Archive of Our Own ^beta

Peter sighs as he throws the last of his clothes into the closet. He turns to his Aunt May, who had helped him unpack all of his belongings into the small dorm room apartment. “Thanks for your help, Aunt May, but I think we’re done here. And I’m pretty tired.”

Aunt May nods at him, her smile gentle. “Of course, honey. I’ll leave you be. Make sure you’re nice to your roommate—”

Peter tunes her out to look at the kitchen table, which has some bags of takeout on it, then towards the direction of the two bedrooms, where he assumed his roommate had already set up. Not that Peter had seen this roommate, but he hoped he would soon. Can’t blame a guy for being curious about the owner of all this takeaway food and trash lying around.

“Yes, Aunt May,” Peter says, pretending he had heard her entire spiel. “Now please, go.” It was getting late and Peter still had to do his patrol for the night.

Aunt May only nodded, putting her hands up in mock surrender. She left the apartment then, closing the door gently behind her. Peter sighs. He took himself to his room where he got dressed into his Spider-Man suit and swung himself out of the window.

It had been a peaceful patrol so far. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. The only crime Peter had stopped this night was a mugging happening just outside of an alley by a cornerstore. Peter swung himself up onto the rooftop of a building, then sat down, legs dangling over the edge. He loved New York City at night, truly. All of the lights blending together and lighting up the night sky, turning the city into a parade of soft and harsh whites.

Peter suddenly felt his spidey-sense go off, a throng deep in his brain that made him whip around.

“Hey, Webs!”

Deadpool.

Peter had met Deadpool a few times before, but never often. The mercenary seemed to be set on talking to Peter, despite Peter having made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the mercenary—at least, while he was still killing people. But Deadpool, to his credit, had been cutting back on the killing. Peter assumed that it was difficult to just let it go, because old habits die hard, but he could at least acknowledge that Deadpool was trying. At least, the man had said so. One of the most recent times him and Peter had met, Deadpool had asked him why Peter wouldn’t be friends with him, and Peter had responded:

“Stop murdering people, and maybe I’ll consider.”

So Deadpool had slowly stopped taking lethal jobs. He stuck to non-lethal methods of knocking people out. He’d even helped Peter out with stopping one or two crimes around the city. And Peter loathed to admit it, but him and Deadpool made a damn good team.

“Hi, Deadpool,” Peter finally responds, realizing he had just been staring at the mercenary.

Deadpool plops down next to him. “Glad I caught you!” He exclaims, and with a flourish pulls out a brown takeout bag, setting it down between himself and Peter. “I got you your favorite, sweetums.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Deadpool, but I’m not really hungry.” It’s a lie, but the last thing Peter wants to do was lift up his mask—even halfway—in front of Deadpool. Deadpool really only knows Peter likes tacos because Peter had told him a while back when Deadpool was asking about his favorite, well, everything.

Deadpool looks at him for a moment, the eyes of his mask narrowing. Peter still doesn’t know how he does that. “Sure, baby boy, just take one. If it makes you feel any better, I won’t even look at ya. Just be looking down. At my own food.”

Peter nods, then takes the wrapped taco out of Deadpool’s hands. He carefully rolls his mask up to his nose and takes a bite. It was fine. A little cold, but overall, fine.

“So, what’s been going on with you? Haven’t seen you around in a bit.” Deadpool’s voice comes muffled and Peter resists the urge to punch the man for talking with food in his mouth.

Peter shrugs instead. “I’ve just been… busy.”

“With?”

Peter sighs. “Do you need to know everything that goes on in my life?”

Deadpool throws his arms up. “I gave up murder for you, Spidey! The least you can do is tell me your woes.”

Peter sighs again, this time more heavy and pointedly. “Fine. If you must know, I just started college, and… I don’t know. Moving from a house to a small apartment is hard.”

“I feel ya, sweetums,” Deadpool says, grinning over at Peter, the promise that he wouldn’t look at him long forgotten. Peter isn’t sure he cares anymore. “I just started college, too.”

“College?” Peter squeaks out. “I thought you were like, late twenties at least!”

Deadpool laughs, a full body laugh that explodes out of him, and Peter has to wonder for a moment how Deadpool can be so careless with himself. “No, Webs. I’m twenty.”

