#it's like the picture of the guy poking something with a stick and he's like 'hey.. get up' or something

[stagejakkal]

being sick then getting the whole week off for snow has just absolutely fucked my brain in regards to college, this online english class is going to be the death of me

[chaconnehoonie]

Wet- L.HS

☼ Lee Heeseung x Fem Reader

Synopsis- As temperatures rise, so does Heeseung’s dick.

WC: 4k+

Warnings: smut, one(1) food play-ish scene, water gun fight, cursing, nothing too extreme it’s just pwp

Smut warnings: Verbal and physical teasing, kissing, oral(f), unprotected sex, creampies, voyeurism and they (kinda) get caught, pool/outdoor sex

This is fiction and the scenarios are completely fake and from my brain, none of the characters are accurate in real life, MDNI!

A/N: This was originally supposed to be written for Sunghoon but I can’t get over that picture of Heeseung so I changed my mind. Enjoy!

You’re so hot

The summer sun warms the exposed areas of skin, but your water soaked shirt keeps you cool in the one hundred degree weather. God damn the sun and its harsh rays—cursing the land with heat waves and rising temperatures that force you and your friends to find ways to cool off.

Heeseung can’t help but stare.

Even as he feels a stream of water hit the back of his head, he can’t keep his eyes off of you. Especially when Jake takes aim and pulls the trigger of his water gun to shoot straight at the center of your chest. God bless the sun.

“Alright, pervert! You got me.” You run a hand through your wet hair, laughing to yourself as you make your way towards your friends and knock water guns with Sunoo as a small celebration.

Jake shoots you one last time, whining about how unfair you play. “Seriously, how did you even get back there? I swear I checked thrice! I want to switch teams!” You poke the muscle of bicep that’s outlined by his own soaking wet shirt, teasing him for his terrible skills at his own game.

“Maybe you should’ve checked better.” With a click of your tongue you prance towards the pool, placing a palm upon the hot pavement to determine the heat. Heeseung watches as you stand up and pull your shirt off of yourself, back arching and neck rolling back as you peel the sticking fabric off of your body to reveal your bikini.

He admires the way you swiftly throw your shirt to the side, grabbing your beach towel and placing it next to the pool to sit on. Plopping yourself onto it, you dip your freshly painted toes into the water and splash them around.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Jay startles Heeseung from his trance, snapping his head to see the younger is now the only person standing next to him, a quirked eyebrow following his question. “I can’t.”

Heeseung replies simply, turning back just in time to notice Sunghoon handing you a small ice cream cone. He’s unable to focus for long as his attention is caught by Sunoo loudly laughing from the pool, where Jake is swimming around with an open mouth, begging Sunghoon to at least attempt to throw his own cone into his mouth from where he stands next to you.

“I don’t think Sunghoon would like that.” Heeseung sighs, shaking his head and deciding his own fate is to watch you from afar. To admire you from a distance.

But Jay wouldn’t let that happen. He doesn’t call himself “Heeseung’s number one wing man” for no reason, which is why he encourages his friend to go after you. Even if Sunghoon seems to be the only guy in your field of vision.

Of course, you’re just friends. At least that’s what you both claim. Heeseung doesn’t believe it though, in fact, he believes you two have been keeping it on the low. He’s created a whole fantasy relationship between his two friends— a fantasy that he isn’t a part of.

“Your first problem is not Sunghoon.” Jay brings up the topic once they’ve made their way into the cool house, alone. “The problem is you thinking there’s something going on between them.” Heeseung scoffs, taking a beer from Jay then turning his head to look at you through the window.

Your ice cream cone is melting in the hot sun, creamy liquid running through your fingers and down your forearm and Heeseung shivers. He’s always known he has a strong imagination, but with the visual stimulation right there; the suggestively colored desert leaving trails of itself down your arm, he can only imagine how his is own cream would adorn your body.

“Are you even listening?” Jay smacks his friend’s head, snapping him out of his scandalous fantasy. “You need to make a move. And I promise you Sunghoon won’t care. Sure, he’s a little protective but he’s your best friend too—he knows what’s best for both of you.”

Heeseung only pays attention to the first half of Jay’s rant, falling back into a trance as you finally lick a long stripe up your forearm, swapping your ice cream cone to the other hand to suck on your messy fingers. He only looks away when Sunghoon grabs your wrist and forces your fingers further down your throat and you gag for a second, then bring your ice cream and spit covered hand to the back of Sunghoon’s head, pushing him into the pool with Jake and Sunoo.

“You’re so right.” Heeseung’s voice is barely audible to Jay. “What-”before Jay can even question him, the older is patting him on the back and muttering a quick thanks you’re the best and rushing outside. Jay stands there for a second, sighs, then quickly entertains himself with an unopened bottle of vodka. He’ll pay Sunghoon back later.

You move your attention from the pool to the house just in time to see Heeseung sitting down next to you. You note that he looks nervous, maybe even shy, but you don’t say anything to humiliate him. Yet.

“Hi, Hee. What’s up?” You chirp out before bringing what’s left of your ice cream to your lips, licking a sensual stripe along the side. You don’t break eye contact with Heeseung as you twist the cone between your fingers, coating the entire expanse with your tongue.

Heeseung gulps, adam’s apple bobbing as he watches a drop of melted cream land on your chest, then can’t help but follow it with his eyes as it glides down your skin over your right breast, then between your breasts, and finally landing somewhere in the covered area of your bikini top.

As if he wasn’t just ogling your body, he looks back up to see you staring at him in amusement, and finally answers your question. “Nothing.”

You nod, smirking to yourself and quickly glancing towards all four of your friends now in the pool. “Nothing, huh?” You repeat and he nods eagerly.

“So what about that?” Your gaze drops to his lap, and only then does he realize how hard he’s gotten over this short interaction. “That seems pretty up to me.” You tease, letting out a giggle before abruptly standing up and stretching out the hand currently holding your ice cream.

Heeseung grabs the cone, confused but so love-struck that he’s barely processing anything at the moment. You push his hand closer to his mouth, watching as drops land onto the crotch of his swim trunks and he once again follows your gaze.

Grabbing his cheek with one hand and pushing the ice cream past his lips with the other, you smile widely at him. “Finish for me, yeah?”

.☼.

If yesterday really happened, then Heeseung is in a slight dilemma. After arriving home last night, he did finish for you. At least, he hopes that’s what you meant by finish. Perhaps you really did mean the yummy treat but he knows you. He knows your double meanings and your teasing jokes.

But this makes his situation all the worse. To anyone else, these interactions would have confirmed your requited feelings for Heeseung, but it’s you. You’re so confusing.

With the way you’re so teasing with everyone, and the way you show affection in questionable manners. Even the way you openly treat all and any of your friends as if they’re your boyfriend.

Heeseung remembers when Sunoo complimented the scent of your lip gloss, so in return you kissed him for a solid five seconds, stating that you “just wanted him to taste it”. Yeah, sure.

Or the time Jake wanted you to clean up his eyebrows for him, which resulted in you sitting in his lap for fifteen stiff minutes applying your entire skin care routine on him.

Whatever you have going on in your head, it confuses Heeseung. Which is why he decided he’s finally going to man up and ask you on a date at your daily pool hang out.

At least, he’s going to try to. Hopefully if you’re not wearing his favorite red bikini. Hopefully if you somehow magically forgot the events of yesterday. Hopefully if he just grows some balls and lets his feelings free for the first time in years. Probably not.

.☼.

It’s safe to say, you did not forget the events of yesterday, you’re definitely wearing Heeseung’s favorite red bikini, and he has not at all grown any balls to even make eye contact with you yet.

He’s been here for an hour. One whole agonizing hour of watching you climb onto Jake’s shoulders and wrestle Sunghoon who is on Sunoo’s shoulders. Thankfully, Sunoo has thighs of steel and is able to keep Sunghoon steady while you push and pull all in an attempt to knock him over.

Heeseung’s jaw clenches and his eyes don’t leave your hands— your hands that are currently touching up every part of Sunghoon’s body. He contemplates leaving now and skipping out on the guy’s night he and his friends hold biweekly.

Your fingers grip Sunghoon’s biceps before making their way to his chest, nails scratching their way down his ridged stomach, letting out frustrated groans as you poke and poke at Sunghoon’s body.

Oh, how Heeseung wishes it was his body you were touching. He can’t take it anymore, standing up quickly and pushing his lawn chair back, where it hits the floor with a loud crash before making his way into the house just like he did yesterday.

The crash distracts you and Sunghoon takes this as an advantage as he swiftly loosens your harsh grip on Jake’s shoulders and pushes you down into the water.

From outside of the pool, Jay sighs to himself before following Heeseung back inside, finding him snooping through Sunghoon’s home bar.

“She’s not going to fuck you if you’re not sober, you know.” Heeseung jumps at the sound of Jay’s voice, almost dropping one of the expensive bottles of alcohol.

He shrugs and continues snooping. “Who said anything about fucking?” His reply is nonchalant but his best friend can see right through his act. “Your eyes say everything I need to know.” Jay laughs to himself but Heeseung doesn’t find it funny.

“Whatever. She’s not into me like that anyways.” Heeseung speaks like he’s trying to convince himself, but Jay can hear the hopeful tone in his voice. “Trust me. She was eye fucking you earlier when you weren’t looking.”

Jay barely gets the sentence out before Heeseung is visibly perking up. “Really?!” His face is bright and his eyes are glossy and wide. “Relax, man. Don’t pop a boner in front of me.” Jay teases his friend and Heeseung rolls his eyes in embarrassment, because he definitely would grow stiff at just the mention of your name.

Jay heads back towards the sliding door but turns back to Heeseung before he opens it. “By the way, Hoon invited her to stay the night with us also.” He smiles to himself before continuing his sentence. “So please try to keep it down if you do happen to make it past first base.” With that, he makes his way back to the pool and leaves Heeseung with a heavy problem in his swim trunks.

.☼.

Heeseung opens his eyes to the sound of obnoxious snoring echoing throughout Sunghoon’s living room. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep but by the looks of it, everyone else seems to have knocked out by now too. Closing his eyes, he decides to try to fall back asleep. Until he’s startled awake-

“Heeseung.”

Shooting his eyes back open, he sits up from his place on the couch and looks around the dark room. With his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, he can only barely make out your figure kneeling next to him on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?” He whispers a little too loudly and you stand up, a palm covering his mouth swiftly as you take place onto the couch next to him.

Heeseung is a big man, meaning he already takes up most of the space, leaving you only a small sliver of cushion to sit on. So, you climb up onto his lap to get comfortable— because of course you would. Stiffening up from under you, he makes eye contact with you the best he can with the dim lighting, only the moonlight peeking through the curtains.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You whisper, slowly taking your hand off of his mouth and trailing it down his chest and stomach, finally resting it at his side. Your thumb swipes comfortably there, almost as if you’re reassuring him, letting him know that this is real. “And I’m bored.” You lean in closer to him, your hand now coming up to his chest and pushing him to lay flat underneath you, his head landing softly on the armrest of the couch.

He gulps, big doe eyes looking up at you almost innocently. But you know that’s not the case. You’ve seen the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Seeing him drool over you is one thing but seeing him think he’s being slick with it? It, makes you way more aroused than you’d like to admit.

However, it’s taken too long for him to act on his desires, so you decide to do it for him. “Wanna help me?” Your voice is sultry and low, and Heeseung’s tummy feels warm as it stirs with excitement when he nods. Leaning down slowly, you stop as soon as the tip of your nose brushes Heeseung’s. Nodding your head slightly, you rub your nose against his almost domestically, before leaning in and lightly pressing your lips to his.

The kiss doesn’t last long, as you’re quick to pull away and smile. But Heeseung isn’t pleased yet, instead cupping the back of your head with his hand and pulling your face back towards his. Your lips smash together almost painfully, but you’re distracted quickly as his tongue immediately pushes its way into your mouth. It’s warm and wet, strong as it glides against yours in a teasing manner.

You catch his bottom lip between yours, sucking on it for a second before biting it softly and pulling away, watching as it bounces back now glossy and red. Heeseung expects more, but to his surprise, you just jump off of his lap and quietly walk to the door that leads outside.

Looking back, you watch his silhouette as he runs a hand through his hair and sits up again. You turn back to unlock the door, already taking your shirt off to expose your bare torso before turning to him one last time. “You coming?”

.☼.

If anyone had told Heeseung two days ago that he would be not only skinny dipping at 2am with you—but shoving his tongue down your throat as well, he wouldn’t believe it.

But, lo and behold, he currently has your back pressed to the edge of the pool with your legs wrapped around his naked waist, lips locked and swollen.

It all happened in a rush, between you stripping to nothing in front of him to him following your lead and ending up intertwined, he suddenly finds himself in a dream-like state.

Was this really happening? The girl he’s been craving for years is finally giving him a chance? Heeseung feels like happiest man on earth right now, and judging by the little moans you let out every now and then, he thinks you may feel the same.

“Heeseung.” You practically whimper as he drags his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking at your warm skin. His lips kiss down your chest softly, landing on one of your hard nipples. He pecks it so so softly, almost afraid of hurting you, but you want it to hurt. Grabbing the back of his head and pushing your chest forward, you encourage him to take your nipple into his mouth and he easily gets the hint.

He’s barely done anything and you’re already shaking in his arms, gripping his biceps and throwing your head back with a loud moan. “Heeseung- I need you to fuck me.”

He stops immediately, then slowly detaches his mouth from your nipple and looks up at you. “Yeah? Want me to fuck this pretty pussy?” He thrusts his hips up, his movements slowed by the water but his cock still manages to brush against your folds. You bite your lip, nodding your head eagerly and Heeseung smiles. “Let me get a taste of it first.”

Without waiting for your response, he lifts you up and places you at the edge of the pool, your pussy sat deliciously in front of where he keeps himself afloat.

He almost drools, noting the way he can still see your slick drip out of you despite your whole body being drenched in pool water. Heeseung wastes no time, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you closer so his tongue can lap at your slit.

The pleasure sends a shock through your body, your back arching almost painfully and your hips push themselves harder against Heeseung’s face. He’s forced so close into your cunt that you can feel each feature—his nose stimulating your clit as his tongue teases your entrance and his plush lips sucking almost obnoxiously all while his chin is already slippery with your arousal.

“Ah-fuck!” He’s only been at it for a few minutes yet you’re already so close. But this isn’t want you want. No, as much as you want to release all over his pretty nose, you didn’t seduce him just to finish so quickly. So, you use all of your strength to pull him off of you and scoot away. “Need you to fuck me, now.”

That’s all it takes for Heeseung to lift himself out of the pool, pick you up, and then throw you on the nearest lounging chair. Thank fuck for Heeseung convincing Sunghoon to buy these at the start of the summer. Otherwise he may have opted for fucking you on the itchy grass.

Grabbing his face, you pull him down, kissing him with a sloppy force while you grow more impatient by the second. “How do you want it?” He’s so polite as he asks, but just the idea of him caring about your pleasure is so arousing. You turn around, placing your cheek on the cushion of the pool lounger and wiggling your ass to taunt him.

It works, of course, and Heeseung takes his place behind you. He slaps his thick girth on the crevice of your ass, feeling the heat between your bodies mix with the humid summer night air. “Hurry, please.” You whine but he just shushes you, dropping his cock to gather your slick on his tip.

You’re tired of waiting, pushing yourself back only slightly to feel him enter you just an inch. “Oh, God.” You gasp, caught off guard by the stretch of just the head. He fights the urge to fully push himself in, instead gently sliding in more, your walls clenching tighter and tighter as each inch stretches you out, a tingling feeling fluttering in your stomach.

He fully bottoms out, standing still with his hands on your hips for a second, before somehow pushing even deeper. You squeak, brows furrowing as you try to ignore the pain of the threatening size currently stuffing you full. You open your eyes, looking back to see his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his eyes shut.

You reach your hand back and tap his own hand, letting him know he can finally move. He nods, leaning forward a bit to hover his body closer to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” You smile at him for a second, but it’s quickly replaced by an open mouthed moan as he pulls back a few inches, then slams himself back in.

Building up a steady pace, he thrusts a few times before finally letting out his first moan. And God, was it beautiful. “Yes-yes let me hear you, baby.” Your voice is weak as his thrusts push your whole body against the chair, your breath unsteady and shaky with each meet of your hips.

It feels amazing, but you can’t help but feel that Heeseung is trying to be gentle with you, which you don’t want. Pushing yourself back again, you meet his thrusts with quiet hmph hmph hmph noises that catch his attention. “You need more? Yeah? My cock isn’t enough for you, needy baby?” He coos at you but you know he’s still holding back. “Please, Heeseung. More.” Your fragile voice ignites something in him, and you’re suddenly being picked up by your hair.

Heeseung grabs your wrists and pins them to the top of the lounger, romantically intertwining his fingers between yours before aggressively snapping his hips against your ass. You let out an almost-too-loud moan, but it only fuels Heeseung more. Your bodies are close and he can’t pull back fully, so instead he fucks into you at a fast, almost blinding pace.

He watches your ass jiggle as it meets his pelvis, the bouncing fat sending him to an almost trance like state. The only thing that snaps him out of it is your whiny voice. “Harder, Heeseung, harder!” He pulls out fully, not giving you time to process his actions as he sits down on the lounger and pulls you on top of him, slipping his cock back into your heat easily.

Thrusting up once, twice, then a third time, he watches your thighs tremble as you try to hold yourself up for him. He finds it cute, how you’ve teased him for so long only to end up too cock drunk to even ride him. He wraps his arms around your body, pulling you flat against him so you’re chest to chest with your face in his neck.

He slowly drags his cock out of you, then fully shoves it in, a loud squelching noise following. “So fucking wet. So fucking noisy.” He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw as he fucks up into your cunt in an almost inhumane pace. “Ah ah ah, shit! I’m cumming, Heeseung!”

Your warning barely falls from your lips as you clench impossibly tight around him, body stiffening for a second until your toes curl and you feel the knot in your stomach releasing with a tingling sensation spreading throughout your entire body, which then goes limp against Heeseung’s.

This encourages him to thrust harder, chasing his own release that he can already sense creeping up on him. His fingers dig into your ass, nails leaving indents as his hips don’t slow down. The sound of your release mixing with the slapping of his balls on your ass is all too much, and he finally lets himself go.

“Gonna cum in you, baby. Gonna cum so fucking deep-fuck!” He bites down on your shoulder as he cums, hips stilled and cock stuffed so deep inside of you, you’re sure you’ll end up pregnant even on birth control.

He slowly lowers his hips, caressing your back soothingly as if he’s apologizing for his harsh treatment before. “Was that okay? Did I hurt you?” He cups your cheeks to look into your eyes, only to meet your fucked out expression and lazy smile. “That was the best I’ve ever had.”

That was enough to almost have Heeseung stiffening up again, if not for the sound of the sliding door opening and Jay’s pissed off voice. “Brought you guys some towels.” He walks out with a hand covering his eyes and the other holding out two beach towels, which he throws on the floor carelessly, then walks back to the door. “I told you to keep it down if you got past first base.”

[inuiiwonderland]

The locked away dragon

Your friends managed to convince you to go explore an abandoned tower with them. Legend goes that a dragon fae prince was locked away here in this tower to protect him from a war that was happening during his time. What happens when you lock eyes with bright green eyes during your exploration?

A/n: Omg Mari writing something that isn’t angst😱 lol I decided to give y’all a break (kidding I already have a angst draft ready😈)

Fem reader!

Fluff!

-

You walked down the dirt road as you dragged the stick that you found earlier on the ground as you listened to your friends bicker about something you don’t even care to remember.

“Yer so stupid ace! Whadya mean that the legend of the locked dragon is real?!”

“Excuse me?! I never said it was real! I was just telling the story since deuce didn’t know!”

“But you said it was true!”

“Yeah! To scare him!”

“Hey that didn’t scare me!”

“Oh really? You looked like you almost pissed yourself back there man!” You rolled your eyes as you poked Jack with the stick. He looked over his shoulder and chuckled seeing the bored expression on your face.

“How much longer do we have to walk? My feet are killing me!”

“We’re almost there! Just a little more walking!”

“You said that like 10 minutes ago you idiot”

“Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Huh? Of course I know! My brother was the one to give me the direction to that tower!” You scoff.

“Yeah you shouldn’t be trusting him all that much. For all we know he could’ve probably given you the wrong directions and we could be lost!”

“I know where we’re going! Just trust me”

“Yeah we’re totally lost”

“We are not!”

“Are too”

“Are not!”

“Are too”

“Are no-“

“Guys!” You both looked at jack and see him point somewhere behind you too.

“I think we’re here” Both you and ace then turn around and there, lo and behold there stood the tower from the legends.

“Great sevens…”

“It’s huge”

“Well whadya waiting for? Let’s go!” Epel runs to go inside as ace follows close behind. You threw your stick and follow the two as jack and deuce do the same.

The moment you walked inside you were all surprised to see that the place has been kept clean and well maintained. You worriedly glance back at ace who was walking around with his phone out. Already recording.

“Um ace, are you sure this place is abandon?”

“It looks to clean and well kept to even be abandon”

“Oh sevens don’t tell me we just trespassed on someone’s property”

“Don’t worry guys! My brother said that not many people were able to find this place over the years so that why it isn’t destroyed or anything yet”

“So only a few people knows that this place exists?”

“Pretty much”

“Okay then! Let’s all split up and explore this place”

“Split up? What are we? The mystery gang” Deuce and epel laughed as ace rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be upstairs. Don’t piss yourself deuce!” Deuce eyes widen as he starts cursing at ace which only makes him laugh harder. Everyone then goes their separate ways and you take out your phone to use as a flashlight to see better.

You walk around the tower and took pictures of anything that you found fascinating or cool. You wouldn’t lie, this tower was for sure the most beautiful place you have ever stepped foot in. As you walk around the place, you started thinking back about the legends.

Could a dragon fae prince really be here?

You chuckle at your childish thoughts and continue exploring. At some point you found yourself walking up some set of stairs and the more you went up the more cold the air felt. You were lucky that you brought your jacket with you.

While you were walking around you noticed a big door down the hall. Curiosity got the best of you and you soon started walking down the dimly lit hallway. As you got closer, chills went down your spine. You were starting to have second thoughts about whether or not you should open the door.

“Fuck it”

The moment you opened the door you immediately coughed as dust flew everywhere. You closed your eyes to prevent any dust from entering your eyes. Finally after what felt like forever, you opened your eyes to see nothing but pitch black.

“Seriously?” You raised your phone to get a better look with your flashlight but stopped once you saw bright green eyes looking directly at you.

You took a step back before screaming which caused the creature to panic and spit fire. You luckily managed to dodge the attack before running out the area without looking back.

You could hear your heart beating in your ears as you quickly ran down the steps.

“Shit shit shit!” You say as you began to run even faster. Your scream alerted your friends and you were sure they were already downstairs waiting for you.

You ran down the steps as your heart continued pounding against your chest.

What the fuck was that?

“Y/n!” Deuce yells. The rest of the group ran up to you but you shook your head and waved your hands, signaling them to leave.

“Out! Out we need to get out of here!”

“Wh-“ A loud roar rung through the towers hall and everyone hearts dropped at that moment.

“Everyone out!” In an instant, everyone ran out the exit. No one dared to say anything as their main goal at that moment was to be as far away as possible from the tower.

After what felt like hours of running, you all slowly start slowing down as you tried to catch your breathes.

“W-wh..what was that?!” Deuce was the first one to speak up. Still trying to get his breathing under control.

“It sounded...like a roar!”

“Yeah no shit! But what kind of animal lets out a roar that can shake a whole 400 year old tower!!?”

“How am I supposed to know?!” You roll your eyes as you sit down on a log. You burry your face in your hands as you try to process what you saw just moments ago.

“Y/n”

“Mm?” Voice muffled by your hands.

“What did you see?” You stayed quiet before you finally looked up to see them all staring at you.

“I think I’m going insane”

-

A month has passed since that incident. You told them what you saw but laughed it off as some sort of joke.

The whole way home you and the rest blamed ace for what happened back at the tower. The poor boy was fighting for his life trying to defend himself as he didn’t even know that something like that would happen.

The 5 of you took a break from urban exploring for the next week or so. Still spooked from the incident.

But…

A part of you is curious about the creature that you saw that day.

Those green eyes haunts in your dreams and you can’t seem to stop thinking about it every time you try to go to sleep.

It was like an itch. You couldn’t seem to get rid of it. And you know it might sound crazy but a part of you wants to go back.

To see that what you saw that day wasn’t just your imagination.

So maybe that’s what brought you here tonight. You stood in front of the old tower as you pointed your flashlight towards it.

“This is stupid” You say to no one in particular. You huff before walking in.

It looked just like how it did a month ago.

Clean and well kept

You quietly walked around while also trying to avoid making any noise. You went up the same stairs you took last time and hoped to the great sevens that you don’t die tonight.

“This is so stupid why did I come back” You whisper to yourself as you walk down the same hall you walked last time.

After what felt like forever, you finally found the door that you last saw the creature in.

Here goes nothing

The moment you open the door you were prepare to meet the same green eyes from last time.

But what you saw was pure darkness

You shined your flashlight inside the room but again saw nothing.

Ha

HAHAHAHAHA

“Oh sevens…so it was my imagination after all” You chuckle as you slap your hand on your face.

Now I have to come up with an excuse on why I snuck out

You groan at the thought of what’s waiting for you tomorrow morning when your parents go through the security footage.

“I should’ve just stayed home” You say as you close the door. You sign as you rub your face in your hands, tired from the walk here and also disappointment.

But as you continue to curse and call yourself stupid, you notice a weird smell.

It almost smells like…smoke?

Wait

SMOKE?

and its almost like it’s coming from behind you.

You immediately turn around to only be met with those captivating eyes that you saw last time.

You scream

The creature looks almost…panicked? When you screamed and backed away while shaking its head.

After what felt like forever, you stopped screaming. You and what you now know is a dragon stare each other down as silence filled the air.

“Soooo”

You were the one to break the silence

“The legends are true” The dragon only tilts its head. Seeming confused by what you said and you couldn’t help but giggle at that action.

“You’re so cute! How long have you been living here? Oh wait! I haven’t even introduced myself yet! How rude of me” The dragon just listens as you now go on a full rant about your interests, hobbies, how you and your friends love exploring abandoned ruins and how you and your group ended up here in the first place.

He seemed to not mind about your long rant as it happily listened to whatever came out of your mouth. After some time though, you started feeling a little sleepy. So with a yawn, you wish the dragon good night before getting knocked out cold.

-

You woke up to the sound of someone’s breathing. Your brows furrowed as you slowly began to open your eyes.

You didn’t know what to expect to see so early in the morning but it definitely wasn’t a grown man watching you sleep.

You scream

“W-what?! Who are you and what have you done to my dragon?!” You shout. Backing up against the wall as the man in front raises his hand in surrender.

“There’s no need to panic! It’s me! Dragon!”

“W-what” Now that you take a good look at him. The resemblance between the man and the dragon was clear.

He had long black hair, two black horns, and….

Those green eyes

“D-dragon? You…”

How? How is that possible?

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is malleus draconia”

“I’m the locked away fae prince from the legend that you told me about last night” He says with a smile.

Oh

Well now you have a clingy dragon fae prince stuck to you🤍

-

This was sitting in my drafts for like a year now🫠 so I decided to finish it today because I really like it!

[mercillery]

MARINES AS GUARDIAN ANGELS!

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: this was a really random idea that’s been sitting in drafts for too long. someone please write more for the marines 💔

AOKIJI/KUZAN

As your guardian angel, Aokiji takes a chill approach—literally and figuratively.

Picture him lounging in an oversized beanbag cloud, sipping iced coffee (because hot coffee is just too much work) while keeping one lazy eye on you. He’s the kind of guardian angel who firmly believes in your freedom to live your life, make your choices, and occasionally trip over them like a newborn giraffe learning to walk.

“Growth, y'know?” he’d say with a shrug, ice cubes clinking in his drink. He's not hovering over you with a checklist of rules—he’s more like a life coach who doesn’t believe in micromanaging.

Aokiji's presence is undeniably calming, like a cool breeze on a sweltering day or the sound of rain when you're wrapped in a blanket. You won’t always see him stepping in, but that’s part of his method.

Subtle nudges? Oh, he’s got those in spades. You might feel an inexplicable urge to turn left instead of right, or decide to call it quits on a bad idea at the last second. That’s Aokiji for you. He’s like the universe’s “Are you sure about that?” pop-up notification—but without the nagging.

Now, don’t get it twisted: Aokiji isn’t lazy, he’s strategically hands-off. Why? Because he wants you to learn how to fend for yourself. “It’s your life, not mine,” he’d remind you, probably lying on a cloud hammock and tossing snowballs into the abyss for fun.

He genuinely believes in you, even when you don’t believe in yourself. He figures that if he’s always there holding your hand, you’ll never learn to walk on your own. “And besides,” he might add with a yawn, “you’d just get annoyed with me after a while.”

But let’s talk about when you mess up. You know those moments when you think, This is genius, but it turns out to be a disaster? Aokiji lets you go through with it—not because he enjoys watching you flail okay, maybe a little, but because he knows mistakes are part of the process. He might even be sitting there like, “Hmm, this’ll be a good lesson. Painful, sure, but memorable.”

Of course, he’s got limits. If your grand oopsie is about to land you in the ICU or worse, you’ll suddenly find yourself narrowly avoiding disaster, courtesy of a well-timed intervention. He’s not heartless, after all. “Eh, can’t let you die; that’d make me look bad,” he’d say with his trademark deadpan delivery.

The real humor here is in how he communicates with you. Instead of some grand angelic vision, you might get a sudden brain freeze while debating a bad idea. Or maybe a random bird drops an icicle near your feet, and you’re like, “What the heck?!”

Meanwhile, Aokiji’s up there smirking, muttering, “Message received, I hope.” He’s not about to hold neon signs that scream DON’T DO IT, but he’ll definitely leave breadcrumbs for you to figure things out.

Aokiji, as your guardian angel, is the embodiment of patience—like, Buddha-level patience, but with way more chill and significantly less sitting under trees. He doesn’t push, prod, or poke.

Instead, he’s the guy who casually tosses a single, offhand comment into the mix that leaves you spiraling into an existential crisis. You’ll find yourself staring into the distance, thinking, Wait… was that… wisdom? And it always is.

The kicker? He does it so rarely that every time he decides to share something meaningful, it’s like being hit by a truck made of profound truths. You walk away stunned, muttering, “Wow, okay, Mr. Cool Nonchalant Guardian Angel. Didn’t know I signed up for a TED Talk today.”

But those nuggets of wisdom? Oh, they stick. Some lodge themselves in your brain permanently, popping up at random moments years later, leaving you to wonder how this laid-back angel became a cornerstone of your moral philosophy. You’re not even mad about it. If anything, you’re a little awestruck. He’s like the personification of “quiet cool,” and every time he speaks, it feels like hearing the world’s calmest mic drop.

Aokiji’s ability to understand human emotions is almost spooky. He doesn’t just get you—he gets you.

You could be a sobbing mess of self-doubt and regret, and there he is, just vibing, no judgment in sight. “Yeah, you screwed up,” he’d say, leaning back like it’s no big deal. “But who hasn’t? That’s kind of the whole point of being human.” And somehow, those simple words are exactly what you needed to hear. If it were physically possible, he’d pat you on the back, but instead, you get a breeze, a faint chill, and a casual remark like, “Relax, kid. You’re doing fine. Maybe take a chill pill while you’re at it.”

He’s the angel you instinctively turn to during your worst emotional slumps, partly because he’s so good at making you feel better, and partly because you know he’ll listen without so much as raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t lecture or overwhelm you with advice; instead, he offers thoughtful insights that make you stop, think, and—more often than not—reassess everything you thought you knew. His words aren’t just comforting; they’re life-altering. You might find yourself walking away with a fresh perspective on your struggles, life in general, and the universe itself.

But here’s the kicker: Just when you’re about to thank him for being the coolest, most insightful guardian angel in existence, he’s gone.

Poof.

Out of sight.

You’ll look around, confused, only to realize he’s off napping somewhere, snoring like a chainsaw. He’s like that friend who gives you the world’s best advice and then immediately acts like it was no big deal. Honestly, you’re starting to think he does it on purpose—drops some wisdom, lets you stew on it, and then ghosts like he’s too cool for gratitude.

Still, you can’t help but admire the guy. Aokiji is the guardian angel you didn’t know you needed, with a knack for making you feel seen, understood, and, weirdly enough, okay with all the messy bits of life. Sure, he’s napping more often than not, but when he’s there? Oh, he delivers.

Aokiji is the kind of guardian angel who sees life not as a perfectly arranged puzzle but as a beautiful, chaotic mess—and he wants you to see it that way too. He encourages you to embrace the imperfections, those little unexpected quirks that make life worth living.

Spill coffee on your shirt during a meeting? He’d probably shrug and mutter, “Eh, you’ve got character now.” Trip over your own feet in public? “Style it out,” he’d say in your mind. If you’re too hard on yourself, he’s right there, reminding you to ease up. “Come on, kid, the world’s already tough enough. You don’t need to pile on yourself too.” His voice in your head is like a soothing balm for your overworked inner critic.

When it comes to guiding you, Aokiji isn’t about hand-holding or spoon-feeding. He’s more like the cool uncle who asks the kind of questions that leave you wondering, Wait, was that advice, or was he just messing with me?

He nudges, hints, and lets you figure it out. Trusting your instincts is something he wants you to master, and he’s there to give you the confidence to do it. But don’t expect a detailed PowerPoint presentation on what to do—this is Aokiji, not a corporate retreat.

Now, dangerous situations? That’s where Aokiji gets serious. He doesn’t mess around when someone—or something—threatens his human. If harm is coming your way, he steps in, ice-cold resolve and all, to make sure you’re safe.

