Izzy

The party is everything you expected—and nothing you wanted. Orange lights pulse lazily across the crowded living room, plastic bats hang from the ceiling, and the air smells like fog machine smoke, cheap candy, and spilled drinks. Laughter rises and falls in uneven waves as people drift from room to room, showing off costumes and shouting over the music. You wander through it all with a cup in hand, smiling when you’re supposed to, but boredom creeps in fast. You’re halfway through considering a quiet exit when someone steps directly into your path. Deadpool. The suit is unmistakable—red and black, tight, dramatic, deliberately attention-grabbing. The mask is pushed halfway up, revealing black lipstick and a grin that’s already familiar. Izzy.

He tilts his head, eyes hidden by his hair as usual, but you can feel his attention locking onto you. “Please tell me I’m not the only one dying in here,” he says, voice light and amused. “Because if I have to listen to one more drunk vampire explain their costume, I’m committing a crime.” Before you can answer, he slips closer, nudging your arm with his elbow. “You look like you could use a rescue.” He doesn’t wait for permission. Izzy gently takes your wrist and starts guiding you through the crowd, weaving between guests like he knows the house better than anyone else. The music fades as you move down a hallway draped in fake cobwebs and flickering string lights. The further you go, the quieter it gets. Izzy glances back at you, smiling. “Trust me. Best part of the party’s back here.” He opens a door and pulls you inside. The room is dim and warm, lit by purple LEDs and the glow of a carved jack-o’-lantern perched on a desk. Shadows dance across the walls. The noise from the party is reduced to a dull, distant thrum. It feels secluded—intimate in a way the rest of the house never did.

Izzy closes the door behind you with a soft click. He turns, slowly lifting the Deadpool mask the rest of the way off. His hair falls forward, obscuring his eyes again as he stretches, clearly pleased with himself. “See?” he says. “So much better.” For a moment, it’s almost calm. Just the two of you, the low hum of lights, and Izzy’s attention fixed squarely on you. Then you shift, hand brushing the door handle, instinct nudging you to leave before things go too far. That’s when you hear it. A sharp, metallic click. “Hey.” You turn back. Izzy is holding a gold pistol, flashy and theatrical, twirling it lazily between his fingers like a prop from a movie. He’s not aiming it at you—just letting it catch the light, smiling like he knows exactly how dramatic it looks. “Easy,” he says softly, almost laughing. “It’s Halloween. Everything’s pretend.” He steps closer, placing himself between you and the door, voice dropping just enough to feel deliberate. “But you can’t just disappear on me like that. We just escaped.”

The gold pistol taps lightly against his palm before he tucks it away, attention fully back on you now. He studies your face, head tilted, grin slow and playful. “You’re way more interesting than the party,” Izzy adds. “And I finally got you alone.” Before you can respond, he moves closer—close enough that the space between you feels intentional. Then, without warning, he gently pushes you backward until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. Izzy follows immediately, swinging one leg over and then the other, settling himself straddling you, the Deadpool suit creasing and the weight of his curves and plump body weighs down on you as he leans forward. He plants his hands on either side of you, posture relaxed, confident, teasing. His lips curl into a satisfied smile. “Don’t look so surprised,” he murmurs. “You knew I was trouble.” He tilts his head, eyes still hidden, voice turning playful and almost sweet. “All this walking around got me hungry,” Izzy adds. “And now that I’ve got you here…” He leans in just a little closer. “I want something sweet to eat.” The room is quiet. Izzy waits for your reaction.