OnlyFins - thistleraven - Spider-Man (2024)

Chapter 1 Chapter Text

It’s an accident.

Okay—that’s a lie. One doesn’t go about selling pictures of their junk on the internet accidentally. But it wasn’t supposed to be real. It was a stupid little bet, and actually, it’s all Mary Jane’s fault.

The thing is, Peter’s busy. He’s in graduate school, which means besides classes he’s got a butt-ton of independent research, lab work, and reports to write. He’s also got an internship, which is awesome for his resume and future gainful employment but it pays absolute bupkis. And, oh yeah, on top of all of that, he’s Spider-Man, which means that on any given day there’s about an 80% chance he’s running on 45 minutes of sleep and nursing a minor concussion.

It makes holding down a part-time job kind of impossible, and Peter’s just been given his eighth ‘it's not working out’ in as many months.

“I don’t understand,” MJ says. She’s eating something crunchy and her gross smacky mouth noises are carrying perfectly over the line even without Peter’s enhanced hearing. He knows she knows he can hear every sound with crystal clarity; she just doesn’t care. Peter misses her so much.

“No, I get it,” Peter scuffs his foot against his ceiling. He’s got to stop pacing up here before someone notices all the footprints. “I’m always late, and sometimes I look a little rough, and—”

“No, I get that. You look like a PSA for violence against surprisingly ripped twinks,” MJ interrupts. “I just don’t get why you haven’t made an OnlyFans already.”

That stops Peter in his tracks.

“Dude,” he says reproachfully, “Spider-Man can’t have an OnlyFans.”

“Dumbass.” Peter can hear her rolling her eyes. “I’m not talking about Spider-Man.”

Peter scoffs. “Who the hell would pay for an OnlyFans of Peter Parker?”

“I think it’s time we revisit the ripped twink thing,” MJ says, and Peter rolls his eyes.

“MJ,” he starts, but she interrupts him again because she’s got the manners of a feral inner-city raccoon.

“No, I’m right. You already take selfies of yourself for money, you know how to do it, just take your clothes off for a few! You’ve got a tight ass and a pretty dick. People would totally pay money to see that sh*t. Honestly, you wouldn’t even have to show your face if you didn’t want to, people love a mystery. Just a few cropped nudes a month and you’d be rolling in it.”

Peter feels his face go hot for reasons that have nothing to do with being upside-down. It’s not like he doesn’t know what he looks like. He’s been cat-called enough times to know what people appreciate about his body. But that’s Spider-Man, not Peter Parker, for all that they share the same butt.

He gives up on the ceiling and flops onto his bed with a squeaky bounce. “Why are you trying to talk me into this?”

“Because I don’t want you to starve, doofus,” she says matter-of-factly, then accusingly, “You aren’t having some kind of moral objection, are you?”

“No,” Peter says defensively, because he’s not. He was there for MJ’s gender studies minor. He sat through the two-hour powerpoint advocating for sex work legalisation. Peter knows that consensual sex work is just like any other kind of labor. He’s not a prude. And anyway, the sex workers of New York tend to be some of Spidey’s nicest civilian interactions. He keeps an eye out for them and they always give him the hot goss.

“Good,” MJ says with a decisive chomp into whatever she’s eating. It sounds like chips. God, Peter’s hungry. He’s got nothing in the apartment and not enough money in his bank account to justify getting something delivered before patrol. “So, what’s stopping you?”

“It’s different! It’s my dick! What if someone recognizes me?” Peter argues, because, hey, that’s a legitimate question.

“From your dick?”

And yeah, he supposes that’s a legitimate answer. It’s not like Peter’s regularly gotten naked with that many people: Gwen, MJ, Harry. Of the three of them, well. Only MJ has access to the internet, and she’s the architect of this insanity. Felicia, but frankly Peter having an OnlyFans would only make him marginally less boring in her eyes.

There were a couple of random hookups in college, nothing long-term enough that he thinks they’d remember his junk in detail. There’s Johnny, though. Now that he’s thinking about it, fooling around with Johnny was mostly limited to Peter on his knees and a couple of quick mutual handies. Peter’s not sure if Johnny would be able to pick him out of a hypothetical dick lineup if presented with one.

“How about this,” MJ says while Peter mentally runs through all the scenarios of a hypothetical dick lineup, “Send me a couple of photos. I’ll set everything up. If it’s a bust, I’ll take everything down and pay for your Doordash for a month. If it’s a success, you owe me five dollars and a sweet ‘MJ is always right’ dance.”

Peter can’t help but smile. “You’re just after my nudes.”

“Dude, I already have your nudes.”

“Aw,” Peter says, surprised and strangely touched, “You kept them?”

“Obviously. They’re extremely f*cking hot. Unless you want me to delete them?” MJ chomps through her chips again.

“Nah, that’s okay, you can keep them.”

Though, wait a second— “If you already have them, why do you need new ones?”

MJ scoffs, and Peter imagines chip debris spraying everywhere. “Hello? Those are mine. MJ Exclusives. The internet perverts have to get their own tasteful shots of Peter’s peter. I earned these ones fair and square.”

And once again Peter feels warm and gooey all over. He hates California as much as he misses her. “Love you, MJ.”

At once, her voice softens. “Love you too, tiger.” Then, “Now send me pictures of your co*ck so I can put it on the internet for cash money.”

What a woman.

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Peter doesn’t expect it to be hard.

Wait. Hold on, that’s not what he means. What he means is: Peter’s a photographer. He’s taken like a million photos, and a great deal of those are selfies. Granted, they’re selfies of his masked alter ego and not of Peter, but that’s not the point. He knows how to take a good photo.

He’s also a red-blooded bisexual dude in his twenties. He’s taken a bunch of nudes with no complaints.

Taking a couple of photos of his junk shouldn’t be difficult, is what he’s getting at here.

And yet it’s been days, and he’s trying okay, but everything’s coming out terrible and his dick is being super uncooperative.

“I think I’m doing this wrong,” he says, and the profound silence on the other end of the line makes him regret all of his life choices.

“What?” comes MJ’s strangled voice, and Peter puts his head down on his desk. This is mortifying. All of the blood in his body is in the wrong head for what he needs right now.

“It’s just like, I don’t know,” Peter mumbles, “It just feels weird. All the photos are bad.”

“Peter,” MJ says, and she’s 2,400 miles away and he can still feel her squinting at him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you just been like, coming in from class and snapping a bunch of butthole pics before running out for patrol?”

Now it’s Peter’s turn to squint. “Do you have a camera in here?”

“God, I wish,” MJ mutters, “Watching you fumble around all day would be way better than Love is Blind. No, dumbass, I just know you.”

MJ heaves a huge, extremely-put-upon sigh, which under the circ*mstances feels a little uncalled for. He is trying her insane idea after all.

“MJ,” he tries, but she talks over him, the feral raccoon, he hates her.

“Why did you send me nudes when we were together?”

Peter’s too embarrassed for this and it makes his temper short.

“I think that’s obvious, Mary Jane,” he snarks, but she only snorts at him.

“Clearly not, Parker,” she snarks back, “C’mon, think.”

Peter thinks being friends with Mary Jane Watson is some kind of punishment for all his wrong-doings.

“For you? For sex? To turn you on?”

“Yeah,” MJ drawls, “And how did you feel when you were taking those photos for me?”

Peter squirms a little. He and MJ’s romantic era is over, totally over, but the memory is enough to make his dick give a hopeful little twitch. “I mean, that’s different. That’s what I’m getting at here.”

“Why?” she prompts, “C’mon, Parker, why would these be any different?”

“I was sending them to my girlfriend,” Peter argues, feeling put-upon himself. “Not just like…the internet’s hornie*st randos.”

MJ sighs again. “You’re so close.”

Peter glances at his mostly soft dick and mutters, “Yeah, you could not be further from the truth right now.”

MJ makes one of her ugly honk laughs and Peter smiles automatically. He loves her ugly honk laughs. All at once, the embarrassed tension falls away and Peter waits for her to take pity on him. She always does.

“Peter, the nudes you sent me were always so f*cking hot because you were turned on. It turned you on to turn me on, that’s what made them sexy. If you’re going to do this right, don’t treat it like a perfunctory shower jerk, or like, a chore. You gotta commit. Romance yourself a little, Parker, goddamn.”

It makes sense, annoying as it is to hear it from MJ instead of figuring it out himself. He has just been trying to get this over with. It’s only that the photos were so bad he couldn’t bear to let anyone see them, let alone MJ—let alone internet randos—that he gave up and asked for help.

“Perfunctory’s a good word,” Peter says instead of ‘thanks’.

“Right? Got it out of a script. It was f*cking god-awful but I do love me a good vocab word.”

Peter sighs and MJ hums thoughtfully.

“If it helps to imagine doing it for someone, then do that,” MJ says into the lull. “Whatever gets you in the mood to show off a little.”

Commit. Romance himself. Show off a little. Peter sighs again. “Okay, okay. I’ll try.”

“Atta boy, Parker,” MJ says cheerfully. Then she dips into the worst J. Jonah Jameson impression he’s ever heard. “I want pictures of Spider-Man’s hog on my desk by tomorrow morning!”

“Oh my god,” Peter sputters, “That’s horrible! Mary Jane! That’s disgusting—why would you do that? You’re the worst. I hate you.”

“I know,” MJ says lovingly, and hangs up on him.

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No matter what’s going on in Peter’s life, the moment the mask comes down and he’s in the air, all of his problems seem far, far away.

Peter likes to think of this as healthy compartmentalisation. MJ says it’s the most blatant case of dissociation she’s ever seen, but who cares what MJ says.

It’s easy to be Spider-Man. Sure, people are always trying to punch him, or shoot him, or stab him, or find new and creative ways to put permanent holes in him, but in comparison to Peter Parker Problems it’s a breeze. Most of the time, he gets to swing around the city, help some people out, and go home blissfully hole-free.

Out here, swinging between buildings in the easy dusk of late April, there’s no better place to be than New York, and no better person to be than Spider-Man.

It’s early still, the streets full of people still making their way home from work and school or heading out to dinner. Crime’s been relatively quiet in the city lately, but there’s been a rash of morons who have been randomly punching women, and boy would Spider-Man like to introduce those fellas to some webbed justice.

He’s been swinging around for a few hours, mostly doing little things: helping an old lady get up the stairs to her brownstone, webbing someone’s phone out of a subway grate, you know, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man stuff, when he finds Deadpool.

Peter dreads finding Deadpool on patrol. It’s not—they’re not enemies, not anymore, if they ever really were. They’re—friendly. Friends-ish. Sometimes Deadpool will help Spider-Man out in a fight, or keep him company on a stake-out. But that’s usually Deadpool finding him.

When Spider-Man finds Deadpool it generally plays out in one of two scenarios:

1. Deadpool’s doing something he’s not supposed to be and he’s about to suck Peter into some bizarre, inconvenient, convoluted debacle that will involve his insane merc friends, alternate dimensions, and dinosaur-zombies that will take at least a whole week to sort out and totally torpedo Peter’s GPA for the semester,

2. He’s dead.

Tonight, it’s the second scenario. Peter hates the second scenario.

“Wade?” he asks, unnecessarily. He’s absolutely one-hundred-percent dead. There’s a knife lodged in his throat, straight up through the soft palate into his head. Deadpool’s eyes are dull, lights out, and he’s eerily still in the way that alive-Deadpool never is.

He’s sitting slumped over on the sidewalk, and Peter probably wouldn’t have noticed except for the flash of red material that caught his eye and the growing number of horrified rubberneckers starting to form around his body.

To the rubberneckers, Peter says, “Hey folks, I’ve got him from here. I know it looks bad, but don’t worry—he’s just resting. He’ll be okay.”

He notices someone taking a photo of Wade’s body and he puts on his best Captain America Frown of Disapproval until they blush hotly and hurry away.

To Wade, he says, “Come on, buddy. I’ve got you,” and hoists the merc’s body over his shoulder. Jeez, he always forgets how heavy the guy is. The man is made of pure muscle and illegal weaponry.

He secures Wade’s body with a little webbing, then shoots another web up to get them away from the street. Swinging is always harder with two people, especially with literal dead weight, but he only needs to get them somewhere a little more private for Wade to wake up safely.

There’s a flat rooftop nearby that’s serviceable: high enough to be out of prying eyes but low enough that Wade will be able to get down with his grappling hook. Peter gently sets Wade’s body down and then contemplates the knife.

He’s gotta take it out. Wade will heal way faster if it’s removed instead waiting for his body to slowly push it out.

It’s gonna be so gross.

Ugh, he’s just gotta do it. Man up, Spider-Man. Peter grabs the handle, trying to focus on the details of it— looks Japanese, is The Hand acting up again? He should check in with Matt— as he pulls the blade from Wade’s neck.

It feels gross. It looks gross. It sounds awful, a terrible sucking squelch like a boot pulling from muck that is going to haunt Peter’s nightmares.

The blade is also longer than Peter expects, which means, yeah, that’s gray matter at the end of it, Peter hates the second scenario so much.

Then it’s out and it’s done. Peter spends a few nice restorative minutes sitting on the edge of the roof, trying not to heave while carefully not looking at the hole in his friend-ish’s body.

Peter doesn’t have to wait too long before there’s a horrible little gurgle and a heavy gasp that heralds Wade’s return to the land of the living.

“Hey, ‘Pool,” Peter calls. He keeps a few paces back: he knows better now than to be in grabbing distance. Sometimes it takes a minute for Wade to realize he’s not fighting anymore.

