#we ball tho!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scrollonso · 4 months

Text

First Kiss (Race 16)

A strollonso AU where 18 year old rookie Lance Stroll falls helplessly in love with the notoriously mean world champion. (2.6k words, jealous nando, face fucking, daddy kink?) [@v3lnys @biancathecool] {I watched the '06 Chinese gp while writing the first bit but it wasnt in english so... idek what happened}

last part - masterlist - next part

Sebastian ran up to Lance, who was walking next to Lawrence, having just parked his car when he caught a glimpse of the Racing Point driver.

"Lancey!" He said, arm wrapping around the Canadians shoulders "Funny seeing you here"

"Wow, BMW called you back?" Lance laughed, faking the surprised look on his face

"Okay, dick." Sebastian mumbled before laughing too, shoving Lance away as they walked into the paddock, not noticing how Fernando glared at the German boy as he walked next to Lance.

Qualifying came and went, Lance once again going straight to Sebastian after he finished.

"God, expected you to do a little better Mr. Race Winner" Seb teased, knowing nothing was ever serious between the two

"Fuck off" Lance shook his head, hoisting himself up onto the counter in the BMW garage, his friend's hands settling on his leg as they continued speaking.

Fernando watched the exchange from a distance, his eyes narrowing as Sebastian and Lance continued their playful banter. Despite his focus on the upcoming race, a twinge of jealousy gnawed at him. He knew Lance and Sebastian had been friends for a while, but seeing them together always stirred something uneasy inside him.

As Fernando approached, Lance caught sight of him and his face lit up. "Hola, Nando!" he called, waving him over. "Just catching up with Seb."

Fernando forced a smile, though his eyes didn't quite match the warmth. "I see that," he said, glancing briefly at Sebastian. "Nice to see you driving in FP1 again Sebastian."

Sebastian nodded, grinning. "Thanks, Fernando. Congrats on pole. You were flying out there."

"Thanks," Fernando replied, his tone polite but clipped. He turned his attention back to Lance. "Ready for tomorrow?"

Lance nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, P10 is not too bad. Should be able to make up some ground during the race."

Fernando's expression softened a bit at Lance's excitement. "You'll do great," he said, his voice genuinely encouraging. "Just stay focused."

As they talked, Sebastian's phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. "I gotta go," he said, looking back at Lance. "Team meeting. Catch you later?"

Lance nodded. "Sure thing. See you, Seb."

Sebastian waved and jogged off, leaving Fernando and Lance alone. Fernando immediately felt the tension in his shoulders ease. "So," he said, trying to sound casual, "you and Seb seem pretty close."

Lance shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, we've known each other for a while. He's a great guy, and an okay driver sometimes."

Fernando hummed noncommittally, looking away for a moment. "Just-" He started, unsure what he wanted to say "make sure you don't get too distracted by him."

Lance raised an eyebrow, sensing the underlying tension. "Nando, are you jealous?"

Fernando's eyes snapped back to Lance's, his mouth opening to protest, but no words came out. Lance slid off the counter, stepping closer, placing a hand on Fernando's arm. "You know you're the only one I care about, right?"

Fernando sighed, his posture relaxing as he met Lance's gaze. "I know," he admitted quietly. "It's just hard sometimes, seeing you naturally go to him."

Lance smiled, his hand giving Fernando's arm a reassuring squeeze. "You have nothing to worry about," he said softly. "I promise."

Fernando nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Okay," he said, feeling a bit of the weight lift off his shoulders. "Let's get ready for tomorrow, then. We have a race to win."

It rained before the race and lingered into the first few laps. Lance was excited to drive in the now damp conditions. They were now lined up on the grid and Fernando, starting from pole, had an excellent start, leading into the first turn. The rain played to the strengths of the Michelin tyres, giving him an early advantage.

Further back, Lance managed to navigate the conditions without incident, maintaining his position and focusing on a steady race. The chaos of the opening laps saw a collision between the two Roberts, resulting in Kubica being knocked off track and Doornbos losing his front wing. Lance, keeping his composure, avoided the turmoil and continued his race with a steady hand.

"Doing good, Lance. Be careful."

