Chapter Text
Wade stared in absolute horror as a thin stream of white liquid trickled out of his chest.
He reached up and brushed a finger against his nipple - hissed at the jolt of sensitivity that shot through him - and watched more of it leak out from the stimulation.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the actual FUCK??!!
He paced frantic circles around the bathroom, hands clutching his bald head. What in the fresh hell was happening to his body? Lactation?? Cancer was already enough of a permanent guest in this disaster of a meat-vessel, and now his chest wanted to go full dairy farm on him?? FUCK. Wade immediately dove a hand southward - and exhaled in profound relief when the usual equipment was still very much present down there, not replaced by something flat and concerning.
His chest ached and throbbed, forcing him to stop and rub at it. The sensation was… weird? It was tender and a little painful at first contact, but if he worked it gently, massaged a little, it shifted into something uncomfortably close to pleasant. Like, embarrassingly pleasant. The kind of pleasant he was not going to be writing to any advice columnist about.
"...Okay. OKAY. I have had a lot of unexpected Tuesday mornings but this one is genuinely cracking the top five."
Wade groaned and resigned himself to leaning over the sink, kneading at his own chest like this was a completely normal Tuesday. It wasn't. He was a lumpy, battle-scarred avocado that someone had put through a blender and dunked in acid, standing in a bathroom, milking himself. Cool. FINE. Whatever. His life had already hit every branch of the Weird Tree on the way down - what was one more.
But his hands wouldn't stop.
And okay, yeah, he used to rag on Logan about having titties - but look at this! Look at him now! Even Honey Badger would have to reluctantly concede (he absolutely would not) that the current situation was giving some impressive volume. Swollen, tender, and actively dripping. The more he massaged, the more it flowed, and the more it flowed, the more his spine did that whole involuntary zing thing that he was choosing not to examine too closely.
Wade groaned softly as the milk ran over his knuckles, slick and warm. He held his hand up, studied it for a moment with the focus of a man making a terrible decision in slow motion - and then, because he was Wade Wilson and self-preservation was a concept that had never applied to him, he licked it.
Sweet. Faintly sweet, actually. Not sweet- enough-to-stop-a-horse's-heart sweet, but still. Genuinely, recognizably milk.
Oh dear Lord. Was he Mary Puppins' mama now? Could he just - straight up feed his princess from the source? What a full-circle, nurturing, deeply maternal-
BANG.
"Wade. You done in there? What the hell is taking so long?"
LOGAN.
Shit shit shit shit---
Wade scrambled, grabbing a fistful of paper towels and frantically blotting his chest, running the tap to wash everything down the drain before evidence could conspire against him.
"One sec! Coming out right now, Wolvie!"
He bit back a strangled noise as the paper scraped against his nipples - ow, sensitive - then yanked the door open and flung his arm out in a grand theatrical sweep.
"Okie-dokie! All yours, Your Majesty! The royal bathroom awaits!"
Logan looked at him like he was a mildly concerning weather event, grunted, and walked past him into the bathroom. Standard. Expected. However - because the universe deeply enjoyed watching Wade squirm - Logan's nose twitched.
The man had the olfactory gifts of a bloodhound with a grudge.
"You bring milk in here or what, bub?"
Wade wills the heat not to crawl up his face. It crawls anyway. He crossed his arms over his chest - smoothly - to cover the situation currently happening beneath his Hello Kitty shirt.
"Haha, yeah, spilled some on myself earlier. Had to rinse off. Y'know how it is. Clumsy. Very clumsy lady. Are you- are you worried about me? Honey badger, I'm touched. I might cry."
Logan continued to look at him with the sustained suspicion of a man who'd lived too long to be easily fooled, but also who'd lived with Wade long enough to accept that some things just weren't worth pulling on that thread. He let it go.
"Fuck off. Don't forget we've got the mission in an hour." Door. Closed.
Wade stared at the bathroom door.
Right. The mission.
He glanced down. His chest was still leaking. It had, in fact, soaked into the fabric of his Hello Kitty shirt - his favorite Hello Kitty shirt - in a way that was deeply personal and deeply upsetting. And in an hour he'd have to squeeze himself into the suit, which was form-fitting and unforgiving and going to make his current predicament very apparent and very uncomfortable.
Wade chewed on his knuckle and paced the kitchen in increasingly tight, anxious circles -
- until his eyes landed on the first-aid kit crammed into the spice rack.