“Pulled you up here to keep you safe,” Peter continues as Wade groans his way back into awareness, “Looks like you died over on 28th and 9th.”

“Well I’ll be, Mr. Spider-Man,” Wade rasps, and Peter shivers. Deadpool’s normal voice is rough but the still-healing wound in his throat makes it sound like a growl.

Wade tilts over. Peter starts forward to keep him from falling before realizing that Wade’s just arranging himself into a coquettish sprawl.

“How can I ever repay you?” Deadpool continues flirtatiously, spreading his legs.

“I just pulled a knife from your brain,” Peter informs him flatly.

“Hot,” Wade winks. Unbelievable.

“It was super not,” Peter corrects. Speaking of the knife, he hands it over to Wade. “I webbed a cover for it. It’s extremely sharp.”

Wade groans in protest.

“Yeah, I caught that as it was jammed into the ol’ noodle there, Websy.” He takes the knife and pokes at the webs dejectedly. “I hate it when you do this. There’s something about this stuff that just makes a blade completely lose its edge.”

That’s news to Peter. “Really?”

“Sure. It’s happened to the girls enough times for me to notice a webby trend. It’s worse the longer it stays on.”

Peter hops closer to Wade and takes the knife back to inspect it. He pours a little web solvent on the edge and then picks the webbing back to inspect the metal beneath. It doesn’t look that different to his eye, though maybe it’s a little duller. Interesting.

“Could be the acidity,” Peter mutters, gently testing the edge. It’s still sharp enough that one wrong move would make for a nasty cut. “Though it could be another chemical that’s interacting with the metal, acting as a corrosive…”

He should test this in the lab. See what causes it and how long it takes to react, maybe he could tweak some webs to increase the rate of degradation. Peter would love to get slashed and stabbed less. Wade catches his attention by pulling the knife away and tucking it into one of his pouches.

“You are,” Wade says warmly, “such a nerd, baby boy.”

Peter shrugs. He’s not dodging that charge anytime soon. He looks up at Wade now that he’s standing. They’re not that far apart in height, not really, but for some reason Wade always makes Peter feel small. Right now, Peter’s at the perfect angle to see that the hole in Wade’s throat has closed over entirely, leaving shiny new skin peeking through the ripped fabric of his mask.

Something that’s been humming anxiously in the back of Peter’s mind settles down to see Wade up and whole again.

“So,” Peter says in the quiet between them.

“So…” Wade sing-songs, because he’s annoyance-coded at all times.

Peter rolls his eyes.

“So, what was it this time? DP-related merc nastiness or is The Hand up to some nonsense again?”

Wade snorts.

“Websy, dear-heart, The Hand is always up to some nonsense. Nah, if you can believe, I was minding my own innocent Deadpool biznatch when your poor pal Wade here got jumped by some random ninjas.”

Peter squints at him suspiciously. Wade puts his hand over his chest.

“I swear! Cross my heart and hope to die again, Spidey!”

“Once was enough for tonight, Wade,” Peter shivers, trying to block the intrusive thought of the Squelch.

“Aw, Websy, did we traumatise you?” Wade coos, and pulls Pete into a one-armed hug before he can dodge it. “Sorry, baby boy, you know I don’t like to upset my little spidey-widey. I do try not to die on your patrols.”

“I appreciate that,” Peter says, though it’s somewhat muffled from being squashed into Deadpool’s side.

“Come on, Websy, let Daddy Deadpool—

—“Ew, Wade.” —

“—make it up to you. I know you’re hungry, let me buy you some tacos.”

Even if Peter had wanted to lie, his traitorous stomach makes such an immediate, mortifying sound of agreement that the two of them are momentarily frozen: Peter in abject embarrassment, Wade in, well—

“I felt that,” Wade says in awe. “I literally felt your stomach growl. I can’t tell if I’m horrified that my special boy is off saving the world on such an empty stomach or deeply aroused that I felt your insides.”

Pete shoves him away. “Gross, Deadpool.”

“Aw, come on, Spidey,” Wade protests, “We were Wade there for a little bit. Deadpool feels like the full government from you.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“Less horndog, more tacos, ‘Pool.”

Wade brightens.

“I’ll accept ‘Pool. Vámonos, Spidey. Tacos, and then if you want, we can swing by the Pool Pad. I’m Jeff-sitting for a while.”

It’s Peter’s turn to brighten.

“Jeff? He’s here? Why didn’t you say anything? What are you waiting for, let’s go!”

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Peter loves Jeff. Peter’s not sure if there’s anyone in the universe capable of not loving Jeff. If there is, Peter doesn’t want to meet them. That’s a line in the sand Peter refuses to cross.

“Mmmrrr?” Jeff trills hopefully as Peter picks up the last chorizo taco.

Technically, Jeff is not supposed to be eating people-food. Technically, Jeff is really not supposed to be eating spicy people-food. This was made very clear in Hawkeye’s Care And Feeding For Jeff instructions taped to Wade’s fridge. That particular section is highlighted and underlined several times.

Peter looks at Jeff. Jeff looks at Peter, his enormous liquid eyes so hopeful and full of love. Love for Peter. Love for chorizo. Love that might go away if Peter does not give Jeff his chorizo. Peter desperately looks at Wade for help.

Wade just laughs at him.

“Why are you looking at me to be the voice of reason here?” Wade asks, and yeah okay, fair point.

Peter looks down at Jeff.

“Kate said no?” Peter tries. Jeff’s perfect, adorable little sharky face doesn’t budge an inch.

“Mrrrrr?”

“If he gets the sh*ts, you gotta clean it up,” Wade warns.

Peter sighs and hands the taco to Jeff. He snaps it up in one pointy-toothed bite and wags his tail happily. He’s so cute. This is worth it. Peter dealt with the Squelch tonight. He can deal with some shark indigestion.

Still, he looks at Wade accusingly. “You’d let him have it, too.”

“Oh hell yeah. I’m a sucker for that little guy. Can’t resist him for sh*t. But he’s not asking me, he’s asking you and you gave it to him, ipso facto, I’m the good shark-dad, you are the bad shark-dad.”

Peter rolls his eyes and settles back on the couch to better pet the land shark curled up beside him. Wade kicks back in the armchair adjacent to them, propping his feet on the coffee table amidst an impressive amount of empty take-out containers.

Peter will give Wade this: when Wade wants to feed someone he commits, enhanced super metabolisms notwithstanding. Pete hasn’t been this full since….well, actually. Probably since the last time he let Wade buy dinner.

“So,” Peter says, and watches Wade’s head turn lazily towards him. “Ninjas?”

Wade groans.

“Promise, baby boy. Random ninjas. Didn’t look like the Hand. Embarrassing that they got the jump on me, but I wasn’t on merc business. Took some time off for Jeffy-poo.”

And actually…yeah. Peter believes that. He knows Wade loves Jeff as much as Peter does. It’s a big deal for Kate to leave him in Wade’s care while she’s on missions, and he knows Wade takes it seriously. Or as seriously as Deadpool can take things.

Wade’s still got his mask rolled up over his mouth, and Peter can see the new skin of his throat slowly being taken over by shifting scars.

Pete drops his eyes and scritches around Jeff’s fin until he purrs happily.

“‘Sucks,” he says finally. “Sorry, dude.”

“Worth it, Websy. I’d get shanked all the time if it means I get to hang with my two favorite guys,” Wade grins, and the light glints of the sharp points of his canines. There’s something about that grin that causes Pete’s heart rate to spike, but before he can figure out why, there’s an ominous gurgle from the belly beneath his hand.

“Mrrrggggghghhh,” Jeff groans, and then it’s a race to see who will win: one super-powered man with enhanced agility and reflexes, or the compromised gastrointestinal system of a sixty-pound landshark who should not be eating chorizo, holy sh*t.

Pete wins by the grace of god and radioactive spiders, but it’s a very near miss. The less said about it all, the better.

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Pete gets back to his apartment either super late or super early, depending on how you look at it.

(After The Great Chorizo Expulsion, Jeff is super clingy and what is Peter supposed to do? Leave him? What is he, some kind of monster?

They play a few rounds of Mario Kart and then Wade finds out Peter hasn’t played Hades. After Peter gets him to stop gasping dramatically around the apartment, Wade boots it up so Peter can give it a go. Then it’s like Peter blinks and it’s 4 am, Jeff snoring loudly on the couch behind him and Wade sunk low into his armchair.

“Oh shoot,” he says as Wade blinks at him. “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to be here all night.”

Wade only gives him that slow smile again, the one that makes Peter feel—

“Anytime, baby boy. You’re always welcome in Casa del Pool.”

Peter shrugs off the weird feeling and smiles back.

“Thanks, Wade. Give the little guy a smooch from me when he wakes up. I’ll stop by later in the week to check in.”

Wade waggles his eyebrows at him beneath his mask.

“You got it, Spidey. I don’t suppose you’d give that smooch to me so I can pass it on?”

Peter rolls his eyes, and climbs out the window.

“Bye, Wade.”

“Bye, Websy.”)

All that being said, it’s just after 5am before Peter finally crawls through his window.

As Peter pulls off his mask, he looks at the burgeoning dawn light coming into his room and thinks: hmm. Nice.

And as he strips off the rest of his suit and kicks it into the compartment under his bed, he studies the way the pale yellow sunlight hits the sheets and thinks: yeah. Pretty.

There’s something thrumming under his skin, an energy that kept him wired on his way home but now that he’s here has nowhere to go. He’s not sure what it is yet, but as he passes a hand over his chest, he feels his body react, and yeah.

Romance yourself, Parker. He can do that.

Peter sets his camera up but this time he takes his time. He thinks about MJ’s advice. He forgets about the internet’s hornie*st randos. He’s doing this for himself to send to someone specific. Peter hasn’t been with a guy in a little bit so he imagines that; some dude who’s tall and broad, standing behind the camera and asking Peter to show off for him.

The early morning light glints off the web-shooters on his desk in a way that reminds him of—something he can’t quite recall, but whatever it is, it’s hot and enough that his higher brain function turns off for the sake of getting off. He lets himself get lost in the feeling and the fantasy and the click of his camera shutter.

Chapter 2 Chapter Text

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“Holy sh*t,” MJ says, and Peter’s confused. MJ? MJ is talking to him? Is she back from stupid California? How is she in his apartment?

“Buh?” he asks intelligently, and MJ snorts.

“You with me, tiger?”

Awareness slowly creeps in. The sun is hot and he’s face-down on his bed. There’s a pressure on his face where MJ’s voice is coming from—oh. His phone. She must have called him and he answered while still mostly asleep.

“Yeah,” he yawns. His jaw pops loudly and MJ grunts.

“You know I hate that. You’ve ruined my boner.”

“Sorry,” Peter lies, unrepentant. He knows it takes more than his noisy joints to kill MJ’s boners and frankly it’s a small payback for the chips call.

“You’re not, but that’s okay because these photos more than make up for it. I repeat: holy sh*t, Peter.”

Peter rolls over and grins at the ceiling.

“You like ‘em?”

“Oh my god, they’re so good. They’re gorgeous and super, super hot. What was your breakthrough?”

Peter shrugs.

“Took your advice. Imagined I was taking them for someone.”

“Oo-la-la,” MJ says gleefully, “Anyone I know?

“Nah,” Peter laughs, “No one real. Just an imaginary guy.”

“Well thanks, Imaginary Guy. You’re gonna make Peter a million dollars.”

Peter snorts.

“Sure. You keep telling yourself that. I’m going to start picking out what I want delivered for a month. Enjoy the photos.”

“Oh I will,” MJ purrs, “And so will the internet.”

And then, if he’s being totally honest here: Peter kind of forgets about the whole thing.

He’s busy! He’s a grad student and an intern and a superhero! After he hangs up with MJ, he remembers he has coursework due, and then a lab, and then it’s internship-patrol-class-homework-lab-patrol-class-internship.

Between all that he meets up with Matt to see what he knows about these random ninjas (nothing but he’ll keep an eye out, full of jokes, that Matt Murdock fella), stops Rhino from robbing four banks (one of which is the same bank because Rhino forgot he tried that one already, come on Aleksei), and between all of that he swings by Wade’s a few times a week to go see Jeff and play Hades.

It’s not like he forgets about not having an income, but his school grants cover rent and utilities and Peter’s an old hand at the poverty food pyramid: peanut butter sandwiches, ramen noodles, hot dogs. It’s not healthy but it keeps Peter from starving.

In any case, it’s not nearly as bad as it could be, since no matter when Peter stops in for Jeff time, Wade always seems to be in the mood to eat. He’s always ordering an insane amount of food that he’s happy to share, which means Peter’s been eating better this month than the months where he has a job.

So when he wakes up on a random Friday to see a notification for a deposit of five thousand dollars he just about has a stroke.

“Bluh?” MJ says sleepily because Peter forgot it’s three hours behind in stupid California and he would feel bad about that if he weren’t freaking out right now.

“MJ!” Peter hisses into the phone, “There’s—it’s! Oh my god!”

“Oh, it came through, huh?" MJ sounds more awake and dramatically more smug. “Nice. You owe me $5 and a dance, Parker.”

“MJ!” Peter feels like an idiot for repeating himself, but holy sh*t. “There’s! That’s five thousand dollars!”

“Yep,” she says, popping the ‘p’ loudly. “Wild, right?”

Wild? Wild? Peter is losing his mind. “Oh my god!”

“Yeah, you blew the f*ck up, the response has been amazing. I didn’t want to bother you because you seemed really busy, god, actually can we talk about Rhino trying to rob Citizen’s again? What a dummy. Come on, Aleksei.”

