The Newest Hot Fanfic (Poolverine)

Chapter 8: Look Who 'Accidentally' Invited Himself to the Avengers' Meeting

IT'S A FACT UNIVERSALLY acknowledged that Deadpool is rarely, if ever, invited to meetings. Especially ones involving high-stakes superhero shenanigans. So, I did what any reasonable, stealthy professional would do: I followed Natasha.

Cue my grand, uninvited entrance into yet another Avengers' top-secret mission briefing. It's not like anyone really needs to invite me, right? I mean, who wouldn't want me around for all the fun?

I skulk through the halls, keeping my distance from Natasha—well, as distant as I can when I'm staring at her from behind a potted plant. Okay, maybe I was blending in terribly, but the important thing is, I made it. When she slips into the meeting room, I wait a beat, then throw open the door with all the subtlety of a grenade going off.

"Guess who's back!" I yell, arms outstretched like I'm ready to accept an award for "Best Uninvited Superhero."

The reaction is immediate. Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, groans audibly. Tony Stark's eye roll is so intense I'm worried it'll snap his neck. Natasha simply raises an eyebrow, while Thor looks confused (per usual), as if he wasn't quite sure if my entrance was part of some Midgardian tradition.

But Wolverine? Oh, Wolverine's reaction is my favorite. He's leaning against the wall with that classic "I've seen some shit" expression. As soon as I walk in, he closes his eyes, muttering under his breath like he's begging the universe for patience. His hands flex, claws threatening to make an appearance. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growls, not even bothering to look at me.

I throw him my best finger guns. "Oh, you know, just happened to be in the neighborhood. Thought I'd stop by, see how my best buds are doing. And wouldn't you know it, I stumbled into this mission briefing. Lucky me!"

Natasha crosses her arms. "You followed me, didn't you?"

I place a hand on my chest, feigning offense. "Followed? Such an ugly word. I prefer... 'stealthily accompanied.' Besides, you didn't even know I was there. That's a testament to how good I am at this." I wink, which she pointedly ignores.

"Can we just get on with this?" Tony's voice cuts through the awkwardness. "I have a feeling this is going to be painful enough without a Deadpool monologue added to the mix."

"Well, Tony," I say, moving to take a seat and knocking over three chairs in the process, "I hate to break it to you, but a meeting without a Deadpool monologue is like a burger without fries. Or, in your case, an Iron Man suit without the snark."

Wolverine grumbles something under his breath—probably something violent, but who's counting?

Cap, ever the professional, stands and flips a switch on the holo-screen. "Alright, everyone, focus up. We've got a new mission on our hands." His voice is all leadership and earnestness, which only makes me want to make fun of him more.

"The target is a high-security facility—military-grade defenses, tight perimeter. We're going in to retrieve a device that could potentially trigger global catastrophic events if it falls into the wrong hands."

Tony cuts in. "Big booms, bad guys, the usual. Except this time, the tech we're after has the potential to turn Earth into a frozen wasteland in a matter of hours. So, you know—no pressure."

I raise my hand like a school kid who didn't study for the test. "Question! Does this mean we finally get to fight those cartoonish supervillains from the Arctic? 'Cause, I gotta say, fighting a penguin army would really liven things up."

Tony glares. "Not penguins. Some corrupt faction of the government is trying to weaponize weather patterns. Think hurricanes on steroids."

I fake gasp. "So what you're saying is... we're stopping the weather from working out? No buff storms on my watch!"

Natasha rubs her temples as if I'm personally giving her a headache. "Why is he here again?"

Wolverine's eye twitches. "Because life's a cruel joke," he mutters, crossing his arms and glaring at me like I'm the living embodiment of every terrible decision he's ever made.

I shoot him a thumbs-up. "Aw, Logey-babe, don't be like that. We're practically besties by now. Admit it—you'd miss me if I didn't show up."

His claws unsheathe slightly. Just a warning. "Try me."

"Anyway," Cap interjects, clearly trying to keep the peace, "the mission is simple. We infiltrate, secure the device, and get out before anyone notices."

I snicker. "Oh, sure. Simple. 'Cause, you know, our plans always go off without a hitch. No one ever gets shot, blown up, or accidentally sets off the self-destruct sequence."

Cap ignores me, because he's a saint like that. He points to various schematics, explaining the infiltration points and backup plans. It's all very official, very tactical. But I'm only half listening because, let's be real, who actually follows the plan?

I lean over to Thor, who's been uncharacteristically quiet, and whisper, "Hey, Goldilocks, quick question—if we fail this mission, what are the chances we all get frozen in ice like Cap? 'Cause I gotta say, I don't think I'd look half as good thawed out 70 years later."

Thor just looks at me, confused, before offering a polite, "Verily, I do not understand thy jest." At least I think that's what he said.

"Never mind," I mumble, leaning back.

Cap finally finishes his explanation, looking around the room for confirmation that we're all on the same page. His eyes land on me, and I give him a double thumbs-up. "Crystal clear, Cap. I'll just ignore all of that and wing it like usual."

Wolverine's growl is low and dangerous. "Don't screw this up, Wade."

I flash him a grin. "Oh, Logan, you wound me. When have I ever screwed up a mission?" He opens his mouth, clearly ready to list a hundred examples, but I cut him off. "Rhetorical question, bud."

The meeting wraps up, and everyone starts to file out. Thor gives me a nod, Tony mutters something about regretting not installing a "Deadpool mute button," and Cap, bless his heart, just smiles politely. But I can feel the tension from Logan, simmering like a pot about to boil over.

As we walk toward the exit, I nudge him with my elbow. "So, about the whole 'annoying you constantly' thing—I'm thinking of making it an official hobby. Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?"

That's when it happens.

Before I even register what's going on, Logan's hand is on my chest, slamming me into the nearest wall with enough force to knock the air right out of my lungs. The impact sends a jolt of pain down my spine, but that's not what's throwing me off. It's the look in his eyes. The sheer, unbridled rage simmering just beneath the surface.

oh... fuck

"Do you ever shut up?" His voice is low, a guttural snarl that makes my heart skip a beat. He's in my face, close enough that I can feel his breath, the heat radiating off of him.

And just like that, my mouth—my infamous, never-stops-talking mouth—goes dry. Words fizzle out before they can even form. I'm Deadpool, for God's sake. I don't get quiet. But here I am, pinned against a wall by Logan's steel grip, and my brain decides to check out.

I blink, my heart hammering in my chest, and it hits me again—that weird, unwelcome surge of heat crawling up my neck. I've been shot at, blown up, torn to pieces, and laughed through all of it. But this? This makes me forget how to breathe.

"Logan," I manage to squeak out, my voice uncharacteristically small. "I—I was just joking. You know... my whole thing."

His grip tightens, and I can feel the sharp points of his claws grazing my skin. "You're not funny, Wade," he growls. "You're just a pain in the ass."

And for the second time in my life, I shut up. Completely.

I stare at him, my brain whirring with a thousand things to say, but nothing comes out. Just the sound of my shallow breathing, the pounding of my heart in my ears.

Logan's eyes flicker for a moment, like he's realizing how close we are, how his claws are inches away from slicing me open. Slowly, he releases me, stepping back with a grunt. "Don't make me do that again."

I nod, still breathless, as he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, stunned and—God help me—flustered as hell.