Flufftober Prompt 1: "I've got you"
Peter easily dodged the minivan hurled his way, humming the lyrics to âUptown Girlâ as the song played through the earbuds he had put on under his suit. This was the third time this week heâd had to play the role of spiderman for a villain. Sure, heâd had some small jobs, like a purse thief, or a dollar store robbery, But three big names in one week was nearly unheard of.Â
Peter often felt like heâd been dealt a shit hand of cards in life. The little family he had left was constantly at risk, he was, quite literally, a starving college student, and he got beat up by supervillains on the regular. It was a regular occurrence for Peter to get home bruised and exhausted, only to find his fridge was completely empty, save some deli meat or a single egg. Those nights heâd either force himself to suck it up and walk down the street to the 7-11 or sleep on an empty stomach. Neither was a pleasant option.Â
Recently, heâd eaten at least one solid meal a day, thanks to Deadpool. Ever since the two had crossed paths a few months ago theyâd been oddly friendly. Peter had been chasing down some guys whoâd gotten their hands on some concerningly powerful explosives and were clearly up to no good. Unfortunately, Wade got to them first. By the time Peter arrived at the scene, The warehouse was painted red. Sitting on the rafters, surveying his carnage was the man himself. He was swinging his legs back and forth andâ eating something? God, he had a stomach of steel, the metallic smell of blood alone was repulsive. Peter had webbed the burrito away from the merc, taking a bite and spitting it back out, criticizing the inclusion of cilantro. Heâd heard about this guy before, and apparently, if Deadpoolâs reaction wasnât enough of a giveaway, he'd heard of Peter too.Â
Wade had practically squealed, he dropped to the floor and hurried over, rambling about âhow glad he was to finally meet spidermanâ. Peter was caught off guard. This dude clearly had something wrong with him. He had reluctantly extended a hand and Deadpool took it a little too enthusiastically, leaving the palm of his suit wet with what he hoped was hot sauce from his lunch. He also had handed Peter a burner phone, which according to Wade, had the number to his âwork phoneâ. He tried to refuse, he really didnât need any bit of this guy hanging around. But Wade insisted.Â
Peter managed to make some excuse, something stupid probably, and got out of there. By the time heâd returned to his apartment, he realized he still had the phone. He was intending to throw it out, crush it and dump it in a can somewhere. But something told him to hang onto it. Just in case.Â
Over the next few weeks, Peter ran into Wade a suspicious amount. Chasing after a purse thief, Wade was there. On the roof of the Daily Bugle taking a breather. Wade was there. In a Mexican restaurant after Peter got the shit knocked out of him by Green Goblin and all he wanted to do was eat an enchilada in peace. Guess who was in the back corner, devouring chimichangas? No way! Itâs Wade! Heâs there!
Peter couldnât help it, heâd grown somewhat fond of the guy. Sure, he was annoying as all hell, and clingy too. But he was funnyâ and sincere when he wanted to be. So when Wade invited âSpideyâ to lunch, Peter agreed. At the end of the meal, Peter had pulled out his wallet and retrieved a crumpled 20. He dropped his head onto the table with a groan as he realised it was the last one. Peter had never elaborated his financial struggles to Wade, but the next time he was invited to lunch, it was paid for.Â
As much as heâd grown fond of Deadpool, his constant presence during Peterâs rounds could be annoying, especially because of his tendency to kill. In spite of it all, he was really missing Wade right now.Â
Peter had almost got the situation under control, he could tell, from the sirens in the distance, that the cops were on their way. Heâd webbed three of Octaviusâs four metal arms down and was currently dancing around the objects the fourth sent in his direction. Another car, a trash can, a hardback copy of "The Count of Monte Cristo,â which hit him like a brick. Why not like, a picture book? Or anything else under two thousand pages? The impact of the book made him falter. Octavius lunged at the opportunity. Before Peter realized why his spider sense was going haywire, he was wrapped in metal, the edges of the mechanical pincher digging into his side. Peter yelped, scrambling to break free before his ribs were crushed. Shit, this couldnât be it, could it? Of course not, Peter could get himself out of thisâ âHey baby boy! Iâve got you!â
âWade?â He choked out. Peter didnât know whether to smile or cry. Before he could choose, Wade had sliced the metallic arm in half, cutting the circuit and allowing Peter to wriggle free. He landed in Wadeâs arms. âOkay. Weâve had our awkwardly close moment today. Let me down now.â He ordered.Â
âWhatever you say, beautiful. Hey, do you wanna go get some dinner? This new Chinese place just opened down the street.â Wade set Peter down and dusted off his hands. âIâm buying.â
Peter was a little too distracted to respond. Doc Oc was fuming. âDo you know how much time and money I put into these arms? I swear, you have no respectââ Peter webbed his mouth shut, followed by one to the chest, sticking him to a concrete wall.
