#sfw logan howlett

[techwrecker]

Handful of Roses

Summary: It’s you and Logan’s anniversary and he can’t even be bothered to show up. You’re left alone, wondering where he could possibly be.

Genre: Angst ⇒ Fluff

Tags: SFW, minor swearing, angst & fluff (duh), fem!reader, no use of y/n, reader calls logan bub sarcastically, logan is still a mutant, sickeningly sweet ending,

Word Count: 1.6k

Request: "Logan forgets a special event? Angst to fluff. Maybe a birthday, anniversary or special date night."

A/N: Tysm for the request! I really hope you enjoy it!

Other: dividers by @moosgraphics & @saradika (tysm!)

The congealed pasta slid into the trash bin with a solid thud. Hours of your hard work gone to waste.

Tonight you and Logan were supposed to be celebrating your one year anniversary. When you suggested the idea to Logan, he wasn’t too keen on going out to a fancy restaurant, so you compromised by promising to fix him something at home. You had made him swear he would be home by 7 to eat. You wanted him for the evening— all to yourself.

And yet.

You checked the time on the stove— 8:45 p.m. You had half a mind to lock Logan out. If he was going to break his promises, you were going to make him pay the price for it. Your heels clattered against the floor as you made your way to the front door. Just as you were about to turn the deadbolt, a tiny piece of your heart shot a plea of forgiveness through you. You hesitated, weighing the pros and cons.

On one hand, Logan deserved exactly what he had coming. You wanted to drive home your frustration. If he wanted to act like an animal, then he could sleep in the dog house.

But then again, staying in the house alone made you nervous. The house you shared was out in the middle of the woods and your mind tended to run wild with dangerous scenarios at the slightest sound. Usually, Logan was home before dark to protect you from your overactive imagination.

You decided to be nice to him. Especially since the rain was really coming down outside and storms made you nervous. And despite how angry you were with Logan, you didn’t want him to come down with anything.

You withdrew your hand from the door. The figure-hugging dress you had put on just for him was starting to scratch at your skin. This was the last straw. You let the plates clatter into the sink, not caring if they shattered or not and stormed off to the bedroom to find your fuzziest pajamas.

You gathered the pajamas and a towel and headed to the shower, turning the temperature gauge as hot as you could stand. You hoped the boiling temperature would take your mind off the disappointment Logan left you alone with.

Unfortunately, as soon as the water had saturated your hair, and turned your skin a flaming red, you burst into tears. You sat down in the bottom of the tub, wrapping your arms around your folded body to console yourself. Salty tears mixed with the water for some time. You weren’t sure exactly how much time had passed since you had gotten in, but your fingers had already pruned by the time you calmed down enough to stand up again.

You knew Logan cared about you, so why did he have to forget stuff like this? It was important to you— you wanted it to be important to him, too. Your life was sucky before he came into it. Was it really too much to ask for him to acknowledge the wins with you? For a man who had walked the earth for over 200 years, a one year anniversary is probably just a drop in the bucket. But to you, it meant the world.

You turned off the water and toweled off. The vibrations of the front door slamming closed shook the walls.

“Hello?” You heard Logan’s voice call out. “Y’home, darlin’?”

You nonchalantly dried your sopping hair a few seconds longer before pulling on your pajamas. You wanted to make him sweat a little. Logan’s footsteps were thudding about the house, looking for you. You waited in the bathroom, arms crossed.

After a few more minutes, a gentle knock sounded against the door.

“You in there?” His voice was soft and tender. It was the voice he used whenever he pleaded cutely for hugs and kisses. Your expression softened out of habit. Not fair.

Your mind brought you back to reality. His manipulative tactic only fueled your anger. You ripped the door open. “Yes, Logan. I-“

Logan’s appearance cut your spiel short. He was filthy. Sloppy mud was splattered from his boots to the chest of his t-shirt, his jacket was soaked through, and his face was covered in dark grease— a giant, walking contrast to your soft, pink appearance. He extended his arm to you, a wilted and nearly bare bouquet of roses in his fist. His forlorn expression reflected the misfortune of his appearance. You almost felt sorry for him.

“Before you say anything,” he rushed out. “I want to tell you that I can’t apologize enough, darlin’. These are f’r you.”

“What the hell happened?” The hot tears threatened to well up again. “You were supposed to be here hours ago,” you said, shakily.

“I know, I know. The goddamn pickup quit on me after work tonight. Nobody in town had the part I needed.” He paused, expecting you to cut in. You kept silent and let him continue his excuse. “I had to walk home in the friggin’ storm.” He raised his arms in exasperation.

It explained why he was late, but not why he was absolutely covered in mud. At most, his boots would have been caked.

You jutted your chin out, gesturing to his mud-covered body. “And that? You’re gonna be late and track mud through my clean house?”

“You’re gonna laugh at me.” He looked down at the floor, avoiding your eyes.

You crossed your arms and set your expression in a slight frown. It was difficult to be intimidating in pink, fuzzy pajamas and slippers, but you did your best anyways. “Try me.”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, clearly embarrassed. “I slipped.”

“What do you mean, ‘you slipped’?”

“On the walk home. Tripped on a tree root and fell face first. I tried savin’ the flowers but…” He let the twiggy bouquet speak for itself.

You thought for a moment. It was difficult to imagine your stoic Logan tripping on anything, much less falling into mud and trying to save delicate roses in the process. A tiny smile crept onto your lips. You took the few flowers that were left out of his hands and took a whiff. Logan visibly relaxed his shoulders as you accepted his gift.

“I figured once my truck is up’n’runnin’, we could go out to celebrate instead.”

You lit up, eyes jumping from the roses to meet his gaze. “Oh, Logan! You mean it?”

“‘Course, darlin’. How else ‘m I supposed to make it up to my favorite girl?”

How were you supposed to stay mad at him when he looked at you like that? His deep hazel eyes contained nothing but devotion for you with a smile sweet as honey.

“I guess I’ll make an exception— just this once,” You gave in to his appeal.

He made a move to envelop you in a hug, but he was met with your index finger pressed to his chest before he could wrap his dripping, disgusting arms around you.

“Nuh-uh. I don’t think so, bub. You gotta get cleaned up before you come any closer.”

He looked down at the clothes sticking to his body. “Oh— right.”

You sidestepped around him, giving him a wide berth trying to avoid touching the mess of a man. He left the door open as he peeled the clothes from his body. He had no shame about his body and you didn’t mind one bit. Making your way to the kitchen, you found a delicate glass vase under the sink. It fit the handful of roses nicely. Despite the rough journey, the roses that did make it out were somehow still perfectly picturesque.

The roses reminded you of your relationship with Logan. It’s not exactly like he was the easiest person to live with. In fact, you had bought more sheets in the past year than you ever had in your entire life. His nightmares could get awfully terrible. You would hop out of bed and run to the other side of the room— not because you were scared of him. But because you knew he would never forgive himself if he hurt you, even unconsciously. It was one of the little ways you were able to try and protect him— by protecting yourself.

But when you were with him, it was hard to imagine being anywhere else. Logan adored you. Every fiber in his being did everything it possibly could to please you. You knew he would always love you.

The shower shut off, hazy steam rolling from the bathroom into the hall. You pulled out a bag of popcorn to make while Logan got dressed. As the kernels began to pop, you heard his heavy footsteps carry him to the bedroom. The opening and shutting of drawers told you he was about finished up.

You were monitoring the popcorn when now-clean Logan wrapped his arms around you from behind.

“Hiya, darlin’.” His voice was low and relaxed. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and nuzzled into your neck. His soapy scent somehow made him more attractive.

“Hi baby,” you said, bringing your hand up to caress the side of his head. His hair was still damp, but you didn’t mind. “I’m glad you’re home. I missed you today.���

“I miss you every day,” he said into the crook, his warm breath brushing against your skin. He lifted his face to meet your gaze.

You tilted your head to give him a gentle kiss, lips tenderly pressing together. His scratchy facial hair grazed your face. The sensation kept you grounded— reminded you that he was real and he loved you.

He cupped your face, turning you toward him slightly. He searched your eyes and found only love in them.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.” He pulled you tight against his chest, letting his strong arms swathe you in his adoration. “I love you.”

You melted into him. What would you ever do without your Logan?

“I love you too, Logan.”

Taglist: @arthurcerverogf @gdsvhtwa vwa @rosiahills22 @lonewolflupe

Join the taglist! || AO3 || Thanks for reading!

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Wade's life and his mental health issues a lot, and I just thought about this. Not only being abused, but his entire brain being made out of cancer, and the fact that oxygen was physically taken from his brain over the course of 2+ days multiple times?

We see him coloring a lot and claim multiple times that he doesn't/ can't read (this is probably a bit, I guarantee he can read), but it had me thinking what if some days were more childish then others as part of his coping mechanisms?

At first, Logans was really confused about why Althea puts up with it until he realizes that it's extremely good for him to just... be taken care of? Praised and given affection for the bare minimum? He thinks it's weird. This wasn't the same man he was fighting with yesterday.

Coming into the living room, he sees Wade sprawled out with crayons and markers all around him with multiple pictures already coloured, his notebook having pages ripped out of it as he kicks his feet and hums.

On the tv, there are cartoons playing. Once in a while, he'll look up at the tv and then go back to coloring. "What are you doing??"

"Hi wolvie. 'm colouring."

"He's behaving, so don't ruin it." Al says. There's pictures by her, and she is holding a box of cereal.

"O..kay??" Sitting down, he's almost too curious to just walk away, picking up puppins so she doesn't ruin his drawings, petting her confusedly.

Sometimes, Al will hold out some cereal in her hand. "Wade." And he will see him shimmy over and take the cereal. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby."

As hes scooting back to his color spot he stops and watches the tv for a bit longer then usual.

"...What.. the fuck." Logan says to her and she gives him a brow raise. "What?"

"What is he doing?"

"He's coloring. And I thought I was the blind one."

"No no I mean.. those aren't murder plans. That's puppins."

"Yes? And?"

"And.. what did you do to him?"

"Treated him like a human being. Give it a try once inawhile." She says, and he comes back with more pictures, climbing in between them with no regard for space as he leans into her.

"Oh thank you. What is it?"

"It's you."

"Oh? How sweet. Do I look good?"

"Mhm!"

"Im glad. How about you show our friend here your amazing pictures. And he better be nice!"

So wade turns and now is leaning on logan as he points to a different picture. One of Logan with Puppins on a leash with a sun in the corner and crappy grass, a hearts all over the place.

At first he wants to tell him to get off of him, but seeing the pictures and how excited his eyes were to show him, it hits him and he understands.

".. uhm.. thank you?" But he puts it back in his hand. "Oh- you want me to keep it?"

Wade nods and starts cleaning up his crayons.

Logan turns to whisper to Al "How long does this go on?"

"About 2 hours or so."

"Why?"

"God only knows, but it helps with his nightmares."

"Colouring helps with his nightmares??"

"Its more then that. Hey sweetheart? Why don't you bring your ponys out."

"Theyre horses."

"Oh im sorry, my mistake. I think logan here wants to play horses."

Logan gives her a look like excuse me? When did I sign up for that? "No.. uhm.. I think im good."

Wade gets this look of sad innocence but goes to get them anyway, beginning to play by himself, brushing them and making them talk to each other quietly. As if he speaks any louder, he would get hit.

Logan groans and is like "Gimme a fucking horse.."

From then on, Logan is quick to understand what's happening and is much nicer to him, starts giving him snacks, buying him actual coloring books, and has pinned his drawings to the fridge each time he's gifted one. His horses name is Buttercup, by the way.

[agere-fics]

cg!logan just shushing his fussy little. "shh shh I know kiddo. I know" with back rubs and ugh I think I just need to be shushed and cooed at right now

pairing: old man!cg!logan x little!reader

CWs: some angst, reader has a meltdown, but logan comforts them

word count: 0.6k

♡

you don't even know how you made it back home. it's even more surprising you made it back safe and sound. you were too lost in the void that is your mind, thinking of your past, your future, things that have gone wrong, stuff that still needed to be done. the present, your current reality wasn't anywhere near your consciousness. the entire trip home, your surroundings were fuzzed, voices were muted, the world dimmed.

why must it be so hard to just live, to be an adult? why were you so incapable of adulting?

you stood at the door frame, just standing there. your bag had fallen from your shoulder, landing on your elbow. your eyes were glazed over. nothing mattered anymore. you were gone.

you heard something, perhaps the freezer ice cube maker going off or the a/c turning on. it was fizzy and soft, barely there.

you heard it again. this time it was louder. it was coming from only a few feet away from somewhere out there.

blurred black spots came into view. it shocked your core and made you blink, the puzzle pieces linking themselves together. the black spots turned out to be black, leather shoes. large ones.

"daddy?" you slowly looked up, making eye contact with Logan. you didn't even realize you were speaking. "daddy…" your lip quivered. one tear flew down, then another… and another. they came out faster and faster until you had niagara falls on your face.

"hey there, bub, come here, come here." your daddy pulled you against him. you grabbed his white button down in tight fists and made a puddle of tears on his left shoulder. "it's okay, kiddo. i'm here."

"i'msorryi'msosorrydaddy!" you bawled. "'m sorry…" you squeezed your eyes shut and buried yourself deep into his chest. you held him tightly, so tightly you thought you'd melt into him.

"it's alright, pumpkin. i'm not mad. it's okay, you're okay." he mumbled into the top of your head, planting kisses on your temples and forehead. "sh, sh, sh, sh, sh." he rubbed your back. "it's okay, darling. you're safe, i'll take care of ya. shh, shh, shh." he let you cry, you needed this, he knew.

logan bent his knees a bit to reach his arm underneath your knees. he cradled you in his arms and brought you to the grey, leather couch. you buried your head in his neck, breathing in the comforting smell of his sandalwood fragrance. you commented one time on how much you liked it and now he never went without it.

he gently scratched your scalp and continued placing smooshes to your brow. "what happened today, bub?" he asked once you calmed a bit.

"i don' know, daddy. i jus', jus… idonknow-" your breathing began to quicken again.

Logan shushed and bounced you on his lap. "it's okay, you don't have to talk about it right now, pumpkin. breathe in… breathe out… breathe in… breathe out, bub, there you go. good job." he dragged your designated, fluffy couch blanket on top of you and loaded up soft lullabies on spotify. he remembered fondly how you showed him the app and your favorite safe stuff on there. he didn't care about newer technology stuff but after you told him how much it helped you, he was determined to learn them.

you fell asleep on his lap after about an hour. your daddy fell asleep, too. your weight on him was soothing, as was your music. you were so peaceful, it made him nod off.

daddy would always be there for you to keep you safe, keep you happy, and to comfort you. he was the best daddy ever.

