Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Something brought you here,” whispers Deadpool as Spider-man stands over him. “Call it what you will. Fate, destiny-” “

“A web, Wade. Pretty sure it was a web.” 

“It’s fate, it’s destiny, we both like burritos!” Wade holds up a bag of burritos. 

Spider-man sits down and takes a burrito before Wade can make any more pop culture references. He shoves his mask up to his nose to eat, Wade doing the same. Somewhere over the last year, Deadpool started letting Spider-man see smiles of scars. He’s even taken off his entire mask a few times. And his name is on the fucking business card he tried to slide between Spider-man’s asscheeks the first time they met. Somewhere over the last year, this roof has become one of their ‘spots’. 

Somewhere in between Deadpool mucking up some of Spider-man’s rescues so badly that Spider-man had wanted to kill him. And then had to convince Deadpool not to kill anyone in the name of ‘fixing’ things….

Somewhere in between that and what? Deadpool still causes Spider-man problems, it’s just the initial problems were waning and the new ones are waxing like the moon. 

Spider-man tunes back into the conversation that Wade is having with himself. Sometimes it’s impossible to tell if Deadpool is talking to him, the boxes, or Spider-man. Who realizes he’s going to need to revisit the start of this story if he’s gonna have any clue what Wade is talking about, and zones out again staring at his mouth. 

Like he said, some problems are waxing. 

If he was Deadpool, he’d break the a fourth wall to make a ‘waxing like deez nuts!’ joke. But he’s not. He’s balls deep in fantasy land, watching the scars on Wade’s lips pull as he chats. And isn’t pulled back to reality again until his spidey senses start tingling. 

Spider-man drops the burrito. Deadpool let’s out a “Noooooooo!” as Spider-man stands and pulls his mask back down. 

“You don’t have to come with me,” says Spider-man.

“ You don’t have to come with me ,” mocks Deadpool in a high pitched voice as he winds up and throws his own burrito like a baseball, spraying beef everywhere as it arcs through the sky. Then in his regular tone, “Baby boy, I’ll always prefer we come together.” 

It’s a joke. A flirty joke. Like he’s made constantly since Spider-man and Deadpool started accidentally patrolling together on purpose. A flirty-means-nothing joke, that has Spider-man  glad he’s wearing a mask. 

Like he said; growing problems. 

...

Spider-man wants to gawk when he walks into the Avenger’s meeting room and see’s Deadpool sitting in Tony’s seat, feet on the table. It’s not the first time the Avengers have called in Deadpool, but it happens so rarely that it should set off his spidey senses. 

Deadpool wiggles his fingers at Spider-man who takes a seat somewhere between the merc and Black Widow. He finds both of them concerning, but for different reasons. “Hiya Webs, miss me?” 

Spider-man wiggles his fingers back at him. “Like a hole in my head.” 

“Wow,” whispers Deadpool, “I feel like that comeback was tailor made for me specifically.” 

Clint aka Hawkeye drops from an air vent and lands into a seat next to Natasha. “Leave Spider-man alone Wade.” 

Wade flips up his mask to his nose, and mouths, “Wish I could, but I don't want to."  

Natasha sighs. “Please tell me this isn’t another Steve and Tony situation.” 

Clint raises an eyebrow. “You and I see the Steve and Tony situation very differently.” 

“As much fun as it is talking about me, and trust me I agree,” says Tony striding into the room tailed by Steve and Bruce. “We need to get down to business.” He pushes Wade’s chair so it rolls down next to Spider-man, and takes his normal spot. “Jarvis, where the hell is Point Break?” 

“Arriving momentarily sir.” 

“Wait no-” 

It’s too late. There is a thundering crack and Thor appears, along with a giant burn mark on the carpet. 

“Greetings brethren!” crows Thor. 

Wade turns to Spider-man. “I always have the hardest time deciding if Clint or Thor is the Legolas of this group.” 

“I get this reference!” says Steve quickly. “Hawkeye, because he uses a bow and arrow.” 

“But,” says Wade, waving at Thor. Then he and Spider-man say at the same time, “The hair .” 

It gets a lot more boring after they get shushed. Blah blah blah there’s a new drug ring in town, blah blah blah, Avengers only care because now because said drug ring is starting to run weapons, blah blah blah. As if Spider-man hasn’t been trying to bust drug sales on the streets for ages. Blah blah blah. They are sending Deadpool overseas to dealing with ‘sourcing’ because Avengers don’t want to get their hands dirty blah blah blah. 

By the time they are all dismissed, Spider-man is again wondering why he bothers with these guys. Sure, Peter has a giant boner for the Avengers. What average guy wouldn’t? 

Spider-man is less impressed. 

Chapter Text

It’s not that Spider-man is spending more time as Peter just because Deadpool is overseas on his Avengers job. Spider-man still has his own duties to do. He patrols every night, gathers intel on the smuggling ring the Avengers are focusing on, blah blah blah. 

He’s still Spider-man, even if, not that he will ever say it aloud: being Spider-man is a tiny itty bitty more fun when you have a friend. In particular a friend who makes you laugh and buys you mexican food and- 

No. Spider-man is spending a lot of time as Peter because he’s just so fucking busy. 

There’s the obvious one. Being a PhD candidate comes with way more than all those fancy professionals and their fancy pieces of paper let on. 

There’s the undergraduate courses he has to teach, and their assignments to grade. The required rounds at the hospital, as if he’s going to be that kind of doctor. (He’s not, he’s getting his doctorate in Bio Engineering). Then there’s his supervisor’s projects he has to assist with, and finally his own dissertation to work on. 

The one bit of relief is that his stipend is almost enough to live on. So he only submits photos to the Bugle when he doesn't have enough cash for food. * Cough when Wade isn’t around cough. * 

It would be hard, but sustainable work if he wasn’t also putting on a mask at night trying to save the city too. 

It’s making him cranky. The schedule. Not Deadpool’s absence. Duh. 

So when his fellow Phd-wannabes rub their tired eyes and complain about how tired they are, Peter has to calmly tell himself they are also doing their best. And not scream about how lucky they are not to still see every person he’s ever not managed to save, flash before his closed eyes at night. 

Because even in the few hours of the night he should be sleeping, it’s awful, nightmare filled sleep that leaves him crying back into consciousness, drenched in sweat and shooting webs into the dark like there’s something in the empty apartment that can tether him into reality. 

Spoiler: there is not. So far he’s broken his electric kettle, one of two kitchen chairs, and nearly ripped the refrigerator door off.

This is what it’s like , Peter reminds himself as he makes toast at 3am. If he’s up he may as well grade the undergraduate tests. The extra credit section at the end is for science puns, and one girl had written: 

“You're living, you occupy space, and you have mass. You know what that means? You matter.” 

Which is not only clever, but also a little too real for this pre-dawn nightmare-induced state, and Peter tears up a bit. 

Despite getting his 3am ‘headstart’ on the day, Peter is almost late for the 8am class he teaches because he’s out of coffee beans. He misses his lab slot for his own work because his spidey senses alert him about a break in a city block away. Then he’s scheduled to help his advisor with their work, and the only open lab slot left for him isn’t until 9pm which is fine. Only it’s not his best work because he’s so tired. Which makes it hard for him to wade through his enhanced senses; and every slammed door in the building starts to sound like a gunshot. 

By the time he finally goes on patrol it’s mostly to ease the guilt that he should have been patrolling hours ago. And maybe the side hope that he’ll wear himself out so thoroughly he’ll be too tired to dream. 

Tomorrow is Saturday, and he needs to get back into the lab and also make more web fluid and- 

Oh goody, a standard mugging. Spider-man would absolutely never admit it, but he kinda like muggings. Not that he wants crime to happen at all. But if it is, muggings are easy, the people he saves are always grateful, and the criminals almost always more desperate than purely malicious. He’s started leaving government assistance pamphlets and job listing flyers in their pockets. 

“Hey,” he says, dropping in front of the scared woman clutching her purse and the masked guy with a knife. “What kind of fish is made up of only two sodium atoms?” 

“Huh?” 

“2 Na! Get it? Tuna? Because Na is sodium on the- you know what, never mind.” 

Less then 60 seconds later the thief is webbed up, the woman is thanking him, and the police are on their way. 

Spiderman is about to call it a night when he hears it. Those familiar footsteps. Smells it. Gunpowder and leather and se- 

“Baby boy! Haven’t seen you since September!” 

“Deadpool, it’s still September,” says Spiderman. But he’s never been more glad for his mask. He doesn’t want to know what kind of expression his face is making right now. 

“Is it? Wonderful, didn’t want to miss Halloween!” 

Spider-man grabs Deadpool by the scruff of his costume and webs them to the rooftop so they won’t be there when the police arrive. 

“How’s it hanging Webs?” 

“Always to the left my guy.” 

Deadpool pretends to swoon and then says, “What are we feeling? Mexican food or Mexican food?” 

Spider-man is so tired. 

“Mmmm, I’m thinking Mexican food.” 

“Great idea Spidey. I-” 

His spidey senses start going off, but he’s so tired it’s hard to cut through the noise, lights, and smells of the city to figure out why. “Stop-” he says sharply to Deadpool. 

“In the name of love? Or is it hammer time?”

Peter is hit with another wave. “I don’t know?” 

And then it’s not his spidey senses hitting him, it’s bullets. 

The spray should have killed him. But he’s got super-power enhanced reflexes- and Deadpool has him down faster than that. 

Yet, Spider-man is hit, and Deadpool is back on his feet, looking like he’s about to pursue. 

“They’re gone,” gasps Spider-man, no more spidey senses. For all the good they just did him. He tries to scramble to his own feet and sways violently. Deadpool helps pull him upright. 

The inside of Spider-man’s right thigh is gushing blood. “Jesus,” he says, “What were they aiming for?” 

“Probably everything,” sniffs Wade. “Which is incredibly unprofessional. How dare someone do this to my best boy-” 

Spider-man makes an undignified noise as Wade tries to put his arm over his shoulder, and that’s how they discover Spidey has a bullet in his left bicep too. 

“Wade,” he says faintly. Spider-man has his own healing powers, but they aren’t as efficient as Deadpool’s. Not even close. “This isn’t good.” 

“Getting the fuck out of here asap,” Wade scoops Spider-man into his arms bridal style. He walks to the rooftop’s door and kicks it in. “Maximum effort.” 

Spider-man tries to complain about being carried, but every time he opens his mouth it makes a debasing gargle as his wounds are jostled. The pain is no longer at the level he can play it off. Oh god. Forget his left arm, what’s he gonna do if he can never make snippy conversation again? 

“Webs? You gotta stay with me, we’re almost there.” 

This brings him back to reality a little. “No hospitals. Wade! No-” 

“Hey kid, I know you better than that. No hospitals.”

Spider-man is now on a floor. It feels nice and cool. The pain in his arm is nothing compared to his leg, and he blindly reaches for it- a gentle hand pushes his away. “No nasty gloves in wounds web-head. Let Doc Deadpool handle this one.” 

