#Program With Erik | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mcrdvcks · 6 months ago

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i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 2023 - nothing matters but you

chapter summary: The remaining X-Men come up with a plan to change their present; send Logan back in time to change the past.

word count: 17.1k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: oooohhhh boy!! i've been waiting for this chapter for so long and it's finally here! i'll have more to say at the end, but for now, and i truly mean it, enjoy!!! <3

warnings/tags: takes place during 'days of future past', dofp!logan, light miscommunication, angst, light violence, blood, character death, fluff, memory loss, happy ending!

series masterlist - chapter 10

The Blackbird landed on the top of the large mountain in front of a monastery. Ororo walked out first, followed by Logan, who paused at the bottom of the stairs to light his cigar, Charles, whose chair hovered down the stairs, and Erik.

They walked to the front of the monastery as Bobby spoke, “Professor.”

Ororo smiled, “Bobby.”

“Hey, Storm,” he replied, giving the woman a hug.

“Hey, kid.” Logan said.

“Professor,” Kitty called out. “You made it.”

The group made their way inside as Kitty explained how the group had been surviving, “Warpath spots them, and I send Bishop back to warn us of the attack before it happens. Blink scouts the next site, and… well, we leave before they ever know we were there.”

“Because we never were.” Bishop said.

“But what do you mean, you were never there?” Logan asked.

Charles looked over at Logan, “she projects Bishop back in time a few days to warn the others of the coming attack.”

“So she sends Bishop back in time?”

“No, just his consciousness into his younger self, his younger body.” Charles clarified.

“Wow.” Logan muttered.

“This might just work, Charles.” Erik commented.

“What might work?” Kitty questioned.

“The Sentinel program was originally conceived by Dr. Bolivar Trask. In the early ‘70s, he was one of the world’s leading weapons designers, but covertly, he had begun experimenting on mutants, using their gifts to fuel his own research. There was one mutant who had discovered what he was doing.” Charles explained.

“A mutant with the ability to transform herself into anyone.” Erik added.

“Mystique,” Peter said.

“I knew her as Raven. We met when we were children. Grew up together. She was like a sister to me. I tried to help her, but only succeeded in driving her away. She hunted Trask across the world, and at the Paris Peace Accords in 1973, after the Vietnam War, she found Trask. And killed him. It was the first time she killed.”

“It wasn’t her last.” Logan added on.

“But killing Trask did not have the outcome she expected. It only persuaded the government of the need for his program. They captured her that day. Tortured her. Experimented on her. In her DNA, they discovered the secrets to her powers of transformation. It gave them the key they needed to create weapons that could adapt to any mutant power, and in less than 50 years, the machines that have destroyed so many of our kind were created. But it all started that day in 1973, the day she first killed, the day she truly became… Mystique.” Charles finished.

“You want to go back there,” Kitty said.

“If I can get to her, stop the assassination, keep her out of their hands, then we can stop the Sentinels from ever being born.”

“And end this war before it ever begins.” Erik spoke.

“I-I can send someone back a couple weeks. I mean, maybe a month, but you’re talking about going back decades. You have the most powerful brain in the world, Professor, but the mind can only stretch so far before it snaps. It would rip you apart. I’m sorry. No one could survive that trip.” Kitty remarked.

“What if someone’s mind has a way of snapping back?” Logan asked. “What if someone can heal as fast as they’re ripped apart?”

---

Logan stood by the table as Charles, Erik, Kitty, and Bobby stood nearby, the rest outside of the monastery keeping watch.

“So I wake up in my younger body, God knows where. Then what?”

“You’ll need to go to my house and find me. Convince me of all of this.” Charles moved closer to Logan.

“Won’t you be able to just read my mind?”

“I didn’t have my powers in 1973. Logan, you’re going to have to do for me what I once did for you. Lead me, guide me. I was a very different man then. You’ll have to be patient with me.”

Logan scoffed, “patience isn’t my strongest suit.”

“You’ll need me as well,” Erik spoke up.

“What?” Logan turned to face Erik behind him.

“After Mystique left Charles, she came with me, and I set her on a dangerous path. Darker path. It’s going to take the two of us, side by side at a time when we couldn’t be further apart.”

Logan looked at Charles who nodded in affirmation, “great,” he muttered to himself. “So, where do I find you?”

“Well, it’s complicated.” Erik said, as Logan shook his head and stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

Logan got onto the table and lied down, Kitty sitting at the head of the table, “basically, your body will go to sleep while your mind travels back in time. Now, as long as you’re back there, past and present will continue to coexist, but once you wake up… whatever you’ve done will take hold and become history. And for the rest of us it’ll be the only history that we know. It’ll be like the last 50 years never happened. And this world, and this war… the only person who will remember it is you.” Kitty took a breath, “all right, Logan, I need you to clear your head and to stay as calm possible.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“If your mind gets rocky, it’ll be harder for me to hold you, and you could start to slip between past and future.”

“What if I need to get a little rocky?”

Kitty lightly shook her head, “think peaceful thoughts?”

“Peaceful thoughts.” Logan repeated. “You have any good news?”

“Well, I mean, you don’t really age, so you’ll pretty much look the same.”

Bobby spoke up, “you won’t have much time in the past. The Sentinels will find us. They always do.”

“And this time, we won’t be able to run. We’ll have no escape. This is our last chance.” Kitty’s hands hovered near the sides of Logan’s head.

“See you all soon.” Logan said.

“This might sting a little.”

---

Logan blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim, warm glow of the lava lamp. Its lazy, hypnotic bubbles drifted in the liquid, but his mind was racing to catch up. The sharp, immediate transition from the future to… this—the past, his past—had his senses momentarily disoriented.

The pressure against his neck snapped him into focus. An arm was draped over his shoulder from behind, soft, warm, and familiar. He shifted his head just enough to glance at the hand resting on his chest. It was delicate, but the grip was firm, like whoever it belonged to had no intention of letting him go.

“Mornin’,” your voice came from behind him, groggy and soft. Your tone was laced with the remnants of sleep but carried the easy, teasing warmth that always seemed to put him off guard.

His heart clenched. You.

You leaned into him slightly, pressing your cheek against his shoulder as you stretched, entirely unaware of the whirlwind in his head. The past, your face, the other you. The fact that he hadn’t seen this version of you in nearly 50 years.

“Didn’t think I’d need to pry you out of bed first,” you teased lightly, your hand giving his chest a playful pat before you settled again. “Usually, you’re already up before the sun, big guy.”

Logan’s jaw clenched at the nickname. His eyes narrowed at the room—a modest hotel room with vintage floral wallpaper and creaky wooden furniture—and the small pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. His leather jacket. Your dress. The pieces clicked into place far too quickly, but they didn’t make it easier to stomach.

He turned his head enough to catch sight of you, hair slightly messy, lips curled in a lazy grin. You were radiant in a way that didn’t match the world he’d just left behind. The world he’d come back to fix. And you had no idea how much he’d missed that expression.

“What’s with the look?” you asked, tilting your head. “Do I have something on my face, or are you just debating whether or not you’re gonna finish that cigar from yesterday?”

Logan shook his head slightly, clearing the fog. “Nah. Just… thinkin’.”

“You?” you quipped. “That’s dangerous.”

“Cute,” he replied dryly, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

You laughed and pulled back, sitting up against the headboard. Your expression softened when you caught a hint of the tension still lingering in his body. “You okay? You seem… off.”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge to gather himself. “Just didn’t sleep great.”

“You tossed and turned a lot,” you agreed, though your concern didn’t waver. “Another bad dream?”

Logan didn’t answer immediately. The memories of the future, the Sentinels, the war, and your other death pressed heavily on him. Instead, he grunted noncommittally and stood, grabbing his jeans from a chair nearby.

“Y’know,” you said behind him, watching as he pulled on his shirt, “most bodyguards don’t get that much real estate in their boss’s daughter’s bed.”

Logan froze for a beat before throwing you a glance over his shoulder. “Most bodyguards don’t sneak them outta her own wedding either, darlin’.”

You grinned mischievously, leaning your head back against the headboard. “Guess that makes us even.”

He shook his head but couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. You haven’t changed a bit.

Before either of you could say anything more, there was a sharp knock on the door. Logan’s entire body tensed, his senses sharpening instantly. He sniffed the air, picking up the distinct scents of sweat, leather, and gunpowder.

“Stay here,” he said lowly, grabbing his jacket and stepping toward the door.

“Logan, what—”

“I mean it,” he said, cutting you off with a firm glance. The tone in his voice told you not to argue.

He moved toward the door, his hand hovering over the knob as his other reached behind him for the small knife he kept tucked into his waistband. He opened the door slightly, just enough to peer through the crack.

Two men stood in the hall, dressed in dark suits. Their faces were sharp, unfamiliar, but their eyes carried an unmistakable menace.

“Can I help you?” Logan asked gruffly.

“Yeah,” one of them said. “We’re here for the lady. Her father’s lookin’ for her.”

Logan didn’t hesitate. He slammed the door shut and locked it, spinning back toward you. “Get down,” he barked.

“What’s going on?” you asked, but the urgency in his voice made you scramble off the bed.

The door shuddered as one of the men kicked it. Logan growled low in his throat, adrenaline surging as his hands instinctively balled into fists. Bone claws erupted from his knuckles with a sickening snikt, and he turned toward the door just as it splintered inward.

Your sharp gasp filled the room, but there was no time for questions. Logan launched himself at the first man, driving his claws deep into the guy’s shoulder. Blood sprayed across the room as the second man raised a gun, but Logan was faster. He yanked his claws free and swung, knocking the weapon from the man’s hand before driving his claws into his stomach.

It was over in seconds, but the aftermath left the room in chaos. Logan stood over the bodies, his breathing heavy, his shirt streaked with blood. His claws glistened in the dim light, and as he turned toward you, his expression softened.

“Logan…” you whispered, your voice shaking. Your eyes were wide, fixed on the bone claws still protruding from his hands.

He hesitated, then retracted them with a shudder, the wounds on his knuckles sealing themselves almost instantly. “I can explain,” he said gruffly.

“You—you just…” You couldn’t find the words.

“Y/N,” he said, stepping toward you carefully. “I need you to trust me.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. The man you thought you knew had just turned into something else entirely—but it wasn’t fear that kept you rooted in place. It was the way he was looking at you, desperate, protective, like he’d go through hell just to keep you safe.

“I…” You took a shaky breath. “I trust you.”

Logan’s shoulders sagged in relief, though the tension in the room didn’t dissipate. He grabbed a bag from the corner of the room and tossed it toward you. “We need to move. Now.”

Before you could question him further, he bent down, rummaging through the man’s jacket pocket to snag the keys before heading for the door. You hesitated, your mind still racing to process what you had just seen. The claws, the blood, the sheer force he used to take out armed men—it was like something out of a nightmare. But Logan wasn’t the nightmare. He was the only constant in this whirlwind you called your life.

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice broke through your haze. He was standing by the door, his tone sharp but not unkind. “Let’s go. Now.”

You shoved a few belongings into the bag, still half-dressed from sleep, and moved quickly to his side. “Logan, what the hell is goin’ on?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said, keeping his voice low and his gaze locked on the hallway as he peeked out. “For now, we’ve gotta put some distance between us and whoever else your father’s sent after you.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of your father, but you followed him out of the room, clutching the strap of the bag tightly. “How did they even find us?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Logan muttered, leading you down the narrow hallway. His shoulders were rigid, his entire body coiled like a spring. “What matters is keeping you outta their hands.”

The two of you reached the stairwell, and Logan paused at the top, scanning the area below. He tilted his head, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. Whatever he smelled didn’t seem to calm him, but he motioned for you to follow anyway.

You descended the stairs as quietly as you could, your bare feet barely making a sound against the worn carpet. “Logan, seriously, you need to tell me what’s going on. Those… claws, or whatever—”

“Not now, sweetheart,” he interrupted, his voice tense but firm. “We’ve gotta focus on getting outta here.”

You bit your lip, frustration bubbling under your skin. This wasn’t the first time Logan had dodged your questions, but after what you’d just seen, you weren’t about to let it slide for long.

The two of you slipped out a side door into the cool morning air. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a few scattered vehicles. Logan made a beeline for a black sedan parked near the edge of the lot. He unlocked the door and ushered you inside without a word.

“Logan—” you started as he slid into the driver’s seat, but he cut you off again.

“Buckle up,” he said, starting the engine.

You shot him a glare but did as he said, snapping the seatbelt into place. Logan peeled out of the lot, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as his eyes flicked between the road and the rearview mirror.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the faint thud of your heartbeat in your ears. You watched him closely, noting the way his jaw clenched and his knuckles turned white around the wheel.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?” you finally demanded, crossing your arms. “Because I think I deserve an explanation after that little… display back there.”

Logan let out a slow breath through his nose, his eyes still on the road. “It’s complicated.”

“No kidding,” you shot back. “Start with the claws. What the hell are they, Logan? And don’t tell me they’re some kind of freak weapon because I saw them come out of your hands.”

He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable. “They’re a part of me,” he said simply.

You blinked, taken aback by the matter-of-fact tone in his voice. “What do you mean, ‘a part of you’? Like, you were born with them?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he muttered.

You stared at him, waiting for more, but he didn’t elaborate. Frustration bubbled over, and you leaned forward, grabbing his arm. “Logan, I’m serious. I need answers.”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he finally looked over at you. “I’ll tell you everything, sweetheart. Just not right now. Right now, we’ve gotta focus on getting somewhere safe.”

“And where’s that?” you asked, your voice softening slightly.

“A place I know,” he said, turning his attention back to the road. “We’ll head north, get outta the city, and figure it out from there.”

You frowned, unsure whether to trust his vague assurances. But the look in his eyes, the raw determination mixed with something you couldn’t quite place—it was enough to quiet your doubts for now.

“Fine,” you said, leaning back in your seat. “But you owe me the truth. All of it.”

Logan smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve always been a tough one, huh?”

“Damn right,” you muttered, crossing your arms again. But despite your defiant tone, a small part of you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something else—something warm and familiar—when he called you tough.

You didn’t notice the way his grip on the wheel tightened at your response or the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. To you, this was just another chaotic morning in the whirlwind of your life. But to Logan, it was a painful reminder of how many mornings like this he’d lost with you.

---

You tapped your fingers on your thigh, still waiting for Logan to come out of this mansion, which looked like it had seen better days.

You groaned as you tilted your head back, adjusting yourself in the car seat. It had been a while since Logan left the car and went inside, almost 2 hours. You would know, you’ve been watching the clock.

Finally, Logan stepped outside and briskly walked to the car door, opening it for you. “Jesus, what took so long?” You asked, as he grabbed your bag from the backside and guided you into the house where two other men were, one with glasses, the other with long curly hair. “Logan-?”

“You’re staying here.” He stated.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your eyes narrowing at Logan. “What?” you demanded. “You said we’d figure this out together. You didn’t say anything about leaving me here.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, already looking stressed. “Plans changed, darlin’,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Charles and Hank are comin’ with me. We’ve got somethin’ to take care of, and it’s safer if you stay here.”

“Safer? Logan, this place is the size of a damn castle!” You gestured around the massive entry hall, frustration spilling over. “You’re just gonna leave me here by myself? What if they come for me again? What am I supposed to do then?”

“You won’t be alone,” Charles interjected, his tone measured but polite. He glanced briefly at Logan, as if trying to gauge how much to say. “This house has a number of protections. You’ll be secure here.”

“Secure from who?” you fired back, your eyes darting between the two men. “You all keep throwing words around like ‘safe’ and ‘protected,’ but you won’t tell me from what!”

Logan stepped closer, his voice softening. “Y/N, I know you’ve got questions, and I know this ain’t easy, but trust me. If I thought for a second there was a better way to keep you outta harm’s way, I’d do it.”

You stared at him, trying to ignore the way his voice—the way he called you by name—seemed to ease some of the tension in your chest. But it wasn’t enough. “You always do this,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You make decisions for me like I’m some fragile little doll. I’m not helpless, Logan.”

“I know that,” he said quickly, his gaze locking onto yours. “But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna take chances with you.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. “And where exactly are you going that’s so important you can’t tell me?”

Logan hesitated, his jaw tightening. He glanced at Charles, who gave him a slight nod. “We’ve gotta stop someone,” Logan finally said, his voice low. “Someone who’s about to make a big mistake.”

“That’s it?” you asked, your frustration rising again. “That’s all you’re gonna give me?”

