#deadpool drabbles

“Watch it, Wade,” you warned, though you were not at all worried. His knife lowered and flipped back into the depths of his fluffy bathrobe when he realized who you were. 

“Oh. It’s you,” he said. The discolored flesh of his face twitched with a grin. “Did Mr. Metal Dick send you? The bullwhip substitute to watch over the class?” He snickered at his own joke, recalling your mutant ability to harness energy into the form of ropes.

“Piotr is off on vacation with Kitty,” you replied, propping your hands up on your hips.

Wade tipped his head back and guffawed. “Do you think he stays that way under the sheets?”

With a grimace, you pinched the space between your brows and sighed loudly. “Jesus, Wade—I don’t fucking know. Why don’t you ask him next time you see him?”

“Good idea.” He shuffled off to shuck open a box of day-old pizza on the table. “You want?”

“No thanks.”

“You sure? It’s pepperoni. You know how expensive it is to get pepperoni nowadays, in this economy? I’m offering you gold flakes on bread, here.”

“Mhm, I’ll pass.” After a considerable silence, only filled with Wade’s loud munching, you tested the waters by saying, “Charles actually sent me.”

Wade gestured at a chair and nudged for you to take a seat. “McAvoy or Stewart?” 

“What? Charles Xavier, who’s McAvoy and Stewart?” You sank down onto the creaky wooden chair, frowning at the baby powder rimming the backboard. It was probably Al’s. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was Wade, though.

Ignoring your question, Wade tilted his head and asked, “How’s Yukio? And her emo-face Megasonic Nuclear Bomb-Head girlfriend?”

You smiled slightly, remembering how they were pestering Logan, who’d been working on fixing a motorcycle back at the mansion when you left. 

“They’re fine. Wolvie, too.”

“No way!” exclaimed Wade. “Logie’s there, too? Jesus—whole damn gang’s there.”

“Except you,” you pointedly said.

Wade paused mid-chew. “Oh. Oh-ho-ho, I know what you’re doing here. Charles wants me to join his rag-tag team of circus freaks.”

“Wade—”

“The answer is no.”

“Come on—”

“And he wants me to be around all those kids? In a school? Has he met me?”

“Believe me, I don’t know what he’s thinking, either,” you told him, scoffing. “You’re the last person I’d expect to be on the team but… I trust Charles. If he wants you in, there must be a reason why.”

Holding his hands out, Wade shook his head. “Listen, I’m flattered, really, but Deadpool works solo. Except for that one time I formed the X-Force. But that was a team of people I hand-picked! The X-Men just doesn’t sound up my alley, y’know?”

You blew out a breath and fixed him with a serious expression. “Some day you’re gonna have to pull your head out of your ass and realize that there are people out there who are willing to be your friends. Your family. Don’t throw it away, Wade.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he studied you. 

“You’re really bad with rejection, aren’t you?” he finally asked, quirking up a brow—or, at least where his eyebrow used to be—and crossed his arms. The Crocs he’d stolen from Al squeaked as he stood up and gestured to the door. “I’m surprised you didn’t go running back to Charles the moment I said no. I’m beginning to think you have a crush on me, or something. Not that I blame you. My face may be fucked but my dick works better than ever. Just ask Al. She’s blind as a bat, but she hears everything in this damn house.”

Immediately, you grimaced. “Ugh. Don’t be crass.”

“What? I thought you were into broken men. Like to pick up their pieces, don’cha? You and Wolvie had that fling once, no? He told me all about it.” 

In truth, Logan had told him little to nothing about his brief relationship with you, but Wade had ruthlessly pestered him anyway. 

You stiffened at his words, glowering. “You’re exasperating.”

“And you’re looking awfully lovely today. That frown really accentuates your eyes. Makes you look about a decade older.” Wade leaned his weight onto the table, leering over you, patting your back twice. “I find it very attractive.”

