father figure! logan howlett with anemic! reader
🏷 ( @r4wrr3-xpp , @radioshepard , @mavixgirl , @luna-kait )
The Danger Room hummed with low energy, its metallic walls gleaming under the dim emergency lighting that Logan preferred for these sessions. He'd long since learned that the harsh fluorescents gave you headaches, and while he'd grumble and mutter about "kids these days" if anyone asked, he always made sure the room was set to your comfort before you arrived.
"You're telegraphing your punches again, sweetheart." Logan said, his voice a low rumble that carried easily across the training floor. He stood with his arms crossed, watching you face off against a holographic opponent—a simple training dummy that wouldn't move or fight back. Just practice. Nothing that could actually hurt you.
"I am not." you protested, throwing another punch that landed square in the hologram's chest. The simulation registered the hit with a soft beep. "That was perfect."
"That was slow." he countered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "You're pulling your shoulders back before you throw. Gives it away every time."
You huffed, turning to face him with your hands on your hips. "Okay, old man, how about you show me how it's done then?"
Logan's eyebrows shot up. "Old man? I'll show you old man, kid"
"Sure you will." you teased, grinning at him.
He was already moving toward you, his massive frame somehow graceful as he positioned himself beside the holographic dummy. "Watch. It's all in the hips."
He demonstrated a quick combination: two jabs, a hook, and a roundhouse kick that would have knocked most people into next week. The hologram registered each hit with increasingly frantic beeps before dissolving into pixels.
"Show-off.." you grumbled, but you were smiling.
"Pay attention and you might learn something," he said, stepping back to let you try again. "Now show me what you've got, cub."
The nickname made your heart warm, even though you tried not to let it show. Logan had been at the school for about a year now, same as you, and somewhere along the way he'd become… well, him. Not just the gruff, intimidating X-Man who smelled like cigars and leather, but the father.
He was the closest thing to a father you'd ever had.
You reset your stance, taking a breath and trying to mimic his movements. The first few combinations went well, your form was improving, and Logan's grunts of approval were better than any gold star. But you were getting tired, the familiar heaviness creeping into your limbs, and your reaction time was slowing.
Still, you pushed through it. You always did. It wasn't like you could tell Logan you needed a break, he'd shut the whole session down and carry you to the infirmary, and you hated being fussed over. Even if, secretly, a small part of you loved when he got all protective.
"You're slowing down," Logan observed, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "Take a breather."
"I'm fine," you insisted, throwing another punch. "Just one more round."
"One more round." You turned back to the hologram, resetting your stance. "I can do this."
Logan's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He'd learned early on that pushing you too hard would only make you more stubborn. So he watched, ready to step in the moment something went wrong.
You threw a combination—jab, hook, uppercut—and it was actually good. The hologram registered solid hits, and you felt a surge of pride. You were getting better. Maybe someday you'd be good enough to-
Your foot caught on the mat. Or maybe your knees just decided they'd had enough. You went down, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs with an "oof!" that made you chuckle even as you landed on your butt.
"Nice form," Logan deadpanned, already walking toward you with an outstretched hand. "Real graceful."
"Oh, shut up." you chuckled, accepting his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. "It was your mat's fault. It's uneven."
"My mat," he repeated flatly. "The Danger Room floor is-"
But the chuckle died in your throat as you straightened up. Those familiar brown spots starting to dance at the edges of your vision, those familiar warning signs you'd learned to recognize over the years of. First the spots, then the full black-out, then the rush of dizziness, then-
Logan saw it happen in real time. The subtle furrow of your brow. The way your eyes went distant, the faltering of your posture as if suddenly unsure on where you stood, hands coming up with the fingers splayed as if you were trying to make sure you didn't bump into anything in a dark room.
well, shit. here we go again.
"Easy there, easy," Logan's gruff voice was suddenly right in front of you, his big hands finding your shoulders as your outstretched palms met the solid wall of his chest. "I've got you, sweetheart. Just breathe."