Peter suddenly feels completely out of his depth. This was supposed to be a joke. This was supposed to be MJ paying for his takeout for a month. He suddenly realizes he has no idea how any of this works.

It’s so much money, it’s—hold on.

“Do I have to pay taxes on this?” he asks belatedly. About four weeks belatedly.

“Oh, yeah,” MJ winces. “That’s the other thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. You should maybe get an accountant.”

“Oh my god!”

After he hangs up with MJ, Peter has a nice little panic attack in the shower where he circles around oh my god to five thousand dollars! back to oh my god again until the hot water sputters out and Peter decides to just like. Accept that this is his life now.

Google tells him the approximate amount of money he needs to set aside for state and federal and that he can set up quarterly payments to the IRS. Peter’s not emotionally equipped to handle that right now, so he just moves the money into his no-touchy savings account. That done, he flops on his bed to take a stress nap. His phone vibrates with a new text.

MJ:

hey 🐯 when u get a chance can u send me more pics? and maybe a video? oh do a video and say thnx to all the subscribers that’d be gr8. love u stop freaking out. 🍆 🍑 💗 💵

Peter lets his phone drop directly onto his face.

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“Hey, Spidey!” calls a voice from the ground. It’s the ‘come here’ kind of hey instead of ‘hello’, so Peter swings around and drops to the sidewalk.

“Hey Glitter,” he says when he lands. Glitter flutters her eyelashes at him. Today they’re about two inches long and hot pink. They make her brown eyes stand out prettily. “How can I help?”

“Your boy is here.” At Peter’s confused head tilt, she continues, “Deadpool?”

“Deadpool? He’s been in town for like a month,” Peter frowns. “Why? Is he making trouble?”

Glitter shakes her head and all the little butterfly clips in her wig clink together musically. “No, I mean, he’s here, honey,” and points one long-tipped fingernail into the narrow alley beside the bar they’re standing outside of.

In the gloom, Pete can just barely make out a familiar crumpled form. Goddamnit, Wade. Goddamnit, second scenario.

“Saw him when I went to take a smoke, otherwise I would have missed him.”

“Thanks,” he says to Glitter, who blows him a kiss. “I’ll take care of him.”

The alley here isn’t really an alley. Manhattan doesn’t really have alleys as much as narrow side streets. This particular one is really more of an awkward crevice between two buildings. Wade clearly tried to drag himself far enough into it that he wouldn’t be seen from the street before he bled out. Which is considerate given the state he’s in.

There are two nasty stab wounds in Wade’s back that, based on the blood trail, were even nastier a few minutes ago. They’re paired with a slew of deep slashes over his back, hips, and—ouch—hamstrings, which explains why Wade was army-crawling instead of walking. If his back is this bad, Peter’s really not looking forward to the front.

Still, he can’t leave him here. Even this weird alley is not immune to passers-by, given Glitter, and while Deadpool’s style of injuries are unfortunately becoming routine for Peter, the average person shouldn’t have to deal with them.

They’re not terribly far from Wade’s apartment. Pete can probably get them back before he wakes up and, considering how long Deadpool may have been out, check on Jeff.

“Okay, big guy,” he tells Deadpool’s corpse, “Let’s get you home.”

Peter manages to get them back to Wade’s apartment without too much issue and mostly out of sight. He settles Wade’s body next to the door and is just debating which of Wade’s pouches he should start checking for keys when Wade comes back online.

Peter takes a quick step back as his body gives a violent twitch, then Wade sucks in a pained breath and hisses, “f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, owie, owie, owie.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, because honestly, what else do you say to someone who looks like they were put through a Slap Chop? Peter’s just grateful the cuts to Wade’s abdomen didn’t perforate his guts. Peter’s already fully covered in Wade’s blood. He’d just as soon avoid all of that, thanks.

Wade squints up at him. “Spidey?”

“Hi Wade,” he waves. “You died again.”

“Yeah,” Wade groans, “That happens. sh*t. Where—? Are we at my apartment?”

“Mhm,” Pete says, “Thanks for waking up. I was about to go looking for your keys, but to be honest your pouches engender a sense of deep existential dread in me that I can’t explain.”

That startles a laugh out of Deadpool, and Peter bites back a smile.

From the door, there’s the sound of sharp land shark nails scratching over metal and an anxious “Mmrrr?”

“Hey buddy,” Wade calls, “Don’t worry, we’re coming. Daddy Deadpool’s gonna get his legs working in just a minute.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“I carried you from Houston, Wade. I can carry you into your apartment. I just need your keys.”

With a groan, Wade pulls his arm up and roots into a pouch (third on the right, Peter makes a mental note) and then yanks out a keychain that has more doohickies and tamagotchis on it than actual keys.

“Hello Kitty funko, brass key,” Wade says helpfully, then “Oof,” when Peter takes the key and hoists Wade’s body up at the same time.

“God,” Wade mutters nonsensically from over Peter’s shoulder, “Thank you for this vision of perfection in my hour of need.”

Peter’s too busy opening the door and keeping a foot up so that Jeff doesn’t run out; he elects to ignore Wade.

“Hey, Jeffy,” Peter says as the little land shark winds around his feet, trilling unhappily, “It’s okay, buddy.”

Peter sets Wade into his armchair, then goes about turning on the lights and checking on Jeff.

“When was he out last?” Peter asks. Jeff’s food bowl is empty, but the fridge, while locked, hasn’t been pried at. That lock wouldn’t stand a chance against Jeff if he really put his mind to it.

“Uh,” Wade grunts, “What time is it now?”

The microwave, oven, and coffee machine all have three very different and incredibly wrong times on them, so Peter fishes out his phone from the back of his suit. “2:30.”

“Took him out before I left at midnight. Should be good, right, buddy?” The second part is addressed directly to Jeff, who has climbed into Wade’s lap and is sniffing at all the blood.

Chapter 3 Chapter Text

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From the outside, Sister Margaret’s Home for Wayward Girls looks like it should be condemned. Peter squints at it suspiciously.

“Is this place up to code?”

Wade reaches out and pinches his side meanly.

“Ow!”

“What did I say? No talkie or I’m leaving you outside.”

Pete puts his hands up in surrender and mimes zipping his mouth shut. He promised to behave, so he will.

Wade glares at him suspiciously, then sighs.

“Okay. Before we go in there, this is a merc bar and there are mercs in there, doing all sorts of merc-y NSFS—that’s Not Safe For Spidey, by the way—things. You wanted to tag along, so you’re just going to have to deal with it, got it? No eye contact, no fussing, no frowning, no friendly neighborhooding nothing, you got me?”

Peter nods silently. Wade narrows his eyes.

“I see you malicious compliance-ing me, young man, and as hot as I find it, I mean it. I carry a certain amount of respect around here but if they realize who you are, we’re f*cked. It’ll be an absolute sh*t show and we won’t get any closer to figuring this whole ninja thing out.”

And that’s the thing. As much as Peter would love the opportunity to mess with Wade a little bit, he does want to get to the bottom of these attacks. Peter nods again to show Wade he’s on board.

Wade stares at him for a long moment. Then he takes a deep breath, and (muttering “I cannot believe this is f*cking happening”) turns and strolls into the bar with Peter obediently at his heels.

One foot in the door and a thousand quips come to mind. Peter has to bite his lip hard from immediately breaking the no-talking rule. The place is packed, with all sorts of obviously rough and tumble types talking, smoking, drinking, gaming, fighting—? Actually, Peter squints, he’s not sure if that’s a fight or something else entirely. The ambiguity of it makes him drag his eyes away just in case.

Wade wasn’t joking outside. Deadpool does have respect here. It’s clear from the way that even as busy as it is—as nasty as these people look—they all hustle out of his way to let them make their way through the crush. Some of the mercs greet Deadpool with friendly cheers and jokes, others shy away with intentional lack of eye contact. Everyone seems to know who he is.

There’s also a change in Wade. He swaggers through the crowd, responding to the cheers and joking right back, clapping the shy ones on the back so they can’t pretend to ignore him. Peter suddenly understands that Wade got left outside. He’s Deadpool now, and they’re in Deadpool’s world.

As it happens, Deadpool’s world overlaps a lot with Spider-Man’s world, in the way that Peter discovers that there are a lot of people in this bar that he has personally punched and been punched by. There’s even Aleksei in the corner, still nursing a black eye from that last bank robbery attempt, and on that note, when the hell did he get out of jail? It’s only been a week!

Honestly, the criminal justice system of this country is in shambles.

It occurs belatedly to Peter that Wade might have been right. This might have been a bad idea.

Too late now, Parker. He pulls his focus forward as Deadpool leads them to the front of the bar.

The bar is a massive, intensely fortified structure. It makes sense; there are a lot of bullet holes, knife gouges, and a few suspiciously grenade-shaped blasts around this place. Peter makes a safe bet that the bar’s the only decent place to take cover in here.

There are a lot of people crowded around the counter but upon seeing Deadpool several of them peel off to make room.

Deadpool slaps his hands down on the counter and leans over to address the bartender.

“Weasel! My myopic, two-faced little ratf*ck of a not-friend, how are ya?”

Weasel is the bartender? Peter thought he was a merc dispatcher. Peter blinks as he takes him in: the dirty co*ke-bottle glasses and oversized front teeth, the limp blond hair and the scraggly beard. Not what he was expecting but Wade’s right. ‘Weasel’ does suit him.

“Wade,” Weasel says flatly, “My free-shavaca-doo faced dick-pimple of a recurring pest problem. What can I get you and your…?” He trails off to focus on Peter. Wade waves his hand dismissively.

“Oh him? Ignore him, he’s—”

“Ben,” Peter interjects before Deadpool can give him a fake name. He’ll remember Ben more than whatever stupid name Wade has in mind for him.

Deadpool twitches, probably because Peter’s broken the no-talking rule, but he only goes, “Huh,” and then, nonsensically, “Not now brain, Daddy’s busy,” before turning back to Weasel.

“The finest whiskey for me, good sir, and a Diet co*ke for Benny-boy here.”

Peter would protest but he’s pretty sure the diet is punishment for talking, so he just smiles blandly when the bartender/merc peddler squints at him.

“Been a while since you’ve brought someone around, Wade,” Weasel says slowly as he fills a glass and pushes it over to Peter.

As soon as Peter touches it, it occurs to him that he can’t actually drink it because underneath the image inducer his mask is fully on. Peter has no clue what trying to lift it now would do to the projected face above his own.

While Peter quietly panics, Weasel continues, “He’s prettier than your normal pay-per-f*ck. You know they charge by the hour, right? You celebrating a job I don’t know about?”

Peter’s immediately glad he isn’t drinking anything because that probably would have made him choke.

At the mention of jobs, Deadpool’s mood turns from cheerful to predatory in an instant. A few more people around them suddenly find somewhere else they’d rather be, and Peter can appreciate a finely-honed survival instinct when he sees one. His spider-sense has been vibrating since stepping foot in here and it ratchets up another anxious degree at the violence lurking in Deadpool’s body language.

“Glad you brought that up, Jackie-poo.”

Peter watches Weasel’s mouth thin unhappily at the apparent real name drop.

“We need to have a little chat about that client you set me up with last night.”

Weasel blinks.

“Last night? I didn’t set you up with anyone last night.”

“Oh?” Deadpool says dangerously, and pulls a bedazzled phone out of a pouch. “What’s all this then?”

He opens an app and then spins the phone so Weasel can read it.

There’s a very long, tense pause between them, followed by a silent conversation of eyebrows, frowning, and eye twitches until Weasel suddenly yells, “f*ck!” and throws his dishrag onto the ground.

“Dopinder!” Weasel barks, and a slight man at the end of the bar jerks to attention. “Man the bar. You two, come with me.”

Weasel leads them to a grimy side door, which leads to a grimy hallway, a grimy staircase, and a grimy upstairs apartment. This place is seriously not up to any health or safety code. It’s a total biohazard.

On the way up the stairs, Weasel squints at Peter and goes, “Not a hooker, then?”

“Nope,” Peter says, though now that he’s thinking about it, this might be a gray area. Does selling your nudes on the internet qualify? He’s not sure how big the hooker umbrella is.

Weasel grunts.

“That’s almost a shame. He’s way easier to deal with when he’s getting laid, and you’re so Wade’s type it’s like he carved you free from a block of his old cum socks. You’re like an AI prompt from his spank bank. Like—”

“Weas,” Deadpool threatens and Weasel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

Peter feels his ears go hot. Almost-Peter is Wade’s type? That’s interesting.

Wait, is it?

While Peter is trying to figure out that sudden internal conundrum, Weasel leads them into what is clearly his base of operations. The living room boasts a sad, sagging couch, an enormous TV, and more computer equipment than Peter’s seen in some actual server rooms.

Peter lets out a low whistle, but Weasel waves it off as he sinks into a worn gaming chair.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all very impressive, Not-A-Hooker-Ben. We can save the ooh-ing and ahh-ing after I find out who f*cking hacked my sh*t.”

Ah, that was the silent mystery conversation from below. Well, on the bright side, Peter’s glad that this means that Weasel didn’t actually stab Wade in the back. Despite Wade’s negative description of their relationship, Peter can tell that they are actually friends. Weird, slightly antagonistic friends, but hey, Peter’s not one to throw stones. Peter and Wade are also weird, sometimes antagonistic friends.

On the downside, it means that their Not-Hand Ninjas are even more sophisticated than they thought if they were able to hack Merc Depot.

While Weasel runs scans on his computers, Wade fills him in on the Not-Hand ninjas and how they think last night’s mystery client call is connected.

