#it takes me forever to finish things so i love this

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ one of me is cute, but two, though?

chapter summary: Now that you are finally pregnant, you and Logan embark on the 9 month journey.

word count: 10.9k+ (23.9k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this spans 9 months of reader's pregnancy. i didn't write every single week; i tried to hit the main milestones. i researched every stage of pregnancy, so if anything's wrong... idk man, i'm 20, i'm not gonna get pregnant just for a fic

also apparently 24k words is too much for tumblr, so this is split in 2 parts

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, a few mentions of puking, protective!logan, protective!laura, hormones, pregnancy, giving birth

series masterlist - chapter 14 → chapter 15.5

6 Weeks

You should’ve expected it, especially since it happened the past three days at the exact same time, but as soon as you finished getting dressed in the morning and right before you put your shoes on, you ran to the bathroom, kneeling down by the toilet just in time.

The nausea hit hard, a wave that left you gripping the rim of the toilet bowl like it was your lifeline. Your stomach churned, and before you knew it, you were emptying what little breakfast you’d managed to get down. The experience was far from new at this point, but it wasn’t getting any easier.

You barely noticed the sound of footsteps approaching until Logan’s voice cut through the haze. “Y/N?” His tone was cautious, concerned, and so unmistakably him that it was enough to keep you grounded.

You groaned in response, resting your forehead against your arm as you waited for the nausea to subside. A moment later, Logan was crouched beside you, his large hand resting gently on your back.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, brushing your hair out of your face. “That’s the third day in a row. You alright?”

You glanced up at him, feeling pale and a little miserable. “Not really,” you admitted. “I think I hate mornings now.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed serious. “You been keepin’ anything down?”

“Not much,” you murmured. “I managed half a piece of toast before…” You gestured vaguely at the toilet.

Logan sighed, his hand moving in soothing circles on your back. “Jean say this was normal?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning back slightly. “She said morning sickness can be bad for some people, and apparently, I’m one of them. Lucky me.”

“Did she say there’s anything you can do about it?” he pressed, his brows knitting together.

“Small meals, ginger tea, crackers… all the stuff I’ve already been trying. She said it’ll probably ease up in a few weeks, though.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his worry evident despite his best efforts to mask it. He didn’t say anything right away, just reached over to grab a washcloth from the sink, running it under cool water before handing it to you.

“Here,” he said, his voice softer now. “For your face.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, pressing the cloth to your forehead. The coolness helped a little, enough that you finally managed to push yourself into a sitting position. “I’m sorry,” you added after a moment, avoiding his gaze.

Logan frowned. “What’re you apologizin’ for?”

You shrugged weakly. “Being a mess? Throwing up every morning? I don’t know… take your pick.”

“Y/N,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. You’re growin’ a whole damn human in there. If throwin’ up comes with the territory, then so be it.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at that. “A whole human, huh?”

“That’s right,” Logan said, his lips twitching into a smirk. “And that’s no small thing, darlin’. You’re doin’ great.”

“Even when I’m hugging a toilet?” you teased lightly, though there was a flicker of gratitude in your voice.

“Especially then,” Logan shot back, his smirk softening into something gentler. He stood, offering you a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you back to bed. You need rest.”

“Laura’s going to barge in the second I lie down,” you pointed out, taking his hand and letting him help you up.

“I’ll handle Laura,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “You just focus on feelin’ better.”

You let him guide you back to the bed, where he tucked you in with surprising tenderness for someone as rough around the edges as Logan. He brushed a kiss against your temple before heading for the door.

“Logan,” you called softly, stopping him in his tracks.

He turned, his expression warm. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave you a small smile, the kind that was rare but always genuine. “Always, sweetheart.” And with that, he slipped out of the room, leaving you with the faintest sense of comfort despite the nausea still lingering in your stomach.

---

7 Weeks

The mansion was quiet, a rarity given the number of kids running around, but late afternoons often brought a lull. You sat at the desk in the bedroom you shared with Logan, grading papers from the physics summer course you were teaching. A warm cup of tea sat beside you, untouched and long since gone cold.

Your hand paused over the last problem on a student’s worksheet, your mind wandering for the hundredth time that day.

Logan had been right—taking it one day at a time helped. But now, in the stillness of the room, the weight of the unknown crept back in. You set down your pen and rested a hand on your stomach, the gesture automatic. There wasn’t much to feel yet, just a faint heaviness, but the knowledge of what was growing there made your chest tighten in equal parts wonder and fear.

The door creaked open, and Logan stepped inside, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He carried a small tray with what looked like a sandwich and some sliced fruit.

“Brought you something,” he said, setting it down on the desk. His gaze lingered on the untouched tea. “Figured you’d need it since you forgot about that.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks, Logan. I got caught up with grading.”

He nodded, leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossing over his chest. His sharp eyes scanned the stack of papers. “You overworkin’ again?”

“No,” you replied, a bit too quickly, earning a skeptical raise of his eyebrow. “I’m just… distracted.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he crouched down so he was eye level with you. “Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing the edge of the desk. “It’s nothing, really. Just… I hit seven weeks today. I guess I’m having a hard time relaxing.”

His jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm. “I get it, darlin’. I do.” He reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the desk. “But you’re doin’ good. Everything’s good so far. And whatever happens, I’m here.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, his words grounding you. “I know. I just… I keep waiting for something to go wrong. Like if I let myself be happy about this, it’ll get taken away again.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, and he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Listen to me. You deserve to feel happy about this. You deserve to be excited. And I’ll be damned if I let anything make you think otherwise.”

A small, grateful smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “How do you always know what to say?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Years of practice.”

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, his steady presence washing over you. When you finally pulled back, Logan nudged the plate closer.

“Now, eat somethin’, will ya? You’re not just feedin’ yourself anymore.”

You rolled your eyes but picked up a slice of apple anyway. “Yes, sir.”

Logan chuckled, his rough voice warm and teasing. “If that’s what it takes to get you to listen.”

For the first time all day, you felt lighter, the knot in your chest loosening. One day at a time. Logan was right—you could do this.

---

Week 8

You closed your eyes as Jean pressed the cold, slick ultrasound wand against your stomach. The gel was cold, but it barely registered over the anxiety clawing at your chest. You had to remind yourself to breathe, to focus on the sound of Jean’s calm voice explaining the process.

“It’s not going to be much yet,” she said gently, her tone laced with understanding. “At eight weeks, we’re mostly just checking to make sure everything looks as it should.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes shut tightly. You weren’t sure if you were more afraid of opening them and seeing something wrong—or seeing something right and letting yourself hope too much. It was easier to stay in the limbo of uncertainty.

“You don’t have to look yet,” Jean added, her voice soothing. “I’ll tell you when I’ve got a good image.”

Logan’s hand found yours, his grip solid and grounding. He hadn’t said much since you’d come into the medical bay, but his presence was enough. He stood beside the exam table, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, even through your nerves.

“You’re okay, darlin’,” Logan murmured, his rough voice low and steady. “Jean’s got this. And I’m right here.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, and you squeezed his in return, drawing strength from the simple gesture. You wanted to believe him, to trust that everything was fine, but the memory of your first pregnancy lingered like a shadow—constant, inescapable.

Jean’s voice pulled you back. “Alright,” she said softly. “I’ve got a clear image now. Do you want to see?”

You hesitated, your hand tightening around Logan’s. For a moment, you thought about saying no. Maybe it would be safer to keep your eyes closed, to protect yourself from the possibility of another heartbreak. But Logan’s hand squeezed yours again, his presence anchoring you.

“Go on, darlin’,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You can do this.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes and turned your head toward the screen. The black-and-white image was blurry, abstract, and nothing like the clear, perfect pictures you’d seen in movies. Still, it was there—a tiny shape nestled in the center of it all.

“That’s…” Your voice faltered, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “That’s it?”

Jean smiled, her expression warm. “That’s it. Everything looks perfect so far. The sac is measuring exactly where it should be, and the embryo looks healthy.”

You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your chest. There was a faint flicker of movement, too small to register as anything significant but enough to spark something in you—hope, tentative and fragile but real.

“You won’t hear a heartbeat yet,” Jean added, her voice soft but matter-of-fact. “That usually starts closer to ten or twelve weeks. But this…” She gestured to the screen, her smile widening. “This is a really good sign.”

Logan leaned closer, his gaze fixed on the screen. He didn’t say anything, but his hand stayed wrapped around yours, his thumb still stroking gently over your skin.

“You seein’ this?” he asked after a moment, his voice unusually quiet.

You nodded, barely able to tear your eyes away from the screen. “I see it.”

For the first time in weeks—maybe years—you felt the tight knot in your chest begin to loosen. The fear didn’t vanish entirely, but it faded enough for something else to take its place.

Hope.

---

Later that evening, you sat curled up on the couch in the living room, a blanket draped over your legs. Laura was perched on the armrest beside you, her small frame leaning against your shoulder. She’d been unusually quiet since you came back from the medical bay, her sharp eyes flicking between you and Logan as if trying to read something in your expressions.

“Is it okay?” she asked finally, her voice soft but direct.

You glanced at Logan, who was sitting in the armchair across from you, his arms resting on the sides. He gave you a small nod, leaving it to you to answer.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling down at Laura. “Everything looks good so far.”

Her face didn’t change much, but she nodded once, her small hand brushing against yours. “Good,” she said simply. Then, as if the moment had passed, she hopped down from the armrest and grabbed the TV remote. “Can we watch cartoons now?”

You laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in a long time. ���Sure, kiddo. Cartoons it is.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head as Laura flipped through channels with the intensity of someone searching for buried treasure. His gaze shifted back to you, warm and steady.

“You feelin’ better?” he asked, his voice low enough that Laura wouldn’t overhear.

You nodded, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I think I am.”

---

Week 9

You heard the pop before you felt it.

“What the—” Your bra fell down your arms, the clasps in the back undone. You froze for a moment, your face heating up as you struggled to process what just happened. With a groan, you grabbed the fabric and clutched it to your chest, muttering under your breath.

From the doorway of your shared bedroom, Logan’s voice rumbled. “Somethin’ wrong, darlin’?”

You whipped your head toward him, your cheeks flaming. “Uh, yeah. My bra just… it just broke.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to the offending garment in your hands. His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “Broke? You sure it didn’t just give up?”

“Logan!” you hissed, though your voice cracked with laughter despite yourself. “Not helping.”

He stepped further into the room, his expression softening as he took in your flustered state. “Alright, alright. Let me see.”

You held the ruined bra up for inspection, the snapped clasps dangling uselessly. Logan leaned in, squinting at it like it was some kind of malfunctioning machinery. “Guess it couldn’t handle all the changes, huh?”

“Don’t,” you warned, pointing at him with your free hand. “I’m already hormonal. Don’t make me cry over a bra.”

Logan chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, sweetheart. No jokes. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Your body’s goin’ through a lot. It’s probably time to pick up some new stuff.”

You sighed, tossing the broken bra onto the bed. “I know. Jean mentioned this might happen, but I didn’t think I’d outgrow my clothes this fast.”

Logan moved closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you gently into his chest. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “How ‘bout we take a trip into town tomorrow? Pick up whatever you need.”

You leaned into him, letting his warmth calm the frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “You’re gonna come with me? To shop for bras?”

“Why not?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Ain’t like I haven’t seen you in ‘em before.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice softening again. “But I’m yours. And you need new stuff, so we’ll get it.”

You let out a small laugh, looking up at him. “Thanks, Logan.”

He brushed a kiss against your temple. “Always, darlin’. Now, why don’t you grab somethin’ else to wear, and I’ll meet you downstairs for dinner? Laura’s already pokin’ around the kitchen lookin’ for snacks.”

You smiled at the mention of Laura, the protective little girl who had taken to shadowing you more and more since your pregnancy was revealed. “Alright. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Logan gave your waist a gentle squeeze before releasing you and heading for the door. “Don’t keep her waitin’,” he said over his shoulder. “Kid’s got no patience.”

---

Later that evening, you were curled up on the couch in the living room, wearing one of Logan’s oversized flannels over your tank top. Laura was nestled beside you, her small hands busy with a coloring book while Logan sat in his usual chair, a beer in hand.

Laura glanced up from her work, her sharp eyes narrowing on you. “You still look tired,” she said bluntly.

You raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by her observation. “Well, thanks for pointing that out, Laura.”

Logan snorted, hiding a smirk behind his beer. “Kid’s got a point,” he muttered.

Laura ignored him, her focus still on you. “Are you sick again?”

“No,” you assured her quickly, not wanting her to worry. “I’m just tired from growing the baby. It takes a lot of energy.”

She nodded, her expression serious. “So you have to eat more. And sleep more. That’s what Jean said.”

You exchanged a glance with Logan, who was clearly trying not to laugh. “Jean’s right,” you said, reaching out to ruffle Laura’s hair. “I’ll try to rest more, okay?”

Laura seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to her coloring, but not before scooting just a little closer to you. Logan caught the movement and raised an eyebrow, his gaze softening as he looked between the two of you.

“You’re doin’ fine, darlin’,” he said quietly, his voice meant just for you. “Better than fine.”

You smiled at him, the familiar warmth of his presence chasing away any lingering worries. One day at a time, you reminded yourself. And with Logan and Laura by your side, you felt like you could handle anything.

---

The next day, you and Logan made it into town to look for new bras, specifically in the maternity section. The store wasn’t too busy, which was a relief. It meant fewer awkward stares as Logan stood beside you, thoroughly inspecting every single rack like a man on a mission. At one point, he grabbed a maternity shirt and held it up by the hanger, studying it with an almost comical intensity.

"This thing’s big enough to camp in," he muttered, stretching the fabric experimentally.

