Nexus of Fate | Logan/Crucified Wolverine x Mutant Reader

1 | Crucified

You didn't know what you expected when you agreed to tag along with Deadpool on his latest multiverse misadventure, but it certainly wasn't this. As the world around you settled into a bleak, desolate landscape, your eyes were immediately drawn to the massive X-shaped cross looming in the distance. A chill ran down your spine as you realized someone was bound to it—a figure you recognized all too well.

Wolverine.

But this wasn't the indomitable Logan you were used to seeing. This Wolverine was battered and broken, his powerful arms spread wide as metal nails dug into his flesh. His head hung low, dark hair matted with sweat and blood, and his chest heaved with labored breaths. The red sky above cast an eerie glow over the scene, making the moment feel even more surreal.

Deadpool was the first to break the silence. "Well, shit. This is not the Wolverine we're looking for. I mean, look at him—he's a hot mess. Emphasis on the hot, though, right?"

You barely registered Wade's words. Your eyes were locked on Logan, taking in the sight of his broad, muscular frame despite the torment he was clearly enduring. Even in this state, crucified and broken, he exuded a raw, primal energy that made your heart race. His muscles, straining against the nails that pinned him to the cross, glistened with sweat, highlighting every contour of his jacked physique. The pain etched on his face only added to the intensity of the moment, and despite everything, you couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of admiration—and attraction.

Deadpool, oblivious to your mesmerized state, walked up to Logan and inspected him with a critical eye. "Yep, definitely not the right Wolverine. He's all groany and in pain, and we're looking for the snikt-snickt, let's-slice-and-dice kinda guy." He turned back to you, snapping his fingers in front of your face when you didn't respond. "Hellooo, earth to Reader. You in there?"

You blinked, finally tearing your gaze away from Wolverine to look at Wade. "What?"

"I said this isn't the right Wolverine. Poor guy's seen better days, and I'm not exactly in the mood to play nurse," Deadpool said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "But you... you seem to be enjoying the view."

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn't deny it. There was something undeniably captivating about this version of Logan, even in his current state. It wasn't just the sight of his chiseled body or the way his hair fell across his brow—it was the raw vulnerability, the sheer power beneath the pain that drew you in.

Deadpool noticed your hesitation and grinned. "Tell you what, I'll come back to get you later. You can have some alone time with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Crucified."

Your head snapped up at that. "What? Wade, you can't just leave me here!"

But Deadpool was already fiddling with the TVA remote, a wicked smirk on his lips. "Oh, but I can. Have fun, don't do anything I wouldn't do!" And with that, he clicked the button, and in a flash, he was gone.

You were alone. Alone with a crucified Wolverine who was barely conscious, groaning softly in pain. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, but so did something else—an undeniable, magnetic pull toward the man before you.

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest, then took a tentative step closer to Logan. His head lifted slightly at the sound, his eyes glazed with confusion and pain. He didn't say anything, just stared at you with a mixture of wariness and exhaustion.

"Logan..." you whispered, unsure if he could even hear you. "Can you... can you hear me?"

He didn't respond, but his eyes stayed on you, tracking your every movement. You could see the tension in his muscles, the way his body struggled against the nails, and it made you want to reach out to him, to offer some kind of comfort.

But how? What could you possibly say or do that would help a man who had been through so much?

You took another step closer, standing just inches away from him now. Your eyes roamed over his body, taking in the sheer power and strength that was still so evident, even in his weakened state. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath, and you couldn't help but marvel at the way his muscles rippled beneath the surface.

"I... I don't know if you can hear me, but... I'm here," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. "I'm not going to leave you."

His eyes flickered, and for a moment, you thought you saw a spark of recognition, but it was quickly overshadowed by another groan of pain. You bit your lip, feeling a surge of empathy and something else—something more primal and instinctive.

Reaching out, you hesitated, then gently touched his leg, your fingers brushing against the rough skin. He flinched at the contact, his gaze still locked on yours. The connection between you felt electric, like a current of energy flowing through your veins.

"Logan," you whispered again, your voice barely audible. "I... I'm here."

And as you stood there, your hand on his leg, you realized that whatever this was—this strange, twisted attraction—it was far from over.

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