#deadpool fluff

He’s frowning now, “Why are you watching porn in the middle of the day?” “Scott!” you shout, and he chuckles in response.

“How do you know it’s porn?” you ask, crossing your arms and he lets out another laugh, leaning his head back. He goes back to stacking papers, completely ignoring your question in the process.

“Well?” you push, stepping closer and leaning your face in front of his work, watching the blush build up his cheeks. He presses his hand against your face, pushing, “I think everyone has gone there at least once..”

“Just once?”

“Ooookay, enough questions, I have work to do, like a normal–”

“Non-porn loving—”

“I said!-- Normal, person.”

⋆｡° ✮ : WOLVERINE / LOGAN HOWLETT .

“So, you’re crazy.”

“Huh?”

He’s sitting on the other side of the couch, beer in hand as he shakes his head at you like a disappointed father. You frown, like you don’t understand, “I didn’t know my volume was up..” you whisper, and he just laughs. “Suuureee. Watchin’ porn like some sorta freak when I’m right ‘ere.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

He takes a big gulp of his beer, before setting it down on the table in front of him, crossing his arms.

“Why watch dicks n shit like that when I’m sittin’ right ‘ere?”

You should’ve expected this, from a guy like him especially. “So, what? Am I supposed to watch you?” you ask, setting your phone down, and scooting a bit closer to him now, watching his lips curl into a smile.

“Sure, why not.”

⋆｡° ✮ : GAMBIT / REMY LEBEAU .

His eyes widen before he just grins, his shoulder bumping against yours as he peeks at your phone, “Ohhh, is it any good?” he simply asks, like this was a normal event. You seem more shocked than him, “Are you crazy?”

“Ah?” he says, confused– pointing at himself, “Me?” he laughs out. You nod, “Yes you!”

“Gambit ain’t crazy, Cher, just curious what my love is into. I think that’s pretty normal, no?”

You stare, “I mean, well, yes. But you’re not shocked that I’m just, watching porn…?”

“Gambit watch porn all the time.” he replies, “What!?” you shout, “Now you’re just hurtin’ my feelings, Cher…” he says, pouting.

“Sorry! I just, do you… like, actually..?”

He crosses his arms, thinking for a second, “Yeah, I do. Gambit like porn, it ain’t like I jerk it to it all, it’s like a challenge to find which one look like you.”

“That’s.. Actually sweet,”

“See? Gambit ain’t no weirdo! I just like to see porn that remind me of you, Cher.” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and grabbing your phone as he does so, “But.. Gambit don’t want you watching porn ‘bout no other guys.. Y’here?”

You giggle in response to his antics.

⋆｡° ✮ : DEADPOOL / WADE WILSON .

“Well, well, well, we got Ms. Goonette over here. Let me guess, backshots? Creampies? …Jacking off videos…?” he says, awfully loud as well.

You hold in your laughter as you attempt to stay to the script, “I didn’t know it was turned up!” the eyes on his mask gets bigger, “Oh I’m sure, princess. Next time make it louder so I can hear the cheeks getting clapped– Seriously, this shit is crazy.” he laughs out.

You push him a little, just tossing your phone onto the couch. “Throwing evidence?” he says, sucking his teeth, “Yikes,” you slap his arm, “Shut up.”

He holds his hands up, as if surrendering, “Look, we all watch porn! No shame, no gain they say,” “That’s not what they say–” “I don’t care! What I do care about is what were you watching! I’m really curious.”

You pout, “I’m not showing you any of MY porn,”

“YOUR porn? Fine, fuck it, I won’t show any of MY porn–”

“Your dick is hard.”

“I’m a simple guy.”

“Okay, freak.”

“Damn, tryna make me cum already?”

ℒOGAN ℋOWLETT !!

The first thing you register is the weight of the world pressing down on your lower abdomen, a familiar, crushing agony. You try to curl into a tighter ball, but a low, pained groan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

The door to your room creaks open, but you don't have the strength to look. You just hear the heavy, deliberate footsteps, followed by the unmistakable snikt of claws being sheathed. Logan had been sharpening them in the other room. He must have heard you.

A moment later, the bed dips under his considerable weight, and a massive, warm hand comes to rest on your trembling shoulder. "Hey, kid," he rumbles, his voice a low gravelly whisper that somehow cuts through the fog of pain. "That bad, huh?"

You just whimper in response, tears leaking from your closed eyes. You feel his hand move, gently brushing the hair from your sweaty forehead. The calluses on his palm are rough, but his touch is impossibly gentle.

He doesn't say anything for a long moment. Instead, you hear the soft clink of a glass being set down on your nightstand, followed by the rattle of a pill bottle.

"Jean told me these help," he mutters, sounding almost embarrassed. He gently nudges your shoulder. "C'mon, sit up for a second. Need to get some of this in you."

With a monumental effort, you push yourself up, your face a mask of misery. Logan is watching you with an intensity that makes him look like he’s about to pick a fight with the entire universe. He hands you a glass of water and two little white pills. "There you go. Small sips."

You take the pills, and as you sink back into the pillows, you see him pull a worn, leather jacket from the foot of your bed and drape it over you. It's heavy and smells like him—cigar smoke, whiskey, and something metallic and wild.

"Just rest," he says, settling into the chair by your window, his arms crossed over his chest like a silent, unmovable guard. "I'm not goin' anywhere." The sheer, unwavering presence of him is more comforting than any painkiller. You know, without a doubt, that he would tear the world apart if it meant easing your suffering. He stays in that chair for the rest of the day, silent and watchful, only moving to get you a fresh glass of water or to check if you're still breathing.

𝒲ORST 𝒲OLVERINE !!

You're curled up on the lumpy couch, clutching a pillow to your stomach, trying to will the searing cramps away.

Logan, who was previously complaining about Wade's inability to make a decent pot of coffee, stops mid-sentence. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just sniffs the air in a way that's both animalistic and deeply, deeply weird.

"Jesus, kid," he says, his voice surprisingly soft, devoid of its usual rough edge. "You smell like…" He trails off, a flicker of understanding—and something akin to panic—crossing his face. "Fuck."

He shoots a glare at Wade, who is mid-sentence about the ideal chimichanga-to-filling ratio. "Shut it, Wilson."

Wade opens his mouth to protest, but Logan silences him with a look that could curdle milk. He then turns his attention back to you, slowly approaching the couch as if you were a frightened deer. "Okay. I got this. I got this. Okay."

He kneels in front of the couch, his hands hovering uselessly for a moment before he awkwardly pats your knee. "You need, uh… food? Water? I can make toast. I know how to make toast."

You just groan in response, and he seems to take this as a major mission objective. He stands up abruptly, almost knocking over the coffee table, and starts rummaging through the kitchen with an uncharacteristic sense of purpose. You hear the microwave beep, the tap run, and the sound of something being aggressively torn open. He returns with a warm, damp towel and places it gently on your stomach, and a glass of water.

He sits on the floor, his back against the couch, looking like a grumpy, deeply uncomfortable but fiercely devoted gargoyle. "If that idiot comes anywhere near you, I'm gonna gut him." he mutters, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Now, you just… stay there. And don't you dare die. I don't do funerals."

𝒪LD ℳAN ℒOGAN !!

He’s old, tired, and his body is a map of aches and pains. But when you stumble out of the car, clutching your stomach and looking like a ghost, the years fall away. He doesn't see his own pain, his own exhaustion; he only sees you.

Logan barely makes a sound. He just drops the cigar he was smoking and moves. He grabs you before you can hit the floor, his strong, weathered hands catching you, and then gently placing you into the passenger seat without a word.

You drift in and out of consciousness, the rattling of the old SUV and the hum of the engine the only sounds. When you come to, you're in a motel room. It smells faintly of bleach and stale air, but there's a clean, fresh scent of the blanket he's wrapped you in. The sun is setting, painting the dingy room in a soft orange glow.

Logan is sitting in a chair near the window, watching you. A glass of water and a bottle of pills are on the nightstand.

"Logan... how did I...?"

"You passed out," he says, his voice a rasp. He looks older than usual, the lines on his face deeper. "You need rest, seems like it's a bad one."

He gets up slowly, the joints in his knees popping. He walks over to the bed and sits on the edge. He looks at you for a long moment, his eyes full of a haunting sadness and something fierce. Love.

He reaches out and carefully, oh so carefully, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "You scared me," he admits, his voice barely a whisper. "Don't do that again."

He doesn't say much else. He just sits there, a silent sentinel. He holds your hand, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles on your skin. He stays with you all night, a quiet, steady presence in the darkness, a protector who has seen too much to let the one person he has left suffer alone.

𝒲ADE 𝒲ILSON !!

"Cramp-pocalypse now! Operation: Warmth & Snark is a go!"

You groan from your position on the bathroom floor, where you've collapsed after a particularly violent wave of nausea. The door swings open without preamble, and Wade's masked face appears in your line of sight, peering down at you upside down.

"Woah there, mini-me. And I don't mean the awkward clone who was in love with me for a hot second. You look like you've been challenged to a 'who can eat the most ghost peppers' competition and lost. But like, with your soul."

