Chapter Text
It'd been a year today since Spider-Man and Deadpool had first met under... questionable circumstances.
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Wade had been wrapping up a job, shooting some filthy sex traffickers in the dicks and other non-vital places to make them bleed out and be in pain as long as possible before he picked them off one by one, the boxes shrieking in delight (and him, too, just a little), when he’d suddenly been launched toward a wall before he could finish putting a well-deserved bullet through the first guy's cranium. He squirmed, completely pinned, and looked down, realising he’d been webbed.
[Oh, you’re kidding.]
{We’ve fantasised about this. Didn't think it'd come true, though. Is this a hallucination?}
[Fair question. I'll get back to you.]
Wade just smiled, the eyes of his mask conveying it perfectly. Sure enough, when he looked up, he was met with the hot, spandex-clad figure (that left nothing to the imagination, which he certainly wasn't complaining about) of Spider-Man himself.
{Insert wolf whistle here.}
[Maybe leave the audio to the podfic creators.]
“Well, fuck me sideways! Have I just been stopped by the one and only Spider-Man? I’m flattered! Say, what are these webs made of? I can hardly move. I mean, I don't exactly have super strength, but I've got guns other than the ones in my holsters, if you catch my drift. I’m not exactly easy to tie down, so those webs must be crazy strong. You got little things that shoot ‘em, or do they come outta your wrists? If it's the latter, I gotta ask, how do you trigger it? Is it like a certain bodily function that I'm thinking of and gonna leave up to interpretation, but outta the wrists? ‘Cause that'd be hilarious, especially since you're so PG thirteen. I mean, can you imagine little Jimmy's face after leaving the theatre and finding out that his favourite hero has to get off to shoot his-”
“Deadpool,” Spider-Man said, cutting off his rambling, pronouncing the name with thoughtfulness. “I've heard of you. Merc with the Mouth, right? You murder people for money.”
“Yep, that's me,” Wade replied, popping the ‘p’. “Wanna know how I got that name, Webs? Let me tell ya, it ain't just because I talk a lot. I've got a mouth that can do way more than just talk.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Also, murder is a bit extreme, eh, Spidey? I prefer to call it taking out the trash, ‘cause these motherFUCKERS,” he snarled, shooting them a quick venomous glance, “don't deserve the air they breathe.”
A pause, for dramatic effect, of course, because he loves to be a dramatic bitch.
“Sex traffickers, amirite?”
He watched with satisfaction as Spider-Man's eyes widened comically, head snapping to the sex-trafficking pieces of shit on the floor, looking in pain but, unfortunately, still alive. Spider-Man let out a sigh, his eyes relaxing to careful neutrality as he turned to face Wade.
“They'll see justice,” Spider-Man promised, “but not in the form of murder. Karen!”
Wade blinked. Was he being called a Karen?
{Wait, is this a game? Martha! Emily! Chloe!}
[God, you're an idiot…]
“Call the police and let them know where to find these guys. Let them know they need medical attention as well. Actually, can you give ‘em a scan, make sure they won't bleed out?”
“Who ya talking to, Spidey?” Wade chimed, mildly confused. “I didn't realise I wasn't the only red super with white eyes, a great sense of humour, and a killer bod that hears voices.”
{Spidey's bod is way more than killer, it's homicidal.}
[I'd rather die than agree with you, but I have to agree — his ass in that spandex alone is an Avengers-level threat.]
What is with you guys and his ass? Wade thought. It isn’t that hot. You’re being perverted — more so than usual. And that’s saying something.
{We feel that semi, you hypocrite. We share a body.}
[You’re throwing stones from a glass house.]
Spidey just looked at him funny, the eye lenses of his mask narrowing a tad. “What? I was talking to the AI in my suit. You hear voices?”
“Surprised you didn't know,” Wade replied, as if talking about the weather. “I've got a rep for being insane. Loco. Fou. Verrückt. All that good stuff.”
Spidey just tilted his head. “Not sure if this is offensive, but you don't seem insane,” he pointed out. “Last I remember, insanity is defined as the inability to think and behave in ways considered to be normal and rational, especially on account of serious mental illness. You seem rational; your motives make sense. Nothing about your behaviour screams spontaneity or a lack of rational thought.”
{Zzz…}
[What a nerd.]
{Zzzzzzzzzzzzz…}
[Could you stop? You're taking up too much of the screen.]
{Oh, you're one to talk, you fatass. Your stupid font spacing makes you huge!}
[That's it. I'm rebooting you, box. Maybe by the time you're back, you will have learned manners.]
