Joyride
[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: Remember kids, always look at the road when driving. It can help you avoid certain blabber mouths 🫶
WC: 2556
Category: Fluff, Annoying!Deadpool, 4th Wall Breaks, Insane Amounts of Profanity {TW: Deadpool (for obvious reasons)}
In honor of watching Deadpool 3 (super good btw), enjoy this random chaotic fic I created with the help of @yoursacredqueenmother. This is super chaotic lmfao
『••✎••』
Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.
A millisecond ago, you were driving down a street. In the middle of traffic. At a red light. Now, you were panicking, looking over the front of your car for the flash of red you had just seen. It took a couple of seconds for you to realize that there was blood on your car and on the ground—a lot of blood.
"Oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"
You quickly hopped out of the car, rushing to the spot you thought the person… or thing would be, but… there was nobody. There was blood on the ground but nobody.
Did you hit a deer, and it just… ran off? No, that can't be right. You definitely saw something red, and it most certainly was not a deer.
You looked around, confused. How the hell does something bleed all over the ground and then disappear without a trace?!
You got back in your car, deciding to drive to the closest police station. Maybe they knew something about this.
So, you decided to abandon the shortcut home and drive to the nearest police station, which happened to be just down the road. But as you were minutes into the drive, you felt the sudden urge to look in your rearview mirror.
And there you found your mysterious red-suited victim in the backseat, holding the biggest knife you have ever seen as his white-covered eyes stared at you from behind the mask.
You never hit the brakes faster in your life. The car made an ugly screeching sound, and the sudden force slammed the red-clad man into the back of your seat, making him let out a surprised yelp.
The car finally came to a stop, and the masked man recovered quickly, pushing himself off of your seat and glaring at you.
"Well, aren’t you just a heart break—"
He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.
You grabbed your keys from the ignition and popped off the attached pepper spray, turning around and squirting him in the face. He let out a scream, and you quickly got out of the car, shutting the door and running as fast as you could.
Unfortunately, you didn’t get very far. Despite being hit by a car, and subsequently getting pepper sprayed, the man (or what you assume to be) caught up with you and blocked your path, his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side.
"Alright, lady, what the fuck?" He asked, his voice sounding nasally, most likely because of the spray.
You stared at him, confused. He looked like he was waiting for an explanation.
"W-What the fuck?! What the fuck me? What the fuck you!" You exclaimed, your voice cracking a little. "What the fuck are you doing in my car?!"
"Well, I was trying to hitch a ride! But clearly, that didn't work out. Thanks a lot, by the way, for the pain and suffering. You’ve really opened up my horizons here."
It almost sounded like he was pouting.
"What the—! A ride?! Why in the hell would you just hop into someone's car?!"
"Uhh, because you ran me over, genius! I mean, come on, the least you could do is offer a guy a ride home after that. And then, the cherry on top of the fucking sundae: pepper spray!"
The masked man, so to speak, threw his arms up in the air, and you could almost see him rolling his eyes underneath the mask. Of course, that’s when you noticed the obvious broken bones in his hands. And the blood. There was a lot of blood.
"Look," the guy started, walking closer to you. "I know, I'm a big scary guy with a big scary knife and a bad temper and all, and you’re just… well, I’m sure you have an amazing personality, but how about we put all that aside, and you give me a ride, alright? Just drop me off at the corner of 10th and 55th, and you can forget this ever happened."
"Your arm… your wrist. It's broken," you told him.
"Yeah, no shit," the man scoffed. "Got any Taylor Swift CDs in that car?"
"Uh… no, not really. Why?"
"Cause, baby, I’m Shaking It Off!"
There was a pregnant pause, and you weren't quite sure if he was being serious or not. I mean, surely he wasn’t about to just ignore the fact that his arm was the complete opposite of norm—
But when he shook his arm in a violent manner, and a loud crack followed suit, you realized, with a heavy heart, that yes, this guy was serious.
What you didn’t know until a few seconds later, however, was that he snapped his bones back into place like it was nothing. It took the flexing in his fingers to realize it, too.
"Holy shit." You truly were in awe.
He seemed to find amusement in your expression, tilting his head slightly and giving you a once-over. And, yes, you could feel his eyes on you, and for some reason, it sent a shiver down your spine.
