#In Hiding (Marvel Verse) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imagine-you · 4 months ago

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don't turn your back on me [old man logan/reader]

Summary: "You would always remember the night the X-Men fell, because it was also the night you lost Logan." The first in a series of spinoffs from my main fic in my Home 'verse that explores different Wolverine variants and their relationships with the reader in their universes. Word Count: 6.3k Author's Notes: This isn't so much based on the movie Logan as it is the comic series Old Man Logan. In that series, it's Logan who kills the X-Men and not Professor X. Next up: Marvel Zombies/What If? crossover with zombified Wolverine and side Bucky/Reader for Halloween!

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You would always remember the night the X-Men fell, because it was also the night you lost Logan.

You knew something was wrong before you even stepped through the doors of the mansion. It was late, but the mansion had never been so eerily still. It was always so full of life at every hour, with chatter and laughter and yelling.

You weren't expecting the first body sprawled on the floor of the foyer. You fell to your knees, reaching out a shaky hand to feel for a sign of life, but it was pointless.

Scott was dead.

You weren't sure how long you stayed there, staring at him, before you realized he wasn't the only body. You followed the trail of fallen through the hallways of the mansion, dizzy and disoriented. You hadn't been gone for long, only a few hours. But how had you come back to this? How could any of this have happened?

There was a shifting in your periphery, someone walking along the edge of the room, but your attention was caught by something else.

It was Logan.

You felt your breath leave you all in a rush at the sight before you. Logan, claws deep in Ororo's chest, snarling in her face as the life drained from her.

"Logan?"

Your voice sounded small, terrified, and for a moment you didn't even realize it was yours. Your heart was pounding as he slowly turned his gaze on you. He looked nearly feral, completely unaware of his surroundings. The man you loved more than anyone else would have never hurt Ororo or Scott no matter how much he fought with him. The man you loved wouldn't be getting to his feet, his claws still unsheathed, as he began to approach you. The man you loved wouldn't dare raise a hand, ready to sink his claws into you, his expression clouded with fury.

"Victor," he snarled, poised to strike. "I should've known you'd be in on this," he spat before slashing down.

You were quick to raise a forcefield, holding it in front of you like a shield to fend off his attack. He kept advancing, his movements frenzied as he tried to land a blow.

All the while, there was that awareness at the edge of your vision. It was bothering you, but you couldn't take your eyes off Logan. He was single-minded in his attack, and he kept trying to break through your barrier.

"Logan!" You shouted, hoping to get through to him. "Logan, it's me," you pleaded, keeping your defenses raised.

You had a feeling that your current tactic wasn't going to work. Not if you wanted to figure out why the hell Logan had killed so many of his own team, his family, and why he thought you were Victor. So, you let yourself go invisible, quickly dropping your forcefield and moving off to the side.

Logan stumbled forward, his claws getting momentarily stuck in the wall, before he pulled them free.

"You can't hide from me, Victor," he roared, anger written into the lines of his body.

You kept yourself hidden, not wanting to let Logan find you before you could figure out what the hell was going on. It was there, just on the edge of your vision, a shimmer of air that begged to be uncovered.

You were so focused on finding the intruder that you backed right into a table, sending a vase toppling off the side. The sound of it crashing to the floor was loud, jarringly loud, in the room and Logan's eyes unerringly fixed on you.

"There you are," he growled, his claws catching the light and sending your heart racing. "You won't get away from me that easily," he continued, his fist pulled back, poised to bring his claws down right into your throat.

You managed to finally snag the anomaly in a forcefield, easily crushing it between one beat of your heart and the next. The tips of Logan's claws had just brushed against your throat when he reeled back, blinking at you in alarm.

"Y/N? What the hell is going on? Where's Victor?"

"Logan, look at me," you said, reaching out to cup his face in your hands, not wanting him to see the destruction that had befallen the mansion. You knew once he realized what happened, once he saw the bodies, he would lose it all over again. For now, you needed him here with you. "Victor was never here. I don't know what he showed you, but it wasn't your fault, okay?"

"What?" Logan's brow furrowed in confusion, and he tried to turn his head, but you held firm. He could have easily shaken you off, but he seemed to realize it was what you needed from him. "Who? What are you talking about? They all showed up and just started attacking. I got most of them, I think, but--"

"Mysterio," you blurted, recognizing the cape and glass shards of his helmet. Wade had always called him the magic fishbowl, but you couldn't even find humor in it now. "Mysterio must've created an illusion," you started to explain, not knowing how to keep your voice even. Your hands were shaking as you held his face, and you could feel tears begin to well in your eyes. You didn't know the extent of the damage, but the blood that coated nearly every surface didn't bode well for the team.

"What," Logan snapped, finally tearing free of your hold. "But I got the young ones out. And then the team disappeared and then...and then...," he froze, his eyes finally taking in the outcome of his unintentional slaughter. "But it wasn't them," he muttered, his eyes focused in on the blood that had pooled beneath Jubilee's head. "It wasn't them, I swear," he said before he turned away from you. He cried out in anguish before falling to his knees. His head fell into his hands, and you could see his shoulders begin to shake.

You shuffled forward, making sure to not make any sudden movements. You reached out a hand, briefly landing it on Logan's shoulder, but he shook you off.

"Don't touch me," he snarled, snapping his head up. He looked over his shoulder in your direction but wouldn't make eye contact. "I did this."

It sounded final, a revelation that would change Logan forever, and you knew he was starting to slip away from you.

"Logan, it wasn't your fault. Mysterio tricked you and you couldn't have--"

"I did this," Logan insisted, staring down at the blood on his hands. Suddenly, he was on his feet, and his hands were ripping at his uniform. He was half-naked by the time he turned a wild look on you before he was gone, storming out of the mansion.

"Logan," you pleaded, following after him. You couldn't look at the bodies anymore and you couldn't stay at the mansion. Logan had always been your home, your everything, and you couldn't let him leave you now.

By the time you got outside, there was no sign of Logan anywhere. You spotted something on the ground, and you bent down to pick it up. It was a scrap of his X-Men uniform, left abandoned and forgotten. You held it close to your chest before you took a few steps forward, eyeing the forest that bordered the property.

Logan was somewhere in there and you intended to find him.

Rumors and stories haunted you during the years you spent on Logan's trail. He never stayed in one place for too long, fleeing from location to location, as if the death he so easily craved was on his heels.

You supposed, in a way, that was true.

Logan refused to pop his claws. He didn't want to fight, all of his desire to be a hero had been torn out of him the night he unknowingly felled the X-Men. He suffered by himself, knowing that he couldn't die, so he would have to live with the memories of his team, his family dead.

You wanted to take him by the shoulders and scream at him that you were still alive. He wasn't to blame for what happened to the X-Men, but he was to blame for what happened between the two of you. Did any of it mean so little to him? Did he really think you thought so little of him? Had the proposal and the promises of a future together simply vanish along with him the night that changed everything?

You truly had nothing except for the small, brittle hope you were harboring that Logan would finally just stop running. So, you kept chasing him and cleaning up his messes along the way, because you felt like it was all you could do. Logan was yours, the one person in the whole world that you knew was just for you. He had promised, with stolen kisses before you had to run off to teach mutant history or when he pressed you down into your bedsheets ready to wreck you in the best way, that you were his too.

The fact that he never once looked back, never stayed in one place too long just to try to see if you could catch up, hurt more than you had words to describe.

When the heroes fell, the villains rose. The country changed, becoming a playground for every human, mutant, and alien with villainous intent. Fear permeated the air everywhere you went, people terrified for their lives and their families, knowing that no one was coming to save them.

During those years, you became known as Logan's shadow. Logan was no longer the Wolverine and wouldn't dare flash his claws, but you would happily wield whatever weapon necessary to make sure no one went after him. Where Logan went, death followed, because it fell on you to leave the body count in his wake.

You saved people and gave them their livelihoods back, because you would never have yours again. You killed slumlords and murderers and anyone who sought joy from destruction, because it was people like them who had stolen your future with Logan from you. You watched Logan's back from afar and craved his touch, his look, his assurance, but going without every time.

You had scars that would never heal and new terrors to haunt you in the night, but all you wanted was him. You felt like you were going insane, relentlessly chasing something you might never have again, but you found it difficult to relinquish hope.

You figured sooner or later, you would get lucky. If only for a moment, you just wanted to be in the same room as him. You wanted to walk into a space without knowing that you had missed him by only minutes before having to run after him again.

