Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Logan was like a bear—a giant, warm, cuddly bear. Though if you told him that you were sure he’d deny, deny, deny.

You let out a sleepy grunt, groggily reaching over to slap your alarm clock into silence. As the shrill beeping stopped, you became acutely aware of the warm, heavy weight wrapped securely around you. Logan’s arm was draped over your waist, holding you firmly in place against his chest. His even breaths fanned across the back of your neck, and the slight scruff of his beard grazed your skin as he shifted, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Logan,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep as you squirmed in his grasp.

A low, disgruntled growl rumbled from his chest. “Mm-mm. Nope,” he mumbled against your shoulder, his voice rough and muffled. “Five more minutes.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, even as your cheeks warmed at the sound of his voice so close to your ear. “I have to get up,” you protested softly, trying to wriggle free. His arm tightened instinctively, making escape a futile endeavor.

“Don’t see why,” he muttered, still half-asleep. “You’re comfy right here.”

You rolled your eyes, your lips twitching into a smile despite yourself. “I have class to prep for, Logan. You know, that thing where I teach physics to a bunch of mutant teenagers?”

He grunted in response, clearly unimpressed by your logic. “Teenagers’ll survive without you for one morning,” he drawled, his lips brushing against the crook of your neck in a way that made your breath hitch. “I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face—eyes still closed, hair sticking up in every direction, and a faint smirk playing on his lips. The sight was almost enough to make you cave, but you managed to keep your resolve. Barely.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, even as your hand instinctively reached up to comb through his unruly hair. His grin widened at the affectionate gesture, and he cracked one eye open, peering at you with a sleepy, satisfied expression. “But today is the last day of classes, and I have to give them their final.”

Logan let out an exaggerated groan, burying his face against the curve of your neck. “You’re tellin’ me a bunch of kids and their tests are more important than me?” His voice was muffled, the low rumble of it sending a pleasant warmth through you.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I don’t make the schedule, Logan. Believe me, if I could skip it, I would.”

“You’re not skippin’ it,” he grumbled, though his lips brushed lightly against your skin. “But don’t think I won’t complain about it the whole time you’re gone.”

“You? Complain? Shocking.” Your playful tone earned you a half-hearted growl as Logan rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You landed on his chest, his arms securely around you. His fingers traced idle patterns along your back, his gaze fixed on you now with a mix of affection and amusement.

“You’re gonna spend the rest of the day buried in grading,” he said, arching a brow. “And I won’t see you for days. Don’t think I didn’t notice what happened after midterms.”

Your face warmed at the memory of being holed up in your office, surrounded by papers, but you tilted your chin stubbornly. “I have to grade, Logan. How else will they know whether they pass?”

“Sounds like a them problem,” he countered smoothly, his smirk deepening.

“Logan.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. He always had a way of making you feel light, even when you were stressed. “You could help me grade, you know. I’ll even teach you how to curve a test.”

His laugh was deep and genuine, rumbling through his chest beneath you. “Pretty sure that’d end with me givin’ everyone a pass just so I could get you back quicker.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he silenced you with a kiss. It was soft and unhurried, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head as he tilted his own. By the time he pulled back, your thoughts had scattered, and he looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Fine,” you muttered, still breathless. “But I’m locking my office door when I’m grading.”

His grin widened. “Good. I’ll just pick the lock.”

“Logan!”

He chuckled, flipping you gently onto your back and leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. “Alright, darlin’. Go teach your kids or whatever. But I’m holding you to dinner tonight. No papers allowed.”

You smiled up at him, your hand brushing lightly against his jawline. “Deal.”

Logan lingered a moment longer, his eyes tracing your face as though memorizing every detail. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself up, reluctantly letting you go. “Go on, then, before I change my mind and keep you here.”

You bit back a laugh, slipping out of bed and grabbing your glasses from the nightstand. As you moved to get ready, you could feel his eyes on you, his presence a steady warmth in the background.

---

“Why are you in my office?” Jean asked, walking into the room where you sat on the couch in the corner.

“Close the door, Jean!” You whisper-yelled. Jean raised an eyebrow but complied as you spoke again, “Logan’s clingy, he says that since classes are over for the summer I should be ‘spending time with him’ even though I told him I still have the finals to grade.”

Jean closed the door, her curiosity evident as she leaned against it, arms crossed. “You’re hiding in my office to avoid Logan?”

You sighed, setting aside the stack of papers you were grading on Jean’s coffee table. “It’s not like I’m avoiding him forever. I just need a few hours to finish these finals without him finding me and pulling me into another impromptu cuddle session.”

Jean smirked, clearly entertained. “He’s got a point, though. Classes are over. Most people would kill to have their boyfriend be that invested in spending time with them.”

You rolled your eyes, even as a smile tugged at your lips. “I know. And it’s sweet, really. But he doesn’t understand that I can’t just wave a wand and make the grades magically appear. These finals aren’t going to grade themselves.”

Jean quirked a brow. “And you thought my office was the safest place to hide?”

“Well, yeah.” You gestured around. “Logan wouldn’t think to look for me here. Plus, I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Jean replied, amused. “But you know he’s going to find you eventually. He has an uncanny ability to know exactly where you are.”

You slumped back against the couch, groaning softly. “Don’t remind me. It’s like he has a sixth sense or something.”

Jean chuckled, walking over and plopping into the chair across from you. “It’s called being ridiculously in love with you. That man’s not exactly subtle.”

The words made your face heat up, but you tried to brush it off. “Yeah, well, ridiculously in love or not, he needs to let me work for a bit. I’ll make it up to him later.”

Jean’s smirk turned mischievous. “Oh, I’m sure you will. Candlelit dinner? Maybe a movie night?”

“Jean!” you hissed, your cheeks burning as you tried to shush her. “Don’t you start too.”

She held up her hands, mock-innocent. “I’m just saying, it’s adorable how smitten he is. Honestly, I think it’s good for you. You’re not usually the type to take much downtime.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, the door creaked open just enough for Logan’s unmistakable voice to drift in.

“Jean, you seen—”

Logan froze in the doorway, his brows lifting slightly when he saw you sitting there. His gaze flicked to Jean, who was already biting back a grin, and then back to you.

“Found you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was trying not to smirk.

You sank further into the couch, your face heating under his knowing stare. “I was… grading,” you said lamely, gesturing to the papers in front of you.

Logan stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes stayed on you, warm and amused. “In Jean’s office?”

“It was a strategic decision,” Jean quipped before you could answer, her tone dripping with mock seriousness.

Logan ignored her, his attention fixed solely on you. He crossed the room, crouching down in front of you so you were at eye level. His hand came to rest lightly on your knee, the warmth of his touch grounding you despite your embarrassment.

“You could’ve just told me you needed time to work, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice carrying no trace of irritation—just quiet understanding.

“I did,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “You didn’t exactly listen.”

His lips quirked, and he leaned in slightly, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Maybe ‘cause I’m selfish and like havin’ you around too much.”

Your resolve wavered as you finally looked at him, his eyes impossibly soft. Jean, sensing she was no longer needed, stood and slipped out of the room without a word, leaving the two of you alone.

“Logan,” you sighed, your voice quieter now. “I just… I really need to finish these finals. I promise, as soon as I’m done, I’m all yours.”

Logan studied you for a moment, then nodded, his hand squeezing your knee lightly. “Alright,” he said, standing up. “But I’m takin’ you to dinner tonight. Non-negotiable.”

You smiled, the weight of his gaze melting some of your earlier frustration. “Deal.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before straightening. “I’ll leave you to it, then. But don’t think I’m not gonna check in later.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin lingered as he turned and left the room, his presence somehow leaving it warmer than before.

---

Theresa stood by you on her tiptoes, eagerly watching as you carefully sliced her apple. She hummed happily, her curly red hair bouncing with every small fidget of excitement. You smiled softly at her, taking your time to arrange the slices neatly on the plate. The summer sun streamed through the kitchen window, making the air feel lighter now that the semester was officially over.

You were dressed comfortably for the warm day, the floral sundress swaying slightly as you shifted your weight. Logan had gone off to check on something outside earlier, so the mansion was unusually quiet.

Logan passed the kitchen door without sparing it a glance, only to stop mid-step and double back. His figure filled the doorway as he leaned casually against the frame, his arms crossed, eyes locking onto you immediately.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and something softer. His gaze flickered over you briefly, but it was the kind of look that left you feeling as though he’d memorized every detail in a single second. His brows raised slightly, and the corners of his mouth pulled into the faintest hint of a smile.

You glanced up at him mid-slice, caught completely unaware. “What?” you asked, confused by the way his stare lingered.

Theresa, oblivious to the subtle tension, tugged lightly on your wrist. “Is it ready yet, Y/N? Can I have it now?”

“Almost,” you murmured, distracted as you finished the last cut. You placed the slices neatly onto the plate, handing it to her with a small smile. “Here you go, Tessie. Go eat at the table, alright?”

“Thanks!” she chirped before skipping off, her plate held triumphantly in both hands.

The kitchen was quiet again, save for the soft hum of the fridge. You turned back to find Logan still standing there, his smirk more pronounced now.

“What is it?” you asked, feeling a little self-conscious under his scrutiny.

“Nothin’,” he said, pushing off the doorframe to step closer. His voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed the warmth he was holding back. “Just… you look nice.”

Your cheeks heated immediately, and you glanced away, focusing on tidying up the cutting board. “It’s just a dress,” you mumbled.

“First time I’ve seen you wear one,” he replied, his voice quieter now as he leaned against the counter beside you. His knuckles brushed lightly against yours, and the gesture, as small as it was, sent your pulse skittering.

“I usually don’t,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not really practical, you know. With teaching, and the lab, and—”

“Practical or not, I like it,” he interrupted, his tone genuine. “Suits you.”

You risked a glance up at him, your eyes meeting his. He wasn’t smirking anymore. Instead, his expression was unguarded, softer than you were used to seeing. That look—the one where he seemed to see you and only you—made your heart twist in your chest.

“Thanks,” you said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Logan reached out, his fingers brushing the side of your arm lightly. “No need to hide when you’re wearin’ something nice, darlin’,” he murmured. “Don’t need to hide, period.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” you argued weakly, your voice betraying you with its timid edge.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his thumb grazing your forearm. “Sure you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t!” you protested, though your voice lacked conviction. His touch was making your thoughts spiral into incoherence.

“Okay, okay,” he said, his grin returning. “But you’ll wear it again sometime, yeah?”

You bit your lip, nodding slightly before looking away again. “Maybe.”

“Good,” he replied, his voice low and warm. “Because you’re stuck with me the rest of the day, anyway.”

“Logan,” you started, your shyness creeping back. “I—”

“No excuses,” he said firmly but without any harshness. “You’re done grading. It’s summer break. No runnin’ off to Jean’s office this time.”

Your face heated at the memory of that little escapade. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his grin widening. “Now c’mon. Let’s go for a walk or somethin’. You’ve been cooped up too long.”

He offered you his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, you took it. His grip was strong and steady, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t sure you’d ever stop craving.

As the two of you walked out into the summer sun, you couldn’t help but glance down at your dress, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. Maybe dresses weren’t so impractical after all.

---

The kids’ laughter echoed over the beach, blending with the rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore. A soft breeze ruffled the umbrella shading you and Jean as you sat in matching beach chairs. The air smelled faintly of salt and sunscreen, the summer sun bright but not unbearable.

You had been staring at the same page of Maisie Dobbs for what had to be ten minutes, the words nothing more than a blur. Jean, seated beside you with her own book, glanced at you over the rim of Evidence of Things Unseen. Her lips twitched as she noticed the way your gaze had drifted—away from your book, away from the umbrella’s shade, and unmistakably toward the figure near the shoreline.

Logan stood knee-deep in the water, his jeans rolled up and his shirt conspicuously absent. He hadn’t bothered to wear anything particularly ‘beachy,’ but it didn’t seem to matter. The sun kissed his skin, highlighting the lines of muscle across his chest and arms, and his usual gruff expression softened as he helped some of the kids with their sandcastle defenses. His low chuckle carried faintly on the wind as he spoke to Bobby, who was excitedly gesturing at a moat that, from your vantage point, looked like it was doomed to fail against the incoming tide.

Jean smirked, closing her book deliberately. “You know, for someone with a PhD, you’re doing a terrible job pretending to read.”

Your head snapped back to your book, the sudden motion almost dislodging your glasses. “I’m reading!”

Jean arched an unimpressed brow, her tone teasing. “Oh? What’s happening in the book?”

You scrambled, trying to recall the last thing you’d actually processed. “Uh... Maisie just—she was, um—”

Jean’s laughter was soft but pointed. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “You know, it’s not like he’s never been shirtless before. You do live in the same mansion.”

Your cheeks burned, and you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose as if that would help hide your embarrassment. “It’s different,” you muttered, keeping your gaze firmly planted on your book now.

Jean grinned. “Different how?”

You hesitated, unwilling to put into words what felt so obvious. How the sight of him here, carefree and laughing with the kids, hit differently than the times you’d seen him shirtless before—training in the Danger Room, patching himself up after a mission, or even just wandering the halls in the early hours of the morning. Here, on this beach, Logan seemed... lighter.

“It just is,” you said finally, your voice quiet but insistent.

Jean shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re hopeless. But hey, at least now you’re not the only one distracted.”

Before you could process her words, a shadow fell over you. You glanced up to find Logan standing there, shirt slung over his shoulder and a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

Your face flushed so hot you were sure it rivaled the sun. “I—I wasn’t—”

Jean, ever the opportunist, cut in before you could flounder any further. “She was definitely enjoying it.”

You shot her a mortified glare, but she just winked, clearly pleased with herself. Logan chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he crouched beside your chair. His hand came to rest lightly on the armrest, his proximity making your heart race.

“I thought I’d find you buried in a book,” he murmured, his tone teasing but warm. “Didn’t realize you’d be out here gettin’ a tan instead.”

“I’m not—” You floundered again, words failing you under the weight of his gaze.

“She’s been staring at you for the last ten minutes,” Jean added helpfully, earning her a sharp, wordless plea from you.

Logan’s smirk deepened, his attention unwavering as he tilted his head slightly. “That right?”

You wanted the earth to swallow you whole, but instead, you mustered up a weak protest. “Jean’s exaggerating.”

“I’m really not,” Jean chimed in.

“Alright, that’s enough outta you,” Logan said, though his amusement was evident.

Jean chuckled, standing and stretching dramatically. “I’ll leave you two to... whatever this is.” She shot you one last mischievous look before strolling off toward Scott, who was supervising the soccer game.

Once she was gone, Logan shifted, leaning closer. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist where your hand rested on the book, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, darlin’,” he said, his voice a low murmur.

“I wasn’t flustered,” you lied, your gaze dropping to the book again.

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, unconvinced. His thumb traced an idle circle on your wrist. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You finally risked a glance up at him, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch. There was no teasing smirk now, just a quiet warmth that left you feeling as if the rest of the beach had faded away.

“Logan,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” he prompted, his tone gentler now.

You hesitated, then shook your head, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. “Never mind.”

He huffed a soft laugh, leaning in just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “C’mon,” he said as he straightened, offering you his hand. “Let’s go walk by the water. You’ve been sittin’ here too long.”

You glanced at his hand, then back at him, your shyness warring with the warmth spreading through your chest. Finally, you slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet.

As the two of you strolled toward the shoreline, the kids’ laughter filling the air around you, you couldn’t help but think that Jean had been right. Distracted or not, Logan was a sight worth lingering on.

---

“You have got to get better at working with a team,” Ororo said.

Scott nodded in agreement, “you can’t just go off on your own and do whatever you want just because you can.”

They entered the viewing deck as Logan playfully scoffed, “I can work on a team. Just depends who I am working with. Isn’t that right, darlin’?”

You continued to look at the screens around you, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Yeah, sure.”

Logan chuckled under his breath, his tone dripping with amusement. “See? Told ya.” He leaned casually against the console, arms crossed as he glanced at you.

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “That’s not exactly what I’d call an endorsement.”

“Maybe not by your standards, Slim, but I’ll take what I can get,” Logan shot back with a lopsided grin.

Ororo let out a long-suffering sigh. “Logan, this isn’t a joke. You can’t keep running off and doing your own thing in the field. It puts everyone at risk.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “I get the job done.” His eyes flicked to you again, a faint spark of amusement lingering there. “Besides, I work just fine with the right people.”

Ororo didn’t dignify that with a response, her gaze narrowing. “You’re impossible.”

Scott gestured toward the holographic screens. “What’s the scores?” he asked, clearly trying to redirect the conversation to something productive.

You adjusted your glasses, your fingers moving across the controls as you pulled up the relevant data. “The team as a whole got an 84.75%,” you said, glancing at the screen and making a few adjustments to bring up individual scores. “Individually… well, it’s a mixed bag.”

Logan smirked, leaning closer. “Let me guess. I carried the team.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Logan, you were the reason we lost points in the first place.”

“Details, details,” Logan said with a shrug. He glanced at you. “What’d I get, sweetheart?”

You tapped a few keys, pulling up his stats. “Well… I mean individual scores don’t really matter much do they? It’s all about—”

Jean chuckled and crossed her arms, interrupting you, “oh, I know what that means. You’re stalling.”

Your cheeks warmed as you adjusted your glasses, fumbling slightly with the console. “I’m not stalling. I’m just—being thorough.”

Logan tilted his head, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s hear it. I know I aced it.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Logan, you left your assigned post twice and ignored team strategy. I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

Jean chimed in with a smirk. “Not to mention, you destroyed half the simulated building—after the objective was completed.”

Logan’s grin didn’t falter. He leaned closer to you, his voice low and teasing. “They just don’t appreciate my style, do they?”

You bit back a small smile, keeping your gaze fixed on the screen. “Okay, fine. You got… a 62.”

Scott made an incredulous noise, crossing his arms. “See? That’s exactly what we’re talking about.”

Logan shrugged, completely unfazed. “Still passed. A win’s a win.”

“It’s barely passing,” Scott countered, clearly losing patience. “And that’s only because of your combat performance. Your teamwork score was—what? Ten points?”

“Seventeen,” you corrected, your tone soft but pointed. “Which isn’t… great.”

Ororo pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated. “Logan, the whole point of these exercises is to improve coordination and teamwork, not just show off.”

“Hey, if they want me to play nice, they should stop slowing me down,” Logan replied, his casual tone earning a groan from Scott.

“Logan,” you said, trying to balance your shy nature with the need to contribute. “I think what they’re saying is… you’re great on your own, but in a real mission, working together is—kind of important.”

His gaze softened as he looked at you, the teasing edge fading slightly. “Noted, sweetheart. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Jean exchanged a quick glance with Ororo, who simply shook her head. “We’ll see,” Ororo muttered, clearly skeptical.

Scott stepped forward, pointing to the screen. “And what about the rest of the team?”

You quickly pulled up the individual stats for everyone else, rattling off the scores. “Jean’s at 90, Ororo’s 92, and Scott—you’ve got a 95.”

Logan gave a low whistle, mock-impressed. “Look at you, Slim. Setting the curve.”

“Someone has to,” Scott replied dryly, but his tone lacked its usual sharpness. He turned back to you. “Good work, Y/N. At least someone here knows how to focus.”

Jean grinned. “She’s always focused. Unlike some people,” she said pointedly, glancing at Logan.

Logan smirked, unbothered as he straightened up. “Guess I’ll just have to make up for it next time.”

Scott opened his mouth to argue, but Ororo cut him off. “Let’s just take the feedback and move on. We’ll schedule another session next week.”

As the group began to disperse, Logan lingered by your side, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re too nice to me, sweetheart.”

You hesitated, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “Someone has to be.”

Logan smirked at your response, but before he could say anything else, he slid an arm around your shoulders, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he guided you toward the exit. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

You stiffened slightly, your hand coming up to his chest as you gently pushed him away. “Logan—seriously?”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “What? Afraid someone’s gonna think we’re cozy or somethin’?”

“No,” you said firmly, stepping out of his reach. “I’m afraid of the fact that you’re sweaty and gross. I’m not getting anywhere near you until you shower.”

Logan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that earned a chuckle from Jean and a loud groan from Scott. “Sweetheart, I’ve been through worse. Little sweat never killed anyone.”

“Maybe not,” you said, adjusting your glasses and flashing a rare smirk. “But it’s definitely killed my willingness to put up with you right now.”

Jean leaned casually against the doorway, her arms crossed as she watched the exchange. “She’s got a point, Logan. You’re a walking hazard zone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered, waving a dismissive hand. He threw one last glance at you before heading toward the door. “Fine. I’ll clean up. But don’t think this is over, sweetheart.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied dryly, turning back to the console to shut everything down.

---

The next week, as you were setting up the console for the simulation, Scott and Kitty came walking down the viewing deck hallway. “Come on,” Scott said, “you’re joining us this time. Kitty’ll take care of this.”

You raised your head from the screens and looked over at Scott, tilting your head. “You sure? I’m not exactly much help in the field.”

Scott crossed his arms, giving you a look that said he wasn’t buying your self-doubt. “You’re more capable than you think, Y/N. And we’re not giving you a choice this time. Kitty’s handling the tech, so suit up.”

You hesitated, glancing at Kitty, who gave you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” she said, sliding into the chair you vacated. “Besides, it’ll be good for you. Logan’s always saying you need to get out of the lab more.”

“Does he now?” you murmured, adjusting your glasses. A small, nervous smile tugged at your lips as you looked back at Scott. “Okay, but only if you promise not to get annoyed if I mess up.”

Scott’s expression softened, and he nodded. “You won’t mess up. Just stick to the plan, and you’ll be fine.”

As the three of you headed down the hallway toward the locker rooms, Logan was leaning casually against the wall just outside, his arms crossed. His signature smirk appeared the second he saw you. “What’s this? Slim finally letting you outta your cage?”

You rolled your eyes, already feeling a little self-conscious. “It’s not like that, Logan.”

“Sure it’s not,” he drawled, falling into step beside you. “Guess this means I’ll have to keep an extra close eye on you, darlin’. Wouldn’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

“Or distracting anyone else,” Scott muttered under his breath.

Logan shot him a look, but you quickly intervened, your tone light but firm. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to babysit me.”

Logan chuckled. “You say that now, but wait till the action starts.” He gave you a wink before heading off toward the men’s locker room.

Scott let out a long-suffering sigh. “Just… try not to encourage him.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you protested, your cheeks flushing.

“Yeah, but you smiled,” Scott replied, shaking his head as he disappeared into the locker room.

---

In the simulation room, the team gathered near the starting point. The scenario was a hostage rescue in a collapsing skyscraper, and Scott was already running through the plan with his usual precision. “Ororo and Jean will handle structural stabilization while Logan and I take point on the hostiles. Y/N, you’ll be with Logan.”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Figures. Slim knows who the real MVP is.”

Scott ignored him, turning his attention to you. “Your job is to focus on time manipulation to give us an edge. Slow things down where necessary, especially if Logan decides to... improvise.”

Jean coughed lightly, barely disguising a laugh. “You mean when Logan improvises.”

“Whatever works,” Logan said with a shrug. He glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “You ready for this, sweetheart?”

You nodded, though the nerves were clear in your posture. “Yeah. I think so.”

Logan leaned in just enough to lower his voice. “Hey. You’ve got this. Just stick with me.”

You managed a small smile, adjusting your gloves. “Thanks.”

---

As the simulation began, chaos erupted almost immediately. Logan, true to form, charged ahead with reckless abandon, his claws slicing through holographic enemies like they were nothing. You stayed close, using your powers to slow time in bursts, giving him an edge whenever he veered too far from the plan.

“Logan, stick to your quadrant!” Scott’s voice barked over the comms.

“I’m stickin’ to it!” Logan shot back, even as he lunged into an adjacent zone. “Just takin’ the scenic route.”

“Scenic route?” you muttered, struggling to keep up with him. “You’re all over the place!”

Logan flashed you a grin over his shoulder. “That’s why you’re here, sweetheart. Keepin’ me in check.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but a part of you felt a flicker of pride. Despite his chaotic style, he trusted you to have his back.

As the simulation progressed, you found yourself falling into a rhythm with him. Whenever he rushed headfirst into a dangerous situation, you instinctively slowed time to give him the upper hand. He, in turn, would glance back to make sure you were safe, his protective instincts as sharp as his claws.

When the final wave of enemies fell and the simulation ended, Scott called the team to regroup. “Not bad,” he said, though his tone suggested he had plenty of notes. “We’ll review the footage and—”

“Hold up,” Logan interrupted, glancing at you. “How’d she do?”

Scott blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Y/N? She did well. Kept up with you, which is more than I can say for most people.”

Logan’s smirk returned. “Told ya she’s got it.”

You adjusted your glasses, your cheeks warming as Jean gave you an approving smile. “She definitely held her own. Maybe we should bring her along more often.”

Scott nodded reluctantly. “We’ll see. For now, let’s debrief.”

As the group started toward the viewing deck, Logan slowed his pace to walk beside you. He bumped your shoulder lightly, a rare softness in his tone. “Proud of you, darlin’. Told ya you’d do great.”

You glanced at him, a small smile breaking through your shyness. “Thanks. But I think we both know you’re the reason Scott’s hair is going to turn gray early.”

Logan laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Worth it.”

---

You let out a quiet groan in your sleep, twisting the thin sheet that barely covered you. The summer heat was relentless, and your room, like most of the older parts of the mansion, didn’t have air conditioning. Adding to your discomfort was Logan, who radiated heat like a furnace. Despite the oppressive warmth, his arm was slung lazily around your waist, anchoring you close.

Shifting slightly, you tried to peel yourself away without waking him, but his grip tightened instinctively. “Where d’you think you’re goin’, sweetheart?” Logan’s voice was rough with sleep, his words barely above a murmur.

“It’s too hot,” you whispered back, your voice tinged with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “You’re like a space heater.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, his breath warm against your neck. “Can’t help it. Comes with the claws and all.”

“You mean being insufferable comes with the claws?” you teased softly, attempting to squirm out from under his arm again.

He growled playfully, pulling you closer instead. “Watch it, darlin’. You’re startin’ to sound a lot like Slim.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “I mean it, Logan. I’m going to melt.”

Logan loosened his hold slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and the faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips. “Guess I’ll have to cool you off, then.”

“Don’t even—” you started, but before you could finish, Logan leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and entirely unfair in its ability to make you forget the heat. When he finally pulled back, his grin was infuriatingly smug.

“Still too hot?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.

You huffed, pushing his chest lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His hand lingered, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone.

Your cheeks warmed, though you blamed it on the heat. “I guess I do.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and genuine, before he flopped back onto his pillow. “Go back to sleep, darlin’. I’ll try not to roast you alive.”

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words. Settling back against him despite the heat, you allowed yourself to relax, his steady presence oddly comforting.

As you drifted off, Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Night, sweetheart.”

---

You could bake and cook, but apparently, your skills weren’t exactly pro level. You huffed as you pulled out the pan of macaron shells, all of which were deflated, cracked, or just… sad. The vision of glossy, perfectly round macarons you'd had in your head? Nowhere to be found.

Logan, who had been lounging at the kitchen table flipping through a newspaper, looked up as you groaned in frustration. “What’s the problem, sweetheart?”

You held up the tray of macaron disasters like a defeated warrior displaying a broken weapon. “This is the problem. They’re supposed to be pretty and fluffy, not—whatever this is.” You gestured to the cracked, flat mess.

He squinted at them, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t see the problem. They’re just cookies, right? Still edible.”

“They’re macarons, not cookies. They’re supposed to be delicate, with perfect little feet and smooth tops. This is a disaster,” you said dramatically, setting the tray down with a sigh.

Logan snorted, setting the newspaper aside. “Darlin’, you’re makin’ a big fuss over somethin’ that’s just gonna get eaten. I mean, they look fine to me.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Fine? They look like they’ve been through a war.”

“Then they’ve got character,” he said, standing and walking over to you. He plucked one off the tray and popped it into his mouth before you could stop him.

“Logan!” you protested. “They’re not ready yet, and they probably taste—”

He raised a hand to silence you, chewing thoughtfully. “Huh. Not bad,” he said with a shrug. “Tastes like sugar.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t help the slight twitch of a smile on your lips. “That’s because it’s basically just sugar and almond flour. But they’re not supposed to just taste good; they’re supposed to look good too.”

Logan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you fuss over the tray. “Seems like a waste of energy, worryin’ about somethin’ like that. Long as they taste good, who cares?”

“You don’t understand,” you said, shaking your head. “This was supposed to be impressive! Like, ‘look, everyone, I can make professional-grade macarons!’ impressive. Not, ‘here, enjoy these sad, sugary pancakes.’”

He laughed at that, the sound low and warm, and you glared at him halfheartedly. “I’m glad my baking failure amuses you.”

"Y/N, I’m serious. They’re fine. Hell, I bet they taste better than anything anyone else around here could make.”

Logan’s hands found your waist, and before you could protest, he effortlessly lifted you onto the counter. A surprised yelp escaped your lips as you steadied yourself, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

“Logan!” You glared at him, though your annoyance was quickly melting under the warmth of his amused grin.

“What?” he asked innocently, leaning one hand on the counter next to you while his other stayed resting lightly on your knee. “Figured this was a good place for a pep talk. Y’know, eye level and all that.”

You shook your head, exasperated but unable to hold back a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said with a small shrug, his smirk softening as he looked at you. “But you’re sittin’ here beatin’ yourself up over somethin’ stupid when you’ve got no reason to.”

“They’re not stupid, Logan. They’re macarons,” you insisted, crossing your arms in mock defiance.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, as he stepped closer. “Y/N, you’re sweatin’ the small stuff. You could burn dinner, and everyone’d still eat it without complainin’—myself included. But these? They’re fine. And you wanna know why?”

“Why?” you asked warily, narrowing your eyes at him.

“’Cause you made ’em,” Logan said simply, his voice quieter now. “You put in the work, and that means somethin’. Might not be perfect, but hell, nothin’ ever is.”

The sincerity in his tone made your cheeks flush. You tried to look away, but his hand was already reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“You’re too nice to me,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not nice,” he said with a smirk. “Just honest.”

Before you could come up with a witty response, Logan leaned in, his lips brushing yours softly. His kiss was unhurried, filled with the same steady warmth that he always seemed to carry. You melted into it, forgetting for a moment about the tray of failed macarons still sitting on the counter.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Still feelin’ like a failure?”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “Maybe a little.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Guess I’ll just have to keep convincin’ you.”

“Logan,” you started, but he didn’t give you a chance to finish. In one swift motion, he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder.

A startled laugh bubbled out of you as you smacked his back lightly. “Logan! Put me down!”

“Not a chance, darlin’,” he said, his tone filled with teasing amusement as he strode toward the door. “You need some fresh air. Maybe if I walk you around a bit, you’ll quit stressin’ over those sugar pancakes.”

“They’re macarons!” you corrected, your laughter echoing through the hallway as he carried you out of the kitchen.

“Whatever they are, they’re fine,” Logan said firmly, his hand resting against the back of your thigh to steady you. “And you’re gonna see that—after I get you outta this mansion for a bit.”

You let out a resigned sigh, though the smile on your face betrayed any attempt at irritation. “Fine. But you’re carrying me back if I don’t feel better.”

“Deal,” he replied, his grin widening as he turned the corner, earning a few amused glances from passing students.

As you hung over his shoulder, your heart felt lighter. Maybe your macarons weren’t perfect, but with Logan by your side, it hardly seemed to matter.

---

You walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying your damp hair as you adjusted the straps of your light blue silk nightgown. It was new—something you had picked up during a recent mall trip with Jean and some of the kids. You weren’t entirely sure what had possessed you to buy it, but Jean had insisted it was ‘perfect’ for summer, and you figured she was probably right. Now, as the smooth fabric clung lightly to your skin, you found yourself feeling just a little self-conscious.

Logan was sprawled on the bed, one leg hanging off the edge, his back propped against the headboard. A notebook was in his hand, and his brow furrowed slightly in concentration as he sketched something on the page. His expression was uncharacteristically relaxed, a rare sight that made your heart clench.

He looked up as you stepped into the room, his gaze lingering for a beat longer than usual. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm. His eyes flicked over you briefly, and though he didn’t comment, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Hey,” you replied softly, padding over to the bed and sitting on the edge near him. You glanced curiously at the notebook in his hand. “What are you working on?”

Logan tilted the book slightly, as if debating whether to show you. “Nothin’ much. Just passin’ the time.”

Your curiosity deepened as you caught a glimpse of pencil strokes and shading. “Can I see?” you asked, tilting your head.

He hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, sure.” He shifted to sit up straighter, his arm brushing yours as he handed you the notebook. “Don’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?” you asked, smiling softly as you took the notebook. Logan adjusted his position, his hands resting lightly on your waist as he guided you onto his lap, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Your back pressed against his chest as you settled in, the notebook resting on your knees.

The first drawing you saw took your breath away. It was a detailed sketch of the mansion’s garden, the shading capturing the way the sunlight filtered through the trees. The perspective was flawless, each flower and blade of grass rendered with care. “Logan, this is amazing,” you murmured, your fingers lightly tracing the edges of the page.

He huffed a quiet laugh against your shoulder. “Didn’t peg me for an artist, huh?”

“I didn’t know you could draw like this,” you admitted, flipping to the next page. This one was a portrait—a student from the mansion, laughing mid-conversation. It was so vivid you almost expected the image to move.

Logan’s hands tightened slightly on your waist as you turned the pages, each one revealing another sketch: Ororo standing by the lake, Jean mid-training, even Scott adjusting his visor. And then you stopped. The next drawing was of you.

It wasn’t posed or polished like the others. It was you caught in an unguarded moment, sitting cross-legged on the mansion steps with a book in your lap. Your hair was loosely tied back, and your glasses perched on the bridge of your nose as you absentmindedly twirled a pen in your fingers. Logan had captured every detail, right down to the faint curve of your lips.

You blinked, unsure what to say, the heat rushing to your cheeks. “You—this is me.”

“Yeah,” Logan said simply, his voice quieter now. “Figured you’d catch on.”

You turned to glance at him, your breath hitching at the way his eyes softened as they met yours. “It’s… beautiful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan smirked, but there was something tender in his expression. “Guess I got the subject right, then.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned back to the sketch, feeling his chin rest lightly on your shoulder. As you flipped through the remaining pages, you caught more glimpses of yourself—small moments you didn’t even realize he’d noticed. Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, laughing at something off-camera, standing by the window as the morning light spilled in. Each one was intimate, raw, and filled with a kind of reverence that left you speechless.

As you paused on another drawing, the strap of your nightgown slipped down your shoulder. Logan’s hand moved almost instinctively, his fingers brushing your skin as he gently slid the strap back into place. The touch was so casual, so natural, that it barely registered—but the warmth lingered.

“Didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Logan said softly, his voice low against your ear.

“You didn’t,” you replied, though your cheeks betrayed you. “I just didn’t realize you… paid attention like this.”

“’Course I do,” he said, his tone gruff but sincere. “You’re worth payin’ attention to, darlin’.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you leaned back against him, letting the quiet reassurance of his presence wash over you. “Thank you,” you said softly, your fingers brushing the edge of the notebook. “For this. For… seeing me.”

Logan pressed a kiss to your temple, his stubble grazing your skin. “Always.”

---

The room hummed with quiet tension as the group gathered in the briefing room. Scott stood at the head of the table, his sharp, no-nonsense demeanor firmly in place as he laid out the mission details. Jean sat beside him, her fingers laced neatly in her lap, while Ororo leaned back in her chair with an air of calm focus. Bobby and Kitty exchanged a few quiet words, their confidence steady despite the high stakes.

Logan sat beside you, his hand resting casually on your thigh under the table. To the others, it probably looked like a typical display of Logan's relaxed attitude—or as relaxed as he ever got. To you, it was anything but casual. His fingers were warm and slightly calloused, a steady presence that grounded you as Scott’s voice went on about tactical points and contingency plans.

“We’re infiltrating a research facility,” Scott said, gesturing to the holographic map projected above the table. “The main goal is retrieving this.” He tapped a button, and the image shifted to a glowing USB drive. “It’s encrypted with data on mutant experiments. We need it to understand what they’re planning. The defenses will be heavy, and we’ll have limited time.”

Scott turned his gaze toward you, and your stomach flipped. “You’ll be in charge of getting the drive. The rest of us will keep the guards distracted. Once you have it, get to the Blackbird as quickly as possible. No detours, no delays. Understood?”

You nodded, twirling the pen in your hand as you absorbed the weight of your task. “Understood.”

Logan shifted beside you. Though he hadn’t said anything yet, you could feel the tension rolling off him. His thumb absentmindedly brushed over the fabric of your pants, a barely-there motion that sent shivers up your spine.

“Good,” Scott continued. “Logan, Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the main group of guards. Bobby and Kitty, you’re with us on crowd control. Everyone stick to the plan.”

As the meeting wrapped up, Logan finally spoke. “You sure she’s going in alone?” His voice was gruff, his eyes fixed on Scott. The unspoken I don’t like this hung heavy in the air.

“She can handle it,” Scott replied without missing a beat. “We wouldn’t assign her this role if she couldn’t.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, his hand squeezed your thigh gently before he pulled it away, as if reminding you that he was there, even if he didn’t agree with the plan.

---

The mission started smoothly. The team split up as planned, with Logan, Scott, Jean, Ororo, Bobby, and Kitty engaging the guards near the facility’s entrance. Meanwhile, you slipped into the building, your footsteps light as you navigated the sterile hallways.

The hum of fluorescent lights and the faint beeping of machinery filled the space. You kept your breathing steady, relying on your time manipulation to slow your perception of movement, giving yourself more control and awareness. It was a skill you’d honed over time, though it still required focus. You reached the central lab and quickly spotted the USB drive Scott had shown during the briefing. It was locked inside a glass case.

“Piece of cake,” you whispered to yourself, pulling out a small device. The gadget made quick work of the lock, and with a soft hiss, the case opened. You grabbed the drive, tucking it securely into the pouch on your belt.

As you turned to leave, you heard footsteps approaching from the hall. Instinctively, you reached out with your powers, halting time in the immediate area. The world around you froze: the footsteps, the hum of lights, even the faint sway of papers on a desk. Moving quickly, you exited the lab, retracing your steps until you reached a side door leading to the facility's exterior. Only then did you release your hold on time, letting it snap back into motion as if nothing had happened.

You broke into a run, heading for the Blackbird as planned. The others would be close behind once they finished with the guards. The night air was cool against your skin as you darted across the open space between the facility and the jet.

---

Logan stood amidst the chaos at the entrance. His claws slashed through another guard as Scott barked orders to hold the line. Jean and Ororo flanked him, their powers keeping waves of reinforcements at bay. It was going fine. Almost too fine.

Until Logan heard voices over the comms—the crackling radio chatter of guards somewhere outside the perimeter, and then the faint sound of footsteps heading toward the Blackbird.

His chest tightened. He didn’t think. He just moved.

"Logan, where the hell are you going?" Scott shouted over the din.

“Something’s off,” Logan growled, already bolting from the fight.

“We’re not done here!” Scott’s voice crackled in Logan’s earpiece, but Logan ripped it out, tossing it aside. He wasn’t going to lose you. Not again.

---

You’d just reached the Blackbird, your hand resting on the ramp control, when Logan appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. His breath came in harsh pants, and his eyes darted around, scanning the tree line for threats.

“Logan?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you lowered your hand. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the team.”

“They were handling it fine,” he said gruffly, his claws still out as he moved to stand in front of you like a shield. "Heard movement. Thought maybe they were gunnin' for you."

You stared at him, your confusion giving way to frustration. “You thought—Logan, I’m fine. The plan worked. I got the drive. I was already here.”

He turned to face you fully, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with a mix of anger and fear. “You think I’m just gonna sit back while you’re out here alone? Anything could’ve happened!”

“I can handle myself,” you shot back, your voice sharp but steady. “That’s why Scott trusted me with this part of the mission. You should’ve stayed with the team.”

Logan took a step closer, his presence overwhelming as always. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Every damn time... I lose you. Every time. And I can’t—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair, the claws retracting with a soft snikt.

Your frustration faltered, replaced by confusion. “What do you mean, ‘every time’? Logan, what are you talking about?”

He looked at you, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes. “I’ve lost you before, Y/N. More times than I can count. Doesn’t matter if it’s this life or another—I lose you. Always. And I can’t go through that again.”

You blinked, your mind reeling. His words didn’t make sense. “Logan—”

The sound of the others approaching cut you off. The rest of the team appeared, battered but victorious, and the moment between you and Logan was shattered. He stepped back, his usual mask sliding into place as he moved to help Scott secure the ramp.

But you couldn’t shake his words. You couldn’t shake the look in his eyes.

---

The flight back to the mansion was quiet and, thankfully, short. As Ororo and Scott expertly landed the jet, Bobby and Kitty were the first off, eager to escape the tension that hung in the air. They exchanged a few hushed words and hurried down the ramp, their footsteps echoing into the still night.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and stood, adjusting your glasses and stretching your legs. Logan was already up, his movements deliberate as he waited for the others to disembark. Jean followed Scott down the ramp, her hand brushing lightly against his arm as they spoke in low voices. Ororo trailed behind them, her gaze calm but perceptive, always attuned to the undercurrents of emotion in the group.

Scott stopped at the base of the ramp, his expression tight as he turned back toward Logan. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice clipped.

Logan leaned casually against one of the seats, his arms crossed. “Sure,” he replied, his tone dismissive. “Later.”

Scott’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he motioned for Jean and Ororo to follow him, and the three disappeared into the mansion, leaving you and Logan alone on the Blackbird.

You stayed near your seat, unsure whether to move or wait. Logan’s gaze flicked toward you, his expression softening as he stepped closer. His hand reached out, fingers brushing your wrist before he wrapped them around it gently.

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You allowed him to lead you to the far corner of the jet, away from the open ramp. Once there, he released your wrist but didn’t step back, his proximity sending a rush of warmth through you.

“What was that back there?” you asked, your voice steady despite the lingering tension. “Why did you leave the team to come after me? I was fine, Logan.”

He didn’t answer right away. His hands rested on his hips, his head bowing slightly as if searching for the right words. Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his tone gruff. “This ain’t just about the mission. It’s about you. I can’t just sit around and hope for the best when you’re out there, Y/N. Not after—” He stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he dragged a hand through his hair.

“Not after what?” you pressed, stepping closer. “Logan, what are you not telling me?”

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face as if weighing whether to pull you into his truth. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he took a step back and leaned against the wall of the jet, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I’ve lost you before,” he admitted, his voice quieter now but no less raw. “Not just once. Over and over. Five times, to be exact.”

You frowned, confusion swirling in your mind. “Lost me? What are you talking about? I’ve only known you for—”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Not in this life. In others. You don’t remember, but I do.” He paused, his hands gripping the edge of the wall as if steadying himself. “Every time, I meet you. Every time, we get close. And every damn time, I lose you. To sickness, accidents, war... something always takes you from me.”

You blinked, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. “That doesn’t make sense. Logan, I don’t—”

“I know it sounds crazy,” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly before softening again. “But it’s the truth. The second I met you here, I knew. I’ve known you in ways I can’t explain. And now that I’ve got you in this life, I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

Your heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice, but it also raced with doubt and confusion. Logan’s words stirred something deep within you—a sense of recognition that you couldn’t explain, like catching the edge of a forgotten dream. But as much as your emotions pulled you toward him, your rational mind resisted.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Logan, I’m not saying you’re lying, but you’re telling me you’ve known me in other lifetimes? That’s not… possible.”

“It’s the truth, darlin’,” Logan said softly, his voice steady despite the weight of his admission. He leaned back against the wall, his posture deceptively relaxed while his eyes never left yours. “You can twist the logic all you want, but I know what I’ve lived through. And I know you.”

You shook your head, your mind racing to reconcile his certainty with everything you understood about the universe. “I’m a scientist, Logan. Time, space, the way life and death work… it doesn’t leave room for things like this.” You paused, searching for the words. “I mean, even if something like reincarnation were possible, how would you remember? How would you—” You stopped yourself, a lump forming in your throat as you thought of the weight he carried in his words. “Why would you remember and not me?”

Logan sighed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t have all the answers. Hell, I don’t even know why my memories are so damn broken, but I know this much: every time I see you, it’s like some part of me snaps into place. Doesn’t matter how the rest of my life’s a blur—you’re the one thing that sticks. You always do.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The sincerity in his tone, the desperation in his eyes—it was undeniable. And yet, your logical mind clung to disbelief.

“What do you remember?” you asked after a long pause, your voice quieter now. “About me? About… us?”

Logan’s jaw worked for a moment as he considered your question. “Everything,” he said finally. “The way you laugh, the way you think too much and then laugh about that. The way you’ve always got your nose in a book or a project that’s way over my head. And the way you look at me—like you see something good in me even when I don’t.”

Your breath hitched, and you pushed your glasses up your nose as you looked away, your cheeks burning. “That’s just how I am,” you mumbled, trying to deflect the heat of his gaze.

“Maybe,” Logan said, his voice softer now, almost tender. “But it’s always you, sweetheart. Doesn’t matter if you’re shy like now or bold like before. You’re still you.”

You hesitated, your mind a storm of contradictions. “If what you’re saying is true,” you said carefully, “then why don’t I remember? Why would I just… forget all of that?”

“I don’t know,” Logan admitted, stepping closer to you. He didn’t touch you this time, but his presence was steady and grounding, like the weight of his hand had been earlier. “But does it matter? You’re here now. And so am I.”

You didn’t know what to say. The logical part of you screamed to question him further, to demand proof or push back against the impossibility of his claims. But another part of you—the part that had always felt an unspoken connection to him, the part that trusted him without question—wanted to believe.

Before you could respond, a distant voice called out from the mansion grounds, cutting through the stillness. Logan’s eyes flicked toward the open ramp of the Blackbird, his jaw tightening briefly before his gaze returned to you.

“We’ll talk more later,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “I’m not lettin’ this go, Y/N. Not this time.”

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the turmoil inside you. Logan lingered a moment longer, his eyes searching yours as if memorizing every detail, before he turned and headed toward the ramp.

You stood there, rooted in place, your thoughts tangled and chaotic. If what Logan said was true, it changed everything. But even if it wasn’t, the weight of his words—and the look in his eyes—told you one thing: Logan wasn’t going to let you slip away. Not now, not ever.

---

That night, you found yourself lingering outside Jean and Scott’s room, hesitant but resolute. You raised a hand to knock, but paused, second-guessing. Before you could lose your nerve, you rapped softly on the door. It opened after a moment, Scott standing there with a questioning look. Behind him, Jean was tidying up near the dresser, her head tilting curiously at the sight of you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Scott said, his tone polite but guarded after the mission. “Everything okay?”

You glanced past him at Jean, then shifted back to Scott. “I was wondering if I could talk to Jean alone for a minute,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Scott’s brow furrowed, but he stepped back with a small nod. “Sure.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the common room,” he told Jean, his tone softening before he passed you a quick glance and exited the room.

Jean came over, her posture open and inviting as she gestured for you to come in. “What’s going on?” she asked, closing the door behind you.

You hesitated for a beat before finding your words. “I just… I needed to talk to someone. About Logan.”

Jean’s eyebrows lifted, her expression curious but understanding. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing for you to take the chair by the desk. “Alright,” she said, her voice calm. “What’s on your mind?”

You sat down, folding your hands tightly in your lap. “He told me something today. Something… huge. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

Jean’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Is it about the mission?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. It’s… personal.” You hesitated, chewing on your lip before continuing. “He said he’s known me before. In other lives.”

Jean blinked, her posture stiffening slightly. “Other lives?”

“Yeah.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “He said we’ve met before—five times. That every time, we…” You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “Every time, I die. And he remembers everything.”

Jean was quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching your face as she processed what you’d said. “And you don’t… remember any of this?” she asked gently.

“No,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. “And I don’t even know if it’s true. But the way he said it, Jean—it wasn’t just some story. It felt real. He believes it.”

Jean nodded slowly, her expression contemplative. “Logan’s been through a lot. And his memories—or the gaps in them—are complicated.” She tilted her head. “Did he say why he remembers you specifically?”

You hesitated, recalling his words on the jet. “He said… I’m the only thing that sticks. That everything else is a blur, but not me.”

Jean’s expression softened, and she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “Y/N, I don’t know if I can explain why Logan feels this way. But I do know he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. If he told you this, it’s because he believes it with everything he has.”

“That’s what scares me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because what if he’s right? What if there’s this… this whole part of me that I don’t even know exists?”

Jean reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Maybe there is. Or maybe this is just Logan’s way of processing his feelings for you. Either way, it doesn’t change who you are right now. You’re Y/N. The person we know, the person Logan clearly…” She trailed off, smiling faintly. “Clearly cares about.”

You looked down, your cheeks burning. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

Jean squeezed your arm gently. “I get that. But you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Just take it one step at a time.”

You nodded, grateful for her steady presence. “Thanks, Jean. I needed this.”

“Anytime,” she said warmly. “And if you need someone to talk to again, I’m here.”

---

Meanwhile, in the common room, Logan sat slouched on the couch, a glass of whiskey resting on the table in front of him. His gaze was fixed on the darkened fireplace, his thoughts far away. He barely registered the sound of the door opening until Charles wheeled into the room.

“You look troubled,” Charles observed, his voice calm but perceptive as always.

Logan didn’t turn, his jaw tightening. “Not in the mood for a lecture, Chuck.”

“I wasn’t planning to give you one,” Charles said, stopping his chair beside the couch. “But I can tell something’s weighing on you.”

Logan huffed out a breath, finally glancing at him. “You ever feel like you’re living the same nightmare on repeat?”

Charles regarded him thoughtfully. “I’ve certainly seen my share of patterns in life. But I suspect you’re referring to something far more personal.”

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s Y/N,” he said finally. “She doesn’t know it, but… I’ve met her before. Five times, in different lives.”

Charles tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “And you remember all of this?”

“Every damn detail,” Logan muttered, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I can’t explain it, but it’s like she’s the one thing I can’t forget. Even after Weapon X, when they wiped everything else—she stuck.”

Charles was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And you told her this?”

Logan nodded, his jaw clenching. “She thinks I’m nuts. Can’t say I blame her.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said gently. “But if what you’re saying is true, then Y/N’s presence in your life may have a purpose beyond what either of you understand.”

Logan let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, if it’s got a purpose, it sure as hell ain’t been kind. Every time I get close to her, I lose her. And I can’t do it again, Charles. I won’t.”

Charles placed a hand on Logan’s arm, his touch steady and grounding. “Whatever the truth may be, you have an opportunity now. She’s here, Logan. Focus on that. Focus on this moment.”

Logan exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping. “Easier said than done.”

Charles smiled faintly. “Perhaps. But you’re not alone in this.”

Logan nodded reluctantly, his gaze returning to the fireless hearth. Despite the weight of his memories and fears, one thought remained constant: he wasn’t letting you go. Not this time.

---

The days after Logan's confession were a strange blend of tension and normalcy. One evening, as the mansion settled into its usual calm, you found yourself wandering outside. The garden was quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the crisp air biting at your skin as you walked aimlessly, your thoughts tangled.

You were startled when Logan's deep voice broke through the quiet. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

You turned to find him leaning against a tree, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was dressed in his usual leather jacket, the faint scent of smoke and pine lingering in the air around him.

“I needed some air,” you said softly.

Logan pushed off the tree, closing the distance between you in a few long strides. “Yeah, well, you know how it gets around here. Safer not to wander too far.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean safer from the squirrels? Or the mutant squirrels?”

That earned you the faintest twitch of a smile. “Both.”

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You looked up at the sky, the stars scattered like glitter across the inky blackness. Logan stood beside you, his gaze fixed on you instead of the view.

Finally, you broke the quiet. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation or destiny or any of that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But… I believe you. I can’t explain why, but I do.”

Logan’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his expression remained guarded. “You don’t have to believe it. Hell, half the time I wish it wasn’t true.”

You turned to face him fully, searching his face. “Why?”

His gaze flicked away, his mouth pressing into a hard line. “Because it’s a curse, Y/N. Every time I get you back, the universe rips you away. I can’t go through it again. I won’t.”

You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… I’m here now. Whatever happened before, it’s not happening now. I’m alive. I’m me.”

His eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling in them—fear, longing, and something deeper, raw and unspoken. “You say that now, but it doesn’t change what’s coming. You don’t know what it’s like to watch someone you—” He cut himself off, his voice breaking.

You reached out, your hand brushing his arm. “Then tell me. Help me understand.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then, without warning, he closed the space between you, his hands gently but firmly gripping your shoulders. His voice was low, almost desperate. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real to me. Everything else gets taken, erased, twisted—but you… You’re the one thing they can’t touch. And I don’t know how to protect you without losing you.”

Your heart ached at his words, the weight of his pain pressing down on you. You covered his hands with yours, grounding him. “Then stop trying to protect me from something that hasn’t happened. Stop living in the past or the future and just… be here with me.”

His grip loosened slightly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “We’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

Logan exhaled a shaky breath, his forehead lowering to rest against yours. “Okay.”

The two of you stood there, the world around you fading into the background. For the first time in a long while, Logan allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.

---

He sat on the edge of the bed, the small jewelry box in his hand open as he looked at the ring he’s had for almost two centuries.

The door to Logan’s room creaked open as you stepped inside, balancing two plates in your hands. The smell of freshly baked lemon scones lingered in the air, and a small smile played on your lips as you made your way over to him.

“Breakfast in bed isn’t your usual thing,” Logan teased, his tone warm as his eyes followed you across the room.

You shrugged, setting the plates down on the bedside table. “First time for everything, right? Besides, I wanted to try making these.”

Logan arched a brow, feigning suspicion. “Scones, huh? What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” you said with a small laugh, sitting down on the bed beside him. “Just a lot of flour, butter, and a very questionable amount of zesting.” His lips twitched, but you caught the way his hand subtly slid into his jacket pocket. You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, leaning over to snag a scone off one of the plates. “These smell good.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicion flickering in your expression, but decided to let it go—for now. “They’re lemon scones. First time making them. I figured I’d test them out on you.”

“Guinea pig, huh?” Logan bit into the scone, chewing thoughtfully. After a moment, he nodded. “Not bad. A little tart, but good.”

Your shoulders relaxed, relief washing over you. “Tart? I thought I added enough sugar…”

“It’s fine, darlin’. I like it.” He smirked, breaking off another piece. “Guess this means I’m stuck with being your taste tester now.”

You grinned, picking up your own scone. “You’ve survived worse.”

Logan chuckled, his laughter low and rumbling, as the two of you ate in comfortable silence. The summer sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. It was a quiet moment, one that felt oddly normal amidst the chaos of life at the mansion.

As you set your plate back on the table, you caught Logan watching you. His gaze was steady, but there was something behind it—an intensity that made your cheeks heat.

“What?” you asked softly, brushing a crumb off your lip.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head with a small smile. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

Logan leaned back, his arm draping across the headboard as he studied you. “How you’re the best part of this place.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “Logan…”

“I mean it.” His voice was quieter now, more serious. “This place, the people—it’s good, but you? You make it feel like home.”

Your face warmed, and you looked down, suddenly shy. “You’re just saying that because I made you scones.”

He reached over, his hand gently tipping your chin up so your eyes met his. “Nah. It’s not the scones.”

The moment lingered, heavy with unspoken words. Logan’s thumb brushed your jaw before he pulled back, clearing his throat. “So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

You blinked, still recovering from the softness of his touch. “Um… I don’t know. I was thinking about working on a project, but…” You hesitated. “It’s summer break. I guess I could take a day off.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a grin. “A whole day off? Guess miracles do happen.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pillow and lightly swatting him with it. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and for a moment, you forgot about the world outside this room. It was just you and Logan, caught in a bubble of warmth and quiet understanding.

But as he reached into his pocket to absently fiddle with the small box, his expression turned thoughtful again. Logan didn’t know how to bring it up—or if he should. All he knew was that someday soon, he’d have to decide. Not if, but when.

---

Your goggles sat on top of your head, the red indent from the frame pressing into your skin as you scribbled furiously in your notebook. Equations sprawled across the pages in a chaotic but purposeful mess. The lab was quiet except for the soft hum of machinery and the faint scratch of your pen against the paper. You were so focused on your work that you didn’t hear Logan come in.

You jumped slightly when you felt his arms wrap around you from behind, his hands resting lightly on your waist. His voice rumbled close to your ear. “You’ve been holed up in here for hours, darlin’.”

“Logan!” you exclaimed, a blush rising to your cheeks. “You scared me.”

His lips curved into a grin against your neck as he pressed a soft kiss to your skin. “Didn’t mean to. What’s got you so wrapped up you didn’t even hear me?”

You relaxed against him, your hands stilling over your notebook. “I’m working on this project—trying to calculate temporal fluctuations in the presence of quantum anomalies. Basically, seeing how external variables could impact time distortion…”

Logan hummed, his lips grazing the side of your neck as he spoke. “Sounds complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated,” you said, your voice picking up with excitement as you began to explain. “The idea is that time manipulation isn’t linear—it’s like... imagine a fabric, but instead of pulling it straight, you twist and fold it. That’s where the anomalies come from. If I can track the changes in—” You cut off with a startled laugh as he kissed the sensitive spot below your ear. “Logan!”

“Keep talkin’,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His arms tightened slightly, swaying the two of you gently side to side. “I’m listenin’.”

Your blush deepened, but you continued, trying to keep your thoughts straight despite the warmth of his lips trailing along your neck. “If I can track the changes in the energy fields… I might be able to stabilize them. Or at least predict when an event could disrupt—Logan!”

He turned you around, his hands still resting on your hips as he gave you a lopsided grin. “You’ve got no idea how good you look in a lab coat, do you?”

Your mouth opened, then closed as you searched for a response. “It’s… just a lab coat.”

Logan chuckled, his hands sliding to rest on the small of your back. “Not the way you wear it, sweetheart.”

You pushed lightly against his chest, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your attempt at indignation. “Are you just here to distract me?”

“Maybe.” His grin softened into something more tender as his eyes held yours. “Or maybe I wanted to see my girl.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the way he said it, so casual but so full of affection. “Well, I’m flattered,” you teased, your voice quieter now. “Even if you’re trying to derail my research.”

Logan leaned down, his forehead brushing yours as his hand came up to cup your cheek. “You’re always workin’ so hard. Someone’s gotta remind you to take a break.”

You softened, your arms looping loosely around his neck. “Is that your job now?”

“Damn right it is,” he murmured before closing the small gap between you and capturing your lips in a kiss. It was slow and deliberate, and when he pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Still wearin’ that cherry lip gloss, huh?”

Your laugh was breathless. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Hard not to,” he admitted, kissing you again, this time deeper, as if he were memorizing the taste. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed over your cheek. “Guess it’s my new favorite.”

Your head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering across your face. “What was your old favorite?”

Logan chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he started to sway the two of you again. “Haven’t had one ‘til now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into him as the tension from your work melted away. Logan always had a way of grounding you, reminding you that life didn’t have to be so complicated all the time. For now, you let yourself forget about time anomalies and equations, losing yourself in the warmth of his embrace and the way his lips brushed against yours again, soft and unhurried.

---

Usually, you were a light sleeper. The smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, the subtle hum of the air conditioner kicking on—would have you stirring. But ever since you and Logan started sleeping in the same bed, whether it was his room or yours, you were out like a light the moment your head hit the pillow. It was as if some part of you instinctively knew you were safe, tucked against his warmth, lulled by the steady rhythm of his breathing.

It gave Logan a chance to test something he'd been thinking about for weeks.

The small velvet box sat on the nightstand on his side of the bed, just out of your line of sight. He had stared at it countless nights, his mind torn between the weight of what it meant and the comfort it brought him. That ring had traveled with him through lifetimes, through hell and back. It was the only constant in his pocket, a piece of the past he hadn’t been able to let go of.

And now, there you were again, lying beside him, so close he could hear your soft, even breaths. The moonlight streaming through the window glinted off your glasses, which sat folded on the bedside table. You looked peaceful, serene. He hated to disturb you, but the thought wouldn’t leave him alone.

He reached over slowly, careful not to jostle the bed, and picked up the box. His fingers hesitated on the lid. This wasn’t a proposal. Not yet. It was just... curiosity.

The lid opened with a soft click, revealing the simple yet elegant band. It had been forged in a different era, but it felt timeless, like you. He carefully pulled the ring out and turned it over in his hand, the faintest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he looked at you.

“Still sleepin’ like a rock,” he murmured under his breath. “Guess that’s new.”

You shifted slightly, your hand sliding out from under the pillow. Logan froze, waiting. When you didn’t stir again, he carefully took your hand, marveling at how delicate it felt in his rough, calloused one.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a pang of something bittersweet pulling at him. He slipped the ring onto your finger, holding his breath as it slid snugly into place.

It fit.

Logan’s chest tightened. It wasn’t just the way the ring looked—though it looked like it had been made for you, shining faintly in the moonlight. It was what it meant. A promise he hadn’t been able to keep five times before.

He lingered for a moment, his thumb brushing over your hand before he carefully slipped the ring off again and placed it back in the box. Closing it, he set it back on the nightstand and leaned down, pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple.

“Soon,” he whispered, his voice rough and low.

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open just enough to catch his face close to yours. "Logan?" you murmured sleepily.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You hummed in contentment, your eyes closing again as you snuggled closer. “Mmm... okay.”

Logan wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against him. For now, he could wait. There was no rush. He just needed to take it one day at a time.

---

The cool summer breeze ruffled your hair as you leaned back against Logan’s shoulder, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. The two of you were perched on the roof of the mansion, a favorite spot for quiet nights away from the chaos of the team. Above, the stars blinked faintly against the dark canvas of the night sky.

You closed Cloud Atlas with a soft thump and set it aside. Logan glanced over from where he was sketching in his notebook.

“Ya done with it?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yeah,” you replied, stretching your legs out in front of you. “It was... alright. Kind of disjointed but interesting.”

Logan chuckled, a sound that sent warmth straight to your chest. “Figures. You and your ‘I have to finish every book I start’ thing, darlin’.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “It’s called commitment, Logan.”

“Uh-huh.” He smirked, setting his notebook down. “Speaking of commitment...” He leaned over, reaching into the small bag he’d brought up to the roof.

You raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a book wrapped in brown paper. “What’s that?”

“Somethin’ you’ve been wantin’,” he said, handing it to you.

Curiosity sparked, you unwrapped it carefully, your eyes lighting up when the title was revealed: The Fabric of the Cosmos: Space, Time, and the Texture of Reality.

“Logan!” you gasped, running your fingers over the cover. “I’ve been looking for this everywhere! How did you—?”

“Course I remembered,” he interrupted smoothly, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t forget somethin’ that makes you light up like that.”

Your cheeks warmed as you ducked your head, shy but unable to hide your smile. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, leaning back and draping an arm over your shoulders. “Go on, crack it open. Figured you’d wanna start it tonight.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Settling against him, you flipped open the book and dove into the first chapter, the world around you fading as the words pulled you in. Logan stayed silent beside you, watching with an easy contentment as you lost yourself in the pages.

Two chapters in, you stopped mid-sentence, frowning slightly as something unexpected caught your eye. Pressed between the pages was a small, folded piece of paper. You glanced at Logan, who looked pointedly at the sky, pretending not to notice.

“What’s this?” you asked, unfolding it carefully.

“No idea,” he replied, his voice too casual.

You raised an eyebrow at him before returning your attention to the note. As you unfolded it, a glint of metal fell onto your lap. Your breath hitched. There, nestled against the fabric of your jeans, was a ring.

It was simple yet beautiful, timeless in design, with a delicate band that caught the starlight. For a moment, all you could do was stare, your mind reeling.

“Logan...” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He shifted beside you, his movements slow and deliberate. When you turned to look at him, his expression was uncharacteristically soft, the usual gruffness in his features replaced by something vulnerable.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice rough but steady. “This ring... it’s been with me for longer than I care to admit. Carried it through lifetimes, through every damn thing life’s thrown at me. And every time, it’s led me back to you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as he reached out, gently taking the ring from your lap.

“I’ve lost you too many times,” he continued, his thumb brushing over the band. “But this time... this time, I’m not lettin’ go. I don’t care what happens, how crazy things get, I want this to stick.”

He reached for your hand, his calloused fingers warm against yours. “So what d’ya say, darlin’? You up for makin’ this official?”

Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, your voice catching in your throat. “Logan... yes. Yes, of course.”

A grin broke across his face, rare and genuine, as he slid the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly.

Without thinking, you launched yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as he held you close. His embrace was solid and unwavering, grounding you even as your emotions threatened to overwhelm.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get here,” he murmured against your hair.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “Me neither,” you admitted, your smile wobbly but radiant. “But I’m glad we did.”

He kissed you then, slow and deliberate, as if sealing a promise. The stars above seemed brighter somehow, the night air warmer. For the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

As the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours. “Guess I don’t need that ring burnin’ a hole in my pocket anymore,” he teased.

You laughed softly, wiping at your eyes. “Guess not.”

Chapter Text

“Do you think we’re missin’ something?” Jean wondered aloud.

Scott didn’t look up from his book, “about what?”

“About Y/N and—”

“Oh, yes. I thought I was the only one,” Ororo said, her tone carrying the faintest hint of amusement as she looked up from her book. She exchanged a knowing glance with Jean, who sat cross-legged on the couch across the room.

“Wait,” Jean said, closing the folder she’d been reviewing. “You’ve noticed it too?”

“Of course,” Ororo replied, leaning back in her chair with a small smirk. “It’s hard not to, the way Logan’s been acting.”

Scott finally looked up from his own book, his brow furrowed. “What are you two going on about?”

Jean rolled her eyes affectionately, setting the folder aside. “Come on, Scott. You must’ve noticed how Logan is with Y/N.”

“Not really,” Scott said with a shrug, earning an incredulous laugh from Jean.

“Men,” Ororo muttered under her breath, shaking her head. “He’s softer around her, more patient. Haven’t you seen the way he looks at her? It’s... different.”

Jean nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s not just that. It’s different than before. When me and Scott went to the store yesterday Logan asked for mango juice and yogurt-covered pretzels. Now who’s the only person we know who even likes those things?”

Ororo’s smirk grew. “Y/N.”

“Exactly,” Jean said, leaning forward. “I’m telling you, something’s shifted. They’ve always been close, but now? It’s like… there’s an extra layer to it.”

Ororo set her book aside, her tone teasing. “I’ve noticed other things too. She asked me for a bunch of yeast and some other ingredients last week—odd things for the lab. Then, two days later, she came by looking flustered, mumbling something about brewing beer. My guess? She’s making it for him.”

Jean grinned. “That sounds like her. She’s so shy about doing anything big, but she puts so much thought into the little things.”

Scott, still sitting with his arms crossed, frowned. “So, what? They’re dating. We all know that.”

“Yes, but this is different,” Jean insisted. “Logan’s been... softer, more relaxed. And Y/N? She’s been letting herself open up more. They’ve always had a connection, but this feels… more serious.”

Ororo nodded. “And the PDA. Don’t get me wrong, they’re not exactly hanging off each other in public, but it’s there. A little more than usual.”

Scott still didn’t look convinced. “I think you’re reading too much into this. Logan’s always been protective of her, and she’s been trying to come out of her shell. That doesn’t mean anything’s changed.”

Jean sighed, exchanging a look with Ororo. “You can be so dense sometimes, Scott.”

“Hey, I’m just saying! Logan’s Logan. He doesn’t strike me as the type to do anything halfway, but I’m not seeing what you two are apparently seeing.”

Ororo shrugged. “Give it time. You’ll notice eventually.”

---

Scott was heading down the main hall when he caught sight of Logan walking toward him. Logan had his usual brisk stride, but the large stack of magazines in his arms gave Scott pause.

“Logan,” Scott called, stepping into his path. “What’s with the reading material?”

Logan slowed to a stop, glancing down at the stack in his arms. Bridal magazines, at least half a dozen of them, with glossy covers featuring elaborate white dresses and floral arrangements.

He barely missed a beat. “For the fire,” Logan said gruffly, his tone so deadpan it took Scott a moment to respond.

“For the fire?” Scott echoed, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah. Fireplace needs kindling,” Logan replied, his expression unreadable as he shifted the magazines under one arm.

Before Scott could press further, Jean approached, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the magazines. “Logan, is that…?”

“Magazines,” Logan cut in, his voice low. “For the fire. Don’t read into it.”

Jean’s lips twitched, barely holding back a smile. “Uh-huh.”

Logan let out a low grunt, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation, and walked off without another word, leaving Jean and Scott standing in the hall.

Jean turned to Scott, her eyebrows raised. “Still think we’re imagining things?”

Scott glanced back at Logan’s retreating figure, the bridal magazines tucked under his arm. “…Okay, maybe something is going on.”

Jean smirked. “Told you.”

---

You rolled out from under the Blackbird with wire cutters laying on your stomach and an electric screwdriver in your hand. “Alright, fixed it. Still don’t know why you couldn’t ask Scott.”

Jean rolled her eyes, “I did. And he said ‘later’. It’s been 4 days.”

You gave her a small smile. “Figures.”

Sliding the wire cutters onto the small tool tray beside you, you sat up, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. Jean crouched down next to you, handing over a clean rag.

“Thanks,” you said, taking it to wipe the faint smudge of grease off your arms.

“Not bad for a physics professor,” Jean teased, her tone warm.

You shrugged, pulling off the gloves with a small tug. “I’ve picked up a few things here and there.”

Ororo, perched nearby with her arms crossed and a bemused expression, added, “If you weren’t so dedicated to teaching, I’d say you might have a future in mechanics.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “I’ll leave the big repairs to Hank. I just know enough to get by.”

As you spoke, you folded the gloves neatly and set them on the tray. That’s when Jean’s eyes caught something—a glint of light on your left hand.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she tilted her head. “Y/N… is that—?”

You glanced at her, confused for a moment, before realizing what had caught her attention. Your engagement ring, a delicate band with an antique setting, was visible now that the gloves were off.

“Oh,” you said softly, instinctively touching the ring with your thumb. A shy smile tugged at your lips.

Jean’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and delight flashing across her face. “Wait a second. When did this happen?”

Ororo stepped closer, her curiosity piqued. “What’s she talking about?”

Jean pointed at your hand. “Look at her ring finger.”

Ororo’s gaze followed, and her eyebrows lifted. “Well, well, well. I didn’t realize we had a bride-to-be among us.”

Your cheeks warmed under their scrutiny. “It’s… recent,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jean’s grin grew as she leaned in, her tone playful. “And by ‘recent,’ you mean…?”

“Two… maybe three weeks,” you said, trying not to squirm under her gaze.

Ororo let out a low whistle. “And you didn’t tell us?”

You looked between the two of them, your fingers fiddling with the ring. “We weren’t keeping it a secret. It just… hasn’t come up.”

Jean crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “Hasn’t come up? You’ve been engaged for weeks, and none of us noticed?”

You bit your lip, feeling a mix of nervousness and amusement. “Well… Logan and I aren’t exactly the ‘big announcement’ type.”

Ororo chuckled. “That, I believe. But still, congratulations are in order. It’s beautiful, Y/N.”

Jean nodded, her eyes softening as she looked at you. “It really is. And it suits you.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing at the ring again. Despite the attention, there was a quiet happiness bubbling inside you.

Jean gave you a knowing look. “So… when were you planning on telling the rest of us? Or were we just supposed to figure it out on our own?”

“I wasn’t sure how to bring it up,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And Logan—well, you know how he is.”

Jean laughed. “Yeah, I can imagine his reaction to a big group toast.” She put on a gruff voice, imitating him. “‘No need to make a fuss.’”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Exactly.”

Ororo smiled warmly, her teasing tone softening. “Well, fuss or no fuss, we’re happy for you. And you better let us know if there’s a wedding date.”

“Of course,” you promised, the warmth in their voices making you feel more at ease.

Jean reached over, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “Congratulations, Y/N. You two deserve this.”

“Thanks,” you said again, this time with more confidence.

Before the conversation could go any further, Logan’s voice carried down the hall. “Darlin’? You done with the jet?”

You turned toward the sound, seeing him leaning casually in the doorway. His usual gruff expression softened as his eyes met yours.

“Yeah, all set,” you called back, standing and brushing off your jeans.

Logan gave a small nod but didn’t move, his gaze lingering on you in that way that made your heart flutter.

Jean smirked, glancing at Ororo. “And there he is.”

“Don’t,” you muttered under your breath, feeling your cheeks flush again.

Ororo laughed softly, but neither she nor Jean said anything more. As you walked toward Logan, you caught the amused glances they exchanged, but you didn’t mind.

Logan met you halfway, his hand resting briefly on your lower back as you joined him. “Ready to head in?”

“Yeah,” you said, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

As the two of you walked away, you could still hear Jean and Ororo chuckling behind you, but Logan didn’t ask, and you didn’t offer an explanation. Some things were just better left between the two of you.

---

“Please?” you said, drawing the word out with an exaggerated pout as you held up the scissors, comb, and spray bottle. Your tone was teasing, but your eyes carried a hopeful glint.

Logan crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. “Darlin’, I’m tellin’ ya, it’s fine. It doesn’t need fixin’.”

You arched a brow, stepping closer. “Logan, it’s summer, and your hair’s gettin’ way too long in the back. I’m not saying you need a whole new look, just a trim.”

He gave a low grunt, clearly unconvinced, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ve been dealin’ with this hair longer than you’ve been alive. It’s manageable.”

“Sure it is,” you said, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “But wouldn’t it be more manageable if it wasn’t sticking out at weird angles?”

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you said sweetly.

He stared at you for a long moment before shaking his head. “Alright, fine. But on one condition.”

Your eyes lit up. “Name it.”

A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. “We do it outside, and you sit on my lap while you’re at it.”

Your cheeks immediately warmed, and you stared at him, wide-eyed. “Logan,” you began, your voice dropping in embarrassment.

“What?” he said with a smirk. “You wanted this, didn’t ya? Gotta make it worth my while.”

You huffed, but your lips quirked up in a small smile despite your best efforts. “Fine,” you said, trying to sound exasperated. “But don’t blame me if you end up with a lopsided cut.”

Logan chuckled, his hand settling on your lower back as he guided you toward the back patio. The warm summer air greeted you as the two of you stepped outside. The mansion’s sprawling yard stretched out around you, the sun casting a golden glow over the lawn and the distant trees.

Logan grabbed one of the sturdy wooden chairs from the patio table and plopped down, spreading his legs slightly as he leaned back with a lazy grin. He patted his thigh. “Hop on.”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby. Though Logan wasn’t shy about showing affection, you were still getting used to moments like this. When the coast was clear, you let out a breath and moved to sit sideways on his lap. He shook his head, catching your waist and turning you so you straddled him instead.

“There,” he said, his voice low and pleased. “Much better.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips as you picked up the spray bottle and gave his hair a quick spritz. He leaned back, his hands resting casually on your hips while you combed through his damp locks.

“You know,” you said, keeping your tone light as you snipped at the ends, “this is kind of nice. Just us, the fresh air…”

Logan’s lips quirked. “Don’t get too used to it, darlin’. This is a one-time deal.”

“Sure it is,” you teased, snipping another section. “I’ll remind you of that next time your hair gets out of control.”

He gave a low chuckle, and you felt his thumb brush lightly against your side. It was such a small, unconscious gesture, but it sent a warm flutter through your chest. You leaned in a little closer, focusing on your task.

“Y/N!” Jean’s voice rang out from somewhere near the house, and your head whipped up in alarm. “Have you seen—oh.”

Jean rounded the corner, her steps slowing as she took in the sight of you perched on Logan’s lap, scissors in hand. Her lips twitched, clearly fighting a grin. “Am I interrupting something?”

You felt your cheeks flame, and you tried to slide off Logan’s lap, but his hands on your hips held you firmly in place. “Jean,” you said, your voice higher-pitched than usual. “I was just… cutting Logan’s hair.”

“Right,” Jean said, crossing her arms and giving you a knowing look. “Because clearly, that’s the only thing happening here.”

Logan, unbothered, smirked up at her. “You need somethin’, Red?”

Jean waved a hand dismissively. “Nope, nothing that can’t wait. Carry on.” She turned to leave but not before shooting you a wink over her shoulder. “Nice technique, Y/N.”

“Jean!” you called after her, but she was already walking away, laughing softly to herself.

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. Logan’s chest rumbled with laughter beneath you.

“Relax, darlin’. Let her have her fun.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, narrowing your eyes. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted with a grin, his hands squeezing your waist gently. “But hey, you wanted to do this, remember?”

You sighed, but a reluctant smile tugged at your lips as you went back to trimming. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Logan said, his voice warm and full of affection.

---

Logan reached his hand out haphazardly to close the bedroom door, the motion almost careless in his urgency. His other hand remained firmly planted on your lower back, guiding you with surprising gentleness as your lips stayed locked.

The click of the door shutting barely registered before he backed you into the wall, his movements smooth and deliberate. You gasped softly against his mouth, one of your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair while the other found its way to the back of his neck.

“Logan,” you murmured breathlessly, breaking the kiss for a moment, your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

“What?” His voice was low, a rough edge of amusement to it as his lips sought yours again. “You’re the one who started this, sweetheart.”

Your laughter bubbled up, light and almost involuntary. “I did not—”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he teased, his hands settling more firmly on your hips. He nipped at your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to look at you, his grin mischievous. “You looked at me like that, darlin’. Don’t blame me for followin’ through.”

A flush spread across your cheeks, but you couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped you as he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss. This one was slower, softer, but still filled with the same electric energy that seemed to hum between the two of you whenever you were close.

You tightened your arms around his shoulders, fingers pressing lightly into his skin. He grunted softly, the sound half amusement, half approval, before his hands slid down to the backs of your thighs.

“C’mere,” he muttered, his voice husky as he gripped you firmly and lifted you effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and he pinned you against the wall more securely, his body pressed warm and solid against yours.

“Logan!” you squeaked, a mix of laughter and surprise in your tone. “You’re gonna drop me.”

He smirked, his lips brushing along your jaw before he kissed the corner of your mouth. “I’ve got you,” he said, his tone low but teasing. “When are you gonna figure that out, huh?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, the lights in the room flickered and then went out completely, plunging everything into sudden darkness.

You gasped softly, instinctively tightening your hold on Logan. “What just—?”

“Power’s out,” he muttered, his tone shifting to mild annoyance. He pulled back just enough for you to feel his breath against your skin. “Perfect timing.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, the absurdity of the situation cutting through the moment’s intensity. “Guess the mansion’s old wiring isn’t built for summer storms.”

“Guess not,” he grumbled, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, smiling despite yourself. “But we might want to move before someone walks in on this.”

He chuckled, his hands still steady beneath you as he adjusted his grip. “I don’t care who walks in. Let ‘em.”

“Logan,” you groaned, but you couldn’t hide the grin in your voice. “Don’t even joke about that.”

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back with a smirk. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you down.”

He set you on your feet gently, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment longer before stepping back. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the playful glint in his eyes.

“Maybe we finish this later,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, biting your lip to suppress another smile. “Maybe.”

As you both moved to find a flashlight, the sound of voices and footsteps echoed faintly down the hall. The chaos of the power outage was clearly drawing everyone out of their rooms, and you shot Logan a knowing look.

“See?” you whispered, smirking. “Someone was bound to walk in.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the small, satisfied smile on his face told you he wasn’t too worried about it.

---

You might’ve gotten a bit carried away looking at magazines instead of working on your research. The lab was quiet, save for the soft hum of equipment, and you’d tucked yourself into a corner with a stack of physics journals. But one wedding magazine Logan had given you sat on top of your pile, its glossy pages begging to be flipped through. Before you knew it, you were lost in images of lace trains and intricate veils, your fingers idly twisting a strand of hair.

“Hmm, wedding dresses?”

Jean’s teasing voice pulled you from your daydream. You jumped, snapping the magazine shut and turning red. “Jean! I—uh, it’s not what it looks like. I was just…taking a break.”

Jean smirked, plucking the magazine from your hands. She flipped it open to a page you’d dog-eared. “Sure, just a break,” she said, her tone laced with playful skepticism. “You’ve already got a few favorites marked. This one’s beautiful,” she added, pointing to a gown with delicate floral embroidery.

You pushed your glasses up nervously. “I mean, yeah, but it’s too soon, right? Logan and I haven’t even set a date yet…”

Jean ignored your protests, holding up the magazine like it was her life’s mission. “Nonsense. Come on, let’s go into town and try some on.”

Your eyes widened. “Try them on? Jean, no—I couldn’t! What if someone sees? What if—”

“Relax,” she said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “It’s summer break, most of the students are gone, and you deserve a little fun. Besides,” her lips quirked in a knowing smile, “Logan gave you this magazine for a reason. You think he’d mind?”

You hesitated, torn between your shy instincts and Jean’s infectious enthusiasm. Finally, you relented. “Fine. But just for fun.”

---

The bridal boutique was a cozy, sunlit space tucked away on a quiet street. Jean wasted no time pulling dresses from the racks while you lingered nervously near the dressing rooms.

“This one,” Jean said, holding up a sleek satin gown, “or this one?” She gestured to a gown with layers of delicate tulle.

“They’re both gorgeous,” you said, shifting on your feet, “but maybe too much for me…”

Jean rolled her eyes. “You’re the bride! There’s no such thing as ‘too much.’ Now, go try these on.”

The first dress was beautiful but too heavy, and the second didn’t quite feel like you. By the third, you found yourself laughing at Jean’s exaggerated commentary.

“Okay, but look at this!” she said, adjusting the train. “You could glide down the aisle like a queen.”

“Jean,” you giggled, shaking your head, “I think I’d trip over this and take Logan down with me.”

After an hour, you still hadn’t found ‘the one,’ but the experience left you feeling lighter. “Thank you,” you said as the two of you walked back to the car. “That was actually…fun.”

Jean grinned. “Told you. And now we know what styles you like. We’ll find it when the time’s right.”

---

Back at the mansion, Logan was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a beer, when you walked in. He raised an eyebrow at your slightly disheveled appearance. “Where’d you two run off to?”

Jean, smirking, answered before you could. “Tried on wedding dresses.” Logan’s gaze immediately snapped to you, and his lips twitched into a small smile. Jean patted your arm. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she said, disappearing down the hall.

You shifted nervously, tugging at your sleeves. “It was her idea,” you blurted out, feeling the need to explain. “I wasn’t—well, I mean, we didn’t find anything. And it’s probably too soon anyway, right? We don’t have a date or a venue or—”

“Darlin’.” Logan’s deep voice cut through your rambling. He stepped closer, his hands gently settling on your arms. “You don’t have to plan every detail right now.”

You looked up at him, your cheeks warm. “But—”

He shook his head, a rare softness in his expression. “I don’t care what you wear or where it happens. Hell, we could go to a courthouse tomorrow and sign the damn papers for all I care.” His voice dipped, quiet and rough with emotion. “I’m just happy I finally get to marry you.”

His words hit you like a wave, their weight sinking in as you stared at him. “Logan…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb gently over your skin. “What matters is you, sweetheart. That’s it.”

Your chest tightened, a mix of overwhelming love and relief bubbling up. You leaned into his touch, a small, teary smile breaking through. “Okay,” you murmured, resting your forehead against his. “I guess I can live with that.”

“Good,” he said, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Because you’re already perfect to me.”

---

This was a mistake.

One big, grand mistake.

Your chest heaved as you bent down with your hands on your knees, sweat dripping down your back. The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the mansion’s gym, but it offered no comfort. You were a mess—hair sticking to your face, glasses fogged up, and your lungs protesting every second of this so-called ‘workout.’

“This,” you panted, glaring at Logan, “was a mistake.”

Logan smirked, unbothered as he stood nearby, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was barely sweating, his usual tank top clinging just enough to show off his ridiculous muscles. “You’re the one who said you wanted to get stronger.”

“I didn’t know you’d try to kill me,” you shot back, collapsing onto a nearby mat. Your legs were jelly, your pride in shambles, and Logan looked way too amused.

He sauntered over, grabbing a towel from the bench. “You’re not dead,” he said casually. “You’re just outta shape.”

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. “You’ve been alive for 100-something-years or whatever. Cut me some slack.”

“That’s not how it works, darlin’.” His voice was teasing, but there was a hint of warmth beneath it. He crouched next to you, the scent of his woodsy cologne mixed with sweat making your stomach flutter. “You gotta keep at it.”

You peeked out from under your arm, watching as he leaned closer. Logan reached out with the towel, gently wiping your forehead. “Thanks,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating from more than just exertion.

He didn’t stop there. The towel traveled down to your neck, then lower, dabbing at the sweat gathering at your collarbone. You tried not to squirm, but when he moved to the beginnings of your cleavage with a cheeky smirk, you slapped his hand away.

“Logan!” you hissed, sitting up abruptly, your face now definitely on fire.

“What?” he asked, his expression the picture of innocence. “Just helpin’ out.”

You glared at him, but the effect was ruined by the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’re impossible.”

He shrugged, tossing the towel over his shoulder and standing up. “Yeah, but you love me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t argue with that. “I’m never working out with you again,” you grumbled as you stood, wobbling slightly.

“Sure you are.” Logan’s hand shot out to steady you, his grip firm but gentle. “You just need the right motivation.”

“And what’s that supposed to be?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that always made your heart skip. “Maybe I’ll tell ya if you survive the next session.”

You groaned, pushing past him toward the water cooler. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he called after you, his laughter echoing in the gym. “You love me, remember?”

You muttered something under your breath that made him chuckle even harder, but despite your protests, you couldn’t stop the small smile from forming as you took a long sip of water. Maybe—just maybe—you’d let him drag you back here again. But next time, you were bringing Jean for backup.

---

“How did venue hunting go?” Jean asked, walking into the foyer where you and Logan just entered.

You let out a huff as you took off your jacket, your purse and notebook in Logan’s hands. He responded for you, “none of ‘em fit her standards.”

The jacket was draped over your arm as you snatched the notebook out of Logan’s hands. “They’re not high standards,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

Logan shrugged, clearly unimpressed. “Looked like every venue had a list of what they didn’t have instead of what they did.”

“That’s not true!” You flipped open the notebook, pages filled with scribbles, sticky notes, and circled bullet points. “I just want a place that works for everyone. Is that too much to ask?”

Jean smirked from where she leaned against the foyer wall. “Define ‘works for everyone.’”

