The Newest Hot Fanfic (Poolverine)

Chapter 11: ''Denial Ain't Just a River in Egypt, Bub''

I SPRAWLED OUT ON my lumpy couch, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me. It made this weird, rhythmic whum whum sound, like it was mocking me for lying here, trying to untangle my own messed-up brain. Typical ceiling fan—always judging.

"So, Wade," I started, talking to myself because, let's be real, who else was I going to talk to? "Why do you go all mute every time Logan gets all up in your grill? Is it because you secretly wish you were a grumpy Canadian lumberjack? Maybe you're jealous of his perfect hair? Or maybe it's just that whole 'Alpha Male' thing he's got going. Yeah, that's it. Gotta be."

I twirled one of my katanas in my hand, the motion comforting in its repetition. Spinning sharp things usually helped me think. Or not think. Whichever one I was aiming for. But today I twirled the katana a little faster, hoping it would slice through the tangled mess of thoughts in my head. "It's definitely the Alpha Male thing," I muttered, trying to sound convincing. "Wolverine's just got that whole 'I'm-a-badass-who-doesn't-need-to-talk' vibe, and I'm all like 'Hey-look-at-me-I-never-shut-up.' It's opposites attract, right? I mean, Magneto and Professor X have been playing that game for years."

I snorted, trying to laugh at my own joke, but it came out hollow. The ceiling fan didn't even bother to respond. Traitor.

I tossed the katana aside and sat up, resting my elbows on my knees, staring at the floor like it had all the answers. "Okay, real talk, Wade. Why does Wolverine shutting you up feel like someone slapped a mute button on your soul? You're Deadpool. You don't do quiet. You don't do flustered."

I dragged a hand down my masked face, groaning. Denial? Pfft. Denial was for people who couldn't handle the truth, and I was Deadpool, baby—I could handle anything. Except... whatever the hell this was.

"I mean, look," I continued, gesturing wildly to no one. "It's not like I'm all 'Oooh, Wolverine, pin me to the wall and growl in my face'... except, wait, that literally happened. And I didn't say a word. I'm supposed to be talking his ear off, annoying him to death, but nooo—Wolverine gets up in my personal space, and suddenly I'm a freaking church mouse. What gives?"

I kicked the coffee table in frustration, sending a stack of pizza boxes flying. One of them landed with a sad, greasy flop. Even the pizza had given up on me.

"Maybe it's like... I'm just tired, right? The healing factor's probably working overtime. Or, maybe it's a side effect of hanging out with too many serious people." I laughed again, this time louder, trying to drown out the nagging feeling creeping up my spine. "Yeah, that's gotta be it. It's like osmosis or something. You spend too much time around Mr. Grumpy Pants, and bam! You catch the grumps."

I flopped back onto the couch, arms spread wide, staring up at the ceiling again. The fan was still spinning. Still judging.

"But seriously," I muttered, my voice dropping. "Why does it feel like my brain short-circuits every time he's close? And why the hell does he have to get so damn close all the time? I mean, I get it—he's Wolverine, he's all about that whole 'I'll stab you if you annoy me' thing, but I'm Deadpool. I'm supposed to be annoying! That's the dynamic!"

I sighed heavily, feeling the weight of my own confusion pressing down on me. Wolverine was supposed to be the guy I pissed off for fun, the guy whose buttons I could push without a care. But lately, every time he slammed me into a wall or got all growly in my face, something twisted inside me, and I'd just... stop. Like he'd flipped a switch I didn't even know existed.

"And what's with the heart-racing thing, huh? Adrenaline? Yeah, that's it, just good old-fashioned adrenaline. Makes total sense. My body's all 'Danger, Wade! Danger!' because, you know, Wolverine's got claws, and claws equal stabby time. Totally normal."

I shifted uncomfortably, not quite buying my own excuse. "Except... it's not just the claws. It's the whole 'Logan being Logan' thing. The scowl. The low growl when he's pissed. The way he looks at me like he's trying to decide if I'm worth the effort of killing today."

I shook my head, trying to chase the thoughts away. "Nah, nah, nope. That's not it. I'm just tired. Need a vacation or something. Maybe a nice tropical island, somewhere with tacos and zero chance of running into broody Canadians."

But the thought lingered, gnawing at the edges of my mind. Why did I keep going silent when Logan got close? Why did I feel like I couldn't breathe when he was right there, pinning me to a wall, staring into my eyes with that intensity that made my heart—

"Nope!" I yelled, jumping up from the couch. "Nope, nope, nope! Not going there. Not thinking about it. It's just adrenaline, just stress. Nothing more, nothing less."

I started pacing, my hands gesturing wildly as if I could physically fling the thoughts out of my brain. "I mean, yeah, he saved me from getting blasted into oblivion by that overcompensating villain, but that's what teammates do, right? It's not like I'm... swooning or anything. Wade Wilson doesn't swoon. Wade Wilson makes fun of people for swooning. I'm fine. Totally fine."

I stopped pacing, standing still in the middle of my disaster of a living room, hands on my hips. "Okay, fine, maybe I'm a little confused. But it's just a phase. A weird, annoying, heart-pounding, shut-up-Wade phase that'll pass, right? Right."

The silence that followed felt heavy, and for the first time, it wasn't comforting. It was awkward. Unsettling.

"Logan's just a guy," I whispered, almost like I was trying to convince myself. "A grumpy, stabby, hairy guy with a bad attitude and a weird ability to make me... quiet. But that doesn't mean anything. It can't. It won't."

I flopped back down onto the couch, my hands covering my masked face as I let out a long, exaggerated groan. "This is ridiculous. I'm Deadpool, dammit! I don't get flustered. I don't do feelings. I do jokes. I do chaos. I do... tacos."

But somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny, annoying voice whispered, "Yeah, but you'd also do Wolverine."

I groaned again, louder this time, hoping to drown out that voice. "Shut up, brain. We're not doing this. We're not going there. This is just a blip. A weird little blip in the otherwise perfectly chaotic mess that is Wade Wilson's life. Tomorrow, I'll be back to my normal, talk-too-much, piss-everyone-off self, and this whole thing will be a distant memory."

I closed my eyes, trying to convince myself that I was right. But even as I lay there, trying to push it all aside, the truth lingered like a shadow in the corner of the room.

Something about Logan had gotten under my skin. And no amount of jokes or denial was going to make it go away.