latexb0n3z

[latexb0n3z]

Spider-Man’s death is nothing glorious. The world’s friendly neighborhood hero isn’t falling from a skyscraper or holding off an army. He’s crumpled in a damp alley, clutching a wound that won’t stop bleeding. Every breath is shallow, wheezing, a countdown to the inevitable.

Footsteps echo down the alley, heels clicking steadily against the pavement. A woman rounds the corner, the faint glow of her phone lighting her path. She stops short when she sees him, her voice carrying a calm she doesn’t seem to feel.

“Oh, dear! Are you hurt?”

Peter blinks up at her, vision swimming. She’s older, maybe late fifties, with neatly styled hair and a sharp, business-casual look—a blouse tucked into dark slacks, a blazer draped over her shoulders. She doesn’t look like she belongs in a place like this.

“Spider-Man…?” she murmurs, her voice softening as realization dawns. “Oh my God.”

She kneels beside him, her movements deliberate but unhurried, as though she knows any panic will only make things worse. She reaches for his mask.

Peter doesn’t protest. He doesn’t have the strength.

Peter stares up at her, her face blurring into something familiar. The lines of her features shift, soften, until he doesn’t see a stranger anymore. Through the haze of shock and pain, he sees her.

The woman’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t correct him. Instead, she leans closer, holding his hand as tightly as she dares.

The woman swallows hard, her free hand trembling as she pulls out her phone and dials.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice is calm, clinical—so far removed from the chaos in her chest.

“I—I’m with someone,” she stammers, her voice breaking. “He’s been shot. He’s bleeding really badly. I’m—” She looks around wildly, realizing she has no idea where she is. “I think I’m in an alley off 10th and—please, just send someone!”

“Ma’am, stay calm. Help is on the way,” the operator attempts to assure her. “Is he conscious?”

She glances down at him. His breaths are shallow, his lips tinged with blue, but his eyes flutter open briefly, fixing on her with a desperate, glassy stare.

“Barely,” she whispers, her throat tightening.

“Apply pressure to the wound if you can,” the operator says.

She drops the phone to the pavement, still on speaker, and presses her hands against the gaping hole in his abdomen. Blood gushes between her fingers, warm and slick, and she feels him tense beneath her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice trembling. “I know it hurts. Just hold on, okay? They’re coming. They’re coming.”

Peter doesn’t respond. His head tilts slightly, his face slackening as his body begins to give out. She hesitates, then reaches up to smooth his sweat-soaked hair, brushing it back from his forehead.

“You’re so young,” she whispers, tears spilling freely now. “You’re just a kid. This isn’t fair. You shouldn’t…” Her voice cracks, and she bites her lip hard, trying to keep it together.

Peter’s fingers twitch, weakly gripping her hand, and she looks down. His lips move, but no sound comes out. She leans closer, straining to hear.

“Aunt… May?” he rasps, the words barely audible.

Her chest tightens, and she shakes her head, though he can’t see it. “No, sweetheart,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m not. But it’s okay. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

The operator’s voice crackles from the phone. “Ma’am, are you still there? Ma’am?”

She ignores it, her entire focus on the boy slipping away in her arms. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, stroking his hair, her thumb brushing against his pale cheek. “You’ve done enough. You’ve saved so many people. Just fight for yourself right now, honey.”

His grip on her hand loosens, his head lolling to the side. She watches, helpless, as the light fades from his eyes. A shallow breath escapes him, then nothing.

She clutches his hand tighter, rocking slightly as grief crashes over her. Not grief personal to her, but for his loved ones and all of New York. For the hero lost. She barely notices the distant wail of sirens until the alley floods with red and blue light.

By the time the paramedics reach her, she’s still holding him, her blazer smeared with blood, her cheeks streaked with tears.

“He’s gone,” she chokes out as they kneel beside her. “He’s just… gone.”

The paramedics gently pull her away, but she resists for a moment, her fingers lingering in his hair. She finally lets go, collapsing against the wall as they work in vain to resuscitate him.

She doesn’t know his name, or what happened to have led him to this alley tonight. All she knows is that she stayed. That she didn’t let him die alone. And somehow, that has to mean something.

[latexb0n3z]

????? for some reason I can't find the ask??? prolly deleted it by accident I'm so sorry person who requested this BUT I HOPE YOU CAN SEE IT?? I tried my best bahaha this was a struggle for absolutely no reason it never left my mind literally a daily thought heavens

(They requested Wade telling Logan about the francis stuff, an angst enjoyer they said)

Shoutout to my friend BunBun because their joke about Wade having Logan's DNA in more ways than one was what FINALLY gave me the idea of how to start this off (It was weeks ago, didn't do the script until a few days ago and this was drawn in all different days all over the place help me what the fuck happened with this)

[latexb0n3z]

Silly poolverine fic based on my silly headcanon that Logan secretly has Channing Tatum white boy wasted levels of dance skill.

