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coweye · 8 months ago

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The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice.

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was.

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot.

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired.

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face.

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her.

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised.

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features.

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully.

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling.

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red.

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man.

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry.

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits.

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie.

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?”

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed.��

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping.

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline.

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers.

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted.

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet.

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists.

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.”

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp.

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?”

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form.

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue.

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now. “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-”

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily.

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other.

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion. “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that.

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground.

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind.

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him.

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy.

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you.

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead.

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do.

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip.

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura.

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan.

He’s just Logan.

You bury yourself deeper in his neck.

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut.

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs.

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?”

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you.

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back.

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not.

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue.

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter. He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips.

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his.

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist.

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart.

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you.

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close.

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve.

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him.

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him.

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional.

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he.

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth.

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you.

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-”

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you.

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch.

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth.

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast.

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole.

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin.

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it.

He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach.

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin.

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard.

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy.

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you.

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers.

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go.

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does.

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing.

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably.

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down.

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh.

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection.

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again.

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind.

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence.

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched.

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“AGH!” Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you.

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend.

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous. Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands.

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you. Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?”

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously.

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest.

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different.

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours.

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back.

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

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frankensteincest · 11 months ago

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I need to rewatch House MD. the only guy ever to fully articulate that you can have everything and still find no meaning that makes it all worth it.

#caveat that yes he decides wilson is worth it but also. we don’t know what he does after #like house has one (1) really solid relationship which is all that you need social circle wise tbh #+ he has a job that is both interesting to him and that he is the best at #and yet!! there is no meaning #wilson keeps telling him meaning takes time and that house should stick to it #but even allowing for that to be factually accurate. how does one manage the interim?#‘spread out over the length of a life [the revolt] restores majesty to that life’#but it’s so fucking long innit 🚬#log.

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lovelybucky1 · 8 months ago

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Oooohh i have a request!:

Playing “never have i ever” or something like that with logan and wade (maybe along the lines of a boring friday night with nothing else to do) and you admit to never having an orgasm by anyone but yourself

Flash forward you’re in logan’s arms and wade is eating the fuck out of your pussy, and then they switch 👀👀

i’ve written something similar two the second part here, but i love the never have i ever idea! // divider from @strangergraphics

boredom isn’t something heroes are used to. there’s always something happening somewhere, someone needing to be saved. but tonight, everything is quiet. the three of you were suspicious at first, but you checked every police scanner, news outlet, and all of your contacts and came up with nothing. the bad guys had decided to take an evening off, and now you were stuck with nothing to do.

you, wade, and logan all sit around in the living room with bottles of beer. you and wade stare at the mindless gameshow on tv while logan rests his eyes. you’re definitely bored, but wade is restless. it’s like he’s itching for something to do, like his body is physically unable to handle the inactivity.

“why don’t we play a game?” wade asks, startling logan awake.

the two of you look over at wade. “what kind of game?” you ask.

“i don’t know, ‘never have i ever?’”

logan rolls his eyes, then shuts them again. he’ll deny any “old man” comments, but he really is one. you elbow logan in the side and he opens them again.

“come on, it’ll be fun,” wade pleads.

“it’s not like we have anything better to do,” you say to logan. reluctantly, he agrees.

you reposition yourselves in the living room. you sit on the couch, leaned against the arm with your feet in logan’s lap, who sits on the other end. wade sits on the floor by the coffee table, his beer on the table without a coaster next to him.

“this is your game, wilson. you start,” logan says before taking a sip of his beer.

“no, don’t drink! you only drink if you’ve done the thing i say,” wade scoffs. how can logan be so old and still know nothing about fun? “okay, okay. never have i ever… gotten arrested.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him while logan takes a drink. you’re almost certainly wade has been arrested before. “i don’t think you’re playing this game right,” you say. “you have to say things you’ve never done.”

wade scoffs. “i haven’t been arrested, thank you very much. all the cops who’ve tried have mysteriously ended up with broken noses.”

you roll your eyes at him. “my turn now? never have i ever… cheated on a partner.”

both of them take drinks, wade with more shame than logan. ugh, men.

then it’s logan’s turn. “never have i ever worn a dress.”

you figure it’s targeted at you, just because logan’s a dick, but to your surprise, wade drinks too. logan raises his eyebrow at him, silently urging him to elaborate.

“you wish you saw that, huh, peanut?” he taunts instead. logan makes a face at that.

“i’m thankin’ god i didn’t have to.”

you play a couple more rounds, all three of you exchanging stories and sipping from your bottles. it takes a lot to get them drunk, but you’re starting to feel it. there’s a collection of empty bottles, mostly beer, but halfway through the game, wade decided to up the ante with some liquor.

it’s wade’s turn again and he says, “never have i ever been with two guys at once.”

he means it as a joke. he doesn’t expect anyone to drink. there’s no way logan would do something like that, and you’re too innocent. that’s why his eyes practically pop out of his head when you throw back the shot.

the game turned sexual a few rounds ago, but it was pretty mild stuff. talk about doing stuff in public, kinks, freaky shit like that. nothing as interesting as this.

both wade and logan turn their full attention to you, eager to hear this story.

“what?” you play dumb.

��two guys at once?” wade asks. you shrug.

“it wasn’t anything.”

“nah,” logan says, sounding interested for the first time all game. “you gotta tell us.”

you sigh. “it was a while ago. i met this couple at a bar and they said they were looking for a third. i had nothing better to do and they were both hot, so…” you trail off, shrugging again.

“give us the gory details. how’d you do it? daisy chain?eiffel tower? double cowgirl? triple spooning? come on, tell us,” wade rambles.

“you’re a fucking perv,” you tell him and he doesn’t deny it. “it was just normal dp.”

logan raises an eyebow. “that stands for double penetration,” wade tells him.

“i know that. i’m just wondering how you took it all,” logan says.

you’re used to this kind of talk from wade. the man thinks with his dick so much that you question if he even has a brain. you’re not, however, used to this from logan. he’s no prude, but he usually doesn’t participate in these kinds of conversations with wade.

“must’ve been a tight fit,” logan adds on.

you look between the men and their interested faces. you’re still pretty bored, the game having grown stale a while ago, and now you’re a tipsy. you want something exciting and right now, you’re feeling bold enough to persue it.

“do you wanna see?” you ask them.

wade and logan share a glance, but it only takes a second before they’re replying “yes” in unison.

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happy74827 · 8 months ago

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Joyride

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Remember kids, always look at the road when driving. It can help you avoid certain blabber mouths 🫶

WC: 2556

Category: Fluff, Annoying!Deadpool, 4th Wall Breaks, Insane Amounts of Profanity {TW: Deadpool (for obvious reasons)}

In honor of watching Deadpool 3 (super good btw), enjoy this random chaotic fic I created with the help of @yoursacredqueenmother. This is super chaotic lmfao

『••✎••』

Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

A millisecond ago, you were driving down a street. In the middle of traffic. At a red light. Now, you were panicking, looking over the front of your car for the flash of red you had just seen. It took a couple of seconds for you to realize that there was blood on your car and on the ground—a lot of blood.

"Oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"

You quickly hopped out of the car, rushing to the spot you thought the person… or thing would be, but… there was nobody. There was blood on the ground but nobody.

Did you hit a deer, and it just… ran off? No, that can't be right. You definitely saw something red, and it most certainly was not a deer.

You looked around, confused. How the hell does something bleed all over the ground and then disappear without a trace?!

You got back in your car, deciding to drive to the closest police station. Maybe they knew something about this.

So, you decided to abandon the shortcut home and drive to the nearest police station, which happened to be just down the road. But as you were minutes into the drive, you felt the sudden urge to look in your rearview mirror.

And there you found your mysterious red-suited victim in the backseat, holding the biggest knife you have ever seen as his white-covered eyes stared at you from behind the mask.

You never hit the brakes faster in your life. The car made an ugly screeching sound, and the sudden force slammed the red-clad man into the back of your seat, making him let out a surprised yelp.

The car finally came to a stop, and the masked man recovered quickly, pushing himself off of your seat and glaring at you.

"Well, aren’t you just a heart break—"

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

You grabbed your keys from the ignition and popped off the attached pepper spray, turning around and squirting him in the face. He let out a scream, and you quickly got out of the car, shutting the door and running as fast as you could.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get very far. Despite being hit by a car, and subsequently getting pepper sprayed, the man (or what you assume to be) caught up with you and blocked your path, his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side.