At the end of it, Weasel grunts unhappily.

“Well, whoever they are, they’ve got a really f*cking good hacker working for them. Like god tier. There aren’t many who can get into my sh*t, and even less who would know how the app works.” Weasel rubs his forehead. “None of the mercs here are on that level but that doesn’t mean they aren’t f*cking narcing to someone who is.”

“Not-Hand Ninja hackers,” Pete says thoughtfully. “That should narrow it down, right?”

But Weasel and Wade only shrug.

“Not as much as you’d like to think, Not-A-Hooker. There are way more ninjas operating than you’d expect and not all of them are old school purists,” Weasel explains, which makes sense.

“The Marvel Universe has a lot of nerdy weebs on the creative team, ergo, we’re positively be-deviled with high tech ninjas,” Wade adds earnestly, which makes no sense so Peter elects to ignore it.

“Okay,” Peter decides, “We should try and see them in action. If they are tracking you to see when you’re alone, we should split up outside. I’ll double back and follow you from a distance, see if they close in.”

Weasel blinks.

“And do what? Pout at them? No offense, dude, but you give way more Bambi than Rambo vibes.”

Whoops. Right. He’s Not-A-Hooker-Ben right now, not Spider-Man.

“I’m a man of hidden talents,” Peter says weakly while Wade facepalms. Weasel squints at them both suspiciously.

“Aaand that’s our cue,” says Wade. “Thanks Weas, been a treat. Try not to get hacked and get me killed again so soon.”

“Sure,” Weasel says, “See you around, Wade. Nice to meet you, Not-A-Hooker-Ben.”

“Nice to meet you!” Peter calls as Wade grabs him by the arm and manhandles him down the stairs.

“You are a menace,” Wade growls, and Peter has to laugh.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that once or twice.”

Pete lets Wade pull him through the bar, too, even though this results in such an explicit series of cat-calls that Peter’s face is burning by the time they finally get outside.

“Okay,” Wade says, keeping his voice low. “If one of those smelly f*cks in there really is snitching on me, they’ll be watching where we go. I’m going to head north towards Union. Now,” before Peter can stop him, Wade spins him around and slaps him on the ass hard enough that Peter yelps. “That’s for breaking the rules. Catch ya in a bit, baby boy.”

Then he turns and saunters away, whistling a jaunty little tune, leaving a stunned Peter on the sidewalk.

It takes a second for Peter to remember that he’s on a mission and hurries off in the other direction. It would be so stupid if Wade got jumped again just because Peter was distracted by an ass slap.

He can’t believe Wade just did that. Maybe he should let Wade get a little jumped, Peter thinks sullenly as he rubs at his sore butt. It might look like he’s wearing jeans but he really is only wearing spandex, so it really connected.

Speaking of spandex, despite the urge to let Wade twist in the wind for his crimes, Peter really doesn’t want him to end up dead again. Peter hustles to the end of the block, keeping an eye out for anyone who might have decided to follow him instead. He doesn’t spot anything and his spidey-sense is quiet so he ducks out of sight, keeps low for a beat, then turns off the image inducer and takes to the air.

It’s easy to spot Wade from high up: he’s kept up his saunter to let Peter catch up. Peter keeps his distance, wanting to make sure that Wade appears alone.

Wade takes a slow, meandering path up the avenue. It’s late, but it’s springtime: New Yorkers are still out and about, bar-hopping and getting tipsy dollar slices. Masks are common enough now that most people don’t bat an eye at Deadpool walking among them. Only a few seem to clock who he is and move quickly out of his way.

It isn’t until Wade suddenly turns on a cross street, away from the avenue and the bustle of Manhattan night owls, that Peter’s spidey-sense kicks up into a low-grade warning. Even then it starts and stops as if it’s confused if there’s impending danger or not.

Peter closes the distance between them, careful to keep quiet and out of sight. It’s another couple of blocks in an area that’s residential and thus considerably more quiet before Wade stops and tilts his head curiously. Peter’s spidey-sense lurches into high alert, and he scans the area for any sign of danger.

“Are we dancin’, fellas?” Wade calls out in his raspy voice, “I don’t have you on my dance card, but a girl can make an exception.”

Peter’s gotta hand it to Wade: besides his regeneration, Wade doesn’t have enhanced senses. Yet in the same split second that Peter’s spidey-sense starts screaming at him, Wade’s got his katanas out and is blocking the blade of a ninja that came out of freaking nowhere.

Wade was right: there are four of them, dressed in all black with visors and armed with katanas. He was also right about the cloaking or teleporting, though Peter can’t tell yet if it’s tech or magic. Given the hacking, he’s banking on tech. Peter spins his web cartridges around to charge up his taser webbing, then swoops in to join the fray.

“Mind if I cut in?” He quips as he lands a heavy kick to the back of one of the ninja’s heads and sends him flying away from Wade.

“Why, I do declare, Mr. Spider-Man,” Wade gasps dramatically, “I thought you’d never ask.”

If Not-Hand Ninjas were momentarily surprised at the cavalry, they quickly recover. Another point to Wade: they do work well together, seamlessly moving and attacking without so much of a word between them. It’s impressive and annoying. No wonder Wade went down all those times: even with Peter here the ninjas are stupidly difficult to pin down.

It’s only when Peter breaks out the taser webbing that the fight changes. He manages to web one of them right in the chest, and his suspicions about tech are confirmed when it has a profoundly greater reaction than he anticipates: instead of the normal light taser, the electricity cracks like a transformer break and then ninja collapses, green electrical arcs glowing through his black garb. The whole fight seems to pause to watch him go down.

“Wow,” Wade says, freezing mid-punch arc.

“Yeah,” Peter says faintly, staring at the ninja in horror. He’s starting to smoke a little, which is extremely concerning. Wade notices it too.

“Hey, Spidey, are those webs supposed to make people explode?”

“No,” Peter replies grimly, quickly spinning his web shooters to his flame-retardant foam webbing, “They are not.”

Before he has a chance to fire it though, the ninjas regroup. One grabs the fallen guy and then there’s something, some kind of weird distortion, and they vanish. Then one of the remaining ninjas hits something on his wrist, that funky distortion thing happens again, and when Peter’s vision realigns there about sixteen more ninjas.

“Holy reinforcements, Batman!” Wade yelps, and Peter’s inclined to agree. The ninjas are circled around them but otherwise they’re a completely silent, still wall around them. It’s super creepy.

“Hey Webs,” Wade mutters out of the side of his mouth, “How about another one of them sparky ka-boom webs?”

“What?” Peter hisses, “No way! That guy looked seriously hurt, I don’t want to kill them!”

“Oh, so when they kill me—”

“I don’t want them to kill you either! No killing! That’s the whole thing! That’s the whole Spider-Man thing!” Peter whisper-yells at Wade.

To the circle of silent Not-Hand ninjas, he says in what he hopes is a normal tone, “Heyyy, fellas. Sorry about your guy there. Totally not what I intended. Hope he’s okay. Now, I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, but this whole thing’s gotta stop. How about we take a breather, relax a little bit, and you tell us why you’re so eager to gank my man DP?”

The ninjas then say, “Sure, Spider-Man, no problem! You see, we’re actually from Insert Mystery Organisation Here, and our nefarious plans are Nefarious Plan Details. Now that you know, it’s all been thwarted and we’ll stop. Don’t worry about Bob, this happens all the time and he’s totally fine! Sorry about all this, we’ll be good boys now. Bye-bye!”

Just kidding. Instead, what happens is that all of the ninjas pull their katanas at once and point them at Wade and Peter.

“Good talk,” Peter finishes weakly.

“Well, I liked it,” Deadpool reassures him as he swings around to put their backs together. “I especially liked the part where you called me your man—swoon—and, you know? Something about this whole situation is turning me on, what is it? Was it the DP?”

Pete’s spidey-sense hums at an insistent higher frequency which means something’s happening but he just can’t see it. What’s going on here? Why aren’t they moving?

“Wade,” Peter warns.

Wade smacks his hand to his forehead.

“Got it! It’s that little white girl meme! The p*rn one, you know, the one with all the black guys standing around her? Except this time we’re the little white girls about to get penetrated.”

“Wade!” Peter snaps as his spidey-sense screams and two things happen at the same time: all of the ninjas lash out in a simultaneous strike, and Wade picks up Peter and launches them into the air a split second before they become kebabs.

Peter has a confused moment wondering when the hell Wade got the power of flight when Wade helpfully yells, “Grappling hook!” and oh, that makes way more sense.

“I don’t know about you, Spidey, but I’m getting the feeling that these ninjas aren’t normal dudes. It’s giving ‘Ultron’. It’s serving Borg, ya feel?”

The silence, the stillness, the eerily synchronistic movements, the extreme reaction to shock: Peter gets where Wade’s math is mathing. Still, Peter’s now punched and kicked a few of them, they aren’t fully robots. They have decidedly fleshy bodies.

“Yeah, I get you! Some kind of cybernetic link, maybe a hive mind? But be careful, they’re still partly human.”

“Ugh,” Wade pouts as they land back on the ground, “Does this mean you aren’t going to use the super effective web again?”

“No, Wade!”

Wade sighs impatiently and draws his katanas.

“Fiiine, I guess we’re doing this the hard way. Shoot your webs on me, baby boy.”

“What?”

Wade shakes his katanas in front of him.

“The girls, Spidey, web the girls so I don’t unalive any of the ninjas that I should totally be allowed to unalive! Chop-chop before I chop-chop.”

Oh.

“Right,” he says sheepishly, and then quickly webs the edges of Wade’s katanas.

“Bea, Arthur: ladies, I am so sorry,” Wade says mournfully after he gives his webbed blades a few test swings, “I promise Daddy will take such good care of you after we’re done being a good girl for Websy.”

Peter rolls his eyes and ignores the way his ears are burning. He thought he was pretty much immune to Wade’s shock talk but apparently not. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it though because his spidey-sense starts screaming again and sixteen cyborg ninjas are descending on them like a pack of wolves.

“Time to go to work,” Peter hears Wade mutter, and then the fight’s on them.

Here’s the thing about Deadpool: all of the things that make him a liability also make him an exceptional fighter. His unpredictability causes miscalculations, the miscalculations cause openings, and Deadpool is extremely good at exploiting openings.

Peter always hates fighting Deadpool because despite all of Peter’s advantages, Deadpool makes every fight a freaking trial. He’s always exactly where he shouldn’t be, tripping Peter up or getting in the way, hitting exactly the wrong spots, dodging somehow when Peter was sure to hit and then taking hits Peter expects him to dodge only to use Peter’s own momentum against him. And even when Peter walks away the victor of their tête-à-têtes he has the sneaking suspicion that Deadpool was holding back on him.

Fighting Deadpool is frustrating as hell, is what Peter’s getting at here.

Fighting with Wade is a dream. He's always exactly where Peter needs him to be at exactly the right time, offering a helping hand or a launch point or a perfect block. He’s never in the way, and he seems to know exactly where Peter’s about to hit to coordinate his own strikes.

The Borg ninjas might have some sort of shared processing system but Peter and Wade might as well have one too for all that they move perfectly around each other. Despite being wildly outnumbered, as soon as they find their rhythm it becomes child’s play. Web here, swing there, katana here, another web blast there. After the eighth ninja is knocked out of the fight in a beautiful web/ blunted katana combo, Peter can’t help it.

“Are you laughing over there, Webs?” Wade yells in delight. Peter tries to get a grip and swallow his giggles.

“No?” he hiccups unconvincingly.

“Gasp! Spidey-lie!” Wade accuses, and that sets Peter off again.

He can’t help it! He knows that they’re fighting people who are absolutely fine with killing them, he knows that this is serious. But man, every hit is a perfect hit, every move seamless like it was choreographed. It’s just so good. It feels incredible. Peter can’t remember the last time a fight was this satisfying.

“God, I love your laughs, baby boy,” Wade says breathlessly, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you were having fun and ruin your sour-puss rep.”

“Shut up, Wade.” Peter bites back his smile. He narrows his eyes at a nearby wall and calculates his next move. “Gimme a lift.”

“As you wish,” Wade says, and then throws Peter exactly where he needs to go.

All in all, from accidental ninja-fry to sixteen dazed or otherwise unconscious ninjas securely webbed to various surfaces, the fight only takes thirty minutes.

After the last one goes down, there’s a quiet lull where only Peter and Wade’s ragged panting and the faint sounds of the city can be heard. Then Wade catches Peter’s eye and they both burst out laughing.

“Holy f*ck, Spidey!”

“That was so cool!”

“Get f*cking wreckt, Not-Hand Borg Ninjas! Deadpool and Spider-Man just owned your asses! Wait, is that PC? Are we still saying owned like that or—”

“Are you boys done?”

Peter turns to see an elderly gentleman leaning out of a third floor window.

“Oh! Hi there! Yeah, I think so. Sorry for the noise, sir!”

“Hmph. I called the cops, you know.”

“Oh,” Peter winces, “Okay! This is actually kind of a S.H.I.E.L.D thing, but that’s very helpful, thank you!”

“Ooh, jurisdiction fight, I love a dick contest,” Wade purrs. Peter slaps a hand over his mouth.

The old man squints down at them suspiciously.

“Don’t get any of that web stuff on the cars. It strips the paint, you know!”

Peter knows. God, does Peter know. The only people more out for Peter’s blood than the Sinister Six are car insurance companies. The day Peter’s identity is revealed is the day Peter is going to get served with roughly eight million damage claims.

Beneath Peter’s hand, Wade wheezes and Peter forces a smile into his voice.

“I know! Thanks! Have a good night!”

