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Of Spiders And Shar-Peis

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Oh, hai there! Howya doin, cuddle cakes? Feelin good? Got your coke and chips? Got your jammies on? Cause this could take a while. Well, it might. Maybe. Potentially. Actually I dunno. But doesnt hurt to make sure youre nice and cozy, right?

Btw, nice of you to click the story link.

You saw the E, right? Not like E for east, but E for EXPLICIT. Like in cock, vagina, tits, pussy, clitoris, ass, PENIS. Like in spilling the yoghurt in the bowl, getting up in them guts, playing a game of Mr. Wobbly hides his helmet, dipping the stinger in the honey, fucking. Sooooo…. youre sure youre 18? You look a bit on the young side. But even if you arent. I am happy, pleasured even, to be the key that unlocks the door to your blooming sexuality.

Why the fuck do I say something like “pleasured even”? Write... type... WHATEVER! ITS NOT MY FAULT! ITS HERS! The goddamn German chick with the golden hair and the dark blue eyes and the tattoo on her right upper arm made me type it. I even know her bra size! It’s...

(I swear, Wade! If you dare reveal that very personal piece of information here I will make this story a living hell for you. I dont even care that you have seen it all and might not even be impressed by what I will come up with. But fuck it, I will goddamn try!)

OKAY, OKAY, DONT WET YOUR PANTIES! Nice blue tie-dye pattern on those btw... Wait, are you not wearing a bra?

(Wade, I mean it! Your fate is in my hands!)

OKAY, OKAY... no reason to get all stranger than fiction on my ass. My point is... wait, what’s my point? Oh yeah! If I say something pathetic, uncool, grammatically incorrect or culturally out of line it’s NOT MY FAULT! It’s all hers. Seems she also took some “creative liberties” - her words not mine - with the source material. So go to her if you wanna complain and leave me alone and while you are at it: SEND HELP! SHE IS HOLDING ME HOSTAGE IN HER MIND! I AM SOMEWHERE IN THERE! GET ME OUT!

Well actually... there is some interesting stuff in here. Hmmmm, that’s delicious, oh, that as well... why do we never think of things like that... wait, that’s the stuff you dreamt earlier while taking a nap? Woah, that’s kinda creepy. BUT WAIT, WAIT! YOU TOOK A NAP? WAHAHAHAHAHA...

(*cracks knuckles*)

Anyways... while we are at it... Arent you a kinky one for coming here, hun bun. You read all those warnings and tags and still chose to join me on this ride. Hey, relax, I am not judging, I am like the opposite of judging. I am a free-spirited butterfly of a soul! But I just want to make sure that you know that I KNOW. I KNOW that you wanna know where those sex toys get stuffed into, who will fuck whom when and where. I KNOW that your psyche is twisted enough to ache for the mental images of those pornographic, smutty, uninhibited, breathless THINGS that will happen in this story. I KNOW that you wanna get wet... So dont pretend and play innocent. Embrace it! Will make it more entertaining for me, too. A solo performance is fun every now and then, but in the end, it needs a waffle to put the condensed milk on. And you are the waffle... like not an actual waffle... whatever, guess you know what I mean.

You are here for HIM, right? I mean, nothing bad at that, cause so am I. I mean he is just so cuuuute, downright adorable. The brown puppy eyes, the thick brown wavy hair, the freckles, the weird eyebrow that looks like he has just been in a wind tunnel. He is like a dream inside a dream where you ride a sparkly pink unicorn into the rainbow framed sunset. Oh yeah, right, I don’t know how he looks yet. But the German naptaker here knows. She watched the movie twice already. Gosh, I hope she will let me get my hands on his perfectly sculptured butt.

Blablabla, youre either thoroughly entertained and horny by now or bored out of your fucking mind. I cant decide which I am, so lets get on with the show.

