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.