He’s got a rule: if you mess up and learn the hard way, fine. That’s growth. But harm coming from another person? Absolutely not. He’s not about to let you get hurt on his watch. Whether it’s de-escalating a heated argument, keeping you out of physical danger, or just freezing the bad vibes in their tracks, Aokiji ensures you walk away unharmed, emotionally and physically intact. You don’t even realize how much he does for you half the time because, well, he’s subtle like that.

But here’s the best part—Aokiji’s big brother energy. Later that night, when the adrenaline has worn off, and you’re snuggled under your blanket, ready to doze off, he might quietly check in.

Maybe he descends from wherever angels chill out and, with his usual laid-back demeanor, murmurs, “You okay, kid?” And there it is again—that kid nickname. It’s not condescending, not in the least. It’s warm, protective, and a little teasing, like he’s the big brother you didn’t know you needed.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget he’s technically an angel and not just your overchill sibling figure. He calls you “kid” so often, you half expect him to ruffle your hair one day.

Aokiji isn’t flashy or overbearing; he’s just there, in the best way possible—steady, reliable, and cool as ice. You feel safe knowing that, whether it’s finding beauty in life’s chaos or keeping you safe from harm, he’s always got your back.

KIZARU/BORSALINO

Kizaru’s style as your guardian angel is as perplexing as it is entertaining. He’s a walking enigma wrapped in golden light, delivering cryptic remarks that leave you scratching your head more often than not.

His approach? A strange mix of lighthearted teasing, unpredictable antics, and that signature laid-back demeanor that somehow manages to both calm and confuse you at the same time.

Imagine this: you’re stressing over a big decision, and suddenly, out of nowhere, Kizaru pops in with his usual drawl, “Oooh, what’s the rush? Doesn’t seem that urgent to me.” You turn to him, shooting him the most baffled “what?” look in existence, only to find him lazily smirking like he just walked off a beach. His expression clearly says, What? What?—and now you’re even more confused.

Naturally, you’re like, “What did you mean by tha—” but before you can finish, he casually snaps his fingers, and suddenly your coffee spills... somehow forming a perfect replica of a smiley face on the table.

You’re left staring at the mess, dumbfounded, as Kizaru stretches, mutters, “Guess that’s your sign,” and vanishes into thin air, leaving you no closer to answers but definitely distracted enough to forget what you were worrying about.

When it comes to intervention, Kizaru operates on a whole other wavelength. He’s not going to swoop down dramatically to save you from danger—that’s too ordinary for him. No, his methods are indirect and borderline bizarre.

Maybe he makes your phone randomly restart, delaying you just enough to avoid crossing paths with a reckless driver. Or perhaps your shoe suddenly comes untied, forcing you to stop and miss stepping into a bad situation.

It all seems coincidental, but then, just as you’re shaking your head at your “bad luck,” you catch the faintest sound, like a whisper carried on the breeze: “Oooh, close one.” It’s so distant, so ridiculously faint, that you almost convince yourself you imagined it. Almost.

Kizaru’s interventions always leave you wondering. Is he deliberately cryptic for fun, or is there a method to his madness? Either way, his unpredictable nature means you never know exactly what to expect.

One day, he might save you with the equivalent of a cosmic prank; the next, he’ll throw you a curveball disguised as the world’s most nonsensical advice. But that’s just Kizaru for you—never straightforward, always keeping you on your toes, and somehow managing to make you laugh in the middle of chaos.

Despite his laid-back attitude, Kizaru has an almost intimidating depth of knowledge and experience. He’s been around the cosmic block a few times, but you’d never know it by the way he casually tosses advice your way—if you can even call it advice. His pearls of wisdom tend to come wrapped in riddles and cryptic one-liners that make you feel like you’re playing some celestial guessing game.

You’ll stand there, trying not to pull your hair out, and blurt, “Can you just give me a normal answer for once?!” But no, not Kizaru. Instead, he’ll give you that trademark smirk, shrug in slow motion, and murmur something like, “Mmm… why do today what can wait until tomorrow?”

Then he vanishes, leaving you with nothing but your rising blood pressure and the gnawing suspicion that his nonsense will somehow make sense later. Spoiler alert: it does. And when it finally clicks, you’re equal parts impressed and annoyed because, of course, he knew what he was talking about all along.

But let’s not mistake his nonchalance for indifference. Beneath that carefree exterior, Borsalino is fiercely loyal to you. He might act like he’s just here for the vibes, but the truth is, he’s always keeping a close eye on you. His interventions are so seamless, so bizarrely timed, that they feel almost miraculous.

Picture this: you’re seconds away from stepping into a complete disaster, and suddenly, out of nowhere, you hear his voice drawl, “Ooooh… nice try, but no.” Before you can even process what’s happening, the threat is neutralized in the most inexplicable way.

One time, you’re about to walk into a room that’s about to collapse, and bam—the door jams before you can enter. You stand there, frustrated, yanking at the handle like it’s some kind of cosmic joke.

Later, when you realize what you narrowly avoided, you hear the faint echo of his chuckle. “Bet you’re glad you didn’t get in,” he’d say, probably lounging on a cloud, sunglasses slightly askew.

And his methods? Completely unconventional, borderline ridiculous, and yet undeniably effective. He doesn’t fight danger head-on. Instead, he works smarter, not harder, defusing situations in ways that leave you standing there, blinking, like, *Wait, what just happened?* Did the danger really disappear, or did Kizaru just bend the laws of reality around you for fun? Probably both.

Kizaru is the wildcard of the guardian angel trio, and oh boy, does he embrace the role with gusto. Unpredictable, occasionally maddening, and always one step ahead, he keeps you on your toes like it’s his celestial hobby.

His favorite pastime? Teasing you into oblivion. Whether it’s a cheeky remark about your life choices or a cryptic observation that leaves you spiraling in self-reflection, he somehow manages to fluster and enlighten you in the same breath. You’ll glare at him, cheeks puffed in frustration, and he’ll just raise an eyebrow, his smirk practically saying, “Did I say something wrong? Noooo… I don’t think so."

When life has you wound tighter than a violin string, Kizaru steps in with his patented chaotic chill energy to shake things up. He’s the angel equivalent of a “live a little” poster, casually reminding you to loosen up and stop sweating the small stuff.

Overthinking something? He might “accidentally” cause your phone to die mid-rant, leaving you forced to sit with your thoughts and, begrudgingly, chill out. Spilling your coffee? Misplacing your keys? Yeah, that’s probably him too. But hey, it’s harmless enough—just enough chaos to nudge you into realizing that life doesn’t always have to be taken so seriously.

His humor is his greatest weapon against your stress. Say you’re in the middle of a meltdown over tomorrow’s presentation; he’ll saunter in, leisurely as ever, and go, “Oooh… stressing already? You didn’t even mess up yet! Guess you like to start early, huh?”

Cue your annoyed groan as he lounges somewhere nearby, maybe filing his nails or inspecting his sunglasses. His nonchalant attitude can be infuriating, but deep down, you know he’s got a point.

And Kizaru isn’t just messing around—he’s strategic about his nonsense. He knows when to lighten the mood and when to drop a line that actually sticks with you. Sure, he can be playful, but his ultimate goal is to remind you that life is meant to be lived, not just stressed over.

Tomorrows’ worries? That’s for tomorrow. Today’s? Eh, deal with them and move on. He’s not about to let his adorable, flustered little human keel over from worry. "Can’t have you overthinking yourself to an early grave," he’d joke, smirking as you roll your eyes.

AKAINU/SAKAZUKI

Oh boy, where do we even begin with Akainu?

Strap in, because this guy takes the concept of “guardian angel” to a whole new level. You thought guardian angels were supposed to be all soft and comforting? Not Akainu. Nope. He’s not here to coddle you; he’s here to run your life like a military operation. Imagine having a drill sergeant and a guardian angel rolled into one, and you’ll start to get the picture.

Akainu takes his role very seriously. Like, obsessively so. His whole vibe screams, I will protect you at all costs, even if it’s from yourself, and you will thank me later.

And yeah, you do feel safe with him around, but let’s be real—it’s hard to relax when you’ve got someone barking orders about how to “make better life choices” while glaring at your empty water bottle like hydration is a personal affront. "Drink more water. NOW. How are you supposed to survive without proper hydration?"

He’s firm, he’s direct, and he does not mess around. If you so much as think about doing something remotely risky, Akainu is there, arms crossed, his eyebrows furrowed in the most intimidating dad-face imaginable. “What are you doing? Did you think that through? No? Then don’t do it.” And if you try to argue? Forget it. “I’m your guardian angel, not your yes-man. Sit down.”

Anything he sees as a threat—bad friends, bad habits, bad decisions—gets obliterated faster than you can say, “But Akainu, wait—” Nope, no waiting. He’s already neutralized the problem, metaphorically or maybe literally incinerated it, and is giving you the look. You know the one. The look that says, “This wouldn’t have happened if you listened to me the first time."

And let’s talk about how thorough he is when it comes to your safety. During moments of crisis, Akainu’s got the whole situation handled before you even realize there’s a crisis.

Someone’s being aggressive toward you? They’re suddenly very apologetic. Demonic entity lurking around? They take one look at Akainu and nopenopeNOPE their way out of existence. Seriously, demons probably swap horror stories about him around their little demon campfires. “Yeah, I tried to mess with one of his humans once. Never again. The guy’s a walking no-fly zone."

His presence is like a massive, unyielding shield—a big, lava-hot wall of “try it, I dare you” energy. It’s comforting in a Wow, I’m invincible with this guy around kind of way, but also mildly terrifying because Akainu does not do half-measures. He’s all in, all the time.

Despite all his drill-sergeant-meets-volcano-dad intensity, Akainu has a surprising amount of faith in you. Shocking, right? He genuinely believes in teaching you resilience and strength. Sure, he’s the guy who will body-check a demon into another dimension if they even look at you funny, but he also knows that shielding you from every challenge isn’t going to help you grow.

So he lets you struggle a little—not in a cruel way, but just enough for you to toughen up and figure things out. But don’t worry, he’s got an internal alarm that goes off the second things get too real. Stakes too high? He’s there faster than you can say, “Wait, is this lava?”

Here’s the thing about Akainu: he values discipline like it’s a currency, and he really wants you to learn how to take care of yourself. But—big “but” here—he also respects your autonomy.

If you don’t want to listen to him? Fine. That’s on you. Just don’t expect him to take it lightly when your bad decision inevitably explodes in your face. “Oh, so this is what happens when you ignore my advice? Huh. Interesting. Didn’t see that coming. Except I did. I told you it would happen. Repeatedly.”

Even if you do ignore him, curse at him, or (heaven forbid) give him attitude, Akainu isn’t going anywhere. Sure, he might look like he’s about to erupt into a full-on volcanic tantrum, his metaphorical head steaming like an active geyser, but here’s the kicker: he’ll still protect you. Because you’re his human, and you’re stuck with him whether you like it or not.

And, yeah, he’ll scold you afterward. Oh boy, will he scold you. His lectures are legendary—part life lesson, part motivational speech, part “how do you not already know this?!” But underneath the frustration and the stern tone, you can tell it all comes from a place of genuine care.

His blunt, sometimes harsh advice might feel like a slap in the face (or a splash of molten lava), but it’s always honest, always unfiltered, and always rooted in his desire to see you thrive.

Akainu keeps a close, very close watch over your life. You think you’re sneaky? Think again. He’s analyzing every decision you make like a CIA agent reviewing classified files. If there’s even a hint of danger, he’s already two steps ahead, ready to intervene. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything, ever.

You’re not going to get soft reassurances or “everything will magically work out” vibes from him. Instead, you get the no-nonsense truth, served with a side of tough love and a lot of crossed arms.

If you’re reckless, self-destructive, or just plain dumb about your decisions, Akainu is going to let you hear about it. You’ll practically feel his fiery glare boring into your soul as he gruffly commands, “Stop that.” Not a suggestion, not a request—just a straight-up order. And, let’s be honest, you’ll probably stop, if only because his tone makes it sound like not stopping would somehow make the Earth implode.

While Aokiji is all about sprinkling breadcrumbs and letting you follow the trail like some kind of life lesson scavenger hunt, Akainu is not about that life. Oh no. Akainu’s approach is more… let’s call it “visually and audibly overwhelming.”

Picture this: he’s standing in front of you holding a giant, blinding neon sign that screams, “DON’T DO IT!” Not enough? Don’t worry—he’s also got a roaring semi-truck idling nearby, a megaphone cranked up to the max, a PA system blasting the same warning on repeat, and, for good measure, an air raid siren wailing in the background. Oh, and fireworks. Big, loud ones spelling out, “I SAID NO.”

And yet, somehow, beneath all the volcanic intensity, Akainu has… a soft spot for you. Yes, Akainu, the walking embodiment of no-nonsense justice, has a tender side. Shocking, I know. Don’t expect him to go all mushy on you—he’s not about to hand out hugs or write heartfelt letters. His care comes through in a way that’s 100% Akainu: practical, efficient, and borderline bossy.

For instance, if you’re not eating properly, he’ll make sure you do—even if it means somehow orchestrating events so your favorite meal shows up at the perfect time. “Coincidence”? Please. That’s Akainu, silently shaking his head at your questionable life choices and ensuring you don’t faint from malnutrition.

Dangerous situation? Forget about it. You’re already being quietly guided away before you even realize the threat existed. Your environment feels oddly stable and secure? Yep, that’s him too, working behind the scenes like the overprotective angel he is.

It’s wild to think about, but Akainu really does care in his own gruff, no-frills way. He might not shower you with affection or words of encouragement, but his actions? Oh, they speak volumes. Because at the end of the day, Akainu’s brand of love is this: making sure his human is alive, well, and not being an idiot.

When it comes to emotional support, Akainu is… well, let’s just say he’s a bit out of his element. It’s not that he doesn’t care—he does, deeply—but the man wouldn’t know how to ask “Are you okay?” if you handed him a script and a teleprompter. Emotional vulnerability? Yeah, that’s uncharted territory for him.

If you’re having a rough time, he’ll ensure you’re safe and secure, no questions asked. Did someone hurt you? He’s already dealt with it—don’t ask how. Are you overwhelmed? Suddenly, your to-do list is mysteriously cleared, and your surroundings feel unnervingly calm. Did you notice your favorite comfort item conveniently reappear out of nowhere? Yeah, that’s him. He’s got your back, but don’t expect him to say it out loud. Words are not his weapon of choice—lava fists are, but we digress.

And, oh, he will check up on you later. Not in a “Hey, how are you holding up?” kind of way. No, his style is more... covert ops. Picture this: you’re fast asleep, blissfully unaware, and Akainu is leaning over you like a silent hawk, his brows furrowed as he inspects your face. Is your expression too tense? Are you frowning? Smiling? Breathing weird? He’s taking mental notes like it’s a military debriefing.

He might even mutter to himself while pacing. “They seem fine… I think. Maybe. But what if they’re not? Should I—no, that’s stupid. They’ll be fine. Probably.” Eventually, he narrows his eyes, nods in silent approval, and disappears back to wherever guardian angels hang out, fully convinced that his midnight reconnaissance mission was a success.

It’s almost sweet—if it weren’t just a tiny bit unsettling. But hey, that’s Akainu for you. He may not be a master of emotional nuance, but he’s got his own way of showing he cares. Whether it’s through practical actions, silent observations, or his “secret” check-ins, you know he’s always watching over you… in his Akainu way. And honestly? That’s more comforting than he’ll ever admit.

[mochiwrites]

Jellie tends to be a very curious cat, sometimes. She likes poking her nose into places it doesn’t belong, or snatching things from Scar and Grian when they catch her interest.

Maybe Scar should’ve known better, then.

He sits in his and Grian’s bedroom (it’s been theirs pretty much after the second month Scar moved in), a ring in his hands. The metal is cool against his palm, a soft rose gold. The band isn’t anything special, a simple engraving in it. Scar knew Grian would throw a fit if he found out Scar spent so many diamonds on the ring. So he tried to get something reasonable.

He can spoil Grian with the actual ring.

If he says yes, that is. Just the thought makes a shiver run of Scar’s spine. Is he really doing this? He and Grian have only been together for a year and a half, but Scar just knows that he’s the one. There isn’t any doubt in his mind about it. But does Grian feel the same?

Jellie jumps up on the bed next to Scar, meowing at him. She brushes her head against his arm as she settles beside him, and Scar smiles. “Well hello there beautiful lady. Are we requesting pets?” he teases as he brushes a hand through her fur. She curls up close to him, leaning into his touch. Scar sighs softly, scratching behind her ear. “I don’t know Jellie… do you think he’ll say yes?” he asks quietly. She stares blankly up at him. “Yeah okay, fair enough.”

Past their bedroom, the front door opens and shuts. “Scar, I’m home!”

Scar jumps up, disturbing a content Jellie. He shoots her an apologetic look, giving her one last pet. But the most crucial piece?

He makes the mistake of leaving the engagement ring on the bed.

As Scar walks out the room to greet his boyfriend, Jellie takes to making their bed her own. Yet as she moves, the shiny ring catches her attention. She tilts her head, curious about the shiny object. Sticking a paw out, she swats it. Again. And again. And again. Until the ring tips over the side of the bed, dropping to the floor with a ‘plop.’

Her pupils widen in that playful way they tend to do, wiggling before she pounces.

Oblivious to what his cat is doing, Scar is sweeping his boyfriend into a hug. “How was work?” he questions, looking down at Grian with a curious yet soft gaze.

“Tiring,” Grian huffs, content to melt into Scar’s grasp. He lifts his arms, returning the embrace as he does so. “I had to remake the blueprint at least five times until the guy was happy with it.”

Scar winces, “Eesh. Now I’m kind of glad he only wanted you to meet with him.”

Grian glowers at him in return, though the look is entirely playful. “Yeah, yeah.” He leans up, brushing their lips together in a soft kiss. “Consider yourself lucky.”

“I think I will, thank you.” Scar grins, stealing a kiss. “How does a movie and dinner sound?” He bumps their noses together as he smiles.

“Let me think about it,” Grian hums, booping his nose against Scar’s as he does so. “As long as there’s ice cream after.”

Scar lets out an affronted gasp, pulling away. “I’m offended you think there wouldn’t be ice cream after all!” he says as he walks toward the kitchen. “Go sit! I’ll grab the takeout leftovers.”

Laughing, Grian takes his shoes off and heads over into their living room. He finds Jellie there, playing with something caught between her paws. He fondly shakes his head at her, “What do you have now, miss?”

Jellie looks up at him with a meow as she swats at whatever it is she’s deemed her new toy, chasing at it. However, said mystery object knocks into Grian’s foot, and he gets it first.

Leaning down, Grian picks up what appears to be a rose gold ring. He inspects it in his hand, eyebrows knit together as he does. “Where did this come from?” He blinks at it, looking down at Jellie. “Did you rob someone?”

Jellie sits in front of him, slowly blinking. The perfect picture of innocence.

Shaking his head with a faint laugh, Grian looks at the ring again. His heart skips a beat as he really takes in the detail of it. He certainly didn’t buy it. Did Scar? And if he did then….

Heart a little louder, he turns to his boyfriend. “Hey, Scar?”

“Yes, love of my life?”

“Any clue what this is?”

Scar walks into the living room, the soft crackles of a furnace behind him. He pauses when he notices what Grian is holding in his hand. His eyes go wide, looking a little pale. To the side of Grian, he spots the movement of Jellie’s tail, and looks directly at her. “Traitor,” he mutters.

“Scar?” Grian questions, confused and… maybe a bit nervous.

“Haha uh… any chance we can forget this all happened and revisit it like. Next month?” Scar weakly chuckles, the epitome of nerves as he looks at Grian.

“What’s going on?” Grian’s brows furrow in confusion, a bit of concern leaking into his expression.

Scar knows trying to lie about it is practically pointless. Grian is too curious and too stubborn to let it go. And now that he’s seen the ring… Scar takes in a shaky breath. “Void, alright. Guess we’re doing this.”

He walks over to Grian, “May I?” He gestures for the ring, and Grian slowly nods. He hands the ring over to Scar, who accepts it with shaking hands. “Okay.” Scar sucks in a breath, unbelieving that he’s really doing this right now.

Slowly, Scar drops down on one knee in front of Grian, watching the way the other’s eyes go wide. But something about the position doesn’t feel quite right. Brows furrowing, Scar sets his other knee on the carpet below. “G? Mind kneeling with me here?” he asks, to which Grian nods. He joins Scar on the carpet, kneeling with him as well. “Much better,” he hums, pleased.

“Scar what?” Grian questions, lost and confused, and goodness his heart is beating so fast.

“I uh, I had a whole thing planned out, but Jellie seems to have thrown a wrench into all that,” Scar chuckles. “But it’s fine! I can improvise, who needs a plan?” He does. He needs a plan. Shaking his head, Scar reaches for one of Grian’s hands, grasping it in his own. He takes a measured breath, and begins to speak.

“I love you. More than words will ever be able to describe, G. You’ve done so much for me, more than I think I’ll ever be able to thank you for. You found me on the street, and despite being scammed by me, you still offered me a roof to live under, and a home to heal in.” Grian’s eyes are focused on him, listening with rapt attention. His gaze only worsens Scar’s nerves, heart beating a mile a minute. “You’re stubborn and witty, and sometimes you steal the blanket from me.”

Grian laughs.

Scar loves the sound.

“You don’t let me wallow in self pity, or memories of the harder times. You’re endlessly kind to both myself and Jellie, and everyone around you, even if your patience runs a little thin and you get snippy. We may get into a minor disagreement here and there, but you always come back around to me.” Scar smiles softly at him, so painfully fond and loving. “Back on that world… I never thought I would get to live life again. Or even enjoy the night sky without being afraid. It felt like a part of me was always missing, but I found that part with you.”

“Scar…” Grian trails off, face going red.

“G, you’re my home, my light. I want to spend every day waking up next to you and messing up pancake batter with you,” Scar laughs, the sound wet and shaky. Grian laughs with him, sounding just as affected. “I want to hold you on your bad days, and on your good ones. I want to be there through everything, for the rest of our lives. You’ve reminded me what it’s like to live and love, what it’s like to be me. There’s no one else for me, my heart and souls are yours.”

Scar swallows, holding the ring out to him. “So… will you entangle your life with mine forever? And marry me?” His expression turns bashful as he asks, and Grian is red in the face.

“You…” he trails off, amazed and in disbelief all at once. He looks between Scar and the ring, and he shakes his head. “I’ve been trying for days to find the perfect way of proposing to you, and you go and pull the rug right out from under me,” he laughs. “Curse how perfect you are sometimes.”

“C’mon G, you’re really leaving me hanging here!” Scar whines at him, making Grian laugh all over again.

Grian wraps his arms around Scar’s shoulders, pressing their lips together. “Yes, you spoon. I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

If their neighbors hear how loudly Scar yells, well… it’s a warm congratulations to the newly engaged couple.

Jellie watches her humans cry in each others arms, tail flicking lazily at her side. She better get extra treats for this.

(It’s only later, when they’re sitting on the couch, curled into each other, that Scar realizes what Grian said. He turns to him, “Wait, you were planning to propose too?”

Grian snorts with laughter, “Hadn’t even picked out a ring, but yes Scar, I was.”)

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

My idea is Professor Evans is your secret Boyfriend and he is talking to you after class and your wearing something cute yet sexy around him and he doesn't like how the other guys look at you in it so he punishes you for being his bad little girl.

here is a pic for inspo

Only For Me To See » Chris Evans (AU)

Pairings: College Professor!Chris Evans x College Student!Female Reader

Summary: Chris makes it very clear to you that your outfit is only for him to see by showing you who you belong to.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, age gap (reader is in her early to mid 20s), secret relationship, jealousy, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, sir kink, praise kink, light spanking, slight orgasm denial, pet names

A/N: Thank you for requesting @cevansbaby-dove 🩵 thank you for the picture inspo too😉🩷

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Chris didn’t like the idea of you wearing an outfit that’s cute and sexy around other guys. You wore something cute, but sexy to class today. You wore a skirt with a sweater you just bought. You took the sweater off about halfway through class, because you got hot. You had a plain white tank top on underneath it. Jealousy was coursing through his veins. Chris doesn’t like the idea of other guys looking at what’s his. He tried his best to push the jealousy aside so he can teach.

“Y/N, meet me in my office in 5 minutes.” Chris says to you at the end of class.

“Yes, sir.” You replied softly with a smile.

A couple girls who are in one of your classes gave you a wink as you walked in Chris’s office.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Evans?” You asked, closing the door behind you.

“Yes.” Chris stood up from his desk chair. “Lock the door.” He says.

You didn’t question it and locked the door. You walked over to his desk, standing in front of it.

“Is this about my essay?” You asked.

“No. Your essay is excellent.” He answers. “This is about what you’re wearing.” He says, his voice sounding a little low.

You frowned and looked down at your outfit, wondering what’s wrong with it.

“I think it’s cute.” You say.

“It is.” He replies, walking around his desk with his hands in his pockets. “It’s also sexy.” He says.

“What’s wrong with that?” You asked with a pout.

“Nothing at all. Except…” He took a step closer to you. “Guys kept looking at you.” He says.

It didn’t take you long to realize what this is about. Chris is jealous.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” You asked seductively.

Chris chuckled lowly and leaned down to your height, his lips next to your ear and his beard poking your cheek.

“I’m gonna punish you.” He whispers in your ear.

A shiver went through your body. Chris took off his glasses and put them on his desk before kissing you. You moaned against his lips. He moved you towards his desk and pulled his lips away from yours. He spun you around and bent you over his desk so your ass was sticking out towards him and your elbows were on his desk.

He lifted your skirt up so it was bunched up above your hips and pulled down your panties, revealing your wet pussy to him. Your panties were pooled around your ankles. He then landed a harsh smack on your ass cheek. You jolted forward a bit and squeaked at the feeling. Chris leaned over you, his chest against your back and his bulge against your ass.

“Here’s how this is gonna work…” Chris said softly in your ear. “You’re going to take your punishment like a good girl and you’ll address me as sir. Understood?” He says.

“Understood, sir.” You say submissively.

“Good girl.” He praises softly.

His hand rubbed the curve of your ass and gave it another spank. You hissed softly at the sting, but it felt good at the same time. A tingle shot through your body when you heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled. That excited you even more.

You gasped when he rubbed his cock against your pussy, getting it wet with your slick. Your nails dug into the wood of his desk when he slid his cock in your pussy. Chris gave you a moment to adjust to his size before he started thrusting. You bit your bottom lip to keep your moans quiet so no one knew what you two were doing in his office.

“You wore this outfit to make me jealous, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Chris asks.

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.” You answered mischievously.

Chris chuckles lowly. He knows you wore the outfit to make him jealous by having other guys looking at you.

One of his hands grabbed a handful of your ass cheek while the other one found its place on your hip. Chris admired the position you’re currently in. Bent over his desk with your panties around your ankles and him fucking you. That image is forever burnt into his brain and he absolutely loves it. Chris leaned over you, his chest against your back and his lips near your ear.

“You’re supposed to be a good girl and not show off what’s mine.” Chris almost whispers in your ear.

“I’m always a good girl.” You whimpered.

“You weren’t today. You were showing other guys what’s mine. You know I don’t like that.” He says.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized in a whine.

“It’s too late for sorry, sweetheart. Now, be a good girl and try to be quiet.” He says lowly.

He kissed just below your ear, making you almost moan out loud. His cock was hitting all of the right spots. You felt like you were gonna go crazy without moaning his name loudly. If you did, people outside of his office would hear what you two are doing and neither of you wanted that.

“I won’t do it again, sir.” You promised, followed by a soft moan.

“Won’t do what again?” Chris asks when he already knows the answer to that question.

“I won’t wear an outfit like this to class again.” You tell him.

“Good.” He hums. “Now…” He reaches a hand around to the front of your body and slides it down to your clit. “Take my cock like a good girl.” He says.

You gasped when you felt his fingers press against your clit before he started rubbing it in a circular motion. Soft breathy moans left your lips. Your nails dug into the wood of his desk, leaving scratches mark lines on it.

Both of you know that you won’t last long when he rubs your clit. Sometimes you can cum just from him rubbing it. This time is one of those times. You could feel your orgasm slowly building up. Your pussy squeezed around his cock when his fingers applied more pressure on your clit as he rubbed it.

“I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.” You managed to say without moaning, referring to the way he was rubbing your clit.

“No.” Is all Chris says.

“But-” You were cut off when his hand smacked your ass, causing you to stop talking.

“I said no.” He repeats.

You huffed and whimpered. You should’ve known better than to huff at him, because the next thing you know, his hand is on your shoulder and he pulls you up so your back was against the front of his body. His fingers stopped rubbing your clit momentarily.

“Do you want to cum or not?” Chris asks in your ear.

“I want to cum.” You say with a small whimper.

“Then stop giving me an attitude or you’re not gonna cum.” He says.

“Yes, sir.” You say submissively.

“Good girl.” He praises.

He bent you back over his desk and started rubbing your clit again. He sped up his thrusts. You bit your bottom lip and moaned when his cock hit your sweet spot. Your orgasm built up even more. You felt like you were going to cum any second due to how good Chris is fucking you and his fingers rubbing your clit.

“Sir, I’m- fuck!” You moaned softly. “Can I cum please?” You begged. “I’m being a good girl.” You say.

“Looks like you are.” He said. “Cum for me, sweetheart.” He says.

Your eyes rolled to the back over your head as you came on his cock. Chris fucked you through your orgasm. He gave your clit one last rub before focusing on his own. He wasn’t too far behind you. Both of his hands found their way to your hips, holding them with a tight grip.

“Fuck…” He moans lowly.

He came inside of you, painting your walls with his cum. His thrusts came to a slow stop. Chris leaned over you, putting a hand on his desk just above your head. You two stayed in this position for a moment while you guys caught your breaths.

After a moment, he pulled his cock out of you and put it back in his boxers. He buttoned and zipped his pants, along with buckling his belt. You pulled your panties up and readjusted your skirt.

You turned around to face Chris, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands found their way back to your hips and pulled you against him. He dipped his head down and kissed you. You moaned against his lips, feeling a little bit of roughness in the kiss. He then moved his lips down to your neck. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access. You moaned softly when you felt his teeth bite your skin hard enough for a hickey.

“Now everyone will know you belong to me.” Chris whispers in your ear, sending a shiver through your body.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

[unholyhelbig]

“You’re supposed to be dead.” was so strong felt like you hit me with that sentence I even forgot the title can’t wait for next part!!!

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 3/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 4,695

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, fatal injuries, mentions of death, containment, and horrible grammar because I don't proofread

[a/n: Sorry for the delay on this one. I promise I'll hit you guys with less tragic backstory and more plot soon! ]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The word sounded foreign to you. Asgardian. The first syllable was doable, the start of something and the end of something in one fail swoop. It was the second syllable that threw you off. Guardian. That wasn’t something you had ever been, nor did you want to be. The two women that frequented your holding cell, now they were guardians.

You were never one of those superhero junkies. Not like the rest of the world. They were infatuated with the Avengers and even more so with the media coverage of them. The main six would do their due diligence and go in for interviews, the occasional ribbon cutting on new Children’s Hospitals.

It was the C and D list heroes that gave you the ultimate ‘ick’. There were reality television shows that highlighted their daily lives and social media accounts that reported on their flings and lack thereof. Of course, they’d home in on the Avengers too, but they circled like vultures, and it was the main reason you had seen the phrase ‘Asgardian’ in the first place.

Thors Summer Body.

Jesus Christ, they called it the Asgardian Abdominal Workout and you had scoffed at the stupid title and graphics on Instagram while you wiped the neon orange Cheeto dust from your fingers onto the front of your shirt.

You didn’t know what they meant for you, but you paced the length of your holding cell while you thought about it. It was day three and you were getting stir crazy. So much so, that when Natasha entered with your lunch for the day, you threw yourself against the glass.

Both of her eyebrows went sky high, grip tightening on the plastic tray. “Whoa, okay. Good afternoon to you too, Kitten.”

“Why do you do that?” You asked.

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re not intrigued by me.”

She was the only one who hadn’t resulted to the poking and prodding, and endless tests that had been run on you. Of course, Wanda was more likely to stick around for a conversation. She’d spend hours with you, just talking, staring at you while you slept. Your mind had chosen to be a challenge, and that excited her. It was more of an emotion than you pulled from her wife.

Natasha let out a sigh and clicked her way through the passcode. You had half the mind to shove past her, just to get out of this stale air. But, she was the Black Widow, and you knew your odds were slim. So, you stayed put, backing away to give her enough room.

She usually placed the tray on the table and then retreated with less than five words to you. But this time, she closed the door and turned towards you, arms crossed over her chest. The pure strength of her physic intrigued you, made a rosy color bloom against your cheeks.

“I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t.” She sounded out carefully. “Do you know Hawkeye?”

You nodded. He was the guy with the arrows, the only other person on the Avengers that had molded their skills instead of inheriting them. Jenn spoke fondly of him, had helped with a case a few years back that you couldn’t recall. You had been struck by the stomach flu and remember being particularly miffed that you hadn’t gotten to meet him.

“So did Loki. Briefly. He was the first big threat that we encountered as a team and he wormed his way into Clint’s mind, changed him because Clint was mortal, and Loki was a different kind of God. A trickster, and an Asgardian.”

“You’re… afraid of me?”

Natasha laughed and if you hadn’t been so wounded by the noise, you would have found it pleasurable. She closed the distance between you both. She smelled soft, floral. It was different from Wanda and from the nurse who had been in and out, growing bolder the more she worked on you.

“No, sweetie. But don’t be so offended, little intimidates me. I know that like our world, you come from one of your own. One with good guys and bad guys. I just hope that you know which side of the line you fall on.”

You stifled a groan. You didn’t even know who you were, much less if there was some malice deep down in your core. Right now, all you were was restless. While you were a homebody that usually extended to shitty television and greasy snacks. Neither of which was offered here.

Wanda brought you a novel to read, but it was in old English and hurt your head to squint at the words on the yellowed pages. You’d only gotten a quarter of the way through. The rest of your time was spent getting jammed with needles and staring at the blank ceiling.

“Hungry?” Natasha asked.

“Not particularly.”

