"Get a Clue, Will Ya?" (oneshot/fluff)(requested)
pairing: Logan Howlett x oblivious fem!reader summary: He gets fed up over your clueless reactions. You are smart. But you are hopeless at flirting & relationships. Even Alex Summers gave up word counts: 2.0k warnings/tags: few levels of fluff, soft Logan, snark, slow-burn tension, Logan mild exasperation, calls reader 'lady', soft undercurrent, Alex Summers try to ask you out, you are slow at flirting- stressing everyone out escpecially Logan. a/n: i have putting this off after finishing the Between Sight & Silence fic HAHAHA a month ago and been in the draft tumblr for weeks until i decide its a good time to post....anon sorry for the long wait & thank you for this cute hilarious request
Logan masterlist
You weren’t dense.
You were smart. Sharp as hell. Graduated top of your class, handled Danger Room simulations like chess pieces on a board, and could identify three mutant anomalies in a heartbeat from across the mansion lawn.
But God help you—when it came to Logan, and the increasingly obvious ways he was trying to flirt with you, you were the picture of innocent confusion.
And it was killing him.
It started with coffee.
Every morning, without fail, Logan poured two mugs before anyone else was even awake. One black. One exactly how you liked it—two sugars, splash of cream, hotter than hell. He never asked. He just handed it to you with a grunt and a nod, sometimes a grumble that passed for “mornin’.”
You assumed it was just… Logan being decent. Maybe because you always fixed the kitchen cabinet he broke after missions. Maybe because you patched up his shoulder once after he took a Sentinel beam to the ribs and refused Jean’s help.
You never thought much of it. Why would you? You were smart—books-smart, strategy-smart, but as Alex once said while rubbing his temples during Danger Room cooldowns:
"You’ve got the emotional radar of a brick wall."
Alex had tried. He gave up after the fifth time he tries to flirt with you, you asked if his stares were because your face looked weird with training sweat. (He said yes just to mess with you. You thanked him for his honesty.)
Logan? Logan was different. Quieter. He didn’t flirt, didn’t press. But he lingered. Offered to train with you. Walked you back to your room even when it was two halls out of his way. You chalked it up to his weird sense of old-school chivalry. Or boredom.
So when you flopped onto the couch one afternoon after missions, exhausted and bruised, and Logan wordlessly shoved a pillow under your head before sitting beside you with his usual beer, you just muttered, “Thanks, grandpa.”
He side-eyed you. “Seriously?”
“What?” you blinked, genuinely confused.
He shook his head, muttering something under his breath about clueless little gremlins with PhDs in everything but common sense. He stood up and walked away. Straight to the garage. To punch a wall. Maybe using his head to put the hole on the wall.
—--
You’re fixing tea. Logan leans on the counter beside you.
“You know,” he says, voice low, “we’ve been spending a lotta time together.”
You hum. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. I think it’s because we have overlapping assignments. And Jean said I’m the only one who can calm you down when you’re feral. Well. Semi-feral.”
“…Uh-huh.”
He takes a breath.
“You ever think maybe there’s a reason I sit next to you at every meal?”
“Sure. I thought you liked the window seat.”
“Lady. There ain’t a view at night.”
You turn to look at him. Innocent. Eyes bright. “You like the moonlight, then?”
Logan closes his eyes. He actually pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dear God, help me..”
You sip your tea like he didn’t just age ten years.
You thought he was just being nice.
Even when Alex Summers pulled you aside and said, with the drained tone of a man who'd tried and failed, "Look, he brought you a bottle of your favorite hot sauce. He growled at Scott when he made you cry during training. Do you really not get it?"
You just blinked at him and went, “Logan’s nice like that with everyone.”
He stared at you for a good ten seconds before muttering, “I’m out. I’m done. You’re a lost cause.”
----
It came to a head one afternoon in the garage.
You were helping Logan sort out toolkits, perched on the edge of his workbench with smudges of grease on your cheek, chatting aimlessly about coolant systems.
He barely said anything. Just watched you. Jaw tight.
Finally, he muttered, “You ever think about dating?”
You glanced up. “Huh? Oh. Not really. I’m kind of terrible at it.”
He snorted. “Yeah. I noticed.”
You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He turned, tossed the wrench onto the bench with a metallic clatter, and faced you fully. “You’re smart, lady. Real smart. Top of your class, can handle a telepathic tantrum without breaking a sweat. But when it comes to me flirting with you? It’s like talkin’ to a brick wall.”
Your mouth parted. “Wait, you were—?”
“Yes,” he cut in, exasperated. “I was flirtin’. For six goddamn months. What did you think it meant when I gave you my last beer and sat through that three-hour black-and-white movie you made me watch with subtitles?”
“I thought you liked old movies…” you whispered, stunned.
He looked at the ceiling, breathed deep through his nose like he was trying to find divine patience.
“I kissed your knuckles after that dinner with the students,” he said slowly. “You giggled and said it was 'very gentlemanly.' Thought you’d get it that time.”
“…That was flirting?”
He looked at you for a long beat. He scrubbed a hand down his face, growled into his palm, then looked at you. Real hard. Like he was holding back the urge to shake some sense into you. Or kiss you stupid.
Probably both.
“You are hopeless.”
“I—Logan, I’m not used to people liking me like that!” you blurted, ears going hot. “And you’re just so—tough. Grumpy. Muscly. I thought you were just being… weirdly polite.”
He stepped in close, eyes locked to yours, and you could practically feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. But under it, something deeper. Tired affection. Hope. Need.
“You think I act like this with everyone?” he asked, voice low.
“I mean,” you mumbled. “You let Kurt braid your hair once.”
“That’s different.”
