Whilst in little space, after a cozy day with your daddy, you start to get a little curious about seeing his claws up close.
Hiiiiii 🥺 👋🏻 It’s my first time ever posting a story on Tumblr so I hope my other Logan’s littles like this! I have more planned and in the works 💛💙🖤💛💙🖤
Reader is a mutant with an unspecified mutation. They use She/her/hers pronouns but I can always post an alternate version on request for male or gender-neutral ones 🥰
You had been in little space just about all day. You’d finally gotten a full day off to spend at home with Daddy, but the week was definitely catching up to you. You’d been hard at work on a coloring page in between upward glances at whatever episode of Bluey was playing on the TV screen. Eventually, you started to yawn. Like everything else you thought you were subtle about in little space, Logan noticed. With a deep chuckle, he glanced down at you.
“Well, well, is someone finally gettin’ sleepy? It’s way past your bedtime, Darlin’.”
As you rubbed your eyes, your daddy crossed the floor between his rocking chair and where you now sat up on the woven rug in the center of the living room floor. Kneeling down, he scooped you up, kissing your forehead and smiling. “There’s my girl”.
Feeling his arms around and under you, you gave him a soft giggle. When Logan sat back down on the rocker with you in his lap, he reached over to the arm of the couch and grabbed your favorite cozy quilt, wrapping you up in its weighted warmth. As he did so, your little fingers brushed over the back of his hand.
Like almost every time you looked at them, you were reminded that your soft, loving caregiver was also the Wolverine. Somewhere in between the fingers that always comforted you by interweaving with your own as you drifted off to sleep–the ones that held your paci up to your lips for you and brushed your hair away from your face to give you sweet kisses on your cheeks and nose—there were ever-present reminders of who he was to the rest of the world. Not a doting caregiver, but the opposite–a weapon, a threat. To some, even a monster.
Noticing your staring (and probably your thoughts racing too) he asked, “What’s in that little head, baby girl?”
You hesitated, but after a pause asked in your sweetest tone, “Daddy? Can I see your claws?”
Logan was completely taken aback. With his brows furrowed in surprise he stammered, “M-My claws? What do you wanna see those for, Darlin’?” He adjusted you in his lap to read your expression a bit more clearly. He probed your face, but you’d already averted your eyes to your fidgeting fingers by that point.
“Like them…” You said looking down sheepishly. “They’re what makes Daddy like me.”
You were referring to your own mutation and the fact that if it hadn’t been for your shared status as second class citizens (AKA mutants) you never would have found each other at Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.
Logan blinked a few times at you and sighed out “Oh honey. I don’t-”
“Daddy always says my mutation is a gift, right? Makes me special? So Daddy’s makes him special too.” You said, educating the Wolverine with his own caregiving logic. You swayed from side to side on his lap nonchalantly as you explained your thinking to him.
Logan smirked at you and softened a bit at your naive, simple view of the “gift” of mutation. “They ain’t toys, pup.” he warned. “They’re really not safe.”
“I know Daddy…don’t wanna play with them….just wanna see…” You were killing your daddy softly with your puppy dog eyes; finally looking up at him with a pout. He was melting at the sight of you all cuddled up on his lap, pleading through your dewy little lashes.
Once again, he sighed. Finally he looked at you sternly and told you, “Alright, hands under the blankie, Princess.”
Lighting up with excitement (and a little at the fact that your daddy had wordlessly admitted you were right) you did as you were told and tucked your hands away into the quilt.
A moment after, you heard a low *Shink* and saw the metallic claws catch and reflect the light coming from the fireplace at the far end of the room. You marveled at the glimmering surface of them and after a few seconds of your wide-eyed gazing, you did pull one hand out from the protection of your blanket.
Seeing that he didn’t have time to stop you, a very panicked Logan directed, “Ah-ah! Tops only, little one! Stay away from the ends…”
Your fingers landed on the top edge of the blade closest to you and you stroked it with a careful, loving pet, the way you might have done to an animal you wanted to comfort. You took in the smooth surface with your childish wonder, and smiled at the enhancements that made your daddy so unique. All the while, Logan’s eyes flitted from your hands to your face–trying to get a reading on what you were thinking and struggling for the first time all night to do so.