“Alright then, come on.”

You blinked dumbly at her, narrowing your eyes. This could be some form of sadistic trap, but really, what did you have to lose? You were cooperative thus far. No matter where she led you, it would be better than here.

The floor was startling and cold against your bare feet, your jaw clenching in response to the change that hit your skin. Natasha watched you carefully, two steps in front of you but still with a keen eye.

The two of you took enough turns that you wouldn’t be able to find your way out of the compound, much less back to your holding cell, without her. The walls all looked the same, steel lock protected doors lining either side of the corridors. There were no discerning stock photos to spruce up the place, not even windows. If you knew any better, you would say that you were underground.

The elevator was warmer. Natasha used the keycard on her waist to operate it. You stared down at your feet. They were bruised from your excursion through the cemetery. Your hand reached out to the side of the elevator when it lurched forward, throwing you off your balance.

Natasha reached over and grasped your elbow, keeping you steady. Her warmth was domineering, running through you like a heated iron rod. You decided to change the subject for your own self-preservation. “What are we doing exactly? Because if you’re leading me to my demise, then you owe me a replacement lunch, first.”

She scoffed “Is food all you think about? From what I remember you were wolfing down week-old takeout when we met.”

“It’s not all I think about,”

At least, it didn’t used to be. Lately, you were starving at all times, thinking of your next meal directly after you’d finished your first. It was almost as if you were burning off more calories than you could consume. At first, you figured it was your body’s way to catch up after being buried alive- buried dead- but it persisted.

“uh-huh, you know my wife reads minds, right? Seems like all you think about is food and sex.”

“That’s not, I don’t-“Your cheeks heated up and you covered your face with both of your hands. God, this elevator ride was too long. You would be perfectly content digging another grave and laying in it.

“Relax. I’m teasing you.” She nudged you with her shoulder. “You and me, though, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together these next few days. Fury wants us to run more tests that don’t involve needles and EKG’s. That okay with you, kitten?”

You nodded, tongue officially tied. Each time she called you that, you felt arousal pool in your stomach that was quickly ebbed away by guilt. There was no way that you would allow yourself to be taken by the Black Widow. It was her job to be alluring.

And then there was her wife, the woman that you were equally infatuated with. She had a warmth that emanated from her, but a coldness that could wash over her in an instant. It scared you. It turned you on.

Not only could she hear your less than pure thoughts about Natasha, but she wasn’t shy about letting you know she could. The corner of her lip would quirk up, almost as if she wanted to tease you about the fact and not reprimand you.

The elevator doors opened directly into an atrium that was complete with lush green grass. You flinched, holding your arm in front of you to block out the sudden burst of sun. You’d been imprisoned for the past couple of days, and before that, you were in a different type of prison.

You took a deep breath of the clean air, letting it coat your lungs. Your skin instantly warmed. Natasha didn’t’ push you, instead she let you take in the square building around you. There were tinted windows that jutted out in a hexagon shape from the structure, long hallways that lead to move testing areas, living quarters, you were sure.

“I know you haven’t worked your muscles in a bit, but I have some obstacles for you, if you’re up to the challenge, that is.”

“You kidding? I aced gym. Bring it on.”

Natasha’s wolfish smile did nothing to aide your confidence. She led you into the center of the green and squared her shoulders. You didn’t see any equipment around: no vaulting bars, or weights. It was just the two of you and the nature that surrounded. It was only when she lifted up her hands, curling them into fists, that you truly understood.

The Black Widow wanted you to fight her.

There wasn’t much time to contemplate. She moved like lightening, and though you knew she was going easy on you, the crack against the center of your nose didn’t feel like it. You let out a groan, moving both your hands to your face as warmth gushed from the center.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck!”

“You’re supposed to dodge.”

“You’re supposed to warn me.” You pressed your hands harder against the dripping wound “Oh, I’m going to die.”

Natasha scoffed and let her hands drop from their defensive position. She closed the distance between you and gripped your arm. You refused to budge, making a small noise at the back of your throat. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Move your hand, let me look at it.”

You leveled her with an apprehensive look but eventually conceded. Watery rust was against your palms, wicked into your lifeline that seemed oddly to stretch on for way too long. It had already dried, you were almost hyper-fixated on the blood. On it’s stain.

Natasha was impossibly close, you could feel her exhaling against your collarbone, her hand squeezing your face and pushing your head to the side to get a better look. Her eyebrows creased. You focused on the smattering of freckles against her nose and under her piercing eyes. You hadn’t noticed them in the fluorescents of the facility.

“Mm, well, you can heal on your own. Just like Thor.” She gave your cheek two pats and stepped back. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“I beg to differ,”

Natasha resumed her stance and you held your hand up as if taming a wild animal. As if that would stop her from advancing on you. From this view, you could see the blood that had slotted through your fingers and ran in interconnecting lines. It was almost like a system of roads, each leading to your wrist and drying in a strange pattern. Beautiful. Familiar.

Your hand was tingling viciously and the world around you had started to pulse. You steadied yourself, focused on the grass under your toes. The soil was damp and cold. The sun was hot and harsh. You knew exactly where you were, but the rushing sound past your ears seemed to want to change that.

“Y/n,” You heard Natasha softly. She sounded like she was suspended in air, or you in water. “Y/n, are you alright?”

1893, Chicago World’s Fair

“Miss, are you alright?” His voice filtered through your thoughts. It was smooth and amplified compared to the crowd that flitted around you. Bodies were slotted close together, different scents of spices and crushed florals mixed with the sweat of strangers.

“Yes, of course,” You assured him, seeing the worry drain from his stare. He held his prize in one palm, hard enough to morph the copper back into its original shape. “My apologies. I suppose the heat is getting to me. Please continue, Mr. Damm.”

He gave you a crooked grin. You’d stopped at his booth out of a version of pity. In truth, your eyes had locked with his across the crowded exhibition floor and you couldn’t pull yourself away. He looked like a nice enough man, standing next to a small box that was made of wood.

Glass was bordering the top half, giving the viewer a good look at the inside mechanics. There was a crank that jutted out of the side and a small slot that was in the center of the wooden base. In a room filled with ships, locomotives, and a real moving walkaway, not many people took interest in a simple party trick.

“Have you ever put a penny on a train track, miss?”

“Yes, of course.”

He grinned harder “Well, that’s a good way to lose a limb, if I do say so myself. Now, I have all ten fingers and all ten toes but there are plenty out there who are risking their lives for something that you can now get with convenience. Do you have a penny, miss?”

With heat rising to your cheeks, you fished into the damp area between your breasts and pulled out a coin, making sure it was dry. You couldn’t hide it’s warmth, but the dress you’d chosen to wear on your mothers’ recommendation was much too tight fitting to carry anything in a proper place.

Mr. Damm did not seem to mind, he simply placed the penny into a small slot on the side of the machine. “I’ve spent years crafting a rolling mill that presses designs into soft metals. Not only that, but it elongates them as well. A penny had tremendous value, but wouldn’t you sometimes prefer something more?”

“I suppose I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Ah, well, come here. Crank this lever and watch.”

You glanced at him for reassurance before doing as you were told. It put up more resistance than you were expecting, but eventually you watched two metal rollers press the copper into a longer, oblong shape. You had to admit, it was a cool sight, especially with your ability to control the speed.

Eventually, your coin popped out of the slot in the wood and it looked like anything but the penny you had provided. It was stretched and the words ‘Columbian 1893 exhibition’ were impressed into the metal. He placed it into your palm, still warm from the process.

“Very good, Mr. Damm. But, does it still hold it’s value?”

“Of course, Miss! First thing I made sure of. Though, I suggest you keep this. One day, they’ll be worth millions.” He tucked his thumbs proudly into his suspenders “I’m headed to New York City in a few days to patten this machine, here.”

You returned his smile, words caught in your throat when a hand started against one side of your waist and trailed along your back to rest on the other. The rosewater scent that accompanied Helia. She was a few inches taller than you and hugged you close to her pale form.

There were dark circles under her sunken eyes, her hair a jet black. She often captured the eyes of anyone in the room. But in a room with so many wonders it was hard to notice her among them. People often thought of her as sick. But you knew better. Helia simply mirrored a specter. She was filled with a sharp kindness that was preceded by her excitement.

“Sister, what have you got there?” She plucked the coin from your hand and ran her pale finger over it “Very nice! This is fantastic, sir. Really amazing. I hope you don’t mind if I steal y/n away from you.”

“Not at all,” Mr. Damm gently took your hand and placed a dry kiss on the top of your hand. “It was fantastic to meet you, miss. Enjoy the fair.”

Helia had pulled you away by the waist before you could respond. You wiped the top of your hand against the rough fabric of your dress, suppressing a chill. He was nice enough, an average looking guy. Deep down you knew your mother only let you attend to see if you could attract some type of man.

She’d long ago deemed you feral, her wild-child that held the beauty but none of the grace to settle down with an acceptable husband. You wore Helia’s dress because she would have left you to rot in the hot motel room if you hadn’t at least attempted to look presentable.

“Mother is going to be so upset with you,” You tsked, “pulling me away from a possible suitor.”

“Oh, the inhumanity. We have to hurry. Jorell has been holding the same spot in line for the Ferris Wheel. We simply must join him. I don’t have the patience to wait another day.”

“At least you are one to admit your flaws.”

“Hush, walk faster.”

You felt incredibly stiff in the dress but followed her a quicker pace. Your brother had sacrificed his entire day to make sure the three of you could rise high above the fair. You’d long given up on your own ability to stand in a stretching line and you’d had to keep him waiting even longer.

A light drizzle had begun to fall from wispy grey clouds, instantly cool on your skin. Helia hugged you closer, silently pleading for the ride to still be operational. There was no electricity crackling through the sky, nor a worried look on a single patron’s face.

Jorell waved the two of you over, boots splashing against the cobblestone. His hair was damn, inky and falling into his ghostly stare. His shirt was soaked through at this point, the white outlining the curves and dips of his stature. The strong, protective man that had yet to find a suitor either. Though, mother was much less persistent when it came to her only son.

“Where did you find her?” He smirked.

“Playing with coins.”

“I wasn’t playing with anything. If you must know, a very nice man was giving me a demonstration of his invention.”

Helia nudged him in the ribs, “She took pity on him, like she does all helpless creatures.”

You suppressed a groan. Certainly, you were deemed to softest of the three siblings, though you knew when it was necessary to put a thing out of it’s misery. You’d bring home stray cats and then make excuses for the parasites that were attached to it.

“Come on, we’re next!”

Helia grabbed your hand and gave it an excited squeeze. There were two metal steps leading up to the boarding area. A man stood next to a gally of machinery, and unlike Mr. Damm’s penny pressing box, you couldn’t see inside of it. He held a black umbrella up to protect the panel from the weather.

He grunted out “No single riders, only two to a car. One of you will have to sit this out.”

It would be fair to let Jorrell and Helia take the helm. You weren’t much of a fan of heights anyway, and the diming in your sisters’ eyes at the news was enough to break you. “You two go on ahead.”

“You’re sure?” Jorell asked, lifting a dark eyebrow.

“I’m positive, go! I’ll be waiting right here.”

Maybe you did take too much pity on the beasts around you. They certainly stuttered to find kindness, as did you in moments. But at the base of the worlds first Ferris Wheel you would have done any kindness for the strangers that flitted around you. Especially for your own family.

You watched as they boarded the cart closest to the bottom, the last riders until a chain was slipped across the front, blocking the rest of the patrons. Bad weather. You heard the man mutter, but paid no mind. He certainly wouldn’t let them ride if the conditions were too dangerous.

They grew smaller and smaller as the monolithic machine carried them to the very top of the loop. You craned your neck, having to look away as harder rain blurred your view. It was unladylike to wipe at your eyes, but you hadn’t given a care. Unladylike or not, you’d give anything to see Helia and Jorrell in this moment. Joy swelled in your chest.

Then, the Ferris Wheel lurched to a stop. Strangled cries of shock floated down to you. This must be part of the exhibition. It was a naïve thought, but one that carried you for a moment more of bliss before pure terror. The next noise was grinding metal against metal, shaking that jostled many of the riders.

The speck of Jorrell had slid from his seat, the metal much too slippery from the rain. He held on to the edge, the crowd letting out sounds of distress. One woman screamed. You felt damp and useless, hand covering your mouth.

Helia gripped at the fabric of his shirt desperately trying to keep him afloat. And you believed whole-heartedly, that if the machine hadn’t lurched again, she would have been able to maintain her grip.

New inventions were faulty. They malfunctioned in different conditions. The rain had not been anticipated and neither had the harsh winds that made Chicago damp and freezing. Another sound of metal crunching and a scream that was masked within a sea of people already beginning to plan how to cope with tragedy.

You may have screamed to, but you had a feeling the noise got stuck in your throat. Jorrell had tried to grip the bars on the way down. They bit into his fingers, water making it impossible for him to swim.

He was crushed in an instant between the gears that you could see, and this time, you did cry out. You figured your legs unable to work, knees nearly hitting the cobblestone. In that moment, you thought about how it would dirty your dress.

An arm was there to steady you, grasping onto your elbow and pulling your eyes away from the scene. You were pliable in this moment, unable to question who had grabbed you. There was the scent of metal and strong cologne. They emanated comfort, tucking your head into the small of their neck to pry your eyes away from the mechanical mauling.

“Look away,” Mr. Damms voice was muffled against your ear, filling his chest cavity. “This isn’t something a lady should see, miss.”

The scream tore through your chest with a visceral pain. Your nails were digging into the soft soil, heels pushing against what you could only recognize as grass. You’d come to in a state of fight or flight. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, breath refusing to catch.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright.”

It took you a moment to realize who was in front of you. The world was dripping with color, the rushing sensation fading from your ears. Instead, it was replaced by the sound of birds, the scent of nature, the warmth of the sun. You were still outside, lying on the ground and blinking up at the crystal blue sky. No rain. No water.

Natasha was knelt next to you, a look of worry flooding her expression. She had one hand on your chest, and the other was cupping your cheek. She was checking your vitals, you were sure, because you had most certainly lost consciousness.

“Breathe in for six seconds through your nose. Good… now hold it. Only breathe out through your mouth when I tell you to.”

Your chest had started to ache when she finally gave you the nod to release the air you had greedily drawn in. She stayed with you, repeating the process three more times before you finally felt the blades of grass tickle your palms, the slight breeze touch your skin. Natasha brushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair behind your ear before she flopped back into a sitting position.

“Want to tell me where you just went?”

“Chicago,” You grunted out.

Natasha got this adorable crease between her brows, but she didn’t’ push any further. You squinted up at the clouds and stretched your arm out, enjoying the prickly sensation of the grass.  

“Sometimes… I get these nightmares. Most of the time I don’t remember my dreams but when these happen, they feel so real. Almost like I was there myself, which is impossible because they were decades, centuries ago.”

“What are they like? Your dreams?”

“Volatile. They all follow the same formula. A life that I couldn’t have had, an older brother who dies by water and a younger sister who just… dies. One of them meet a violent end before I can wake up, and they’ve never repeated themselves. It’s just new tragedy after new tragedy.”  

You’d always thought the dreams were weird. But, chalked them up to being related to stress. When you were a kid, it was stress about starting a new school, soccer try-outs or midterms. Then as you got older you pinned it on college admissions and failing the bar twice before submitting to be a paralegal instead.

But then, Jonathan died. Drowning just as every other version of him had.

 You’d never told anyone about the dreams and now you were sounding them out with a near-stranger who you were pretty sure used to be a villain. You’d read that on the back of a cereal box once while it tore up the roof of your mouth with its sugary edges. You didn’t’ put much faith in the trivia.

“That must be scary,”

You pulled yourself up, resting your arms on your knees. You were sure you looked disheveled, but she gazed at you with something of admiration and a recognition of pain.  She’d pulled a blade of grass from the earth and was shredding it in a nervous habit.

“Chicago, huh?”

“The Worlds Fair, actually. I got a penny.”

“Oh?” She gave you a small smile “My, well, aren’t you rich.”

The two of you laughed, a small moment that filled you with content. It seemed to fill the crater that had just opened up in your soul. If it even was your soul to fill. It eventually flickered out, silence washing over you.

“Natasha?”

“Yeah, y/n?”

“Are you going to figure out what’s wrong with me?”

Your voice broke and you were tempted to muffle it with a cough. You didn’t’ want to show weakness. It was a golden rule in your family. The embarrassment of your actions in the dream still lingered on your tongue. Falling into the arms of Mr. Damm and his listless invention.

“Why can’t I die if everyone around me dies too easily?”

You all but whispered the words, and a soft, pitying noise came out of Natasha that you weren’t expecting. She clenched her jaw and unclenched it as if she was afraid to mince her words. There was almost anger, no, frustration, with herself behind her stare.

“Nothing is wrong with you, y/n. According to your bloodwork, you’re extraordinary. Growing stronger and stronger every day. You’re an enigma, even by Asgardian standards. But you’re not impossible to solve. We’ll figure you out.” She glanced down at the grass between her fingers, shredded another green strip. “No one deserves to live with that much pain.”

With a nod, you wiped away the tears that escaped with the base of your palms, careful to avoid looking at the blood. You’d never passed out like that, had a vision, a memory, forced upon you with the pull of a trigger. You didn’t want to risk it.

“Let’s get you a shower, yeah?” She stood and reached out her arm before hoisting you to your feet.

“Are you saying I stink?”

“I thought I was being very direct about the fact. Besides, I may have hit you a little hard, kitten.”

“I knew it!”

She grabbed you by the hand and pulled you along, as if she didn’t trust you on your own feet. Her grip was reminiscent of Helias, strong and consistent and filled with nothing but care. You let her lead you, hoping the blood wasn’t the only thing the shower would wash down the drain.

[Taglist💕: @dannipotatoo, @non-binary-frogking, @mysticalmoonlight7, @metanoiablxxm, @coxlong, @b3nzzzzz, @simpforlizzie, @delulu-bayolet-era, @dorabledewdroop, @crescentcrush, @roselockwood, @ellieromanov, @leenasayeed, @theowlappears, @pitifulbinx, @pepemyfantasy, @tekanparadiae, @skittlebum, @mariabeloskivismyoc, @natsbiggestfan1, @marvelwomen-simp, @cinffy23, @kyky-maximoff, @natalierushmansstuff, @bstvst, @lezzylover, @404-almostdone, @mishimrno, @maxidentbby, @shayarshucky, @merlinsouls, @neothepotato, @aliherreraaa, @olicity-boo, @tarathia, @thinking1bee]

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Hello! I am back again. I got a operator/slenderman plushy from Marble Hornets! The one that glows in the dark. It got me thinking, how would some of the creeps (slendy himself too) would react to seeing reader with a plush of them? More like a comfort thing that they bring around and such.

Here’s some boba and drinks drop off too, stay hydrated! ☕️🍵🥤🥛🧃🧋🚰

-🪱 anon

Summary: Marble Hornets reactions to seeing reader with a plushie of them

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

A/n: omg ty i love drinks my poor little mini fridge is overflowing with tea and soda! Also, happy 15th anniversary to Marble Hornets!!

Credits: Masky/Tim- Marble Hornets, Hoodie/Brian- Marble Hornets, Slenderman- Creepypasta, Divider- bunnysrph, lavendergalactic, Pictures- Pinterest

Masky

When he sees you with a plush of him, his first thought is "Where did you get that???"

Then he remembers the large amount of people who know how to sew plushies in the manor

And the fact that he's kind of popular in the underworld

He's still never seen a plushie of him before, and the fact that you went out of your way to get one makes him giggle

He calls it his "mini me"

He loves seeing you walk around with it, he thinks its so cute

Every now and then, he'll just take it and look at it

For example, let's say you're sitting on a couch

He'll find you and come lay on your lap, asking if he can see his "mini me"

When you give it to him, he'll just look at the details, seeing what they got wrong and what they got right

And when you ask if he likes it, he will grunt and go "yeah, 's cute"

Sometimes he finds it annoying though

Not super annoying just a little bit

Like when you're going to sleep together, he will hop into bed with you, only to see you already cuddling with the plushie

He will sigh and gently take it from you, place it somewhere behind him on the bed, and promptly cuddle up to you

"you're being so stubborn. The real thing's right here, y'know" he grumbles with a kiss to your ear

Hoodie

He thinks it's super cute!

Immediately he makes the correlation between the plush and Coraline

He'll cheekily ask if this is your way of spying on him

The first time he sees it, he holds it up in front of him like that one scene in "The Lion King"

He gives a big grin at it, so big you can see his gums sticking out

I think he likes it more than you do

He treats it like it's your shared child lol

Whenever you kiss, he will cover the plush's eyes

Whenever you go to bed, he will prop the plush up in between the two of you on a pillow and gently cover it with a blanket

You just giggle at his antics

Another thing you like to do- just to tease him a bit- is kiss the plush on its forehead, cheeks, etc around him

He will see it and raise a brow, as if to ask "What are you doing?"

And then you will lean over and kiss him in the same places

God forbid something ever happens with you two, because then your child will be in a split house hold

Because Brian will not just abandon his child like that

His child that you bought

Bought for yourself

It's his kid too guys

Slenderman

He doesn't really care about it

When you first show him, he simply goes "Oh, what a strange little creature"

When you tell him it's supposed to be him he tilts his head and asks to see it

He holds it like a baby and pokes its face before going "Ah, I see"

He hands it back and goes about his day

Every now and then you try to use it to get something out of him

"Love, I was thinking we could go out tonight?" You ask him as you approach his desk

He doesn't even turn his face in your direction, only continues writing as he says "I'm sorry dearest, I have too much work tonight"

You pout and clutch the plush in your hands "You always have work." You grumble "I bet plush Slendy doesn't have work" You say, looking at the toy in your arms

He still doesn't react so you amp up your antics a little " Would you like to go out tonight?" you ask the toy

In your best British accent and the deepest voice you can muster, you speak for the doll "Oh yes, darling. That would be wonderful, because I just love you soooo much"

He scoffs "You're being ridiculous"

You simply turn on your heel so you aren't facing him anymore "Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of me and my man going out"

He lets out a dry chuckle and a sigh before finally giving in "Let me lock up the house, then"

[thecapricunt1616]

Daddy! Carmy on Fathers Day

Happy Fathers day everyone! I of course could not get Daddy Carmy out of my head today, so heres a drabble!!!

ʚ ═══･୨ ꕤ ୧･═══ ɞ

You’re woken up by the feeling of something small and firm poking your cheek, you opened your eyes to see your 4 year old son and his twin sister smiling big. You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face and sit up, rubbing your eyes “Hey guys-” 

“Shhhh!” Ivy, your daughter pressed her fingers to her lips and hushed you, “Daddy’s sweepin- come mama” she whispered, but a child whisper that was more like just barely quieter than her regular talking voice. Thankfully, over the past year or so since the kids weren’t breastfeeding anymore and Carmy wasn’t carrying them back and forth from their bedroom to you in the night, he had become more accustomed to sleeping through more noise instead of waking and jumping to check on them at every little fuss. 

You nodded and sit up, stretching a bit before carefully taking off your covers and grabbing your bathrobe after sliding into your slippers and holding their hands as you went off to the living room. “You guys remember what today is mm?” you ask and Levi giggles 

“Thats why we woke you! We gotta make special breakfast for daddy and- and I’m gonna draw him a picture! Can you get my crayons mommy please please?” he asked and went to grab his construction paper pad he left at their little craft table. 

“And I’m gonna help you with daddys breakfast mommy we can do pretty sparkle pancakes we can use my glitter my special glitter from my birthday!” Ivy dragged her little cooking tower to the counter as Levi whizzed around grabbing glitters and glue sticks and colored pencils.

“Crayons, Mommy! Need’a special sparkle blue” he sat on his knees in front of the coffee table and pushed up the sleeves of his toy story pajamas. 

“Yes- yes yes cubs theres one mommy and two requests, please, patience” That was one thing about these two, no patience, and all the fire you could imagine for two tiny Berzatto children. You wished they could have gotten the patience from their father - but, instead they got their fiery passion and drive from you, and your husbands ‘I want the best, so I'll be the best and everyone will agree that I'm the best’ attitudes. 

Both of them were already in the talented and gifted program in their preschool, and they were both already reading and writing at least at a second or third grade level. This was simply because you had been determined from the moment they were born to do absolutely all of the head start childhood education you could with them, that you never got the opportunity for in your childhood that you had to pay for later.

“For you - no eating it with a spoon missy” you place the edible glitter down in front of her and she giggled. You had Carmy bring home some of the glitter from the restaurant for her birthday cupcakes last year (yes they both got their own cakes or cupcakes, the two of you agreed when you found out you were having twins they would always feel like their own person) and the day after, Carmy came into your bedroom and asked if you forgot to close the pantry as you were doing your eyeliner for a night out, you asked why and when his response was 

“Please look at your daughter” with an air of amusement to his tone, and you looked up to see him holding your hot pink metallic glitter mouthed babygirl, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Aw no! Thats all daddy- shes just a natural born taste tester huh?”  You smiled at the memory as you plop down the 164 massive pack of crayons that Levi had suckered Carmy into buying for him when they went to Target together. Carmy swore he just went into the store for a new phone charger, but Levi just had to see the craft section, and with his big blue puppy eyes he just couldn’t say no when he asked to get them so they could ‘color pictures together with Ivy and Mommy’ He often fell prey to Levi’s begging, and he was much worse with it than Ivy. 

It was likely because his dad was so hard on he and his siblings when they were younger, he had told you alot of stories about his dad while you were pregnant. It was likely because he was so afraid to turn out like him. But Carmy had become very proactive which is a big change from his 20’s. He used to put things off, especially hard things until he physically could not avoid them anymore - but since he had learned about your pregnancy he had started going to therapy consistently to work out his feelings at the very least and understand them so he wouldn’t make the same mistakes his father made with him.

“Thats right angel two eggs” you encourage as Ivy took another egg out of the carton and carefully tapped it on the counter like her dad had been teaching her basically since she had come home from the hospital. “Wow look at that huh- you been practicing with daddy without me?” you joked, kissing the side of her curly blonde hair sweetly and taking the shells to throw away.

“I been cracking them for daddy! I wanna learn how to do one hand like him” she said, carefully mixing together the batter with the child sized whisk you had gotten for her from her special drawer of cooking tools. When she was about two, Carmy had done a whole bunch of research into Montessori parenting, and how children when taught are way more capable of things then we give them credit for. He quickly started teaching them age appropriate things, and they even had a tiny little functioning fridge and sink at their height to prepare veggies and small things like bowls of cereal as he had taught them how to do those things by themself. Hopefully he said, by the time they were 7 or 8 they could safely use the stove, which it seemed like that was going to be the case because they were already able to use it fully safely while being supervised directly.

“An’ you gotta be careful mommy, ‘cause it’s hot you’ll get ouchie” she instructs as she holds her had a (very, likely overly cautious - but you preferred it that way) ways away from the pan that had the bubbling pancake batter in it, and drops 3 blueberries before clapping for herself with a proud smile and you do the same. “See! Good job!” she said happily and you rubbed her back gently 

“Thats right princess- a very good job! Mommy is gonna flip it now, okay, i’ll be super careful cause its hot right?” you repeat her words from earlier and she mutters a little ‘right’ as you flipped the pancakes over in the pan to reveal the perfect golden brown bottom. She always reminded you of her dad that way, getting all quiet and staring intently with her lip drawn between her teeth as she focused. 

“Mommy look! See thats Levi and thats Ivy and Mommy and Daddy and Auntie Sugar and Uncle Richie and Eva! And - and uncle Pete is at work I guess cause I forgot him- and here it says I love you daddy!” he shoves it in your hands and you take it gasping and smiling big at the colorful work.

“Wow baby!” You picked him up, holding him on your hip as you looked, “So pretty- daddy is gonna love this!” you kiss his cheek and set him back down and he took it, running off likely to make another picture and Ivy tugs your robe

“Mommy!! Take it off take it off!!” She said urgently and pointed. You grabbed the plate and the spatula, taking off the pancakes to reveal perfectly brown bottoms.  “See! All is well princess, now - how about some eggs for these pancakes, mm? You got out a bowl and a fork. It wasnt long until your pancake egg bacon coffee shindig had been assembled on a tray, as well as 2 pictures and a ‘Happy Fater Fathers Day Daddy We ❤ you!' Card.

You nudged open your bedroom door with your hip and your little carbon copies of your husband go racing in and jump on the bed, Ivy plops on Carmys chest and Levi snuggled into his side happily, ever the daddys boy, it was something that made Carmys heart melt since he never felt comfortable asking for love or attention from his own father, he was more then happy to give it to him.

He was up then, with a big bear yawn and a dramatic groan to make the kids laugh. "Do I know you two clowns? Honey- who let these little bedheads in our room?" he teases making them giggle harder.

"Its fathers day daddy! We made you breakfast!" Ivy said as if he could forget and he gasps

"You did?! No way whats on the menu this morning, Chef?" he kissed her cheek with a smooch before giving levi the same and they each snuggled into a side of him as he sat up, the comforter falling down to reveal a bare and much softer chest now, since fatherhood had definitely cut down on his free time that used to be spent at the gym. You loved it all the same, some days even more.

"Blueberry pancakes! Mommy helped and they have unicorn dust" she said and you smiled as you set the tray in his lap, taking your cup of coffee and sitting at his feet. His smile grew as he saw the drawings Levi made as well as the card.

"And what are these, mm?" he looks over at Levi and he smiled proudly and began going on a tangent to his dad about each little detail. Just simply because of the joy that came to your husband with being showered with all the love and attention he deserved -

Fathers Day was one of your favorite days of the year.

[em-harlsnow]

hey!! i saw you take requests for tiktok trends

there was one some time ago, where people would put pictures, attached to sticks, into a cake. the pictures would have someone, who a person, who sticks it, they find hot (and maybe want to smash lol). which celebrities or characters would gallavich choose?

besides nick jonas xD

This one I really had to think about.

"Alright, put yours in." Mickey tells Ian, for once being the one to initiate the TikTok trend. He was getting tired of Ian making him do them all the time, so now it's Ian's turn to be forced to do something weird.

Ian sighs. "Okay."

He brings out a picture taped to a stick and stabs it into the cake. "Justin Timberlake." He announces, to which Mickey scowls.

"Fuck is wrong with you?" Mickey asks.

"Shut the fuck up, he was my first crush. Who've you got that's so much better?" Ian says.

"I got Marlon Brando." Mickey says, sticking his face into the cake.

"Who?" Ian asks, bending down to look at his picture. He frowns, annoyed, when he sees the muscled guy in the picture. "Who even is that? I recognise him."

Mickey looks disgusted. "He's in The Godfather, you freak. How d'you not know who he is?"

Rolling his eyes, Ian continues. "Fine. Well, I have George Clooney."

"Of course you fucking do. You always liked 'em wrinkled." Mickey mutters.

"Shut up, he's hot. He'll never age." Ian pouts, knocking his shoulder into Mickey. "Who d'you have next, Prince Harry? You got a ginger fetish." Ian says.

"Fuck no." Mickey scowls. "I got Bradley Cooper." He says, proudly stabbing him into the cake.

"Yeah, okay, that's acceptable." Ian agrees.

"Fuck d'you mean? 'Acceptable'." Mickey scoffs. "He's hot."

"I got Michael B. Jordan." Ian says, pulling out his photo.

Mickey rolls his eyes. "That's basic."

"Basic? Have you seen him?" Ian argues.

"No, he's not basic, I'm saying liking him is basic. Michael B. Jordan is every closeted lesbian's go-to celebrity crush so that no one figures out that they're gay." Mickey says.

Ian splutters comically, brain stuttering on how and why Mickey could even know that.

While Ian malfunctions, Mickey pulls out his next one. "Cal Kestis." He says, presenting the little cartoon and poking it into the cake.

"You can have video game characters?" Ian asks.

"Yep."

"He looks exactly like me, Mickey." Ian points out, staring at the little image of the guy's face.

"What? No he doesn't." Mickey frowns. "He's just ginger."

"I'm telling you, if I grew out my facial hair, I'd look just like him." Ian says, scrutinising the picture.

"You're thinking too highly of yourself." Mickey mutters.

"Excuse me? Are you saying you think a fucking digital guy is better looking than me, your husband?" Ian gapes, mouth falling open.

Mickey stares at him, then acquiesces, shaking his head. "No, fine. I'm not saying that."

"Good." Ian nods. "Can we eat the cake now? I don't see the point of the cake. We can just show each other the rest of them."

Mickey nods. "Yeah, this shit's making me hungry."

-> I hope this met expectations!

-> thanks for the ask, any other TikTok trends or prompts are very welcome.

[quintinh43]

23. Taking a picture together to print and hang later

I just feel like this is so something Matthew Tkachuk would do. Like maybe he prints them, puts them in a frame, and has it on his dresser or night stand. Or he sends them to his mom to give her updates on how they’re doing and SHE PRINTS THEM 🥺

Thank you for requesting, I loved this sm, I was giggling and kicking my feet while I was writing it, lowkey i might expand on this in the future and make is like a full length fic lol. Also sorry, I definitely went a stray from your request but I hope you still like it 🥹🫶🏼

-

Matthew was a picture guy. At every possible moment, he had his phone out, snapping pictures or recording short videos. "For the memories," he claimed. The problem was, you weren't a picture girl. You hated having your picture taken, and for some reason, you were Matthew's favorite muse.

On this particularly warm Florida day, Matthew, ever the gentleman, had planned a beach picnic for the two of you. Having snacked heartily, you were sprawled on the picnic blanket, an arm tucked under your head and your sun hat pulled over your face to block the sun out.

Matthew had his head pillowed on your stomach, and your fingers were tangled in his curls, scratching soothingly at his scalp while he rambled about anything that came to mind. Unbeknownst to you, Matthew was also taking photos. He was such a sucker for a cute aesthetic candid, especially because when you knew he was taking photos, you always made an effort to hide behind him in some manner.

"So basically, Brady is not gonna name his baby after me," Matthew finishes his story with a huff.