The old man huffs and then closes his window. Peter feels a pressure against his hand and—

“Did you just try to lick me through your mask?”

“I could lick you without it,” Wade replies, waggling his eyebrows, and truly it’s a testament to how playful Peter’s feeling that he doesn’t even think before saying, “You could try.”

Wade’s eyes go wide. “Oh?”

Peter might have made a critical error here.

“Well,” he hedges, and Wade wags his finger at him.

“Oh, no,” Wade says, and his voice has gone dark and promising, “No takie-backsies, Spidey. I heard that with my own two semi-reliable ears.”

Peter takes a nervous step back as Wade begins to roll up his mask. “Now, hold on.”

“Yes, Websy?” Wade coos as he stalks forward. Peter takes another couple hurried steps back.

“We’re—Wade!” Peter has to jump back as Wade suddenly lunges for him, “Wait! We’re at a crime scene!”

“Crime-scene, schmime-schmeme, you said I could lick you and I plan on collecting.”

“That is—” Peter laughs breathlessly as he dances out of Wade’s grasp, “—not what I said!”

“That’s what it sounded like to meee, Websy,” Wade sing-songs, stepping over a webbed ninja to make another grab for Peter.

“No, no,” Pete says, desperately looking for a way out of this. There’s a lamp post roughly ten feet back he could probably get to. “I think you’ll find I said you could try.”

“I think you’ll find I’m gonna,” Wade promises sincerely, and there’s a brief moment where they just stare at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. Then Peter shoots a web towards the lamp post at the same time Wade throws himself bodily at Peter. Peter hits the ground with an “Oof,” as Wade lands on top of him.

“Wade!” Peter shrieks, laughing despite himself. “Get off!”

“I am a gentleman,” Wade declares primly, “So I will allow the lady to choose the location of delivery.”

Peter’s never been so grateful for his mask in his life, he knows his face is burning red. He shoves his hands against Wade’s chest to push him off, but Wade just leans into them.

“Ah, hands, great choice, Spidey. Callback to earlier, it’s thematic, you’re so right,” Wade says, deliberately misunderstanding as he grabs Peter’s hand and gently tugs at Peter’s glove.

Peter could stop this. Peter could one-hundred percent stop this. One actual shove and Wade would go flying.

Instead, Wade gets his glove off and inspects Peter’s hand.

“Gorgeous,” Wade mutters, which is stupid: Peter’s hands are knobby and calloused and torn up from the fight.

Wade pauses for half a second, a heartbeat where he looks down at Peter for permission and Peter’s mouth is suddenly so dry that he can’t say anything even if he wanted to. Then, at Peter’s lack of response, Wade leans in and licks Peter’s hand.

It should be gross. Peter should hate it.

It’s not.

He doesn’t.

Wade doesn’t half-ass it, because when has Wade ever half-assed anything in his life? He starts at the base of his palm with his tongue flat, then points it to lightly trace over Peter’s life line. It’s ticklish enough to make Peter suck in a quick breath as Wade continues all the way up his index finger, lingering on the whorls of Peter’s fingerprint. Then he flips Peter’s hand over to brush a surprisingly chaste kiss to the skinned and bruised skin of his knuckles.

Holy sh*t.

“I win,” Wade grins, and as he does the light from the street lamp shines off his canines. It makes him look wild, predatory.

“Yeah,” Peter says, staring up at him. There’s something happening right now, something big and intense and Peter doesn’t know what it is or what to do, the air is thick and heavy around them and his heart is going about a million miles a minute.

“Webs,” Wade starts, voice low and rough and full of intent—

—And it really is just Peter’s lick—luck, his luck — that that’s when the cops show up.

As a sign that there may yet be a merciful god, they announce themselves with blues and twos, which means there’s just enough time for Peter to shove Wade off and maintain some semblance of dignity.

Peter hops up and waves at the cops as they start setting up their perimeter. The NYPD and Spider-Man have a…passable relationship these days. Passable as in they don’t shoot him on sight anymore, but it’s also not that they don’t want to. Peter spends just as much time webbing corrupt and abusive cops as he does webbing any other type of criminal, and he makes a point to be a friendly, visible presence at anti-police-brutality rallies.

Peter just personally believes that anyone upset about getting rid of corrupt and abusive cops should consider not being a cop but what does he know? He’s only been a masked vigilante since he was fourteen.

Anyway, as it stands these days, Peter doesn’t immediately jet off when the fuzz arrives but he’s never totally relaxed. Especially when he’s not the one to call them in.

Wade doesn’t move from where Peter shoved him. He stays face down, sprawled out on the pavement. Peter can tell he’s saying something, but he can’t quite hear over the shrill wail of sirens and the police yelling.

“Wade,” Peter pokes at him with his toe. “Get up.”

Wade doesn’t budge, so Peter gives another wave to the cops and then leans over to shake him. It’s at this point that he hears Wade cursing a blue streak about pigs with cosmically bad timing. “Wade, stop cussing out the cops when they’re in hearing distance. It makes them super bitchy. Also, gimme my glove back.”

Wade rolls over.

“I can’t keep it?”

“What? No,” Peter frowns. “I need it.”

“Not even as a consolation prize?”

Peter glares at him.

“Glove, Wade.”

Wade sighs forlornly and holds it up. Peter grabs it before he can change his mind and wiggles his hand back into it, picking at the fabric where it clings to his damp skin.

“Spider-Man!” calls a voice, “What have you got here?”

Oh, Ramirez. Peter likes Ramirez. She has a severe case of resting bitch face but a good sense of humor. “Officer Ramirez! Just some ninjas, you know, just your average Tuesday.”

“Maybe your Tuesday, Spider-Man, but not mine.”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” Peter says blithely. “Gotta tell you, I think this is more S.H.I.E.L.D. than NYPD.”

“Oh?” Ramirez blinks, suddenly nervous. “The Hand?”

“No,” Peter reassures her. He gets her nerves. No one wants to deal with The Hand. “But they aren’t average Joes. They’ve got some sort of tech or metal that conducts electricity. They also have something that allows them to either teleport or stealth really effectively.”

“Huh,” Ramirez says, and snaps her gum. “Neat. That does sound like a S.H.I.E.L.D. problem.”

Ramirez radios back to her squad to say as much before turning back to Peter.

“Do any of these guys need medical?”

That…Peter does not know. He should have checked. Stupid Wade, distracting him. Speaking of Wade, where is he?

Peter finds him leaning over one of the webbed ninjas. To keep them from using the wrist thing, Peter had webbed them all pretty thoroughly, locking their arms by their sides. As such, pretty much only their heads and necks are exposed. Wade’s got the ninja’s hood pulled down and is just about to pull off their visor.

“Sir?” Ramirez calls, “Can you step away from the suspect, please?”

“Oh,” Peter assures her, “He’s with me.”

“Don’t care, Spider-Man. We’re here now. Our crime scene, our rules.”

“Just getting a little looksie, Officer,” Wade calls back, “These guys have killed me a couple times and I’ve just been dying to get a look beneath the curtain. Get it? Dying? I crack myself up.”

“Step away, Deadpool,” a new voice says, and dang, S.H.I.E.L.D. really moves it when they want to. Peter squints at the sudden appearance of about ten S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Maybe this teleport tech is getting around. If so, Peter would like to get on the sign-up sheet, please. Web-slinging is fantastic about ninety percent of the time; in downpour, sleet, hail, or blizzard conditions it decidedly is not.

“Agent Noda,” Office Ramirez says dryly, as Noda nods, “Lydia. Spider-Man.”

“Great, the dick contest can begin!” Wade interjects, “Ignore the part where you’re both women. Now can I get a look at these assholes or what?”

“‘Or what’, Deadpool,” Agent Noda says cooly and motions to her agents. They start fanning out, grabbing the webbed ninjas and loading them into a S.H.I.E.L.D van. Wade gets into a brief tug of war over his ninja with an agent.

“Come on! We did the ass kicking, we should get to know who’s asses we kicked!”

“We’d really like to talk to these guys, Agent,” Peter interrupts in his nicest neighborhood Spidey voice before Wade can escalate this further. “Wade has been repeatedly attacked by them.”

Noda barely glances at him.

“I’d be happy to send you a report, Spider-Man. Let me know what address to send it to.”

Cute. Peter narrows his eyes. Wade snorts derisively.

“Send it to my place, Agent NoFun. I’m sure you’ve got the address.”

“Of course, Mr. Wilson,” Noda replies smoothly. “Unfortunately, you’re not cleared for S.H.I.E.L.D. briefings so a report will not be made available to you at this time.”

Peter is getting a headache.

“We have some information about them. Maybe we could do an exchange?”

Noda finally looks up at him.

“We’d appreciate your cooperation with any and all information about these apparent violent offenders, Spider-Man. I’m sure you would not endanger S.H.I.E.L.D. agents by withholding any pertinent knowledge.”

“Real quick, has anyone checked to see if she’s an evil robot?” Wade mutters, and Peter can’t help but agree.

He grits his teeth and takes a steadying breath.

“Of course,” Peter says, and gives her the spark notes. He finishes by adding, “Like I said, we’d like to find out who they are and what their motive is. They’ve been hunting and attacking Wade for weeks.”

“Mr. Wilson is a violent offender himself, Spider-Man,” Agent Noda says blandly, “Apparent to you or not, there are plenty of reasons why he’d be subject to such attacks. Those are the consequences of his…lifestyle.”

“Oh, I’ll show you conse—” Wade starts forward. Pete holds out a belaying hand that Wade miraculously abides by.

“Agent Noda,” Peter asks, carefully pitching his voice to carry to the rest of the agents, the NYPD, and the growing number of curious civilians that are starting to gather, “Is it the opinion of S.H.I.E.L.D. that a private citizen should expect to be repeatedly assaulted without due recourse?”

Agent Noda’s mouth thins, and after a long beat, hands Peter a card with a number on it.

“The results of our preliminary investigation will be made available to Mr. Wilson within five to ten business days. S.H.I.E.L.D thanks you for your service, Spider-Man.”

Then, almost as fast as they arrive, S.H.I.E.L.D. packs up and vanishes, leaving nothing but a few ragged strands of cut webbing. Peter silently hands the card to Wade, who stares down at the name embossed on it.

“What a f*cking asshole,” Wade says finally. “I almost want to throw this in the gutter except you worked so hard to get it for me, Spidey.”

Officer Rameriz snaps her gum.

“You two might want to clear off before someone on my side wants to talk to you. Or before Agent NoFun remembers that you’re not actually a U.S. citizen.”

Wade gasps. “Officer Ramirez! Are you a fan?”

Ramirez shrugs.

“What can I say? I’ve got a soft spot for red spandex and a smart mouth.” She winks at Peter. “Now get the f*ck outta here.”

They don’t need to be told twice.

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When Peter finally gets home, he thinks: f*ck it.

As stupid and frustrating as dealing with S.H.I.E.L.D is, Peter feels awesome. Tonight was freaking incredible.

Sure, there are some loose ends to tie up, like which merc is informing on Wade, and why this whole thing was happening to begin with, but overall, Peter’s pretty proud of them.

They infiltrated a dangerous merc bar! Well, Wade goes there all the time, but Peter infiltrated a merc bar! Wade’s friend wasn’t the traitor! They kicked sixteen ninja butts! The bad guys are in custody, Wade’s home safe, and Jeff didn’t even break the fridge while they were gone.

Besides that one guy, no one even got seriously hurt. It’s been a hot minute since Peter’s gotten to walk away from such a huge fight with nothing more than some sore muscles and scraped knuckles—

His knuckles. His hand.

Right. There was that, too. With everything that happened afterwards he almost forgot about it.

Peter inspects the hand that Wade licked. It’s just his hand: still knobby, still calloused. Slightly less banged up now that it’s been a couple hours since the fight. Still, Peter traces the path that Wade’s mouth took up his palm and shivers.

There’s something rattling around Peter’s brain, something about how he’s feeling right now and how he’s been feeling and something to do with Wade, but Peter decides he’s too wound up right now to put it all together. He’ll deal with whatever that is later.

Still, the hand thing has given him an idea.

He takes a quick but thorough shower and doesn’t bother putting on clothes. He sets up his camera, the LED string lights and the new lighting equipment.

He’s extra careful about the framing. It'll be harder to edit out his face in video than it is in stills, so he makes sure even if he moves around a little it won’t ever get more than his chin or his jaw.

Then, when he’s finally happy with the set up, Peter breaks out the lube and fingers himself open.

He summons the fantasy of Imaginary Guy, sitting across from him, directing him, praising him in that dark, low voice.

And f*ck, it’s hot, thinking about Imaginary Guy palming his dick and listening to the slick, wet sounds of Peter’s fingers, wishing they were his while Peter squirms and whines every time he grazes his prostate.

He gets so focused on riding his fingers that he kind of forgets about his dick until he accidentally brushes his forearm against it and holy sh*t, yeah. He gets a hand on himself and it’s only a couple of short jerks and a crook of his fingers before he’s coming all over himself.

Peter always forgets how intense it is when he gets himself off like this, the dual stimulation whiting out his whole vision and hard-resetting his brain. It hits him like a truck: a full body experience that makes him shake and gasp, twitching into the sensation as much as away, that exquisite mix of oh-god-so-good-too-much.

It takes a minute for him to recover, and then he has to laugh at himself: he’s covered in come and lube. He’s going to have to take another shower again before it gets all gross. Still, he glances up at the camera, at the red recording light. One last thing to do. He scooches forward, leans in, and says,

“Thanks—”

“ —To all the subscribers.”

