#logan howlett x disabled reader

[loganhowlettshousewife]

diversity december masterlist

logan howlett x reader

the idea of diversity december is to write fanfics for people like me who don't often see themselves represented. these don't necessarily need to be holiday related fics, or even winter related. requests are still open until december 1. i may update this masterlist and add more fics.

if any other writers want to participate i would absolutely adore that. even just one fanfic means a lot when you never see things written with you in mind.

latina reader (coming december 1): after the events of logan (2017), in a world where logan survives, he and laura move to a small town to start a new life. laura quickly becomes very attached to the librarian, and seeing you with his daughter makes logan fall hard.

autistic reader (coming december 3): a drabble about logan dealing with reader who gets overstimulated. also slightly a logan character study.

curvy reader (coming december 6): logan is obsessed with your thighs. he spends hours worshiping them. this is literally pure smut where he fucks reader's thighs.

black reader (coming december 9): you're a single mom and you're fine with that. but when your daughter makes a new friend, laura, and you're forced to spend more and more time with her father, you start to fall for his gruff demeanor and kind heart.

afro-latina reader (coming december 11): when you start working as a professor at the x-mansion, you give logan a reason to stay and spend more time there. friends to lovers.

genderfluid reader (coming december 13): you love decorating, you do it for every season and holiday. this time, you convince logan to help you decorate the mansion for winter.

bisexual reader (coming december 15): the worst wolverine comes from a universe very different from this one. a universe where things aren't as great for queer people. so naturally, he panics when you ask him if he has a crush on his roommate. ends in poolverine x reader.

autistic reader (coming december 18): there are days where eating is a struggle, where nothing tastes right and it becomes overwhelming to deal with. logan refuses to let you go to bed without food, so trial and error it is.

disabled reader (coming december 20): dealing with chronic pain is hard, especially as an x-men. but logan is always there to take care of you when you have a bad pain day.

desi reader (coming december 22): trying to teach logan how to cook ends with you on the table, his head between your legs.

latina reader (coming december 24): annoyed at the way laura always makes comments in spanish when she doesn't want him to understand, logan comes to you, asking you to teach him his daughter's native language.

jewish reader (coming december 26): with all the christmas celebrations and decor in the x-mansion, you decide to take it upon yourself to plan hanukkah festivities for the jewish children at the mansion.

jewish reader (coming december 30): as magneto's daughter, you often find yourself fighting the x-men. but it's one x-man in particular that keeps you coming back. you love the adrenaline of fighting and so does logan. but there are other ways to let off steam.

main taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes

latina reader: @naggywaggy @mami-veracruz @spencerswh0r3

autistic reader: @thegothempress

curvy reader: @spencerswh0r3 @seasonofthenerd @thegothempress

black reader:

afro-latina reader:

genderfluid reader:

bisexual reader: @spencerswh0r3

disabled reader:

desi reader: @seasonofthenerd

jewish reader:

comment on this post to be added to the taglist or if you only want to be tagged in a specific fic, that's fine too.

[datauthorress]

okay but, imagine feral! logan snuggling you at night. especially when its cold outside. you have a habit of getting cold very easily and logan is aware of this, so when you guys are getting ready for bed and you're lying there on your side and you're cold because there's a blizzard roaring outside. logan, hyper aware of whatever you're feeling, presses up against your back and moves his arms around your smaller body. his body is literally like a furnace and the heat that radiates from him is nothing but amazing.

logan nuzzles the back of your neck and you sink back into him, stealing his warmth. he's so warm and you never want to leave his embrace. and when he starts purring? that's even better.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Chronic Tonic

Wolverine x Reader x Deadpool

Authors note: I’m taking advantage of all this hype to bring awareness to chronic pain, because we know this bitches have it. ((Written by someone who suffers from it

Warnings: Canon typical violence (so it’s gonna get gorey), disabilities, domestic fluff, pain, blood, gore, Logan and Wade loving each other in their own way, Blind Al being iconic and a worried mom, DogPool being a angel, and heavy talk about disabilities and disability awareness

“Honey, mind coming to help me with the dishes?” You would hear Al call for you. You swore you were the only person she treated you with that Black Mama Magic with. As if you could complain. Suppose having company helps soften you up.

You had recently properly moved into the apartment. A bit cramped now, but given how often Wade and Logan went off to do super hero work it didn’t really matter. You knew deep down Al was happy to have you move in. Even if she doesn’t show it. Same for Mary Puppins, who loved to show she loved your attention.

“Sure thing Miss Althea!” You called back, as you would return Mary to her little dog bed. She gave a whine of protest, only to hush up when you tucked her in with one of Wade’s hoodies. Smelled like her daddy’s, so she was contented to nap time.

“You don’t have to keep calling me Althea-“ She would laugh, as you would enter the kitchen. Quick to already start drying them off, or working on the plates Althea didn’t quick get clean enough. She had a dish washer, but being able to do normal things can be soothing. You knew she was a little worried about her boys. She had her ways of showing it.

“Well I wanna, so-“ That had her laugh at your smart off tone. Was like Wade was in the apartment still. Had her sigh, as you two held your routine perfectly. You often helped her, but in the ways that soothed her. Such as not immediately dropping everything whenever she called for you, or babied her when she was struggling with something. Actually treated her as what she was. A person, who needed different types of help. Simple as that.

“I don’t know if it’s the damn arthritis’s, or just that mama sense I got, but I feel it in my bones. That nerve ache that something bass gonna happen. Maybe we should get the towels out of the laundry-“ Althea would tell you, as you frowned. Wade and Logan were practically immortal. They had to be fine, right?

That’s when the stench of blood smacked you in the face.

It hit you long before they reached the door. Nearly dropped the bowl in your hand, as it just filled your lungs. That intense iron. Althea gave a ‘I knew it-!’ Huff, as she was already walking to grab the needed towels. While you yourself were wondering how she didn’t even so much twitch a nose at it. Maybe the cocaine finally wore it down.

“Get the door for them! And a mop!” Althea called to you, as you brought your shirt to cover your mouth. It was just a suffocating stench. Was like walking into a morgue, where all the war time soldiers came to rot. Wonder how bad it must be for Logan with his heighten sense. Then again, he’s probs used to it by now.

When you opened the door you nearly threw up. The smell was so bad, had you gagging. Now you understood why Althea always left febreez and a face mask next to the door. You strapped that shit on like it was a gun to your belt. You were gonna need it, especially with how banged up they were.

Wade wasn’t even in one piece. His upper torso was tossed over Logan’s shoulder, as he would drag the lower half by the ankle with him. The sight of dangling organs made you feel faint. The internal parts being on the outside was rather distracting from the fact Logan was literally missing half his face. Was like some terminator shit.

“We’re back~!” Wade would sing, as Logan would toss the broken bundle of body parts onto the couch. He himself just sat in an arm chair. That was sweet, you had to admit. Letting Wade have the couch. Least that’s what would cross your mind when you weren’t trying to keep from vomiting.

“Don’t go puking on me. I don’t need eyes to know they be fucked up. Come on, let Mama show you how it’s done. Come on-“ Al would grab your arm, as she would use the side of the couch to help find her way around. Logan tried to be sneaky, and used his foot to push the coffee table away for her. So she didn’t trip. You noticed that. That didn’t sneak by you.

“Yeah, this is why I hate Magicians. Like come on man. Not even a cool spell like Sectumsempra. Just a damn ax. Lame to the L TO THE A TO THE M E-!” Wade you whine, as Al would try and figure out what needed to be done today. As if she wanted to deal with baby legs again.

“Not your PotterHead bullshit again, you fucking nerd-“ Logan would complain, before DogPool would jump into his lap. With a rag in her mouth. Wanting to help him out. The gesture was appreciated, as he rewarded her a ruffle to her fluffy head.

“Alright, here’s how you put a body together. If I can do it you can do it. Not like you can fuck up. Just gotta get it good enough, and that damn healing factor does the rest. Don’t faint on me, baby.” Al would comfort you, before she would guide your hands to the torso.

Was quite the adventure, but it was going to be a needed skill after all. It’s important to make sure they heal up as fast as possible. You never know when you’ll be ambushed, or some other wild plot point that makes you stressed. Not to mention that being a throuple meant getting used to this.

With taking a breather at the butchered surgery, you would stand up to look at Logan. Most of his face had actually healed over already. Well, the muscle anyway. He may not have been as bad off as Wade but you wanted to make sure he was doing ok all the same.

