your hectic times ily my moni forever!! ❤️)

It was finally the summer holidays, and you were ecstatic as you heard the sound of a vehicle driving right onto your front porch. You had been waiting for this moment since you got the news during the new year and counting down the days on your calendar without fail every day.

Once you heard the engine stop, you immediately ran out to the door to jump right into the person’s arms which were already opened wide, fully expecting your demeanour.

“Yujin! I’ve been waiting months for you!” You shrieked as you hugged your cousin tight, rubbing your cheek against hers.

Both you and Yujin were raised together by your grandmother back in Vancouver, and things took a turn when your parents eventually got a promotion up in Toronto, causing you to move far away from your family. Because of that, you don’t get to see each other often anymore, the most being once every 2 years when your parents will try their best to make time to attend the Christmas parties held annually at your grandmother’s house.

Yujin was like your long-lost sibling; even though you were cousins, you both felt there was more to that. Ever since you both have gotten your very own mobile phones, you both promised that you would FaceTime each other almost every other day. You knew everything about one another—from each other’s darkest secrets to how much money you stole from your parents' wallets when you were younger to buy that vinyl you have been eyeing for the longest time.

But lately, things have been a bit too chaotic for you both to keep up the promised ritual. Since you both started university, it was hard to make plans, especially when studying in different courses, which also meant different timetables and classes. During the weekends, the both of you would often be occupied with either school events or at your local pizzeria as your part-time job. Hence, texting was the primary source of communication between you two.

And besides that, something crucial had happened to you lately, and you couldn’t wait to spill the beans to your cousin.

Once you had helped Yujin unload her stuff from the car and moved it up to your room, you quickly made yourselves feel comfortable by cuddling together on your sofa bed.

“So, tell me. How has life been for you?” you asked, blinking your eyes, trying to give her a pleading face because you wanted to know about everything that had happened lately.

“I’ve been promoted to being part of the student council at my university! Oh, and then there’s also me actually acing an exam that I clearly did not study for because I was up all night that past few weeks playing Genshin Impact. Oh, and then there was this adorable guy from my campus who I think kind of has a crush on me because he always glances in my direction, like you know? That stare? And then—”

“Woah woah, slow down, tiger,” you had to pause your cousin because clearly, she was dumping all of the information without giving you time to process them individually. With that, the both of you chuckled, hands placed onto your stomach as you began to laugh a little bit too hard until it started to hurt.

This was what you had missed so dearly, and you couldn’t help but put on this genuine warm, soft smile on your face as you looked into Yujin’s eyes.

That was until she squinted at you.

“Whatever you’re doing right now is creeping me out real bad, so I suggest you stop that.”

You slapped her arm. “Rude.”

“Fine. What about you then? I’m sure your time at the University of Toronto has been a wild ride for you.”

“About that…I have something I need to consult you for,” you lowered your head and voice to a minimum, which got your cousin's ears perked up and was prodding your arms, wanting to know the details.

“Oh my god, did you just finally have your first kiss?”

“W-what? No! I mean, at least not yet….”

“What do you mean not yet? So do you have a special someone in your life right now?”

With a deep sigh, you took one of the pillows lying on the floor and threw it in Yujin’s direction, causing her to hug the pillow tight as she laid her head down gently to rest on it.

“Buckle up, babe. It’s going to be a long story.”

Flashback

“God, why do I have to sign up for this?”

You stomped your feet to the ground as you looked at the paper, which read: “Applications for extra-curricular activities such as clubs are mandatory for all students, commencing on April 2023.”

Your university had been pretty lenient over the years, and they had never once forced students to participate in clubs if they chose not to, understanding that some of them had make-up classes for their courses or were just busy with their thesis and side jobs. Most of the students in the university themselves took on part-time jobs, such as working in the school’s cafeteria and library, to earn a little bit of pocket money to survive.

So, when they decided to change the rules after the previous headmaster resigned and was replaced by a new one that everyone did not like, she chose that both coursework and extracurricular activities played a crucial role in one’s graduation.

Left with no choice, you stood before the bulletin board, trying to find a club that suited your taste.

“Screw Mrs. Kim.” You huffed.