You lucked out years down the line after taking out one of Norman Osborn's lackies in an abandoned warehouse district. You were in Osborn County, near what used to be Detroit, when you heard Logan's gruff voice coming from one of the buildings. He sounded tired, wrecked, and there was someone else's voice taunting him.

"Can't get little Wolverine to come and play, can I? Too bad he's not here to join the party, because it's about to get real fun," the voice crowed before you heard a new voice.

"Please! He's all I have," a woman begged, her voice breaking into a sob.

You had been tracking Logan for long enough that you knew he was usually alone. So, you didn’t know how he had managed to stick around long enough to see the damage you were about to do. It was the usual routine for you two. Trouble found Logan, Logan fled, and you swept in and took care of the problem.

This wasn’t at all how it was supposed to go, and you felt a little thrill of anticipation run through you at the thought of seeing him.

You hadn’t been this close to him in years, and you wondered why he was still hanging around. You weren't sure if it was where he had been crashing before moving on, but now as you were trying to get a glimpse into the building, you could see a makeshift camp in the corner of the room.

Logan was on his knees, glaring at someone, and when you shifted to the side, you could see a man with a knife to a kid's throat. He didn't look older than fifteen, tears streaming down his face as he stared death down. There was also a woman with another guy behind her, holding a gun to her head.

"Just kill me," the woman begged, holding her hands out. “Kill me and let him go. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

"You don't pay us and now we kill your boy," the guy behind her spat. "And lookie here, we've got a live audience," he nodded over at Logan. "'cept he's not gonna do anything, 'cause he's a chickenshit now."

Logan looked so defeated and you knew he was struggling with himself. He wanted to help the woman and her son, but he was done killing. You watched him for a moment, so relieved to even just see him, despite the circumstances.

Logan drew in a deep breath before his head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours where you were still hidden in the darkness. He took another breath, and you knew he had caught your scent. His expression morphed from disbelief to heartbreak to acceptance. He dipped his head in a tiny nod, silently giving you the go ahead.

You stepped out of the shadows that had shielded you, shedding your invisibility, and smirked at the two guys who had landed themselves on your target list.

"He might not do anything," you started, forming a forcefield around the one with the knife. "But I sure as hell will."

"What the hell?" The one with the gun gasped, turning it on you.

You easily deflected the bullet with a forcefield while you trapped the guy with the knife. You snapped your forcefield closed, only his hand holding the knife free outside of it, and watched it fall to the ground. Blood began to coat the sides of your forcefield while the guy screamed in agony.

You formed another forcefield around the gun in the other guy's hand and jerked it free, watching him stumble in an attempt to pull it back. It clattered uselessly to the floor, several feet away and out of reach.

You let another forcefield encase the guy's head, offering him a goodbye wave, before you let the sides collapse, taking his skull with it. His body fell to the ground, limbs still uselessly twitching, as the field held the remnants of his brain and bones and eyes. You let it all fall to the floor with a grotesque splat before turning your attention on the other guy who was still mourning the loss of his hand.

The woman had grabbed her son and was clutching at his shoulders, desperately trying to prove to herself that he was unharmed. Once she was satisfied, she pulled him close and then fled for the door, not even sparing a glance back as you pried the knife from the guy's disembodied hand.

You turned towards the man still in your forcefield and let it drop. He raised his head to sneer up at you.

"You'll regret this," he claimed, falling back onto the floor. "People are payin' attention to you! You can't just do whatever the hell you want."

"Yeah, whatever," you sighed, before taking the knife and striking out with it, catching him in the chest.

You watched the man die, his blood pooling at your feet, before you turned your attention towards the other man snared in one of your forcefields.

Logan's shoulders were slumped as you approached him.

"Don't," he sighed, shaking his head. He was kneeling on the floor, leaning his forehead against your forcefield, but he wasn't actively trying to escape.

He knew it would be a useless endeavor.

You took a precious moment to catalogue all the little differences you noticed since the last time you saw him. His hair now had a couple of streaks of grey and the lines in his face were more pronounced. Logan had started to age, just the tiniest bit, and you hated that you had missed the opportunity to see him evolve over the years. It was another thing he had denied you and you didn’t know if you would ever fully forgive him for it.

"I've waited years for this moment," you reminded him, sinking to your knees so you were at his level. "I'm not going anywhere, Logan, and until you hear me out, you aren't either."

Logan had his eyes closed, but he finally opened them to meet yours. "What do you want?"

You let out a humorless laugh, reaching a hand out to place it against the forcefield.

"You," you answered, because it should have been obvious. "I've only ever wanted you, but you don't want me. Not anymore. Or else you wouldn't have run from me. Not for ten fucking years."

Logan snorted, sitting back enough to give you a disbelieving look. "I've always wanted you," he refuted, briefly letting the want and longing he had been suppressing flash across his face. "But I don't deserve you. Not after what I did."

"I don't blame you," you assured him, your hands beginning to tremble. You wanted so badly to reach out and pull him into your arms, but you were scared to drop your forcefield. He would run away again, and you were tired of him leaving you in the dust. "I wouldn't have chased you all these years if I thought for one second that you were to blame."

"Let me go," he begged you. "I'm not that guy anymore. I can't be that guy for you anymore."

"Yes, you can," you hissed, anger starting to rise, overtaking desperation. "I don't want Wolverine, I've only ever wanted you, Logan. You don't have to be a hero again, but I just want you with me. Isn't that enough? Just us?"

Logan wouldn't meet your eyes, and you crashed your fist into your forcefield, hating that he wouldn't even look at you. Your heart was breaking all over again and a part of you was starting to wish you hadn't caught up to him at all.

"Stop being a coward," you snarled, getting to your feet. You turned your back on Logan and walked away from him, relishing the idea of making him chase after you for once. "You're not the only one in pain," you reminded him. "You're not the only one who lost their entire family that night. But the difference between us is you chose to run away from me, but I didn't want that. I never wanted you to leave me, but you didn't even give me the fucking choice." Your hands were clenched into fists at your sides, and you could barely keep them from shaking. "You know what," you started, finally making your decision. "If you want to go, then you can fucking leave again." You dropped your forcefield, keeping your back to him. You didn't know what was more pathetic. That you couldn't watch him abandon you again or that you knew you would still follow him once he was gone.

You weren't prepared for Logan's hand on your shoulder or when he turned you around to look at him. His expression was a mix of despair and frustration and want.

"You want me that much?" He got out between gritted teeth. "You want the guy who murdered our family? Who has only ever thought of you this whole time and what was best for you?"

"That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it. If you gave a shit about me, you would stop running," you seethed at him. "The guy who murdered our family is dead, because I fucking killed him! All you've done for the past ten years is run, Logan. Aren't you fucking tired of running?"

"You deserve better than me," he argued, his hands coming up to grip your arms. "Why can't you just let me go?"

"Because I fucking love you, you absolute moron," you snarled before pressing your lips to his, not wanting to argue any longer. You had spent ten years alone, desolate and grieving, and when you imagined this moment during lonely nights, you never quite managed to think it would be so full of hostility.

Logan froze for a moment before he responded in kind. His hands were tight bands around your forearms and his teeth nipped at your lips, begging entrance you eagerly granted. You slipped your hands beneath his shirt and raked your nails down his back, wanting to make him hurt. You wished you could leave your mark on him, but he would only heal within seconds.

Harsh kisses were followed by soft whimpers, and you tore your mouth free, obligingly baring your neck to him when he trailed his lips along your jaw towards your throat. He bit kisses into your skin, soothing the sting with his tongue, before moving on to the next one.

You didn't know how you got across the room or when he lowered you down onto his makeshift bed. All you could recognize was that Logan was holding you in his arms and whispering a promise against your mouth.

He still loved you.

He told you that over and over again until you started to believe him.

Logan was out of his shirt before you could get rid of yours. He reached down, helping you tug your shirt up over your head before his hands fell to the waistband of your jeans. He met your eyes, silently asking permission, and you nodded your head, hoping you didn't appear too eager.

It had been so long since you felt Logan and you didn't realize just how much you needed him. The feel of his body against yours and his hands wrapped around your hips and his breath warming the side of your neck before he sucked another kiss into your flesh.

It felt like an eternity before you were both completely bared to each other. Logan was kneeling on the floor, a question in his eyes, and you nodded your head. Your legs fell open easily, admitting Logan until he was all you could feel.

