This isn't going to go well.
Shuddup, will you? We've got to try.
The door opened.
Wade beamed under his little cowboy hat and held out his pillowcase hopefully. "Trick or Treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat! If you don't, I don't care, I'll pull down my underwear!"
The door slammed.
Off to the side of the porch, Bob Agent of HYDRA hid his face in his hands. His only concession to the holiday was a pair of googly, light-up antenna on springs. "Mr. Wilson, sir, maybe that would work better if you started with your pants up? Or wore underwear?"
"Don't be stupid." Deadpool bent over to pick up his pants and caps, buckling his belt firmly around his waist. "The fangirls like a show. Author could throw in some more description though."
Hey, it's a drabble. What do you want from me, a novel about your penis? DON'T ANSWER THAT.
"Of course. The author." Bob didn't even bother to argue. He'd learned.
Are we going to do it?
Of course we're going to do it. We are, aren't we?
Deadpool pulled out his gun and checked the ammo with a grin. "No treats. Time for tricks."