You gestured with the notebook, tapping on your list. “It has to be wheelchair accessible for Charles. Child-friendly because the students will want to attend. Not too stuffy, so Logan doesn’t feel out of place—”

“Darlin’, I’m out of place everywhere,” Logan cut in with a smirk.

You ignored him, continuing, “And not too far from the mansion so the team can help in case of emergencies. Oh, and it has to have enough space for dancing, good acoustics, a separate area for food—”

“You’re planning a wedding or a state summit?” Logan teased.

Jean stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying the exchange. “She’s just thorough, Logan. You should’ve seen her face when one venue didn’t have a backup generator.”

“Backup generator? For a wedding?” Logan raised an eyebrow at you.

“Have you met us?” you shot back. “I’m not risking a power outage in the middle of the first dance.”

Jean laughed outright this time, shaking her head. “I think you’ve got your work cut out for you, Logan.”

“I always do,” Logan muttered under his breath, smirking when you swatted his arm.

“Don’t act like you’re suffering,” you said, rolling your eyes as you headed toward the living room. Logan followed, still grinning. Jean waved you off with a knowing smile before disappearing toward the kitchen.

---

A few days later, you sat cross-legged on the couch in the mansion’s common area, surrounded by more open notebooks and wedding magazines. The team buzzed around you as usual, some heading out for training while others settled in for their break. Logan strolled in, a beer in hand, and plopped down beside you.

“Still at it?” he asked, glancing at the scattered mess.

You sighed, closing one of the notebooks with a soft thud. “We’re not getting anywhere. Nothing feels right.”

Logan leaned back, taking a swig of his beer. “Then stop lookin’ so hard.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered. “You’re not the one trying to make sure everyone’s happy.”

“Darlin’, nobody cares where it happens. They care about you.” His tone softened as he reached over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hell, we could do it right here, and it’d still be perfect.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Here? At the mansion?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug. “Big lawn, plenty of space, and it’s already home for most of us.”

You hesitated, glancing around the room. “It’s… not the worst idea.”

“‘Not the worst’ is high praise coming from you,” Logan teased, earning him a half-hearted glare.

“I just mean…” You bit your lip, considering it. “Who would even decorate?”

At that moment, Rogue walked by, arms full of laundry. Logan raised his voice without missing a beat. “Hey, Rogue! You feel like decorating for a wedding?”

Rogue paused, glancing between the two of you. “Uh… sure? What kinda wedding?”

Logan smirked, gesturing toward you. “Ours.”

Her face lit up. “Oh my God! Yeah, totally! I’ll get Kitty and Jubilee to help. We’ll make it look amazing.”

You blinked, overwhelmed by how quickly she agreed. “Wait—are you sure?”

“Course I’m sure!” Rogue said, beaming. “This is gonna be fun.”

As she hurried off, Logan leaned closer, his smirk widening. “See? Problem solved.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” he said, pulling you into his side.

You didn’t bother arguing. Instead, you rested your head on his shoulder, letting yourself imagine it: the mansion’s lawn, your friends and family, and Logan waiting for you at the end of the aisle. For the first time in weeks, the thought of your wedding didn’t feel overwhelming—it felt like home.

---

This was officially your third time going wedding dress shopping, and this time Ororo had tagged along with Jean, who had practically dragged you out of the mansion with a determined look in her eyes. The three of you entered the boutique, greeted by racks of pristine white fabric, sparkling embellishments, and soft lighting that screamed bridal fantasy.

You adjusted your glasses nervously, clutching your notebook against your chest as Jean grinned at you. “This is it,” she said confidently. “Third time’s the charm.”

Ororo gave you a calm, reassuring smile. “No pressure, Y/N. Let’s just have fun with it.”

You exhaled a little laugh. “Easier said than done. Every dress I’ve tried on feels…wrong.”

Jean looped her arm through yours. “That’s because you’re overthinking it. Trust me, when you find the one, you’ll just know.”

The three of you wandered through the racks, pulling out dresses and debating the merits of lace versus satin, mermaid cuts versus A-line. Jean’s enthusiasm was contagious, and even Ororo—usually so composed—couldn’t resist chiming in with the occasional suggestion.

“I think Logan would like something simple,” Ororo said, holding up a sleek gown with minimal embellishments.

Jean snorted. “Logan would think she’s perfect in anything. He’d probably prefer she showed up in her lab coat.”

You flushed at the thought, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He’s… not that bad.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “Y/N, he kissed you in front of half the team last week just because you brought him a sandwich.”

“That was not—it was just a kiss on the cheek!” you protested, but your voice wavered.

Ororo chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “A lingering kiss on the cheek. We all saw it.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I’m going to die of embarrassment before this wedding even happens.”

Jean patted your shoulder. “If you survive Logan’s public displays of affection, you’ll survive anything.”

The teasing made you relax a little, and you found yourself smiling as the three of you continued browsing. Eventually, the shop assistant approached, her cheerful demeanor instantly putting you at ease.

“Looking for something specific?” she asked.

You hesitated. “Not really. I just…want something that feels like me.”

She nodded knowingly and began pulling a few options. One by one, you tried them on, stepping out to show Jean and Ororo each time. They offered their opinions—Jean was quick with compliments, while Ororo provided thoughtful feedback—but none of the dresses felt quite right.

Until the assistant brought out a gown you hadn’t noticed before.

It was displayed at the back of the boutique, almost tucked away as if it were waiting for someone to find it. The assistant carefully removed it from the rack and carried it over to you with a soft smile.

“This one just came in,” she explained, holding it up. The gown was breathtaking: an off-shoulder silhouette with intricate lace detailing across the bodice and delicate long sleeves. The fabric flowed into a soft, sheer train, giving it an ethereal, timeless feel.

Your breath hitched. “It’s beautiful.”

Jean’s eyes widened as she took in the dress. “Y/N, you have to try that on.”

Even Ororo, usually more reserved with her reactions, gave an approving nod. “It’s stunning. I think it might be the one.”

You hesitated, running your fingers over the delicate lace. “What if it doesn’t fit?”

Jean rolled her eyes, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward the dressing room. “That’s what fittings are for. Go try it on. Now.”

The assistant ushered you into the dressing room, helping you into the gown. The fabric was soft against your skin, and as she adjusted the zipper, you caught your reflection in the mirror. For the first time, you felt… right.

“Ready?” the assistant asked with a knowing smile.

You nodded, stepping out tentatively. Jean and Ororo were mid-conversation but stopped as soon as they saw you.

“Oh. My. God,” Jean whispered, standing up. “Y/N, you look—wow.”

Ororo smiled warmly. “It’s perfect.”

You turned toward the mirror at the end of the room, your heart racing as you took in the sight. The dress hugged you in all the right places, the off-shoulder design framing your collarbones elegantly. The lace sleeves felt delicate but strong, and the train flowed behind you like a whisper.

“Do you think Logan will like it?” you asked softly, fidgeting with the edge of the lace.

Jean laughed, stepping beside you. “Y/N, Logan would probably think you look perfect in a potato sack. But this? He’s going to lose his mind.”

Ororo tilted her head, considering. “It suits you. It’s elegant but understated. Timeless.”

You blinked back the sudden sting of tears, overwhelmed by how right it felt. “I think… this is it.”

Jean grinned, squeezing your hand. “Finally! I told you third time’s the charm.”

The assistant beamed. “I’ll get the paperwork started and schedule a fitting to tailor it to perfection.”

As she walked away, Jean leaned closer, a mischievous glint in her eye. “So, how long do you think it’ll take Logan to rip this off you after the wedding?”

“Jean!” you squeaked, your cheeks flushing.

Ororo chuckled, shaking her head. “Some things never change.”

You buried your face in your hands, muttering, “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you love us,” Jean teased, looping her arm through yours. “And because you knew we’d find you the perfect dress. Which we did.”

You couldn’t argue with that. For the first time since you’d started planning the wedding, you felt a sense of peace. This was happening. This was real. And you couldn’t wait to walk down the aisle and see Logan’s face when he saw you in this dress.

---

Later that evening, you were back at the mansion, lounging on the couch in the common room with a cup of tea. The dress was safely tucked away, but the memory of it lingered, making you smile softly to yourself.

Logan strolled in, fresh from a workout, a towel slung over his shoulder. He spotted you immediately, his brow quirking at your dreamy expression.

“What’s got you smilin’ like that, sweetheart?” he asked, dropping down onto the couch beside you.

You shook your head, trying to hide your grin. “Nothing.”

He gave you a look, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Nothin’, huh? That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

You rolled your eyes, but your blush gave you away. “Fine. I found the dress.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back, taking a long look at you. “Yeah? You happy with it?”

You nodded, the smile returning. “I think so. It feels… perfect.”

His expression softened, and he reached over, brushing a thumb along your cheek. “Good. That’s all that matters.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the hum of the mansion in the background. Logan’s hand found yours, his rough fingers threading through yours gently.

“You’re sure you’re okay with the mansion for the wedding?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He chuckled. “Darlin’, as long as you’re the one walkin’ toward me, I don’t care if it’s in a field, a church, or a damn parking lot.”

You laughed softly, leaning into his side. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Hold me to whatever you want,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And in that moment, surrounded by the comfort of Logan’s presence and the thought of your future together, you couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

---

It was three weeks away from the start of the new school year when the wedding took place. At first, you were checking on everyone—Rogue to make sure that her, Kitty, and Jubilee were making progress with the decorations outside, and on Scott and Hank who were somehow tasked with food.

At least, until Logan noticed and locked you in the makeshift bridal suite.

Jean was laughing as she turned the key in the lock, leaning against the door while you protested from the other side. “This is for your own good, Y/N! You need to relax. Everything’s under control.”

“Jean!” you called, rattling the doorknob, though your voice lacked any real anger. “I just want to check on the decorations one more time!”

“Nope,” Jean replied cheerfully through the door. “Logan’s orders. He said, and I quote, ‘she’s gonna drive herself crazy. Lock her in if you have to.’”

You groaned, leaning your forehead against the door. “I’m not crazy.”

Jean’s voice softened. “Y/N, everything’s perfect. Trust us, okay? You’ve done enough. Now let us take care of the rest.”

Ororo’s calm voice chimed in from somewhere in the room. “She’s right, you know. The decorations look beautiful. Jubilee and Kitty outdid themselves. And Scott and Hank are handling the food just fine.”

You sighed, finally stepping away from the door. “Fine. But only because I’m outnumbered.”

Jean unlocked the door and peeked her head in, grinning. “That’s the spirit.” She stepped inside, followed by Ororo, who carried a garment bag carefully over her arm. “Now, let’s focus on the fun part: getting you ready.”

You couldn’t help but smile as Ororo unzipped the bag, revealing your wedding dress. The sight of it still took your breath away. The off-shoulder gown with intricate lace detailing and long sleeves was everything you’d dreamed of, and you felt a little thrill of excitement knowing you’d soon be wearing it.

Jean gestured for you to sit down in front of the vanity, where she had already laid out an array of makeup and hair tools. “Okay, here’s the plan: Ororo’s on hair, and I’ll handle your makeup. By the time we’re done, Logan’s gonna lose his mind.”

You laughed softly, settling into the chair. “He’d better not. I don’t want him passing out before the ceremony.”

Ororo chuckled as she began gently brushing through your hair. “I think Logan’s been ready for this day since the moment he met you.”

Jean smiled warmly, her hands deftly organizing the makeup. “He really has. It’s sweet, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy.”

Your cheeks flushed at their words, but you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through your chest. Logan had been a constant in your life, his gruff exterior hiding a heart that had always been devoted to you. The thought of him waiting for you at the end of the aisle made your nerves fade, replaced by anticipation.

“Okay, close your eyes,” Jean instructed, and you obeyed, letting her work her magic. The soft strokes of the brush and the hum of conversation between her and Ororo were soothing, and for the first time all day, you felt yourself relaxing.

By the time they were finished, you barely recognized yourself in the mirror. Your hair was styled in soft waves, pinned delicately to one side with small, sparkling clips. Jean’s makeup was subtle but elegant, enhancing your features without overwhelming them. You looked… radiant.

“Wow,” you breathed, turning your head slightly to take it all in. “You two are amazing.”

Jean grinned, squeezing your shoulder. “We aim to please.”

Ororo helped you into your dress, carefully fastening the buttons along the back. Once the gown was in place, she stepped back, her smile warm and approving. “You’re ready, Y/N.”

You turned to face the full-length mirror, your breath catching at the sight. The dress fit perfectly, the lace shimmering softly in the light. It was everything you’d hoped for and more.

Jean wiped at the corner of her eye dramatically. “I’m not crying. You’re crying.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Thank you, both of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Ororo placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “That’s what friends are for.”

There was a knock at the door, and Rogue’s voice called out. “Y/N? It’s time.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Jean and Ororo exchanged excited smiles. Ororo grabbed your bouquet, a beautiful arrangement of white roses and greenery, and handed it to you. “Let’s get you married.”

The three of you made your way downstairs, the sound of soft music drifting through the mansion. The transformation of the lawn was breathtaking. Rows of chairs lined the grass, adorned with white ribbons and small floral arrangements. An archway covered in more roses stood at the end of the aisle, with Charles waiting beneath it, his wheelchair positioned just so.

And there, standing at the end of the aisle, was Logan. Dressed in a sharp black suit, he looked both rugged and unbearably handsome, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He looked as though nothing else in the world existed but you.

Jean gave your hand a squeeze before stepping aside to join Scott, and Ororo took her place with the other bridesmaids. Rogue beamed at you as she adjusted your train one last time. “Go get him, girl.”

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around your bouquet, and then you began to walk. The world seemed to blur around you, the murmurs of the guests fading into the background as Logan’s gaze held yours. Every step brought you closer to him, to the life you were about to begin together.

When you reached the end of the aisle, Logan took your hand, his grip warm and steady. He leaned in slightly, his voice low but filled with emotion. “You’re beautiful, darlin’.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Logan’s mouth quirked into a soft smirk, but there was an unmistakable warmth in his eyes. “Didn’t want to embarrass you, darlin’. Figured I’d at least try to look the part.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the nerves melt away now that you were standing in front of him. “You look perfect.”

Logan reached up, his hand brushing lightly over yours where you gripped the bouquet. “Not as perfect as you.”

Before you could respond, Charles cleared his throat gently, his voice calm but filled with quiet authority. “Shall we begin?”

Logan’s hand tightened just slightly on yours as you both turned toward Charles, who was seated in his wheelchair beneath the archway. Behind him, the soft rustling of leaves and the faint hum of summer added a serene backdrop to the moment.

Charles’s expression was serene as he looked between you and Logan. “Today is a celebration—not only of love but of the journey that brought these two together. A journey that, I suspect, was not without its share of challenges.” His eyes twinkled with a hint of knowing, though he didn’t elaborate. “Yet here you stand, hand in hand, ready to face the future together.”

Logan’s thumb rubbed gently over the back of your hand, a quiet reassurance. You glanced up at him and found his gaze still fixed on you, steady and unshakable. It was as if the entire world could collapse around you, and Logan wouldn’t notice or care as long as you were by his side.

Charles continued, his tone gentle and deliberate. “Marriage is not just a bond but a partnership. It is built on trust, respect, and an unyielding commitment to each other. And, knowing the two of you as I do, I have no doubt that your bond is as strong as the adamantium in Logan’s skeleton.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from the guests, even Logan’s lips twitching into a smirk. You felt the corners of your mouth lift too, though your heart was pounding in your chest. Charles’s words resonated deeply, a reminder of everything you and Logan had been through to reach this moment.

Charles’s gaze softened as he addressed Logan. “Logan, do you take Y/N to be your wife? To stand by her side through every challenge, to share in her joys, and to love her fiercely for as long as you live?”

Logan didn’t hesitate for a second. “I do.”

The firmness in his voice sent a shiver through you. There was no doubt, no reservation—just pure, unwavering certainty.

Charles turned his attention to you, his expression kind. “And Y/N, do you take Logan to be your husband? To stand by his side through every challenge, to share in his joys, and to love him fiercely for as long as you live?”

Your voice came out soft but steady, the words carrying every ounce of truth you felt. “I do.”

Charles nodded, his hands resting on the arms of his wheelchair. “By the power vested in me and with the love and support of everyone here, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Logan, you may kiss the bride.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and filled with passion. The cheers and applause from the guests barely registered as you melted into him, the world fading away until it was just the two of you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice low and gruff but filled with emotion. “We did it, sweetheart.”

You smiled, your fingers brushing over the lapels of his suit jacket. “We did.”

The applause grew louder as Logan took your hand, turning to face the guests. You caught sight of Jean wiping her eyes dramatically, grinning as Scott shook his head in amusement. Ororo and Rogue both looked radiant, their smiles wide as they joined the applause.

As the two of you made your way down the aisle, Logan’s hand never left yours, his grip steady and reassuring. The world felt brighter, lighter, as if every piece had finally fallen into place. You were married.

---

You walked with your eyes closed, your fingers intertwined with Logan's as he guided you through the bustling streets of Paris. The sounds of the city surrounded you—the distant hum of cars, the chatter of people, and the occasional soft clink of a café cup—but it all felt muffled, as if the world was holding its breath for the moment you’d finally open your eyes.

Logan’s grip on your hand was steady, comforting. It was an anchor, reminding you that this moment, this moment with him, was real. His voice, gruff yet affectionate, came from just above you. “Just a little bit further, darlin’,” he murmured. “Trust me.”

“Logan, this better not be some kind of elaborate prank,” you joked, trying to suppress your smile. “You know how easily I get nervous when I don’t know what’s going on.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm in your chest. “No pranks. Just wait, you’ll see. You’re gonna love it.”

You had no idea where you were going or what he had planned. It was just you and him, alone in the magic of Paris. You’d never been this far from the mansion before, and the city felt like a whole new world, full of promise and adventure.

The air smelled different here, cleaner somehow, and there was a faint coolness to the evening breeze. You could hear the distant sounds of tourists and Parisians going about their evening, but it all felt so far away as Logan led you further down the sidewalk.

Finally, Logan stopped walking. You could sense the change in his posture, a subtle shift in how he held you.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, his voice lowering to a more serious tone. “Open your eyes.”

You hesitated for a moment before slowly lifting your eyelids, the city’s lights momentarily blinding you as you adjusted. And then—there it was.

The Eiffel Tower. Towering before you, it glittered with thousands of lights, shining bright against the darkening sky. But it wasn’t just the Eiffel Tower that took your breath away. Above it, the sky was painted with the vivid greens, purples, and blues of the Northern Lights.

You gasped, your eyes darting between the two spectacular sights before landing on Logan. “Logan… how… how did you know this was happening? The Northern Lights don’t usually appear in the summer…”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Guess I know a few things about the world you don’t, darlin’.” He paused, taking in your stunned expression. “I might’ve had a little help, but I wanted tonight to be perfect for you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “This… this is perfect,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away from the sky. “I can’t believe you knew this was going to happen.”

Logan shrugged casually, though his expression softened as he took a step closer. “I don’t know about the stars aligning, but I know how much you love the idea of things being right when they happen. Couldn’t let you miss this.” He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I wanted you to see this. To know that, no matter what, there’s beauty in this world that’s meant for you.”

You stood there in stunned silence, the weight of his words settling in your chest. You had never imagined a moment like this—not with Logan, not in a city like this. He had this way of surprising you, of pulling something beautiful out of thin air when you least expected it. The man who had been your constant across so many lifetimes, always there, always remembering you when you had no memory of your past lives… and now, here he was, giving you a memory of your own.

You finally looked up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’m so glad I’m here with you.”

Logan’s lips quirked up, the corners of his mouth softening. “You deserve everything, sweetheart,” he said, his hand finding yours again. “Everything and more.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch seep through your skin. The world around you seemed to slow, as though the Northern Lights had wrapped the two of you in a blanket of time. Here, in Paris, standing beneath the Eiffel Tower with Logan beside you, you felt like maybe—just maybe—this life would be different. Maybe this time, there would be no goodbyes.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words feeling lighter than they ever had before.

Logan’s expression softened even more, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I love you, too. More than anything.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his voice low and steady. “You’re my everything, darlin’.”

The stars twinkled above you, and the Northern Lights danced in the sky, but in that moment, all you could see was Logan. His warmth. His presence. His unwavering certainty that you were meant to be together.

---

You scrunched your nose at the sky, the rain falling steadily as it soaked into the streets of Paris. The rhythm of the downpour created a gentle symphony against the canopy above you, and though the evening had been filled with so much warmth, the weather had shifted unexpectedly. But, despite the rain, Logan’s hand remained steady in yours, and the storm outside couldn’t quite dampen the mood between you.

Logan turned toward you, a hint of mischief playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Want to run through the rain, sweetheart?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Run through the rain?”

Logan's smile spread, and he raised an eyebrow at you. “Yeah, sweetheart. What’s the worst that could happen? We get a little wet? Besides, you look great when you’re soaked.” His voice was playful, and there was a lightness to it that made you laugh again.

You glanced at the rain, the droplets now beginning to fall harder, streaking down the cobblestones of the Parisian street. It wasn’t the kind of weather you had imagined, but somehow, with Logan beside you, it felt like the perfect opportunity to break from the ordinary.

You shrugged, a smile creeping onto your face. “I guess if you can handle it, then I can too.” You squeezed his hand, trying to act more confident than you felt. After all, it wasn’t every day that you got to be in Paris, on your honeymoon, with Logan by your side.

Logan’s grin turned into something softer, and his fingers tightened around yours as he pulled you closer. “You sure about that? We can always head back to the hotel,” he said, his voice low, the warmth of it settling around you.

“No way,” you replied quickly, your tone more playful now. “Let’s do it. Just try to keep up.”

Logan chuckled under his breath and nodded, his eyes lighting up with that mischievous spark that had always drawn you in. “Alright, sweetheart. Here we go.”

Before you could take a step, he tugged you gently toward him, and in one swift motion, he was off, pulling you with him. You laughed, the sound mingling with the soft patter of rain against the street, as you ran beside him through the warm summer rain. The water splashed at your feet, your clothes quickly soaking through, but it felt like freedom—like this moment was just for the two of you.

Logan’s laughter echoed in your ears as you both sprinted down the street, the Parisian cityscape around you a blur. You felt lighter than you had in weeks, months, maybe even years. Everything was perfect. For the first time, you didn’t have to worry about the past or what the future might bring. You only had the here and now, and Logan, the one constant in your life.

Eventually, you both slowed to a stop, your breathing heavy but your hearts light. You couldn’t help but smile at Logan, who was grinning, his hair slightly damp and his shirt clinging to his chest in the most endearing way.

“That was... definitely worth it,” you said, breathless, your voice filled with amusement.

Logan caught his breath too and wiped the water from his forehead. “Told you you’d love it,” he replied, his voice softer now. He stepped toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and before you could say anything else, he cupped your face with one hand, pulling you toward him.

His kiss was slow, tender, a contrast to the spontaneity of your run. The world seemed to stop in that moment, the sounds of the rain, the city, all fading away as you kissed him back, feeling the warmth of his lips against yours. There was something magical about it—about how he always knew how to make you feel special, even in the most unexpected moments.

When you finally pulled back, you both stood there, laughing quietly, your fingers still interlaced. “Okay, now I’m soaked,” you said, your smile never fading.

Logan chuckled, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand. “Doesn’t matter. You look beautiful either way,” he said, his voice gruff but affectionate.

You shook your head, but the smile on your face grew wider. “You’re impossible,” you teased, though the warmth of his words made your heart swell. “But I guess I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk never leaving his lips. “Good. I’ve got a few more surprises up my sleeve, darlin’. Just wait.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. “I’m starting to wonder if I should be worried.”

Logan pulled you closer again, his hand resting on the small of your back, his thumb gently tracing circles. “Trust me, sweetheart. No need to worry about anything. It’s just you and me. Always.” His words, soft and certain, settled in your chest like a promise.

For a moment, you closed your eyes, letting the sound of the rain and his steady presence wash over you. The night had become everything you’d dreamed of and more. There would be no worries, no regrets—not as long as Logan was by your side.

Finally, Logan broke the silence with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what do you say? You wanna keep running through the rain, or should we head back to the hotel and dry off?”

You glanced at him, your heart racing from both the run and the way he made you feel. “I think I’m ready for a change of pace,” you said, your voice soft, almost teasing. “But don’t think I’ll forget this.”

He chuckled again, his hand slipping into yours as he led the way back toward the hotel, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as the two of you walked together, side by side, under the Parisian night sky.

Chapter Text

“When two particles interact, they become linked, no matter how far apart they are. Changing one affects the other instantaneously, faster than light…”

Your voice faltered as you glanced at Logan, who sat at one of the desks, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with a small, amused smile. He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he adored you. You could practically feel it radiating off of him.

You froze mid-step, letting out a soft sigh. “This isn’t going to work,” you said, taking off your glasses and rubbing the bridge of your nose.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What’s not gonna work, sweetheart?”

“This,” you gestured toward him, exasperated but fond. “You’re looking at me like my husband, not a bored college student who probably only showed up because there’s free food after the lecture. How am I supposed to practice if you’re just… swooning at me?”

Logan leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Swooning, huh? Don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of that before.”

You crossed your arms, trying to appear stern, but the warmth in his gaze made it impossible. “I’m serious, Logan. I need honest feedback, not… whatever this is.”

Pushing himself up from the chair, Logan walked toward you, his hands finding your waist as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Alright, darlin’. Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll make it more realistic for you.”

“Logan—” you started to protest, but he was already heading toward the door, a sly grin on his face.

When he returned, you were taken aback. Logan had enlisted some of the younger students—Rogue, Bobby, and Kitty, among others—and had them seated in the classroom. To keep things authentic, he had provided them with snacks and, you suspected, strict instructions to act as uninterested and distracted as possible. Rogue was already doodling on her notebook, Kitty was whispering something to Bobby, and Jubilee was tapping her pen loudly on the desk.

You frowned, looking at Logan as he leaned casually against the wall near the door. “You know I already teach them, right? This isn’t exactly a new audience.”

Logan shrugged, that trademark smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, but they’re good at actin’ like they don’t care. Go on. You’ve got this.”

Rolling your eyes, you adjusted your glasses and turned back to face the room. The students quieted down a little, though their expressions remained deliberately bored. With a deep breath, you launched back into your explanation, this time ignoring Logan’s soft chuckles in the background.

---

Later that evening, after the impromptu lecture had ended and Logan had dismissed the students, you found yourself in the library, curled up in one of the oversized chairs with a book. Logan entered quietly, his presence impossible to miss as he sat down on the arm of your chair.

“You did great, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You glanced up at him, a small smile on your lips. “You think so?”

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “I know so. You’re brilliant. Just had to make sure you believed it.”

Feeling a little less shy, you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Thank you, Logan. For always believing in me.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Always, darlin’.”

For a moment, the world seemed to still, and it was just the two of you, together in the quiet.

---

“Well, if there are no more questions…” Robert, one of the faculty at Stanford, looked out into the audience, giving a polite nod toward the murmuring crowd. “Alright, thank you, Mrs. Howlett, for coming all this way for us.”

The room began to stir as students shuffled in their seats, gathering their belongings. A few polite claps echoed, mingling with the hushed sounds of conversation. “There are some food and drinks out in the hall if you’d—ah, no point,” Robert trailed off as half the students ignored him, funneling toward the exit.

You stood by the podium, your heart still racing slightly from the presentation. Public speaking wasn’t your forte, but Stanford was your alma mater, and you’d been determined to deliver a polished talk. From your vantage point, you spotted Logan lingering near the back, his arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t bother to hide the pride in his expression.

As the room emptied, Logan made his way toward you. His heavy boots echoed in the quieting auditorium, his presence grounding as always. “Told ya it’d go fine,” he said as he stopped in front of you.

You smiled, still a little flustered. “Yeah, well… you’re biased.”

Logan snorted. “Sure. But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a surprising gentleness. “Proud of you, darlin’. Bet half of them couldn’t keep up, but that’s their loss.”

Rolling your eyes, you adjusted your glasses. “Thanks, Logan. That was—”

“—adorable? Endearing? Downright brilliant?” he offered, smirking.

“Not what I was going to say,” you replied with a laugh, shoving his arm lightly. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He stepped aside to let you lead the way, trailing comfortably behind you. Once outside, you were both met with the sharp, sunny California afternoon, a stark contrast to the cool Westchester climate you were used to. The warmth in the air was matched by your mood—light, content, maybe a little relieved.

But before either of you could make it to the parking lot, a voice called from behind.

“Excuse me! Y/N?”

You froze mid-step, the hair on your arms standing on end. Logan instantly noticed your shift, his body tensing as he placed a steadying hand on your lower back. Turning slowly, you were met with the sight of an older couple, a man and a woman in their late fifties or early sixties. The man wore a sharp suit, the woman a tasteful blazer, though they both looked somewhat uncertain, hesitant.

The woman took a step forward. “Hi… I—I know this is sudden, but…” Her gaze searched yours for recognition, but there was none. Her voice softened. “We’re your parents.”

Your stomach dropped.

The words hung in the air like they weren’t real, their weight pressing down on your chest. Your first instinct was to laugh, to brush it off as some cruel joke, but their expressions didn’t shift. They were hopeful. Nervous.

Logan’s hand tightened ever so slightly against your back, a subtle reminder that he was there. You swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath as your mind struggled to catch up.

“I—I don’t…” you stammered. “Why now?”

The man, your supposed father, winced. “That’s a fair question. We—well, we’ve always regretted not reaching out sooner.”

“Sooner?” The word caught in your throat as you tried to process. “I’ve been alive for twenty-seven years. You could’ve called. Written. Literally anything. But you didn’t. And now, suddenly—”

“We’re sorry,” the woman interrupted softly, her eyes glossy. “We want to get to know you, if you’ll let us. Maybe… dinner? Tonight?”

You flinched at the suggestion, glancing at Logan. His jaw was tight, his gaze scrutinizing, but he didn’t speak, letting you handle this at your own pace. For a moment, you wanted him to step in, to tell them off for their audacity. But you shook the thought away, taking another deep breath.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally managed, your voice flat. “Can I… get back to you?”

They nodded quickly, a mixture of relief and sadness flickering across their faces. “Of course,” your father said. “Here—” He handed over a business card, the expensive stock and minimalist design further underlining the contrast between their lives and the one you’d known.

After a few more polite murmurs, they walked away, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

---

Back at the hotel, you paced the room restlessly while Logan sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a mix of concern and quiet protectiveness. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Darlin’,” he said gently, “you don’t owe them anything.”

You stopped, turning to face him. “But what if I do? They’re my parents, Logan. My parents. And I don’t even know why they gave me up. What if it was something… unavoidable? What if they’ve changed?” You ran a hand through your hair, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “What if I’m just being a coward by not hearing them out?”

Logan stood, crossing the room in two strides to stand in front of you. His hands rested on your shoulders, grounding you. “Coward? No. You’re not that. But you don’t gotta torture yourself trying to fix somethin’ that ain’t your fault.”

His words soothed a little of the storm inside you, but they didn’t erase it entirely. “I know,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “But if I don’t go, I’ll always wonder. I just…” You hesitated, looking up at him. “I don’t want to do it alone.”

His expression softened instantly. “You think I’d let you?” he said, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “If you decide to meet ‘em, I’ll be there. No question. Always.”

The weight in your chest lifted slightly. With Logan, it didn’t feel as scary. You nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. Dinner.”

Logan pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. But just say the word, and we’re outta there.”

---

You fiddled with the edge of your dress, keeping your gaze down from your ‘parents’ across the small restaurant table. The world around you was warm and inviting—the soft clatter of plates, the low hum of conversation—but it might as well have been silent. Your parents, the very people who had abandoned you as a child, now sat across from you, smiling as though they’d earned this moment.

Logan, ever your anchor, sat beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee under the table. The subtle pressure was calming, a wordless reminder that he was here, that you weren’t alone in this. You took a steadying breath and finally looked up to meet their gazes.

“So,” your mother began, her tone almost too casual, as though she were trying to bridge a lifetime of absence with small talk. “How long have you and Logan been together?”

You hesitated, glancing at Logan. He gave you an encouraging nod, his expression unreadable to anyone but you. “About a year and a half,” you said finally. “We got married six months ago.”

“Married already?” your father said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… fast, isn’t it?”

“Not when you know it’s right,” Logan said smoothly, his voice low and steady. He leaned back in his chair, his arm now draped along the back of yours. Though he appeared relaxed, you could sense the subtle tension in his posture. He was watching them, every word and movement, like a hawk.

Your mother smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And where do you work now? Still at Stanford?”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “I teach physics at a school in New York.”

“Physics,” your father repeated, his tone carrying a trace of surprise. “That’s impressive. Your grandmother always did say you were smart.” He sipped his wine, glancing briefly at Logan. “And Logan? What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher too,” Logan said simply, his gaze unwavering.

Your mother tilted her head, clearly not expecting that answer. “Oh? What subject?”

“History,” Logan replied. His tone was polite enough, but you could tell he was tiring of the scrutiny.

You shifted uncomfortably, eager to steer the conversation away from Logan. “What made you decide to reach out now?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended but firm.

Your parents exchanged a quick look, and your mother’s smile faltered. “Well,” she began, folding her hands in her lap, “we’ve been thinking about you for a long time. And after your grandfather passed recently…” She trailed off, her expression turning somber.

Your chest tightened at the mention of your grandfather. Though your grandparents had divorced long before you were born, you’d had a close relationship with him growing up. Although, it had fizzled out when she died, he still made sure to send you letters every holiday.

Your father cleared his throat, his voice gentler now. “He left something for you in his will. A substantial inheritance. We thought it was important that we deliver the news personally.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“He wanted you to have it,” your mother added quickly, as if that somehow justified their sudden reappearance in your life. “He left… quite a bit of money. Enough to make a difference.”

The words hung in the air like a lead weight. You glanced at him, and his jaw was set, his eyes sharp as they flicked between your parents.

“So, let me get this straight,” Logan said, his voice low and cutting. “You didn’t want her. Didn’t care enough to reach out for twenty-seven years. But now that there’s money involved, you’re here playin’ happy family?”

Your father bristled, his gaze hardening. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” Logan shot back, his tone daring him to argue. “Sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Your mother opened her mouth to respond, but the ringing of Logan’s phone cut through the tension. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. “It’s Jean,” he muttered to you, standing. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As Logan stepped away, your parents exchanged another look before your father let out a quiet scoff. “That’s who you married?” he said under his breath, though he didn’t bother to lower his voice enough for you to miss it.

Something in you snapped.

“That’s who I married,” you said sharply, your voice louder than you intended. Both of them turned to look at you, startled. “The man who’s been there for me every single day. Who loves me, supports me, and makes me feel like I matter. Unlike the two of you, who couldn’t even be bothered to stick around when I needed you.”

Your mother’s eyes widened. “We—”

“No,” you interrupted, standing now, your hands trembling. “You don’t get to explain. You don’t get to waltz into my life after nearly three decades and act like you care. You gave me up. You made that choice. And you don’t get to make me feel guilty for not wanting to play along with whatever this is.”

The restaurant was quiet now, other diners casting wary glances your way, but you didn’t care. You grabbed your bag, your heart pounding. “If Grandpa wanted me to have the money, fine. But don’t pretend you’re here for me. You’re here because you know you have no claim to it, and you’re hoping I’ll feel sorry enough for you to share.”

Your father’s face hardened, but your mother looked close to tears. As you turned to leave, you caught sight of Logan standing just outside the restaurant’s glass door, his expression unreadable. You knew he’d heard every word, his enhanced hearing ensuring he hadn’t missed a thing.

When you stepped outside, his arms were around you instantly, pulling you close. “You okay, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

You nodded against his chest, the weight of the confrontation beginning to lift. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I am now.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his grip tightening slightly. “Proud of you,” he said simply, and those three words meant more than anything else in that moment.

As you walked away from the restaurant together, hand in hand, you felt lighter. Logan was your family now, and with him, you had everything you needed.

---

Logan paced quietly near the small dresser in the hotel room, the dim light catching on the hard line of his jaw. You sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing your dress over your knees, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the space. The weight of the confrontation had lifted slightly, replaced by a strange, bittersweet relief.

“Feel okay?” Logan asked, his voice soft, breaking the silence. He stopped pacing, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he looked at you.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “I think I do. It’s like… I finally said everything I’ve wanted to say for years. I’m not sure I even care about the inheritance. It’s just nice to have it out.”

Logan stepped closer, his movements measured, his eyes searching yours. “You were incredible back there,” he said. “I meant it when I said I was proud of you. Standing up for yourself, for us—it wasn’t easy, but you didn’t back down.”

His words sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the room. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt the bed dip slightly as he sat down beside you, his arm coming to rest around your shoulders. He didn’t rush you, just sat there, his presence solid and grounding.

“You sure you’re fine?” he asked again, his fingers brushing against your shoulder in a light, comforting touch.

You tilted your head to look at him, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “I’m sure,” you said firmly this time, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Especially with you here.”

Logan’s eyes softened, a small smirk forming as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart.”

His hand slid from your shoulder to the curve of your waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your dress. The touch was subtle, almost absentminded, but it sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into him, your breath catching as his lips found the corner of your mouth.

“Logan,” you murmured, a hint of hesitation in your voice.

“Hmm?” His lips moved along your jaw, slow and deliberate, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re good, right? Tell me to stop if you need to.”

You shook your head, your hands finding his chest. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all he needed to hear. Logan’s lips claimed yours fully, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck. The kiss was slow but deep, his tongue teasing against yours, drawing a quiet moan from your throat. His other hand slid lower, skimming the edge of your dress before tugging it slightly higher, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh.

“You’re wearing this damn thing to kill me, aren’t you?” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough with need.

You flushed, a soft laugh escaping. “It’s just a dress.”

“It’s more than just a dress,” Logan said, his hand gripping your thigh, pulling you closer. His lips moved to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. “It’s you in it.”

Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed your pulse point, your hands clutching at his shirt. “Logan…”

"Let me take care of you, darlin’," Logan murmured, his voice low and intimate. Before you could respond, he was guiding you back onto the bed, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. His touch was firm yet deliberate, each movement precise and confident, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

The hem of your dress bunched at your hips as Logan settled between your legs, his rough hands warm against your thighs. His eyes met yours, the intensity there enough to send your heart racing. "Still okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady, but his grip tightened slightly, grounding you.

You nodded, breath hitching slightly. "I’m fine, Logan. Really."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Good. ‘Cause I’m not stoppin’ unless you tell me to."

His hands pressed your thighs open further, his gaze locked on the spot where your panties were already damp. He hooked his thumbs into the fabric and dragged it down slowly, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your skin and making you shiver. The cool air of the room hit you, but Logan’s warm breath soon replaced it, and you squirmed in anticipation.

"Patience," he muttered, his tone edged with teasing as his hands slid back up your legs, spreading them wider. His lips pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses that grew closer and closer to where you ached for him most.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice barely audible. It wasn’t a plea—it was a need, a longing you couldn’t contain.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I know," he murmured, his breath hot against you. Then his mouth was on you, his tongue moving with slow, deliberate strokes that had your hands clutching at the sheets. Logan worked with a practiced precision, the rough scrape of his stubble against your skin contrasting perfectly with the soft heat of his tongue.

Your head fell back against the pillows as a quiet gasp escaped your lips. The tension in your body began to melt away, replaced by a wave of warmth and pleasure that only he could give. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he delved deeper, his tongue exploring every sensitive spot with maddening care.

"You taste so fuckin’ good," he said against you, his voice a low growl that sent a fresh surge of heat through your body. He glanced up briefly, his lips glistening. "Could stay here all damn night."

You bit your lip, your hands reaching down to thread through his hair, the soft strands catching between your fingers. "Logan," you whispered again, more insistently this time. The sound of his name seemed to spur him on, his tongue circling that sensitive bundle of nerves before sucking gently, drawing a shuddering moan from you.

His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you steady as your hips jerked reflexively against his mouth. Logan groaned low in his throat, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through you. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just kept up the steady rhythm that had your body trembling beneath him.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough, his lips brushing the slick heat between your thighs. "Love hearing those sounds you make."

You swallowed hard, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. "Logan... please," you murmured, your fingers curling tighter in his hair, urging him closer.

"Please what?" he rasped, his lips pressing kisses along your inner thigh before returning to where you needed him most. His tongue flicked over your clit again, and you nearly cried out, your back arching off the bed.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Don’t stop."

Logan smirked against you, his hands shifting to grip your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth. "Didn’t plan on it, darlin’."

He was relentless, his tongue teasing and stroking in ways that made your head spin. The sensation built steadily, your body tightening as the heat coiled low in your belly. You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel as he worked you over, his stubble rough against your skin and his tongue unyielding.

"Oh- Logan," you gasped, your thighs trembling against his shoulders. He hummed in response, the sound low and guttural, his hands flexing against your hips.

The tension inside you snapped suddenly, and your entire body arched as a wave of heat and pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, your fingers tugging at his hair as you rode out the aftershocks, your thighs quivering in his grasp. Logan didn’t stop until you were squirming, pushing weakly at his shoulders as the sensation became too much.

He finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening as he looked up at you with a satisfied grin. "There’s my girl," he murmured, his voice soft but edged with pride.

You let out a shaky breath, your head falling back against the pillow as you tried to steady your racing heart. Logan moved up the bed, settling beside you, his hand brushing against your arm as he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple.

"You good?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost tender.

You nodded, your breath still uneven. "Yeah. I’m good."

Logan stretched out beside you, pulling you close until your head rested against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding you. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, his other arm draped over your waist.

"Meant what I said earlier," he murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. "You were amazing tonight. Stood your ground, didn’t take any crap. Made me proud, sweetheart."

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you tilted your head to look at him. "Thank you," you said softly, your voice steady now.

Logan leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You don’t gotta thank me for telling the truth."

You settled back against him, your body relaxing completely for the first time all evening. Logan’s hand stayed firm on your back, his thumb tracing idle patterns against your skin as the quiet settled between you.

In that moment, there was no past, no lingering tension from the confrontation earlier. Just you and Logan, tangled together on the bed, his presence steady and unshakable.

---

You walked into the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked cookies still wafting in the air. Your eyes immediately caught Logan, mid-action, reaching for one of the chocolate chip cookies you and Jean had finished less than 30 minutes ago.

Before he could take a bite, you hurried over, grabbing his wrist. "Wait! I wanted that one!"

Logan looked down at you, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement. "There’s more right here, darlin’," he said, nodding toward the plate piled high with cookies on the counter.

You shook your head stubbornly, crossing your arms while keeping your hand on his wrist. "But I don’t want those," you said. "I want that one."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "They’re all the same, sweetheart," he teased, holding the cookie just out of reach and starting to lift it toward his mouth. "Bet you wouldn’t even know the difference."

"I would," you shot back quickly. "That’s the one I want, Logan."

He smirked, his lips curling around the edges of the cookie as if to bite into it anyway, just to prove a point. Your eyes narrowed, and you acted on pure instinct.

Leaning in quickly, you pressed your lips to his, a fleeting but deliberate kiss. The move startled him just enough to loosen his grip, giving you the perfect opportunity to snag the cookie out of his hand.

"Ha!" you exclaimed triumphantly, taking a step back and holding the cookie aloft like it was a trophy.

Logan blinked, recovering from the surprise, and his smirk deepened into a full grin. "Did you just—" he started, shaking his head as his laughter spilled out. "That’s dirty play, darlin’. Using a kiss to steal it? You’re lucky you’re cute."

You bit into the cookie with an exaggeratedly smug expression, savoring the sweet, warm taste. "Lucky has nothing to do with it," you replied between bites.

He stepped toward you, a playful gleam in his eyes. "You know that’s not gonna fly, right? No one steals from me and gets away with it."

You tried to dart around the island, but Logan was too quick. He caught you easily, one arm looping around your waist to pull you close. You squealed, half-laughing, holding the half-eaten cookie out of his reach.

"Let me finish it!" you said, your voice muffled by laughter.

"Not a chance," Logan murmured, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Not after that stunt."

"Logan!" You wiggled in his grip, still laughing, trying not to crumble what remained of the cookie.

He dipped his head closer, murmuring low against your ear, "Fine. You win. This time." Then, with one swift motion, he stole a bite of the cookie you were holding, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever as he pulled back.

"Hey!"

"What? Just evening the score," he said, popping the stolen bite into his mouth.

The playful bickering turned to more laughter as you stayed in the kitchen, Logan’s hold never loosening entirely. Jean walked in a moment later, glancing between the two of you, her hands on her hips.

"You two do realize there’s a whole plate of cookies, right?" she asked, her tone laced with amusement.

"It’s not about the cookie, Jean," Logan replied smoothly, casting you a wink that made your cheeks heat. "It’s the principle of the thing."

Jean rolled her eyes. "You two are ridiculous. But at least now I know who I should’ve made extra for."

Still tucked against Logan’s side, you shot her a sheepish grin. "It’s his fault," you said, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

Jean just shook her head, smirking. "Sure it is," she said before grabbing a cookie and walking out of the kitchen, leaving the two of you tangled together in the aftermath of your very serious cookie standoff.

Logan’s grip stayed firm as he kissed your temple, murmuring, "You’re somethin’ else, you know that?"

"Is that a bad thing?" you teased, nibbling at the remaining bite of your cookie.

"Not even close," he said with a warm grin, his thumb tracing a slow, reassuring pattern against your waist.

---

Logan grumbled at his desk, glaring at the stack of papers in front of him like they owed him money. Being the history teacher wasn’t exactly his dream job, and grading exams just reinforced how much he hated it.

"How the hell do you mess up World War II?" he muttered under his breath, flipping through yet another exam where half the essay was about Napoleon. "Wrong war, wrong damn century."

Arms came around his neck from behind, your soft sleep shirt brushing against his skin. “You’re gonna tear that paper from how hard you’re grippin’ it.”

Logan’s scowl softened as your voice cut through his frustration, and the stiff set of his shoulders relaxed just a little. He glanced over at you, leaning against him with sleepy eyes and tousled hair, clearly fresh from bed. You were wrapped up in one of his old flannel shirts, sleeves hanging past your hands, paired with soft, fuzzy sleep pants. The sight alone made him feel warmer.

“Kid deserved it,” he muttered, though his tone had lost its bite. He held up the offending exam. “Wrote about Napoleon in World War II. Napoleon. You believe that?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, lips brushing against the edge of his ear as you leaned closer. “Maybe they figured he’d make a comeback.”

“Yeah, well, if he did, he’d still lose.” He dropped the paper onto the growing pile with a grunt and tilted his head back to look up at you. “What’re you doin’ up? Thought you were out cold.”

“I was,” you murmured, fingers absentmindedly tracing the line of his jaw. “You weren’t there.”

Logan stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze catching yours even upside down. That quiet admission—so simple, so soft—always hit him deeper than he cared to admit. He reached up, catching your hand in his larger one, and brought it down to rest against his chest.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges like it always was when he spoke to you. “Go back to bed. I’ll join you in a bit.”

You stayed still, your other arm still looped around his neck as you leaned more of your weight against him. “You’ve been at this for hours,” you said softly, glancing at the remaining stack of exams. “You’ll fall asleep right here at the desk.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Logan said with a slight smirk, but when you didn’t let go, he sighed. “You don’t quit, do ya?”

“Not when it comes to you,” you answered with an ease that made his chest tighten.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned in his chair, his hands landing lightly on your waist to steady you. “Alright, darlin’. You win.” He stood, forcing you to step back slightly, though he kept one hand on your hip as if afraid you’d float away otherwise. “But if I see Napoleon showin’ up in another World War II exam, I’m quittin’ this job.”

You grinned, taking his hand as you tugged him toward the bed. “I’ll talk to Scott. Maybe he’ll give you a raise.”

Logan scoffed. “Yeah, I’ll hold my breath.”

The bedroom was dimly lit, moonlight spilling through the partially open curtains. You crawled back onto the bed first, curling up under the comforter as you waited for him. Logan, meanwhile, paused just long enough to strip off his shirt, leaving him in just his sweats before he settled in beside you. The bed dipped under his weight as he pulled you close, his arm sliding under your head to tuck you against his chest.

You melted into him easily, your cheek pressed to his bare skin as you sighed contentedly. “See? Isn’t this better than failing kids for Napoleon?”

“I wasn’t failin’ him,” Logan murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Gave him a mercy D.”

You couldn’t help but giggle quietly, and Logan felt the sound reverberate against him. “Mercy D,” you repeated. “You’re such a softie.”

“Watch it,” he warned, but there was no heat in it. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns along your back through the flannel, and for a while, the room settled into silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of blankets and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

You broke the quiet first, your voice soft and muffled against his chest. “Why do you still do it?”

Logan blinked, looking down at you. “Do what?”

“Teach history.” You tilted your head slightly, “you don’t seem to like it much.”

He exhaled slowly, his hand stilling on your back. “Someone’s gotta do it. Better me than some idiot who doesn’t know the difference between Normandy and Napoleon.”

You smiled faintly at that. “Fair point.”

Logan’s voice softened as he continued. “Most of these kids—hell, they don’t know half of what happened before they were born. I figure if they’re gonna learn somethin’ about the past, it might as well be from someone who’s lived a lot of it.”

You looked up at him then, your gaze searching his face in the dim light. Logan didn’t look away, but there was something guarded in his expression, like he wasn’t sure why he’d admitted that much.

“You’re a good teacher,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his chest.

Logan snorted. “Yeah. Tell that to the kid who thinks Napoleon was stormin’ the beaches at Normandy.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest before settling back down. “Well, I think you’re great.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to your hair. “Get some sleep, darlin’,” he murmured. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You smiled against his skin, letting his warmth lull you back to sleep. Logan stayed awake a little longer, though, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as his fingers traced absent patterns against your back again. He didn’t say it out loud, but moments like this—the quiet, the warmth of you beside him—were the reason he stuck around at all.

For someone who’d lived lifetimes, this was the only one that mattered.

---

As you were walking from your classroom to your office, Jean called out your name telepathically, “someone’s at the front door for you.”

You frowned and made your way over to where a man in casual clothing stood outside. “Hello?” You asked, Jean holding the door only halfway open.

“Are you Y/N Howlett?”

“Yes.” You responded, moving slightly closer to Jean for comfort.

The man held out an envelope, “you’ve been served.”

You stared at him, stomach dropping at the words. Slowly, you reached out and took the envelope, the weight of it far heavier than just paper. Your fingers barely curled around it before the man turned and walked away without another word, leaving you and Jean standing in the doorway.

Jean looked at you, her brows furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice carefully even.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes still on the envelope as if opening it might explode your entire life apart. "I..." You glanced at Jean, trying to ground yourself in her steady presence. "I don’t know."

“Come inside.” She placed a hand on your back and guided you gently through the door.

Once inside, she closed it behind you and walked you to one of the couches in the main hall. Her calm, methodical movements gave you enough time to focus. "Do you want me to stay while you open it?"

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah. Please."

You tore open the envelope, unfolding the crisp papers inside. The legal jargon was an immediate headache, but the gist hit you quickly enough.

Your parents—parents you’d met just once at Stanford, a month ago—were contesting the will of your grandfather. You skimmed the words, anger brewing beneath the shock. The lawsuit wasn’t about you. It was about the inheritance your grandfather had left to you. Money you hadn’t touched—didn’t want to touch. Money your mother and father were determined to get their hands on.

“What is it?” she asked gently, leaning over a bit.

You sighed, lowering the papers slightly. “They’re suing me for the money my grandfather left. The same money they showed up to tell me about last time.” You shook your head, blinking furiously to keep your frustration and embarrassment in check. “I told them I didn’t want it. I never even filed anything to claim it.”

Jean frowned, her gaze hardening in sympathy as she processed what you said. “That’s awful, Y/N. I mean… that’s your family.”

“Not really.” You laughed bitterly, though the sound lacked humor.

Jean put her hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, we’ll figure this out. Do you want to talk to someone about this? Scott can—"

"Logan," you cut in, almost reflexively.

Jean paused but nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay. Do you want me to get him, or—?”

"I’ll go." You stood abruptly, still clutching the papers. “Thanks, Jean. For… sticking with me through that.”

“Always.” Jean watched you head out before leaning back on the couch with a worried sigh.

---

Logan was in the garage, predictably half under his motorcycle. He was wiping his hands with an oil-streaked rag when he heard you approach. As he sat up, he took one look at your face and tossed the rag aside.

“What happened?” he asked immediately, his voice rough but threaded with concern.

You held up the papers wordlessly, struggling to hold his sharp gaze. He took them from your hands, skimming through quickly, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the contents.

“Christ,” he muttered after a long moment, his fist tightening slightly around the edges of the papers. “They’re suin’ you? For money that’s yours?”

“Money I didn’t even want,” you added, sitting heavily on the bench by the wall. Your hands tangled together in your lap, a nervous habit you couldn’t quite break.

He looked at you, anger darkening his expression, but it wasn’t directed at you. It never was. “They think you’re some kid they can push around,” he growled, folding the papers and setting them down before crouching in front of you. His large hands found yours, prying them apart gently. “But you’re not. You’re a hell of a lot stronger than they give you credit for, sweetheart.”

Your chest tightened at the way he spoke to you, so firm yet so gentle all at once. “I don’t want to deal with this,” you admitted, your voice small. “I don’t want the money, Logan. I never did.”

“You won’t have to.” His grip on your hands firmed, grounding you. “We’ll fight this. They ain’t takin’ a damn thing from you.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words soothe you, though doubt still nagged at the edges of your thoughts. “What if they win?”

Logan’s jaw flexed, his sharp features hardening with resolve. “They won’t.”

“Logan, I—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice low but insistent. He pulled you forward slightly so that your knees brushed his shoulders. “Trust me, Y/N. This’ll get sorted. I ain’t lettin’ them screw you over, okay?”

You searched his eyes for any trace of uncertainty but found none. Logan, as always, was unwavering.

“Okay,” you said softly, exhaling as you leaned your forehead against his.

The moment stretched quietly before he broke it, pulling back just far enough to press a kiss to your temple. “C’mon. Let’s get this over to Chuck. He’ll know what to do.”

You hesitated, though his calm tone bolstered you. "You don’t think it’s… embarrassing?"

Logan leaned back on his heels slightly, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Embarrassing? Dealin’ with greedy parents? Not even close.” His smirk softened into something fonder. “You ain’t gotta hide stuff like this from me, darlin’. Or from the team. We’ve all got somethin’ messy in our pasts. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

His reassurance worked its way past your anxiety, easing the knot in your stomach a bit more. "Okay," you whispered again, squeezing his hands. “Let’s talk to Charles.”

Logan stood and pulled you with him, his arm immediately going around your shoulders as he guided you inside. Whatever fight lay ahead, you knew you weren’t facing it alone.

---

Logan leaned against the dresser, shaking his head. “No.”

You gave a mock pout, holding up the pastel blue sweater that matched your sundress. “C’mon, Logan. It’s just for today.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser with a look of pure defiance. “No way. Not wearin’ that.”

“It’s Easter,” you reasoned, trying not to laugh at the sheer stubbornness etched onto his face. “The kids are excited, and it’s a pastel color. You’ll look festive. Besides,” you added with a teasing tilt of your head, “it matches my dress.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Festive? Darlin’, I ain’t the ‘festive’ type.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” came Jean’s voice from the doorway. She leaned against the frame with a smirk, her arms crossed. “I think you’d look great in it, Logan. Adds some softness to your usual gruffness.”

Logan shot her a glare that only made her smirk widen. “Nobody asked you, Jeannie.”

You hid your smile behind the sweater, trying to keep the peace. “Jean, don’t make it worse,” you murmured, though your tone was light.

“I’m just saying,” Jean replied with a playful shrug before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone with Logan again.

“See? Even Jean agrees,” you said, holding the sweater out to him again. “Come on, Logan. Just for a little while?”

He huffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re not gonna let this go, are ya?”

You shook your head, your smile growing. “Nope.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening despite his obvious resistance. It wasn’t the sweater he was giving in to—it was you. With a grumble, he snatched it out of your hands. “Fine. But if anyone takes a picture, I’m burnin’ it.”

You bit back a laugh as he pulled the sweater on over his usual white undershirt. The pastel blue clashed hilariously with his rugged demeanor, but you had to admit, it looked... sweet on him. The way it matched your dress only made it better.

“There,” Logan said, tugging at the hem like it might suffocate him. “Happy?”

“Very,” you said with a warm smile, stepping closer to adjust the sweater’s collar. “You look good.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t stop you. Instead, his hands found your waist, pulling you close enough that you had to crane your neck to look up at him. “You owe me for this,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his tone.

“Oh, do I?” you teased, resting your hands on his chest. “What do I owe you?”

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ll find out later,” he said, his voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Your cheeks flushed, but you managed to keep your composure. “Well, let’s see if you make it through the egg hunt first.”

He groaned, pulling back enough to look at you. “Wait. Do I gotta do that, too?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, laughing when his head fell back in exaggerated defeat. “The kids will love it. And you look adorable.”

Logan shot you a flat look. “Adorable?”

You grinned, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Yup. Now come on, let’s go before Rogue eats all the candy.”

Logan shook his head, muttering something about how he’d never live this down, but the small smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t really mind. Not as long as it was for you.

---

You and Logan sat across from the lawyer Charles had recommended. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of papers as the lawyer flipped through the documents. Logan leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, a scowl set deep on his face. You sat with your hands folded tightly in your lap, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose as you watched the lawyer with a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion.

“Well,” the lawyer finally said, setting the papers down on the desk in front of him. He adjusted his own glasses, his expression professional but sympathetic. “The good news is that the will is clear. Your grandfather left the inheritance to you and only you. Your parents’ claim has very little legal ground.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in your chest didn’t fully ease. “But they can still drag this out, can’t they?” you asked quietly. “Even if the claim isn’t strong?”

The lawyer nodded. “Yes, they can file motions, request hearings, and essentially make this as difficult as possible for you. It’s not uncommon in cases like this.”

Logan growled low in his throat, his impatience bubbling to the surface. “So what do we do to shut this down for good?”

The lawyer glanced at him, unfazed by Logan’s tone. “There are a few options. You can contest the claim in court, which could take time but would likely result in a ruling in your favor. Or,” he paused, looking at you, “you can choose to forfeit the inheritance entirely. That would require specific legal filings, but it would end the dispute.”

You blinked, the weight of the decision settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t want the money,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I never wanted it. I didn’t even know about it until my parents showed up at Stanford.”

Logan’s hand slid over yours, grounding you. “You don’t have to decide now,” he said, his voice softer than before.

The lawyer cleared his throat, his expression cautious. “There is one other matter to consider. If you choose to forfeit the inheritance, it wouldn’t simply revert to your parents. According to the terms of the will, the funds would be held in trust for any future heirs—your children, specifically.”

Your head snapped up, and you stared at the lawyer in disbelief. “Future children?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s an unusual clause, but your grandfather was quite specific. If you don’t claim the inheritance, it remains part of the family estate and will be managed until it can be passed down to your descendants.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, and you glanced at him, your cheeks warming at the faint surprise in his expression. You hadn’t explicitly talked about children with him yet, though the thought had crossed your mind more than once.

“That’s… a lot to process,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t even know he thought about me that way. We weren’t close at the… end.”

The lawyer offered a small, understanding smile. “It’s not uncommon for people to make decisions like this in their wills, even if they weren’t directly involved in someone’s life. He may have wanted to ensure you were cared for in some way.”

You nodded slowly, your thoughts swirling. Logan leaned forward, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “Let’s say she forfeits. What’s to stop her parents from tryin’ to get their hands on the money anyway?”

“There are legal safeguards in place,” the lawyer replied. “The trust would be managed independently, and your parents wouldn’t have access to it. It’s airtight.”

Logan grunted, seemingly satisfied with that answer, but his focus shifted back to you. “What do you wanna do, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to where his hand still covered yours. “I don’t want to go to court,” you said softly. “I don’t want the money, and I don’t want to fight with them. If it can go to… someone else, to the future, then maybe that’s the right thing to do.”

Logan’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his voice steady. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

The lawyer nodded. “I’ll start drafting the necessary documents. It’ll take a little time, but once it’s filed, your parents won’t have a legal leg to stand on.”

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

As the meeting wrapped up and the lawyer left the room, Logan turned to you, his expression softening. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your chest still felt heavy. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

He pulled you into his arms without hesitation, holding you close against his chest. “You did good, darlin’,” he murmured against your hair. “Don’t let this mess get to you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace chase away the lingering tension. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“For what?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“For being here,” you said, your gaze meeting his. “For always being here.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, crooked smile. “Where else would I be?”

You laughed softly, the sound shaky but genuine, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before leading you out of the room.

As the two of you walked into the kitchen, Logan pulled out a bottle of mango juice from the fridge and poured you a glass. His movements were calm and deliberate, a quiet reassurance that everything was going to be okay. He set the glass down in front of you, leaning against the counter as you took a sip.

"You doin' alright now, sweetheart?" he asked, his gaze steady on you.

You nodded, holding the cool glass in your hands. “I think so. I just hate that it had to come to this.”

Logan reached over, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Ain’t your fault. They made their choice, and you made yours. That’s all that matters.”

You managed a small smile, his support giving you the courage to push forward. But the lawyer’s earlier words lingered in your mind, and after a moment of hesitation, you decided to voice the thought that had been nagging at you.

“Logan,” you said, your voice soft, “did it… bother you? What he said about the inheritance going to future kids?”

Logan arched a brow, folding his arms across his chest as he watched you. “Bother me?” he repeated, his tone questioning.

“Yeah.” You looked down at the mango juice in your hands. “We’ve never really talked about that, and I just—”

His hand was under your chin before you could finish, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his tone gentle but intent.

You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks warm. “I don’t think so,” you admitted. “I mean, I’ve thought about it before, but I didn’t want to push. I wasn’t sure if that was something you…” You trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

Logan’s lips curved into a small smirk, his gaze softening in a way that was meant just for you. “Darlin’, I’ve thought about it plenty. Didn’t bring it up ‘cause I didn’t know if you were ready for that kinda talk.”

A soft laugh escaped you, nervous but sweet. “Guess we’re both good at overthinking things.”

Logan’s hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer until your hips bumped against the counter. “I’m not the kind to plan much of anything,” he said, his voice dropping to that rough, affectionate tone that always made your heart flutter. “But you… you make me wanna think about things like that.”

Your chest tightened with a mixture of nervousness and joy as you briefly rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. Logan’s other hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb sliding lightly across your skin, grounding you in a way only he could.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, his voice low and filled with warmth, “you don’t gotta look so nervous. We’re on the same page.”

You let out a soft, shaky laugh. “I know. It’s just... I didn’t think this conversation would come up like this.”

“Didn’t exactly expect it over lawyer talk,” Logan admitted with a small smirk. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you just a bit closer. “But you think too much sometimes. There’s no rush, no pressure—none of that. But if you’re askin’ if I see it... yeah. I see it, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flicked up to his, caught in the sincerity of his words and the steady way he was looking at you. His eyes, weathered from lifetimes of heartbreak and battle, were now soft and filled with something you could only describe as hope.

You smiled, this time more genuine, a warmth spreading through you. “Me too,” you murmured.

His lips quirked into that crooked grin you’d come to love, and his hand slid to the back of your neck, tugging you forward until your lips met. The kiss was slow and unhurried, a promise sealed in silence. When he pulled back, he kept you close, his forehead pressed against yours.

“No better time to start than now,” he rumbled, the faintest hint of a playful edge slipping into his tone.

Your breath caught, your cheeks instantly flushing. “Logan,” you whispered, voice laced with equal parts shock and anticipation.

He chuckled, that deep, throaty sound sending shivers down your spine. In a swift, effortless move, he lifted you off the ground, one arm supporting your back while the other braced under your knees. You gasped, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Logan!” you squeaked, your heart racing as he carried you like you weighed nothing.

“What?” he teased, his smirk widening as he began walking out of the kitchen. “Thought we were on the same page.”

You buried your face against his neck, laughing softly. “We are,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his skin. “You just caught me off guard.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

As the two of you reached the bedroom, the door creaked as Logan kicked it open, a certain ease in his movements that you envied sometimes. He set you down gently on the bed, leaning over you with a wolfish grin that made your heart do a somersault.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer again, no teasing this time. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing the edge of your glasses like it was instinctive for him to touch you this way.

The love in his voice and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world—stole whatever doubt you might have had. You nodded, your hand curling around his wrist to keep his touch against your skin.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling. “I’m sure.”

Logan kissed you again, deeper this time, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go. And for that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

Chapter Text

You walked into the kitchen, thermos in hand, sipping the herbal tea you’d begrudgingly swapped for your usual coffee. Logan stood by the counter, reaching for the coffee pot, and you immediately sprang into action. Without thinking, you grabbed the empty mug from his hand, holding it out of his reach.

“No coffee,” you said firmly, narrowing your eyes at him.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “What do you mean, ‘no coffee’? Darlin’, it’s coffee.”

You shook your head, standing your ground. “Exactly. And we agreed to cut back. Remember? Coffee isn’t exactly helpful for…” Your voice trailed off, and you glanced away, feeling your cheeks flush.

Logan tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “For what?” he teased, clearly enjoying your bashfulness. “Go on, say it.”

You huffed, giving him a light shove. “You know what I mean! The research said caffeine can affect… you know, certain things.”

Logan chuckled, setting the coffee pot back on the counter. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, watching you with amusement. “Darlin’, I heal faster than most people. I don’t think a little caffeine’s gonna mess with my…” He paused, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice. “... swimmers.”

Your face burned, and you quickly turned away, pretending to busy yourself with your thermos. “Logan,” you muttered, your voice a mix of embarrassment and exasperation.

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm, before stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone gentler now. “If it matters to you, I’ll lay off the coffee. For now.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by his quick concession. “Really?”

Logan nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Really. If we’re doin’ this, we’re doin’ it together. No coffee, no whiskey, no nothin’. Just tell me what else you need me to do.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled. “Thank you,” you said quietly, leaning into his touch. “It’s not just about the coffee. It’s about… us giving this our best shot.”

He nodded, his expression serious now. “I get it. And I’m in, darlin’. Whatever it takes.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling a bit of the tension ease. “Good. Because there’s a whole list I’ve been working on.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “A list, huh? Should I be worried?”

“Not unless you’re planning on sneaking coffee behind my back,” you teased, earning a mock-offended scoff from him.

“I’d never,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The sound of footsteps approaching drew your attention, and Jean entered the kitchen, her red hair tied back in a loose ponytail. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, glancing between the two of you with a knowing smile.

“Just convincing Logan to give up coffee,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Jean raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Good luck with that.”

Logan shot her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jean shrugged, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. “Just that I’ve seen you sneak a cup or two when you think no one’s watching. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

You turned to Logan, your eyes narrowing. “Sneaking coffee, huh?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m done with coffee. Scout’s honor.”

Jean laughed softly, leaning against the counter. “You two are adorable, you know that?”

You felt your cheeks warm again, and Logan, ever the opportunist, wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. “What can I say? She brings out the best in me.”

Jean smiled warmly at the two of you before grabbing her apple and heading out of the kitchen. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Once she was gone, Logan turned his attention back to you, his hand still resting on your waist. “Guess I’d better get used to tea,” he said, eyeing your thermos.

You handed it to him with a grin. “Try it. You might like it.”

He took a sip, his expression immediately souring. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

You laughed, leaning against him. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Logan grumbled, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

As you stood there together, his arm around you and the faint warmth of the tea lingering between you, you couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of hope. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

---

“Since when has your lab become a shrine?” Logan asked as he stepped inside, his eyebrows raised. His sharp eyes scanned the room, landing on the biology and pregnancy books stacked neatly on your desk. Then his gaze moved to the whiteboard covered in colorful charts, numbers, and a suspiciously detailed calendar.

You glanced up from where you were jotting notes at the table, a guilty smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not a shrine,” you replied, trying to sound casual. “It’s… research.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Research? Looks more like you’re plannin’ to launch a rocket. What’re all these numbers?”

You hesitated, your pen hovering over the notebook. “Uh… temperatures.”

“Temperatures?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Who’s?”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you muttered, “Ours.”

Logan blinked. “Ours? When the hell did you take my temperature?”

You cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in the page in front of you. “You sleep like a rock, Logan. I might’ve… borrowed a moment.”

Logan snorted, running a hand through his hair. “Darlin’, you’re takin’ my temperature in my sleep now? What’s next, experimentin’ on me?”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile betrayed your amusement. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s important to track these things if we want to—well, you know, increase our chances.”

Logan pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the whiteboard, squinting at the calendar. “What’re these stars next to certain dates?” he asked, pointing at a few marked in red.

Your face burned even hotter. “Those are… um, optimal days.”

Logan’s lips twitched as he turned to look at you, his expression thoroughly entertained. “Optimal days? You mean to tell me you’re scheduling sex now?”

You threw your pen at him, though it barely grazed his shoulder. “I’m being scientific about it! It’s not scheduling—it’s maximizing opportunities.”

Logan laughed, the sound rich and warm, as he leaned against the desk next to you. “So, what’s next on the plan, Doctor? You got a list of vitamins for me to take?”

Your silence must’ve said it all, because Logan’s amused expression turned suspicious. “Wait, you’re serious?”

You reached for a small container on the desk, holding it up. Inside were a mix of capsules and tablets in various colors. “These are specially formulated,” you explained, handing it to him.

Logan opened the container, his eyebrows shooting up as he counted the pills. “There’s gotta be fifteen of these things in here. You expect me to down all of ‘em?”

“They’re important,” you said, trying to keep a straight face. “And they’re extra-strength so your healing factor doesn’t cancel ‘em out.”

Logan shook his head, muttering under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he picked up one of the bottles on the desk and studied the label. “You really are pullin’ out all the stops, huh?”

You softened, setting your notebook down and meeting his gaze. “I just… I want to make sure we’re doing everything we can. I know it might seem a little over the top, but—”

“Hey.” Logan cut you off, his voice gentler now. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I get it. And I’m not givin’ you a hard time. If this is what we gotta do, then I’m all in.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the teasing and laughter faded, replaced by a quiet understanding. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Logan gave you a small smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Always, darlin’. Now, how about you tell me what else you’ve got on that whiteboard of yours?”

You laughed, swatting at his arm. “Only if you promise to stop sneakin’ coffee.”

Logan groaned dramatically. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Logan.”

“Fine,” he relented, grabbing the thermos of tea you’d left on the desk. He took a sip and immediately grimaced. “I’m really startin’ to miss the old days.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the thermos from him, though your smile lingered. “You’ll survive.”

As the two of you stood there, surrounded by your meticulous planning and Logan’s begrudging compliance, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. It wasn’t just about the charts or the vitamins—it was about the future you were building together, one step at a time.

---

It had been almost 6 months since you and Logan started trying, which is why you had started doing research and tracking cycle’s, body temperatures, and making sure the both of you were taking vitamins.

But it also meant doing research on other things too. Like—

“Are you readin’ porn?”

Logan’s gravelly voice snapped you out of your focused haze. Your head shot up, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn’t even heard him come in, much less lean over your shoulder to see the screen of your laptop.

“What?” you blurted, your hand reflexively slamming the laptop shut. Too late. Logan’s grin was already spreading, the kind that reached his eyes and filled them with mischief.

“Thought I’d seen it all, but here you are, learnin’ about creative new angles,” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the edge of the table.

“It’s not—” you paused, your face heating as you tried to think of a way to explain yourself. “It’s research, Logan. For… conceiving.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your defense. “Uh-huh. And what exactly were you tryin’ to learn, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, your fingers fiddling with the edge of the laptop. “…Best positions,” you mumbled under your breath, the words barely audible.

Logan barked out a laugh, the deep sound reverberating through the room. “Best positions? Hell, you’ve got a whole lab full of books and charts, but this is what you’re stuck on?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can you not make this more embarrassing than it already is?”

“Can’t promise that.” Logan reached out, gently prying your hands away from your face. His grin softened as he tilted his head at you. “C’mon, darlin’. Don’t look so mortified. I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?” you echoed, half-exasperated, half-amused despite yourself. “I’m sitting here reading medical journals about optimal positions, and you think that’s cute?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it shows how bad you want this.” Logan’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His voice dropped into a gentler tone. “You’ve been takin’ all this on yourself, and I get why. But you know you’re not in this alone, right? Whatever it takes, I’m with you.”

Your eyes softened at his words. Logan might tease endlessly, but there was always sincerity beneath it. That sincerity was part of why you loved him so fiercely.

“Thanks,” you murmured, squeezing his hand.

Logan leaned back slightly, his grin creeping back. “So, you gonna share what you learned? You’ve got my full attention now.”

You gave him a light shove, rolling your eyes as your smile widened. “You really want me to get into the mechanics of it?”

“Darlin’, I’ve spent over a century figurin’ things out on my own. If you’ve got some expert tips, I’m all ears.”

Your face burned as you tried to keep your voice steady. “Fine. Basically… uh, some positions are better for, um, helping things along. Gravity and angles—”

Logan smirked. “Oh, I get it now. It’s physics. Guess you’re in your element, huh?”

You swatted at him with your free hand, unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, Logan, it’s physics. And afterwards, raising my hips for about fifteen minutes can apparently help even more. Something about keeping things… in place longer.”

Logan’s smirk turned into a slow grin, his hazel eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of humor and something a little more primal. “Practical application, then?” he asked, his voice dipping lower.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked away, suddenly very interested in the bookshelf to your left. “…Maybe,” you said, your voice quieter.

Logan stood, towering over you in a way that felt more protective than intimidating. He tipped your chin up with two fingers, ensuring you couldn’t escape his gaze. “We don’t have to keep this scientific, darlin’,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours.

You managed a small smirk, though your breath hitched at his closeness. “I don’t know, Logan. I think I’d look cute with a pillow under my hips afterward.”

That earned you a low chuckle, and Logan shook his head. “Fine. Science it is. But don’t go thinkin’ I need much persuadin’.”

Before you could reply, he swept you off your feet—literally—leaving your squeak of surprise echoing through the room as he carried you out the door. “Logan! Where are we going?”

“To try those optimal angles,” he replied, voice heavy with amusement. “Can’t let all that research go to waste.”

You covered your face with your hands, your laughter muffled by your palms. Maybe you’d let him win this round.

---

You turned on your side to face Logan, the sunlight streaming through the windows casting a golden glow over his features. He was already awake, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly on your waist. His hazel eyes flicked down to yours as a small, lazy grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low from sleep.

You blinked up at him, still hazy, your glasses sitting on the bedside table where you’d left them the night before. “Morning,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s thumb brushed a gentle circle over your hip. “You slept alright?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, your words coming slower, the weight of sleep still clinging to you. “You?”

“Like a log,” he said, his grin deepening. “Though wakin’ up next to you’s the best part.”

You gave him a soft smile, your cheeks warming. “You always know just what to say.”

His hand shifted, sliding up your waist and resting just below your ribs. The look in his eyes darkened slightly, the softness giving way to something hungrier. “Ain’t sayin’ it just to say it, sweetheart.”

“Logan…” Your voice trailed off, knowing that tone, that look. “It’s not… I mean, today isn’t…”

“Not an ‘optimal’ day?” he guessed, the corner of his mouth quirking up as his fingers traced idle patterns on your skin. “Don’t care.”

You raised a brow at him, even as your heart skipped a beat. “You don’t care?”

“Nope.” Logan shifted, rolling onto his side to face you fully. His hand moved down, slipping under the hem of your sleep shirt to rest against your bare skin. “It’s been six months of plannin’ and chartin’ and all that other stuff. Ain’t sayin’ it doesn’t matter, but sometimes I just wanna hold my wife.”

You swallowed, your breath hitching as his hand slid higher, his fingers brushing the underside of your breast. “Logan…”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice dipping lower, that rough, familiar rasp sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words. Your body was already responding to his touch, your skin warming under his calloused hands.

“You love it,” he countered, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Now, c’mere.”

Before you could protest—not that you wanted to—Logan was pulling you closer, rolling onto his back and guiding you to straddle his hips. His hands found your thighs, squeezing gently as he looked up at you with that crooked grin that always made your knees weak.

“Logan, I don’t even have my glasses on,” you pointed out, your voice breathless.

“Gotcha covered,” he said, reaching over to the bedside table with one hand while the other stayed firmly on your hip. He grabbed your glasses, unfolding them with practiced ease before slipping them onto your face. “Better?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, his hands returning to your waist, pulling you down against him. “Now stop distractin’ me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as Logan’s hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. The cool air kissed your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his palms as he explored every inch of you. His touch was firm but careful, reverent in a way that made your chest ache with how much you loved him.

“Logan…” you breathed, your hands finding his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he guided your hips to grind against his.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Just like that.”

You gasped, your movements becoming more insistent as his hands roamed your body, tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts. He leaned up, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all-consuming, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you breathless.

Logan’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you against him as the hard length of him pressed firmly against you through the thin fabric of his boxers. The heat of him, the unmistakable need in the way he moved you, sent a jolt through your core. A soft sound escaped your lips before you could stop it, and his eyes darkened at the sound.

“That’s what I wanna hear,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers tightened, keeping you moving, drawing delicious friction between you both.

Your breath hitched, your hands bracing against his chest, fingers curling into the hard muscle beneath your palms. “Logan…” you began, your voice shaky but laced with warmth, a quiet plea threading through his name.

“Mhm, sweetheart?” His lips quirked up into that familiar grin, the one that could undo you completely. “You just keep ridin’ me like that. Don’t stop now.”

The bluntness of his words made your cheeks flush, but it wasn’t embarrassment that had your thighs tightening around him. You bit your lip, your hips moving instinctively as the growing ache in you demanded more.

Logan’s hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing the soft skin just beneath your breasts. He leaned up slightly, his breath warm against your jaw as he murmured, “You feel so good, darlin’. Always do.”

You let out a soft whimper, your body responding to him like it always did. Your hips rolled, the thin barrier of fabric doing little to dull the intensity of the sensation. He was hard and hot beneath you, and the teasing friction only made you want more.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice catching. “I need…”

His grin widened, and his hands slid back to your hips, stilling you. “What do you need, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone low and teasing, though there was an edge of seriousness to it. “You’re gonna have to say it.”

You groaned, your cheeks burning hotter as you avoided his gaze for a moment. But the ache in you was stronger than your shyness. “I need you,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended but clear enough for him to hear.

Logan’s grin softened into something warmer, though the hunger in his eyes didn’t fade. “Good girl,” he murmured, the praise making your heart race. His hands tugged at your underwear, and you lifted your hips to help him slide them down your thighs, discarding them onto the floor.

Before you could overthink the vulnerability of being completely bare in front of him, Logan’s hands were back on you, grounding you with their rough warmth. His thumbs caressed your thighs as his gaze roamed over you, taking in every inch. “Goddamn,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N.”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before his hands guided you back down, the heat of him pressing against your bare core now. The sensation made you gasp, and Logan groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Bet I could slide right in without any trouble.”

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders as your need for him grew unbearable. “Please, Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

Logan reached between you, tugging his boxers down just enough to free himself. You felt the hot, hard length of him against you, and it made your whole body tremble. He lined himself up, his hazel eyes locking onto yours as he guided you down onto him.

The stretch of him was immediate, filling you in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he groaned, his hands steadying you.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure. “You’re doin’ so good.”

You bit your lip, your eyes fluttering shut as you sank down fully, your body adjusting to him. Once you were seated completely, a shudder ran through you, and you let out a breathless moan. Logan’s hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin as he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your chest.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “You’re so perfect. Always are.”

Your hands rested on his chest, fingers splayed out over the hard muscle beneath them. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, even as your own raced. You shifted your hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him and a soft gasp from yourself as the movement sent a rush of pleasure coursing through you.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “You feel…”

“Yeah?” he prompted, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts. “Tell me, sweetheart. How’s it feel?”

You couldn’t stop the flush that spread across your cheeks, but you managed to meet his gaze. “It’s… so good,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

A lazy grin spread across his face, his hands returning to your hips to guide you. “That’s what I wanna hear. Now, c’mon, darlin’. Move for me.”

You nodded, your hands pressing into his chest for leverage as you lifted your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him as you rose. The sensation was almost too much, and a soft whimper escaped you before you sank back down, drawing a deep groan from Logan. His grip on your hips tightened, his thumbs pressing into your skin as he helped guide your movements.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Nice and slow. Let me feel you.”

You fell into a rhythm, your movements steady but deliberate, each roll of your hips sending waves of pleasure through both of you. Logan’s hands never left your body, roaming up your sides and back down to your thighs, his touch grounding you. His gaze stayed fixed on you, drinking in every gasp, every tremble, every hitch of your breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Always are, but like this? Can’t get enough of you.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and your movements became more insistent, your body seeking more. Logan groaned, his hips lifting slightly to meet yours, the new angle sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made you cry out.

“Logan!”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said, his voice strained but full of encouragement. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips, each one seeming to spur him on. His hands slid up your back, pulling you down toward him until your chest pressed against his. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, making you shiver.

“Logan,” you murmured, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I… I can’t…”

“You can,” he insisted, his voice a low growl. “And you will. Just let me take care of you.”

He shifted, sitting up and keeping you in his lap, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close. The new position allowed him to thrust up into you more deeply, and you gasped, your head falling to his shoulder as the intensity overwhelmed you.

“Oh, God,” you breathed, your nails digging into his back. “Logan…”

“I’ve got you, darlin’,” he said, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re doin’ so good. Feels so damn good.”

You clung to him, your movements becoming more frantic as the tension in your body built higher and higher. Logan’s hands roamed your back and hips, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging gently before releasing it and moving back to your neck.

Logan’s teeth grazed along the side of your neck, his stubble scratching your skin in a way that sent tingles through your entire body. He kissed the spot just below your ear, a soft, almost reverent press of lips that contrasted with the heat pooling in your core.

Your hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice catching as his hips shifted beneath you, his length pressing even deeper. The slow, deliberate grind of his movements made your thighs tighten around him, the tension building with every second.

“Mmm,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm. “You’re so damn perfect, sweetheart. Can’t get enough of you.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair, and you tilted your head to give him more access to your neck. “Logan, please…” you said, your voice trembling with need.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hazel eyes dark and filled with something raw. “What’s it, darlin’? You wanna tell me what you need?”

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing. You’d been married long enough that you shouldn’t feel shy, but Logan always had a way of undoing you with a single look.

He smirked, his hands sliding to your hips, holding you steady. “C’mon now, use your words. Tell your husband what he can do for you.”

“I need you to…” Your voice faltered for a moment before you found the courage to continue. “I need you to move.”

Logan’s grin softened, a tenderness slipping into his expression even as his grip on your hips tightened. “Yeah, sweetheart. I got you.”

His hands flexed on your waist, steadying you as he shifted beneath you. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver through you. Without warning, he leaned forward, wrapping an arm securely around your back. You gasped softly, your arms automatically circling his shoulders as he maneuvered you with effortless strength, lowering you gently onto your back.

“Logan,” you began, your voice a mix of surprise and warmth.

“Easy, darlin’,” he interrupted, his lips quirking up into a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t you say this was the best way?”

Your cheeks burned as you recalled the countless articles and studies you’d pored over in the past six months, each one dissecting the optimal positions, timings, and conditions. He’d teased you about it before, but there was no judgment in his tone now—just a gentle reminder of how deeply he’d paid attention.

“I… yeah,” you admitted quietly, your hands brushing against his chest as he settled himself above you.

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked down at you, his hazel eyes tracing every line of your face. “Figured I’d give my scientist wife what she wants,” he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You laughed, the sound breathy and a little shaky. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, you love it,” he countered, his lips finding yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. His tongue brushed against yours, drawing a quiet sound from your throat. When he pulled back, he didn’t go far, his breath warm against your lips. “This okay?”

You nodded, your fingers sliding into his hair, tugging gently. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. “It’s perfect.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something warmer as he shifted, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. The movement pressed him deeper, and you gasped, your hands tightening in his hair. He groaned softly, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. “Jesus, Y/N…”

Your hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, your nails grazing his skin as you arched up to meet him. “Logan,” you murmured, the sound of his name spurring him on.

His hands found yours, intertwining your fingers and pinning them on either side of your head. The weight of his hands, the way his body pressed into yours, sent a rush of heat through you. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice rough and low.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he pulled back slightly before pressing into you again, the motion deliberate and unhurried. It wasn’t frantic or rushed—it was steady, purposeful, the weight of every movement making your body hum with pleasure.

“God,” you breathed, your head tilting back against the pillow. “Logan…”

“Mhm,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. “Right here, darlin’.” His pace picked up slightly, the rhythm just enough to make your toes curl. He squeezed your hands gently, his thumbs brushing against your knuckles. “Keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice soft but commanding.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there took your breath away—a mix of love, desire, and something deeper that made your chest tighten. “Logan,” you whispered again, your voice trembling.

“I know,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I know, Y/N.”

He released your hands, his palms sliding down your arms and over your sides. The calloused roughness of his touch sent sparks dancing across your skin. He braced one hand beside your head while the other slipped beneath your thigh, lifting it higher around his waist. The new angle made you cry out softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let me hear you.”

Your body responded instinctively, your hips lifting to meet his movements. The rhythm built gradually, each thrust sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. Logan’s breaths came heavier, mingling with yours in the small space between you.

“You’re incredible,” he rasped, his voice strained but filled with sincerity. “Always have been.”

A soft laugh escaped you, though it was broken by a gasp as he shifted his weight slightly. “You… you’re biased,” you managed, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. “Damn right I am. But it’s still true.”

Logan’s hand moved to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he kissed you again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, matching the rhythm of his movements. Your hands slid down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he worked to keep his control.

“Logan,” you murmured against his lips, your voice trembling with need.

“What is it, darlin’?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours as he paused for a moment. His hazel eyes searched yours, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Never,” he promised, his voice low and filled with conviction. “Not for anything.”

He resumed his movements, his pace increasing slightly as the tension between you built. Your breaths mingled, your bodies moving together in perfect synchrony. Every brush of his skin against yours, every shift of his hips, sent sparks of pleasure racing through you.

Your hands slid to his face, cupping his jaw as you pulled him down for another kiss. The connection between you felt electric, every touch, every sound magnified by the depth of your emotions. Logan groaned against your lips, his grip on your thigh tightening as his movements became more insistent.

“You’re incredible,” he muttered, his voice rough and filled with emotion. “Always have been.”