“Don’t give me those doe eyes. I’ll be fine, kid. Nothing we can’t handle. We’re gonna be fine. You did your job. Go wash up. Don’t want to know what the hell you’ll catch.” He tried to act like this wasn’t something painful, but you knew. You knew he’s hurting badly. It’s just easier to pretend than to just make everyone uncomfortable.

You would give a little huff, but toon the advice. A shower was certainly needed. Was a well earned reward. Helped take a lot of pressure off of Al’s shoulders. She could focus on cleaning around the home now, since you did the hardest part. Now was just time to clean, and hopefully help the boys clean up to.

Looks like it wasn’t needed, as you returned. There to see that Logan had come to help clean Wade up on his own. Despite the aches, he was doing his best to help clean up Wade. Taking away all the ruined clothes, and using the cloth that DogPool gave him. Just making sure the stitch work was taken care of.

“Careful with the claws, peanut. Daddy’s sore.” Wade would laugh, but you could hear the dryness. A dryness of exhaustion. You may not understand what it’s like to be in pain twenty four seven but it’s not that hard to understand it’s taxing.

“There’s still a needle and thread here, bub. I’ll finish off your lips next.” He would warn him, but that tired tone was also shared. There wasn’t really that normal bite to it. It was like the two of them were on autopilot. That it was easier to let a routine speak over an isolating silence. It’s easier to pretend everything’s normal than to let the pain sink in. To be deep in your bones, make you spasm, and remind you that sometimes being alive isn’t the best gift humanity can have.

“Come on, you to buddy.” You would soon grab a damp cloth from the kitchen. You took your turn on the couch. Just gentle dabs at Logan’s cheek, in some kind of means to help Logan. You can’t take away the pain, but maybe showing you cared could help? That you’ll never be exhausted of them complaining. Being in pain twenty four seven would wear anyone down. It’s not fair to let them pretend it isn’t.

“Daw, kitties getting pampered.” Wade would lazily say. As if he was in so much pain it was triggering a high. Was that something possible? To reach a pain level you get a buzz and can’t really comprehend your surroundings? Yeah. Yeah you can.

“Ignore him. Wades being Wade.” Logan grumbled, but didn’t fight your attempts to help. Even if the cold cloth did nothing, the fact you were willing to try can be enough sometimes. Not everything can be cured. Doesn’t mean people can’t try and help dull it.

That seemed to be the last anyone said, for a while. Never thought the Merc With The Mouth would ever be quiet. Guess sometimes your body just can’t process things. That so much goes on all at once that your brain just can’t keep up. Sometimes you just gotta autopilot. To feel your body throb, beg, cry, spasm, ache, bones crack, muscles tear, brain buzz, nerves burn, just feel every fiber of your being set a blaze. Sometimes you just have to ride it out, until you can come back from autopilot.

You didn’t pressure them at all. You let them do their autopilot. Didn’t interrupt them at all. Just let them do what helped them best. You just made sure to help in your own way. Such as reducing their need to move more than they should. Grabbing them new clothes, washing their bodies by hand, getting them something to drink, just whatever they needed to got it. You were able bodied, and knew they already felt shit enough not being able to get up to do it themselves. You didn’t hold it over their heads. They had enough of a rough day.

“Thanks peanut.” Wade would smile at you, as you would plant a kiss to the top of his head. A gruff was given from Logan, his own means of thank you, so you kissed his head as well. He deserved to get affection all the same. Just because Wade was more open to his emotions didn’t mean Logan gets left out from the smooches.

“They ain’t gonna leave the couch for a while. I know that feeling-“ Al would say, as she had blankets for them. So you took them from her, and helped them get as comfortable as their aches allowed them to. So much ache that even Logan couldn’t complain at Wade’s overly touchy affection. He was just to damn tired.

“Better get used to this. Happens once a month I swear.” Al huffed, as you gave a sound of agreement. Given she wouldn’t be able to see you nod your head. Just hurt your heart to see it all, but that’s just how the cookie crumbles. Sometimes people are born with it, like Logan, some just get it from Mother Nature saying you had to be special like Wade. Couldn’t imagine the mental barrier they had. Then again, not like they had a choice.

Least DogPool was there to help. Having jumped up on the couch, and snuggling between them. Doing her little pat to the blanket, and curling up between her daddies. Doing her best to help them. Warmed your heart. You made sure she had a plushie while she was there. She wouldn’t leave their side easy after all.

“Not bad for your first run around. Didn’t say that bullshit of ‘wow you are so strong-‘ and that useless crap everyone says-“ Al would ramble to you, as she returned to the dishes. Back to her routine. Like nothing had even happened.

“I mean, why would I? It’s a given, and it’s not like it’s doing much.” You muttered, as you tried to do the routine as well. To try and wash, and clean, like nothing weird had happened. That wasn’t your normal, though. But you’ll learn to have that normal.

They deserved to feel normal.

[sixpossumsinaclownsuit]

Logan Howlett would advocate and understand the need for disability access and accommodations. Logan Howlett would know that he has a body that can endure anything, and that his ability is not the standard. I dunno. I feel like he'd be really understanding to other disabilities and if he learned someone had a disability he'd go out of his way to learn more about it and understand it. That's all.

[marifilue]

Part 5: Losing Ground

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n.

Summary: You're an X-Men member with regenerative healing ability and skilled marksman. On a routine mission with the team things take a drastic turn when a mutant-inhibitor collar is forced onto you, leaving you vulnerable, unable to heal. With no quick fix in sight, Logan becomes your reluctant anchor, helping you get through each day as you fight to survive, unexpected bond with Logan begins to grow, one that becomes far stronger than either of you could imagine.

Warnings: Explicit language, Violence, Blood

WC: 7,2k

<- Part 4

A piercing, sterile light blurred above as you slowly blinked your eyes open, the muffled sound of voices filtering through the haze of your mind. Groggily, you raised a hand to shield yourself from the brightness, every muscle heavy and weak. Your throat was parched, lips dry and chapped, you swallow your saliva, wincing at the faint soreness that pulsed through your body.

Jean’s face soon appeared above you, her gaze gentle but assessing. "How are you feeling?” she asked, her tone soft yet concerned.

“Thirsty, actually,” you murmured, voice raspy. Feeling the dehydration, when is the last time you drink water, you pushed yourself and tried to sit since the headache from laying too long start taking it's toll. You noticed the IV in your hand. The sight of needle strapped trough your skin made your stomach twist uncomfortably, and you instinctively tried to tug your arm away.

“You’ve been out for about nine hours,” Jean explained, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to steady you. “It’s seven in the morning now.”

Before you could respond, Hank’s voice caught your attention from across the room. “The collar,” he said with a slight frown, eyeing it with a mixture of fascination and concern. “It has a far more advanced protection mechanism than the ones I’ve dealt with before.”

He approached, adjusting his glasses as he examined it carefully. “I’ll need more time to determine how to disable it safely, without risking harm to you… or anyone nearby. Be careful not to accidently made skin contact with it, for now.”

A small grumble from your stomach made Jean chuckle softly, her gaze shifting back to you. You looked up at her, gesturing toward the IV with a faint grimace. “Can you take this out? I think I could really use a real food.”

Just then, the medbay door swung open, and Logan strode in, wearing a brown flannel tugged into his jeans with huge belt clasping around. You wonder how long did he spent Infront of the mirror with that hairstyle every morning, his usual gruff expression softening slightly as he took in the sight of you awake. Jean smiled, nodding at him. “Logan, could you bring her some breakfast?”

Before he could reply, you interjected quickly, “Can I eat in the kitchen instead? I…uh I don’t really want to eat in here.” Your gaze fell to the sterile surfaces, the clinical smell thick in the air, a sharp reminder of past memories you'd rather forget.

Jean glanced at Hank, who gave a brief nod of approval. “Alright,” he said, understanding in his gaze. “But take it slow.” With that reassurance, Jean turned back to you, gently taking hold of your arm.

“Let me take the IV out before you go,” she said, her tone calm and steady. You watched as she reached for a small gauze pad, her movements precise and careful. She placed it gently against your skin, then pulled the IV needle out in one smooth motion, pressing the gauze over the tiny puncture to stop any bleeding. “There we go,” she murmured, applying a bit of tape to hold the gauze in place. “All set.” You exhaled, feeling a small wave of relief as the IV was finally out.

