#and i'm actively trying to get back to that stage

[lone-esper]

Her Game

Lee Hyunseo/Leeseo × Male Reader

Pussy Eating, Squirting, A Little Bit Of Thigh Fucking, Pussy Fuck, Creampie

3,202 Words

I'm experimenting with a longer build-up while focusing more on the situation/story rather than the smut scenes. Honestly, I am a little dissatisfied but oh well, tell me what you guys think if you would.

The click of the locker room door feels unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.

Just moments ago, the space had been a low hum of activity. Jiyeon, Leeseo’s ever-present manager, was fussing over a loose thread on her costume, while Leeseo herself was slumped dramatically in a chair, fanning her face and letting out exaggerated sighs. Now, there’s only you and her.

“It's so hot,” she whined, her voice dripping with a carefully crafted exhaustion that didn’t quite reach her bright, watchful eyes. “Jiyeon unnie, I’m so, so thirsty. But not for water. For that special strawberry milk from the big convenience store three blocks away. The one with the little cartoon bear? Please? I can’t perform my best without it.”

Jiyeon hesitated, glancing at the clock, but one look at Leeseo’s perfected pout had her grabbing her purse and keys. “Alright, alright, you little diva. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. You,” she said, pointing a stern finger at you, “keep an eye on her. Make sure she rests.”

And then, the click.

You’re the new guy on the security detail, barely a few months into the job. Your primary role is crowd control and creating a buffer, but for solo schedules like this, you’re also a glorified assistant, a presence meant to deter any sasaengs and handle minor logistics.

You’ve been trying to keep your head down, to be professional, invisible. You spend your time in the corners of rooms, like you are now, arranging equipment cases and neatly folding discarded towels. You're aware of her, of course.

It’s impossible not to be. She’s Leeseo, the giant baby of the group, all long limbs and dazzling smiles.

You’ve seen her on stage, a whirlwind of charisma, and you’ve seen her off stage, a master of cute antics, constantly clinging to her unnies or charming the staff with a well-timed pouting.

The silence stretches, and you feel her gaze on your back like a physical touch. You pretend to be absorbed in your task, aligning the water bottles with military precision.

“Oppa.”

Her voice is different now. The whiny, childish edge is gone, replaced by something softer, smokier. It slides down your spine and coils low in your gut. You turn slowly.

She hasn’t moved from her chair, but her posture has changed. She’s no longer slumping. She’s leaning back, one hand braced on the seat, her head tilted. The short skirt she’s wearing for the concept shoot is hiked up slightly, revealing the tops of a pair of delicate, pastel pink stockings.

They disappear high up her thighs, into the shadows beneath the fabric. Her legs are crossed, drawing your eyes to the smooth, honey-toned skin of her calves and the gentle curve of her knees.

“I’m still so tired,” she says, her voice a low murmur. “This costume is so tight.” She uncrosses her legs and lets them fall open just a little. It’s a subtle shift, but it feels like the whole world has tilted on its axis. “My legs feel so cramped in these stockings.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Should I… get you a different chair?” you ask, the words sounding stupid and hollow even to your own ears.

A slow smile plays on her lips. It’s not the bright, innocent smile for the cameras. This one is pure temptation. “No, oppa. I need help with something else.” She pats her thigh, the sound is a soft thump in the silent room. “These stockings. They’re so hard to take off by myself. I’m too tired to bend over.”

Your heart hammers against your ribs. This is a line. A massive, brightly lit, neon-glowing line that your job description, your professionalism, and every ounce of common sense screams at you not to cross. But you’re young, and she is breathtakingly beautiful, and the look in her eyes is not a request. It’s a challenge. A dare.

“Please, oppa?” she asks, her voice dipping into that whiny tone again, but this time it’s a weapon of seduction. She pouts, her bottom lip glistening. “My legs are aching.”

You take a hesitant step forward, and then another. It feels like you’re walking through water. You stop in front of her, your tall frame casting a shadow over her. From this angle, looking down, the view is even more intoxicating.

The skirt seems impossibly short, and her thighs look even more incredible. They are not the stick-thin limbs of some idols; they are full, strong, dancer’s thighs. Meaty, just as you’d imagined, with a soft curve that promises heaven.

“Okay,” you hear yourself say, your voice is suddenly rough.

You kneel. The cold tile floor is a shock to your knees, grounding you for a moment. You are at her mercy, positioned perfectly between her legs. The air is stuffy with her scent, a mix of sweet perfume and her own unique, feminine musk. She shifts in her chair, parting her legs a little wider to give you access.

“They’re attached up here,” she whispers, her fingers tracing the hem of her skirt. “You’ll have to… reach inside.”

Your hand trembles as you reach for the hem of her skirt. The wool is soft beneath your fingertips. You lift it slowly. The pastel pink stocking top comes into view, held in place by a delicate garter strap connected to a lacy band around her thigh. And just above it, the bare, supple skin of her inner thigh. The sight makes the air catch in your lungs.

“Be careful, oppa,” she breathes, a shaky words.

Your fingers brush against her skin as you work the small clasp of the garter. It’s hot. So incredibly hot. She lets out a soft gasp as your knuckles graze the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. You manage to unhook it, and the stocking immediately loses some of its tension.

“Now the other one,” she instructs, her voice barely a whisper.

You repeat the process on her other leg, your movements a little bolder this time. As you unclip the second garter, you let your fingers linger for a fraction of a second too long, feeling the faint, rapid pulse beating beneath her skin. She shivers, a full-body tremor that you can see and feel.

With both garters undone, you grasp the rolled hem of the stocking on her right leg. You begin to peel it down. The nylon whispers against her skin as you reveal her thigh, her knee, her calf. You roll it carefully all the way down, over her ankle, and off her foot. Her bare leg is flawless, glowing in the artificial light of the room. You set the stocking aside and reach for the other one.

As you begin to roll the second one down, she stops you. Her hand covers yours, pressing it firmly against her thigh.

“Wait,” she says, her eyes dark and hazy with yearning. “You’re so kind, oppa. So handsome, too.” She leans forward, her other hand coming up to cup your jaw. Her thumb strokes your cheek. “You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? I’ve seen you.”

You can’t speak. You can only stare into her eyes as she leans closer still.

“I’m so wet, oppa,” she confesses. She shifts her hips, a small movement that makes the fabric of her panties rustle. “Ever since you walked in today. I sent Jiyeon-unnie away for you.”

Her confession shatters the last of your resistance. This isn’t an accident. It’s a calculated, desperate seduction. And it’s working.

“She thinks I’m such a kid,” Leeseo continues, a bitter edge to her tone. “They all do. But I’m not. I’m a woman. And I want you.” She guides your hand from her thigh, moving it deliberately towards the apex of her legs. She places your palm flat against her crotch, right over the thin cotton of her panties.

It’s completely soaked. You can feel the damp heat through the fabric, a shocking, undeniable proof of her arousal. She moans low and presses herself against your hand.

“Please, oppa,” she begs, her facade of control crumbling into raw, open need. “I need you to taste me. Please. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

The request, so blunt and needy, sends a jolt of lust through you. You don’t need any more convincing. You lean forward, your nose brushing against the damp fabric of her panties. The scent is intoxicating—sweet, musky, and utterly Leeseo. You hook your thumbs into the waistband of her underwear and pull them off.

Her pussy is a revelation. Plump, pink lips, glistening with a creamy, white wetness. They are dewy and slick, already weeping for you. She gasps as the cool air hits her exposed flesh. Without a second thought, you lower your head and press your mouth on her cunt.

She screams, a sharp, choked sound that is quickly muffled as she presses a hand to her mouth. Her hips buck wildly. The taste of her is even more addictive than her scent. You lick up her cream, savouring the flavour as you explore her folds and ridges with your tongue. You find her clit, a hard little pearl hidden beneath its hood, and you lave it with attention.

“Oppa! Oh, god, oppa, yes!” she cries into her hand, her body convulsing.

She grabs fistfuls of your hair, not to pull you away, but to hold you closer, grating herself against your mouth with a frantic energy. Her wetness floods your mouth. She's getting closer, her moans becoming more desperate, her breathing ragged.

You work your tongue faster, harder, determined to give her what she wants. With a piercing cry, she comes apart, her body seizing in a powerful orgasm, her inner walls clenching and releasing as she overflows your mouth with her climax.

She slumps back in the chair, boneless and panting, her eyes glazed over. You pull back slowly, your chin and lips slick with her juices. You look up at her, and she gives you a dazed, grateful smile.

But you’re not done. Her orgasm has pushed you over the edge. The bulge in your pants is now a painful, throbbing ache. You stand up, your movements are urgent. Leeseo’s eyes widen as she takes in the prominent shape of your huge cock straining against the fabric of your trousers.

“Oppa…” she breathes, her eyes full of awe and hunger.

You don’t waste time with words. You undo your belt and unzip your pants, freeing your erection. It springs out, thick, long, and lubricates with a bead of precum at the tip. Leeseo licks her lips, her gaze fixed on it.

“It’s so big,” she whispers reverently.

She’s still waiting and open for you, her thighs trembling. But you want to feel those amazing thighs wrapped around you first.

“Could you, uhh, wrap your legs around my neck,” you hesitate.

She obeys instantly, her dancer’s flexibility allowing her to hook her ankles behind your head. You position between her legs and push your hips forward. The head of your cock presses against her wet folds, but instead of pushing in, you slide up, rubbing the length of your shaft between her plump, wet labia and up against her still-sensitive clit.

Her head tosses back. “Oh, that feels so good!”

You hug her legs close, sinking your cock between her meaty thighs. They grip you tightly, her wetness and your precum making an easing, hot sheath for you. You fuck her thighs, your beat hard and fast, the sound of your skin slapping hers echoing in the room. She moans with every thrust, her hands gripping the sides of her chair, her knuckles white.

“Please, oppa, put it inside me,” she begs, her voice broken. “I need to feel your cock inside me. All of it. Pretty please~”

Her plea is your command. You pull back, the head of your cock hovering at her entrance. She is so wet, so ready for you. You push forward, and the thick crown of your cock slips inside her. She cries out, a mix of discomfort and pleasure. She’s tight, so wonderfully, virginally tight.

“You’re so tight, Leeseo,” you groan, pushing deeper.

You fill her completely, stretching her, burying to the hilt inside her. You’re both panting, staring at each other in a moment of sheer, primal connection. Then you begin to move.

Slowly at first, then with increasing speed and force. You pull almost all the way out before slamming back into her, hitting her inner walls with every deep thrust. She screams your name, no longer bothering to muffle the sound.

Her legs are wrapped around your waist now, her heels digging into your back. The skirt is bunched up around her waist, a ridiculous accessory to the raw, hardcore fuck you’re giving her.

“Faster, oppa! Harder!” she cries, meeting your thrusts with her own.

You’re both lost in a haze of lust. The world has shrunk to this locker room, to the feeling of her hot, wet pussy milking your cock, to the sound of her ecstatic screams, her needy expression. Your climax building, a deep, hot pressure in your balls. You lean down and kiss her, a rough, sloppy kiss, your tongues tangling as you pound into her relentlessly.

“I’m going to cum, Leeseo—Shit…”

“Me too! Come inside me, oppa! Fill me up!”

Her words are all you need. Grunting low, you unload deep inside her, your body shuddering with the force of your discharge. She screams as your hot seed floods her, her own orgasm shaking her to the core, her inner walls clenching around your cock in a final, blissful spasm.

You collapse on top of her, your forehead resting on hers, both of you panting and cover in thin sweat. The silence returns, broken only by your ragged breaths. After a minute, you slowly, reluctantly, pull out of her. Her juices and your cum spill out, dribbling down the crack of her ass.

She looks at the mess, then up at you, a wicked, satisfied smile spreading across her face.

“That was amazing, oppa,” she says, her voice satisfyingly husky. She reaches out and traces a finger along your jaw. “This will be our little secret. Right?”

Just then, her phone, lying on a nearby bench, buzzes. A message from Jiyeon. ‘On my way back up! They were out of the bear one so I got the one with the kitten. Hope that’s okay!’

Leeseo giggles, a sound that is both innocent and deeply corrupt. “You better get dressed, oppa,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “Unnie will be here any second.”

Your mind is a feedback loop of pure static. The message from Jiyeon registers somewhere in the distance, a foghorn from a world you no longer inhabit. This room, right now, is its own universe, smelling of sex and her sweet perfume.

You're still breathing heavily, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. You quickly, clumsily, tuck yourself away and zip your pants, the metal teeth seeming deafeningly loud.

Leeseo, however, moves with a calm grace that is terrifying. She swings her legs off the chair, standing up without a hint of a wobble. A single, pearlescent trail of your mixed fluids runs down the inside of her thigh. She doesn't wipe it away with panic. Instead, she grabs a makeup wipe from the vanity, her movements fluid and practised.

She carefully cleans herself, then smooths down her plaid skirt, adjusting it until it sits perfectly on her hips. With a few deft pats and pulls, she erases any evidence of your frantic, quick-fucking climax. She picks up the discarded stockings from the floor, folds them neatly, and places them in her bag.

In the space of thirty seconds, she transforms. The flushed, screaming, climax-ridden girl is gone, replaced once more by Leeseo, the idol, poised and ready. She glances at her reflection in the mirror, fluffing her hair, and patting her cheeks to even out the colour. There is no trace of the debauched woman who just begged you to fill her up, save for the deep, knowing glint in her eyes when they meet yours in the mirror.

She turns to you. The room is still dense with the realization of what you've just done. A career-ending, life-altering act of utter madness. The panic is beginning to bubble in your chest, cold and sharp. What if Jiyeon notices something? The smell? Your flushed faces? What if Leeseo regrets this and tells someone? Your life as you know it would be over.

As if reading your spiralling thoughts, she closes the distance between you, stepping right into your personal space. She rises onto her tiptoes, her lips brushing against your ear. Her breath is hot, and sweet, sending another shiver down your spine, but this one is laced with ice.

"Don't worry so much, oppa," she whispers, her voice a low, conspiratorial hum that is for you and you alone. "I took a pill this morning."

She pulls back, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She gives your chest a playful little pat, right over your frantically beating heart.

The words detonate silently in the space between you. A pill.

It wasn't just a crime of passion. It wasn't a spontaneous, reckless moment that swept you both away. For you, maybe. But for her... it was premeditated.

She woke up this morning, this eighteen-year-old girl, and planned for this possibility. She planned to seduce you. She planned to have you fuck her raw. She took a pill to erase the most significant consequence, a calculated move in a game you didn't even realize you were playing until you had already lost.

You just stand there completely dumbfounded. Your mind struggles to catch up, to process the sheer audacity, the cold-blooded foresight of it all. You look at her, really look at her, and you no longer see the whiny kid or even the seductive woman from moments ago. You see a terrifyingly intelligent, determined individual who gets exactly what she wants, with contingencies in place.

The doorknob turns.

Jiyeon bustles in, holding up a small carton of milk with a cartoon kitten on it. "They were out of the bear! But the kitten is just as good for our superstar, right?" she says, her voice bright and blissfully unaware.

"Thank you, unnie! You're the best!" Leeseo chirps, her voice instantly reverting back to its cute, childish pitch. She takes the milk and gives Jiyeon a quick side hug.

Your world spins back into focus, harsh and terrifyingly clear. You're standing in the corner, your pants hastily fastened, the scent of her climax still faint in the air, your cock still aching with the memory of her tightness.

She shoots you one last glance over Jiyeon's shoulder. It's quick, just a flash, but it's filled with everything: their shared secret, her victory, and a promise of more to come. Then she turns away, completely absorbed in her conversation with her manager about the next filming set.

You remain frozen, a statue in the corner of the room.

What the fuck did you just do?

Seriously. What in the absolute fuck did you just do?

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

I said we were back last week and I meant it! We have three shows to discuss this week, all of which are streaming on GagaOOLala. Speaking of which, Gaga is having a Pride sale right now--30% off its already very affordable membership. If you don't already have an active account, this is a great time to subscribe!

This post is not sponsored by Gaga. I just want to keep the platform that gives international fans access to 90% of JQL alive, people.

Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko 2nd Stage

I really liked the first season of this show... until it took a few weird turns, including a puritanical sex negative ending for our heroines. Season 2 seems to be doubling down on that, picking back up with Hiroko and Ayaka six months into their sexless relationship, with a frustrated Ayaka trying to get through to Hiroko. I hope the show will fully unpack Hiroko's sudden shame over her sexual experiences and hangups about having sex with her girlfriend (and find a way to make it make sense for the confident and experienced "boob monster" we were originally introduced to). I mostly just feel bad for Ayaka finding herself in a relationship with someone who treats her with kid gloves and won't take her seriously as a partner. I'm rooting for you, girl!

Depth of Field

This week Konno continues pushing to learn where things went wrong for Hayakawa and his love of music, and we see the rest of the backstory behind his current ennui. I was surprised to learn that Hayakawa really does have kind and supportive parents who encouraged his music, and that the real source of his angst is a faux friend who resented his talent and privilege. I'm not sure the show entirely sold me on the connection between that and his recent self destructive behavior, but it looks like we're moving swiftly out of his depression era anyway, as his crush on Konno has helped him snap out of it. This show is solid if not amazing; I am mostly here for all these beautiful rooftop scenes.

I Became the Main Role of a BL Drama 2

Kind of a weird episode this week, as Akafuji and Haibara have a trivia showdown over who knows Aoyanagi best framed by meta commentary from the show-within-a-show's writer and her friend. I did enjoy the many jokes about yaoi love rival tropes and the giant prop hats, but this felt like a detour from the core narrative around Akafuji's inability to treat Aoyanagi like a real partner instead of his idol. I hope we'll be getting back to that story (and the continued backstory on the managers' romance) next week.

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up Masterlist / Stripclub Owner Sukuna headcanons

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight (final)

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotoge you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey/highkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed) recreational drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club lowkey a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, masturbation, teasing and mafia related violence, some former trauma of reader, lots of smut and also fluff, watch Kuna morph into a softie hehe.- Ties into the Satoru x reader story Losing Control Now

FInished- WC 54k - ao3 link here - Playlist

Headcanons/story preview below!

Stripclub Owner Sukuna- who loves what he does, the money he makes, the women, the entire atmosphere. What more could he really need in life?

Stripclub Owner Sukuna lights up a blunt with his co owner, Toji, as they lounge back on one of the bright red Sofa's, watching their girls dance around them while they hold business meetings. Sukuna certainly doesn't mind beautiful women, nor does he mind snorting coke right off them.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna throws back a shot, when suddenly he sees someone so different, so fucking pretty it makes his heart thud in his chest. He can barely stop himself from yanking you right away from this. He's slicking back pastel hair when Toji introduces you so casually, wearing a pretty silver bikini that shows too much of your sexy body. You look shy? You look nervous?

Stripclub Owner Sukuna takes your hand then, smirking at you, watching the blush decorate your cheeks, when he finds you're going to be a dancer, he immediately wants to say no, dance for just him, a level of possession he's never even felt with his girlfriends. Sukuna's shared plenty of women, but if he got you!?

