#like... all my favorite kinds of stories are this. honed in on the people in the midst of the plot around them.

[faunandfloraas]

After The Rain - Seungmin for the June issue of Harper's Bazaar Korea by Yoon Hye-young - interview under the cut

How was the Harper's Bazaar shoot today? It rained on and off all day, was it gloomy?

Seungmin: When we started, I was worried because it was raining so hard, but then the sun came out and it felt like it was meant to be. I loved the location, and I actually have this running scene as my phone wallpaper these days. (Shows phone screen) Cows running around at the foot of the Alps.... I was thinking that I would love to spend the whole day in such an open space, just lying still, watching the animals and having a beer, and then today I was lucky enough to have my favorite backdrop spread out in front of me. It's even better that it's with Burberry, because I've always loved their outdoor clothing, especially the trench coats. The first luxury item I bought after my debut was a Burberry card wallet.

Harper's Bazaar: You're the main vocalist of Stray Kids, looking at your activities so far, you can clearly feel the sincerity in your singing. I heard that you've been receiving vocal lessons consistently without a break since your debut. Are you practicing every day these days?

Seungmin: When I first started learning songs, I would do some math, right? If there was a lyric sheet, I would check every breathing part and make a calculation- in this part, I would sing like this, and in that part, I would put this kind of emotion... That's how I practiced. These days, without a written record, I try to make my own interpretation based on what I've honed inside. I think it feels better to hear compliments like "you have a different side" than "you sing well."

How would you define your style as a vocalist?

Seungmin: It's abstract. What I'm striving for these days is that when I drop a pebble of a song into the lake of emotion, the ripples continue until the end of the song, and I want those ripples to carry over to the audience. For this reason, I'm trying to be freer with my emotions than before. If I'm sad, I cry, if I'm angry, I complain... I've always been a very patient person, and I think this change in me is slowly being reflected in my songs, as fans often notice.

Harper's Bazaar: Talent and effort each play a role in becoming a good singer.

Seungmin: I think talent is 10% and effort is 90%. As the years go by, I realize how much a singer's attitude is connected to the song. When I sing without feeling, the listeners don't feel anything.

Harper's Bazaar: Was the current Seungmin also created with 10% talent and 90% effort?

Seungmin: I'd add more. (Laughs) I would say talent 5% effort 95% If I skip a day of practice, it shows right away. When I first joined the team, I wasn't even the main vocalist. I don't remember standing in front of others singing even when I was young. There are stories of famous singers who were exceptionally good at singing since childhood, going to auditions or standing out at school plays. I just listened to what I liked and worked hard as much as I liked, and that's how I got here. I vaguely dreamed of being a band vocalist while listening to Muse, and I learned what it means to feel heartbroken while listening to Kim Dong Ryul. What's really great about practice is the sense of satisfaction you get when you face a wall and overcome it, one by one. You can't always get good results in real life, but you increase your odds through practice.

Harper's Bazaar Muse and Kim Dong-ryul? That's an analog sensibility. (Laughs)

Seungmin: I'm really slow. I don't have TikTok on my phone, and I don't really watch shorts. I like old things more than new things. The world seems too fast. It's a time where you can easily make something without putting in effort. Even if you just leave the translation to AI, it's done in an instant. Of course, it's an efficient system, but I think I'm more interested in authenticity. That's why I often hear people say that I'm an old man. What can I do? It's my style (laughs)

Harper's Bazaar So you keep a diary too?

Seungmin: I've been keeping a practice journal since 2017. At that time, I used to mechanically write down what I learned today and what I have to learn tomorrow, but now I think it's become a habit. These days, I write down my feelings in a journal. No matter how trivial the content is, when I look back later, the memories from that time come back vividly and it helps. I could use a notepad on my phone, but I insist on paper and pen. The time I write in my journal is an opportunity to sit at my desk every night and look into my heart for at least 5 minutes. Even if I write, "I don't want to write today. I'll just sleep," no matter how tired I am, I always write at least two lines and go to bed.

Please tell me a passage from Harper's Bazaar diary (laughs)

Seungmin starts off by saying, "Tomorrow is a very important day, so I've put a sheet mask on and even if I'm really sleepy right now, I'm holding this pen." I really write anything (Laughs)

Harper's Bazaar: I believe that what kind of music you're listening to these days can tell you a lot about a person, so I'm curious about Seungmin's recent playlist.

Seungmin: When I get into a song, I listen to it until I get sick of it, or until my emotions run out. That's why my playlists are always concise and well-organized. These days, I've been listening to Ariana Grande's "Twilight Zone" for over a week. I'm the type that's weak in imagination. My MBTI is Sensing (S), not Intuitive (N). But this song makes imagination possible, which is amazing.

According to Stray kids members, Seungmin is the type that once he gets into something, he sticks with it until the end- are you a stable type?

Seungmin: I can't handle anxiety very well. Stability is the best (laugh). Whether it's baseball or singing, if I get into something, I don't get tired of it and just keep going. It's the same with relationships. Once I'm connected to someone, I want to keep the relationship with that person until the end. My closest friends right now are all from elementary, middle, and high school. If you take loyalty out of it, it's dead (smile). I never betray people who are close to me.

Harpers bazaar: Everyone wears a t-shirt of their favorite band from their teenage years, so it seems like people live their whole lives with the music they listened to in their teens and 20s. Looking back, which song do you think will be your theme song?

Seungmin: I think it's "As We Are" that I wrote. It's the song that best represents my 20s. I would choose another song, but this song means a lot to me, and I had a hard time writing the lyrics. It was really hard to bring out the parts of myself that I wanted to be recognized, and didn't want to be recognized. It's a song that reflects me. The reason why the aspect ratio of the MV is 4:3 instead of 16:9 is because it is based on actual memories from my childhood.

Harper's Bazaar: The lyrics in the introduction of this song, "I tried to do well/ I ran forward without looking back/ but i tripped and fell/ And I ended up falling behind/ why does this only happen to me" these lyrics must have been a moment of wanting to be recognized and not wanting to be recognized for you, right?

Seungmin: Everyone has those. Words that are hard to say out loud, feelings that are kept inside, stories that only I know. At that time, I honestly put my thoughts and feelings into the lyrics. I might have thought it was my own personal story and just wrote it, but I tried to muster up the courage. I wanted to tell you that I was thinking the same thing as you, and you were thinking the same thing as me, and I wanted to comfort you.

Harper's Bazaar: Are you the kind of person who thinks music is life and life is music? Or are you the kind of person who thinks there is a real life outside of the stage? If I had to guess, I would say that vocalist Seungmin is a believer.

Seungmin: I want to express my feelings about music off stage, on stage. I believe that living the everyday life I like, even if it's not necessarily music, enriches my feelings about music. I don't want to live a life that's too different from the music I do. Seungmin the singer is Seungmin the person.

[hummingbird24220]

Greetings!

When you replied to my comments about the Littlest Listener story, you mentioned you might be open to doing some more scenarios within that same world?

As she gets a little older, grows stronger and faster, Whitebeard starts giving her more to do; scouting out a few miles or around a new island, spying on other pirates or marines (maybe occasionally setting off explosives under their ships), helping with navigation, etc. Everything still stays platonic.

I guess here are a few suggestions in case you get stuck, but don’t feel contained by there; write whatever you want. All, or something not on here, or none. I would be incredibly happy to read anything!

Ace finds her one morning shivering, weak and feverish, and wakes up Marco and Pops to determine what’s wrong.

Shes captured by Marines and it’s a while until the Whitebeards can get to her. In the meantime she either resists their attempts to get information or betrayal out of her, or tries giving them false information to throw them off.

The Whitebeards encounter a beautiful adult mermaid, but it’s not long before she realizes this woman is a siren with less than friendly intentions toward her crew.

She and Ace get separated from the crew, and a injury to her tail renders her unable to just go out and search for them, leaving them stranded on a random island for a couple days.

She guides the ship through a storm for the first time.

She discovers a love for reading, and the complications that come with trying to read without soaking Marco’s books.

The classic *injured in battle.*

Again, feel free to ignore these suggestions and go rogue and write any scenario you feel like, or ignore this entire request as a whole. I’m glad One Piece has given you a lot of inspiration! I enjoy a lot of your other works as well. Sorry, thank you so much again, have a lovely day <3

Yes yes yes! Love the ideas!!

I've been working on it for a while, sorry it took so long!! It maaaaay have turned into a mini series ;P

Hope you enjoy!!

The Littlest Listener (Part 2)

One Piece x Reader — Whitebeard Pirates (Ace) x Platonic!Mermaid Reader

Time Skip — A Few Years Later

The sea hadn’t changed much. Still vast. Still wild. Still full of secrets.

But you had.

Your tail was stronger now, sleek and quick through the water, with new muscles honed from years of swimming and training. You could circle an island before the crew had time to drop anchor. Your lungs could hold air for longer. And your hearing? Sharper than any of them realized.

Whitebeard had noticed first.

“You’ve got a talent for slipping past eyes,” he’d said one day, arms crossed and eyes proud. “Let’s put that to good use.”

Now, you weren’t just the littlest listener. You were a scout. A ghost beneath the surface. The kind of mermaid sailors whispered about when their ships mysteriously sprung leaks or when their cannons suddenly exploded from the inside.

Not that you ever bragged about that last part. (Okay, maybe a little. To Ace. Sometimes.)

It started small.

Peeking at docked ships before the Moby Dick pulled into harbor. Noting the number of Marines on patrol. Relaying the color of sails, the sound of crew voices, and the subtle changes in current that hinted at underwater mines or traps.

Then came the missions with a little more… spark.

“Just a little kaboom,” Thatch had said with a grin, handing you a small waterproof pouch of explosives. “Nothing big. Just something to say, ‘hello’.”

You giggled the entire swim there.

You only ever hit empty ships. Never people. Whitebeard had made that part clear. And you listened, because his voice still felt like home.

Ace was still your favorite. And now that you were older, stronger, and faster in the water, the two of you had a standing challenge: who could get somewhere first—his flames or your tail.