With a flick of your hand, a crimson coil of your harnessed energy shot out and thwacked him in his side, and he hissed out a string of curses, backing away from you. You’d burned right through his fluffy white robe, to his simultaneous dismay and astonishment.

“Jesus!” Wade glanced incredulously from you to the slight, shallow gash that formed by his ribs, already starting to heal itself. “That’s actually—that was so fucking cool. Do it again!”

Clearing your throat, you pushed yourself away and stood up. “Final time I’m asking. Yes or no?”

Wade pretended to give it a long, hard think. “Mmh…” He wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“Fine,” you said, rolling your eyes up to the ceiling. “When Piotr comes back from vacation, he’s going to find you and he’s not gonna go as easy on you as I have.”

“Ooh, ouch. Hope he brings some lube with him.” Wade grinned wolfishly.

Completely fed up with him, you ripped out a wad of paper and a pen from your jacket’s pocket, scribbling down your phone number. You folded it in half before shoving it against his chest.

“I’m not giving up on you. I’m a competitive person, Wade. If Piotr was the one to convince you to join, I just wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re literally obsessed with me, I get it,” he remarked, sparing you a lopsided beam. He made a show of pocketing your number on the side of his robe that wasn’t burnt. “You little minx, you.”

With a final flick of your hand, you lashed out another coil around his foot, and made your way to the door just as he fell back onto the couch with a muffled oomf! 

Just as you left, you heard Wade cackling to himself through the door you left partially ajar, just as it was when you came in. You chalked it up to him finding it funny that you managed to trip him over with your powers, and strode away from the shoddy house with your lips twitching upwards. 

Wade, however, was laughing because he’d successfully pulled off taping a kick me sign onto your back without you noticing. A low and childish blow, but would certainly make for some fun banter whenever he saw you again—which, he suspected, would be pretty soon.

You had appeared into his life around three years back, when he crashed clean through several buildings in a row (thanks a lot, Carnage), eating mouthfuls of rubble and inhaling pure dust and shards of glass. After the fourth building he was thrown into, he crashed out of a window, stumbling into you, an innocent pedestrian just on their way to try out the new vegan restaurant down the street. He collided into you with enough force to send the both of you toppling over onto a busy road, asphalt scratching painfully against your cheek. Cars screeched to grueling halts only inches away from the two of you, angry honks erupting from a dozen vehicles at once. Wade almost had the gall to feel guilty for a second upon meeting your wide eyes. Then he spotted your trembling lips start to open into a horrified gape, which then gave way to the most awful, ear-splitting scream he’d ever heard.

He began screaming with you shortly after, because he promptly realized that his legs were gone and the pain was nearly enough to have him pass out.

“FUCK! FUCK, OH MY FUCK! SHIT! JESUS CHRIST, SO NOT COOL, CARNAGE! SO NOT COOL,” he yelled, using his arms to drag himself across the road, spitting out obscenities at the cars honking at him. There was a thick trail of blood and bits of mutilated flesh and skin following his severed knees, and you had to physically force your eyes away before you could feel your breakfast move its way back up your digestive tract. You pushed yourself up onto shaky feet, grabbing Wade’s suited hands and dragging him to the sidewalk with a groan. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” you panted raggedly, staggering away from him as soon as he wasn’t under the imminent threat of being run over by a white man’s dirty Toyota. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Wade winced, completely not fine. “They’ll grow back in a day or two. I’ve had my legs cut off way too many times to count.”

Your brows furrowed. “Jesus. You’re one of those Avengers folk, aren’t you? Fuck.” 

“Nuh-uh! That is so offensive. Just because I’ve got superpowers, doesn’t mean I’m an Avenger! I’ve been sending them my resume for months now, and they still haven’t gotten back to me.”

You had the audacity to roll your eyes. “Listen, hot-shot, I don’t know what I can do for you, then. I have a reservation I can’t miss. Are you gonna be okay on your own?”