"Will do, Brad. Thanks"

Later, as the track dried, Fernando was struggling with his degrading tyres. Schumacher caught up to Fisichella by lap 19 and was gaining on Fernando, who was struggling with his car’s grip and having several off-track moments.

Fernando pitted on lap 22, changing his front tires but leaving the rears, Lance not far behind.

Renault's decision proved costly as his tires quickly lost performance. His earlier pit stop left him vulnerable, and within a few laps, his 20-second lead evaporated.

Meanwhile, Lance was running a consistent race, taking advantage of the changing conditions and maintaining his focus. His steady approach paid off, keeping him in the hunt for points.

"Alonso P1, Coulthard and Liuzzi are ahead. You are faster." Brad spoke, Lance smiling at the mention of Fernando (and the fact that he would most likely be able to pass two two cars ahead of him.)

On lap 35, Fernando pitted to switch to dry tyres, but a problematic wheel nut extended his stop to over 19 seconds, dropping him to fourth and over 50 seconds behind the leaders.

In the closing stages, Fernando rediscovered his pace, setting fastest lap after fastest lap, closing in on Schumacher. Fisichella let him past without a fight, but despite his rapid pace, he ran out of time to catch Schumacher, finishing just three seconds behind in second place. Fisichella still in third.

Lance's steady drive earned him a valuable point, finishing 8th. His engineer quick to praise the boy over the radio once he crossed the finish line

After the race, Sebastian was waiting in the Racing Point garage to congratulate Lance. As he walked in, tired but pleased with his performance, Sebastian approached him with a wide smile.

"Great job, Lancey! You did amazing out there," he said, pulling Lance into a tight hug, arms snaking around the Canadians waist.

Lance grinned, rolling his eyes at the stupid nickname the German boy had began calling him. "Thanks, Sebby. It was a tough race, I'm still all wet, but I'm happy with the point."

From a distance, Fernando watched the two with a tight jaw. The podium celebrations were going to begin soon, but his eyes were fixed on the Racing Point garage. Seeing Sebastian and Lance together, laughing and celebrating the boys race, stirred that familiar jealousy. He knew he had nothing to worry about, but the sight of them so close continued to cause a pang of insecurity. Seeing Lance so close to an attractive man his own age made him wonder why Lance had chosen him out of everyone he was surrounded by.

After the podium ceremony, Fernando found Lance in the garage. Lance saw the look on Fernando’s face and sighed. "Nando, it’s just Seb. We’re friends."

Fernando hummed, ignoring what Lance said as he grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the Canadians drivers room, a situation that was all too familiar for them.

Before Lance could even ask the man what he was doing the door was locked and his back was pressed against it. It was almost scary, the look in Fernandos eyes. Was he seriously this upset over Lance having friends?

"Nando, what's wrong?" He asked, hands pressed against the Spaniards chest as he waited for him to respond, the only response being his lips finding their way to Lance's neck.

His eyes closed at the feeling, breath shakey as Fernando kissed and nipped at the skin from his jaw to his ear, sucking on it long enough to leave light marks for everyone to see.

"F..Fuck, Nando" Lance breathed, fingers getting tangled in the Spaniards overgrown brown hair, head falling back against the door as he felt himself getting hard, bucking his hips forward to brush against Fernando's core.

"Stop it." He practically growled, hand gripping the taller boys hips to keep him still, not planning on giving him what he wanted.

Fernando was already changed out of his race suit, now in normal clothes unlike Lance who was embarrassingly hard in his half unzipped race suit, toes curling in his pink boots.

"Please" Lance whined, hand finding its way to Fernando's buldge, pawing at the tent in his jeans as the Spaniard pulled away from his neck

"Please, what?" Fernando asked, cocking his head to the side as if he didn't know what his boy wanted. Of course he knew, but he wanted the boy to beg. Wanted Lance to beg for his cock.

"Need you, Nando" He pouted, obediently falling to his knees when Fernando shoved him, big brown seal pup eyes staring up at the man above as he waited for anything, he'd take anything.

"Do the work, then."