Wade is losing his f*cking mind. Wait. Scratch that. Wade has lost his mind, that’s well documented in several comic issues. Done and dusted, auf wiedersehen, you were the weakest link, good-bye Wade Wilson’s sanity, wish we knew ya better.

Maybe that explains it. This is not happening. This cannot be happening. This is just a result of the fact that he is—canonically—insane.

Because that’s the only reason Wade can think of why he’s sitting here with his dick out, forgotten in his hand, open-mouthed at the realisation he’s just watched motherf*cking Spider-Man—his Spider-Man—f*ck his hand and come all over himself like a goddamn champion.

Spider-Man! Spidey!!

Because it’s all coming together, isn’t it? Wade’s been subscribed to this guy Ben (Ben! Spidey’s surprise code name at Hell House, goddamnit his brain was trying to tell him then but he was too preoccupied wondering if he was going to have to unalive Weasel) since he appeared on the site a few months ago. A new profile popped up of some ripped twink with early morning jerk off photos, and Wade was intrigued.

Sure, the guy isn’t the most prolific poster and his face is always out of frame, but that was okay! Wade loves a mystery, and he’s a sucker for good lighting and a great ass.

The ass! Wade smacks himself in the face. How did he not see it? It was there all along! How has he been looking at Ben’s photos for months for his whack-off material and not notice? There’s only one bubble butt that perfect and it’s always been his special boy’s.

No, it wasn’t the most beautiful booty in all the land that caused all of Wade’s synapses to suddenly start screaming: it was the laugh.

That little self-deprecating huff, right at the end. Barely even a laugh, really, but Wade knows all of Spidey’s laughs, knows them and loves them and has them all cataloged and labeled like the treasures that they are.

The voice at the end was the final nail in the coffin for this un-f*cking-believable revelation. Spidey has a voice modulator in this suit but Wade’s heard his natural voice enough times to know it when he hears it, even if he’s never heard this particularly raw, f*cked-out version of it.

Holy. sh*t.

His dick gives a valiant twitch to remind Wade that hey, they were in the middle of something here and in fact this little eureka makes it wildly hotter (Spidey!! That’s Spidey’s come-covered belly he’s freeze-framed on! Holy sh*t!!) but Wade summons all the will-power he possesses to close his laptop and put his dick away.

He would love to jerk off to this—don’t get him wrong, he really, really wants to jerk off to this—but the fact that he has historically jerked off to it doesn’t really stand up now, morally speaking. Watching some random dude and fantasizing that it’s Spidey is categorically different now that he knows it’s Spidey. The wishy-washy internet p*rn contract of consent has washed firmly into the “not okay” zone, and Deadpool might be a bastard but he’s not that kind of bastard.

f*ck. Is he going to have to tell Webs? Ah, sh*t, he doesn’t want to. It’s been so good lately: hanging out, playing video games or just chilling. This whole stupid ninja business, the fact that Webs was so stubbornly insistent to help Wade out, well. It makes a girl feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Plus, the hand thing. The f*cking hand thing. The salt-iron tang of Spidey’s skin, the rough scrape of his callouses against Wade’s tongue. The way Web’s breath had hitched when Wade put his mouth on him, the shudder when Wade had pressed that kiss to his knuckles...Wade’s dick gives another insistent twitch at the memory.

Wade’s been beating his meat to that alone for the past week, and probably still would have been if he hadn’t seen a notification in his inbox that Ben had uploaded an actual video this week.

Telling Webs he accidentally found his sexy side hustle will ruin everything. He won’t come over anymore. It’ll be awkward. All the fizzy, playful moods will go away. The best case scenario is that he takes it okay but things are weird and stilted forever.

Or maybe the best case scenario is we convince him to ride us instead, the stupid, still-horny part of him whispers.

Wade snorts. In his f*cking dreams, literally. No, weird and stilted is the best he can hope for.

Does he have to tell him?

Wade hates having moral quandaries. He’s the Merc with the Mouth, bad-ass killing machine! He’s not written for these kinds of things!

“Jeff,” Wade calls sadly, “Daddy’s having a moral quandary and could use some comfort in these trying times.”

Instead of the pitter-patter of little shark feet that he expects, Jeff growls, a sound that would have every hair on Wade’s body standing on end if he had any. That’s all the warning Wade gets before everything goes absolutely, spectacularly, to sh*t.

Chapter 4 Chapter Text

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Wade comes back with his face pressed into the ground and the distinct je ne sais quoi feeling of shrapnel being pushed out of his skin.

“Ow,” he mumbles into the floor.

There’s some kind of sound happening, something part drone and part high-pitched tinnitus that only happens when very special boys and girls go and get themselves a little exploded.

“Wwhh?”

Wade hates getting blown up. The recovery is always such a bitch, and he always seems to wake up before he’s grown everything back. All in all: 2/10 on the DP Dumb Bitch Ways to Die scale.

“Wwhh!”

“Sorry, distorted Mrs Charlie Brown teacher,” Wade groans, “Deadpool’s eardrums still aren’t re-formed yet, please leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeeeep.”

Then his ears pop painfully and his hearing comes rushing back. Typical.

There are hands grabbing at his shoulder and turning him over. A face swims into view: dark hair and wide, panicked eyes.

“Wade!”

“Hi Kate,” Wade says, “Have a nice mission?”

“Wade,” Kate shakes Wade’s shoulders, which hurts like a motherf*cker—thanks Hawkeye, it’s not like he’s got internal bleeding or anything— “I can’t find him.”

“Who?”

“Jeff, Wade!” She sounds on the verge of tears. “Someone bombed your apartment and I can’t find Jeff!”

Wade goes cold as his memory comes slamming back. He sits up, ignoring the agony of his still-battered body.

“They took him.”

“What?” Kate stares at Wade. “Who took him?”

“The f*cking Not-Hand Borg ninjas, Kate!”

“The what?”

Wade shoves himself up—oh that kneecap isn’t done yet, that’s okay, push through the pain, Wade, you can do it, do it for Jeff—and gets a look at his apartment. Well. He’s been meaning to redecorate. The wall between his bedroom and the living room is destroyed, there’s a massive hole in the outside wall, and there’s drywall and shrapnel everywhere. It’s all totally f*cked, which is a shame because Wade actually liked this apartment and he’s definitely not getting his security deposit back.

“Wade?” Kate asks, “What do you mean? Ninjas took Jeff? Wade!”

Wade kicks the ruined door of his closet aside—aw, kneecap, no—to grab one of his suits. The clothes he had on are basically destroyed so he doesn’t take them off as much as he just pulls the scraps off and starts pulling the suit on.

“Call Spider-Man,” Wade tells Kate, “Tell him that the Not-Hand ninjas took Jeff and to meet us at Sister Margaret’s.”

At Jeff’s growl, Wade had thrown himself off the bed to see what was happening. He’d only managed to see the ninjas grabbing a squirming, snarling Jeff before they fired a rocket launcher right in the middle of Wade’s f*cking chest.

There’s one more thing that Wade saw before he died.

“Tell him Agent f*cking NoFun was with them.”

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Peter breaks a speed record getting from his apartment to Sister Margaret’s. He doesn’t even bother to slow down on the descent, he just launches himself through the front door like a fastball special.

It’s maybe not the smartest choice because it startles the 80 or so mercs that are in the bar, but Peter doesn’t have time to regret his decision because Wade stands up on the bartop and fires a bullet into the ceiling, getting everyone’s attention.

“I know we’re all very excited to see Spider-Man,” Wade starts, “But let me be clear: he’s with me, and if any of you dumb-f*cks want to try it tonight I will personally rip your livers out through your throats.”

“Deadp–!” One of the mercs protests and Wade shoots him in the chest.

“Wade!" Peter snaps, horrified.

“Rubber bullets, Spidey, in this gun,” he waggles his left hand. He waggles the gun in his right hand. “Live bullets in this one. Now, would anyone like to confess some sins to Daddy Deadpool tonight?”

The mercs are quiet, torn between Peter’s unwelcome presence at the door and Wade’s threatening one at the bar.

“Now don’t get me wrong, kiddies, Deadpool loves you all very much and will be very forgiving. I won’t be mad, just disappointed, just as long as someone tells me right the f*ck now who they’ve been narcing to about me.”

There’s an uneasy shift in the room as the mercs all side-eye each other.

“No?” Deadpool asks dangerously, and Peter has the sudden crystalline knowledge that unless something happens right now, people are going to die.

“They took Jeff!” he blurts, and the mercs' attention swings to him. “The ninjas that have been attacking Wade took Jeff. He’s what they were after the whole time.”

This causes, in Peter’s expert opinion, a small commotion.

“WHAT?” roars Aleksei, slamming his fists onto the table.

“Jeff?” Another large, bearded mercenary yells. “The bastards!”

“Those f*cking monsters!” shouts another one.

Finally, one woman makes their way to Deadpool in a slow, deliberate saunter.

“Machete,” Deadpool acknowledges her. She tilts her head.

“Deadpool,” she says easily. She hands a phone over to him. “Have Weasel trace the last number.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. I actually can’t say I’m disappointed either because this is absolutely on brand for you,” Deadpool says as he takes the phone. “Was it at least a lot of money?”

“50K per tip that resulted in a successful kill.” She shrugs. “You pissed me off at the Christmas poker game. I figured I’d recoup my loss and f*ck with you a little bit. Had no idea they were after Jeff though, otherwise I’d have told them to go f*ck themselves.”

“Fair,” Deadpool says. Then he swings his right hand up and shoots her.

Peter’s heart drops through his stomach. He throws himself across the room and webs the gun away.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouts.

“Relax, Spidey,” Deadpool says as Machete coughs on the ground. “There were rubber bullets in that gun too. She’s also wearing body armor: all she’ll get for her high treason is a nice bruise and a sore ass. Now,” Wade pulls a third gun off of his thigh holster and points it at her head. “This gun really does have the spicy bullets, Machete. What else can you tell me about these guys?”

“They’re called biohack ninjas,” Machete wheezes, “Some kind of tech-enhanced fighters? I don’t know! They’re led by a woman–Tomoe. She’s the hacker, the one that got into Weasel’s sh*t. That’s all I really know. I was just hired to text that number and let them know where you’d be.”

“Thank you, Machete,” Peter says politely. She might be a sore loser and a snitch, but she’s helping now, and Peter appreciates that.

Deadpool is still crouched in front of her with his gun pointed at her head, though. There’s a hum in Peter’s spidey-sense that tells Peter Wade’s not entirely sold on letting her walk away from this.

“Wade,” Peter says gently, “Forget about her for now. Jeff needs us.”

There’s a tense pause, then Deadpool leans in close to Machete and grinds the end of the barrel against her forehead. “You better hope they haven’t harmed a single scale on that shark’s little body, do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Machete says, her dark eyes wide and afraid.

“You’re lucky I’ve got my better angels with me tonight,” Wade tells her, before twirling the gun and putting it into his holster.

Then he stands and turns to Peter. “Let’s go get our boy, Spidey.”

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Weasel takes the phone and news of Machete’s two-facedness with a disgusted scoff.

Then he does a double take.

“Jesus, is that f*cking Spider-Man? You brought f*cking Spider-Man into my bar, Wade?” Weasel’s mouth drops open in horror. “You brought Spider-Man into my f*cking HQ?”

“Firstly, calling it your HQ is super lame,” Wade says, “And secondly, this is for Jeff, so how ‘bout we do less chitty-chatty and more clicky-clacky to find these motherf*ckers.”

“Thirdly, technically I’ve been here before,” Pete adds primly. “And I like to think I behaved myself pretty well, thank you.”

Weasel stares at him in shock. “Not-A-Hooker-Ben!”

He rounds on Wade. “You brought f*cking Spider-Man into my bar twice!”

“Jeff, Weasel!” Wade threatens, “Find me Jeff right now or I swear to f*ck I will ruin your life.”

Weasel throws his hands up.

“Fine! f*ck! I only run the largest underground mercenary network in the country and I’ve got f*cking Spider-Man sitting behind me!”

Huh. Weasel’s a much bigger player than Peter realized. Instead of letting Weasel know that he just revealed way too much information and freaking him out, Peter only says, “Jeff, please.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Weasel spins to his computer and plugs the phone in. “I’ve already made some headway tracking these f*ckers since they hacked me the first time. I don’t stand for that sh*t. Narrowed them down to Brooklyn but the phone will get us an exact address.”

“How’s Hawkeye doing?” Pete asks Wade while Weasel does his thing.

“Running down everything about Agent NoFun and mustering the call to arms,” Wade says, “It’s a fun little race to see who calls who first.”

Weasel sputters.

“You better not f*cking have the Avengers step foot in here, Wade, I’m serious.”

Wade narrows his eyes at Weasel.

“I will personally allow Nick Fury take a sh*t on your desk if it gets me Jeff back safe and sound, Jack. Why don’t you focus on getting us all the information we need and let Daddy handle the Avengers, okay?”

Weasel spins back to his computer. “Come on, Wade, you know I love Jeff too, it’s just bad for business,” he mutters, poking at the keyboard. Then, “Got it. Motherf*cking Bedford Gardens. I’ll text you the full address. Get the f*ck out of here.”

Wade leans down and presses a quick hard kiss to the top of Weasel’s dirty head. “I f*cking love you, thanks Weas.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go get the boy back. And don’t bring f*cking Spider-Man back here again, it gives me f*cking indigestion.”

“Thanks Weasel, so nice seeing you again,” Peter says, and shoves open the window. “C’mon Wade. You call Kate, I’ll get us there. Climb on.”