Chapter Text

The turquois bubble bursts with a low and satisfying “pop”. Hmmm, minty. The pink one is next. Ohhhh, strawberry. I extend my gloved finger to the yellow one. Pop! Cherry pineapple! The back muscles of the unicorn flex between my thighs. It leaps. I close my eyes against the sexy warm glow around me and snuggle my nose in its mane. Guess it’s super soft. Why am I wearing a mask here? The hooves make a crunchy sound on the diamond peppered ground when Lola (the unicorn) lands again. I open my eyes. Ohhhhhh... There is the rainbow, right in front, I can almost grasp it. Lola makes another leap forward. I sit up, stretch my arms. Come here, rainbow, come to Deadpool!

“THE HITMAN’S BODYGUARD! RATED R! IN THEATRES AUGUST 18th!”

What, where AND WHO? What, what? Nooooo, fuck. I roll around, the ground comes closer. I land face down in front of my couch. Ouch. I tilt my head and scowl at the TV. Shampoo ad. Uh, nice hair. “You damn cock-blocker! I almost had the rainbow. Lola was going for it hard!” I look around for the remote, find it close to my left leg next to some empty bottles of beer and turn off the power with my naked big toe. Sigh.

Ouch, ouch, slightly uncomfortable! I prop up my upper body and look down to check what I landed on. Almost empty pizza box, Kojak, my trusted Desert Eagle, a shattered bottle. I grab the last slice of pineapple pizza, stuff it in my mouth, sit up and pluck the shard out of my abdomen. “Damn you, you ruined my favorite cuddly hoodie!” I look at the hole in the fabric and pout.

My apartment... EY! WAIT A MINUTE! You are not really forcing me to look around now so you have an excuse to describe how my apartment looks, right?

(Yeah, well, I kinda wanted to.)

NO WAY! THAT’S SO FUCKING BOOORIIING! Look at them! They didnt come here for a description of my fucking apartment! They have taste! They wanna get in my pants. HIS pants rather!

(But...)

NO! It’s bad enough that I have to describe what I am thinking and doing! Ofc you wouldnt go for a regular third-person POV, noooo, you just HAD to pick first-person. WHAT DID I DO TO YOU TO DESERVE THIS? SO I AM NOT GIVING YOU A DESCRIPTION OF MY FUCKING APARTMENT! I know how it looks anyways! It’s dirty, it’s messy, it’s full of weapons. END OF STORY!

Get up, turn on the stereo, throw a pose. “DJ, please pick up your phone, I'm on the request line.” Oh yeah! Rapping along with the song (effortlessly ofc, I am a natural!), I dance my way up to the bathroom door. Fuck, leg is still a bit stiff. Meh! You would really think that 2 days are enough to grow it back fully functional.

Seemed like an easy enough job: Richard (dick, tihi), the dealer, owes Kelly (gosh, I really have to rewatch 90210), his provider, a lot of money. “Is it worth it, let me work it, I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it.” Go to him, make him pay. “I'd like to get to know ya so I could show ya, put the pussy on you like I told ya.” Cut of an ear or so so he cuts the shit. BOOM! Richard has a hugeass purple glowing rifle thingy that looks like the drillmaster 3000 from a really weird hentai. POOF! Leg gone, Richard and his mastervibrator too.

I strip to the tune (yeah, blossom butt, that’s what you want to see, right?), get in the shower, step over Calvin, my faithful rubber duckie, and turn on the water. So yeah, you read the summary, right? My encounter with Richard and his sparkly joystick of might was only the last of many occasions lately were I ran into some guys with weird sexy weapons. Yesterday I found out (“okay, okay, I tell you everything you want, please stop stabbing me”) that apparently there is some guy in Queens that sells those beauties. I WANT ONE! They are just so cool!!! And yeah, Queens, right, super convenient. With all those videos taking place in Queens it’s not hard to guess that Spider-Man lives there somewhere. Have you seen what the guy can do with his arms and legs? And he shoots these webs that just scream: MAKE ME YOUR BONDAGE MASTER! Hey, man, I am happy to oblige. Just have to find you! So some digging in Queens it is!

Hmm, you smell nice. Is that lemon? Have you also just taken a shower? Oh my, did you choose these panties for ME? RAWR!

(Yes, yes, maybe, shut up.)

