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Repentance, ch.3

ch.1, ch.2 Taglist Masterlist

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Rating: Explicit

Tags: fluff, sexual tension, canon typical violence, Downton Abbey spoilers, pet names, wet dream, somnophilia, masturbation, POV alternating

Word Count: 3.8K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

Actually, you know what? Taking a little sex siesta isn't even that hard, because he's so mature and awesome. And his dad had had the nerve to call him a “grimy little sex addict” who would “never amount to anything”. Well, take that, Dad! I’m being chill and mature in a fanfiction.

Ahem. Wade means he’s being chill and mature. Third person, third person.

As they’d predicted, they do sleep damn well that night. And with their dishes done by an army of well-fed, appreciative guests, they don’t even have to worry about cleaning up in the morning, thank fucking god.

The next day is all smooth sailing. He walks Puppins in the early morning frost, both of them shivering, and feeds her and Bonnet when they get back to the apartment. Logan shuffles up behind him as he’s washing their slimy little food bowls clean, his chest warm and solid against the curve of Wade’s back, and Wade lets the other man rest his head on his shoulder.

No, he doesn’t even think about being a perv and rutting back against Logan’s morning wood. He just takes the kisses to the cheek and smiles, appreciating the bear hug for what it is. For a guy who wasn’t keen about being touched without warning when Wade first brought him back to this timeline, Logan sure doesn’t mind it now. Big softie.

“You goin’ out today?” Logan asks as he makes himself some toast. Waving a piece of bread at Wade, who takes that as the you want some too? that it is, Wade nods at both questions.

“Mmhm. Got a nice little tip from someone in the biz that there might be someone interested in losing all his organs today,” he answers, getting the jam and butter out of the fridge.

Logan grunts appreciatively at that. “What’re you after him for?”

“Human trafficking. He’s got a solid security detail, but I don’t think any of them know the magic tricks that I do.”

No matter how many times he sees it, it’s never not fun to watch the look of surprise spread over some goon’s face as they watch Wade get back up after he’s hit with a spray of gunfire. The look doesn’t last long – katana in the chest tends to hurt a guy – but still. It’s the little things in life.

“How about you hit ‘em extra hard, just in case?”

Logan’s bent down, petting Bonnet gently, but Wade can tell from the forced nonchalant tone that he’s pissed about all the jobs that have been piling up lately. Human trafficking. Pedophilia. Mutant experimentation. It feels like as soon as they tear one down, two more operations pop right back up in their place. It’s brutal and disgusting to fuck with, but someone’s got to get their hands dirty. Someone has to keep these assholes from thinking they can do whatever they want.

The X-Men are out there, too – but in Wade’s opinion, doing it the “right” way can take far too long when you’ve got victims involved.

“I don’t pull my punches with scumbags, Wolvie. But if you’re scared I won’t pummel them hard enough, you could always tag along.”

He considers it.

“Next time,” he says at last, covering his toast in butter, then raspberry jam. “I’ve got some things to do here. Gotta stop by the shelter, too – they called me last night and I missed it.” He tilts his head like a fucking puppy, and no, it doesn’t make Wade’s heart seize up. “You gonna be alright on your own?”

“I’ll be fine. Go be adorable and selfless with all the shelter animals, peanut, I’ll kill a few guys and get the rent money,” Wade teases.

He gets an eye roll in answer.

Ever since Logan quit the mechanic place, he’s been volunteering at the same shelter that Vanessa goes to on weekends. And if the shelter adores Vanessa, they’re in love with Logan. Every time Wade’s dropped by to see him when he’s on a volunteer shift, the staff loses their minds talking about how helpful he is, how happy they are to meet Wade (“you’re Logan’s partner? It’s so nice to finally meet you!” with no trace of sarcasm, actually shaking his hand and meaning it), how Logan and his enormous muscles make things so much easier. How he’s so good for the animals.

Logan, of course, takes the praise clumsily, insisting that he’s just glad to be able to help. But Wade’s seen the way he interacts with every animal that’s in there. He is good for them. They’re good for him, too.

Ignoring his own toast for now, Wade crosses the short distance to where Logan’s leaning on the kitchen island and squeezes his bicep.

“I’m gonna get dressed. Client wants this wrapped up ASAP, and the target’s a squirrelly little motherfucker from what we know. Better to start early.”

“We’re workin’ with a real tactical genius here.” Logan grins at him, and there are toast crumbs in his beard, and holy shit does Wade want him. Badly.

If Wade hadn’t put out the big red STOP sign, they’d be at it right now. Hell, Logan might grab him and hoist him up on the kitchen counter, pulling his pajama pants around his ankles because he didn’t want to waste even a second taking them all the way off.

Nope. Shut up, Wade. Get your shit together, Wade.

“Yep!” Wade replies, a little too loudly, spinning on his heel. “Here I go, putting on my skin-tight suit! With no impure thoughts!”

Struggling into his Deadpool getup in record time, Wade feels almost shy to see Logan waiting in the kitchen with his toast. He brandishes the heavily buttered and jam-slathered bread at him.

“Take the toast so you don’t get woozy.”

His stupid face feels hot. It’s one thing to daydream about Logan taking him on the kitchen counter. It’s another thing entirely to know that Logan knows that he’s hypoglycemic –and won’t leave him alone if he sniffs out a drop in blood sugar.

He hustles out the door with the toast in his mouth, anime style. The last thing he sees is the not-so-innocent smile sewn on Logan’s face. The I want you too but I’m trying really hard to be good look.

Goddamnit. Wade lesbians the shit out of that guy.

Several hours later, he’s chest-deep in at least eight other guy’s blood and other miscellaneous viscera. Like he’d guessed, it’d been a bit of a hunt to get to his target, but TBH that’s kind of Wade’s thing. Why take a boring job? He likes to play with his food, think about it, strategize. When you’ve killed as many people as Wade has, you start to get bored. You want to make it fun.

And so Wade likes to study up on who he’s pointed towards. What are their interests? What do they do when they’re not being the scum of the fucking earth? Most importantly, what are they afraid of? (That list is about to include him, sitting at the top.)

He knows it’s earned him his own private place in hell, if he ever manages to finally die, but Wade stopped believing in an afterlife a long time ago. Hopefully, if he ever really kicks the bucket, that’ll be it. Lights out. Sayonara. Curtains.

Anyway!

Blood spray from where he’s fired shots at the guy’s guards at close range (it’s fun to see how close he can get before they think they’ve grabbed him). Deeper, diagonal splatters from stab wounds he’s handing out like candy. All par for the course – along with a few cute little wounds of his own that heal right back up. Sometimes the bad guys get a lucky hit in…and yeah, he’s a little reckless, because why the fuck not. If he wanted to do a perfect run without getting a scratch on him, he could. Wade just doesn’t think that’s fun.

His mind isn’t as honed in as it should be, as he closes in on the quaint underground bunker the boss man’s locked himself away in. So cliche, by the way. Even as he raps politely on the thick steel door, hearing the sound echo back at him, he’s thinking about Logan back at home.

What’s the big guy doing? Walking puppies, warding off the advances of the little old receptionist at the shelter? Fucking Barb, that relentless flirt. She’s always asking him to lift heavy shit and then watching like a creep, and that’s Wade’s job.

(Would he leave again? A small, steel-cold part of Wade hasn’t recovered from the time he took off. He tries to tuck it away, breathe on it to give it some warmth, forget about the hurt that it left. He’ll be there. Wade could text him right now. Everything’s fine. Just gotta keep moving forward.)

Is Logan back in the apartment, jerking it, maybe? God, Wade wishes he was jerking it right now.

BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM.

The sound of rapid gunfire hits Wade before the pain of being shot many times through the head does, and he collapses like a tangled-up marionette. On his side, he can only lay there for a time, staring at the concrete floor and the grimy grey-ish pieces of his brain matter pooling around blood.

“For fuck’s sake!!” he hisses, once the part of his brain that processes language redevelops. “You dirty motherfucker –”

Of course he’d have guns mounted around the door. Gotta protect the human trafficker.

Okay, he’s not playing around anymore. Time to shove his horny thoughts in the back drawer and get pissed off.

Wade knocks on the steel door again, hard, flicking a piece of his brain off of his mask.

“Oh, Charlie!” he calls out cheerfully. “We’d like to have a word about your car’s extended warranty! You’ve been avoiding our call for a really, really long time. You bad boy.”

Roughly an hour and thirty-seven minutes and lots of sobbing, pleading, bleeding and dying later, he’s got the job done – though sadly it’s not in a fun Chappell Roan The Giver sort of way. He pulls out his phone and snaps a pic of the target, sends it to the client with a string of thumbs up emojis, and sighs.

It’s hard work being such a bad bitch, but someone has to do it.

—-----

When he gets back to the apartment, Wade’s stunned still as soon as he closes the door behind him, frozen on the linoleum.

Holy fucking shit, it’s clean in here.

It’s obviously still their apartment. The couch still has its cozy pile of blankets. Mary’s still trotting up to greet him with her little tail wagging. Their mug collection’s still visible through the glass of the kitchen cabinets. But goddamn. Logan was in here scrubbing. The whole place smells vaguely like lemon cleaner and good hygiene.

Not that they live like wild animals, but typically there’s going to be signs of life. Papers and receipts scattered on the table, rings on the kitchen island from an overfull coffee mug, random tumbleweeds of cat hair here and there. Nah. Not today.

Wade’s very aware of the faint crust of blood flaking off of him and onto the floor.

“Fair warning, I’m flaking,” he announces to the apartment, and hears a faint bump from further in.

“You’ve been flaking since the day we met, bub,” comes Logan’s voice from the bathroom. Another thud. “Ow.”

Wade giggles a little, trying to strip out of his blood-soaked suit the best he can. “What’re you doing?”

“Fixin’ this damn sink.”

It’s not easy wriggling out of all of the leather while standing in almost one spot, but for the sake of their freakishly clean floor, Wade manages it. When he’s stripped down to the athletic shorts and tank top (disposable, dollar store blood-stained variety), he treks into the hallway.

And indeed he is, wearing nothing but a tanktop and shorts of his own, head buried under their cantankerous bathroom sink. Various cleaning supplies are scattered around his legs where they’ve been cast out in favor of fooling with the innards of the plumbing, while Puppins sits content by his side.

“I – I kinda meant –” Wade’s caught between amusement and scathing adoration. “Why did you scrub the apartment free of every germ that’s ever existed inside it?”

“Oh –”

Logan slowly extracts himself from under the sink, hair mussed, wrench in hand.

“Had time, figured the place could use it. Why, you miss the dirt?”

Fucking jerk. He is so not allowed to be almost waist level with sweat on his brow, earned from manual labor, and a cocky little smirk on his face. Again, Wade toys with the idea of just throwing his whole plan of no sex right out the window. They’d be fine, right? Everything would fall back into place where it belongs, right?

