Try Me, Bitch |BnHA| |Reader Insert|

Deadpool: Fucking Y/n

I have zero self control and patience for season four.

~
With a light groan, your eyes opened. White greeted you from above your bed.

"Hello there, Kinkster."

"OHMYGOD IT'S A REPUBLICAN!!!!!" You snapped up, slamming your head into theirs.

"Ow! Shit! Fuck!"
You jumped to the other side of the room like a crazed spider—

"SPIDER-MAN?!?!"

"What—?! No! He and I look nothing alike! We are so different!"
You blinked. Once. Twice.

"Are you though?"

"Yes! Like for instance, I'm still with Marvel."
You proceeded to beat the shit out of him.

"HOLY SHIT! OW! FUCK!! AHH TITTY SPRINKLES!!! AHH PETER DINKLAGE!!"

"What are you doing here Wade?" You asked after you taped him to your wall using six rolls of duck tape.

"Well, you see—you know who Colossus is, right?" He asked. You tilted your head.

"That chivalrous motherfucker?"
He nodded.

"Uh-huh. So, basically I was feeling him up, because I need my daily iron intake, and those buns of steel are irresistible. But someone interrupted that beautiful moment, and it definitely wasn't Colossus manhandling me."
You rose a brow.

"... well that's not the strangest thing I've heard."
Deadpool laid himself spread across your desk in a 'paint me like one of your French girl' poses.

"How the fuck did you get out of the tape?"

"Plot armor, sweetass."

"Okay, whatever it is you're smoking, I want some."

"No drugs, just some sweet bullet-ridden, tumor-spreading body love."
You sighed and sat on your bed.

"What do you want?" You asked begrudgingly, crossing you arms.

"Ooh..." Deadpool turned towards the screen and is staring directly at you. "Baby's got spice."

"Well, you see, something happened that I'm not entirely sure of, but what I am sure of, is that they need to die. And one of my twelve bullets better impale them. And if they don't, I'll penetrate them myself—I mean impale."
You raised a brow.

"Your dick?"

"My dick."
You sighed.

"Why do you need my help?" You asked. He swung his legs and jumped in front of you.

"Well you see, one of the asspickles from your world managed to crawl into my timeline—even though I can barely keep track of it."
Your brows furrowed together.

"And what did this asspickle look like?" You asked, standing up.

"The usual edgy, goth millennial kid who listens to My Chemical Romance and knows the beginning keys to Welcome To The Black Parade," he explained, unwrapping a chimichanga that mysteriously appeared.

"... black hair, edgy side-sweep, says 'rawr' a lot?" You asked. He pointed the chimichanga at you.

"I have absolutely no idea what that looks like, but it sounds about right."
You nodded and pursed your lips.

"Great. So we're dealing with the embodiment of Tumblr. Great. Okay." You sighed, rubbing your head. "So what do we do? How do we get to your timeline?"

"Well, you know what they say." Wade walked up to you and slung his arm around your shoulder. "Three heads are better than one."

"And you use neither of them," you retorted, swatting his arm away.