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

Jeff is having a bad day.

First! Daddy Deadpool says no pancake for Jeff because Hawkeye come back soon and Jeff put on five pounds. Daddy Deadpool says Hawkeye be mad for Jeff getting fat.

Second! Daddy Deadpool says no, Jeffy, Spider-Daddy no visit today.

Then Bad Ninjas! Come! Grab Jeff! Hurt Deadpool Daddy! Put Jeff in cage!!

Bad Lady Tomoe comes and says Jeff important. Want study Jeff for jeans! Jeff no want jeans! No Tomoe jeans!

Jeff will bite Bad Tomoe when Jeff has chance.

Bad Tomoe comes with a vet pokey and Jeff growls. Bad Ninjas try to grab him but he bites and bites until too many hold him down. Bad Tomoe about to poke Jeff when SPLAT!

BOOM!

Bad Tomoe gets web-face! Then Spider-Daddy swings and kicks Bad Tomoe away from Jeff!

YES!

All of Jeff’s friends come to rescue Jeff! They fight all the ninjas and bad Tomoe. Then Hawkeye comes and grabs Jeff in big hug.

Afterwards, Daddy Deadpool says Jeff deserves a treat for being very good boy, and so Jeff gets ice cream and cake and cookie.

Then Hawkeye takes Jeff home and lets Jeff sleep in big bed because Hawkeye very scared today but happy Jeff safe now.

As Jeff goes to sleep, Jeff thinks: maybe not so bad day after all.

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

Wade drops his box on the floor and goes, “So, what, Agent NoFun was actually this Tomoe the whole time?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, squinting at Kate’s notes. Jeez, she really needs to work on her penmanship. “Apparently she’s been infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D for almost a year.”

“I told you that woman had evil robot vibes!” Wade says and Peter rolls his eyes.

“You’re so smart and very right,” Peter says flatly, because this is not the first time Wade has made this point. “She and her biohack ninjas, which, gotta say–”

“Great name.”

“Great name, way better than Not-Hand Borg Ninjas,” Peter agrees, “Anyway, they have this whole, bio-organic/ tech-hybridization manifesto. As Agent Noda, Tomoe used S.H.I.E.L.D. to get access and control over any new technology that got uncovered. She found out about Jeff, and apparently became really interested in seeing how Jeff’s genes might be used for her “biohack” project.”

Wade grunts as he lifts another box, checks the label, and then tosses it carelessly into the second bedroom with a heavy thud. Peter raises his eyebrows under his mask.

“Guest linens?”

“Nah, ordnance. Does Kate’s stupid Avengers report say why the f*ck they were killing me all the time?”

“Yeah,” Peter flips a few pages back. “Some kind of test to see how long you’d stay down given different methods of killing so they could grab Jeff and get far enough away before you woke up? It also looks like Tomoe was starting to think that your genes might also have been desirable for her biohack.”

Wade sighs.

“Yeah, they always think that. They get all excited to arrive at Regeneration Station, choo-choo! Little do they know, it’s via Turbo Cancer Express. You get turbo cancer! And you get turbo cancer! Everyone gets turbo cancer!”

Peter winces.

“Anyway, Tomoe and her group have all been rounded up. Apparently the response to her ninjas getting arrested caused some red flags in S H.I.E.L.D. so Tomoe moved up her timetable. They were expecting you to try and hunt them down. They weren’t expecting you, me, the East Coast Avengers, the West Coast Avengers, The Defenders, and a sizable chunk of New York’s mercenary population to bust down their door.”

“Only the best for my baby,” Wade coos, then sighs sadly.

Peter agrees. Jeff’s back with Hawkeye in California and, according to Kate, he’s his normal happy land shark self. Peter’s happy that he’s happy and safe, but he misses him.

Yet another reason to hate stupid California. Keeping all the things he loves so far away.

Peter looks around at Wade’s new apartment. At least he still has finishing Hades to distract him, once Wade’s done setting up the TV and the Switch.

“Well,” Wade says finally, “Another mystery solved, gang! No harm, no foul. I even think Weasel’s recovered from having you all Spidey-ed out in Hell House.”

Peter snorts.

“Well, let me know if he’s annoying you, I’m sure Not-A-Hooker-Ben could swing by as a treat.”

He expects Wade to laugh, but Wade chokes and coughs. Peter squints at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure, never better,” Wade says, but his voice is high and weird. Peter is suddenly one-hundred percent sure he’s being lied to.

“Wade,” Peter says flatly. “What.”

“Ah, sh*t, Spidey,” Wade sighs. He scuffs a boot against the floor. He looks…awkward? Rueful? Whatever it is, it’s strange and Peter’s anxiety kicks up a notch. “I’ve been meaning to say something, but all the Jeff stuff happened and it wasn’t the right time and then I just was kind of hoping I’d forget about it so I wouldn’t have to—”

“Wade,” Peter interrupts impatiently. “Get to the point.”

“I know your secret,” Wade blurts. Peter goes cold all over.

“What?” he croaks.

“Look, it was an accident,” Wade starts, and then, “Wait, no, that’s a lie. But it wasn’t intentional, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter echoes numbly.

“I didn’t mean to figure it out, but you laughed and I was like, oh sh*t, that’s Spidey’s laugh, and then I was like, oh sh*t, that’s for sure Spidey’s booty, and then I remembered you’d used that name before? At Hell House? And it all just came together? I’m so sorry, Webs. If it helps, I don’t think anyone else will be able to figure it out.”

Wait. What?

“Wade,” Peter says slowly, “What the hell are you talking about right now?”

Wade blinks. “...Ben?”

“What about him?” Peter demands.

Wade tilts his head. “He’s…you? You’re Ben? From OnlyFans?”

What. The. f*ck.

“Excuse me,” Peter says faintly, “I need to make…a quick phone call.”

“Sure,” Wade says nervously. He sits down on the couch and covers his ears. “I won’t listen, Scout’s honor.”

Peter walks to the other side of the room, pulls his phone out, and hits MJ’s stupid contact icon.

“Hey, dude, what’s—” MJ answers cheerfully, but Peter interrupts her before she can finish.

“MJ,” Peter hisses into his phone, “Did you make my OnlyFans name Ben?”

“Oh. Yeah?” MJ asks curiously, “Why?”

Peter stares down at the phone incredulously before bringing it back up to his ear.

“Ben,” he stresses. “You know, Ben, the name of my uncle, Ben, who died in my arms? That Ben? You named the account where I jerk off for strangers the same name as my Uncle Ben?”

There is a very long pause.

“Well, if you put it that way,” MJ hesitates, “It does seem a little in bad taste.”

“MJ!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Peter demands. Jeez, what else does he not know?

“You didn’t ask! It kinda seemed like you didn’t care about any of the logistics, and I know you’re super busy so I just handled it. And that’s totally fine, because it was my idea and I wanted to do it,” MJ says defensively. “Honestly, dude, I figured it was a don’t ask don’t tell thing.”

That is….an extremely fair point. Peter didn’t ask. Even when the first payout happened, Peter was so worked up about the amount and why that he didn’t ask questions about how the money even got deposited to him in the first place.

“...Did you steal my identity for this?”

“Identity theft is not a joke, Jim,” MJ replies automatically.

“MJ!” Peter whispers furiously. Across the room, Wade still has his hands up and is whistling, carefully studying the ceiling.

“Okay, okay, sorry. If you mean, did I—technically with your consent!—impersonate you to make the account as you with your bank details? Yes, I did do that.”

“How do you even have my bank details?” Peter demands because he might be about three months too late to this question but he’s asking now.

“The same way I have a copy of your birth certificate, social security number, insurance, and all of your medical records,” MJ says gently.

May.

All of Peter’s anger and frustration washes away in a tidal wave of grief. He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes against the sudden prick of tears.

“Someone’s gotta take care of you, tiger,” MJ continues quietly. “You can’t do it all on your own. When she got sick, she asked me to look after you and —before you get into your stupid head about it—I said yes because I wanted to. You do so much to help so many. She just wanted to make sure that you had someone to help you. She loved you so much, Peter.”

Peter steadies himself against the wall and takes a couple of deep, overwhelmed breaths.

“...now, is selling your dick on the internet the help she intended?” MJ adds lightly, “Probably not, but in my defense, the economy is in shambles.”

That startles a wet laugh out of Peter, and MJ laughs too, easing the tension between them. He rubs his chest where the loss of May still aches sharply. He misses her so much. He misses MJ, his wonderful, horrible friend who for some reason has chosen to love him. He doesn’t deserve her.

“Love you,” he says around the lump in his throat.

“I love you too, Peter,” she says fiercely. After another quiet moment while Peter recovers, she asks, “How did the Ben thing even come up?”

“Oh that,” Peter hiccups somewhat-hysterically, “I got recognised. By my butt.”

“What!”

“Technically,” Wade calls from across the room, “It was your laugh, baby boy.”

Peter glares.

“I thought you weren’t listening!”

“I’m not! Just that last part, I promise. I can’t help it if I'm naturally attuned to you and the subject of your butt, Spidey.”

“Is that Wade?” MJ asks loudly, “Wade recognized you? Oh my god, wait—Wade is a subscriber? Oh, MercWDatMouf69, duh.”

“Gotta go now,” Peter eyes Wade. But because she’s a feral, terrible raccoon on a mission to embarrass Peter to death, MJ keeps talking:

“He recognised you by your laugh? Oh my god, that’s so cute! Wait, is this a post hook-up call? I'm so happy for you, tiger. You’ve been pining for that dick for ages.”

All of the air seems to get sucked out of the room as Wade and Peter stare at each other.

That thing that’s been clanging around Peter’s head starts knocking around with abrupt urgency.

“What?” Peter chokes.

There’s a very long pause.

“Dude,” MJ says carefully, “Tell me you knew that, right? Tell me you knew that Imaginary Guy is Wade. I thought you were just being like, delicate. ‘Cause Wade’s a Spidey thing and not a P—”

“Really gotta go now, thanks!” Peter says, strangled, and finally manages to get his frozen limbs to work and hang up the call.

The silence is deafening.

“Imaginary Guy?” Wade asks, dangerously light.

“Yeah,” Peter says faintly, more to himself than to Wade.

Imaginary Guy. Tall. Broad. Rough voice. Thick thighs. Big hands.

He stares at Wade. Tall. Broad. Rough voice. Thick thighs. Big hands.

Holy sh*t.

There is a chance, Peter thinks hysterically, that he’s a total idiot.

“Yeah?” Wade echoes in a dark, low voice, Imaginary Guy's voice, that same voice Peter remembers from the night they fought the ninjas. Wade abandons the couch and makes his way to Peter—a slow, predatory walk that spikes Peter’s heart rate.

“He’s the guy,” Peter’s throat is so dry that it clicks when he talks, and he has to swallow before continuing, “That I, um. Think about.”

Wade moves in until Peter is crowded against the wall, so close that Wade can probably hear Peter’s heart, rabbiting away in his chest.

“Go on, the guy you think about..?” Wade presses. Peter’s face is burning. He knows Wade can see it on his cheeks and neck where his mask is pulled up over his nose.

Peter feels like he’s going to die, from lack of air or heart attack or just sheer embarrassment.

Still, he forces the words out: “When I take my pictures, for uh, OnlyFans. To get off. He’s who I think about to get off.”

“Holy sh*t, Webs,” Wade groans, and he grinds his forehead into the wall beside Peter’s head. “That’s so f*cking—Jesus Christ, baby boy. That video—you were thinking of me, sweetheart?”

“Well,” Peter mumbles self-consciously, “I didn’t realize it was you until right now. But, um. Yeah.”

Wade cups a gloved hand to Peter’s face, the nylon of his thumb running roughly against the hot skin of Peter’s cheek, just under the crease of Peter’s mask. Peter can only shiver, turned-on and deliriously light-headed.

He expects Wade to move, but Wade stays perfectly still, maintaining that careful breath’s distance apart. He holds Peter’s face so gently, stroking lightly at the hinge of Peter’s jaw.

“Webs,” Wade pleads roughly. “You gotta give me—please, baby boy, I don’t trust myself—Wanted you so long, so bad, I can’t—”

Peter surges up to press their mouths together, cutting him off.

It’s chaste for like a second, just a rough meeting of Peter’s chapped, chewed lips against Wade’s scarred ones. A gentle, careful brush of their mouths. Then Peter tilts his head to suck at Wade’s bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth and getting instantly high on the way Wade keens, a needy, broken sound that has Peter’s whole body flaring white-hot.

It devolves pretty quickly after that.

Peter winds up with one hand buried in the back of Wade’s mask and the other uselessly pulling at all the stupid buckles and harnesses and straps of Wade’s suit, whatever he can get a grip on to try and get Wade closer.

Wade’s mouth is hot and wet and rough, and Peter is immediately obsessed with it, addicted to the slide of his tongue and the way Wade moans when Peter sucks on it.

“Webs, Webs, Webs,” Wade chants as he breaks away to press quick little biting kisses to Peter’s jaw and neck. He runs his hands down Peter’s body, caging Peter’s hips between his hands and rubbing his thumbs over the sensitive divot between Peter’s hip and abdomen. It feels like Wade’s put a live wire directly between the sting of his teeth and Peter’s dick.

It feels so good that Peter can only moan, so turned-on he can’t think straight. He pulls Wade’s head back up to lick into his mouth and run his tongue against the sharp edges of his canines. Wade shudders and tilts his head to bite at Peter’s upper lip, then presses a firm kiss to the corner of Peter’s mouth.