{Wait, what? Since when are you able to— BZZT}
Wade blinked, trying to drown out the boxes with every remaining shred of sanity he could grasp. “You got that all memorised, eh? That's awfully specific, there, Spidey.”
“I have a photographic memory, but that's not the point. I just don't see how you're considered insane. Impulsive, for sure, but insane?”
“Webs, did you miss the whole ‘voices’ thing? I feel like that makes it pretty easy to understand.”
Spider-Man just shrugged, then tilted his head, as if listening to something. A few moments later, Wade could hear police sirens in the distance.
[Spidey's got super-hearing. We need to be aware of that in future.]
{REBOOT COMPLETE}
{What'd I miss?}
“Well, that's my cue to leave. Have fun in prison, I suppose.”
Wade just burst out laughing, halting Spider-Man in his tracks as he turned around to web off.
“You really — Hah! — Think that a few cops can take me to prison? Webs, I will sauté them like potatoes before you can even say ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’.”
Spider-Man hummed in acknowledgement. “You're right,” he muttered. “It'd be my fault for entrusting a mutate mercenary to the police. I should probably take you to S.H.I.E.L.D instead.”
“Still nope, Sweetums. They tried to recruit me a while ago, but that didn't go well. For them, at least. Went great for me! Besides, nobody wants me. Not even the X-Men, and they take, like, everyone. I'm seen as more of an annoyance or wild card, not a wanted fugitive. I doubt anyone would take me willingly; I'm too destructive. Guess you're stuck with me, then, eh?”
Spidey cocked his head. “Well, what do you suppose I do, Deadpool? I don't know any merc babysitters, and I'd rather not need to stop you from killing people every time I'm nearby.” He gave the sex-traffickers a sideways glance. “Even if those people may deserve it.”
Wade choked on his own spit. “What?”
“You heard me. I don't have it in me to kill, but sometimes people are beyond redemption and will only cause harm. Rapists, paedophiles, and sex-traffickers, especially. Sometimes the law system isn’t enough to convict them, especially if they’re rich. You have the strength to do what I can't. Still, I can't just sit idly and twiddle my thumbs if I have the power to save someone’s life, no matter who they are. It's my responsibility to act, y'know?”
Before Wade could say, ‘Um, no, I don't know; those fuckers deserve to die, you legit just said it yourself,’ Spidey beat him to it.
“Actually, scratch that. You definitely don't.”
After a beat, the sirens grew noticeably louder. Spidey let out a noise between a sigh and a growl. “Alright, you've left me no choice.”
Before Wade could react, Spider-Man grabbed him by the katana straps and ripped him off the wall, sending Wade staggering. Webs were still stuck to half of the front of his body, but his back was uncovered. Spidey quickly corrected that, and, still holding onto his katana straps, yanked him sideways to force him to do a twirl. Spidey webbed his entire body, forcing him into a little cocoon with only his head peaking out. Wade lost balance and unceremoniously flopped to the floor, looking like he'd been forced into a sleeping bag.
Spidey dusted off his hands, giving his handiwork an appraising look.
“Yeah, um, Spidey? Buddy? Pal? As hot as you tying me up is, and as much as this is ticking all my boxes in like every way possible — why? You do realise I'm still gonna escape the po-po, no matter how much you wrap me into a chimichanga? This ain't helping them.”
“This isn't to help the police, this is so I can carry you easier.”
[Excuse me?]
{WHAT?!}
“Um,” Wade fumbled, intelligently. It was very seldom that he didn’t have something to say. Even the boxes were surprised.
And then Spidey picked him up, like a sack of potatoes, and slung him over his left side with Wade’s stomach pressed against his slightly bony shoulder and his head facing forward, giving him a view of Spidey’s smug little face. 6’2 and 210lbs, and picked up like a sack of potatoes. He shouldn’t have been surprised, and that surprise definitely shouldn’t have shot straight to his dick, but he was, and it did. Gods, it did. It really didn’t help that he was tied up so tightly, fucking shitbiscuits…
{…whoa.}
[Seconded.]
Thirded, Wade thought.
“Jeez, Spidey, how much can you bench? You’re way too small to be able to lift me! What the fuck? I’m, like, double your size. Does everyone in this godsforsaken universe have super-strength except me?”
“Seems like it,” Spider-Man replied, sounding smug. “I can lift ‘bout 15 tons without strain. You’re like a paper weight to me.” He feigned a yawn.
“Cocky little shit, aren’tcha? Daddy likey.”