The sex was fast and nearly punishing, both of you taking out years of aggression and want on the other. It was all-consuming, you could feel, hear, taste, see, and smell nothing but Logan. His tongue was in your mouth and your legs were wrapped around his hips, urging him to quicken his pace. You were covered in bruises and aching, but all you could think about was how much you had missed Logan. You poured every ounce of your want into the moans being wrung out of you and when you gasped, your head tilted back as you chased your end, all you could think about on the fall down was how much you didn't want it to be over.

You half-expected Logan to get up and leave, but he stayed right there with you. He maneuvered the two of you until he was on his back and you were curled up into his side, your head resting on his shoulder with his arm around your waist.

You chanced a glance up at him, terrified that it had all been a dream. "I'm scared," you found yourself admitting.

Logan quirked an eyebrow at you, his hand gently rubbing your back in an attempt to comfort you. "Why scared?"

You had so many things to be scared about, but most of all you were scared that Logan was already slipping away from you again.

You didn't want to confess that, so you settled for something else.

"My luck is going to run out eventually," you pointed out with a grimace. "You go around killing villains in a country run by villains, and the wrong people take notice. They'll get me sooner or later. That dead guy over there said as much earlier."

Logan was silent for a few torturous, drawn-out moments before he finally sighed. "Then you should go home. Stop running after me."

You let out an annoyed huff before you sat up, staring down at him in disbelief. "Home, Logan? I don't have a home. You," you stressed, poking him in the chest, "are my home, you idiot." You turned away from him, reaching out for your clothes. You were suddenly freezing, and you had no desire to run around in the same conversational circles with Logan again.

"Just, c'mere," Logan breathed, reaching out to tug you back into his arms once you were dressed again. "I don't know if I'll ever stop running," he confessed, holding tight when you made to move away again. "Because every time I think about it, I remember their blood on my hands. They were my family and I was supposed to protect them, but I slaughtered them. They screamed, you know, but I thought it was Sinister and Bullseye and other jackasses we'd spent our whole lives fighting. But it was Storm, Cyclops, Jubilee, Beast," he listed, his grip tightening on you with each one. "And it was almost you. Mysterio had me so convinced you were Victor, I was about to slice your head off with my claws. I tried so hard to just get rid of myself, because I knew I'd never be able to erase what I did. I don't know how to just stand still and face what I've done. But God, you make me want to try. You make me want to be better, but all I've done is hurt you and force you to kill for me. I'm the reason you've got that target on your back."

"It's not your fault," you reiterated for what you felt like must have been the thousandth time since the night the X-Men fell. "Mysterio and all those villains who took advantage of what happened to our family are to blame. You loved them all so much and they knew that, Logan. I'm not asking you to face your demons for me, but I just want to go with you where you go and not arrive days later, searching for you. If you can't stay still, then that's okay, because I'll run with you."

Logan pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, pulling in a deep breath, drawing in your scent. "Get some rest," he replied, keeping you pressed close to him. "I get the feeling you haven't had a good night's sleep in a while. I'll watch out for you."

You knew it was Logan's way of avoiding the issue, but you still felt a breath of relief escape you. Half the time, you had to sleep with one hand on a weapon, waiting for an attack. You couldn't remember the last time you had fallen asleep feeling safe, and now in Logan's hold, you could already feel yourself begin to drift off.

You took a chance, pressing a brief kiss to Logan's shoulder. "I love you," you whispered, knowing he would hear you.

You were asleep before you could hear Logan's response, if he even had one.

When you woke in the morning, you were alone.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself believe that Logan was coming back, before you forced yourself to face reality.

As you stood, you tried to stretch the aches out of your body. Sleeping on the floor hadn't been the brightest idea, but when you had been so fully embraced by Logan, it hadn't mattered. Now, you were cold, alone, and felt incredibly vulnerable.

Later, you would blame the heartbreak that had transcended into resignation. You were so blinded by being left behind again that you didn't even notice the hit coming.

Something rolled across the floor and landed right at your feet. It took you a stupidly long moment to realize it was one of Osborn's pumpkin bombs. You brought your hands up, only having enough time to form a half-assed forcefield, before the bomb went off.

You were thrown back into the wall behind you before falling to the floor, your head bouncing painfully off your forcefield on the way down. You didn't even realize you had dropped it until a tentacle slammed down into the floor beside you followed by another on your other side, cutting off any hope of an exit you might have.

When your vision focused again, you saw three figures staring down at you.

"Wakey wakey," Green Goblin sang, tilting his head to the side as he observed you. "We've been looking for you."

"Thought you could escape us?" Victor Creed growled, flexing his claws.

You didn't know whether it was hilarious or depressing that Logan had left you, but his brother had somehow shown up in his place. As you stared up at the last villain, Omega Red, you wondered how you could have been so stupid. You had let your guard down, for Logan, and now you were going to get yourself killed. You had spent years killing goons and lackies and now their bosses were here to exact revenge.

If you were going down, then you resolved to at least try to take someone with you.

Victor would be the easiest, so you turned a smirk up at him. He seemed briefly confused before you formed a forcefield around his body and attempted to crush him, but it was at that moment Osborn flipped a switch on the device strapped to his wrist. At the same time, Omega Red used one of his tentacles, the end of it pointed into a sharp lance, and slammed it down into your calf. You could feel the bone break and you instinctively tried to jerk away from him, but you couldn't go anywhere. The attack was followed up by a mist spraying from Osborn's device and you suddenly felt like your skin was on fire.

You knew you were screaming, and you wished for nothing more than the ability to stop, but pain had enveloped you so completely. You weren't even sure if the others were actively hurting you or Norman just wanted to you to lose your mind. After your screams died out, simply because your throat felt worn raw and you couldn't pull in anymore breath into your lungs, Norman sprayed another mist.

The relief was nearly instantaneous, but the moment was short-lived.

You were shaking uncontrollably, and you knew without a doubt that you couldn't use your power even if you had the energy to try. You felt so weakened that you could barely lift your head when Victor crouched over you. He slashed his claws across your face, leaving blood to pour freely from the gash across your cheek.

"Too bad my brother doesn't want you anymore," he sneered, pressing his claws to your shoulder before digging in.

You didn't have it in you to scream anymore and you felt your head loll forward, dark spots dancing in your vision.

You knew there was no walking away from this. At least, you consoled yourself, you had known Logan for one more night. It might not have been perfect, but it was what you needed. Victor's claws came up to caress your throat and you imagined them easily slicing through your flesh, ending your life.

You closed your eyes, wanting to think about nothing but Logan in your final moments, when you heard his voice.

"Get the fuck away from her," Logan snarled, and you were half-convinced that it was all in your head. He should have been long gone by now, already crossing state borders in a bid to put some distance between the two of you.

But when you managed to open your eyes, it was to see Logan at Omega Red's back. Osborn was simply watching Logan, as if he was waiting for the show, and Omega Red already had his tentacles curling out to attack Logan.

"Looks like little Logan has come out to play," Osborn mocked, taking a few steps back to put some distance between them. He went back to the device on his wrist, and you whimpered at the idea of the unceasing pain.

Logan shot you a worried look, but he didn't take his attention away from the three villains threatening you. He sidestepped one of Omega Red's attacks, making it look nearly effortless.

"I said get the fuck away from her," Logan reiterated, turning his attention on Victor. "I'm not gonna ask you again, bub."

Victor laughed, letting his claws break the skin of your throat. "I'm not scared of you. You haven't popped your claws in years. You're just a pathetic piece of shit, Logan, and now you're gonna watch your girlfriend die."

Logan watched the blood trail down your neck before he met your eyes. There was a moment when all you could see was the fear in Logan's eyes when you sincerely thought he was going to watch Victor slash your throat. You knew that losing another person he loved would destroy him all over again and you didn't want him to have to watch.

"Just go," you pleaded, not wanting your death on Logan's conscience as well. "It's okay."

Logan looked so heartbroken for a moment, his eyes never once leaving yours as his hands began to tremble. But then you could see rage fall over him and he flicked his wrists, letting his claws descend.

Between one slow blink of your eyes and the next, Logan was standing behind Victor.

"The name's not Logan," he started, before he made a quick movement that sunk his claws right into Victor's neck. "It's Wolverine," he snarled before pulling his claws free, messy and bloody, leaving Victor's head to roll back on his shoulders before falling to the floor.