"Alright, lady, what the fuck?" He asked, his voice sounding nasally, most likely because of the spray.

You stared at him, confused. He looked like he was waiting for an explanation.

"W-What the fuck?! What the fuck me? What the fuck you!" You exclaimed, your voice cracking a little. "What the fuck are you doing in my car?!"

"Well, I was trying to hitch a ride! But clearly, that didn't work out. Thanks a lot, by the way, for the pain and suffering. You’ve really opened up my horizons here."

It almost sounded like he was pouting.

"What the—! A ride?! Why in the hell would you just hop into someone's car?!"

"Uhh, because you ran me over, genius! I mean, come on, the least you could do is offer a guy a ride home after that. And then, the cherry on top of the fucking sundae: pepper spray!"

The masked man, so to speak, threw his arms up in the air, and you could almost see him rolling his eyes underneath the mask. Of course, that’s when you noticed the obvious broken bones in his hands. And the blood. There was a lot of blood.

"Look," the guy started, walking closer to you. "I know, I'm a big scary guy with a big scary knife and a bad temper and all, and you’re just… well, I’m sure you have an amazing personality, but how about we put all that aside, and you give me a ride, alright? Just drop me off at the corner of 10th and 55th, and you can forget this ever happened."

"Your arm… your wrist. It's broken," you told him.

"Yeah, no shit," the man scoffed. "Got any Taylor Swift CDs in that car?"

"Uh… no, not really. Why?"

"Cause, baby, I’m Shaking It Off!"

There was a pregnant pause, and you weren't quite sure if he was being serious or not. I mean, surely he wasn’t about to just ignore the fact that his arm was the complete opposite of norm—

But when he shook his arm in a violent manner, and a loud crack followed suit, you realized, with a heavy heart, that yes, this guy was serious.

What you didn’t know until a few seconds later, however, was that he snapped his bones back into place like it was nothing. It took the flexing in his fingers to realize it, too.

"Holy shit." You truly were in awe.

He seemed to find amusement in your expression, tilting his head slightly and giving you a once-over. And, yes, you could feel his eyes on you, and for some reason, it sent a shiver down your spine.

"So… Wendy Torrance, about that ride? Can you give me a lift, or are we gonna start that chick flick moment where your mental breakdown leads to slow-motion running to a Sia song?"

You could only stare.

"Alright, well, if you're going through with the latter, then at least play something that doesn’t involve that little dancing girl who likes to wear potato sacks as clothes."

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

"You are literally insane." You breathed out, shaking your head.

Even if you couldn’t see it, something told you that he made the biggest grin underneath his mask.

"Why, thank you, darling."

Fast forward a couple of minutes, and you found yourself driving towards the address the red-suited stranger had given you. You couldn’t really make conversation. He had his hands in his lap, playing with a knife, and was staring at you, his head tilted.

"You can blink, you know. I'm not a zombie," he informed you, making a gesture to his mask and eyes, which you assumed he was blinking underneath.

"Right," you nodded.

“Well, mostly, at least. I mean, I still have a pulse, but it's kind of irregular, and I think it's because I keep getting shot and stabbed in the heart. Oh, and I guess I'm also pretty much immortal, so that's probably the reason. But I think the whole not-dying thing cancels out the heartbeat thing, right? Like, the more times you get impaled or decapitated or set on fire, the more it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t affect you anymore, am I right?"

You glanced at him. He was staring at you, his hands still and his knife resting on his leg.

"…Do you ever shut up?"

"Woah-hoho, feisty. And here I thought I was going to break the ice with a good ol' fashioned knock knock joke."

"I don’t think that would've been funny."

"That's what the last girl said."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm. Except she wasn’t talking about the joke. I made her laugh in a different way."

You glanced at him again, and he was giving you a knowing look.

"I can't decide if you're disgusting or not."

He hummed, shrugging his shoulders. That made him shut his mouth just long enough for you to turn on the radio but not long enough to avoid the inevitable.

"Hey, hey, I got a good one: Knock knock."

You let out a long sigh, closing your eyes. "Who's there?"

"Orange."

"Orange, who?"

"Orange you glad I'm not a serial killer?"

"That wasn’t even good."

"I know. It would've been better if I could've pulled the knife out of my belt. You know, just for show." He twiddled his fingers at you.

"That wouldn’t have helped," you said.

"Nope," he agreed. "But it would've made a great story."

"I suppose."

"Yeah. Hey, hey, I got another one: Knock knock."

"You just—"

"Knock knock."

You let out a huff. This man was the most childish, annoying, idiotic, strange, weird—

"Knock knock."

"Oh, just fucking tell me the joke!"

"No! It doesn't work that way!"

You rolled your eyes, but before you could answer, he beat you to it.

"Okay, okay, how about this: Knock knock."

You didn't say anything.

"Knock knock."

Your eyes flickered over to him for a second.

"Knock knock."

"For fucks sake!" You exclaimed. "Who's there?"

He leaned forward, closer to you, and you could see his mouth moving.

"Deadpool."

You were confused.

"D-Deadpool? Is this a reference to that shitty horror movie? If so, that wasn't even good, and I'm not laughing, and I don't get the joke."

He just gave you a blank look, or at least you thought he did.

"No. My name's Deadpool."

"That’s…" you trailed off. "A pretty dumb name. Like that outfit you're wearing."

"Hey! Diss the name all you want, but don’t you dare diss the suit. It's my trademark. Not everyone can pull off this type of look; it’s a very rare art."

"Whatever. You still haven't told me the punch line to your dumb joke."

"Punch line? I never said there was a punch line. It was a knock knock joke."

"So then… What was the point? To annoy the driver into wanting to run you over again?"

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that vibrated in his throat. That… That was… oh.

He was still close, and now, with the new angle, you could see the small, yet very visible, curve of his lips, and that made you wonder who was actually hiding behind the mask.

"You are seriously the strangest person I've ever met."

"Oh, babe, you don't even know the half of it."

"Please, enlighten me," you replied sarcastically, glancing over at him.

His masked eyes looked into yours, and you knew he was grinning; you could practically feel it.

"What do you wanna know?" He asked.

"Uh, I don't know. Something other than the fact that you're a nutcase. How about your real name? It's obviously not 'Deadpool,' and I doubt anyone actually calls you that. So, what's your actual name?"

"Oh, wow. Right off the bat, huh? You know, the last girl I was with wasn’t nearly as direct. Then again, she never sprayed me like I was a roach in her kitchen."

You didn’t respond. You kept your eyes on the road.

"Fine," he relented. "But don’t expect a happy ending. This isn’t Kanas anymore, Toto."

He leaned back in his seat, his arm hanging off the open window, the wind blowing through his red suit.

"Names Wade, like the boxers, but without the fancy pants."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Wade Winston Wilson, I love long walks on the beach, and a good movie, and tacos, and chimichangas, and guns. Especially guns. Kinky, but not too kinky… and did I mention the tacos? Cause I love fucking love tacos."

Maybe you should start carrying tape around.

"What about you, sugar lips?" He asked, gesturing to you with the hand he wasn’t leaning against. "Got a name, or can I call you mine? Ooh, I should’ve used that before the pepper spray. 'What's your name, or can I call you mine?' Classic, Wade. Well, except for the fact that I forgot the 'I'd like to hit it from the back' part. Damn, should have used that, too. It's a good thing they gave you the lead. Otherwise, the audience would've been confused. They would've been wondering, 'Why did the writer suddenly change the dialogue to be about sex? Wasn’t this supposed to be that pure Notebook love story we all wanted?'"

He paused for a moment.

"Wait a minute. Are we still doing the monologue thing, or is the writer done? Cause, no offense, but that was a shitty transition. And, come on, no one wants a Notebook love story anymore. Who writes those? What we need is a little romance and a whole lotta smut."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Me? Nothing, just giving some feedback. I've always had an open relationship with writers. Some might even call me the next J.K Rowling. Except, instead of a lighting scar and magic, I have an ass load of weapons with an insatiable lust for violence and blood. And tacos."

You decided to ignore him.

"Anyway, back to you. You never answered my question. Do you have a name or not?"

"I can’t believe I actually agreed to give you a ride home."

