✮—all coming back to me, logan x f!reader, set in dofp — logan didn’t realise you were here in the past. all that follows. [2.3K words]
✮—the story ends, logan x f!reader, set in dofp — the day that logan lost you. [1.9K words]
✮—living to lose, logan x f!reader, set in worst wolverine’s universe — logan won’t wear the suit. [1.8K words]
↳ ✮—living to learn, logan x f!reader, set in deadpool & wolverine — logan mulls over all that he has lost, and all that he has found, in the void. [2.9K words]
✮—crawling in circles, logan x f!reader, au of wolverine goes to hell — you go through hell for logan. [3.1K words]
…more to come :)
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marvel's thunderbolts*
✮—alexei's void (short), alexei shostakov x platonic!reader, alexei reveals some of what he saw in the void. [1.5K words]
✮-- summary: alexei reveals some of what he saw in the void
✮-- a/n: this is a lil drabble of what i think alexei saw in the void! i didnt execute it very well :( but it's been ages since i have written fr so go easy
✮-- warnings: THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS!, black widow (2021) references!!!, grief, angst, character death, near death experiences, the void (mentioned, references), bad ending, not executed well!!, not proofread xoxo
MASTERLIST
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This wasn't what you had expected to come from that day. You could never have expected this, especially not in your line of work. Mercenary, gun for hire, clean up crew -- whatever you liked to call it. It was dirty work, not made for good people, which is why you were so adept at it.
You didn't work for Valentina, not like the others did. You were outsourced, selected for one specific job on a one-time basis. She had hired you when her incinerator plan failed, had paid you almost a fortune up front to ensure you were committed to her goal. Kill her mercs.
There was only three of them -- one had already been eliminated -- so it should've been easy. Pick them off. Or, take them out in one go.
Except it didn't go like that. You knew of each of them, so you should've expected it. In fact, you had prepared for one of them, hell, even multiple of them to do something dumb or unexpected. There was just one variable you hadn't accounted for... one that Valentina hadn't told you about, one that hadn't even come up in your own research.
Alexei Shostakov.
Sure, you had known about his connection to one of your targets, Yelena Belova, but you knew that they hadn't been in contact. Their last mission together had been in Budapest, and they hadn't even seen each other in well over a year.
You had the three of them dead to rights, about to take them all out, until it hit you. And that was to say, literally hit you. A limousine came hurtling out of nowhere, sending you flying across the road, at least three ribs broken upon impact.
Now, you were strong, but not being hit by a limo going 50 miles an hour and getting straight back up-strong.
From there, it had all spiralled. They took you along with them, debating on whether or not to kill you, while you stared in shock the entire time. These were the infamous mercenaries you had been hired to kill? How they had escaped before, you had no idea. Pure chaos, you'd have to guess. They didn't seem to have an organised thought between them, and that was including the new addition of the Red Guardian.
Still, they won you over, which had pissed Valentina off to no end, especially when that meant you were included in 'her' new team.
You were pretty sure that the group of you had simply trauma bonded from the entire experience, finally finding kindred spirits due to the horror that sweet Bob had induced.
That wasn't to say that the whole group got along -- in fact, there was plenty of heated arguments and malice between everyone, but it worked. Somehow. Regardless, everybody had one another's backs. Even the likes of US Agent.
Most of you had only grown closer since the fallout, all living in a newly refurbished Avengers tower. This much was true even for you and the very man who had hit you with his limo. It wasn't a pairing most people expected, but Alexei was good to you... when he wasn't running you over, that is.
The two of you often found each other when the evening was beginning to bleed into the night. It started off as an accident, then eventually became more of a habit than anything else. He'd pass a bottle of vodka to you, and you'd give it back after at least two big gulps.
The drinking started off the bat, but the talking came later.
He started it, reminiscing on his Red Guardian days, his voice wistful but also more hopeful now. You could tell he was proud to be a part of this new team. Alexei wanted to help people. He wanted to be a hero.
And then you started talking, too. You told him snippets of your training, mostly sticking to stories that could be twisted into something humorous, rather than the horrifying tales of torture and abuse you still kept buried. The ones that you had relived in the void.
Alexei always had big feelings. He was loud about them, especially when it came to his daughter, and the team.
But this... this wasn't big.
You could see the feelings all over his face, the shame, the guilt. He was being quiet. It wasn't like him, not at all. Every wrinkle in his skin was layered with copious amounts of pain, clearly something that had been brewing over the course of years.
"Thanks," You murmured as you took the near-empty bottle of vodka from his outstretched hand. It was usually at least half-full when you arrived, but not today. "You gonna start?" You asked quietly, the burn in your throat easily ignored after opting for a heavy few swigs.
It was quiet, a long pause between the two of you as the bottle hovered between you. Then, it dawned on you.
"The void?"
A silent nod, followed by the swish of liquid in an upturned bottle. He sniffled.
"It is my fault." Alexei said softly, though his voice was rough, and you wondered if it had been him that you had heard yelling earlier on in the day. You waited for him to continue, unsure what to say otherwise. None of you were good people. Not really, despite the implications of the A on your uniforms. The likelihood was that, yeah, it probably was his fault.
You took the bottle when he offered it. Silent, trying to be nothing more than a listening ear. A supportive friend. However that worked.
"What happened to Yelena," He continued finally, his eyes staring ahead, never once having glanced at you. "It is my fault. I did that to her."
You hummed when he was silent after his statements, passing the bottle back. "Wasn't she trained in the red room?" You questioned quietly, not wanting to disrupt the gentle atmosphere between the two of you. It seemed as though if you were too loud, the man beside you may just fall apart.
"Because of me." He spat out, his words filled with more vitriol than you had ever heard from him.
After a moment, you rested your hand on top of his around the bottle of vodka, and you pulled it away from his lips. You left your hand there, against his. "What did you see?" You asked him gently, looking at the side of his face.
He heaved a shuddering breath.
"That day. After we left America." There were tears shining in his eyes, but he still refused to look at you.
"Alexei, you were on a mission. You..."
He cut you off. "You do not understand." Alexei shook his head, pulling his hand away from yours, and taking a swig from the bottle. "Natasha. She begged me not to let them take Yelena. I told her, I said, my girls... my girls are strong."
There was something haunted in his voice. You had never heard him like this before. Throughout all of your talks, discussions, vents, it had never been this.
You knew he was filled with grief, much like Yelena, but he had never revealed how much that grief was brimming within him. This was a crack in his loud persona, and it revealed an inside just waiting to burst. You had no idea he was holding all of this in. He always seemed so... not content with his choices, but something close to it.
"They are strong." You told him hesitantly, because you didn't know what to say to him. There was nothing you could do to heal this wound.
"They had no choice." He answered. "And now, my daughter... Natasha is gone. I nearly lost Yelena," He barely held in a sob at the memory. "Ever since the void, I think, I say what if. If I protected my girls that day, they would both be here. No?"
There was no hesitation from you now. "Or, all of you could have been killed that very day." You told him firmly, brows furrowed as you watched him stare down at the now empty bottle. "Alexei, you can't think like that. Everyone in this building has suffered, and we all should've been protected from it, but we weren't. We learn to live with it. Natasha made something of herself, something she was proud of. And Yelena is doing that, too."
"But that happy little girl... she will never return." Alexei sniffled, closing his eyes.
You frowned, torn between what you should say, unsure if this was a conversation he should be having with Yelena herself.
And then she appeared.
Waltzed through the door as if her father figure wasn't about to have a mental breakdown. "Hey! There you are," She greeted, cheerful considering the time of night and the sight before her. She paused, eyebrows raising. "Is... everything alright?"
You leaned closer to Alexei, knocking his shoulder with your own. "I wouldn't be too sure of that." You murmured to him, seeing that glow within her that he often spoke of.
Alexei nodded to Yelena, smiling tightly, but it seemed mostly genuine.
"Come, it is dinner time. Barnes cooked." She said, seeming amused. And even though it was way later than dinner time, you and Alexei both got up together, following after her.