---

Katanas? Check. Kojak? Check. Mildred? Check. Seat cushion? Check. Snacks? Checkidicheck! Get in the car, shove the things over that you just destroyed with your ass of steel, turn on the stereo and get on the 678 towards Queens.

Okay, so seems like Spider-Man is on this superhero trip where he just hangs around the neighborhood until something bad happens that he can stop. And so these weapons are very, VERY bad, right? Which means that when I hang around Queens until I find Spider-Man, the bad-seeking missile, I will find the weapons too, sooner or later. Good plan, Deadpool! And your head only hurts slightly for coming up with it! Niiice!

I need a location for my little observation mission that is both smart and cozy, cause I might be hanging around Queens for the whole night and I really dont wanna get a cramp crouching on some narrow ledge. Yeah, I know, crouching on a narrow ledge in the middle of the night is like THE go-to when it comes to superhero cinematics. But fuck that, if you wanna dive into that emo stuff, go watch a Batman movie (Michael Keaton - squeeeeee).

I get on a 4-storey building near 21st street and find a nice ventilation duct near the ledge. I will sit here like an eagle, like a panther, waiting for his prey! I put the pink seat cushion down, situate myself and my ass of steel on it, cross my legs and open my bag of Doritos. Yay, taco flavor, yummy.

After like 10 minutes of monitoring the surroundings very intently and panther-like (1 car, 2 cars, 3 cars, 4 cars, oh look, a birdie) and eating my chips, a horrible, dire idea blooms in my head like pimples on a teen’s chin. Isn’t Queens like really big?

(Queens is the easternmost and largest in area of the five boroughs of New York City. It is geographically adjacent to the borough of Brooklyn at the southwestern end of Long Island, and to Nassau County further east on Long Island; in addition, Queens shares water borders with the boroughs of Manhattan and the Bronx. Coterminous with Queens County since 1899, the borough of Queens is the second-largest in population (after Brooklyn), with a census-estimated 2,333,054 residents in 2016.)

OH COMMON! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I WANT MY SPIDER-MAN! I WANT MY SEXY WEAPONS! How long do you wanna let me wait here? It’s so boring! Like the time I watched Star Wars Episode 1 and hoped for some hot Jedi on Jedi action but mostly got this annoying little brat and the alien guy with the long tongue (ye, the tongue was nice, okay, so long and flexible and wet and... BESIDES THE POINT!). It’s like trying to get the blood off the suit (which takes fucking ages I tell ya). It’s like fucking Idaho (BORING). It’s like watching Nicole Kidman’s face (seriously, is there any muscle in her face that can still move?). It’s like...

Oh, what’s that noise? I duck down and shimmy over to the ledge, peeking down. There is a Queens community bank store on the corner on the other side of the street. And there are 4 guys with masks and hugeass weapons. How classical! A bank heist! I see something move in the corner of my eye and turn my head. Oh... SCORE! Crouching on the building on yet another corner of the street, I see HIM. Yes! Spider-Man! Oh, sweet Mary and Joseph, thank you!

(Sure!)

Now this setup sounds like a movie I wanna watch. So I lie down on my stomach, Kojak in my right hand, Doritos on my left and watch the scene unfold like a burrito wrap. Damn, I am hungry. The 4 guys pry the doors open easy enough and... are they wearing Avengers masks? Oh my, bank robbers with style. While I watch them getting their weapons (those are DEFINITELY the ones I am looking for) ready, I almost miss Spider-Man making his moves. But I turn my head just in time to see him climb down the building. Head first. Crouching. Touching the wall with only his toes and fingertips. His firm, muscular, spandex clad, upturned ass perfectly illuminated by the orange light of the next streetlight. OH GOD, I think I am in love.

My only true love hustles over the street silently and I turn my head to check how the bank heist is coming along. One guy is holding a huuuge weapon that looks like an oversized gun with three glowy metallic tentacles at the end. He aims it at one of the ATMs, there is a burst of blue energy and just like extracting a tooth with pliers, he rips the whole thing out of the wall. I WANT IT SO BAD! GIVE!

