fem!reader x spider-man/peter parker and deadpool/wade wilson
summery: you go on a date with peter but things don't go as planned..
tags: fluff and humor, cinema date, eventual romance, kisses, eventual smut, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, reference to canon (brand new day), jealousy, spider-man focus for now, actual plot, handjob, making out, voyeurism, masturbation
(flashback are in block italics)
Peter hadn't wanted to follow you. He really hadn't. That wasn't who he was. He was supposed to stay at his apartment, tidy up, and prepare for his date with you. Besides, how could someone like Wade ever stand a chance against him?
Yet, a darker, restless part of him desperately needed to see what you saw in Wade—and he was terrified of where Wade might take you. You hadn't said a word, treating it like a secret, but Peter strongly suspected that even Wade himself didn't know where he was going. He genuinely feared for your safety. Wade was unpredictable, a walking loose cannon. How could you possibly trust him?
Watching from his bedroom window, Peter saw Wade present you with that absurdly over-the-top bouquet. You looked pleased. Happy. And then you both walked away toward... a motor scooter? Since when did Wade even ride a scooter?
Peter watched, an anxious knot tightening in his stomach—especially when he saw you wrap your arms tightly around Wade's waist on the back seat. The second Wade pulled away, he drove like a madman possessed.
Be careful with her! Peter wanted to scream, but he forced himself to swallow the urge.
Without thinking twice, he pulled on his Spider-Man suit. As soon as the mask snapped into place over his face, his suit's AI immediately picked up on his volatile state.
“Warning, Peter. Your core body temperature is unusually high,” the automated voice echoed gently inside his HUD. “I am detecting erratic thermal spikes. You are currently unstable.”
“Yeah... I know, E.V.,” Peter muttered, his breathing already shallow. “I just—I have to go. Don't worry, I have everything under control.”
Disregarding the warnings, he vaulted onto the roof and sprinted across the skyline. Using his heightened arachnid senses, it wasn't hard to lock onto Wade’s location down on the streets—he was, after all, the only idiot wearing a full suit on a scooter in the middle of traffic.
When he finally caught up and reached the oceanfront, Peter couldn't believe his eyes.
“What the—” he whispered under his breath. “E.V., are you sure about this place?”
Through his visor’s analytical scanner, E.V. pulled up the local records. “This amusement park was built ten years ago. It operates seasonally between July and August. While the structural integrity of the rides shows age, the facility is functional, Peter.”
“Great. Perfect,” Peter muttered sarcastically, watching from the high steel beams as Wade casually cut the heavy chains.
He saw Wade "winning" that giant grizzly bear, saw you laughing at his stupid jokes, saw the way Wade kept pressing into your personal space. It was infuriating, yes, but he tried to tell himself he could handle it.
Until... until the two of you ended up on that damn Ferris wheel.
Wade was all over you. You were gasping, writhing under him. A sharp, agonising wave of jealousy crashed over Peter, but twisted right along with it was an overwhelming, humiliating surge of pure arousal.
Then Wade dropped down beneath your skirt. Peter knew how skilled Wade was—Wade had bragged endless times about what his long tongue could do to women. It was almost ironic how Wade was a complete disaster at human relationships, yet effortlessly lethal with his mouth. Peter had never envied him for it before; sure, it was a party trick, but Peter had other qualities. Everyone had their strengths... but right now, you were completely at the mercy of Wade's.
Your eyes were closed, your mouth parted as shameless, breathless moans spilled from your lips. Peter couldn't tear his eyes away. Through the tight, compressed fabric of his suit, he felt himself growing rock-hard.
“Peter, your body temperature is rising rapidly,” E.V.’s voice chimed in, sounding genuinely concerned. “Heart rate is exceeding normal parameters.”
While E.V. spoke, Peter’s trembling hand reached down, pulling his length free from the suit. The tip was already slick with pre-cum, throbbing so hard against the cool night air that it physically ached.
Below him, your quiet whimpers and gasps echoed through the silent park. Through his enhanced hearing and sight, Peter could see and hear everything. Every shuddering breath, every wet sound, every single movement of your body.
He couldn't take it anymore. It hurt too much. His shaft trembled as he stared down at you. He knew he shouldn't be doing this—he couldn't do this—but Wade was buried under your skirt, and you were so completely soaked, so lost in pleasure, that Peter's hand closed around his own length. He stroked himself slowly at first, just working the base.
From his high vantage point, his enhanced vision locked onto the view: your flushed skin, your parting thighs, your heavy breasts rising and falling beneath your top and your hard nipples.
His hand moved faster, slicking his own pre-cum up and down his shaft. He had his mechanical web-shooters equipped tonight, but a strange, burning heat was building deep within his core—a biological pressure he’d never felt quite like this before, mostly on his wrists. His erect tip leaked continuously, making his palm slick and warm against the rough friction.
