#linnylooo

The bar wasn’t anything special—dim lights, a jukebox in the corner rattling out half-broken blues, the air thick with the scent of cheap whiskey and old cigarettes. But Lucile Xavier had never cared much for “special.” What mattered was that it wasn’t the mansion. It wasn’t the sterile quiet of endless hallways and watchful eyes. It wasn’t her grandfather’s endless lectures or Logan’s constant, gruff shadow at her side. Here, in this nowhere-place, she could breathe. Or at least, she could pretend.

Her red-painted lips curved into a sly smile as she leaned across the counter, one elbow resting against the sticky wood, the neckline of her black silk top catching the glow of the neon beer sign overhead. The man beside her—broad-shouldered, tanned skin, laughter lines crinkling around dark eyes—wasn’t particularly interesting. But he was interested, and sometimes that was all that mattered. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, voice warm, words slurred faintly with whiskey.

Lucile tilted her head, letting a loose strand of raven hair fall across her cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she teased, lifting her glass to her lips. Bourbon burned its way down her throat, steadying the faint hum of energy that always crackled beneath her skin. A dangerous reminder of what she was—what had been forced into her veins, what Logan was tasked with keeping under control.

But here, she wasn’t the granddaughter of Charles Xavier. She wasn’t the lab experiment, the fractured girl with a target on her back. Here, she was just another pretty face in the dark. And if Logan ever found her here, pressed close to a stranger, laughing like the world wasn’t ending—well. That was his problem.

Her hand brushed against the man’s as she reached for her drink, her smile widening when his gaze flickered briefly down her frame. “Tell me,” she murmured, voice low enough to curl like smoke, “are you always this charming, or am I just lucky tonight?”

It had been a long day for the Winchesters — hell, their whole life had been one long day. Sam and Dean were seated across from one another at the long table in the bunker, preparing for the next case that had been sent their way. The older Winchester shoved the last bite of a pizza slice into his mouth, closing the lid and sliding it down the smooth surface out of his way. He met Sam's gaze, crossing his arms and leaning forward on his elbows.

Some call it destiny, some fate, some call it a twisted cosmic love anomaly. Like anchor beings, anchor love stories like these stretch through dimensions. Basically, what this part of the story arch so far is gonna answer is, what if the love story happened after Wade's Weapon X experience?

⸻An angel without its wings is only human…

It had been four months. Four months since she was freed from that hellish torture facility. Four months since she had slept on a real mattress for the first time in six years. And four months since she had first laid eyes on the most beautiful man she had ever seen. One hundred and twenty days of keeping her distance as best she could, staying away from him—even when every time he looked at her, the hardened cement barriers of her resolve crumbled further and further, the mortar chipping and cracking, edging its way toward the center of her heart. Every waking thought was filled with him, and she would do anything to drive him out of her head… to keep him at arm’s length, in the desperate hope of protecting him from being tainted and corrupted by her.