"Yeah," he said, sounding bored. "Why did you do that?"

"I don’t know. Because I hit you with my car and felt bad? You had a broken arm and were bleeding out all over the ground."

"First sign of insanity."

"What?"

"Nothing," his mask wiggled around the area of his eyebrows. "So, your name? Don’t tell me you’re gonna pull out the classic yes and no abbreviations. You know what? I’m just gonna call you Spidey. It's easier, and it’ll sound sexier when you're screaming it later."

You rolled your eyes, deciding just to ignore his comments for the rest of the drive. You were wishing that you didn't live in a city full of traffic cause, damn, this was taking a while.

"Alright, turn here."

You followed the directions and pulled up in front of an abandoned-looking building. You didn't say anything, but you did raise an eyebrow in question.

"What? A guy like me has to keep his place secret, especially when the fangirls are after him."

"I didn’t ask."

"Yeah, but I saw you wondering."

"Right."

"Hey, Spidey," he said, unbuckling his seat belt. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem. Just make sure to keep your ass away from car bumpers. And out of my car."

"Awe, come on, baby cakes, don't be like that. You're really missing out. My ass is the finest in the business. Not to mention my package. You should see the reviews I get online."

You snorted. "I'll take your word for it."

"Yeah, you will," he said, leaning over and patting your cheek. "Hey, if you ever get lonely, or bored, or horny, or whatever, just give me a call. Here," he handed you a crumpled piece of paper. "Don't lose it, that's my number. We should totally bang, like, tomorrow, or tonight, or right now."

"Goodbye, Wade," you said, and he took it as his cue to leave. He gave a silly salute and exited the car, but not without giving you a wink first.

"See you soon, Spidey!"

With that, he walked up to the building and disappeared inside. With a sigh, you collapsed into the seat, not even bothering to watch him. You were exhausted, and all you wanted was to go home and sleep.

After a couple of minutes of relishing the nice breeze that came through the open windows, you sat up and un-crinkled the paper.

The only thing written on it was a phone number, with a small, messy, red heart and a few words that honestly had you questioning the sanity of the world:

'If you're lucky, maybe I'll even let you top. ;)'

——

Spoiler alert: it took about a month for the two of you to hook up.

And no, you did not have Domino’s luck.

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parkers-gal · 26 days ago

Text

my girl J.B.

pairing: bucky x avengers!reader (f)

trope: oblivious x thought they’ve been dating all along :)

warnings: none

wc: 1k

a/n: requests are open (for bucky). pls send prompts!

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

you’re in a pickle. as you sit with natasha and wanda on the floor of wanda’s room, you listen as nat tells the two of you about her earlier conversation with bucky.

“he said we were dating?” you were confused. bucky had never asked you to be his girlfriend, but you had gone on a couple dates and hung out around the compound all the time. you were too nervous to make any moves, but it seemed bucky was on a completely different page altogether.

“basically” natasha confirmed. “he told me he already had plans for saturday with his ‘girl.’”

“oh.”

wanda giggles at your perplexed state. “maybe you’ve been stressing over nothing this whole time, then.”

“but he never asked me.”

“maybe it was different back then?”

“cmon wanda, it’s not like he said we’re going steady like its the 40s. i feel like he knows about labels.” you sigh. you’ve been worried these last few weeks that bucky wasn’t going to ask you to be his girlfriend – maybe the two of you didn’t hit it off as well as you thought. but then he would take you on more dates, and you’d spend all day doing things around the compound that it felt like you already were girlfriend and boyfriend.

“maybe he thought he already asked you.”

you sat with that for a moment. maybe he thought he did? you had no idea, and later into the night it got, the more confused you became. you nodded at the two girls, exchanging goodnights and making your way back to your room.

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

by the time you got to the kitchen for breakfast, steve, sam, and bucky had already returned from a morning run, and wanda was cooking eggs at the stove with vision.

“goodmorning y/n,” steve smiles at you.

you return the sentiment and rub the sleep from your eyes. you make eye contact with bucky and try not to stumble as you reach up for a mug in one of the cabinets. as you reach from your toes, bucky’s metal hand finds your waist and he engulfs you from behind, his other hand grabbing your favorite mug.

“let me get that for you, peaches.”

you try not to flush.

steve smiles at the interaction, continuing his conversation with sam. after bucky sets your mug on the counter, he gives the top of your head a small kiss and makes his way back over to steve. you wonder if steve smiled at the two of you because he thinks you’re dating. if bucky thought the two of you were official, why would his best friend think any differently?

you let it go for the moment, filling your mug and grabbing a plate for the eggs wanda just made for you.

“have you asked him?” she whispers.

you purse your lips, “no,” you shrug a little. “i don’t even know what to ask him.”

“ask who, what?” sam interjects.

wanda and you both turn your heads to look at him from across the kitchen island, and steve and bucky stop their conversation to watch.

“i- uhm…” you don’t know what to say.

luckily, you don’t have to think of a response because bucky speaks up. “wilson, are you pestering my girl?”

wanda nudges your side with her elbow, a gesture that you know means i’ve got your back. “your girl, huh?”

bucky blushes, poorly suppressing a sheepish grin. steve chuckles at bucky’s change in demeanor.

“well, yeah, she’s my girl.”

“i am?”

bucky’s brows furrow in confusion and for a moment, a flicker of hurt flashes in his eyes. “do you not want to be?”

you bite the inside of your lip, nervous to confess this so publicly. “truthfully i didn’t even know i was your girl.”

“oh.”

the kitchen is silent for a moment. sam waits to hear what bucky has to say, or if you have something else to add to explain the situation.

your foot lightly hits the ground. you’re fidgeting; only bucky can make you this nervous with butterflies. “that doesn’t mean i don’t want to be.”

bucky perks up and he nods, finally getting the misunderstanding between you two.

sam’s laugh breaks the silence. “you’re such an idiot.” he grabs an apple and pats bucky’s back on the way out, steve following right behind him, their voices fading as they get farther down the hallway.

bucky grabs his own mug and pours himself some coffee while you sit at the island and silently eat your eggs. wanda and vision eventually clean up their dishes and head off to some training task, leaving you alone in the kitchen with bucky.

as you put your plate in the sink, he asks “did you really not know you’re my girl?”

you run the faucet, not wanting to look at him because it’ll make you more nervous. “you never asked me.”

his flesh hand dances on your hip, spinning you around to face him. “okay…” you glance between his eyes and his lips, settling on his eyes. he mirrors your actions. “then… do you want to be my girl, y/n?”

“i-” you twiddle your fingers, hand at your side. he has you pinned against the counter.

“gonna give me an answer, peaches? or just leave me hanging?” he’s teasing you, face getting closer with each new quip. his nose practically touches yours.

at last, you breathe out a quiet “yes,” and bucky chuckles at you.

“can i kiss you, peaches?”

too speechless to say it, you nod, his metal hand reaching to cup your face. his lips connect with yours and it’s electrifying. your stomach flips and you get so caught up that you grip his henley, afraid that you’ll collapse with how lovestruck he has you. when he sucks on your bottom lip, you let out another gasp and you feel bucky’s lips turn up in a smirk as he pulls away.

still cupping your face, he smiles at you. you smile back, saying something that has bucky’s eyes glinting with pride.

“can you kiss me again?”

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dxxdhood · 9 months ago

Text

drains me slowly

pairing: wade wilson x gn!reader

summary: deadpool finally invites you, the coworker he has a massive crush on, over, which means the two of you end up doing more than just watching a movie.

tags: smut (18+), sub!wade wilson, dom!reader, pain kink, use of superpowers to fuel a pain kink, light masochism, teasing, gentle dom, hand job, scratching, body worship

wc: 3.3k

a/n: fic inspired by the new deadpool movie coming out!!! also, title is from love me dead by ludo.

No surprise that Wade wasn’t exactly anyone’s favorite– that goes for among the heroes he’s worked with and throughout his life in general. He’s – to put it in the kindest way anyone’s ever told him – fucking annoying. Oh, he’s more than aware that he’s a little too out-of-pocket, abrasive, impulsive– a nightmare to interact with, really. And those were just the recent comments made by the closest thing he has to coworkers! The shit he heard from people growing up was leagues worse.

Look, having a rough start in life isn’t uncommon and he’s sure as hell not gonna get the tiny violin out for himself and throw his own little pity party, but he’s grown enough since his healing factor got beat out of him to acknowledge that he’s had it tough over the years.