The image of you beneath another man was too much. You were too much.
With a smothered gasp, Peter came hard into his own hand. He slammed his gloved fist over his mouth to muffle his groan, his chest heaving as sweat broke out along the back of his neck and thighs inside the tight suit. The sheer intensity of the climax hit him like a freight train—and in that split second of blinding pleasure, his body reacted instinctively.
Along with the hot spurt of cum against his palm, a thick, organic strand of biological webbing shot violently from the gland on his wrist, sticking to the steel beam opposite him.
Peter gasped behind his hand, his eyes wide in absolute shock.
Did I become like Peter 2?
He hadn't realized his body could produce organic webbing, mostly during an intense physical climax—the sensational rush from his wrist had felt almost more intoxicating than the release from his cock. He leaned against the cold metal beam, panting heavily, an overwhelming, possessive need crashing over him: he wanted to be the one inside you. He wanted to fill you up like that. He’d never felt a hunger this primal for anyone before.
Trembling, he tried to wipe his hand clean on the suit.
“Body temperature returning to baseline,” E.V. reported softly.
Before Peter could even process what had just happened, his enhanced hearing picked up your hushed voice down below, mentioning... him?
He crouched low into the shadows, but he was a fraction too slow. Wade had already caught a glimpse of movement in the distance, abruptly calling an end to the date and offering to take you home.
Peter’s eyes darted to the clock display on his HUD. 8:20 PM.
Peter waited just long enough for Wade to lower the cart before speeding off across the rooftops like a man possessed. He needed to sprint home, take a freezing cold shower, and change out of his suit immediately.
He was an absolute, irredeemable mess.
To go back home, he used the mechanical web-shooters. They worked, as they were still charged, but what he didn't understand was how it was possible to shoot webs from his wrist. Peter was very confused; but he would think about it at home.
Fifteen minutes later, having thrown on a clean, comfortable sweater and brushed his hair until it looked presentable, Peter picked up the small paper bag containing the custom bracelet he had engineered for you with his own hands.
Perfect, he thought, taking a deep breath as he headed out to wait on your doorstep.
“He’s just... a little eccentric, that’s all,” you replied with a shy smile, your cheeks burning with embarrassment under Peter’s intense gaze. God, what must he be thinking right now? He can't understand that I almost did it on that damned Ferris wheel, right?
“I’ll be right back,” you added quickly, shifting the heavy plushie in your arms. “Let me just put these inside, and we can go.”
“Ah— of course! Take your time,” Peter stepped aside, offering a polite nod as you unlocked your door.
While you stepped inside, Peter stood in the quiet hallway, his hands clenching into tight fists inside his sweater pockets. His mind was racing, replaying the agonizing scene he’d witnessed from the crane earlier—the way Wade had slid his hands under your shoulder strap, the way his lips had dragged along your neck, how close he’d been to taking you right there on that Ferris wheel. And he was there. He was looking at you.
Fuck, what have I done? What have I become? Peter couldn't believe what he’d done—not just the voyeurism and jerking off, but the webs, too!
Now, though, he had to pretend none of it had happened—even though he felt a constant tingling in his wrists whenever you were around.
His train of thought was abruptly cut short when your apartment door clicked open again.
You stepped out into the hallway, having quickly swapped into a light cotton jacket for the cool night air. You had also taken a few minutes to touch up your makeup and restyle your hair into a fresh, effortless look.
Peter’s eyes widened slightly, a subtle, triumphant thought flashing through his mind: She didn't fix her hair again after Wade brought her home... Okay, point for me.
He stared at you, momentarily losing his train of thought as his breath caught in his throat.
“In your own words, Peter,” you teased softly, a warm flush creeping up your neck. The sheer, hungry intensity in his eyes was making your knees feel embarrassingly weak, like a teenager standing in front of her high school crush.
“You’re beautiful,” Peter murmured, his tone soft and gentle, even as his gaze slowly traced down your body with a quiet hunger. His dual nature was intoxicating—so sweet on the surface, yet so intensely possessive underneath. “Well... even more than usual.”
“Okay...” you smiled, trying to regain your composure. “Shall we go then?”
“Wait,” Peter said quickly, stepping closer. “I... I have something for you.”
He held out the small, delicate brown paper bag, neatly tied with twine.
“Oh, Peter... you really didn't have to—”
“Please, open it,” he insisted, a soft, nervous blush coloring his cheeks as he slipped the package into your hands. “It’s for you.”
You undid the delicate twine and reached inside, pulling out a sleek, stunning bracelet. You gasped, completely mesmerized. It wasn't made of traditional silver or gold; the material had a smooth, matte-titanium finish with an almost liquid-like flexibility. Fine, iridescent blue micro-circuitry was subtly etched into the inner band, catching the hallway light like tiny, glowing constellations. It looked modern, elegant, and completely high-tech—like something straight out of a luxury concept lab, yet delicate enough to look effortless on your wrist.