✮— logan x f!mutant!reader (au of wolverine goes to hell)
✮— summary: you go through hell for logan
✮— a/n: i read half of the graphic novel wolverine goes to hell, and in combination with an idea that the wonderful @captain-tch gave me for a mutation, i came up with this
✮— warnings: reader’s mutation is to do w necromancy / similar to it. she can bring people back to life & potentially control them, reanimating dead bodies, communicating with spirits / souls, DEATH, hell (literally), canon-typical violence, blood, religious images (literally including hell, demons, etc), probably weird pov shifts, a mixture of graphic novel elements & my own, not technically hugh’s wolverine, kind of ambiguous past relationship w logan, not proofread
MASTERLIST
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No matter how many times you traipsed your way through this place, it never got any easier. The weight never went away, always staying pressed on your shoulders, making you drag your feet behind you. This place was made for suffering, and you weren’t immune to it.
Even though this was your gift, your soul had come far too close to being trapped in hell more than once.
It was for balance, you supposed. The universe couldn’t allow you to simply traverse through hell and pull souls out without some risk of consequences. Bringing people back had to be difficult, had to come with some amount of challenge. Especially because it was more permanent than your ability to reanimate bodies.
Cheating death was a risky business, that was for sure.
Everything in this place was made to keep you here. From the literal demons, to the walls and ground that ensnared tortured souls, each being was here to make you suffer alongside them. Nobody was supposed to leave hell.
But still, here you were, not for the first time. Fighting against the way the screams made you want to curl up into a ball on the ground, against the way the air seemed to burn down your lungs, slowing you.
Your own sins lingered down here, flashing at the edges of your vision, taunting you. You had learned long ago not to try looking for them, because it was a slippery slope. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard. Being here made you want to face them, made you want to prove that you were good, somehow, despite knowing that you weren’t. You had done terrible, awful things, and one day, you’d end up here permanently. There was no denying it. The proof lingered in your periphery.
Honestly, you dreaded the day. But you were lucky in some ways, as you’d be able to prepare yourself for what was to come, which most others couldn’t.
Even thinking of these things distracted you, made you stray from your path. Luckily, you caught yourself before you got too far, and hurried to correct your course. It was far too easy to get lost down here, to let the laughter pull you from your path.
You focused on your mission. Find Logan, and guide him back to the real world. It shouldn’t have been as difficult as your other missions to this place, seeing as he wasn’t actually dead. His soul was lost, displaced by a demon who wore his skin. You could help with both of those things, but only if you found him.
Unfortunately, you had a good guess as to where he would be. And you didn’t like it.
It wasn’t every day that souls were brought here while still alive, so you imagined the leader of this world had something to do with it. He must’ve had some kind of fascination with the infamous Wolverine, as so many tyrants did. And from everything you knew about Logan, there was plenty of things down here they could use against him.
You knew his history, despite how much he had once tried to hide it. To hide from it, really. There would be hundreds, if not thousands, of souls down here hellbent on getting revenge against the mutant.
Suddenly, you heard a yell, one that reverberated the floor below you. Or at least, it felt that way.
It wasn’t hard to find where it had come from, and you leant over a cliff edge to witness someone from Logan’s past standing before him, speaking gravely to the man as the devil himself brandishing the soulcutter. Logan looked exhausted already, and you knew he hadn’t technically been in here for very long, but you imagined it felt like years to him.
Hell’s very own leader stood over him, ugly face pulled into something that almost resembled a triumphant smile. It sent a chill down your spine, but you were used to it. It happened every time you saw that beast. Despite knowing his reign on the throne was precarious at best, it didn’t stop the shiver of fear that he caused. Logan was far braver than you.
“Nail our friend to the wall. Let him think things over for, say, a few thousand years.”
You watched two of the demons carry Logan away, and swore under your breath. This would take longer than you’d have liked.
”Hey,” A voice called to your right, and your head snapped towards it. It was a man you vaguely recognised. He had begged you to take him back with you more than once. “I know a shortcut.” He told you, face creased with something that almost resembled hope.
“Show me.” You told him, voice rough, throat rubbed raw from the air that you were forced to breathe.
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Seeing him in pain was never easy for you, but it had been all Logan had known for so long. This… this was on another level.
Nailed to a cross, an X, ironically. He looked drained. Your eyebrows creased, pity and sorrow threatening to consume you. You reminded yourself of who he was, what he had done, and why you were here before you got too caught up in him again.
“Logan.”
His head lolled upwards, glazed eyes struggling to focus. He looked even more defeated at your appearance, somehow, as he murmured your name with a kind of resigned tone.
You rushed to him, Puck lingering behind you, and your hands were holding his face tenderly before you could even think to stop them. His eyebrows furrowed, and he tried to pull his jaw from your palms. “No, no more tricks. Ain’t fallin’ for it anymore.”
“I’m not a trick, Logan.” You told him quietly, feeling your emotions swell in your chest. Anger, sadness, pity, resentment, and lingering somewhere underneath, love.
“You’re…” He paused, his eyes focusing slightly as he shook his head. “No, no, you—you died?” The dried blood on his wrists flakes off, replaced with fresh droplets when he pulls slightly against his restraints.
Despite yourself, you smiled gently at him. “I didn’t die. You know my powers, don’t you?” You asked, rhetorically really, but he stuttered out an affirmative answer anyway. “I’ve come to get you, Logan. With a little help.” You added, nodding your head towards where Puck was watching the two of you with a rapt interest. He glanced away quickly as though he hadn’t just been staring, before he trained his gaze on Logan.
“Gotta say, old man, you’ve looked better.” Puck greets, barely giving Logan the chance to simply utter his name, let alone form a response. “Listen to me, Logan, all hell is watching you right now. You wanna get out of here, you wanna help me, help Mariko, then you have to keep fighting.”
Logan’s face turns away from him, and you fight the urge to hold him in your palms once more.
“He’s right. Every demon down here is waiting to make a move for the throne. Every time you defy the big man, the whole place gets a little closer to bubbling over.” You explain, having learnt the politics of this place from your many journeys here.
Puck turns to walk away, but looks back with a grave expression. “I’ll do what I can to help you. Just don’t let him break you, Logan.”
It doesn’t take long for the wounds on him to heal, though it would be far faster in the real world. He slumps against you for a moment, and it’s lucky that you’re stronger in here than you are up above. But then you realise that he isn’t as heavy as you’re used to. He must have reverted back to his form before the Weapon X procedure, before the adamantium. It only convinces you further that he isn’t the weapon he believes himself to be. After all, this is his very soul, revealing his true nature to you.
You let him lean on you as you follow Puck from a distance, carrying half of his weight for him. Despite the lack of metal skeleton, it isn’t easy. He’s made of muscle, even here. But you manage, reminding yourself that if he had only allowed you to help him like this in the real world, the two of you could’ve survived. You decide to savour it, despite the situation.
“Why are you here?” He asks you, seemingly having regained some strength, but still leaning on you nonetheless. You think that it’s so you can’t see his face, can’t see some kind of vulnerability.
Your hand around him squeezes gently. “Because the world isn’t done with you yet, Logan. Not by a long shot. We need you.”
“But you… you always told me that coming here to bring a soul back was wrong.” He murmurs, recalling the topic that had been the subject of so many arguments you had had with the man. It had been a source of contention within your relationship. Or, one of.
“You’re not dead.” You state simply, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t really encapsulate the real reason you’re here. Because the truth is, even if he was, you’d probably be here regardless. Carrying his weight, pulling him away from an eternity of torture and suffering. Using your power to bring him back.
He huffs out a breath. “S’pose not.”
“If I’m gonna try and take both of you, we’re gonna need to distract the big guy. Tip the scales of this place.” You say after a few moments of silence, your eyes focusing in on Puck’s distant soul. You can’t see the man himself, but his soul glitters in the distance, catching your eye and reminding you of his presence, of his desire to escape this place.
“So, we’re goin’ to start a revolution… in hell?” He asked, almost disbelieving, but he knew better than to be surprised by you, at this point.
“Hell yeah.” You responded, snickering to yourself, savouring the way Logan huffed a laugh through his nose.
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The revolution had taken place, and the multitude of demons populating the realm were all grappling for the power left over. There was no clear winner, not yet, and you counted on it staying that way for as long as possible in order for you all to escape with your souls intact.
