#X Men

[darkharborreedus]

maybe I’m delusional but I alwaysssss take the “dangerous” ones home,,, even they need a warm meal and a hug from a family figure. it’s the old saying, if you’re cold, they’re cold, bring them inside.

X2: X-Men United (2003)

Deadpool and Wolverine (2024)

After 21 years, someone finally takes him home.

[x-whores]

Here’s a drawing I did a few months ago for my Kurt fans :)

[vampiredaisiesss]

❝ all a ghost can do

is haunt ❞

— part one

★ dofp! logan howlett x younger reader

tags & warnings - mentions of domestic violence and daddy issues, age gap, (reader is in her early 20s), mentions of logan being referred to as an 'old man' and him calling the reader a 'kid', fluff, itsy bitsy angst, time has softened logan a bit.

word count - 1.7k

★ ★ ★ ★

The whiskey burns, but not enough. Never enough to dull the edges of memories that cut deeper than any blade could. 

Logan sits at the kitchen counter of the mansion, darkness pressing in from all sides. His demons always seem to find him here, in these quiet hours when the world narrows down to silence.

Even the adamantium in his bones feels heavier tonight.

He catches your scent before he hears you—that vanilla body lotion you always use. Your bare feet pad against the hardwood floors, and he takes a long gulp of his Jack Daniels when he feels your eyes land on him.

Your eyes are full of worry, as they often are for him. You can’t help it. You both know he drinks too much, smokes too much, gets angry too fast and doesn’t sleep enough. You might be a lot younger than him, or seen half the world he has, but that doesn’t mean you are incapable of distinguishing his self-indulgent tendencies from self-destructive ones.

"You're brooding again," you murmur, voice soft in deference to the midnight hour. The gentle concern in your tone makes something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

"Ain't brooding, bub. Just thinking." The lie tastes bitter, worse than the whiskey.

"Same difference with you," There's no judgment in your voice as you pad closer. You slip onto the stool beside him, close enough that he can feel the heat of you against his arm. "Share your demons with me, old man."

Logan's grip tightens on the bottle, knuckles white. "They ain't your burden to bear, kid."

"Seems like they should neither be yours to carry alone anymore," Your hand finds his forearm, fingers gently coaxing his own to uncoil from the bottle. "They’re tearing you apart, Lo."

“I’ll heal,” his voice turns assertive.

For the first time since you walked in, Logan looks at you. There’s no real heat behind his hazel eyes, but the intensity of his gaze makes your mouth go dry. 

Logan's the kind of handsome that gets better with age, with grey starting to streak through his dark hair at the sides. You've spent more nights than you'd care to admit thinking about running your fingers through that hair, wondering if it's as soft as it looks. 

“There are some scars that can’t heal on their own.” Your voice catches, vision blurring as memories surface. His expression softens, recognizing your demons as they dance in front of your eyes.

You grew up in a small house on the outskirts of town, where the screams couldn't carry far enough for neighbors to hear. Your father worked construction, coming home with anger burning through his veins, fueled by whatever poison he'd picked up at the local store. The bruises started small—a grip too tight around your wrist, fingers digging into your shoulder. By thirteen, you'd mastered the art of layering clothes in summer without breaking a sweat.

Your mother watched it all happen through a veil of willful blindness. She'd whisper "I love you" while dabbing antiseptic on split lips, promising "things will get better" as she covered the marks with a drugstore concealer. But she never left, trapped in her own web of shame and financial dependence.

The day Charles Xavier found you was the day your powers manifested. 

Your father had been in one of his rages, when something inside you finally snapped. The resulting telekinetic burst had sent him flying across the room. You ran, terrified of what you'd done, of what he'd do in retaliation. That's when the professor's black car pulled up, offering sanctuary within the walls of his school.

Xavier's became more than just an escape—it became home. A home with an unlikely collection of mutants who’d soon turn into family. As far as you were concerned, Charles Xavier was your father and Storm had taken on a motherly inclination when it came to you.

And then there was Logan… gruff, protective Logan who understood you without you having to explain. You both sat in this very kitchen the night you finally told him everything.

You'd watched his knuckles whiten, saw the rage build in the set of his jaw—not at you. Never at you. You remember thinking that your father wouldn't survive the night if Logan decided to pay him a visit. But instead of violence, Logan had offered something far more precious than revenge.

