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Peter Parker stared at the ceiling of his apartment, trying to piece together the previous 48 hours like a puzzle made of increasingly questionable decisions.
"This is impossible," he muttered to himself, pressing his palms against his eyes.
"Think about the yaoi," Deadpool's voice chirped from somewhere to his left, where the mercenary was, oh god, still very much in his bed, eating what appeared to be a chimichanga that had definitely not been in Peter's fridge before.
"That doesn't even—what does that even mean?!" Peter sputtered, sitting up so fast he nearly fell off the mattress. His entire body protested the movement in ways that made him very aware of exactly what had happened last night. And the night before. And...why was there only one day between them?
"It means think about the implications, Spidey!" Wade waved the chimichanga around like a pointer. "Two hot superheroes, one fateful rooftop meeting, years of sexual tension—"
"We've known each other for like three years!"
"—decades of sexual tension—"
"Decades?! I'm twenty-five!"
"—and BAM!" Wade slapped the bedspread. "The yaoi writes itself! It's beautiful! It's art! It's—"
"Wade, I literally just asked you to help me find my wallet."
"And you found so much more, Peter. So much more." Wade waggled his eyebrows beneath his mask. Actually waggled them. The mask somehow conveyed the motion. Peter hated that he could read that through the fabric.
"This is not happening. This is a fever dream. I'm still asleep. I got hit by one of Mysterio's stupid gas things again."
"You wish, baby boy."
"I do NOT wish—"
Two days earlier, it had started so normally.
Peter was web-swinging home after a relatively quiet patrol (only two bank robberies, one cat stuck in a tree...which, seriously, who still uses that as a distraction?—And a brief scuffle with some low-level thugs who thought they could take on Spider-Man with lead pipes). He was tired, his spidey-sense was barely tingling, and he was looking forward to the leftover pizza in his fridge.
Then Deadpool had appeared on the rooftop beside him like the world's most uninvited fungus.
"Spidey! My favorite wall-crawling, web-slinging, crime-fighting snuggle-bug!"
"Deadpool." Peter sighed. "What do you want?"
"Your wallet."
"...What?"
"Your wallet. I need it. For... reasons."
Peter blinked. "You want me to give you my wallet? You're literally asking me to give you my wallet."
"Yes! That's what I said! Are you having trouble hearing me? Should I speak louder?" Wade cupped his hands around his mask. "YOUR WALLET, SPIDEY! "
"The whole city can hear you."
"Good! Maybe one of them will Venmo me!"
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose through his mask. "Why do you need my wallet?"
"Because I lost mine. And I need money for chimichangas. And maybe a new Hello Kitty backpack. And—"
"You lost your wallet."
"Yes."
"And you thought... you'd ask me for mine."
"Well, yeah. You're my favorite hero. Also, you have that cute little wallet with the Avengers logo on it—"
"It was a gag gift from Tony!"
"—and I want it. Give it."
Peter stared at him for a long moment. This was insane. This was completely, utterly insane. Deadpool was insane. Why was Peter still talking to him?
"Fine," Peter heard himself say. "But only because I'm too tired to fight you, and honestly? This is the weirdest thing that's happened to me all week, and I need to see how this plays out."
Peter was expecting Wade not returning or maybe he will.
It's Wade after all, of course he won't-
Yet, here they are.
What the fuck.
"See!" Wade pointed triumphantly. "This is what I'm talking about! You said 'I need to see how this plays out' and now look at us! Naked! In bed! I'm eating a chimichanga in your bed! You've got a cute little post-sex flush going on—"
"I do NOT have a—" Peter grabbed his phone and checked the camera. He did, in fact, have a post-sex flush. He threw the phone across the room.
"The yaoi gods have smiled upon us, Peter!"
"We're not in a—" Peter rubbed his temples. "Wade, we're not in a manga. We're real people. Who made extremely poor life choices."
"Speak for yourself. I make excellent life choices. Exhibit A: this." Wade gestured at himself. "I'm currently in bed with Spider-Man. This is literally the best life choice I've ever made."
Peter opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. He couldn't argue with that. That was the problem.
Peter had found his wallet a day earlier. It was in his jacket pocket the whole time. He'd told Deadpool this, expecting the mercenary to leave.
Instead, Deadpool had said: "Okay, but can I stay anyway? I'm bored. Also, I think there's a new season of that anime you like. The one with the—"
"How do you know what anime I like?"
"I'm in your apartment now. Your Netflix queue is showing."
"You went through my Netflix queue?!"
"It's right there on the screen, Peter. Also, you left your browser open. You really should use incognito mode for your—"
"DON'T SAY IT."
"—hentai research."