Spider-Man sneaks in through one of the other doors while the guys are busy and then... he leans slightly to the side, supporting himself with one hand against the wall, casually crossing his ankles. OMG! I am squeeing so hard right now. This is A D O R A B L E! Yeah and then all hells breaks loose for the 4 wannabe Avengers and my one-eyed monster starts getting HARD.

Spider-Man bounces around in the small room like a tree frog on cocaine, dealing kicks and punches to the guys, swirling around the Avengers like a ballerina. It’s so sexy and reminds me of that time I jacked off while watching the World Figure Skating Championship. And, oh GOD, he doesnt stop talking, through the open doors I can hear him chatting nonstop. I stuff a few more tortilla chips in my mouth and then I reach for my dick. I manage to squeeze my hand into my tight spandex pants (they are delicious, peaches, arent they?). Not easy while still lying on my stomach, eyes firmly fixed on the beautiful action sequence down there. The tortilla crumps on my glove make up for an interesting feeling on my jackhammer which I now firmly grasp. Seeing that the 4 dudes dont seem to be that big of a challenge for my cheeky chimp, I better shift into fifth gear. Well accompanied by cheeky’s never-ending stream of words. Gosh, he has just the cutest squeaky voice. “Thor. Hulk. Pretty fun to meet you guys!” I move my hand up and down my cock fast. Oh YEAH! “You’re even more handsome in person.” I squeeze my glans with my thump. “This... feels... so... weird!” Oh, ah, looks like the guy, ah, with the huge tentacle gun is a small, ah, challenge for cheeky after all. He stops Spider-Man midair with some kind of... graviton field, I guess. The blue energy from the weapon shifts to orange and then cheeky gets catapulted against the wall. My hand has stopped for a bit while I am evaluating if I should finally give my debut as white knight. But after Spider-Man gets thrashed around a bit more by the tentacle gun (saying that over and over really does wonders for my erection), he manages to knock the tentacle man unconscious. And the fighting resumes. Yay, back to fiddling the flesh flute! Well, more like, ah, grinding the flesh flute.

Right when, ah, I hear cheeky say “Okay, guys, let’s wrap this up, it’s school night.” (wait, ah, what, “school night”?), I feel my balls tighten. And then my eyes fall shut, cause... “I’M COMING! YEAH, LOVE MUFFIN, I AM COMING!” And the raw, manly, gigantic energy of my orgasm rocks the building.

Breathing heavily, I press my forehead against the still vibrating flat roof and pull my hand out of my pants. Ohhh... what a nice mixture of tortilla crumps and... erm... condensed milk! I lick my gloved fingers. Wait, where is the heat coming from? I sit up and peek down the edge of the building while straightening my pants and my mask. Oh man, what a disappointment! I didnt make the building rock! It was the explosion in the deli down there! MEH!

I see that Spider-Man has abandoned the guys in the bank, running across the street towards the burning deli. When he jumps into the store without even hesitating once (oh, my hero!), yelling “Is anybody in here?”, it’s clear that I have to decide now. I can do two things before the police arrives: a) I get down and help Spider-Man, rescuing the day and make him fall instantly in love with me. Or: b) I get down and grab the gravity tentacle gun.

WHAT THE FUCK? AM I CRAZY (good question!)? IT’S A FUCKING GLOWING, SEXY, SPICY TENTACLE! GUN! I NEED this in my life! Now I realize I ALWAYS wanted one!

So I climb down, briefly reminiscing cheeky’s ass, step over the unconscious guys (oh, oops, sorry, that sounded like I crushed your hand), grab the gun, look over to Spider-Man who is currently rescuing the biggest cat I have ever seen and when I hear the sirens, I leg it.

Chapter Text

Hmmmm, coffee! Oh hey, look who’s also awake! Goooood morning, snuggle bunny! Now be honest: Did you dream of me last night? Of me and my cock and Spider-Man and the roof in Queens? It’s totally legit if you did. It’s like the foreplay of what’s to come (I hope). It’s the prelude, the appetizer, the... wait, lemme google that... the amuse-bouche! And I have to say: Jacking off on that roof was even more fun cause I knew you were watching me. Did you touch yourself? Sorry, sorry, maybe a bit too forward... But did you?