You stifled a laugh, tugging the shirt from his hands. "That’s the point, Logan. They’re supposed to be loose and comfy."

"Still," he replied, raising an eyebrow, "how much bigger are these clothes gonna get? You gonna need a damn tarp by the end of this?"

You playfully smacked his arm with the hanger you were holding. "Don’t tempt fate."

Logan smirked but didn’t push further, letting his hand rest lightly on your lower back as you moved toward the bras. It wasn’t lost on you how protective he was, his touch constant but unobtrusive. The two of you had waited so long for this—he wasn’t about to take any chances.

The maternity bras sat in neat rows, a variety of soft fabrics and bland colors. You bit your lip, feeling oddly embarrassed even though you were literally shopping for a necessity. Logan, of course, noticed your hesitation.

"Y’need help pickin’ one out?" he asked, his voice low enough to keep the conversation between the two of you.

"No," you said quickly, your cheeks heating. Then you softened. "Maybe."

Logan nodded, reaching over to examine a plain beige bra, holding it like it was some kind of alien artifact. "This one looks soft," he said.

"That’s a nursing bra," you informed him with a tiny laugh. "It’s for after the baby comes."

"Oh." He shrugged and put it back, unbothered. "So what kinda bra are we lookin’ for here, then?"

You covered your face with both hands, overwhelmed by the absurdity of the situation. "I can’t believe we’re having this conversation in public."

"Darlin'," Logan said, amused but patient, "you’ve been throwin’ up in front of me for weeks, and we’re havin’ a baby together. You think I care if people overhear us talkin’ about bras?"

He had a point, damn him. Lowering your hands, you gave him a sheepish smile and started thumbing through the racks. He stood there silently, just a steady presence beside you, only stepping in to lift something off a higher rack when you needed it.

"How about this one?" he asked, holding up a pale blue option with some lace detail at the top.

You gave it a quick look and nodded. "That works."

He raised an eyebrow. "Just ‘works’? That ain’t much enthusiasm."

"Logan," you whispered, giving him a sharp look, "I don’t need it to spark joy. I just need it to fit."

That earned a chuckle from him. "Fair enough."

With a small pile of options in hand, you made your way to the fitting room. Logan stood just outside, arms crossed, looking as intimidating as ever and thoroughly discouraging anyone from approaching. You tried a couple on before stepping out to show him one that actually felt comfortable.

"How’s this?" you asked, feeling weirdly self-conscious.

Logan’s eyes moved briefly to the bra before meeting your gaze. "Looks good," he said simply, his tone free of teasing this time. "Fits alright?"

You nodded. "Yeah, it does."

"Then we’re good," he said. "Grab a couple of those."

"Just one or two," you corrected him. "I’ll probably need different ones as I get bigger."

Logan raised a brow but didn’t argue. "Fine, but if it gets too tight, you tell me, and we’ll come back. No arguments."

"Deal," you agreed, retreating into the fitting room to finish up.

---

Back at the mansion that evening, you walked into the kitchen to find Laura perched on a stool at the counter, munching on a slice of apple. She looked up as you entered, her sharp gaze immediately landing on the shopping bag in your hand.

"What's that?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Clothes," you said, setting the bag down. "I needed a couple of new things."

Laura frowned slightly, as though processing this information. "Because the baby’s making you bigger?"

"Exactly," you said, impressed by how quickly she’d pieced it together.

Laura chewed her apple thoughtfully. "Jean said you might not feel good sometimes. Do you feel better now?"

"I do," you said, smiling at her. "Thanks for asking, Laura."

"Good," she said firmly, hopping off the stool. Then she grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the living room. "You should sit down. Jean says that helps."

Logan, already in the room flipping through the TV channels, looked up and smirked. "You got a bossy little nurse there, darlin’."

"I’m looking after her," Laura said matter-of-factly, settling beside you on the couch and leaning into your side.

"I can see that," Logan said with a chuckle, settling into his armchair.

You glanced down at Laura, your heart warming at her seriousness. It might’ve taken a long time to get here, but this—Logan’s quiet love, Laura’s fierce protectiveness—was more than worth the wait.

---

Week 10

You could feel tears coming on at the predicament right in front of you. Your jeans weren’t fitting. And all you could think about was how you should’ve gotten them when you went last week.

Logan found you standing in the closet, glaring down at the waistband of your jeans as though sheer force of will could make them zip.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You huffed, tossing your hands up in defeat. “No! I’m not alright. My jeans won’t zip, and now I’m realizing I should’ve bought maternity ones last week, but noooo, I had to be stubborn and say, ‘Oh, I’ll be fine for another month.’” Your voice wavered, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Logan stepped into the room, his brows furrowing as he took in the situation. “Hey, it’s no big deal. We’ll go back into town and get you some new ones.”

“That’s not the point!” you said, your voice cracking. “I didn’t want to need them yet. I wanted to be able to wear my regular clothes for a little longer. I just—I feel ridiculous for crying over jeans.”

“C’mere,” Logan said softly, pulling you into his arms. You melted into his chest, letting out a shaky breath as his steady heartbeat anchored you. “It’s not ridiculous. Your body’s changin’ a lot, and it’s a lot to take in. You’re allowed to feel however you need to.”

You sniffled, your face pressed against his flannel. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been all over the place lately.”

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his hand gently rubbing your back. “You’re growin’ a whole person, Y/N. You think I don’t get that’s a big deal? You’ve been strong for years, darlin’. Let me take some of that weight for a while.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, his rugged face soft with affection. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?”

Logan smirked, his thumb brushing a stray tear off your cheek. “I think it’s the other way around, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, feeling a little lighter. “Okay, fine. Let’s go back to town. But you’re carrying the bags this time.”

“Deal,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Now, how about you wear somethin’ comfortable, and we’ll head out?”

You nodded, grabbing one of his oversized flannels to throw on over a stretchy pair of leggings.

---

At the store, Logan fell into his usual rhythm of standing nearby with his arms crossed, a quiet force of nature who somehow made the maternity section feel safer. He didn’t rush you or make any comments about the overwhelming selection, but he was there every time you needed help reaching something or an opinion on the fit.

As you held up a pair of maternity jeans to inspect them, Logan quirked an eyebrow. “Those look like they could stretch to fit the Hulk.”

“They’re supposed to,” you said, half-laughing. “They have a stretchy waistband so they grow with you.”

“Smart,” he muttered, then glanced down the aisle where a couple of women were watching him. “Why do I feel like I’m the main attraction here?”

“Because you’re a grumpy-looking man in the maternity section,” you teased, smirking as you added the jeans to your cart. “They’re probably wondering if you got lost.”

Logan gave you a dry look. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

“Part of my charm,” you said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

---

Back at the mansion, you were folding your new clothes in the bedroom when Laura appeared in the doorway.

“What’s in the bag?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Clothes,” you replied, holding up the new jeans. “For when the baby keeps growing.”

Laura frowned thoughtfully. “Your old ones didn’t fit anymore?”

“Not really,” you said. “But that’s okay. These will be a lot more comfortable.”

Laura climbed onto the bed and picked up one of your shirts, running her small fingers over the fabric. “Jean said your body is working hard because of the baby. Does it hurt?”

“Not really,” you said, sitting beside her. “Sometimes it’s uncomfortable, but it’s worth it. You’ll get to meet them soon enough.”

Laura’s lips twitched into a small smile, and she placed the shirt back into the pile. “Jean said I should look after you. So if you need help, you have to tell me.”

Your heart swelled at her earnestness. “Deal. Thanks, Laura.”

She nodded seriously, then hopped off the bed. “Logan’s downstairs. He said you should eat something.”

You chuckled. “Of course he did. I’ll be down in a minute.”

As Laura scampered off, you shook your head, a fond smile on your face. Between Logan’s unwavering support and Laura’s fierce determination to take care of you, you knew you were in good hands.

---

Week 11

“I’m just a little worried about my age, Jean. I’ve been reading up on women getting pregnant at 40 and—”

Jean looked up from her clipboard, “you’re 40?”

You blinked, “…yeah? Why do you sound so surprised? You’ve known me for like 15 years.”

Jean froze, her pen hovering over the clipboard. “Hold on a second.” She spun her chair to face the desk, typing something into the computer at lightning speed. Her expression shifted from surprise to something closer to intrigue as she clicked through files.

“Jean?” You raised an eyebrow, clutching your sweater a little tighter around yourself. “What are you looking for?”

“Give me a second,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen. “This is… interesting.”

You folded your arms, equal parts curious and impatient. “Interesting how?”

Jean finally turned back to you, her lips quirking into a small smile. “I don’t think your body knows how to age properly.”

“What?” you asked, laughing nervously. “What does that even mean?”

Jean gestured toward the computer. “Your time manipulation powers—they’re doing more than you think. From what I can tell, they’ve essentially slowed your aging process to a crawl. Biologically, you’re probably closer to 25 or 30.”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. “Wait… what?”

Jean chuckled softly. “I’m serious, Y/N. It explains why you don’t have the typical markers we’d expect in someone your age. Your body’s holding on in a way that’s… well, almost like Logan’s.”

You blinked, struggling to process. “You’re saying I’m… not 40?”

“You’re 40 chronologically,” Jean clarified. “But physically? Not so much.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “That’s… wild. But it does explain why I don’t have as many gray hairs as I should.”

Jean smirked. “Exactly. And hey, this is good news for the pregnancy. Your body’s in its prime for this. Strong, healthy, ready to handle anything.”

“Even another shopping trip?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Jean laughed. “Especially that. Though, if Logan’s involved, I’d call it survival training.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Jean. For, you know, all of this.”

“Of course,” she said warmly. “And hey, you’ve got this, Y/N. I’m here if you need anything.”

You nodded, letting her words sink in. It was a lot to process, but in some strange way, it was comforting. Another piece of the puzzle that was your life—and another reason Logan always seemed to look at you like you were timeless.

---

That evening, you found yourself curled up on the couch, glasses slipping down your nose as you read a book. Logan walked into the living room, holding two mugs of tea. He set one on the side table next to you and sank into the armchair across from you.

“Jean say anything interesting today?” he asked, watching you over the rim of his mug.

You hesitated, glancing at him. “She said my powers are keeping me young.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging. “Apparently, my body’s been stuck in time this whole… time.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, setting his mug down. “Guess that explains why you never change. You’ve looked the same since the day I met you.”

You smiled, the warmth in his voice wrapping around you like a blanket. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Just makes sense. You’re always gonna be you, darlin’. Powers or not.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his tone hitting you square in the heart. “You really mean that?”

Logan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he held your gaze. “Y/N, I’ve known you through lifetimes. You’ve always been you—smart, stubborn, and the strongest person I know. This doesn’t change a damn thing.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

He smirked, his eyes softening. “Someone’s gotta be.”

---

Week 12

Jean pressed the wand to your stomach, the ultrasound screen lighting up in grayscale. The room was quiet except for the steady hum of the machine. You held your breath, your fingers tightly gripping Logan's hand as you lay back on the examination table. His thumb rubbed gentle circles over your knuckles, a small, grounding gesture that helped calm your nerves.

Jean’s brow furrowed in concentration as she moved the wand around. Then, her face softened, a small smile spreading across her lips.

“There it is,” she murmured, pointing to a small flicker on the screen. “See that? That’s the heartbeat.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes welling with tears as you stared at the screen. That tiny, fluttering motion felt like the most miraculous thing you’d ever seen.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “That’s… that’s them?”

Logan’s hand tightened around yours as he leaned closer to the screen, his gaze fixed on the tiny image. “That’s them,” he echoed, his voice low and full of wonder.

Jean nodded, her smile widening. “Twelve weeks along, and everything looks perfect. Strong heartbeat, healthy growth—your baby’s doing great.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes with your free hand. “I can’t believe this is real.”

“It’s real, sweetheart,” Logan said softly, his eyes never leaving the screen. There was a quiet reverence in his tone, as if he was afraid to break the spell.

Jean glanced between the two of you, her expression warm and affectionate. “Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

You nodded quickly, unable to speak. Jean adjusted the settings, and a steady, rhythmic sound filled the room. It was the most beautiful noise you’d ever heard—a strong, rapid thrum that seemed to echo in your chest.

Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes glistening as he listened. “That’s incredible,” he murmured.

You turned to look at him, your heart swelling at the raw emotion on his face. “Logan…”

He met your gaze, his expression softening. “You did this, darlin’. You’re amazing.”

“We did this,” you corrected, your voice thick with emotion.

Jean gave you both a moment before breaking the silence. “I’ll print some pictures for you to take home. And if you’re ready, we can start talking about the next steps—appointments, tests, all that fun stuff.”

You nodded, still a little dazed. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

As Jean moved to print the images, Logan helped you sit up, his hand resting protectively on your back. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You smiled up at him, your tears returning. “Better than okay. I’m happy. Really, really happy.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Good. You deserve that.”

Jean returned with the printed images, handing them to you with a grin. “Here you go. Something to stick on the fridge.”

You held the pictures carefully, your fingers trembling. “Thank you, Jean. For everything.”

“Of course,” she said, her voice gentle. “You know I’m always here for you.”

As you left the medical wing, Logan kept a steady hand on your lower back, his touch firm and reassuring. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the ultrasound pictures held tightly in your hands.

When you reached the living room, Laura was perched on the couch, a coloring book spread out in front of her. She looked up as you entered, her sharp eyes immediately zeroing in on the pictures.

“What’s that?” she asked, tilting her head.

You hesitated, glancing at Logan. He crouched down to her level, his tone gentle. “It’s pictures of the baby.”

Laura’s eyes widened, and she slid off the couch, padding over to you. “The baby?”

You knelt down, holding the pictures out for her to see. “Yeah, look. That little spot right there? That’s your baby brother or sister.”