“Peter...” you breathed, running a thumb over the cool, polished metal. “Where did you even get this?”
“I made it,” he confessed, scratching the back of his neck in that classic, adorable habit of his.
“I had no idea you were this good with engineering and tech...”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Peter whispered softly, his voice dropping into a low register that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
Before you could process the heavy implication in his words, Peter took the bracelet gently from your fingers. He stepped in close, his scent—clean soap, rain, and a faint hint of warm cedarwood—wrapping around you as he carefully fastened the clasp around your wrist. It fit as if it had been custom-molded for you.
Once the latch clicked, Peter didn't pull his hand away. His thumb lingered against the soft pulse point of your inner wrist, feeling your heart hammering against his skin. Slowly and deliberately, he raised your hand and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to the back of it, his eyes holding yours the entire time like a literal prince.
“Come on,” he murmured against your skin, offering you a sweet smile. “Let’s go.”
He held your hand tightly as you walked down the stairs together, his grip protective and comforting.
Once outside, you started talking about the movie you'd picked out; he looked at you as if spellbound, listening closely and nodding while admiring your beauty. He seemed to look at you as if you were his whole world, and it felt wonderful to feel that way.
Naturally, peace didn’t last forever.
When you arrived at the theater, you found out that the horror movie you’d picked had been canceled due to a technical glitch—apparently, a melted projector lens in Auditorium 4 had shut down the entire hall.
Peter’s mind immediately flashed to a mental image of Wade with a blowtorch, but he quickly shook the thought off. No way. He wouldn't go that far... right? Right...?
“It’s fine, we’ll just watch this one instead!” you said brightly, pointing toward a poster at the box office window.
It was, without a doubt, the worst movie Peter had ever laid eyes on. A cheesy, overly dramatic romance that practically dripped with sugary cliches. But Peter didn't care all that much—as long as he was with you and the night wasn't ruined, he’d gladly sit through two hours of garbage.
Inside, the auditorium was surprisingly packed, with only a few scattered seats left near the middle row. Before you could even offer to split the cost, Peter vanished like a lightning bolt toward the concession stand. He returned seconds later holding two sodas and a bucket of popcorn so massive it looked like a small trash can. He placed it between you, your fingers brushing against his every time you both reached inside.
Thirty minutes into the film, the main characters had already slept together four times, but the core drama revolved around the heroine being torn between two ridiculously attractive guys: one was a serious, studious overachiever with a promising future in law who melted only for her; the other was a wild, reckless frontman of a rock band—hot, completely out of his mind, but secretly soft on the inside.
Classic, you thought with a quiet smirk at the mindless plot.
“Who would you choose...?” Peter suddenly asked, leaning in close and whispering directly into your ear. His voice was low, velvety, and unexpectedly seductive.
“Well... I don’t know,” you whispered back, looking at the screen. “They’re both kind of interesting.”
“Maybe Derek... he’s fun.”
Peter imperceptibly pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“Yeah, but Jack seems a lot more reliable, don’t you think?” Peter murmured, watching your reaction closely, his big eyes making him look almost like an innocent puppy. “Plus, look how thoughtful he is. He’d never break the law or pull anything crazy...”
“Sometimes it’s nice to step outside the lines a little,” you replied with a sly smile, your fingers running softly over his wrist before lacing into his hand.
“Sure... but it’s not like stealing flowers or trespassing on private property is romantic or anything,” Peter said softly.
Wait. Was he making a reference to your date with Wade? How could he possibly know about that? That was way too specific...
Before you could finish, Peter leaned in and pressed a impossibly soft, sweet kiss to your lips.
“Simplicity is the best thing for special girls like you,” he murmured, a rare, confident spark in his eyes.
He leaned back in, capturing your lips again—this time deeper, firmer, leaving no room for questions. You let out a quiet breath, completely melting into his space as his hands slid around your waist, pulling you tightly against him.
“Peter... we’re in a movie theater... what are you doing?” you teased breathlessly under your breath.
“Nothing...” he whispered against the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “I just want to stay like this with you for a while, okay?”
You glanced around the dark room. Nobody was paying attention; half the couples in the auditorium were practically making out anyway.
Peter’s hand stroked your hip, his weight shifting as he leaned over you, his body hovering possessively above yours. His mouth slid along your jaw, tracking down to your collarbone. You gasped as his lips landed on the exact same spot where Wade’s mouth had been hours earlier.
Peter pulled your jacket collar back slightly—his eyes darkening as he caught sight of the faint red mark on your skin. His instinct to claim took over.
He pressed his tongue over the spot, sucking gently at first, before biting down—harder than Wade had, driven by a sudden possessiveness. He wanted to erase it, and replace it.
“Ah— Peter!” you whimpered, a small gasp tearing from your throat. It hurt, mostly because the skin was already sensitive from earlier.
Peter immediately licked over the mark to soothe it, but as soon as your breathing evened out, he started biting again.
"Sorry—sorry—I'm sorry—I couldn't stop—" He kissed the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your lips; and when you tried to speak, he kissed your tongue too, starting the whole kissing session over again. He was completely ravenous, lost in the feeling of having you in his arms.
You couldn't help but return the kiss, your hands wandering over his chest, feeling the defined press of his muscle beneath the fabric of his sweater. You realized things were escalating fast when your hand accidentally brushed past his abdomen, sliding lower until your palm bumped directly against the rigid, heavy bulge straining inside his jeans.
Peter let out an embarrassing, choked moan right into your mouth. Of course he did.
“Peter, let’s go to the bathroom,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes.
The auditorium was almost completely pitch black, illuminated only by the flickering light of the screen. Looking up at him, you would have bet everything that his pupils had dilated so wide his eyes looked pitch black.
“Are you okay?” you whispered.
He nodded, pressing a breathless, lingering kiss to your cheek before the two of you stood up from your seats.
The walk to the restrooms was brief, but hilarious. Peter was still rock-hard and walking with a stiff, incredibly awkward limp, trying his absolute best to conceal it. You couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. Peter shot you a look, his face turning bright crimson.
“Where... where are we going?” he asked, halting right at the fork between the men’s and women’s signs.
Under the bright hallway lights, he was wildly flushed, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his temples, his brown curls messily rumpled. He looked infuriatingly adorable.
“In the ladies' room,” you said, taking him firmly by the arm and pulling him inside.
Luckily, the room was dead silent and completely empty.
“Come on, get in,” you whispered, dragging him toward the handicap stall at the very back. The theater's bathroom was massive, with dozens of stalls, so the chances of anyone trying to use this specific one were practically zero.
Once inside, you locked the door with a sharp click. The toilet lid was down, so you pulled Peter by his sweater, forcing him down onto the seat before climbing into his lap to straddle him. You immediately captured his lips again.
Peter wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, kissing you with a sweet, frantic greed—as if he were trying to swallow you whole, completely desperate to claim every inch of you. For a second, he hugged you so hard you could barely catch a breath; you had no idea his grip could be this terrifyingly strong.
“Peter—” you gasped softly, pulling back just an inch.
There it was again. His eyes were completely dark—pitch black, his pupils swallowed whole by the dim stall light. How was he even doing that?
“Are— are you feeling alright?” you asked, your breath catching.
“Yeah... never better. Why?” he rasped against your skin, his hot breath fanning across your neck as his mouth immediately trailed down to your collarbone.
His erection beneath you was growing absurdly hard, pressing against your entrance through your clothes as if it couldn't wait another second to sink inside you.
Within moments, Peter lost what little self-control he had left. He unbuttoned his jeans with trembling fingers, pulling the zipper down and sliding his briefs low enough to pop his length free. The tip was dark red, already slick and leaking a heavy bead of pre-cum. A ragged gasp tore from his throat the moment your index finger caught the warm droplet and smeared it over his tip. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his knuckles white—half from absolute pleasure, half from the sheer ache of holding back.
You began stroking him slowly, rubbing your thumb over his sensitive tip. Peter couldn't stop the quiet, desperate sounds spilling from his lips, his dark, dilated eyes locked onto yours. He began rolling his hips upward, pushing his shaft rhythmically into your palm, unable to wait a second longer.
Without warning, you picked up the pace, pumping your hand faster down his length. The low, guttural moans coming from his chest intensified.
“No— wait, slow down— please—” Peter panted, his voice cracking as he felt himself nearing the edge. The burning sensation deep within his gut was flaring up again, and an intense, electric tingling began throbbing inside his wrists.
You didn't listen to his plea; you wanted to see him shatter. You gripped him tighter, accelerating your strokes to a fast, unforgiving rhythm.
With one last, decisive pull, Peter arched his back and came hard against your hand, a choked groan echoing off the stall walls. But he didn't just ejaculate.
At the exact moment of his climax, a thick, sticky, milky-white strand shot violently from his right wrist, flying across the stall and slamming into the back of the metal door with a loud THWIP.
Peter was chest-heaving, gasping for air as his brain caught up to what had just happened. He froze, looking at you in absolute, wide-eyed terror as he watched your gaze slowly drift from his slick hand over to the thick strand of webbing pinned firmly to the door.
The silence in the stall was deafening.
“You...” you whispered, your voice trembling in disbelief.
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