“That’s all you need to know right now,” Logan replied. He reached out, his hand brushing against your arm. “Look, I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back. But for now, I need you to trust me.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and something softer, something you didn’t want to name. “Fine,” you said at last, pulling away from his touch. “But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

Logan smirked faintly, though his eyes were serious. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Charles cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Y/N, I understand this is a lot to take in, but I assure you, this is the safest course of action for now. Hank and I will only be gone for a short while.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, glancing at him briefly. “You better be.”

Logan nodded at Charles, then turned back to you. “There’s food in the kitchen, and plenty of space to stretch out. Don’t open the doors for anyone but me or them. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes but nodded. “Got it.”

Logan hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but then he turned and followed Charles and Hank toward the door. You watched them leave, the sound of the heavy door closing echoing in the empty mansion.

For a long moment, you stood in the middle of the entry hall, clutching your bag and trying to process everything that had just happened. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“Guess I’m on my own,” you muttered, heading deeper into the mansion to figure out how the hell you were supposed to pass the time in this massive, empty house.

---

It didn’t take long for you to get bored, even in a place as massive as this. From what you gathered during your first walkthrough, this mansion had likely been a boarding school at some point. The classrooms, rows of bedrooms, and an enormous kitchen all hinted at its past. But now, it was eerily quiet—like a castle frozen in time.

You wandered aimlessly, peeking into rooms and finding nothing but empty desks, dust-covered books, and a growing sense of restlessness. The longer you roamed, the more your mind churned over Logan’s sudden departure. You didn’t want to admit it, but his absence had left a void—a nagging worry that you couldn’t shake.

You sighed, stopping in front of a wide window overlooking the overgrown courtyard. What am I even doing here? you thought. Your fingers tapped against the windowpane as you chewed the inside of your cheek. Maybe you should’ve pushed harder for answers instead of letting Logan sidestep your questions—again.

The faint hum of a clock ticking in the hallway was the only sound accompanying your thoughts. It wasn’t enough to drown out the memories of Logan’s claws unsheathing back at the hotel or the unspoken tension in his voice when he said, “you won’t be alone.”

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, turning away from the window. “Stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing but cryptic warnings and empty rooms.”

You wandered back to the kitchen, hoping to find something to pass the time. The fridge was surprisingly well-stocked, and you made yourself a quick sandwich. As you ate, your gaze drifted toward the doorway, half expecting Logan to stride through it with that familiar scowl on his face.

But the doorway remained empty.

With a groan, you pushed the plate away and leaned back in the chair. “This sucks,” you muttered.

The silence pressed against your ears as you sat there, tapping your fingers on the table. You couldn’t help but think back to Logan’s expression when he’d left. There was something in his eyes—something heavy, like he was carrying more than just the weight of keeping you safe. He always did that, didn’t he? Took on the burden for everyone else, even if it meant shutting you out.

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. No more sitting around like a damsel in distress, you decided. If Logan was off dealing with whatever ‘big mistake’ he’d mentioned, you’d figure out how to occupy yourself in the meantime.

---

A while later, you found yourself back in one of the old classrooms. The chalkboards were dusty, and the desks were in varying states of disrepair, but it was oddly comforting in a way. You sat down at one of the desks and fiddled with a piece of chalk, drawing random lines on the board in front of you.

The quiet of the mansion felt oppressive. Every creak of the old wood or groan of the structure made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure if it was just your imagination playing tricks on you or if there was something more sinister lurking in the silence.

You sighed, leaning back in the chair. “Why’d you leave me here, Logan?” you muttered to yourself. The question hung in the air, unanswered, like so many others he’d dodged over the months.

As you stared at the lines you’d absentmindedly drawn, you thought back to your father. His control over your life had been suffocating, but this—running, hiding, fearing what might come next—was a different kind of prison. Logan had promised to protect you, but how could he if he wasn’t here?

A sudden noise in the hallway snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, the piece of chalk slipping from your fingers and clattering onto the desk.

“Logan?” you called out, your voice trembling slightly. There was no response.

You rose slowly from the desk, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound came again—closer this time. It wasn’t the creak of the old mansion settling. It was deliberate, like footsteps.

You moved toward the door, peeking into the hallway. It was empty, but the faint sound of movement reached your ears from somewhere deeper in the house.

“Logan?” you tried again, your voice firmer.

Still nothing.

Clutching your jacket sleeve tightly, you stepped into the hallway, your bare feet silent against the worn wooden floors. The air felt colder somehow, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer.

You made your way toward the source of the noise, your pulse quickening with every step. Part of you wanted to turn back, to lock yourself in one of the rooms and wait for Logan to return, but you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right.

As you rounded the corner, you saw them. Men in dark suits, their faces obscured by the dim lighting. There were at least four of them, moving methodically through the mansion as if they knew exactly where to look.

Your breath caught in your throat. They weren’t here by accident.

You turned quickly, intending to retreat and find a place to hide, but it was too late. One of the men spotted you, his sharp eyes locking onto yours.

“She’s here!” he barked, and the others turned toward you immediately.

Panic surged through your veins as you broke into a sprint, your bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. You didn’t know where you were running, only that you had to get away.

“Stop her!” one of them shouted, and the sound of heavy footsteps followed you.

You darted into another hallway, your mind racing. You needed a plan, a way out, but the labyrinthine mansion offered no clear escape routes.

A hand suddenly grabbed your arm, yanking you backward. You let out a startled cry, struggling against the grip.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, kicking and clawing at the man holding you.

He grimaced but held firm, dragging you toward the others. “Stop fighting, or this gets messy,” he growled.

“Like hell it does,” you spat, managing to stomp on his foot hard enough to make him loosen his grip.

You broke free, stumbling forward, but another man was already there. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off the ground despite your thrashing.

“Let me go!” you shouted, your voice echoing through the empty halls.

“Enough!” a voice barked, and the men froze.

A figure stepped out of the shadows—an older man with a cold, calculating expression. You recognized him immediately. One of your father’s men.

“Miss Y/N,” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with false politeness. “Your father’s been worried sick about you.”

“Bullshit,” you snapped, glaring at him. “He doesn’t care about me.”

The man chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “Whether he cares or not isn’t really the issue, is it? You belong to him. And he’s decided it’s time you came home.”

“Over my dead body,” you shot back, your voice defiant even as fear coiled in your chest.

The man’s smile widened, and there was something cruel in his eyes. “If that’s what it takes.”

You struggled harder, but the men holding you were too strong. They began dragging you toward the exit, your cries for help swallowed by the vast emptiness of the mansion.

In that moment, a horrible realization settled over you. Logan wasn’t here to save you.

And this time, there was no escape.

---

The room was dim, lit by a single, flickering bulb swaying overhead. The scent of mildew clung to the air, mixing with the metallic tang of rust from the pipes along the walls. You blinked groggily, your head pounding as the events leading up to this moment replayed in your mind.

Interrogation, then murder. That’s how these things went. You knew it, had known it since you were a child sitting quietly at the top of the stairs, listening in on conversations you weren’t supposed to hear. The Romano family didn’t forgive betrayal, and neither did your father.

Your wrists ached where the rough ropes dug into them, tying you to the chair. The metal groaned beneath your weight as you tried to shift, testing the bindings. No give. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

From the shadows, the men emerged one by one, their faces a mix of familiarity and dread. You recognized some from your father’s estate—men who had once tipped their hats to you out of respect, now staring at you like a wolf pack eyeing its prey. Among them was Clyde Romano, his sharp suit immaculate despite the grim surroundings.

“Well, well,” Clyde drawled, adjusting his cuffs as he stepped closer. His cold eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and disdain. “You’ve been a busy little runaway, haven’t you?”

“Fuck you, Clyde,” you spat, your voice steadier than you expected.

He smirked, leaning in until you could feel his breath against your cheek. “Bold words for someone in your position. But that’s always been your problem, hasn’t it? Too much mouth, not enough sense.”

One of the men chuckled darkly, and you shot him a glare sharp enough to cut.

Clyde straightened, motioning for the others to spread out. “See, Y/N, this could’ve all been so simple. You play the good little bride, marry into the family, and keep your mouth shut. But no. You had to run. Had to embarrass your father. And me.”

“Embarrass you?” You barked out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were your fragile little feelings hurt because I didn’t want to be your trophy wife?”

Clyde’s smile faltered, his jaw tightening. He nodded toward one of his men, who stepped forward and struck you across the face. Pain exploded along your cheek, sharp and hot.

“Watch your mouth,” Clyde hissed.

You turned your head back slowly, your vision swimming. Blood trickled from the corner of your lip, but you smiled through it, defiant. “That all you’ve got?”

Clyde’s expression darkened, and he stepped closer, gripping your chin roughly. “You’re real brave for someone who doesn’t have a way out.”

Your stomach twisted at the truth of his words, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes. “Better to die standing than live on my knees,” you shot back.

“Your boyfriend isn’t here to save you, sweetheart,” he said casually, his tone laced with mockery. “What was his name? Logan?”

Your heart clenched at the sound of his name, but you kept your face blank.

“He left you,” Clyde continued. “Just like everyone else will. Because you’re not worth the trouble.”

“That so?” you bit out. “Then why are you here?”

He stopped, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. “To clean up the mess you made.”

Clyde stepped back, giving a subtle nod to one of the men. The air seemed to thicken as the man pulled a knife from his belt, the blade glinting in the weak light.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t look away. If this was the end, you’d meet it head-on, with your head held high.

“Any last words?” Clyde asked, his tone almost bored.

You swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on you. The memories of Logan’s rough hands holding yours, his gruff voice calling you darlin’ in that way that made your chest ache, his eyes softening in those rare moments when he let his guard down.

You thought of him now—miles away, caught up in something you couldn’t begin to understand. If he were here, he’d fight. He always did. But this time, you were on your own.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Go to hell.”

Clyde tilted his head, unimpressed. The man with the knife stepped forward, and you clenched your fists, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

The blade gleamed, catching the light one last time before it plunged toward you.

And then, there was only darkness.

---

Logan paced the bedroom; he had known something was off the second they got back. For one, you were nowhere in the mansion and your bag was sitting on the couch in the rec room.

Hank hesitantly stood by the doorframe for a few moments before speaking, “there’s a theory in quantum physics that time is immutable.” Logan paused his pacing as Hank continued, “it’s like a river—you can throw a pebble into it, create a ripple, but the current always corrects itself. No matter what you do, the river just… keeps flowing in the same direction.”

Logan let out a small scoff, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a fleeting smile. “The B-theory of time.”

Hank blinked, his brows furrowing. “You’re familiar with it?”

Logan shrugged, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed. “Yeah, I’ve heard it before. Someone once tried explaining it to me—something about all moments in time existing simultaneously. Past, present, future, all laid out like pages in a book.” He tilted his head, his gaze hardening. “Didn’t make it sound any less screwed up.”

Hank tilted his head slightly, caught off guard. “That’s a fairly accurate summation, Logan. I’m… surprised you retained that much.”

Logan’s lips twitched again, but his eyes darkened with a tinge of something that looked like regret. “Good teacher,” he muttered, his voice low. His mind flicked back to the quiet hours spent with you in the rec room at the mansion, your voice steady as you explained the theories of time and space with the kind of patience that used to drive him insane. “Good teacher,” he repeated, softer this time.

Hank didn’t press the matter, though curiosity lingered in his expression. Instead, he adjusted his glasses and continued. “Right. Well, the theory suggests that no matter how many changes we attempt to make, the timeline has a way of self-correcting. That ripple you caused? It’ll still flow back into the current, Logan. That’s why it’s imperative you stay focused on the larger mission—on stopping Mystique before—”

Logan cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “I know, McCoy. Believe me, I get it.” His voice was rougher now, frustration creeping into his tone. “But I can’t just stand here and do nothing. She’s out there—alone—because of me.” His jaw clenched, the muscles tightening like a vice. “I should’ve stayed with her.”

“And then what?” Hank countered, his voice measured but firm. “Thrown yourself headfirst into whatever danger awaits her without a plan? Gotten yourself killed before you even had the chance to stop Mystique? Would that have helped her, Logan? Or anyone else?”

Logan exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair. He hated when Hank was right—hated it even more because staying put went against every instinct he had. He’d lost you too many times before, and the idea of it happening again, here in this warped timeline, made his chest feel like it was caught in a vice.

“Look,” Hank said after a pause, his tone softening. “You’re not doing her—or yourself—any favors by acting recklessly. We need you tomorrow at the hearing. Mystique’s actions will set off a chain reaction if we don’t intervene, and that means we need all hands on deck.” He gave Logan a pointed look, then hesitated before adding, “Besides, the Y/N I met didn’t strike me as someone who’d go down without a fight.”

Logan’s gaze snapped to Hank, sharp and unyielding. “What’d you say?”

Hank shifted uncomfortably. “I mean… she was a little out of her element, sure, but she seemed resourceful. Strong-willed. Determined. She’s not just going to sit around waiting to be rescued, Logan.”

Logan’s shoulders relaxed slightly at Hank’s words, though his face remained guarded. He knew you—knew that fire inside you, even in this lifetime. You’d been through hell and still managed to crack that crooked smile, to tease him when he was too gruff for his own good. If anyone could find a way out of a bad situation, it was you.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried sick.

“She’s got guts,” Logan muttered, almost to himself. “Too much, sometimes.”

Hank adjusted his glasses again, watching Logan closely. “Then trust her to hold her own until we can deal with this together. Running off now would be counterproductive and, frankly, reckless.”

Logan let out a low growl of frustration, but he didn’t argue further. Deep down, he knew Hank was right. If he ran out of here now, he’d jeopardize everything—not just the mission, but the fragile thread of hope that had brought him to this point.

Still, the ache in his chest wouldn’t subside. It never did, not when it came to you.

“She’d better be okay,” he muttered, more to himself than to Hank. “Or I’ll—” His voice caught, and he shook his head. “Never mind.”

Hank didn’t respond immediately. He just watched as Logan sank into the chair by the window, his gaze distant.

For now, all Logan could do was wait.

---

Logan woke up to the sun shining through green curtains as he lay on his side, clutching his pillow. He turned over to look at the holographic clock on the other side of the bed, a stack of books on the table along with a single pen.

“The first time, ever I saw your face.”

He sat up, groggy as he looked at the familiar gold doorknob.

“I thought the sun,” Logan stood up and opened the door as a school bell rang and a kid walked out of their room. “Rose in your eyes.” He saw Bobby standing against a door frame as Rogue walked out and grabbed his hand, the two of them glancing over at Logan before walking away.

Logan walked by a classroom where Kitty was at the head of the room, a hologram in her hands, “Buckminster Fuller is a great example of an architect whose ideas were very similar to those of a utopian future. He would build structures that would work with nature, versus against it.”

He looked down the hall as Beast walked past him, clad in a brown suit, “morning, Logan. Late start,” he chuckled, as Logan watched him walk by.

Logan then walked down the stairs, seeing students converse with Storm. He continued his way down the stairs and into the open area, seeing familiar red hair leaning against the Professor’s open door.

Jean turned to look at him, “hey, Logan,” she softly called out as he glanced her way and back down the other hallways.

He saw a group of students walking huddled together before splitting apart briefly as you walked past them.

Logan’s breath hitched as you walked past the group of students, your hair catching the light streaming through the mansion’s tall windows. You didn’t notice him immediately, too focused on the stack of papers in your arms and the pen tucked behind your ear. He froze in place, his heart pounding like it hadn’t in years—decades, even.

You glanced up just as you passed him, pausing mid-step when your eyes met his. There was warmth in your gaze, that familiar spark he’d seen so many lifetimes ago, but this time it wasn’t tinged with hesitation or confusion. It was easy. Natural.

“There you are,” you said, a small smile gracing your lips as you adjusted the papers in your arms. “I was about to come looking for you. Late morning?”

Logan stared at you for a beat too long, the sound of your voice wrapping around him like a long-lost melody. He blinked, clearing his throat and trying to push past the lump that had formed there. “Yeah... guess so.”

Your smile widened, though your brow furrowed just slightly. “You okay, Lo?” you asked softly, stepping closer.