Oh, you are also here! Ofc you are, else I wouldnt be here. Fuck, that shit is kinda confusing. Morning!

(Good morning, Wade.)

So how much time has passed since last chapter?

(Like 2 weeks.)

Wow, I am like really impressed with myself. Gosh, that amount of self-control to not go after Spider-Man again. 2 full weeks! Seems a bit unlikely dontya think?

(You were preoccupied. Tell them what you did during the two weeks.)

Sigh... Listen! I know that you only insert this time gap here so we stay in sync with HIS movie. So can we NOT do that whole “Deadpool reads his diary”-thing?

(But your experiments with the “tentacle gun” were pretty hilarious. You almost unmanned yourself.)

Oh yeah, that was funny! But she has a name, you know? It’s Rosalie, okay? And man, Rosalie is just MADE for masturbation. She’s just the most awesome thing I EVER had. But let’s just get on with the action, okay? Pretty please with a cherry and chimichanga on top?

(Alright.)

I stand in the middle of my apartment, idly scratching my NAKED stomach and think about what I need for a proper Spider-Man hunt. I tried to google it (What do I need for a Spider-Man hunt?), but all I got was “What do I need to make a Spider-Man cake?”. And man, those youtube tutorials are AMAZING. The most important ingredient is fondant! I am so gonna make one. But not now. While I shimmy into my shirt, mask and combat boots, I make a list of things I definitely need for this hunt.

1. Yourself (got it - kinda)
2. Drinks and snacks (but nothing that makes a bad breath, so the cheese balls are out of question)
3. Music (got my playlist on my phone)
4. Patience (meh)
5. Lube and condoms (PLEASE LET THEM BE NEEDED!)
6. Something that school kids want. I need some kind of present for him.

Hmm... that’s hard. I mean, I am pretty sure I am right with my guess that he is still in school. His comment, the voice, the body. But I cant even remember if I ever WAS a school kid, so how the onion rings should I know what theyre into NOWADAYS. I shrug. Guess Ill just buy some chocolate. OH, NOW I KNOW! That’s the best idea ever! Like right in line with the invention of deep fryers, Disney’s Little Mermaid and lube with cinnamon flavor. But I am not telling you yet! You will find out soon enough. Then it will be a surprise for him AND you! I grab all my stuff and hit the road. Time to hunt!

---

I’m one-third (4 hours!) into the audio book of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (and isnt Stephen Fry’s english accent kinda sexy?) when I finally stumble into Spider-Man. Or rather: He stumbles into me.

I have parked my car somewhere in Forest Hills (it’s like the deadest neighborhood I have ever seen, not even a cat on the streets, but all the single-family homes here look super cozy) to have my scheduled 11 pm snack break and am just about to take a bite of my delicious Oklahoma onion burger (impending halitosis danger, but if he truly loves me, he wont care!), when I hear the noise of screeching tires. I check the rearview mirror and see a white van speeding down the road in my direction. Woah, woah, woah, seems like this neighborhood finally decided to wake up. I turn around in my seat, take a bite of my burger (it’s so gooood!) and watch the van approaching fast. Man, that ticket is gonna be expensive. Wait, the van is dragging something behind. What is that? I squint my eyes. NO FUCKING WAY! OMG! And then the van fishtails and Spider-Man crashes into the side of my car (I’ll never gonna clean it again!).

Judging by the way my car shook with the force of the impact, the crash must have hurt a lot. But cheeky just holds on tight to the web strings that are attached to the back of the van and gets hurled forward again (with just the cutest little yelp). I start my car, cram the rest of my burger into my mouth, pull down my mask and step on the gas. Yay! A car chase! God, I love this movie!

Despite the fact that I can hardly breathe because my mouth is too full with burger (and gosh do I wish it was something else, although that burger still is devine), I manage to chase after the van without accidentally running Spider-Man over. Oh, this is just TOO good! Cheeky clings to the strings WHILE getting flung into more cars, some bushes and two trash cans WHILE one guy is shooting at him with one of those sexy weapons from the back of the van. Is there something like being “further” in love?

