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I love queer movies where the protagonist realizes that his ex-girlfriend is better off with someone else, and that he actually finds his soulmate in his mutant best friend (+their love language is killing each other)

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X2: X-Men United (2003)

Deadpool and Wolverine (2024)

After 21 years, someone finally takes him home.

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a pain slut if i've ever seen one

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negan + blood THE WALKING DEAD

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I’m writing a story about a lesbian in a FLDS-esque, Mormon-like polygamist cult called the CEU in the 2000’s. Does that sound interesting to anyone? 😆

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Renewed

Wade loses his head and comes back… different. Without his memories and his old face.

Logan stood over what remained of Wade Wilson, his claws still extended, jaw clenched tight. The fight was over-if it could even be called that. It had been a slaughter, and Logan had arrived too late to stop it. The mercenary's glowing axe had already done its work, severing Wade's head clean from his body.

Now, Wade's lifeless form lay sprawled in the dirt, his head several feet away, his mask shredded and stained. Logan should have been used to scenes like this, but something about it felt... final. Yet he knew better than to trust appearances. Wade's healing factor had a way of making the impossible possible, no matter how gruesome the damage.

Still, this time seemed different.

Logan crouched beside Wade's body, glaring at the broken pieces as if sheer willpower could force them to reassemble.

"C'mon, you idiot," he muttered. "Don't make me carry your pieces back to Xavier's. You'd never let me live it down."

For a long moment, nothing happened. No twitch, no spark of life. Logan's stomach tightened. Then, finally, there was a faint shimmer, almost imperceptible, in Wade's hand.

It began slowly—a spasm in the fingers, a flicker of red tissue stitching itself together at the jagged edge of Wade's neck. Logan stepped back, watching with a mixture of relief and unease as muscle and sinew began to weave together, layer by layer, like some macabre time-lapse of life returning to a broken body.

And then the face started to form.

Logan's breath caught in his throat.

This wasn't the face he expected-the ruined, scarred mask of a man who had seen too much pain. What emerged was... different. Smooth, pale skin stretched over the newly grown skull, unmarred and almost youthful. Thick, dark hair sprouted in messy waves, and the ridges of his features came into focus, too perfect, too clean.

Logan stared, dumbfounded, as Wade gasped and bolted upright, clutching his throat.

Wade looked at his hands first, then down at his body, before turning his gaze to Logan. His wide, brown eyes were unscarred and startlingly vulnerable.

"What... What's going on?" Wade rasped, his voice hoarse but softer than Logan had ever heard it.

"You tell me," Logan said, crossing his arms. His claws retracted, but his tone was guarded. "Do you remember anything?"

Wade blinked at him, confused. "I... I don't even know who I am." He looked at Logan, frowning slightly. "But I know you. At least, I think I do."

Logan stayed silent, his eyes narrowing.

Wade reached up to touch his face, brushing his fingers over his smooth cheeks and down to the faint scars on his neck.

Wade groaned as his head wobbled on his shoulders, trying to shake off the fog. He looked over at the dead, masked head that used to be his a couple feet away from his body beside him.

“My head… was cut off, right? That’s a fun Friday night. I’m feeling a little off, though. Like, something’s missing, but… also, everything’s missing? That about right?”

Logan knelt down, his expression hard to read as he watched Wade carefully. He wasn’t sure how to handle this version of him—the clean, almost innocent-looking Wade, like he hadn’t been through the hell that turned him into Deadpool. Like he hadn’t been through Logan’s version of hell, too.

“Yeah,” Logan said, voice gruff. “Some guy with a glowing axe took your head off. I got there too late to stop it. You were dead for a while. But you regenerate, so here you are.” He paused, eyeing Wade’s unscarred face, the almost too smooth skin. “It’s not the first time.”

Wade’s eyes flickered as he processed this, his brow furrowing. “Glowing axe… yeah, okay. That sounds like a fun night. Shoulda stuck with the bowling alley.” He rubbed the back of his neck, noticing the faint scars that lingered there. “But no, I definitely don’t remember that. Or you, for that matter. Hell, I can barely remember me.” He looked up at Logan, giving him a crooked grin. “But something about you feels… familiar. Like you’ve been around long enough to get sick of me. So… tell me again, who am I?” Oh he definitely could tell Logan was important… the utterly human, unmistakable chest deep feeling of attraction and want when he looked at Logan remained.

Logan shifted, uneasy with the lack of recognition in Wade’s eyes. “Your name’s Wade Wilson. You talk far too much, you make bad decisions, and you’ve been annoying the hell out of me for… too long.” He crossed his arms, trying to sound unaffected. “I’ve had to patch you up more times than I can count. You regenerate. You never stay dead.”

Wade looked down at his hands, as if willing the memories to come back, but nothing clicked. He gave Logan a tight-lipped smile.

“Alright, so… I’m an idiot with a death wish. Got it. But, uh… I’m guessing I was more than just an inconvenience for you, right? ‘Cause you’re still here. I can tell you’ve seen more of me than you probably wanted to. You, uh… don’t look like you hate me. Maybe a little? No? Maybe?” He leaned forward slightly, studying Logan with a quiet intensity.

Logan shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, trying to mask the sudden tightness in his chest. “You’ve been through a lot, Wade. We’ve been through a lot.”

Wade nodded, his smile softening for a moment before his usual playful demeanor slid back into place. “Yeah, I get it. You’ve got my back. Just… funny, because I’ve got this feeling like I’m supposed to be standing right here. With you. Whatever that means.” He paused, his grin turning sly. “You sure you’re not just putting up with me out of obligation? Because I really don’t mind if that’s your thing. I’d still be happy to—”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan cut in, his voice rough, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t remember it, but yeah. We’ve got history. And you’re damn lucky I’m not leaving you out here to rot.”

Wade’s gaze softened, and for a moment, there was no sarcasm or jokes. Just an unspoken understanding between them. “Alright, so you’re… what? My unwilling savior?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Logan let out a low growl, shaking his head. “You’re gonna drive me crazy.”

Wade just smirked. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t.”

Logan sighed, shaking his head with an exhale of frustration. But there was a softness in his eyes that he couldn’t hide.

“Soooo… did we have a thing or?— because I’m really sure I’m totally into you even thought I can’t remember you.” Logan’s lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing.

They didn’t have a “thing”… not officially or anything— but Logan supposed it was a “thing” nonetheless.

None of them admitted it seriously though, even though Wade had always made jokes about their tension.

“No. We didn’t.”

“Oh? Well— that’s embarrassing isn’t?” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck “Why not?”

Logan didn’t know how to answer that question, he choked out a couple sounds, attempting to start a sentence, but he couldn’t form an explanation- he just finally came out with, “I don’t know?!” Clearly, bashful.

Wade felt around his body to see if he had a phone on him. He did— one with a pink Hello Kitty case and a charm on it. He opened the camera and gasped at his reflection. “God damn I’m sexy. You didn’t wanna piece of this? Oh— what’s your name? Can’t remember, silly me, right?”

“Not to burst your bubble but this is uh… new.. and my name is Logan, dumbass.” Logan grumbled, and Wade just returned his words with a confused expression. “What did I look like before?”

“Like Freddy Krueger.”

“So— what you’re saying is I got an upgrade?”

“Well… it’s definitely different.” He didn’t want to admit Wade was really hot to his face. He found him attractive even with his scars, so seeing him look… well… normal like this was even weirder for him.

“My question still remains, Logan. You didn’t want a piece of this? Because I’m definitely sure I want a piece of you.”

“Shut up before I cut your head off again and drag you back home while you’re still dead.”

“I’m soaking wet now, give an amnesia ridden girl a break.”

Logan’s claws came out in response.

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Logan fell in love with Jean after what? A couple of nice/flirty exchanges and long gazes?

Oh he’s doomed when he moves in with Wade. Straight into the frying pan.

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It’s done yall… come get your food. https://archiveofourown.org/works/60789940 also, not to give myself too much credit but the smut in this one is like… really hot!

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Sorry Sack

(Blindness) Anyways; this was a request I really liked from @umbrulla

CW: They get a little too excited at the end, Logan is thrilled by sensation- and Wade is thrilled by Logan.

The first thing Logan noticed was the silence. Not the kind he liked, either—not the peace that came from sitting under a canopy of trees with the faint rustle of wind and the distant chirp of birds. This was something deeper, heavier, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then came the pain.

Hot, searing, and impossible to ignore. His claws instinctively popped as his body tensed, every nerve screaming. But even through the agony, Logan’s mind zeroed in on one detail: he couldn’t see.

“What the hell…” he groaned, voice ragged, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth.

The fight had been brutal. He’d barely registered the mutant—a hulking beast of a man with claws sharper than his own—before they were tangled in a blur of violence. Logan had won, but at a price.

“Logan?”

The voice cut through the haze. Familiar, annoying, and somehow grounding.

“Wade…” Logan growled.

“Holy crap, your eyes! Dude, did someone order Wolverine tartare? ’Cause you’re looking medium rare—wait, no, extra well-done. Oh, man. I can’t look. But I also can’t not look.”

Logan’s lips curled into a snarl. “Wade. Shut. Up.”

“Right, right. Focus. Got it. First aid kit. Oh, wait, that’s not gonna help, is it? You’ve got the whole self-healing deal. Or… wait, why aren’t they healing?!”

Logan gritted his teeth. The wounds around his eyes had already stopped bleeding, and the skin was knitting itself back together. But there was something wrong. He blinked—or tried to—but the world stayed black.

“Wade,” Logan said, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. “I can’t see.”

—

The first week was hell.

Incident one.

Logan’s body healed fast enough that the scars around his eyes were gone in hours. But his vision? That never returned.

At first, he’d thought it was a fluke. Maybe his body just needed more time. But as the days dragged on, it became clear: the healing factor wasn’t fixing this.

“Logan, buddy, I don’t think it’s a good idea to—”

“I don’t need your help, Wade,” Logan snapped, shoving past him and nearly tripping over a chair.