You couldn’t form a coherent response, your mind too clouded with sensation. Instead, you let your body speak for you, your nails dragging lightly down his back as you arched against him. Logan’s lips found your neck again, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Always.”

The tension in your body coiled tighter, every nerve ending alight as Logan drove you closer and closer to the edge. His name spilled from your lips in a breathless chant, each syllable laced with desperation and love. Logan’s own breaths were ragged, his movements becoming less controlled as he followed you into the spiral of pleasure.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice thick with emotion. “Darlin’… I…”

Whatever he was about to say was lost as the wave of sensation crashed over you, your body tightening around him as you cried out. Logan followed moments later, his body shuddering against yours as he buried his face in your neck, his breaths hot and uneven against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled with the sound of your breathing and the rapid thudding of your hearts. Logan pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before lifting his head to meet your gaze. His hazel eyes were warm, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, a tired but genuine smile spreading across your face. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

Logan chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not done holding you yet.”

---

As you poured over your large desk calendar, carefully reviewing the neat little markings you’d made to track your cycle, one thing became clear—you were late. Just by two days, but late nonetheless. Your stomach twisted slightly at the realization. It wasn’t panic, but an odd mix of hope and trepidation.

Logan was out for the day, helping Bobby with reconnaissance in the field. You had the mansion’s lab all to yourself, for now, save for the soft hum of the equipment around you. You stared at the calendar for a moment longer before exhaling sharply, closing it.

Footsteps echoed softly down the corridor outside your lab. The familiar red-haired figure appeared a moment later, her bright smile a welcome sight. Jean always seemed to have a knack for showing up when you needed her, whether or not you realized it.

“Hey,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, her green eyes warm. “Mind if I come in?”

You shook your head, offering her a faint smile. “Not at all.”

She stepped inside, glancing around before narrowing her gaze playfully. “Alright, what’s got you so deep in thought that you didn’t even hear me walking up?”

You hesitated. Jean was one of your closest friend—someone you trusted implicitly—but the thought of saying it aloud made your cheeks warm. You busied yourself tidying a few loose papers on your desk.

“It’s nothing,” you said lightly, though your tone betrayed you.

Jean arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Y/N. I know you too well for that.”

You sighed, sitting back in your chair and fiddling with the edges of your sleeves. “I realized… I’m late.”

It took a beat, but comprehension dawned on her face. “Oh.” Her voice softened immediately. “You mean…”

You nodded. “By two days.”

Jean moved closer, pulling up a chair to sit beside you. Her tone remained calm and supportive, but her expression was curious. “Have you told Logan yet?”

“No. I just figured it out this morning, and he’s out with Bobby.” You shook your head, pushing up your glasses. “And honestly, I’m not even sure I’m… y’know. I don’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.”

Jean tilted her head thoughtfully. “Fair. But, what’s the harm in knowing? Have you taken a test yet?”

“No. I haven’t exactly worked up the nerve,” you admitted, managing a wry smile. “Besides, I don’t even have one.”

Her lips quirked into a smile of her own. “Alright. Why don’t we go grab one now? It’ll give you some company, and we can grab lunch afterward. My treat.”

The suggestion caught you off guard, but the idea of not facing the store alone—and spending some time with Jean—was surprisingly appealing. You gave her a grateful look.

“You don’t have to do that,” you started.

“I know,” she interrupted gently, standing and reaching for your hand. “But I want to. Come on, get your coat.”

You hesitated a moment longer before standing, sliding into your coat and scarf. Jean smiled encouragingly, and you followed her out of the lab, glad for the distraction.

---

The two of you walked into the drugstore, the bright fluorescent lights making the shelves gleam. Jean glanced over at you as you lingered near the door.

“Alright, where to?” she asked, her teasing smile disarming any awkwardness you might’ve felt.

You motioned vaguely toward the pharmacy section, hesitating for a moment before finally heading down the appropriate aisle. Jean walked beside you like a fortress, keeping her presence casual but protective.

Reaching the section with pregnancy tests, you froze slightly. The sheer number of options was overwhelming—digital, non-digital, early detection, the works. Jean followed your gaze and let out a quiet laugh.

“Who knew it was so complicated, huh?” she said, reaching out to grab one of the boxes. “This one looks straightforward. What do you think?”

You nodded, relieved she was taking the reins. She handed you the box, and you managed to keep your expression neutral as you tucked it under your arm.

Once at the checkout, Jean casually chatted with you about physics lectures, cutting through any tension. If the clerk gave you an odd look as they rang up the test, you were too focused on Jean’s lighthearted commentary to notice.

---

After getting back to the mansion and successfully avoiding the test for hours, you found yourself pacing your shared bedroom, the unopened box mocking you from the desk. Every time you thought you were ready, your nerves got the better of you.

Logan would be back soon, and the last thing you wanted was to be caught mid-test, especially if it turned out to be a false alarm. Not to mention, you weren’t even sure how to feel yet. Hopeful? Nervous?

You finally let out a frustrated groan, swiping the box off the desk and heading for the bathroom. Best to just get it over with.

Jean had offered to stay and wait with you, but you’d insisted you were fine. She’d left with a knowing smile and a promise to check in on you later.

The knot in your stomach tightened as you sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the pregnancy test still untouched on the counter. You didn’t even realize how tightly you were gripping the edge of the porcelain until your knuckles turned white. For months, you’d been doing everything you could to plan, track, and optimize, but now, faced with the moment of truth, it felt… terrifying.

Still, you’d promised yourself you’d do this today. “Just get it over with,” you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself off the edge of the tub and grabbing one of the small sterile cups Jean had handed you earlier. You couldn’t help but smile briefly at her thoughtfulness—of course, she’d come prepared.

Steeling yourself, you slipped into autopilot mode, getting everything in place as clinically as possible. You focused on the steps, trying to push away the weight of your emotions. But when you glanced down after finishing, your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the pale pink lines on the pregnancy test that greeted you. It was bright red.

Your heart plummeted as the realization hit. You didn’t even need the test anymore.

The wave of disappointment was immediate and sharp, crashing over you before you even had time to process it. You felt frozen for a moment, staring blankly at the stark evidence in front of you. All the charts, the vitamins, the careful planning—none of it mattered. Not this time, at least.

You sat back down on the edge of the tub and pressed your hands to your face. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. It wasn’t the end of the world, you reminded yourself. You and Logan had only been trying for six months. There was still time.

But the hope you’d been holding onto—nurturing like a fragile spark—felt snuffed out in an instant.

---

You stayed in the bathroom longer than you meant to, staring at the sink as your thoughts swirled. When you finally managed to gather yourself enough to leave, the sun had dipped lower, casting warm orange light into the bedroom. The clock on the nightstand read 6:17 PM.

Logan would be back soon.

The thought of seeing him was equal parts comforting and daunting. You knew he wouldn’t blame you or be upset, but the weight of letting him down—of letting yourself down—pressed heavily on your chest.

You busied yourself cleaning up, discarding the unused test and tucking away the box in the bathroom cabinet. By the time you emerged, you had forced your expression into something neutral, though you felt anything but calm.

---

The rumble of Logan’s motorcycle echoed through the driveway not long after, and you instinctively straightened in your chair, fiddling with the edge of the smaller version of your calendar you’d been pretending to review.

When the door opened, Logan’s presence filled the room like always, his familiar scent and the soft creak of his boots against the floor grounding you. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair, his hazel eyes immediately finding yours.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm. His gaze softened as he stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “You alright? You look tired.”

You managed a small smile, leaning into his touch. “I’m fine. Just a long day.”

Logan studied you for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “You sure?”

You nodded quickly, but soon your eyes started to burn again, and you shook your head, unable to keep up the facade. Logan’s brow furrowed as his hand slid from your cheek to rest lightly on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was soft, concerned.

You tried to speak, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Instead, you gave a small shake of your head and looked down, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose as you avoided his gaze. Logan crouched in front of you, his hands finding yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Hey,” he murmured, his tone coaxing. “Talk to me.”

You took a shaky breath, your hands tightening around his as you finally forced yourself to say the words, even if they came out in sobs and jumbles. “I thought—I thought maybe this time, but… it’s not. I’m not.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and Logan’s grip on your hands tightened just enough to steady you. He didn’t say anything at first, letting you cry, his thumbs brushing softly over your knuckles.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice rough with concern. He moved to sit beside you, pulling you into his arms. The warmth of his embrace broke down the last of your walls, and you clung to him, your face pressed against his chest as the sobs came harder.

“I—I thought I felt different this time,” you murmured against his shirt, your voice muffled. “I was so sure. And then…” You shook your head, unable to finish the sentence.

Logan rested his chin on the top of your head, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’s okay to feel like this. You don’t have to hold it in with me.”

You nodded against his chest, even as fresh tears welled up. “It just—it feels like I failed. Like we’re doing everything right, and it still doesn’t matter.”

“You didn’t fail,” Logan said firmly, his voice steady and low. He pulled back enough to tilt your chin up so you’d look at him. His hazel eyes were soft but intense, focused entirely on you. “This ain’t on you. Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want, even when we’re doin’ everything we’re supposed to. Doesn’t mean it’s over. We’ll keep tryin’, together.”

“But what if—what if it never happens?” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he took a moment before answering. “Then we’ll figure it out, sweetheart. We always do. One way or another, we’ll have the family we’re dreamin’ about. You hear me?”

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak. Logan cupped your cheek, his calloused thumb brushing away the tears. “You’re the strongest person I know, Y/N. We’ll get through this, just like we’ve gotten through everything else. And we’ll do it together.”

His words eased some of the weight pressing on your chest, and you leaned into his hand, letting out a shaky breath. “I just… I wanted to tell you. I didn’t want to hide it.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Logan said. “Don’t ever feel like you gotta deal with this by yourself. I’m here, no matter what, alright?”

You nodded again, and this time the tears that fell were lighter, more cathartic than crushing. Logan leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling you back into his arms.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content to sit in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The soft hum of Logan’s steady breathing and the warmth of his embrace grounded you, reminding you that you weren’t alone in this.

“I love you,” you murmured after a while, your voice small but steady.

“I love you too, darlin’,” Logan replied without hesitation, his lips brushing against your temple.

The reassurance in his voice settled something inside you, and for the first time since the disappointment had struck, the knot in your chest began to loosen. You weren’t sure what the future held, but as long as Logan was by your side, you knew you could face it.

Chapter Text

After over a year of trying the two of you made the decision to see a fertility doctor.

You sat in the waiting room, your fingers nervously twisting the strap of your bag. Logan sat beside you, his hand resting on your knee, grounding you with his quiet presence. The sterile smell of the clinic mixed with the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead, making the space feel too clinical, too impersonal for something so intimate.

“You okay?” Logan asked softly, his thumb brushing against your knee.

You nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, just... nervous, I guess.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We’re just figuring out what’s what. No rush, no pressure.”

You glanced at him then, his calm demeanor easing some of the tension in your chest. “I know. It’s just... I don’t know. I feel like we’re opening Pandora’s box or something.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning in closer. “Pandora’s box, huh? Thought you were supposed to be the scientist between us.”

You managed a small smile, your nerves settling just a little. “I am. And scientifically, Pandora’s box didn’t end well.”

“Maybe not, but we’re not dealin’ with myths here. We’re dealin’ with you and me—and we’ve faced worse than a box full of trouble, haven’t we?”

Before you could answer, the nurse called your name. You stood, Logan’s hand brushing your lower back as you followed her into the consultation room.

---

The doctor was kind, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile and a straightforward manner that you appreciated. She went over your medical history, asked a series of questions, and explained what the process would involve.

“We’ll start with some basic tests,” she said, her tone reassuring. “Blood work, ultrasounds, and a sperm analysis for Logan. From there, we’ll have a clearer picture of what’s going on.”

You glanced at Logan, half-expecting him to bristle at the mention of his part in the testing, but he surprised you by nodding without hesitation.

“Whatever we need to do,” he said simply.

The doctor’s smile widened. “That’s a great attitude. And I’ll be here to guide you through every step, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

---

After the appointment, the two of you walked back to Logan’s truck in comfortable silence. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot, and the crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of leaves and woodsmoke.

Logan opened the passenger door for you, waiting until you were settled before climbing in on the driver’s side. As he started the engine, he glanced over at you, his hazel eyes steady and warm.

“You feel better?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so. The doctor was nice. She made it seem... manageable.”

“Good,” Logan said, his hand reaching out to rest on your thigh as he backed out of the parking space. “We’ll take it one step at a time. No point in gettin’ ahead of ourselves.”

You placed your hand over his, squeezing gently. “Thanks for coming with me. I know this isn’t exactly your comfort zone.”

Logan smirked, his eyes flicking to you briefly. “Darlin’, my comfort zone’s about ten feet away from a fight. This? This is easy. ‘Cause it’s for you.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, warmth spreading through your chest. You leaned over to press a quick kiss to his cheek, your glasses bumping his temple in the process.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice soft.

Logan gave you a small smile, his hand tightening on your thigh. “Anytime.”

---

That evening, you found yourself in the kitchen with Jean, who was chopping vegetables for dinner while you leaned against the counter, a mug of tea cradled in your hands.

“How’d it go?” Jean asked, her green eyes flicking to you as she placed the knife down.

“Good, I think,” you said, exhaling slowly. “The doctor was nice. She explained everything really well. It’s just... a lot to think about.”

Jean nodded, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “It’s normal to feel that way. But you’re not alone in this, Y/N. You’ve got Logan, and you’ve got us. Whatever you need, we’re here.”

Her words brought a small smile to your lips, and you reached out to squeeze her hand. “Thanks, Jean. That means a lot.”

“Anytime,” she said, her smile matching yours.

The sound of the front door closing signaled Logan’s return from the garage, and a moment later, he appeared in the kitchen doorway. His gaze immediately found you, and the soft look in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, setting your mug down and crossing the room to meet him. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Logan wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured against your skin.

Jean watched the two of you with a small smile before turning back to her vegetables, giving you the space to share the quiet moment with Logan.

---

“Rogue? What’re you doing? You aren’t my student anymore.”

You adjusted your glasses as you spotted her lingering near the hallway outside the classroom, her gloved hands tucked behind her back. She turned around, wearing a sheepish smile.

“I know, but Bobby said you’re takin’ the kids to the New York Hall of Science,” Rogue said, brushing a strand of her two-toned hair out of her face. “Thought maybe I could tag along?”

“You want to come on a field trip?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rogue shrugged. “Well, it’s better than sittin’ around the mansion all day. And I’ve been wantin’ to see that museum anyway.”

Before you could answer, Kitty’s head popped out from behind Rogue, her grin wide and unapologetic. “We thought it’d be fun! Plus, you could use some extra chaperones, right?”

“Extra chaperones or extra trouble?” you teased, though you couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. Bobby appeared a moment later, looking far less guilty than he should have.

“We’re all adults now,” he said, a little too smugly. “Technically, we’re helping.”

You folded your arms, trying to keep your expression stern. “Technically, you’re supposed to let me know before inviting yourselves.”

“C’mon, Y/N,” Kitty said, clasping her hands dramatically. “We’ll behave, promise!”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. But if you distract the students or cause chaos, I’m leaving you in Queens.”

“Deal,” Rogue said quickly, already grinning.

---

The drive to the museum was lively, to say the least. The younger students buzzed with excitement, while Rogue and Kitty kept up a steady stream of commentary from the back of the bus. You tried to focus on the road, but you couldn’t help glancing in the mirror every so often, smiling at their antics.

When you finally arrived at the New York Hall of Science, the group poured out of the bus, their energy palpable. You gave them a quick rundown of the rules before leading the way inside.

The exhibits were an instant hit. The students scattered to explore interactive displays, their laughter and chatter filling the space. Rogue and Kitty stuck close to you at first, their curiosity about the exhibits almost childlike.

“This is pretty cool,” Kitty admitted, tapping the glass of a display case showcasing early quantum mechanics experiments. “Bet it’s right up your alley.”

You smiled, adjusting your glasses as you read the plaque beside it. “It’s fascinating. Physics helps us understand so much about the universe—and how much we still don’t know.”

Rogue leaned closer, examining the display. “You ever think about where we fit into all that? Mutants, I mean.”

The question caught you off guard, but you answered honestly. “All the time. I think… we’re just another piece of the puzzle. We might not always fit neatly, but we’re part of the picture.”

Rogue nodded thoughtfully, and the three of you fell into a comfortable silence as you continued exploring.

As the day went on, you felt yourself relaxing. For a few hours, the worries that had been weighing on you—doctor’s appointments, tests, and the ache of waiting—faded into the background.

By the time you returned to the mansion that evening, the students were tired but buzzing with excitement, chattering about their favorite exhibits as they spilled out of the bus. Logan was waiting for you by the front steps, his sharp gaze scanning the group until it landed on you.

“How’d it go?” he asked, his voice low as you approached him.

“Good,” you said, smiling. “No one got lost, and no one broke anything. I’d call that a win.”

Logan smirked, his hand finding the small of your back as he guided you inside. “Told ya you’d survive.”

You leaned into his touch, letting out a content sigh. “Yeah, yeah. You were right.”

“Damn straight,” he teased, his smirk softening into something more affectionate as he glanced down at you.

And just like that, the weight of the day disappeared, replaced by the quiet comfort of knowing Logan was by your side.

---

When you started taking Clomid three weeks ago, you thought it would speed things up—help you. Instead, it left you with hot flashes, cramps, and, worst of all, mood swings.

You’d read about the potential side effects, of course. The medical literature had been clear, and you prided yourself on being well-informed. But reading about it and living it were two entirely different things.

The latest mood swing hit you like a freight train when Logan entered the kitchen. He was carrying an empty coffee mug, his usual calm demeanor unbothered by the chaos of breakfast cleanup around him.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted, placing the mug in the sink. “You alright?”

His voice was gentle, concerned, and yet it lit a spark of irritation in you. You didn’t know why, but the question made your chest tighten.

“Do I look alright?” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

Logan blinked, taken aback. His brow furrowed, and his eyes searched your face for a clue about what had just happened. “I, uh, didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t mean anything,” you interrupted, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “But maybe I’m tired of people asking if I’m okay. Maybe I’m not okay, Logan. Is that what you want to hear?”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy, and as soon as they left your mouth, regret settled in. Logan didn’t deserve this. You knew he didn’t. But the mix of hormones and frustration bubbling inside you didn’t care.

Logan stepped closer, his expression softening. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly, his hands reaching out to rest on your arms. “Talk to me. What’s goin’ on?”

You pulled back slightly, tears pricking at your eyes. “I don’t know! I just... I feel like I’m losing my mind. This stupid Clomid is supposed to help, but all it’s doing is making me feel awful. And I hate snapping at you like this. I hate it.”

Logan’s hands slid down to yours, his grip firm and reassuring. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. You’re dealin’ with a lot, and it’s not easy. But you’re not doin’ this alone, remember? I’m right here.”

You sniffled, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I know. I just... I hate feeling like this. Like I’m not myself.”

Logan tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re still you, Y/N. You’re just dealin’ with somethin’ tough right now. And if you need to yell or cry or whatever, that’s fine. I can take it.”

A small laugh escaped you, even as tears rolled down your cheeks. “You’re too good to me.”

He smirked, his thumbs brushing your skin. “Damn right I am. Now, how about I make you some tea and we sit down for a bit? You don’t gotta push yourself so hard.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Okay. Tea sounds good.”

Logan pressed a kiss to your temple before releasing you to put the kettle on. As he moved around the kitchen, the weight in your chest started to lift. You weren’t in this alone, and no matter how many mood swings or bad days came your way, Logan would be there.

---

Later that night, Logan surprised you with a hot bath. He didn’t say a word about it—just took your hand and led you to the bathroom, where he’d set up candles around the tub and filled it with steaming water and a bit of your favorite lavender bath soak.

You stared at the scene, your chest tightening with emotion. “Logan, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his hands resting on your shoulders as he gently guided you toward the tub. “But I wanted to. Figured you could use a break.”

The warmth in his hazel eyes melted away any lingering guilt, and you leaned up to kiss him softly. “Thank you.”

He smirked, stepping back to let you undress. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me. Take your time.”

As you sank into the hot water, the tension in your body slowly ebbed away. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth soothe you, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

---

When you emerged from the bathroom later, wrapped in one of Logan’s oversized flannels, he was waiting for you on the couch with a mug of tea and a soft blanket. He pulled you down beside him, tucking you under his arm without a word.

“I’m sorry again,” you murmured against his chest.

“Don’t need to apologize,” Logan said, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. “Just glad you’re feelin’ a little better.”

You nodded, letting yourself relax into him. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew one thing for certain: Logan would be right there with you, every step of the way.

---

You’re in your bedroom folding laundry, trying to distract yourself from the mild discomfort that’s been following you all day. Logan’s boots catch your attention—the heavy leather pair sitting next to the closet instead of neatly inside it, where you’ve asked him to put them a dozen times. Something snaps.

"Why can't you just put them away, Logan?" you huff, pointing at the offending boots with all the energy of someone starting a revolution.

Logan, stretched out on the bed with a book resting on his chest, blinks at you like you’ve just spoken another language. "Darlin’, they’re not even—”

"Don’t ‘darling’ me!" you cut him off, your voice sharpening. "I’ve been cleaning all afternoon, and you can't even manage the closet! It’s right there!" You gesture toward the closet door like it's miles away instead of two feet.

He sets the book aside, sitting up slowly. “Okay.” His voice is calm, steady. “Lemme fix that.”

You cross your arms, watching as he stands, grabs the boots, and tucks them neatly inside the closet. No argument, no eye-roll, no sass. Just... compliance.

Somehow, it makes you feel worse.

By the time he turns around, your anger’s dissolved into a rush of tears that blindsides you both. Logan freezes, brows pulling together as he steps closer. "Hey, hey, what’s this now?”

You hiccup through a sob, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to snap! I don’t know why I’m crying; it’s so dumb—”

His hands land gently on your shoulders, and he’s looking at you with those warm, steady eyes, like nothing in the world could shake him. “It ain’t dumb,” he says firmly. "You’re just feelin’ stuff. Nothin’ wrong with that."

“I yelled at you over boots,” you whisper, mortified, pressing your hands over your face.

Logan chuckles softly and pulls you against his chest, his voice rumbling against your ear. “Yeah, well, maybe I deserved it. Don’t mean I’ll stop leavin’ ‘em out now and then, though—keepin’ you on your toes.”

You let out a watery laugh, half-hidden in his shirt. “You’re impossible.”

“But I’m yours.” He kisses the top of your head, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Come on. We’ll figure the rest out after we lay down for a bit. Boots’ll be here to argue about tomorrow.”

Still sniffling, you nod and let him guide you to bed, the weight of the day slowly slipping away as his arms wrap around you.

---

You grabbed your toolkit and headed to Jean’s classroom, determined to fix the sagging bookshelf that she’d mentioned Scott was supposed to take care of weeks ago. She’d been busy helping Ororo with a project, so you figured it was the perfect opportunity to step in and help out. You were midway through tightening a screw when Scott appeared in the doorway, his brows lifting slightly in surprise.

“Y/N?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you shot back without looking up. “Fixing this bookshelf that’s been on your to-do list since forever.”

Scott blinked, clearly taken aback. “I was gonna get to it—”

“‘Gonna’ doesn’t cut it, Scott,” you interrupted, your voice rising as you stood up and placed your hands on your hips. “Jean’s been patient, but this thing’s been wobbling like a drunk giraffe for weeks. What if a kid leaned on it and it collapsed? You’ve been too busy polishing the visor or whatever it is you do instead of actually taking care of the basics around here.”

Scott’s mouth opened and closed, his expression cycling rapidly from shock to mild indignation to confusion. “Polishing the—what? I’ve been—”

“Don’t even start,” you cut him off again, waving a screwdriver for emphasis. “This isn’t just about the bookshelf. What about the training room light that’s still flickering? Or the squeaky hinge on the front door? Or—or the fact that the coffee machine still sprays everywhere every time someone tries to make espresso? All things you said you’d take care of!”

Logan had been passing by when he heard the commotion. He stopped just outside the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with amused curiosity.

Scott’s face was a study in restrained emotion—shock, embarrassment, a touch of frustration. “Y/N, I—”

“Don’t!” you snapped, jabbing the screwdriver toward him. “Some of us actually follow through on our responsibilities, Summers. Jean shouldn’t have to remind you a hundred times, and I shouldn’t have to come in here and do your job for you.”

From his perch at the door, Logan chuckled under his breath. Scott shot him a quick glare, but you were too fired up to notice.

“Okay,” Scott said, his tone unusually placating. “You’re right. I’ll take care of it, alright? No need to—”

“To what? Be upset?” you interrupted, throwing your hands up. “You think I want to yell at you about this? I don’t. But someone’s gotta hold you accountable.”

Scott stood there for a moment, clearly unsure how to respond. He nodded stiffly, turned on his heel, and walked toward the door. As he passed Logan, he muttered, “Not a word.”

Logan raised his hands in mock innocence, but the smirk tugging at his lips was impossible to miss. Once Scott was gone, Logan stepped into the room, his smirk blooming into a full grin.

“Well, that was somethin’,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “Didn’t know you had it in you, darlin’.”

You turned to him, still holding the screwdriver, your cheeks flushed. “I—I don’t know what came over me,” you stammered, the fire in your tone extinguished as quickly as it had flared. “I just... snapped.”

Logan stepped closer, taking the screwdriver from your hand and setting it aside. “Snapped is right. Poor Summers looked like he’d been run over.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh God, I probably scared him. I’ve never yelled at anyone like that before.”

Logan chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest. “Well, you got a point about the bookshelf. And the coffee machine.”

“It’s the Clomid,” you mumbled into his shirt. “It’s making me crazy. I can’t believe I just did that.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’re not crazy, sweetheart. Just feelin’ things a little stronger than usual. Summers’ll survive. Might even get his act together after this.”

You let out a weak laugh, peeking up at him through your glasses. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Logan said, his grin softening into something warmer. “And if he doesn’t, well... you’ve got me to back you up.”

You sighed, letting yourself relax against him. “Thanks, Logan.”

"Anytime, darlin’," Logan murmured, holding you close. "But maybe give me a heads-up next time before you tear into someone. I’d like a front-row seat. In fact," he paused as his hands slid under your knees, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, "I think I’d like a demonstration."

You blinked up at him, your cheeks flushing instantly. "Logan—"

"Don’t start," he teased, his grin widening as he kicked the door closed behind him. "You’ve got me all worked up, Y/N. Not every day I see you take charge like that. Hell, I’m half tempted to leave my boots out again just to see what happens."

You squirmed in his arms, though not enough to make him let go. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you married me," he shot back, smirking. "What’s that say about you?"

"That I make questionable decisions," you quipped, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Logan carried you into the bedroom, setting you down on the edge of the bed with a deliberate slowness that made your pulse quicken. He crouched in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees as his gaze met yours, warm and teasing.

"Questionable, huh?" His voice dropped slightly, the rough edge of it curling around the words. "Guess we better make somethin’ about it that’s real certain."

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as his hands slid up your thighs. "Logan..."

He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that started slow and deepened quickly, his hand slipping behind your neck to pull you closer. When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your glasses slightly askew.

"You keep kissin’ me like that, and we’re never going to get anything done," you murmured, your voice softer now.

Logan smirked, reaching up to adjust your glasses with an exaggerated care that made you roll your eyes. "Who says we’re not gettin’ somethin’ done? We got work to do, darlin’."

"Work," you echoed, half-laughing. "That’s one way to put it."

He stood, pulling you to your feet with him, his hands warm and steady against your hips. "You’ve been stressin’ over all this, Y/N. We’re in this together, yeah? You and me. No matter how long it takes."

You nodded, feeling the tension in your chest ease slightly. "I know. I just... I don’t want to let you down."

Logan’s expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "You could never let me down. Got it?"

"Got it," you whispered, leaning into his touch.

"Good." He grinned then, a wicked glint in his eye as he pulled you closer. "Now, how ‘bout that demonstration?"

Before you could answer, he kissed you again, slower this time, his hands slipping to the small of your back. You melted against him, letting his warmth and steady presence ground you. Whatever came next, you knew you were in this together.

---

Kitty poked her head into your classroom, right now it was in between periods, students trickling in and out of classrooms. “Hey! I wanted to ask you ‘bout that article you recommended…”

You hummed, an ice pack pressed against the back of your neck. “Yeah? What about it?”

Kitty stepped further into the room, her usual bounce tempered by curiosity. “So, I read that article you told me about—the one on quantum superposition and neural networks? It was fascinating, but I got stuck on the part about entanglement thresholds. Like, how do you measure that without collapsing the system?”

You smiled despite the warmth blooming uncomfortably along your collarbone. “Good question. It’s tricky because you’re working with systems that are inherently unstable. The key is minimizing external interference—usually through isolated environments and precise calculations. I could lend you a book that explains it better.”

Kitty nodded enthusiastically. “That’d be awesome! I’m trying to connect it to this idea I had about alternate timelines—like, how they intersect and... hey, are you okay?”

Her sudden shift in tone made you blink. “What?”

“You look kind of flushed,” Kitty said, tilting her head. “And you’ve got an ice pack. Are you sick?”

You waved a hand, brushing off her concern. “I’m fine. Just a hot flash.”

Kitty’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. Ohhh. Is it... you know... related to the Clomid?”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat even more—not from the hormones this time. “Yeah. Side effects are no joke.”

Kitty frowned sympathetically. “That sucks. Anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you’ve invented air-conditioning I can carry in my pocket,” you joked lightly. “But thanks, Kitty. I appreciate it.”

She smiled, though her eyes were still tinged with concern. “Anytime. And hey, if you need a distraction, I’m always up for more physics talk.”

“Noted,” you said, smiling back. “Now, get out of here before you’re late to your next session.”

Kitty grinned and backed toward the door. “Alright, alright. But seriously—take it easy, Y/N.”

As she left, you leaned back in your chair, letting the ice pack cool your neck. The day felt like it was stretching on forever.

---

Later that afternoon, you were walking down the hallway, carrying a stack of freshly graded papers for your advanced physics students. Logan’s heavy footsteps caught your attention before you saw him, and you weren’t surprised when he appeared at your side, his usual scowl softening the moment he looked at you.

“Here.” He reached out and took the stack of papers from your hands without waiting for permission.

You gave him a small smile. “I can handle it, Logan.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, his tone gruff but affectionate. “Doesn’t mean you gotta.”

Before you could respond, he pulled something from his jacket pocket—a small, folding hand fan. With a flick of his wrist, he opened it and started fanning you as you walked.

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. “Logan. What are you doing?”

“Coolin’ you down,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Where did you even get that?”

“Picked it up from Jubilee,” he said with a smirk. “She’s got a stash of these things. Said they’re ‘aesthetic.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “Logan, I’m fine. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t start,” he interrupted, fanning you with slow, deliberate strokes. “You’re dealin’ with enough. Let me help.”

Further down the hall, Bobby and Rogue were leaning against a locker, their conversation trailing off as they watched the scene unfold.

“Is... is he fanning her?” Bobby asked, his tone equal parts disbelief and amusement.

“Looks like it,” Rogue said, her Southern drawl soft with surprise. “That’s... kinda sweet, actually.”

“Sweet?” Bobby snorted. “It’s Logan. The guy who growls at people for breathing too loud. And now he’s walking around with a fan like he’s auditioning for Pride and Prejudice.”

“Maybe he’s just different with her,” Rogue suggested, her gaze lingering on the way Logan’s expression softened as he looked at you.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“Just... softer,” Rogue said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

---

By the time you reached your classroom, the fan had done its job, and you felt marginally less like you were melting. Logan set the papers on your desk and tucked the fan back into his jacket.

“Thanks,” you said softly, adjusting your glasses as you looked up at him.

Logan shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that told you he was pleased. “Anytime, darlin’.”

As he turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, glancing back at you. “Oh, and don’t forget—peppermints are in my other pocket if you need ‘em. For the nausea.”

You felt your heart swell at the gesture, even as you shook your head in exasperation. “You spoil me, you know that?”

“Damn right I do,” he said with a smirk before disappearing down the hall.

You sighed, a soft smile lingering on your lips as you turned back to your work. Whatever challenges this journey threw your way, Logan’s steady presence made every step feel a little lighter.

---

You didn’t train much, your powers weren’t exactly something you could easily fight with. So while you occasionally participated in the Danger Room sessions you rarely hit the gym.

But in all your research, exercise is supposed to help with your fertility. Which is why you started training with Ororo rather than Logan—after last time that was never happening again.

You adjusted your glasses as you pushed open the heavy door to the gym. The faint clang of metal weights and the low murmur of conversation met your ears. You weren’t here to train, of course—you were looking for Jean, who’d promised to help you reorganize some of the chaos in your physics lab. She’d mentioned something about hitting the gym with Scott earlier, so it was your best bet for tracking her down.

Your plan to slip in and out unnoticed, however, derailed the moment you spotted Logan. He was leaning against the boxing ring ropes, wiping sweat from his brow after what looked like an intense sparring session with Scott, who was already halfway out the door. Logan glanced up, his sharp gaze locking onto you before his lips quirked into that familiar smirk.

“Look who’s wandered into enemy territory,” he teased, straightening up.

“I’m not here for this,” you said quickly, waving your hand at the gym in general. “I’m just looking for Jean.”

Logan grabbed a towel from the corner and draped it over his neck, taking slow steps toward you. “Jean left about ten minutes ago. You missed her.”

Your shoulders slumped. “Of course, she did. That’s my luck today.”

“Well, since you’re here,” he said, his tone shifting, “why don’t you step in the ring with me for a bit?”

You blinked at him, startled. “Logan, we’ve been over this. Last time I ‘trained’ with you, you nearly broke my wrist.”

“That was a love tap, and you know it.” His smirk widened, but his eyes softened in a way that made your heart flip. “Come on. Humor me, darlin’. It’s not every day you wander in here.”

You hesitated, glancing around. “Logan, I’m not exactly dressed for—”

“You don’t need to be dressed for anything fancy. Just step in the ring and show me what you’ve been learning with ‘Ro,” he interrupted, gesturing toward the ropes.

Your head tilted in confusion. “You… know I’ve been training with Ororo?”

He crossed his arms. “Course I do. I ain’t blind, sweetheart. I’ve been lettin’ you do your thing, but I’m curious now. So, get up here and show me.”

There was no talking him out of it—you knew that look all too well. With a sigh, you handed off your things to a nearby bench and climbed into the ring. Logan watched, waiting patiently as you faced him.

“I haven’t been learning much,” you admitted. “Mostly just stuff to keep me… in shape.”

“That so?” He took a step closer. “Guess I’ll be the judge of that. Come at me.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

With a resigned sigh, you brought your hands up, recalling the basic stance Ororo had drilled into you. Logan’s brow quirked approvingly.

“Not bad,” he said. “Now throw a punch.”

You hesitated, then jabbed toward him. He deflected it easily, nodding for you to try again. The first few attempts felt clumsy, but his corrections were patient, guiding you through the motions until you gained a rhythm.

“Alright, not bad at all,” he said after a few minutes. “Now let’s add some flair. Show me somethin’ you’ve picked up from Ororo.”

You inhaled deeply, your nerves threatening to surface. “Okay, but… you asked for this.”

With that, you stepped back slightly, feinted a jab, and then leaped toward him. Your legs hooked around his neck, and with a sudden twist, you executed a move Ororo had shown you in one of your sessions. Logan’s body slammed to the mat, your weight holding him down as your thighs pinned him firmly.

For a long moment, there was silence, save for your panting breaths. Your arms braced against the floor for balance as your legs stayed locked around his neck. Logan’s hands instinctively came up to grip your calves, his calloused palms firm but cautious, as though testing if the moment was real.

“Where the hell did you learn that?” Logan’s voice was hoarse, slightly winded, though his lips curved into an almost feral grin.

“Ororo,” you answered, surprised at your own breathlessness. “She said… it’s a last-resort thing.”

Logan laughed, a rich sound that sent heat to your cheeks. His grip shifted slightly, his thumb brushing your skin in a way that made you hyperaware of the position you were in. “Not bad for someone who claims she doesn’t know much.”

Your cheeks flamed, and your confidence faltered. “I—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Don’t backpedal now,” Logan interrupted, his grin widening. “This is somethin’ else.”

You stared at him, your glasses sliding slightly down your nose, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. His hands remained on your legs, his touch warm and grounding, and it occurred to you just how close you were.

“Uh, should I… let you up now?” you asked awkwardly.

“Probably,” Logan said, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. He made no immediate effort to move, and for a moment longer, the tension thickened.

Finally, you unlocked your legs and scrambled off him, adjusting your glasses with a nervous laugh. Logan got to his feet with his usual grace, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Y’know,” he drawled, “next time, don’t wait so long to show me somethin’ like that. Hell of a way to knock me on my ass.”

You rolled your eyes, your shyness kicking back in full force. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t expect it to happen again.”

“No promises, darlin’,” he said, his tone playful but his eyes watching you with unmistakable fondness.

Chapter Text

After another year of trying, the past month had been… quiet, but not in a bad way. You’d settled into a comfortable rhythm, balancing teaching at the mansion, your work on personal physics projects, and trying—without overthinking it—to start a family with Logan. For now, life felt almost normal.

You were at your desk grading papers when Jean popped her head into your lab, her red hair a little frazzled and her expression unreadable. “Hey, you free for a bit?” she asked, walking in without waiting for a reply.

“For you, always.” You glanced up from the essay you’d been marking and adjusted your glasses, smiling at her as she leaned against the lab counter. “Everything okay?”

Jean shrugged, then tilted her head. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

You blinked in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You’ve been glowing.” She grinned, and you felt a warm flush spread across your cheeks at her teasing tone. “And no, before you ask, that’s not sarcasm. You’ve just seemed… happier lately. Lighter.”

You laughed softly, setting the essay down. “I think that’s called sleep. Scott's training schedule hasn’t kept me up at ungodly hours lately.”

“Fair.” Jean gave you a knowing look but didn’t press further. “What are you working on?”

“Grading. My usual Saturday thrill ride,” you said with a shrug, holding up the essays. “Teenagers’ essays on quantum superposition. Some are surprisingly insightful. Others... not so much.”

Jean laughed, pushing herself off the counter to peer over your shoulder. “I don’t envy you that.”

“You shouldn’t.” You sighed dramatically. “Some of them think Schrödinger actually had a pet cat.”

Jean made a face, then patted your shoulder. “Better you than me. Anyway, Logan’s looking for you, by the way.”

“He is?” You glanced at the clock on your desk. It was mid-morning, and you weren’t expecting him back from an early morning mission until the afternoon. “Did he say why?”

“Nope, just that you should meet him in the garden whenever you have a break. Something about ‘flowers or somethin’,’” Jean replied, smirking as she mimicked Logan’s gruff tone.

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Flowers?”

“That’s what he said. I don’t ask too many questions when Logan’s being cryptic.” Jean patted your shoulder again and headed for the door. “But you should go see him. Don’t leave the man waiting.”

You finished your grading session quickly and made your way outside, pushing the glass doors open to step into the sunshine. The garden was in full bloom—a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors—and Logan was leaning against one of the trellises, wearing his usual leather jacket despite the spring warmth.

“Darlin’,” he said as he spotted you, standing straight. His smirk softened into something warmer, his gaze sweeping over you. “Took you long enough.”

“You sent Jean to fetch me like I’m a stray,” you joked, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you walked toward him. “What’s this about flowers?”

“Never said it was about flowers,” Logan replied, raising an eyebrow. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled something out, and then held it up—a delicate lilac blossom. “Thought this would look good in your hair, though.”

You stared at the flower, heat flooding your face. “You… picked this? For me?”

He shrugged, looking casual, but the way his thumb idly stroked the stem gave him away. “Seemed like somethin’ you’d like.”

You reached for the flower, your fingers brushing his as you took it. “Thanks, Logan,” you said softly, twirling the stem between your fingers. “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, his tone too steady for it to be a passing comment. Before you could react, he reached for the flower again. “Here, let me—”

You nodded, and Logan tucked the lilac carefully behind your ear. His fingers brushed your hair as he pulled back, his eyes scanning your face as though memorizing it. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the usual sharpness in his expression tempered by an almost overwhelming tenderness.

“I missed you,” he murmured after a beat, his voice rough but sincere.

You blinked up at him. “You were gone for less than a day.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, taking your hand in his. “I always miss you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest as Logan brought your hand up to kiss your knuckles. It was a small, almost old-fashioned gesture, but coming from him, it carried a weight that settled deep in your chest. He didn’t need grand gestures or poetic declarations—this was Logan, after all. Every glance, every touch, every carefully chosen word was all the proof you needed of how deeply he loved you.

Jean was right—you’d been lighter lately. And standing here, your fingers tangled with his, the warmth of the morning sun on your face, you realized why. You were happy. Content.

Maybe, you dared to think, you were even lucky.

---

You were never a person who took naps, even in college. But right now, you felt like you could really use one. Grading papers all morning had sapped your energy, and as you stretched in your chair, the ache in your shoulders reminded you how long you’d been hunched over your desk. The mansion was quiet for once, and it almost felt like the universe was giving you a chance to rest.

And the couch in your office looked particularly inviting.

You looked back down at the assignment you were grading, rubbing your eyes underneath your glasses. The quantum mechanics essay in front of you was only halfway finished, but the neat handwriting was starting to blur together. Sleep sounded heavenly, and the couch in the corner of your office looked tempting enough to pull you away from your usual stubbornness about napping.

Sighing, you took off your glasses, carefully placing them on the desk, and stood up to stretch. Just a little nap, you told yourself, shuffling over to the couch and curling up against one of the pillows. Within moments, you drifted off, exhaustion lulling you into a rare, deep sleep.

---

The first thing Logan noticed when he stepped into your office was how quiet it was. Normally, he’d hear the faint scratching of your pen or catch you mumbling to yourself as you worked through grading or one of your projects. Instead, he found you stretched out on the couch, curled in on yourself, sound asleep.

For a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the doorframe and taking you in. Your features were relaxed, your breathing steady and soft. You didn’t stir when he stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. That alone caught his attention. You were normally such a light sleeper—he swore you could sense when someone was walking down the hall toward your room, let alone standing this close.

Kneeling beside you, Logan brushed his fingers lightly over your temple, tucking a stray strand of hair back. He hesitated, then gently picked up your glasses from your desk and placed them on the coffee table, so you could put them on when you woke up. The peaceful expression on your face tugged at something deep in him.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low enough not to startle you. Of course, you didn’t react, not even a twitch. His lips curved into a faint smile. “Out like a light, huh? Ain’t seen that in a while.”

You shifted slightly, your hand slipping under your cheek, but you still didn’t wake. Logan couldn’t help himself—he reached out again, this time running the pad of his thumb along your jawline. It wasn’t like you to let yourself crash so hard. Sure, you worked hard, but you were good about taking care of yourself. He’d know if something was wrong, wouldn’t he?

The thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

---

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was how warm you were. Blinking groggily, you sat up slowly, surprised to find a blanket draped over you—a blanket you definitely didn’t grab before laying down. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, squinting in the direction of your desk. Logan was there, leaning against it with his arms crossed, watching you with an expression caught somewhere between amused and relieved.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he teased, his voice softer than usual. “Didn’t think you knew how to nap.”

Your cheeks heated as you fumbled to grab your glasses from the coffee table, slipping them on. “I usually don’t,” you admitted, your voice still thick with sleep. “I guess I… really needed it.”

Logan nodded, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Not like you to crash like that. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just tired,” you said quickly, brushing off his concern. “Grading’s no joke.”

He didn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pushed off the desk and walked over. “Darlin’, you’re tougher than anyone I know, but even you gotta slow down every now and then. How long’s it been like this?”

You hesitated, not entirely sure how to answer. Was there even an ‘it’? You hadn’t been feeling bad, exactly—just tired, with the occasional off day here and there. Nothing worth mentioning. “It’s not a big deal, Logan. I’m fine.”

“Right.” His tone was skeptical, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he crouched in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. “You been takin’ care of yourself?”

“Of course I have,” you said, rolling your eyes, though the flush on your cheeks gave you away.

“Good,” Logan said, but the worry in his eyes lingered. He reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “’Cause I need you in one piece, sweetheart. You hear me?”

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand back. “I hear you.”

“Good,” he repeated, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Now, c’mon. You’ve been cooped up long enough. Let’s get somethin’ to eat.”

---

Logan hadn’t been able to come to your fertility appointment, he was out with Storm and Kitty on a brief mission, so instead Jean came along.

The exam room was quiet except for the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard as the nurse entered your information. Jean sat beside you, her presence steady and comforting as you drummed your fingers lightly against your knee. This checkup wasn’t supposed to be anything significant—just a follow-up after your second IUI two weeks ago. No expectations, no big announcements. Not yet.

“Alright, Y/N,” the nurse said, swiveling toward you with a reassuring smile. “Dr. Harper will be in soon to go over everything. Just sit tight.”

You nodded, your nerves settling slightly as the door clicked shut behind her. Jean crossed her legs and leaned back, her calm energy doing what it usually did—keeping you grounded.

“Still weird being on this side of the science?” Jean teased lightly, glancing at the medical equipment around the room.

“I’ll stick to quantum mechanics, thanks,” you replied with a soft laugh, adjusting your glasses as you sat up straighter. “At least I know what I’m doing there.”

Jean tilted her head, her green eyes warm. “You know you’re doing everything right here, too, right?”

“I know.” Your hand drifted to your abdomen reflexively, the thought of all the efforts over the last two years settling somewhere between hope and guarded optimism. “Just… can’t help but feel like the universe likes to keep me guessing.”

Before Jean could respond, the door opened, and Dr. Harper walked in with a folder in hand, her expression neutral. She exchanged pleasantries as she sat down, and after pulling up your file, she looked between you and Jean.

“I’ve got your results back,” Dr. Harper began, her voice calm but carrying a subtle edge of excitement. “And I’m happy to tell you—congratulations. You’re pregnant.”

Time seemed to stop. You stared at her, waiting for the rest of the sentence, the moment she might correct herself or clarify. But she didn’t. Jean gasped softly beside you, her hand gripping your arm, but all you could do was blink.

“Pregnant?” The word left your mouth almost on autopilot, as though saying it out loud would help you process it.

Dr. Harper smiled, nodding. “It’s still early—around two to three weeks, based on the timing. But the results are clear. Everything looks good so far.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, your mind racing. Pregnant. After two years of trying, every appointment and disappointment… Jean’s voice pulled you back as she leaned closer, squeezing your arm.

“You hear that? You did it, Y/N!” Jean said, her excitement infectious.

Tears pricked your eyes as you managed a breathless laugh. “I—wow, okay.” Turning back to Dr. Harper, you asked, “Everything’s… normal? No concerns?”

She nodded reassuringly. “It all looks good right now. We’ll do some more tests as things progress, but there’s no reason to worry.”

You felt Jean’s hand rest on your back, her thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder blade. “This is amazing,” she said softly. “Logan’s going to lose his mind.”

The thought of telling Logan struck you, sending a wave of warmth and nervous energy coursing through you.

---

The rest of the day passed in a surreal haze. You returned to the mansion with Jean, who respected your request to keep the news between the two of you until you told Logan. The halls were quiet as you made your way toward your room, clutching the delicate secret like a fragile treasure.

Logan wasn’t there when you entered, so you busied yourself, tidying up and working on some grading to pass the time. You barely heard the door open behind you later that evening until Logan’s familiar voice pulled your attention.

“Darlin’, you in here?”

You turned quickly, unable to hide your smile as he stepped inside, shrugging off his leather jacket. His eyes softened when they met yours, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he closed the distance between you.

“There you are,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Didn’t see you at dinner.”

You reached for his hand, your fingers lacing with his instinctively. “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirked but paused, his brows drawing together slightly as he studied you. “What’s goin’ on? You got somethin’ up your sleeve, sweetheart?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you tugged him toward the edge of the bed, sitting down and pulling him down beside you. His larger hand engulfed yours, and you took a moment, steadying your breath before you spoke.

“I went to my appointment with Jean today,” you began, your voice steady despite your racing heart.

Logan frowned slightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Everything alright?”

You nodded quickly, your smile breaking free. “More than alright, actually.” You placed your free hand over his, looking up into his steady gaze. “Logan… I’m pregnant.”

For a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change—his lips parted slightly, and his dark eyes widened, blinking as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. Then, slowly, the words seemed to sink in.

“You’re… pregnant?” His voice was low, almost reverent, as he repeated the word like it was something sacred.

You nodded again, tears springing to your eyes as you laughed softly. “Yeah. We’re having a baby.”

Logan exhaled sharply, his hand tightening around yours as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was firm but careful, his hand cradling the back of your head as his face pressed into your hair.

“You serious?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded against his chest. “Completely serious. Dr. Harper confirmed it today.”

He leaned back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes made your heart ache and soar at the same time.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you kissed him back.

For now, the world outside the walls of your room didn’t matter. All that mattered was the quiet promise of hope between you and Logan—the life you’d created together.

---

“You’re not having any morning sickness?” Ororo asked, as you stood in the kitchen making lunch.

Jean glanced your way as you responded, “no. But,” you walked over to your bag and pulled out a large binder. “Morning sickness is—”

“Woah, hold up. What is that?” Ororo questioned, cutting you off.

You pushed up your glasses, “my binder. For research.”

“For… everything?”

“…No. For pregnancy.”

Jean let out a laugh she’d been holding back. “I don’t know what you were expecting, Ro. Remember that giant whiteboard calendar in her lab a few years ago tracking everything?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “Oh, you mean the one with color-coded markers and weekly updates? Yeah, I remember. You’re saying she turned that into a—” She gestured toward your binder, her expression incredulous. “—manual?”

“It’s not a manual,” you said defensively, adjusting your glasses as you flipped the binder open. “It’s a comprehensive resource. There’s a difference.”

Jean grinned, crossing her arms. “Right. And I’m sure it’s purely coincidental that it’s tabbed, indexed, and probably has a bibliography in the back.”

“It doesn’t have a bibliography,” you muttered before adding under your breath, “it has citations.”

Ororo and Jean exchanged an amused glance. “Of course it does,” Ororo said, shaking her head with a smile. “What’s in it, then? The secrets of the universe?”

“Close,” you replied, flipping to one of the sections. “It’s years of research on conception and pregnancy: optimal vitamins, dietary plans, the effects of caffeine and alcohol, specific exercises, ideal sex positions—”

Jean choked on her coffee, nearly spilling it as Ororo’s eyes widened. “Hold on,” Ororo interrupted, holding up a hand. “Did you say… positions?”

You shrugged, flipping a page like you were reading off a grocery list. “Certain positions increase the chances of conception by facilitating better sperm mobility. It’s basic physics.”

Jean was laughing so hard by this point she had to set her mug down. “Basic physics, huh? I don’t think Logan’s going to see it that way.”

You shot her a look, your cheeks heating. “For your information, he’s fine with my methods. He agreed to all of this.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did.” Jean smirked. “But tell me—did you explain the physics before or after you made him try the positions?”

“Jean!” You tried to sound indignant, but her teasing grin made you crack a smile. “I didn’t force him into anything. He’s been completely supportive.”

Ororo chuckled, pushing off the counter. “I’ll give him credit for that. Logan’s usually stubborn, but for you? He’s like putty. I’ve never seen him so… soft.”

You ducked your head, adjusting your glasses again to hide your shy smile. Logan’s tenderness toward you wasn’t something you liked to broadcast, but it warmed you to hear others notice.

Jean’s laughter quieted as she stepped closer, resting a hand on your arm. “You’re going to be an amazing mom, Y/N. All this research? It just shows how much you care. That baby’s lucky already.”

The sincerity in her voice made your throat tighten. “Thanks, Jean,” you said softly, squeezing her hand.

---

You plated the fourth dish you were trying and brought it over to Logan. In your research you learned that you needed to increase your folic acid, protein, calcium, iron, and many other nutrients and vitamins.

Logan looked up from the papers he was grading at the island and stared at the plate of fried tofu you set in front of him. His eyebrows furrowed as he sniffed the air.

“What is this?” he asked, poking at the tofu with his fork like it might bite him first.

“It’s fried tofu,” you said, adjusting your glasses as you leaned on the counter. “I read it’s a good source of protein and iron, which are important for pregnancy.”

Logan gave you a skeptical look, lifting a piece with his fork and examining it like it was an alien artifact. “Fried tofu, huh?” He popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

You waited, watching his expression carefully. For a moment, it was neutral. Then his jaw stopped moving. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he swallowed hard, taking a long sip of water immediately after.

“So,” you ventured cautiously, “what do you think?”

Logan set the fork down with deliberate care, leaning back in his chair. “I think it tastes like… not food.”

You tried to keep a straight face, but his deadpan delivery made you snort. “It’s not that bad!”

Logan arched a brow, crossing his arms. “Darlin’, I’ve eaten squirrel before. This? Worse.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your own fork. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” He gestured toward the plate. “Go on. You try it.”

With a sigh, you picked up a piece of tofu and took a bite. At first, it wasn’t terrible, but the bland, rubbery texture quickly turned unappealing. You forced yourself to chew, determined not to give Logan the satisfaction of being right.

“Well?” he asked, his tone smug.

“It’s… fine,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Mmm-hmm. And is that why your nose is scrunched?” Logan tapped the tip of your nose, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You quickly relaxed your expression, doing your best to look neutral. “It’s not scrunched. I’m fine.”

“Darlin’.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter as he pinned you with a knowing look. “I can hear your thoughts when you don’t like somethin’. That little wrinkle you get right there—” he reached out, brushing a finger lightly between your brows “—says it all.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Fine. It’s not great.”

Logan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Not great? Sweetheart, that’s a polite way of sayin’ it’s awful.”

“It’s not awful,” you protested half-heartedly. “It’s… nutritionally valuable.”

“Yeah, sure. Nutritionally valuable,” Logan repeated, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. He grabbed the plate and stood, crossing to the trash can. “Valuable or not, I ain’t eatin’ somethin’ that tastes like a tire.”

“Logan!” you exclaimed, laughing as he dumped the tofu and set the plate in the sink.

“Hey, you can keep tryin’ this ‘research cooking’ if it makes you happy,” he said, walking back to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. His warmth was grounding, his presence steady and reassuring. “But if you’re plannin’ to make that again, we might need a plan B for dinner.”

You sighed, leaning into his chest. “I just want to do this right. You know, make sure everything’s perfect.”

Logan rested his chin on the top of your head, his hands running soothingly up and down your back. “You’re doin’ great, darlin’. You don’t have to drive yourself nuts tryin’ to be perfect. That’s not what this is about.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your glasses slipping down your nose slightly. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “We’re doin’ this together, remember? You, me, and that little bean growin’ in there.” His hand slid to your stomach, resting gently.

A smile crept across your face despite your worries. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Logan said, his voice steady. “You’re the smartest, most stubborn woman I know. If anyone can figure this out, it’s you.”

His unwavering confidence in you made your chest ache in the best way. “Thanks, Logan.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you softly.

For a moment, the worries about nutrients and vitamins faded into the background. It was just you, Logan, and the quiet hum of hope between you.

---

Logan promised he would eat whatever you made, wanting to be supportive and endure what you had to—wanted to—eat.

But when you put kale and spinach in his eggs, that was where he drew the line.

You had made the two of you, and Ororo, a simple breakfast burrito, with the eggs, kale, spinach, a bit of jalapeños, and some crumbled sausage.

Ororo, of course, loved it, and said something about people needing to eat healthier at the mansion.

“You see,” Ororo gestured to Logan with her fork, her expression animated. “If everyone followed Y/N’s example, we wouldn’t need to worry about people running out of breath in training simulations.”

Logan arched a brow, carefully biting into the burrito. The first flavors weren’t terrible, and for a moment, he was almost convinced this one might pass without comment. Then the unmistakable bitterness of kale hit him like a freight train.

His chewing slowed, his brow furrowing as he glared at the eggs wrapped in the offending green foliage. Setting the burrito down, he turned his gaze toward you, who were carefully avoiding looking at him while tidying the kitchen.

“Darlin’,” he started, leaning back in his chair with a mock seriousness that made Ororo smirk. “We need to talk about your use of leafy greens.”

“Oh?” you asked, glancing his way while wiping your hands on a towel. “I thought it was pretty good.”

Logan’s deadpan look was answer enough, and Ororo let out a soft laugh as she took another bite of her own burrito. “You really don’t give the man much of a chance,” she teased. “Next, she’ll sneak chia seeds into your pancakes.”

“I heard that,” you said defensively, finally meeting Logan’s pointed gaze. “It’s good for you. Full of antioxidants and essential nutrients.”

Logan’s lips twitched like he might smile, but his tone was dry as he replied, “Full of misery, you mean.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you mumbled, nudging your glasses up as you resumed your cleanup.

Logan stood, crossing the kitchen and resting a hand on your lower back. His gentle touch eased the awkward knot of self-consciousness you always felt under scrutiny. “I’m dramatic?” he asked softly, leaning in close. “You’re the one slippin’ kale in my breakfast like it’s some kinda covert mission.”

You turned to meet his teasing gaze, adjusting your glasses and suppressing a smile. “You said you’d eat what I made, no complaints.”

Logan exhaled with exaggerated patience. “I did say that,” he admitted. “And I will. But sweetheart…” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his forehead pressing lightly to yours. “Just warn me next time.”

You laughed softly, leaning back slightly to shake your head. “Noted.”

Ororo watched the exchange with a fond smile, saying nothing but storing the moment away as another example of how Logan became… softer around you. It wasn’t just his willingness to endure kale, spinach, or anything else you set before him. It was the way he stood a little taller when you entered the room, the rare moments of unguarded vulnerability when he was with you.

Even Logan might not realize how clear it was to everyone else.

---

Even though you were only 4 weeks pregnant, you thought that you would at least have some breast tenderness. But instead, they feel normal, not even like you sometimes feel during your period when you wanted nothing more than to throw your bra off.

You never were one to look in the mirror or criticize your appearance, especially not since you’ve been married to Logan, but you expected—you hoped—that at least something small would change.

But Jean kept telling you that you were only a month along, and that it’s still a bit early for symptoms to show prominently. That’s even what your research told you.

You knew all of this. You had read every book, every study, and even combed through forums late at night when Logan was asleep. But still, the doubt lingered. You stood in front of the mirror in your shared bathroom, adjusting the waistband of your pajama pants, wondering if you should see even the faintest bump.

Nothing.

The sound of Logan’s heavy boots on the hardwood pulled you from your thoughts. “Darlin’?” His voice was muffled through the door. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” you called back, trying to sound cheerful as you turned off the light and opened the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his sharp gaze instantly flicking over you like he was scanning for injuries.

Logan stepped aside to let you pass, following you into the bedroom. “You’ve been quiet all day,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. His voice softened, coaxing. “What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, avoiding his eyes.

Logan tilted his head, unconvinced. “Y/N.”

You sighed, sitting down beside him and fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “I just… I thought I’d feel different by now.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I guess I thought I’d feel pregnant. Or look it. Or something.”

Logan reached out, his hand covering yours. “You are pregnant, darlin’. No matter how it feels or doesn’t feel right now.”

“I know,” you said, your voice soft. “It’s just that we’ve been trying for so long, and now that it’s finally happened, I keep worrying something’s… wrong.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Jean said everything looks good, right?”

“She did.”

“And all your charts and trackers and whatever else you’ve got in that binder of yours say the same thing?”

You huffed a small laugh despite yourself. “Yes.”

“Then trust that, sweetheart. Trust yourself,” Logan said, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’ve done everything right.”

You nodded, leaning into his side. Logan wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“I’m just scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But you’re not doin’ this alone.”

---

“—I just don’t understand why he thought it went there.” Scott said, handing you and Jean a cup of tea. “If I hadn’t caught it, the Blackbird’s engines would’ve been toast.”

You sipped your tea and grimaced, opening your mouth and letting the tea fall back into the cup. The taste was bitter, and—well just not right.

You didn’t even notice that Scott had stopped talking and was now staring at you with a mixture of concern and confusion. Jean, on the other hand, casually poured her tea into the sink, trying to suppress a grimace as she set her cup down.

Scott’s brow furrowed, and he folded his arms. “Did… did you just spit that back out into your cup?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, flushing with embarrassment. “It’s just—uh, strong. A little stronger than I expected.”

Jean gave a little cough to hide her laugh, shooting you a sidelong glance. “Yeah, Scott. Strong is definitely the word for it.”

Scott frowned, clearly affronted. “I’ve been perfecting that blend for weeks. Logan said it was fine.”

“Logan also eats charcoal on purpose when he’s grilling,” Jean teased, leaning against the counter. “I wouldn’t use him as a baseline.”

You chuckled softly, grateful for Jean’s intervention, but Scott wasn’t letting it go. “I don’t see either of you rushing to make tea,” he grumbled, grabbing his mug and heading toward the door. “Next time, you can just drink water.”

Once he was gone, you and Jean burst into quiet laughter. “I swear,” Jean said, shaking her head. “That man has no idea how terrible his tea is.”

“It really was… strong,” you admitted, setting your mug aside. “And kind of bitter.”

Jean nudged your arm lightly. “Maybe it’s just your taste buds acting up. Happens sometimes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s because of the pregnancy?”

Jean shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “Could be. Your body’s already going through a lot of changes, even if they’re not super noticeable yet. Hormones can mess with your senses. Didn’t you say you’ve been more sensitive to smells lately?”

“Yeah,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “Logan made steak the other night, and I almost gagged at the smell. Which is insane because I usually love it.”

Jean smirked. “See? It’s not just Scott’s awful tea. You’ve got a good excuse.”

You smiled faintly but didn’t respond. Jean’s smile faded slightly as she studied you. “You’ve been quiet today,” she said gently. “Everything okay?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “I don’t know. I guess… I just feel like something’s off.”

Jean set her mug down and turned to face you fully. “Off how?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice low. “It’s like… I don’t feel as excited as I thought I would. I mean, I am excited. But I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

Jean reached out and placed a comforting hand on your arm. “Y/N, it’s normal to feel anxious. You’ve been through a lot to get here—two years of trying, all the treatments, all the hope and disappointment. It’s hard to just… trust that this time will be different.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I want to trust it. But I feel like if I let myself believe it, and then something happens…”

Jean squeezed your arm gently. “It’s okay to be scared. But you’ve got Logan. You’ve got me. And we’re not letting you go through this alone, no matter what happens.”

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, so you just nodded again. Jean smiled softly, giving your arm one last squeeze before letting go. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get some actual tea. My stash is way better than Scott’s.”

You laughed lightly, following her out of the kitchen. But even as you tried to push your doubts aside, they lingered, a quiet, persistent whisper in the back of your mind.

---

At six weeks, the strange limbo you felt in your pregnancy persisted. The symptoms you had—nausea, fatigue, the occasional food aversion—seemed to plateau instead of intensify. Sometimes, you barely felt pregnant at all.

Your doctor assured you everything was progressing well during your last appointment. "The sac is a little smaller than average," she’d said, her tone calm and measured, "but it’s nothing to be alarmed about. These things vary."

You nodded and forced a smile, trying to absorb the reassurance. But the words echoed in your head long after you left the clinic. You’d clung to every piece of advice, every statistic, every graph in your meticulously prepared binder, yet none of it seemed to silence the nagging voice in your mind.

Logan noticed your quietness, of course. He always did.

"You wanna talk about it, or should I just sit here and look pretty?" he asked one evening as he stretched out on the couch, his legs spread wide, filling up most of the space. His casual tone was meant to make you laugh, but you just sighed as you flipped through your notes again.

"I’m fine," you said automatically, tapping your pen against the edge of the binder.

"Sure you are," Logan said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. His eyes softened as they met yours. "Darlin’, you’ve been stuck in that thing for hours. Whatever’s in there ain’t gonna change what the doc said."

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his gaze. "She said the sac was small."

"And she also said it’s nothin’ to worry about," Logan reminded you, his voice steady.

"That’s easy for her to say," you muttered, closing the binder with more force than you intended. "She’s not the one who’s—" You stopped yourself, shaking your head.

Logan stood, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He knelt beside you, one hand resting lightly on your knee. "She’s not the one who’s what?"

You looked down at him, your chest tightening. "Who’s been waiting for this for two years," you said quietly. "Who’s had to deal with the hope and the disappointment and the Clomid and—"

Logan’s hand squeezed your knee gently, grounding you. "We’ve been waitin’ for this," he corrected. "It ain’t just you goin’ through this, Y/N. We’re a team, remember?"

You swallowed hard, nodding. His steady presence was both a comfort and a reminder that you weren’t alone, even if your anxieties sometimes made it feel that way.

"I just want to know everything’s okay," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan tilted his head, his thumb brushing small circles against your leg. "And if it’s not, we’ll figure it out. Like we always do."

You blinked back the sting of tears, leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. "I don’t know how you stay so calm."

He smirked faintly. "I’m not. I just hide it better."

---

By eight weeks, the unease gnawed at you more frequently. The symptoms you’d been clinging to—especially the nausea—had faded almost entirely. You knew logically that every pregnancy was different and that symptoms could come and go, but logic wasn’t enough to silence your fears.

Jean noticed it during one of your usual tea breaks in the kitchen. You stared into your mug, barely sipping, while she caught up on the latest mansion gossip.

"You’re not even listening to me, are you?" Jean teased, nudging your arm.

"Huh?" You blinked, startled. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Jean frowned, setting down her tea. "Okay, what’s going on? You’ve been distracted all week."

"I’m fine," you said automatically, but the look Jean gave you made it clear she wasn’t buying it.

"Y/N," she said gently, "you don’t have to pretend with me. What’s wrong?"

You hesitated, your hands tightening around your mug. "I just… I feel like something’s wrong."

Jean’s expression softened, and she reached across the table to take your hand. "Why do you think that?"

"My symptoms are gone," you admitted. "I don’t feel sick anymore, or tired, or… anything. It’s like nothing’s happening."

Jean nodded slowly, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "That doesn’t mean something’s wrong. You know that, right? Symptoms can come and go, especially early on."

"I know," you said, your voice unsteady. "But it doesn’t feel right. And the sac was small last time, and—"

"Hey," Jean interrupted gently. "Breathe. You’re doing everything you can, Y/N. And stressing yourself out isn’t going to help."

You exhaled shakily, nodding. Jean squeezed your hand once more before letting go. "Have you talked to Logan about how you’re feeling?"

"He’s already worried enough," you admitted. "I don’t want to put more on him."

Jean arched a brow. "Y/N, Logan worships the ground you walk on. You know that, right? He wants to be there for you, no matter what."

The lump in your throat made it hard to respond. You nodded again, gripping your mug like it was a lifeline.

---

At nine weeks, the bleeding started. It was light at first—just a spot on the toilet paper that you tried to convince yourself was nothing. It was a faint pink color, something you knew was normal in early pregnancy.

You were in your lab, writing down some data points from your latest experiment, a simple one that you were trying to see if it would work for your physics class, when you realized you forgot what size parachute you used on your small test dummy.

You stood up, feeling lightheaded, but brushed it off. You grabbed the rolling cart to steady yourself, but before you could regain your focus, a sharp cramp tore through your lower body. It wasn’t like anything you’d felt before—it was deeper, heavier. You gripped the cart harder, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred.

Panic set in when the next wave hit, forcing a pained gasp from your lips. Your knees buckled as the pain became unbearable. Somewhere in your mind, you registered the wetness between your legs.

The world around you spun, and you heard a faint clattering—probably a glass vial knocked from the counter. Your breath hitched as you tried to call for help, but all you could manage was a soft, strangled sound. Then everything went dark.

---

Jean had been in the middle of a strategy meeting with the Professor when it hit her—an overwhelming, visceral pain that wasn't her own. She froze mid-sentence, her breath hitching as her mind latched onto the familiar mental signature.

“Jean?” Charles asked, concerned.

“I have to go,” Jean said quickly, already rising to her feet.

She didn’t wait for a response. Her telekinetic push flung the doors open ahead of her as she sprinted down the hall, her heart racing. She knew exactly where you were—your lab, always the safe haven you escaped to when you needed to focus or distract yourself.

When she reached the doorway, her stomach dropped. You were lying on the floor, glasses askew, one hand weakly clutching your abdomen. Blood stained the inside of your leggings.

“Y/N!” Jean gasped, rushing to your side. She knelt down, her trembling hands moving to check your pulse, then gently touching your shoulder. “Y/N, can you hear me? It’s Jean. I’m here.”

Your eyelids fluttered as you struggled to respond. “Jean…” you croaked. Tears spilled over before you could finish. “It…hurts…”

“I know. I know,” Jean said, her voice breaking as she pulled her communicator from her belt. “Logan, come to the med bay. Now,” she said firmly, before linking directly to Hank. “Hank, emergency in Y/N’s lab. She’s bleeding. Bring a stretcher.”

Jean cradled your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away your tears. “It’s going to be okay,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Just hold on. I’m here with you.”

“Jean… I don’t…” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut.

Jean fought to keep her own tears at bay. “Don’t think like that, Y/N. We’ll take care of you. I promise.”

---

By the time Hank arrived, Logan was with him, having intercepted them at the stairs. He took one look at you and his usually impassive face cracked with fear.

“Darlin’…” Logan’s voice was rough, choked with emotion.

You opened your eyes, barely able to focus on him. “Logan…”

“I’m here,” he assured you as he knelt down and pressed his hand over yours, which still clutched weakly at your abdomen. “We’re gonna get you help. Just hold on, okay?”

You gave him a shaky nod, and Jean stepped back to let Hank take over. Logan stayed by your side, one hand never leaving yours, murmuring reassurances the whole way to the med bay.

---

The hours that followed were a blur. Logan paced relentlessly outside the med bay while Hank and Jean worked to stabilize you. He bristled any time someone tried to approach him, his mind racing through every possibility. He’d seen you hurt before, but this… this was different.

When Jean finally emerged, her face pale, Logan froze. “How is she?” His voice was low, desperate.

Jean looked up at him, her expression hollow. “She’s awake,” she said softly. “But… Logan, I’m so sorry. She lost the baby.”

Logan inhaled sharply, his chest constricting. It was a punch he wasn’t ready for, even though some part of him had been bracing for the worst. “Can I see her?”

Jean nodded. “She’s asking for you.”

Logan slipped into the room silently, his footsteps unnaturally quiet for a man of his stature. You were lying in the hospital bed, pale and tired, your glasses resting on the table beside you. Your eyes were swollen, and as they met his, fresh tears spilled over.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Logan shook his head, his jaw tightening as he crossed the room and gently cupped your face in his hands. “Don’t you do that,” he said firmly, his thumbs brushing your tears away. “This isn’t your fault. Not even a little, you hear me?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as you reached for him. “I—Logan, we tried so hard—”

“I know,” he interrupted softly, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “And we’re gonna get through this. Together. You’re my everything, darlin’. I don’t care how long it takes or what we have to do. I just need you to be okay.”

Your shoulders shook as you finally let yourself cry in his arms. He held you tightly, his fingers threading through your hair, murmuring soft assurances over and over.

“We’ll get through this,” he repeated, his voice steady. “I swear to you, we will.”

---

Jean advised you not to teach for the rest of the week, due to your bleeding, cramping, and because of how you were feeling emotionally.

You obliged without any fight because you knew she was right. In your binder, you had a small section of research on miscarriages, but you thought it would never be needed. Now, it felt like those pages stared back at you mockingly from your bedside table.

Jean stayed with you the first night in the med bay, refusing to let you be alone. She brewed tea you couldn’t stomach and let you cry without judgment. She didn’t offer the usual platitudes, knowing they wouldn’t help. Instead, she simply sat close, holding your hand when the silence threatened to swallow you both whole.

“I know you’re hurting,” Jean said softly, her voice breaking through the quiet. “But I don’t want you to close yourself off, okay? Logan, me, all of us… We’re here for you, Y/N. Lean on us.”

You nodded, but words didn’t come easily. You felt hollow, as though the grief had burrowed into every part of you and left nothing but a dull ache behind.

---

When you were finally discharged from the med bay, Logan insisted on carrying you back to your shared room despite your protests. He didn’t say much—his actions spoke louder. The way he handled you with such care, his arm strong and steady beneath you, was all you needed to know about how deep his worry ran.

Once in the room, he helped you into bed, fussing with the blankets until you were comfortable. "Need anything? Tea, water, something to eat?" he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head. "Just… you. Stay with me?"

His expression softened, and he sat beside you, his hand sliding into yours. "I’m not goin’ anywhere, darlin’. Never."

You rested your head against his shoulder, and for a long time, neither of you spoke. The weight of everything hung heavy in the air between you, but Logan didn’t try to fill the silence. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and kept holding you.

---

The following days passed slowly. Jean dropped by every morning with tea and gentle nudges to eat, though her presence served more as comfort than a reminder. Some of the students peeked in to check on you, their quiet concern enough to bring a flicker of warmth to your otherwise grey days.

Logan was your anchor. He didn’t hover, but he was always there—a steady, unwavering presence that reminded you it was okay to take each moment as it came.

One evening, as you sat curled up in an armchair by the window, staring out at the snow-dusted grounds, Logan entered with a tray of food. "Brought somethin’ for you," he said, setting it down on the small table by your side.

“I’m not really hungry,” you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window.

He crouched beside you, his hand coming to rest lightly on your knee. "I know," he said, his voice low. "But you’ve barely eaten today, sweetheart. Just a little, yeah? For me."

You hesitated, glancing down at him. The worry etched into his features made your chest tighten. Slowly, you nodded. "Okay."

Logan offered a small, grateful smile and stayed there, watching as you forced down a few bites of soup. He didn’t push when you couldn’t manage more, instead setting the tray aside and pulling you into his lap when you settled back into the chair.

"One step at a time," he murmured, holding you close. "We’ll get there, darlin’."

---

One night, a week after your miscarriage, you found yourself unable to sleep. Throughout the past few days, when Logan let you have a few hours to yourself, you had done more research, specifically on miscarriages.

Now you have a new binder, almost as big as your other one. You quietly got out of bed, Logan’s arms falling to the mattress where you just were, and grabbed the binder, heading outside.

You always enjoyed reading outside, especially when it was raining. As you walked through the rain, you paused the droplets above you, creating a small time bubble that kept you dry. The rhythmic sound of the rain hitting the frozen barrier was soothing, almost enough to quiet your thoughts. Almost.

Settling into your usual spot on the grass, you opened the new binder you’d compiled over the past few days. The pages were a meticulous collection of research, statistics, and theories, each one marked with color-coded tabs. It had been your lifeline since being discharged from the med bay—a desperate attempt to make sense of what happened.

You flipped through the pages with a determined focus, rereading sections you’d already memorized. There had to be something, some mistake you made, something you missed. Your mind refused to rest until you found an answer.

---

Logan woke up to find the bed empty, the space beside him cold. He frowned, his hand brushing the sheets where you should’ve been. Instinct kicked in immediately—he was on his feet in seconds, scanning the room.

His eyes landed on the bedside table, where the new binder you’d been working on was conspicuously absent. His jaw tightened as he glanced toward the window and saw the faint shimmer of rain. He knew exactly where you were.

Grabbing a sweatshirt to ward off the chill, Logan headed outside. The rain was steady, but it didn’t touch him as he walked toward the bubble you’d created. You were sitting cross-legged on the grass, your glasses perched on your nose as you hunched over the binder, flipping through pages with a frantic energy.

He stopped a few steps away, his heart tightening at the sight. You looked exhausted, your movements sharp with frustration.

“Darlin’,” Logan called gently, his voice cutting through the rain.

You jolted, looking up as the binder slipped from your lap. “Logan,” you said, your voice shaky. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, stepping into the bubble. The rain stopped falling on him as he crouched down beside you. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You hesitated, glancing down at the binder. “I was… reading.”

Logan’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “Out here? In the middle of the night?”

You didn’t answer, your hands tightening around the edges of the binder. Logan’s gaze dropped to it, and he could see the words “Miscarriage Causes and Prevention” written in bold letters on one of the tabs.

“Y/N…” he began, but you shook your head, cutting him off.

“There has to be something,” you said, your voice rising with desperation. You flipped through the binder quickly, your eyes darting over the pages. “Something I did wrong. Too little vitamins, too many vitamins. Not enough exercise, the wrong food—I missed something, Logan. I had to have missed something.”

“Stop,” Logan said firmly, his hand covering yours to still the frantic motion. You froze, your chest heaving as you stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I can’t stop, Logan. If I stop, it’s like I’m giving up, and I can’t give up on this.”

Logan exhaled, his grip on your hand tightening. “Darlin’, look at me.”

You hesitated, but his steady tone pulled your gaze to his. His eyes were raw with emotion, the pain he usually kept hidden now laid bare. “What does all your research say about miscarriages?” he asked quietly.

You blinked, thrown off by the question. “I… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Logan pressed gently. “You’ve been readin’ that thing nonstop. What does it say?”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you answered. “Most miscarriages aren’t caused by anything someone did. It’s usually… chromosomal abnormalities. Things that can’t be controlled.”

Logan nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Right. And what else?”

Tears spilled over as you struggled to speak. “That it’s… common. That it happens to a lot of people.”

“And does it say it’s your fault?” Logan asked, his voice rough. “Does it say you did somethin’ wrong?”

You shook your head, your throat too tight to form words. Logan reached out, gently pulling the binder from your hands and setting it aside. Then he cupped your face, his calloused thumbs wiping away your tears.

“This ain’t on you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “It’s not on me, it’s not on anyone. It just… happened. And it hurts like hell, but blamin’ yourself isn’t gonna make it hurt any less.”

Your shoulders shook as the weight of his words sank in. “But we tried so hard,” you choked out. “For so long, Logan. And it still wasn’t enough.”

Logan pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried against his chest. His voice was thick with tears as he spoke. “I know, darlin’. I know. And it kills me too. But we’ll get through this. I swear to you, we will.”

You clung to him, the rain outside your bubble a soft echo of the storm inside you. For the first time that night, you let yourself believe him, even if just for a moment.

Chapter Text

Logan took you into town after you said you wanted to try the new bakery that just opened up. You had mentioned it offhand a few days ago, and true to his nature, Logan didn’t forget. The smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries hit as soon as you opened the bakery door, a small bell jingling to announce your arrival.

It wasn’t overly crowded, but it was clear the bakery was already a hit. The cozy little space was dotted with people sipping coffee and chatting softly over plates of desserts. You adjusted your glasses, scanning the menu. Logan stood behind you, his hand lightly resting on your lower back as you debated between the chocolate croissant and the cherry tart.

"Why not both?" Logan murmured, leaning down so his gruff voice was low and close to your ear.

You tilted your head to give him a soft look. "I’ll never finish both."

"I will," he said with a shrug, making you smile despite yourself.

With a soft laugh, you turned back to the counter, placing an order for both with tea for yourself and coffee for Logan. As the barista rang you up, you stepped aside to wait. You didn’t immediately notice the little boy lingering near the door until he spoke.

"Excuse me," he said in a tiny, trembling voice.

You turned to see him standing there, his wide brown eyes full of uncertainty. He couldn’t have been more than five. His clothes were neat but slightly wrinkled, and he clutched a little Star Wars backpack to his chest like a lifeline.

"Hi there," you said gently, crouching down so you were closer to his level. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "I c-can’t find my aunt and uncle," he stammered. "They were here, and then I… I couldn’t see them anymore."

Logan was at your side in an instant, his tall, broad frame towering over both of you. Despite his intimidating presence, his voice was calm and steady. "Hey, kiddo. What’s your name?"

"Peter," the boy whispered, sniffling.

You gave Peter a kind smile. "Okay, Peter, my name’s Y/N, and this is Logan. We’re going to help you find them, alright?"

Peter nodded, his grip on his backpack tightening. You straightened up, glancing at Logan. "Should we check inside the other stores? Maybe they didn’t realize he got separated."

Logan nodded. "Yeah. Let’s start close by."

For the next twenty minutes, you and Logan moved between shops, asking employees and passersby if they’d seen anyone searching for a lost child. Peter clung to your hand the entire time, his little fingers wrapped tightly around yours.

When it became clear his aunt and uncle weren’t nearby, you crouched down again to look him in the eyes. "Peter, do you remember their phone number? Or maybe where they were parked?"

He shook his head, biting his lip. "No. I don’t remember. Are they mad at me?"

"Not at all," you assured him quickly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Sometimes these things just happen. We’ll figure it out."

"We can call the cops, get them to put out a message," Logan suggested softly, leaning on the wall beside you.

You hesitated, noting how small and nervous Peter looked at the mention of police. Something about the idea didn’t sit right with you either. "Let’s try one more thing," you said. "Peter, do you want to come with us for a little while? We can go to a safe place until we find your aunt and uncle."

Peter’s gaze flicked between you and Logan. After a long pause, he nodded, his lower lip quivering again. "Okay."

Logan reached down, easily scooping Peter up and settling him on his hip. The boy’s small hands clung to Logan’s jacket as you both headed back to the car. On the way to the mansion, Peter’s initial shyness melted away just a little. You kept him distracted with stories about your favorite bakery treats and promises to show him your time bubble powers when you got home.

---

When you arrived at the mansion, Peter stared wide-eyed at the enormous house. "Whoa," he whispered, twisting to look at you. "Do you live here?"

"Yep," you said, taking his hand to guide him toward the entrance. "It’s like a big school. But it’s also kind of like one giant family."

"And you’re a teacher?" Peter asked, glancing curiously at your glasses.

"That’s right," you said with a small smile. "I teach physics. That’s like science and math together."

“Oh, I like physics! And I watch Star Wars with my Uncle Ben all the time!” Peter said, his eyes lighting up for the first time since you met him.

Your heart softened at the boy’s excitement, a smile creeping across your face despite the weight of the past few months. “Yeah? What’s your favorite part?”

Peter adjusted his little Iron Man backpack and said without hesitation, “When Luke fights Darth Vader, and then—then at the end, he saves his dad!” He blinked up at you eagerly. “Do you like Star Wars?”

“Like it?” you said with a mock gasp, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “I love Star Wars. Especially Empire Strikes Back. Do you know that one?”

Peter nodded, practically bouncing in place. “That’s the one with the snow! And Yoda! But the Darth Vader part was scary.”

Logan, who had been quiet while Peter rambled, glanced at you with an amused smirk. “Looks like you’ve got a little fan,” he murmured.

You nudged Logan gently with your elbow before returning your attention to Peter. “It is a little scary,” you admitted. “But that’s what makes it so good—it surprises you. And Darth Vader turning good later? That’s pretty amazing too.”

Peter nodded sagely, as if your approval was the only confirmation he needed. He glanced toward the enormous doors of the mansion again. “Do you have any Star Wars stuff in there?”

Before you could answer, Logan chuckled. “Darlin’, don’t even get him started, or you’re gonna have him camped out in your lecture hall for the next week.”

You shot Logan a teasing glare but ruffled Peter’s hair. “Actually, I’ve got some posters and a little Yoda figure on my desk. Want to see?”

Peter’s face brightened. “Yes, please!”

The boy’s newfound enthusiasm made your chest tighten in an unexpectedly familiar way. You led the way into the mansion, Logan trailing closely behind as Peter’s little hand stayed tightly clasped in yours.

---

Once inside, Peter was immediately wide-eyed, craning his neck to take in the grand ceilings and marble floors. “This place is huge,” he whispered in awe.

“It is,” you agreed. “But you’ll get used to it fast.”

As you moved toward your office, Logan leaned in and asked quietly, “you sure this is the best way to handle this, sweetheart?”

You glanced at Peter, who was now marveling at a painting on the wall. His little hand hadn’t let go of yours once since you’d found him. “He’s scared,” you whispered back. “This helps distract him until we can figure everything out.”

Logan gave you a long look, something tender flickering in his expression. “You’re good with him,” he murmured.

You looked away, your face warming. “I’m just... trying to help.”

When you arrived at your office, Peter gasped at the sight of the little Yoda figurine on your desk. “He’s so cool!” he exclaimed, running to inspect it closer. His awe made you laugh softly, and for the first time in a while, it felt natural.

Peter was chattering about his favorite lightsaber battles when Jean appeared in the doorway. She looked between you, Peter, and Logan, her brow furrowed slightly. “New recruit?” she asked with a teasing smile.

“Not exactly,” Logan grumbled, crossing his arms.

Peter ran up to Jean without hesitation. “Hi! I’m Peter! And I’m here because I lost my aunt and uncle at the bakery!”

Jean’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” she said softly, crouching to meet his gaze. “Well, hi, Peter. I’m Jean. And I’m sure we’re going to find your family soon, okay?”

Peter nodded quickly, his little hands still gripping the straps of his Star Wars backpack. “Okay,” he whispered, but his voice wavered, betraying the fear he was trying to keep at bay.

Jean glanced up at you and Logan, her expression laced with concern. “Have you called the local precinct yet?”

“Not yet,” Logan said, crossing his arms. “Kid didn’t look too thrilled when I mentioned it. Figured we’d keep him calm first, then call it in.”

You crouched down beside Jean, meeting Peter’s wide eyes. “Hey, Peter, do you want to hang out here for a little bit? We’ve got snacks, a big TV, and even a pool table if you’re into that.”

Peter hesitated, his gaze darting between you, Logan, and Jean. “You’re not leaving, right?”

“Not a chance,” Logan said firmly, his voice a reassuring rumble. “We’re stickin’ with you, kid.”

Peter nodded, his grip on his backpack loosening just a fraction. “Okay.”

Jean rose and gestured subtly for you and Logan to follow her into the hall. You gave Peter a quick smile. “We’ll be right back, okay? Just stay here and make yourself comfortable.”

When you stepped into the hallway, Jean folded her arms and kept her voice low. “He seems pretty attached to you two already.”

“He’s scared out of his mind,” you said quietly, glancing back toward the office. “And honestly, I don’t blame him.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that,” Jean said, her brow furrowing. “There’s something familiar about him. I can’t quite place it.”

Logan shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough. What’s the plan?”

Jean sighed, her expression softening. “I’ll go call the precinct, let them know we’ve got Peter here. If he’s reported missing, they’ll already be looking for him.”

“Good idea,” you said, your voice heavy with thought. “And I’ll stay with him, keep him calm.”

Logan gave you a look, his eyes soft but serious. “You sure you’re up for that?”

You nodded, pushing back the knot forming in your chest. “Yeah. He needs someone right now.”

Jean looked between the two of you, a flicker of understanding passing over her face. “Alright. I’ll handle the call.”