The brown spots were spreading, swallowing up the edges of your vision until all you could see was the vague outline of Logan's form in front of you. You blinked rapidly, trying to force the world back into focus, but it was no use. Everything was going dark.
"'M okay," you mumbled, even as your knees started to wobble. "'S just the-"
"I know what it is." Logan's voice was steady, his hands warm and grounding as they rubbed up and down your arms. "Just stand still. Let it pass."
He knew now, had seen it happen enough times to know exactly what to do. But the first time, months ago, when he did not know and you'd dropped cold on the training room floor without warning, he'd damn near had a heart attack.
You leaned into him, not even thinking about it, just following the instinct that told you he was something solid that would keep you from falling. Your forehead pressed against his chest, and you could hear the steady thump of his heart beneath the thick fabric of his shirt.
"Deep breaths," he murmured, and you realized distantly that he'd shut down the simulation. The hum of the Danger Room was gone, replaced by that familiar quiet that made the space feel so much more intimate. "That's it, kid. I've got you."
The darkness slowly began to recede, the brown spots retreating like the tide going out, leaving the world slowly swimming back into focus. But the dizziness lingered, and your head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
"You stood up too fast, didn't you?" he rumbled, though you felt the word more than you heard it. "Should've known better, kid. You know the rules. Slow and steady."
Twenty seconds passed. Your hands were still pressed against his chest, and you'd leaned into him enough that your head was tucked beneath his chin. He could feel your breath—soft, warm puffs against the sensitive skin of his neck—and he made a mental note to get you some orange juice from the kitchen later. Something with sugar. Something to help.
The stupid paternal instincts never shut up, did they? They'd been quiet for so long, buried under decades of pain and isolation. Then he'd come to this school and you and the girls had found him.
Rogue, with her sadness and her careful way of moving through the world like she was terrified of touching anyone. Kitty, with her quick grin and her sunshine-bright energy. And you, with your bubbly laugh and your habit of taking naps anywhere you could and your stupid iron deficiency.
Jean had caught on quick, not even two weeks after he'd started really watching out for you three. He'd been in the kitchen, making himself some toast, and she'd just… appeared. Silent as a ghost.
"Your daughter's asking for you, Logan."
And he'd answered, completely on instinct, completely mindlessly: "Which one?"
Jean's smile had been the most infuriating thing he'd ever seen. It was soft, and warm, and absolutely dripping with affection. Storm had joined in, adding fuel to the fire with a gentle laugh and a comment about how it was nice to see him settling into fatherhood so naturally.
Logan had grumbled and walked away, but they weren't wrong. He knew they weren't wrong. Every time one of you called for him, every time you wandered into his orbit seeking safety or comfort or just the warmth of his presence, he felt that protective surge rush through him.
"Better?" Logan asked, and when you looked up, you found him watching you with that particular expression he got when he was worried but trying not to show it. The one that made him look like a grumpy bear who'd just found his favorite honey pot had been moved.
"Yeah," you breathed, though you still felt wobbly. "Think so. I can see your flannel again. It's very red. Hard to miss."
"Hey, that flannel's a classic. Don't disrespect it."
"Y'still look pale to me, though."
"That's not the flex you think it is." He was already moving, one arm sliding behind your back while the other hooked under your knees. "And up we go."
"Logan! I can walk!" you squeaked, even as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck. "I'm fine—"
"You'll be fine when I've got you sitting in the sun with some water in you." He was already carrying you toward the exit, your head naturally finding the crook of his neck as he walked. "Until then, you're staying put."
You wanted to argue, but you were tired, and he was warm, and the scent of him, leather and cigars and that particular Logan smell, was so familiar and comforting that you couldn't quite make yourself care about the indignity of being carried out of the Danger Room.
"Stubborn old man." you mumbled against his neck.
"Stubborn kid." he shot back, but there was no heat in it. If anything, his arms tightened around you just slightly, pulling you closer.
The walk through the mansion was blessedly short. Logan moved quickly and efficiently, his boots barely making a sound on the polished floors. You caught glimpses of the hallways through half-lidded eyes, the familiar portraits and furniture blurring past.
