yellowwwcrayon

sicko

🔞AO3: yellow_crayon | my ko-fi | I write weird shit. Deadpool & Wolverine atm. lukewarm takes at best. old man yaoi enthusiast. NSFW. Interact at your own risk (Minors DNI).

294 posts

The Woman Beckoned At Him With A Finger, And After A Brief Internal Struggle, Logan Shoved His Way Over

The woman beckoned at him with a finger, and after a brief internal struggle, Logan shoved his way over to the bar.

“Vanessa,” She said, raking her eyes over him and smiling a low flirtatious smile. She looked Kitty’s age and all too young to be hanging around a filthy place like this dressed the way she was.

“I don’t care,” He scowled, “where’s Wade?”

“Men’s room,” The bartender said, jerking his chin toward the flickering red exit sign and shrugging at Logan’s confused look, “aka, the back alley. These dickheads broke our only working toilet a few weeks back and every repair guy in the New York area hung up on me when I called to schedule an appointment.”

Logan grimaced. “Jesus.”

“Want a drink before you go?” He asked.

“I’m sober.”

“Pity,” Vanessa said, biting her lip.

Shaking his head at the bizarre encounter, Logan made his way out onto the street via the dented back door. It had finally started to rain, a light steady drizzle that immediately sank into his clothes and made everything sticky wet. His glasses immediately fogged up. And shit, he’d forgotten he was still wearing them. No wonder the bald guy at the bar called him a grandpa. He looked the part. Logan whisked them off and tucked the readers into a side pocket. He could hear heavy breathing and underneath all the garbage and human waste, Logan caught a whiff of Wade.

And then he saw him.

Slumped against the stained brick wall behind an overflowing dumpster, his arm loose around a random man’s shoulder. The guy’s face was buried in his neck, hands pawing at Wade’s ass and humping him through two layers of wet denim. It couldn’t have been remotely comfortable for either of them.

Logan knew what this was. He’d encountered his fair share of troubled kids that Xavier took in. It was attention seeking at its basest form – deliberate self-sabotage and escalating attempts to push at boundaries to see how Logan would react. They always chose him for some reason. Rogue had done something similar when she arrived at the school, intentionally hurting herself to have an excuse for Logan to fret and worry over her. She’d gotten better over the years just like the others that had found a home with Charles Xavier. He was proud of all of them, but Wade, fuck, Wade managed to actually get under his skin.

As if on cue, he let out a fake fluttery moan.

“Want you to fuck me, daddy,” Wade said, staring directly at Logan’s stony face.

The man grinding against him like a dog in heat groaned, the sound twisting into a startled yelp when Logan grabbed the back of his shirt and threw him off of Wade.

“Let’s go,” He said, ignoring the drunk fuck that was struggling to get up and keeping his gaze on Wade’s triumphant little smirk.

“You came for me, even though you didn’t have to,” Wade said, as if Logan had passed some secret test. He pushed himself off the wall and into Logan’s personal space, so close he felt the warm press of the kid’s body against his for a second before Logan shoved him back again.

“You’re my student,” He said, a reminder to himself as much as Wade.

“So you keep saying, professor,” Wade rolled his eyes and pushed rain damp hair out of his face, “fine then, you should fuck off. I’ve got a few dicks to suck tonight.”

Professor Logan x College Student Wade (problematic age gap warning)

Sister Margaret’s was a shithole.

Logan’s boot slipped in a sticky pile of something the moment he stepped inside. It smelled of unwashed man, cheap alcohol and possibly all of life’s regrets. A noxious cocktail he’d been intimately familiar with during the late 70’s before Charles came into his life. He was better now that he’d retired from the X-Men and was teaching full time. Logan had even quit drinking.

“Who the fuck are you?” It was a mountain of a man, bald, shaggy unkempt beard trailing all the way down to his sagging waistband and covered in tattoos.

“Nobody,” Logan stood his ground and didn’t budge when the guy shoved him, “I’m not looking for trouble, just here to find a student of mine.”

Neckbeard swept his gaze down Logan’s gray cardigan and wool slacks, lips curling back in a mocking smile. “What do you teach, grandpa? Art history?”

“Didn’t know you knew what art history was,” He lifted an eyebrow, trying not to let the insult about his age get to him. That had never been an issue in the past until Wade walked in mid-lecture a few months back and all of a sudden made Logan feel a thousand years old and, well, like a bit of a creep.

He was practically a fossil, and a fossil shouldn’t be interacting with a twenty-year-old thing like Wade outside the classroom. It was inappropriate. Charles had even offhandedly said as much during one of their weekly breakfast conversations.

And yet, here he was, on a Friday evening, definitively outside school hours, looking for Wade. Making sure one of his students was safe, Logan reminded himself as he sidestepped the giant man standing in his way.

“Hey, I wasn’t done talkin’ to you.”

The guy grabbed Logan’s shirt collar with a fist the size of a toddler’s head and whatever was left of Logan’s remaining patience finally ran out. He punched the guy in the temple. It was a quick jab, meant to incapacitate really. Neckbeard went down like a pile of rocks, thick hairy arms grazing a metal tray of empty drink glasses and causing a crashing bang that reverberated throughout the poorly lit bar. The deafening young people's music screeched to a halt. All eyes turned to Logan. Hands went to weapons. The gangly bartender in the baggy hoodie pulled out a sawed off shotgun from behind the bar.

Fuck.

He hadn’t had to whisk out the adamantium claws in years, but Logan seriously considered it now facing a whole bar of angry drunk men with guns. He still hadn’t spotted Wade.

“Weasel.”

It was a woman who spoke, the only woman Logan had seen in the filthy establishment so far. She leaned in and whispered something in the bartender’s ear. He blinked, mouth parting slightly as he swept his gaze down Logan’s body. The shotgun was placed back in its hiding spot behind the bar.

“Guys, it’s all cool. This is the hot daddy dilf Wade was ranting about. Go back to your regularly scheduled slow descent into alcohol poisoning.”

The grating Gen Z music returned. Logan’s face burned.