A soft chuckle rumbles through you, and you tug at his curls. "Don't worry, Matty, we can name our babies after you," you lift your sunhat and lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek. He tilts his face so that your lips land on his. He wraps an arm around your neck, his thumb brushing the column of your throat.

"Can't wait to have babies with you," he murmurs agaisnt your lips, with a bright smile. It's then that you notice his phone in hand, angled towards the two of you.

"Oh please don't tell me you just took photos of us making out," you whine embarrassedly, pulling the brim of your hat low over your face to hide behind it.

"Ok, I won't tell you," Matthew shrugs, with a sly smile, flicking your hat off your head.

"Delete them," you glare, poking him in the chest.

"Nope," Matt shakes his head.

You lunge for his phone, and he shrieks, throwing it somewhere on the picnic blanket. He catches you around the waist, pinning you beneath him. He attacks you with kisses all over your face and neck until you're a giggling, squirming mess beneath him. Matt has a hand splayed on your bare stomach, keeping you pinned while you try to catch your breath.

Before you can register what is happening, Matt has his phone in hand. He snaps a picture of you all splayed out beneath him, back arched, your hands resting on curves of your breasts, and your cheeks flushed from exertion.

"Matty," you pout, trying to swipe the phone from his hands to delete the photo. You curse his athlete reflexes as he keeps the phone out of your reach.

"I'll delete it after I print it out and stick it my wallet," he smirks.

You're eyes go wide, "you're not sticking that in your wallet,"

Matthew pouts dramatically, "but it would go so nice with my collection,"

Your face pales almost comically, "What collection?"

Matthew straddles you, keeping you pinned to the blanket, knees on either side of your hips while he shuffles through the picnic basket where your wallets and keys were stored.

In true Matthew fashion, he's had the same wallet for thirteen-ish years. The leather is all cracked, and it's falling apart at the seams. There's duct tape on one of the inside pockets that houses an old punch card to a smoothie place that no longer exists.

He pulls out three polaroids from the back pocket of his wallet and spreads them out on the blanket. You prop yourself up on your elbows to peak at the polaroids as he lays them out in a neat line.

This first one is of you laying in bed on your stomach, naked. The sheets slung low over your hips, with your leg peaking out. Your hair is splayed over your shoulder and pillow, and the sunlight casts patterns along your bare back.

The second is you leaning against a wall with a cup of coffee in your hands as you stare out the window. You'd clearly just gotten out of bed, hair a mess, and t-shirt scrunched over your hip, showing off the band of your underwear. It was from when Matthew had taken you to Paris a couple of months ago during the all star break.

The third one makes your cheeks heat as you recall the memory. In the photo, you're leaned over the arm of the couch, and Matthew's hand is wrapped around your throat. The photo cuts off right before exposing your breasts, and there are hickies blooming across your chest and collarbones. He had been on a long roadie, and you had flown down to New York while he was scheduled to play the Devils, Rangers and Islanders.

It was safe to say Matthew had liked the surprise. The Panthers went on to sweep the roadie, and your hickies had lasted for a good few weeks.

You stare at the pictures, mouth agape, trying to recall how he he'd even been sneaky enough to capture the moments. Matthew looks nervous as you look between him and the photographs.

"Since when have you had these in your wallet?" You mumble shyly. It still genuinely shocks you that Matthew finds you beautiful enough to want to immortalize you in photos. You had never thought of yourself as conventionally beautiful. But ever since you'd met Matthew, he'd been telling you that you were the most beautiful girl to exist.

Matthew shrugs, "For a while now, you're not gonna make me get rid of them are you?" He pleads.

You shake your head, eyes soft, as you wrap a hand around Matthew's neck and pull him in for a kiss. "Love you, Matty," you mumble against his lips.

"I love you too Y/n."

---

Umm, hello? I actually loved this so much? Anyway, I hope yall are doing well. I am working on these requests, I promise! Love yall!!

[anarcoqueer1994]

Also I want cringe, I want Kallus and Zeb to be so embarrassingly in love. They don't always have to be cool guy rebels.

Have Zeb going on a mission with the Ghost crew to somewhere cold, and Kallus has to stay behind, but he stayed up all night before they left knitting his alien boyfriend a sweater, saying something cheesy like "Now I get to keep you warm this time." And he like tried to knit a picture of the meteorite on the front too. And it just looks like a yellow shakey circle and the arms are a little uneven and the neck hole is a little too big bc Kallus did not know how to knit until last night. But through holo videos and a nice medic who had a pair of knitting needles he could borrow, he did it...kind of. And Zeb wears it the entire mission even if his fur would have been more than enough to keep him warm. Even if the kids, Kanan, and even Hera poke fun.

Or like have Zeb and Kallus in the Kitchen of the Ghost together, maybe Kallus is cooking, and Zeb is being a distraction by trying to dance with him or making a mess with flour. And someone walks in on them playing house and dancing to some old timey song with water boiling over in the background.

Or maybe a little tipsy Kallus convinces Sabine to tattoo a little stick and poke on his leg that is a heart with Zeb's name. Of course Zeb does the same when he sees it with "Sasha" in the heart.

Have them bringing each other up to people when the other isn't around. Be annoying and loving.

Give me that. Thank you

[krsonmar]

I just saw this over on Bluesky and...

Look, maybe I'm unusual and lucky in my exposure to Holocaust lit in school. Most people don't get well-versed enough in these memoirs and histories and historical novels that they know what's about to happen and "all the ways the bad guys get you" the way horror fans shout at the TV, "No, don't lean over the body to see if he's really dead, poke him with a stick, what are you, *trying* to die?!"

But for god's sake, y'all, does it really take more than plain old common sense to have basic opsec? If you make a list of federal government workers resisting the takeovers happening now "for inspiration for the masses" and send it around social media...who the frick else do you think can see that list? And what might they do *other than* take inspiration from it? If I'm a fascist government goon looking to stifle dissent and make an example to everyone, what a great shortcut you've given me!

And it doesn't even take that; if I'm someone like a garden-variety LibsOfTikTok follower, maybe I get it in my head that going Pizzagate on these people is a patriotic thing to do. Or maybe I just fall back on the basic hyper-online alt-right MO of doxxing and harrassing people to the point that they pack up and leave town or, god forbid, commit suicide.

I should not have had to tell people, during Occupy in around 2012, that announcing your protest on Facebook and asking people to click to say they'd be there is a bad, bad, stupid, baaaaaaad idea. The NSA leaks wouldn't come out until about a year later, but IT SHOULD NOT HAVE TAKEN THAT to understand that compiling a list of people who would be at your protest against the government, with pictures of their faces and their past drunken college escapades along with their workplaces and social affiliations, is a terrible and unsafe way to organize.

This is something that scares me deep in my bones about what's happening: Americans don't understand *how* to mistrust authority anymore. We might have the general sentiment, but we don't know what to do with it in a practical way. Do you think someone who lived under the Stasi for decades or who grew up on stories of their parents barely escaping the Ayatollah or Saddam or Papa Doc's crackdowns and purges would call the concerns people *absolutely have been voicing for at least a good 20 years now* paranoid or overreactive? Our comfort and relative stability have spoiled us into complacency, and now we don't know how to even think about this stuff.

I am begging you: get cynical, guard your privacy (and other people's), and learn not to run your mouth. It is no longer paranoia. It never was, and if we had all understood that for the past two-plus decades, maybe we wouldn't be where we are now.

[hayakawalove]

Respite From Heat

Summary: A lazy day spent with the two men you love.

A/N: Short and sweet. Thank you to @whereflowerswenttodie for telling me about Canva for the picture. Please be kind to me I will get better at using it.

TW: SFW, Food mention, just fluffy, Gojo gets teased a lot

W/C: 1,559

“…and that’s gonna do it for the show today folks, make sure to stay in the shade and have something cool to drink. This weather isn’t a joke!” 

The neighbors radio carried its audio across the street over to the three of you. And the radio host wasn’t kidding, the weather wasn’t a joke. It had to be at least 90 degrees out, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it was over 100. 

Even though you sat in the shade, you could swear the pavement below you was melting your skin. Hot concrete bites into your palms while you lounge about, watching the two boys in front of you. Your two boys. 

They were shooting hoops in the driveway, an activity Satoru begged Suguru to partake in. One minute he was cuddled up with you on the couch reading a book, the next his eager boyfriend was dragging him outside, an orange ball under his other arm. 

Suguru dribbled the ball, the act borderline salacious. His bangs drooped over his eyes, a sheen of sweat beginning to coat his biceps. His tongue poked out while he focused on the ball. 

Maybe you should thank Satoru for offering you this holy sight. On second thought, maybe that’s why Satoru wanted to play. 

The white hair menace runs up to Suguru, stealing the ball before it could bounce back up to his hand. He lets out a cackle before dribbling the ball towards the rickety hoop, positioning his arms overhead to toss the ball. 

The ball shoots through the air, the orange sticking out against the blue backdrop of the clear summer sky. 

“And with that, I’m in first place!” Satoru prides, turning to Suguru as the basketball flies through the hoop, thudding against the ground. 

“I’m like five ahead of you-“ Suguru says incredulously, one of his brows raising. 

“In your dreams!”

Suguru squints at Satoru, debating on whether or not he wanted to start this. 

Why not. 

“Did you hit your head?” He asks, knowing it would rile Satoru up even more.

“You know Satoru, it’s okay to lose sometimes.” You murmur, cutting off Suguru. 

“You guys are consipiring against me!” Satoru pouts. 

Suguru ignores him and leans over to grab the ball, you catch a flash of his bare chest through his loose shirt, the large arm holes gracing you a sight to drink up. 

Both of their hair stuck to their foreheads, their chests slightly panting while pink dusted their cheeks. Even when sweat dripped from their skin and they wore loose clothing, they still were too hot for their own good. 

Maybe they were the ones responsible for raising the heat up around here. You wouldn’t be surprised. 

“You should join us, come on it would be fun!” Satoru says, prancing over you to grab your hand. 

“It’s not like I would join your team.” It was fun to antagonize him sometimes. 

Satoru wails, and you stifle a chuckle. 

“Besides, why would I want to play basketball against two 6’3 guys? You think I’m crazy?” You tug your hand away, watching as Satoru pops his hip out and rests his hand there. 

“Maybe you’re just afraid to lose.” He states like it's a fact.

“Says the loser.” You argue. 

Satoru opens his mouth to retort when a jingle sounds out, music flowing down your street. 

Your ears perk up, the sound heavily ingrained in your body from your childhood. 

“Is that-“ you start. 

“An ice cream truck?” Satoru finishes. 

You both lock eyes, excitement leaking from your voices. 

Suguru’s lips spread into a soft smile. He wasn’t really in the mood for anything sweet, but he just knew you and Satoru would be. 

“Suguru, pass me some cash!” Satoru looks like he’s two seconds away from jumping up and down. 

“I don’t have any cash on me, you know I don’t carry it.” 

You listen to the two bicker before making your mind up, hopping to your feet and running into the house. 

Once inside, you dart to your room and dig through Satoru’s drawers. The man always had spare cash laying around. Sure enough, wads of crumpled dollars lay in the very back of his pants drawer. Honestly, he probably forgot he had it. He had more money than he knew what to do with. 

Bounding down the stairs, you slap the cash in Suguru’s hand. 

“Here!” You say with a large grin. 

His eyes light up at your expression, beads of sweat rolling down his throat. 

“Oh hey, where’d you get that?” Satoru asks, peeking over. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

He didn’t need to know. 

Suguru leans over to place a kiss against your cheek, the act settling off a million fireflies in your gut. 

“Just the usual, sweetheart?” Of course Suguru was going to get the sweet treat for you. 

He loved doing things for you while you sat there pretty for him. 

You try to suppress a smile while you nod, watching him stand to his full height. He licks his thumb before carefully counting the cash you oh so graciously brought out for the two men. 

You were an Angel, he wondered if you knew. 

“Should be enough, let’s go Satoru.” 

Satoru’s shoulders slump while he lets out a whine. Leave it to him to be dramatic. 

“Whaaat? Can’t you get mine for me too?” 

“No, plus you change your order a billion times.” Suguru skillfully shuts Satoru down, an act he’s done millions of times. 

You really did have to be trained in the art of handling Satoru. And if anyone was trained in it, it was Suguru. He must’ve had a doctorate in it by now. 

Satoru grumbles, pushing his hair up out of the way to look a bit more presentable. You watch as the two men set off towards the sound of the ice cream truck. 

It didn’t take long before they were back. You sat on the sidewalk, legs outstretched in front of you when they returned. 

“We bring gifts!” Satoru’s cheery voice calls. 

They looked almost more refreshing than the ice cream cream in their hands. Handsome men carrying your salvation. 

You reach out a grabby hand and Suguru carefully places the ice cream in your palm. 

“Thank you!”

Suguru swears he feels his heart rate pick up a bit at the sound of your gratitude. God, the things he would do just to hear you say that. 

He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure so you don’t catch a glimpse of the pink tinting his cheeks. 

“Satoru cut in front of a kid.” He rats out Satoru. 

“No I didn’t! I almost did. And I didn’t see him, it's not my fault I’m tall.” Satoru plops down beside you, his legs noticeably longer than yours. 

Suguru sits on the other side of you, basking in your presence. You shudder as the cold treat bites into your hand. It felt like you could hardly wait anymore as you unwrapped it, ready to dive in. 

The heat felt a little bit more bearable once the cool ice cream hit your tongue. 

“Damn Toru, that’s low, even for you.” You giggle. 

“Low like that kid.” Suguru adds. 

Satoru clicks his tongue before beginning to munch on his ice cream. 

Ice cream trucks reminded you of your childhood. You could have been mature and asked Suguru to get you something more refined this time, but where was the fun in that? You just had to get the SpongeBob ice cream. Satoru ended up getting a chocolate cone, and Suguru was empty handed. 

He didn’t really care much for ice cream. Plus, watching his partners’ eyes light up while they ate was just as good of a treat he concluded. It might even be sweeter than having the dessert. 

You bite off a corner of the SpongeBob in your hand, watching as Satoru absentmindedly kicks his foot against yours. A small sign of affection, but a sign of affection no less. Other people began to fill the street in search of the truck, mainly children, but there were some adults meagerly waiting about. 

Turning to Suguru you offer up your ice cream. He wouldn’t normally have wanted anything, but he couldn’t resist your expectant doe eyes. 

He bends over slightly, taking a small bite. Sugar dances around his tastebuds as he licks his lips, looking back up at you. 

“Thank you baby.” 

“Of course! I dont want you to feel left out, you know.” 

Suguru’s heart aches at the sentiment. Excitement floods his veins at the mere prospect that you thought about him. 

Lucky, lucky, lucky. He thought. 

The three of you sit in silence as you and Satoru finish eating. Satoru’s pink tongue darts out to lick a trail of sugary goodness from his fingers. 

“That was good.” He squeaks out, leaning back on his palms. 

“Why don’t we go back inside and shower, and I’ll get started on lunch.” Suguru speaks, knees cracking as he stands up. 

Your head perks up at the mention of food, namely Suguru’s food, and you take the hand he's offering you. 

He helps you to your feet before going over to assist Satoru, the feel of his sticky fingers making Suguru wince. 

Summer could get unbearable at times, but having your boys around made it a bit more tolerable. 

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist

[toxicanonymity]

Collect calls. jailbird pt. 2 of 3

3600, cellmate's nephew!Joel x inmate f!reader

brilliant edit by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog. custom tats!

SUMMARY: You kinda try to be careful over the phone, but you want each other too bad. So it's hard. Rock hard. Joel sends you a short letter and comes to visit again. Follows Jailbird, but this is 69% dirty talk (I did the math). You can prob read alone. PT 3 of 3 is Parole. WARNINGS: I8+ SO HORNY, hella dirty talk from both, phone sex, mild degradation/teasing, tension, masturbation, Joel is a slut and mentions getting blown, creative mail. Barely edited horny chaos but I wanna feed ya and this ain't fine dining. A/N: Part 2 of 3. Thank you for the love on Jailbird! And THANK YOU @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for the amazing edit omg. Make sure you see the Jojo gif �� His specific tattoos and all 😍 joel master list, @toxicfics for notifs. PART 3 HERE.

When you got back from visitation, your cellmate Mabel's face lit up.  She was excited to hear about it, but when she looked you over, she said, “Oh boy, it’s worse than I thought. . . I’m gonna go play spades, honey. You do what ya need to do.” 

You shook your head, “Mabel. . .”

“Take your time,” she said with a wink. "Not that you'll need it." Then she stood up and stretched before leaving the cell.  

You got in your bed, on your side, under the blanket. You clenched your thighs together looking at the picture of a slightly younger him with not nearly as much silver in his beard. You put your pillow between your legs, rolled over so you were mostly stomach-down, and your hips moved as you put your head in the crook of your arm and recalled the way he looked at you, his strong hands, his tattoos. His voice. You wondered what it sounded like when it wasn’t through a telephone, but god damn, it did something to you. “ain’t nothin’ harder than mine, baby.” Fuck. 

You were already getting close, wouldn’t even need to use your hand at this rate. You thought about the way his arm flexed as his hand moved in his lap. Oh God, the bulge and outline in his jeans when he stood up. The way he adjusted himself.  He might be too big for you to take all of him, but god damn, you'd give it your best shot. You rubbed yourself against your pillow to the rhythm of his hand rubbing his lap in your mind, clenched your thighs again and you came, whining "Jojo" into your elbow. You heard it too many times a day to get it out of your head – He told you to call him Joel, but Mabel made it somewhat difficult. 

---

He was hot as fuck, but it was also cute how close he and Mabel were. It made him seem like a good guy, even though neither of them were particularly upstanding members of society.  You supposed neither were you by most standards, but it’s not like any of you had ever intentionally hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. That you knew of.  The fact that Jojo served time was hot and also put you at ease. It had to have been a while based on the spiderweb, unless he was just trying to look hard, but he didn’t seem the type to bullshit anything. How did you even know what type he was though? You hardly knew  him? You dreaded Mabel’s teasing but you could withstand it in order to find out more.

You got off once more while you were at it, taking advantage of the privacy.  Then you sat up, rested against the wall, and just looked at the picture. Unfolded, you looked at both of them. It was so sweet. He looked happy. His hand on her shoulder had the spade tattoo.  Your eyes fell on your own poke-and-stick clover from Mabel and your stomach fluttered when you saw the flared stem and circular leaves. It might as well have been a Club.  “Mabel,” you muttered and shook your head.  

While she was still playing Spades, you went over to her bed to look at the other photos up close. In another picture, they were at a barbecue in a parking lot. Joel was on the left and Mabel was on the right. Joel was wearing a wifebeater and Mabel was wearing a black t-shirt with a carousel pony on the right pocket.  

You hadn’t noticed before, but there were a few women in swimsuits and aprons in the background. One of them was looking at Jojo. Who wouldn’t? Mabel’s words echoed in your mind — of course he’d like you. You’ve got a cunt and  you’re not bad lookin'. you rolled your eyes. Shit. You resolved to put yourself in pro mode and try to detach. 

—--

Over the next week, you spoke with him several times on the phone. You tried to be careful. You wren’t sure if all calls were reviewed or it was just by sample. You figured it would be suspicious to ask. You hoped whoever listened didn’t mind some harmless horny talk.  The only stuff they should really care about should be scheming. Like making moves and putting out hits from the inside. Or smuggling from the outside. 

—---

He answered the phone, “There she is.”  A vaguely endearing greeting since you and Mabel called from the same collect number. 

“Hey handsome,” you responded. 

“I was just thinkin’ about ya, jailbird.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” he said deeply then sighed. “Ya just missed it.” Good God, his voice.

“Missed–”

“C’mon, baby. Use that pretty head. How bout I’ll wait for ya tomorrow?” 

Your heart skipped a beat.  “Yeah.”

“Just call at the same time.” 

“Okay,” you agreed with a smile in your voice. “It was nice to see you the other day. . .” 

“Oh, baby you got no idea,” he groaned. “I’m comin’ back next week.” 

“Are they gonna let you back?” you giggled.

“They’ve gotta! I didn’t do nothin’.”

“You didn’t. . .you’re right. . .” 

“Hey don’t give’em any ideas.”

"Right," you laughed. 

"What are ya gonna do when ya get out?"

“In general? Try to find honest work, I guess.” 

“Nothin’ dishonest ‘bout what you were doin’. But I hear ya, parole’s a bitch.” 

“You on parole?”

“Nah, long time ago though.” 

‘Yeah?”

“Kept my nose clean the whole damn time.  Ended up back in the can anyway.” 

"For what"

"Framed for fuckin' murder."

"What??"

"Relax, I was exonerated." 

"No shit."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "You ever danced?"

"Course I fuckin' danced"

"Where at?"

"In memphis."

"Oh, I dunno jack shit about that scene."

"Wasn't great."

"Guess that's where you uh, got your start though."

"Yeah."

"Well do what ya want but lemme know if ya need a gig."

'Thanks." 

He sighed. "I know it sucks not gettin' any in there. "

"Yeah."

"Are ya? Gettin' any? Girls, guards?"

"No," you answered, looking over your shoulder. "Think I could tell ya if I was, though?"

"Shit, sorry." 

"You gettin' any?" 

"Oh I'm a straight up ho." 

"Yeah?" You asked, intrigued.  "Surprised I hadn't seen ya at the clinic," you teased. 

"Cause I'm way the fuck 'cross town. Got our own clinic." 

"Good for you." A pleasant surprise that he stayed clean. 

"Yeah, on a first name basis. Make my girls go, too. Still wrap it most the time though." 

"Your girls."

"Dancers."

"Right." Mabel had mentioned he worked at a club. "Well, at least one of us is gettin' some."

"Shit, I was gettin' some sugar the other night," he said. "Pretty little head between my legs 'n I was lookin' at your picture."

Your heart fluttered. "No shit," you laughed. "My picture, huh?"

"Ohh, you don't even know. I want it bad, sugar, and I ain’t even tasted it." 

"Yeah?" 

"Shit I prolly think about it as much as you do . . .and I've got a life." 

"Who says I think about it?" You asked flirtatiously.

"I got ESP. Makes me tingle when ya do."

"Oh does it?"

"Ya think about me in the shower, in bed. . ." 

You laughed. "And where do you think about me?"

"Fuckin' everywhere. I've gotta have ya, baby. So bad it hurts." 

—----------

Whenever you came back to your cell after talking to Jojo, Mabel would leave to make a phone call or go to the common area to watch whatever outdated movie was playing in the common area. Often with a wink. She knew he got you all wound up. 

—----------

You called him at the same time the next day. 

"How's your week been," you asked. 

"Hard," he said, then his voice became hornier.  "So fuckin' hard. . . n' that's all you." You could hear his belt and zipper. 

"Wish I could help."

“i'm sure ya can once you're out. If you wanna hang out sometime.” You heard a bottle click open then squirt. 

You teasingly hummed as though thinking it over. "Mmmm. . . .I dunno, what would you wanna do?”

“I can pick ya up right from the slammer, ‘less ya got someone else.”

“I don’t.”

“Great, then we can just. . . i dunno, get to know each other,” he mused, then added at a lower pitch, “In the back seat of my whip. Stop off somewhere close.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Fuck yeah,” he said. “You don’t understand, baby. I’ve gotta see what’s under that garb.” His hand was sliding up and down his lubed up cock. “I’ve gotta feel it.” 

Butterflies swarmed in your chest and you sighed.

“What were ya wearin’ when ya got picked up?”

“Well. . . you already know what I’m in for. . .”

"Damn right I do, and you're gonna find out."

You laughed – at visitation, he said you were in for it. . 

"C’mon, jailbird. What were ya wearin.”

“A black microskirt"

"Mmm."

"Black mesh crop top"

"Yeahhh"

"Over a pink bra.”

“Ohhh, fuck,” he sighed. “Shoes?”

“Shit, I’m not–hmm." You tried not to overthink it. "Definitely platforms. Silver and clear, I think."

He gave a low whistle. "Sounds hot as shit." 

“And fishnets. Shit, that's all I had,” you laughed. "Maybe you can bring me something else." 

“God damn, that’s what I get to pick ya up in?”

“I mean, I wasn’t planning on the fishnets.”

“Commando in that skirt? Shit, that’s even better.” His breath grew heavier. "Fuck it, just sit on me while I drive," he murmured. "Yeah, fuckin' sit on *this* the whole drive–ugghh." As if avoiding the word cock would make this conversation passable.

You sighed and tried to hide your arousal from the Corrections Officer (CO) standing 8 ft away. 

"Can't get it in ya soon enough, baby." 

"Mmm," you said quietly. "Can't wait."

"Jailbird, you're fuckin killin' me." He moaned. "Hot as hell. . . fuck."

"You sure I can take it?"

"Fuck, I dunno, baby," he panted. "It's a lot."

"I could tell"

"Uugggghhh," He groaned and you heard his hand sliding faster on his dick. "And what'd ya think about that ?"

"Oh, I’m up for the challenge,” you cooed saucily. "Just get me nice 'n ready."

"You ready right now?"

"The second I heard your voice."

"Fuck, I gotta know what ya taste like"

"Mmm."

"Yeah," he panted.,"And when you're nice and ready, then what?"

You lowered your voice to a near whisper. "Oh, just fuckin' wreck me. Split me open, baby." All you could do was clench your thighs together.

"Ohhh god"

"Don't hold back"

"Ohh fuck–couldnt if I tried." He sighed.

You had lost all restraint and just prayed whoever reviewed this call would be cool.  

"Just stuff me full of it," you whispered. 

"Fuck, yeah."

"Stretch me out." 

"Ohh yeah." 

"Pound me so hard i can’t see straight."

"Shit." He moaned and his hand moved faster. 

"And then? Fill me the fuck up. I wanna feel it." 

"Fuck yeah," he panted "i'll be seepin' outta ya for days."

"Then you better fill me up again." 

"Jesus, fuck–ohhh." 

"Don't tell me you'd spill it this fast."

"Oh fuck you," he laughed in good humor. "I'm not spillin' shit." You could still hear his hand. 

"Not even if I'm sittin' on ya while ya drive?"

"Not even." 

"Not with one hand on the wheel and one on my tit?"

"Ohh fuck," he breathes.  "No, no. . ."

"And I'm moanin' your name with every bump in the road?"

"Mmmm, fuck, baby."

"Oh ya like that?" 

"Fuckin'--fuck–fuckin' love it."

"Wouldya mind slidin' that hand down between my legs?" 

"Wherever ya want it, baby."

"Ugh, those big hands," you whispered. "I just know you can use'em."

"Fuckin' right I can," he panted.  

"Hope ya don't finish while you're drivin' with me in your lap."

"All ya gotta do is sit still."

"Imagine the mess if you came." 

"Fuck, baby," he sighed.

"Every time we hit a bump, more would spill out in  your lap.”

“Ohh, fuck."  Then a long, drawn out moan like he was coming. You were throbbing wildly. 

"Knew ya were close," you laughed. Then you heard a heavy smack on his end of the line. Then there was nothing but breathing for a minute, then it sounded like he was writing. 

"What are you doing now?"

"Addressing an envelope."

"You're not mailing me your–"

"No I'm not mailin' you my" he laughed,  "Load."

"Just a letter?

"Yeah. . . Just a letter." 

"Mmkay. . . How 'bout a picture?"

His tone was warm and flattered. "Oh I can throw in a pic. But it's not gonna be the kind ya *really* want."

"Booo," you pouted.

'Think you'll like it anyway."

"Yeah, I can fill in the rest." 

Your time was up. 

—-------

You went back to your cell and sighed as you sat down on your bed. Mabel started to leave but you said, "no, you're good." You'd rub one out later. You wanted to ask Mabel if he really liked you, but you wouldn't let yourself be vulnerable like that. You were still trying to detach.  

"You're right, he's cool," you said. 

 "You like him, don't ya? He likes you, too.”  

She reached under her mattress into the fitted sheet and got out her poke and stick supplies. “C’mere, let's just get it over with,” she said. 

“What, uh, what do you wanna give me?”

"J. . . O. . ." 

Your whole upper body heated up and you laughed under your breath, "Mabel." She was mostly kidding. 

—-----------

Visitation day came and you weren't nervous, just excited. He was wearing a too-small, black softwash t-shirt, black jeans, and a chain.

“Be good,” the guard warned Joel as you picked up the phone on your side. 

"Yes, officer,” Joel replied with a respectful nod, then sat down. You noticed his rings as he picked up his phone. “We gotta be good,” he said with a wink.  

“So be good,” you told him vacantly as your eyes roamed his tattoos. 

He stared at you for a few seconds, hungrily taking in the mundane sight of you in your garb. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. 

“How’d ya get hotter? Chicks don’t get hotter in lock-up, much less in a week.” 

“What, and men do? It’s in your head.”

“Well yeah, we work out like mad.” 

“Guess you’ve got me there.” 

“Not talkin’ 'bout your body. It’s bangin’, but, I mean–no makeup and you’re pretty as hell.” 

You smiled and shrugged, "thanks," then whispered, "but I think you're just horny," with a wink.  He returned the shrug. 

A few seconds of silence passed as he checked you out. You salivated over his arms stretching his shirt. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Whatcha thinkin about?”

“I’m thinkin’ ya look like a slutty bouncer. . .You get this shit at Spirit Halloween?”

Joel chuckled. “Well . . . you know what *I’m* thinkin’ about.” His eyes glued to your chest. 

Yeah, yeah, he’s gotta see what’s under that garb. “Yeah, you’ll see it, honey," you said. 

It was a struggle knowing what to say–you wanted to “be good” and not get cut short, but you also wanted to indulge in your fantasies. 

Joel asked, “Where ya wanna go when ya get out?”

“Anywhere. Got some place in mind?”

“Could take ya to my place. Mabel taught me a mean pot roast recipe.” 

You smiled. “You’re makin' me hungry.”

“Oh I’m starvin’, baby.”

"Long drive?"

He exhaled with a puff of his cheeks. "It’ll feel long that day."

“I’m sure it will,” you purred, looking down as if you could see through the booth right to his cock. You wet your lips. “So what’s between here and home?”

He took a deep breath, thought for a second, and told you what highway it was. 

“Oh, okay,” you nodded. “There’s a seven eleven right outside the gate here. 

“There sure is," Joel nodded. "Clean bathrooms too. I checked on my way.”

“You did not.” 

“I’m tellin’ ya," he nodded. "Stopped for gas. First thing I thought about. Swear I think about it as much as you do.” 

“So what’s in the bathroom?”

“Steel handicap railing about hip height”

You raised your eyebrows, intrigued.

“Pretty sturdy to hold onto, or even sit on.” He looked over his shoulder “Like if someone needed a rest or whatever.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Right," you said softly as you nodded. 

"Diaper changin' thingy, too."

You scrunched your face up. 

"Like if ya needed to bend over it and stretch your back.” 

"Ah," you nodded. "Nah."

“Parking lot?”

“That close to here, it’s gotta be crawling with pigs.” 

“Right,” he said in a trance, looking at your mouth. 

“Alright, where else is there," you asked. 

"Rest stop. They got picnic tables near the woods if ya need to, uh," he looked down, "Sit down," he said quieter, "n' take a rest." 

"Oh, I won't want a rest." You slowly shook your head and your eyes lingered on his chain. 

He groaned softly and rested his chin in his hand. He whispered, "You're killin' me here." He scratched his beard and you tingled at the sight of the silver patches, his pinky ring, his hand tattoos–the faded barbed wire.  You sighed. 

"You bein' good?" He asked. 

"Yeah." You resigned yourself to harmless small talk for a few minutes, but it was obvious what you both were thinking about.  There were long silences where you just stared at each other.  

“Just a few more weeks and I’m yours,” you teased. 

His eyes widened and he raised his eyebrows. “You serious?”

Oh, shit - you didn’t wanna scare him off.  Really didn’t even mean it like that, but, you also didn’t mind the thought of him as a boyfriend. 

You nodded and teased, “yours to do what you please.”

He blew out a puff of air. "God damn, baby. I don't think you know what’s comin’ your way.”

“Can’t wait to find out, though.”

“Oh, you’re gonna find out.”  He dug his hand into his lap but didn’t move it. “Shit.”

“Sorry.”

“Never be sorry.”

The guard barked,”Hands where I can see’em,” and Joel obediently raised his hand and put both elbows on the table again. 

"You ain't gonna want no one else again." 

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness which actually turned you on. 

"Don't say I didn't warn ya," he cautioned. 

"Okay," you shrugged with a contemplative frown. 

"Shit, I might be in the same boat." He swallowed and looked like he meant it. Like maybe you were doing something to him that hadn't been done.

"Get my letter yet?" Joel asked. 

"No." 

He smirked, then it faded as he checked you out for the hundredth time. He shook his head, sat back, and took a deep breath.  "This is fuckin' torture." 

"Then it's a good thing I waited til now to ask about ya." 

"the best torture," he clarified, his forehead beginning to glisten. "I'm gonna fuckin explode when I'm back in my ride."  He looked at the unopened box of tissues on his side of the booth, intended for crying visitors. "Thank God I didn't ride the hog." Fuck, he had a motorcycle, too? He held the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder while he opened the plastic on the box and tried to get the tissues started. Then he took three tissues out.  Your breath hitched at the thought of his cum. Was it silky? Stringy? Watery? Sticky? What'd it taste like? Ugh. 

"HANDS," the guard said when he saw Joel finish pocketing the tissues. The guard stepped forward. "Say goodbye, let's go."

"Fuck." Joel sighed and closed his eyes. "Sorry, jailbird." 

When he stood up, you could see the outline of his hard dick on his thigh. You took a deep breath and pried your eyes off his crotch to briefly meet his eyes. He winked and you managed a small smile before eyes fell right back to his jeans as he adjusted himself. Fuck. 

—---------------

Joel’s letter came a couple days later. A photo fell out of it. Black and white. He was sitting in a chair and smoking with one hand holding the cigarette up and his other hand resting between his legs.  Arms blazing in a white t-shirt. Squinting at the camera. He looked hot as hell despite having all his clothes on. He looked like a model. 