“Ooh, reservation. Sounds fancy. Where are you going? You got a date or somethin’?” Here he was, bleeding out on the side of the road, and nonchalantly asking you about your love life. 

You blinked twice. “Yeah…” you started hesitantly. “Just down the street at that new vegan restaurant. It’s my first one with him and I don’t want him to think I’ve stood him up.”

“Must have a humongous penis to get you dressed up all fancy shmancy for the first date. At a vegan restaurant, no less! Listen, here’s a life lesson that I had to learn the hard way: vegans only gain happiness from two things and two things only—tofu and being mean to millennials on Twitter. Save your time,” he hummed glibly. You absentmindedly wondered if he was going loopy with the amount of pain he was enduring. Blood began dribbling from his nose and leaked past his cracked lips, and he sat up abruptly, spitting into his mask. “Oh, gross. Gross! Fuck, all I taste is blood now—Edward Cullen you nasty fucker. Look, I’m sorry to ask this, you seem like a really nice person and I really don’t want to drag you into my shit but I’m gonna drag you into my shit anyways. Do you have a place I could maybe lay low for a while? There’s this really awful alien after me and I don’t think I can take them without losing any more limbs.”

After a beat of silence, you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed heavily. God damn it—you couldn’t just leave him here alone, could you? “Yeah. Yeah, it’s just down a block. Let’s go.”

So, that was how you met him for the first time. Blew off a tofu-loving, millennial-bullying vegan (his theory, you never actually got to meet him), in order to save his ass from a goo parasite from space.

You quickly realized that this was nearly an everyday experience for him. It eventually became a routine pattern. He’d go out, get himself beat up by some otherworldly beings (there was that one time a gaggle of girl scouts beat him to a pulp, but he made you vow never to speak of that again). Then, he’d come slinking back to his apartment where he’d call you and whine until you begrudgingly agreed to come over with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s—specifically requesting the Hunka-Hulka Burnin’ Fudge flavor or he’d threaten to set himself on fire. Dramatic fucker. 

And sometimes he’d come to your apartment, dripping vermilion blood everywhere, or high out of his goddamn mind, or so drunk that he could barely formulate a coherent sentence. Usually it was some infuriating combination of the three. Nonetheless, you’d tuck him into your couch with a fleece blanket and a throw pillow he often complained smelled like nacho cheese, but he slept like a baby despite it all. 

And when you woke up? He was never there. No notes, no crude pencil drawings of dicks on your wall, no trace of him whatsoever. The process would continue to repeat itself a million times over, and you began to find yourself unsettled with your predicament. 

Who was Wade to you? A friend? A stranger? A man who occasionally slept on your couch and constantly made you worry for his well being despite knowing that he was practically immortal? 

The day you finally exploded at him, bombarding him with questions he had no answers to, he hadn’t meant to start yelling back. Insults were traded, scathing and cutting far too deep for either of your liking. He particularly remembered you hissing out, “Please, you can barely even function without me! You’re awful at taking responsibility for yourself, Wade! You don’t eat well, you barely ever sleep if not passed out on my couch, you’re always high or piss-drunk or beaten up halfway to hell! You know how fucking exhausting that is? Taking care of someone that doesn’t give two shits about you? I bet you wouldn’t last a fucking day without coming crawling right back up to my door on all fours! Like a little bitch!”

Wade knew you were just caught up in the heat of the moment—that this wasn’t really you. But damn if your words still hurt. 

The fact that so many of your angry tirades were falling upon deaf ears and a stonily blank expression only seemed to fuel your frustration more, pushing you to the brink of tears glossing over your reddened eyes. That night ended with you telling him to never come back, and you had to physically shove him out of your apartment, slamming the door with such ferocity that the floor rattled beneath his feet for a split second.