Short fic

NSFW

The bass of the nightclub hit like a freight train, rattling Wade’s bones and vibrating through his chest. He stood near the bar, nursing a glowing blue drink that smelled vaguely like antifreeze, his tie loosened and his mask tucked under the collar of his suit. Beside him, Logan stood stiff as a board, his scowl deep enough to scare off anyone who might wander too close.

“This was your brilliant plan?” Logan growled, his voice barely cutting through the thumping music. “Stand around in a damn nightclub, waiting for a guy who isn’t even gonna show?”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Wade said, swirling his drink and then taking a sip. “Blame the intel. Not my fault our target decided to skip his night of debauchery. Honestly, kind of rude if you think about it. We got all dressed up for nothing.”

Logan folded his arms, glancing around the crowded dance floor with barely concealed disdain. “Let’s just leave.”

“Oh, no no no.” Wade waved a finger at him. “We’re already here. We’ve got the suits. We’ve got the vibes. It’d be a crime to waste all this potential.” He gestured to himself and then dramatically to Logan. “Come on, let’s cut loose. Let’s—dare I say—dance.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Not happening.”

“Why not?” Wade whined, setting down his drink. “What, afraid you’ll twist your ankle in those fancy shoes? Or—wait, wait—don’t tell me. You’re one of those ‘I don’t dance’ guys. Like Kevin Bacon before the montage in Footloose.”

“I don’t dance,” Logan said flatly.

Wade squinted at him, hands on his hips. “Bull. You’ve got moves. I can sense it. You’re probably one of those guys who secretly kills it on the dance floor. Probably did the Charleston in 1918 or something.”

Logan sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not dancing, Wade.”

Wade, of course, ignored him completely, grabbing Logan by the arm and tugging him toward the crowded dance floor. “Nope! Not listening! We’re doing this!”

“Wade—”

“Shh! The music is calling us, Logan. It’s destiny.”

They broke into the crowd, the thumping beat of the music swallowing them whole. Wade immediately started flailing like an inflatable tube man, his arms jerking wildly as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

“This is amazing!” Wade shouted, twirling in place. “Look at me! I’m a star!”

Logan stood motionless, arms crossed, glaring at Wade like he was debating walking out and leaving him to fend for himself.

Then, with a heavy sigh, Logan stepped forward.

What happened next was nothing short of legendary.

Logan started slow, shifting his weight from side to side, his movements fluid despite the sharpness of his suit. Then he pivoted, his shoulders rolling in perfect time with the beat, and suddenly, the man was dancing.

Not awkward, shuffling-around-your-cousin’s-wedding dancing. No. Logan moved like he was born for this. Every motion was smooth, precise, his hips and shoulders hitting the rhythm with a confidence that made it impossible to look away.

The crowd parted around him almost instinctively, people staring as the stoic, grumpy man in the suit owned the floor.

Wade froze mid-flail, his jaw dropping. “WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. HELL.”

Logan didn’t answer. He spun, then dipped low before rising again, his feet sliding across the floor like he was a contestant on Dancing with the Stars. His expression didn’t change, still cool and composed, but his movements had a swagger that sent the crowd into a frenzy. Because how could everyone not look at this absolutely fitted up hairy man who looks suspiciously like Wolverine.

“Oh my god, you’re good!” Wade shouted, pointing at him. “You’re so good! Why didn’t you tell me you were, like, secretly Magic Mike?”

Logan smirked—an actual smirk—and kept going, throwing in a perfectly timed body roll that sent a nearby group of club-goers into cheers.

Wade, never one to be outdone, jumped back in with renewed energy, flailing harder and pointing at Logan like he was the main act. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted to the crowd. “Give it up for the Wolverine!”

Logan shot him a glare but didn’t stop dancing. If anything, he leaned into it, sliding seamlessly into a step-turn-step combo that looked suspiciously like something out of a swing dance routine.

“THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!” Wade screamed, clapping his hands over his head as he attempted to copy Logan’s moves and failed spectacularly.

By now, the entire club was watching them. Phones were out, recording videos as the stoic, suited man with claws and the masked, flailing lunatic became the accidental stars of the night. People were confused, and amused. Deadpool and Wolverine, at a club, right here. Wade thought for a moment that maybe all the attention was going to fuck up their job, but it was already fucked up. Their target wasn’t here.