“…You let me fall asleep on your shoulder.”
“You snored on me. For two hours. And I didn’t move a muscle.”
“Oh.” You swallowed. “I thought you were asleep too?”
He leaned in, both hands braced on the workbench on either side of your hips now. You felt caged—but safe. So much heat in the small space between you.
“Gonna say this once,” he said, voice quieter now. “And if you still don’t get it, I swear to God I’m draggin’ you to Jean for a brain scan. Or ask Charles to fix your head.”
You didn’t dare breathe.
“I like you,” Logan said. “Not in the friend way. Not in the 'mansion buddy’ way. Not in the 'passing you wrenches and watching your mouth move while you talk about brake fluid’ way. I like you. I want to be with you. And I’m two seconds away from losing my damn mind if I have to watch you flirt with the data down the lab again instead of noticing me.”
You gushed. “I was not flirting! I was encouraging the data to come out great and not failing mid loading.”
He groaned. Actually groaned. “I’m gonna throw something.”
You bit your lip. “Okay. Okay, wait. You like me? Like—like like me?”
“Yes. That’s what I’ve been saying.” He gruffly muttered.
You tugged your sleeve. “I’m not great at this. I never really… dated.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Figured. Alex gave up last week.”
Your eyes widened. “Wait, Alex—”
“Not the point,” he growled.
You gently tapped his arm. “So, like. What do we do now?”
He looked up, face somewhere between exasperation and utter disbelief.
Then, with a sigh, he cupped your cheek and muttered, “First thing we do? We go upstairs. You change outta these oil-stained clothes. I take you out. And at some point tonight, I kiss you. And if you still don’t get it after that, sweetheart, I’m calling in reinforcements.”
You blinked. “Do I need to bring my ID?”
He stared. “You think I’m gonna take you to a club to party? You really are hopeless. Been waitin’ months for you to figure it out, darlin’. Thought maybe you needed flashcards. Or a damn neon sign.”
You swallowed. “You’re gonna have to be very literal with me.”
He chuckled, low and fond. “Yeah. I gathered.”
----
You didn’t even get halfway to your room before Alex Summers appeared from the rec room, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk that said I told you so.
“So,” Alex drawled, arms crossed. “Logan finally cracked?”
You frowned. “Cracked?”
“You know. Lost his cool. Spelled it out for you in small words.” He jerked his chin toward the garage. “He looked like a man who just had to explain fire to a caveman.”
Your cheeks warmed. “He… may have been a little frustrated.”
Alex laughed outright, shaking his head. “I tried to help you, you know. Months ago. But no—every time I pointed out something obvious, you’d go, ‘Oh, Logan’s just being nice.’” He straightened and walked past you, muttering, “The guy practically growled every time someone else got within five feet of you.”
You blinked. “…He did?”
Alex stopped mid-step and turned, deadpan. “Wow. Still catching up.”
Upstairs, you pulled off your oil-streaked shirt and changed into something you figured was “date-ish,” which mostly meant clean jeans, boots without a grease stain, and a top you didn’t mind possibly ruining if Logan decided the date involved lumberjacking or motorcycle repairs.
You hesitated in front of the mirror. This wasn’t nerves about how you looked—it was the dawning realization that Logan, Logan, had just admitted he liked you. Not in the vague, maybe-he’s-just-friendly way you’d been telling yourself, but in the actual way. Your stomach twisted, a mix of thrill and fear.
When you stepped into the hall, he was waiting, leaning against the wall with his hands in his jacket pockets. He glanced you over in one slow sweep that left your skin feeling warmer than the mansion’s heating system.
“Better,” he said gruffly, pushing off the wall. “C’mon.”
–---
You expected a local diner. Maybe a pub.
What you didn’t expect was the quiet little spot tucked behind a row of brownstones in town—low lights, warm wood tables, the smell of grilled steak and something faintly sweet drifting in from the kitchen. It was intimate without being flashy, the kind of place you wouldn’t have found on your own.
Logan pulled your chair out for you, which earned him a raised brow.
“What?” he said as you sat.
“You’re… really leaning into this ‘gentleman’ thing,” you teased.
He smirked. “Trying to make sure there’s no room for misinterpretation this time.”
The conversation started awkward, at least for you. Logan didn’t talk much at first—just listened, sipped his beer, occasionally made a comment that landed with the kind of weight that made you realize he’d been paying attention to everything you’d said over the past year.
Halfway through your meal, the waitress came over, leaning a little too close to Logan as she set down his plate. You caught yourself watching him, curious.
He didn’t so much as glance at her. His eyes stayed on you. “You gonna eat that bread, or am I?”
You pushed it toward him without thinking, but your mind was still replaying the way he hadn’t looked at the waitress. You were used to being the one who faded into the background—him ignoring someone else for you felt… strange. In a good way.
After dinner, you walked outside into the cool night. The street was quiet, lamplight pooling on the sidewalk. Logan slowed his pace until you were side by side, his hand brushing against yours—once, twice—until you finally realized he was doing it on purpose.
You glanced up at him. “So… what now?”
He stopped, turning to face you fully. “Now? I make good on what I said earlier.”
Your pulse jumped. “The part about kissing me?”
“That’s the one.”
And then he did—slow, deliberate, like he wanted to erase any lingering doubt in your head. His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and you felt the rough warmth of him, the steadiness that had always been there under the gruff exterior.
When he pulled back, his voice was low but certain. “Still think I’m just bein’ nice?”
You shook your head quickly, still catching your breath. “No. Definitely not. You will need to do that every day. Kissing me, what i mean.”
Logan grunts happily, and his lips are a bit glossy because of your lipbalm. "Will do, bub. That's a promise."