♡

[alittleplaytime]

Caregiver Logan Howlett Stimboard!!

🐾 🍳 🌲 | 🐾 🍳 🌲 | 🐾 🍳 🌲

🌼 media: x-men

🐝 age appropriate? depends! it's rated PG13 due to violence but is quite a fun watch for most ages regardless. check any warnings and remember, it's always okay to turn something off if it isn't for you! <3

🍯 rqd by: @vampire-bat-baby

🌻 note: i love wolverine so much and anybody who requests him has amazing taste!!

wolverine head canons because i love him:

his go to nickname for you is 100% kid. even before he became your caregiver, he's whipping that name out on the regular

playing with and interacting with wild animals whenever it's possible. talking to a deer through the gates of the estate, petting a stray dog in a parking lot, making noises at cows as you drive past them

he does that thing where he stands in front of your seat and pats his leg and you have to raise your leg to rest it on his thigh so he can tie your shoes instead of kneeling down

learning everything you can about wolverines and logan has to tell you whether he shares certain traits with them, like an interview hehe

he diys your first ever paci because he refuses to ask for help and the beads randomly fall off until he eventually gives in and talks to the others about getting one

eggs are a go to food option when he's cooking - he makes a mean omelette

pointing at the hyenas at the zoo and going "papa!" and he just softly responds "not quite, kid."

[yakichoufd]

[canine-chaos]

Poor Logan‘s passed out drunk

Just forgot there's someone inside with all the beer

@anonymous3848

Heaving himself on the couch with his big gut full of liquid and Wade getting jostled around until noticing that Logan passed out and he's trapped in the confined spaces of his stomach squeezing him tightly

Gave it my best, depression‘s been hard on me :P

[cuntdevil]

★ CYBERGUARD !

thank you for signing up to cyberguard! we heard that you're looking for protection and you came to the right website. cyberguard is aiming to amplify the safety of people through the use and programming of robots to keep you safe. made to answer every beck and call, and more importantly, to provide you safely, we know we've got what you're looking for !

( series demographics. ) x-men, logan howlett, dark and violent themes & sexually mature | minors, ageless & blank blogs: do not interact & 11,667 words !

╰┈➤ robot bodyguard!logan howlett & idol!reader, alternative universe, some political topics, blood & violence, minor character death, possessive/obsessive!logan, erratic behavior, manhandling, rough sex, full nelson, asphyxiation, some slapping, fingering, degredation, unprotected sex because he's a robot, dry humping, sadomasochism, squirting, etc.

( author's note. ) i wrote this in one sitting. no matter how many times ive written robot aus, i always have the most fun with it 😋 !! anyway, this is my first ever wolverine fic, so please be nice to me, im sensitive !!

➤ RETURN TO THE CYBERCORE CATALOG !

You hated last-minute meetings. It makes you feel like you're right back in school again. Sitting around a desk as the authoritative figure looks down at you patronizingly. There's a moment of silence as you're waiting for your punishment, feet tapping agonizingly fast before being prompted to "stop," but not even thirty seconds later, you're right back at it. You've never had to receive punishment, fortunately, but your imagination was a wild one and you'd always see that scenario so vividly in your mind. 

Still, you hate them. Never tell what it was about until you're being beckoned in. Just like at school, where they would never hint at the good news, make you wait anxiously for time on end and send you into a near heart attack because they want to build up the anticipation. When in reality, it was anxiety that they fostered inside of you. You have an idea about what this meeting is about, though, so you shouldn’t completely lie. 

They’re probably going to be trying to conjure some ideas in regards to you and your safety after the attempt made on your life last night. You’ve become very vocal in political matters lately, letting the world know your stance on your current government and they didn’t like your response. You started getting hit with derogatory statements and slurs being spewed left and right, bigoted pieces of shit not afraid to tag you in their hate. Just like you, they shared a passion for their beliefs, but taking it to extremes. 

Building a strong mind and a stealthy rapport, you had become immune to the messages, going about your regular schedule as you had rehearsals and interviews set in place for your recently released music. However, in came the packages made to your company building. They were always vetted before you received them— hence why you’ve received none— but the knowledge that people were so hateful because of your opinions was enough to invoke a shred of fear throughout your body. 

Your management had seen this coming. That someone would try to make an attempt on your life, suggesting that they hired more bodyguards in your favor and limited the amount of fan meets and delayed your tour, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want to show them that you were afraid because that meant they had the upper-hand in all of this. However, things have taken a turn as news has circulated of the events that transpired last night. You’re afraid that you no longer have a choice in this matter anymore. 

The blue lights do nothing in your favor as you sing on stage. No matter how many times you’ve requested that they be replaced by another color, a color that would suit your warm undertones, they still shine on you. You try not to have it seem like you’re a spoiled idol that wants everything to your beck and call. You’re not a tyrant, no, but you’re wondering if that’s what it takes for people to take you more seriously. 

Still, with your bedazzled mic in hand as you perform, you move on through the night. With a wardrobe made to suit your tastes and appearance to the world, the military green cargo pants hang off your waist and the black straps of your lacy thong shows. Paired with a pink bikini top and a ripped up wife beater that barely hides your breasts. Gold accessories best compliment you, but you make sure to keep it simple, afraid to lose any of your precious pieces out in the crowd while you perform. The Timbs are heavy on your feet as you move, but they help complete your look for the night. 

Your hair was in a simple updo, but some of the bobby pins have come undone, not strong enough to hold up your locs that have come to hit your mid back. The stray stands come to get in your way from time to time as you try to interact with your fans. Everything felt ordinary in your extravagant lifestyle. You were an enigma that could move your waist fluidly as you danced, enticing your crowd as they cheered and screamed. Background dancers that sometimes staggered as they forgot their routine.

It was only a split second when the round of shots halted all movement from you. Immediate instincts telling you to drop to the floor, your bodyguards starting to swarm you immediately. Screams of terror and fright came from those on stage and off stage, as you peaked over your left shoulder to try and see through the mountain of men trying to bring you to safety. You manage to get a shot of one of your dancers receiving aid from another and tears well up in your eyes. Another set of shots fire as you can hear one bullet lodge into the lights before you’re being properly escorted backstage. 

Not too long after were you informed that they caught the perpetrator— a middle-aged white man that had somehow made it through the metal detectors. Turned out that the device was faulty. 

They had given you the luxury to spend the rest of the night to yourself, a traumatic experience that not only affected you, but your fans and staff. Guilt started welling up in your chest as it ruminate all night to the point that you were unable to sleep, but that given grace of somewhat solitude (they stuck a few bodyguards inside and outside your hotel room) ended the moment you woke up to a call from your manager summoning you to speak about the matter at hand. 

You had arrived in less than thirty minutes, not bothering to freshen up like you should’ve. A hot and steaming shower could’ve calmed your nerves surely, but that would’ve also left time to ruminate for a bit longer. You didn’t want that. However, arriving on time early also wasn’t the best choice as they have you sitting outside the office door now. Two bodyguards standing by your slouched side. You’re tapping your feet rather annoyingly and you’re sure they want to tell you to stop, the sound becoming obnoxious, but they don’t. 

The moment the door swings open, you’re on your feet before your manager could even process your presence in its entirety. “Is Anna Marie okay? Are the ones that got hurt okay?” 

Your manager, Ororo, takes a moment before letting out a sigh. Shutting their eyes as they take their breath. She looks like she hasn't gotten any sleep either. She knows that evading your questions will get her nowhere, as you’ll continue to hound and badger her about them until you get an answer. She knows you mean well, but sometimes she wants you to be selfish rather than selfless. “They’re fine, love,” she states. “They’re in the hospital and expected to be discharged by tomorrow or the day after.”

You exhale in relief, one bodyguard heading in front of you as the other enters behind. Ororo trails in shortly after as the rest of management has already had their seats taken, yours being the only one vacant still. Pulling out the swivel chair, you take a seat. 

“Hello, dear,” Charles Xavier, the co-founder of X-Men Entertainment alongside Erik Lensherr, speaks with a warm smile. From the times that you’ve had your encounters with him, he was always sweet and kind, making it easy to reciprocate a smile in conversation. With a gentle nod, the corner of your lips turn but never meets your eyes. “I hope you managed to get an inkling of sleep after all that happened last night.”

“I didn’t,” you answer truthfully, meaning to lie, but it just came out. You chuckle, trying to play it off. “But the show must go on.”

“I’m sad to hear that,” Charles frowns. “I know it’s been very hard on you, and I can ensure that we have something in hopes to make this all the more… bearable, for lack of a better word.”

“Yes,” Erik nods, finally speaking as he sits up in his seat. Unlike Charles, his button-up fit snugly against his skin, tightening as he fixes his posture. “I apologize for being straightforward, but I think it’s time that we really focus and put emphasis on your safety. What happened last night should’ve never happened and part of it is on us to blame for not ensuring that all of the equipment worked.”

Unlike the plenty of record labels and entertainment studios that tried hiring you once they heard your voice and saw your incredible talent, you’ve always felt like X-Men was the most genuine of the bunch. They weren’t the biggest of the bunch, but they’ve managed to stay honest with you through it all, helping you to become the star that you are. And you’ve surely proven yourself as many more talents have come to start switching over to them. 

In a sense, they’re right. What happened last night shouldn’t have happened. The faulty metal detector had led to the harming of people and ultimately an attempt on your life. Others would have tried to blame it on the stadium, and despite the role they had to play in it, your company did as well. However, that fact doesn’t make you feel any better about the entire ordeal.

“And we’re all aware about your disdain for more bodyguards,” Erik continues, “however, your safety is our biggest concern and we must prioritize that right now. We’ve canceled the rest of your fan meet and greets and your tour is being delayed.”

There’s a long pause, as though they’re expecting a rebuttal from you. Maybe if you were in your right mind, you would’ve had one come off the top of your head, but you don’t. You’re exhausted, sleep-ridden and restless. Your mind is a mess, thinking about a lot of things, but can’t focus on one. Last night was a fright and though you wanted the upper hand all this time, you’re afraid that they had it all along.

You’re afraid, and you hate this feeling, so you don’t argue back. You don’t have the strength for it and you don’t want to. They were right the first time and if it wasn’t for your strong will and stubbornness the first time around, this could’ve all been avoided. 

Your silence is Erik’s assurance to keep going. “We think it’s best that you receive therapy so that you have a healthy outlet, and we’re hiring another bodyguard.”

“Okay,” you nod in understanding. Everything that’s been said so far has been reasonable enough for you to agree with. “I’m fine with that.”

“You’re familiar with Cyberguard, aren’t you?” Charles speaks, clearing his throat at the end. The question catches you off guard as you tilt your head in question. You’ve heard about Cyberguard, underneath a bigger corporation called Cybercore, it’s an initiative to amplify people’s protection. A bodyguard service, only that the security themselves, being a bulk of metal.

You’ve seen and researched their prototypes, eerily resembling human kind that it’s unsettling. Something that you were also against as you’ve become to question the overall objective of the company. It all seemed like a ploy to get rid of the human race. 

For the first time since this morning, your thoughts become more clear and coherent as you come to understand what Charles is silently trying to tell you. He’s seen your videos, heard the interviews of your political views, but never have you told him about your skepticism with the advancement of technology. However, he’s very perceptive and wise in his old age. 

“No,” you shut your eyes, shaking your head repetitively as you’re adamant on your choice. “I thought you said you would just hire more men— women— but not a robot to babysit me.”

“Yes, my dear,” Charles sighs, knowing that this was going to take a turn the moment he suggested it. “But, things have taken a turn and we’ve had other idols and celebrities use them, and it seems like this is the best solution—”

“What about Scott and Hank?” you gesture to your current bodyguards. “What will you make of them? Or will they just be fired and not have a stable source of income now?”

“No, they will be temporarily placed with someone else,” Charles answers. “You don’t have to have the Cyberguard permanently. Just until everything settles down and you’re safe.”

“I'm safe with Hank and Scott right by my side,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“You once told me that you really appreciated our honesty,” Erik interjects. “So, I'm going to be frank when I say this to you, (Y/N). You no longer have a choice.

“The Cyberguards are more stealthy and faster than the average human. They're built to exceed the strength and abilities of a trained marine. No offense to you, Hank and Scott—” Erik gestures towards them to receive a silent and curt nod from them. “— But, they're regular men in comparison to their abilities. They're valuable men that we don't want to lose, but just like Charles said, your safety is our concern and you're our biggest idol, right now.”

You know that they only want the best for you, but you keep shaking your head. “I don't like it,” you speak barely above a whisper. “Are they even properly tested? What if it malfunctions and something goes haywire?”

“They have been properly tested actually,” Charles nods. “The celebrities that have been assigned one have positively acclaimed their uses and like them quite a lot. If anything goes wrong, you know that we'll be quick to replace it.”

“But—”

“My dear,” Charles tilts his head pointedly. “I hate to say it, but Erik is right. You do not have a say in the matter, not unless you want the next headline in the news to be one dreadful and in mourning.”

With a huff, your shoulders drop. Fuck.

— 

Your new security has a name— Logan Howlett. And you’ve come to realize the appeal to the artificial being. While you have seen pictures of celebrities and their cyberguard, nothing compares to the real thing standing in front of you. Removed from its seven foot box and the styrofoam and wrappings, you would’ve mistaken it for being a real man— an attractive one at that.

You try not to audibly say anything as the handymen continue setting everything up for you in your luxury apartment. Barely home because of your busy schedule, now that you’ve been placed in a witness protection program as you like to call it, you finally have time to give it the homely and comforting touch it desperately needs. And hopefully (it makes you scoff having to say his— its name) Logan Howlett can make itself useful and do some of the heavy lifting.

“Wow,” Hank breathes, impressed by the cyberguard just as you are, though you’d never admit that. “I’m starting to feel less offended about what Mr. Lensherr said. This is a beast of a man.”

“Robot,” you correct him. “You mean, a robot.”

“Well,” he comes to the currently inanimate object’s defense. “It looks human, so might as well—”

“No,” you snort. “It’s not a living thing, so don’t give it the luxury by calling it one.”

“Listen,” Scott finally inserts himself into the conversation, sitting down at your dining table. “I don’t like this as much as you do. You’re right, after all. It does seem like the government wants to get rid of us, but maybe this thing will do you some good. Maybe it can help you more than we were able to.”

Since the concert, the two of your bodyguards who you’ve come close to to the point you consider them family, they’ve never really vocalized their opinions on the matter. They knew it would be too much for you and that you wouldn’t be able to handle it. They don’t want to be reassigned to someone else who might not show the same kindness that you have given them, but there’s enough guilt sitting on their chest as well to cooperate alongside Charles' and Erik’s decision. 