Logan followed you back into the office, where Peter had perched himself in your chair, spinning it slowly while inspecting the Yoda figurine on your desk. He looked up as you entered, his small face brightening just a little.

“You’re back!” he said, holding up the figurine. “I like this guy.”

“Me too,” you said with a soft laugh, settling into the chair beside him. “Yoda’s the best, isn’t he?”

Peter nodded eagerly. “He’s really smart. And he talks funny.”

Logan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched the two of you. Despite the situation, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“So,” you said, leaning forward on your desk, “what do you think? Want to stay here for a bit? We’ve got a whole library full of books, some even about space and Star Wars stuff.”

Peter’s eyes lit up again. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, your heart warming at his enthusiasm. “I can show you later if you want.”

“Okay!” Peter said, his voice a little stronger now. He glanced toward Logan. “Are you staying too?”

Logan nodded, his voice gruff but gentle. “Yeah, kid. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Peter seemed reassured by that, and for the first time since you found him, he smiled—a small, shy smile, but a smile nonetheless.

As the minutes ticked by, the weight in your chest softened just a little. You didn’t know what Peter’s story was or how long it would take to reunite him with his family, but for now, he was safe. And that was enough.

---

As the day turned into night, Peter sat cross-legged on the carpet of the mansion’s rec room, playing Go Fish! with Kitty and Rogue. His laughter bubbled up every so often, filling the space with a warmth that made you smile despite the tension that lingered just below the surface. Logan leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his watchful eyes rarely leaving the boy.

Jean entered quietly, her expression softer than before as she approached. “I spoke to the precinct,” she said, keeping her voice low. “His aunt and uncle are on their way. They’ll be here within the hour.”

A knot in your chest loosened slightly, though it didn’t disappear entirely. “That’s good,” you murmured, your gaze drifting back to Peter. “At least he won’t have to stay scared for much longer.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes flicked to you for a moment, and then back to the boy.

Jean stepped closer, her tone gentler now. “Y/N, you’re really good at this.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving her a faint smile. “Good at what?”

“At being what he needs right now,” she said simply, glancing toward Logan as if daring him to argue.

“Yoda would call it ‘parenting,’” Logan rumbled dryly, but there was no edge to his voice.

“Funny,” you shot back lightly, though the way his words curled into your heart was anything but.

Jean smiled knowingly and then excused herself to check on Peter’s room arrangements, leaving the two of you alone in the doorway.

“She’s right, though,” Logan said after a beat, his voice softer now. “Kid’s been through hell today, and somehow, you’re the only thing that’s kept him steady.”

You crossed your arms, glancing at him. “I think it’s less me and more Yoda,” you joked, but the slight tremor in your voice gave you away.

Logan tilted his head, his piercing gaze holding yours. “Darlin’, it’s you. Don’t doubt that.”

A warmth you didn’t entirely know how to handle spread through your chest. “I just…” You paused, your fingers brushing your glasses. “I remember being Peter’s age and needing someone to make me feel safe. My grandma did that for me. Maybe I just… want to be that for him.”

Logan’s expression softened, his features shadowed by the rec room’s low lighting. He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing your arm lightly. “You are.”

You blinked up at him, your chest tight in a way that was both painful and comforting.

Kitty’s sudden exclamation broke the quiet moment. “Peter! You’re totally cheating!”

“I am not!” Peter squealed, clutching his cards to his chest and grinning wide.

“Are too!” Rogue teased, flicking a card toward him.

You turned back to Logan, the corner of your mouth lifting into a smile. “He’s resilient, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Logan agreed, his gaze softening as he watched Peter. “More than most adults I’ve met.”

Before you could say anything, the familiar sound of a car approaching the mansion echoed from outside. You glanced toward the window, spotting headlights cutting through the night.

“That must be them,” you said, your heart tightening again.

Logan pushed off the doorframe. “Stay with him. I’ll meet ’em.”

You hesitated. “Logan—”

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady but firm, “trust me. I’ll bring ’em up. You just keep him calm.”

Something in his tone settled the whirlwind in your chest, and you nodded, turning back to Peter and the girls.

---

Peter glanced up as Logan led a man and woman into the room, their faces pale and eyes red-rimmed. “Peter!” the woman exclaimed, rushing forward and dropping to her knees in front of him.

His wide brown eyes blinked in surprise before lighting up with relief. “Aunt May!”

You stepped back, letting Peter and his aunt share a tearful embrace while Logan lingered near the doorway, watching. You felt your throat tighten as his uncle crouched to hold him too, whispering something you couldn’t hear.

May looked up at you, her eyes swimming with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “He’s a special kid. I’m just glad we could help.”

Logan’s quiet presence at your side grounded you, his arm brushing yours in a way that let you know he was there. Peter looked over at you, still holding onto May’s hand. “Will I get to see you again?”

Your heart cracked just slightly at his question. “You bet, Peter,” you said softly. “Anytime.”

Logan nodded toward the door. “Let’s give ’em some time, darlin’.”

You followed him out into the hallway, lingering by the door as you listened to Peter chatter to his aunt and uncle about Yoda and Go Fish!

---

Logan was already in bed, sketching something in his notebook as you sat down by his side, your nightgown bunching around your thighs.

You put your head on Logan’s shoulder, your glasses riding up slightly as you watched him sketch. His pencil moved fluidly over the paper, and though you couldn't quite make out what he was working on, you could see it was intricate—full of tiny details only he could capture so effortlessly.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content in the shared silence, but Logan wasn’t one to miss when something was on your mind. He paused his sketching and looked over at you, his warm voice breaking the quiet.

“What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your nightgown. You knew he’d notice eventually—he always did. Taking a breath, you lifted your gaze to his face, his expression open and patient.

"I was just thinking about Peter… and his aunt and uncle," you admitted softly. "How relieved they were to see him. He means everything to them."

Logan nodded, his hand brushing lightly against your knee. “Kid’s lucky to have family like that.” He studied you for a beat, his gaze sharp but gentle, the way it always was when it came to you. “That ain’t all you’re thinkin’ about, though.”

You swallowed, your heart quickening. He always managed to cut right to the heart of things, but he never pushed—not until you were ready.

"No," you said finally, your voice quiet. "It’s not."

Logan put the pencil down on the bedside table, his attention fully on you now. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

You played with the hem of your gown again, gathering your thoughts. “It’s been seven months,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Since we lost…” You didn’t have to say the words—Logan’s hand was already wrapping around yours, steady and grounding.

“I know,” he said softly, the rasp in his voice turning gentle for you.

A lump formed in your throat, but you pushed through it. “Taking care of Peter, seeing how much he means to May and Ben… it just… it made me wonder if maybe… maybe I’m ready to try again.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he shifted, turning to face you more fully, his free hand cupping your cheek.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I ain’t gonna lie, darlin’. It scares me, what you went through. What we went through. Don’t want you hurting like that again.”

“I know,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “I’m scared, too. But I keep thinking about what it felt like to be pregnant—how it felt to think about a future with a little one. Our little one. I… I think I want to try again. Not right away, but maybe soon?”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, his eyes softer now, filled with something that looked like both hope and worry. "Soon," he echoed. "We take it slow this time. No rushin’, no pushin’ ourselves too hard. Deal?"

You smiled faintly, blinking back tears as you nodded. “Deal.”

Logan pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll get there, Y/N. Together.”

You stayed like that for a long time, Logan holding you as if to shield you from all the pain and uncertainty. And for once, you let yourself believe it might be okay.

---

During Christmas break, Logan surprised you by taking you to a cabin in Upstate New York, apparently it’s one Charles owns but rarely uses.

You had suggested going to a Christmas tree farm to find a tree, and Logan had immediately agreed, despite the snow piling up in Upstate New York. His only condition? “We’re not getting one of those scrawny ones,” he’d said, crossing his arms as you both bundled up to head out. “I want one that’ll make the cabin smell like Christmas exploded in it.”

Now, you stood in a clearing surrounded by evergreens, your breath visible in the crisp winter air. Logan’s gloved hand was warm as it enveloped yours, his other hand holding an old-fashioned ax slung over his shoulder.

“What about that one?” you asked, pointing to a modest tree that seemed the perfect height for the cabin’s living room. Its branches were full, the green vibrant against the white snow.

Logan tilted his head, giving the tree a scrutinizing look. “It’s not bad,” he admitted, but then his gaze drifted further into the rows of trees. “But look at that monster over there.”

Following his line of sight, your eyes landed on a tree that was practically a skyscraper. You laughed, your breath puffing out in clouds. “Logan, that’s not going to fit through the door.”

His lips quirked in a grin, the kind that made your chest warm even in the biting cold. “Could cut it down to size.”

You shook your head, pulling him back toward the smaller tree. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be. Besides, this one’s cute.”

Logan grumbled something under his breath about “cute trees,” but his smile stayed as he set the ax down. “Alright, darlin’. You win.”

Watching him chop down the tree was like stepping into a Christmas card. Logan moved with ease, his strength controlled but impressive, the sharp crack of the wood splitting echoing in the quiet forest. When he finally hefted the tree over his shoulder, he glanced at you with a smirk.

“Still think it’s cute?”

You grinned. “Very.”

---

Back at the cabin, you were in the kitchen setting up hot cocoa while Logan worked on securing the tree in its stand. The smell of pine was already filling the space, mingling with the scent of the cocoa you were stirring on the stove.

“Need help?” you called, peeking around the corner to see Logan wrestling with the tree.

He shot you a playful glare. “I got it. But if this thing falls, it’s your cute tree’s fault.”

Biting back a laugh, you brought two mugs to the living room just as Logan stepped back, hands on his hips, to admire his handiwork. The tree stood proudly, its branches brushing the cabin’s low ceiling.

“Not bad,” you said, handing him a mug. “You do good work.”

Logan took a sip, his hand resting lightly on your waist. “You just like bossin’ me around.”

“Someone has to,” you teased, leaning into his side.

The evening passed in a comfortable rhythm. You strung lights while Logan hung ornaments, occasionally passing one to you with a quip about how your “little nerd hands” needed the practice. By the time you finished, the tree glowed softly, casting the room in a warm light.

Settling onto the couch with Logan, you pulled a blanket over both of you, your glasses slipping slightly as you rested your head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you, and for a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the occasional pop of a lightbulb warming up on the tree.

“Think we’ll do this next year?” you asked quietly, your voice almost lost in the cozy stillness.

Logan turned his head, his lips brushing your temple. “Next year, the year after that… as many years as you want, sweetheart.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing over his knuckles where they rested on your knee. “I like the sound of that.”

Logan kissed your hair, his voice soft but firm. “Me too.”

---

The two of you had ventured out into Victor to buy a few gifts at the mall. Logan, for a brief period of time, had said he had to “find somethin’” and “not to worry your pretty head ‘bout it”. Which was fine, you were in a clothing store picking out a few items for Jean and Ororo for Christmas, even finding a simple dark red plaid dress you thought would be good for Christmas day, even if it was just you and Logan.

When the two of you made it back to the cabin, Logan started the fire while you unpacked your shopping bags and started wrapping gifts on the small coffee table in the living room. You glanced up occasionally to see him adjusting the logs in the fireplace, his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, highlighting his forearms.

“I wanted to show you something,” you said softly after a while, tying a ribbon around a small package meant for Ororo. Logan grunted his acknowledgment, dusting his hands as he stood and glanced over his shoulder at you.

“What’s that, darlin’?”

“Give me a minute,” you said, standing with the red plaid dress draped over your arm as you walked toward the bedroom. You returned a few minutes later, smoothing the fabric down nervously.

Logan turned, his brow lifting slightly when he saw you. His intense gaze softened as it trailed over you, taking in the way the dress hugged your figure just right. “Well, look at you,” he rumbled, crossing his arms. “That’s a damn good dress.”

“Not too much?” you asked shyly, adjusting your glasses as you stood there, your cheeks warming.

“Too much? Nah, darlin’, it’s perfect,” he said, stepping closer and tugging gently at your waistline. “You got a knack for makin’ things look better than they deserve.”

You laughed, swatting at his arm. “Thanks for the help, Logan.”

He chuckled but took a step back, his smirk hinting at something as he reached into the bag he’d brought back from the mall. “Speakin’ of things lookin’ good...” He handed you a small paper bag with tissue peeking out from the top.

Curious, you peeked inside, pulling out the soft, red lace of what was unmistakably lingerie. You stared for a moment before bursting out laughing, your cheeks burning even hotter.

“This,” you managed between giggles, holding it up by the delicate straps, “this is what you went off to find?”

Logan leaned against the edge of the couch, entirely unbothered by your reaction. His grin spread slowly as he shrugged. “Figured you’d like it. Or maybe I just wanted to see you in it.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I’m more curious about you buying it. Did you actually go into one of those stores?”

“Yup,” he said without hesitation, his smirk widening. “Gal behind the counter said this was ‘popular.’ I figured, why not?”

“Why not?” you repeated, laughing harder.

His tone turned teasing as he nodded toward the bedroom. “Go on, sweetheart. Let’s see if it’s as good as the lady said.”

You hesitated, eyeing the lingerie before glancing at him. “You’re something else, Logan.”

“Damn right, I am.” He gave you a light swat on the backside as you turned toward the bedroom, his grin feral but amused.

“Logan!” you yelped, laughing as you scampered off to change.

---

A few minutes later, you stepped out of the bedroom, clutching the edge of the sheer, flowy skirt of the babydoll dress nervously. The delicate red lace and corset-style detail fit perfectly, the bow at the top adding an unexpected sweetness to the undeniably daring outfit. Your glasses slid down your nose slightly as you met Logan’s gaze.

His expression shifted immediately, his eyes darkening as they raked over you from head to toe. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice rougher, deeper. “That’s... yeah, that was worth it.”

You laughed softly, trying to ignore how his reaction sent heat pooling in your stomach. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze lifting to yours, a crooked grin softening the intensity. “But I know what I like.”

Your nervousness melted under the weight of his appreciation, and you crossed the room toward him. He didn’t move, waiting until you were within reach to hook an arm around your waist, pulling you in close.

Logan’s lips pressed against yours with a slow, deliberate heat, his hands still spread over the sheer fabric of the babydoll dress. His roughened palms seemed impossibly gentle as they slid along your sides, brushing the soft material and igniting a warmth that pooled low in your belly.

“You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a rumble that made your knees weak. One hand moved to your waist, tugging you closer, while the other ghosted over the delicate lace at the hem of the dress, sending shivers up your spine.

“Logan,” you began, your voice soft but teasing as you started to reach for the straps of the dress. “Let me just—”

“Uh-uh,” he interrupted, catching your wrist gently and lowering your hand. His grin was playful but commanding, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’re keepin’ this on.”

“Why?” you asked, though the way his eyes darkened made your pulse quicken.

“Because I said so,” he drawled, one hand trailing lower to the garter strap on your thigh. His fingers slipped under it briefly before he let it snap back lightly against your skin. You yelped, a startled laugh bubbling out of you, and he smirked.

“Logan!”

“What? Feels like it’s got its uses,” he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He pressed a kiss to your jawline, then down the curve of your neck, nipping lightly as he went. “Plus, you look too damn good in it to take it off right away.”

You huffed a small laugh, but any retort you might have had died in your throat as his lips reached the base of your neck, lingering there. His hand wandered back to your waist, slipping beneath the flowy fabric to grip your hip, his thumb brushing the bare skin there.

“Logan,” you murmured again, a breathless edge to your tone this time.

“Hmm?” he answered, his mouth now teasing along your collarbone. He was thoroughly enjoying taking his time, and it showed in the satisfied little growl that rumbled in his chest when your fingers tangled in his hair.

Before you knew it, he was guiding you backward toward the couch, his lips never leaving your skin. When the backs of your knees hit the cushions, he gave you a gentle push to sit down.

“Right here, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and rough. His hands eased your legs apart as he knelt in front of you, the sheer skirt of the dress pooling around your thighs. The firelight flickered behind him, casting a warm glow over the room and making his features even sharper, more intense.

“You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?” you teased, though the way your breath hitched when he leaned in betrayed your composure.

“Damn right,” he muttered. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your skin. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss just above one of the garters. “Now, let me take my time, yeah?”

You nodded, your glasses slipping down your nose as you watched him. His hands slid higher, pushing the sheer fabric up slightly, exposing more of you to his touch. His lips followed, leaving a trail of kisses along your inner thigh that had you squirming beneath him.

“Logan...” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Patience, darlin’,” he said, glancing up at you with a devilish grin. His fingers gripped the lace at your hips, holding you steady as he pressed another kiss against you, this time over the delicate fabric of your panties. The heat of his mouth sent a jolt of electricity through you, and your head fell back against the couch with a soft gasp.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he finally hooked his fingers into the waistband and slid them down your legs. The cool air hit you briefly, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of his breath as he settled between your thighs again.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all damn day,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he pressed a kiss to your bare skin. His tongue followed, slow and deliberate, drawing a shaky moan from your lips.

Your hands gripped the edge of the couch as his tongue worked against you, his movements unhurried but precise. He seemed to know exactly what you needed, each flick and stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Logan,” you breathed, your fingers finding their way into his hair. He groaned at the contact, the sound vibrating against you and making your toes curl.

He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. When your hips bucked against him, he growled softly, his grip tightening just enough to keep you in place.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough and filled with need. “Let go for me.”

And you did, your body arching off the couch as the tension inside you snapped. He didn’t stop until you were trembling beneath him, your breath coming in short gasps as you tried to recover.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was smug, but his eyes were soft as he looked up at you. “Worth every damn minute in that store,” he said, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the lingering shudders of your release making your thighs tremble. Logan gave one last playful nip at your inner thigh before rising to his feet in one smooth motion. He loomed over you for a moment, his gaze drinking you in, the sheer red fabric of the babydoll dress bunched slightly around your hips, your skin flushed and glistening.

“C’mere,” he muttered, his hands sliding under your arms as he pulled you to sit up. Before you could fully process the movement, he dropped onto the couch and tugged you onto his lap, guiding your legs to straddle him.

“Logan—”

“Uh-uh,” he cut you off, his hands firm on your hips as he adjusted you to his liking. “You’re stayin’ right here, sweetheart.”

The rough denim of his jeans pressed against your bare thighs, the contrast making you hyper-aware of every point of contact. Logan’s hands roamed over you, one sliding up your back while the other traced the hem of the dress where it barely covered your hips. His touch was possessive, deliberate, his fingers flexing as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of you.

“Y’know,” he drawled, his voice thick with heat as his lips found your collarbone, “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you wearin’ this since I saw it on the rack.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled out of you. “You didn’t even let me look at it when you came back,” you teased, your fingers finding their way to his hair, tugging lightly.

He groaned at the sensation, his teeth grazing your skin just below your jaw. “Damn right I didn’t. Knew it’d be perfect. And look at you now.” His hands slid lower, gripping your hips and rocking you against him, drawing a gasp from your lips. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Your hands clutched at his shoulders as he leaned back slightly, giving himself more room to work. His mouth trailed lower, over the curve of your breast, and he nipped lightly through the lace of the dress. The sensation made you jolt, a mix of pleasure and surprise, and his low chuckle vibrated against your skin.

“Logan,” you murmured, your voice a mix of frustration and need as his teeth scraped over the delicate fabric again.

“What?” he replied, feigning innocence as his tongue flicked out to tease the sensitive skin beneath. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Before you could respond, his hands slid up your sides, pushing the fabric of the dress higher until it bunched just below your chest. He paused for a moment, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you. “Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

His hands were back on you in an instant, one sliding behind your back to pull you closer while the other cupped your breast through the lace. His thumb brushed over the sensitive peak, and you shuddered, your breath hitching.

“You’re drivin’ me crazy,” he said, his voice a rough growl as he leaned in to capture your lips again. The kiss was messy, desperate, his teeth catching your lower lip before his tongue swept into your mouth, claiming you completely.

“Logan,” you gasped when he finally pulled back, your head spinning. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly as he shifted beneath you. The unmistakable hardness pressing against you made your pulse race.

“Need you,” he murmured, his voice low and urgent. “Right fuckin’ now.”

You nodded, your hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers trembled slightly as you worked them open, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. He shrugged out of the fabric impatiently, tossing it aside before his hands returned to your hips.

“Keep the dress on,” he reminded you, his voice a gruff command that sent a thrill through you.

“I wasn’t planning to take it off,” you replied, a small smirk playing at your lips.

He groaned, his hands tightening on you. “Good,” he muttered, his lips finding your neck again as he began to guide you against him. The rough denim of his jeans added a delicious friction that had you both gasping.

Your hands found his belt, fumbling slightly as you unbuckled it and tugged it free. Logan’s lips never left your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as you worked to free him from the confines of his jeans. When you finally succeeded, he groaned, his hips lifting slightly to help you push them down.

“Goddamn tease,” he muttered, his voice thick with need as he lifted you slightly, positioning you over him.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, though your teasing tone faltered as you felt him press against you.

He didn’t reply, too focused on guiding you down onto him. The stretch was intense, stealing the breath from your lungs as he filled you completely. Logan groaned, his head falling back against the couch as he gripped your hips tightly.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “You feel so damn good.”

You couldn’t form words, your hands bracing against his chest as you adjusted to the overwhelming sensation. Logan’s hands moved to your thighs, his thumbs brushing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“Take your time,” he murmured, though his voice was strained with the effort of holding himself back.

After a moment, you began to move, your hips rocking tentatively at first. Logan’s groan spurred you on, his hands guiding your movements as you found a rhythm that had you both gasping.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Just like that.”

Your movements started slow, each roll of your hips deliberate, drawing quiet groans from Logan as he leaned back against the couch. His hands stayed firm on your thighs, his touch grounding you as you adjusted to the rhythm. The soft material of the babydoll dress clung to your skin, the sheer fabric shifting with every motion.

Logan’s eyes burned as he watched you, his chest rising and falling heavily. “Fuck, darlin’,” he rasped. “You’re somethin’ else.”

Your hands rested on his chest, your fingers splayed across his warm, scarred skin. His muscles tensed beneath your touch each time your hips shifted, his breaths turning into low, guttural sounds. Every inch of him felt alive beneath you, responding to your every move.

As your confidence grew, so did the pace, your movements becoming more fluid. Logan’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh just enough to leave an impression. He groaned your name, the sound rough and needy, and the way it rolled off his tongue sent heat pooling low in your belly.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You feel so good. Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. Your hips rocked faster, and Logan’s jaw clenched as he fought to keep control. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly as he began to move with you. He thrust upward, his movements deep and deliberate, meeting you halfway and sending sharp waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers curled against his chest, nails digging into his skin as he set a faster pace.

“That’s it,” he growled, his hands keeping you steady as he thrust harder. The couch creaked beneath you, but neither of you cared. His movements became more urgent, his breathing harsh against your ear as he pulled you closer.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern. His eyes flicked up to yours, searching your face.

You nodded quickly, your breath hitching as he moved again, deeper this time. “Uh-huh,” you managed, the word spilling from your lips without thought. Your head fell forward, resting against his shoulder as you clung to him, your body trembling with each thrust.

Logan’s hands moved to your back, sliding beneath the thin straps of the dress to hold you against him. Your chests pressed together, the heat of his skin searing against yours. His lips found your neck, trailing rough kisses along your pulse point before biting gently. The combination of pain and pleasure made you gasp, your nails raking down his sides.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your skin. His hips snapped upward with more force, each thrust dragging a whimper from your lips. “You’re so goddamn perfect.”

The words sent a shiver through you, your thighs trembling as you tried to keep up with his pace. Logan’s grip tightened, his fingers flexing against your back as he shifted beneath you. He leaned forward, pressing you down against him until you could feel every inch of him, his movements driving deeper.

“Logan,” you whispered again, your voice cracking as his name fell from your lips like a prayer. His lips captured yours in a desperate kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he swallowed your moans.

“C’mere,” he muttered, his hands moving to your hips. He shifted, pulling you down harder as he thrust up, his movements relentless. The friction and heat built between you, each motion sending sparks shooting through your veins.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, his voice rough and unsteady. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

Your head tilted back, a soft cry escaping your lips as he hit a spot that sent your body arching against him. Logan growled, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he moved faster, his grip on you firm and unyielding.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Let go for me.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer. The tension that had been building snapped, your body shuddering as you reached your peak. Logan groaned, his movements slowing just enough to let you ride out the waves of pleasure.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his hands soothing over your trembling thighs. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”

You clung to him, your breaths coming in short, shaky gasps as you tried to recover. Logan pressed soft kisses to your temple, his grip on you loosening just slightly as he gave you a moment to catch your breath.

But he wasn’t done.

Before you could fully process what was happening, Logan shifted beneath you, his hands sliding to your thighs as he lifted you slightly. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and filled with raw need.

“You good?” he asked again, his voice softer this time.

You nodded, your fingers brushing his cheek. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice breathless but sure.

He grinned, a wolfish expression that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “Good,” he said. “‘Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

With that, he shifted again, guiding you to lie back against the couch. The babydoll dress bunched around your waist, the sheer fabric clinging to your flushed skin. Logan loomed over you, his hands braced on either side of your head as he leaned down to kiss you deeply.

His hips moved again, slower this time but no less intense. Each thrust was deliberate, his eyes locked on yours as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Every damn part of you.”

You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. Logan groaned against your lips, his movements becoming more erratic as he neared his own release. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he drove deeper, each thrust pulling a moan from your lips.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice breaking as he pushed you to the edge again. His name was the only thing you could manage, your thoughts consumed by the overwhelming sensation of him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his voice strained but steady. “Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And with one final thrust, you did, your body arching beneath him as the pleasure crashed over you. Logan followed moments later, his groan low and rough as he buried himself deep, his body trembling against yours.

For a moment, the only sound was the ragged breathing that filled the room. Logan stayed over you, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. His hands moved to your waist, his touch gentle as he smoothed over your skin.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with quiet concern.

You nodded, a tired but satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

Logan chuckled, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. “Good,” he said. “‘Cause I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight tonight.”

---

After waking up late the next day—only because Logan stuck to his word—you had made homemade banana bread that would have to cook for around 45 minutes before it was done.

While you waited, you decided to try something new. Logan was in the shower, and you knew his routine well enough to guess he’d be done soon. A flicker of boldness lit up inside you. Without second-guessing, you slipped out of your clothes, leaving them in a heap by the door. You placed your glasses carefully on the dresser—everything was a little blurry now, but it didn’t matter.

Quietly, you padded across the floor to the bathroom, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside. The air was warm and humid, the sound of water cascading against tiles filling the room.

Logan was standing under the spray, head tilted back, water streaming down his broad shoulders and muscled back. He hadn’t noticed you yet, so you stepped closer, your bare feet silent on the tiles. Steam curled around you, and you couldn’t help but take a moment to admire him.

“Darlin’, you forget somethin’?” Logan’s voice broke through your thoughts. He didn’t turn around, but you could hear the smirk in his tone.

You froze for a second, then let out a soft laugh. “Maybe I just wanted to join you,” you said, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced.

Logan turned slightly, enough to glance over his shoulder at you. His gaze flicked over your body, and his smirk widened. “Not that I’m complainin’, but what’s got you sneakin’ in here?”

You stepped closer, reaching out to brush your fingers against his arm. “Can I… do something?” you asked softly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. The question hung in the air, the intimacy of it sending a spark through both of you.

Logan’s eyes darkened, his grin fading into something more serious. He turned fully, the water flattening his hair against his forehead. “You don’t gotta ask,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You dropped to your knees on the wet tiles, the water spraying against your back as you settled in front of him. Logan’s sharp inhale was the only sound for a moment. He reached down, his fingers brushing your cheek as he looked at you with a mixture of surprise and heat.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now, though his arousal was clear.

You nodded, your hands already sliding up his thighs. “I’m sure,” you said, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. You weren’t nervous because of him—you’d done this before—but there was something thrilling about the spontaneity of it.

Logan groaned softly as your hands moved higher, his muscles tensing under your touch. “Goddamn, darlin’,” he muttered, his head tilting back slightly as you began to explore him with your hands and mouth. The warmth of the shower and the slickness of the water added a new layer of sensation, and you could feel his body responding to every movement.

Your tongue flicked over him, testing, teasing, before taking him fully. Logan’s hand found its way into your hair, not guiding but grounding himself as a low growl rumbled from his chest. His hips shifted slightly, his restraint palpable as you worked him slowly, thoroughly, letting the heat and steam build between you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Logan groaned, his voice rough and strained. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

You glanced up at him, your vision a little blurry without your glasses, but you could still see the way his jaw clenched, his muscles taut as he fought to keep control. His reaction spurred you on, your movements becoming more deliberate, more confident.

“You’re so damn good at this,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Always know how to take care of me.”

Your hands gripped his thighs, steadying yourself as you continued, the warmth of the water cascading over both of you. Logan’s breathing grew heavier, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair as he murmured your name, a low, reverent sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

When he finally tugged you gently back, his chest was heaving, his eyes dark and intense. “C’mere,” he said, his voice a rough command that you couldn’t ignore.

You stood slowly, water dripping down your body as Logan’s hands found your waist, pulling you close. His mouth crashed against yours, hot and desperate, his hands roaming over your wet skin as the kiss deepened. The hunger in his touch was undeniable, but there was also a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Logan’s hands slid down to cup your ass, lifting you easily. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and he pressed you against the cool tile wall, the contrast of temperatures making you gasp. His lips moved to your neck, nipping and sucking as he positioned himself between your thighs.

You sighed his name, nails digging into his shoulders, the small crescent marks fading almost instantly. “I was s’pposed to—”

Logan cut you off, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “I know, sweetheart. But right now, I wanna be inside you.” His voice was rough, low, and the sound of it sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, he shifted his hips, pressing into you with a deliberate, maddening slowness. The heat of him, the thickness, made you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your legs tightened around his waist. Logan’s eyes locked on yours, his gaze unwavering even through the steam curling around you both.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, his tone both commanding and tender. His hands slid to your hips, steadying you as he sank deeper. “None of that holdin’ back shit. Just let it out.”

Your lips parted, a soft whimper escaping as he filled you completely. It had become a habit, one you hadn’t even realized—biting your lip, muffling your sounds against his skin, or burying them in kisses. You’d gotten used to keeping quiet, especially back at the mansion. Now, the vulnerability of letting go felt foreign and exhilarating.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice breaking as he began to move. The rhythm he set was slow but unrelenting, each thrust purposeful and deep. Your head fell forward against his shoulder, and you bit down lightly on his skin, trying to keep from being too loud.

Logan’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his lips pressing against your temple. “Don’t do that,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with care. “You don’t have to be quiet. I wanna hear every damn sound.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, though it was a struggle to let go of the ingrained instinct. When he angled his hips and hit that perfect spot inside you, your head tilted back, and a sharp moan slipped free before you could stop it.

“That’s it,” Logan praised, his voice a low growl against your neck. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you down onto him as he thrust up. “Goddamn, darlin’. You feel so good.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as the pleasure built. “Right there,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “Feels so good.”

Logan grinned against your skin, his teeth grazing your jaw before he claimed your lips in a heated kiss. “Don’t stop talkin’ to me,” he muttered between kisses. “Tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

Your legs tightened around his waist, and you moaned into his mouth, your body arching into him. “So good,” you managed, your voice breaking as he thrust deeper. “Logan, please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?” he teased, his lips moving to your throat as he sucked lightly on the sensitive skin. His hips snapped upward, harder this time, and your nails raked down his back in response. “Use your words.”

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “Don’t ever stop.”

Logan chuckled, a low, rough sound that sent heat pooling in your belly. “Not a fuckin’ chance,” he promised, his pace quickening. Each thrust dragged a new sound from you, the intensity overwhelming in the best way.

But then the habit crept back in. As the sensations grew, you bit down on your lip, stifling a moan as your head fell forward against his shoulder. Logan noticed instantly, his movements slowing as his hand tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“None of that,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Don’t hide from me, Y/N. I wanna hear you. All of it.”

“Sorry,” you murmured, your cheeks flushing. The apology was instinctive, but Logan wasn’t having it.

“Don’t be,” he said, his voice softer now. “Just let go, darlin’. No one else is here. It’s just us.”

His words broke down the last of your restraint. The next time he thrust into you, you let out a cry, your hands clutching at his shoulders as the pleasure crashed over you. Logan’s growl of approval only fueled the fire, his movements becoming rougher, more desperate as he chased his own release.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. “You’re so goddamn perfect.”

“Logan,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer. The sound of it seemed to spur him on, his grip on you tightening as he drove deeper. Your vision blurred, not just from the missing glasses but from the overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Let it all out. Don’t hold back.”

You clung to him, your body trembling as you reached your peak, the waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless surges. Logan wasn’t far behind, his hips snapping one last time before he groaned deeply, his body shuddering against yours as he spilled into you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the steady spray of water and the ragged breathing that filled the room. Logan’s hands softened their grip, sliding up to cradle your face as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with concern.

You nodded, a tired but satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the damp hair from his forehead.

Logan chuckled, his hands sliding down to your thighs as he eased out of you, lowering you gently to your feet. Your legs were shaky, but he steadied you, his hands never leaving your waist.

“Good,” he said, his lips quirking into a smirk. “‘Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

You tried to meet his eyes, though you weren’t sure if you did or not, while giving a small pout. “But the banana bread is in the oven.”

His eyes widened for a moment before he turned off the shower, water still running down his face as he looked at you. “Well, don’t let me stop ya,” he said, though the twitch of a grin tugged at his lips, and his tone betrayed an unusual excitement.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “Are you—are you actually excited about banana bread right now?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, grabbing a towel from the hook. “I mean... it’s banana bread. Why wouldn’t I be excited?” His smirk turned mischievous as he turned back to face you, holding the towel open like a shield. “C’mon, sweetheart, outta the shower before I start thinkin’ you’re more fun than the bread.”

You snorted, water dripping from your hair as you stepped into his waiting towel. “Admit it, Logan. You’re acting like a kid waiting for dessert. I didn’t know you had such a thing for banana bread.”

Wrapping the towel snugly around your frame, he started to dry you off methodically, his calloused hands rubbing gentle circles against your arms through the soft fabric. “Ain’t just any banana bread—it’s your banana bread,” he said matter-of-factly, meeting your eyes briefly before going back to drying you off. “Gotta admit, though, you make the wait damn hard sometimes.”

The faint warmth of his compliment lingered as he continued his task. Logan’s attention was deliberate, unhurried, like he enjoyed every small moment between you. By the time he reached for another towel to gently dry your hair, you couldn’t help the grin pulling at your lips. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, giggling softly.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he teased, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before reaching for your glasses. He placed them on carefully, his fingers brushing against your temple. “There. Perfect.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re getting better at this, y’know.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning as he grabbed another towel to wrap around his waist. “Or maybe I just like seein’ you look all warm and cared for.”

Before you could reply, he grabbed one of the clothes bundles he’d laid out, already half-dressed himself as he guided you into a fresh pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt you recognized as his. The soft fabric hung loose around your frame, and you gave him a questioning glance as he smirked again.

“What? Looks good on ya,” he said with a shrug. “Now c’mon, let’s check on this banana bread you’re teasin’ me with.”

“Teasin’ you?” you repeated, laughing as you followed him back toward the kitchen. “Pretty sure you’re the one making a big deal out of it.”

He looked over his shoulder at you as he walked. “Damn straight I am.”

When you reached the kitchen, the warm, sweet scent of the bread filled the small cabin. You moved to the counter to check on it, glancing over your shoulder when you heard him shift beside you. Logan stood close, resting a hand lightly against your lower back as you crouched to peek into the oven.

“I’m just sayin’,” he added, leaning casually against the counter, “whatever made you think to make this today? Keep it up, darlin’. You might just have me makin’ excuses to stay in more.”

You laughed as you stood, shaking your head at him. “Logan, you already hate leaving the cabin. What excuses do you need?”

He grinned and pulled you into his side, pressing a kiss to your temple as he mumbled, “Good point. Still, if it’s you bakin’, I’ll take the extra reason.”

It was such a small moment—banter layered in the comfort of your daily life together—but standing there with his arm around you, your shared laughter filling the cabin, it was everything. Every piece of grief and hope between you felt quieter, a little easier to carry.

Logan remembered the hardest things about you, the pain of losing you five times before. Yet in moments like this, you made him feel like he was learning you anew each day—and damn if he wouldn’t keep trying for a hundred lives more.

Chapter Text

“—and we need to… Logan!” You exclaimed, breaking him out of whatever stupor he was in while staring at you.

You were explaining the new calendar you made that coincided with your IVF treatment, meaning no sex some days before retrieval and no sex some time after.

“Yeah, ‘m listening,” Logan repeated, his eyes flickering back to you like a magnet drawn to steel. He leaned lazily against the counter in your lab, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement—or distraction. Probably both.

You narrowed your eyes, tightening your grip on the whiteboard marker. "Then what did I just say?"

“You need to… no sex before, no sex after," he recited slowly, as if carefully testing each word to make sure it wouldn’t backfire.

“And?" You crossed your arms, one hand on your hip, the other holding the marker up like a teacher about to deliver a pop quiz. "Do you know why?"

Logan’s gaze swept over you, taking in the way you’d planted your feet and stuck a pen behind your ear in your 'professor mode.' “Because you’re ovulatin’ or somethin’? Or tryin’ not to? Hell, I don’t know what half this stuff means.”

You sighed, turning back to the giant whiteboard on the wall. It was cluttered with colorful timelines, reminders, and arrows pointing every which way, all carefully laid out for the IVF schedule. In hindsight, your meticulousness might have been a tad over the top, but you weren’t about to admit that now.

“It’s because we want to maximize the egg retrieval,” you explained, your tone firm but not unkind. “No sex three days before stimulation so it doesn’t mess with your—ugh, never mind. Just stick to the rules. I made this board so it’s clear.”

Behind you, Logan huffed, a warm, rumbling sound that made you turn sharply to find him grinning.

"What?" you asked, brow furrowing.

“You’re real cute when you’re like this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at you. "Hands on your hips, pen behind your ear—looks like you’re about to lecture me ‘bout quantum somethin’."

Your cheeks flushed instantly, but you steadied yourself, standing taller. “That’s because you’re not listening,” you fired back. "And I have been over this calendar twice. Maybe I should give you a quiz.”

Logan’s grin widened, his teeth flashing. “You gonna give me detention if I fail?"

Ignoring the heat rising to your face, you tilted your head in mock seriousness. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, clearly enjoying this far more than he should. “Guess we’ll find out if I get somethin’ wrong.”

“Fine.” You capped the marker and tapped it against your hand like a gavel. "What’s the first thing you have to remember?”

Logan straightened slightly, locking eyes with you. “No sex three days before retrieval.”

You nodded, reluctantly impressed. “And after retrieval?”

“No sex for a week.”

“Why?” you pressed, though your voice lost some of its sternness.

“‘Cause it’s somethin’ about keepin’ the process steady—don’t wanna screw up your hormones or somethin’. You didn’t get this doctorate for me to screw it all up.”

You stared at him, unable to mask your surprise.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, although his smug grin didn’t waver. “Just ‘cause I’m lookin’ at you doesn’t mean I’m not payin’ attention.”

Taking a second to compose yourself, you finally nodded. “Fine, you passed.”

“But what about my detention?” His smirk turned wolfish, leaning just a fraction closer.

You stumbled over your words. “Is this—ugh, is this one of your… you know?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I don’t know, darlin’. What’re you talkin’ about?”

“You know!” you exclaimed, waving the pen for emphasis. “Your… fantasies or whatever it is you call them.”

His grin was practically sinful now. “Well, now it is.”

“Logan!”

“Relax, sweetheart.” His voice softened as he reached out to pluck the marker from your hand, setting it aside on the desk. His other hand slid to your hip, grounding you as he bent just low enough to kiss your forehead. "You’re doin’ great. And we’re gonna get through this—whiteboard rules and all."

You sighed, your tension easing slightly under his touch. “You’d better not fail me on this, Logan.”

“Never,” he said with an almost reverent sincerity, the teasing gleam in his eyes softened by something deeper. "You’re the one thing I’ve always been real good at keepin’ up with."

And damn it if he didn’t mean it.

---

Since today was the last day you could have sex before your retrieval in 4 days, you decided to surprise Logan. Though you weren’t sure if this was going to backfire on you or not, you thought you’d give it a try.

You had put on something that was the most stereotypical ‘teacher like’ outfit, a white button-up blouse, a black pencil skirt, and some small heels, and went through the regular motions of the school day.

Then, once classes were over, Logan came to your classroom instead of your office like you told him to earlier in the day.

Logan pushed the classroom door open, his shoulders broad and his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. His gaze swept over the rows of empty desks before it landed on you. You were sitting at your desk, legs crossed, glasses perched on your nose, and a teasing little smile playing at your lips. The whiteboard still had the day’s lesson scrawled across it, but you weren’t thinking about teaching anymore.

“This where you wanted me?” Logan asked, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You adjusted your glasses, standing up slowly. “Yes, Mr. Howlett. You’re late.”

His eyebrows lifted, the faintest smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t know this was official business.”

“Sit down,” you instructed, gesturing toward your chair behind the desk. “You’ve got some rules to follow if you’re going to avoid detention.”

Logan chuckled under his breath but obeyed, sauntering over and lowering himself into the chair. He sprawled comfortably, his legs spread wide, making it look far too small for him. “Alright, darlin’. What’s next?”

You stepped around the desk, your heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. “First,” you began, fingers going to the buttons of your blouse, “you’re not allowed to touch me. At all.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, his smirk growing into a full grin. “That so?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, undoing the top button of your blouse. His gaze tracked the movement like a predator watching its prey. “You’re here to listen and behave. Understand?”

“Guess I’ll behave,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You let the next few buttons fall open, revealing the delicate lace of your bra beneath. His sharp inhale didn’t go unnoticed, but he kept his hands firmly on the arms of the chair, his knuckles tightening as you slipped the blouse off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good,” you said softly, stepping closer. “Stay just like that.”

You moved your hands to the zipper of your pencil skirt, tugging it down slowly. The fabric pooled at your feet, leaving you standing there in nothing but your bra, panties, and those heels. Logan’s jaw flexed, and you could see the restraint it was taking for him to stay still.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me,” he muttered, his voice strained.

“I told you, no touching,” you reminded him, leaning down just enough to place your hands on the arms of the chair, your face inches from his. “Think you can handle that?”

Logan’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze locked on yours. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart.”

You straightened up, taking your time to slip onto his lap. His hands twitched against the armrests, but he didn’t move them, his breathing ragged as you settled yourself over him, the heat between your thighs pressing against the denim of his jeans.

“See? You’re doing great,” you teased, trailing your fingers along his jawline. He let out a low growl, but his hands stayed put.

“You’re evil,” he said, his voice thick with want.

“Maybe,” you replied, reaching between your bodies to undo his belt. His hips jerked slightly, but he stayed obedient, watching as you unzipped his jeans and pushed them down just enough to free him. He was already hard, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“Not so evil now, huh?” Logan quipped, but his breath hitched as you slid your panties to the side, positioning yourself over him.

“Remember,” you whispered, lowering yourself slowly. “No touching.”

Logan let out a low curse, his head falling back against the chair as you took him in. His hands clenched the armrests tightly, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the effort of keeping them there.

“Darlin’, you’re killin’ me here,” he rasped, his voice rough and shaky.

You started to move, your hips rolling slowly against his. The friction sent shivers through your body, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. Logan’s eyes were locked on yours, dark and hungry, but his hands didn’t budge.

“You’re so good at this,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to his jaw. He growled low in his throat, his self-control hanging by a thread.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, his hips bucking up into you. “How’m I supposed to just sit here?”

“Discipline,” you teased, your breath warm against his ear. “Isn’t that what detention’s all about?”

Logan let out a breathless laugh, the sound strained and desperate. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much.”

You didn’t answer, your movements quickening as heat coiled low in your stomach. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the room, mingling with your own gasps. You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut with tension as he fought the urge to touch you.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered, your voice catching as your rhythm faltered. Logan’s eyes softened briefly, the teasing gleam replaced with something deeper.

“So are you,” he managed, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly you thought they might snap. “But I’m about to lose it here.”

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Not yet,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly. He groaned into your mouth, his restraint finally breaking as his hands left the armrests and gripped your hips, holding you firmly against him.

“That’s it,” he growled, guiding your movements now, his strength taking over. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he set a brutal pace, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was all heat and desperation.

The classroom faded away, the only thing that mattered was him—the way he filled you, the way he moved, the way he whispered your name like a prayer. And when you finally tumbled over the edge together, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you knew this was worth every moment of waiting.

Breathless and trembling, you rested your forehead against his, your glasses askew. “So much for following the rules,” you muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Logan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Rules are overrated anyway.”

---

“Honey, if you can’t do it, I can. It’s just a little needle.” You said, holding your hand out for the needle, a simple hormone injection that has to be done before the embryo transfer.

Logan stood a few feet away, the needle in his hand looking laughably small against his thick fingers. His jaw was tight, and his brows knitted together in a way that made him look like he was contemplating defusing a bomb instead of giving you a hormone injection.

“I can do it,” he said gruffly, though his eyes darted between the syringe and your exposed stomach like he didn’t quite believe himself.

You softened at his hesitation, lowering your hand. “It’s okay if you’re nervous. I can just—”

“I’m not nervous,” Logan interrupted quickly, his voice firm but not unkind. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite the situation. “Logan, I get stabbed with needles all the time. This is nothing.”

He shot you a look. “Not the same.”

You tilted your head, watching him as his eyes lingered on the syringe. His hands didn’t tremble—Logan was steady, always—but there was a vulnerability in his posture that made your heart ache. This was the same man who had faced armies, wars, and unimaginable pain, yet here he was, worried about causing you the smallest discomfort.

“Logan,” you said softly, reaching for his free hand. He let you take it, his rough palm engulfing yours. “You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you.”

His gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, he just stared. Then, with a deep breath, he nodded. “Alright, darlin’. Let’s do this.”

You leaned back slightly on the edge of the couch, pulling up your shirt to expose your stomach. Logan crouched down in front of you, the syringe still in his hand. He studied the instructions you’d written out earlier—meticulous as always—before glancing back at you.

“This the spot?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, resting a hand on his shoulder for support. “Right there.”

Logan’s hand hovered over your skin for a moment before he finally pressed the needle in with careful precision. It stung, but not enough to make you flinch. His gaze stayed fixed on the syringe, his focus unshakable as he slowly pushed the medication in.

“All done,” he murmured after a moment, pulling the needle away. He pressed a cotton ball gently against your skin, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. “That okay?”

“Perfect,” you assured him, your smile warm. “See? Told you it was nothing.”

Logan scoffed lightly as he stood, disposing of the syringe. “Didn’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

You reached for his hand again, pulling him back toward you. He let himself be guided, standing between your knees as you looked up at him. “You did great.”

His lips twitched into a small smile, but his eyes were still searching yours, as if looking for any sign that he might have done something wrong. When he found nothing but sincerity, he finally relaxed.

“You’re a hell of a lot braver than me, you know that?” he said, his voice soft.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I don’t know about that. You’ve done way scarier things.”

“Not like this,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “This is new.”

You leaned into his touch, your hand covering his. “We’re in it together, Logan. Every step.”

He nodded, bending down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Together,” he echoed. “Always.”

For a moment, the weight of the last few years lifted, leaving just the two of you in the quiet. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was enough. And that was all you needed.

---

“I think the mansion is haunted.” Rogue said. “There is no way ya haven’t heard the creakin’ in the night!”

Bobby rolled his eyes, “it’s probably just the AC or someone walking in the hallways.”

Kitty looked over at you as you graded things in your classroom. Though the three of them weren’t technically students anymore and had ‘graduated high school’, they still lived at the mansion because they were X-Men.

“Y/N, do you believe in ghosts?” Kitty asked.

You looked up from your papers, a red pen twirling idly in your fingers, as Kitty’s question hung in the air. The corners of your mouth twitched with curiosity at the way all three of them had their eyes fixed on you—Kitty looking earnest, Rogue mildly skeptical, and Bobby wearing his usual mask of rationality.

“Ghosts?” you echoed, tilting your head. “I don’t know if I’d call them ghosts, exactly.”

“That’s not a no,” Kitty pointed out, leaning forward on her desk as if your opinion held the weight of undeniable truth.

You tapped the pen against your chin thoughtfully. “There’s a theory,” you began, slipping into your natural cadence as a teacher, “about residual energy in spaces where intense events have happened. That energy could, in theory, manifest in ways that we interpret as paranormal.”

Kitty nodded enthusiastically while Rogue crossed her arms, clearly unsure. “What about creakin’ floorboards? That doesn’t sound like ‘residual energy.’”

“Well,” you conceded with a small smile, “this mansion is over a century old, and wood expands and contracts with changes in temperature.”

Bobby smirked. “Told you.”

Kitty huffed. “Yeah, but what about the piano playing by itself? Bobby doesn’t even believe me about that!”

“Probably one of the students pulling a prank,” Bobby retorted with a shrug.

“Or an actual ghost,” Kitty shot back, lifting her chin defiantly.

The sound of Logan clearing his throat from the doorway drew everyone’s attention. “What’re we talkin’ about?” he asked, stepping inside with his usual lazy saunter, his eyes cutting to you instinctively.

“Ghosts,” Rogue said flatly. “We think the mansion’s haunted.”

Logan chuckled low in his chest, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Haunted, huh? Sounds like you kids’ve been watchin’ too many movies.”

“It’s not just movies!” Kitty protested, turning to him. “Y/N agrees there could be something! Residual energy or whatever.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to you, one eyebrow raising in question. You shrugged lightly, “how ‘bout this. We meet here at midnight and go ‘ghost hunting’. I’ll prove that it’s just residual energy so Rogue doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“Ghost hunting, huh?” Logan drawled.

You shrugged lightly, capping your red pen. “Why not? Might as well settle this once and for all so Rogue can sleep without thinking she’ll get haunted.”

“Hey, I never said I was scared!” Rogue interjected quickly, her Southern drawl edging her words. “I just think there’s somethin’ weird goin’ on.”

Kitty grinned, nudging her playfully. “Sure, you’re not scared.”

Bobby leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “This is gonna be a waste of time. But fine, I’ll come. Someone’s gotta keep you all from freaking out over creaky floorboards.”

You pushed your glasses up, a small smirk playing at your lips. “Alright, it’s settled. Midnight. Bring whatever you think you’ll need—flashlights, cameras, whatever—and I’ll bring some equipment from the lab.”

Kitty’s eyes lit up. “Like an EMF detector? And maybe a thermometer?”

“Exactly,” you confirmed. “We’ll keep it scientific, not superstitious.”

Logan snorted softly, pushing off the doorway. “You’ve got this whole thing planned, don’t you?”

“I do,” you said simply, already mentally organizing the tools you’d need. “And you’re coming too.”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t,” Logan replied with a shrug. “Just think it’s funny how serious you’re takin’ this.”

Rogue shot him a look. “You’re not gonna ruin it for us, are ya?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Logan said with a smirk, but his eyes flicked back to you, his expression softening.

---

At exactly midnight, the group gathered in the classroom, flashlights in hand. Kitty and Rogue had brought a handheld camera and an audio recorder, while Bobby carried what looked like an oversized camping flashlight. You walked in with a small case of lab equipment, Logan trailing behind you like your ever-present shadow.

“Alright,” you said, setting the case on your desk and opening it. “We’ve got an EMF detector, a digital thermometer, and a few other tools to measure environmental changes. If there’s anything abnormal, we’ll catch it.”

Kitty practically bounced on her toes. “This is so cool. I feel like we’re in a movie.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning casually against the desk. “Let’s hope it’s not the kind where everyone dies.”

“Logan,” you warned, giving him a pointed look.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just sayin’.”

You divided the equipment among the group, handing the thermometer to Kitty and the EMF detector to Rogue. “We’ll start in the east wing,” you said, adjusting your glasses. “That’s where Kitty said she heard the piano, right?”

Kitty nodded vigorously. “I swear, it was playing by itself.”

Logan’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, letting you take the lead as the group headed down the dimly lit hallway.

---

The east wing was quiet—eerily so. The air felt heavier, the old wood creaking beneath your feet as you moved through the corridor. Kitty had her camera rolling, and Rogue was carefully monitoring the EMF detector, though so far, it hadn’t picked up anything unusual.

“So, what’s this ‘residual energy’ thing you mentioned earlier?” Bobby asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “It’s the idea that strong emotions or events can leave an imprint on a place. It’s not a ghost in the traditional sense, but more like… a recording of something that happened before.”

“Like an echo,” Kitty added, her eyes wide.

“Exactly,” you said with a nod. “It’s one explanation for paranormal activity.”

“Or it’s just people imaginin’ things,” Logan muttered.

“Not helping,” you shot back, though your tone was more amused than annoyed.

The group reached the end of the hallway, where a grand piano sat in the corner of an old parlor. The room was bathed in shadows, the faint moonlight streaming through the large windows.

“This is it,” Kitty whispered, her camera trained on the piano.

Rogue glanced at the EMF detector, which remained stubbornly still. “Nothin’ so far.”

You stepped closer to the piano, pulling the thermometer from your pocket. The temperature was steady, no sudden drops or spikes that might indicate something unusual.

“Well?” Logan asked, his voice low.

“No signs of residual energy,” you said, your tone thoughtful. “But let’s—”

A sudden noise interrupted you—a faint, melodic note from the piano.

Everyone froze.

“What the hell?” Bobby muttered, his flashlight beam darting around the room.

Kitty clutched her camera tightly. “I told you! I told you it plays by itself!”

Logan straightened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped in front of you instinctively. “Alright, what’s goin’ on here?”

You moved closer to the piano, studying it carefully. “It could be the strings,” you murmured, leaning down to inspect the inner workings. “If they’re loose, they might vibrate on their own.”

“Or it’s a ghost,” Kitty said, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

You glanced at her, adjusting your glasses. “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.”

Another note echoed through the room, this one softer, almost mournful.

Rogue’s grip on the EMF detector tightened. “It’s doin’ it again.”

Logan’s eyes darted around the room, his posture tense. “Alright, fun’s over. Let’s wrap this up before someone gets spooked.”

Kitty frowned. “But we just—”

“Logan’s right,” you said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got enough data to analyze. Let’s head back.”

Reluctantly, the group agreed, though Kitty and Rogue exchanged skeptical looks as you packed up the equipment. Logan stayed close to you, his protective instincts clearly on high alert.

As you walked back down the hallway, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to hear another note. But the mansion remained silent, the mystery of the piano lingering in the air like an unsolved equation.

“Ghosts or not,” Logan murmured as the two of you trailed behind the others, “you’re braver than me for stickin’ your nose in somethin’ like this.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against his. “It’s just science, Logan.”

“Whatever you say, darlin’,” he said, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and affection. “But if that piano starts chasin’ us, I’m not stickin’ around to fight it.”

---

Two weeks after the embryo transfer your pregnancy test came back negative.

You stared at the single line on the stick, your throat tight as the bathroom tile seemed to blur and shift under your feet. The tiny piece of plastic felt unbearably heavy in your hand. You’d tried so hard not to get your hopes up this time, to remind yourself that IVF wasn’t a guarantee. But after years of trying—after Clomid, after IUI, after the miscarriage—it had been nearly impossible not to hope.

Logan’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Sweetheart?” His knock was soft but insistent against the bathroom door. “You alright in there?”

You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “Yeah,” you managed, though your voice sounded foreign even to your own ears. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

He didn’t push, but you knew he wouldn’t leave either. Logan never did when he thought you needed him.

You took a shaky breath and forced yourself to move. You wrapped the test in some tissue and tossed it into the trash, then splashed cold water on your face. When you opened the door, Logan was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression as steady as it always was—but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart ache.

He didn’t say anything, just stepped closer and waited. You shook your head slightly, and that was all he needed. His arms were around you in an instant, holding you close as you buried your face in his chest. The tears came then, hot and fast, and he let you cry, his hand moving gently over your back.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “Don’t you dare apologize for this.”

You tried to say something else, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Logan didn’t press, just pulled you back into his arms and held you tighter, as if he could shield you from the weight of the disappointment pressing down on you both.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Logan stayed close, finding small ways to comfort you without making it obvious. He brewed your favorite tea, even though he always grumbled about the smell of chamomile. He didn’t say a word when you spent an hour re-organizing the bookshelf in the living room, one of your favorite ways to distract yourself when you didn’t want to think too hard. And when the two of you finally went to bed that night, he wrapped himself around you like he was trying to hold all the broken pieces together.

---

The next morning, Jean found you in the kitchen, staring blankly into your coffee mug. She didn’t need to ask how it went—your face told her everything she needed to know.

“Oh, Y/N,” she said softly, pulling out the chair next to you. “I’m so sorry.”

You forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her tone gentle but never pitying. It was one of the things you appreciated most about her—she never treated you like you were fragile, even when you felt like you might shatter.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “There’s not much to say. It didn’t work. Again.”

Jean reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “I know how hard this is,” she said. “But you’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling right now. You don’t have to hold it together all the time.”

Her words broke something loose in you, and before you knew it, you were spilling everything—the years of trying, the heartbreak of the miscarriage, the hope you’d tried so hard to suppress this time. Jean listened without interrupting, her hand a steady anchor in yours.

When you finally stopped, she gave your hand one last squeeze. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” she said. “And you’re not alone in this. Logan, me, everyone—we’re here for you.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Anytime,” she said with a small smile. “Now, how about I make us some breakfast? You look like you could use something other than coffee.”

You let her bustle around the kitchen, the simple, familiar act grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

---

That evening, Logan found you in your shared office, your glasses perched on your nose as you stared at a stack of papers you weren’t really grading. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you for a moment before speaking.

“You don’t have to do this, y’know,” he said.

You looked up, frowning slightly. “Do what?”

“Act like everything’s fine,” he said, his voice low but steady. “It’s okay to feel like shit, darlin’. Hell, I feel like shit too.”

His honesty caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Then, with a sigh, you took off your glasses and set them on the desk. “I just don’t know what else to do, Logan,” you admitted. “If I stop moving, I feel like I’ll fall apart.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, crouching in front of your chair so he could look you in the eye. “Then let me catch you,” he said simply.

You blinked, the tears welling up again despite your best efforts. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he said, his hands resting gently on your knees. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll figure it out, one way or another. But right now, you don’t gotta be strong. Just let me be strong enough for the both of us, alright?”

You nodded, your voice too thick with emotion to respond. Logan stood, pulling you into his arms, and for the first time that day, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d get through this. Together.

---

You and Jean had gone to see your fertility doctor, mostly for the two week checkup since the embryo transfer.

When Jean drove the two of you back to the mansion, Dr. Harper’s words rang in your head, over and over.

“We can try again, but I’m going to be honest. My medical opinion is that continuing down this path may yield diminishing returns. That’s not to say there’s no hope—we absolutely could continue to try—but I want to make sure we’re balancing hope with your overall well-being. I know you are a person based on facts, and I’m sure you know that once you hit your early 30’s, your fertility starts to slowly decline. Given that you’re already having a hard time… the choice is yours.”

The truth was, you were getting older. Everything Dr. Harper said was true, and you hated that you couldn’t argue with her. If you hadn’t been able to get pregnant at 28, why would anything be different now? You stared out the car window, watching the trees blur together as Jean drove back to the mansion. Her presence was steady, calm, just like always, but you could feel her glancing at you every so often, as though trying to gauge whether you were on the verge of breaking.

“You’re quiet,” Jean said softly, breaking the silence.

You adjusted your glasses, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m just… processing.”

Jean nodded, her hands steady on the wheel. “Take your time.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the engine. Then you sighed, resting your forehead against the window. “It’s just—what if it doesn’t happen, Jean? What if this is it? We’ve tried everything.”

Jean pulled into the driveway and put the car in park before turning to face you. “I can’t pretend to know how you’re feeling, Y/N. But you’re not alone in this. Logan loves you, and no matter what happens, that won’t change.”

Her words should have been comforting, and maybe they were, but they didn’t erase the ache in your chest. You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Jean.”

She reached over, squeezing your hand. “You’re stronger than you think. And no matter what happens, I’m here for you.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the car. The mansion loomed in front of you, its familiar silhouette both a comfort and a reminder of all the life happening inside its walls—life that felt so out of reach for you.

---

The evening was unusually quiet, with the kind of stillness that felt heavy rather than comforting. You sat in your office, papers scattered in front of you, though your focus was anywhere but on them. You twirled your pen absently, watching the slow circles it traced on the desktop.

Logan leaned in the doorway, his usual casual stance—arms crossed, shoulders slightly slouched—but his eyes were sharp, locked on you like he could see through the calm façade you were trying to maintain.

"You’ve been quiet all day, sweetheart," he said, his voice soft but steady. "Somethin’s eating at you."

You hesitated, chewing on your lower lip as you adjusted your glasses. "Logan, I…" You set the pen down, unable to meet his gaze. "I need to talk to you about something. It’s… it’s important."

That got him moving. He crossed the room in a few strides, crouching in front of you like he often did when he wanted your full attention. His hands settled gently on your knees, his thumbs brushing idle circles.

"Whatever it is," he said, his voice low and reassuring, "just tell me. You don’t have to go through it alone."

You took a deep breath, gathering the courage you didn’t feel. "I went to see Dr. Harper today," you began, forcing your eyes to meet his. "She said… she said we could keep trying if we want to, but the odds are getting lower. IVF isn’t working. She was honest with me—she said my chances aren’t great. And I know she’s right, Logan. I feel it every time."

His expression didn’t change, but you could see the flicker of something behind his eyes—hurt, maybe, or frustration. Not at you, but at the situation. He stayed silent, waiting for you to finish.

"I’m tired," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how much more I can take—physically or emotionally. But if you want to keep trying, we can. I… I just needed to tell you how I feel."

Logan was quiet for a moment, his hands still on your knees, grounding you. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Darlin’, you’ve done more than anyone could ever expect. You’ve put yourself through hell tryin’ to make this work—for us. And if you’re sayin’ you’re ready to stop… then we stop."

Tears welled in your eyes, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "You’re sure?"

He smiled softly, the kind of smile that was rare from him but filled with nothing but love. "I’m sure. What I want more than anything is for you to be okay. You’re all that matters to me—you always have been. Kids or no kids, that ain’t ever gonna change."

You broke then, leaning forward as he wrapped his arms around you. The tears came fast, but they weren’t all from sadness. There was relief, too—a heavy weight lifted from your shoulders after years of carrying it alone.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice breaking.

"I love you too," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "And no matter what, we’ll get through this. Together."

The papers on your desk went forgotten as Logan pulled you closer, holding you in the kind of embrace that told you, without words, that you would always have him—and that was enough.

Chapter Text

Some years ago, right after the two of you got engaged, you tried making and fermenting your own beer for Logan. Turns out, beer doesn’t need to and shouldn’t ferment for more than a few months at the most.

So, you pivoted, and made homemade whiskey, which had been sitting in a secret part of your lab for the better part of 5 years.

And now, after Logan had taken you out on a date to an Italian place and a nearby observatory which he booked for the two of you, you dragged him to your lab, where you had the bottle of homemade whiskey.

You pulled out a drawer and grabbed the small, but hefty, gift bag. Its weight made your arm dip slightly as you turned to face Logan, who was leaning against the counter in your lab with a quizzical but amused expression. His hair was still slightly tousled from the wind at the observatory, his sleeves rolled up casually from dinner.

"What's this, sweetheart?" he asked, nodding toward the bag. "Another one of your science experiments?"

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your glasses as you handed him the bag. "Just open it. And no, it’s not radioactive or alive. This one’s safe, I promise."

Logan smirked as he pulled the tissue paper out, revealing a dark amber glass bottle sealed with a simple cork. His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he held it up, reading the handwritten label: “Logan’s Reserve – 5-Year Aged Whiskey.”

"Wait a second…" His eyes narrowed, a grin spreading across his face as he looked at you. "Is this what I think it is?"

You nodded, clasping your hands behind your back nervously. "Yeah. Remember when I tried making beer for you right after we got engaged? And it… well, it exploded in the basement?"

Logan chuckled, the sound warm and rich. "How could I forget? Smelled like a brewery down there for weeks."

"Exactly. So, I switched gears and decided to try something a little more… sophisticated." You gestured to the bottle. "I distilled it, let it age, and hoped for the best. Five years later, here we are."

Logan stared at the bottle for a moment, then at you. His expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something deeper. "You did this… for me?"

You shrugged, feeling the blush creep up your cheeks. "Of course. I wanted to give you something special. Something that lasts, you know? Like… us."

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the lab equipment. Logan set the bottle down carefully on the counter, then stepped toward you. His hands rested gently on your waist, pulling you closer.

"You’re somethin’ else, darlin’," he said, his voice low and full of affection. "Nobody’s ever done anything like this for me before."

You smiled up at him, your shyness melting away under his gaze. "Well, there’s a first time for everything."

He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was soft but full of unspoken gratitude. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

"Let’s crack it open," he said with a grin. "I’ve waited five years for this, after all."

You laughed, grabbing two small glasses from a nearby shelf. As Logan uncorked the bottle, the rich aroma of aged whiskey filled the room. He poured a small amount into each glass, the amber liquid catching the light.

"To us," you said, raising your glass.

Logan clinked his glass against yours. "To five years… and many more."

You both took a sip, and Logan’s eyes widened slightly as he savored the taste. "Damn, sweetheart. You’ve outdone yourself. This is better than anything I’ve had in a bar."

You beamed. "Really?"

"Really." He leaned in and kissed you again, the whiskey still warm on his lips. "Best anniversary gift ever."

As you stood there, sharing the moment and the whiskey you’d poured your heart into, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Life hadn’t been easy—especially the past few years—but moments like this made it all worth it.

---

You were making chicken noodle soup for Rogue, Kitty, and Jubilee, who all somehow caught the same stomach bug at the same time.

The three girls sat at the table in the corner of the kitchen, after being asked by Logan to “move, or else you’re gonna get her sick.”

Now, while the three waited, they also watched. Rogue, Kitty, and Jubilee sat bundled in sweaters with mugs of tea that Logan had insisted they use instead of touching anything else in the kitchen. The soup was still simmering on the stove, and Logan leaned casually against the counter near you, your perpetual shadow.

Jubilee nudged Rogue with her elbow and whispered, “Look at him. He follows her like a freakin’ lost puppy.”

Rogue, pale but still managing an amused smirk, turned her attention to Logan, who was wordlessly following you as you shuffled over to the pantry. All you had done was mutter, "need a new bottle of parsley," and Logan had immediately fallen in line, watching you like you hung the moon.

“He does,” Rogue said, shaking her head. “I swear, I’ve never seen him this whipped.”

"Right? Like, what does she do to him?" Kitty chimed in, half-giggling despite her queasiness. “The man’s basically walking PDA.”

The three of them stared openly now, watching how Logan stood slightly behind you, his hand instinctively brushing the small of your back as you reached up for the spice jar.

“See that?” Kitty whispered, her voice thick with poorly stifled laughter. “His hand is always on her. Shoulder, back, waist—doesn’t matter where, just as long as he’s touching.”

“Bet he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it,” Rogue murmured, propping her chin on her palm.

You turned back toward the counter, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of your nose as you set the parsley down near the cutting board. Logan was immediately there, adjusting the spice rack for you, though it wasn’t even askew.

“Thanks,” you murmured softly, giving him a small, shy smile.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he replied without hesitation, his voice laced with warmth.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound that…” Jubilee paused, wrinkling her nose in thought, “...soft.”

Logan shifted closer, his hand brushing against your waist as he leaned in and glanced at the soup. “Need anythin’ else, darlin’?”

You glanced up at him, adjusting your glasses. “No, I think I’ve got it. Maybe grab a loaf of bread from the fridge for dipping?”

He nodded and moved toward the fridge like it was his life’s mission. Jubilee blinked slowly.

“He cooks now?” she whispered.

“Logan,” Rogue called across the room, “do you even know how to make soup?”

Logan didn’t even glance back as he grabbed the bread. “Nope. I just carry the bread. Y/N handles the rest.”

The three girls stared at each other, jaws slightly agape.

“He’s domesticated,” Kitty said in awe. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

You didn’t seem to hear any of this, far too focused on stirring the soup and rambling softly about the science of cooking. “The steam comes from the water molecules vibrating faster with the heat. They spread out, break apart from the surface tension…”

Logan’s low hum of acknowledgment interrupted you, his hand returning to rest lightly against the curve of your back. You leaned into the touch without thinking, comfortable in his presence.

Kitty let out a mock-dramatic sigh, dropping her head onto the table. “I can’t watch this anymore. It’s too cute, and I feel like death.”

Jubilee grinned slyly, glancing at Rogue. “What if we pointed it out to him?”

“Don’t you dare,” Rogue warned with a half-laugh. “Man’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. Leave ‘em be.”

The three shared a conspiratorial smirk but kept their remarks low enough to remain unnoticed. Even if Logan somehow picked up on their teasing with his hyper-sensitive senses, he showed no sign of it.

You turned back to the girls, smiling softly. “It’ll be ready soon. How’re you all feeling?”

“Like crap,” Jubilee said with zero hesitation.

“Marginally better,” Rogue offered, though it was mostly for your benefit.

“It helps watching Logan act like a lovesick Labrador,” Kitty muttered with a grin. Rogue elbowed her.

You glanced at Logan, eyebrows raised slightly. “What are they whispering about?”

“Not a clue,” he lied smoothly, focusing on slicing the bread.

You didn’t push it, simply chuckling and going back to your task. Logan leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear.

“You’re good at takin’ care of everyone,” he murmured. “Never stops amazin’ me.”

You flushed under the quiet praise, your heart flipping in your chest. It wasn’t much—just one of his usual tender comments—but coming from Logan, it felt monumental every single time.

---

You paused walking again in the hall, adjusting your liner socks for your heels. Just a few months ago it was your birthday, and Scott got you the pair of heels you’d been wanting, probably only knowing about them from Jean.

It was too cold back then, but now it was warming up and you could finally wear them.

Other than the fact that blisters are probably forming on your feet from them fitting improperly. It wasn’t Scott’s fault; they were the right size and everything, they just didn’t fit your feet.

While you were bent down adjusting your heels in the hallway, Logan walked up behind you silently, his hand brushing gently against your back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and concerned.

You looked up briefly before going back to fiddling with the strap on your shoe. “The heels Scott got me for my birthday—they don’t fit as well as I’d hoped. They’re a little tight, and I think I might’ve miscalculated how much walking I’d have to do today.”

Logan let out a soft, knowing grunt. Without warning, he scooped you up in his arms effortlessly, one arm around your shoulders and the other under your legs. He shifted your heels into his hand with the same movement, holding them beneath you like an afterthought.

“Logan!” you exclaimed, instinctively gripping his shoulders. “What are you doing?!”

“What does it look like?” he replied, already walking. “If the shoes are botherin’ you, you’re not gonna wear ‘em.”

You sighed, flustered. “I can walk perfectly fine! It’s not that bad, I promise.”

Logan didn’t even slow down. “Yeah, sure. Tell that to the blisters you’re about to get. Don’t argue, darlin’—you’re stuck with me now.”

Your protest was drowned out when Logan rounded a corner and found Scott mid-lecture in one of the training rooms. The students turned toward the two of you with wide-eyed curiosity.

“Logan, come on,” you whispered, mortified, but Logan only tightened his grip.

“Hey, Summers!” Logan barked, his voice cutting through the room.

Scott paused, looking up with an annoyed but inquisitive frown. Before he could say a word, Logan tossed the pair of heels directly at him. They smacked him square in the chest before falling into his hands.

“Next time, get the right size,” Logan said flatly, turning back toward the door.

“Logan!” you gasped, half-horrified and half-apologetic, your face heating up. “I’m so sorry, Scott!”

Scott was still standing there, stunned, holding the shoes as his class erupted into barely stifled laughter. “What—” he started, but Logan didn’t stick around long enough to let him finish.

Logan carried you straight to the common room, ignoring your continued protests. He set you down gently on the couch, crouching in front of you. “Stay put,” he commanded, already moving toward the med kit nearby.

“Logan, seriously, I’m fine—”

“You’ll be fine when I say you’re fine.” He popped open the first aid kit and returned to kneel in front of you. “Now, lemme see.”

You sighed, defeated, as Logan gingerly took your foot in his hand, inspecting the reddened spots on your heels. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as he applied adhesive bandages to the forming blisters.

“I don’t even feel it that much,” you muttered.

“Uh-huh,” Logan said dryly, not buying a word of it.

When he finished bandaging the other foot, he paused, still crouched with one of your feet resting on his knee. Instead of moving back, he began to gently knead the arch of your foot, his fingers deft and soothing.

“Logan…” You blinked, taken aback.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said softly, not looking up. “You’re always takin’ care of everyone else. Lemme do somethin’ for you for once.”

The words, combined with the warmth in his tone, sent a wave of unexpected emotion through you. You leaned back against the couch, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. His touch was firm yet tender, every movement speaking volumes about how much he cared.

As his thumbs worked over a particularly sore spot, you bit back a laugh. “When did you learn how to do this?”

Logan glanced up with a hint of a smirk. “Long life. Picked up a few tricks here and there.”

“Pretty sure you’re better at this than a licensed professional.”

“Damn right I am,” he said with mock seriousness, though his smile softened.

When he finally set your foot down, he stayed kneeling for a moment longer, his hands lingering on your legs. “Feel better now?”

You smiled down at him, your cheeks warm. “Yeah. Thanks, Logan.”

He nodded, pushing himself to his feet and bending down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Good. Now you just sit here and relax for a bit. I’ll grab you some tea or somethin’.”

As he walked away, you couldn’t help the affectionate smile that spread across your face. Moments like this reminded you that, despite his gruff exterior, Logan had a heart bigger than anyone you’d ever known.

---

You realized you should’ve told Logan this before he found out for himself.

For the past 4—5 years?—you hadn’t worn your cherry lip gloss, only because you couldn’t find it anywhere once you ran out. Turns out, it was discontinued. So, you pivoted to regular nude lip glosses or chapstick.

But this past weekend when you, Jean, and Ororo went on a girl’s shopping trip to the mall to hang out, you found a cherry lip oil that in your opinion had a better texture, and a less artificial flavor, than your original discontinued one.

The hallways of the mansion were buzzing with the usual mid-morning energy: students rushing to classes, a few sparring matches audible from the training rooms, and the faint hum of voices echoing off the walls. You adjusted the strap of your satchel, balancing it against your side, and smoothed the hem of your cardigan as you made your way toward your classroom.

As you turned a corner, Logan appeared from the opposite direction, walking toward his next class. He spotted you instantly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes softened. This was routine by now—a quick kiss or two between classes, a quiet moment to ground yourselves in a sea of chaos.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and rough in the way that made your heart flutter.

“Hey,” you smiled back, the warmth in his tone settling over you like a blanket.

He leaned in for the usual kiss, his hand brushing against your lower back as you tilted your face up to meet him. But instead of the brief, customary peck, Logan lingered. His lips pressed against yours with a sudden, deliberate intensity, and his other hand rose to cradle the back of your head.

You stiffened in surprise at first, but quickly melted into it, your hands lightly gripping the fabric of his flannel shirt. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, with Logan angling your head slightly for better access. He tasted faintly of coffee, and the familiar warmth of him flooded your senses.

“Logan,” you managed to breathe out between kisses, your voice breaking the silence in short bursts. “We need—” kiss “to get—” kiss “to our—” kiss “classes.”

“Fuck, I missed that,” Logan murmured, his voice rough and filled with a longing you didn’t quite understand. Before you could respond, his lips captured yours again, his hold on you firm but careful, as though he was memorizing the moment.

The sound of a throat clearing broke through the haze, and you both froze. Turning your heads, you found Charles sitting in his wheelchair a few feet away, a bemused but patient expression on his face.

“I do hate to interrupt, but I believe there are a few dozen students waiting for their teachers at the moment,” Charles remarked, his tone light but pointed.

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you stepped back, adjusting your glasses and smoothing your hair. Logan, unfazed as ever, gave a small shrug, though you could see the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Right,” you stammered, gripping your satchel strap tightly. “Sorry, Charles. We were just—uh—”

“Testing the laws of attraction?” Charles quipped, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Logan grunted, his hand still lingering on your back. “We’re goin’. Don’t get your wheels in a spin.”

Charles merely chuckled and rolled past, leaving you to shoot Logan a flustered glare.

“You could at least pretend to be embarrassed,” you muttered, adjusting your satchel again.

“Why?” Logan asked, his voice tinged with amusement. “You look cute when you’re all flustered.” He leaned in close, brushing a final kiss against your temple before stepping back. “See you later, darlin’.”

As he turned to walk away, you shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. You brushed your fingers over your lips, still tingling from the intensity of the kiss.

---

Logan adjusted the cufflinks of his tux, muttering under his breath about how "these damn things are more trouble than they’re worth." The sound of his grumbling carried through the slightly ajar bathroom door, making you smile as you finished touching up your lipstick. Jean’s red shade was bold, but it worked, complementing your minimalist black dress.

You capped the tube and gave your reflection a once-over. The dress fit perfectly, the sleek design emphasizing your figure without feeling over the top. You adjusted your glasses and smoothed a hand down the fabric before stepping out into the bedroom.

Logan was by the dresser, still fidgeting with his cufflinks, but the moment his eyes landed on you, his hands stilled. His lips parted slightly, the earlier irritation on his face melting into something softer, something almost reverent.

“You clean up nice,” he said, voice lower than usual. His gaze roamed over you, lingering on the curve of your waist before meeting your eyes. “Real nice.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling a heat creep up your cheeks under his scrutiny. You crossed the room, and as you did, Logan closed the distance between you in two strides. His hand found your waist, warm and steady, before moving to rest gently against your stomach.

“Turn around for me,” he said, his voice a mix of request and command. His fingers pressed lightly, guiding you into a slow spin. As you moved, his hand never left you, sliding from your waist to the small of your back, then back to your waist again when you completed the turn.

“You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he said, his words filled with quiet admiration. “Should’ve made you wear this dress sooner.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not exactly standard mission gear.”

His other hand came up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Maybe not, but you wear it better than anyone at that gala’s gonna.” His thumb grazed your jaw, and for a moment, the mission faded from your mind entirely. It was just you, Logan, and the soft pull of his presence.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself back to reality. “We should get going. The sooner we get in, the sooner we can find what we’re looking for.”

Logan smirked, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re the brains of this operation, sweetheart. Lead the way.”

---

The gala was held in a grand hotel in the heart of the city, the kind of place that practically dripped with wealth and excess. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the soft murmur of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses. You and Logan entered arm-in-arm, blending seamlessly into the crowd of well-dressed elites.

The two of you moved with purpose, your fingers lightly resting against Logan’s arm as he guided you through the throng. You kept your movements casual, your faces relaxed, though beneath the surface, the tension of the mission buzzed like static. The target was somewhere in this room—or at least someone who knew how to access the server room where the sensitive information was being stored.

“Keep your eyes open,” Logan muttered under his breath, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Always,” you replied, offering a soft smile for the benefit of onlookers as you tilted your head toward him. “You see anything yet?”

“Just a bunch of rich assholes,” Logan said, his tone gruff. “No sign of the guy.”

You nodded subtly, letting your gaze sweep across the room. The gala attendees were exactly as you’d expected—wealthy, polished, and exuding an air of untouchable arrogance. The kind of people who could fund black-market experiments on mutants and still sleep soundly at night.

Jean’s voice crackled softly in your hidden earpiece. “Remember, the server room is two floors down, heavily guarded, and keycard access only. If you can get the host’s card, it’ll save us a lot of trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it,” Logan grunted, briefly touching his ear to acknowledge the message.

You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure it out. Just follow my lead.”

Logan shot you a skeptical look, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smirk. “You’re the brains, sweetheart. I’m just here to look good in a tux.”

“And to punch people if necessary,” you teased, your voice light despite the weight of the mission.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That too.”

As you approached the bar, you caught sight of the host—a tall, broad-shouldered man with slicked-back hair and a predatory smile. He was surrounded by a small group of sycophants, his laugh too loud and his gestures exaggerated. On his lapel was the small, telltale glint of a security badge.

“There he is,” you murmured, leaning slightly into Logan as though sharing a private moment.

Logan followed your gaze and grunted in acknowledgment. “What’s the plan?”

You considered for a moment before replying. “We split up. I’ll distract him and see if I can get the keycard. You keep an eye on the exits in case things get messy.”

Logan’s hand tightened slightly on your waist. “Don’t get too close, darlin’.”

You smiled, the expression meant to reassure him. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“I always do,” he said, his voice softer now.

With that, you slipped away from him, weaving through the crowd with ease. You approached the host with a disarming smile, your movements graceful and deliberate.

“Excuse me,” you said, your voice carrying just the right mix of politeness and charm. “This is my first time at one of these events. You wouldn’t happen to be the host, would you?”

The man’s eyes lit up as he turned his attention to you, his smile widening. “Indeed, I am. Samuel Kane, at your service.” He extended a hand, and you shook it lightly, careful not to show any hesitation.

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself, tilting your head slightly. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the man behind all of this.”

Kane laughed, clearly pleased by the flattery. “Well, I do my best to keep things interesting. And you, my dear, are an absolute vision. Your husband must be a lucky man.”

You felt a flicker of unease at the comment but maintained your composure. “He’s around here somewhere,” you said with a laugh. “But he’s not much for mingling.”

As you engaged Kane in conversation, you subtly shifted closer, angling yourself to get a better look at his security badge. The clip was loose, the badge slightly askew—a small detail, but one that worked in your favor.

Behind you, Logan lingered near the edge of the room, his sharp eyes never leaving you. He sipped his drink, outwardly relaxed, but you knew better. His tension was palpable, even from across the room.

Kane was still talking, his voice smooth and practiced, but you weren’t really listening. Instead, you focused on the timing, waiting for the perfect moment to make your move. When Kane turned slightly to greet another guest, you acted quickly, brushing against him just enough to unclip the badge without drawing attention.

“Oops,” you said, feigning a stumble as you steadied yourself against his arm. “Sorry about that. These heels aren’t the most practical.”

Kane laughed, clearly oblivious. “No harm done.”

You smiled apologetically before excusing yourself, slipping the badge into your clutch as you made your way back to Logan. He raised an eyebrow when you returned, his expression a mix of amusement and approval.

“Got it,” you whispered, holding up the badge for him to see.

Logan smirked. “That’s my girl.”

He slipped the badge into his jacket pocket, and the two of you began weaving through the crowd toward the hallway that led to the restricted areas. You kept a pleasant smile on your face, casually nodding at attendees as you passed. Beside you, Logan's body was tense, ready for a fight if it came to that.

Reaching the hallway, you slipped through the door labeled Authorized Personnel Only. Logan glanced back to make sure no one was following before pulling the door shut behind you.

The ambiance changed immediately, the buzz of the gala replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional beep of security monitors. The luxurious carpet was gone, replaced by plain industrial tile.

“Where to, sweetheart?” Logan asked in a low voice.

“The server room’s at the end of the hall, on the left,” you whispered, nodding ahead.

Logan led the way, his posture relaxed but his hands loosely curled at his sides. You reached the server room without incident, and Logan swiped the badge through the reader. It flashed green with a soft beep, and the door clicked open.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, racks of servers glowing faintly with green and blue lights. You stepped in first, your eyes scanning for the console you needed. Logan followed, closing the door quietly behind him and planting himself by it.

“You do your thing. I’ll keep watch,” he said, his voice steady.

“Got it,” you replied, already making your way to the terminal in the corner.

Sitting down, you pulled a flash drive from your clutch and inserted it into the port. Typing quickly, you navigated through the system, bypassing firewalls and locating the files you needed. Jean’s earlier instructions echoed in your mind—what to look for, how to find it, how to pull it without alerting any alarms.

Logan’s voice broke the silence. “How’s it goin’, darlin’?”

“Almost there,” you murmured, biting your lip as a particularly stubborn firewall slowed your progress. After a few more keystrokes, the file began to download.

“I’m in,” you said softly. “Just need a few more seconds.”

Logan didn’t reply, but you could feel his sharp gaze fixed on the hallway outside, ready for anything.

The download finished with a soft ping, and you quickly ejected the flash drive, slipping it back into your clutch. As you stood and turned to Logan, his head jerked up slightly, his ears picking up on something you couldn’t hear.

“Guards,” he muttered. “Two of ’em, comin’ this way.”

Your mind raced. “Okay, uh… we can do what they did in that movie we watched the other night. You know, the spy one!”

Logan frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

“Logan,” you hissed, stepping closer to him. “We have to pretend we’re—” Before you could finish, you reached up, gripped his shirt, and tugged him down into a kiss.

Logan tensed for a split second before relaxing, his arms instinctively sliding around your waist. The kiss deepened quickly, his lips pressing against yours with a mixture of surprise and intensity. One of his hands rested at the small of your back while the other gently cradled the back of your head.

The sound of footsteps stopped just outside the server room.

“Hey!” one of the guards called out, his voice sharp.

You and Logan broke apart abruptly, panting softly as you both turned to face the guards. The red lipstick you’d meticulously applied was now smeared—not just on your face but faintly on Logan’s lips as well. One of the guards squinted, clearly caught off guard.

“This area’s off-limits,” the other guard barked.

Logan’s arm was still around your waist, and he stepped forward slightly, putting himself between you and the guards. “Sorry ’bout that. Thought we were sneakin’ off for some privacy. Didn’t realize we weren’t supposed to be here.” His voice was gravelly but calm, carrying just enough irritation to make the act believable.

The guards exchanged looks, then groaned in unison. “Just—get out of here,” the first one said. “Go back to the gala before we have to call someone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan grumbled, steering you back down the hallway. He kept his hand at your back, a silent reassurance.

You stayed quiet until you were back near the main gala floor. When Logan finally looked down at you, his lips quirked into a sly grin.

“You’ve got some guts, darlin’,” he said, his voice filled with approval.

You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “You’ve got lipstick on your face.”

His grin widened as he rubbed his thumb against his mouth. “You sayin’ it’s not my color?”

“Not exactly,” you teased. “But it definitely makes a statement.”

He chuckled, slipping his hand into yours as the two of you rejoined the party, the flash drive safely tucked away.

---

Logan had given in, allowing you to finally trim his beard. You sat perched on the bathroom counter, knees brushing against his sides as he stood in front of you. His rugged face was in your hands, the razor gliding carefully over his jawline.