When the song ended, the crowd erupted into applause. Logan straightened, adjusting his tie like nothing had happened, while Wade dropped to his knees, throwing his arms in the air like he’d just won an Olympic medal.

“You,” Wade said, pointing up at Logan, “are a gift to humanity.”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan muttered, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him to his feet.

“We should do this every week,” Wade continued, grinning like a maniac as they made their way off the floor. “Oh! Oh! Next time, we coordinate. Maybe matching suits? Sequins? I’m thinking disco vibes.”

The thump of the music still echoed through Logan’s body as they stepped off the dance floor, but something strange had happened: he was smiling. Not the smirk he sometimes used to cover his annoyance, but an actual smile, wide enough to crinkle his eyes.

Wade, who had been rattling off a string of incoherent nonsense to anyone willing to listen, stopped mid-sentence and stared at him like he’d just seen Bigfoot.

“Whoa,” Wade said, narrowing his eyes as if trying to solve a complex equation. “Is that—are you smiling?”

Logan wiped a hand across his face, his grin faltering. “No.”

“YES, YOU ARE!” Wade yelled, pointing at him with both hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, breaking news! The Wolverine smiles! Someone call the Associated Press!”

“Can it, Wade,” Logan muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him.

“You’re in a good mood,” Wade said, circling him like a shark. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re all loosened up, laughing in the face of fun like a normal human. Who even are you?”

Logan sighed and leaned against the bar, signaling for a drink. “You happy now? I danced. Everyone stared. The world didn’t end.”

“You didn’t just dance, my guy,” Wade corrected, flagging the bartender down for another round. “You thrived. You were like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, but with less weird teeth and more claws. You loved it, didn’t you?”

Logan didn’t answer, but his silence was telling. It had been… fun. He’d forgotten how much he liked dancing, how much rhythm was buried somewhere in his muscle memory from nights he’d barely allowed himself to enjoy back in the ‘70s.

“You’re not denying it!” Wade said triumphantly, shoving a shot into Logan’s hand. “That’s it. We’re celebrating. You deserve it.”

Logan looked at the drink skeptically. “Celebrating what?”

“Uh, life? The fact that you’re not actively scowling? And, most importantly, the fact that I, Wade Wilson, have broken through your icy exterior and reminded you what joy feels like.”

Logan shook his head but tossed the shot back anyway, slamming the glass down on the bar. Wade did the same, then immediately ordered another drink.

“I’m gonna request a song,” Wade announced, bounding toward the DJ booth. “Something with a vibe. Something we both like. Something to get your Canadian butt back on that dance floor!”

Logan watched him go, debating whether to just leave. But then the music shifted, and a song he vaguely recognized kicked on. Something funky, with a solid beat and a melody that pulled at the distant corners of his memory.

Wade returned with a triumphant grin, grabbing Logan by the arm before he could protest. “Come on, gramps! Round two!”

“Wade,” Logan started, but Wade had already dragged him halfway to the dance floor.

“This is your jam, admit it!” Wade said, spinning him dramatically like they were about to tango.

The truth was… it kind of was his jam. Logan couldn’t place the name, but it had the same groove he used to love, back when he’d hit the floor in cheap bars with sticky floors and bad lighting.

Wade started dancing immediately, his moves as chaotic as ever, but this time he reached out and grabbed Logan’s hands, pulling him into the mix.

“Dance with me!” Wade shouted over the music.

“Wade, no,” Logan protested, but Wade was already swaying back and forth, trying to coax him into following.

“Don’t be shy, peanut,” Wade teased, his mask barely containing the grin on his face. “You’ve got moves. Show me what you’ve got!”

Logan rolled his eyes but relented, letting the rhythm take over. He stepped in time with Wade, leading him into a spin so smooth it startled them both.

“Whoa-ho! Look at you!” Wade said, his voice dripping with mock awe. “I think I just swooned a little.”

Logan smirked—actually smirked this time—and kept going, pulling Wade into a groove that matched the beat. The two of them moved in sync, Logan’s smooth precision balancing out Wade’s chaotic flailing.

The crowd started watching again, cheers erupting as Logan executed a move that could only be described as dangerously suave. Wade matched it by pretending to moonwalk and nearly tripping over his own feet.

“You’re a natural,” Logan said, surprising even himself.

“And you,” Wade said, pointing at him, “are officially my favorite person to party with.”

They danced through the rest of the song, laughing harder than either of them had in weeks, until Wade finally collapsed against Logan, panting.

“Okay,” Wade said, still grinning, “I’m calling it. Best. Night. Ever.”