He managed a nod, though his throat felt tight. “Yeah, just... uh, still waking up, I guess.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him in that way you always used to when something seemed off. “Well, if you’re awake enough, maybe you could help me wrangle some of the kids for class?” You gestured toward the papers in your arms. “I need to grab a few more things, and Laura’s been trying to skip out on physics again. You didn’t even budge when the alarm went off this morning, but you’re lucky Scott owed you a favor, so he covered your history class—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence when Logan’s arms wrapped around you, his hold firm but not crushing. His head burrowed into the crook of your neck, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to pause. You blinked, startled, the stack of papers in your arms wobbling precariously before you instinctively steadied them against your chest.

“Logan?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with concern and confusion. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer right away. His breathing was heavy, his body tense against yours as though he was clinging to something—or someone—he thought he’d lost. The warmth of his presence, his scent of leather and pine, was familiar, but this intensity was new.

You let the silence hang for a moment, your free hand instinctively lifting to rest on his shoulder. “Lo,” you tried again, your tone softer now, laced with the kind of patience that only years together had nurtured. “Talk to me.”

Logan pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, but his hands remained firm on your waist. His eyes were wild, scanning your face like he was searching for proof that you were real. For a fleeting second, you caught something raw in his expression—something vulnerable.

“You’re here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His voice was hoarse, as though he hadn’t spoken in days. “You’re… really here.”

Your brows knitted together as you tilted your head, trying to piece together what could have possibly spurred this reaction. “Of course I’m here,” you said with a small, hesitant laugh, your hand sliding from his shoulder to his cheek. “Where else would I be?”

Before Logan could respond, the unmistakable sound of small, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. A high-pitched voice followed, cutting through the moment like a pebble skipping across still water.

“Daddy!”

Logan froze. His hands fell away from your waist as a little girl with dark hair barreled toward the two of you, her pigtails bouncing with each step. She clung to Logan’s leg without hesitation, looking up at him with the wide, innocent eyes of someone who knew no fear or doubt.

Gabby.

The name surfaced in Logan’s mind like a fragment from a dream, though it came with no context—no memories to anchor it. He stared down at the child, his breath catching as she grinned up at him.

“Daddy, I found you!” she declared triumphantly, like it was a great accomplishment. “Laura said you were being slow again.”

You chuckled softly, crouching down to ruffle Gabby’s hair. “What did we say about calling your dad slow?” you teased gently, though there was no real reprimand in your tone.

Gabby giggled, leaning into your touch. “Only when it’s funny?”

“Exactly,” you replied with a smirk before standing again and glancing at Logan, who still hadn’t moved or spoken. “Lo, you okay?” you asked again, your concern deepening.

Logan’s gaze flicked between you and Gabby, his chest tightening. The ring on your finger caught the light as you moved, and for the first time, he noticed it—the familiar band of gold he’d carried for over a century.

His heart stuttered. You’re wearing it.

“Logan?” you pressed, stepping closer again. Gabby, still holding onto his leg, tilted her head in confusion.

Logan swallowed hard, forcing himself to push past the whirlwind in his mind. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice strained but steady enough. “I’m fine.”

You didn’t look convinced, but you didn’t push him. Instead, you nodded toward the stack of papers in your arms. “You sure? Because if you’re about to have an existential crisis, I need you to hold off until after you help me track down Laura. Deal?”

Logan blinked, your teasing tone pulling him out of his daze. He managed a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Deal.”

Gabby tugged at his pant leg, her face scrunched in determination. “Daddy, can we get pancakes after? Laura said she’d eat ten, but I bet I could eat twelve.”

You snorted softly, looking between Gabby and Logan with an amused smile. “You’re not actually gonna let her eat twelve pancakes, are you?”

Logan’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ll see,” he said gruffly, his mind still miles away as he tried to make sense of everything.

You gave him another look, your brows furrowing slightly, but you let it go for now. “Come on,” you said, shifting the papers in your arms. “Let’s get this day started.”

As you turned to lead Gabby toward the stairs, Logan lingered for a moment, his eyes fixed on the gold band on your finger. His thoughts churned, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a heavy fog.

He needed answers. And he knew exactly who to talk to.

---

Logan pushed open the door to Charles’s office without knocking, his usual roughness softened just enough by the turmoil bubbling beneath his skin. Charles, sitting calmly at his desk with his hands folded, looked up with a raised brow.

“Logan,” Charles greeted, his tone patient but curious. “I wasn’t expecting you so early. Is everything alright?”

Logan stepped inside, closing the door behind him before glancing over his shoulder. He needed to make sure you hadn’t followed. When he was satisfied, he turned back to Charles, his jaw tightening.

“No,” Logan said simply. “We need to talk. Now.”

Charles’s brow furrowed, and he gestured to the chair in front of him. “Please, sit. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Logan ignored the chair, pacing instead. “I woke up this morning, and I—” He dragged a hand down his face, struggling to find the words. “Chuck, I ain’t supposed to be here. This… this timeline, it ain’t mine.”

Charles’s expression shifted, his calm demeanor replaced with something more serious. “I see,” he said carefully. “Go on.”

“You remember what Kitty did,” Logan said, stopping to lean on the edge of the desk. “Sending my mind back to ’73, to fix everything. To stop the Sentinels.”

“Yes,” Charles replied, his voice steady. “And you succeeded, Logan. The world you’re in now is a result of that success.”

Logan’s laugh was bitter, shaking his head. “Then why the hell don’t I remember it, huh? Why do I remember… all of it? The Sentinels. The Phoenix. Y/N—” His voice cracked, and he looked away, his fists clenching. “She died, Chuck. In my timeline, she died. Jean, too. All of you.”

Charles regarded him quietly, his hands still folded. “Logan, the mind is a complicated thing. It’s possible that in the process of returning you to this point in time, fragments of your original timeline have remained intact.”

“Fragments?” Logan scoffed, pushing off the desk to pace again. “Chuck, this ain’t fragments. I remember it all. I remember her dying six times, dammit. I remember the look on her face when she—” He stopped himself, his breathing ragged.

Charles’s expression softened. “Logan, this is your life now. Whatever timeline you came from, whatever you remember, it’s in the past. This is your reality now. Y/N is alive. Jean is alive. You have a family, a home.”

Logan’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Yeah, but it ain’t mine. This ring—” He held up his own hand with his own ring, the band of gold catching the light. “I didn’t put it on her finger, Chuck. Some other version of me did. And I don’t know how to be him.”

Charles leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle but firm. “Then perhaps it’s time you learned. For her. For your family.”

Logan stared at him, his chest tight. He wanted to argue, to push back, but the truth of Charles’s words settled heavy in his gut. He’d fought so hard to change the future, to make sure you and everyone else had a chance at a better life. Now that it was here, he didn’t know how to live in it.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling shakily. “What do I do, Chuck?”

Charles smiled faintly. “You take it one day at a time, Logan. And you start by going back to her.”

---

You stood in the Professor’s office, your arms crossed, the faint cherry gloss on your lips catching the sunlight through the large windows. You tilted your head slightly, studying Logan as he leaned against the desk, his expression unreadable but tense.

“So…” you began, your voice soft but steady, “you’re from a different timeline? One where none of this happened?”

Logan exhaled heavily, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s about the size of it.”

Your gaze flicked between him and Charles, who sat calmly behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him. “And in that timeline…” you hesitated, your voice faltering slightly. “What happened to me?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes briefly darting away from yours before he forced himself to meet your gaze. The weight of his memories hung between you, unspoken but palpable.

“You didn’t make it,” he admitted, his voice low and gravelly.

The room felt colder, the air heavier as his words settled over you. You shifted slightly, gripping your own arms as if to steady yourself.

“But not this time,” Charles interjected gently, his calm voice breaking the silence. “This timeline is different, Y/N. You survived, as did many others who didn’t in Logan’s original timeline.”

You turned to Charles, your brow furrowing. “How? How is that even possible? Timelines aren’t just malleable—”

“They are when someone like Kitty Pryde is involved,” Charles replied, his tone steady but kind. “Logan changed the future, which altered the past. But it seems his mind retained the memories of his original timeline when he was brought back.”

You looked at Logan, your head spinning as you tried to wrap your mind around what they were telling you. “So… you’re saying that everything I remember—all the years we’ve been together, raising Gabby and Laura—they’re real, but to you, they’re…”

“New,” Logan finished for you. He pushed off the desk, his hands going to his hips as he paced the room. “To me, darlin’, this—” he gestured vaguely at the mansion around him, “—this is all brand new. The last thing I remember before waking up this morning was bein’ in 1973, tryin’ to stop Mystique from killin’ Trask.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The Logan standing before you was so familiar, yet so… not. He was the same man you’d spent decades with, and yet he wasn’t.

“You’re still you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan stopped pacing, turning to look at you. His gaze softened slightly, the hard edges of his frustration melting away. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Still me.”

“But you don’t remember Gabby or Laura,” you said, a pang of sadness creeping into your voice. “You don’t remember us.”

Logan’s expression twisted with guilt. “No, sweetheart,” he admitted. “Not the way I should. But I’m tryin’. I swear to you, I’m gonna figure this out.”

You stepped closer to him, your glasses sliding slightly down your nose as you looked up into his eyes. “You’re not alone in this, Logan,” you said softly. “We’ll figure it out together.”

He stared at you, his throat tightening at the unwavering trust in your eyes. Slowly, he reached out, his large hand brushing against yours before taking it fully. “Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough but sincere.

Charles cleared his throat gently, drawing your attention. “The bond you two share has persisted across lifetimes,” he said. “It is not surprising that it remains strong, even now.”

You glanced back at Logan, your fingers still entwined with his. “I guess it’s just one more thing we’ve survived together,” you said with a faint smile.

Logan’s lips quirked upward, just barely. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess so.”

But as the three of you stood there, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a much bigger challenge. For now, though, he let himself hold onto your hand, grounding himself in the one constant he’d always known: you.

---

Laura stared across the table at Logan, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of his face as if she were trying to find something different, something off. Meanwhile, Gabby’s bright voice filled the dining room.

“And then, they just grow back their limbs! Like, if an axolotl loses a leg or even its tail, it’s all, poof! Fixed!” Gabby made an exaggerated explosion motion with her hands, her fork clattering against her plate. “Isn’t that cool, Daddy?”

Logan blinked, dragging himself out of his thoughts. “Uh, yeah, kid. Real cool.” His voice was gruff but softer than usual as he glanced at her. Gabby beamed, apparently satisfied with his half-hearted response, and took another bite of her pancake.

“Dad doesn’t even know what an axolotl is,” Laura said flatly, her gaze never leaving him.

Gabby gasped, scandalized. “Laura! Of course he does! He’s Daddy! He knows everything!”

Logan scratched the back of his neck, an awkward chuckle slipping out. “Well, I wouldn’t say everything…”

Laura narrowed her eyes slightly, leaning back in her chair. “You’re acting weird.”

“Laura,” you said gently, walking into the room with a cup of coffee in hand. You leaned against the doorway, your glasses slipping down your nose just a touch as you looked at your daughter. “Be nice.”

“She’s not wrong,” Logan muttered under his breath, but you caught it and shot him a warning look.

Laura crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “He didn’t even laugh at Gabby’s joke about Mom’s coffee yesterday. That’s how you know something’s wrong.”

You hid your smile behind your mug. “To be fair, it wasn’t a great joke, Gabby.”

“It was hilarious!” Gabby protested, slapping her hands on the table for emphasis.

“Sure, sweetie,” you said with a chuckle, walking over to Logan. Your hand found his shoulder as you leaned down slightly. “Why don’t you two finish breakfast? We’ll be right back.”

Logan shot you a look but didn’t argue as you guided him out of the room, your hand lingering on his arm for a moment before you let go. You didn’t stop until you were in the hallway, far enough from the dining room that the girls couldn’t hear you.

“You’re gonna have to stop looking like a deer in headlights every time Gabby says something,” you said quietly, your tone soft but firm. “She’s going to figure it out if you keep that up.”

Logan let out a long sigh, leaning against the wall. “I’m tryin’, sweetheart. It’s just…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

“Overwhelming?” you finished for him.

“Yeah. That.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes meeting yours. “I don’t know how to do this. Any of this. I don’t remember gettin’ married or havin’ kids. And now, I’ve got a eleven-year-old givin’ me the third degree and a five-year-old who thinks I hung the moon.”

“They’re your daughters, Logan,” you said softly. “And they adore you. Just… be yourself. You’ve always been a good dad to them. That hasn’t changed.”

Logan looked at you, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and determination. “And you?”

“What about me?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“How do I do right by you?” His voice was low, the vulnerability in it catching you off guard.

You stepped closer, your hand brushing his. “You’re already doin’ it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll figure this out together. Just like we always do.”

He let out a low huff, leaning his side against the wall, “well, if I have to hear one more word about an axolotl and their gills, I might lose it.”

You leaned into the wall, mimicking Logan’s stance, your lips twitching upward as you adjusted your glasses. “Actually, axolotls have both gills and lungs, so they can breathe underwater and directly from the air. But they rely on their gills more than their lungs because they’re primarily aquatic. Oh, and their gills are those frilly things you see sticking out of their necks—external gills, which are super rare in vertebrates…”

Logan’s eyebrows rose slowly, and a wry grin began to tug at the corner of his mouth as your words spilled out faster than you seemed to realize.

“And did you know,” you continued, your voice picking up slightly as you adjusted your glasses again, “they stay in a juvenile state their whole lives? It’s called neoteny, and—”

Logan finally let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, darlin’, I get it. You’re where Gabby gets it from.”

You paused mid-ramble, your brow furrowing as you looked up at him. “Gets what?”

“The whole talk a mile a minute about stuff that makes the rest of us feel like idiots thing,” he teased, his tone gruff but warm. “She starts goin’ on about somethin’, an’ it’s like watchin’ a little tornado of facts. Now I know where she gets it.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly, a mix of amusement and bashfulness flashing across your face. “I don’t talk that much.”

Logan arched a brow, his grin widening just a touch. “Sure, sweetheart. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

You huffed, pushing lightly against his chest with the back of your hand, though your lips tugged into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you’re still stuck with me,” he teased, his tone laced with an unexpected softness.

For a moment, you both stood there in the hallway, the din of breakfast chatter echoing faintly behind the door. Logan’s eyes lingered on you, the faint cherry gloss on your lips catching his attention again as sunlight streamed in through the nearby window.

“I really mean it, darlin’,” Logan said after a beat, his voice dipping into something deeper. “You’ve got no idea how much I appreciate you holdin’ this together. All this…” He gestured vaguely, his expression faltering for a second. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Your smile softened, and you reached for his hand instinctively. “We’ve been through worse, Logan. Together. We always find a way.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, the touch grounding him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Always.”

Before the moment could settle further, Scott and Jean walked past the two of you, entering the kitchen. You grabbed Logan’s hand, “c’mon, I want you to see somethin’.”

You pulled Logan to the doorway of the kitchen, motioning for him to stay quiet. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t resist as he leaned slightly into the frame beside you, peeking into the room. Scott was at the counter, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee, while Jean stood nearby, polishing an apple against her sleeve.

“Why are we standin’ here like—” Logan began, but you held up a finger to shush him.

“Wait for it,” you murmured, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

From behind the island, Gabby and Laura crouched in near-perfect silence. Gabby’s face was alight with glee as Laura whispered instructions, holding a small device that looked suspiciously like something Jones might have helped them cobble together.

Logan squinted. “What the hell are they—”

“Shh!” you hissed, suppressing a grin as Laura pressed a button on the device.

The coffee maker on the counter suddenly sputtered and hissed, steam pouring out in dramatic bursts as it began to shake. Scott froze mid-sip, frowning at the machine.

“What the—” Scott leaned in cautiously, placing his mug down.

With a loud pop, a stream of glitter shot out from the coffee maker, spraying directly onto Scott’s chest and face. His entire upper body sparkled in gold and silver flecks as he stumbled back, coughing in surprise.

Gabby popped up from behind the counter, arms thrown in the air triumphantly. “Success!”

Laura stood beside her, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. “Glitter bomb: 100% effective.”

Logan stared, wide-eyed, as Scott wiped at his face in a futile attempt to rid himself of the glitter. “Girls,” Scott said, his voice low and measured in a tone that suggested he was summoning all of his patience, “what did I say about tamperin’ with the coffee maker?”

Gabby, undeterred, pointed at him dramatically. “You said don’t do it. But you never said we couldn’t improve it.”

Jean bit into her apple, turning slightly away to hide her laughter behind a hand.

“You let them do this?” Scott asked, glaring at her.

“I let them? Scott, they’re your nieces,” Jean said smoothly, not bothering to hide the amusement in her tone.