“Look, Y/N. It can’t be too bad. It’s just a club. After all, nobody said you have to be super committed to it,” Your friend Keeho sighed, looking at how you beat yourself up over such trivial matters.

“You don’t understand, Keeho. This means I will have less time at home because I will have to leave to work my shifts at the pizzeria right after clubs. What is going to happen to my games and k-dramas?” You whined.

“If you want to graduate from university, you’re going to have to choose one now.” Knocking some sense into you, he gave you a pat on your shoulder before walking away towards the opposite direction, heading to his club.

You turned to look back at the bulletin board once again, scanning through all of the posters and flyers that were scattered throughout. After a minute or two, your eyes finally landed on this one cream-coloured flyer, and you sighed before checking the location once more before heading to your destination.

“This is the only option that will work for now.”

“Hello?” You called out, but the room was empty as you opened and peeked your head through the door. Thinking that you should try again, you entered the room and looked around.

There was nothing here but a ray of sunshine shining through the glass window into the empty room, and the sunlight landed directly on the lone black piano at the corners of the room.

Maybe playing it for a while wouldn’t hurt at all.

You slowly approached the piano and opened it up as you made yourself comfortable, sat down, and got into the rightful position, gently laying your hands on the keys. Immediately, you started playing one of your favourite pieces of all time, Summer by Joe Hisaishi. Unbeknownst to you, your body began swaying along with the music, enjoying the moment you were in.

That was until a clap made you stop your tracks.

“Wow, that was some excellent playing right there.” The male gave you a round of applause as he slowly approached you, causing you to jump right up, looking all flustered.

“I-Umm—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to play the instrument without approval—”

“Oh no, no! The piano is free for anyone who wants to play, so you’re all good,” he reassured you, causing you to calm your fast breathing down by placing a hand on your fast-rising chest.

As he finally reached where you were standing, he posed a question directly at you. “Is there anything that I could help you with?”

It was there, and then you took in his facial features as the sunlight shone from his face. His soft fluffy brunette hair, those doe-like eyes, and how mesmerising it was as he smiled. Adding onto the fact that he keeps smiling in the best way possible, your heart starts to flutter.

“Umm, hello?” He was now waving his hands over your face.

Oh, right. You were supposed to sign up for a club. What on earth were you thinking, Y/N?

“Y-yes! I’m here actually to umm…sign up for the club,” you said reluctantly, a little bit too shy with your answer.

That was when the male’s eyes widened, and he did a little jump to indicate how happy he was to hear that from you, and he quickly extended out his hands to you, giving you a handshake.

“But of course! We are always open to new members joining the music club! Oh, pardon me, where were my manners? You can call me Jacob.”

“Y-Y/N.” You replied.

It has been around two weeks since you joined the music club, and everything has been going smoothly for you. Thanks to Jacob (who turned out to be the club’s president), he has helped you so much in trying to get you to blend into the crowd and with other musicians, creating a very safe and warm atmosphere for everyone.

It was also then that you noticed what kind of a person he was. He was very gentle, yet suitable to be a leader. The tone of his voice and the way he handled things fairly and reasonably made everyone respect him and want to perform alongside him.

From what you have heard from the club members, Jacob would lead the team to busk at the city centre once every two to three weeks, which was where they would earn some money that served as their reward as they went out to celebrate once in a while at the local party scenes such as the bars.

Thanks to his guidance, the university’s music club eventually garnered enough audience from the school and the public to the point that they have been invited to perform multiple times throughout the year. You have heard that even local communities such as the orphanage and childcare facilities would often ask Jacob and his team to function for the underprivileged ones, and they would gladly volunteer, even if it were for free.

There were a few times when you stayed behind to help Jacob close up the music room (more like you were trying your best to spend much time with him as much as you could), and it was when you decided to ask him about his thoughts and the way he did things around here.

“Music just means so much to me, and I would gladly perform every day even if I had to. It’s not about the money; it can be great as a little side income, but what matters most is that I do this because I am passionate about it,” he replied, clearly stating his goals and reasons well.

Ever since that conversation, you notice more in detail how he did things or even when he performed. Just as he said, he was passionate—it didn’t matter if things were hindering his way, he would still make way for it.