Logan shook his head, laughing under his breath as Wade leaned against him, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“You’re an idiot,” Logan said, patting him on the back.

“Yeah,” Wade said, looking up at him with a glint of mischief in his eye, “but I have no comeback because you are literally Channing Tatum in Step Up! Like, where were those moves hiding? Are you secretly a male stripper? Do you have a side gig?”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head as he made his way back to the bar. “You’re insufferable.”

“True,” Wade said, trailing after him, “but admit it—you’re having fun. Dancing, grinning, doing the whole ‘human connection’ thing. It’s like therapy but with less crying and more sequins.”

Logan didn’t answer, signaling the bartender for another shot instead. The tequila burned on the way down, but it settled something in his chest, the tension that had been building all night.

Wade, of course, was still talking. “You know, I think this could be your thing. Logan the Dancer. Wolverine on the Weekends. ‘The Fastest Claws in the West,’ or something equally catchy.”

“Don’t push it,” Logan warned, but there was no real heat in his voice.

Wade clapped his hands together. “Okay, okay. One more round on the dance floor, and then I’ll stop bugging you. Scout’s honor.”

Logan glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Scout’s honor? You?”

“Okay, fine. Mercenary’s honor. But still. One more round, and then I’ll shut up. Cross my heart and hope to—”

Before Wade could finish, he suddenly produced a small baggie from inside his jacket, grinning like a kid with a forbidden toy. “Unless, of course, you want to really get loose?”

Logan froze mid-pour, staring at the baggie in Wade’s hand. “Did you have that the whole time?”

Wade shrugged. “I mean, it’s not a party without a little pick-me-up. Want a hit?”

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t say no, setting his glass down as Wade dipped a pinky finger into the baggie and held it up.

“Come on, Grumpy Gus. Live a little,” Wade said, snorting his line with an exaggerated flair and tossing his head back like he’d just unlocked the secrets of the universe.

Logan hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the baggie from Wade. “Screw it.” He took a line, blinking hard as it hit him almost immediately.

Wade let out a triumphant whoop, grabbing Logan by the arm and pulling him toward the dance floor. “Okay, now you’re ready. I want to see some real moves this time!”

“Careful what you wish for,” Logan muttered, his grin returning as the music shifted into something fast and pulsing.

The beat dropped, and Logan didn’t hold back. He launched into the kind of moves that made his earlier performance look like a warm-up, his body perfectly in sync with the rhythm. The crowd went wild, phones flashing, people shouting as Logan dominated the floor like a professional.

“YES!” Wade yelled, hopping up and down like a kid at his first concert. “That’s what I’m talking about! Who knew the grumpy murder machine could groove?”

Logan spun on his heel, grabbing Wade by the collar and yanking him into the mix. “Your turn, smartass.”

The music blasted through the club, a pulsating beat that sent the whole room into a frenzy. Logan was in the zone now, his body moving with a fluidity that made it look like he’d been doing this all his life. The strobe lights caught on the sharp angles of his suit, and the crowd parted around him like they knew they were witnessing something out of the ordinary.

Wade, on the other hand, was chaos incarnate. He flailed his arms like an inflatable tube man, his moves so ridiculous they somehow looped back around to entertaining. He was yelling something—probably nonsense—over the music, but Logan was too caught up in the rhythm to care.

Then Wade decided to take it up a notch.

“Okay, okay,” Wade shouted, sliding over to Logan and dramatically flipping an imaginary ponytail over his shoulder. “Time for the real show!”

Before Logan could react, Wade spun around and backed up, grinding against him with exaggerated enthusiasm, his hands in the air like he was auditioning for a raunchy music video.

Logan froze for half a second, his brain trying to reconcile the absurdity of what was happening. Then, to his own surprise, he started laughing. Not a small chuckle, but a full, deep laugh that he didn’t even try to suppress.

“Oh, you’re laughing?” Wade called over his shoulder, still swaying his hips. “You like this, don’t you? Admit it, Logan, I’m irresistible!”

Logan shook his head, his laughter making his shoulders shake. “You’re out of your damn mind,” he said, stepping back and smacking Wade on the butt, the sound sharp enough to cut through the music.

Wade gasped, spinning around and clutching his backside in mock indignation. “Ow!” he said, though his grin was impossible to miss. “But also… hot. Seriously, where has this Logan been hiding? You’re, like, fun now!”

Logan crossed his arms, still grinning despite himself. “That’s it. I’m done. You’re too much.”

“Too much? Never!” Wade said, throwing his arms around Logan’s shoulders and leaning in like they were best friends on a drunken escapade. “Come on, one more round! The people need us!”