Understanding. 

And that was the first time you fell a little for him. 

Logan lets out a breath that shakes more than he'd like to admit. "Been thinking about Stryker. The lab." His voice roughens as he admits. "Sometimes it all just... comes back. Can’t close my eyes, for the life of me."

You don't flinch from the roughness in his voice—you know too well how memories can become monsters in the night. Instead, your fingers slide down to cover his hand, "Would you like to spend the night with me?"

"That's how rumors start, you know." The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his hand turns beneath yours, rough fingers catching against your skin. He shouldn't enjoy your touch this much, shouldn't let himself notice how perfectly your small hand fits in his giant one.

"You worried about your reputation, Howlett?" You lean closer, unable to help yourself. Everyone else might see your relationship as purely paternal, but the thoughts that race through your mind when he looks at you are anything but daughterly.

"Hell nah, never been." His voice drops lower, rougher, allowing himself this small indulgence. "You sure you wanna be associated with a sleazy old bastard like me?"

"I'm afraid it's too late for that." The words come out playful, but your mind floods with memories. 

Ever since you joined the team, Logan's been your shadow, protecting you during every mission. You think of training sessions in the gym, how good his hands feel when they’re adjusting your stance. You think of the day he carried you through the mansion when your leg broke after a mission gone sideways. You'd been mortified at first, but when you felt him cradle you against his chest, you'd buried your face in his neck.

When it comes to Logan, it's more than just physical attraction. It’s the way he’ll jump in any fire to save you. It's the way he'll sense your fear and comfort you whenever you have nightmares. It’s the way he can make you laugh just by raising that eyebrow in exactly the right way at exactly the right moment.

You felt safe with him. You wanted him to know he could feel the same with you too.

Logan watches you lose yourself in thought, fighting the urge to brush back the strand of hair that's fallen across your face. 

He's spent too long trying to convince himself that his feelings are purely protective, that the way his chest tightens when you smile at him is just paternal instinct. But there's nothing fatherly about the way his body responds when you're close, about how often he finds himself thinking about the sound of your laugh.

"And call it daddy issues or whatever," you add with deliberate casualness, though your heart is hammering against your ribs, "but I like older men. So you're in luck, old man."

Logan knows he should say no. Should keep his darkness away from your light. But when you stand and offer your hand, he takes it, letting you lead him through the silent halls like a ship following a lighthouse home.

He has been in your room before, though never like this. Your room is almost the same as his. Almost, with bits and pieces of you sprinkled throughout. A huge antique bookshelf, courtesy of Charles, is one of them, covering an entire section of the four-walled space. 

You watch Logan from your perch on the bed, the way his hands are curled into loose fists at his sides. "It's okay," you let him know softly. "Let me help."

He draws a breath at your words. His hand falls from the doorframe, and the door closes behind him with a soft click, separating the two of you from the rest of the sleeping world.

The mattress dips beneath his weight when he finally sits. You resist the urge to immediately touch him, letting him arrange himself comfortably, until he's lying down with his head in your lap. 

His breathing is too measured, too even to be natural. You watch his hands, curled still into loose fists against his chest, and wait.

Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the rigid line of his spine begins to soften. He drapes his left arm over your legs, and your fingers find their way into his hair. And fuck, if it isn’t as soft as you imagined. 

"Is this okay?" you ask softly, working your fingernails through his scalp; The first stroke sends a shiver down his spine.

He responds with a barely perceptible nod.

"You're safe here," you murmur, tracing patterns against his scalp. "No labs, no Stryker. No pain. Just you and me."

His eyes flutter close, though he fights it at first but all protests die in his throat. Your fingers continue their gentle journey through his hair, across his scalp, and you feel him surrendering inch by inch to the comfort he's denied himself for so long.

"Those memories? They're just ghosts now. They can haunt you, but they cannot touch you. They can't hurt you anymore, because you survived. You got out, Logan. You're here. You're loved. You're safe."

A soft whimper escapes him. Slowly, so slowly he almost doesn't notice, the tension begins to leak from his muscles. The metal in his bones feels lighter now, smoothing the worried crease between his brows.