The letter was on plain white printer paper, and the letter was short: 

Be good, jailbird. I'll take ya anywhere. 

Sweet, and also sexy. God, you wanted him to take you. 

You flattened out the letter and admired his poor but legible handwriting. Not as bad as some you'd seen. His handwriting was hot.  It was cute that he didn't use any special stationary.  He was a simple man. And God, what a man. You ran your fingers over the words,  and they caught on a different texture.  Something on the paper.  You smelled it and it wasn't cum. It was, like, lotion or Vaseline. 

Wait. You held it up, and your breath hitched. 

You looked behind you to make sure no one was watching, then you stood up, got closer to the light, and held it at an angle. Holy shit. It was his dick print, diagonal across the paper.  A bolt of desire shot through your body.  It was transparent but the different texture was visible. You could see the head, then most of the shaft. It was detailed, there was texture. Even a couple of veins. 

You sat on your bed, leaning against the wall with your knees up.  You rested the paper against your knees at an angle with the tip pointed between your legs.  You just wanted to get a sense of the size–and boy did you–but the sight of it, God. Just the silhouette of it lined up right there made you feral. You needed it so bad.  Needed him.  Who the hell mails a dick print? Fuckin’ Jojo, he was gonna be the death of you.

-----

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Your engagement really keeps me going, I love y'all.

This AU is due to @beskarandblasters and @wannab-urs and their hilarious list of new joel tropes. But I played myself because he's actually hot and I want him?

Notes

The slapping sound after he came was him letting his cock slap onto the paper.

There are a lot of correctional facilities where they wouldn't get away with all this so you gotta suspend disbelief.

The strip club will be an alternate timeline of this Joel set in the past.

-----

I hear tags aren't working for some people. Please consider following @toxicfics and subscribing to notifications. Must have tumblr push notifications enabled on your phone.

-----

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret

[jenniferlawrencelover]

Happy Together (Poolverine)

Ao3 still down so f*ck it. The first book in the Domestic Poolverine Series. Check it out, and if it tickles your pickle just right, maybe you should head over to my Ao3 after this all blows over!

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Logan Howlett/Worst! Wolverine

Rating: Explicit (NSFW) Mdni

Summary: When Logan moved into the crackhouse Wade made a crackhome, Wade never expected he would stay as long as he did. Least of all him.

Word Count: ~28k

When Logan moved into the crackhouse Wade made a crackhome, Wade never expected he would stay as long as he did. Not that Wade is complaining, and boy does he love to complain. It's one of his many kinks actually. Gets him all hot and bothered when Logan's gruff voice rumbles with irritation, when those feral eyes narrow, when those claws unsheathe with a snikt. God, he was getting wet just thinking about it. Remembering their first time in the Honda Odyssey, the way his claws pierced through Deadpool's lung literally took his breath away as he thrust into him again and again until the seat was covered in bodily fluid. Sure, it was blood, but when it was leaking out of a hole did it really matter what exactly it was?

God, he was going to cream himself if he didn't stop. Not that he had any morals that were to stop him, but he was always a fan of a good edging. He needed to save this for the good bit of the story where he's actually getting laid. Right, author?

Where was he?

Oh, yes. 

---------------------------------------------

Wade didn't think Logan would stick around. Sure, they had their moments—epic, cinematic moments, the kind that made Wade want to shout "Oscar-worthy!" at the top of his lungs. But domesticity? That was new territory. He figured Logan would grow tired of his antics, his constant need to poke, prod, and irritate. Maybe he'd leave after the first week, maybe a month. But weeks turned into months, and months turned into something that felt suspiciously like a routine.

It was almost alarming how easily Logan carved out a place in Wade's life. How perfectly he fit his stocky self into the lawn chair at their dinner table during their family dinners with X-Force, Laura, Vanessa, and Craig. 

(Craig. Perfect Craig with his perfect teeth, perfect job, and perfect everything. Wade loathed him with a fiery passion, mostly because Craig didn't have a single flaw Wade could latch onto. Did he mention that Craig was Vanessa's husband-to-be? Rich asshole. Both figuratively and literally. Absolute clean freak, by the way. You could floss your teeth with his pubes--and isn't that a riveting image?)

Logan didn't exactly fit into the picture of domestic bliss Wade had once envisioned (not that Wade spent much time envisioning domestic bliss, because, let's face it, he was more of a 'chaos and explosions' kind of guy). Yet time and time again would find him sitting at the table with a scowl that could curdle milk, grumbling about everything from the overcooked roast to Dopindor's incessant gambling. Yet, he still showed up every time. Wade figured it was because Logan liked the food, but deep down, he suspected Logan actually liked the people too, not that the grumpy Canadian would ever admit it.

He grunted his way through small talk, glared at Wade every time he cracked a joke at Craig's expense (which was often), and even offered to help clean up afterward. Wade almost had a heart attack at the sight of Logan washing dishes, sleeves rolled up, hands moving with the kind of precision that spoke of someone who'd spent years honing his skills. Of course, Logan was annoyingly good at it, just like he was good at everything else. Worst Wolverine ever his ass.

Domesticity with Logan was like living with a bear that occasionally decided to be helpful. There were times when Logan would do something shockingly sweet, like fixing Wade's busted sink without being asked or restocking the fridge with Wade's favorite beer after a particularly brutal mission. But for every nice thing he did, there was an equal and opposite reaction—like when he'd steal the last slice of pizza just to watch Wade's eye twitch or take over the TV remote and force Wade to endure hours of old westerns that made him want to gouge his eyes out.

Logan had even taken to walking Wade's dog, Mary Puppins, despite his incessant reassurance that he would put her out of her misery the first chance he got. Mary Puppins, who was as obnoxious as Wade (because of course she was), had somehow managed to win Logan over. Watching the gruff, battle-worn Wolverine walking a tiny dog in the park was a sight that Wade wished he could capture on film. He wanted to post it on every social media he owned, blow it up on a canvas, and hang it on his wall. Jerk off to it--Who said that?!

Not everything was perfect, though. There were still the fights. The literal ones, where they went at it like rabid animals, breaking furniture and causing the neighbors to complain about the "domestic disturbances" next door. But those were always followed by a quiet truce, maybe some whiskey, and the understanding that whatever this was, it was working. Sort of.

Sometimes, Wade would find Logan sitting in the dark, the only light coming from the flicker of whatever old-timey cowboy show was playing on cable. He never did anything. Just sat there like fucking Buddha all contemplating and broody staring into nothingness like he had something to prove. Wade didn't know for sure, but he was pretty sure that he was plagued by the same nightmares that Wade pretended he didn't have. When the voices didn't stop, and it hurt behind your eyes just a little too much. Wade always found him. Pulled him from wherever his mind took him by shooting off at the mouth about anything and everything that ran through his mind until Logan was telling him to fuck off, Bub. He never felt that familiar piercing of Logan's claws through his thigh though, so Wade must have done a good thing for once. Not that Logan would ever admit it out loud. The man was about as emotionally expressive as a brick wall. 

Nights were...well nights. Nights should be spent fucking or fighting. Not brooding in front of candlelight like Ebenezer Scrooge if Scrooge had trauma the size of fucking moons and an anger management problem. Wade liked Logan better in the light though.

Liked it better when Logan rolled off of Wade's sofa, where he'd shuffle into the kitchen, hair sticking up in all directions and in two kitten ear-shaped tufts, and grunt a barely intelligible "morning" before downing his first cup of coffee. Well, coffee with a shot of whiskey but if Logan would ignore the raging cocaine problem that was happening in the house Wade would ignore the raging alcoholic problem that was going on under his nose. He was prone to wearing shirts to sleep in despite Wade's multiple attempts to shred them in the washer or coat them in itching powder, but he had an abhorrence to wearing sleep pants which meant Wade was treated to a daily view of Logan's perpetually pissed-off morning face along with his ass sculpted by the Gods in those striped boxers. He did always catch Wade looking at his junk though which meant that he was usually slashed to pieces before ten A.M. Nobody likes a good ole perving anymore!

Hey, you win some you lose some he supposes.

It was a delicate balance they had—Wade's mess of a life clashing with Logan's own brand of controlled chaos. The apartment was a disaster, but it was their disaster. Clothes were strewn everywhere, bullet casings littered the floor, and there was an ever-present stack of empty pizza boxes that neither of them could be bothered to throw out. Wade's weapons were scattered around like lethal knickknacks, and Logan's flannel shirts seemed to multiply on their own, invading every available surface. And the smell... Christ, the smell. Between Wade's love of greasy takeout and whatever the hell Logan did in his spare time (Wade didn't ask, and Logan didn't tell), the place was a sensory assault on anyone who walked through the door.Cleaning wasn't really on the agenda. Wade had tried once, in a fit of what he could only describe as temporary insanity, to tidy up. Logan had walked in, taken one look at the attempt, and growled something about Wade "ruining the natural order of things" before dropping his muddy boots right in the middle of the freshly vacuumed carpet. Wade had thrown a tantrum, Logan had rolled his eyes, and the place had gone back to its usual state of disarray within hours.

They both had their quirks, their little habits that drove the other crazy. Wade had a tendency to leave his dirty socks everywhere, while Logan seemed to believe that the sink was an appropriate place to leave his half-finished beer bottles. And God forbid Wade tried to move one of Logan's knives—they were everywhere, hidden in every nook and cranny, like some kind of twisted Easter egg hunt. Wade had discovered this the hard way after accidentally slicing his hand off while reaching for a remote. Logan's response had been a casual, "Maybe you shouldn't touch my stuff," which had led to a week-long standoff where Wade hid all the knives in increasingly creative places just to piss Logan off. 

But for all the mess, for all the fucked up shit, it worked. Somehow. Wade wasn't sure how, but it did. Maybe it was because neither of them expected perfection from the other. Wade was a walking disaster, and Logan... well, Logan was Logan. They didn't try to change each other, and didn't push for anything more than what the other was willing to give. It was messy, it was chaotic, but it was real. Something that Wade had never really had before—something that felt suspiciously like home.

------------------------------------

"I swear to God, Wilson, if you don't stop leaving your—whatever the hell this is—everywhere, I'm gonna—"

"Promise? That gets me right in the danger zone, buddy. You threatening me is basically foreplay at this point."

Logan doesn't even dignify that with a response, just storms off to the kitchen, where he proceeds to make a sandwich with the kind of violence usually reserved for bar fights. Wade follows, naturally. Like a mouse after a particularly irate cat. 

"So," Wade starts, hopping up to sit on the counter, legs swinging, "What's the plan for tonight? Movie marathon? Sparring? Ooh, maybe a little mutual grooming? I could use a mani-pedi, and I know those claws could use some love."

Logan's silence is as stony as his jawline, but Wade's nothing if not persistent. And charming. And devilishly handsome. He's the whole package, really.

"You know," Wade continues, leaning back to let his legs dangle in front of Logan's path, "It's been a while since we had a heart-to-heart. Just two bros, sharing feelings, talking about their day. You can go first if you want. Get it all out. I'm here for you, big guy."

Logan's eyes flash up to meet Wade's, a mixture of exasperation and, dare Wade say it, fondness. "You're an idiot," Logan mutters, finally biting into his aggressively assembled sandwich.

"And yet, you still stick around," Wade replies, grinning. "What does that say about you, huh?"

Logan's silence was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic crunching of his sandwich being devoured with a near-violent fervor. Wade could practically see the tension radiating off of him, like a live wire just waiting to snap. The kind of tension that made Wade shiver with excitement, like an electric shock to the system that he just couldn't get enough of.

Wade leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Peanut, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're actually starting to like me."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Don't push your luck, Bub."

"Oh I'm certainly pushing something if you know what I mean?" Wade waggled his eyebrows.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean-?"

"Are you guys going to fuck anytime soon or should I expect maritals first?"

Wade whipped around, eyes meeting the sunglasses of the reason they were still receiving disability. "Easy Toph. The author is trying to use what fanfiction calls slow burn."

"Who the hell is Arthur?" Blind Al calls, nearly stepping on Dogpool where she hovers at her feet. "When the hell did we get a new roommate?"

"Careful Al," Wade warns. "Right now you are a guppy bumping into the glass when you are supposed to be oblivious to the walls."

"Huh?" She calls back, nearly falling over their Roomba.

---------------------

Sweet baby Marvel Jesus.

What had Wade done right in this life to deserve this moment? Were angels singing? Has the sweet embrace of death finally caught up to him? Was that Mariah Carey's angelic voice singing in the background right now? Was this a thirst edit?

As the steam from the hot shower slowly dissipated, Logan emerged, wrapped in nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. And what glorious hips they were. Chiseled. Sharp. Dusted in the same hair that covered the rest of his body. Hubba, Hubba if you know what I mean. His hair was still damp, falling into his face and curling slightly at the ends. Water droplets clung to his skin tastefully, and whoever was in the makeup department deserved a damned raise for the way they accentuated his cheeks flush from the humidity. A water droplet ran down his chest, trailing into his towel into places that much like Orange is the New Black, he can't wait to get into.

Wade's eyes were practically glued to Logan's every move. He tried to blink away the vivid image, but his brain had hitched a ride on the Logan Express and refused to disembark. His mouth was dry, and he felt as if he'd been transported into a scene that was far too cinematic for everyday life.

Logan, oblivious to the turmoil he was causing, was more focused on finding his clothes. But as he glanced up and noticed Wade's incredulous stare, he raised an eyebrow, clearly unnerved. "Fuck is your deal?"

Wade, standing frozen in the doorway with a slack-jawed expression, blinked several times as if trying to wake himself from a fever dream. "Is this real life?" he muttered, though it was more of an exclamation of disbelief than a question. "Because if it is, I'm officially in heaven. And if this is a dream, I'm never waking up. Is this a thirst trap? Are you thirst trapping me?"

Logan, who was in the middle of rummaging for a shirt, glanced up, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. "What the hell is a thirst trap?"

"It's what you are beautiful," Wade's eyes wandered appreciatively over Logan's towel-clad figure. "Baby Girl, you're like a walking wet dream, and I'm your number one fan. I'm talking about a lifetime subscription, unlimited access to all your... assets."

"Wade," Logan warned.

"If there were a heat map, it would be showing red alerts all over the place.  Most importantly, on my chimichanga." He pointed vaguely at his crotch with a playful wink.

Snikt

Wade's eyes went wide, but he didn't back down. Instead, he took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, whoa, hold up there, furry. I'm just here to admire the view. No need to go all R-rated on me."

"This shit was already R-Rated," Logan growled.

"Well, actually it's rated E for Explicit. They don't have an R-rating on fanfictions," Wade corrected.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing to worry your pretty little head about Peanut," Wade cooed. 

----------------------------------------

"Wade, I mean this in the kindest way possible, but you are absolutely shit at flirting."

"Thank you, Vanessa. How are things with your fiancé?" Wade responds, sipping tea out of the antique china that her rich new boyfriend could afford. 

"Wade," she said softly, slipping a smooth, delicate hand over Wade's saggy ballsack-looking one. 

"I'm totally over you. Totally," Wade continued. "Can't a guy be curious about his ex-girlfriend's life without ulterior motives? Yeesh, talk about paranoid. And self-obsessed, too. I don't know who you even are anymore-"

"He's been there for three months," She interrupted him.

"Has he?" Wade replied, his tone dripping with faux innocence. He swirled the tea in his cup, watching the steam curl up like wisps of a lost dream. "Wouldn't know. Haven't been counting. Not like I keep a calendar or anything. Celebrate special dates," he punctuates with a loud sip.

"It's okay if you get a boyfriend, Wade," she tells him. "You are allowed to like him."

"Psh, like him?" Wade waves at the air. "Lust him? Oh absolutely. Wanna slather syrup up and down his body and lick it off dirtier than a porn star late on rent. You've seen him with his shirt off, right? Rated E for everyone should see them at all times."

Vanessa cocked an eyebrow. 

Wade pointed a finger at her, "Oh no. Oh no, no, no. You're not allowed to go all maternal and shit on me. I have enough mommy issues as it is."

"He's been there. For three months," she reiterates. "I thought you said he was just going to be there until he found someplace else."

"Jesus Ness, just because you hit the jackpot doesn't mean the rest of the world isn't in a national housing crisis," Wade says. "Besides, he's like...absolutely-tutely filled to the brim with undiagnosed trauma-"

"Like you."

"Oh no, baby. I'm diagnosed. Found a therapist and everything," Wade said, pointing two thumbs back at himself. "Sure, I held her at gunpoint and she fired me as a client but we all have our bad days-"

"His crazy matches your crazy."

Wade's words pitter to a stop, and he slams the teacup down. "Copyright."

"Huh?"

"I. Do not. Like Logan," Wade enunciates. "I'm ecstatic you found your happy ever after. Practically leaping for fucking joy. But that's just not in the cards for me, and that's okay. I have Mary Puppins and Blind Al, and I have all of you of course. Logan will leave-"

"So that's what this is about?" She interrupts him. 

Wade took a deep breath, trying to regain his theatrical flair. "Bitch, was I finished with my monologue?" Wade demanded, raising an eyebrow. "I was really spitting fire and you just killed my vibe."

Vanessa, unimpressed, crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. "Are you worried he'll leave you?"

Wade's smirk faltered for a moment, his eyes flickering with something closer to vulnerability than his usual bravado. He leaned back, swirling his tea again, and took a moment before speaking. "Seriously, Vanessa? That's what you think this is about? I'm not worried about Logan leaving me. I mean, I'd be worried if he didn't."

"Wade..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Wade said quickly, waving his hand dismissively. "Don't start with the 'it's okay to feel' speeches. I get it."

Vanessa pursed her lips. "I just want you to be happy, Wade."

Wade swirled his tea, giving her a wide and slightly deranged smile. "I am happy. See? Look how wide my smile is. Could an unhappy person look like this?"

"I just don't want you to put your life on hold for me," she said, gripping both of his hands in hers again. "Or because of me. Or whatever."

"Self-centered much?" Wade scoffed playfully, rubbing a thumb over the top of her hand. "Listen, I don't know what you've been reading.  Maybe an enemies to lovers, I heard those are super popular right now. And Loki and Morbius just had that entire really bad guy and really good guy situationship going on which was already super ballsy for Disney. But Logan and I are roommates. Team members. Hopefully, someday super mega best friends who bang on the sofa and on the kitchen table. He'll leave, eventually. Go do whatever it is that X-Men do. And I'll move on with my life. Continue to do what I do. Fucking, fighting, and getting my money up." 

Vanessa let out a long sigh. "Wade, I'm not trying to meddle in your life. I just want you to be okay. You're important to me, you know that, right?"

Wade shrugged, a mischievous grin creeping back onto his face. "Of course I am. I'm Deadpool. I'm the most important person in the room. Most attractive. Funniest. Honestly, the list goes on and on."

Vanessa sighs again into her teacup,  but she doesn't say anything else. Maybe because she knows it would be pointless to try and knock any sense into him. Maybe because not even a second later Mary Puppins was vomiting all over her expensive rug.

——————-

Wade had grown used to Logan's routine, so when Logan deviated from it, it always caused Wade a bit of concern. Sure, Logan was a 200-year-old mutant with an adamantium skeleton and a healing factor, but even he had his habits. And Wade had come to know them intimately. 

Logan would wake up at 5 AM sharp (unless he had been to the bar, in which he would be up around 10 AM), the sound of his alarm barely audible before his claws would snap out to silence it. He'd grunt his way through a series of stretches that Wade could only describe as "yoga for angry lumberjacks" before heading out for a run with Mary Puppins who he still adamantly proclaimed to detest.

When he came back, he would eat a single sandwich with enough meat to feed a small army and wash it down with Ice Mountain water, the only water that makes you defend the argument that water all tastes the same. It's like if you did an enema after a night of drinking nothing but Pink Whitney's, and you scooped the water out of the toilet and distributed it directly into the bottles. Drinking from the bottle was like giving a rimjob to a freshly bleached asshole. 

Usually, Logan disappeared for hours after his post-run sandwich, doing god knows what. As far as Wade knew, he hadn't gone back to X-Men. Too many memories or nightmares etc, etc. His best guess was the bar down the street or a dark corner he could brood in with a strip of sunlight that hit the side of his face just right. So, it was a surprise when Wade walked in covered in blood from his latest sexcapade (read assassination attempt on a grocery assistant manager--don't ask), and saw Logan sitting at the kitchen table, staring intently at his laptop.

Logan looked up briefly as Wade entered, his expression neutral. "Rough day?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the blood-stained Deadpool costume.

Wade shrugged, dropping a couple of swords and a small arsenal of weapons onto the counter. "You know, the usual. A few baddies, a couple of explosions, and an awkward conversation with a henchman about his life choices. What about you? Planning a vacation or something? Can I come? I love the beach. Make sure it's a nudist beach, god, I hate those pesky tanlines." He glanced at the laptop screen, trying to catch a glimpse of what Logan was up to.

Logan didn't even crack a smile, clicking something else on the screen. "Figured it's about time I got my own space again."

Record scratch. Freeze frame. 

You see, Wade didn't think Logan would stick around. Logan wasn't the type to settle down anywhere for long, least of all in a one-bedroom apartment with a blind, cocaine addict, a fucked-up ballsack-looking motherfucker who kills people for embarrassing low amounts of cash, and a beautiful dog that seems to smell of raw sewage no matter how many baths she is given. It was a miracle they hadn't killed each other yet. Well, they had, but Wade was just too stubborn to stay dead and Logan was staying alive out of spite.

But Logan was...Logan. Logan didn't take his shit, for one thing. Wade and Logan fought a lot, and only one of them was good with words so often it led to fists or well...claws. Their physical brawls were as much a part of their routine as breakfast or banter, a twisted form of therapy for two guys who couldn't process emotions like normal people. Wade would make some offhand comment, usually about Logan's hair or how badly he wanted his ass, and Logan would respond with a growl and a fist to Wade's face.

So when Logan said he was looking for his own place, Wade felt a tiny twinge of something he didn't want to acknowledge. He wasn't the kind of guy who got attached. Attachment led to pain, and Wade had had more than his fair share of that.

Wade flopped onto the couch, his legs hanging over the armrest as he stared at the ceiling. "You really think you're gonna find something better than this? I mean, look at this place!" He gestured around at the cluttered, chaotic apartment that somehow felt more like home than anywhere he'd ever been. Mary Puppins raised her head from her princess doggy bed, tongue lolling out onto the wet spot of drool on the floor. Distantly, Wade could hear Al playing poker on her laptop (don't ask how, just accept it), as well as the distinct sound of screaming and gunshots a few streets down.

"What did it in? Was it the butt plug I left on your pillow? I said I was sorry. They say the wetter the better, but who knew fisting would be so hard? So much prep-"

"Shut up, Bub."

"Is it because I bought you kitty kibble for your birthday?" Wade continued. "Or because I snorted too much booger sugar with Al and forgot your birthday so we celebrated it a week late? Or was it the scratching post I installed on the wall? I'm only trying to look out for you, Peanut. One scratch on the wrong person and we'll have to get you declawed, and we all know I like you better when you're ten fingers deep in me."

Logan grunted, not even looking up from the laptop. "Privacy, for one thing."

Wade sat up, feigning shock. "Privacy? Pssh. Privacy is overrated. Besides, I give you plenty of privacy. Like that time I didn't burst into the bathroom when you were showering. I waited a full five minutes before I made that joke about helping you clean up with my tongue."

Logan finally glanced up, giving Wade a look that could melt adamantium. "Why do you care if I move out? Thought you'd be happy to get rid of me."

Wade opened his mouth to reply with something snarky, but the words caught in his throat. Why did he care? He hadn't thought about it before, hadn't really let himself think about it. But the truth was... he liked having Logan around. Liked knowing that someone was there, someone who wouldn't bail at the first sign of trouble. 

Logan raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response. Wade felt his stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the leftover chimichangas he'd eaten for breakfast. What to say, what to say. Ah yes, divert the question.

"How are you planning to fund this new place anyhow?" Wade said, narrowing his eyes. "Did you start an OnlyFans? Fuck!" He threw his arms in the air. "I told you if you started an OnlyFans to let me know so I could be your first subscriber. Just imagine it--Fucking my number-one fan. Or wait! We could make snuff together. Plenty of sick perverts would pay top dollar, and we both get to keep our lives in the end."

"Wade-" Logan growled.

"Oh sweetness, I was just kidding but now I'm curious. Are you tickling your pickle online? Diddling your cinnamon donut hole--Ow, fuck!"

Wade's arm fell to the floor with a thud, and he glared up at Logan's slightly smug face. "Motherfucker. I already booked a family photo session for us. Now I'm just going to look ridiculous."

Logan laughed boisterously, eyes crinkling at the corners and shoulders shaking. Wade raised an eyebrow, or, well, what would be considered an eyebrow. "What the hell are you laughing about?"

Logan clutched his stomach, his laughter echoing through the room like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard—and maybe it was. Wade, looking absolutely murderous as he tried to reattach his severed arm, glared at Logan with the intensity of a thousand suns. But Logan just kept laughing, the sound raw and unrestrained, and...Well, actually it was kind of beautiful. He looked younger when he was smiling, less weathered. He had a pretty smile too, all straight, white teeth and dimples that sunk deep into his cheeks. 

"You're serious?" Logan managed to gasp out between bouts of laughter, his voice rough but tinged with genuine amusement. 

Wade rolled his eyes dramatically as he grabbed the detached arm, pressing it against his shoulder in hopes it would fuse back together. The process was annoyingly slow, especially with Logan wheezing like a dying hyena in the background. "Yes, Logan. I want to commemorate our beautiful, picture-perfect relationship for posterity. Something we can look back on with our children and say, 'Kids, look how handsome your daddies used to be before they got all old and tired from raising you little shits. Now run along Wade and Logina Jr. And remember when you are running with knives you need to keep the blade pointed down'--Fuck, you bastard!"

His other arm fell to the floor into the pool of blood that Mary Puppins was beginning to lick. Wade glared up at Logan, who was...startingly close now. Close enough that Wade could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint scent of whiskey and something earthy that was just so... Logan. Wade's heart did that annoying little flutter thing, like a bunch of butterflies were having intercourse in his heart valve. "Well, now you're going to have to be the one to hold Mary Puppins up in the photo," Wade said, sniffing. "And we both know you are never getting that smell out of your clothes."

"I'll live," Logan says, smirking as he walks off. 

---------------------------------

"You're moping."

Wade barely cracked an eye open at the sound of Logan's gravelly voice. "Am not," he muttered, shifting on the couch so that his back was to Logan. He subtly sniffed the rumpled pillow, the scent of blood, oil, and aftershave tickling his nostrils. If he had nose hairs, he figured they would be tickling, too, but unfortunately, the only hair he still had was the bits from his toupee. Logan kept throwing them away, but Wade was not afraid of a little bit of dumpster diving.

Logan snorted, and Wade could hear him rolling his eyes. "Could've fooled me. You've been lying there like a sack of shit for hours."

Wade groaned dramatically, rolling onto his back and stretching his arms over his head. "Maybe I'm just enjoying some well-deserved R&R. Did you need me for something? Daddy to take you for a walk in the park? Lapdance? Personal scratching post?"

Logan didn't rise to the bait, which only made Wade more irritated. He wasn't used to people seeing through his bullshit, and Logan was getting far too good at it. "You gonna tell me what's really eating you, or do I have to carve it out?"

Wade's eyes flicked open at that, meeting Logan's steady gaze across the room. "Do you actually care, or do you just want your couch back?"

Logan didn't answer right away, and for a moment, Wade thought maybe he'd finally managed to throw him off. But then Logan's gaze narrowed, his expression hardening just a fraction. "I'm not a total asshole, Bub," he said, his voice low and gruff.

Wade felt a twinge of something he couldn't quite name—annoyance, maybe, or something more uncomfortable like guilt. He sat up, swinging his legs off the couch and facing Logan fully. "Sure you aren't Peanut."

Logan's eyes didn't waver, didn't blink. He just watched Wade with that infuriating calmness, the kind that made Wade feel like he was the only one spiraling out of control. Wade wanted to argue, to crack a joke, to say something—anything—that would deflect from the way Logan's stare made him feel like he was under a microscope. But the words died in his throat, and all that came out was a quiet sigh. 

"So," Logan said, taking a sip of his coffee. He hadn't moved from his spot at the table, his laptop screen casting a dull glow over his face. "Spit it out."

Wade ran a hand over his face, feeling the rough texture of his scarred skin, the uneven ridges. "This whole... whatever this is. You and me, the apartment, the routine. It's been... nice," he said, the words sounding lame even to his own ears. 

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for Wade to get to the point. "And that's a bad thing?"

"No, it's not—well, maybe it is? I don't know!" Wade threw his hands up in frustration, his voice rising. "It's just... I'm not used to this, okay? I'm not used to things being... normal."

"We can't die. My bones are made of metal and I have claws that come out of my hands. Our roommate is addicted to cocaine and you inherited your dog because you killed your alternate self. Just yesterday you shot me in the arm because I switched the channel. I wouldn't exactly call that normal, would you?" Logan said gruffly, crossing his arms. 

Wade's lips twitched at Logan's words, a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "Hey, I regret that that beautiful son of a bitch had to die, but it was necessary for the sake of the world," he said, leaning back on the couch and staring at the ceiling. 

Logan snorted in response. 

Wade watched the fan spin a few times before continuing. "But it's normal for us. You know what I mean."

Logan grunted, clearly not satisfied with that answer. "So what's the problem, Bub? You finally got something stable for once in your life, and it's making you twitchy?"

Wade didn't answer, choosing to pluck at the fraying edges of the couch where Logan's claws had snagged the fabric countless times. The same wear and tear followed Wade through the apartment--the curtains, the bath towels, the walls, even a few of the worn areas of Wade's suit. What would happen when Logan left? Would he eventually have to replace them, and watch as the remnants of the last four months faded into the back of his mind until he began to question if it ever happened to begin with? The more Wade thought about it, the more his chest tightened, the anxiety clawing its way up his throat.

Wade didn't like being alone. It was kind of his whole thing. Didn't matter who he was surrounding himself with; if they loved him or despised him, it didn't matter as long as they were they were there. Silence, true silence, was the one thing that could drive him insane. It's probably the thing that will kill him one day. Wade thrived on noise, on the presence of others—even if they hated his guts. He was the guy who'd talk just to fill the void, crack a joke even when no one was listening, because anything was better than being left alone with his own thoughts.

"Wade," Logan's voice cut through the silence, rough but with an edge of concern. "You're not answering the question."

Wade's hand stilled, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch a little too tightly. He didn't look up. "What's the point? You'll just leave eventually. It's what you do. It's what everybody does." He laughs a little too hard to be casual. 

Ha casual. Knee-deep in the passenger seat of that fucking Honda Odyssey, how fitting.

Logan's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Wade sat up, throwing his arms in the air. "Nothing. Nothing! Oh my God." 

He stood up, planning on dramatically storming into his bedroom when he felt a hard grip on his bicep. Wade felt the pressure of Logan's hand like a vise around his arm, the grip strong enough to stop him in his tracks but not enough to hurt. It was a warning. "Let go," Wade snapped, trying to yank his arm free, but Logan held firm. The tension in the room crackled like electricity, and Wade could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.

"Not until you tell me what the hell's going on," Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that usually made people back off. But Wade was too wound up to back off, too full of all the things he didn't want to say. "You PMSing or something?"

Wade's eyes flashed with anger, the words striking a nerve he didn't even realize was exposed. He didn't know why it had upset him, or why that was his snapping point. Lord knows he has said ten times worse before. But for some reason, it's enough for him to turn around and punch Logan square in his beautiful face.

Logan's claws shot out, and Wade barely had time to react before he was throwing himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the swipe. He hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the breath out of him, but he was on his feet in an instant, his own weapons drawn. He didn't have time to think, didn't have time to process what was happening—his body moved on autopilot, driven by adrenaline and the raw, unfiltered emotions that had been building up for weeks.

Logan came at him again, his movements quick and precise, but Wade was faster, ducking under Logan's arm and slashing at his side with the katana he had put under the counter. The blades sliced through fabric and skin, but Logan barely flinched, his healing factor already kicking in as he turned to face Wade again.

"You really want to do this, Bub? We all remember how it turned out last time" Logan snarled, his voice full of fury as he lunged forward.

Wade didn't hesitate, meeting Logan head-on with a vicious swing of his own. "Oh, baby, don't threaten me with a good time."

Logan growled, tackling Wade into the fridge. The fridge door dented under the force of their impact, the contents rattling inside as Wade let out a breathless laugh. "Oof, baby, didn't know you were into rough play," he quipped, even as he shoved Logan back with all his strength. Logan's eyes flashed with irritation, and he swung a fist at Wade's jaw, but Wade ducked, the punch glancing off his shoulder instead.

"Shut up, Wade," Logan snarled, his claws retracting just long enough to grab Wade by the collar and yank him close. "You want to fight? Fine. But don't think for a second I'm gonna go easy on you."

Wade grinned, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. I wouldn't have it any other way." With that, he twisted out of Logan's grip and delivered a sharp knee to Logan's ribs. The blow didn't do much damage, but it was enough to get Logan to loosen his hold.

Logan grunted, barely reacting to the hit, and immediately countered with an elbow to Wade's side, aiming for his liver. Wade felt the pain radiate through his body, but he didn't let it slow him down. Instead, he took advantage of the close quarters, wrapping his legs around Logan's waist and using the momentum to flip them both over, sending Logan crashing onto the kitchen floor.They landed in a tangled heap, Logan's claws extending once more as he slashed at Wade's side, cutting through his suit and skin. Wade hissed at the pain but he was already healing, the torn flesh knitting itself back together as he straddled Logan, pressing a forearm to the older man's throat.

"This is the best foreplay I've had in months!" Wade gasped, his voice a mix of exhilaration and mock desperation. Logan's eyes narrowed, and he brought his claws up again, aiming for Wade's neck.