You on the other hand–little as you were– didn’t need to look at him to feel his tension. After a few seconds, you relieved him of his concern saying, “Thank you, Daddy. They’re so pretty.” with that sweet, angelic smile he loved to see from you so much. You took your hand away and tucked it back into the quilt that still hung over your shoulders.
When he saw it was safely away, Logan retracted the 3 razor-sharp blades back into his rough hands and looked at you again. You were sitting there rocking yourself from side to side, innocently waving bye-bye to the shiny claws. You blinked up at your daddy, who was trying to hide his amazement at you.
You had managed to erase all the tragic nuance that so many–himself included–had associated with the six deadly razors over the course of his considerably long life. The fact that his precious little girl’s eyes were pure enough to see past their history and treat them as nothing other than a part of him was astounding to him. More than that, you had even called them pretty.
While Logan couldn’t say he agreed with you, he could certainly never say that he didn’t appreciate and adore both you and your innocent view of the world while you were in your tiny little headspace.
Shaking himself out of the daze he was in, he chuckled again and in a soft voice asked, “Saw what you wanted to see, little one?” pulling you close to his chest and tucking your head under his jaw, gently planting a kiss on your hair.
“ Jus’ saw what’s always there, Daddy.”
And with one last yawn, you drifted off in your daddy’s arms, knowing when you were with him, you were always in safe hands.
Affirmations for Anxious Littles
soft words for stormy minds 🐚🌸
🌼 i am safe right now
🧸 i don’t have to do everything alone
🌈 i can be scared and still be okay
💗 i am loved just as i am
☁️ big feelings are allowed here
🐻 i can take things one small step at a time
🫧 it’s okay to ask for help
🎀 i am not too much
🌙 i can breathe slowly and feel the calm come in
🐾 i am strong in gentle ways
🧺 i can rest without guilt
📦 i can put worries down for now—they will wait
🫖 i deserve comfort, softness, and care
🍯 i am not behind—I’m going at my pace
🌸 i don’t need to be perfect to be wonderful
🫶 my little self is safe with me
You can say them out loud, write them on pastel sticky notes, turn them into doodles in your journal, or even tuck a few in your lunchbox or under your pillow.
• Bob struggles to cope with everything he’s done. Yelena shows her boy that he’s not alone.
cw: age regression, mild angst (followed by comfort)
( 1937 Words )
Bob had gotten better. Mostly. Usually. That’s what he told himself, anyway. He tried to be helpful—dishes, cleaning. Reading to distract himself when he could. But there was always this underlying guilt that sat in his stomach.
He hurt people. So many people. He could never take that back. He could never undo it. Of course, Yelena was there for him every time he admitted how he felt. Because of course she was. She wouldn’t allow him to isolate like that again.
In a way, it was just as bad as being alone. At least when he was alone, he didn’t feel like a burden. He had already caused so much pain. So much damage. He didn’t need to do that again.
His bedroom was bare, tidy but lacking any warmth or personality. A twin bed sat in a corner, with gray sheets and a thin blanket to match. Opposite the bed sat a wooden desk, untouched. Bob hadn’t bothered to use the closet.
Today was hard. He had a nightmare again, his mind storming with all his worst fears. His worst regrets. He had opted to stay in his room, unable to drag himself to the others. What could he do to help, anyways?
The room was dark, the only light being sunlight through the blinds Bob shut. He had been sleeping—or well, not actually sleeping. Just lying. A knock on his door had him groaning, throwing his blanket off of his body and standing.
After turning on the overhead light, he opened the door, his eyes squinting to adjust to the light.
Yelena. Not a surprise, really.
Green eyes scanned over his appearance. His hair was unkempt, greasy. His eyes were tired and almost puffy—the Russian suspected he had been crying.
“I’m just sick,” Bob finally said after another moment of uncomfortable silence. “So I appreciate you dropping in, Yelena, but it’s really not necessary.”
Yelena frowned, ignoring him and scooting past him, plopping down in his desk chair despite his grumble. “You know I don’t like when you do that,” she replied.