They'd done a lot since July but every time they'd been intimate Fernando was the one doing the work, touching Lance, showing him what to do, instructing his every move. Lance had never done anything for himself and Fernando didn't feel like being generous

"Nando, I-" Lance started, eyes level with the bulge in Fernandos jeans "I don't know-"

"Figure it out," Fernando said bluntly, reaching out and cupping Lance's cheek, brushing his hair out of his face as he cooed "You're a smart boy, Lancito. Can my smart boy do as he's told?"

He simply nodded, not wanting to disappoint the Spaniard in front of him. It was risky, obviously, being on his knees by the door with Fernando standing over him. The garage was crowded when they'd gone into his drivers room so someone had to have seen. He had to be quick.

Lance didn't hesitate to lift his hands, unzipping then pulling down the Spaniards jeans and boxers just enough so his cock was exposed. They couldn't take off too much, his dad was at the race, he had to have some kind of excuse if he knocked.

He looked back up at Fernando, needing some form of confirmation that he was doing alright. The Spaniard knew what he needed so he nodded, hand still on Lance's cheek as he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out slightly.

At first he just licked the tip, surprised Fernando was already leaking precum just from the sight of Lance on his knees.

He was taking too long in Fernandos opinion, he had to hold himself back from forcing himself all the way inside and taking advantage of Lance's mouth. But he could only hold back for so long.

Lance wrapped his lips around just the tip, cautiously taking in more, not wanting to scrape his teeth against the sensitive skin. As he got closer to the base he began to gag, Fernando's cock too large to fit all the way inside.

The Canadian looked up again, apologizing with his eyes for not being able to take it all.

"C'mon, Lancito, can you not take it all? Am I too big for your pretty little mouth?"

Lance hummed in response, cock twitching at the sight of Fernandos face contorting from the sensation.

"Do you need my help, Mi sol?" He asked, letting go of Lance's face, silently telling him it was okay to pull away and he did.

He looked up at Fernando and nodded, pleading for the older mans help.

"Use your words." He said harshly, something about his tone making Lance squirm under his gaze

"Please, need you to help me, papi." Lance whined, face lighting up when Fernando moved his hand to the back of the boys head, gripping his hair slightly.

Fernando started slow, being patient and gentle with the boy as he tried to fit his full length inside his mouth. He felt as his tip hit the back of Lance's throat, the Canadian gagging again.

He realized that if he continued at this pace nothing would get done. Lance would simply continue to gag around him if he didn't force himself further.

He gradually picked up the pace, watching as Lance's eyes squeezed shut as he repeatedly thrusted into the back of his throat.

The boy started drooling, spit dribbling down his chin as Fernando only got faster. Lance's eyes filled with tears quickly, already looking so dishevelled and the Spaniard had barely started.

Lance tried his best to keep his teeth covered, not caring how much he gagged or how many tears he shed if he was making Fernando feel good. His vision was blurry, unable to see the expression on the mans face but the stream of noises leaving his lips confirmed he was getting at least some form of pleasure out of this.

The shorter man only got rougher, grip tightening as his cock twitched in Lance's mouth, practically shoving Lance into the door behind him over and over as he pulled his head back and forth onto his dick.

It was weird, to Lance, how much he was enjoying being used by Fernando like this. No matter how much he gagged or drooled or cried he still found himself getting closer and closer to his release every time Fernando's tip slammed into the back of his throat.

Lance closes his eyes again and attempts to relax his throat. Even as he tries to open himself up more of the Spaniard he's well aware he's not able to comfortably take Fernando's full length in his mouth, it still seems like progress.

Fernando continues at the same exhausting pace, not even thinking about stopping until he feels himself getting closer, knowing that if he continues like this he wont be able to for long.

Lance could tell, the way the Spaniards cock twitched in his mouth and his moans slowly turned to groans he knew his boyfriend was getting closer. His only goal was to make Fernando cum.

"Fuck, Lancito." The older man muttered, pulling away from Lance, watching as his cock stayed connected to the boy through strings of saliva. "Such a good boy for me, letting me use your pretty throat, did so good."

Lance whimpered at the praise, close to his own release even without being touched. He couldn't form words but he was praying the look on his face said enough. Need your cum.