“Ohh-kay, nipping that one right in the bud.” And Spidey webbed his mouth shut with a quick flick of his right wrist. Or, well, he tried, bless his soul.
“You are aware my mouth is under my mask, right?” Wade asked, voice only a little bit more muffled than usual, what with his mask and all, but still completely intelligible. “You can’t exactly seal my lips shut if you don’t hit my lips. And I, personally, would love for you to hit my lips.”
“It’s about the principle,” was all he got in response, but Wade could swear he heard embarrassment. Spidey flicked his right wrist toward a nearby building.
“Principle my a—AAAGGH!” Before he could get the word out, the two were launching at who-the-fuck-knows-how-many miles per hour toward the sky, Spidey's left arm wrapped around his waist to prevent him from falling and braining himself on the pavement. Which, if that did end up happening, would be more of a mild inconvenience for Wade than anything else, yet it was the thought that counted.
Spider-Man let out a whoop, doing a flip in midair, bringing Wade's screaming to a crescendo.
“YOU LITTLE SHIT!” He screeched in a very manly manner, launching into a string of curses, as most people hurtling across the sky with no warning would do.
[At the pitch of a six-year-old girl, no less.]
Eh, details.
“Shh, would you quit screaming? My poor ears. And quit the cursing while you’re at it; there are kids in the street. Keep it, uh, what'd you say? PG thirteen. Think of poor little Jimmy.”
“Oh, using my own joke against me, eh? Real original, Webs,” Wade quipped, but complied anyway. How could he say no to Spider-Man?
“Well, I thought it was pretty clever.”
“Not hating, Sweetums, just an observation. It was super clever. Genius, actually. Albert Einstein is rolling in his grave right now because of y—”
“Shut up, ‘Pool.”
Wade shut up.
It only took a couple of minutes for Spidey to land on a high rooftop, unceremoniously dumping Wade on the roof like a heavy duffel bag. Wade grunted, landing face down.
{Tails!}
“Whoops,” Spidey said, wedging his foot under Wade’s chest and lightly nudging him over so that he was lying on his back.
“So, why’d you carry me across the city like a damsel in distress, Webs? Was I just so irresistible that you had to take me with you? ‘Cause if that’s the case, you may wanna get in line.”
“No, I just needed some more time to figure out what to do with you that didn’t involve the police,” Spider-Man clarified. “I know you say that nobody wants you, but I call bull. You’re a mass murderer. I’m sure you’re wanted somewhere. And as much as I don’t feel like doing this, I can’t just let you go. You’ll keep killing. I can’t let a murderer loose with a good conscience.”
“Look, Spidey, if I were some kinda villain, I would’ve tried to kill you by now. I can easily get outta here. But I didn’t, and I haven’t. Doesn't that count for something?”
“I never said you were a villain; I just said you were a murderer.”
“Oh, please,” Wade drawled. “Get off your fucking high horse, Spider-Man. You’re affiliated with the Avengers, aren’t you?”
Spidey nodded, waiting patiently for Wade to make his point.
“Well, they’re not exactly innocent, are they? All of them have killed people, but you don’t consider them murderers, because the people they killed were bad. Guess what? The people I killed were also bad. Murderers, rapists, sex-traffickers, gang leaders, the list goes on. But, according to you, because I make a bit of money while doing it, I’m a murderer, but they aren’t? I’m a menace to the general public, but they aren’t?”
Wade scoffed. “Gods, Spidey, I thought you were different from those hypocritical pricks, but I guess I was wrong. You all have the worst superiority complexes and god complexes, one of you being a literal god.”
Silence fell for a while after that last word, the only noises between them the quiet whistling of the wind and car engines humming and growling below them. It may have been midnight, but New York City was still alive.
Spider-Man reached for Wade, who immediately braced for a sucker punch. Instead, Spidey started ripping off the webbing until Wade could start ripping it off himself, backing off onto his haunches and watching as Wade did the rest. Wade stood, and Spidey did the same, his arms crossed.
Now that they were standing so close together, their height difference was painfully obvious. Wade had to turn his head down a little to make eye contact.
All Wade could do was stare in bewilderment for a few moments.
“Why?” He eventually asked.
“You’re right,” Spidey said, admitting that he was wrong as easily as saying ‘thank you’ or ‘please’. Maybe he really wasn’t like the rest of the Aveng- “I’m sorry.”
[{WHAT?!}]
[{WHAT?!}]
“Did you just apologise to me, or am I crazier than I thought?” Wade asked, expecting the latter. Nobody ever apologised to Wade. Like, ever.
