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"Your mouth is so fucking cute!" Wade cupped his own face with his hands like a starstruck fanboy, staring at Spider-man's revealed mouth after he rolled up his mask.
{I bet we can make it look cuter}
[Maybe we should put something in it that isn't tacos]
A lovely though.
"Wade," Spider-man groaned and crammed half of his taco in his mouth.
{If he could open wide for us...}
Any more and the taco shells won't be the only hard things around.
[Too late]
"Yep," he said, popping the 'p'.
"Just eat, I'm too tired for this." Spider-man gobbled the rest of his taco, getting taco sauce all over his mouth. He swallowed and grabbed another taco from the big bag Deadpool had brought when he invited him to eat tacos with him on the roof.
[A fucking angel]
{I second that}
"Thirding."
Spider-man peeked confused at him but quickly went back to stuffing his face.
Wade suddenly remembered what Spider-man said about five seconds ago. "Tired?"
"Yeah." He stopped the taco a few centimeters from his open mouth. "Just been a long day, y'know?"
Spider-man sounded tired, but he was Spider-man, so he tried to brush it off with a smile.
[What a smile]
"I know," Wade breathed. He ripped his eyes off of Spider-man's curved mouth to look in his lenses. "Hey, wanna talk about it?"
"Nah, it's nothing," Spidey shrugged. "Just stupid stuff."
"It can have an IQ of negative three billion and I would still want to talk with you about it."
Spidey chuckled. That fake smile got replaced by a real one, shining brighter than a fuckton of stars. A laughter sounding like how ice cream tasted.
{Mhnnn} White made satisfied sounds.
[Same]
"It's just," Spidey begun. "Jameson is being a pain in the butt. Apparently, I'm the most interesting, pathetic, dangerous, annoying creature in the universe, and he just won't stop spewing shi- dung about me."
[Let's kill him!]
{Yeah! Put on your war paint, we have an asshole to dismember!}
"I know, guys, but Spidey has his 'no-unaliving rule'."
Spider-man abruptly swallowed, some of the taco bits going in wrong, 'cause he hacked and hit his chest a few timed with his fist, coughing. "No killing!" he wheezed.
"That's what I said!"
"OK, good," he coughed.
"You okay, baby boy?" Wade put a hand on Spider-man's shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Nothing to worry about." He coughed one last time.
"Uhu." Wade eyed him doubtingly.
"Let's just eat." Spider-man took another taco.
[This is not over]
{Absolutely not}
Guys, we should do something.
{[We know]}
But fuck, I don't know what.
{Neither do we, dumbass}
[We could threaten him. That way no unaliving]
But baby boy doesn't like threats either.
{He'll never have to know}
I guess
Spider-man ripped Deadpool out of his internal conversation by abruptly standing up.
He pointed to Wade's left saying: "Danger that way" before jumping over the edge of the roof and swinging away.
[Follow him!]
{Let's go see that ass in action!}
Wade grabbed the bag with the about 4,7 remaining tacos and jumped after Spidey.
"One does not simply waste good tacos."
{Geez, that's old}
[We need new material]
Fuck you, Boromir's timeless.
They followed Spidey to a robbery gone wrong. Didn't take long to fix the situation. He didn't even get to shoot someone's kneecap off.
After that, they patrolled together for a few hours, while Wade put an extra effort into making Spidey comfortable, before calling it a night.
[We should call it a morning, it's 2 AM]
{Yeah, dumbass}
Shut it.
[{Cue the line break!]}
{So we're going to threaten him?}
What else can we do? Steal his job? Wade carelessly threw his weapons on the kitchen counter and removed his gloves.
[We don't have time to run a news agency]
{We could threaten that stupid photographer what's-his-name}
That Parker guy? Wade stood in the nude, except for his mask, with his suit in a bundle by his feet. He walked over to the closet door to find some sweatpants and a hoodie.
[That asshole is always taking photos of our Spidey!]
{Let's threaten him!}
[Blow his kneecap off!]