The only thing that can stop cheeky is a masoned mailbox which he finally gets hurled into with a loud thud. He loses his grip on the strings and the van continues to race down the street. I stop my car not far behind and try to swallow the rest of my burger. I really want him to be able to understand what Im saying when I make my heroic, yet cool entrance (we have rehearsed it a few times in front of the mirror). But while I am still swallowing, Spider-Man picks himself up, takes a second to look after the van that is still within eyeshot and then shoots a web string at the roof of one of the cozy houses nearby. He catapults himself forward and into the air. Man, he really wants to continue the chase. Well, he chose a way I cant walk, so I guess I will just follow the van and see if cheeky can catch up.

Yep, he can. After a few more blocks of chasing after the van (the guy inside has decided to shoot at me now. what the hell did I do?), Spider-Man reappears on a roof on the left side of the road ahead. While I jerk my wheel hard to dodge the next... erm... bullet? whatever, I see that cheeky gets ready to launch himself off the roof and onto the van. He is just CRAZYYYY! I might swoon. But then, while I try to regain control over my car and my squeeing, I see something dark and birdlike swoop down on Spider-Man. Oh shit! Its happening! Reality is folding in on itself! Marvel and DC are finally cooperating! AWESOME!

Oh nvm, it’s not Batman. But the birdie grabs cheeky nevertheless and takes off with him. Fuck! I ignore the van and crank down the windows so I can lean out and see in which direction Spider-Man gets kidnapped. I mean: If anybody is doing the kidnapping here, it’s me! SHIT! With all the houses and fucking trees around it’s hard to see, so I guess I just have to trust my magnificent instinct. HELP ME OUT HERE!

(Take the next street to the left and then just straight ahead.)

Guided only by my supernatural intuition, I steer left at the next corner and speed down the street until I end up on the parkway around Willow Lake. What the fuck am I doing here???

(Just stop on the right here and get out of the car.)

But it’s illegal to park on a parkway! Weirdly enough....

(...)

Okay, okay! On it!

I stop my car as close to the guard rail as possible, ignore the honking of the other drivers and get out of the passenger’s door to avoid getting run over (I will save that for another time). When I look around I can see a dark shadow flying high above the lake. I detach my binoculars from my belt. Yep, that’s definitely birdie, Spider-Man still in his claws. Cheeky is struggling against the grip and then his... parachute opens (his suit is tighter than Cylops’ ass! where the hell does he store the parachute?) and birdie lets go. Okay, so apparently storing parachutes in skintight suits is not a good idea cause this thing is not working properly. It wraps itself around Spider-Man while he plummets down towards the surface of the lake. Shitshit!

I rush towards the shore while getting rid of my belt, mask and my arsenal of weapons (except for Mildred, my combat knife, cause I might need her). Perfectly in sync (FORESHADOWING?) cheeky and I reach the water at the same time. He flops into it like 200 yards away from me. I talked to an insurance guy (Bob) once and he said I was a “risk taker”. I googled that and the definition is: “An individual or business that tends to behave in a way that can potentially cause physical harm or financial loss, but might also present an opportunity for a rewarding outcome.” Well, Bob didnt sell me any insurance, but the point is: I dont feel like taking a risk now. So I dont wait to see if cheeky manages to resurface, but I dive right into the lake, Mildred in hand and swim like a horde of angry Justin Bieber fans was chasing me. Time to reenact Baywatch!

Fuck, cold water. Oi, the suit is really heavy. Man, it’s dark down here. Is that a fish? Gosh, I am still hungry. Cheeky? CHEEKY? Oh, there he is.

I grab Spider-Man who is completely wrapped up in this parachute and not moving at all. Dont panic, dont panic, take a deep breath, no, dont do that, dont do that. Then I drag him to the surface (ey, air is super awesome) and use Mildred to cut him out of the chute. I mean, my sense of time is totally screwed up, but it really feels like an eternity before we reach the shore. Cheeky is still not moving. Shitshitshit!

I go for the classic “slap in the face”-approach, but there is no blip on the radar and then I notice that he isnt breathing. Shitshitshitshit! So I pull up his mask over his mouth (omg, these lips), lean down, channel my inner Pamela Anderson and perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. How do I even know the word “resuscitation”? And why the hell do I “remember” the whole CPR routine?

