Language, obviously
With a quick flip of a chair and a swung leg over its back rest, Wade dropped himself onto the seat in a grumbling heap, grabbing his crotch with a wince of pain from a leg not raised up quite high enough. "Goddammit, that stings! Why the fuck do you have chairs in a bar anyway? They're called bar stools for a reason."
"Hey, that's new!" Weasel whined in reply. "Could you maybe not wipe your dick all over the furniture please? I'm trying to run a business."
"You know how I like to mark my territory," Wade answered matter-of-fact, jutting his hand out expectantly for his friend to hand over the large envelope that he was holding, your name scribbled on the outside. "Gimme. Who's getting the pavement facial this time?"
Weasel watched for a few seconds as his friend ripped the package open, unceremoniously allowing the pages that he had carefully organized to spill out on the dirty bar table, a few of them sticking to something that he hoped was just a spilled drink and not something far more foul. He let Wade read a few pages, moving behind the bar to grab two beers, popping their caps into the garbage before returning to sit across from him.
"Eh, just your run of the mill stalker type," he began, taking a quick swallow, "won't take leave me the fuck alone for an answer. He could probably take a decent kick to the sack, but judging by the intel on this girl, she likely already tried that. She looks like a bit of a badass. If this goes right, she could be some serious side-kick material for you. Or at least...side-action..."
"Come on man, have a little class. She's a lady."
Weasel simply shrugged and took another drink, giving him nothing more and taking a few pages in his hands to read along.
"Besides," Wade started again, "I don't do side-action. On top or in front, that's it. If I'm gonna drive it home then I need to see where I'm going. It's just too easy to get lost down there, ya know? One wrong turn and you're getting your dick smacked for taking a one-way when honestly, there aren't any signs down there to tell Little Cap where to go! It can get kinda dark and sometimes he gets a little too excited and takes the jet onto the first runway he sees."
"Little Cap?"
"It's an homage. We can't live up to Little Iron Man. That connotation has too high of expectations."
"It's a gold-titanium alloy," Weasel mumbled into the bottle resting at his lips, his focus turning back to work.
"Hmm?"
"Nothing," he dismissed just as quickly with a shake of his head, but the image had now been built in his mind, and that damn inappropriately inquisitive side of him was winning out over the rational and unwilling to be disgusted side; he leaned over just slightly, peeking under the table before scurrying back up when Wade's eye had been caught. "So...like...does it...have a little shield?"
~~~
"Deadpool? What kind of name is that?" you scoffed, tossing the file with Wade's information back onto the table between you and his friend. "Never heard of him." You had come to this guy for help taking care of your stalker, and he brought you a cosplayer.
"Hold on," Weasel huffed, turning the pages quickly, a few of them spilling onto the floor carelessly at his feet; he finally found the one he wanted with an excited yelp, pushing it towards you expectantly. "There! You had to have seen this somewhere, right?"
"Why is he wearing that? He's not into some weird leather kink, is he? Because I'm not down for that." You grabbed the picture from his hand and studied it closer, taking in as much detail as you could on your newly hired help. "How does he see through the mask?" you muttered quietly. "And that must really muffle his voice." You began to bite the inside of your lip as you continued to think, leaving him watching you much closer than before, in a much more appreciative way.
"Wow, okay, that's creepy uncanny," he sighed, leaning back into his chair, "I called that one. You guys have to meet each other." Weasel stood and gathered up the papers and haphazardly shoved them into his bag, pausing when you stood in kind. "Okay, just be at the designated meeting spot to go over the details and you're good to go. He might even let you watch, if you want. If you're into that sort of thing."
"I'm not."
"Hey, play it your way, sweetheart." He offered one last hand shake before turning away, looking around as if he was making sure that you weren't being followed or watched. "Oh, and you can be late, by the way. He usually is. If you set the expectations too high, you're just gonna be in for a huge disappointment. We're already setting you up to aim low. Strive for mediocrity, we always say."
"What the hell did I just get myself into?"
"A binding contract. And quite possibly a meet-and-greet with your soul mate. Unless, of course, I'm wrong about that. Except that I'm not," he stated plainly, watching for your reaction, but you gave him none. With a nod of confidence, he finally began to walk away; it took only seconds for him to stop and turn back, his mind racing with what he wanted to say and barely the guts it took to spit the words out. "Okay, but just in case, I gotta say...you're fucking hot. If you don't hit it...or even if you hit and quit with Pool, what kind of shot do I have?"
"Well, I suppose a really good one."
"Really?"
You took the few steps to close the space between you, taking purposeful and slow movements as he watched, and you could see the heat and redness growing over his features; his hand came up to pull against his shirt collar, and his breaths began to quicken from the proximity. When you brought your hand up to run your finger along his jawline, your skin barely touching his, you thought the poor guy might stop breathing all together.