Not right. Goddamnit. Now he has to be a bad bitch and the mature one?

So he doesn’t give in to every urge and mental image that’s putting Logan on his knees in a much more entertaining way. Instead, he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed, grinning down at Logan squeezing himself into such a small space.

“Dirt and I do have an intimate relationship,” Wade sighs. He folds himself to his knees. “It looks really good in here. Thank you, honey badger.”

The tips of Logan’s ears go red, and he slides back under the sink. “Wasn’t that much work.”

Wade ignores him.

“You’re nice.” He leans in and kisses him on the shoulder. “I like you.”

“Ughhh, quit, I’m covered in sweat.” The other man tries to shrug away, but Wade drops his full weight on him, making him pitch to the side a bit. “You’re a brat.”

“Yeah,” Wade concedes.

They say nothing for a minute, just taking comfort in a little bit of physical contact on the bathroom floor. They’re not going to be able to sustain it, but it’s nice to touch base after time away. Especially after a job. Wade’s getting weird these days – he used to come home from a job, do a line, crash out, and be ready to do it all again the next day. Now after he collects for a client he just wants to see Logan and order a fucking pizza. Sleep.

God, he’s getting old, isn’t he?

“Am I allowed to make a joke about laying pipe?”

“Only if it’s one you haven’t made before,” Logan mutters, going back to work on the sink.

“Shit.”

—-----------

They spend the rest of the night tucked up on the couch. After so much cooking the night before, neither one of them feels bad about splurging a little on takeout. That means the nice Chinese place from across town and the works – General Tso’s, crab rangoons, rice noodles, and Logan checking Wade’s phone every two minutes to see if their food’s been delivered yet.

And since it’s Wade’s turn to pick the show, they’re very much watching Downton Abbey while they half inhale, only partially chew their food.

“Okay but listen,” Wade says, pausing the episode after they’ve cleaned their plates – and put them out of reach of the pets. “No one was expecting him to spew blood that far. The look on Maggie Smith’s face? Legit. A hundred percent legit.”

Lying across Wade’s lap, Logan looks up at him, disturbed. “Well shit, I’d make the same fucking face. Was she – was she okay after that? Was he?”

“Oh, she’s fine, she’s immortal,” Wade says nonchalantly, flopping back on the couch. “I don't care about Hugh after he fucked around with the maid, to be honest.”

“She is not immortal. She’s at least as old as Al.”

“Well, maybe her mutation kicked in late, like me.”

His eyebrows raise. “You are lyin’ through your fuckin’ teeth.”

Oh, it’s so entertaining to get under his skin.

“Yeah, but it’s really fun to see your reaction,” Wade grins. “But she really didn’t know the blood was going to go that far! And they called it Hugh’s Mouth Blood. Is that or is that not iconic?”

“Gonna kill you,” Logan growls, but he only curls in closer.

—--------

That night, Wade wakes up to the bed shaking.

Shit.

He knows the drill by now – nightmares aren’t uncommon for either of them. It’s actually been a pretty good run, the past couple of days, with neither one of them getting their sleep interrupted.

Blinking the tiredness away, he turns over to find Logan in their nest of blankets, putting a hand to his shoulder.

“Hey, you’re alright, peanut.”

Of course, there’s no answer. Logan’s breathing is heavy, his body turned away. Wade’s never told him what he sounds like when he’s going through one of these – he’s sure Logan doesn’t care to know – but in the early days it fucking scared Wade, too. Because he didn’t sound like Logan anymore. He’ll groan and whimper under his breath, say things that Wade can’t quite make out. A lot of no and please. And Wade has no clue if talking to him through it even helps. He wants to think that it does, but who really knows?

He rubs his hand up and down Logan’s shoulder in little soothing motions, like Logan does for him.

“You’re okay, it’s just a dumb dream –”

Logan's breathing gets faster, soft huffs in and out. It's always sad to watch, knowing that he's still going to jolt awake terrified. Stab wounds be damned, it's seeing Logan look so goddamn scared that hurts.

With effort, Wade tries to roll Logan over. No luck – not that he thought he'd manage it, but he figured maybe the jostling would be enough to wake him up.

But Logan does turn on his own, facing him now. Enough for Wade to make out his face in the dark.

And that. That does not look like the face of someone having a nightmare.

“Wade,” he mewls, barely louder than a whisper. “Fuck, baby.”

Oh.

Okay. Code red. This has never happened before. What the hell does he do? Try and wake Logan up again? Leave the room? Start thinking of the least sexy thing he can to try and will his raging boner away?

Wade's frozen in place, heart thumping as he watches his sleeping partner more or less strangle the pillow he's gripping onto. He can see Logan's expression shift a tiny bit, and it's killing him to not know what he's dreaming about. There could be dozens of scenarios running wild in his brain right now – because they certainly are in Wade's.

Carefully, Wade pulls his hand off of Logan's shoulder, not sure he's blinked once since it clicked in his brain that what woke him up was Logan having the polar opposite of a nightmare. More than aware of how tight his boxers are, he swallows all the loose spit in his mouth and just…observes.

“Wade,” Logan whispers again, his voice all rough and needy.

“I'm right here, sweetheart,” he says back before he can stop himself. It's just instinct to talk back, especially when Logan sounds that fucking desperate and subby.

Since Wade doesn't know what's going on in Logan's head, his brain kindly cooks up a possibility. His partner on his back, knees crooked out, spread open for him. Wade's hands on all that perfect, unblemished skin, pulling him closer, making Logan gasp as it forces his cock inside deeper.

His mess of wild hair and flushed cheeks and the softest little sounds of pleasure, head tilted back and eyes half-shut. Wade muttering all sorts of nonsense at him, so fucking smug that he can actually get Logan to relax and let go.

And as if Logan can hear him, he whines in answer. He's rocking his hips now, only the tiniest motion, but it's enough to drive Wade up the fucking wall.

He mumbles something that Wade doesn't catch, a word that's barely a breath as Wade's cock cries for mercy through the straining cotton of his underwear. His huffs of breath get faster as Logan whines again – his claws slowly, slowly ease out and begin to shred through the pillow he's gripping.

Never let it be said that Wade doesn't have dubious morals. But even he has to draw the line somewhere, and that line exists about where consent forms. They've never talked about this sort of scene; for all he knows, Logan would be pissed at the thought of Wade actively beating off to it.

The old religious adage of wandering hands being the devil's playthings is bullshit if he's ever heard it, but Wade keeps all ten fingers above the sheets, even if he wishes he was jerking himself harder than a teenage boy discovering the wonders of lotion and his own palm.

Logan certainly isn't having any moral dilemmas. He's saying something again, his breath trembling in the electric space between their faces, and this time Wade can make out the word.

Harder. Then, Wade's name, transformed into something urgent.

“You're gonna drive me fuckin’ crazy, peanut,” Wade replies with a tortured laugh. “Christ.”

Logan's eyebrows scrunch together, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He's panting now, muscles going taut in an oh-so-familiar way. Wade's dick jerks hard as he realizes what's about to happen.

“That's my good boy,” Wade breathes out. “Keep going, come on, I know you're right there.”

It doesn't take much longer. The pillow Logan's strangling shreds into ribbons of fabric and stuffing as he comes, his whole body going tight like a bowstring. He gasps like he's been punched – a high, quick sound that vanishes into the dark of their bedroom as quickly as it started. Then, the softest hum of satisfaction.

He relaxes back into the blankets, like nothing had happened. Like Wade's not lying there beside him on the brink.

Well. Only one thing to do.

Carefully, Wade slips out of their tangled blanket nest, watching Logan for his reaction the entire time. He doesn’t even twitch. Dude really wore himself out. Honestly? Good for him. Wade’s a little jealous; he knows he’s not going to sleep after witnessing all that.

Dodging Puppins with only a modicum of guilt – her little boba eyes project the certainty that she’s going to get an impromptu 2am walk – Wade shuts himself in the bathroom and turns on the water, stripping down.

He doesn’t bother to take his time. Grasping his cock in an almost punishing way, Wade stands under the water and plays back the fresh memory of Logan lost in some fantasy he couldn’t know. Slapping his free hand over his mouth to mute the echoed noises he’s spitting out, Wade leans against the shower wall and lets the feeling overtake him. He comes hard thinking about Logan caught up in his little wet dream.

Watching his own spunk slip down the drain, all Wade can do for a minute is pant, his mind feeling as slippery as the wall he’s leaning on.

Good god. At this point one of them’s going to have to become a priest.

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Taglist:

@flower-majesty-anon, @gods-perfect-idiots, @strandedtoodeep, @epcotwhore, @chaoticpotatodemon, @6up-5oh-copout-procon, @ruletheroost3, @loudupstairsneighbors

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HUGGHHHHYYYYYYYYYY

Another courtesy of badmews on Twitter

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Happy Birthday Ryan Reynolds thank you for putting your whole pussy into Deadpool and Wolverine i have yet to recover financially or physically

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Okay....okay... Boxing Hugh is something else okay???

And also...THE VEINS!!

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

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Gihun is so cold in this scene!!!!!😭😭😭

Okay, you can't watch Gihun walk with that strut and not tell me he wouldn't be a terrifying frontman.

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Let me save you (from yourself) Author: atimefeeler Rated: R Genre: Angst Pairing: Wade/Logan Some of the Tags: Suicidal thoughts, suicidal actions, temporary character death, Logan cares Summary: “And you’re right. Of course, you’re right. I should be fucking dead, but I’m not. I’ve tried,” Wade said. Logan’s heart dropped in his chest.

or

Instead of punching Logan in the face, Wade breaks down crying. It surprises both of them.

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lay your love (on me)

「 ✦ seong gi-hun / reader ✦ 」

tags: nsfw // sub!gi-hon // s1, no games // dry humpingggg // reader wants that cookie bad a/n: only fitting that my first ever squid games post is smut cuz on god. i cannot get whiney pathetic needy gi-hun out of my BRAAAIN i need him so bad

Sometimes you swore Gi-hun could read your mind. 

It was 5pm on a quiet sunday, the sun had just started to pack up its shift for the day before the moon took over. Glorious oranges and yellows seeped through the window overlooking your living room. Golden hour was your favorite time of the day. You idly watched the alleyway from your living room table as people began to come home from their jobs and family outings, waltzing past your window, their shadows dancing by as they went. You crossed your legs on the floor, humming. Such a peaceful day. 

And yet you were anything but. You’d just come to terms with yet another random bout of friskiness when Gi-hun in all his post-shower glory, dared to step into the living room adorn in just his grey sweatpants. Shirtless, ruffling his towel over his soaked hair before running his hand through the dark locks to push it from his eyes. Little curls stuck to his forehead, and even better, you could watch the droplets absorbing the sun’s light travel down from his shoulders, to his chest, to his navel. Down his happy trail…

You were practically drooling. 

