Your name is D Strider (yeah, that really is your legal name, you spent the entirety of a birthday in court getting it changed and it's yours) and you've been seduced before. Actually, you've been seduced kind of a lot, you think, by what seems like a pretty wide variety of people—girls, guys, nice people, shitty people, the chick who wanted to put a collar on your son like he's a fuckin' animal. (She deserves a category of her own for headassery, honestly. The scariest thing is that you did kinda fall for her, too...)
So yeah, you've been seduced. However, this is a special kind of seduction for two reasons.
One, it's fuckin' Deadpool.
Two, he's a goddamn idiot.
"What the fuck, Wade?" Yes, your shouting is probably louder than the shitty-ass speakers on the fifteen-year-old boombox that Roxy dug out of your sister's attic and this man instantly appropriated. Honestly, you don't really care; the question of whether or not you're gonna fall out the window in your attempt to lean out far enough to yell at his dumb ass is more of an issue. "Is there a point to this shit?"
"Your kids like romcoms and this seemed romantic!" For someone who's shouting to be heard over cheesy eighties music and maybe thirty feet of space, Wade seems pretty damn cheerful. "Can you let me in so I can go to stage two of the wooing?"
"Let yourself in; you have a fucking key! You've had a key for like six months! You live here half the time!"
"Excuse me, it's more like a third of the time—"
"That's not a thing! You don't measure time by thirds!"
"Hey, I'm not the one who made a precise chart of how often I take trips out—"
"Are you saying I am?"
"Nope, that'd be your kids!"
"What the fuck does that have to do with—"
The sound of the window under the one you're currently hanging out of slamming open startles you into momentary silence, leaving Wade's shitty boombox as the only sound. (The track's changed. It's playing YMCA now.) Dave leans out, a hell of a lot further than you are; you can see Dirk's hand wrapped around one of his wrists and Hal's around the other, or you'd be hella concerned.
Then he pulls his hand free of Dirk's to point at Wade, and oop yeah there's that concern! "Dave, I know you heal fast but please for the love of god do not fall out of the window—"
"It's only the second floor, D, chill—Wade, I told you that wasn't gonna work."
"It's working just fine!"
"Yeah, no. Go give Roxy back their boombox, dumbass."
You're pretty sure that you shouldn't be mildly offended that Wade just shrugs and heads for the house at Dave's suggestion. Why can't you have that effect? Like you realize that's a grownass man, but hell, your own kids rarely listen to you that well...
Great, now Dave's twisted to look up at you, eyebrows raised. You know exactly what your hesitation to retreat inside looks like.
"Stop it. This ain't a longing look, trust me."
"Oh, sure it's not." Dave flashes you a grin and ducks inside before you can formulate a retort to that.
Goddamnit...eh, oh well. Not like this is gonna be an ongoing thing.
It's an ongoing thing.
"Remind me why exactly you're doing this, again?" you ask Deadpool halfway through his second attempt to cook a romantic dinner for you. He's managing it pretty well, honestly; nothing is on fire and he remembered to take the mask off before he started. Although... "Pasta's about to boil over."
"Oh, shit—" Wade drops the spoon he's stirring sauce with and lunges for the knob to adjust the heat on the pot; you're impressed that he manages to avoid a mess. Well, avoid that mess; there's still a lil' splatter of sauce across the stovetop. Doesn't really count, honestly. "Which 'this' are we talking about? The sauteeing? The chopping? The—"
"The romance, dickhead." The only reason you restrain yourself from rolling your eyes at him is that your shades are still on. No reason to waste a perfectly good expression of exasperation when he can't see it. "I'm not gonna fall for you."
"Yes you are."
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are."
"No I'm not—" This is a lot like arguing with Dirk when he was younger. Or Hal, when he's been bouncing around too many powerlines. "We went on a date, remember? Super awkward, got kicked out of Olive Garden, agreed to stick to doubleparenting Dave, split part of a bottle of whiskey afterward?"
"Hmm, doesn't ring a bell." Wade opens several cabinets, finds the strainer in the one with Dirk's hoard of mac 'n cheese, and sets it down in the sink. On his way back over to grab the pot of pasta he flashes you a bright smile that's too goddamn innocent for the man it's attached to. "It was rum, by the way."
"Whatever. I had about two too many drinks and you drank, like, two-thirds of the bottle." Speaking of alcohol, there's a bottle of wine on the counter. You're not sure if Wade's planning to serve it with dinner, or if he just used it in the sauce or some shit. Either way, it's looking more and more tempting. "Like, I was seriously wondering if I was gonna have to do some tipsy driving to get you to the hospital with fuckin' alcohol poisoning."
"Healing factor helps with that." Another winning smile. You can only imagine how charming he'd be with no scars. Actually no, he'd probably just come across as a cocky douchebag without the scars. "Shit—well, that and other things..."
"You just poured boiling water on your hand 'cause you were trying to seduce me, didn't you."
"It's fine! It'll be fine."
Yep, he did, and nope, he's not fine. You huff out a sigh and reach for the bottle; glasses are for the weak, right?
...oh, yeah, this is definitely meant to be cooked with, not drank. Yeuch.
...okay, so this one was a decent idea. You're still not totally sure how you're gonna get down from the roof, but right now you're lying on the least slanty bit of it with Wade stretched out beside you, staring up at the stars and the moon. After he hauled you up through the window he spent a couple minutes pointing out constellations (most of which you're fairly sure are inaccurate) but now he's just gone silent, other than the muffled tapping of his fingers against the blanket he somehow got up here for the two of you to lay on.
"This still isn't working for the seduction thing, is it," he asks after another couple minutes, not turning his head to look at you.
