An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I posted this anonymously to Ao3 because it’s dark and I didn’t really want to give people the wrong impression of me… But now I want attention, so, if y’all like Dead Dove stuff— seriously, read the warnings/tags and don’t read the fic if you think it will negatively impact your mental health —then please check this out. It’s X-Men Origins Wolverine!Wade x Reader. 🤍 I have more fics in the works so don’t feel like you need to read this to get your Daddypool fix
Writing a First Touch Birthmark Soulmate AU for Wade and a self-conscious reader who has the ability to possess people and objects (and therefore doesn’t spend a lot of time in their physical body, so his mark is ‘activated’ before theirs.) I’m at a point where I’m equally split into a lot of different directions for how it could go, so help me out…
He sees you in your body when you aren’t expecting (funny, sweet)
He sees you in your body when you aren’t expecting (hurt/comfort)
He doesn’t see you in your body (smut, let’s get freaky)
He sees you in your body when you’re ready (sweet)
He sees you in your body when you’re ready (sweet & smut)
Comparison is the Thief of Joy (And Orgasms) (18+)
warnings/tags: Porn WITH Plot, Miscommunication, Oral Sex - Both Parties Give and Receive, Minor Angst, Insecure!Reader, Mutant!Reader, Wade Gets some Bones Broken (on Accident), Canon-Typical Swearing
notes: This is the sequel to Summa Cum Laude that no one asked for, but I felt like writing some smut for Wade and this reader. I was not expecting to go to ~that drama place~ with them. I’m open to writing a 3rd part with PIV but when I tried to do it at the end of this one, it just didn’t flow right. This might be the first time ever that I've plopped an image— which I wrote some pretty detailed alt text for, do give me some pointers if it's not quite right —in the middle of a fic, but honestly, it makes the whole fic worth reading imo.
synopsis: You and Wade finally have sex, then cockblock yourselves by overthinking it.
Part 1!
“Oh, god… Please, Wade, please,” you whimper so sweetly that he thinks he’s gonna need dentures by the end of the night. His boxers— the only thing he’s wearing right now, after some coaxing from you —are feeling tighter and tighter by the minute.
He looks up at you from between your propped-open legs. You’re trying desperately not to squirm and you fail when your eyes meet, biting your bottom lip and curling your fingers in the sheets a little tighter.
“Please?” you ask again, softer. He grins against your inner thigh before nipping at it and making you yelp softly. The flush of the bite fades quickly, just like the dozens of hickies he’d tried to give you before realizing dinner (his blood) was still coursing through you enough to ensure that no wound, no matter how lovingly given, would remain for a meaningful amount of time.
“Oh, you are just too much. I should be the one begging you to let me do this,” he says with a chuckle, hooking his fingers in your last article of clothing and pulling it off. With your soaked underwear out of the way, he can see what soaked it — a rose between your legs in a delectable shade, dripping with nectar.
He eases closer. You two have talked about this subject enough for him to know he’s not your first, but he’s still got an edge over you in age and experience, so he’s not in any rush. This is just the beginning.
But then, as soon as his breath is fanning over your most delicate, private place…
You shriek out a “No!” and kick him in the face.
Resetting his nose, he gets up from where you launched him off the bed.
“I’ll take ‘Under-Negotiated Kinks’ for $500, Alex,” he remarks, but seeing your stricken expression, he quickly realizes humor really isn’t the way to deal with whatever the fuck just happened. “Are you okay? You could’ve just said something if you’re not feeling it, babe.”
“Sorry, I- I panicked.”
“I… Figured that one out, hon.”
“Right,” you sigh, burying your face in your hands with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I just- It just occurred to me that you might not be able to do that.”
“Uh, princess, let me assure you, I most certainly am able to do that. I’m quite good at it, actually. I have a 4.8 star rating on Yelp.”
“No, I meant-” You look up at him with a groan before shuffling further back on the bed and curling up defensively, to hide yourself from him. That certainly won’t do. “Fuck, this is humiliating…”
“It smelled fine, I’m sure it tastes even better. And I like it the way you’ve got it; honestly, I’d be cool with it if you didn’t shave or trim at all, let it grow out! Makes a man feel rugged, and besides, at least one of us should have hair.”
“Not- Not that, Wade, I mean- The- The stuff down there, the… Organic lube, discharge, whatever you wanna call it… It’s got plasma in it. Y’know. Like blood.”
“Oh,” he squeaks. “So, there’s a good chance I literally won’t be able to do that.”
“Yeah,” you breathe, still grimacing. “I’m so sorry.”
“Whoa, hey, wait a minute,” he chides you. “First of all, you might have just saved my life. Secondly, as much of a cunning linguist as I am, I can live without it. Thirdly, we don’t know for sure. Have you ever gotten someone’s powers from mumbling in the moss?”
“Mumbling in the-” Despite your mortification, you giggle, shaking your head. “That’s a new one. I… Actually kind of love it. But no, not unless they were on their period.”
“Well, it doesn’t burn you, as far as I can tell. Has anyone ever gotten healed up by going pearl diving with you?”
“Not that I know of,” you admit, seeing what he’s getting at. “But-“
Your concerns, while valid, are swallowed by him as soon as he effortlessly drags your bottom half to the edge of the bed and his mouth engulfs your pulsing heat. It doesn’t take you long to get close, every poke and flick and swirl of his tongue making your thighs press harder against the sides of his head.
You moan between gasps, your grip on the sheets only growing tighter.
“Fuck, ‘m gonna… So…”
He draws back and you have to bite back a groan at the denial, though it emanates from your throat just enough for your frustration to be heard.
“Just wanted to point out how alive and well I am,” he assures you, standing over you now, but his grin is far too mischievous. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“And what a relief it is,” you sigh out, because yes, it is a relief, but you’re going to need a different form of it. Then he slides two fingers in and once he curls them, you let out a noise that is the most devastatingly needy thing either of you has ever heard.
“Uh-oh, did I find your good girl button? Not that I really need to press it, you’re awfully sweet, but I sure do like to watch your brain melt out of your ears. What do you think?”