Well, in the end, it doesnt matter, cause cheeky’s chest rises again and then he coughs and spits water in my face. YAY!

Chapter Text

For a few seconds, time seems to stand still and this would be the perfect moment to take one of those epic romantic film stills. This is totally trailer material. Let me paint the picture for you so you can frame it and hang it above your bed. But first, put on “Smooth Operator” by Sade. Uhhh, yeaaaah.

Under the full moon, Spider-Man is lying on a soft patch of grass close to the shore of the lake. The water is rippling softly and you can hear the chirping of crickets. Under his skintight, damp suit, which clings to every curve of his muscular body like the hands of a lover, his chest is rising and falling heavily. Smalls gasps fall from his parted lips like sweet, ripe cherries from a tree and you can’t stop looking at those lips because it is the only bare part of his slender body. Deadpool is kneeling at his side like he belongs there, the gloved fingers of his left hand softly touching the shoulder of the man below him. The broad, muscular upper part of his body is leaned towards him, his lips hover mere inches above Spider-Man’s...

And then time catches up. Fuck! Cheeky sits up abruptly with a loud gasp and unintentionally headbutts me before scrambling backwards on his ass. “OW!” One hell of a headbutt. I press my hand against my forehead.

So does he while stammering, “What the hell? What... what happened? Who are you?” He coughs again and groans, pressing his other hand against his chest.

He seems to be slightly panicky, so I try to de-escalate (for once, surprising, right?) by sitting down on my heels and raising my hands in the international gesture of “hey look! my hands are empty and I am like totally harmless and only trying to help here”. I learned that from Chris Pratt when he calms down the raptors in “Jurassic World”. Oh man, the final battle was awesome! When the dinos teamed up to fight against the Indominus! That was so cool!! Well anyways...

I also try my best to let my voice sound as soothing and calm as possible. “Birdman, Captain Hawk, Mr Flapflap or whatever he calls himself grabbed you and threw you into the lake. No idea where you keep that chute in your suit, but it really, REALLY didnt work properly. So you should look into that. Like asap. So then I fished you out of the water and resuscitated you. You have sweet lips by the way. Oh yeah, and I am Deadpool, but you can call me Wade or Mr. Wilson or honey pants... on second thought... dont call me Mr. Wilson cause that makes me feel old.” As an afterthought, I slap on my most reassuring smile.

He stopped coughing, but his lips are still slightly parted. I cant see his eyes cause of his mask, but I have the distinct feeling that he is a bit confused. “Um.... errr...” He massages his chest with one hand while his other is nervously fiddling with the grass next to his hips. “I... I was dead?”

“Well, depends on how you define “dead”. In the “oh fuck my heart stopped”-way you were dead. But in the “hey, there are still some brain functions around”-way you werent I guess.”

“Shit...” He bites his lower lip and hangs his head.

“On the plus side, “ I say in my cheery voice, “at least we now know for sure that spiders can indeed drown! Hooray for gaining knowledge!”

He is silent for a second and frowns so gravely that I can see it despite the mask. Then he looks up and grins. “I’m happy that my death satisfied your thirst for knowledge!” His grin turns into a smile. “Thanks for saving my life, Wade!”

I return the smile. “Oh no biggie, cheeky.” I lower my voice and wiggle an eyebrow. “But my thirst for knowledge and OTHER things is not sated yet!” He frowns again and seems to be confused, so I add, “That’s what SHE said!”

The movements of his hands grind to a screeching halt and his mouth falls slightly open. It’s hard to tell cause it’s pretty dark, but I think he is blushing. AWWWW! He stares at me for a moment, then he pulls down his mask over his mouth and splutters, “So yeah, right, errr... so, umm... are you an Avenger?”

Damn, his voice is so cute. Like squeaky honey. Like strawberry bubblegum. Like...

He clears his throad. “Um...”