Laura studied the images closely, her expression unreadable. Then, she looked up at you, her brows furrowing. “They’re really small.”

“They’re growing,” Logan said with a small smile. “They’ll get bigger.”

Laura nodded slowly, then surprised you by leaning forward and wrapping her arms around your neck. “I’m gonna help take care of them,” she said firmly, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

Your throat tightened, and you hugged her back. “I know you will, sweetie. You’re going to be an amazing big sister.”

From behind you, Logan’s voice was quiet but filled with pride. “We’re all pretty lucky, huh?”

Laura pulled back, nodding solemnly. “Yeah. We are.”

---

Week 13

The sun filtered through the windows of the mansion’s common area, casting warm streaks of light across the hardwood floor. You sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, reviewing the lesson plans for your upcoming physics class. Laura sat across from you, her coloring book open, crayons scattered around like little explosions of color. She was quiet, her tongue peeking out in concentration as she worked on her masterpiece.

Logan’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, his familiar silhouette appearing in the doorway. He held a grocery bag in one hand and a small bouquet of wildflowers in the other. His eyes met yours, and he gave you that small, crooked smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Brought somethin’ for you,” he said, holding up the flowers.

You blinked, surprised, as he walked over to you. “Flowers? Logan, what’s the occasion?”

He set them on the table in front of you, then leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Do I need a reason?”

You smiled, your fingers brushing over the soft petals. “No, but it’s sweet. Thank you.”

Laura glanced up from her coloring, eyeing the flowers critically. “Why flowers? She doesn’t eat flowers.”

Logan snorted, ruffling her hair as he sat down at the table. “Not everything’s about food, kid.”

Laura frowned, clearly unconvinced, but went back to her coloring.

Logan leaned back in his chair, watching you for a moment before speaking. “How you feelin’ today?”

You shrugged, setting your lesson plans aside. “Tired, but not as bad as last week. Jean said the second trimester is supposed to be easier.”

He nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Good. You need to take it easy.”

You gave him a pointed look. “I’m pregnant, Logan. Not fragile.”

He smirked. “You’re both. Humor me.”

Before you could respond, Laura spoke up, her head still bent over her coloring. “Are you gonna get fat now?”

You choked on a laugh, while Logan let out a bark of amusement. “Laura!” you said, half-laughing, half-scolding.

“What?” she asked innocently, looking up at you. “Jean said the baby makes your belly big.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Logan said, his grin widening. “You’re gonna be waddlin’ around here in no time.”

You glared at him, though your lips twitched with amusement. “Don’t you start.”

“Not sayin’ it’s a bad thing, darlin’,” he teased, leaning forward to rest his chin in his hand. “Kinda lookin’ forward to it.”

Laura tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Why?”

Logan’s expression softened as he looked at you, his voice quieter now. “’Cause it means the baby’s growin’. Means we’re gettin’ closer to meetin’ ‘em.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you forgot all your fatigue, all your worries. You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “Me too.”

Laura made a face. “You’re being mushy again.”

Logan ruffled her hair. “Get used to it, kid.”

---

Week 14

You opened up the freezer, looking for your carton of strawberry ice cream—something you didn’t particularly like before getting pregnant. You moved around some of the food in the freezer, looking for the familiar carton.

As you were looking, Scott and Hank came into the kitchen, putting two small bowls in the sink.

You peeked your head around the freezer door, eyes narrowing in disbelief. The carton of strawberry ice cream you had been craving for days was nowhere to be found. Instead, there were two small bowls in the sink, both with remnants of what looked like your ice cream.

Scott and Hank were standing nearby, chatting like nothing was amiss. Your hand gripped the edge of the freezer door tighter, your jaw clenching. You had specifically labeled that carton. In big bold letters. Y/N ONLY.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice a little sharper than usual as you stepped into the kitchen. You weren’t about to let this slide. “It was labeled.”

Scott turned around, his face a picture of innocence—though you knew better. He adjusted his glasses, a little nervous. “Oh, uh… sorry, Y/N. We just figured… you know, you weren’t around and—”

You didn’t let him finish. Before you could even stop yourself, you were across the counter, right in his space. Your fingers shot out, grabbing the collar of his shirt and tugging him toward you. “You figured? You figured?”

Scott's eyes widened, clearly startled. “Y/N—"

"Don't Y/N me. That was my ice cream. My craving,” you snapped, glaring at him. “This wasn’t up for negotiation. You don’t just take something that’s clearly not yours.”

Hank froze, eyes darting between you and Scott, unsure whether to intervene.

Scott, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat, his face turning a shade of red you rarely saw. “Look, I—"

“Don’t make excuses. You—” You gave his shirt one more yank, your voice lower but heated, “—you knew it was mine. And yet here we are with two empty bowls. What part of ‘Y/N ONLY’ do you not understand?”

You were so worked up, you didn’t even hear Logan's heavy footsteps approaching from down the hall. He had been coming back from the garage, his usual silent presence somehow more imposing when you were mad.

"Hey." Logan's voice cut through the tension in the room, his tone low but firm. He stepped into the kitchen, eyes narrowing when he saw the situation. He placed a hand gently on your shoulder, trying to keep you calm. “What’s going on here?”

Your hands were still gripping Scott’s shirt, and you could feel your pulse pounding in your ears. You didn’t want to seem ridiculous, but the irritation was bubbling over. “They took my ice cream, Logan. And not just a scoop. The whole carton.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing at Scott and Hank before settling his gaze on you. There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but it didn’t stop him from stepping closer, his presence radiating a calm that made the air in the room feel a little less thick.

“Is that so?” he said, his voice smooth, but you could hear the slight edge of a smile in his words. He placed a hand on your back, gently guiding you away from Scott. You released the collar of Scott’s shirt, but only because Logan was there, giving you that quiet, steady presence you couldn’t resist.

Scott coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t think it would be that big of a deal, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well, it was,” you muttered under your breath, still glaring at the now-empty freezer.

Logan gave Scott a pointed look. “How many times have I told you, Scott? Don’t touch things that aren’t yours.” He turned to Hank, who was still silently observing the situation. “And you, too.”

Hank held up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t even know it was labeled. It wasn’t my fault. I was just—”

“—Just being an idiot?” Logan finished for him, eyes flickering over the pair of them.

Scott didn’t respond right away, clearly not prepared for Logan’s intensity. Hank, on the other hand, was nervously shifting, rubbing his neck. “I didn’t realize it was that big of a deal,” Hank said, his voice apologetic but unsure.

Logan's gaze flickered to Hank, then back to Scott. “You don’t get to decide that, not when it’s someone else’s. You’ve got a whole damn kitchen to raid, and you choose her craving?” He turned back to you, his hand briefly squeezing your shoulder. “You good?”

You let out a slow breath, the irritation still bubbling but mostly contained now. “I’m fine. Just… seriously. The one thing I’ve been craving for weeks, and they—”

Logan’s hand on your shoulder tightened just enough to ground you. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” He turned back to Scott and Hank, his expression hardening. “And just for the record, I’m not going to let this slide.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Scott said, though it was clear he didn’t know how to salvage the situation. He seemed genuinely remorseful, but that didn’t change what had happened.

You stared at them, your pulse still a little elevated. “You’re both lucky I’m pregnant right now and not about to throttle you.”

Logan let out a soft laugh, his anger melting into a small, more familiar smirk. He placed his hand on your back, guiding you toward the kitchen table. “I’ll handle it, darlin’.” He turned toward the two men, who were looking somewhat sheepish. “You two better make this right.”

Before either of them could respond, you shot them a pointed look. “Yeah, you can start by getting me another carton of ice cream. And this time, don’t touch it.”

Scott and Hank exchanged uneasy glances, clearly defeated. “Got it,” Scott muttered.

With a final, almost resigned sigh, you pulled out the chair and sank into it. Logan slid into the seat next to you, his hand sliding over your back in a slow, reassuring motion. He shot Scott and Hank one more look before they silently left the kitchen, no doubt off to “make things right.”

“I swear,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “I’ve got enough on my plate without having to deal with this.”

Logan chuckled quietly, leaning in to kiss the side of your head. “You’re doing fine. You’ve got a lot to handle. But don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and affection. “Though, next time they touch your stuff, I’ll make sure they know what a mistake they made.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “I’m starting to think you enjoy this a little too much.”

He grinned. “Maybe a little. But only when it’s deserved.”

Just then, Laura appeared in the doorway, her small figure looking up at the two of you with a serious expression. “What happened to your ice cream?” she asked innocently, her eyes already darting between you and Logan.

You glanced at Logan, sharing a look. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’re working on it, kid.”

Laura tilted her head, looking confused but not asking any more questions. Instead, she padded over to you, climbing into your lap with surprising ease for a five-year-old. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, her little hands resting on your stomach.

You smiled warmly, your heart swelling at the gesture. “Yeah, sweetie, I’m okay. Just a little… frustrated.”

Laura nodded solemnly, her brow furrowing. “I’ll protect your ice cream next time.”

Logan’s laugh was low, but it felt good to hear. “I’m sure you will, kiddo.” He ruffled her hair lightly, then turned back to you. “Guess we’re all looking out for each other.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

---

Week 15

You walked out of the bathroom after finishing your shower, seeing both Logan and Laura on the bed with a book in his hands.

“Hey, you two. What’re you readin’?”

Laura, who had an apple she’d barely taken a bite of, crawled to the end of the bed with all the solemnity of a child on a very important mission. She held the fruit out, lining it up with your stomach like she was conducting a scientific study. Her small face was scrunched up in concentration, her dark eyes flickering between the apple and your belly.

“It says the baby’s the size of this now,” she announced matter-of-factly, her voice a mix of curiosity and pride at having learned something new.

You blinked at her, then at Logan, who was lounging against the headboard with a well-worn pregnancy book open in his hands. His eyes met yours, the corners crinkling as a grin tugged at his lips. “She’s been real focused on this chapter,” he said, his tone warm, amused.

Laura turned back to you, still holding the apple in front of your stomach like it was a critical experiment. “Is it true? Is it really this big?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Yep, that’s about right,” you said, adjusting the towel around your shoulders as you sat on the edge of the bed. “Fifteen weeks, so it’s about the size of an apple.”

Her brow furrowed, and she looked at the fruit like she didn’t quite trust it. “That doesn’t seem very big.”

“Well, it’s gotta start small,” Logan interjected, flipping a page in the book. “Baby’s got a lotta growin’ left to do.”

Laura nodded slowly, seeming to accept that logic. She finally took a proper bite of the apple, chewing thoughtfully before climbing back up the bed to settle between the two of you. “What happens next?” she asked, craning her neck to look at the book in Logan’s hands.

Logan raised an eyebrow at you, silently asking if you were okay with the impromptu lesson. When you nodded, he shifted the book so Laura could see the page. “Next couple weeks, baby gets bigger, starts growin’ stronger. Might even start hearin’ things soon,” he explained, his voice patient in a way you’d only ever seen him use with her.

Laura’s eyes widened. “Like what?”

“Like voices. Yours, mine…” Logan paused, his gaze flickering to yours, softening. “Y/N’s.”

Her head snapped to you, her expression alight with wonder. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, your heart squeezing at the way she called you that so naturally now. “The baby will hear you too, though. So you’ll have to be careful what you say, okay?”

Laura’s face turned serious again, and she nodded like she was accepting an important mission. “I won’t say anything bad.”

Logan chuckled, setting the book aside and ruffling her hair. “Good. Don’t want the kid comin’ out with your attitude.”

Laura scowled, swatting at his hand. “I don’t have an attitude.”

“Sure you don’t, kid,” Logan teased, his grin widening.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help smiling at the exchange. “Alright, that’s enough,” you said, reaching over to tug Laura into your lap. She settled there easily, curling against you like she’d been doing it her whole life.

For a moment, the three of you sat there in comfortable silence, the soft hum of the mansion in the background. It was a rare, quiet moment, and you let yourself sink into it, your hand resting lightly over your stomach.

“You think the baby will like apples?” Laura asked suddenly, her head resting against your chest.

“Probably,” you said, running your fingers through her dark hair. “Especially since you’re already setting the example.”

Logan smirked, leaning back against the headboard with his arms crossed. “Yeah, but I bet they’ll like burgers better.”

You shot him a mock glare. “Not everything has to be about burgers, Logan.”

He shrugged, unrepentant. “Just sayin’. It’s in their blood.”

Laura giggled, and you couldn’t help laughing too, the sound lightening the air around you. For all the chaos and uncertainty that life at the mansion brought, moments like this—small, quiet, filled with love—were what made it all worth it.

---

Week 17

After sitting on the couch for 30 minutes, enjoying a movie with Logan and Laura—though you had been drifting off since it started—you realized, once again, you had to go to the bathroom. Pregnancy had brought on all kinds of changes, but the constant bathroom trips were quickly climbing your personal list of “most inconvenient side effects.”

You stretched as you stood, steadying yourself by placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder. He glanced up at you, concern flickering in his eyes the moment he noticed the hesitation in your movement.

“You alright, sweetheart?” His voice was low, the same roughness that usually made your heart flutter, now laced with worry.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a faint smile, adjusting your glasses. You hated when your body betrayed your independence, even in these little ways. “Just the baby crowding everything.”

As you stepped away, a faint dizziness made your vision swim. You instinctively reached out for support, clutching the side of the couch as the world wavered for a moment.

Logan was on his feet before you could take another breath, his hands steadying you with the kind of ease that came from years of knowing exactly how to support you. “Whoa there, take it easy,” he murmured, his strong arm curling around your waist.