Wade caught him before he fell, his grip surprisingly steady. “Okay, fine, I won’t say it. But, uh, just for the record, that chair you almost face-planted into? It wasn’t even in your way. You walked into it.”

Logan growled, swatting Wade’s hand away. He hated this. The helplessness. The constant pity in Wade’s voice, even if the merc tried to mask it with jokes. He was blind as a bat— and it wasn’t getting better. He didn’t realize just how much he loved seeing color… and seeing the people speaking to him.

—

Incident two.

“Logan, you’re breaking everything in my apartment!” Wade groaned as Logan stumbled, knocking over a table.

Logan growled. “Then maybe don’t leave your crap everywhere.”

“It’s not crap, it’s art,” Wade replied, righting the table. “Also, that was a pizza box, not a chair. You’re welcome for me not laughing— which I would be if my concern wasn’t outweighing my urge to poke fun at you, peanut.”

Logan had the urge to tell him to stop calling him that, but a part of him liked it subconsciously… so he never said anything.

Logan sat heavily on the couch, his head in his hands. It had been weeks, and the blindness wasn’t getting any better. Outwardly, he was healed—no scars, no blood, nothing to suggest he was any different than before. But inside, his healing factor kept rejecting the delicate tissue in his eyes, leaving him in permanent darkness.

“Look, you can’t keep wallowing here forever,” Wade said. “I know someone who can help.”

“Who? One of your weird ‘contacts’?”

“I know just the gal. She’s blind too—super smart, super snarky, and way better at being blind than you are at… whatever this is.”

“Blind Al,” Wade announced.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Blind who?”

“Al! She’s like a sarcastic Yoda, but without the pointy ears. You’ll love her.”

Meeting Blind Al

Wade didn’t give Logan much of a choice, dragging him to a small, cozy house at the edge of town. The place smelled of lavender and bleach, with the faint hum of a heater in the background. This wasn’t going to be the kind of help he wanted, he already knew that. He needed to be fixed, not learn how to live like this. His body was supposed to fix itself.

“Wade, what the hell are you doing back here?” came a sharp voice from inside.

“Al! I brought you a gift!” Wade called cheerfully. “He’s grumpy, hairy, and now conveniently blind, just like you!”

“Watch it,” Logan muttered.

A woman appeared in the doorway, leaning on her cane. She was older, with short-cropped white hair and a sharp expression that could cut steel.

“So, you’re the famous Wolverine,” Al said, sizing him up. “And you’re blind now. Boo-hoo. Get in here.”

Logan blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Al snapped. “If you’re going to sulk about being blind, you can do it inside where I don’t have to listen to Wilson yapping in my yard.”

Blind Al didn’t waste time with pity or pleasantries. The moment Logan stepped into her home, she handed him a cane.

“What’s this for?” Logan asked, frowning.

“For not walking into walls,” Al said flatly. “Lesson one: stop acting like you’re the only blind person who’s ever existed.”

Logan bristled but followed her instructions. Over the next few days, she taught him how to rely on his other senses more intentionally—how to map a room by sound, how to feel the flow of air on his skin, how to tune in to subtle vibrations in the ground.

—

“You’re lucky,” Al said one day. “You’ve got super senses and a healing factor. You’ve already got an edge. You just need to stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to use it.”

Logan didn’t respond, but her words stuck with him.

Wade’s “Help”

—

While Al focused on practical skills, Wade took a more… unconventional approach.

“Logan, I got you something!” Wade announced one day, bounding into the room.

“Unless it’s a beer, I don’t want it,” Logan muttered.

“Better than beer! It’s a seeing-eye dog!”

Logan froze. “You got me a dog?”

Wade grinned. “Yep! His name is Sir Barksalot. Isn’t he cute?”

Logan heard a low growl, followed by the sound of claws clicking on the floor.

“Wade, that’s not a dog,” Al said from the other room. “That’s a raccoon!”

“Details!” Wade shouted.

Logan sighed. “Get it out of here before I gut it.”

“Oh no you don’t! Not in my house!”

—

Despite Wade’s antics, Logan began to make progress. Blind Al’s blunt teaching style forced him out of his comfort zone, and little by little, he started to adapt. He could navigate Al’s house without bumping into furniture, track sounds with precision, and even spar with Wade using only his heightened senses.

But the darkness still lingered. No matter how much he adjusted, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness.

One night, he sat on the porch, the cool air brushing against his face.

“You know, you’re still you,” Wade said, sitting down beside him.

“Yeah? And what the hell does that mean, bub?”

“It means you’re still the Wolverine,” Wade said. “Blind or not, you’re still the toughest, beefiest, sexiest guy I know. And I’m not just saying that because you could stab me if I didn’t.”

Logan snorted, and Wade earned a little half smile, to which he stared at admiringly. Not like Logan could see him doing it and stop him. His eyes almost looked like his own if you really looked. Milky, clouded pupils.

“You’re an idiot.” But his tone had no bite to it.

“True,” Wade said cheerfully. “But I’m your idiot.”

Logan didn’t respond, but for the first time in weeks, he felt a small spark of hope.

—

They had almost the same conversation twice, but with an even better outcome in Wade’s eyes.

Logan adjusted to his new world of darkness better than he expected, but even with all the progress he’d made, there were nights when the silence pressed in too hard, and the void felt endless, under stimulated by his existence, mourning a whole sense.

Tonight was one of those nights, where his thoughts got just as dark as his vision. He lost himself in thought.

He didn’t hear Wade approach, but the merc’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Care if I join you, big guy?” Wade asked softly, without his usual theatricality.

Logan shrugged, gruff as ever, but he didn’t push him away. He felt Wade sit beside him, his presence oddly grounding.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Wade, remarkably, didn’t fill the silence with jokes or chatter. Logan almost missed it.

“You ever think…” Logan began, his voice low and rough, “about how much quieter the world is when you can’t see it?”

Wade tilted his head, the question catching him off guard. “Well, I wouldn’t call my world quiet. It’s more like a carnival run by homicidal tumor ridden clowns, but I get your point.”

Logan huffed a faint laugh, the closest thing to a smile Wade had gotten out of him in days.

“You’ve been hanging around a lot,” Logan said after a beat. “Even for you.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you from falling on pizza boxes. And, y’know… I like being around you. You’re like a really grumpy lighthouse, guiding me through life’s fog.” He said, trying to make the statement as intentionally corny as possible.

Logan turned toward him, blind eyes staring unseeing into Wade’s face. “You’re the worst at metaphors.”

Wade grinned. “But I’m great at sitting here and annoying you into realizing how awesome you are.”

Logan’s lip twitched. “You’re annoying, all right.”

“I annoy because I care,” Wade said, his voice dipping into something softer, gentler.

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t heavy. Logan leaned back against the porch railing, listening to the steady rhythm of Wade’s breathing.

“You really think I’m still me?” Logan asked quietly, the vulnerability in his voice catching even him by surprise.

“Logan,” Wade said, and the sound of his name—spoken without a joke or a smirk—made something in Logan’s chest tighten. “I’ve thought you were you since the first time I met you. Sight or no sight, claws or no claws, you’re still the guy I’d follow into any fight. You’re still the guy I…” He trailed off, then added with an almost shy chuckle, “You’re still the guy I’d make pancakes for in the morning. Bad ones, but pancakes nonetheless.”

Logan turned his head toward Wade, his brows furrowing. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Wade replied. “And don’t worry—I’ll keep being annoying about it until you believe me.”

Something in Logan softened, the walls he’d been holding up for so long starting to crumble. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out a hand, fumbling for Wade’s. Wade caught it immediately, his fingers warm and steady.

“Guess I’ve been fighting this too hard,” Logan admitted.

Wade squeezed his hand. “It’s okay to let someone in, Logan. Even if it’s just me. Especially if it’s me.” He said that even though he knew damn well he didn’t let anyone in himself— just tried his best to make himself into a joke, because if he doesn’t laugh, he cries.

For the first time in weeks, Logan let out a deep breath that felt like relief. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Never,” Wade promised, his voice so soft it almost broke.

Logan didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t pull his hand away either. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the darkness didn’t seem so overwhelming. Logan hesitated, but he leaned forward to rest his forehead in the crook of Wade’s clavicle— inhaling him like he was a drug, taking a deep breath in.

It was like a badge of honor to Wade, so he didn’t ruin it by speaking— until now.

“Can I kiss you, honey badger? I really wanna kiss you right now.”

The question was so direct it made Logan feel hot from the tips of his ears to the tip of nose and quickly. He made a deep, low, guttural sound, almost like a sigh, contemplating, nervous. Bashful. Partly because Wade didn’t just do it… he asked… desperately, enthusiastically.

Because he wanted that same enthusiasm back.

Logan nodded, parting his lips slightly— expecting Wade to take the lead at risk of missing his lips if he tried to lean in himself.

The sensation lit his core on fire, and the end of every nerve. Wade noticed immediately the shift in his body temperature, the way he was hot to the touch. It made Wade a little trigger happy, kicking up the intensity from a soft little kiss to a hungry, grabby, make-out session. He’s gripping Logan’s hair at the top like he’s got handles, licking his teeth and bitting his bottom lip before pulling away.

“Holy shit, Wade. Were you trying to eat me?” He wiped the saliva off his mouth, the small bruise left on his lip healing visibly in its usual record time.

Wade almost moaned, still only inches away from Logan’s face, still feeling his heavy, hot breath on his skin. “Oh fuck yes, Logan— I’m trying to eat you. I should call you little bat from now on. Because you’re about a head shorter than me and you can’t even see how much I look at that ass anymore.” The humor in his meaning still came through, but his tone remained flirtatious.

“Fuck off, you’re sick.” He punched Wade’s chest playfully- still so taken aback from the intensity of how Wade attempted to devour him that his stomach ached with arousal.

“Let’s go home. Quickly. I really do need to eat you, Logan. Like right now, I’ve waited my whole life for this moment.”

Logan pressed a finger hard against Wade’s lips, grabbing the back of his head. Wade shut right up.