“Nah, I’m not the Avenger type.” I notice that he is trembling. “Okay, so now that we have established that I’m Deadpool, Wade or honey pants, not an Avenger and spiders can drown, we should get you somewhere warm. Youre shaking.” I get up. “Can you walk? I mean not generally, but now?” I look at him while picking up my belt, mask and weapons.

“Sure, sure!” he hastily asserts. In a sudden burst of nervous energy, he tries to get up on his feet, only to fall back with a gasp of pain (not the gasp I am hoping for, but I’ll take it).

I strap my katanas to my back and put my mask on. “Liar, liar, pants on fire!” I go over to him, bend down (wow, he doesnt flinch at all) and pick him up (BRIDAL STYLE!).

“HEY! Hey, I can walk. Put me down! I can walk!” He squirms slightly in my arms.

“Nice try to be all heroic and manly and stuff. But I dont think so!” I let go of his legs anyways, but still keep an arm around his shoulders. Yeah, yeah, he might fall, but my motive is definitely ulterior here.

As soon as he puts strain on his legs, he grabs my upper arm in a vice-like grip (ow, ow, superhuman strength is definitely part of his deal, on the other hand: mmm) and groans, “Okay, I can’t, okay, I can’t!”

“Told you!” I pick him up again and start marching. He grumbles unintelligibly, but still holds on to my arm. Nice!

Oh, cool, my car is still there! “Since my third arm is safely stored away at the moment, I need your help here, cheeky. Would you mind opening the door?” I lean forward so he can actually reach the handle of the passenger’s door.

He snorts. “Third arm... no way...” He stretches out his hand and opens the door.

WAIT! Did he just question the girth, size and power of my penis? I set him down in the passenger’s seat and put my hands on my hips, bent forward with a look so reproachful that it even shows through the mask (I hope). “Did you just question the girth, size and power of my penis, young man?”

For a moment he just sits there, unmoving, and looks at me (I guess... stupid mask), then he laughs (which honestly and adorably so sounds more like a giggle since his voice is so high. adorableeee). “Yes, I am afraid I did, Mr. Wilson.”

Look who is cheeky indeed! I smirk. “Well, guess I have no other choice then. Seeing that I am a true American that fights for truth and justice, I have to invalidate your accusation.”

“What, NOW?” His voice cracks and he nervously runs a hand over his head. “I mean: What? How? I mean... Okay, look,“ he gestures imploringly, “I just almost died and I think I twisted both my ankles in Mr Flapflap’s grip and my chest hurts and so I think I don’t know what I am talking anymore... so just ignore me.” He groans and puts his head in his hands. “Oh god, this is, like, the most embarrassing thing ever.”

I scratch my head. I have honestly no idea why he’s so embarrassed. Well, at least Im pretty sure that by “thing” he means our flirting. THINK, Deadpool, THINK! Try to understand. But it’s so hard! The honking cars dont help either! SHIT! “Make room, cheeky, I have to get to the driver’s seat without getting run over!”

He groans again, his head still in his hands, but presses himself into the seat.

I climb across his lap, trying not to bodycheck him (which is not easy cause my car is the size of a shoebox), while still thinking about what his problem is. ARGH! Multitasking is hard! I’m halfway across his lap when I bump my head on the car roof and FINALLY understand. I stop dead in my tracks, my left foot on the floor between his legs, my right foot on the driver’s seat and the gear-shift lever poking into my butt.

I look at him. “Oh, I see! How do I say this...” I purse my lips while he lowers his hands and lifts his head. “You have never whittled the love branch yet, right? You know: You never torpedoed the eel. Never put your wand in the chamber of secrets. Never plowed through the bean field.” He doesnt respond but only groans again and places a hand across his face. This is so confusing. Does that mean that I am wrong? Shitfuck! “You are a virgin, RIGHT?”

“YES, YES, I AM! YOU KNOW, I GOT IT THE FIRST TIME!” he gasps out and looks at me.

“Why didnt you just say so?” I throw my hands in the air. Man, some people are just so complicated! Eventually, I maneuver myself into the driver’s seat, start the engine, turn up the heating and pull out into traffic. Oops, almost crashed into a Ford.

Spider-Man has fixed his gaze straight ahead now and doesnt say anything. