hi! just wanted to share some hcs of logan being the softest and grumpiest bf mutant bf. enjoy! :)
♡ logan loves to take you out on drives through westchester county when there’s an off day. sometimes rogue, jubliee, and kitty tag along and y'all BLAST pop music. he hates it, but he knows all the words to pink pony club atp.
♡ after you have a baby with logan, he and laura become SO protective of them like a little pack of wolverines. they’ll both wanna cuddle with you and the baby 🥹
♡ logan typically snaps awake most mornings because of his animal instinct. but, if you’re still asleep, he’ll cuddle up close and stroke your hair until he falls back asleep too.
♡ some nights you wake up and see logan isn’t in bed, likely because of a nightmare. he goes out into the woods outside the mansion to calm down and most times you leave him be. if they’re bad enough, you follow him and just hold him until he calms down.
♡ you bought him an antique ring for his birthday and he’ll wear it around the mansion. when he’s out on a mission, he’ll put on his dog tags so he won’t lose it and feel like a part of you is close to him.
♡ he’s actually great at giving gifts. if there’s something you’ve had your eye on for a while he’ll buy. he takes his time during international missions to go find you a little present.
♡ logan doesn’t really get jealous, like he knows when gambit is being flirty it’s totally innocent. however, if scott gives you the smallest compliment, he is gonna butt in.
♡ LOVES laying his head in your lap after a long day and letting you scratch his head and massage his temples. before he gets too comfy, he always asks “i’m not crushing you, am i?”
♡ if you’re sick and having the chills, logan will pull you into his arms and lay down with you to keep you warm. you try to squirm away because you don’t want him to catch it but he reminds you he can’t as he kisses your forehead.
This is my first AU attempt after writing the wip draft; enemy to lovers Logan x mutant art teacher. Honestly, i think i like these stuff,its fun to get out of my comfort zone: Xmen setting. Will do more when time allows. For Bucky too.
Logan masterlist
Logan shows up to class in rolled-up sleeves, sometimes with chalk dust on his dark shirt.
He’s the teacher who lets kids eat in class if they’re quiet, but bans phones with a glare so sharp no one dares argue.
Logan walks into class five minutes late with a coffee, growls “Open your books to page-...,” and still manages to hold the students’ attention better than any polished lecturee.
He despises sugarcoating. When the textbook says “conflict,” he corrects it with “That was a massacre, kid. Call it what it was.” His students learn more realism than the curriculum allows.
Instead of standard tests, he throws out assignments like: “Write what you think the Revolution meant to people living through it. Don’t care about tthose dates. Care about meaning.”
Group projects? He allows them, but he’s blunt: “If you’re gonna freeload, your team will rat you out, and I’ll grade accordingly.” The kids end up working harder because they know he won’t tolerate laziness.
His handwriting is nearly unreadable, so most of his notes are verbal. Students learn fast to listen closely. Some start recording his classes like mini-podcasts.
He’s surprisingly patient with struggling kids. If someone’s behind topic or lesson, he’ll quietly sit with them after class, explaining history in plain language. “Look, bub, forget the fancy words. This is about people fighting for survival. You get survival, right? Yeah. That’s history.”
His catchphrase for rowdy kids: “Settle down or I’ll give you an essay so long you’ll hate your ancestors.”
When grading late at night, he mutters curses at badly written essays, but if he sees genuine effort, he softens, sighs, and bumps up the grade.
Despite claiming he doesn’t care, he leaves thoughtful, short notes in essays. Things like: “Good point here. Keep digging.” or “You write better than you think.” Kids keep these comments like trophies.
The principal threatens him often about “professionalism,” but Logan’s students actually learn — so firing him isn’t easy.
He’s roped into coaching wrestling or supervising detention. He claims to hate it but winds up becoming a mentor.
Students once dared each other to hug him on Teacher Appreciation Day. He froze, awkwardly patted the kid’s shoulder, and muttered “Thanks, bub.” Word spread — he secretly has a soft side.
Parent-teacher nights are hysterical. Parents are intimidated, but when Logan talks about their kid’s effort, his sincerity makes them relax.
He constantly butts heads with a polished, by-the-book colleague (English, Art, or Science teacher). They argue over his messy teaching, but staff soon notice how often they linger in the staff room together, giving jabs every 20 minutes.
The classroom was too quiet.
Too quiet for after recess lunch break. He set his coffee down on the edge of the desk — black, bitter, already half-gone — and leaned against the board with his arms crossed. Thirty pairs of eyes stared back at him, waiting for him to open the textbook like a normal teacher would.
Instead, he jabbed a finger at the heading written in neat block print on the chalkboard: World War II: The Normandy Invasion.
“Alright,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me what the book says.”
A hand shot up — eager kid in the front. “It says the invasion was—uh—swift and successful. The turning point in the war.”
Logan snorted. “Swift? Successful?” He pushed off the board, pacing between desks. “Whoever wrote that never had bullets flying over their head.”
The students perked up. They always did when he started to sound… personal.
He stopped by one kid’s desk, tapping the open page with a scarred knuckle. “The book makes it sound like a chess move. Clean. Strategic. What it doesn’t say is that half the men in the first wave never even made it off the sand. Doesn’t tell you about the smoke, the noise, or the water running red.”
The room went still. Even the class clown, the one who usually tried to crack jokes about his grumpy teacher, was quiet.
Logan exhaled slowly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He could feel the ghosts crowding the edges of the classroom, memories pressing down harder than he wanted.
Then a voice piped up, soft but steady. “So… what’s the point of learning it this way, then? If the book’s wrong?”
Logan looked at the kid — a nervous sophomore, always doodling in the margins of her notes. He let out a humorless chuckle.
“The point,” he said, “is to remember history’s made of people, not bullet points. Don’t let anyone feed you the polished version and call it truth. Always ask who’s leaving details out.”
A beat of silence. Then another hand went up, tentative. “Mister Howlett… how do you know all that?”
Logan stared at the kid for a long second, then reached for his coffee and muttered, “Read a lot.”
The class didn’t buy it. He could see it in their wide-eyed looks. But no one pressed him further.
When the bell rang, the students filed out buzzing with whispers. Logan gathered his papers, sliding the battered textbook into drawer where it belonged.
Alone, he looked at the chalkboard again. Normandy. The smell of saltwater, gunpowder, blood. He shook it off, grabbed his jacket, and muttered to the empty room, “Swift and successful, my ass.”
The staffroom smelled like burnt coffee and chalk dust. Logan sat in his usual corner, boots stretched out under the table, thumbing through a stack of half-graded essays. His pen scratched angrily across the page.
“You know,” came a voice from behind him, light and teasing, “if you scowl at those papers any harder, they might catch fire.”
Logan didn’t look up. “Good. Save me the trouble of grading ‘em.”
You slid into the seat across from him, balancing a sketchbook on top of your stack of lesson plans. “You’re supposed to encourage students, not terrify them with barely legible red ink.”
He grunted. “Terrifying works. They learn faster.”
You raised a brow, flipping open your sketchbook as if you weren’t baiting him on purpose. “Right. Because nothing screams ‘inspiring education’ like a teacher who looks like he just came from a bar fight.”
That got his eyes off the paper. He smirked, low and dangerous. “Careful, teach’. You sayin’ I don’t clean up well?”
“I’m saying the leather jacket and cigarette smell aren’t exactly PTA-friendly.”,
Logan leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “Yet somehow, my class is full and yours is half-empty. Guess the kids like a little grit more than watercolor sunsets.”
Your jaw dropped in mock offense. “Excuse you, they’re abstract expressionist studies, thank you very much. Besides, at least my students don’t leave class whispering rumors about me being a vampire.”
That earned a rough chuckle, gravelly and warm. “Rumors keep ‘em on their toes.”
You pretended to be unimpressed, but your lips twitched. Logan noticed. He always did.
A silence settled, softer than the usual staffroom tension. You doodled in the corner of your sketchbook. He watched, pretending not to.
Then he muttered, “Your class any good at portraits?”
You looked up, suspicious. “Why?”
He shoved a half-crumpled essay toward you, the margin full of his chicken-scratch comments. “Kid drew me instead of writin’ an answer. Looks more like a scarecrow than a man. Thought maybe you could… fix it.”
You laughed, bright and real, and Logan felt that odd tug in his chest again. The one that had nothing to do with war stories or essays.
“You’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head.
“Yeah,” he rumbled, sipping his coffee. “But you’re still sittin’ here, ain’t ya?”
But of course, he started it. “Heard the kids are makin’ bets now.”
You froze. “Bets?”
“Mm-hm.” He leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “On whether we’re—” He waggled two fingers together.
“Ew. No.” You nearly choked on your mints. “Absolutely not.”
“Hey, don’t bite my head off. Just sayin’.”
Across the room, a science teacher perked up. “Wait—are they talking about you two?”
Logan chuckled darkly. “Apparently.”
You slapped your sketchbook shut. “Oh my god. We talk, like, twice a day! That’s not grounds for matchmaking.”
“Relax, teach’,” Logan drawled. “Ain’t losin’ sleep over it.”
A math teacher leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Honestly, it makes sense. The broody history teacher and the new artsy one? That’s basically a romance novel.”
“Ew!” you repeated, louder this time, glaring at Logan. “Tell them.”
He shrugged, maddeningly calm. “What, that you can’t stand me?”
“Yes!”
“Already obvious.” He smirked into his coffee.
The staffroom erupted in laughter. You groaned, burying your face in your hands. Logan just stretched, satisfied, like he’d won something.
Under your breath, you hissed, “I hate you.”
“Sure you do, teach’,” he muttered back, far too smug.
Summary: You’re a newer member of Xavier’s Mansion after the infamous Wolverine had saved you during a mission. Since then, you’ve been having trouble sleeping in the new home, and you’re not the only one.
Warnings/Tags: Soft!Logan Howlett x Reader, 18+, gender of reader never specified, Logan calls Reader “Kid”, lots of fluff, smoking, cuddling.
——————————————————————————
It had only been a few weeks at the mansion. The memories and trauma of past experiences and experiments fresh in your head. These traumas mainly came out during night. You’d wake up in a cold, damp sweat. Once you gathered your surroundings, you’d step out of bed, threw on some slippers, and scurry down the long, dark hallways. It was late. Very late. The time of night where everyone was already in deep sleep, so you kept quiet, opening the large doors outside into the large yard.
“Ain’t it a bit late to be sneaking out, Bub?”
You turn to face the voice that you recognized immediately.
Logan stands against the mansion wall. Cicadas and crickets chirp in the summer night. He lifts a cigar to his mouth, a sharp canine gently biting into it. An owl echoes in the air. He peers down at you, a hint of protectiveness in his tone and demeanor, relaxed, but ready to defend.
You pause, feeling caught in the act. “Just.. couldn’t sleep.” You say, rubbing your hands up and down your arms in the chilled, open air. The wet grass brushes against your ankles.
He takes a puff from his lit cigar as you speak, furrowing his brows. He exhales the thick smoke from his mouth before he responds,
“Well, Kid. Slipping out into the night isn’t gonna make those eyelids any heavier.” He spoke low, his tone teasing.
You step forward, slumping down the wall next to him, sitting next to his big, brown leather boots. You inhale deeply. The fresh air mixed with cigar smoke and slight smell of Logan’s musk fills your chest, relaxing you.
Logan lifts an eyebrow, sensing your heavy mood. He rests the cigar in his mouth, kneeling down next to you. His dark, blue jeans bending and folding at his knees.
“Alright, what’s troublin’ ya Kid?” He sighs, looking at your dimly lit face.
You politely smile at his concern, shaking your head. “Nothing, nothing,” you reassure him, “Just uh.. dreams.”
He studies your face and nods slightly.
“Mm.” He hums in understanding. “I getcha. Had ‘em too for a while.” He speaks softly and slowly, his own sleep deprivation showing through his speech. “Come on. It’s cold out here, you’ll get sick. Let’s go back inside, I’ll stay withya. I’ll take care of you.” He puts out his cigar on the pavement and offers a rough, large hand to help lift you up, which you take with your own. He helps you stand, leading you back into the building.