No matter how burnt out he could be from his coursework or side job, he would always place the music club first, making sure that not only he enjoyed the whole process but also the club members as well.

Slowly, you began to admire him for not just his good looks but also his personality. It was as if he was this fine perfect gentleman that had just entered your life easily, and you couldn’t stop thinking about him each day.

It was the way he was always smiling with others, the way he would sometimes sit at the piano and play a duet with you, the way you both were guitarists, so one of you would either offer a fun little duet session after club hours, even up till writing song lyrics together.

And how there was one time he unintentionally got his arms around your waist when you slipped from the wet, freshly-cleaned wooden floor from the club, and he caught you in time.

That was something that you have thought about all the time ever since it happened.

As the weeks progressed to months, the little spark in your heart for him eventually grew, and it just kept getting bigger each time you saw him in the same club room.

And that was when you knew you were in big trouble.

End of flashback

“Damn, you're whipped,” Yujin concluded after listening to your story.

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you this, Yujin. I’m so screwed.” You buried your head in your palms, the slight headache becoming more prominent now.

“Hey, what’s wrong with liking a senior? I’d say it’s your time to shine and confess to him.” She reassured you by gently rubbing your back before you slowly lifted your face up.

“That’s because I think I might be in too deep,” you mumbled.

“And how exactly did you come up with that conclusion?”

“Do you ever start stammering and slur your speech when they get close to you like they’ve not done anything, but somehow you just can’t converse like a proper human being.”

“Oh.”

“When they literally tell you how they absolutely love your eyes and loved making them roll?”

“Okay. Go on.”

“And that you actually finally got their contact number and literally named them ‘do not leave me alone’?”

“Hold up, let me see.”

Reluctantly, you fished out for your phone in your back pocket and scrolled through your contact list until you found Jacob’s. As you click into it, you nervously hand your phone to your cousin, praying internally that she will not drop another diss to make you feel worse than you already are.

Do not leave me alone ❤️‍🩹. That was exactly what was written for the club president’s contact name on your phone.

“Damn, Y/N. I never would have thought you would be so delusional. I’d like to think that you’re far worse than I am,” Yujin declared, turning your face into a bright red tomato again.

“I know, Yujin! And I have never felt this way before. That’s why I needed your validation.” You were practically doing somersaults mentally right now, wishing that you could take it all back, but at the same time, you needed to let out your inner feelings too.

As Yujin handed your phone back to you, she raised an eyebrow before posing you a question. “So, what exactly do you intend to do from here on?”

“There’s this upcoming music festival at my university this weekend, and I will be performing on stage.”

“Oh, that’s great—”

“And I’m going to perform a song I wrote specifically about him,” you blurted out.

That made Yujin shut her mouth as she tried to process what she had just heard. “Wow, Y/N. You are literally going all out on this.”

“I just need a way to get this off my shoulders somehow, Yujin. And it’s now or never,” you said.

“Will he realise that you are trying to serenade him, though?” Yujin asked as she placed her hand on your shoulder.

“Success or not, I will still do it. And then I’ll completely forget that I’ve ever written this song ever again.”

It was finally Friday night, and the auditorium hall was filled with students, lecturers, and outsiders. Peeking from the backstage, there was this nervousness in the pit of your stomach, and you were now trying your best to rethink your actions.

What exactly had made you even decide to sign up for the concert in the first place had remained a mystery for you, and looking back now, you swore you would’ve thrown a cold bucket of water over you to wake you up from your insanity.

But it was too late to turn back now, as it would be your turn on stage in a few minutes. After the previous performer finished his chosen song, the MC briefly introduced you and your contributions to the music club before finally inviting you onstage.

As you entered with the white guitar you had gotten for Christmas a few years prior, you tried your best to search for Yujin amongst the crowd—sure enough, she was sitting right at the side, waving her hands enthusiastically to cheer you on. You couldn’t help but flash a smile back.

And finally, you decided to find the man of your dreams, and he was sitting right in the middle section along with the other club members. He gave you a clap just like the rest of the audience did and mouthed out a few words that you couldn’t grasp. Perhaps he was just saying “all the best,” as one would as they support their fellow members.