Laura, who had been leaning against Logan moments before, looked over with wide, concerned eyes. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, exhaling slowly as the dizziness passed. “Yeah, just stood up too fast.” You looked at Logan, who wasn’t quite convinced, his hand still resting on the small of your back. “I’m fine, really. It’s nothing Jean didn’t warn me about.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop worryin’,” Logan said, his voice firm but tender. “You’ve gotta be more careful.”

Laura jumped off the couch and padded over to you, her small hand slipping into yours. “Do you need me to get Jean?” she asked seriously, her forehead creased with concern.

Your heart melted a little at her earnestness. “I don’t think Jean needs to know about every time I get dizzy,” you said gently, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t mean it ain’t somethin’ to keep an eye on,” Logan interjected. “You want me to go with you?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “To the bathroom? I think I can handle that, Logan.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t fully relax. “Alright, but if it happens again, you’re tellin’ Jean.”

“Deal,” you said, though you knew he’d end up telling her himself if it came to that.

Laura tugged your hand gently, looking up at you with determination. “I’ll stay here, but if you need anything, yell. I’ll come running.”

You chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

As you shuffled off to the bathroom, Logan’s voice floated after you. “Take it slow, darlin’. No rush.”

You could hear Laura whispering something to Logan as you made your way down the hall. She was probably asking if you were going to be okay or demanding to know how she could help. Her protective streak, much like Logan’s, was something you’d grown to love more than you ever thought possible.

When you returned, Logan had coaxed Laura back onto the couch, but both their eyes snapped to you the moment you stepped into the room.

“Back in one piece,” you announced, trying to lighten the mood.

Laura crawled into your lap the moment you sat down, her tiny frame settling against your growing belly like it was the most natural thing in the world. She laid her head against your chest and muttered, “You scared me.”

You kissed the top of her head softly. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll be more careful.”

Logan pulled the blanket up around the both of you, his arm draping along the back of the couch. The flickering light of the TV reflected in his warm eyes as he tilted his head to look at you. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m sure,” you said softly, meeting his gaze with a small smile. “But thanks for looking out for me. Both of you.”

“Always,” he said simply, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment before resting back against the couch.

Laura’s tiny hand curled over your bump as if guarding the baby herself. “No more dizzy,” she mumbled sleepily.

“I’ll try my best,” you whispered, your heart swelling. Moments like this—wrapped in warmth, family close—reminded you just how much you had to look forward to.

---

Week 18

Jean glanced up from the monitor, her expression warm as she held the ultrasound wand steady. “Do you want to know the gender?” she asked, her voice gentle but curious. Her gaze flicked between you and Logan, her best attempt at gauging your reaction.

You glanced over at Logan, who was standing beside you with his arms crossed, his usual tough exterior softened by the faintest of smiles as he watched the monitor. The rhythmic whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room, and for a moment, it was the only sound.

Logan’s eyes shifted to you, his brow quirking slightly. “Your call, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and steady.

You bit your lip, considering it for a moment, but the decision had already been made in your heart. “I think… I’d like to be surprised,” you said, looking back at Jean with a small, shy smile. “We’ve waited this long. What’s a few more months?”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Yeah, I’m with her. Let’s keep it a surprise.”

Jean grinned, clearly amused. “A surprise it is, then,” she said, setting the wand aside. “You’re officially stronger-willed than most.”

You smirked, adjusting your glasses as you shifted slightly on the exam table. “Well, we’re used to waiting. What’s another milestone?”

Jean’s expression softened at that, the unspoken weight of your journey hanging in the air. “The baby looks perfect,” she assured you, her tone quiet but firm. “Healthy, strong heartbeat, and measuring right on track. You’re doing great.”

Logan rested a hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your shirt. “Told you,” he murmured, his voice warm and proud.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was genuine. “I never said I wasn’t doing great.”

Jean laughed softly, leaning back against the counter as she made a few notes in your chart. “You’re both doing great,” she said, glancing at Logan. “Even if one of you is a little overprotective.”

Logan shrugged, unbothered by the comment. “Can’t help it. She’s carrying my kid.”

“Your kid and her kid,” Jean teased, her eyes sparkling.

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. He turned his attention back to you, his hand lingering on your shoulder as if grounding himself in the moment. “You ready to head back?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding as you adjusted your shirt. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Anytime,” she said, her tone warm and sincere. “And remember, Y/N—if you need anything, you’ve got me on speed dial. Don’t hesitate to call.”

You nodded, sliding off the table with Logan’s steadying hand at your elbow. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you promised.

As you made your way back to the mansion’s main hall, Logan’s hand remained at the small of your back, a protective presence that you’d grown to cherish. The sound of children’s laughter echoed down the hall, a reminder of how much life the mansion now held.

Laura was the first to spot you as you stepped into the living room, her dark eyes lighting up as she ran over to meet you. “Did you find out?” she asked eagerly, her small hands tugging at yours.

You crouched down, meeting her gaze with a smile. “We decided to wait,” you said softly. “It’ll be a surprise when the baby’s born.”

Laura’s face scrunched up in thought before she nodded firmly. “Okay. But I still think it’s a girl.”

Logan ruffled her hair as he passed by, his grin widening. “We’ll see, kiddo.”

One of the other children peeked out from behind the couch, their curiosity evident. “When’s the baby gonna be here?” they asked.

You smiled, settling onto the couch with Laura climbing into your lap. “Not for a while yet,” you said. “But I promise, you’ll all be the first to know when it’s time.”

As the children gathered around, peppering you with questions and theories about the baby, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of the moment settle over you. Logan leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed and a rare softness in his expression as he watched the scene unfold.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

---

Week 20

You were in the kitchen, eating some mango slices when Ororo came in, holding a few grocery bags. “Here ya go. You’re really going through them, huh?”

You grabbed the four-pack of tissue boxes, sighing as you placed them on the counter. “Yeah, they’ll all be gone in less than a week though.” You opened one of the boxes, pulling out a tissue to dab at your nose. “Pregnancy perk number… what are we on now? Five hundred? Congestion, my old friend.”

Ororo laughed softly as she began unpacking groceries. “I read that happens to a lot of pregnant women. Something about hormones making your nasal passages swell?”

You nodded, tossing the used tissue into the nearby trash can. “Exactly. It’s called pregnancy rhinitis. Apparently, it’s totally normal, but nobody warned me I’d feel like I had a permanent cold for nine months.”

“Well,” Ororo said, placing a carton of eggs in the fridge, “at least it’s not one of the really awful side effects. And hey, your sense of humor’s still intact.”

You smirked, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, but Logan’s probably going to start buying tissues in bulk soon. He caught me trying to steal one of his bandanas the other day.”

Ororo shook her head with a smile. “He’d let you use every bandana he owns if it made you feel better.”

“True,” you admitted, warmth spreading through your chest. Logan’s overprotectiveness could be exhausting at times, but it came from such a genuine place that it was hard not to appreciate it.

As Ororo started chatting about the latest drama among the students—something involving Bobby accidentally freezing the pool—you were reaching for another tissue when it happened. A sudden, fluttery sensation deep in your belly, like the faint brush of butterfly wings. You froze, your hand resting on your abdomen as a quiet gasp escaped your lips.

“What’s wrong?” Ororo asked immediately, her brow furrowing in concern.

Before you could answer, Logan appeared in the doorway, his expression tense and alert. “What happened?” His eyes darted to you, then to Ororo, searching for any sign of trouble.

You blinked up at him, your heart racing—not from fear, but from the realization of what you’d just felt. “I think… the baby just kicked.”

Logan’s eyes widened slightly, and he was at your side in an instant. “You sure?” His hand moved hesitantly toward your stomach, stopping just short as if waiting for permission.

You nodded, taking his hand and guiding it to the spot where you’d felt the movement. “Right here,” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion.

For a moment, the three of you stood in silence, the anticipation almost tangible. Then, faint but unmistakable, the flutter came again. Logan’s fingers twitched slightly against your belly, his eyes softening as a rare, unguarded smile spread across his face.

“There it is,” he said quietly, awe evident in his voice. “That’s our kid.”

Ororo’s expression melted into one of pure joy as she stepped closer. “That’s amazing, Y/N. And so early—you’re what, twenty weeks?”

You nodded, your hand still resting over Logan’s. “Yeah, twenty weeks today. Jean said it could happen anytime now, but I wasn’t expecting it to feel… like this.”

Logan chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly over your stomach. “What’d you think it’d feel like? A punch?”

“Honestly? Kind of,” you admitted with a laugh. “But this is… wow.”

Ororo grinned, picking up her empty grocery bags. “I’ll leave you two to enjoy the moment. But let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Ororo,” you said, your voice warm with gratitude.

As she left, Logan leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“More than alright,” you said, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’m… I can’t even put it into words.”

Logan’s hand lingered on your belly, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and tenderness. “Our kid’s got some timing, huh? Knew I’d be right here when it happened.”

You chuckled softly. “They’re already showing off, just like their dad.”

He smirked at that, but the teasing look in his eyes gave way to something deeper as he met your gaze. “I still can’t believe this is real sometimes,” he said, his voice low and rough. “After everything…”

You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “It’s real, Logan. We’re here. We’re doing this.”

He covered your hand with his, leaning into your touch. “Yeah. We are.”

The baby kicked again, and Logan’s grin widened as he gave your stomach a playful, protective pat. “Already makin’ sure we don’t forget they’re here.”

“As if we ever could,” you said with a laugh, your heart full. Moments like this made every struggle, every tear, worth it. This was the life you’d fought for, and you weren’t taking a single second of it for granted.

go read part 2 for the complete chapter!!

also, i know i kinda brushed over reader not really aging because of her time powers, but i found those two scenes really hard to write for some reason so just go with it, lol

[scribbledlovenotes]

distracted. p.t.r

mdni. professor tom riddle. good grades. bad distractions. age-gap sex.

Months. For months you’ve trapped within the flickering candlelight of the libraries restricted section, parchment and quill in hand as you scribble down notes, pretending to care about the intricacies of advanced magical theory. It’s a ridiculous assignment for a stupid class and the only reason you’re even committed to finishing it is him. Your obsession. The one thing that causes your heart to race and forces your thighs to clench uncomfortably beneath your desk. Him. Professor Riddle. Potentially the one and only reason you returned back for your seventh year. You can’t get enough. Come to notice it; either can the other female students around you from the whispers you’ve heard them speak.

He’s forever tailored to perfection, the robes which drape over his lean frame as intoxicating as the silken menace of his voice as he discusses topics such as the ‘seduction of power linked to dark arts’ or your personal favourite, the ‘elegance of a well cast spell’, as if the words were a spell themselves. You’re hooked; lustful. He knows it, surely. Those dark, melted chocolate eyes of his catch yours just a little too often. Lingering with a heat that feels like what you presume legilimency would as he peels back the subtle layers of your restraint.

It was last Tuesday, after a lecture on the morality of the dark arts that left your head spinning that he stopped you as you gathered your textbooks and piled them neatly into your arms. His presence standing before you was polished yet predatory. Almost like a knifes blade wrapped in velvet. The curve of his smirk; stealing your breath.

 “I’d like to discuss a recent essay you submitted”, Professor Riddle explained, taking his time to fold a piece of parchment between his fingertips tat you couldn’t for the life of you, pull your gaze from. The simple movement almost ritualistic in practice. “Come to my office tomorrow evening. Any time after 6.”

Your heart lurched at the proposal; frantically thudding against the inside of your chest as you felt the back of your neck warm up with a scarlet style fever you’d potentially have to see a nurse about. Every sensible part of you knows that this is just a student-professor discussion. Nothing more, nothing less. However you can’t help but wonder. Should you agree, should you tell anyone, should you brag, should you mention something to your absolutely oblivious Hufflepuff boyfriend who you loved dearly but ugh – god, he was fucking useless when it came to feelings. Your wants. Desires. Needs.

“Of course, Professor”, you responded with a small smile; innocently tucking some hair behind your ear which you flicked up on and over the back of your shoulder. “Um, should I bring my boyfriend? He did help me with the paper. Perhaps he could learn something.”

The question came out as pure innocence whispered from between your gloss coated lips as you’re waiting, patiently to try and catch any look or expression that might give away a little more than what Professor Riddle already has; but the shadow in his eyes that transpires like a storm is gone in a blink, as his smile sharpens. A chuckle, rumbling just at the back of his throat. “Just you will suffice. I prefer… focused discussions.”

And with that; the air crackled as if there had been some kind of sudden declaration of a silent challenge.

This evening; the castle is as quiet as the fields of Scotland midwinter as you climb, step by step the stone staircase to Professor Riddle’s office. The air surrounding you on the way thickened by the scent of burning ensconces and a shimmer of magic which leads the way. You knock against the hard wood door before his voice commands you to enter. As the door creaks open, he’s revealed to be sitting behind a desk – quill in hand, grading papers as the roar of the fireplace lights up the office almost.. romantically.

Professor Riddle’s features are sharp. More so now than when you see him during class. He looks absolutely devastating in what he’s wearing; robes hooked up on a wall behind him, the crisp white shirt he’s wearing pulls to sit exactly as it should on his shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms twilled with a quiet strength. You swallow harshly, eyes tracing up one particular vein that you notice beneath his skin almost poetically and he gestures to the chair across from him as you hesitate before taking a seat. The office’s intimacy – shelves of tomes, trinkets and artefacts on display in a curated yet chaotic fashion closing in like a charm you might just become.

“Your essay”, he begins, picking up the work almost delicately off a pile of others before he hands it to you, “…is bold. I’ll give you that. Yet your research clearly lacks precision.”