"That's it," you whisper, and he feels the smile in your voice. "I've got you, Wolfie. Rest now."

Wolfie, he smiles sleepily. The nickname is the last thing he registers before sleep claims him whole.

★ ★ ★ ★

a/n: Do we want a part two???

[fungateshortcakes]

Remember me

Pairing: WeaponX!Logan x fem!Reader

Summary: You thought you lost him. But even in the depths of his broken mind, love has a way of finding its way back.

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: english is not my first language, canon typical voilence, angst, blood, stabbing, wounds, weaponX, light gore (?), happy ending, hurt/comfort

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You didn't breathe.

You didn't move.

This was not how you, Jean and Scott had planned this to go when you came to this place.

The moment you saw him standing in the cold, sterile halls of Strykers facility, everything inside you shattered. You had hoped, prayed, that the nightmares weren’t real. That the rumors of a rabid experiment locked away in a cage were nothing but lies and false assumptions. But here he was, standing before you, bare-chested, bloodstained and wrapped up in steel, wires and machinery. A weapon.

Your Logan was gone.

A strangled breath escaped your lips. You looked behind you, but the others had already rounded the corner, leaving you alone with your husband - or what was left of him - and dead soldiers littering the floor. He didn't react. He stared at you like you were nothing, just another body in his way.

You stared back, holding your breath. Your whole body was taught, standing like a statue, allthough you could feel the tremble deep within your bones.

Then he moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

You barely had the time to duck away before he tackled you to the ground, adamantium claws slashing through the air, embedding into the concrete floor beneath you, right next to your ear. Your heartbeat was deafening, but you stayed still like a deer caught in headlights. You didn't fight against him. Because this wasn't him.

This wasn't your Logan.

It’s what they made out of him.

"Logan" you whimpered out, your voice trembling as the fear of dying was eating you up. His snarl was low and guttural, more beast than man. You could see it in his eyes - the rage, confusion, emptiness.

He didn't emember you.

The truth cut deeper than any wound ever could. You didn't take your eyes off him, slowly supporting yourself on your elbows "It’s me" you whispered. "It’s-”. With a roar, his claws swung again, and this time, you weren't fast enough.

As you registered the twinkle of metal above you, you kicked his legs and tried to roll yourself from under him in a last attempt to save yourself. Pain exploded across your shoulder as the blades sliced through fabric and skin. You managed to get up with a gasp, stumbling a few feet away from him, clutching the wound as blood seeped between your fingers, bubbling under the fabric of your shirt.

But he didn't stop. He stalked forward, prepared to finish the job once and for all. Tears burned in your eyes. Not because of the pain, but because the man you love was trying to kill you.

You still wouldn't run. You just couldn't. Yes, it was foolish. And yet your legs wouldn’t move. "Logan" you pleaded this time, as if your voice would get through that thick iron helmet secured on his head. "They did this to you. Not me. Them!"

His breath hitched. A flicker of something flashed through his blown pupils- hesitation? Recognition? It’s gone before you can catch it.

Then suddenly, he gripped his head, letting out a guttural growl like something inside him was fighting. He shook his head like a feral animal, his claws retracting slightly, though not fully as if he was being held back, his body shaking with unrestrained fury.

You knew what this was. The conditioning, the brainwashing - his mind was screaming that you were a target, but something deep within him was resisting.

Something was still his.

You pressed your hand against your bleeding shoulder, steadying yourself as you straightened up a little more, panting. "You loved me once" you croaked out desperately. "More than anything."

Your words didn't reach him. Not yet.

And then another voice spoke out, the helmet seemingly sending a sharp spike of electricity through him.

"Weapon X." the scientists voice echoed through the hall. Your stomach dropped as Logans entire body stiffened, his expression going slack, like a machine waiting for orders. "Kill her"

"No" you breathed, but the command was given. His claws unsheathed once more with a bone shattering sound,

and this time, you knew he wouldn't hesitate.

You started running like you were stuck in a dream, only sluggishly dragging your body across the facilitys floors, stumbling around corners and dead bodies on the ground. You cried out for Jean, Scott, Kurt, to anyone who could hear your miserable sobs. But help never came. Your body screamed at you in protest, blood dripping from your shoulder as you weaved through the never ending corridors like mice in a labyrinth. You didn't want to fight him. Not like this. Not that you could fight the love of your life, not even when he was chasing you like you were his prey.