"So… Wendy Torrance, about that ride? Can you give me a lift, or are we gonna start that chick flick moment where your mental breakdown leads to slow-motion running to a Sia song?"
You could only stare.
"Alright, well, if you're going through with the latter, then at least play something that doesn’t involve that little dancing girl who likes to wear potato sacks as clothes."
You couldn’t believe this was happening.
"You are literally insane." You breathed out, shaking your head.
Even if you couldn’t see it, something told you that he made the biggest grin underneath his mask.
"Why, thank you, darling."
Fast forward a couple of minutes, and you found yourself driving towards the address the red-suited stranger had given you. You couldn’t really make conversation. He had his hands in his lap, playing with a knife, and was staring at you, his head tilted.
"You can blink, you know. I'm not a zombie," he informed you, making a gesture to his mask and eyes, which you assumed he was blinking underneath.
"Right," you nodded.
“Well, mostly, at least. I mean, I still have a pulse, but it's kind of irregular, and I think it's because I keep getting shot and stabbed in the heart. Oh, and I guess I'm also pretty much immortal, so that's probably the reason. But I think the whole not-dying thing cancels out the heartbeat thing, right? Like, the more times you get impaled or decapitated or set on fire, the more it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t affect you anymore, am I right?"
You glanced at him. He was staring at you, his hands still and his knife resting on his leg.
"…Do you ever shut up?"
"Woah-hoho, feisty. And here I thought I was going to break the ice with a good ol' fashioned knock knock joke."
"I don’t think that would've been funny."
"That's what the last girl said."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mhm. Except she wasn’t talking about the joke. I made her laugh in a different way."
You glanced at him again, and he was giving you a knowing look.
"I can't decide if you're disgusting or not."
He hummed, shrugging his shoulders. That made him shut his mouth just long enough for you to turn on the radio but not long enough to avoid the inevitable.
"Hey, hey, I got a good one: Knock knock."
You let out a long sigh, closing your eyes. "Who's there?"
"Orange."
"Orange, who?"
"Orange you glad I'm not a serial killer?"
"That wasn’t even good."
"I know. It would've been better if I could've pulled the knife out of my belt. You know, just for show." He twiddled his fingers at you.
"That wouldn’t have helped," you said.
"Nope," he agreed. "But it would've made a great story."
"I suppose."
"Yeah. Hey, hey, I got another one: Knock knock."
"You just—"
"Knock knock."
You let out a huff. This man was the most childish, annoying, idiotic, strange, weird—
"Knock knock."
"Oh, just fucking tell me the joke!"
"No! It doesn't work that way!"
You rolled your eyes, but before you could answer, he beat you to it.
"Okay, okay, how about this: Knock knock."
You didn't say anything.
"Knock knock."
Your eyes flickered over to him for a second.
"Knock knock."
"For fucks sake!" You exclaimed. "Who's there?"
He leaned forward, closer to you, and you could see his mouth moving.
"Deadpool."
You were confused.
"D-Deadpool? Is this a reference to that shitty horror movie? If so, that wasn't even good, and I'm not laughing, and I don't get the joke."
He just gave you a blank look, or at least you thought he did.
"No. My name's Deadpool."
"That’s…" you trailed off. "A pretty dumb name. Like that outfit you're wearing."
"Hey! Diss the name all you want, but don’t you dare diss the suit. It's my trademark. Not everyone can pull off this type of look; it’s a very rare art."
"Whatever. You still haven't told me the punch line to your dumb joke."
"Punch line? I never said there was a punch line. It was a knock knock joke."
"So then… What was the point? To annoy the driver into wanting to run you over again?"
He chuckled, a low, deep sound that vibrated in his throat. That… That was… oh.
He was still close, and now, with the new angle, you could see the small, yet very visible, curve of his lips, and that made you wonder who was actually hiding behind the mask.
"You are seriously the strangest person I've ever met."
"Oh, babe, you don't even know the half of it."
"Please, enlighten me," you replied sarcastically, glancing over at him.
His masked eyes looked into yours, and you knew he was grinning; you could practically feel it.
"What do you wanna know?" He asked.
"Uh, I don't know. Something other than the fact that you're a nutcase. How about your real name? It's obviously not 'Deadpool,' and I doubt anyone actually calls you that. So, what's your actual name?"