“This way.” You said urgently, diverting Logan and Puck from where they had been sprinting towards the towering walls that surrounded the realm. You went to the left, sticking close to the wall, until you found a certain cell. It was an old woman, who had been in hell for far longer than you, or even Logan, had been alive. She had become familiar to you, by now. “Now climb.” You said, using the window to her tiny cage as a foothold, making your way up the wall.
“Quickly!” Puck urged, trailing behind you and Logan, anxiously looking back.
“Don’t look back. Don’t let them grab you.” You told the two of them, grasping a chunk of the squishy wall in one hand and pulling yourself up, narrowly avoiding the hand that reached for you as you did. “It’s not much further!”
Logan slashed away three arms that were trying to grasp onto him, still managing to stay right on your six, whilst Puck lagged below, still looking back every few seconds, as if expecting a demon to come and pull him from the wall. The ground was far away by this point, so much so that looking down would’ve made you dizzy.
The limbs still grappled uselessly from their prisons, a chorus of voices singing out prayers and begs for the three of you to help them, or to stay. “Hey!” Puck called out suddenly, eyes wide as you looked back once, only to watch him get pulled from the wall.
“No! No escape from the pit!” The voice that the arm belonged to said, scratchy and old and full of resentment.
“Puck!” Logan called after him, reaching a hand down towards him to no avail, he was already falling.
“Logan! Keep going!” Were the last words either of you heard from the man, his voice becoming quieter as he neared the ground. It was so far away that you couldn’t see it through the darkness that surrounded this place.
The two of you had no choice but to keep climbing, until you suddenly stopped.
Logan could only watch with some confusion as you plunged your hand into a section of the wall and pulled, until a gap started to open up. It leaked light, a thing that was so rare in this place that all of the arms reaching for the two of you shied away. Even Logan felt himself flinch at the sight, his eyes squinting, but adjusting quickly as the gap opened wide enough for you to climb into.
He lingered outside as you pushed the walls, fighting the very matter of hell until Logan could just about squeeze into the gap. To his surprise, it opened up into a barren landscape, filled with a bright light.
It made Logan realise that he had never seen this perspective of your power. He had never been on the receiving end of it, had never had you guide him through hell to somewhere else, somewhere better. The glow that surrounded you made you appear as angelic, though he had never found any kind of faith within him. He’s pretty sure that this image could change that.
But then he notices it, the downside.
His eyes zero in on the way the skin of your hands cracks, tips of your fingers charred as though burnt by the very walls of hell. Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as you pushed the opening back together. As soon as it got near enough, the wall simply sewed itself together, like the passageway had never been there.
In the light, it only looked worse for you.
You were clearly in pain, the expression on your face reminiscent of the one that you’d held when Logan had left you behind. For a moment, your eyes were unfocused, gazing at something beyond him. But then you snapped back, your attention suddenly razor-sharp.
“C’mon. We have to keep moving.” You told him simply, before marching across the barren land. Logan had no choice but to follow in your confident footsteps.
It felt as though the two of you had been walking for hours, though your steps hadn’t faltered once. He trailed behind you like some kind of lost puppy, his eyes rarely straying from your form. He didn’t want to get lost in here, and he certainly didn’t want to lose you. But you might’ve known something that Logan didn’t, considering the fact that you had never looked back towards him.
“Okay, Logan, it’s time.” You said as you slowed to a stop, though he couldn’t figure out why. There was no landmark, no anything. It was no different to the landscape the two of you had been traipsing through for the past however long.
But there was a kind of finality in your expression.
“Wait. Now just hang on a second,” Logan said, a note of pleading in his tone. His expression just barely betrayed the desperation he felt. You said nothing, only quirking a brow at him. “Why?” He asked, his brows furrowing slightly as he looked at you, eyes haunted by his past. By your shared past, too.
“I already told you—”
“No, no, there has to be something else. Some other reason for you doing this. You told me you wouldn’t ever do this again. So whether I’m alive or dead, what does it matter?” He asked pleadingly, his voice strained. The skin of his neck was pulled taut over the veins there, and you could see the signs of him getting worked up. He didn’t understand. He didn’t believe in anyone doing anything without an agenda, without some hidden motivation.
And the longer you looked at him, the clearer it became. He was still stuck in the past that the two of you had shared.
The past where he had left you behind, where he had told you that no matter how much you loved him, or he loved you, it would never be enough. He couldn’t see past the expression on your face that day, the way everything about you just dropped as though he had tossed some invisible weight at you.
Logan had broken your heart, that was true, but it didn’t change anything.
“It matters because I love you. And even if that’s not enough for you, it is for me.” You admitted, the words said gently, though they clearly packed a punch to him.
The infamous Wolverine didn’t know kindness, or unconditional love. It wasn’t something that had ever existed to him, not really. Everybody who came to him wanted something, whether it was disguised as kindness, or not. Even the X-Men only approached him because he was an asset, and though love had bloomed there, it didn’t change how the roots were laid.
So this, you, seemed impossible.
He had always believed you were too good to be true. Even when he argued with you, disagreed on the uses of your powers, he was always conscious that you deserved more than what he could give you. Just look at what had been awaiting him in hell — every bad thing he had ever done was in one place.
But then… you came anyway. You came, and you travelled through the ranks of every life he had ever taken, you looked his sins in the eyes and you didn’t blink.
You pulled him out anyway. Why? For love?
“I broke your heart. I left you.” Logan stated blankly, staring at you incredulously, as though he was waiting for you to realise that these things were true, and send him back to hell.
“And yet the demon who possessed your body came to kill me. Which means you, in some capacity, loved me.” You responded, smiling at him with pity crowding the creases of your face. A part of you was expecting him to deny that, but he didn’t.
Logan shook his head. “I… I have always loved you. I just refused to ruin you, to cover you in the blood I got on my hands.”
“I would’ve taken it, Logan. I would’ve let it all stain before I washed you away.” You told him sadly, your chest aching with every word you get out. If only he would have had this conversation all that time ago, if only he would’ve realised that you didn’t care about stains, or him ruining you. You would’ve been happy, so long as you had him.
But it was too late now.
“Come on,” Logan stared at your outstretched hand as you spoke, unable to bring himself to meet your empathetic gaze. “We’re out of time.”
He grasped your hand with his own, despite the flecks of blood that were still tacky on his skin.
✮— logan x f!mutant!reader (set in deadpool & wolverine)
✮— summary: logan mulls over all that he has lost, and all that he has found, in the void
✮— a/n: i was enabled by yall - please heed the warnings! you dont need to read pt 1 to read this!
✮— warnings: MAJOR DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE SPOILERS, major character deaths, angst, incredibly sad backstory, dead kids / teenagers, practically a genocide of mutants, suicidal ideation (from logan, kind of), reader acts as a mother figure for someone, incorrect dialogue from dp&w, a smidge of comfort, again ANGST, lmk if there’s more!
part one | masterlist
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It’s almost impossible not to linger on the things that you have lost.
And for Logan, it is impossible.
He spends every waking moment craving for the touch of somebody he lost, and he’s painfully aware that it’s all his fault. He caused the loss. And he’s the only one left to mourn you, because god knows the humans won’t.
Even for him, some two hundred years old, it’s all too painful. And he has experienced plenty of pain in his life. But this? Losing you? Losing everyone? It’s too much. So, he does what he can, he pours so much alcohol into his body that he can’t think, can’t imagine what your final moments must have been like.
But between bars, when his healing factor wears the alcohol down, it’s all he sees.
He imagines you there, surrounded by all of your loved ones except for him, unable to save them. And he can remember finding you so vividly, can remember the ashy tone your skin had taken on, all the life drained from you. He can remember exactly where he found you, in front of the doors, your dying action being to try and save the kids in the mansion. He prays to a god that he doesn’t believe in that you died before they did, because knowing that you hadn’t been able to save them would have killed you.
And the other X-Men, they died the same way. Trying to protect each other, trying to protect those kids. And perhaps the only one who knew that it was all in vain would’ve been Jean. Jean, who he found in front of the children.
Where was he?
At some bar, surrounded by humans he couldn’t care less about, all because he was selfish. All because he didn’t want anybody thinking he wanted to be part of the team. God forbid he actually care about something.