"You're still breathing," Logan commented after a moment, and you could feel the rumble of his voice through his chest. "Good."
Something warm bloomed in your chest that had nothing to do with the post-dizziness recovery. You pressed your face further into his neck, your breath puffing warm against his skin, and for just a moment, you felt his pace slow. Like he was savouring the sensation.
Logan would never admit it, but moments like this were what he lived for. The feeling of one of his cubs safe in his arms, trusting him enough to let their guard down completely. The little puffs of your breath against his skin left behind the faintest scent of you and it made him feel so fiercely protective that it almost hurt.
Animals always smelled like their cubs, it was how they knew their own, how they tracked them through the wilderness. And you (you, Kitty, Rogue) you all had your own scents, and he could pick them out of a crowd without even thinking. You smelled like home.
Not that he'd ever admit that out loud.
"I can hear you thinking, yknow.." you said, your voice muffled against his neck.
"Highly unlikely," he rumbled. "I'm not thinking anything."
"You're thinking about how much you love me."
"I'm thinking about how you're gonna be the death of me."
He huffed, but his lips twitched. "Cheeky little-"
"Logan!" A warm voice cut through their banter, and Logan looked up to find Storm approaching them from the garden path, her short white hair catching the afternoon sun. "What happened? Is she all right?"
"Anemia," Logan said shortly, adjusting you in his arms. "Just a dizzy spell. She stood up too fast."
Storm's expression softened into something almost unbearably fond. "And you carried her all the way from the Danger Room?"
"She's light," he muttered defensively. "Wasn't that far."
"You're so adorable when you're a worrywart." Storm stepped closer, pressing a gentle hand to your forehead. "How are you feeling, little one?"
"Wish I wasn't in the middle of this conversation," you mumbled, but you were smiling. "'M fine. Logan's just being dramatic."
"He's being exactly the right amount of dramatic," Storm corrected, winking at the man in question. "He's a father through and through."
Logan made a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a huff. "m'not-"
"Oh, hush." Storm's eyes sparkled with mirth. "You know it's true. Jean and I have been saying it for months. You're a girl dad, Logan. Accept it."
"I'm not doing this with you."
"I'll get her some water," Storm offered, her smile still lingering. "You get her settled. She's in the clear for the next few hours, but if she wants to skip dinner-"
"Absolutely not." Logan was already moving toward the garden bench, his voice firm. "She needs to eat. And take her supplements."
"That's not a bad idea," Storm agreed. "Though I have to say, Logan, the way you take care of her is quite-"
"Enough." He gently deposited you on the bench, making sure you were steady before pulling away. "Water. Sun. Food. That's the plan."
"I love when you mother hen me n'the girls," you teased, reaching up to pat his cheek. "It's very cute."
"It is." you insisted. "Wanna know how I know?"
"I really, really don't-"
"Because when Jean and Storm tease you about your 'daughters,' you always ask which one." Your grin was wobbly but bright. "That's pretty dad-like, if you ask me."
Logan's face did something complicated. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again-
"I'm going to get y'something to eat." he finally said, turning on his heel and marching toward the mansion.
"Love you too, Dad!" you called after him.
He didn't turn around, but you could have sworn his steps faltered just slightly. And if there was a slight quickening in his pace, well, you were too busy basking in the warm afternoon sun to notice.
Storm returned with a glass of water not a minute later, settling beside you on the bench. "He's going to be insufferable now, you know that."
"He's always insufferable," you said cheerfully, accepting the water. "That's what makes him so great."
"He's also going to be hovering for the rest of the day."
"That's okay." You took a sip of water, watching the garden path for any sign of his return. "I don't mind, actually."
Storm smiled knowingly. "You really don't, do you?"
You thought about Logan's gruff voice and gentle hands, about how he always made sure you had what you needed even when you were too stubborn to ask. About how he carried you out of the Danger Room like you weighed nothing.
"I really don't." you agreed.