“Ghk, mmn, fuh-uck, Wade…” Your legs part wider as your hips twitch against him, seeking more, more, more.
“Not thinking much at all. Perfect!”
He sinks back down to his knees, still coiling his fingers deep inside, before reintroducing his tongue to your most sensitive place.
You get quieter as you get closer, keening whines devolving into precious little squeaks as your legs twitch and stutter around him.
Then, with a harsh gasp, you break his fingers. He holds in the reflexive whimper just long enough for you to do it again. And again.
Not that you mean to, of course. Your walls are closing in on him, your insides pulsing with the force of your orgasm, and again, your dinner was his blood. The superstrength has not worn off yet.
Once he’s worked you through it, he carefully pulls his shattered digits out. The crackling of him orienting them back into place snaps you out of your post-orgasm daze in the blink of an eye.
You sit straight up, hand flying to your agape mouth.
“Oh, my god, Wade, I’m so sorry, are you-“
“Still alive and well, beautiful. Totally worth it… But I’d rather not see the same happen to my undercarriage — you understand, right?”
You nod fretfully before you gesture to the aching bulge in his boxers, a soaked spot of precome prominent.
“I can still, uh… Return the favor. Just no deepthroating, I’m guessing,” you suggest with a sheepish smile.
“Much appreciated,” he concurs as he climbs up onto your bed. He’s under you in an instant, and you’re kissing him, ravishing his neck just as fervently as he did yours at the start of all this. You trace your tongue along the ridges of his scarred skin with an intoxicating mix of reverence and lust that only makes him throb harder.
Your drenched core is pressed against him through his boxers, and it’s tempting to just give in to the urge to bury himself in you, as excruciating as it would come to be once you reached the peak of bliss. You tease his neck with your teeth, and his hands tangle in your hair. Simultaneously, a delightful moan escapes him.
“Oh, I can’t possibly take another bite,” you rasp against his swirled skin. “I’m already so full… And I’d really like it if I could be filled up with something else later, wouldn’t you?”
He lets out a string of breathless, incoherent babble, his hips lifting to press himself harder against you.
It’s a rush unlike anything else you’ve ever known. He is. It was always him. There was never another option — you even had the foolish idea to try, more than once, to make it work with other people.
But no. No. This is everything you’ve ever wanted, even if you’re having to take things slower than you’d planned tonight.
You tug down his boxers, deftly teasing his length with your slick cleft.
“Gotta season the meat before you eat, huh?” he asks shakily, his brown eyes wide with need as his chest heaves. His hands snap to your hips, stilling them. Bruises left by his force appear before swiftly cycling out: red, purple, yellow, gone. A whiny sigh escapes him.
“I do quite enjoy my own cooking,” you reply in a murmur. “Especially the way it tastes on you. But you gotta let go if I’m gonna get down there, Wade. Can you let go?”
“Let it marinate,” he says just as quietly, still staring at your core, pressed against him in the most torturously tantalizing way, before he looks up to meet your eyes. “Fuck...”
“In a bit. Maybe I can down some water to speed up the process. Not before you’ve had your turn, though.”
“No, just- Is it even possible? For two people to be this perfect for each other? This doesn’t even feel real.”
“I broke your nose. And your fingers,” you remind him with a soft chuckle, if only to make sure he doesn’t completely lose himself; if only to confirm once more that he really doesn’t mind.
“Small price to pay to know you’re well-fed and comfortable, I’d say,” he replies, and while a bit of his usual lightheartedness returns, there’s an undercurrent of something in his tone that tells you that he means it wholeheartedly. His grip on your hips finally loosens, and you work your way down his body before taking him into your mouth.
Wade’s hands return to your hair, less haphazardly than before. He pushes it out of your face, before reaching down to caress your cheek.
“Easy on the suction, baby,” he warns you in a rushed squeak. You hum in acknowledgment and look up to watch the way his soul nearly leaves his body.
Even with you being careful not to literally suck him off, it doesn’t take long for him to unravel — his grip tightens in your hair, but he courteously doesn’t force himself deeper. He just needs something to cling to as his ecstasy pumps into you.
Once he’s no longer audibly shuddering and you can see more than the whites of his eyes, he gently tugs you away just to pull you back in, though higher up than before. He wraps you in his arms with a long, pleased sigh.
“Our strengths and skillsets continue to be complimentary to each other,” he remarks, nuzzling the top of your head and breathing in the sweet musk that is you. He’s seemingly sated.
You’re practically vibrating. From your perspective, it’s a miracle you didn’t turn into a useless, blushing mess the second he got hard — the rest is just icing on the cake. And now you’re cuddling. Naked.
It’s by no means the first time you’ve done this, but it’s the first time with him, and that… Well, that means a lot, considering you’ve been pining after him for basically as long as you’ve had the capability to be truly attracted to someone.
That restless energy ebbs away as he continues to hold you in place, the silence becoming tense after the first five minutes.
“Surely, I’m not that good,” you softly prompt him. “What’s going on? I didn’t hurt you again, did I?”
He shakes his head, holding you a little tighter.
“No, just still stuck on the fact that you’re… Well, you. And you actually want… Well, me.”
“Think you’ll ever get unstuck on that? I haven’t managed to escape the inverse, I could use some tips,” you reply, smiling against him.
Soon enough, though, you’re tapping out by gently patting his chest. He loosens his grip, a wrinkle of concern between where his eyebrows would be.
“Showtime. Be right back,” you tell him in a giddy whisper, wriggling out of his embrace and heading to the attached bathroom.
When you return, though, he’s pretending to be asleep. You can tell he’s pretending by the way his breathing sounds, the way he holds himself. It’s too measured, he’s too still.
You really messed up, didn’t you? You’d asked if he was okay multiple times, and he brushed you off, so clearly he wanted this, but…
Were you too eager? Too nervous? Too loud? Too quiet? Too needy? Too aloof?
You look down at your body. Maybe you’re not his type? Even if the emotional connection is there, if you’re big and small in the “wrong” places, he might’ve been trying to force himself to enjoy the physical.