Logan moved to help you, extending an arm, but you waved him off, determined to make it on your own. Despite the slight limp, you pushed yourself forward, refusing his support even as he trailed close behind, his expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. As always, you couldn’t help but meet his silent offer of help with a stubborn sense of independence.

“Good morning to you too, varmint,” Logan greeted with his gruff voice, the new nickname slipping off his tongue with a smirk. You shot him a look, eyebrows furrowed. “What did you just call me?”

“Varmint,” he replied with a casual shrug. You narrowed your eyes, clearly puzzled. “What the hell is that?” You said, clearly having a hard time taking a step by step, but refuse to visibly show the struggle.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t know what a varmint is? You sure you’re a marksman?” You rolled your eyes, correcting him with a quick retort. “Markswoman, this is the twentieth century.”

The teasing banter, even first thing in the morning, was so typical of you two, and Logan couldn’t help but enjoy it. But beneath the back-and-forth, he noticed every wince and shift of discomfort in your steps. Watching you push forward despite the obvious pain stirred a mix of pride and concern in him. He knew better than to offer again, yet every step you took, each moment you hid a grimace, tugged at him, wishing he could do more if only you’d let him.

All he could do now was stay close, ready in case you faltered, even as he watched you struggle with that damn stubborn streak he’d come to admire, and maybe even care for, a little too much.

Despite the high walls you kept around yourself, you couldn’t help but think about last night, the way Logan had stayed by your side, squeezing your arm gently as Jean stitched you up, how comforting and reassuring it was from him. You still hadn’t properly thanked him, but you’d get to that later. A flicker of appreciation settled deep down, where you rarely let anything get through. His story lingered, too, a shadow of a memory you couldn’t quite shake, making you wonder just how many other stories he had tucked away, left untold from fragments of a life lived through wars and loss.

Trying to shake off the thought, you refocused and glanced over at him. “What is a varmint, anyway?” you asked, as you stepped into the kitchen. You opened the fridge, feeling his presence behind you as he leaned against the counter. Logan’s eyes glinted with that trademark mischievous look. “I’ll let you figure it out. Where’s the fun in just tellin’ you?”

You gave him an unamused look, already making a mental note to Google it later. Turning back to the fridge, you grabbed a potato and a carton of eggs, shoving them directly into Logan’s hands. “Chop chop, mutton chops, you’re cooking. Mashed potatoes and scrambled egg.” you said, closing the fridge door with a smirk and easing into a chair, chugging a glass of water to freshen up your throat, relieved to take some of the weight off as the pain from walking flared again.

Logan chuckled, eyeing the ingredients in his hands. He shook his head, but there was a faint smile playing on his face. The comfort of the moment settled around you, and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to relax, even if just a little.

Logan set the eggs and potatoes on the counter, rolling up his sleeves with the look of someone gearing up for a challenge. He glanced over at you, eyebrows raised. “So…mashed potatoes and scrambled eggs, huh? Easy enough.”

You leaned back. “Just make sure to wash the potato first before you start peeling.” He paused, giving you a look as if to say Really? but followed through, rinsing the potato under the tap before he started peeling it with a bit more force than necessary. The way he handled it was almost comically rough, chunks of potato skin flying in every direction. You held back a laugh, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“What?” he muttered, glancing over. “Nothin,” you said, still holding back a smile. “Just…careful not to take off half the potato with the skin.”

He grunted, focusing intently on the task, but when it came time to mash the potato, he just dumped the chunks into a bowl and started mashing with a fork. Before he could pour in a carton of milk into the pan which he almost do, you warned him, quickly gesturing toward the pan. “Wait! Butter first. You don’t want to dry out the potato.”

Logan shot you an exasperated look but stopped, grabbing the butter and slapping a hunk of it into the pan a bit clumsily. He went to pour in the milk, but you cleared your throat again, eyes widening as he looked over. “What now?”

“Butter…then the milk. It mixes smoother that way,” you explained, the amusement in your voice barely contained. Logan gave a small, amused shake of his head, muttering something under his breath. “I knew you’d be a backseat chef.”

“Only because I’d like to avoid a disaster,” you replied, raising an eyebrow as he half-glared at you with a smirk. He continued to stumble his way through the basics, cracking eggs with more shell fragments than you’d ever seen and stirring the scrambled eggs a little too vigorously, sending bits of yolk flying. All the while, you couldn’t stop yourself from correcting him, feeling oddly comfortable as you did. Logan was an absolute disaster in the kitchen, and seeing him out of his element like this was almost endearing.

Eventually, he managed to get the eggs and potatoes onto plates, and he set one down in front of you, leaning against the counter with a triumphant grin. “Not bad, huh?” he said, crossing his arms.

You eyed the slightly burnt edges of the eggs and lumpy potatoes, your amusement evident. “Not bad, exactly,” you teased, taking a bite and managing to hide a grimace. “It's closer to inedible than it is to edible, kinda.” Logan chuckled, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, you think you could do better?”

“Definitely,” you replied, a spark of challenge in your gaze. The banter, the little corrections, his quiet grumbling, it all felt natural, easy. And as you ate, you caught him watching you, a warmth in his gaze that softened his rough edges. It was a strange moment, one you hadn’t expected, but the quiet rhythm of it felt like something you could get used to, even if you’d never admit it.

After a few bites you decided to fill your glass with some orange juice from the fridge. Pushing yourself out of the chair a bit too quickly, a sudden, sharp pain shot through your side, freezing you in place. You tried to brush it off, but Logan was already watching, his eyes narrowing as he took in your discomfort.

“Just sit down,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Whaddya want to drink?" You sighed in frustration, muttering a few choice words under your breath as you lowered yourself back into the chair. “Orange juice,” you grumbled, arm clutching your side.

Logan poured the juice for you, setting the glass down beside your plate with a smug smirk. “Happy?” You gave him a reluctant nod, still annoyed but appreciating his help, even if you wouldn’t admit it.

As you both back to sit quietly eating, a thought lingered at the back of your mind. Eventually, you cleared your throat, looking down at your plate. “Thank you…for last night,” you said, hoping to keep the gratitude brief and to the point.

But Logan wouldn’t let it slide that easily. He let out a low chuckle, and you glanced up, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What?” you asked, not sure what he found so funny. He grinned, his tone teasing. “You almost sound like every woman in a bar after spendin' a night with me.”

You rolled your eyes, regretting the thank you instantly. “Ew, gross. You know what? I take it back. I forgive you.” Logan looked genuinely amused and a little puzzled. “Forgive me? For what?”

“For crossing my personal space and boundaries,” you replied with mock indignation. “You carried me without my consent.” Logan chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, you sure you don't want to sue me as well while you're in it?”

You gave him a wicked smile. “I’m considering it.” He shook his head, laughing, but beneath the banter, there was a hint of something softer, a rare moment of mutual understanding that neither of you needed to put into words. For now, the teasing would do just fine.

As you took another sip of juice, Hank and Professor Xavier entered the kitchen, their faces set with a hint of urgency. Hank’s eyes settled on you, then shifted to the collar around your neck. “I’ll need to run some additional tests on that collar of yours,” he explained. “It’s… more complex than I’d hoped. I want to apply a temporary layer that could block any accidental shocks, but for safety… well, I could use some assistance.”

His gaze landed on Logan, who arched an eyebrow, clearly not thrilled but not surprised either. “What?, you need me to play your guinea pig?” Logan drawled, voice a low rumble.

“Something like that,” Hank replied, a faint smile betraying his own unease. “Your healing factor can handle the worst of the shocks if the layer doesn’t hold up as expected."

With that, the four of you made your way to the medbay, footsteps echoing through the quiet hallways. Each step weighed heavily on you, soreness from the last night beginning to catch up. But as you glanced at Logan walking beside you, you felt a small surge of determination to keep up.

Once in the medbay, the sterile room filled with the faint hum of medical equipment, he could sense the quiet tension emanating from you. A subtle pulse beat in your throat, the sound of your heart quickening with each step though he knew you had no idea he could hear it.

Standing beside where you were sitting, he noticed how your breathing grew shallower. Despite the casual front you put on, Logan could tell his proximity unsettled you. When Hank gestured him forward, Logan drew closer, reaching out to help him adjust the protective device. His fingers brushed your shoulder as he steadied it, and your pulse sped up a quick staccato beat that only he could hear.