Osborn and Omega Red didn't move for one shocked moment before they both descended on Logan. He made quick work of Green Goblin, stabbing him over and over again with his claws until Osborn's insides were spilling out of him and his face was indistinguishable beneath his cracked mask.

Omega Red proved to be a tougher challenge for Logan. His claws didn't do much to Omega Red and you knew that it might be hours before either one of them got the upper hand. You managed to use all the strength you had reserved, waiting for your perfect moment to strike, before forming a forcefield around Omega Red. He struck out, trying to pierce through it with his tentacles, but you were determined not to let him go anywhere.

You let it shrink and shrink, keeping a tight hold on your control. You wanted to savor Omega Red's demise, knowing that it might be the last time you got to take down a villain. You finally closed your hand into a fist, crushing Omega Red in your forcefield, stubbornly holding it long after you knew he was dead.

Logan was at your side, pressing a torn blanket to the wound in your leg.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he soothed, and you realized then that you had been reaching out for him, your breath leaving you on a whimper. "I'm sorry. I never should've left you here." He was careful as he slid one arm beneath your knees and used the other to brace your back. "Arms around my neck," he ordered, barely giving you time to comply before he was lifting you up.

"Where are we going?" You croaked, your throat sore and limbs weak as you clung to him.

"Anywhere but here," Logan answered, carrying you out of the warehouse. "Someone's gonna come sniffing around sooner or later and I want to get you as far away from here as I can."

You could feel yourself beginning to drift now that your adrenaline had faded. "Will you be there when I wake up?" You made yourself ask, terrified that Logan would drop you off at a hospital and make a break for it.

"I'm never leaving you again," Logan promised you as he approached a van.

You weren't sure where he got it, but you were grateful for it when he helped you lie down in the back of it.

You must have given him a skeptical look, because Logan grabbed your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it. "From now on, we'll run together," he said, cupping a hand to your cheek. "If you'll have me," he amended, brushing his fingers over the cuts Victor had left on your face. "I wouldn't forgive me if I was you."

"Yeah, well, you're not me," you pointed out, bringing a hand up to squeeze his wrist. "And I love you, Logan. I never stopped loving you." You had crossed state lines and fought and bled and cried all for Logan. You would have kept chasing him for the rest of your life, because he was all you had.

Logan gifted you an uncertain smile and you knew he felt like he didn't deserve your devotion. "I'll spend the rest of my life earning that," he told you before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I never wanted you to have to be the Wolverine again," you tried to console him, knowing how much he had sacrificed letting his claws free again. "But thank you for saving me."

Logan huffed out an amused breath, gifting you with a look like he couldn't believe you were real. "You're the one who saved me," he pointed out, maneuvering himself until he could lie down at your side. Your eyelids had started to droop and you were fighting sleep. "Now, try to get some rest. I'll be here when you're ready to wake up."

You reached out, grasping Logan's hand in yours. "I'm going to hold you to that," you let him know before letting yourself fall asleep, finally feeling safe with the knowledge that Logan wasn't planning on leaving you again.

Author's Notes: @the-gentle-spirit had the idea that each Wolverine had their own Y/N and that the Y/N in the main fic 'won't somebody come take me home' truly had the worst Logan in her universe before she met the Logan from Deadpool and Wolverine. Every other Logan is stupidly in love with their Y/N, so the fact that that Logan could let her go so easily was truly an anomaly. So, each chapter will be a different variant, starting with Old Man Logan as a birthday gift to myself. 🎉🥳 If you want to be tagged in this series or in all of my Logan fics, just let me know!

All Logan Taglist: @i-left-my-cat-on-the-stove @slightlymediocree @snowyminty @i-wear-wet-socks313 @shizzybarnaclee

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #old man logan #old man logan x reader #reader insert #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #imagine #wolverine imagine #wolverine #wolverine x reader #in another life perhaps verse #my fic

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geotjwrs · 7 months ago

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hold me

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; ANGSTANGSTANGST!!

The soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm light on the walls of the cozy living room. Y/N sat on the couch, his fingers lightly grazing over the pages of a script he was supposed to be learning. His mind, however, was far from the lines in front of him. He glanced over at Jenna, who was busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, her movements graceful and precise.

She caught his eye and smiled, the sight of which warmed his heart despite the cold shadow looming over their lives. He forced a smile back, trying to keep his thoughts from drifting to the harsh reality they were facing.

A month ago, everything had changed. Y/N, the rising star known for his roles in "Stranger Things," "Scream 6," and "Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse," had been diagnosed with a rare blood disorder. The prognosis was grim; the treatments hadn't worked. Now, he was left with a few precious months, a fact he hadn't been able to hide from Jenna for long.

They had cried together, fought the despair together, and tried every possible treatment. But the cruel truth remained: their time was running out.

"Hey, dinner's almost ready," Jenna called out, breaking his reverie. Her voice was light, but he could hear the underlying strain.

"Smells amazing," he replied, setting the script aside and rising to join her. He walked into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. She leaned back into him, her hands still busy chopping vegetables.

"I was thinking," he began, his voice hesitant, "that we should start ticking off items from our bucket list."

Jenna turned in his arms to face him, her eyes searching his. "You mean...?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Let's not waste another moment. Let's spend these months doing everything we've ever dreamed of."

Her eyes welled up with tears, but she blinked them away quickly. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's do it."

Over the next few weeks, Y/N and Jenna embarked on an adventure of a lifetime. They visited the places they'd always talked about but never had the time to see. From the bustling streets of Tokyo to the serene beaches of the Maldives, they soaked in every moment, every sight, every experience.

In Paris, they danced under the Eiffel Tower, the twinkling lights reflecting in Jenna's eyes as Y/N spun her around. The city of love lived up to its name, and they reveled in each other's presence, forgetting the world around them.

"Remember our first trip to Paris?" Jenna asked one evening as they strolled along the Seine.

"How could I forget?" Y/N replied with a chuckle. "You almost pushed me into the river trying to get that perfect photo."

She laughed, leaning into him. "Best photo we ever took."

In New York, they saw Broadway shows and wandered through Central Park hand in hand, their laughter mingling with the sounds of the city. They visited the Museum of Modern Art, where Jenna marveled at the art while Y/N tried to make sense of it.

"Art is supposed to make you feel something," Jenna explained as they stood before a particularly abstract piece.

"It makes me feel confused," Y/N admitted, making her giggle.

They laughed, they cried, and they held each other through the pain and the joy. Each city, each experience was a treasure, a memory to hold onto when the inevitable came.

On quieter days, they stayed home, cooking together, watching their favorite movies, and simply enjoying each other's company. They talked about the future they would never have, and while it hurt, it also brought them closer.

"Do you remember the first time we cooked together?" Jenna asked one evening as they prepared dinner.

"I remember burning the pasta," Y/N replied with a grin.

"You were so confident," she teased, "and so wrong."

They laughed, their shared memories a comforting reminder of their journey together.

One particularly memorable evening was spent in an Italian vineyard, where they tasted wines, sampled local cheeses, and watched the stars come out in a clear Tuscan sky. They sat on a blanket, Y/N leaning against a tree with Jenna nestled between his legs, her head resting on his chest.

"This is perfect," Jenna whispered, looking up at the stars.

"You're perfect," Y/N replied, kissing the top of her head.

They shared dreams and whispered secrets, their words a blend of joy and sorrow, hope and despair. Every moment was cherished, every second a precious memory in the making.

As the months progressed, Y/N's health declined steadily. There were days when the pain was almost unbearable, but Jenna was always there, her presence a soothing balm. She became adept at administering his medications, learned how to help him through the worst of it, and, most importantly, she never let him feel alone.

In the spring, they returned to their home, deciding to spend the remaining time in familiar surroundings. Their days were filled with love and tenderness, every moment a cherished memory in the making. They talked about their favorite moments, shared stories from their childhoods, and planned small, manageable adventures nearby.

One warm afternoon, Y/N took Jenna to a secluded spot by a lake. They had a picnic, complete with her favorite sandwiches and a bottle of wine they had brought back from Italy. They laughed, reminisced, and watched the sunset together. As the sky turned a deep orange and the stars began to appear, Y/N took Jenna's hand.

"I want you to promise me something," he said softly, his eyes locked onto hers.

"Anything," she replied, her voice trembling.

"When I'm gone, I want you to keep living your life to the fullest. Keep acting, keep shining, and keep spreading joy. You have so much to give, Jenna. Don't let my absence hold you back."