“You’re too excited, watch it before I change my mind.”

See what I did with the colors there? Hehheheheheh.

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What about Wade, Logan, and Laura playing Truth or Dare or Never Have I Ever?

Awe this is cute I’ll do this

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Feeling silly, anyone had fic ideas? I WILL write them. And quickly.

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Yeahhhh ummmm I’m also on AO3 if anyone cares

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Unrequited Love, A Little Bit Of Stalking, and Days With No Sleep

Wade is an insane bastard. He has no life anymore so he watches Logan through his window and talks to himself for months on end.

Here’s the mess!

It had been three days since Wade Wilson—Deadpool, the Merc with a Mouth, Master of Meltdowns—had stationed himself outside Logan’s apartment.

Three. Days.

Not that Logan knew. Yet.

Wade was perched on the fire escape like a gargoyle in leather, crouched low and completely still, his wide white eyes staring through Logan’s third-floor window. Well, not completely still—he did occasionally fidget, drumming his fingers against the metal railing or shifting his weight to avoid cramping up. But for the most part, he stayed eerily quiet, watching. Waiting.

Logan was inside, oblivious to the stalker on his fire escape. He moved about the apartment in his typical gruff way: cooking something in a cast-iron skillet, sharpening a knife at the kitchen counter, or occasionally sitting down with a book in his hand, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Wade didn’t move.

“You’re a fascinating little beastie,” Wade whispered to himself, tilting his head as he watched Logan flip through the pages of his book. “What are you reading, huh? Little Women? Oh, wait, no—Old Man and the Sea. So rugged, so literary. Makes me want to rip my clothes off and swoon dramatically. Except I’d probably scare the pigeons.”

A pigeon cooed nearby, as if offended by the implication.

Wade shushed it. “Quiet, Gerald. I’m working.”

Gerald the pigeon flapped away in a flurry of feathers, and Wade’s attention snapped back to the window.

“God, you’re beautiful when you’re brooding,” Wade murmured, his voice low and manic. “Just sitting there, scowling like the weight of the world’s on your sexy little shoulders. Do you know how much it hurts, Logan? To be this far away from you? To know that you’re in there, probably thinking about that girl, and not me? Me!”

Wade leaned closer to the window, his breath fogging up the glass. “But that’s okay. I forgive you. I always forgive you. Because I’m a giver. I give, and I give, and I—”

Logan looked up suddenly, his sharp eyes scanning the room as if sensing something.

Wade froze, ducking down and pressing himself flat against the fire escape. “Shit, shit, shit!” he hissed under his breath.

Inside, Logan frowned and sniffed the air. His keen senses were tingling, but after a moment, he shook his head and went back to his book.

Wade peeked over the edge of the window again, exhaling in relief.

“That was close,” he whispered. “Almost blew my cover. But you didn’t catch me, did you, Logan? No, because you’re too busy with your normal life. Your normal books and your normal cooking.” He sniffed theatrically, his voice cracking with emotion. “I could cook for you, you know. I could cook so hard. You want pancakes? Boom. Pancakes. You want steak? I’ll carve it out of my own—oh, wait. Never mind. That got weird.” He snorted, a laughed a little to himself.

He shook his head, slapping his own cheek lightly to refocus.

“Stay on task, Wilson. You’re here for recon. Gotta gather intel. Find the perfect moment to sweep him off his big, hairy feet.”

Wade adjusted his position, his legs dangling off the fire escape as he continued his vigil.

Hours passed. Logan ate dinner. Logan cleaned up. Logan watched TV for a while. And all the while, Wade stayed outside, watching, whispering to himself, and occasionally humming creepy little tunes under his breath.

By the time night fell, Wade was still there, shivering slightly in the cold but unwilling to leave his post.

“You’re worth it, bub,” he muttered, mimicking Logan’s gruff voice. “See? I’m even quoting you now. That’s love, right? Right?”

His eyes twitched wide as he caught sight of Logan standing up and heading toward the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Wade whispered. “Don’t leave me out here all alone! What if I get lonely? What if I freeze to death? What if—”

Logan flipped the lights off, leaving the apartment in darkness.

Wade let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Fine. Go to bed. Leave me out here with nothing but my thoughts and Gerald the pigeon—oh, wait, Gerald left me too. Story of my life.”

He adjusted his position again, curling up on the fire escape and pulling a crumpled blanket out of his bag.

“I’ll just stay here. Keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re safe. Not creepy. Totally normal. Right?”

No one answered.

“Right,” Wade said, laughing to himself.

The sound of Logan snoring drifted faintly through the window, and Wade smiled.

“Goodnight, Logan,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams, you magnificent bastard.”

—

Wade’s fingers tightened on the edge of the fire escape railing as he stared through the window. His breaths came faster, fogging up the glass in tiny, erratic puffs.

Day ten. He hadn’t consumed any food or water in ten days. Had emptied his bladder off the side of the building a couple times, and that was it. He didn’t leave for anything. Not discomfort, boredom, or hunger.

Inside, the scene was almost too much for him to handle. Logan, lying in bed, shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. The lighting was dim, warm, casting golden highlights over his skin. And then she appeared—Annie.

Strawberry blonde hair spilled down her back as she padded into the room, wearing a simple tank top and shorts. She had that softness to her, that curvy, feminine figure that Wade had to admit suited her well—though the jealous rage boiling in his chest made it hard to think kindly about her.

Wade watched, unblinking, as Annie slid into bed beside Logan, curling up against him like she belonged there. Like it was her right. Logan wrapped an arm around her without hesitation, pulling her closer, and she rested her head on his chest, her brown eyes fluttering shut as she smiled contentedly.

It was like a punch to the gut.

Wade’s head tilted, his mask’s white eyes narrowing as he muttered under his breath. “What’s she got that I don’t? Huh? Soft curves? A pretty smile? A complete lack of disfiguring scars? Please. Overrated.”

But even as he said it, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. He leaned closer, his manic energy crackling through him like static. His gloved hand pressed against the window, fingertips twitching.

Then Logan kissed her. A soft, slow kiss on her forehead, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Wade felt his stomach flip. His heart clenched painfully.

And then something darker stirred.

He imagined, just for a second, that it wasn’t Annie lying there. That it was him.

He imagined Logan’s hand on his back, rough fingers tracing gentle circles. He imagined that kiss—soft, tender, meant just for him. He imagined Logan whispering his name, that gravelly voice melting into something softer, something just for Wade.

His breathing hitched. He gripped the railing tighter, the metal groaning under his fingers.

“Lucky little thing, aren’t you, Annie?” Wade whispered, his voice trembling. “Getting to touch him. Feel him. Smell him. I bet he smells like bourbon and pine trees and bad decisions.”

His gaze darkened, jealousy twisting his face under the mask. “But you don’t deserve him. Not like I do. You don’t get it. You don’t know what he’s been through. What we’ve been through. You’re just… just boring. Heh… we saved the world together you know.”

And yet, as he watched Logan shift closer to Annie, their bodies fitting together in a way that seemed so easy, so natural, Wade felt something else bloom in his chest.

Longing.

He imagined sliding into that bed, pressing himself against Logan’s warmth, feeling the safety and weight of that arm around him. He imagined Logan holding him like that, whispering to him, kissing him, making him feel like something more than a walking pile of broken pieces.

He let out a soft, shaky laugh. “God, I’m a mess,” he murmured to himself. “But can you blame me? Look at him. How could anyone not want him?”

The laughter turned bitter, his voice breaking as he clenched his fists. “But he’d never look at me like that. Not really. Not when he’s got her. Sweet, perfect Annie. You’re the dream, aren’t you? And I’m just… the nightmare.”

He stayed there for hours, watching as they drifted off to sleep, their bodies tangled together. His heart ached in ways he didn’t even have the words for, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t control.

When the first light of dawn began to creep over the city, Wade waited excitedly for Logan to wake up, watch his stretch his muscular arms above his beautiful head.

He even watched as their morning started with morning sex, slow, sheet-gripping missionary. He even got a little hard watching Logan’s O face. This was the closest he’d ever get to seeing his naked body, so he savored it.

—

Day twenty-five.

The snow had started sometime in the early hours, drifting softly at first, like powdered sugar over the city. Now it came down in thick, heavy flakes, blanketing the fire escape where Wade crouched, his red suit dusted white like some unholy holiday decoration.

Twenty-five days.

Twenty-five days of sitting here, watching through Logan’s window, trying to convince himself this was normal. That this was fine. That this wasn’t the most pathetic thing he’d ever done.

His body, usually so resilient, had begun to show signs of wear. His healing factor was still working—of course it was—but it didn’t seem to care about everything else. His skin, perpetually scarred and twisted, had taken on a sickly, pallid hue, frostbitten patches creeping along his fingers and toes. His lips, cracked and bloody, tugged upward in a manic grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

Not that it mattered. None of it mattered. He couldn’t feel the cold anymore.

Or maybe he could, but it was buried under the avalanche of everything else.

His thoughts were jagged, shards of broken glass stabbing into his brain one after another. Each one was about Logan. About her. About the way they moved together, so comfortable, so easy. About the way Logan’s gruffness softened whenever Annie was near. About the way he smiled at her—a smile Wade had never seen before.

And that smile… it haunted him.

“Day twenty-five,” Wade muttered to himself, his voice hoarse and raw from the cold. “The subject remains unaware of my presence. Or, more likely, he knows and just doesn’t care. Classic Logan.”

He let out a weak laugh, his body shaking from the effort.

The snow piled up around him, settling on his shoulders, his mask, his legs. He hadn’t moved in hours, hadn’t even flinched when the wind picked up and blew snow straight into his face.

Inside, Logan was cooking breakfast.

The warm light of the kitchen spilled through the window, bathing Logan in a golden glow that made him look… perfect. He was shirtless again, naturally, standing over the stove and flipping something in a pan. The steam rose around him, and for a moment, Wade imagined what it must smell like in there—bacon, coffee, maybe something sweet like pancakes.

