The Newest Hot Fanfic (Poolverine)

Chapter 3: ''Road Trips and Rage Issues''

THE QUINJET HUMS BENEATH us, its sleek frame cutting through the clouds like a blade through butter. We're en route to the Hydra base, suspended in that uncomfortable space between here and the inevitable violence to come. The air inside is heavy, tense—a coiled spring ready to snap.

And of course, I'm doing what I do best. Filling the silence. Relentlessly.

"You ever notice how these jets all smell the same?" I say, lounging across my seat like I'm on vacation. "It's like a weird mix of pine-scented air freshener and bad decisions. Seriously, Cap should think about upgrading the upholstery. Maybe go for that new-car smell? Or, better yet, bacon. You ever smell bacon seats? It's life-changing."

Wolverine's sitting across from me, head tilted down, arms folded. His jaw is clenched so tight you'd think his teeth were made of adamantium, too. He hasn't said a word since we boarded, but I can see it—the subtle tick in his eye, the way his claws twitch under his skin like they're begging to be unleashed. He's like a bomb with a broken timer. No one knows when it'll go off, but when it does? Oh, it's gonna be spectacular.

"So, Logan," I continue, grinning beneath my mask, "you ever think about retirement? Like, what's the game plan for a guy like you? Are you gonna buy a little cabin in the woods? Maybe start a bear sanctuary? I can see it now: Wolverine's Wild World of Wildlife. You'd be like one of those angry park rangers that always has a shotgun in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other."

His growl is low, deep, like the distant rumble of a storm on the horizon. "Wilson."

"Yes, my grumpy Canadian compadre?"

"Shut up."

Ah, there it is. The classic Wolverine response. Short. Sweet. Full of suppressed rage. But here's the thing—telling me to shut up? That's like telling a shark not to swim or a cat not to knock things off tables. It's in my nature.

"Shut up? Why would I do that?" I lean back, crossing my arms behind my head, feet still propped up on the armrest. "I'm providing a service here, Logan. You ever heard of in-flight entertainment? Think of me as your very own personal stand-up comic. For free, might I add."

His claws snikt out—just a hair. Just enough to remind me they're there, ready to rip through the thin thread of his patience.

But I can't stop. I won't stop. It's like when you get that song stuck in your head, and it just keeps playing on repeat. I'm that song. Only louder and with more explosions.

"You know what I just realized?" I say, leaning forward now, fingers steepled like I'm about to share the secret to life itself. "We've never taken a vacation together. I mean, we work so hard, putting our lives on the line, stabbing and slashing and generally being awesome—don't you think we deserve a little R&R? How about a cruise? I hear they've got all-you-can-eat buffets, which is perfect for me because, you know, the whole healing factor thing means I can eat like a dozen shrimp cocktails and—"

His claws extend fully now, glinting in the low light of the jet, and he's glaring at me like I just kicked his favorite puppy. "Do you ever shut your mouth?"

I pause, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Shut my mouth? Hmmm. Interesting concept. But I'm gonna go with no."

Logan's eye twitches. It's subtle, but I catch it. Oh yeah, he's this close to snapping. And honestly? That's half the fun. There's something truly beautiful about pushing Wolverine to the edge. Like watching a volcano slowly build up pressure, knowing that any second, it's going to explode in a fiery, claw-filled rage.

"You know, Logan," I say, lowering my voice as if we're sharing a secret, "I think I'm growing on you."

"Like a tumor," He grunts, turning his gaze back toward the window, probably trying to will himself into a state of zen-like calm.

But I'm Deadpool. Zen doesn't exist in my world. My world is all chaos, sarcasm, and bad jokes. And if Logan thinks a little growling is going to shut me up, he's got another thing coming.

"Speaking of tumors!" I continue, undeterred. "Remember that time I had like, a thousand tumors? It was gross, right? But hey, it's what gave me this charming complexion. You ever wonder what you'd look like with my face? I bet you'd rock the look. Kinda like Freddy Krueger meets...uh, whatever wolf-man thing you've got going on."

Logan's hands grip the armrests so hard I swear I hear metal bending under his fingers. He's close. Real close. And me? I'm just getting started.

"You ever think about getting a hobby? Like knitting. Oh man, you'd be the best at knitting. Imagine the speed with those claws! You'd be cranking out scarves like no one's business. Maybe you could start an Etsy shop. Call it 'Wolverine's Woolies.' I'd buy a scarf."

His breathing is heavier now, each inhale like he's swallowing broken glass. "Wilson..."

"Yes, buddy?"

"You talk one more time, and I swear—"

"What? You'll kill me? Been there, done that. Several times, actually. You know, one time I got shot in the face—"

"Enough." He stands suddenly, his claws fully extended now, his eyes glowing with that feral intensity that says he's two seconds away from turning me into a kebab. "I said enough."

I blink, looking up at him, utterly unfazed by the death glare. "Whoa, calm down there, Logey-bear. Didn't mean to hit a nerve. You need a hug? I'm here for you, man."

He steps closer, looming over me like a thundercloud ready to break, and for a second—just a second—I actually think he might take a swipe at me. There's that charged silence between us, like the air just before lightning strikes, and I wonder if maybe I pushed him too far this time.

And then it happens. He takes a deep breath—sharp, ragged—and retracts his claws with a distinct snikt. He drops back into his seat, fists clenched, glaring daggers into the floor.

"You're not worth it," he mutters.

I grin, tapping my fingers on the armrest. "See? You do care."

He doesn't respond. Just sits there, staring out the window, probably imagining a hundred different ways to make me shut up.

I settle back into my seat, satisfied. Sure, Logan's mad now. But he'll get over it. He always does. After all, what's a mission without a little banter?