He’s already kneeling beside you, his gloved hands surprisingly gentle as he helps you sit up. "Chimichanga? No? Terrible idea. My bad. How about the Holy Trinity of Period Care? We've got chocolate, a whole drawer full, don't tell Al. We've got a heat pack that I may or may not have stolen from a hospital- they had it coming. And last, but certainly not least, we have a 12-hour movie marathon featuring the cinematic masterpiece that is Matrix."

He leads you, half-carrying you, back to the couch, where he’s already set up an elaborate nest of blankets and pillows. He tucks you in with an absurd level of care, shoves a heating pad onto your stomach, and presses a bar of dark chocolate into your hand.

"Now, I'm going to talk about all the different plans and angles used in this movie." he declares, hitting play on the movie. "But seriously, you need anything, you just say the word. I'll fight a demon, rob a bank, or even put on pants if that's what it takes." He gestures to his bare legs, a fact you're trying very hard to ignore.

He stays with you, his constant chatter a bizarre but effective distraction. He mutters insults at the characters on screen, offers his own commentary, and periodically pauses to check on you, his masked face tilting with concern. Beneath the relentless sarcasm and fourth-wall-breaking jokes, his protectiveness is fierce and absolute. He’s not just your friend; he’s your unhinged, deeply inappropriate, but completely dedicated guardian.

𝒱ICTOR 𝒞REED !!

It was a mistake to stumble into the penthouse common area. You were feeling faint, the world spinning, and you just wanted to get to your room to collapse. But you didn't make it.

Victor was there, lounging in a chair, looking like a predator at rest. His nostrils flared the second you entered, a subtle shift in his posture the only warning. His eyes, the color of molten gold, snapped to you, taking in your pale face, your hunched posture, the way you were listing to one side.

"Trouble, squirt?" he rumbled, his voice a deep, gravelly purr. There was a hint of mockery in it, accompained by the usual quirk of his right eyebrow.

"Just a bad day, that's all." you mumbled, trying to walk past him. You swayed, your vision going white for a second.

He was on his feet in an instant. Before you could fall, you felt powerful arms hook under your knees and shoulders, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He wasn't exactly gentle, but he wasn't seeking out to harm you either, it was just that he was enormous compared to a small thing like you and that never ceased to amaze, amuse and unsettle him in equal measures. He was possessive, a predator securing his prey. But his hold was unwavering.

"Stubborn," he growled, carrying you to the massive, plush couch. He placed you down not on the cushions, but in his own lap, his body a wall of heat behind you. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

"You're freezing and you smell like pain," he said, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "I can hear your heart racing."

He knew what was happening. He didn't need to be told. He just held you there, a possessive, frighteningly powerful guard dog. He didn't offer to get you anything, because he wouldn't leave you. Instead, he simply held you, his massive hand resting on your stomach, the warmth of his body seeping into your aching muscles. His clawed thumb rubbed slow, steady circles on the fabric of your shirt. "Breathe," he commanded, and his voice was so deep and resonant that you had no choice but to obey. The feeling of being wrapped in his strength was both terrifying and the most secure you'd ever felt.

ℛEMY ℒEBEAU !!

The scent of Cajun spices and something sweet, like beignets, is the first thing that registers through your pain-fogged mind. You're curled up on your bed, a miserable ball of cramps and chills.

"Chère, you look like you're tryin' to climb into your own skin to get away from de pain." Remy's voice, smooth as honey and rich as bourbon, washes over you. He’s perched on the edge of your bed, a steaming cup of tea in his hand, his eyes full of a tenderness he rarely shows the rest of the world.

He offers you the cup. "A special blend. Madame LeBeau's own recipe. Good for what ails you."

You take it, the warmth seeping into your cold hands. You take a sip. It's soothing, with a hint of ginger and honey, and a warmth that spreads from your stomach.

Remy watches you, a small, sad smile on his face. "I know, mon coeur. It's not fair. A beautiful, strong young thing like you shouldn't have to deal with such nonsense."

He reaches out a hand, and with a soft, gentle click of his fingers, a small, glowing ball of pink kinetic energy dances in his palm. It’s not violent, not explosive. It’s soft and warm, like a tiny, glowing sun. "Here," he says, carefully placing it over your stomach, just above the blankets. "My own special heatin' pad. It's safe. Just a little energy to help ease the pain. All my concentration is on keepin' it nice and gentle, just for you."

The warmth is immediate and profound, seeping deep into your muscles and loosening the knots of pain. You let out a shaky breath, the first one that didn't hurt in hours.

Remy smiles, a flash of white teeth. "There she is. Knew you were still in there. Now, you rest. I'm gonna stay right here. I'll tell you a story from the Bayou. About a little girl who could talk to the swamp cats." His voice is a soothing cadence, a gentle melody that carries you away from the pain, weaving a tale of magic and comfort, a reminder that even in your worst moments, you are deeply, utterly loved.

𝒦URT 𝒲AGNER !!

A sharp bamf of sulfurous smoke, and Kurt was there, his tail swishing anxiously behind him. He'd been on his way to the kitchen to get a snack when he saw you from across the hall, doubled over and crying. He'd teleported without a second thought.

"Mein Gott! Fraulein, what is it?" His yellow eyes were wide with distress, his blue face a mask of worry. He knelt beside you, his three-fingered hand hovering near your shoulder, afraid to touch you for fear of hurting you more.

"I'm okay," you tried to say, but it came out as a choked sob. Another cramp hit, and you gasped.

"Oh, no, no, no," he murmured, his voice thick with compassion. "You are not okay. This is not okay."

He carefully, so carefully, scooped you into his arms. He didn't like to see anyone suffer, but you, his precious friend, his little sister in all but blood, it was unbearable. He bamfed again, and suddenly you were in your own room, on your bed.

"I will fix this," he declared, his voice a determined whisper.

He conjured a fluffy, downy blanket and draped it over you. He fetched a glass of water and some pain medication, his movements efficient yet trembling with concern. He then sat on the edge of your bed, his legs crossed, his three-fingered hands clasped in his lap. He began to pray, his voice a soft, melodic whisper in German. It wasn't a plea to a distant God, but a loving, gentle conversation, a request for comfort for you. He didn't leave the room; he stayed by your side, offering his quiet presence and unwavering faith. He was a guardian angel, his very presence a soft, protective light in the darkness of your pain.

𝒮COTT 𝒮UMMERS !!

Scott Summers is a man of strategy and control. He keeps his emotions in check and his plan B is always ready. So when he finds you white-faced and trembling on the living room couch, the carefully constructed walls around his composure start to crack.

"Y/N," he says, his voice sharp with alarm as he drops to his knees in front of you. He takes your face in his hands, tilting it up to look at him. His eyes are hidden behind his ruby quartz visor, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze. "Talk to me. What's going on? Is it another headache? Did something happen?"

You can barely get the words out between your sobs, just "cramps" and "bad".

His expression immediately softens from alarm to a deep, focused concern. He nods, his jaw tight. "Okay. Okay, we can handle this."

For the next hour, Scott becomes a man on a mission. He’s not just caretaking; he’s executing a carefully planned operation. He places a precisely warmed heating pad on your abdomen, its temperature calibrated perfectly to soothe without being too hot. He brings you two specific pain relievers and a glass of water, explaining, "The doctor said these two work well in tandem."

He then disappears into the kitchen and returns with a tray of food: saltine crackers, a small cup of applesauce, and a glass of ginger ale. "Bland foods are best for nausea," he says, his voice matter-of-fact, but his hands are gentle as he helps you sit up.

He sits on the floor next to you, not taking his eyes off you. "Okay, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. If you need to throw up, just tell me and I'll get the bucket. If you need to go to the bathroom, I'll carry you. If you need to cry, you do it." His voice is steady, a solid anchor in the storm of your pain. "You're going to be fine. I promise you. I'm right here." The pure, unshakeable certainty in his voice is more reassuring than any medicine. He will plan and strategize until you are better, because that’s what he does for the people he loves.

𝒮TEVE ℛOGERS !!

"Miss Y/L/N, you look a little pale. Are you feeling alright?" Steve's voice was always kind, but his blue eyes held a deep well of concern as he looked at you. He'd noticed you'd been quiet all morning, and the slight tremor in your hands as you tried to eat your breakfast hadn't escaped his attention.

You just shook your head, unable to speak without your voice betraying you. The pain was a dull, constant ache, punctuated by sharp, stabbing cramps that made you want to curl into a ball and cry.

"Alright." He didn't push. He simply stood, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "Come with me."

He led you to the common room's comfortable seating area, a place he knew was quiet this time of day. He helped you settle onto the large, soft couch, draping a thick blanket over your legs. "I'll be right back."

He returned shortly with a glass of water, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a small, soft, plush teddy bear—the one you'd seen on his nightstand once, a kid had given it to him as a gift for saving him. "It's not much," he said, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "But I find it helps to have something to hold onto."

He then took a seat on the floor beside the couch, his back against the cushions. He didn't say much. He just opened his sketchbook and began to draw, his presence a solid, reassuring wall between you and the rest of the world. He was the epitome of a comforting father figure, quiet, steady, and filled with an unshakeable, protective warmth. He was just there, a bastion of unwavering stability you could lean on, his gaze frequently checking on you, a gentle smile encouraging you to rest.