“No, I did. I’m sorry, Deadpool. I personally don’t agree with killing, no matter who it is, but you’re right. I have no right to condemn you, and only you, for actions that those I’m affiliated with are also guilty of. It’s hypocritical, and I’m sorry.”
When Wade didn’t respond, dumbstruck, Spidey continued.
“Can I make it up to you? Maybe with a bite to eat, or something? I did, like, tie you up and mess around with you in midair for kicks before bringing you here. I’m sorry about that, too, by the way. It was immature.”
“Wow,” Wade managed, a little breathless. “I was way wrong about you. I think I’ve got a boner right now.”
Spider-Man rolled his eyes, the whites of his mask just kinda narrowing and opening a little, but the intent was still clear. “On second thought—”
“JOKE!” Wade yelped frantically, not about to lose out on a dinner date with fucking Spider-Man because his dumbass can’t fucking shut up. “It was a joke! I want that bite to eat, definitely, Spidey, feel free to punch me if you want for me being dumb, but please do not web off, this is like a dream come tr—”
“Okay, okay! Gosh, Deadpool, breathe. You’re worse than my fangirls, and it’s really hard to be worse than them. I swear, they've never heard of breathing between sentences. They faint, for crying out loud.”
“Call me Wade, Spidey, it’s way hotter if you use my real name,” Wade blurted, then realised his mistake. His eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, wait, shit, that was a joke, too, FUCK, why can’t I ever just— shut… up…?”
His word-vomit slowed to a halt. Spidey was laughing. Full-on laughing. At Wade’s stupidity, sure, but the sound made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside despite it all.
{He has such a cute laugh, ohmygodsohmygods!}
“Wade, relax,” Spidey managed, a lingering smile in his voice. “I was just teasing, you’re allowed to joke. I’m the last person who you should feel uncomfortable joking around.”
“Thank the gods, Spidey, because I don’t think I’m physically capable of shutting up, like, ever,” Wade blurted.
Spidey hummed. “I can tell. So, about that food, what do you feel like? This is your ‘I’m sorry meal’, after all. Preferably somewhere to-go, obviously — I don’t think sitting down to eat in a crowded restaurant with our getup would be a good idea. Like, at all.”
Wade looked around, trying to gauge where in the city they were. He hadn’t been paying much attention while swinging around with Spidey, mainly staring at just how good those lean muscles looked when yanking on those webs…
{Imagine how he’d look yanking on our—}
[Focus, Pinky.]
Wade shook his head cartoonishly, refocusing on Spidey’s expectant gaze. “I know this great Mexican place nearby. You good with spice, Webs, or are you a more mild type of guy? Actually, I’ll just get one of everything.”
Wade turned around, heading for the fire escape, before being yanked to a stop by something stuck to his shoulder. He turned around, seeing Spidey with his wrist extended and a thin string of webbing between them, just enough to halt Wade without snapping.
“Not so fast, Wade, this is supposed to be an ‘I’m sorry’. It doesn’t count if you go pay for it.”
Wade laughed, grabbing a baby knife from a strap on his thigh and slicing the thin strand of web with ease.
“You can say sorry by eating what I get. I’m stacked with cash, Webs. I’d feel too bad taking money out of Spider-Man’s wallet. Now, don’t go webbing off anywhere. Be back in a jiffy!” He sprinted down the fire escape, calling out one last, “Toodles, Sweetums!”
Wade didn’t think he'd ever run so fast in his entire life.
By the time he made it back to the rooftop, panting and precariously balancing an entire restaurant's worth of Mexican food in his grasp, he'd half-expected Spider-Man to have swung off.
Instead, Spidey sat at the edge of the rooftop, leaning back on his hands, legs dangling carelessly over the edge.
Spider-Man didn't seem at all surprised when Wade sat down next to him, dumping the food somewhat carelessly between them on the roof, glancing over curiously.
“I got two of everything, just in case,” Wade said, and he had. It'd taken fucking ages, but it was worth it. “Take what you want.”
“Nice. I'm not picky. What's your favourite, so I can leave it for you? Wait, no, let me guess — is it chimichangas?”
Wade's eyes widened a little. “How'd ya know, Sweetums? You been stalking me? Not that I'd mind…”
Spidey laughed. “No, you just said something about being wrapped up like a chimichanga earlier. It was oddly specific of you to say, so I just assumed you like them.”
“Oh.”
{He actually listens to what you say, even though most of it is literal nonsense? Oh, I'm in love.}
[Your standards are incredibly low.]