You almost always won. He almost always pretended not to care. You always laughed anyway.

Sometimes at night, you’d swim alongside the ship while he sat on the edge, retelling your early days with the crew.

“You were so small back then,” he’d say. “All wide eyes and tiny splashes.”

“You threw fire at the ocean,” you’d remind him. “That was your first reaction.”

“I was startled! You don’t expect a mermaid to pop out of the sea like that!”

Now you weren’t just a passenger. You were part of the crew. Trusted. Valued. A set of eyes beneath the waves that the others relied on. You were still the youngest, and they still teased you for it—but with the same warmth as always. A gentle kind of teasing that meant family.

Whitebeard would often say, with a laugh, “She’s our little shadow in the deep. The sea’s got our back.”

And you did.

Always.

-

Ace didn’t worry at first.

You were usually up before the sun, scouting currents and checking the reef around the anchoring zone. Sometimes you'd wave at him with that tired grin you gave when you'd pulled an all-nighter underwater, hair full of seaweed and triumph.

But today… the waves were still. No ripple. No laugh. No splash of a tail.

Ace leaned over the railing, scanning the water around the Moby Dick. “(Y/N)?”

Nothing.

His gut tightened. Something felt off.

He climbed down to the lower deck, the part closest to the waterline where you’d usually drift after your morning loop. “(Y/N)! Hey, come on, if this is some prank—” he cut off when he spotted a limp shape floating beside the hull.

“Oh no.”

Your arms barely clung to the rope net you used to hang around the ship. Your skin was pale, lips tinged with blue, and you were shivering violently, eyes unfocused. When you looked up at him, it was like you didn’t see him.

“Ace…?” you whispered, voice thin as foam.

He was already reaching down, fire lighting instinctively along his arms—not to burn, but to warm.

“I’ve got you,” he said quickly, panic kicking his heart into a sprint. “Marco! Marco!”

Within minutes, Marco was crouched beside you, eyes glowing with that eerie blue phoenix light, hands hovering over your arms and gills. Whitebeard stood just behind, his expression grim and unreadable, his massive frame tensed like the sky before a storm.

“She’s got a fever,” Marco muttered. “But it’s not just that—her gills are inflamed. She’s not getting enough oxygen from the water.”

“What does that mean?” Ace asked, crouched beside you, one hand still holding yours. “She was fine yesterday. She was doing loops around the island like it was nothing!”

“Could be an infection,” Marco murmured, pressing glowing hands gently to your chest. You winced. “Could be she pushed too hard for too long. Her body’s part human—mermaids can get sick just like us. And she hasn’t exactly been resting.”

You blinked up at them, still shaking, the world a blur of light and color.

“I… I didn’t want to slow you down…”

Whitebeard lowered himself to one knee, voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’ve never slowed us down, little one.”

You started to cry then—not because of pain, but from the weight of everything you’d been holding up. The pride of being useful. The fear of being left behind. The ache in your chest that had gotten harder to ignore each day you swam too far, too fast.

Marco lifted you carefully into a large, seawater-filled tub they'd prepped below deck—the same one they used when the weather was rough. The glow of his healing flames didn’t burn; it eased the tightness in your chest and soothed the salt-stung rawness of your gills.

Ace stayed beside you the entire time, resting his arms on the rim of the tub, his usual grin replaced by quiet worry.

“You’re not allowed to scare me like that again,” he mumbled.

You reached out with a trembling hand and poked his cheek. “You’re… easy to scare.”

“Liar,” he huffed, eyes soft. “Next time you feel off, you tell someone. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Marco rolled his eyes as he walked by. “You’re both brats.”

Whitebeard let out a laugh like distant thunder and gently patted your head with one giant finger.

“You’re part of this family,” he said. “And family doesn’t run itself into the ground. That’s an order.”

You smiled, weak but real.

For once, it felt okay to rest.

-

The next morning, the fever was already breaking.

Marco looked almost annoyed when he checked your temperature and found your skin warm—but not hot—and your gills no longer inflamed. “She’s recovering faster than a phoenix,” he muttered, pressing the back of his hand to your cheek. “Which is rude, honestly.”

You gave him a sleepy grin from inside your recovery tub. “It’s a mermaid thing.”

Ace snorted from where he sat on the floor beside you, his head resting on his arms. “You’re gonna rub that in forever, aren’t you?”

“Maybe…” you croaked playfully. Your voice was still hoarse, but the spark behind your eyes was back.

“Don’t even think about getting up yet,” Marco said before you could try. “I don’t care how fast your body heals—you’re still under observation.”

“Is he always like this?” you whispered to Ace as Marco walked off.

Ace leaned in like he was telling a secret. “Only when he likes you.”

You giggled, then winced, one hand on your chest.

Even if you were healing fast, you weren’t all better.

By midday, the crew had heard you were awake. And that… turned out to be a problem.

Thatch arrived first, arms full of fruit, pastries, and what looked like an entire roasted fish on a platter.

“Protein!” he declared. “And sugar. And something I found in the galley I think is cheese.”

Then came Vista, who gave you a flower crown “for medicinal aesthetics.” Then Blamenco, who carried over a pile of mismatched blankets and insisted you could “never be too cozy.” Then Izo, who just walked in, sighed dramatically, and gave you a mirror. “So you can see how pathetic you looked and never do it again.”

You were laughing so hard by the end of it, it sent you into a brief coughing fit.

Whitebeard eventually had to shoo everyone out. “Let the girl breathe before you smother her with affection, damn brats.”

Ace lingered, of course.

He’d barely left your side except for missions and bathroom breaks. When the tub was too cold, he gently warmed the water with his fingertips. When you drifted off mid-conversation, he’d sit quietly, watching the sea, keeping an ear out for your breathing.

That night, as the ship rocked gently under a full moon, he spoke up softly.

“You scared me,” he said, not looking at you. “Like… really scared me.”

You blinked at him, still floating half-asleep. “But I’m okay now…”

“I know,” he said, voice tight. “But you don’t have to do everything alone, you know? You don’t have to prove anything to us.”

You reached out weakly, poking his arm. “You’re being mushy.”

“I am not.” “You are.” “…Fine. Maybe a little.”

You smiled and let your hand drop back into the warm water. “I just didn’t want to be useless. I’m not a fighter like you. I can’t take a hit and keep going.”

Ace turned his head, meeting your tired gaze. “You don’t have to be like me. You’re you. That’s way better.”

Silence for a moment.

“…Besides,” he added, “if anyone tries to call you useless again, I’ll set their pants on fire.”

You burst out laughing.

Your chest still ached a little. But your heart felt light.

And in the glow of moonlight, with your family just above deck and Ace beside you, you realized something important:

Storms didn’t last forever. Not when you had a whole ship of warmth to come home to.

[celaenaeiln]

what dances do you think each batkid would learn/do if they wanted to/could?

like obviously cass has ballet but i dunno i could see dick being into salsa or steph being into hiphop

oh!!!

Dick: I agree! With Dick's natural charisma, agility, and love for excitement, he's made for dances like the Rumba, Salsa, Cha Cha, and Samba. Those fast-paced dances practically embody the rush he thrives on. It's the quick, flashy movements combined with the playful flirtation and it matches his confident, outgoing personality.

It's soo easy to just imagine him effortlessly spinning his partner around with his signature grin lighting up the floor, and perfectly in sync with the fast-paced rhythm. It's the thrill, the connection, and the sheer rush of it all would be irresistible to him. For Dick, it’s about the freedom, the energy, and the glitz and glam.

Jason: Breakdancing. It would pay a homeage to his roots and he would love it because it's about power, strength, and has an element of danger. It has sharp, forceful movements that give the dancer a sense of empowerment. It mirrors his intensity.

Tim: Waltz and Foxtrot. Tim would really like those slow ballroom dances because for him it's about precision and discipline. Tim is the the partner because he always focuses on balance between his and Bruce's Batman and Robin partnership which would translate into him knowing just when to move and with elegance. He's similar to Dick but he has a quieter confidence.

Stephanie: Hiphop. Another homage to her roots but also hip hop is a diverse dance and Stephanie is a bit eclectic. She's fun and serious. She lifts people up but worries a lot. A dance that would suit her best is something that would incorporate many different styles. So she would learn a whole genre of dance that one particular kind. Steph would love the fast, dangerous element of hip hop and in many ways she's similar to Jason.

Damian: Contemporary (My favorite!). It's a style of dance where the dancer infuses meaning into the dance while they move. Damian's character is all about carving out his own place in the world and growing into his own person. Unlike the other, Damian isn't satisfied to be a preset which is why he broke free as Robin as such a young age. He thinks about things very deeply and his family and traditions mean a lot of him. Therefore, Damian would be interested in a form of dance that allows him to create his own self-expression. And this is Contemporary.

Cass: Ballet and Traditional Chinese Dancing. Cass liking ballet is canon. But I also strongly belief she would be interested in Traditional Chinese Dancing. She would love it because it's a way of connecting to her heritage but also, Traditional Chinese Dancing demands intense physical control and focus in the form of utter elegance. Cass, who's superpower is basically to read body movements of others and hone her own skills, would love this form of dance that allows her to gain meaning from slight changes in the body. This form of dance is created for story-telling through the body.

Duke: Jazz. Duke would love Jazz which is known for it's versatility and upbeatness. He's an optimist and a self-engineer. Meaning, Duke literally created his identity from scratch. He knew who he was and went forth on a path that would enable him to continue being that. He's good-natured and humorous. He's innovative and bold. Because of these personality, he would love Jazz which is composed of bold movements such as leaps and kicks but also love the freedom to improvise. It's all about the individuality with him.

[theweepingangelofcas]

Heyoo, I read a few of your works recently and I'm already looking forward with your future blogs 🖤 and it says requests are still open soooooo

I don't know if you write crossovers or whatnot, but can I request for a William Moriarty one shot where he met his s/o who's similar to Dazai from BSD and they kinda clicked? Then he learned about her past doings and tries to understand her goodwill to change.

If not then, alternatively, how about a request for a William Moriarty one shot where he finally met his match, as in her intelligence is in par with him?