And because of his selfishness, his fear, he lost it all.
He lost you.
So when Wade said he could fix Logan’s universe, he would’ve done anything to make that happen. Anything that Wade asked for, he would’ve done. And as soon as his universe was fixed, Logan would go to you and get to his knees, he would beg for your forgiveness.
And all of that, that hope that had evaded him all those years, was for nothing. For an educated wish.
Logan couldn’t do anything but resort to his old habits, grabbing the first bottle of actual alcohol he saw, and finally numbing the image of you dead in his arms.
“There’s five of us.” Elektra told Wade, and Logan paid her no mind. Everything was futile now, pointless. He was only helping Wade to help the team, to help you, and that was likely impossible. So whatever these so-called heroes were planning, he wanted no part in it.
Logan had already secured his legacy in his universe, and it wasn’t the one you had always imagined for him. He was the Wolverine, and he was every bit of violence that name suggested. Because even though he hadn’t been able to save the X-Men, he sure as hell got his vengeance. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, until every single human who was remotely involved in the blood bath at X-Mansion was dead.
You wouldn’t have been proud of his actions, true, but you were dead.
Cassandra had mentioned something about temperance, earlier, and it hadn’t taken him long to recognise that you were the anchor of his. Without you, Logan hadn’t managed any sort of self-restraint. He had slaughtered people. And he could only bring himself to regret those that hadn’t quite deserved it.
By the time the red had faded from his vision, Logan realised he had gone too far. He hadn’t just killed the ones who had murdered his friends, but anyone in connection to them, and anyone who had gotten in his way. The only reason he wasn’t arrested was because they were too afraid of him, and the only reason he hadn’t been killed was because he couldn’t fucking die.
Even the fuckers that had slaughtered the X-Men couldn’t figure out how to kill him, and that was a sick kind of irony.
“Logan, that’s who I was telling you about! X-23!” Wade said excitedly, pointing across the room at a teenage girl, who stared at him like she was seeing a ghost. From the sound of what Wade had said earlier, she probably was.
And the sight of her, for some reason, tugged at his chest. He drowned the feeling with more whiskey.
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“Hey.” Laura greeted you, fidgeting with the strap of her bag as she watched you enter the back of the base, carrying a bag full of food. She seemed nervous, and you couldn’t figure out why.
“Hey, Laura, everythin’ alright?” You asked fondly, glancing at her as you started unpacking the supplies that you’d found scattered across the void.
She hesitated, glancing back through the doorway she was stood in, before focusing on you. “Yeah. Uh, I need to talk to you.” She said, sounding incredibly serious, which wasn’t unusual for her. Laura had been through so much, including everything that she had told you about her life before the void. Being here hadn’t made her life any better.
You immediately paused your actions, and turned your full attention towards the teenager across from you. You nodded for her to start.
“I was out patrolling earlier, and I found some people.” Laura said slowly, thinking her words over thoroughly before she spoke them aloud. She didn’t want to make this any worse. “I drove them here, and we’ve made a plan to attack Cassandra’s first thing. Except for one of the two, who doesn’t want to help.”
“Okay…” You said cautiously, almost confused. “This all sounds good, doesn’t it? Whoever they are, they can stay here if they want. Fill me in on the plan, and we’ll handle it.”
“It’s… okay. It’s about who they are.” She clarified finally, giving up on trying to approach the situation cautiously. “It’s a variant of him. Of Logan.”
Your chest squeezed painfully immediately, and you hand to hold a hand to your sternum to try and ease it. If it were any other situation, Laura may have made a joke about you having a heart attack, but she knew better. She knew how she had felt when she first saw the man, so she could imagine how you were feeling.
Immediately, your heart was torn between rushing to see him, and refusing to lay your eyes on the man at all. You weren’t sure you could handle seeing him, or, well, a variant of him.
It hurt too much. Every day you were reminded of how you had failed to save him, but you had to keep going, for the others in the void. Because they needed you, just as much as you needed them. Laura needed you.
She knew your pain all too well, having lost her own Logan. So you knew what she was telling you was the truth. There was really, finally, a Wolverine variant in the void.
“You okay?” Laura asked, after you had been silent for more moments than she was comfortable with. She was looking at you with such concern, and you could tell that her own heart was practically bursting in her chest from the sight of him.
“Are you?” You asked in return, eyebrows raised as you finally started to get a grip on yourself, shaking yourself from the pit of loss you had begun to get stuck in. She nodded, and you nodded yourself before pausing to think. “And this… Logan, he doesn’t want to join to Cassandra’s?”
Laura shook her head, looking down momentarily. “No. He’s… he’s as messed up as my Logan was.”
You approached her, drawing her into a silent hug. She squeezed you tightly, and the strength her mutation — Logan’s mutation — had given her wasn’t lost on you.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” You asked her quietly, and felt her nod against your shoulder. “Alright. Where is he?” You questioned, silently steeling yourself to face a copy of the man you had lost. The man you had loved.
She pointed you in the right direction, letting you go with a simple, “Good luck.” The entire walk outside, you were holding your breath, trying to prepare yourself somehow. As if this was something you would ever be able to prepare for.
And the moment you saw him, you knew it was all in vain. Because nothing could’ve prepared you for seeing him again, after all this time.
For a moment, it felt as though time was stood still, suspended.
Until he opened his mouth. “‘M not lookin’ for company.”
It was him. His familiar voice. The voice that you would’ve recognised anywhere, even after so long not having heard it. He sounded just the same as your own Logan, the same gruff tone to his voice, all grumpy expressions and furrowed brows. You could imagine it all as though your Logan was still alive, as though he was actually here. It took more than a moment for you to recall that this wasn’t your Logan.
You shuffled over to the log he sat on, the sun setting over the trees surrounding the two of you. He lifted the bottle of whiskey to his lips, glancing at you as you sat. His entire body went shock still, and he turned to look at you fully.
You smiled, and prayed he said nothing about the way your eyes became watery. “Hi, Logan.”
He said your name, sounding as though he was a mere man sat before a god, reverent. The bottle slipped from his hand as he spoke it aloud, his eyes watering immediately, his lip trembling as he looked at you like he was seeing you for the very first time.
“Are you… her?” He asked hesitantly, hand hovering halfway towards you, and you hated to be the bearer of bad news. But if you had to be conscious that he wasn’t yours, it was only fair for him to know the truth.
Reluctantly, you shook your head. “I’m sorry. I’m not your version of me, and you’re not my version of you.”
His hand fell to his lap, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you for a moment. He seemed reluctant to believe you, and you couldn’t blame him. He looked just like your version of him, grey streaks and all. But it wasn’t him, you knew, because he wasn’t coughing up blood, wasn’t actively dying in your arms.
You cleared your throat, glancing to the fire before him, watching the way the smoke curled into the slowly darkening sky. “My Logan died. I—I couldn’t save you. I’ve been here, in the void, for a year, I think.” You elaborated slightly, not wanting to overwhelm him with information. “I’d like to go home. Mourn my losses.”
He stared at you, saying nothing, fingers still outstretched where his hand lay.
“Laura said you weren’t coming with in the morning. I was hoping you might change your mind. We need your help.” You continued, trying to remain convincing despite the shake in your voice.
But that seemed to do the opposite of what you wanted, and he blinked out of the trance he had been in. He started shaking his head immediately, fingers clenching into a fist. “You got the wrong guy. I’m not… I’m not who you think I am.”
“Maybe not, but, Laura told me you were always the wrong guy, up until you weren’t. And to her, that means something. To me, too.” You said, hoping he wouldn’t pull away further than he already had. As selfish as it was, you didn’t want to lose another Logan. You wanted to see him and his friend succeed, even if you didn’t. Maybe, this time, this Logan, you could save him.
“You don’t get it.” Logan refuted, shaking his head, glancing towards the fire as the sun finally finished descending the horizon. He seemed to get lost in the blaze, and you watched his eyes become unfocused, showing him images that weren’t really there. “I failed them. My team. You.”
You stayed quiet, wondering if he was going to elaborate, or if he was too caught up in his vision.