{Nuh-uh, everyone else's are just really high.}
Wade had long ago zoned out on the boxes and their yammering, staring at Spidey as he rolled up his mask up to his nose and took a bite out of a burrito he'd grabbed.
{Those lips are so kissable.}
[Your face is so smackable.]
{I don't even have a face!}
“Why aren't you eating?” Spidey asked, wiping a little bit of sauce dribbling down his chin with his thumb and licking it off.
Wade tensed.
“Yeah, um, about that? I don't think I wanna subject those beautiful eyes to this ugly mug. I'm like if Freddy Krueger face-fucked a topographical map of Utah. Not even my own words, I've been told that.”
Spidey frowned, swallowing a bite of burrito. “Who the heck told you that? That's awful. A little funny, but an awful thing to say to someone. Anyway, I'm not gonna judge you, Wade. I'm way above something as juvenile as that.”
“You say that, but you haven't seen my face. I'm like a testicle with teeth.”
“Where are you getting these descriptions, dude?”
[Us.]
{And Weasel.}
[But mostly us.]
“Myself. And close friends of mine. Well, friend-adjacent. Close enough.”
“No friend should describe you that way, let alone your close ones.”
“Hence why I said friend-adjacent, Sweetums.”
“Why are you so insistent on pet names? I mean, I really don't care, but, like, why?”
“It's just part of my sparkle.” Wade wiggled his fingers with his hands spread dramatically around his face, making jazz hands.
“You're so unbelievable,” Spidey grumbled, but smiled despite himself. “Look, if you're uncomfortable with showing me your face, that's completely fine, and I have no issue with that whatsoever. I do have a problem with it if it's because you think I'll judge you or be disgusted by you, though. I'm really not that kinda guy. Please don't assume that I am.”
“It's not that — it's just, like… real bad. Seriously, Spidey, you really don't wanna see it.”
Spider-Man sighed. “Okay. If you're really that uncomfortable with me seeing your face, I can, like, turn around or something? I won't look, scout's honour. I just feel bad if you don’t even eat the ‘I'm sorry’ meal that I was supposed to buy for you, y'know?”
[Just show him. It'll probably scare him away, save us from future pain.]
{No! We don't want him to leave.}
[See, that's the problem. It's for the best if we rip off the band-aid as soon as possible, wouldn't you say?]
{You don't know that! He's so perfect, he probably won’t even throw up when he sees us.}
[Again, your standards are incredibly low.]
{You wanna know what isn't low? Our di—}
“Please, shut up!” Wade blurted desperately, before realising that he'd said it out loud.
Spidey looked taken aback, his mask's eyes widened a fraction. “Okay, okay, jeez, I'm sorry. I'll drop it. I didn't realise it was such a touchy subject.”
“Huh? Oh, nah, Spidey, I wasn't talking to you. Voices, remember?”
Spider-Man blinked a few times. “Oh. Um. Okay. So, is that a yes? To me, turning around?”
Wade hummed noncommittally. “If you want to, but it's up to you, Sweetums. If you wanna see my face, I won't stop you from taking my mask off; I just won't take it off myself. I… don't think I can.”
“Alright. I'll turn around then. If you don’t wanna show me, that's fine. I know better than anyone the importance of hiding your face. Besides, we practically just met. I'm not gonna force you.”
And Spidey turned around, facing away from Wade. Just like that. No nagging, nothing.
“I… thanks,” Wade managed, pulling his mask up over his nose as well. What is with Spidey effortlessly stealing the words and breath out of my lungs with the smallest gestures of kindness? What the fuck?
{He's so perfect...}
[This is going to get us hurt. I don't want to spend weeks in bed eating tubs upon tubs of Neapolitan ice cream while watching Golden Girls just because you two can't keep it in your pants.]
{I distinctly recall you complimenting his ass earlier, so don't act like you aren't just as affected by him as we are. Besides, I'm okay with being hurt if it means getting to milk this as dry as possible. And ourselves, later, if I have any say in the matter. Which I do. Right, big guy?}
Fuck yes, Wade thought. He reached for one of the boxes of chimichangas, which Spidey had left untouched for him specifically because he knew it was his favourite and Wade couldn't get over how that small, oddly touching gesture made him want to smile and ugly cry at the same time, unwrapping it and chomping half of one in one bite.
“You wanna head over to my place and play video games?” Wade blurted after an extended silence — not uncomfortable, somehow — the only sound between them the chomping of Mexican food.
[Wow. You've got game.]
{That was so lame, even for you.}
[‘Even for you?’ What's that supposed to mean?}
{You heard me. Wait, no, read me? I have no idea what the text equivalent is. I literally have no brain.}
[You could say that again.]