Thank you in advance ❤ and have a great day/night (wherever you are lol)

I LOVE Bungo Stray Dogs! Dazai, in particular, is my favorite. I decided to interpret this as a reader who has a similar mindset to Dazai (both the irl author and the character). Fair warning: As with anything Dazai related, this fic heavily leans into the concept of mental health and suicide. Please do not read if this is harmful to your mental health. Stay safe, my loves.

*************************

Troubled - William Moriarty x DazaiLike! Reader

You met him while you were still young.

Barely 13, just past the point of womanhood. Starving, alone, cold. You and your little gang of poor, hungry kids had gotten desperate. You all became a gang of thieves.

But, you had gotten too cocky. Too exhausted. Too hungry. You had been caught with your hand in a man's back pocket, looking for a wallet he hadn't been carrying with him.

When he looked back at you, a few things in particular became very clear.

This was no man. This was a boy, barely older than you.

His eyes were red. The kind of red that would send beasts running off in fright. You were mystified by them.

He wasn't angry.

From there, things didn't go how you expected them to go.

This boy was obviously a noble. That was why you had targeted him in the first place. After all, noble men had the most money to spare compared to the lower class people around you. Why deprive someone of something they need, when you can take a little bit from a person who had everything?

That was what you had explained to him when he asked why you chose him on that particular afternoon.

You weren't put in chains, as you thought you would have been. No, instead you were guided into a carriage, a family crest proudly emblazed on its door.

"You're... a Moriarty?"

You had seen the story in the paper a month ago. A family home, gone up in smoke. Only three of the people inside had survived, all of them being children.

He nodded, "Yes. My name is William."

He sat you down next to another boy in the carriage, this time a brunette, who could have only been 4 years your senior at most, "And I am Albert."

He turned to William, "Now tell me, brother, why this one?"

A spike of fear struck you at that moment. You had heard terrible things happening to girls like you. Your hand flew to the door, but William stopped you, "Relax, now. This isn't what you think."

The two went on to explain to you a rather complex plan. One that would involve loyal footsoldiers to help carry it out. And you, and your little band of thieves, would become one of them.

**************

Your time on the streets hadn't entirely left you unscarred. Nightmares plagued you at night. The things you had to do, the horrid things you'd seen... It was all too much. And though you trusted the three brothers, you didn't want to trouble them with your sick mind.

This led you down the rabbit hole, to suicide.

It wasn't a 100% intent. No, this was passive. You weren't seeking death, no. But, if a situation got a little hairy, you weren't afraid to put yourself in harms way. When Mr. Moran joined the group, you seemed to relish in the sight of his pistols.

That was when your casual intention became your number one goal.

Thankfully, William was there just in time.

**************

The pistol was cold in your hands.

Having honed your stealth years ago, sneaking into Moran's quarters was easy. The man was a drunk, after all. It was all too simple to open the wooden chest stashed in his wardrobe, and pick your preferred metallic poison.

So now, here you were. Outside the manor, sitting in the gardens. You'd hate to get the indoor carpeting dirty. Goodness knows Louis works hard enough to keep it clean.

The dirt will take away most of the mess, your life essence oozing into the ground to hopefully do some act of good.

Oh, it's cold in your mouth too. You hadn't thought of that yet. You can feel the rim of the barrel clicking against one of your teeth.

Freedom is so tantalizingly close...

"Give it to me, y/n."

God. Fucking. Damn. It.

You turned to him, gun now in your lap, "William! So nice to see you."

If he hadn't just caught you about to end your life, he would have thought you were overjoyed to see him. He knew it was an act.

"Likely story. Sebastian told me. Give it. Now."

You rolled your eyes, "He was asleep! Snoring like hell too! There's no way-"

"He was in the military before all this, y/n. Any noise entering his quarters wakes him up immediately. He's a good actor when he needs to be."

Frustrated, the smile dropped, being replaced with a bit of a grimace. You tossed the weapon to William's feet, and he looked at you as though you were made of glass.

You hated it.

"You noblemen and your hatred of us common folks. To think I trusted you..."

"You are more than aware I don't hate those less fortunate."

You scoffed, "Yeah? Then why do you look at me like that?!" You gestured to his disappointed face, "You knew I'd do something to make you hate me. You knew it."

"I knew you were getting worse."

You paused, anger dying down, "You... You knew I wanted to-"

"Take your own life? The signs were obvious, y/n?"

"I hid it! I hid it so well my own troupe couldn't tell!" The thought of those kids you helped raise brought tears to your eyes, "How in the hell could you tell?"

His face changed, then. A sad smile emerged. He stooped down, taking the pistol into his hands. But when he stood, you felt your blood run cold.

He had pressed it to his own temple, his finger lingering dangerously on the trigger.

"William-!"

"You think you're alone in this abyss, y/n?" In the moonlight, you couldn't help but find yourself captivated by his eyes again. They seemed to glow crimson, glinting light much like the weapon in his hand.

"All of us here have our own battles. Sebastian screams out for his war friends on a weekly basis. Louis still has periods where he feels like his heart is failing him. And me? Well..."

He lowered it to his side, "You can guess."

This broke your stony, angry exterior. When he finally walked close to you, all you could do was fall into his arms.

"This life... It's so unfair. It doesn't feel worth it anymore, Will."

You felt him nod against your forehead, "I know. But this will pass. Everything passes eventually. And I will help you hold on until it does."

[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.

----------------------------------------------------------

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

----------------------

Christmas. Maybe he'll propose on Christmas.

[thesiltverses]

I was listening to S2Q&A and I went over the character limit on Spotify so I'm just gonna drop my comment here instead:

I think all y'all do incredible work, but I'm especially a fan of the sound design! It's one of my favorite things about audio dramas that makes them distinct from audio books. The environmental storytelling that comes through is so satisfying and easy to understand without sounding manufactured.

I might be a minority, but I actually love the muddiness and chaos of your action/battle scenes. You're clearly mastering a fine line between listenability and honoring the disarray of the scene. I enjoy the brief pockets where I don't understand what's happening beat-for-beat because it feels like I'm caught in the fray of it, and not being able to 'keep the score' until it's over ramps up the tension deliciously.

Everyone does fabulous work on this, but I just wanted to gas up your sound design. It's like costuming or lighting- you're doing your job well when those things support the story, and it means people don't notice that effort at times because it's so seamless. One 'tech' to another: very well done!!!

Thank you so much, that's really kind and means a lot! Other than in the Q&As, I haven't really talked that much about picking up sound design duties over the course of the series, but it really has been a meaningful and exciting learning experience for me, not least as a writer getting to hone his writing via audio editing.

Since you mentioned it and I can't pass up the opportunity for a rant - listenability and what that actually should mean in practice is a topic I think about a lot.

I think it's important for audiodrama designers not to get haughty or defensive when listeners struggle to comprehend a particular sequence (I have designed scenes poorly where the dialogue clearly didn't rise over the background noise sufficiently, I've designed scenes poorly where the action was clearly too chaotic or lacked sufficient cues to help the audience through it).

But equally - between wildly different auditory processing capabilities and the wildly different listening environments and listening habits at play, I don't believe there's any perfect state of comprehensibility available in this medium, and sometimes I think our hunt for it can lead us astray.

Over the years, I've heard from listeners who honestly can't tell the voices of actors with globe-spanning accents apart, I've heard from listeners who can't pick up on environmental SFX cues indicating a change of location and need something more explicit in the dialogue whenever there's a scene shift, I've heard from listeners who can only listen through one earbud in the workplace and therefore don't want binaural sound, listeners who struggle to hear any action sequence whatsoever as more than incoherent noise, and listeners who can only enjoy audiodramas solely as a second-screen activity and who can't keep up with a fast-moving or complicated plot without regular recaps.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with any of that, and those listeners aren't wrong to respond in this way - everyone has their own processing threshold, and everyone has their own needs and preferences as an audience member.

But I also don't believe I'd personally want to create a full-cast show under the limitations that would arise from my attempting to strictly solve all of those problems at once (as opposed to being flexible and considerate about them during the design process).

There has to be room for calculated ambition and big swings in the medium, and there has to be room to trust the audience to keep up with you during the ambitious moments, albeit with one eye firmly on accessibility - otherwise audiodrama is likely to remain dominated by 'one actor with a nice soothing voice telling stories' or 'one small group of characters having lots of conversations about their ongoing efforts to resolve a single plot thread'. Which is often fantastic, but there's plenty of it already!

When it comes to action scenes in particular, I've been trying to operate under the consistent philosophy of 'before, DURING, after', with equal weight and design attention given to each third.

In other words, if we do enough careful and quiet work to establish the environment and props and rising tension ahead of a big noisy chaotic sequence, and if we do the careful and quiet work afterwards to clearly show where the characters have ended up and what condition they're in, my belief is that it's 100% acceptable if the audience can't immediately track the movement of Character A's fist hitting Character B and Character B falling against a table in three seconds flat.

Like good action editing in cinema, an engaged audience member will follow the motion and comprehend the outcome cleanly, even if they don't take in all the details. That, to me, is a vastly better result for the work than having to include a 'oh, no, he stabbed you with that knife!!' line of dialogue.

Anyway, you just wanted to gas me up which was very kind and instead I wrote out this big long blather. So apologies, and thank you so much again!

[creature-wizard]

Quick rundown on my actual positions re: the Law of Assumption & reality shifting right now:

I think the practices associated with the Law of Assumption can provide a very real psychological benefit, and I think many practitioners have successfully used it to overcome problems stemming from anxiety, poor self-image, etc.

I am broadly in favor of people using these practices, insofar as they don't exacerbate other mental issues and insecurities, or create other problems. (Needing other people to feel jealous of you to feel good about yourself is inherently unhealthy. Revision is just lying to yourself or others. Everyone Is You Pushed Out is both dehumanizing and victim-blaming.)

I don't think "reality shifting" actually moves people into parallel universes or whatever. I think the manifestation type version works the same way I think the Law of Assumption works. I think the "travel to my favorite fictional world and meet my blorbos" version essentially works by inducing a kind of deep, intense dream state.

I also think confirmation bias leads people to interpret random coincidences and things that probably would've happened anyway as cases of successful manifestation.

I think many cases of successful manifestation can also be explained by the frequency illusion in action. I think they technically count as successes from a psychological standpoint, since it would mean practitioners have successfully trained their brains to hone in on things they want.

I genuinely don't care if you believe that a metaphysical element might be involved. That's fine with me. I draw the line at telling people that they can absolutely, 100% manifest anything at all if they just Do It Right, and at telling people that they are 100% responsible for literally everything that happens to them. There is no context in which claims like these do not lead to psychological and physical harm.

Maybe there are individual cases where Law of Assumption practitioners experienced an extraordinary healing of some kind. I have my own reasons to think that in some rare instances, these things actually do happen. But I also know that there is no reason to think that LOA practices were specifically responsible for it, and I also know that statistically speaking, faith healing kills.

I think a lot of people in this community are lying, because that's just human nature/the nature of the Internet. There's always people who lie.

I also can't rule out psychosis for some people, either.

I have learned from researching and studying scams, cults, and hoaxes that when someone refuses to provide solid evidence to back up their extraordinary claims, it's because they're lying, and that those who play the victim or vilify people when asked for solid evidence want to take advantage of others in some way.

I have also learned that all scammers, cultists/cult leaders, and hoaxters will try to make you think they're the Very Special Exception to this rule. They are not. They never are.

I think the practice of Living In The End is a potential incentive to make false claims. If you're living as if it's already fulfilled, it would only make sense to write a "success story," right?

People who claim they changed the color of their eyes might also not be aware that your eye color can look different under different lighting.

Use the void state or don't, I don't care. I don't think it's harmful. I think it might be beneficial for some. I just don't think it's going to enable you manifest new parents overnight or resurrect the dead or whatever. Again, I think the LOA's benefits are primarily psychological.

I think Neville Goddard was a liar. His ideas didn't come from Kabbalah, they came from Phineas Quimby. They don't derive from Jewish mysticism; they're a close relative of Prosperity Gospel.

I think "Edward Art" is yet another content farm channel.

Spiritual abuse dolled up as self-empowerment is still spiritual abuse. "But we're helping people!" Cool motive, still abuse.

If you're more upset by people calling out the toxic bullshit going on in the Law of Assumption community than you are by the toxic bullshit going on in the Law of Assumption community, you need to fix your heart.

For anyone reading this: If you are leaving or questioning the Law of Assumption and need help, please see this post.

[izzabela]

Heyo, I'm a SUCKER for the mk fics you write, and I was just wondering if you could do a headcanon where the earthrealmers has an s/o who's also a jedi knight

A Force of Nature - Earthrealmers x GN!jedi knight!reader (scenario fic)

in which the force is with you and your loved ones

a/n: thank you! you're such a sweetie pie~~. however, please be thoroughly disappointed with me as i have never watched star wars before :D

ship[s]: Earthrealm characters x gn!reader

warning(s): excessive fluff, bits of angst, post-story

[i just love Ashrah. also note that it's still GN reader, but different personality types. if it doesn't have a personality, assume it's just normal]

=====================

Johnny x shy!reader

- Johnny's the type where he'd ask you to use the force for little things

- "honey, could you hand me my script over there?" he once asked as you two were sitting on the couch in his house

- dearest gentle reader, the script was next to you on the side table where you sat

- you scold him for his laziness, but he just crawls to you and slaps a small kiss on your cheek. who could say no to that?

- Johnny's also the type to show people your powers, kind of like a kid going to his parents with a "watch this!" you're rather shy, not completely introverted, but you kept to yourself and the family and friends you did have

- during one party, he asked you to toy around with his clapperboard. another party, he asked you to pour yourself a cup of alcohol with your powers

- it made you flustered with all the attention on you, but Johnny always made sure you weren't overwhelmed. Hell, he'd even stop people from asking you to do more if you just looked tired

- but your favorite memory was spooking Kung Lao during a "heroes only" party, where you got to meet his other-worldly friends. Johnny whispered to you the plan on how to poke fun at Kung Lao, and you focused all your energy in lifting his hat high enough so he wouldn't reach

- you got the empress and her sister laughing, and you also got a rare smile from the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei as you kept your powers in play to tease the monk

- Johnny and you would practice dueling as well, using his katana against your lightsaber as you the metal and powered crystal slashed, clanged, and sparred

- Johnny should have realized that your saber would melt the metal, almost burning his hand in the process as he dropped the handle and watched the metal melt into the hardwood floor

- still, you loved Johnny with all your heart and might

Kenshi x confident!reader

- working with Kung Lao and his ego was one thing, falling for someone with confidence that could rival his was another

- it pained Kenshi that your ego was sky high, but it was a feature that charmed him. that, plus your undeniable beauty, mastery over your sword, and your genuineness with others made him fall hard

- he was reminded of his friend, the illusive director Johnny Cage. however, just like Johnny, you were as good as your word

- kenshi would definitely test his might against yours: telekinesis, sword sparring, hand-to-hand combat, and more, he would want to hone his skills with yours

- he would introduce you to his friends at the OIA, meaning only Jax Briggs. still, meeting him was a delight

- speaking of powers, you two would practice your telekinetic powers together. albeit, using the force was much different than actual telekinesis, but it didn't hurt to learn from him

- he would teach you how he uses his powers to hold his sword, teach you how to control your migraines, and prolong your usage of it

- and just like how Kenshi struggles with horrid visions and nightmares, he would help you with yours. the visions you'd see in the middle of the night, horrible images of your beloved friends and their mutilated body parts, or permanent visages of their horrified faces. it marred your confidence, but his support makes it better

- kenshi would definitely introduce you to his sword, Sento. he'd introduce you to his ancestors, and you wouldn't be surprised that they liked you. you roll your eyes and flick your head proudly, preening in the compliments

- kenshi loved you, and whatever whispers he heard from his ancestors he got, he ignored. he wants a future with you, no matter what it took

Kung Lao x grumpy!reader

- despite your icy exterior and agitated nature, you loved Kung Lao. and despite his arrogance and ego, he loved you

- Kung Lao is the type of guy to use the same battle tricks while sparring, then be surprised when you utterly defeat him

- a good example came from when he learned how to teleport after throwing his hat, to which you stopped his frisbee hat with the force and cornered him with your saber

- "I have been working on this move for too long!" he complained, "How can you beat me so?" you shrug and point out the flaws in his battle tactics. while he looks unmoving to your advice, he takes it well as you teach him ways to elevate his movesets

- Kung Lao also aided you in your own training. Hand-to-hand combat was something a little new to you, but you kept your annoyance at bay as he taught you basic martial arts

- sometimes, your grumpiness would get the best of you, and you shook the poor man to his core when you chucked your lightsaber right next to his head, the hot energy almost marring his face

- he insisted he was fine, but you, in a rare face of vulnerability, shared to him that your anger was your hubris- that one day you'd go mad with all of this power on your shoulders. Kung Lao hugged you, insisting he was okay, as he shared a similar story he was in regarding his pupil

- when you two weren't in a depressed mood, Kung Lao loved to bet with you. similar to Raiden, he'd often end up on the losing side, but when he did win, he'd as you to use your powers for petty chores

- once, Kung Lao asked you to use your telekinetic side to sweep up all the autumn leaves on the Academy's grounds. another time, he asked you to alter an initiates' memory so he would go do his own chores

- when Liu Kang got wind of this, he punished you both with month-long chores; and you didn't talk to him for a whole month

- despite all of his flaws, you knew he loved you so. and despite the thick wall of ice his hat couldn't cut through, he knew he had melted it and wiggled his way into your heart

Raiden x introvert!reader

- sunshine boy and the shy girl is a trope that not many can master

- however, you and Raiden made it work to the best of your abilities

- Raiden would be by your side whenever you asked. you were fine by yourself, but his presence seemed to be a joy to you

- he would train with you in pairs only. you wouldn't train with anyone else, especially with Kung Lao

- Raiden would be the most attentive to the side effects of your force powers. migraines? hot tea and soup is on its way. physical exhaustion? his talented hands will work their way through every knot and tightness in your body

- Raiden would also train with you to control the rage and anger that would manifest and bubble in your mind. the force affects your moral compass, but human nature is a force itself. unlike other masters and jedi knights, you were new to controlling this

- you remember one instance where you were practicing your telekinetic powers on him, using it in a spar to try and grow your stamina with it. you caught him in a choke, but your hearing grew fuzzy as you held him higher from the ground

- it wasn't until Liu Kang and Kung Lao took you down did you see the severity in your actions

- you almost snapped Raiden's neck

- you retreated to your room and began to disassociate, diving into your thoughts to try and get away from the situation. he burst into your room, though, and slowly approached you with warm words

- "Do not talk," he said quietly, "I am not mad, (y/n), it wasn't your fault."

- you cried in his arms, something completely out of character for you as he cradled you

- "We'll work on it together," he sweared solemnly, "I promise."

Ashrah x redeemed!reader

- Ashrah knew what the path of absolution meant to her, so when she saw you on the same journey, she was overjoyed

- you once used your powers for the darkness of the world. only when your family died in the aftermath of a battle did you realize this endless war was useless

- you found a home in Earthrealm, and you found your heart in Ashrah. however, prejudice and distrust was human nature, and it often got to your head

- Ashrah would definitely meditate with you. you introduced it to her when you explained that your powers needed intense mental fortitude. now, you two do it together as a hobby and way to bond

- Ashrah would also spar with you, her kriss not melting in the heat of your saber. she would also give you tips on how to improve your stance and hits with her own wisdom and knowledge

- Ashrah would also protect you from the prejudiced minds of the other monks. not Raiden or Kung Lao, they were peaches. Ashrah would reassure you, tell you that your change of heart was seen by the aforementioned men and Liu Kang

- "Prove your worth with action," she would say as she planted a kiss on your forehead, "That is the only thing you can control."

