Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wade says a lot of crazy shit. The guy is a total dickbag, and no matter how much he has tried to convince Weasel that he has a mate, a “cute, little omega”, Weasel still doesn’t believe it. Even Dopinder can’t convince him, and who could blame Weasel for that? The taxi driver pretty much fucks the ground Deadpool walks on. It’s disgusting.

Almost as disgusting as the idea that a “cute, little omega” would want Wade Wilson.

The alpha is sitting at his bar now, alternating between praising his so-called mate and threatening Weasel. But he’s been around Wade long enough to know when he should be afraid and when the guy is just venting. And Weasel knows that he’s not going to get “hung upside down by his testicles and be subjected to every Teletubbies video ever made,” or some fucked up shit like that tonight.

And why does he know that? Because the asshole won’t stop talking to his imaginary boxes about how they should be at home with their “sweet, needy, Petey”.

Seriously, Weasel is five seconds away from emptying his stomach onto the bar top. Which would not help the smell. Because Wade just had to stop here after his job, instead of going home to shower. The guy reeks like burnt tar and sweaty leather.

“Look, man,” Weasel says snapping Wade out of another ranting threat, “you fucked up. That means you don’t get the full pay. Next time don’t go around shooting people’s prized fish tanks.”

Wade slams his empty glass on the bar top. “I did that guy a favor! Fucking prized fish tank. What a dick.”

Weasel shrugs. He doesn’t disagree. Any guy who’s got a fish tank that big is a dick. “You still aren’t getting paid the full amount, man.”

He mixes up a drink for Bob while Wade dives into to yet another rant, not really paying attention to the alpha until a small, sweatshirt-covered body slides itself under Wade’s flailing arms and onto his lap. Weasel freezes, unable to do anything but watch as the body squirms around and finally settles, legs on either side of Wade’s hips, arms wrapped around his torso, and face pressed into the small space where Wade’s mask is pulled up over his mouth.

Wade doesn’t even seem surprised, just lays his hands on the guys hips and tips his head to the side so the guy can push his nose further into Wade’s throat. “What are you doing here, baby boy? I said that I’d be home by ten.”

An odd choking sound leaves Weasel’s throat. Baby boy? “Well, fuck me,” he mutters to himself, still watching. In the busy bar, he can’t hear what the omega says back to Wade, but he does see a peek of little fangs and a downturned mouth.

“Damn, I’m sorry, Petey. I didn’t realize how late it was. There was a problem with my payment.”

“Am I having a stroke?” Weasel asks Bob. The big guy just grunts and sniffs a little in Wade’s direction. Which is a real ballsy thing to do considering Wade had chopped off various appendages for assholes doing that to random strangers. In this very bar, Weasel might add.

But the alpha is too busy cooing at the omega in his lap. Seriously, cooing.

And if Weasel wasn’t preoccupied with staring at them, he’d notice that the majority of his patrons were doing the same. Staring at the two of them, he means, not cooing. They are definitely not cooing. In fact, if he were paying attention, he’d notice that some of the alphas were getting twitchy, because even being a beta with a less sensitive nose, he could smell the sweet, tangy scent of the omega.

There’s a reason why he doesn’t get a lot of omegas in his bar, and that’s because most alphas who frequent this place are complete asshats. And not just regular asshats, no, they’re stupid ones.

Weasel doesn’t have any superpowers, but he knows the feel of violence in the air, he knows when he should duck behind the counter and grab his gun. But when one of the idiotic, asshole alphas in the back of the bar unlocks a gun and unloads a couple bullets straight at Wade, probably thinking the he can get rid of Wade and steal the little omega away, Weasel doesn’t move a muscle. Not that he ends up needing too.

Eyes wide and mouth hanging open, Weasel watches as the tiny omega in Wade’s lap pulls the alpha over to the side, dodging the bullets. And then, and then, somehow kicks back with a lean leg to push Weasel, himself, out of the way.

He doesn’t even hear the bottles of alcohol shatter behind him, but he does hear the omega’s furious growl followed by him plucking a sharp looking dagger from Wade’s person, pulling himself up so he’s standing on Wade’s thighs, and throwing the dagger straight at the alpha who shot at him.

It sticks in the wall, an inch or two to the right of the alpha’s head.

Weasel doesn’t think that his bar has ever been this silent. Even the New York rats that usually scurry around 24/7 can’t be heard.

And then Wade, who’s probably the biggest idiotic asshole of all time, laughs. But it’s the kind of laugh that should have Weasel ducking behind the counter and crawling towards the door. He doesn’t. He’s not going to miss this.

Wade pulls the omega, growling and heaving shoulders and shaking hands, back down into his lap, unclips a gun from his thigh and shoots behind his head without looking. The bullet hits the alpha in the hand that holds his gun. Wade gets up from his stool, letting the omega slide down his body until his feet hit the floor, and gives Weasel a crazy smile. “Well, time for us to head home. Nice talking to you, Weasel. I expect my full pay by tomorrow, midnight.”

The omega huffs and crosses his arms. For the first time Weasel can see his face. Big brown eyes, small nose, and cute mouth still turned down at the edges. He snarls at Weasel. “Your bar reeks.” He rubs at his nose with a sweatshirt covered fist. “And you’re welcome for saving your life.” Wade laughs, delighted, as the snarky little omega pulls him by the hand towards the door.

“Well, fuck me,” Weasel says again. He's got some people to call. 

Chapter Text

Taking leisurely walks down the streets of Queens isn’t what Logan usually does, but Wade Wilson’s pungent scent lead him here. The psychotic merc hasn’t been answering any of Logan’s calls, and the professor wants to recruit him as some sort of substitute trainer when the usual X-Men are on missions.

It’s a terrible idea.