Guys, I have an idea. Wade grinned into his closet.
{Well, this will be interesting}
[Another line break already?]
{Lazy writer.}
Peter was just walking down the street to his favorite ('favorite' meaning 'the cheapest place that still has edible food') deli when he got a message.
'Come to the Bow Bridge in Central Park in 10 min. Bring your camera' it read. Peter was confused, but headed over as he already had his camera (as a true photographer) and was a curious little shi...itake. Shiitake. He was now a mushroom. Great.
Anyway, he got to the bridge in half the time. Without anything to really do, he bought a hot dog from the half-asleep mobile hot-dog-stand owner (or renter, how was Peter supposed to know? Expect, he's Peter, so he asked and was informed that the stall was, in fact, his) and sat down on a bench with his camera ready.
It was a quiet day, people had better things to do and the park looked pathetic this time of the year.
Then it hit him that this could be a trap. But then, why tell him to bring his camera? Were they some cheapskate villains? And how did they figure out who he was? And GET HIS NUMBER?
Well, getting his number wasn't that hard. If you did some digging, you could probably find it somewhere on the web. He was a freelance photographer after all, he’d done some marketing before figuring out that the Daily Bugle had the lovely qualities of ask minimal questions and pays good for Spider-man pics.
The problem was, why him? Did someone find out about his nightly activities? God, that sounded wrong.
Before he could divulge further into his train of thought, an air horn was pressed.
Peter scrambled and dropped the rest of his hot-dog while searching desperately for the source and clinging to his ears because LOUD.
And then he blinked.
And blinked again.
Because, in a swan boat, sat Deadpool. In full suit, but not only that. On top of his suit, he had a wedding dress. A full-on wedding dress. He even had a veil, and Peter would bet his camera that he was wearing heels, even though he couldn't see his feet. In one hand rested the air horn, the other a big, expensive-looking bouquet.
It took Peter exactly 3,82 seconds to grab his camera and snap pictures like crazy. He also had the smarts to take out his phone and simultaneously record and photograph, one hand for each. His sticky fingers ensuring that he would not lose either item and his undeniably good photography skills ensuring that the pictures and video were of good quality.
It took another 5,42 seconds to realize that Deadpool was the sender of the recent confusing message.
This just sent him into another thought train, which was interrupted when Deadpool threw the air horn in the water, stood up, put a foot on the side of the boat (Peter had been right, he was wearing heels, bright red ones with heels longer than Peter's middle fingers put together) and jumped just as he reached the low-hanging bridge. He climbed up while loudly humming his own background music as some sort of horrible spy. He swung a leg over the edge and threw the flowers into a small group of Asian tourists, yelling "Catch, bitches!"
They scrambled to catch it and while they were busy with that, Deadpool grabbed one of the big, black rifles on his back.
He aimed for the tourists and shot before Peter could shout for him to stop. Why was his spidey-sense silent?
But he got his answer less than 0,1 seconds later, when the paintballs hit the tourists' cameras, clothes, backpacks and other generally safe areas to hit with high pace projectiles filled with colored liquid.
The tourists were reasonably freaked out and were yelling in a foreign language Peter could not understand. Deadpool ignored them as he dropped the gun and put his arm under his dress. He pulled out - NO NOT LIKE THAT, THIS IS INNOCENT - a few cans of spray paint and a bucket of what appeared to be glitter.
Then, in true Deadpool fashion, he went wild, spraying the bridge multicolored and throwing glitter at everything that moved or didn't move, all the while singing loudly to some Taylor Swift song. If the group of tourists hadn't already backed away, they'd be covered in the colorful goo as well.
When he finally ran out of paint and glitter, he dropped the items and backflipped off the bridge, into the swan boat he came in. Then he raced off. Yeah, raced. On the back of the floating method transportation was an outboard motor, clearly not supposed to be there, judging by the number of nails, screws, duct tape and glitter glue.
"SAYONARA, BITCHES!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, flipping the bird at them all.
Nobody really said anything, or moved, or anything really. Most were all kinda in shock.