“Just like Charles and Erik said,” Scott continues. “This is temporary. Once people calm down and you’re in a safer position, we’ll be back to you in no time.”

“Do you really believe that?” you frown. “Maybe this is some sort of way to silence me? To play the part as being a public figure that’s silent. This goes against everything I’ve said!”

“Well,” Scott sighs. “Sometimes you have to go against your word in order to get to where you need to be. Plus, they expect you to lock yourself up, so if you stay true to your word—” Scott jabs you in your shoulder, raising his eyebrows in warning “— press won’t release an article about how much of a hypocrite you are.”

“Just…” Hank breathes. “Make sure to keep yourself safe for the time being, okay?”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” you smile in a jesting manner and pull Hank in for a hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

“Oh, you’re so dramatic,” Hank reciprocates the hug, his embrace warm and comforting to you. It lingers for a second longer than ordinarily until he’s pulling away finally. “We’ll be back before you know it.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” you point at him. Hank chuckles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black pantsuit.

“I know you will.”

In another hour, the cyberguard finally lights up. Posture straightening as Logan’s eyes blink open. He has a rather gruff appearance, a scowl settling on his face as he scans his surroundings before his eyes land on you. He’s what the ancient Greeks thought of during the Hellenistic period. Features that seemed to be meticulously crafted by the Cyberguard designers. He has an oval-shaped face, dark facial hair that shapes it magnificently. His hair is styled in a particular way that has you chuckling. Is that why his last name is Howlett? Bouncy hair styled to resemble the ears of a wolf itself. 

His physique is just as spectacular as his facial features, glistening under the light that peers through your windows. His skin is tanned and bulging in muscle that isn’t just for design. His outfit is basic, a white t-shirt that hugs to his skin, a pair of denim jeans and dark boots. Scott reaches for the pamphlet on your coffee table. Leaning to your ear as he stands to your left with Hank at your left, he whispers, “Says here that he’s from Alberta, Canada. Previously a lumberjack—”

“Shut up,” you whisper back, nudging him with a roll of your eyes. Hank snorts, adding his two cents in, “Apparently these bots are designed after real people— ones that have served the country.”

“If you both are still trying to convince me to be fine with this, you’re not,” you frown. “How is that even ethical? And how does that even make sense if he’s Canadian?”

“It is, apparently,” Scott shrugs. “Says that the families consented to this. Seems like he was well remarked during his time.”

“This is absolutely stupid—”

“Hello,” comes a voice abruptly. It’s deep and robotic. “My name is Logan Howlett, previously known as Weapon X by the company Cyberguard. I have been assigned to service (your full name) as a source of safety. It is my pleasure to work with you.”

“That’s our queue to leave,” Scott says, making his way towards the door with Hank, leaving you baffled as the handymen start gathering their belongings and leaving the garbage for you to clean up. 

“Wh–What?” you choke. “That’s it? You both are just supposed to leave me alone with this thing?”

“According to Charles and Erik, yes,” Hank nods. “They said that within the first forty-eight to seventy-two hours, it’s best that the cyberguard gets acclimated to you as it goes through an update to familiarize itself with the… world. Says it’s not safe for more than one other presence while it does so. It’ll view us as a threat.”

“This is complete and utter bullshit,” you mutter under your breath as Scott unlocks the door. He gives you a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “We’ll check up on you when we have the chance. Message us if anything goes wrong. We’ll be available until the week after next.”

“Okay,” you slouch, watching as they give their final farewells. The handymen follow not too long after, leaving you alone with Logan. He simply stands there, watching you and your every move. When you go to the couch, he watches; when you reach for his instruction manual, he watches. From your quick skim of it, you cannot leave the vicinity of whatever area you’re in for the next hour or two so that it can memorize you in your entirety. It’s supposed to perfect its match when it begins to follow your every movement. 

You read through it all, about the questions you ask and what it knows how to do, which is very little outside of providing protection. You learn how to charge it and where it can’t function, informing you of an app that you must download. Reaching for your phone, you do just so as you quickly ditch the paper as you begin to tinker with the app, inserting your bot’s information. You turn on the television to help pass time, but with the meaty man standing before you, it’s hard to focus.

Fortunately, within an hour, he’s finally announcing, “I will undergo a lengthy period of software updates within my system. During that time, you are finally able to move freely, but please make sure not to leave the building whatsoever.”

You finally sigh as you immediately rush to stand on your feet. Your body had started to ache, stretching out your limbs as Logan’s head tilted down and his eyes shut. Underneath his white shirt, a light shines, it’s blue as it starts to hum. 

For the next two days, being on house arrest, you find yourself partaking in the hobbies and tasks that you never had time to do as an idol. It was fun picking up a hook and crocheting to your heart’s content. You didn’t have an idea of what you wanted to make, you just started creating. It brought you a sense of piece as you’ve come to terms about your current predicament. 

Your phone starts buzzing rapidly, multiple notifications coming in at once. You needed to take a break anyway, your hands starting to cramp and you’d hate to get carpal tunnel. You crack your knuckles before picking up your phone. Twitter, Instagram, Netflix with a new movie you’ve been wanting to check out, but most importantly, the Cyberguard app and Ororo. You prioritize Ororo’s message, opening it. You had asked about the condition that Anna Marie was in, one of your background dancers, wondering if the girl would be willing to give you her number so that you could stay in contact with her.

From Ororo: Anna Marie said yes. From Ororo: [ Anna Marie’s Contact Information ] From Ororo: In regards to the fans, they accepted your offer in paying for their medical bills.  From Ororo: But while this is happening, I really want you to look after yourself, love. I understand how you may feel as if this is your fault, but—

You don’t get an opportunity to finish reading the message when you hear a voice inside of your bedroom. “My update has completed and (your full name) is officially under surveillance.”

“Fuck!” you shout, dropping your phone on the bed as you shift around to see the culprit. The Cyberguard itself stands right at your door, taking in your bedroom and its disheveled state. Whenever you start crafting, your room makes sure to hold the evidence of it. The robot takes notice of it, looking at the floor. 

“The current state of your room is not safe to be in,” he states. “It is best that you leave while I prepare it for a more suitable state for you, Miss (Y/L/N).”

If you had paid closer attention to the Cyberguard notification, you would have known that Logan had finished its update, informing you that he was heading to your exact location. You clutch your chest as you finally calm yourself down. For something built to keep you away from fear, it does a very good job at inducing it. 

Of the two days that it spent updating, you’d walk past it and stare at it. You would contemplate on what everyone has told you about the Cyberguard and the pro’s that it presented, but you were adamant on not listening. The two days gave you a chance to really digest everything and your ordeal. If you wanted things to go back to normal, you had to cooperate. You couldn’t keep walking around with a stick up your ass and put yourself in danger again. While you still preferred to have Scott and Hank by your side more than anything else, you were clinging to the hope that this is what’s promised— temporary. So while you had Logan in your possession, you’ll make the best of it— you’ll have fun.

You test the waters, remembering that in the manual, he’s programmed to understand the majority of what you say as if he were a regular human. For everything he doesn’t know, he’ll undergo an update if requested enough outside of his scope. Some people who have Cyberguards in their possession have given you their experiences with them, saying that while they might be initially tasked to protect you and its their main objective, they do evolve into doing more. The idea of it all still creeps you out, sending a chill down your spine, but you start to accept it. You don’t want anyone else to come to harm because of your one-sided ideology. 

“Hello, Logan,” you say, tasting his name on your tongue. “How are you?”

He tilts his head in a way that’s robotic, resembling the movies you watch as the artificial intelligence tries to gain some more understanding. “I am doing well. How are you? Are you doing well?”

A week passes before you’re getting a phone call from Scott. You answer it in a heartbeat. “Took you long enough to call.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly on the phone. We got assigned to someone else sooner than we thought.”

“Excuses, excuses,” you sing, propping the phone in between your ear and shoulder as you stand inside the kitchen, Logan standing not too far away as you’re boiling a pot of noodles. You stir it, making sure not to have it stick to the bottom. “How’re you? How’s Hank doing? Who are you guys assigned to?”

“I’m doing fine,” Scott shrugs on the other line. “I’m with someone that’s actually pretty chill despite his cold attitude to the media. Dutch Duval— you’ve met him before, right?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “In passing. Good to see that he’s warm around you. I didn’t get that luxury.”

“Man,” Scott sucks his teeth. “That sucks. Maybe he’s a he-man woman hater.”

You laugh at the reference. “Nah, maybe he’s cool. He did seem to be in a rush when we were introduced. What about Hank? How’s he doing?”

“He got the short end of the stick,” Scott says. “Hired twenty-four-seven. The asshole won’t even let him get a break for himself outside of pissing, eating and breathing.”

“Damn,” you breathe. “That’s tough. Hope the jackass doesn’t try to keep him permanently though. He’s mine.”

You giggle jokingly, but Scott doesn’t meet your laughter. Only responding with a ‘yeah.’ “You’re asking so much about us, what’s up with you and Logan? You haven’t called us at all, so we can only assume he’s safe and functionable.”

“Yeah,” you hum. “He works. Can’t say much about him, though. Does what he’s told and always trailing me like a lost puppy.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be for too long.”

“Six months is too long in my book,” you scoff. 

“They said three to six months,” Scott corrects you. “You should be more optimistic.”

“I’ll try harder just for you,” your voice is monotone.

“I’ve got to go,” Scott comes to end the call. “I’ll talk to you whenever I can, ‘kay? Call me if you ever need anything.”

“That’s what I have Logan for, remember?” you point. “But, will do. Talk to you whenever.”

Scott doesn’t respond, simply ending the conversation there before you hear the line go dead. The water starts to bubble and you give the pot of noodles a good two more minutes before you’re pouring the majority of the water in the sink. However, as you’re pouring, you carelessly look away, the hot pot getting too close to your skin and burning you. You yelp in pain as you nearly drop the noodles down the drain. “Shit,” you curse, before you feel arms around your waist and pull you back. 

“Scanning area to see the severity of the wound,” he announces, grabbing a hold of your wrist, a flash of blue shining in his brown eyes. “Seems to be a first degree burn. Can be handled with ice or running underneath cold water.”

Still holding onto your wrist, he leads you to the sink as he moves the pot aside and turns on the pipe. This is the first time that you’ve been under any “danger,” rendering you speechless as you watch him in action. Shifting the pipe to blue, he pulls your wrist to the water. There’s a momentary sting before it resolves in a comforting feeling, you exhale as the pain leaves your body. Watching you and feeling how your heart rate eases back down, Logan asks you, “You are back in a calm state. How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” you reply. “I’m fine now.”

Letting go of you, Logan returns back to his previous position. “Due to your carelessness, I deem that cooking isn’t appropriate for you. I will undergo an update in order to learn culinary skills to better serve you.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Due to my carelessness? It was an accident.”

“An accident that resulted in you getting hurt,” he retorts.

“I don’t need you cooking for me,” you shoot back. “I can do it on my own.”

“My update will begin at the start of midnight and last for approximately twelve to twenty-four hours,” he responds. “You may finish making your meals until then.”

You continue watching Logan incredulously, continuously snorting and huffing under your breath about what he said. You're sure that he hears you, but has the knowledge to understand that he doesn’t need to answer back. If it wasn’t for his robotic way of speaking, you could swear you were arguing with a real person. 

Give the robot a chance, they said, you think, resuming fixing your noodles. If I knew it would be so sassy with me, I would’ve fought harder to not have it.

—

“The father is the murderer,” Logan announces from his side of the couch abruptly as your eyes are glued to the screen. Blue lights illuminate from the television screen in the dark as you’re covered underneath a blanket with a bag of Cheeto Puffs residing next to you. Logan sits up obnoxiously straight, a creation of perfection. You’ve managed to change him from his old attire, which proved to be harder as he was stubborn as a mule. Constantly arguing over your safety as he swatted at your hand from reaching for the hem of his shirt. Finally, you managed to convince him that because of the dirt, it could lead to you getting sick and potentially dying. His programming to be concerned over your very being worked as it was able to convince him to shed the shirt and pants. 

Your chest could burst from his incredible physique, his pectorals and abdomen lined and glossed. Every inch of his was thoroughly made as body hair veiled his chest, even more closely replicating a human. Is this how the original one looked like? You thought to yourself before snapping back to reality. Now, he’s sitting across from you, eyes glued to the screen with his arms bulging out in the black shirt all the same as the white. You furrow your eyebrows as you wonder just how he knows that bit of information, possibly spoiling the entire show for you.

“How do you know?” You ask, shoving a few puffs into your mouth and chewing.

“It’s best that you eat one chip at a time to prevent choking,” he advises. Over time, you’ve come to ignore him in moments like this. 

“How do you know that the father is the killer?” you repeat, elongating your question.

“His body language,” he simply responds. “He’s so calm and controlling of the situation that it’s so obvious.”

“But, it could be anyone of them,” you point out. “Everyone of the suspects has a motive to kill.”

“You’re right, but according to my research, it’s the father,” he spoils, causing you to slap the arm of the chair. You groan.

“Ugh, that’s cheating!” you exclaim, throwing your head back. “Now you spoiled the entire show for me.”

“Isn’t the entire objective of the show is to find out who the killer is?” he asks, confused as to why you’re upset. He thought he was doing you a favor by telling you who it was in order to decrease your levels of stress that he gathered from you. “It’s apparent to me that your stress levels have risen since starting this show. I need to decrease them for your safety.”

“Sometimes,” you start, “sometimes stress isn’t bad. There are some things that people are stressed about that aren't going to harm them. Like, television shows, crossword puzzles, and murder mysteries. And, it’s fun to try and guess instead of looking up the answer.”

“Is that so?” Logan’s eyebrows knit together, taking in the information. “I will surely have to update some more to better understand that.”

Recently, he’s been constantly updating for all sorts of absurd reasons. He always retorts that it’s all for your safety and to better understand how to fit your needs, but they’ve become about the most mundane things in life. One of them being the stupid joke, ‘why did the chicken cross the road?’ and how exactly is it meant to be funny. It’s adorable, closely resembling a child learning about the world for the first time and how it functions. You hate to say it, but you’ve come to enjoy his company.

The next time he watches anything with you, he makes sure not to do research in his database, simply going based on what he’s come to learn from your fondness of mysteries and films. 

“It’s going to be…” you twist your lip upward, squinting at the screen as you try to point out the possible murderer. “The pregnant girl.”

“How so?” Logan hums, skeptical of your choice.

“No one suspects the pregnant girl,” you say. “Kind of makes it badass actually.”

“Badass?” He questions your choice of words. “Murder is badass.”

“No, but being the underdog is,” you try to explain yourself. “The unexpected. No one will see it coming as the cops will believe it’s everyone else, but her.”