“What’s for dinner?” He asked, tossing his towel over a door to hang before he joined you on the floor, totally unaware that you were seconds away from jumping his bones. 

You shrug and tap your chin in meaningless thought. 

You are, you think.

“Couldn’t tell you. I have no idea what I want. You wanna pick?”

“Not really.” Gi-hun sighs deeply with a shrug. “I’d rather not cook today. I’m too tired. I had such a long day yesterday, and then I woke up today with some back pain, and blah, blah, blah-”

You aren’t even listening to him, if you’re being honest. You can already feel your pulse start to quicken under your skin. By the time he finally looks at you and see’s the way you’re eating him with your eyes, you’re already turning towards him and reaching out to run your fingers along his collarbones and shoulders. 

“What’s with that look?” Gi-hun leans on his palm away from you, trying to hide the way he’s already starting to blush furiously from his cheeks all the way down to his neck. When he doesn’t shy away from your feather light caresses, you can’t help but shrug with a coy smile.

“What look?” You hum. 

He swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing as he does. He won’t meet your eyeline now, having to physically duck down to bring his line of vision back to yours. There’s no way he doesn’t know what you’re up to, now, all bashful and shy like he isn’t already getting hard at the mere thought. 

You press your palms flat over skin and nudge him backwards. 

“Wait, hold on a second-” Like he isn’t all too willing to fall back on his ass when you apply just the littlest bit of pressure to his chest. Watching every move you make, he shudders out a gasp. “The windows open…”

“Come on.” You croon, pushing and urging him to sprawl his legs out, bent at the knees in front of you. He stares at you red faced and terse, lips pressing into tight lines, his eyes just wide enough to make you shiver in glee. You loved his expressions, just how easy he was to read. Because even though he was beet red and not immediately spreading his legs you could clearly see the want. He could never seem to hide that from you. 

“I don’t know,” He glances at the window once again, concerned. “Ye-jun will be home any minute now with his wife and- ah-...”

You cut off his anxious rambling by pressing the flat of your hand firmly in between his legs and you find that yes, you were absolutely correct in your suspicions. From just underneath his sweatpants, his dick is already twitching to life. He lets his head loll to the side, watching you grope him through his pants. 

“And?” Stalking up to him like a predator, you pull his knees apart, grant yourself even more access to his beautiful body. And he lets you. He whines when your hand leaves his aching cock feeling abandoned, but it’s worth it to watch the way his belly tightens when you dance your fingers over his abdomen. 

His eyes flicker between your eyes and your wandering hands. “They’ll hear us.”

But then he tips his head back and hisses when you find his cock again. His fingers drag over the floor, popped up by his elbows now. You notice he’s trying to not move, to not demand. He’s so hard you’re sure it must hurt with what little attention you’ve given him. 

“You don’t want them to know?” Nerves light up under your skin and spur you on. “You don’t want them to know what you get up to?”

He’s tense, shaking his head, trying to not let himself turn into a mess. He tries to fight it. Tries to act like he’s fighting it, but you know better. You know him. You swipe your tongue over your lips, grinning deviously. 

“Don’t want them to know you like it?”

Punctuating the end of your sentence, you give his member a squeeze, and goddamn does Gi-hun shudder so deeply, groan so heatedly, that it rumbles from somewhere far and buried in his chest. “Fuck, I-... Fff…”

“Well?” You’re driving him fucking crazy. You can see him falling apart, leaning further back, lips parted. He’s on the spot now, caught up between trying to rut into your hand and conjuring up real sentences and not garbled nonsense. 

“N-No, I don’t want them to hear.” He manages, forces it out in one breath. 

You fake a pout. “Well that’s no fun for me. Don’t I deserve to hear you? Aren’t I making you feel good?”

He peeks at you through his heavy lidded eyes and the fucking face he has is just too good. All puppy-dog eye’d, panting and blushing a furious crimson. It was perfect. He was perfect. You’ve got him cornered, now. Makes you shiver and squeeze your thighs together. You go in for the kill, bringing yourself close enough to kiss and nip at his lips. 

“I wanna hear you, Gi-hun.”

For the first moment or two, he gapes at you, unsure, but then you give him a good squeeze just the way he likes it and suddenly his head is tipped back and he cries out a broken moan. Keen’s so pathetically it almost breaks your coy façade in favor of climbing him right then and there.

“That’s it.” It takes a lot to keep your voice even, but you manage. Your other hand roams his chest, mapping out the lines of him, exploring the valleys and climbs of him. He shivers under your touch, riddled with goosebumps. You squeeze him again, run your thumb over his tip. 

“Please, I want to-” He cuts himself off with a sharp grunt, eyes scanning over the window before screwing shut. He’s still concerned with his noise level but his resolve is crumbling into nothing as the seconds tick by. He’s even already started to beg to cum and you had barely even started yet. It pulls your lips into a smile as you watch him, observe the way his chest rises and falls rapidly as he pants. Oh, the power you hold. 

“So go ahead, then.” You wrap your hand around the outline of his cock, precum starting to dot spots in the fabric. He writhes, thrusting up into your grip, even more so when you lean over him and start biting kisses into his neck and shoulder. Without restraint, you let him fuck your hand because he’s just been such a good boy for you and he deserves a reward for it. That, and the glaring fact that there isn’t much in this life that brings you more joy than watching him chase his own orgasm. There’s something magic about it, the way he loses himself and throws what little dignity he has out of the window. 

In those moments, shame would be nothing but a mere word to him. All haphazardly jerking hips and gasps and whines. So desperate, so needy. 

He bucks into your touch with a sense of want so urgent that you can’t help but deliver. You make a loose fist around his length and the man doesn’t waste a second before he’s found a nice rhythm languidly thrusting into your palm. Head tipped back in ecstasy, hands making fists at his sides. So receptive. 

So reactive.

Gi-hun likes to act like this isn’t his choice. Like you’re some predatory minx just waiting to get him behind closed doors so you could fuck and touch and tease him as you pleased. That he’s just being dragged along for the ride. Makes him feel like less of a deviant, you’re sure. And in some ways, he’s right. You do lurk and wait for any chance you can get to have him. You can’t help it. 

But even so, he knows exactly what to do to get you ticking. Little touches here and there, subtle words that you’d linger on. And then he crumbles under any pressure- which is what you do best. A little bit of pressure here and there. He lets his actions betray his words and his half-assed objections until every sentence loses all meaning. 

Gently, you run your thumb over his tip again. He lurches. 

“Thats, hah…” Incoherent nothings leave him in little gasping moans. He’s damn near whining as he squirms in his place and tries to maintain his rhythm. 

“Good?” Voice just above a whisper, you watch him with hungry eyes. He nods frantically and bumps his hips up in need of just a little more, speeding up, driving himself into your grip. You wonder if he could get off like this, fucking himself in your grasp, seeing stars when you’d squeeze or drag your fingers along the underside before swiping over his sensitive tip. Every muscle in his body constricts and his mewls have become something more wonton- loud groans and hissing cries. 

You sit back on your heels and observe the fruits of your labor. And fuck, is it a gorgeous sight. 

His legs are splayed wide open for you, body held up by his elbows, his back arching and his eyes half lidded staring unfocused at the ceiling, lost in the sensations of it all. His hips grind up with reckless abandon, aching to come. The whole scene makes your thighs squeeze together again, a reminder of the way you’d been neglecting yourself thus far. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeats, your hands shake as they snake down your body and dip below the waistline of your own shorts. 

Lips caught between your teeth, you can’t help but touch yourself. You deserve it by this point. You’re so turned on that by the time you finally swipe your fingers along your aching slit, you suck in a sharp breath that catches itself in your throat. Even without touching yourself until this moment, you’re fucking soaked. Gi-hun doesn't even notice it, too caught in quite literally trying to cum in his pants to realize you’re rubbing quick circles into your clit, eager at just observing the sheer state of him. 

You want him all over you. Above you, below you. Inside of you.

And as much as you loved to see him unhinged like this, you needed more. When he grits his teeth and tries to speed up, chasing something that’s just out of reach, it excites you so much that you feel fucking giddy. 

Because if you were being honest too, this was your favorite part. When he’s so mentally adrift that the only thing that exists to him is cumming. So feverish that when you finally offer your body to him he can’t do anything else except take and take and take. So frenzied and wild and desperate to get himself off like a mutt in heat that he essentially pounces and uses you as he needs. A specific, dirty mutual loss of control that has you cumming hard enough to drop by the time he’s through.

When you pull away from him, he acts like you’ve struck him. With wide eyes he cracks an eye open and peeks at you from over his rapidly heaving chest. The pathetic look he has to him only adds fuel to your fire, urges you to fuck him until neither of you can take it anymore. 

“Why…?” He whines without missing a beat, hands balling into fight fists. Makes you giggle. 

Always crying we shouldn’t be doing this yet whines like a whore when you stop. 

He looks like he could cry, and you realize that maybe he was close after all. But his worried expression quickly vanishes when you climb into his lab and he lets himself fall flat on his back, opting to rest his hands on your hips instead of the floor. Your pussy has soaked through the thin fabric of your shorts and you know he can feel it through his own when he tosses his head back and groans, “Fuck.”

“Come on,” You grind down into his lap and he grunts. “Go ahead, Gi-hun.”

So, he does. Just as you knew he would. 

It takes only a few seconds for him to completely give in to you, and to himself. He shifts and angles himself to drag his aching shaft along your core with every buck of his hips, hits your clit just right when you push back down against him. Then, in the blink of an eye, he’s shoving himself up into you so fervently, so intensely that you wonder if clothed penetration is suddenly on the table. There’s no build up in the way he’s fucking you through your pants, just vigorous thrusting that has you bracing yourself with your hands on his chest just to stay upright. 

That's it. Exactly what you needed.

Every single thrust makes you lean forward just a little more, curling over him, your heart pounding in your ears. It’s so fucking good- you love when he’s like this, carnal and lewd and unabashed in the way he’s rutting against you like his life depends on it. His grip is so iron, so tight on your hips that you’re sure it’s going to bruise. You hope it does. It’s hard to keep up with him, barely able to support yourself and biting hard on your lip so you could listen to the obscene noises leaving his lips. Delicious, shameless noises. 

If there was a heaven, this was surely it. Conjoined and fucked and breathing life into each others lungs. You wished you could stay like this forever. But, it doesn’t take long until you feel that familiar crescendo between your legs, your pussy growing more and more sensitive with every movement. You squirm, you thrash. It feels so fucking good. Before you feel you can properly appreciate it you’re already close and digging your fingers into the skin of his chest til little red marks dot his flesh and his name tumbles from your lips like a prayer on repeat-

Gi-hun. Gi-hun. Gi-hun.