Then, pretty quietly, Peter shared his words of wisdom.
"What the fudgeholes just happened?"
{[Why is she using a line break here? She could just skip two lines!]}
(Shut it)
"Sir." Peter knocked on J. Jonah Jameson's door.
"Yes?" he barked out. "Come in!"
Peter opened the door and stepped into the office. Jameson sat at his big, wooden desk, reviewing articles, doing paperwork, drinking his third cup of coffee and smoking heavily despite the several laws criminalizing it. The air was thick with cigar smoke and it irritated Peter’s nose and lungs. He waved his hand in front of his face to save himself from some of the gray annoyance. "I, uh, I have - *cough* - something I think you want to look at."
Jameson shot half a look up from his {oh so important paper work} and eyed Peter suspiciously.
"Well, what are you standing there for?" he barked. "Hand it over!"
With stiff steps Peter waddled to Jameson’s desk, getting out his phone. It would be easier just showing him the video.
Peter stayed mute while the video was playing, Jameson providing his signature A+ commentary.
"What is this Parker, what are you showing me? Is that-? It is. What is Deadpool doing there, Parker?! Why is this menace in a wedding dress?! What is he- STOP HIM- wait. Paintballs? What is he- WAIT STOP HIM! HE'S DEFACING PUBLIC PROPERTY, THAT MENACE!"
Even long after the video was over, Jameson was still ranting about "that destructive, insane, no-good killer for hire" and puffing his cigar. His face was red and he'd slammed his fist on the desk, knocking his coffee cup over twice, when he finally calmed down enough to demand some pictures.
[This scene was short]
{I liked it}
[That’s because you made an appearance]
{I know}
(Just do the line break please)
{[Jazz hands! Line break!]}
The following weeks, Peter kept receiving texts from Deadpool, which always led to huge first-page covers of the merc. He'd arranged a karaoke concert in the public library with exclusively screamo music with permission from himself only, he'd TP and egged the Daily Bugle building, he'd led an army of pigeons to shit on New Yorkers everywhere, he'd hijacked a subway in the middle of rush and demanded exactly 69 tacos as ransom, he'd gotten tourists to bungee jump from Empire State Building, he'd paid to put hentai on every single Times Square billboard and added speakers, and he'd made the Statue of Liberty Canadian by draping it in countless huge Canadian flags and putting a moose on her torch.
And somehow, it was hard getting pictures of it all unless you were Peter. He was pretty grateful because Jameson was obsessed with the red and black leather clad mercenary and had seemingly completely forgotten about Spider-man. In addition, the pictures and videos sold good, even better than his Spider-man pictures. He'd managed to pay all his bills and rent on time this month, even having money left after buying groceries, medical supplies, and anything else he and May needed. Even with the combined paychecks from their jobs they were still in the red from time to time. Now, he could actually save money for the future!
"Hey, Deadpool," he greeted amicably when he swung down to the rooftop the merc was using to eat some tacos.
"Spidey!" he exclaimed excitedly and waved. "Taco?"
"Thanks." Wade threw him a taco, the content spilling out over the roof.
"Whoopsie." He winked. Peter never understood how he could show his facial expressions so well with a mask on. Really, how on earth? It's a mask, and it's made of leather!
Peter dropped down beside him and accepted the outreached, completely intact taco from Deadpool's hand. He rolled up his mask to his nose and bit into half of it.
"Someone's hungry," Deadpool hummed.
"Yup."
A comfortable silence fell upon them as they ate (though the boxes kept arguing about the merits of animal sidekicks), eventually being broken as Spider-man opened his mouth for something other than food.
"Thank you."
The tone was honest and sincere. The boxes quieted for a few seconds to appreciate it.
"Happy to help you out, Spidey!" The way he happily hummed it reminded Peter of a puppy, for some reason. He chuckled.
"Really, dude. I appreciate it. This is the least amount of negative press I've gotten since preschool."
Suddenly, Spidey tensed. Then he dropped the taco while flinging himself over the edge.