“You hungry?” He asks as you pass the kitchen. You shake your head, rubbing your eyes. He puts a comforting hand on your back, ever so slightly smiling to himself as he watches you walk, your head low, exhaustion slowly draping over your mind. He likes this. Feeling like your guardian. Watching you, leading you back to bed, making sure you get the rest you need.
Once you’re back to your room, he reorganizes your bed, fluffing your pillow, and then extending his hands towards the sleeping area, mouthing a “Ta-Da”
You smile, watching him, kicking off your slippers and flopping into the bed. He throws some covers over you gently, making sure you’re warm and safe.
“Good?”
You nod.
“Get some sleep.” He turns to leave, but you grab his large arm. He turns, slightly startled.
“Do you mind.. staying?”
He could fall apart. Your voice, so soft and gentle, it’s crumbling and puts a twang through his heart. He huffs gently, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.
“Okay, Kid.” He nods, his eyes half lidded.
You notice the slowness in his voice. “You’re tired too.”
“It’s okay, I can watch over you.”
You blink slowly, looking up at his face. His eyes tired, but gentle. You scoot over, opening the covers. He picks up on your asking.
“Mm, okay. But you better not steal the blanket.”
Before you knew it, the tall, brooding man was laying next to you in your bed, taking up most of the space. You didn’t mind though, this only meant you were in his space, which felt nice. The scent of dark leather and alcohol lingered in your bed. You secretly hope the smell with stain your sheets for a few days.
“Don’t get used to this.” He grumbles against the back of your neck, laying behind you with his muscular, relaxed arm under your head.
You sigh in response, taking a mental note of the space he was leaving between your two bodies. Were you overstepping? Was he uncomfortable? Before your self criticism could be spoken out loud, he threw his other arm over your waist.
“This okay?” He mumbles, half awake.
You nod, your heart thumping in your chest now.
“Are you sure?” He asks, “I can hear your heart. You uncomfortable?”
You smile, and turn your body around to face him. He slowly lifts his eyes open, an eyebrow twitching in reaction to your sudden movements. He looks at your face, the way your smooth skin blends into your soft lips and the way your eyelashes curl up. You look back at him, studying his face for a moment. His dark, thick eyebrows lay relaxed on his worn face. His hair is messy now, untamed and wild. You reach out a hand to feel the side of his cheek, the harsh stubble and beard hair gently scraping the back of your fingers. He gently leans into your hand, closing his eyes again and breathing your air.
You retract your hand, lean down and rest the top of your forehead on his chest. The fabric of his white wifebeater is soft in comparison to his rough, warm skin.
Logan had said not to get used to this. He told himself he wouldn’t get used to it. No matter what he said, nothing could change the unspoken understanding that this was the start of a new tradition between the two of you.
you became interested in logan when you first saw him (i mean, obviously), but it's the little things that made you fall for him.
like when you were trying to reach for the box of lucky charms after a mission one night, and he came up behind you, placing his hand on the small of your back as he grabbed it for you. you question how he even knew that you wanted lucky charms, when there was a selection of cereal that you could be reaching for, but he just shrugs.
or how he goes out of way to not eat the foods you have strong aversions to when you're around. to you, it's a big deal, and he can see it in your eyes, but he plays it off, just saying that he "knows you have a thing." you think that surely someone's told him about it, that he hasn't just come to that conclusion himself. but you're wrong, he's just observant, especially when it comes to you.
one moment in particular that got to you was when he was first starting to open up to you. you always noticed that he was a little more serious around you than everyone else, but tried not to read into it. even then, he was nice to you, which you noticed. he'd go out of his way to do little things for you, without saying a word. he'd take the stack of books out of your hand and carry them for you, or he'd shrug his jacket off of his shoulders if you even showed the slightest sign of being cold. but then one day he complimented you, and when you were a mix of flustered and confused—not saying anything in response—he teased you, saying, "what, you don't know what to do when i'm nice to you?"