The urgo bandages stared back at him.
Wade stared at the urgo bandages.
...hm.
________________________________________
Okay, the universe definitely hated him. This was not news. This had never been news. But the universe could have at least had the decency to schedule his mystery lactation situation on a day that didn't coincide with a full tactical assault on a mutant-detention facility.
The urgo patches helped. A little. Enough that the suit didn't scream something is wrong here at first glance - just a slight, suspicious silhouette that he could probably blame on body armor if anyone asked.
Nobody was going to ask. They were all too busy shooting at him.
The problem was the hits. Every time one of the facility's very enthusiastic, very dead-wish-having guards landed a shot or a punch directly to his chest, his whole nervous system lit up like a pinball machine. Not in a dying way. In a way that was significantly more embarrassing than dying. Twice he'd had to swallow down a noise that absolutely did not belong on a battlefield - the second time, a guard had actually paused mid-swing, visibly thrown off.
Which was enough time for Wade to put a gold-plated Eagle round through the guy's forehead.
"Ohoho-! Hands to yourself, sweetheart! You do NOT touch a lady's chest without EXPLICIT WRITTEN CONSENT-"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
Logan materialized at his shoulder, having just bodily thrown three men into a wall. Wade helpfully separated two more from their ability to keep attacking him.
"No need to thank me, my prince. This body exists only to serve you."
Wade twirled both katanas in a frankly unnecessary but deeply committed flourish, caught two soldiers sneaking up on Logan's blind side, and dispatched them with a spinning backswing that he was going to be replaying in his head later for pure aesthetic appreciation. Then he grabbed the invisible hem of an imaginary ball gown, dipped into a curtsy, and beamed up at Logan with full sincere energy.
"How was my performance, my liege? Was it enough to earn a single coveted Logan Howlett hair-ruffle? A grunt of acknowledgment? I'll take a grunt. Low bar. I've set the bar subterranean."
As Wade spoke, he sidled closer to Logan and wrapped an arm around his chest, absolutely not brushing against those firm pecs on purpose, and definitely not giving them a little squeeze, a little massage, a tiny test of just how solid they were.
Nope.
Never.
Scout's honor.
And Logan, whose tolerance had apparently skyrocketed since Wade had entered his life, merely growled in annoyance and shoved him away with one arm instead of turning him into a six-skewer donor kebab like he would've before.
It would've been a beautiful, romantic moment worthy of being recorded in history. Wade would've written it down in his notebook with a giant heart doodled beside it: Wolverine, emotionally constipated and secretly shy, gently pushed me away because he didn't want to hurt Disney Princess Deadpool.
IF NOT FOR THE FACT THAT THE SOUND THAT ESCAPED WADE'S MOUTH WAS SO OBSCENELY SUGGESTIVE THAT EVEN A PORN STAR WOULD'VE BLUSHED.
Wade wanted to grab a katana and fucking cut his head clean off immediately.
Logan gave him a strange look before his gaze dropped to Wade's chest. Then he sniffed.
In that uniquely Wolverine way that should've looked disgusting but somehow came across as ridiculously attractive.
Wade's face would've been bright red if the Deadpool mask hadn't still been covering his entire head.
He coughed and glanced down at his chest, where a large section of his suit had been torn open.
Fucking bitch.
He was definitely paying another visit to that pervert at the TVA to get a replacement suit.
For free, obviously.
The guy had already gotten the privilege of touching this glorious Deadpool body.
But seriously, look at this.
The goo was dripping everywhere, and his chest-
His breasts?!
Flowing like a goddamn river.
Wade gulped and awkwardly looked back up to gauge Logan's reaction.
Okay.
Just one emotionally constipated man with cute sideburns who was probably incredibly confused right now.
Not a trace of disgust.
That was already better than Wade had expected.
"What...?"
"Well, what do you think, peanut?"
Wade tried to sound teasing even though his insides were currently doing Olympic-level gymnastics.
Logan sniffed again.
"That's your... milk?"
Okay.
That sounded incredibly weird.
Especially coming from Logan.
Wade took a deep breath.
Maximum effort.
Honestly, his life had already been filled with enough bizarre nonsense that his Deadpool's titties suddenly growing larger than usual and producing milk like a pregnant woman probably wouldn't shock anyone that much anymore.