As you worked, you started rambling, like always when you were focused on something.
“Did you know razors date back to the Bronze Age? They found tools that were basically sharp stones or metals people used to shave with. Imagine that—scraping your face with a rock.”

Logan gave a quiet, non-committal grunt, his eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

You weren’t deterred, though. “Then in the 18th century, straight razors became popular. Those were sharp as hell, like something out of a horror movie. Then King Camp Gillette comes in and invents the safety razor in—Logan?”

You suddenly paused, pulling back the razor to wave your hand in front of his face. His eyes snapped up to yours, startled.

“What?” he rumbled.

“You weren’t listening,” you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I was listening,” he argued, his voice dipping into a softer tone, almost playful. “Just… got distracted.”

You arched a brow. “By what?”

His gaze dropped, just slightly. His focus lingered for a second too long, and then it dawned on you. You glanced down and realized the problem. Since you were sitting on the counter, your chest was right at eye level for him.

“Oh my God,” you blurted, rolling your eyes as heat crept into your face. “Is that the only reason you agreed to let me do this?”

Logan’s lips curled into a small smirk, one that almost made you drop the razor. “Maybe,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “I had a good view. Figured I’d let you have your fun.”

“You’re impossible,” you huffed, swatting at him lightly.

His chuckle was a quiet rumble in his chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t decide if you were more annoyed or charmed. Maybe both.

“Finish up, darlin’,” he said, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Can’t have half a beard. Not a good look for me.”

Shaking your head, you returned to your task, though the edges of your mouth tugged upward in a reluctant smile.

---

Later that day the two of you decided to watch a movie in the common room. The bowl of popcorn was already empty, thanks to Logan, but you were more than content to watch the new DVD Scott got you to replace the heels.

It was Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Season One, with director’s cut episodes, behind-the-scenes featurettes, and a few other things.

By the time the fifth episode came on, Logan had fallen asleep. His head rested face down against your stomach, his arm draped lazily over your waist, hanging off the edge of the couch. The quiet sound of his breathing filled the room, his broad shoulders rising and falling steadily.

You smiled down at him, your hands gently weaving through his hair. You couldn’t help but feel a certain tenderness as you sat there, watching the animated battle play out on the screen while he snored faintly against you. This was rare—Logan being so unguarded, so completely relaxed. It was a stark contrast to the usual gruff, sharp-witted man you saw most days.

For once, you were grateful he’d conked out. Not that you didn’t love spending time with him, but movie nights with Logan usually involved endless questions.

"Wait, who’s the green guy again?"

"What kind of idiot jumps into a fight with no backup?"

"So these clones just follow orders without asking questions? Sounds like bad programming."

Sometimes it was cute; other times, it was infuriating. Now, though? Peace. No commentary about Yoda’s battle strategies or sarcastic remarks about Anakin's life choices.

You shifted slightly to readjust, trying not to disturb him, though the weight of his head made it tricky. When you moved, he let out a small, contented grunt, his grip on your waist tightening just a little.

The scene switched to an intense lightsaber duel, and you caught yourself absently stroking Logan’s hair again. He groaned softly and nuzzled his face further into your stomach.

"Mm, warm," he mumbled, his voice gravelly, not quite awake.

"Logan," you whispered, shaking your head with an amused smile. "Are you seriously sleep-talking?"

"Not talkin'," he grunted, burying himself further against you like a sleepy dog finding the perfect napping spot.

"Uh-huh," you said, unable to suppress a laugh. Your fingers stilled for a moment, then continued combing gently through his thick hair. His faint snoring resumed, the small hitch in his breathing telling you he’d sunk back into whatever dreamland had him so quiet.

This—this was your Logan. The Logan who melted around you, softened in ways no one else ever saw. It made all the challenges—the struggles, the years of trying for a baby, the losses—feel worth enduring. You might not have everything you'd once wished for, but you had this. A quiet moment of contentment, wrapped in an old blanket on a threadbare couch, Logan safe and completely at ease in your arms.

For the first time in a long while, your heart didn’t ache for what could’ve been. Instead, you closed your eyes briefly and focused on the gentle weight of him, the comfort of his presence, and the sound of his steady breath.

When you opened them again, the episode was winding down. You grabbed the remote carefully, switching to the next before setting it down. Logan shifted again, his arm curling tighter around you.

“Y’can keep playing it,” he murmured groggily, not lifting his head.

"Thought you were asleep."

"I am," he muttered, eyes still closed.

"You mean you were," you teased.

"Same difference," he rumbled, the corner of his mouth tugging into a tiny smirk before he pressed closer. "Now stop talkin’. I’m comfortable."

You chuckled and let him settle again, absentmindedly tracing circles at the base of his neck. If this was Logan at peace, you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb him, not even for a galaxy far, far away.

Chapter Text

“Here,” you said simply, handing Logan the brand-new iPhone. He stared at the sleek black device like you’d just handed him an alien artifact.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, his brow furrowed in suspicion. His fingers brushed over the screen, but he didn’t press anything.

“You’re supposed to use it,” you replied, grinning at his hesitation. “It’s a phone, Logan. Welcome to the 21st century.”

He turned it over in his hands, clearly unimpressed. “My flip phone works just fine. Makes calls, takes messages. Why’d I need this fancy piece of crap?”

“Because,” you said patiently, sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter with your own new phone in hand, “your flip phone doesn’t even have a battery life anymore. And this isn’t just a phone. It’s also a camera, a computer, and… well, it’s everything.”

Logan squinted at it, still unconvinced. “What do I need all that for? I don’t even like computers.”

You laughed. “You don’t have to like it. But you’ll get used to it. Trust me, once you figure out texting, you’ll never go back.”

He grunted in response, swiping his thumb experimentally across the screen. It didn’t do anything. “How’s this damn thing even work?”

“Okay, okay,” you said, hopping off the counter. “Let me show you.” You stood beside him and reached for the phone, your fingers brushing against his as you took it.

“First, you tap here to turn it on.” You pressed the side button, and the screen lit up. Logan flinched slightly, then scowled at the glowing Apple logo.

“Great. Now it’s starin’ at me,” he muttered.

You stifled a laugh. “It’s booting up. Once it’s on, you’ll see the home screen, and from there, you can—”

The phone buzzed in your hands, and Logan jerked back like it had shocked him. “What the hell was that?”

“It’s just the haptic feedback,” you explained. “It vibrates when you touch certain things. Don’t worry, it’s not going to bite you.”

Logan’s glare deepened, but he didn’t stop watching. When the screen finally loaded, you handed the phone back to him. “Here. Try unlocking it.”

He hesitated, then tapped the screen the way you had. It didn’t respond.

“No, you have to swipe,” you said, guiding his hand with yours. “Like this.” Together, you swiped across the screen, and it opened to the home screen.

“See? Easy.”

Logan grunted again, still not convinced. “So what now? How do I make a damn call?”

“Okay, let’s start simple. See the green icon with the phone? Tap that.”

He did as you said, his finger pressing down awkwardly on the screen. When the keypad appeared, he gave a small nod, clearly relieved. “Alright. This I get.”

“Good,” you said, smiling. “Now you just punch in a number, and when you’re done, hit the green button again to call. Easy.”

He muttered something under his breath but seemed to be following along. After a few moments, he handed the phone back to you. “Still don’t see the point.”

“Because it’s not just for calls,” you reminded him. “Here, let me show you how to text.”

“Text?” he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism.

“Yes, Logan. Text. It’s how people communicate now.” You opened the messages app and started a new message, typing out a quick “Hi” and sending it to yourself. When your phone buzzed in your pocket, you pulled it out and showed him.

“See? Now you can send me messages instead of yelling from the other room.”

Logan smirked. “But yellin’ works just fine.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

“Nah,” he said, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Just old-fashioned.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek but staying at his side with your arms around his waist. “You know how you always complain about being only able to hear my voice when you’re on a mission? Now, you can video call me.”

Logan raised a skeptical brow, glancing down at the phone still tucked into his pocket. “Video call? Sounds like somethin’ outta Star Trek.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for your own phone. “It’s not that complicated. Look, I’ll show you.” You tapped a few buttons, and within moments, Logan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out like it was a ticking time bomb.

“It’s just me, Logan. Answer it.”

He frowned, poking at the screen. “Which one do I press?”

“The green button,” you said, trying not to laugh as his finger hovered over the wrong icon.

After a few seconds of fumbling, he finally managed to tap it. Your face popped up on his screen, the image slightly grainy but clear enough. Logan stared at it, his brows furrowing deeper.

“There. Now you can see me,” you said, grinning.

Logan tilted the phone away like he didn’t trust it, his gaze shifting from the screen to you. “Why would I wanna see you on a little box when I can just see you in person?”

You snorted, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Because sometimes you’re halfway across the country, grumpy old man. And maybe I miss you.”

His expression softened slightly, though his gruff exterior remained intact. “You miss me, huh?”

“Of course, I do,” you replied, nudging him playfully. “Not that I’d admit it to your face.”

“Too late,” Logan muttered, his lips quirking into a small smirk. He glanced back at the screen, his thumb brushing over it lightly. “So this thing’s not completely useless.”

“High praise,” you teased, closing the app on your phone. “See? You’re already learning.”

He let out a low chuckle, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. Still don’t like this thing.”

“Noted,” you said with mock seriousness, patting his chest. “Now, can we go out for lunch? I’m starving.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he replied, slipping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you headed for the kitchen.

---

While you were grading papers before your next class, Logan walked in, his brows scrunched at his phone. “What the hell is this?”

Logan held the phone out like it might explode at any second. The screen was open to a message from Jubilee, a chaotic string of emojis: 🎉✨🔥👩‍🎤🌈🐱🛸.

“What the hell is this supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice edged with irritation. He frowned at the tiny icons as if they had personally offended him. “Is this even English?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose as you glanced at the screen. “It’s emojis, Logan. They’re… expressive.”

“Expressive, huh?” He squinted at the screen, unimpressed. “Looks like she smashed her face into the keyboard.”

“Well, it’s Jubilee. What did you expect?” you teased, taking the phone from his hand to get a better look. “She’s probably excited about something.”

Logan crossed his arms, his frown deepening. “Then why not just say it? What’s the point of all this… nonsense?”

“Because it’s fun,” you explained with a shrug. “Sometimes words aren’t enough. Emojis add personality.”

He snorted. “Personality, my ass. Looks like a damn hieroglyphic puzzle.”

You chuckled, handing the phone back to him. “Just text her back and ask what she means.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Logan grumbled, poking at the screen clumsily. “This thing barely listens to me.”

“It’s not voice-activated,” you said with an exasperated smile. “Here, I’ll show you.” You stepped closer, your hands brushing against his as you took the phone again. “Tap here to start typing.”

He watched as you opened the keyboard, his expression skeptical. “And what? Just start pecking at it like a chicken?”

You stifled a laugh. “Pretty much. Or you can use the voice-to-text feature if you want. It’ll transcribe what you say.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Transcribe? You’re makin’ it sound fancier than it is.”

“Okay, fine,” you said, grinning. “It writes down your grumpy muttering. Better?”

“Much.” He leaned over your shoulder, watching as you demonstrated how to use the feature. His proximity made your heart skip a beat, though you did your best to focus on the task.

“See? Easy,” you said after dictating a quick test message. “Just press the little microphone icon and speak.”

Logan eyed the phone like it might bite him. “You’re tellin’ me this thing’s smart enough to understand me?”

“It is,” you assured him, holding back a laugh. “Give it a try.”

With a reluctant sigh, Logan tapped the microphone icon. “Jubilee,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “what the hell do all those pictures mean?”

The phone transcribed his words perfectly, and you grinned as you hit send. “See? Not so bad.”

He grunted, crossing his arms again as he waited for a response. A moment later, the phone buzzed with Jubilee’s reply: “LOL Logan! It means ‘party time, let’s rock, cats rule, aliens are cool!’ 🎸🐾👽✨”

Logan stared at the screen, his frown returning. “Party time? Cats? Aliens? What the hell kinda conversation am I havin’ here?”

You laughed, patting his arm. “It’s Jubilee. You’re lucky she didn’t send you a meme.”

“What the hell’s a meme?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Oh, you’ll find out eventually,” you said, grinning. “For now, just stick with the basics.”

“Basics,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Textin’, emojis, memes… what’s next? The damn thing makes coffee?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, leaning into him as he slid the phone back into his pocket with an annoyed grunt. “You’re doing great, Logan. One step at a time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, though there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t expect me to start usin’ this thing all the time.”

“Of course not,” you said, still smiling. “But admit it—it’s not as bad as you thought.”

He didn’t respond, but the flicker of amusement in his eyes was enough for you.

---

“Why’d ya call me in here?” Rogue asked, standing outside Jubilee’s room.

“Well… me and Kitty went into town and came across something. Come in.” Jubilee opened the door just enough for Rogue to walk inside before closing it.

"Aw, poor thing," Rogue murmured as she stepped closer to Kitty, who cradled the small black cat in her arms. Its fur was scruffy, and a small scab marred its leg. The cat let out a weak meow, and Rogue's expression softened even further. "Where’d y’all find it?"

“Behind that old diner downtown,” Kitty explained, stroking the cat’s head gently. “It was just sitting there, all alone. We couldn’t just leave it.”

“Yeah,” Jubilee chimed in, folding her arms. “It’s clearly seen better days. Probably hasn’t eaten in a while.”

Rogue raised an eyebrow. “Y’all know we’re not allowed to have pets, right?”

Jubilee waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, but c’mon, Rogue. Look at this little guy. We can’t just kick him back out there.”

Kitty nodded fervently. “We’ll keep him hidden. Nobody has to know.”

Rogue sighed, her resolve already weakening. “Fine. But if we get caught, this is on y’all.”

“Deal!” Jubilee grinned. “Now, we just need to figure out where to keep him.”

---

For a few days, things went smoothly—or as smoothly as they could with three girls sneaking a cat around the mansion. They took turns feeding and caring for it, stuffing it into backpacks or under blankets anytime they heard footsteps in the hallway.

But then, the sneezing started.

You rubbed at your nose, frowning as another sneeze tore through you. “This doesn’t make any sense,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Spring allergies don’t usually hit me like this.”

Logan glanced up from the newspaper he was reading at the kitchen table. “You okay, darlin’? You’ve been sneezin’ all morning.”

“I don’t know.” You sniffled, grabbing a tissue. “I woke up like this. It’s weird.”

He gave you a once-over, his brow furrowing. “Maybe you’re comin’ down with somethin’.”

“I don’t think so,” you said, blowing your nose. “I feel fine otherwise. Just… stuffy.”

Jean walked in then, grabbing a cup of coffee from the pot. “Morning, guys. Y/N, are you okay? You sound congested.”

“I am,” you admitted, gesturing vaguely. “But it’s not a cold. It’s like I’m allergic to something all of a sudden.”

Jean frowned. “That’s strange. Did you change anything recently? New detergent? Perfume?”

“No, nothing.” You sighed, frustrated. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll just take an antihistamine and see if it helps.”

Logan didn’t look convinced, but he let it go for now.

---

Back in Jubilee’s room, the three girls huddled around the cat, who was now cleaned up and looking much healthier after a few days of care.

“I think we’re in the clear,” Kitty said, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “No one suspects a thing.”

“Yeah,” Jubilee agreed, though she looked slightly guilty. “Except… uh… maybe Y/N.”

Rogue’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“Well, she’s been sneezing a lot,” Jubilee admitted, wincing. “And I think… I think she might be allergic to cats.”

Rogue groaned. “Oh, great. Now what?”

“We just have to be more careful,” Kitty said quickly. “Keep the cat away from her. Maybe she won’t notice.”

Jubilee nodded. “Right. Easy.”

---

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. Over the next few days, your sneezing got worse, and Logan grew increasingly suspicious.

“Darlin’, this ain’t normal,” he said one evening as you sat on the couch grading papers, tissues scattered around you. “You sure there ain’t somethin’ in the mansion messin’ with you?”

“I don’t know,” you said miserably, pushing your glasses up your nose. “I’ve never had allergies like this before.” You tilted your head as you blew your nose, “I mean, I remember I had a reaction when my grandpa was fostering a cat, but that was when I was 12.”

Logan folded the newspaper, his brow furrowing as he watched you rub your nose again. “You remember, huh? The cat thing? From when you were a kid?”

“Yeah.” You sniffled and leaned back on the couch, tossing the tissue into the growing pile on the coffee table. “It was awful. I couldn’t breathe for weeks. Grandpa had to send the cat back to the shelter.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his instincts flaring. “Thinkin’ it’s a cat now?”

You shrugged, frustrated. “I don’t know, Logan. I haven’t seen a cat around here, and it’s not like anyone’s hiding one. It’s probably just a weird allergy flare-up.”

Logan didn’t look convinced. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ll take a look around, just in case. Mansion’s big, but nothin’ gets by me. If there’s somethin’ here, I’ll find it.”

“Logan, come on,” you protested, waving him off. “You’re overreacting.”

“Maybe,” he muttered, standing up. “But humor me, darlin’. If somethin’s makin’ you sick, I’m not lettin’ it slide.”

You sighed as he left the room, your glasses sliding down your nose as you pinched the bridge again. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

---

Meanwhile, in Jubilee’s room, the girls were scrambling.

“We’re in trouble,” Rogue hissed, pacing as Jubilee held the cat protectively against her chest. “Logan’s got a nose like a bloodhound. He’s gonna sniff this thing out.”

“Relax,” Jubilee said, though her voice was anything but calm. “We’ve kept him hidden this long. We’ll just double down. No more letting him wander around.”

Kitty frowned, glancing at the cat. “But what if Y/N’s really allergic? She’s been sneezing a lot.”

“She’s fine,” Jubilee said quickly, though the guilt was clear in her tone. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Is it?” Rogue crossed her arms. “We need a plan. If Logan finds this cat, we’re done for.”

---

The sneezing didn’t stop. In fact, it got worse. Logan had been keeping an eye—and nose—on you, and he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was off.

One evening, after you’d gone to bed early with a box of tissues, Logan cornered Ororo in the kitchen.

“Something’s goin’ on,” he said, his voice low. “Y/N’s been sneezin’ her head off for days now, says it’s allergies, but she ain’t allergic to anything in this house.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow. “You think something’s triggering her?”

“Yeah,” Logan said, narrowing his eyes. “And I think it’s a cat.”

“A cat?” Ororo repeated, surprised. “Logan, there are no cats in the mansion.”

Logan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Maybe not officially, but I can smell somethin’. Been catchin’ whiffs of it in the halls. I’m gonna find out who’s hidin’ it.”

Ororo sighed. “If there is a cat, we’ll deal with it. Just… don’t go tearing the place apart.”

Logan smirked. “No promises.”

---

The next day, Logan followed his nose. He caught a faint trace of something feline near the girls’ dorms and honed in on Jubilee’s room. He knocked once before pushing the door open without waiting for a response.

“Alright, what are y’all hidin’ in here?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

Jubilee froze mid-step, her eyes wide. Kitty quickly shoved the cat under a blanket, but Shadow let out a soft meow, betraying their secret.

“Damn it,” Jubilee muttered.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and he sniffed the air. “Knew it. You got a cat in here.”

“We can explain!” Kitty blurted out, holding up her hands.

Logan glared at them, stepping fully into the room. “You do realize Y/N’s been sneezin’ her head off ‘cause of this, right? And cats ain’t allowed here for a reason.”

“We didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Jubilee said quickly. “We just… we couldn’t leave him. He was all alone, and he was hurt.”

Logan glanced at the lump under the blanket, his expression softening just a fraction. “Lemme see it.”

Reluctantly, Kitty pulled the blanket back to reveal Shadow, who blinked up at Logan with wide green eyes.

Ororo appeared in the doorway then, her arms crossed. “Logan, what’s going on?”

“Found the cat,” Logan said simply, nodding toward Shadow.

Ororo sighed, stepping into the room. “I’ll take care of it. I know someone who can give the cat a good home.”

Jubilee and Kitty looked crushed, but they nodded. “Okay,” Kitty said softly.

“Thank you for saving it,” Ororo added gently. “But next time, talk to me first.”

As Ororo left with Shadow, Logan turned back to the girls. “If this happens again, you’re all gonna be on clean-up duty for a month. Got it?”

“Got it,” they chorused.

---

That evening, as you sat on the couch feeling significantly less congested, Logan walked in and sat beside you.

“You were right,” he said, draping an arm over your shoulders.

“About what?” you asked, leaning into him.

“There was a cat,” he admitted, smirking.

You stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Kids were hidin’ it. Ororo’s takin’ it to a new home now.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, I guess that explains it.”

“Guess so,” Logan said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You feelin’ better now?”

“Much,” you said, smiling up at him. “Thanks, honey.”

“Anytime, darlin’.”

---

“I don’t think Scott will even notice,” Jean said, as the hairdresser trimmed her hair.

You sat next to her, but instead you were getting your nails done. It was something you’ve never done before, but since Jean wanted a trim you tagged along. “I don’t think Logan’d notice either,” you replied, referring to your manicure.

Jean snorted, “you kidding me? Of course he’d notice. He noticed that you were using a different bookmark.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips. “It’s a completely different thing, Jean. My bookmark literally had sparkles. Scott’s not going to miss a haircut. Haircuts are major.”

Jean leaned back in her chair as the hairdresser put down the scissors. “Alright, Y/N. Let’s make it interesting. If Logan notices your nails before Scott notices my haircut, you owe me a week of grading those awful pop quizzes.”

“And if Scott notices first,” you countered, raising an eyebrow, “you’re in charge of my quizzes.”

Jean smirked. “Deal. You’re about to owe me big time.”

---

When the two of you got back to the mansion, you headed straight to the kitchen, where Logan, Scott, Ororo, and a few students were gathered. Logan stood by the counter, his arms crossed as he waited for the coffee to brew. His eyes immediately found yours as you entered the room.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted, his gaze dropping to your hands as you fiddled with the edge of your sweater. He tilted his head. “Nice nails. You don’t usually go for this kinda thing, but they suit you.”

You froze, your mouth opening slightly in shock. Jean had the audacity to grin next to you, clearly enjoying the moment.

“Thanks, Logan,” you muttered, feeling a slight heat rise to your cheeks.

Jean was practically bouncing on her heels as the two of you left the kitchen. “Told you!” she whispered triumphantly. “The man doesn’t miss a thing.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Scott hasn’t even seen you yet. It’s still anyone’s game.”

---

By the time dinner rolled around, Scott still hadn’t commented on Jean’s hair. You sat beside Logan at the table, glancing over at Jean, who was conspicuously brushing her hair back every few minutes to make it extra obvious.

When dessert was served, you leaned over to her and whispered, “Nothing yet?”

Jean sighed dramatically. “Not a word.”

Logan looked over at the two of you. “What’s with the whisperin’?”

“Nothing!” you said quickly, shooting Jean a warning glance.

Jean just smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, it’s something. Y/N owes me now.”

“Not yet,” you hissed back.

---

The following week, the bets continued.

“I’m telling you, Logan will notice,” Jean said, as she put on extra blush. You bet that Scott would be able to notice that her cheeks were rosier than usual.

“Jean, it’s a belt. One you can’t even see since my shirt covers it,” you responded, exasperated as you pulled the hem of your sweater down over the new belt she’d somehow convinced you to wear.

Jean smirked, brushing her freshly trimmed hair over her shoulder like the reigning queen of I told you so. “You underestimate your husband, Y/N. He’ll notice. Logan always notices. And when he does, I’ll be sitting pretty with zero quizzes to grade next week.”

“Jean,” you said slowly, adjusting your glasses and staring at her like she was mildly unhinged. “There is no possible way he’ll notice a belt. Unless it starts glowing or shoots lasers, it’s not happening.”

“Don’t act like you’ve forgotten. He clocked your new bookmark,” she shot back with a laugh, tucking her hands into her hoodie pockets. “Scott, meanwhile, couldn’t pick me out of a crowd if I wore a completely different outfit. You’re lucky this bet is low stakes because you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak.”

“Yeah, well, he still hasn’t noticed your haircut, so maybe don’t count your chickens,” you muttered.

“Oh, honey,” Jean teased with mock sympathy. “Let me know how that fantasy pans out for you.”

---

Later that evening, you were in the living room grading assignments when Logan strolled in, towel slung over one shoulder from a workout. His flannel was untucked, and his hair looked especially messy, which meant he'd probably gone a few rounds in the Danger Room. He grabbed a beer from the fridge before pausing, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looked at you.

You didn’t notice right away, too caught up in deciphering your students’ atrocious handwriting. Logan cleared his throat. “New belt?”

Your pen stalled mid-word, and you looked up at him with a mix of horror and disbelief. “How did you—?”

“Color’s different,” Logan said casually, gesturing with the bottle before sitting down next to you. He tipped his head, inspecting it with sharp, curious eyes. “Nice look. Suits you, darlin’.”

Jean, who had been walking by the open doorway, stopped just long enough to poke her head in. “Pay up,” she sing-songed before continuing down the hall.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Logan smirked, leaning back in his chair. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” you grumbled, wishing you could sink into the couch and disappear.

---

The bets didn’t stop there. Jean was relentless in her ability to cook up increasingly obscure wagers on Logan’s observational skills. It turned into a kind of perverse sport, one where the stakes felt comically high despite how trivial the differences were.

One day, you and Jean went to the mall, and after the two of you walked out of the candle store, she pulled you across the walkway to a perfume store.

You smelt different perfumes—though you probably weren’t going to buy any, you always used the same one—when Jean came along with a small bottle. “Smell it,” she said, holding her spritzed hand to your nose.

You furrowed your brows, “that smells exactly like mine. Just a different brand.” Jean’s grin grew as you finally realized what her plan was. “There’s no way he’d notice! I can’t even tell the difference!”

“Well, let’s put it to the test shall we?”

The next morning, you spritzed on the new perfume Jean had chosen. It smelled so similar to the one you always wore that even you had to second-guess yourself. There was no way Logan would pick up on this. Jean, however, was practically vibrating with confidence when she caught a whiff of you in the hallway.

“Perfect,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Let’s see how long it takes.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I’m telling you, he won’t notice. This is ridiculous.”

Jean tilted her head, her red hair catching the sunlight as she smirked. “We’ll see.”

---

By lunchtime, you were beginning to think you might finally win one of these bets. Logan had been around you all morning—at breakfast, during your shared training session with a group of students, and even in the library when he stopped by to drop off a book you’d left in your classroom. Not once had he made any comments about your scent.

When you met Jean in the kitchen for a quick snack, she raised an eyebrow at you. “Well?”

“Nothing yet,” you said smugly, popping a grape into your mouth. “Looks like I might actually win this one.”

Jean leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Don’t get cocky. He’s probably saving it for the perfect moment.”

“You sound way too confident for someone who’s about to owe me a week’s worth of grading,” you shot back, adjusting your glasses with a grin. “And don’t forget, Scott still hasn’t noticed your haircut from two weeks ago.”

Jean just shrugged, her confidence unshaken. “Scott’s a lost cause. Logan, on the other hand? He’s practically a bloodhound when it comes to you.”

---

Later that evening, you were curled up on the couch in the living room, grading papers with your glasses perched on your nose. Logan walked in, his flannel sleeves rolled up and his hair still damp from a shower. He settled into the armchair across from you, cracking open a beer and watching you with a lazy smile.

After a moment, he tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “You smell different.”

Your pen froze mid-sentence, and you slowly looked up at him. “What?”

Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied you. “Different perfume. It’s close to the one you usually wear, but not the same. Did you change it?”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “How… how could you possibly tell?”

He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I know you, darlin’. You’ve been wearin’ the same one for years. I like the new one, though. Smells nice.”

From the hallway, you heard a quiet but triumphant “Ha!” followed by the sound of Jean’s laughter fading as she walked away.

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Unbelievable.”

Logan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “What am I missin’ this time?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, still hiding your face. “Just… nothing.”

---

Over the next few weeks, the bets escalated. Jean had an uncanny knack for picking the smallest, most inconsequential changes for Logan to notice about you—new socks, a slightly different shade of nail polish, even a replacement pair of jeans that were identical to your old ones. And each time, Logan noticed.

Meanwhile, your attempts to get Scott to notice Jean’s increasingly obvious changes were met with failure after failure. She even dyed a streak of her hair a darker shade of red, and Scott’s only response was, “did you change shampoos?”

By the end of the month, you were drowning in papers to grade thanks to losing every single bet. Jean, of course, was absolutely insufferable, though she did occasionally offer to take pity on you.

“You know,” she said one afternoon as the two of you walked to the garage for a supply run, “you could just admit defeat and stop betting.”

“And let you win without a fight?” you replied, narrowing your eyes at her. “Not a chance.”

Jean laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Suit yourself. Just don’t forget—Logan always notices, Y/N. Always.”

By mid-afternoon, you were in the study with Logan again, this time discussing a new training schedule for the students. He leaned over the desk, pointing out a few notes you’d written in the margins.

“Why’d you change this one?” he asked, tapping the paper.

You blinked, momentarily distracted by how close he was. “Huh?”

“This,” he said, gesturing to the note. “You usually write your reminders in blue ink, not black.”

You stared at him, completely floored. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Logan frowned, straightening up. “What?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “Just… nothing.”

From the doorway, you heard Jean’s voice: “Another one bites the dust!”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

Jean strolled into the room, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. “Not a chance.”

Logan looked between the two of you, utterly bemused. “You two wanna clue me in, or are you just gonna keep bein’ cryptic?”

Jean patted his shoulder, still grinning. “Don’t worry about it, Logan. Just keep being you.”

As she walked out, Logan turned to you with a raised eyebrow. “What’s her deal?”

“Don’t ask,” you muttered, already dreading the next bet.

---

It finally got to a point where you just laughed at the predicament you found yourself in. Jean was crouched down on the floor, putting the smallest dot of white paint on your shiny black flats.

Even from your view, you couldn’t see it. The dot of white paint Jean had dabbed on your shiny black flats was so small it disappeared when the light hit your feet. You sighed, running a hand through your hair as Jean straightened up, a self-satisfied grin plastered on her face.

“This is getting ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Ridiculously fun,” Jean corrected, crossing her arms. “Come on, Y/N, this one is foolproof. There’s no way Logan notices.”

You gave her a flat look. “He noticed a belt. A belt, Jean. Do you realize how small this dot is compared to that? I can’t even see it!”

Jean shrugged, smug as ever. “Well, that’s why it’s the perfect test. He’s either superhumanly observant or…” She trailed off, her grin widening. “Well, actually, there’s no ‘or.’ He’s just superhumanly observant when it comes to you.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your glasses as you stepped back. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

---

Later that evening, you were sitting in the library with Logan, your grading spread out across the table. Logan had a book in his hand, but you could feel his gaze flick to you every few minutes.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Just trying to get through these papers,” you replied without looking up, circling yet another wrong answer on a physics test.

Logan hummed, leaning back in his chair. A few seconds later, you caught him tilting his head, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?” you asked, your voice tinged with suspicion.

He pointed toward your feet with his beer bottle. “You step in somethin’?”

Your heart sank. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a white speck on your shoe,” Logan said, setting his beer down and leaning forward to inspect it closer. “Looks like paint.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “How…?”

Logan shrugged. “Hard to miss.”

From the doorway, Jean leaned casually against the frame, her arms crossed as she grinned. “And that,” she said, her voice dripping with triumph, “is why you never bet against me.”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Unbelievable. How do you do this every time?”

Jean just laughed, sauntering off down the hall. “It’s not me, Y/N. It’s Logan. He always notices.”

---

For the next few days, you tried not to think about Jean’s unbroken winning streak. You’d resigned yourself to the fact that Logan was apparently the most detail-oriented person alive—at least when it came to you.

“Y’know,” Logan said one evening as you both sat on the couch, “you and Jean seem to be schemin’ a lot lately.”

“We’re not scheming,” you said quickly, though your cheeks warmed under his knowing gaze.

Logan raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his beer. “Uh-huh. And these ‘not-schemes’ don’t have anything to do with you suddenly changin’ little things every day?”

Your eyes widened. “You noticed that too?”

“Darlin’,” Logan said with a smirk, leaning closer, “I notice everything about you.”

You groaned, covering your face. “I’m never going to win.”

Logan chuckled, pulling you closer as he kissed the top of your head. “Maybe stop bettin’ against Jean. Or just accept that I’ve got a soft spot for you.”

You peeked up at him, your heart softening despite your frustration. “You do, huh?”

“Biggest soft spot there is,” he said, his voice warm as his arms tightened around you.

For a moment, you forgot all about losing.

But only for a moment.

---

It all came to a head the next day, when you told Jean to wear a neon yellow jumpsuit, in hopes Scott would finally realize something.

But by the afternoon he still hadn’t said a single word.

You weren’t sure what overcame you, though usually when you berate or yell at someone it’s always Scott. The three of you were fixing one of the AC units outside, and after finishing you thought Scott would finally say something about Jean as he looked at the bright yellow outfit, but instead he said: “Wanna a drink?”

You grabbed Jean’s arm, pulling her to your side, your frustration finally boiling over. “No, she doesn’t. Maybe if you paid attention, she would.”

Jean blinked, clearly startled by your outburst. “Y/N—”

Scott cut in, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Is this about the things you’ve been changing?”

“What?” you and Jean said in unison. Jean added quickly, “You noticed? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Scott hesitated, running a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking between the two of you. “Because you seemed happy. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Jean’s mouth opened and closed a few times, her confident demeanor faltering. “You… didn’t want to ruin it?” she echoed, her voice softer now.

Scott shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “I know I’m not great at noticing stuff like Logan is. But I saw you were having fun with Y/N, and I figured it was your thing. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Jean stared at him, her face a mixture of disbelief and something softer—something almost tender. “Scott Summers,” she said finally, crossing her arms over her bright yellow jumpsuit, “you are absolutely infuriating.”

Scott blinked, clearly thrown off. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t say anything!” Jean huffed, but there was no real heat behind her words. “You let me walk around in this—” she gestured to her jumpsuit, “—like a highlighter with legs, and you didn’t say a word?”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “You look good in it.”

Jean froze, her cheeks turning pink. “That’s not the point.”

Scott smirked faintly, clearly enjoying her flustered state. “Maybe not, but it’s true.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to hide your grin as Jean sputtered for a response. “Okay, fine,” she finally muttered, looking away. “But next time, say something.”

Scott stepped closer, his voice low and sincere. “Deal. But only if you promise not to bet against Logan anymore. He’s impossible to beat.”

Jean turned back to you, wide-eyed. “You told him?”

“I didn’t say a word!” you protested, holding up your hands.

Scott chuckled, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to. It’s not hard to figure out when the two of you are constantly whispering and sneaking around.”

Jean groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

You patted her on the shoulder, your smile softening. “At least now you know he notices, even if he doesn’t always say it.”

Jean peeked at Scott from between her fingers, her expression caught somewhere between annoyance and affection. “Fine. You win this round.”

Scott smiled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I always do.”

Jean rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight. For all their differences, they made sense together.

As the three of you headed back into the mansion, Jean nudged you with her elbow. “So… what’s our next bet?”

You groaned, but you couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it,” Jean said with a wink.

---

Usually during this time of your cycle Logan could be… clingy. You knew it was completely unintentional; his senses could pick up the slightest change in your body, but the past few days he’s been more clingy and touchy than usual.

You, Jean, and Ororo were going out to a nice dinner spot, something that needed a slightly fancy outfit. You put on a pair of slacks, some flats, and a white shirt with structured bodice and a sweetheart neckline, complemented by gathered puff sleeves and a fitted waist.

You walked out of the bathroom, grabbing your purse and smoothing down your slacks as you made your way over to the bed. Logan was sprawled out on top of the blankets, one arm behind his head, the other holding a book that looked far too small for his hands. When he heard your footsteps, his gaze flicked up, and the book was immediately abandoned.

“Darlin’…” His voice was low and appreciative as his eyes swept over you. He sat up, his movements slow and deliberate, before standing and closing the space between you. His hands found your waist as his eyes lingered on your shirt. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, a soft laugh escaping you. “Is that your way of saying I look good?”

“More than good,” he said, his fingers tracing the edge of the bodice. His hands moved to gently spin you around, taking in every detail of the outfit. “Where’d you get this shirt?”

You started to answer, “I found it at—” but Logan’s hands were already toying with the puff sleeves, smoothing them out like they needed adjusting. His touch trailed lower, and he paused just below your collarbone, his fingers lightly brushing the fabric.

“It’s the sleeves,” he murmured, his tone teasing. “They’re distractin’.”

“They’re supposed to be,” you replied, tilting your head to look up at him. “It’s part of the charm.”

Logan smirked. “Oh, I get the charm, sweetheart.” His hands slid lower, adjusting the fabric around your waist before his palms rested over the sides of your ribcage. He gave a mock-serious nod. “There, now it’s perfect.”

You narrowed your eyes, fighting back a grin. “You’ve fixed it, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a deadpan expression, his fingers lightly brushing your sides. “Though I might need to check somethin’.”

Before you could reply, he carefully cupped the sides of your breasts, adjusting them ever so slightly in the bodice with an exaggerated level of precision. You gasped, batting his hands away as a laugh bubbled up.

“Logan!”

He grinned, completely unrepentant. “What? Just makin’ sure everything’s sittin’ right.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what you were doing.” You shook your head, trying to hide your laughter.

“Hey, don’t go accusin’ me of somethin’ I’m innocent of.” His tone was mock-offended, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away.

“You’re impossible,” you said, smoothing your shirt back into place.

“And you love me for it.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You sure you don’t wanna stay in tonight? I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Jean and Ororo are waiting for me, and I’m not about to bail.”

Logan sighed, stepping back reluctantly. “Fine. But you’re gonna turn heads in that outfit, darlin’.”

“Good,” you teased. “Maybe you’ll think twice before touching the sleeves again.”

He chuckled, leaning down for one last kiss before you headed for the door. “Have fun, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you get back.”

As you left, you couldn’t help but smile, already looking forward to telling Jean and Ororo about Logan’s antics.

---

You grabbed your short block heels from your closet and moved to sit on the ottoman to put them on. Before you could reach down, Logan was already kneeling in front of you, gently pulling the heels from your hands.

“I got it,” he said, his voice gruff but affectionate, his thumb brushing against your wrist briefly as he set the shoes on the floor.

You tilted your head, giving him a playful smile. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Logan ignored your protest, his focus entirely on slipping the first shoe onto your foot. His fingers worked deftly but with surprising care as if even this small act deserved his full attention. He adjusted the strap to make sure it sat just right before moving to the other shoe.

“I like takin’ care of you,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you rolled your eyes to cover it up. “It’s just shoes, Logan. I think I can handle it.”

He glanced up at you, his expression soft despite the smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

Once he finished with the second shoe, his hands rested lightly on your knees as he looked up at you, his eyes holding yours for a moment. There was something reassuring, grounding, about the way he looked at you—like you were the only person that existed to him in that moment.

“You’re fussier than usual this week,” you teased gently, brushing an errant strand of hair away from his face.

Logan chuckled, his thumbs drawing absentminded circles over your knees. “Might be because you’re distractin’ me.”

“Me? Distracting?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Damn right,” he replied, leaning in slightly as his voice dropped lower. “How am I supposed to focus when you’re sittin’ here, lookin’ the way you do?”

You laughed softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of his head. “You know, most people would be flattered, but I think you just like causing trouble.”

He smirked, standing up and offering you a hand to help you to your feet. Once you were up, he let his hands settle on your hips, pulling you a little closer. “You figured me out, darlin’.”

“We’re going to be late,” you reminded him, but you didn’t make any effort to step away from him.

Logan’s brows furrowed as he leaned in to nuzzle against your temple. “Couple minutes won’t kill us.”

“It might if Ororo finds out why,” you said with a grin, earning a soft laugh from him.

He pulled back reluctantly, grabbing your blazer from where it hung on the back of the chair and holding it out for you. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s go. Can’t have you bein’ late for physics, now can we?”

You slipped into the blazer and grabbed your bag, smiling at him over your shoulder as you headed for the door. Logan stayed close behind, his hand resting lightly on your lower back as the two of you walked down the hall toward the classroom wing.

As you reached the corridor where your paths split, Logan leaned in for a quick but lingering kiss. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You smiled against his lips. “Try not to terrorize the students too much in your class, okay?”

“No promises,” he replied, smirking as he headed off toward the Danger Room for his class with Ororo. You shook your head, watching him go for a moment before continuing on your way, feeling lighter than you had in days.

---

Sitting next to Logan hadn’t been enough, neither was your legs on his lap. Instead, the perfect position for the two of you to be in was you straddling his lap, your book on his chest as you held it in place. When he first pulled you onto his lap, he had started to kiss you, but you were able to pull back and pout about not being able to read your book.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light over the room, highlighting the way your glasses perched on your nose as you concentrated on the book in your hands. Logan, however, had other plans. He leaned back against the couch cushions, his large hands resting lazily on your thighs as you straddled him.

At first, he was quiet, his sharp eyes tracking your expressions as you read. But Logan being Logan, he couldn’t sit still for long. His fingers began tracing absent patterns along your sides, drifting upward before sliding back down.

"Logan," you murmured, not looking up from the page.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" His tone was all innocence, but the way his hands tightened just slightly on your waist betrayed him.

"You’re supposed to be good," you reminded him, trying to focus as his lips pressed a kiss to the corner of your jaw.

"I am," he murmured against your skin, the scrape of his beard sending a shiver down your spine. "Haven’t moved, have I?"

Your lips twitched, fighting the urge to smile. "You’re moving right now."

"Don’t count, darlin’," he teased, his lips trailing down your neck, slow and deliberate. "Just enjoyin’ my wife while she’s sittin’ pretty on me."

You adjusted your glasses, willing yourself to stay focused as his kisses grew bolder, moving to your collarbone. His hands slid to your hips, steadying you as he shifted slightly, bringing you closer.

"Logan," you said again, though the firmness in your voice wavered.

"Yeah, darlin’?" This time his voice was lower, more gravel in it, and his lips skimmed just above the neckline of your nightgown.

You tried to ignore the heat spreading through you, gripping your book tighter. "You’re distracting me."

"Good." His lips curved into a grin against your skin before dipping lower. He pressed a kiss to the swell of your breast, just above the lace trim.

That was it. The book slipped from your hands onto his chest with a soft thud as you exhaled sharply. "I thought you were supposed to be good."

Logan pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I am," he said, his voice husky. Before you could respond, his hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly.

"Logan!"

"I am bein’ good," he murmured as he carried you toward the bed, the playful glint in his eyes betraying his words. "Lemme show you just how good."

You didn’t even try to argue, not when his lips found yours, and his hands settled you onto the bed like you were something precious. He kissed you again, deeper this time, and you gave up any pretense of finishing your book. Logan’s weight shifted above you, one of his hands bracing against the mattress while the other slid along your side, tracing the curve of your hip.

You arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips traveled down your jaw, leaving a warm trail that made you shiver. “Logan,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His lips curved into a grin against your neck, his beard scraping deliciously against your skin.

You didn’t have an answer—or at least, not one that didn’t involve him doing exactly what he was doing. His hands slid beneath the hem of your nightgown, rough fingertips tracing the sensitive skin of your thighs. Each touch was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

His lips found your collarbone, then lower, teasing the edge of lace that framed your chest. You couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped you, your hands gripping his shoulders as his fingers hooked beneath the thin straps of your nightgown, sliding them down your arms.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, his voice rough with affection. He kissed the curve of your shoulder, then moved lower, his lips brushing over the swell of your breast. You felt the cool air against your skin as the fabric pooled at your waist, but the warmth of his mouth more than made up for it.

You tugged at his shirt, your fingers fumbling with the hem. “Off,” you demanded softly.

Logan chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through you. “Yes, ma’am.” He sat back on his knees, peeling his shirt off in one smooth motion before tossing it aside. His broad chest, covered in a scattering of scars and dark hair, was a sight you’d never tire of. He caught the way you were looking at him and smirked. “Like what you see?”

“Always,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended. Your shy tone made his smirk soften into something warmer.

He leaned down, kissing you again as his hands found your hips. He tugged the rest of your nightgown away, leaving you bare beneath him. The way he looked at you made your breath hitch—like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Logan…”

“Relax, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and soothing. His hands slid down your thighs, gently spreading them apart. He settled between your legs, his lips finding your inner thigh. “Let me take care of you.”

Your breath hitched as his kisses grew closer to where you ached for him most. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just above your center.

“Logan,” you gasped, your fingers clutching at the sheets.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, and then his mouth was on you, warm and insistent. Your head fell back against the pillows, a soft moan escaping your lips as he worked you with a precision that left you breathless. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing and tasting in a way that had your thighs trembling around his shoulders.

“Oh, God,” you whispered, your hands flying to his hair. He hummed in response, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

Logan didn’t rush, taking his time as he built you higher and higher. His hands held you steady, his grip firm but not restrictive as he pushed you closer to the edge. When his tongue circled a particularly sensitive spot, your back arched off the bed, a sharp cry escaping you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in.

It didn’t take much more. With a soft, broken moan, you shattered, your body shaking as the waves of pleasure washed over you. Logan didn’t stop, his tongue and lips coaxing you through your release until you were trembling and gasping for air.

“Jesus, Logan,” you breathed, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

He grinned up at you, his beard glistening slightly. “Not done yet, darlin’.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on you again, his tongue exploring you with renewed fervor. The overstimulation made you squirm, but Logan held you steady, his hands tightening on your hips.

“Logan, I—” Your protest dissolved into a moan as the heat began building again, faster this time. He worked you with an intensity that left you reeling, his lips and tongue driving you higher and higher until you were teetering on the edge once more. When you came again, it was with a cry that echoed through the room, your body trembling in his hands.

Logan finally pulled back, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before crawling up the bed to join you. His lips found yours in a kiss that was equal parts tender and hungry, his hands cradling your face as if you might disappear.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice rough but filled with concern.

You nodded, your cheeks flushed and your breath still coming in short gasps. “More than okay.”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Good.” His eyes softened as he looked at you, a quiet intensity in his gaze. “Love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sincere. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into another kiss.

As you pulled away he whispered against your lips, “was I good?”

You let out a small giggle, one you couldn’t hold back even if you tried. “Well… I’m not readin’ anymore…”

Logan’s smirk deepened, a spark of mischief lighting his dark eyes. “Good. That book’s been hoggin’ my girl all day.” His voice dropped an octave, thick with heat as he slid a hand up your side, tracing the soft curve of your waist.

“Logan,” you murmured, a warning that lacked any real bite. Your breath hitched when his hand dipped lower, brushing the inside of your thigh.

“Darlin’,” he rumbled, leaning in close enough for his lips to graze your ear. “Been thinkin’ about this all damn day. Couldn’t stop. You sittin’ there, all serious, those glasses makin’ you look so damn sweet…” His hand shifted, cupping your jaw to tilt your face toward him. His gaze burned into yours, equal parts desire and adoration. “But we both know how not sweet you can be when I get my hands on you.”

The words sent a shiver coursing through you, your pulse racing under the intensity of his stare. Before you could summon a response, Logan kissed you, his mouth firm and demanding, the scrape of his beard adding to the delicious roughness. He kissed you like he needed to prove something, like he was desperate to remind you exactly who you were to him.

You moaned softly against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The heat of his body pressed against yours, solid and unyielding, grounding you in the moment. Logan shifted, his weight settling between your legs as he deepened the kiss.

The faint scent of woodsmoke and leather clung to him, familiar and intoxicating. Your hands moved instinctively, tracing the expanse of his shoulders before dipping lower, fingers brushing along the waistband of his sweats. Logan growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he pulled back just enough to speak.

“You’re makin’ it real hard to stay good,” he murmured, his voice rough. He gripped your hips, grinding against you just enough to make your breath hitch. “Tell me to stop if you want me to.”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he pushed his sweats down just enough to free himself, the thick length of him pressing against your bare skin. His hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting and spreading you further as he settled between your legs.

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he searched your face. “You okay, darlin’?” he asked softly, his voice a stark contrast to the heat burning in his eyes.

You nodded, reaching up to brush a hand along his jaw. “I’m more than okay.”

That was all the reassurance he needed. Logan leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss as he guided himself to your entrance. He pushed forward slowly, the stretch making you gasp and clutch at his shoulders. He was careful, deliberate, giving you time to adjust as he filled you inch by inch.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his breath warm against your neck. “You feel so damn good, Y/N.”

Your fingers dug into his back, your body arching to meet his as he began to move. Each thrust was measured at first, slow and purposeful, but the restraint in him was palpable, barely holding back the raw intensity that simmered beneath the surface.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice cracking on his name. “I—God, don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ to,” he growled, his hips snapping forward with more force. The change in pace had you crying out, your nails raking down his back as pleasure bloomed in waves, overwhelming and all-consuming.

Logan groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he drove into you harder, deeper. “You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, the words raw and possessive. “Always gonna be mine.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. The new angle sent a bolt of heat through you, your body tightening around him as the pressure built. “Logan, I’m—”

“I know,” he rasped, his lips brushing your ear as he thrust harder, chasing your release. “Let go for me, darlin’. I’ve got you.”

It only took a few more strokes before you shattered, your cry muffled against his shoulder as your body clenched around him. Logan followed seconds later, his movements turning erratic as he buried himself deep inside you with a guttural groan.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your breaths mingling as you clung to each other. Logan finally lifted his head, his hand brushing a damp strand of hair from your face as he looked down at you, his expression softening.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and tender.

You smiled, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Better than okay.”

Logan grinned, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in that familiar, boyish way that always made your heart skip a beat. “Guess I was good, then.”

You laughed softly, your chest still heaving as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into another kiss.

Chapter Text

It was part infuriating and part upsetting. It’s not that the two of you never fought, you did, but it was usually about stupid things like Logan keeping his boots in the middle of the walkway, or you staying up late to finish grading papers.

After going to Jean’s lab to help her with a project, you went back to your classroom and found a cup of tea and a note.

“Sorry. Can I make it up to you? Love, your idiot husband.”

The note stayed on your desk longer than you intended. You read it again—Logan’s familiar scrawl, the self-deprecating humor tucked into his words. It was sweet, yes, but it didn’t entirely quell the lingering frustration from the fight last night.

Not that you could exactly pinpoint what the fight was about. It had started small, like they usually did, and spiraled into something heated before either of you realized it. Logan had been snappish, you’d been stubborn, and by the time the argument ended, you’d retreated to your classroom to prep for today’s lessons while Logan stomped off somewhere else.

Still, the tea on your desk—your favorite blend—was warm when you found it. And the note? It was peak Logan. Gruff but apologetic, with enough charm to make you start forgiving him before he even said the words.

You tucked the note into the front pocket of your notebook before starting class.

---

The rest of the day went smoothly enough. Your students were engaged, a few even managed to crack a joke that earned more than a polite smile from you. By the time the last class ended, you felt lighter, the earlier tension fading.

When you returned to your shared room, the sight stopped you in your tracks.

Logan had cleaned.

The scattered boots, flannel shirts, and that one stubborn pair of jeans that he left draped over the chair for weeks were all gone. The bed was made, the surfaces were wiped, and you could smell the faint scent of lemon from the cleaner he must have used.

You bit back a smile, crossing to your desk where even your papers had been neatly stacked. A small bouquet of wildflowers sat in a glass jar next to your lamp. They weren’t extravagant—just blooms he must’ve picked from the garden—but the thought behind them made your chest ache in the best way.

---

Dinner wasn’t just dinner—it was dessert.

When Jean intercepted you on your way to the kitchen, she barely contained her grin. “Don’t go in there yet,” she said, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

“Why not?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Jean just tilted her head, smirking. “Let’s call it a peace offering. Logan roped me into supervising.”

Your brows furrowed, but before you could press her for more details, the kitchen door swung open. Logan stood there, holding a tray with two small plates of molten chocolate cake. The edges were slightly uneven, but the rich scent of chocolate and caramel made your stomach flip.

“Dinner’s still cookin’,” he said, nodding toward the plates. “Figured this’d keep you happy ‘til then.”

Jean winked at you before slipping past Logan and disappearing down the hall.

You accepted the plate he handed you, raising an eyebrow. “You made this?”

“Well, Jean stopped me from burnin’ the place down, but yeah,” he admitted, smirking slightly.

You took a bite, the warm, gooey center melting on your tongue. “This is actually good,” you said after swallowing, and Logan chuckled.

“High praise, comin’ from you,” he teased, but there was no edge to his words.

---

Later that evening, you curled up in your favorite chair with a book, the day’s tension completely gone. Logan had been uncharacteristically subdued all evening, watching you with a quiet intensity that made you wonder if he was still waiting for you to forgive him fully.

When he finally approached, it wasn’t with words. He slipped the book from your hands and pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled into your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and soft.

You turned slightly to look at him, your fingers brushing the side of his face. “For what?”

“For bein’ an idiot,” he said, smirking faintly.

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “I can’t even remember what the fight was about.”

Logan’s brows furrowed. “Somethin’ stupid, I’m sure.”

“Definitely stupid,” you agreed, a smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, and you felt it down to your bones. “Still. Shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

“You’re forgiven,” you said simply, leaning in to kiss him softly.

When you pulled back, his smirk returned, softer this time. “You’re too good to me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t forget it,” you teased, and the two of you laughed, the fight already forgotten as you melted into his embrace.

---

The two of you turned a corner as Theresa and Jones let out a “boo!” that startled you, making you yelp and grab Logan’s arm.

Logan, as always, didn’t have a reaction.

“Tess!”

The girl giggled, “sorry, Y/N! We were tryin’ to scare Logan.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that.”

You shot a glance at Logan, who was, as always, unbothered by the kids’ antics. It wasn’t surprising—after all, he’d been through far worse than a couple of kids trying to scare him.

Theresa and Jones gave each other a glance and high-fived, clearly proud of their latest attempt. You, on the other hand, just rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t deny that their efforts did keep things interesting.

Kitty, Rogue, and Bobby weren’t far behind, each trying their own version of a surprise attack on Logan over the next few days. The thing was, Logan always managed to stay calm, unflinching. It was as if nothing phased him—not even the most elaborate scare attempts.

Kitty tried jumping out of a closet one afternoon, “Boo!” she yelled. Logan barely blinked.

“I’ll get you one of these days, Logan,” she muttered, walking off, her pride wounded.

Later, Bobby had hidden in the shadows near the kitchen, armed with a bucket of cold water. His grin was smug as he prepared for the perfect ambush.

But Logan never gave him the chance. As soon as Bobby moved to tip the bucket, Logan had already pivoted, his heightened senses picking up on his every move. A simple swipe of his hand sent the bucket flying, and Bobby got drenched.

“Next time, freeze yourself, Bobby,” Logan muttered, walking past him with a casual shrug. Bobby was too wet and too stunned to reply.

But it was Rogue who seemed most determined. She set up a whole contraption in the hallway, a series of loud noises, ropes, and traps designed to rattle Logan. The thing was, she had underestimated one key detail: Logan had been through far worse. Nothing in this mansion could surprise him anymore.

By the end of the week, you’d had enough of the spectacle. You overheard them planning yet another attempt—a clever one this time, involving wires, an old airhorn, and some poorly executed timing. It wasn’t exactly foolproof, but they seemed hopeful.

Curious, you made your way to the common room, hearing their hushed voices as you approached.

“We’re gonna get him this time. For sure,” Jones was saying, his voice filled with excitement.

“You just gotta set up the wires right, Bobby,” Rogue added, sounding slightly exasperated. “And remember, we hit the airhorn before he steps through the door. We time it perfectly, and he’ll jump outta his skin.”

Kitty added, “Yeah, and don’t forget the confetti—it's gotta be a show.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, catching their attention. “Really?”

They froze, like deer caught in headlights, before Bobby awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh... yeah. We’re... we’re gonna scare Logan.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’ll handle it.”

Jean, who had been nearby and overheard the conversation, gave you a look. “You? You’re gonna scare him?”

You shot her a playful smile. “You’ve all tried and failed, right? It’s my turn.”

The kids exchanged skeptical looks. “Okay, but if this goes horribly wrong—” Bobby began.

You just waved him off. “It won’t. Trust me.”

---

That night, you set your plan into motion. It wasn’t anything big or flashy—no confetti cannons or dramatic airhorns. Instead, it was something subtle but effective. You weren’t trying to make a scene; you just wanted to prove a point. If anyone could catch Logan off guard, it was you.

Logan was in the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge for a beer. His flannel was rolled up at the sleeves, and his usual gruff muttering filled the space as he searched. You leaned casually against the far wall, glasses perched on your nose, watching him.

With a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure that the kids were watching, you exhaled and concentrated. Time slowed, the air thickening like molasses, until the faint hum of the fridge faded to silence. You stepped lightly across the room, weaving through the paused world, until you were standing right behind Logan.

Unfreezing time with a soft snap, you waited.

“Need help finding someth—”

Logan whipped around so fast he nearly knocked the beer he’d just grabbed from the shelf. His eyes were wide, and for the briefest moment, you saw the flicker of instinct—the readiness for a fight.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” he growled, clutching the bottle like it might ground him. “What the hell?”

You crossed your arms, fighting back a grin. “What?”

“Where the hell did you come from?” He narrowed his eyes, scanning the room as if trying to piece together what he’d missed.

“I was here the whole time,” you said, feigning innocence.

Logan huffed, stepping back to give you a once-over. “Don’t lie to me, darlin’. You weren’t there a second ago.”

“Maybe you’re just not as sharp as you think,” you teased, tilting your head.

His scowl deepened, but there was something else behind it—a flicker of realization. “You froze time, didn’t you?”

You shrugged. “Prove it.”

Before Logan could respond, a burst of laughter erupted from the doorway. You turned to see Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue peeking in, their faces lit up with glee.

“We saw that!” Bobby crowed, doubling over. “You actually got him!”

Kitty clapped her hands, practically bouncing. “I can’t believe it! Logan never gets startled!”

Rogue leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Guess the big bad Wolverine ain’t so unshakable after all.”

Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re all a damn pain in my ass.”

“Oh, come on, Logan,” you said, patting his arm. “It’s not every day we get to see you speechless.”

“You think this is funny?” He glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it.

“A little,” you admitted, biting back a smile.

The kids continued laughing as Logan shot them a look that could’ve melted steel. “You’ve had your fun. Now get lost before I make you regret it.”

Bobby snickered but wisely ducked out, dragging Kitty and Rogue with him. “Totally worth it,” he muttered as they disappeared down the hall.

When they were gone, Logan turned back to you, his expression softening. “You know I’m gonna get you back for this, right?”

“Good luck,” you said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “You’ll need it.”

He grunted, shaking his head with a smirk. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

“Don’t forget it,” you said, grabbing the beer from his hand and taking a sip before walking off, leaving Logan standing there, muttering about how he’d never live this down.

---

The heat in the mansion quit working due to an ‘accident’ caused by Scott and Hank. This was the third day it was out, and everyone was freezing. Well, almost everyone.

Logan always ran hot, during the summer it was a curse to sleep in the same bed with him, tucked into his chest, but right now? Yeah, you can forgive him for holding you close when you were sweating in the summer nights.

The two of you were on the couch in the common area, with some of the other kids and adults trying to watch a movie and feel the heat from the small fireplace.

Your arms were wrapped around Logan’s waist under his jacket, and your face was pressed into his side, glasses sitting awkwardly on the bridge of your nose. His body heat was a gift, radiating through the layers of your clothes. You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him.

“You’re like a space heater,” you mumbled, voice muffled against his side.

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, his arm tightening around you. “Guess I’m good for somethin’, huh?”

Across the room, Scott was poking at the fireplace with a long iron rod, trying to coax the flames higher. Jean sat on the arm of the couch, balancing a mug of cocoa, while Bobby was busy freezing the edges of a blanket to stop Rogue from stealing it.

“Hey, Logan,” Bobby called, his breath visible in the cold air. “Why don’t you share some of that heat? You’re hogging it all.”

Logan shot him a glare, the kind that wasn’t entirely serious but still made Bobby hesitate. “Get your own,” he growled. “Ain’t my fault you can’t keep warm.”

“You’re so generous,” you teased, your breath making a small cloud as you spoke.

“Don’t start with me, sweetheart,” Logan muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched. His hand rubbed small circles on your back, an unconscious gesture that made you sink deeper into his side.

Jean’s gaze shifted between the two of you, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. “You two look cozy.”

“Warmer than you,” you shot back without looking at her.

“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed, holding up her mug. “But at least I’ve got this.”

“You could just sit closer to the fire,” Logan suggested, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

Jean raised an eyebrow. “And give up my prime seat for Scott’s endless fire-poking? No, thanks.”

Scott glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head. “It’s called keeping the fire alive, Jean.”

“It’s called annoying everyone within a ten-foot radius,” she countered with a grin.

You snorted softly, adjusting your glasses. The banter between the two of them was as familiar as Logan’s steady heartbeat under your cheek. Moments like this—small, quiet pockets of normalcy—were what you’d come to cherish most.

---

After another day of the cold, you had had enough. If Scott and Hank couldn’t fix their mess, you were going to have to do it yourself. You had layered on five thick layers of clothing, along with your gloves, beanie, and earmuffs. You weren't letting the freezing temperatures keep you from being warm and comfortable any longer.

The hallways in the mansion were unusually silent, and the only sound was the crunch of your boots on the frozen floor as you made your way to the furnace room. You were fully prepared to face this head-on, especially after Scott and Hank’s continued ‘lack of action’ over the last few days. You weren’t sure what the problem was—Hank had said something about a malfunction and Scott was apparently trying to do some sort of "maintenance," but neither of them seemed to be getting anywhere.

It wasn’t the first time you’d had to step in and fix things—especially when it came to Scott. Sure, he had his good qualities, but there were times when he’d just... drag his feet on the simplest things, and you had no patience for it.

As you rounded the corner, there was Scott himself, bundled in a thick parka, kneeling on the ground next to the furnace. You sighed, already knowing exactly what he was going to say.

"Scott," you called, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow, "you still haven't fixed this thing?"

He looked up, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Well, I—"

"You said you were going to fix it yesterday, and the day before that," you interrupted, a little too sharply. "It's been three days! You can't just keep poking at it and hoping it will magically work."

He immediately sat back on his heels, clearly taken aback by the annoyance in your tone. "I was going to get to it," he mumbled, but you could see the guilt on his face.

"Yeah, well, I’m tired of freezing my ass off," you snapped, though there was no real malice behind the words. "You know what? I’ll do it myself."

Before Scott could respond, you got to work. You could tell he wanted to argue, to defend himself, but this wasn’t the first time he’d been in this position. And at this point, it seemed like you were the only one who actually cared enough to do something.

A few minutes into working, you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Logan and Jean standing there, both clearly curious.

"What’s going on?" Logan asked, his eyes narrowing as he saw you kneeling by the furnace with a wrench in hand.

"I’m fixing this," you said simply, still focused on the task at hand.

Jean grinned. "You mean Scott’s not doing it?"

"Looks like it," you said dryly, giving Scott a pointed look. "He’s been staring at it for three days."

Scott shot you a defensive look, but you weren’t having it. "I’ve been trying," he muttered.

"Trying, or pretending?" you retorted, twisting the wrench harder.

Logan stepped closer, his arms crossed over his chest, his usual smirk making an appearance. "You know, sweetheart," he said, glancing at Scott with an amused glint in his eyes. "I think it’s better you’re handling this. At least you won’t take three days to get it done."

You huffed a laugh, then rolled your eyes at Scott’s defeated expression. "You’re lucky I’m even doing this. You know, I was going to let you do it, but it seems like that would take a lot longer than I have patience for."

Scott sighed dramatically. "I was going to fix it!"

"Yeah, in another year or two," you muttered, now tightening the last bolt.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Jean asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by the little scene unfolding.

"Five more minutes," you said, your tone flat as you focused on finishing up.

"Should’ve just let her handle it from the start," Logan teased, looking at Scott. "But hey, now you’ve learned something for next time, right?"

Scott grumbled something under his breath, but said nothing more.

Finally, you stood up, wiping your hands on your thick layers, a small sense of pride swelling inside you. "There. Done. You’re welcome."

Jean raised her cup, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Nice job, Y/N. But did you have to do it like this?"

You shot her a sidelong glance, lifting your eyebrows. "Your husband is an idiot. You should really do something about that."

Scott groaned, rubbing his temples. "I was going to fix it, okay? Just... give me a break."

Logan chuckled, leaning against the wall. "You were going to fix it, huh? For someone who was going to do it, you sure did a good job of standing around."

Scott shot him a glare, but Logan was too busy enjoying the moment to care. "Don’t worry, Scott. Next time, just leave it to Y/N. She gets things done."

Jean rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her voice when she spoke. "You know, I’m pretty sure I told you to fix this a week ago."

"I know, I know," Scott muttered, now looking slightly embarrassed. "I’m not proud of it."

Logan chuckled again, giving you an approving look. "Well, sweetheart, it looks like you've done more in five minutes than Scott did in three days. Nice work."

You shook your head, fighting a smile. "I swear, you’re all so predictable."

Jean raised an eyebrow at Scott. "Guess I know who I’m asking next time."

Scott sighed dramatically again, as if defeated. "Yeah, yeah. You can ask Y/N next time. I get it."

You chuckled, crossing your arms as you turned to head back to the common room. "Glad I could help. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to enjoy the heat I fixed."

Logan followed you with a smirk, hands in his pockets as he watched you walk away, amused by the whole exchange. "You’re somethin’ else, darlin’. You know that?"

You shot him a side-eye, your lips curling into a grin. "Don’t forget it."

The sound of Scott and Jean’s bickering faded behind you as you walked back inside, warmth finally returning to the mansion, and with it, a slight sense of satisfaction that maybe, just maybe, you were the one who kept things running.

---

Your new binder was different than your previous ones. Instead of it being pregnancy related it was completely relationship related.

Nothing was wrong with your marriage, far from it, just sometimes you feel like you… need a little help being affectionate. Logan seems to do it effortlessly and you overthink everything.

Which is why you had spent the last 2 months researching and putting everything into your binder, complete with tabs, highlights, and annotations.

Of course it was just for you. A guide if you will.

The binder sat neatly on your nightstand, innocuous to anyone else who might happen upon it. But to you, it was a treasure trove of ideas, strategies, and research on how to show affection—subtly, purposefully, and in ways that didn’t make you overthink everything. It wasn’t that you had a problem with affection or PDA. No, you didn’t mind being close to Logan or holding his hand when others were around. The problem was initiating it. That little voice in the back of your head would second-guess every move: Does he want this? Am I overstepping? Am I doing this right?

Logan, on the other hand, was a natural. He didn’t hesitate to grab your hand or pull you into his lap during movie nights. He kissed you in front of others without a care, and when he called you those pet names it sounded like it belonged to you and only you. He made it look easy—effortless, even. You wanted to match that, to give back as much as he gave, but your shyness and tendency to overanalyze sometimes got in the way.

Hence, the binder.

It wasn’t just any binder—it was meticulously organized. Each section was labeled with a handwritten tab: "Physical Touch," "Words of Affirmation," "Small Gestures," and even "Spontaneity." You’d spent weeks filling it with ideas, things you’d read, and even notes on what Logan liked. It was your secret weapon, and while you hadn’t exactly put it to the test yet, you felt more prepared.

---

Logan knew about the binder. How could he not? You weren’t completely subtle—leaving tabs open on your laptop, jotting notes in the margins of books he’d catch you reading, or the one time you left the binder wide open on the bed after getting distracted by a shower.

That day, Logan had walked into the room, ready to drop onto the bed after a long training session with the kids, only to stop short at the sight of your meticulously organized binder. Curiosity won out over respect for your privacy as he glanced at the open page.

At first glance, he thought it was one of your usual hyper-organized projects—another guide like the one you’d made for his motorcycle a while back. That one had been impressive, filled with diagrams, troubleshooting steps, and even a list of tools he might need. It had been so thorough it almost made him laugh, but he’d appreciated it. You always had a knack for diving deep into anything you set your mind to, and it showed in the way you approached every problem or idea.

But this binder was different. The tabs caught his attention first: Physical Touch, Words of Affirmation, Small Gestures, and Spontaneity. He frowned slightly, curiosity getting the better of him as his eyes skimmed the open page.

It only took a few seconds for him to realize what it was. A guide. For him. Well, not exactly for him—more like for you. A guide on how to be affectionate.

At first, it made him smirk. The idea of you, you, needing a manual to show affection seemed almost ridiculous. From where he stood, you were already the most thoughtful, caring person he’d ever met. You didn’t need a binder to prove that.

But as he looked closer, the smirk faded. The notes scrawled in the margins, the careful highlights, and the tiny hearts here and there—this wasn’t some casual project. This was you, trying your hardest to give as much as you thought he gave to you. And that hit him right in the chest.

Logan sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the binder still in front of him. He let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

You didn’t need to try so hard. Hell, you didn’t need to try at all.

The truth was, he’d seen you make gestures more meaningful than any grand romantic moment he could think of. The whiskey you gave him for your anniversary, aged for five years because you thought that far ahead. The way you’d ask, shy and hesitant, if you could trim his hair or beard, like it wasn’t the most intimate thing in the world. Or how you’d spend hours in the kitchen, making him dinner or baking something sweet, even though you never made a big deal about it.

You were affectionate. You just didn’t see it.

Logan closed the binder carefully and set it back on the nightstand. He leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind whirring.

Later that evening, when you walked into the room, Logan was sitting in his usual spot on the bed, a book in one hand. He glanced up as you entered, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” you said, giving him a small smile as you slipped off your shoes.

“Hey, darlin’.” He set the book down, watching you move around the room. You seemed oblivious to the fact that he’d seen your binder earlier.

After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Been meanin’ to ask you somethin’.”

You froze slightly, looking at him with wide eyes. “What is it?”

Logan’s grin softened. “That binder you’ve been workin’ on…”

Your face went pale. “What binder?”

“The one with all the tabs and notes,” he said casually, leaning back against the headboard. “The one about… affection.”

You groaned, pressing your hands to your face. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Too late,” he said, chuckling. He reached out, catching one of your wrists and tugging you gently toward him. “Come here.”

Reluctantly, you let him pull you into his lap, your cheeks still burning. “It’s not what you think,” you mumbled.

“Uh-huh,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “You made a damn binder about us, sweetheart. I think I know exactly what it is.”

You squirmed slightly, trying to hide your embarrassment, but he held you steady, his arms wrapping around you. “Listen,” he said, his tone softening. “You don’t need a guide for this stuff.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowed. “I just… I overthink everything. You’re so good at it—being affectionate, I mean. It’s easy for you.”

Logan tilted his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think I don’t overthink things? Darlin’, half the time, I’m just wingin’ it.”

You blinked, surprised. “You are?”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “But you? You do things that blow me away without even tryin’. Like that whiskey you gave me. Or when you ask to trim my beard—do you know how much I look forward to that?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a kiss, his lips lingering against yours for a moment before he pulled back. “You don’t need to try so hard. I already know how much you care.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your heart full and your cheeks warm. “You really mean that?”

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. “I mean it. But if you wanna keep the binder, I won’t stop ya. But maybe you could do some research on… something else.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you looked away, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Logan…”

“Hm?” His fingers lightly drummed against your hip as he leaned back, his gaze fixed on you with an amused glint.

You avoided his eyes, focusing intently on the fabric between your fingers. “I, uh…” you mumbled, barely audible, “had to put it in another binder.”

Logan stilled for a moment before a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Another binder?” His smirk widened, and you could feel it without even looking at him. “Well, now you’ve got me curious, darlin’.”

Before you could stop him, Logan reached over toward your nightstand.

“Logan, wait!” You grabbed his wrist, your voice more desperate than you intended.

His head tilted, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Unless what, sweetheart?”

You sighed, your face burning as you kept your hold on his wrist. “Unless… unless you’d rather not know,” you mumbled.

“Oh, now that’s just cruel,” Logan teased, leaning closer until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His voice dropped lower, gravelly and teasing. “You’ve been hidin’ a second binder from me? I’m startin’ to feel left out.”

“Logan…” You groaned again, burying your face in his chest.

He laughed, wrapping his arms around you as he leaned back against the headboard. “C’mon, Y/N. I ain’t gonna bite. Unless you want me to,” he added with a wink, making you swat at him lightly.

“It’s not—it’s not what you’re thinking,” you said quickly.

“Oh, yeah? Then what is it?”

You hesitated, your face still pressed against him. “Just… research. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Logan drawled, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Research about…?”

You stayed silent, your fingers gripping his shirt tightly.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “Darlin’, you know I’m not lettin’ this go.”

You groaned again, reluctantly pulling back just enough to look up at him. “It’s about… you know what it’s about!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Darlin’, if I knew, I wouldn’t be askin’. Now spit it out before I get the wrong idea.”

“It’s—it’s personal, okay?” You pushed your glasses further up your nose and squirmed slightly in his lap, the mortification nearly unbearable. “It’s just research. For us. About…” You sighed, the words dying in your throat.

Logan’s teasing grin softened as he studied you. “About what?”

He wasn’t letting this go—not because he was trying to embarrass you, but because he wanted to know. Logan didn’t pry unless it mattered. And right now, it mattered to him.

“About… that,” you whispered, motioning vaguely at him with one hand.

Logan tilted his head, the dots connecting in an instant. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That, huh? We’re talkin’ about sex?”

You groaned again, burying your face in his shoulder. “Yes, Logan,” you mumbled against his flannel, “we’re talking about sex.”

His laughter was warm, not mocking, and his hand ran comfortingly up and down your back. “Darlin’, you’ve got a binder… for sex?”

“It’s not like that!” you protested, lifting your head just enough to glare at him. “It’s not just… sex. It’s ideas, okay? And… you know… different kinds of… sex.” Your voice trailed off as if you were praying for the bed to swallow you whole.

Logan’s lips twitched, a smirk fighting to break free. His hand, still resting against your waist, gave a reassuring squeeze. “Different kinds of sex?” he repeated, his tone equal parts curious and teasing.

“Don’t make me explain it,” you mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his lap, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. You pushed them back up, avoiding his eyes.

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and warm in his chest. “Darlin’, you made a whole damn binder about it. Kinda feels like you owe me an explanation now.”

“Logan,” you groaned, pressing a hand against his chest. “It’s not—okay, fine. It’s just… research.” You sighed in defeat, giving in to his unrelenting stare. “While I was working on the first binder—about affection—I came across all these articles. They were talking about keeping relationships… fresh or whatever.”

Logan raised a brow, his smirk widening. “Fresh, huh?”

You huffed, the words spilling out faster now. “It’s not like we need that, obviously! I just thought it was interesting. Like… there’s so much information about the benefits of intimacy and… you know… other stuff.”

Logan stayed quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. Then he reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “So, you went down a rabbit hole and decided to make a sex binder.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to hide your face again, but his grip shifted to gently cradle your jaw.

“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I’m not makin’ fun of you, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

You hesitated, nodding slowly. “I know.”

“I just… I gotta ask.” His tone took on a playful edge again, but his eyes were kind. “Did you highlight stuff?”

You groaned again, louder this time, and Logan’s laughter filled the room. “Stop it!”

“I’m serious!” He was grinning now, his arms pulling you closer. “Did you? Little notes in the margins, maybe a color-coded system?”

You swatted at his chest, but your lips betrayed you with the ghost of a smile. “I’m never letting you see it. Ever.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Logan said, his hands sliding down to your hips. “You’ve got me all curious now.”

“It’s not meant for you,” you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s… it’s just for me.”

Logan leaned back slightly, studying you with a mix of amusement and admiration. “You know, you don’t have to try so hard, right? With anything.”

“I know,” you admitted softly, your gaze dropping to the space between you. “It’s just how I am. I like being prepared.”

Logan’s grin softened, his eyes warm. “You’re already more than enough, Y/N. Binder or no binder.”

A warm flush crept up your neck, and you tried to shrug it off. “Maybe. But it doesn’t hurt to be extra prepared.”

“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Logan said with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But for the record, darlin’, I think we’re doin’ just fine.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you rested your forehead against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He wrapped his arms securely around you, his voice dipping to a near whisper. “But if you wanna share any ideas from that binder, I’m all ears.”

“Logan!” Your laugh was soft but genuine as you swatted him again. He only chuckled, holding you close and dropping a kiss to your hair.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m just teasin’,” he murmured, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Kinda.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, but the smile stayed on your face.

Logan smirked, letting you settle comfortably in his lap. “What can I say? You keep things… fresh.”

---

Logan stood behind you, his strong arms draped loosely around your shoulders as you both hovered near the bathroom counter. The soft hum of the mansion in the distance made the quiet between you even more intimate. You toyed with the pastel swirl of the bath bomb in your hand, letting its light weight roll across your palm as the faint scent of lavender and citrus teased the air.

Logan’s chin rested on top of your head as he glanced at the colorful sphere. “You’re tellin’ me this thing’s supposed to do somethin’ magical in water?”

A smile tugged at your lips, your fingers tightening slightly around the bath bomb as you tried not to laugh at his skepticism. “Not magical, just… fun. Jean gave it to me,” you murmured, tilting your head back to look up at him.

His dark eyes flicked down to meet yours, softened in a way most people never saw. “Well, if Jean says it’s good, I’m not gonna argue. You trust her taste more than I trust it.”

You laughed softly, leaning into his chest. “She said it would be relaxing,” you said. “And, to be honest… I thought you’d enjoy it too.”

One of Logan’s eyebrows quirked. “I enjoy baths, darlin’, but I ain’t ever thought about tossin’ a candy ball into one.”

You nudged him lightly, your shyness waning just a little under the bubble of his warm presence. “It’s not a candy ball! Just… watch.”

With that, you slipped out of his hold briefly to kneel by the edge of the tub. The still, warm water reflected faint ripples across the bathroom walls. You turned the bath bomb over in your hand once, the little ridges of its pastel swirl tickling your palm. Then, with one last glance back at Logan, you dropped it into the water.

The reaction was instantaneous. A quiet fizzing sound bubbled into the air as the ball began to spin, leaving a kaleidoscope trail of purple, pink, and yellow hues in its wake. A soft floral-citrus scent filled the room. You looked up at Logan, whose sharp expression had morphed into one of genuine curiosity.

“Huh,” he muttered, kneeling next to you and dipping a roughened hand into the water. “Didn’t expect all that.”

You grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “See? Magical,” you teased gently.

Logan’s smirk returned, his wet fingers brushing against your wrist. “Well, I’ve had my share of magic over the years, but this is new. You wanna take it together?” His voice held the gruff warmth that never failed to settle your nerves.

You nodded, cheeks warm as you stood. His hands ghosted to your waist to steady you as you slipped off your robe, leaving only your glasses perched delicately on your nose. Logan shed his own clothes quickly, his usual efficiency softened as he reached for you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping into the colorful water before holding out a hand to help you in. “You’ve officially sold me on this… thing.”

Once the water embraced you both, you leaned back against his chest, your shy hesitance melting into the warmth of his touch and the soothing swirl of colors around you. Logan’s arms wrapped protectively around your waist, his hand finding yours underwater and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“This is nice,” he admitted after a long moment, his voice a low rumble near your ear.

You hummed in agreement, adjusting your glasses slightly as they fogged. “Told you,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Logan’s mouth pressed to your temple, lingering there as his thumb traced lazy circles over the back of your hand. “Don’t think I ever needed bath bombs, but if it gets me this? I’ll take all the candy balls you can find.”

You laughed softly, warmth spreading through your chest, not from the bath but from the rare, unguarded tenderness in his words. For a moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself exist in the colorful, fragrant water and the strong, steady hold of the man who always remembered you.

---

It didn’t matter at this moment that you had flour on your apron, possibly on your face, or that this is your 4th attempt at making the choux correctly. You were going to win the baking contest this year.

For 4 years straight you had won the contest, a little competition that the team set up to go along with the student talent show, but the past 4 years you lost.

What made it worse was that you lost to Hank of all people last year.

And though Jean had won the other 3 years, you weren’t going to let that happen again.

Logan leaned against the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed and an amused smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you meticulously pipe custard into cream puffs. The counters were a chaotic mess of flour, powdered sugar, and tools, with a faint scent of caramel lingering in the air. Your glasses slid down the bridge of your nose, but you didn’t stop to adjust them, too focused on perfecting the next puff.

“You know,” Logan drawled, his gravelly voice cutting through the soft hum of the radio, “I’ve seen you in a lot of situations over the years. Didn’t think I’d ever see this side of you.”

You glanced up briefly, brushing a strand of hair away with the back of your hand. “What side is that?” you asked, your tone a mix of distracted and determined.

“The cutthroat competitor,” he replied, pushing off the doorway and stepping closer. “You’re actin’ like you’re tryin’ to win the damn Olympics, not a bake-off.”

You let out a soft laugh, finally pausing to push your glasses up your nose. “It’s not just a bake-off,” you said, your voice tinged with mock offense. “It’s the bake-off. I’ve lost four years in a row, Logan. Four. And Hank beat me last year. Hank!”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “So what’s the plan, darlin’? Intimidate ‘em with your… what is this thing called again?”

“Croquembouche,” you said, your tone proud. “It’s a French dessert. A tower of cream puffs held together with caramel. It’s supposed to look impressive.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning on the counter to peer at your progress. “Impressive, huh? Looks like a lot of work for somethin’ that’s just gonna get eaten.”

You shot him a playful glare. “It’s not just about eating it. It’s about presentation, creativity, skill—”

“And your pride,” Logan interrupted with a teasing smirk.

You sighed, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself. “Fine, maybe a little bit. But it’s more than that. Jean’s won three times, and I love her, but I’m not letting her win again.”

Logan leaned closer, his smirk softening into a fond smile. “Didn’t know you had this much fight in you about somethin’ like this. You’re usually so…” He hesitated, searching for the right word.

“So what?” you prompted, turning to face him fully, your hands resting on your flour-dusted apron.

“Calm. Reserved,” he said with a shrug. “Not the type to get worked up over a contest.”

You tilted your head, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. “Well, maybe it’s because I know I can win this. I just… haven’t yet.”

Logan reached out, brushing a stray bit of flour from your cheek with his thumb. “I like seein’ you like this. Fire in your belly suits you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you quickly turned back to your cream puffs to hide your flustered expression. “If you’re not here to help, you’re just in the way,” you said, trying to sound stern but failing to hide the smile in your voice.

Logan chuckled, moving to stand beside you. “Alright, tell me what to do. But if you make me use one of those fancy piping bags, I’m out.”

You handed him a small saucepan instead. “You can stir the caramel. Just… don’t let it burn.”

He took the pan and nodded, his expression serious. “Got it, boss.”

As the two of you worked side by side, the tension in your shoulders eased, replaced by the familiar comfort of Logan’s presence. He didn’t tease you much after that, instead offering quiet support as you assembled the tower, his large hands steadying the base while you carefully added each cream puff.

When the croquembouche was finally complete, you stepped back to admire your work. The golden caramel glistened under the kitchen lights, holding the delicate tower together with intricate threads.

“Well?” you asked, glancing at Logan. “What do you think?”

He crossed his arms, tilting his head as if appraising a fine piece of art. “Looks like a winner to me, darlin’.”

You smiled, the warmth in his voice melting away any lingering doubt. “Thanks, Logan.”

He reached out, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Don’t need some contest to know you’re the best, but I’ll admit… this thing’s pretty damn impressive.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. “I’m glad you think so. Now, let’s hope the judges agree.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice soft. “They’d better. Otherwise, they’re gonna have to answer to me.”

---

The judges were seated at a long, makeshift panel in the mansion’s common room, where the baking contest had been set up. Charles, as always, presided over the event with an air of calm authority. Beside him, Rogue and Bobby whispered back and forth, clearly enjoying themselves, while Scott sat at the far end, arms crossed but watching intently. A whiteboard behind them displayed the competitors’ names—Jean, Hank, Ororo, and you—with empty spaces awaiting scores.

You stood near your carefully crafted croquembouche, nerves buzzing. The caramel-glazed tower gleamed under the room's lights, every puff perfectly placed. Logan lingered just behind you, arms crossed, his presence grounding despite the mischief in his smirk.

“Alright, who’s up first?” Charles asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as he glanced at the assembled desserts.

“I’ll go,” Jean volunteered, her tone casual but confident. She wheeled forward a stunning cake decorated with delicate sugar flowers. It was classic Jean—graceful and precise.

You exchanged a glance with Logan. “Of course she’d make something perfect,” you murmured, adjusting your glasses nervously.

Logan leaned closer, his voice low. “Perfect’s overrated, darlin’. Ain’t got half the heart yours does.”

You shot him a grateful smile, feeling your cheeks warm. Jean finished her presentation, earning nods of approval from the judges. Then it was Hank’s turn. He unveiled a surprisingly elegant chocolate soufflé, its rich aroma wafting through the room.

“Hank,” you muttered under your breath, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Where was that finesse last year?”

Logan chuckled. “He’s tryin’ to rattle you. Don’t let him.”

Ororo went next, presenting a tray of intricately decorated éclairs that practically sparkled under the lights. By the time it was your turn, your nerves were frayed, but Logan’s hand briefly brushed your back, steadying you.

“You’ve got this,” he murmured.

You stepped forward, your croquembouche balanced on a cake stand. “This is a croquembouche,” you began, clearing your throat. “It’s a traditional French dessert made of cream puffs and caramel. I, uh, thought it’d be... memorable.”

Bobby leaned forward, eyes wide. “Whoa, did you make all those little puffs yourself?”

You nodded, pushing your glasses up your nose. “Every single one.”

Rogue whistled softly. “Looks like a lot of work.”

“It was,” you admitted, glancing at Logan, who gave you an encouraging nod. “But I wanted to challenge myself.”

Charles smiled warmly. “Well, it’s certainly impressive. Let’s see how it tastes.”

You carefully dismantled part of the tower, handing plates of cream puffs to the judges. Logan stood just behind you, his presence steady and reassuring. As the judges sampled your work, you held your breath.

“This is incredible,” Rogue said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of pastry.

Scott, ever the critic, nodded slowly. “The caramel’s a little sticky, but the flavor’s perfect.”

Bobby gave you a thumbs-up. “Best one so far.”

You let out a small sigh of relief, turning to Logan. “Think that’s enough to beat Hank?”

Logan smirked, leaning down to whisper, “Not even a contest, sweetheart.”