“They’re your nieces too!” Scott protested, but Jean just shrugged, taking another bite of her apple.

Logan let out a low chuckle beside you, shaking his head. “They’re somethin’ else.”

You grinned, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “They’re just like you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know exactly what it means,” you teased. “You’re as much of a troublemaker as they are. Don’t think I haven’t seen the pranks you’ve pulled.”

“Pranks? Me?” Logan’s expression feigned innocence, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Right,” you drawled, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve just coincidentally passed on all your mischief genes to Laura and Gabby?”

Logan let out a soft laugh, his gaze flicking back to the kitchen where Gabby was now dancing around Scott, singing, “Uncle Scott is the glitter king!” at the top of her lungs.

Laura crossed her arms, clearly pleased with her handiwork. “Don’t worry. It’s biodegradable glitter,” she said in a tone that suggested she didn’t actually care about Scott’s glitter predicament but wanted to seem magnanimous.

Scott groaned, his voice rising in frustration. “You two better clean this up. And my shirt. And my—” He gestured vaguely at his glitter-covered face.

Gabby giggled. “Sure, Uncle Scott. Right after breakfast.”

Scott turned to Jean for backup, but she just shrugged again. “You’ll be fine, Scott. You’ve been through worse.”

“Not worse than this,” Scott muttered darkly, picking at a gold fleck on his visor.

You stifled another laugh as Logan crossed his arms, watching the scene unfold with an almost paternal fondness. “They really only prank Summers?”

You nodded, grinning. “Every time. Jean’s always off-limits, but Scott? Fair game. Laura says it builds his character.”

Logan shook his head, still smiling. “Kid’s got my sense of humor, all right.”

“See?” you said, leaning closer to him. “They’re just like you.”

Logan glanced down at you, his expression softening as his gaze lingered. “Guess I’ve got a lot to live up to, huh?”

“You already do,” you said quietly, your hand brushing against his. “More than you know.”

Before Logan could respond, Gabby’s excited voice interrupted. “Mommy! Daddy! Did you see? Uncle Scott’s a walking disco ball!”

You turned just as Gabby bolted toward you both, her small arms outstretched. Logan instinctively crouched to catch her as she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Did you like it, Daddy?” Gabby asked, her face bright with anticipation.

Logan hesitated, his arms tightening slightly around her as he glanced at you for guidance. You smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah, kid,” Logan said finally, his voice gruff but warm. “You got him good.”

Gabby beamed, hugging him tighter before pulling back to look at him. “Laura says we should do water balloons next time. But I think paint bombs would be cooler.”

Logan chuckled, standing with her still in his arms. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Gabby.”

Gabby laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. You watched the two of them, your chest tightening at the sight of Logan holding her so naturally, even if his memories of her weren’t there yet.

Logan caught your eye, his expression unreadable but intense, as if he were trying to piece together the life he couldn’t remember but was already a part of.

For now, you just smiled, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm. “Come on,” you said softly. “Let’s get back in there before Scott recruits you to clean up his glitter.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, his grip on Gabby firm as he followed you back into the kitchen, the warmth of the moment settling around the three of you like a quiet promise.

---

Jean sighed and stepped away, her hands falling from Logan’s temples as she crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, Logan. There’s not much else I can do.”

Logan remained seated, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands clenched together. “So, that’s it? Nothin’? Not even a flicker?”

Jean’s expression softened, but there was a hint of frustration in her voice, more directed at herself than him. “You’ve got a wall in your mind, Logan. One I can’t break through without risking your memories now. If I push too hard, I could do more harm than good.”

He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Feels like I’m livin’ someone else’s life. Like it ain’t mine.”

“You are living your life,” Jean insisted gently. “This is you. You’re just missing… the journey that got you here.”

Logan ran a hand down his face, leaning back in the chair. His gaze drifted to the floor, but his thoughts were miles away. He could feel the weight of everything—the ring on your hand, the way Gabby called him ‘daddy,’ Laura’s quiet smirk when she saw him, the way you looked at him with such love and familiarity. It wasn’t foreign; it was right. But it was also wrong because he didn’t remember any of it.

Jean knelt beside him, her voice quieter now. “You’ve built something beautiful here, Logan. Something you fought for, even if you can’t remember how. Maybe instead of chasing what’s missing, you should try to live in what’s here.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his mind battling with itself. Before he could respond, a voice broke the heavy silence.

“Logan?” Your voice was soft but steady from the doorway.

His head snapped up, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased. “Hey, darlin’.”

Jean rose, excusing herself with a subtle nod toward you. As she passed, she gave your arm a gentle squeeze, her own way of offering support, before disappearing down the hall.

You stepped inside, watching Logan closely as you approached. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my head’s been through the ringer,” he muttered, trying to muster a smirk but failing. “Jean couldn’t find much.”

You perched on the arm of the chair, your hand instinctively reaching for his shoulder. “It’s okay,” you said softly, your thumb tracing small circles over his flannel. “You don’t have to remember everything all at once.”

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “That’s just it. I don’t remember any of it—marryin’ you, findin’ Laura, havin’ Gabby. None of it’s mine.”

Your heart ached at the rawness in his voice, but you squeezed his shoulder gently. “It is yours. Maybe not in the way you think, but it’s yours, Logan. We’re yours.”

He looked up at you then, his eyes darker, clouded with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’re takin’ this awful well.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. “I told you when we got married, remember? That no matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t remember that, either,” he admitted gruffly, though there was a flicker of warmth in his voice.

“Well,” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension, “lucky for you, I do.”

Logan’s hand came up, his fingers brushing against yours where they rested on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of his grip spoke volumes.

You brought him into your side, his head resting below your collarbone on your chest, and a small, bittersweet smile crept onto your lips. “It’s kinda ironic if you think about it.”

Logan’s voice was muffled against you, but there was a familiar gruffness to it. “What is?”

“This,” you said softly, one hand brushing through his hair while the other traced idle circles on his shoulder. “You remember all those lives I don’t, and now we’re here, and I’m the one who remembers… but you don’t.”

Logan let out a humorless chuckle, his arms tightening around your waist. “Yeah, darlin’, real funny.”

“Ironic,” you corrected, the corner of your mouth twitching upward, though the ache in your chest lingered. “Not funny.”

Logan exhaled deeply, his breath warm against your collarbone. “Guess I deserve that, huh? All those times, I remembered you, and now you’re stuck rememberin’ for me.”

You stilled your hand for a moment, then leaned back just enough to make him look at you. His eyes were darker than usual, shadowed with frustration and something deeper you couldn’t name. “You don’t deserve this, Logan,” you said firmly. “Don’t ever think that.”

He searched your face, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard. “Feels like I do,” he murmured. “Every time I’ve lost you… it’s been my fault somehow. Every damn time. And now—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as though trying to dislodge the thought.

“And now,” you said, finishing for him, “you haven’t lost me.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing unconsciously over the fabric of your shirt where his hand rested on your waist. “Not yet.”

“Not at all,” you said, your voice steady. “You’ve got me, Logan. I’m right here.”

His lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “For now.”

You sighed, cupping his cheek and guiding his gaze back to yours when it started to drift. “Logan. Stop. We’ve been married for nearly twenty years. I know this is… a lot. It’s a lot for me, too. But you don’t have to figure it all out today, or tomorrow, or even next week.”

He huffed a small laugh, his hand moving to rest over yours. “You always this patient?”

“Only with you,” you teased gently, though the warmth in your voice was genuine. “So don’t make me regret it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, and for a moment, his smirk was almost real.

You smiled back, letting the silence settle for a few beats before Logan’s arms tightened around you again, pulling you closer. His head rested against your chest, his body warm and solid against yours, and for a moment, you just held him.

---

Footsteps thundered across the broken ground, and then he was there. Logan dropped to his knees beside you, his hands immediately reaching for you, shaking you gently but urgently. “Sweetheart, no, no—open your eyes,” he pleaded, his voice cracking as his hands moved from your face to your shoulders, searching for signs of life.

Your body was limp in his arms, your chest still, your face losing color.

Logan’s breaths came in short, harsh gasps as he pulled you against him, cradling you like you might slip away entirely if he let go. “Y/N,” he whispered, the single word a broken prayer, an unbearable weight of grief choking him. His hands shook as they smoothed over your hair, as though trying to coax you back to him with touch alone.

He didn’t notice Ororo land nearby, didn’t register her sharp intake of breath as she took in the scene. Her hand came up to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror, but she didn’t approach. Behind her, Bobby and Kitty stood frozen, their expressions stricken, but they too stayed back. Even Peter, with his usual strength and calm, had no words.

Logan didn’t care that they were there. Didn’t care about anything except the motionless weight in his arms. He rocked you slightly, his forehead pressing against yours as his ragged breaths turned into choked sobs. “You weren’t supposed to—damn it, you weren’t supposed to do this,” he growled, his voice breaking as he fought against the tears burning in his eyes. “Not this time. Not again.”

Logan pressed his lips to your forehead, his hands shaking as they cupped your face. “Come on, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice soft and cracked. “You’re stronger than this. You’re too stubborn to leave me. Just—just come back.”

The others stood frozen, unable to move, unable to interrupt the devastating scene unfolding before them. Ororo’s hand clutched her chest, tears streaking down her face as she turned away, giving Logan what little privacy she could in this moment of unbearable pain.

But Logan didn’t notice. He couldn’t notice. His world had narrowed to you—the unbearable stillness of your body, the haunting silence that surrounded you now.

He didn’t let go, even as the destruction around them finally began to settle, the last vestiges of Jean’s power fading into nothingness. His arms tightened around you, his forehead pressing to yours again as he whispered brokenly, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you. I’m so damn sorry.”

Time seemed to stand still in the worst possible way. For the first time in his long, painful life, Logan felt completely and utterly powerless. The ring he’d carried for over a century burned like a brand against his chest, a cruel reminder of all the promises he’d never been able to keep.

Logan buried his face against your neck, his voice raw as he whispered, “I was gonna tell you. About the ring. About everything. You—you deserved to know.” His thumb brushed over your cheek, as if he could will the life back into you.

He pulled back, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish as he gazed down at you. “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking on every syllable. “I’ve loved you through every lifetime, and I’ll love you in the next one, too. But please, sweetheart, don’t make me wait again. Not this time. Please.”

His hands trembled as he touched your cheek again, his thumb brushing over your skin like it might bring you back. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice hoarse. “I’ll always love you.”

But you didn’t move. Your chest didn’t rise. You were gone.

Logan’s breath hitched as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead—one last desperate, lingering moment of tenderness. When he pulled back, his gaze swept over your still features, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and devastation.

Behind him, Ororo, Bobby, Kitty, and Peter stood at a distance, their faces drawn with grief. None of them moved to intervene. They knew better than to intrude on this moment, on Logan’s anguish.

The air felt impossibly heavy as Logan shifted, gathering your lifeless form into his arms. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though handling something too precious to break further. He cradled you close, his head bowing as he let out a shuddering breath. The others watched as he rose to his feet, every muscle in his body screaming in protest, though he showed no sign of it.

“Logan…” Ororo began softly, stepping forward.

He didn’t acknowledge her. His eyes were locked on you, his focus unwavering. Without a word, he turned away, carrying you toward the bridge. There was no Blackbird to take them home—Jean’s power had obliterated it along with so much else—but Logan didn’t seem to care about the logistics. His only concern was you.

---

Logan jerked awake, gasping, his body tense and drenched in cold sweat. The dim light of the bedroom barely illuminated his surroundings, but he didn’t need it to know where he was. The warmth beside him, the faint scent of your cherry lip gloss lingering in the air—those were enough to remind him. This was 2023. You were alive.

He turned his head to look at you, his breathing still uneven. You were curled on your side, your glasses resting on the nightstand, your hand loosely clutching the blanket. Peaceful. Alive.

“Logan?” your voice, soft and drowsy, broke the silence. You stirred, sensing his distress even in your half-asleep state. “What’s wrong?”

He swallowed hard, running a hand down his face. “Nothin’, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough and unconvincing. “Go back to sleep.”

But you sat up anyway, your hair slightly mussed, your gaze focusing on him even without your glasses. “You had another nightmare, didn’t you?” You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Was it… bad?”

Logan closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. He wanted to lie, to brush it off and tell you he was fine, but the weight of the memory still clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t shake. “Yeah,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Without hesitation, you slid closer to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. “It’s okay,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’m here.”

His body stiffened at first, the vulnerability of the moment making his instincts scream to pull away, but then he let out a shaky breath and folded you into his arms. The solid warmth of you against him—the weight of your presence—was like a lifeline, anchoring him back to the present.

“I dreamed about… losin’ you,” he said after a long moment, his voice low and raw. “It—it was like I could feel it happenin’ all over again.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his tone, but you didn’t pull back. Instead, you tightened your hold on him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “You didn’t lose me,” you whispered. “I’m right here, Logan.”

His arms tightened around you as though he needed to remind himself you were real. After a few moments, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your face like he was memorizing every detail. His hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“I gotta hold you,” he said, his voice gruff but almost pleading. “Just let me—” His words faltered, and he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was desperate yet tender, like he was pouring all the fear and love in his heart into the connection.

You kissed him back without hesitation, your hands resting on his chest. But when he pulled back only to kiss you again—this time slower, deeper—you pulled away slightly, just enough to catch your breath. “Logan,” you murmured, your voice gentle, “are you sure you’re okay?”

His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Just lemme kiss you, please,” he said softly, his voice almost breaking. “Need to feel you. Need to know you’re here.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face. “I’m here,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his again, reassuring him with every touch that you weren’t going anywhere.

Time seemed to stop as you stayed like that, locked in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His hands moved to your waist, holding you securely, while yours stayed on his face, grounding him. Eventually, you pulled back, your noses brushing, your breaths mingling.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his jawline.

Logan hesitated, his eyes flickering with something raw and unspoken. “Not yet,” he admitted, his voice thick. “Just… don’t leave me tonight, darlin’.”

You shook your head, offering him a soft smile despite the emotion welling in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, wrapping your arms around him again.

---

The Blackbird hummed steadily, the low vibration underscoring the tense silence among the team. You glanced toward Logan, his expression hard and unreadable as he stared out the small window. He hadn’t said much since takeoff, and you didn’t push him. Instead, you’d focused on Jean, who was reviewing the mission details, and Scott, who’d been unusually quiet.

“I can handle this,” Logan had said when you vouched for him earlier. You hadn’t doubted him then, and you didn’t now. But Scott’s skepticism hung heavy in the cabin, evident in every glance he shot Logan’s way.

You let out a soft breath and shifted in your seat, nudging Logan’s arm with your elbow. “Hey,” you said quietly, leaning in. “You good?”

Logan turned his head, his eyes meeting yours for a moment. He nodded, though his jaw stayed tight. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

You didn’t buy it, but you let it go. For now.

Scott’s voice cut through the tension. “We’re approaching the drop zone. Everyone stay sharp. This should be quick, but let’s not get sloppy.”

“Sloppy?” Logan muttered under his breath. “We don’t do sloppy.”

Scott shot him a look from the cockpit but didn’t respond, and you bit back a small smile despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.

---

The mission was supposed to be simple. Extract intel, neutralize threats, and get out. But as usual, things didn’t go as planned.

The team moved as a unit through the labyrinthine corridors of the facility, the dim lighting casting long shadows that danced with every flicker of movement. Logan was at the front, claws out, his senses leading the way. You stayed close, your focus split between him and the others.

“Jean, you got eyes on the server room?” Scott’s voice crackled through the comms.

“About twenty meters ahead,” Jean replied, her voice calm despite the rising tension.

Logan’s claws retracted with a snikt as he held up a hand, signaling everyone to stop. His nose twitched, and his head tilted slightly. “Something’s off,” he murmured, his voice low.

Before anyone could ask what, the ground beneath your feet rumbled, and the corridor ahead exploded in a burst of heat and light. You stumbled back, shielding your face, as alarms blared throughout the facility.

“Damn it!” Scott barked. “It’s a trap!”

Logan was already moving, his claws gleaming as he launched himself toward the first wave of attackers. “Get to the server room!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll clear the way!”

“Logan, wait—” But he was gone, a blur of fury and precision as he tore through the enemy.

You exchanged a quick glance with Jean and Ororo before taking off in the opposite direction with them. The mission had gone sideways, but there was no time to panic. Focus was key.