When you finally reached where the microphone stood, you adjusted yourself before positioning your fingers along the instrument's strings and introducing the piece you were about to perform.

“This song was written by a special someone in the crowd tonight, and whoever that it may be, I hope this song speaks to your heart and that you mean a lot to me. Without further ado, enjoy.”

With a few strums from the guitar, you gathered enough courage to smile before singing into the microphone.

I’ll be honest. Looking at you got me thinking nonsense. Cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in And when you got your arms around me Oh, it feels so good

Instantly, you noticed several people from the crowd starting vibing along with your song as they naturally swayed their bodies from left to right, enjoying the melody and rhythm your song produced.

I had to jump the octave I think I got an ex, but I forgot him And I can’t find my chill, I must’ve lost it I don’t even know, I’m talkin’ nonsense I’m talkin’, I’m talkin’

When you peeked from the corner of your eye, you noticed how Yujiin practically stood up, clapping her hands along with the rhythm. Naturally, the people around her joined in, as did the crowd from the middle and far left section.

God, were you so grateful for that, so much so that you were trying to hold back your tears.

I’m talkin’ all around the clock I’m talkin’ hope nobody knocks I’m talkin’ opposite of soft I’m talkin’ wild, wild thoughts You gotta keep up with me I got some young energy I caught the L-O-V-E How could you do this to me?

I’ll be honest. Looking at you got me thinking nonsense.

With one final strum, you ended the performance with a bang, and you got the crowd to give you one of the loudest cheers you have heard throughout the night. Some have even given you a standing ovation, and you swore that tears were about to form in your eyes.

You quickly redirected your attention to Jacob, and he did the same, standing up while giving you that sweet honey smile that you’ve grown to be obsessed with, clapping along with the rest of the audience.

Thank you for existing, Jacob Bae. I hope you can hear my thoughts through this song written specifically for you.

With a final bow, you quickly exited the stage.

You were sitting on a bench at a park near campus, opening the bottle of sparkling water you had gotten from one of the nearby vending machines.

You met up with Yujin right after the show and told her how you wanted some time alone just to wind down and digest everything that had happened. You reassured her that you wouldn’t be gone too long and would return as soon as possible. Thankfully, your cousin understood the message and agreed so long as you did not venture far away nor leave her alone too long exploring your campus.

With a sip of the water, you couldn’t help but smile as you looked up into the skies filled with stars on a clear night like today. The secret was finally out, and a burden was lifted from your shoulders, so you could just sit back on the bench and relax a little bit.

That was until a voice brought you back to reality.

“Mind if I join you?”

You jolted up from the bench to see the man you were trying to serenade, and immediately you felt the heat rise towards your cheek, and you began stammering again.

“Y-yes, o-of course!! Umm..g-go ahead!!”

As he sat next to you, you naturally shifted slightly away from him and ducked your head down as you began to rub your palms around the water bottle you were holding back and forth. Jacob noticed your demeanour, and he couldn’t help but giggle as he saw the redness of your face becoming more prominent.

Because he had always known how you have been having a crush on him.

To break the ice, he devised a simple conversation to help you loosen up a bit and break off the tension.

“I really like your guitar, Y/N. It’s just the right shade of white, and seeing it reminds me of elegance and simplicity but in an attractive way.”

“U-uh, thanks! It was gifted to me as a present—”

“Just like you, Y/N.”

Wait, what?

Did you just hear that right? Or is your mind playing tricks with you? Maybe the after-effects of adrenaline from the performance got you thinking nonsense. But you had to make sure.

“I umm…I beg your pardon?”

“I said what I said, Y/N. I know you have a crush on me.”

Oh no.

“How I make you feel all giddy and excited every time I talk to you.”

Oh, hell no.

“And I’m going to guess that the song you just performed was directed towards me.”

Lord Jesus, take the wheel.

At this point, you felt as if you were receiving dozens of arrows shooting right into your heart one at a time, and you were just about to pass out. What you thought was a simple crush became way too apparent to the point that your love interest has already known since day one.

This is the most embarrassing shit ever.