“That’s…” Logan thinks about your explanation, a blue glint in his eyes. “That’s smart actually.”

“I know right!” you beam. “I’m a genius.”

You’re right. Logan has been updating quite periodically, and every time he does so, it’s quicker than the last. Now a regular update from him only lasts for about an hour or two. He feels more connected to you. He feels more human this way. It started off innocently, trying to better his understanding about the human body and its health, learning that it ranges and differs in each person. Until it comes to other things that he noticed. What you do in your spare time, how you’re an idol and just what that is. Every single abstract thing he deems important and fascinating, he upgrades his database so that he can reference it when he needs to. 

He knows everything about you and what information the internet is willing to offer. He knows the name of your parents, where they’re from and the lineage that follows. He learns that you’re opinionated, very much so, and you have a disdain to creations like him. He can’t quite wrap his mind around it still, seeing how you seem so friendly, but you’ve noticed how you refer to him as an it, naming an object that isn’t alive. 

He comes to learn that you hate the concept of his very being because you feel as though he’s your competition to life itself. But of the two months that he’s been living here, he’s been trying to be equal to you to better keep you safe, to better understand you. There’s no way that he could compare to you when he wants to be your equal.

This fast-paced gain of knowledge makes him all too aware that he shouldn’t feel this way. That he shouldn’t be trying to grasp onto something that he’s not and that he’ll never be, but he was tasked to you. What better way is there to serve as your bodyguard if he can’t understand you in his entirety?

There’s a loud and hefty knock coming from your front door. Perched at the desk inside your bedroom, he watches as you jump up from your bed and dash out into the hall. Raising his eyebrows in question to who could have you so excited, he’s on his feet as he’s right behind you in a matter of seconds, ready to answer the door for you.

“It’s okay, I know just who it is,” you dismiss him, but he butts in and pulls your hand away. 

“I am still tasked for your protection,” he says. “That means answering the door and checking the vicinity for you.”

You no longer argue with Logan, letting him check through the peephole and scanning the two individuals through it— Scott Summers and Henry “Hank” McCoy. His mental files pull up that these two were your former bodyguards as you remember a conversation that you had previously, insinuating that he was only a temporary fix and not tasked to you forever. If he had a heart, he would proudly say it’d drop.

After he continues his check, he concludes that it is safe for them to come in. Opening the door for you and being the first thing they see when they enter. You frown as the door swings open, seeing how Hank and Scott were expecting to see you first instead of their replacement. 

“Oh,” comes from the lips of Scott as he comes unsure on how to greet Logan, so the robot does it for him. He holds out his hand, waiting for the gesture to be reciprocated. “Logan Howlett. Nice to meet the two of you.”

They stare at Logan with amazement, hearing how the cadence in his voice differs tremendously to how he was at first. They’re speechless and unmoving at first until Hank’s the one to break before Scott, taking Logan’s hand to be met with a strong grip. He nods politely, a tight-lipped smile forming on his lips. “I’m Henry McCoy. Everyone calls me Hank, though. This is—”

“I can introduce myself,” Scott nudges Hank, sending a playful glare. “Scott Summers.”

Scott feels the same pain that Hank experienced, taking Logan’s hand for a firm shake. Still, he smiles through it, already wary of the bot as something seems off about it. “I see you’ve kept our girl safe.”

“Your girl?” Logan inquires with the raise of a brow, eyes glancing between the two of them, having learnt the concept of jealousy. 

“Yes,” Scott smiles. “Our girl.”

Tired of the exchange, you remove Logan’s hand, it immediately loosening at your touch as you pull Scott and Hank in for a hug. “I’ve missed you guys so much.”

They both pull you in for a hug, but neither of them miss the way Logan watches them intently, noticing how his nostrils flare and his eyes flash blue. 

—

“I’m starting to understand why you were so hesitant on getting it now,” Hank gestures to Logan, who appears not to be paying too much mind to the two. His eyes glued to the television as he clicks between the shows. Hank’s left eye twitches, gently shaking his head as he watches from a distance. Scott shares the same concerns as well as he keeps some distance from Logan, residing on the opposite end of the couch. Unbeknownst to them that he hears it all. 

“Getting what?” you ask oblivious to what he’s referring to, sitting around the dining area with him. Looking at you in confusion, Hank notices a shift within your behavior. Where you were once angry and stiff at the prospect of a Cyberguard, you’re now seemingly comfortable with it inside your house.

“Logan,” Hank answers. “The cyberguard.”

“Oh,” you purse your lips, it dawning upon you. “Yeah, well, I took your advice and gave it a chance. I spoke to other people that had a cyberguard and they all said that if I gave it a chance, they could be very useful. And he is.”

“But,” Hank squirms, trying to word what he’s about to say perfectly. “Doesn’t it alarm you? How attached to hip he is to you?”

“He’s been like that the moment he finished updating the first time,” you shrug.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I mean, don’t you find him too human? The way he acted when he first came— how he’s watching television right now?”

“He’s just doing what he’s been programmed to do,” you take it so nonchalantly, dismissing Hank’s concerns. “And like I told you, everyone I spoke to said that was normal behavior. They evolve to better suit your needs.”

“I don’t know, (Y/N)...”

“Listen,” you exhale. “I still want you guys as my full-time bodyguards, but I have four more months left because the messages and the threats still haven’t cooled down. So I have to play it cool and go about my days as if it’s regular. He’s not a harm to anyone and if he becomes one, you and Scott will be the first people to know about it.”

You and Scott will be the first people to know about it. 

“Okay, fine,” Hank breathes, your apartment starting to feel uncomfortable. His voice picks up as he pushes out the chair. “Y’know what? We gotta go.”

“Huh?” you question the sudden movement. “Wait— what? Hank, nooooo.”

“Something just came up and we need to be there,” Hank motions to Scott to follow him, which doesn’t go questioned as he gets to his feet as well. Your chair legs scratch against the tile floor as you look from between the two, going after them as they hurry to the door. 

“Don’t be serious, Hank,” you pout. “Scott, please! We barely had any time together.”

“I think two hours was enough time,” Hank remarks, catching you off guard. Mouth going dry, you stop in your trail as your body stills. They make their way out as Scott throws an apologetic smile your way. “See you later, (Y/N).”

Storming to his vehicle, Hank doesn’t wait for Scott to catch up to him, simply unlocking his doors and jumping in. When Scott catches up, he only looks at Hank before waiting for him to speak.

“There’s something wrong with that bot,” Hank states the obvious.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Scott snorts. “What did (Y/N) say?”

“She referred to it as if it was a person,” Hank looks at Scott. “She never usually gives in so easily.”

“Well,” Scott shifts in the seat, reaching for the seatbelt. “We did tell her to try to.”

“Yeah, but even so,” Hank shakes his head. “There’s something wrong with it. Staring us down as if we were stealing his girl. Questioning us— ‘your girl?’ That’s (Y/N)’s living nightmare and she didn’t seem to suspect a thing.”

“You’re right,” Scott mumbles. “We definitely have to report our suspicions. That thing isn’t safe for her.”

“You’re telling me,” Hank exasperates, finally starting the car engine, putting the car in reverse. Pulling out of the spot, Hank looks towards your apartment, immediately noticing the window. There Logan is, glaring right at the two of them.

“And there goes the fucker,” he curses. “Watching us.”

—

When he’s finally outside of his eyesight, he shuts back the curtains and trudges back to your slumped body on the couch. For them to have the nerve of showing up to only put you in an upset state. Logan has never seen you like this before, it elicits a certain reaction that feels carnal and violent. He clenches his fists, nails digging into his faux skin before he feels something piercing it. It’s only a sliver before he retracts and goes back into a calming state, but he felt it— whatever it was. 

“You’re not okay,” he states. “Would you like for me to start the shower for you so that you can relax?”

He remembers you mentioning that the shower was your only time where you got to properly relax and think. The heat of the water calms you down to the point you’d stay until the water gets cold and your skin resembles a prune. He wishes he could experience that feeling with you. He’d need it in a moment like this where he feels something flaring up within his chest. 

Pushing yourself to sit up, you nod. “Yeah, maybe that’ll do some good.”

He does what he suggested, heading straight to the bathroom in order to start the water. Pushing in the plug and sprinkling in the bath salts for you before turning on the pipe. He sets it close to red, waiting until he recognizes the scent of lavender and patchouli and sees the steam starting to form. He teeters and plays with the temperature before the water is at a reasonable height before switching off the pipe, and announcing that it’s ready.

It takes you a moment to get up from the couch, shuffling your way towards the bathroom. You don’t acknowledge his kindness, never thanking him before you shut the bathroom door and twist the lock despite the many times he’s advised you not to. He ignores it, turning on his heel as he heads straight for the door. In his database, he pulls up Henry McCoy and Scott Summers. 

When you get out of the shower, it’s too quiet. However, your mind is fogged with hurt to even care. If anything, Logan’s silence is a blessing right now. It’s what you need. Reaching for your towel and you unplug the drag, hearing the gurgling sound of water traveling down the pipe. A shower was exactly what you needed, though you still feel emotions bubbling on your chest as your sadness turns into anger. You feel foolish for being mad at Hank’s concern, but you knew the moment he stood up that it was bullshit as to why he was leaving.

You had cooperated with everyone. You did what they told you to do for the couple of months that you’ve been placed on house arrest. You constantly checked in with Anna Marie and the rest of those who got hurt, knowing that they’re in better and healthier conditions now that the months have passed. You stayed silent on social media and rarely checked in, but now that you are complacent, just like it was expected of you, Hank had the audacity to be mad at you. 

Logan’s behavior was questionable, you couldn’t doubt it, but you believed it to be the way he was programmed. To be locked inside for so long to the point you barely left the house, and when you did, it was to go on your patio. He had been skeptical of your neighbors, eyeing them down and collecting information in a manner of minutes. He needed to know who could be a possible threat to you, and maybe, just maybe, saying “our girl” had flashed some red flags in his hard drive.

The bath wasn’t enough, you conclude, pulling on a baggy t-shirt and shorts before diving onto your bed. Sleep would have to be the final blow.

—

The claws that stretched from his knuckles were covered in blood and the flesh he cut into. Two lifeless bodies before him laid there as he bent down to rip out a clean piece of fabric. He’s done research on Cyberguard, learning that there is something wrong with him. In his files, none of it mentions the metal claws coming out of his hands. But, that’s the only flaw he has come to accept.

He’s been gone for too long, and while the sky is dark, there’s still a possibility that you’re still awake. He’s grateful to know where you’ve stashed your spare key. However, with one look at him, he’s dirty and you’d know that he’s been out. Having never left your side, he doesn’t want to take a chance seeing you speculate his whereabouts. 

Cleaning the blades that protrude his skin, he finds one thing about his robotic state useful. He has no fingerprints. Inside of Hank’s apartment, it becomes Logan’s personal closet as he rids himself of his clothes and replaces them with something new and similar to what he previously had on. He wipes down his boots, however, not stopping until it shines and fixes his hair. When everything about him seems like nothing is out of the ordinary, he’s finally ready to leave. 

However, through the windows, he starts to see the flashing of red and blue. He’s seen too many films and documentaries to know that it’s not a good sign. He’s grateful that he never planned to leave the way he came in, quickly searching for another escape route. Sliding the patio door open, he shuts it back quickly before making the long jump, not caring how it may affect the inside of him. He was made to withstand many things, so this fall shouldn’t be a heavy detriment. He grunts when he makes the landing, dashing out of the light as he quickly conjures up another route back to you. 

By the time he locks the door, taking a step into your apartment, you’re fast asleep. You’ve left the television on and by the way that there’s no dishes in the sink, you fell asleep on an empty stomach. He huffs at your lack of care for yourself. Luckily, there are leftovers to which he can feed you when you awake. He switches off the television before making a beeline straight to your bedroom door. It’s shut and when he twists the handle, it’s completely dark inside. He inches closer towards you, where he can check on your heart rate, when he notices that it’s at a pace to when you’re waking up. Your voice sounds before he can completely register.

“Logan,” you squeak, voice scratchy as you take a seat in the bed. You reach to turn on your bedside lamp, revealing your disheveled and exhausted state. The t-shirt you’re wearing has been cut around the neck, to the point where it can fall and reveal your breasts. “What have I told you about watching me like a creep?”

You giggle, indicating that you haven’t detected a thing, still completely unaware. Great.

However, his eyes roam you, taking notice of your pert nipples and how they poke through your shirt. Your bonnet is sliding off your head, and your eyes are still burdened with sleep that he now completely understands the sexual appeal. He feels something whirr inside him before he’s taking a seat next to you without a word. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he breathes. “I’ve watched your movies, seen porn and watched men and women have— same sex and the opposite gender.”

He can feel your heart rate pick up as you become more awake, processing his words. “Logan, what—”

“I want to try out what I’ve learned,” he cuts you off. Your eyes widen as it comes to dawn on you that maybe Hank was right. That maybe you have become blinded and completely oblivious to the way Logan acts. You start to question your colleagues and everyone else who's told you about their experiences, always hinting at more, but you never caught on to what they were saying. They said that Cyberguard could always do more, that you could work them to your own benefit. Was this what they meant by that? 

Before you can utter out another word, Logan’s invading more of your space and you can feel the heat of him on you. “Don’t tell me no. Please don’t tell me no.”

Your breath hitches because you should be scared. You should tell me no and part of you does, but you’ve also grown curious. His eyes shine blue at that moment, and you gulp. Your body speaks for you, reaching to cling onto the fabric of his shirt. Something about it feels foreign to your touch, but you don’t question it. You question none of it, only staring into his harsh brown eyes and nodding. “Okay,” you whisper. 

It’s all that he needs to hear for confirmation, pulling you tight within his hold as he wastes no time in putting you on his lap. Staring into your eyes before they traverse down your body, how no matter what, you always manage to shine. He tugs at your shirt, pulling further down to reveal your breasts. Your dark nipples pebbled and sensitive as they scrape against the fabric and your breath hitches in need. Your hips buck into him, hands wrapping around his neck dig your fingers into his skin. It feels soft, the texture closely imitating the real thing. 

“Logan,” you gasp, feeling how his pelvis meets you at your core, eliciting a string of your juices at the friction. Seeing the desire in your eyes, the visceral want and need inside them. It’s all he’s ever wanted. It makes him feel equal— equal to you. His hand reaches to caress your face, feeling the hairs against your skin before squeezing down gently and making your lips pucker out a bit.

“Tell me that you need me,” he whispers, voice growing huskier as his hold gets tighter. “Tell me how much you want me.”

“I need you, Logan,” you give him exactly what he wants, hips rising as your heat only grows. “Need you and want you so badly… It hurts.”