“D’you know something’?” He asked, blinking until the fire came back into focus. “You used to beg me to wear this suit. So did Storm, Scott, Beast. All of you. And I refused, because god forbid anybody believe I wanted to be there.”
“What happened?” You asked him, wanting to reach for his hand, but knowing it wouldn’t help him get through this.
“I went out. And the humans went mutant hunting. By the time I stumbled home shit-faced from the bar… you—you were all dead. Every single mutant in that house.” He explained, his voice shaking, his lower lip trembling once again. You were almost certain he was seeing those images again, because he squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.
A surge of sympathy shot through you. You wanted so badly to comfort him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but you knew he wouldn’t believe it.
“So now I wear this goddamn suit as a reminder. To remember all of you. To make sure I never forget what I did.”
You released a deep sigh, the story sounding familiar to you, in some ways. He glanced over at you, seeing somebody else for a moment. After another few seconds, you reached into your shirt and pulled out the dog tags you had been carrying with you. You turned them over in your hand, running your thumb over the inscription.
He glanced wearily at them, and you reached out, grasping his fist in your own hand and pulling it loose until you could fit the dog tags in his hand, which you then squeezed shut. “I carry these with me, for the same reason. To remind myself that I failed you. That I can’t take that back. That I have to do better, even if all I want to do is give up. You aren’t the only one who did something wrong, here. If I could fix my mistakes, I would, but I can’t. So I carry on. For Laura. For anyone who needs it. And it seems like this… Wade needs it. From you.”
His hand was splayed open, turning over the dog tags in his palm as he listened intently to you.
“Be the hero you weren’t the first time around.” You told him finally, reaching out and placing your palm in his, squeezing around the dog tags, before letting go.
You went to stand, and he stood after you, reaching out.
“I—I know you aren’t her. I know that. But can I pretend, for a minute, that you are?” He asked you, and the vulnerability of the request wasn’t lost on you. Your Logan rarely ever asked for anything, even if he desperately needed it, so you could only imagine the courage that this Logan had mustered to ask you that.
You nodded, silent.
There was a pause, and he looked into your eyes, searching for something that you didn’t know you possessed. But he seemed to find it.
“‘M sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Logan told you at last, the apology seeming to burst from the depths of his chest. “I love you. I have loved you the whole time. I should have told you as soon as I felt it.” He confessed, and you saw the dog tags hanging from his fingers as he reached for you. And you couldn’t help yourself — you reached right back.
Your hands landed on either side of his face, so full of care, and you watched the tear run down his cheek. His own hands gripped you tightly, scared to let you go.
“I’m sorry.” He repeated, voice broken.
“It wasn’t your fault.” You told him firmly, before rushing forward, pulling him into a hug so tight you could’ve heard his metal bones creak. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in, and held you tight. “I don’t blame you. I love you.” You said, breathing the words into his ear as though that would make him believe it. He gripped you tighter, squeezing you against him. “I love you.”
You cradled the back of his head with one hand, pressing him close, because you were just as scared to let him go. Distantly, you heard Laura call your name.
After a moment, you pulled back slightly, only to press your forehead against his for a minute. You could pretend that he was your Logan, selfishly, just for a moment more.
Laura got closer, calling out your name once more, and you pulled back to look in his eyes. “I love you.” He told you one last time, before he allowed you to pull yourself from his grasp.
You had no idea whether he would be joining your group tomorrow, but you walked away from him with an empty chest, wiping away the tears that had dared to fall during the encounter. You would leave the last of the motivational speech to Laura, who you smiled gently at as you passed her in the woods, nodding towards where Logan still stood.
Logan had gotten what he needed from you. And you, from him.
✮— logan x f!mutant!reader (set in worst wolverine’s universe)
✮— summary: logan won’t wear the suit.
✮— a/n: this is gonna be kinda short, but i am in <3 w the concept. (i wrote this in less than an hour bro) i haven’t seen this before so .. lmk if yall want a longer version . perhaps a series ? if yall do, let me know what power reader should have !! and perhaps a nickname 🫡
✮— warnings: DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE SPOILERS, humans vs mutants, and all the prejudice that comes with that, talk of mutants being killed for being mutants etc, xmen bonding, angst, canon typical violence (kinda? mentioned?), logan being stubborn, lmk if theres more!
masterlist | part two
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Life in the X-Mansion wasn’t what it once was.
If you were honest, life itself had begun to lose that glow that it once had. You supposed that it was hard to retain it when every day you were faced with the reality that humans wanted you all dead. And sure, it wasn’t like you hadn’t known that before, but each day you saw news stories coming out about mutants killed in the street, the X-Men were called out constantly to assist in human and mutant matters, and were always met with hatred.
You just wished that people could coexist. Would that be so difficult? For the humans to realise that mutants weren’t that much different from themselves, not really. Everyone had the fundamental building blocks of human DNA, mutants just so happened to have the X gene thrown in the mix.
Still, there were positives to life. Such as Logan, for you, because you were pretty sure Scott wouldn’t categorise him as a positive.
There had been something unspoken between the two of you for almost a decade, stretching across hundreds of battles and memories. Neither of you had actually brought yourselves to talk about it, both too afraid of loss.
But every night when he struggled to sleep, he joined you in your own bed. An incredible progression of your relationship, really, because it wasn’t like Logan to actually ask for help. Not that he did much talking on those nights. Every time you needed comfort after a painful mission, he was there, brooding silently at your side. A hand on the small of your back, or around your shoulders, if you were lucky.
He refused to acknowledge his role in your life, or his role on the team, no matter how much everybody begged him to.
The infamous Wolverine was so intimidated by the idea of admitting he cared, so scared that it would turn out like his past relationships, that he couldn’t bring himself to accept his place in your lives. He was stubborn, and wouldn’t allow anybody to have leverage over him.
It was another afternoon call out, a mutant in distress, and humans harassing whoever it was. It was bound to get violent, which was why everybody was suiting up.
“C’mon, Logan, just wear the suit.” You said, brows furrowed as you held the folded suit out towards him, watching him roll his eyes. “You’re a part of the team. Wear it.”
“She’s right, Logan.” Storm agreed, already clad in her own suit, much like yourself. It presented a united front, a symbol for other mutants that there was hope out there for them, no matter how dire the world seemed.
“Fuck, no.” Logan responded immediately, voice gruff and dismissive, barely sparing the yellow spandex a glance before he was turning away, grabbing his own jacket from its hanger. “Yellow ain’t my colour, bub.” He grumbled when he felt your eyes still on him, practically carving a hole in the back of his head.
“Logan.” You said pleadingly, feeling disheartened. “We all wear it. You’ll look as handsome as you ever do, I swear.” You attempted, although you weren’t naive enough to believe that the almighty Wolverine could have his mind changed via flattery.
He might have admitted, in another life, that you made the yellow work extremely well. That he knew the team looked good in it, looked put together, almost untouchable. But that wasn’t this life. And he refused to let anybody believe he actually wanted to be a part of this godforsaken self-righteous team that named themselves the X-Men. That wasn’t him. It wouldn’t be him.
Scott wandered in, clad in his own suit, matching visor and all. “It’s not gonna work, guys. I’ve tried. Logan’s far too stubborn.” He said, and none of you could see his eyes, but his disappointment was palpable. Logan only grunted in response.
“Fine,” You said, and he could hear the disappointment despite this not being the first time he had denied the suit. It had been a debate for a long while, by now. “I’ll leave it with you. Just in case you change your mind.”
“I won’t.” Logan said, with an air of finality. You said nothing.
The four of you headed out to the distress call not long after, three in cohesive suits, one decidedly not.
It turned into a fight, as most calls do nowadays, which lasted for what felt like ages. You returned, feeling more exhausted than you had in days. The humans only got more violent with time, inventing new and more powerful ways to hurt mutants. Weapons were being developed against mutant-kind with every day that passed, and it wasn’t lost on the X-Men. Your job was only getting harder and harder. And it was taking its toll on all of you.
“‘M goin’ to the bar. You coming?” Logan asked you, standing in front of where you sat on the couch with Storm, both still in your suits and equally tired. He raised his brows at you, indicating that this was a timed offer. You knew he would be out most of the night, getting as drunk as his healing factor would allow him. It wasn’t that kind of night for you.