You turn back around and head for the shower, still balmy with sweat and not wanting to disturb him with the scent of your tears burning your cheeks.
As you scrub yourself down, self-deprecating thoughts continue to plague you. You’re never gonna feel fully at home in this body. You still haven’t had it for as long as you were the way you were before. Maybe that’s what it was. Maybe he could sense that you aren’t fully in tune with yourself, and that turned him off.
He’s actually asleep when you return, and you settle down on the opposite side of your bed feeling more alone than if he weren’t there at all.
The sound of Wade saying your name in a careful, inquisitive tone is what wakes you. You're not sure why he sounds so concerned until the memories of last night come rushing back in. Damn it, you’d hoped you’d wake up before he did, that you’d eat before he could see how you felt.
“Damn it. This is exactly what I was worried about,” he mutters, and your stomach drops. You’re too emotional, then? Was that the issue? You didn’t think you’d been exceptionally difficult last night, well, other than panicking and kicking him in the face, but he didn’t seem to mind that too much once he understood… Or maybe he just pretended he didn’t mind. “We don’t have to do anything like that ever again.”
“O- Okay,” you stammer in the face of his disappointed expression. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, pulling you into his arms just as he did last night.
“No, I am,” he says. He really hated it that much? Why didn’t he say anything?
“Do you want me to, uh, make you breakfast? Or we can go out?”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ve got a job to get to. Honestly, I probably should’ve left sooner, but I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving my little cuddlebunny on her lonesome,” he coos, his embrace tightening around you before he lets go. He presses a big kiss to your cheek, then heaves himself out of bed to suit up.
“There’s a spare toothbrush and all that in the bathroom,” you tell him. He nods, heading that way. At least he doesn’t hate you, even if he apparently hates having sex with you. He did put it off for a while… Maybe you two can have an open relationship or something.
When he comes back, you’re sitting up in bed and contemplating everything that’s happened over the last 12 hours. It must show in your expression, because he hums fretfully, smooching your forehead.
“I’ll be back before you know it, ‘kay? Get some more rest.”
With that, he’s out the door.
He returns a few days later, baddies unalived and wallet bulging, to be smacked upside the head by a rolled-up issue of Fangoria.
“You fucking moron,” Ellie spits at him.
“Jesus Christ on a bike, the fuck did I do?! I literally just got here!”
Ellie scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“You know what you did.”
“Oh. Right. Girls talk about that stuff. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t really realize until after that it probably wasn’t a good idea to add my name to that list.”
“That list? Seriously?! You literally almost married a sex worker, and now you’re acting like she of all people is, what, too much of a slut for you?!”
“Whoa, whoa, no! I meant that list of people who always fucking- They take and they take and they don’t even think about it! They’d drain her dry if it didn’t mean she’d fucking die, they keep her alive just so they can take more! They use her body for their own selfish benefit, I can’t stand it!”
Ellie’s furious expression dissipates.
“Oh,” she says quietly. “We have a problem. You have a problem. Do you know where Conference Room E is?”
“I could probably find it, yeah.”
Ellie scoffs and rolls her eyes.
“Just follow me. I should probably check on them anyway, and if they think it’s just me, they’ll unlock the door without erasing the evidence.”
“Evidence?” Wade echoes inquisitively, but Ellie just shakes her head as they proceed.
“You’ll see. Still a fucking moron, by the way.”
“What-"
“Shh!” she hisses. They pass the library and make a right in silence, reaching the last door on the left, the placard outside reading Conference Room E as promised. Ellie knocks.
“We have the room booked until three, sorry!” Yukio chirps.
“It’s me,” Ellie speaks up, and Yukio opens the door. Ellie gently nudges her aside, and Wade enters to see you standing in front of a whiteboard.
There’s a multi-Venn Diagram, the outer ring of circles listing Wolverine, Stefan Salvatore, Bowl of Cherries, Vanessa, Stuffed Unicorn, and Spider-Man. He can’t read what’s in the center, but the intersections have notes in different colors — pink is clearly Yukio, yellow is Ellie, and there’s notes in your favorite color, too.
“I’m stumped. I think it’s clear based on this sampling that I have things in common with the people, fictional characters, and inanimate objects he’s expressed sexual attraction to, but what do they all have in common that I don’t have?”
“Um,” Yukio squeaks, looking between you and Wade. He steps forward, resting his head on top of yours and his hands on your shoulders.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding here,” he says, finding “Me,” written smack dab in the middle of the center circle.
“Shit,” you murmur. “You’re back.”
“Uh-huh... Now, I can draw my own conclusions based on what I’ve already heard, but how about you explain all this to me, yeah?” he asks, releasing one of your shoulders to gesture to the board.
“Well…” you start, and he can practically hear the grimace in your voice. You flinch when the door shuts loudly behind you, and Wade turns to see that Ellie and Yukio have left. “The other night, y’know… You weren’t happy. With what we did. With me. I just thought maybe if I could figure out why-”
He opens his mouth to argue, and while that alone stops you from continuing, you silence him with a look.
“You pretended to be asleep,” you insist, finally fully turning around to face him. Thankfully, there are no more scarred tear trails down your cheeks, but that doesn’t tell him much considering your thermos is on a nearby stool.
“Right. Again: Misunderstanding. I… I didn’t want to be- Everyone’s always taking stuff from you, from your body. Using you. You even told me that when you first started looking like this, you were having to deal with people ogling you. I didn’t- I don’t- I can’t… I would hate myself even more than I already do if I ever made you feel that way.”
You stare up at him in shock, perhaps even awe. He reaches past you and starts erasing the board, huffing in amusement at a few of the notes as he goes. As soon as he sets the eraser down, you’re hugging him.
“Just talk to me next time,” he says through a sigh, running his hands over your hair.
“I could say the same to you,” you grumble into his chest. “There’s a big difference, y’know, between you and the people you’re comparing yourself to: I love you.”
“I could say the same to you.”
You hug him tighter, chuckling against him.
“So… Maybe it’s a bad time to ask, but-“
“Yes,” you interrupt him. “As soon as possible.”