Peter nods. “Huh. Well then. What are you majoring in?”

“Biochem.”

Peter widens his eyes. “Holy shit, biochem? I thought you dropped out of high school to become a part of the special forces, dude. What the fuck do you mean you’re studying biochemistry?”

“Woah, Spider-Man dropping f-bombs? Not on my list of—” Deadpool cuts himself off after Peter smacks his shoulder. “Okay! Okay. I did drop out of high school, but after being discharged from special forces, I got my GED. And besides, what better way to study my mutation than to study biochem?”

Peter shrugs. “I guess. What even happened there, y’know?”

“The Weapon X program,” Deadpool says. “They gave me my healing factor with some of Wolverine’s blood.”

“Oh.”

“But, y’know, the cancer kind of fucked my face up.”

“Right.” Peter straightens up, clearing his throat. He’s never seen Deadpool’s face, doesn’t even know Deadpool’s name, and he’s sure if he just looked up Deadpool he’d have everything there is to know about the mercenary, but part of him likes the mystery. The other part of him doesn’t know if Deadpool wants him to know, and the man had always seemed to respect Peter’s identity, so Peter never tried to find anything out about Deadpool in return.

Deadpool keeps babbling on about Weapon X and about how his healing factor comes from his cancer, as the dead cells regenerate, causing him to heal whenever he’s hurt, but keeping his skin scarred. Peter’s only half-listening, still wondering about Deadpool as a whole. He finds the man quite interesting, even if he knows he really shouldn’t even be talking to a merc.

“Anyway, how’d you get your mutation?” Deadpool finally asks him. Peter feels himself flush. His story seems so tame in comparison to Deadpool’s.

“I, uh, got bit by a radioactive spider. I’m not really sure I’m even considered a mutant, I just happened to stumble upon a radioactive spider and boom. Spider-Man.” Peter clears his throat once more. The only other person he has told this story to is MJ. “I’m really not too sure how it all turned me into Spider-Man. But.”

Deadpool nods at him, setting his empty wrapper aside. “Well, I guess you didn’t have to go through the torture that Weapon X puts you through. Score!” He jokes, but there’s a tight pull of his lips that tells Peter he isn’t really over it all.

Peter still chuckles. “Yeah, I guess. What’d they even do to you?”

“Oh, a bunch of stuff. I won’t get into it.” Deadpool waves his hand in the air dismissively. “Look, I probably gotta get back home, Webs. Have a good rest of your patrol, sweetums!”

Something inside Peter desperately wants to know more about Deadpool and his mutation, but can’t find the words in him to make the man stay. So instead, Peter stays silent, nods his head once, and pulls his mask back down. Deadpool disappears into the night.

Peter sighs as he closes his window, stripping the Spider-Man suit off of his body. He hears clanging in the kitchen, so he assumes his roommate is finally in. Maybe he should go introduce himself. He throws on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt and heads into the living room. His roommate is there, taking old pots off of the stove and not so carefully tossing them into the sink. He has a hoodie on, the hood pulled up over his head.

“Hello?” Peter says, voice quiet. The guy doesn’t seem to hear him. Peter tries again. “Hello?”

The figure finally turns around, seemingly surprised at the company of another person. He stares at Peter for a minute. Peter can’t see his face. This dude’s kind of creepy, Peter decides. “Um,” he starts, rocking back on the heels of his feet. “I’m Peter. I assume you’re my roommate?”

The man finally comes out of his stupor, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah. Hi. I’m Wade. Wilson.” The guy’s voice is a little high-pitched but rough, a scratchiness in his tone that leaves Peter’s skin tingling. He can’t quite figure out why. He doesn’t think this guy—Wade—is dangerous. His spidey-sense hasn’t gone off. Yet.

“What’s with the—uh—the hood?” Peter asks, still rocking from the heels to balls of his toes. He’s uncomfortable.

“Oh,” Wade says. “I’m just ugly as shit. Trust me, you don’t wanna see it.” He waves his hand in the air, a mannerism that reminds Peter distinctly of Deadpool. It’s something Deadpool does a lot—talk with his hands, wave his arms in the air to dismiss a statement that either he said or that’s said to him.

Peter’s mind is back on Deadpool. It seems to be doing that a lot in the past few hours.