Stripclub Owner Sukuna smacks Toji for even bringing you here later, and Toji scoffs. 'She has a kid and shit, she'll make top dollar here' Sukuna falters at such news. 'Don't ya think she'll make bank?' 'Tch, of course she will... it's just she's so...' Toji snorts. 'you got the hots for her, huh? Well she ain't some easy girl, I know her'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna knows he must have you, when you're stepping around the stage, and he's eyeing you, sitting right in front of the stage as you get on your knees, crawling toward him and smiling shyly. 'how're you a shy stripper, huh? not gonna work' he huffs, and you tilt your head, hand slipping down his tie. 'No allure in a shy dancer, Mr. Sukuna?'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna loses his mind when he hears his name spilled from your glossy lips, as he thinks of shoving his cock deep inside that mouth, so close to his when you turn. You bend over, ass right in the air, begging for a smack as you look back at him, hair falling over your face. 'Why're you here?' he demands, eyeing the curve of your back, cock hard like he's some pathetic teenager or something.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna tenses when you say - 'I need the money, isn't it why everyone does this?' 'Toji says you got a kid' you tense then, turning toward him nervously, as the stagelights glimmer all over your skin. 'That a problem?' Sukuna shakes his head. "Nah, lots of girls here do...' You exhale. 'I'm a single mom, my friend can watch her at night, why not work while she's asleep? I can spend my time with her'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna admires the fuck out of you as you dance your pretty ass off, but he hates the men that see you, see you in just your little bottoms and tassells, breasts bouncing, ass jiggling as you shake it, as you move. You're a whole star quickly, the few hours a night you come in you make bank, but as soon as you leave, he's in his office, jerking it to you, imagining those nipples, that pussy he sees hints of with your spandex panties.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna On one particular night forgets to lock the door, you're still out there dancing but he can't take it, you're too fucking sexy, he's picturing burying his face in that nice ass of yours as you step inside, shutting the door quickly when you see it, his enormous dick in his hands, covered in precum. You gasp, looking away quickly. 'shit I'm sorry, it's my ex... he's such an ass and I didn't want him to see me...'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna pauses, in shock as you look back down at him, licking your lower lip. 'I'm interrupting...' you come closer though, watching, breath catching in your throat. 'Want me to beat him the fuck up? ruin him?' Sukuna murmurs, voice husky, when you keep walking towards him, and he slowly strokes, from the base to the tip of his veiny length, acting so casual. 'No, you don't have to do all that, you're already so good to me' he laughs then, shaking his head. 'You are, maybe I should... be good to you?'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna can't form a thought when you're stroking his cock, leaning so close, lips just a breath from his, taking two of his fingers and sucking his precum off them, cheeks hollowing. Sukuna loses his control then, using those two fingers to slip so deep you cry out, earning his groan, uncaring if anyone heard. He's curling them up in your walls as you stroke, his eyes laser focused on your pretty face when he grips your hair by the nape of your neck. 'wanna suck me, huh brat?' he tries to keep it together, but when you nod eagerly, on your knees, he can't take how good your throat feels.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has his cock fucking up into your throat, his salty precum against your tongue, and he wonders if it's some dream it has to be, you're too fucking beautiful to just be doing this, you shouldn't even be working, he thinks. He'd like you just naked around his house, to fuck you on every surface, fill you up with so many kids you'd never leave. Sukuna is groaning while you suck him greedily, looking up at him with dilated, beautiful eyes, making him simultaneously want to fuck you and want to make love to you, stupid insane shit that irritates him.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna stutters when you suck harder, and he's cumming deep in your throat, not meaning to. No he wants to fuck your pussy, not this, but you make him cum so fast it's stupid, swallowing him with a pretty smile, as you lean up on shaky legs. He presses a kiss to your lips, desperate and messy, tasting all of his cum all over your mouth. You're gasping, until the door opens, and you pull apart, seeing an amused Toji. You are losing your mind later as you clean up to go home, wondering what's gotten ahold of you, when Sukuna is waiting right outside.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna loves it when you look down so shy and pretty, you're biting your lower lip to death, he releases it from the grip of your teeth. 'you free tonight, brat?' you blink in confusion. 'you want...' 'want you at my place, spread wide f'me, yeah?' you gasp at the thought, shaking your head then. 'I'm not, I have to get home to my kid... but tomorrow night?' he nods, ushering you to your shitty car, picturing you in something so much better soon, leaning over with a smirk as he seatbelts you in.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna now that he's had a taste, he can't stop thinking of you, when you're at work the next day you're quickly in his office again, this time he's got you grinding on his lap, slick arousal pooling in your little outfit. 'I'll fuckin pay you triple, take the day off' "Mr. Sukuna...' 'Take. The. Day. Off.' Sukuna finally gets you home, having you bent over his couch before you can blink, ripping your pretty costume to shreds, pumping you so full of his cock you're trembling, shaking, head falling back as he fills you so good, slamming your cervix.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has never felt anything like you, like your cunt pulsing around his cock, like his balls slapping your twitchy little clit, as you're sobbing it hurts so good, tears streaming down your pretty face while he rails his cock so deep. Sukuna busts deep in you as he wraps a big hand around your throat, fucking into you over and over, feeling you milk his cock for all he's got. 'Gonna fill you the fuck up, huh brat? gonna drip on the goddamn stage'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna has your pussy on his mouth when he's busted in you, starting to lap all the gooey white cum from your pretty pussy. 'Sukuna! ah!' you've never felt like this, so fucked out as his tongue scoops all your cum out, he's leaning over you, spitting it right into your mouth, chuckling. 'pathetic, just how I fuckin need you'

Stripclub Owner Sukuna is pathetic for you, he doesn't let you leave, he pays you for another day, fucking you in every position, at some point he's holding you upside down, you're bobbing on his cock as he's gripping your ass, moaning against your hole, you're falling apart, so weak and sore. when you finally have to go home, because you have your kid, Sukuna can't stop thinking about you, about how he wants you to have his babies, to be under him every goddamn night, so excited when you come into work, only to see you devastated.

Stripclub Owner Sukuna demands to know what's wrong, only to see your shady ass ex, who wants to saunter up to him like he's shit, you shake your head, but soon Sukuna is beating the fuck out of him. 'you have no clue who he is, Mr. Sukuna...' you tell him then, earning Sukuna's chuckle, his big grin. 'You don't know who I am, baby'

Buy me a glass of wine🍷 - Gen Masterlist - ©All works by Madamechrissy you may not reproduce

[no-144444]

I'm alright- k.antonelli

꩜summary: kimi gets in a crash. you get a fright

꩜pairing: andrea kimi antonelli x fem! reader

꩜warnings: mentions of crashes, injuries, etc. but he's fine dw.

꩜a/n: this is for the few people that just requested more kimi fluff so... here you go!

꩜borders: brozewasp

Your breath was taken away from you in a matter of moments, Kimi crashed. Badly too. He flipped and rolled and you just had to look away, hiding your face in your hand as you covered Maggie’s eyes with your other. You saw his parents flinch. You heard the stillness of the garage. 

“Is he okay?” Maggie's small voice made its way to your ears. You could hear everything going on with him and Bono. He��d asked him if he was okay 4 times, and still got no answer. 

“He will be,” you reassured her as she clung to you, his parents running to the pitwall to speak to Bono. 

You heard a breath, the breathing you knew so well from when he’d lie behind you in bed, or sit as close to you as he could. You could breathe again when he finally answered. 

“He said he’s ok,” you relayed back to Maggie. “He’s going to need a check-up though, so me and you are going to go back to the hotel while your parents wait for him, alright?” you explained already texting his parents your plan. One of them could ride in the ambulance with him, one could drive behind it, you’d take care of Maggie until Kimi was cleared. 

꩜꩜꩜

You put Maggie down to sleep at 9pm, just after her parents called to tell her they were on their way back. You sat with her until her parents walked in. Marco walked towards you as you smiled softly, the day getting to you. He didn’t speak. He just pulled you into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For caring for my family like you do.”

You could’ve cried, but you were stronger than that. You smiled at him. “It’s only because I love you guys,” you shrugged, then hugged his mom before leaving to go back to your room. You had no idea if Kimi was back at the hotel, or if he was in hospital overnight. Either way, you’d definitely see him tomorrow. Now, you needed some rest. 

You opened the door to your hotel room and walked straight into the bathroom, headphones in. You washed your face, washing the day off. You brushed your teeth. You tried desperately to ignore Kimi’s things on the counter. You couldn’t. He should be there. He should be in your arms, happy about the fact that he was in F1. He hadn’t really gotten to the stage where he was so disillusioned with his situation that all he cared about was points and placing, and you adored it. After every race he had something to be proud of, and he’d spend at least an hour talking your ear off about it. You just kept thinking it must be bad if they’re keeping him overnight. Did he have a bad concussion? Broken limbs? A fucking brain bleed?  You weren’t going to push his parents on telling you what happened, especially considering how exhausted they were, but curiosity was eating away at you. 

“You alright?” his voice rang out in the hotel room, and you swore it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but you had to check. You ran out of the bathroom and found Kimi lying on your shared bed. He saw how your eyes-widened and your breath caught in your throat. He knew you would cry, and he just felt worse about worrying you all. “I’m ok,” he nodded, taking your hand and pulling you close to him. You stopped just beside his side of the bed, halting and dropping his hand, wiping away whatever tears had already fallen. “I’m ok, angelo, I promise,” he whispered, running his hand up and down your waist soothingly. 

“Kimi,” your voice cracked. You never really called him Kimi, not when you two were on your own. It was always Kim, or love, or baby, or, just to annoy him- mouse. Never Kimi. His grip on your waist tightened and he brought you closer to him, trying to get you to sit down. You pulled your hands away from your face, you’d stopped actively crying, but he could see more tears forming. 

“Sit down, carissima,” he whispered, and you did as he asked. You sat beside him, and immediately, his hands were on you. He remembered how you felt after one of his bad F2 or F3 crashes. He remembered you needed to touch him to prove he was alright. You needed to see him be… Kimi to know he was fine. “I’m alright,” he whispered, taking your hand and placing it over his heart. “I’m right here.”

God, you could’ve sobbed. Feeling his heartbeat, feeling his skin under your skin again. Hearing his voice. Seeing him here, in your bed. You nodded, blinking back more tears. “W-what happened?” you asked. “A-at the hospital.”

“They checked me out, said I have a very minor concussion, and just gave me some warnings,” he explained. “But they ran every test they could- thanks to Toto,” he rolled his eyes, thinking of the amount of shit he had to do. “So that’s why it took so long.” 

You nodded, eyes fixed on nothing in specific, but just… him. “Yeah,” you breathed out. He used his other hand to wipe the tears that were falling away. 

“So I’m good now, yeah?” he smiled softly. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, your eyes snapping back to his. “You’re ok.”

“Exactly,” he smiled. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, then he leaned back. “Bedtime?” 

You chuckled, wiping away your tears. “Yeah, let me just get changed.” 

“Feel free,” he winked at you and you rolled your eyes. A major crash and he was still flirting with you like he was 14 again.  But then again, that’s what made this all feel… normal again. He was still Kimi, your Kimi.

navigation for my blog :)

mercedes & williams masterlist

[teeskzagain]

°. *࿐ Squirts ꩜ .ᐟ

in which your poor boyfriend is already overstimulated...but you can't stop until he.....!

warnings: sub!heeseung x gentle!dom reader, handjobs and squirting (yeah that's about it), overstimulation, use of pet names: 'seungie', baby, honey.

"Seungie...how're you feeling?"

Quietly, you swing your head forward and to the side, wanting to get a better view of the boy. Your lower back rests against the bed frame with your legs straightened out in front of you. In between them lays Lee Heeseung.

His bare torso leans on top your chest, though, there was a slight hunch to his backside. You could see his body heave up and down as he actively produces whiny pants.

You wait, blinking patiently as you watch his struggling face. His eyes are squinted shut, teeth clenched into a straight line, eyebrows digging into his brow bone. Almost as if he were in pain.

You regard your boyfriend even if he doesn't reply to you. You keep scanning your innocent eyes over his stature, accepting the silence as your hand continues to leisurely pump his nearly liquified cock.

"Hmm? Is it becoming too much?"

Eyes boring deep into his side profile, you work your grip gently up and down his erection. Each stroke sends him deeper into despair. Your hand is full of pre-cum, and seeing as you're on your third round of edging, he feels himself growing basically numb from just leaking nothing but the first stages of arousal. He hasn't even came yet, and already his cock feels tired.

"Are you about ready?" Your voice buzzes lowly, like you're speaking directly into his brain, "Ready to finally cum all over my hand?"

The soft care laced within your tone has him melting, and he can't help the small whine he does as a reply.

"Baby," his grimaced face finds its way closer to yours, and soon he's opening his glossy eyes that are full of plead, "-so close. Please, 'm so close. Can feel myself about to cum."

He gasps lightly when you suddenly change your pace to go faster, "Please- let me."

Heeseung grips the comforter for support. A stifling moan leaves his throat from how overstimulated he's starting to feel. Covered in his own slick, he can't help if he's starting to come undone from your strokes.

"Oh, poor baby..." Gently, you bring your mouth to his bare shoulder and place a tender kiss, "You're okay, you can release it now. Wanna see you cum now." You give another kiss on his smooth skin and in turn his breathing turns to huffs which gradually get louder.

He can't take it anymore. He just physically can't. You're squeezing his head too hard, and each time he mews lighter. Your fingertips playing with his slit after every spew of liquid just makes his body stutter. You're not just jerking him off, your hand is weaving every other direction as a means of stimulating all of his swollen, pink, drenched cock.

He feels his hips chasing your hand now, "Oh- baby. I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum right no..."

You fasten the pace for him, pulling at and gripping his wet skin until eventually he's ejaculating everywhere. His cum spews all over his tip, and into the crevice of your hand. Some flies in front of you two and lands on your naked legs, while some falls to his stomach.

"Fuck, hmmm Y/N. Feels so fucking good. So fucking-" His eyes are rolling into the back of his head, all the while his load just doesn't stop. And neither do you.

"Keep going. Come on, honey." You coo sweetly as your fingers curl even deeper into his erection while still jacking him off rapidly.

Heeseung, who's becoming overwhelmed with the sensation, lets out a hick, "Mm, baby. What are you.."

"Wanna see it all. So i need you to keep going." You mumble with focused eyes at what you're doing to him. The squelching from earlier has amplified along with how red Heeseung's poor cock looks. You feel yourself getting turned on from looking at his delicious cock.

"Wait-" Heeseung shifts his body around, trying desperately to move way from you, "Wait-! Slow down.."

"Just a little more." You encourage, your hand going lightening speed. The cum and arousal are mixing together because of your movements, and soon a milky substance begins to coat his length. He twitches harshly above you.

"Y/N! N-no, please- I'm gonna-!"

Before you know it, he's crying out the loudest moan from all night as a long distance of arousal shoots out from his tip. More follows suit, soaking your hand until it's essentially drowned out and the bed in front of you both.

His cock continues to squirt bits and pieces of the arousal, all the while his fountain of liquid begins to decrease.

You smile happily at your boyfriend, now slowing down on his cock that's bruised like no other, while sending him quiet praise, "See. I knew you had it in you. Good job, did so good for me."

Placing another soft peck on his shoulder, you keep mumbling tiny words while nursing his overstimulated cock, loving how Heeseung relaxes his tired body into yours.

[httpknjoon]

wanna try out some freaky positions? | myg

plot | that time popstar!yn is on her tour's day two in paris, and fans are wondering if she's finally doing the most requested position of all time. the one that may require her bassist (and rumored boyfriend), yoongi.

w.c | 1980

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | fluff, humor, enemies to lovers, slow burn

note | i'm still calling it twitter

main masterlist | series masterlist

DAY 301: PARIS, FRANCE

It's everywhere. Predictions about your possible Juno position for your second performance night in Paris are all over social media before you even officially land in the said country. It didn’t help that you and your band members are active on social media, alluding that something is happening behind the scenes. There were also sightings of your close friend, another celebrity, who you knew was staying in France for his vacation. Your fans, who were already elated with the upcoming performance later tonight, flooded you with mentions on Twitter, which resulted in a short and unplanned Q and A.

You were in the middle of your rehearsal break when you finally got hold of your phone after posting that late IG story hours ago. Knowing how excited your fans are at the moment, you reinstalled your Twitter app just to have some interactions with them. It has been so long since you opened your account there, since you were avoiding seeing any tweets about your breakup from last year. You smiled as you typed in your tweet, along with a photo you prepared for today, swaying your feet as you sat at the edge of the stage.

While you have all of your focus on your phone, you didn't even notice Yoongi, who's sitting on one of the empty seats in the area where the VIP audience usually sits. He cannot help but smile while he sips his Americano, looking at you. He wondered what made you so giggly and smiley on your phone. Meanwhile, his phone kept on vibrating in his pocket, which made him reach for it. That’s when he got the answer to his curiosity. Notifications from your Twitter account popped up one after the other. He chuckled before clicking on the app to read more of your tweets.

You giggled at the friendly banter you had with one of your fans. Scrolling down the tag, you smiled even harder when you found an interesting question to reply to.

Yoongi had to laugh with that one. Hearing that, you turned your head up, finally seeing him sitting alone just a few feet down the stage. Your left eyebrow raised, wondering what made him laugh on his phone.

“Where are the others?” you asked all of a sudden, just to get his attention.

Your bassist looked up and met your gaze. “They went out for snacks. I got your coffee here.”

He points out the still-warm takeout coffee cup he has on the empty seat next to him. You smiled before reading yourself to jump from the stage rather than taking the stairs. Seeing that, Yoongi immediately stood up.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’ll jump,” you replied, already inching yourself at the edge.

He clicked his tongue while shaking his head, “No, just take the stairs.”

You pouted. “This is easier. I hate the stairs.”

“You might get hurt. Art and Cal will both kill me if I let you do that,” he said while walking towards you. He then stood just a few feet lower than you.

From your point of view, he looked nonchalant, yet he opened both his arms.

You squinted, “Are you gonna catch me?”

“Nope, I just like opening my arms at random times like this,” he scoffed. 

You rolled your eyes. “And I like jumping from high places.”

He shook his head again before telling you sternly, “I don’t care. Just jump, diva.”

So you did. Even though you would have loved to continue the childish banter. And he did catch you, helping you carefully land your feet on the ground. Steadily and easily, he got you with one hand, holding you up against your back. Unconsciously, your face is almost buried in his neck, like you were magnets, they just connect instantly. Maybe it was because he still wore the familiar scent that makes butterflies stir in your stomach.

And maybe that’s why you didn’t pull away right away.

With how close you are, you can feel his heart beating almost at the same pace as yours. Fast and loud. Slowly pulling away, your eyes interlocked with each other. It was a heavy exchange of stares, anchored with something heart-fluttering that you two didn’t have to label anymore. A small smile tugged at your lips as you noticed his eyes moving down.

“Thank you,” you whispered before stepping back.

Yoongi followed behind you, trying not to put his hand over his beating chest. He sat in a seat apart next to you while you took a sip of the coffee. The much-needed caffeine helped you feel warmer and comfortable in your baby blue sweatshirt. 

“You liked it?” he asked even though he already knew the answer.

“Yep, I needed that. Thank you,” you replied, putting down the cup. You turned to him.  “Why are you here, by the way? You don’t want to explore the city in your free time? We’re only here for a few days.”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, I just had this gut feeling that you will do something reckless and I need to stick around.”

It was your turn to scoff, “Yoongi, just say you stayed behind for me. It’s okay.”

He looked at you, brows furrowed, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

And he didn’t even deny it, you thought to yourself.

As soon as everyone got back, the rehearsal resumed. This time, it was a dress rehearsal. So you had more time and room for errors and adjustments. While Art is talking with the band about something related to your time on stage, you take a quick scroll on your phone. You instantly took notice of a certain tweet getting a lot of attention. You laughed at it as it sparked something in your brain. You swiped up your finger on the app to see more tweets from your fans, but a notification from a verified account popped up. You turned around to see Yoongi raising his brows. You typed in your phone before giving it to your very pregnant assistant, Cal.

The fishbowl method.

That method is known to be Yoongi's greatest enemy. Whenever any staff member of your tour brings out that glass bowl that was filled with rolled papers, he just knows he will hear his name from that staff member’s tongue. And today is no different day.

It was during the second rehearsal break of the day when Cal came in holding the infamous transparent bowl.

“So, everyone, this is for the Juno performance. We need two people for tonight,” she said it like it’s gonna be something fun.

Although Yoongi literally had no idea why, everyone seemed to be excited upon hearing Cal’s instructions as they cheered, including you. Fred, who is happily married and permanently removed from choices for the Juno performance participants, sat along with you and your dancers. He was cheering too. For more variety, the fishbowl included the names of your band members and dancers.

“YN, will you do the honors of picking two names in our bowl of names?” Cal called you up. 

“Okay, here we go. Drumroll, please,” you quipped, but Fred followed, running to his drums and playing them.

Knowing his fate, Yoongi was not surprised anymore when he heard his name after Noah’s. He is not even disappointed or frustrated. He just accepted and expected that the fishbowl method loves him. But what he did not expect was the reason for today’s fishbowl method. While you explained your plan for tonight’s Juno performance pose, Yoongi just shook his head with a smile as he was already used to your straightforward poses. He just didn’t expect that you could be this creative for positions.

“So, do you want to be at the back or the front?” Noah asked, which can sound strange without context.

Yoongi blinked, “What?”

He was obviously dumbfounded, making the others laugh. You tried not to laugh while you bit off your inner cheek.

“He means for the Eiffel Tower,” you explained, which didn’t really clarify anything for him.

Noah cuts in to help, “We are basically the tower itself, while YN is the centerpiece. She will bend forward, and we-” he clasped his hands together, “Are gonna high-five over her.”

“That’s your Juno position for tonight?!” Yoongi looked at him, then to you.

You nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, the Eiffel Tower!”

When it finally registered in his head, everyone can see Yoongi’s shoulders deflating as he shakes his head with a smile. Just smiling over how stupid yet creative this whole thing is. His defeated stance made Fred and the dancers laugh. 

“I swear, we should change that fishbowl method,” he muttered, pushing his hair back.

“I think the fishbowl likes you a lot,” you teased him.

“I don’t think it was just the fishbowl,” he replied, making you pause while you three walk to the heart-shaped center stage.

Noah, who did not hear that last line since he walked faster, snapped his fingers, “Catch up, lovers. Let’s do this test run for the Eiffel Tower. I’m honestly starting to feel like the third wheel here.”

He said the name sarcastically, which resulted to you rolling your eyes and Yoongi scratching the back of his neck. You get into the position. You have your sparkly mic in your right hand, singing the last line before the pose. 

“Wanna try out some freaky position?” 

The guys stood on your front and back. Noah was on the front, while Yoongi was behind you.

“Have you ever tried… this one?” 

You bent forward as Yoongi and Noah high-fived over you, which instantly earned some whistling and cheers from your tour staff and dancers. You laughed, making you lose balance and accidentally grind against Yoongi. You only snapped out of it when he instinctively gripped your hips to steady you in place.

Noah, who saw this happen, gaped, “Oh my god, someone wash my eyes with holy water.”

Being the dramatic one, he threw up his hands and walked away in exaggerated disbelief. You and Yoongi, on the other hand, seemed to be in your own little world as you looked over your shoulder to look at him.

“Oops, sorry,” you said without really meaning it. 

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

You shrugged, standing back up, “Eh.”

Noah groaned from afar, leaning on one of the big speakers near their instruments, “Where is the HR for this tour?! I need to report something!”

The joke made everyone laugh. Akio, being the second most dramatic one in the band, dramatically consoled Noah. You stifled a laugh, turning around in their direction.

“Oh my god, you’re making me look like I’m a problem here.” you fed into their little bit that was going on.

Your best friend accusedly pointed out his finger, “You are the problem, and so is Tower B over there.”

Mr. Tower B, who stood next to you, remained casual as he muttered, “I don’t mind what’s going on. I kinda liked the view.”

The subtle smugness in his statement got a loud reaction from everyone. Fred laughed. The dancers howled. Akio and Noah groaned. The rehearsals are getting a little messier so Art had to step in.