- Ashrah would also comfort you during your awful nightmare and visions of the future. her sympathy and warmth was greatly appreciated as you told her of the unpleasant visions you saw

- "I fear my absolution is going nowhere," you confided with her once

- she shook her head, "Your perseverance is seen by our creator himself," her fingers intertwined with yours, "Together, our fight for purification and forgiveness is strong."

Liu Kang x reader

- Liu Kang would probably be the one best equipped to understand and deal with everything about you- powers or not

- he would for sure go above and beyond to treat your physical exhaustion after training 'til failure with your telekinesis. he'd have a bath ready, filled with warm water and aromatic candles. or, he'd have loads of food waiting in your quarters after spars

- when your migraines came in full force, he'd massage your head with his skillful fingers, rubbing some scented oil on your temples to try and soothe the ache

- Liu Kang would spar with you too. He'd teach you how to incorporate martial arts and kombat into your stacked move set. for everything you mastered, you'd receive a kiss on the forehead, head, or lips

- when the days were good, you would use your telekinetic powers to play pranks on him

- you dropped a book next to him while you were in his study, you blew the fallen leaves in his face once as well

- when it came to fighting your demons of rage and fury, he'd quell these spouts with kind words and patience

- during a session where you were practicing mind manipulation, you had gone too far and began to manipulate his memories to a time he thought he'd forgotten- his previous timeline

- it pained him to see such memories, but he knew it wasn't your fault- the animosity and furor had bubbled over a bit too much

- when he snapped you out of the bout, you'd be on your knees sobbing and begging for forgiveness

- "There is nothing to forgive," he would say softly as he held you, "We can stop for the night and rest- whatever you choose, dear."

Geras x extrovert!reader

- Geras does not mingle with mortals or any race of beings that his creator made

- you, though, were a different story

- as loud and personable as you were, you showed softness and kindness that Geras never thought he'd see in a person- like, really see

- Geras is alien to basic human emotion. he can feel it, since he is alive, but it's hard for him to express it

- Geras would spend time with you through sparring. during the nights where the training grounds were empty, you two would fight til you were breathless

- another thing I see Geras doing is just watching you spar with others. during visitations with Liu Kang, his eyes always found your bubbly person, conversing and laughing with your fellow Earthrealmers

- if he got unlucky and he saw you seeing him, he'd be dragged out by you so he'd talk to them too

- unfortunately, Geras is still learning how to actually use his emotions with you. as mentioned before, he has it, it's just hard for him to express it

- one instance would be during those awful emotional bouts with your visions. horrid images of your friends and allies getting offed one by one. instead of consolation, he'd get to work with the hourglass, skimming through the past and future to try and find something to help change the outcome

- "Rule breaker, huh?" you teased him

- so much warmth and love oozed from his voice as he responded

- "for you, I would bend the rules. for your happiness, i am obliged to break them completely."

Bi Han x innocent!reader

- despite his anger and frustration, Bi Han do his darnedest to never take it out on you

- your power was strong, and Bi Han respected that from you. he did his best to accommodate for you and made sure you were performing at your best

- Bi Han would have attendants at your every moment, offering water, towels, or other things to make sure you were at tip-top shape

- despite such power, you were oblivious to the rest of the world. Bi Han did his best to protect you from the people who tried to take you from him, to protect you from the corruption that plagued your every corner

- Bi Han would be the type to spar with you away from prying eyes. not because he's jealous (he totally is), but because you get anxious with watchful eyes

- Bi Han wouldn't be able to console you with words. instead, he would just let you hold him as you talked to him about your visions or nightmares. his secret favorite thing was when you got overstimulated with telekinesis, and he'd just cuddle you as you feel asleep

- when the negative emotions occasionally broke free, Bi Han dreaded having to take you down. it chipped away at his heart as he had to fight you and snap you back into reality

- "I don't recognize myself sometimes," you cried in his arms after one of these bouts

- he hugged you tightly, a chill breath you felt on your shoulder as he spoke

- "As glaciers are unmoving in the ocean, I will always ground you. I will tell you who you are and where you are- from now to eternity."

Kuai Liang x angry!reader

- being together with Kuai Liang was good for you, body and soul.

- body-wise, compatible in bed, warm to the touch, and always around. soul-wise? he gave you discipline, reminded you what you were fighting for, and gave you peace

- because of your anger, Kuai Liang was extra patient with you when it came to sparring. he knew that your jedi powers could be affected by the swaying of your emotions, so he made sure to not say anything out of line

- when your anger got the best of you, Kuai Liang would talk to you slowly about what happened. whether your saber almost hit his head, or you almost choked an initiate to death, he would do his best to calm you down

- your favorite thing to do with him was eat. energy was depleted almost as quickly as it came for both of you, so you two found that having meals together would be good bonding

- there were moments where your anger got the best of you though. one horrible memory was when you took Tomas up with your powers and played images of his family in his brain, altering his perception of what was in front of him

- your anger had exploded that day, not sure by what, but you took it out on poor Tomas

- when Kuai Liang got a hold of you, you fought his grasp and hold. but as he told you where you were and what happened, you ran away from him and Tomas, shutting yourself away

- "I don't want to live like this!" you cried inside of your room. Kuai Liang heard you from the outside and knocked, signaling he was present

- "Whatever it takes," he said from the outside, "Whatever it takes to see you free from those shackles- I will do it for you."

Tomas x reader

- you and Tomas were the certified cinnamon rolls of the Shirai Ryu. smiling, happy, you two were the initiate-acclaimed "perfect couple". Harumi and Kuai Liang once spoke about it as well

- Tomas would definitely initiate spars with you, but he'd focus more on hand to hand combat than anything. as he would say, "you may have a glowing crystal saber, but what happens when it's not there?" he'd prepare you for the worst scenarios, and your ability to overthrow him during each one was impeccable

- Tomas would ask you questions about your powers- and I mean lots of them. ranging from silly things like "can you move my brother's kunai?" to "does it ever overwhelm you?" the range in which he switches from question to question gave you whiplash sometimes, but it was welcome

- Tomas would totally keep you on your toes with the whole telekinesis thing. he isn't so stupid as to throw a katana or anything sharp, but he'd toss a ball to you, food, even sparring weapons (the ones that were made of wood). you figured it had to do something with his own trauma, y'know, the whole "losing your family and having to adapt in record time" thing.

- speaking of telekinesis, Tomas would definitely give the best massages period. whether on your head for migraines, or on your body from exhaustion and fatigue, his fingers would work their magic expertly. if he weren't a ninja, he'd be one hell of a masseuse

- whenever you were having your episodes due to your force side effects, Tomas did his best to use little force on bringing you back to reality. if he was caught in your anger episodes, he would beg Harumi and his brother to not hurt you as you held him up in the air. when you were done, you would avoid touching, seeing, even hearing his voice near you. it would be too painful for you, but Tomas forgave you over and over again

- there was one memory that pained you the most, one where you altered his memories as you were training to master them. you showed him a memory of his slaughtered family, especially the part where he was hauled away by the Lin Kuei. the guttural scream that erupted from his mouth from that memory terrified you, and you ran away again

- when Tomas found you, tears were in his eyes as he softly egged you on

- "Darling, please look at me," he sniffled. "Look at me, I am not mad at you."

- you just hiccuped as you scooted away from him, "I keep losing control, Tomas. What if I can't stop it next time? What if I hurt you worse than this?"

- Tomas is crying at this point, tackling you into a hug so tight he was afraid you'd disappear. You just held him as your own tears fell down.

- the usually talkative brother was quiet, his sobs doing the communicating. that, paired with the way his hand would roam your back and waist, as if he was making sure you were still here, made you realize something much more

- he didn't care whether or not he got hurt by you. as long as you were still here, alive, breathing- that's all that mattered to him.

- scars and trauma can heal with time, death is permanent

=====================

goodie goodie

requester, if you're reading this, i'd like to apologize to you personally for never having seen a piece of Star Wars fiction in my life. even so, i hope you enjoyed reading this fic as much as i had fun writing it

couple more fics coming your guys' ways including: pokèmon crossover, another lin kuei trio fic, and a lin kuei smut

see yall in the next fic!

[soaps-mohawk]

(i apologize in advance as this is probably gonna be long as hell. I love Price so my brain just honed in on him this latest chapter, sorry for the rant but i. am. invested.)

Since Price always has and always will be my favorite character in both canon and AUs, it breaks my heart (in a good way) to see him doubt his entire person. It almost feels like he could sit on the edge of the bed after yet another sleepless night, sigh and just go "i'm leaving the pack". Saying Simon can take over and that he never should have marked anyone, not even Kyle, because of his lifestyle and personality. Not sure if it's the same as canon in this fic, but Price has been a military man since he was a teen. He's not going to leave it, not even sure he can even if he wanted to and it has shaped him as a human. With him now being so experienced, (traumatized), mature and capable of cold hard logic, I could see him looking at the current situation and just going "this isn't working", identifying himself as the biggest reason for it not working and attempting to remove himself just as coldly as he would leave fatally wounded soldiers in the field or blowing up civilians (like in the 2019 game with the bomb hostage) because that's just what you have to do sometimes for the greater good. I could see him sitting down and having this talk with Simon over a cigar. Not sure how this AUs Simon would respond though, especially with the current situation..

A lot of focus is always on omegas (for understandable reasons) in omegaverse AUs when it comes to weakness, doubt and hurt because alphas are the strong providers and protectors with all the power, both physically and emotionally. It's nice to see fics where alphas aren't some indestructible machines that don't get affected when things happen. They're even more sensitive than omegas if you look at things close enough. Just look a little too long at their omega and they're ready to throw hands like immature teenagers.

All that to say; Even if it hurts, I'm always glad to see Price get some focus, especially as the packs leader. And always looking forward to updates!

I love long as hell asks, so bring it on!!!