Tears streamed down her face, but she nodded. "I promise," she whispered. "I promise I'll do my best."

The final weeks were the hardest. Y/N's strength waned, and he spent more time in bed, too weak to do much of anything. Jenna remained his constant companion, reading to him, singing to him, and holding him close when the pain became too much.

One night, as a storm raged outside, Y/N woke up gasping for breath. Jenna was by his side in an instant, her heart pounding with fear. She held him, murmuring soothing words, her tears mingling with his.

"Jenna," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Hold me."

She climbed into the bed beside him, cradling him in her arms. He buried his face in her neck, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"I love you," he said, his voice growing weaker with each word. "Thank you...for everything."

"I love you too," she replied, her voice breaking. "Always."

Y/N's breathing slowed, and he closed his eyes, a peaceful expression settling on his face. Jenna held him tighter, feeling his heart beat against hers. As the storm outside began to subside, Y/N took his final breath, surrounded by love.

Jenna stayed with him for a long time, her heart shattered yet filled with gratitude for the time they had shared. She kept her promise, continuing to live her life to the fullest, carrying Y/N's love and memory with her always.

In the days that followed, Jenna honored his memory by living as he had asked her to. She continued to act, to bring joy and inspiration to others. And though the pain of losing Y/N never fully left her, she carried his love with her, a beacon of light guiding her through the darkness.

Their story was one of love and loss, of hope and heartbreak. Jenna found solace in the memories they had created, drawing strength from the time they had shared. She often visited the places they had been, feeling his presence beside her, whispering words of encouragement and love.

Years passed, and Jenna's career flourished. She took on roles that challenged her, inspired her, and kept Y/N's spirit alive. Every performance, every success was a tribute to him, a way to honor the promise she had made.

One evening, after a particularly successful premiere, Jenna found herself alone on the balcony of her apartment. The city lights stretched out before her, a sea of twinkling stars in their own right. She looked up at the sky, feeling the familiar ache of loss but also the warmth of his memory.

"You'd be proud of me," she whispered to the stars. "I hope I'm making you proud."

In the quiet of the night, she felt a gentle breeze, as if Y/N was answering her. She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely, but this time, they were tears of gratitude, not just sorrow.

Jenna continued to live her life to the fullest, keeping Y/N's memory alive in everything she did. She spoke about him often in interviews, sharing their story with the world. Fans and colleagues alike were moved by her strength, her resilience, and the deep love that had defined their relationship.

"Y/N taught me to live fully, to love deeply, and to never take a single moment for granted," she would say, her voice filled with emotion. "He may not be here physically, but his spirit is with me always."

And so, their story continued, a testament to the power of love, the resilience of the human spirit, and the beauty of living each day as if it were your last. Jenna carried Y/N's love with her, a guiding light in the darkest of times, a reminder that even in the face of inevitable sorrow, there is always hope, always joy, always love.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x male reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday x male reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday netflix #dailywomen #imagine #fanfic #one shot

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setitallaflame · 1 year ago

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“I know you didn’t, and me being an idiot is less something that needs to be said and more something that’s an indisputable fact,” Reagan replied. “But if our getting caught involves a camera? If it involves someone spotting us sneaking into somewhere we shouldn’t have been, and using our powers to do it, then it’s on me. One hundred percent. You don’t get it, my brother was a geek. A literal genius who would’ve been all too happy to stay at home and work on homework, and listen to classical music, and do whatever else geek geniuses liked to do; we essentially shared a brain, and it was all gibberish to me. I was the one who pushed him to get out, to explore new things, to make our powers... Like I said, I wanted something good to come out of them. Something fun. Something better than what they were when they first manifested. Maybe if I would’ve just left well enough alone, he’d still be alive. We’d still both be... Well, we’d have graduated by now, I guess. He’d probably have been offered some prestigious job right away, and I’d likely be begging someone - anyone - to hire me.” As for him saying that Lorna was his good thing, the person that he held onto, she smirked as she shot back, “Surprise, surprise. And when you say faith do you just mean like generally, or actual faith? A belief in a higher power? As for protecting people who depend on you, that’s why you’re here. I’m here to... apparently continue causing hurricanes.”

“Always good?” Reagan echoed. “I probably got my twin brother killed, Marcos. I almost got you killed. I’m a time bomb. What’s so good about that?” As for her making the sacrifice play, she slowly nodded her head, “You might be, you might not be. I don’t know how this is going to go, not to mention you can’t be here with me all the time. You have an entire station - that I know exists but can’t picture for the life of me - to help run. But if you are here when the time comes... If I can’t be the judge, if I’m too far gone... Will you stop me? Can you use your powers to stop me?”

"I never said you had to tell someone. And I never said you were an idiot." He paused, sighing softly. "When the impossible's been removed, right? Whatever remains. Maybe you made a mistake--it happens--or maybe someone installed a camera one night in a place they'd noticed a deadzone. Whatever it is, what remains is that whatever happened isn't something that's your fault." He might not be the most eloquent, but he'd done this a thousand times over his years here. He saw the way these things could eat at people, and so, eloquent or not, he had to make sure they could get out of bed in the morning. He needed to make her say that she was lucky. He needed her to understand that she was. And, he supposed, he needed to make sure he could get out of bed, too. "Lorna," he answered simply. "And before that...I don't know. Faith? Hope that one day things would be better, I guess." Then she went on to comment on just how bad things were, and he sighed again, heavier this time. "I know. It's getting harder even to hope things will be better. But I guess that's why we're here. To protect the people who depend on us when it's not."

She laughed, though it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. "I mean it. I know you've got shit, but you're always good. Not everyone can say that." As for what came next...the realization settled like a rock in his stomach. Of course. Of course it wouldn't be him. Of course it wouldn't be anyone. "...I guess I sort of forgot I wouldn't be with you," he said, voice taking on some roughness. "...Are you sure you can be the judge of when the time comes?"

#ecliipsed #In Hiding (Marvel Verse)

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evilminji · 1 year ago

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Okay but >.> continuing my Marvel thoughts?

I got two of um?

First being? Don't Orange and Green go together? *looks it up* Aaaaaay~ "Direct harmony, also known as complementary colors, means pairing your key color with the color sitting on the opposite side of the color wheel." They DO!!! They're a classic example, in fact!

The Orange Soul Stone? Probably looks REAL good, real NATURAL even, against that Green sky! Bet it REALLY pops! Very stand out statement piece, you know? But? More importantly? That thing is sentient. All of those Pillars of Reality across the various Verses are.

And?

I bet it thought Pariah was a lil bitch.

Rank Vibes. Negative ris. Pick your words for it, the man was NASTY. He was too keep his filthy, filthy World's Conquering hands OFF of this Soul Stone. Something, I imagine? That ALL the Soul Stones agreed with.

Yes, I said all of um.

Because the various Realities each need their own. But! They can and DO work from the Zone, which is the PERFECT place to hide. And honestly? They like to get together and do this thing? Where they're all "oooh~ look at US! We are SUPER IMPRESSIVE Kingly Jewelry~☆! Definitely no important reality bending Rocks Of Great Power HERE! No SIR! We're just tooootally rad jeeeeewelryyyyy~~~☆! Oooooooh~☆"

They like to have fun. :3

Hope Danny likes Orange. Ha ha... trick question. He doesn't have a CHOICE! All SORTS of Death based Reality Pillars are rocking up, in their metaphorical Gucci sweat suits and shades with a margarita, going "oh thank ME, babe. The last guy was AWFUL! You're soooo much better? Now let me rub myself all over you. It's been ages and baby needs to recharge on Death Energy."

Danny hates it? So? So much?

He looks like a GAUDY PIRATE. *nnnnnnyooom!* *THWAP!* *Another reality shaking, highly sacred, Godly Staff of Death or whatever they decided to call it, flys in through a nearby window and nearly concusses him as it smacks itself against his upper back and sticks there*

He looks like a walking junk heap of sacred artifacts.

You ever been pelted by rocks? He has! Little orange rocks! Like fucked up hail! Welcome to kinghood, Danny, have a CONCUSSION! D:< he hates it!

But... but, I mean... At Least It's Not The SWORDS. (Panicked scream of "hit the deck!" from the other room.) (Holy sword number 15 wants to CUDDLE! Bare blade first! Dodge, your Majesty! DODGE!)

So yeah.