“Okay, everyone. Let’s go rehearse the performance from the top again,” he signalled the dancers to stand up before turning to you and Yoongi. “And less thrusting, this time.”

You gasped even though you knew he was just teasing you, “There was no thrusting! I accidentally ground against him, that’s very much different!”

Art gave you a look that said, “Uh-huh, sure.”

Yoongi remained unbothered, “Yeah, thrusting is different. It requires intent.”

With that unexpected remark, the room erupted with laughter. All while your eyes widened, feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Yoongi!” you scolded him through an embarrassed gritted grin.

He looked at you, nonchalant as he blinked innocently,  “What? I was just explaining!”

SERIES TAGLIST

@busanbby-jjk @jimingirl95 @treacherqus @jajabro @marnz1990 @ktownshizzle @notarshia @m00njinnie @thelilbutifulthings @tarahardcore @livisdoingfine @jungshaking @eridanus-lynx @enthralled-bandit @goodnight-n-go-home @ronyiboniyy @jimeg629 @lveegsoi @madussthoughts @jalexad @ryryvna @kiki-zb @kam9404 @rtyuy1346 @esam28

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21 @marblemoonstones @butnotmontana @mar-lo-pap @ficluvr613 @senaqsstuff @stars4kooo

[hello-eden]

Never Hidden

Stephanie was bored. 

Bored

Bored

Bored

bored 

bored 

It had been a slow week. 

There was an Arkham breakout three weeks ago and they finally rounded up the last of them. there's always a few stragglers but everyone seemed to be checked off the list.

She wasn't assigned to any new cases and she's grounded from Missions outside of Gotham for bedazzling the Batmobile last month. It's only like another week but it still feels so long. 

She just finished her homework so now honestly she's just looking for something to do. She's honestly just messing with the bat computer until Jason walks in.

"What are you doing here” Jason says pausing after taking his helmet off, looking confused. "I thought you'd be off with Cass” 

“Grounded from outside missions” Stephanie replies turning the computer chair around “When do you get back in town”

“ Not even an hour ago” Jason says as he moves to her "What are you doing there, a case?”

 “Nah” Stephanie says that she turns back to face the back computer “ I don't got any Active cases, I looked at a couple of in Active cases but ehh”

 “So what are you doing” Jason finally reaches her and stops to look 

 “Honestly just playing around with the controls and snooping” Stephanie pulls up a file on the bat computer “Did you know Damien downloaded his Cheese Viking game onto the bat computer”

“Really” Jason laughs out

“Really, see” Stephanie says that she shows Jason the file “OMG this has been on here for 10 months

 “Bruce didn't even let me download stuff he uninstalled Zelda when I tried.”

 Stephanie and Jason continue to chat and work through the files on the back computer or at least the ones they have clearance to access. Eventually they get bored and start Looking through the Security camera

The only person in the house was Tim. He wasn't really doing anything exciting but he was on the phone. They watched him for a minute just checking to see what he would do.

They were about to switch off when he started yelling at whoever was on the phone. Both Stephanie and Jason were startled. They zoomed in and turned on the audio.

“I don't have time for your shit Ras.” Tim basically screamed into his phone. 

Stephanie's a little surprised that Alfred didn't come walking in to check what's going on.

 “you're the one who messed up, so clean up your own messes.” Tim then listens to Ras on the other line speak. "if you learned you know boundaries and actually tried for once then maybe Dan wouldn't be trying to Stage a coup.”

“ Why is Ras talking to Tim about a coup?” Jason asked as he looked over to Stephanie with a raised eyebrow.

 Jason thought he'd been away for a while but not long enough for this to happen.  

“I have no idea.  Every time he talks to me about Ras it sounds like he'd Rejoice if he dropped dead. I didn't even know Tim had his number let alone that they talked.” Stephanie started trying to think of any missions or crises that could have happened for the two of them to talk. 

“ he does not get that from me, the entire want for power thing is entirely your fault.“ Tim pulled out a second phone from the bag beside him and looked to be texting someone else as he was listening to the person on the phone. 

”I'm texting Dan as we speak I'll figure out what's going on that would make your controlling ass happy.” Tim pauses to listen to the other end of the phone.

 “Good.” Tim rolls his eyes and then hangs up the phone. 

“That man does not do anything useful.” Tim seems to say to an empty room probably not expecting to be spied on by two bored vigilanties.

 What the hell was that both Stephanie and Jason thought to themselves.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.

or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?

or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~

Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.

It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?

Danny’s obsession was going crazy.

Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?

Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?

Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*

~~~~~

Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!

~~~~~

Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?

~~~~~2 hours later~~~~

~~~~~

Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.

Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.

To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.

Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.