𝒯ONY 𝒮TARK !!

"Friday, status report on our patient in distress."

"Subject shows elevated cortisol levels and reports severe abdominal cramps. Given her age and physiology, I would estimate this is a case of-"

"Don't need the medical details, FRI. Just tell me where we keep the good stuff."

You're curled up in the corner of the lab, watching a holographic display of your latest project spin idly, too tired to work. Tony kicks the door open, his expression one of playful concern. "Heard a little birdy say you're having a rough day." He drops a large, sleek-looking device on the table. "Introducing the Stark Industries Patented Crampinator 3000. It uses micro-vibrations to soothe muscle tension."

He presses a button and the device hums to life. "Put it right where the hurt is. You will be pain-free in no time. If not, I’ll blame the prototype and send a very strongly worded email to the R&D department."

He doesn't leave, of course. He just hovers, pretending to be absorbed in his holograms, but you can feel his attention on you. He’s watching to make sure you're okay.

"FRI, queue up her favorite playlist. And order that pizza she likes. The one with the weird toppings. Just have it delivered." He winks at you. "Doctor's orders. I'm prescribing a strict regimen of terrible movies, unhealthy food, and sarcastic commentary. Get ready for a masterclass in avoidance and deflecting emotions with humor." His genius and his humor are a powerful distraction, and his dedication to your well-being is absolute, even if he shows it through flashy tech and witty banter.

𝒫ETER 𝒫ARKER !!

Peter is the king of awkward, overprotective care. He found you in the middle of a study session, your head down on your desk, a quiet sob escaping your lips. He immediately panics.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no. What's wrong? Is it a project? Did someone say something mean to you? Do I need to have a stern talk with someone? Because I will. I will put on the suit and have a very stern talk. I'm pretty good at stern talks."

You weakly explain, and his face flushes red. "Oh. Oh! Right. Okay. Yeah. Got it. That. Yep. I can handle that." He takes a deep breath. "Okay. Step one: locate heating pad. Done. Step two: procure comfort food." He disappears for a second and comes back with a bag of your favorite chips. "It's not the healthiest, but it's what we have."

He gently takes your hand and leads you to the couch, where he wraps you in a blanket, creating a human-sized burrito. "Okay. You stay here. You watch whatever you want. I will be your service human." He pauses. "That's a thing, right? They've got animals doing it, why can't a human do it? i'll do it. I can be that. I'm very good at being a service human. I've been a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man for a decade, I am a professional at service."

He sits beside you, a little too close, but you can tell he's worried. He starts rambling about his day, about the new villain he fought who was "ridiculously themed," about Aunt May's new recipe for meatloaf. He doesn't stop talking, his stories a constant, comfortable stream of noise that distracts you from the pain. He checks on you every few minutes, asking if you need anything, his eyes full of the same gentle, earnest compassion that made him a hero in the first place. He’s your own personal, slightly dorky, fiercely loyal guardian in a red-and-blue onesie.

𝒯HOR 𝒪DINSON !!

"Your pain is a palpable thing, my young friend," Thor rumbled, his brow furrowed with worry. He had found you trying to hide in a corner of the Avengers compound's library, your discomfort written plainly on your face. "I have faced monsters and gods, but I find this foe, this.. unseen, silent enemy, is one I am ill-equipped to battle."

He then knelt before you, the mighty God of Thunder looking utterly humbled and concerned. "In Asgard, we have healers, yes, but for this… this monthly trial, what is it you require?"

He listened with grave attention as you haltingly explained. Then, a determined glint entered his eye. "Then you shall have the finest comforts Midgard has to offer."

He summoned a feast of your favorite foods, not by magic, but by ordering the most extravagant spread from a very confused local deli. He had a fire roaring in the fireplace within minutes, and conjured a veritable mountain of plush furs and pillows around you.

"Drink this," he commanded, handing you a mug of hot, spiced mead that he'd heated with a spark of lightning. "It will warm you from the inside."

He then spent the rest of the day regaling you with tales of his many battles, his voice a comforting, booming rumble, while his hand rested gently on your shoulder, a constant, godly warmth that made you feel safe enough to drift off to sleep.

ℛEED ℛICHARDS !!

"Fascinating," Reed murmured, tilting his head as he looked at the biometric data on his monitor. "The levels of prostaglandins your body is producing are significantly elevated. No wonder you're in such distress." He said it with the clinical detachment of a scientist.

But then he looked at you, really looked at you with your pale face and the tears you were trying to hold back, and his expression softened immediately. "Oh, my dear," he said, his voice losing its clinical edge. "I'm so sorry."

He immediately stopped his little research. "Let's see what we can do to alleviate this."

You just sniffled, managing a nod as your lower lip jutted out in a pout.

"Perhaps some tea?" he offered, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I believe I have a chamomile blend in my office."

He sat with you, his body stretching and bending to accommodate his long limbs in a comfortable position.

𝒥OHNNY 𝒮TORM !!

Johnny Storm is a firecracker. He's loud, cocky, and lives for attention. But when it comes to you, his unspoken little sister, his flame burns solely for your protection and comfort. He found you curled up on a beanbag chair in the common room, looking miserable. He’d been planning to annoy his sister but the sight of you stops him cold.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa-" he says, his usual bravado completely gone. He plops down on the floor next to you, a concerned frown on his face. "Hey, what's wrong? You look like you're gonna spontaneously combust, and I'm the only one allowed to do that around here."

You explain, and his expression softens. "Oh. Man, that sucks. That really, really sucks." He scratches the back of his head. "Okay, I'm not great at this whole comforting thing. But I'm great at heat." He grins, a little of his old self returning. "Watch this."

He holds out a hand, palm up, and a small, controlled flame flickers to life above his skin. He doesn't let it get too big. "Okay, now, put your hands here," he says, gesturing to the space just above the flame. The heat is perfect, warm and soothing. He then positions his hand near your stomach, acting as a living, breathing heating pad.

"How's that? Nice, right?" He keeps his hand steady, his concentration absolute, a rare sight for the Human Torch. "Anything else? Want me to set something on fire? The toaster? Ben's collection of ugly socks?" He stays with you, his hand a constant source of warmth, his chatter a reassuring hum, his concern genuine and warm. He may be a fiery hothead, but he's also a fiercely loyal and surprisingly gentle brother.

𝒫ETER 𝒬UILL !!

"Okay, so the first thing you need is a good playlist." Peter knelt by your bed, scrolling through his Zune with the gravity of a surgeon. "No, scratch that, the first thing you need is for me to say that this is the worst thing ever and that I'm sorry you're going through this."

He'd found you in your quarters, curled into a tight ball, tears streaming down your face. He'd gotten over his initial awkwardness (mostly) and was now in full 'overprotective older brother' mode.

"Alright, I've got the perfect mix," he declared. "We've got some 'Footloose' for when you need to feel awesome, some 'Come and Get Your Love' for general good vibes, and some 'Starman' because... well, it's beautiful and it makes me think of my mom." He put the earbud in your ear, the music a soft, familiar comfort.

He then proceeded to build a pillow fort around you. He would not rest until you were comfortable. He brought you a bowl of what he called "soup" but was mostly just broth and some kind of alien vegetable. "It's good for you," he insisted, not looking entirely sure.

He then told you the story of how he and Rocket once tried to steal a planet. It was a ridiculous, rambling, and utterly amazing story that made you laugh so hard the cramps subsided for a few blessed moments. He was an idiot, a sweet, goofy, and fiercely protective idiot, and his unwavering presence and his determination to make you smile was the best pain relief he could ever offer.

The next morning, it happens again. 

“Mother of holy Mary and Marvel Jesus, that smells like a threesome between me, a donut, and fuck-me chocolate syrup!” 

The man, again in the same coloured hoodie, pauses dramatically, closing his eyes and taking another long whiff as he half-leans into the bakery.

“Would you like to try—?” 

But before you can finish, he’s gone again, leaving you standing there in disbelief.

The third morning is not much different. 

Same man, same dog, same routine. However, this time, he doesn’t even say a word—just inhales, sighs in contentment, then spins around and exits as quickly as he entered. 

It keeps on happening until the end of the week. By then, you've had enough. 

Leaning on the counter, arms crossed, you watch from the counter as he comes into view by your window. 

His dark maroon hoodie is drawn tight, and in tow as usual is his dog drooling slightly against his shoulder. You brace yourself, eyes narrowing.

The door swings open.

“Wow—” 

“You, Mr. Dog Man!” You cut him off and point at him sternly. 

He raises an eyebrow, pointing a finger to himself as if saying, “Me?” 

“Yes, you,” you confirm, then you jab your finger towards your glass counter. “Kindly get the fuck in here.”

He chuckles, amused. “Did you just tell me to ‘get the fuck in here’?”

“Kindly,” you say, tilting your head with exaggerated politeness, “but yes.”

The man shrugs, complying with a casual stroll to the counter. 

“Alright, I'm in. What’s the dealio?” he asks, leaning on the counter with a smile. 

“What’s your name, sir?” 

“It’s Wade,” the stranger supplies, his smile widening. “Wade Wilson. Is yours ‘The Bitchy Baker Who Didn’t Have a Good Dicking This Morning’?” His words drip with sarcasm, but there’s a playful twinkle in his eyes. 