Logan couldn’t help but smirk slightly, feeling an odd amusement. He’d never been one for delicate feelings, but this was different. There was something about the vulnerability hidden behind your resolve that tugged at him.

“Relax,” he muttered under his breath, catching your gaze as his hand lingered on your shoulder. “This’ll be over before you know it.”

When Hank initiated the first low-voltage test, a shock traveled through the collar, and Logan took the brunt of it with a grimace, his skin tingling painfully. He heard you murmur an apology, voice slightly shaky, your expression a blend of guilt and concern. “Don’t worry, varmint,” he reassured, his tone gruff but soft. “Ya ain’t gon’ kill me.”

You bit your lip, and he caught the faintest quiver in your heartbeat again as he held your gaze, refusing to let you look away. Something raw lingered in the air between you both, neither of you could fully name. But he didn’t move back, didn’t break eye contact, letting you see that he was there, steady, no matter what.

The final layer was applied, and Hank sighed in relief. “All done. It’s stable now, and we shouldn’t have to worry about accidental contact.”

Logan's fingers brushed the collar one last time as he stepped back, catching one more pulse of your heartbeat a little steadier this time. He’d heard enough to know he affected you, even if you’d never admit it.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, though exhaustion settled into your limbs as the relief took its toll. The professor must have noticed, because he gave a slight nod. “You’re free to go,” he said gently. “Hank will monitor the collar’s function from here. Take some time for yourself.”

You nodded, already feeling the pull of sleep as you rose. Logan gave you a brief nod, his gaze lingering, but you brushed it off, determined to handle this last stretch alone. The stairs were a different story. Every step seemed to taunt you, the soreness sharpening with each push. By the second flight, your leg trembled slightly, but you gritted your teeth and continued, refusing to let the pain win. Finally, you reached the top, pausing to catch your breath.

As you approached your room, a faint shadow fell across the hallway, and you knew he’d followed. Logan lingered at the corner, watching with his arms crossed, that usual mix of exasperation and silent pride in his eyes. You almost said something, but he turned away before you could muster the words, leaving you with just enough strength to stumble into your room.

As you stepped into your room, the familiar, untouched stillness washed over you. The place was just as you’d left it before the mission, a strange reminder of all the events since. On your bed lay your cracked rifle, a heavy, silent witness to your day. You sighed, moving it carefully, feeling the weight irritate the still-tender stitches on your side. Gently, you slid it back into its case, then pushed the rifle bag under your bed, its worn fabric catching faintly on the frame.

The bathroom offered a quiet reprieve as you cleaned yourself up, the cool water refreshing against your skin. You changed into a comfortable T-shirt and shorts, savoring the soft, loose fabric after the tension of the day. With a sigh, you sat on the edge of the bed, reaching over to pull your laptop closer. Curiosity had been tugging at you since Logan tossed that new nickname at you: “Varmint.” The way he’d said it, half-smirked as he helped you, made it clear there was more behind it.

You typed in the word and read the definition that popped up:

Varmint:

noun, informal, dialect

• a troublesome wild animal.

• a troublesome and mischievous person, especially a child.

The words sank in, and you muttered a soft curse under your breath, though a smile pulled at the corners of your mouth. That asshole. You couldn’t help but picture the look in his eyes when he’d said it, that mix of teasing and something almost affectionate. He probably thought it was a perfect fit.

Still smiling, you closed the laptop and lay back on the bed, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight. The stitches, the collar, and the strain of the day blurred into one heavy ache, and as your head hit the pillow, the last thought in your mind was of Logan’s voice and that infuriating nickname. The quiet drifted around you as sleep pulled you down, the sky still bright outside as afternoon slowly faded into evening.

•••••••

Dust rises around you, stinging your eyes, blurring the world into a smudged haze of gunfire and shadows. The heat is unrelenting, baking down on your skin as the weight of the rifle digs into your hands. The sound of boots pounding against cracked ground, the shouts of soldiers, and the relentless thud of explosions make everything feel surreal. It's a landscape of Iran-Iraq chaos battlefield in the 80s.

Ivan's voice cuts through, clear and steady with his Russian accent. "Right flank, cover me!" His words are as familiar as your own heartbeat, grounding you in the nightmare. You turn, catching a glimpse of him. Young, so damn young, but his eyes have that determined look, that same fire he's always had since you met him at twenty one. He'd idolized you, looked up to you with a quiet, steadfast admiration. You'd taught him everything, every trick and tactic you knew. He had become your closest friend, almost something more.

But suddenly, that determination in his eyes falters. You see his lips form words, calling your name, right before a shot rings out. The echo of it slices through the noise, louder than anything else. In slow motion, you watch him stumble, that flash of surprise on his face as his body collapses, his rifle slipping from his fingers. There's blood on his temple, spreading, blooming against his pale skin like ink soaking into paper.

"No...no, no, Ivan!" you scream, scrambling forward, your hands shaking as you reach him, ignoring the chaos around you. You press your hands to his wound, feeling the warm, sticky blood seep through your fingers, knowing it's useless. "Stay with me, please," you beg, feeling your voice break, but his eyes have already gone blank, staring past you.

"I'm so sorry," you mutter, your voice strangled. You'd promised him- promised that when you both made it back, you'd show him New York. He'd laugh, light-heartedly mocking the idea of skyscrapers and traffic, but you knew he'd been looking forward to it. And now he'll never see it. You'll never see him again.

The scene shifts violently, flickering to his childhood stories of Montana, a place he once said was like no other. He'd wanted you to see it, too, promising you a tour of his small town, the mountains, the rivers. Now, it all fades, slipping from your grasp as you scream his name again and again, but it's just you alone in the dust, Ivan's blood staining your hands.

The scream still echoes as you jolt awake, drenched in cold sweat, Ivan's name a raw ache in your throat. After the long hours you drifted into a fitful sleep, only to wake up around two in the morning, feeling groggy and disoriented. The collar pressed against your neck, an uncomfortable reminder that even in your own body, you weren’t free. Frustrated, you shifted, trying to find a position where the collar wouldn’t dig into your skin. It was no use. Resigned, you pushed yourself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom.

The mirror reflected a pale, worn face back at you. You traced your fingers over the bandages where bullet wounds were still healing, noticing the edges of the injuries, raw and irritated. Changing into a warmer sweater to stave off the night's chill, you thought about grabbing a snack.

But as you made your way toward the stairs, a muffled noise caught your attention. You paused, listening. It was coming from Logan’s room. The sounds were low and garbled, but you could tell he was muttering, though the words were too distorted to make out. You hesitated, then shook your head. Probably none of my business, you thought, forcing yourself down the stairs.

After finding a bowl of blueberries and drink a glass of water, you turned to climb the stairs, heading back to your room, only to hear the sounds from Logan’s room again, louder this time. You stopped, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your chest. His voice sounded tortured, as though he were reliving something terrible. Without really thinking, you moved toward his door. You stood there, unsure, your hand hovering over the handle. Finally, you pressed down. The door clicked open.

In the darkness, you could make out Logan, tangled in his sheets, eyes shut tight but muttering as if in pain. You placed the blueberries on his nightstand and flicked on the light, he's wearing a white tank top with jeans, what kind of psychopath sleep in jeans? You extend your arm reaching out, lightly shake his shoulder, calling his name. He jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his claws springing out instinctively. You barely managed to jump back, waist stumbled at his nightstand roughly, avoiding the glint of metal, your reflexes saving you but the sudden movement sent a sharp, searing pain through your side.

Logan looked horrified, retracting his claws immediately with his heavy breath. “Shit. I didn’t mean.. are you okay?” He asked voice slightly trembled.

You took a shaky breath, clutching your side. “Fuck...M' fine. But you were yelling. I thought…” You smirked slightly, hiding your discomfort.

“I swear I thought you had someone in here, keeping the entire floor up ‘til two in the morning.” You told him with hitched breath.

He almost cracked a smile, though a flash of something haunted lingered in his eyes. "Not exactly."

Feeling another throb in your side, you sank onto the edge of his bed, letting yourself sit for a moment. He scoot over to give you more personal space next to him, you picked up the bowl of blueberries, offering it to him with a shrug.

“Blueberries?” Logan accepted, and you both sat in a quiet, unexpected moment of ease, passing the bowl back and forth, the silence a balm for both your wounds. It’s rare to see his hair not styled in the way he always wears it, almost resembling cat ears. You’ve always wondered if that was intentional, but you could never be sure. Now, though, you can see how thick his dark brown hair truly is, with a slight touch of untidiness. A rare sight.