---

You weren’t sure how long it had been—minutes? Hours? The battle had stretched into chaos, and every step felt like a fight to stay alive. You found yourself separated from the others, the air thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Your powers buzzed beneath your skin, a familiar warning. You’d been careful not to overuse them, knowing the toll it took, but the situation left you little choice. Cornered by a group of heavily armed soldiers, you raised your hands, time itself seeming to shudder as you concentrated.

The soldiers froze mid-step, their weapons hanging suspended in the air. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you pushed harder, distorting the flow of time around you. The strain was immediate, your body protesting as you manipulated the anomaly.

“Y/N!” Logan’s voice cut through the haze, rough and urgent. He appeared out of the smoke, his claws dripping red. His eyes widened when he saw you, the flickering distortion around you making it clear you were at your limit.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice was strained. “Go help the others.”

“Like hell,” Logan growled, rushing to your side. His hand gripped your arm firmly but gently. “Stop this. You’re gonna tear yourself apart.”

“I can handle it,” you insisted, though your knees buckled slightly under the weight of your own power.

Logan didn’t argue. Instead, he scooped you up with a gentleness that belied his strength, cradling you against his chest. The anomaly wavered, then shattered, the soldiers collapsing as time resumed. But the damage was done.

As the world around you stabilized, you felt a strange, disorienting pull in your mind—like something had snapped and splintered all at once.

Logan froze mid-step, a strangled noise escaping his throat. His grip on you tightened as his body went rigid, his breathing shallow and erratic.

“Logan?” you murmured, your voice weak. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His eyes darted wildly as memories surged through his mind—memories that didn’t belong to the man he’d been moments ago.

A wedding. Your smile, brighter than the sun, as you held his hands. The weight of the gold ring he’d finally placed on your finger after lifetimes of waiting.

Laughter. Laura’s tiny hands clutching his shirt as he carried her on his shoulders, her giggles echoing through the halls of the mansion. Gabby’s wide grin as she showed him a picture she’d drawn of the four of you—her family.

Peace. The quiet nights on the porch, your head resting on his shoulder as the stars twinkled overhead.

Love.

A life.

A family.

Logan stumbled, dropping to his knees as the memories overwhelmed him. They were vivid and unrelenting, a rush of emotion and experience that left him gasping for air.

Your hands trembled as you knelt beside Logan, panic bubbling in your chest. His body shook, his breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. You reached out, gripping his shoulders. “Logan! Please—what’s wrong? Talk to me!”

He didn’t respond. His eyes were wide and unfocused, darting as though he was watching something invisible and overwhelming. His claws had retracted, his hands pressed flat to the ground like he was trying to anchor himself.

“Logan…” Your voice cracked, tears blurring your vision. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what I did—please, just say something.”

His breath hitched sharply, and he finally looked at you, though his gaze was distant, almost haunted. “I… I can’t—” His voice was rough, fractured, as though he was choking on the words. “It’s… I remember.”

You froze. The blood roaring in your ears was nearly deafening. “What do you mean? Remember what?”

Logan shook his head as if trying to clear it, but his face was pale, his features twisted with a mix of disbelief and something raw—grief? Love? Fear? You couldn’t tell.

“It’s us.” His hands reached for you instinctively, his calloused palms cupping your face. “I see you. I see…” His words faltered, and his gaze flickered like he was staring into a memory you couldn’t reach. “The wedding. Laura. Gabby. God, darlin’, I see all of it. I feel it.”

Your heart clenched, your breath catching in your throat. “You remember this life?” you whispered, your hands resting on his wrists.

Logan’s eyes, normally so sharp and guarded, now brimmed with something far more vulnerable—tears threatening to spill as his gaze bore into yours. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice rough, choked. “Not just bits and pieces… all of it.”

Tears continued to blur your vision as you searched his face, struggling to process his words. His hands stayed on your face, steady even though they were trembling slightly, and his eyes darted over yours like he was trying to memorize every detail, afraid you might vanish if he looked away for even a second.

“Logan…” Your voice wavered, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. “You… remember everything?”

He nodded, the movement jerky, uncoordinated. “Yeah. Every damn thing,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. “I remember… us. Our life. Laura. Gabby. The day I put this ring on your finger.” His thumb brushed against the gold band on your left hand, his expression flickering between awe and devastation. “I remember it all, darlin’. And it’s like I’ve been livin’ two lives at once.”

Your heart twisted, torn between relief and worry. Relief that he was remembering the life you’d built together—your family, your home—but worry because you knew what this meant for him. Logan wasn’t just remembering. He was reconciling two lifetimes, one full of loss and pain, and one where he’d finally found peace.

You cupped his face now, your hands trembling against his rough, stubbled cheeks. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the fight still raging in the facility. “You’re here. You’re with me. With us. And that’s all that matters.”

His eyes stayed locked on yours, and you could see the storm of emotions swirling behind them—grief, guilt, love, hope. “It’s real,” he said, almost like he needed to hear it to believe it. “This… all of it… it’s real. I didn’t lose you this time.”

“No,” you murmured, tears spilling freely now. “You didn’t lose me. You’ve got me, Logan. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands tightened ever so slightly on your face, his forehead lowering until it rested gently against yours. His breath hitched, and you felt the faintest tremor run through him. “I lost you six times, sweetheart. Six times. I held you in my arms while you—” His voice broke, and he sucked in a sharp breath like he was trying to keep himself together. “I can’t… I can’t lose you again. I won’t.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. “You won’t, Logan. This is our life. Our family. And you’re not gonna lose me. Not now, not ever.”

For a long moment, the two of you just stayed like that, kneeling on the cold floor in the middle of a war zone, holding on to each other like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Finally, Logan spoke again, his voice quieter now, though no less weighted. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his tone raw. “I remember us, but I don’t… I don’t feel like the man you married. I don’t feel like Laura and Gabby’s dad.”

Your heart ached at his words, but you held his gaze, your own resolve strengthening. “You are the man I married,” you said softly but firmly. “You’re the same Logan who’s been by my side for twenty years, who’s been an amazing father to Laura and Gabby, who’s built this life with me. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now, but it will. You’ll remember not just with your head, but with your heart, too. I promise.”

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling shakily before nodding. “I hope you’re right, darlin’,” he murmured. “Because I don’t wanna screw this up.”

“You won’t,” you assured him. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Another explosion sounded in the distance, and Logan’s head whipped around, his instincts kicking in. “We gotta move,” he said gruffly, helping you to your feet. “You okay to walk?”

“I’m fine,” you said, though your legs wobbled slightly as the adrenaline began to wear off. Logan steadied you with a hand on your waist, his touch firm but careful.

“Let’s find the others,” he said, his voice steadying as he slipped back into mission mode. But before you could take a step, he stopped, turning back to you. His hand cupped your cheek again, his eyes soft but serious. “I love you,” he said, the words rough but filled with conviction. “I just… I needed to say it.”

Your breath caught, but you smiled, leaning into his touch. “I love you, too,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “Always.”

He nodded once, then released you, his claws sliding out with a familiar snikt. “Stay close,” he said, his tone low and protective as he led the way down the corridor. And though the chaos of the mission loomed ahead, you felt a flicker of hope—because no matter what, you were facing it together.

---

Once back at the mansion, the first things you saw were Laura and Gabby standing by Rogue, waiting for the others to clear the jet before you and Logan stepped off.

Gabby was the first to make a move, walking at a brisk pace until Logan finished climbing down the stairs and kneeled down, “c’mere princess.”

She let out a happy squeal and ran the rest of the way, launching herself into Logan’s arms. “You haven’t called me that in ages!”

Laura walked over to the three of you, giving you a short hug from the side, “weeks, Gabby, weeks.”

Gabby removed herself from Logan’s chest, turning to face her sister, “that’s ages Laura!”

Laura crossed her arms, her eyebrow arched in exaggerated disbelief. “It’s weeks, Gabby. Don’t be so dramatic.”

Logan chuckled, low and gravelly, still kneeling on the hangar floor. His hands rested lightly on Gabby’s shoulders as she spun back around to look at him, her big, expressive eyes narrowing in mock irritation.

“Well, she’s right about one thing,” Logan said, ruffling Gabby’s hair. “I haven’t been callin’ you ‘princess’ like I should.”

Gabby beamed, throwing her arms around his neck again. “It’s okay, Daddy. I forgive you!”

Behind them, you stood near the ramp, watching the scene with a mix of relief and warmth. Logan caught your eye over Gabby’s shoulder, his gaze softening as it locked on yours. For a moment, it was like the rest of the world disappeared.

Laura’s voice broke the spell. “You’re forgiven this time,” she said with a teasing smirk as she stepped closer. “But Gabby’s gonna milk it for at least a week. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Logan straightened, a hand resting on Gabby’s back as he looked at Laura with that gruff, fatherly affection he’d perfected. “Yeah, well, I reckon I can handle that.”

Gabby grinned triumphantly, glancing between her sister and her dad. “See? Told you I’m his favorite.”

Logan groaned, shaking his head as he rose to his feet, lifting Gabby effortlessly in his arms. “Don’t start that, kiddo. I got room for both of you troublemakers.”

Gabby giggled, but Laura rolled her eyes. “Nice save, Dad.”

You chuckled softly, stepping forward now that the moment felt a little less overwhelming. “Alright, you two,” you said, your voice warm but firm. “Let’s get inside. Everyone’s probably waiting, and your dad looks like he could use a break.”

Logan gave you a small, appreciative smile, one that lingered longer than usual, like he was drinking in every detail of you standing there. He shifted Gabby to his hip and reached out with his free hand, his calloused fingers brushing yours briefly as you both turned toward the mansion.

The walk back was filled with Gabby’s chatter, Laura’s sarcastic commentary, and Logan’s occasional grunt of amusement. But as the four of you crossed the threshold into the warmth of the mansion, you could feel the shift in Logan—a quiet resolve mixed with the raw emotion still simmering beneath the surface.

Once the girls were out of earshot, you tugged gently on Logan’s sleeve, pulling him aside into the quieter hallway. His brows furrowed slightly, but he let you guide him, his hand instinctively finding its way to your waist.

“Logan,” you started softly, looking up at him as the distant echoes of the mansion’s activity faded. “Are you okay?”

Logan’s jaw tensed, his eyes searching yours as though weighing his answer. The soft glow of the mansion’s lights illuminated his face, highlighting the exhaustion and turmoil etched into his features. He let out a low sigh, the sound heavy with emotion, before his hand slid from your waist to cradle the side of your face.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough but honest. “It’s like... I’ve been livin’ someone else’s life for weeks. Like it was mine but not mine, ya know? And now…” He paused, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, his brow furrowing. “Now it’s all there. Every moment. Every damn thing. I remember our girls, our wedding, us. And it’s... it’s real. But it feels like it shouldn’t be. Like it’s a dream I’m gonna wake up from any second.”

Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his voice. You reached up, covering his hand with yours, grounding him. “It’s not a dream, Logan. This is real. We’re real. Laura and Gabby are real. You’re their dad, my husband, and the man who’s been by my side through everythin’. You’ve got us, and we’ve got you.”

His eyes softened, but there was still a shadow of doubt lingering in them. “Feels like I’ve been walkin’ around with a piece missin’, and now it’s slammed back into place all at once. It’s almost too much.”

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. His heart thundered beneath your ear, fast and unsteady, but his arms came around you like they always had, holding you tightly. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” you murmured. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Together.”

Logan buried his face in your hair, his breath hitching as he clung to you. “I missed this,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it. “Even when I didn’t know what I was missin’, I missed this.”

You smiled against his chest, your tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. “You’re home now,” you whispered. “That’s what matters.”

He nodded against you, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “You’re somethin’ else, ya know that?” he said, his lips twitching into a faint, almost self-conscious smile. “Don’t deserve you.”

“You’re wrong,” you said firmly, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek. “We deserve each other. And we deserve this life we’ve built. It hasn’t been perfect, Logan, but it’s ours. And it’s worth every fight.”

Logan’s hand slid to the small of your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles there. His gaze held yours for a long moment before he dipped his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured. “For not givin’ up on me.”

“Never,” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Now, let’s get back to the girls. They’ll probably think we’re plotting something if we’re gone too long.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in his expression. “Yeah, don’t need Gabby comin’ up with some wild theory about why we’re takin’ our time.”

You chuckled, threading your fingers through his as you began walking back toward the living area. “She’d have us starring in some kind of superhero soap opera.”

“Kid’s got a hell of an imagination,” Logan muttered, though there was unmistakable fondness in his tone.

As the two of you reached the living room, Laura and Gabby looked up from the couch where they were sprawled out with popcorn and a movie on the screen. Gabby’s face lit up when she saw you, and she patted the spot next to her enthusiastically. “C’mon, Daddy! We saved you a seat!”

Logan glanced at you, his lips quirking in a small, grateful smile. “Think I better take her up on that,” he murmured.

“You better,” you teased, giving him a nudge. “I’ll grab some drinks and join you.”

He squeezed your hand once before letting go, striding over to settle between his daughters. Gabby immediately curled up against him, and Laura leaned over to steal a piece of his popcorn, earning a mock growl from him.

As you watched the three of them together, laughter bubbling up from the couch, you felt a deep sense of peace settle over you. Logan might still be navigating the storm in his mind, but he was here. And with time, you knew he’d come to fully embrace the life he’d found again.

and it's a happy ever after!!

this was meant to be much shorter. actually, i originally wasn't going to include logan getting his memories back and just make that into a bonus chapter but i couldn't stand it. if it's gonna be a happy ever after i had to go all the way.

and i have i have an idea of how they found laura that does not involve the logan movie. cause, no, no, no, they are getting their happy ending.

with that in mind, again, if anyone is interested in reading about how reader and logan got married, found laura, had gabby, let me know! or, if you have any ideas of stories you want me to tell with reader and logan don't be afraid to ask! (i might have already started writing for the alternate timeline...)

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

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writerofautumnnights · 2 months ago

Text

𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑹 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — 𝐉𝐎𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐌

previous chapter

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ pairing: jobe bellingham x fem!oc

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ sumary: Jobe and Sarah finally give in to the attraction that consumes them. Amidst intense touches and unspoken promises, the chemistry between them reaches its peak, but the impending farewell leaves a taste of uncertainty.

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ warnings: NSFW, a hint of anguish and a little dominance if you close one eye.

count: 10.9k sorry!

# tags: @lonely-world3 @barcagirly @formulafortyfour @kennaskorner @anifffff @jessnotwiththemess @irishmanwhore @oceanfanatic06 @haartemis @eriks-girl @peyiswriting @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @sucredreamer @virgilsgurl @everlyjay @kj77 @muglermami @sailurmewn @goldenngt @cranberryjulce @darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @amirawrah if you want it removed, let me know!

keara’s imessage: myyyyy jobe girls 🗣️ forgive me for the delay, I warned you that I didn't like what I wrote before, but I crossed the line on this one. Thanks for all the love and if you want to be tagged, just let me know. enjoy the chapter 💕

masterlist

Sarah had never planned to fall in love during her exchange program. She had always been picky and cautious when it came to relationships. She had no interest in "raising boys," especially getting involved with someone who might be younger.

But Jobe... he was nothing like the people she had met before. The dilemma of being in your twenties is that you could – potentially – get involved with someone younger or someone older. There's always this inner conflict about what you actually want in a relationship – whether you want to deal with someone still figuring out how to handle life or someone who's already focused on financial success, because after thirty, building stability becomes a priority.

For the Brazilian, these questions had started to surface more and more each day. She was determined to stick to her original goals, trying to fully focus on her studies, but somehow she found herself more and more drawn to someone who was constantly stealing her attention. Sometimes she would catch herself just staring at him, thinking, "How did this even happen?"One look into his eyes and Sarah was completely lost. It was hard not to fall into temptation, hard not to crave being closer every day. She hoped she wasn’t rushing things, but there was something she simply couldn’t put into words. She had never met anyone like him before.

The distance between them was challenging, but somehow, they were making it work. Their daily video calls had quickly become Sarah’s favorite part of the day.

Their communication was getting better and better. Sarah’s English classes were paying off, even with all those impossible phrasal verbs he loved to use. And she had taught him a few words in Portuguese too. It was adorable how he tried to say "saudade" – equally cute and hilarious. Jobe loved saying "meu bem" and "linda demais" whenever he thought she wasn't paying attention.

And it had only been two weeks since that first call that brought them back into each other's lives.