“Not a sexy nurse?” gasps Spider-man, slowly taking in his surroundings. He’s not on a floor, he’s on a table. In a kitchen? An apartment kitchen? This can’t be Deadpool’s place, all the dishes are done and- 

“We can play sexy nurse after, I promise.” Deadpool is bantering with him, but there’s something wrong with his voice. It doesn’t sound like it’s having fun, and it’s further away. 

Spider-man reaches for his leg again and whines as his arm protests. Those gentle hands are back along with Deadpool’s proximity. “I said no touchy.” Suddenly it’s Wade’s face, not Deadpool’s mask hovering over Spider-man. He tries to soak it in, he doesn’t get to see this too often. But it’s difficult to focus when the handsome man with all the scars is talking. “Look, I’m gonna be honest. This is going to fucking suck, but I gotta get the bullets out.” 

He’s right, the bullets do need to come out. Peter once dug a bullet out of his own side, and it had been one of the scariest nights of his life. He had thought he was going to pass out and die alone, bleeding out in his shitty apartment. At least Wade is here now. 

Peter doesn’t say all that, he just pushes his mask up over his nose so he can breathe better and nods. 

Wade tries to start with his leg, but the second he touches it the pain is unbelievable and Peter kicks him across the room without meaning to. He tries to apologize but Wade is already back at his side making soothing noises. The ceiling of the apartment swims in his vision, and Peter finally realizes just how much this night is going to hurt. 

With shaking hands he manages to unsnap a web shooter and hand it to Wade. “Web me down,” he manages to say, but now his jaw is chattering too. There’s a look on Wade’s face that Peter has never seen before. There’s too much pain to think straight, he’ll unpack it later. “You have to or-” he doesn’t finish. The ceiling waltzes above him and the next thing he knows is the only thing he knows: agony. 

Whatever is happening on his leg is eating up every part of him. He thrashes, he can’t move. He’s webbed down? He thrashes again and his world rocks and- 

“I got you webs, I got you. That’s one bullet down. You’re doing great baby boy-” What is Wade- 

More agony. Peter chokes on his own scream and- 

“That was the other one kid, you’re doing great. I gonna stitch up down here and your arm won’t be so bad-” 

Pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain  and then slightly less pain pain pain but it’s all just pain pain pain and that slight drop in hurt sends his adrenaline spiraling and Peter finally loses consciousness. 

Chapter Text

Peter wakes slowly, bits of information spidering into his brain. He feels tacky, he must have fallen asleep in his suit, gone to bed without showering. A bad habit. Then there’s the pain in his body, deeper than the normal waking aches. Some part of him helpfully points out that the pain is nothing compared to last night! 

Last night? 

Last night! 

Last night. 

Webbed down and whimpering. While Deadpool’s hands were the only thing between Peter and slowly bleeding out.

Peter’s eyes fly open, and he can tell he’s still wearing his mask. 

That would be one less thing to panic about. Except he’s distracted by, despite the pain in his leg and arm, how comfortable the rest of his body is? He’s in a bed, a bed clearly not his own because the mattress is divine and the pillows- 

There’s a hand on his chest. A large, warm hand, that he’s only now noticed because it certainly didn’t set off his spidey senses. 

Spider-man turns his head to find a sleeping Wade beside him. A Wade he doesn’t recognize. He’s seen his face without the mask before. Jawbones that cut like a knife, and scars that make you wonder how much pain Deadpool is really in, all the time. This Wade is just as scarred and chiseled, but his expression is soft. No, that’s not the right word. Sleeping Wade is vulnerable . His mouth is a worried line without its jokey smile. He doesn’t have eyelashes, but his lids flutter as he dreams whatever a man like him dreams. 

Spider-man suspects that Deadpool’s nightmares would make his own look like Disneyland™.

Deadpool, no, Wade. Spider-man is the one who uses his mask to draw a line between himself and Peter . But Wade is Deadpool, and Deadpool is Wade. And Wade is laying on his side, his right arm reaching over, hand spread wide over the spider motif on Spider-man’s suit. 

It pours gasoline on Peter’s pesky flame of a crush. It knocks Spider-man breathless.

Wade’s eyes flicker open and he frowns. “You with me webs?”

His sleep cracked voice = more gasoline. Spider-man is so fucked. 

“Yeah,” he croaks back. “Thanks.” 

It’s hardly more than a whisper. And the quiet spell of the morning holds. “Sorry about this,” Wade starts to pull his hand away. “I was just, I wanted to make sure you kept breathing.” 

Oh. 

“That’s the best sleep I’ve gotten in… awhile.” Spider-man admits quietly. 

“Oh my god same . We should have slept together years ago.” 

“If only I’d gotten shot sooner-” 

Spider-man doesn’t even get to finish his joke. Wade goes from sleepy to absolutely pissed. “Fuck that. That was bullshit. If I ever have to web down my bestfriend and dig bullets out of him until he passes out again, I will have a mental breakdown. Like, you think I’m unstable now ? You all have no fucking idea-” 

Spider-man interrupts this time. “I’m sorry Wade, that was…so shitty. I really owe you.” 

“I’m going to kill whoever did this, Spidey.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Please don’t. I know I owe you, but please don’t kill anyone.” 

“You don’t,” Wade closes his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“That’s not true and you know it.” 

“Then all I want is for you to get all better, and eat chalupas on a roof top with me. And maybe a signed high definition photo of your ass in spandex? Or like, not in spandex would be cherry …” 

The spell is broken, and Spider-man can only feign annoyance. He tries to stretch, groans, and makes an attempt to sit up. That takes longer than it should, and when he tries to stand it ends in an undignified plop of his ass back into the mattress. 

“Spider-man is struggling to get out of my bed-” 

“Spider-man is going to piss in your bed if he doesn’t-” 

“Spider-man shouldn’t underestimate what I’m into,” finishes Wade. But he’s on his own feet and digging around for something on his side of the bed. “You got a favorite color baby boy?” He’s now holding up two different crutches. One is purple and covered in glitter and the other is potentially painted with Lightning McQueen racing stripes. 

“Do I wanna know why you have those?” 

“No you do not.” 

Peter takes one of the crutches and mutters “kachow” to himself as he hobbles to the bathroom. 

“Yo webhead,” calls Wade. “I’m gonna step out for a while. You should shower while you're there. You smell worse than Wolverine in the Ultimate Spider-man that ran from 2011-2017.” 

“Kayyyyy,” calls out Peter. He hears the front door click and lock as he pees and then braves his reflection in the mirror. 

It’s only slightly horrifying. 

His suit is done for. Cut away at the thigh and the arm where Wade had to dig the bullets out. He’s still wearing his stupid mask, which he pulls off to reveal a face grimey and tear-streaked, still puffy with sleep. Very cool and brave looking.

He sniffs himself, and then hobbles over to the shower. The bathroom is clean in a way that smells freshly of lemony lysol and bleach. So, recently clean. The only way he can stand through the shower is with one hand stuck to the wall, but he does the best he can. 

Row row row your boat gently down the stream. Soapy soapy scrubby scrubby, Spidey’s nice and clean.

By the time he’s done, the bathroom is filled with steam. He wraps the least-funky smelling towel around his waist, and decides he hasn’t cared about Deadpool learning his secret identity in a long time. And that he’d rather gouge his own eyes out than put that nasty mask back on. 

Wade still hasn’t returned to witness Peter hobbling around on the crutch with said towel, but he’s left a trail of sticky notes throughout the apartment. Each one features a surprisingly good rendition of Deadpool pointing Peter in the direction of clean clothes (sweats and a t shirt that are too big but so so so soft), money to pay the breakfast delivery guy who will arrive at 10:38am (he does) and Wade’s collection of early 2000 rom coms that Peter is instructed to enjoy from a comfortable but questionably stained couch. 

The apartment is, again, clean-ish in a newly-clean way. Things like laundry and weapons shoved into piles, the trash recently taken out, surfaces freshly wiped. 

Peter dutifully eats the delivered pancakes, bacon and eggs and has just finished 10 Things I Hate About You (a classic) when he suddenly gets it. He finds his phone back in the bedroom. 

Wade picks up on the first ring. “House of Beauty, this is Cutie. You all good webs?” 

“You left to go find whoever shot me.” 

Wade doesn’t say anything. There’s a crashing noise in the background. 

“No ki-” 

“No killing Deadpool, I know I know! But if someone thinks they can gun down my best boy and get away with it, my name isn’t Steve Revenge Rogers.” 

“That’s not your name, that’s not even Steve’s middle name.” 

“You and I both know it’s Grant,” agrees Deadpool. “What a dreamboat, that guy.” 

“Sure,” says Peter. “And Steve wouldn’t want you to kill anyone either.” 

“Look sweetheart, all the no-kill guys are only able to be no-kill because they’ve got a ‘sure-I-kill’ guy next to them. Matt has Frank. Bruce has the Big Guy. Steve has the Iron-Dick, and Bucky, and Black Widow, and- well damn. Everyone is willing to kill for Captain A. You get the point.” 

“And you’re supposed to be my ‘sure-I-kill’ guy?” 

“With a cherry on top, snookums.” 

“No, I don’t want a ‘sure-I-kill’ guy, I want my best friend not to kill people.” 

“Pulling the best friend card is NOT COOL and NOT FAIR!” whines Wade over a suspicious set of thumps. “Do you mean it?” 

“Are you gonna kill anyone?” 

Deadpool sighs. “Fineeeee. I promise not to kill anyone. But I still need to find that-” 

“Son of a gun?” 

“Oh, you’re very good mister Spider-man.” 

Peter smiles. “Fine, but let me be the one to kick their ass? As an early Christmas present?” 

“Anything for you sweetheart.” 

Peter hangs up and feels himself flush. Is he going to be able to do this whole no-mask thing without Wade realizing that he wants to climb him like a tree? Because that’s the issue: when Peter said Deadpool was his best friend, he meant it. And he’s not sure he can emotionally afford to screw that up. 

Peter hangs around through “She’s the Man '' and “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days” and Deadpool is still not back. Evening is approaching, and he’s missed a full day in the lab, but he can still get some work done if he goes back to his apartment now. He shoves his shredded spidey suit in a plastic bag and uses the crutch to hobble downstairs where he finds a familiar taxi waiting at the curb. 

“Hey Dopinder.” The friendly man stares at him blankly, and Peter realizes he’s only ever ridden in his cab with Deadpool as Spider-man. “Um, I’m a friend of Deadpool’s.” 

“Ah! You must be the beautiful man Mister Pool is holding hostage in his apartment! I have strict instructions that if you are to try and escape, I am to make sure you get delivered safely to wherever you are going.” 

“Um, are you sure? I’m going all the way to Queens.”

“Please sir, I drove Mister Pool all the way to Jersey last weekend.” 

“Ew, why would anyone go to Jersey?” 

“My thoughts exactly, Mister Beautiful Man.” 

Chapter Text

In Wade’s defense, his multiple text and call check-ins throughout the week aren’t much more obnoxious than his usual communications. Forget the dubious double text, Wade has no problem with sending 32 messages in as many seconds. 