Fernando let go of the boys hair, smoothing it down gently, only now feeling bad for how rough he'd been. When his eyes met Lance's again he knew what he needed, know how much of a cum slut he could be.

"Go on, take what you need."

That was all he needed, he reached out and began stroking Fernandos length, pleased with how little it took to make the Spaniard cum. He painted the Canadians face with thin white streaks, slowly dripping down his pale skin. He was almost embarrassed at the fact that Fernando cumming on his face is what pushed him over the edge.

"Bet Sebastian could never make you feel this good, hm, Lancito?" He asked, pulling his boxers and jeans back up before kneeling, adoring the pathetic sight of Lancs sticking his tongue out to collect what he could, swallowing as much cum he could reach.

"No, papi," The boy shook his head, a mix of cum and tears on his cheeks as he met Fernando's gaze. "Only you can make me feel this good, Nando"

His voice was hoarse, jaw sore as he waited for more orders from Fernando

"Good, now let's get you cleaned up then warn your trainer about the mess she'll find in your suit." Fernando hummed, helping Lance get up before wiping off his face with tissues the Canadian happened to have in the corner of the small room.

73 notes · View notes

sunsburns · 1 month

Text

four or five moments (ii.)

pairing: wade wilson/deadpool x fem!assassin!reader

summary: you're literally just trying to do your job, and it's going great so far, you've killed trask, all you have left is to stop that truck from leaving new york. few problems: deadpool can't stay dead, you're having a moral dilemma and why is that car getting closer? oh shit-!

—or: deadpool literally hits you with a car

word count: 4k+

warnings: fem reader, wade being nasty, flirting, sex jokes, canon violence, there isn't too much plot, blood, strange conversations about morality, wade being annoying, he also breaks the fourth wall a few times, i did not pre-read this pls bare with spelling mistakes

notes: i was peer pressured to write this. it literally strays off from the og plot so bad you get whiplash!!

part one

All you really need is four or five moments.

Four or five moments to prove that you're better than them, that you wouldn't stoop as low, to prove that an eye for an eye will only leave two people blind. No blood will bring mercy. No. But it might get you some peace of mind knowing that they can't hurt you anymore, knowing that there's one less asshole on the earth that's trying to hurt you and the people you care about. It is heartless, you're well aware, but you are not trained to have much of a heart, much less to care.

You remind yourself of that fact as lights blur into neon streaks and speeding vehicles race by. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline sharpening your senses, and the stab wound on your leg becomes a distant throb.

You leap onto a motorcycle conveniently left unattended by a fleeing warehouse worker, hot-wiring it with practiced ease. The engine roars to life, and you peel out onto the road, weaving through traffic. The bike vibrates beneath you, a sleek, powerful beast responding to your every command.

Behind you, Deadpool is a persistent shadow. You catch glimpses of his red suit and mask as he commandeers a car, recklessly swerving through lanes to catch up to you. His determination is infuriating, but you can't afford to be distracted. You grit your teeth, focusing on the chase.

Your earpiece crackles to life, and a familiar voice comes through. "I've got eyes on your tracker," your handler says. "They're heading towards the docks. Be careful; we don't know if it's a set-up."

"Understood," you reply, voice steady despite the chaos.

As you near the docks, the industrial landscape looms ahead, a labyrinth of shipping containers and cranes casting long shadows in the dim light. The truck is just ahead, its taillights glowing like beacons.

You accelerate closer, and with one hand, you grab an energy gun, in a quick movement, you shoot at the truck doors, immediately regaining your grip on the handle afterwards. The doors fly open, revealing giant metal scraps and wooden crates.

You nearly curse, swerving out of the way when a pipe tumbles out from the back of the truck, crashing onto the road. The clang of metal on asphalt echoes in your ears. You slow down by the truck's blind spot, knowing you'd have to stop it, especially now that the cargo was confirmed to be in it.

You stay ready with your gun, pulling it from the holster on your thigh. You wait a beat, then another, and as the truck starts to pick up speed, you make your move and roll up to the driver's window, shooting through the glass. The bullet flies through the driver's head, causing him to slump forward, pressing on the horn. The blaring sound drowns out your second shot, which takes down the man in the passenger seat before he can shoot you.