The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:

~~~~~

Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.

[swiftlymurmurs]

I've seen a lot of people voice disappointment over this Game Changer season finale and while I personally wasn't really bothered by a lot of the criticisms (I thought the Ratfish was an interesting added game mechanic and I never really care who wins or loses so his judgements not aligning with mine made no difference to me) I do think it's very interesting and I've spent some time thinking about why it doesn't work for so many. Some thoughts: Why is this Eric guy even here?

Tim & Eric were a popular tv comedy duo in the late aughts alt comedy scene. Sam and many of the writers at Dropout are sketch comedy nerds who, in 2007, were freshly at the start of their comedy careers, and probably see them and the larger [Adult Swim] environment they were a part of as a huge influence.

Why has it maybe aged poorly?

As far as I know, their popularity came in the early stages of about a decade of quite cynical, surreal comedy that also spawned the "lolrandom" era. While huge and fresh at the time, I think my generation (gen Z, the main viewerbase of Dropout) has grown pretty tired of this style and favours sketch comedy that's more clever, witty, and emotionally open or wholesome. At least, that's a movement Dropout has very much steered into with their roster of comedians and it's what the viewers expect.

The parasocial thing

It's no secret that Dropout actively promotes itself as a tight group of friendly comedians who you are invited to get to know, expect, and love when they show up. They don't abuse parasociality in the way you see, for example, younger audience oriented youtubers shoveling merch do it, but they absolutely make use of it. Most of the moments from this episode I've seen people gush over or post positively about are those where the cast recognize each other's styles, reference their relationships, and just generally make it known how well they know one another. When a total stranger enters the picture in an episode where the cast already have a barrier to their regular banter AND is given so much power over the game, they may look like an outsider or even an enemy to the happy little family people have gotten so attached to. Especially because his role is explicitly that of an antagonist, and the cast are never given a chance to see him and maybe out their love and respect for him as a comedian. In the minds of viewers, he just stays some guy who made mean jokes about their blorbo and then left.

Conclusion

I'm always glad to see this show making big swings, and while most of them have landed, some of them are bound to miss. It's a show that prides itself on trying things the viewers may not yet know they wanted and the second it stops trying, I think it'll be all the worse for it. It's a shame to end the season on such a note, but it's been hit after hit so far, and before we know it we'll be right back into it. I love this show, I love this cast, and I'm excited to see what's next!

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“No, man, I was talking to both of you. I mean he's hot but I have enough daddy issues of my own, thanks, I don’t need his too,” he says with a sigh. “I'm dating a different younger brother. Specifically one who is legal, legally adopted, and also is not actively murderous and did the least amount of time in the League of Assassins. Though apparently that’s just . . . not a thing here, I guess.” 

Dick and Jason stare blankly at him again. Even Jon stops sniffling into his shoulder long enough to give him a confused look of his own. Kon just tries to figure out how to explain literally anything about himself without having to say the word “clone” out loud in a reality that may not be all that clone-friendly. Said figuring does not “figure” very well. 

Or like . . . at all, really. 

Goddammit. 

“Who the fuck did any time in the League of Assassins?” Jason demands disbelievingly. 

“. . . don’t worry about it,” Kon says. “So like, uh . . . I can explain. Probably.” 

They all look at him again, up to and including Alfred, who somehow left and came back with tea without Kon even noticing and is now just barely raising an eyebrow at him. How the fuck he even made that so quick is beyond Kon. Doesn’t that shit need to steep or whatever? He feels like that shit needs to steep or whatever. 

“. . . okay,” Dick says slowly. “So when you say you’re not Superman, you mean . . . literally not Superman. As in, not Clark Kent.” 

“Bingo, World’s . . . eh, what’re you, Third-Greatest Detective, y’think?” Kon asks, cocking his head as he looks the guy over consideringly. 

“Bullshit, you look exactly like him!” Jason protests indignantly, pointing accusingly at him. It’s incredibly novel, as an experience, actually, given he’s not doing said pointing with the barrel of a gun. Like, whole new experience to be having with a version of Jason. 

“That is really not as rare a quality in the multiverse as you apparently think it is,” Kon says. “Actually it’s like . . . ridiculously common, in my experience.” 

“How?!” Jason demands, again like he just . . . what, thinks Kon’s gonna answer honestly? Like, genuinely appears to think that? 

Weird. 

“It is such a long story,” he says. “Or like, such a short story that I’d really prefer to see Batman’s immediate reaction to, just in case he feels like whipping out the kryptonite over it.” 

Technically this reality’s kryptonite shouldn’t work on him, but they’re all having a very weird interdimensional crisis right now and also it’s, like, the principle of the thing or whatever. Whether it works on him or not, when you get to the “whipping out the kryptonite” stage, you’ve kinda crossed the Bat-Rubicon or whatever. 

The bigger concern right now, though . . . well, like . . . 

“Wait, you’re not a version of my dad?” Jon asks uneasily, just barely tense in his arms. “You mean–not at all?” 

“Yeah, no, sorry,” Kon says, hoping that if he doesn’t make a big deal about it, the kid will at least, like . . . semi-match that energy. At least this version of Jon almost definitely hasn’t met an Ultraman, so . . . fingers fucking crossed, he guesses. He is being way too optimistic about this shit, frankly, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do with a literal ten year-old? “Thought you realized that earlier, and then the conversation got complicated.” 

“Then who are you?” Jon asks, looking even more uneasy. 

“I would love to have a concise answer to that question,” Kon says. “Like. Ever. Listen, I am sorry, kid, I wasn’t actually trying to pass for your dad. Hell, I wasn’t even trying to pass for their . . . also-dad, apparently, god that is so weird, I’m sorry.” 

“Bruce being our dad is weird?” Dick asks with a frown. 

“You specifically calling Bruce your dad is weird,” Kon clarifies, sparing him a quick glance. “Like, congrats on all the family therapy I’m assuming you did, seems like that worked out real well for you and all. Clearly did the work there.” 

“What?” Dick frowns, looking a little uneasy himself. Kon . . . probably should stop saying shit that’s going to make people associate, like, negative emotions and shit with his presence, considering. 

Like. Definitely he should, at this point. 

“Sorry,” he says again, then looks back to Jon. The kid hasn’t freaked out on him yet, at least, but he’s still pretty tense. Which . . . yeah, well, the kid saw him toss Killer Croc’s teakettle like less than half an hour ago, so probably he is feeling a lot less safe than he’s used to feeling right now. Especially a lot less safe than he’s used to feeling when he thought he was with his fucking dad. 

Kon really, really feels like an asshole over that. 

“Are you okay, kid?” he asks. “Like . . . you need me to put you down, or . . . ?” 

“I want my dad,” Jon says, abrupt and just barely cracked as he stares at Kon’s very El crest-less chest, his hands fisting in Kon’s jacket. 

“Sorry,” Kon repeats, trying not to visibly wince. “Like–listen, I meant it when I said I had you. And we are family, in my book. Like, I’m not your dad or even Superman, but I am a Kent. And an El, too. Though I’m assuming in your case you’re gonna care more about the ‘Kent’ part, far as I know my reality’s version of you’s never been all that concerned with, uh . . . any of the Kryptonian shit, gonna be honest. Which, like, I have a limited amount of dog in that race myself, just I was an ‘El’ first and–yeah, never mind. Sorry, rambling here. Uh. Do you need to put me down, or are you good right now?” 

“What’s your name?” Jon asks, rubbing anxiously at his big wet eyes, and Kon literally does not even know how to compute the question. It just . . . it is very much the last thing he would’ve expected the kid to ask him right now, he guesses. 

“Kon-El,” he says. “Conner Kent.” 

“. . . are you from Krypton? Like–from Kandor, or . . . ?” Jon asks hesitantly, and Kon . . . sighs, a little. He really did not wanna explain himself pre-Batman, but the literal ten year-old definitely deserves at least an explanation, at this point. 

Also he doesn’t want the kid to be worrying he’s from the fucking Phantom Zone, considering. So yeah. 

“Not so much, no,” Kon says.

[writesvani]

say you remember | 02

idol!minyoongi x writer!reader

SUMMARY: You don’t expect much when your eyes meet his across the café-bar—just a fleeting glance, a moment that should mean nothing. But then there’s another look. And another. Before you know it, you’re tangled up in something that isn’t love, isn’t commitment—just an escape wrapped in late-night encounters and whispered goodbyes.

It’s fine. Until it isn’t.

When feelings start creeping in, you both decide to walk away before things get too complicated. It should have ended there. But fate has other plans. When your friend starts dating Jungkook—his best friend, his bandmate—you find yourself face to face with Yoongi once again.

The past lingers between you, heavy and unresolved. The question is—was it ever really over?

strangers-to-fwb-to-strangers-to-lovers

TRIGGER WARNINGS: jealousy, unresolved past relationships, awkward social interactions, emotional tension, flirtation, suppressed feelings, anxiety, unspoken love, betrayal, unrequited feelings, uncomfortable confrontation, smoking, drinking

comment here for to Say You Remember taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 7k // date: 15th of April 2025

CHAPTER TWO — Drowning in the Silence Between Us; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hii guys. im so excited for this chapter, i LOVE it. it's so funny. like, i'm over here cackling like a mad person. it's honestly kinda self projecting but oh well, i'm embracing it. who needs boundaries when you're writing, right?

also, just to clear things up, y/n's book dear me is in no way connected with my jungkook fic dear me (imagine the drama if it was). it's just that i couldn’t think of a name for her book, so i just borrowed the name from one of my own fics. i promise i'm not secretly inserting my own universe into this. but yeah, dear me in this fic is y/n's book and it's all original with her own characters. okay, enjoy the chaos.

also, goal for this chapter is 250 notes. i am not lowering it this time. i fed you well with this one, 7k words after all, so if you want a new meal, y'all will have to work for it. get those notes in!

"Remind me again why we still don't know his name?" Chul asks, flatly, as he sets down three steaming mugs with the precision of a tired barista.

"Because it's still new," Aecha says, wrapping her hands around her cup. "And I want it to stay good before I jinx it by saying too much. You know how it goes—tell people, suddenly the whole thing collapses like a cheap tent."

You narrow your eyes, flicking ash off your cigarette with a pointed look. "People? Are we people to you now? Damn. And here I thought we made it past that stage."

Aecha just shrugs, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"It’s not just that, though," you go on, leaning forward. "It’s like you're actively enjoying this whole mystery-man act. Like you want us to suffer trying to figure out who he is."

"Maybe I do," she says, taking another sip. "You two make great detectives when you're desperate."

Chul groans, flopping onto the couch. "Great. So now we’re just a part of your little game."

"You’ve always been a part of my little game," she says with a wink.

"You see how little she thinks of us?" you say, shooting Chul a look of betrayal.

Chul nods with theatrical disappointment, letting out a long, dramatic sigh as he leans back in his chair. "Our own goddamn roommate. Best friend, even. And we’re apparently not worthy of a name."

"Ugh, it’s not like that," Aecha groans, setting her mug down with a soft clink. "It’s just… complicated, okay? You’ll understand when you meet him."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah? If we ever get to meet him. At this rate, you’ll be married with two kids before we even know his star sign."

"It would be nice to know who we’re meeting at least," Chul adds, more gently now. "Y’know, in case he’s a serial killer or a tax evader or something."

Aecha snorts. "He’s not a serial killer. Or a tax evader."

"That’s exactly what someone dating a serial killer would say," you deadpan, taking a slow drag of your cigarette.

"Oh, oh—wait. I have a theory," you say, tapping your fingers against the edge of the small wooden table. It’s sticky. "Ugh. Chul, seriously? Did you skip cleaning duty again?"

"Creative minds don't clean," Chul mumbles, unbothered.

You roll your eyes. "Anyway. Theory time. What if he's, like, a dealer? Or—wait—a vampire baby? Be honest, Aecha. Is your man an immortal bloodsucker with a side hustle in illegal substances? Because if so, I support you, I just need to emotionally prepare."

Aecha snorts into her coffee. "He is not a dealer. Or a vampire. God, what even is a vampire baby?"

"You know… baby-faced. Pale. Broody. Hangs out in corners. Likes antique furniture." You gesture vaguely, like you're describing a wine.

"Still no," Aecha says, but her smile slips just a little. "But I will say... he’s not exactly someone I can just go around telling people I’m dating."

You and Chul exchange glances.

"Jesus, who is he then?" Chul says, leaning forward with his chin on his hand. "C’mon, babe. All this secrecy is exhausting. You’re wearing us down like some kind of a psychological warfare expert."

Aecha just shrugs again, lips curving into that maddening, knowing smile. "Good things come to those who wait.”

"Aaand, c’mon, guys," Aecha sighs, blowing on her coffee before taking a small sip. "It’s not like I’m keeping you waiting forever. For fuck’s sake, you’ll be meeting him—and his closest friends—tonight."

Chul’s eyes narrow, a slow, wicked grin forming. Then, in a low, ominous whisper, he leans in toward you. "Imagine they’re a group of human traffickers... and Aecha’s just their charming recruiter."

You snort. "Okay, that’s a little too specific, Chul."

"I’m just saying," he continues, eyes wide with mock horror, "if I end up stuffed in a trunk or smuggled across borders, I want it on record that she brought me to this dinner."

"No, but seriously?" you add, more dramatic than necessary. "I’m telling my mother where I’m going. If I disappear, she will avenge me."

"God, you’re both insane," Aecha mutters, laughing into her cup.

"Insane but prepared," Chul says. "That’s how survivors think.”

The fact that Aecha won’t even tell you her boyfriend’s name is… mildly weird. Actually, scratch that—it’s very weird. She’s never been the secretive type. If anything, she’s the kind of person who gives you the full name, zodiac sign, and three red flags of any guy she’s crushing on—whether it's someone she matched with for five minutes or actually dated for five weeks.

So the silence now? The mystery? It’s not just out of character—it’s loud.

Whoever this guy is, he must matter. Like, really matter. Either that, or something about him makes things complicated. And that? That makes you uneasy.

The idea of Aecha dating an idol has crossed your mind more than once. And honestly, that would be a solid reason to keep things secret. It makes sense. It fits.

But you try not to go there. Because you know. You know how messy it gets when people get tangled up in that world—the kind of dynamic that drains you, strips your privacy, and leaves you more alone than you were to begin with. The pressure, the lies, the heartbreak that's practically guaranteed.

So you don’t think about it. Or at least you try not to. It's easier to joke about vampire boyfriends or underground crime syndicates than to face a possibility that actually makes sense. A possibility that could genuinely hurt her.

Especially with her job—working in the digital marketing team at SM Entertainment—she’s in it. Right there, in the orbit of fame and its gravitational mess. And the odds of her meeting someone who lives in that spotlight? High. Too high.

And that’s what makes it worse.

"Aight, I gotta bounce. My shift starts in 45 minutes and I actually wanna keep this job," Chul groans, tossing back the last sip of lukewarm coffee like it’s tequila.

He gets up, drags himself to the sink, and starts washing his cup with the enthusiasm of a man being held at gunpoint.

"Wow," you say, raising an eyebrow. "Look who finally discovered the kitchen sink."

"I’m only doing this so you don’t go full FBI on me about it later," he mutters.

"That’s called growth, baby."

"Okay, don’t forget dinner!" Aecha calls out as he wrestles with his shoelaces like they personally offended him. "8PM sharp. LaRoy’s. If you're late, I’m telling them you died."

"Relax," he grunts, halfway into his hoodie. "I’ll be there. But just so we’re clear—if this turns out to be some cult initiation dinner, I’m eating first, then running."

"That’s fair," you nod. "Die with a full stomach. Iconic."

"Also, if I get kidnapped, I’m haunting you both. And I’m not gonna be a chill ghost. I’ll whisper embarrassing shit during your Zoom calls."

"Joke’s on you, I already embarrass myself daily," you shrug. "You’d be background noise."

"Love the support, really. Bye, losers."

And with that, he’s gone—probably already mentally composing his resignation letter.

When Chul leaves, it’s just you and Aecha again.

She’s immediately back on her phone, nails tapping out soft clicks against the screen—the kind of ASMR sound that weirdly soothes your brain. She’s smiling. Small, but there. The kind of smile reserved for someone. Mystery Man.

You don’t poke at her this time. Instead, you open your laptop, skimming through the last chapter you wrote, wincing at some of your word choices like they personally betrayed you.

"What are you doing today?" Aecha asks without looking up, but you can tell she’s peeled her eyes away from the screen just enough to look at you.

You sigh. "Writing. Or dying. Depends how dramatic I feel in an hour. I have to finish at least one chapter today or else both my editor and publisher are going to show up at my funeral just to make sure I’m really dead."

"Damn," she laughs, "at least you're being emotionally tortured by something you love."

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter. "I do love it. I just hate the part where I have to prove I'm not a lazy roach every three days. But don’t worry, I’ll be there for dinner. There’s no way I’m missing the grand reveal of Mr. No-Name."

"Good," Aecha says, biting back a grin. "I’ll be with him today. He’s got the day off—those are basically unicorn sightings. I’ll get ready at his place."

You gape. "Wait, so I’m stuck getting ready with Chul? Girl, you know he’s gonna stand in the doorway and trash all my outfit options like he’s a one-man 'Project Runway' judge panel."

"Oh absolutely," Aecha says, nodding. "You should prepare a backup outfit he picks. Just for the chaos."

"He’d probably put me in Crocs and a poncho just to see me suffer."

"And you’d still serve."

You glance up from your laptop. "I would, wouldn’t I?”

"Of course you would," Aecha grins, all smug and mysterious.

And then? Silence. The kind where you’re both in your little bubbles—her giggling at her phone like it’s whispering sweet nothings, and you glaring at your laptop like it just slapped your mom.

You’re trying to write. You really are. But this one scene is being stubborn. No matter how many times you rewrite it, it still reads like garbage written by a sleep-deprived raccoon with WiFi.

Your eye twitches.

Then—RING RING.

"Shit, he’s here?!" Aecha yelps, launching off the couch like she just sat on a ghost. She’s grabbing her purse, her wallet, a random sock, possibly someone’s toothbrush—you’re not even sure anymore.

"Wait, where is here?" you ask, blinking through the chaos.

"Here-here! Like, downstairs-here! Picking-me-up-here!" she hisses, as she smacks on lipstick with the grace of someone who's clearly done this in moving vehicles before.

"Damn, thank god you’re chill about it," you say, watching the storm unfold.

"Shut up," she breathes, checking herself in the mirror like she’s about to accept an Oscar.

She turns to you, one shoe on, purse hanging half open, still looking criminally good. "Okay, I’m leaving. See you tonight, babe!"

"Byeeeeee," you sing, and wait exactly 2.4 seconds after the door shuts before sprinting to the window like you’re in a Netflix thriller.

Full. Detective. Mode.

If she won’t tell you who this guy is, you’re gonna Nancy Drew your way into the answer.

You peek through the blinds—subtle, of course. Very stealth. But all you see is a car.

A very nice car.

A sexy, blacked-out, borderline Batman-looking Mercedes G 63.

You whistle under your breath. “Sir, what do you do for a living? And can I do it too?”

The windows are tinted darker than your search history. There’s no way to see inside. Just Aecha getting in, flipping her hair like this is her life now and the rest of you peasants can stay pressed.

The car glides away like it’s floating on money.

You stand there, blinking, brain already spiraling. Rich? Idol? CEO? Cult leader with good branding?

You sigh and flop back down on the couch.

“Good for her,” you mumble. “Eat the rich. Or at least… ride in their cars and moisturize with their money.”

You spend the rest of your day in the most unproductive, soul-crushing spiral imaginable. The kind of spiral where you stare at your laptop for so long, the blinking cursor starts to feel like it’s mocking you. Blink. Blink. You suck. Blink.

You write half a sentence. Delete it. Write a new one. Delete that too. Open Instagram. Hate everyone. Go back to the doc. Stare at the same three words for twenty minutes.

Your brain is soup. Not even good soup. Like watery instant ramen you forgot to flavor.

At one point, you dramatically flop face-down onto the couch and heavily consider committing one of two crimes:

One: Emailing your editor a resignation letter that just says "goodbye forever."

Two: Getting blackout drunk and letting the creative spirits possess you.

Option two is dangerously tempting. Tequila does make you poetic. But… you’re going to a dinner tonight. With Aecha’s mystery man and his friends. The man who drives a car that probably costs more than your organs combined.

You want to be sober. Observant. Ready to judge.

Because listen—if the man owns a Mercedes G 63, you know he’s dropping at least a couple hundred on wine tonight. You refuse to let his overpriced bottle taste like grape vinegar just because you had a solo pity party before dinner.

So you wait. Like a sad wife staring out the window for her husband at war. Except the war is Chul’s corporate shift and the husband is your emotional stability.

“Where the hell is he…�� you mutter, tapping your pen against your notebook.

You have no idea what you’re wearing tonight. You have no mental energy to figure it out. You need Chul. You need his critiques, his sighs of disappointment, his dramatic gasp when you suggest wearing sneakers.

God help you if he comes home late. Or worse—if he says he’s too tired to help.

You might genuinely cry.

When the door finally creaks open, you let out a sigh of dramatic relief, like a damsel rescued from a burning building.

“I’m baaack!” Chul calls, dragging out the vowels. You hear the familiar thud of shoes being kicked off and keys clattering into the bowl by the door before he saunters into the living room like he owns the place—which, okay, partially, he does.

He takes one look at you, curled up on the couch like a cryptid, laptop half-slid down your lap, face twisted in literary despair.

“You writing?” he asks, already suspicious.

“Trying to,” you mumble, eyes still glued to the cursed blinking cursor.

He squints at you. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Not at all.”

He flops down beside you with a grunt, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it like it personally owes him money.

“Is it like… ‘I can’t write because I’m empty inside’ trying? Or ‘I can’t write because I accidentally stalked Aecha’s mystery man via car model and now my brain is fried’ trying?”

You blink at him.

“Both.”

“Knew it. You’re a menace.”

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch. “He drives a G 63, Chul. What kind of a man does that? What kind of bank account does that?”

Chul gasps. “A dangerous one. Probably moisturizes with La Mer and screams at assistants named Greg.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, processing the sheer luxury of the situation.

“…We have to look hot tonight.” you mutter.

Chul tosses the pillow aside like it’s a grenade. “I’ll get the steamer.”

The next two hours turn into a full-blown getting ready montage, complete with outfit changes, near-death experiences with the eyelash curler, and Chul nearly setting the apartment on fire trying to steam his shirt.

By the time you’re done, you look like a Pinterest board brought to life. Your makeup is peak clean girl aesthetic—dewy skin, fluffy brows, and just the right amount of highlighter to make it look like you're always basking in golden hour. Your hair is curled to soft, effortless perfection (even though it took 45 minutes and one minor burn), and your white, off-shoulder dress hugs your body like it was custom-made for night.

Chul, on the other hand, looks like he walked straight out of a K-drama. He’s wearing these dangerously good khaki dress pants that somehow make his legs look ten feet long, and a white button-up that he very intentionally left two buttons undone. It’s giving “CEO with a tragic past”, and honestly? If he wasn’t so aggressively gay, you'd have jumped him in the hallway by now.

“Do I look hot?” he asks, spinning slowly.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Tragic,” he sighs, spritzing himself with cologne like he’s about to go on a date with destiny.

The ride to the restaurant is weirdly silent. You and Chul keep exchanging glances like you’re in a horror movie where the monster is definitely hiding in plain sight. Both of you are too nervous to say anything out loud, like the car itself might snitch to Aecha.

When you finally step inside LaRoy’s, the first thing that hits you is how insanely gorgeous the place is. It’s giving Michelin star meets royalty on vacation. Golden chandeliers, velvet chairs, waiters with actual white gloves. You’re about to comment on it when—

“Wait... where is everyone?” Chul whispers.

And yeah. That’s when it hits you. The place is completely empty. Not a single other customer in sight. Just you, Chul, and an unsettling level of ambiance.

Chul and you exchange the we’re-definitely-about-to-die look.

Then, a pristine-looking hostess materializes out of nowhere like she was programmed to show up at maximum tension.

“Chul and Y/N?”

You both answer in unison, way too synchronized for comfort:

“Yes.”

“Right this way.”

You follow her through the overly quiet restaurant like you’re walking toward your own funeral. You glance at Chul, who is now casually patting down his hair and silently mouthing, ‘We’re so screwed’.

And then—you see her.

Aecha. Sitting at a massive round table like she owns the damn place. She’s already mid-laugh when she spots you two, and her smile somehow manages to get bigger. Like she's been waiting for this exact moment of dramatic entrance.

You don’t know if you should wave or run. Probably both.

And then you see the hand.

That hand—casually draped over Aecha’s shoulder, a silent claim.

You already know where this is going, but it doesn’t stop the twist in your stomach when you finally see who’s sitting next to her.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you freeze. You don’t even care about the fact that he’s ridiculously good-looking, or how the room feels like it’s just a bit too bright. No. What hits you like a freight train is that if he’s here...

Yoongi is, too.

Fuck.

You don’t even need to look around the table to know. The feeling crawls up your spine like a warning signal, one that you’ve tried to ignore for years, but here it is, loud and unavoidable. The tightness in your chest. The pulse of nausea that makes you want to choke on your own breath.

You can’t look at Jungkook. You can’t.

Because if you do, the truth slaps you right across the face, and it’s one you’ve been running from. Jungkook is just a mess of questions you don’t care to have answered. But Yoongi? Yoongi’s the reason your heart beats too fast, why you’re still tangled in memories you should have let go of.

And then you see him.

Jesus.

The way his eyes land on you is like it’s been years since you last saw each other—and honestly, that's the truth. Two years. Two years passed. The ache that pulls at your ribs, the rawness that floods you, is something you thought had faded into oblivion. You thought you were over it.

But it’s never that easy, is it?