But now in between the fart jokes (that Peter pretends aren’t funny) and the dad jokes (that are actually funny) he’s also making sure Spider-man is still alive. 

Which is fair. Even with his healing abilities it takes Peter all week to stop needing the crutch. It says a lot that he hasn’t been able to patrol. And even more that Deadpool has been assuring him that while the streets need Spider-man, he can rest in his sheets while ‘Daddy Deadpool takes care of it’. 

Peter has to admit his crush on the merc with the mouth is completely out of control when he zones out and doodles ‘ That’s Mr. Spiderpool to you!’ in the margins of a notebook. So it’s just as well that he doesn’t see Wade again until he gets called to the Tower. 

Spider-man is the last to arrive at the Avengers meeting, but they haven’t started yet. His place next to Wade is waiting for him. 

“Deadpool, did you put up those signs that say "MISSING UNICORN. IF YOU SEE IT YOU'RE PROBABLY JUST HIGH. CALL 663- 332-3626" ? 

“Yup, I thought it would be best if the drug users just called us. Then we could spend more time on the robberies!” 

Spider-man squints, trying to decide if he’s more confused by Wade’s tactics, or the fact that he’s trying to prioritize at all.

Tony looks over at Bruce, “I can’t remember if it’s politically incorrect to call someone crazy.” 

“Tony,” says Bruce, not looking up from the papers he’s shuffling through. “You should assume that anything you’re specifically about to say is somewhat offensive.” 

“It’s okay, we’re all crazy here,” Wade says confidently, before tacking on a “right?” 

Steve clears his throat and launches the start of the meeting for real. It’s all the normal ‘this is what we know about the big bad selling alien drugs and weapons’ blah blah. And ‘here’s the rest of the information we need before we can act’ blah blah blah. Until Steve asks Spider-man for his latest intel. And Peter realizes he has to say, to Captain America’s perfect-nazi-fighting-face, that he doesn’t have any more information. 

Before he can come up with something about vacuuming his cat or brushing his floor, Deadpool brings up some new info that even Spider-man didn’t know. 

Steve frowns. “We didn’t assign you to recon Deadpool.” 

“He’s covering for me,” says Spider-man hurriedly. He doesn’t want Deadpool kicked out of the meeting, it will be boring without him. 

“And why does he need to do that?” asks Steve. “That’s not like you-” 

“Is it because you got shot in the leg?” asks Natasha. It’s the first thing she’s said all afternoon. 

“And the arm?” asks Clint. 

“You got shot ?” demands Tony. 

“Twice in the leg,” says Deadpool. 

“I’m fine?” squeaks Spider-man. He should’ve known you can’t hide a limp from world class assassins. 

“You should have said something,” says Steve in his worried-dad voice. 

“I’m totally fine,” says Spider-man. “Deadpool covered for me and-” 

“Do you know who it was?” Tony looks like he’s making up for all the anger that Bruce is keeping carefully composed. 

Deadpool shakes his head. “No one ordered a hit.”

“Which means it’s probably personal,” finishes Natasha. 

“They should have hired a hit with that aim,” says Hawkeye. “Where were they even targeting?” 

“That’s what I said!” 

Deadpool turns to Spider-man. “You look uncomfortable. Do you want me to bring up something uncomfortable from my past to distract everyone. I’m thinking something involving tentacles-” 

“Nope,” says Steve firmly. “Point taken.” He points at Spider-man. “We’ll circle back to this later. Now…” and they dive back into saving New York from bigger crime, while the smaller ones rage on outside. Blah blah blah. 

After the meeting Spider-man goes to the bathroom and crawls out the window before anyone can corner him about the shooting incident. Deadpool is waiting for him on their rooftop a familiar rooftop with sixteen hotdogs and two giant lemonades. 

"You would think those asshats would have a snack budget.” 

“You love those asshats,” says Spider-man. 

“Yeah, they are all soooo hot.” 

Instead of asking: does that include me? Do you think I'm hot? Like outside the jokes and comments about my ass in spandex- Spider-man says, “You do anything fun this weekend?” 

“Besides celebrating the one week mark where I had to web you down to my kitchen table and dig bullets out of you?” Deadpool shrugs. “I think tomorrow is my birthday.”

Spiderman spits out his lemonade. “Tomorrow!?”

Deadpool is uncharacteristically quiet, and then says, “My swiss cheese brain isn’t sure if it’s really my birthday. But I think tomorrow  is the day that Vanessa used to say it was.” 

Spider-man knows about Vanessa. Deadpool knows about Gwen. 

He swallows. “You should have let me buy the hot dogs.” 

“Treating you is a treat, baby boy.” 

Spider-man racks his brain for something they can do for Deadpool’s birthday. That they wouldn’t normally do just because they felt like it. Besides, like, TP-ing Matt’s apartment. 

Then he gets a brilliant idea. 

“Well, I have quite the birthday present for you.” 

Wade grabs at his crotch, “Jesus christ you need to warn me before you say shit like that-” 

Spider-man shoves the implication into the back of his mind before it lights his masked face on fire and hurries on. “For your birthday you can hunt down my secret identity.” 

Deadpool turns to him slowly and cocks his head to the side. “Are you…” 

“I mean, there’s no reason for you not to know it,” says Spider-man. “I trust you. And I could just take off my mask and tell you everything right now.” He leans in. “But that wouldn’t be nearly as exciting would it?” 

Who is this braver, flirtier version of himself, and what has he done with the usual bumbling fool? 

Deadpool makes a choking sound. 

“So starting tonight, at midnight, I give you complete permission and consent to use all your big bad mercenary skills and find out who I am.” 

“Holy shit,” says Deadpool, “This is going to be the best birthday ever.” 

...

It’s turning out to be the longest Monday ever. 

Peter wakes before his alarm, buzzing with excitement. He kills it by looking in the bathroom mirror and convincing himself that his real face will only bring Deadpool disappointment. The merc is obsessed with the confident web-slinging do-gooder Peter charades as. 

What would Wade possibly like about Peter ? He’s a tired, broke, desperately-in-need-of-a-haircut Phd candidate whose shirt says “Protons have mass? I didn’t even know they were Catholic!” 

“Leave the shirt out of this,” Peter tells himself around his toothbrush, “you love this shirt.” 

He’s distracted and fidgety all through his first class, and finally one of the girls in the back raises her hand. Of course she’d have questions, he’s barely attempting to teach-

“So what’s going on?” she asks. “You got a date or something?” 

It's a smaller class, only twenty four kids. Most of them laugh. 

Peter sighs, “Is it that obvious?” 

“Well it’s that or the thermodynamics that has you all hot and bothered.” 

Peter laughs and tucks that one in his back pocket for later. “Should have saved that for extra credit on the final.” 

“So like,” says another brave student from the front row, “When’s the date?” 

Peter gives in. “Well it’s not a date exactly…” 

They all nod and say something along the lines of “ah,” or “oh so it’s one of those”. Since when did nineteen year olds all become relationship therapists?

“Look,” says a football player whom Peter had initially disliked because he had reminded him of Flash, but was won over by the actual effort he put into the class. “Whether or not it’s a date, you have to ask yourself what you stand to lose if it is, or it isn’t.” 

“Not sure that makes sense?” 

“No,” says the original asker from the back row, “That’s a good one. You should write that down.” 

Peter sighs and pushes his fingers through his hair. “Let’s get back to class. You’ll need it for the homework-” 

“So,” chirps another girl. “Are you friends already? Is this like, unrequited love?” 

“We are…friends. For sure. Friends.” 

The class makes another sympathetic noise. 

Jesus Christ. 

Peter sits down in his chair behind his desk and says, “okay, so if I hypothetically-” 

...

The class he was supposed to teach thermodynamics to, reached the conclusion that Peter needs to be brave and shoot his shot. He’s sure there’s a web shooter joke somewhere in there, but he’s too distracted to try and fish it out. He’s grateful for the distraction of his Phd mentor’s lab work. 

Evening is falling by the time Peter gets to his own lab slot. He’s going to spend a couple more hours here, and then he’ll go on patrol. He’s trying to decide if he’ll give Deadpool a hint about his identity tonight, when the lab doors fly open and the leather-clad man himself strides in. 

Peter’s mouth hangs open as the merc comes to stand directly in front of him. There’s a lot that Peter could be thinking right now, but what his monkey mind focuses on is: Big. Maybe it’s because he’s not suited up and Deadpool is, but Peter’s never realized how fucking LARGE Deadpool is. It’s not just his height. It’s the span of his chest and shoulders, the thighs that could smash him-

“Well call me butter because I’m on a roll,” mutters Deadpool. He’s staring at Peter’s face like he’s the one who's shocked. 

Peter lets out a nervous laugh and it breaks the spell. Deadpool grabs his face with his smelly leather gloves and squeals. “Cutie patootie alert! I knew you’d be a hottie but this is redonkulous!” He turns Peter’s face from side to side. “What the actual fuck webs? Did they make you in a factory?” 

“How did you do that?” Peter laughs again, but he's not nervous this time. He’s relieved. “That was less than 24 hours!” 

“Not to worry my fine little friend,” says Deadpool, moving his gloves into Peter’s hair and ruffling it. “What’s possible for Deadpool is still impossible for everyone else! Your secret is safe with Daddy.” 

And, horror of all horrors, Peter blushes with no mask to hide behind. Deadpool shudders. “Alright it’s time to get you back into a mask. You’re telling me you look like that all the time?! ”

Peter glances at his watch. Screw the next two hours. “Hey Deadpool?” 

“Yeah I’m here but just barely. Dirty fantasy involving spiders arriving fast on track 42-”

“Happy Birthday.” 

...

Now that Wade knows Peter’s secret identity, it’s like the floodgates have opened. 

Wade shows up at the lab if Peter stays too late at night. 

Peter grades tests at Wade’s kitchen table. 

They catch rides to Avenger meetings together, and one time they stay after to talk shit about Steve and Tony with Natasha and Clint. 

Wade crawls through Peter’s fire escape when he’s bored and they play video games until 3 am. 

Peter shows up to watch reruns of ATLA on Wade’s bigger, better T.V.

Wade lets Peter use his in-unit washing machine. 

Peter goes ahead and patches Wade’s suit while he’s mending his own. 

Wade tries to convince Peter to move out of his shitty apartment. 

Peter insists his shitty apartment is just fine, thank you very much. 

But he still falls asleep on Wade’s couch, and at his kitchen table, and on his shoulder, and in the back of Dopinder’s cab, all the time. Because the nightmares are back. Of course they are back. Holding him in between reruns of what happened to Gwen, over and over. Like they are trying to warn him what will happen if he keeps falling deeper for Wade. 

Wade flirts relentlessly, like he always has. But they do not talk about that one night Wade slept with his hand on Peter’s chest. Or about how Peter spends half his unmasked time with his face the color of a firetruck. They do not talk about how Peter’s little crush has fanned out of control and into something much more serious. With much bigger consequences. 

Until they do. 

