Hired Help (Deadpool x reader)

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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.

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