"IT'S NOT—IT'S FOR—" Peter's face had gone red enough to rival his suit. "I'm a biologist! I have to understand—"
"The reproductive habits of cartoon cat girls?"
"THERE WERE NO CAT GIRLS."
"Okay, but you definitely googled 'reproductive habits of cartoon cat girls' at some point, because I saw the autofill."
Peter had thrown a pillow at him. Deadpool had caught it, laughed, and somehow that had led to them watching anime together on the couch, and then Deadpool had made a comment about the protagonist's "pretty eyes" while looking directly at Peter, and Peter had said something about Deadpool's mask being stupid, and Deadpool had said "want to see what's under it?" and Peter had said—
—well.
Peter had said a lot of things over the next several hours.
Now?
"Okay," Peter said, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. "Okay. We need to talk about what happened."
"You mean the sex?"
"YES, THE—" Peter lowered his voice. "Yes. The sex."
"What about it? It was great. You were great. I was great. We were great together. We could write a book about how great we were. 'The Adventures of Spider-Man and Deadpool's Amazing Sex—'"
"I'm not writing a book with you."
"You're no fun."
"Wade." Peter grabbed the other man's shoulders, forcing him to look at him. "I need you to understand that this—this changes things."
"Changes things how?" Wade tilted his head. "We're still heroes. You still fight crime. I still fight crime, but with more stabbing and sarcasm. We still have that thing where we annoy each other on rooftops. Nothing's changed."
"I slept with you. You slept with me. That's—that's a change."
"I mean, I guess? But like, not really? We were already basically doing a will-they-won't-they thing for like three years. I just fast-forwarded to the 'will' part."
Peter blinked. "We were not doing a 'will-they-won't-they' thing."
"We so were. Every time we fought crime together, you'd make that little sound—"
"I don't make a sound."
"—when I'd jump in front of a bullet for you—"
"Nobody asked you to do that!"
"—and then you'd go all blushy and flustered and deny you were checking out my package."
"YOUR—" Peter sputtered. "I wasn't—it's a costume, Wade, you can't even see—"
"The package, Peter. The package. It was there. You checked for it."
"I WAS LOOKING FOR CONCEALED WEAPONS!"
"Suuuuure you were."
It was at that exact moment that the window to Peter's apartment exploded inward.
Peter reacted on instinct, lunging for his mask, while Wade went for his katanas. They both froze mid-motion when they realized who was standing in the shattered window frame.
Frank Castle. The Punisher. In Peter's apartment.
Frank stared at them.
Peter stared back. He was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. Wade was halfway into his suit, one leg in, one leg out, mask pulled down to his chin, revealing his scarred face.
Frank's expression didn't change. It never changed. But something in his eyes flickered: a flicker that might have been horror, might have been resignation, might have been the realization that he'd made a terrible life choice by coming here.
"I didn't see anything," Frank said flatly.
"You totally saw everything," Wade chirped. "Look at his face, Peter! He saw everything!"
"Shut up, Wade."
"Frank! Frankie! Frenchie! Come join us! We were just discussing—"
"I'm leaving." Frank turned on his heel. Literally. He did a sharp 180-degree turn and marched back toward the window, boots crunching on broken glass.
"Wait!" Peter scrambled to his feet, grabbing his comforter to cover himself. "Frank, wait! Is something wrong? Is there a crime? Do you need backup?"
Frank paused at the window, back still to them. "There's always crime, Spider-Man. That's not why I'm here."
"Then why—"
"I was going to tell you about a weapons shipment. But I can see you're..." Frank's shoulders tensed. "...occupied."
"We can be occupied and deal with weapons shipments at the same time!" Wade called out. "Multitasking is my specialty! Just last week I—"
"I DON'T WANT TO KNOW." Frank's voice echoed through the apartment. He didn't turn around. "I'll handle it myself."
"Frank, wait—" Peter started.
But the Punisher was already gone, leaping out the window and disappearing into the night. A moment later, they heard gunshots in the distance, because of course they did. It was Frank.
"Well." Wade broke the silence. "That was awkward."
"YOU THINK?!"
---
Elsewhere in New York...
Matt Murdock, Daredevil himself, by the way, was also having a very strange night.
He'd been tracking Bullseye for three hours. The assassin had been unusually quiet, almost as if he was leading Matt somewhere on purpose. Matt knew it was a trap. Of course it was a trap. Every interaction with Bullseye was a trap. But Matt had an obligation to bring him in, and—
"Are you going to kill me now?" Matt asked, standing in the middle of the abandoned warehouse.
Bullseye laughed. It was a horrible sound, like nails on a chalkboard. "Kill you? Why would I kill you now? I've got so much more fun planned."