For the first time since he’d first let himself fall back onto his ass, let you touch him and bring him to life, he looks at you. Really looks at you. His eyes are dark and far away, so clouded with lust that you can only dream to wonder what he could be thinking about. If he was even thinking at all. His hips slow for a brief moment but you scramble to grind down, pressing his cock to your needy slit with a whine. You’ll be damned if you’ll lose this now.  

“Don’t stop-” You plead.

He doesn’t. 

And fuck, does your little demand spur him on. He’s right back to it, letting his eyes squeeze shut once more. He brings himself to a half sit, laying his weight on one elbow while his other arm slings up over your shoulders and drags you down to kiss him by the back of your head. With one particularly powerful thrust and your lips trapped against his, you finally cum. 

It’s enrapturing. It’s all consuming. White hot from your face down to your curling toes, your nails digging into his skin. You keen and wail against his lips, hips stuttering to a still as you try to ride out the endlessly crashing waves of your orgasm. You pull away from his kiss to breathe, desperately gulping in air as you lurch with the aftershocks pressed chest to chest with him. His arm falls from the back of your head to your upper back. That’s when you first realize you’re trapped. 

You’re caged in his arms, one holding your heat flush against his own, the other pressing you flat and firm to his chest while he fucks against you like a mad man, unhinged, lost in the pleasure of you. Using you. At first you struggle to wrench your waist from his, overstimulated and over sensitive at the lack of reprieve. You thrash and press your forehead to his neck and sob out moaning gasps but he doesn’t allow you to separate, frantic to keep you exactly where you were. Chasing his own release despite your qualms. Your legs try to close around his waist in vain when he jumps his hips to reangle himself, damn near wailing as electricity sparks through your entire body when he nails your clit dead on with every powerful stroke. 

“G-hun! I-I’m so-”

God, you can’t even get the words out. He’s got you practically bouncing over his cock and in between shaking like a leaf and struggling to breathe properly you feel your second orgasm start to mount. It’s faster this time, almost painfully abrupt. So sensitive and he’s essentially fucking you through your clothes and it’s all just too much and too good. You almost feel you can’t take it, writhing in his unrelenting grasp. 

“Almost- mmn- there-” He manages, voice strained. “Fuck, I’m almost there-”

The second time you cum, you sob his name and soak him through his sweats. You don’t stop crying out, either, mewling and shouting and squirming as overstimulation ripped every noise you tried to hold back out of your throat. You’re sure you can’t take it now, tears gathering at your waterlines, hands desperately grasping for purchase until you realize his thrusts are growing sloppy and nonuniform, and his moans are broken up into desperate keening grunts. And fuck, he’s apologizing to you- babbling sorry and just a little more in your ear as if he’s not in control. As if he isn’t holding you down and fucking you until he’s finally, finally-

He bucks against you once, twice, and then he stills. His breath catches in his chest, his entire body tenses and locks up. You can feel him cum, his cock twitching from underneath you. He ruts up again, and again, three times to ride himself out despite your mewls of objection.

When his breath starts to leave him in low heaves, you’re freed from his animalistic hold. He falls flat on his back with you in tow, panting, seeing stars. You both breathe, exist, in tandem, coming down from your highs. It’s like being made of lead. Barely able to move, you manage to hoist your upper half up, leaning against his chest. His eyes are cracked open, unfocused, unprocessing in his post-sex haze. 

So you let yourself fall against him once more, spent. Everything felt so heavy now.

It takes a long moment before either of you collect yourselves enough to speak again. Like usual, he’s the first to break the silence.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he murmurs, breathless.

He’s guilty, but you can’t help it. You grin. 

You know how he hates it- to lose control like that. It’s embarrassing, he says it makes him feel like an asshole. 

You deserve better than that, he’d pout. I just couldn't help myself.

Little did he know how dearly you adored it, being used up whether you came or not. Not to mention, for the rest of the evening, you got the ultimate princess treatment. The man treated you like fucking glass, insists at your every whim if it means feeling like less of an animal. Probably because he has a natural guilty conscience. 

Mostly because you used it to your benefit. 

He swallows hard. Guilt is hardwired into his brain. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” 

Though you knew you could easily say you already did, you instead opt to sighing against his skin. You hum. “Okay.”

Little manipulation never hurt, right? Not after you so kindly let him take you like that. Raw, and unrestrained. 

You both lay there like that in the afterglow. Your mind settled into a quiet, fucked out haze, whereas he was likely wondering what he could do for you to make up for it. Laying against him, at the edge of a satisfied sleep, you could die there and die happy. His hand pets down your back, runs through your hair. 

Oh, how you love him. 

Your attention is only torn from Gi-hun when you notice darkness shroud over the window. It’s quick, dashing from one side of the window to the other as two figures passed by. It seems your neighbors had been coming home soon, afterall. You giggle into his neck.

“Look who’s home.”

His chest constricts and he eyes the window quickly before shooting a worried glance back down to you. 

“You think they…?”

“Oh yeah. Heard every bit.” You giggle again, sitting up, foggy with sex and ignoring the way your body complains. 

Truthfully, you knew that they likely didn’t, having only just now meandered past your window, caught up in conversation on the way to their apartment. But you can’t help it, you love to tease him. He tosses his arm over his eyes and groans in pure shame, and god, if you hadn’t already been totally drained you could have taken him again right there. Shameful and shy, red from his cheeks to his chest, lips parted with short, puffing breaths. Something about it drove you mad. You couldn’t get enough of him. 

Instead of jumping his bones for a second time, you opted instead to roll off of him and lay flat on your back at his side, the floor striking cold in comparison to his warm body. You’d have another chance soon, anyways, soon. Very soon. Probably in the next hour or so when he does something particularly mundane or gives you a specifically pitiful look and for some reason you can’t help but start touching on him again. But till then, you were down for the count. 

He glances at the window again and shakes his head. “We're supposed to go out for drinks later, how am I supposed to look him in the eyes?”

You shrug with a yawn. “Don’t know. You’ll have to figure it out.”

Gi-hun wraps his arm around your side and pulls you against his side, flush. After a beat of silence, he says, “Hey, what do you want for dinner? I’ll cook.”

Your heart flutters, and you chuckle. “What about your long day yesterday, and your sore back?” 

“Don’t mind all that,” He says, waving it off. “Whatever you want, I’ll make it.”

“In a little bit.” You nuzzle into his side and yawn again, stretching an arm over his chest. He rubs circles into your waist. “Let’s lay here a little longer, yeah?”

When Gi-hun nods, you can feel the way his entire body relaxes all at once. His eyes slip shut, his breathing changes. He kisses the top of your head. Scratch what you said earlier- this must be heaven.

You doze off dreaming of Gi-hun, noodles, and tteokbokki.

[shortbk]

Promise

Pedro pascal × reader

You look out the window, seeing the hustling and bustling of the people out there. The light inside dim low while the music and chatter filling the room. There you are sitting alone accompanied by a glass of coffee that loses its ice leaving it dew.

It has almost been three hours you sit inside the restaurant waiting and hoping that your dearest husband will come for the promise he made. You check on your phone for so many times, texted and called him for god knows how much you do that. Yet, there is no clearance from him. You hate it when people around look at you in pity, knowing that you are here waiting for someone.

"I'm sorry ma'am, are you ready to take some order?" A waitress coming up to you

You look at her for a moment and look back at the time on your phone. You are so sick of waiting for him, chest tightening, breath shortening, trying to hold all the emotions inside you.

"Ma'am?" The waitress looks at you in concern

You are snap back into reality

"Ahh, yes... uhmm... sorry."

"I'm sorry for wasting your time and taking up space here, but I think I'm gonna head home." You say in shame.

You pack all your stuff inside your bag, taking your coat and head out of the restaurant. You stand outside for a while, taking a deep breath with tears welling up in your eyes. You call for a cab to take you back home... alone

You arrive and get inside you and your husband's home. You can hear noises from distance and you walk approaching it. Your step stop, stun by the view infront of you. There he is, your loving husband, sitting on the couch with bottle of beer in his hand, and sport show entertaining him. You couldn't believe what you just saw, you feel like a fool earlier. Waiting for almost three hours, worried, if something bad happened at him.

"How could he?" You whisper, but that's loud enough for making him realize your presence in the room.

"Ohhh hii darling! How's work? You're home late." He said innocently, it's not like he's aware of what he did to you.

"Where have you been?" You ask coldly

"Me? Ohh I've been just hanging out with friends, it was so much fun... you know, oscar invite us to-..." His words's cut because you decide to leave the room, you can't take it anymore, listen to his fun time with his friends. While you... you were foolishly waited for him to show up, showing up on his own promise to you. A promise where he want to fix things up, a promise that supposed to be make up promise. And guess what... there will be another promise coming out of his lips, saying that he's sorry and he PROMISE to make things right again, promise that he will never do that again, promise that just will be a promise without action.

"Woah... woah, hey? Where you going? Hey, Y/N." He walk following you behind until he's in the room with you and grab your arm to stop you walk away from him.

"Hey what's wrong? Rough day at work?"

You scoff "Seriously?! You don't get it, do you?"

"What are you talking about, love?"

You look at him in the eyes, with tears pooling in your eyes. Taking a deep breath, and trying not to make yourself crying in front of him.

"I've waited for you, three hours... three hours looking like an idiot, checking on the phone repeatedly. Three hours taking pity look from people around. Three hours of waiting and hoping that nothing bad happened to you. Three hours, pedro..."

"I-I... darling, I don't underst-" He's still clueless of what happened to you.

"For god sake, check your phone pedro, where the hell is your phone?!" You almost scream at him. How embarassing it is for you, even when you are sad and dissapointed you still have to explain to him.

He's out of the room taking his useless phone to check what's wrong and what causes you for being like this.

He open his silenced phone, there he is finding dozens of calls and texts asking where he were, the realization on his face of what he did wrong to you.

"God damn it..." he mutter to himself

He walk back to you guys room and finding you in closet, sit in silent infront of the mirror.

"Y/N, sweetheart, I am really sorry for what I did to you" silence...

"Such an idiot for forgetting my own promise to you. Gosh, my love I am so so sorry, really sorry for wasting your time and making you wait, you don't deserve it." And he receive none other than your silence, you're too tired to respond his apology.

"Please, say something darling." He plead, begging you to say something.

"What should I say, pedro? Things are happen, and you're sorry." You say bitterly

"I know you are mad at me, but please... please say something. Say that you hate me, that I-I dissapont you, or I am such a bad husband, just whatever..."

"I have no energy to argue with you, pedro."

"I am not here to argue, I deserve all your hate because of what I did, so please sweetheart... please say something."

You get up from the seat, walking past him and ignore his words because you are so sick of him.

"I'm gonna sleep in guest room." You say walking past him

"Wha-what? Hey, don't do that" he grab your arm, you are now face to face with him.

"Darling, I apologize for what I did to you, for forgetting my promise to you and ignore all of your texts and calls." He hold both your arm with his hand.

"But I promise, I promise I will make it up to you, I promise I will never do that again, and I promise I will not dissapoint you." He say looking into your eyes.