The truck starts to slow, veering erratically before it crashes into a building with a deafening crunch of metal and shattering glass. The impact takes down a few light posts and parked cars, sending debris flying. Broken electrical wires dance and crackle around the wreck, their sparks reflected in the spray of a burst fire hydrant.

"Great job," your handler's voice crackles through your comms. "Dispose of the truck. No witnesses—"

The connection cuts off as you are violently hit from the side by a black car. The force of the impact sends you flying off your bike, tumbling across the rough asphalt. Your suit and helmet take most of the fall, tearing and cracking under the friction. Your visor shatters, the protective plastic lining breaking at the base.

You feel the sting and burn of broken skin on your arms and legs, grime and dirt mixing with the blood seeping from your cuts. Your vision is blurred, and a high-pitched ringing fills your ears. Every breath you take is shallow and painful, your ribs protesting with each inhale. Biting the inside of your cheek, you push yourself to pull off your broken helmet, tossing it aside. You blink hard, trying to focus your vision and spot a figure approaching.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, you recognize the distinctive red and black suit. Deadpool. He strides towards you with casual confidence, katana in hand, his eyes hidden behind the mask but undoubtedly filled with a mix of amusement and determination. The streetlights cast eerie shadows on his suit, highlighting the dried blood and grime.

"Please, don't be mad, honeybuns." Deadpool's irritating voice is the first thing you can hear when the ringing stops. He's standing before you, gloved hands out for you to take.

You don't move, heaving, "What the fuck, Wade?"

"Oh, are we on a first-name basis now? I think I like it." Wade Wilson hums, and when you still don't take his hands, he kneels before you. The smell of sweat and gunpowder wafts off him, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. "I know this all seems a little confusing—"

"You hit me with a fucking car, you dick!" you belt out, eyes wide with rage. The pain and exhaustion make your voice hoarse, every word a struggle.

"Well, yes. But it's only fair—"

"Fuck you."

"Listen to me." He says a little desperately, and you're glaring at him through your tears. Wade doesn't let it get to him, instead, he calls out your name, barely above a whisper as he looks at you. "You are getting innocent people killed." He tells you. "Look around. This might not be a cul-de-sac, but there are civilians, and they're hurt. We need to leave. You need to call it."

You glance over his shoulder, tired eyes scanning the area. He was right. Dock workers are running around, shouting and helping people out of the old building the truck had crashed into. It's late at night, but not late enough for the place to be deserted; people are still at work, still trying to get by.

You wince as you watch a pregnant woman being led out of a crashed car by her husband, a gash on her head. The smell of gasoline and burning rubber fills the air, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke from the crashed truck.

"Killing shitty people is one thing," Deadpool tells you, and you hate the way his voice is almost earnest. His tone is different, more serious, a stark contrast to his usual unserious demeanour. "But I'm familiar with your no-witnesses rule. This would just be mass murder if I let you keep going. Not exactly my piece of cake. Just..."

He stops, letting his head hang for a moment as if he were too repulsed to say it. You can see his shoulders slump slightly, a rare show of genuine emotion. "Oh god, I can't believe I'm about to say this," he grumbles, "Four or five moments. That's all it takes. Just stop and think. It's all it takes to be a hero."

You grit your teeth, hating that Wade Wilson is your voice of reason. The biggest asshole in New York, and here he is lecturing you on morality.

Hairs are falling out of your braid and sticking to your forehead, yet you don't care. Sweat mixes with blood, creating a sticky mess on your skin. You can only glare at him. "You're the last fucking person who should be telling me how to be a hero."

Wade sighs, loud and obnoxious, his mask wrinkling around his eyes as he scrunches up his face. "I'm sorry I hit you with a car. You kinda deserved it after killing Trask. He was my last chance at becoming pretty again. Now I have to stalk another crazy scientist." He taps his chin thoughtfully, "I always figured I'd end up chasing a mad scientist again, but not under these circumstances."

