Imagines || shows and movies characters x reader

Starboy || Deadpool [Deadpool & Wolverine]

Deadpool stood on the rooftop of a high-rise, the city lights twinkling below like a million tiny stars. The cool night breeze ruffled his suit as he looked down at the chaos he had just unleashed. A line of burning cars trailed down the street, a masterpiece in his eyes. 

"Well, that escalated quickly," he muttered to himself, cracking his knuckles. But his eyes weren't on the destruction; they were on you, standing at the edge of the roof, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in that way that always made him feel just a little bit human. 

"Y/N," Deadpool started, walking towards you with that cocky swagger he perfected over years of breaking bad guys' bones and hearts alike. "I'm tryna put you in the worst mood, ah," he sang, mocking a fancy dance step, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he referenced *Starboy*. "P1 cleaner than your church shoes, ah."

You rolled your eyes. "Are you serious right now?"

"Oh, I'm deadly serious," he quipped, fingers air-quoting the word 'deadly' as he strutted around like he was on a catwalk. "Milli' point two just to hurt you, ah. All red Lamb just to tease you, ah. None of these toys on lease too, ah."

You couldn't help but smile at his antics. Despite his crass humor, there was something endearing about the way Deadpool went about everything with such reckless abandon. It was his way of hiding the fact that beneath all the bravado, he was just a guy trying to find some sense of belonging in a world that had chewed him up and spat him out.

"House so empty, need a centerpiece," Deadpool continued, circling you now, his voice lowering into that gravelly tone he used when he was half-joking, half-serious. "Twenty racks a table, cut from ebony. Cut that ivory into skinny pieces. Then she clean it with her face, man, I love my baby, ah." He paused, tilting his head. "Though I'm pretty sure I could do better."

"You talkin' money, need a hearin' aid; you talkin' 'bout me, I don't see the shade," he added, waving his hand dismissively as if brushing off invisible haters. Then, leaning in close, he whispered conspiratorially, "Switch up my style, I take any lane. I switch up my cup, I kill any pain."

You pushed him away, but he bounced right back, persistent as ever. "Deadpool, do you ever shut up?"

"Only when I'm dead. And we both know how hard that is to pull off," he shot back, tapping the side of his head where the remnants of his last 'death' were already healing. "Look what you've done," he sang again, softer this time, with a playful grin. "I'm a motherfuckin' starboy."

You sighed, trying to keep your cool. "Is this really how you think you're going to win me over? By quoting The Weeknd and blowing up half the city?"

Deadpool shrugged, lifting the mask just enough to reveal a smirk that was surprisingly boyish for someone who had just orchestrated a small-scale apocalypse. "Hey, I never claimed to be Prince Charming. But I can promise you one thing—life with me? Never boring."

With that, he pulled you close, leaning in until your noses nearly touched. "Every day a nigga try to test me, ah. Every day a nigga try to end me, ah. Pull off in that Roadster SV, ah," he murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive growl. "Pockets overweight, gettin' hefty, ah."

You felt a laugh bubbling up despite yourself. "You really are something, Wade."

"Damn straight," he replied, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Let a nigga brag, Pitt. Legend of the fall, took the year like a bandit." He spun you around, suddenly serious. "Bought mama a crib and a brand new Wagon. Now she hit the grocery shop lookin' lavish."

"Is this your way of asking me out?" you asked, almost incredulous.

"Something like that," he said, his usual bravado dimming just a little. "We don't pray for love, we just pray for cars. Or in my case, bullets that don't jam and grenades that always explode on time."

You looked into his eyes, searching for a hint of the real Wade Wilson beneath the mask, beneath the scars. And for a moment, you saw him—a broken man doing his best to piece together something resembling a life. 

"Look what you've done," he whispered again, pulling you even closer. "You've got me, Y/N. And you know what? I'm a motherfuckin' starboy."

Before you could respond, Deadpool's lips were on yours, the taste of gunpowder and mischief lingering in the kiss. It was wild, it was reckless, and it was everything you expected from the Merc with a Mouth.

When he finally pulled back, he was grinning. "So...dinner at my place? I make a mean chimichanga. Or we could always blow up another building. Dealer's choice."

You shook your head, laughing. "You're insane, you know that?"

He nodded, pulling his mask back down. "Absolutely. But I'm your kind of insane."

And as Deadpool led you towards the edge of the rooftop, ready to jump off and continue the night's misadventures, you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, he was right.