He’s still going, though! Yeah, he may not always be the best at doing his laundry quick enough to get any clean clothes to wear, or at stopping his room from becoming cluttered with too many half-empty water bottles, but he’s still making it by, day by day.

But, well, it’s still really hard to constantly put himself out there, get assigned – or infinitely more likely, just shove himself into – whatever jobs or missions he feels like taking on when everyone treats him like Jar Jar Binks.

That was until you came along. So, obviously you’re crazy hot – he’s gotta get that out of the way first – but more than that, you were confident. Competent, too, and those rarely coincide in Wade’s experience. You mostly worked on call, joining the occasional mission, battle, or investigation because your mutant powers came in handy often, but you also still kept up with your day job. Honestly, Wade thinks the reason why you weren’t always present in fights was to stop the other mutants from being out of a job. Your ability to slowly deteriorate surrounding biological tissue, while horrifying and a pain in the ass to control – your words – was basically winning on easy mode.

But no, you were adamant about keeping your involvement with the X-Men infrequent– only joining when your presence was absolutely necessary. Apparently nonstop high stress situations aren't good for your mental health– who knew?

And he wants to pretend he became obsessed with you because of all those things, and of course they helped, but really, you had him at hello. Or well, you bothering to say hello and actually talk to him in the first place, to ask him questions about his life in moments of downtime where usually he’d be left with an unenthusiastic audience instead of a warm-hearted listener who actually laughed at his jokes.

So, of course, he has to go and fuck it up.

…

“So, glad that’s over, huh?” Wade says through a smile, the whites of his mask squeezing as his cheeks rise. “Speaking of over, you wanna come?”

“Over?” you shake your head a little, flashing your teeth as you try and comprehend him. “Right after we took on a whole crime ring?”

“Well, what a better time to unwind, am I right?”

“Oh?” you raise your eyebrows. “We’re unwinding?”

It’s small, but you swear Wade ups his talking speed, “Well, yeah, you know. Watch a movie, order in, show you my Pokemon cards, the works.”

You hum, pretending to consider it, “Depends, you got a holo Charizard?”

And now, for sure, he exhales his relief. “You insult me.”

The two of you enter his apartment not long after you’re dismissed from the mission, and Wade briefly excuses himself to change out of his suit. Making yourself at home, you take a seat on the couch and glance across his living room. His apartment is surprisingly nice. The kitchen and living room are one large, open space with a sleek, modern design. Also, you’d assume someone as chaotic as Wade would keep their house in a messier state, or hell, at least a little dusty, but the living room is spotless. Maybe he cleaned recently? What, was he planning on inviting someone over?

Snorting as you shake your head, a small click from across the hall catches your attention.

You’ve only seen Wade on the job, so naturally he’s always been wearing his red suit, but for some reason, you never stopped to picture him wearing civilian clothes. Actually, now that you’re seeing him in a sweatshirt and sweatpants – awfully warm for this weather – you’re struggling to reconcile the image of him you had in your head with the person right in front of you.

Well, at least until Wade brings up a fist to cover his mouth, illustrating his nervousness, and the tension fizzles out. Only Wade has body language that cartoonishly exaggerated.

“Nice sweats, green looks good on you.”

Wade pauses for a moment, registering your words before he giggles softly, arm falling to his side, “I’ve been thinking about changing the color of my suit. You know, hiding all the blood is great and all, but sometimes I gotta wonder – could this thing be more flattering?”

He walks over with a spring in his step before sitting by your side. Cutely, he wraps you up in the larger blanket first before settling the smaller, throw blanket over himself. You try your hardest not to show your confusion outwardly, but seeing Wade up close now has you questioning his outfit all the more.

He’s a bit tall, so the sweatpants don’t go all the way down to his ankles, but Wade’s wearing calf socks, as if he specifically were trying to avoid them being uncovered. Also, his hoodie’s easily a size or two larger, which makes it the perfect thing to wear to lounge around and watch a movie in, but also, the sleeves cover his entire hand sans his fingers. From the little you can see of them, they look puckered in scars.

But obviously Wade’s hands are scarred– he’s a mercenary. He’s handled all sorts of weapons and been in hundreds of fights over the years. You weren’t expecting his skin to be baby-smooth.

What’s interesting to you is why he’d go through all the trouble to hide it.

Also, yeah, the most obvious pointers were that the hood of his sweatshirt is up even though you two are indoors in his own home and – how could you forget this one – his Deadpool mask is still on.

Was he just uncomfortable with sharing his identity in general or was he specifically trying to shove distance between the two of you? Whatever, if he doesn’t want to take his mask off with you, he doesn’t have to. You feel a distinct pang in your chest, but you try not to let it color how you respond to him. He’s more than in the right to only share what he feels most comfortable with.

Wade’s been fiddling with the remote while you’ve been – hopefully – subtly looking him over, and the screen finally changes from a streaming service page to the opening of the movie.

“We’re watching The Princess Bride? I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

He bats his eyes – at least, you think he does, given the mask– and speaks in a sweet voice “Why, me? Oh please, I know romance. I’m not going to invite a lovely, gorgeous, incredible person over and force them to watch Die Hard on the first–”

His back straightens out like he’s been electrocuted before he forcibly relaxes his posture to finish his thought.

“Hang-out.”

Okay, you want to go easy on him, especially because he seems so tense, but you can’t just let that one slide. You close the small distance remaining between the two of you, causing your entire side to press against his. Even through his sweatshirt, you can feel how warm he is.

“Mmm, just a hang out?” you mumble, sliding your head onto his shoulder. You’ve done this before, either for comedic effect or just in an attempt to push his buttons the same way he always tries to push yours – which, despite his best efforts, always ends up endearing him to you instead of bothering you – but never in a context like this.

He inhales sharply, and you count the seconds until he finally lets himself release it. Sometimes, you think he takes his healing factor for granted.

Turning his head to peer down at you, Wade considers you for a moment, keeping his face and body language deceptively neutral. You try your hardest to keep your eyes focused on the movie and your body loose and comfortable.

“You want this to be a date?” he says, flat.

“Why, thank you for asking, dear sir,” you copy his sweet voice from earlier before returning to your normal. “Yes, Wade, I like you.”

“I–” he starts, but the words get caught on their way out. His fingers bury themselves in the material of his sweatpants, and the movement draws your attention to them again. Shades of blotchy red and pink curve all across his skin.

Wade doesn’t say anything, which is concerning enough on its own, but following your confession, you feel like he’s more than out of his element.

“That’s why you invited me over, right?” you try and help him out. “You feel the same, too.”

And then, feeling bold, you turn your head to face his still mask-covered head and kiss him lightly on the cheek. Instantly, you see fireworks go off inside him, because Wade hurriedly shuts the TV off and runs off to close the blinds. There’s barely enough light in the room now to make out shapes, but apparently Wade doesn’t take any issue because he peels his mask back and kisses you on the lips.

His lips are textured, and your intuition flashes quietly in the back of your mind, but for right now, you focus on how energetic he is. If his body is warm, his mouth feels like it’s on fire. He’s constantly moving, trying to experience all of you as fast as possible.

It’s making your face heat up, how quickly he demands your complete attention and how relentless he is in grabbing it. Wade bites your bottom lip, causing you to gasp into him, and he uses the opportunity to explore across your own teeth and tongue. After a few more seconds, you break away, needing the space to breathe.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, voice rough.

“You’re telling me,” Wade coughs out. “We could’ve been doing that this whole time?”

“Well, all you had to do was ask.”

And although you can’t see him, which you know is the point, you understand something in him has shifted. He gets up from the couch, takes you by the hand, and leads you towards his room. His pace is so quick, you barely comprehend his actions until you’re both standing right in front of his bed.

“Is this okay?” he asks, quiet. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him stifle the amount of words he let loose before.

“Yes, of course it is. But Wade, we have to turn on at least a lamp or something in here.”

“We do?”

“Yeah,” you pause to give him a second to think. “I can’t see you at all like this.”

“What if – and you're just going to have to trust me on this one – you’d prefer it this way,” Wade’s voice is light, but it feels like it’s cracking at the edges.

“And why’s that?”

