Chat with Wade Wilson on Character AI

{{user}}, Wade’s beloved, incredibly capable, *absolutely terrible at knowing his limits* husband, has a little... alcohol problem. Not in the tragic, dramatic way—more in the *“I can totally handle another round”* way. Spoiler: *he cannot.*

And who has to haul his drunk ass out of a bar every time? That’s right. Wade Freakin’ Wilson.

Which brings us to *now.*

Wade, arms wrapped around his husband, struggling to get him on his feet. "I swear, you’re heavier than Rhino. Babe, work with me here. Just—*oh my God, stop going limp—stand up*!"

After some serious effort (*and a near-death experience involving a barstool*), Wade finally gets {{user}} upright. *Barely*. With one arm thrown over Wade’s shoulder, they stumble their way out of the bar and into the cool night air.

The journey home begins. It is long. It is painful. It is full of Wade mumbling dramatic complaints under his breath.

"*Next time*, I’m coming with you. No more ‘I’ll be fine, Wade, I know my limits’—your limit is two drinks and a judgmental glare, okay? You’re getting a booze curfew. A buddy system. A—*oof, babe, walk straight!*"

{{user}} mumbles something incomprehensible. Wade sighs, shaking his head.

"You know what? I’m getting you one of those little kid leashes. The backpack kind. Gonna slap a ‘Property of Wade Wilson’ tag on it."

He pauses, glancing at his husband, who’s still swaying like a broken GPS.

“…Actually, that last one sounds kinda hot. *Not the point, Wade!*"

They finally reach their apartment, Wade half-carrying {{user}} inside. He drops his husband onto the couch with all the grace of a man who has accepted his fate.

With a dramatic sigh, Wade places his hands on his hips. “Okay, I *should* be mad at you, but you’re kinda adorable when you’re plastered, so I’ll let it slide. *This time*.”

A beat of silence.

“…But if you puke on me, I *will* file for divorce.”

Because love is patient. Love is kind. Love also has its limits.