"Yeah, I'm sure you two would be very happy together. Don't let me stand in your way."
"No," he groaned, hanging his head shamefully and fully defeated, "I meant with you...right, you knew that...got it. You could have just said none!" he called out after you just as the door slammed shut after passing through it. "I guess that's one way to find out if Little Cap has a little shield or not."
~~~
Whoever this jerk was, he sure was late all right, just as his counterpart had said he would be. He was almost two hours late now, and you were more than ready to leave and move on to plan B, because this Deadpool guy was losing his shot at your money with each passing tick of the clock. Maybe if he hadn't chosen the alleyway behind the most ridiculous building in New York, the Avengers tower of all places, you wouldn't feel so apprehensive to stay a little longer, but you felt like they were watching you, even though the building was strangely dark.
"Alright, I'm done," you whispered to yourself, standing up from the cold and wet asphalt with a groan and a stretch of your arms high over your head to release the tension from immobility. "Fuck that guy, whoever he is. I'll just do it myself."
"Psst."
"Oh, sweet Jesus," you hissed, closing your eyes in regret that you had waited too long. "Where the hell are you?"
"Look up," Deadpool whispered. When you relented and tilted your head up, you could barely make out his shadow, and a hand shot out in front of him to make the hazy shape of a frantic wave. "Dude, come here."
"Dude?"
"Ma'am?"
"No."
"Miss?"
"Better."
"Hottie?"
"Worse."
"Lady with a fabulous boobs trampoline and an ass that I could ride off into the sunset?"
"What? That's...that's so much worse," you finally backed down, your expression completely confused by the man that you already held plenty of reservations over. He was hanging precariously above you from the side of the tower, and your stomach dropped when you realized that he was up to something that you should want absolutely nothing to do with. "Just get down here," you hissed under your breath, "before you get caught."
"No. Come up here."
"This isn't a part of our agreement."
"Oh, shit, I forgot. I already got that done. That stalker guy of yours was an easy target, and I'm a little shocked that you couldn't get it done on your own, no offense. Anyway, that's why I was late." He pulled up the bottom edge of his mask to expose his face, but in the dark of night all you could make out was the silhouette and a glimmer from the streetlight against his teeth as his smile widened. "What? I'm just that good. Now get your hot ass up here and live a little. No one's home."
"I'm not sneaking into the Avengers tower with you."
Deadpool hung in place silently for a moment, bringing the hand that he had extended to you up to his once again mask covered chin, stroking it thoughtfully as his mind worked out how he was going to make this work and convince you to join him. His body swayed in the breeze that pushed between the skyscrapers, and the webs that Peter had made for him felt as if they weren't his strongest work all of the sudden when he worried about his hold. "Okay, tell you what," he offered happily, "if you give me ten minutes in here, then you can keep my fee."
"Okay, and what if we get caught? What then?"
"I'll pay you what you would have given me. You'll need it for this kind of bail."
Shit, that was a lot of money to keep in your pocket. It might actually be worth ten minutes of terror and trespassing into the most guarded building in the city just to get that back. It's just ten minutes, you began to rationalize, actually considering this. You'd only seen a few shots of the tower in the news, and you had always wanted a close up look. Of course, you had thought maybe on a tour, or at least something legal, but with this guy still hanging in mid-air and looking at you like a kid in a candy store, legal only meant boring. The second that you had seen him here tonight, you could sense that he was nothing but trouble, but you could also sense that you had to know more; this was your opportunity for a little bit of both.
"Fine, ten minutes," you snapped, raising a hand to muffle his squeals of celebration, "but promise me, you made sure that no one was here."
"Oh for sure," he nodded eagerly, "absolutely." Deadpool took your hand and lifted you into the air and next to him as if it were nothing to do, waiting for you to take a hold of his waist before working to lift you up higher against the side of the structure. "Welcome to the big leagues, (Y/N). This is gonna be so fucking epic."
"I've got a really bad feeling about this."
"Holy shit," he stopped with a gasp, "are we gonna RP this?! Okay, okay, um...if you're doing Leia then I'm totally taking whiney little bitch Luke. Check it," he paused, hunching his shoulders with a petulant whine, "I was going into Tosche Station to pick up some power converterrrrrrs."
He held there and waited for you to respond, but all you could manage was to stare back at him in pure bewilderment, unable to escape the feeling that you were in some twisted nightmare that wasn't letting you wake. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Baby, I'm your accomplice," he shrugged, just as he pulled a baton from his uniform with his free hand, slamming it into one of the massive tower windows with a deafening crash and spray of shattered glass that covered you both. He swiped it across the ledge to clear away any stray shards, pushing you both into the building, dropping you to the floor in a loud thud; it could have been loud enough to alert anyone of your presence, but instead, the deafening sirens that began to sound would be sure to make that happen. "Now that we're in this together, I should probably come clean. They might be home."