Both of you sat against the headboard of the bed, the room dimly lit, the quiet hum of the night filling the space. You felt the sting in your side with every slight movement but tried to ignore it, distracting yourself with the blueberries as you popped one into your mouth. You weren't exactly sure what to say to Logan. Should you ask if he's okay? The thought felt ridiculous, considering the two of you hardly knew how to talk about such things. It was easier to just let the silence hang. But it was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, and you needed to break it somehow.

“So,” you began, forcing casualness into your tone, “The PTSD from a hundred and twenty years in the military really got you good, huh?”

Logan glanced over at you, the faintest amusement flickering in his eyes. “What does twenty do to a person anyway?” He raised a brow, a little playful edge creeping into his voice.

You shrugged nonchalantly, popping another blueberry into your mouth. “Same thing. Probably why we’re both here at two, eating blueberries.”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound low and rough, as if it hadn’t been used in too long. There was a comfort in that, his laughter, even if it was bitter at the edges. You got him in a way few could, the way he handled pain, how he tucked it away under layers of sarcasm and distance. You weren’t sure if he even knew how much you could read him, how the small moments the way he carried himself, the flicker in his eyes told a whole story.

“That’s a hell of a breakfast,” he muttered, shaking his head with a grin that softened the edges of his usual guarded demeanor.

“Breakfast, midnight snack, same thing,” you shot back, a smirk tugging at your lips as you leaned back against the headboard, clutching your side again in an attempt to ease the pain.

A long pause followed. You caught him watching you out of the corner of his eye, like he was trying to figure something out. It didn’t bother you, though. After all, you’d both been through things most people couldn’t even begin to imagine. And you understood that, understood him better than anyone else.

Logan glanced down at the bowl, then back at you. “Guess we just keep eating until we’re tired of it, huh?” he said with a half smile. You smiled, feeling a little lighter. “Sounds about right.”

The air in the room grew still for a moment, the light dim and the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging between you both. Logan's voice broke the silence, softer now, tinged with something he didn't quite want to admit.

"I could've killed you, y'know," he said, trying to sound casual selling his nonchalant face, but there was a slight edge to his voice that made it clear he was anything but nonchalant. His eyes flicked to yours, searching, a trace of concern buried in his usual guarded expression.

You met his gaze without flinching. "You didn’t," you said simply, your tone light, but you knew what he was getting at. His worry was clear, even though he was trying to mask it, you broke the eye contact now staring down at the bowl.

"You might've just opened my stitches again, which, I think, is worse." Logan's gaze hardened as he caught the scent of fresh blood. He pushed himself up from the bed, voice firm. “Wait here.”

You blinked, confused, watching as he stalked to his bathroom. He rummaged around for a moment before reappearing, his expression annoyed. Apparently, he hadn’t found what he was looking for. “Just wait,” he said again, sharper this time. “I’ll be right back.”

Left alone in his room, you found yourself glancing around. The room was sparse but lived-in: unfolded clothes thrown over a chair, a cigarette-filled ashtray on his nightstand, and a couple of empty beer bottles lining the windowsill. You smirked a bit at that, wondering how Charles hadn’t whipped his ass for sneaking those in.

Before you could delve deeper into the small details of his space, Logan stepped back in, a med kit in hand. He shot you a look that bordered on impatience and determination. Your eyebrows shot up as he set the kit down. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

“Well,” he said flatly, “you’re bleeding all over my bed, and I’m not in the mood to be blamed for murder.”

You scoffed, moving to stand, still clutching your side as the pain spiked. The blood had already soaked through the fabric of your cream-colored Brooklyn sweater, stain spreading visibly. “No, I’m not letting you do that. Do you even know how to stitch?” You took a couple of steps toward the door, ready to brush him off and leave.

But Logan stepped in front of you, effectively blocking the doorway with his full frame. His expression was one of deadpan defiance. “Told you, I’ve lived too many lives. I know a thing or two. Now, sit down.”

You scowled, the pain now pulsing sharply with every movement, but his unyielding presence made it clear he wasn’t giving you much of a choice. “No, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction. Logan’s eyebrow quirked as he tilted his head, unconvinced, not budging an inch from the doorway. You tried to nudge him aside, but he didn’t even flinch. The effort triggered fresh pain from your wound, and you cursed under your breath, feeling the sting intensify.

“Just sit down,” he said with a faint irritation. “I even brought painkillers this time.” His comment was a jab at the last time you’d been stitched up, without any anesthesia, which had been a special kind of hell.

Reluctantly, you made your way back to the chair he’d hastily cleared of laundry, watching as he shoved the empty bottles in the windowsill aside to make room for the medical kit. With a quiet sigh of resignation, you sank down, your movements stiff and strained. You set the blueberries on the windowsill beside you, grimacing but knowing you didn’t have much of a choice now.

Logan handed you a small pill from the kit, his expression giving nothing away. You tossed it back but quickly realized you’d need water. Without missing a beat, he grabbed a sealed bottle of beer from his nightstand and held it out to you.

You looked at him, half-exasperated. “How’d you manage to sneak this in? Charles is gonna be furious.”

Logan smirked, giving you a quick, deadpan shrug. “Oh, it’s my weekly pay for teachin” he replied, clearly amused with himself.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you twisted off the cap. “Right. Because Charles would pay you in beer.” With no other choices you sip the beer anyway, sending the pill down your system.

Ignoring your jab, Logan prepared a syringe, carefully transferring a regional anesthetic from a vial. He seemed steady, his brow knit in concentration, but there was a faint tremor in his hands that told you he didn’t do this often at least, not like this. Still, he looked confident enough to keep you from second-guessing.

You took a breath and lifted the hem of your sweater, the chilly night air prickling your exposed skin as you braced for what was to come. Logan knelt beside you, his face softened by the dim light, he wiped down your skin with alcohol wipes to sterilize the area before injected the anesthetic carefully around your wound, aiming to block the nerves around your stomach.

The sensation was more disorienting than painful, and you clenched your jaw, trying to focus on anything else but the sharp reminder of how vulnerable this all felt. The pain had been long absent, a dull ache you’d forgotten, but tonight it was sharp and real, gnawing at the edges of your patience.

Logan retreated to the windowsill, waiting the anesthesia to function giving it at least ten minutes. He take a swig from the beer you’d just opened, his gaze flicking back to you as you reached for another blueberry. You caught him watching you, the hint of concern masked beneath his usual guarded stare.

“You don’t seem to do this often,” you said, popping the blueberry into your mouth, trying to sound casual.

He glanced at the bottle in his hand and shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve got enough experience.”

You offered a small, skeptical smile, sliding your hand under the collar around your neck, scratching at the itch that had settled there. It was an irritating reminder of everything this collar had taken from you. Your power, your freedom, and, in a twisted way, even the luxury of forgetting what it felt like to be so breakable.

Logan’s gaze dropped to your hand at your neck, but he didn’t say anything, just took another swig of his beer. For once, the silence between you both felt almost...safe. He wouldn’t pry, wouldn’t push, and you knew that even if he did, he’d understand more than most.

As the two of you waited for the anesthetic to kick in, Logan walked over to his nightstand, rummaging through a drawer until he found a cigar. Meanwhile, you felt the trickle of blood from your re-opened stitches and reached for some gauze, pressing it against the torn wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Four ugly, circular scars, a nasty reminders of where bullets had torn through you. Only one suture held, while the other three had unraveled under the strain. You sighed, wondering how long you could keep dealing with this before you could stepped in this damn collar.

Logan sit in the edge of his bed, lighting his cigar with a flick of his lighter, his eyes on you as you dabbed at your side. Frustration is written all over your face as he observed your attempt to manage the bleeding on your own. He sigh and walk towards you again, placed the cigar on the windowsill and pushed the window open, letting the smoky tendrils drift out into the night air, you despised that smell so much.

Finally, he grabbed the med kit and knelt beside you, extending his hand toward the gauze in a silent offer to take over. You didn't hesitated this time, willingly to let go when his rough fingers brushed against yours as you handed over the gauze. Your left hand still held the fabric of your sweater up, and your right arm rested on the edge of the chair, giving him room to work.

Logan’s face was set in concentration as he wiped the blood from your side, tearing open another alcohol wipe and cleaning the area around your wounds. He was careful, his touch firm yet unexpectedly gentle. After ensuring the area was sterile, he picked up a small pair of scissors and nudged it against your skin. “Feel anythin'?” he asked, his voice a little softer, making sure the anesthesia had taken full effect.