When the scores were tallied, your croquembouche stood victorious. The room erupted in applause, and you felt a wave of pride wash over you. Jean clapped you on the shoulder, her smile warm. “Guess I’ll have to step up my game next year.”

Hank grumbled good-naturedly. “I demand a rematch.”

Logan pulled you into a brief hug, his voice low in your ear. “Told you you’d win.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “Thanks for being my sous chef.”

“Anytime, darlin’,” he said, his eyes full of warmth. “But next year, you’re on your own with those candy balls.”

Chapter Text

“Please?” Theresa drawled, her tiny hands clasped together, the mittens looking particularly oversized on her.

“It’s freezing, Tess.” You replied, looking out the window to the snow covered grounds.

“But Scott and Jean are coming outside too!” Theresa added.

Jones nodded, “yeah, and so is Ororo, and Rogue, Bobby, Jub—”

“Summers, huh?” Logan questioned, his arms over his chest. He turned to look at you, “whaddya say sweetheart?”

You crossed your arms, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You only want to do this because Scott is going outside to have a snowball fight with the kids, and you don’t want to look like a wimp.”

Logan scoffed, his mouth pulling into a half-grin. “Sweetheart, I ain’t worried about Summers. Kid’s got an arm like a wet noodle.”

Theresa gasped dramatically, her mittens flying to her face. “Mr. Logan, that’s not nice! Mr. Summers is teaching me how to pitch!”

“Yeah?” Logan raised an eyebrow. “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”

Theresa frowned, scrunching her nose. “I hit Bobby in the face once.”

Jones laughed. “You hit Bobby like, three times.”

“That’s ‘cause Bobby’s head’s too big to miss.” Logan quipped, earning giggles from the kids. He turned back to you, his expression softening. “What do you think? Wanna show these kids how it’s done?”

You sighed, glancing back at the window. Snow swirled outside, the grounds blanketed in white. The wind rattled the glass, making you instinctively pull your cardigan tighter. “It’s freezing out there, Logan. I’m not built for this kind of weather.”

“You sure about that? Thought you were tough,” Logan teased, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “What’s a little snow gonna do to you, darlin’?”

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the familiar rush of playful irritation. “Fine. But if I get frostbite, you’re the one explaining it to Jean.”

Logan grinned, looking far too smug for your liking. “Deal.”

---

Outside, the cold hit immediately. You tugged your scarf up over your nose, trying not to shiver as you followed Logan toward the group of students. Snow crunched underfoot, the air filled with excited chatter as Scott and Jean stood off to the side, orchestrating teams.

“Alright, everyone!” Scott called out, clapping his hands. “We’re splitting into two teams. Jean and I will be captains—”

“Hold up,” Logan interrupted, his voice cutting through the noise. “What about me?”

Scott turned, his expression equal parts surprised and amused. “You? You’re joining?”

Logan shrugged, slipping off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby bench. “Someone’s gotta show these kids how to win.”

Jean rolled her eyes with a good-natured smile. “Logan, this is supposed to be fun, not a war.”

“Fun’s overrated,” Logan replied, cracking his knuckles.

You groaned, adjusting your glasses. “He’s going to take this way too seriously.”

Jean leaned closer to you, her breath visible in the freezing air. “He’s just trying to impress you.”

“By pelting kids with snowballs?”

“Exactly.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s voice boomed again. “Alright, Y/N’s on my team.”

“What?” you sputtered, looking at him incredulously. “I didn’t agree to this!”

“Too late,” Logan said, already rounding up a small group of eager-looking students. “You’re with me, sweetheart.”

Scott smirked, leaning toward Jean. “This should be good.”

---

The game quickly devolved into chaos. Logan, true to form, treated the snowball fight like a military operation. He barked orders to the kids on his team, pointing out strategic positions and even building a makeshift snow fort. You hung back, dodging the occasional snowball and trying not to laugh at how seriously he was taking it.

“Y/N, cover the flank!” Logan shouted, ducking behind a tree as a snowball whizzed past his head.

“You know this isn’t an actual battle, right?” you called back, crouching behind the fort.

“Tell that to Summers!” Logan growled, launching a perfectly aimed snowball that hit Scott square in the chest.

Scott stumbled back, brushing snow off his jacket. “Really, Logan? You’re aiming for me now?”

“Always, bub.”

Jean sighed dramatically. “Men.”

The kids, meanwhile, were having the time of their lives. Theresa and Jones worked together to build an impressive stockpile of snowballs, while Bobby used his powers to create perfectly round projectiles. Rogue ducked and weaved through the chaos, laughing as she nailed Logan in the shoulder with a particularly icy snowball.

“You’re lucky I like you, kid,” Logan muttered, brushing snow off his flannel.

Meanwhile, you stayed hidden behind the fort, because a few years ago when a snowball fight happened, someone—Scott—accidentally hit you in the face. But the worst part wasn’t that, it was the fact that your glasses broke and you couldn’t see for the rest of the day.

You huddled behind the makeshift fort with Jubilee, pulling your scarf tighter as the wind bit at your cheeks. Jubilee rubbed her arms through her thick jacket, shivering beside you. “Why is this my life? I could be inside right now, drinking cocoa.”

You adjusted your glasses, peeking over the snow wall just as a snowball zipped past, missing you by inches. “I’m wondering the same thing. I didn’t sign up for this level of chaos.”

Jubilee groaned dramatically, flopping backward into the snow. “Who even decided this was a good idea? Oh wait, it was Scott. Of course.”

You smirked. “Blame Logan. He turned this into a military operation.”

“Speaking of...” Jubilee pointed to Logan, who was standing a few feet away, rallying your team of students like they were about to storm Normandy. His flannel was dusted with snow, and his eyes were locked on Scott like he was calculating his next move.

“Alright, kids!” Logan barked. “Jones, cover the left. Theresa, keep Bobby busy. Y/N, stop hiding and provide backup.”

You threw up your hands. “I am backup! From back here!”

Logan turned and gave you a look—a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Sweetheart, what happened to teamwork?”

“Teamwork doesn’t involve me losing my glasses again,” you shot back. “I still have PTSD from last time.”

“I told you,” Logan replied, his smirk growing, “I’ll keep your glasses safe. Just stick with me.”

Jubilee snorted. “Oh sure, because he’s never broken anything in his life.”

“Hey,” Logan growled, pointing a finger at Jubilee, “don’t push it, kid.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. Logan’s unwavering confidence in this absurd snowball fight—and in dragging you into it—was annoyingly endearing. Before you could retort, a snowball hit the fort’s edge, sending bits of snow scattering onto your face.

“Y/N!” Theresa called, her red hair peeking over the fort as she ducked another projectile. “Bobby just took Rogue out! We have the advantage!”

You sighed, pushing yourself to your feet. “Alright, fine. But if anyone breaks my glasses, there’s going to be trouble.”

Logan’s grin widened as he lobbed another snowball, hitting Scott in the shoulder. “There’s my girl. Come on, darlin’, time to show Summers how it’s done.”

You stepped around the fort cautiously, scooping up some snow and packing it into a firm ball. Jubilee muttered behind you, “This is going to end in tears.”

“Probably mine,” you replied dryly.

Across the snowy battlefield, Scott and Jean were crouched behind a smaller fort. Scott’s tactical stance and determined expression were straight out of a playbook, while Jean looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“Jean, cover me!” Scott shouted, throwing a snowball that missed Logan by several feet.

Jean shook her head, smiling. “Cover you from what? You’re not even aiming.”

“Hey!” Scott protested. “I hit Logan earlier!”

“Barely,” Logan said, his tone smug. “Summers, you couldn’t hit me if you were standing two feet away.”

Scott scowled. “Alright, that’s it—”

Before he could finish, you lobbed a snowball that smacked him square in the chest. The kids on your team erupted into cheers. Scott looked down at the snowy mark on his jacket, then up at you with mock betrayal.

“What—Y/N?” he called, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Scott,” you replied, biting back a grin. “Logan made me do it.”

Logan barked a laugh, tossing an arm around your shoulder briefly before returning to the battle. “She’s finally coming around to the winning side.”

Jean leaned out from her fort, her eyes sparkling with humor. “Don’t encourage him, Y/N.”

Logan called back, “Too late! She’s all mine now.”

You rolled your eyes but felt a warmth spreading through you despite the cold. For all his bravado and bluster, there was something undeniably comforting about Logan’s presence, even in the midst of a ridiculous snowball war.

“Don’t get cocky,” you muttered, brushing snow off your sleeves.

“I’m not cocky,” Logan said, throwing another perfectly aimed snowball that hit Scott in the arm. “I’m just good.”

Jubilee groaned loudly from behind you. “Can we end this already? My fingers are icicles!”

“Not until Summers surrenders!” Logan declared, ducking another snowball and tossing one back with perfect precision.

Jean laughed, raising her hands. “Okay, truce! Before someone loses a limb or, worse, their dignity.”

Scott lowered his arm reluctantly. “Fine. Truce.”

Logan smirked, straightening up and brushing snow off his hands. “Guess we know who the real champ is.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Scott muttered.

As the snowball fight dissolved, you found yourself walking back toward the mansion with Logan at your side. He glanced down at you, his expression softer now. “Not bad out there, darlin’. You might just be my secret weapon.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “Next time, I’m staying inside.”

“Sure you are,” Logan replied, his grin warm. “You can’t resist me.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, nudging him lightly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice low and amused. “But you love me anyway.”

---

You hummed along to the catchy pop tune playing softly on the kitchen radio as you stirred the stir-fry. The savory aroma of chicken, steak, and colorful veggies filled the air, the sizzling sound adding a cozy rhythm to your evening.

Footsteps approached, deliberate and heavy, and a moment later, Logan appeared beside you. He held out a glass of red wine with a casual smirk, keeping the other for himself. “Figured you could use this.”

“Thanks,” you said, pausing long enough to take it from him. You raised an eyebrow as Logan leaned slightly over your shoulder, inspecting the pan. His face was far too serious for something as mundane as dinner.

“Yes,” you deadpanned, taking a sip of the wine, “I added steak. Just for you.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Smart choice, sweetheart. Can’t go wrong with steak.”

You rolled your eyes and returned your focus to the pan, the warmth from the stove a welcome contrast to the winter air outside. As you adjusted the heat, Logan stepped closer, his hands resting lightly on your hips. His chest was warm against your back, and the soft pressure of his touch made you pause.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, your voice colored with amusement.

Logan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist and started to sway, his movements slow and unhurried. You blinked, trying to stifle a laugh. “Seriously?”

“You were hummin’, so I thought I’d join in,” he said, his deep voice low near your ear.

“I was humming to a pop song, not a ballad,” you replied, though you couldn’t quite bring yourself to pull away. His embrace was too warm, too grounding.

Logan tugged you gently, nudging you away from the stove. “C’mere.”

“Logan, the food—”

“It’ll be fine. Just a minute.”

The look in his eyes left little room for argument, so you allowed him to guide you a few steps away. The music from the radio filled the quiet as Logan pulled you close. His movements were uncharacteristically tender, his calloused hands resting lightly on your lower back as he led you in what could only loosely be described as a slow dance.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You know this is a pop song, right? This doesn’t really... fit.”

“I don’t care.” Logan’s lips twitched into a faint grin, but his eyes softened. “Music’s just noise. It’s the person you’re dancin’ with that matters.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, though you hid your face by tucking your head against his shoulder. His flannel smelled faintly of pine and something uniquely him, grounding you in a way few things could. The two of you swayed in place, ignoring the incongruous beat of the music and the simmering stir-fry just a few feet away.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you murmured, “You’re in a rare mood.”

“Yeah, maybe I am,” Logan said, his tone softer than usual. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “’S nice, just... bein’ here with you.”

You didn’t respond right away, letting his words settle in your chest. For all of Logan’s gruffness and his habit of turning everything into a challenge, these rare, quiet moments reminded you of how fiercely he loved. How fiercely he loved you.

Nice didn’t seem like the right word for it. It was everything.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you teased, your voice quieter now.

Logan chuckled, his breath warm against your temple. “Nah. I’m lucky you love me.”

The crackling sound of the stir-fry snapped you back to reality, and you gave him a gentle nudge. “Okay, dinner’s about to burn. Let me go.”

Logan tightened his arms briefly, a teasing glint in his eye. “One more second.”

“Logan.”

With an exaggerated sigh, he loosened his hold, letting you step back toward the stove. You stirred the pan quickly, relieved that nothing had scorched. Logan leaned against the counter, watching you with a lazy grin, his wineglass dangling from his fingers.

“You’re impossible,” you said, glancing over at him.

“Yeah,” Logan agreed easily. “But you love me anyway.”

You shot him a look but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. In the background, the radio shifted to another upbeat track, the music filling the small kitchen like a promise of more moments like this. Moments where time felt like it belonged solely to the two of you.

---

Sleeping in was rare, even on the weekends. But today, as the noon sun poured through the curtains, bathing the room in soft light, you both indulged in the rare luxury. The warmth of Logan’s body beside you and the quiet of the mansion made the bed feel like the only place that mattered.

You stretched lazily, your hand brushing Logan’s chest as he gave a low, contented grunt. “Finally awake?” he murmured, his voice rough from sleep.

“Mm, not yet,” you replied, burying your face against his shoulder. His scent—pine, leather, and something faintly metallic—wrapped around you, grounding you in the moment.

Logan chuckled softly, his hand slipping to the small of your back. “Y’know, most people are already up by now.”

“Most people don’t get woken up at 5 a.m. by the sound of kids trying to build a trampoline out of their powers,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt.

He smirked. “Fair enough.”

The room stayed quiet for a while, the two of you enjoying the stillness. Logan’s hand moved in slow circles along your back, a soothing motion that almost lulled you back to sleep.

“You’re a lot clingier today,” you teased, looking up at him.

“Guess I am,” Logan said with a shrug, his expression unreadable. “Don’t hear you complainin’, though.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. “No. I’m not.”

A sharp knock at the door made you groan, breaking the moment. “It’s Jean!” came the muffled voice from the other side. “You two need to get to the common room right now.”

Logan frowned. “What’s the rush?”

“Just hurry! You’re going to want to see this,” Jean called back before her footsteps faded down the hall.

You sighed, reluctantly pushing yourself up. “Guess our lazy morning is over.”

“Always somethin’,” Logan muttered, rubbing a hand over his face before climbing out of bed.

You slid out as well, slipping on your glasses and grabbing your robe from the chair. Logan was already pulling on his flannel shirt and jeans, moving with his usual efficiency. Within minutes, the two of you were heading down the hall toward the common room.

The mansion was unusually quiet for midday, the muffled sound of a news broadcast growing louder as you approached the common room.

When you walked in, the screen immediately caught your attention. Footage of New York City filled the TV, with buildings crumbling and smoke rising into the sky. The words “Breaking News: Alien Invasion in Manhattan” scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

"What the hell?" Logan muttered, crossing his arms as he stared at the footage.

Jean turned to you both, her expression grim. "It started an hour ago. There’s some kind of portal above the city. They’re calling it an alien invasion."

Your heart sank as you watched the chaos unfold on the screen. Cars were overturned, people running for their lives as enormous, alien-looking creatures wreaked havoc.

The kids spoke quietly amongst themselves.

“Who’s that guy with the hammer?” Peter asked.

Jubilee leaned in, “I saw a Reddit thread sayin’ he was an alien.”

Logan let out a groan, rubbing a hand down his face as he stared at the chaotic footage on the television. "Now there are damn aliens? What’s next, giant lizards takin’ over the city?"

"Don’t jinx it," Jean muttered, arms crossed as she stood beside the couch, her gaze glued to the screen. "This is already bad enough."

Scott stood nearby, frowning deeply. "They’ve got a lot of tech. Look at the size of that portal. That’s not something we can just ignore."

"We’re not getting involved, Scott," Jean cut in sharply. Her tone was firm but calm, the way it always was when she knew she needed to be the voice of reason. "This isn’t our fight. We don’t even know what we’d be walking into."

"She’s right," Logan added, his voice gruff. He leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed. "Let the army or whoever deal with it. We’ve got enough on our plate without runnin’ into some other mess."

Bobby raised an eyebrow as he watched the screen. "That guy in the suit... isn’t that Tony Stark? The billionaire who’s always in the news?"

"Yeah," Peter said, squinting. "And isn’t that Captain America? Wait, I thought he was dead—or, like, frozen or something?"

"You mean that propaganda poster boy?" Logan’s voice had an edge, but there was something unspoken beneath it. His eyes lingered on the screen, his jaw tightening as the camera panned to a blond man throwing a shield with almost impossible precision.

Jean glanced over at Logan, her brow furrowed. "You know him?"

Logan gave a noncommittal shrug, his expression carefully neutral. "We fought together a long time ago. Doesn’t matter now."

You shifted your weight beside him, catching the way his knuckles whitened against his biceps. Gently, you placed a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

He looked down at you, his expression softening in that way only you seemed to bring out. "I’m fine. Just didn’t expect to see his face today, is all."

Scott cleared his throat, his arms crossed. "We still need to figure out what our stance is on this. If those things—whatever they are—start spreading beyond Manhattan, we’ll have to act."

Jean shook her head. "For now, we wait. The situation’s still unfolding, and we don’t even know what’s going on up there. Jumping in blind could make things worse."

Logan smirked faintly. "For once, I agree with Red."

Jean rolled her eyes at the nickname but didn’t argue.

The footage shifted to show the so called ‘alien’—a large man with a hammer, lightning crackling around him as he brought it down on a group of the alien creatures. Peter practically jumped up from his seat. "Okay, who is that guy? Thor? Like, the Norse god?"

Jubilee leaned forward, a grin spreading across her face. "Maybe he is! Did you see the lightning? That’s insane."

"Focus, guys," you said gently, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Their excitement was contagious, even if the situation was grim.

Logan’s hand found its way to your back, a subtle, grounding gesture. "Kids can get excited all they want, but we’re stayin’ out of it," he said firmly. "End of story."

Jean nodded in agreement. "Logan’s right. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."

The room quieted, the group’s attention returning to the screen. Despite the chaos unfolding in New York, the decision had been made—for now, the X-Men would stand back. It wasn’t their fight, not yet. But the tension lingered, unspoken questions hanging in the air.

You leaned into Logan’s side, your hand brushing his as you watched the screen. His thumb grazed the back of your hand, a small gesture of reassurance. Whatever was happening out there, at least for now, you were together—and for Logan, that was enough.

---

The new book you got had you in a hold. You and Jean were reading the same book, which was a rarity since you both had different tastes. But Gone Girl was intriguing and had a way of pulling you in.

And since it was a Saturday, it was the perfect day to relax and read… and possibly finish the book in one day.

You sat down at the island as Logan made breakfast for the two of you. He placed your cup of tea in front of you, the steam curling upward like a warm invitation. “It’s hot. Don’t burn yourself,” he warned with a pointed look, then turned back to the stove where a skillet sizzled with eggs and bacon.

“Thanks,” you murmured distractedly, already nose-deep in the novel you’d cracked open just moments before. You adjusted your glasses, the light from the nearby window perfectly illuminating the pages.

Logan glanced over his shoulder as he flipped the bacon, catching sight of you. “That book got somethin’ I don’t? You didn’t even notice me makin’ you tea, sweetheart.”

“Hmm?” you mumbled, vaguely aware he was talking but too caught up in the tangled mess of secrets the characters in Gone Girl were unraveling.

Logan huffed softly, half amused and half annoyed. “Never thought I’d lose to a damn book,” he muttered under his breath. His tone was light, but he watched you carefully as he slid the food onto plates.

“Eggs okay? Or do ya want somethin’ fancier, like toast?” He set your plate in front of you.

“Mmhmm,” you replied absently, still buried in the text.

Logan’s brows shot up. He leaned forward slightly, his hands braced on the counter as he smirked. “Right. Guess ‘mmhmm’ means ‘chef’s choice,’ huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you said without looking up.

Logan straightened with an exaggerated sigh and dug into his own breakfast, watching as you ate your eggs without once lifting your eyes from the book. He shook his head, almost impressed by how oblivious you were to his efforts.

---

By mid-afternoon, Logan’s patience was wearing thin. After breakfast, you’d curled up on the couch, the book balanced on your knees as you fell even deeper into its story. He’d tried everything—talking about the updates he was making to his motorcycle, asking you random questions, even joking about how the least you could do was come hold a wrench for him. Your responses were minimal at best, a distracted hum or soft “uh-huh” here and there.

Logan stood in the doorway of the living room now, hands on his hips. “So, is this what it feels like?”

“Hm?” you replied without looking up.

“When I’m tuned out ‘cause you’re ramblin’ about Schrödinger’s whatever or that theory… the one with all the dimensions.”

“String theory,” you corrected automatically, flipping a page.

He snorted. “Yeah, that one. Pretty much what I sound like when you’re talkin’, huh?”

“Mm,” you replied, not even registering the teasing lilt in his tone.

Logan turned and trudged into the hallway, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable. Even Scott’d get more of a reaction.”

As if on cue, Scott appeared at the other end of the hall, looking just as annoyed as Logan felt. “You too?” he asked.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

Scott gestured vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “Jean. She’s been stuck in that book all day. I asked her about a briefing—nothing. Asked if she’d seen Rogue—‘hmm.’ She’s completely tuned me out.”

Logan barked a laugh. “Let me guess. Gone Girl?”

Scott stared at him for a beat. “Yeah.”

Logan shook his head knowingly. “Figures. Guess that makes me one of the gone guys.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Glad someone’s having fun.”

---

Evening rolled around, and you were finally nearing the end of the book. The story’s climax was in sight, and you barely noticed the room dimming with the setting sun. You were perched on the bed now, your back propped up against a mountain of pillows.

Logan stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching you. He had to admit, it was kind of cute how engrossed you were. But after being ignored all day? Cute wasn’t enough to save you.

With a smirk tugging at his lips, Logan walked over, reached out, and plucked the book straight out of your hands.

“Hey!” you yelped, sitting up and reaching for it. “What are you doing?!”

He stepped back, holding the book up over his head. “You were ignorin’ me,” he said simply.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” you argued, scooting to the edge of the bed as if you could reach it.

“Yeah, you were,” Logan replied, his tone teasing. “All damn day, sweetheart. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Your eyes narrowed as you pushed your glasses higher on your nose. “Logan, give it back.”

“Not until you gimme a kiss,” he countered with a grin.

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, holding the book out of your reach. “One kiss, and you get your book back.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” His smirk widened.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “This is ridiculous.”

“Then I guess you don’t need the book back.” Logan made a show of flipping through the pages as if he was about to start reading it himself.

“Alright, alright!” You got up on your knees, leaning toward him. “But just one.”

Logan lowered the book slightly, clearly pleased with himself. “One’s all I need, darlin’.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned forward, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips. Logan’s grin widened against your mouth, and before you could pull away, his hand came up to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss just enough to make you forget your irritation.

When he finally let you go, his eyes were full of mischief. “There. Was that so hard?”

You snatched the book from his hand, your cheeks warm. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Logan agreed with a smirk. “But you love me anyway.”

---

After an exhausting day of classes and too much loud chattering from the students, all you wanted was to curl up next to Logan and watch whatever would make him happy. Even if it was one of those old westerns again.

You got to the bedroom and dropped your satchel onto the floor. Logan was already in the room, his hair partly wet from his shower and a towel over his bare shoulder.

“Rough day?” He asked.

“Would’ve been easier if I didn’t wear these shoes,” you grumbled.

Logan sighed and kneeled down in front of you, holding one leg with one hand and easily slipping off your heel before doing the same with the other. His rough hands brushed lightly against your ankle, sending a small shiver up your spine.

"You’re gonna end up with blisters wearin’ shoes like that all day," he muttered, glancing up at you with a mix of annoyance and concern.

“I didn’t think I was gonna be on my feet that much. I had to teach Scott’s class because he was busy doing something with the Professor.”

Logan ran a hand through his damp hair, tossing the towel onto a nearby chair. “Scott owes you big for takin’ his class,” he muttered, his gaze softening as he kneeled and pressed his thumb gently along the curve of your arch.

You sighed, melting a bit under his careful touch. “I didn’t mind. It just wasn’t exactly in my plans today.”

“Bet he didn’t even tell ya why, did he?” Logan asked, his lips curving into a knowing smirk.

You shook your head, leaning back slightly as he switched to your other foot. “Nope. Just said he and the Professor were busy. Typical Scott.”

“Figures,” Logan muttered, standing up and reaching for his beater. He slipped it on, the fabric clinging to him in a way that always distracted you for a moment longer than it should have. “How’s that feel now?”

“Better,” you admitted with a small smile. “Thanks.”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Least I can do.”

You were about to flop onto the bed to finally relax, maybe even convince Logan to watch something other than The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, when a sharp knock sounded at the door. Before either of you could respond, Jean’s voice came through.

“Logan? Y/N? Charles needs us in the briefing room. Now.”

Logan groaned, his head falling back. “Of course. Can’t get a damn minute of peace around here.”

You pushed yourself off the bed, but the moment your bare feet hit the floor, a sharp sting shot up your heels. You winced, grabbing onto the edge of the bed for balance.

Logan noticed immediately. “What’d I just say about those shoes, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone part exasperation, part concern. Without waiting for a response, he stepped closer, his hands already reaching for you.

“I can walk,” you protested as he scooped you up effortlessly, arms cradling you against his chest. “And what if we get there and I need shoes?” you added, trying to inject some logic into the situation.

Logan huffed a laugh, glancing down at you as he carried you toward the door. “Guess you’ll just have to sit pretty and let me handle it.”

Jean was waiting in the hallway, a knowing smirk on her face as she saw Logan carrying you. “You’re really leaning into the knight-in-shining-armor thing, huh?”

“Don’t start, Jeannie,” Logan shot back, his tone light but his grip on you firm.

Ororo and Hank joined the group as you made your way down the hall, both raising eyebrows at the sight of Logan carrying you.

“Rough day, Y/N?” Ororo teased gently.

“You could say that,” you replied with a sheepish smile.

When you finally reached the briefing room, Logan set you down gently in a chair, crouching briefly to make sure you were comfortable. His large hand lingered on your knee as if to reassure himself you were okay.

You barely noticed because the moment your gaze lifted, your breath caught. Standing near Charles and Scott was a group of people you immediately recognized from news reports and scientific journals. One in particular had your jaw dropping.

“It’s Bruce Banner,” you whispered, eyes wide as you leaned closer to Logan. “Logan. That’s Bruce Banner.”

Logan glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “The science guy?”

“Yes, the science guy,” you whispered back, trying not to stare too obviously. “This is incredible.”

Logan’s lips twitched, but his response was cut off by Charles clearing his throat. “Thank you all for coming. As you may have noticed, we have some new faces here today.”

Scott, standing rigid at Charles’s side, didn’t look thrilled, but his posture screamed professionalism. Beside him, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Thor, and Steve Rogers stood with varying degrees of curiosity and skepticism.

But it was Steve who caught your attention next. His gaze swept the room until it landed on Logan—and then, surprisingly, on you. His expression flickered, something like recognition flashing across his face before it was gone. You frowned, unsure of what you’d just seen, but the moment passed as Charles continued.

“Allow me to introduce the Avengers.”

You reached for Logan’s hand under the table, your thumb gently tracing patterns over his knuckles and palm. His hand tightened slightly around yours, a subtle reassurance as you sat in the presence of these strangers.

“The Avengers? Whatta stupid name,” Logan muttered, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You shot him a look, lips twitching despite yourself. “Logan.”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just sayin’.”

Charles continued speaking, his calm, authoritative voice attempting to bridge the gap between the X-Men and their unexpected visitors. “Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D. reached out to us following the incident in New York City. He felt it prudent that we meet, given the shared nature of our goals.”

Scott, standing near the Professor, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. His arms were crossed tightly, and his jaw was set in a way that screamed I don’t trust this.

Thor, meanwhile, was visibly intrigued, his gaze sweeping across the room with curiosity. “So these are the famed X-Men,” he remarked, his deep voice filling the space. “It is a pleasure to meet warriors of such renown.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened, and you glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at Thor; his eyes were locked on Steve Rogers, who was staring back at him with a mix of recognition and surprise.

“Logan,” Steve said, stepping forward slightly. His voice was steady, but there was a faint undercurrent of disbelief. “It’s been… a long time.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “It has.”

The tension was thick, but you couldn’t help noticing the flicker of something else in Steve’s face—something that shifted when his gaze slid to you. His expression softened, and for the briefest moment, he looked like he was about to say something. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual calm demeanor.

Tony Stark, leaning casually against the wall, jumped in. “Wait, wait. You’re telling me you two go way back to World War II? How old are you people?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Older than you, bub. That’s all you need to know.”

Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. “Noted.”

Jean, seated beside you, leaned in closer. “You okay?” she whispered, sensing the tension in the room.

You nodded, though your mind was racing. You weren’t entirely sure what was happening between Logan and Steve, but it wasn’t just the history between them that had you unsettled.

Charles, ever the mediator, broke through the undercurrent of tension. “I believe it would be beneficial for all of us to share information and find common ground. We face threats that may one day require collaboration.”

“Agreed,” Natasha said, her voice calm but firm. “If we’re going to work together, we need to understand each other’s capabilities.”

Logan scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Capabilities, huh? You wanna see what we can do?”

“Logan,” you murmured again, placing a hand on his arm. He glanced at you, the edges of his frustration softening slightly.

Bruce, who had been quiet until now, cleared his throat. “I think what Natasha means is that if we’re going to trust each other, we need transparency. We’re not here to fight anyone.”

“Yet,” Logan muttered under his breath.

You sighed, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “Honey.”

Thor chuckled, clearly amused by the dynamic between you and Logan. “Your companion has spirit,” he said, addressing Logan directly.

“She’s got more than spirit,” Logan replied, his tone softer now as he glanced at you.

The meeting continued, with Charles and Nick Fury leading the discussion while the rest of you listened. You couldn’t shake the feeling that Steve’s gaze kept drifting toward you, but you didn’t dare look back.

When the meeting finally adjourned, the room began to clear. Steve lingered, his eyes finding Logan once again.

“Logan,” he said quietly, his tone deliberate.

“Cap.” Logan’s response was curt, but his grip on your hand tightened.

Steve hesitated, his gaze flickering to you. “It’s… good to see you again.”

You blinked, startled. “Me?”

Logan’s jaw clenched, and he stood abruptly, pulling you gently to your feet. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

You barely had time to process what had just happened as Logan led you out of the room, his pace brisk, your feet slightly stinging. It wasn’t until you were back in the privacy of your shared room that you managed to catch your breath.

“Logan, what was that about?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing you need to worry about, darlin’.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Logan—”

“Not now,” he said, his tone soft but firm. He pulled you into his arms, his grip almost possessive. “I just… needed to get you outta there.”

You rested your head against his chest, your mind still spinning. You knew that whatever it was, Logan didn’t want to talk about it, but there were too many questions now rattling inside your head.

“What did he mean again?” You said, your voice muffled against his chest, “do you think he meant… one of my past lives?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. His arms around you were solid, grounding, but his grip tightened just enough for you to notice. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly. “Could be. Could just be Cap bein’ Cap. He’s always got that boy scout thing goin’ on.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, your brow furrowed. “Logan, don’t brush this off. He looked like he knew me. Not just ‘oh, you remind me of someone’—he knew me.”

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he stared down at you. “I told you about 1943,” he said after a moment. “You were a nurse. I met you right before I shipped out for Operation Husky. We didn’t get much time together—just a week—but maybe he remembers you from back then. I don’t know how else he’d know you.”

You bit your lip, trying to piece it together. “He said ‘it’s good to see you again.’ Not ‘it’s good to meet you’ or even ‘you look familiar.’ That’s… specific, Logan.”

“I know,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just—I don’t like it. Him lookin’ at you like that. Like he’s got some kind of claim or somethin’.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Logan, are you jealous?”

His lips twitched in what might’ve been a smirk if he weren’t so serious. “No,” he said, but his tone betrayed him. “I just don’t trust him. Or any of ‘em, really.”

You sighed, resting your hands on his chest. “You know, you can admit it’s weird without growling at everyone in the room.”

“I wasn’t growling.”

“Logan.”

“…Fine. Maybe I was growling a little.” He finally cracked a small grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Look, darlin’, I don’t have all the answers. But I know this—whatever Cap thinks he knows about you, he doesn’t know you like I do.”

Your heart softened at that, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I know.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I told you everything I remember about the other lives. There ain’t much left to figure out, but… if Cap knows somethin’ we don’t, we’ll get to the bottom of it. Together.”

You nodded against his chest, but the unease lingering in your stomach didn’t go away. “Okay.”

For now, you let the subject drop, content to stay wrapped in Logan’s arms. But you couldn’t help wondering—what exactly did Steve Rogers know about you? And why did it feel like the past was about to catch up to you in a way you weren’t prepared for?

---

The next day you walked into your lab, ready to decompress a little even if it meant doing some complex calculus. You opened the doors to your lab and saw Scott and Hank leading Tony and Bruce Banner around your lab.

Bruce Banner—scientific icon, world-renowned mind.

You hesitated, gripping the strap of your bag tighter, already feeling your cheeks flush. Anxiety stirred low in your chest, as though stepping closer would somehow make you too exposed, too scrutinized by these larger-than-life personalities.

Scott noticed you first, turning toward the door. “Y/N,” he said, his voice even but softer than usual. He must’ve picked up on your hesitation because his gaze softened just slightly.

Hank glanced over as well, waving you forward like this was no big deal. “Good timing,” he said warmly. “Come meet our guests.”

Oh, no. No, no, no.

You swallowed hard and stepped forward, managing to avoid tripping over your feet—a miracle, really. Tony had already launched into a monologue about something, but as the new arrival caught his attention, his eyes landed on you.

“Well, what do we have here?” Tony said, cocking an eyebrow. “Another genius in the house? Don’t tell me Stark Industries has competition hiding out in a mansion.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words tangled up and didn’t come.

Scott, likely sensing the rise of your internal panic, stepped closer, standing at your side. His hand brushed your shoulder, solid and reassuring, before it returned to his crossed-arm stance. “This is Dr. Y/N,” Scott said, his tone brisk but protective in that understated way of his. “She’s part of the team and handles all our physics work. You’ll want her opinion on anything advanced.”

You winced a little, feeling like Scott had just put a spotlight on you. “I, uh… Hi,” you managed, adjusting your glasses as you glanced at Bruce, trying not to think too much about how much smarter than you he probably was. “It’s nice to meet you.”

To your surprise, Bruce smiled—not in that awkward, condescending way you sometimes got, but a genuine, warm smile. “Nice to meet you, too, Doctor,” he said, his tone polite. “Hank mentioned your work. I’d love to see what you’re working on sometime.”

Your cheeks flamed. “Oh—um—yeah, sure. I mean, it’s not that interesting. Just… you know… physics.”

Tony snorted. “Oh, ‘just physics,’ she says. Humble, too. Let me guess: some casual light reading on quantum dynamics?”

You felt rooted to the spot, unsure of how to respond. Hank cleared his throat, stepping in smoothly. “Actually,” he said with an amused tone, “Y/N specializes in quantum field theory, but she’s been working on some breakthroughs in spatial-temporal fluctuations.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Spatial-temporal fluctuations? No kidding.”

Bruce adjusted his glasses. “That’s fascinating. I was actually reading a paper recently on the potential overlaps of that field with time-reversal symmetry.”

You blinked, your mind simultaneously thrilled and spinning. “That’s—well, that’s exactly what I’m looking into,” you said quickly before you could lose your nerve. “Though it’s still in early stages. Nothing like what you’ve done.”

Bruce tilted his head, interest flickering in his eyes. “Don’t sell yourself short. Maybe we can exchange notes later?”

“Oh,” you said, startled. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Tony gave a dramatic sigh, clapping his hands together. “Brilliant minds, bonding over impossible science. Warms my heart.” He glanced around the lab. “So, Specks, you’re not gonna, you know, shoot lasers outta your eyes, right? Or turn into… that.” Tony lazily gestured at Hank. “No offense.”

Hank let out a sigh, “none taken.”

You froze, unsure how to respond. The sudden shift in attention felt like a spotlight bearing down on you, and your cheeks warmed. Before you could stammer out an answer, Hank stepped in, his tone calm but firm.

“Y/N’s abilities are unique,” Hank said, resting a steady hand on your shoulder. It was a quiet gesture, but it helped ground you. “She can manipulate time. It’s not something she uses lightly.”

Bruce Banner tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Time manipulation?” he asked, his voice gentle, more intrigued than intrusive. “That’s… incredible. I can only imagine the complexities.”

You adjusted your glasses, your hand fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “It’s, um… not as impressive as it sounds,” you said quietly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “It’s not like I can just—just rewind things or stop time completely. It’s more… nuanced. And honestly, I try not to use it if I don’t have to.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Not as impressive as it sounds? Manipulating time doesn’t exactly scream ‘humdrum.’ What, are you worried about messing up the space-time continuum or something?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your feet. “Something like that.”

Scott, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, stepped closer, his stance subtly protective. “Y/N’s powers are powerful, but she’s not reckless with them. It’s not exactly dinner table conversation.”

Bruce nodded in understanding. “I can appreciate that,” he said, his voice kind. “With abilities like that, caution is probably the smartest approach.”

Tony, however, wasn’t quite ready to drop it. “Still, that’s gotta be a lot of pressure,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Knowing you’ve got all this power but not wanting to use it. I mean, if I could bend time, you’d better believe I’d—”

“That’s enough, Stark,” Scott cut in, his tone sharp enough to silence Tony. He shot you a quick glance, his expression softening. “You don’t have to explain anything you don’t want to.”

You offered Scott a small, grateful smile, but the unease lingering in your chest didn’t fully dissipate. Bruce, perhaps sensing your discomfort, shifted the focus of the conversation.

“Regardless,” Bruce said, his tone thoughtful, “it sounds like you have a deep understanding of your abilities. And paired with your work in physics… well, it’s clear you’re contributing something remarkable here.”

You felt your shoulders relax just a little at his words. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice still shy but sincere.

Tony clapped his hands together, clearly ready to move on. “Alright, enough about bending the fabric of reality. Let’s get back to the fun stuff—labs, gadgets, all that good stuff. Specks, you’re the quantum genius here. What’s the coolest thing you’ve built?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, um… I don’t really build things. I mostly focus on theoretical models and equations.”

Tony feigned a look of disappointment. “No gadgets? No flashy inventions? What do you even do in here?”

Hank cleared his throat, fixing Tony with a look. “Y/N’s work is critical. Without her models, most of what we develop wouldn’t be possible. She’s the foundation.”

Bruce nodded in agreement. “Theory drives application,” he said. “And if you’re working on spatial-temporal fluctuations, you’re tackling some of the most challenging questions in physics. That’s impressive, no matter how you slice it.”

You bit your lip, feeling a small swell of pride despite your lingering nervousness. “Thanks,” you said quietly, your gaze flickering between Bruce and Hank.

Scott, always attuned to your emotions, gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doing great,” he said under his breath, his voice so low only you could hear.

You shot him a grateful look, the tension in your chest easing just a little. As the conversation shifted back to lab equipment and theoretical possibilities, you let yourself take a small step back, content to observe for now.

---

You looked in the cupboard for your mug only to find nothing. You had even checked the dishwasher and sink, and it wasn’t in any of those spots.

Jean walked into the kitchen with a dramatic sigh, “I’m pretty sure that… guy—who I still can’t believe is actually Thor—crushed my thermos.”

You closed the cupboard door, “I think one of ‘em took my mug.”

The two of you heard footsteps outside the kitchen, watching Clint and Natasha walking with Ororo down the hall. Clint had your mug.

“Why are they still here?” You grumbled.

Jean let out a chuckle, “now your startin’ to sound like Logan.”

You scoffed lightly, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the counter. “I’m not that grumpy. Yet.”

Jean grinned and opened the fridge, pulling out a bottle of orange juice. “Give it time. You keep hanging out with him, and you’ll start growling at people too.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, adjusting your glasses. “Yeah, well, if Clint doesn’t give me back my mug, I might start sooner than expected.”

Jean poured herself a glass of juice, shaking her head in amusement. “You and that mug.”

“It’s my favorite mug!” you argued, throwing your hands up. “It’s the perfect size, the handle doesn’t get too hot, and it has the constellations on it. I’ve had it for years.”

“And now it’s Clint’s favorite mug,” Jean teased, sipping her juice.

Before you could retort, Logan walked into the kitchen. His boots thudded against the floor, and he gave a short nod to you and Jean. “Mornin’.”

Jean raised her glass in greeting, but you turned to Logan, still fuming. “Clint took my mug.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the doorway. “Want me to get it back?”

Jean snorted, clearly entertained. “What are you gonna do, Logan? Growl at him until he gives it up?”

Logan shot her a dry look. “Worked last time, didn’t it?”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “It’s fine. I’ll get it later. Maybe.”

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his gruffness easing slightly. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said, brushing it off, though the thought of Clint sipping coffee from your mug still irked you. “Not worth starting a whole thing over.”

“Could be fun, though,” Logan muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Jean laughed and set her glass in the sink. “Well, this has been delightful, but I’ve got a Danger Room session to run. Try not to maim Clint over the mug, okay?”

“Can’t make any promises,” Logan said, earning a laugh from Jean as she left the kitchen.

Once it was just the two of you, Logan moved closer, grabbing a coffee mug from the cupboard—one of the generic ones everyone used. He glanced over at you as he poured his coffee. “You okay?”

You sighed, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah, just… tired, I guess. And maybe a little annoyed. It’s been a long week.”

Logan nodded, his expression thoughtful as he sipped his coffee. “Anything I can do?”

You smiled softly at the offer. Logan always had a knack for cutting through the noise and centering you without effort. “No, it’s fine. Thanks, though.”

Logan’s eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, that familiar softness appearing in the crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “Alright,” he said, his voice low. “But if Clint doesn’t give that mug back, you just say the word.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling the tension ease ever so slightly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two of you shared a brief moment of quiet, and then Logan took a step closer, his coffee steaming in his hands. “How’s the lab stuff goin’? That Banner guy giving you a hard time?”

You shook your head quickly, pushing your glasses further up your nose. “No, actually. He’s… nice. Really nice, actually.” You paused, then let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It’s just overwhelming, you know? People like him—and Stark—they’re so brilliant, and I can’t help but feel like I don’t measure up.”

Logan grunted, taking a sip of his coffee before leaning one hip against the counter. “You’re worried about not measurin’ up to Stark?” He arched a brow. “That guy’s got enough ego to make up for every flaw he’s got. Don’t let him get in your head.”

You smiled faintly at Logan’s bluntness. “It’s not him. It’s… me. My own head is the problem.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp but kind. “Y/N, you’re probably the smartest person I’ve met—and I’ve met Banner and Stark. You need me to remind you again of the times you’ve bailed Hank out with your brain?”

The warmth in his tone brought a deeper flush to your cheeks, and you averted your gaze, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “That’s sweet of you to say, but—”

“But nothin’.” Logan’s voice was firm, though not unkind. “You know how many times you’ve pulled the X-Men out of a mess just by bein’ you? Hell, if it weren’t for you, none of us would even have the equipment that makes half the missions possible. You’re not just smart, darlin’; you’re vital.”

You blinked at him, warmth blooming in your chest at the way he looked at you—earnest, unwavering. “Thanks, Logan,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He tipped his head, his smirk more subdued now. “Anytime.”

Chapter Text

You rubbed Rogue’s back as she cried—well, it was more like sobbing—into your shoulder. She had been holed up in her room for the past month, barely coming out for food and water.

It was actually Logan who made the first move, almost breaking down her door to ask “why the hell she hasn’t left this damn room.”

Turns out, when Bobby had left for UCLA, he called it quits with Rogue. The rest you weren’t able to understand due to her heavy sobbing and slurred words.

Logan had briefly come in to check on the two of you and Rogue had thrown a flower vase at him, to which he cleaned up while grumbling about how he was “lettin’ it slide this one time.”

You ran your hand over Rogue’s hair, still quietly and soothingly shushing her. Her sobs came in waves, hiccups breaking up the cries that had wracked her body for the past hour. You didn’t say much, letting her grief spill out in whatever form it needed.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you whispered softly. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you will be.”

Rogue sniffled, lifting her head just enough to look at you through puffy, tear-filled eyes. “I gave him… everything, Y/N,” she choked out. “And he just—he just left.”

Your heart ached for her. “I know,” you murmured, reaching for a tissue from the bedside table and handing it to her. “But that’s not on you. It’s on him. He didn’t deserve everything you gave if he couldn’t appreciate it.”

Rogue dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, her hands trembling. “It’s not fair,” she muttered, her voice cracking. “I thought he loved me.”

You hesitated, unsure if there was anything you could say to ease her pain. “Sometimes people don’t know how to hold onto something good,” you finally said. “That doesn’t mean it’s your fault. You deserve someone who loves all of you—who knows how to stay.”

Rogue didn’t respond, but the faintest nod told you she’d heard you. She leaned into your shoulder again, her sobs quieter now, as though exhaustion was starting to take over.

The sound of the door creaking open made you glance up. Logan poked his head in, his brows drawn together in concern. “She doin’ okay?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual.

“She’s getting there,” you replied softly, your hand still stroking Rogue’s hair. “Might take some time.”

Logan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He crouched down next to you, his eyes scanning Rogue’s face. “You eat anything today, kid?”

Rogue groaned, her face still pressed into your shoulder. “Don’t wanna eat.”

Logan huffed. “Tough. You’re gonna eat somethin’. Even if it’s just soup.”

Rogue lifted her head slightly, glaring at him through swollen eyes. “You gonna force-feed me, old man?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Logan shot back, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You bit back a small smile, recognizing the warmth beneath Logan’s gruffness. “Maybe some tea and toast?” you suggested gently. “Something easy.”

Rogue sniffled again but didn’t argue. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice hoarse. “Tea and toast.”

Logan gave a satisfied nod and stood up. “I’ll make it,” he said, glancing at you. “You stay with her.”

You nodded, watching as he left the room. Rogue exhaled heavily, her body sagging against yours. “He doesn’t give up, does he?” she mumbled.

“No,” you said with a small smile. “And neither do I.”

---

Later that evening, after you’d finally coaxed Rogue into eating and she’d fallen into a fitful sleep, you found Logan in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand, his gaze distant as he stared out the window.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you said softly as you approached.

Logan glanced over his shoulder, his expression softening when he saw you. “Didn’t mind,” he replied. “She needed it.”

You leaned against the counter next to him, crossing your arms. “She’s lucky to have you, you know.”

Logan snorted, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re the one who got her to come outta that room,” he said. “Not me.”

You shrugged, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “Still. You care. More than you let on.”

Logan turned his eyes back to the window, his jaw working slightly as though he was chewing over your words. After a beat, he spoke, his voice softer than you expected. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta.”

You tilted your head, studying him. Despite his gruff exterior and the biting humor he wielded like armor, moments like this reminded you just how deeply he felt. It wasn’t something he ever said outright, but it came through in his actions—in the way he’d throw himself headfirst into protecting the people he cared about, even when they didn’t ask for it.

"You okay?" Logan asked suddenly, cutting through your thoughts. His sharp gaze flicked to you, the concern in his tone catching you off guard.

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in focus. “Me?”

“Yeah, you," Logan said, leaning an elbow on the counter. "You’ve been sittin’ with Rogue all day, takin’ on her mess. That kinda thing can weigh on you. So… you okay?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. Leave it to Logan to sneak in concern like he was trying not to let it show. You leaned back against the counter, crossing your arms as you considered his question. “Honestly? I could go for a beer. Or two.”

Logan’s lip twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through his usual stoicism. “That right?”

“Yup.” You nodded, pushing off the counter to grab a glass from the cabinet. “In fact, I think I’ve earned it.”

“Sit down,” Logan said, stopping you with a hand on your arm. “I’ll grab it.”

You raised an eyebrow, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you let him guide you to a seat at the small kitchen table, watching as he pulled two beers from the fridge and popped the tops off with practiced ease. He slid one across to you before settling in the chair opposite, his posture relaxed but his eyes still quietly observant.

You took a sip, letting the cool, bitter taste settle on your tongue. “Thanks,” you said after a moment. “For this. For helping with Rogue. For… all of it.”

Logan shrugged, taking a long pull from his bottle. “Ain’t nothin’. That’s what we do, right? Look out for each other.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to stick around,” you pointed out. “You could’ve walked away when she threw that vase at you.”

His mouth quirked into a wry smile. “Wouldn’t be the first thing someone’s thrown at me. Won’t be the last.” He took a sip, “though I didn’t know that she had a mean throwin’ arm. Had a bruise on my chest from that damn vase.”

You let out a giggle, “that lasted a few seconds. That doesn’t count.”

Logan smirked, leaning back in his chair and tipping the bottle of beer toward you. “A second’s all it takes for somethin’ to leave a mark, darlin’.”

You rolled your eyes, a warm smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so dramatic. It was a vase, not a grenade.”

“She’s got a helluva arm, though,” Logan said, shaking his head. “Remind me not to piss her off again. Next time, she might aim for my head.”

You laughed softly, the sound easing the tension that had been building all day. The quiet clinking of bottles and the hum of the refrigerator filled the comfortable silence between you two. Logan’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you could feel his steady gaze.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Nothin’,” he said with a small shrug. “Just thinkin’... You’re good with her. Better than me.”

You gave him a look. “That’s not true. You got her to eat, didn’t you? And cleaned up after the vase incident. That counts for something.”

Logan grunted, but his lips twitched in a small, almost shy smile. “Yeah, well… you’re the one who sat there all day, lettin’ her cry it out. That takes patience.”

“It takes love,” you corrected softly.

Logan’s expression softened, his rough edges smoothing out for just a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an undertone of admiration.

You took another sip of your beer, the bitter liquid grounding you. “She’s been through a lot. It’s not fair.”

“No, it ain’t,” Logan agreed, his tone grim. “But she’s tougher than she thinks. She’ll pull through.”

You nodded, tracing the edge of the bottle with your thumb. “Yeah, she will. She just needs time. And us.”

---

The shrill alarm of Logan’s clock woke him up as he swatted his hand at it, turning it off. As he blinked he noticed the time was 8:56, meaning he missed his first class and the start of his second one. And he never even had an alarm set for this time either.

He didn’t get to think about it any further as you opened the bedroom door, carrying a large tray in what he could only describe as a cute, rugged outfit. His clothes on you were a tad too big, and it looked like you had flour on your cheek.

"Good morning," you said with a smile as you walked to Logan’s side of the bed, balancing a large tray in your hands. The sight of you in his oversized flannel shirt and sweatpants brought a rare softness to his face. There was flour smudged on your cheek, and your hair was a bit messy, as though you’d been hard at work for hours.

Logan sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” he rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. His gaze flicked to the tray, noting the steaming cup of coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice, and what looked like cinnamon rolls drizzled with icing. “What’s all this?”

“I thought you deserved to sleep in for once,” you replied, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “Scott owed me a favor, so he’s covering your classes today. Jean’s taking mine. I even changed your alarm.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing at the clock. “That explains it. Thought I was losin’ my mind when I saw the time.”

You smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Nope, just me meddling with your routine. Happy anniversary, by the way.”

Logan’s lips curled into a small smile, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Like I’d forget. Ten years, darlin’. Not bad.”

“Not bad at all,” you agreed, leaning in to kiss his cheek before gesturing toward the tray. “I made cinnamon rolls. Thought we’d start the day with something sweet.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed playfully. “I thought you were makin’ bread last night. Found you in the kitchen elbow-deep in dough.”

You grinned, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “You don’t know the difference between bread dough and cinnamon roll dough, do you?”

Logan gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Nope. Just know it smelled good.”

“Well, now you get to taste it.” You handed him a plate, watching as he picked up one of the warm, gooey rolls and took a bite. His expression softened immediately, the faintest hum of approval rumbling in his chest.

“Damn, these are good,” he said around a mouthful, licking a bit of icing off his thumb. “You’ve been holdin’ out on me. Could’ve had these ten years ago.”

You laughed, grabbing your own plate. “Ten years ago, I didn’t know how to bake this.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something more affectionate. “Guess we’ve both come a long way, huh?”

You nodded, savoring the sweetness of the cinnamon roll and the moment. The past decade had been filled with highs and lows, struggles and triumphs, but through it all, you’d built something solid, something worth celebrating.

After a quiet moment of eating, Logan reached out, his rough hand covering yours. “Thanks for this,” he said, his tone gruff but heartfelt. “For all of it.”

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Thanks for sticking with me. Even when I was a complete mess.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darlin’,” Logan said, squeezing your hand. “We’ve been through the wringer, sure. But I wouldn’t trade a damn thing. Not a single second.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned in to kiss him, the tray of food momentarily forgotten. When you pulled back, Logan’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing away a bit of flour you hadn’t realized was still there.

“Gotta say, though,” Logan added with a smirk, “you wear my clothes better than I do.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Don’t get used to it. I’ve got my own wardrobe, you know.”

“Yeah, but this? This looks damn good on you.” His voice dropped slightly, and the intensity in his gaze sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Flatterer,” you teased, swiping a bit of icing from his plate and dabbing it on his nose. Logan blinked, momentarily surprised, before a grin spread across his face.

“Oh, you’re askin’ for it now,” he growled playfully, setting his plate aside.

What followed was a mix of laughter, teasing, and icing being smeared in places it definitely wasn’t supposed to go. It was messy, chaotic, and utterly perfect—just like the ten years you’d shared together.

---

You and Logan were walking down the hallway, Rogue in between the two of you, as the three of you made your way to the kitchen since Rogue wanted to bake cookies with you.

As you passed the main entrance, Charles’ familiar voice called out. “Logan, Y/N, Rogue, could you come here for a moment?”

The three of you paused mid-step, exchanging glances. You adjusted your glasses, slightly wary. Logan’s hand instinctively found the small of your back—a reassuring gesture more than anything else.

Approaching the entryway, you found Charles sitting in his wheelchair, flanked by Scott and Jean. Standing slightly apart from them was a man you hadn’t seen before: tall and lean with tousled brown hair falling into his sharp, mischievous eyes. A hint of charm radiated from his smirk, making you immediately wary.

“Meet Remy LeBeau,” Charles said, gesturing toward the stranger. “He’ll be staying with us for a while.”

Remy inclined his head, his voice dripping with a southern drawl. “Call me Gambit. Pleasure to meet y’all.”

Your eyes briefly flicked to Logan, who was already narrowing his eyes at the new arrival. Rogue, on the other hand, seemed intrigued, stepping forward with a curious smile. “What brings you here, Gambit?”

“Ah, now that’s a long story, cher,” Remy replied smoothly, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long before shifting to Charles. “Let’s just say I got tangled up in a little trouble. Your professor here said y’all might have a place for me to lay low—earn my keep in the meantime.”

Logan crossed his arms, his stance as solid and unyielding as a mountain. “And what exactly do you bring to the table?”

Remy chuckled, unfazed by Logan’s gruff demeanor. “Cards, good aim, and a little flair for the dramatic. Don’t worry, mon ami—I’ll pull my weight.”

Jean cut in, her calm voice keeping the exchange from escalating. “Logan, let’s give him a chance. We’ve all been newcomers at some point.”

You placed a gentle hand on Logan’s arm, silently coaxing him to ease up. “It’s nice to meet you,” you said softly, offering a polite smile.

“Enchanté,” Remy replied with a wink that earned him a warning growl from Logan.

Rogue, however, was clearly fascinated. “So you’re from Louisiana?”

“Born and raised in Nawlins,” Remy said with a dramatic flourish. “And you, cher? Got a hint of Southern charm yourself.”

Rogue blushed lightly but kept her tone composed. “Mississippi.”

Logan’s attention stayed glued to Remy, his instincts screaming to watch this guy like a hawk. “Hope you’re not plannin’ to cause any trouble.”

Remy’s smirk widened, giving Logan an exaggerated bow. “Not a bit, mon ami. I’m a peaceful guy, believe it or not.”

Scott’s tone was firm as he addressed the room. “Let’s give him space to settle in. There’s a room down the hall by ours, Gambit. I’ll show you where it is.”

As Scott led Remy away, Logan muttered under his breath, “This oughta be fun.”

Charles’s voice pulled your attention back. “I trust you’ll help him adjust, Y/N. A steady presence like yours should be beneficial.”

You nodded hesitantly, adjusting your glasses again. “Of course, Professor.”

Rogue grinned, nudging your arm. “And maybe we can talk him into helping with cookies.”

Logan groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “If I find flour on the floor again, don’t think I’m cleanin’ it up this time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, nudging him back gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the kitchen survives.”

Rogue grabbed your hand eagerly. “Come on, let’s get started!”

As she dragged you toward the kitchen, Logan trailed behind, his protective gaze lingering briefly in the direction Gambit had disappeared.

Something told him this guy would stir things up—but if anyone dared cause trouble, Logan would handle it. Always had, always would.

---

Jean was standing in the foyer when her eyes lit up at the sight of you and Logan walking toward her.

“Aww,” she cooed, grinning mischievously as her gaze bounced between the two of you. “Don’t you two just look adorable?”

Jean gestured dramatically at your matching black pullovers. While you had styled yours with a knee-length skirt and cozy tights, Logan wore his sweater with his usual jeans, the casual look somehow making his rugged demeanor even more pronounced.

“I know, right?” you teased, nudging Jean with your elbow. “Getting him to agree to this was a battle. You should’ve seen him at the store—grumbling like I’d asked him to wear a frilly dress.”

Jean laughed, leaning in conspiratorially. “I can totally imagine that. So what finally convinced him?”

You smirked, lowering your voice like you were sharing the mansion’s greatest secret. “I told him we could skip the couples’ yoga next week with Ororo if he’d wear it.”

Logan’s groan cut through your laughter. “You two realize I’m standing right here, right?”

“Barely,” Jean quipped with a dramatic flip of her hair, earning a chuckle from you. “It’s okay, Logan, matching sweaters are just a sign of love. Besides, you look cute!”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly as he muttered under his breath, “not cute.”

You and Jean waved him off, entirely ignoring his protests as you started giggling again. He crossed his arms, staring at the two of you like you were a particularly troublesome duo. “You two are gonna give me an aneurysm, I swear.”

You shrugged innocently, giving him a playful look. “If you can survive the end of the world, Logan, you can survive a little sweater bonding.”

Jean raised a finger. “Exactly. Consider this a heroic act of love.”

---

Your morning classes had gone smoothly, leaving you a bit of downtime before your afternoon session. You were tidying up your desk when the door opened, and you turned to see Logan leaning against the doorway, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“Thought I’d stop by,” he said, casually walking in. “Figured you could use some company.”

Smiling, you gestured to the chair near your desk. “Always happy to see you.”

Logan’s eyes scanned the room, pausing when he noticed your black sweater draped across a table behind you.

“Wait a sec.” His tone was amused but slightly accusing. “Where’s your sweater?”

You blinked, glancing down at your blouse. “Oh, I took it off. It got warm while I was setting up for the lab.”

Logan raised an eyebrow and walked over to the table. Picking up the sweater, he turned toward you, holding it out like it was a major offense.

“Warm, huh?” he said, moving closer. “You make me wear this thing all day, and then you just ditch yours?”

You rolled your eyes, a warmness rising to your cheeks. “Logan, it’s not that serious—”

Before you could finish, Logan set the sweater over your head with surprising gentleness. His hands worked methodically, pulling it down over your torso while making sure the fabric didn’t snag on your glasses. Once it was on, he stepped back, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Better,” he declared, reaching forward to adjust your glasses, which had shifted during his efforts.

You stared up at him, a mix of exasperation and amusement swirling in your expression. “Happy now?”

“Very,” Logan replied, his hands lingering just a moment longer before dropping back to his sides. “We match again. That was the whole point, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he teased, his grin softening into something more tender.

The moment lingered between the two of you, comfortable and quiet, until the sound of approaching students broke the spell. Logan tilted his head toward the door.

“I’ll get outta your hair,” he said, stepping back. “But if I hear anyone makin’ fun of the sweaters, just say the word.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “You’re such a knight in flannel armor.”

Logan’s smile lingered as he turned to leave. “Always, darlin’. Always.”

---

Ever since Bobby broke up with Rogue and went away to college at UCLA 3 months ago, she was either attached to you or Jean.

Even now, during movie night, Logan sat on one side of the couch and Rogue on the other. You were nestled against Logan's side, his arm casually draped behind you, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder—a quiet but grounding touch. Rogue, however, sat a bit stiffly, holding a pillow tightly in her lap as the rest of the room settled in with popcorn and snacks.

The rest of the group was either on the floor in bean bag chairs or seated on the other couches in the room.

“You sure this was the right movie choice?” Logan muttered to you, jerking his chin toward the screen. A horror movie was starting, one Jean had picked.

You smirked, adjusting your glasses and whispering back, “Well, someone vetoed my sci-fi idea.”

“Damn straight.” He took a swig from the beer in his hand, the bottle clinking against the armrest.

As the opening scene played out, the common room door opened, and in sauntered Remy. He carried a bag of candy in one hand and his ever-present deck of cards in the other. His easy smirk was in full effect as his eyes scanned the room, settling on Rogue.

"Don’t mind me, chère," he said casually as he strolled toward her. Without waiting for an invitation, he plopped down next to Rogue, setting the candy between them. “Got room for one more?”

Rogue glanced up, startled but not displeased. “Oh, um… sure. Movie just started.”

Logan’s gaze snapped to Remy, and you could feel him tense beside you. “Fantastic,” Logan muttered under his breath, loud enough for only you to hear.

“Logan,” you whispered, nudging his side. “Play nice.”

His only response was a low grunt, though he didn’t look away from Remy, who was now leaning slightly toward Rogue, cracking some joke that made her laugh softly.

“Candy?” Rogue offered, holding out the open bag.

Remy took one with a flourish, tipping an invisible hat. “Merci, chère. Always knew you had good taste.”

“God, he’s insufferable,” Logan muttered, cracking open another beer. You couldn’t suppress a laugh at his tone, which only made him scowl playfully at you. “What’re you laughin’ at?”

“You,” you replied, grinning up at him. “You’re acting like a dad watching his daughter date for the first time.”

“‘Cause that guy’s a walking headache,” Logan said, waving the beer bottle in Remy’s direction. “If he tries anything—”

“He won’t,” you cut him off gently, resting your hand on his arm. “Rogue’s an adult. Let her enjoy herself a little.”

Logan huffed but didn’t argue, though you noticed his protective glare lingered on Remy for the next several minutes.

As the movie unfolded, Rogue and Remy seemed to fall into an easy rhythm of side comments and laughter. You could tell Rogue was enjoying herself—maybe more than she had in weeks.

Eventually, Logan leaned in closer, his lips near your ear. “You’re good with this?” he asked quietly, his tone softer now.

You glanced over at Rogue, her posture finally relaxed for the first time in days. “She’s been so down lately,” you murmured back. “If he makes her smile, I’m okay with it. For now.”

Logan’s jaw tightened for a moment, but he nodded, relenting. “Just say the word if you need me to step in.”

“I will,” you promised, reaching for his hand and giving it a light squeeze.

---

After the movie ended, most of the group dispersed. Jean and Scott headed upstairs, and the others began drifting off in pairs or small groups.

Rogue lingered, though, still sitting on the couch with Remy. They were deep in conversation about something, their voices too low to catch from where you and Logan stood by the door.

“You ready for bed?” you asked, stifling a yawn as you stretched.

“Yeah,” Logan said, though his gaze flicked toward Rogue and Remy one last time. “You sure she’s okay?”

“She’s fine,” you assured him, resting a hand on his arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

Logan let you tug him toward the hallway, but not without a muttered, “Still keepin’ an eye on that guy.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you headed to your room. “Of course you are. That’s why I love you.”

“You’re damn right it is.”

The door to your room clicked shut behind you, and for the first time that night, Logan seemed to truly relax, the tension easing from his shoulders.

---

You woke up with a gasp, your chest heaving as you propped yourself up on your elbows. The remnants of your dream lingered, vivid and disjointed. Your pulse thudded in your ears as you tried to piece together the fleeting fragments, but they slipped through your fingers like water.

Beside you, Logan stirred, muttering something under his breath before blinking awake. His brow furrowed as he turned toward you, voice low and rough with sleep. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Another nightmare?”

You shook your head, still catching your breath. “No... not exactly.” You leaned back against the pillows, running a hand over your face. “It was... strange. Like a dream, but it didn’t feel like one.”

Logan shifted to face you fully, his gaze steady and grounding. “Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitated, struggling to put the jumbled images into words. “It was bits and pieces. I was in Japan... I think? There was a funeral, and you were there too. But then it turned into chaos—fighting, running... and there was this man with a sword, and someone... someone said you were mortal.” Your voice trailed off as you frowned, trying to make sense of it.

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, his expression unreadable. “Mortal?” he repeated, his voice laced with a flicker of unease.

You nodded, looking at him. “It didn’t make sense. None of it did. It was like seeing flashes of a movie I didn’t understand.”

Logan reached over, his hand warm and steady as it found yours. “You’ve had these dreams before, right? The ones that feel... different?”

“Yeah,” you admitted softly. Your powers had always been tied to time and possibilities, and sometimes that meant glimpses of what could be—a future, a path untaken. But this dream was unlike any you’d had before. It felt almost more complete, even without the full story.

Logan squeezed your hand gently. “Whatever it was, it’s just a dream for now. Don’t overthink it.” His voice softened, pulling you back to the present. “Come here.”

You leaned into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close. His warmth and steady heartbeat began to calm the storm in your mind. “You always know how to bring me back,” you murmured against his chest.

“That’s my job, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice a soft rumble. “Now, get some sleep. We’ll deal with whatever this is if it comes up again.”

You nodded, allowing his presence to ground you. Slowly, your breathing evened out, and the tension in your body eased.

Logan brushed a kiss against your temple. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, and as sleep began to pull you under, you believed him.

---

You took the lid off of a candle called ‘Snickerdoodle’ to quickly smell it. It wasn’t one you loved so you put it back down.

Logan had said he was ‘going to be right back. Imma go get somethin’ real quick,’ and had been gone for around 10 minutes.

You grabbed another candle, this one called ‘Mango Delight’ to give it a smell. As you held it up to your nose, someone called out your name. You looked behind you to see Rachel Uplet, a girl you knew from college. Of course, you weren’t close to her, you didn’t really have any friends during your time at Stanford, just acquaintances.

She walked over to you, holding a Gucci purse, “it’s been so long! How’ve you been?”

You turned at the sound of Rachel’s voice, the smell of the mango candle lingering in the air. “Oh, hey, Rachel,” you said, offering a polite smile. “It’s been a while. I’ve been good—busy with work, mostly. How about you?”

Rachel’s perfectly polished smile didn’t falter as she stepped closer, her Gucci purse swinging slightly with the movement. “Busy, of course. You know how it is—social obligations, charity events. And my husband insists we redecorate our entire house every other year. It’s exhausting,” she said with a chuckle that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her gaze drifted to your left hand, and her eyebrows lifted slightly when she noticed your ring.

“Oh!” she said, tilting her head. “I didn’t realize you were married. That’s... lovely.” There was an undertone to her words you couldn’t quite place, somewhere between genuine and condescending. “I remember in college you went on that date with, what was his name... Parker? Or Preston? One of those polished legacy boys. I always figured that was your type—y’know, academia chic.”

You adjusted your glasses, letting out a short laugh. “Logan’s not exactly... academia chic,” you said, glancing down at your ring and smiling softly at the thought of him.

Rachel’s eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity, and before she could ask anything else, you saw Logan approaching. He held a medium-sized shopping bag in his hand, his expression unreadable but somehow effortlessly commanding.

“Hey,” he said gruffly, his eyes moving between you and Rachel. “This where you wandered off to?”

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up as she took him in—his rugged demeanor, weathered jacket, and distinct confidence contrasting sharply with the polished, business-suit men she likely spent most of her time around. Her smile shifted slightly. “And this must be... Logan?”

“That’s me,” Logan replied, his voice even. He offered a small, polite nod in her direction before shifting his focus entirely to you. “Found somethin’ for you,” he added, pulling the item from the bag with a little too much nonchalance.

Your heart practically stopped as you realized what he was holding. “Logan, wait!” you said quickly, your cheeks warming as you grabbed his arm before the delicate lace of the lingerie dress could be fully revealed. You could only imagine the look on Rachel’s face at the sight of it.

Logan smirked, clearly amused. “What? Thought you’d like it,” he said, his tone deliberately casual.

You shot him a look, your voice low. “Not in front of company.”

Rachel was visibly struggling to hide her surprise—or amusement, or both—as she looked between the two of you. “Wow,” she said, managing to keep her tone light. “You’ve certainly gone for someone... unexpected, Y/N. I always thought your type was more like mine.” She gestured vaguely as a man in a tailored navy suit approached, holding a sleek black leather briefcase. “Speaking of which, here’s James.”

“Hey, babe,” James said, leaning in to give Rachel a quick kiss on the cheek before turning his attention to you. He offered a polite smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This is Y/N,” Rachel said, gesturing to you before turning back to Logan with an almost exaggerated level of casualness. “And Logan.”

James extended a hand toward Logan, who shook it firmly. There was a slight flicker of discomfort on James’s face, likely from Logan’s stronger-than-necessary grip. “Nice to meet you,” James said, his tone even.

“Likewise,” Logan replied simply, his piercing gaze holding steady.

“Well,” Rachel said after a brief pause, the energy between the group tipping toward awkward. “It was great catching up, Y/N. You’ll have to tell me more about... everything sometime.” Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward the bag Logan still held. “And, Logan, it’s been a... pleasure.”

“Sure,” you replied, offering her a polite nod. “Take care, Rachel.”

As she and James walked away, Logan waited until they were out of earshot before speaking, his smirk returning. “Your friend seems nice.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned against him slightly. “She’s not my friend. Just... someone I went to school with.”

“Figured.” Logan glanced at the bag in his hand. “So... you don’t like this?”

You laughed, reaching up to press a kiss to Logan’s cheek. “You’re impossible. Let’s just get out of here before she comes back.” You turned to place the candle back on the rack, glancing at him over your shoulder with a sly smile. “And maybe I’ll wear it for you tonight.”

Logan’s smirk widened, and as the two of you began walking toward the store’s exit, you felt his hand playfully swat your ass. You startled slightly, eyes darting around to see if anyone noticed, but Logan didn’t seem to care about that in the slightest.

“You better keep that promise, sweetheart,” he said lowly, his voice carrying just enough gruffness to make your face heat. He casually hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer as you walked.

“You’re such a menace,” you muttered, nudging him with your elbow. “You really couldn’t wait until we were in the car?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

---

There was a knock at the front door of the mansion, which was highly unusual. You and Logan looked at each other, you were only at this part of the mansion because you just had a meeting with Charles.

Logan walked ahead, gently pushing you behind him as he opened the door to come face to face with a woman who had bright red hair.

“Who are you?” Logan growled. You finally peeked around Logan’s frame to look at the woman. She looked like one of the women in your nightmare some weeks ago.

“I’ve been looking for you. To give you this.” She grabbed the sword from her back, holding it out to Logan, “my employer wanted you to have it.”

“Who?”

“Master Yashida.” The woman said as you felt Logan tense up beneath your hands. “He said it belongs to you; that he’s paying all his debts. Master Yashida is dying, and he wants to say thank you for saving his life all those years ago. He knows you are a busy man, but he wants to say goodbye in person.”

Logan’s body went rigid at the mention of ‘Master Yashida,’ his jaw tightening as if the words themselves carried a weight he didn’t want to bear. You felt the tension ripple through him, his muscles tensing beneath your hands where they rested lightly on his back.

“Yashida,” Logan muttered, his voice low and almost inaudible. It wasn’t a name he said often, and hearing it now carried layers of something unspoken.

“Yes,” Yukio confirmed, holding the sword out further. “He wishes to repay you before it’s too late.”

“Repay me? He doesn’t owe me a damn thing,” Logan said, his voice gruff, but there was a flicker of something—an old memory, perhaps—dancing behind his hardened gaze.

As the weight of the exchange sank in, something in your chest twisted uncomfortably. The woman, with her red hair and confident stance, wasn’t just here for small talk. Her presence set off an alarm inside you, and you couldn’t shake the familiarity of her appearance. Your nightmares. This was her.

You swallowed hard, gripping Logan’s arm as you whispered, “Logan, can I talk to you for a second? Privately?”

Logan glanced down at you, his furrowed brow softening slightly as he took in the seriousness in your expression. “Yeah, sure.” He turned back to Yukio, jerking his chin toward the door. “Wait here.”

She nodded once, standing statue-still as Logan stepped back inside, closing the door just enough to leave the two of you alone in the hallway. His attention was fixed entirely on you now, his posture shifting slightly into something more relaxed but still alert. “What’s goin’ on, darlin’?” he asked, his voice gentler.

You hesitated, gathering your thoughts and trying to find the best way to explain what you knew. “Logan,” you started, your voice trembling slightly, “do you remember when I told you about that nightmare I had? The one with flashes of... Japan?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he nodded. “I remember.”

“Well, I know I said it was just... bits and pieces of a story, but…” You let out a shaky breath. “It wasn’t just a random dream. I think it was a warning. I’m sure of it now. She was in it. And it wasn’t... good.” You paused, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “Logan, something bad will happen if you go with her. Please. Don’t go.”

Logan studied your face for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You sure about this?” he asked finally. There was no skepticism in his tone, only concern—his protective instincts kicking in.

You nodded, gripping his arm a little tighter. “You know how sometimes you tell me not to go on missions because they’re too dangerous? Because you don’t want me to get hurt?” Your voice softened, cracking just slightly. “I’m telling you the same thing now. I’m begging you. She’s part of my nightmare.”

Logan’s expression shifted, his resolve firming as he reached up to gently cup the side of your face, his calloused thumb brushing against your cheek. “Alright, darlin’,” he said quietly. “If you’re this sure, then I ain’t goin’.”

Relief washed over you like a wave, and you leaned into his touch. “Thank you.”

He pulled away after a moment, stepping back toward the door. He opened it and faced Yukio, his demeanor as unyielding as ever. “I’m not goin’ to Japan,” he said bluntly. “Tell Yashida thanks for the sword and for tryin’ to clear his conscience, but no.”

Yukio’s confident stance faltered just slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Master Yashida said—”

“I don’t care what he said,” Logan interrupted firmly. “It’s not happenin’. That’s my answer.”

Yukio hesitated, her grip on the sword tightening as though debating whether to press further. Ultimately, she nodded. “Very well. I’ll deliver the message.” With that, she turned and walked away, the sword still in hand.

Logan closed the door behind her, locking it before turning back to you. His hand found the small of your back as he gently pulled you closer. “There. You don’t need to worry ‘bout it anymore.”

You looked up at him, the intensity of his gaze making your chest ache with gratitude and love. “You didn’t have to listen to me, but you did. Thank you.”

Logan gave a small smirk, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Trust me, sweetheart. You’re worth listenin’ to.”

---

You and Jean were enjoying the first Monday of summer break, which meant Jean also coerced you to having a mimosa at 11 in the morning.

Rogue walked into the kitchen, wringing her hands. “Uh, I kinda need to talk to y’all.”

Jean gestured with her glass for her to sit down, “what’s going on?”

Rogue sat down at the kitchen table with a hesitant sigh, her hands twisting nervously. You and Jean exchanged a quick glance, sensing her discomfort, and set your mimosas down.

“What’s going on, Rogue?” you asked softly, leaning forward to give her your full attention.

She hesitated, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s about Bobby,” she said finally, her accent faint but still present in moments of vulnerability. “I was talkin’ to him last night, and he told me somethin’... well, unexpected.” She took a deep breath, then rushed the words out before she could lose her nerve. “He said he’s gay—and he’s got a boyfriend.”

Jean blinked in surprise but recovered quickly, giving Rogue a warm, understanding smile. “Wow,” Jean said gently. “That’s a big thing for him to share. How are you feeling about it?”

Rogue bit her lip, her shoulders sagging. “I don’t even know. I mean, it’s not like I’m mad or anything—it’s his life—but it’s... it’s kinda weird, y’know? Like, all this time, I thought I did somethin’ wrong, but now I’m thinkin’ he just didn’t want me at all. Maybe not even anyone like me.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed by her emotion.

You felt a pang of sympathy for her, remembering how painful breakups could be, let alone finding out something like this months later. “Rogue,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “it’s not about you. It sounds like Bobby’s been figuring out who he is, and that doesn’t mean you weren’t important to him. Sometimes people just... discover things about themselves later.”

“Y/N’s right,” Jean chimed in, her tone reassuring. “And trust me, you’re not the first person to go through something like this. Back in college, Scott and I broke up for a little while, and I dated someone else—a guy named Alex.” She paused to take a sip of her mimosa, her expression turning almost nostalgic. “We were seeing each other for about three months, and then one day, out of the blue, he told me he was gay.”

Rogue’s eyes widened slightly. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Jean confirmed with a small laugh. “It was a little shocking, and yeah, I was upset at first, but it wasn’t about me. He was figuring things out, just like Bobby is.”

“That must’ve sucked, though,” Rogue muttered, her hands still fidgeting.

Jean shrugged. “It wasn’t great in the moment, but looking back, I’m glad he was honest. It helped both of us move on, and he’s really happy now. And I got back together with Scott eventually, so it all worked out.”

Rogue nodded slowly, processing Jean’s story. “I guess... I guess it just feels like everyone else knows where they’re goin’ in life, and I’m still tryin’ to figure out how to live with all this.” She gestured vaguely to herself, the mention of her powers unspoken but understood.

You reached out to gently squeeze her hand. “You’re not alone in that, Rogue. Everyone’s figuring things out in their own way—even Bobby. It doesn’t happen all at once.”

Jean smiled warmly, raising her glass. “And hey, you’ve got us. Summer break’s here, so that means plenty of mimosas and bad TV marathons to distract us, right?”

Rogue let out a small laugh, a genuine one this time, and you felt a sense of relief at seeing her relax a bit. “I appreciate y’all. Seriously. Thanks for not makin’ this awkward.”

Jean clinked her glass against yours. “We’re your friends. Awkward is part of the deal.”

You nodded, chuckling as you raised your glass as well. “And we’re not bad at giving advice, either. Sometimes.”

Rogue smirked. “Sometimes.”

For the first time in weeks, you could see her shoulders loosening, the weight of Bobby’s revelation slowly starting to lift. As you all sipped your drinks, the summer sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen—a small but welcome reminder that brighter days lay ahead.

---

You grumbled, trying to wiggle out of Logan’s hold. The heat of the summer night clung to your skin like a stubborn second layer, and Logan’s warm, solid frame wasn’t helping. You planted your hands against his chest, pushing lightly.

“Logan,” you muttered, voice muffled against the pillow. “You’re like a furnace. Let me go.”

Logan let out a low, amused growl, his grip tightening just enough to keep you close. “Stop squirmin’, darlin’,” he rumbled. “You’re fine.”

You huffed, craning your neck to glare up at him. “I’m not fine. I’m sweating. Are you seriously not hot?”

“Course not.” He shrugged lazily, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You forget—I run hot all the time. This is nothin’.”

You groaned, flopping back against the mattress dramatically. “I can’t do this. I need to cool off. Can’t we turn the AC up or something?”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Or we could head to the pool,” he suggested, his voice casual but laced with a teasing undertone. “Cool water, starry night... might even get you to relax.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the suggestion. “The pool?” you repeated. “At—what is it—midnight?”

“Why not?” Logan leaned closer, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Unless you’d rather keep fightin’ me all night.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the heat was unbearable, and the idea of a refreshing swim was too tempting. “Fine,” you relented, pushing the blanket off. “But I’m blaming you if I freeze the second I get out.”

“Deal,” he said, already climbing out of bed with his usual ease as you slipped on your glasses.

The two of you padded quietly through the mansion, careful not to wake anyone. When you reached the pool area, though, you stopped short, suddenly realizing the flaw in this impromptu plan.

“Logan,” you said slowly, crossing your arms. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

He turned to you, an eyebrow quirking as he gave you a once-over. “So?”

“So?” you repeated, incredulous. “What am I supposed to do? Swim in my pajamas?”

Logan shrugged, that infuriating smirk back on his face. “Or,” he drawled, “we could just skinny dip.”

Your face heated instantly, and you sputtered, taking a step back. “Are you serious? Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” He stepped closer, his voice low and teasing. “Ain’t like it’s somethin’ I haven’t seen before, sweetheart.”

You gaped at him, your brain scrambling for a coherent argument. “That’s—that’s not the point!”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm, and you hated how it made your stomach flip. “C’mon, Y/N,” he said softly, his expression shifting into something more genuine. “Ain’t nobody around. Just you and me. What’s the harm?”

You hesitated, his words disarming you more than you’d like to admit. The idea was embarrassing, sure, but there was also something freeing about it. And, if you were honest with yourself, you trusted Logan completely.

“…Fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “But if you laugh, I’m never speaking to you again.”

Logan’s grin widened, but he wisely held back any smart remarks. Instead, he simply turned away, giving you the chance to undress at your own pace.

“You’re stalling,” he called over his shoulder, the teasing edge returning to his voice.

“I am not!” you shot back, quickly shedding your clothes and slipping into the water before your nerves could catch up with you. The cool water enveloped you immediately, and you let out a soft sigh of relief. “Oh my god, this feels amazing.”

Logan followed suit, slipping into the pool with far less hesitation. He moved toward you, the moonlight catching on his wet skin, and you found yourself momentarily distracted.

“Told ya,” he said, his voice softer now. “Better than sweatin’ it out, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Okay, fine. You were right. Happy?”

“Always,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours in a way that made your heart skip.

The water rippled around you as he closed the distance, his hands finding your waist beneath the surface. You leaned into him instinctively, the cool water and his steady warmth balancing each other out.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the gentle lapping of the water. Then Logan leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice so low it sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, your shyness creeping back, but you couldn’t look away from him. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was as gentle as it was overwhelming. The rest of the world faded, leaving just the two of you under the stars.

---

Logan had looked in 2 storage closets already to find the right lightbulb you had to replace in your lab. He closed the door and walked to another one and opened it with a bit of frustration.

It only rose. “What the fuck?”

Logan stood in the hallway, staring at the scene before him with a mix of disbelief and frustration. Rogue, her cheeks flaming, shoved Remy into a shelf, creating a loud clang as a box of spare cables toppled to the floor.

“Logan!” Rogue exclaimed, her voice a mixture of embarrassment and panic. “It’s not—this isn’t—”

“What the hell is goin’ on here?” Logan growled, crossing his arms. His piercing gaze shifted between the two younger mutants, lingering on Remy with particular suspicion.

Remy straightened his jacket, attempting to maintain his composure despite the tight quarters. “Cher,” he began smoothly, though the slight flush in his face betrayed him, “it’s nothin’, really. We was just talkin’.”

“In a storage closet?” Logan shot back, his voice dripping with disbelief. He jabbed a finger in Remy’s direction. “You’ve been here less than a year, Gumbo, and you’re already causin’ trouble? Not a good look.”

“Logan—” Rogue tried again, but he cut her off with a sharp look.

“You,” he said, fixing her with a stern glare, “oughta know better. You think this is what we’re about here? Sneakin’ around like a couple of kids?”

Before Rogue could stammer out a response, you rounded the corner, clipboard in hand, your lab coat swishing lightly as you walked. “Logan, what’s taking so long?” you asked, adjusting your glasses. “It’s just a lightbulb—how hard can it be to—”

You trailed off as your gaze landed on the open closet. Rogue’s bright red face, Remy’s slightly rumpled appearance, and Logan’s looming figure all painted a very clear picture. Your brows lifted in realization, and you pressed your lips together to stifle a laugh.

“Ah,” you said simply, glancing at Logan. “Now I see why you’re delayed.”

Logan huffed, his frustration still evident, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a hint of amusement. “Ain’t funny, darlin’,” he muttered, though his tone softened slightly in your presence.

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to peer into the closet. “You’re right. This is a very serious misuse of storage space,” you deadpanned, turning your attention to Rogue and Remy. “You two know this isn’t exactly subtle, right? Half the mansion probably heard that shelf crash.”

Rogue groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Y/N, please don’t make this worse.”

“I’m not,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “But maybe next time, pick a better spot—or better yet, don’t sneak around at all.”

“Listen to her,” Logan added, his tone gruff but less harsh now. “You’re both adults. Start actin’ like it.”

Remy, ever the charmer, offered a small, sheepish grin. “Noted, mon ami. Won’t happen again.”

Logan narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced, but stepped back, allowing them to leave the closet. As they hurried down the hall, Rogue mumbled a quick “thanks” under her breath, while Remy gave a casual wave, as if this were all perfectly normal.

Once they were out of earshot, you turned to Logan, crossing your arms with a knowing smile. “You’re enjoying this a little more than you’re letting on.”

He snorted, running a hand through his hair. “Ain’t enjoyin’ nothin’. Just wonderin’ what kinda circus we’re runnin’ here.”

“Come on,” you teased, nudging his side lightly. “You’re not fooling me. You like having someone to lecture every now and then.”

Logan smirked, leaning closer to you. “Maybe. But you’re the one who keeps me from goin’ too far.”

“Glad to be of service,” you quipped, handing him the clipboard as you tilted your head. “Though, don’t you think that was a bit narcissistic? I mean, remember that time Charles found us in a storage closet? I mean—I’m actually pretty sure this is the exact one too.”

Logan stared at you, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he smirked, shaking his head. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t ya?”

“Why not?” you replied with a sly grin, leaning casually against the doorframe. “It’s not like it was my idea to—what was it again? ‘Test the structural integrity of a closet shelf,’ or so you told Charles.”

He let out a low chuckle, his shoulders relaxing as the memory washed over him. “Yeah, and he wasn’t buyin’ that for a second. Probably why he called it ‘an inappropriate misuse of shared spaces.’” His voice deepened mockingly, imitating Charles with an exaggerated seriousness that made you laugh.

“Poor Charles,” you teased, adjusting your glasses. “The things he’s had to put up with because of us.”

Logan tilted his head, his gaze softening as it settled on you. “Worth it,” he said simply.

You felt your cheeks warm under his attention but rolled your eyes to deflect. “Still, you might want to cut Rogue and Remy some slack. I mean, they didn’t even get a chance to—”

“Don’t,” Logan interrupted, holding up a hand. “Don’t finish that thought. They don’t get slack. They get rules.”

“And what about us back then?” you shot back playfully. “Where were the rules for us?”