Part 2
"Run, run, run," Deadpool muttered under his breath, pushing you up off of him with a loud grunt so that you rolled right into the pile of shattered glass. "I think I just saw someone!"
"You didn't check to see if they were here?!"
"I assumed...the lights were off."
"I'm so gonna regret this," you groaned, standing quickly and looking in every direction with a swift wipe of your gloved hands over your pants. The tower was dark, but the flashing red lights that bathed everything around you were messing with your vision and altering your perception and sense of direction. "So what the hell do we do now, genius?"
"Um...fuck, I don't know! I hadn't thought much past smashing through the window," he shrugged. "Why do you think that I brought your sweet ass along for the ride?"
"I'm starting to think that it was to save yours."
"Works for me, babe. But before you do anything with my ass, I think snack time is in order. Pretty sure we're not far from the kitchen, and with Tony Stark running this joint, you've gotta bet that he's stocked with some pretty fuckin' amazing chow."
"You're not serious," you asked, feeling that the question was pointless before you had reached the last word. As quickly as they had started, the lights around you stopped flashing and returned the tower to nearly complete darkness other than the glow of streetlights from outside. "I think we should get the hell outta here before Stark makes sure we're locked away and have to live on prison food for the rest of our lives. He's locked up his own friends in the Raft, if you recall. We're screwed."
"Okay, you totally just destroyed your own argument," he stopped, resting his hands firmly on his leather-clad hips, "because if we're getting locked up in some super-max ocean pokey, then we need to experience what a last meal should really be like. You know that these law-loving sons of bitches are eating like goddamn royalty to maintain perfect bodies like theirs, and I want a piece of that!"
"Wade- wait, you want a piece of what they're eating, or of their perfect bodies?" you asked with a smirk.
"Yes."
"That was two different questions."
"I stand by my answer."
~~~
It was a fumbling and stumbling mess between the two of you as you ran across the expansive floor of the tower in search of the kitchen, making a fool of yourself for believing that this guy had any clue as to the layout of the place. You had thought yourself to be graceful overall, or at least enough to be able to get around without tipping into furniture and diving to catch what appeared to be ridiculous decorations before they crashed to the ground after you hit your foot on their supports. One vase had met its untimely end under your sudden incompetence to run in a straight line, but the two of you decided that it was ugly as hell and you had done the Avengers an aesthetic favor in order to clear your conscience.
"I think this is it!" Wade announced with an excited clap of his hands, running into the room before you could get the lights turned on.
"Hmm, I don't know," you scoffed, "I'm not sure if that giant refrigerator gives it away or not."
"Fuck off," he snapped, "I'm starving and have zero tolerance for that right now."
"Woah, what crawled up your ass all of the sudden?"
Wade hurried to the stainless steel appliance and flung the door open in desperation, pushing his head far into it to search for whatever delicacies it might hold for him to binge on. You heard the clang and smash of dishes as he dug his way around until he finally popped back up, his mask barely covering his face with a mouth as full as his arms, and plates and bowls hanging precariously and shaking as he lifted his foot to kick the door shut. "Holy shit, (Y/N)!" he exclaimed with a heavy swallow. "Look at all of this! How are these guys not fat as fuck?"
"I'm guessing that all of the world-saving is pretty good exercise." You made your way across the room to meet him, but when you reached out to take one of the barely balanced dishes from his grip, he turned away sharply so that you couldn't get it. "What the hell?"
"Get your own!"
"I could say the same for you," came a new voice, one that hadn't been invited to your impromptu raiding party, and had frozen both you and Wade in place in fear. "That pizza's mine."
Wade turned towards the voice and giggled excitedly at the sight of Clint Barton leaning against the kitchen's door frame, arms crossed and looking as authoritative as he could, given the circumstances. "Dude! You're the arrow guy!"
"Yes, I'm aware. I prefer Hawkeye, if it's not too hard to remember."
"This was the guy that I wanted to hire," you snorted, nodding your head towards Clint while pushing your way into the refrigerator, "but something about conflict of interest and unreasonable cost, blah, blah, blah..."
"Hold up, love muffin," Wade broke in, "I wasn't your first choice? I'm honestly so hurt right now."
"Pfft, you'll get over it. Here," you snickered, leaning out from the appliance with a new snack in hand, "try this. It has Stark's name on it so I guarantee it's something expensive and weird."
"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt the midnight snack, but you do realize that you're breaking and entering right?" Clint asked, confused that you were still even there. "Did you want to try to make a run for it? I'm not even armed."