“Awesome, do you want to drive or should I?”
“Drive?”
“Yeah? I mean, we could have we could have the pizza delivered, but then we run the risk of somebody intercepting it, so…” he trails off, noticing the way you step back from him and your poorly-hidden glaring. “Oh. You were saying yes to something else. Really?”
“Yes, really, I’ve been waiting for the last half decade!” you huff, cheeks flushing at his skepticism as you defensively continue: “I’m in peak physical condition all the time, you know what that’s like!”
“Yep, understood. I’ll clear my calendar for the next thirty-six hours.”
“Make it seventy-two.”
“In that case, pizza first? We can’t all have a liquid diet.”
Summa Cum Laude (OR: 3 Times Wade Turned You Down + The 1 Time He Finally Didn’t)
warnings/tags: Reader is Underage When She First Develops Feelings for Wade, Canon-Typical Violence, (Past) Suicide Attempt, (Past) Underage Drinking, Alcohol, Reader is BFFs with Yukisonic, Pansexual Reader, Slow-ish Burn, Reader Falls First Wade Falls Harder, Takes Place Post-DP2 and Pre-D&W
notes: Please let me know if I missed any warnings! I literally wrote all of this today. (My fiancée graduated yesterday and I got inspired.) Much like Blind Date, I could be persuaded to write a part 2 for Wade and this reader if there's demand.
synopsis: Wade has always turned you down, and for good reason. He's... Who he is, and the age gap is questionable at best. The problem, though, is that he never really said no. He just kept adding conditions to his willingness to say yes.
Part 2!
The first time, you didn’t even have to say anything. He’d donated a few pints to the blood bank— your food bank —and you’d skipped up to him, bestowing him with a rather exquisite (and handmade!) thank you card and a smile that, if he was faced with it for much longer, might actually cure his cancer. Too cute for a girl they call Bloodplay.
He’d opened the card, read your (innocuous, to the untrained eye) words, and looked back up at you.
“No,” he said, reflexively. The sparkle in your eye was more than just gratitude. It was innocence— something he could absolutely not handle —and the beginnings of affection, something he could handle even less.
You’re Ellie’s best friend (it’s how he knew about your peculiar diet in the first place) and you’re sixteen and while you’re certainly shaping up to be a beautiful woman, you’re not a woman — you’re a girl. A plaid, pleated skirt is swishing around your thighs with your restless shuffling, paired with a Nine Inch Nails tee shirt with the neck cut out and utterly impractical knee-high platform boots. You’re a good match for the artistic punk pixie.
“No?” you echoed. Your head tipped to the side with confusion, a thoughtful pout sprouted on your face… But the flush on your cheeks told a different story, told him you had at least an inkling of what he was getting at.
“No. Check back when you’re eighteen.”
And so, roughly two years later, is the second time — Russell’s saved, Cable’s sticking around, and you, well…
“Today’s my birthday,” you told him as soon as he drew his wrist away from your mouth, as soon as your eyes opened. You’d gone too far; you’d run out of the capsules that had been filled with small amounts of your blood for you to distribute as a medic and just started cutting yourself open to heal people, to save them.
You were still lying in the rubble, the aftermath, covered in bruises and burns. Your red-and-white X-Men medic outfit, patterned more like Ellie’s but unmistakably similar to Wade’s, is dirty and littered with slashes.
“Well, happy birthday, vampy,” he said, bemused by the fact that that’s the first thing you wanted to tell him. “I think saving your life’s a pretty good gift, yeah? Given the short notice, I didn’t exactly have time to grab a Hot Topic gift card.”
“I’m checking back,” you clarified, unamused for once. You always laughed at his jokes, sparing a chuckle at even the mildest of his remarks.
“Oh,” he blurted. He hardly remembered the throwaway comment, and you two had fostered a pretty decent friendship— or what he thought was friendship —in the time since then. You didn’t judge him as much as the other X-Men. You made steps to understand him, and it didn’t take many. You’re the apex predator. Even he is a meal to you.
“Well?”
“Come on, vampy, you can’t even buy me a drink,” he brushed you off again. Your eyes were still too glittery, catching the sun— even under an overcast sky like today —in a way that made him hurt.
You just groaned and rolled your eyes, but nodded, being a good sport just like the first time as you started to sit up. Ellie cackled. Yukio gave a sympathetic smile, if a bit pitying. Piotr shook his head and scooped you up off the ground.
“We will find you nice boy. Or nice girl! Or nice… Other! Deadpool cannot handle such an intricate thing as you, trust me,” Wade heard him advise you as the four of you made your way back to the quinjet.
Three years pass in the blink of an eye. Your birthdays are in the same month, so the budget-friendly plan to celebrate the milestone birthdays of two pansexuals— your 21 to his 30 —was, naturally, to head to the closest gay bar and party.
It was getting close to last call. Ellie and Yukio Ubered away about thirty minutes ago, Neena and Nathan snuck off to a bathroom with a unicorn about an hour ago, Piotr left about three hours ago, and Dopinder gave Vanessa a ride to work after someone called out at the last minute in the first hour of the event.
It was just you two. A rare occasion, something he’d started deliberately avoiding. You were fretfully nursing “a Pink Fetish with a dash of peach syrup, a spray of whipped cream, and a sugared rim,” which told him this was not your first time in a bar, especially given that you tried to order it as “The Y/N” before remembering where you were, and even more especially given that you were still coherent at 2 AM.
With a sigh, you finally spoke up to say, “Whatever he’s having.”
“I’m good,” he said, “We should be heading home.”
You didn’t turn your head, just cut your eyes over to him. It wasn’t quite a glare, or maybe it just couldn’t be taken seriously as one given the glitter in your hair and the shifting colors of the lights casting your face in blue, green, yellow, orange- Wait, you were talking.
“…So, what’s the next goalpost, then?” you finished your rant(?) with a question.
“Um,” he started. You are really determined, aren’t you? But why? You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re funny, you’re sweet, you’re… Well, you’re perfect. You’re young, you still have so much life ahead of you! Why him? What about him made you latch on and never let go? Was it just a matter of pride at this point? “Graduate… College,” he finally spit out.