“f*ck, Spidey, wanna get you off, wanna be the one to do it for real,” Wade mumbles into Peter’s mouth as he rubs at Peter’s hips, stroking down the lines of his pelvis, “Make it so good for you, please, baby boy, can I?”

“Yeah,” Peter gasps, “Yeah, yeah, f*ck.”

Wade plucks at the fabric of his suit, and Peter shoves his hand between them to release the hidden waist seam. He yanks at the top to pull it apart.

“Such a clever spider,” Wade croons, “Love that about you, so smart, Spidey.”

Then he drops to his knees and presses his face into the revealed skin of Peter’s stomach. He inhales, then rubs his nose into dusting of hair beneath Peter’s belly button.

“f*ck,” Wade breaths reverently, and presses hot, opened-mouthed kisses to the vulnerable skin of his belly.

Wade shifts his hands to grab at Peter’s ass, and they both moan as he digs his fingers in and pulls his cheeks apart.

“God,” Wade slurs, “Can’t even f*ckin’ believe—” then he shoves his face fully into Peter’s crotch, playfully snuffing and nipping like a junkyard dog.

“Wade,” Peter laughs helplessly, grabbing at Wade’s shoulders.

“Sorry, Websy,” Wade rubs his hands down Peter’s thighs then back up to squeeze at Peter’s ass. “Can’t help it, baby boy, got me so worked up.”

Which is crazy because Peter hasn’t even really gotten to touch Wade, and god, he wants to, wants to pull more of those desperate noises out of him. On the second pass of Wade’s hands he tugs at the waistband of Peter’s suit, and Peter cants his hips forward encouragingly so that Wade can pull them down.

“Jesus, you’re so f*cking hot,” Wade mutters at Peter’s revealed body. He rubs his nose into Pete’s pubes and presses another hot, open-mouthed kiss to the base of Peter’s dick. Wade moves his way around, kissing and biting at Peter’s inner thighs and groin before sucking Peter’s balls into that hot, wet mouth.

Peter’s head thunks against the wall and he pants harshly. Thank god for super-strength and spider-cling, otherwise Peter probably would have ended up on the floor. As it is, his legs are already shaking and he has to hold on to Wade’s shoulders for balance.

Wade takes his time, sucking and licking at Peter’s balls and using one hand to rub at the sensitive skin just behind them, the other hand still pressing at that tender spot on Peter’s hip.

He barely touches Peter’s co*ck except to occasionally rub his cheek along the length and press sweet, chaste kisses to the weeping head. It’s so good and not enough and it’s driving Peter absolutely insane.

“Wade,” Peter gasps finally, because he’ll die if it keeps going like this. He’ll just straight up die.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Wade’s voice is so dark and hot that Peter’s dick twitches, which only serves to make Wade chuckle and rub his face against it, the f*cking tease.

“Please,” Peter whines, “Please, c’mon, Wade, please.”

“Whatchu want, baby boy?” Wade croons sweetly, the absolute bastard, he knows what Peter wants. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you, promise, I’ll give you everything you need.”

f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, he’s such a dick, making Peter beg like this. But as much as Wade likes pushing his buttons, well, Peter knows how to push Wade’s, too.

Peter grabs hard at the back of Wade’s mask and tilts his head so that Peter’s looking him in the eyes when he says, “Suck my co*ck, Wade.”

Wade freezes for a split second with his eyes wide and his mouth open, then he bursts out a ragged, “f*ck!” and finally, finally gets his mouth on Peter.

Peter hits his head on the wall again as Wade takes him all the way down, his nose rubbing at Peter’s pubes while the head of Peter’s dick pushes at the plush, hot tissue of Wade’s throat.

When Wade starts bobbing his head and sucking, Peter has to shove his wrist in his mouth to muffle the desperate cries that want to escape.

Wade whines plaintively and reaches up to grab at Peter’s hand. He pulls his mouth off of Peter to rasp, “Wanna hear you, sweetheart, let me hear you,” before swallowing him down again. He puts Peter’s hand on the top of his head and moans encouragingly when Peter grips the fabric tightly.

Wade works him over, alternating between light and fast suction and pulling him deep into his throat and swallowing around him. All the while his hands rove from stroking up Peter’s thighs to grabbing at Peter’s ass to gently pulling and rolling Peter’s balls. It’s not long before Peter is a shaking, panting mess and he’s pulling at Wade’s mask in warning.

“Wade,” Peter gasps. Wade only hums, which makes Peter’s eyes roll back and he thunks his head back again. He’s hanging on by his fingernails. “M’close, f*ck, m’close, Wade.”

Wade pulls off and presses a kiss to the side of Peter’s dick. “Wanna f*ck my mouth ‘til you come?”

“f*ck,” Peter groans as Wade sinks back onto him and waits with his jaw wide and his eyes lifted to Peter’s. Holy sh*t. “That’s so f*cking hot.”

Peter grabs the back of Wade’s head to pull him down while he gives an experimental thrust of his hips. God, that’s good, and Wade takes it so easy—“So perfect, Wade, you’re so good,” — and Wade shudders and whines and drools as Peter f*cks into his mouth.

He was close already so it’s only a handful of thrusts before Peter’s org*sm slams through him, whiting out his vision and overwhelming all his senses. He’s shoved deep into Wade’s throat and Wade keeps swallowing around him until Peter has to slap his hands against the wall to keep upright.

He pulls out gently, careful of Wade’s throat, then gives in to gravity and drops to his knees. He presses an apologetic kiss first to Wade’s throat—just about where the wound was at the start of this—and then leans up to capture Wade’s mouth.

Wade makes a muffled sound of surprise and then a groan as Peter licks into his mouth and sucks at his tongue.

Peter grabs at Wade’s belt urgently.

“You’re gonna have to help me, I have no idea how this works,” Peter admits as he yanks at it.

Wade grabs Peter’s hand and rubs a thumb over his wrist.

“You sure, Spidey? It’s not pretty under here. Don’t need reciprocation, I just wanted to make you feel good.”

Peter blinks at him in confusion. He's too stupid right now to understand what the hell he's going on about.

“I—don’t care if a dick is pretty? It’s your dick?” He finally offers.

Wade snorts.

“No, baby boy, I mean this,” he gestures at the exposed, scarred skin of his face, “Is everywhere.”

Oh, is that it?

“Yeah,” Peter shrugs, “I figured.”

Wade squints at him.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

Peter rolls his eyes and yanks impatiently at Wade’s belt again.

“Unless there’s something I need to be careful about when I touch you, the only thing that’s bothering me is that you are not taking off your pants.”

Wade stares at him for a long second and then attacks his mouth in a searing kiss that has Peter gasping.

“Perfect, you’re perfect,” Wade mutters into his mouth, “Cannot f*cking believe this, don’t wanna wake up.”

“You’re not dreaming,” Peter says, smiling, “I’m real, I’m here, and I’d like to get my hand on your dick now, please.”

Wade does something completely incomprehensible to Peter’s come-dumb brain to get his belt off and his suit pulled open, but Pete doesn’t need to know the hows because it lets him wrap his hand around Wade’s co*ck.

“Liar,” Pete says as he jacks his hand up the length of it, smearing pre-come around the head and slicking it back down the shaft. f*ck, he’s wet, and Pete shudders in an aftershock to see how hot Wade got just from sucking Peter off.

“Hnngngh?” Wade says intelligently.

“It is pretty,” Pete says, and then uses his other hand to reel Wade in and kiss him.

Peter doesn’t waste any time. There’ll be time for teasing payback later—Peter’s looking forward to it—but for now he really wants to make Wade come, so he sets a tight, steady pace until Wade is whining and moaning into Peter’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Peter murmurs, “I got you, big guy, come on, that’s it, I got you,” until Wade sucks in a sharp breath and comes all over Peter’s hand and belly.

“Fuc-kk,” Wade groans, shoving his face into the crook of Peter’s neck and panting heavily.

Peter keeps a slow, soothing pace over Wade’s dick through the aftershocks, using Wade’s come as extra lube. It’ll probably be gross in a minute, for now it’s just hot, watching Wade’s dick twitch valiantly and Wade shudder. Peter lets go regretfully before it crosses into over-stimulation.

For a moment, they just sit like that, Wade breathing into Peter’s neck and Peter running his non-come covered hand over Wade’s back.

“So hey,” Peter says lightly, “I think I like you?”

Wade snorts. The vibration tickles Peter’s neck, which makes him giggle, which makes Wade giggle, which ends with them holding each other up as they wheeze their way through a fit of hysterics.

“Hey, Webs,” Wade teases when they finally calm down, “I like you, too. Been flirting with you for the past five years, but thanks for noticing.”

Peter’s face goes hot and he shrugs.

“Yeah, but you do that with everyone. Guess I just figured it was a you thing, not a me thing.”

Wade stares at him incredulously. “Webs. Baby boy. Light of my life. I flirt with everyone, but you’re special. You’ve always been special to me. You know that, right?”

Peter is feeling extremely put out with the things he’s supposed to have known recently, so he just shrugs.

Wade lets out a deep breath and mutters “Okay, Wilson: maximum effort,” before raising his voice and lifting his eyes to Peter, as serious as Peter has ever seen him.

“I’m crazy about you, Webs. I mean, I’m crazy normally, but I’d do anything for you. You’re the real deal. You’re smart and brave and kind, and you always do the right thing, even when it’s hard—especially if it’s hard—and that makes me extra insane but you never give up. You’re funny and sharp and sh*t, Webs, you could get up right now and leave and we never have to talk about this again, but you’re it for me, Websy. You’re everything to me.”

Peter stares at him for a long moment and then pulls off his mask.

“Oh. My. God,” Wade breathes, his eyes huge.

“Hi,” Peter says, and waves his gross, cold-come-covered hand. “I’m Peter.”

“Oh my god!” Wade shrieks.

Peter laughs, and then has his face immediately squished as Wade grabs his head and stares at him.

“Holy-sh*t-holy-sh*t-holy sh*t,” Wade chants feverishly, “That’s your laugh face! That’s what it looks like when you laugh! You’re beautiful, Webs—Peter, Pete, Petey, what the f*ck, you’re gorgeous.”

Peter blushes and Wade makes a high-pitched squeal. "Blushes! Spidey-blushes! Precious little sweetie-Petey-pie-blushie!”

Jeez. Peter rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me regret telling you.”

Wade gets dead serious, and puts his hand on his chest. “Cross my heart, hope to die for good, baby boy. I’ll never give you up, never ever.”

Peter smiles at him. “I know, Wade. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t trust you.”

Wade stares at him for so long that Peter starts to get nervous.

“What?”

“You know, you really do look like Andrew Garfield.”

“I still don’t know who that is,” Peter points out. “I just look like me.”

“Peter,” Wade says dreamily, “You do, my perfect Petey-sweetie.”

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

“Okay,” Kate says, “Mission brief says six weeks, but there’s a big asterisk next to it, so let’s just go ahead and assume 8 to 10.”

“Got it,” Peter nods.

“He gets his chow every day, three times a day, plus a fish or a steak.”

“Mrrr?” From Wade’s lap, Jeff lifts his head hopefully at the sound of fish.

“We’re discussing your schedule, Jeffrey, you already had your fish today,” Kate says dismissively, and doesn’t even flinch when Jeff scowls at her.

She turns to Peter. “He’s a horrible little beggar and he will try to sneak food he isn’t supposed to eat, so keep an eye on him, and don’t be afraid to put your foot down. He sulks, but he’s easily distracted.”

Peter winces. The Great Chorizo Incident is in the past but not forgotten. “Understood,” he says.

Kate taps her pen to her mouth. “What else? He should go out at least twice a day, but he can use the toilet, so it’s mostly for exercise and for fresh air…he loves TV, but don’t let him watch reality shows all day, he gets super bitchy.”

“Mrrr,” Jeff grumbles and Wade pets him soothingly.

“Don’t worry, buddy, Daddy’s gonna put on only the finest television for you,” he croons.

Kate squints. “Golden Girls?”

“Golden Girls,” Peter confirms. “But I’ll make sure I get some nature documentaries in there.”

“Oh, he loves those,” Kate brightens. “Just make sure you fill up the tub afterwards, it always makes him want to swim.”

Kate looks around and nods decisively. “That’s pretty much it. Everything else is in the instructions, and obviously Wade’s watched him before.”

She smiles at Peter. “It’s really nice to meet you, Peter. I didn’t think I’d ever say that about one of Wade’s boyfriends, but you’ve been really good for this idiot.”

Peter smiles serenely even as Wade protests from the couch.

“Thanks, Kate. It’s really nice to meet you, too. We’ll take good care of Jeff while you’re gone. Good luck on your mission.”

“Thanks, Peter.”

Kate goes and gives Jeff a kiss, lightly smacks Wade’s head, and then points at both of them.

“Be good. Don’t let him get kidnapped by ninjas again, Wade. Call Spider-Man if you need help, got it?”

Wade grins impishly. “Yes ma’am, Hawkeye, ma’am. Golden Girls, ix-nay on the injas-nay, Spider-Man. We love Spidey-daddy, don’t we, Jeffy-poo?”

“Mrrr!”

Kate squints at him suspiciously as Peter silently shakes his head behind her back.

“‘Kay,” Kate says finally. “I gotta catch my flight. Thanks again, Wade. Bye, Jeffrey.”

Then she heads to the door. Before she leaves, she turns towards Peter with a guilty smile. "I'm so sorry, I know it’s awful, but there’s kind of a bet going on and I gotta ask: how did you two even meet?”

Peter can’t help the evil smirk that crosses his face.

“Oh, Wade? We met on OnlyFans.”