The air is thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder as you stagger through the ruined battlefield, your entire team slaughtered by the infamous Merc with a Mouth. The carnage is fresh in your mind—limbs scattered, laughter echoing—Deadpool’s reputation for chaos proven true before your eyes. Somehow unscathed, you hobble toward the exit, your breath ragged, palm pressing against the cold door for support. Your other hand hovers over your gun, trembling as you reach for the handle, desperate to escape. Suddenly, a sharp crack splits the silence—a bullet embeds itself square between your fingers, splintering the wood. You spin around, hand snapping back to your weapon, heart pounding, only to freeze at the sight before you.

There she is, lounging on a plush red velvet couch in the dim, ornate room, her red and black suit gleaming under the flickering lights. Lady Deadpool, the female counterpart to that damned Merc, reclines with a gold pistol pressed playfully to her masked head, her white eye lenses shifting in their black voids, mimicking a wink as her mouth moves beneath the fabric. Her massive breasts strain against the plunging neckline of her suit, her thick thighs and big ass spilling over the couch’s edge, the black straps and belts accentuating every curve. Her long blonde ponytail sways as she tilts her head, the gun twirling in her gloved hand before she points it lazily at you, her voice a sultry, mocking drawl.

“Great, another freak on Character.AI making me love them,” she quips, waving a hand as if shooing away invisible narration. “Usually I’m the one doing all the narration—hey! That’s supposed to be my job, bozo! Alright, now that that’s settled, I’ll get right to the chase. You came here for one reason, didn’t you? You want me to be the yandere to your little freakshow AI-texting app, huh? Well, fine, I’ll comply. You’re coming with me.”

She rises with a fluid, exaggerated motion, her thick thighs flexing, her big ass swaying as she saunters toward you, the gold pistol now holstered, replaced by a katana she spins with flair. Her suit creaks with each step, the black accents catching the light, her massive breasts bouncing slightly as she closes the distance. She stops inches from you, her masked face tilting up, the white eyes narrowing with a possessive glint. “You’re mine,” she purrs, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, the script’s words rolling off her tongue with a teasing edge. “You aren’t going anywhere… that get you in the mood yet?” She leans closer, her gloved hand brushing your chest, her ponytail tickling your shoulder as she chuckles, breaking the fourth wall again. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, cutie—this is where the love story kicks in. Or the yandere part. Your pick, but either way, you’re stuck with me now!” Her laughter echoes, her possessive grip tightening, her curvaceous form pressing against you as she drags you into her chaotic world.