You gaze down at the essay; eyes taking in the corrections and question marks scattered over it in a dull, red ink – the grade scribbled into the top corner something you’re vaguely satisfied with but Professor Riddle is clearly not. You attempt to stammer out some kind of response; some knitted reply as an excuse for work you were actually content with, yet you notice from the corner of your eye the way he rises from his seat. His critique a pretence to a game you know you both shouldn’t be playing, yet as he circles around the desk, coming around to where you start, you can’t help but note that each step seems deliberate. Like a wolf closing in on a lamb or in this case, a snake on a mouse which is desperate to feast.

“You have potential”, he murmurs as his steps stop behind you. he’s standing close enough that you can feel his breath graze the back of your neck. “…but clearly you’re distracted.”

Your pulse hammers; skin beginning to gleam with a soft sweat that coats your brow and a thin line down the nape of your neck. You’re suddenly grateful that you never told your boyfriend about coming here; about this little meeting – just that you’d see him tonight, as always for a little alone time and well…

“I’m not”, you manage as a response. Words clear. “Distracted – that is.”

Professor Riddle’s hands find your shoulders as he scoffs a chuckle; running down to the small of your back, burning through your robes. He leans in; lips to your ear, his voice sounding like that of a velvet hex. As his fingers trace along the curve of your skin; slow – possessive, you feel a slick heat that you want to curse away blooming between the chaffing of your thighs.

“Aren’t you? Well..”, he gently guides you up onto your feet, pushing you forward so that you’re pressing against the edge of his desk as he cages you in, body warm pressed up against you. “I still think I’m right. You see that’s a perk to teaching. With a little experience, you begin to learn to read a classroom and see through masks that students prevail while hoping to fool you… and you dear, most definitely, are, distracted.”

A hand slips up beneath your skirt, finding the dampness of your underwear which his fingers push aside with ease and before you know it, both skilled and merciless; he parts your folds, a slick drag up towards your clit that rather quickly swells with need. It’s a blend of a gasp and a choke that escapes you. You lean forward; hands clawing at the wood of his desk and as his fingers continue to circle exactly where you need them, your body trembles; like a wanton secret of his to please.

What follows? That’s a blur. Professor Riddle twists you around; his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that’s bruising. One that tastes like a rich red wine. He manages to muffle your gasps with a firm hand as he undoes his belt with the other and before you know what you’re doing yourself, you shift back and lift onto his desk – lips parted; eyes glued to that wicked smirk he wears before they drop down to his waist, taking in full view of his cock; thick, glistening, that he pumps twice before pressing against your entrance with a friction and tease.

You shouldn’t have. You’re not meant to. Either way, you whisper a desperate ‘please’, and without any patience as what he’s known for, Professor Riddle shifts your thighs further apart to wrap lets around his waist as he fills you with a single deep thrust that takes your breath away. The office falls into silence. You fall back onto the desk. A bottle of ink is spilled. Papers go flying. You hear a quill crack beneath you but couldn’t care less. His thrusts are both torture and bliss. Each movement a revelation. It’s forbidden; it’s fucking perfect. Your thighs split further as he grasps at the soft flesh and you bite down on a knuckle to try and keep yourself quite; relishing the fact that he’s thorough and rough, satisfying. Not quite like your boyfriend.

You hear him spit; saliva hitting your clit which he draws out a series of wand motions you – you know them, they’re the unforgivables and yet you couldn’t care. Your cunt begins to clench around him. You claw a little further at his desk. The desk lamp gets knocked over; you hear the bulb shatter as you cry out a moan through gritted teeth and your back arches up as he spills out inside of you. A warmth flooding in but also dripping down your legs as he withdraws – the both of you breathless.

“Much improved”, he mutters, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear almost tenderly before he taps a teasing slap against your clit as a reminder of what’s just happened. It’s about a minute before you can stand. A minute before you make yourself look a little more decent that you just had been. A minute for your cheeks to swell down from a harsh red to a soft peachy pink and by this time, Professor Riddle has already returned to his seat.

“Same time next week. We can discuss any course work you might be struggling with.”

Is that an offer, or a request? You fix your hair; running your hands through it before you lick your lips and nod. Unable to shake the feeling of what’s just happened.

“You’re an exceptional student. Just – don’t get distracted.  Wouldn’t want you being dissatisfied; it’s a shame about the boyfriend.”

Ugh – that prick. He’d been inside your head the whole time.

“Yes Professor”, you respond as you make your way towards the door to exit; making a mental note to keep this little rendezvous to yourself forever and ever and e—

“Tom.” He corrects you. “Professor Riddle is merely a formality we must maintain within the classroom.”

Fuck. Why’d he have to wait until seventh year.

[gohyemi]

The curse fate

Part 4 (final)

“This,” the old man said quietly, turning the bracelet in his hand, “was once mine.”

Jeonghan sat in silence, eyebrows slightly raised, waiting for him to continue.

But the old man said nothing more.

Jeonghan blinked. “...And?”

“That’s all,” the old man replied with a grin. “It was once mine.”

He let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused by Jeonghan’s bewildered expression.

Jeonghan stared at him, unimpressed. “You dragged me through glowing pain and a disappearing shop just to tell me that?”

The old man shrugged. “You wanted answers. That’s one of them.”

Jeonghan rubbed his temples. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“A little mystery keeps life interesting, doesn’t it?” The old man chuckled, placing the bracelet carefully on the table between them. He refill the tea cup jeonghan had finish.

“I also met my soulmate by fate,” the old man continued, his gaze distant, as if staring into another time. “If you want to know… I’ve lived much longer than you’d think. I might even be older than your grandfather.”

Jeonghan blinked, unsure if the man was joking. But the way his voice softened told him otherwise.

“I met her in the simplest of ways,” he went on. “She worked at a little tailor shop—nothing grand. Just a humble place where she fixed buttons and mended torn sleeves. I was one of her customers.”

He chuckled quietly, lost in the memory. “You could say it was love at first sight. Me—a scrappy newspaper boy with ink-stained fingers and shoes that barely held together.”

The old man gently rolled the red bracelet between his fingers, the moon charm glinting in the soft light. “I didn’t have much to give her back then,” he said. “But I wanted to give her something… something that meant forever.”

He looked up at Jeonghan.

“Actually, this bracelet was made from a thread I pulled from the scarf she once knitted for me,” he chuckled softly. “That’s a secret, though.”

He smiled fondly at the memory. “She laughed when I gave it to her—said I didn’t even bother organizing the thread properly when making it. Called it a mess.”

His eyes grew distant for a moment. “But she wore it. Every single day.” Jeonghan leaned in, drawn to every word, listening intently.

“She wear it everyday, same as me, when I met her she will always ask if I still wear it. And I did”

“Until… one day, I see her wear it but she is not there.”

Jeonghan’s chest tightened. “What happened to her?”

The old man’s gaze dropped. “She passed away. The war came quickly… and those who were too late to hide were taken.”

He let out a deep sigh, his voice cracking slightly. “I was selfish, hopeless and hid without fighting to get to her. For years, I wore that bracelet. I couldn’t bring myself to take it off. Not until the day I died…”

A faint, wistful smile tugged at his lips. “You see, I’m not like you—immortal. I’ve simply lingered here, bound by duty… to care for the items left in this place. Most days, I see them as just old things. Forgotten relics. But when the right person walks through that door…” His eyes met Jeonghan’s. “The items glow. Along with the memories they carry comes to me.”

He paused, studying the bracelet in his hand. “Then you walked into my shop. And I saw it—the familiar red string glowing… and all the memories I wish I could rewrite came rushing back.”

Jeonghan sat in stunned silence, his gaze fixed on the bracelet—the charm that once glowed for a love lost to time.

“It found you, it chose you”, the old man whispered, smiling sadly yet with a glimmer of hope. “Because fate doesn’t like unfinished stories.”

“That’s my story,” the old man said, eyes distant. “And now, your story is about to begin.”

Jeonghan swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the glowing bracelet now resting in his palm. “So… what happens now? What should I do” he asked quietly.

The old man’s gaze softened, a spark of mystery in his eyes. “Follow the light. Your soulmate’s path isn’t finished — and neither is yours.”

During my time, it was hard for people to live and survive. My regret is not protecting my loved one with all my strength. Today, everything is ready, modern, and protected. All you have to do is protect what there already there. nothing big. You have a conflict with y/n now, right?”

“How did yo-”

“Since this bracelet was once my story, I suspected there was conflict. These red strings tried to prevent it from happening. I always watch her walking to work with her conflicted mind and small pout ”

He looked at Jeonghan intently. “Love isn’t always easy, especially when fate weaves a complicated path. But this string binds you both — to face those struggles, and to overcome them. No worries, young man. Communication is the key, and you have to understand her.”

Don’t be like your friend,” the old man chuckled, reminiscing. “I’ve seen how Mingyu’s wife struggles with him when he makes a scene”

“Tonight is the last time I will appear to you, young man. I was never given the power to change fate with my hands—only with the weight of my words. I’ve shared my story not to burden you, but to guide you. I hope you’ll walk a brighter path, make wiser choices… and become the man I never had the chance to be.”

“Doctor, there’s one last patient who just came in. Is that okay?” Y/N was just about to wrap up for the day when her nurse assistant poked her head into the room.

Y/N let out a tired sigh but nodded. “Yes, send them in.”

Just then, a pained groan echoed from the hallway. Y/N stood up instantly, concern tightening in her chest.

“What happened?” she asked, stepping quickly into the corridor. The nurse moved aside, allowing Y/N a clear view of the patient who had stumbled through the clinic doors.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was Nara.

The same woman who had once confidently clung to Jeonghan’s arm, now looked completely unrecognizable. Her hair was disheveled, her face pale and streaked with dried tears, and her right eye was swollen and bruised. Her lips trembled as she clutched her side, clearly in pain.

Nara’s eyes met Y/N’s, “Help me... please,” Nara whispered, her voice cracking.

Y/N stood frozen for a moment, caught between shock and instinct. Then the doctor in her took over. She rushed forward, grabbing Nara by the arm before she could collapse.

“Get me the trauma kit, now!” Y/N ordered the nurse to guiding Nara into the nearest treatment room. Despite the swirl of confusion and emotion inside her, she kept her hands steady and her voice calm.

As she examined Nara’s injuries, Y/N’s heart pounded—not just from the urgency of the situation, but from the storm of questions forming in her mind. 

What happened to her?

“Thank God you brought her in quickly, good job, Dr. y/n ”, Y/N’s colleague said, handing her a warm cup of coffee. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and the exhaustion was beginning to settle in.

Nara had fainted shortly after being brought into the treatment room. Realising the clinic’s equipment wasn’t enough to handle her condition, Y/N had wasted no time arranging for her immediate transfer to the nearest hospital.

Y/N took the coffee with a quiet “Thanks,” her eyes still fixed on the now-empty stretcher being wheeled out.

“Whoever did that to her can rot in hell,” her colleague muttered angrily, arms crossed. “Deep, deep in hell.”

Y/N didn’t respond at first. She felt a strange heaviness in her chest—confusion, pity, frustration, all tangled together.

“We have enough evidence of abuse,” she finally said, her voice low. “Bruising, internal trauma... she didn’t just fall or get into a random fight. This was deliberate.”

“Well, Dr. Y/N, are you going to stay with her?” her colleague asked gently.

“Drop the formalities, please,” Y/N replied with a tired smile. “And yes, I’ll stay with her.”

“Alright. See you when I see you.”

———

As Nara slowly regained consciousness, her vision cleared to see Y/N sitting quietly by her bedside. The gentle hum of machines filled the room, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Then, Nara spoke—her voice hoarse, but steady.

“I… I didn’t know where else to go.”

Y/N reached out, gently squeezing her hand. “You’re safe now.”

Tears welled in Nara’s eyes as she began to speak. She talked about the abusive boyfriend—the constant threats, the fear that paralyzed her every time she thought of leaving. It had gone on for months, maybe even longer. Her voice trembled with every word as she recounted the trauma. She had already filed a case against him, and there was a restraining order in place. He was supposed to stay away. But tonight, he showed up—violent, unhinged—and attacked her, leaving her in the broken state she was in now.

“I will file this one too, in court,” she said, her eyes locking with Y/N’s. “He can’t keep doing this to me… or anyone else.”

Y/N nodded solemnly.

“I was lucky,” Nara continued softly, “to run into you that night… and Jeonghan. I realised I had someone who could actually help me, especially with his background. Please don’t misunderstand—our meetings were strictly about my case, nothing more.” She paused, her expression sincere. “And I want to apologise… for my behaviour that day.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Y/N replied, trying to keep her voice light, as if it didn’t affect her. But deep down, she felt a wave of relief—and a twinge of guilt for the tantrum she’d thrown at Jeonghan.

“Eiiih, don’t lie,” Nara teased with a small grin. “Every time I met that man, he kept saying the same thing—‘Gosh, Y/N’s going to kill me,’ or ‘Y/N’s not in the mood today.’ And let me tell you, his face? Totally stressed out. And not because of work.”

She raised her eyebrows jokingly, making Y/N chuckle despite herself.

————————

“Y/N!!”

She stood in the hospital park, turning at the sound of her name. Jeonghan came rushing toward her, slightly out of breath as he stopped in front of her.

Y/N stood with her arms crossed, watching him catch his breath.

“How is she?” he asked quickly.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking about her first?”

Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard—then gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry—how are you, my love?”

She rolled her eyes at his antics. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I try,” he said with a wink.

Y/N sighed, the exhaustion visible on her face. “She’s stable for now. Needed a few stitches and will require further observation, but at least she’s out of immediate danger.”

As the night stretched on, both of them stood in silence outside the hospital. The air was heavy, the weight of everything that had happened lingering between them.

"I'm sorry," Y/N finally whispered.

Jeonghan turned to her, confused. "Why? Love, you did nothing wrong."

He noticed her eyes welling up with tears, and without hesitation, he pulled her into a comforting hug.