He wasn’t even sure what your major was. As soon as you, Ellie, and Yukio got to talking about that stuff, he zones out. Ellie had completed her Associate’s in graphic design early due to dual enrollment and was whittling away the days of a tattoo apprenticeship, Yukio had used him as a case study for multiple projects in her Psychology program, and you… He didn’t want to know. Because if he knew, he might have become more endeared to you, and if that happened, he might not have been able to make himself say no anymore.
You nodded, downing the rest of your drink before closing out both of your tabs; not that either of you had to pay for very many of your own drinks, given the occasion.
The two of you shared a cab, and it was normal again. That was the thing about you, once you got the ‘no,’ you seemingly moved on. There were never tears, there was never a whiny “but why?” None of that. The two of you could still joke, you could still take a bite out of him as needed, it was fine. Commendable, really, because he’s sure you’re not used to rejection, to being told no. Yet, there was never a sense of entitlement in your approach to him; at least, nothing beyond the terms of the deal he’d made with you five years ago, the one he kept extending.
Five years. It’s been five years. You got a little taller, filled out a little more (not that he was staring or anything, he just noticed, he notices things, it’s nothing!) and yet, that terrible, awful, no-good sparkle never went away — not when you were looking at him, at least.
It’s another year later, it’s now when you knock at his door. He’s not Deadpool anymore, he’s just Wade: used car salesman, Avengers reject, X-Men dropout, utilizer of a hair system.
“Look, you guys are adorable, and I don’t mind feeding you, but I am really not interested in hearing about the Nephites and the Lamanites!” he insists as he opens the door.
It’s not missionaries.
It’s you. Cap and gown, shimmering tassel swaying with remnants of force from your steps to his door, diploma cover tucked under your arm, and a red envelope in your hand. It’s you.
Something about the look on his face causes you to pass him the envelope wordlessly, blinking tears away— that’s new, he wasn’t even sure you could cry —before turning away to head back down the hall.
“Wait!” he calls after you.
“What now?” you ask in a trembling voice— he didn’t know you could sound like that, either, and he thinks his heart might’ve stopped beating when he hears it —not walking away anymore, but not turning around. “Half your age plus seven? Because I am, exactly. I did the math. Just… Read the card, okay? It’ll explain everything.”
And so, Wade, just Wade, now, but somehow still the apple of your eye, just barely manages to say “Okay,” as he watches you be the one to walk away this time.
He shuffles back into his apartment, locking the door behind him and sitting on the couch.
Wade, the envelope says in black, in a Celtic-inspired calligraphy font that looks painstaking. He hasn’t been this nervous to open a piece of mail since 2001. Were you even alive then?
It’s a thank you card. A handmade thank you card.
Still exquisite, but this time, a little more personalized. Stars, his favorite shape, adorn the black card, each little one stamped in white ink while Thank you for everything, screams at him in shimmering, metallic red ink and more meticulous calligraphy.
He holds his breath, opening the card to reveal, as promised, your handwriting. You wrote small, to fit everything you had to say, but that’s not an issue for him.
Dear Wade,
I went back and forth on what to say here. There will be a whole army of birds, squirrels, and chipmunks waiting for me at the gates of Hell when my time comes, considering what I’ve contributed to deforestation just by drafting this out. I suppose I should start by saying I’m not angry with you. Last year, it seemed like you thought I was. You were twitchier than usual. I felt bad about that. I still do.
I really do mean it. What the front says, that is. You probably didn’t realize it— or maybe you’re an absolute mastermind and totally did, in which case, my bad —but I really don’t know what I would’ve amounted to without you setting goals for me. When you told me to check back at 18, that meant I had to live to see it. When you told me I had to be able to buy you a drink, that meant I had to get a real job to be able to afford to. When you told me I had to graduate college, that meant I had to, well, graduate college!
So, I did. Summa cum laude. I hope I’m actually present to hear whatever dirty joke you just said. I’m sorry if I ran away. I’m not good with stuff like this. Maybe you know that. Maybe you don’t, because you’re the one person that doesn’t look at me like I’m two seconds away from ripping out your still-beating heart with my bare hands and chowing down. Or maybe you’re just the one person who doesn’t look at me like they’re AFRAID of me doing that. Either way, it’s usually easier to be around you.
All of that is to say, thank you. I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me no, considering at this point it’s obvious you don’t have any interest in me that way, but thank you. I needed that hope. It’s been fun, loving you. The thrill of hearing that you’d be paying the mansion a visit, the rush of a compliment from you, even if it was just a throwaway line, the adventures we had… Whether it was sneaking off to get breakfast using the emergency credit card from the school, conspiring to throw Yukio a surprise birthday party, or saving someone from themselves, every moment has been priceless to me. I made friends. I graduated high school and college. I lived. I owe that to you.
I still remember you remarking about how you saving my life was my 18th birthday gift. I need you to know that you didn’t just do it that day. It was every day. Every day that I got to look forward to meeting the next requirement, every day you’d stop by and make some joke about me being jailbait and pretend it hurt when Ellie punched you in the arm just so she wouldn’t break her hand by trying again, EVERY DAY.
So, again I’ll say, thank you for everything. I’m sorry. I’ll never bother you about it again.
Sincerely,
You signed your full name. He didn’t even know your middle name. It’s cute, it suits you.
He closes the card, noticing on the back:
P.S. Accidentally skipped a paragraph when I was copying the letter over. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna write it all out here. But… I need you to understand that I understand. There’s a picture of me in the envelope. From before.
Before. Before is a time Wade doesn’t know about, a time alluded to in hushed tones even by cheerful Yukio and brash Ellie, a time that makes your whole face go blank and your shoulders sag at just the thought. It makes you feel something he hasn’t yet been able to pinpoint despite having a pretty good grasp on all your little expressions. Is it shame? Disappointment? Homesickness?