Chapter Text

Spider-man hates it when Deadpool takes bullets for him. Especially now that it’s Wade taking bullets for Peter. 

“I stopped plenty of bank robberies before you!” Peter isn’t yelling , yet, but he’s close. 

Wade nods and sags against the wall of the alley way. “Of course you did, and now I’m here to make sure you keep stopping them.” 

“I have spidey senses for a reason!” 

“And I have a best friend who can die,” says Wade flatly. “But it’s not happening on my watch.” 

That kills Spidey’s anger, but not the part of him that hates seeing the spray of bullets across Deadpool’s chest. 

“My place is closer,” he says finally. “Let’s go there and watch Golden Girls until all your bullets pop out.” 

Wade wheezes something that sounds like excitement, and Peter webs the merc’s wounds close so he doesn’t bleed out before they get there. 

Except things aren’t good when they get there. 

“Someone broke into my apartment,” says Spider-man, shocked. 

“How can you be sure?” Deadpool asks, looking around at the broken lock and the torn-open drawers.

“Oh shut up.” 

“Your apartment always looks like it’s been broken into,” insists Deadpool. “Trust me, I’ve broken into a lot of apartments.” 

Spider-man pinches the bridge of his nose through his mask. “This is bad.” 

“Webs, I love ya, I really do. But you didn’t have a single thing of value in this place-” 

“No,” Spider-man waves his hand. “But I also didn’t have my real name on the lease. It’s an under the table rental-” 

“It would have to be to get away with-” 

“And I leave most of my school stuff at school.” 

Wade catches up. “Ohhhh it’s not that someone broke into Petey-pie’s apartment. Someone broke into Spider-man’s apartment.” 

He nods and sighs. 

“Well, pack it up,” says Wade. He’s itching at his webbed wounds and Spider-man reaches over and unsticks the webbing. The bullets pop out of Wade’s skin and clang to the floor. “We better head back to casa de la Deadpool.” 

Spider-man sighs again and nudges the broken door frame with his boot. 

“Seriously,” says Wade. “You need to come stay with me until we figure out what the fuck is going on. Wait, did they take your extra suits or-”

“No,” says Spider-man, glad the mask is hiding his face. “They are both at your place already.” 

So is his spare set of web shooters. In fact, the only stuff he brings back from his trashed apartment is a toothbrush and some clothes. Wade won’t let him bring his 5-in-1 from the shower. 

“You don’t even have hair!” 

“But if I did I’d treat it better than that !” 

Everything feels normal until bedtime. 

They play video games, spitball some ideas of who could be after Spider-man this time. 

Peter uses all the hot water and doesn’t let Wade tease him for the fact that the clothes he puts on are ones he stole from Wade weeks ago. 

Everything feels normal. And then it’s bedtime. 

And…it’s still normal? What’s making it not so normal is Wade saying he can take the couch and Peter frowning and pointing out that they’ve shared a bed before. And then accusing Wade of breaking into his apartment just so they could have a sleepover, and Wade insisting that if it were true, he’d have done it months ago. 

And then they are laying in the dark and Peter’s heart is pounding in his chest and he’s sure he won’t sleep. Except that that this mattress is so much more comfortable than his one at home, and Wade’s heat is radiating inside the sheets and for once Peter isn’t too cold and…

Peter wakes up with Wade’s hand pressed to his chest. 

Only this time, he’s not in a shredded Spider-man suit, with bullet wounds and a secret identity. 

He’s just Peter Parker, on a really nice mattress, wearing clothes he stole borrowed from his best friend. Who he happens to be lowkey in love with. His best friend whose hand is radiating warmth down into Peter, healing things Peter didn’t even know were falling apart. 

His best friend, who blinks his eyes open as the morning sun spills over both of them. 

“‘G'mornin pretty boy.”

Wade’s voice is so sleepy the words barely make it out of him coherently. And Peter realizes that pretending he doesn't have a raging emotional boner for Wade won't save their friendship. These unspoken feelings will brew until they fester and become something he resents simply because he never acted on them.

"If you're gonna be stupid you better be tough," whispers Peter to himself.

"Huh?" says Wade.

Peter rolls over as he brings a hand to the back of Wade’s neck, and kisses him. A closed mouth, simple affair. Soft press of cracked lips and morning breath. Maybe it lasts seconds. Or maybe it lasts years. Maybe they’ll look outside and it will be a whole new city, post tiny kiss. 

Peter pulls back. Wade is staring at him, an unreadable look on his face. Which is scary. Maybe the scariest thing Peter has ever seen. “Did I just ruin everything?” he whispers.

Then Wade smiles. Not his normal ear splitting grin, but a gentle curve of his lips. Another ‘first’ for this morning. “Sweetheart,” he breathes, “You couldn’t ruin a single thing if you tried.” Then he’s shoving an arm between Peter and the mattress and using it to pull him closer. 

“Promise?” Peter’s voice is still a whisper. Their noses are almost touching. 

“Pinky promise,” says Wade. “But I’d like to use my mouth to show you.” 

And then they are kissing again. It starts as sweetly as the first. Slow moving as honey. But it does move. From an unspoken question, to smiling against each other’s mouths. To Wade opening his, and Peter letting him in. 

The kiss picks up speed. 

And depth. 

Peter instinctively lifts his top leg to curl around Wade to try and get closer. Wade hooks a large hand behind Peter’s knee and rolls the arachnid on top of him. Now Peter is straddling Wade and they both groan softly at the press of their clothed erections. Wade’s hands squeeze around Peter’s waist before moving down to take handfuls of cheek. Wade starts to ask “Is this okay-” but is interrupted by his own whimper as Peter rolls his hips, grinding him and Wade against each other. 

Yeah, you could say this is ‘okay’. 

Wade is in boxers and Peter is in sweatpants, two layers too many but the friction is delicious . Peter rolls his hips again and Wade takes the hint. He catches the wave of Peter’s hips and compliments it with one of his own. Peter makes a noise he wasn’t aware he was capable of making, and Wade takes over using his grip on Peter’s ass to set a simple and very effective rhythm. 

Peter moves from Wade’s mouth down to his neck, and samples the ropey scar tissue with his tongue. Dammit, no man with gray morals should taste this good, even if he has the body of a god-

Scar tissue. Wade has said his nerve endings aren’t what they used to be. Ever the scientist, Peter goes from initial question to thesis to experiment and bites . 

The results: immediate. Wade becomes even harder, and his rhythm stutters. 

Peter, of course, knows that a good scientist can replicate results, and noses his way along Wade’s collarbone to plant another bite. 

Yup, a conclusion is starting to form. 

Wade manages to get his own face along Peter’s hairline, and licks a warm line along the shell of Peter’s ear. Not a scientist, just a man with good instincts. Peter shivers and realizes he’s much closer than he thought he was. He pulls his head back to look at Wade. 

Whatever he thought he’d see is nothing in comparison to what he finds: the merc with a mouth panting, looking at Peter not only with lust, but with affection . Like he’s holding the greatest treasure one can find. 

It’s too much for six am, and Peter orgasms harder than he has in a long time. Somewhere in the tidal wave he ducks his head again and doesn’t bite so much as chomps Wade’s shoulder with his teeth. Which apparently does it for the big guy, because he shakes and follows Peter over the edge. 

Wade's hand carding through Peter’s overgrown hair is what brings them both back to earth. It’s scary to pull back and look at Wade a second time. Especially when the first look, two paragraphs ago, had been so intense. Luckily, the merc’s face has morphed into something comfortably fond. 

“I vote,” says Wade, “For you never not sleeping over again. And coffee. And maybe a change of pants.” 

Peter grimaces down at where there are twin stains seeping into the clothing between them. “Maybe not maybe.” 

He rolls off Wade who gets out of bed to shuffle around in the bathroom, before going to shuffle around in the kitchen. Peter finds another pair of sweats on the floor that look clean-ish and works on getting his crotch not covered in his own cum.

He’s rolling the waistband of the too-big pants when his anxiety stops being ignorable. It’s not his spidey senses. It’s good old fashioned human nervousness. “Wade?” he calls, not very loudly. Not loud enough, there’s no answer. 

Or…

Peter tries not to bolt into the kitchen, but his steps are too fast to be casual and Wade turns in surprise. “Did you say something baby-” then stops to frown at Peter’s sigh of relief. “Are you okay?” 

There’s no playing it cool. Not in between the humping and the lack of coffee. He tries anyway. “Yeah, totally fine. Nothing wrong here. Just totally-” 

Wade puts down the bag of coffee grounds and comes to take Peter’s face between his hands. “I wouldn’t leave without saying something.” 

How did he fucking know? Peter closes his eyes. 

“Webs,” says Wade. “Petey-pie. Who pumped and dumped you?” 

Harry. Felecia. Mary Jane. Johnny. “Everyone.” 

Wade’s face does a dance between surprise and anger. The surprise wins out and fades into something Peter doesn’t want to base assumptions on. Wade gently takes Peter's arms (this man is nothing but gentle gentle gentle with him in all the unexpected moments) and bends slightly so he can wrap them around his own neck. Wade then takes the back of Peter’s thighs and lifts so Peter automatically wraps his legs around Wade's waist. 

Peter is now koala-beared to the front of a ruthless ex killer-for-hire who pats his back and says, “Did you know you weigh almost exactly the same as that medium sized dresser in the bedroom?” 

“You mean the one that none of your clothes have made it into?” 

“Yup.” Then Wade goes back to making coffee, with Peter still clinging to him like the giant clingy baby he is. 

Peter, who has exactly zero pride left, lets himself hang onto Wade. As he waits for the bean juice to be ready, sniffs the milk and throws it out before dumping sugar into the mug with said coffee, and goes back to the bedroom. 

Where Wade manages to sit against the headboard, coffee in one hand, Peter’s waist in the other. The giant clingy baby raises his head out of Wade's warm neck that smells wayyyy too good, and takes a sip from the mug that is held to his lips. 

They stay like this a good long while. 

Eventually, some semblance of rationality seeps back into Peter’s body, aided by caffeine and someone holding him like he actually wants to be there. 

He’s supposed to go see Aunt May today. 

His whole being wants to cancel and stay with Wade, which instantly makes him feel guilty. Aunt May is the precious single piece of family he has left. The one person he truly loves besides one other individual who has met both Peter and Spiderman and loves them both back. 

He shouldn’t crave more, a different relationship from someone else, so badly. 

“You’re thinking,” says Wade. “Is that good or bad?” 

“Wanna come to my aunt’s for lunch?” 

Wade gasps. “ Aunt May? The queen herself?!” He’s never met her, but he knows all about her. Even before the identity reveal. One time he had found Spider-man panicking as he webbed up some robbers because he was late delivering cupcakes for his Aunt’s book club. Wade had called Dopinder, had the cupcakes delivered on time, and wanted to know what the club was reading. It had spiraled from there. 

So Wade’s dramatics are, well, dramatic. But not ironic. 

“Yeah?” says Peter, horrified that he has been attached to Wade’s torso for the last thirty minutes and still found a way to become even more clingy. 