But Logan just shook his head, peeling Wade off him like a stray cat. “Nope. You’ve had your fun. I’m tapping out.”

Wade pouted, but there was no hiding how pleased he was. “Fine,” he said, stepping back and brushing imaginary dust off his suit. “But admit it, Logan—you had a good time.”

Logan’s smirk softened, his eyes flicking toward the dance floor where people were still staring, some even cheering for them. “Yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I did.”

Wade gasped, clutching his chest like he’d just been shot. “Ladies and gentlemen, you heard it here first! Wolverine has a soul!”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. Wade’s antics had rubbed off on him, and for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t mad about it.

The motel was everything Logan hated—peeling wallpaper, questionable stains on the carpet, and a lingering odor that screamed of decades-old bad decisions. It was the kind of place he’d normally avoid at all costs, but after the night they’d had, it didn’t even faze him. They stumbled through the door, Wade laughing at something Logan had muttered under his breath, both still buzzing from the coke and alcohol coursing through their systems.

Wade flopped onto the sagging bed like it was a five-star luxury suite, arms spread wide and mask pushed up enough to reveal his mouth. “Ah, home sweet hovel!” he declared, patting the grimy bedspread like it was something to be proud of.

Logan, meanwhile, slumped into the lone chair in the corner, his jacket half off and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He lit it with a flick of his zippo, inhaling deeply before exhaling a plume of smoke into the dimly lit room. The buzz in his veins was still there, warm and electric, making the crappy motel feel almost tolerable.

Wade rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand and watching Logan with a look that was… different. Logan noticed it immediately. Wade’s usual chaos energy was still there, but there was something else beneath it. Something softer, more intentional.

“You know,” Wade started, his voice lighter than usual, “for a guy who spent half the night grumbling about how stupid this whole job was, you sure cleaned up on the dance floor. I mean, you were hot, Logan. Like, straight-up panty-dropping hot.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, blowing out another puff of smoke. “You’re still on about that?”

“Of course I am,” Wade said, sitting up now and gesturing wildly. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of what happened tonight. You, Mr. Broody Murder Claws, turned a nightclub full of New Yorkers into your personal fan club. And I’m not just talking about me, though I’ll admit, I was definitely swooning.”

Logan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re full of it.”

“I’m serious!” Wade insisted, scooting closer to the edge of the bed. “You’ve got this whole rugged, brooding, ‘I’ll ruin your life but you’ll thank me for it’ thing going on. It’s kind of unfair, honestly.”

Logan gave him a long, measured look. Wade’s tone had shifted, and it wasn’t the usual over-the-top innuendo or throwaway joke. This felt more… pointed. Like Wade wasn’t just joking around anymore.

“You’re laying it on thick tonight,” Logan said, his voice low but curious. “What’s your angle?”

Wade tilted his head, a sly grin creeping across his lips. “No angle. Just making observations. And hey, can you blame me? You’re a hard guy not to stare at when you’re letting loose for once.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, taking another drag of his cigarette. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Wade, trying to figure out where the line between joking and serious was blurring. Wade’s usual flirtation always came with a wink and a joke, but this? This felt real.

Wade, for his part, didn’t back down. He stretched his legs out, his boots dangling off the edge of the bed as he kept his gaze locked on Logan. “You ever think about it, though?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. “How much easier things would be if we didn’t have to keep pretending all the time? Like, I don’t know, pretending we don’t notice when someone’s got that thing that just… gets to you.”

Logan exhaled slowly, the cigarette smoke curling around him like a shield. “You’re not pretending right now, are you?”

Wade smiled, but it wasn’t the cocky grin Logan was used to. It was smaller, quieter. “Guess not,” he said. “But hey, don’t let it go to your head, okay? I’m still the funnier one here.”

Logan smirked, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “You’re a piece of work, Wilson.”

“And yet,” Wade said, leaning back on his elbows, “here you are, putting up with me.”

Logan didn’t respond immediately, just leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met Wade’s gaze head-on. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Here I am.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for once, Wade didn’t try to fill the silence with a joke. Instead, he just smiled, small and genuine, like he knew exactly what Logan meant.

Logan didn’t give Wade much time to gather his thoughts. He leaned back in close, the faint scent of tequila and smoke lingering between them as he tilted Wade’s chin up with two rough fingers. Wade’s breath hitched, his eyes locking on Logan’s, wide and glassy.

“You’re pathetic,” Logan muttered, his voice low and gravelly, though there was no malice in it—just a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Wade blinked, flustered and unsure if he should laugh or be offended. Before he could figure it out, Logan grabbed the tequila bottle off the nightstand, tipped it, and pressed the rim to Wade’s lips.

