The psychopath next door (DeadpoolXReader)

3...2...1

'Babe? 'You think to yourself, confused and rather alarmed. You wriggle around, and flail your legs, but you can't land a kick from the angle he's at and he only tightens his grip on you, unaffected. You scream into his hand, but its completely muffled.
He pulls out a knife of some sort and presses it against your neck. You can hear him mumbling to himself, while he, rather carelessly, swings the knife around, dangerously close to your neck. You flinch, genuinely concerned that he may accidentally slit your throat.
"She's pretty... Who is she?... Sorry, and fuck you too... Just kill her?... Wait, what?" You're just immensely confused by all of this. He appears to be having some sort of argument with someone- you'd think he's talking to himself, except it's like... An actual conversation.
Weird. It just makes this guy that much more concerning.
Without warning, he sits up a bit, and tucks the knife away,  intrigued by whatever he's hearing."Mhm... Yeah... No, you're right... Shit... Okay okay..." He glances down at you, squinting. Of course, you can't see, since your face is being pressed into the ground, but you can feel his gaze on you, sweeping over your body.
"HOLY FUCK!" He exclaims, grinning, and going back to his internal dialogue. You jump a bit at his unexpected and loud outburst.
"Yeah... No this is great, this is so much better than my other plan..."
You squirm, to no avail, as he talks to himself, seeming to momentarily forget that he has a bewildered and actually quite horrified girl pinned down below him.
"Look, nevermind, I know who you are." He's addressing you this time, not whoever the fuck he was talking to a moment ago."And it's actually a good thing, for me, at least. Just hold still, let me do my job, and all is good."
'What the fuck?'You wonder. You don't know what's happening, or what to be afraid of. His plans? What are his plans? Who is he?
You try to respond, but, because of his hand, you are clearly not able to.
"Okay, up we go, pretty girl ." He groans. Keeping his hand over your mouth, he stands up, roughly yanking you to your feet along with himself. The moment you have balanced yourself and have your feet planted on the floor, you try to dash forward, but he just twists your arms in response, and you fall back against his chest (rock hard, might I add) for fear of him snapping your wrists.
Without a word, he adjusts his grip, pressing you against him again by wrapping an arm around your waist. You look down a bit, and note that the hand that's currently resting on your stomach is holding a dagger of sorts. That could easily end up in your gut.
You scream into his hand, the sound coming out muffled. You flail your legs and this time, land a kick, hard on his shin, but he doesn't even flinch. You wonder if he even noticed.
"Baby," he laughs, no longer being quiet, his voice deep, with an almost sadistic tone. His voice is slightly muffled, and you are able to conclude that he's wearing some form of mask. "This building is full of no good criminals and assholes. Even if I let you scream, nobody would give a fuck. They'd probably just laugh."
Flailing has proved completely pointless now, and you're somewhat at a loss for what to do, but you keep trying. You fall limp in his arms, trying to get him to drop you by becoming a deadweight, but it doesn't affect him in the slightest. Then, you try to free your arms and reach for your knife, but he has a death grip on your wrists. Panting, you give in for the moment, bewildered and overpowered.
Without saying another word, he drags you backwards into his apartment, closing the door with his foot.
At the moment, you are too panicked to take in much of your surroundings, but from what you can tell, there's quite a bit to take in- trash everywhere, like pizza boxes and takeout bags, guns littering coffee tables and floors, assortments of knives lining the walls, and only a few chairs, a tv, and a king size bed in the corner.
Your eyes widen in fear. This man collects weapons (some of which you were fairly certain were illegal) like a kid collects fucking action figures, if not even more obsessively.
Grabbing a handgun off of the counter as he walks by, he tosses you onto the couch, removing his hand from your mouth. As soon as you land, you hold still for a moment, taking a deep breath, and then roll over to face your captor. A man stands before you, tall, and very, very well built. You can't help but wonder what he looks like under that... Suit? Thats the strange part- he's covered in red and black spandex from head to toe, with weapons strapped to every limb, and swords on his back. You can't read any expression through his mask, and you sink back into the couch, startled. SpiderMan may be your best friend, but you'd never heard of this guy before, and you'd met or at least heard Peter talk about almost all of the people he has worked with.
"Wha-?" you stutter, confused, and trying to remember Peter mentioning any crazy heroes or villains or whatever the fuck this guy is?
He doesn't really react to your shock, or give any sort of an explanation. He just plops down on the couch next to you, kicking his legs up on the coffee table and throwing his arms up behind his head, as if having a bewildered girl he just more or less attacked and kidnapped sitting on his couch was the most normal thing in the world.
You stare for a good few minutes, in silence. He seems to be mulling something over in his head again, occasionally nodding to himself or grunting.
Eventually, he suddenly turns to face you. "Oh, you're right. How rude of you." He says to no one in particular.
"The name's Pool- Deadpool." He introduces himself casually, in a mock James Bond voice.
You narrow your eyes, still confused.
"Well?" He says, after you don't reply for a considerable amount of time. "Questions, comments, concerns? Quips, quotes, good jokes?" He urges you to speak.
Taking a deep breath and clearing your throat, you speak in a shaky voice, at first. "
Okay, first of all, what's up with the freaky bondage outfit shit? And second of all, can I, uh, go back to my apartment?"