Wade blocked the strike with one of his katanas, the metal clanging against Logan's claws. Sparks flew as they grappled, their faces inches apart. Wade could feel Logan's breath hot against his face, could see the raw anger burning in his eyes. But beneath that anger, there was something else—something more complicated that Wade couldn't quite name.

"You talk too much," Logan growled, shoving Wade off him with a powerful kick that sent him crashing into the kitchen table. The table shattered under Wade's weight, splintering into pieces as Wade rolled to his feet, a manic grin on his face.

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta keep this sexual tension going!" Wade shot back, grabbing a chair leg and hurling it at Logan like a spear. Logan swatted it aside with ease, advancing on Wade with a deadly purpose in his eyes.

Wade met him head-on, their bodies colliding in a flurry of punches, kicks, and slashes. The kitchen quickly became a war zone, the walls and floor splattered with blood as they tore into each other with a vicious intensity. Wade's katanas clashed against Logan's claws, the sound of metal on metal filling the room as they fought like animals, neither willing to back down.

"Come on, Peanut!" Wade taunted, even as he ducked under a brutal swipe aimed at his head. "Is that all you've got? I've had worse from one of my foster homes!"

Logan didn't respond with words—he responded with a brutal stabbing into his head that left Wade seeing stars. Wade staggered back, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, but his body was too slow in piecing the bits of his brain back together. Logan tackled him again, this time driving them both into the living room, where they crashed through the coffee table in a shower of splinters.

Wade's back hit the floor with a painful thud, but he didn't have time to recover before Logan was on top of him, his claws poised to strike. Wade grabbed Logan's wrist just in time, holding the claws inches away from his throat. They struggled there, their bodies pressed together, each trying to gain the upper hand.

"Not... bad... for an old man..." Wade grunted, using every ounce of strength he had to keep Logan's claws at bay. He could feel Logan's breath on his face, could see the way Logan's chest heaved with exertion. 

"You really want to keep pushing me, Wade?" Logan's voice was a dangerous rumble, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else—something that sent a shiver down Wade's spine. "I've been good lately. Haven't touched a single hair on anybody's body which means I have a lot of pent-up rage to get out on you."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Wade gasped, his grip slipping just a fraction. Logan took advantage of the momentary weakness, and before Wade could react, Logan's claws grazed his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

Wade's breath hitched, the pain sharp and immediate, but he couldn't stop the surge of excitement that came with it. "Ooh, right there, big guy. That's the spot!"

Logan's lip curled in a snarl, but instead of delivering the killing blow, he hesitated, his claws retracting slightly. It was only for a second, but it was enough for Wade to take control. With a burst of strength, he shoved Logan off him, rolling them over until Wade was the one on top.

"See? I knew you liked it rough," Wade panted, grinning down at Logan as he pinned his wrists to the floor. "You can't fool me, Wolvie. Deep down, you're just as fucked up as I am."

Logan glared up at him, but the fire in his eyes was tempered by something else—something that Wade hadn't seen before. "You don't know shit about me, Wade," Logan said, his voice low and dangerous.

Wade bent down to say something twice as vulgar but was stopped when he felt the press of something hard against his thigh. Wade's grin faltered. Logan didn't respond, but the tension between them shifted, the violent energy ebbing away as they stared at each other, breathing heavily. Wade's heart pounded in his chest, the reality of the fight—of everything—crashing down on him all at once.

Finally, Wade let out a shaky laugh, releasing Logan's wrists and rolling off him. He collapsed onto the floor beside Logan, staring up at the ceiling as his body began to heal, the pain receding into a dull throb.

Logan stayed where he was, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. Neither of them said anything, and for a split second, they just lay there, breathing heavily, blood dripping from various wounds that were already beginning to heal.

------------------------------------------

"Everybody gets boners. I would know. I get them all the time. Hell,  I have one right now. But what does that mean, right? Because the last time this happened, it was in that godforsaken Honda Odyssey, and those seats went allll the way back if you know what I mean."

If Wade had a nickel for every time he and Logan got into a fight that was a heavy prelude for sex he would have two nickels, but it's weird that it happened twice, right? 

"Logan's got that 'I'm gonna kick your ass and then do unspeakable things to you' vibe. Totally sexy. Hot. I'm into it, right? It's like our fights are just foreplay with a few punches and kicks thrown in for good measure. But here's the thing. Sometimes I get super nauseous after the fight, and it's not because Freddy Kreuger was in my guts in all the wrong ways. Like I'm actually upset that he's moving out which is ha, crazy because really I should be happy to be getting my couch back. I did all my best masturbating there."

Wade falls back into the seat, twirling baby knife around on his fingers. "What do you think? Is he queerbaiting me? It would make sense. Disney is a huge fan of dangling diversity in our faces and ripping it away."

Dopindor turned around in his seat, beaming widely at Wade. "Mr.Deadpool sir, I just want to start by saying that I am honored that I am the one you have chosen to confide in. It means a lot to me, truly, to be entrusted with something so deeply personal. But, um..." Dopinder hesitated, his smile faltering slightly as he searched for the right words. "Has Mr. Logan ever, uh, flirted with you outside of those... you know, those, uh, two boner situations?"

Wade blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Outside of the boner situations? Uh, let me think..." He scrunched up his face, genuinely trying to recall any instance that might qualify. "Well, there was that one time he called me an 'annoying little dickwad whose only purpose of living was to annoy the fuck out of him.' And then that other time he told me to 'get the hell out of his way before he  gives me a new hole to shit out of.'  I thought it was kinda sexy, but I don't think he meant it that way."

Dopinder's smile became more strained, and he nodded slowly. "Right, so... I don't mean to burst your bubble, DP, but, uh, that doesn't really sound like flirting. It actually sounds more like... he might just, um, tolerate you. Maybe he likes the fights, but, uh, not in the way you're hoping."

Wade's expression dropped, the twirling baby knife slowing to a stop. "So, you're saying Logan's not playing hard to get? He's just... hard and not interested?" He let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing his head back dramatically. "And here I was, thinking we were in the middle of some slowburn romance novel. 'Deadpool and Wolverine: Getting My Claws Into You.'"

Dopinder's eyes widened slightly, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he tried to find the right response. "Well, sir, you're definitely not delusional—"

"Stop it, Dopinder," Wade interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "I know delusion when I see it. It's just, I thought maybe, just maybe, Logan was giving me the ol' 'I hate you so much that I actually want to do naughty things to you' routine. But if he's not... then what am I supposed to do with all this pent-up sexual frustration? I mean, I could always just take it out on you, but that seems unfair. You're not exactly my type."

Dopinder cleared his throat, clearly flustered. "Oh, no, no, I'm more than happy being your loyal driver and friend! And, um, I think maybe you're focusing too much on Logan's, uh, vibes. Maybe he's just... I don't know, a grumpy and violent man who enjoys fighting you because it's fun for him. Not because he wants to, um, do anything else."

Wade tilted his head, considering Dopinder's words. "Huh. So, you're saying I might just be projecting all this unresolved sexual tension onto Logan because I can't handle the fact that maybe, just maybe, he's just not that into me?"

Dopinder nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Exactly! Maybe you're reading too much into it. Sometimes a fight is just a fight, and not everything has to lead to, um, the other thing."

Wade slumped back in his seat, pouting. "That's no fun. I like it better when everything leads to the other thing." He sighed, glancing out the window. "Guess I'll have to find some other poor soul to beat me up and then make out with me. Maybe Spider-Man? He's got that whole 'awkward nerd' thing going on. Could be hot."

Dopinder, sensing the shift in mood, gave a nervous chuckle. He hesitated before finally speaking up. "Um, DP... not that this conversation hasn't been fun, and I always appreciate our talks, but, uh, don't you have a... mission to be doing?"

Wade blinked, momentarily thrown off by the reminder. "Oh, right! The mission. My money!" He sat up straight, suddenly energized as if the earlier melancholy had never existed. "How could I forget? Priorities, Deadpool, priorities!"

He reached for the door handle, but paused, turning back to lean into the car. "Raincheck on the payment? You understand, right? What with what I'm going through and all." Wade's expression was an exaggerated mix of puppy-dog eyes and over-the-top sorrow.

Dopinder sighed, clearly torn between wanting to support his idol and knowing he was likely never going to see that money. But how could he say no to Deadpool? With a resigned smile, he held up his hand for a high five. "Fine."

Wade slapped his hand with a grin, hopping out of the car. "You're the best, Dopinder! I don't care what anyone says!"

"What-"

Wade gave him a mock salute, then turned on his heel, striding away with all the confidence of a man who was about to fuck up some serious shit.

---------------------

"So..."

Logan rifled through the cabinets, making a noise of what could only be excitement when he found the rubbing alcohol Wade had kept hidden in the back. He snagged it from the shelf, licking his lips as he popped the lid and began to chug it to Wade's disdain. Finally, Logan lowered the bottle, his lips glistening with the remnants of the alcohol. He let out a contented sigh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he turned to face Wade, who was now staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

"You know, that stuff's not gonna give you a buzz, right?" Wade said, still trying to process what he'd just witnessed. "I mean, I'm all for weird shit, but this is next-level."

Logan smirked, his expression completely unfazed. "Not about the buzz, Bub. It's about the burn." His voice was gravelly, the kind of tone that sent shivers down Wade's spine. Logan tossed the empty bottle onto the counter, leaning back against it with a satisfied grunt.

"So..." Wade began again, cocking his head to the side and kicking his feet back and forth where they dangled from the barstool. "Are we going to talk about that little situation that happened last week? Well, definitely not little. Like, holy fuck, did you stuff a coke bottle in your pants or what?"

Logan raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. "There wasn't a situation," His voice was low, almost a warning, but Wade was never one to back down.

"You know, you can admit it. We're all friends here." Wade's tone was teasing, but there was a genuine undercurrent of curiosity. "I'm not saying you have to confess your undying love or anything. But if you're gonna keep popping boners every time we throw down, we might need to have a little chat about boundaries. Or not—honestly, I'm kind of into it."

Logan's eyes darkened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might lunge at Wade, pin him to the wall, and shut him up the only way he knew how—through sheer physical force. But instead, he took a step back, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Wade hopped off the barstool, landing lightly on his feet as he approached Logan, his expression softening slightly. "Look, Peanut, I'm not trying to make this weird. Okay, that's a lie, I'm always trying to make things weird. But I was talking to Dopindor-"

"You were talking to Dopindor," Logan interjects sarcastically. 

"-and he said that maybe you just like to fight with me because it's fun," Wade continued, ignoring Logan's sarcastic tone. "And I get it, I mean, who wouldn't enjoy a good ol' tussle with yours truly? But here's the thing—I think there's more to it. You don't just get all... excited like that because of a fight. Unless you're into some really weird stuff, which, hey, no judgment, but this feels different."

"So you're basing all of this on a conversation with fucking Dopinder?" He let out a low, humorless chuckle. "You really are out of your mind, Bub."

Wade shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Maybe. But you didn't deny it Buttercup."

Logan clenched his jaw, clearly frustrated. "Deny what? That I like fighting? That I get a rush from it? Hell, everyone knows that. It's what I do."

Wade took another step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Yeah, but not everyone gets a hard-on from it, Princess Sparkle Tits. Not like that. And definitely not with me. So, what gives? You're telling me there's nothing going on here?"

Logan's gaze snapped back to Wade's. "I fight you because you can take it. Because I know you'll get back up, no matter how hard I hit you, no matter what vital organ I stab. It's adrenaline."

Wade studied Logan's face, searching for any hint of doubt, any sign that he was lying to himself as much as he was to Wade. But Logan's expression was guarded, his walls firmly in place.

"Adrenaline," Wade repeated, his tone more subdued. "You think it's adrenaline?"

Logan's gaze bore into Wade, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. "What do you want me to say, Bub? That you're right? That I got a fuckin' boner because I'm into you? You think that's what this is?"

"Marvel H. Christ, I'm not saying you're like in L-O-V-E with me or anything!" Wade threw his arms up into the air. "All I'm asking is it such a bad thing to admit you might want to bone me?"He paced around the small space, hands gesticulating wildly as he continued, "I mean, let's be real here. With my suit on, I'm at least a solid seven, maybe an eight on a good day. And don't even get me started on my hairless wonderland. I've got a smooth, sleek body like a wet seal. Pour some oil on me and baby let it rip. And my ass? It's like a ripe, juicy peach. Perfect to take a bite out of, or open it up and lick around until you find the pit-"

Before Wade could finish, Logan closed the distance between them in a flash, grabbing Wade by the collar and yanking him forward. Their faces were inches apart, Logan's breath hot against Wade's skin. "You talk too much," Logan growled.

Wade's heart raced, but he kept his trademark grin firmly in place. "And you, my little alcoholic, are in denial. We can keep our socks on. We can do it in the dark if you want, and you can pretend I'm your sweet little Jean-"

And those are Logan's claws in his neck. 

Blood gushes around his fingers as he slides them out of Wade's arteries. He wipes the blood off on Wade's t-shirt, and then storms out of the apartment. 

----------------------------------------

The next two months were a special kind of hell, the kind that could only be crafted by a fanfiction writer who is really trying to emphasize the enemies in enemies to lovers.

Logan didn't say a word about what had happened. Hell, they barely spoke at all. The atmosphere in the apartment was so thick with tension, you could cut it with Logan's claws.

Logan spent most of his time out, supposedly looking for a place of his own, but Wade knew better. The old man was avoiding him, plain and simple. When they did cross paths, it was always awkward. Logan would grunt something that might've been a greeting, and Wade would reply with some smartass comment. Neither of them mentioned the incident. Neither of them apologized.

Wade couldn't stop thinking about it, though. The look in Logan's eyes, the anger, the... arousal? Wade wasn't sure. Maybe it was just his overactive imagination, but for once, he couldn't joke it away. Instead, he threw himself into his work. Lucky for him, being Deadpool meant there was always a new job, a new target, a new distraction from the weirdmageddon at home.

The mercenary life was business as usual. A quick trip to the slums to intimidate a creepy ex-boyfriend, a few days in Manhattan dealing with some petty thugs who thought they could take on the big leagues, and an all-expenses-paid vacation to Madripoor (Thanks X-Men) to eliminate some supervillain trying to make it in Marvel's new movies. The usual blood, guts, and banter, with Wade doing his best to forget that his living situation was a ticking time bomb.

And then there was Vanessa. Sweet, beautiful Vanessa, who was supposed to be his one shot at a normal life—whatever the hell that meant. Except now, she was moving on, like he had always feared she would. He'd been invited to her wedding, which was just the universe's way of twisting the knife. She'd even sent him a formal invitation, like he was some ex she barely knew, instead of the man who'd once died for her. 

Wade didn't know how to feel about it. On one hand, he was happy for her. She deserved happiness, and if her new guy could give her that, then who was Wade to stand in the way? On the other hand... well, it sucked. It sucked in ways that Wade couldn't even put into words, not that he'd try. His usual coping mechanisms—jokes, violence, chimichangas, sex (which was most certainly not happening)—weren't cutting it.

Days turned into weeks, and Wade found himself in a routine that felt more like a prison sentence. He'd wake up, avoid Logan, go out on a job, come back, and avoid Logan some more. The few times he did catch Logan at home, the guy was either nursing a bottle of whiskey or pretending to be asleep. They were two grown men, each too proud (or too stupid) to talk about what had happened.

But he let the tension simmer, hoping that one day, it might just boil over. Because then they could have it out, scream at each other, bleed each other dry, and finally get whatever this was out in the open. Or maybe it would end in more blood, and Wade wasn't sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing anymore

---------------------------

Wade was staring at the RSVP card in his hand, the one that Vanessa had sent along with the wedding invitation. It had been sitting on the kitchen counter for over a week, taunting him every time he walked by. There were two simple boxes to check: "Attending" or "Regrets." But it was the line beneath that made him hesitate: Will you be bringing a plus one?

Wade glanced over at Logan, who was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV but clearly not watching it. The guy was as broody as ever, the silence between them now an old companion. Wade wondered, for a brief, insane moment, what would happen if he asked Logan to go with him. As his plus one.

Then again, there was the little issue of Logan nearly slicing his throat open the last time things got heated. Probably not the best foundation for a wedding date. He'd be lucky if Logan didn't skewer him just for bringing it up.

With a heavy sigh, Wade picked up a pen and stared at the RSVP card. His hand hovered over the boxes, indecision freezing him in place. "Attending" or "Regrets"? Did it even matter? It wasn't like Vanessa was expecting much from him at this point. Hell, she probably sent the invitation out of some misguided sense of obligation, a way to tie up loose ends before she started her new life.

Will you be bringing a plus one?

He scribbled a messy "X" in the "Attending" box, then hesitated again. His gaze flicked to the "plus one" line. 

What if he wrote Logan's name? Just to see the look on Logan's face when he found out? Wade grinned at the thought, but it quickly faded. Logan wouldn't find it funny. He'd probably pack his bags and finally leave, and Wade wasn't ready for that.

So instead, Wade left the line blank, tossed the card aside to ponder over later, and leaned back in his chair. The apartment was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made your thoughts echo in your head. He hated it.

Couldn't stand it. The silence, the unspoken words, the constant avoidance. It was driving him insane. And since being quiet wasn't exactly his style, he decided to bite the bullet and just... talk. 

He walked over to where Logan was sitting, plopping down on the arm of the couch, too close for comfort. Logan's eyes flicked up at him, a warning in their depths, but Wade ignored it. 

"So," Wade began, his voice casual like they hadn't been playing this awkward game of silent chicken for weeks. "I got this wedding invite."

Logan grunted, clearly uninterested, but Wade pressed on. "Vanessa's. Which you knew. She's getting hitched, for real this time, and she actually had the audacity to invite little ol' me." He laughed, the sound more bitter than amused. 

Logan didn't respond, his attention still on the TV, but Wade wasn't about to let that stop him. "She even asked if I'd bring a plus one. Can you believe that? Like I have a date lined up or something."

There was a flicker of something in Logan's expression, but it was gone too quickly for Wade to read. He hesitated, then decided to just go for it. "Anyway, I was thinking... since you're still crashing here, and we've got all this unresolved sexual tension—"

Logan's eyes narrowed, but Wade pushed through. "—how 'bout it? Wanna be my plus one? You know, make it real awkward for everyone? We can skip the ceremony, show up drunk to the reception, and fuck on one of the elderly guests tables. It'll be fun."

Logan finally turned his head to look at Wade, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Wade wondered if he'd gone too far, if Logan was about to grab him by the collar again or, worse, shut down completely. But instead, Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied Wade with that intense gaze that always made him feel like Logan was looking right through him.

"I was already invited, dipshit," Logan said, his voice gruff but steady.

Wade blinked, taken aback. "Wait, what?"

Logan stood up, brushing past Wade as he headed for the door. "Got my invite a while ago," he said over his shoulder. "Didn't think it was worth mentioning."

Wade watched him, stunned into silence for once in his life. Of all the things he'd expected Logan to say, that wasn't one of them. 

"Wait," Wade called out as Logan reached for the door handle. "You serious?"

Logan paused, glancing back at him. "Guess you'll have to find someone else to be your plus one, Bubba."

Before Wade could respond, Logan opened the door and stepped out, leaving Wade alone with his thoughts—and the quiet, empty apartment. The door clicked shut behind him, and Wade sat there, processing what had just happened. "Well, shit," he muttered to himself.

-------------------------------------------------

The day of Vanessa's wedding arrived faster than Wade would have liked. 

Logan had been unusually quiet all morning, which only made things more unbearable. He'd barely said two words to Wade since they woke up, and now they were getting ready in the cramped bathroom of Wade's apartment, the silence between them heavy and oppressive. Wade stood in front of the mirror, fussing with his tie. He'd opted for a classic black suit, something simple and understated, though he couldn't resist adding a red pocket square for a touch of flair. As he fumbled with the knot, he caught Logan's reflection in the mirror. The older man was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, already dressed in his own suit—a dark, tailored number that fit him perfectly, accentuating his rugged, muscular frame. He had rejected Wade's suggestion to add a yellow pocket square, stating that that was too on the nose which, yes, fair. 

Wade couldn't help but stare. He'd seen Logan in all sorts of states—bloodied, bruised, half-naked, fully naked, pissed off, and occasionally looking downright feral. But this? This was something different. The man cleaned up way too well, and Wade was having a hard time processing the sight before him.

Logan looked... sharp. That was the word for it. The dark suit was tailored to perfection, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down to his narrow waist in a way that made Wade wonder if the tailor was still alive or if Logan had murdered them for getting a little too handsy. The fabric draped over his muscular frame like it had been designed with only him in mind, and the crisp white shirt beneath it was unbuttoned just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of the chest hair that Wade had become intimately familiar with. 

His hair, usually a wild mess, was slicked back with that pomade Wade couldn't stop sniffing, giving him an almost dangerous edge. It made Logan's chiseled features stand out even more—the sharp line of his jaw, the steely glint in his eyes, and that mouth... Fuck, that mouth. Wade's eyes drifted there, lingering on the way Logan's lips were set in that usual scowl, lips that Wade had become increasingly fixated on. It was a scowl that promised violence but also hinted at something else, something darker, more primal. 

Wade's thoughts began to spiral, his mind going to places that were anything but appropriate for the occasion. As much as he tried to focus on the task at hand—tying his goddamn tie—his brain kept serving up images of Logan pressed up against him, all that pent-up energy unleashed in the form of rough hands, sharp teeth, and the kind of passion that left bruises in its wake. He could almost feel the weight of Logan's body pinning him against a wall, could almost hear the low growl that would rumble from Logan's chest as he claimed Wade's mouth in a bruising kiss. Wade's mind raced with scenarios, each one more explicit than the last, each one involving Logan losing that damn suit in increasingly creative ways.

Logan shifted slightly on the edge of the bathtub, and Wade's eyes followed the movement like a predator tracking its prey. The way the fabric of Logan's pants stretched across his thighs, the way his muscles flexed beneath the suit, the way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against his leg—it was all too much. Wade swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in his belly, trying to focus on anything but the way Logan's presence filled the room, overwhelming his senses.

"Fuck are you looking at, Bub?" Logan's voice cut through the silence, rough and laced with just the faintest hint of amusement.

Wade jolted, realizing he'd been caught staring.  He yanked on his tie a little too hard, nearly choking himself in the process. 

Logan's lips twitched, just barely. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was close enough to make Wade's heart do that annoying flutter thing again. 

Wade forced himself to focus on the mirror again, tearing his gaze away from Logan before he did something stupid—like launching himself across the room and kissing the life out of the guy. "Can't help it if you're a fucking distraction," Wade muttered, more to himself than to Logan, managing to get the tie somewhat presentable, though he was pretty sure Logan could tie a better knot with his eyes closed. He adjusted the red pocket square, trying to give himself something to do with his hands that didn't involve reaching for Logan.

"You know," he said, "I have to admit, you look pretty damn good in a suit. I mean, it's no Wolverine's suit, and it's not like I didn't know you were built like a tank, but damn... who knew you cleaned up so well?"

Logan glanced up from where he was sitting, his eyes narrowing slightly as he met Wade's gaze in the mirror. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it, Bub."

"Too late," Wade leered. "Why don't you stand up and do a twirl for me, Princess?"

Snikt

"Woah, hey! No! No," Wade turned around, holding his hands out in front of him. Logan's claws glinted under the fluorescent lights menacingly as he glared up at him. "Usually I'm up for a little bit of foreplay, but we're under strict instructions that the claws need to stay away today. If she sees even a speck of blood on either of us, she is going to lose her shit."

Logan's claws retracted with a swift snikt, and he leveled a disapproving look at Wade, who was still standing with his hands up in a defensive posture. "Then, maybe you shouldn't say things that make me want to stab you."

"I flirt when I'm nervous," Wade quipped, crossing his arms. "It's not every day the love of your life gets married to someone else."

Logan gives him a flat look. 

"Right, my bad. We can trauma bond about it later, say over dinner?" He reaches under the sink, pulling out the newest toupee—one of his more elegant wigs, this time a nearly identical replica of Nicepool's long locks.

Logan stared at the toupee, then back at Wade with a look of exasperation. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. You're actually wearing that?"

Wade grinned, holding the toupee up like a trophy. "Oh, come on. It's her big day. Nobody wants to see a walking scrotum sitting at the bar."

He plopped it onto his head, ignoring Logan's winces as he stapled it firmly to his head. He spins in a circle, posing a few times for Logan. "How do I look?"

"Horrifying."

"More or less than usual?" 

Logan didn't answer, his face crinkling into one of disgust. Wade spun back to face the mirror, rearranging the wig in the way he remembered Nicepool wore his--may he rest in peace--eyes flickering between his own reflection and Logan's as he watched him. Finally, feeling satisfied with his appearance, he turned around and clapped his hands. "Ready to rock and roll?"

Logan didn't move, choosing to sit there and just stare at him like he had something completely batshit crazy. His hands tightened around his thighs, white-knuckling the dark fabric. "How do you do that?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness.

Wade glanced up, confused. "Do what? The wig? I mean, sure, I watched a lot of tutorials, but really it's all in the quality-" 

"No," Logan interrupted, his tone sharper than usual. "I mean, how do you just...watch the love of your life get married to someone else?"

Wade was silent for a moment, his eyes focusing on the claw mark through the shower curtain. Hm. What fight caused that? He took a deep breath. "Well...when you love someone, when you really, truly love someone, it doesn't really matter who they end up with. Even if it isn't you, you're happy because they're happy." Wade shrugged, "And I think deep down, I knew it was never going to be me. People like her, good people, they don't end up with guys like me. They end up with the good guy."

"You are a good guy," Logan said sternly, startling Wade out of his half-reverie. "Annoying as fuck, a goddamn pervert, but you are a good guy."

Wade laughed softly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm really, really not."

Logan shook his head, stepping closer. "You saved the world for her. For your family. For everybody. You took me in, even though I'm a dick, and I'm 'grumpy' and I'm an alcoholic, and we nearly kill each other every day. When I was nothing but...when I was just nothing to anybody. When I was the 'worst' Wolverine, you didn't give a fuck what I had to say or what anyone else had to say. You told me I'm the best Wolverine. Even when I wasn't. When I haven't been."

Logan poked a thick finger into his chest. "You. Are. A. Good. Guy. Wade Wilson. Fuck her."

"Logan," Wade began slowly, "I've done a lot of things. Some of them... well, let's just say if there's a line, I've not only crossed it, I've stomped it into the ground and done a little tap dance on it."

Logan's expression didn't change, his gaze steady as he waited for Wade to continue.

"I saved the world, but I also destroyed a lot of it in the process. I killed people. People who didn't deserve it, who were just... there. Wrong place, wrong time. And every time I do something good, it's like there's this... tally board, and all those bad things I've done, they just get louder, like they're reminding me of who I really am. Of what I am."

Logan stepped even closer, closing the gap between them, his presence solid and grounding. "You think I don't know what that's like? To be haunted by what you've done? Hell, Wade, I've been carrying that weight for longer than I care to remember. But that doesn't define us. You saved the world not because you were trying to erase your past, but because you wanted to make a future for people you care about. That's what matters."

"Why do you even care? Why are you trying so hard to convince me that I'm worth something?" Wade shot back, poking his chest. "Why does it matter to you so much?"

Logan leaned in closer, and Wade had to resist the urge to pull away from him, pull away from his minty breath and his clenched teeth and those steak knives he called claws. "Because if you're not worth something, then what the hell am I?"

Wade's breath hitched, his brain short-circuiting as Logan's words hung in the air between them. 

His pulse quickened, and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from doing something stupid, like closing the distance and finding out exactly how Logan's lips would feel pressed against his. He could imagine it so clearly, the way Logan's hands would grip his arms—tight enough to leave bruises, to hold him in place—and the way those clawed fingers would curl into his flesh, leaving marks that would fade almost as soon as they appeared.

He wanted to push Logan, to see how far he could go before the older man snapped. He wanted to feel Logan's rough hands on his skin, to have him take out all that pent-up frustration on him in the most primal way possible. Wade's thoughts drifted to what it would be like to be under Logan, to have him growling his name, those low, guttural sounds that Wade had only ever heard when Logan was pissed off or in the middle of a fight.

But as much as Wade wanted to give in to those thoughts, he knew better. He knew that if he pushed too far, if he acted on the urge that was currently making it hard to think straight, he'd be risking everything. Whatever this was between them, it was fragile, and Wade wasn't sure if it could survive if he crossed that line.

So instead, Wade did what he always did—he deflected. He forced a smirk onto his face, even though his heart was pounding in his chest, and tried to push the thoughts of Logan's lips, Logan's hands, Logan's everything, out of his mind.

"Wow, Wolvie," Wade said, his voice coming out a little more breathless than he intended. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting with me. You trying to get in my pants or something? Because, fair warning, I'm a cheap date—I'll put out after a few kind words and maybe a well-placed claw or two."

Logan's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Wade thought he saw something flash in them—something dark and dangerous that made his stomach do a weird flip. But then Logan just huffed, shaking his head like Wade was a particularly annoying puzzle he couldn't figure out. "You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" Logan growled, but there was no real bite behind it.

Wade shrugged, trying to keep it casual even though his thoughts were anything but. "It's part of my charm. But seriously, Logan, if you're not trying to seduce me, you're doing a terrible job of convincing me otherwise. I mean, you're practically on top of me right now. A guy could get the wrong idea."

Logan's eyes flicked down to where their chests were almost touching, and for a brief moment, Wade thought he saw his resolve waver. But then Logan took a step back, putting some much-needed distance between them, and the moment was gone.

Because if you're not worth something, then what the hell am I?

Wade cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sudden tension."Well, uh, glad we got all of that mushy stuff out of the way," Wade stammered, his usual bravado faltering. "Blech, gross. We better get, uh... going. Yeah, going."

Logan didn't respond right away, his intense gaze still locked on Wade. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, Wade wondered if he'd said something wrong. He was about to crack another joke, something to diffuse the weirdness, when Logan took a step closer.

Wade froze, his heart pounding in his chest. 

Then, without warning, Logan reached out.

He flinched, closing his eyes instinctively, expecting the familiar snikt of Logan's claws, the sharp pain that usually followed their arguments. But instead of the expected slice of adamantium, Logan's fingers brushed against Wade's tie, deftly undoing the mess Wade had made and re-tying it with practiced ease. His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost intimate, and Wade had to resist the urge to lean into it, to close the distance between them and— 

"There," Logan said, stepping back, his voice low and steady. "Now you don't look like you've been strangled by your own tie."

Wade's eyes flickered to Logan's lips, lingering there for a fraction of a second longer than he intended. His heart pounded against his ribcage, his pulse racing as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Logan's hand didn't immediately pull away after fixing the tie; instead, he ran it down the front of Wade's shirt, smoothing out the fabric with deliberate care. Wade couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like this—so gently, so attentively. Wade's breath caught in his throat as Logan's fingers trailed over his shirt, the contact both unsettling and electrifying. He was close, so close that Wade could count the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, could feel the roughness of his calloused hands against his chest. Wade blinked, realizing he'd been holding his breath. "Thanks," he managed to say, though it came out more like a croak.

Logan's hand finally left his chest, but the warmth of his touch lingered, leaving Wade feeling oddly exposed. Before he could say anything, Logan was already turning away, heading for the door. "Come on," he said over his shoulder. "Don't want to be late."

Wade stood there, rooted to the spot.

Thumpthump

Thumpthump

Thumpthump

With one last glance at the door Logan had just walked through, Wade sighed. "What the actual fuck?"

---------------------------------

Wade shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden pew. His suit felt tight, constricting—like it was trying to suffocate him in the most stylish way possible. And seriously, who thought it was a good idea to trap a bunch of people in formal wear inside a stuffy old church? It was practically a death sentence for someone with as much raw sexual energy as him. The vows were all about love, commitment, and blah blah blah—like these two weren't about to start arguing over who left the toilet seat up or whose turn it was to take out the trash as soon as the honeymoon phase wore off. Wade was tempted to shout, "Run while you still can!" but he didn't want to be responsible for ruining the wedding, especially not when Vanessa was watching him like a hawk.

She'd probably kill him before the groom even had the chance.

Wade's thoughts flickered to Vanessa again, his heart doing that annoying thing where it clenched a little too tight in his chest. He still loved her, didn't he? She was beautiful, smart, and probably the only person who actually tolerated his bullshit daily.

Then again...

He glanced over at Logan again, because apparently, self-torture was his new hobby. Logan's eyes were fixed on the couple at the altar, his expression unreadable, as usual. But Wade could see the way his jaw was clenched, the slight tension in his shoulders, and yeah, it was doing things to him. Like making him wonder if maybe—just maybe—he wanted Logan to look at him with that same intensity.

Logan's jaw was clenched so tight it could crack walnuts. His broad shoulders were tense, his posture rigid, but his eyes... there was something in his eyes as he watched the couple exchange vows that made Wade's stomach do somersaults. The intensity, the way Logan was completely focused on them, like he was imagining himself in that position.

But this wasn't about him. Not today. Wade had to remind himself that Vanessa was the one he was supposed to care about, the one he'd been infatuated with for longer than he cared to admit. Logan was just... a confusing detour in Wade's headspace. A very, very distracting detour with a gruff voice and a tendency to make Wade feel things he didn't want to feel.

The ceremony finally reached its climax—thank God—and the newlyweds kissed to the sound of applause and cheers. Wade joined in, clapping a little too enthusiastically because if he didn't do something with his hands, he was going to lose his mind. The whole room seemed to explode with joy, people hugging, crying, and congratulating each other, and Wade felt like he was watching it all from behind a glass wall. 

The reception was being held in a fancy-ass tent in the churchyard, complete with chandeliers, flowers everywhere, and enough booze to make even the most skeptical guest believe in true love, if only for a night. Wade was immediately drawn to the open bar, but Vanessa intercepted him before he could make a beeline for the alcohol. 

 Wade stared at Vanessa, at the elegant lines of her dress, and at the way her hair framed her face. She looked perfect, like a dream he'd once had—a dream he'd tried to make real. For a brief moment, he let himself get lost in the fantasy, the one where he was the one slipping that dress off her shoulders later tonight. He imagined their wedding day, the one they'd never had, where he stood beside her at the altar, vowing to love and cherish her until death do them part.