Chul notices immediately, the shift in your expression, the way your posture changes, rigid as though you’ve been frozen by some invisible force. His hand rests on your arm gently, a silent question. But what can you say? What can you explain without laying it all bare in front of people who have no idea about your history with him?

And you know it’s not just the fact that Yoongi is here—it’s that feeling. That damn ache that never really goes away. The past flooding back to suffocate you in this room full of people who have no clue what’s going on in your head.

You can’t breathe.

You’re not ready for this. You weren’t ready to see him again. Not like this. Not with Chul looking at you like he’s wondering if you’re okay.

But Yoongi? Yoongi’s eyes stay locked on yours. No words. No movement. Just that look. The one that says everything, even though it says nothing at all.

It’s like he’s still inside you. Like nothing has changed. You’re right back there, a thousand moments too many.

And it hits you—the final realization that this dinner isn’t just awkward. It’s a damn reminder of all the unfinished business you wish you could bury.

You’ve never felt so out of control.

“Oh my God, hi guys,” Aecha stands up with that familiar sparkle in her eye, wrapping you in a hug that feels tighter than usual. You hug her back, but your hands are clammy, your heart heavy in your chest. The warmth in her smile is real—but you can’t match it right now. Not with everything pressing down on you.

You force a breath as your gaze flickers over the table. You skip him. You skip Yoongi. On purpose.

Your hand finds the hem of your dress, discreetly wiping off the sweat as you steel yourself to be polite. Presentable. Normal.

Jungkook stands to greet you, that signature sweetness etched into every corner of his face. “Hey, I’m Jungkook,” he says, extending his hand. He doesn’t know. You see it immediately. There’s no recognition of your history—only curiosity, maybe a spark of interest, but nothing more.

You shake his hand, offering a small smile. “Nice to meet you.” Chul introduces himself too, and Jungkook lights up, immediately vibing with him, which helps, a little. The rest of the guys are friendly, laid-back. They smile, say their names, nod politely. It should feel normal.

But then.

He stands.

And everything slows.

“Min Yoongi,” he says evenly, his tone smooth and familiar in the worst way. He extends his hand, and for a moment you freeze. You think about ignoring it. About pretending. But that would draw too much attention—especially with Aecha watching so closely.

So you take it.

Your name slips from your mouth like it doesn’t belong to you. Like it’s a line from a script you’ve forgotten how to feel.

His skin is warm. You wish it wasn’t.

It lasts no more than a second. But when you sit down, your whole body feels altered.

Chul’s next, his handshake with Yoongi stiffer, his eyes avoiding yours. You don’t need to ask to know—he’s silently panicking. He knows everything. And you’re both trying to act like nothing happened, like Yoongi and you didn’t ruin each other once and then vanish from each other's worlds.

Namjoon watches. Quietly. Sharp eyes missing nothing.

You wonder if Yoongi gave him the full truth. Or just enough to keep him quiet.

Either way—this dinner is going to suck.

You settle into your chairs, side by side like you're bracing for impact. On your right sits Kim Taehyung, draped in luxury like it's a second skin, sipping water like it's champagne. On Chul’s left, Yoongi is already sprawled in his chair, legs stretched out like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Honestly? Mood.

You flick your eyes at Chul. He looks like he’s debating whether to throw up or chug the complimentary sparkling water. No in-between.

“Sooo,” Chul finally speaks, voice artificially light. “Give us the story of how you two met. Like okay, you’re dating him,” he points a thumb at Jungkook, “but you work for SM, not HYBE.”

Aecha beams, clearly ready for this part. “It was during a promotional event the guys were at. I was there handling digital strategy for EXO, and Jungkook was invited as a guest and—”

“She was holding an iPad like it was a weapon,” Jungkook cuts in with a laugh, eyes crinkling. “I was just trying to ask where the restrooms were, and she looked at me like I was trying to hack the mainframe.”

“I did,” Aecha says dramatically. “He walked up all shy like, ‘Excuse me—’ and I was like, ‘Do not distract me, I’m in the middle of an algorithmic miracle.’”

“Which turned out to be a TikTok schedule,” Jungkook deadpans.

“Hey. That TikTok trended for three days. I saved Baekhyun’s brand.”

They’re laughing. Everyone at the table joins in. Except you.

And Yoongi.

Taehyung leans a little closer, eyes twinkling. “So what about you two?” he asks innocently, gesturing between you and Chul.

“We’re not together,” you and Chul say in perfect sync, too quickly, like soldiers trained for battle.

“Oh,” Taehyung blinks. “I mean—okay.”

“Yeah,” Chul coughs, “I’m very gay and she’s very… emotionally unavailable.”

“Thanks for that,” you mutter, shooting him a glare.

“What? You are.”

“Okay but you once cried because the guy you liked didn’t like The 1975.”

“Because he had no taste,” Chul hisses back.

Namjoon snorts into his glass. Yoongi remains silent. You can feel him, though—his presence heavier than anything on the menu. He hasn’t looked at you once. Not since the handshake. But you know he’s listening. You know.

Aecha smiles brightly. “Isn’t this nice? Everyone vibing already!”

You glance at her, then at Yoongi’s shoulder half a meter away from yours. You're practically inhaling the same air and pretending he’s a stranger.

Yeah.

Nice.

Totally vibing.

“So,” Aecha starts, swirling her wine like she didn’t just drop a social grenade, “What’s everyone getting? The truffle risotto is apparently divine.”

You reach for the menu like it might shield you from the tension building beside you. Yoongi still hasn’t spoken. Still hasn’t looked at you. It’s like sitting next to a ghost you used to let touch you.

Chul nudges your knee under the table. You don’t look at him, but you know he’s silently asking if you’re okay. You’re not. But you nod anyway.

“I’ll probably get the steak,” Jungkook says. “Haven’t eaten properly all day.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Taehyung mutters. “You only drink iced americanos and chew gum like it’s a food group.”

“I’m a busy man.”

“You’re chronically late.”

“Still busy.”

Yoongi finally speaks. “Get the steak rare,” he mutters without looking up, “They overcook everything past medium.”

His voice. It slashes through the air like a knife dipped in nostalgia and regret. You freeze for half a second. Just half. But Chul notices.

“Ohhh, steak boy speaks,” Taehyung says dramatically.

Yoongi doesn’t respond. Just drinks his water.

“So, Yoongi,” Aecha smiles, “still working on that solo album?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

“How’s it going?” she asks sweetly.

“Like a root canal. But with synths.”

The table laughs. You don’t. You remember what he sounds like at 3am talking about chord progressions and bridges like they’re living things. You remember that look in his eyes when he finished a song and asked you to listen first. You remember a version of him that smiled at you across a messy bed, not across a dinner table full of other people.

You sip your wine. You need something stronger.

Namjoon clears his throat. “So, Y/N,” he says, forcing a new topic, “Aecha said you’re a writer?”

You blink. “Uh, yeah. I write romance.”

“Like… smut?”

Taehyung leans in, curious. Too curious.

Chul coughs loudly. “Not just smut.”

“I mean… a little smut,” you admit, shrugging, because what else are you gonna do? Lie?

“That’s dope,” Jungkook grins, nodding. “That takes guts.”

Yoongi still doesn’t say anything.

“I read one of her books once,” Chul announces, like he’s proud. “Couldn’t look her in the eye for a week.”

“Because you read the scene,” you mutter.

“Oh, you know I read the scene.”

“Wait,” Taehyung interrupts, eyes wide. “Do you base your characters on real people?”

You open your mouth to answer, but before anything leaves your lips, Yoongi suddenly stands.

“I’m gonna smoke,” he mutters, already walking away before anyone can respond.

Silence follows in his wake. Chul clears his throat.

“I’d say he’s always like that but… he’s not.” Jimin sighs into his wine.

You stab at your salad like it insulted your lineage.

And Aecha, bless her clueless soul, just smiles and says, “Maybe I will get that risotto.”

When Yoongi comes back, the conversation is already flowing. The wine’s been poured (maybe a little too generously), the bread basket is on its second refill, and you’re three laughs deep into a story with Jin and Taehyung.

You didn’t dare follow him outside. Nope. Not a chance. You weren’t about to chase a ghost into the night like it’s some 2014 Tumblr breakup playlist.

So you stayed, committed to the bit, committed to pretending your past isn’t three chairs away and brooding in black. Well he was smoking outside. But you get the point.

And now? You’re vibing.

“Wait, you’re telling me you were the one who wrote Dear Me?” Taehyung says, eyes wide like you just told him you invented bread.

You nod, sipping your wine like it’s a mic drop.

“That would be me.”

“NO.” His jaw is dropped. “No no no. That book ruined my entire week. I didn't leave my room. I didn't eat.”

Jin leans forward dramatically. “I read that one. I didn’t come out of my room for three days after that. Why is it so fucking sad?”

You grin. “It’s called talent. Look it up.”

Jin places a hand over his heart like you stabbed him. “Do you thrive on making your readers cry?”

“I mean…” You shrug. “A little. It’s character development. For you, not the characters.”

“Twisted,” Taehyung mumbles. “You need therapy.”

“And yet here you are, emotionally wrecked and asking for more.”

“You’re dangerous,” Jin points at you. “You’re like one of those hot witches in fantasy novels who curse people with heartbreak and then look hot doing it.”

You raise your glass. “Cheers.”

That’s when you feel it—him.

Yoongi slides back into his chair, and even though you don’t look at him, you know. You know from the slight shift in the table. The way the energy dips by ten degrees. The way Chul subtly straightens up like he might have to go full bodyguard in two seconds.

“So,” Namjoon says, like he’s stepping between a lit fuse and a barrel of gunpowder, “Yoongi, did you smoke the entire pack or just half?”

“Depends,” Yoongi replies flatly. “Did the conversation get better while I was gone?”

“Oh,” Jin grins, “way better. She wrote Dear Me.”

Yoongi stills. You don’t look at him. But you hear it in the pause. The inhale. The weight of a book title that he knows isn’t fiction.

“That book,” Jin continues, oblivious, “is basically emotional waterboarding.”

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his drink. “Sounds familiar.”

Your hand tightens around your glass. So we’re doing this. We’re being subtle.

“It’s fiction,” you say brightly. “Totally made up. Not a single shred of truth in it.”

Yoongi finally glances at you, eyes sharp. “Right. Fiction.”

Taehyung, bless his heart, frowns. “Wait. Is this about that scene with the voicemail? ‘Cause that—”

Chul loudly coughs and drops his fork.

“Anyway,” he says, “Jungkook, how’s your dog?”

Jungkook blinks. “Uhh… he’s good?”

“Great. Cool. Let’s talk more about that.”

The table dissolves into messy conversation again, everyone just a little too loud, a little too animated. You finally risk a glance at Yoongi. He’s looking at you, of course.

And beneath the casual disinterest, his eyes say it loud and clear:

You really thought I wouldn’t recognize myself in your pages?

You take another sip of wine and look away.

You were the one who told me to write what I know.

“Sooo,” Taehyung sings, one eyebrow cocked and eyes glittering as they dart to you. His voice alone is dangerous—smooth and teasing, the kind that could talk you into trouble without breaking a sweat. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You pause mid-sip, arching a brow. “Umm, I’m pretty sure Chul already mentioned my emotional unavailability.”

Across the table, Chul snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

“Maybe,” Taehyung leans in a little, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, “we can work on that one.”

You blink. “What, my issues?”

“No,” he grins, wolfish and playful. “Your availability.”

Hoseok doesn’t look up from cutting his steak, but his fork slows. “Taehyung.”

“What?” Taehyung says innocently, eyes still trained on you. “We’re just talking. I’m curious. I like to connect with people.”

“Yeah, well maybe let her breathe before you start undressing her with your eyes,” Jimin mutters, sipping his wine.

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “let him. I put effort into this dress.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung points at you. “You wore it for a reason, don’t lie.”

You lean back, smirking. “I wore it for the free wine, actually.”

Yoongi mutters under his breath, “Still desperate for the buzz, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. “Still pretending like you’re too good for anything fun, huh?”

There’s a pause. A weird pause.

And then Jungkook narrows his eyes between the two of you. “Wait. Hold on. You two know each other?”

Namjoon’s knife slips and scrapes against his plate with a loud screech. Chul straight up drops his fork.

You blink slowly, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Define know.”

“I knew it,” Taehyung leans forward, eyes wide with delight.

“No, no, no, it’s not like that,” Chul jumps in, hands raised like he’s waving off a scandal. “They… uh, they were in a workshop together.”

You shoot him a look. A “really?” kind of look.

Namjoon nods way too fast. “Yeah. Yeah! Like two years ago. They had a, uh… poetry workshop?”

“Poetry?” Jin asks, clearly unconvinced. “Yoongi?”

Yoongi just stares blankly at the table like he’s counting down the seconds till he can leave.

“Yep,” Namjoon barrels forward. “Modern poetry. Tuesdays and Thursdays, 8 a.m. Real intense syllabus.”

“Exactly,” Chul laughs awkwardly. “Like, Emily Dickinson, Rupi Kaur… very deep.”

“I dropped out after three weeks,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Oh,” Jungkook says, squinting at him, then at you. “And you stayed in?”

You nod, cheeks warm. “Loved every second of it.”

Taehyung’s trying not to laugh. “Okay, sure. What was your favorite poem?”

You deadpan, “The one about heartbreak and regret.”

Yoongi mutters under his breath, “Original.”

You snap back, “At least I read something.”

Chul loudly clears his throat. “So, um, wine! Should we order another bottle?”

Namjoon nearly slams his glass down. “Yes. Definitely. Someone flag a waiter.”

Taehyung hums, still eyeing you like he’s crafting a sonnet in his head. “Tell you what—if we survive this night, I’m taking you out. No emotional unavailability allowed.”

You raise a brow. “And what if I ghost you after?”

He smirks. “Then I’ll write a sad poem and hope it gets published. Sound familiar?”

Jimin jumps in, glancing at Chul. “So what is going on with you two, huh?”

“We’re roommates,” Chul replies, deadpan.

“Roommates who get ready together for dinner like it’s prom night?” Yoongi mutters, not even looking up from his glass.

“Dude. I already said—I’m into men. I like penises. Hope this helps.”

The entire table erupts.

Taehyung nearly falls out of his chair laughing. Jin bangs the table. Namjoon mutters, “I needed that level of honesty today.”

Jungkook wheezes, “I’m framing that quote.”

Meanwhile, you're crying from laughter and embarrassment, hiding your face in your hands. “God, Chul, you’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic, I’m just tired of being confused for your boyfriend when I’m actively fantasizing about Park Seojoon,” Chul fires back.

Jimin, without even looking up from his plate, goes, “Honestly, mood.”

Jin wipes a tear from his eye. “Okay, fair. Penises. Got it.”

Taehyung raises his glass toward Chul. “To penises.”

Everyone clinks their glasses—except you, still dying inside.

“So,” Namjoon says, pointing his chopsticks at you like they’re a lie detector, “are you working on something new?”

You freeze mid-sip of your wine. “Uhh… kinda yeah.”

“Okay, so that’s a yes, but it’s going terribly,” Jin interprets, nodding sagely.

You sigh, dramatically collapsing back in your chair. “It’s like… my brain is a hamster wheel. Except the hamster died. And now the wheel is just creaking ominously in the wind.”

Taehyung gasps. “That’s so dark. I love it. Can I be the dead hamster?”

“Please,” you deadpan, “be my guest.”

Namjoon chuckles. “So it’s writer’s block?”

“Big time. Like, I’ve stared at a blank document for so long, I think it’s starting to stare back.”

Chul chimes in, “I found her today whispering ‘just one sentence’ to her laptop like it owed her money.”

“It does owe me money,” you say, poking at your food. “And dignity.”

Aecha grins. “Have you tried turning it off and crying?”

Yoongi mutters, “That’s my approach to life, honestly.”

“Oh my god, same,” you say, raising your glass toward him.

Taehyung, ever the opportunist, leans in with a flirty glint in his eye. “Maybe you just need some fresh inspiration.”

You raise a brow. “Are you volunteering?”

“I mean…” he shrugs, smirking. “I do look good in tragic love stories.”

“Tragic is right,” Yoongi mumbles under his breath.

Namjoon laughs. “Okay, okay—can we please get a live reading if she ever finishes it?”

You scoff. “Only if you promise not to cry.”

“I make no such promises,” Namjoon says, holding up his hands. “According to Tae and Jin, you write pain too well.”

Taehyung leans in again, this time resting his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling. “I’m serious. Write something hopeful. Like a tortured writer meets a charming stranger in a too-fancy restaurant. Sparks fly. Banter ensues. Maybe a little—” he pauses, eyes flickering to your lips, “—tension.”

You chuckle, but you feel the heat creep up your neck. “What are you trying to do, cast yourself as the love interest?”

Jin jumps in, laughing. “Please, the man’s been auditioning since the appetizers.”

“Can you blame me?” Taehyung says dramatically. “She’s hot, she’s funny, and she writes angst that emotionally ruins people. I’m practically in love already.”

Yoongi’s fork clinks a little too hard against his plate.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, sensing the shift. “You okay, hyung?”

Yoongi shrugs, not looking up. “Just didn’t realize we were casting for a romcom tonight.”

“You wanna audition too?” Jin grins. “Could be a love triangle.”

“I don’t do love triangles,” Yoongi mutters, swirling his drink. “Too messy.”

Chul snorts. “Says the guy who practically invented emotional mess but ‘make it music’.”

You glance at him, curious, but Yoongi doesn’t take the bait. Instead, his eyes flicker up and lock with yours for a split second—just long enough for your breath to catch.

Taehyung doesn’t miss it, and he grins wider, leaning closer to you. “Well, if it were a love triangle, I’d fight dirty.”

“Oh my god,” Chul groans. “This is officially a Wattpad fic now.”

“Shut up,” you say, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

Taehyung winks. “I’ll be waiting for my cameo in chapter five.”

Aecha leans forward, swirling her wine lazily. “Yoongi, didn’t you say you’ve been dealing with a block too?”

Yoongi gives a slow nod, jaw ticking slightly. “Yeah. It’s been rough. But, you know… it comes with the territory. It’s part of the process, unfortunately.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raising slightly as he continues.

“I’m not really in a rush, though. The next album isn’t coming out until next year anyway. D-Day’s still pretty fresh. Still got some breathing room.”

Aecha perks up instantly. “Oh my God, D-Day! We were obsessed. The three of us actually had a whole listening party when it dropped. Like, wine, snacks, full breakdowns of lyrics... tears.”

“Mostly Chul’s tears,” you chime in, smirking.

“I stand by them,” Chul says dramatically. “'Amygdala' had me pacing the hallway like a divorced man in a drama.”

Yoongi chuckles, soft and genuine. “Happy to hear D-Day landed.”

“And by ‘landed,’ he means it sucker-punched us in the gut and left us on the floor,” you mutter.

“Good,” Yoongi says, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. “That’s the goal.”

For a second, his eyes flick to yours. And something lingers there—quiet, unspoken, and just slightly bruised.

You don’t look away. Not yet.

“We actually went to the concert too,” Aecha says, casually lifting her wine glass.

Jungkook gasps, clutching his chest like she just betrayed him. “You didn’t tell me about this? You attended my hyung’s concert without me?”

“You didn’t even know me back then, Kook,” Aecha laughs, nudging his shoulder. “It was, like, peak fangirl era.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You were there?” he asks, looking at all three of you—but his gaze lands and lingers on you.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah, we were,” you say, carefully meeting his eyes. “It was… incredible.”

His expression softens, just a little. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.”

“We cried,” Chul announces dramatically, raising a hand. “Like, real tears. Especially her.” He jerks his thumb toward you.

You shoot him a look. “Chul, please.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, grinning. “Some of us may or may not have said ‘he’s a genius’ in the middle of the second chorus.”

Yoongi’s lips twitch, that almost-smile threatening to show itself again. “Good to know I had such a poetic impact.”

You smile faintly, and something about the way he looks at you—like he's trying to read a secret you never meant to share—makes your throat tighten just a little.

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes still on you, like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or let the silence speak instead. He goes with the second option—until Taehyung interrupts.

“So, Y/N,” Taehyung leans in, smirking, “did you fall in love with him before or after People Pt.2?”

You snort. “Definitely after. Before that, he was still hiding behind metaphors.”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks. “You think I hide behind metaphors?”

You glance at him, heartbeat hitching just slightly. “You live behind metaphors.”

A beat of silence passes. His eyes don’t leave yours. “And yet you still showed up.”

You want to roll your eyes, but it’s too sincere to dismiss. “Yeah, well… good lyrics deserve to be heard. Doesn’t mean I know the man behind them.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Maybe you did.”

taglist: @park-littlecrane @gyozajoon @knjs95s @jajabro @peacenpigeons @supertopsecretleebit @glossyfanfic @mar-lo-pap @kittyyyminnn @jennierubyjem @ot72025 @yohoosoju @diame93 @ryryvna @taekritimin123 @baechugff @enfppuff @amarawayne @134340-kr @mikrokookiex @futuristicenemychaos @shesscorpio7 @kam9404 @teaaaaaan @blubird592 @rpwprpwprpwprw @ktownshizzle @tea4sykes @jennierubyjem @butterfly-lover @jellihueni @xtracy-xd7 @annyeongbitch7 @rkivved-girl @mygtangerine @busanbby-jk @jennierubyjem @kiki-zb @marissariveraaaa

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ one of me is cute, but two, though? pt.2

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

word count: 13k+ (23.9k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

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 - this is the second part.

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

series masterlist - chapter 15.0 → chapter 16

Week 21

You were wide awake, staring at the faint outlines of the furniture in your room. The soft, rhythmic sound of Logan’s breathing behind you was the only thing keeping you tethered to some semblance of calm. His arm was draped over your waist, his palm resting protectively against your belly, but none of it could distract you from the endless little flutters and jabs that your baby was delivering like a determined acrobat.

It wasn’t Logan’s warmth that was keeping you awake this time, and it wasn’t the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. No, it was the baby, moving as if it had discovered the concept of nighttime gymnastics.

You shifted slightly, trying not to wake Logan, but his grip on you tightened instinctively.

“Darlin’, you okay?” His voice was thick with sleep, the usual roughness softened by drowsiness.

You sighed, feeling both guilty and a little relieved that he was awake. “I’m fine. The baby’s just… active tonight.”

Logan’s hand slid lower, his palm flattening against your belly. He was quiet for a moment, waiting to feel it. When a solid thump met his hand, he huffed a soft laugh. “Guess they take after me, huh? Can’t sit still for too long.”

You laughed quietly, resting your hand over his. “Maybe. Or maybe they’re just excited to meet you.”

His lips brushed the back of your neck in a featherlight kiss. “Think they already know how lucky they are to have you.”

“Logan…” You trailed off, feeling a lump form in your throat. You weren’t usually this emotional, but pregnancy had made everything hit a little harder. “We’re lucky. All three of us.”

He didn’t say anything, but the way his thumb stroked slow, soothing circles over your belly said enough.

After a few minutes of silence, Logan spoke again. “You wanna sit up for a bit? Maybe move around?”

You shook your head. “No, I just… I wanted to lay here. I like when you’re holding me.”

“Good,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “’Cause I like holdin’ you.”

Another kick came, this one stronger than the last. You winced slightly, and Logan’s hand shifted, pressing just enough to calm the movement.

“Easy there, kid,” he murmured, his tone both amused and gentle. “Give your ma a break, huh?”

“Do you think they can hear us yet?” you asked, your voice soft.

Logan’s hand stayed steady on your belly. “Jean said it’s possible, right? Maybe they’re just listenin’. Gettin’ to know our voices.”

You smiled at the thought. “They’re going to know yours for sure. You talk to them every day.”

“Damn right I do,” Logan said, a hint of pride in his tone. “They gotta know who’s got their back.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of his face in the dim light. His expression was softer than usual, the hard edges smoothed out by the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“Logan,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to brush against his cheek. “Thank you. For… for this. For everything.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and he shook his head. “Don’t thank me, sweetheart. This… you, this baby… this is all I’ve ever wanted. You gave me somethin’ I didn’t think I’d ever have.”

Your throat tightened again, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, his voice low and steady.

For a while, the two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth. The baby eventually settled, the movements growing softer and less frequent. Logan’s breathing evened out again, but his hand never moved from your belly.

---

Week 22

While out shopping for compression socks, Laura’s sharp eyes caught sight of a display filled with colorful Halloween costumes. She tugged on Logan’s hand insistently, her tiny fingers curling around his as she pointed toward the aisle.

“Can we look over there?” she asked, her voice quiet but filled with curiosity.

Logan frowned, his free hand resting on the small of your back as he glanced over at the costumes. “Halloween? Thought you weren’t interested in all that stuff.”

Laura shrugged but didn’t let go of his hand. “Jubilee said you wear costumes and get candy. It sounds... fun.”

“Sounds like a racket,” Logan muttered, but you elbowed him lightly, shooting him a look.

“Logan,” you said gently, adjusting your glasses. “It’s her first Halloween. Let her explore a bit.”

Laura’s eyes darted between the two of you. “We don’t have to buy anything,” she added quickly, as if unsure whether she was asking for too much. “I just want to look.”

You smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “We can look, and if you find something you really like, maybe we’ll get it.”

Logan sighed, muttering something about being dragged into the ‘circus,’ but let Laura lead the way. As you followed, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The Halloween aisle was an explosion of colors, textures, and themes. Costumes ranged from classic witches and skeletons to superheroes, princesses, and everything in between. Laura’s eyes widened as she took it all in, her small hand still clutching Logan’s.

“Look at this one!” she said, pointing at a sparkly vampire costume. Then her attention shifted to a plush pumpkin outfit, and then to a set of plastic swords meant for a pirate costume. She was clearly overwhelmed but fascinated.

“What about you?” you asked her, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. “Do you want to dress up as something scary? Or something fun?”

Laura tilted her head, her brow furrowing in thought. “I don’t know. What are you going to be?”

You chuckled, resting a hand on your growing belly. “Well, considering I’m halfway to looking like a pumpkin already, I could go as one of those.”

Laura’s lips twitched into a small smile before her attention shifted to Logan. “What about him?”

Logan scoffed. “Pass.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “You’d make an excellent lumberjack or cowboy.”

“I’m not puttin’ on some ridiculous—” Logan stopped mid-sentence, his gaze landing on a rack of superhero costumes. He scowled at a Captain America suit and then an Iron Man one. “Now this is just insultin’.”