You quickly recollected yourself by sitting up straight and clearing your throat before responding properly.

“Ha-ha, I guess I-I was too obvious!! I-I’m sorry if I might’ve made you un-uncomfortable in any way—”

That was when Jacob interrupted you. “What makes you think I was uncomfortable by all of this?”

Jacon now inches a few spots closer to where you were, and your butt was glued shut on the bench because if you were to move any further, you would end up falling straight onto the grass.

Oh, good lord.

“I’m actually grateful for you, Y/N. I think it’s the first time anyone has ever felt that way about me,” he smiled.

That was when you blinked your eyes. “W-what, really? How can people not fall in love with you—” You clasped your hands over your mouth as soon as you said the “L” word.

He chuckled. “I don’t know. People have always seemed to view me as a good friend but not a potential love interest. I haven’t had one since a long time ago, and that made me rethink if I could ever date again.”

Gently he laid his hands onto yours that were situated on the bench as he turned his full attention to you now.

“And funny enough, I’m pretty sure I have feelings for you too. The moment I saw you playing Summer on the piano that first day we met, I knew there was something different about you. And I am so glad that eventually we got close to one another.”

After that, Jacob finally took in a deep breath before turning his direction back to you, which made you gulped for a second. “I think it wouldn’t be fair for me to not give you a proper response to your confession to me, no?”

Oh, god. It’s here. “S-so…what are your thoughts, Jacob? Was the song okay?”

“Y/N. It was far beyond just okay. It was a masterpiece, and I loved how quirky you are with the lyrics. It was something else, but it suited my taste.”

As he finally intertwined his fingers with yours, he inched his face closer to yours until they were centimetres apart.

“I accept the proposal, Y/N.” He smiled.

“Y-you…you do?” You asked weakly as if you were already not melting enough from the tension and heat.

“Will you give me a chance, Y/N?” There was this glistening in his eyes, and he looked exactly like Puss in Boots from the animation that both you and Yujin loved watching when you were kids.

“If you’re ready to deal with me, of course,” you stammered.

He gave you the biggest smile before pulling you into a warm embrace. “More than ready, Y/N.”

As you sunk into his embrace and took in his scent, you rested your chin upon his shoulders and stayed just like that briefly before Jacob broke off the hug and gently grabbed both of your shoulders, his eyes now landing on your lips.

“May I?”

Without giving a proper answer, you immediately shut your eyes, indicating that it was a yes in your books. Jacob chuckled at that for a while before leaning in to give a peck on your lips.

The sweet moment was then ruined by a ruffling noise coming from behind as both you and Jacob turned towards its direction. Sure enough, you found your cousin Yujin emerging from one of the trees with her phone in hand, recording the whole session.

“Now, that is what I call a successful indirect confession!” She exclaimed.

“Miss Ahn Yujin don’t you even dare—” you quickly threatened her before you took off running towards where she was, and she did the same but ran away from you instead.

“You will be sleeping on the streets tonight!” You yelled.

“Try me, Y/N!” She replied.

Jacob watched as the two of you began chasing each other around the park, and he couldn’t help but giggle as he laid back and propped one arm on the bench, just admiring everything about you.

“Little did you know Y/N, that you also got me thinking nonsense about you all day every day.”

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panlight · 5 months ago

Note

This might be a bit of a TW but what do you think happens to a person’s insides after becoming a vampire? The films made the vamps break apart like porcelain dolls and I don’t remember if Bree’s book ever mentioned that? Do you think a vampire’s guts are like geodes being cracked open? Or are they solid all the way through? (It’s crazy that a vampire saga has very little gore in it.)

The movies definitely played into the "statue" thing. If I recall from some behind the scene commentary, part of it was that it allowed them to get away with things like decapitations and keep a PG-13 rating to treat them like statues that just broke off in chunks and didn't really have any "insides." They were able to get around some limitations on violence and gore that way. They also did stuff like them 'cracking' as an injury which I don't think was in the books at all.