“Sure, man,” Spidey agreed, a little too easily. Wade narrowed his eyes, despite Spidey not being able to see it.
“You do remember that I'm a mercenary, right? With a super high kill count? Who's inviting you to his house? I mean, don't get me wrong, Sweetums, I'm totes flattered, I'm just wondering why you aren't at least a little suspicious.”
“You haven't tried to kill slash drug me yet, even though you totally could've, so… I doubt you'd try anything. ‘Sides, my spidey-sense is super dormant around you. It usually hums like an idle engine if someone wishes me harm and then flares up if something dangerous is about to happen. You've triggered none of the above, which means you don't intend any harm toward me. That counts for something, right?”
“Oh. Good. I'd never harm an inch of that perfect spandex-clad figure, bee tee dubs, but I'm surprised your spidey-sense has seemingly forgotten the fact that I kill people for a living.”
“Bad people,” Spidey countered. “You only kill bad people. You said it yourself.”
Wade hummed in acknowledgement, pulling his mask back down over his face. “You can turn around now.”
And Spidey did, his own mask also pulled down to hide those beautiful lips. Wade glanced over to the Mexican food takeaway boxes, eyes widening when he realised that they were all empty except for the one box filled with chimichangas that Wade hadn't eaten yet.
“What the fuck?” He squeaked. “I ordered two of everything. There's, like, thirty things on the menu! How did you eat all of it?!”
“I saved you your favourite one,” Spidey protested weakly.
“Yeah, and you sent the rest to hell! Seriously, where the fuck did you fit all that food? You're, like, 5’6!”
“5'10, actually, and I'm a mutate. We eat a lot.”
“So am I, but I don't eat a small country's worth of food every time I'm hungry! I mean, I've tried, but that just got messy. My healing factor doesn't stop me from bursting like a balloon.”
“Okay, I don't ever want to picture that again. Ever. Especially not after eating. Also, you should've been faster if you wanted more, man. Ya snooze, ya lose.”
Wade crossed his arms and pouted petulantly. “And after I so graciously bought everything for you, even though this is my ‘I'm sorry’ meal, you went ahead and inhaled it all.”
Spidey just laughed, grabbing a bit of tinfoil from one of the empty boxes, compressing it into a ball, and tossing it at Wade's head, where it bounced off harmlessly.
“You said that you're stacked with cash, and that I could take what I wanted. Verbal contracts still apply, and as far as yours goes, you fully consented to this.”
“Gods, you're such a nerd, with, like, logic and stuff,” Wade complained. “Ew. Gross. I don't wanna play video games with you anymore.”
Spidey faux gasped. “Well, fine. Be that way. I have patrol to do.”
He hopped to his feet elegantly, extending one of his wrists and preparing to swing away. Wade knew that he was bluffing, but still couldn't risk missing out on Spider-Man coming to his house.
“I take it back, you can play video games with me,” Wade began, “but only if you're player two and I get to pick the game.”
Spidey crossed his arms. “You can have one of those things, but not both. Either I'm player one and you pick, or you're player one and I pick.”
“Ugh, fine, you're really busting my balls here.”
“I don't think I've ever heard anyone say that unironically before.”
“There's a lot of shit I say that probably should be ironic. Anyway, let's go over to my place, Sweetums. We'll be all alone.” Wade winked.
Spidey raised an eyebrow. Or, at least, Wade assumed he did. His mask just made it look like he was widening the one eye a little. “I can't tell if that’s flirting or a genuine threat. With you, though, those two things are probably one in the same.”
Wade scoffed. “Hurtful! I can be romantic.”
“Uh-huh. And I'm the queen of England using a voice changer under here.”
“Gods, you're so snarky. What happened to the Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man?”
“I'm on break.”
“Perfect! Then that confirms you're free for video games at my place.” Wade pressed the back of his wrist to his forehead, feigning a swoon. “Carry me there, my spandex-clad prince.”
“I have no idea where you live. Even if I did, no. I'm not an Uber.”
Wade sighed, visibly deflating. “Worth a shot. Follow me, then. You just had to ruin my fun, you boring nerd…” He grumbled that last part as he turned around to head to the fire exit, another ball of tinfoil getting chucked at him and harmlessly bouncing off, hitting the back of his head that time.
Wade whirled around, hands on his hips, shooting Spidey a disapproving glare. Spidey put his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels and whistling innocently. Wade couldn't help laughing.