“No, thanks. I’m gonna stay with the others.” You answered quietly, wanting nothing more than to marinate in your frustration with the rest of the team.
Logan looked at you for a second longer, hesitating for only a moment, before he grunted and stepped away. You could’ve sworn that he looked disappointed, as though he was hoping you would join him, or maybe ask him to stay. But you knew better, had become familiar with the sting of his rejection each time you had asked him to stay.
You wanted him to be a permanent feature of the X-Mansion, to stay after long missions, to not disappear for weeks at a time. You wanted the whole unspoken thing to become spoken at last, even if it hurt, but you knew he wasn’t ready for it. And despite you feeling similarly, feeling that exact same fear he felt, you knew he wasn’t willing to take on the challenge. To try. Hell, he wouldn’t even wear the suit.
If he had asked whether you wanted him to stay, you would’ve said yes without thought. Without hesitation. But Logan wouldn’t put himself in that situation, so he never did ask. He only hesitated. And for you, that wasn’t enough.
He knew it, too, which might have been the worst part of it all.
You watched him leave, heard the slam of the door behind him not long after, and could only sigh to yourself.
“Everything okay?” Storm asked you from the opposite end of the couch, tilting her head towards you from where she had been idly staring at the ceiling. She looked as though she knew the answer, whether she had already known, or had gotten it from the look on your face, though, you weren’t sure.
“D’you think he’ll ever stick around? Wear the suit?” You questioned her in response, fixing your eyes on the fireplace in front of you for a few moments before her silence became too much. You looked at her, confused and slightly concerned.
She looked as downtrodden as you felt, which was saying something. “I… don’t know. I hope so, but… hope is a feeble thing, in this world. I’m not sure it means much anymore.”
Beast wandered in, with Scott at his side, blue fur still singed from a battle a few days prior. “I’m sure he will come around. Logan is a stubborn man, but a good one.” He commented, pushing his glasses further up his nose, but still squinting through them as he found his place in an armchair.
“We’ll see. Maybe we can make an X-Man of him, yet.” Scott added, sinking into the sofa cushion between you and Storm, wearing his glasses rather than his visor, for once. You thought could almost see the shape of his eyes, through the red lens.
“Either way, I’m sure he’ll linger. If not for us, then for those poor kids. We have all seen how much they idolise him.” Storm said, which was true, but still stung slightly. You wished that Logan would linger for you, too, but you knew it wasn’t likely. But for the kids… well, he might just look back for them.
“He’s their hero.” You agreed quietly, before resting your head on Scott’s shoulder. He said nothing, but you felt his quiet appreciation of the touch. The team needed comfort, in times like these, you included. Beast reached over and took Storm’s hand not long after, and you saw her squeeze him in response.
Jean wandered in not too long later, having been busy helping to look after the new mutant in the medbay. You made space for her between you and Scott, and resumed your position on her shoulder. She rested her head on your own, and the five of you breathed quietly, not speaking. There was nothing much to speak about, nothing that could comfort you, anyway. The world continued its descent into chaos and hatred, and despite the X-Men’s best efforts, nothing any of you did would be changing it.
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It was Beast raising the alarm that woke you up, and Jean jolted awake soon after you.
“The humans, they’re here!” He shouted, diving into action, with Storm and Scott following soon after while you and Jean shared a single glance, her eyes filled with terror.
“Get the kids!” You yelled to her, as you jumped from the couch, heading to confront the humans with Scott, Beast and Storm. All the while, you were wondering where Logan was.
It was a thought that remained present in the back of your head, a wish that he was safe, unharmed. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted him to show up, to be the hero all of the kids knew him to be, or whether you wanted him far away, safe from what you were certain would be a lethal encounter.
The humans wouldn’t just come to the X-Mansion lightly. They would be prepared. Armed to the teeth, you were sure. And the moment you caught a glance outside of the window, seeing the crowds outside, glints of machinery and weapons, you knew you were right.
For a moment, you thought you saw him out there, until the two humans stepped apart, shattering the illusion of their shadows. The call of his name died on your lips.
“X-Men, to me.” Scott called out, and his grave expression told you that he had already had the same realisation as you. Most of you, if any at all, wouldn’t be getting out of this alive.
“Together?” Storm questioned, eyes glowing that bright white that only added to her ethereal look. She locked eyes with you, and you nodded firmly.
✮— logan x f!reader (set in xmen days of future past)
✮— summary: the day that logan lost you
✮— a/n: again, only my second time writing for logan so be gentle pls, i specialise in angst but this isn’t my best </3 (also, could be connected to all coming back to me — my first logan fic. no reading order!)
✮— warnings: probably ooc! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, depictions of dying, it’s set in the original timeline so it is sad, talk of loss and death, one (1) moment of affection, major angst, guilt, sentinels, canon typical violence, & gore (ish, but to be safe), BLOOD, pronoun ‘she’ used, unspecified mutant reader, lmk if theres more!
MASTERLIST
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There are so many things you had lived to regret in your life, so many things that you had dwindled on instead of simply moving forwards. And in the end, none of it had ever mattered. No matter what you had or hadn’t done, life had led you here — to the very end of the world.
You hadn’t fought in wars like Logan had, weren’t used to the brutality of it all. Fighting, and battles, all of that you were familiar with. But not this. This was on another level.
The X-Men had been helpless to fight against this, unable to resist such a tidal wave of hatred and murder. The Sentinels had destroyed so many of your kind already, that there were barely any of you left to fight anyway. And those of you who had lived through the initial slaughters had been scattered across the globe, made to search for one another while constantly trying to evade those seeking n you out to kill you.
It was exhausting. All of it. And it wasn’t only you who felt that way — those remaining were all tired. Tired of the constant movement, tired of the constant loss, tired of the neverending chase. You could see it on everyone’s faces — Charles looked as bad as you had ever seen him, struggling to cope with the loss of almost all of his students. And Ororo, you could tell, was fighting to hold herself together. She had lost too many people, too many friends. Magneto was no stranger to loss, especially like this, but it was written all over him, too.
And there was Logan.
Logan who, in all the time you had known him, had never stopped fighting. For all of that to be in vain was clawing at him, tearing him down. There was a new age to him, and you weren’t talking about the grey hairs that seeped from his temples. He seemed far too old to still be fighting, to still spend every living moment trying to stay alive, trying to keep those he cared about safe. Everyone had lost so much since the Sentinels appeared.
“How much longer do you think we can stay here?” You asked Storm, gazing out at the sky ahead of you, glancing back towards the jet that was stood on the makeshift runway. She stayed quiet long enough for you to grow concerned and look her way, and you saw the unease to her stance. “We need to leave, don’t we?”
“It’s not safe.” She replied distantly, looking out towards the cloudy sky. Your brows furrowed instantly, and you turned to look at the clouds once more.
“Nowhere is safe, Ororo.” You stated firmly, trying not to let the emotion betray you in your voice. She seemed to come back to herself at your words, and you just about registered her turning to look at you. You hadn’t said anything that she didn’t already know to be true, but still, the delivery of the fact left her with a stinging feeling in her chest. An aching sort of pain, a longing for a home that none of you could ever return to.
She thought of the mansion, and tried to force her way past the memories of it torn apart, destroyed. It was easy to forget, in times like these, exactly how things had been before. But Storm could practically envision it all in her mind, the bustling halls between classes, the crackle of fire as the adults shared a drink after a rough battle, the constant noise of mutants embracing their powers.
That was meant to be a mutant safe haven, and it was gone. She knew you were right — nowhere was safe for your kind, not anymore.
“I know.”
You let her words settle, and chose to linger and look at the view, even as Storm turned and made her way back to the plane.
Admittedly, the view wasn’t much, but it was nice to see the sky without a plane of glass in the way. All of you spent so much time inside the jet now, barely able to land without Sentinels descending upon you. It was somewhat safer in the sky, although there had been some close calls.
The wind whistled in your ears, a welcome breath against your skin, and you easily preferred this to the way it usually whipped against the side of the jet.
You heard the shuffle of feet in your direction before you felt his presence, a warm hand coming to rest on the small of your back. It was soothing, warming you up as you let the cold breeze surround you.