As for what vampires in book!canon look like on the inside . . . we don't really get much. I personally don't think they are solid, mostly from vague descriptions about how venom and the blood they drink moves through their bodies. I think something like the circulatory system with veins and arteries and capillaries remain. She specifically talks about how fluids contribute to physical arousal in a similar way as blood does in humans. So there's some sort of fluid moving around . . . somehow.

I sort of imagine it in my own head as all the organs and stuff is still there it's just harder and empty/hollow. They can still move and bend and stretch so it can't be like THAT solid but it would seem solid compared to a human body I guess. They still breathe but they don't need to; seems to me the lungs can still expand but there's no blood to oxygenate. The bladder and intestines are there but empty and useless. I think SM has said the blood is just sort of 'absorbed' rather than digested, flowing through the old veins. That's why vampires can look flushed after feeding. HOW it all moves around without a beating heart to circulate IDK. Tiny muscle contractions? ~Magic?

And it could be that the vampires themselves don't really know. Their skin is so hard and impenetrable that it makes it difficult for them to study themselves. What would a vampire autopsy even look like? Would it be someone who had been decapitated and the head was burned but the rest of the body remained intact? The medical imaging equipment couldn't see through Renesmee's amniotic sac (I think that's what it was?) so I doubt it can see through vampire skin.

#asks

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alwaysonf1 · 1 year ago

Text

are they flirting?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning: Mild Language.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: And this my loves, is the end of 'A Week.' Forever is within reach.

Charles’ every thought is filled with things regarding the way Iman dances. The schedule meant that there were two games that would happen while they were filming. Everyone was given the choice to go or not to go, but all of them jumped at the chance to experience the energy of the first night.

And despite how even now Charles wants to deny it, he’s more than just fascinated by this part of college life that he never would have gotten to experience. No, most of his interest lies with the girl with the bright smile dancing along to the band’s rendition of New Edition’s “Can You Stand the Rain.” Every move is made with a fluidness and grace that most only attribute to ballet.

As it winds down, and the girls take their seats he finds himself wishing for a repeat of the same performance. Maybe then he could look at all of them and not just stare at Iman the entire time.

Movement to his left draws his attention and breaks him out of embarrassing himself if Iman caught him looking at her for so long. He sees Lewis embracing someone and he assumes it’s a friend of Iman’s mom, but when they pull away, he’s met with the smiley face of Logan Sargeant.

The young Williams’ driver is chatting it up with Lewis as if they’re best friends. All while Charles can’t remember a time, he’s ever seen them interact. He’s not even sure he’s ever seen them look at each other.

It’s confusing and as if sensing his gaze, they both turn to look at him. Lewis wears a smirk and Logan’s smile is just as bright as when Charles first looked their way.

“Hey, Charles.”

“Hello.”

The silence following that greeting is loud, even in a loud stadium. As seconds tick by Logan’s expression morphs into confusion and then Charles watches as he looks to Lewis and the lightbulb clicks on.

“Oh! Sorry for crashing. I had some time to fly out here and I like to visit Iman when I can. Lewis said it would be fine for me to come since this is the last day of filming.”

That answers so little, but it does give Charles an opening.

“You know her?” he asks.

The smile returns. “Yeah, we’ve known each other since we were kids. Met at some of the competitions here.”

His explanation makes sense. Iman seems to have been somewhat involved with her brother and mother’s line of work all her life, even if it was in a more covert way. That meant she probably crossed paths with many drivers, even him, without any of them knowing who she was or her relation to Lewis. But Logan seems to know.

“Hold on. Have you always known about her? Them?”

Lewis laughs and Logan joins in. The other drivers walk over, their attention drawn away from the game that restarted. Most seem as confused as Charles was, but they greet the American driver warmly, nonetheless.

“He didn’t know until they were like eleven or twelve. They were already friends and she wanted me to meet him. We trusted him to keep the secret and he hasn’t let it slip even a little bit. In fact, he was on my side about not doing this at first, but hey, you know how siblings are, they get their way.”

“Really? You both lost against her?” Alex asks, amused.

“I rarely win against her. She knows how to divide and conquer, so she made some good points and so I helped her convince Lewis.”

“Giving yourself a lot of credit there with that help, huh Sargeant?” Lewis jokes.