Logan shrugged, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Rules didn’t apply to us. We were... special circumstances.”

“Oh, of course,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone. “That sounds fair and not at all like a double standard.”

He stepped closer, crowding your space in that way that always made your heart race. “Darlin’, if memory serves, you didn’t mind breakin’ a few rules yourself.”

You tilted your head, lips quirking as you met his gaze. “Fair point,” you admitted. “But you’re still gonna have to let this go, Logan. Rogue’s an adult. You can’t intimidate every guy she shows interest in.”

Logan’s brows furrowed slightly, his jaw tightening. “Not about intimidatin’—it’s about makin’ sure she’s treated right. Don’t trust Gumbo as far as I can throw him.”

“And yet, you let him stay,” you reminded him gently. “You trust him enough for that.”

He huffed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s different.”

“Not really,” you countered with a smile. “You just don’t like how much he reminds you of... well, you.”

Logan opened his mouth to argue but froze, narrowing his eyes at you instead. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re treadin’ dangerous ground.”

You laughed, brushing past him into the storage closet. “Oh, please. You’re an old softie under all that gruff exterior, and you know it.” Your fingers skimmed over the shelves until you found the lightbulb you needed. Holding it up triumphantly, you turned back to him. “See? Mission accomplished. No drama required.”

Logan grunted but didn’t argue as he took the bulb from you, his hand brushing yours briefly. “Let’s get this done,” he said, his voice softer now. “Before someone else decides to make a scene in another damn closet.”

---

2015

“Uh, don’t you think I should… you know, learn to ride a bike first?” You asked Logan.

“You know how to ride a bike,” Logan said, his brows furrowed. When you didn’t answer, his head turned slowly, eyes narrowing at your silence. “...Right?”

You hesitated, feeling heat rise to your face as you avoided his gaze. “Well... technically? No. Not really.” You adjusted your glasses nervously and crossed your arms like a makeshift shield.

Logan’s face softened slightly, though his confusion lingered. “You’re tellin’ me you never learned to ride a bike?”

You shrugged, feeling the familiar prick of shyness creeping in. “My grandma didn’t have much money, and bikes weren’t exactly a priority. It’s not like I could just borrow someone else’s either—believe me, I tried. Let’s just say it didn’t go well.”

Logan leaned back against his motorcycle, arms crossing over his chest as he studied you. His teasing smirk melted into something gentler. “Alright,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter but still firm. “That explains bikes, but why the hell didn’t you mention it when I said I’d teach you to ride this?”

You glanced at the hulking metal machine beside him. “Because I didn’t think it mattered! I mean, how hard can it be? It’s got an engine. And wheels. That’s basically the same thing, right?”

Logan’s laugh was low and gravelly, and the sound made your cheeks flush further. “Darlin’, it ain’t the same thing at all. You’re gonna need balance, coordination—”

“Which I have!” you cut in, bristling at his tone. “I teach physics, Logan. I know how it works.”

He arched a brow. “Sure, you can explain the mechanics, but can you actually do it?”

You glared at him, then sighed in defeat, rubbing the back of your neck. “Okay, fine. Maybe not. But I can learn.”

Logan shook his head, his smirk returning. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He pushed off the bike and gestured for you to come closer. “Alright, let’s start small. I’ll teach you the basics first.”

You hesitated, your nervousness bubbling up again. “You’re not gonna let me fall, right?”

His expression softened as he stepped closer, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I got you,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “Ain’t gonna let you fall, I promise.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Logan spent the next few minutes walking you through the basics—how to balance, how to hold the handlebars, and how to use the clutch and throttle. He was patient, surprisingly so, and his gruff encouragement kept your nerves at bay.

“Alright,” he said finally, stepping back slightly but keeping a hand on the seat. “We’re gonna try movin’. Just a little. I’ll walk beside you.”

Your grip tightened on the handlebars as you glanced at him nervously. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he said, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Trust me, sweetheart. You’re doin’ fine.”

With a deep breath, you followed his instructions, easing the clutch and gently twisting the throttle. The motorcycle lurched slightly, and you yelped, but Logan steadied you instantly.

“Easy,” he said, his voice calm. “You’re okay. Just like that.”

You tried again, and this time, the bike moved forward smoothly. Logan stayed beside you, his hand steady on the seat as you slowly made your way across the driveway. The grin that spread across your face was impossible to contain.

“See?” he said, his own smile widening. “Told ya you could do it.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you as you kept the bike moving. “This is kind of amazing,” you admitted, glancing at him. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing it.”

Logan chuckled, his hand still firm on the seat. “Told ya. You’re tougher than you think, darlin’.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt a surge of confidence. Maybe this was just the first step, but it was a step nonetheless—and with Logan by your side, you knew you could take as many as you needed.

---

“—according to eyewitnesses, Sokovia appears to be flying. The Avengers are on the scene, fighting what appears to be a…”

“First SHIELD falls apart, now there’s a damn robot flyin’ around?” Logan muttered. Almost everyone in the mansion was in the common room, watching the news.

“Technically, it’s an android,” you corrected, adjusting your glasses as you leaned against the back of the couch. Your voice was calm but carried the faintest note of amusement at the scene playing out on the TV screen.

Logan glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “Sure, let’s call the murderin’ metal monster what it prefers. That’s the priority here.” He crossed his arms, his gruff tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jean, sitting nearby, let out a small chuckle. “Well, he’s not wrong. Ultron’s not exactly top of my list for respectful terminology.”

You smiled faintly and shrugged. “Fair, but if I’m going to critique somethin’, I might as well use the right terms. It’s a professional hazard.”

Logan snorted, shaking his head. “Professional hazard, huh? Remind me again how bein’ a physics teacher leads to defendin’ killer robots.”

“Androids,” you corrected again, your lips twitching into a teasing smile. “And it’s not defending; it’s just precision. You know, the thing you constantly roll your eyes at when I explain why your motorcycle’s not defying the laws of physics.”

He leaned closer, his smirk widening. “That’s ‘cause I prefer ridin’ it to overthinkin’ it, darlin’.”

“Is that so?” you shot back, tilting your head up at him. “Maybe that’s why you haven’t managed to fix the gearshift properly.”

Scott, perched on the arm of another chair, let out a low whistle. “She got you there, Logan.”

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, instead throwing a glance at the screen where the Avengers fought tirelessly against Ultron’s forces. The destruction was massive, and the gravity of it wasn’t lost on anyone in the room.

“We’re not goin’, right?” Rogue asked quietly, her arms wrapped around her knees as she sat on the floor. She glanced between you, Logan, and Jean, her brows furrowed with uncertainty.

“No,” Jean said firmly. “This isn’t our fight. The Avengers have it handled, or at least they’ll try. Charles made that clear.”

Logan grunted in agreement. “They can handle their own mess. Last thing we need is to wade into it and make things worse.”

Rogue nodded slowly, though her expression remained troubled. “Still feels weird, just watchin’.”

“It’s not weird,” you said softly, your gaze still fixed on the screen. “It’s strategic. If we jump in every time something goes wrong, we spread ourselves too thin. We’ve got enough on our plate without throwing Sokovia into the mix.”

Rogue’s eyes flicked to you, then Logan, before she gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah, I guess.”

The room fell into a thoughtful silence, save for the muffled sounds of the battle being broadcast. Logan turned his attention back to you, studying your profile as your focus remained on the news.

---

"Aw, man. Can’t believe Jubilee of all people got Boardwalk," Rogue playfully complained, throwing her hands up as Jubilee beamed triumphantly from her spot at the coffee table.

"What can I say?" Jubilee grinned, holding up her brightly colored stack of Monopoly money. "Luck’s got my back tonight."

"Luck?" Remy raised an eyebrow, his Cajun drawl teasing. "Pretty sure you’re just distractin’ everyone with that flashy jacket of yours."

Jubilee gasped in mock offense, clutching her chest. "Excuse me, Gambit. This jacket is iconic."

"Iconic or not," Kitty piped up, carefully counting her cash, "you’re gonna have to deal with the wrath of everyone else when we land on that property."

"Speak for yourself," Jean said with a smirk, nudging Scott. "Scott’s too busy trying to stay out of jail to care."

Scott glared playfully at her. "I’m not trying to stay out of jail. I’m strategically avoiding taxes."

"Strategic avoidance," Logan muttered, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "That’s one way to put it, Slim."

"Don’t even start, Logan," Scott shot back, though his tone was more amused than annoyed. "You’ve been sitting on Baltic and Mediterranean this whole game like they’re gold mines."

"Least I’m not spendin’ every turn beggin’ for a loan," Logan countered, giving Scott a pointed look.

You smiled faintly, adjusting your glasses as you picked up the dice. “Can we all agree that the real villain of Monopoly is whoever came up with income tax?”

"Yes!" Rogue said emphatically, leaning back against Remy’s legs where she was seated on the floor. "Every time I get ahead, bam—back to square one."

"Maybe if you invested more wisely," Remy teased, running a hand through her hair. "But don’t worry, chère, I’ll cover your bail next time you land in jail."

Rogue rolled her eyes but smiled, leaning her head back against him. "You’re all heart, Remy."

As the dice clattered across the board, Jubilee groaned. "Oh, come on, Y/N, that’s doubles! Again?"

"Looks like she’s on a roll," Logan said, his tone laced with amusement as he watched you move your piece. "Better watch out, Jubilee. That Boardwalk might not be safe for long."

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Careful, Logan. You sound suspiciously supportive. People might think we’re teaming up."

He chuckled low, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Wouldn’t wanna give anyone the wrong idea, sweetheart."

Jean nudged you gently with her elbow. "Watch him. He’s always got a plan brewing."

"You say that like I don’t already know," you replied, your voice light but tinged with warmth. Your fingers brushed against Logan’s as you passed him the dice, and for a brief moment, his gaze lingered on you before shifting back to the board.

The game continued, filled with lighthearted banter and occasional protests—mostly from Scott whenever Jubilee made a trade that seemed less than fair. As the hours wore on, the pile of snacks in the center of the table dwindled, and the room settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Logan leaned toward you as Rogue argued with Kitty over a contested property trade. His voice was low, just for you. "Y’know, you play it quiet, but you’ve been hustlin’ this whole game."

You shrugged, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. "Maybe I’ve just got a good poker face."

"Poker, huh?" His lips quirked into a smirk. "Remind me to never let you deal me in."

"Deal’s a two-way street," you shot back, glancing at him with a teasing smile. "Think you can keep up?"

"Always," he replied, his tone gruff but soft in a way only you would notice. His hand brushed against yours briefly before he reached for his drink, and though the moment was fleeting, the warmth lingered.

The dice passed to Rogue, and the focus shifted back to the game. You caught Jean’s knowing smile from across the table, and though she said nothing, the glint in her eyes spoke volumes. You felt a flicker of heat rise to your cheeks but quickly focused back on the board, your heart a little lighter than it had been all day.

---

Logan’s birthday was never a huge affair. He didn’t enjoy parties or people making a big deal about it. Which is why it usually just involved a cake and candles, but no happy birthday song.

You had already gifted him a new pair of boots which you knew he desperately needed but never went out to get new ones.

Your other gift was a bit different. About 3 years ago when you made your affection binder, you had also made your sex binder. And while that particular binder had never been put to good use, you figured there was no better day than today.

With your hands on your hips, you looked up at Logan, your shy demeanor softened by a teasing smile as you held the binder out. “You can only pick one thing from that.”

Logan raised a brow, crossing his arms as he took the binder. “One thing, huh? Not really how I remember binders workin’, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your glasses. “Just read it, Logan.”

He chuckled, sitting down at the edge of the bed as he flipped it open. The binder was heavier than it looked, and as he started skimming the first few pages, his lips twitched with amusement. “You put tabs in this thing? Like, organized it with sections?”

“Yes.” Your tone was a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness. “It’s efficient.”

“Efficient, huh? Color-coded too.” He smirked, glancing up at you.

“Just keep reading,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

Logan’s grin widened, but he didn’t tease further. He flipped through each section, his sharp eyes picking up every meticulous detail. There were notes written in your neat handwriting, concise explanations next to bullet points, and even small diagrams for clarity.

“This part’s highlighted,” he observed, gesturing to one page. “Somethin’ you were hopin’ I’d notice, darlin’?”

“It’s just… suggestions,” you stammered, trying not to fidget as you leaned against the dresser.

“Hm.” He skimmed further, his fingers brushing the tabs as he took in the various ideas, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. Logan paused at one section labeled Sensation Play. He tapped his finger against a specific note before glancing up at you.

And that’s how you ended up face down, ass up in bed and 3—4?—orgasms in.

The sheets were a mess, tangled and damp with sweat as you clawed at them, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. Logan’s grip on your hips was bruising, his calloused hands grounding you as he drove into you from behind with relentless precision. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your overstimulated body, your moans muffled against the mattress as your fingers curled tightly around the fabric.

“Jesus, darlin’,” Logan growled, his voice rough and dripping with satisfaction. He leaned over you, his chest grazing your back as his teeth caught your earlobe. “Don’t you dare tap out on me now.”

You tried to respond, but all that came out was a choked whimper, your body betraying you as another orgasm tore through you like a lightning strike.

“Look at you,” he rumbled, his lips brushing the back of your neck as he straightened, his hands sliding up your back to press between your shoulder blades. The new angle had you crying out, and he grinned wickedly. “Such a good girl. Taking everythin’ I give you, huh?”

Your answer was a broken gasp, your mind too foggy to form words. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending singing as Logan pushed you beyond your limits.

“Too much?” he asked, though his pace didn’t falter. The smirk in his tone was impossible to miss.

“Y-yes,” you managed to stammer, though it was quickly followed by a breathless, “No. Don’t stop.”

Logan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. “That’s what I thought. You can handle it, sweetheart. You always do.”

He shifted slightly, one hand leaving your hip to slide around your waist. His fingers found your clit with unerring accuracy, and the sharp jolt of sensation had you keening into the mattress.

“Logan!” you cried, your voice cracking as your body arched against him. He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips like that.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. “Perfect for me. Always have been.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, your emotions as raw as your body. Logan’s words always hit differently, carrying a weight that went beyond the moment. You clung to them as he pushed you over the edge again, your body convulsing around him as you cried out his name.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan’s movements stilled, his hands grounding you as his warmth enveloped your trembling form. He shifted, sliding out of you slowly, and the sudden emptiness made you whimper softly. His voice was a low, gravelly murmur. “Turn over, darlin’.”

Your legs felt like jelly, but you obeyed, rolling onto your back. The cool sheets felt foreign against your overheated skin, and you blinked up at him, your vision hazy from exhaustion and lingering pleasure. Logan’s expression was unreadable for a moment, his sharp eyes tracing over every inch of you—the flush of your cheeks, the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath, and the glimmer of tears that clung to your lashes underneath your fogged-up glasses.

He leaned down, his hands bracketing your head as he kissed you. It was softer this time, almost tender, but there was still that unrelenting hunger beneath it. When he pulled back, his voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Ain’t done with you yet.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, Logan’s hands slid beneath your thighs. He pulled you closer, aligning your hips as he settled between your legs. The intimacy of the position made your heart stutter, your cheeks burning hotter as he pinned you with that intense gaze.

“Logan…” you started, but the words caught in your throat when he thrust into you again, slow and deliberate. A shudder wracked your body, your head tipping back as a gasp slipped past your lips.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice dark with satisfaction. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out. It was instinct, a habit born from years of living in the mansion, where privacy was a luxury and thin walls carried whispers. Logan noticed immediately, his brow furrowing as his thrusts deepened.

“No, none of that,” he growled. One hand slipped up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lips. “Don’t hold back on me.”

“Logan, I—” Another sharp thrust stole your words, your gasp turning into a soft, broken moan. He grinned wickedly at the sound, his eyes glinting with triumph.

“There it is,” he rumbled, his thumb pressing lightly against your lip before he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re gonna give me more than that, darlin’. Gonna make sure the whole damn mansion knows who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

A whimper escaped you, and he chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand slid up your side, his calloused palm rough against your sensitive skin. When he reached your breast, his thumb brushed over your nipple, drawing another gasp from you. Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle as your body arched into his touch.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling. It wasn’t loud, not yet, but it was enough to spur him on. He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes.

“That’s better,” he praised, his tone laced with smug satisfaction. “But you can do better than that, can’t you?”

You shook your head, biting down on another moan. “I can’t… they’ll hear—”

Logan’s hand left your breast, sliding up to capture both of your wrists and pin them above your head. His grip was firm but not painful, his strength effortlessly restraining you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “Let ‘em hear.”

The commanding tone sent a jolt of arousal straight through you, and you couldn’t stop the moan that spilled out this time. It was louder than before, raw and unrestrained, and the sound made Logan’s breath hitch. He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he drove into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he muttered against your skin, his voice rough and strained. “Knew you had it in you.”

You felt yourself unraveling again, the pleasure building to an unbearable crescendo as Logan continued to push you further. Tears slipped down your cheeks, the overwhelming sensation too much to contain.

Logan pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression softening as he saw the tears. He slowed his movements, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured, “You’re so damn beautiful, Y/N. Never get tired of seein’ you like this.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you surged up, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. He returned it with equal fervor, his hands releasing your wrists to cradle your face instead. The connection felt deeper this way, as if the years of longing and heartbreak were pouring into every touch, every kiss, every whispered word.

When you finally came undone again, it was with his name on your lips, your voice unrestrained as you fell apart in his arms. Logan followed moments later, his groan rumbling through his chest as he buried himself deep inside you one last time. The weight of him against you, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, was the only thing anchoring you to reality as the aftershocks rolled through your body.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your ragged breaths the only sound in the room. Logan pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his thumb brushing away the tears that still clung to your cheeks.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice thick with concern despite the obvious satisfaction etched into his features.

You nodded, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shoulder. “Yeah. Just… give me a minute.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of damp hair away from your face. “Take all the time you need, darlin’. Not goin’ anywhere.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you reached up to adjust your glasses, which had been knocked askew at some point. “That’s an understatement,” you teased, your voice still shaky. “Pretty sure I’m not going anywhere either. My legs don’t work anymore.”

Logan’s grin widened, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, the gesture achingly sweet. “Good. Means I did my job right.”

---

“Where ya goin’ dressed up like that?” Logan asked, leaning casually against the doorframe, his sharp eyes catching Rogue as she descended the staircase in a sleek black dress and a pair of matching heels.

Rogue paused, one hand gripping the bannister as she gave Logan a sheepish look. “Nowhere special,” she said lightly, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off her dress.

Logan snorted, his arms crossing over his chest. “Yeah, ‘cause ya always wear heels to ‘nowhere special.’ Try again, kid.”

Rogue rolled her eyes, exasperation flickering across her face as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “It’s not a big deal, Logan. I’m just goin’ out with Remy.”

Logan’s brows knit together, and his gaze narrowed slightly. “Out where?”

“Dinner,” Rogue replied, her tone clipped as she adjusted one of her gloves. “We’ve been datin’ for a year, you know. It ain’t news.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna ask,” Logan muttered, straightening up. “What time’ll you be back?”

“Don’t wait up,” she said with a cheeky grin, grabbing her coat off the nearby rack.

“Rogue,” Logan growled, his voice dropping to that familiar gruff tone that usually got everyone’s attention.

With a sigh, Rogue stopped at the front door, one gloved hand on the knob. “Logan, I get that you’re protective, but I’m not a kid. Remy’s a good guy. You trust him, don’t you?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t immediately answer. Instead, his eyes darted to the ceiling as if considering. Finally, he let out a resigned grunt. “He’s a smooth-talking Cajun who cheats at cards.”

“Not all cards,” a voice drawled, and Remy appeared in the doorway, his usual smirk firmly in place. “Just the ones where the stakes matter.” He winked at Rogue before shooting Logan a friendly nod. “Don’ worry, mon ami. I’ll have her back safe and sound.”

Rogue smiled at Logan, a softness in her eyes. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

Logan muttered something under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Go. But you let me know if somethin’—”

“I will,” Rogue interrupted, her tone warm but firm. She pushed up on her toes, planting a light kiss on Logan’s cheek. “Thanks, Logan.”

As the pair disappeared out the door, Logan shook his head, muttering, “Damn Cajun.”

You stepped into the room, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “You know, for someone who acts all grumpy and aloof, you’re pretty much a softie.”

Logan turned, his gaze landing on you as he huffed. “I’m not a softie.”

“You let her date Remy, didn’t you?” You adjusted your glasses, tilting your head at him. “If that’s not soft, I don’t know what is.”

He crossed the space between you and stood close enough that you had to look up slightly to meet his gaze. “Let’s get somethin’ straight. I’m not lettin’ anything happen. I’m just pickin’ my battles.”

“Mhm,” you murmured, your smile growing. “And the battle you didn’t pick tonight was keeping Rogue home.”

“Watch it,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “How’d you get so good at teasin’ me, huh?”

“Years of practice,” you quipped, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

He chuckled, his hand brushing briefly against yours before he stepped past you. “C’mon, let’s find somethin’ to eat. I ain’t sittin’ here all night worryin’ about the Cajun’s drivin’.”

---

The team walked into the dimly lit warehouse, their boots echoing against the concrete floor. The space was eerily quiet, illuminated only by the faint orange light of a single overhead lamp swaying slightly in the still air.

“Pretty cozy,” Logan muttered, his voice low as his eyes scanned the empty space. His senses were on high alert, his every instinct telling him something wasn’t right.

“This is the last known location of the shipments,” Scott said, frowning as he checked a map on his tablet. “There should be something here.”

“Should be,” you repeated, adjusting your glasses as you stepped further inside. “But looks can be deceiving.”

Jean’s voice chimed in softly behind you. “Spread out. Look for anything—papers, labels, anything out of the ordinary.”

The group split up, scattering throughout the open floor. Logan stayed close to you, his steps quiet but purposeful. His eyes shifted toward every shadow, a habit borne from years of battle and survival.

“I don’t like it,” he muttered, his gruff tone breaking the silence between you.

You glanced at him, your brow furrowed. “What? The empty warehouse or the general sense of impending doom?”

“Take your pick, darlin’,” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A small laugh escaped your lips, easing some of the tension. “I’d go with the second option. The lack of dust in here makes me think it hasn’t been abandoned long.”

Logan grunted in agreement, his attention pulled to a series of file cabinets along the far wall. “Might be somethin’ in here.” He tugged the drawer open with little effort, the lock snapping under his grip.

You crouched next to him, peering into the contents. Folders upon folders sat neatly inside, but most of them were unmarked, filled with papers in languages that seemed out of place. “Nothing that screams ‘illegal operation,’ but…” You reached for a document that stood out—a glossy pamphlet bearing the word Transigen.

“Transigen?” you muttered aloud, showing it to Logan. “Ring any bells?”

Logan stared at it, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Nah, but I don’t like it. Feels off.”

“Agreed,” you said, flipping through the rest of the papers. There wasn’t much else of note—no names, no dates, no clear locations.

Jean and Scott joined you a few moments later, carrying a sparse collection of other documents. “What’d you find?” Jean asked.

You handed her the pamphlet. “Not much. Just this. None of us have heard of Transigen before.”

Scott frowned as he skimmed the cover. “Could be nothing, or it could be their way of staying off the radar.”

“We take it back to Charles,” Jean said, tucking the pamphlet under her arm. “See what he can find out.”

---

“Logan, I don’t think anyone nowadays needs to know how to drive stick shift,” you said, gripping the wheel of the ancient car in the mansion’s garage. It reeked of age—leather seats cracking under your weight and the faint scent of old gasoline hanging in the air. You adjusted your glasses nervously as you glanced at Logan.

“Says the one who stalled it three times just tryin’ to back it out,” he shot back, leaning back in the passenger seat, his arms crossed. His smirk was laced with amusement, his hazel eyes gleaming.

“Okay, that was not my fault. Who decided reverse should be up and to the left? It’s… counterintuitive,” you grumbled, your voice soft but laced with frustration.

Logan chuckled, the deep sound filling the space. “Darlin’, that’s the point. Makes sure not just anyone can mess with it.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” you quipped, biting your lip as you shifted into first gear. The engine gave an ominous growl, and you glanced at Logan for reassurance. He didn’t say a word, just raised an eyebrow.

With a deep breath, you eased your foot off the clutch and onto the gas. The car lurched forward, sputtering but somehow staying alive. “See?” you said triumphantly. “I’ve got this.”

“For now,” Logan replied, though there was no malice in his tone. He gestured for you to keep driving. “Get outta the garage, then we’ll see.”

Carefully navigating the narrow space, you maneuvered the car out onto the long drive leading away from the mansion. The sunlight filtered through the surrounding trees, casting dappled shadows over the pavement. Your confidence grew with each foot traveled.

“So why the sudden need to teach me how to drive stick?” you asked after a moment, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead.

“’Cause,” Logan said simply, shrugging. “You never know when it might come in handy.”

“That’s vague,” you replied, glancing at him. His expression gave nothing away, though the smallest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“It’s a skill,” he said after a pause. “Besides, keeps you sharp.”

You rolled your eyes. “You say that about everything, though. Like chopping wood. Who chops wood in 2015?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I didn’t enjoy the blisters,” you countered, though there was a warmth in your voice.

The car gave a sudden jerk, cutting the banter short. You let out a startled noise, gripping the wheel tighter. Logan reached over, steadying it without hesitation. “Relax,” he said, his voice calm. “You’re just ridin’ the clutch. Give it more gas.”

“I’m trying,” you said through gritted teeth, your frustration showing. But you followed his instructions, and the car smoothed out again.

“There,” he said approvingly. “Told you you’d get the hang of it.”

“You’re awfully encouraging,” you said dryly, though a small smile played on your lips.

“Don’t get used to it,” Logan replied with a wink, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly tone that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or being serious.

You shook your head with a small laugh, the car jolting slightly as you shifted gears. “I think you just like watching me suffer.”

“Nah,” Logan said, leaning back in his seat with a smirk. “If I wanted that, I’d let you figure this thing out on your own. But I’m too nice for that.”

“Oh, sure. Logan Howlett, the king of kindness,” you teased, glancing at him before quickly returning your focus to the road.

“Don’t forget it,” he shot back, his smirk widening.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the hum of the car filling the air. Outside, the trees blurred together in shades of green and brown, the sunlight cutting through the branches and casting fleeting patterns across the dashboard.

“Y’know,” Logan started after a while, breaking the quiet, “you’re doin’ better than I expected.”

“Oh, great. High praise from the guy who’s been driving since the 1800s,” you said, adjusting your glasses with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel.

Logan chuckled, the sound warm and low. “Ain’t my fault I’ve had a lot of practice.” He glanced at you, his hazel eyes softening. “Still. You’re doin’ good, darlin’. You’ve always been a quick learner.”

Your grip on the steering wheel relaxed a little at his words. “Thanks. I think.”

He nodded toward the road ahead. “Keep goin’ straight, then we’ll loop back to the garage. Shouldn’t push this old heap too much on her first run.”

“First run? Logan, this car looks like it’s survived two wars,” you said with a grin, earning a laugh from him.

“Probably has,” he admitted.

The drive back to the garage went smoother, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride as you pulled the car into its original spot without stalling. Turning off the ignition, you leaned back in the seat with a satisfied sigh.

“See? Told you I could do it,” you said, glancing at Logan.

He gave a small nod, his lips quirking up into a faint smile. “Guess I owe you that one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What? No sarcastic comment? No snarky remark?”

“Not today,” he said, his tone softer now.

Something in the way he looked at you made your breath catch—there was a weight in his gaze, like he was seeing more than just the present moment. He’d been like this sometimes, staring at you as if he was trying to memorize every detail, every little thing about you.

“What?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan shook his head, the moment passing as quickly as it came. “Nothin’. Let’s head inside. You’ve earned yourself a break.”

You climbed out of the car, still feeling the lingering warmth of his gaze as the two of you walked back toward the mansion.

---

Logan walked into your lab, his heavy footsteps echoing against the sterile tiles as he eyed the setup on your table. Various gadgets and pieces of equipment blinked and whirred, wires snaking between them like a miniature city of technology. He stopped just short of the table, crossing his arms as he gave you a skeptical look.

“Alright, why’d ya call me in here?” he asked, the gruffness in his voice softened slightly by curiosity.

You adjusted your glasses, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Because you, Logan, need to learn something new. Consider it payback for all those hours spent stalling cars in the driveway.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Pretty sure drivin’ a stick’s more useful than whatever this is.”

You ignored the jab, your fingers deftly adjusting a small control panel. “Maybe. But when you thought Hank’s laser pointer was going to burn your skin, I realized you might need a crash course in modern tech.”

Logan scowled. “It was brighter than it needed to be.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you picked up a small handheld device. “This,” you said, holding it up like a prized artifact, “is a low-intensity laser emitter. Completely harmless—unless you point it at someone’s eye for a really long time. But we’re not doing that.”

He narrowed his eyes at the device, taking a small step back. “Still don’t see why I gotta know about it.”

“Because,” you said patiently, “in our line of work, it’s good to understand what we’re dealing with. Plus, if you’re going to make fun of me for not knowing how to drive stick, I get to make fun of you for thinking this little thing is gonna cook you alive.”

Logan huffed but didn’t argue, watching as you adjusted a few dials and pointed the emitter at a piece of metal on the table. You pressed a button, and a thin red beam shot out, cutting a small groove into the surface.

“See?” you said, gesturing to the clean line. “It’s just concentrated energy. Controlled and precise.”

Logan tilted his head, leaning in slightly to inspect the mark. “Huh. Not bad.”

“Not bad?” you repeated, feigning offense. “This is incredible, Logan. It’s a tool, a weapon, even a way to—”

“Save the sales pitch, sweetheart,” he interrupted, a smirk forming on his lips. “You’re already more excited about this than anyone else’ll ever be.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “Fine. But now it’s your turn.”

Logan straightened, his expression immediately shifting to one of suspicion. “What d’ya mean, ‘my turn’?”

“I mean,” you said, holding out the device, “you’re going to use it.”

He stared at it like you’d handed him a live grenade. “I’m good.”

“Oh no,” you said firmly, stepping closer and pressing the emitter into his hand. “You’re not getting out of this. I had to learn how to keep an ancient car alive; you can learn how to use a laser.”

Logan sighed, his grip on the device awkward. “You’re relentless, y’know that?”

“Comes with the territory,” you replied with a grin, stepping back. “Now, aim it at the metal—carefully—and press the button. That’s it.”

Logan hesitated, glancing at you for reassurance. When you nodded, he turned his attention to the table, holding the emitter with surprising precision. He pressed the button, and the red beam sprang to life, tracing an uneven line across the surface.

“Not bad for a first try,” you said encouragingly.

“Doesn’t feel like much,” Logan muttered, though there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes as he turned off the beam.

“Because it’s not,” you said. “This is just a demonstration. Real lasers are a lot more powerful. They can cut through steel or even—”

“Okay, okay,” Logan interrupted, holding up a hand. “I get it. Lasers are fancy. You happy now?”

“Very,” you replied, your smile softening. “You’re a natural.”

He snorted, setting the device back on the table. “Don’t push it.”

---

2016

“Maybe we could rewatch The Force Awakens. You know Jones likes that movie.” Jean suggested.

You shook your head, “I don’t disagree with that kid much, but on that I do. That movie is not better than the other six ones!”

“Well, maybe not but—”

Loud, insistent knocking cut Jean off as the two of you looked at the main door. You both looked at each other, then the door, before slowly walking towards it.

You gave Jean a nod before quickly opening the door, revealing Peter standing outside, disheveled. His usually neat hair stuck up in all directions, his face was pale, and his clothes—though clean—were wrinkled as if he’d been wearing them for hours. His backpack hung off one shoulder, sagging with weight.

“Peter?” you said, startled. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

His wide brown eyes darted between you and Jean, and he opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, visibly struggling to find the words. “I—I didn’t know where else to go,” he finally blurted, his voice trembling. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Jean said gently, stepping aside to let him in. You quickly closed the door behind him, your brow furrowed with concern.

Peter shuffled inside, dropping his bag by the entryway with a soft thud. He looked around, his gaze lingering on the familiar halls of the mansion, but there was none of the boyish excitement you remembered from his visits years ago.

“Pete,” you said softly, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “What’s going on? Is it your aunt? Is she okay?”

He shook his head quickly. “Aunt May’s fine. It’s not that. It’s—” He paused, swallowing hard. “It’s me.”

Jean stepped closer, her expression kind but cautious. “Did something happen? You can tell us, Peter.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he let out a shaky breath and looked directly at you. “I think… something’s wrong with me.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Jean before returning your focus to him. “What do you mean, ‘wrong’? Are you hurt?” You reached out instinctively, but he took a small step back, shaking his head.

“No, I’m not hurt. It’s just…” He hesitated again, clearly wrestling with how to explain. “Weird stuff’s been happening. Like, really weird. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Start from the beginning,” Jean urged, her tone calm and reassuring. “What kind of weird stuff?”

Peter hesitated, his face contorting as he tried to find the words. Finally, he held up his hands, palms out. “It’s hard to explain, but… I’m different now. Stronger. Faster. And—”

“Slow down,” you said gently, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “What happened, Peter? When did this start?”

“A few days ago,” he said quickly. “I was on a field trip, and this… spider bit me. It hurt, but I didn’t think much of it. Then the next day, I woke up and—” He took a shaky breath. “I could climb walls. And my hands stick to stuff. And I broke my desk without even trying.”

Your mind raced, piecing together the details. “A spider? Did anyone else on the trip get bitten?”

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Just me. I—I Googled it, and nothing normal explains what’s happening. I thought I was going crazy until—” He stopped short, looking down at his hands again.

“Until what?” Jean prompted, her voice soft.

“Until I almost hurt someone,” Peter admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Some guy at school tried to mess with me, and I… I didn’t mean to, but I shoved him. He flew halfway across the cafeteria.” His shoulders slumped, and he looked up at you with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

You exchanged another glance with Jean, whose expression had shifted to one of understanding. She nodded slightly, silently agreeing with what you were already thinking. Whatever was happening to Peter, it wasn’t just some random coincidence—it was something bigger.

“Okay,” you said softly, squeezing his arm reassuringly. “You did the right thing coming here. We’ll figure this out together.”

Peter’s lip quivered, but he managed a small nod. “You mean it?”

“Of course,” Jean said, her voice steady and calm. “You’re part of our family, Peter. You always have been. Whatever this is, we’ll help you. But first, how about we get you to the medbay? I can run some tests, and we can figure out what’s going on, yeah?”

Peter hesitated for a moment, his shoulders still tense. “Okay,” he said quietly, glancing between you and Jean. “But… what if it’s bad? Like, really bad?”

You stepped closer, offering him a reassuring smile. “Then we’ll deal with it. Together. You’re not alone in this, Pete.”

Jean placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Y/N’s right. Let’s take this one step at a time. You’ve already done the hardest part by coming here.”

Peter nodded slowly, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Thanks,” he murmured.

The three of you began heading down the hall toward the medbay. The mansion was quiet, the late hour leaving most of the residents either in their rooms or scattered in common areas. Peter’s footsteps were hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should really be there, but you made sure to keep close, walking just beside him.

“You’ve grown a lot since the last time you visited,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I think you’re taller than me now.”

Peter managed a small smile. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

Jean chimed in, her tone light. “Taller, but definitely still the same kid who tried to sneak cookies out of the kitchen when Logan wasn’t looking.”

That earned a faint laugh from Peter. “He caught me every time. His hearing’s, like, too good.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a tough one to fool. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

As you reached the medbay, Jean gestured for Peter to take a seat on one of the examination tables. “Okay, just sit tight for a second,” she said, moving to grab some equipment. “I’m going to start with a simple scan, see if there’s anything unusual we can pick up.”

Peter fidgeted nervously on the table, his hands gripping the edge. You perched on a nearby stool, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be fine,” you said. “Jean’s the best at this stuff.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, but his voice was still uncertain. “I just… I don’t know what to expect. What if this isn’t something you guys can fix?”

Jean glanced over from where she was setting up the scanner. “Peter, this isn’t about fixing you. You’re not broken. Whatever’s happening, it’s a part of you now. We’re just going to figure out how it works so you can control it.”

Peter nodded, but his unease was still clear. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” you said firmly. “You came here because you care about doing the right thing. That already says a lot.”

Jean activated the scanner, and a soft hum filled the room. She positioned it around Peter, carefully monitoring the readouts on a nearby screen. “This might feel a little weird,” she warned. “Just hold still for a minute.”

Peter froze in place, his wide eyes darting nervously between the scanner and the screen. You leaned forward slightly, watching as Jean studied the results.

After a few minutes, she let out a soft hum of interest. “Well, this is definitely unique,” she said, turning the screen toward you.

“What is it?” Peter asked anxiously.

Jean smiled reassuringly. “Your DNA’s been altered, but not in a way that’s harmful. It looks like the spider that bit you carried some kind of genetic mutation. It passed that mutation on to you.”

“So… what does that mean?” Peter asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It means your powers aren’t random,” Jean explained. “They’re a result of the mutation. Your strength, your speed, your ability to climb walls—all of it comes from the changes in your DNA.”

Peter stared at her, processing the information. “So I’m… like a mutant now?”

Jean hesitated, then nodded. “In a way, yes. But this doesn’t define who you are, Peter. It’s just a part of you.”

Peter let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You placed a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re going to help you figure this out, Pete. You’re not in this alone.”

He looked at you, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Thanks. I mean it.”

Jean smiled, her tone warm. “That’s what family’s for.”

As the three of you continued to talk, a familiar, gruff voice cut through the quiet. “What’s all this about a family reunion?”

You turned to see Logan leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed and a curious expression on his face. Peter’s eyes widened, and he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Logan,” you said with a small smile. “Perfect timing.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “What’d the kid do?”

“Nothing,” Jean said quickly, shooting him a look. “He’s just… going through some changes. And he could use some guidance.”

Logan’s gaze shifted to Peter, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah? Well, stick around, kid. You’ll learn a thing or two here.”

Peter nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. For the first time since he’d arrived, he looked like he might actually believe that everything was going to be okay.

---

A few months later, Ororo and Charles were walking out of his office, talking about the small lead they had on Transigen, which was only that they seemed to be stationed in Mexico City.

But then there was loud knocking on the front door, causing both their heads to turn towards the door. Ororo looked down at Charles as the older man focused on who was outside.

“Ah, I don’t suppose you could fetch me Scott and Jean?”

---

Jean opened her eyes, her hands hovering over the sides of Bucky’s head. “Well, I’m not saying it’s impossible… I’ve just never tried to undo someone’s… conditioning.”

Her voice was calm, but there was a note of uncertainty, one that didn’t go unnoticed by the others in the room. Bucky remained seated, his jaw tight, hands gripping the edges of his chair so hard that the metal creaked under the pressure. Steve stepped closer, his expression a mix of concern and resolve.

“Jean,” Steve said, his voice low, “if there’s anyone who can do this, it’s you.”

Jean glanced at him, offering a faint smile. “I appreciate the confidence, Steve, but this isn’t just about skill. What was done to him… it’s layers upon layers of trauma. I can try to help him regain control, but there’s a risk.”

“What kind of risk?” Wanda asked, standing near Sam, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Jean hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “If I push too hard or go too deep too quickly, I could make it worse. His mind is like a minefield. One wrong step, and I could trigger something—memories, programming—that we don’t want activated.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Jean, his voice gruff but steady. “Do it.”

“Bucky,” Steve started, but Bucky held up a hand, cutting him off.

“I’ve lived like this for too long,” he said, his tone firm. “If there’s even a chance she can help, I’ll take it.”

Jean exchanged a look with Scott, who stood by the door, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. “It’s his call,” Scott said simply. “But Jean, don’t push yourself too hard, either.”

She nodded again, her fingers tapping lightly against her palm before turning toward Charles. “Professor, can I talk to you real quick?”

Charles gave a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgment, his wheelchair moving forward as Jean followed him out of the office and into the hallway. The rest of the group lingered near the open door, their hushed voices echoing faintly in the quiet mansion.

Jean’s face was tight with tension as they walked. “Professor, I’ve done this kind of thing before—helping someone unravel memories—but nothing like this. The level of conditioning… it’s terrifying. I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m not sure how deep I can go without risking it all.”

Charles stopped, his gaze steady and calm as he looked up at her. “Jean, you’ve always had an extraordinary gift—not just your abilities, but your compassion. That compassion is what will guide you here. Take it slowly. Listen to him, and listen to your instincts. You are capable of far more than you give yourself credit for.”

Jean hesitated, glancing down at her hands. “I just… I don’t want to fail him. Or the team.”

“You won’t,” Charles reassured her. “This isn’t just about skill; it’s about trust. He trusts you. Let that be your foundation.”

She gave him a small smile, her tension easing just slightly. “Thank you, Professor.”

Meanwhile, back in the office, Steve and Bucky had moved closer to the open door. Their conversation stalled as their attention shifted toward the sound of laughter echoing from down the hall. Logan’s gruff voice mixed with the playful chatter of students, and they saw you in the distance, wrangling a group of younger kids who were clearly full of energy.

One of the children, not paying attention, accidentally walked straight into your leg. You stumbled slightly, wincing and reaching for the wall to steady yourself. Before you could catch your balance, Logan was there, his hand firm on your arm. “You alright, darlin’?” he asked, his tone gruff but warm.

You waved him off with a sheepish laugh. “I’m fine, Logan. It’s just the bruise acting up again.”

He didn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re pushing it. Come on, let me take ‘em to class.”

“Logan, I’m not made of glass—” you started, but he cut you off by scooping you up with ease, earning gasps and giggles from the students. “Logan!”

“Relax,” he muttered, carrying you down the hall as you continued to protest. “You’ll thank me later.”

Bucky froze, his brows furrowing as he watched the interaction. His voice was low and uncertain. “It’s her. She’s alive—”

“No,” Steve interrupted sharply, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sure that’s her.”

Bucky’s gaze lingered in the direction where Logan had disappeared with you, his jaw tightening. “It’s her, Steve. I know it.”

Before the conversation could continue, Jean reentered the room, her expression resolute. “Alright,” she said, looking directly at Bucky. “Let’s get started.”

---

Jean walked into the kitchen, her fingers kneading her temples, exhaustion clear on her face. You glanced up from the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, the aroma filling the cozy kitchen. “Rough day?” you asked softly, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose with your wrist to avoid staining them with sauce.

“You could say that,” Jean replied, offering a tired smile. She leaned against the counter, stealing a quick glance at Logan, who was seated at the kitchen island, newspaper in hand. He acknowledged her with a brief grunt but didn’t look up.

“Dinner’ll be ready in ten,” you added, stirring the pot, a little smile tugging at your lips. “And you’re welcome to join if you want.”

Jean’s smile widened slightly. “You’re a lifesaver. I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast.”

Logan snorted, flipping a page of his newspaper. “You’re pushin’ yourself too hard, Red.”

“Says the king of overdoing it,” Jean shot back, though her tone lacked heat. She turned her attention back to you. “Can I help with anything? Set the table?”

“I’ve got it,” you assured her. “Just sit down. You look like you’ve been through it.”

Jean gave you a grateful look and slid into the seat next to Logan, resting her chin in her hand. “Thanks. You know, for everything.”

Before you could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway, growing louder until Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Wanda appeared in the doorway. They hesitated at the threshold, clearly picking up on the low-key energy in the room. Steve’s gaze immediately found Logan, and the two men exchanged a silent nod—acknowledgment between old soldiers who had fought on the same side a lifetime ago.

“Smells good in here,” Sam commented, breaking the quiet.

“It is good,” Logan said, not looking up from his paper. “And it’s spoken for.”

“Logan!” you scolded gently, though your face warmed in amusement. You turned to the Avengers. “Sorry about him. There’s not much left, but if you’re starving—”

“They’re not stayin’,” Logan interrupted, finally lowering the newspaper and fixing the group with his usual no-nonsense glare. “Go find your own dinner. This one’s off-duty.”

Sam raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, we get it. Sheesh.” But he was smiling as he turned and nudged Wanda to follow him. The others trailed after, though Steve lingered for a second longer, his sharp blue eyes flicking between Logan and you before giving a brief nod and stepping out.

The quiet returned, but not before you caught Jean hiding a laugh behind her hand. “He doesn’t do sharing, huh?” she teased.

Logan leaned back, his hands behind his head, smirking. “What’s mine is mine.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, instead grabbing three plates from the cabinet. “Jean, do you want wine with dinner?”

“Definitely. Do you have red?” she asked as she watched you pour the sauce over the pasta and sprinkle Parmesan on top.

“Got a bottle open already,” you said, reaching for it.

Logan grunted as if annoyed but didn’t complain when you set a plate in front of him. “You don’t spoil me like this,” he muttered, picking up his fork.

“You don’t deserve it,” you teased lightly, flashing him a smile that made his usual scowl soften.

Jean glanced between the two of you with an amused but warm expression. “You two are really something, you know that?”

You chuckled, carrying your plate to the table and sitting beside Logan. “Yeah, something stubborn.”

Logan snorted into his plate, but his hand found your knee under the table, a subtle gesture that made your heart do a little flip. For all his roughness, there were these little moments that reminded you just how much he cared.

Dinner passed with quiet chatter and comfortable silences. Jean eventually excused herself with a full stomach and a little less tension in her shoulders. When she was gone, Logan leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on you as you started cleaning up.

“Need help?” he asked.

“Not with the kitchen,” you said with a small smile, your voice teasing. “But you can check the bruise on my leg if you’re feeling generous.”

He arched a brow, his lips twitching into a rare grin. “Always generous for you, sweetheart.”

---

“Alright, think ya can drive around the driveway on your own?” Logan asked, holding the motorcycle upright with you seated on it.

“Uh… mayb—”

“’Course you can, sweetheart,” Logan said, his gruff voice laced with an unusual softness as he steadied the motorcycle. His hands remained on the handlebars for a second longer before he stepped back, giving you space to get your bearings. “Just remember, easy on the throttle. Don’t get cocky.”

“Noted,” you replied with a small smile, gripping the handlebars tightly. You adjusted your glasses on your nose with a quick nudge from your shoulder and slowly eased the bike forward.

Logan took a few steps back, watching closely as you started your first lap around the driveway. He crossed his arms, his stance protective yet relaxed. “She’s got it,” he murmured, though his voice carried an edge of tension he couldn’t quite mask.

Nearby, Ororo stood with Jean, arms folded as she watched you maneuver the bike. “You’ve been teaching her how to ride for months now,” Ororo commented lightly, arching a brow at Logan. “She’s not going to crash, you know.”

“She better not,” Logan muttered, his eyes narrowing. “Or she’ll be hearin’ about it from me.”

Jean smirked. “And here I thought you were all about positive reinforcement, Logan.”

He shot her a sideways glare, but his focus never wavered from you. “I’ll reinforce plenty when she parks that thing without scratchin’ it.”

You completed the first lap with minimal wobbling, and a surge of pride flashed across your face as you passed by Logan. He gave you a subtle nod of approval before turning toward the other two women. “Not bad for a beginner.”

Jean chuckled. “Coming from you, that’s practically a glowing review.”

As you started another lap, Logan stayed close for a moment, then drifted over to where Ororo and Jean stood. “She’s pickin’ this up faster than I thought she would.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re such a great teacher,” Jean teased, earning herself another grunt from Logan.

Midway through the second lap, you felt a strange sensation wash over you—a ripple in time, a distortion that pulled you away from the present. The world around you blurred as your vision tunneled, and you found yourself somewhere else entirely.

A sterile, white building loomed around you. The air was heavy, the kind of suffocating stillness that hinted at danger. A little girl, no older than five, crouched behind a counter. Her wide, frightened eyes were locked on a man advancing toward her. Without warning, she leapt forward, two metal claws extending from her tiny fists. The claws pierced the man’s chest with terrifying precision.

The scene shifted violently, and you were suddenly thrust back into the present. The driveway came back into focus, and panic clawed at you as you realized the motorcycle had veered off course. Your hands trembled as you fumbled for control, but the bike swerved sharply.

“Bucky!” someone shouted.

Before you could process what was happening, strong hands gripped the handlebars, forcing the motorcycle to a halt. The momentum caused you to tumble off the seat, hitting the ground with a jarring thud. Pain bloomed across your side as the air was knocked from your lungs.

“Y/N!” Logan’s voice was sharp and urgent as he was instantly at your side, dropping to one knee. Jean and Ororo followed closely behind, their faces etched with worry. Logan’s hands hovered over you, searching for any obvious injuries. “Are you alright? What the hell happened?”

You blinked up at him, your vision swimming for a moment before settling. “I—I’m fine. Just lost focus for a second.”

“That wasn’t just ‘losing focus,’” Logan growled, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You scared the hell outta me.”

Jean knelt on your other side, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Y/N, did you have a vision?”

You hesitated, your breathing still unsteady. “Yeah. It—it wasn’t clear, but there was a girl… She had claws, like Logan’s. She was protecting herself. It felt… real.”

The three exchanged tense glances. Ororo spoke first. “Do you think it’s something that might happen? Or was it one of those could-be futures?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But it felt important.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he turned to Jean. “Help her up. I’m takin’ her inside.”

“I’m fine, Logan,” you protested, but he wasn’t listening. His arms slid under you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

Jean rose to her feet, brushing off her hands. “We should tell Charles about this. If it’s tied to—”

“First, we’re dealin’ with her bruise,” Logan interrupted, carrying you toward the mansion. His tone left no room for argument. “Charles can wait.”

---

Jean sat in front of Bucky for another session to try and undo his conditioning. Steve stood nearby, leaning against the wall.

As Jean’s hands hovered over the sides of his head, Bucky spoke up. “Is she okay?”

She let out a hum, “who?”

“Y/N.”

Jean opened her eyes and grabbed a pen to jot something down on her clipboard. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just a few scratches. Could’ve been worse if you didn’t stop the bike.”

Bucky sat back slightly, his jaw tightening. “Guess I was in the right place at the right time.”

“Lucky for her,” Jean said with a small smile, her tone light but genuine. She glanced at him, noting the tension in his posture. “You okay? You seem… distracted.”

Bucky hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I just… She looks familiar. Like someone I used to know.”

Jean tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Someone from before?”

“Maybe,” Bucky admitted, his voice quieter now. “It’s hard to pin down. But when I saw her earlier, it was like…” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“Like a memory trying to surface?” Jean offered gently.

Bucky nodded, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Jean looked thoughtful for a moment before writing another note. “It could be worth exploring, but let’s take it one step at a time. For now, let’s get back to where we left off, alright?”

He gave her a tight nod, sitting up straighter. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

---

Meanwhile, Logan stood in the doorway of your shared bedroom, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. You sat on the edge of the bed, carefully rolling up the leg of your jeans to inspect the fresh bruise forming on your calf.

“You’re lucky that’s all you got,” Logan said, his voice gruff but tinged with concern. He stepped into the room and crouched in front of you, gently taking your leg in his hands to get a closer look.

“It’s not that bad,” you said, though your wince betrayed you.

Logan shot you a look, his thumb brushing lightly over the unbruised skin just above the mark. “Not that bad, huh?” he said, his voice gruff as his gaze stayed locked on the forming bruise. “You’ve got a knack for understatement, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. “It’s just a bruise, Logan. I’m fine.”

“You’re always sayin’ you’re fine,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over the edges of the mark. “And every time, it’s somethin’ worse than you let on.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, and you glanced down at your hands. “It’s not like I planned for this to happen,” you said softly. “I just… zoned out for a second.”

Logan let out a quiet sigh, his hand dropping to rest on his knee. “I know. That vision shook you up.” He looked up at you, his intense gaze softening. “You don’t gotta act like you’ve got it all under control. Not with me.”

“I’m not acting like anything,” you replied, meeting his eyes. “I just… I don’t know what to do with what I saw. It’s like these pieces of something bigger, but none of it fits together yet.”

Logan was quiet for a moment, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll figure it out,” he said firmly. “Together.”

The sound of voices down the hall interrupted the moment, and Logan’s jaw tightened. “Figures,” he muttered, standing and stepping toward the door. “Bet it’s Stark, loudmouthin’ again.”

You stifled a laugh as you pushed your glasses up your nose. “You do realize Tony thrives on getting under your skin, right?”

“Yeah, well, he’s got another thing comin’ if he tries it today.” Logan glanced back at you. “Stay put. I’m not done talkin’ to you yet.”

“Is that an order, Wolverine?” you teased, earning a low growl as he left the room.

---

You walked into Jean’s lab with a box of new beakers that the two of you had ordered. You had already taken your share and now you were coming by to give her hers.

“Hey, Jean.” You said, as you pushed the door open with your elbow, “got those beakers.”

“Okay! Can you set them down on the table and come help me real quick?”

You placed the box down and walked over to Jean, where she was patching up a few cuts and scratches Bucky had. You looked over at her, a silent question in you gaze.

She opened a roll of gauze. “Apparently, your husband went a little rough on him and Steve,” Jean said with a hint of exasperation as she dabbed antiseptic onto a particularly nasty cut on Bucky’s forearm.

You blinked, surprised. “What? Why?”

“Something about training getting too ‘intense.’” Jean shot you a pointed look, then gave Bucky a sympathetic smile. “Logan doesn’t exactly know the meaning of ‘dial it down.’”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, though he winced slightly when Jean pressed the gauze to his arm. “It’s fine. He was testing us.”

“Testing you?” you echoed, raising a brow as you perched on the edge of the counter. “You’re the Winter Soldier, and Steve’s Captain America. What could he possibly be testing?”

Bucky glanced at you briefly before looking away, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “Maybe he just wanted to see if I could keep up.”

“Or maybe he just likes knocking you and Steve around,” Jean quipped as she secured the gauze with medical tape. “Okay, that should hold for now. Don’t take it off for at least a day.”

Bucky flexed his arm, testing the bandage. “Thanks, doc.”

Jean snorted. “I’m not a doctor. I just patch people up when your husband forgets to stop swinging.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’ll talk to him.”

Bucky shrugged, the ghost of a grin on his face. “Don’t worry about it. I can handle him.”

Jean raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t comment. Instead, she turned back to you. “Thanks for the beakers, by the way. Can you grab a few more from the box and put them on the top shelf? I’d do it myself, but someone—” she shot Bucky a look “—got blood on my gloves.”

You smirked as you hopped off the counter. “Sure thing.”

As you worked, Bucky watched you carefully. His brows furrowed slightly, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. Jean noticed the look but kept quiet, her curiosity simmering beneath the surface.

Finally, Bucky broke the silence. “You’re a teacher here, right?”

“Physics,” you said over your shoulder, placing the last beaker on the shelf. “And I help Jean out sometimes when she’s swamped.”

His jaw tightened slightly, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “You… uh, ever think about doing anything else? Something outside the mansion?”

The question caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him. “Not really. Why?”

Bucky hesitated, his expression guarded. “Just wondering.”

Jean glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on the tension. “Okay, what’s going on here? Did something happen?”

You shook your head, brushing off the odd exchange. “No, it’s nothing. Probably just the aftereffects of Logan’s ‘training.’” You glanced at Bucky, your tone softening. “Seriously, though, if he gave you or Steve a hard time, let me know. He can be a bit… much.”

Bucky gave you a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Y/N. But I think we’re good.”

Jean crossed her arms, watching as Bucky stood and rolled his shoulder experimentally. “You know, for a guy who’s been through hell, you’ve got an impressive pain tolerance.”

Bucky shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Comes with the territory.”

You exchanged a glance with Jean, and she gave you a subtle nod, her way of telling you to let it go—for now. But as Bucky left the lab, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his questions than he let on.

---

“What do you think ‘bout this one?” you asked, turning around slowly to show off your outfit: a black blazer over a beige turtleneck, paired with black flared trousers. The gold buckle on your belt added just enough polish to the look.

Logan, seated on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed, let out a low grunt. His expression didn’t give much away, but the way his eyes lingered told you he was paying attention.

“You look good, darlin’,” he finally said, his voice gruff but warm. “Classy. Not too flashy.”

You adjusted the blazer slightly and glanced at the mirror, pursing your lips. “Not too flashy, huh? Are you sure that’s what Rogue had in mind for a double date?”

Logan let out a snort, leaning back slightly. “Rogue knows better than to drag me anywhere that’s too flashy. ‘Sides, you look fine no matter what you wear.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed at the compliment. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to deal with Remy for longer than you have to.”

Logan’s jaw tightened at the mention of him. “You’re not wrong.”

You turned back to him with a soft laugh. “Logan, you’ve had over a year to warm up to him. Rogue’s crazy about him. Can’t you at least try?”

“I am tryin’,” Logan shot back, his tone defensive. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be goin’ on this damn double date.”

“Fair enough.” You grabbed your purse from the dresser and glanced at him over your glasses. “But maybe don’t scare him off tonight? Rogue would never forgive you.”

Logan grumbled something under his breath as he stood, adjusting the leather jacket he’d shrugged on. “No promises.”

---

The restaurant Rogue picked was cozy, with soft lighting and a jazz trio playing in the corner. You and Logan arrived first, Logan’s grumbling already earning him a teasing nudge from you as the two of you were shown to your table.

“Relax,” you said, setting your purse down and adjusting your blazer. “It’s just dinner.”

“With Gumbo,” Logan muttered, pulling out your chair before settling into his own. “This better be good.”

Before you could reply, Rogue and Remy appeared, the younger woman beaming as she tugged Remy toward the table. “Hey, y’all!” Rogue greeted, her Southern accent thick as ever. She gave Logan a quick hug before turning to you. “You look amazing, Y/N! Doesn’t she, Remy?”

“Oui, belle comme toujours,” Remy said smoothly, his eyes flicking over you with a charming smile. He offered you a slight bow before glancing at Logan. “Logan. Lookin’... sturdy as ever.”

Logan grunted in response, his lips twitching slightly in what could almost be mistaken for a smirk.

The four of you settled into an easy rhythm as dinner was served, the conversation bouncing between Rogue and Remy’s latest antics and Logan’s dry quips. You chimed in when the teasing got too much, gently steering the conversation back to lighter topics.

As the evening wore on, you noticed Logan’s stance soften, just a little. He even shared a rare chuckle when Remy recounted a particularly wild story from his time in Louisiana.

By the time dessert arrived, the tension at the table had mostly dissolved.

---

Later that night, as the two of you walked back to the car, you glanced up at Logan with a small smile. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

He huffed but didn’t argue, his hand finding the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side. “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek before slipping into the car. “Thanks for trying, Logan. It means a lot to Rogue.”

He didn’t respond right away, but as he started the car, you caught the faintest hint of a smile. “Yeah, well. Don’t make a habit of it, sweetheart.”

---

You got on your tiptoes, holding onto the boxing ring’s ropes to steady yourself as you pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s lips. “I’ll make you that smoothie.”

“You better not put any grass in it this time!” Logan called after you, his voice laced with mock irritation as you headed toward the kitchen.

“You mean spinach?” you teased, glancing over your shoulder with a smirk.

“Same damn thing!”

You laughed, leaving him shaking his head as you disappeared through the doorway.

Logan turned back toward the center of the ring, adjusting the wraps on his hands when Steve, who’d been leaning casually against the wall, straightened up.

“Mind if I go a round or two with you?” Steve asked, his tone friendly but direct.

Logan raised an eyebrow, eyeing him for a moment before giving a curt nod. “Your funeral, Cap.”

Steve climbed into the ring with an easy grin, rolling his shoulders as he stepped up. “Just a friendly sparring match, Logan.”

“Sure,” Logan muttered, his tone noncommittal as he sized up the taller man.

The first few exchanges were straightforward—calculated jabs and dodges, neither man pushing too hard. Steve broke the silence after a few moments. “So, how long have you and Y/N been together?”

Logan’s movements didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened. “Long enough.”

Steve nodded, his punches measured as he pressed on. “She seems like a good fit for you. Never pegged her to be a physicist, though.”

Logan’s stance stiffened, his punches coming in faster, heavier. “What’s that s’pposed to mean?”

Steve backpedaled, his hands raised defensively. “Nothing bad. Just… when I met her—”

Before Steve could finish, Logan swept forward, catching him off guard with a hard shove that sent him sprawling onto the mat. Logan crouched over him, claws unsheathed and glinting under the overhead light.

“Keep talkin’,” Logan growled, his voice dangerously low.

Steve blinked, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! I didn’t mean any offense.” He paused, catching his breath. “It’s just… Bucky and I knew someone who looked just like her. Back before the war. She grew up with us in Brooklyn.”

Logan didn’t move, his eyes narrowing as Steve continued.

“When Bucky went off to fight, so did she,” Steve explained, his voice softer now. “Not as a soldier, but as a nurse. And later, when I joined the Howling Commandos, she was assigned to us for a while. She wanted to do more, though, so she volunteered to go to Italy.”

Logan finally backed off, retracting his claws and giving Steve room to sit up. His expression was guarded, unreadable, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable.

Steve studied him, tilting his head slightly. “You’re not surprised.”

Logan grunted, stepping out of the ring. “She didn’t grow up in Brooklyn,” he said flatly. “Didn’t serve with you either.”

Steve frowned, wiping at the sweat on his brow. “She didn’t tell you?”

“She wouldn’t remember,” Logan said gruffly, grabbing his towel from the corner.

Steve’s brows knitted together in confusion, but Logan didn’t give him a chance to ask more. Without another word, he headed for the kitchen, leaving Steve alone in the ring.

---

You were stirring a smoothie when Logan walked in, his expression tight. He leaned against the counter, watching you silently for a moment.

“Did Steve ask you anything weird?” he asked finally, his voice low.

You glanced at him curiously, setting the blender cup down. “Weird? No, why?”

Logan shook his head, his jaw tightening. “No reason.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could press further, Logan stepped closer, brushing a hand along your arm. “You alright?”

“I’m fine, Logan,” you said softly, offering a reassuring smile. “You sure you’re okay?”

He gave a slight nod, though his eyes lingered on you as if searching for something. “Yeah, darlin’. Just… tired.”

You reached up to adjust his hair, smoothing it back gently. He leaned into your hand until you pulled back, “he… told you something, didn’t he? Did he know me—”

Logan looked you in the eye, “would it matter?”

You blinked, mulling it over. Would it matter? It’s not like you could remember any of it. If Logan hadn’t told you about your past lives, you wouldn’t have known they’d even existed. “I… guess not,” you said, meeting his eyes.

Logan exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing as he stepped closer. His rough hands reached out, gently cupping your face. “See?” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “None of that matters anymore. What matters to me is that you’re here right now.”

The warmth in his eyes left no room for doubt, and a soft smile tugged at your lips. “That’s what matters to me, too.”

He bent down slightly, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, grounding you both in the moment. It was tender, as though he was reassuring himself that you were real—that this life, your life together, was solid and unbreakable despite the strange fragments of the past.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and you couldn’t help but grin at his soft expression. “Feel better now?” you teased.

His lips curved into a rare smile, almost playful. “I’ll let you know after I’ve had some of that smoothie.”

You laughed, stepping out of his hold to grab the blender. As you poured the thick green liquid into a glass, Logan leaned against the counter, watching you with a curious, almost wistful expression. “Y’know,” he said after a moment, “Steve knows how to dig stuff up from the past, but he doesn’t get what it’s like to carry it all with you.”

You handed him the smoothie, your brow furrowing slightly. “He means well,” you offered, trying to smooth over the lingering tension.

“Doesn’t matter,” Logan replied with a shrug, taking a reluctant sip and grimacing. “What the hell did you put in this?”

“Spinach, just like always,” you said with an exaggerated sweetness.

“Just like always, huh?” Logan chuckled, setting the glass down on the counter with a soft thud. He took a slow, deliberate step toward you, his eyes glinting with a mischievous edge. Instinctively, you backed away, your eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Logan,” you warned, holding up your hands as he closed the distance between you. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it, darlin’.” His grin widened, the deep timbre of his voice laced with playfulness. “Guess you’ll have to learn what happens when you keep sneakin’ grass into my smoothies.”

“It’s spinach!” you exclaimed, laughter bubbling up despite your attempts to stay serious. You took another step back, but your retreat was cut short when your back hit the edge of the counter. “Logan, I swear—”

Before you could finish, his arms were around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weighed nothing. You let out a surprised yelp as he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly, his low chuckle rumbling in your ears.

“Guess you’re gettin’ punished now,” Logan teased, carrying you toward the bedroom like a man on a mission. You squirmed in his grip, your hands pressing against his back.

“Logan! Put me down!” you cried, half-laughing, half-protesting.

“Not until you promise no more spinach,” he said, his tone mock-stern.

“Never!” you shot back, trying to sound defiant but failing as you burst into laughter.

Logan shook his head with a grin and gave your thigh a light pat. “Stubborn as ever.”

Chapter Text

“I might have to cancel my session with Bucky.” Jean said, as the team got off the Blackbird. “Might be here for a while.”

“Or it’ll just be another dead end.” Kitty retorted.

“I think we can all agree that things are better without the Avengers in the mansion.” Scott spoke, leading the team. “Don’t have to deal with Stark’s incessant ego.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Logan muttered.

After months of searching, Tony and Hank found a lead: a pharmaceutical company in Mexico City, rumored to be a front for illegal experiments conducted by Transigen. It was tenuous at first, whispers of missing kids and shipments of questionable materials, but it was enough for the team to move in.

The team split into smaller groups upon entering the facility. Logan led one group to handle security while Jean, Scott, and Ororo focused on evacuating any innocent workers or bystanders. You were paired with Kitty, tasked with finding the information room and gathering data on Transigen’s activities.

“Stay close,” Kitty said, her voice soft as the two of you crept down a sterile, dimly lit hallway. “The lab should be just up ahead.”

“I’m right behind you,” you whispered, clutching the strap of your small bag, which held the portable hard drive Hank had given you. The soft hum of machines and the faint murmur of voices in the distance made your stomach churn.

The information room was easy enough to locate, its doors marked with a keypad. Kitty phased the two of you inside effortlessly. The room was cluttered with monitors, hard drives, and endless rows of filing cabinets.

“This place screams ‘villain HQ,’” Kitty muttered, already scanning the room for anything valuable. “Get the drives. I’ll keep watch.”

You nodded, moving to one of the terminals. As you plugged in the hard drive and started copying files, your hands trembled slightly. The thought of what Transigen could be doing here was enough to make your stomach turn, but you tried to focus.

“Almost done,” you whispered after a few minutes, glancing over your shoulder at Kitty.

Her brow furrowed as she stood near the door, her head tilting slightly. “Wait here,” she said, her voice low. “I hear something. I’ll check it out.”

“Be careful,” you urged, watching as she phased through the wall and disappeared down the hall. The silence that followed was oppressive, broken only by the faint whir of the computer transferring data.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Your head snapped up, heart pounding as three armed men stormed into the room.

“Hey! What are you—” Your voice faltered as one of them grabbed your arm roughly, yanking you away from the terminal.

Panic flared, but you reacted instinctively, grabbing the nearest object—a keyboard—and smashing it against the man’s head. He stumbled back with a grunt but recovered quickly, his grip tightening as he shoved you against the wall.

“Stay still,” he barked, his voice cold.

You struggled, your breathing ragged, but you weren’t a fighter—not like the others. Just as fear began to take hold, a sharp, wet sound cut through the air, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor.

Your captor released you abruptly, staggering back with a strangled gasp. In the dim light, you saw her—a small girl, no older than four, her dark eyes gleaming with a feral intensity. Two sharp claws extended from each tiny hand, coated in blood.

“Wh—” You couldn’t finish the thought as the girl moved swiftly, taking down the other two men with alarming precision. When the last one hit the ground, she stood still, her small chest rising and falling rapidly.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then her gaze shifted to you, wary but curious.

“Hey,” you said softly, raising your hands in a non-threatening gesture. Your voice trembled slightly, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The girl didn’t respond, her claws retracting slowly. She took a tentative step toward you, her expression guarded.

“Y/N!” Kitty’s voice came from the hall as she phased through the wall, her eyes widening at the scene. “What happened?”

“She… she saved me,” you stammered, gesturing to the girl, who was now watching Kitty with the same wary expression.

Kitty crouched slightly, her voice gentle. “Hey there, sweetie. We’re not here to hurt you, okay? Are you alone?”

The girl didn’t answer, but her posture softened just enough to suggest she wasn’t about to attack. You exchanged a glance with Kitty, your heart still racing.

“We need to get her out of here,” you said quietly. “And the others, if there are more.”

Kitty nodded, glancing at the computer. “Grab the drive. I’ll comm the team.”

You pulled the hard drive from the terminal, stuffing it into your bag. The girl’s gaze followed your every movement, and as you turned back toward her, she stepped closer, almost as if seeking reassurance.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, crouching to her level. “You’re safe now.”

Her small hand reached out, gripping the edge of your sleeve tightly. You froze, the weight of her touch grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Ororo spoke through comms, “we got the kids. Y/N, do you have the data?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good. Everyone meet up at the Blackbird.” Scott said.

You slowly crouched down, “is it okay if I pick you up?”

The young girl stood still for a moment before slowly nodding. You picked her up, settling her on your hip. “Let’s go, Kitty.”

---

By the time you and Kitty got to the Blackbird, Scott and Ororo were already there, a group of small children on the jet. “Jean? How is it going?” Ororo asked over comms.

“Good. Getting the last nurse out.” Jean responded.

“Logan?” Ororo questioned.

“Took care of the men. On our way.”

You sat the little girl down on the bench at the back of the jet. Her small hands clenched the fabric of your sleeve before you could move away, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small. You paused, crouching to her level again.

“It’s okay,” you said gently, meeting her eyes. They were dark and intense, scanning your face like she was trying to decide if she could trust you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her grip loosened slightly but didn’t let go entirely. Kitty stepped closer, keeping her voice soft. “Y/N, is she hurt? Did you check her?”

You glanced back at Kitty, shaking your head. “She doesn’t seem hurt. I think she’s just… scared.” Turning back to the girl, you spoke softly, “are you hurt? Do you need anything?”

The girl remained silent, her gaze shifting between you and Kitty. She shook her head once, almost imperceptibly.

“Hey,” Logan’s voice cut through the quiet as he stepped onto the jet. He was covered in blood and dirt, his knuckles raw, but his expression softened when he saw you crouched beside the girl. “What’s goin’ on?”

“We found her in the lab,” Kitty explained, stepping aside to let Logan approach. “She saved Y/N. Took out three guys all on her own.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to the girl, who stiffened under his scrutiny but didn’t look away. “That so?” he said, his tone gentler than you’d expected. He crouched beside you, his larger frame somehow non-threatening as he looked at her. “You’re a tough one, huh?”

The girl didn’t respond, but her small hand tightened on your sleeve again. You glanced at Logan, unsure what to say.

“She hasn’t said anything,” you explained softly. “I don’t think she trusts us yet.”

Logan nodded, his eyes still on her. “That’s okay. She’s been through hell—probably doesn’t know who’s safe.” His gaze flicked to you, his expression unreadable. “She seems to trust you, though.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, unsure how to respond. “I think she’s just scared,” you murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I don’t think she’s used to… this.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, studying the girl. “She’ll come around.” His voice dropped, meant only for you. “You’ve got a way with people, darlin’. Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’.”

Before you could respond, Scott’s voice carried from the front of the jet. “Everyone’s onboard. Let’s move!”

“Hang tight,” Logan said to the girl before straightening. He glanced at you one more time before heading to the cockpit.

You turned back to the girl, still crouched at her level. “We’re going to a safe place now,” you said softly. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

She looked at you for a long moment before finally nodding, her grip on your sleeve loosening but not letting go entirely. You sat beside her on the bench, letting her hold on as the jet lifted into the air. Kitty took the seat across from you, her gaze flicking between the girl and you.

“You’re good with kids,” Kitty said quietly, offering a small smile.

You gave a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know about that. She just… needs someone right now.”

“Well, she’s lucky you were there.” Kitty leaned back, her expression softening. “She wouldn’t even let me get close.”

You glanced at the girl, who was now leaning slightly against your side. Her tiny frame felt so fragile, yet you’d seen her take down three grown men with ease. The thought sent a shiver through you. What had they done to her in that lab?

Logan’s voice came over the comms. “We’ll be back at the mansion in a couple hours. Hank, make sure the med bay’s ready.”

Hank’s reply crackled through. “Already on it. I’ll meet you there.”

As the jet settled into its flight path, you leaned your head back against the wall, your thoughts swirling. The girl shifted closer, resting her head against your arm. You glanced down at her, your chest tightening at the sight.

You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

For the first time, she seemed to relax, her small body leaning into yours completely. You stayed like that, holding her close as the jet carried you all home.

---

The team was going through the files, trying to find out who each kid was when you realized something. In the files, every kid had a ‘Source DNA’ section. When you got to the young girl’s file—Laura’s—you saw something.

Source DNA: James Howlett

You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your throat. James Howlett. Logan. The realization hit like a weight pressing on your chest, and for a moment, the sounds of the bustling mansion around you faded.

“Y/N?” Jean’s voice brought you back, her hand gently resting on your shoulder. “What is it?”

You turned to her, unsure how to put it into words. “This girl—Laura. Her DNA… it’s Logan’s.”

Jean’s brows knitted in confusion before her eyes widened in understanding. “You’re sure?”

You nodded, pointing at the section of the file displayed on the screen. “It’s right here. ‘Source DNA: James Howlett.’ They… they used him to create her.”

Jean leaned closer, reading over the lines with a growing sense of dread. “She’s his daughter. Or… a clone, maybe. Either way, she’s connected to him.”

“She’s just a kid, Jean,” you whispered, glancing toward the med bay where the children, including Laura, were being examined. “And after everything she’s been through—”

“Does Logan know?” Jean asked, cutting you off gently.

“No. Not yet.”

Jean hesitated, her gaze searching yours. “Are you going to tell him?”

You opened your mouth to respond but stopped short. The truth was, you weren’t sure how to approach Logan with this. He’d been through enough already. Adding something like this…

“I will,” you said finally, though the thought made your stomach twist. “I just need to figure out how.”

Jean gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to do this alone, Y/N. I’ll help however I can.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, your thoughts already swirling with how Logan might react.

---

The medbay was quiet when you walked in, the soft beeping of monitors filling the space. Logan stood off to the side, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on Laura, who sat perched on one of the examination tables. She was hunched forward, her small hands clutching a blanket someone had draped over her shoulders.

She’d been like that since you returned to the mansion, sticking close to you whenever possible and barely speaking a word to anyone. You didn’t blame her—whatever had been done to her in that lab would take time to heal, physically and emotionally.

Logan’s eyes flicked to you as you approached, his expression unreadable. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, his voice low.

You glanced at Laura, then back at Logan. “Can we talk? Somewhere private?”

His brow furrowed, but he nodded, following you out into the hallway. Once the door closed behind you, he turned to face you, his arms still crossed. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Logan… I found something in the files we recovered.”

His jaw tightened. “What kind of somethin’?”

“It’s about Laura.”

At the mention of her name, his posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What about her?”

You hesitated, unsure how to phrase it without overwhelming him. “They used your DNA to create her. She’s… she’s your daughter, Logan. Or as close to one as she can be.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the weight of your words sinking in. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You reached into your bag, pulling out a printed copy of the relevant section of Laura’s file and handing it to him. “It’s all here. She was part of their experiments—Transigen used your DNA as the base for hers.”

Logan scanned the page, his grip tightening as he read. His breathing grew heavier, his shoulders rising and falling with each exhale. “They… they did this to her? To me?”

“Logan,” you said softly, stepping closer. “She’s been through so much already, but she’s here now. She’s safe. And she’s looking to you, whether she realizes it or not.”

He let the paper fall to his side, his eyes distant. “She’s just a kid,” he muttered, almost to himself. “A kid who didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No, she didn’t,” you agreed. “But she’s here now. And she needs someone she can trust.”

Logan’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, you saw the conflict in his eyes—the fear, the anger, and something softer, something that made your chest ache.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Y/N?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his tone. Logan was always the rock—the one who took the hits and kept standing. Seeing him this unsure, this raw, was rare. You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“She doesn’t need you to have all the answers right now, Logan,” you said softly. “She just needs to know she’s safe, that someone’s there for her. That someone cares.”

He let out a heavy breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. “What if I mess this up? What if I can’t be what she needs?”

“You won’t mess this up,” you reassured him, squeezing his arm. “You’ve always been good at protecting the people you care about. And she’s already looking to you—even if she doesn’t know it yet. You just have to show her she’s not alone.”

Logan looked away, his jaw clenching. “She’s been through hell, Y/N. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start small,” you suggested. “Be present. Talk to her, even if she doesn’t talk back. Let her see that you’re not going anywhere.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is… it’s a lot.”

“I know,” you said gently. “But you’re not in this alone. I’ll be here to help, and so will the rest of the team. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

Logan looked back at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Thanks, darlin’. I mean it.”

You gave him a small smile. “She’s waiting for you. Go sit with her for a bit. Even if you don’t say much, it’ll mean a lot to her.”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. Without another word, he turned and walked back into the med bay.

You watched him go, your heart heavy with a mix of emotions. You knew this wouldn’t be easy for him—or for Laura—but if anyone could handle this, it was Logan. He’d faced more than his share of battles, and this one, though different, was just as important.

---

Later that day, after Rogue and Jubilee finished setting up rooms for the kids, you walked Laura to hers. She stayed close to your side, her small hand gripping the hem of your sleeve. The quiet of the hallway felt heavy, but you didn’t push her to speak. She wasn’t ready, and you understood that.

“This is your room,” you said softly, opening the door to a cozy space with a twin bed, a small desk, and a chair by the window. Jubilee had left a few stuffed animals on the bed, hoping to make it feel less clinical.

Laura stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room like she was assessing it for threats. She still hadn’t let go of your sleeve.

“It’s just you in here,” you said, crouching to her level. “No one will bother you unless you want them to. You’re safe.”

She glanced at you, her dark eyes searching your face. The intensity of her gaze always caught you off guard—there was so much there for someone so young.

“You can stay here for as long as you want,” you continued, your voice gentle. “No one’s going to make you leave.”

Laura finally let go of your sleeve but didn’t step away. Instead, she reached out and tugged lightly at the edge of your glasses, her expression softening with curiosity.

“Careful,” you said with a small smile. “I kind of need those to see.”

Her lips twitched, just a hint of a smile, but she said nothing.

“Do you want me to stay for a bit?” you asked, tilting your head.

She nodded quickly, her grip shifting to your hand this time.

“Okay,” you said, letting her lead you to the bed. She climbed onto it, sitting cross-legged, while you settled beside her.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, the soft hum of the mansion filling the quiet. Laura reached for one of the stuffed animals—a small, floppy bunny—and turned it over in her hands like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

“You can keep it,” you said. “Or any of the others. They’re yours now.”

She hesitated before hugging the rabbit to her chest.

“You know,” you started, keeping your tone light, “when I first came here, I was scared too. It felt like… too much all at once. But then I realized everyone here wanted to help me. No one’s going to hurt you here, Laura. I promise.”

Her gaze flicked to you at the sound of her name, but she didn’t speak. You didn’t mind. This kind of trust took time, and you’d give her as much of it as she needed.

---

Over the next few days, Laura continued to follow you around with the new addition of the stuffed grey bunny in her arms.

You picked Laura up and set her on the stool at the kitchen island, grabbing a bowl, a box of cereal, and the gallon of milk. After pouring her a generous serving of cereal and adding just the right amount of milk, you slid the bowl across the island to her. Laura hesitated for a moment, her dark eyes darting between you and the bowl, before reaching out to pull it closer. The grey bunny she’d been carrying for days was perched protectively on her lap, its floppy ears tucked neatly under her arm.

“You’re getting the hang of this place,” you said lightly, leaning against the counter as you watched her. “Cereal’s a favorite around here. Easy, no cooking required. Even Logan eats it sometimes.”

Laura didn’t respond, but her eyes flickered up to you briefly before she dipped her spoon into the bowl.

You let the silence linger, knowing she wasn’t ready to talk yet. That was okay. Her comfort mattered more than filling the quiet. She’d been through so much, and pushing her to open up too soon would only make things harder for her.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, and Logan entered the kitchen, his gaze immediately landing on Laura. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging her presence, before looking at you. “She eatin’?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded. “She’s doing okay.”

Logan’s brows furrowed, his eyes lingering on Laura as she carefully scooped another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. He looked out of place in the brightly lit kitchen, his rugged demeanor a sharp contrast to the homey atmosphere. But when his gaze softened just a fraction as he watched Laura, something in your chest tightened.

“She’s stickin’ close to you,” he murmured, stepping closer so only you could hear.

“She feels safe,” you replied, keeping your voice equally quiet. “It’s not surprising after what she’s been through.”

Logan grunted, a sound that could’ve meant anything, but his eyes didn’t leave Laura. “She always hold onto that thing?” He nodded toward the bunny in Laura’s lap.

“Everywhere she goes,” you said with a small smile. “Jubilee left it on her bed the first night. It’s hers now.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the counter beside you. “She talk to you yet?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. But she’ll get there. It’s only been a few days. She’s still figuring out who to trust.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he looked down at his boots. “What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” you said firmly, nudging his arm with your elbow. “She’s already trusting you more than you realize. She watches you, Logan. When you’re in the room, her eyes are on you. She might not say it, but she sees you.”

His gaze flicked to you, a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes. You leaned forward and kissed his cheek before stepping away to make your tea. Logan stayed where he was, arms crossed, watching you move about the kitchen.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice gruff, “it doesn’t get easier, lettin’ people in. Never has for me.”

You stirred honey into your tea, the soft clink of the spoon the only sound for a moment. “You don’t have to figure it all out at once, Logan. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t need perfect—just someone who’s there.”

He sighed heavily and leaned against the counter, his fingers drumming against the edge. “Yeah, well, ‘there’ ain’t somethin’ I’ve always been good at.”

You turned to face him, cradling the warm mug in your hands. “But you are now. You’re here, Logan. That’s what matters.”

---

“Do you mind if I do some tests, Laura?” Jean asked. “I just need a few blood samples and a quick scan. Is that okay?”

Laura didn’t move for a moment before nodding, her eyes shifting toward you where you stood at the far side of the med bay. Her grip on the bunny in her lap tightened as she glanced between you and Jean, her expression unchanging but her intent clear.

You hesitated, understanding immediately what she wanted. She didn’t say a word, but you could feel the unspoken plea in her gaze.

“Hang on,” you said softly, stepping closer. Jean glanced at you with a knowing look as you moved to Laura’s side.

“You want me to stay here with you?” you asked gently, crouching so you were at her eye level. Laura gave a small nod, her dark hair falling into her face as she held the stuffed bunny closer to her chest.

“Okay,” you said, offering a reassuring smile. “I’ll stay.”

Jean set down the tablet she was holding, her tone calm and steady. “That’s perfectly fine, Laura. Y/N can stay with you while we run a couple of tests. I’ll be quick, and you won’t feel much.”

You pulled up a chair next to the exam table, close enough for Laura to feel your presence but giving her space. She kept her eyes on you, her small hand reaching out to lightly touch the sleeve of your shirt. You placed your hand over hers briefly, giving it a light squeeze before letting go.

“You’re really brave, you know,” you said quietly as Jean prepared the equipment. “This is just a little check-up, and then we’ll be done. You’re doing great.”

Laura didn’t respond, but her grip on the bunny relaxed slightly.

Jean’s voice was gentle as she approached with a syringe. “Laura, I’m just going to take a tiny bit of blood from your arm. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Laura stiffened at the sight of the needle, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the stuffed bunny.

“Hey,” you said softly, leaning closer to her. “Look at me, not the needle, okay?”

Her eyes darted back to yours, and you gave her an encouraging smile. “That’s it. Just focus on me. We’ll be done before you know it.”

Jean worked quickly and efficiently, the needle in and out of Laura’s arm within seconds. “All done,” she said, capping the syringe and stepping back. “You did great.”

Laura didn’t look away from you until Jean had moved the equipment aside. Her body relaxed by fractions, though she still stayed close, her expression guarded.

“See?” you said with a warm smile. “Told you it’d be quick.”

Jean knelt beside her, a gentle look on her face. “Laura, I’m going to do a quick scan of your vitals now. It’s just a machine—it won’t hurt at all. Is that okay?”

Laura hesitated, then nodded slightly, her eyes flicking to you again.

“I’ll stay right here,” you assured her.

The scanner emitted a low hum as Jean moved it over Laura’s body, checking for injuries or abnormalities. Laura stayed perfectly still, her trust placed solely in you to keep her grounded.

When Jean finished, she offered a smile. “You’re all set, Laura. You’re perfectly healthy, just like I thought.”

Laura didn’t react immediately, but she turned slightly to face you, her hand still brushing the fabric of your sleeve.

“You did amazing,” you said softly. “I’m proud of you.”

Jean rose to her feet, giving you both a gentle smile. “I’ll give you two some space. If you need me, I’ll be just outside.”

Once the door clicked shut, you turned back to Laura. “See? Nothing to it.”

Laura tilted her head, her expression unreadable as she studied you. Finally, she moved the bunny onto her lap and tugged at the edge of your glasses again.

“You like messing with these, huh?” you said, adjusting them back into place with a small laugh. “I don’t know if they suit me, but I can’t see much without them.”

Her lips twitched—just the faintest hint of a smile—as she dropped her hand.

As Jean walked out of the room, she found Logan leaning against the wall just outside, his arms crossed and his expression neutral—though there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. He straightened slightly as she approached.

“How’d it go?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual.

Jean glanced back toward the med bay door before answering. “She did great. A little nervous, but Y/N stayed with her the whole time. Helped keep her calm.”

Logan nodded, his gaze shifting toward the closed door. “She say anything?”

Jean shook her head. “Not yet. But it’s not surprising, considering what she’s been through. It’ll take time.”

Logan let out a low grunt, running a hand over his face. “She’s got good instincts, though. Trusts Y/N already.”

Jean smiled faintly. “Can’t blame her for that. Y/N has a way of making people feel safe.” Her tone softened as she added, “She’s good with the kids. Always has been.”

Logan’s lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile, but the weight of the situation held it back. “Yeah. She’s got a gift for it.”

Jean studied him for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. “How are you holding up with all of this? I know it’s a lot, Logan.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Ain’t about me. It’s about makin’ sure these kids are okay.”

Jean nodded, though she didn’t look entirely convinced. “Well, if you need to talk—”

“I’m fine,” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Just want to make sure Laura’s got what she needs.”

Jean held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Fair enough. I’ll let you know if I learn anything else. For now, she’s physically fine, which is a relief.”