“I should have dry humped you sooner,” says Wade. 

“Not sure ‘dry’ is the right word.” 

Wade grins. 

...

Wade doesn’t want to go to Aunt May’s in civies. 

“You don’t have a secret identity, and May already knows about Spider-man.” 

“No, I just have a face like a rotted carcass that extends all over my whole body, and a raging boner for her beautiful nephew.” 

“Don’t talk about my best friend like that,” says Peter. Then webs the Deadpool suit to the wall before Wade can try and put it on.

Wade gapes at him. “That just came out of your wrist ?! But!” he gestures to the kitchen counter where Peter had left his web shooters the night before. 

“My own webs don’t dissolve,” says Peter. “I made a formula that would, so I wouldn’t leave it all over the city.” 

Wade’s interest has moved from why to how . He takes one of Peter’s wrists and eyes the tiny slit, before bringing it to his mouth like he’s going to lick-

Peter jerks away, flush confirming Wade’s question. “We gotta go.” 

“Filing that away for later,” says Wade. “But definitely not forgetting. Holy silk spinning organs…” 

Wade didn’t want to go in civies but he does for Peter, and shows up at May’s with a cake. “Sorry we’re late,” says Peter, kissing his aunt on this cheek. “This is Wade, who made us late by not being able to decide between cheesecake and red velvet.” 

Wade takes May’s hand and pretends to kiss it like an Edwardian gentleman. She laughs and pretends to kick at Peter. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Don’t let my nephew be such a bully, he’s never been on time a day in his life.” 

Wade doesn’t say anything about Peter being on time this morning, he just grins like an idiot and asks if he can help with anything. 

And just like that, it’s okay. 

She doesn’t ask them about Spider-man or Deadpool related business, but it’s not an elephant in the room either. May genuinely seems to enjoy their company, even Wade’s. She gets their opinions on renovating the upstairs bathroom (she’s recently taken up home projects) and feeds them lasagna and lectures Peter about his sleep schedule. The conversation is easy, everyone has a chance to pitch in. By the time Peter is sent to take out the trash, Wade is pretty sure this is the best family experience he’s ever had. And he doesn’t even remember his childhood. 

May wanders into the kitchen just as Wade is starting to do the dishes. She opens her mouth, he assumes to protest him helping. He opens his mouth, to insist. She holds up a palm and reaches into a drawer to pull out pink rubber gloves. 

“I’m too old and lazy to not let someone do the dishes,” she says with a smile. “But at least save your skin.” 

Wade knows for a fact that May isn’t lazy, Peter has walked him through her yoga/book club/volunteer/taekwondo schedule. But he pulls on the rubber gloves. 

“I should get me a pair of these,” he admires the bright pink color. “Might have been a game changer with this-” he freezes. Peter can take his scar jokes, and knows the place in his heart they come from. But May….

She snorts. “Hate to be the one to break it to you, but I think it would have taken more than a pair of rubber gloves from a dollar tree.” 

Wade grins that gleeful, vulnerable grin that made Peter fall in love with him in the first place. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“But I expect you to scrub. Just because my hands are aging better than yours,” it’s true, May is aging like fine fucking wine, “doesn’t mean you should hurt.” 

Wade turns around quickly and starts on the dishes murmuring, “you sound like Peter.” 

May settles into a chair at the kitchen table. “Is that so?” 

“He’s uh, he’s the only one who's ever asked if this,” he splashes water as he waves his hands around his face, “hurts.” 

“That’s Peter. I always thought he should be a nurse. He’s smart enough to be a doctor, but the boy cares so much he might as well get paid for it.” 

Now it’s Wade’s turn to snort. “And yet here we are.” 

“Here we are,” she agrees. “I couldn’t be prouder of him. I just wish he had health insurance.”

“Look,” says Wade, “Can I get your number? I could use a professional Peter whisperer on speed dial.” 

“I have yours, I’ll text you.”

“You have my number?” 

“Of course,” says May breezily. “I made him give it to me when I saw reports of Spider-man and Deadpool collaborating. Just in case.” 

“And he gave it to you?” 

May lifts an eyebrow. “I didn’t bring that boy into this world, but I’m sure I could take him out of it.” She pulls out her phone. “Now, do you want me to text your personal number or your current burner?” 

Chapter Text

Peter bumps Wade’s shoulder as they stroll down the sidewalk on their way back home. “Aunt May likes you.” 

They could have called Dopinder, but it’s one of those evenings where the sky is pink and it’s not too cold and being a little in love feels like a drug. 

“My life is complete,” says Wade. “Our lord and savior Aunt May has given me her blessing-” 

“Now would be a good time to remember I have super hearing, and know exactly what you were saying in the kitchen. Not exactly a blessing...” But they both know Peter has talked himself into a corner. He flushes and Wade’s eyes get this dark look to them, like he’d like to do something you shouldn’t do on the streets, even of New York. 

Instead he sings, “Babyyyy why don’t you come overrrr, Red Wine supernovaaaa-” 

“Yes, to the coming over, and the Chappell Roan,” says Peter. “But only because I haven’t done a single thing to figure out who broke into my apartment yet.” 

“Oh for sure,” says Wade, his eyes flickering again. “ That ’s why.” 

Peter knocks him with his shoulder again. 

They play it cool on the subway. And walking from the station to Wade’s building. They get in the elevator. Then Wade hits the button, and turns around to catch Peter who hops into his arms like the clingy koala he is. Wade pushes Peter’s back against the wall and pushes his mouth against the other man's and they both gasp like they’ve been waiting to breathe all day. 

They don’t unhinge themselves when the doors slide open with a ding. Wade carries Peter down the hall, fumbling with the keypad lock as his tongue fumbles with Peter’s molars. By the time he’s got them in, and kicked the door shut behind him, they are both hard and uninterested in any destination that isn’t the bedroom. 

Wade gets them there too, and deposits Peter down on his back, who drags the big guy down with him. 

“What-” gasps Wade like he’s dying, “-do you want baby boy? Top? Bottom? Blow job? I’m good for all roles!” His hand fumbles around and pulls a file of crumpled papers out of somewhere. “I’ve got references and referrals-” 

Peter decides to not even acknowledge that last statement and pushes up against Wade so he can sit. Wade leans back on his heels, still straddling Peter. 

Peter takes all the experiences that have hurt him, and taught him about himself, to assure him that he can say what he needs to say. “I can’t do this unless it's…real.” 

“I’m pretty sure this is real,” says Wade. “I mean, if its not it’s my most realistic hallucination yet-” 

“No,” says Peter. And then he’s babbling. “I mean like, I can’t do a fling. Or a one night stand. I’ve tried and it doesn’t work for me. Being intimate with someone is- I- well, I want it to be with someone I’m dating and…” he trails off. 

Wade looks devastated for a second, and Peter’s spiral into self loathing and embarrassment starts up immediately. Of course Wade isn’t looking for a relationship. Why would Spider-man be anything but a quick fuck-

Something in Peter’s expression snaps Wade out of his own and he says, “Woah woah woah, I’m going to go ahead and say this simply because the author of this fic hates the miscommunication trope. You don’t want to come in my mouth unless we are dating, and I am assuming that means you’re hitting the brakes because you don’t want to date me. However, on the slim chance that you’d like to orgasm with this avocado-faced mutant on the regular…” 

The butterflies in Peter’s stomach eat up the shame and fear in seconds. “I want to date you,” he offers. “In case the spider-monkey (heh, spider) display this morning didn’t make that clear.” 

“Phenomenal,” says Wade. “Because I want to date the fuck out of you.” 

“...Are you just saying that?” 

“I should be the one asking that question,” points out Wade. “I’m the one that’s being carrying a flame for you since always.” 

“You flirt with everyone.” 

“I didn’t stop killing, start showering, and find out that I actually like living, for everyone. Just one. You. I’d ask you to marry me, but I have a feeling you won't let me talk you into that for a good long while. So, date me Petey Pie? Give me a chance?” 

Peter turns the color of his suit. Red. Not blue, thank god. Different problem. “Yes. Obviously. Oh. Well. Good. Now we can…” he makes an obscene gesture with his hands. “Since we’re…” He gestures between them. 

“Just because we’re,” Wade gestures between them. “Doesn’t mean we have to-” he makes the obscene gesture. 

“Oh, well,” Peter says for the millionth time. Or maybe just the second. “Obviously I only want to do whatever you’re comfortable with because that’s the way this works but if we’re being honest and ooooh boy am I feeling cringy and honest right now-” he gulps and gets to the point. “I’d really love for you to fuck me.” 

Wade buries his face in between Peter’s neck and shoulder. “Fuck. Yeah. Of course. Have you…”

“Yeah, I’ve done this before. Not like a bunch, and only with hook ups. And I don’t hook up all the time. It’s actually been awhile. Is that okay? I-” Wade shuts him up with a kiss and reaches around in the nightstand drawer, tossing an unloaded handgun, can of silly string, and plastic easter egg, before he straightens up with a bottle of lube.

“Is this a, we-swing-to-the-store-for-condoms fic? Or a we-both-have-healing-powers-and-therefor-are-clean-and-fuck-raw fic?” 

“The second,” says Peter. Then he ‘pretends’ to look in a camera and says, “But unless you’ve also been bitten by a radioactive spider or subject to medical torture that resulted in regenerative healing, please use condoms. And test regularly. And respect any other safety precautions your partner desires.” 

“That,” says Wade, “Just made me even harder.” 

Which is true. There’s a tent in his jeans that cannot be comfortable, and Peter’s own pants are not their typical shape. 

Oh yeah. Clothes. They are still wearing too many clothes. 

There’s not a graceful way to get rid of the clothes when they are both giddy with horniness and excitement. Peter has gotten his own shirt off and is working on his shoe and pant leg situation when he glances up to find Wade wiggling out of his own pants, shirtless. 

He freezes. 

Wade turns around. “What's with your face?"  

Peter tries to say something, but all his blood is evidently in his dick, and the rest of the executive functions are taking in Wade. Yes, there are the scars. Scars that ripple across miles of corded muscle. Abdominals, pectorals, deltoids, the works. Peter didn’t realize he was a whore for Wade’s body, until now. 

Wade leans forward and thumbs some drool in the corner of Peter’s mouth. He laughs. “Holy hell Webs, you really are into me.”

Peter captures the thumb in his mouth and swirls his tongue over scars and- 

“That’s enough of that,” says Wade. He picks Peter up, puts him on his back at the edge of the bed, and peels the rest of his clothes off in one go. Then he leans down to kiss Peter’s hip, that turns to a drag of his tongue up Peter’s torso, to suckle a hickey on his neck. The aggressiveness works for Peter, who arches into it all with a stuttering gasp and grabs Wade’s face to bring it in for a bruising kiss. Wade’s erection digs into Peter’s thigh.

Wade’s hands follow the track left by his tongue but pause to brush over Peter’s nipples. He swallows the groan this produces from Peter and skates his hands back down, still doesn’t address Peter’s dick which is killing him, and pauses on Peter’s right thigh over the pocked skin. Scars from the bullets, weeks ago. 