Logan nudges him and laughs. “She’s the one who tells it like that. We both know I was there to just nod.”

This comradery is shocking. Charles feels like he’s in an alternate universe as he sees them talk and laugh together. He turns to look at his teammate and sees the confusion he knows is on his face too. Somehow, he’d managed to just accept that Logan of all people has known, but this dynamic change between the drivers is the real stunner.

It takes a bit, but he zones back into the conversation between the two.

“Like that time, she called my dad an ass and some things I’m just not comfortable repeating,” Logan says.

“Is he still scared of her?”

“Yup. He said something dumb, that’s on him.”

That subject is one Charles is interested in, but a throat clear draws his attention to Daniel.

“Any particular reason you didn’t want to?” Daniel asks.

“She’s my baby sister, I always want to protect her from how things can get. Ya know?”

A chorus of agreement sounds because everyone gets it.

Charles definitely knows. What he often deals with in the industry and with the media was the same, but also different from what Lewis got hit with. Sometimes he wanted to keep his family far away from the spotlight, but he left the choices in their hands and did what he could to limit some of the stuff that people would write and say about them for clicks.

The arena erupts in cheers, forcing the groups’ attention on the field. Southern’s team is leading by far and they’ve made another touchdown. The joy of the players can be seen by the way they celebrate in the end zone and Charles is reminded of how much he likes the camaraderie in sports. It’s there, but not as strong in motorsport. An expected outcome when even your teammate is a rival for a win.

For the rest of the game, they’re focused on the football part of it. It’s a good game and though the team is running away with the win it has its tense and exciting moments. When it ends, they allow everyone else to make their way out, post celebration, and then head to the tunnel that Iman told them to meet her. She’s already there near the exit with her bag and changed into her outfit for dinner. The green dress she’s wearing compliments her brown skin and fits her perfectly.

As they reach the last few feet Logan moves to take the lead. He jogs to her, and Iman drops her bag to hug him tight. There’s an uncomfortable churn in Charles’ stomach.

“Hey, Lo. Didn’t know you were coming,” Iman says.

“I had time and Lewis said it would be fine. Plus, it’s your last season. Have to see my big sister perform as much as I can.”

Logan removes himself from the hug and puts some distance between them as he says it. From the way Iman’s eyes narrow Charles can tell it’s a wise decision.

“It’s less than a year difference, you dork.”

“Still a difference.”

“Wait, how old are you?” Lance asks.

“Uh…”

“She’s twenty-three,” Lewis says.

Daniel coughs. “Twenty-three?”

“You don’t remember your age?” Charles asks.

Iman gasps and lightly slaps his arm, which makes him laugh. “It’s a fresh twenty-three. And there are too many numbers in my head to keep track. And to answer the question I know is there, I took a little over a year for a gap. It involved working as a mechanic and traveling. If I wasn’t in GA or deep within the Mercedes or Williams areas, you would have run into me at almost every grand prix.”

A weird feeling fills Charles. He doesn’t like that they could have met sooner and didn’t. He gets why, but for some reason he wishes he’d gotten the chance. Though if he's honest the reason isn’t that mysterious to him, he’s just pushing it out of his head. He can’t linger on it for too long or he’ll do something stupid.

“But enough about that. We need to leave now to get to the restaurant on time. All questions can be asked there.”

And with that she picks up the bag - which is then taken by Logan - and they all follow her out to the cars. She gets into the one Logan is driving. Lewis does as well and without question Charles follows them. He’s been attached at the hip to the Hamilton siblings all week, so he finds no reason not to be now.

And he ignores the smirk on Carlos and Daniel’s faces as they watch him go.

Once inside Logan pulls off while Iman puts the address into the GPS. Then she turns up the volume to a song and both of them basically scream the lyrics as if they’re the only two there. Charles looks to Lewis who is amused and looks at them in adoration. He finds himself smiling and humming along to the song, but let’s them have their moment.

Minutes into the drive, and a few songs later, Charles’ eyes shift to the rear view mirror just as Iman looks into it. She sees him and winks, all while continuing what has turned into screeching.

The dumb smile on his face can’t be helped.