You don’t know what you’re saying, not sure if you’re telling him that he’s hurting you or that if the ache in your sweet cunt needs to be alleviated to the point it hurts. The ladder feels more true as you clench around nothing, a coil in your stomach starting to form in a want that you’ve never experienced before. Staring back into his pupils that shimmer of blue is still there. “Tell me you love me.”

“I—” you choke, not sure if you’re able to muster up those words, remembering that he’s not real. You splutter as his hand wraps around your neck, squeezing to the point you can barely breathe. “I—”

In a matter of seconds, you’re on your back, the wind knocked out of you before you can even process the change of positions. There’s something maniacal about the way Logan looks at you now, the fine lines on his forehead fixed in fury as he searches through eyes, staring down into your pupils for the truth. “Don’t worry,” he assures you. “I’ll make sure you learn to.” 

His lips crash down into yours, feeling the wetness of your tongue as he sucks you in. His weight against you keeps you still, trapping you in your dared to move. Your arms still draped around his neck, cling to him as mewl and whine at the pressure of his weight. Bucking your hips ever so slightly, feeling your arousal cling to your panties and seep down to the crotch of your shorts. 

Is this right? A sense of rationality seeping through you, residing deep in your bones as something nags at your chest. Your sense of morality, what you’ve been using your career to fight for. This goes against it. However, the more you fought, the more people got hurt. Flashes of Anna Marie plaguing your memory as your rapport against Logan weakens in a matter of seconds. You sought for a change for it to only falter and nearly end lives. So is it wrong to give in once more? 

Logan starts to thrust his hips into you, grunts and groans that he replicates from what he’s seen, his motion sensors feeling his appendage rub against your pussy and eliciting something within him— lust. “You’ll be mine by the end of all this. You won’t be needing them.”

You have no clue as to what he’s talking about, focusing on yourself and the need you have for Logan right now. His kiss is rough against your skin, your saliva softening the contact as he hums against you. He nips and bites at you ever-so-often, nearly drawing blood until his sensors go off. He feels like an animal, needing you in a way that’s entirely inhumane. The adrenaline of killing your former pets still coursing through his veins, proud to be your only one as of now. As of forever. 

“Let me have you whatever way I want,” he commands. “Give me permission to.”

There’s no doubt in your mind, quickly to oblige him without a second thought. “Of course. Yes, Logan.”

Your shirt tears, a loud rip sounding through the silence of your bedroom. It’s a true show of his brute strength in your eyes, but for him, it’s not even an inch to what he’s truly capable of. The next he rids you of are your shorts, leaving your flimsy panties for last as he can see the wet patch right at the crotch of it. A thumb presses down on it, just as he’s seen through many videos. However, he’s not gentle when he pushes down on your clit, seeing bubbles starting to form through the cotton. 

You mewl in slight discomfort, squirming underneath him that he slaps your inner thigh and demanding that you stay still. One hand holds you down to make sure of it as he glides his thumb up and down, feeling your wetness. “Mmmm…” he drags, feeling satisfaction at how he’s making you feel. 

He slips your panties to the side, it being the one thing he doesn’t want to damage through this intercourse. His thumb pushing right at your entrance to feel how your body tenses at the invasion. “Relax,” he whispers. “You know I would never bring you into real harm.”

The reminder settles you down as he spreads your legs wider for him, his thumb protruding your walls and getting a taste of what it feels like. The both of you moan in delight, his thick digit pushing until the hilt. However, it doesn’t fill you up like you want and need, ultimately needing more of him. He’s dead set on tormenting you, fucking you languidly and slowly with his thumb. He basks in the squelch of your pussy, how your arousal bubbles and drips out of you and down in the crevices of your ass. 

“Logan,” you whine. “More.”

“Do you think you deserve it?” he retorts, pulling out his thumb to glide against your folds and back up to your clit. “Do you think you deserve more?”

“Yes, I do,” you nod meekly. “Know I do.”

“Is that so?” he hums, and you can only nod some more. He chuckles, thinking about Hank and Scott once more. How you were so eager to invite other men into your home. Not considering him and how he’d feel to other men around you. Did you really care so little about your own safety? But, he’ll still give you what you want— what you need. Maybe it’ll be the best medicine to heal you. 

Pressing his thumb against your lip, he pushes down as they stay closed. “Open,” he commands. “Taste how wet you are for me.”

Just the obedient girl you’re proving yourself to be, you open up your mouth. Immediately, your tongue swirls around his thumb, cleaning off your arousal. Eye contact remains with him, eyes seeming to sparkle as you hum and moan around his digit. A violent groan builds up from the pit of the chest as he can only imagine the other men you’ve been with. It’s enough for him to yank you by the waist into him and flip you around, treating you as if you’re a ragdoll. 

Your back is to him now, pressed against his chest. You can still feel his clothes on, realizing just how vulnerable you are as he moves you against his clothed state. His arms wrap around your neck, bulging out to cut off the flow of air. Veins protrude and it becomes dizzying as he whispers in your ear. “You’re a nasty little slut, I hope you know that.”

Everything about this is exhausting. The quick and swift changes in emotions, how he goes from being needy and wanting to manhandling you as if you’re nothing. From wanting you to tell him that you love him to degrading you. You can’t wrap your mind around it as his grip tightens around you and your vision becomes fuzzy. He fluctuates with his hold, knowing just when you’re about to lose consciousness and not. He’s coming to find it to be a fun game, toying with your safety. 

“Only I should be the cause of your pain and pleasure,” he seethes into your ear. “Do you hear me?”

When you don’t respond, you feel a sting against your pussy. You yelp out at the pain as he repeats himself, “do you hear me?”

It’s menacing and guttural to the point where you’re tearing up. You nod as you croak out, “yes.”

“You’re going to take what I give you, okay?” He waits for your approval. “Just like you promised from before. No going back on your word because you’re a good girl.”

He affirms this before he’s rolling his hips, making you feel the bulge against your ass. One arm around your neck as your hands cling to it as the next pulls your hips into him. He continues at this until your breathing is erratic and he’s done his tormenting. 

Then he shuffled around to tug down his jeans, ridding himself of both the garment and undergarment, but not before kicking off his boots. They fall to the ground with a clunk as his jeans pool at his feet and he can hear them rubbing together before they’re successfully off. You can feel it against your back, how it’s large and inhuman. Eyes that bulge as you arch your back.

“Logan, you’re so big,” you gasp. “Don’t know if—” 

He hushes you with another smack, this one softer than the previous. Shhh follows after as he calms you. “You promised, didn’t you?”

You can only hum out a response as the bicep around your neck tightens. 

“You’re a strong girl. It’ll fit.”

Arms reaching underneath your legs, holding underneath the joints of your knees to lift them up to your chest. He pulls you up, making you rise until he can slot his dick in between your folds and your underwear. With both of his arms occupied, he can only have faith within the band of fabric to keep his length in place. Strings of your juices drip down to the sheets of your bed, small droplets being absorbed as you coat his cock in your essence. A sweet nectar that many people want to taste, but he’ll be sure to prevent it from happening. 

He bounces you on his lap, letting go of your legs and pressing himself further against you. There’s many things that he wishes himself to do. Like the ability to get hard, to be able for you to feel just how you make him feel. For precum to leak from the tip of his cock and not the illusion of a hole just for the accuracy of his design. He wants you to feel him twitch inside you before he cums, shooting ropes of white as your pussy milks him. However, he can only align his cock with your entrance and make you feel good. But, how is he supposed to feel equal to you if he can’t replicate a real man?

He takes his time entering you, his head testing the waters before he’s entering inch by inch. He can press into your stomach, feeling where his head stops as he can’t fully sheath himself inside you. Just as you had claimed. He was too big. Still, he upholds the power as his arm goes to wrap snug around your legs, lifting them up to push into your breasts as the next blocks you from smooth breathing. 

He’s no gentleman as he’s painted himself to be, laying on his back and pulling down with him. Drilling into your cunt with a vice grip around your body that you constantly are on the very fine line between passing out and consciousness. Still, your mind stays warped within the pleasure, focusing on how it’s making you feel and wanting him more. Your room is filled with the sound of yours and his moans intermingling with the slaps of your wet pussy and his dangerous thrusts as the stench of your cunt seeps through the conditioned air. Your cunt squelches, queefing every so often as it gets wetter. Tears staining your face as you call out his name and begging for more.

You cry out in pleasure, feeling how his cock beats down at your walls, kissing at your cervix. Constantly hitting that one spot inside of you that he has you seeing stars. You’re starting to choke out your moans, trying to make a coherent sentence out to him. “Lo-Lo— ‘m g’nna…”

You don’t have to finish what you’re about to say for him to know. Your body convulses and pulsates as he continues, keeping the same vigorous pain as he’ll have your pussy bruised and battered by the end of it. “C’mon,” he groans into your ear. “Cum like the good little bitch that you are.”

With a few more thrusts, a translucent mess splashes from you, splattering at great lengths from your sheet covers and down to the ground. Your body vibrates and spasms as Logan’s hold on you eases and he lets your body calm down. You’re breathing heavily as your throat’s gone dry and the dark and splotchy vision clears up. You exhale sharply as you come to terms with everything. Your naked body and Logan’s cock inside of you. He’s planting chaste kisses against your neck and jawline, holding you close to him. 

“Now you’ve got everything you need.”

—

The next morning, you wake up clean, except for your sheets. You can still feel dampness from your release as well as the arms that hold you close to them. You let out a yawn, squinting as the sun dares to peek through the blinds as you see your phone lighting up and over one hundred messages flashing over it. Some from Charles, others from Erik and the rest from Ororo. Glancing at Logan, he remains in slip mode, the light where a heart would be lighting up yellow. 

Plenty of the notifications are from incessant missed calls that rang from five in the morning until now before an urgent message reading, Call as soon as you wake up, from both Charles and Erik. The next set of messages you check from Ororo, having called you back to back as well before these rows of messages.

From Ororo: From what I’m guessing, you’re asleep and your phone is on silent. When you get this CALL ME. From Ororo: You’re still not up and it’s important that you know what happened. I’m sorry. From Ororo: [link attached]

You click on the link, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, absentmindedly clicking the link. The video you’re brought to is on medium volume, but it seems like it’s at full volume the moment it starts playing, just as Logan’s light turns to green.

This just in! Two men found dead inside of their shared apartment home. Neighbors have reported loud and worrisome sounds at the dead of night, saying it sounded like a very brutal fight before screams of pain sounded through walls. When police arrived, the two bodies were found in such a gruesome state. 

They were seen to have three deep gashes in their skin, closely resembling an animal attack before being impaled in the chest. It’s speculated to be an animal attack, but authorities are speculating as the escape route seemed to be through the balcony door and having jumped five stories down. They’re battling between who or what could’ve done such a monstrous thing. 

The two victims that were identified were Henry McCoy and Scott Summers—

Your phone is snatched from your hands as you choke out a sob, having caught a glimpse of their faces on screen. While Logan would typically tend to your tears and heartache, the news outlet blinds him from doing so as he turns off the video and sets your phone down on the opposite side of you and out of reach.

“You shouldn’t burden yourself with such things in the early morning.”

( author's note. ) my back mfing hurts from writing this pretty much all day. i hope you guys love it because i really enjoyed writing this.

[bamboobooshark]

Hiiii I just found your page and omg I love your writing so much. I actually did get into an argument with my friend, and I deactivated one of my intas cuz of it (long and stupid story) but it was really comforting to read Logan wanting to coddle and comfort someone yk

You can ignore the request if it makes you uncomfortable, but do you think you can write something where the reader doesn't really know or understand what regression is or why they feel this way so they isolate when they feel childish or playful or start annoying people without realizing it and Logan who loves and cares for them starts to miss them and is like wtf and helps them.

Thank you for your writing I hope you have an amazing day.

LOGAN HOWLETT X LITTLE!READER

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ☁️་༘ COMFORT & CONFUSION : 991 WRDS

<RATING : PG, VULENRABLE MOMENTS, CRYING>

A/N : Just a little note for Anon; I am so heavily greatful that my fic was able to bring you so much comfort. I hope you’re recovering well from what happened. Apologies for taking so long to get this out for you, I always get caught up in spilling and detailing my concepts that end up becoming full fics. I truly hope this fic is what you were hoping for <3 !!Warning for a pinch of angst and crying!!

You’ve been isolating yourself in your room since you woke up. You feel so confused with yourself, with your mind, with your feelings. You press your back against your headboard, legs crossed one on top of the other. You gently rock back and forth while struggling to understand how you’re feeling; why you’re feeling the way you do. Yeah, you’ve got a ton of energy right now. You feel like you’re letting your inner child express itself in your mind, yet you’re holding them in as best as possible. You’re terrified of annoying anyone by releasing those feelings, espically Logan. You bite and chew at your lips nervously as you rock a bit faster. Why? That’s the only question you can ask yourself right now. Over and over, your mind fills itself with nothing but confusion of why you feel like this, why you yearn to be so childish, why you’re scared of annoying Logan when he loves you unconditionally.

You’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts as the man knocks on the door. “Everything alright in there, kid,” he asks with his face pressed to the wood. God, the way he calls you kid only makes these foreign feelings harder to suppress. You choke back your tears before responding. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just feeling a little down,” you reply with a tone that’s involuntarily soft and childlike. Logan raises his brows at the way you speak to him. You’ve never kept yourself away like this, but he’s been noticing a pattern lately. You isolate yourself the moment you wake up, beg him to leave you alone, and then come out quiet and reserved. He continues to press because he misses you so damn bad. He’s willing to do absolutely anything to get you in his arms again. “Please tell me what’s wrong, bub. I promise I’m not going to be upset with you,” he pleads with the softest tone he can force out of his throat. “I mean, I’d be more upset if you didn’t trust me with whatever you’ve got going on,” he chuckles akwardly.

You wipe your tears before inviting him in. The second he realizes that you’re crying, his lips form a frown and his eyes give you a sympathetic gaze. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry, baby. I’m right here. I’m not leaving, I swear,” he scrambles to reassure you, sitting on your bed and pulling you into his arms. You let your cries get thicker once you lean into his. He smells so fatherly. His large, calloused hands make your entire body shiver with comfort. Everything about him is sending an unknown, unfamiliar feeling that you’ve been yearning for. You can’t even begin to imagine what to call it, but your body allows you to relax under his touch. “That’s it, baby. Let it all out. Tell me what’s up once you’re ready to,” he coos as his hands rub up and down your back. You nod against his chest, letting the thumping of his heartbeat soothe you.