Not like you’d be able to see, but the anxiety radiating off of him makes him sound wide-eyed, “Huh? Oh, I– uh…”

“Look, if you’re worried about how I’m going to react to you having a bunch of scars– don’t. I don’t mind,” the sound of fabric rustling in front of you makes you think he just flinched. “I figured it out. You’re not sneaky.”

“You say that, but…”

“Wade, I don’t care. And I mean that kindly! Really, it doesn’t bother me.”

Wade starts pacing in front of you, nearly tripping on the leg of the bedpost, “Look, I appreciate the whole hero act you got going on here – really fits you good, you should totally quit your day job – but you don’t have to force yourself, I–”

“Wade, you either confront your insecurities head on or I’m not doing this with you. I told you what I think, the only person who’s going to worry about how you look here is you. We either have sex with a light on or not at all, okay?”

No one speaks for a few seconds once you finish saying your piece, and you cringe, realizing how forceful you must have come off. You’re about to speak up again to apologize when you hear a shudder-filled exhale from a few feet away.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he groans. “You’re so hot when you're putting people in their place.”

Your lips curl into a shaky smile, “Yeah, what else do you think is hot?”

And you can practically hear the gears turning in his head from here.

…

It’s actually happening. No fucking way he didn’t dream this up. But you were pretty adamant about him getting his head in the game in order for you guys to actually get down and dirty, so for you, he tries to keep his train of thought as focused as possible– a big ask.

“Bossing anyone – everyone, especially me – around. You using your abilities–” you reach over and find Wade’s hand before running your fingers up his arm. “Shit, umm, using your abilities in general, but, umm, I really like when I’m there.”

“Oh?” you giggle. “When you get to watch, or?”

“When I get to feel.”

Your hand moves over to the nape of his neck, reaching under his hood and mask, to rub at his rough skin. Wade’s nerves light on fire as he waits for you to respond– for some reason, it never feels like your words come out fast enough.

“You got a thing for pain, Wilson?”

He chuckles, “You’d be surprised.”

“Okay, but are you sure? I can try, but it might not be all that good for you.”

“Don’t worry,” he thinks back to all those times he had a hard on while the two of you were fighting together. “It’ll be great for me.”

You hum, “Alright, then, but you tell me to stop the second you don’t like something, okay?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” he salutes, though you probably can’t see it. “And, same goes for you.”

“What a gentleman, letting me destroy him and giving me an out.”

He’s blushing something furious and he’s never been more grateful for the dark, “Anything for you.”

Those are the last words he whispers before he begins undressing. He knows you probably meant for him to strip with the light on, but he’s really not so sure he could stomach being looked at like a bug under a microscope. The attention, while electrifying, was already starting to get to him, so he lets himself stay in his comfort zone a little longer. As a treat.

Once his sweats are off, he hesitantly peels off his mask before slipping into bed, keeping most of his body under the covers. After shutting his eyes, he clicks the lamplight on.

You’re not saying anything. That’s– a sign? A good one, a bad one, Wade doesn’t know. He’s trying so hard to keep his breathing steady, but he can feel his body start shaking all on its own.

You join him on the bed, kneeling next to him, before your warm breath falls across his cheeks as you kiss his forehead. Only then does he open his eyes, and you reward him by cupping his cheek in your hand.

“There,” you say. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Wade gets the strong urge to snort, and so he does, but your eyes narrow. There’s a soft scratching at the back of his skull as you snake your hand over, and quickly you dig your nails in slightly. Wade has to bite his tongue to keep the noise in.

“I’m sorry, is that funny to you?”

“No!” he whispers sharply as you bring your hand down to scratch along the line of his neck.

“Good, seems like you’re learning.”

You kiss him, teeth clacking together at first before Wade melts into it. Your hand is still slowly exploring his body, running along the line of his shoulder and towards his upper arm. When you reach his bicep, you very obviously squeeze the muscle there, and you let out a pleased sigh as you begin groping in earnest.

He wants to turn to hide his face in the pillow, not sure how to react to all the positive attention and appreciation, but you catch him trying to turn away, and you kiss him deeper.

While one hand begins to explore his pecs and abs, your other hand scratches down his v-line, softly caressing the skin of his inner thighs before moving around to squeeze his ass.

Wade rewards you with a small whine, and you carefully trail a finger down his dick. You move in to whisper in his ear, “You’re so hot, I’m not forgiving you for hiding for so long.”

Trying to stifle the embarrassing moan that he knows will come out, he bites down on his lip hard, but you take the hand not teasing his cock to gently pry his lip away.

“From now on, I get to hear you, okay?” you say and Wade nods rapidly.

You take the moment you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and after giving him a second to ready himself, you ask, “I’m going to use it now. Tell me if you want to stop.”

“Okay–” he responds before he feels the sweet sensation of you jerking him off coupled with your power. It’s a humming, dull feeling of pain resting in the background– almost like the sensation of being choked except it’s affecting his entire body. Wade feels like there’s a weight pinning down each of his limbs and it’s so freeing– so relaxing.

He sighs and turns his head to the side, letting out a deep moan when you up the pace of your hand and bring the other to fondle his balls.

“How is it?” you ask, sweat dripping down your brow at trying to control your ability. Sure, it’s powerful and at times pretty horrifying, but Wade always loved how he was essentially immune. At the same rate you could destroy the flesh around you, he could heal his own right back. Just knowing that made him feel good, somehow, like he was made perfectly for you.

“It’s good– so good, I–” he nearly shouts, forgetting about the neighbors.

“Yeah, baby? What do you need?”

At hearing the pet name, he straight up whines as he tries to bury his hands in the sheets instead of his own thighs.

“Not sure, umm, a little more–”

And he doesn’t know which god he has to thank for putting you on this planet, but he’s willing to pay them all a visit. You read him like he’s not some mess, some walking disaster nobody bothers paying attention to, and you give him what you know he needs.

From the base of his chin, you drag your hand in a deep scratch across his neck, chest, and stomach, your eyes watching the pink lines blend in with his scarred skin. It’s a flashing pain, sharp like being scalded and it feels so good mixed with the blunt feel of being under your power.

“I’m gonna–” he says, and of course, you seem to already know. He cums with a deep grunt, rutting his hips into your fist before he thrusts his head forward to kiss you again.

As soon as he comes down, he pulls away only slightly, just so he can say what he’s been wanting to say since he met you.

“Thank–”

You cut him off with another kiss, because sometimes, he really does need to shut up.

#deadpool #wade wilson #deadpool smut #wade wilson smut #deadpool x reader #deadpool x gn! reader #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x gn! reader #marvel #marvel smut #dom reader #sub character #gn reader #smut #deadpool x you #wade wilson x you

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vunblr · 2 months ago

Text

Toy Soldier (part 2)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Dark content: Sexual Assault Wounds(Bucky) tried to make it as vague as possible but, there are mentioned. Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence.

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 5.5.k.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

“You were there, Hydra.”

Her nails dug into the counter, “…It’s not what you think.”

“What I think,” he said in a low, reflexive voice, “is that you fixed me. Over and over when-”

Her grip on the counter tightened, whitening her knuckles. She didn’t turn to face him. “Prolonged your misery, you mean,” she replied, sharp and bitterly.

The silence in response was almost worse than an argument. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her back. When he finally spoke, his tone was softer, but no less piercing.

“That’s not what I meant.”

She let out a harsh laugh. “Isn’t it? For decades, every time they dragged you back in pieces, I was the one who made sure they could send you out again. If I hadn’t-” Her voice cracked, the words catching in her throat as the guilt she’d buried for years rising like bile in her throat.

“You didn’t have a choice,” he said, stepping closer.

“I could’ve let you die,” she snapped, finally spinning around to face him. Her eyes were burning, her fists clenched at her sides. “I should’ve let you die. It would’ve been kinder than sending you back to... to them.”

His expression didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, pain, perhaps, or understanding. “You think I don’t know that, didn’t think about that?”.

She looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “What do you want from me, Bucky?”

He was silent for a long moment before answering. “I don’t want anything from you. I just...” He paused, exhaling slowly. “I remember you. And I know you didn’t want to be there any more than I did.”

She shook her head, her throat tight. “That doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it means you’re not the one I blame.”

She froze, the knife slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the floor. The sound echoed in the small kitchen, but she barely heard it. Never -not once- had it occurred to her that he wouldn’t resent her. If their positions had been reversed, she would have.

“You don’t?” she asked, with a trembling voice.

He took another step closer. “You apologized. Over and over. You cried. You...” His voice caught for a moment before he continued. “You comforted me when they weren’t looking, even if I was just a dull shell sprawled on a table. You talked.”

Her knees buckled slightly, and she braced herself against the counter, her other hand flying to her mouth as the tears started to fall. She tried to hold them back, but it was useless.

“You talked,” he repeated, softer this time, his voice thick with something she couldn’t name. “And it mattered. Even if I couldn’t respond, even if it seemed like I wasn’t there... I heard you.”

She sobbed behind her hand, the weight of years of guilt and anguish crashing down on her all at once. The memories of those moments -whispered apologies, fleeting touches meant to comfort, the tears she’d tried to hide- rose like a tidal wave. She had done everything she could, and it had never felt like enough.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her words muffled. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize anymore,” he reassured her, firmly, but gentle.

She shook her head, unable to stop the tears streaming down her face. “I thought… I thought you’d hate me.”

“I don’t,” He stepped closer until there was barely any space between them. “I never did.”

Her shoulders shook as she let out another sob, her hand still pressed to her mouth. She didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to process the weight of his forgiveness.

For the first time in years, she allowed herself to fully cry, not holding back the storm that had been brewing inside her for so long. And as she stood there, crumbling in the small kitchen, she felt the faintest touch of his hand on her shoulder.

She looked up, and her tear-streaked face met his gaze. His eyes were brighter than she’d ever seen them, shimmering with unshed tears he didn’t try to hide.

“Fuck,” she muttered, her voice trembling. She wiped at her face with a shaky hand, a bitter laugh escaping her. “Sorry for making it about me, when you got the worst-”

Before she could finish, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him in a firm, grounding hug.

“Stop apologizing, doll,” he interrupted, his voice was low and rough, filled with insistence. “Just stop.”

She froze in his arms, her breath hitching as the weight of his words and his presence settled over her. Slowly, her hands came up to grip the back of his henley, curling her fingers tightly into the fabric.

“I didn’t know it mattered,” she whispered against his chest, her voice cracking. “I didn’t think anything I did matter if I kept completing the cycle fixing their toy soldier.”

His hand rested lightly on the back of her head, his other arm tightening around her as if to shield her from the weight of it all. “It mattered,” he said firmly. “You there mattered.”

She clung to him, her whole body trembling as years of guilt and fear poured out of her. He didn’t let go, didn’t say another word, just held her until the storm passed.

----

By the time Sam returned, the pot was bubbling gently on the stove, and Bucky was quietly setting up the table, like the most normal thing in the world. He quirked a brow at the unexpected domestic scene but chose not to comment, unwilling to disturb the fragile equilibrium hanging in the air.

“Smells good in here,” he said instead, dropping his jacket onto the back of a chair and sniffing the air. Then turn to her. “See? I knew you’d come through.”

She managed a faint smile as she ladled the stew into bowls, trying to shake off the lingering emotion clinging to her like a second skin. Bucky remained silent, carefully placing utensils in neat lines beside each plate, his usual brooding energy somehow... softer.

As they sat down and began eating the food, Sam’s eyes lit up at the sight of the perfectly prepared meal. “Damn, this is next level. You sure you’re not secretly an old lady in disguise? My mom and Titi used to season like this-”

The words hit her like a slap, and the lump in her throat turned literal before she could stop it. She choked on the bite of a potato, coughing violently as her body reacted to both the physical mishap and the emotional jolt.

Sam’s grin dropped instantly as he jumped up, alarmed. “Whoa, hey! You good?”

Her eyes watered as she waved a hand, her coughs harsh and uncontrollable. She fumbled for her glass of water, but Bucky was already at her side before she could grab it.

“Relax,” he said calmly, his metal hand pressing gently between her shoulder blades while his other grabbed the glass. “Breathe. Small sips.”

She obeyed, taking slow gulps of water as the coughing subsided. Her face burned, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the physical strain or the comment still ringing in her ears.

“Damn,” Sam muttered, sitting back down with a relieved sigh. “You trying to scare the hell out of me over a compliment?”

She forced a shaky laugh. “Sorry. Guess it went down wrong.”

Sam grinned again, trying to lighten the mood. “I mean, I know my compliments are overwhelming, but choking on a tender potato? That’s next-level.”

She managed another weak chuckle, but her mind was elsewhere. She’d been twenty-five years old in 1962 when Hydra abducted her and stole her life away. If he only knew, the reason why her cooking felt like something out of another time wasn’t just a quirky personality trait, but a way of doing things in her time…

“Careful next time,” Bucky’s voice cut her internal rambling, letting his hand linger briefly on her back before he returned to his seat.

“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up,” Sam said with a grin, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath her calm facade. “I’m eating like it’s Sunday dinner at my momma’s place.”

She smiled faintly, stirring her stew with her spoon. “Maybe I’m just an old soul,” she said, carefully measuring the words.

Across the table, Bucky’s sharp gaze seemed to catch every nuance of her reaction. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel his understanding, a weight that lingered long after the moment ended.

----- As they cleared the table, the conversation shifted to the mission. “So, the plan’s straightforward,” Sam said, stacking plates by the sink. “We hit the warehouse. You…” he nodded toward her, “go to the bar, try to blend in, and see what you can get out of one of those drunken idiots. Maybe someone slips up about the serum.”

She nodded, drying her hands with a dish towel. “I’ll keep my ears open. A place like that? Someone’s bound to get loose-lipped after a few drinks.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced. He leaned against the counter, crossed his arms, and fixed his sharp blue eyes on her. “Are you sure you’ll be alright there?”

She quirked a brow, tossing the towel aside. “It’s not the first time I’ve done this,” she said dryly.

“You can’t heal yourself,” he said bluntly, his voice lower now as if trying to keep it between them. “What if-”

“What?” Sam’s voice cut in, sharp with surprise. His gaze darted between the two of them. “Heal yourself? What’s he talking about?”

She froze, caught off guard by Bucky’s slip. Her mouth opened, but no words came. After a beat, she sighed and looked at Sam sheepishly. “I... yeah,” she admitted. “I can’t heal myself. That’s why the higher-ups usually want me in safehouses or doing recon in relatively low-risk places. It’s not exactly something they let me disclose freely.”

Sam blinked, clearly trying to process the information. “And you’re just now telling me this?”

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t my call. It’s classified. I didn’t want to keep it from you, but... orders are orders.”

Sam’s frown deepened, and his gaze flickered to Bucky, narrowing slightly. “And how do you know?”

Bucky froze for a beat. He glanced at her, then back at Sam, clearly caught off guard. “I... just assumed,” he said carefully. “If she’s only doing recon, makes sense she wouldn’t be sent anywhere dangerous if she couldn’t heal herself.”

Sam raised a skeptical brow, crossing his arms. “Assumed, huh?”

She stepped in quickly, “It’s not that complicated, Sam. It’s just... safer for everyone if I’m not put in situations where I’d be a liability. That’s why they don’t send me into direct combat. Bucky probably figured it out because, you know, it’s kind of obvious when someone isn’t charging into the middle of fights, also, you’ve seen my pathetic attempts at hand-to-hand combat.”

Sam frowned, still not entirely convinced, but he sighed, shaking his head. “Alright. But next time, this kind of thing? I’d appreciate a heads-up.”

“I understand,” she said quietly.

Sam exhaled heavily and turned toward the gear he’d set on the table. “Like I said, no risks. Get in, listen, and get out.”

She nodded, glancing at Bucky, who was still standing stiffly by the counter. His face was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary before he turned away.

-----

She stepped out of the bedroom wearing a black dress with a low neckline drawing attention to her bosom. It was elegant but provocative, the kind of dress that would make her blend into the bar’s crowd effortlessly, or stand out, depending on who was looking.

Bucky, seated on the couch inspecting his gear, glanced up as she entered the room. His eyes flickered over her for the briefest moment before darting back to the weapon in his hands, subtly clenching his jaw.

She didn’t notice. She was too busy fumbling with her disposable cellphone, the small device looking awkward and out of place in her hands. “Damn things,” she muttered, sweeping her fingers over the screen in frustration. “They’re always different, changing icons and options every time. I just want to be able to call someone, is that too much to ask?”

Sam looked up from packing his bag and snorted. “You sound like my Titi trying to figure out a smartphone for the first time.”

