Marvel: Reader Inserts

Something There ~ Logan's Version ~ Logan Howlett x Reader

At first, you weren't even sure Logan liked you. He barely spoke during the staff meetings at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. He sat in the corner or leaned against the wall with his arms crossed like brooding was a full-time job. You taught Literature and History while Logan taught some History, Self-Defense, and How-Not-to-Get-Killed-on-a-Mission-101. You thought he was kind of an asshole, honestly, and suspected that he believed your job was just 'fluff'.

He confirmed it one afternoon when he muttered, "Hope the kids remember you class when someone's throwing punches at their head."

You raised an eyebrow. "I'll make sure to add 'duck' to next week's poetry until."

He grunted, but gave no follow-up remark. You nicknamed him 'Grumblepaws' in your head. It was either that or 'Professor Tall, Dark, and Growly'.

You said good morning when you passed him in the hallways every day. He responded once, just once. "It's 7:45 and I haven't had coffee. You really wanna try small talk right now?"

Logan was clearly a delight. He smelled like leather and cigars and cheap coffee that could double as motor oil. The kids respected him— most because they were scared. And the ones who weren't scared, tried to impress him with their tricks. You rolled your eyes behind Logan's back at least twice a week.

One day, the Professor paired the two of you for a joint project— a collaborative lesson series— between your respective fields. Charles claimed it would 'foster interdisciplinary respect'. You and Logan were confusing on literature and field readiness.

Logan grunted when he heard the idea. "I'm not doing this 'cause I want to," he muttered, voice low and gravelly. "I just don't want the Professor in my head about it."

You smiled politely. "Don't worry, I don't bite."

He stared at you for a long second before muttering, "I do."

You blinked, taken back. "That's... somehow the least comforting thing you could have said."

He simply smirked.

"Okay," you said, flipping through a few lesson plans. "I was thinking we could co-teach a unit on The Odyssey and survival tactics. Blend myth with skill. Make it engaging.

"You want me to talk about fightin' a cyclops?"

"No, I want you to talk about how Odysseus survives. Resourcefulness and adaptability."

He scratched his chin. "What's that poem where the guy gets eaten by a sea monster?"

"That's Beowulf. Not exactly the takeaway I was going for."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "I still think this is stupid."

"And I think your hair looked like it lost a fight with a lawnmower," you snapped back, then froze. "Sorry. That was—"

But Logan laughed. Like an actual laugh. "Alright, Teach. Maybe this won't be complete hell."

"There's something sweet, and almost kind

But he was mean and he was coarse and unrefined..."

That was the closest you got to friendly for a while. He was still gruff and impossible and sarcastic.

"I don't need a name tag," he murmured as you peeped for a student open house. "If they down't know who I am, they haven't been payin' attention."

"Right," you scoffed, "because you're such a warm, inviting presence."

"I'm plenty inviting." He crossed his arms over his chest. "As long as you like the smell of cigar smoke and blood."

"Charming."