Wade had stood outside your door for a full minute before coming to and realizing just how much of an asshole he’d been. You didn’t owe him anything. Hell, the two of you barely knew anything about each other. He began knocking softly, asking you, begging you to open the door, apologizing over and over and over. Then, he proceeded in his attempts to bribe you—with chocolate bars, movie nights, free vegan dinners, the chance to shoot him in the ribs, he put it all on the table for you. He was in front of your apartment for hours. 

The door never opened. 

That was around six months ago.

Now, as he found himself back in front of your apartment after so long, things were different. He wasn’t wearing his superhero suit like he usually did, there were flashcards of what to say in his hands just in case he completely blanked upon seeing you, and clutched in his other palm were half-wilted flowers he scavenged in the back of an alley dumpster (listen, he didn’t have the time nor money to buy you proper ones, so it was the thought that counted). 

After rapping his knuckles against the wood three times, the door swung open. 

Fuck, Wade was nervous. Suddenly his sweaty fingers fumbled and flashcards were fluttering to the ground, making a mess of pink little cards, some filled with doodles of extremely realistic (a style commonly known as ‘stick-men’) depictions of what he thought he looked like while fighting bad guys, and other cards with his lines of what to say to you. He dropped to his knees, hurrying to grab at the scattered pieces of paper.

“I knew you’d be back,” you sneered, staring down your nose at him with thinly-narrowed eyes. “Jesus, Wade. It’s been… forever. I didn’t—I thought something might’ve happened—”

With a heavy sigh, you got down on your knees beside him, picking up some cards with a curious hum. “When I said you’d come crawling back to me on all fours… I wasn’t actually being serious, Wade.”

“Shucks,” Wade said, nervously taking the cards from you, uncharacteristically tentative. “And here I was thinking you were into that.”

Your expression immediately soured. “What do you want from me, Wade? Come to mooch off of me again? Make me care about you and leave just before things get heavy?”

“Y/N,” he breathed out, mentally going fuck it and setting the cards back down on the floor. “You’re wrong. All those months ago you said I couldn’t give two shits about you. I did—I do give two shits about you. In fact, I give so many shits that the toilet would be clogged with just how many shits I give about you! I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how to care for someone properly. I don’t know how I’d do it right. But I wanna try. Please, Y/N, let me try.”

The way your jaw set made Wade swallow nervously. Then, the slight quirk of the corner of your lips made Wade tilt his head in surprise. “Are these… flowers? You got me flowers?”

“Yeah, but they’re from the dumpster.”

“No need to put yourself down, Wade. They’re lovely.” You took the wilting bouquet from his grasp with a mild grin.

He didn’t have the heart to tell you that he was telling the truth. Just as long as you didn’t stick your nose into them, he supposed he’d let you remain blissfully oblivious.

“So what are you asking?” you asked, thumbing the bruised stems of the flowers. “You wanna try being friends? Real ones?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that,” he whispered with a near watery chuckle. “Whose balls did I have to fondle in my past life to get lucky and crash into you all those years ago, huh?”

The way you wrinkled your nose in distaste made Wade snort. “Don’t be crass, fuckwad. I missed you, too, for the record. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean most of what I said that night. I was being really harsh for no reason. There’s nothing wrong with struggling with things like that, Wade, you just need a bit of help, is all.”

There was a beat of comfortable silence before Wade sighed, pushing himself up to his feet, dusting off his pants before offering you a hand up. You took it gingerly, opening the door wider for him to step in. 

Glancing once at one of his cue cards, he cleared his throat. “My name is Wade. Also known as Deadpool, founder of X-Force, and an Avenger-in-waiting,” he declared, gazing at you fondly. “I may suck at this whole living thing, but at least I look amazing while doing it.” When you shot him a halfhearted glare, he lifted his hands in surrender. “Kidding, kidding. I look like a chewed up piece of gum, let’s be honest. It’s nice to meet you… friend.”

The brilliant smile that painted itself violet over your features made just a slight fraction of the same expression mirror itself onto Wade’s face. “Nice to meet you, too. I think we’ll be getting along just fine.”