His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He hadn’t eaten in… a while. Days, probably. Maybe longer.

“You don’t need food,” Wade mumbled, his voice slurring slightly. “You’ve got love. Or the crushing weight of its absence. Same thing, really.”

Then she appeared. Annie.

She wandered into the kitchen wearing one of Logan’s flannel shirts, the sleeves rolled up and the hem brushing against her thighs. Her hair was a mess of soft waves, her cheeks flushed from sleep. She walked up behind Logan, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his back.

Wade’s fingers twitched.

“God, I hate you,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure who he meant.

Logan turned, a rare smile tugging at his lips as he kissed the top of her head. She laughed, soft and sweet, and Wade’s heart twisted painfully in his chest.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that she got to have this. That she got to be this. The one who made Logan smile. The one he let in.

Wade pressed a hand to his chest, his breaths coming faster, frosting the inside of his mask. The snow around him shifted as his body trembled, but he didn’t move to brush it off.

“What does she have that I don’t?” he muttered, the same question and mantra everyday. “Soft curves? A normal face? A personality that doesn’t scream ‘walking mental breakdown?’”

He laughed, high and sharp, the sound echoing into the empty alley below.

Inside, Logan and Annie sat down at the table, their chairs close together. She was talking, her hands moving as she animatedly told some story, and Logan watched her with an expression that made Wade feel like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest and stomped on it.

“God, I want to be her,” Wade whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the wind.

He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against the icy glass of the window. His body felt heavy, like the weight of his longing had finally taken its toll.

He imagined crawling through that window, stepping into the warmth of that apartment, sitting down at that table. He imagined Logan turning to him, smiling at him, looking at him the way he looked at her.

The thought made his chest ache, and for the first time in years, he felt tears pricking at his eyes.

“I could make you happy,” he said, his voice cracking. “I could. If you just… gave me a chance.” God. He was insane, wasn’t he? What was he? He didn’t know he was even existing anymore. He was just living vicariously through watching them.

But Logan couldn’t hear him. Logan didn’t even know he was there.

The snow continued to fall, the cold biting deeper into Wade’s skin. He stayed where he was, watching, waiting, hoping for something he knew would never come.

-

Day Forty-five

It was Christmas.

Snow fell heavily, coating the fire escape in a layer of white that sparkled under the faint glow of holiday lights strung on the buildings below. Wade sat slumped against the railing, his body nearly motionless except for the occasional twitch of his fingers.

Forty-five days. 1082 hours of watching, waiting, and wanting.

His healing factor, strained under the weight of his mental spiral, was failing to keep up. The frostbite on his fingers had eaten through the flesh, exposing bone at the tips. His face, always a wreck, now looked like something out of a horror movie, patches of grayish skin peeling away to reveal the stark white of his skull underneath.

It hurt, in a distant sort of way, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, or feel.

Inside the apartment, Logan was wrapping his arms around Annie by the Christmas tree. The tree was small, but it was decorated with lights and ornaments that cast a warm glow around the room. Logan handed her a mug—probably cocoa, Wade thought, though it could’ve been coffee—and she laughed, her head tilting back, her smile lighting up the entire space.

Wade watched them, his mask frozen in place on his face, though the fabric had frayed at the edges from the constant exposure to the elements. The suit hung loose on his frame, his body having wasted away under the stress of sitting out here for weeks.

He blinked slowly, the movement sluggish, as he whispered to himself. “Merry Christmas, Logan. Hope it’s a good one. Sure looks like it is. Warm and cozy and perfect, just like you.”

He let out a soft, rasping laugh that sounded more like a cough.

“You know, I got you a present,” he continued, his voice shaking as the snow clung to his lips. “But, uh, it’s out here. With me. Spoiler: it’s me. I’m the gift. You’re welcome.”

Annie leaned against Logan, resting her head on his shoulder. He kissed her temple, his lips lingering as his hand gently rubbed her back. Wade watched the scene unfold like it was some cruel, cosmic joke.

“Lucky girl,” he muttered, his voice weak. His head lolled back against the cold, rusting metal of the fire escape. “I bet you don’t even realize what you’ve got. You probably think it’s normal to have someone like Logan. Like it’s no big deal. But it is. It’s the biggest deal. And you…” He trailed off, his voice cracking. “You don’t deserve him.”

Tears froze on his cheeks as they fell, thin, fragile trails that reflected the faint light from inside.

He tried to sit up, but his body protested. His muscles, what little was left of them, refused to cooperate. His chest heaved with effort as he forced himself to shift, pressing his skeletal fingers against the window for balance.

Inside, Logan and Annie moved to the couch, sitting close together. Logan picked up a small box from the coffee table and handed it to her. She gasped softly, her hands flying to her mouth, and then threw her arms around him, kissing him in a way that made Wade’s stomach twist painfully.

“Oh, great,” Wade croaked, his voice barely audible. “Jewelry. Bet it’s something sentimental. Real classy, Logan. Meanwhile, I’m out here turning into a Christmas skeleton for you. No big deal.”

He laughed again, the sound rattling in his throat.

“Maybe I should go in,” he mused, though his body barely twitched in response. “Just… knock on the window. Say, ‘Hey, remember me? Your friendly neighborhood dumpster fire? Thought I’d swing by for the holidays.’”

But he didn’t move.

He stayed there, watching, his bones aching with the cold, his mind swirling with a mix of bitterness, jealousy, and that relentless, hopeless longing.

Inside, Annie unwrapped her gift—a delicate bracelet with a charm shaped like a wolf. She laughed again, leaning into Logan, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

Wade’s vision blurred, the scene dissolving into a haze of warm light and soft laughter.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered again, his voice trembling as the snow continued to fall, burying him deeper.

—

Day one-hundred

The apartment was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old building settling. Annie had stepped out, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts. He was on the couch, legs stretched out, flicking through a magazine, trying to relax. It wasn’t much of a day—just another evening of the same dull routine—but it was enough to give his mind some space.

Except it didn’t.

He felt it before he saw it—the weight of a presence outside the window, a prickling sense of being watched that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Logan stiffened, his eyes darting toward the glass, his muscles tensing. There was no logical reason for it. But it was there.

Something was wrong.

Logan stood up quickly, his boots hitting the floor with a soft thud, and made his way to the window. The chill from outside seeped in through the cracks, the glass cold beneath his fingertips as he peeled the curtains back.

At first, he saw nothing. Just the empty fire escape, the streets below blanketed in wet, cold rain, the distant glow of streetlights flickering through the haze of fog.

Then his eyes narrowed.

Wade.

It was him, sitting slumped against the metal railing of the fire escape like a twisted sculpture of flesh and bone, his body nearly blending into the darkness, but unmistakably there. He was just sitting there. Watching.

Logan’s breath hitched in his throat. He felt his chest tighten. He’d seen Wade before—hell, he was Wade—but this was different. This wasn’t the usual broken clownish figure, the guy who cracked wise to cover up the pain. This was something far worse.

Wade looked… wrong.

He was soaked with rainwater, bird shit and dirt coated his tattered suit and exposed skin, but it wasn’t just the cold that made him look inhuman. It was his body—thin, emaciated, like a corpse left too long in the elements. His bones were visible under the torn patches of fabric, sharp and jagged like he’d been starved for weeks. His arms, once muscular, were now skeletal and withered, the skin pulled taut across them like old leather. Some things even a healing factor couldn’t fix.

Logan’s stomach turned. The sight of Wade made him nauseous.

His face, once covered in scars, was worse—more raw, like a melted wax figure. The skin had started to peel away from the sides of his face, leaving patches of exposed muscle and bone underneath. The texture of the skin was almost translucent in places, a sickly yellowish hue, marred with bruising and open, frostbitten sores. A few strands of his hair clung to his skull, brittle and broken. His lips were cracked and dry, barely holding together, and the faint trail of blood from the corners of his mouth suggested that they’d split again.

But it wasn’t even that.

It was his eyes.

They were wide and glassy, unfocused in the way a person’s eyes go when they’ve been starved or deprived of sleep for far too long. But there was something deeper in them—something manic, something hollow. He didn’t look like Wade anymore. He looked like a ghost trapped in a body that had long stopped caring about the rules of life and death.

Logan’s hand gripped the window frame, his nails scraping against the glass as his mind raced. He’d seen Wade on the edge before—crazy, unpredictable, reckless—but this… this was something else.

Wade lifted his head slowly, his gaze catching Logan’s, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something behind the madness—something desperate, something broken. It was like he was begging for something, anything, but he didn’t know how to ask for it.

Logan’s breath caught. He wanted to say something, anything, but the sight of Wade—the sight of him like this—was too much to process. This wasn’t just a cry for attention. This wasn’t the Wade he’d known, the one who cracked jokes to hide his pain. This was something darker. Something far more broken. He knew Wade wasn’t of sound mind- he couldn’t be… If the circumstances weren’t so extreme he would’ve stabbed the hell out of him for being perched on his fire escape watching for so long.

Logan’s chest tightened painfully.

“Wade?…” His voice was strained, barely above a whisper.

Wade’s lips twitched upward, a crooked, almost smile spreading across his face. The skin on his face pulled taut with the expression, the jagged edges of his skull visible under the decaying flesh. It was an unsettling, almost demonic smile, filled with all the wrongness of a man who had been left too long alone in his mind.

“Hi, Logan,” Wade rasped, his voice weak and rough, like it was too dry to form coherent sounds. It was like gravel, like a fifty-years-strong smoker that needs a voice box. “Long time no see… huh?”

The words felt out of place, as if they didn’t belong to him anymore, as if they were the last thread of something human still trying to hold onto the wreckage of Wade’s mind.

Logan’s breath caught. He reached out, not caring about the freezing wind and sideways rain biting at his skin. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing—didn’t know if he could even help Wade at this point—but he knew he couldn’t leave him out there.

“Wade, come inside,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.