“Where’d you even come from?” Wade asks then, pointing his face in the direction of the door. “Cause I’ve been out here for like, an hour, and I may be crazy, but not crazy enough to miss someone waltzing through my front door.”

Peter stops rocking. He stands rigid, completely still. “I’ve just been, you know, in my room.”

Wade nods. “Right. Well, thought I’d tidy up the place for you a bit. Nice to meet you, Petey,” Wade says, squeezing past Peter and heading into his own room. Okay, weird.

Peter decides to head back to his own room and turns the TV on, hoping to drown out his thoughts for a moment. He doesn’t know why his mind is so caught on Deadpool—his mannerisms, the hand movement Wade did, the way he spoke—but he was.

Peter is the one to find Deadpool this time. He doesn’t know when it happened, but he’s been actively seeking the mercenary out. Deadpool’s interesting, and no one can blame Peter for wanting to know more.

“Boo,” Peter says lamely, swinging himself next to Deadpool.

Deadpool looks at him. “Scary,” he says finally, his voice monotone.

“Something wrong?” Peter asks. “I told you about my problems, so it’s only fair.”

Deadpool stares for a long moment, like he’s thinking it over. “I met a kid today. Reminded me of myself, is all.” His voice is light, like there’s not a weight on his shoulders that Peter desperately wants to lift.

“Tell me about the kid,” Peter says, placing a hand on Deadpool’s shoulder.

Deadpool switches the topic easily. “Have I ever told you about my dad?” He laughs dryly, then, his shoulders tensing up at Peter’s touch. “The guy was a real asshole, kicked me out after finding out I had cancer. It’s why I joined Weapon X—they said they could cure my cancer.” He looks deep in thought for a moment, then laughs again, this time with more life. “I guess they technically did heal my cancer, huh? Anyway, the kid reminded me of myself because he came up to me, asked me if I was Deadpool, and then told me about his piece of shit father that beats him and calls him names, and such.” The tension in Deadpool’s shoulders release. “Asked me to scare the shit out of his dad, so I did. But the man just reminded me so much of my own father. That poor kid. I wanna wring this guys throat.” The mercenary pauses, his mask twisting around his face of disgust. “I didn’t, though, Spidey. Can’t you see that I’m trying?”

Peter stays silent for a long moment, looking into the white slits of fabric in Deadpool’s mask. “I can see that you’re trying,” is what he decides to say, slowly moving closer to the man. “And I can acknowledge that and be proud of you for that. I’m sure it isn’t easy.”

“Fuck no, it isn’t easy.” Deadpool stands suddenly, paces back and forth. “Every time I get a job, I have to stop myself before I go too far. And the voices in my head— have I ever told you about the voices?—just keep telling me to just, end it. All of it. But I can’t. Not since you.”

Peter feels his heart jump in his chest. Not since you. And then Deadpool stops pacing. He looks like he’s thinking something over before sitting down next to Peter again. “Sorry, Webs,” he says, before pulling his mask to his nose and fucking kissing Peter. Peter goes stock-still, hands flexing outward.

See, the problem is, there’s butterflies in his stomach when Deadpool does this. Peter knows Deadpool has problems with impulse control—the amount of people he’s killed and maimed can account for that. But Peter never thought he’d be on the receiving side of this impulse issue.

The problem is, Deadpool pulls away and then leaps across the rooftops of buildings, leaving Peter behind to wonder in silence. The phantom burn of Deadpool’s lips on his mask is hot. Peter is dazed.

He can not have feelings for Deadpool, goddamnit.

Peter has a whole new problem. He, apparently, does have feelings for Deadpool, but he hasn’t seen the mercenary in a week—not since Deadpool kissed him. Peter’s been actively seeking him out, too. There’s no trace of the man. Peter’s close to giving up and never seeing Deadpool again.

Until he hears the ladder of a fire escape clang and he turns, and Deadpool is there.

“Baby boy!” He exclaims, throwing his arms out wide. Peter just stares at him. The desperation has turned to anger.

“Don’t fucking ‘baby boy’ me,” Peter spits out, standing up and marching over to the taller man. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just kiss me and then disappear for a fucking week without leaving even a clue behind of where the fuck you were—”

“Woah,” Deadpool stops him, his arms dropping to his sides. “Alright, Webs. I surrender. I had a job out of state, that’s all.”