You pull back from his embrace, but hold his hands in your own. His touch is what you’ve been needing. Scratch that, you’ve been needing Logan in general. You attempt to try and explain things, but you end up stammering and stuttering. “I’m sorry, Logan. I just — I don’t even know what to say,” you apologize while looking away from him. He squeezes your hands gently and sighs. “You don’t need to apologize, kid. I’ll be here as long as you need me to be. If I have to wait here for hours for you to get your thoughts together, I don’t mind. You know that, bub,” he tells you sincerely. You look at him and give him the best smile you can considering the circumstances.

You take a deep, shakey breath after a few minutes of silence before attempting to describe your feelings. “I’ve just been feeling like a child lately. I’ve had so much energy and excitement and joy for no reason. It’s so confusing and it’s scaring me Lo, it really is. I just want an answer,” you explain to him. His thumb rubs against your knuckles lovingly before he presses a silent kiss to your forehead. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry. You’ve got such a big heart, kid. I need you to understand that you don’t need to be afraid to let those feelings loose around me. I’ll love you no matter what,” he promises while holding your face in his hands so you’re looking at him. You nod gently, eyes glossy and wide from the way he comforts you so paternally. “I understand,” you mumble back, letting that same childlike voice slip. Logan gives you a gentle smile, failing to hold back a snicker. “Well would you look at that. You sound so little, baby. It’s adorable,” he says while attempting to hold himself back from squeezing your face. You giggle softly and shake your head no. “It’s not adorable, Lo,” you protest. Your stomach knots as you allow yourself to slip into this pure, innocent state. As soon as Logan begins to coddle you further, that knot unties itself and becomes a flutter in your heart. “If you deny anything else I say, I’ll have to find a way to get back at you for it. You’re too damn cute to not accept that you are,” he playfully threatens. “C’mere you sweet thing,” he growls as he pulls you into his lap. “No! Let me go,” you giggle sweetly, squirming in Logan’s arms despite wanting to stay right where you are forever. “I’m not letting you go, kid. You’re mine. My sweet little thing that I’ll protect with my life,” he declares before starting to pepper your face with soft kisses. You can feel him smiling like an idiot against your skin from the sound of your giggles, the way you smile, and the warmth of your face caused by him.

[loganhowlettsmybf]

Ahhhh loved your summit alphabet!!!!! Are you considering doing a sfw alphabet for Logan???

WAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! and yeess there it is

SFW ALPHABET

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: none

a/n: logan<3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

logan isn’t overly affectionate in public, but in private, he’s deeply caring. he shows affection through small gestures—touching your back as he walks by, holding your hand or making sure you’re comfortable and safe. he expresses love through actions more than words.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

as a best friend, logan would be the type to drop everything to help you, even if it means getting his hands dirty. your friendship would likely start in a high-stress situation where you’ve proven yourself to him. he’s protective, and he might not be the most talkative, he’s always there to listen.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

logan enjoys cuddling more than he would admit. he’s often wrapping himself around you. his cuddles are making you feel completely protected in his arms. he’s not overly clingy, but he does appreciate the closeness.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

logan has lived a long life, so the idea of settling down appeals to him, though he struggles with the concept. he’s not much of a cook, but he’s practical and can handle basic tasks like fixing things around the house. cleaning isn’t his strongest skill, but he’d do it without complaint if it made you happy.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

if logan had to break up with you, he would do it face-to-face, straightforward and honest. he’d likely keep it brief, explaining his reasons without dragging it out, but he’d still make sure you knew it wasn’t your fault.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

logan has a complicated relationship with commitment, given his past. he’d be hesitant to propose, needing to be absolutely certain before making that step. once he does commit though, he’s all in.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

logan can be incredibly gentle, especially with those he cares about. he’s aware of his strength and is careful not to hurt you, whether physically or emotionally. he’s emotionally sensitive, despite his rough exterior, and would go out of his way to ensure you feel loved and respected.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

logan isn’t the type to give casual hugs often, but when he does, they’re meaningful and comforting. he hugs with his whole body, wrapping you up and holding you close, as if he’s afraid to let go.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

logan takes a long time to say “i love you,”when he finally does say it, it’s usually after a significant event or moment where he feels the need to express his feelings. when he does finally say the words, they’re deeply sincere and heartfelt.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

logan can get jealous, especially if he feels someone else is trying to encroach on what he considers his. his jealousy isn’t explosive, but it’s palpable. he’d probably respond by getting a bit more possessive, staying close to you and making it clear to any rival that you’re taken.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

logan’s kisses are intense and passionate, often rough, but always full of emotion. he loves kissing your neck, shoulders, and lips, savoring the connection. when he’s feeling particularly tender, he might press a soft kiss to your forehead or the back of your hand.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

logan has a soft spot for kids, though he might not seem like the type at first. they often bring out a protective, fatherly side in him.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

mornings with logan are usually quiet and unhurried. he’s not a morning person, but he enjoys waking up with you. he’s more likely to wake up early if you’re there with him, appreciating the simple pleasure of your company.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

nights with logan are intimate and peaceful. after a long day, he enjoys unwinding with you, whether it’s watching TV, having a drink, or just talking. he’s the type to fall asleep with you in his arms, holding you close until morning.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

logan is slow to open up about his past and feelings. he’ll open up slowly, sharing bits of his past and his feelings over time. it might take a while before he fully trusts you with his deepest secrets.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

logan is known for his temper, but he can be patient when it matters, especially with those he cares about. if you’re important to him, he’ll give you all the patience he can muster.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

logan remembers the important things. he’s not one to forget birthdays, anniversaries, or the little things that make you happy. he might not remember every tiny detail, but he’s surprisingly attentive and makes an effort to keep track of what matters most to you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

logan’s favorite moment in your relationship would likely be something simple yet profound—maybe the first time you made him laugh, or the first time he realized he could trust you. those small, intimate moments are what he treasures most.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

logan is extremely protective. he’d do anything to keep you safe, even if it means putting himself in danger. however, he also appreciates when you show concern for his safety, finding comfort in knowing you care about him as much as he cares about you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

logan isn’t one for grand gestures, but he puts in effort where it counts. he’ll remember anniversaries, pick out gifts with care, and make sure that whatever he does for you, it’s meaningful. he might struggle with everyday tasks like planning dates, but he’ll always try his best for you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

logan has some bad habits, like his tendency to shut down emotionally when things get tough. he also has a bit of a drinking problem, especially when he’s dealing with his past. he doesn’t always communicate well, which can lead to misunderstandings.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

logan isn’t overly concerned with his looks. he’s confident in his rugged appearance and doesn’t spend much time worrying about it. he cares more about being physically fit and capable than about how he looks, though he does appreciate it when you compliment him.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

logan has lived a long, often lonely life, so he would definitely feel incomplete without you. you bring a sense of peace and grounding to his chaotic world, making him feel whole in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

logan has a habit of collecting small, seemingly insignificant items that remind him of you. he might keep a small trinket or mementos from a date with you, tucked away somewhere safe where he can look at it whenever he needs a reminder of the good things in his life.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

logan has a strong dislike for dishonesty and manipulation. he’s had too much of that in his life, and he values honesty and straightforwardness.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

logan is a light sleeper, always on alert even when he’s resting. he’ll often wake up during the night to check on you, making sure everything’s okay. when he does sleep deeply, it’s usually because he feels completely safe with you by his side.

[kaydens-agere]

caregiver logan little wade headcanons im actually begging

Caregiver Logan Howlett/Wolverine and Regressing Wade Wilson/Deadpool Headcanons!!

Headcanons below the cut!! Thank you so much for the request, I had sm fun writing these :D This does have a bit of swearing so if you're uncomfortable with that, please proceed with caution or don't read!!

⚔️-Wade was surprisingly open about it with him when they first met, he didn't go into too much detail, but he just kinda said "yeah I regress sometimes when bad shit happens." and left it at that. Logan didn't push it because he knows it can be a sensitive topic (as a secret little himself)

❤️-It first happened with Logan after the party after saving their universe. After everyone left, he ended up dropping from the exhaustion. Logan immediately fell into "dad mode" as Wade likes to call it, pampering him constantly and keeping him safe.

⚔️-Logan was very surprised by Wade's... colourful language while he's little. Logan half expected him to act the complete opposite of how he normally does. But no, he's still Wade. And he still has quite the mouth.

❤️-Logan is extremely gentle while Wade is small, often scooping him up and peppering him with kisses. Wade absolutely loves it, it always sends him into a fit of giggles.

⚔️-Logan has an abundance of nicknames he likes using for Wade. Some of them include bub (obviously), kid/kiddo, baby, his kit, etc. Sometimes he'll call him a little shit, but it's said playfully and Wade knows he's joking (that's nothing compared to the insults that Wade can throw at him).

❤️-Wade starts inviting him to his tea parties. They spend a lot of time on the living room floor with his many tea sets, talking about the latest gossip among Wade's plushies. Al will join in when she's home.

⚔️-Heres how the tea parties normally go: "Mary started yelling at Chrissy the other day." "Oh yeah, bub? Whys that?" "Because Chrissy was cheating on her boyfriend!" "Oh, motherfucker. I knew something was up with her."

❤️-Logan often takes Wade to the park, or just big open areas to run around in, he either starts dragging Logan around with him or forces him to play tag. He has a lot of energy that he needs to get out, and it's hard to do that when he's cramped up in the small apartment. They always take Mary Puppins with them.

⚔️-Sometimes Wade will struggle with his scars when he's small, physically and mentally. Sometimes they'll burn and itch and it's a lot harder to deal with when he's tiny, so all he can do is curl up and cry. However, Logan always seems to know what to do, he'll always run him a nice warm bubble bath to ease the pain. If he's struggling mentally, it's usually him thinking that he's too ugly or scary to be loveable. Once again, Logan is there. This time, he'll offer lots of reassurance, cuddles and kisses all over his scars, which will usually make him feel a bit better.

❤️-Wade is an absolute spoiled brat, and Logan definitely feeds into it, no matter how hard he tries not to. If they're at a toy store, Wade will show him a toy he really likes, and if Logan says no, you best believe that Wade will throw a tantrum until he gets it (He always does. Logan's not proud of it, but he hates seeing his baby cry).

⚔️-Wade calls Logan "Papa" whenever he's small. It shocked him when it first happened, he didn't think he was worthy of that title. Logan definitely did not have to have a cry in the bathroom after that. /s

❤️-Logan can have doubts sometimes about whether he's doing a good enough job or whether he's even worthy enough to be trusted that much by someone. Whenever Wade senses this, he'll draw him a bunch of pictures and give him plenty of kisses and tell him that he's the best papa in the world, which makes Logan feel all warm and fuzzy.

⚔️-Logan rubs his head on Wade's a lot, it's his way of "scenting" him. He wants everyone to know that Wade is his baby, no one else's. It's comforting for Wade as well, he likes the sensation of his papa's fluffy cat hair rubbing against his face.

[louloulemons-posts]

Saw that alphabet headcanons are starting to become popular and I was wondering if you could do both versions of the alphabet too ( SFW and nsfw alphabet head canons) for Logan?

SFW Alphabet

Wolverine x Reader

authors note : this is such a cute idea! i love reading these so much - i probably won’t do a NSFW one because i don’t write much content like that 🫶🏻

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A = Affection

(how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

heres the thing, in public he’s barely affectionate at all, it’d be a hand on your waist or rubbing his fingers on your shoulder. in private he’s the opposite, he is all over you like a leech, cuddles, kisses. at one point you had to stop him holding your hand when you went to pee.

B = Best Friend

(what would they be like as a best friend? how did the friendship start?)

just like he is with everyone, logan is quite standoffish with you when you first meet. you met through charles at the mansion, but after a week or so, and many smiled, logan warmed to you. you became really close really quick, talking about anything and everything.

C = Cuddles

(do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

logan is an cuddle bug, he loves a hug. as soon as you get, or him, get back from a mission he’d be on you. wrapping his arms around you and holding you close, your own legs wrapped around his waist.

D = Domestic

(do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

as soon as you and logan get together, he knows he wants to be with you for the rest of your lives. he wants a simple life, no more fighting, a little home away from everything. he’d be better at cleaning than cooking, you’d cook and he’d wash up and dry.

E = Ending

(if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

logan would never want this, it would be worse comes to worse. you were in danger. he’d hate it, say it was to protect you, which would break your hate, and in turn you’d hate him in a way. but he’d always come back - logan always did.

F = Fiance(e)

(how would they feel about commitment? how quickly do they want to get married?)

he’d probably wait a year or two, promising to love you forever. you’d have a small private wedding a few months later, with your closest friends and wade would fight to be bestman.

G = Gentle

(how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

he’d learn to be more gentle with you, forever gentle with you, never wanting to cause any harm. soft touches and words are key for logan.

H = Hugs

(do they like hugs? how often? what are their hugs like?)

as said above, big bear hugs, holding you close. it’d be secure, you’d feel so safe when he hugs you. rests his head on top of yours and presses his lips on your hair constantly.

I = I love you

(how fast do they say the L-word?)

either a couple months into the relationship, or as he’s first asking you out - no in between.

J = Jealousy

(how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

ha. so yeah he is kinda jealous, he’s just scared you’ll find someone better than him (logan that’s not possible btw babe), he’d become more touchy or death glare anyone who looked in your direction - definitely would end up in you comforting, kissing all over his face and telling him how much you love him.

K = Kisses

(what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they liked to be kissed?)

kisses with logan are always full of love and passion, his favourite place to kiss you is your lips of course, but does place his head in your neck and kiss your pulse point on a regular. he’s a sucker for forehead kisses for sureeee.

L = Little ones

(how are they around children?)

he’s scared of them.

when he meets laura that doesn’t really change, but my god he’s a good dad and you take her in as your daughter - he absolutely adores the both of you and seeing you together melts his heart - but not when you join forces and gang up on him.

M = Morning

(how are mornings spent with them?)

slow and soft. waking up slowly with kisses all over your face, shoulders and back. gentle whisperers to bring you from your slumber and hushed voices when you wake up.

N = Night

(how are nights spent with them?)

soft giggles, hushing you to sleep, but obnoxiously loud laughter if you’re quiet for too long. your head rested on logan’s chest, feeling it shakes as he tries to hold in a giggle. but soon wrapped around one another, fast asleep.

O = Open

(when would they start revealing personal things? do they say it all or tell you slowly?)

logan doesn’t know why but he feels so comfortable about you, he speaks about his childhood, his brother, the wars, the adamantium … everything. he tells you everything, you hold his closely and quietly as he does so, running your fingers through his hair, just letting him talk.

P = Patience

(how easily angered are they?)

… this is logan we’re talking about. he doesn’t get angry at you, annoyed yes, if you hurt yourself doing something silly. his claws slip out with ease when he sees someone making you upset or uncomfortable, not even thinking before acting.

