Title: Seducing a Redfur
Summary: If Leda was dull-witted enough to become seduced by Jupiter in the form of a great white swan then it serves to reason that Deadpool can be seduced by Squirrel Girl simply by being close by. Even more-so, considering it's quite easy for them to understand each other, unlike a god and some girl who walked around naked. They are civilized people after all. How hard is that to say with a straight face? One-shot, DeadSquirrel.
Warnings: Ahem, where to begin? Breaking the fourth wall, swearing, hinted nudity, insanity of both light and dark, babies…Still, at least this is only high 'T'.
Dedication: To Kirra kills for being quite the dear to take on the impossible pairing of Kurtty D. and coming out well enough to bring it to a bright side lightness-fluffiness. Writing for this pairing was just so different and new and—that's enough of that. Onto the tale(s)!
-:-
Stop her! STOP HER! Want me to sting her?
-Genie (Aladdin)
i. Yellow
Perhaps the only thing that allowed them to even get remotely attached to each other was when Doreen ("Yes, that's my real name, even though it sounds like a name that belongs to some TV show-host bimbo from the Fifties that probably died of a venereal disease. Want to make something of it coming from someone with a name like Wade—bet you die of a venereal disease,") found out on one of Deadpool's random visits to see Luke Cage or Jessica Jones—usually trolling Wolverine or Spiderman—that the mercenary did not kill kids and was fairly good with them.
He didn't scare little Dani and that was almost like permission for Squirrel Girl to get to like him.
And start flirting with that tail of hers.
(There is a softness creeping along his spine, next to his ankles, along the lining of his ass and he almost drops little Dani when he turns his head—a complete turn that would leave that less than attractive girl in the Exorcist sick to her stomach—and finds nothing behind him but another of those plague infested grey squirrels that had a problem with harassing him when he came to the house when the owners were out.
"Huh, just you again," Deadpool muttered to himself, head doing the owl-turn to grin back at Dani, joke on his tongue when he makes her giggle at the sounds of all the bones in his neck cracking and grooving back into as proper a position as it ever was, "Just the hive soldiers of the Queen scouting for my succulent flesh that smells of honey BBQ, but tastes like that stuff you'd use on tarmac."
Dani giggled and rubbed her nose with her closed fist.
"And I would know this," Deadpool continued, waving a free hand in the air with grace and poise and the look of those Tahiti dancers who started off their show two weeks ago completely without coconut shell bras but with just Henna painted nipples—a total waste of money in the merc's opinion, "Seeing as getting stuck in the Alps without a compass can be a real drag after two weeks."
In the kitchen, ears tuned in on the awkward conversation, Squirrel Girl applied the formula she had just boiled in the princess pink bottle to the skin of her wrist, satisfied that it wasn't too hot and turned on her heel to retrieve the baby before Wade continued with that railroad of thought.
The baby girl might not be able to understand the psychotic, exactly, but Doreen would really rather not have to explain where "Honey BBQ" or "Tarmac" came from if the little lady parroted the words to her parents when they got back from dealing with the Young Avengers or whatever.)
ii. Blue
I can remember how hard it is to be alive and live between lives without mixing up memories like I do in this life—and oh, how the pain in this life amplifies everything that I ever was and ever will be.
Not that that's a bad thing. Sometimes it's nice to remember waking up in the morning with my wife beside me—her long arms slicked with sweat from the previous night's activities of either running from the guards of the streets of Paris (or Roma or Italia or England in all of its flippantly pious glory—gag on that God Almighty, you arrogant son of a whore!) or having rigorous sex after stealing French bread that would be buttered after I milked the cows probably stuffing themselves on green and barley. Sometimes it's even wonderful to remember the incredibly boring things of buying some cheap brown car back in 1932 so I could sell things door-to-door or sweeping the streets of Chicago while in particularly angsty schizophrenic episode before some freaked out cop found my lovely redhead girlfriend so they could put my pants back on and take me to the loony-bin.
But, that's not the point. The point I was going with was…
God, that tail is so hot. Why won't she let me pet it? I'd let her run those sharp little claws over my pickled and burnt and really weird skin while I ate freshly opened ("Warning: contents may settle") potato chips—why don't they say on the back "Warning: this is actually 90% air before opened?" That's so much more honest—in exchange. That's a fair trade, right?
"What are you doing?"
Uh-oh. Was I talking out loud again? I don't think I was, otherwise there would be more donut crumbs on my chest—though, it's hard to hear anything over the sounds of my being awesome while winning at the Running Unicorn Game and eating my chocolate donuts and white powder, glazed Hoagie milkshake.
She looks adorable walking up to me, that tail swishing back and forth against the floor of Jean Grey School's living room carpet and—"Hey! That milkshake's mine!"
"Not while playing on a hundred-dollar video game console, it's not!"
"Well, watcha gonna do with it?"
"…Drink it myself, I guess. My gag reflex is getting a lot less involuntary lately."
"If you add strawberry Nesquick it goes down easier."
iii. Red
The squirrels that had a way and willfulness of getting controlled and actually attached to Squirrel Girl (it wasn't their fault that she had a sort of attractiveness that made it an unfortunately side-effect to gravitate towards her after being controlled—she was just so nice and supplied treats that weren't just revolting bread or grains but big red apples and those weird citrus fruits that she'd never told them the name of but tasted Good) stared curiously as the strange burnt scented human continued day by day crossing over the garden gate and leaving…rocks everywhere.
Okay, they weren't exactly ordinary rocks. They didn't smell like the urine cats or dogs left behind—having to mark their territory and scratch out dirt or bark on trees, which is so much less dignified that marking and then calling out "This is mine!"—and didn't have that weird artificial-ness that came with the big rocks human set out in the dirt to make shapes (hearts, crosses, circles, stars, trees—these words the squirrels knew because they had passed collectively through their heads when Her Royalness had them in thrall,) but were weird colors of shining blue and purple like moons beside the sun trapped in clouds or debonair greens that reminded them of the water or oceans that weren't polluted but still along cities so they were demented unlike the south or, on more recent occasions, reds that weren't pure and proper like the lady's coat, but there was something about them.
It seemed to be working, too, as she caught him leaving one (while she was in the pool, of course and soaking her skin and fur with that foul-smelling chlorine that ruined the density and natural chemicals in her pelt—how she could tolerate it, the rodents would never know) or the red stones in the birdbath and tackled him before he could completely jump the garden fence again.
The spandex of his pants tore off and she ended up staring at a slightly curved appendage that wasn't completely unpleasant if they way she looked at it was anything to go by. Her buck teeth pinching at her bottom lip and her cheeks flush (the squirrels would ignore the way her tail was wriggling as if calling to any male willing to relieve her Heat) burgundy.
"…Well, there's something to be said about new experiences."