âYeah, I could go for a solid meal.â He rubbed his side where the metal had been pressing into him moments before. âGod sometimes I wish we could do takeout, Iâm exhausted. But âsecret identitiesâ and all that.â Peter followed behind Wade as he started down the sidewalk in the direction of the restaurant. âI still donât know why you told me your name. I mean, sure there are plenty of people named Wade, but it narrows it down quite a bit doesnât it?âÂ
âTold you, I donât have a great reputation as Wade either. Plus, Itâs not like knowing my identity is a real threat, I can't die. Remember?â He continued on. âAs for takeout, since youâre so intent on keeping shit from me, we can go to my place. Itâs a crackhouse, but itâs better than sitting in full superhero getup in a cramped and noisy restaurant that smells faintly of black mold.â
âWell excuse me for trying to keep my private life separate. And really, do you think I could forget? Youâve got no idea how much I debate murder for a second of silence.â Peter joked. He grinned under the mask as Wade suggested they take the food back to his apartment. âI dunno, are we sure it doesnât smell equally as moldy there? I remember you telling me you made friends with the roaches.â
âCould be! But itâs certainly less noisy and crowded. I donât live with Blind Al in this universe.â He shrugged when he spotted the confused expression on Peterâs face. âHope youâre a dog person though. If not, it's about to get real unpleasant. Sheâs got a three inch tongue. And that's not counting whatâs IN her mouth.â
âOh gross. Iâve lost my appetite.â Peter made a retching noise before quickly taking it back. âJoking, I'm joking of course. Please still get me food.âÂ
âWell duh. Donât you worry Spidey, baby. The restaurantâs just around the corner.â
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Peter and Wade arrived at the apartment about half an hour after they entered the chinese place. Wade made Peter carry him up the side of his apartment building âas payment for the foodâ. They climbed in through Wadeâs back window, one facing an alleyway, so they werenât spotted. By the time everything was unpacked and clean utensils had been dug up, Peter was half asleep on Wadeâs bloodstained pullout couch.Â
Wade started over towards the couch. âOkay, I've got your chicken lo mein here, I'll get the spring rolls out in a seconâ Spidey?â He walked around to the front of the couch and set Peter's food down on the table. He poked Peter gently on the shoulder.Â
âHngh.â He grunted. Squeezing his eyes shut even tighter. âJusâ. Iâll eat in thâ morniâgâ Peter waved a floppy hand, pulling it into his chest and curling up in order to get more comfortable. âDonâ- Donât take âf my mask. âKay?â His speech was slurred and not all coherent. The poor guy was exhausted.Â
âYeah. I wonât, baby boy. Pinkie swear.â Wade didnât bother to pack up the rest of the food, nor eat his own. He located a blanket, tucked Peter in, and scooted into the space on the opposite side of the couch. Wade fell asleep sitting up. Still, he was pretty sure it was the best sleep heâd gotten in years.Â
Link to the fic on Ao3 is below!
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