Something happened to you that changed you, deeply. He sees it in the way you occasionally jump at your own reflection, or even your own shadow. Could you have possibly been more beautiful before? No, that can’t be. Did someone hurt you? Is that why you’re so attracted to him, does he remind you of them? Those are questions that have plagued him for a long time, ever since the last time you gave him a thank you card.
He carefully squeezes the sides of the envelope in one hand, opening it wider to pinch and slide out a photograph with the other.
A little girl. A little girl who looks just like him, but scrawny, visibly malnourished. She sits between Ellie and Yukio, forcing a smile, eyes hazed over with cataracts, or maybe just more scarring. She wears a wig and a sundress, but he can tell by her posture that she doesn’t like the way she looks.
Ellie and Yukio look to be about 14 in this picture, but that can’t be right, because that little girl- You, he corrects his thoughts in a gut-punch of a realization, you don’t look older than 10. He flips the picture over. Nope. You were 14 in the picture, based on the date written on the back.
What the fuck?
What happened to you?
He blinks, and he’s at the door of the mansion, pounding on it like it has the answers.
When no one answers, he tries it — unlocked. He’s too focused on the task at hand to feel stupid, especially when he hears you yelling:
“No, I don’t want to! Just leave me alone!”
…Followed by a slammed door and a long-suffering sigh that is distinctly Ellie, then a whiny, commiserative hum from Yukio.
“She’ll do it when she’s ready,” Yukio says, and Wade can hear her patting Ellie’s shoulder.
“She’s gonna make herself go blind again, if she hasn’t already.” Wade can’t see the petulant expression on Ellie’s face, but he can picture it.
“Maybe that’s what she wants. Maybe she doesn’t want to see right now,” Yukio suggests.
“Well, if she’s feeling that nostalgic, how long’s it gonna be until she tries to kill herself again, huh?” Ellie retorts, and Wade’s blood runs cold. You… Again?!
“Don’t say that! She’s just sad, she’s allowed to be sad!” Yukio insists, but it’s too late, he’s already up the stairs and shoving past them to force his way into your room. The sound of the door being forcefully opened seems to startle you more than his presence.
Every version of you he’s ever seen passes through his mind’s eye: pruned, smooth, shy, confident, hesitant, eager, reckless, cautious, hopeful, resigned, blossoming, bloomed- You. Just you. It’s just you.
But it’s never just you, is it? That’s the scary part. That he might feel something he’s not supposed to, want something he doesn’t deserve.
“You’re a real fuckin’ narcissist, huh?” he blurts, and it’s wrong, now’s not the time, not if you’re hurt, not if it’s all his fault, not if you’re going somewhere he can’t follow.
“Yeah,” you say through a watery chuckle. You’re sitting in the center of your bed with your knees pulled to your chest.
Wade can smell it in the air, sweet and cloying and wrong. Burnt flesh. Your burnt flesh. He sees the trails down your face, following the lines of the tears you’ve shed, splotches of inflamed skin. Your hands are burnt, too, from wiping them away.
“I don’t understand,” he admits. “I get that you- You give me more credit than I deserve, and that makes sense, kind of, but… What is this? Why did… Before?”
“I didn't know what my dietary needs were. And, as you know by now, my blood burns me. Nature’s balance. When I was born…”
“You were covered in it,” he says. “And this?”
“Hemophilia. Blood in my tears.”
“And me? Why me in the first place, what, six years ago, now? You didn’t even know what I looked like back then.”
You chuckle bitterly, shaking your head at yourself.
“You’re tall. Funny. Nice. Different. It doesn’t take much to impress a sixteen-year old girl who doesn’t even recognize her reflection. It was all the more swoon-worthy when you didn’t jump at the opportunity.”
He doesn’t say anything, but you can tell by the way one of his eyebrow muscles raises that he needs you to elaborate.
“When I… When I got better, I went through puberty overnight, literally. I was trapped in a body that didn’t feel like mine, none of my clothes fit, no one was treating me the same way as they did before. Pretty much everyone who knew me before… They were always staring, practically foaming at the mouth. Not you, though. You treated me like… Like I needed to be protected, right when pretty much everyone else had stopped doing that.”
“And how did you get better, exactly? ‘Cause, uh, hello?” He gestures at himself, and you shake your head again.
“I… Tried to end my life. I was blind, cold, and everything hurt all the time. There was a blood transfusion,” you explain quietly. Clearing your throat, you continue, trying to lighten the mood: “When I came out of the medbay, I asked Ellie if she was alright, because she was crying. She hadn’t heard the news that I was okay yet, and she didn’t recognize me, ‘cause even my voice… She clocked me right in the jaw.”
Wade clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle the guffaw that wants to escape him, but you laugh, too.
“Yeah. I’m… Sorry,” you say, and he knows what you mean — you’d cut yourself open right now if it’d save him. That’s the other scary part:
You can actually kill him.
Yukio had been the one to let that slip, or maybe she was just the one who figured it out out loud, that night in the courtyard at some point between your eighteenth and twenty-first birthdays. He knows it was then, because that was when you had red dip-dyed hair that you’d always fuss with whenever he was around, like you were simultaneously embarrassed by it and hoping he’d notice.
He’d jokingly asked for a sample to help his headache, and Yukio had seriously answered, rambling on about how your blood accelerates cancer and reverses the changes made to mutates while everyone else was digging into their Taco Bell and you sipped on a pint of someone sweet.
“Don’t be. It’s the last thing I’d want.”
You whimper, burying your face in your hands as your shoulders start to shake.
“No- Wait- Fuck! I’d love to- I’m sure you taste- I just meant- I don’t want you to be hurt, I hate how they just take it outta you without a second thought and-“
“I know.”
You know. You know. Good.
Then why are you crying again?
“I just love you so much,” you weep. It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud, at least so sincerely.
It makes it real. Well, it was real before, but… Realer. Impossible to ignore, impossible to deny.
No longer paralyzed by shock and fear and a million other emotions, Wade steps forward until he’s sitting on your bed with you. It’s more rigid than he expected. He’d imagined yielding softness, a cloud for an angel to rest her weary little self upon, but no. It’s firm support, cradling you every night like he dreams of doing when the state of half-sleep nullifies his inhibitions and— just for a dreadful, sinful, much-needed second —the pillow in his arms is you.