“Ha-ha. So funny,” you reply dryly. “You know, you can't just keep sticking your head in my bakery, make a comment, and then leave.”

“Why not? It's a free country,” he says, feigning innocence. 

You roll your eyes. “If you like the smell of my baked goods that much, why don’t you actually buy one? I can assure you that they taste better than they smell.” 

Wade smirks. “That’s what many of my ex-girlfriends said, but I could never trust them.” 

You ruffle your eyebrows at his offhand comment, but he moves on quickly. “Look, I never carry my wallet on my morning walks. Mary Puppins here would guilt-trip me into buying way more stuff than I need.” 

Your gaze drops to his dog, who’s happily panting in his arms and looking up with big eyes. “Her name is Mary Puppins?”

“Yup. Her previous owner—may he rest his soul—named her. Her new baby daddy—that’s me—just kept the tradition going.”  

“And she guilt-trips you into buying stuff?” you ask slowly in equal parts disbelief and intrigue. 

“Look at this face!” Wade exclaims, holding his dog out closer to you. “Wouldn't you buy her anything she wanted?” 

For a few beats, you inspect the dog and its outfit. A little red and black costume that looks awfully similar to something you’ve seen before, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. But yes, her owner was right; she did have something oddly endearing about her. 

“Is it okay if I pet her?” 

“Oh yeah,” Wade nods enthusiastically, “go right ahead.”  

Based on her lack of facial expressions, Mary Puppins seems indifferent to your pats and scritches, but her tail is wagging, so she must be enjoying it slightly. Wade watches you in approval.  

You retract your hands, wash them quickly, then grab a tray of goods out from one of the shelves in the counter. 

“Well, since you don't have your wallet, have one of these on the house,” you say, placing the tray in front of him. 

Wade gasps theatrically, eyes twinkling in delight at all the choices he can possibly have. He takes his time, hovering his free hand over the array of pastries, until he finally decides on a chocolate croissant. 

One bite, and his reaction is nothing short of dramatic, but that seems to be this guy’s style.

His eyes flutter to a close, and he lets out a moan that echoes in the quiet bakery. You smile proudly and mentally pat yourself on the back. 

“Oh my God, they always talk about having a foodgasm, but my mouth is literally coming with each bite. Oh my fucking God!”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Okay, bring your wallet tomorrow and you can have plenty more foodgasms.” 

“What—my handsome features don't get me free baked goods?” Wade leans the rest of his croissant towards Mary Puppins, who’s trying her best to nibble at it, but is mostly just licking it.

“You're cute, but you’re not that cute," you tease. Looking beyond his skin condition, he was a teensy bit handsome, you had to admit.

“I used to wear a wig. I’ll put it on again if it means I get free shit. Would that help?”

It’s hard not to smile in front of him. “No, I don't think so.” 

“People say I look like Ryan Reynold’s hotter cousin when I’ve got a full load of hair on me.”  

You huff and shake your head in disagreement. 

“How about a date?” Wade asks with a wink. “There’s financial compensation in that—that’s gotta count for something.” 

A date would count for something, but you didn't want him to be out of the waters yet.

“Come back tomorrow with your wallet and a date could maybe be in your future,” you reply flirtatiously. 

Wade nods with a grin and begins to walk backwards towards the door. 

“If I’m late though, it’s ‘cause I’m too busy jerking it while fantasizing about having those beauties in my mouth again.” 

You sputter a laugh. Feeling brave, you decide to channel his humor and reflect it back at him. “Wow, maybe you’ll be only one minute late, if you can even last that long.” 

He gasps in mock horror and jogs back to the counter again to take another baked good. 

“This is compensation for that comment…” he says with squinted eyes, stuffing the pastry into his mouth. 

“Don’t come too hard tonight, handsome,” you say with a wink. 

“I’m legitimately so hard right now,” he says with a full mouth, pointing the half pastry braid towards his crotch. “As the kids say these days, you match my freak, lady. Say bye-bye, Mary Puppins!” 

Wade awkwardly adjusts himself to make his dog give a little paw wave, while she simply wags her tail. You laugh and shake your head, amused by his antics. 

As he finally exits, you hear him call out, “And if anyone asks, I’m just here for the sweet, sweet baked goods. Totally not because of the hot baker!” 

You bite your lip, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, as you watch him and his dog disappear down the street. As you return to work, you replay your interactions with Wade over and over, and realize he’s just as endearing as his quirky dog. 

"Y/n, look honey you're doing it wrong THIS CAN'T GO ON LIKE THIS!!!" Wade shouted right next to you while you covered your ears, hissing angrily at him. "Wade I'm not deaf I can hear you!" you yelled back, giving him a sharp glare.

He grabbed your cheeks tightly as you looked up. "Even though I warned you, you kept doing it wrong. For a moment I doubted your hearing maybe but..."

"Wade..."

He squeezed your cheeks even tighter between his hands. "You know sometimes I get a little too excited, and so do you. Though that's not relevant to our conversation, my sweetie pie,"

"Wa-"

"Shhh I know you're tired and stressed. I am too. But I’m still less tired than you, believe me. Anyway, you shouldn't stress yourself too much, maybe your milk supply might decrease because of it later. We wouldn't want a baby born in the 21st century to make history by starving in prosperity-"

You brought your hands tightly to his masked ears and pinched them hard. "Wade Wilson! Stop interrupting me when I'm talking to you! My god, the baby hasn't even arrived yet but you're already making all this noise!" You pulled Wade towards you, still holding his ears tightly. Wade stared at you with wide, bulging eyes. "When the doctor said I needed to rest, meant my mind believe me! And this child..." You glanced sideways at the dummy baby and the diapers you bought for learning purposes behind you. "Anyway since I...I'm doing it wrong my love..." You released his ears and gently cupped his cheeks. "Then good luck cleaning up poop in 5 months." You kissed him through his mask and stood up. Since he was whining about you doing it wrong and wanted to take matters into his own hands, you had to give him what he wanted. Before leaving him alone in the room with a strange sense of triumph, you slapped your surprised husband's butt.

 The smile on Wade’s scorned face was something of fiction. There was an unbridled joy behind his eyes that was hard to interpret. It almost felt like he was honored to be included. He seemed shocked that his peeping Tom tendencies actually landed him a shot at me. His brown eyes always held a light interest in me; it flickered behind his pupils every time I traded him the lasagna dish. There was a longing behind his humor. Looking back at it, I am shocked he didn’t act on that attraction sooner. Maybe he feared to be rejected or simply he didn’t want to ruin a good thing. But, it was hard to tell, being that one meager suggestion from Logan has the man scrambling over to me like an amateur roller skater.

Maybe seeing his roommate with his head between my legs sparked something in him.

“As much as I want to seek heaven between those soft thighs, I want to be absolutely sure this is what you want, Blue Belle,” Wade said, throwing me a serious expression. “‘Fine’ is not going to cut it. I need your verbal consent that you would like to engage in a menage a trois with me and beast boy over there.”

“Keep making cracks and I will rescind my invitation,” Logan huffed.

“It’s not up to you, caveman,” Wade snapped back. “Beautiful Gorgeous is calling the shots now. Meaning, if she wants me to stay, you’ll have to put up with  these cracks for the rest of our lives.”

“A little ambitious, don’t you think?” I smirked. “Who’s to say this isn’t a one-time thing?”

“Now who’s the one cracking jokes?” His arm circled around my waist. With a gentle tug, our chests were pressed together and our eyes drilling into each other's with an interest that can only be described as unholy. “It's bold of you to assume that I had any interest in letting you go now that I got you.”

“That's hilarious considering I still have the chance to reject your offer,” I chided back.

“I'm not above getting on my knees and begging a pretty little thing for permission to access her body,” he whispered as desire flashed in his eyes. “I actually prefer to be on my knees more than standing up right.”

“I bet you'd prefer it if I'd call you “good boy” from this point on,” I purred, trailing a finger down his spine.

Wade shivered. “You can only call me that from now on. Strike “good” and “boy” from your vocabulary right now.”

“I'll see what I can do, darling,” I cooed, dragging a manicured nail along the side of his neck.

“Every time you speak with that thick syrupy accent, my dick grows harder by the word,” Wade groaned, leaning into my hand. “I'm seconds from making a mess in my jorts.”

“You're wearing a tracksuit,” I chuckled.

“Am I?” he briefly looked down at himself. “I am. Shit, I forgot where I was for a second, Blue Belle. You sure aren't hypnotizing me with your doe eyes, are you?”

“A lady never reveals her secrets,” I smiled.

“I'm going to kiss you now,” he said, pulling me even closer. “Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

His lips pressed against mine in a tender peck. It was to test the waters and provide me a chance to back out. I leaned into him. I kissed him with a ferocity that he welcomed like a lightning strike. Wade shivered beneath my touch and moaned against my lips. His strong hands gripped my rear and massaged its soft tissue gingerly. His fingers tangled in the ruffles of my hand opened sundress as he lifted its skirt from the ground. Another pair of hands slid up my legs as a broad chest pressed against my back. 