It didn't take them long to walk to his safe house, though Wade could tell that Spidey wasn't too into the walking. He constantly fidgeted with his wrists, looking like he'd snorted a bag of cocaine and couldn't stop twitching. He didn't look nervous at all, just restless.
Wade silently wondered if Spidey had some form of ADHD, because even when they were sitting at the edge of the roof, if Spidey didn't have food in his hands, he was picking at the tinfoil or fidgeting with those wrists. Not to mention, he'd been constantly kicking his dangling legs.
{Nah, it's just crime-fighting reflexes.}
[Or he's nervous around you despite what he said earlier. He's probably lying so that you don't shoot him. You are a little trigger-happy.]
You love shooting things as much as I do, Wade thought. Besides, he's got those spidey reflexes. He'd see it coming a mile away, even if I did want to. Which I don't. I'd rather stab myself in the dick sixty times than give him so much as a papercut.
[Maybe you don't want to hurt him, but you will. It's all you do. You'll hurt him, he'll leave, he'll hurt us. It's how it always goes. You never wanted to hurt Vane—]
“SHUT UP! Don't you dare say her name,” Wade practically growled, shoulders tensed and hand resting on one of his gun holsters automatically.
“Uh, ‘Pool? You okay?” Spidey asked from behind him, Wade's shoulders relaxing a fraction. He turned around to face Spidey, his back to his safe house door.
“Yep. Totally fine. Awesome, actually.” He leaned against the door nonchalantly, crossing his arms.
“Okay, well, are you gonna open the door, or…?”
“Oh,” Wade replied stupidly. “Um, yeah, sure, lemme just…” He brought his knee forward, then kicked behind him with full force. The door splintered from its hinges and fell to the floor. Wade gestured inside. “Ladies first.”
Spidey blinked at him a few times in disbelief, but acquiesced and walked inside, stepping over Wade's splintered door awkwardly.
As soon as Spidey turned away from him, Wade balled up a fist and prepared to punch himself, before realising that Spidey would hear him. Instead, he poked himself in the eyes. Hard.
Stupid idiot! Why the fuck did you do that? Wade angrily thought to himself. Yelling at the voices in your head like a crazy person and then kicking down the fucking door?! Shitfuck!
[Way to seem insane.]
{He is insane. I mean, we exist, don't we?}
“Dude, this place is a mess. I mean, so’s mine, but this is like… next level. Are those bloodstains? I can get you in contact with a cleaner… or a biometrics team. The latter would probably be more effective.”
Wade blinked a few times, attempting to restore his vision. He looked around his place, trying to see it from an outsider’s point of view. Takeout containers covered pretty much every inch of his kitchen counter, ranging from days to a month old. A few bloodstains — okay, way more than a few — littered his floors and occasionally the ceiling despite him having no idea when or how the fuck that happened. His floors were crusty and gravelly from lack of vacuuming, sweeping, and mopping, because who the fuck has the time? Needless to say, his place looked like shit.
In terms of furniture, his place was equally terrible. He had the bare necessities plus a TV and a video game console, and that was it, despite his bank account being well into the millions.
{Pipe down, ladies, he’s not looking for a sugarbaby right now.}
[Who would want to be his sugarbaby?]
A leather couch here, a table and two chairs there, a bed somewhere in another room, a gun rack on the wall in front of said bed because nothing’s hotter than jacking off to firearms, and other crap like a stove, oven, fridge, shower, toilet, sinks, blahblahblah who the fuck cares.
“What? Oh, yeah, this place is a bit of a shithole. I don’t ever bother to clean. I hardly ever get visitors unless they have a death wish. Except for you, obvee. The couch is clean, though. I wipe it down semi-regularly.”
“I’ve never been more glad that my mask filters out toxic air,” Spidey mumbled, audible enough for Wade to hear.
“Your mask does what? That’s cool as shit! Gods, I’m so jelly. Plus, you have that AI with the basic white lady name. So unfair.”
“Hey, not cool. I couldn’t come up with anything else other than Karen on the spot, alright?”
“Webhead, seriously? You couldn’t possibly have done better than Karen?”
“Shut up. I’ve known you for only a few hours, but I’m still positive that you can’t do better. You’ve probably named each weapon on your person, and I bet that all of them suck.”
“You shut your dirty mouth! I will not tolerate ‘Bea’ and ‘Arthur’ slander in this house, young man. My katanas have great names.”
“Bea Arthur? The actress? The one who plays Dorothy from Golden Girls? Are you serious?”
“Oh, thank the gods, the younger generation knows about Golden Girls. All is right in the world.”