Peter’s mouth complains at the loss of Wade’s, who dives down to see the scars for himself. Peter stops complaining when the scars are given an open mouth kiss. And then abandoned for Wade to nose at his dick. Which is ridiculous for approximately 2 seconds and then Wade licks a stripe up aforementioned dick, and there is only pleasure. Pleasure multiplied when he takes Peter entirely into his mouth. 

Peter would be in trouble if Wade chose to stay there, but he doesn’t. He maneuvers Peter’s heels on the bed, spread wide and noses his way between spider-cheeks to make way for his tongue. His glorious, glorious tongue. There’s a short circuiting of Peter’s brain as he receives surely the most loving rim job that’s ever been bestowed to a young man who's been bit by a radioactive spider. Interrupted only when Wade pulls back to say, “Can I start working you open baby boy?” 

Peter nods. 

“I need words of consent, my angel.” 

“Please for the love of god stick your fingers in my asshole.” 

He feels Wade smiling against his inner thigh and hears the lube being uncapped. It’s not cold, and he wonders where Wade warmed it. And then doesn’t wonder anymore as the first finger presses inside him. He’s far more used to his own fingers than someone else’s, and his hands are much slender than Wade’s. 

And his own hands can only get certain angles. By the time Wade has worked in a second finger and taken Peter’s balls into his mouth, Peter is panting. By the time he’s at three fingers and crooked them enough to brush his prostate, Peter is making noises that he won’t own up to later. 

“Wade, ah, Wade, if you keep doing that I’m gonna come-" 

Wade empties his mouth to say, “I bet you bounce back pretty quick, pretty boy. Let go for me.” And then swallows Peter’s dick down just in time to also swallow down Peter’s orgasm. 

Peter isn’t sure how long he rides the powerful waves, how long his hands grab at the sheets, and his eyes squeeze shut. 

When he opens them, Wade is gently pulling his fingers out of Peter’s hole and kissing the side of his face. “Good boy,” he purrs, and that sparks something that Peter is going to have to unpack later. “You still want me to fuck you? You can always change your mind-”

“If you don’t fuck me,” says Peter. “I’m going to web you to the ceiling and go watch Golden Girls by myself.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, don’t underestimate what I’m into.” 

There’s the sound of the lube opening again and Peter gets himself more on the bed. Wade crawls on top of him. Peter brings his own knees up, then shudders as Wade’s hands spread him wide and he lines up against Peter’s ass. 

The push in is slow and accompanied by more kissing and soothing hands. They pause once when Wade has to remind Peter to breathe, and again when Wade’s fully inside him. Peter, who is already hard again, reaches down to stroke himself through Wade’s first careful pumps. 

Wade was right, Peter doesn’t last long, never has, but always bounces back quickly. In minutes he and Wade are both on edge, and then falling over it together, shaking through orgasms that are making an absolute mess. 

By the time they’ve breathed through it, and remade eye contact, Peter is smiling. “You can keep going, can’t you?” 

Wade grins back, and starts to slowly thrust again in answer. 

...

Later, much later, a change of sheets and a pizza delivery later, Peter is leaning against Wade, both their backs against the headboard. “We should still go out and patrol,” he says through a yawn. “It’s only eleven.” 

“I already texted Danny and asked him to swing through midtown for us.” 

“Thank you,” says Peter softly. “We’ll owe him one.” 

“You just want to go to Chinatown so we can get something other than mexican.” 

“You don’t have to eat,” says Peter casually. “You can just watch me suck up bao buns and-” 

“I’ll suck up your bao buns.” 

“There’s something problematic in that I’m sure,” says Peter with another yawn. “Am I really about to get more than four hours of sleep?” 

Chapter Text

Monday Morning:  

Peter does not wake up to Wade’s warm hand on his chest. He wakes up to him and Wade sprawled all over each other. Whose limb is whose? That’s none of his business when he’s the most comfortable he’s ever been.  Matt’s been preaching the necessity of silk sheets to him for years, but sleeping on them at Wade’s, has Peter convinced. Being weighed down by a 200+ pound orgasm inducer isn’t killing the vibe either. 

The blaring of his phone’s alarm is telling him to rise and fucking shine, but Peter’s everything is telling him to close his eyes and fucking bask. Eventually one of Wade’s hands pats blindly for the phone and chucks it against the wall. The alarm stops. 

Wade opens one eye. “That wasn’t mine was it?” 

“Nope,” says Peter. He’s too comfortable to be cross, and besides he’s destroyed enough phones as Spiderman, everything is already backed up. 

“Damn,” says Wade. “Now I have to buy you something new and shiny. Hey, what are you doing?” 

Peter is letting his eyes close again, that’s what he’s doing. 

“Nope,” says Wade, “nope nope nope. My sexy professor boyfriend has a class to teach, so he better get his wonderful ass out of bed.” 

“Since when did you become the responsible one?” 

“Since I have to convince you that us dating is the best thing that could possibly happen to you. Damn Petey pie, it’s too early for you to be blushing like that.” 

Tuesday Night: 

“How,” says Peter, looking at Deadpool, who is half on the kitchen floor with his pants caught on the handle of a drawer, “has this happened?” 

He’d come back to grab his partner (Boyfriend? Heartmate? Giant man child?) between lab time and patrolling. 

“It’s not what it looks like?” offers Wade. 

“I’m not even interested in the why,” says Peter with a shudder. 

“Spidey sense?” 

“Well it’s not my fear of the kitchen storage options.” 

Wednesday Afternoon: 

There are a million and one things Peter could be doing with his spare two hours. Grading. Science-ing. Phd-ing. Fixing one of his jammed web shooters. Patrolling. 

But instead he’s brought himself back to Wade’s apartment, simply because he knew Wade would be there. And because Wade is there, speaking of web shooters, Peter finds himself half collapsed on the couch while Wade sucks him off. 

Thursday Midday: 

Peter has a rotation with one of the doctors at a medical center that specializes in amputation and synthetic limb options. Part of the bio engineering PhD program. Not the time or place for Doc Oc jokes, and certainly not the time and place for Wade to be sending him sexts. 

Nor for Peter to indulge him by opening said sexts. 

He does anyways. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers, ducking into a supply closet. 

Friday, almost Saturday: 

“The heroes yeeteth,” says Deadpool roundhouse kicking a man in the chest. 

“And the heroes yoinketh away,” finishes Peter, webbing a gun out of another’s grip. 

Patrol has been brutal this week. It’s almost like the criminals of New York city are more interested in taking cheap shots at local vigilantes than any actual illegal business. 

Of course, Peter’s been a little distracted. He’s a little distracted right now by Wade’s ass in that kevlar and leather… 

“That’s a surprising amount of undisguised drugs,” says Wade. He’s already knocked out the driver and other security guard and opened the back door of the van. “Did you read about the guys who disguised their stuff as onions? Pretty sure even the people who caught them lauded it as one of the most well done covers they had ever seen.” He’s lifting crates and peeking into bags like he enjoys contaminating police evidence. “These people didn’t even try. I’m telling you, the creativity in the illegal substances business is not what it used to be!” 

Saturday: 

“Call me when you're off work,” says Wade, dropping Peter off at the lab. “Because I'm gonna ride that like Paul Revere later.” 

Peter spits some of his latte on the ground. 

Wade grins. “So there’s my answer as to whether you’d be into that. Toodaloo handsome!” 

Sunday: 

And then suddenly it’s Sunday again. 

May opens the door, takes one look at them and says, “I see you finally got together. Thank god.” 

Peter blushes and tries to ask how she knew that, but is overridden as Wade squeals like a school girl and pulls May over to the couch to “dish the hot goss”. 

They don’t even get to dessert before the Avengers call.

Chapter Text

Steve is explaining the warehouse blueprints, and Peter is wondering how long this raid is going to take. 

Steve is explaining that Thor is busy with Asguardian stuff , but this is a golden opportunity so they aren’t going to wait for him to strike. And as usual, Bruce is gonna stay out of this one unless they absolutely have to call in the big guy for backup. Etc. etc. Peter is wondering if he should try and go over the lesson plan tonight when he’s exhausted, or in the morning when he’s grumpy. 

Steve is explaining that no, Tony cannot just send in the suits. They need to see what they are up against, if these guys are able to get their hands on alien tech, they might be part of a bigger organization. Blah blah blah. Peter is wondering if he and Wade would already be done with the raid if they had just gone themselves. 

Steve is explaining the plan, which sounds a lot like most of their plans. Peter is wondering if they are going to get dinner before they all head out. 

They finally break and get into the luxury jet that was super cool the first time Peter rode in it ten years ago. And is less cool now that he still has to fly commercial when he travels on his own time. Not that he’s been on a vacation in years. 

“What are you two bickering about now,” says Natasha, sliding into the seat beside Peter and Wade who have been trying to subtly whisper fight in the back. 

“Arguing who takes whose last name,” says Wade. 

“Deciding whose turn it is to sort the recycles,” says Peter at the same time. 

“You recycle?” says Steve. 

“You’re dating?” says Hawkeye. 

This gets Tony’s attention. He snorts. 

This gets Peter’s pettiness going. “Sure are.” 

Natasha smirks at Tony. “You owe me $500 bucks.” 

“You bet five hundred bucks-” 

“You’re not allowed to date him,” says Tony. 

“I’m 27,” says Peter. 

“That means nothing to me.” 

“Congrats Spider-twink,” says Hawkeye, ruffling Peter’s hair.  

“Spider-twunk” says Wade. “Trust me, I’ve seen him naked.” He points around the room, the eyes of his mask narrowing. “But nobody else is allowed to picture that.” 

“We don’t want your boyfriend, Wade. Nobody wants your boyfriend, that’s why he’s with you,” says Natasha. “You're cute,” she tells Peter kindly, “but so annoying.”

The good news is that the warehouse is outside a small town upstate. No city, less civilians. The bad news is that two helicopters are flying away from it as they land the jet. 

“On it,” says Tony, mask sliding over his face. 

“Let me in on the fun?” asks Steve, strapping on his shield. 

“Only because you asked so nicely,” says Tony, wrapping an arm around Steve and taking off after the helicopters.

“Are we gonna talk about that?” asks Wade. 

“Not until they do,” says Natasha. 

“I’m not sure I want to know,” says Clint. 

Breaking into the warehouse is easy peasy for two assassins, a mutant mercenary, and a radioactive spider-bitee. Wade and Clint go one way, and Natasha and Peter go another. 

It’s hard to believe Natasha doesn’t have spidey senses of her own. She moves silently, and pauses to step out of sight of a guard before Peter can even react. She takes the guard down before Peter can even think Mother of all black widows , and then says, “he’s got something in his hand.” 

Unfortunately, what the guard has in his hand is a switch that goes off as soon as he’s no longer gripping it. Some type of alarm rigged to ring if someone is not pressing it. 

Ominous blue lights pulse around the warehouse, but that’s all. 