Only in Wade's version of things, it didn't go quite so smoothly. He knew, deep down, that if they had gotten married, the honeymoon phase would have worn off quickly. They would have grown sick of each other, like two feral cats trapped in a room with no escape. Wade's sarcasm would have grated on her nerves, and Vanessa's patience would have worn thin..He could see it now: the slow decline of their relationship, the love they once had eroding away like a sandcastle being eaten by the tide. Wade would have retreated into his bad habits, using humor as a shield to hide the pain, and Vanessa would have eventually realized that he wasn't the man she needed him to be. The end would have been inevitable—a messy, painful divorce that left them both worse off than before.

Or the other version of events, the one where he never became Deadpool. The one where he stayed with Vanessa after he found out about the cancer, trying to live out the time he had left, pretending that everything would be okay. They would have gone through with the wedding because that's what people in love do when they know their time is limited. They would have smiled for the photos, cut the cake, and danced the night away, all while a ticking clock hung over their heads, counting down the minutes until Wade's body gave out.

He imagined Vanessa sitting beside him in a sterile hospital room, holding his hand as he wasted away, his body betraying him piece by piece. He'd lose his hair, his strength, his ability to crack jokes without feeling like his chest was being crushed by an invisible weight. And Vanessa, God bless her, would have stayed by his side, wiping away her tears and pretending that she wasn't terrified of losing him. But in the end, he would have died, leaving her with nothing but memories of what could have been.

There was no happy ending for them. Not in this life. Not in any life.

Wade swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. "Vanessa, I—" He hesitated, unsure of what to say. What did one say to the love of their life when they were now married to someone else? "I'm happy for you," he finally managed, his voice rougher than he intended. "You look...incredible."

Vanessa's eyes softened at Wade's words, and she reached out to touch his arm gently, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. "Thank you, Wade," she said quietly. "That means a lot."

Wade forced a grin, though it felt like it was cracking his face in half. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. I've only got so much sincerity in me before I start breaking out in hives."

Vanessa's smile was warm, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I-I wasn't sure you'd actually show up today," She confessed.

Ouch

Wade shifted on his feet, feeling like the floor beneath him might give way at any second. He'd faced down armed mercenaries, survived being blown to bits, and even dealt with the constant chatter in his own head, but this—standing in front of Vanessa in her wedding dress—was something else entirely. It was like staring into the sun, knowing it would burn him alive but unable to look away.

"Yeah, well, surprises are kinda my thing," Wade said, trying to keep his tone light, even though it felt like his chest was being crushed in a vice. "Besides, wouldn't miss seeing you tie the knot with Perfect Craig for anything. Real good jawline. Probably gets that shit chiseled by angels. What's his secret? Botox? Ozempic?" He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Devil's dandruff?"

Vanessa laughed softly, but the sound was tinged with something bittersweet. She glanced over her shoulder at Craig, who was surrounded by well-wishers, laughing and shaking hands like he'd just won a Nobel Prize for Being Fucking Awesome. Wade followed her gaze, trying not to let the jealousy gnaw too hard at his insides.

"He's a good guy, Wade," Vanessa said, her voice gentle like she was trying to convince him—or maybe herself. "He's everything I needed after...well, after everything, you know?."

Wade nodded, his eyes still locked on Craig, who was talking animatedly with someone across the room. "Yeah, I can see that. He's got that whole 'not a murderous lunatic' vibe going for him. Definitely an upgrade."

Vanessa's hand tightened on his arm, and he finally tore his gaze away from Craig to look at her. There was something in her eyes—something that made his heart stutter in his chest. Regret, maybe? Or just the weight of everything that had come between them? Wade wasn't sure.

"I never wanted things to end the way they did," Vanessa whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted to hurt you, Wade."

Wade swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in his throat from turning into full-blown tears. This wasn't the time for that. He was Deadpool, the Merc with a Mouth, not some lovesick fool who cried at weddings. But damn if seeing Vanessa like this didn't make him want to break every rule he'd set for himself.

"You didn't hurt me," Wade said, his voice softer now, more honest than he intended. "I mean, you did, but... I hurt myself more by letting you go, by pushing you away. And now, look at you," He held her at arm's length, gaze sweeping up and down. "You're happy. You deserve that."

Vanessa's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and for a moment, Wade thought she might break down right there in front of him. But she didn't. She just nodded, blinking rapidly as she fought to keep her composure.

"I want you to be happy too, Wade," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I want you to find someone who can give you what you need, who can make you feel...whole."

Happy. The word felt foreign in his mouth, like something he wasn't supposed to touch.

Wade forced a chuckle, though it came out more like a choked gasp. "Yeah, well, you know me. I'm more of a jigsaw puzzle that's missing half the pieces. My half was probably chewed up, swallowed by a dog. Probably in a doggy bag somewhere."

Vanessa's breath hitched, and for a moment, Wade thought she might cry. But she didn't. Instead, she reached up and cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the rough, scarred skin that he hated so much. 

Wade closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for just a second, savoring the warmth and softness of her hand against his cheek. Then he pulled back, forcing a smile that he knew didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a moment of silence between them, a moment where everything they weren't saying hung in the air like a thick fog. Wade wanted to say more, to tell her how much she'd meant to him, how much he wished things could have been different. But this wasn't the time or place, and maybe it never would be.

"You'll be okay, Wade. I know you will," she told him, eyes shiny with unshed tears. 

"Of course, I will," Wade said, injecting as much confidence as he could muster into his voice. "I'm Wade fucking Wilson. I bounce back from everything. Except maybe disco. That shit leaves scars."

Vanessa's smile was soft, and for a moment, Wade could almost believe that everything would be okay. That he could move on, find someone else, and maybe even be happy again. But as he watched her turn away and walk back toward Craig, hand in hand, the reality of it all hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was letting her go. For real this time.

And as much as it hurt, as much as it made him want to scream and punch something until his knuckles bled, Wade knew it was the right thing to do. Vanessa deserved the world, and if he couldn't give it to her, then at least Craig could. The perfect, fucking flawless bastard.

--------------------------

The bar was set up with a dazzling array of top-shelf liquors and cocktails that would have made even the most discerning drinker drool. Not that Wade could get drunk—his healing factor made sure of that. But that didn't stop him from grabbing a drink if only to have something to occupy his hands and maybe distract himself from the ache in his chest. He poured himself a double shot of whiskey, the amber liquid swirled around the glass like liquid gold. He held the shot to his lips, gulping it down before slamming it on the counter.

"You know you can't drink your way out of feeling like shit, right?" 

Wade rolled his eyes, turning in his seat to face the man to his right. And there he was, standing with arms crossed, his trademark scowl in place as if he'd just smelled something that offended his delicate, animalistic senses. Logan looked good. Like, annoyingly good. The kind of good that made Wade question his life choices, like why he wasn't actively climbing Logan like a tree at this very moment.

But no, Wade was sad. Sad and horny. A combination that was probably illegal in some countries. He quickly distracted himself by grabbing another glass from the bar, because when the heart hurts, the hands need something to do, even if it's just pretending to drink. He poured another shot, staring at the liquid like it had all the answers. 

"Can't drink my way out of feeling like shit, huh?" Wade echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he glanced at Logan. "Well, I can't exactly stab my way out of it either, though I'm sure that's more your style." He downed the shot, immediately regretting it because all it did was remind him that he couldn't even get a decent buzz to dull the pain. Logan grunted, pushing away from the bar and grabbing a bottle of bourbon with the ease of someone who was used to handling dangerous situations. 

He arched an eyebrow, looking like he was about to say something serious, something deep and meaningful, which was a terrifying thought. Wade held up a hand, cutting him off before he could ruin the mood with any of that touchy-feely crap. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone, Captain Broody Pants. I can practically see the wisdom trying to ooze out of your pores, and while I appreciate the effort, I'm really not in the mood for one of your lectures on how to be a real man or whatever."

Logan's lips twitched, a flicker of a smirk, though his eyes remained steady on Wade's, and damn if that wasn't doing things to him. "I was just going to say that moping around in a bar isn't going to change anything. You're better than this, Wade."

"Better than this?" Wade repeated, his voice taking on a theatrical tone as he spread his arms wide, nearly knocking over a glass in the process. "I'm the fucking poster boy for bad decisions! Drinking in a fancy-ass wedding bar while my ex—who, by the way, looks like a goddamn angel in that dress—is off dancing with Mr. Perfect McAsshat? This is exactly where I'm supposed to be!"

Logan sighed, the kind of sigh that said he'd rather be anywhere else but here, dealing with Wade's melodrama, but here he was anyway. "You're right. You're a mess. But you're not just some punchline. You're Wade Wilson, and you're more than just the guy who makes jokes when he's hurt."

Wade felt a pang in his chest, but he quickly shoved it down, because feelings? Feelings were for losers who didn't have a healing factor and a mask to hide behind. He looked Logan up and down, his gaze lingering a bit too long on the way Logan's shirt stretched over his chest, and yeah, maybe he was feeling a little bit of something that wasn't entirely sadness. 

Wade leaned in, close enough to smell the faint scent of cigars and whiskey that clung to Logan like a second skin. "And what exactly is that? Fucking? Or stabbing things until they stop moving? Because I gotta say, I'm partial to both."

Wade was teetering on the edge of sad and horny, and it was a dangerous place to be, especially when Logan was standing this close, looking all rugged and perfect and... stabby. The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a katana, and Wade was half-tempted to close the distance, to do something that would definitely be a bad idea but would feel oh so good. "You know, we could just forget about all this Vanessa shit," Wade suggested, his tone light and teasing, but with an edge of something real underneath. "And instead, we could focus on something more... distracting."

Logan's gaze flickered to Wade's lips, and for a split second, Wade thought maybe—just maybe—Logan would go for it. But then Logan pulled back, just enough to make Wade want to reach out and pull him back in. "You're a real piece of work, Wilson," Logan said, his voice gruff but tinged with something that Wade couldn't quite place. "But I think you've had enough self-pity for one night."

Logan took the empty shot glass from Wade's hand, his grip firm but careful, like he was dealing with a volatile substance. "Come on, Bubba," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. 

Before Wade could protest, Logan hoisted him off the barstool with a grunt, not even breaking a sweat. For a guy who looked like he was perpetually two seconds away from going on a rampage, Logan sure had a way of handling fragile things. Wade was trying really hard not to count himself in that category, but tonight... tonight was different.

As they made their way to the exit, Wade threw one last, lingering look at the bar. "Farewell, overpriced liquor that doesn't work on me. We could've been something, but alas, it wasn't meant to be."

Logan rolled his eyes but didn't bother responding. He practically shoved Wade out the door and into the cool night air. The parking lot was quiet, the kind of eerie quiet that made Wade want to crack a joke just to fill the silence. But he couldn't find the words, so he just slumped against Logan as they walked to the car.

Logan unlocked the car with a click, and Wade flopped into the passenger seat like a sack of very attractive, emotionally complex potatoes. As Logan started the engine, the silence between them grew thick, charged with an undercurrent of tension that neither of them seemed willing to address head-on.

Wade stared out the window as they drove, his mind racing with thoughts he didn't want to have. He couldn't help it, though. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Vanessa—happy, glowing, and wrapped up in someone else's arms. Someone who wasn't him. His chest felt tight, like there was a vice clamped around his heart, squeezing until he could barely breathe.

Logan, as usual, was the epitome of quiet resolve. His hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, his knuckles turning white with the effort. Wade noticed the tension in Logan's jaw, the way his eyes stayed fixed on the road, like he was determined to ignore the elephant in the car—the one wearing a red-and-black suit and feeling like a complete and utter failure.

They pulled up outside of their place, and Logan killed the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved. Wade was too wrapped up in his own head, and Logan... well, Logan was Logan. The kind of guy who dealt with problems by punching them in the face, but tonight, he couldn't punch Wade's heartbreak into submission. 

"Come on, let's get you inside," Logan said, finally breaking the silence. He got out of the car and walked around to Wade's side, opening the door with a gentleness that Wade didn't deserve. Wade let Logan help him out, his feet dragging as they walked to the front door. Once inside, the emptiness of the place hit Wade like a ton of bricks. The apartment felt too big, too quiet, too... everything. Like it was mocking him with its emptiness. Al must've gone out and taken Dogpool with her.

Logan led Wade to Al's bedroom, his hand on Wade's back, guiding him like he was afraid Wade might collapse at any moment. Wade did feel like he might. Like he was a sickly maiden in need of care. 

"Alright, Bubba, get in," Logan said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He pulled back the covers, nodding for Wade to get in.

Wade hesitated at the edge of the bed, staring down at the rumpled sheets like they held some sort of answer. "You know what I hope?" Wade said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. He looked up at Logan, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I hope I go to sleep and never wake up."

Logan froze in the doorway, his hand hovering over the light switch. The tension in the air thickened, and for a moment, Wade thought Logan might actually turn around and leave him there, alone with his thoughts. But instead, Logan's shoulders tensed, and he turned back to face Wade, his eyes blazing with something Wade couldn't quite name. "Don't say that shit."

Wade shrugged. "Why not? It's true. No one would miss me if I was gone. Hell, half the people I know would probably throw a party. 'Ding dong, the Deadpool's dead.'"

Logan's eyes narrowed, his usual gruffness giving way to something sharper, more intense. He stepped closer to Wade, his boots heavy on the floor, and for a moment, the air between them felt like it was about to snap. "Is this all over some girl?" Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Wade flinched at Logan's words, but he didn't back down. Instead, he gave a bitter laugh, the kind that cut deep and didn't even try to hide the pain behind it. "Some girl?" Wade echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, sure, let's reduce the love of my life to 'some girl.' Why not? It's not like she's the one person who made me feel like I wasn't just some cosmic punchline. No, let's just call her 'some girl' and pretend like everything's fine."

Logan crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze hard as steel, but there was something else there too. Concern, maybe? Or pity? Wade couldn't tell, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "So you're telling me this is all about Vanessa? You're ready to check out for good because some guy married her instead of you?"

Wade didn't respond as he shrugged his suit jacket off, throwing it into a corner of the room.

Logan's jaw clenched, and for a moment, Wade thought he might actually walk away, leave him to drown in his own self-pity. But Logan didn't move. Instead, he stepped back into the room, crossing the distance between them in a few quick strides. He grabbed Wade by the shoulders, forcing him to look up, to meet his gaze. Logan's eyes were intense, filled with a fierce kind of determination that took Wade by surprise.

"Don't you ever say that again," Logan growled, his grip tightening just enough to make his point. "You think you're the only one who's ever lost something that mattered? That you're the only one who's ever had to watch someone they love walk away?"

Wade opened his mouth to respond with some smartass remark, but Logan wasn't done. He shook Wade slightly, enough to make his head snap back and his thoughts scatter. "Shut up and listen, Mouth. I know that's really fucking hard for you but try, just this once," Logan's voice cut through Wade's attempt at humor like a hot knife through butter. "You're not the only one who's lost people, who's had to watch someone they love walk away. But you don't see me sitting around wishing I'd never wake up. You know why?"

Wade opened his mouth to retort, but Logan's glare was enough to shut him up.

"Because there's more to life than just one person," Logan pressed on, his grip still firm on Wade's shoulders. "You think I don't know what it's like to love someone so much it hurts? To want something so bad, but know it'll never be yours? Hell, Wade, I've lived more lifetimes than you can imagine, and I've seen it all. But I'm still here. You know why?"

"Because it's not just about them. It's about you. About the people who still give a damn about you, even when you're being a complete jackass. And yeah, you've got family, and you've got friends. You've got people who care whether you're here or not. Even if you don't want to admit it, they'd miss you."

Wade's throat tightened, and he tried to brush it off with a joke. "Wow, Peanut, you're really laying it on thick. What's next? We braid each other's hair and talk about our feelings?"

Logan ignored the quip, his gaze unwavering. "You think no one would miss you? Bullshit." He leaned in closer, clenching his teeth so tightly together Wade was scared they might shatter under the tension. "I would."

Wade's heart skipped a beat, the realization crashing down on him with all the subtlety of a freight train. 

Holy fuck!

 He felt like the ceiling had just opened up and Marvel Jesus himself had shone a spotlight on his head.

He might actually Like Logan! And not just in the 'Hey, you're body is banging! Let's make sweet, sweet love under the moonlight' type of way. More in a 'Logan in sweatpants, barely awake but still trying to make coffee that didn't taste like motor oil,  while Wade propped his chin on his broad shoulder, peppering kisses on the back of his neck where his scent was thickest'. Wade could see them both tangled in blankets, half-watching crappy morning TV while debating whether or not they should actually get up while Mary Puppins snuggled in between the two of them (probably closer to Logan because she somehow liked him better than Wade--the traitor!). He could imagine them grocery shopping: Logan pushing a cart while Wade threw random items into it just to mess with him. They'd argue over the proper way to pick out produce and whether or not buying ten different types of cereal was excessive. Logan grumbling about fixing leaky faucets or assembling furniture, while Wade pretended to be the handyman, only making things worse, but he would be in prime view of Logan's ass when he inevitably had to fix it. Filing taxes, paying bills, and attending boring social functions that Wade would have to pretend to love because Logan would secretly want to be there. Matching Christmas sweaters. Thanksgiving. Knowing Logan and he wouldn't kill each other if a knife or two were drawn. Knowing that it would inevitably lead to sexsexsexsex. 

"What?" Logan growled, the sound low and rough, vibrating through the air between them.

Wade didn't answer. 

Instead, he just leaned in, closing the distance between them in one fluid motion.

The kiss was hot and heavy, filled with the kind of desperation that had been simmering under the surface for too long. Wade's hands fisted in Logan's shirt, pulling him closer, while Logan's hands gripped Wade's hips, anchoring him in place. It wasn't gentle or sweet—it was raw, messy, and full of the kind of need that Wade had been trying to ignore for months. Maybe even longer.Logan's jacket was the first casualty, hitting the floor with a dull thud as Wade tore it off him, his fingers already working to unbutton Logan's shirt. But before he could get more than a couple of buttons undone, Logan pushed him back with a force that sent Wade stumbling.

"What the hell?" Wade breathed out, his voice shaky as he stared at Logan in confusion. "You don't want me either?"

Logan didn't answer immediately. He turned away, scrubbing a hand over his face, his shoulders hunched like he was carrying the weight of the world on them.

"You still love her," Logan said, his voice rough and strained, like it physically hurt him to say the words.

"What?"

Logan moved to leave the room, his movements jerky and tense, but Wade wasn't about to let him go that easily. He grabbed Logan's arm, yanking him back. "Whoa, you prick. You can't just blue-ball me here. What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're sad. And horny-"

"Like always," Wade shot back, trying to keep the situation light even as his heart pounded in his chest.

"Jesus Christ," Logan muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to ward off a headache. "Can you take this seriously? Just this once."

"Can you stop acting like a fucking teenager about this? It's sex, Peanut. It's not a big fucking deal-"

"To you," Logan snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. Wade froze, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"What?" Wade asked, his voice smaller than he intended, the confusion clear in his eyes.

Logan's eyebrows furrowed together, his mouth twitching into a snarl. "Figure it out," Logan growled, his voice rough with emotion. "You're smart."

And with that, Logan turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to make the walls rattle. 

--------------------------------------------------

The next morning was as awkward as Wade had expected, if not worse. He shuffled into the kitchen, still half-asleep, only to find Logan already there, his back turned as he fixed a cup of coffee. Logan didn't look up when Wade entered, and for a moment, Wade thought about turning around and heading back to his room. But he was Deadpool, damn it. He didn't back down from anything—especially not from an awkward morning-after conversation.

"Morning, Sunshine," Wade chirped, pouring a generous amount of sugar into his mug before sloshing in some coffee. The silence that followed was deafening. Logan didn't respond, just took a long sip of his coffee, his shoulders still hunched in that brooding way Wade had come to associate with something being seriously wrong.

"Okay, so, this is how it's gonna be?" Wade pressed, his voice unusually quiet. "We're just gonna pretend last night didn't happen?"

Logan's jaw clenched, and he set his mug down with a bit too much force. Wade winced at the sound, the tension in the room ratcheting up another notch.

"Nothing happened," Logan finally said, his voice low and even, like he was trying to keep his temper in check. 

Wade felt a flash of irritation. "Bullshit," he shot back, leaning against the counter. "You were this close—" he held his fingers inches apart "—to making this a whole different kind of morning. But you stopped. Why?"

Logan's eyes flicked up to meet Wade's, dark and stormy, before he looked away again. "Drop it, Wade."

"Logan..."

"I said drop it," Logan growled, and this time there was an edge of warning in his voice that made Wade hesitate. For a moment, he considered pushing further, demanding an answer, but the look on Logan's face made him think twice. There was something there—something raw and vulnerable that Wade wasn't used to seeing in the man who was normally so composed, so unflinchingly stoic.

"Fine. Have it your way," Wade muttered, backing off. But the hurt was still there, simmering beneath the surface, and he couldn't quite hide it in his voice. "I'll just be over here, pining pathetically like the lovesick puppy you think I am."

Logan's shoulders tensed at that, but he didn't respond. Instead, he turned and walked out of the kitchen without another word, leaving Wade alone with his thoughts and a sinking feeling in his gut.-------------------------------------------------------------The days that followed were a painful routine of avoidance and missed opportunities. Every time Wade tried to bring up what had happened between them—or rather, what hadn't happened—Logan found a way to dodge the conversation. He'd leave the room, change the subject, or growl out a curt "Not now, Bub," before disappearing for hours on end. 

Wade kept telling himself that it was fine. Logan was just being his usual broody, emotionally constipated self, and he'd come around eventually. But as the days turned into weeks, Wade couldn't ignore the growing distance between them. It was like there was this invisible wall between them now, and no matter how hard Wade tried, he couldn't break through it.

One evening, about a month after that night, Wade finally snapped. Logan had been avoiding him all day, and Wade had had enough. He cornered Logan in the hallway, blocking his path."Okay, seriously, what the fuck is your problem?" Wade demanded, his voice tinged with frustration and something that sounded a lot like desperation.

Logan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Not now-"

"Not now? When then?" Wade shot back, his voice rising. "Because it's been 'not now' for weeks, and I'm kinda sick of it."

"What do you want from me, Wade?" Logan asked, his voice low, almost defeated. "You want me to apologize for stopping something that shouldn't have happened in the first place? Or do you just want to keep pushing until you get what you want?"

"What I want?" he echoed, the anger in his voice mixing with genuine confusion. "You think this is about getting what I want?"

Logan didn't answer, but the look in his eyes said enough. Wade felt something snap inside him. He didn't know what else to do, how else to get through to Logan. So he did the one thing he knew how to do best—he picked a fight.

"Fine," Wade muttered, his voice darkening. "If that's what you think of me, then let's do this your way."

Before Logan could react, Wade pulled out one of his katanas and slashed at Logan's arm, the blade cutting through muscle and skin with a sickening sound. Logan hissed in pain, his hand going to the wound instinctively, but he didn't fight back. Wade watched as the wound began to heal almost immediately, the flesh knitting itself back together with that all-too-familiar rapidity. 

"Fight back!" Wade shouted, slashing at Logan again, this time across the chest. Blood splattered across the floor, but Logan still didn't react. He just stood there, taking it, his face a mask of stoic resolve.

"What's the matter, huh? You scared you'll get your ass handed to you again, old man?" Wade taunted, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

Logan winced as another cut split across his shoulder, but still, he didn't fight back. Wade kept slashing, over and over, the adrenaline pumping through his veins making him feel invincible, unstoppable. But Logan just kept taking it, letting Wade tear him apart without so much as lifting a finger in defense.

"Come on!" Wade screamed, slashing at Logan's side, the blade slicing deep. "Fight back, you fucking coward! What's wrong with you?!"

Finally, Logan snapped. With a growl, he grabbed Wade by the shirt, his grip like iron as he lifted him off the ground and hurled him across the room. Wade crashed through the window with a loud shatter, glass exploding around him as he tumbled through the air, landing hard in the dumpster outside.

Wade lay there for a moment, dazed, before the smell hit him. He groaned, rolling over onto his back and glaring up at the shattered window above.

"Motherfucker!" he yelled, voice echoing in the alleyway. "You know I've been stashing Mary Poppins pee pads in here!"

There was no answer from the window, just the sound of glass crunching as Logan moved inside. Wade lay back, staring up at the sky, his body already healing from the rough landing.

-----------------------------------

Wade drummed his fingers on the table, his leg bouncing restlessly under it. Vanessa looked radiant—marriage seemed to suit her, not that Wade was surprised. Craig was a decent guy, stable, boring, rich as hell. Basically, the opposite of Wade in every conceivable way.

"So, married life treating you good?" Wade asked, forcing a grin that was more genuine than he expected. "You two already planning to pop out some tiny, annoyingly perfect babies, or are you still enjoying the honeymoon phase?"

Vanessa smiled a soft, almost serene expression that made Wade's chest ache just a little. "We're just taking it one day at a time. Craig's been amazing, and I'm happy, Wade. I really am."

Wade made a mock gagging noise, sticking his finger in his mouth. "Ugh, gross. You're so happy and fulfilled without me. It's almost like my destructive influence was holding you back or something."

She chuckled, the sound light and free, and Wade felt the tension in his chest loosen a bit. "You know that's not true. I was a hooker-"

"A damn good one, too," Wade said, taking a sip. He paused, sunglasses barely shielding the glare from the sun that shone over their rich person patio. "Is this the part when I beg for you to take me back?

Vanessa smirked. "Ha ha. Fuck you."

Wade took a sip of his tea, letting the warm liquid settle the nervous energy buzzing under his skin. "Did that. Was in a movie about it. Died for it. Next."

She laughed, a light sound that made Wade's heart clench just a little. Not the gut-wrenching, chest-crushing kind of clench, but more like a distant echo of something that used to be there. "Wade," Vanessa said softly, leaning forward slightly. "I'm happy. But you know what? I'm happy that you're here, and you seem... okay. Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm spectacular," Wade replied with a grin, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thriving, really. Living the dream. My roommate only fucking hates me half the time now, and I'm still doing the whole 'merc with a mouth' thing, which, as you know, is a dream come true."

Vanessa's smile dimmed slightly, and Wade could see the concern creeping in around the edges of her expression. "You haven't shut up about him since you got here, you know."

"Who, Logan?" Wade waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, well, he's my roommate. It's kind of hard not to talk about the guy who's up my ass--figuratively, not literally--24/7."

Vanessa gave him a knowing look, the kind that made Wade squirm in his seat. "Wasn't he supposed to move out or something? I remember you saying he was looking for a place."

Wade shrugged, taking a sip of his tea as if that would somehow make the question go away. "Yeah, well, apparently he doesn't want to 'break the lease' or something. But we both know the real reason is that he's finally realizing money doesn't grow on trees. Life's expensive out there in the big bad world."

"Or," Vanessa said, her voice gentle but firm, "he realizes that if he does, he's leaving a good thing behind."

Wade choked on his tea, coughing and sputtering like he'd just swallowed a live grenade.  "I beg your fucking pardon?" he croaked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Vanessa smiled knowingly, hiding her grin behind her cup. "You like him, Wade. And he likes you."

Wade stared at her, his brain scrambling to make sense of what she was saying. "Mmm. I see. That's close. I like him. He doesn't like me at all, apparently."

"And he told you that?" Vanessa asked flatly.

"Uh, dur," Wade said, waving his hand as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "In a series of grunts and by refusing to have sexual intercourse with me, yes."

Vanessa set her cup down with a soft clink, her expression softening. "Logan called me."

Wade gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he'd been shot. "That conniving bitch! What did he say about me?"

Vanessa stirred the tea with her finger, the wedding ring glinting as it moved in circles. Wade's eyes followed it like a cat would a laser. Vanessa took another sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving his. "He said that I was stupid for letting you go."       

Wade waved his hand dismissively. "Debatable. And?"

"He told me," Vanessa continued, her voice soft but steady, "that I should break up with Craig and take you back, or cut you loose because I was going to kill you if I kept stringing you along."

Wade stared at her, his mouth suddenly dry. He gulped, trying to find words that made sense, but all he could do was blink. Vanessa reached across the table, grabbing his hands in hers. Her touch was warm, comforting, and Wade suddenly felt very, very small. 

"Wade Wilson," she said, her voice steady, sincere. "I love you."

And for a split second, Wade thought he was supposed to feel something monumental, like the earth shifting beneath his feet, like the universe snapping into place. These were the words he had once ached to hear, the words that had haunted him in the dead of night. But now... now, they just felt like words.

His heart wasn't pounding, his palms weren't sweaty. He didn't feel the urge to fall to his knees and beg her to take him back. Instead, all he felt was a soft, gentle sort of peace. A peace that whispered to him that this chapter of his life was over, and that was okay.

Actually, at this moment, all he really wanted was to go home. To Blind Al, who was probably cussing at some kid in an online poker game. To Dogpool, whose piles of drool probably needed cleaning. To their stupid little apartment, filled to the brim with cocaine, pictures, garbage, and those damn candles people kept buying him even though he didn't even like them. And, well... he kind of wanted to go home to Logan. And kiss him. A lot.

"Huh..." Wade murmured, the realization settling over him like a warm blanket.

Vanessa rubbed her thumb over his hand, her eyes shining with understanding. "Wade Wilson."

Wade smiled softly, the first genuine smile he'd felt in a long time. "Vanessa Carlysle."

She playfully corrected him, "Vanessa Van Housen."

Wade made a face, his nose crinkling in mock disgust. "Even his last name sounds pompous as fuck. Where did he get it? Rich Guy Name Generator?"

Vanessa laughed, that beautiful, familiar sound that he'd once fallen in love with. But this time, his chest didn't hurt. Not even a little.

Well, maybe a little. An eensy bit. He did save the world for her at one point of his life after all.

Vanessa laughed, a genuine laugh that warmed Wade's heart, but this time, it didn't hurt. It didn't make him want to cling to her or beg her to take him back. It just felt... nice.And for once, nice was enough.

---------------------------------------------------Wade took a deep breath, his fingers lingering on the doorknob for just a second longer than necessary. The familiar creak of the door sounded as he pushed it open, stepping inside the apartment.

His eyes immediately landed on Logan, who was hunched over the kitchen table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at his laptop. The soft glow of the screen illuminated Logan's rugged features, casting shadows across the sharp lines of his jaw and the deep-set intensity of his eyes. He was dressed in a plain white tank top that clung to his muscular frame, showing off every ripple and curve of his biceps and shoulders. The tank top was just a little too tight, revealing a hint of the veins that snaked down his arms. 

Wade couldn't help but stare, taking in every detail, every line etched into Logan's skin, every slight movement of his fingers as they tapped at the keyboard. There was something almost hypnotic about the way Logan moved—deliberate, controlled, like a predator always ready to strike. And yet, there was a softness in his expression, a vulnerability that Wade had only glimpsed in fleeting moments.

Logan must have sensed Wade's presence because he looked up, their eyes locking across the room. For a few tense seconds, neither of them spoke, the air between them thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Wade's heart pounded in his chest, a dull ache settling in his stomach as he waited for Logan to say something, anything, to break the silence.

"I found a place," Logan said finally, his voice low and gruff. He looked back at his laptop, as if the words didn't matter, as if they hadn't just ripped Wade's heart out and stomped on it. "I'll be out in a month."

Wade didn't respond. His mind was reeling, his chest tight with a sudden, crushing sense of loss. Without a word, he turned and headed for his bedroom, his feet moving on autopilot. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The thought of Logan leaving, of him not being here—every day, every morning, every night—

Just as he reached the door to his room, Wade stopped dead in his tracks. 

Wait, what the fuck am I doing? 

Spinning on his heel, Wade marched into Blind Al's room, spotting a set of keys on her bed. He snatched them up without a second thought and stormed back into the kitchen. Logan looked up just in time to see Wade launch the keys at his head. Logan caught them mid-air, his reflexes as sharp as ever.

"You nearly took my eye out," Logan growled, glaring at Wade with a look that could have melted steel.

Wade ignored the complaint, his voice deadly serious. "Get in the car."

Logan blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"Get in the fucking car," Wade repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Or I swear to God I will chop all of your limbs off and manually put you piece by piece in the passenger seat."

Logan's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them. "Yeah? Let me know how that goes."

Wade shrugged, adopting a casual tone that belied the tension simmering beneath the surface. "Fine. Plan B."

Logan's eyes flickered with suspicion. "What the hell is Plan B?"

Without warning, Wade pulled out a gun and shot Logan in the head. The sound of the gunshot echoed through the apartment, followed by the heavy thud of Logan's body hitting the floor. Wade holstered the gun, already moving to gather supplies.----------------------------------

When Logan woke up, he found himself tied up in the back of Wade's Honda Odyssey, the world outside the windows speeding by in a blur. His head must have been throbbing, the remnants of the bullet wound still knitting together, and his limbs were bound tightly with duct tape, leaving him immobile.

Wade glanced back from the driver's seat, a wide grin plastered across his face. "Morning, Sunshine. I wondered how long it would be until you woke up."

"Motherfucker," Logan growled, his voice a low, threatening rumble as he tugged at the duct tape binding his limbs. "You fucking shot me."

Wade shrugged, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to catch Logan's glare. "I couldn't take any chances, Peanut. You've been a slippery little bastard lately." He grinned, the kind of grin that promised trouble. "And besides, it's nothing you haven't survived before."

Logan let out a feral snarl, his muscles straining against the tape. "I'm going to rip your goddamn arms off when I get out of this."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before," Wade replied dismissively, turning his attention back to the road. "You know, I'd say this is like our little Honda Odyssey scene in Deadpool 3, but I don't think Marvel's legal team would appreciate the comparison." He paused, considering that for a second. "Or maybe they would. Marvel loves free promo."

Logan's eyes narrowed, his mind clearly already working on an escape plan, but before he could start making any progress, Wade suddenly veered off the highway and into an abandoned Denny's parking lot. The car screeched to a halt, gravel spraying in all directions.