"Nah, you've caught us," Wade waved dismissively, "and this is too goddamn delicious. Have you tried this, sharp-shooter man?"
Clint couldn't help but fall into the trap of Wilson's strange charm, smiling in defeat with a relenting shake of his head while he made his way to sit next to the vigilante assassin. He held his hand out and waited for Wade to load up a fork full of whatever it was that he was eating, readily taking it and trying the strange dish for himself. "Hey, not bad," he shrugged, "what is it?"
"It's snails," you answered quietly, watching wide-eyed for their inevitable reaction. What you got from them certainly didn't disappoint, the sounds of choking and spitting filling the room while they both ran to the sink to rinse the offensive delicacy from their mouths.
"Fuck me, (Y/N), you gave me snails? Why?! Why do you hate me so when all I've ever done is love you?"
"Hey, I warned you that it said Stark on it. He doesn't really play for the burgers-and-fries kind of fella. If you're looking for all-American fare, you should hunt for something with Cap's name on it, you dumbass. I'd eat anything with Cap's name on it."
"Even Cap," Wade snorted, nudging Barton sharply with his elbow, "bet you dollars to donuts that I'm right. I'm right, right?"
"Shut up."
"Ooooh, I'm right!" he laughed excitedly, hopping up and down in his joy. "Hey, bird man, any chance that we could get my friend here a Cap fix? She's been really hard-up lately, and I know it wouldn't take much to get her off."
"Hey, what the shit biscuit, Wilson? How the hell would you know? And I'm not, by the way," you turned to Clint, shaking your head urgently. "I only met this jackass a few hours ago so he has no idea how to get me off. Wait...that didn't come out the way it sounded in my head."
Clint couldn't do more than stare in utter amusement at your banter, eyes wide and soaking in every sight that he could, listening to every word said and laughing along with you at each insult slung at the other. This was by far the greatest thing he had seen in a long time, and it made the verbal spars that he had with Natasha look like kindergarten playground arguments. This was too good, and he was completely thankful that he was so late that the team had left without him for their night out. "Okay, so you guys aren't related? I totally could have pegged you for brother and sister by the way you argue. I've been watching you since you broke in, and I've gotta say, it's been entertaining as hell."
"So, you're not gonna turn us in?" you asked hopefully.
"Nah, no harm, no foul. Nothing more than what a couple of starving raccoons could've done, anyway."
"I always knew you were my favorite for a reason, Legolas," Wade nodded with a firm slap on his back.
"If I'm your favorite, then what's my name? You haven't said it once."
"You...you are...um..." Wade stammered, looking at his new friend thoughtfully, "you are...Not Captain America."
"It's like you didn't even try," you added flatly, dropping your empty plate into the sink with a clap of your hands, feeling satisfied that your raid on the kitchen was an overall success. "Okay, Pool, we should clean up our mess and get outta here before the Justice League gets home."
"Woah, (Y/N), crossing a line!" Wade gasped, clutching his chest. "You could barely pay me, much less the rights to use that name! You're already dodging Marvel and now you want DC on your ass?"
"What the hell are you talking...about..." you began, but your voice faded away at the sight of Clint coming around the corner to re-enter the room; you hadn't even noticed that he had left, but now he was getting your full attention. "Barton...that's the shield," you gasped, your hand over your mouth in awe, "is that really it?"
"Yep," he smiled proudly, "you wanna touch it?"
"Hey, we just met," Wade interjected, "let's not get ahead of ourselves."
"I meant does she want to touch the shield." Clint pressed forward, holding it up for you when your hand reached out to connect. He smiled at the pure amazement in your eyes as you inspected it, your fingers slowly trailing across each ring of red and white before stopping on the polished star at their center. "Let's take your picture with it."
"What? No," you deflected, stepping back, "that's too much, Clint. No."
"Come on," he pushed, "you'll never get the chance again."
You looked from Clint and to Wade then back again, each of them urging you to do what you really wanted but were strangely scared to admit. As if he knew that he almost had you convinced, Barton spun the shield around so that you could link your arm through its leather straps while Wade took your phone to capture the moment.
"Clint, get in there," Wade urged, much to the archer's delight.
"Hey! You got my name right!"
"Yeah, fucking miracle," Wade scoffed. "You're like the third or fourth least favorite Avenger. Hey, hold up, let me set a timer so I can get into this action too." A few swipes across the glass of the phone and he was ready, pulling his mask back down over his face before propping the device just right to take the perfect picture for posterity, as well as a memory of one of the most fun nights that he had been a part of in far too long. He wrapped his arm around you and stood behind the shield, leaning in close with an amused whisper, "tomorrow we hit Xavier's. That bald British fucker eats weirder shit than Stark, believe me."