“Huh, what’s all this?” Big metal vats with alien language are printed on the side, glowing under the weird alarm. 

Natasha identifies them as some kind of alien goo that produces some kind of radiation once exposed to oxygen. 

“But no more bad guys,” says Peter over his comms. “This is weird.” 

“Fuck,” says Wade. “There’s someone here, but it’s not a bad guy. Get down here webs.” 

They all get down there. 

A small girl is standing on a platform in the middle of the warehouse, connected to a beeping box. Her two braids are coming out of their ties, and her eyes are rimmed red like she’s been sobbing. “Stop,” says Wade before anyone can reach for her. “If she moves off that platform,” he tilts his head to the beeping box, “That will go kaboom.” 

The girl hiccups a new sob as she nods in confirmation. 

“Can we dismantle it?” asks Peter. 

“I’m worried if I touch it, it will blast the whole place to high hell anyways,” says Wade. 

“The stuff,” the girl points at the containers. Her voice shakes, but she looks at the Avengers bravely. “The alarm means it’s going to leak out.” 

“This is an alarm?!" exclaims Wade. “God, it’s the least alarming thing I’ve ever heard, it’s actually kind of soothing.” 

“Wade-” starts Clint, but stops when the little girl giggles the tiniest bit and nods. “They thought I was sleeping when I heard them talking about it. But it’s a fail…fail something.” 

“Fail safe,” says Wade with a nod. “If you weren’t on top of a bomb, I’d high five you. You’re a fucking rock star.” 

“We can make her an Avenger later,” snaps Natasha, “If all this is going to leak out, the alien chemicals will spread too fast to contain.” 

“We're next to a town and a water supply,” says Hawkeye. He points to a small monitor on the wall. “I’m guessing that’s our countdown.” 2 minutes left. 

The girl starts to cry again. 

“These casings will survive a blast,” says Peter from where he’s been examining one of the containers. He looks at Natasha. “Right? Unless they start to open on purpose with the timer, they probably have a proof guard against any type of leak. We need to bust the alarm system.” 

1 minute 30 seconds left. 

“We need to blow up the system,” says Wade. 

Natasha purses her lips, then interrupts Peter’s half formed protest. “That will work.” 

Wade holds a hand out toward the little girl. “Sweetheart, I need you to listen very carefully. How old are you? And what’s your favorite color?” 

“Ten,” she sniffles. “I really like red.” 

“So approximately 35 kg,” says Deadpool, eying the platform and lifting a knee. “Great color choice. Red was the only right answer.” 

There’s no time for anyone to argue with Wade as he talks the girl through replacing his own weight on the platform and getting her off it. There’s no time as Clint scoops her up and runs from the building, followed by Natasha. 

Less than a minute left on the timer. 

“Wade,” Peter says, voice cracking. 

His boyfriend is leaning his weight partly on the platform, carefully simulating the weight of a ten year old girl. “I’d tell you I love you Petey Pie, but that would make this feel too final. And we both know I’ll be home in time for breakfast.” 

“I love you,” whispers Peter, and swings out of there. 

He's perched on the bottom of the jet as he watches the building explode. 

...

There’s a lot of good news. 

Natasha and Peter were right. The alien containers held the liquid and survived the explosion. No radioactive leaks. 

The little girl is reunited with her family. 

Steve and Tony managed to get the men responsible who had tried to escape in the helicopters. 

So much good news, and Peter doesn’t hear a word of it. 

Someone does try to tell him, but it all falls onto ears that don’t care. 

Wade will come back. Wade always comes back. He knows that. He’s watched this man regrow limbs, come back from bullets to the face, watched him talk haltingly about losing Vanessa. Wade comes back from hell every time he wakes up in the morning.

It’s really hard to feel comforted by all that when all that’s left of Wade is a husk. 

The vague crispy torso and head of what used to be a man. 

Clint and Natasha had helped Peter dig through the wreckage of the warehouse and pull what’s left of Wade from it. Peter had thrown up when he’d seen it. 

Now he sits by the hospital bed, still in his grime-covered suit. 

Despite insisting that he’s not that kind of doctor, Bruce has hooked up a variety of IV’s into the corpse. In hopes that aiding with rehydration and providing nutrition will speed along the healing process. 

Slowly the rest of the crew fill the room. Natasha and Clint. Bruce. Steve and Tony, who have been directing the rest of the clean up from the explosion and moving the alien chemicals. 

They all look tired. 

But none of them are a deep fried body on a hospital bed. 

“This,” says Tony, “Is probably the quietest Deadpool has ever been-” 

“Stop it,” Peter’s voice breaks when he says it. “Don’t you fucking dare say a damn thing about him.” He turns to look at all of them. In moments like these, his youth startles them just as much at 27 as it did at 17. “He took a bomb for you assholes, and all you can say is at least we’ll have some peace and quiet until he comes back?! ” 

Peter stalks up to Tony. “You know what Wade said to me on the way to the warehouse today? That I shouldn’t come. Not because he didn’t think I could contribute something. But because he said if anything happened to me, that was one less guy helping the real people of the city every night. Stopping the muggings, the assaults, the car accidents.” 

He points back to where Deadpool is only beginning to resemble an actual body. “And now look, that is one less guy on the street making New York a safer place. Because yes, despite every shitty thing you say about him being crazy and annoying and a loose cannon, he’s out there with me every night. He’s out there with Matt, and Frank, and Luke, and Jessica, and Danny. Because you know who's not out there, who’s not bothering with all the messy shit below their ‘pay grade’?” He looks over at Steve. “ All. Of. You.” 

He turns back around. 

They all slowly file out. 

Peter is finally convinced to go home and shower when Bruce tells him, “He’s gonna regrow all the boring stuff first, like organs and muscle tissue. If he starts to regain consciousness too early, I have stuff ready to knock him back out again so he won’t be in pain.” 

When Spider-man returns to the tower, it’s as Peter Parker through the ground entrance. “Any changes?” he asks, walking back into the room with Wade.

“Good evening Mr. Parker,” says Jarvis. “In addition to the observable limb growth, Mr. Wilson is now breathing on his own, and blood circulation has increased which should speed the process along. ” 

“Thanks Jarvis.” 

Peter pushes a chair close to the bed, pulls out his laptop, and writes an email to his students to let them know class is canceled tomorrow and Wednesday. To make it up to them he does some grading. Then he rearranges his lab schedule so he’ll have more time later next weekend, and starts what work he can do from his computer. 

He tries not to stare at Wade’s form so much. It’s like watching grass grow. He knows he’s healing, he just can’t witness it happening fast enough. 

Eventually Peter gives up, closes the laptop, and curls up in the chair to sleep. 

He awakes to Wade rasping, “Waking up to you tearfully waiting at my bedside is in so many of my dirty fantasies.” 

Peter sits up immediately. Wade doesn’t have all four limbs yet, but he’s got most of his head and torso, and a smile on his face. “I’m not teary,” says Peter, with an unconvincing scratch in his voice. “I’m mad at you for getting yourself blown up.” 

“Is that kid okay?” 

“Yeah,” says Peter, an actual tear slipping down his cheek. “She’s okay.” 

“And is my webhead okay?” 

“No, your webhead yelled at the Avengers.” 

Wade smiles. “My webhead is the best.” 

The rest of the day is better. Things are always better with Wade. Peter has a sneaking suspicion he’s trying to comfort Peter, when it should be the other way around. They watch reruns of Danny Phantom and eat piles of chalupas that Wade insists he’s regrown the stomach for. 

By the time night falls, he’s got enough arms to scoot over so Peter can lay in the hospital bed with him. It’s probably the only hospital bed in New York with 500 thread count sheets. They have every amenity in the tower at their disposal, even if the Avengers are still guiltily avoiding Peter.  

Peter presses his face into Wade’s neck and mumbles. “I wish we were at home.”

“Home is here baby boy,” says Wade with a kiss to his hair.  “wherever we both are.” 

“That is so corny.”

“You got a high fructose corn syrup allergy I don’t know about Baby Boy? No? Of course you don’t. Because once you gave me permission to stalk you, I went through all your medical records.”

“Is this you trying to get me to move in with you?” 

Wade laughs. 

“Oh my god,” says Peter. “We already live together don’t we?”

Wade laughs again. “May told me not to say anything about it to you, or else you’d overthink it and freak out. But yeah, we live together.”

When Wade is finally healed enough for them to go home, Peter carries him back over the threshold bridal style. 

Chapter Text

Peter has never lived with a significant other. He had basically lived at MJ’s place when she had discovered he was Spider-man. So they could at least spend a little time together. That hadn’t been official, or enough. And had always involved Peter trying to fit himself in the spaces of her chic apartment as unobtrusively as he could. 

It’s different with Wade. There’s not really a drawer of Peter’s clothes, or his shelf in the fridge, or his turn for the bathroom. 

It’s more like Peter steals Wade’s oversized clothes more often than he wears his own. They both have three different body-washes open in the shower. Neither can remember when that leftover takeout in the fridge is from. And if Peter’s web shooters aren’t on the shelf between Wade’s Golden Girls DVDs and signed photo of Hugh Jackman, they are slung on the katana hilts on the back of the bedroom door. 

Right now Peter is pretending that Wade isn’t packing for a job overseas. 

He looks up, from his sprawl on the bed, at a poster of a tall handsome guy named Kevin Day who plays some sport he’s never heard of called ‘exy’. “Are you sure I’m your type?” 

Wade pauses his packing, looks at Peter, then at the poster, then back at Peter. “Yeah, I’m very sure.”

“If I concentrate I can hear your heartbeat. I can tell if you’re lying.” 

“Jesus Christ on a cracker, you go antiquing with a blind lawyer one time and now-” 

“First off,” says Peter, “We go the first Saturday of every month, and you know that. Second of all, that man can flip furniture like you wouldn’t believe.” 

“You two just want an excuse to gossip about your boyfriends.” 

“Matt’s not dating anybody- oh my god is Matt dating Frank ?” 

“Matt’s doing something with, to, or for Frank,” says Wade, picking up a gun and twirling it around his finger. “I haven’t ironed out the logistics yet.” 

Peter narrows his eyes at the gun. “What’s this job again?” 

Wade understands what Peter is actually asking. “I’m using rubber bullets! I-” 

“Like how they go boing , I know.” 

“You know everything,” says Wade, dropping the gun in his duffle and coming over to plant a wet forehead kiss. “Because you’re the smartest and hottest arach-nerd around.” 

Peter closes his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you.” 

“Well I’m gonna spend any free time wanking off to the image of that thing you did last night so-” 

Peter shuts Wade up by pulling him down for another kiss. 

Peter tries to remember what he did before, when Wade would go on jobs. Besides, you know, mope around and pretend he didn’t have a crush on Wade. 

...

His normal hectic schedule does its best to distract him. His class cheers when they ask for an update on his love life and he has to sheepishly admit that he’s already moved in with his partner. “I knew you were a U-Haul lesbian,” says the girl in the back who initiated it all. Hospital rounds are done until next fall, and Peter’s own research will ramp up more in the summer when there is more lab time available. So he’s doing a lot for his own thesis advisor, and spending plenty of time as Spider-man. 