He peels your hands off of your face, your skin sticking together just for a second. You nearly melted it together. That realization has a whole new wave of pure ache rolling through him, especially when he smells that horrid sweetness. He leans in closer.
“Don’t,” you whisper, and that sparkle in your eye that he’s always had a love-hate relationship with is gone, replaced by the haze of corneal scarring from your tears. Can you even see him right now, or are you just relying on your other four senses? “Not if it’s just to make me feel better.”
Then, you can’t, because you’d know. You’d know that he’s not looking at you with pity, or resignation, or some twisted form of mercy. He’s looking at you with realization. Acceptance. Need.
And so, he doesn’t kiss you. Instead, he takes out his pocket knife and slices open his palm. The scent hits your nose as the motion registers. He watches your pupils blow wide and your lips part just slightly, as if to taste it in the air. He sees the way your breath catches in your chest. That anticipatory look of yours easily ranks in his top five ranking of your facial expressions.
He holds his hand up to your lips, and you lap at him in a way that’s always made him tense up — not out of fear that you’d hurt him, but fear that he might not be able to stop himself from hurting you, from wanting too much.
You pull back and blink a few times, and there it is again. The sparkle. It matters more than the fact that the burns have faded, it matters more than anything. You’re smiling sadly, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Still the best,” you quietly remark, trying to play it cool. You’d told him that a few times. Everyone’s blood tastes different, considering different genetic compositions, different diets, and so on. He’s your favorite flavor.
“Still not sure if I should say thanks to that or not,” he replies just as softly. Then, he remembers he has something to prove, because he cannot have you thinking that he was only about to kiss you because he felt sorry for you. He takes your face in his hands, the cut from before already closed up.
“I told you not to-“
“-if I was doing it to make you feel better. I was there. Look, sweetness, I’m not gonna pretend I felt the same as you the whole time, because that would make me even more of a disgusting freak than I already am. But! But-but-but… You’ve got me. You do. You have for a while. I was just, y’know… Dealing with the uncomfortable implications of that. Capische?”
“Capische,” you murmur, still stupefied by the fact that holy shit, this is really happening when his lips carefully meet yours.
You’re too hungry for careful. You’ve needed this too long for careful.
You deepen the kiss, your hands fisting into his zany-patterned button-up and tearing through the material with his strength — a usually beneficial side effect of the consumption of his blood.
That’s when Yukio squeals at the top of her lungs.
The two of you part with surprise, turning towards the door Wade left open, where Ellie is grimacing and Yukio is rocking on her heels. The latter woman still wearing an open graduation gown, much like you were when you showed up on his doorstep earlier. Were they there the whole fucking time?!
“The Bloodpool group chat is gonna go crazy!” Yukio cheers. Your whole face burns.
“You coined a ship name for us?” Wade asks in a delighted coo before you can get the courage to turn and see his reaction. You sigh, half in relief that he’s cool with it, half in annoyance at the interruption.
“C’mon, babe,” Ellie finally pipes up. “Let’s give them some privacy.”
With that, Ellie closes your bedroom door. You hear their retreating footsteps, Ellie’s grumbling, and Yukio’s excited chatter.
You go to kiss him again, but he stops you.
“Nuh-uh. You’re juiced, and with my blood, too. There's enough horniness between the two of us to make the world implode. Let’s go on a date first. A real one, just us.”
Out of all the (extended) Avengers/MCU guys, who could you see suffer from a Man Cold™ and act like they're on death's door, but would try to just "walk off" a severed limb? 🤔
Honestly, I think the obvious answer is so incredibly 616-Clint coded that it sort of transcends all time and space. In fact, I’m fairly sure there are screenshots of various panels where he tries to walk off all manner of otherwise incapacitating injuries, but would totally turn into a Clint-burrito with Lucky and do nothing but eat pizza and watch Dog Cops should he get so much as a sniffle.
MCU-Clint, not so much; honestly, I think he’d ignore the ManCold and the severed limb and be the bane of Laura’s existence. (Laura Barton is a saint.)
Anyway I thought about the rest of the MCU crew while I was awake at 3am, and here are my thoughts:
Steve & Bucky: Super-soldiers. Would never actually admit to having the Man Cold because “The serum protects us, guides us, binds us all… wait, no, that’s Star Wars.” Anyway, Steve would walk off the severed limb but in the direction of a med unit where they could at least staunch the blood flow so he could go back into battle. Bucky would complain that he already lost one limb in the last century, he is damned well not going to lose another, and someone would have to drag him off the battlefield. Probably Steve.
Tony Stark: Would 100% walk off the severed limb in the moment but complain about it afterwards and then get super excited about building a better robotic limb than Bucky’s. Put that Wakanda tech to shame. He would never admit to having a ManCold until he is so incapacitated that Pepper is able to lead him docily to bed, where she tucks him in and agrees he’s not sick and hands him medicine that he does not need and feeds him soup that he does not want (he eats the whole bowl and the one after that too) and lets him sleep undisturbed for 16 hours straight, because Pepper Potts is also a saint.
Bruce Banner: Gets sick, but doesn’t bother anyone about it. Definitely does not act like he’s at death’s door. Doesn’t walk off a severed limb because if his limb is severed, that’s Hulk’s deal.
Hulk: Does not walk off the severed limb either; he uses it to smash whoever severed it. He lets Bruce deal with Man Colds.
Thor: Severed limbs make him laugh. Reminds him of that time he lost an eye, did he tell you that story? Great story. The first time he got a Man Cold he powered through it until he collapsed in the living room and Darcy Lewis had to drag his unconscious body to bed, swearing and yelling all the way. She won’t let him forget it, because Darcy Lewis is not a saint but Pepper likes her anyway.
Scott Lang: Oh god, he’d scream like a baby if he lost a limb. But he’s pretty good about Man Colds; doesn’t bother anyone, self-medicates properly, re-emerges stronger and more cheerful than ever.