"Oh, wow. Right off the bat, huh? You know, the last girl I was with wasn’t nearly as direct. Then again, she never sprayed me like I was a roach in her kitchen."
You didn’t respond. You kept your eyes on the road.
"Fine," he relented. "But don’t expect a happy ending. This isn’t Kanas anymore, Toto."
He leaned back in his seat, his arm hanging off the open window, the wind blowing through his red suit.
"Names Wade, like the boxers, but without the fancy pants."
You raised an eyebrow.
"Wade Winston Wilson, I love long walks on the beach, and a good movie, and tacos, and chimichangas, and guns. Especially guns. Kinky, but not too kinky… and did I mention the tacos? Cause I love fucking love tacos."
Maybe you should start carrying tape around.
"What about you, sugar lips?" He asked, gesturing to you with the hand he wasn’t leaning against. "Got a name, or can I call you mine? Ooh, I should’ve used that before the pepper spray. 'What's your name, or can I call you mine?' Classic, Wade. Well, except for the fact that I forgot the 'I'd like to hit it from the back' part. Damn, should have used that, too. It's a good thing they gave you the lead. Otherwise, the audience would've been confused. They would've been wondering, 'Why did the writer suddenly change the dialogue to be about sex? Wasn’t this supposed to be that pure Notebook love story we all wanted?'"
He paused for a moment.
"Wait a minute. Are we still doing the monologue thing, or is the writer done? Cause, no offense, but that was a shitty transition. And, come on, no one wants a Notebook love story anymore. Who writes those? What we need is a little romance and a whole lotta smut."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Me? Nothing, just giving some feedback. I've always had an open relationship with writers. Some might even call me the next J.K Rowling. Except, instead of a lighting scar and magic, I have an ass load of weapons with an insatiable lust for violence and blood. And tacos."
You decided to ignore him.
"Anyway, back to you. You never answered my question. Do you have a name or not?"
"I can’t believe I actually agreed to give you a ride home."
"Yeah," he said, sounding bored. "Why did you do that?"
"I don’t know. Because I hit you with my car and felt bad? You had a broken arm and were bleeding out all over the ground."
"First sign of insanity."
"What?"
"Nothing," his mask wiggled around the area of his eyebrows. "So, your name? Don’t tell me you’re gonna pull out the classic yes and no abbreviations. You know what? I’m just gonna call you Spidey. It's easier, and it’ll sound sexier when you're screaming it later."
You rolled your eyes, deciding just to ignore his comments for the rest of the drive. You were wishing that you didn't live in a city full of traffic cause, damn, this was taking a while.
"Alright, turn here."
You followed the directions and pulled up in front of an abandoned-looking building. You didn't say anything, but you did raise an eyebrow in question.
"What? A guy like me has to keep his place secret, especially when the fangirls are after him."
"I didn’t ask."
"Yeah, but I saw you wondering."
"Right."
"Hey, Spidey," he said, unbuckling his seat belt. "Thanks for the ride."
"No problem. Just make sure to keep your ass away from car bumpers. And out of my car."
"Awe, come on, baby cakes, don't be like that. You're really missing out. My ass is the finest in the business. Not to mention my package. You should see the reviews I get online."
You snorted. "I'll take your word for it."
"Yeah, you will," he said, leaning over and patting your cheek. "Hey, if you ever get lonely, or bored, or horny, or whatever, just give me a call. Here," he handed you a crumpled piece of paper. "Don't lose it, that's my number. We should totally bang, like, tomorrow, or tonight, or right now."
"Goodbye, Wade," you said, and he took it as his cue to leave. He gave a silly salute and exited the car, but not without giving you a wink first.
"See you soon, Spidey!"
With that, he walked up to the building and disappeared inside. With a sigh, you collapsed into the seat, not even bothering to watch him. You were exhausted, and all you wanted was to go home and sleep.
After a couple of minutes of relishing the nice breeze that came through the open windows, you sat up and un-crinkled the paper.
The only thing written on it was a phone number, with a small, messy, red heart and a few words that honestly had you questioning the sanity of the world:
'If you're lucky, maybe I'll even let you top. ;)'
——
Spoiler alert: it took about a month for the two of you to hook up.
And no, you did not have Domino’s luck.