“Open,” Logan ordered, his voice low and gravelly, leaving no room for argument.

Wade hesitated for half a second, then obeyed, his lips parting as Logan poured the tequila straight into his mouth. The burn of the alcohol was immediate, but Wade didn’t dare move, his wide eyes locked on Logan’s.

Before Wade could even swallow, Logan reached into his pocket, pulling out a salt packet he must’ve snagged from the bar earlier. He ripped it open with his teeth and tilted Wade’s head back, sprinkling the salt across his tongue. Wade barely had time to process the rush of salt and liquor before Logan’s hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him forward.

Their mouths crashed together, Logan’s lips rough and insistent as they pressed against Wade’s, sealing the shot between them. The heat of the alcohol mixed with the warmth of Logan’s mouth, and Wade’s brain short-circuited entirely. He let out a muffled noise of surprise but didn’t pull away—in fact, he leaned into it, his hands instinctively gripping Logan’s shirt to ground himself in the moment.

When Logan finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected them for a brief, dizzying second before it broke. Wade’s chest heaved as he stared at Logan, his lips tingling and his mind racing.

Logan smirked, licking the corner of his mouth as he leaned back slightly, clearly pleased with himself. “How’s that for a party trick?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, the kind of tone that could make anyone weak in the knees.

Wade blinked rapidly, trying to gather his thoughts. “I—uh—well… okay,” he stammered, still clutching Logan’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. “That was… Wow. That was a thing. Definitely a thing. Ten out of ten, no notes, absolutely floored by the execution—”

“Wade,” Logan interrupted, his smirk growing wider as he brushed a thumb across Wade’s flushed cheek.

“Yeah?” Wade managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Shut up.”

Wade did. For once. Mostly because his brain had no idea how to keep up with whatever was happening between them, and for once, he didn’t want to ruin it. Logan’s smirk softened into something almost fond as he watched Wade try to process the moment, the cocky mercenary reduced to a flustered, blinking mess.

“Good boy,” Logan muttered under his breath, the words barely audible but enough to send Wade’s already spiraling thoughts into overdrive.

“Damn you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, taking another puff of his retrieved cigarette, still lit.

Wade sat up straighter, the grin on his face turning sly as he locked eyes with Logan. “Oh, I can handle it. Speaking of which…” He wet his lips, his tone dipping into something more teasing. “You, uh, feel like calling me a good boy again? I think it really unlocked something for me.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he took another slow drag from his cigarette. He exhaled the smoke with deliberate ease, leaning just slightly closer to Wade. “You have to earn it,” Logan said, his voice steady, challenging.

Wade froze for half a second, his grin faltering before coming back twice as wide, accompanied by an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my God,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re serious. Logan, you can’t just say stuff like that—it’s dangerous. I mean, I could do something crazy. Like try to earn it.”

“Go ahead,” Logan said with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Wade blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Wait, wait, wait—are we flirting, or are we fighting? Because I’m down for either, but I really need to know how to plan my next move.”

Logan smirked again, leaning back in his chair with that maddening calmness that made Wade want to either kiss him or throw something at him. “Guess you’ll figure it out,” he said.

Wade groaned, flopping back onto the bed with an exaggerated huff. “You’re killing me, Logan. Just absolutely ruining me. I think I like it.” He had pulled his mask back over his face and adjusted it

“Then get down here.”

Logan was playing with him, urging him to be out of bounds. It was intimidating, and inviting. Wade didn’t break eye contact with him the entire time

He dropped to his knees in front of him, resting both hands upon each of his knees. Logan smirked, like he was amused. “Keep going.”

[latexb0n3z]

I’m gonna get Deadpool tomorrow so he won’t be alone

[latexb0n3z]

Self-care is daydreaming about the same scene/plot for the 10th day in a row

[latexb0n3z]

NO I LOVE IT THANK U

Saw a couple people with my art as their pfp and I shit myself holy fuck

[latexb0n3z]

Saw a couple people with my art as their pfp and I shit myself holy fuck

[latexb0n3z]

Poolverine chibis for yall

[latexb0n3z]

New fic dropped guys. Come get your Poolverine hurt/comfort. Here’s a little teaser.

Logan had been a lot of things in his life: soldier, experiment, loner. Roommate to Deadpool was a new and profoundly irritating addition to the list.

At first, Logan tried to fight it. Tried to scare Wade off with his usual gruff demeanor and an occasional flash of claws. But Wade, of course, was unfazed. He kept pushing his way in, with Al as his accomplice, until Logan stopped trying to fight it altogether.

