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He didn’t realize he was so fascinated with you initially. At first glance, you looked like any other plain Jane office worker in the city: rushing to the front of the cafe to grab a tray of half-cold coffees before bolting out the door.
Why is she in such a hurry, he mused to himself, watching you scurry down the block, the corner of your white blouse poking out of your gray pencil skirt. Acting like she’s saving the world or about to perform brain surgery or something. Another Marvel Jesus wannabe. What makes her think she’s so important anyway?
He went back to sipping his bitter espresso, returning to his original state of solitude, until he couldn’t shake you out of his head. Fuck it. Something urged him to get out of his seat, leave the coffee store, and follow you out.
He trailed behind you by about a block or so. He took note of your black tights, and how your skirt ended at the mid-level of your thighs. And that stupid click-clack sound of your heels against the cobblestone. So self-righteous.
He eventually followed you into a skyscraper building. He watched you weave through the crowd, past the front desk, and into a back elevator. Wade quickened his pace to be able to catch you just in the nick of time.
He darted into the elevator right before the doors were about to close.
“Floor?” you asked politely, looking up at him with those god awful innocent eyes that made him want to bend you over the nearest desk and fuck you senseless.
“I’m so glad you asked!” he piped, ever so chipper. “I’ll be.. Uh. Floor. 85.”
“Oh, this building only has 60 floors!” you said. “Which department are you going to? Oooh, love the costume by the way. Maybe you’re headed to the photo studio? That’s going to be on 54. You take a left, then a right, and.. it should be
straight there!”
And so polite too. God, could she be anymore insufferable, Deadpool thought to himself, tilting his head to the side as if to psychoanalyze your disposition.
“Does.. that sound right?” you asked, a bit nervous now that the stranger dressed in all black and red sharing the enclosed space with you was no longer speaking.
“Yes,” he replied, a little bit too quickly for comfort.
You pushed the corresponding button without another word, and then retreated back to your corner of the elevator. A few seconds of silence passed when your phone suddenly started beeping out of control.
“Hello?” you asked nervously. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I’m coming right away. Yes? Uh huh. Mhm. Okay. Got it. Thank you. Bye.” You ended the call with a subtle click and slipped the phone back into your pocket.
So she’s eager to please. A perfectionist. Interesting, he thought, jotting down a mental note.
The elevator reached an upcoming floor with a crisp ‘ding’, followed by the doors gliding open.
“Have a great day!” you called over your shoulder as you stepped out, about to walk expeditiously to your cubicle, balancing the tray of coffees in your shaky grip. “Oh, and you should take one of these, they are still hot!”
You handed him one of the skinny vanilla lattes in the tray before the elevator doors closed between you.
Wade took it without a thought. And he didn’t hesitate to follow you, of course. Ducking behind office plants and hallway walls just to see where you were going without drawing too much attention. He was quick enough to catch a glimpse of your full name on your cubicle placard.
Bullseye, he thought mischievously to himself, before slinking away into the nearest stairwell.
He somehow directed himself to the records department in the basement, carefully rifling through the employee directory to match your name with any corresponding information.
“Y/N..” he muttered to himself, leafing through the enormous book in the back of the storage room. “Goddamnit. Where the hell are you.. Aha! Full government name, phone number, and mailing address. Who even needs those shady paywalled identity finder websites anyways.”
Later that evening, he made it a point to break into your apartment before you came home. He was methodical, ensuring to cover all his steps, so that no trace was left behind. The lock to your doorknob was easy enough to pick. It look several bent-out-of-shape paper clips of course, and a lot of perseverance, but he somehow cracked the code.
He liked the way you decorated your space. Those cute little succulents in clay pots with smiley faces on them. Colorful candles and warm-toned tarps. Trinkets and crystals adorning cherry wooden shelves. Overgrown plants strewn across the floor. And books. Heaps of them.
“Well I’ll be,” he huffed to himself, standing in the center of the living room, hands on his hips. “I never took you to be an interior designer. Chip and Joanna would have a run for their money if they ever got a load of this..”
He played with the string of beads you hung from the ceiling, until the wooden dresser you had pushed into the corner caught his attention.
“Ohohohoho, now what do we have here..” he chuckled, prancing around your furniture to open up the first drawer. He was immediately greeted by your collection of underwear, folded neatly and sorted in a way he pictured an office worker would. He flickered his fingertips over the tops of them, as if he was a kid in a candy store picking out his favorite treat.
“So organized and efficient!” he commented, rifling through the perfectly placed rows and columns with curiosity. “It’s like the love child of OCD and a very high grade personality disorder.. color me impressed.”
“Eenie, meenie, minie, you!” he exclaimed with glee, eyeing a pair of stretchy, black tights and lifting it out as if he was plucking a rose from a vine.
Just like the ones she wore this morning, he mused.
His fingers glided across the fabric, gently rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. He stretched it out as much as he could, pulling it, teasing it, pretending as if it was on you.
He decided to get comfortable on your couch, playing with your tights in between his gloved fingertips.
“Well, out of all the things I’ve done to be put on a government watchlist, this one definitely takes the cake,” he murmured to himself as he lazily lifted up his mask, licking the stretched out nylon with his greedy tongue. He sucked on it desperately, as if he could somehow taste you on the fabric, his saliva dripping down the side of his chin.
His fingers twirled around the black bows on the sides, pulling so hard one of them came undone. Without wasting another moment, he unbuckled his belt and slightly zipped down his fly, releasing his already hardened cock. Slipping the dainty cloth over it, he began to indulge himself in a way that he never predicted he would this morning.
He tilted his head back into the soft cushion of the sofa, stroking himself with your elastic tights between his fingertips, imagining you were bouncing on top of him with them on.
“Fuck, Y/N..” he breathed, gritting his teeth as he continued to pleasure himself. “Why did you have to wear something so slutty at 7 in the morning? I mean what kind of a sociopath does such a thing? You’d think people would have common courtesy these days, but I guess not.”
He groaned softly as he came into your tights, his cum infiltrating through the thin fabric, leaving them absolutely soaked. Breathing heavily, he got up to toss the tainted pantyhose into the trash.
Finding a scrap piece of paper and pen, he decided to leave you a little note of gratitude on your kitchen table before he left your apartment, scribbling a messy sketch of his mask making a blushing face and a lop-sided heart:
“Thanks for the coffee!”