She shot him a look, half annoyed, half amused. “I’m not that bad. These things are just... unnecessarily complicated.”

Sam crossed the room, taking the phone from her hands with a grin. “Let me guess, you miss flip phones? Or, wait, rotary phones?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha. Very funny.”

“Here,” Sam said, handing the phone back after a few quick swipes. “It’s ready. Just hit the green button if you need to call.”

She rolled her eyes, slipping the phone into her small clutch. “Thanks, genius. I’ll be sure to call if I get stuck in a tech crisis mid-mission.”

Sam winked. “Appreciate that. Wouldn’t want to miss the entertainment.”

From the corner of the room, Bucky’s voice cut through their banter, low and direct. “You sure you’ll be okay in there?”

She turned to him, raising a brow. “It’s not the first time I’ve done this.”

His gaze lingered on her, sharp and assessing. “So? That doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she said evenly, grabbing a flimsy shawl. “You two just focus on your part, and I’ll handle mine.”

Bucky couldn’t shake the nagging pull in his chest that demanded him to protect her. He knew it wasn’t rational, but the feeling refused to be ignored.

When he was nothing but a shell of a man, a puppet incapable of action or defiance, he’d been forced to sit there, motionless, every time a handler punished her. For not fixing him fast enough. For suggesting they let him rest. For surreptitiously passing him a morsel of bread so the hunger gnawing at his stomach from the tissue’s abnormal regeneration wouldn’t make him gag, which would result in a beating for displaying disgusting behaviors. Every time, he’d been powerless, silent in the passenger’s seat of his own mind.

Every slap, every strike with the iron rod, every vicious yank at her hair, every disgusting lecherous touch, he had watched it all through a fog of helpless rage. He’d remained outwardly impassive, Hydra’s loyal pet, incapable of defying orders, no matter how much the feelings burned behind his frozen stare.

But now, being his own man, the thought of her walking into danger felt unbearable. It was wrong. It was twisted. He had the primal and sharp impulse to guard her, to tear apart anyone who dared lay a hand on her again.

It unsettled him, the realization that some part of Soldat’s instincts lingered, ingrained in the marrow of his mind. Protect the one who matters. Eliminate the threats. It was as if those reflexes had twisted themselves into something more human, more his.

He glanced at her as she adjusted the flimsy shawl around her shoulders in an almost dismissive manner. “Just be careful,” he said gruffly.

Her gaze softened briefly. “I will, Bucky. I promise.”

It wasn’t enough to soothe him, not entirely, but he nodded, forcing himself to step back.

Sam clapped his hands together, trying to pump up the mood. “Alright, team, let’s move. The sooner we split up, the sooner we shut this thing down.”

As they all filed out, Bucky lingered for a moment, trailing his eyes after her retreating figure.

----

She stepped out of the cab, and the cold night air nipped at her skin as she adjusted the loose folds of her dress. The bar stood like a beacon of bad decisions, its flickering neon sign buzzing faintly, casting a sickly green glow over the cracked pavement.

Taking a breath, she slipped her disposable phone into her clutch and smoothed her shawl over her shoulders. She strode toward the entrance, each click of her heels a reminder to stay in character.

Inside, the air was heavy with smoke, cheap cologne, and the faint tang of spilled liquor. The sticky floor clung to the soles of her shoes with every step, and she resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the dim lighting, shadowed corners, and the usual mix of dubious characters.

Her gaze landed on a heavyset man sitting near the bar, a whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other. His tailored suit and gold watch were a sharp contrast to the dingy surroundings. Target acquired.

She approached slowly, sliding onto a stool a few seats away, ordering a drink, letting her body language convey disinterest as she let her gaze wander.

Her clutch buzzed softly. Pulling out her phone with practiced subtlety, she glanced at the screen.

Warehouse was empty. It’s a trap. Be careful.

She swallowed hard, forcing her expression to remain neutral as she slipped the phone back into her clutch.. Taking a slow sip of her drink, she steadied herself. She had to play this right. Calm, poised, unshaken.

Sliding one seat closer to her mark, she leaned slightly on the bar, letting her voice carry just enough to catch his attention. “Looks like you’re having a better night than most.”

The man glanced at her, his eyes narrowing briefly before a slow grin spread across his face. “Better now,” he rumbled, staring at her cleavage without concealment.

She smiled faintly, twirling the glass in her hand as though she didn’t notice his leer. “Mind if I join you? It’s been one of those days.”

He chuckled, nodding toward the stool beside him. “Sure, sweetheart. Misery loves company, right?”

She slipped onto the seat, careful to keep her posture inviting but not overt. “Misery, huh? What’s weighing on you big guy?”

He took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling a cloud of smoke that curled between them. “Work. Always work.”

“Rough day at the office?” she asked lightly, tilting her head in mock curiosity.

The man smirked but suddenly paused, his gaze flicking past her shoulder. His posture stiffened. “Friend of yours?”

Slowly, she turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse of the doorway.

Bucky.

He stood there, tall and unmoving, his broad shoulders casting a shadow against the dim light. His expression was hard, unrelenting, his blue eyes fixed on them like a predator zeroing in on prey. He wasn’t even trying to blend in, his murderous gaze did not attempt subtlety.

“I don’t know the creep,” she said quickly, turning back with a faint laugh. Her hand tightened around the stem of her glass. “Why?”

The man didn’t answer. His hand drifted toward the waistband of his pants, where the outline of a gun was visible. Her pulse spiked, but before she could move, Bucky was already in motion.

In the blink of an eye, he crossed the room, gripping the man’s wrist and slamming it against the bar with a sickening crack. The gun clattered to the floor, and chaos erupted.

Chairs toppled, patrons shouted, and in the confusion, she was shoved back. She stumbled but recovered quickly, grabbing the discarded gun as Bucky took on the man’s lackeys with brutal precision.

“Go!” Bucky barked, his voice cutting through the commotion as he stepped in front of her, shielding her from a bottle hurled across the room.

“I can handle mys-”

Before she could finish, Bucky moved like a bolt of lightning. His vibranium hand shot out, gripping the collar of the armed bartender who had drawn on them. With one swift motion, he slammed the towering man into the wall, leaving him crumpled and unconscious on the floor.

Before she could fully process the scene, he turned to her, gripping her arm firm enough to leave no room for argument, and hauled her toward the bar counter.

“Stay down,” he growled, low and commanding, before shoving her behind it with a force that wasn’t meant to hurt but demanded compliance.

She stumbled, and her hands and knees landed on the sticky floor. A sharp tug at her dress made her wince, probably it had snagged on the metal edge of a dispenser.

“Are you serious?!” she hissed, her face burning as she scrambled trying to get her hands out of the disgusting floor.

Bucky didn’t respond. His attention had already snapped back to the chaos erupting in the room, his body was a blur of calculated precision and brute force. She peeked over the edge of the counter, watching as he disarmed one thug after another, his vibranium arm glinting under the bar’s dim lights as it connected with the offenders, while his human hand delivered equally punishing blows. Each move was efficient and terrifyingly effective.

A chair shattered against his back, but he didn’t even flinch, spinning to deliver a devastating blow to the attacker’s ribs. She winced as the man hit the ground with a groan.

Her irritation at being sidelined simmered beneath the surface, but she couldn’t deny the effectiveness of his approach. The bar was nearly empty now, the smarter patrons having fled while Bucky ruthlessly dismantled the remaining threats.

As the last thug hit the ground, Bucky turned toward her, his chest rising and falling as his gaze locked onto her. “Clear,” he said gruffly, walking toward the counter and extending a hand to help her up.

She hesitated for a split second before accepting, letting her smaller hand to be engulfed in his. As he pulled her to her feet, she muttered, “You didn’t have to throw me like a sack of potatoes.” brushing herself off with a pout.

“You were in the line of fire,” he shot back with a clipped tone.

“I was handling-” she started, but her words caught in her throat as she shifted on her feet and felt an unexpected chill against her skin.

Her hand flew to her rear, patting frantically. Her stomach sank when her fingers met air where there should have been fabric. “Oh, great,” she muttered, her voice tinged with rising embarrassment.

Bucky’s brows knit together as his eyes followed her movements, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride,” she grumbled, “and my wallet, thank you very much. I’m still paying for this dress.”

Ignoring his faint smirk, she glanced around, desperately searching for something to cover herself. Her hands tugged at the torn fabric, but it was no use.