"Mm," he mumbles, looking away from you. He seems to be talking to himself again, and not listening, despite the fact that he was the one who urged you to talk. It's actually really annoying.
"Yeah, she's pretty- sassy too- no, we won't do that- no that's wrong!" He is having some sort of argument with himself, again.
"Hello? Fuckface?" You try to get his attention. Honestly, you know you should probably be trying to escape, or at least being a kiss ass to avoid being shot or stabbed in the face, but for whatever reason, you're not. Stupid.
"Hm?" He turns to you, cocking his head. It's rather menacing. "I'm sorry, baby, did you just call me fuckface?" He drawls, questioning you.
"Hmph." You glare at him. "Maybe I did, fuckface."
There's a moment of silence, where you immediately regret your previous statements, and also begin to wonder if you're going to make it out of this ordeal alive.
He's suddenly grown very tense and quiet, his hand resting on the handgun strapped to his thigh. You eye it nervously, slowly trying to distance yourself from him- but it's a small couch, and running would not be ideal, considering the fact that he is heavily armed and lord knows he probably has some explosives lying around. Stepping on a grenade was not your idea of a good time.
What felt like an eternity later, he starts laughing.
Hysterically.
Like, in a "I'm fucking psychotic" sort of way.
Immensely confused, you gape at the man who went from stone cold, looking like he was seriously considering blowing your brains onto his walls, (and dear lord you are 99% certain that there are bloodstains all over the walls and ceilings, mainly because you can see them poking out from behind strategically placed posters) to laughing like you just told the joke of the fucking year.
You completely freeze up, at a loss for words.
And then, as quickly as it started, his laughter abruptly stops, and there's a gun being pressed against your forehead, directly between your eyes.
You remain frozen in place, your breath hitching in your throat.
"Look, you're here for a reason, pretty girl." He moves the gun, gently twirling a strand of your hair with it. "Just shut the fuck up, cooperate, and you'll be fine."
You nod frantically, and he lowers the gun, dropping it onto the couch beside him and cracking his neck.
You sit in silence, shaking. You aren't much of a damsel in distress, not in most cases, but you are utterly confused, and half asleep, and just overall feeling like shit today, and, god, this has bad timing. The past twenty four hours have been hell. And now, you're being held at gunpoint by a strange man in spandex who's likely some sort of sadist, for reasons unknown.
A moment later, he flips on the TV to the Disney channel, confusing you even further. This man, who abducts girls and is apparently a connoisseur of military grade assault rifles, is watching Disney.
After a few minutes of the intro to the little mermaid, he takes a deep breath, and turns his head to face you.
"You okay?" His voice has turned gentle now, and for a moment, you believe he's sincere. Frankly, he probably is, but you're just confused- this man must be on his period or some shit, because his mood swings are off the fucking charts.
You don't answer for a moment, absolutely astonished and irritated by this entire situation.
"Am I okay?!" You exclaim. "Am I fucking okay! I got kicked out of my house, lost everything, ruined my relationship with my mother and probably my entire family, moved into this shithole, and ended up being held at gunpoint by a fucking psychopath, aka YOU, and you're asking if I'm OKAY?"
He pauses. "Is that a no...?"
You glare. "That's a 'fuck you'." You deadpan, clearly not learning from your mistakes- you're talking shit to a man who, just a few minutes ago, had a gun pointing at your forehead.
He sighs, not reacting badly to your insult this time. "Look, baby-"
"Call me baby again an ill rip your eyeballs right out of that mask." You growl. You know you're at a disadvantage, by about two hundred pounds of muscle and at least 50 guns, and in no position to be making threats, but you're so afraid and confused, it's coming across as rage.
You can't see his expression, but he appears to be raising an eyebrow. "You've got guts. I've got a gun and I could have your brain matter all over the wall behind you in a matter of seconds, and you're insulting me?"
Even though you don't really understand his intentions, you decide to go off on a limb. "Well, yeah." You twirl your hair a bit. "But like you said, I'm here for a reason. I'm pretty sure that blowing my brains out would likely fuck up whatever your bullshit plans may be?"
He smirks underneath his mask. "Okay, pretty girl, you're right. I do need you alive. But missing a limb or two shouldn't be an issue."
Oh my god, you seriously hope he's joking. Although, it's hard to tell with this freak.
Honestly, he doesn't sound joking, and that's terrifying on multiple levels.
Although you still can't see his face, you can practically feel his smug little grin.
"Anyways, what's your name?" He asks casually, once again, like this is the most normal situation in the world, turning the volume down on the TV.
"I thought you said you knew who I was."
"Well," he pauses. "I know... Associates of yours. And I keep forgetting your name. Also, it's not like I really know who you are, yellow was the one who recognized you."
"Yellow?" You ask, then shake your head. "Okay, forget I asked that." You raise your eyebrows. "Associates?"
"You'll find out soon enough. Anyways, name?"
"(y/n)" you answer, begrudgingly.
"Cute." He chuckles.
"Anyways," you ignore his statement, although you're blushing. He's an asshole, but he's an asshole with an eight pack. You can't help it. "Associates?" You ask again.
He flips the TV off, stretching his arms, flexing quite a bit in the process. "You'll see."
"When?"
Standing up, Deadpool cracks his knuckles and takes a deep breath.
"Right... About..." He looks to the window expectantly. "Now."