But Logan was steadily catching up to you, running on his claws and legs like a mountain tiger waiting for the right time to jump onto his victims back and rip them to shreds.

You barely made it through the steel doors before he crashed through them, eyes glowing with violent intent. You couldn't escape him. You knew that, especially when you found yourself in a dead end. So you stopped running.

Your back hit the wall as he closed in on you, claws gleaming under the fluorescent lights. His chest heaved, breaths ragged and uneven. The metal helmet around his head made him look even less human.

But he was human.

He just didn't know it.

"Do it, then" you rasped, barely standing up as you held your arm, wincing. The wound was deeper than you thought. His nostrils flared, claws rising right as he stood in front of you- then he stopped. His entire body seized, like something was wrong.

You panted quietly, looking up to his shaking arm, his muscles twitching with restraint "You never hesitated to kill before" you pushed, ignoring the sting of your wound. "Not when you wanted to protect me from harm."

A flicker of something flashed across his face.

Pain.

Recognition.

The tiniest crack in the programming. You took a shaky step forward, flinching when his claws twitched but didn’t move to strike. You took a deep breath, swallowing down your fears "You once told me I was the only thing keeping you from losing yourself." Your voice was thick with emotion, but you kept going, your hands slowly rising to take off his helmet "You said I was your home." you whispered, now eye to eye with him as you loosened the straps.

A sharp breath. A shudder. The world was silent except for the pounding of your hearts. Then, suddenly he stumbled. He gripped his head, teeth clenched as a low, pained snarl escaped his lips. The helmet slipped off his head, out of your hands and onto the floor. The second he saw it, he ripped it to shreds, growling and snarling while pieces of metal went flying against the walls.

You watched with wide eyes, hoping you wouldn't be next. When he was done, he panted and straightened up again, only to turn around to face you. You stiffened.

“…Sweetheart?”

The word was so soft, so broken, you almost thought you imagined it. His voice was hoarse and raw since he hadn't used it to form actual words in a while, only growling and snarling, unfamiliar even to himself. Speaking felt foreign.

His eyes, wild, lost, but oh so scared, locked onto yours, and something in them cracked.

It’s him.

It’s really him.

You didn't think- you just ran into his arms.

His muscles were still tense, still trembling, but his hands- his real, warm hands were clinging to you like you were rhe only thing tethering him to this world. "I’m here" you sobbed into his shoulder. "I’m right here, Logan."

His breath was uneven, hands tightening around you like he was trying to remember. Trying to feel. His hand came in contact with the wound that carried his signature. "What have I done to you..?" he croaked quietly, his thinned out voice cracking. "That wasn't you" you whispered back.

He was not whole yet. He may never be again.

But right now, in this moment, he was yours.

And that was enough.

For now, that was enough.

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So sorry I haven't been active in a while! The writers curse got me and I was in the hospital for a week and besides that a lot happened in the family and school kept me busy. I'm still sick and I've got a few fanfic requests I am still working on.

I just thought I'd post a short little angsty fic to let you know I'm not dead🙏🏻 i haven't watched xmen apocalypse in a while so sorry for any logical errors!

Leave a like, comment and reblog, it makes my day <3

[totally-not-your-babe]

Magneto was right...

Magneto was Right, X-Men: The Last Stand

[sp8ce-queen]

you are the song that the morning brings

[raspberryfries]

Happy 95th birthday to my favorite turtleneck addict

[zombie-vulture]

[coughwheezecough]

Very quickly lost 84% of the blood in my head.

I’m so glad that DC and Marvel both have “gay sex probably happened” comic book covers.

[lucktv]

cherik

tiny cherik

[nico-di-angelol]

[arrumiekookie]

Idie Okonkwo [ Oya | Temper ] X-Men #13 variant cover by Peach Momoko.

[imzadi-caskett-huddy]

Any X-Men fans looking for this type of story, might I recommend Weathered by @stormxpadme

the holy grail types of fanfic

[corvusaurem]

Gambit, my favorite mutant in all of Marvel, next to Wolverine that is (*ゝω・)/

[super-fast-octopus]

Flexible elf