A nose ran along the side of my craned neck, swiftly followed by a tongue. The third member of our devil's threesome. His calloused hands nipped and poked at my thighs. Almost like he was fascinated by their softness, as if he wasn't between them moments before. Logan's fingers found the zipper on my left side and dragged the metal piece down. The garment sagged around my body and I reluctantly broke the kiss with Wade. Goosebumps decorated my skin as Logan’s hands assisted in the removal of the dress. He tried to push the sleeves from my shoulders.

“Hold on, baby,” I said, pulling away from the man behind me. “This is an overhead garment. Gotta lift it from the bottom.”

Without saying a word, the men lifted to the oversized skirt from the ground pulled the dress over my head. The cool air in the apartment nipped at my bare skin. I felt my nipples perk beneath the thin material of my bra. My panties sat awkwardly on my hips and thighs due to Logan’s earlier activities. I was pretty sure my wig resembled a bird's nest on my head— yet those men stared at me as if I was the first and only woman they'd ever seen. Wade had a look on his eye as if he were too afraid to touch me. As if I were a fragile being worth shielding and protecting.

Once I turned to fully face hugger, I noticed his eyes were zeroed in on one particular spot. My spine.

“Spinal realignment surgery at 16,” I said with a sad smile. “Hurt like a bitch, wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.”

A calloused finger dragged against my spine slowly. I shivered underneath the featherlike touch and took my bottom lip between my teeth. A different finger, from another palm, traced another familiar spot along my body. 

“Ex husband,” I sighed, a hint of sadness in my tone. “Terrible drunk with great aim.”

“Did he throw a fucking machete at you?” Logan grunted. “That scar is fucking huge.”

A humorless chuckle fell from my lips. “It was a wine bottle. The force of the bottle to my chest knocked me on my back, right onto a beer bottle. It broke and pieces of it lodged into my shoulder.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Blue Belle,” Wade hissed. “I am sorry you went through that. Good thing he’s an ex, because I would have no problem making you a widow within the hour. Scum like that shouldn’t be breathing the same air as you.”

“Agreed,” Logan replied, resting a hand on my hip.

I turned around and took a step back. I took in the expressions of both men before. Their faces were a mixture of anger, dread and anticipation. The desire to murder my ex was evident on their face, however it wasn’t the only form of desire I could see. The men stared at my body in disbelief. In complete shock. They could not fathom someone wanting to inflict harm on me. Even with my twisted underwear and cotton bra, their eyes swallowed me like I was the only water for miles. I watched their hands twitch the longer I stood away from them. Almost like they were itching to feel my skin once more. Their desire to not only defend me from an ex and to remain in constant skin contact made my heart sing.

With a small smile, I lifted my arms behind my back and proceeded to unclasp my bra. The fullness of my breast blossomed against my front and I watched the men’s eyes widened at the sight. Logan was the first to reach me. Hot kisses graced my lips and neck, while his massive hand massaged my bosom. Wade took the area behind me and kissed along my shoulders. When Logan pulled his head away from my neck, he lifted my heavy breast into his hand. Craning his head downward, his mouth latched onto the nipple. The wet heat of his tongue caused me to stumble backward a little bit; Wade’s body caught me from falling backward any more. My hand found the shaggy hair atop the older man’s head and gripped the strands at the roots. He growled at the action and gently nipped the soft tissue of my breast.

A squeal-type moan erupted from my mouth at the action. 

“Ooh, you and wolfy have a mutual kink!” Wade chirped, gripping my hips tightly. “How exciting.”

“W-we do?” I panted, leaning into him.

 Logan moved to the neglected bud; sucking it into his naughty mouth. 

Wade’s hot breath fanned my earlobe as he crouched down to my ear. My senses were going haywire from the stimulation those men were giving me. My thoughts were squiggly lines floating in my skull; forming words was starting to get harder by the second.

“Logan loves to bite during sex,” Wade whispers, slipping his band into my waistband. His calloused fingers slid against my damp curls and straight to my oozing lower lips. “Maybe it is his wolfy nature, or whatever. Leaves me covered in marks every time we fuck. I am particularly indifferent  from the notion. But you.” His calloused fingertips found my aching bud almost instantly. “Seem to enjoy being nipped by the beast.”

As if on queue, Logan bit my other breast; earning a moan from me. 

“Keep your eyes on me,” the older gentleman growled, eyes drilling into me. “Don't let him distract you.”

“Someone's jealous,” Wade said in a singsong voice.

“Wade, please, shut the fu—”

“Afraid I might steal her from you?”

“Wade, I swear to—”

“I need to tell you something,” I interjected, pulling away from both gentlemen. Their eyes snapped to me. “Before we go any further.”

“Do you have a third nipple?” Wade asked, looking at my breasts intensely. 

Logan just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms against his chest. He gave me a serious look. I watched him inhale deeply and his whole body shiver in the process. His pupils gradually dilated and I could see the goosebumps start to prick his skin. My eyes turned to Wade and his reaction was similar. But, instead of goosebumps, his face flushed a deep crimson. I could feel my true essence start to fill the room and its scent was stronger then. The familiar coolness of fog gathering at my feet sent chills to my body and I felt my eyes roll back. The fog rose from its place at my ankles and wrapped around me like a hug. My skin vibrated beneath the cold cloak and my feet slowly started to lift from the ground. The fog spun around me faster and I felt my skin suddenly grow hotter. There was a distinctive ache on the very top of my head and between my shoulder blades. The tissue stretched and then pulled right back to me. Almost like it never left.

My eyes snapped open, but my eyes rolled to the back of my head. My neck craned backward and my wig slipped from my head. My neatly braided hair was exposed underneath. Each row started to slowly unravel, unleashing my coils. My humidity from the fog made my hair puff up and the mysticism in the air sculpted it to a perfect afro. Fingers laced with mine within the fog and their coldness warmed my heart. 

My feet gradually lowered onto the ground and the fog started to retract back into the earth. 

When I opened my eyes, I saw both men before: slack-jawed.

“There’s. . . two of you. . . “ Logan tried to say. “What . . . ?”

“I gotta admit, Blue Bell, when you said you had something to show us, I'd thought it was an extra body part or something,” Wade said in disbelief. “Not a whole person. I mean this is more than unexpected, but I cannot say I'm mad about it.”

The cold fingers slipped from mine and I turned to Violet. Her smile was wide, exposing all of her pointy teeth. Her glowing eyes were the shade of burning coal. A chorus of deep orange and yellow. Her imposing horns, somewhat hidden underneath her massive (matching) afro. They arched backward slightly and then tilted up slightly; almost like the letter “S”. Her skin was a deep, rich purple. almost resembling the color of cartoon grapes (🍇). Her fingers and feet were pitch black, which gradually faded to the juicy purple color. Like they dipped in black ink. Each finger was topped with two inch, black stiletto nails. Two, imposing violet and black wings sat neatly behind her. Along with a slim, long tale.

Violet raised her arms over her head and released an exaggerated sigh. “It's good to be free. Jesus, how long have we been merged? A month? Two? I lost count.”

“It's been a week, Violet,” I replied with a chuckle. “Remember, you helped bake the cookies for the funeral?”

“Right! The one for Mary Joe,” the purple woman shook her head. “May she rest in peace. Always liked her. She had a mean tongue. I don't think I've ever come so hard just from oral.” The purple woman fanned herself. “Ooh, I'm getting hot just thinking about it. Gone too soon, I say.”

Someone cleared their throat and brought our attention over to them. It was Logan. A furrow sat between his brow and his eyes were narrowed. The arms across his front made his chest look even bigger. His eyes shot between us, the question lingering in his eyes.

“What exactly.  .  . are you?” His question was careful, but still had some edge to it. 

“Testy testy, that one,” Violet said, shaking her head. “I don't get what you see in him.”

“Be nice,” I whispered, before turning to Logan. “Before I answer that question, I would like to point out that I know you both aren't human. I know that you are not in the plumbing business and I know exactly what you do for money. So, let's not point the finger just yet, Mr. Howlet.”

“You sneaky minx!” Wade finally spoke up. “You've been spying on little ‘Ole me?”

“Not me,” I replied with a smirk. “Her.” I nodded to Violet.

“Guilty as charged,” she chirped, raising her hand. “I mean, how could I not? You guys are a smoke show! Plus, I wanted to split Logan in two for being a bastard, but Y/N wouldn't let me.”

“Because I knew he'd just regenerate shortly after,” I sighed.

“Still would've been satisfying,” she shrugged. “Besides, he deserved it. Who rejects lasagna? Especially with homemade pasta sheets?! An absolute jerk-off that's who!”

“I knew you made the pasta from scratch!” Wade exclaimed. “Nothing that good could come from a box. I was just telling wolfy—”.

“We're getting off topic,” Logan interjected. “You never answered the question.”

“Stop being such a grumpy old man and let the pretty girls talk. You're such a wet blanket.” Wade narrowed his eyes at him before turning back to us. “Don't let his faux disinterest fool you. This fucker eats more than half of the treats you make for me. Practically leaving me crumbs in the pyrex dish. Selfish bastard he is.” 

“Don't worry, baby, mama's gonna make something special just for you,” Violet cooed, dragging her nails across his earlobe, making the man shiver. She brought her hot mouth close to his ear and whispered. “Don't you like cinnamon rolls, darling?”