Peter glares at him. He hopes the mask conveys how utterly pissed he is right now. “Don’t lie to me.”

Deadpool’s smile drops. “Okay, yes, I was avoiding you. But I did actually have a job out of state.”

“You took that job in order to avoid me, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Deadpool sighs, hanging his head. “Sorry, sweetums.”

Peter crosses his arms. “You’re a fucking coward.”

Deadpool snaps his head up. He looks hurt, and guilt pings deep inside of Peter’s gut. Damn it.

“Okay, yes sure, I’m a coward.” Deadpool sounds defeated, and he throws his arms up in surrender. “Sorry for leaving you, baby boy. But in all honesty, I was scared of what you’d think of me. You’ve never once showed interest in me, and I didn’t want to push your boundaries. And you also know nothing about me and I know nothing about you and—”

“God, do you ever shut up?” Peter asks, incredulous.

Deadpool smiles again. “Well, they call me The Merc with the Mouth. For more than one reason, too.” The mercenary winks at him. Peter has thoughts.

“Well, why don’t we test that theory, hm?”

Deadpool actually seems speechless for a moment, before he perks up and starts chattering again. “That’s not how this is supposed to go, Webs. I’m supposed to flirt hopelessly with you and you’re supposed to shut me down and get angry and tell me to stop.”

Peter smirks, pulling his mask up to his nose. He reaches to do the same to Deadpool’s. “What if I said no to stopping?” He asks innocently, before pulling Deapdool down to him, slotting their lips together.

Deadpool pulls away first. “If you’ll let me, I’ll show you exactly why they call me The Merc with the Mouth. The other reason, that is.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Well take me somewhere first.”

They end up going to one of Deadpool’s safe houses, which is clean. It looks like it’s almost never been used, but there’s a bed and a couch and some other pieces of furniture. Peter doesn’t care about the details—Deadpool is currently shoving him against the door and kissing him insistently.

When Deadpool’s done with Peter, he crawls up the bed and kisses Peter’s nose—still covered by his mask. “Well?”

Peter groans. “Merc with a fucking Mouth.”

Deadpool chuckles, peppering kisses on Peter’s neck. “I want you to know that this should just be casual, if we were to continue doing this,” he says, pulling away from Peter’s neck. “I like you, Spidey, but I can’t handle anything more than casual right now.”

That’s fine. Peter can do casual.

Peter crawls through the window of his apartment and throws his mask aside. Fucking Deadpool. He takes a shower, lets the scalding hot water slide over his body as he thinks back to Deadpool’s mouth on him. He can definitely do casual. It’s fine. Of course it is. He wouldn’t want to pressure Deadpool to do anything more. He doesn’t even know Deadpool’s name or what he looks like, and vice versa.

He gets out of the shower after what feels like forever, after the water has run cold. He gets dressed and patters into the living room, just as the front door opens, revealing Wade. He’s wearing a hoodie again, but this time the hood is down. He freezes when he sees Peter. Peter stares at the scarred face, but decides it’s better to not ask.

“Where’ve you been?” He lands on instead, because maybe Wade would want to talk about something other than what his face looks like.

Wade shrugs. “Out running,” he says easily, like it’s not a big deal that he was taking a run at—Peter glances at the clock—1:30 AM.

“Right,” Peter says, his voice teetering on suspicious. He doesn’t question Wade further.

Wade shakes his head, pulling the hood over his face. “Sorry you had to see, y’know, my face. It’s kinda ugly, I’m aware.”

Peter opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks for a second. “No. It’s not—I don’t think it’s ugly. Scars are just a part of who we are, y’know.”

Wade looks up at him. He smiles. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks Pete.”

Peter nods, watching as Wade retreats to his room.

This thing he has with Deadpool continues. Friends with benefits, is what Peter best describes it as. Deadpool will take him apart with his mouth, and Peter will return the favor. And then Peter will leave wanting more, more, more from Deadpool but never having the courage to ask to stay. He never sees the disappointed scowl on Deadpool’s face, either.

Peter’s not sure how much longer he can do this casual thing. It’s been going on for weeks at this point, and Peter wishes Deadpool would just give him something more.