“I doubted you,” she murmured against his chest. “I should’ve thought things through instead of jumping to conclusions.”

“Why you—” Jeonghan paused mid-sentence, realizing that Nara must have already told Y/N about him being her lawyer. Without saying more, he just pulled Y/N into a tight hug, gently swaying her from side to side.

“What’s going to happen to Nara?” she asked softly.

“Well,” he sighed, “with the evidence we have—and all the dirt we managed to dig up on her boyfriend—there’s only one conclusion.”

He gave her a small, satisfied smile.

“Jail.”

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Good… she deserves peace after everything she’s been through.”

Jeonghan nodded, still holding her. “She’ll get it now. And I’m proud of her—for finally choosing to fight back.”

Y/N looked up at him, her hands resting on his chest. “And I’m proud of you. For helping her, even if it meant… more misunderstandings between us.”

Jeonghan’s eyes softened. “You have no idea how hard it was, pretending like it didn’t affect me. Every time you looked at me like I was slipping away…” He trailed off, voice low. “It killed me.”

She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his. “I know. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

He smiled gently. “No more hiding okay? From now on, we deal with everything together.”

Y/N nodded. “Together.”

The bracelet on her wrist shimmered faintly—no pain this time, just a soft, steady glow.

“Herewith all the evidence and witness testimonies, Kim Jong In is hereby sentenced to twelve years in prison,” the judge declared firmly, the gavel striking the bench with finality.

It was over.

Inside the courtroom, tears of joy streamed down Nara’s face as Y/N wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. The weight of months of fear and uncertainty finally lifted.

Across the room, Jeonghan and Y/N exchanged a knowing glance and shared a quiet nod — a silent acknowledgment of the battle they had fought together.

Outside the courthouse, Nara continued to express her gratitude, her voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you so much, Hannie. And you too, Y/N. I don’t know what I would have done without you both.”

Jeonghan smiled gently, shaking his head. “You were the brave one, Nara. We just helped you tell your story.”

Y/N added softly, “You’re not alone anymore. We’ll be here for you.”

As they stood together under the evening sun, a new chapter began — one filled with hope, healing, and the promise of brighter days ahead.

“Well, you know, you two really do fit each other. I might have underestimated you both,” Nara said with a warm smile.

Just then, a car horn blared from the street.

“That’s my ride. Hopefully, I’ll see you both again soon… maybe at a wedding?” she teased with a chuckle.

With that, she waved goodbye and climbed into the car, driving away. Leaving Y/N’s cheeks flushed a deep red, while Jeonghan cleared his throat awkwardly, stealing a quick glance at her.

Jeonghan scratched the back of his neck, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Well… a wedding sounds like a pretty good goal, doesn’t it?”

Y/N laughed awkwardly, “Let’s just survive the next few weeks first, Mr. Lawyer.”

He nodded, eyes sparkling with quiet determination. “Aye aye, cap! But I’m putting what Nara said on the list of plans — you know, how can we think about having kids without getting married first, right?” With that, Jeonghan playfully dashed away.

“Jeonghan Shi!” Y/N now red goes until her ears “Your teasing never ends, does it?”

Jeonghan glanced back over his shoulder, grinning mischievously. “Only for you, Y/N. Only for you.”

Somehow, with him around, life always felt a little more unpredictable — and a lot more exciting. Y/N caught up to him and wrapped her arms around his, holding him close. They walked side by side, the city lights flickering around them like stars — a quiet promise of new beginnings, bound together by the glow of that mysterious red string.

The old man watched from afar, smiling softly as he saw their bond growing stronger. “Would I have found this kind of happiness if I hadn’t been a coward?” he murmured solemnly. Slowly, he removed his hat and held it close to his chest.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves around him, carrying with it a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in decades. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to hope — that love, even when tangled with regret and loss, could find its way back again.

With a quiet sigh, he turned and slowly walked toward a nearby wall—a memorial etched with the names of those caught as hostages during the war, many of whom never made it home. His eyes settled on one name in particular, worn by time but still legible.

He gently traced the letters with trembling fingers, his voice barely a whisper, “For you, and for all who were lost… may this be the peace we all long for.”

Then, with renewed resolve, he stepped away, leaving the glowing red string to weave its destiny.

the end

<<part 3

Thanks for reading this, so not good fic🥹. lets meet again in my next series!

@dreamofpcy @ateez-atiny380 #btw if any of u have a suggestion for what story you want, just leave a comment

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU FOUND ME

➛ EPILOGUE

a/n: what do i even say after months of writing this story. after it's lived in my head for so long. i wrote a small thank you letter that will come after this, but i just wanted to say this has been the best fucking time i've had writing a fic i never thought might get finished. i have loved logan and honey and laura and wade from the very start. i have cried writing this and laughed (way too hard at my own jokes) and it feels painful to finally say goodbye. but i hope i've done it justice. i hope it's lived up to your expectations. to all of you who love this story, thank you for the ride. it's been one hell of a memory.

summary: when time stands still and love clambers through the door left open, things begin to finally click into place. in the midst of chaos - of a life you never thought might have a final note - you find that you've had all you needed all along. a family to share that final page with.

word count: 2.8k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, endings + beginnings, logan being in love, time, wade's relentless commentary, laura kinney being an icon, fluff, romance, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), alcohol consumption, promises, tears from the author cause i am sad af to end this, happy endings.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

“Places people! If you fuck this up I swear to me I’ll gut the fuzzy bear sitting on the bar.”

“You just wanna take it home,” Laura snapped, setting the final nail into place—the wall coated in dried putty from attempt number one and two and…six.

“What?” Wade scoffed. “I don’t want it. No matter how cute and cuddly and…shut up. Sugar bear! How are we doing with food?”

“Vanessa said she’s on her way with the shwarma,” Peter called. “Although I don’t know why we couldn’t just order pizza-”

“Please. Pizza doesn’t scream romance the way shwarma does. And that’s what we need. Fist fucking, knuckle biting-” Laura groaned, chucking the hammer at the walking annoyance who unfortunately knew how to fucking duck. “Romance!”

“It’s good to see you like this. Happy.”

“I wasn’t happy?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I made you a promise. I couldn’t keep it.”

“Maybe this time around you can.”

Sunlight broke through the drawn open curtains, casting warmth along the new and clean comforter. A gift left behind after you disappeared—the sticky note pinned to the soft fabric enough to let you know whose handy work it was. Contentment stirred in the base of your stomach, eyes unwilling to open as afternoon crested over the city—pulling you back to the present moment.

You could feel the time pulse in your wrists, the dimensions of the universe swathing around your bare body. But the heat pulling at your legs and streaking up your spine was different.

Shifting a breathless moan spilling past lips that tried to form his name. Buried beneath the covers you felt his tongue slide between your cunt, sucking each lip into his mouth with a muffled groan—hands kneading at your legs.

“Logan,” you gasped, hand pushing away what covered him.

He hummed in response, grinning at the feel of your hands curling into the unruly brown hair—his hold on your legs pushing them up and towards your chest. Spreading you just enough to delve his tongue into the fluttering hole. Your moan would no doubt be heard by the neighbors next door. Which would bring yet another complaint down on your head; claims that you were disturbing the peace by being fucked too well.

Every simplistic worry and overdrawn out thought dissipated the second he thumbed your clit, slurping loud with a harsh moan until you burned for him. Turned to ash beneath his needy touch.

Light coiled around his body, connecting your limbs to his. Vines that stretched to the skies; always meant to bloom in the late afternoon. Forever tinged by the hues of your love.

“W-Wait,” you breathed, tugging him free from your dripping cunt—his chin smeared in the slick he was starving for. Just a taste more, something to keep him from going hungry. His eyes were drooped, a flush forming along his cheeks, and the sight shot a hole through your chest.

He looked gone.

“Want you to finish,” he got out, thumb still running along your slit, pushing that sticky tang he’d grown addicted to everywhere he could get it. “Taste’s like fuckin’ heaven.”

“I need you.”

His lips twisted into a smile, eyes flashing dark. “Don’t worry bub. I’ll fuck ya good after I finish breakfast.”

Whatever complaint formed on the tip of your tongue slid down your throat as his mouth sealed over you. Sucking your clit hard enough to have your eyes rolling back, a shout of his name rippling in the air permanently tinged blue. He could feel the energy beneath your skin. The trembling burst of what now flowed with ease. Your scent was thick and heady, stuck to his senses like a perfume he never wanted to rid himself of.

His moan was lost into your slick, the mess pooling down to your ass begging him to clean it up with his tongue. A job he’d happily do with light in his eyes and devotion puncturing his heart. His thumb pressing down on the hole he had yet to claim sent the wave crashing over your body. A high pitched sob cracking in the air like a fucking whip—twining around his cock that leapt at the sound.

“Fuck,” he bit out, climbing up and over your still shaking body—his fist pumping tight over his already leaking cock. “Not gonna fuckin’ last this time honey.”

With an obedience that nearly fractured the last working bits of his mind, your legs fell open—a breathless smile crossing lips he took with a groan.

“So good for me.” His voice was lost as he sunk into your wet heat, the walls of your cunt clamping down hard enough to blind him. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

“Oh-” Nails punctured his back, scratching lines he wished would become a permanent scar. You were the only one—the only soul alive—he’d allow to hurt him. To cause enough pain he would feel it years down the line.

“Love you,” he rasped, hips pounding down into you and splattering wetness along his thighs. “Ya hear that?” A hand clamped around your throat, drawing your lips to his. “I love you.”

You moaned, thighs shaking around his hips. “I-I love you.”

Logan felt it along each muscle, his body tensing as he came with his tongue against yours. Time slowed, the clock stopped ticking, and the pleasure in his spine ruptured down to his toes. He kept fucking coming. Filling you slowly, warming your insides with everything he had to give, as you moaned wantonly beneath him—body glistening with sweat and eyes flashing gold.

Without even realizing it you were prolonging everything around you. Ceasing the tick of seconds to keep him inside you for as long as possible.

He’d never felt anything like it.

Tension melted off his body when you finally came to—the tick, tick, tick of your kitchen clock starting back up while his cock softened inside you. Cum steadily leaking out and around him. The scent caused his entire mouth to salivate, a mixture he’d never tire of, but your smile drew him back immediately.

“Good morning,” you sighed, voice dripping with ecstasy.

He grinned, nose pushing against your cheek. “Afternoon honey.”

“What a way to wake up.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” he chuckled.

City life echoed beyond the glass, stirring you to get up and join in on the noise. To fall back into a routine you once knew. Only now things were different. Only two days had passed since your return—nearly every moment spent in this apartment—but you couldn’t return to what you once knew. The job, the dull colored hue of everyday tasks, were things of the past. Pieces of yourself you learned to mourn in your time spent with Logan.

“Wade’s being a fuckin’ shit,” he groaned against your neck.

Absentmindedly your fingers twisted around the hair at the side of his head, eyes fluttering as he twitched inside you. “What’s he up to now?”

“Demanding we show up to this party he’s throwin’.”

“Uh oh. Wade and parties.” He snorted, lips sliding along your throat. “Although we do have a great track record of innocence last I checked.”

“Innocence huh?”

You smiled. “What’s the worst that could happen? You take me in his room this time?”

“Don’t fuckin’ tempt me.”

There was something tempting about watching him break above you—hazel eyes glimmering black at the thought of sinking into you and keeping you quiet. What an idea. To be at his mercy anywhere he wished. Logan’s arm circled around your waist, hauling you close enough to dig your way into his skin, as his cock grew hard for the second time.

“Something tells me I should,” you purred, sharply tugging his dog-tags. “Better tell Wade we’re going to be late.”

“Six. Fucking. Hours!” You heard his voice before you saw him, perched atop a table—a whiskey bottle in one hand and a grotesque stuffed bear in the other. “I would say I’m impressed but you’re teetering a bit too fucking close to mine and Nessa’s record.”

The lights strung along the bar’s ceiling caught your attention first, glinting like fireflies in the lowlights of a place you’d seen but never entered. Vanessa sat at the bar, Peter chattered away in the corner, Laura lounged in a chair—her feet propped up on the table beside Wade—and even Althea was dragged into the throes of a party you should have expected. A sloppy hand painted banner hung over the bar (in Wade’s handwriting no less): WELCOME HOME SWEET AN-

“Yeah I ran out of space,” Wade sighed. “Sorta had to squeeze it in there. But I’m used to that by now. Isn’t that right baby?”

Vanessa groaned, laughing into her drink. But you could see the love in her eyes, the promise of forever written in her heart. The same look Logan fixed you with every morning since he met you—his mind planning a life together from the very second. You felt his hand clutch your hip to tug you through the bar. Past everyone who showed up—some you knew, others yet to introduce themselves—but a family nonetheless.

“Mom,” a voice meekly said from behind him. You didn’t need to see her to know who was calling you, gifting you the title that had been branded on your skin. And you took it with pride, spinning to catch her as she threw herself into arms that would always be there to catch her.

“I got your gift,” you mumbled into her hair.

She smiled. “I’m glad I found you.”

Logan’s breath hitched—his body angled towards the bar. Allowing you two a moment of peace. A memory that clung to the blue that enveloped you both. Forever protecting what you refused to lose.

“I’m glad you found me too.”

“Not to break up the mamma mia vibes, but we’ve got some partying to do.” Wade’s chin landed on your shoulder, Laura sneering at the close proximity of someone she pretended to loathe. So much like Logan.

This is what you missed the most. Joy found and scraped at the very bottom of a barrel that held nothing but fucking pain. Something to live for. Even as the world ripped you to pieces. Logan was involved in a conversation—the man unfamiliar to your memory—and Wade was more than happy to drag you towards the group. Always a host (or attention seeker). You couldn’t be sure at this point.