“More than anything, actually,” Wade groaned, leaning into her touch. “Anything sticky, sweet and spicy will always have my cock. I mean my heart. Shit both of them.”

My eyes flickered over to Logan. “The answer is I am both human and succubus. Violet is the physical manifestation of my demon side and I, currently, am the physical manifestation of my human side. We are not twins, nor are we related. We are two conscious beings that often share a body. Two sides of the same coin.”

“Think of us as the literal representation of the angel and devil on your shoulder,” Violet said, trailing her claws down Wade's abs. “She's the angel, despite her poor taste in men.” 

“Ouch,” I feigned offense.

“And I am the devil,” she continued on, ignoring me.

Logan looked between us two. “So, you are not a mutant?”

I shook my head. “Just the product of an unholy union between a god fearing Christian woman and an incubus.”

He hummed slowly and, with one swift movement, our chests were pressed against each other. “I apologize for being an asshole and hurting your feelings. You didn’t deserve that and I am sorry.” His words were gentle, just like his embrace. They made my heart flutter and my body warm.

“You should apologize to Wade for eating his lasagna,” I purred, drawing circles on his collarbone. “That wasn't very nice.”

“I'm not going to apologize for something I don't regret,” he huffed, pulling me tighter. “I enjoyed every single bite of it and I will do it again with the next dish you've brought.”

“You're so greedy,” I chuckled. “You don't deserve any lasagna after the things you've done. Don't think a few licks and kisses will make me change my mind. You were so cold, I could've shown you hated me.”

“Quite the opposite actually,” Wade groaned, while Violet slid her hand in his pants. “He practically parks his ass by the window every time tend to your lawn. And watches you like a creep. He even scares off some rowdy teenagers trying to pluck your roses. Real protective that one.”

“Oh really?” I said with a smile. “Since when did you become so infatuated with me, Sir Lancelot?”

“From the beginning,” he mumbled, looking away from me. “I've never hated you. I just thought. . . that your generosity was conditional at first. That you'd ask us for something after a little while. You never did. Even when you should've. No lady should have to clean her own gutters or change a tire.”

“I’ll be sure to call you the next time I need a big, strong man to save me from chores,” I replied, pulling his face closer to mine. 

“You better,” Logan  grumbled before pressing his mouth to mine. 

The kiss was slow and seductive. I felt my body slowly melt against his the longer we embraced. My hands slowly found themselves in his hair as he gripped my waist tightly.  With just a few inches difference in our heights, I could feel his bulge run against my pelvis. His was so hard it warped the fabric. His  hands moved lower down my legs and he crouched his body lower to reach them. The grumpy man lifted me off the ground and hooked my legs around his waist.

 I broke the kiss with a gasp and wrapped my hands around his neck. “Whisking me away, are you?”

“My lady has been on her feet for far too long,” he replied, a devilish grin on his face. 

He'd never admit it, but I could tell the bastard loved to roleplay. 

A moment later, my back collided with the soft surface of a mattress. My body bounces a little from the impact and it earns a giggle from me. Logan crawls atop the bed, hovering over my smaller form. A goofy smile on his lips.

“You're so beautiful when you laugh,” he declares, capturing my lips once more.

I moaned, already getting addicted to the taste of him. My hands slide under his shirt and I start to push the garment up his abdomen. He breaks the kiss briefly before tugging it over his head. Logan moans against my mouth as my hands undo his belt buckle and jean closures. My fingers slide down the open space and cup his hard length. The man sucks in a breath and tears away from the kiss. He rested his forehead against mine and stared directly into my eyes. 

“Is my lady getting restless?” He asked, the heat of his gaze making me sweat.

“You have no idea,” I replied, squirming underneath him. “If I get any wetter, I could ring out my panties. All this foreplay has got me oozing. I'm seconds away from ripping your pants off and riding you like a stallion.”

“I wouldn't be opposed to such an act,” he replied with a laugh.

“Good to know,” I said. “Now lie on your back.”

“Yes, ma'am”.

With my panties off, I climbed back on the bed, right atop of Logan. I swung my leg over his face and placed my oozing cunt just inches from that hot crevice of a mouth. The older man groaned loudly and brought both of his hands to my ass. He massaged the soft tissue slowly, nipping the dimpled cheeks lightly. Arching my back, I gave him better access to the glistening folds. I placed both hands on his abdomen and brace myself. 

Logan, the sweet man he is, didn't say a word. He simply opened his mouth and dragged his tongue along the oozing slit. A shiver danced through me as he repeated the action several times before placing his mouth on my folds and sucking. His naughty tongue lapper against my pearl with a hunger I've briefly seen before. The man beneath me was starving and aching for me. His tongue attacked the underside of my clit with a pressure and a pace that left me breathless. My original plan was to take him in my mouth while he feasted upon me. But, by how he worked that mouth, Logan wanted me to focus on one thing. And that was coming on his face. 

My hips rolled against his face as my nails dug into his thighs. My lower half was completely smothering his face, but the mutant wouldn't have it any other way. 

Although my legs were quaking, I still managed to undo the buttons of his jeans and freed the tent at the crotch. The girth of his member had me whimpering. Due to my height, I was just able to wrap my fist around the shaft, even then, only my fingertips touched. I brought the tip near my lips and circled my tongue around it. The man below sucked in a breath and smacked my rear lightly. I yelped at the sudden action and rolled my hips against his face once more. Logan groaned and continued to attack my folds. He licked and sucked the area right below my clit, never really touching the bundle of nerves. Inch my inch, I took the shaft in my mouth. Since the angle was awkward, I could only get the member about halfway inside. I used my hand to make up the difference. I bobbed my head slowly at first, experimenting with my movements and highlighting my limits.  Gradually, I moved quickly against him; hollowing my cheeks in the process. I felt the man groan underneath me, his breathing picking up as I worked my mouth on his cock. I felt the member twitch within my mouth before Logan finally stopped teasing me. 

With a subtle tilt of my hips, Logan’s plush lips found my pearl and began to suck. Hard. My mouth fell open and the member fell from my lips. The moans coming from my throat were unrecognizable as I started to fiercely grind on his face.

“Just like that,” I panted, digging my nails in his thighs. “Keep doing that and I am gonna cum.”

As my eyes flickered closed, an image came into focus. It was Wade. His arms were raised above his head, bound by something— maybe handcuffs or rope. His eyes were heavily lidded and his lips slightly ajar. The rise and fall of his chest was quick. Almost as though he were panting. Thick ropes of milky cum painted his rippling abs and it just kept spilling from his cock. A black hand moved along the length in short, quick bursts; squeezing tightly as it went. It was then that I noticed that Wade was holding his muscular thighs in the air. Exposing the bright purple toy slipping in and out of his slick center. The silicone dildo rested in the center of Violet’s apex, held up by a leather harness and silver D rings. It was our prized position for many reasons, but the main one being that it was double ended. I could feel Violet’s pleasure pool in her belly the longer she pounded into Wade. Her thighs were trembling and her breathing was just as hoarse as Wade’s. 

She was seconds from cumming.

As was I. 

I could feel my walls begin the quiver against his face, desperately aching to be filled by something. It hadn’t come. Yet. The moans spilling from my lips started to grow louder in pitch as a pool started to fill in my stomach. Tingles started to erupt underneath my skin. It started at my fingers and toes, making its way up my limbs and settled in my mid section. My entire being was ablaze and the pleasure was intensifying by the second. I could feel Violet’s orgasm building, just as I was sure she felt mine. It was deeper and more intense. 

Another image came to mind. Her palm stopped stroking Wade’s cock mid-stroke. She snatched her fingers from the member and started to move her hips faster. Hammering into the man at an inhuman pace. His eyes widened from the change and his grip tightened on his thighs. Breath caught in his throat, he simply nodded fiercely at the demon. Silently begging she wouldn’t stop. The toy dug deeper in both parties, ferociously attacking their pleasure points. I could hear Violet begin to yell in the next room, her passionate shouts shaking the walls.

My eyes started to roll to the back of my head as a silent scream fell from my lips. All feeling left my body as the orgasm washed over me. My hips rolled against Logan’s face, humping his mouth with little mercy. I desperately sucked in a gust of air, before releasing a loud moan. 

“Lord, help me!” I cried, gripping his thighs for dear life. “I’m cumming! Holy fuck!”

Even with my eyes tightly closed, I knew the mist was rising from the ground and swiftly engulfing my body. Tingles reverberated underneath my skin and made the hair on the back stand up. A golden light pierced the back of my eyelids as the last glorious seconds of the climax took over Me. I rolled my hips against his face, chanting his name in the process. I never wanted his lips to leave my quivering cunt, but I knew that was unrealistic. Especially with what awaited me when I opened my eyes.

As the fog dissipated, I found myself in a new location. I blinked several times and took in the scene before me. My body was not hovering over Logan, but pressed against another. My breasts nestled against a hard chest and my thighs were on either side of a narrow waist. My soft tummy pressed against a set of sticky abs. Resting just below my apex, poking my inner thigh, was someone's else's cock. Wade's, to be specific.

His eyes were wide with disbelief at the sight, rapidly scanning my face to see if this was really happening. 