“‘S almost time to go,” Logan told you, speaking quietly. His gruff voice still sent shivers down your spine, despite his warm hand on your back. He turned to look down at you after a second, eyes scanning over the entirety of you, analysing. “You ready?” He asked after another moment, knowing you always tried to take in as much of the fresh air as you could.
“I’ll just be a sec.” You responded calmly, breathing in deeply, finding comfort in the way his palm moved with your body. When he didn’t move, you turned to look at him, finding him still watching you. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile at his loving gaze, albeit somewhat weakly. You placed a hand on the side of his face, brows creasing. “Everything okay, Logan?” You asked, concerned, because he seemed off, even though everything in the world was off. It was something more than that.
He nodded as your thumb stroked his cheekbone, trying to provide some amount of comfort in a world where comfort didn’t exist.
“I’ll wait with you.”
You smiled, trailing your hand down from his face until you reached his own palm, which you gripped tightly.
Slowly, you noticed the sun beginning to shine on the horizon. You knew you needed to be gone before it had risen fully. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.” You said reassuringly, tilting your head and squeezing his palm tightly at his uncertain look. “Promise.” You added, and he hesitated for a moment longer, before turning away, squeezing your hand once in return before he let it go fully.
He seemed reluctant to leave your side, even as he walked away. You shook your head, grinning softly, glad for the few good things you had left in your life. Logan was everything to you — he had been for more than a few years.
You took one more glance at the rising sun, before turning away, ready to head after Logan. But then your head tilted, brows furrowing in confusion. There was a buzzing feeling in your hands, your heart speeding up its pace, and you looked around in concern.
That was when you saw it — the Sentinel heading straight for the jet on the right.
Ororo was closest, and she hadn’t seen it yet.
“Storm! On your right!” You yelled, desperation leaking into your voice as you watched her spin, finally noticing the murder bot creeping up on her. Even from this distance, you could see the way her eyes went white, lighting up as the wind picked up suddenly, rain slowly starting to leech from the clouds above that were quickly multiplying with the force of Storm’s power.
You couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief as she struck it with lightning, summoning winds to throw it over the edge of the cliff side, because you knew it wasn’t over — more were coming, if they weren’t already here.
Starting towards Logan, you only just registered the way his eyes widened and he moved towards you before it dawned on you.
You hadn’t checked your six.
Before you could even turn, you felt it.
When you looked down, you saw the Sentinel spearing you through the stomach, the wound far too big to comprehend.
Blood was tickling the back of your throat, and you couldn’t even swallow around it. It was too late, you noticed distantly, as you looked towards where Logan was trying to get to you, seeming as though he was moving in slow motion.
The Sentinel ripped its limb from your body, and your knees buckled, sending you to the ground.
It was a very far away realisation, the fact that you would die here, in mere moments. Instead, your main focus was Logan, watching the anguish and denial plaster his face. You barely heard the other Sentinels rising from the cliff side behind you, but you knew they were there.
And you knew that the others knew it too.
Storm had made her way towards Logan, and you hadn’t even noticed how close she was to him before then. She must’ve noticed the Sentinel approaching you at the same time he had. Her face was painted with grief, evident in every crease of her expression, in the very way she moved. She placed her palms against Logan’s chest, and pushed.
“Logan, it’s too late. Please. It’s too late. We need to go.” Ororo begged, her voice shaking with every word that left her mouth. She couldn’t bring herself to look at you, to see the blood that had started trickling from the corners of your mouth, painting your skin. She didn’t want to see the life leave your eyes.
“Logan!” Charles’ voice raised, trying to be heard over Storm’s power. Logan hadn’t even heard his wheelchair in the jet, too focused on the way you looked at him, your eyes dimming with every moment he couldn’t get to you.
He felt Erik before he had even realised the man had descended the ramp, felt the pull of his powers. The way he forced Logan’s skeleton to bend to his will, to step away from you. From the love of his life. The only thing he had managed to keep hold of in this apocalyptic world.
“No, no, no, no,” Logan begged, yelling for you, waiting for you to snap out of it, to just get up. “C’mon! C’mon, get up!” He yelled, trying to push against Erik’s power, but finding he couldn’t even take another step towards you. He felt Storm push harder on his chest, but he didn’t notice, too busy watching the way your head tilted, your eyes glassy, the way your lips lifted at the edges, showing just a flash of bloody teeth. You smiled at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Storm said, as Erik finally managed to pull Logan some steps back, going up the ramp.
It was the hardest Logan had ever fought against his power, which made lifting the plane simultaneously all the more difficult. But Erik focused his mind, pulling the plane from the ground as Storm finally released Logan to press the button to lift the ramp.
“She’s gone, Logan.” Charles said sadly, feeling the way your consciousness drifted from his grasp.
Logan just caught the slump of your body to the ground through the swarm of Sentinels as the ramp closed fully. Erik allowed him to fall to his knees when he realised he had stopped fighting, but kept a loose grip on the adamantium in his skeleton out of fear that he might tear apart the plane to get to your body.
A sullen silence took over the jet, everybody resigned to loss by now, but for Logan this was different. He stared at the ramp, unable to get the image of your empty eyes out of his mind. Your body, slumped on the ground, left there to rot.
And all he could think was that if he had only stayed with you, you might still be here. If it weren’t for him, you might be alive.
✮— logan x f!reader (set in x-men days of future past)
✮— summary: logan didn’t realise you would be here in the past. all that follows.
✮— a/n: first time writing for logan / the xmen films, be gentle pls. also wrote this in like 20 mins at 1am so kindness pls. ok goodnight.
✮— warnings: character death, major character death, (mentioned mostly, not the most graphic depictions), logan’s relentless guilt, reader’s insensitive curiosity, muddled timeline maybe idk, mutant reader (unmentioned power) , kind of abrupt ending , lmk if there’s more!
MASTERLIST
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When Logan had realised he was the only viable candidate to do this job, he had felt the immense weight on his shoulders, had known that he had no choice but to succeed. He had been prepared for that part, mostly. But even still, the plan was sudden, and he hadn’t thought most things through. After all, Logan was more of a fight now, think later type of guy.
So waking up in some random woman’s waterbed was unexpected, yes, but even more unexpected was the bone cutting through his skin when he had to face those goons. It had been so long since the adamantium had been melded to his skeleton, that he could almost forget it hadn’t always been that way. If it weren’t for the pain that still haunted his every nightmare, that was.
It was an adjustment, definitely, especially because it had been so long since he hadn’t felt completely indestructible — untouchable. There was no metal safety net, here.
Seeing Xavier’s school falling apart was certainly an adjustment, too.
He had known this school only in its prime, when Charles had already formed the X-Men, had already settled many kids into their new home. Logan couldn’t ever imagine this place being so devoid of life.
“Can I help you?” A young man asked, after a few silent moments of Logan waiting for the door to be answered. He sounded vaguely familiar.
“Uh… yeah, what happened to the school?” Logan asked, eyebrows raised as his eyes trailed over the vines crawling up the building, the dust coating the glass.
The man’s eyebrows furrowed, looking at Logan strangely before he decided to speak. “The school’s been shut for years. Are you a parent?”
Logan scoffed. “I sure as hell hope not. Who are you?”
“I’m Hank. Hank McCoy. I look after the house now.”
He’s doing a great job at that, Logan thought to himself, surveying the damaged grounds, before he clocked on to what the man had introduced himself as. He squinted at the small stature of the guy, half hidden by the door he was pressing himself into the gap of.
“You’re Beast? Look at you,” Logan commented idly, “Guess you’re a late bloomer.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hank warned, features hardening instantly at the name he hadn’t heard for a long time. “But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
The man started closing the door in Logan’s face, not expecting him to shove himself against it, keeping it open. They strained, muscles tensing on both sides, before Logan inevitably won without Hank’s extra strength that accompanied his transformation.
“Where’s the professor?”
“There’s no professor here.” Hank responded, before Logan soon managed to shove the door open, flinging him back.