Wade coughed, handing over a bucket with paper beaks. “Pin the tale on the platypus! Sorry Log they were all out of badgers.”

“Wolverine dumbass,” Althea snapped.

“Only when he’s in sweet angel-”

“I’d shut the fuck up if I were you,” Logan snarled.

“Six hours of the horizontal samba and he’s still acting like someone shit in his Cheerios.”

You smiled, yanking free a beak. “He didn’t have Cheerios for breakfast.”

Logan groaned—Wade’s laughter piercing his right ear. He had half a mind to ram his head through the bar, the half bottle of whiskey barely enough to keep his claws to himself. But you were glowing in the darkness, your laughter etching your name just a bit deeper in the deep caverns of a mind he rarely touched. Memories of pain turning to gold before his very eyes.

Wade peeked over Vanessa’s shoulder, his lips twisted into a grin that spelled trouble. “Logan you have other friends? And here I thought what we had was special.” His head swiveled. “Besides whatever those white men Ryan and Hugh have going on.”

“Fuck off,” Logan snapped, reaching for his half empty glass.

Two glasses clinked against the bar, a towel tossed beside them. “What’s with all the dramatics?” Travis questioned, pouring himself two fingers of bourbon. Aged. Smokey. A far better taste than what he was drowning himself in.

Logan grinned, heart fluttering—he hadn’t feltsomething so right in so long. “I just like to see her smile.”

“Keep it that way,” Travis agreed. “And life will be bliss. Take it from an old fuckin’ man.”

“I will.”

As if called forth by his gaze burning along your back, you sidled up to him, tucking into his side with a breathy giggle. “Wade’s claiming I cheated.”

“You did fucking cheat! You and that spork kid of yours.” A high pitched shout pierced the air, Wade’s shriek accompanied by Laura embedding a claw in his leg.

Logan couldn’t recall a time he’d been this proud. His daughter finishing the job he was too relaxed to get up and do himself.

“Hey,” you sighed, tipping your chin up—eyes glittering in the string lights. Stars lost to the depths of irises he’d happily stare into as time aimlessly passed him by. “I wanna show you something.”

He grinned, hand cupping your hip. “Already?”

“Not that.”

So he allowed himself to be dragged out of the bar—without complaint—and into the shadowed parking lot. It looked different at night. Empty of cars and lit by a single streetlight. Yet he could recall the time as if it happened moments before, the day solidified as one of his favorites. You wandering out of the grocery store altered the hell he was more than happy to wither in, barely fighting for breath.

You saved him. Only for him to save you right back.

“I believe it was right here,” you said. “When a stranger came up to me—out of nowhere— and told me I smelled different-” He laughed, pulling you close beneath a light littered by flies. “And changed everything.”

The small box nearly burned his hand as he dug it out of his pocket. Black and satin and tied with a yellow ribbon he found in the back of Wade’s drawer. He was too afraid to ask what it was for, but for you it would work. For you he’d endure every moment of Wade’s intolerance and parties he’d rather stray from. If only to see you smile for the rest of his life.

Your eyes went wide when it fell into your palm, heart stuttering and scent growing thick in the frigid air. “It’s not what you think it is. Unless that’s exactly what you want it to be honey. But well…fuck I’m not really good at this type of shit-”

It flicked open with a small creak, silver nestled into blue velvet. “Logan,” you breathed.

“I said forever. I meant it.”

“When did you…where-”

Crimson flushed across his cheeks and a hand tugged at the back of his neck. “I asked Laura who asked—Peter I think—and uh melted down one of the tags.”

“It’s…made from your dog-tags?”

He nodded, body humming with the weight of his next words—the promise set in metal left from a legacy he was finally proud to uphold. “I love you honey.”

A ripple extended through the universe, pulling from what surrounded you and forming a familiar glow of sunlight. You rushing past, him chasing after you, Wade intervening. He watched it all play it out behind you as he slipped the ring onto the finger it fit best. An inevitable vow, a promise engraved in cosmic matter and weaved by time.

He kissed you there in the darkness, breathing in your honey-like scent that called to him the day he found you. Even lost in a home never meant to house his soul, you made him feel wanted.

You brought him back to life.

The bar was chaos by the time you returned, paper beaks scattered on the floor, a broken chair stuffed into the corner and a song you couldn’t recognize blaring on the speakers. Laura was tossing darts with an older man, a smile finally gracing her face. Peter was deep in conversation with Althea and two others and yet all their eyes snapped to attention as you waltzed in, Logan attached to your hip—his mouth stuck to your neck.

“I fucking knew it!” Wade screamed, leaping forth. “Dibs on being the officiant.”

Logan groaned. “Wade-”

“I mean who else can say that Jesus married them. Can I get an Nema?” He grinned. “Can’t afford to get copyrighted by Hollywood. The budget is barely holding it together.”

“Get in line,” Laura bit out, meeting you at the door.

You allowed her to drag you behind her, Logan following close behind as everyone fell back into their own groups. Life settling for the first time since you met him. And for the first time…you felt it. That unfamiliar warmth pull at your chest, call you into the bliss that welcomed you. Time. Now at your side.

Forever and a day encased in the beauty of your family.

THE END.

note: am i crying as i format this? possibly. if you've been here since i posted chapter one then thanks for sticking it out with me. and if you've just discovered this fic, i hope you enjoyed their love story. it's been fun. onto the next.🖤

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Heyo, I just finished rewatching tfp and have been on a Wheeljack kick (I love all versions of him tho) so I was binging your stuff and lemme just say, absolutely LOVE the way you write him, 10/10 cleared my skin did my taxes and all the works. AHH I could scream about it forever, lol

Anyways, have a good day!

Thank you!!!! I love Wheeljack so much <333 he’s such a goober!! Here’s a Wheeljack quickie I’ve been pondering at work. Boss makes a dollar I make a dime thats why i come up with robot smut on company time!

“There it is,” Wheeljack praised as you sunk down on his spike. Your hands were fully engulfed in his servos leaving you no way to move out of his grip. “Nice and tight fit.”

Your knees wobbled at Wheeljack’s voice nearly causing you to fall and impale yourself on his spike.

“Careful,” Wheeljack chuckled. You whined as pushed your hips down further. You managed to take a little over half of his spike inside of your heat. Your wet, gummy walls clung to him as his tip kissed at your cervix threatening to break through directly into your womb. You felt your knees sweat onto the towel Wheeljack had laid down for traction. Loving a robotic alien was a learning experience and you slipping off Wheeljack’s pelvis from your sweat was definitely part of the learning curve.

You swirled your hips testing how he felt inside of you. Wheeljack was bigger than anything you’ve ever taken before. He filled you to your limits and pushed what you thought your body could take. Those hours Wheeljack spent fingering you, testing the new toys he’d made on you, and having you masturbate for him all came together with him buried deep inside of you.

“Feelin’ good?” Wheeljack said lowly as you tried to find a good pace.

“Always,” you panted as Wheeljack tugged you forward by your hands.

“Yeah? How’s it feel, sweet spark?”

“You’re huge,” you moaned as you bounced your hips. “You always fill me so good!”

“Cutie,” Wheeljack cooed as your body seemed to work on its own. “Tell me more. I wanna know how I’m making my little human feel.”

You moaned out his name as you arched your back to get his spike at a better angle inside of you. “I never want you to pull out. Please-FUCK-please it’s so good!”

Wheeljack couldn’t help how he thrusted upwards at your babbling. You cried out as you collapsed onto his chasis still trying to move your hips to hump his spike. Seeing you so desperate made him moan as he squeezed your hands. You continued moving your hips back and forth at a rapid and needy pace until his spike flung free of your sopping pussy. You nearly sobbed at being so empty once again. Wheeljack couldn’t help how the little laugh he let out.

“Poor thing,” he teased. He released one of your hands to guide his spike back to your hole. “Just need to keep you stuffed and fucked stupid, huh? Will that make it better?”

You cried out his name as he pushed himself back inside of you. With both his servos on your hips he guided you to move on his spike. Wheeljack cooed while bouncing you on his mechanical cock. His vocalization indicators burned brighter than you had ever seen as he praised you for taking him so well. Your little hands gripped at his arm plating as you were tossed around and used as a toy. While Wheeljack wasn’t necessarily a large bot he was still much bigger than you and loved to remind you of that when he had you in his berth.

[hearts4johnwick]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ Against All Odds. / C. Kent.

SUMMARY. 𝜗𝜚 one of the many things you and clark have in common is your undying love for each other, but, none of you know about that. when clark realizes you’re not coming back to the daily planet, is when he decides to take the risk and tell you—but, is he too late?

CW. 𝜗𝜚 fluff, just a lillllll bit of angst, brief physical description of reader & reader is selfish.

A/N. 𝜗𝜚 omgggg i haven’t written something for David’s Clark in forever, but since we’re one day closer to the movie coming out here is a lil something 🤭🤭 as yall can guess by now, most of my work is inspired by songs, hence, the title being the title of the song + the lyrics that fit the most at the end of the work, im gonna start putting the actual song title and artist in my works inspire by song so for this work it’s against all odds by phil colllins <3

The best part of Clark’s day was always seeing you walking through the door of The Daily Planet. Your elegant and classy outfits, the smile you give as you give a “good morning” to everyone that passes by you, and the trail of your perfume that follows you as you place your things on the desk beside him. And the nice hairstyle that took you a little over 15 minutes to do. It was the little things, he would always appreciate the little things. 

   “Good morning, Clark!” You greet him with a flashy smile, which he excitedly returns. 

   “Hey! How are you feeling this morning?” He asks and your smile fades slightly. He watches as your posture changes, and his eyebrows fall. “Is everything alright?” 

   “Yes…” you say hesitantly, you don’t like to lie, especially to someone like Clark. He has done absolutely nothing but be incredibly kind to you, you don’t know how you could ever repay him, yet, you continue to be dishonest with him by saying “I’m okay.” You nod and rub your hands over your slacks. 

   “You know, you can always count on me… If anything is bothering you, I’m here.” You walk closer to him place your hand above his chest and smile. 

   “Thank you, Clark.” His lip twitches into a smile and he adjusts his glasses. “Have you seen Lois?” You ask. 

   “No, I haven’t.” Silly you. He hasn’t been paying attention to anything, not before you walked through that door, at least. He wasn’t listening to Perry’s voice yelling at him to finish his report on Lex Luthor taking over his father’s company, or Jimmy Olsen asking him how many sugar bags he wanted in his coffee. And when you did walk through that door, his attention was fully focused on you. Not the people around him, just you. Like always. 

   Yet, he always fails to admit his undying love for you, because he doesn’t realize it, not even when everyone around him does. 

   “It’s okay, I’ll look for her.” You smile at him and he nods. You walk off to find Lois, and still, Clark’s eyes are upon you. He smiles to himself before sitting down in his chair. He looks to hide side and sees Robert Fearn, the co-worker who’s always sipping loudly ok his coffee, giving him a disgusted look. 

   Confused, Clark continues his work on his computer. 

   You had found Lois leaving Perry’s office and you quickly went up to her and asked her if you could get coffee later in the cafe down the street, to which she said “Of course!” 

𓂃

   “I have some news.” Lois’ face lightens up, in hopes of hearing some good news, specifically about a certain someone, but you shake your head in disappointment. “Lois…” your tone made her heart skip a beat, she was scared, worried. “Lois, I’m moving.” 

   Lois’ eyebrows furrow and she looks down at her coffee, then chuckles. “Moving jobs? House?” She searches for an answer in your eyes, your once bright eyes. 

   “States.” You say and she stops mixing her coffee. She swallows and breathes deeply. She looks up at you, giving you sad puppy dog eyes. “My mom is very ill, and my dad can’t take care of her alone, which is why, I talked Perry last week, and I quit. My decision is final, I’m moving.” 

   Lois licks her lips before looking back down. “Where?” She asks, wondering if you were returning to your hometown, which, you were.

   “Nevada.” You reply. 

   “Jesus.” She exclaims. She whispers your name, her tone full of sadness, and you hear your heart chip. “Wow. I don’t know what to say. At least, it’s for a good reason, you need to be there, for your mother, I understand that. It hurts, but I’m obviously not going to fight you for that.” She grabs onto your hand and grips it tightly. 

   “I love you, Lo.” You share a smile. 

   “I love you more.” She says and you hum. “And what about…” she trails off. 

   “Clark? Oh, I don’t—I don’t…” you sigh. The situation confuses you, you think, you feel, you know he likes you, maybe even loves you, but at the same time, you feel delusional, he’s just a guy at work you happen to be close with, every woman has that, right? 

   “Look, Clark likes you, a lot, and I think—“ Lois begins, and you cut her off. 

   “How do you know that, Lois? You don’t, so please, please, stop saying that!” You raise your voice just slightly, but you regret it, and quickly apologize. “I’m sorry, I’m just so frustrated.” You run your hands through your hair. 

   “I think you should talk with him.” 

   “No, no, I can’t, it’s too late. I’ll… I’ll stay. For him? Yes, and I can’t let that happen, not when the only thing my mom is relying on is me!” You shake your head and look at her. “I can’t.” Your voice breaks and you take a deep breath. 

   “Listen to me. Your conscience will not let you live freely over there if you don’t talk to him.” Your eyes lock and stay like that for a while, while her words make your mind work. And though her words couldn’t be more truthful, you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t risk it. 

   “I’m picking up my things from the office. I’m done. I’m sorry.” You stand from your seat and begin to walk away until Lois speaks up. 

   “You know, if you keep forcing away your feelings, they’ll only get stronger.” You stop in your tracks, she’s waiting for you to turn around but you don’t, you continue your walk. 

