The Newest Hot Fanfic (Poolverine)

Chapter 1: ''Oh Look, It's Mr. Grumpy Claws''

"SO, HERE WE ARE again. Another day, another incredibly ill-advised mission. And who do I get paired with? That's right—Logan. Wolverine. The Hairy Human Pincushion himself. The man who's got the emotional range of a brick wall and the charm of...well, also a brick wall. Lucky me."

I talk to myself, obviously, because who else would listen? Not Wolverine, that's for sure. The guy's about as interested in conversation as a cat is in a bath. But I digress. I mean, I've been on worse teams. There was that time I worked with Cable. Ugh, talk about daddy issues. But, at least Cable had, you know, a plan. Wolverine? He's more of a "stab first, think never" kinda guy.

"Deadpool, focus," Wolverine growls over his shoulder. His voice is all gravel and cigarettes. The man sounds like he gargles asphalt every morning.

We're trudging through what can only be described as your classic supervillain lair: dark, damp, and ominously industrial. It's the kind of place you just know the health inspectors would shut down in a heartbeat if they ever stopped getting paid off by whoever's running this little sideshow. Oh yeah, we're after some B-list villain named Karnov. Big guy, bigger ego, probably compensating for something if you catch my drift...

"Focus? Focus on what? The mold on these walls? The fact that the lighting here screams 'tetanus shot required'? Or maybe the deep, brooding silence you've got going on? You know, I thought we were partners here, Logan, but all I'm getting from you is bad vibes and monosyllables."

He growls again. It's kind of his thing. At this point, I'm starting to wonder if he actually knows how to form full sentences. Or maybe he just prefers to communicate through grunts and the occasional disapproving glare. Whatever floats his boat. Me? I'm a talker. But you already knew that.

Ahead of us, Karnov's henchmen scatter like cockroaches under a flashlight. Wolverine's slicing through them with his claws like they're nothing but tissue paper, while I'm doing my part by, well, being me. A few bullets here, a sarcastic quip there—it's all in a day's work for the Merc with a Mouth.

The thing about working with Wolverine is that there's no middle ground. It's either dead quiet, or it's all-out chaos. Right now, we're in chaos mode. The kind where bodies hit the floor, and not in a sexy dance-off kind of way. No, more like a blood-soaked nightmare kind of way.

Wolverine slams some poor schmuck into a steel beam, claws out and slicing through the guy's weapon with a screech of metal on metal. I'd say it's impressive, but it's Wolverine. That's his Tuesday.

"Get outta my way, Deadpool," he snarls, brushing past me like a bulldozer that's just woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

"Well, excuse me, Mr. Sunshine," I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes as I follow. "God forbid I stand in the path of greatness."

It's not long before we reach the main event—Karnov himself. The guy's standing there like a Bond villain who never quite made the cut. Big, bulky, covered in scars, with that ridiculous half-cape thing villains seem to think is fashionable. And of course, he's got the giant gun to match.

Wolverine doesn't waste any time. He's already in attack mode, claws out and slicing through the air before Karnov can even blink. But me? I'm not one to miss a chance to piss someone off. It's kinda my specialty. So, just as Wolverine is about to finish things off, I decide to spice things up a bit.

"Is that all you got, Karnov?" I shout, throwing my hands in the air with my best come at me, bro grin. "I expected more from someone with a name that sounds like a bad 80s action figure."

Wolverine freezes mid-swing and turns to glare at me, his eyes narrowing in that you-are-the-worst-decision-I've-ever-made way he does. I flash him a thumbs-up. Don't worry, Logan. I've got this covered, buddy.

Karnov, though? He does not appreciate the banter. His face twists into this ugly snarl, and before I can throw out another insult, he pulls a lever on the back of his massive gun. The thing starts whirring like it's about to summon the apocalypse. Uh-oh.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," I mutter as the barrel glows red-hot.

And then? Boom. He fires, and it's like getting hit by a freight train made of pure energy. The blast slams into both of us—Wolverine and I are thrown like ragdolls into opposite walls. Pain blooms everywhere, but hey, what else is new? At least I can regenerate.

"Ow, ow, ow—okay, maybe that was a bad idea," I groan, my body already stitching itself back together as I peel myself off the floor. Wolverine, on the other hand, is not looking too thrilled. His healing factor's working overtime, sure, but that doesn't mean he's happy about it.

"Deadpool, I swear to—" Wolverine starts, his voice a low rumble of barely contained fury. He's covered in smoke and burns, the smell of singed hair wafting through the air like someone set a wet dog on fire. It's not a good look for him, but hey, who am I to judge?

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I interrupt, holding up my hands in surrender. "Bad move, got it. But in my defense, he really needed to be taken down a peg. Did you see that cape? He deserved a verbal smackdown."

Wolverine's claws are out again, but this time they're pointed at me. His eyes are all murder-y, which is pretty standard, but still not great. "You almost cost us the mission."

"Almost is the key word there, buddy," I say, backing up a step. "Besides, we're fine! You're fine! Everything's fine."

Meanwhile, Karnov's gearing up for another shot, and I can practically hear the countdown to my next inevitable bad decision ticking away. But before I can even think of something witty to say, Wolverine's on him. There's a blur of claws, blood, and a lot of very manly grunting. In seconds, Karnov's weapon is destroyed, and the villain himself is pinned against the wall, breathing hard and looking more than a little worse for wear.

Mission accomplished.

I let out a long, dramatic sigh, leaning against the nearest crate. "See? Success! You worry too much, Logan."

Wolverine gives me this look—half exasperated, half I'm going to murder you in your sleep—and growls, "Next time, keep your mouth shut."

"Next time?" I grin. "Oh, you really do care."

He doesn't answer, just grunts and walks away, leaving me to bask in my own awesomeness. Or, you know, maybe start planning my apology.

But let's be real—Wolverine'll come around. He always does. Probably because he secretly enjoys the chaos I bring.