You stare at him for quite long second.

"Don't make promises you can't keep." You let go of his grip on your arm, and leave him behind.

[shortbk]

PLEASE

can we pretty please write more fics about wade pulling on logans claws and he's a fucking whimpering mess???? please...

[shortbk]

don't i give you what you need, ch. 1

Taglist Masterlist Summary: Wade struggles with the reality that he's been abandoned. Logan deals with the new concept of being alone. But can they really get by without one another? Continuation of i feel safe in the 5am light :)

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Rating: Explicit

Tags: angst with a happy ending, heartbreak, mental health issues, su*c*dal thoughts, alternating POV

Word Count: 3.3K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

Please note: during this chapter Wade thinks about himself in some very unkind ways, and there's some talk about not wanting to be alive that alludes to su*c*dal ideation. Stay well, my friends! You are important and cherished. Wade will soon remember this, too. ---------------------------

Wade gets up to pee around six, and the bed is empty save for Mary Puppins curled in a tight ball on his pillow.

Funny how that works – not Puppins creeping her way in, she does that every night – but the biological clock of it all. Wade’s brain so rarely reminds him of things when he's awake, but his bladder? That little fucker is not messing around. Every single morning; his body's attempt at routine.

Well, that and Logan, he thinks as he dries his hands. Wolvie likes a good routine better than anyone he knows, their adopted pup included. Logan keeps him on track better than any app or alarm ever could. He reminds him to eat, reminds him to get out the door on time for a job, nags him when they need to go for a grocery run. He's about as reliable as they come.

Is the old man stuck in his ways? Maybe a little. But they balance each other like that. (Wade's not sure he's ever even had ways to be stuck in, aside from the constant chatter and chaos that his brain provides. So that's a nice change of pace.)

Which is why it's pretty strange to find their bed empty this early. Wade pauses in the hallway, just to make sure Logan's actually gone. Where did he scamper off to?

He could just be out for a run, Wade tells himself.

Yeah, honestly that makes sense. It was a rough night for him, he's probably out there in his favorite little park doing laps to forget about the nightmare. And maybe even to forget about the weird thing Wade had tried to pull while they were fucking.

“So cringe,” Wade mutters out loud. “The hell did I think I was doing, trickle-down psychology?”

At his feet, Puppins wags her tail, as if to say she thought it was a good idea.

“Thanks,” he sighs, “but you don't even know what kinky shit you're supporting, my little dingleberry angel.”

She snorts.

Back to bed, then. Wade's inner trembling Chihuahua probably won't let him sleep until Logan gets back, but if he's going to be anxious he wants to at least do it under warm blankets.

Settling right back into the nest he'd left only minutes before, Wade thinks to shoot Logan a text before he tries to get comfortable again.

Hope you're not *too* cold out there jogging or whatever tf you're doing right now 🥶🥶

Oh hey

Can you pick me up a latte if you're near that spot on the corner??

I KNOW my ass isn't going back to sleep 😭😭

A handful of seconds after he sends the texts, Wade hears a series of vibrations from the kitchen.

Okay, now his inner trembling Chihuahua is shifting into an outer annoyed bald guy. Wade hauls himself out of bed again with an over dramatic sigh, anxiety bending to irritation. It's not exactly uncommon for Logan to forget his phone. On some level, he gets it – before Wade picked him up from his original timeline, Logan didn't even have a phone – but he's still frustrated.

Like, c'mon, Mr. Adapts to the Inevitable Evolution of Technology!! Put this electronic rectangle in your fucking pocket. He got hip with Gillette razors and color TV, but apparently the cell phone is just too much. Wade's going to have to get him one of those GPS collars they have for dogs just to keep track of him for situations like this.

Of course, Logan's phone is right on the kitchen counter where he knew it would be, scuffed all to hell even in its (ugly) ultra protective case Wade was sure to buy for him. The last of his own texts is still displayed across the screen – along with the low battery warning. Carrying the thing around and keeping it charged? Oh, so much work for the poor little Victorian era boy.

Shaking his head, Wade places it back on the counter, now more eager than ever to sulk in bed. Almost unkillable or not, he still worries.

Something else there catches his eye before he can turn away. The notepad he leaves out for any random thoughts and/or grocery lists has something scrawled on it – pen marks pressed so deep into the paper that the first sheet is broken through in some spots. Wade places a fingertip to one mark absentmindedly, letting his eyes scan whatever was so intense for Logan to write down.

Wade,

I can’t give you what you

I don’t know how to

You don’t deserve to

I want

I’m sorry. Tell everyone else I’m sorry too.

– Logan

He just stares at the words, reading them over and over even though his mind really isn’t processing them anymore. This is some shitty joke, right? Logan’s hung around long enough that he’s picked up a sense of humor – even though this particular joke feels like taking a steak knife to the heart.

That has to be it. Logan didn’t like what Wade tried to pull last night and this is his way of getting back at him. They can laugh it off when he comes home and Wade will just pretend it didn’t fucking hurt. Ha ha ha. Great joke, Wolvie. I loved it. Standing ovation. I’m buying tickets to your next open mic. He’d much rather believe that Logan was capable of doing something like that than just leaving him altogether.

There’s no way he can get back in bed now. Wade pulls his own phone out of the pocket of his pajamas and shoots off a text to Laura.

Heyy kiddo! Nbd but like Have you heard from Logan?

Wade makes himself regular boring coffee to distract himself while he waits for an answer, dumping in plenty of sugar. If Logan was really going to up and leave, he would’ve told Laura. She’s like his daughter at this point. He was doing her hair last week, for Marvel’s sake – French braid, Laura couldn’t reach to do it herself – and Wade had to physically restrain himself to keep from live-streaming the whole thing to Instagram. So fucking cute. And Logan just knew how to do it. (Who taught him?)

The coffee pot announces it’s finished brewing with a loud gurgle just as his phone buzzes in reply.

Laura 🐾🔪😤: Haven’t seen him since last week. We talked a few days ago. Everything ok?

Okay. Officially time to worry.

Forgetting all about his coffee, Wade gets dressed and suits Puppins up in her winter gear. Once he’s got all four booties strapped to her precious feet and her leash clipped on, they head out the door, into the bitter cold. Puppins gives him a withering look as soon as the wind hits her.

“Yeah, trust me, I get it.” His own teeth are chattering – it’s just great being a member of the naked mole rat club when winters here are this fucking cold. “The quicker you turn some snow yellow the quicker we can be done, ma’am.”

She’s on the same page. Wade scoops her up after the job is done and crosses the street to the next apartment complex, headed to Al and Peter’s place. It takes a few minutes for Al to get to the door after he knocks; if he’s got his schedule straight in his head, Peter should already be headed to work by now. He and Mary shiver together as Al shuffles her way there to answer, opening the door in naught but her nightgown and fuzzy robe.

“It’s me,” he says quickly, eyeing the pistol hanging casually out of the robe pocket. “I don’t exactly need a new hole right now.”

“Well, shit,” she grumbles. “You got the key, why didn’t you just come in and spare me the mystery? And the cold air. Get the hell in here before we both freeze.”

Wade doesn’t hesitate to take her up on that. The apartment smells just like he remembers – a combination of old lady with a whiff of weed, with freshly brewed coffee layering over it all. Shit. He’d just remembered his sitting back at home, abandoned now. Oh fucking well – Al’s about to insist he have some to warm up, even though all Wade did was cross the street.

Right on cue, Al pulls two mugs from the cabinet.

“You still take it with enough sugar to put a diabetic down?”

Stressed, he only nods before remembering to mumble out, “How else would I keep this fine candy ass?”

Al shakes her head at him, pouring the coffee over the sink and testing the level of fullness in each mug with her finger. He takes it after she stirs in a good three heaping spoonfuls of sugar, knowing that it’s about to rock his fucking world. Even he doesn’t pour that much in. She’s chosen the brewkakke mug for him – one of his personal favorites. Everyone cringes when they pull Al’s mugs out of her cabinets – Wade personally picked them all – but he thinks that they’re works of art. She’s pulled out the I won’t hesitate bitch mug for herself.

“Might as well spit out what’s got you so worked up before you get the jitter juice in ya.”

She’s right. Wade lowers Puppins to the floor, who goes to her little toy basket in the corner to start shaking her favorite back and forth in her gummy mouth. Al’s looking in his direction expectantly, and Wade takes a small sip of coffee to buy himself one more second. Holy shit. Yeah he’s going to start having palpitations any minute.

“So, uh. Did Logan happen to swing by here last night? Or early early this morning? He, uh…left a cryptic note that kinda makes me think he’s never ever ever coming back.”

He hates that he can make himself sound so casual when it feels like his sanity is falling apart thread by thread, like a kid picking at the sleeve of their sweater.

Al eases herself into her armchair with a classic old lady grunt, coffee just managing not to spill over the edge of her mug. She sits the coffee on her TV tray, where the brown liquid continues to wobble precariously before settling.

“Didn’t come by here, no,” she says eventually. “But I heard him leave, alright. You know that piece of shit truck rattles the whole damn street.”

Wade didn’t even think to look and see if Logan had taken the truck. Sorry, she has a name – Betsy. That godawful, Frankenstein’s monster amalgamation of steel and dreams can hardly be called an operating motor vehicle on the best of days. More often than not, Logan will start his day leaving in the thing, insisting that this is the time it’s finally going to get off the ground. It usually ends with him dragging her home by the fender, begrudgingly handing Wade the twenty bucks he’d bet against him that this wouldn’t happen.

Logan likes to fix things, get his hands dirty – and Wade knows that the fact that he hasn't been able to crack whatever's wrong with the truck drives him half mad. (Don't ask Wade what make and model it is; the author never learned the breeds of cars and at this point they're afraid to try.) All he knows is that she’s about as old as he is and covered in rust. Well, that and it’s caused him enough irritation that he’s thought about dismantling her piece by piece so that Logan doesn’t spend hours at a time fixating on what’s wrong with the thing. No he isn’t jealous.

So not only does he leave a vague note and take off. He leaves a vague note and takes off in the shittiest piece of junk the world’s ever seen.

“Sounds right.” Wade downs his entire mug of coffee in one go, though he can feel it scalding his throat. “Well! It’s been nice chatting, Al, but I have to go. I’m sure this won’t develop into a complete emotional breakdown situation. Probably fine.”

She grimaces. “Doesn’t mean he’s gone for good, you know. Man like Logan doesn’t like looking at his feelings the way you do, honey. He’d rather lock ‘em up.” Al leans back with a sigh that makes him think she’s had the same sort of problem. “Maybe just – give him a minute.”

“Damn it, you’re so fucking wise.” He stoops to kiss her on the side of the head. “Thanks for the coffee, Al. I’m definitely not about to make some super questionable decisions.”