Peter squirms on the bed. Deadpool’s on top of him, sucking bruises down his chest, and all Peter can think is Goddamnit, I love him.

And that thought stops him in his tracks. He goes rigid on the bed, and Deadpool suddenly stops.

“Webs? You good, baby boy?”

“Goddamnit,” Peter repeats his thought, pulling Deadpool up to kiss him. This time feels different than the other times they’ve kissed—slow and passionate rather than rough and heated. Deadpool crowds around him, knees bracing his hips, and kisses him back with fervor. Peter longs for more, but he knows Deadpool won’t give it to him, so he lets Deadpool continue finishing him off and he’ll take what he can get.

Goddamnit .

Peter leaves through the window. Wade’s not there when he gets home.

Peter and Wade had started to become closer, their majors are related—Wade majoring in biochemistry and Peter majoring in biophysics—so they help each other with homework a lot. Peter can’t lie, though—when Wade told him his major was biochemistry, he thought back to Deadpool. He’s had enough.

“Wade,” Peter says, waltzing into Wade’s room with a bag of chips in his hand as an offering. “I need your help.”

Wade takes the bag from him, tilting his head. “Usually I’m the one asking you for homework help,” he says, sitting up a little straighter.

“It’s not homework,” Peter says. “It’s relationships.”

Wade chuckles. “Then you’ll want to find someone else, Pete. I’m no good at those either.”

Peter groans. “Just help me, please? The only other person I can think to ask is MJ and she’s my ex, so.”

Wade nods once. “Fine. What’s your troubles, oh sweet one?”

Oh sweet one. Sweetums. Fucking Deadpool. Peter shakes his head. “There’s this guy who I’ve been seeing, but he said when we started talking about a month ago that he wants to keep it casual. I would be fine with that, but I’m pretty sure I’m like, in love with him or something, and when we’re done with what we do I just leave, and he never says anything. I’m just tired of this whole casual thing that we’re doing.”

Wade goes stock-still, staring up at Peter. “You said about a month ago?”

“Yeah.”

Peter can hear Wade mutter the word, “shit,” under his breath before he responds, “Maybe you should just tell him you want to become something serious.”

“He’ll shut it down. That’s just how he is.”

Wade sighs. “Just talk to him about it. Like I said, I’m no good at relationships. I can’t really help you here.”

Fine. he’ll talk to Deadpool about it.

The next time he meets Deadpool, they just fought off robbers from the bank. Peter had webbed up the criminals and waited until the police came.

And then Deadpool kisses him within an inch of his life on a rooftop. Peter can’t do this anymore.

And then, Deadpool mutters, “Peter,” in his ear, and Peter springs backward.

“How—how do you know?”

“I’m not dumb, Petey,” Deadpool says, and then removes his mask. Peter freezes. He stares at the scarred skin, roams over his strong jawline and his blue eyes and his stupid, perfect nose.

“Wade,” Peter breathes, taking another step back. “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

“I only figured out it was you from when you asked me about what to do about me. Do you want to know the truth?” Wade asks then, chin jutting out. “I only wanted it to be casual because I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing your face when you saw my ugly as shit—”

“You’re not ugly,” Peter says then. “You’re actually pretty hot. I love your eyes, and I love the scars, even.” He steps closer to Wade, slowly reaching up and kissing him. “I love you , Wade. I really couldn’t care less about what you look like.”

Wade stops. He stares for a moment. “I—I just didn’t want you to realize this was a mistake. I’m not a good person, baby boy. And I’m not pretty, despite what you say. One day you’ll realize all of that and I couldn’t take that heartbreak. So I wanted to keep it casual, no matter how bad it was killing me.”

“You have a good heart, Wade. Anyone can see that. So you have a rough past, you grew past it. That’s what matters. That’s why you’re good.” Peter kisses him again, laces his fingers at the back of Wade’s neck. “You’re so good,” he mutters, pulling away, only an inch.

There are tears in Wade’s eyes. “Alright. Yeah. Okay.” He lets out a breath. “You—uh—you wanna go home?”

“Promise me you’ll let me do more than suck you off and I might.”

Wade nods. “Yeah. Sure.” He looks away from Peter. “You—you really want to actually date me? Like for real?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

“Then let’s go home.”

“Good.”

“Yes. Good.”