You laughed, covering your mouth. “Yeah, because you’ve definitely got a vendetta against guys in spandex.”

Laura, meanwhile, was inspecting a wolf costume with a hood and fuzzy ears. She held it up and glanced at Logan, then at you. “What if we all dressed up together? Like… matching.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Matching?”

“Yes.” Laura’s tone was patient, as if explaining something obvious. “Like a group. You, me, and Y/N.”

The idea warmed you instantly, and you exchanged a glance with Logan. “That could be fun,” you said, trying to sound casual but letting your enthusiasm shine through. “What do you think, Logan?”

He grunted, crossing his arms. “I think this whole thing’s a scam to sell overpriced crap.”

“Logan,” you said, your tone soft but firm, “it’s not about the costumes. It’s about making memories. Especially for her.”

His expression softened just a fraction as he glanced at Laura, who was now holding the wolf costume close to her chest, her eyes hopeful. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. But nothin’ too ridiculous.”

You grinned, your heart swelling as you gave Laura a thumbs-up. “Okay, let’s pick something we can all wear.”

After much deliberation—and a fair amount of grumbling from Logan—the three of you settled on a theme: Little Red Riding Hood. Laura would be the wolf, her tiny fangs and furry hood making her look more adorable than menacing. You, with your growing belly, would don a flowing red cloak, playing the part of Red Riding Hood. And Logan, reluctantly but resigned to his fate, would be the woodsman, complete with a fake axe that Laura insisted on carrying for him.

“Happy now?” he asked as the three of you left the store, bags in hand.

“Very,” you said, leaning into his side as you walked. “You’re going to look great.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the faint smirk on his face told you he didn’t mind as much as he let on.

Laura skipped ahead, clutching her costume bag tightly. For the first time since you’d met her, she looked truly carefree. And that made every moment worth it.

---

On Halloween night, almost everyone in the mansion was dressed up. The young kids had buckets ready for candy, and Ororo, Jean, and Scott were on candy duty in the foyer, handing out sweets to excited students. The air was filled with laughter, rustling costumes, and the smell of pumpkin-scented candles that someone—probably Jubilee—had insisted on lighting.

You stood near the staircase, adjusting the clasp of your red cloak as Logan helped Laura straighten her wolf hood. The little girl fidgeted, her small hands batting at the faux fur around her face.

“Hold still, kid,” Logan muttered, gently tugging the hood back into place. “If you’re gonna be a wolf, you gotta look the part.”

Laura scrunched her nose. “I don’t think real wolves wear hoods.”

You smirked, leaning on the banister. “Maybe not, but I think you’re the cutest wolf I’ve ever seen.”

Laura’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she quickly masked her embarrassment with a quiet, “Thanks.”

Logan turned to you next, his eyes trailing over your red cloak and the faint curve of your belly beneath it. “You ready for this?”

“Trick-or-treating around the mansion? I think I can handle it,” you teased, adjusting your glasses. “Besides, I’m curious to see how creative the students got with their costumes this year.”

Logan raised a brow, his plastic axe slung over one shoulder. “If I see another Iron Man, I’m out.”

“Deal,” you said with a laugh, looping your arm through his.

Laura grabbed her bucket and looked between the two of you expectantly. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re comin’,” Logan said, his voice softening as he ruffled her hair.

The three of you made your way through the mansion, stopping at various doors where students and staff had set up candy stations. Laura hesitated at first, unsure of how the whole “trick-or-treat” routine worked, but after watching a few other kids excitedly shout, “trick or treat!” she seemed to catch on.

At one door, Jubilee opened it wearing a bright yellow jacket and sunglasses, holding out a bowl of candy with a dramatic flourish. “Well, if it isn’t Little Red Riding Hood, the Big Bad Wolf, and… uh…” She squinted at Logan’s flannel shirt and plastic axe. “Paul Bunyan?”

“Funny,” Logan said dryly, snatching a piece of candy from the bowl.

You laughed, nudging his side. “He’s the woodsman. You know, the one who saves the day?”

“Uh-huh,” Jubilee said, smirking. “Real hero vibes.”

“C’mon,” Logan grumbled, steering Laura toward the next door.

By the time you’d made it halfway through the mansion, Laura’s bucket was nearly full, and her once-timid demeanor had given way to excitement. She tugged on your cloak as you passed through a hallway lined with jack-o’-lanterns.

“Are we going to do this every year?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

“If you want to,” you said, smiling down at her. “It can be our tradition.”

Laura nodded, her eyes lighting up. “I think I’d like that.”

Logan, walking on your other side, glanced at you with a look that was hard to describe—something between contentment and awe. His hand brushed against yours as you walked, and when you looked up at him, he gave you a small, soft smile.

Later that night, after the candy was sorted and the kids were winding down, you found yourself sitting on the couch in the living room. Laura was curled up beside you, still wearing her wolf hood as she picked through her candy stash. Logan sat on your other side, his arm draped over the back of the couch.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his fingers brushing your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you said, leaning into his touch. “I think tonight went pretty well.”

He hummed in agreement, his gaze drifting to Laura, who was now carefully unwrapping a piece of chocolate. “She seems happy.”

“She does,” you said, your voice soft. “And I think she needed this. Something normal. Fun.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded. “Yeah. She deserves it.”

For a moment, the three of you sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of laughter and conversation from the other kids echoing faintly down the hall. You rested a hand on your belly, feeling a faint flutter that made your heart swell.

Logan noticed the movement and covered your hand with his, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “How’s our little one doin’?”

“Pretty active,” you said with a small laugh. “I think they’re already a fan of chocolate.”

“Can’t blame ’em,” he said, his voice softening.

Laura looked up then, her sharp eyes flicking between the two of you. “What’s it going to be like when the baby’s here?”

You exchanged a glance with Logan before answering. “It’ll be different,” you said honestly. “But in a good way. You’ll have a little brother or sister to play with.”

Logan squeezed your hand, his gaze meeting yours for a brief moment before shifting back to Laura. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get you to bed. You can finish that candy tomorrow.”

Laura groaned but didn’t argue, allowing Logan to scoop her up and carry her toward the stairs. You followed, watching the way she leaned her head against his shoulder, her trust in him evident.

---

Week 26

After hearing that the baby could hear you more clearly now, Logan and Laura were arguing over what type of music they should play for the baby.

Logan insisted on classic rock, and as Laura put it, “old people music.” She wanted to play more recent things, particularly songs that Rogue, Jubilee, and Kitty showed her.

“If I have to hear one more damn pop song—”

Laura stuck her tongue out at Logan as the small speaker played on the coffee table. “You’ll get over it.” She said in Spanish.

“Kid, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but I don’t know Spanish.” Logan reached for the speaker, but Laura grabbed it before he touched it.

“Maybe you should learn it.” She said, as the song ‘Call It What You Want’ finished and another pop song played.

Logan reached for the speaker again, but Laura darted to the other side of the couch, holding it above her head like a trophy.

“Gimme the speaker, it’s my turn,” Logan grumbled, his brows knitting together in mock irritation.

“Why? So you can play more music that sounds like it’s from the dinosaur age?” Laura teased, sticking her tongue out at him. “No way.”

You chuckled from your seat nearby, adjusting your glasses as you flipped through a parenting book Jean had loaned you. “She’s not wrong, Logan. It’s been nothing but Zeppelin and The Stones all week.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Logan shot back, turning to you with exaggerated indignation. “Better than whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely at the speaker as the chorus of a pop song boomed from it.

Laura smirked, clearly enjoying her win. “This is real music,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Logan scoffed, crossing his arms. “Real music doesn’t sound like a robot tryin’ to sing through a blender.”

“Neither does a bunch of old guys yelling about stairways to heaven,” Laura quipped, her sharp little voice cutting through the air like a blade.

You stifled a laugh behind your hand, knowing better than to step in just yet.

“You know,” Logan said, narrowing his eyes at her, “I could just take the damn thing from you.”

“You could try,” Laura replied, her tone daring, even as she clutched the speaker tighter.

“Alright, alright,” you said, finally stepping in. “How about a compromise?”

Both Logan and Laura turned to you, their expressions equally skeptical.

“Compromise?” Logan muttered, like the word tasted sour in his mouth.

“Yes,” you said with a patient smile, setting your book down. “I choose the music. Now gimme.” You extended your hand toward Laura, who hesitated, clutching the speaker tightly to her chest.

“Are you just gonna play more boring stuff?” she asked skeptically, glancing between you and Logan.

“Boring?” Logan snorted. “She can’t do worse than this racket.”

You arched a brow at him. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You might both hate my choice.”

Logan groaned, leaning back against the couch. “Darlin’, if it’s worse than this pop junk, I’m takin’ the speaker outside and buryin’ it.”

Laura gasped dramatically, her arms wrapping protectively around the small speaker. “You wouldn’t!”

He smirked at her. “Try me, kid.”

“Alright, alright, enough,” you interrupted, holding your hand out again. “I promise I won’t break it, but I’m making the call.”

Laura hesitated but eventually handed over the speaker, her small fingers brushing yours as she pouted. “Fine, but it better not be lame.”

You smiled, connecting your phone to the device. Within moments, the gentle strains of a classical piano piece filled the room. The melody was soothing, intricate, and undeniably elegant.

Logan blinked, his brow furrowing as he stared at you. “What the hell is this?”

“Chopin,” you said simply, adjusting the volume. “It’s calming.”

“Calming?” Logan repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “It’s puttin’ me to sleep.”

“Exactly,” Laura chimed in, her nose scrunching up. “It’s so slow.”

You raised a hand to stop their complaints. “Studies show that classical music helps with brain development in babies.”

Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re really pullin’ the science card on this?”

“I’m pregnant, Logan,” you said with a teasing smile. “Science is on my side, and I get the final say.”

Laura crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed. “Doesn’t the baby need fun music too? Like, happy stuff?”

“Exactly,” Logan muttered, gesturing toward Laura. “Even she gets it.”

You gave them both a pointed look, folding your arms across your chest. “The baby is already going to get plenty of fun. This,” you gestured toward the speaker, “is about balance.”

Laura groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “It’s so boring.”

“It’s good for you,” you said, patting her knee. “Think of it as brain food.”

“I’d rather eat candy,” she muttered, earning a low chuckle from Logan.

You shook your head, unable to hide your smile. “You two are impossible.”

Logan reached over, resting a hand lightly on your knee. “You sure about this, sweetheart? I mean, five minutes of this, and I’m ready to throw myself out a window.”

“Then I’ll enjoy the peace and quiet,” you teased, earning a dry look from him.

Laura grabbed a piece of candy from the small pile she’d been collecting earlier. “What about after the baby’s here? Do we all have to listen to this forever?”

“Not forever,” you replied, leaning back against the cushions. “But for now, Chopin stays.”

Laura sighed, unwrapping her candy with exaggerated slowness. “This better help the baby become a genius or something.”

You laughed softly, resting a hand on your belly. “That’s the plan.”

Logan shook his head, but his lips quirked into a small smile. “You’re lucky I love you, darlin’. Otherwise, I’d have vetoed this nonsense.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you reached for his hand, entwining your fingers with his. “Good thing you do, then.”

Laura watched the exchange, her sharp eyes lingering on the way Logan’s hand covered yours. After a beat, she popped the candy into her mouth and mumbled, “I still think my music’s better.”

“Keep dreamin’, kid,” Logan said, his voice softened with affection. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before leaning back, resigned to the piano music that continued to play.

It wasn’t long before Laura’s protests grew quieter, her eyelids drooping as the soothing melody worked its magic. Logan glanced at you, his expression softening as he took in the peaceful scene.

“Alright,” he murmured, his voice low enough not to wake Laura. “Maybe this ain’t so bad after all.”

---

Week 28

“Y/N?” Jean asked, turning on the light in your office, which instantly woke you up.

“Huh?” You slowly maneuvered yourself on the couch to sit up. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering why Logan asked me to cover your class.”

“What!?” You exclaimed, standing up—slowly.

Jean stood in front of you, her expression soft yet firm as she handed you your phone and water bottle. “Whoa, whoa. Classes are over for the day. Just… take it easy,” she said, her tone gentle but leaving little room for argument. “How about we get you a snack?”

You blinked at her, still groggy from your nap. “Wait, what? Logan asked you to cover my classes?”

Jean nodded, raising a brow. “He did. You were passed out on the couch in here, and honestly, Y/N, you need the rest. The baby keeping you up again?”

You sighed, running a hand over your bump. “Yeah, the kicks are nonstop. It’s like they’re practicing gymnastics in there. I didn’t mean to nap that long, though.”

Jean gave you a knowing smile as she hooked her arm through yours and began leading you toward the kitchen. “Well, clearly, you needed it. Logan was adamant about you getting some downtime. He even told me to make sure you stayed out of the classroom for the rest of the day.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “He’s been so protective lately. Not that I’m complaining, but it’s almost like he thinks I’m going to break.”

Jean glanced at you, her expression lighthearted but sincere. “He’s just worried about you. And he’s got a point—growing a human is no small feat. Besides, it’s not like you’ve been getting much sleep.”

You sighed as the two of you entered the kitchen, where Logan was rummaging through the fridge. He looked up as you walked in, his eyes immediately softening. “There she is. You get enough sleep, sweetheart?”

“Logan,” you started, giving him a look. “Why’d you ask Jean to cover my classes? I was going to—”

“You were gonna what? Fall asleep in the middle of a lecture?” he interrupted, closing the fridge door and crossing his arms. “You’ve been runnin’ yourself ragged, Y/N. You needed the rest. Jean didn’t mind, did you, Red?”

Jean shook her head, grabbing an apple from the counter. “Not at all. It was no trouble.”

You huffed, not entirely annoyed but still feeling a little embarrassed. “I can handle my workload, you know.”

“Sure, you can,” Logan said, his tone calm but firm. “Doesn’t mean you have to do it all. You’re 28 weeks along, darlin’. Let people help.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, his words settling over you like a warm blanket. “I know. I just don’t want to feel… useless.”

Logan softened, stepping closer and resting his hands on your shoulders. “Useless? Y/N, you’re growin’ our kid in there. That’s the furthest thing from useless I can think of.”

Jean made a show of biting into her apple, her grin teasing. “He’s got you there.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. “Fine. But next time, at least wake me up first.”

“Not a chance,” Logan said, smirking. “You’re too cute when you’re sleepin’.”

Jean laughed, heading for the door. “Alright, I’ll leave you two to it. Try to take it easy, Y/N. And Logan, maybe make her that tea she likes.”

“Got it,” Logan replied as Jean left. He turned back to you, his expression softening even more. “You hungry?”

“A little,” you admitted, settling into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. You shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position as Logan busied himself by the counter.

“Good,” Logan said, pulling out a loaf of bread and some fresh vegetables. “You’re gonna eat a proper meal, none of that snackin’ nonsense.”

You quirked a brow at him. “Since when are you the food police?”

“Since you’re growin’ a whole person,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder at you with a pointed look. “And don’t start. I’m not takin’ chances.”

You sighed but couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto your lips. “I already ate lunch, you know.”

“Not enough,” Logan countered, slicing a tomato with precision. “You’re eatin’ again. And drinkin’ water, too.”

“Jean put you up to this, didn’t she?” you asked, though your tone was more amused than accusatory.

Logan snorted, shaking his head. “Jean doesn’t have to tell me what I already know. You’ve been runnin’ on fumes the last few days. This ain’t about overworkin’ or forgettin’—” he shot you a knowing look, “—it’s about takin’ care of yourself.”

You leaned back, adjusting your glasses and resting a hand on your belly. “You know, I can actually take care of myself just fine.”

Logan grunted, finishing the sandwich he was assembling and sliding it onto a plate. “Yeah, but now you’ve got me, so you don’t have to do it alone.” He placed the plate in front of you, along with a glass of water. “Now eat.”

You picked up the sandwich, unable to keep the smile off your face. “Yes, sir.”

He smirked, settling into the chair across from you with his own plate. “Don’t start with the ‘sir’ business, darlin’. Just listen when I tell you somethin’.”

You took a bite, savoring the taste of the fresh vegetables and perfectly toasted bread. “Alright, I’ll admit—it’s good.”

“Damn right it is,” Logan replied, leaning back in his chair. “Made it myself.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re impossible sometimes.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” he said, his tone teasing but soft. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his expression quiet and warm.

Your heart softened as you met his eyes. “I do.”

Before the moment could grow too heavy, the sound of small footsteps padding into the kitchen caught your attention. Laura appeared in the doorway, her hair tousled from a nap. She rubbed her eyes and blinked at the two of you.

“Is there food?” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

Logan grinned, pushing back his chair. “Yeah, there’s food. C’mere, kid.”

Laura shuffled over, climbing onto the chair next to you. She glanced at your plate and then at Logan. “Can I have one?”

“Sure thing.” Logan stood, ruffling her hair as he moved back to the counter to make another sandwich.

Laura leaned against the table, watching him work. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Don’t know yet,” Logan replied, focused on slicing another tomato. “Any requests?”

“Pizza,” Laura said immediately, perking up.

“Pizza’s not dinner,” Logan muttered, though there was no real heat in his tone.

“It could be,” Laura argued, her tone matter-of-fact.

You laughed softly, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. “We’ll see, sweetheart.”

She glanced up at you, her sharp eyes softening. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assured her, giving her a small smile. “Just resting.”

Laura studied you for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. You should.”

Logan placed a sandwich in front of her and ruffled her hair again. “See? Even the kid’s got my back.”

Laura took a big bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before mumbling, “Yeah, but only because she’s having the baby.”

Logan laughed, the sound low and warm. “Fair enough, kid.”

---

Week 34

“How you feelin’?” Ororo asked, handing you a glass of water.

“Like I need this baby out of me now,” you groaned, leaning back against the couch in the common room, your hand resting on your belly.

Ororo chuckled softly, settling into the armchair across from you. “Not much longer now, Y/N. Just a few more weeks.”

You gave her a look, one brow raised. “Yeah, well, tell that to my swollen feet and the ninja inside me practicing their kicks.”

“You’re doing amazing,” she said gently, her calm voice cutting through some of your frustration. “And you’ve got all of us here to help.”

“You mean to hover,” you said with a faint smile. “Jean wouldn’t even let me carry my own books to class last week. I’m surprised Logan hasn’t wrapped me in bubble wrap.”

Ororo smirked, leaning back. “Oh, he tried. I caught him looking up custom safety gear online last week.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That man.”

As if summoned by the sound of his name, Logan appeared in the doorway, Laura trailing behind him with a juice box in her hand. He frowned slightly when he saw you on the couch. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine, Logan,” you said, your tone exasperated but affectionate. “Just venting about being massive.”

“You’re not massive,” he said, crossing the room to sit beside you. His hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re perfect.”

Laura hopped onto the armrest of the couch, swinging her legs back and forth. “You look kinda big,” she said matter-of-factly, earning a sharp look from Logan.

“Laura,” he said, his voice carrying that low warning tone.

“What? She does!” Laura said, shrugging. “But not in a bad way. Just… big.” She took a sip from her juice box, completely unfazed.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks, Laura. Glad to know I’m rocking the ‘big’ look.”

Laura grinned, her small face lighting up. “It’s because there’s a baby in there. You’re supposed to be big.”

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Kid, maybe let’s not talk about size right now.”

Laura looked at him innocently. “Why not?”

“Because you’re diggin’ me a hole I’ll never get out of,” Logan muttered, though his lips twitched into a small smile.

Ororo stood, smoothing her skirt. “Well, I’ll leave you to handle that one, Logan.” She winked at you. “I’ll check on you later, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Ororo,” you said, watching her glide out of the room.

Laura leaned over, peering curiously at your belly. “Does it hurt when the baby kicks?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted, resting your free hand on your stomach. “But mostly it just feels… weird. Like a little fish flopping around.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s so gross.”

You chuckled. “Wait until you see diapers.”

Logan let out a low groan. “Don’t remind me.”

Laura tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Do I have to help with diapers?”

“Yes,” Logan and you said at the same time, making her groan dramatically.

“Not fair,” Laura muttered, slumping back against the couch armrest.

“Life’s not fair, kid,” Logan said, smirking. “Get used to it.”

“Speaking of life,” you said, shifting slightly to face Logan, “how’s the latest project coming along? Or did you get sidetracked?”

Logan frowned. “What project?”

“The nursery,” you reminded him, arching a brow. “You said you were going to finish painting it yesterday.”

“Oh,” he said, looking slightly sheepish. “I, uh… got busy.”

“With what?” you asked, trying to suppress a smile.

Logan hesitated, then gestured vaguely toward Laura. “She wanted to go to the park.”

Laura nodded enthusiastically. “He pushed me on the swings for, like, an hour. It was awesome.”

You gave him a knowing look. “Logan, you can’t use Laura as an excuse every time.”

“Why not?” he said, his tone deadpan. “It works.”

“Not forever,” you said, leaning into his side. “But I’ll let it slide this time. You know, because you’re cute.”

He smirked, his arm coming to rest around your shoulders. “Damn right I am.”

Laura made a gagging sound. “Ew, gross. You two are worse than Scott and Jean.”

Logan’s expression darkened. “Don’t compare me to Summers.”

You laughed, reaching over to ruffle Laura’s hair. “Alright, kiddo. Why don’t you go grab one of your books? I’ll read to you for a bit.”

Her face brightened. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, smiling. “But only if you hurry.”

Laura scrambled off the couch and bolted out of the room, her juice box abandoned on the coffee table.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “You spoil her.”

“She deserves it,” you said softly, resting your head on his shoulder. “They all do.”

He was quiet for a moment, his hand coming to rest over yours on your belly. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low. “They do.”

---

Week 36

"Hey, kiddo. Think you can stop elbowing me?" you said to yourself, pressing your hand gently against your belly where some part of the baby—an elbow, a knee, or maybe a foot—had decided to jab you. The baby’s response was a shift in position, followed by another kick that made you groan.

“Still giving you trouble, huh?” Jean’s voice called from the doorway. She walked in, holding a mug of tea, her warm smile soothing in a way that only a close friend’s could be.

“Define trouble,” you said, adjusting your glasses and giving her a pointed look. “If you mean karate practice at 2 a.m., or turning my ribs into a jungle gym, then yes. Major trouble.”

Jean laughed softly and handed you the tea. “Raspberry leaf tea—it might help a bit.”

You took the mug gratefully. “Thank you. You’re my favorite person today.”

“Today?” Jean teased, sitting down beside you on the couch. “I’m always your favorite.”

“Well, you’re beating Logan,” you admitted. “He said the wrong thing earlier. I asked if I looked okay, and he hesitated.”

Jean winced, trying to suppress a grin. “Oof. Classic rookie mistake.”

“Right? I love him, but sometimes I think he’s out to sabotage himself.”

As if on cue, Logan appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows drawn together in that perpetual look of concern. “What’s goin’ on here? You alright, sweetheart?”

“She’s fine, Logan,” Jean said with a smirk. “Just complaining about you.”

He snorted, walking over to kneel beside you. “That so? What’d I do this time?”

“You hesitated,” you said, raising an eyebrow at him. “When I asked if I looked okay.”

Logan looked genuinely baffled for a second before his face softened. “Darlin’, you know I think you look perfect all the time.”

Jean burst into laughter. “Good recovery.”

“Not a recovery,” Logan said, his gruff tone sincere as he looked back at you. “It’s the truth.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes but smiling all the same. “Fine. You’re back in my good graces.”

“Like I ever left,” he muttered with a small smirk, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

Jean stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Alright, I’ll leave you two to your mushy stuff. Logan, remember to keep her hydrated. And don’t let her overdo it.”

“I’m right here, you know,” you said, gesturing to yourself.

Jean just grinned. “I know. But I also know you. Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Jean,” you said, watching her leave the room.

Logan settled on the couch beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours. “She’s right, y’know. You need to take it easy.”

“Don’t start,” you warned, but your voice lacked any real edge. “I’m already taking it easy. I’ve barely done anything today.”

“You’re growin’ a whole person. That counts as doin’ somethin’,” he said, his tone gentle.

“You’ve been extra sweet lately,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “What’s going on?”

“Can’t I just be nice to my wife without it bein’ suspicious?” he asked, though his smirk betrayed him.

“Not when you’re Logan,” you teased. “But I’ll allow it.”

“Good,” he said, his hand coming to rest over your belly. The baby gave another kick, and his expression softened. “Still wild in there, huh?”

“Nonstop,” you said, leaning into him. “We’ve got a fighter.”

“Runs in the family,” he said, his voice tinged with pride.

“Speaking of family,” you said, glancing toward the door, “where are the kids?”

“Downstairs with Kurt. He’s showin’ ‘em magic tricks,” Logan said, a fond look crossing his face.

“Magic tricks?” you asked, laughing. “With teleportation?”

“Yup,” Logan said, chuckling. “They think he’s the coolest thing ever.”

“Not surprising,” you said, smiling. “It’s nice, though. To see them happy.”

Logan nodded, his expression growing thoughtful. “Yeah. After everything they’ve been through... they deserve it.”

You reached up, cupping his face gently. “We all do.”