It's when you can no longer hold yourself up with your arms that Wade takes in the gravity of your injuries. He winces, watching you crumble to the ground before him. "Oh, wow, that's a lot of blood," he notes, his voice suddenly devoid of humour. The sight of your blood pooling on the asphalt seems to pull him back to reality. "Should I take you to a hospital? How many fingers am I holding up?"

He doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"Three? No. Two? Yikes. It's worse than I thought." Wade stands, and the worry in his voice is poorly masked by his usual sarcasm. "Here we go. Up, up!" When he moves to pick you up, you start turning away, your body protesting every movement.

"Wade, wait—" you rasp, trying to stop him from touching you. Your voice is weak, barely above a whisper.

But it's too late. When he reaches for you, your body phases, a faint white glow surrounding you as his hands and arms fall through your body as if you're a ghost. He recoils, jumping back while a squeamish sound escapes his lips. He stares at you, then his hands, then back at you on the ground as you try to sit up again, confusion and amazement written all over his masked face.

"Oh. My. Motherfucking. Fuckballs." Wade gasped, eyes wide behind his mask. "Did my hand just go through you or is all that cocaine finally kicking in?"

You ignore him, holding onto your side as it throbs with pain. Every movement sends sharp, agonizing waves through your body. "Fuck."

"No way, you're a fucking mutant?" His tone is a mix of awe and excitement, like a kid discovering a new toy.

It's not like you kept it a secret. You used your abilities whenever you needed to, and sure, it was useful at times, especially in your line of work when you needed to get through locked doors and hidden rooms or just for the element of surprise. But it's draining. Leaves you winded after only a matter of seconds. You've always had a hard time controlling it when you're slightly delusional though. You must've hit your head really hard. Maybe that's why you haven't shot Deadpool, yet.

"Shut up, Wade."

"Hey, no need to be ashamed of it." He reassures you while trying to pick you up again. This time, he is more cautious, his movements slower and more deliberate. When he succeeds, you can tell he's grinning like a child underneath the mask.

He carries you back to the same fuckass car he hit you with, holding you with one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. There's a faint skip to his step as if you're not on the verge of losing consciousness. While kicking open the back door, Wade continues his chatter, and you really wish he'd killed you on impact.

"Being a mutant is great! Plus, it's not the early two thousands anymore, or whatever timeline Stewart was in. Man, they sure did hate mutants in that trilogy."

He sets you down in the back seat gently, his hands surprisingly delicate. "You know, I always knew you were different. You hit me harder than regular people. I just figured you really hated me."

"I do." you mutter.

"Oh, my little sweet buns, I'm sure you do." To your annoyance, he pokes your nose playfully. "But you can't hate me too much right now, I'm literally your knight in shining armor. See, I can be nice, especially to my fellow mercs. You'd bleed to death if I left you there."

"Only because you hit me with a fucking car," you snap, the pain and frustration boiling over.

"Good to know you're still harboring great anger towards that. Means you're still conscious. Keep being mean to me, baby, that's how I'll know you're okay." He pauses before shutting the door, looking at you lying on the backseat, bleeding and all the glory that comes from it. "And it also turns me on a little bit. God, I can't believe your suit is torn and not one bit of extra cleavage is exposed. What will it take for a guy to get some rated R nudity over here?"

And with that, he slams the door shut, the car shaking with the force of it. The sound makes the ringing return to your ears, and you bite back the urge to curse him. He takes a seat in the driver's seat, starting the engine and rushing out of the scene before first responders arrive. The car roars to life, and as he speeds away, you feel your consciousness slipping, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you.

The two of you sit in silence for the most part, only the sounds of the engine running and Wade humming the tune of a song you think is from The Greatest Showman soundtrack. You force yourself to stay awake. Mostly because you don't trust him, but it's also because you fear that if you let your eyes close you won't wake up again. Yeah, it's mostly because you don't trust Wade Wilson.

"Where are you taking me?" you finally ask, and you hate the way your voice sounds weak, barely above a whisper.

"Just a little safe house I know." He tells you, glancing back at you for a quick moment. "Very homey, trust me."

"What about the shipment?" you murmur, your mind struggling to stay focused.

"What?"

"The truck," you repeat, fighting to keep your eyes open.

"Oh, don't worry. That's no longer our problem." He says, "We're about to enter a whole new setting. That truck is forgotten plot."