"Spidey?!" Wade scrambled to look to where the spider had gone. He was hanging in his own spidery way on the side of the building several feet down.
"What's wrong?"
"My spidey sense warned me, but I was too slow. I heard the click. Someone took a picture."
Wade almost didn't hear it. Almost.
"Shit."
{Appropriate}
[Line Break Time!]
Wade felt horrible. Every single news outlet that was anything was showing off the crappy, amateur photo taken by a fucking flip phone for fuck's sake. You could barely even see them with how bad the lighting and quality was.
But you could still see it.
You could still see the unmistakably red and blue spandex of New York's underappreciated hero. You could still see the red and black suit of one of the world's most wanted men. You could clearly see their relaxed postures, their bag of tacos and the light skin around their mouth where they'd tugged their masks up to eat the previously mentioned tacos.
No mistake.
{You ruined it} White's voice was low and angry. {He'll never want to see us again.}
Yellow, who had been whimpering in a corner of his mind up until that point, started wailing.
"I know, I know. I have to apologize, maybe he won't abandon us." His voice was high and painted with desperate hope.
{Just kill yourself, you fucking disgrace of a mercenary}
They were interrupted by a familiar 'twip twip', and Spider-man in all his righteous glory entered Wades field of vision. He landed on the roof with a triple back-flip that made Wade's knees swoon.
Before the hero could start his speech and leave him there, Wade opened his mouth:
"I'm sorry, Spidey," he said. "You finally got a break and then I was being careless and got everyone bitching about you."
{He hates us now}
[Wants us dead. We ruined it]
{You should just eat a bullet and get it over with}
The boxes made compelling arguments, in Wade's probably-not-most-certified opinion. But Spidey started talking and everyone shut up. Yellow finally stopped crying.
"Hey, this is not your fault," Peter insisted, cupping the merc's face in his hands.
{We're so close} White whispered.
Wade caught a glimpse of the big, brown eyes behind the white lenses.
[Beautiful]
But Spider-man was not done talking:
"Yeah, it was nice not having Jameson yelling 'Spider-menace' every other second, but listen to them! They're sprouting nonsense! Just this morning I heard J. Jonah Jerkface blubbering about how I'm planning to seduce and eat you. During lunch, I read an article claiming we're raising demon spawn to take over the world together. I almost spit out my sandwich! Online conspirators are blogging about how we're the goons of Satan sent to kill all of humanity or writing fanfiction of our 'forbidden love story'. We have a flipping shipname for heaven’s sake!" Spider-man paused and panted. "The point is: this is hilarious, not a problem, and very much NOT your fault."
It was quiet, except for the traffic, the doves, and their own breathing. It was comfortable, almost nice. But Wade broke it none the less.
"What kind of fucking mercenary AM I if I can't even stop people from taking pictures of me?" His arms shot out in half-assed gestures. "It's like the most basic part: cover your tracks, don't let people see you in the act. Leave no traces."
“If that’s your logic, then it’s my fault!” he protested. “I can literally sense when someone is looking at me!”
“But-“
“No, no buts!” Spidey still had his face in his hands. Wade’s head was tugged closer to Spider-man’s as he continued. “This is not your fault, nor is it mine. It was an accident, a really, really funny one. Now, do you want to grab some Mexican and make fun of J. Jehovah Jagoff?”
Wade could clearly see the determined look on his face, not taking no for an answer. He obliged.
“Sure, baby boy!” His normal, happy-go-lucky tone was back. “My place, or?”
“Yeah.” Spidey let go of his face. The boxes complained loudly from the loss of contact, but were cheering him on for getting Spidey to agree to go to their place. And encouraging him to do more than just laugh at Jackass.
As they jumped over the edge, Deadpool holding himself securely around Spider-man’s way too thin waist, he quipped: “Jehovah?”
“You don’t want him to come knocking on your door,” he answered.
“Fair enough,” he agreed. “Jagoff? Are you serious? Though you were a New Yorker.”
Spidey just groaned loudly as he swung them through the city.