Which of course, is when it happens. 

The number one factor, every time Spider-man has been kidnapped, is that he never notices he’s being kidnapped until it’s too late. 

Fhwhip fhwip! Spider-man watches the thugs from the side of a shipping container.  

Four guys are gathered by a pier, why is it always a pier? Even without his extra spidey senses, Peter could probably just hang out at a pier all night and catch baddies. 

He can’t hear what they are saying, but they appear to be arguing. Then one pulls out a gun. 

That’s enough of that. Peter swings in and webs the gun out of the thugs hands. “Yoink.” He’s got his back to the other three men for two seconds, and his spidey senses go off. He turns, and all three of them have their guns on him. “Yikes.” His spidey senses are beating him with a metaphorical hammer, and he whips around as the original gun holder jabs a syringe of something into his neck. 

“I,” says Peter, as the world goes woozy, “Am really embarrassed that I fell for that.” 

…

This is not the first time Peter has woken strapped to a chair. And not once has it been for the dentist. He’s still got his mask on. Which is probably less about luck and more about someone needing to hate the idea of Spider-man to go through with their plans. 

Or he’s been kidnapped by idiots. There’s always that. 

“Alright,” he slurs, whatever they drugged him with slowly wearing off. “What's the big bad evil plan this time? Haven’t had a super soldier story arc in awhile-” 

“Shut up.” 

The room finally un-fuzzies itself. The metal chair he’s chained to is in a large crate. Someone had the foresight to secure him so his feet aren’t touching the ground. Damn it. One side of the crate is open revealing a parking lot with water behind it. And two heavily armed men. 

“Are we still at the pier?” asks Peter incredulously. “For heaven’s sake-” 

“Shut UP!” One of the goons jabs the butt of his big scary gun into Peter’s diaphragm. It works. 

“People would hate you less if you were quiet and mysterious,” says a different guy, walking into the square view of the world the crate provides. “But that’s your thing, isn’t it? Always running your fucking mouth.” 

“It’s an emotional defense mechanism,” wheezes Peter. “Obviously.” 

The new guy has his own gun, but is less scary looking than the other two. Even his beard is growing in patchy. A couple more random looking thugs have joined too. Peter looks at the five of them and squints. “You all look vaguely familiar. Did we go to high school together?” 

Patchy Beard raises an eyebrow. He reaches forward and pulls off Peter’s mask. Oh, that’s why they hadn’t done it before. They wanted Peter conscious to feel the absolute horror of having his identity revealed against his will. Cool. Cool cool cool cool. 

They all look at him. Clearly unimpressed. Finally one of them says, “he’s just a fucking guy.” 

“Hey now-” 

“A guy who isn’t going to be messing with our work any longer,” says Patchy Beard. 

“Wait a minute,” Peter’s ego is still bruised about the ‘just a guy comment’. “Didn't I bust you for something last year? God I can't even remember what it was... And you," he's looking at one of the women. "I do support both women's rights and wrongs. You should all probably be committing more crime than you do. But I got you for something too-"

“You’re lucky,” interrupts Patchy Beard. There are more people filling in behind him. “We were all gonna squish you like an insect. But some big money reached out, and asked to purchase you and save us the trouble. Enjoy your life as a lab rat.” 

He punches Peter hard. Peter has super strength, spidey senses, accelerated healing, and inhuman flexibility. All that doesn’t mean a fist to the nose doesn’t fucking hurt. Blood starts pouring immediately and Peter coughs around it to say, “Spiders are arachnids, not insects. Duh.” 

That earns him another punch. Then Patch Beard pushes over the chair Peter is sitting in and says, “our buyer wants you in good condition. Or I would have let them,” his head jerks to the people that have gathered, “have at you.” Then he t urns around and walks away. Peter is stuck on his side, chained to the chair, breathing around his throbbing bloody face. 

The final side of the crate shuts and there’s the sound of a helicopter. Then the unmistakable feeling of the crate being lifted into the air (like we said, he’s been kidnapped before). Before Peter can even form a plan, the crate jostles as it’s set back down. They clearly didn’t go very far, maybe didn’t even leave New York. Oh god if he’s gonna have to swing back from Jersey… 

The side of the crate opens again and there’s a familiar metal clang as someone sits the chair back the right way up. “Hey kid,” says Iron Man as he uses the suit to get the chains off of Peter. “Having a rough night?” 

“If you wanted me to come hang out,” Peter’s voice is garbled around his nose, “you could have said something. You didn’t have to buy me.” 

“Sounds boring.” 

The crate hadn’t gone far at all. They are on top of the Avengers tower. Soon they are inside while Tony, Bruce, and Steve are explaining: 

When Peter had first been shot on that rooftop weeks ago, Deadpool had kept his eyes and ears open. Last week there were rumors that someone had big plans for something that rhymed with ‘cider-fan’. When someone has bragged a little too much about having plans for an annoying spider-themed hero, Wade contacted Tony. Tony had made an anonymous cash offer they couldn't refuse.

“Let me get this straight,” says Peter. “Instead of rescuing me, you decided to make a purchase instead!?"

"It's actually very on brand for him," says Bruce.

“I am getting a full return on you,” says Tony. “We left Triple Imposter and Legolas to clean up and get any other information.” He waves a hand at the mess that is Peter. “Can we get something done about this?"

Sooner than later, Natasha and Clint walk in. “You get a motive?” asks Steve, holding a slice of meat to Peter’s nose. It’s unclear if he’s doing it because they don’t actually have any ice packs in the entire Avengers Tower, or if he’s just old fashioned like that. 

Either way the smell of the raw meat is making Peter’s skin crawl. 

“Were they planning on ransoming him to us, before they found a buyer?” asks Tony. “Probably wanted a suit.” 

“Or wanted to keep him for experiments,” pipes in Bruce. 

“Nope,” says Natasha, “they just wanted to get Spider-man out of the way so they could all go back to their bottom of the barrel crimes.” 

Tony and Bruce, with ten doctorate degrees between them, look confused.

“Turns out, Spider-twunk is such a nuisance to crime, that it's hard to get even a small business going when he’s out there patrolling. They wanted him out of the way so that the drug dealing, workplace abuse, theft, and all that can prosper once again.” 

Steve frowns. “This…didn’t have anything to do with the Avengers?"  

“Apparently we’re not on the ground enough to be a problem for them. Spider-man is.” 

Bruce chuckles and Tony looks offended. “But I specifically pride myself on being a problem!” 

“For the people who personally know you,” says Steve. 

“Jarvis,” says Peter from around the meat clogging his nostrils. “Are you tracking Deadpool? Do you know if he’s back in town yet?” 

“Wade Wilson is confirmed back in the vicinity,” says Jarvis. “He is currently climbing the south facing side of the tower.” 

“No he’s not,” says Tony. “The alarms would have gone off.” 

They aren’t. Nor do they start when a south facing window shatters and one Wade Wilson rolls in, getting glass everywhere. He straightens up, brushes himself off, and goes directly to Peter. “Webs! I’m sorry I’m late, you okay? If you’re not, I will be leaving to kill something immediately!” 

“No you won’t be,” says Natasha. Not because she cares about the killing. “We’ve taken care of it.” 

Wade salutes her and Clint, then pushes Steve out of the way. “Ew ew ew, Spidey does not like raw meat at all. Unless of course, it’s mine. But now is no time to be putting that on his face.” 

He examines the recently-set broken nose, then begins to poke and prod Pete’s body until the younger man protests. “I’m fine Wade, I promise. You’re right on time. Thanks for giving Tony a heads up.” 

“Only guy in the room richer than me,” says Wade. “Cap gives away literally everything to charity.” 

“I’ve tried to talk him out of it,” says Tony. “If he invested even little-” 

Peter leans his head against Wade’s shoulder. “I want to go home.” 

“Dopinder is waiting downstairs,” says Wade. “Want me to carry you? You’ll still look very cool and brave.” 

“No need.” Peter gets to his feet. “But can we grab Mexican on the way?"

Chapter Text

“Spider-man, Spider-man, he just opened a Tuna Can,” Peter hums softly, to his own mortification. He’s making him and Wade tuna melts for a stakeout. One of the best part about patrolling with Wade is that his suit actually has pockets. He’s like having a walking talking backpack, that can run off at any second but probably won't, if you keep flirting with it. 

Bread toasted, cheese melted, plastic wrapped, Peter tosses the sandwiches to Wade who catches them and says, “How about we stay home and fu-” 

“Nope,” says Peter, popping the p. 

“Is it because you already made the sandwiches?” 

“No, it’s because we have a solid lead on a new drug enterprise connected with that guy who's running for Mayor. And I’d like to get to the bottom of things before too many people give him campaign money.” 

“I’ll give you something to get to the bottom of,” says Wade. But he straps on his katanas, pulls on his mask, and an hour later they are settled on a roof with binoculars, eating their tuna melts. 

“These are actually really fucking good.” 

“Don’t say actually like you didn’t believe I could handle a tuna melt!” 

“In my defense, I’ve never seen you make anything more complicated than a bowl of cereal.” 

“You’re the one who complimented my milk to cereal ratio the other day. Wait,” the eyes of Peter’s mask narrows. “Are you trying to use positive reinforcement to get me to cook more?”

“First off,” says Deadpool, “Cereal isn’t ‘cooking’, and secondly, I’m not ‘trying’.” He lifts his sandwich. “It’s working.” 

“Oh my god-” Peter’s spidey senses interrupt his protest, and he brings the binoculars back to his face. 

Below them, a van drives into view. Armed thugs are coming out of the building they are watching. Spidey would bet his tuna melt that those are not registered guns, but he’d love to see what else is going on before they jump in there- 

The thugs open the back of the van doors, and everyone’s favorite ass covered in red white and blue spandex rolls out, throws his shield, incapacitates the armed men, and then bars the door to the building so whoever is in there can’t get out. 

Peter reaches across and shuts Deadpool’s drooling jaw for him, then grabs him by the scruff of his suit and swings them down there. 

“Spider-man, Deadpool,” Steve nods to them, tapping away at his communicator. 

“What’s going on?” says Spider-man, trying not to fanboy as much as Wade is. Steve is 100 percent cooler when not around the other Avengers. 

“I took Tuesday and Thursday nights,” he says, looking a little embarrassed. “We um, after you pointed out the flaws in our, um, system. We made a schedule. A patrol schedule. You know, so we’d all be spending more time on the ground. Actually helping New Yorkers. Tony is Wednesdays, Clint does Mondays, Nat does Fridays. Thor jumps in whenever he’s around, and we rotate weekends.” 

Peter is almost speechless. Almost. “Tonight is Wednesday?” 

Steve looks more embarrassed, but gestures to the sky and an approaching Iron Man. “Here he comes now.” 

Peter turns to Wade, “Wanna go home so we can fu-” 

But Wade is already squealing excitedly and talking into his cellphone. “May! I think I’ll be able to make it to book club!”