“Do what?” Bob argued, folding his arms over his chest. Meeting Yelena’s eyes, he saw the concern clouding the usual sharpness of her hazel eyes. He softened, regretting the harsh words and staring at his feet. “I’m sorry, I just—it’s been hard, I guess.”
“I suspected as much,” Yelena responded, folding her hands. “You need to start coming to me, you know. Not shutting me out. We’re all… well, we’re all fucked up in some way or another. But you can’t do it alone. You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”
The words sunk in Bob’s stomach and he shuffled uncomfortably, sitting down on his bed. It wasn’t just about shutting people out. It was something different.
Bob never knew how to describe it. It wasn’t something he had a word for, not exactly. This fuzzy feeling would take over his brain, his thoughts growing simpler. He felt small. Vulnerable. And it was scary. Terrifying, even, being alone like that.
He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, however. Not even Yelena. He didn’t know what it was himself. What he needed. How could anyone else figure it out for him?
A soft hand on top of his pulled him back into the moment. He hadn’t even been aware Yelena moved in front of him, kneeling and staring up. “Bob, is there something you aren’t telling me?” she finally asked.
Swallowing, Bob shook his head. Because—well, he wasn’t lying. Not necessarily. Plus, what good would it do telling Yelena. She couldn’t get it. No one could. It was just another thing in the list of what made him so incapable, so—
“Bob. Hey.”
“Sorry,” he replied, seeing Yelena’s brows furrowed with worry.
“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to be okay.”
Green eyes attempted to meet his own, but his eyes flickered away as he swallowed. “Sometimes, I get this feeling,” he started, watching Yelena nod in encouragement. “Where I feel so small, so vulnerable. Fuzzy, almost. Like I’m back to being a kid again.”
Yelena paused, but her hold on his hand didn’t lessen. “Like a kid again? Like, mentally?”
Bob stuttered over his words, pulling his hands away, which had grown sweaty. “Yes, I mean—well, I don’t know. I don’t know what it is. I just feel so… so little. Like my thoughts grow simple, but somehow just as overwhelming? And this deep ache of needing to be cared for, but it’s…”
With a shrug, he trailed off. Bob expected Yelena to pull away in confusion. But instead her face was soft, gentle. She reached out for Bob’s hands, placing them in her own. Her thumb rubbed circles over Bob’s hand. “You don’t have to know what it is. Sometimes, we don’t have a name for what’s happening, we just… know we need something.”
The taste of copper filled Bob’s mouth as he chewed on his bottom lip, barely even aware of the action until Yelena tutted and swiped the blood off of his chin with a frown. It made the fuzzy feeling creep up.
“You need to stop doing that,” scolded Yelena, but it was clear she wasn’t actually angry.
There wasn’t a bite to her voice, instead, a gentle coaxing. Something warm, that settled right in Bob’s chest. His thoughts were jumbled but yet, simple. He needed to feel care, he needed to be held, he— he didn’t know what he needed.
“Bob? Are you okay? Don’t zone out, don’t disappear on me.”
“I’m—I’m sorry.” A sob escaped his throat before he could stop it. Yelena quickly moved off the floor to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “It’s too much, and I can’t, and nothing makes sense but I know I need it all to quiet down, to stop.”
“Hey, hey. Slow down. It doesn’t need to make sense right now. Focus on me, can you do that? Can you do that for me, sweet boy?” Yelena rested Bob’s head on her shoulder, rubbing his upper arm.
Shaky breaths escaped his mouth, blinking away tears. “Yeah, yeah, I can do it. I can do it,” Bob replied, but his voice was softer. More watery. “Just don’t go. Please don’t go, Lena.”
Yelena felt her heart skip a beat at a plea so broken it practically hurt. She shushed him, her grip only growing more firm. “I’m right here. You feel me. Do you feel how I’m breathing? Can you do that too?”
“I can do it,” Bob repeated. Yelena gave an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder.
Gently, Yelena moved his hand over her heart. She started by taking slow inhales, watching Bob mimic it, though his breaths trembled. Holding it in. Exhaling. Inhaling again. Hold. Exhale.
Tension slowly lifted off of Bob’s shoulders, though he was barely aware of it. The fuzzy feeling had stuck, but the overwhelming crush of feelings that usually occupied it faded.