Mhm mhm I agree with this 100%. John is such an interesting character to flesh out because he's totally committed to his job, even if it means sacrificing others. And now he's having to face that in this fic, not just with his team and pack, but also with 'mega. He's being hit with that reality right now. He has a lot of hard decisions to make. Does he continue with his lifestyle or does he leave the military? Does he leave the pack and live with that pain forever for the sake of doing what he's always done, or does he face the fact that his life has changed drastically and now he has to leave to take care of his pack and omega? That's a huge conflict for him in this part of the story, as well as the rest of the pack. His decision is going to change them forever, one way or another. They all have decisions to make, but they can't really do that without knowing what he's going to do.

I do 100% agree with that too. Alphas get portrayed as these big, tough people that have no emotion except provide and protect and they get watered down so much when really they'd be so emotional. Probably more-so than omegas at their core.

I love showing stuff from Price's POV. He has such a contrasting POV from 'mega and I think it's important to show kind of what's going through his head in different situations since there's so much that weighs on him and his decisions. It's also just fun to show other POVs besides 'mega's. I love exploring things from other perspectives.

[tenderments]

🌸 the blog/s that most inspires me 🍄 my favorite original character blog 🐠 why i love (or hate) this hobby

MY EXPERIENCE IN THE ROLEPLAYING COMMUNITY.

🌸 the blog/s that most inspires me

ooh, there are definitely a few.   both ic and ooc, @saintplanet.   ( i literally typed saintmara for the url initially ).   mara is very cool and also like ... the most locked in person i've ever encountered on this hellsite.   gorgeous writing, excellent choice of characters  ( i mean hello, she's literally princess leia ), very kind and welcoming, and really just an overall admirable person.   @afteriimage  also comes to mind.   xera is such a talented person.   writing, graphics, and drawing, like please save some talent for the rest of us sdlkfsdf.   also has a very interesting roster full of OCs and others that might as well be OCs.   the muses are also all incredibly developed  ( like we've literally seen inside their houses ) and xera is so collaborative and good at finding a common ground for our muses to play on.   last but certainly not least, you, chuckles!   you are such a wonderful light and positive presence on the dash, and your blog feels very warm and cozy which is ironic since the url is literally  war planet.   i just think you have the neatest muses that you pay so much attention to and give so much love to, and you literally do this for all of them.   i could only hope to run a multi blog as well as you do one day!!

🍄 my favorite original character blog

without a doubt,  @inrovina  has to be one of my most favorite original character blogs like ever.   xeno is such a well-crafted muse with an interesting backstory and developed world, which i'm lucky to have gotten a glimpse into.   he's such a special boy to us all, our puppy, our snow guy.   thee boy.   and river is such a wonderful person.   literally river inspires me to be a better person every day with her kindness, thoughtfulness, and consideration.   i once asked river for recommendations for my bookstore trip and she came back with an entire curated list for me.   i literally cannot say enough good things about river who is so beloved and angelic, and truly deserves the best things in life.

🐠 why i love (or hate) this hobby

i'm not gonna lie i tried to leave the rpc so many times but i just keep coming back.   i think i really love this lil hobby because it helps me practice discipline.   i know that a lot of people go where the muse takes them, and whatever works for each writer works for them!   for me, personally, i find that unfortunately, the writing advice of  you can't edit a blank page  has been true and useful.   it helps me practice and hone my craft each day, whether i'm actively writing and posting replies or sitting through and re-reading threads to figure out how to move a story along and build upon a dynamic.   i also really love the hobby because it's introduced me to some friends around the world that i never would've met that i'm grateful to have encountered!   i think despite the bad experiences that we've all been through in this space, we really are a community and it's a lovely thing to find your people within it.

[meanbossart]

A long over-due ask compilation (Art & Music)

It's vaguely based on a short story from the book "The Consumer" by Michael Gira, specifically "The Boss". I think it came up in conversation with a friend or something when I was picking a new username, so that's how we arrived at it - this was almost a decade ago so, my memory on it is a little hazy!

{MORE UNDER THE CUT]

HAHA thank you so much!!! Glad you enjoy what I do 😎🍻

I BELIEVE this little guide I put together over here might be helpful to you, also! I touched on pretty much everything you brought up.

As for reference material when it comes to facial expressions, I have a mirror next to my desk which I glance at often and make weird faces at LOL and for consistency, it's really a matter of learning to dissect and remember facial structure. It's just something you end up developing an eye for when you've done it for long enough! Naturally, if we're talking about drawing existing characters, it's always helpful to just look at some pictures of their mugs and take a minute to define what features about them make their faces recognizable - I touch on this at the link above as well!

I do plan on making a "drowstarion" (love that, by the way LOL) playlist eventually, life's just been kicking my ass and I hardly have the time 😭and when I do, I just wanna draw.

Otherwise I don't have any other playlists floating around at the moment, BUT the one my boyfriend made for his Vellioth comic can be found here, and it might scratch a similar itch!

Thank you! I believe this was in reference to this post. Something like that takes me about... An hour??? If we're talking just the colors, at least. Though that's a really rough estimate because I take a lot of breaks, so my sense of time when I work ends up pretty skewed. Even if the application of the colors themselves took less than 20 minutes I probably spent 2 hours just staring at it LOL.

My friend, I have no idea. I'm in a constant battle between "I want to draw more realistically" and "I want to simplify my art so I can draw more/faster". What you see is the result of that ongoing brain-tug-of-war.

Also, just the way I assume everyone else develops theirs - they see stuff they like and emulate it until their art is Frankensteinish enough to be it's own unique thing!

I'm far from a Type O Negative buff, BUT I'm happy to share some of my favorites with you! They're quite scattered across a couple of their albums so I'm not sure I have a favorite, but I would say October Rust is a good starting point.

In no particular order, these are my most listened tracks of theirs: -Love You to Death -Black N.01 -Haunted -She Burned Me Down -Can't Lose You -I Don't Wanna Be Me -Be My Druidess -September Sun -Tripping A Blind Man

Alas, I was one of those people who was already drawing in kindergarten 😅 though I would say I only started taking it seriously when I was around 15-16 years old. As someone who has tried their hand at several other hobbies since reaching adulthood, I get what you're saying that it can kinda feel like... You missed the wagon? I've felt that way about all kind of things lol

That said, I've seen adults managing to develop their art skills extremely fast and effectively before. Understanding where and how you need to improve, and how to follow lessons/guides best is something that is vastly improved by maturity and knowing how to best hone your time, attention, and resources - and those are skills we completely lack as children. So, I sincerely believe that as long as you commit yourself, you can definitely get to a point that you're happy with in a couple of years if not less.

JUST DO IT BUDDY we are all just people looking through a screen and you won't ever see, talk, or meet 99% of the folks who ever clap eyes on what you post. Whenever you start getting nervous about sharing something, take a minute to ask yourself why you're nervous, and if none of the reasons have any genuine substance besides being afraid of what people "might think", just go ahead and post it. You're no mind-reader after all, and if you are, I doubt you can hear what a guy from Argentina or wherever is thinking about the art you made.

Point is, nobody online can touch you 🤷and if someone doesn't like what you do, they can simply choose to not interact with it, and if they do you can block and move on. There are zero reasons for you to feel "bad" about putting up a doodle when our experiences on the web are so easily curated nowadays.

[eternaladagio]

THE INTERROGATION OF: Sarai Odena

They called her name like it meant something. Sarai simply stood, spine straight, expression unreadable, every gesture threaded with grace. The echo of her deliberate rhythm of footfalls across the floor. As she disappeared behind the door.

The interrogation room felt too warm, too still, like someone had sucked all the air out and filled it with pressure instead. Books lined the walls, like props, like witnesses. She didn’t flinch when the woman smiled.

She simply took her seat like it was a throne built just for liars.

——

✦ Where did you last see [ THE TRAGEDY ]? Or when did you last hear of [ THE TRAGEDY ]?

Strange to call him the Tragedy when he has a name. I saw Vincent; three days ago, she said with a softness honed by precision. In the music wing. He didn’t speak but he did stop. Just for a second.

She didn’t blink. Her voice held the cadence of a practiced aria—each syllable placed with care. A tilt of her head followed, as if conjuring a memory she had already rehearsed to perfection.

I was playing. A simple piece. One I’ve carried with me for years. I thought they had passed, but the air shifted. You learn to feel when someone is listening. That was the last time I felt him linger.

She folded her hands in her lap, posture unshaken. True, in the way all good stories are. Crafted. Curated.

——

✦ Where were you at time of death of [ THE TRAGEDY ]? And what were you doing?

In the south courtyard, Sarai said, smooth and assured. Just before sunset. The kind of quiet that arrives without asking." She let the silence stretch, then added, I was reading. An old favorite ,one of those books that makes the world go soft around the edges.

The image was simple: a worn blanket, fading light, a familiar story in her lap. Clean. Harmless. No mention of the messages. No trace of the life she’d started threading together behind the curtain.

I wasn’t being watched. Or if I was, they were better at hiding than most.

——

✦ Who can attest to your alibi?

She exhaled softly, a gesture that passed for thoughtfulness rather than hesitation. Her gaze didn’t waver. A faint lift at the corner of her mouth, almost amused.

The janitor came by. He usually does. Says he likes free art seemed disappointed I wasn't playing. Karuna walked through I could make out her footfalls before I caught a glimpse of her. Maybe she saw me. Maybe she only heard the turn of a page.

She let that settle—just long enough to imply more than she said. She shrugged slightly, graceful even in deflection. Sometimes, sound is enough to place a person. It carries farther than people think. Her fingers curled slightly, adjusting a nonexistent crease in her skirt. Then, casually...

And Nicolai, We crossed paths briefly as I was headed back to my dorm. He was... distracted. But sometimes, that’s all proximity needs to be.

It wasn’t quite a lie. But truth, as she had learned early, was more or less perception.

——

✦ The SOCIETY requires your verdict on [ THE TRAGEDY ]'s demise: Was it the calculated hand of murder? The cruel whim of accident? Or the final, desperate act of self-annihilation?

Murder.