Logan gave a curt nod, his attention drifting back to the med bay door. After a beat, he pushed off the wall. “Think I’ll check in on ‘em.”

Jean stepped aside, watching him with a knowing look as he walked into the room.

Inside, you were still seated next to Laura, who now had her bunny balanced carefully on her knees. She didn’t look up immediately when Logan entered, but her posture stiffened slightly, and her eyes darted toward the door.

“You doin’ okay, darlin’?” Logan asked, his tone softer than usual as he directed the question at you.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, offering a small smile. “Yeah, we’re good. Jean finished up, and Laura was a champ.” Turning back to the girl, you added, “Weren’t you?”

Laura didn’t respond verbally, but her grip on the bunny eased just a little.

Logan moved closer, crouching down so he was at eye level with her. “Y’know,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I’ve seen a lot of tough people in my time. You’re up there with the best of ‘em.”

Laura’s eyes flicked to his face, studying him for a moment before her focus returned to the bunny.

Logan didn’t push, instead glancing at you. “She give you any trouble?”

You shook your head. “None at all. She just needed a little reassurance. Right, Laura?”

The girl hesitated before giving the faintest nod.

Logan’s gaze softened, though he didn’t say anything. After a moment, he reached out, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. “You let me or Y/N know if you need anything, alright? You’re not alone anymore.”

Laura’s eyes lingered on him briefly before shifting back to you. She seemed to take comfort in your presence, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction more.

“She’s already made a lot of progress,” you said quietly, looking at Logan. “It’s just going to take time.”

Logan nodded, his eyes never leaving Laura. “Yeah. Time.” He straightened up, resting a hand on your shoulder briefly before stepping back. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

As he left, Laura reached out again, tugging lightly at the sleeve of your shirt. You turned back to her, giving her a warm smile. “You’re doing so well, Laura. One step at a time, okay?”

She didn’t say anything, but for the first time, she didn’t look away. Instead, she leaned ever so slightly toward you, the bunny still cradled in her lap.

---

During the night, while Logan lay on his side of the bed with you tucked against him, the quiet creak of the bedroom door broke the silence. Logan’s senses pricked immediately. He shifted slightly, his eyes opening just enough to spot a small figure in the dim light. Laura.

She padded softly toward your side of the bed, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly in one hand. She paused near you, standing still for a long moment as if debating what to do. Normally, you would’ve stirred by now—your light sleeping had made you the first to notice her during previous nights. But tonight, you were sound asleep, your steady breathing undisturbed.

Laura hesitated, taking a small step back as if deciding to leave. Logan’s low, gravelly voice broke the quiet, gentle but firm enough to catch her attention.

“You wanna come over here, kid?”

Laura froze, her eyes flicking toward him. For a moment, she didn’t move, her expression unreadable in the dim light. Logan stayed where he was, his tone soft but not insistent. “It’s alright. You can come here if you want.”

After a long pause, Laura nodded just slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. Slowly, she made her way around the bed to his side. Logan sat up slightly, offering her his hand. “C’mere,” he said, his voice steady.

She hesitated again before taking his hand. Logan helped her climb up onto the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. Laura settled beside him, her stuffed bunny still clutched tightly. She didn’t say anything, but her posture was tense, her small body rigid as she perched near him.

Logan glanced at her, his rough exterior softening in a way he reserved for only a select few. “Nightmare?” he asked quietly.

Laura nodded, her grip on the bunny tightening. Logan didn’t press for details; he simply shifted slightly, giving her space but staying close enough to offer reassurance. After a moment, Laura leaned against him cautiously, her small frame relaxing just a fraction.

The two of them sat in silence, the room dim and still. Logan rested a hand lightly on the bed near her, careful not to overwhelm her. After some time, the tension in Laura’s body eased further, and she leaned into him fully, her head resting against his chest. Logan’s arm settled around her, his movements slow and unhurried, as if afraid to spook her.

Gradually, Laura’s breathing evened out, and she drifted into sleep. Logan stayed awake for a while longer, his hand resting protectively on her back as he listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing.

---

When you woke the next morning, the first thing you noticed was the warmth beside you. Turning over with a sleepy yawn, you were met with a sight that made your heart ache in the best way.

Laura was curled up against Logan, her small body tucked securely against his chest. Her bunny was still clutched in one hand, and Logan’s arm was draped loosely around her, holding her close. Both of them were sound asleep, their breathing synchronized.

You couldn’t help but smile at the scene, your heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of love and tenderness. For a moment, you simply watched them, unwilling to disturb the quiet peace of the moment.

Finally, you reached out gently, brushing a hand over Logan’s arm. His eyes opened slowly, his gaze immediately meeting yours. He gave you a small, tired smile before glancing down at Laura, still nestled against him.

“She had a nightmare,” he murmured, his voice low to avoid waking her.

You nodded, your voice just as soft. “And she came to find us.”

Logan’s lips twitched slightly. “Yeah. Guess she’s startin’ to trust us.”

“She already trusts you,” you said warmly, your eyes lingering on the two of them. “That’s obvious.”

Logan didn’t respond, but the faintest hint of emotion flickered across his face. He glanced down at Laura again, his hand gently brushing over her hair in a protective gesture.

“She’s just a kid,” he said quietly after a moment, his voice heavy with unspoken thoughts.

You placed a hand over his, giving it a light squeeze. “She’s safe with us, Logan. She’ll figure that out in time.”

He nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Yeah. She will.”

---

While the team fought in the Danger Room, you took up your usual spot observing from the deck, keeping an eye on the controls.

Laura was with you, sitting on your lap with her stuffed bunny as you observed the Danger Room training session from the control deck. Her small hands gripped the bunny tightly as her eyes followed the action below, her focus intense. Despite how quiet she was, you could feel how closely she was watching everything—soaking in the details of every move the team made.

“Pretty cool, huh?” you said softly, glancing down at her. Laura didn’t respond, but her grip on the bunny loosened a bit as her dark eyes flicked up to yours for a brief moment.

You leaned back slightly in the chair, your hand resting on the edge of the console. “This is where we train to use our abilities,” you explained, gesturing toward the simulated battle below. “It helps keep everyone safe out there in the real world.”

Laura’s gaze drifted to your hand and then back to the training floor. She fidgeted slightly, her brow furrowing, before her hand tugged lightly at the fabric of your sleeve.

“What’s up?” you asked gently, tilting your head to look at her.

She hesitated for a long moment, clutching her bunny to her chest before reaching out tentatively. She pointed at the scene below, where Scott and Storm were sparring, then back at you. Her silent question hung in the air: what about you?

You smiled softly, understanding what she was trying to ask. “Me?” you said, tapping your chest lightly. “I’ve got abilities too.”

Laura shifted on your lap, watching you closely now. Her intensity was unwavering, and it was clear she wanted you to explain.

“Well,” you began, keeping your tone light but sincere, “I can control time. Kind of like pressing pause or rewind on a movie—except it’s real life.” You held up a hand, flexing your fingers slowly. “I don’t use it much unless I really need to. It’s not the kind of thing you show off unless it’s important.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to piece together what that meant. Her small fingers toyed with the ear of her stuffed bunny as she continued to stare.

“Here,” you said softly, leaning forward. “I can show you something small. Just watch.”

You reached for the pen on the console in front of you and gave it a light push, letting it roll toward the edge. Before it could fall, you lifted your hand subtly, pausing time just long enough to stop its descent mid-air. Laura’s sharp eyes widened as she noticed the pen floating in place. With a small wave of your hand, time resumed, and the pen clattered onto the floor.

She turned her gaze back to you, her expression still guarded but undeniably curious.

“See? Nothing too flashy, but it’s handy,” you said with a warm smile. “I promise I’ll teach you all about it someday if you want.”

Laura blinked, tilting her head as though considering your words. Then she did something that caught you off guard—she leaned forward slightly and tugged the fabric of your sleeve closer, resting her head briefly against your arm before pulling back. It wasn’t much, but you could feel the quiet trust forming between the two of you.

You placed a hand lightly on her back. “You’re safe here,” you said softly. “You’re part of our family now.”

Her lips pressed into a firm line, but she didn’t pull away from your touch. If anything, she seemed to lean just a little closer.

Below, Logan stepped off the mat after wrapping up his turn in the Danger Room, his eyes immediately finding yours up on the observation deck. He gave a small nod, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might’ve been a smile. You waved slightly, letting him know everything was fine.

Laura turned her head slightly, catching the exchange, but she didn’t react. Instead, she leaned back against your chest, the bunny tucked securely in her arms.

“You’re doing great, Laura,” you murmured, keeping your voice low and reassuring. “One step at a time, right?”

She didn’t reply, but the faintest hint of a smile flickered on her face. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. And for now, that was more than enough.

---

You decided to grade papers in your classroom over your office, giving Laura the ability to look at and mess around with things around the room, like right now with your laser pointer.

Rogue and Jubilee were in your classroom as well, though they weren’t your students anymore they sometimes came by to check in or hang out.

Laura pointed the laser at Jubilee, the red dot landing squarely on her hand as the younger mutant gestured animatedly. Jubilee paused mid-sentence, her eyes catching the red dot. With a dramatic gasp, she looked up at Laura, who sat perched on your lap, her face as impassive as ever.

"Is that... a laser pointer?" Jubilee asked, grinning as she held up her hand to ‘catch’ the dot. She waved her fingers back and forth, moving it like a cat trying to catch a toy.

You glanced down at Laura, whose small hand gripped the pointer tightly. Her dark eyes flicked from Jubilee’s hand to her face, her expression unreadable. A faint twitch of her lips might’ve been amusement—or just concentration.

“Laura,” you said softly, an affectionate lilt in your voice, “are you messing with Jubilee?”

Laura glanced at you briefly before pointing the laser at Rogue instead, the red dot landing on her shoulder. Rogue turned her head, furrowing her brow as she noticed.

“What the—?” Rogue swatted at the dot, looking up toward you with a raised eyebrow. “Y/N, is this your doing?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Not me. Looks like Laura’s having some fun.”

Rogue chuckled softly, folding her arms as she leaned against the edge of your desk. “Well, she’s got good aim. Better than most adults I know.”

Laura tilted her head slightly, as if acknowledging the compliment, before turning off the laser and tucking it into her pocket. Her eyes shifted between Rogue and Jubilee, lingering on them with quiet curiosity.

“She’s sizing us up,” Jubilee teased, wiggling her fingers dramatically at Laura. “What’re you thinking, kid? Who’s cooler—me or Rogue?”

“Not a fair competition,” Rogue said with a playful smirk. “We all know I’d win.”

Laura didn’t respond, her gaze darting between the two women. Then, she tugged gently at your sleeve, her silent signal that she wanted your attention.

“What’s up?” you asked, leaning slightly to meet her gaze.

Laura pointed at Rogue, her finger steady as she tapped the air. Then she pointed at Jubilee. Her expression was serious, her question clear even without words: what are their powers?

You smiled at her perceptiveness, then looked up at the two women. “She wants to know about your abilities.”

Jubilee’s face lit up. “Oh, now this is my kind of conversation.” She raised her hands, conjuring a burst of multicolored sparks that crackled and popped like tiny fireworks. “I make things go boom. Pretty cool, huh?”

Laura’s eyes widened slightly, her interest unmistakable. She leaned forward just a touch, watching the sparks fizzle out in Jubilee’s hands.

Rogue smiled softly, lowering her gloves to reveal her bare hands. “Mine’s a little different,” she said, her tone gentler. “When I touch someone, I absorb their powers, memories—everything. It’s a lot, but it’s helped me save a life or two.”

Laura’s gaze lingered on Rogue’s hands before shifting back to her face. She tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly as if processing this new information.

“She’s just curious,” you said, running a hand lightly over Laura’s back. “She’s still getting used to all of this.”

“Totally understandable,” Jubilee said, leaning against the desk. “It’s a lot for anyone, let alone a kid.”

Rogue nodded. “She’s got instincts, though. You can tell she’s sharp.”

Laura’s hand moved to the laser pointer in her pocket again, her fingers brushing over it absentmindedly. You could feel the faint tension in her body, the way she stayed close to you, as if you were her anchor in this unfamiliar environment.

Jubilee crouched slightly, her tone warm and playful. “Hey, Laura. If you ever wanna learn how to make stuff explode, let me know. I’ve got the best fireworks tutorial in the mansion.”

Laura’s lips twitched—just barely—but she didn’t pull away or retreat, which was progress in itself. You gave her a reassuring squeeze, your heart swelling with quiet pride at how far she’d come in such a short time.

---

Laura was good at cards. One night, while the team gathered around in the common room, Rogue asked Laura if she would like Remy to teach her how to play cards. Logan resisted but gave in when Laura willingly left your side to sit by Rogue as Remy taught her.

Laura sat cross-legged on the floor, her small figure hunched over the deck of cards as Remy dealt another round. The room hummed with conversation, laughter, and the occasional clink of mugs, but Laura seemed entirely focused on the game. Her dark eyes scanned the cards in her hand, her face giving nothing away.

You watched from the couch, glasses perched on your nose as you graded a stack of physics tests. Logan sat beside you, his arm draped across the back of the couch, his attention split between Laura and the hockey game playing on the TV.

“She’s got him sweatin’,” Logan muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You glanced over, catching the way Remy’s usually confident demeanor had shifted. He leaned forward slightly, shuffling the cards in his hand as he studied Laura with newfound caution. Rogue stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the game with a soft, amused smile.

“Alright, petite,” Remy said, tapping his cards on the table. “Let’s see what you got.”

Laura set her cards down with deliberate precision, revealing a winning hand. A small murmur of approval rippled through the room as she calmly collected the pile of coins and trinkets in the center of the table—among them, Remy’s fancy pen and his lucky die.

“Mon dieu,” Remy muttered, running a hand through his hair. “This one’s ruthless.”

“She’s just playin’ smart,” Rogue teased, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “Don’t get all huffy just ‘cause a kid’s got the better of you.”

Logan chuckled under his breath, leaning back. “She’s got instincts. You should’ve seen her figure out poker a few weeks ago. Took Jubilee’s snacks, too.”

You couldn’t help but smile, setting your pen down for a moment. Laura’s serious expression hadn’t changed, but you could see the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes as she added her winnings to a small pile beside her.

“Alright, that’s it,” Remy said, holding up his hands. “I’m out before I lose my coat. Ain’t no beatin’ you, petite.”

Laura glanced at him briefly, her expression unreadable as she shifted the cards into a neat pile. She looked over at Rogue, then at you, as if gauging her next move.

“Nice haul,” you said, your tone warm and encouraging. “You’re really good at this.”

She looked at you for a moment, then nodded, the faintest hint of pride in her posture as she pocketed the pen and die. You felt Logan’s hand squeeze your shoulder gently, his way of silently sharing the moment with you.

Rogue crouched down beside Laura, her tone light. “You gonna go easy on me if I play a round with you, or you takin’ me for everything I’ve got, too?”

Laura tilted her head slightly, considering, before holding out the deck of cards toward Rogue. It wasn’t a verbal answer, but it was as close to an invitation as anyone could get.

“She’s got the hang of this place,” Logan murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Good thing, too. She’s tough, but it’s nice seein’ her relax some.”

You glanced at him, your heart warming at the rare softness in his tone. “She’s not just tough,” you replied quietly, watching as Laura dealt the cards with practiced efficiency. “She’s brilliant. Just needs time to find her rhythm.”

Logan leaned in slightly, brushing a kiss against your temple. “She’ll get there. She’s got you, after all.”

Before you could respond, Jubilee’s voice cut through the room, dramatic as ever. “Alright, who’s ready for movie night? We’re watching Spaceballs and there’s popcorn in the kitchen!”

Logan groaned, but there was no real complaint in it. “Again? Don’t you kids know any other movies?”

“It’s a classic, Logan!” Jubilee countered, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing a piece his way. “You just don’t appreciate art.”

Laura, seemingly disinterested in the commotion, finished dealing the cards for Rogue, then looked back toward you. You smiled at her, your expression full of encouragement. She stayed where she was, content to be in her little circle for now, but you noticed her eyes linger on you for just a moment longer than usual.

---

Logan stood outside, leaning against the wall as he watched you show Laura the different trees in the yard, while the other kids ran about playing games or just relaxing under the shade.

Ororo and Jean both came over to him, one of them standing on each side of Logan. Jean spoke first, “you’re jealous.” She teased.

Logan didn’t look over at her, “I’m not jealous.”

Ororo hummed, “oh, yeah? Is that why you got all pouty when Y/N took Laura to the mall the other day and didn’t invite you?”

Logan scowled but didn’t look away from the scene in front of him. You were crouched next to a tree, pointing at something on the bark while Laura stood beside you, her head tilted in curiosity. The other kids were scattered around the yard, laughing and playing, but Laura stayed close to you, her small frame almost rigid.

“I didn’t pout,” Logan muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jean grinned, leaning her shoulder into him. “You totally pouted. You didn’t even talk to anyone during dinner that night.”

“That’s just Logan,” Ororo teased. “Quiet brooding is his default.”

Logan shot them both a look. “I don’t brood.”

Jean smirked. “Whatever you say, Logan.”

The three of them stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching as you moved to another tree with Laura trailing behind. Her little hand brushed against yours, and you instinctively reached down, linking your fingers loosely with hers. Logan’s expression softened, though he didn’t realize it.

“She’s attached to Y/N,” Ororo said softly, her gaze warm. “It’s sweet.”

“She’s attached ‘cause Y/N gets her,” Logan replied, his voice quieter than usual. “Knows when to give her space and when to be close. Most people don’t figure that out with Laura.”

Jean tilted her head, studying Logan’s face. “And you? You okay with sharing Y/N?”

Logan frowned, but there was no real bite in it. “Ain’t about sharing. It’s about what’s best for Laura. Kid’s been through hell. If this helps her feel... safe, then I’m all for it.”

Jean exchanged a quick glance with Ororo, both of them smiling knowingly. “You’re a softie, Logan,” Jean teased.

“Don’t push it,” Logan grumbled, though his tone lacked any real edge.

Meanwhile, you crouched down again, pointing at a patch of moss growing at the base of a tree. Laura crouched beside you, mimicking your posture. Her dark eyes flickered between your face and the moss, her attention unwavering.

“See how it’s growing on this side?” you asked gently, keeping your voice low. “That’s because it gets more shade over here. Plants like this need to stay cool and moist to grow.”

Laura nodded slowly, reaching out to touch the moss with a tentative finger. You smiled, glancing over your shoulder toward the mansion. Your eyes met Logan’s for a brief second, and he gave you a small nod. It wasn’t much, but it carried a lot: approval, gratitude, and maybe something a little softer.

Ororo elbowed him lightly. “You’re staring.”

“Am not.”

Jean laughed. “You totally are. And it’s adorable.”

Logan groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “You two gonna keep yappin’ or let me enjoy some peace and quiet?”

“Peace and quiet?” Ororo echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Logan, you’re literally surrounded by kids.”

Before he could retort, Laura stood up and turned to look at him. She didn’t say anything—she never did—but her gaze was steady, almost challenging. After a beat, she reached out and tugged at your sleeve, silently signaling she wanted to go inside.

You stood up, brushing dirt off your hands. “Ready to head back?”

Laura nodded once, her grip on your sleeve tightening slightly. You gave her a reassuring smile, then looked back at Logan. “We’re going in. Coming with?”

He shrugged, pushing off the wall. “Yeah, why not?”

Jean and Ororo exchanged amused looks as Logan followed you and Laura inside. When the door closed behind you, Ororo shook her head with a grin. “He’s a goner.”

Jean laughed. “Completely.”

---

As you and Laura walked down the main stairway, a knock from the front door reverberated through the mansion. Laura immediately grew tense, her fists clenching.

“Hey, it’s okay. Let’s see who it is,” you said, your voice calm as you moved toward the front door. Laura stayed close behind, her small frame tense, her eyes darting toward the windows as if assessing possible threats. You placed a hand on the doorknob, glancing back at her. “It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

Laura didn’t respond, but her fingers twitched, brushing against her side where her claws often unsheathed in moments of anxiety. You opened the door slowly, peering through the small crack.

“Oh, Peter!” you exclaimed, opening the door fully to reveal the young man standing on the porch in his Spider-Man suit. He was taller than when you last saw him, his lanky frame filling out slightly, though he still looked like the same awkward, wide-eyed kid you remembered. “You’ve gotten a bit taller in a year.”

Peter pulled off his mask, revealing a sheepish grin. “Yeah, uh… puberty’s a thing, I guess.” He scratched the back of his head, glancing past you into the mansion. “Hope it’s okay I stopped by. I was in the area and figured—”

“Of course it’s okay,” you interrupted warmly, stepping aside to let him in. “You’re always welcome here.”

Peter stepped inside, his eyes immediately falling on Laura, who was standing half-hidden behind you. Her sharp gaze was fixed on him, her posture defensive. Peter paused, his grin faltering slightly as he raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender.

“Uh… hi?” he tried, his voice unsure. “I’m Peter. You must be… Laura?”

She didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“This is Peter Parker,” you explained softly, glancing down at her. “He’s a friend of ours.”

Laura’s gaze flicked to you, then back to Peter. She didn’t move or speak, but some of the tension in her shoulders eased.

Peter offered a nervous laugh. “Wow, tough crowd. It’s nice to meet you, though. I’ve, uh, heard a lot about you. Good things! Really good things.”

Laura tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable as she continued to size him up. Then she jerked her wrist once before pointing at Peter.

“I think she wants to see your webs,” you said, glancing down at Laura with a small smile. Her dark eyes remained fixed on Peter, her expression blank but her body tense, like a coiled spring.

Peter’s grin returned, albeit a little nervously. “Oh, yeah? Well, I can definitely do that. Hold on.” He flexed his fingers, then quickly flicked his wrist, sending a thin, shimmering strand of webbing across the room. It stuck to the far wall with a soft thwip, and he gave it a playful tug.

Laura’s head tilted slightly, her focus narrowing on the web as though she were analyzing its structure. Her fingers twitched again, though whether it was from curiosity or a reflexive urge to defend herself, you couldn’t quite tell.

“Cool, right?” Peter said, his tone a little more confident now. He released the web, letting it dissolve as he looked back at her. “I can swing through the city with these. It’s like… uh, instant transportation but way scarier and more fun.”

Laura finally moved, taking a single step closer, her gaze darting from Peter’s face to his hands. She pointed at the spot on the wall where the web had landed, then back at him.

“You wanna see it again?” Peter asked. He mimicked her pointing gesture, earning a faint twitch of her lips—almost a smile but not quite. “Okay, okay, one more.”

He aimed at the ceiling this time, sending a longer strand upward. The webbing clung to the chandelier, and Peter gave a mock swing to demonstrate, though he didn’t actually leave the ground. “Ta-da!” he said, gesturing dramatically.

Laura took another step forward, stopping a few feet in front of him. She didn’t look at you for reassurance, which was something; instead, she raised her hand and pointed again, this time at his wrist.

“Oh, you wanna see where it comes from?” Peter said, holding up his hand. “It’s, uh, kind of gross, but—oh, wait, not gross! Just… science-y. And cool. Definitely cool.”

He turned his wrist to show her the small, almost-invisible mechanism attached to the underside of his suit’s glove. “See this? It’s my web-shooter. Homemade. Took me forever to get it right, but now it’s pretty solid. I press here—” he gestured to a small trigger, “—and bam. Webs.”

Laura stared at the device for a long moment before looking up at him, her brow furrowed slightly. She pointed at his face, then mimicked putting on a mask.

“Oh, you mean the suit?” Peter said, catching on. “Yeah, I made that too. Well, this version’s had a few upgrades, but the original was all me. Gotta protect the ol’ secret identity, you know?”

You stepped closer, your hand brushing Laura’s shoulder gently. “Peter’s a bit of a genius when it comes to tech,” you said, your voice soft. “He built all of this himself.”

“That’s, uh, kind of an exaggeration,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just tinker a lot. Nothing fancy.”

Laura glanced at you briefly, then back at Peter. Finally, she reached out, her movements slow and deliberate, and tapped his wrist where the web-shooter sat.

Peter froze for a second, clearly unsure how to respond. “Oh, uh, you wanna try it?”

Laura pulled her hand back slightly, her expression unreadable.

“It’s okay,” you said gently. “He’s offering.”

Peter carefully unfastened the web-shooter from his wrist and held it out to her. “Here. Just don’t, uh, point it at anyone unless you’re ready to explain why they’re stuck to a wall.”

Laura hesitated, her fingers hovering just above the device before finally taking it from him. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting every detail with the kind of focus that made you wonder if she was mentally deconstructing it piece by piece.

“She’s like a little engineer,” Peter said, his tone full of admiration. “Seriously, I think she’s smarter than me already.”

“She’s definitely got an eye for detail,” you agreed, watching as Laura mimicked the motion Peter had demonstrated, pressing the trigger lightly. A small strand of webbing shot out, landing on the floor. Her head tilted again, and for the first time, you saw the faintest glimmer of curiosity in her expression.

“Not bad,” Peter said, grinning. “You’ve got the hang of it already.”

Laura handed the web-shooter back to him without a word, her movements quick but not abrupt. She looked at you, then gave a single nod, as if to say she’d seen enough.

“You’re a tough critic, huh?” Peter said, reattaching the device to his wrist. “I like that.”

Laura didn’t respond, but her body language had relaxed slightly. You reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “She’s just careful,” you said. “Takes a lot for her to trust someone.”

Peter nodded, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Hey, I get it. It’s cool. No rush or anything. I just wanted to say hi and, uh, not get on her bad side.”

You chuckled, giving Laura’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You did fine, Peter. Thanks for stopping by. It’s always good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” he said, pulling his mask back on. He gave a little wave, directing it at Laura. “Nice meeting you, Laura. You’re, uh… pretty awesome.”

Laura watched him go, her expression unreadable again, but you didn’t miss the way her posture stayed a little less guarded, even after the door closed.

---

You and Logan laid on the couch in the common room, with you laying in between his legs, your back against his chest. The TV played A New Hope, which Logan grumbled about at first, until you reminded him that the two of you watched some Western last night.

“It doesn’t make sense why the damn droids—”

You brought a hand up behind you and placed it over Logan's mouth just as R2-D2 and C-3PO landed on Tatooine. He let out a muffled grumble against your palm, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Logan,” you teased, turning your head slightly to catch his annoyed expression. “You promised no complaints tonight.”

He pulled your hand away gently, smirking as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “I just don’t get why those two are so important. They’re just scrap metal on legs.”

“Blasphemy,” you replied, feigning offense. “They’re the heart and soul of Star Wars.”

Logan snorted, muttering something about “weird priorities,” but didn’t argue further. He rested his chin lightly on the top of your head as the movie continued, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

The peace was interrupted by the sound of small, light footsteps entering the room. You glanced toward the doorway and saw Laura standing there, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly in one hand. She didn’t say anything, of course, just stood there staring at the two of you.

“Hey, kiddo,” you greeted softly, motioning her over. “You wanna join us?”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting between you and Logan before cautiously stepping closer. You sat up slightly and held out your hands, and she climbed onto the couch without a word. Once she was close enough, you gently lifted her and settled her between your legs, her back resting against your chest. Her bunny stayed tucked safely in her arms.

Logan’s eyes softened as he watched, his earlier grumpiness forgotten. He shifted to make more room, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch.

For the first few minutes, Laura kept her gaze firmly averted from the screen, clearly uninterested. But gradually, you noticed her small head turning slightly, her dark eyes flickering toward the movie as Luke Skywalker wandered the desert. By the time Obi-Wan Kenobi made his first appearance, she was fully focused, her brows furrowed as she took it all in.

“You want me to rewind it?” you asked quietly, glancing down at her. “We’re not that far in.”

Logan groaned immediately. “Aw, come on, darlin’. We already sat through all that desert stuff.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Some of us appreciate the desert stuff.”

Laura looked up at you, then back at the screen. She didn’t say anything, but the way she clung to her bunny suggested she didn’t mind starting over. You took her silence as agreement and reached for the remote.

Logan let his head fall back dramatically. “You’re killin’ me here.”

“You’ll survive,” you said, smirking as you hit the rewind button.

The movie started over, and this time, all three of you watched in relative silence. You occasionally explained a few details to Laura, keeping your voice soft so as not to disturb the atmosphere. Logan offered a few snarky comments here and there, but even he seemed more engaged than he’d admit.

At some point, you noticed Laura’s head drooping, her body leaning more heavily against yours. She was fast asleep by the time the Jawas captured R2-D2, her bunny still clutched tightly in her hands.

You smiled down at her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Guess she’s a fan,” you whispered.

Logan glanced over, his expression softening again as he took in the sight of Laura curled up against you. “Looks like it,” he murmured. “Not sure I’m ready for the day she starts quotin’ this stuff at me.”

You chuckled quietly. “You’ll manage.”

A comfortable silence settled over the room. The movie continued to play, but before long, you felt your own eyes growing heavy. Logan’s steady warmth and the soft rhythm of Laura’s breathing made it hard to stay awake. Eventually, you let your head rest against Logan’s chest, your hand resting lightly on Laura’s shoulder.

Logan glanced down, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips as he watched the two of you. He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, carefully pulling it over you and Laura without disturbing either of you.

“Night, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Then he leaned back, his eyes on the screen, the soft hum of the movie filling the room as the three of you drifted into a peaceful sleep.

---

“Rogue is an expert decorator, especially when it comes to Christmas.” You explained, carrying Laura on your hip. The mansion was decked out in lights, trees, garland, and glitter. Usually you and Logan would go to the cabin up north, a tradition the two of you have had for the past few years, but since Laura was around the two of you thought it’d be best to stay at the mansion.

Laura pointed up at the ceiling by the common room doorway. “Oh, that’s mistletoe,” you said with a soft smile, adjusting her on your hip. “It’s been a symbol of love and peace for centuries. There’s even a tradition—if two people stand underneath it, they’re supposed to kiss. Then they pick one of the berries.”

Laura’s brow furrowed slightly, her dark eyes flicking to you and then back to the greenery above. She shifted in your arms, clutching her stuffed bunny tightly.

Rogue’s voice called out from the other side of the room, drawing both of your attention. “Hey, Y/N! You think this garland should go along the staircase or the balcony?”

“Staircase,” you replied, moving toward her. “It’ll tie the whole entryway together.”

Rogue grinned, giving you a thumbs-up before going back to work. The mansion was in full holiday mode, with Rogue and you taking charge of most of the decorating. Or, as Rogue called it, “deckin’ the halls until the place practically screams Christmas.”

“Let’s go help,” you said to Laura, setting her down gently. She stuck close, always keeping one hand on your sleeve or your leg as you worked alongside Rogue, hanging ornaments and looping tinsel. Occasionally, you handed Laura a small task, like placing bows on the banister or choosing where a set of lights should go. She performed each task with the same quiet intensity she seemed to bring to everything.

Logan, meanwhile, was in another part of the mansion helping Jubilee sort out the tangled mess of outdoor lights. You could already imagine him grumbling under his breath about the chaos, but you had no doubt Jubilee would keep him in line with her usual brand of bubbly sarcasm.

The day wore on, and as dinner approached, you noticed Laura had disappeared. Your chest tightened briefly at the realization, but you reminded yourself that she’d been feeling safer in the mansion lately and likely wasn’t far.

You didn’t have to wonder long. Just as you moved into the common room, you spotted her, standing in the middle of the doorway under the mistletoe with her arms folded over her chest. Her sharp eyes locked onto you, and then she made a motion with her hand—a beckoning gesture.

You chuckled softly, stepping toward her. “What are you up to?”

She didn’t answer, only raised a finger and pointed toward the mistletoe. Her gaze slid past you, focusing on Logan, who had just entered the room behind you, holding a tangled string of lights.

“What’s this about, kid?” Logan asked, frowning slightly as he stopped beside you.

Laura pointed at the mistletoe again, her expression unyielding. She shifted her stuffed bunny from one arm to the other, and then, for the first time, she opened her mouth.

“Kiss.”

Both you and Logan froze, the single word hanging in the air like a snowflake suspended in time.

You blinked, your gaze snapping to Logan, whose eyes were wide with shock before softening into something warmer, more tender. A grin slowly tugged at the corner of his lips as he glanced between you and Laura.

“Well,” Logan said, his voice quieter than usual, “looks like she’s givin’ orders now.”

Your face warmed, but you couldn’t deny the smile pulling at your lips. “She’s persistent,” you murmured, looking at Laura.

Laura didn’t move, her expression unchanging as she stood her ground beneath the mistletoe, waiting. There was a glint of determination in her eyes, and you realized this wasn’t just her pushing you and Logan into a holiday tradition. It was something more. She was testing boundaries, creating her version of a family moment.

You glanced back at Logan, and his slight nod told you he felt it, too. With an amused sigh, you leaned up on your toes and tilted your face toward him. Logan’s hand came up, brushing against your cheek as he bent his head down to meet your lips in a kiss. It was soft and warm, lingering just a moment longer than you expected.

When you pulled away, the smallest trace of a smile had appeared on Laura’s face. She stepped closer, still clutching her bunny, and Logan reached down, picking her up easily. You grabbed the bunny so her little hands could hold onto Logan’s neck instead.

“Well, what about you, kid?” Logan asked her, his voice unusually gentle. “You gonna get a kiss, too?”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss one of her cheeks as Logan did the same to the other. Laura made a soft sound, something halfway between a giggle and a hum, as her arms wrapped tighter around Logan’s neck.

“Guess she approves,” you said, laughter in your voice as Logan looked at her with a rare softness in his eyes.

“Good,” he rumbled. “’Cause I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

From that point on, the evening felt even more special. Laura stayed close for the rest of the night, her presence a constant reminder of how much your little family had grown. You weren’t just surviving—you were building something new, together.

---

Ever since then, Laura spoke more. Not all the time, but enough.

You also learned that there was one thing her and Logan had in common. Their pranks. One evening, after classes ended, you took a shower and changed into your pajamas, one of Logan’s flannels and your sleep pants, before heading into the kitchen.

Jean offered you a glass of wine, which you accepted gratefully. The kitchen was warm with the smell of freshly baked cookies that Rogue and Jubilee had made earlier. You adjusted your glasses and took a sip, leaning against the counter as Jean filled you in on her day.

“I’m telling you, Scott nearly blew a fuse in the Danger Room today,” Jean said, chuckling softly. “He always forgets how easily Peter can get under his skin.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Sounds like classic Peter. He never stops pushing buttons.”

Before Jean could respond, the faint sound of whispers and hushed laughter drew your attention toward the hallway. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head as Logan and Laura entered the room, both looking suspiciously nonchalant.

“Logan,” you said, your tone laced with playful skepticism, “what are you two up to?”

“Us?” Logan asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothin’. Just makin’ the rounds.”

Laura stood beside him, her stuffed bunny tucked under one arm. Her sharp eyes darted between you and Jean, her lips pressed together in a way that suggested she was trying very hard not to smile.

Jean crossed her arms, her brow raised. “Uh-huh. And why do I get the feeling that ‘making the rounds’ actually means trouble?”

“No idea what you’re talkin’ about,” Logan said, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Laura shifted on her feet, her free hand tugging at the hem of Logan’s flannel shirt, a silent cue. Logan nodded once before turning his attention back to you and Jean.

“We’ll catch up later, darlin’,” he said, winking at you. “C’mon, kid.”

Laura gave you a brief, almost sheepish glance before following Logan out of the kitchen. You and Jean exchanged a look.

“They’re definitely up to something,” Jean said, smirking.

You sighed, already bracing yourself for whatever chaos was about to unfold. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t involve—”

A sudden shout from the hallway cut you off.

“Logan! Laura!”

Jean burst into laughter as Scott stormed into the kitchen, his visor slightly askew and his face smeared with what appeared to be whipped cream. He pointed an accusatory finger toward the hallway. “Those two little menaces rigged the training console! It blasted me with a—”

“Pie cannon?” Jean finished, laughing so hard she had to set her wine glass down.

You bit back a smile, raising an eyebrow at Scott. “You mean to tell me you didn’t see it coming?”

“It was disguised as a systems diagnostic!” Scott exclaimed, his voice full of indignation. “I spent twenty minutes analyzing the setup, and then—bam!”

From somewhere down the hall, you heard Logan’s deep laughter mingling with Laura’s soft, breathy giggle. Your heart swelled at the sound; it was rare for Laura to laugh so freely, and you knew that moments like these were helping her feel more at home.

Jean wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Scott, I hate to say it, but you walked right into that one.”

Scott grumbled something under his breath before turning to leave, muttering about “revenge” as he stomped down the hallway.

You turned back to Jean, shaking your head in amusement. “I should probably go check on them before this escalates.”

Jean grinned, waving you off. “Good luck, Y/N. You’ll need it.”

---

You found Logan and Laura in the rec room, both looking entirely too pleased with themselves. Laura was perched on the arm of the couch, her bunny in her lap, while Logan lounged beside her, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“You two really couldn’t resist, could you?” you said, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorway.

“Guy had it comin’,” Logan replied, completely unapologetic. “Been ridin’ me about the outdoor lights all week.”

Laura nodded, her expression serious despite the faint sparkle in her eyes.

You sighed, shaking your head as you walked over to them. “Just… try not to push Scott too far, okay? He’s still the one who has to lead team missions.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, waving a dismissive hand. But there was a softness in his gaze as he watched you, a quiet warmth that always lingered when you were near.

Laura slid off the couch and moved to your side, her small hand tugging at your sleeve. You looked down at her, and she tilted her head, her expression curious.

“Are you mad?” she asked softly, her voice still carrying the hesitancy she hadn’t yet outgrown.

You knelt down to her level, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “No, sweetheart. I’m not mad. Just making sure you two don’t get into too much trouble.”

Her lips twitched into a small smile, and she leaned in, wrapping her arms around your neck. “Okay.”

Logan watched the exchange, his smirk fading into something more tender. He knew how much you had both longed for a family, and seeing you with Laura reminded him of just how far the two of you had come—not just as a couple, but as a team, a unit. A family.

---

Ever since summer break started, Laura followed you around more often. Without classes to worry about there was logically no reason to be separated.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, as Rogue, Kitty, and Jubilee chatted animatedly about their upcoming mall trip. Laura stood close to you, her small hand clutching your skirt. She hadn’t said much, just watched the girls with her usual quiet intensity.

“You wanna go with them?” Logan asked Laura, his voice casual as he nodded toward the girls. “Looks like they’re gonna have a good time.”

Laura glanced up at you, her brow furrowing slightly. “Do you want me to go?”

You knelt down to her level, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said gently. “You can stay here with me and Logan. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Logan shot you a look that was equal parts amused and exasperated. “C’mon, kid,” he said to Laura, crouching slightly to meet her eyes. “Could be fun. You’ll get some new clothes, maybe a toy or two. And these three know how to find the best snacks at the food court.”

Kitty grinned. “Oh, for sure. We’ve got the food court mapped out like a treasure hunt.”

Jubilee chimed in. “And we’ll make sure you have fun, Laura. Promise.”

Laura’s gaze flicked between you and Logan, clearly conflicted. You gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s up to you, kiddo. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Logan’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “You’ll be fine, kid. Go have some fun. You don’t need to be stuck with us old folks all the time.”

Laura hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded. “Okay.”

Rogue extended a hand to her. “Great. Let’s go, little one.”

Laura hesitated just long enough to give you a quick hug before taking Rogue’s hand. As the group headed for the door, you called after her, “have fun, Laura! Be good!”

“Always,” she replied, her voice soft but steady.

The door closed behind them, and the house fell into a rare, peaceful silence. You turned to Logan, who was watching you with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Before you could say anything, he closed the distance between you in two long strides, scooping you up effortlessly.

“Logan!” you squeaked, laughing as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“Finally got you all to myself,” he said, his tone low and teasing. “Not lettin’ this opportunity go to waste.”

“Logan—”

He silenced you with a quick kiss, his smirk never fading. “Relax, darlin’. You’ve been runnin’ yourself ragged lately. Time to take a break.”

You tried to feign indignation, but his warmth and the way he carried you so easily made it hard to keep a straight face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” he shot back, carrying you down the hall toward the bedroom.

By the time he kicked the door shut behind him, you’d given up pretending to be annoyed. Logan set you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering at your waist as he leaned in close. His voice softened, the teasing edge giving way to something more tender.

“Missed this,” he murmured. “Missed you.”

You smiled up at him, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Logan.”

His gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of something unspoken passing through his eyes. But he didn’t say anything, just kissed you again, his touch reverent, as if grounding himself in the moment. His lips traveled from yours, skimming along your jaw, down your neck. Each kiss was deliberate, like he was marking a path only he knew.

“Logan,” you murmured, your fingers curling in his hair. Your voice carried a soft plea, one he clearly heard as his hands slid down your sides, lifting your shirt over your head. He paused for a moment, his thumbs brushing over your waist, and his eyes roamed over you, filled with something raw and tender all at once.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick. “Never get tired of this, darlin’.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You always say that.”

“And I’ll keep sayin’ it,” he shot back, leaning in to press another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Before you could respond, Logan’s hands moved to the clasp of your bra. But instead of unhooking it, you felt the unmistakable snikt as one of his claws extended. Your breath hitched when he expertly slid the adamantium blade under the fabric, slicing it open with ease. The sound was barely audible over your quickened breathing.

“Logan,” you started, but his mouth was already moving down your body, kissing along your collarbone, then lower. His hands skimmed the straps from your shoulders, and your ruined bra joined your shirt on the floor.

“Hmm?” he hummed, his lips trailing between your breasts. His hands rested on your waist, firm and grounding, while his mouth continued its descent, worshiping every inch of skin he uncovered.

“You… you didn’t have to…” Your protest trailed off into a shiver as his lips pressed against your stomach, his beard scratching just enough to make you gasp.

“Didn’t wanna waste time,” he replied, his voice muffled as he kissed just above the waistband of your skirt. His hands tugged at the fabric, pushing it higher until it bunched around your waist, leaving you in nothing but the small wedge heels you’d forgotten you were wearing.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him with a mix of anticipation and amusement. “Still fully dressed, huh? Doesn’t seem fair.”

Logan glanced up at you, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Fair? Darlin’, I’m about to spoil you rotten.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he gripped your thighs, spreading them apart effortlessly. His lips pressed against the sensitive skin just above the edge of your panties, and you shivered at the heat of his breath.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling with want.

He looked up at you again, his expression softening for a moment. “I got you,” he said simply.

In one smooth motion, you found yourself straddling his face, his strong hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady.

“Logan!” Your voice was a mix of shock and laughter, your hands automatically going to his shoulders for balance. “What are you…”

“Told you,” he interrupted, his tone both teasing and commanding. “Gonna spoil you.”

You barely had time to process his words before his mouth was on you, hot and insistent. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his tongue parted you, finding exactly where you needed him. The initial shock melted into pleasure, and your head fell back as a low moan spilled from your lips.

“Oh, God,” you managed, your fingers digging into his shoulders. Logan’s grip tightened on your thighs, pulling you closer against him. His tongue worked in slow, deliberate strokes, each one sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body. When he sucked lightly, your hips bucked involuntarily, and his hands moved to hold you in place.

“Logan, please,” you whimpered, your voice barely more than a breath.

He groaned against you, the vibration only adding to your pleasure. “You taste so damn good, sweetheart,” he murmured between strokes, his voice thick and low.

Your fingers curled tighter in his hair, your thighs trembling under the firm grip of his hands. He held you in place as his tongue explored you, each deliberate motion sending ripples of heat through your core. The raw need in his voice matched the way he devoured you, like a man starved.

“Logan… oh, God,” you gasped, your hips instinctively rolling against his mouth. The intensity of it, the sheer focus he poured into you, left you teetering on the edge. You leaned back slightly, bracing your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

He chuckled against your sensitive skin, the low rumble sending another shiver through you. “Keep sayin’ my name like that,” he teased, his lips brushing over your clit before his tongue swirled around it in slow, agonizing circles. “Drives me wild.”

You couldn’t answer—not coherently, at least. Instead, a breathy moan escaped your lips, your head falling back as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. The wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of his beard against your inner thighs, every sensation overwhelmed you.

“You’re… you’re too good at this,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling.

His smirk was evident even without seeing it. “Damn right I am,” he replied, his grip on your thighs tightening. He shifted slightly, pulling you even closer as his tongue plunged deeper, his nose brushing against your clit in a way that made your back arch.

The sharp gasp that tore from your throat only spurred him on. His hands slid up to your hips, his thumbs pressing into the curve of your waist to steady you as you trembled against him. “That’s it, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice muffled but unmistakably rough with want. “Let go for me.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The tension inside you snapped, a flood of white-hot ecstasy that left you crying out his name. Logan groaned as he held you through it, his tongue never relenting, drawing every last wave of pleasure from you until you sagged against him, your thighs shaking uncontrollably.

You blinked down at him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. His lips glistened with evidence of your release, his smirk smug but not unkind. He looked utterly unrepentant, like a man who knew exactly what he’d done and was damn proud of it.

“Still with me?” he asked, his voice a little softer now as his hands caressed your thighs, grounding you.

You hummed as he gently pushed you down onto the bed. He was sitting on his heels between your legs as you leaned up to start unbuttoning his flannel. Logan watched you, his eyes fixed on your face, his hands resting on your thighs. The reverence in his gaze made your breath hitch, and you focused on the small task of freeing him from the worn fabric.

“C’mere,” he murmured, one hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek. “Need to see you, darlin’.”

You tugged the shirt open, revealing the faint scars littering his chest, some old and faded, others still pink and newer. Your fingers trailed over his skin as you pushed the flannel off his shoulders. He shivered slightly under your touch, and you smiled softly.

“You’re overdressed,” you pointed out, sitting up to work at the buckle of his belt. Logan’s hands covered yours, halting your movements.

“Leave the skirt,” he said, his voice low and rough. His gaze flicked to your heels. “And those.”

Your cheeks heated, but you nodded, your hands dropping to your sides as he finished unfastening his belt. His jeans and boxers joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and when he was finally bare before you, your eyes lingered, taking in every inch of him. He leaned down, catching your lips in a slow, heated kiss that left you breathless. His hand slid under your thigh, hitching your leg higher as he settled between your legs.

“Been too damn long,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice thick with longing.

Your fingers traced the muscles of his back as he kissed you, his lips soft but insistent. When he pulled back, his hand slid down your side, calloused fingers skimming your hip. He guided himself to your entrance, his forehead pressing against yours as he paused, his breathing uneven.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling with want. “Please.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He pushed into you slowly, the stretch making you gasp softly. Logan groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips as he filled you completely. He stayed still for a moment, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he breathed you in.

“Always so fuckin’ perfect,” he rasped. “Takin’ me so well, sweetheart. Always do.”

Your nails pressed into his shoulders as you adjusted to him, your body instinctively arching against his. He started to move, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust deep and purposeful. You whimpered softly, biting your lip to muffle the sounds threatening to escape.

“C’mon, darlin’,” Logan urged, his voice rough. “Lemme hear you.”

“Logan,” you gasped, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. The sheer intensity of him, the way he moved inside you, left you trembling. His hands roamed your body, one sliding under your thigh to angle your hips, the other tangling in your hair.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “Doin’ so good for me. So good.”

Your head fell back against the pillows, your breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps as he picked up the pace. His hips snapped against yours, the rough friction sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Logan’s voice was a constant murmur in your ear, each word dripping with adoration and want.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” he said, his voice thick. “Spread out for me, takin’ my cock so damn well. Been dreamin’ about this, darlin’. Missed the way you feel.”

Your hands slid to his sides, your fingers digging into his skin as you clung to him. The pressure building inside you was almost unbearable, your body tightening around him with every thrust. Logan groaned, the sound low and primal, and his lips found yours in a heated, desperate kiss.

“Logan,” you whispered against his mouth, your voice trembling.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his grip on your thigh tightening. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel you.”

His words pushed you over the edge. Your body arched against his, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as the tension snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Logan’s pace didn’t falter, his movements driving you higher as he chased his own release. The sound of his name on your lips sent him spiraling, his body tensing as he followed you into bliss.

He collapsed against you, his weight grounding you as you both tried to catch your breath. His hand slid to your cheek, tilting your face up so he could kiss you softly. The tenderness in his touch made your heart ache, and you smiled against his lips.

“Missed you,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reminded him, your fingers brushing through his hair.

Logan pressed his forehead to yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Good.”

You held him close, your bodies tangled together, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

---

“Guess I’m the unlucky one then.” You said, grabbing a few binders from your desk.

Logan grumbled under his breath as he watched you gather a few binders and textbooks from your desk. "I’m gonna kill Scott. There’s no reason you should be teachin’ a summer class."

You adjusted your glasses and glanced over your shoulder at him, an amused smile tugging at your lips. "Logan, it’s only for eight weeks. It’s not like I’m running a full semester."

He narrowed his eyes, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to downplay it. "Still too much. You already do enough around here."

You shook your head, biting back a laugh. "It’s just a class for the younger kids. Basic physics. Nothing too strenuous."

Logan snorted and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. "Darlin’, you’d find a way to make a black hole sound like a bedtime story. Don’t mean you gotta be teachin’ every second of the day."

"That’s because black holes are fascinating," you teased, brushing past him to set your materials down on the kitchen table. "And it’s not like I’m always working. You know I’m just filling in since Ororo is handling extra field training this summer."

"Uh-huh," Logan muttered, clearly unconvinced. "And what about time for you? When’s the last time you had a break that didn’t involve grading papers or chasin’ kids around?"

You opened your mouth to respond but paused when you felt a small tug on your pants. Looking down, you found Laura standing beside you, her stuffed bunny tucked tightly under her arm. Her serious gaze flickered between you and Logan.

"Why is he mad?" Laura asked softly, her voice careful but laced with concern.

Logan’s expression softened instantly, and he crouched to meet her eye level. "Ain’t mad, kid. Just think your mo—" he caught himself, clearing his throat, "—Y/N, works too hard sometimes. Somebody’s gotta look out for her, right?"

Laura looked up at you, her small brow furrowing in thought. "Do you want me to help?"

Your heart melted at her earnestness, and you knelt beside her, brushing a hand over her dark hair. "Sweetheart, that’s very kind, but I promise I’m okay. Logan’s just being overprotective again."

"Someone’s gotta do it," Logan quipped, standing back up and crossing his arms again.

Laura seemed satisfied with your answer and wrapped her arms around your neck in a quick hug before retreating to sit at the kitchen counter, her bunny in tow. You straightened and turned to Logan, who was still giving you that stubborn, protective look.

"It’s eight weeks, Logan," you said softly, stepping closer to him. "I promise, it’s manageable. And I’ll still have plenty of time for you and Laura."

His jaw twitched, but he relented with a small sigh, one hand reaching out to rest on your waist. "Fine. But if you so much as look tired, I’m takin’ over. Don’t care if Scott likes it or not."

"Noted," you replied, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

Before Logan could grumble again, the distant sound of children’s laughter echoed through the mansion halls, followed by the patter of small footsteps. You glanced toward the doorway as a group of younger kids you’d helped rescue, alongside Laura, ran past, giggling and chattering excitedly. One of them stopped to wave at you before darting after the others.

Laura glanced at the commotion, then turned back to you. "Do I have to go with them?"

You smiled gently and shook your head. "No, sweetheart. You can stay with us if you’d like."

Laura hesitated for a moment before nodding and settling deeper into her chair. Logan watched her carefully, his usual gruff demeanor melting as he studied her.

"She’s stickin’ close today," he murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

"She’s getting more comfortable," you said softly. "But she still has her moments. We just need to keep showing her she’s safe."

Logan nodded, his hand brushing against yours. "She’s got you, darlin’. That’s all she needs."

---

“You should’ve seen it, Jean! I grabbed the papers from Scott’s hands and got this,” you said, holding up your index finger to show the tiny, nearly invisible cut. “And Laura snarled at him.”

Jean laughed, setting her mug down on the counter. “She snarled at Scott? Oh, I wish I’d been there for that.”

“I know, right?” You adjusted your glasses, shaking your head in disbelief. “I mean, Scott looked so confused. He just froze and started stammering, like he didn’t know what he did wrong.”

Jean leaned on the counter, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, Scott does have a talent for rubbing people the wrong way. But I think it’s sweet—Laura’s protective of you. She’s really come out of her shell since she’s been here.”

Your expression softened as you thought about Laura. “She has. She still sticks close, though. Logan says she’s like that because of, you know, everything she’s been through.”

Jean nodded knowingly. “It’s understandable. But it’s also because of you. She feels safe with you. Both of you.”

“Maybe.” You smiled faintly, swirling your mug of tea. “It’s just… hard to believe sometimes, you know? I mean, for so long, it was just me and Logan. And now, suddenly, there’s this kid who sees us as her family.”

Jean’s smile turned warm, but there was a flicker of thoughtfulness in her gaze. She reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ve built something amazing, Y/N. She’s lucky to have you.”

Before you could respond, you heard heavy footsteps approaching. Logan entered the kitchen, his ever-present gruffness softened as his eyes landed on you. “You tell Jean about Scott yet?”

Jean smirked. “Oh, she did. And I’m dying to know—did he actually apologize to Laura, or did he just flee in terror?”

Logan chuckled, leaning against the doorway. “He tried, but the kid just gave him her death stare. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That sounds about right.”

Laura padded into the kitchen just then, her bunny tucked securely under her arm. She stopped beside you and tugged gently on your sleeve. “Are you okay?”

Her small, serious voice tugged at your heart. “Of course, kiddo. It’s just a little paper cut.”

Laura frowned, her gaze dropping to your hand. “It could get infected.”

Jean covered her mouth to stifle a laugh as Logan stepped closer, resting a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “Kid’s got a point,” he said, clearly trying not to smile. “Better let her put a Band-Aid on it. Y’know, for safety.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “Fine, but only if you help, Laura. Think you can handle it?”

She nodded solemnly and marched off to fetch the first-aid kit. Jean leaned closer and whispered, “you’ve got your own little bodyguard now.”

“I know,” you whispered back, smiling as Laura returned with the kit in hand.

Laura set to work with the precision of someone much older, carefully cleaning the tiny cut and applying a Band-Aid decorated with cartoon characters. When she was done, she looked up at you with a serious expression. “No more paper cuts.”

You nodded, biting back a laugh. “Got it. No more paper cuts.”

Logan ruffled Laura’s hair, his expression softening in that way it always did when he looked at her. “Good work, kid. Keepin’ her safe.”

Laura nodded firmly, clearly taking the role very seriously. Jean’s gaze flicked between the three of you, her smile growing as she picked up her mug. “I’d say you’re in good hands, Y/N. Between Logan and Laura, you’ll never have to worry about anything.”

You looked at them both, warmth blooming in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I think you’re right.”

---

You looked at both sides of the hallway before quickly ducking into Ororo’s office, shutting the door behind you. She glanced up from her desk, eyebrows raised. “Whoa, whoa. What’re you doing here?”

“Hiding,” you muttered, leaning back against the door.

Ororo tilted her head, clearly intrigued. “From who?”

“Logan,” you admitted, sighing as you adjusted your glasses.

Her lips twitched with amusement as she leaned back in her chair. “Logan? Why are you hiding from him?”

“Because,” you began, stepping away from the door and crossing your arms, “this morning, he wouldn’t let me get out of bed. I mean, he wrapped himself around me like a vice, said it was ‘too early,’ and when I finally managed to escape, he helped me dress.”

Ororo blinked. “He helped you what?”

“Dress,” you repeated, exasperated. “He buttoned my shirt, made sure my socks matched—he even put my glasses on for me!”

She burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Oh, I’d pay to see that. Logan, Mr. ‘I’ll Rip Your Head Off,’ playing stylist.”

“Not stylist,” you corrected. “He wasn’t picking outfits. He just... wouldn’t let me do it myself. It was sweet but—ugh—I’m an adult! I can dress myself.”

Ororo raised a skeptical brow, her smile widening. “Sweet? That doesn’t sound like something you should hide from. Sounds like you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

You groaned, sitting in one of the chairs across from her desk. “It’s more than that. He’s been extra... clingy lately. And Laura, too! She wouldn’t even let me walk down the stairs this morning without holding my hand. She said the bannister might ‘give out.’ The bannister, Ororo.”

Ororo pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to suppress another laugh. “Sounds like they’re on high alert. Did something happen recently?”

“No!” you said quickly, waving your hands. “Everything’s been fine. Better than fine, actually. Laura’s been settling in, Logan’s been... happy, I think. I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”

Ororo gave you a knowing look but didn’t press further. “Well, maybe it’s just their instincts kicking in. Logan’s always been protective, and Laura’s clearly picked up a few habits from him.”

“Clearly,” you mumbled, running a hand through your hair. “But it’s a bit much. I just needed a breather, you know?”

She nodded, her expression softening. “I get it. But you know, for all their gruffness, they love you. And maybe they’re just trying to show it in their own... unique way.”

You smiled faintly, her words easing some of your frustration. “Yeah, I guess. I just hope this phase passes soon. I’m not used to being hovered over like this.”

“Well, if you need a place to hide, my office is always open,” Ororo teased, leaning forward with a grin. “But I wouldn’t stay too long. Logan’ll probably sniff you out before lunch.”

“Don’t remind me,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “Thanks, Ororo.”

“Anytime,” she said, watching as you stood and stretched. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

She smirked. “If Logan starts trying to braid your hair, let me know. I’ll need to see that for myself.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you headed for the door. “Don’t hold your breath.”

---

When you stepped into the hallway, you didn’t make it five steps before Logan appeared around the corner, his sharp eyes locking onto you immediately.

“Darlin’, thought I told you to take it easy today,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar gruff warmth as he approached.

You sighed, caught red-handed. “Logan, I’m fine. I don’t need to—”

He interrupted you by tugging your glasses up slightly and peering at your face, as if checking for signs of exhaustion. “You been runnin’ around again?”

“Not running,” you said, batting his hand away but smiling despite yourself. “Just... walking briskly.”

He snorted, clearly unconvinced. “C’mon. Laura’s lookin’ for you. Said she wants to sit with you during lunch.”

You couldn’t help but soften at the mention of her. “Alright. But no more helping me get dressed, okay?”

His smirk was small but unmistakable. “No promises, sweetheart.”

---

You stepped out of the bathroom in the main hall, closing the door behind you before turning to face Logan, who was leaning against the wall by the door.

You yelped, covering your mouth with one hand and your heart with the other, “Jesus, honey, you scared me!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “you’ve been going to the bathroom more often.”

“Yeah… because it’s summer and I’m drinking more water. Unlike someone who thinks coffee counts as part of his water intake,” you teased, adjusting your glasses as you glanced at Logan.

Logan crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Coffee’s got water in it. Pretty sure that counts.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not how hydration works, Logan.”

He tilted his head, watching you closely, and his smirk faded into something more thoughtful. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been lookin’ a little… off lately. Not sick or nothin’, just different.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Different how?”

Logan shrugged but didn’t break eye contact. “Dunno. Just feels like somethin’s changed.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine, really. Probably just tired from teaching the summer class.”

Before Logan could press further, Laura appeared around the corner, her little bunny tucked under her arm as always. She made a beeline for you, her small hand immediately wrapping around yours. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but insistent.

Your heart melted a little at the concern in her wide eyes. “I’m fine, Laura. Just talking to Logan about staying hydrated.”

She frowned, looking up at Logan with a scolding expression that was comically reminiscent of his own. “You should drink water, too.”

Logan snorted, crouching slightly so he was closer to her eye level. “Kid, I’ve been doin’ just fine with coffee for decades. Don’t think I’ll stop now.”

Laura’s frown deepened. “Coffee doesn’t hydrate you.”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh as Logan raised an eyebrow. “You teamin’ up on me now?”

“She’s right,” you said with a grin. “Even if it pains you to admit it.”

Logan shook his head, muttering something under his breath about stubborn women before standing and looking down at the two of you. “Fine. I’ll drink more water. Happy?”

Laura nodded, satisfied, and tugged on your hand. “Come on. It’s time for lunch.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, letting her lead you down the hallway. As you glanced back, you caught Logan watching the two of you, a softness in his eyes that made your chest tighten in the best way.

---

Laura sat on the stool at the kitchen island, watching your movements like a hawk. Her bunny sat in her lap while her hand absentmindedly stroked one of its ears.

Some pop music played from the radio by the stove as you dipped your finger in the sauce. You quickly pulled your finger away from the spoon, muttering an “ouch” as you sucked on your finger. Before you knew it, Laura had hopped off her stool and come to stand by you, tugging your arm down so she could inspect your slightly reddened finger.

“It’s fine, kiddo,” you said softly, holding up your hand for her to see. “Just touched the sauce. It’s hot, but no harm done.”

Laura frowned, narrowing her eyes at your hand as though the sauce itself had committed some great crime. “You shouldn’t do that,” she said seriously.

You bit back a smile, her concern both endearing and amusing. “You’re right. I’ll be more careful.”

Logan’s familiar footsteps echoed into the kitchen before he appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed. His gaze flicked to you and then to Laura standing protectively by your side. “What happened now?”

“Nothing!” you exclaimed, throwing him an exasperated look. “I touched the sauce, and it was hot. End of story.”

Logan raised a brow as he leaned against the doorframe. “Did you burn yourself?”

“No,” you said firmly, lifting your hand to show him. “See? No burn. Laura’s just being thorough.”

“She’s not wrong to be,” Logan muttered, his sharp eyes scanning you as if to confirm you were telling the truth.

Laura crossed her arms, mirroring Logan’s stance. “She needs to be more careful,” she said with a seriousness far beyond her years.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll be more careful. You two can call off the safety patrol now.”

“Not a chance,” Logan said with a smirk. “We know you too well.”

Rolling your eyes, you went back to stirring the sauce, but you couldn’t ignore the way Laura stayed glued to your side, her watchful eyes tracking your every move.

“Laura,” you said gently, glancing down at her. “I’m fine. Why don’t you go back to your bunny and let me finish up here?”

Her brow furrowed, but she hesitated, glancing at Logan. He gave her a small nod, and she reluctantly climbed back onto her stool, though she kept her bunny close and her eyes on you.

Logan pushed off the doorframe and walked over, resting a hand on your lower back as he leaned in to check the sauce. “Smells good,” he murmured, his voice low.

“It would smell better if you stopped hovering,” you teased, elbowing him lightly.

He chuckled, his hand staying on your back. “Can’t help it, darlin’. You know that.”

“I do,” you admitted softly, meeting his eyes. “And I appreciate it. Both of you.”

Laura perked up at that, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Good,” she said. “You should.”

Logan grinned, ruffling her hair as she giggled. You couldn’t help but smile at the scene—the three of you in the kitchen, the warmth of the moment settling over you like a blanket. For the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the silence as you picked up the spoon again. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Go set the table, you two.”

Laura hopped off her stool, grabbing her bunny as she darted toward the dining room. Logan lingered a moment longer, his hand brushing against yours as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured.

You smiled, glancing up at him. “And don’t you forget it.”

He smirked, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before following Laura. The kitchen fell quiet again, save for the music playing softly in the background, and you let yourself bask in the peace of the moment.

---

You raised an eyebrow to yourself as you turned the corner, carefully listening to the footsteps behind you turning from two pairs to one pair.

Students moved out of the way as Charles rolled down the hall, “hello, Professor.” You said, with a smile.

“Hello, Y/N.” Charles rolled past, offering you a kind smile. He didn’t get far before spotting Logan and Laura entering the hallway behind you, the young girl perched comfortably on Logan’s shoulders. “And hello to you two.”

Laura gave a small wave, her hand clutching her bunny. Logan nodded, his grip firm on Laura’s ankles to keep her steady. “Charles,” Logan said, his tone gruff but polite.

“You’re all heading to the kitchen, I take it?” Charles asked, an amused glint in his eye as he noted how closely Logan and Laura were sticking to you.

“Yeah,” you replied, adjusting your glasses. “Someone promised Laura she could pick her dessert for after dinner. Now she’s making sure I follow through.”

Laura leaned forward slightly, her chin resting on Logan’s head. “She’s not allowed to forget,” she added, her voice serious.

Logan smirked. “She’s like me—sticks to her word. You don’t gotta worry about that.”

Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll leave you all to it. Enjoy your evening.”

“You too,” you said as Charles wheeled off, his presence leaving the hall feeling quieter.

Logan shifted Laura slightly before following you into the kitchen. Inside, Jean and Scott were already seated at the island. Jean was flipping through a magazine, and Scott was fiddling with his glasses, a steaming cup of tea in front of him.

“Hey,” Jean greeted with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“Busy,” you replied with a small laugh, heading to the counter. Logan stayed close, setting Laura down carefully as she scampered over to sit beside Jean.

Scott grabbed another cup of tea and handed it to you. “Figured you might need this.”

You accepted it with a polite nod. “Thanks, Scott.” You took a tentative sip, the warmth spreading through you—until the taste hit. Immediately, you fought to keep your expression neutral, but a slight grimace slipped through.

Jean caught your eye and raised a brow, mouthing, it’s bad, isn’t it?

You gave a subtle nod as you swallowed. Terrible.

Scott tilted his head, watching you curiously. “How is it?”

You hesitated, glancing at Jean for backup, but she just smirked and sipped her water. “It’s, uh…” You cleared your throat. “Unique. Thanks for making it.”

Scott grinned. “Unique’s good. I’ll take that.”

Laura leaned forward, her bunny in her lap. “Can I taste it?” she asked innocently.

“No!” you and Jean said in unison, a little too quickly. Logan stifled a laugh, shaking his head as Laura blinked in confusion.

Jean smoothly recovered, putting a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “Tea’s not really for kids, sweetie. Stick to your dessert plan.”

Laura shrugged, seemingly satisfied, and turned back to her bunny. Logan stepped closer, leaning his hip against the counter near you. “Unique, huh?” he said low enough that only you could hear.

You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Never said a word.”

Jean leaned back in her chair, looking between the two of you with a knowing smile. “So, what’s on the dessert menu tonight?”

“Laura’s call,” you replied, glancing at the girl. “What’ll it be, kiddo?”

Laura’s face lit up. “Ice cream. With chocolate syrup. And sprinkles.”

Scott winced. “You’re braver than I am. That’s a sugar rush waiting to happen.”

“She’s got Logan to burn it off later,” Jean teased.

Logan smirked. “Bring it on.”

You sighed dramatically. “Great. Guess I’m stuck cleaning the aftermath.”

Logan’s hand brushed against yours, his touch grounding. “You’re never stuck. We’ve got it covered.”

You met his eyes, his sincerity making your chest tighten. For a moment, it was just the two of you, the world fading into the background. Then Laura tugged at your sleeve, breaking the moment.

“Let’s go, Y/N!” she said excitedly. “The ice cream’s waiting.”

With a smile, you nodded, following her to the freezer. Logan stayed close, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back, and for a brief second, you wondered if he even realized he was doing it—or if it was as unconscious as the way Laura hovered near you this past month.

---

You hadn’t checked your calendar in a few weeks, either too busy with the summer class you were teaching or too busy with Laura and Logan hovering over your every move.

Luckily, it was the first time in weeks that neither of them were to be found. The two of them were outside with the other young kids and Ororo.

You marked off each day with an ‘X’ after double-checking that everything had been done. June 20: New toothbrushes. June 25: Clean bathroom. June 30: Wash bedsheets (unless already washed). July 9-15: Period.

You waited a moment, looking at the calendar. It was July 21, so not too far off from when you were supposed to get your period. You marked an ‘X’ throughout the week, leaving the 21st unmarked.

Putting on your slippers, you headed down to the med bay where Jean should be; she told you the other night she had some reorganizing to do.

Opening the doors, you saw Jean wiping down one of the medical beds, a clipboard resting on the counter nearby. She glanced up as you entered, her expression softening into a smile.

"Hey, Y/N. What's up? Need me to patch someone up again, or is this a social visit?" she teased, setting the cloth aside.

You shook your head, adjusting your glasses. "Neither, actually. Just... something I wanted to run by you."

Jean gestured to one of the stools by the counter, her curiosity piqued. "Alright. What's going on?"

Sliding onto the stool, you sighed softly. "It’s probably nothing, but I figured I’d ask. My period’s late—about a week or so." You hesitated, glancing at her. "I’m not too worried, but I wanted to see if that’s normal. Hormone fluctuations or stress maybe?"

Jean’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Could be either. It’s been unusually hot lately, and I know Ororo mentioned she was late a while back because of it. Stress can throw things off, too. Have you been under a lot of pressure lately?"

You gave a small laugh. "A little. Between teaching and keeping an eye on Laura and Logan hovering every second, it’s been a lot. Not bad, though—just busy."

Jean nodded, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. "It doesn’t sound alarming, but if you’re feeling off, we can do some tests—just to rule anything out. Plus, it’s about time for your yearly checkup, right?"

You nodded, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Might as well knock it all out at once."

Jean offered a reassuring smile. "Good call. Let’s run some blood tests and take a look. Probably nothing, but better safe than sorry."

You followed her instructions, extending your arm as she prepped for the blood draw. Jean worked efficiently, her movements calm and practiced. When she was done, she labeled the vials and gave your arm a gentle pat.

"That’s it for now. Results will take a little bit, so sit tight," she said, nodding toward the stool. "I’ll run these through."

You settled back, trying to distract yourself by scrolling through your phone. After what felt like forever but was probably only twenty minutes, Jean returned with a peculiar expression—one that made your stomach twist in uncertainty. She had something behind her back.

"Okay," she began, her tone light but her eyes sharp. "Before I say anything, I need you to trust me and just do this."

She revealed a pregnancy test and handed it to you. Your brows shot up in confusion. "Jean, why are you giving me this? I told you, that’s not—"

"Just humor me," she interrupted, her tone firm but kind. "Go. Take it. I’ll explain after."

You stared at her, baffled. "You’re being cryptic, and I hate it."

She smirked faintly. "I know. Go. Please."

Grumbling under your breath, you grabbed the test and headed for the restroom. A few minutes later, you emerged, holding the test carefully in your hand.

Jean looked up, her expression unreadable. "Well?"

"It’s not done yet," you said, setting it on the counter. "What exactly are we doing here, Jean?"

"Just waiting," she replied smoothly, but there was a tension in her posture that you couldn’t ignore.

The two of you stood in silence, the seconds dragging on until the test’s display showed the result. Your breath caught when you saw the word: pregnant.

You stared at it, blinking as though it might change. "Jean," you said slowly, turning to her. "This can’t be right. I mean... after everything—this can’t—"

Jean stepped closer, her hands gently gripping your shoulders. "The blood test confirmed it, Y/N. You’re pregnant."

The words hit you like a freight train, your mind reeling. You shook your head, unable to process. "No. That’s not possible. We stopped trying years ago. There’s no way—"

"I know it’s a lot to take in," Jean said gently. "But the results don’t lie."

Tears blurred your vision, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "How?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Jean’s smile was warm, her eyes shining with understanding. "Sometimes, things happen when you least expect them."

You couldn’t find the words, your hands trembling as you clutched the test. Jean pulled you into a hug, her presence grounding you.

"Take your time," she said softly. "And when you’re ready, you can tell him."

---

You paced the bedroom later that night, the pregnancy test—one of many you took for your own peace of mind—in your hand.

The last time you did this; it didn’t end so well. And though Jean guessed you were 5 weeks along, only one week away from when you had the miscarriage, it didn’t do anything to quell your nerves.

Part of you wanted to wait until you passed 6 weeks to spare Logan the pain of losing another baby, but the other part of you wanted to throw up at the thought of keeping it away from him.

Before you could spiral further, the bedroom door opened, and you quickly slipped the test into the pocket of your robe. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as Logan stepped inside, his expression softening when he saw you. He had that familiar, slightly worried look—one that said he’d been thinking about you but didn’t know how to bring it up.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Logan greeted, closing the door behind him. His voice was calm, but there was a subtle edge to it. “You alright? Haven’t seen you much since breakfast.”

You forced a smile, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, just… busy.”

He stepped closer, his piercing eyes scanning your face, and for a moment, you thought he might somehow already know. But he didn’t say anything, just settled a hand on your shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding you in the moment.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

You nodded, taking a breath. “Yeah, but there’s, um… something I need to talk to you about.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. “Alright. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing the edge of the test in your pocket. The words felt heavy, like they didn’t want to leave your throat. But you knew you couldn’t keep this from him, no matter how scared you were.

“I went to see Jean earlier,” you started, your voice quieter than you intended. Logan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he stayed silent, letting you continue. “I wasn’t feeling off or anything—just… noticed my period was late. So, she ran some tests.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly, his protective instincts kicking in. “What kind of tests? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “At least… I think it is. She ran a blood test, and, um…” You trailed off, finally pulling the test out of your pocket and holding it out to him. “I’m pregnant.”

Logan stared at the test in your hand, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, he took it from you, his fingers brushing yours. His eyes lingered on the word displayed on the test, and you saw the exact moment it registered.

“Pregnant,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze snapped back to you, searching your face. “You’re… serious?”

You nodded, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Jean thinks I’m about five weeks along. I didn’t think it was even possible, Logan. We tried so long, and then…” You swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Logan stepped closer, cupping your face in his hands. His touch was steady, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Darlin’, don’t—don’t do that. This ain’t like before, alright? We’re not gonna think about that.”

A small, shaky laugh escaped you. “I don’t know how to not think about it. I’m terrified, Logan. What if—”

He cut you off, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “No ‘what ifs.’ Not this time,” he said firmly. “We’re gonna take this one day at a time, together. And if you’re scared, that’s alright—I’ll be scared with you. But I’m not gonna let you go through this alone.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “I was going to wait until we passed six weeks to tell you. Just in case…”

Logan pulled back slightly, his hands still cradling your face. “You shouldn’t have to carry that by yourself,” he said softly. “Doesn’t matter if it’s five weeks, five days, or five minutes—I wanna be here for all of it. Every second.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and Logan pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. His hand rested on the back of your head, his other arm wrapped securely around your waist. You clung to him, your face buried against his chest.

“I don’t know how this happened,” you admitted, your voice muffled.

Logan kissed the top of your head, his voice low and steady. “Don’t matter how, sweetheart. All that matters is it happened. And I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure you and the baby are alright. You hear me?”

You nodded against his chest, his words soothing some of the fear that had been clawing at you. For the first time that day, you felt a small flicker of hope, fragile but there nonetheless.

Logan pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand brushing a tear from your cheek. “We’re gonna be alright,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “All three of us.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and for the first time that day, you believed him.

Chapter Text

6 Weeks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He turned, his expression warm. “Yeah?”

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

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

---

7 Weeks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 9

You heard the pop before you felt it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded. "Yeah, it does."

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 11

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 12

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 13

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirked. “You’re both. Humor me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 15

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

“Hey, you two. What’re you readin’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Laura’s eyes widened. “Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 17

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 18

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Week 20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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.

Chapter Text

2 weeks

Gabby cried from her crib at the foot of the bed, her wails piercing through the early morning stillness. Logan was instantly awake, sitting up in bed with the kind of reflexes that had been honed over a lifetime of surviving danger. His eyes darted to the crib, then to you, still fast asleep, your face soft and peaceful for the first time in what felt like days.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck as he padded over to the crib. “Alright, kiddo,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff, though it softened as he reached down to lift her into his arms. “What’s got you all worked up, huh?”

Gabby squirmed against him, her tiny fists flailing, her cries escalating as he held her close. He gently rocked her, his large hand supporting her head with a care that seemed almost unnatural for someone so gruff. “Shh, I got ya,” he murmured, the words rumbling deep in his chest. “Don’t wake your mom, alright? She needs the rest.”

He glanced back at you, still out cold, your glasses resting on the nightstand next to an empty bottle of water and a half-finished parenting book. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. You’d been running yourself ragged during the day, tending to Gabby’s every need without a single complaint. The least he could do was handle the nights, even if Gabby seemed determined to test his limits.

Logan moved to the rocking chair by the window, easing himself into it with Gabby nestled against his chest. The rain tapped gently against the glass, and he began to sway back and forth, his rough voice humming a low, wordless tune. Gabby’s cries started to quiet, her tiny body relaxing as the motion soothed her.

“Feisty, just like your mom,” Logan said quietly, his lips quirking into a small smirk. “You get that stubborn streak from her, y’know. Always pushin’ herself too hard, even when she doesn’t need to.”

Gabby gurgled in response, her tiny fingers curling against his chest. Logan’s smirk softened into something closer to awe. “You’re lucky, kid. You’ve got the best mom in the world. She’s been fightin’ for you since before you even got here.”

He let the words hang in the air for a moment, his gaze drifting to the crib, then back to you. Memories flickered in his mind—moments from this life and the lives before it, all tangled together in the strange, unshakable bond he’d shared with you across time.

“You don’t know it yet,” Logan murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain, “but you’re part of somethin’ special, kid. Your mom, she’s somethin’ else. She’s been that way in every life. And this time…” He trailed off, his thumb brushing against Gabby’s cheek as she let out a tiny sigh. “This time, we’re doin’ it right.”

Gabby’s eyes fluttered shut, her breathing evening out as she finally fell back to sleep. Logan leaned his head back against the chair, exhaling a slow, steady breath. The tension in his shoulders eased as he watched her, the weight of the moment grounding him in a way few things ever had.

After a while, he rose carefully, placing Gabby back in her crib with the same precision he used in a fight. Once she was settled, he moved back to the bed, pausing to watch you for a moment before sliding in beside you. He lay on his side, his hand brushing against yours as he whispered, “You’re doin’ good, sweetheart. Real good.”

The words weren’t meant to wake you, but something in your subconscious stirred. You shifted slightly, your hand brushing against his, your voice thick with sleep as you murmured, “Logan?”

“Yeah, darlin’. It’s me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Gabby?” you asked, your eyes still closed.

“She’s fine,” he assured you, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. “Went back to sleep. You stay restin’, alright?”

You hummed softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips as sleep pulled you under again. Logan watched you for a moment longer, the steady rhythm of your breathing matching Gabby’s soft sighs from the crib. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt a quiet kind of peace—fragile, but real.

And he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

---

2 Months

“Look at you! Already sittin’ in a highchair with no support,” you cooed, your voice soft and filled with warmth as you settled onto a stool at the kitchen island. You tore off a piece of your bagel and popped it into your mouth, watching Gabby in awe. “You’re about two months early, aren’t ya?”

Gabby’s tiny body wobbled slightly in the highchair, but her head stayed steady, her wide eyes darting around the room. She let out a soft gurgle, one of her fists clumsily swatting at the teething ring on the tray in front of her.

“Overachiever already,” you murmured with a smile, resting your chin on your hand. The quiet morning was a rare treat, the mansion’s usual chaos muted by the fact that most of the kids—and Logan—were in class.

Your moment of peace was interrupted by the sound of footsteps padding into the kitchen. You glanced up to see Rogue and Jubilee sauntering in, their voices low as they chatted.

“Hey, Y/N,” Rogue greeted, tossing her gloves onto the counter. Her eyes immediately zeroed in on Gabby. “Well, ain’t she just the cutest thing?”

Jubilee grinned, leaning over the highchair to make a silly face. “Look at her! She’s so tiny, but she’s already got the ‘I’m better than you’ face down.”

Gabby blinked up at her, unimpressed, and let out a small grunt.

You laughed, wiping your hands on a napkin. “She’s been perfecting that look for weeks.”

“She’s definitely Logan’s kid,” Rogue teased, her Southern drawl thick as she plucked an apple from the fruit bowl. “Got his scowl and everythin’.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” you warned with a smirk. “He’ll start claiming it’s hereditary.”

Jubilee snickered, stealing a piece of your bagel before you could stop her. “So, how’s it feel bein’ the mom of a genius baby?”

“Exhausting,” you said with a laugh, leaning back slightly. “She’s great during the day, but the nights? Forget it. Logan’s been taking over most of the time, though.”

Rogue raised a brow. “Logan? Gettin’ up at night for feedings? That I’d pay to see.”

“It’s sweeter than you’d think,” you admitted, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought. “He’s so patient with her. Talks to her like she understands every word.”

“She probably does,” Jubilee said, crossing her arms. “That’s the face of a baby who’s judging us all right now.”

Gabby let out a soft coo, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of the tray as if to prove Jubilee’s point. Rogue and Jubilee both erupted into laughter.

“See?” Jubilee said, pointing dramatically. “She knows.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, waving them off. “Don’t inflate her ego too much. She’s already the most spoiled baby in this mansion.”

“She deserves it,” Rogue said, biting into her apple. “Took you two long enough to get her here.”

Your smile faltered slightly, but it returned just as quickly. “Yeah,” you said softly, glancing down at Gabby. “She’s worth the wait.”

The room grew quiet for a moment, a comfortable silence settling over the three of you. Rogue nudged you gently, her voice softer now. “You’re doin’ great, Y/N. Really.”

“Thanks,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “It helps having all of you here. It really does.”

The sound of another set of footsteps broke the moment, and Remy strolled into the kitchen, a deck of cards in his hands. He paused when he saw Gabby, his eyes lighting up. “Well, well, look who’s holdin’ court this mornin’,” he drawled, giving her a wink.

“She’s practicing her royal wave,” you joked, motioning toward the way Gabby was batting at the air.

Remy chuckled, stepping closer. “She’ll be dealin’ cards better than me in no time. Smart girl like that? She’ll have us all figured out before she can even talk.” Gabby gurgled at him, and he grinned. “See? She agrees.”

Jubilee rolled her eyes, tossing a crumpled napkin at him. “Stop flirting with the baby, Gambit.”

“I’m just statin’ facts,” he said with an exaggerated shrug, catching the napkin mid-air and flicking it back at her.

The kitchen filled with laughter again, and you leaned back in your chair, watching as your friends entertained Gabby with a mix of silly faces, dramatic gestures, and endless banter. Despite the exhaustion, despite the sleepless nights, moments like this made everything feel right. Gabby was here, surrounded by love, and you couldn’t ask for more.

---

4 Months

The July heat meant two things: one, Gabby got to wear cute little dresses that she seemed to love, and two, you had to wear things to keep you cool that you weren’t sure you looked good in anymore.

Before getting pregnant, you never really had a problem with the way you looked, but now, with the new stretch marks and loose skin, things had changed. It wasn’t that you didn’t love your body for what it had done—bringing Gabby into the world was the most incredible thing you’d ever experienced. But some days, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you struggled to reconcile the new reality with the old.

“Why’re you standin’ there like that?” Logan’s voice startled you from the bathroom doorway. He leaned against the frame, his arms crossed, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

You tugged your loose tank top back into place, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Just... thinking.”

“About what?” He stepped inside, his boots barely making a sound against the tile. “And don’t give me that ‘it’s nothing’ crap.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “About how different I look now.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, and he came closer, standing in front of you. “Different how?”

“Like...” You gestured vaguely toward the mirror, your hands falling back to your sides. “Like this. Stretch marks, extra skin, all of it. I know it’s normal, but it’s still hard to see sometimes.”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver as he listened. He stepped closer, his hands settling on your hips, warm and steady. “Y/N, you just had a baby. A damn miracle, after everything. You carried her, kept her safe, brought her into the world. Your body’s been through hell and came out stronger for it.”

You bit your lip, your eyes lowering. “I know that. I do. But it doesn’t mean I don’t miss how I used to feel about myself.”

Logan tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His voice softened, rough edges giving way to something deeper. “I’ve known you a long time, darlin’. Longer than either of us probably care to count. And through all of it, you’ve never been anything but beautiful to me.”

Your chest tightened, and you shook your head lightly. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he interrupted, his grip on your hips firm but gentle. “You don’t see what I see, and that’s fine. But let me tell you somethin’—you’ve never been more incredible to me than you are right now.”

The raw sincerity in his voice made your throat close up, and you blinked quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I just... It’s hard sometimes. Feeling like me again.”

Logan pulled you into his arms, holding you close as his hand rubbed slow circles on your back. “You’re still you, Y/N. The strongest, smartest, most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. And if you ever need remindin’, you come to me. Got it?”

You nodded against his chest, your arms wrapping around him. “Got it.”

---

Everyone had made their way to the nearby beach, including Gabby with a comically large sunhat perched on her tiny head. The brim was so wide that it flopped down over her forehead, occasionally covering her eyes and earning a quiet laugh from you as Logan adjusted it for the fourth time.

“She’s gonna hate this thing,” Logan muttered, tilting the hat back so Gabby’s face was visible again. He held her against his chest, her little legs dangling from his arm as her tiny fists waved at the warm July breeze.

“Unless you want a sunburned baby, the hat stays,” you said, smiling as you spread a towel over the back of a beach chair.

Logan huffed, shifting Gabby slightly so he could free a hand to grab the sunscreen from the bag. “What’s the point of wearin’ this if I’m still puttin’ sunscreen on her?”

“Double protection,” you teased, glancing at him over your shoulder. “You’re just mad because it’s adorable.”

“It’s impractical,” he countered, but the faint tug at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. Gabby let out a small coo, her wide eyes darting from you to the waves in the distance, then back to Logan’s face.

You finished arranging the chairs and stepped closer, reaching out to adjust the hat again as it slipped sideways. “You’re holding her like a sack of potatoes, Logan. No wonder the hat won’t stay on.”

“She’s fine,” Logan said, brushing his fingers over Gabby’s back. “Aren’t ya, kid? You don’t care about hats.”

Gabby opened her mouth and made a soft noise, her little tongue darting out before she smacked her lips. You tilted your head, your smile growing. “She’s hungry.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, looking at Gabby with mild confusion. “How can you tell?”

“She’s looking at me,” you said, laughing softly as you pointed toward her face. “And opening and closing her mouth. It’s classic hungry baby behavior.”

Logan squinted, watching her for a moment. “She’s been makin’ faces since we got here. How do you know it’s hunger?”

“Because,” you said, your tone patient but amused, “she’s staring at my chest like it owes her something.”

Logan’s bark of laughter startled Gabby, who let out a little squeak in response. He kissed the top of her head, his grin softening into something warmer. “Alright, darlin’, guess you know best. You wanna sit or head back to the car?”

“We’ll stay here,” you said, motioning toward the chairs. “I brought a blanket. She’s fine.”

Logan followed as you sat down, handing Gabby to you with a care that still made your heart swell. Once she was settled in your arms, you reached for the bag, pulling out a lightweight nursing cover.

“Need me to grab anything?” Logan asked, crouching beside you as you adjusted Gabby.