But Wade just tilted his head, that eerie, broken smile never leaving his face. “Why? You miss me?” He coughed, a wet, rattling sound, like his lungs were struggling to work.

“How long have you been out here?” He knew the answer was gonna make him sick either way.

“Too long to count, peanut.”

Logan flinched, the words hitting him like a slap. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he say? What could he do?

Wade’s hand twitched, and he reached out slowly, his fingers skeletal and trembling as they brushed against the window frame. “You know, Logan… I’ve been watching you. Been watching everything. Seen you with her. Seen everything. You two look so good together. So happy.”

The words were a desperate, rambling mess, but Logan heard the underlying ache in them. Wade wasn’t just sick. He wasn’t just unstable. He was crumbling.

“Wade,” Logan started again, but his voice was raw, his chest heavy with guilt and confusion.

“I don’t need your pity,”

Logan’s heart sank. He reached for Wade, but the figure sitting in front of him was too far gone, too lost in his own madness. And for the first time, Logan understood that Wade wasn’t just hurting anymore. Wade was slipping away completely.

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest as he reached for Wade, the impulse to help overwhelming him. But his hand hovered just inches from Wade’s shoulder. What could he do?

Wade’s body trembled, his skin barely clinging to his bones, and Logan could feel the weight of it all—the time Wade had spent alone, broken, and fading. This wasn’t the Wade who used to fight and joke and survive against the odds. This was something else entirely. This was a man who had been holding on to life by the thinnest of threads, and now, even that thread was beginning to unravel.

Logan’s throat tightened as he studied Wade. The lack of color in his skin, the way the bones seemed to jut out more with every shallow breath, the way his eyes fluttered as though he was barely able to stay conscious… This wasn’t just some crazy stunt Wade had pulled. This wasn’t him pushing his limits just to see how far he could go.

This was it.

“Wade…” Logan’s voice was a whisper now, a jagged edge of disbelief cutting through his words. “Your healing factor… it’s not healing you anymore, is it?”

Wade’s eyes flickered, glazed over with exhaustion. He opened his mouth to speak but just exhaled a wheeze instead. His lips parted into that weak, broken grin, the one that made Logan’s stomach churn with a mix of sorrow and guilt.

Wade rasped, his words slurring as if the effort to speak drained him further, but nothing coherent. His hand twitched, barely lifting as if he was reaching for something, but he couldn’t make it past the sheer weight of his own body. “I guess not.”

Logan crouched down, his gut twisting as he knelt beside Wade. He reached out slowly, carefully, as if afraid that the fragile figure before him might shatter entirely if touched too roughly. “Wade, what did you do?” Logan’s voice cracked as he said it, the helplessness in his tone matching the sick feeling in his chest. “You’ve got a healing factor. You should be fine. You shouldn’t… not heal. What did you do?”

Wade’s eyes met Logan’s, that hollow, haunted gaze sending a chill through Logan’s bones. His lips barely moved, but the words still came out in a strained, pained whisper. “Nothing.”

Wade closed his eyes, his breath coming out slow, like each exhale was a battle he couldn’t win. “ I thought this ol’ body could handle anything… guess not.”

Logan’s chest tightened as Wade’s words sank in. He should’ve known. He should’ve seen this coming. He’d watched Wade push himself to the limit time and again, playing with his own life like it was some kind of joke. He had never realized it had gone so far. Never realized that the cracks, the holes, the pieces of himself Wade had discarded had finally caught up to him.

Logan swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper now, as if speaking louder would somehow make this all real. “What the hell, Wade?”

Wade coughed weakly, his body jerking with the effort. He winced, gasping for breath before continuing, “I wanted to see how long it would take.”

Logan could see it now—he could see the way Wade’s body had deteriorated, not just from the outside but from the inside too. The way his bones stuck out, his skin hanging loosely like fabric over a skeleton. His healing factor wasn’t just slowing down; it was failing him, irrevocably. He wasn’t regenerating. He wasn’t healing. He wasn’t coming back from this. And deep down, Logan knew it.

“You’re dying,” Logan muttered, his eyes narrowing in horror at the realization. “This… this isn’t just your healing factor giving out. This is you fading away.”

Wade nodded weakly, his breath ragged and shallow. “Told you, Logan,” he said, his voice faint but laced with that same broken humor that had always been part of him. “You always did think I was invincible. Guess I’m not, after all.”

Logan’s chest clenched painfully, the weight of the situation crashing down on him all at once. He wanted to do something, but there was nothing to be done. Wade had pushed himself too far, and now the one thing that had kept him alive, that had allowed him to regenerate through all the impossible injuries, was gone. The healing factor was broken. And without it, Wade was a living and dying corpse.

Logan looked at Wade—at the man he had fought beside and befriended against everything, even though he’d long accepted he thought he’d never come back at a certain point. He wanted to tell him that he could just forget about the last time they spoke- that it was fine just so he could slip past some of the insanity and help him a little.

Wade was beyond that now.

Logan’s voice cracked again, quieter now, as if speaking louder would break the fragile moment. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words tasting bitter in his mouth.

Wade’s expression softened, his eyes losing some of their vacant emptiness.

Logan’s chest tightened further, and without thinking, he reached down, gently cupping Wade’s face in his hand. His touch was soft, careful, like Wade was made of glass, fragile and cracked. Wade closed his eyes at the contact, exhaling a quiet, almost peaceful sigh. He could feel the dry, dead texture of his cold, wet skin- barely alive if he ever truly was to begin with.

“I’m sorry,” Logan repeated, his voice strained. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to fix this. “I don’t know how to help you.”

Wade managed a weak grin, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes but still held some semblance of his old self. “Nothing left to help. I’m just… done.”

For a moment, they both sat there in the silence, the weight of of all the missed chances and broken pieces, hanging between them. Wade’s breathing had slowed to be near undetectable, his body barely moving beneath Logan’s hand.

Logan stayed with him, knowing there was nothing he could do. And Logan had no idea how to say goodbye. This was so random. He knew Wade had to have been on the fire escape for longer than Logan could even fathom. He supposed if you were at Wade’s level of insanity that was light work… but still.

So this is what it feels like? Mortality? Being close again? Will I see God or will it just be darkness? Will I see my Mother again? I feel warm… Breathing hurts. This is the closest I’ve felt to human in forever.

“Wade?”

His eyes were still open, but Wade wasn’t there anymore. Logan sniffed him out, and a lump in his throat formed.

The front door opened and closed all in the same moment.

“Logan? Honey, what’s—“

Unrequited Love, Lots Of Blow, and a Visit From Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man

CW; self-harm, sexual mentions, drug use, mental illness yadayadayada.

This was kind of a vent in some weird way. Crashed out earlier and had to write something to cope.

Logan woke up to the sound of something(s) shattering. Again.

“Goddammit, Wade,” he muttered, dragging himself off the couch. It wasn’t even 8 AM, and his roommate was already tearing through the place like a tornado.

Roommate. Logan still wasn’t sure how the hell that had happened. Wade had been crashing at his place “just for a few days” six months ago, and somehow, he’d never left. Logan had considered kicking him out more times than he could count, but something about the mercenary’s manic energy—and the raw, broken humanity underneath it—kept him from following through.

Logan pushed open the door to Wade’s bedroom, which looked like a war zone. Clothes, weapons, and takeout containers were scattered everywhere, and Wade stood in the middle of it, panting, holding the remnants of a lamp in his hand.

“Morning, sunshine,” Logan grunted. “What’s this about?”

Wade didn’t look at him. His face was bare, his scars catching the dim morning light. “It was an ugly lamp anyway.” The more Logan looked, the more was wrong. There was blood, literally everywhere. The bathroom mirror was broken, glass and MORE blood everywhere— the living room was a disheveled mess, a broken bottle of Jack, and a shattered cup like Wade had just grabbed the first thing that was near.

Logan crossed his arms. “You gonna tell me what’s really going on, or should I start charging you for broken furniture?”

Wade flinched, then dropped the lamp base to the floor with a clatter. “What’s the point, huh? You don’t care.”

Logan frowned. “You think I’d let you live here if I didn’t care?”

Wade laughed, sharp and bitter. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Logan. You let me stay because you feel sorry for me. Big, bad Wolverine, taking pity on the ugly stray.” He gestured to himself. “Well, guess what? I don’t need your charity! I’ll leave— and like you said, it’s ‘God’s best joke that I can’t die’ and it’s on all of us!” Even though dying is all he wished he could do.

Logan stepped forward, his voice low and steady. “This about the girl?”

That did it. Wade’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “Oh, so you did notice. Good for you, Sherlock.” He took a shaky breath, his words spilling out in a torrent. “Yeah, it’s about her- and everything else- and- and, It’s about how you’ve been all smiles and soft eyes around her. How you go out on these little dates, come home smelling like flowers and happiness or whatever the hell normal people do!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You jealous?”

Wade barked out a laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. “Oh, I’m so jealous, Logan. Not because I want her or anything—God, no. I’m jealous because she’s… she’s normal. She’s pretty, and soft, and someone you could actually care about.”

His voice cracked, and his hands clenched into fists. “Not like me. Not like this.” He gestured to his scarred face, his mismatched, worn-down body. “You could never like something like me, right, Logan?”

Logan stared at him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the room was silent except for Wade’s heavy breathing, his manic pacing, his sniffles.

“You done?” Logan finally asked.

Wade blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said, are you done?” Logan stepped closer, his voice gruff but calm. “Because if you’re waiting for me to tell you you’re wrong, I’m not gonna do it.”

Wade’s face crumpled, but Logan kept going.

“You’re a pain in the ass, Wade. You’re loud, and messy, and half the time, I don’t know whether to strangle you or buy you a drink.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But you’re wrong about one thing. I don’t let you stay here because I feel sorry for you. I let you stay because you’re worth putting up with.”

Wade looked up, his eyes glassy. “You’re just saying that to make me stop crying and breaking things!”

Logan snorted. “Trust me, I’m not the type to say things I don’t mean. And I don’t give a damn what you look like.”

Wade swallowed hard, his hands shaking. “I don’t believe you.”

Logan grabbed him by the shoulders, his grip firm but not unkind. “Then believe this: If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here. Got it?”

Wade nodded slowly, his breath hitching.

“Good,” Logan said, letting go and stepping back. “Now clean this mess up before I start charging you for rent.”

But Wade didn’t move and inch. He just looked down at the floor, and cried and cried. He just stood there, vulnerable, without any quips or witty comments to defend himself. Logan thought it was a pain in the ass, but he was still himself— empathetic no matter just how much he wanted to just tell the son of a bitch to get out.

“Wade?” He was sort of at a loss for words. Wade having outbursts wasn’t anything new— but just… standing there, crying. That was a sight to behold. His expression dropped,

“You have no idea, Logan.”

“You think you’re special, bub? I’ve been alive for two-hundred fucking years. I saw the invention of machine guns for one. You have no fucking clue what ideas I have, Wade.”

Wade finally looked up at him, his milky, yellowed eyes glazed over.

“Do you think I’m hideous?”

“What? I just said I don’t give a shit what you look like.”

“That wasn’t my question. I didn’t ask if you cared- I asked if I’m hideous.”

Logan gave him a once over. Wade already had the answer made up in his mind regardless of what Logan said.

He didn’t think Wade was hideous, but he wasn’t in attracted to him by any means.

“Okay, Wade! Yes, fine, you’re hideous— that’s what you wanna hear right?! Seems like you’ve already made up your damn mind about the answer.”

Wade gave a half smile, and then just turned on his heel and left, slamming the door so hard it made the whole apartment vibrate.

—

And then weeks passed, and Wade never returned. He’d left all his things there, and Logan considered throwing them out after a while. He’d even left his mask on the couch, which Wade never left without.

Annie was her name, the girl. Soft, brown eyes and strawberry blonde hair, and a round face full of freckles. She wore blouses and skirts, and wedges with white little bows on top.

And Logan liked her. Loved her even. Fell for her harder than he’d wanted to. At first their relationship was casual— cute little dates that made Logan feel normal. And the best part— she was a mutant too. It was nothing impressive, mild telekinetic abilities. She could lift small objects from across the room and shut doors without touching them.

She was peaceful, and domestic and a soft body to lay on. He felt safe with her. She’d spend nights at his place since Wade had left- cooked food for him and let him rest his head on her lap while he stroked his head. Things had gotten serious between them in the weeks Wade had been gone.

They had hot, passionate, electrifying sex- made each other laugh so hard they cried and kissed- and then had more sex. Logan would take her against the counter, in the bathroom, on the couch, in the bedroom. Parts of their lives mingled together. Some of his stuff stayed at her place, and parts of her lived at Logan’s. It was unlike anything he’d had in a long long time.

Meanwhile Wade had been doing as much blow as possible and fucking off. Logan wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard from him. Nobody had. He was torturing himself. He knew he couldn’t die, but he could feel pain. One night he’d played Russian roulette with himself off so much coke it would kill a normal human. He savored what intoxication he could get from alcohol for a couple minutes before the joy was killed by his healing factor.

He’d shoot himself in the head, blow his brains out only to come right back with only half the memories. He’d slit his own throat to choke and watch his ever replenishing blood gush out. He’d cut his fingers off one by one after each line, only to watch them grow back after a couple of hours.

He hadn’t showered in weeks, and smelled like death, blood and straight ass. He didn’t change his clothes, didn’t speak to anyone. Just restarted the same routine he did when Vanessa died. Trying to kill himself but never really dying.

Oh how he missed her. He wondered what she would say to him now, what she would think of who he was. He wondered if she’d be horrified seeing him, or if she’d have loved him anyway. He’d escaped the Weapon X program only to find out from Weasel that she’d been shot and robbed while hooking after he’d disappeared.

He’d had a couple years to reconcile with that… only to fall in love with Logan. What a fucking idiot he was, right?

Unrequited— though he knew Logan had considered him… sort of a friend.

Wade knew he was a pain in the ass, and pissed himself off too most of the time.

It didn’t matter though. He was hundreds of miles away from his life now, taking his shit show all the way to New York City, in the good old United States of America.

—

The New York alley smelled like garbage and rain, a mixture Wade found oddly comforting. The dumpster beneath him was cold and sticky in a way he didn’t want to think too hard about, but it didn’t matter. He was home. Or something like it.

He lay flat on his back, arms spread out like he was trying to make a snow angel on the grimy metal surface. His mask was half-pulled up, just enough to let him belt out an off-key rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart.

“There’s nothing I can dooooo… a total eclipppse of the heaaaart!” he howled, his voice echoing through the narrow alley.

Somewhere nearby, a rat squeaked in protest.

“You’ve got an audience,” came a voice from above.

Wade froze mid-note, craning his neck back to see a familiar figure hanging upside down by a thin strand of webbing. The bright red-and-blue suit was unmistakable.

“Spidey!” Wade gasped, sitting up so fast he nearly fell off the dumpster. He was hopped up on cocaine, meth, angel dust, anything he’d managed to get his hands on tonight. “My second-favorite insect-themed hero! What brings you to my garbage palace?”

Spider-Man tilted his head, his mask’s lenses narrowing. “You’re laying on a dumpster and singing power ballads. Should I be concerned, or is this just a Tuesday for you?”

“Wednesday, actually,” Wade corrected, wagging a finger. “And I’m celebrating my triumphant return to the Big Apple! Came here with nothing but a bag of cash and a dream. And maybe some mild emotional baggage. But mostly the cash.”

Spider-Man flipped down to the ground, landing lightly. “I’m pretty sure that was illegal cash.”

“What isn’t, these days?” Wade said, waving him off. “Besides, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. Unless you count your ears.”

Spider-Man crossed his arms. “You’re avoiding the question. Why are you really here, Wade?”

Wade leaned back against the dumpster, sighing dramatically. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a tale as old as time. Boy meets mutant, mutant moves in, mutant gets jealous of said boy’s weirdly functional romantic life and flees to New York to sulk in an alley and reevaluate his choices.”

Spider-Man blinked. “Okay, wow. That’s… more personal than I expected.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the Deadpool Show.” Wade gestured broadly at himself. “We like to keep things raw and unscripted. Keeps the audience engaged.”

Spider-Man crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know we don’t… vibe exactly, but you seem like you’re going through something. Do you need help?”

Wade laughed, a sharp, hollow sound. “Oh, Spidey, my sweet, built like a gymnast summer child. I’m beyond help. I’m like a car that’s been totaled, set on fire, and then run over by a tank. But thanks for asking.”

“You’re not that bad,” Spider-Man said, though his tone was hesitant.

“Aw, you think I’m redeemable,” Wade said, clutching his chest. “You’re adorable! Like a little web-slinging therapist.”

“Seriously, Wade. You don’t have to do… this,” Spider-Man said, gesturing to the dumpster and the alley. “Whatever’s going on, there’s got to be a better way to deal with it than running away and singing ‘80s ballads in the rain.”

“It wasn’t raining when I got here,” Wade pointed out. “But, fine, I’ll bite. What do you suggest, Dr. Spidey?”

Spider-Man hummed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Maybe talk to the person you’re running from instead of hiding out here. Have an actual conversation.”

Wade snorted. “You think I’m the ‘talking about my feelings’ type? Adorable. Really, top marks for optimism. I already tried- got blood all over the poor guys’ apartment and broke his mirror… Oh- you know Wolverine- Wolvie- Logan? Yeah he’s alive again and I haaaave itttt bad, Spidey.”

Spider-Man sighed. “Wolverine… like? Like… The X-men’s Wolverine? He died! How the hell is he alive again?— wait, don’t tell me he came from a different universe or something.”

Wade tilted his head, clicked his tongue and made finger guns, “Ding Ding Ding! That’s exactly right.” He dropped his hands but remained looking up, studying Spider-Man for a long moment. “You’re way too good for this city, you know that? It’s like watching a Disney protagonist in Gotham.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Spider-Man said dryly.

Wade slid off the dumpster, landing with a flourish. “Fine. You win. I absolutely cannot go back to Canada anytime soon but— I will try to stop doing massive amounts of narcotics and cutting off my limbs are even though they just regrow.”

“You’re really a strange guy, you know that, Wade?”

“Yes— quite intimately actually. Very large part of the reason I’m torturing myself out here in the good old United States of America.”

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. “Quit your sulking, grab my hand.”

Wade raised a… well… what would be his eyebrow if he had any, but said, “Fuck it,” and took his hand.

Suddenly, he was suspended in the air, wind whipping past his ears as they swung through the towering skyline of New York. Wade let out a loud, exaggerated scream. “OH MY FUCK, SPIDEY, THIS IS THE CLOSEST I’VE BEEN TO FLYING SINCE THAT TIME I STRAPPED FIREWORKS TO MY BACKPACK!”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Spider-Man shouted back, his voice barely audible over the rush of the wind.

“BECAUSE I’M AN ICON OF CHAOS!” Wade cackled, twisting his body mid-swing to strike a pose, one hand outstretched dramatically. “LOOK AT ME! I’M PETER PAN BUT WITH MORE TRAUMA!”

Spider-Man groaned. “Do you ever stop talking?!”

“Do you ever stop being an uptight boy scout?” Wade shot back.

Spider-Man didn’t dignify that with an answer, instead twisting midair and flinging a web to the next building. The sudden shift sent Wade swinging wildly, his legs flailing.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” Wade yelled, clutching Spider-Man’s arm like a terrified cat. “Careful there, Spandex Man! Some of us are delicate flowers who bruise easily!”

“You literally can’t die,” Spider-Man said, exasperated.

“Emotionally, Spidey!” Wade quipped. “Emotionally!”

Spider-Man sighed, expertly landing on a rooftop and depositing Wade less-than-gently on the gravel.

Wade sprawled out on his back, catching his breath. “That was either the most fun I’ve ever had, or I’m having a stroke. Maybe both.”

