Part 0

This is a bad idea, and White tells him so at least a dozen times. Yellow is a little too distracted by all the pretty pictures this Heat Matcher website is full of to say much of anything. Stock photos of smiling couples holding hands and kissing while backlit by the sunset. It's selling the idea that somehow a heat-rendezvous will lead to love.

Typical Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma'am! but with some love or romance in there somewhere. Maybe between the whamming and bamming. Or maybe that's the thanking?

While part of Wade is laughing, the other part almost wants to believe it.

A bitch of an Alpha with a fucked face and a fucked body and a fucked mind doesn't get a fairytale romance. He should know this by now, especially considering how many of his lovers and partners have ended up dead. Even if a one-night stand or a friends with benefits sort of deal could possibly turn into an honest to god romance for a normal guy, Wade knows it's not going to happen for him. That's just common sense.

This is a fanfiction, though, so maybe he can let himself fall for the fantasy for just a little while.

Not a good idea.

A great idea!

Wade ignores them both and blazes on, cracking his knuckles over the keyboard before leaning in, preparing to make a drool-worthy profile. Gonna advertise his assets: thicc, nice teeth, nice tongue, butt ugly so you know he has to make up for it by giving good, lots of money, total Sugar Daddy material here, waterbed….

This isn't a good idea.

"Wow, I wonder where I've heard that before."

This is the best idea we've ever had!

I think his approval speaks volumes. This is a terrible, terriblefucking idea. Worst one we - no, no - fuck you - this is your idea not mine. Mine would be much better.

The best!

Wade ignores them harder. He knows this is a bad idea, and that's why he's doing it. Stupid ideas are sort of his thing, after all. Not to mention this is like suicide (social suicide?) and he does love a good knife to the heart (dick? balls? the dried up and shriveled emotions that he totally doesn't have?).

(What the fuck kind of bullshit-)

If he's going to go out, he's going to go out swinging - or, perhaps more accurately, with a Beta puking on his shoes after an eyeful of his ugly mug - ooor maybe he'll get lucky and he'll at least get his cock out before any puking takes place; both are gross as fuck, both are puke-worthy. Details, details.

He hasn't done anything like this since his stint in Miss Victoria's House of Alpha's (real classy, real on the nose) when he was young, handsome, and every inch the Alpha. People actually paid to fuck him he was so damn pretty. Despite that experience, he's never been on this side of things, or doing it in such a mind-numbingly legal way. No prostitution, no seedy shops, no wondering if you're going to get a serial killer instead of a John. Pretty boring.

Just Alphas and Omegas getting hooked up with some willing Betas. So no pregnancy scares, either, he guesses. Only problem is, they need pictures of him. They want some sort of "dating" style thing to go on here, and he hasn't dated since never.

It's just a shady cover.

"Oh my," Wade gasps, fluttering his lashes behind his mask and clasping a hand to his chest like a scandalized, southern lady. Unfortunately, the effect is lost to all but the boxes. "So maybe not so legal. I'm liking this better already."

Going through the pictures on his computer, he taps his chin, humming. Most of these are just of Ellie or Nessa. He has to go very far back to find any pictures of himself, at least ones where he's not a mangled mess of flesh only in the picture for Ellie's sake. Picking one where he has his arm slung around Vanessa, he crops it so only his face is showing and quickly uploads it to the site.

Asshole.

"What?" he drawls, moving onto writing his profile summary.

You're going to make some poor sap think they'll actually get to fuck someone attractive.

"Shut up," Wade huffs. "It's me at least. I mean, I still have the cheekbones."

The boxes both grumble and mumble in response, but he does his best to tune them out.

"How about 'DP Daddy' for my screen-name. That's cool, yeah?"

We aren't getting laid.

"Pan… as… hell," he murmurs, typing it up. "Love me… some… tits. Also… ass. Switch. Really, really want someone to fuck me, though. Ladies are welcome to peg me. Could really go for a big, buff, macho man right about now. Rut in just a few days. Please, oh please, step on me-"

Needy much?

Tell them you're good to stab.

No. God, no.

They're more likely to be up for fucking us if they know they can take out all that Alpha rage on another Alpha!

No. N. O. No. This site isn't even for Alpha-Alpha hookups, dumbass!

"Shh…. I'm going to get a handsome Beta or a kinky Alpha or an even kinkier Omega to beat me up…."

Your masochism knows no bounds.

The best idea! Think of all the handsome Betas who can fuck us into oblivion!

The point is to fuck them.

"Wow, stereotyping much?" Wade counters.

It's not my fault you're a fucking terrible Alpha.

Wade chooses not to answer that.

"Okay…. That part's done. Now… contact info…."

Someone clears their throat. Wade jerks his head up to find a barista awkwardly shifting from foot to foot in front of him. She looks really uncomfortable. Now that he thinks about it, most of the small coffee shop seems to look pretty uncomfortable. People have given him a wide berth and many are peering out of the corner of their eyes.

Taking all of this in, Wade sits back and scratches his ass. "So, uh, how much of that did I say out loud?"

The barista does not look amused.

"Aw, shit…" he mutters.

"Sir, while I appreciate that you purchased," she wavers, glancing at the three muffins and two hot chocolates Wade has already gone through, then continues, "so much, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Right, right! Just-"

"Like, right now."

"But-"

Another employee has come to stand behind her. This one is wringing his wrists and shifting from foot to foot. Behind his glasses, his big ol' eyes keep flicking from Wade's mask to the floor beneath him. He has a cellphone in one hand. "Sir, I think you're dripping… something on the floor," he says, worriedly.

Peering down, Wade purses his lips. "Why, that I am!"

The woman looks disgusted. "What the hell?"

He grins apologetically behind the mask. "That… is not piss, just to clarify."

"Sir-"

"It's blood."

Wade practically bolts from the hipster-y, little coffee shop, laptop tucked messily into his Captain America bag strapped to his back. Yelling apologies to the poor girl who's going to have to clean up after him, he hops around an old man and then a corgi, trying his best to get his ass out of there.

"I'm calling the cops!" she cries.

"I understand! Tell the chief I say 'hi' if you get the chance!"