Wade leaves her apartment with Puppins tucked under his arm, caffeine blasting through his bloodstream, and unease percolating in his mind. The first thing he does when he gets back across the street is check the place over, just in case Logan came back while he was gone. Because wouldn't it be crazy if he was just overreacting this whole time? If Logan was sitting on the couch or curled up in bed when he got back and Wade didn't actually have anything to worry about? He’d give anything to see Logan’s head pop up over the couch, expression sleepy, asking him where he’d gone.

He's not that lucky. The apartment is empty save for Bonnet, who zooms away when he sees the door open.

So that's it. Logan's really gone. Sure, Wade could scour the local bars, ask every guy in there if he'd seen a tall, handsome, grouchy man drinking his way through his problems – and at a terrifying rate. He could call more of their friends and ask if Logan's come around in the past few hours. He could visit all his known haunts in the city – the mechanic shop where he used to work, the animal shelter where he volunteers now, his favorite park, his favorite bakery and Chinese restaurant.

But a part of Wade knows, deep deep down, that it won't do any good. Logan might wander off without his phone, and spend hours by himself doing god only knows what. But he always leaves a note letting him know he's coming back. This time, the message had been very clear he was intent on the opposite. Logan doesn't pussyfoot around what he means to say, when he has something to say.

He's leaving Wade and he's not coming back.

The realization hits him like a slap in the face. Logan really said fuck you to their relationship and took off in the middle of the night. He left his cat and their dog and the apartment and he's gone. He left Laura and Al and the girls, everyone.

Wade folds to his knees only steps from the front door, curling up into a ball.

Was he really that easy to abandon?

Of course he is. Why would he let himself be fooled into thinking he isn't? Why would he let one good person – or a person he thought was good – after Vanessa change his mind? Fucking idiot. The second he let an I love you slip, Logan was outta there. He should've known better; Logan wouldn't love him. Of course not.

Vaguely, Wade can feel Puppins licking his cheek as best she can from how he's curled up on the floor. He doesn't have the energy to acknowledge her. Doesn't she know that it's all going to shit again? That he's alone again, and now that Logan's gone, he's probably always going to be? A full body shudder runs through him.

Every shitty thought he's ever had about himself seems amplified by a thousand. He'll spare you the details, but it's a long, brutal monologue with a lot of ugly idiot repeated over and over. For hours.

Eventually, Wade remembers what Logan himself had said so long ago in the Honda Odyssey, when they were stuck in the Void.

Sad, attention starved, jabbering little prick.

It's one of God's best jokes that you can't die.

Well, he was right. Why the fuck can't he die? If it's supposed to be a joke, it's not funny. Nobody's laughing. They all want him gone.

Wade's somewhat aware of the sun making its way through the sky out of their – his – apartment window. Puppins gives up on licking him and curls up into his side after a while. Even Bonnet settles down within his line of sight, as if curious about why someone would lie there on the floor so long.

A part of his brain tells him that he should probably try to move, eat, do something – but what's the point? The man he loves just dropped him like a hot skillet. He doesn't really give a fuck about keeping his body alive right now.

Eventually, his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. More out of instinct than Wade’s own desire to answer, he reaches into his coat and pulls it out.

Ness 🦑🌊💃 displays across the screen, four unmistakable letters. Shit. He can't really ignore a call from her, or she'll just show up here, stubborn as always. And what would Wade say?

Hey yeah sorry Vanessa my whole fucking world just fell apart and I can't seem to process that, so can we do a rain check? I'm going to do an insane amount of drugs once I can move.

Fuck. Fuck.

He swipes to answer on the last vibration, pressing the phone to his face and hoping he can make his voice sound anything close to normal.

“Hey, Ness,” he croaks, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Sorry, hey. What's up?”

She sighs into the phone. One thing about Vanessa, that woman will sigh when she is stressed. Like, a lot. (And she is not a fan of someone poking fun at the habit.)

“Hey,” she begins. “You doing okay, sweetie? Al called me a few hours ago and said you might be doing some ‘inadvisable, self destructive bullshit’.” Vanessa laughs a little. “Her words, not mine. I just got off work.”

Oh, that fucking breaks him. Not just the fact that Ness would still care enough to check in and see if he's okay. But that he needs someone to do that for him. He's so pathetic. Wade hates it. He hates that he's falling to pieces right now. Tears finally slip out of his eyes and onto the carpet, his whole body shaking.

“Wade? Wade.”

Fuck. He can't breathe and he definitely can't answer her. The only thing that comes out of his mouth is a choked out whimper, and he presses one hand to his mouth, hard, until he can taste the copper bite of blood. Stop stop stop fucking stop. But he has no control over what's happening now. What Wade wants more than anything in the world is to crawl to their – his – weed stash and get higher than Mars so he can't form any more thoughts.

“Okay, okay,” Ness says on the line, because of course she heard him blubbering. “I'll be there in like – twenty minutes. I'm bringing that nasty ass pizza you like and a bottle of whiskey.” Another deep breath on her end. Wade hates that he's stressing her out. He's done enough to ruin her life, hasn't he? “We'll turn on Drag Race and be judgemental and you can tell me what's wrong. ‘Kay, Red?”

“Ten-four,” he manages. Dripping tears and snot and a serious lack of self respect.

“Alright. Bye.”

The call disconnects.

Twenty minutes. He can summon the will to get up in the next twenty minutes, right? He has to feed Mary and Bonnet. They're hungry. It's dinnertime and they need him to move. Mary definitely needs to go out again. Damn pets, making him stay alive and aware.

He can do this. Everything's fine. Wade is so okay right now. And he's fucking positive that Logan is out there somewhere doing even better.

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

Taglist:

@flower-majesty-anon, @gods-perfect-idiots, @strandedtoodeep, @epcotwhore, @chaoticpotatodemon, @6up-5oh-copout-procon, @ruletheroost3, @loudupstairsneighbors

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Dangling Like a Thread by CenturyUnited (T)

6598 words, 1/1 chapter

Wade loses his voice one night during a poorly planned villain takedown. This is a story about losing a part of yourself, what it means to adapt, and how other people can help you get it back.

author's tags: getting together, angst, hurt/comfort, (momentarily) mute wade, non-graphic sex, self-harm

my tags: getting together, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, physical hurt/comfort, characterisation, happy ending

review (light spoilers):

i am going to put my head into an oven and scream so loud. the way that. the. when the. oh my god

this fic is in the style of writing that just tells it like it is, and boy is it effective. as the premise suggests, wade is silent for most of this fic but my god can you still feel everything he's feeling even though it's from logan's pov, because every line that describes him just hits you directly. and the thing about wade not speaking, obviously, is that it forces you to visualise the action a lot more and i simply loved it

it's heavy at points but also so creative and fun, and i just love when people put characters in unique situations and have them adapt and also have every aspect of them explored—wade acts like he does in the good ways (continuing to be annoying as fuck) and in the self-destructive ways (harming himself to try and get his voice to work again). it's all just done so well.

also just . the entire ending. all of it. i would quote so many parts of it because it's so good and most of my favourite lines of the fic are from there but i don't want to spoil anything so y'all will just have to read it i guess. also RUSSELL. FUCK. sorry i just love when wade's kids make an appearance

favourite lines (also light spoilers):

He wishes the staring felt more foreign, but the topography of Wade’s face has become deeply familiar.

“See? You’re fine.” // Wade’s expression never changes.

He does it afraid.

read (and comment on!) the fic

masterpost

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Thank you for the prompt, it is now ready for delivery! :D

Prompt: Wade panicking because Logan's fucking him so sweetly and gently while staring into his eyes and telling him he's beautiful, and Wade doesn't know how to handle it!

Wade’s breath hitched as their eyes met; everything in Logan’s gaze was pinning him down harder than his imposing weight above him ever could.

He could feel the older man’s warm skin all around him; the softness of it, as his strong arms would circle around his body and hold him against a large, hairy chest that he would happily suffocate into. And yet, nothing—god, nothing could beat the way that those eyes bright like honey were bathing him with such adoration that Wade could feel himself melting against Logan, their mouths barely touching and their lips parting in silent sighs.

Wade had expected many things from the Wolverine; but the way he would trail the ghost of kisses all over his face and neck wasn’t one of them. The way his lips would twitch into a smile that was all destined for him, and him alone, as Logan’s hips were slowly, steadily pushing and pulling inside him was forcing the tiniest of whines out of him.

“Wade, you look—”

He was met with Logan’s eyes fluttering shut, his mouth opening in a sweet purr—or growl, who was to say, really?— and his forehead reaching down to rest on the scarred skin of his chest, and Wade felt an unfamiliar, cold trail running down from his left eye to his ear.

No words were needed, not between the two of them. You look beautiful was the full sentence, Logan’s lips kissing his shoulder informed him.

You’re my perfection, Logan’s eyes turning golden under the low lighting of the room whispered to him.

You’re mine, now and forever, Logan’s tongue running up from his ear to his left eye, tasting the salty tear on its way up, murmured silently.

“I–Logan, I–” Wade started, feeling his heart jumping in his chest in panic, his trembling fingers wrapping around his companion’s back and pressing into his skin as the familiar wave of his orgasm was reaching up to steal his breath away.

“All good, my love,” he heart faintly in his ear, and he whimpered, his head shooting back and shamelessly offering his neck to Logan. “Let go for me, Wade. Let me do you good.”

And good Logan did to him, one hand going down his back and wrapping around his thigh to steady him. The older man wriggled slightly above him, his mouth trailing kisses all over his neck and shoulders, whispering pretty and gorgeous into his ear with each of his keening noises; and he angled himself differently, taking Wade just right, and so tenderly, so carefully, so slowly that he could count the millions of stars his mind was conjuring before his eyes.

“H–harder. Logan, please—”

“You’re so close, love. I think you can get there,” Logan argued, placing a kiss on Wade’s lips, and in the haze of his pleasure building up, and up, and up, those words tickling his ears hit exactly right.

Wade wasn’t sure he could come with such slow rhythm; but when he did, he knew. He had been ruined by this animal of a man above him, by his smile and soft chuckle as he whined Logan’s name and clenched at his shoulders, feeling another tear running down his face and a sob escaping his mouth.

sfdlkhjlkfdslsfdg I AM SO GLAD I STAYED UP FOR THIIIIIS IT WAS SO WORTH IT OH MY GOD. Thank you so mcuh. I am entranced by every word. Going to bed with a warm heart and teary eyes (as teary as Wade's!) because I'm so touched by the beauty of this piece. Logan's love for Wade just fucking SHINES. I am obsessed. I need all the soft, snuggly, fluffy sex (with just a teaspoon of angst!) between these two

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can yall stop tagging your logan fics under deadpool tags

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"Hearts Entwined and Torn" Pt1

Summary:

Amber’s stable relationship with Logan is shaken when she discovers a troubling scene between him and Jean Grey. The revelation causes a rift within the X-Mansion, leading to a tense breakfast and emotional fallout. As Amber and Logan navigate their fractured bond, they must also manage their roles within the team, facing the challenge of reconciling their personal turmoil with their superhero duties.