Wade takes a sharp turn, and you wince as your body shifts uncomfortably in the back seat. The pain is getting worse, each bump in the road sending jolts of agony through your body. You grit your teeth, trying to stay conscious, but it's a losing battle.

After what feels like an eternity, the car finally comes to a stop. Wade gets out and you hear his footsteps crunching on gravel as he walks around to your door. He opens it carefully this time, his usual wiseass demeanour replaced by a rare show of genuine concern. He scoops you up gently, and you're too weak to protest.

The last thing you remember, before everything goes black, is the sight of a grand mansion looming ahead, its imposing silhouette framed by the moonlight. The large iron gates creak open as Wade carries you through them, the gravel path crunching under his boots. The mansion, with its towering spires and Gothic architecture, looks like something out of a fairy tale, a stark contrast to the violence and chaos you just escaped from.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the softness of the bed beneath you. The second thing you notice is the smell of lavender and the faint hum of medical equipment. You try to sit up, but a sharp pain in your side makes you gasp.

"Whoa, easy there," a deep, accented voice says from beside you. You turn your head slowly, the motion making your vision swim. A towering, metal-skinned mutant sits by your bed, his imposing figure softened by a look of genuine concern. "You need to rest. You are badly injured."

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you rasp, "Where am I?"

"The X-Mansion," he replies in a soothing tone, the accent heavy but comforting. "Wade brought you here. You’re safe now. I am Colossus."

You try to take in your surroundings, your head feeling heavy as you look around. The room is vast and elegant, with high ceilings that seem to reach the heavens. The walls are adorned with rich tapestries and framed paintings, depicting serene landscapes and grand historical scenes.

Large windows let in the soft, golden glow of morning light, casting gentle shadows that dance across the floor. It’s a far cry from the dingy, rundown places you’re used to, especially that old apartment with its creaky floors and peeling wallpaper.

Your eyes finally land on Wade, who is slouched in a chair in the corner. He’s flipping through a Playboy magazine with exaggerated interest, still in his dirty suit from the night before.

When he sees you stir, he grins and waves a hand in your direction. "Morning, sunshine," he says cheerfully, his voice carrying an unnerving mix of sincerity and teasing. "You gave us quite a scare. But, I've got to say, that hospital gown is doing wonders for your figure. I love the blue. Great contrast to that black you're always wearing."

You roll your eyes, too exhausted to respond properly. The gown feels scratchy against your skin, and every movement sends sharp pangs of pain through your body.

Colossus, noticing your discomfort, shifts slightly. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice deep and steady.

"Like I got hit by a truck," you mutter, sending a glare in Wade's direction.

Colossus chuckles, the sound deep and resonant, like rolling thunder. "Do not worry about him. We will take care of you."

Despite the throbbing pain and overwhelming fatigue, a wave of relief washes over you. For the first time in a long while, you're surrounded by people who genuinely want to help. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the softness of the bed. "Thank you," you whisper, the words feeling strangely comforting. For once, you don’t feel the need to be constantly on guard.

Wade's grin widens as he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out and adjusting his mask. "Anytime, honeybuns. Anytime."

As you drift in and out of consciousness, you feel the cool, soothing touch of a wet cloth on your forehead. The gentle pressure is a welcome contrast to the persistent throbbing pain.

The sound of soft murmurs and quiet footsteps fills the room, creating a cocoon of calm around you. At some point, you notice Colossus's massive hands, surprisingly gentle, as he carefully tends to your wounds, applying bandages with precision.

Eventually, a teenager with short hair and a no-nonsense expression enters the room. You learn her name is Negasonic Teenage Warhead. She carries a phone in one hand, handing Colossus a stack of clean bandages with the other. The faint scent of antiseptic and medicinal herbs fills the air, mixing with the crispness of the freshly laundered bed linens.

Hours pass, or maybe it's days—it's difficult to gauge. When you next wake, the room is dimly lit, the golden light replaced by the softer hues of early evening. The pain has dulled to a manageable throb, and the heaviness in your limbs is slightly alleviated. Wade is still there, his previous outfit swapped for sweatpants and a dark green sweater, though he keeps his red and black mask on. He lounges in the chair beside your bed, now engrossed in an iPad, giggling softly to himself.