You shook your head. “No, it’s numb.”

Logan's brows drew together as he worked, his expression locked in that rare, focused intensity you’d come to recognize, and even find comfort in. The dim light from the windowsill cast shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the slight crease between his brows. You’d traced those lines in your mind a hundred times by now, memorized every edge, every angle. But tonight, as he worked with that raw focus, his face took on a different weight, a heaviness you could almost feel through the precision of his movements.

He held the metal scissors between his fingers, his hands steady, despite the faint flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Gently, he pull the teared suture trough your skin, putting all the old stitches down before guided the needle through your skin, pulling it through with a practiced care that made each puncture bearable. You could feel the slightest tug as he drew the suture tight, securing it with a small knot, his gaze unwavering, as if each stitch were a piece of armor he was layering over your vulnerability.

You tried to focus on his hands instead of the needle. He didn’t look up, not even once, and you wondered what was going through his mind as he stitched each small wound, patching you up like it was a matter of necessity, not choice. You felt his grip tighten a little as he threaded the next stitch, a silent determination in the press of his fingers.

Logan’s mind, however, was far from calm. Beneath his outward resolve, there was a nagging unease, an urge to make sure he didn’t cause you any more pain than you’d already endured. The sight of the torn stitches, the fresh blood trickling down your side, sent a quiet rage through him, one he was careful to keep hidden. He’d seen plenty of wounds in his time, but with you, each drop of blood felt personal, like a failure he hadn’t planned for. He pushed the thought aside, though, focusing instead on keeping each stitch even, precise. He couldn't afford to let his own frustration cloud the task at hand.

You studied him in silence, feeling the coolness of the anesthetic but still sensing the pressure as the needle punctured your skin again and again. Each pull of the thread was a reminder of how close he was, yet how distant he could seem. His breathing was even, steady, but every so often, you saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, a reminder of the strain he kept hidden. The Logan before you wasn’t the snarling fighter or the distant figure, he was here, in this quiet, steady moment, each movement deliberate, each pull of the suture a silent promise.

Another stitch slid through, and he adjusted his angle, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that left a faint warmth where his touch lingered. You felt yourself tense, not from pain, but from the awareness of his closeness, the weight of his hand pressed against your side. He glanced up briefly, catching your eye, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He held it for just a second, before focusing back on the task, his jaw tightening as he continued to work.

In the silence, you found yourself grateful for this quiet, for the way he grounded you, even with the thick smoke from the forgotten cigar drifting through the air. Despite his own guarded nature, Logan’s presence carried a steady calm that dulled the ache, that let you release the fear of being so vulnerable in front of someone who’d seen it all, and maybe even felt it all.

Though he’d never say it. He could see the way you trusted him, even as your body flinched from each stitch. The way you held yourself still, giving him your silent approval, it did something to him, stirred something that he knew he couldn’t afford to dwell on. He finished the final suture, tying it off with a slight flick of his wrist, but he didn’t let go immediately. His hand rested against your skin for just a moment, almost like he was hesitant to break the connection, before he finally pulled back, a slight softness lingering in his gaze.

With the stitches complete, Logan finally sat back, his hand lingering near yours for just a moment before he pulled away completely.

As Logan returned the medical kit to the windowsill, your blood is staining all over his hands, he picked up his forgotten cigar, pressing it back between his lips, exhaling a thin trail of smoke. You sat quietly, should you even tell him to wash those blood stain? He doesn't seem to care.

Inspecting the new stitches one last time before pulling down your sweater. They were tight, clean, a reminder of his steady hands, though they left a faint, uncomfortable prickling sensation beneath the fabric. Logan perched by the windowsill, the soft glow from the moonlight outside casting a warm shadow across his face, lending a quiet stillness to the room.

Standing carefully, you felt the weight of lingering awkwardness. There was no reason to stay, no reason to let yourself get tangled up in his space any longer than necessary.

All of this, this wound, this time spent at his mercy, could’ve been avoided if you’d just ignored the sounds coming from his room earlier. A part of you wished you’d done just that, stayed in your own corner, kept your focus inward. But here you were. You picked up the half-empty bowl of blueberries, eyes drifting to him briefly.

“Thanks,” you muttered softly, not looking back as you turned toward the door.

Logan gave a small nod, his voice low, almost resigned. “You should rest.”

“I know,” you replied quietly, before stepping out. Closing his door behind leaving him and the thick, smoky air. Crossing the short distance to your room, you closed your door gently and set the bowl on your nightstand, then melted into the bed, the weight of exhaustion pulling you down. The collar pressed uncomfortably against your neck, a constant reminder that rest would be scarce tonight. You sighed, eyes tracing the ceiling as your body tried to settle, though the tight ache of tension lingered.

Meanwhile, Logan stood by the window, his gaze lost in the night sky as he took another drag of the cigar. The smoke drifted outward, mingling with the faint scent of antiseptic and the lingering trace of vanilla. Your presence hung thick in the room, an echo of moments both fleeting and unexpected. He found himself staring at his bloody hands, then the medical kit, its open lid and scattered supplies a strange, quiet reminder of you—your resilience, your stubborn refusal to back down.

A feeling twisted inside him, raw and unfamiliar. Something about you had begun to grow in his mind, a constant, persistent thought that clung to him no matter how much he tried to shake it off. It didn’t make sense, you two had only met two weeks ago, yet he could already recall the details of your presence in a way that both frustrated and intrigued him. The vanilla scent was etched into his senses, something that lingered even after you’d left, the scent of your soap, shampoo—probably even your perfume, he figured. Vanilla, sweet and subtle, weaving through the air as stubbornly as you.

He couldn’t deny it anymore, you were driving him crazy. Every instinct told him to let it go, to put some distance between the two of you. But your determined, relentless spirit was wearing at him, chipping away at walls he’d thought were firmly in place. He closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. Whatever was growing inside him, you were a part of it, a force that tugged at his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to push you away.

With a final drag of his cigar, he stared out at the moonlight, each one sharp and unwavering against the night. And as the smoke drifted into the cool air, he realized that maybe, just maybe you had already rooted yourself somewhere deeper than he wanted to admit.

Part 6 ->

[spencerrscardigans]

blog introduction!

hello! finally, after a long time of wanting to, i finally decided to make a blog! as i am still planning and putting everything together, i thought that i may as well post an introduction post!

my main focus for this blog likely will be for writing some original work and mainly fanfic writing, and likely some chronic illness/disability content!

my inspiration to create this came from my longtime longing to write and share my own work as i have been an avid reader, especially of fanfics, and i have many, many, ideas living in my head. i originally started planning out a few (a lot) of multi chapter stories, both fanfics and original work/ideas, and i had everything planned out thoroughly, however since i had never committed to writing something to that extent, i thought where best to start than with one-shots and short stories!

besides the writing, i also was inspired to post about and make content about chronic illness and disability as it is something that i live with and is a big part of my life, and when i first started my “journey” of learning how to live with these things, i felt very alone and craved to have somewhere where i could relate and feel less alone in my experiences, so my hope with this blog is to be a place and resource to do such a thing that i, and likely many others would seek out.

about the person behind the blog!

you can call me mae, and my pronouns are she/her, and i am eighteen years old

some of my interests include, reading, educating myself on pretty much anything i possibly can, but especially science related things, writing, poetry, baking, gardening, photography, knitting (attempting to) and crocheting, sewing, and would also love to get into pottery!

i love listening to music, with some (but not limited to) of my favourite artists being david bowie, the smiths, hozier, taylor swift, phoebe bridgers, tv girl, mac demarco, mitski, and big thief! (inspo for some of my writing)

some of my favourite tv shows, movies, books and general fandoms i am in include (in no particular order) the walking dead, fleabag, all the bright places, criminal minds, bones, the last of us, dead poets society, harry potter, house, greys anatomy, stranger things, and i have just recently started getting into the x-files

plans i have for my writing

i have many, many, writing ideas, especially for fanfics and one-shots, and some of (but not limited to) the characters i will be writing (platonic and romantic) for include:

(for marvel) peter parker (mainly tom holland and andrew garfield’s spider-man’s), pietro maximoff, bucky barnes, logan howlett, matt murdock, stephen strange, natasha romanoff, loki, bruce banner, tony stark

(for twd) daryl dixon, rick grimes, maggie greene/rhee, glenn rhee, carl grimes, rosita espinosa

(for tlou) joel miller, ellie williams

(for criminal minds) spencer reid, aaron hotchner, emily prentiss, derek morgan

(for harry potter) fred and george weasley, remus lupin, sirius black, james potter

(stranger things) steve harrington, eddie munson, robin buckly

(the x files) fox mulder, dana scully

there is probably many characters missing from my list above, which is why i will be creating a separate post that will go more into detail about the characters i plan on writing for. i will also be creating a separate post that goes more in detail about the types of writing that i will do, and the types that i will not write, and will include a link for requests.

as my writing/blog progresses, i will be making a navigation post that will have links to important information like my blog rules, masterlists and etcetera, but i thought that i might as well include some info here so you know what to expect!

