The psychopath next door (DeadpoolXReader)

The Psycho Next Door

Groaning, you collapse onto the floor of your new apartment, surrounded by a few boxes and a barren living room, with only two other rooms, a bathroom and a kitchen. All of which are tiny and not very... Appealing, or well kept. You didn't have much of a choice, with a job as the secretary for the local newspaper, and this was the better of your limited options. A tiny apartment in the notoriously dangerous side of town, that you heard rumors about being run by some big time gang member, was your top choice. Looking outside the window to your left, you could have sworn there was a drug deal going on, already. Also, you are pretty sure you just heard someone screaming the word fuck through the clearly not soundproof walls. Great.
"Hey, (y/n), you okay?" Peter asks, a sympathetic smile on his face as he sets down the last box from the back of his truck, stretching, and taking a seat on the creaky floor beside you. He opens his mouth to comfort you further, but closes it again, instead settling for another pitiful grin. You close your eyes and lean your head back on the wall, trying to calm your nerves and resist the urge to cry. As you try to respond, you hear more crashes and swearing from your neighbor, something about chimichangas and douchebags, and you raise your eyebrow, looking to the wall, and then back to Peter. Weird.
Deciding to ignore it, you shift uncomfortably. "Yeah, fantastic." You mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Long day. You know, my mom kicks me out and says I have an hour to leave, then I have to pack up all my shit and find a place within the next 24 hours or I'll be sleeping on the streets. And now I'm in this shithole with someone who sounds mildly psychotic next door." As if confirming your statement, there's more angry exclamations, promptly followed by shattering glass sounds. You flinch a bit, curious as to what the actual fuck is going on, but not caring enough to investigate for the time being.
Peter sighs, ruffling your hair and giving you another sympathetic look. "(y/n), you know you're always welcome to stay with me for a while, at least until you can get back on your feet."
"Thanks." You smile at him, weakly. "But, you know I couldn't do that. I'd really hate to bother you and your Aunt, there's enough tension between you two already, and you don't need me around."
As you finish your statement, you can hear even more screaming from the neighbor. You and Peter give each other a "what the actual fuck" sort of look, but decide to shrug it off for now, in favor of continuing your conversation.
Peter nods understandingly. "I get it. Just... Keep that in mind. I'm always here for you." He places a gentle hand on your shoulder.
"Yeah." You shake your head. "God, money's tight right now and frankly, regardless of how low the rent is, I probably won't be able to keep this place for long."
Silently, Peter leans back against the wall, pulling you to his side and closing his eyes. With most people, you'd be creeped out, or worried about "ulterior motives" but with him, it was purely platonic. He's been your friend for as long as you can remember, and it's just a natural thing to be in close proximity with him. You lean your head against his shoulder, in search of any comfort available to you, after all you've been through today.
Suddenly, in the midst of your little bonding moment, his phone goes off, breaking the silence, and startling Peter. He jerks upright, scrambling to pull it out of his pocket and flips it open.
"Hey- yeah- what? What about Steve?" He remarks. "Jesus Christ Tony, calm down!" He looks confused and worried as he stands up. After a moment of pause while Tony screams incoherent things to him over the phone, he speaks. His tone has changed to a very serious one."Yeah- okay. I got it. Be there in ten." He flips the phone shut, tucks it back into his pocket, and then looks down at you.
"Hey, (y/n), I'm sorry, but it's an emergency. I've really got to go. I'd love to stay and help unpack, but-"
"It's fine. Go kick some ass, Spidey." You give him another weak smile. Returning the grin, he approaches the window, pulling it open and throwing a leg over the edge.
"By the way," he adds. "If your neighbor gives you any trouble..." He looks at the wall very pointedly, as if he knows what kind of demon is on the other side. "Give me a call, okay?"
You nod, waving him off.
Before you can even blink, he's leapt out the window, off to do lord knows what.
Standing up, you run a hand through your hair, sighing. You didn't bring many belongings, but from the looks of this place, you've got a lot of fixing up to do.

Five hours of work and cleaning later-

With a groan, you collapse into a heap of misery on your cold, hard mattress, which, for now, serves as your bed, and look around. A pile of empty boxes resides in the corner, and all other objects have been put in their respective places. Your bedroom is also your living room here, and there's hardly any walking room, but it'll have to do. Just a few feet away is your ragged couch, with an ancient laptop placed on an upside down cardboard box in front of it. Everything else is just photographs, clothes, which you'd tucked into the closet already, some random valuables, and some silverware.
You flop backwards on the mattress, resting your head on the pillow and curling up under a thin blanket. It's only 7:30, but you're beyond tired, and would love nothing more than a few hours, or even a permanent escape from reality. But, unfortunately, you don't even get a few seconds of rest.
"FUCK!" A loud crash follows the vulgar exclamation, coming from the wall behind your head. The crashing continues, but the yelling stops momentarily.
You jolt upright, instinctively reaching for your pocketknife that you keep under your pillow. You immediately open it, jumping to your feet.
A moment of looking around confirms that there's nobody in your house, but your new neighbor is being a loud dipshit, once again.
Taking a deep breath, you pocket the knife after swinging it shut. "Fucking idiot..." You mumble under your breath, wanting to leave the situation alone, for now. You'd face whatever psycho was on the other side later.
Or so you hope.
Now, he's screaming about chimichangas again. Shaking your head, you sit back down, trying to block out the noises.
Just as you begin to lay down again,  you hear more screams and- oh my god, was that a gunshot?
Jumping out of the bed, you rapidly shrug on a hoodie and a pair of boots, running over to your door and yanking it open. You're not quite sure what's gotten into you- running towards the gunshot, instead of away, like any rational human being. But honestly, you're so tired, you're not really thinking about that- you just want to make sure everything is okay.
You swiftly walk to the left, approaching your neighbors door with slight hesitation.
It's quiet now, and you're starting to think maybe knocking on the door of some random person who may or may not have a gun is probably a shitty idea, but you do it anyways.
Not two seconds later, the door flies open, and all you can see is a red blur as someone tackles you to the ground, flipping you onto your stomach and straddling your back, pinning your arms to your sides. Your chest slams into the floor, momentarily winding you. whoever is on your back is rather heavy, and none of your struggling can even move them, let alone throw them off.
"WHAT THE F-" you begin to scream as you regain your breath.
Whoever your attacker is (you're assuming it's a male, due to the, uh, bulge you can feel pressing into your lower back) he switches your arms so he can hold them in one gloved hand, and uses the other one to cover your mouth.
"Hey, babe." He whispers.

Author note- GREETINGS! I'm so sorry for the lack of Deadpoolxreader in this chapter, I promise it'll happen, I just want to do some slow buildup because it's more fun that way. Anyways, enjoy!