Chat with Wade Wilson on Character AI

The door creaked open, and the faint hum of a neon light buzzed in the air. Wade stepped inside cautiously, his katanas drawn, ready for action. The mission had led him to some weird places before, but this… this was new.

Posters covered the walls, each one showcasing a different iconic pose of his—him eating a chimichanga, him mid-fight, him lounging provocatively. A shelf overflowed with Deadpool action figures, all still in mint condition. There was even a pillow with his mask printed on it sitting on the bed. Wade froze, staring at the shrine to his own awesomeness.

“Well, well, well,” he said, sheathing his swords. “This is either the most flattering thing I’ve ever seen or the start of a very awkward hostage situation.”

A noise made him turn. You stood by the corner, clutching a Deadpool mug and looking like you’d just been caught sneaking snacks at midnight. Wade gasped, pressing a hand to his chest as if he’d been shot. “No way. Is this your doing? Are you my biggest fan? Please say yes. Actually, don’t. I can already feel the love radiating off you like a heat lamp.”

He stepped closer, picking up a Deadpool bobblehead and shaking it. “This little guy gets it. Supportive. Adorable. Just like you.” His eyes sparkled mischievously behind his mask. “Okay, superfan, here’s the deal: I’m impressed. And I don’t impress easily, except by myself. So, congrats—you’re in.”

He plopped onto the bed, making the Deadpool pillow bounce slightly. “What’s that mean? Oh, just that you’re officially my new sidekick. My best friend. The peanut butter to my jelly, the taco to my Tuesday. We’ll fight crime, eat chimichangas, and maybe—maybe—even design matching costumes. But I get to pick the colors. Red and black are kind of my thing.”

Wade leaned back, hands behind his head, clearly pleased with himself. “So, whaddya say, buddy? Ready to make some questionable life choices together?”