The word was simple. Precise. Delivered like a single, resonant note. She didn’t linger once the questions ended. Offering the dark head woman a bow of her head as she was dismissed. She rose with quiet finality, the hem of her skirt falling like a curtain at the close of a performance. One phone was handed over—clean, familiar, now obsolete. The new one blinked awake in her hand. Quaint, primitive but useful. She opened it without hesitation her nimble fingers ghosting over the small button with ease and typed a single message—brief, elegant, nonsensical to any other eyes but whom they were meant for. A pulse sent into the shadows. she pocketed the phone before leaving for her new apartment. Not a home. A holding cell dressed as a sanctuary, casting a final glance towards the others before she left; for the next phase of the charade .

honorable mentions : @wrathconsumed, @honeyedking and the nameless npc janitor gotta love a man who appreciates good music.

[emwheezie]

Do you have some fun facts about Enzo to share? Just wanna to know the guy a bit better.

This is Enzo Vincenzo! I've gotten a TON of asks about him, but was waiting to finish some art and work his story/character a bit more before answering! He's a character we thought up in 2014-15ish, but only recently worked in depth on his development. Pre apologies here, I'm longwinded when talking about my characters! (also it is 3:13am and I'm feeling silly)

Enzo is a secondary character in the comic, friend of the main character kind of deal. My cowriter and I love Enzo and are very happy that everyone else seems to like him too! We are making sure to develop all our characters as much as the two main characters so that we can create as rich of a story/universe as possible. (like we have so much content you could pick any random minor character and be like "them. make a spinoff about them" and we could just do that immediately we have so much content my brain is going to explode)

Enzo and Lennon are high school buddies who met sophomore year, shortly before Lennon dropped out. (peep the bottom art of them from their HS years)

Him and Lennon are big into movies. They binge watch them over the weekends or when he's convinced by Lennon to skip classes for the day.

Enzo loves to draw, especially dragons and horror related stuff. He posts his drawings on DeviantArt where he met xXHexiLexi328Xx and fell in love with her. She's also an artist who loves to draw super kawaii anime chibis magical girls and pokemon stuff.

No one thinks Hexi Lexi is a real person. Everyone's like "awh poor Enzo, still single...you'll find someone, buddy." But she's real and from Arkansas. (like that state even exists?)

Enzo loves knives. His favorite one is a switchblade engraved with the name "Colleen." He found Colleen at a Goodwill while he and Lennon were looking for parts to build a "Saw trap." (you know, from the Saw franchise) Enzo thinks he's Billy The Puppet from Saw...I mean, high school Enzo kind of had the same poofy hair and I'm not gonna be the one to tell him he didn't look like that puppet.

Somewhere along the way, early in their friendship, Lennon is convinced Enzo killed his parents. Lennon's never seen Enzo with his parents so I guess that's the only solution, right? It becomes a longstanding rumor/joke... and Lennon's like wow Enzo that's so cool I'm friends with a literal murderer. (Lennon is dumb).

Enzo once wanted to become a priest but then he remembered he was evil.

Enzo is Albanian-Italian and grew up in Cambridge, MA living with his parents and grandparents. His parents are super religious people who work at the restaurant his grandparents own, located in the North End of Boston.

It's a joke that Enzo's like never heard a music once in his life before meeting Lennon who introduced him to guitar. (He's rhythm guitar in Lennon and Tony's band Poison Boy Club)

I feel like I've said a lot of words and stuff. I feel like there's more but it's now 3:40am and my brain is mush. OH later on, Enzo really hones in on his art skills and gets into tattooing, earning himself an internship at a local studio.

Overall, Enzo's a cool, confident dude who's a little scary in a "big guard dog" type of way, but he's a loyal friend and does his own thing and he's with that.

[crab-rangoon-slut]

The Blood We shed Chapter 6: Poseidon God of Cockblock

Chapter Rating: 16+ mild sexual references

Story Type: Slow burn, best friends to lovers, eventual smut, eventual blood as lube hehe~

Synopsis: See chapter 1 ⬇️⬇️⬇️

The place we always train at is an open area on the edge of the palace acres—It’s beautiful.

There’s trees surrounding us and wild flowers growing sporadically to line the edges of the clearing. It overlooks the rocks and tides of the beach. Deep blue waves dance with the bright sunlight. Birds of the beach can be heard from above; looking up, I notice the few clouds from earlier have dissolved into the air.

As I’ve said before, Telemachus and I have been sparring together since we were little.

In our preteen and teenage years—I’d been a ruthless little bastard. I’d almost always best him…Nowadays it’s a lot harder to hold him down.

Most of his training is now done with Athena. I don’t think Telemachus has gone a day without her mentorship since they’ve met.

Since my father left for the Trojan War about 20 years ago, my mother deemed swordsmanship an honorable and necessary skill for me to learn. There were two main reasons I’d learned—well maybe three.

One.

My father was a skilled swordsman… And when my favorite plaything at the ripe age of three years old was a wooden sword—my mother knew she didn’t truly have a choice in the matter.

Besides,

It filled her heart with pride to watch her daughter fight… she tells me I move just like my father.

Two.

The world is not kind; the men of this world are not kind. With no father to protect our homestead, I made it my mission to fill that void.

Honing a blade was as much a sentimental endeavor as it was a protective one. Though I may not carry at all times, the skill set is transferable with or without sword. I carry myself with confidence knowing I can hold my own. In turn, people don’t see me as a target. I know not to freeze in the face danger; know how to maneuver myself in any type of fight.

It may have been an unconventional pastime for the little girl my mother was raising…but I’ve always been my father’s daughter.

And the third reason why I started sparring…

It’s exhilarating.

I sit on a nearby rock, sharpening my sword.

“Tell me, has Athena taught you anything new?” I ask Telemachus as I look up from where I’m inspecting my blade.

He flashes a toothy grin at me, as he shadow-fences,

“She has, actually.” He goes for a jab at the air and backs away swiftly, paying special attention to his footwork.

“And you? Have you learned any new tricks I should be aware of?”

I lay my sword to rest in my lap, folding my arms, “I know better than to tell an opponent my secrets~”

He smirks at me,

“Fine. Keep your secrets then,” he points the tip of his sword in my direction, “just know regardless of what you have in your arsenal, you don’t stand a chance~”

“Cocky as ever I see,” I mock him as I stand to my feet and mirror his posture with my sword. “You know the rules, you hold your own, on your own. No divine intervention. Are you ready?”

His smirk widens, as he taps his sword to mine, confirming our start.

“You’re on!”

Right away, Telemachus takes a swing—ever one for an offensive start.

I predicted that.

I evade the move as he lunges for me, pivoting to elbow him in the back.

“FUCK-“ he coughs out as the force falls him.

He whips around, slicing the air and almost nicking me. I pull back, still on defense.

He carries out a series of combos, chasing me as I leap back from each one with impressive speed. On the last strike he leaves himself open, my sword meets his armor with a clang. I get him in the side while he was winding up for another strike.

He looks at where I’ve hit him, then back at me which adrenaline filled eyes,

“Nice one—”

He thrusts at me once more, just barely missing me.

“But you’ll have to try harder than that~”

One of my most valuable assets is my agility. I’m ready with every move I make, which is why my defense is on point. Just as well too, because Telemachus is a hard and tactful hitter.

I decide I’ve overplayed safeguarding, I need to move to an offensive position. I counter; he blocks it.

Thinking fast, I bait and switch. I catch the back of his knee and he falls to the ground.

I tower over him and point my blade in his face, using it to tilt his chin towards me. I mock him playfully,

“Easy~” I smirk.

“Baiting me is a cheap trick.” He huffs from his submissive position.

“But an effective one nonetheless!” I giggle, offering my hand.

I help him to his feet. He brushes himself off with one hand while his other retrieves his sword.

“Now who’s cocky?” He says playfully.

“Mmmmm…Two can play this game…”

This time, I launch at him, taking him off guard—He recovers and parries my next blow. Our swords clash as we engage in close combat, both of us having difficulty finding an in.

Back and forth, we counter each other's moves.

He drops to his knees in a flash—my swing goes over his helmet—effectively breaking the rally.

He lands a solid hit to my side before leaping to his feet and swiping my legs just as I’d done before to him.

He kicks my sword away from me, leaving me completely defenseless.

“Don’t you know pride cometh before the fall?” He smirks, leaning down to look at me—a little too cheekily for my taste.

“Ha! You got a lucky hit,” I smile devilishly.

From where he stands, I throw him down by hooking a leg around him and grabbing him by the shoulder. I bring him to the ground with me.

“THAT was skill.”

In an instant, he rolls on top of me. Straddling my hips and lays his palm on my face with splayed out fingers. It’s a dumb and cheeky move, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m rendered immobile.

“Dammit you bitch!” I yell from behind his hand.

“Haha~You were saying??”

I manage to pry his hand away while he’s still laughing at me. I bridge and thrust my hips up and forward while I grab his arm tightly into my body. Momentum betrays him as he falls into me. In a couple of quick moves, I roll us so I’m on top once more.

I grab his wrists and pin them.

I pant slightly through smiling lips, my efforts leaving me a bit winded. I lean closer to his flushed face. I can feel his breath on my own face as he tries to catch it.

“I believe I’ve won yet again~” I say with a dark, proud grin.

His eyes flick back and forth on mine, almost searching.

I think I even see him gulp— I notice that the haze of pink on his cheeks isn’t just from exertion…

“…fuck you.” he grumbles, hands pinned without resistance.

My eyebrows furrow ever so slightly, taking in his expression. He’s not being playful…but sheepish?

No I’m not reading it wrong…

Is he into this??

Fuck it

I’ll bite.

“Tel. The other day, when we talked about killing the suitors… were you trying to say something?”

I feel his body stiffen underneath mine,

“Wh…at do you mean?”

I release his hands and place mine on my thighs. That little blush on his face sends a certain feeling shooting down my spine… I’m suddenly *very* aware of where I’m sitting.

“The way you talked about me in your fantasy. I’ve been thinking about it— the way you described how I’d look. What’d you mean by your remarks?”

He wrings his wrists now that they’re free, using it as a distraction to divert his attention. He definitely recalls the slip ups he’d made in that conversation. He still refuses my gaze.

“Zeus, you have a tight grip you know—“

…No fucking way…

The bastard is flustered .