Spider-Man stood over him, hands on his hips. “You’re impossible.”

“Ha! Logan says that too!” Wade sat up, pulling his mask back down. “So, what’s the plan, boss? You didn’t just web-nap me for a heart-to-heart, did you?”

Spider-Man crossed his arms. “I didn’t exactly plan this. But you’re clearly in a mood, and I figured some fresh air might knock some sense into you.”

“Aw,” Wade cooed, “you do care about me! Admit it. I’m growing on you, like a sexy barnacle.”

“Don’t push it.”

Wade leaned back on his hands, glancing out at the city below. The lights of New York twinkled like stars, and for a rare moment, he was quiet.

“…It’s kind of nice up here,” he said after a beat.

Spider-Man sat down beside him, still keeping a cautious distance. “Yeah. It is.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the noise of the city far below fading into the background.

Finally, Wade broke the silence. “You ever feel like you’re just… too much? Like you’re this big, messy disaster that everyone tolerates but no one really wants around?”

Spider-Man glanced at him, surprised by the sudden vulnerability. “I think a lot of people feel like that sometimes., and trust me, you’re definitely a disaster. But… you don’t have to be.”

Wade turned to him, his tone light but his voice just a little too tight. “Wow, Spidey, you’re really laying on the compliments tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.” He said, sarcastically.

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. “Okay, and we’re back to that.” He blushed under his mask, a bit bashful. Everything was an innuendo to Wade somehow.

“Hey,” Wade said, nudging him with his elbow. “Thanks for this. The swing, the chat, the unsolicited life advice… it’s nice to know someone’s got my back, even if you are a dork in pajamas.”

Spider-Man smirked under his mask. “Anytime, Wade. Just… try not to end up sulking on a dumpster again, okay?”

“What a sweetie pie you are, Peter.”

“How the hell do you know my name? It’s not like yours is a secret… but I thought I was doing a good job at this secret identity thing…”

“I’m a mercenary, I know everything even if I don’t want to.”

Peter huffed. “That’s not an answer but… okay, Wade.”

Wade huffed and then tried to push his luck.

“I don’t suppose your kindness extends past swinging… like- a place to-“

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh come onnnnn! I thought you were all about being helpful.”

“Hey- I’m all for giving a little support but how do I know you won’t just break my stuff too?”

“One night?”

Peter bit his bottom lip under his mask in thought.

“Ugh, you’re such an ass. Give you an inch and it turns into a mile.”

Wade just stared at him, expecting.

“Fine! One night and then you’re back to whatever you have been doing.”

[latexb0n3z]

Unrequited Love, Lots Of Blow, and a Visit From Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man

CW; self-harm, sexual mentions, drug use, mental illness yadayadayada.

This was kind of a vent in some weird way. Crashed out earlier and had to write something to cope.

Logan woke up to the sound of something(s) shattering. Again.

“Goddammit, Wade,” he muttered, dragging himself off the couch. It wasn’t even 8 AM, and his roommate was already tearing through the place like a tornado.

Roommate. Logan still wasn’t sure how the hell that had happened. Wade had been crashing at his place “just for a few days” six months ago, and somehow, he’d never left. Logan had considered kicking him out more times than he could count, but something about the mercenary’s manic energy—and the raw, broken humanity underneath it—kept him from following through.

Logan pushed open the door to Wade’s bedroom, which looked like a war zone. Clothes, weapons, and takeout containers were scattered everywhere, and Wade stood in the middle of it, panting, holding the remnants of a lamp in his hand.

“Morning, sunshine,” Logan grunted. “What’s this about?”

Wade didn’t look at him. His face was bare, his scars catching the dim morning light. “It was an ugly lamp anyway.” The more Logan looked, the more was wrong. There was blood, literally everywhere. The bathroom mirror was broken, glass and MORE blood everywhere— the living room was a disheveled mess, a broken bottle of Jack, and a shattered cup like Wade had just grabbed the first thing that was near.

Logan crossed his arms. “You gonna tell me what’s really going on, or should I start charging you for broken furniture?”

Wade flinched, then dropped the lamp base to the floor with a clatter. “What’s the point, huh? You don’t care.”

Logan frowned. “You think I’d let you live here if I didn’t care?”

Wade laughed, sharp and bitter. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Logan. You let me stay because you feel sorry for me. Big, bad Wolverine, taking pity on the ugly stray.” He gestured to himself. “Well, guess what? I don’t need your charity! I’ll leave— and like you said, it’s ‘God’s best joke that I can’t die’ and it’s on all of us!” Even though dying is all he wished he could do.

Logan stepped forward, his voice low and steady. “This about the girl?”

That did it. Wade’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “Oh, so you did notice. Good for you, Sherlock.” He took a shaky breath, his words spilling out in a torrent. “Yeah, it’s about her- and everything else- and- and, It’s about how you’ve been all smiles and soft eyes around her. How you go out on these little dates, come home smelling like flowers and happiness or whatever the hell normal people do!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You jealous?”

Wade barked out a laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. “Oh, I’m so jealous, Logan. Not because I want her or anything—God, no. I’m jealous because she’s… she’s normal. She’s pretty, and soft, and someone you could actually care about.”

His voice cracked, and his hands clenched into fists. “Not like me. Not like this.” He gestured to his scarred face, his mismatched, worn-down body. “You could never like something like me, right, Logan?”

Logan stared at him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the room was silent except for Wade’s heavy breathing, his manic pacing, his sniffles.

“You done?” Logan finally asked.

Wade blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said, are you done?” Logan stepped closer, his voice gruff but calm. “Because if you’re waiting for me to tell you you’re wrong, I’m not gonna do it.”

Wade’s face crumpled, but Logan kept going.

“You’re a pain in the ass, Wade. You’re loud, and messy, and half the time, I don’t know whether to strangle you or buy you a drink.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But you’re wrong about one thing. I don’t let you stay here because I feel sorry for you. I let you stay because you’re worth putting up with.”

Wade looked up, his eyes glassy. “You’re just saying that to make me stop crying and breaking things!”

Logan snorted. “Trust me, I’m not the type to say things I don’t mean. And I don’t give a damn what you look like.”

Wade swallowed hard, his hands shaking. “I don’t believe you.”

Logan grabbed him by the shoulders, his grip firm but not unkind. “Then believe this: If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here. Got it?”

Wade nodded slowly, his breath hitching.

“Good,” Logan said, letting go and stepping back. “Now clean this mess up before I start charging you for rent.”

But Wade didn’t move and inch. He just looked down at the floor, and cried and cried. He just stood there, vulnerable, without any quips or witty comments to defend himself. Logan thought it was a pain in the ass, but he was still himself— empathetic no matter just how much he wanted to just tell the son of a bitch to get out.

“Wade?” He was sort of at a loss for words. Wade having outbursts wasn’t anything new— but just… standing there, crying. That was a sight to behold. His expression dropped,

“You have no idea, Logan.”

“You think you’re special, bub? I’ve been alive for two-hundred fucking years. I saw the invention of machine guns for one. You have no fucking clue what ideas I have, Wade.”

Wade finally looked up at him, his milky, yellowed eyes glazed over.

“Do you think I’m hideous?”

“What? I just said I don’t give a shit what you look like.”

“That wasn’t my question. I didn’t ask if you cared- I asked if I’m hideous.”

Logan gave him a once over. Wade already had the answer made up in his mind regardless of what Logan said.

He didn’t think Wade was hideous, but he wasn’t attracted to him by any means.

“Okay, Wade! Yes, fine, you’re hideous— that’s what you wanna hear right?! Seems like you’ve already made up your damn mind about the answer.”

Wade gave a half smile, and then just turned on his heel and left, slamming the door so hard it made the whole apartment vibrate.

—

And then weeks passed, and Wade never returned. He’d left all his things there, and Logan considered throwing them out after a while. He’d even left his mask on the couch, which Wade never left without.

Annie was her name, the girl. Soft, brown eyes and strawberry blonde hair, and a round face full of freckles. She wore blouses and skirts, and wedges with white little bows on top.

And Logan liked her. Loved her even. Fell for her harder than he’d wanted to. At first their relationship was casual— cute little dates that made Logan feel normal. And the best part— she was a mutant too. It was nothing impressive, mild telekinetic abilities. She could lift small objects from across the room and shut doors without touching them.

She was peaceful, and domestic and a soft body to lay on. He felt safe with her. She’d spend nights at his place since Wade had left- cooked food for him and let him rest his head on her lap while he stroked his head. Things had gotten serious between them in the weeks Wade had been gone.

They had hot, passionate, electrifying sex- made each other laugh so hard they cried and kissed- and then had more sex. Logan would take her against the counter, in the bathroom, on the couch, in the bedroom. Parts of their lives mingled together. Some of his stuff stayed at her place, and parts of her lived at Logan’s. It was unlike anything he’d had in a long long time.

Meanwhile Wade had been doing as much blow as possible and fucking off. Logan wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard from him. Nobody had. He was torturing himself. He knew he couldn’t die, but he could feel pain. One night he’d played Russian roulette with himself off so much coke it would kill a normal human. He savored what intoxication he could get from alcohol for a couple minutes before the joy was killed by his healing factor.

He’d shoot himself in the head, blow his brains out only to come right back with only half the memories. He’d slit his own throat to choke and watch his ever replenishing blood gush out. He’d cut his fingers off one by one after each line, only to watch them grow back after a couple of hours.

He hadn’t showered in weeks, and smelled like death, blood and straight ass. He didn’t change his clothes, didn’t speak to anyone. Just restarted the same routine he did when Vanessa died. Trying to kill himself but never really dying.

Oh how he missed her. He wondered what she would say to him now, what she would think of who he was. He wondered if she’d be horrified seeing him, or if she’d have loved him anyway. He’d escaped the Weapon X program only to find out from Weasel that she’d been shot and robbed while hooking after he’d disappeared.

He’d had a couple years to reconcile with that… only to fall in love with Logan. What a fucking idiot he was, right?