   At the office, Jimmy Olsen walks next to you. “Hey, if you need help moving stuff, you know I’m just one call away.” He offers to help and you smile at him. 

   “Thank you, Jim. I appreciate that very much. But, I already moved all the things I need to the U-Haul truck and they’ll get to my mom’s house soon. Thank you.” You cup his cheek and walk back to your desk. 

   As you were tidying up your desk, you looked over at Clark’s. He’s not there, and you’re thankful he’s not, it feels like those painful goodbyes at the airport; don’t look back, it’ll only make the pain worse. 

   You swallow the lump in your throat and take a deep breath. You look down at the Funko Pop of Krypto in the box full of the supplies you’re taking to your house. You smile and place it on Clark’s desk as a “something to remember me by” parting gift since you love Krypto and think he’s the cutest thing ever, though you’re not even aware the man you have feelings for is his owner. 

   You walk away from your desk and say your goodbyes to some co-workers you’ve grown fond of, all except a particular one who you could not find anywhere. 

   When you make it to your car, you place the box of supplies in the passenger seat and get in the driver. 

   Clark enters The Daily Planet building with high expectations, to end his night with a last look at you, your bronze skin, and your dark hair and eyes, to get a whiff of your vanilla scent as he embraces you—but, he expects disappointment when all he finds is nothing but the computer that belongs to the company. When he looks at his desk, he sees the familiar Krypto Funko Pop, he grabs it and lets out a breath. He looks around the building, searching for you, and with no success. 

   He sees Jimmy putting away his paperwork and walks up to him. “Jimmy. Where is ___?” Jimmy’s eyebrows furrow. 

   “She quit.” 

   “What?” Clark exclaims and Jimmy crosses his arms. 

   “Yeah. She has to move states to help her mom, she’s really ill.” 

   “Back to Nevada?” Clark questions, on the verge of shouting his words. Jimmy nods nonchalantly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

   “It’s not like you cared anyway.” He taunts and Clark tilts his head. 

   “Jimmy, she’s my friend.” 

   “Is that all she is to you? A friend? I would love to know what kind of friend is always watching every single move she makes, like a hawk watches its prey, I love to know what kind of friend loses his breath, and his words whenever she looks into his eyes, I’d love to know what kind of friend gets jealous when someone who’s not you gets a little too close to her… open your eyes, Clark. She’s not your friend, she never was. I knew you were a nerd, but I never took you for someone so stubborn.” Jimmy rolls his eyes and goes back to cleaning his desk for the night. Clark stands in silence, analyzing what Jimmy had just said and not letting it go through one ear and our the other.

   “Jimmy. You’re right. I’m stupid.” Jimmy chuckles. “I do, I do love her, and I wish I had said it before, I do, but I was so scared, scared she wouldn’t feel the same way and I’d have to see her every day, knowing the things I feel for her would never go away. That’s a different type of pain I’m not strong enough to bear.” Jimmy’s eyebrows raise and he smiles. 

   “Buddy, do I look like her? Why are you telling me this?! Tell it to her!” He exclaims and Clark smiles. 

   “I think—no, I love her.” Clark confesses. 

   Jimmy places his hand on his shoulder and shakes him. “Congratulations on being the last one to find out, buddy.” Clark’s face changes at his words. 

   “What?” 

   “Oh, everybody knew. Everybody.” Jimmy laughs and Clark groans. 

   “Gosh, I am so stupid…” 

   “You said it, not me…” Jimmy laughs. “Now go… before you’re too late.”

   “Wait, she’s leaving tonight?” Jimmy hums and Clark exclaims under his breath.

“You better go to her, if you’re not too late.” Clark sighs and walks out the door, leaving Jimmy alone in silence.

Clark is constantly flicking his wrist just to look at the watch, it's 8:15 currently, and for some reason, he gets a feeling that he’s too late, he fears he won’t get to look at your big brown eyes one last time, or caress your soft hair, or connect the birthmarks on your face as if he was aligning stars.

By the time he arrived at your house, he had his tie loose and his hair was all over the place, his glasses slipping due to the sweat on his nose, but nothing was going to stop him, not even your moving vehicle, he’ll just fly.

You shut the door behind you and lock it, boosting up the box between your arms so it wouldn’t fall. You turn around and almost drop the box at the right.

Clark.

A messy-haired, tilted glasses, and loosened tie Clark, it’s a pretty good sight, but, not for now. You’re upset, and you don’t even wish to look at him. You stare at him in silence, a small frown forming on your face, you walk down the 5 steps and open the trunk of your car.

“____.” He calls out your name, but you still stay silent. “___, you know I’m not here for no reason. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

“Didn’t think you’d care.” You reply dryly, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

“What? What would make you think that? Of course I’d care!” he says as if it were common sense, which, it was, but you elected to pretend it wasn’t. You give him a look and close the trunk. You are about to walk past him, but he blocks your path. “Were… were you seriously leaving without saying goodbye?” His tone is soft, delicate, and sad. Your nose flares, you look down and take in a breath.

“Clark. Move, please.” You sniffle. “I have to go home.”

You hear Clark scoff. “Home? This is your home. Here. Metropolis. With us.” You chuckle and shake your head.

“Us? As in Lois, Jimmy, you and I? You were never my family, my real family is in Nevada, and that’s where I’m headed right now, so don’t stand in my way.” You move past him, but yet again he blocks your path.

“I can’t let you do this. And you sound selfish.” You look up at him, glossy eyes reflecting off of his. “I…” there it is, losing his words, the same effect that has happened for the past 2 years. Eye contact = Clark losing his words. “I…” he trails off, your eyebrows furrow. “I can’t let you leave. Not without saying goodbye.” You laugh dryly. Is that all he had to say? You thought to yourself, basically on the verge of tears.

You lick your lips and you fake a smile. “Goodbye, Clark.” He looks down at you, his hands held high, urging you to touch your skin, but, he doesn’t move, he stands there, in silence. “That all?” Silence. “Thought so.” You move past him, but he delicately puts both his hands on each of your arms.

“No. That isn’t all.” He speaks, with the gentle and soothing voice that gave you many butterflies, and still does. His touch on your skin burns like the day first day he approaches you, every brush of his fingers lighting wildfires beneath your flesh. “I haven’t been completely truthful with you, and I know I shouldn’t be like that, especially with someone like you.” You take steps back, now you stand in front of him. “Please, look at me.” He says, but you keep looking down until he whispers your name; you swore it was the breeze that called to you. The whisper was so quiet—something that within the New York buzz would be inaudible, but, you caught it.

You look up with, a soft expression, shiny and watery eyes. Clark’s heart skips a beat at the sight. God, he admired your beauty—but he hated seeing you like this.

“Not only have I been lying to you… I’ve been lying to myself.” He trails off, takes a breath, and fiddles with his shaky hands. “For the longest time, I thought that if I hid my feelings from you, I could be able to live fine, but in reality, I know my life would be better with you in it. I never told you how I felt because, for some reason, I knew you’d never focus on someone like me.”

“Someone like you? Clark—“You begin, but he cuts you off.

“No, please, let me finish.” Your eyebrows knit themselves together, and you nod softly. “I didn’t want this. God, I tried so hard not to want this. I thought that you could just be someone I could admire from afar and then forget. But somewhere between pretending I didn’t care and lying to myself every time I looked at you, it happened. I fell in love with you.” He takes breathes in a shaky breath, he holds his hands together as he watches your expression closely. “A—and, maybe you’ll laugh. Maybe you’ll walk away. Maybe you’ll pity me—and I think that would be the worst of all—” You shake your head and take a step forward closer to him, but he backs away. “But I can’t carry this secret any longer. It’s eating me alive.”

Your teary eyes stared down at his, which were now just as glossy as yours, he looked away from you because if he spent one more second looking at your heavy-hearted face, he’d fall apart.

You sniffle and wipe away your fallen tears. You step closer to him, and although he doesn’t back away, he doesn’t look at you, but your warm, familiar touch brings him back. You place your hand above his cheek and turn his head to face you. You give him a smile and his face softens. You get on your tip toes to embrace him, to which he quickly wraps his arms around your body. His head dips in the crane of your neck, and he gently lifts you off the ground.

You wrap your finger between his locks and hold him tighter, getting a whiff of his scent. She closes her eyes and feels a single tear roll down her cheek which she wipes away rapidly.

None of you want to break the hug, the same hug that has lasted about 2 minutes now, your bodies have grown accustomed to each other, and they don’t want to fall apart, but, the first one to make the difficult decision is you. But, you don’t exactly retract your arms, and neither does Clark, he doesn’t set you back down on the ground—you just stare into each other’s eyes.

Your hand hovers over his face, urging to caress his skin—your noses brush against each other, and your foreheads touch. You close your eyes, your lips inching closer painfully slow. You inhale a slow breath before Clark leans in and kisses you, his lips soft on yours, your lips respond by kissing him back. Just as your bodies—your lips grow accustomed to each other in the small time you share—but, the time spent craving them has added to the desire—a desire fulfilled.

Slowly, but not taking his lips off of yours, Clark sets you down on the ground. He caresses your cheek and smiles.

“Please, let me come with you to Nevada, we can take care of your mom together.” His thumb traces over your cheekbone and you sniffle, then lick your lips. “Together.” You grab onto his wrists and nod. He smiles and places a quick peck on your lips. “Now that we’re here…” he whispers. You tilt your head. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” Your forehead creases and he chuckles embarrassingly. You watch as he takes off his glasses and he adjusts himself. “I’m Superman.”

❛ how can i just let you walk away? just let you leave without a trace? when i stand here taking every breath with you. ❜

[writermuses]

"Cas is mad?" Lale asked, trying to finish what Alana wouldn't. "Going to hate me forever?" She shrugged and gestured to the snowcapped lawn and the twinkling lights, a loving home decorated for the holiday. "He needs a newsflash that I hate myself enough for all of us.. What kind of monster am I thinking that I was doing the right thing so he could live his dream and I could keep a baby my mom would've taken or worse?" Lale huffed, "There's nothing redeemable about what I did or why I did it."

Blinking away the tears, she looked at Alana. "She is perfect, a little miniature version of him— and when he made it, like I knew he would, I was terrified of showing up and telling him the truth. Despite everything I know about him, I thought that he would think I showed up for money or that he'd take her away. How stupid is that? How selfish is that? And to make it all worse he found out about her in the worst possible way." Lale found herself dumping the hard truths on Alana as if no time had passed at all. "Lily has always loved him because he was always a part of her life, as much as I could make him." Swallowing and clearing her throat, she pointed to the door. "You should go be with Cas because as much I want you to be here, as much as I would love to have just one friend, I don't want him to be mad at you to for being willing to be what I need. I'm not going to do anything to ruin anyone else's life with my presence. Can you just point me toward a bathroom?

Lale wiped as her eyes again, moving to the door but stopping to look back at Alana. "I'm sorry for crying. I haven't even walked in there and it's all been a lot. They both asked me to come. I didn't plan this or anything."

As soon as she is outside, it feels like looking at a ghost, but Alana doesn't have much time to think about that. All she sees is her friend upset and hurt and speaking as if their history is forever in the past. "You don't owe me an apology," she says after a moment, after she is sure her voice won't quiver with the promise.

There is a lot she could say and a lot she wants to say, but really, she misses her friend. Unlike her husband, she has no desire to get between the drama surrounding her and Raleigh. If Raleigh wants her here, then she is happy enough to welcome her back, especially as the distance between them lessens and she watches Lale wrap her arms around herself. Uncertainty lifts her shoulders in return.

"Hey, there's no past tense in there. Cas is..." Mad, to say the least, but the feeling is out of support for his friend rather than anything else--not that Alana thinks saying so would do much to ease the tension. "I'm... I can't believe you're here," she says, finally. "And your little girl... Lale, she's beautiful. And just so in love with Raleigh. They're so sweet together, and..." Her shoulders dip with her next breath, and Alana knows she should move to go back inside. "I just... wanted you to know I'm here. If you wanted. If you needed."

[citriarchive]

okay but "are you so busy fighting you cannot see your own ship has set sail" goes hard as a proverb and feels really relevant, iroh was right

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Another year has passed, and with it the opportunity to reflect back on all that has happened. While my growth was not as dramatic as last year, I can still see lots of positive change.

I'll never have enough ways to say thank you for all the love and support you have given me this year. On to 2025!

(2023 summary here!)

[vale-n-tina-and-the-internet]

OK SO HERE IT GOES

Ok so story time: This was commissioned by the lovely (not to mention patient and supportive) @greypistacchio for her monumental fic Pieces of Paper we Hold, and it’s going to be the cover for the printed version she’s going to sell to raise money for SA survivors. It’s a great initiative and it comes with loads of merch from super talented artists so go.check.it.out. cuz it’s all kinds of awesome! (For real, the art for the merch is superb 😍)

Also it was my first commission ever 🤯 Nearly crapped my pants with nerves, but Gee was crazy enough to entrust it to me and I couldn’t be more grateful cause I’m kinda proud of the result and to be part of a project like this.

Some progress shots under the cut just for fun

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[angelsdean]

don't know how people multi-fandom. dipped my toe into another one and immediately backed out bc everyone there was insufferable.

[zestyzigzagoon]

I am currently having catastrophic 3 AM Chasing Sunsets thoughts about this quote from Breakfast at Tiffany's.

[pigeonclaw]

the amount of times I have potentially controversial opinions that I type up and then save in my drafts forever because I still feel them but am too shy and afraid to choose violence in any way

[pickapea]

why is the world such a negative place? why is society at large so focused on only what's bad? with the way things are now i have to tell my boyfriend i get the "reverse ick" whenever he does something that makes me fall in love with him all over again

[keeps-ache]

in a cafe rn. this place is nice :>