Now, months later, Logan sat at the kitchen table, nursing his second beer of the morning, while Wade paced in front of him, waving his hands dramatically.

“It’s simple, Logan,” Wade was saying. “Vanessa and I are soulmates. Like Romeo and Juliet. Except neither of us dies, because obviously, I can’t, and Vanessa would never be dumb enough to drink poison.”

Logan took a long, slow drink, pretending to care more about the condensation on the bottle than Wade’s latest crisis.

“I just need you to help me plan a big romantic gesture,” Wade continued. “You’re good at that kind of thing. All that brooding and mystery? Girls love that.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You think brooding’s romantic?”

“It’s hot,” Wade replied without missing a beat. “Very smoldering bad boy. Like a vampire, but, you know, hairier.”

“Not helping your case,” Logan grunted.

Al, seated in the corner with her knitting, snorted. “I’ve heard better pickup lines from used car salesmen.”

“Al, you wound me,” Wade said, clutching his chest like he’d been shot.

“Good,” she replied. “Maybe it’ll shut you up.”

Logan smirked into his beer.

“Come on, Logan,” Wade pressed, leaning on the table and invading Logan’s personal space. “I’m asking for a little help here. Vanessa deserves the best, and I’m gonna give it to her—with your help.”

Logan sighed, setting the bottle down. “Why do you even want her back?”

The question seemed to catch Wade off guard. For a split second, his usual facade slipped, and something vulnerable flickered across his face.

“Because she’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” Wade said quietly.

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REPOST !! X-men OC

Ophidian Graves

Age: 36

Date of Birth: December 17 (Sagittarius with an edge of mystery)

Ophidian Graves was born Isaiah Graves into a struggling but close-knit family in a small town deep in Louisiana’s bayou. His parents, deeply rooted in Cajun culture and steeped in the region’s folklore, viewed serpents as powerful symbols of transformation, resilience, and mystery. Though they loved their son, they were also devoutly religious and superstitious, which shaped their perception of his strange abilities.

Isaiah’s mutation began to surface around his 12th birthday. His once soft brown skin developed patches of hard, green scales, and his dark eyes transformed into vertical slits like a snake’s. These changes frightened not only his classmates—who cruelly labeled him a freak—but also his parents, who struggled to reconcile their love for their son with their growing fear of his transformation. While they didn’t abandon him outright, their unease created a rift in their relationship, and Isaiah felt increasingly alienated from his family and community.

As the bullying worsened, Isaiah embraced his serpent-like traits, renaming himself Ophidian—a name that reflected both his power and the detachment he felt from his human identity. To him, the name was a shield, a way to reject the humanity that had rejected him. Despite the pain of his early life, his Cajun roots and the resilience he inherited from his family remained integral parts of his identity, influencing his resourcefulness and his connection to the natural world

Mutant Powers:

• Snake Physiology: Enhanced strength, speed, and agility, with scale-covered skin that provides natural armor.

• Venomous Bite: Can inject a potent neurotoxin through his sharp teeth, capable of paralyzing or incapacitating enemies.

• Prehensile Tail: His tail serves as a versatile tool for combat or movement, allowing him to strike or grapple with incredible precision.

• Hypnotic Gaze: His glowing yellow eyes can mesmerize or disorient opponents for brief periods, though it takes a toll on him if overused.

Adulthood

By the time he turned 20, Ophidian had left the swamps and ventured into cities, trying to find a place in the world. His intimidating appearance and powers, however, made it nearly impossible. He fell into the underworld, using his abilities for mercenary work and shady jobs. Dubbed “The Viper” in criminal circles, he became feared for his precision, but this life left him hollow. Deep down, Ophidian longed for purpose and connection, but his mistrust of others—and himself—kept him from seeking redemption.

Everything changed at 30, when he was hired to take out an undercover mutant operative. This operative turned out to be Storm, a member of the X-Men. During their confrontation, she recognized his potential and saw through his bitterness. Storm offered him a choice: continue living as a tool of destruction or come to the Xavier Institute to learn control and find a family among other mutants.

Reluctant but intrigued, Ophidian took her offer—partly because he was tired of running, and partly because he had never been offered kindness before. He joined the Institute, though fitting in proved challenging. He often butted heads with other members due to his solitary nature and harsh outlook.

Role in the X-Men:

Over time, Ophidian proved himself to be a valuable member of the team, specializing in reconnaissance, stealth missions, and combat scenarios that required precision. Despite his venomous appearance, he began to form bonds with other outcasts like Nightcrawler and Wolverine, who understood what it was like to carry the burden of being seen as a monster.