Some people around Sarah had already noticed how distracted and unavailable she seemed; her free time was now filled with calls that somehow made the distance feel shorter. They hadn’t met again in person yet, but it didn’t matter. Some of her friends had even spotted the Sunderland shirt she got after the match and asked questions, but Sarah kept it low-key, just like they had agreed. Some things were meant to stay just between the two of them – even though she was dying to share everything with the world. To her, he was simply Jobe. But to the world, he was still Jobe Bellingham.

Sarah remembered when she used to say she didn’t want to fall in love, didn’t trust anyone anymore, didn’t want to care too much ever again. But Jobe had changed all of that. And day by day, she was letting herself fall even harder.

The Uber weaved through the streets of Manchester while Sarah nervously tapped her fingers against her bag. The improvised lie from the night before weighed heavily on her conscience. She had sent Jobe a message saying that an unexpected issue with her course was preventing her from going to the match. She could still picture his reply — short, polite, but carrying a hint of disappointment he had tried to hide.

Her surprise had almost been ruined when she arrived at the hotel where she would be staying and ran into a few members of Sunderland’s staff at the reception. For a few seconds, her heart skipped a beat as she quickly scanned the lobby for any sign of Jobe. But it was just some staff members. She had been so close — Jobe and the other players had walked through the lobby just minutes later, coming back from their training session at the stadium.

Luckily, Sarah was already on her way to her room.

Her own foolishness had almost ruined the moment she had carefully planned for so long. If she had just asked Jobe where they would be staying, there wouldn’t have been any close calls. But she learned her lesson.

The stadium was already visible in the distance when she picked up her phone and dialed his number. It had to be a quick call. Sarah took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. Three rings, and he answered.

"Hey!" she said, smiling the moment she heard his breathing on the other end. "I just wanted... to wish you good luck..."

She could feel the surprise in his voice, that slight pause of someone who hadn’t expected the call. Jobe said something about getting ready to step onto the pitch, but she caught the lighter tone, as if her call had softened the disappointment he had tried to hide about her supposed absence.

"Are you getting another call?" she asked when she heard another ringtone in the background.

"Yeah, it’s Jude. I need to answer."

"Go ahead. I'll be cheering for you from here. Don’t forget my goal!" she teased.

The driver announced their arrival at the stadium. Sarah zipped her jacket up to her neck, feeling the fabric of the new, autographed Sunderland jersey she wore underneath—a gift Jobe had sent her the previous week. Across her back, his name and number were printed, making her heart race in ways she still couldn't quite explain.

With hesitant steps, she made her way toward the VIP entrance, where players' families gathered. Everything still felt overwhelming; Sarah had been nervous ever since she picked up the ticket earlier that morning—managing to do so discreetly, without Jobe finding out.

The security guard checked her name on the list and gestured for her to move down the hallway. Suddenly, the full weight of her impulsive decision hit her: she was about to watch a match in the section usually reserved for the players' families.

An attendant guided her toward her seat, and Sarah found herself impressed by it all. For a second division team, today's stadium was seriously impressive.

When she entered the reserved box, Sarah froze. The first pair of eyes she met belonged to a middle-aged man whose features were unmistakably familiar—the same eyebrows, the same posture. Mark Bellingham studied her for a few seconds before a spark of recognition lit up his face.

"You must be Sarah," he said, approaching with a warm smile that didn’t quite match the stern image she had built in her mind based on the few photos she had seen. "Jobe’s going to be... well, ‘surprised’ doesn’t even begin to cover it."

"I-I... yes, I am... It's such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bellingham," she stammered, suddenly feeling like all the English words she had learned had fled from her mind. "Sorry for not... telling you I was coming."

"Mark, please," he corrected kindly. "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone."

Everyone?

A man sitting with his leg stretched out over one of the seats turned when he heard the conversation. Sarah recognized him immediately from magazines and match broadcasts: Bellingham. Jude Bellingham, Jobe’s older brother, Real Madrid star — currently sidelined with an injury — was right there in front of her. Beside him, an elegant woman with piercing eyes observed Sarah with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"So you're the famous Sarah," Jude said with a wide grin, reaching out his hand. "Finally meeting the person who has my brother checking his phone every five minutes."

Sarah felt embarrassment flood every part of her body as she accepted his handshake. "Nice to meet you... sorry for showing up... without warning," she managed, her voice barely steady.

"Don’t apologize," Jude laughed. "He’s going to love the surprise."

When Sarah turned to greet Denise, the boys’ mother, a wave of nerves hit her. The woman’s gaze was intense, assessing, and for a moment Sarah was certain she had made a terrible mistake by coming unannounced.

"Sarah," Denise said simply, extending her hand with graceful poise. "Jobe mentioned you wouldn’t be coming."

"It was... uh... a last-minute change of plans," Sarah explained, struggling to find the right words in English. "I hope I'm not... intruding. It was supposed to be... a surprise."

Something in Denise’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. "Anyone who makes my son smile the way you do is more than welcome."

The tension in Sarah’s shoulders eased just a little. Jude pulled out an empty chair beside him and patted the seat.

"Come, sit here. I want to hear all about how you manage to put up with my brother."

The comment earned a nervous laugh from Sarah, and Jude seemed to pick up on her discomfort. With an easy charm, he began sharing embarrassing childhood stories about him and Jobe, speaking slowly and clearly so she could follow, occasionally repeating himself when he noticed her confusion.

The teams entered the pitch for the warm-up, and Sarah’s heart leapt when she spotted Jobe among the players. He looked focused, completely unaware of the surprise waiting for him in the family box.

"He hasn’t looked this way yet," Mark commented, as if reading her thoughts. "He’s always been like that. When he's on the pitch, the whole world disappears."

***

The stadium buzzed with the energy of 20,000 people gathered for the decisive match. Jobe adjusted his number 7 shirt and took a deep breath, feeling adrenaline rush through his veins, just like it always did before a big game. But today, there was something different. A restlessness he couldn't quite name.

His gaze swept across the crowd until it landed on a specific spot — the VIP box where players' families usually sat. His parents were there, Mark and Denise, chatting with Jude. And next to them... She.

Sarah wasn’t supposed to be there. She hadn’t mentioned anything about coming. But there she was, with her unmistakable golden curls and a smile that seemed to light up the whole stadium. Sarah laughed at something Mark said, and for a brief moment, she opened her jacket, revealing the team shirt underneath — the very same one Jobe had autographed and sent to Manchester just a few days ago. The one she had told him she kept tucked away every night like a special gift. The thought made something flip inside his stomach.

When Sarah noticed Jobe staring, she gave him a discreet wave, her smile growing wider. He felt warmth spread through his chest. Quickly, he tore his gaze away, forcing his focus back onto the field. He couldn’t get distracted. Not today. Not by her.

"Focus, Jobe," he muttered under his breath, adjusting his shorts.

Chris approached, giving his shoulder a firm pat. "Would you look at that — the Brazilian actually showed up."

Jobe tried to keep his face neutral, but the weight on his shoulders grew heavier. "Didn’t think she would."

"And I couldn’t take one more minute of you moping around after almost scaring her off with all that commitment-phobia of yours," Chris laughed. "Good thing Eliezer and I knocked some sense into you. Must be the first girl who’s ever made you this nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Jobe replied automatically, though he knew it was a lie.

"Sure," Chris said, shaking his head, amused. "One day, someone was bound to break through all those walls, mate. Just didn’t expect it to be an older woman with that look — like she knows exactly what she wants."

Before Jobe could respond, the whistle blew, calling the teams onto the field. He took a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of Sarah to a far corner of his mind. It was game time. His territory — the place where he knew exactly who he was and what he had to do.

The match kicked off at a fierce pace, just as expected. Jobe threw himself into the game with the iron discipline that defined him on the pitch. For forty straight minutes, he maintained laser-sharp focus, organizing plays in midfield, contributing both in defense and attack. The scoreboard remained 0–0, a reflection of the tension and balance between the two teams.

It was during a stoppage — an opponent down, receiving treatment — that his focus betrayed him. Almost instinctively, his eyes searched for Sarah in the VIP box. She was standing, chatting with his mother, Denise. Something about the sight — Sarah talking to his family like she already belonged — made his heart race.

What were they talking about? Was Sarah nervous? He could hear her Brazilian accent in his mind, the slight stumble over words when she got anxious. Was his mother being kind to her?

"Earth to Jobe!" The coach’s voice snapped him back to reality. "I’ve been talking to you for a minute now! What’s going on? I’ve never seen you this distracted."

"Sorry, coach. It won’t happen again."

The coach studied him for a moment before continuing with the tactical instructions. Jobe nodded mechanically, his eyes trained on the coach’s face, but his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

When the game resumed, Jobe forced himself to focus solely on the ball and the movements of the opponents. It worked, for a while. Until, fifteen minutes into the second half, a perfect opportunity arose. He stole the ball in midfield, dribbled past two defenders, and seeing open space ahead, advanced decisively towards the goal. At the edge of the box, with surgical precision, he shot towards the lower right corner, leaving the goalkeeper with no chance.

The stadium erupted in celebration as Jobe ran, arms wide open, toward the sidelines. Amid the euphoria, his teammates jumped on him, celebrating the goal. When he finally managed to break free from the group hug, Jobe did something he had never done before — he turned towards the VIP box and pointed directly at Sarah.

It was an impulsive gesture, completely out of character for his usually reserved nature, but at that moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. From a distance, he saw Sarah’s face light up in a radiant smile as she covered her face shyly. Beside her, Jude elbowed their father, pointing and apparently making some comment that made Mark laugh and shake his head.

"Wow, the ice man finally melted!" Eliezer joked, passing by as they headed back to their positions. "Never thought I'd see the day Jobe 'I-don’t-get-attached' Bellingham would dedicate a goal to someone."

Chris joined in the teasing: "The Brazilian must have magic powers! We need to thank her later."

Jobe just smiled, for the first time not caring about the teasing from his friends. The feeling of having scored a goal and openly dedicating it to Sarah was strangely freeing.

The rest of the game was a showcase of his talent on the field. As if freed from a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying, Jobe played with a fluidity and creativity that drew applause from the crowd. In the thirty-eighth minute of the second half, he assisted the second goal, sealing the 2–0 victory.

When the final whistle blew, Jobe felt a mix of euphoria from the win and anxiety about what was to come. He knew that, unlike other times, he couldn't simply avoid Sarah. Not after that public gesture. Not after seeing her talking with his parents.

In the locker room, he tried to focus on the team’s celebrations and the quick interviews with journalists. But his mind kept returning to the image of Sarah in the VIP box, wearing his autographed jersey, flashing that smile that seemed made just for him.

"Go on, man," said Eliezer, giving him a friendly push as they finally left the locker room. "Your Brazilian is waiting. And from what Chris told me, your parents are practically ready to adopt her."

"What?" Jobe frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Let’s just say that while you were busy here, your brother was introducing her to everyone as your girlfriend," Chris explained with a mischievous smile. "Apparently, your dad’s already in love with her accent."

Jobe felt a wave of panic. Introducing Sarah as his girlfriend? They hadn’t even kissed yet! What was Jude thinking?

"Relax," Eliezer said, patting his shoulder when he noticed Jobe’s expression. "From what I heard, people just insisted on meeting her after seeing you dedicate the goal."

"What the hell?" Jobe couldn’t hide his confusion.

"So, Mrs. Bellingham got curious to meet the woman who finally conquered her son’s shielded heart," Chris added, amusement all over his face.

"We’re not… it’s not like…" Jobe began, then stopped, not knowing how to define what he and Sarah were to each other.

"Just go," Chris said again, more softly this time. "We all saw the way you look at her. And how she looks at you. Stop fighting it."

With those words echoing in his mind, Jobe walked toward the area where he knew his family — and Sarah — were waiting. With each step, he felt his heart beat harder. It was ridiculous, he thought. He was a professional athlete who regularly performed in front of thousands of people, but the thought of seeing one woman had him panicking.

But it wasn’t just any woman. It was Sarah.

With her golden curls, her musical accent when she spoke English, the way she tilted her head when listening to him with full attention, as if every word he said mattered. Sarah, who somehow managed to see through the walls he had spent years building around himself.

When he finally spotted them in the VIP lounge, Jobe paused for a moment to watch them. His father had his arm draped over Jude’s shoulders, while his mother chatted animatedly with Sarah, who gestured as she spoke, her curls bouncing with the movement. Even from a distance, Jobe could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she tried a little harder to pronounce the words correctly — all signs that she was nervous but determined to make a good impression.

The thought that she was trying so hard for him made something tighten in his chest.

"There’s the star of the game!" his father exclaimed as he saw him approaching.

Everyone turned. Sarah’s smile, when her eyes met his, was a mixture of relief and happiness that made Jobe momentarily forget all his reservations. He greeted his father first, then his brother and mother, exchanging a few words with each of them.

And then, finally, his eyes found Sarah’s again. Jobe couldn’t quite tell what she was feeling, but Sarah focused on her own breathing as she felt her legs tremble slightly as he came closer.

"You came," he said simply, his voice low enough that only she could hear it.

"Surprise," Sarah replied, feeling her English falter once again.

"It really is a surprise. I thought you wouldn’t come!"

"I lied, forgive me," Sarah laughed, biting her lip with a smile.

"Why are you hiding the jersey?" he asked, noticing her zipped-up jacket.

Sarah squinted, making Jobe smile openly, his dimple showing. The gesture made her smile slowly, and feeling all of his family's eyes on her, Sarah opened her jacket, revealing the Sunderland jersey.

Jobe’s eyes immediately darted to a special spot. The dedication: With love, to England’s sunshine. JB 7

The smile that spread across Jobe’s face was unlike any she had ever seen before. There was pride, surprise, and something deeper she couldn’t name.

"It looks better on you than on me," he commented, running his fingers lightly over the fabric, a gesture that sent shivers down Sarah’s spine.

Jobe then turned his attention back to his family.

"Son, what an incredible game! And that moment! I never thought I’d see you do something like that."

"Yeah, little bro, you really surprised us today," Jude added with a mischievous grin. "I barely recognized my usually reserved brother making public declarations."

"It wasn’t a declaration," Jobe protested, flashing a nervous smile, as if trying to hide his embarrassment.

"It was beautiful," Sarah’s soft voice interrupted, her Brazilian accent more pronounced due to her nerves. "No one... has ever done something like that for me before."

Their eyes locked, and for a moment it felt like they were alone in the crowded lobby. Jobe could see every nuance of emotion on her face — the nervousness about being around his family, the insecurity about her English, the genuine happiness at seeing him, the anticipation of what would come next.

"Sarah was just telling us how you gave her that jersey at the first game she attended," his mother commented, bringing Jobe back to reality. "I thought it was such a sweet gesture."

"And she didn’t mention that she sleeps with the jersey every night?" Jude teased, earning a deadly glare from Sarah, whose hands grew sweaty at the revelation.

"I don’t... it’s not exac–" she began to protest, stumbling over her words.

"It’s okay," Jobe interrupted gently, stepping closer to her. "Jude’s just trying to embarrass you. It’s what he does best."

His brother feigned outrage, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. "I'm just helping you two move past this weird dance you’ve been doing for a while now."

"Son, we invited Sarah to have dinner with us tonight," his father interjected, saving them from more teasing. "Do you mind? We thought it would be nice to get to know her better."

The question caught Jobe off guard. A family dinner? With Sarah? It was a big step, especially considering they hadn’t even defined what they were to each other yet. But when he looked at her and saw the mix of hope and apprehension in her eyes, he realized the idea didn’t scare him as much as it should.

"Of course," he answered, surprising himself with how natural it sounded. "If Sarah’s comfortable with it."

"I’d love to," she replied, a shy smile playing on her lips.

"Great," his mother beamed. "We’re heading to the restaurant at your hotel. We already arranged for you to skip the team dinner, so we’ll go with Jude. You can go with Sarah and meet us there?"

Jobe nodded, recognizing his mother’s transparent maneuver to give them a moment alone. "We’ll see you there, then."

As his parents and Jude walked away, promising to meet them at the hotel, Jobe finally found himself alone with Sarah. The silence between them was charged with anticipation.

"You played so well," she finally said, her voice soft. "That goal was amazing."

"Thank you for coming, meu bem," he replied, taking a step closer to her. "I wasn’t sure you’d be here."

Sarah couldn’t hide her smile at hearing Jobe use the Portuguese nickname she had taught him with such delight.