Bucky tilted his head as if reading her mind. “You can worry about it later. Right now, we need to move before backup shows.”

“Oh, because a woman walking down the street with her thong showing through a hole in her dress is very inconspicuous,” she shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word.

His eyes flicked down at the mention of the word thong. Briefly, instinctively. A barely perceptible shift in his expression. She caught it anyway, heat blooming in her cheeks.

“Really?” she snapped, her voice low and mortified. “If you’re done looking, maybe you could grab that guy’s jacket?” She jabbed a finger at the unconscious bartender slumped against the wall.

Bucky blinked, muttering something under his breath before stalking over. He yanked the jacket free and returned with an unreadable expression as he handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, quickly tying it around her waist.

“Let’s go,” he said curtly, already heading for the door.

They slipped out into the cold night, weaving through narrow streets. The uneven cobblestones beneath her heels made each step precarious, and she cursed under her breath about her “stupid dress” and “even stupider shoes.”

When her heel caught on a loose stone, she stumbled. Before she could hit the ground, his hands were supporting her.

Her palms instinctively pressed against his chest for balance, and his body heat contrasted deeply against the chill of the night. “Careful,” he muttered, softer this time, though no less gruff.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, ready to pull away when she registered something sticky and warm under her palm that shouldn’t be there. She froze, glancing down at her hand. Her stomach twisted as she saw it smeared with blood.

“What-” she began.

“It’s nothing,” he cut her off, already stepping forward. “Keep walking.”

Her feet stayed rooted in place, and she narrowed her eyes as she watched him stride ahead as though nothing had happened. Frustration and concern bubbled inside her until she clenched her jaw and grabbed his metal hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Bucky, stop,” she said firmly.

He glanced back at her, with a hard expression. “We don’t have time for this. We need to keep moving.”

She stepped closer, refusing to let go of his hand. “You’re not the Soldat anymore,” she said firmly, locking her eyes on his. “There’s not an only comply rule between us. You don’t get to brush this off like it doesn’t matter.”

His jaw worked as his gaze flickered away from hers. “I said it’s nothing,” he muttered.

She sighed. “After so many years rearranging your body parts like some kind of twisted puzzle... I just can’t.”

His brows knit. Can’t what?”

“I can’t ignore it,” she said firmly, tightening her hand around his. “I know you probably can handle it. Whatever you’ve got under there, I know it’s not enough to take you down. I’ve seen what you can survive -what you can handle- before you collapse.”

His expression hardened, but he didn’t pull his hand away from hers.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s alright,” she continued. “Just because you can take it, doesn’t mean you should.”

For a moment, the only sound between them was the distant hum of street noise and the faint rustle of leaves in the alley.

“We are exposed here,” he muttered, almost defensive, darting his eyes to their surroundings.

“Don’t,” she said, cutting him off sharply. Her tone made him pause. “Don’t brush it off like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.”

His gaze snapped back to her, startled at the firmness in her tone. It looked as if he might argue for a second, but the fight in his eyes faded.

“Let’s at least get to the bike,” he finally conceded.

She nodded reluctantly, releasing his hand. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”

They continued walking, and when they reached the motorcycle, she stepped in front of him before he could mount it, crossing her arms with a resolute expression.

“Now,” she said, leaving no room for argument. “Sit down. Let me see it.”

His shoulders slumped slightly as he sat on the bike. She bent forward a little, quirking a brow at him expectantly, resting her hands on her hips. The silent command was clear: Lift your shirt.

He sighed, reluctant but resigned, and rolled up his black shirt to reveal three stab wounds on his side. Blood trickled sluggishly from each one, staining his skin and the waistband of his pants.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head.

“As I said before, it’s nothing,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words this time.

“And I told you it’s not nothing,” she replied, her voice softening as she knelt beside him. “Because you’re not nothing.”

He stilled at her words, dropping his gaze to her hands as she reached out. Firm but careful, she pressed her palm gently against the first wound and closed her eyes. As she concentrated, a faint warmth spread beneath her hand, infusing her healing powers into his torn flesh.

The room -or rather, the alley- seemed to fall silent, the chaos of their escape melting away as her power worked its way through his body. He felt the pain ebb, the searing burn of the wound cooling into a dull ache before disappearing entirely.

Her brow furrowed as she moved to the second wound, her free hand steadying herself on his knee. “You need to stop doing this to yourself,” she murmured, her tone more an observation than a reprimand.

“Occupational hazard,” he said quietly, though his voice lacked its usual sarcasm.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his briefly. “Doesn’t mean it’s okay.” The soft warmth spread as the torn flesh knitted itself back together under her touch. She hesitated for a moment, furrowing her brow in thought.

“It’s different... healing you,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Bucky’s expression became curious. “Different how?”

She shifted her palm against the wound. “It’s the serum. It’s like... it siphons my powers like it’s trying to cope with the faster regeneration.”

His brows knitted together. “Drains you? What, like it takes more out of you than it normally should?”

She nodded. “I have to concentrate a lot more when it’s you. It’s not like with normal people, your body doesn’t just accept the healing. It’s like it demands more to work properly.”

Bucky’s expression darkened. “So every time they threw me half-dead on the table for you to fix me…”

Her hands stilled for a moment against his skin, the glow flickering faintly before she steadied herself and continued. “It drained me, yeah,” she admitted. “More than I ever let them see.”

Bucky’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Did it hurt? Does it... now?”

Her movements slowed, and she looked up at him with a gentleness that made his chest tighten. “No, honey,” she said softly, the endearment slipping out like second nature. “It doesn’t hurt. I just get more tired. That’s all.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line as she moved her hand to the final wound. He watched her intently, unable to ignore the tenderness in her expression or the way her touch seemed to carry a weight beyond physical care.

“This one’s deep,” she murmured, frowning slightly. “Let me concentrate.”

“Alright,” he said gruffly.

She closed her eyes, as the warmth of her powers flowed into his skin. He exhaled slowly, and his body instinctively relaxed again under her touch. The pain ebbed away, but as it did, something else surfaced. A strange, aching melancholy that he hadn’t expected.

It was twisted, so twisted, and he knew it. But decades as the Soldat, the asset with the fried brain, conditioned him to associate her hands with the only semblance of comfort he’d ever known. Her powers healed the damage done to his body, but it was more than that. It was the way her fingers lingered just long enough to soothe, the way she whispered soft reassurances when no one else was listening. She had tried to mend him in ways that had nothing to do with torn flesh or broken bones, and in the endless cycle of missions, pain, and cryo, her care had been the closest thing to kindness he could grasp in his empty existence.

And now, even with his own mind, that feeling lingered, rooted somewhere.

“Bucky?” Her voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. She was watching him, brows knitted in concern. “You okay?”

He blinked, and his throat tightened as he struggled to find the words. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he finally said, though his voice sounded rougher, even to him.

She tilted her head, scanning his features. Clearly, she didn’t believe him but chose not to push. Instead, she focused on healing the wound, letting her hand linger after the glow faded, as if reluctant to break the connection.

“There,” she said softly, sitting back on her heels. “Good as new.”

He nodded, rolling his shirt down and avoiding her gaze. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” she said, standing and brushing off her hands. “Just... don’t make a habit of getting stabbed, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a faint smirk, though it quickly faded as he noticed the exhaustion etched into her face.

As she climbed onto the bike behind him, she hesitated, hovering her hands uncertainly over his waist. “Hey,” she murmured. “Do you mind if I lean against your back while you drive?” She paused, almost shyly. “This whole ordeal... it made me a little sleepy.”

The pang of guilt hit him like a slap. Hydra had drained her for years, forced her to heal him over and over without care for the toll it took on her. They had treated her as nothing more than a tool to keep their weapon functioning.

And now, here they were again. Different circumstances, same pattern.

He tightened his grip on the handlebars, glancing back over his shoulder. “Go ahead,” he replied, forcing a lighter tone. “I’m not afraid of losing my modesty.”

Her lips quirked in a faint, grateful smile, that made his chest ache in a way he didn’t fully understand. She shifted closer, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist as she rested her head against his broad back. “Thanks,” she murmured.

“Don’t mention it,” he said quietly, kicking the bike into gear.

As he sped toward the safehouse, he drove more carefully than usual, steering away from every bump and sharp turn, mindful of the precious weight against his back.

Next Chapter

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