"I'm not interested in your 'fun.'"
"Really? Because I thought you'd be interested in this." Bullseye pulled something out of his pocket. Matt's senses flared: it was a small object, metallic, with—
"Is that a car key?"
"Your car key, yes. I've been in your car."
Matt felt his eye twitch. "You broke into my car."
"Broke into? I sat in it. I adjusted your seat. Your seat is slightly to the left now. You'll never be comfortable again."
"That's—that's psychopathic."
"Is it? I thought it was romantic."
Matt opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. Opened it again. Closed it.
Bullseye took a step forward. "Daredevil. It's just us here. No cops. No heroes. Just us. What do you say we—"
Matt's phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out, not taking his eyes off Bullseye. "Hello?"
"Daredevil!" Peter's voice crackled through the speaker. "I need backup! Frank just broke into my apartment and now Deadpool is—"
Matt hung up the phone.
"Who was that?" Bullseye asked, genuinely curious now.
"Nobody important." Matt pocketed the phone. "You were saying something about romance?"
Bullseye's grin widened. "I thought you'd never ask."
---
Back at Peter's Apartment...
"I can't believe Frank Castle saw me in my underwear."
"Peter, he's seen way worse. Trust me. I've seen him walk in on people having way worse situations. One time he walked in on—"
"I DON'T WANT TO KNOW."
"Okay, but the look on his face was priceless. I'm going to treasure that memory forever."
"You're impossible."
"Think about the yaoi, Peter."
"STOP SAYING THAT."
Wade laughed, pulling Peter back onto the bed. "Come on, Spidey. It's not the end of the world. Frank's seen worse. Matt's probably dealing with worse right now—"
"How do you know what Matt's doing?"
"I don't, but his boyfriend is Bullseye, so—"
"Bullseye is NOT his boyfriend!"
"Frenemies with benefits? Enemies with—"
"WADE."
"Okay, okay, fine. But seriously." Wade leaned in close, and suddenly all the humor was gone from his voice. "Are you okay with this? With us?"
Peter paused. He was still in his boxers, still reeling from everything that had happened, still trying to process how he'd gone from "lost wallet" to "getting railed by Deadpool" in 48 hours.
But looking at Wade, at the scarred face that was usually hidden behind a mask, at the ridiculousness and vulnerability and strangeness of the man who never stopped talking—Peter felt something loosen in his chest.
"This is insane," Peter said.
"Absolutely," Wade agreed. "Completely insane. You'd have to be crazy to get involved with someone like me."
"I know."
"So?"
Peter sighed. "So... stay for breakfast. My treat. But you're paying for the window."
"DEAL!"
The next morning, Peter woke up to the smell of burning. His spidey-sense was doing a gentle buzz that wasn't quite danger, just... something.
He opened his eyes to find Wade standing in his kitchen, holding a fire extinguisher and waving it at what used to be a pan of eggs.
"Morning, baby boy! I made breakfast!"
Peter stared at the charred remains of his kitchen. "You set the kitchen on fire."
"I put it out! Mostly! The fire's gone! Look, only a little bit of counter is on fire now!"
"WADE."
"Think about the yaoi, Peter!"
"YOUR YAOI IS BURNING MY APARTMENT!"
But Peter was laughing as he leaped out of bed to grab the fire extinguisher, and Wade was laughing too, and somehow, somehow, that was okay.
---
Meanwhile, in Hell's Kitchen...
Matt woke up in a strange bed, with a strange headache, and a very strange feeling of regret.
"Good morning, handsome."
Matt turned his head. Bullseye was lying beside him, looking obnoxiously pleased with himself.
"Did we..." Matt trailed off.
"Yes."
"Did I... want to?"
"Absolutely. You were very enthusiastic."
"I was drunk on—on my own rage!"
"Same thing, really."
Matt closed his eyes. "I'm never going to live this down."
"Probably not. But think about it this way: your yaoi is finally coming true."
"MY—"
Bullseye laughed and pulled him closer, and Matt considered throwing himself out the window.
He didn't.
But he thought about it.
---
Frank Castle sat in his van, staring at the ceiling.
He'd just single-handedly dismantled three weapons shipments, killed fifteen men, and successfully avoided thinking about what he'd seen in Peter Parker's apartment.
This is fine, he told himself. Everything is fine. I didn't see anything. I don't know anything. I'm going to go back to killing criminals and never think about this again.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Hey Frankie! Want to join the Spideypool train? We've got matching outfits! 🥰💀🕸️
Frank threw his phone out the window.
Then he drove away.
He did not go back to pick up the phone.
He definitely did not.
...He went back to pick up the phone.