Q = Quizzes

(how much do they remember about you? do they remember every detail or forget everything?)

he would not forget a single thing about you, even silly small things. you stopped believing in the tooth fairy at 7? he knows it. your favourite smell is vanilla? logan’s got a vanilla candle. you love green? guess what? he’s got you a green blanket.

R = Remember

(what’s their favourite moment in your relationship?)

your first kiss for sure, he could never forget it, he was being broody and rambling about issues you may face in the future. you just grabbed him by his worn flannel and kissed him straight on the mouth - he instantly shut up.

S = Security

(how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they want to be protected?)

so fucking protective, he’d protect you with his life. you walk on the inside of the path away from the cars. an overly bark-y dog approaches, you’re behind him. you feel uncomfortable, claws are drawn.

logan needs mental protection more than anything, whatever he tells you in confidence, stays with you, it stays quiet, never used as an insult, it’s precious and makes him him.

T = Try

(how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

as said above he never forgets a thing about you, so if you ever make a passing comment, he will remember it. gifts are forever heartfelt and unique. anniversaries are quiet and just for you, same with dates, never one the same. and every day tasks, logan will sit you down and do everything if you asked.

U = Ugly

(what are some of their bad habits?)

takes an ungodly amount of time doing his hair. that’s it.

V = Vanity

(how concerned are they about their looks?)

okay okay, his outfits are always great. he looks good all the fucking time, but he’d look great in a bin bag. i think he throws on whatever … but as i said before … hair.

W = Whole

(would they feel incomplete without you?)

oh 100% a second without you is too much. he wouldn’t know what to do with himself, he’d feel lopsided if he was on a solo mission.

X = Xtra

(a random head cannon)

scared of frogs. you’ve chased him around the mansion with one.

Y = Yuck

(what are some things they don’t like, in a partner, or just in general?)

someone who doesn’t listen, like at all, just someone who is totally self obsessed. he couldn’t deal with that.

Z = Zzz

(what’s a sleeping habit of theirs?)

BLANKET HOG

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

this was so much fun to do, thank you for the request i loveeddd it.

leave any requests, they’re slowly coming i promise 🫶🏻

[techwrecker]

platonic Logan howlett x kid reader where Logan takes the kid under his wing because the reader didn’t have like, parents anymore???

Intentions (Mutations)

Summary: After living on the streets for years, Logan takes it upon himself to make sure you're taken care of after your mutation develops.

Genre: Fluff?, light angst?

Tags: SFW platonic!logan, gn!kid!reader, not really fluff but not really angst, logan goes dad mode again

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: N/A (please let me know if I missed any!)

A/N: Thank you for sending in the ask! I hope you enjoy what I have! This is the longest piece I've written yet. Please keep in mind, that I jumbled the already incoherent timeline a little bit- I hope that's okay! Let me know if there are any grammar/spelling errors please. as always, reblogs, likes, & comments are always appreciated ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

AO3//Taglist Sign-up

Other: dividers by @moosgraphics & @bunnysrph (tysm!)

The man standing at the mouth of the alley wasn't the usual kind of grungy, scoundrel that you were used to seeing. He was wearing a slick leather jacket over a pristine, white undershirt. His facial hair was well-kept and stylized unlike the scraggly, long beards that most around here men touted. His hair was seemingly done with a little tuft sticking out atop either side of his head. He could have just had bedhead or hat-hair, but they were too pointed to not be intentional. Ever since you were a kid, your intuition had never led you astray.

'''D'jya hear me, kid? I asked what the hell are y'doin' out in the cold all alone for." His voice was rocky and gruff, but it wasn't slurred or subdued by the weight of yellowed alcohol. You were surprised he even spotted you, huddled up against the frozen dumpster in the alley.

"Got nowhere else to go." You shrugged, attempting to retain the illusion of being unconcerned despite the wicked chill seeping beneath your layers. It wouldn't be long until the bite of winter dug its way deep into your body, carving you out and rattling your bones.

Living on the streets alone wasn't easy, especially in the winter. It had been about three years since your parents disappeared. You were yet but a tender 11 years old. At first, it was nice not having anyone around to make you get up early and go to school. But the days turned to weeks. Crying yourself to sleep night after night snuggled in deep between the fluffy pillows and lifeless covers of your parents' bed became your routine.

Eventually, the police came around after negligence reports by the school. You knew if you stayed alone any longer, you'd be taken away by force, sent off to live with strangers. Something in your stomach made it turn, telling you to run away. That bad things would happen if you stuck around. So, you packed up what your tiny frame could carry and struck out on your own, leaving the only home you had ever known.

"C'mere." He beckoned you out of the shadow with one hand and stuck it back in his jacket pocket. "Y'r gonna freeze if you stay out here any longer."

Under normal circumstances, letting strange men call you towards them late at night was a death wish, but there was something deep in your gut that told you it was safe to trust him. Besides, anywhere had to be better than in an odorous alley behind a slimy bar.

You shuffled to your feet, gripping the threadbare blanket tighter around your shoulders. You were just about to outgrow it. The ragged edge barely touched the tops of your feet anymore. Despite the trusting feeling that had wedged itself in your mind, you kept one eye on the man as you hoisted your grimy backpack onto your shoulder.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, y’know," you said, cautiously getting closer to him.

"Yeah, well, you're also not supposed to be outside when it's 20 below."

You were now within arms reach of him. He lifted his arm out of his pocket, toward you. Instinctually, you flinched, using the backpack as a shield to cover you from any contact he might attempt.

"Relax, 'm not gonna hurt ya." He lifted his hand back in a surrendered position. "Just wanted to carry y'r pack for ya is all."

You peeked back around at him. Gingerly, you slid the backpack off your blanketed arm. You extended it to him, grip still secure on the strap. The man grabbed the other strap, but you didn't let go.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why’re you helping me?"

"'Cause I’mma bleedin' heart for the youth a tha nation, that's why," he retorted sarcastically.

You tugged the pack slightly back towards your chest. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand. Letting go of the strap, he stuffed both hands back into his pockets.

"Listen kid, y' remind me of someone 's all. I just wanna make sure you’re taken care of." He shrugged.

You stared at him silently, assessing him. Delicate flurries of snow started to fall from the sky. They nestled gently on the tips of his tufts creating a light blanket. The icy fluff reflected in the harsh streetlamp, mimicking a halo. You looked into his eyes. There was a genuine sincerity in them. That trusting feeling was pulling at your conscience again.

“‘Kay… but I’m watching you, old man.”

It wasn’t a joke, but he gave a little chuckle and shook his head, amused. He mumbled something under his breath you couldn’t quite make out. Something about ‘christ’ and ‘regrets’.

“Whatever y’say, bub. You’re the boss here.” He started walking off down the street, expecting you to follow suit. You shrugged the heavy bag back onto your shoulder and started after him, slightly trailing behind him, just beyond his reach.

“So what’s your name?” You asked.

“Logan,” he said simply, not even bothering to look behind his shoulder.

Logan. It was a surprisingly mundane name. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“Just Logan?” If you were going to let the stranger lead you to an even stranger location, you should at least know his full name to give the police if things went south.

“Yeah. Kid, I don’t got all night. Get a move on.” He sounded annoyed.

But it was his fault you were tagging along in the first place, you thought. Whatever. 

You picked up the pace in a light trot to catch up with him, careful not to slide on the now-slick sidewalk. You were walking side-by-side with him now, but using up twice the effort to stay in step. Logan was tall, taking long strides to get to the unknown destination quickly. 

As you walked, you admired the frosty blanket beginning to layer the frozen city. Pale drifts of snow piling in corners glittered under bright street lamps, reflection shifting with every step. It may have been freezing, but even you had to admit, the untouched, pure snow was beautiful. The street was a silent beauty.

“So who is it?” You probed carefully.

“Hm? Who?”

“The person I remind you of. Who is it?”

“Oh, uh,” he started. “Her name’s Laura.” His voice softened at her name.

“Laura. Pretty. Is she your daughter?” Your intuition prompted you to ask.

“Yeah,” he replied shortly. Apparently, he was a man of few words. He let his head hang for a moment, watching his feet drag through the graying slurry. You watched as he inhaled sharply and lifted his head back up, staring straight ahead stoically, not paying you any mind.

The rest of the trip was made in freezing silence. You were still at his side, but slightly out of his arm’s reach. He was still a stranger, after all. It turned out his apartment building was only a few blocks from where you had been hunkered down. 

His keys jangled as he pulled them out of his pocket. The lock clicked open with a solid thunk. Warm, yellow light spilled out from the doorway onto the concrete steps and frozen metal railing. Logan gestured with his arm, prompting you to step in first. You didn’t like it when people stood where you couldn’t see them, but the comforting glow of the apartment was beckoning you in. He stepped through the threshold after you and shook out the snow that had nestled in his tufts of hair. They were starting to droop slightly as the snow melted in the warmth of his home.

He slipped his arms from his jacket and tossed it on a nearby table. You took in the space he called home. It was obvious that he lived here alone, a bachelor. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the plaid couch in the corner of the living room. Much like your blanket, it was becoming threadbare with pieces of stuffing starting to poke out from the arm rests. It was calling your weary, frozen name. You tore your eyes away to put together the rest of the space. A worn-in recliner propped toward a small television set, a coffee table covered in various newspapers, a few amber beer bottles and crushed aluminum cans. The space wasn’t grimy, just a little cluttered.

“Are y’hungry?” He was walking away, further into his home, toward the kitchen. You stood there, unmoving. It had been about three years since you had set foot in a nice, proper home. You were almost brought to tears.

“Yeah. Always.” 

Logan gave you a small smile and began pulling out ingredients.

You walked toward the kitchen, keeping your snow-crusted boots on and still bundled by your blanket and backpack. Though Logan’s home was exceptionally warmer than outside, the chill of the snow had taken root in your chest and had spread its way through your appendages. It would take you a while yet to thaw.

“How d’ya feel about grilled cheese?” The skillet was already warming on the stovetop and Logan had begun spreading butter across the two pieces of bread. Your mouth watered at the sight. The familiar pang of hunger ripped through your stomach. You almost wanted to tell him to nix the stove altogether so you could eat as soon as possible.

“I feel excellent about grilled cheese,” you said instead, gently tugging on one of the chairs at the small dining table. You sat cautiously on the edge of the seat. There were deep scratches gouged across the wooden tabletop. This was not typical wear and tear.

What on earth could have caused that? You wondered. Upon seeing the scratches, your over-active intuition strangely made you feel more at home. Apparently, there was more to this Logan guy than meets the eye.

He peeked at you from his peripheral vision, gauging your reaction to the gouges. You gave him a shrug. 

“Accidents happen,” you said, making yourself sink further back into the chair. You played it off as if the scratches were only a water ring made by an overly condensated glass sans coaster. Overcome with exhaustion and finally warming up, you decided to let yourself relax a little.

He smiled, like you had stumbled upon an inside joke he held only with himself. Though mostly humorous, the smile held a dash of contempt inside it.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Not knowing what else to say, you took in the rest of the apartment. The windows were covered with yellowing slatted blinds, chips and cracks scattered throughout. The checkered linoleum floor probably hadn’t seen a mop for months. You couldn’t judge him too harshly though. In fact, you weren’t in a place to judge him at all. He led you off the street with pure intentions and into a warm home. 

The delicious smell emanating from the stove curled its way to you, tugging at your already-growling stomach. Logan reached into the skillet and flipped the sandwich with his bare hand. It was not a delicate pinch at the corners and he didn’t even wince or make any indication that the sandwich was hot at all. Strange.

“How’d you do that?” Your curiosity got the better of you.

“Magic.”

“Magic isn’t real. C’mon, tell me how you did it,” you begged.

“How ‘bout this,” he started. “Let’s make a deal. You ask a question, I ask a question. A trade off.”

You weighed the pros and cons. If the only exchange for satiating your curiosity was him prying into your own life, you came to the conclusion that it would be worth it.

You realized you were desperate for somebody to want to care about you. All you had known for the past few years was solidarity and seclusion. You had been in a constant state of fight or flight mode ever since running away from your parentless home. You just wanted somebody to want to look after you again.

“Okay, deal.”

“Great. I’ll start.” He set the plated sandwich down in front of you and took the other chair at the table. It creaked as he sat, as if it were straining every splinter to carry his weight. He certainly had a sturdy frame, but he was not by any means a big man. Strange again.

“Thanks,” you finished. It came out flatly, but you were genuinely grateful.

“Y’r welcome, kid.”

Careful so as not to scarf it down too quickly, you held the golden, crispy sandwich delicately between your dirty fingers, pulling it apart. The hot, gooey insides webbed between the pieces. Logan watched you take the first bite, letting you savor the first real meal you’d had in who knows how long before he asked his first question. It was cheesy, savory bliss. You could have cried, it was so tasty. It trailed warmth down your torso as you ate, taking bigger and faster bites. Before you knew it, you were licking your greasy fingers clean.

“Want another?” Logan asked.

“Yes please.” You were still starving. “Does that count as your question?” 

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Does that count as yours?” 

“Guess not.” You smiled back at him, sheepishly.

He took out two more pieces of bread and began on sandwich number two. You could tell he had done this before, taking care of young kids. He had a paternal instinct and it showed. He was slightly standoffish, but not so much that it was completely awkward. There was no ulterior motive behind his actions, you felt he just truly wanted to take care of you.

“‘Alright, bub. Why are y’on the street?”

You knew this question was coming, and yet your heart still skipped a beat, soaked with anxiety.

“I sort of ran away, but it’s not what you think.” You paused, seeing if he would interject. He didn’t make an attempt, so you continued. “I didn’t run away because I wanted to. I ran away because I had to. My parents disappeared and the police started coming around and I didn’t want to-”

“Hold on,” he cut you off. “Your parents disappeared and your bright idea was to run away? That’s probably the stupidest thing you coulda done.”

Embarrassment and annoyance prickled your cheeks. Logan was still a stranger to you, but you felt oddly compelled to defend your actions, to make him see your side.

“Yeah, well it’s better than being an orphan and forced into foster care. Placed with a family who couldn’t care less about you than the dirt on the ground!” You shot back.

The apartment was suddenly more than warm enough. It was almost sweltering. You twisted your shoulder out from under the strap of the backpack and shrugged off the blanket, letting it fall behind you. You felt a little dizzy as your heart pounded, loud against your chest. You were already weak from scraping together food all the time. Burning sweat began to bead against your hairline and coat your palms.

Logan turned his back to you, facing the stove. “Still seems stupid t’me. How long’ve ya been livin’ like this?” His voice was muffled, like cotton balls had been shoved in your ears. 