[lizardgutzz]

RULES/FANDOMS

Requests open!

Master list- Doesn't exist yet LOL

Content you will see!

You will see incorrect quotes!

character x Male reader

character x female reader

character x Non-binary reader

Chracter x Character

Head cannons

Rules in general!

No cis-female or girls read male readers. If you are gender fluid, trans, or anything like that you are free to read the male readers. I don’t care but cis girls please don’t read this. You have a lot of books, one shot’s for you and this page is not for you!

No racism, transphobia, homophobia, or anything between that I would block you without a second thought.

No ship hate you will be blocked

Rules for requesting!

DON'TS

Pedophilia

Incest

Non-con or Rape

gangbang

Mosterfucking

age play

lactation

voyuerism

smut for young characters (Please don’t request smut if there younger then let’s so 16 and no I will not age a minor up for your own need’s that’s disgusting if they have a time skip and are older then 16 or around that then I will write smut for them!)

Fetish

Do’s

Any kink unless there in the don’t list

threesome (Ex: character x character x character or reader x character x chracter)

Dom/sub bottom/top reader

Scenarios

headcannons

SFW/NSFW alphabet

Little/agre

Sibling’s

Crossovers

Poly! I love doing poly relationships

Parent!Character x reader

Yandere

Disabled reader, mental or physical

Who - What I write for

Marvel/x-men

Please specify if reader has powers or not, is so, what powers? ^^

Peter maximoff . Kurt wagner . Scott summer . Logan howlett . Tony stark . Wade wilson . Bucky barnes . Steve rogers . Loki . Thor . Steven strange . Venom/Eddie

Demon slayer

Tanjiro . Muzan . Zenitsu . Inosuke

I am only 1 season in so expect more to be added

Tiger & Bunny

Kotetsu . Kaede(only as sibling) . Barnaby . Ryan . Ivan . Keith . Nathan . Antonio . Yuri

Slashers

Does JD from heathers go in this list? Lol . Brahms heelshire . Billy loomis . Stu macher . Michael myer . Freddy Kruger . Chucky . Tiffany Valentine . More will certainly be added!!

Creepypasta

Ticci toby . Masky/Tim . Brian/Masky . Jeff the killer . Eyeless jack . BEN . Slenderman . Nina the killer(I like her fuck off) . I'm probably missing some but whatever

Moving on from killers LOLLL

Yuurivoice

Seth . Alphonse . Finn . Charlie . Jack

Monster high G1

Please specify what monster you would like reader to be! or if reader is a human ^_^

Cleo . Duece . Abbey . Lagoona . Clawdeen . Frankie . Ghoulia . Toralei . Valentine

And that's it! Thank you for reading:)

[salted-snailz]

Requests are open again!!

Read more to see what I will and won’t write

Fandoms I will write for:

MCU, X-Men, BNHA, potentially Arrowverve

Topics I will write:

Character x Female!Reader

Character x GN!Reader

Character x Autistic!Reader

Character x (disability of your choice)!Reader

Character x reader (romantic, platonic, familial)

Fluff, comfort, angst, potential smut

Topics I will not write:

R*pe/Noncon, in*est, any bodily fluid fetishes (ex: watersports, scat), major character death, s*lf h*rm / s*icide

How to request:

When requesting something specific, please don’t be vague!! Or else I may not write what you want!

Include which character you want, what kind of reader, and a prompt. Add if the relationship is platonic, romantic, sexual, or familial.

For example: “Logan Howlette x F!Mutant!Reader. Could you write something where reader is a mutant who recently discovered her abilities and joins the school? And Logan helps her stay calm throughout this big change. Eventually they end up together. The rest is up to you!!”

If you request something like “Peter Parker x Reader” with nothing else, I won’t have much information to write on

Extra:

Please be patient and do not try to rush me, I tend to lose focus or motivation sometimes.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

diversity december

december is always a really hard month for me. everything centers around christmas and i'm jewish, which means i'm being constantly reminded that i'm other. as a kid, it was the month where i hated myself and my family the most - because why didn't i get christmas and presents and santa? even now, being an adult in fandom spaces, december is exhausting for me.

so i decided that i'm going to be doing diversity december, where i write fanfics for people like me who don't often see themselves represented. these don't necessarily need to be holiday related fics, or even winter related. so if you want to submit requests for this - please do!

[datauthorress]

imagine feral! logan taking care of you while you're sick.

logan isn't sure what to do when you wake up with a fever, the sniffles and the body aches. logan is worried, extremely worried. worried about his partner and even though he can't get sick, he hates seeing his mate sick. the only thing logan knows what to do is get jean, who is the mansion's doctor. jean comes up and lets logan know you've got the flu and gives him a list of things that he could do for you.

the next few days, logan is on top of everything. laura remains on the bed with you to keep an eye on you while logan gets things for you. water, sprite for your upset stomach, a bucket and wet washcloths to help keep your fever down. he's worried when you don't eat anything for about 36 hours, nudging at you and a worried rumble reverberating through his chest.

when you get the body aches, logan and laura are immediately into action. logan snuggles up to your back, his warmth being one of the things to help you not shiver as much. laura moves around to your front to keep that warmth between you and you can only sniffle as the warmth feels utterly nice.

logan's deep rumble echoes through his chest, the sensation calming you into a deep sleep.

you manage to eat some light soup the next day, made by jean but brought by logan. logan watches you eat, making sure you don't need anything or that you don't get an upset stomach by eating.

once you're done eating, logan rests his chin on your knee and you smile, rubbing his cheek with your thumb before pressing a kiss to his nose. "thank you for taking care of me, logan. i really appreciate you and laura both."

laura purrs and logan smiles, nuzzling his face into your hand. "mate," he rumbled.

[datauthorress]

imagine having your first kiss with feral! logan.

you've been around each other for a couple of months now. logan is extremely protective over you and loves being by your side. while his memory is still incredibly fuzzy, he has remembered some things, including the ability to talk. he doesn't say much unless the situation calls for it, but when he does speak up, it's often in defense of you.

after putting laura to bed, you and logan retreat to your bedroom for the night. after changing into pajamas, you sit on the bed with him, and you realize he had the look of 'wheels' turning in his head.

"logan, what's wrong?" you asked softly.

logan rumbled softly and he reached a hand up, gently cupping your cheek. you smile and tilt your face into his palm, nuzzling into it. his thumb brushed over your bottom lip and somehow, you had a hunch what he wanted to do.

he wanted to kiss you.

and you wanted to kiss him.

so, with the courage you had been building up for a while now, you leaned up and cupped his jaw with a hand, before closing the distance between you two and pressing your lips against his in a soft kiss. logan's rumble paused, as if he was surprised by your bold move, but as quickly as he was surprised, he was quickly pressing back into the kiss and cupping your cheek once again to keep you close as you kissed.

his facial hair tickled your skin slightly and you couldn't help but giggle at the sensation. logan's purr deepened and it resonated through the kiss, causing him to deepen the kiss.

"logan," you breathed.

logan released a soft growl, teeth nipping at your bottom lip before he sucked at the abused spot. his arm wrapped around the middle of your back, pulling you closer to him. your palms rested on his broad chest and as you opened your lips for him, you felt the energy in the air take a different turn.

logan liked you being bold.

[datauthorress]

ok but feral!logan finding the reader crying in bed so he cuddles and nuzzles her to try make her happy 🥺

feral! Logan finding his mate crying? Oh, he doesn't like when the Reader cries.