Spidey sighed heavily, heading over to the TV and turning it on. He turned on Wade’s console as well, quickly connecting the two and tossing Wade one of his own controllers.
“So, what’s it gonna be? Who’s player one and who’s picking?” Spidey asked, sitting down on the couch and looking at Wade expectantly. Wade sat down next to him.
“Rock, paper, scissors? Winner gets player one and loser gets to choose the game?”
“That’s stupid.”
The two played rock, paper, scissors. Spidey won. Twenty-seven times in a row, due to Wade’s constant increase in best out of __ until even he couldn’t take it anymore.
“You’re cheating!” Wade exclaimed in disbelief after losing for the twenty-eighth time. “Do you have luck powers? The only other person I know who can do this shit with luck-based games is Domino, and she’s got a luck power.”
“Spidey-sense lets me know if I’m about to lose. So, if it spikes, I change my move at the last second. I’m also a beast at poker,” Spidey informed, sounding smug.
“You’re not a ‘beast at poker’, you’re a dirty cheater!”
“Technicalities. You jealous, ‘Pool? Green really isn’t your colour.”
“Suck a dick, Sweetums.”
“That kind of activity is more your style.”
Wade laughed. “You not woke enough, Webs?”
“Just pick a damn game, Wade.”
And he did. The two ended up playing Super Mario Odyssey, despite player two fucking sucking. Cappy? Seriously? Not even Luigi? Wade had sworn that two-player mode would be Mario and Luigi, but he’d never tried before, only ever playing the regular single-player mode, so he ended up being freakin’ Cappy while Spidey flexed his godly parkour skills and left Wade acting as the stepping stool.
The two played for hours, speedrunning bosses by using paintings and making fun of them for being easy as shit afterwards. The conversation flowed like honey. Wade taught Spidey a few speedrunning skips, which took Spidey like two tries to learn despite taking Wade hours. Damn his stupid spider reflexes, and how it somehow extends to his gaming skills.
After a long while, Spidey yawned and covered his mouth despite wearing a mask. He paused the game. “I’m super tired, Wade. I have work tomorrow. I think I’m gonna bounce.”
“Oh.” Disappointment clawed at his chest. He can’t stay forever. Don’t be a child. Bad Deadpool. “Um, alright. Cya, Spidey. Door’s wide open.”
“Door’s smashed to splinters, but okay.” Spidey set the controller down, getting up from the couch and stretching. Gods, he looks so good. That fucking spandex is going to kill me. “Can I borrow your phone?”
Wade blinked, confused, but produced his burner from one of his suit pockets and handed it to Spidey without question. Spidey typed something into it, then handed it back.
“My number. It’s professional and untraceable, protected by Mr Stark’s servers, so don’t even try. You won’t get far.”
Wade stared down at the new contact, completely speechless. It read “Spidey”, accompanied by a spider emoji and a spiderweb emoji.
“Webs,” was all Wade managed. “You can’t be serious.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Giving my professional phone number to a mercenary is probably a terrible idea, but hey, you bought me food even though it should’ve been the other way around, and food is the way to my heart. Toss me a text if you wanna do that again, will ya?”
“Um, yeah, of course. How often are you free, with the whole crime-fighting gig?”
“I’m usually not, gonna be honest, but occasionally there are slow nights. Like tonight. We’ll see. Cya, ‘Pool.”
Spidey walked out, disappearing with the flick of his wrist and a thwip, leaving Wade dumbly waving with his free hand while still sitting on the couch, the other holding the now priceless phone with Spider-Man’s number on it.
“No fucking way,” Wade breathed, letting his hand flop into his lap, staring down at the phone.
[I second that. What just happened?
{I think I’m gonna pass out, I’m SO HAPPY and there’s no way we have his actual number OHMYGODSOHMYGODS! And we didn't even have to beg for it! Or dial every number ever until we found his!}
[I suppose I can finally confirm that this isn't a hallucination. We have something tangible. Which I'm not sure is a good or bad thing yet.]
“Welcome back,” Wade replied absently, only now realising that the boxes had been completely silent for hours. HOURS. He was lucky if he managed to get a few minutes of silence. He’d been so caught up playing with Spidey that he hadn’t even noticed.
Wade sent a message instantly.
Ever since that night, Tuesdays became Spidey Taco nights. They’d meet up, trade banter, talk, eat, and sometimes head back to Wade’s place for video games. Occasionally, Spidey had to leave because of a crime, but that was fine, because Wade would follow him and sometimes help out. It was fine. More than fine, it was great.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
And today is their one-year anniversary.