T’Challa: Does not lose limbs. Ever. Does not get Man Colds. Ever. Practically perfect in every way.
Peter Parker: If you sever a single hair on this precious baby’s head, I will hunt you down and murder you where you stand. Aunt May has to sit on him when he has a Man Cold, though, because he has a test in bio and Mr. Stark is expecting him after school and Ned wanted to borrow his calc notes and if MJ is gonna get so pissy if he misses AcaDec practice again…
Deadpool: Severed limbs are so 1945-train-in-the-Alps. Been there done that yawn yawn. Man Colds, however, are his body refusing to fix itself which means the end is nigh and he’s going to spend the next day or two rewriting his will, deciding who gets everything he owns, calling and telling everyone how much he loves them and wishes he could have seen them naked one more time, setting up practical jokes for every person he knows without a sense of humor, writing sixteen versions of his eulogy and twenty-three versions of his obituary, flip-flopping on whether or not he wants to be buried or cremated or shot into space, writing the script for Deadpool 7: The Deadening, leaving increasingly manic messages for that Ryan Reynolds guy who would be perfect to play him, begging him to read the script. That’s all within the first hour, btw. There’s a whole montage, it’s got Dolly Parton singing I Will Always Love You and about twenty boxes of tissues.
Request - Male reader x MCU Cast. Potential spoilers, Reader played Deadpool’s son from an alternate universe and is asked to do the bye bye bye dance
Logan and Wade are in the middle of nowhere. They are trying to go back to the wasteland at the end of time ‘void’ to stop Cassandra Nova and then stop Mr Paradox. They just finished fighting and killing each other and they are completely lost.
“I’m sure it’s this way,” Wade said
“We are lost, you idiot,” Logan said angrily
“It’s not my fault we didn't ask for directions,” Wade said
Logan just glared at Wade while walking. They don't know for how long they have been walking for, until they hear someone yelling.
“Do you see him or am I drunk?” Wade said
“I see him, but why he is waving at us,” Logan said
“I don't -”
You are running fast and you are waving at them.
“Daddy!”
“Did he just yell daddy?!” Logan asked
“I think he did,” Wade said
Once you reached them, then you jumped on Wade like a kid.
“Daddy!” You yelled with joy
“What!?” Logan and Wade yelled in shock.
Wade pushed you off him and you fell to the ground.
“Who are you!?” Wade yelled
“It’s obvious, look at his suit,” Logan said
You have the same suit on like Wade, then you jumped onto your feet then take your mask.
“I’m your son and you are my dad!” You smiled
“Dad!?” Logan and Wade yelled in shock.
“This idiot is your dad!? Wow, this nightmare is getting worse” Logan said
“I am from earth-10330. My name is Y/N Wade Wilson Pool” You smiled
“Your name can't be Y/N Wade Wilson Pool. Who named you that!?” Wade yelled
“My mom and you, duh” You said and rolled your eyes
“How did he meet your mom?” Logan asked
“He traveled to my earth then banged my mom, now I’m here” You said
You turned around and then pointed at yourself.
“Prove it that you are my son,” Wade said
“How?” You asked
Wade looks at the screen, “Cue the music!”
The music starts to play Then you look at the screen. Bye Bye Bye by NSYNC.
“I love this song!”
Logan is angry and pissed off, you and your dad are doing the NSYNC signature dance for Bye Bye Bye. You are getting every step correct now your dad is going is going faster but you are faster.
“Enough!” Logan yelled
You and your dad stopped, you two are breathing very hard.
“You are my son!” Wade said breathing hard
“Don’t call him daddy it's creepy” Logan said
“I thought I would have a baby with this one over here,” Wade said
“You used to let him babysit me,” You said
You put your arms up to hug them, but Logan grabbed your wrist.
“Hug me and I will break you like a stick,” Logan said
“Watch it with our son, Logan!” Wade yelled
“He is not my son,” Logan said
Logan is definitely annoyed. You start to follow them wherever they go and Logan is ready to kill you and your dad.
✯ ✫ ✯ ✫
You, Logan, and your Wade met Gambit, Blade, Elektra, and Laura. Logan didn't care about the plan he just wanted to drink and Wade didn't understand anything that Gambit said. But you started to flirt with Laura but she doesn't flirt back.
“Why have the same suit as him?” Laura asked
“Don’t say daddy” Wade stated
“He is my father. Is that better?”
You said and looked at your dad, Logan started to drink.
“Both of them are nightmares,” Logan said
“Actually, Wade Wilson is my dad and Logan is my uncle on my earth-10330. I got trapped here” You said
“Your world probably got destroyed like ours,” Blade said
“Oh. I could live with my dad now” You said and looked at him
“You are going to have a curfew,” Wade said
“Someone shoot me” Logan mumbled
——•
You leave with your dad to go fight Cassandra. But the others did show up when the fight was about to start. Logan did show up but with his new suit and he is ready to fight. You look at the screen…
“I’m going to set the mood”
Wade looks at you
“What mood? Wait do you mean-”
“Yes!” You cheered
The song Bye Bye Bye starts to play.
“Maximum effort,” Wade said
Your dad gave you a high-five now the music starts to play. The others watched you and your dad dance and they were in disbelief. While dancing, you stabbed a guy in the head and then took out the dagger. Then you used your swords to kill them while still dancing. Then you cut a guy's leg and arm then you stabbed him in the stomach. The music stopped you are feeling super hyped.
After defeating Cassandra and Mr. Paradox, your dad lets you live with him. It’s your birthday and everyone came to celebrate even Laura with the others. You blow out the candles and Laura gives you a gift and you smiled.
“Dad, on my tenth birthday you let me hang out with Uncle Thor and he gave me his helmet. That was so much fun-”
“You know Thor personally!” Wade yelled
“Yeah. He would come visit me and mom all the time and you used to go out drinking with him for fun” You said
“Why he is special?” Laura asked
Wade starts to talk about why Thor is special to him. Then he started to ask you questions how you get into contact with him. But you just want to eat your cake and open gifts.