~

it's another bad pain day for you.

you had woken up with your leg throbbing in pure agony and you managed to slip out of logan's arms without disturbing him so you could get up and take your medication, sitting down on the bathroom floor to wait for the pain to dull enough for you to go back to bed.

you wondered if you should take charles' offer of another surgery to try and repair the bones, but you know that the surgery would only lessen your pain for a short amount of time and not fully take it away. you had already had seven surgeries on your leg. you really didn't want to go through another.

when the pain dulled enough for you to stand up, you did so and made your way back to bed. you got comfortable on your side and managed to fall back asleep, only to wake up some time in the early afternoon, tears dotting the corners of your eyes as your leg ached.

you buried your face in your pillow, attempting to stifle your soft sobs into the fabric.

until you heard a rumble and you cracked open your eyes to see logan coming into the room, kneeling down beside the bed. his dark eyes filled with concern, as he watched you lay there with pain radiating through your body.

"i'm okay, logan. just....a bad pain day for me," you said with a soft sniffle.

logan frowned and he got up on the bed, making his way behind you so he could pull you against his warm chest. you sighed at the sensation, rolling over so you could press closer against him. that deep rumble reverberated through logan's chest and he pressed a tender kiss against your forehead, his nose nuzzling against your skin. you began to relax, comforted by his soft touches and his protective embrace.

"don't like seeing mate in pain," he murmured, a large hand threading through your dark locks.

"i don't like it either, but....not much i can do about it. but this...this is helping," you replied, resting your head against his chest, tucked under his chin.

"love mate," he whispered, holding you close against him.

"i love you too," you whispered back.

[datauthorress]

Can we please have more feral Logan 🙏🙏🙏🙏

I heard you wanted more Feral! Logan. :]

~

Over the course of a few days, you found yourself a couple of hemorrhoids. Well, not literally, but two human-shaped ones. Logan and Laura seemed to follow you around (well, more so Logan following you around and then Laura following him). Logan seemed interested in everything you did, whether you were pulling weeds from the flowerbeds, using your telekinesis to put groceries away or even just reading on the couch in the living room. Laura was young, so she required more sleep and when she was sleeping, Logan was hot on your heels.

It was seriously like having an actual cat following you everywhere.

You were the only one he let get close, the only one who he seemed to trust with his and Laura’s needs. You really wanted to find out more about his past, where he came from, who he was, but Logan didn’t quite trust Charles yet and Charles refused to push him into something that may be traumatizing for him.

If you were standing in the kitchen helping make dinner, Logan was crouched next to you. Either watching you from over the counter or had an arm wrapped around your leg.

You realized quickly he was touch starved.

While in bed, Logan was either pressed up against your back or resting with his head on your belly or chest. Laura was usually laying on top of you, or up against Logan.

And neither of them were light.

Logan was pushing 500 pounds due to his metal skeleton and once he was on top of you or against you, it was hard to move. Or move him. He was pretty set on where he was once he was comfortable.

He enjoyed head scratches and just under his chin and whenever you would run your fingers through his hair, that deep, reverberating rumble would start making its way through his frame, always starting in his chest. Laura had the same kind of rumble, but it wasn’t as deep as Logan’s.

He greatly enjoyed your presence, and you enjoyed his as well, but you desperately wanted to find out more about his past.

“Logan,” you would call, and he would move over to you, to which he rested his chin on the knee of your bad leg, his hands on the outside of your thighs. You reached forward with a hand, thumb stroking at his cheek. He started purring softly, tilting his face into your touch. “I wish I knew more about you. It would be easier to try and help you recover your memories.”

Logan hummed underneath his breath, tilting his face into your touch. Lips parted and a curious tongue peaked out, before it traced the length of your thumb. You felt your cheeks flush pink, as you watched Logan make his way to the tip of your thumb before his teeth gave a soft nip at the flesh.

And then, he spoke. He called your name ever so softly, his voice deep and gravelly, as if he hadn’t spoken in so long. It was the first time you heard his voice outside of his growls or purring and it made a smile break out onto your features.

“Yes,” you said softly. “That’s my name.”

Logan rumbled, his lips curling up into a soft smile.

[datauthorress]

Feral! Logan / Telekinetic! Disabled! Reader

Picture this:

You live at the X-Mansion, having telekinetic powers like Jean and use a cane to get around. It was a random day, and you were reading outside by the lake. Scott, Jean and Kurt had gone on a mission to look into a mutant up in the Canadian mountains. After an hour of reading, you head inside, only to see that Scott, Jean and Kurt were back and the three of them were talking about someone.

You asked what had happened and Scott explained that they had found two mutants in the Canadian mountains, one of them being a man who exhibited animal-like behavior, specifically cat-like behavior, and a young girl around ten-years-old who also exhibited cat-like behavior. However, after taking the girl to get her clean, the man had shut himself in one of the bathrooms and growled at anyone who tried to get close.

You had offered to see if you could try and get through to the man. Scott had given you some clothes and you went to the bathroom to see what you could do.

The man inside was…much bigger than you thought. He was definitely over six feet tall and in a crouching position, filthy from head to toe.

“Hey,” you said, and the man bared white teeth at you, showing off a pair of sharp fangs. You assured him that you weren’t going to hurt him and once you mentioned the girl that had been with him, the man seemed to calm down and allowed you to work.

He tolerated the makeshift shower, shaking the water off once you were done and getting you wet. You only sputtered and wiped your face dry, giving the man a “really” look.

When you helped him put the clothes on, you had taken a closer look at the dog tags hanging from around his neck and saw two names, ‘Logan’ and ‘Wolverine’.

“Logan?” you said softly, glancing into the man’s eyes. He had only tilted his head, as if confused by the name or seemed to recognize the name.

Scott had said that Charles suspected the man was suffering from severe amnesia, perhaps to the point that he could only remember how to act like an animal. The tuffs of hair on top of his head reminded you of a cat for sure.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing your cane and holding out your hand towards Logan.

Logan eyed your hand, as if debating whether or not to take your hand. After a moment, he reached a large hand up and took yours, grasping it firmly. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before you took him to the bedroom where his daughter was. Upon seeing her, Logan leapt onto the bed and cradled the child in his arms, nuzzling his nose against her forehead.

For some reason, you had a hunch that this was going to be interesting.

[datauthorress]

feral! logan protecting the reader from danger.

reader is a disabled telekinetic, but they still use their powers to defend themselves. there's a dangerous mutant running about in the city, causing destruction and you've been assigned with the other x-men to help people get to safety. you help people, but when you realize that your fellow x-men are getting thrown around like rag dolls, you join in, using your telekinesis to ward off the enemy.

until the dangerous mutant uses his powers to throw you across the street, causing you to scrap your bad leg on the road deeply. the mutant charges at you, hell bent on maiming you, but logan comes from out of nowhere behind the mutant and snarls as he sinks his claws deep into the mutant's back. the mutant shouts out and tosses logan away, who lands right behind you on his feet, growling at the enemy.

logan crouches, wrapping an arm around you protectively while the other is outstretched with metal claws unsheathed, with logan's canines bared in a snarl, his fangs glistening in the sun. he's literally covering your body with his own, using every ounce of himself to protect you from harm.

the mutant quickly realizes that you belong to logan and logan is pissed.

nobody touched what was his.

[datauthorress]

If you don’t mind me asking, what was the process of Logan sleeping in the reader’s bed? And Laura, too, I think?

Did he (they) just follow her in there immediately upon meeting? Did she wake up hot, just to find him (them) suffocating her?

I also think Logan, feral!Logan especially, would be very particular with food. Making sure his partner/person of interest, as well as Laura is eating well. No sugary cereals for breakfast, no granola bars for lunch, etc.

It would take a couple of days for Logan to feel completely comfortable to be able to sleep with the Reader. He and his daughter are in a completely different place, with several other mutants and one mutant in particular who has treated Logan with nothing but kindness and respect. Logan would have most likely slept on the Reader's giant bean bag chair with Laura and as they became more comfortable, they would have slipped into Reader's bed during the night. Cue to the Reader waking up sweating because Logan is a literal furnace and he's pushing 500 pounds, so Reader can literally not move unless they force him off of her.

I also agree with the fact that feral! Logan would be very particular about what he, Laura and the Reader eat. Reader would definitely have to sneak in sugary foods, i.e. chocolate, gummies, etc. Logan has a habit of knocking said food out of her hands and then rummaging through the fridge until he finds something healthy and then forces it towards Reader.

Laura would also have to sneak in sugary foods as well, much to Logan's chagrin.