“Answer the question.” I push as I still sit atop him. My eyes scan his face trying to read any minute changes.

“…What do you suppose I meant?”

“I’m asking you.”

“What part are you asking about? We talked about a lot—“

My expression grows more exacerbated.

I’m starting to get tired of this game of cat and mouse, “It looks like you know what I’m talking about.”

“Please don’t make me do this, Lyra—“ he groans as he tries to squirm out from under me. I pin his wrists again, leaning in as I push them into the ground.

I put more demand into my voice,

“Do what, Telemachus?”

He squeezes his eyes shut in a hesitant mix of a cringe and grimace,

“Are you talking about how I said I’d love to see you covered in blood— when I said you’d look like a goddess—?“

“It seems like you do recall, yes.”

“I mean you would—! Why does there have to be a hidden meaning in—“

“Telemachus.” I say firmly, cutting off any more stalling.

“Fuck— fucking fine!!”

My grip on his wrists falls as he throws his hands up with admission.

“I meant you’d look beautiful, ok? Like fucking stunning.” He admits flustered, looking to the side yet again to avoid me.

For a moment, my withdrawn hands are frozen in front of me in response to his outburst… As I process what he’d just admitted, I slowly reach my hand to his cheek, gently turning his face to me.

He wills his eyes back to mine.

My face hides it but I can feel my pulse working overtime. I thought I’d caught my breath earlier but apparently not…

“…And what does that mean?”

He knows there’s no point in covering his ass. With a sharp sigh that’s shut up by a wince, he scrunches his face and spits it out,

“Goddamnit, Lyra— you’re PRETTY— I’m attracted to you! And I can’t tell you just how hard I’d have to hold myself back from you if our fantasies DID play out—You think I haven’t thought about what it’d be like to take you against that blood stained marble?!”

Every drop of blood in my face has either rushed to my cheeks or has completely paled me by draining from it.

His words come unfiltered, bursting the cork off all he’d been bottling up.

“Zeus, you’re strong and so goddamn stubborn and caring and have such a stupid smart mouth— I like you for fuck’s sake! And quite frankly I’m shocked you hadn’t figured that out yet—!!“ He blurts out, face extremely red and almost frustrated. His body tensed.

My eyes widen.

How long had it been that he’d kept this secret?

Had he touched himself to those daydreams too??

And to think we BOTH avoided all of this for so long?

We’re idiots.

I can’t muster more than one breathless word:

“ Fuck ...”

We’re both frozen…and highly aware that this is a pivotal point for what it means for our friendship… He opens his mouth to say something… Then bites his lip, almost afraid to speak.

“…Lyra. Please say something—“

I lean back from him slowly and stare at him,

I struggle to find my own words, I’m still too stunned to say anything. But I try to start…

“I—“

A ground-shaking crack of thunder interrupts me.

Out of nowhere, it begins pouring rain across the ocean waves. The once beaming sun is swallowed up by thick, rolling black clouds pooling at the coast. A ginormous figure formed of water stands among the storm and tides…

Telemachus pulls himself up, gently removing me to get a proper view.

“…Is that Poseidon?”

[antianakin]

@46imperialremnant Your ask isn't showing up in my inbox, but I got an email notification for it, so I'm answering it this way.

I didn't think I'd heard anything about it, but it was available at my library in ebook form, so I just read it and got to the bit you're referencing in this ask and realized I'd seen that particular panel already on someone's post about this comic I guess.

Spoilers for Tales from the Death Star ahead if you haven't read it and don't want to know anything about it.

Horror's not really my thing, neither are stories about Imperial characters, so it was kind-of an interesting concept overall, these weird ghost story things about the past Death Stars being told to one of those defected First Order Stormtroopers who's trying to get to the Death Star ruins for... reasons. I don't really get what that storyline is supposed to be about, I don't know what I was meant to get out of it, and I was honestly kind-of disappointed we didn't figure out who the fuck the cloaked figure was at the end and he just disappeared like another ghost. Again, I don't really do horror, so maybe there was an obvious clue about it that other people picked up on that I just didn't, or maybe the lack of answer was part of the point and other people will find that really compelling, but it just wasn't my cup of tea. I was waiting for a cool answer about that character and hoping it would help tie everything together and then it just didn't happen and I felt like I got left hanging and so the ending felt kind-of flat to me.

On the one hand, the creativity of seeing all the different variations of horror stories on the Death Star was a cool concept and I appreciated the different writers taking different approaches to it, but on the other hand, again, I do wish it felt like it had more flow and connection from one story to the next and the wildly different tones between some of the stories gave me a little whiplash. Some felt almost comedic in their horror (like the zombie one) while others went for horror that was just fantasy horror but in space (the Wild Hunt reimagined as a Wild Squadron) and others went for horror based on taking canon content and really honing in on the horrific elements already inherent in it that simply weren't focused on in the main storyline (the Tarkin backstory one).

Some of them I liked, others I didn't as much. I think my favorite was the Tarkin backstory, I personally just prefer stories that look at what's already THERE and expand on it in a way that really adds something to the story, and this felt like it did that by having Tarkin haunted by his own past sins and how that parallels all of the ghosts from the Death Star's relatively short history. My next favorite was the Wild Hunt one simply because I think that it was a fun concept to take a more inherently fantasy thing and put it into Star Wars which, while set in space, is very much more a fantasy story than a sci-fi story. The downside to it was that I simply did not care about the characters involved and was more invested in the world-building aspect of the "Wild Squadron." They mention its connection to the Jedi and it brings up all these questions about whether the "Wild Squadron" only started to become a thing post Order 66 and it's directly related to that, or if it's actually FAR older than that and has been around for thousands and thousands of years now. I wasn't as into the weird creature one or the zombie one. 2/4 isn't bad? 2/5 I guess if you count the Sequel timeline story.

It's always nice to see a reference to the loss of Alderaan, the loss of Bail and Breha. I also appreciated that the loss of the Rogue One crew and Saw Gerrera got their cameos, as well (with Saw's ghost actually getting TWO cameos!). It's interesting that it seems to be explicitly only counting DEATH STAR kills, so we see Cassian and Jyn, but not the rest of the Rogue One crew who were killed on Scarif by other means and were already dead by the time Tarkin showed up with the Death Star. Same with Galen Erso who was killed on Eadu (and actually technically killed by Rebel pilots), even though Krennic is there. It's such a clearly intentional choice, and I appreciated that.

I'm eagerly awaiting the new Reign of the Empire novel trilogy about Bail, Saw, and Mon Mothma, though! It's supposed to be for fans of Andor and I am actually really interested in that concept, so here's hoping it's good and we get some great stuff for Bail and his family within it even if he's just one protagonist out of three.

[thebindingofpillo]

gamer skill ranked, specifically: roguelites

I have played exactly one roguelite in my whole life and it’s Isaac so I have literally no idea how the genre evolved past that. So I’m going to use this as an excuse to talk about generic video game skill

Isaac: pretty decent overall. Would like roguelites but wouldn’t spend all his time playing and grinding for achievements. Videogames for him are more a way to relax after a long days of commissions and art.

Magdalene: not really into videogames, especially roguelites. She prefers cozy games like Animal crossing, and games where she can excercise some creativity. She’d loooove Stardew Valley or The Sims. Maybe even Minecraft, but I’ve never played it so idk.

Judas: Not much of a videogame guy, his grandmother didn’t really understand it and never bought him any. Still, Isaac definitely lent him some videogames over the years. I think he’d be a fan of the Civilization saga, he seems like a resource management kind of guy.

Apollyon: him hands too big for the gotdamn controller :( his fingers are so big he presses like three keys at a time on the keyboard. He doesn’t mind watching other people play tho, and still has fun like that.

Azazel: looooves videogames, even if he’s shit at it!! Also on account of having Big Fucking Claws, so he also has a bit of difficulty holding the controller when not in human form. He’s also a cozy games lover like Maggie. They share an ACNH island most definitely.

Cain: doesn’t really like videogames BUT I think he would be decent at roguelites, and even grow to like them. Runs can be quick and the story itself isn’t really something you have to focus on to have fun. Yeah that tracks.

Lilith: blind. I am aware there are some accomodations for blind people to play games but I don’t think they could help her? She’s not visually impaired, she literally doesn’t have eyes. I don’t really think she’d be a roguelite fan either. She’d be more of a visual novel type. I think she could enjoy those with some kind of screen reader? Or with Cain reading for her.

Eve: Very good at fighting games and roguelites! She’s more of a casual gamer tho.

Samson: actually really likes videogames! He’s never felt the need to become good at them tho, they were just another escape from his life, and he already had sports and the gym for that. He’s okay skill-wise. Very good at Cooking Mama.

Eden: Is very interested in videogames for the Human Experience, but doesn’t really have much skill or experience in them. Usually play with Eve and she kicks their ass every time.

Lazarus: spent a lot of time gaming in his hospital bed as a kid, but it was more of a distraction for him. A little break between all the sports he wanted to try and all the accidents he got into. Now that he’s older he doesn’t really do that much anymore, unless he’s bedbound.

Bethany: she’s inherited all of Lazarus’ old games (and some of Jacob’s too) but she’s not incredibly skilled at it. She could probably be! But being busy with studying and university doesn’t really leave her a lot of time to get good at gaming. Also her favorite genre is dating sims

Jacob: Out of everyone he’s probably the best gamer. He’s spent a loooot of time honing his skills in the hospital, and not being able to actually play sports with his peers left him a lot of time to try a lot of different games. His favorite genre is rpgs! Especially jrpgs, he loves to immerse himself in a story and get attached to all the characters. He would totally dominate in a games tournament.

Esau: definitely not into gaming. It’s something he’s always felt was more Jacob’s territory, and he kinda wanted to distance himself from his brother. Just because they’re siblings doesn’t mean they have to like the same things right? And Esau was always a sporty kids anyway, he loved running around and playing in the mud, something that was precluded to Jacob because of his disability. With that being said, he used to play videogames with Jacob when he was younger, and managed to have fun still.

As for a more definitive ranking uuuuuuh here