His hand covered yours, and he leaned into your touch. “Yeah, darlin’. We do.”

---

Week 38

Going on walks in the morning with Ororo is something you tried to do a few times a week since you first got pregnant. It just so happened that Logan decided to come along this week to ‘make sure things were runnin’ smoothly.’

But he was also a fast walker, while Ororo had gotten used to slowing her pace to match you walking—or waddling.

Logan stood a few feet ahead, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched you and Ororo catch up. By the time you reached him, a hand braced against your lower back, Logan slid his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

You arched a brow, adjusting your glasses as you tilted your head to look up at him. “Adorable how?”

He grinned, and without hesitation, he gestured vaguely toward your feet. “The waddle.”

Your jaw dropped, but the laugh that followed quickly betrayed your mock offense. “You’re lucky I’m too pregnant to chase you, Logan.”

Ororo chuckled, glancing between the two of you. “I think you mean lucky you can’t catch him.”

Logan smirked and gave Ororo a nod of approval. “Exactly. And don’t act like I’m wrong. You’re practically penguin-level right now.”

“Penguin?” You swatted his chest lightly, though you couldn’t hold back your grin. “You’re not making this better for yourself.”

“Just callin’ it how I see it, sweetheart,” he said, his hand gently rubbing your shoulder. His voice softened, and his teasing smirk faded into something more tender. “But you’re the most beautiful penguin I’ve ever seen.”

Ororo snorted, quickly covering her mouth. “That’s your idea of a save?”

“Not helping, Ro,” Logan muttered, though his eyes stayed on you, warm and unyielding.

You rolled your eyes and leaned into him, sighing. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Damn right I am,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Now, how much longer on this walk before I gotta carry you back?”

“I can walk just fine, thank you,” you said, though your pace was noticeably slower than earlier.

Ororo shook her head, amusement still dancing in her eyes. “We can head back now. I’ve got a class to prepare for anyway.” She gave you a knowing look. “And you need to rest before your afternoon lecture.”

“I’m resting,” you argued half-heartedly. “I’m just… resting while moving.”

Logan scoffed. “That’s not rest, darlin’. That’s stubbornness.”

You shot him a glare but let him guide you back toward the mansion anyway, his arm staying securely around your shoulders.

As the three of you approached the mansion, the sound of laughter drifted through the open windows. Inside, you could hear the other children playing, their voices bright and carefree. It brought a smile to your face despite your exhaustion.

“Sounds like they’re having fun,” you said, glancing toward the windows.

Logan’s expression softened. “They deserve it. After everythin’ they’ve been through, they deserve to just be kids.”

You nodded, your hand instinctively moving to your belly. “I hope our little one has that too. A chance to just… be a kid.”

“They will,” Logan said firmly, his hand covering yours. “We’ll make sure of it.”

You glanced up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “You’re gonna be a great dad, you know that?”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze distant for a moment before it softened again. “I’m just hopin’ I don’t screw it up.”

“You won’t,” you said, squeezing his hand. “You’ve already proven you can handle a whole group of kids. One baby will be easy.”

Logan let out a low laugh. “You say that now…”

“You’ll see,” Ororo chimed in with a smile. “You two have got this.”

You smiled back at her, grateful for her unwavering confidence in both of you. For the first time in a long while, you felt a quiet, certain hope settling over you. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

---

Week 40

You sat on the edge of the bed in your room at the mansion, absently adjusting your glasses while rubbing your belly. It felt like your body had reached its absolute limit, and the baby wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to come out.

“Sweetheart, you sure you don’t want to go for another walk?” Logan asked, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His sharp eyes softened as they took you in.

“I can barely get to the bathroom without feeling like I’m carrying a bowling ball. You want me to waddle around the garden again?” you said, your tone half-playful, half-exhausted.

He smirked, pushing off the frame and crossing the room to kneel in front of you. His hands rested on your knees, his touch grounding. “Might help move things along,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“Or I’ll just collapse on the lawn, and you’ll have to carry me back inside,” you countered, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“Not like I’d mind,” he said, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But I get it. You’re done.”

“So done,” you groaned, leaning back on your hands. “I feel like this baby’s gonna stay in there forever. Maybe they’re too comfy.”

Logan’s expression softened even further as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your belly. “Alright, kid. Time to give your mom a break, huh? We’ve been waitin’ a long time to meet you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out more like a tired chuckle. “You really think that’s going to work?”

“Worth a shot,” he said with a shrug, his warm breath brushing against your belly as he rested his forehead lightly there for a moment. His hand stayed over yours, his touch steady and grounding.

You smirked, resting back against the headboard. “What’s next, Logan? You gonna start singing to them?”

He chuckled, low and gravelly, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. I might have a helluva voice hidden somewhere.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you teased, adjusting your glasses with one hand. “I bet it comes out after a couple of beers.”

“Don’t need beer to impress you,” he said, his smirk softening into something more sincere. He stood and sat beside you on the bed, his hand instinctively returning to your belly. “You’re already stuck with me, anyway.”

You gave him a knowing look, the corners of your mouth twitching upward. “Stuck is a strong word. I chose you, remember?”

His smile faltered for a moment, something unreadable passing across his face. Then it softened again, and he nodded. “Yeah. And I’ll never understand why.”

You tilted your head, placing your hand on his cheek to guide his gaze back to yours. “Because you’re you, Logan. And because you remember me—even when I don’t. That means something.”

“It means everything,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. His fingers laced with yours over the swell of your stomach, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “I’d go through every lifetime again if it meant I got to find you.”

Your heart squeezed at his words, and for a moment, the exhaustion and discomfort melted away. “You’re kind of a sap, you know that?”

“Don’t go tellin’ people,” he said with a small smirk, though his eyes remained soft. “I got a reputation to keep.”

You laughed, the sound filling the room like a melody you hadn’t realized you needed. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The baby shifted again, the movement more of a roll this time, and you let out a small groan, pressing your hand to the side of your belly. Logan’s hand immediately followed yours, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Braxton-Hicks again?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

“Probably,” you said with a sigh. “It’s been like this for days—just my body teasing me.”

“Teasin’ or warnin’ me to get my act together before the real deal?” he muttered, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “What do you need, sweetheart? Water? Pillow? Ice cream?”

“Right now? Just you,” you said softly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “It’s been a long day.”

He didn’t move for a moment, just stayed there with his forehead resting against yours, his hand still steady on your belly. Then he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again. “You’re sure? ‘Cause if you need ice cream, I’ll steal a whole carton from the freezer.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “I’m sure. I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Logan leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his free hand sliding up to cradle the side of your face. When he pulled back, his voice was low and steady. “You’re the toughest person I’ve ever met, Y/N. I don’t tell you enough, but… I’m proud of you.”

“Logan,” you said, your throat tightening with emotion. “You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I do,” he interrupted, his gaze unwavering. “You’re carryin’ our kid, and you’re still teachin’, still dealin’ with all of us. You’re incredible.”

You smiled through the sudden sting of tears, leaning into his touch. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

“Not so bad?” he repeated, his lips quirking into a smirk. “I’ll take it.”

The baby kicked again, stronger this time, and Logan’s hand moved instinctively to follow the motion. He chuckled, shaking his head. “Our kid’s gonna be a handful. I can already tell.”

“Runs in the family,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“Damn right we will,” he said, wrapping his arm around you and holding you close.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content to sit there in the quiet, the weight of the moment wrapping around you both like a warm blanket. Even as the discomfort of the past few weeks lingered, you couldn’t help but feel that everything—somehow—would be okay.

---

A few days later, you were back to walking with Ororo and Logan. The early March air was crisp, with the hint of spring teasing through the last clutches of winter. It was the kind of day that might have been invigorating under different circumstances, but all you could think about was how desperately you wanted the baby out.

Ororo’s pace was as gentle as always, her stride perfectly in sync with yours. Logan, on the other hand, walked a few steps ahead, his natural tendency toward alertness making him scout the path as if he were on patrol. Every so often, he turned his head to glance back at you, his sharp eyes softening slightly whenever they met yours.

“You two don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you muttered, one hand braced on your lower back as you trudged along.

“Babysittin’? Is that what we’re callin’ this now?” Logan asked, stopping to wait for you and Ororo. His lips curved into a smirk as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Seems more like I’m playin’ bodyguard.”

“Feels more like hovering,” you shot back, though there was no real heat in your tone.

Ororo smiled, her expression serene as always. “Think of it as moral support.”

“Moral support for what? Waddling?” you quipped, glancing down at your feet, which felt miles away thanks to your swollen belly.

“Penguin-level waddling,” Logan teased, his smirk widening.

You groaned, shaking your head. “Not this again.”

Ororo chuckled, falling into step beside you. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s just jealous he doesn’t have an excuse to walk slower.”

Logan snorted. “I don’t need an excuse. You’re just mad because I don’t need to catch my breath every ten feet.”

“Oh, please,” you muttered, pausing to adjust your coat as another Braxton-Hicks contraction made you wince. “You’re one wrong step away from me ‘accidentally’ using my powers on you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning into something softer as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully.

Ororo chuckled again, shaking her head. “You two are impossible. Come on, let’s finish this lap before Logan gets himself in more trouble.”

Logan stayed closer as the three of you continued, his hand brushing against yours whenever you shifted your balance. By the time you rounded the last bend toward the mansion, your feet ached, your back throbbed, and you were thoroughly done with the concept of walking altogether.

“Alright,” you said, stopping just shy of the steps leading up to the entrance. “I’m tapping out. If this baby doesn’t come soon, I’m moving into a wheelbarrow.”

Logan smirked, stepping in front of you to offer his arm. “I’ll carry you in if you want.”

“I’m not that helpless,” you said, but you took his arm anyway, letting him guide you up the steps.

“Never said you were,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

Ororo held the door open for the two of you, a small, knowing smile on her face. “I’ll check in with you later, Y/N. Make sure you get some rest.”

“Rest,” you muttered as Logan helped you inside. “That’s all anyone ever says.”

“Maybe ‘cause it’s what you need,” Logan said, his hand brushing against the small of your back. “You’re growin’ a person, remember?”

You sighed but leaned into him as the two of you headed toward the common area. “I know. I’m just ready to meet them already.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but his hand stayed steady at your back, his quiet presence grounding you in a way nothing else could.

---

“Jean, please.” You gave her your best pout as she looked you over.

She slipped off her reading glasses, “I’m sorry, Y/N. But I can’t induce labor yet. If you don’t go into labor by Wednesday, then I will.”

“Wednesday.” You muttered, resting your head back against the couch in the medbay. “Two days away.”

Jean gave you an apologetic smile, folding her arms as she leaned against the counter. “I know it feels like forever, but the baby’s just taking their time. Trust me, if it were medically necessary, I’d already be inducing. Right now, you’re both doing great.”

You groaned, adjusting your glasses and giving her an exhausted look. “Great doesn’t feel like the word I’d use.”

Jean chuckled, her tone warm. “I get it, Y/N. I do. But you’ve got this—two more days tops, and we’ll meet this little one.”

The door creaked open, and Logan stepped in, his sharp eyes immediately zoning in on you. “Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Jean answered before you could, her voice tinged with amusement. “She’s just tired of waiting.”

Logan crossed the room in a few quick strides, his hand finding your shoulder. “Tired doesn’t even cover it,” you muttered, leaning into his touch.

“Hang in there, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice low and steady. “Couple more days, and this’ll all be behind you.”

“Behind me,” you repeated with a huff. “And then we have an entire human to figure out how to keep alive.”

“Good thing we’re a team, then,” Logan said, his smirk softening as his thumb brushed over your shoulder. “And we’ve got backup.” He tilted his head toward Jean, who grinned.

“You’ll be great,” Jean added, her tone firm. “Both of you. Now, how about we get you out of here? Go rest, maybe try a warm bath.”

You gave her a skeptical look. “A bath? You know I can barely get in and out of the tub.”

Logan straightened, his hand moving to the small of your back. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Jean smirked but said nothing, giving you a little wave as Logan helped you to your feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called as you both headed for the door.

---

By the time you made it back to your room, you were exhausted all over again. Logan helped you ease onto the bed, his hands steadying you as though you might topple over at any second.

“You don’t have to hover,” you said, though your voice lacked any real bite.

“Yeah, I do,” Logan replied, settling beside you on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been growin’ this kid for nine months, darlin’. Least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable.”

You tilted your head to look at him, your lips twitching into a faint smile. “You’ve been taking care of me since day one. I think you’ve got that covered.”

“Not takin’ chances,” he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “You need somethin’? Tea? Pillow? Ice cream?”

“Maybe all of the above,” you teased, resting a hand on your belly as the baby shifted again.

Logan’s hand joined yours, his rough fingers gentle as they brushed over your skin. “Getting more active?”

“Feels like they’re hosting a dance party in there,” you said, wincing slightly as another kick made your ribs ache. “Do you think that’s a sign they’re ready to come out?”

“Hope so,” Logan murmured, his thumb tracing small circles over your belly. “I’m ready to meet ’em.”

You softened, your heart aching at the tenderness in his voice. “Me too.”

---

The next morning, you woke up to find Laura perched on the edge of the bed, staring at you with her usual serious expression. She had a book in her lap and a piece of toast in her hand.

“Morning,” you said, your voice groggy.

“Good morning,” Laura replied, her tone quieter than usual. “Jean said you’re going to have the baby soon.”

“Hopefully,” you said, sitting up slowly. “What’s with the book?”

She held it up, the cover revealing it was one of the pregnancy guides Jean had left in your room weeks ago. “I wanted to see what happens when the baby’s born.”

Logan appeared in the doorway, holding a tray of food balanced effortlessly in one hand. His eyes softened when they landed on you, and then on Laura, sitting on the bed with a book much too advanced for her age. He smirked as he walked in, setting the tray on the nightstand.

“You doin’ research, kid?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Laura nodded, closing the book to show the cover. “Jean said the baby’s coming soon, so I wanted to see what it’s like. It doesn’t look fun.”

You laughed softly, leaning back against the pillows as you adjusted your glasses. “It’s not exactly a picnic, but it’ll be worth it.”

Laura frowned, tilting her head. “Does it hurt a lot?”

Logan stiffened slightly, glancing at you, but you gave him a reassuring look before answering. “Yeah, it does,” you said honestly. “But it’s the kind of pain you can handle because you know something amazing is waiting on the other side.”

Laura’s brow furrowed as she processed that. “Like… when you get a shot and it hurts, but then you don’t get sick?”

You smiled. “Exactly like that.”

Logan grunted as he sat on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on your leg. “Except it’s a hell of a lot longer than a shot.”

“Logan,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“What?” he replied, holding his hands up. “Just sayin’. She asked.”

Laura smirked, her sharp little gaze bouncing between the two of you. “So… what happens if the baby doesn’t come out soon?”

“Well,” you said, glancing at Logan for a beat before continuing, “if they don’t come by Wednesday, Jean’s going to help things along.”

Laura perked up. “Like a superhero?”

You laughed. “Something like that.”

Logan leaned back, his fingers brushing lightly over your leg as he looked at Laura. “What’re you so curious for? You plannin’ to be the baby’s first teacher?”

Laura shrugged, her expression neutral, but her tone gave her away. “Maybe. I wanna be ready.”

Your heart softened at that, and you reached out to ruffle her hair. “You’re going to be the best big sister, you know that?”

Laura didn’t pull away like she usually did, though her cheeks flushed slightly. “I’m gonna try.”

“You’re already doin’ better than most,” Logan said, his voice warm and steady. He stood, grabbing the tray of food and setting it in front of you. “Alright, darlin’. Eat up. You need your strength.”

You gave him a look but picked up the fork, knowing there was no point in arguing. “Yes, boss.”

Laura giggled, climbing onto the bed to sit cross-legged next to you. “She listens to you more than she listens to Jean.”

Logan smirked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “That’s ’cause I’ve got charm.”

“Or because you’re stubborn,” you muttered, taking a bite of your food.

“Both,” Laura said, grinning as she opened her book again.

---

The next day, you were talking to Rogue and Remy while walking around the mansion. It was raining outside—typical March weather—so you compromised. And since Ororo was covering your class, because technically you were on maternity leave even though you lived at the mansion, you did the best with what you were given.

You would’ve walked with Logan, but he had his history class, and the kids didn’t need their teacher disappearing in the middle of a lesson. So when Rogue and Remy strolled into the kitchen, casually suggesting a walk, you took the offer. Anything to distract from the heaviness of your body and the endless anticipation of the baby’s arrival.

The three of you wandered the mansion’s hallways, the rain tapping rhythmically against the windows. Rogue walked beside you, her usual energy tempered by your slower pace, while Remy lingered a few steps ahead, spinning a playing card idly between his fingers. They were bickering lightly—flirting, really—but it was entertaining enough to keep your mind off your aching back.

“You’re tellin’ me you’d wear that to a fancy dinner?” Remy asked, his Cajun accent thick with disbelief as he gestured vaguely at Rogue’s sweater and jeans. “C’mon, chérie, where’s your sense of style?”

Rogue huffed, rolling her eyes as she folded her arms. “Not everyone wants to dress like they’re sneaking into a casino, Remy.”

“It’s called flair,” he replied with a smirk, spinning the card in his hand before tucking it neatly into his pocket. “You could use a little.”

“You could use a little modesty,” she shot back, her Southern twang sharp with amusement. “Last time I saw you in the Danger Room, you had your shirt halfway off for no reason.”

“I was warmin’ up,” Remy said, feigning innocence as he tossed a grin over his shoulder. “Ain’t my fault if I make it look good.”

Rogue groaned, turning to you. “Do you hear this? He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

You laughed softly, your hand resting on your belly as you walked. “He’s entertaining, at least.”

“Merci, Y/N,” Remy said with a flourish, bowing dramatically. “Always nice to be appreciated.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Rogue muttered, though the hint of a smile betrayed her.

As the three of you reached the end of the hallway, you slowed, one hand bracing against the wall for balance. A strange sensation rippled through your body—not pain exactly, but a sudden shift that made you stop in your tracks.

“Y/N?” Rogue asked, her brow furrowing as she stepped closer. “You okay?”

“I think…” You trailed off, your eyes widening as you looked down. Warmth spread across your legs, soaking into the fabric of your pants. It took a second for the realization to hit, but when it did, your voice was steady despite the chaos building in your chest. “My water just broke.”

Rogue froze for half a beat before springing into action, her hand darting to your arm. “Okay, okay. Uh, we’ll get you to the medbay. Remy, go find Logan!”

Remy didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted down the hallway, his usual swagger replaced by urgency. Rogue turned back to you, her expression equal parts worry and determination.

“You good to walk, or should I grab a chair?” she asked, her arm already steadying you.

“I can walk,” you said, though your legs felt shaky beneath you. “Just… not fast.”

“Take your time,” she said softly, guiding you down the hallway with one hand on your back. “Jean’s probably already in the medbay. We’ll get you there in no time.”

By the time you reached the medbay doors, Logan was there, his chest heaving slightly from running. His sharp eyes immediately found yours, scanning your face for any sign of distress.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and steady despite the tension in his posture.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice breathless but firm. “Just wet and ready to not be pregnant anymore.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, but he didn’t let go of his protective edge. “Jean inside?”

Rogue nodded. “I’ll go let her know you’re here.”

She slipped into the medbay, leaving you and Logan standing in the hallway. He stepped closer, his hands resting gently on your arms as he looked down at you.

“We’re really doin’ this,” he murmured, his voice softening as his eyes met yours.

“Yeah,” you said, your heart swelling despite the nerves fluttering in your chest. “We are.”

Logan leaned in, pressing a quick, grounding kiss to your forehead. “I’m here, darlin’. Every step of the way.”

Before you could respond, Jean appeared in the doorway, her expression calm but focused. “Alright, Y/N. Let’s get you settled. Logan, you’re staying, right?”

“Not goin’ anywhere,” Logan said firmly, his hand moving to the small of your back as Jean led you inside.

As you eased onto the hospital-style bed, Logan stayed close, his presence a steady anchor as the medbay buzzed with activity. Rogue and Remy hovered in the doorway, their expressions a mix of worry and excitement.

“You got this, Y/N,” Rogue said with a small smile.

“Damn right she does,” Logan muttered, his hand squeezing yours as the world seemed to narrow down to the three of you.

---

After three hours of enduring contractions, Jean told you that you technically weren’t even in active labor yet. The words hit like a punch to the gut—or, more accurately, like one of the baby's particularly well-aimed kicks to your ribs.

“What do you mean, not active labor?” you asked, your voice laced with exasperation as you adjusted your glasses. You leaned back against the bed, pressing your hand into the curve of your aching lower back. “I’ve been feeling contractions for hours, Jean.”

Jean gave you an apologetic look, her hands tucked into the pockets of her scrubs. “I know, Y/N. I’m sorry, but you’re still in the early stages. Things are progressing, but not as fast as we’d like. We’ll keep monitoring, but for now, just try to stay comfortable.”

Logan, seated at your side, had a storm cloud forming behind his eyes. “Comfortable? How the hell is she supposed to stay comfortable when she’s been goin’ through this all day?”

“Logan,” you said, your tone a mixture of exhaustion and affection. You rested your hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. “It’s fine. It’s just… frustrating.”

Jean crossed her arms, clearly unfazed by Logan’s bristling. “I know it’s frustrating, but this is normal. Labor can take time, especially for a first baby.”

Logan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his jaw tight. “Doesn’t mean she has to suffer.”

“I’ll manage,” you said, though even you weren’t entirely convinced. The contractions were strong enough to sap your energy but not enough to push you into the next phase of labor. It felt like being stuck in limbo.

“Why don’t you try walking around again?” Jean suggested, her tone practical. “It might help things move along.”

You groaned, but before you could argue, Logan was already standing and holding out a hand. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s give it a shot.”

With a sigh, you let him help you to your feet, your knees wobbling slightly as another contraction rippled through your abdomen. Logan’s arm immediately went around your waist, his hold steady and grounding.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you.

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth, though your free hand gripped his forearm like a lifeline. “Just… give me a second.”

Jean hovered nearby, her watchful gaze flicking between the monitors and the two of you. “Take it slow. And if you feel anything change—anything at all—let me know.”

Logan shot her a look that practically screamed obviously, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he focused on you, his voice softening. “Alright, darlin’. Let’s take this nice and easy.”

The two of you started a slow, shuffling circuit around the medbay. Logan’s hand never left your waist, his other arm hovering near you in case you stumbled. He didn’t say much, which you appreciated. The quiet was comforting, a steady backdrop to the chaos in your body.

“Did you imagine it’d be like this?” you asked after a few laps, your voice breaking the silence.

“What, labor?” Logan glanced at you, his lips twitching into a wry smirk. “Can’t say I thought about it much, darlin’.”

You laughed softly, the sound strained but genuine. “Fair enough.”

His smirk softened into something more tender as he adjusted his grip on your waist. “But I figured I’d be here. No way I’m missin’ this.”

Another contraction hit, and you gritted your teeth, pausing mid-step as the wave of discomfort washed over you. Logan stopped immediately, his arm tightening around you. “Breathe through it,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You got this.”

You focused on his voice, on the warmth of his hand against your back. The contraction eased, and you exhaled shakily, leaning into him for a moment before straightening.

“Better?” he asked, his hand brushing against your arm.

“Yeah,” you said, though you were starting to wonder how much longer you could keep this up. “Thanks.”

Logan’s hand moved to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch impossibly gentle. “You’re tougher than anyone I know, sweetheart. Don’t forget that.”

You gave him a tired smile, your heart swelling despite the discomfort. “You’re pretty great yourself.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his lips quirking upward. “Just doin’ my job.”

Another hour passed, and though the walking helped ease some of the discomfort, the progress was agonizingly slow. Jean popped in periodically, checking your vitals and offering words of encouragement, but even her calm reassurance couldn’t mask the fact that things weren’t moving quickly.