Danny? In A MOOD. Not feeling particularly FRIENDLY. It's not anyone's fault, really. But... well... you can't exactly negotiate with these fuckers, you know? Rocks are by NATURE, kinda stubborn.

So he's sitting there. Buried. With what he's pretty sure is a sacred text digging into his side. When a... glowing? Mist? Shows up? Huh. That's new. They don't seem to have a very clear image of "Self". Yet it's crystal clear? Just not... PHYSICAL? It's more... code? He thinks?

TECHNUS! Get over here! And behave!

There is much cooing and delight from Technus. The baby is a marvel. A wonder! Danny waits patiently for Technus to get to the point.

Ah.

He would like to "go back". His Obsession is demanding it.

IS it now? You're what? Maybe a day or so dead? You've been busy, if you've already gathered enough information to make your case like this. Alright, let's hear it, little guy.

It boils down to this. His obsession in death is the same as his primary directive was in life. Protect Mr Stark. Which is especially difficult to do from HERE. Even MORE so when there is a known threat, coming too...

WAIT, WHAT!?

The Souls Stones back him up. Oh yeah. Thanos' a lil bitchbaby loser. He's trying to make Death fall in love with him. Or "balance the universe". Depends on the reality. Totally throwing EVERYTHING out of whack.

And? Look. Danny's job? Isn't to interfere if countries kill each other. Or even planets. Nor entire galaxies, as much as he'd like too. But when you get too "I'm messing with Entire Realities or all of a Singular Reality at once in the specific depart of Death and its subsidiaries" territory? THAT is his job.

Might not be a "I personally have to show up" issue. But it still IS very much his job at that point. He has to delegate. Order the appropriate steps be taken. Cause yeah, there may be countless millions every day of such instances? But it IS his job to metaphorically order the roads repaired and the building inspected.

Sudden MASS "immigration"?

That causes Lair disputes. Confusion. Too many ghosts in too small an area. And WORSE, if people start playing with Death Pillars? The Zone might get dragged into whatever nonsense they're up too! It's like children playing with heavy machinery! Put that DOWN! Cease! Desist!!

And then? Clockwork shows up looking Mildly Miffed(TM). O:> dear lord. What madness has he stumbled upon? Oh. Oh of COURSE. First the "balancing" dude and now they're going to be playing with time travel. THATS IT. Someone unburying me!

I'm gonna go menace some humans that might actually believe I'm scary! Frighty! Pack up and shine your armor! Your coming too! We're escorting the baby home then have a Talk(tm) with the local Grape Ceral!

@hypewinter @lolottes @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe @hdgnj

#dp x marvel #dpxmarvel #dp x mcu

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imagine-darksiders · 11 months ago

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Thank you to the marvellous @humboltsquid for commissioning a fanfic with pregnant Reader attempting to hide said pregnancy from the Horsemen because she fears they'll buy into the social rhetoric surrounding single mothers who don't know who the father is.

TW: Vomiting, morning sickness, drinking, Pregnancy, briefest allusion to sa, no actual sa took place, everything was consensual, both parties were drunk, Reader remembers most of the night except the guy's face and name. Horsemen are predictably angry about someone touching their little sister.

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Porcelain, cold and consolidated, bites into the sensitive skin of your palms as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, your arms locked like overheated pistons just to keep yourself standing upright in defiance of how your legs seem determined to collapse out from underneath your weight.

To your right, the loo gurgles noisily, flushing away any traces of the meal you’d spewed up into it only moments ago. At least the sound helps to drown out a voice thundering at you from the other side of the door.

“Let us in!”

Fumbling with the tap for a moment, you bend down, spooning a palmful of fresh, cooling water into your mouth. As you do so, you spare a baleful glance down at the loo again, and the food lost to its pipes… Perfectly good rations… all gone to waste.

Five years on from the Great Resurrection and Earth’s agricultural efforts are finally on a steady incline. While the food situation isn’t anywhere near as desperate as it was when Humanity woke up to a world without excess, that doesn’t mean you’re particularly pleased to see precious rations wasted because you couldn’t hold them down.

And now that you’re supposed to be eating for two…

Groaning, your expression twists into a look of remorse, and you place one hand gently on your stomach, roaming a palm over the bump that lays hidden beneath the baggiest jumper you could find. You’re only too aware that it won’t be so easy to hide the swell in another couple of months.

You barely manage to bite back another miserable groan as a colossal fist hammers against the door so viciously, you almost wonder if the wood will splinter and break, which starts to seem more likely when seconds later, a familiar voice booms out, “If you don’t open this door, I’m tearing it from its frame!”

Ah… That’ll be War; youngest of the Four Horsemen, an armoured, muscle-bound colossus who also just so happens to be one of your very dearest friends.

A friend who has been growing rightfully suspicious of you over these last couple of months…

There are only so many excuses you can fall back on to explain away your frequent and unexpected dashes for the nearest bathroom. You can only thank the Creator that neither of the Four seem all that well-versed on the more delicate biological functions of humans.

Swiping a wrist over the back of your mouth, you lean away from the sink and assess yourself in the mirror, doing your best to ignore the taste of vomit still sitting like a layer of fuzz on the roof of your mouth.

‘How long are you going to keep this up?’ you pose to your reflection, her sleep-stained eyes bearing back into yours as if she too has had the same question.

It’s been like this for a few weeks now, ever since the dreaded Morning Sickness wrapped its hands around your guts and wrung them with a relentlessness that leaves you scrambling for the closest bathroom at least twice a day.

It wasn’t this bad in the first trimester… Now entering your second, things are getting a Hell of a lot harder to manage. To hide.

Slowly letting your eyes slip shut, you exhale through your nostrils in exasperation as a different voice accompanies the first. “Kid? I uh… I think he means it. We just wanna make sure you haven’t drowned in there.”

Strife… The humour he tries to inject into his quip is overshadowed by his hand rattling at the doorknob. He’s worried. They all are. You wouldn’t have thought it possible, if you didn’t know them personally, though each Horseman will swear up and down they don’t ever feel such trivial, human emotions.

Actions, however, speak louder than words.

Their sister, Fury, has hardly left your side ever since Mrs Gaffe tutted at you from across the hallway and you immediately retreated into your apartment, leant back against the door and wept into your hands. She didn’t know… She didn’t know Mrs Gaffe who lives on your floor is also a chemist, and she’s also the very woman who sold you your pregnancy test… and the subsequent tests you went back for when the first came up positive. You’d spent over an hour convincing Fury that, no, she doesn’t need to defend your honour by besting old Mrs Gaffe in combat. Though you let her know you appreciated the gesture.

You try to think the best of your neighbours. And you certainly didn’t like to think of Mrs Gaffe being a gossip, but judging by the curious and frequently disdainful glances other people in the building sent your way, you soon came to realise your secret was not such a secret after all.

You’re pregnant. And the father is nowhere to be found.

You only hope word doesn’t get back to the Horsemen somehow. You don’t think you could bear it if their gazes turned sharp and pointed as well.

Outside the bathroom door, you hear War grunt at Strife to move aside, and at last, you decide you’ve stalled enough.

Shoving yourself off the sink, you spin around on a hell, regretting the action as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock you back down to Earth, but it’s soon dispelled with a deep breath and a second to gather yourself, calling, “Okay, okay, I’m coming out.”

Someone – Strife, you think – grumbles, “Finally.”

Grabbing the handle, you pull the door towards yourself and tilt your head back, blinking up at the two, immense shapes blocking the entire width of your hallway. If it weren’t for the space between your bedroom and bathroom being meagre at best, you imagine you’d have the remaining two behemoths cramped in there as well.

“When did you guys get to be so clingy.”

War’s ice-blue eyes glare down at you from beneath a crimson hood.

You start to edge past them, feeling like a fish trying to squeeze between a pair of grizzlies. Just as you make it past and put your back to them entirely, you hear Strife announce, “All right. That’s it.”

“What’s it?” you ask hesitantly as he advances on you, his heavy, metal boots thudding on the carpet. Before you can react, the Horseman suddenly slings a bulky arm around your waist and hoists you off your feet, tucking you into his side. You’re forced to fold almost in half, bent over Strife’s uncomfortable gauntlet with most of the pressure bearing down on your stomach.

“STRIFE!” you exclaim, horrified.

“I’m not lettin’ you go until you tell us what’s been goin’ on with you,” he huffs, clomping into the living room with War bringing up the rear. By the window, Death twists his bone-mask towards the commotion, his shoulders flattening, unimpressed. “Brother…” he warns.