“Did you guys just.  .  . switch places?” He asked, gripping his wrist restraints tightly. 

“More or less”, I said with a shrug.

“Well smack my ass and call me Sally!” He replied with a chuckle. “You two are just full of surprises, huh?”

“You could say that,” I chuckled, tracing a nail along his ear.

“What else you got up your sleeve, Blue bell?” Wade groaned at the sensation. “Anything else you'd like to share with the class?”

I could feel his member perk up against my thigh with every other pass of my finger. He was growing hard and  faster than I had originally anticipated. Wade had wanted me. His attraction was not a surprise as the massive man wore his brain on his sleeve. His thoughts were free to anyone that would listen and his actions. . . as transparent as glass. Wade wanted me from the first moment I knocked on his door with the lasagna dish. I saw his lingering glances on my body and I hadn’t minded. He was a hunk of a man and I felt myself in need of a ride.

I lifted myself from my position on his chest and placed both hands on his pecs. My knees rested on either side of his slim waist as my hot cunt rested on his lap. His member twitched beneath me. His eyes became hooded and the scorned man tugged at the cuffs at his wrists.

“Are you sure you're not an angel?” Wade said with jagged breaths. “Because you look downright heavenly in this position. Hands on my chest. Wet pussy smothering my cock. That seductive look in your eye that tells me you're about to do something that's gonna make me cum like a fountain. God, you're so beautiful. I'm probably gonna spill just looking at ya. Say something, gorgeous. Because if you don’t, I’m gonna keep—”

My hips rolled against his throbbing length, earning a groan from the male. “You’re so hard for me, despite just spilling all over yourself moments ago.”

“Keep moving like that and I’m gonna spill again,” he growled, moving his hips in rhythm with mine. 

“If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you spill inside me,” I cooed, digging my nail in his chest.

His groans turned to whimpers. “Please, Blue Belle,” Wade begged, pulling at his restraints. “Please let me fill that hot, dripping pussy with my cock. I’ve been waiting for that since the moment I met you. If I have to wait any longer, I’m gonna make a fool of myself. Please, darling. I need you.”

A smirk found my lips. “I didn’t even have to ask you to beg,” I said, lifting my hips from his member. I lifted a hand from his chest and brought it between our joint bodies. I gripped the thick shaft and aligned it with my entrance. “Just for that, you get your wish.” 

Slowly, I sunk onto his awaiting cock. A gasp ripped from my lips as a groan came from Wade. Followed by a curse. Inch by Inch, I took him. Pumping my hips slowly to make the process faster. I placed both hands on his chest once more and started to grind against Wade. The head of his member pushed against a spot I almost forgot I had. My legs quivered at the friction. Wade had a smug look on his face and, in that moment, I knew we were both thinking the same thing: I wasn’t going to last long. With that thought resting at the front of my mind, I decided to make the best of our predicament. I tilted my body a bit forward, and pressed my palms harder against his chest. I widened the position of my thighs, arched my back and pressed my knees firmly on the mattress. Once my body was stable, I started to move. I didn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of easily getting into it; I threw my ass back with the vindication of a seasoned professional.

“Oh! Oh God!” Wade exclaimed, gripping the headboard. “Jesus. . . Fuck!”

The length of his member was not surprising, since everything about Wade oozed big dick energy. He was cocky, arrogant and well endowed. It was the girth that surprised me. It was thicker than I was used to. It stretched my slick canal with passion. My walls were pulsing intensely from the intrusion. God, how I wanted to be filled like that in such a long while. Wade had stretched me in ways I didn’t think was possible, at least not anymore. Logan had done his partner a disservice by giving me such an intense orgasm from oral. The desire to be filled was prevalent. Sure, cumming on the tongue of a beautiful man was great, but the thought of being absolutely hammered by his member was another. 

My eyes flickered closed as pleasure zapped through me like a lightning strike. Through the foggy haze of my incoming climax, I could see a pillow, through Violet’s eyes. The position of the pillow was moving, almost like it was being moved back and forth at a quick pace. Or, Violet was being moved in that sequence. The succubus briefly lifted her head from the plush surface and craned her neck backward. Logan came into view. He was shirtless and sweat coated his body. His teeth were clenched and face was contorted. His hips moved at a pace that could only be described as brutal. Just how Violent liked it. The demon preferred to be in change. She took her position of dominatrix very seriously. But, there were times when she liked to switch, when the partner was powerful enough to dominate her. It seemed like Violet had met that partner. Logan was pounding into her like he hated her. Fast and hard. He was also muttering words I couldn’t necessarily make out, but knowing Violet, it was probably something scandalous.

The sight of Logan losing control had earned a moan out of me. He looked so hot when behaving so erratically. I was so distracted by the sight that I almost missed the set of hands gripping my wrists. Almost. My eyes snapped open and looked down at Wade. The cuffs that bound his wrists dangled from the headboard, still in tack. 

“How did you—”

“A magician never shares his secrets,” he snickered. “Now, press your chest against mine. I would like to try something.”

“Taking charge, pet?” I jested, leaning forward.

“Only trying to keep your attention,” he replied, wrapping his arms around me. “At least while I got you.”

Before I could respond, Wade moved his hips upward, effectively thrusting into me from below. A startled moan spilled from my lips as I hooked my arms underneath his shoulders. Once grasping his body tightly, the man beneath me began to thrust. Hard and fast. He matched the pace I had originally set for our union. He didn’t have the patience to wait for the future, to see if I were to switch places once more. Instead, he was going to milk every moment that we had together. 

“That’s it, Blue Belle,” Wade growled, digging his fingers in my sides. “Scream for me.”

I hadn’t known I was screaming until he pointed it out. My mind was simply in a state of shock. I knew that Wade was not an innocent man, by a landslide, and that he was not purely submissive. But, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that he was so good at playing both positions. The bumbling, needy sub and the insatiable dominant. A true switch. 

The way his cock dug inside me was evidence that he excelled at being in charge. My legs shook at the intensity of the position and  the depth of him. My walls pulsed around him, squeezing tightly, as a familiar feeling in my belly grew. I was close.

“Wade. . .” I trailed off.

“I know, gorgeous,” he grunted, eyes flickering over my face. “I know.”

“I-I’m. . . mmm— oh lord!” 

The remaining strength within my being had quickly dissipated and I felt my body completely mesh with Logan’s. My breasts were pressed against his chest and my head fell in the crook of his neck. I held him tighter, as his cock managed to hit that pleasure point directly with each thrust. Second by second, my body grew taut. My muscles started to lock as my mouth slowly opened. My eyes slowly rolled back as I started to pant heavily. The pressure in my belly had spilled over and an indescribable sensation had overcame me. 

I was cumming, hard.

“That’s it, baby,” Wade encouraged. “There you go. Cum for me.”

A jagged breath fell from my lips as I whined atop the man. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Never,” he replied, a smile in his voice.

A string of curses left my lips as the wave of pleasure kept rolling over me. I never wanted it to end. I never wanted to part from that room. Part from Wade. But, I knew it was coming. The coolness of the mist had inched up my feet and started to swirl at my legs. It was only then that I felt the faint burst of Violet’s pleasure. She had reached her peak, the same time I had reached mine. Again. Meaning, it was time to switch. 

I looked down at Wade, who’s hips were starting to stagger. His face was pulled in a pinched expression and I felt his body suddenly shudder. He was close. The mist had started to collect around my form, but I kept it at bay. Mentally stalling the switch, just for a few seconds. Wade kept hammering into me until his hips halted, in mid thrust. His member pulsed aggressively before shooting hot spurts of cum inside me. I moaned at the sensation and rolled my hips against him.

“Give it to me, pet,” I said, pressing kisses to his face. “Fill me with your seed.”

Wade let out a strangled cry before collapsing on the bed. His member still pulsed, but oozed instead of squirting.

“God, you really are a dream,” he said, satiated. 

“Only to you.”

Upon opening my eyes, I was greeted with another panting man. Instead of being situated beneath me, Logan was directly above me. His dark brown eyes poured into me, a mixture of various emotions behind them. Relief. Astonishment. Desire. Longing. He was waiting for my return in his arms. And by the look on my face, I knew we shared the same desire. Logan’s lips were on mine before I could utter a single syllable. The weight of his body damn near suffocated me as he pulled me closer. Held me tighter. My legs hooked around his waist. Our nude pelvises grinding against one another. His cock gradually hardened from the action and I became even wetter than I already had.

“I’ve been waiting for you, M’lady,” Logan said, breaking the kiss. “I hope you’ll  have me.”

My chest glowed at his use of roleplay. “I will,” I said, running a hand in his hair. “But, you must promise to be gentle. Wade did a number on me.”

Logan growled at the last bit, but didn’t mention it. Instead, he gently lifted his lower half from mine and took his member in hand. Slowly, he sunk into my awaiting center— earning a moan from the both of us. There was more of him than Wade. He had been bigger in length, but also in girth. The more he inched in me, the more grateful I was for the switch. It would’ve taken a bit longer to adjust  to Logan’s size. Wade had not only stretched me something devious, but made me wet enough to take him easily. 