“Maybe you should sit down for a bit,” Logan said after one particularly long contraction. “You’ve been on your feet a while.”

You hesitated, part of you unwilling to admit defeat. But the ache in your back and the growing fatigue in your legs won out. “Alright,” you said, letting him guide you back to the bed.

As you settled onto the mattress, Logan crouched in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees. His gaze met yours, steady and unyielding. “We’re gonna get through this, Y/N. Whatever it takes.”

You nodded, your throat tightening with emotion. “I know.”

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And when it’s done, we’re gonna meet our kid. Just keep thinkin’ about that, okay?”

“Okay,” you said softly, your hand brushing against his cheek. “Thanks, Logan.”

“Always, darlin’,” he said, his voice a quiet promise.

---

Hours blurred together in a haze of contractions, half-coherent conversation, and endless repositioning in a desperate attempt to find relief. Logan remained at your side through it all, his steady presence an anchor as your body worked overtime. Jean checked in frequently, her calm demeanor a welcome contrast to the storm raging inside you.

By the time the clock ticked into the early hours of the next day, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body, but something had shifted. The contractions had deepened, growing more intense and closer together.

Jean walked in, her sharp eyes scanning the monitors. “Well, Y/N, it looks like we’re finally moving into active labor.”

You groaned, wiping the sweat from your brow. “About time.”

“Think of it this way,” she said with a wry smile. “You’ve done a lot of the hard work already. Now, it’s about focusing and letting your body take over.”

Logan glanced at Jean, his jaw tight. “How long’s this phase gonna last?”

Jean shrugged, though her expression was sympathetic. “It varies. Could be a few hours, could be longer. But we’re in the home stretch now.”

You leaned back against the pillows, clutching Logan’s hand. “Please tell me there’s more we can do to speed this up.”

Jean’s eyes softened as she approached, adjusting the IV beside you. “You’re doing everything you can, Y/N. Just keep listening to your body. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

After Jean stepped out to give you some space, Logan’s hand slid over yours, his rough palm warm and grounding. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“No,” you admitted, letting out a shaky laugh. “But I’ll get there.”

“Damn right you will,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You’re the toughest person I know.”

The hours crawled by in a relentless rhythm of contractions. Logan never left your side, his hands brushing sweat-dampened strands of hair from your face and murmuring quiet words of encouragement. Even when you snapped at him—once for breathing too loudly and another time for being too quiet—he took it in stride, his patience unwavering.

When another contraction hit, you squeezed Logan’s hand—harder than you expected. He winced, shaking out his fingers when you finally loosened your grip a few minutes later. “Jesus, sweetheart. You gotta grip on you.”

You managed a weak laugh, pushing your glasses up your nose. “Maybe next time you won’t tell me to breathe through it.”

“Hey,” he said with a smirk, “I’m just tryin’ to help.”

“Try harder,” you muttered, shifting on the bed to find some kind of relief. “And maybe invest in a steel glove if you’re going to keep holding my hand.”

Logan chuckled, leaning closer to press a kiss to your temple. “I’ll keep that in mind. You good for now?”

“As good as I can be,” you said, wincing as another wave of discomfort rippled through you. “How much longer, Jean?”

Jean glanced up from the monitor, her expression calm and focused. “You’re getting there, Y/N. You’re fully dilated now, so we’ll start pushing soon.”

“Soon?” you repeated, your voice laced with disbelief. “Jean, I’ve been at this for over twelve hours.”

“I know,” Jean said gently, stepping closer. “But you’ve done an amazing job. The baby’s almost here, I promise.”

Logan squeezed your hand, his other hand brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “You hear that? Almost there.”

“You’re a lot calmer than I expected you to be,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “What happened to all that pacing you were doing earlier?”

“I got it outta my system,” Logan said, though the flicker of tension in his jaw betrayed him. “Figured you don’t need me addin’ to the chaos.”

“That’s... surprisingly considerate of you,” you said, giving him a faint smile. “But I wouldn’t mind a little chaos if it means this baby gets out faster.”

Jean chuckled softly, adjusting her gloves. “Alright, let’s get started. Y/N, we’re going to do this one step at a time. Logan, stay right where you are—you’ve got the most important job.”

Logan arched a brow. “What, sittin’ here?”

“Exactly,” Jean said with a teasing smile. “You’re her support. That’s everything.”

Logan turned back to you, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “You good, darlin’?”

You nodded, though your nerves were beginning to creep in. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

“Okay,” Jean said, positioning herself at the foot of the bed. “Y/N, when the next contraction hits, I want you to take a deep breath and push.”

The first push was harder than you expected—pain radiated through your body, leaving you breathless and trembling. Logan’s hand never left yours, his grip firm and steady as he murmured quiet encouragement.

“You’re doin’ great, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm. “One step closer.”

“I hate this,” you muttered through clenched teeth. “I hate this so much.”

“I know,” Logan said, his brow furrowing as he watched you. “But you’re tougher than this. You got it.”

Jean’s voice cut through the haze. “That’s it, Y/N. Another deep breath, and push again.”

The hours blurred together in a haze of pain, exhaustion, and Logan’s constant presence. His voice became your anchor, grounding you every time you felt like giving up.

“You’re almost there,” Jean said finally, her voice filled with quiet excitement. “The baby’s crowning. One more push, Y/N.”

“You hear that?” Logan said, his eyes locked on yours. “One more, sweetheart. You got this.”

“I don’t think I can,” you whispered, your voice trembling with exhaustion.

Logan leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours. “Yes, you can. You’ve made it this far, Y/N. One more push, and we’re meetin’ our kid.”

Something in his voice gave you the strength you needed. You took a deep breath and pushed with everything you had, the effort leaving you gasping and trembling.

Then, suddenly, there was a new sound—a loud, piercing cry that filled the room.

“It’s a girl,” Jean said, her voice soft as she held up the tiny, squirming baby.

For a moment, everything else faded away. Logan’s hand tightened around yours as his gaze shifted to the baby. His expression was raw, a mixture of awe and disbelief as Jean placed the baby on your chest.

“She’s beautiful,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face as you looked down at her. Her tiny hands flailed, her cries softening as you stroked her cheek.

Logan didn’t say anything, his eyes fixed on the baby. He reached out tentatively, his large hand dwarfing her tiny frame as he brushed his fingers over her head. “She’s perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Jean’s voice, calm but brisk, broke the spell. “Alright, Logan, Y/N, I need to clean her up and check her vitals. I promise she won’t be out of your arms for long.”

You nodded, reluctant but trusting. Jean gently lifted the baby, her cries picking up again as she was moved to the nearby bassinet. Logan’s hand lingered on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“She’s okay,” you said softly, trying to reassure yourself as much as him.

Logan nodded, his eyes glued to the bassinet where Jean was carefully examining the baby. “She’s more than okay. She’s tough, like her mom.”

A tired laugh escaped your lips, and you leaned your head back against the pillows. “She’s loud, like her dad.”

Logan smirked, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “Guess that’s fair.”

Jean glanced back at you both, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Vitals are perfect. Strong heartbeat, great reflexes. She’s a healthy baby girl.”

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Thank God.”

Jean wrapped the baby in a soft blanket, her cries subsiding into quiet whimpers. She turned to Logan, her expression soft. “Want to hold her?”

Logan froze for a moment, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, with a slight nod, he stood and stepped closer. Jean placed the baby in his arms with practiced care, adjusting his hands until they cradled her just right.

For a long moment, Logan just stood there, staring down at her. His face, usually so guarded, was completely open—raw and filled with wonder. “Hey there, little one,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You took your time gettin’ here, huh?”

The baby stirred, her tiny hand curling reflexively against his chest. Logan’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as he adjusted his grip, his broad hands gentle and protective. He turned slightly, so you could see her better.

“She’s got your nose,” he said, glancing at you with a hint of a smirk.

You tilted your head, studying her tiny features through the haze of exhaustion and emotion. “And your scowl,” you teased, your voice soft.

Jean chuckled quietly from the corner, tidying up the supplies. “You two are going to be insufferable with her, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Logan said without missing a beat, his eyes never leaving the baby.

After a few minutes, Logan carefully made his way back to your bedside. He lowered himself onto the chair beside you, shifting so you could see her more clearly. “You want to hold her again?”

Your arms reached out instinctively, and Logan helped guide her into your grasp. The moment her tiny weight settled against you, the exhaustion seemed to fade into the background. She blinked up at you, her unfocused gaze somehow locking onto yours.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m your mom. We’ve been waiting so long to meet you.”

Logan’s hand rested gently on your shoulder, his thumb tracing slow circles. “She knows, darlin’.”

The baby shifted slightly, her small fist brushing against your chest as her eyelids began to flutter closed. The quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing filled the room, and for a moment, everything else disappeared—the pain, the fear, the world outside. It was just the three of you.

and that was 2017 and part of 2018! also, since i'm a very factual numbers person, gabby was born on march 9, 2018 (which means your pregnancy began around june 16, 2017). don't ask why i spent the time to calculate it, just roll with it.

but... we finally got gabby <33

[dduane]

Dear DD, I'm wondering if you could show examples (from your own work or otherwise) of what really, *really* rough drafts of fiction writing look like. I'm talking the earliest stages of the process that normally most people don't show to the public; whenever I look around online, what folks seem to post as "WIP" samples are usually more like 80-90% polished excerpts.

While my brain logically knows these are the late-stage stuff, it has an ill-advised habit of trying to draft to that 80-90 level of quality from the get-go--I think it might help to see what the equivalent of "thumbnails" or "sketches/doodles" look like in writing, especially from someone who's been At The Work for a long time. Hopefully it's an alright request! I understand if for various reasons you can't.

I'm more than willing to show people my stuff in process, every now and then. ...But in my case, your initial query poses an unusual challenge. And it's this:

After pushing fifty years of doing this work (or indeed, you had it right, this Work) for money, everything comes out looking fairly polished.

And this can't be helped. Once you've been doing this work for long enough—once doing it well starts being the thing responsible for keeping you and your family fed—you will inevitably (eventually) evolve the ability to exude smooth-looking prose at minutes' notice. Over the years your internal prose filters will get trained into being increasingly fine-meshed... and the longer this goes on, the more flatly they'll refuse to let clunky stuff out onto the page any more. You don't really even think about it. You just keep refining a given phrase/sentence/paragraph in your head until it feels acceptable.

After a couple/few decades, this ability becomes an ever more finely-honed survival characteristic. You can no sooner emit actively coarse prose (without trying purposefully to do so, which is another story...) than you can stop breathing for minutes at a time without suffering the consequences. (shrug) It's just the way your life experience has taught your Drafting Brain to conduct itself, going forward.

Now... this doesn't mean at all that the drafted material, be it ever so polished-looking, is necessarily what you intended (or needed!) to write. Oh no. I could this very day show you some prose that by my standards is still really rough, because I wrote it five minutes ago... and you'd look at it and be very unlikely to be able to see what my problem was with it.* Whereas I'm sitting staring at it and muttering "Dammit, something's missing here. No idea what. I'll come back to it tomorrow."

And indeed I wrote something about three hours ago that (as I got it onto the page in its earliest form) left me literally gasping about how obtuse I'd been about the situation and emotions described in it, as recently as early this afternoon before I had lunch. It was a scene that had been missing from something I'm completing at the moment—indeed not merely missing but completely uncontemplated—and as it spooled itself out on the page all I could do was shake my head at my own idiocy at having missed the opportunity earlier, while I was nailing down the plot.

And I would love to show you that piece of prose right this minute, so that you could see what minutes-old prose from me looks like. Except it's seriously spoilery, and I refuse to sabotage a larger work by allowing out any material that's so loaded... and which viewed out of context would deprive it of most of its power. So, as we say around here, 'Sorry not sorry.'" Though I promise I'll come back to this and talk about it "in the clear" later, when that work's published.

...Anyway. The best advice I have for you just now is that trying to make your filters-in-training less effective is—to put it as gently as Captain Amelia might—a mistake.

That urge to have the first draft—or the "zero draft" as some are calling it these days: I use this myself—be as good as possible is frankly a lifesaver. Indulging it, sentence by sentence and paragraph by paragraph, will only leave you with less frustration, less editing and re-editing, and way less Flat Forehead Syndrome over time. You are going in the right direction, even if it makes you feel like you're losing valuable time.

Your brain's attempts to draft to the highest possible level are not ill-advised. Indulge the urge to get your drafting more right, even if it makes you suffer a bit. No one ever said this writing lark was going to be all fun. (And if they did, they lied to you.) Also: hunting through other people's WIP excerpts, be they rougher than yours or more polished, in a search for something that your excerpts or drafting style should or could theoretically look like, will do you no good in the long term... and may do you harm. All you're likely to be left with, after you haven't found anything useful in the wake of the shoulder-peering, is a sense—almost certainly an inaccurate one—that you're somehow doing it wrong.**

You're not. You're finding your own way, at your own speed. This is the Writer's Journey. (As opposed to the Hero's, which I have characters shouting at me about at the moment.) (eyeroll) As you continue going your own way, your drafting will gradually pick up speed without losing quality. ...And don't neglect your outside reading. You need to be reading outside your own genre and your own century to pick up, as it were, new (or old) plugins for your filters.

Anyway. If (as it seems) you're in this for the long term: get right down here with the rest of us and suffer your way (briefly) through it. We all agonize unnecessarily over the effectiveness of our process from time to time. The only cure is to say "fuck that noise" to the back of your Writer's Mind, and get back to the actual writing, where these problems are worked out in the only way that counts.

So: go do your thing, and let the chips fall where they may. And I hope this has helped! Let me know, over time, how things go.

*This situation is also, BTW, a bit of a problem for a writer in a career stage like mine. In an inversion of the usual rule—where "the Perfect becomes the enemy of the (Merely) Good"—the "Really Not Bad At All" becomes the enemy of the "Could Have Been Way Better If You'd Given It A 'Should I Maybe Sweat Over This A Little More?' Pass". Because the Not Bad At All genuinely isn't... but if you're not careful, you stop seeing where to kick it into the next stage when you're distracted by all the other junk going on in life.

**...But this is one of the downsides of the community, and communality, of the writing life online. We wind up endlessly looking over each others' shoulders to try to find answers that—in many cases—were already sitting between us and the screen, on the keyboard.

(And now a suggestion for those who find these occasional excursions into the Advice Barrel useful: at various folks' request, I have a Ko-Fi now. If you find the advice useful and you feel so inclined, send me a sign.) :)

[igotanidea]

Hands skills: Jason Todd x reader

Warning: suggestive, but not explicit :D

***

Y/N didn;t say a single word when Jason picked up pottery. She thought it would be good for him to have a hobby apart from vigilantism and that it would keep his mind occupied with something other than crime, fighting and desperation.

Smiling, nodding and appreciating him every time he brought home something he made himself, no matter if it was a crooked vase or an impossible-to-drink-from mug.

Y/N didn;t say a single word when he started playing the guitar. It was kinda nice and she hoped that having to suffer through the initial stage of out-of-tune ripping would pay off in the long term.

Y/N didn;t say a single word when she noticed Jason working out on his calligraphy skills, though that was a bit surprising. It wasn't like he was writing that much after all. But she was okay with it, as long as it brought him a smile.

But when one day she came home and saw him with a needle, trying to embroider, she couldn't hold back.

"What is with all the hobbies, Jason? I swear you did like seven activities in the last three months. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's perfect..." he muttered, sticking his tongue out in the form of concentration, trying to maneuver the needle and form a particularly complicated pattern.

"Then why--"

"Oh, princess, come on. Can;t you see what I'm doing here?" he put the floss down and looked at her with a teasing smirk.

"Um, nope?" Y/N frowned in confusion, not getting where he was heading with that joke.

"I'm practicing my hands, sunshine."

"Practicing your- Whatever for?" for a moment her confusion was only growing,

"You."

"Me?"

"What, did you think I was actually enjoying embroidery? Please." Jason rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

oh... oh damn, he was working on his hands skills.

For her.

And that very night, she experienced for herself that suffering through Jason's everchanging hobbies paid off.

He did improve his hands skills.

Significantly,  

[kyokopi]

Ok so idk if anyone requested this but what about piwon dating idol reader and like two groups having some activities together?? (I'm so uncreative 😔)

IM ALIVE I had a lot going on this week but I am working on asks sorry this is so late 😭

Keeho

Oh my god Keeho would be a little more outgoing than normal knowing that p1eces would just see it as him being excited to promote with your group. He’d forget the idol image for a split second if the host makes a comment/joke towards you basically telling them to back off then slide a little teasing comment towards them.

Theo

Theo would definitely be lowkey staring between you and the scoreboard when the winners for MCountdown get announced he knows how hard you and your members work and how long you stayed in the studio preparing for this comeback hoping for your first win (mostly because he promised facetime until you left the studio) When the MC announced your group had won all of piwon and him on their way off stage clapped and as you passed each other you landed a double high five causing immediate panic your members and the rest of piwon following suit and high fiving each other not to make it suspicious.

Jiung

You both would not even know the other would be in the same variety show and the moment he see you on set his normal competitiveness is getting upped to 100%

to the point where the hosts have to tell him to calm down. He ends up winning a prize and shares it with you as an ‘apology’ for trying so hard but to be fair your annoyed face is just so cute

Intak

You two are paired for a collab dance stage and while filming behind the scenes you two have to turn down the real chemistry you two. You end up taking more of a stern non bullshit persona during the filming leading up to the live performance causing worry amongst fans that the chemistry just isn’t there leaving both of your fans shocked by the actual performance and how sensual the choreography had become now with the lights outfits makeup and the sheer adrenaline that comes with performing with your secret boyfriend. Ending pose consisting of close eye contact with his hand on your back. You spent the entire time in the makeup chair praying that Intak’s muscle memory of groping your ass doesn’t kick in like it did so many times during practice lucky for everyone it didn’t

Soul

While promoting for your comebacks your group and piwon get a joint segment and you two happen to be standing in the back next to each other…Yeah Shota straight up would pretend you’re not there just not to cause ANY speculation between you two which makes you giggle to yourself knowing that just 1 night ago he had fallen asleep in your arms exhausted

Jongseob

Your group and piwon are sat together during an award show you’re known to be an outgoing and friendly idol so it’s up to no one’s surprise that you’re having conversation with him and the other idols around you at one point after coming back from the bathroom you almost trip and before you could fall Jongseob catches you with a quick and genuine question of if you’re okay and leads you back to you seat Luckily fans and media focused on how kind this gesture was and netizens shut down any shipping or rumors into the relationship.

[shimmershifts]

Hi ! Shifting didn't make much sense to me , but you explained everything so well and now I get it 🥺 You're one of the bloggers I would trust without questioning 🥹

Can you explain what what happens in detail when you shift ? Like what are the sensations you feel and what happens , in order ?

I'm sorry if this is invasive to you 😅 I'm just curious.

hii thank you so much! i do feel like you should always question everybody but i understand and appreciate the sentiment 🥹💕

i'm fine with sharing how i shift, because i think it is valuable to hear how shifting feels for others. but i do feel that no matter how much i say not to people will think they have to do it the exact way i do and then they'll shift. this... is not the case (probably.) we're entirely different people, and what works for me might not work for you! and shifting might "feel" totally different to others.

my method (down below the cut) is currently is a lot simpler than it used to be. when i was initially relearning how to shift, it was a process, to say the least. i also happened to be getting heavily into meditation already at the time. i was meditating for about 8 hours a day (broken up, not in a row.) you do not need to do this, and i wasn't just doing it for reality shifting reasons, but for healing and growth. i used meditation to process trauma, somatic experiencing, and exploring states of awareness and understanding the universe around me and the dimensions its made of. as a bonus, i do think learning to meditate helped me in my personal journey with reality shifting, but that's probably because meditation is something that works for me. i try to mention lots of methods that require 0 meditation because it's not the only way! this is all to say, "the shimmer method" if we can call that is highly specific to me personally.

how i shift:

first, i find a comfortable place and time when i feel like shifting. sitting, laying down, it doesn't really matter. i personally prefer to have a fair amount of "free time" ahead of me, because i like to shift back here to the moment i left and have time before i have to do anything else. like i don't wanna shift back here and have to go straight to work. or worse, shift back while at work.

next, i take three deep breaths. it sounds cheesy almost, but it helps me regulate my breathing and the overall tension in my body. i only need three to do this, but i used to do more.

then i do a simple body scan. this helps me detach my awareness from my 3D body. i move from toe to head, focusing my awareness on each area, and acknowledging whatever sensation is there without the need to change it. i move my awareness to the next section, letting go of the previous. i used to do this process much more slowly, but now id say it takes me a handful of minutes. now, here's the important bit, how does it feel? sometimes after this i feel completely "numb" and lose all awareness of my body. sometimes i begin to experience hypnogogic symptoms right away. and sometimes i dont. sometimes i feel "normal" after. it doesn't matter. my body can feel whatever it's feeling. i gently direct my awareness, and i move on.

next, i focus on my stream of thoughts. personally, i have adhd and intrusive thoughts, and a very active internal monologue. it's honestly so so rare for my brain to be quiet. i was literally surprised to find out that some people don't have an absolute constant stream of thoughts. but it's completely okay, because my brain doesn't need to silent. my thoughts can continue, just like feet probably still feel my socks. my thoughts don't get to demand my awareness. at this stage, i do like to visualize, but for a "visualization", it's not very visual. its more idea of it. if i have any really intense or bothersome thoughts or worries, i direct them into a mental box or current, or toss them off a mental cliff. work tomorrow? tax forms? argument? embarrassing moment of the day? i direct them into the box. i don't need to be aware of those thoughts right now, but they are perfectly ok to continue being. i can get them back out later. sometimes it helps to count, or imagine something, to give my awareness something to focus on. sometimes i don't need to. how does it feel? my brain continues doing all that thinking. it's a thinking machine, that's what it does, and that's okay. i'm shifting my awareness into a different 3D brain anyways. sometimes i get hypnogogic symptoms, sometimes i don't. sometimes i can still "hear" the mental chatter that im not focusing on, sometimes i can't.

now, i used to feel more comfortable shifting from the state of pure awareness, so id drop into that. but i generally don't feel the need to when im reality shifting now, so i don't bother. sometimes i experience other meditative states, sometimes i experience hypnogogic symptoms, sometimes none at all. i think because i've really practiced with everything and i have experience shifting from any of these states of awareness, it is no longer as consequential for me which destabilized state of awareness i'm in. like, initially, hypnogogic symptoms were really overwhelming for me, and even scary. i couldn't shift from hypnogogia because id panic and ground myself to my CR 3D, ending the attempt just to stop the hypnogogia. now, im more comfortable with it and i can unfocus my awareness from it like any other sensation.

i start to direct my awareness towards my DR, from whatever state of awareness i'm in (usually some form of destabilized awareness). how does it feel? i start visualizing or thinking about my DR, and the first change is that at some point, i start thinking as my DR self. this comes more naturally to me after i've already shifted somewhere before, but it can happen for a "new" DR as well. there's not a distinct moment, and i usually wouldn't notice it happened until looking back on it. this is important i think, as i feel some people expect their 3D to change first, like they're expecting to start feeling their DR with their CR body or something, which (for me) has never been the case. my awareness shifts first. i relax my awareness, and slip into my DR. if feels kind of like waking up, even if im already awake there. it's not a long dramatic journey of traveling, but sometimes there is a sense of.... "falling" is the best way to describe it, though to be clear it is not a physical sensation. it's not like i'm falling through space, it's like if your awareness could sink in a metaphorical or poetic sense.

and then i'm there. so, in a simplified way: i relax, i visualize, i repeat. my awareness shifts first, and then im in my DR 3D.