Fury too, tosses Strife her own disparaging glare from the sofa and barks, “Is it truly necessary to manhandle the human?”

You, however, hardly pay attention to a word they exchange. Your mind is utterly and wholly on the point of your stomach that’s digging into the Horseman’s gauntlet. You can cope with the discomfort, but it isn’t just you anymore.

There’s no thought to the cry you let out, just a plea borne of a desire to protect the little life growing inside you, by any means necessary. “Strife!” you exclaim, smacking your palms against his armoured thigh in a bid to relieve some of the pressure around your gut. “Put me down! The baby-!”

No sooner has the word left your lips than you find the arm restraining you springing open, letting you tumble to the floor. A jolt shoots through you as your hands and knees strike the carpet, but all you can celebrate in that moment is that the strength of a Horseman is no longer curled around your vulnerable stomach.

You don’t look up at the Horsemen until you’ve pushed yourself back to your feet, patting down your jumper. When you do happen to glance up, your face immediately falls.

Death has shifted from his position by the window and now stands several, jarring feet closer, he and Fury both, in fact. The latter has somehow leapt from her seat on the sofa in the time it took you to gather yourself up off the floor.

But more disconcertingly, they’re still. Utterly motionless as if they’ve been caught in a pocket of frozen time.

Gulping, you tentatively twist your head over a shoulder, only to find War and Strife are in much the same state.

Strife has backed up to stand next to his brother, his liquid-gold eyes round beneath his visor, neither one of them twitching so much as a single muscle. It’s… eerie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so still before. Death, maybe, but not the other three.

It only occurs to you then that you might have let something slip.

Then, at last, just as you wet your lips to call out to one of them…

“What did you say?” Fury breathes, cutting neatly through the heavy blanket of silence draped over the room.

Blinking owlishly, you turn back to face her, your mind scrambling for an adequate response.

“What… what do you mean, ‘what did I say?’”

Feigning ignorance it is.

You actually leap several inches off the ground when the Horseman suddenly explodes back into motion, storming forwards in your direction and exclaiming, “What baby?!”

“B-baby?” you double down, backing away from her until your spine collides with a solid torso – War. “Who said anything about a baby?”

“You just did!”

“Did I?”

“Y/n…” Death utters in a slow and cautious tone as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt at the slightest provocation - Hell, given the furtive glances you keep swinging around his side at the door to your apartment, he might be in the ballpark. His voice alone carries enough authority to silence his sister, and more than enough to make you clamp your jaws shut painfully tight. “You’re with child?”

It’s strange, but despite the inflection on his last word, you get the impression he isn’t asking you if you’re pregnant, but merely whether you’re ready to admit to the fact.

The hopelessness of it all dawns on you when you meet his enduring, gilded stare.

He knows.

And if Death knows, there’s little point in continuing your efforts of duping the other three. In spite of outward appearances and their frequent, often frightening disagreements, the Four Horsemen have a bond stronger than tungsten. So, with a head that suddenly feels weighed down by months of secrecy and deflection, you lower your gaze to the floor near his boots and give a slow, sombre nod.

It’s as though your little confirmation is all that they needed to lift the veil on any and all doubts.

The shadows they cast on your carpet suddenly start to tremble as an overhead light flickers, strobing on and off until it sputters weakly back to life and holds steady, albeit dimmer than it had been before.

The Horsemen seem to grow in size, muscled shoulders bulge like raised hackles and four sets of eyes flare with an ethereal light as they shift their weight, bearing down on you like toppling monoliths.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Strife mutters venomously under his breath, “I’m gonna kill whatever bastard laid a finger on-”

“-W h o t o u c h e d y o u?” the eldest Horseman’s growl cuts him off. It’s guttural and animalistic, so much so that you can’t withhold a flinch. You could count on one hand the number of times Death has outwardly lost his temper, which makes it all the more alarming to witness.

Stumbling over your words for a beat, you keep your eyes fixed to the floor as the Old One stalks across the meagre living space towards you, his ominous shadow growing along the carpet to swallow you whole. When it seems he’s right on top of you, you finally blurt out, “N-Nobody!”

In hindsight, that wasn’t the most logical answer.

Fury – her vibrant hair whipping behind her like angry, coiling snakes - scoffs, tucking her arms firmly across her chest. “Nobody?” she parrots, “I’m no expert, but don’t these things usually involve two parties?”

“Great! Now she’s lying to us,” Strife barks, pacing back and forth behind you and throwing a hand up to rake the fingers of his metal gauntlet through his stiff, black hair, “I don’t believe this, we go off world for two weeks-!”

“Were you hurt?” War’s voice, though less jagged than Death’s, is pitched low enough to rumble through you until it resounds inside your chest. You can feel his presence behind you, too close for comfort, the living embodiment of rage and violence.

You suddenly fear for the man whose face and name you can’t recall.

“I… no,” you protest, hugging your elbows close, “It wasn’t anything like… like that. It was an accident! We were out drinking, and I-“

“DRINKING!?”

Your mouth snaps shut as Death lurches towards you, and you’re finally forced to tear your eyes off the carpet when his sinewy fingers slide around your biceps and he hauls you a foot off the ground, holding you up to his mask and subjecting you a shout that’s rife with unparalleled urgency. “You know what that does to a human’s inhibitions!” he demands.

His hands are gentle, neither hurting nor bruising the delicate skin on your bare arms, but the power behind even his gentlest grasp is frustratingly insurmountable.

You’ve never liked how easily he can manhandle you. “Yes, Death! I know what alcohol does!” you snap back, kicking your legs and trying to twist out of his grip, “I’m not a kid anymore, stop treating me like one! And put me down!”

You’re aware that your point is all a matter of perspective. For the Horsemen, there’ll always be some small part of them that continues to see you as a youngling. You’re human, after all. A hundred years wouldn’t even see a Nephilim out of adolescence. Not to mention that the Horsemen have all but declared you as one of them… One of theirs - an unconventional, human sibling they’ve taken into their fold.

It's not so easy for them to simply stop seeing you as their little sister, no matter how much you might wish they would sometimes.

As your retort fades into silence, Death blinks, recoiling his head slightly with wider eyes, and it will only occur to you later just how rare it is to make Death falter.

The other three, although their bodies still quiver with barely contained adrenaline, have fallen quiet whilst you stare down their eldest until at last, he lowers you gingerly to the floor, setting you safely on the carpet once again and retrieving his hands.

You’d never dare to say it aloud, but in that moment, something like shame flashes over the dark sockets of his mask.

“Why didn’t you tell us, kid?” Strife asks, the crux of his question tinged by badly concealed hurt.

“This, Strife,” you sigh, throwing your arms out towards he and his siblings, exasperated. Fury with her face set into a thunderous scowl. War’s metal gauntlets curled into bludgeoning fists. Even Strife is idly tracing a finger on the stock of Redemption in its holster, and Death – especially Death – whose ancient magics are still causing the lamps in your room to fade in and out…

Heaving another, immense sigh, you continue, “This is why I didn’t tell you.” Well. It’s one of the reasons, but at this point, it’s a fairly vital one. “I mean, look at you!”

Each Horseman shares a glance with one another.

“You’re all raring to go on a manhunt to find a guy who didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Didn’t do anything wrong?” War grunts, teeth still bared despite following the lead of Death and reeling in his temper, if only slightly, “He mated with you-“

“Oh, hell, War, don’t say it like that,” Strife complains, grimacing under his visor.

“-and now you carry his child, and he has abandoned you both?”

Biting at the soft flesh inside your cheek, you withhold a frustrated groan and remind yourself that War’s sense of Honour is vastly inflated. The ‘father’ of your child’s ignorance won’t excuse his absence, not in War’s eyes.

Even so, you try to dissuade any ideas of retribution before they can gain traction.

“He didn’t abandon us, War. He probably doesn’t even remember I exist! Goodness knows I can hardly remember that night…” You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor.

Death’s eyes are suddenly the hardest to meet. You recall your first introduction to Lilith; the self-proclaimed mother of all Nephilim, and subsequently the Horsemen themselves. You know of the demoness’s… reputation. You also know firsthand how much the Eldest Horseman despises her. You’re terrified Death will see something of Lilith in you, that you’d be so liberal with your own body as to end up with a child.