###

Laughter fills the restaurant, the three tables they’re using all having various different conversations but all in a happy, upbeat mood. Things were a little awkward when everyone arrived, no one knew where to sit and were clearly uncertain with how the tables should mix. Iman had to take control and get them to sit anywhere, even if that meant it was between two drivers.

Iman found herself in between Logan and Charles, with Lewis right across from her. All three were carrying the conversation while she ate off her and Logan’s plates, her mind mostly consumed with eating as much as the oddly delicious asparagus while refusing to order more.

Before she knew it both of theirs was gone and a pout formed on her lips. One that she’s hyper aware of to the point that she shakes her head a little and pulls it together. Reminding herself that she’s being silly.

Her stomach doesn’t get the memo though. It does a weird swirl, and it makes her wonder if she should order more of it. She shakes her head and tunes back into the conversation, focusing on the way Logan wheezes as he laughs at something that Lewis said. Something that Iman knows wasn’t that funny, but that the two of them clearly think lists her brother as king of comedy.

It's almost a reflex as she turns to meet Charles' gaze and give him an eye roll about their theatrics. He’s wearing a bright smile and laughing softly, but with the way he looks at her Iman knows that laughter is largely because the two men are ridiculous.

Having that sort of connection makes her feel sane and pushes a laugh of her own out. But it causes an itch in her throat and before it can get any further, she reaches for her drink. Just as it reaches her lips her eyes notice her plate is no longer in front of her and instead it’s one that looks like it once held what Charles ordered.

Iman’s eyes move back to the man, and he’s immersed in the conversation with a producer and Lance. She stares at him for a while, lips parting to speak and then his head turns toward her. Charles winks at her, motions toward the plate, and then rejoins his conversation.

A soft grin forms on her lips and she grabs her fork, digging into what she promises herself will be the last of her new found addiction for the night. Mid chew she looks up and meets Logan’s gaze and he has a smirk on his face. His eyes twinkle with amusement and a knowing look that she hates to see on him. It’s the signal that he’s either going to say something she won’t like that he knows something that she doesn’t or something she doesn’t want to address.

Quickly she swallows the vegetable and glares at him.

“Shut it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Liar.”

His hand moves to his chest, and he fails an expression of faux hurt. “I would never.”

Yet again Iman finds herself rolling her eyes, but when she stops her attention is on her brother who wears a similar expression to Logan’s from moments ago.

“I’m sick of your shit.”

Lewis gapes. “Mine?”

“Both of yours.”

“Hey. I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s mean!”

Exasperated is not a fitting enough word for how she feels in the moment about their antics. Despite her ignoring certain signs and feelings herself she’s smart enough to not ignore them noticing all of that. And the fact that they want to comment and encourage it. No one ever tells the cons to having the world’s biggest cheerleaders by your side.

“Either of you open your mouths to say anything that’s running through those brains of yours when you speak again, and I’ll pop you.”

Both lean a bit away from her at that and a smile forms because she knows they won’t push it. At least not for the night. There’s no universe where she’s delusional enough to think that the subject is dropped forever.

Lewis breaks the ice first, asking her questions about the rest of her season and making a joke that he’s going to be spend more time on the plane this season than he has all the others. From there it’s jokes and catching up with each other. Those close to them join in here and there, some even bring their chair to their part of the table to talk. At some point Charles joins back into the mix and he speaks like he’s been in on all the jokes as long as they have. And he ensures that her water is always topped off and slips her a piece of the cake she swore she wants none of.

By the time the night is over it’s like a peaceful high. They all head back to the hotel, Lewis got her a room for the night, and it’s both hard and easy for her to drift off at ease. In the morning they met for breakfast as their last meeting before everyone, except Logan, were headed to the airport. There were hugs all around and Charles is the last to embrace her, both of them lingering longer than the norm.

She and Logan wave to them until the vans are out of sight. With them officially gone Iman sighs and turns to head back into the hotel. Logan is giving her a look, his brow raised a little as he grins like the cheshire cat.

“Shut up.”

“Nope.”

She walks away and he keeps up with her quick pace and as the elevator doors close, he has a million and one questions and opinions on a situation he got to experience for less than twenty-four hours.

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