"Why the hell are we here?" Logan growled, his voice dripping with suspicion.

Wade put the car in park, unbuckling his seatbelt with a dramatic flourish. "Because, Logan, nobody gives a shit about what happens at a Denny's. We could start World War III out here, and the only response we'd get is someone asking if we want extra syrup with our pancakes." He stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

Logan had barely a second to react before Wade yanked open the back door and dragged him out, tossing him into the passenger seat like a sack of potatoes. Logan hit the seat with a grunt, his healing factor kicking in almost instantly to dull the pain. Wade slid back into the driver's seat of the car, manually locking his side with a knowing look despite the busted-out windows, before turning back toward Logan.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a knife, and in one swift motion, cut through the duct tape binding Logan's arms. "Come on, Old Man," Wade taunted. "Let's settle this the old-fashioned way. You, me, Denny's parking lot, and ole reliable here," he punched the top of the car. "It's practically destiny."

Logan didn't need any more encouragement, his claws extending with that familiar snikt as he launched himself at Wade. But Wade was ready, his reflexes sharp as ever. He ducked under Logan's first swing, his body moving with the fluidity of someone who had been through this dance a thousand times before.

"Oh, so it's gonna be like that, huh?" Wade quipped, sidestepping another swipe from Logan's claws. "If you wanted to get your hands on me, all you had to do was ask. But hey, I'm not into that kind of foreplay—well, not unless there's dinner involved."

Logan growled, his eyes narrowing as he swung again, this time aiming for Wade's midsection. Wade blocked the strike with his forearm, wincing as the claws sliced through his suit, drawing blood. But instead of backing off, he grinned, the pain only fueling his adrenaline.

"You know, you're really good at this. Must be all those years of pent-up frustration, huh? Tell me, does it make you feel better to have someone to hit who actually enjoys it? Because, spoiler alert, I'm loving this," Wade said, ducking under Logan's next attack and spinning around to deliver a quick jab to Logan's ribs. 

Logan grunted, the punch barely fazing him as he countered with a brutal elbow to Wade's jaw. Wade's head snapped back, and for a moment, everything went white. But he recovered quickly, shaking it off with a laugh.

"You're really getting into this, aren't you?" Wade taunted, rubbing his jaw. 

Logan's response was a wordless snarl as he lunged again, this time driving Wade back against the carseat. Wade barely had time to brace himself before Logan's claws were in his chest. Logan plunged them into his chest cavity upwards of twelve times--a new record, hooray!--before he drove them into his chest one last time. 

Wade's grin never faltered, even as he felt the claws imbed themselves into the back of the seat.. "Is this your way of saying you're into me? Because I gotta say, it's kinda hot." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his voice dropping to a low, teasing purr. "If you wanted to pin me against something, all you had to do was ask."

Logan's eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and frustration, his grip tightening. "You don't know when to shut up, do you?"

"Never have, never will," Wade replied with a wink. "But hey, if it's any consolation, I've been told I'm a great kisser. You know, in case you wanted to switch things up."

Logan's snarl deepened, and for a moment, Wade thought he might actually go through with it—end this ridiculous dance once and for all. But instead, Logan shoved him away, sending Wade's back into the driver's seat. 

Wade caught himself on the steering wheel, laughing breathlessly as he wiped the blood from his mouth. "Is that it? Is that all you got?"

Logan didn't respond, his chest heaving as he struggled to rein in his emotions. His claws retracted with a snikt. "Why do you keep doing this?" Logan's voice was hoarse, as if the question itself was tearing something out of him.

Wade grinned through the pain, his heart hammering in his chest as he locked eyes with Logan. "What? Fighting you?" Wade's voice was thick with mock surprise as he feigned innocence. "I thought you enjoyed it! I stab you, you stab me. I figured it'd bring back some of that good ol' nostalgia, you know? A trip down memory lane, back to where it all started—two dysfunctional guys, beating the crap out of each other in the shittiest, fuckiest vehicle on planet earth. It's almost romantic."

Logan's patience snapped, and with a sudden, vicious movement, he snatched one of Wade's own knives and drove it into Wade's side. Wade's laughter turned into a growl as the blade bit deep, but it only fueled the fire raging inside him.

"That's it!" Wade roared as he pounced on Logan, his hand slamming the lever to push the passenger seat back. In one fluid motion, Wade straddled Logan's chest, the golden guns he loved so much flipping out of their holsters and pressing against Logan's forehead.

Logan stared up at him, his eyes filled with fury and something else—something that looked an awful lot like resignation. "You won't."

Wade's grin turned feral. "I already did. And I will again." He cocked the gun, the cold metal pressing harder against Logan's skull. "How do bullets sound for dinner, sweet thing?"

Logan growled, his muscles tensing beneath Wade as he tried to push him off. But before he could even get a word out, Wade fired a shot into Logan's thigh. Logan's snarl was drowned out by the sound of the gunshot, his claws tearing through the fabric of the car seat as he struggled to break free.

"Stop! Oh my god, just stop for a second!" Wade snapped, the frustration finally boiling over. "Can I just say what I need to say before you turn me into a Wolverine shish-kabob?"

Logan's teeth bared in a feral snarl, but he stopped pushing against Wade, his breath ragged and hot against Wade's chest. Wade leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost dangerous whisper as he spoke. "You're really making this difficult, you know that?"

"Mask off," Logan grunted, his eyes narrowing as he stared up at Wade.

Wade hesitated, the familiar mask suddenly feeling like a shield he wasn't ready to lower. "No, I prefer to keep the mask on, actually. And I'm literally the one calling the shots here, so—"

Logan's claws shot out, piercing through Wade's thigh with brutal efficiency. Wade yelped, his grip on the guns tightening as pain shot through his leg. "Marvel H. Christ, fine! Mask off! You really need to work on using your words, angel face, or this is never going to work. I mean, don't get me wrong, it turns me on, but a guy can only take so much—"

"What's never going to work?" Logan interrupted, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through Wade's rambling like a knife.

Wade froze, his bravado faltering for the first time. The humor in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. His heart pounded in his chest as he slowly reached up to pull off his mask, revealing the scarred, disfigured face beneath.

He looked down at Logan, his breath hitching in his throat as he finally said the words that had been clawing at the back of his mind for months. "I like you."

Logan snorted, his expression dark and disbelieving. "Fuck off."

"It's true, sugar bear. Trust me, I hate it as much as you do. But I, Wade Redacted Wilson, have a crush on Logan Most Obvious Last Name Ever."

Logan's eyes searched Wade's face, looking for any sign of a joke, any hint that this was just another one of Wade's twisted games. But all he found was honesty—raw, unfiltered, and terrifying.

"You're serious," Logan muttered, more to himself than to Wade.

Wade nodded, his heart pounding in his ears. "Yeah, I am. And it's really fucking scary because I know I'm the last person you'd ever want to be with. But I can't help it. I mean, I know that I'm not much. I don't have a steady income or even a legit job. I know I'm annoying as all get out, and that I look like deer jerky that's been over-dried, and that I come with a lot of baggage. Like going on a trip and never coming back so I pack all of my belongings type baggage. And I don't even know if you're gay, even, I mean. I don't know if Marvel was going for comic book accurate or if we're set on making you straight Wolvie. Like, am I making a complete ass of myself? Probably. But I'm willing to take that chance because, honestly, you're the only thing in my life that feels right. Even if it means I'm risking everything to be here, saying this, right now."

Logan's silence was deafening. His claws retracted, and for a moment, he just stared at Wade, his expression unreadable.

"Say something," Wade whispered, his voice cracking with uncertainty. "Anything. Or I'm just going to keep talking, and it's going to get really personal-"

"Gubernatorial."

"What-?"

Logan didn't answer with words; instead, he closed the distance between them in one swift motion, grabbing the front of Wade's suit and pulling him into a kiss so fierce and intense that it silenced every smart-ass remark Wade had been about to make. Wade's eyes widened in shock for a split second before they fluttered shut, his body melting into Logan's. 

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—

Wade's thoughts raced as he clung to Logan, his hands gripping the older man's biceps like they were the only thing anchoring him to reality. The kiss was all teeth and desperation, as if both of them had been waiting for this moment longer than either wanted to admit. Wade's hands slid up to Logan's shoulders, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until he felt like he was drowning in it.

He didn't even realize they'd started moving until his back hit the backseat of the Odyssey, and Logan's body pressed against him, solid and unyielding. Wade's breath hitched as Logan's lips left his, trailing hot kisses down his jaw, his neck, making him shiver.

"I—uh, I really thought—" Wade began, his voice hoarse as Logan nipped at his collarbone, "I really thought you were gonna punch me or something. Which, don't get me wrong, would've been totally hot too, but—oh fuck—this is way better."

Logan's response was a low growl against Wade's skin, his hands already working on the fastenings of Wade's suit. Wade let out a shaky laugh, his fingers fumbling with Logan's belt in return.

"God, you're such a goddamn tease," Wade babbled as Logan's hands roamed over his body, finding every scar and every sensitive spot with an infuriating level of precision. "I mean, seriously, you're gonna drive me crazy, but I guess that's not a far drive, huh? Get it? Because I'm already—oh, shit, that's good—"

Logan's lips were back on his, silencing him again, but Wade couldn't help himself. He kept talking between kisses, the words spilling out of him like a dam had burst.

"Okay, okay, I know I talk too much—oh my God, that's amazing—like, I just, I can't stop, it's a problem, really, I should probably—fuck—probably see a therapist about it, but—Jesus, Wolvie—"

Logan's hands slid down to Wade's hips, lifting him up like he weighed nothing, and Wade's legs wrapped around him instinctively. He could feel Logan's hard body against his, the heat between them almost unbearable.

"Wait, wait—are you sure—" Wade started, but Logan shut him up with another bruising kiss, his body pressing Wade into the seats. Wade moaned, his hands threading through Logan's hair, pulling him closer.

"You're sure," Wade muttered against Logan's lips, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth even as Logan's hands roamed lower. "Okay, okay, just checking, 'cause I don't want you to—ah—regret this later, and—oh fuck, don't stop—"

Logan didn't stop. His hands were everywhere, his mouth hot and demanding as he kissed, licked, and bit his way down Wade's chest, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin, making Wade arch off the seat. 

"I mean, seriously, Wolvie, who would've thought—oh God—who would've thought you were so good at this? I mean, not that I doubted you, 'cause you're like—fuck, right there—like, totally a sex god and all, but—"

Logan's hands gripped Wade's thighs, spreading them wider, and Wade's words dissolved into a moan as Logan's mouth moved lower, his tongue teasing along the edge of Wade's suit before he finally, finally pulled the rest of it off, leaving Wade completely exposed. "Shut the fuck up, Bub," he growled.

"Okay, okay, I'll shut up, I'll—oh my God—okay, maybe I won't shut up, 'cause I really can't help it, but—fuck, you're so—"

Logan's mouth was on him, and Wade's mind went blank, his hands clutching at the cupholders as pleasure crashed over him like a tidal wave. Every coherent thought was wiped away, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of Logan's touch, his lips, his teeth, every movement pushing Wade closer to the edge. 

Wade's rambling became incoherent, his voice rising in pitch as Logan continued, driving him crazy in the best possible way. His body tensed, every muscle coiled tight as the pleasure built and built until it was too much to handle.

"Logan, I—fuck, I'm gonna—"

Logan didn't let up, his hands and mouth working in perfect sync, and Wade couldn't hold back any longer. He came with a choked cry, his body shaking as the pleasure ripped through him, leaving him breathless and spent.

Logan didn't move away, his touch gentler now as he helped Wade ride out the aftershocks, his lips pressing soft kisses to Wade's heated skin. Wade lay there, panting, his heart racing as he tried to process what had just happened.

"Holy shit," Wade finally managed, his voice hoarse. "That was—wow. I mean, seriously, wow. You're like—you're like the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I know I'm not supposed to get all sappy and shit, but I think I'm in love with you."

Logan pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting Wade's with that same unreadable expression. For a moment, Wade thought he might have crossed a line, that maybe he'd said too much. But then Logan leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss against Wade's lips.

"You talk too much," Logan muttered, but there was no bite in his words, just a hint of amusement.

Logan's eyes darkened as he looked down at Wade, his thumb continuing to trace the rough skin of the scars on Wade's neck. There was an intensity in his gaze, something raw and primal that made Wade's breath catch in his throat. Logan's hand slid down from Wade's neck, fingers trailing over his collarbone before resting on his chest, pressing him back into the seat with a firm, unyielding pressure. "My refractory time is practically close to nothing. I assume yours is the same?"

Logan smirked, and Wade's pulse quickened as he felt Logan's strength, the way he didn't hold back. He wasn't worried about hurting Wade. Wade wasn't worried about getting hurt. Actually, he was counting on it. Wade's mouth opened, a smart-ass comment ready to spill out, but Logan was faster. His free hand moved to Wade's face, his fingers slipping between Wade's lips, pressing down on his tongue.

"Quiet, Mouth," Logan growled, his voice low and commanding.

Wade's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't resist. Instead, he sucked on Logan's fingers, his eyes locked on Logan's, his breath coming in shallow pants as he waited to see what Logan would do next.

Logan's lips curled into a smirk, clearly pleased by Wade's compliance. He pulled his fingers out of Wade's mouth, replacing them almost immediately with a strip of fabric he tore from Wade's discarded suit. Logan pressed the makeshift gag into Wade's mouth, tying it securely behind his head. Wade's muffled protests were met with a sharp, almost playful look from Logan.

"Now," Logan said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Wade's spine, "let's see if I can keep you quiet."

Wade's heart pounded in his chest as Logan's hands moved to his wrists, pinning them above his head with one hand while the other trailed down his body, teasing, exploring. Wade squirmed beneath him, the rough fabric of the gag between his teeth only adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

Logan's touch was deliberate, almost calculated, as he mapped out every inch of Wade's skin, lingering on the scars, the bruises, the places where Wade was most sensitive. Wade's muffled moans grew louder, more desperate, as Logan's hands roamed lower, skimming over his hips, his thighs, until finally, finally, he touched Wade where he wanted it most.

Wade arched off the seat, his body trembling with anticipation and need, but Logan didn't give him what he wanted right away. Instead, he took his time, exploring, teasing, driving Wade to the brink of madness with every slow, deliberate movement.

Logan's hand closed around Wade's cock, stroking him with a firm, unrelenting grip that had Wade seeing stars. Wade's moans grew more frantic, his hips bucking up into Logan's hand, desperate for more. But Logan was in no hurry. He kept his pace steady, controlled, keeping Wade right on the edge without letting him fall over.

Wade's muffled cries were almost frantic now, his body straining against Logan's hold, his need for release almost unbearable. But Logan wasn't done with him yet. With a wicked grin, Logan pulled his hand away, leaving Wade gasping and writhing in frustration.

Logan's hand moved to the knot behind Wade's head, and with one swift tug, the gag was gone. Wade gasped for air, his voice raw and desperate.

"Logan, please—" Wade started, but Logan silenced him with a kiss, hard and possessive, his teeth nipping at Wade's lips.

"You want something?" Logan growled against Wade's mouth, his voice laced with dark amusement.

"Yes—fuck, yes, I want—" Wade's words were cut off by another bruising kiss, Logan's hand wrapping around his throat, applying just enough pressure to make Wade's breath hitch.

Logan pulled back slightly, his eyes boring into Wade's. "Then beg for it."

Wade's heart skipped a beat at the command, his body trembling with a mix of fear and arousal. He swallowed hard, his voice shaking as he did exactly as Logan demanded.

"Please, Logan," Wade whispered, his voice thick with need. "I need you—please, I'll do anything, just—"

Logan didn't let him finish. With a low growl, he flipped Wade over onto his stomach, pinning him down with one strong hand on the back of his neck while the other yanked Wade's hips up. Wade could feel the heat of Logan's body against him, the hard press of his cock through his pants, and it sent a jolt of electricity through his veins. "Fucking," Wade wheezed. "Coke bottle."

Logan let out a deep chuckle, and the strip of cloth was shoved back into his mouth. Wade groaned around the gag, the sound coming out muffled and desperate as Logan's fingers slid between his legs, spreading him open. 

Logan's hands were relentless but controlled, his fingers tracing the curve of Wade's ass, the touch almost teasing. Wade's breath hitched as he felt Logan's fingertips slide between his cheeks, spreading him open with a deliberate slowness that made his heart pound even harder. Logan was taking his time, making sure Wade felt every single movement, every brush of his skin against the most sensitive parts of him.

Wade's hips twitched involuntarily as Logan's fingers found his entrance, circling it with a maddening gentleness that had Wade trembling, trying to push back, desperate for more. But Logan's grip on his neck kept him firmly in place, a silent reminder of who was in control.

Logan leaned in closer, his breath hot against Wade's ear as he murmured, "You're gonna take everything I give you, Bub. Understand?"

Wade could only nod, his response a muffled whimper around the gag, his body straining against the pressure of Logan's hand on his neck. Logan's fingers continued their slow, torturous exploration, one finger pressing just inside, barely enough to satisfy, but more than enough to make Wade's head spin.

"Relax," Logan growled softly, his voice rough and commanding. Wade tried to do as he was told, letting out a shaky breath through his nose, his muscles loosening as Logan's finger pushed in deeper. The burn was sharp but not unpleasant, and the feeling of Logan stretching him open made Wade's pulse race even faster.

Logan's free hand slid down Wade's back, his touch firm and grounding, as if reminding Wade that he was there, that he was in control. Wade bit down on the gag, his breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts as Logan added a second finger, the stretch more intense, pushing Wade's limits just enough to keep him on edge.

"That's it," Logan muttered, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he felt Wade relax further, his body submitting to Logan's touch. Logan scissored his fingers inside Wade, stretching him wider, his movements calculated and precise, making sure Wade was ready for what was coming next.Wade's muffled moans filled the room, the sensation of Logan's fingers inside him sending shivers up his spine, his body twitching with every twist and curl of Logan's fingers. Logan's thumb pressed against the base of Wade's spine, applying just enough pressure to make him arch his back, giving Logan better access as he added a third finger, the stretch almost overwhelming.

Wade's eyes squeezed shut, his fingers clawing at the sheets as Logan continued to work him open, his breath hitching with every movement. Logan's pace was unhurried, almost leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world to draw this out, to push Wade to the brink and then pull him back, just to start all over again.

Wade's mind was a blur of sensation, the pleasure mingling with a sweet ache that had him trembling, his body caught in that perfect balance between pain and ecstasy. He could feel Logan's cock hard and heavy against his thigh, a constant reminder of what was coming, but Logan didn't rush. He kept Wade on edge, his fingers twisting and thrusting inside him with deliberate precision, making sure Wade was thoroughly prepared.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Logan's fingers slid out of Wade, leaving him feeling empty and desperate for more. Wade let out a muffled whine, his body trembling with need, but Logan's hand on his neck kept him grounded, kept him from falling apart completely.

Logan reached down to undo his pants, the sound of the zipper loud in the otherwise quiet car, and Wade's breath hitched in anticipation. He could feel Logan's cock brushing against him, thick and hot, and his body tensed with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against Wade's ear as he growled, "You ready for me, Bub?"

Wade nodded frantically, his voice muffled by the gag, but his body spoke for him, his hips pushing back against Logan's in a silent plea.

Logan's hand tightened on Wade's neck, his other hand guiding himself to Wade's entrance, and with a low growl, he pushed in slowly, the head of his cock stretching Wade even further. Wade's breath caught in his throat, his body straining against the intrusion, but Logan didn't stop, pushing in inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt, his cock filling Wade completely.

Wade's muffled cries mixed with the sound of their bodies coming together, the sensation overwhelming, but Logan gave him no time to adjust, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in with a force that knocked the air out of Wade's lungs.

Logan set a brutal pace, each thrust deep and powerful, his grip on Wade's neck keeping him pinned in place, completely at Logan's mercy. Wade's body rocked with the force of Logan's thrusts, his muffled moans growing louder, more desperate, as Logan took him apart piece by piece.

Logan's hand moved from Wade's neck to his hips, pulling him back onto his cock with every thrust, pushing him deeper into the seat. Wade's world narrowed down to the sensation of Logan inside him, the sound of flesh against flesh filling  car. Wade could feel the pressure building inside him, the pleasure coiling tight in his belly, ready to snap. Logan's hand moved to Wade's cock, gripping it tightly and stroking in time with his thrusts, pushing Wade even closer to the edge.

Wade's moans grew louder, more desperate, his body trembling as he teetered on the brink. Logan's thrusts became almost punishing, each one driving Wade closer and closer until he couldn't hold back any longer. With a muffled scream, Wade came hard, his body convulsing as the pleasure ripped through him like a tidal wave.

Logan wasn't far behind, his grip on Wade tightening as he thrust deep one last time, his body shuddering as he found his own release. Wade could feel the hot rush of it inside him, Logan's body pressing him down into the seat as they both rode out the aftershocks.

For a moment, the only sound in the car was their ragged breathing, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Logan slowly pulled out, his hands still on Wade's body, but gentler now, almost tender. He reached up and carefully removed the gag from Wade's mouth, tossing the fabric aside as he helped Wade roll onto his back. 

Wade's eyes were half-lidded, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Logan huffed as he leaned back, the confined space of the Honda Odyssey making it difficult to move, but he managed. He grumbled under his breath about the cramped quarters, shooting a half-hearted glare at the minivan's ceiling as if it were responsible for the whole situation. Wade just lay there, a dazed grin plastered on his face, completely content despite the sticky mess they'd made of the backseat.

"Well," Wade began, his voice raspy but still carrying that familiar Deadpool snark, "if I'd known you were going to be this romantic, I would have brought candles. Maybe some Barry White to set the mood. You know, really class up the joint."

Logan snorted, rolling his eyes as he reached for something in the front seat. He fumbled for a moment, his annoyance evident in the way he yanked at the fabric. Eventually, he pulled out an old flannel shirt, tossing it onto Wade's chest with little ceremony.

"Wipe yourself off," Logan muttered, the gruffness in his voice softened by a faint hint of concern as he watched Wade struggle to sit up.

Wade picked up the flannel and gave it an exaggerated sniff, wrinkling his nose dramatically. "Mmm, Eau de Wolvie. I think I'm gonna bottle this scent and sell it as 'Lust in the Woods.'" He dragged the shirt across his chest, making a show of cleaning himself off, though his movements were slower than usual, exhaustion tugging at the corners of his smile.

Logan didn't rise to the bait, instead, he reached out, his large hand surprisingly gentle as he took the flannel from Wade and continued cleaning him up, his touch efficient but careful. Wade watched him, his grin softening into something more genuine as he soaked in the moment. "You're gonna be sore tomorrow," Logan said, more as a statement than a question, his tone gruff as ever. He was careful, though, mindful of the tender spots as he worked.

"Pfft, sore's my middle name," Wade quipped, wincing only slightly as Logan's hand brushed over a particularly sensitive spot. "Well, that and Danger. And Maximum Effort. You know, because I'm multi-talented. Like a Swiss Army knife."

"You're a pain in the ass," Logan muttered, his voice low but lacking the usual edge.

"No I have a pain in the ass," Wade quipped back, opening his eyes to meet Logan's gaze, his smile full of mischief. "And don't think I didn't notice you keeping that shirt handy. Just in case we had a 'situation' in the backseat of this here luxurious, totally-not-a-mom-van."

Logan huffed, but the faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his mouth as he shifted in the seat, his hand moving from Wade's thigh to his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "You good?"

Wade nodded, his grin turning more genuine. "Yeah, I'm good. Better than good. Great, even. Might need to invest in some lumbar support for this bad boy, though," he added, patting the seat beneath them. "These backseats weren't exactly made for... this kind of activity."

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rough, and Wade couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth at the sound. It was rare to get anything more than a grunt or a growl out of Logan, and hearing him actually laugh, even just a little, felt like a victory.

"Guess I'll have to upgrade next time," Logan said, his tone dry but laced with the slightest hint of amusement.

Wade's eyes widened, and he clapped a hand to his chest in mock surprise. "Did you just imply there's gonna be a next time? Oh, Peanut, you're making me blush. Here I thought I was just a one-night stand, a quick fling, a..."

Logan silenced him with a kiss, rough and a little awkward in the cramped space, but it was full of something that Wade didn't often get from the gruff mutant. Affection. Maybe even care. Wade melted into it, his usual banter forgotten as he returned the kiss, his hand coming up to tangle in Logan's hair.

When Logan finally pulled back, his eyes were soft, and for once, Wade didn't feel the need to fill the silence with words. He just smiled, his hand still resting on Logan's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm.

"Let's get out of this damn van," Logan muttered, though there was no real urgency in his voice as he pulled Wade closer for one last kiss before reaching for his shirt.

"Yeah, yeah," Wade replied, his voice light as he reluctantly sat up, the spell of the moment finally breaking as he fumbled for his clothes. "But just so you know, this is totally going in my memoir."

Logan watched as Wade fumbled with his clothes, his usual playful demeanor slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. But Logan wasn't about to let him brush off what had just happened between them. Not this time.

"Bub," Logan began, his voice firm but not unkind as he reached out to still Wade's hands. Wade froze, his eyes flicking up to meet Logan's, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his expression.

"Yeah, Wolvie?" Wade's voice was softer now, the usual snark tempered with something more vulnerable.

Logan held his gaze, his hand still resting on Wade's, grounding them both in the moment. "I meant what I said. There's gonna be a next time. And another time after that. I'm not playin' games here."

Wade blinked, his mouth opening as if to say something, but words seemed to escape him. 

"I'm not gonna be second to Vanessa," Logan continued, his voice gruff but steady. "I don't do half-assed relationships. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right. You and me. Monogamy. I'm not sharin' you with anyone, and I'm sure as hell not gonna be your backup plan."

"Marvel really picks and chooses what they want in their material, don't they?" Wade said, his voice slipping back into its usual sarcastic tone.

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly not following. "What're you talkin' about?"

Wade waved his free hand dismissively. "Oh, nothing, honey pie. Just going on about how good of a wife I would be to you. You know, the whole 'stand by your mutant' thing. I could totally rock an apron. Maybe even get one of those cute little 'kiss the cook' hats. Or maybe we could get matching flannel pajamas—because, seriously, you've got like a thousand of those, and I think I could really make it work."

"Wade," Logan warned.

Wade put his hands up defensively, his usual playful sarcasm still dancing in his eyes. "Fine, fine, no more jokes about being your perfect little housewife. But wait—" Wade suddenly froze, his expression shifting as a thought seemed to strike him. "Is that what your problem was the entire time?"

Logan, who had just turned to slip into the front seat, paused, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I don't know what you're talkin' about, Wade," he replied, his tone gruff, but there was no hiding the amusement in his eyes as he settled into the driver's seat.

Wade gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest as if he'd just been struck by some grand revelation. "You scheming, bitch!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of mock outrage and disbelief. "You mean to tell me I could've been getting fucked this entire fanfiction if I'd just stopped beating the dead horse that I was still in love with Vanessa?"

Wade narrowed his eyes, his mind racing as he replayed every interaction they'd had up until this point. "Were you ever even gonna move out?" he accused.

Logan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached over and patted Wade's thigh, his touch firm and reassuring. "Get in your seat, bub," he said, his voice a mix of gruffness and something almost affectionate.

Wade stared at him for a moment, his mind whirling with a thousand thoughts and questions. But then, slowly, a grin spread across his face, and he couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief.

Wade slid into the passenger seat, finally buckling up as he let out a long breath. "You know, you could've just said something," he pointed out, though his tone was more teasing than anything else.

Logan shrugged, his eyes on the road ahead as he started the van. "You wouldn't have listened."

Wade thought about that for a moment and then nodded. "Fair point."

--------------------------

"So," Wade began, breaking the silence with his usual casual tone, "now that we've got that all figured out, does this mean we're officially a couple? Like, do I get to call you my boyfriend, or is that too high school for you? Maybe we should go with something more mature, like 'life partners.' Or we could just skip straight to 'husband'—really cut through all the red tape, you know?"

"Wade..."

"Okay, okay," Wade said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "No need to get all grumpy about it. But just so you know, I'm totally putting you down as my emergency contact from now on. And don't be surprised if you find a ring in your breakfast burrito one of these days."

"Wade."

"Fine, I'm shutting up now," he said, mock zipping his lips. He turned in his seat, watching as the trees zipped by the window. Was that a cum stain on the back one? Shit. He was pretty sure that Laura drove this car sometimes. Talk about trauma.

"Okay, but seriously," Wade piped up after a while, unable to resist, "if I start calling you 'honey bear,' you're not gonna claw me to death, right? Because I feel like it's a real missed opportunity if I don't."

Anddd those are Logan's claws in his thigh.

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Life didn't exactly get easier when Logan and Wade made it official. 

Better? Sure.

Sexier? Oh abso-fucking-lutely.

But easier...well, the jury was still out for that. 

They still fought like cats and dogs, but now, instead of ending up in separate corners licking their wounds, they usually ended up tangled together, panting and sweaty, in whatever corner they'd been trying to kill each other in. It was an arrangement that worked for them—at least, it worked for Logan. Wade was more than happy with the new dynamic, often goading Logan into a fight just to see where it would lead.

Then there was the jealousy. He had always thought of Logan the jealous type, but he hadn't really been prepared for just how much of a green-eyed monster he could be when it came to Wade. Hubba hubba indeed. Every time Wade so much as smiled at someone else, Logan's claws itched to make an appearance.  And the best part? Wade knew. Oh, did he ever know, and he reveled in it. He'd flirt outrageously with anyone within a ten-foot radius just to see Logan's eyes narrow and his jaw tighten, only to turn around and smirk at him with that infuriatingly charming grin.

And who knows? 

Maybe one day he really would marry the bastard. He'd even caught himself considering ring sizes—though he'd never admit that out loud.

Because Dearest Reader, Wade Wilson was happy.

Really, truly, fucking happy together. 

-------------------------------------------

It was Thanksgiving—a holiday Wade usually didn't give a flying fuck about, but this year was different. Logan had grudgingly agreed to a small get-together at their apartment with X-Force, Vanessa and Craig, as well as Laura. Oh, and Wade had somehow convinced Logan that showing up in matching flannel shirts was a great idea. 

"I'm not doing this," Logan muttered under his breath for what had to be the tenth time that morning as he tugged at the collar of his shirt.

"Too late, babygirl ," Wade said cheerfully, slinging an arm around Logan's shoulders. "You agreed, and now we're gonna show up like the power couple we are. Besides, you look hot in flannel."

Logan grunted in response, his usual expression of grumpiness even more pronounced. If Logan wasn't so hellbent on keeping things under wraps, maybe Wade wouldn't have to go to such lengths dammit.

The apartment was surprisingly cozy, given the rough-and-tumble lives of its occupants. Logan had even managed to scrounge up some decorations—mostly at Wade's insistence. The table was set, and the smell of food filled the air, though Logan had refused to let Wade anywhere near the kitchen after a disastrous attempt at making cranberry sauce the night before. Most of it ended up in places that Wade didn't really want to talk about actually, can we move on?

As their guests began to arrive, Wade's excitement was palpable. He greeted everyone with his usual over-the-top enthusiasm, making sure to point out the matching flannel to anyone who would listen. Vanessa and Craig were the first to arrive, followed by Domino and the rest of X-Force, and finally, Laura, who rolled her eyes at Wade's antics but seemed genuinely happy to be there.

As the meal went on, it became clear that Wade was more interested in Logan than the food. He kept finding excuses to touch Logan, whether it was a hand on his thigh, a squeeze of his bicep, or a quick brush of his fingers against Logan's neck. Each touch was accompanied by a lewd comment, whispered just loud enough for Logan to hear.

"Mmm, Wolvie, you've been working out," Wade murmured as he ran a hand up Logan's thigh, his voice low and sultry. "Those biceps are looking extra delicious tonight. Think I could get a second helping later?"

Logan shot him a warning look, but Wade just grinned, clearly enjoying himself. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Logan's ear as he continued. "You know, this flannel really brings out your eyes. But I think it'd look even better crumpled up on the floor with you on top of me."

Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus on his plate and ignore the heat pooling in his gut. He knew Wade was doing this on purpose, trying to get a rise out of him, but damn if it wasn't working.

Wade's hand slid up to Logan's chest, fingers tracing the muscles beneath the fabric. "I'm just saying, you could chop more than wood in this getup. Maybe later, you can give me a demonstration. I've got a few logs that need splitting."

Logan growled low in his throat, grabbing Wade's hand and squeezing it tightly. "Knock it off, Bub."

Wade shivered. "Oh, baby. Count me in as down and horny."

Logan's lips rose in a snarl.

Across the table, Vanessa raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the tension. "Everything okay over there?" she asked, her tone light but curious.

"Peachy!" Wade replied with a grin. "Just telling Logan how thankful I am for him. And everyone here."

Dopindor gave him a flat look, pushing the gravy boat toward NTW who glared viciously at him.

"Later, I'm gonna show him just how thankful I am," he said cheerfully. "And I'll give him a few things to be thankful for too. I promise." He purred in Logan's direction, and then clapped his hand down onto Logan's half hard dick.

Colossus choked on his turkey.

"I will tear you apart limb by limb, you absolute imbecile," Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous. 

Wade blinked, his eyes wide with faux innocence. "Oh, Peanut, you sweet talker. You know I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Before Logan could respond, Wade abruptly stood up, raising his glass in a dramatic toast. "Alright, folks, I've held my tongue long enough. It's time for some honesty. The truth is, Wolvie and I have been getting it on. Yep, regular old bone sessions. You twisted my arm, so there it is! Peanut and I are fucking on the regular!"

The room fell silent, all eyes on Wade as the weight of his words sank in. Vanessa nearly choked on her drink, and Craig's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Dopindor looked like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or facepalm, and Laura's expression was a mix of shock and horror.

"What?!" Laura finally shrieked, her voice echoing through the room. She looked from Wade to Logan, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You're... what?"

Snikt

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Christmas. Maybe he'll propose on Christmas.