"I just bet it would be cool," she explained. "I thought you’d like to see me cheering for you." She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "I’m sorry about your parents... I didn’t plan on meeting them like this, it all happened so fast and..."

"It’s okay," Jobe interrupted her softly. "They seem to like you."

"Your mom is very kind," Sarah smiled, relaxing a little. "But I’m nervous about my English with them... sometimes I can’t find the right words and..."

Seeing her anxiety build, Jobe did something he had been wanting to do since he first saw her in the box. He closed the final distance between them and pulled her into a hug. He felt her body stiffen in surprise for a second before she relaxed against him, her arms wrapping around his waist.

Leaning down slightly, Jobe buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in deeply. Her scent — a mix of some floral perfume and something uniquely Sarah — wrapped around him like a warm blanket on a cold day. It was comforting and thrilling at the same time. "Your English is perfect," he murmured against her skin, feeling her shiver slightly. "And my parents already adore you. Just like..." he stopped, the words catching in his throat. He wasn’t ready to say it out loud yet.

Sarah pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, their faces inches apart. "Just like...?" she encouraged, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

Jobe swallowed hard, feeling another barrier inside him crumble. "Just like I'm starting to adore you," he finished, his voice low, almost a whisper.

The smile that lit up her face was like a sunrise — gradual, warm, and utterly breathtaking. A different Sarah appeared before him, lighter and unburdened.

"It took you a while to admit that, English boy," she teased, her hand reaching up to gently touch his face, making his heart skip a beat.

"I'm afraid," he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "Of how you make me feel. Of how you seem to see through all my defenses."

Sarah nodded, understanding. "I know. And I'm not in a hurry." Her fingers traced the line of his jaw.

He smiled, a genuine smile that he rarely showed anyone. "This shirt really looks much better on you," Jobe commented, unable to take his eyes off Sarah. "Way too beautiful!"

"You need to stop making me blush, British boy. You know I can still return it... if you want," Sarah replied, playfully.

"Don't take it off again," Jobe said, surprising himself. "It really suits you."

Sarah took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "You know, Jobe, for someone so skilled on the field, you're terribly hesitant off of it."

The comment caught him by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you look at me like I'm both something you desperately want and something that terrifies you. Beyond what we feel." She tilted her head, studying him. "Am I wrong?"

Her honesty left him momentarily speechless. It was exactly how he felt, but he never expected her to notice it so clearly.

"I..." he started, but stopped, unsure of how to continue.

Sarah smiled, understanding. "It's okay. You don't have to explain. I just want you to know that I'm really not in a rush." She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers again. "And I'm not as scary as I seem."

Her touch was warm, real, anchored in the present moment. Jobe felt another barrier tremble, like an old wall finally giving way to time.

"Shall we go? My parents are going to start imagining things if we take too long."

"Oh, sure. Do you have some locker room fetish you need to fulfill?" Sarah asked, playfully, but just looking at Jobe and analyzing his expression had both of them laughing. "Joooooobe."

"What? I can dream," he shrugged, unable to hide the mischievous smile on his lips.

"Come on, for God's sake," she agreed, laughing, but keeping her hand intertwined with his. "And after dinner... maybe we can talk more about that idea of pointing at me on the field."

Jobe felt the embarrassment take over him again, but he didn't let go of her hand as they walked toward the parking lot. There were still many barriers to break, many fears to face. But for the first time in a long time, the idea of letting his guard down didn’t seem so scary.

Not when it was Sarah waiting on the other side.

***

The night had been unforgettable. Sunderland's game ended in victory, with a spectacular goal that sent the fans into a frenzy. Dinner with Jobe’s family, which had initially made Sarah extremely nervous, turned out to be an enjoyable experience, though still challenging. Jobe, on the other hand, felt like the happiest person in the world seeing Sarah interact with his family, even though she tried to mask her anxiety. Her presence in such a personal and important setting for him meant more than anyone could imagine.

When dinner ended and everyone started saying their goodbyes, Sarah took a deep breath, gathering the courage to make the invitation she had been rehearsing in her mind since the middle of the meal.

"Do you need to go back to the hotel now?" Sarah asked quietly, as Jobe finished hugging his older brother. Her English still had a strong accent, but the months of daily phone conversations had significantly improved her vocabulary.

Jobe turned to her with a smile that lit up his face. "Actually, yeah. Why?"

Sarah averted her gaze for a moment, nervously biting her lip. "I was thinking maybe... you could keep me company for a while. It's still early."

"I'd love to," Jobe replied, without hesitating for even a second. "Which hotel are you at?"

"The same as yours."

The smile that appeared on Jobe's face at that information was enough to freeze time; Sarah didn't know it yet, but she was very close to breaking down Jobe's walls.

They said their goodbyes to his family, with Denise, Jobe’s mother, hugging Sarah a little tighter than necessary and whispering something in her ear that made Sarah smile shyly. Mark, his father, gave Sarah a friendly pat on the shoulder and a meaningful look at his son.

When they were finally alone, they walked side by side toward the elevators. In the lit hallway, Sarah slowed her pace and turned to face him.

"It’s strange... finally being here... with you," Sarah commented, breaking the silence. "After so many video calls, it almost feels surreal... to just reach out and..." She hesitated, but her fingers brushed the air between them, stopping just inches from his.

Jobe stopped walking, his gaze meeting hers. Here, without the safety of the digital distance, every gesture carried a different weight. The realization that they were only a few steps away from her room, with their rooms separated by only a few meters of hallway, hung between them like an unspoken question.

When they reached Sarah’s room door, the reality of the situation hit them. They were just one step away from being completely alone for the first time, without the hum of the hotel in the background, without anyone around, without the mediation of phone screens, without the option to end the call when the silence became uncomfortable.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Jobe couldn't resist. He stepped up behind Sarah and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the curve of her neck. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he took a deep breath.

"Your scent is amazing," he murmured against her skin, slowly moving to breathe in the scent of her hair. "How do you always smell so good?"

Sarah couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. "It's just regular shampoo. Nothing special."

"I completely disagree," he replied, still not letting go of her, as if he feared she might vanish if he did. "I think I’m going to stay like this forever."

Sarah felt her heart race at the proximity. Every cell in her body was acutely aware of his presence behind her, the warmth radiating from him, the rhythm of his breath against her hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to enjoy that feeling she had imagined so many times during their late-night conversations.

"Are you okay?" Jobe asked, pulling away slightly so she could turn and face him.

"Yeah," she replied, turning in his arms. "It's just... really strange, finally being like this. Without a screen between us."

Jobe smiled, and Sarah realized that his smile was even more beautiful in person than on the video calls. His eyes sparkled in a way no camera could capture.

"You were so nervous at dinner," he commented, gently guiding her to sit on his lap as he adjusted himself on the edge of the bed. "I thought you were going to pass out when my mom asked about your age."

Sarah covered her face with her hands, mortified. "Was it that obvious? I tried to hide it!"

"It was adorable," he assured her, sitting beside her. "At first, I thought it was my dad who was making you nervous."

"Well, I thought it was your dad... that made me nervous, until I met your mom," Sarah confessed, lowering her hands to look at him. "She has that look that... seems to see everything I’m thinking."

Jobe laughed. "And she loved you. Everyone did, actually. My brother has already sent me three messages asking when they'll meet you again."

Sarah felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Really? I was so worried about making... a good impression."

"You could have shown up wearing a dinosaur costume, and they would have still loved you," he joked, gently running his fingers along her arm. "It’s impossible not to like you."

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, they stayed like that, absorbing the closeness, immersed in the reality of finally being together, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

"Hey," Jobe suddenly said, breaking the moment. "Are you still thinking about that theory I sent you last week? About the government using electromagnetic waves to control people’s sleep patterns?"

"Jooobe, seriously?" Sarah laughed, pushing him onto the bed, unable to believe how he had completely broken the potential mood. She laughed, shaking her head. "Of course. We spent three hours... searching for articles... in the middle of the night. How could I forget?"

"It was fascinating! You can't deny it," he insisted, propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes sparkling in that way she recognized whenever he found something to share with her.

And damn. He looked hot.

"Fascinating, yes, but completely crazy," she replied, trying to find the right words in English. The language barrier was still a challenge, especially when trying to express more complex ideas or subtle nuances. "How did you say it? That they use... what’s the word... frequencies? To make people wake up in the middle of the night?"

"Exactly!" Jobe got excited, leaning forward. "And you have to admit, it makes sense. Why else would so many people have insomnia at the same time?"

"Hmm, I don’t know," Sarah pretended to think. "Maybe because they spend the whole night talking to someone in another city?"

Jobe feigned indignation. "Are you blaming me for your insomnia, Miss Sarah?"

"Maybe," she replied with a teasing smile. "Or maybe it’s the government’s waves."

They laughed together, and the familiarity of that absurd conversation brought comfort. It was like they were back to their late-night phone calls, but infinitely better because now they could see every little detail of each other's expressions, without delay, without blurry pixels.

"Do you want to watch something?" Jobe asked, pointing to the TV in the room.

Sarah nodded. "Sure. You can choose while... I take a quick shower? I’m feeling a little... sticky after all the excitement of the day."

"Perfect," he replied, grabbing the remote as Sarah picked out some clothes from her suitcase.

When Sarah came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, wearing cotton shorts and a loose t-shirt, she found Jobe leaning against the headboard of the bed, with a mischievous smile on his face.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, drying some parts of her hair with the towel.

"I'm finally going to make you watch Star Wars," he announced triumphantly, pointing at the screen where the famous logo and yellow letters were ready to start.

Sarah groaned dramatically. "I knew you were going to take this opportunity!"

"You said you’ve never watched it. It’s practically a crime!"

"Okay, okay," she conceded, moving closer to the bed. "But I can’t promise I’ll stay awake till the end."

Jobe patted the space beside him. "Come on, lie down here. I’ll let you meet the best pillow."

Sarah furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

He tapped his chest, and she laughed. The sound filled the room, making Jobe laugh and beckon her with his finger – Sarah’s heart felt like it missed a beat, but she slowly approached.

He opened his arms, inviting her. "Like this, curled up. It’s the best way to watch Star Wars for the first time."

With her heart racing, Sarah settled beside him, letting him pull her into his chest. The sensation of his body against hers felt both strange and perfectly natural.

The movie began, but after a few minutes, Sarah furrowed her brow. "Jobe, it’s too fast."

"Oh, sorry!" he quickly grabbed the remote and navigated through the menu options. "I’ll put the subtitles in Portuguese."

When the subtitles appeared, Sarah settled more comfortably against him, trying to focus on the movie and not the feeling of his arm around her shoulders, or the warmth radiating from his body, or the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear.

As the movie went on, Sarah allowed herself to relax more and more in Jobe’s arms. The physical closeness, after so many months of emotional and virtual proximity, was both comforting and electrifying. Every small movement, every shift in position sent waves of acute awareness through her body.

At some point, Jobe began absent-mindedly playing with a strand of her hair, wrapping it around his finger. The soft, repetitive touch made Sarah close her eyes briefly, absorbing the sensation.

"Are you paying attention?" he whispered against the top of her head.

"Kind of," Sarah confessed. "It’s hard to concentrate."

"On the movie or something else?" His voice had a playful tone but also carried a hint of tension, as if he was testing the limits of what he could say.

Sarah shifted to look at him, their faces dangerously close. "On everything," she replied honestly. "On you being here with me, after so long imagining what it would be like."

Jobe’s eyes darkened, and he lowered his gaze to her lips. Sarah felt the air between them grow thick, charged with possibilities and repressed desire. They were so close that she could feel his breath on her face, each exhale sending shivers down her spine.

Jobe subtly leaned in, closing the distance between them, his lips almost touching hers now. Sarah could swear she could taste him even before the contact.

At the last second, she turned her face, and his lips brushed lightly against her cheek. Sarah closed her eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs, her breath coming in small, trembling gasps.

Jobe felt a pang of uncertainty when Sarah turned away from the kiss, but the brief contact with the soft skin of her cheek was enough to send an electric shock through his body. He pulled back slightly, giving her space, but still keeping her in his arms.

‘Maybe she’s not ready,’ he thought, trying to calm his racing heart. ‘Or maybe I misread everything.’

But there was no denying the tension between them, the electricity that seemed to crackle in the air every time they touched. The long hours of deep conversations, of shared vulnerability through screens, had created an intimacy that now manifested physically, as if their bodies were magnets with opposite polarities, constantly pulled toward each other.

Sarah, for her part, felt her chest rise and fall quickly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions overwhelming her. She wanted the kiss – God, how she wanted it – but fear paralyzed her at the last moment. Not fear of Jobe, but fear of what would come after, the intensity of what she felt for him, the implications of letting herself go completely for something that had started in such an unlikely way.

'What if I ruin everything?' she thought, as she pretended to focus on the movie. 'What if, after everything, it’s not like we imagined?'

But the feeling of his arms around her, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the scent of his cologne mixed with something that was essentially Jobe – all these things seemed to pull her toward him, as if the gravity between them had increased exponentially.

On the screen, a space battle was unfolding, but neither of them was really watching. They were hyperconsciously aware of each other, of every little movement, every breath, every heartbeat.

"Sorry," Jobe murmured after several minutes of tense silence. "I shouldn’t have..."

"No," Sarah interrupted, turning to face him again. "Don’t apologize. It’s not that."

Their gazes met, and Sarah saw in those eyes all the vulnerability and desire that she herself felt. A heavy silence fell between them, loaded with unspoken words and unfulfilled wishes.

"What is it, then?" he asked, his voice little more than a rough whisper.

Sarah tried to find the words in English, but gave up. Some things were hard to express even in her native language. Instead, she slowly brought her hand to his face, her fingers softly tracing the line of his jaw. The touch was light as a feather, but filled with intention.

Jobe remained completely still, as if any movement could break the spell of the moment. His eyes never left hers, searching, questioning, waiting.

Sarah felt her whole body hum with anticipation as she leaned toward him again. This time, there was no hesitation in her movements. She closed her eyes and, finally, pressed her lips against his.

The first contact was gentle, almost reverent. A simple brushing of lips that lasted only a second, but felt like it contained entire universes. When she pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, she saw a whirlwind of emotions reflected there – surprise, joy, desire, relief.

Jobe let out a low sound, almost a contained moan, before sliding his hand to the back of her neck and pulling her back into another kiss. This one, unlike the first, had nothing of hesitation or gentleness. It was years of repressed desire, months of anticipation, weeks of anxiety – all culminating in this moment, this contact.

His lips moved against hers with controlled urgency, as if trying to hold back, but failing. Sarah felt her body respond, instinctively leaning closer to him, her fingers now tangling in the short hair on his head.

The kiss deepened naturally, their tongues meeting for the first time, exploring, tasting, discovering. Sarah couldn’t help but let out a sigh of pleasure when she felt his tongue slide against hers, sending waves of heat through her body. It was as if every nerve ending had awakened simultaneously.

Jobe’s hands, which had until then remained in safe places – one on her neck, the other on her waist – began to explore timidly. He slid his fingers under the hem of her t-shirt, touching the warm skin of her back, and Sarah arched involuntarily at the contact.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured against her lips, between kisses. "So, so beautiful."

Sarah felt a wave of confidence wash over her with his words. She shifted, adjusting her position to sit on his lap, one leg on either side of his hips. Jobe inhaled sharply at the new proximity, his hands instinctively finding her thighs, squeezing gently.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his breath quickening, his lips swollen from the kisses.

"More than okay," she replied, looking at him as if she were the most precious thing he had ever seen. "This is... perfect."

They kissed again, more deeply this time, their hands exploring with more boldness. Sarah felt his hands slide down her thighs, slowly rising, stopping respectfully at the hem of her shorts, as if asking for permission.

In response, she broke the kiss just long enough to pull her own t-shirt over her head, revealing herself to him. Jobe froze for a moment, his eyes scanning every exposed inch, with an expression of pure fascination, particularly on her breasts.

"Are you real?" he whispered, almost to himself, before bringing his hands to her bare waist, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her sensitive skin, gradually moving up toward her breasts.

Sarah smiled, feeling powerful with the effect she clearly had on him. “Very real,” she replied, helping him remove his shirt as well.

The skin-to-skin contact as she leaned in to kiss him again drew moans from both of them. It was an indescribable sensation, finally feeling the warmth of his body directly against hers, with no barriers. His hands explored her back, down to the curve of her waist, up again to finally touch her breasts.