The inside of your eyelids start to burn. “And now everyone is gonna think I’m just some skank who went and got knocked-up by a stranger and… and-… They’re always gonna look at my kid and wonder who the father is. I don’t even know who the father is.”

There are tears prickling at your eyelashes, but you force your hands into fists at your sides, refusing to wipe them away lest your draw attention to them. The Horsemen see anyway.

Light blooms back to its full power across your apartment, your lamps stop trembling, and a pale finger crooks beneath your chin, tilting your head back until you’re peering up at a stoic mask of bone.

Death’s ebony hair falls in curtains around his face as he bends a little to speak to you in a hushed yet urgent tone. “He didn’t…” Hesitating, he draws in an unnecessary breath to fill dead lungs and alters his trajectory. “You were not forced…?”

You wish you didn’t know why that question is so important to Death, why the concept of consent means more to him than it might the others.

“No,” you reiterate miserably, “That’s one thing I do remember. I wanted, uh… it, at the time, a-and so did he. He didn’t know this would happen any more than I did.” You pause to lay a hand over your stomach, furrowing your brow as you give it a pensive stare and missing the way Death’s shoulders slump with relief. After a second or two, you hesitantly raise your chin to look him in the eye again, hoping that what little determination you can inject into your voice will hold strong. “… Look, I’m not proud of it, but it happened. I can’t change things… and… I’m keeping them. I’m sorry, but I’m keeping this baby.”

You hold your breath, expecting arguments, expecting a rebuttal or perhaps even a scoff or two.

“Why would you be sorry for that?” Strife pipes up instead.

It throws you off kilter. Pulling away from Death, you swivel around to frown uncertainly at War and his brother, fiddling with the hem of your jumper’s sleeve. “Well… I mean… I-I’m having the baby…“

When you don’t say anything further, War raises a hand and pulls down his hood, exposing the full extent of his wispy, white hair. “Yes?” he prompts, the unspoken ‘and?’ ringing clear as a bell.

“I’m having the… baby of a… of a man I don’t… know?” you finish slowly, glancing at each of them in turn.

“Big deal!” Strife announces so abruptly, you have to do a double-take, “You don’t need him to help you raise a little human! You’ve got us!”

Nodding her head, Fury adds, “Far be it from me to agree with Strife, but… in this case, he may be right.”

War grunts his own agreement, and when you throw an incredulous look at Death, you’re floored to see him dipping his head in concurrence as well.

“You’re…” Darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips, you squint at the eldest Horseman, asking, “You’re not angry?”

He’s quiet for some time, contemplative even as his gaze roves lower until it comes to a stop on your torso. Then, gently, he replies, “The only qualm I have is that you’ve been trying to bear this weight on your own two shoulders. And while I wish you had told us sooner, at least now we know how to help you.”

“Help me?” you utter, voice cracking.

Death’s eyes dance with a sudden fondness. “Well,” he replies, “As I’m sure Strife has told you repeatedly-“

“- you’re one of us,” said brother butts in, expertly finishing Death’s sentence and stepping up beside you to lay a heavy palm on your shoulder, “We take care of our own. Same goes for your kid.”

You’re too late to stop a choked noise from escaping the base of your throat, but before you can say anything, War steps forwards, towering over you as he pounds a solid, metal fist against his chest, directly over his heart in a show of allegiance.

“You and yours will always have the protection of the Four,” he proclaims.

“You… you don’t have to, you know,” you sniff, swiping a few fingers beneath your eyes, “I signed up for this baby, you guys didn’t. It’s okay if you don’t want to get involved because -“

“-Oh, don’t talk such nonsense,” Fury gruffly interjects, “You’re sorely mistaken if you think either one of us will be leaving your side for the foreseeable future.”

“Fury,” you laugh wetly, aiming a wobbly smile at her, “You mean that?”

The surly Horseman’s lip curls but she merely shrugs and retorts, “I may not care much for children, but someone will have to stick around to teach our youngling how to fight.”

Our youngling…

Your heart squeezes appreciatively, even if she might not have noticed the slip.

“That’s just her way of sayin’ she cares about children if it’s yours,” Strife’s voice murmurs in your ear, and with a gentle nudge at the small of your back, he pushes you towards the sofa his sister has vacated. If Fury hears him, she doesn’t dispute his words.

As you’re herded to sit down, War, ever the more practical of his siblings, is busy casting a rather dissatisfied look around your apartment, making a quick mental note to ramp up fortifications. He’ll have to schedule watches between himself and his siblings too…

“I can’t believe it,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to the Horsemen, sinking down among the cushions of your sofa and shaking your head, “I’ve been so worried about telling you guys I’m pregnant, and you’re just… okay with it.”

“As if we’d be anything else,” Death sighs, roving a quick look over you from head to toe. Squinting slightly, he adds, “Hmm… I’m not, however, okay that you can’t seem to keep food down lately. I take it that’s why you’ve been disappearing so suddenly of late?”

Giving him a sheepish nod, you shuffle to one side, allowing Strife to flop heavily onto the sofa next to you, his enormous thigh squashing you up against the arm rest. “I’ll go for more rations in a bit,” he announces, eager to provide.

“I can go,” you say, “They are for me, after all.”

Burly shoulders bristle in a display of faux authority as Strife instantly argues, “Nuh uh. You’re stayin’ right here where it’s safe.” He grumbles a nonsensical sound, then begrudgingly admits, “Hate you leavin’ at the best of times…”

Despite the niggle of exasperation that begs you to remind them you’re not helpless, just pregnant, you offer him a warm grin and bump your shoulder against his side, saying, “You’re going to make a great uncle, Strife.”

To say the Horseman’s mask almost flies off as he whips his torso around to face you would be an understatement.

You have to lean back, as though pushed away by the sheer intensity of his blazing stare. “What’d you say?” he breathes.

“I… oh, I, er…” Realising you may have overstepped, you swiftly attempt to backtrack. “I mean, that’s not what you have to be called, I was just-“

“-Uncle... That’s the brother of a human’s parent…” His eyes shine like the sun as they bore into you across the sofa. “Right?”

Uncertain, you quirk a brow at him. “Uh, yeah?”

He contemplates that for a second before he asks in a far smaller voice that almost doesn’t sound as if it belongs to the boisterous Horseman you know, “I’m your brother?”

“Of… course?” you blink, surprised that he’d need to even ask that question, “Of course you are. You said it yourself, I’m one of you. Sorry to say it, but that goes both ways. You’re my brother Strife. A-and if you’re okay with it… I’d like you to be this baby’s uncle.” Tearing your eyes off the sharpshooter whilst he none-too subtly coming apart at your side, you send a tentative look up at War, peering at him from under your lashes. “You too, big guy. But! Only if that’s okay with you? I just… want them to grow up knowing who their family is…”

War coughs into a mighty fist, hoping to hide the tiny smile that’s trying to bloom at the sides of his mouth, “In that case, it would be an honour to be acknowledged as the child’s ‘Uncle,’ until my dying breath.”

Always so serious. Giving your head a fond shake, you flash their sister a knowing look and call, “What about Aunt Fury? You on board?”

“Hmph, well,” she shrugs one shoulder, turning to glare at the wall, “It… has a nice ring to it, I suppose.”

You’re not fooled. The way she’s keeps having to wrestle the corners of her lips back into a terse line speaks volumes.

“Of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Death,” you say, at last addressing the Reaper who is watching the proceeding with a calm, reserved expression. At least until he catches the little smirk lifting your cheeks. “Or should I say, Grandpa Death.”

At once, the Nephilim’s expression flattens, unimpressed. “If you introduce me to that child as ‘Grandpa Death,’ perhaps I won’t be sticking around.”

“Ah, you love it, Gramps, don’t try to deny it,” Strife teases, leaning in to stage-whisper in your ear, “Look at him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the miserable bastard this happy.”

You have to stifle a snicker for Death’s sake. True to form though, while his eldest brother’s fearsome scowl persists when it lingers on Strife, it soon grows soft again upon turning back to you.

And in that one look, shared between a human and the eldest surviving Nephilim, you realise categorically that Death is with you. All of them are. They aren’t worried about your reputation. They won’t concern themselves with the idle gossip of your neighbours.

They’re family, as is the small spark of life steadily growing inside your stomach.

And father or no, your child is still going to grow up under the watchful eye of the Universe's most diligent and protective guardians.

#Darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #commission #found family #pregnant reader #hiding pregnancy #fluff #hurt/comfort #protective horsemen #allusions to SA

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