The Newest Hot Fanfic (Poolverine)

Chapter 12: ''Silent But Deadly (No, Not Farts This Time)''

THE NEXT DAY, I wasn't sure what was more unbearable: the silence or the tension that had crept into the air like a fog. Wolverine hadn't said a word since we started the mission, but his silence spoke volumes. Every grunt, every flicker of his narrowed eyes, every twitch of his muscled arms was like a ticking bomb, and I, as usual, was the idiot poking at it with a stick, wondering when it was gonna blow.

I jogged a few steps ahead, more to get some breathing room than to get a better look at the mission parameters. We were out in some unnamed, totally-not-cliché abandoned warehouse district, where villains apparently set up shop like they were renting cheap office space. I cleared my throat, louder than necessary, the sound echoing off the crumbling walls as we crept closer to the target.

"So, Logan," I started, not that he asked, "ever notice how we always get stuck together on these jobs? It's like fate, or bad luck, or maybe the universe's way of reminding you that life's short, and you're stuck with me. Pretty romantic if you think about it. Destiny, and all that jazz."

Nothing. Not even a grunt. Just the sound of his boots crunching on the cracked pavement behind me. He was close—too close. I could almost feel the weight of his presence pressing on my back like a damn mountain.

"Y'know," I continued, trying to fill the void with my usual brand of babble, "you could just admit that you're glad I'm here. We're basically the dream team. I'm the hilarious one, you're the grumpy one—it's like a buddy cop movie where only one of us is aware that we're in a buddy cop movie. Spoiler alert: it's me."

More silence. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was enjoying this.

I sneaked a glance over my shoulder. There he was, stormclouds in human form. The way his jaw was clenched, the dark shadow of his five-o'clock-somewhere stubble adding to the intensity—yeah, Logan looked like he was one wrong step away from ripping someone in half. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure if I'd make it out of this mission without becoming that someone.

Wolverine's silence was more than just silence—it was a force of nature. The kind that pressed in from all sides, like the weight of the air before a storm. And for all my jokes and bravado, I couldn't shake it.

It was getting to me.

The tension coiled tighter inside me, winding up my usual stream of consciousness until even my mouth was starting to betray me. My mind screamed, Say something! Anything! Get rid of the quiet! but my voice... it didn't feel like working. I took a deep breath, filling the void with the sounds of our footsteps, each one like a countdown to something I couldn't quite figure out.

This wasn't like me. I was Deadpool. I thrived in chaos. I danced through gunfire, laughed in the face of danger, made friends with walls that slammed me into their embrace (Wolverine being the usual suspect on that front). But now? Now it was like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop—and the anticipation was killing me.

I swung my katanas around casually, like it was no big deal that Wolverine's silence was turning me into a jittery mess. "Hey, you ever notice how creepy these old warehouses are? Like, this is exactly where you'd expect some evil scientist to be growing supervillains in test tubes. Or at the very least, making a bomb with a timer that counts down real slow while I make some inappropriate jokes and defuse it with my devilish charm."

Wolverine didn't even break stride. His eyes stayed locked ahead, focused, calculating, like he was scanning the area for threats. Or maybe, just maybe, scanning...me.

I swallowed hard, the sound louder than I intended in the stillness. The tension between us was growing like a storm cloud about to break. Logan's silence wasn't just unnerving—it was smothering, and I was starting to realize that no amount of jokes could cut through it. Not today.

"Okay, cool. Just me, then. I'll keep talking to myself. No problem. I'm great company. People say it all the time," I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady. But even I could hear the wobble creeping into my usual banter.

Logan moved past me, his body brushing by mine just close enough that I caught the scent of sweat and leather. My skin buzzed under my suit, like a live wire had just sparked. I hated it. I hated that Wolverine could do that to me with nothing more than a glance or a step too close. I should've been cracking wise right now, calling him "Flannel Fury" or some other stupid nickname. Instead, I was fighting the urge to just shut up, like I didn't trust my own voice anymore.

He grunted. A sound so low, it barely registered, but it was there. He'd heard me, alright. I didn't know what that meant, but it felt like an acknowledgment, and that was enough to loosen my tongue—at least a little.

"So, big guy, you planning to grunt us to victory, or are we gonna actually have a game plan? Because, uh, just standing there looking broody ain't gonna cut it," I said, injecting as much sarcasm into the words as I could muster.

Still nothing. No comeback, no growl, no insult. Just the unbearable presence of him, hanging over me like a stormcloud waiting to break.

I could feel the pressure building, something electric in the air between us. My jokes were losing their edge, my usual confidence starting to fray at the seams. I hated that. I hated that Wolverine had this effect on me, that I couldn't just brush it off like I normally did.

"Look, man, if you've got something to say, just say it. 'Cause all this brooding macho silence? It's really killing the vibe," I blurted out, unable to stop myself.

Logan stopped in his tracks.

For a split second, everything stilled. I could feel his gaze snap to me, those steel-blue eyes locking onto mine like twin lasers. He didn't say a word, but his expression? That spoke volumes. It was intense. Dark. And for a brief, terrifying moment, I thought I'd actually pushed him too far.

I braced myself, fully expecting him to lash out or—knowing Wolverine—slam me against the nearest wall. But instead, he just stepped closer, closing the distance between us in two slow, deliberate steps. My heart stuttered in my chest, a wild, unsteady rhythm that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way the air felt thicker with him so damn close.

"You talk too much, Wade," he muttered, his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a growl.

I froze. Just like that, every instinct I had to throw out a snappy comeback, every reflex to deflect, vanished. I couldn't explain it, but when he got this close, when his voice dropped like that, it was like my brain short-circuited. My mouth, usually my greatest weapon, was suddenly useless. I swallowed, trying to ignore the way my pulse was pounding in my ears.

Logan's eyes never left mine, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—something sharp, something dangerous—that had my stomach twisting in knots.

"Yeah, well... someone's gotta keep things lively," I finally managed, though the usual bravado in my voice was all but gone. It came out weak, like even I didn't believe it.

He didn't respond. Just stared at me for another heartbeat, his eyes boring into mine like he was trying to read something I wasn't even sure I understood myself. And then, without a word, he turned away, continuing toward the warehouse as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just left me standing there, breathless and more confused than ever.

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my heart still racing in my chest. What the hell just happened? I asked myself, but no answer came.

The silence that followed wasn't just awkward anymore—it was suffocating. And worse? I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't going to get any easier. Whatever was brewing between me and Logan, it was starting to bubble over, and I didn't know how much longer I could keep it together before something—me, most likely—exploded.

"Okay, Wade," I muttered to myself, finally snapping out of it. "Pull yourself together. It's just Logan. Just grumpy old Logan. You've handled worse. You've literally died worse."

But even as I forced myself to follow him, my footsteps heavy with tension, I couldn't shake the way my pulse had quickened when he'd gotten close. Couldn't ignore the way my mind had gone blank when he looked at me like that. And for once in my life, I didn't have a joke to cover it up.

Maybe I was in denial. Maybe I was just overthinking it. But either way, one thing was painfully clear: Wolverine was getting under my skin. And I had no idea what to do about it.