“Perfect,” he murmured, as his thumb slid over her nipple, making her arch her back in response. “Made for me.”

He met her gaze, and Sarah felt herself melt at the intensity she found there. There was something deeply intimate about the way he never took his eyes off hers as his hands explored her body, as if he wanted to memorize every reaction, every sigh he provoked in her.

The remaining clothes were removed one by one, with pauses for kisses and caresses on each new piece of skin revealed. When her hand found the obvious bulge in his pants, Jobe let out a guttural moan, low and restrained, that made her whole body tingle with desire.

When they were finally completely naked, Jobe carefully reversed their positions, laying Sarah on the pillows and hovering over her for a moment, just looking at her with reverence. He stood over her in the missionary position, allowing their gazes to remain connected.

“I've dreamt about it,” he confessed, his voice husky with desire. “So many nights... you have no idea.” Sarah reached out to touch his face. “Me too,” she replied, feeling the heat rise through her body with the intensity of the moment. “Shit. Every day.”

He lowered his head to kiss her again, more gently this time, while his hands explored her body adoringly. Every touch seemed calculated to discover what made her sigh, what made her arch her back, what made her moan his name.

“May I?” he asked in a whisper, sliding his hand between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers.

Sarah nodded, unable to form coherent words as he began to touch her intimately, slowly discovering how to pleasure her. He carefully watched every expression on her face, adjusting his movements according to her responses.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he murmured, watching her squirm under his touch. “I want to see you fall apart for me, I want to hear my name on your lips.”

She couldn't resist for long under his dedication. When the pleasure hit her, Sarah dug her nails into his back, leaving marks that he would carry with pride for days to come. His name escaped her lips like a repeated prayer.

Jobe smiled, pleased with himself, before moving down, tracing a path of kisses down her body. “I want to taste you,” he said, looking down at her from between his legs. “May I?”

Before she could answer fully, he was already tasting her, his tongue exploring every inch with dedication and reverence. Sarah buried her fingers in his hair, arching up against his mouth, unable to contain the sounds of pleasure escaping her lips. Jobe seemed lost in her, as if he could spend hours there, completely devoted to pleasuring her.

When he finally pulled out, Sarah's body was already trembling with anticipation. He reached for the protection on his pants, quickly preparing himself before turning back to her, positioning himself between her legs.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his tone gentle despite the obvious need in his gaze.

“I am,” Sarah nodded, pulling him down for a deep kiss.

Their gazes met as he slowly joined her, moving with extreme caution at first, on the lookout for any sign of discomfort. “Tell me if I need to slow down,” he whispered against her lips.

But Sarah only wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, an action that drew a deep moan from Jobe's throat. He set a deliberately slow pace at first, savoring every sensation, every movement, every moan that escaped her lips.

“You're so perfect,” he whispered in her ear, between restrained moans. “So perfect for me... as if you were made for me...”

The intimacy of the moment went far beyond the physical. It was the culmination of months of emotional connection, of vulnerability shared through cell phone screens, now finally realized in the meeting of their bodies. Their eye contact remained almost uninterrupted, intensifying every sensation, every emotion.

“You're doing so well for me,” he murmured, words of praise that made her body respond in ways she had never experienced before. “My sweet girl... so perfect...”

As the need grew, the pace gradually increased. Her hands gripped his back, her nails leaving soft marks on his skin, while he alternated between burying his face in her neck and looking directly into her eyes, all the while murmuring words of adoration.

“Please tell me this is good for you,” he begged, his voice almost pleading. “Tell me I'm making you feel good...”

“It's amazing,” she managed to reply between moans. “You're amazing, Jobe... don't stop...”

Those words seemed to ignite something inside him. His movements became more intense, more determined, but without losing that connection, that undivided attention to her pleasure. His hands explored every inch of her body they could reach, as if trying to memorize every curve, every texture.

When he felt she was close to the edge again, he slid a hand between their bodies, touching her in a way that intensified her pleasure. “I want you to get there again,” he whispered. “I want to feel you come apart around me... give it for me, baby.”

The climax hit them almost simultaneously - her first, with a muffled cry against his shoulder, and then him, with a guttural moan and her name repeated like a sacred mantra. Jobe stayed connected to her for long moments afterwards, their bodies still trembling with the waves of pleasure, their jagged breaths mingling in the small space between their faces.

When they finally separated, Jobe didn't pull away completely. He lay down next to her and immediately pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her back. “Wasn't I too... intense?”

Sarah smiled against his chest, feeling completely satiated and protected. “It was perfect,” she murmured, still trying to normalize her breathing. “Better than I could have imagined.”

He kissed the top of her head, his fingers now sliding down her body, touching every little mark, every freckle, every little scar with reverence. “You were amazing to me,” he whispered. “So incredible... my sweet girl...”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just absorbing each other's presence, until Jobe gently pulled away. “I'll get you a towel,” he said, kissing her softly before getting up.

When he returned from the bathroom, he cleaned her up with care and affection before returning to the bed and pulling her back into his arms. Sarah nestled against him, fitting perfectly into his embrace.

“I think we missed an important part of the movie,” he joked, indicating with his head the television where the Star Wars credits were silently rolling.

Sarah laughed, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips. “We can watch it again tomorrow.”

Jobe's smile faltered slightly. “Tomorrow... I have to go back to Sunderland tomorrow,” he reminded, a tone of sadness evident in his voice. “And you to Manchester.”

Sarah felt a tightness in her chest as she remembered this fact. After so much closeness, after finally overcoming that barrier, the idea of separating seemed almost painful.

"What time do you need to leave?" she asked, her voice small.

"We're leaving in the afternoon," he replied, pulling her closer as if trying to merge their bodies. "I should head back to my room before the night check. Actually... I should already be there now."

Sarah lifted her face to look at him. "Are you going to get in trouble?"

He smiled, gently touching her face. "It would be worth any trouble," he answered sincerely, then sighed. "But probably not. I'll say I was with my family."

She nodded, leaning back against him again. "I don't want you to go," she confessed softly.

"I don't want to go either," he admitted, intertwining his fingers with hers. "I spent so much time imagining what it would be like to be with you like this... and now it feels impossible to pull away."

"Then stay!"

***

As the rising sun began to cast its first rays through the gap in the curtain, Jobe slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the tangle of golden curls spread across the pillow next to him. Sarah was fast asleep, breathing softly, her face serene, and her lips slightly parted.

Jobe allowed himself to watch her for a moment. Her curls glistened in the touch of the morning light, creating the impression of a solar halo around her face. ‘She really does look like the sun,’ he thought, recalling the countless times he'd mentally compared her hair to golden rays.

He stretched his arm to grab his phone and noticed there were already several messages. Three were from Jude.

[07:15] Jude: Still alive, or did she kill you from exhaustion?

[07:45] Jude: You need to get back to your room before anyone notices you didn’t sleep there, remember? Your coach is going to kill you.

[08:10] Jude: Jobe, answer me. I just want to know if I need to come up with an excuse if I run into your coach downstairs.

Jobe smiled, typical of his older brother – always worried, always looking out for him, even when he pretended to just be being practical. He quickly typed:

[08:35] Jobe: I’m alive. More alive than ever, actually. I’ll make it in time, don’t worry.

[08:35] Jude: So, she’s really special then. Never seen you lose track of time because of someone.

[08:36] Jobe: She’s... different. I’ll tell you later.

Jobe set the phone aside and turned his attention back to Sarah. His fingers gently traced the contour of her shoulder, feeling the soft skin. He had never been someone for deep connections or opening up easily. But with Sarah, from the very first moment, something had been different. Like there was an invisible thread pulling him toward her, something he couldn’t – and didn’t want to – resist.

Sarah shifted under his touch, her eyes slowly opening, adjusting to the light. When she recognized him, a sleepy smile appeared on her lips.

"Good morning," she murmured, her voice hoarse from sleep.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jobe replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

Sarah stretched like a lazy cat, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Were you watching me sleep?" she asked, with a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

"Guilty," he admitted. "Your curls look like gold when the light hits them. Like sunrays."

Jobe knew how to make Sarah blush, and she hid her face against his chest. He noticed how different she was in the morning — softer, more vulnerable, almost shy. A completely opposite version of the confident woman from the night before. That duality fascinated him.

"What time do you need to leave?" Sarah asked, her voice muffled against his skin.

The question brought a weight to the atmosphere. Jobe felt her body tense slightly, as if she were bracing herself for the goodbye, for the inevitable moment when their bubble would burst.

"We still have a few hours," he replied, running his fingers through her curls. "I ordered breakfast in the room. I don't want to leave here yet."

Sarah lifted her gaze to him, her eyes revealing a mix of relief and uncertainty. Jobe could see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. Was she wondering if she was just another one for him? If what they shared meant something more than just the night before?

"What is it?" he asked softly, touching her chin.

Sarah bit her lower lip, hesitant. "Nothing, just..." she began, but stopped.

"Tell me," Jobe gently insisted. "What's going through that head?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "It's just that... this was really intense for me. And I don't know what it means for you. If it was just... you know, a one-night thing."

There was a fragility in her voice that made Jobe’s heart tighten. He had never been good with words, always preferring actions. But in that moment, he knew he needed to find the right words.

"Sarah," he said, holding her face in his hands. "I'm not good at this. I'm not good at opening up or getting to know new people. But from the moment I saw you, I knew it would be different with you. This isn’t just a one-night thing for me."

Her eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and hope. "Really?”

In response, Jobe pulled her closer, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss. He felt her body melt against his, the vulnerability of the morning giving way to something hotter, more intense.

Her hands began to explore his body, and he felt desire growing again, as if all the hours spent the night before hadn’t satisfied anything, only increased the hunger they felt for each other.

"I want you," he whispered against her lips. "Again. Now."

Sarah responded with a soft moan, her legs wrapping around his waist as Jobe pulled her up onto him. The sunlight now bathed the entire room, illuminating their intertwined bodies.

There was something different about this moment — an urgency mixed with tenderness, as if every touch was both a goodbye and a promise. Sarah arched against him, her golden curls falling like a curtain around their faces, creating a world just for them.

Jobe gently turned her, placing her beneath him, his eyes never leaving hers. There was a raw intensity in his gaze as he moved, each motion deliberate, each response from her body engraving itself into his memory.

"Jobe," she gasped, her nails leaving light marks on his back.

He savored her name on her lips, the way it sounded like a prayer, a confession. He had never felt anything so right, so complete. When pleasure enveloped them, it wasn’t just physical, but something that seemed to overflow, filling every empty space Jobe never knew existed inside him.

Then, as they caught their breath, intertwined under the disheveled sheets, Jobe traced invisible patterns on her skin. "I want to show you something," he said, suddenly.

Sarah watched him with curiosity as he stood up and went to the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water, and soon Jobe reappeared, extending his hand to her.

"Shower?" he invited with a smile.

Sarah took his hand, letting him guide her to the bathroom where the steam was already beginning to fill the room. Jobe noticed how she seemed small next to him, her delicacy contrasting with his athletic frame.

Without warning, he lifted her in his arms, provoking a small gasp of surprise followed by her laughter.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked, her arms automatically wrapping around his neck.

"I’ve been dying to do this with you," he replied, carrying her into the shower.

The hot water fell over them, and Sarah closed her eyes, savoring the sensation. Jobe watched, fascinated, as her golden curls darkened with the water, sticking to the skin of her shoulders and back.

He grabbed the soap and began to glide it over her shoulders, turning the shower into a ritual of care and intimacy. Sarah sighed under his touch, her eyes opening to meet his.

"I never imagined you’d be like this," she confessed.

"Like what?"

"So... present. So attentive." Her hands slid up his wet chest. "Football players are usually known for being... distant, only concerned with themselves."

Jobe felt a tightening in his chest. Was she comparing him to others? Had she been just one among many for him in the past?

"I'm not like the others," was all he could say, his voice lower than he'd intended.

Sarah seemed to notice the change in his mood and moved closer, the water running between their bodies. "I know," she whispered. "That's why... that's why I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"That it will end the moment you walk out that door. That it will just be a beautiful, fleeting memory."

The vulnerability in her voice hit Jobe hard. He had never cared before about what was left behind. But now, the thought of Sarah thinking she was just another one made his stomach churn.

"Look at me," he asked, gently lifting her chin. "I live in Sunderland, and you live in Manchester. It's not the end of the world. It’s just a few hours away, not another planet."

A small smile appeared on her lips. "Are you suggesting that...?"

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. Breakfast had arrived.

They dried off and dressed quickly, Jobe wrapping Sarah in one of the hotel’s fluffy robes, which seemed to swallow her whole. The sight of her like that, with wet hair and a makeup-free face, swimming in her oversized robe, made something inside him melt.

"You look adorable," he said, kissing the tip of her nose as he opened the door for room service.

They had breakfast in bed, feeding each other pieces of fruit and stealing kisses between sips of coffee. The atmosphere was lazy and intimate, as if they were isolated from the rest of the world.

It was the shrill ring of Jobe’s phone that finally broke the bubble. Chris’s name flashed on the screen.

"I have to take this," he said, throwing an apologetic look at Sarah before answering the call. "Hey, Chris."

"Where the hell are you, man? The bus leaves in an hour, and the coach is already asking about you. He said you were in the room talking to your family, but he doesn’t seem convinced."

Jobe felt the weight of reality return. "I’m coming down. I’ll be there in ten minutes."

"You better be," Chris replied. "She must really be special if you're risking the coach’s wrath like this."

Jobe looked at Sarah, who was silently watching the conversation, a piece of toast forgotten in her hand. "She is," he simply replied before hanging up.

The silence that followed seemed loaded with all the unspoken words between them. Jobe stood up and started gathering his scattered belongings.

"I have to go," he said the obvious, hating the finality in his voice.

Sarah nodded, putting the plate aside and hugging her knees to her chest. "I know."

Jobe stopped what he was doing and sat beside her on the bed. "Hey," he softly called. "This isn’t goodbye." Sarah tried to smile, but didn’t reach her eyes. "People always say that."

"I’m not 'people,'" Jobe retorted, holding her face in his hands. "Look, I don’t know exactly what’s happening between us, but I know I don’t want it to end here. It’s not just distance that will keep me away from you."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, Sarah couldn’t hide her disbelief. "Do you really want..."

"I want much more than that," he admitted, surprised by his own honesty. "I want to know you. For real. All the details, all the stories. I want to know what makes you laugh and what keeps you awake at night."

A genuine smile finally lit up Sarah’s face. "I want that too."

Jobe finished getting dressed, aware of her gaze following every move he made. When he was ready, he sat next to her again, taking her hands in his.

"I need to go now," he said. "But before..."

He pulled out his phone and opened the camera. "I haven’t forgotten the picture," he joked, trying to ease the tension in the moment.

Sarah laughed and took a few portraits. During one of their long calls, he had promised he would keep a picture of Sarah to remind her how much better she would look after meeting him. A boost of confidence, but not a lie.

When he handed the phone back, Jobe immediately went to check the photos. Smiling, in a different way. But he didn’t see when Sarah took the opportunity to capture the exact moment.

"Two can play this game," she said, a smile on her lips.

"Now you have mine too," Jobe couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

Sarah had an interesting effect on him.

She nodded, biting her lower lip to hold back the emotion. Jobe leaned in and kissed her, a slow and deep kiss that carried all the feelings he still didn’t know how to express in words. He savored the taste of her, memorizing the sensation, the aroma, the texture of her soft lips against his.

When he pulled away, he saw her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Are you going to run away from me, Sarah Lima?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

She shook her head. "No. And you?"

Jobe smiled, a genuine smile that lit up his eyes. "You’re going to need a lot more than living in another city to get rid of me."

With one last kiss, he stood up and grabbed his hoodie. At the door, he turned to look at her one last time, wrapped in the oversized robe, her golden curls beginning to dry in rebellious spirals, her eyes fixed on him.

"See you soon," he promised. It wasn’t goodbye. It was just the beginning.

As he descended in the elevator, Jobe sent a message to Jude:

[09:47] Jobe: I think I just met someone who could change everything.

[09:48] Jude: Finally, my little brother is growing up. I can’t wait to hear this story.

Jobe smiled at his phone, slipping it into his pocket. For the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to the future and the possibilities it brought. Sarah wasn’t just another one. She was the beginning of something new, something he was willing to explore, no matter the distance between them.

dividers by @cafekitsune

pictures from pinterest and ig

If you want to join the tag, let me know. Until next time 💋

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