When successfully connected, Logan started to roll his hips against me. It wasn’t a thrust, but also wasn’t a grind. A happy medium between both. The position was simply tantalizing. With every motion, his pelvis ground against my clit, sending sparks up my spin. Within seconds, I was squirming beneath the hulking man. My nails digging his shoulders and my mouth moaning up a storm. His member was deep and practically digging within me. It was hitting all the right places— he was hitting all the right places. The sickening pace he had set had my legs shaking shortly after our union. My walls pulsed around him, possibly squeezing his haft mercilessly. I was getting wetter by the thrust, practically dripping for him. 

“I’m not going to last long, knight,” I panted, my head falling back on a pillow. 

“Keep squeezing me like this and neither will I,” he replied through gritted teeth. 

Our lips found each other once more. The kiss was sensual and seductive. My body started to lax the more we stayed tangled together. The need for me to grip Logan for stability was no longer. I was perfectly situated on the mattress and the hulky man didn’t complain. He continued to fuck me like the world was ending it that was our last night together. Logan wanted to relish in whatever moment we had together, knowing it could be fleeting. Knowing I could go back with Wade.

A subtle gnawing within my belly started to grow. The pleasure that was steadily growing had reached the rim. A throaty sigh spilled from my lips as I gripped the sheets. I turned my head to the side, unable to sustain the heat of his gaze. Unlike the last two approaches to climax, I couldn’t see through Violet’s eyes, nor feel her pleasure. The simple observation could mean a lot of things. The first being that she no longer wanted to share her sight with me; which was doubtful. Violet was an exhibitionist. She loved to be watched. The second being that she was not engaging in sexual activities. That was severely unlikely. Or the third, she was waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the big reveal. Something that rarely happened.

Like a cup under a faucet, pleasure pushed me over the edge. My body tensed slightly as I felt all the sound drift away from my ears. My eyes squeezed shut and my mouth hung open for a silent scream. My hips met Logan’s thrusts, further grinding my clit into his pelvis. My walls pulsed slowly; clenching his member in long intervals before releasing. My toes curled as my heels dug into the mattress. The breath I was holding came out in a rush as a wheezing sound came from my throat. My womanhood was oozing around Logan’s member, wetting us both, and making a mess beneath my ass. The words “keep going” fell from my lips at some point, but it didn’t register to my ears. 

To his credit, Logan didn’t stop. 

He kept his sensual pace, making the climax feel everlasting. 

It wasn’t until significantly later that I felt his thick cock violently twitch within me. His hips stopped their delectable grinding— moments before thick ropes of cum filled my walls once more. Opening my eyes, I caught the older man engulfed in bliss. Body trembling above mine as his fingers dug deep in the mattress. There was a sorta glow that took over his face, almost making him look ethereal. As his body slowly lost tension, his pinched expression began to relax and his eyes lazily opened. Before slapping open completely. Logan stared at me for a moment, before rearing back, slipping out of me and stumbling off the bed.

Horrified, I gathered the sheets around me and quickly covered my body. I sat up and peered over the bed. Logan’s mouth fell open as we locked eyes once more. He remained motionless on the ground, staring at me wildly. Eyes looking above my head, behind my and then back to my face. 

“What is the matter with you?” I hissed, becoming increasingly annoyed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Your wings are showing, Honey,” Violet’s voice sounded from the doorway. “Along with your halo”.

I reached a hand behind my back and immediately felt soft feathers brush against my palm. “Fuck,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Fuck is right!” Wade exclaimed, pushing past Violet to enter the room. “You’re a fucking angel! Holy shit! Maybe, I shouldn’t have said that. My apologies.” Wade processed to cross himself before pressing his palms in a prayer position. 

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Logan asked, scrambling to his feet. 

“Because everyone I sleep with has the same reaction,” I said, wrapping my sheet tighter against my body. “Unbridled shock and then a devotion to their ‘Lord and Savior’. And besides, I’m still getting used to this development.”

“Used to it?” Violet interjected, once again. “It’s been fifty years! You had more than enough time to get used to it!”

“Fifty years!?” Wade screamed. “How old are you?”

I groaned and shot Violet a nasty look. “125.”

The man looked between both Violet and I, before shooting a look at Logan. “Even with a literal angel in the room, you are still the oldest bastard here. Wow.”

I opened my mouth to ask the most obvious question ever, but Logan’s answer stopped me.

“I’m 167,” he replied in a bored expression.

“Wade is right. You really are an old bastard,” Violet said. As if a lightbulb erupted in her head, her eyes widened and then narrowed menacingly. “What wars did you fight in?”

“Violet!” I exclaimed. 

“You were too young for the Civil War,” she continued. “But, you must’ve fought in the World Wars. So, which side were you on? Matter of fact, where were you during the Civil Rights movement?”

I opened my mouth to object, but decided against it. 

I, too, wanted to know the answer. 

Even Wade was quiet for once. 

“What kind of question is that!” Logan shot to his feet. “Of course, I wouldn’t side with the oppressive regime of 1940s Germany or the segregation of non-white people. I cannot believe you would suggest I would do otherwise!”

“I don’t know,” Violet shrugged. “A lot of immortal men have questionable pasts.”

“She’s right, wolfy,” Wade piped up. “You’d be surprised how many people sided with the south back in the day.”

“And, how old are you, Wade?” I asked, changing the subject.

“45, as of today!” He chirped. “And honestly, this is the best birthday present I could’ve ever gotten! Fucking an angel and a succubus in one day? There is no better way to celebrate.”

“Wait,” Logan turned to me. “You weren’t born an angel. You became one, right? Half a century ago. How did that happen?”

“Well. . .” I looked over at Violet, who made a playful gesture of zipping her lip shut. “When our husband almost killed us, my mother made a bargain with her god to bring me back. In order to do that, he had to split my soul in half: the human side and the demon side. He couldn’t necessarily destroy the demon side, so he allowed it to remain. But, he granted me the status of angel to my human side to save my life.”

“Must be nice to be God’s favorite,” Wade grumbled. 

“You have no idea,” Violet and I said in unison. 

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you found Wade sitting on the fire escape, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, boots swinging just above the edge.

the city buzzed below like a restless heartbeat, and he looked still. too still for someone who never shut up.

“you planning to jump, or are we just feeling dramatic tonight?”

you asked, leaning out the window with a smirk, trying to match his usual tone.

Wade didn’t turn to look at you, taking another drag before he exhaled slowly, smoke curling like a question mark into the sky.

“i’ve beem dramatic since birth, babe. came out the womb screaming in iambic pentameter”

you smiled, soft and tired. same old Wade.

“come inside”

he shook his head, staying in place.

“nah, air’s better out here”

that made you laugh.

shaking your head in disbelief, you leaned against the window.

“you’re in New York”

you climbed out onto the fire escape beside him, ignoring the way the etal bit into your thighs through your sleep shorts.

“exactly”

he told, a faux smirk tugging at his lips before you both broke out into silence.

it sat heavy between you, only broken by the distant wail of sirens and Wade’s quiet

“wanna talk about it?”

you asked, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

Wade finally looked at you, and it broke something in your chest.

no jokes, no wink. just Wade. stripped down, raw in a way you didn’t see often. the guy who wore sarcasm like armour suddenly looked like it didn’t fit anymore.

“you ever feel like you’re standing on the edge of something that could ruin you? and all you wanna do is jump?”

your throat tightened at his words.

“what is it?”

he stared at you for a long minute. the cigarette burned to ash between his fingers, going unnoticed as he lost himself in his thoughts.

then after that long minute, softer than you’d ever heard him before, he murmured.

“i’m scared of the things i feel for you”

the world stopped. cars kept honking, a dog barked, life went on. but your heart? it hit pause.

“Wade..”

he cut in, a humourless laugh slipping through as he mumbled.

“i know, i’m the worst person to feel anything for. trust me, i live with me”

that made you frown.

you never knew he felt that way about himself, and it hurt you more than anything.

“don’t do that”

Wade shook his head.

“do what? tell the truth?”

you reached out, placing your hand over his. his skin was rough, warm but rough, and his hand was shaking slightly.

but even as his hand shook, your thumb stroked across his knuckles.

“you’re not the worst”

he shook his head again, a sigh tumbling from his lips.

“you don’t know what i’ve done”

you rested your head on his shoulder, stroking your thumb across his knuckles again.

Wade softened under the weight of your head on his shoulder, just like he usually did when you sat like that.

“then tell me”

his head turned to yours, and then he whispered.

“i’ve hurt people, i’ve hurt myself. and i’m good at pretending it doesn’t matter, but you.. you matter, and that scares the shit out of me”

your chest ached. you wanted to kiss him, wanted to fix it. he was just human.

broken, brave, terrified.

“i’m scared too”

you admitted, voice small. 

Wade blinked.

“you?”

he looked down at you, watching you nod slowly.

“yeah. you feel like, a lot. like something that could change everything”

his eyes searched yours, as if you’d just handed him a life raft.

and then, he nodded. just once.

“i won’t jump”

he told, voice firm. 

you smiled at him, soft and faint, head still on his shoulder as he reached for your hand.

“good because if you go, i’m going with you”

his fingers laced with yours, stroking his thumb across the back of your hand.

and for a moment, the world was quiet.