Suddenly, a chorus of pounding, pulsing sounds arose and started to drown out everything else. It surged to such a volume, you instinctually pressed your hands against your ears in an attempt to dampen it. It did nothing. The noise was inside your head. There was no stopping it. Your vision started to blur and you blinked hard, trying to rid the fuzz and dizziness with no avail. You opened your mouth to yell and felt the muscles in your throat move, but you couldn’t tell if any sound escaped. Your conscience was slipping, but the grip of the noise wouldn’t let you go. It was only getting louder, more painful. 

You must have made some kind of sound because a fuzzy, Logan-shaped form was moving toward you, seemingly in slow motion. You were slipping out of the seat in pain. He caught you in his muscled arms, right before your head hit the ground. He was yelling something at you, but you couldn’t make out what it was. His lips were moving desperately, his eyes frightened.

Logan was the last thing you saw before your mind surrendered to the stress of the noise, finally descending into unconsciousness.

Your eyes tried to open, fluttering against the bright, white lights on the ceiling. It was too bright to open them fully, but you adjusted fairly quickly. The room was made of sleek metal with a circular door on the opposite wall. It wasn’t a hospital, but it had the feeling of one. It was more unfamiliar and eerily quiet aside from a monitor’s steady beeping. The bed you were laying in looked like it came straight out of an exam room. You looked down at yourself. A tube was sticking out of the crook of your elbow, drips of a translucent liquid sliding into your veins.

The pounding noise in your head had ebbed to a dull ache instead of the throbbing pulse it was before. How much time had passed between Logan’s kitchen and now? Where was he? Had he just abandoned you in this strange room by yourself? You felt your heartbeat quicken in anxiety and as it did, the ache grew stronger. There must be a connection between the two. You had so many questions and nobody was around to answer them.

Just as you were about to start freaking out, the round door opened with a swoosh, the panels disappearing into either side of the wall. You sat up, startled. An older bald man in a wheelchair, a smartly-dressed woman with deep red hair, and the slightly-more-familiar Logan came into the room. The pounding noise and your heartbeat slowed back to normal at the sight of him, but three more louder, of sync beats took its place. The noise got louder as they got closer. Wincing, you wanted to cover your ears, to prepare for the worst. You didn’t want to pass out again or have to endure the painful drumming against your head.

“Ah, welcome back to the world of the conscious,” the bald man said, getting closer to you. His physical voice could barely be heard above the noise, but it somehow reverberated in your mind. “You gave our Logan quite a scare. That is a very difficult thing to do.” There was a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

You looked to Logan. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, still in the same outfit you last saw him in. Dark denim, white undershirt, boots. Maybe hardly any time had passed at all.

“Thanks… what happened?” You asked the trio. Your voice was hoarse from sleep. You couldn’t tell how loud, or quiet, you were being.

The woman reached over to the side table and poured a glass of water for you. Her face was beautiful and kind. She smiled sweetly at you. You took the cool glass from her and let the water soothe your throat.

“Your mutation began to manifest and you passed out,” she explained. Her lips were moving, but like the man, her voice echoed in your head, quieting the thrumming in your ears. “We aren’t quite sure what power your mutation will present itself as yet, but whatever it is, we’re here to help you.”

You looked from her to Logan, confused. The slight scowl on his face wasn’t encouraging.

“Where am I?”

“My dear, you are at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. I am Professor Charles Xavier and this is Jean Grey. Logan very wisely brought you here last night,” the man in the wheelchair said. “To our lab.”

Your eyes flickered between the strangers. The familiar feeling crept back into your gut. Your intuition told you he was telling the truth.

“If you’ll let me,” he continued with a soft smile. “I would like to utilize my mutation for your benefit. Jean and I are telepaths. I can enter your mind which might help us deduce what exactly your mutation is.”

No wonder you could hear their voices echoing in your head over the clashing, thrumming rhythms. They were projecting them into your mind.

You must have looked uneasy, because Jean placed a hand on your gown-covered shoulder, attempting to reassure you.

“It doesn’t hurt, but you will feel his presence in your mind. We just want to help you,” she said.

Again, you looked to Logan, anxious for his reassurance. Upon catching your eyes, his expression softened and he nodded slightly, giving you the go-ahead to let them help you.

You fiddled with the top sheet, nervous. It crinkled under your touch. Only hours ago you had been trying to survive the freezing temperatures alone in the dark.

They were all looking at you, expectantly. Without Jean or the Professor in your mind, the volume of the beats returned, still discordant with one another.

“Okay,” you agreed, meekly. You did not want a repeat of what happened last night. The pain was too much to bear again.

You watched the Professor close his eyes. He knit his brows together, slightly, in concentration. There was a mental push in your mind, like somebody was knocking on the door, asking to be let in. You obliged. As he began combing through the files of your brain, searching for answers to whatever your new-found ‘mutation’ might hold, you noticed one of the rhythms sped up a hair quicker. Logan’s scowl returned, eyes laced with concern.

Jean was right, it didn’t hurt, but it did feel a bit like an intrusion. However, you knew it was all for your benefit and would be for the best in the long run. You kept your eyes on Charles Xavier the entire time, hoping your own concentration on him would be helpful in some way. After a few, long, minutes, the Professor retreated from your mind and opened his eyes again.

“Well, my dear, it seems you have a mental ability as well,” he began. “You have the ability to hear heartbeats that are in close proximity to yourself, and in turn deduce the intentions of another person.”

“That’s what the pounding is? Heartbeats?”

“You can hear all three of ours currently, correct?” he asked.

“Yes.” For some reason, it felt like you were violating their privacy. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and your hands returned to folding the sheets between your fingers.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, you know. You’re special. Like us,” Jean said, smiling gently. She grabbed a metal clipboard with complicated-looking charts attached to it, flipping over the pages until she found the form she was looking for. She took the pen from behind her ear and jotted something down. You assumed it was a description of your ‘mutation’, or ‘power’, or whatever they call it.

“Why is this happening to me?” You asked quietly into the air, to nobody in particular. Your eyes were still trained on your nervous fingers. The burning in your face grew stronger, an angry red. Hot tears stung your waterline and the tip of your nose prickled with emotion.

Logan unfolded his arms, causing you to watch him through tear-filled vision cross the room and sit on the edge of your unfamiliar bed. His heartbeat grew louder as he got closer. You could see his lips moving, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was look at the Professor, silently asking for help. You watched him say something to Logan, probably telling him you couldn’t hear anything over the constant noise in your mind. The Professor closed his eyes again and again, the rhythms quieted to a hush. You looked back to Logan, the Professor still concentrating.

“You’re a mutant, kid. Simple as that,” he said, eyes full of tender but resolved concern. “But ‘m gonna take care of ya. Make sure y’r comfortable here.”

“H-here?” Your teary eyes went wide, your own heart speeding up anxiously. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna attend the school here with Jean an’ the Professor an’ me. You’ll learn how’da not let your power control you.”

“You’re a mutant too?”

“Especially him,” Jean cut in.

Logan gave her an irritated look, but raised both fists in front of his face. In a split second, long, metal claws shot out from between his knuckles into the open. You gasped. He carefully brought them down, letting you inspect them. You lightly pressed a delicate finger against the tip of one of the claws. It was freezing cold and razor sharp. A scarlet drop of blood fell from your fingerprint, staining the sterile sheet. He retracted the claws and you watched as the slits quickly stitched themselves back together.

It suddenly all became too much. The tears involuntarily spilled down your pink cheeks, overcome with the developments. Mutations, telepaths, claws … nothing made sense anymore. 

The quiet sobs wracked your small frame and as the emotions overtook you, the thrumming rhythms returned, making it all so much worse. Logan pulled you into his arms in a tight hug, pressing your head to his chest. His loud heartbeat was steady and strong. Reliable and solid. It overpowered everybody else’s rhythms, drowning them out. He let your tears soak through his once-pristine undershirt as you processed everything, his thumbs smoothing circles against your covered shoulder blades. You tried to focus on his grounding touch, tried to bring the tears to a halt. After what felt like an eternity, they finally slowed.

Finally, you pulled away from him. His heartbeat was still the only one you could hear. You looked around the metal room, swiping at your eyes. It was empty except for you and Logan. Jean and the Professor must have left some time ago, but you hadn’t heard their heartbeats soften.

He let go of you completely and picked up the chart Jean had been holding. He quickly scribbled something and flipped it to face you. ‘Feel better?’ he wrote.

You smiled and nodded, almost laughing at his solution to communication.

“Thank you, Logan,” you said. He only smiled in response, knowing you couldn’t hear him. “Now what?”

He held up a finger, asking for a moment, and reached toward the side table. He picked up a device that looked like a small disk, a couple inches thick. Pulling on either side revealed a metal wire that retracted back into the device when the disks were brought together again. The insides of the disks had padding in them. He brought it around behind your head and placed either end over your ears. 

Silence. Quiet. Peace.

You let out a sigh of relief. Logan’s pounding heartbeat was brought down to a manageable pulse. Even the rushing sound of the air conditioner and low hum of the electricity flowing through the lightbulbs couldn’t be heard anymore.

“Better?” He asked. 

You heard him! His voice was no longer fighting to be heard amongst the drum of his heartbeat. It was loud and clear. You burst into a smile.

“Yes,” you said, reaching back across the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck enthusiastically. He almost lost his balance against your grateful hug.

“C’mon, let’s go find Charles. Y’r gonna love it here.”

You let Logan lead you out of the lab and into the unknown for the second time in twenty-four hours. But this time it was different. You now knew that the trusting, gut-feeling you had about him was your mutation sensing his intentions all along. You knew he was going to make sure you were taken care of and continue to do so long into the future. It’s just the kind of man he is. The caregiver, the protector. He’s Logan.

[icarusredwings]

Wade: *Kicking his feet and coloring while humming*

Logan: Oh, it's adorable.

Wade: *draws himself exploding and depictions of his hallucinations*

Logan: Oh It's TRUAMATIZED

[agere-fics]

Pretty Kitty

pairing: cg!logan howlett x little!reader

word count: 683

content warnings: cursing, usage of "daddy" and "dada", mean guy judging both you and wolvie

summary: you paint logan's nails!

@sleepyboy-stuff you seemed interested in this so i tagged you!

♡

For years in the making, an after battle nap became routine. He couldn't just nap anywhere, though. It had to be on brown, leather couch in the x-mansion living space. The couch was old, worn, tattered, even blown up a few times. But damn if it didn't lead to the best sleep Logan's had in ages.

He wouldn't consider himself a light sleeper but something definitely triggered his consciousness. Shuffling, movement, soft mumbles. Someone was here.

He groaned and squinted his eyes open, tensing at the blurry figure next to him. He shifted away from it quickly. Who would even dare to- oh.

"Don't move, daddy, you'll mess up my artwork!" you whined.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Logan wasn't under attack. It was simply his sweet little bub kneeling beside the couch, holding his hand and painting red onto the nail of his pinky finger.

"Hey, bub." he muttered.

You turned to look at him with bright, sparkling eyes. You were so happy to see him. "Have a good nap, daddy?"

"You know it." he rumbled.

Your eyes shifted back to your task at hand. You brushed a bit more red onto his pinky finger, trying very hard not to get polish on his skin. Daddy wouldn't care but you knew you would care. It's got to be perfect for daddy!

"Whatcha doing?" he asked.

"Making daddy a pretty kitty." You picked up his limp hand and showed him your work so far. Logan didn't mind the nickname. He liked anything you gifted him.

However, he did quirk his brow at a certain implication. "Wait a minute, I thought you said I was already pretty?" A sliver of a smile poked through his serious facade. He can't actually be serious with you, you're way too cute for him to be all grumpy, wumpy. You've got him tied around your finger and he's a-okay with that.

"Wait but you are, daddy! You are! I'm just uhhhhh...." You looked around the room, aimlessly searching for an answer. "OH, I'm making you even prettier! The mostest prettier ever!"

The sliver of a smile turned into a full grin. He sat up and observed his now painted hand. "What colors did you use?" He wouldn't be your daddy if he didn't test your knowledge just a little bit.

"I used some red and pink and blue, oh and orange, and only a little yellow cause it's basically empty, see?" You turned the bottle upside down and shook it before tossing it to the side. "Do you like your nails, daddy?"

Logan lifted his hand, moving it this way and that. Up, down, left, right, sideways, up ways, down ways, more ways. You patiently waited for his approval with wide eyes. "Of course, I do, pumpkin. It's perfect."

You pulled him closer by his shirt, jutted your lip, lowered your brows, and squinted your eyes. With your other hand you pointed at him very sternly. It took everything in Logan to not coo at your cutely angry expression. Your face was scrunched, just like your daddy does sometimes. "Never take it off, daddy."

"Don't worry," he giggled. "I won't."

"What's happening here?" came a voice.

Mr. Butern... the professor of mutation genetics. When did he get here? "Turning into a pretty little princess, huh, Logan?" he scoffed and began to walk away.

Logan moved quickly and shoved the professor against the wall. His claws came out to play, pricking at the meanie's neck.

"Say another word and I will slice your fucking head off-"

"Daddy, that's a bad word!" you scolded.

Your daddy turned to face you. "Apologies, pumpkin." He turned back round. "Now, you tell my little one how good of a job they did."

The other guy stuttered, shaking so bad he must be a milkshake inside. "You d-did a good j-job."

Daddy dragged him to the tattered couch and shoved him down. "Sit your ass down."

Daddy's face immediately went from angry to mushy mush as he looked at you. "Bub, I think you should give him a makeover, too."

"Right on it, Dada!"

♡

[alittleplaytime]

Caregiver Wolverine Stimboard!!

🧤 🧸 🍖 | 🧤 🧸 🍖 | 🧤 🧸 🍖

🌼 media: x-men

🐝 age appropriate? depends! it's rated PG13 due to violence but is quite a fun watch for most ages regardless. check any warnings and remember, it's always okay to turn something off if it isn't for you! <3

🍯 rqd by: @phantomhivestims

🌻 note: wolverine was actually my first ever fictional caregiver and i adore him so much, he's so dad coded.

having him as a caregiver consists of:

long night drives and road trips and eating at diners regularly

him saying no to the gumball machine but immediately folding when you get sad about it

bringing you to the gym with him but you're not allowed to touch any equipment

early morning walks around the mansions yard before going back to bed for another hour

begging for a puppy and while he says no, he comes home with a doggy plush to make up for it

he has one of those portable dvd players in his car, along with a case filled with your favourite movies and some of the movies he watched as a kid. he won't admit it but he loves hearing your giggles and the sound of the film in the background as he drives

[decomposingmousetrap]

The "Worst" Logan definitely is the type to cling to you as if you're his lifeline, as if you'll be taken away the second he relaxes his hold...

Until he hears you humming, feeling it rumble in your chest, and your fingers combing through his hair. His eyes may shine with tears, but this... This is safe, you are safe.