"Oh, man. Instagram reels are crazy," he snorts, shaking his head as he scrolls through the screen.

He looks up and hums when he sees you're awake again. "You're tougher than you look," he comments, turning off the iPad with a flick of his wrist. "Most people would have keeled over by now."

"You wish."

"Oh, trust me, I do." Wade nods vigorously, his mask bobbing with the motion. "I tried injecting poison into your IV, but your body rejected it."

"Don't worry. My handler will kill me for you."

Wade groans, dramatically rolling his eyes as he gets up from the chair. "You’re still worried about that? I already told you, the truck and all that shit is past plot. We’re in the sequel now, babe. There are new rules. Who knows, maybe this is your redemption arc where you join the X-Men. Though, I will miss your assassin era. You were so sexy in that suit."

You make a face, "Fuck off."

Just then, the door opens with a soft creak, and Colossus enters with a tray in hand. He’s followed closely by Negasonic, who carries a stack of fresh bandages. Colossus places the tray on a small table beside your bed with practiced ease. The tray is filled with a bowl of steaming soup and a couple of slices of crusty bread, the aroma wafting up and making your stomach rumble.

"How are you feeling?" Colossus asks, his voice calm and reassuring as he sets the tray down.

"Better," you admit, managing a small smile. "Thanks to you guys."

Negasonic shrugs nonchalantly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her usual scowl. "Don’t mention it. Just doing our job."

Wade groans, clearly troubled by the kindness. "Oh great, now you’re all buddy-buddy. What am I, chopped liver?"

Colossus chuckles, the sound of a comforting rumble. "You must eat something. It will help you regain your strength."

You nod gratefully, and with Colossus’s help, you manage to sit up enough to sip the warm, comforting soup. The broth is rich and flavorful, and the bread is soft and fresh. As you eat, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of belonging. Despite the pain and the chaos, you’re surrounded by people who care, and for now, that’s enough.

Wade, not one to be left out, scoots his chair closer, setting it right next to your bed. He stretches out, propping his elbows on his knees as he leans in. "So, what do you think of the X-Mansion? Pretty swanky, right? Lots of rooms, big kitchen, danger room for training... and other things."

Negasonic scoffs, her eyes narrowing. "Gross."

You finish your meal, feeling a bit stronger. As Colossus helps you settle back into the bed, you glance at Wade. "Why did you bring me here?"

Wade’s expression shifts, becoming uncharacteristically serious. He looks at you with sincerity. "Because you’re one of us. And because... well, everyone deserves a second chance."

You blink, surprised by the depth of his words. Before you can respond, he’s back to his usual self, grinning and turning on his iPad. "Plus, it’s not every day I get to play hero. I gotta milk it for all it’s worth. And no, Colossus, I will not join your boy band, thank you very much."

The metal man grunts, waving a hand dismissively before walking out, Negasonic following right behind him. Wade stays seated next to you, his lips curled into a wide, amused grin that seems to stretch just a bit too far was he watches you.

"You're never gonna take that off?" you ask him.

Wade's laughter is a low, rumbling sound that feels almost too bright for the quiet room. "Oh, no fucking way," he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m ugly under this. Trust me. You’d be repulsed. Like, horror movie-level repulsed."

You give him a look, your eyebrow arched in disbelief. "I doubt it."

Wade leans in closer, the grin on his face widening. He taps his chin thoughtfully with a gloved finger, the gesture oddly contemplative. "Maybe next time I’ll take it off for you," he says, a taunting tone in his voice as he raises his brows. "Maybe that and a little more."

"There's a next time?"

"I mean, as the famous words of Natasha Bedingfield say: the rest is still underwritten."

"God, you’re fucking ridiculous," you mutter, the words coming out with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "I can’t wait to get out of here and never see you again."

Wade's shoulders slump, the white eyes of his mask narrow at you, "What, that's it? No steamy sex? No heavy petting? Is this how it ends? Not even a kiss?"

"Fuck no. Get out."

reblog to support your writers!

1K notes · View notes