That probably makes you answer a lot more frank than if he'd insisted on eye contact. "Nah. It's nice, though. Hey, if I fall asleep up here do you think I'm gonna roll off?" Weak attempt to change the subject, but okay.
"Mmm, maybe, but there's only like a three-foot drop. You'd be fine."
"Dude, we're on the roof. There's no fuckin' way three floors translates to three feet."
"Hey, blame whoever built this place, not me. It's like they built two roofs over the house and then went 'you know what this place needs? A hole. This house needs a secret hole so Deadpool will fall into it and look like an idiot in front of a teenager at some point in the future.'"
"...which of my kids were you teaching breaking and entering skills to this time?" You're betting Roxy. Or possibly Dave.
"Rose, but we prefer the term 'questionably legal parkour.' Are we breaking up?"
He's much better at changing the subject than you are. Although that's not really saying much. "You do know we're not dating, right?"
"Yes, but if you say yes to the breaking up thing I know I'm not allowed to try anymore." Wade turns his head just enough to get a view of you out of the corner of his eye. Technically this is not eye contact unless you also turn your head to look at him. "Like, you haven't actually told me to stop trying, you know?"
"Oh my god." If you weren't arranged so comfortably, you'd fuckin' facepalm. "You know it's not gonna happen, right? You and me, it ain't gonna be a thing?"
"I'm hearing the prelude to the 'cease and desist' rhapsody."
"Hey, it's your time you're wasting."
"Courting a gentleman is never a waste of time."
"I'm gonna push you off the roof."
"Courting a hot dick isn't a waste of time either."
"Okay, that's fair." You shrug and pull the edge of the blanket up, halfway over yourself. "I'm going to sleep."
"Sweet dreams, fair prince! For—"
"I'm pretty sure that's a reference to someone dying, bro."
That does the job of shutting him up quite nicely. You can't help but snicker as you close your eyes.
Wade pretty much quits trying after that. Like, there's still the low-key flirting going on pretty much constantly—you don't think he even realizes he's doing it, and it's just barely enough to set off that ping in the back of your head that says you're getting hit on—but the big cheesy gestures more or less stop.
Funny, but it's the little subconscious shit that's starting to get to you. Hell, not even the stuff that's actually directed at you specifically—him talking Dave through a panic attack or showing up with (possibly illegal) tech for Hal and Dirk to pick apart and puzzle over is more likely to get your heart to do a lil' flip than the compliments he pays you, or him kissing your cheek as he passes you on the way to the kitchen for coffee.
(You're still trying to figure out if he means to do that, or if it's just a morning-brain thing. He's done it to other adults, too, so you're kind of thinking it's the latter...then again, you've seen pretty much everyone he's kissed like that get hella affectionate back at him when they definitely weren't sleep-foggy. Maybe he just tries to date everyone and the people who don't reciprocate at least a little also don't put up with the rest of his bullshit.)
So yeah. Apparently Wade can't seduce you when he's trying, but your dumb ass is perfectly willing to just kind of...fall for him. Goddamnit. And it's kinda frustrating, because while you have done the break-up-and-get-back-together thing before, you've never really been the one to both call a halt on a relationship and start it back up again.
"Kinda" frustrating. How about "extremely" frustrating? What you need to do is just sit the fuck down with him and talk this shit out, but there's always a good excuse to like, not do that. Kids, mostly, or consults on the upcoming SB&HJ podcast, or any one of the mountain of random shit that makes up normal life.
At this point you're just leaning over and sticking a tree limb directly in the spokes of the wheel on the bicycle that is your love life. Well, your possible love life with Wade, specifically; it's not like you're not still going out with other people. Mostly that's just fun with a side of work, though; it's always pretty much understood that the dates ain't gonna come to much more than a week or two, another magazine printing a couple thousand words of speculation and a page of pics that'll include A) you kissing your date and B) you flipping off the photographer. (Sometimes there's more than one pic of B.) Eh, at least whoever writes those magazines are having a lot more trouble deadnaming you than they used to; you kinda think Dirk and Hal did something.
Anyway. You're finally alone with Wade, and it's probably Dirk or Hal's fault. Wait, no—you know exactly who took the spare key from where you keep it stashed. Had to be Rose. Dirk and Hal have ways of getting through locked doors, Dave's gotten lessons in unlocking them, Roxy can just make herself an alternate way in; Rose is the only one who moves the key. Which she has, meaning that you're sitting on the steps and hoping that Wade gets done fiddling with the lock before one of your kids shows up and forces you to admit that you lost your keys to a crow that you're not on a first-name basis with.
Wade already knows this. You've sworn him to secrecy, which is usually pretty damn effective.
"Hey, am I gonna need to call somebody to fix the lock after you get it open?"
"Nope!" Wade twists one of the picks he's got jammed in the lock; something snaps audibly. "Okay, maybe. Probably not, though."
"Eh, it's not a big deal if I do. You opening it is faster anyway."
"That's my side job. 'Deadpool's Locksmith Services!' Special rates for hot guys."
"Special rates, huh?" You may be about to make a mistake, but it's the kind that means you can feel yourself smiling about it already. "How does dinner sound?"
"Ooh, be careful or I'll think you're asking me on a date."
"That's a good guess."
Wade laughs. Then he cocks his head, going still for a second before yanking at one of the picks and pushing the door open, twisting around to stare at you. "Is this like 'that's a good guess, but..."
"Nope. You get a date."
Okay, no matter how this goes or what comes from it, the way that Wade's face just shuttles between confusion and excitement for a full ten seconds makes everything totally worth it. Even if it does mean that Dave's gonna say I told you so.
Hell, the way you know Dave's gonna smile at you when he gets to say that might even count as a bonus.