Wilson is unpredictable. Logan wouldn’t be surprised if Wilson accidently ended up killing a student. But the professor made a good point. Wilson can’t die. Not permanently. He’d be good target practice for the students.

Still, Logan hates the professor’s idea even more than he hates having to track the guy down.

And what the hell would Wilson be doing in a quiet Queens neighborhood if it wasn’t to kill someone? So, he’ll more than likely end up fighting the other alpha on top of everything else.

He’s close now. Wilson’s scent is all over here, seeping from the sidewalk like the way cat piss does in the New York City alleyways. Logan’s upper lip pulls up over his teeth in disgust. Sometimes, he really hates his enhanced sense of smell.

He stops across the street from the house Deadpool is in. So far, there aren’t any screams. There isn’t even any scents of fear or danger. In fact, there’s only the usual scents of a mostly happy neighborhood. Which is why he shouldn’t be surprised when Wilson walks out of the house in civvies, no blood, no katanas, and no guns in sight.

But, fuck, he hasn’t been this surprised since he walked in on Cyclopes attempting to learn how to knit from a video on the internet.

A small omega fallows behind Wilson, dark sweatshirt that goes down to the kid’s knees, scarf wrapped tight around the lower half of his face, and hands covered in fluffy looking mittens. If it weren’t for the scent of happy and loving that comes off him, Logan would be worried that Wilson decided to kidnap someone.

He’d be even more worried if the omega was anyone other than fucking Spiderman.

He knows the kid. Has even worked with him a few times in the past. He’s annoying and bubbly and the most omega-like omega Logan has met in a very long time. He’s also a genius. So why in the hell is he hanging out with Deadpool? Logan crosses the street to find out.

“We have to stop at the store before going home, baby boy!” Wilson is saying. “We should have gotten a crockpot forever ago. I had no idea that it could make all these things! Maybe we should get ten of them, and then we could make a whole meal at once without having to do anything!”

“Ten might burn the apartment building down,” Spiderman answers.

Logan misses a step. Crockpots? Apartment building? Are they—?

He pauses a few yards behind then and takes a deep breath through his nose, scenting them both. There’s Wilson’s pungent spicey smoke and there’s Spiderman’s sweet and bitter scent. And there’s the way that the two scents seamlessly blend together the way mate’s scents do.

They are definitely together, and that’s one of the most disturbing things he’s found out about in years.

The annoying voice of Deadpool cuts into Logan’s stupor. “You need something, Wolvie, or did you just want to stare at my ass? I mean I know I have a pretty spectacular ass, but it is one hundred percent taken.”

Logan finally walks up to the pair and growls. He really can’t stand this guy. “The professor wants to talk to you.”

Wilson waves his hands in front of himself. “Hey, I haven’t even done anything lately! Well, except kill a few reeeaaallllyy bad guys. I swear! Just ask Petey!”

The omega, pushed halfway behind Wilson, gives an awkward wave when Logan looks at him. “Spiderman,” Logan greets, “I see you’ve been keeping good company.”

The next thing he knows, Logan’s got a bullet in his head. He really should have seen that coming what with the kind of person Wilson is and the kind of omega Spiderman is.

“How do you know who he is?” Wilson growls out. Without his mask, his alpha fangs are on full display. That combined with the scars and the gun pressed to Logan’s temple makes his own alpha instincts are roar in his head. It’s only his years of experience in these situations and his familiarity with both Deadpool and Spiderman that keeps him in check.

Or almost in check, because his claws are sliding out and he’d love nothing more than to gut Wilson here and now. But, before his claws come fully out, Wilson is bodily pulled away.

“Wade,” Spiderman says, “Calm down. Wolverine has known who I am for years. We met before Mr. Stark took me in and included scent blockers in my suits.” He clears his throat and puts his hands on his hips. “Besides, you guys are so not fighting a mile away from my aunt’s house.” Then Spiderman leans against Wilson like the alpha is a solid wall and crosses his arms. Whether it’s to keep warm or try to look a little more intimidating, Logan doesn’t know. “So, what does Professor X want?”

Logan looks at Wade, calm for the moment, but behind his eyes, there’s a calculating dazed something that makes Logan’s hair stand on end. Like he said, he knows Spiderman, knows the basics about him at least. And he knows that Spiderman is the kind of omega that makes alphas stupid. Whatever Wilson is thinking about, it can’t be good for Logan.

Whatever. He sighs, looks around the street to make sure no one is spying, then says, “He’s got this crazy idea that Wilson would make a good substitute trainer for the school, so he wants to talk with you.”

Spiderman slaps Wilson in the chest. The scent of excitement exploding in the air around them. “Wade’s a great trainer! Right, Wade?”

Wilson, who was still in a daze, instantly focuses on Spiderman, but instead of saying anything about training, he says, “I didn’t know you had scent blockers in your suit. I’ve always been able to scent you when you wear it.” Red blossoms on the omega’s cheeks. Wilson’s voice drops a few octaves. “Why is that, baby boy?”

When Spiderman shivers, Logan decides he really hates Professor X and his ideas. This is not what he signed up for. He looks back down the street, assessing the threat level of a middle-aged beta walking her dog, and pretends that he can’t hear Spiderman’s, “Because I wanted you to.”

Kids these days are really something.

“Now, come on!” Spiderman yells, pulling at his alpha’s hand. “I wanna go to the mansion.”

Logan follows the couple slowly down the sidewalk, still slightly confused how the two of them ended up together.

“Why are we going there again?” Wilson asks. There’s a beat of silence. “Training? Well, we gotta change before we go then, Petey. And you are putting the blockers on.”

Peter turns his head to stick his tongue out at Wilson. “You can lecture me on the drive over.”

One thing Logan knows is that he is not riding with them. Even Professor X with his telepath powers couldn’t make him.