Amber had been dating Logan, also known as Wolverine, for three years. Their relationship was fiery and passionate, a balance of intensity and tenderness. Amber, a mutant with the ability to manipulate energy fields, had found a home and a partner in the X-Men compound.

One day, after a grueling workout at the compound’s gym, Amber was drenched in sweat and feeling invigorated. She wiped her face with a towel and decided to head to the showers. As she passed by the training room, she heard muffled voices. Curiosity got the better of her, and she peered through the slightly ajar door.

Her heart sank as she saw Logan and Jean Grey standing close together, faces mere inches apart. Jean’s hand was on Logan’s chest, and they were looking into each other’s eyes with an intensity that Amber had never seen before.

“What the hell is going on here?” Amber’s voice rang out, slicing through the tension-filled room.

Logan and Jean sprang apart as if caught in a forbidden act. Logan’s rugged face was a mix of frustration and guilt, while Jean looked genuinely remorseful.

“Amber, wait, it’s not what you think,” Logan started, his voice gruff yet pleading.

Amber’s eyes blazed with anger. “Not what I think? Really, Logan? Because it looks like you were about to betray me with her.”

Jean stepped forward, her expression pained. “Amber, I’m so sorry. Logan and I… we have a complicated history.”

“Complicated history? So you decided to ruin what we have?” Amber’s voice shook with a mix of hurt and fury.

Logan tried to reach for Amber, but she stepped back. “Amber, please, listen to me. Jean and I… there’s always been something between us. I can’t deny that.”

Amber’s eyes filled with tears, but she stood her ground. “So what? You’re just going to throw away three years for something with her?”

“It’s not just something,” Logan replied, his voice low and strained. “Jean and I… we’ve always had a connection.”

Amber’s heart felt like it was shattering, but she refused to let Logan see her break. “So that’s it? You’re choosing her over me?”

Jean tried to intervene, her telepathic touch brushing against Amber’s mind. “Amber, please, this isn’t how I wanted things to happen.”

Amber recoiled, strengthening her mental barriers. “Stay out of my head, Jean. You’ve done enough.”

Logan stepped closer, desperation in his eyes. “Amber, don’t walk away. Let’s talk about this.”

“Talk about what? How you’ve been emotionally cheating on me?” Amber’s voice was ice cold. “I thought you were different, Logan. I thought you were mine.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” Logan said, his voice breaking slightly.

Amber took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “If you want to be with Jean, then be with her. But don’t expect me to stick around and watch.”

With that, Amber turned and walked away, her heart heavy with betrayal. She didn’t look back, even though she could feel Logan’s eyes on her, and the silent plea from Jean.

As she made her way back to her quarters, Amber knew she needed to decide her next move. Trust once broken was hard to mend, and she wasn’t sure if their relationship could ever recover from this.

But one thing was clear: Amber wasn’t going to be anyone’s second choice.

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THIS is the type of angst I’m talking about!!! I want and NEED more of this!!!

The Choice

Summary:On a mission, Logan chooses Jean over Celine, who painfully realizes he would always choose Jean.

Logan had fought in countless battles, faced impossible odds, but today was different. The mission had spiraled out of control, and the air was thick with smoke and shouts. Logan’s claws sliced through enemy lines as he fought with everything he had, but his mind kept drifting back to the two women behind him.

Jean Grey, his ex-lover, was struggling just a few steps away. Her face was strained, her hands shaking as she held up a psychic barrier against the onslaught. They had been something once—intense, complicated, and real. Even after it ended, the connection between them never truly severed. He felt it now, a pull he couldn’t ignore.

Across the battlefield, Celine fought fiercely, her movements sharp and calculated. Logan had promised her everything. Promised her he’d always be there, always come back. But as he turned his gaze back to Jean, who collapsed to her knees, clutching her temples in agony, his heart twisted.

Jean screamed, and it cut through him like a knife. Her shields shattered, leaving her defenseless against the incoming barrage. Logan’s instincts screamed at him to go to her, to protect her like he always had.

“Logan!” Celine’s voice broke through the chaos, sharp and commanding. “We need to retreat, now!”

But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jean. “I can’t leave her,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Celine’s voice sharpened. “Logan, don’t make me choose between you and her!”

He finally turned to face Celine, and in her eyes, he saw the realization of what was coming. Her lips trembled, but her gaze held steady, hard.

“Why?” she challenged, her voice biting. “Because you would choose her?”

His throat tightened. He hated this—hated the truth that hung between them like a sword. But he couldn’t lie. “Yeah,” he rasped, “I’ll choose her.”

Something in Celine’s expression shifted, her eyes going cold and distant, like shutters slamming shut. Her face went blank, devoid of emotion. “Fine,” she said, her tone flat, almost disinterested. “Do what you have to do.”

Logan hesitated, but the urgency of the situation pressed him. He sprinted toward Jean, scooping her up and carrying her toward the Blackbird, his heart heavy. He knew he’d crossed a line he couldn’t come back from.

When he reached the jet, he placed Jean inside, making sure she was stable. Then he turned to look at Celine. She was already at the controls, her expression icy, unreadable. She didn’t even glance his way.

“Celine…” he began, desperate to find the words.

“Don’t bother,” she cut in coldly, her tone like frost. “You made your choice, Logan. Now live with it.”

He flinched, feeling the sting of her words like a slap. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Her eyes flicked to him, empty and cold. “You didn’t,” she replied, her voice chilling in its calmness. “You just showed me where we stand.”

Logan swallowed hard, realizing just how deeply he’d wounded her. But she turned away, dismissing him entirely, focusing on the controls as if he were no longer there. The engines roared to life, and the jet began to ascend, but her silence was louder than the roar.

She didn’t look at him again, her gaze fixed forward, her posture rigid and unyielding. Logan felt a hollow ache settle in his chest, knowing he had just lost something vital, something he might never get back.

As they flew into the night, Celine remained silent, her expression like stone, a barrier he knew he’d never be able to breach again.

Requests are Always open.

More dad Logan and Laura on the way😀

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How come every time I look up angst for a character the first result is always smut?? I love smut don’t get me wrong but sometimes I just want to be angsty and sad 😭😭

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❤️❤️❤️I need more angst like this. Now!!!! This was written so beautifully and well

Thinking about how Logan is more open about his emotions than Wade despite what people perceive, and how Wade slowly learns to open up and confront his own emotions because of Logan.

Prompted by this amazing thread. Shoutout to @ramblingautisticman and @desperatelyneedcoffee for inspiring me to write this.

---

Most people expect Logan to be the more closed-off one. To hide his emotions behind a mask and keep them to himself.

But that's Wade's role.

Logan is honest about his emotions—when he's angry, he'll growl and thrash and let people know. When he's happy, he'll bark out a laugh and grin and let his eyes wrinkle at the edges. When he's sad, he'll cry and scream and drown himself in alcohol.

He may not be phased by smaller things, but he's honest about his feelings. (Something Wade could never do.)

Wade, on the other hand, isn't. He exaggerates trivial feelings, obvious situational ones—he'll cower in fear at a "scary enemy or pretend to be pissed over a minor inconvenience. He makes his outward, shallow emotions so loud that it turns everyone's attention away from what he's feeling inside.

(Because if people know how he feels inside, they'll see him and hate him. It's easier to be hated when you can chalk it up to "understandable" reasons, to being annoying or loud or inappropriate. It isn't easy when they hate you. When they look at you, bare and vulnerable and open, and hate who you are at your core.)

Wade has spent his entire life hiding his emotions. Even from himself.

He shoves them so deep down that they become a slightly bitter taste in the back of his throat until it all becomes too much and he violently throws them up.

Wade is like a glass bottle: he can steadily hold all his emotions inside, pretending to be OK, until the glass shatters and explodes and the shards dig everywhere and he's left to pick up the pieces.

But Logan isn't like that. He lets himself feel. He lets others see how he feels.

Even from the first moment they met, he let Wade know how he felt. How he fucked everything up. How he wasn't the hero he was looking for. How he was battling with so much grief and rage that he'd reached a point of complete apathy.

(It made Wade envious. To be able to just say it and move on.)

Logan was the first person Wade met to be so blatantly honest. To wear his emotions on his sleeve and act on them and still be strong and keep fighting.

(...Could he still be considered strong, if he did the same?)

When Wade was vulnerable, it felt like he was choking—the words tumbling out without his permission and leaving a mess behind. Even with the people he loved, he couldn't ever bring himself to fully trust them even if he knew he should. Even if he wanted to. (Even if he tried to.)

(He still remembers sitting across the kitchen table from Vanessa. She held his hand tightly, as if she was afraid he would slip away. Was slipping away. She was urging him to let her in. To tell her why he hadn't been himself. To open up so they could share the burden.

But he just... couldn't. How do you tell someone who loves you, who you turned back time to save that nothing was helping? That no matter how hard he tried to focus on Vanessa and just live a "normal" life that it all felt wrong? That he felt an itch under his skin to do more more more and nothing was "more" enough.

That he felt like he was just wearing his skin. Like it wasn't his, not since Francis twisted him into a monster he didn't want to become. That he still remembered her look of surprise and the reluctant way she cradled his face when she first saw it.

It wasn't her fault. He knew that. It was an adjustment.

...But why didn't anyone understand? The gnawing loneliness, the self-hatred, the feeling of everything being nothing and too much all at once.

He hated himself.)

But Logan let his emotions course through his veins like second nature. Wade watched as emotions twisted across his face like it was a form of art.

And, for the first time, he felt comfortable opening up. He let the words spill from his mouth, except instead of feeling the trail of acid burning through his throat it felt like relief. He finally met someone who understood him, who had gone through the same suffering. He saw his loneliness reflected in Logan's eyes and finally, finally, felt he could reach out without dragging someone down. (They were both already at rock bottom, anyway. The only place to go from here was up.)

And so he told Logan about Vanessa. About the family he wanted to save. About how, yes, he vaguely cared about the world, but none of this was to save the world. (It was for just nine people.)

And Logan... didn't judge him. He saw understanding—a tired, but real kind—reflected in his eyes. He didn't make fun of him for his selfish motivations. Didn't snarl in disgust that he could never be a hero because of them. (He saw him and didn't recoil.)

And there, sitting across the table from each other in that shitty building they'd escaped to, Wade finally felt seen. Understood. (Ironic, isn't it? To have to go to the void to open up about the void inside of himself. Wade would write a poem about it if he knew how to.)

He felt that same kinship as they continued their journey. Even through the insults, the exasperation, the annoyance, Wade could tell none of it was serious. Because Logan never really told him to fuck off. To stop.