“Professor!” Logan yelled into the empty house, hearing his voice rebound off of the walls. The echoing made him uncomfortable, and seeing the house that had been destroyed so long ago in his time was odd. It was familiar, and yet so different. Logan wasn’t sure he could ever get used to the empty manor, despite his many complaints about the kids at the school.
The moment Logan began to ascend the stairs of the manor, Hank leapt at him, freshly transformed. Logan was momentarily shocked by the appearance of his blue fur, but he quickly got over it, defending himself from Hank’s admittedly rather weak attack. The Beast managed to stun him, tackling him onto a table in the middle of the foyer, while the blue man hung from the chandelier above.
“Hank?” A voice called out, confused and slightly concerned. “What’s going on here?” He asked, descending the stairs and squinting down at the vaguely familiar man on top of his table.
“Professor?” Logan asked, surprised, sitting up on the table to make sure he was seeing things right.
“He doesn’t like to be called that.” A new voice said, coming from Logan’s left, and he startled, head whipping towards where you were standing. You were leant against the doorway, arms folded across your chest as you watched the situation unfold with unhidden entertainment.
His heart practically stops.
He hadn’t seen you for almost three years. Three very long, very difficult years.
Logan didn’t even want to think about the last time he had seen you. It had been one of the worst days of his life to date, and he’d had a lot of bad days. And yet, here you were, alive. Trying to tamp down your amusement, though it was written clearly on your face, evident in the slight curve of a smile that he had missed.
“You know this guy?” Hank asked Charles, who made his way down the rest of the stairs while Logan only continued to stare at you.
Charles looked at Logan with a vague sense of recognition. “Yeah, he looks slightly familiar.” He commented distantly, already appearing completely checked out of the situation. “Get off the bloody chandelier, Hank.”
The sound of the glass above him clinking together brought Logan to his senses, reminded him that he had a job to do. And no matter how much he had missed you, your presence couldn’t get in the way of that.
“You can walk.” Logan stated, checking back into the conversation with shock still darting down his spine. He watched the Professor carefully, brows furrowed in thought.
“And you’re perceptive.” Charles replied dryly, “Which makes it slightly perplexing that you missed our sign on the way in. This is private property, my friend. I’m going to have to ask him to ask you to leave.” He said, nodding towards Hank who stared between the two men as if watching some sort of tennis match. He looked uncomfortable with the confrontation occurring. “Or her, if you’re more inclined.”
You raised your brows.
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Logan didn’t end up leaving, much to your surprise. It had been a long time since anyone had managed to get Charles to do anything he didn’t want to do. Hell, it had been a long time since anyone had managed to speak to the man, save for you and Hank. He turned everybody away, never heard anyone out, no matter how desperate they sounded.
Instead, Charles seemed to accept the fact that this man was from the future. A future which sounded dire, by the way.
And if his glance towards you when he had spoken about watching good people, friends, die, told you anything, it was that you didn’t make it very far in the future. Which didn’t faze you all too much. It didn’t sound like much of a future for those who lived, anyway. But that knowledge had taught you something about this Logan. He had cared for you, some years from now.
It was as clear as day. He looked at you like he had been missing you, like he was greeting you at the airport after a long trip. He seemed to think he was being discreet about it, always glancing away when you turned to him, but you were observant.
You sidled up next to him while Hank went on the hunt for the phone book, and Charles wandered off to regret his decision.
“So, how’d I die?” You asked, feeling bad but also slightly amused when Logan practically choked on air.
“What? How did you—”
“Oh, please. It’s all over your face. I may not know you, but I can see that much.” You responded, cutting him off and watching the cogs turn in his head.
You had always had a strange way of reading him better than anyone else. Not that this version of you knew that, but Logan did. It made his chest ache all the more, feeling like you were so close to being in his grasp, and yet so far away from him. He had to remind himself that you didn’t know him, and he didn’t exactly know this version of you.
You seemed… not happier, exactly, but something was different. Perhaps you had suffered less at this point in your life. He had met you in one of the most difficult times you had ever been through, and it was strange to see you without the baggage that had followed you from that.
“I’m that transparent, huh?” He replied, going quiet soon after. He didn’t want to talk about this with you. With anyone. He didn’t want to relive that moment any more than he already did. He saw it every time he closed his eyes, every time the Sentinels had approached in the future.
“You are.” You paused. “So? What happened?”
“You don’t want to know about this, kid.” Logan stated, pointedly not looking at you. You were so young now, and he missed the lines on your face. This wasn’t the you that he knew or loved. He didn’t know this version of you. And you certainly didn’t know him.
Logan had the fate of the world resting on his shoulders, the fate of every mutant and human who had the decency to be kind towards them. Your fate. The fate of everyone else he had lost. He couldn’t get caught up in this, in seeing you here, as much as he wanted to soak in the sound of your voice, the colour of your eyes, the glow of your skin.
“Why not? We’re going to save the world anyway. It can’t hurt.” You said innocently, regretting the latter part of your statement the moment you realised how it came across, how Logan’s face creased.
He wanted to appreciate your optimism, mostly because he knew how much of it you had lost by the time you died, but you couldn’t understand. It did hurt. Logan had watched you die in front of his very eyes, his adamantium and courage powerless to stop it. He had been dragged back to the jet, forced to leave your body there to rot, or to be taken and experimented on. He didn’t know which was worse.
Even now, he could feel the pressure on his chest from Storm pushing against him, the pain of Magneto pulling at his skeleton, forcing him to leave you behind.
He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat, eyes flickered across the room, never quite landing on you. It hurt him every day. He could feel the weight of your loss even now, knowing that if he failed to do this, you were lost. This version of you, the one who had so much suffering to come, would die at the hands of a Sentinel, and he would be powerless to stop it.
“Sorry,” You said, when the silence stretched on, Logan seemingly getting lost in his own thoughts. You could see the pain written across his face, could see him getting distant, reliving whatever had happened in the future. “That was insensitive. I was curious, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here to save us all. And I’m here to help this time.”
He finally looked at you, and you could see the exhaustion on his face. Perhaps putting more pressure on him wasn’t the best idea.
“Okay, I’m messing this up,” You admittedly, fidgeting nervously now, eyes flickering between him and the door as if expecting Charles or Hank to walk in on you embarrassing yourself. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no,” Logan paused, apparently trying to find his words. “You don’t need t’be sorry. None of this is your fault.”
You looked at him, seeing him more clearly then. You didn’t know his past, and you certainly didn’t know the future, but this man cared about you. That much was obvious. “It’s not yours either, you know.” You said, and the slight grimace he made didn’t escape you. He clearly didn’t agree. “However we know each other in the future, it can’t change the fact that I am an adult. I would never expect you to take responsibility for me dying. Or want you to! I take care of myself.”
He blinked at you. “We were meant to take care of each other.”
You faltered slightly at that, struggling to imagine yourself relying on someone that much, but then you understood.
“Isn’t that what you’re doing now? You’re here, fifty years into the past, trying to make things right. The war wasn’t your fault, Logan.”
Despite knowing that was true, it still didn’t quite dislodge the guilt that pulsed in his chest. He felt more vulnerable here, without his adamantium. With your prying eyes. Even now, it appeared that you saw him in a way nobody else ever could.
“You know what? This might be totally inappropriate, but…” You trailed off, and he had just opened his mouth to question you when suddenly you were wrapping your arms around his neck, squeezing him close in a way that finally let him breathe again.
His hands hung idly by his sides for a few moments, before finally wrapping around you, holding you tight. He seemed as though he may never let you go, but you could understand that. Logan was in pain, and it seemed that despite your slight uncertainty, this had been a good path to go down. Taking care of one another, or something like that, right?
A heavy sigh left his chest, and you squeezed him tighter, letting out a short breath into his neck. You only pulled away when you heard Hank’s footsteps creaking on the aged floorboards, heading your way. Logan let you go, with much reluctance, but you lingered. Your arm brushed against his jacket.
If Hank noticed anything, he didn’t say a word, simply holding up the phone book victoriously. You glanced at Logan, watching the creases slowly come back to his face as he was reminded of his burden once more. You leaned against him the slightest bit, and pretended not to notice him glance at you.
This would all work out, you were certain of it. And if it didn’t, well, at the very least there was something to look forward to in that bleak future. Logan seemed worth the pain.