For today I have my first Logan headcanon that I've written ever. Working on it was really fun and even though I can tell it's not perfect I'll def get better with more practice💪 I'll be posting Part 2 either later this week or for the next Wolverine Wednesday. I'm also going to figure out how to make a masterlist and put it in my pinned post the more I write. I hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is appreciated! (just don't be too mean plz I'll cry😓)
Headcanon under the cut
Purring Logan Part 1
• For context I believe that true to Logan's animalistic nature there's certain things he does that are out of his control that are not necessarily human behaviors
• For example: scenting new people he doesn't recognize, his eyes dilating/doing that reflective thing in the dark, and him purring when he's content/comfortable/happy
• Given the type of life he lives he doesn't often get to experience the last one in it's entirety. He could probably count on one maybe both hands how many times he's purred in his entire 200+ years of life
• He's HIGHLY embarrassed by it when it happens out of nowhere AND there's other people around
• It'll happen only for a few seconds when he's taking a really nice hot shower after a long day or he's having a comfort meal
• Kurt (Nightcrawler) is one of the only people alive at this point who have had the fortune (or misfortune) of getting to experience this while having dinner with Logan
• Both him and Kurt were having dinner late after all of the other X-Men were finished leaving them alone with each other in the dining room
• Porridge was on the menu and Logan's had extra nuts and a side of bacon (like how his mama used to make for him)
• He was just so hungry and Peter (Colossus) did something different when cooking dinner today that made it taste way better than it ever had
• He really couldn't help it after a few minutes eating when a light rumble started deep in his chest that came up his throat before he could suppress it
• Immediately Logan's head snaps up towards Kurt who's sitting across from him
• The look Logan gives him could freeze the entire ocean over....
• Kurt quickly covers his mouth to stop himself from laughing as Logan's claws slowly come out, a silent threat against Kurt's life
• (Kurt purrs too but he's not embarrassed about it. He uses it along with his cutsey act to get out of sticky situations with other X-Men😽 Unfortunately this doesn't work on Logan...)
• Their unspoken agreement while they both finished their food in silence was to never speak of that moment again and to pretend it never happened
• (Every once in a while when they have porridge for dinner Kurt gives Logan a knowing look which Logan does NOT appreciate at all)
He’s super skilled at Defense against the dark arts and dueling but his worst class is flying.
You would think he’s a beater or something on the team but he has no desire to get on a death trap broom tyvm.
ATLA Element - Earth / Metal Bender
Absolutely participates in underground fighting lmao.
Did get his ass kicked by Toph
Myers Briggs - ISFJ
Percy Jackson Cabin - Ares (could be Hades but im leaning more towards Ares)
He gets along with animals more than humans for sure but he actually prefers prey animals over predator. While he gets along with both he had a soft spot for smaller weaker animals and has a desire to protect them
He doesn’t like Horror jump scare movies because he doesn’t like to be surprised but he does like thrillers.
Given his age I think he’s pretty cultured and familiar with a lot different cuisines and languages. But idk how well he handles spice lmao.
I think he supports the arts but doesn’t really partake much in them himself. He has gone to musicals and stuff but he’s not a painter or writer. He does appreciate their importance though.
He’s a big hockey guy obviously and sometimes his Canadian accent slips out when he’s watching it or around other Canadians
He thinks American flavors or things are disgusting and too processed
He doesn’t like rom coms but not because they’re cheesy and silly but because he’s been through so much heartbreak and when he falls he falls hard that it leaves him a little bitter seeing couples on screen get their happy ending
He’s the kind of teacher who swears in class and says he’s doesn’t care but everyone loves him and he really knows what he’s talking about and keeps things interesting.
He likes Cats over dogs and doesn’t trust people who don’t like cats.
He doesn’t have a hair care at all. It just does that on its own.
He has favorites and he doesn’t really try to hide it but he’s a harsher grader on them so people don’t try and complain.
Everything he knows about pop culture is learned against his will.
thats it for now but if anyone else wants to chime in please do