If Logan didn't like him being touchy, he'd shove him off. (He didn't.) If Logan didn't like him asking questions and rambling about himself, he'd actually try to get him to shut up instead of just grumbling. (He didn't.) If Logan really didn't want to be here, he'd leave. (He didn't.)

Logan's visceral type of emotional honesty allowed Wade to let himself be vulnerable. Because if Logan hated him, he wouldn't be here. If Logan didn't want to hear it, he wouldn't tilt his head and listen and ask questions.

(It made Wade feel safe to express himself for the first time since he'd been strapped to that shitty operation table and torn apart until all that remained was a body not quite his own.)

Things were going good.

They were.

(Wade desperately hoped they'd stay that way.)

But then Logan pulled over the car, real and raw fury in his eyes. He yelled at Wade, his voice trembling with the intensity of it.

He picked apart everything Wade had told him. Threw it back in his face.

And oh. Oh.

Logan was honest. He was true to himself and his emotions.

And so, Wade thought quietly as the tired continued, he really meant it. It felt worse than when Logan had stabbed him.

(It felt like he was back on that operating table, small and weak and pathetic but still trying to keep smiling. To keep cracking jokes and being annoyed. Because, if he didn't, he'd break. If he didn't keep the shards of his personality clutched so tightly to his chest that they dug into his hands, nothing would be left of him.)

Logan dissected him. Using everything Wade told him. (Using the ammunition he'd provided.)

(Was Logan really looking at him with understanding, back then? Or was it disgust? The images blurred together in Wade's mind, distorting his memory.)

Told him how he was worthless. That the Avengers and X-men were right to reject him. (Ouch.) That it was his fault he couldn't salvage his relationship with Vanessa. (He'd tried. He'd tried so hard.)

That Logan saw him for what he was: a pathetic, attention-seeking parasite who clung to others instead of facing his own problems.

It really was God's greatest joke that he couldn't die.

Wade spiraled.

(Was he wrong this whole time? Did Logan really, truly hate him? He had to, if he's looking at Wade like that.)

If even Logan (the only person who could begin to understand his suffering) couldn't accept him, who could?

He felt like the ground was crumbling underneath him and he was falling and floating at the same time. He felt like he was an observer, looking in on the outside, even as his emotions crashed over him like a tsunami.

But he couldn't let himself break down. Wouldn't let himself be vulnerable. Not here. Not now.

So, he slid the mask back on and responded in the only way he knew how to.

"I'm going to fight you now."

(Even when they'd collapsed, bloody and weak and exhausted, the words kept ringing in his head. They'd let out their physical frustrations, maybe, but the words still clung to him like a blanket. There was still a sinking feeling in his gut. Dread twisting his stomach at the thought of being open.)

(The feeling never really went away.)

---

They started living together, in the aftermath.

Wade had called after Logan as he was about to leave and awkwardly asked him if he'd like to come home with him. Just long enough to find a place to stay, or even just for dinner.

(Logan couldn't refuse. Not with the sense of wrongness filling him as the distance between him and Wade grew with each step. When he heard Wade's voice, it felt like hope. It felt like coming home.)

One night turned into two, turned into a week, turned into a month until Logan had his own side of the dresser and nobody bothered to ask if he was leaving. (Thinking of leaving made Logan vaguely nauseous, now. It felt like ripping away the foundation of the home he'd painstakingly started to build here.)

Logan still had baggage. Still had days where all he wanted to do was grab a beer and stare blankly at the wall, thinking of all he'd done and all he'd lost.

But it was easier. Wade would walk into the living room, plop down next to him, and begin talking his ear off about whatever happened that day. He'd sling an arm around his shoulder, flip on the TV, and keep talking.

(Logan would lean against him, slightly. Would focus on Wade until his warmth and touch and voice drowned out his thoughts.)

(It worked better than alcohol ever had.)

Logan tried to let Wade know that he cared about him. That he appreciated it. Appreciated him.

(That Wade's presence was what made everything worth it. Made him finally feel like he was able to tread water without drowning.)

He'd cook Wade meals. (And pay attention to what he liked and disliked, making sure to cook things he knew Wade would comfortably eat.) He'd lean into his touch. Listen when he talked. Answer any questions he asked.

And so, when Logan came out from the shower one night and saw Wade curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the black screen of the TV, he approached him.

Wade had a vacant, empty look in his eyes. The kind that Logan recognized, but hadn't seen on him before.

It made him worried. He'd never seen Wade like this. (It was unsettling. To see Wade, who was so vibrant and expressive, look so bleak.)

"Is something bothering you, bub?" he asked, settling down next to Wade on the couch.

Wade finally seemed to register his presence, eyes flicking over to where he sat.

"Oh, peanut! I was wondering when you'd get out of the shower. Was it nice and steamy? I'd love to join you next time," Wade wriggled his eyebrows (or what was left of them) suggestively.

It was like a switch had flipped. Wade went from blank, like a doll with its strings cut, to animated and excited in a second. His eyes were sparkling again and he grinned at Logan like nothing was wrong.

(It was... uncomfortable. Did Wade not trust him? Was Wade hiding something from him?)

Logan wanted to question him, but Wade kept chattering and he could never really get a word in edgewise. (A part of him wondered if it was intentional.)

Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe Wade was just having a bad day. Logan tried to rationalize it, even as a pit formed in his stomach. A feeling of deep wrongness.

Except it kept happening.

Wade would get that same, desolate look in his eyes (always when he was alone, away from everyone) and Logan would walk in on him. Logan would try to see if something was wrong, but Wade would interject before he could.

(Logan knew his expression was concerned. Knew Wade could tell he was worried, that he cared about him. So why didn't Wade let him in?)

(Wade always listened, patiently, when Logan talked about his problems. It was one of the few times he'd go quiet, only occasionally asking questions and making extra commentary. He'd look at him with a grim understanding. Not pity, not sympathy, but empathy. Free of judgment. It was the first time Logan felt like his emotions were actually being received by someone, cradled and held and protected so that they didn't burn him out.)

Until, finally, one day, Logan snapped.

"What the fuck is up with you?" he snarled, and that didn't come out the way he intended but he was so frustrated by Wade refusing to just let him in.

"What do you mean, Wolvie? I'm—"

"Shut up. You're not fine. I've been alive for two hundred fucking years, I know by now when someone's lying, Wade," Logan interrupted before he could continue his usual antics.

"Look, I'm just having a bad day, alright? You know how it is. I'll be up and running after I take a nap, don't worry about little old me!" Wade's voice took on a faux-cheerful tone.

"This isn't just a bad day, bub. It's been happening a lot. You get this look in your eye, like you're not really there, and just stare at the wall." Logan stared at Wade with concern evident on his face. "It's worrying."

Wade snorts. "You don't have to worry about me of all people."

Logan furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean? 'You of all people?' Of course, I'd be worried about you, dumbass. I care about you and if you're hurting, I want to know why."

And Logan was so painfully honest. It was so clear in his eyes, in his expression, in his body language that he cared about Wade. Deeply.

It made Wade snap.

"Just shut up! Stop fucking talking. I don't want to hear it." Wade wished he had hair right now so he could fucking tear it out. He'd take any kind of physical pain just to distract himself from Logan, worried and open and trying to pry him open.

"Wade, what are you—you know you can tell him about anything, right?" Logan tried to regulate his breathing, to keep his tone calm. To not show the panic he was feeling. (It was obvious anyway.)

"What, so you can throw that back at me, too?"

What? What was Wade—

"So you can tell me I'm a fucking joke? That every superhero team was right to turn me down? That I couldn't even manage to keep a relationship with a stripper?"

Oh. Oh fuck. That was—

"That I should just fucking kill myself, but of course, it's God's best joke that I can't die, so now my pathetic existence is on you?"

He couldn't possibly think Logan meant that, right? Couldn't have been thinking about that this whole time—

"I don't want to burden your royal highness with my stupid problems," Wade practically snarled, "so stay the fuck out of it."

He slammed the door and left.

And Logan was left alone.

Logan wanted to run after him, to grab him and tell him that he didn't mean it. He was pissed off and spewing whatever came to his mind in the moment to hurt Wade. (And he'd achieved that goal, hadn't he?) He felt betrayed and responded in the only way he knew—by lashing out. (But that wasn't an excuse, not really. Not to take everything Wade had trusted him with and twist it. To betray his trust in such a personal, visceral way.)

(Logan knew that Wade meant well. That he was just scrambling to save his world and thought of the only solution that would get Logan to help. That when he made an "educated wish" he'd still try to see it out, had still asked the TVA after everything. But he was so fucking angry and so fucking tired and just wanted any excuse to lay down and die.)

Did Logan really have the right to, though?

Wade had listened to him. Helped him. Even after what Logan had said and done, he'd still cared. (And wasn't that a sobering thought. That this whole time, Wade thought that was Logan's opinion of him. That he still cared about Logan despite having his voice ringing in his ears, tormenting him.)

(It made Logan angry to think that Wade was used to it. To setting aside how people treated him and not expecting anything in return for his kindness. To loving and giving without receiving. It made him want to murder the people who set the bar so low. It made him want to rip out his own tongue.)

(It made him realize, yet again, that Wade was a better man than he'd ever be.)

...And Logan had fucked up. Immensely.

Had given Wade hope that he could finally open up to someone who came from a similar background and understood his suffering. All to tear it away in one glorious, horrible, mistake.

Logan had no right to fix things. To ask for forgiveness. (From Wade. From anyone.)

But what was the alternative? Letting Wade think he hated him? Leaving?

Logan would rather die than go back to living completely isolated from the world. He couldn't go back to waking up every day and drowning his sorrows with alcohol. Letting memories flash behind his eyes as he replayed everything he fucked up and obsessed over what he could've done differently.

(Because, without Wade, he would still be there. At rock bottom. Without a place to belong or any reason to get up in the morning. A samurai without a master. A drifter without purpose. A stray without a home.)

The thought of leaving behind the only thing he cared about anymore made him panic. He felt nauseous, like he wanted to throw up yesterday's dinner and his own heart alongside it.

He knew it was selfish and pathetic, but he couldn't let go. Couldn't handle losing the only thing that made living worth it, after everything.

(Of course, when he finally found someone who was like him, who felt the same loneliness, who couldn't die, he had to go and fuck up. What is Logan good for if not ruining anything good in his life?)

Logan knew he was selfish. And pathetic. And stupid.

(He felt his mouth move around the words. Spit venom at Wade, who was completely, utterly silent. He heard them, vaguely, but they didn't register. He was running on pure rage and adrenaline.)

(Why did he take until now to notice?)

He knew that.

But he didn't think it was this bad. That he'd end up ruining the only good thing to come out of his miserable existence.

He thought, at least, that even if he'd fucked up everything else, he could be good with Wade. Could be good for Wade. It was the one thing he prided himself on.

And now look at him.

Instead of Wade, it's Logan who was God's best joke.

Fuck, he wanted a beer.