Unrequited— though he knew Logan had considered him… sort of a friend.

Wade knew he was a pain in the ass, and pissed himself off too most of the time.

It didn’t matter though. He was hundreds of miles away from his life now, taking his shit show all the way to New York City, in the good old United States of America.

—

The New York alley smelled like garbage and rain, a mixture Wade found oddly comforting. The dumpster beneath him was cold and sticky in a way he didn’t want to think too hard about, but it didn’t matter. He was home. Or something like it.

He lay flat on his back, arms spread out like he was trying to make a snow angel on the grimy metal surface. His mask was half-pulled up, just enough to let him belt out an off-key rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart.

“There’s nothing I can dooooo… a total eclipppse of the heaaaart!” he howled, his voice echoing through the narrow alley.

Somewhere nearby, a rat squeaked in protest.

“You’ve got an audience,” came a voice from above.

Wade froze mid-note, craning his neck back to see a familiar figure hanging upside down by a thin strand of webbing. The bright red-and-blue suit was unmistakable.

“Spidey!” Wade gasped, sitting up so fast he nearly fell off the dumpster. He was hopped up on cocaine, meth, angel dust, anything he’d managed to get his hands on tonight. “My second-favorite insect-themed hero! What brings you to my garbage palace?”

Spider-Man tilted his head, his mask’s lenses narrowing. “You’re laying on a dumpster and singing power ballads. Should I be concerned, or is this just a Tuesday for you?”

“Wednesday, actually,” Wade corrected, wagging a finger. “And I’m celebrating my triumphant return to the Big Apple! Came here with nothing but a bag of cash and a dream. And maybe some mild emotional baggage. But mostly the cash.”

Spider-Man flipped down to the ground, landing lightly. “I’m pretty sure that was illegal cash.”

“What isn’t, these days?” Wade said, waving him off. “Besides, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. Unless you count your ears.”

Spider-Man crossed his arms. “You’re avoiding the question. Why are you really here, Wade?”

Wade leaned back against the dumpster, sighing dramatically. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a tale as old as time. Boy meets mutant, mutant moves in, mutant gets jealous of said boy’s weirdly functional romantic life and flees to New York to sulk in an alley and reevaluate his choices.”

Spider-Man blinked. “Okay, wow. That’s… more personal than I expected.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the Deadpool Show.” Wade gestured broadly at himself. “We like to keep things raw and unscripted. Keeps the audience engaged.”

Spider-Man crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know we don’t… vibe exactly, but you seem like you’re going through something. Do you need help?”

Wade laughed, a sharp, hollow sound. “Oh, Spidey, my sweet, built like a gymnast summer child. I’m beyond help. I’m like a car that’s been totaled, set on fire, and then run over by a tank. But thanks for asking.”

“You’re not that bad,” Spider-Man said, though his tone was hesitant.

“Aw, you think I’m redeemable,” Wade said, clutching his chest. “You’re adorable! Like a little web-slinging therapist.”

“Seriously, Wade. You don’t have to do… this,” Spider-Man said, gesturing to the dumpster and the alley. “Whatever’s going on, there’s got to be a better way to deal with it than running away and singing ‘80s ballads in the rain.”

“It wasn’t raining when I got here,” Wade pointed out. “But, fine, I’ll bite. What do you suggest, Dr. Spidey?”

Spider-Man hummed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Maybe talk to the person you’re running from instead of hiding out here. Have an actual conversation.”

Wade snorted. “You think I’m the ‘talking about my feelings’ type? Adorable. Really, top marks for optimism. I already tried- got blood all over the poor guys’ apartment and broke his mirror… Oh- you know Wolverine- Wolvie- Logan? Yeah he’s alive again and I haaaave itttt bad, Spidey.”

Spider-Man sighed. “Wolverine… like? Like… The X-men’s Wolverine? He died! How the hell is he alive again?— wait, don’t tell me he came from a different universe or something.”

Wade tilted his head, clicked his tongue and made finger guns, “Ding Ding Ding! That’s exactly right.” He dropped his hands but remained looking up, studying Spider-Man for a long moment. “You’re way too good for this city, you know that? It’s like watching a Disney protagonist in Gotham.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Spider-Man said dryly.

Wade slid off the dumpster, landing with a flourish. “Fine. You win. I absolutely cannot go back to Canada anytime soon but— I will try to stop doing massive amounts of narcotics and cutting off my limbs are even though they just regrow.”

“You’re really a strange guy, you know that, Wade?”

“Yes— quite intimately actually. Very large part of the reason I’m torturing myself out here in the good old United States of America.”

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. “Quit your sulking, grab my hand.”

Wade raised a… well… what would be his eyebrow if he had any, but said, “Fuck it,” and took his hand.

Suddenly, he was suspended in the air, wind whipping past his ears as they swung through the towering skyline of New York. Wade let out a loud, exaggerated scream. “OH MY FUCK, SPIDEY, THIS IS THE CLOSEST I’VE BEEN TO FLYING SINCE THAT TIME I STRAPPED FIREWORKS TO MY BACKPACK!”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Spider-Man shouted back, his voice barely audible over the rush of the wind.

“BECAUSE I’M AN ICON OF CHAOS!” Wade cackled, twisting his body mid-swing to strike a pose, one hand outstretched dramatically. “LOOK AT ME! I’M PETER PAN BUT WITH MORE TRAUMA!”

Spider-Man groaned. “Do you ever stop talking?!”

“Do you ever stop being an uptight boy scout?” Wade shot back.

Spider-Man didn’t dignify that with an answer, instead twisting midair and flinging a web to the next building. The sudden shift sent Wade swinging wildly, his legs flailing.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” Wade yelled, clutching Spider-Man’s arm like a terrified cat. “Careful there, Spandex Man! Some of us are delicate flowers who bruise easily!”

“You literally can’t die,” Spider-Man said, exasperated.

“Emotionally, Spidey!” Wade quipped. “Emotionally!”

Spider-Man sighed, expertly landing on a rooftop and depositing Wade less-than-gently on the gravel.

Wade sprawled out on his back, catching his breath. “That was either the most fun I’ve ever had, or I’m having a stroke. Maybe both.”

Spider-Man stood over him, hands on his hips. “You’re impossible.”

“Ha! Logan says that too!” Wade sat up, pulling his mask back down. “So, what’s the plan, boss? You didn’t just web-nap me for a heart-to-heart, did you?”

Spider-Man crossed his arms. “I didn’t exactly plan this. But you’re clearly in a mood, and I figured some fresh air might knock some sense into you.”

“Aw,” Wade cooed, “you do care about me! Admit it. I’m growing on you, like a sexy barnacle.”

“Don’t push it.”

Wade leaned back on his hands, glancing out at the city below. The lights of New York twinkled like stars, and for a rare moment, he was quiet.

“…It’s kind of nice up here,” he said after a beat.

Spider-Man sat down beside him, still keeping a cautious distance. “Yeah. It is.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the noise of the city far below fading into the background.

Finally, Wade broke the silence. “You ever feel like you’re just… too much? Like you’re this big, messy disaster that everyone tolerates but no one really wants around?”

Spider-Man glanced at him, surprised by the sudden vulnerability. “I think a lot of people feel like that sometimes., and trust me, you’re definitely a disaster. But… you don’t have to be.”

Wade turned to him, his tone light but his voice just a little too tight. “Wow, Spidey, you’re really laying on the compliments tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.” He said, sarcastically.

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. “Okay, and we’re back to that.” He blushed under his mask, a bit bashful. Everything was an innuendo to Wade somehow.

“Hey,” Wade said, nudging him with his elbow. “Thanks for this. The swing, the chat, the unsolicited life advice… it’s nice to know someone’s got my back, even if you are a dork in pajamas.”

Spider-Man smirked under his mask. “Anytime, Wade. Just… try not to end up sulking on a dumpster again, okay?”

“What a sweetie pie you are, Peter.”

“How the hell do you know my name? It’s not like yours is a secret… but I thought I was doing a good job at this secret identity thing…”

“I’m a mercenary, I know everything even if I don’t want to.”

Peter huffed. “That’s not an answer but… okay, Wade.”

Wade huffed and then tried to push his luck.

“I don’t suppose your kindness extends past swinging… like- a place to-“

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh come onnnnn! I thought you were all about being helpful.”

“Hey- I’m all for giving a little support but how do I know you won’t just break my stuff too?”

“One night?”

Peter bit his bottom lip under his mask in thought.

“Ugh, you’re such an ass. Give you an inch and it turns into a mile.”

Wade just stared at him, expecting.

“Fine! One night and then you’re back to whatever you have been doing.”

[latexb0n3z]

Also Logan, a few hours later:

Ah yes, the love language of the two immortal psychotic freaks

[latexb0n3z]

The Weaver sat at her loom, her bony hands working thread after thread into a tapestry that stretched endlessly into the horizon. She claimed to know the pattern of all things, the colors that belonged to each soul, the way they must intertwine.

When the child arrived, she plucked a thread from their heart. “Ah,” she murmured, holding it to the light. “This is red. You are red.”

The child hesitated. “But… I am blue.”

“Nonsense,” the Weaver snapped, jamming the thread into her loom. “You are red. You’ll see in time.”

The tapestry grew, and the child wore red as commanded. But the dye bled through their skin, staining everything they touched. They tried to scrape it away, but the Weaver was always watching, her loom clattering like thunder in the distance.

One night, desperate, the child took scissors to the threads binding their heart. The act tore a gash through the fabric of the tapestry. The Weaver shrieked, her fury shaking the ground. “Look what you’ve done! This is ruin! You are ruin!”

But the child, trembling and frayed, held the scissors steady. From the wound in their chest spilled strands of deep indigo, shimmering silver, endless hues the Weaver had refused to see. The child began weaving with trembling hands—not for the tapestry, but for themselves.

The world grew quiet, the Weaver’s loom stilled. The unfinished tapestry flapped in the wind, ragged and imperfect. But the child’s colors glowed against the darkness, and they felt, for the first time, whole.