“You did such a good job, little one.” The words had Bob only sinking further into a headspace he had only ever balanced on the line of. But this time, it was different. He didn’t notice Yelena had paused before she spoke again. “Is it okay if I call you that? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I just—”
“No, I like it,” Bob quickly replied, almost shameful in his response. “It makes me feel safe,” he added, quieter that time.
“And that’s all I want for you, my boy.”
A fluttery feeling bloomed in Bob’s stomach, and he found himself unable to reply. He didn’t know what he wanted, what he needed. He just knew he desperately wanted for Yelena to stay.
And stay, she did. She didn’t pressure him to say anything in reply, simply cradling him and letting his head move to nuzzle in the crook of her neck. Her fingers softly ran through his hair, scents of pine and mint invading his nostrils.
“I don’t know what I need,” he finally spoke, shifting to meet Yelena’s eyes. “I just know I feel small.”
Yelena hummed in response, brushing a hair out of his eye. “You don’t have to know. It’s okay, little sun. We can just sit together. We don’t have to talk.”
“Yeah—yeah, I want that.”
Bob’s reply was whispered, almost as if he expected Yelena to pull away at any moment. But she didn’t. She only shuffled them so that they were against the headboard. Bob curled so he was pressed against Yelena’s side, his head resting on her shoulder.
The steady rise and fall from Yelena’s breaths soothed him, his eyes almost fluttering. He didn’t even notice he was tired. When he had last slept, anyway?
“Do you need to sleep, small one? I’ll stay with you. I don’t mind it,” Yelena spoke gently. There was a moment of hesitation, almost as if she was worried she would go too far. But after a pause, she gently lifted Bob’s head up a bit, placing a soft kiss on Bob's forehead.
Despite Yelena’s anxieties, Bob leaned into the feeling. He couldn’t name the last time he felt safety in such a way. It was different this time—the feeling of smallness and vulnerability wasn’t paired with a deep fear. Instead, there was a soothing comforting that settled deep in his stomach.
Scents of coconut and tropical fruits invaded his nostrils as Yelena leaned closer. But Bob finally shook his head to the question.
“I don’t wanna sleep just yet,” he paused, slightly embarrassed, but continued, “I just want to stay with you right now. You make me feel like it’s okay to be small.”
“It’s always okay to be vulnerable, angel. Scared. Little on the inside. That part of you? That’s the part that protects you. That’s the strongest part of you,” replied Yelena, her words softly spoken.
Bob couldn’t help a quiet sniffle escape him. He never felt strong. No matter how powerful he had been told he was, he didn’t feel it. Maybe there was a difference between power and strength. “I don’t know what I need. I just know I don’t want you to leave.”
“And I’m not going to, my love. It’s okay if you don't want to sleep, we don’t have to talk. I can just stay and hold you. Does that sound okay, my small sun?” Yelena offered gently, never stopping her fingers brushing through Bob’s hair.
The little one didn’t even reply, too small and exhausted to try and answer her. He simply curled up, allowing himself to lean into the small side he had worked so hard to push down.
Yelena didn’t say anything else—she didn’t need to. The silence that used to crush Bob was replaced by a deep, soothing warmth. The kind of silence where words didn’t need to be spoken, because presence was enough.
And maybe Bob didn’t know when he’d get better. Maybe his smallness would feel vulnerable and scary sometimes. Maybe the world would be too much for him to bear on his own.
But this time, it was different. He wasn’t alone. Not when he was small, not when he was big. And while the feeling was different, almost jarring, he knew he didn’t have to be afraid anymore.
And maybe his fear would still linger, but it wasn’t crushing anymore. Because Bob finally realized what he had never understood before.
He was never alone in his fear. He was never going to drown in it. No matter how tiny, terrified, lost he felt, there was going to be someone to pull him back.
ohhh to be swaddled and cuddled up while your cg coos at you and checks on you maybe feeding you a bottle when they notice your eyes are just a little too droopy…then to wake and have your cg excitedly unwrap you with praises “why hello little thing, did you have a good sleep? Yes you did! didn’t you? you ready for some snacks and some playtime?” ohhh to be someone’s favorite tot