Now what about his personality?

• Brooding yet Loyal: Ophidian is quiet and guarded, but fiercely protective of those he cares about.

• Dry Sense of Humor: His wit is sharp, often laced with sarcasm. He isn’t one to sugarcoat things.

• Conflicted: Despite being on the side of good, he struggles with his darker impulses and sometimes doubts he belongs with the X-Men.

• Philosophical: His years of solitude made him introspective. He often speaks in riddles or metaphors, drawing on his love of old swamp tales and mythology.

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Wanna build a snowman?

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Kissy kissy

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How come people do this? I clearly tag my shit and still get comments like this. “Wade Wilson has a vagina” is very clearly stated in the tags…. Yettttt you clicked on it anyway? Hmmmm

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Poolverine Fics That Altered My Perspective On Life (Please Read Them)

This is a rec list, yes, but it is also me baring my entire soul and begging with you to please please read these works of modern art

Every single fic by Edgebug, but especially the twin fics of where soul meets body (E, 2 works so far, 79K & 7 chapters between them). Genuinely two of the best fics Of All Time, caught my happy ass crying into my hands. In a nutshell: they're psychically linked, even after one of them is completely vaporized into nothing. Or is he?

I also love WickedScribbles' work, but especially Little Reflection (M, 11K, 5 chapters) - in which Logan, a working car repairman, finds a cat in the engine of a car he's fixing, and takes care of it, with exploration of his and Wade's relationship - and whoever makes my baby cry (is gonna lose some teeth tonight) (E, 16K, 4 chapters) - a heart-wrenching story about Wade's insecurities in his relationship with Logan. This author's works are AMAZING, but those two have my entire heart (especially the kitty from Little Reflection <3).

knee deep in this thing called life (M, 44K/8 chapters so far and unfinished) by secondbreakfastwizard. This one is still a WIP, and I look forward to every update! As someone who has autism, Logan's in this fic is absolutely incredibly portrayed and relatable, and Wade being there for him is so amazing to read - as well as vice-versa, with Wade's chronic pain. It's super sweet and lovely, and I adore it.

My favorite fic of all time possibly, and one that I reread literally almost every night no joke: Stay, stick around, clean the blood off my teeth (T, 7K, one-shot) by jayyxx. It's a beautiful but heartbreaking work about Logan's adjustment to being cared for. Tender and gorgeous, I can recite half of it by heart because of how much I read it.

violence: a birthright? (M, 4K, one-shot) by lovelogan (crownedgrief), another gorgeous one-shot from another incredible author about Logan adjusting. There's one thing that these fanfics all share and that is that Logan is gonna be loved SO HARD.

Feel Good, Broken Man (E, 12K, 2 chapters) by farmhandler. Please mind the tags with this one especially. It's a very well-done, sensitive work about Wade's suicidal tendencies, and how Logan navigates their relationship whilst dealing with his own trauma as well as Wade's. It's SO well done and there are not enough fics with this concept, but this one's existence makes up for that!

love is a gentle thing (Not Rated, 6K, 2 chapters) by babywonu. Dunno why I ever would've thought that a fic titled after a Big Thief song would have NOT made me cry, but it 100% does every single time. Basically, Wade loses his regenerative abilities for a little while, and his cancer comes back in full-force, leaving Logan to care for him in his sick, weakened state. I LOVE LOVE LOVE when one or the other of them is essentially forced to be vulnerable and allow themselves to be taken care of, and this fic does it SO well (especially with a little scene of Logan and Althea highlighting just how rare it is for Wade to let himself be cared for). It's perfect.

To Hold and Be Held (M, 3K, one-shot) by JPOddities. Despite being the shortest on this list, it is just as incredible as the multi-chapters on here. It's the first morning after everything, and when Logan becomes overwhelmed with a panic attack, Wade is there for him. Super in-character and an amazing read that I love to return to!

And finally, the Life Altering Fic of Life Altering Fics, one that fundamentally changed how I view fanfiction including My Own Writing: Void (M, 116K, 23 chapters) by RovingOtter, which is utterly inexplicable because I would be incoherent trying to piece together the extravagant wonder of this fic in a brief summary, but please for the love of god, READ IT.

Thank you to each and every one of these utterly phenomenal authors, these ARTISTS, for crafting these stories. I adore them, and I hope this list can encourage someone else to adore them as well!

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Hey chat. I made a Discord server for little poolverine/X-Men media enjoyers like myself. You can talk about any interest here tho! Please don’t be judgmental and respect other people and their interests is all I ask.

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They are watching Brokeback Mountain