One-shot's: Deadpool x Reader

Hey there, it's six o'clock, and you know what that means! It's time to crash my best friend Y/N's dinner! Sure, I remember the last time I snuck in her window. She screamed she'd kill me if I did it again. But what kind of best friend would I be if I let a little thing like death threats stop me? Plus, I brought food today! Redemption, right?

Y/N's been acting all kinds of strange in our messages lately. Not the "I'm feeling weird" kind of strange, but more like the "I'm going to keep you on hold for a few days" kind. So, naturally, I'm more nervous than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs... and that's saying something!

I arrive, all windows closed. Pfft, like that's going to stop me! Opening them is easier than finding excuses not to hit the gym. I glide through the room with the grace of a ninja—or at least someone who thinks he's a ninja. It's all quiet, just the way I like it. Her bag is on the couch, but where's Y/N? Ah, there she is, in her room, door closed, music blasting. And it's not that "crying in the shower with cold water" kind of music. Nope! This is more like "let's go for round two of... you know." Like the gentleman I am, I decide not to interrupt the party. Instead, I plop down at the dining room table, ready to devour my chimichangas.

Suddenly, the door swings open. Y/N jumps in shock when she sees me, but friends, the real shock is for me. My chimichanga hits the floor like a bombshell. What the heck? Who is this woman? The Y/N I know wouldn't wear a tight dress, let alone heels! And those stockings? WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!

There's only one logical explanation: "Are you going to give me a lap dance for my birthday?!" I scream, bursting with the excitement of a kid spotting his first comic book.

She looks at me like I just ordered pineapple on a pizza. "One, your birthday was a month ago, and I paid you two months' rent," she says, I make a little heart with my hands. "And two, I told you to stop sneaking in the window like a stalker." She points to the window. "You have a key, genius."

"But it's less epic," I shrug. She rolls her eyes, grabs her purse, and heads for the door.

"Where are we going? Some beers? Tacos? Peter told me about a new spot with mariachis where we can make fun of the musicians while drinking tequila!"

"No, Wade. You go home. I have a date."

A date? Does she mean an appointment? With the doctor? The dentist? 

"I didn't know you were dating again."

"I'm not. A guy asked me out, and I decided to take him up on it."

"But we had plans tonight," I protest, throwing on my best hangdog face.

"No. YOU had plans tonight. I told you to give me notice."

And there she goes, without even a glance back at me. I'm left standing there with my half-eaten chimichanga, frozen like a popsicle in an ice storm. 

Is she upset? Did I accidentally poke the icy heart of hers? Oh, of course, I have no clue what I did to tick her off! But the smartest move right now? Head home... for my Deadpool costume, obviously! If I'm going to spy on her on this "supposed" date, I'm doing it in style!

Fastest change ever, and boom! There she is at her third-favorite restaurant—the one right by her work. Aha! So, it's a date with a co-worker. Naughty girl... I sneak into a back table, but I'm no rookie. I disguise the disguise. Hat? Check. Trench coat? Check. Fake mustache? Double check! So incognito, she won't even suspect it's me.

I watch her for a while... Haven't seen her this nervous in ages. She's fidgeting with her hands and playing with her hair. Wait a minute. Oh my God! Is this what she looks like when she's flirting? And I'm just here discovering that side of her? And there's the guy, rocking his "I'm a regular, not mutant, avocado guy" face! Those green eyes, that tousled hair! And the worst part? He keeps making her laugh. No. Stop. From. Making. Her. Laugh!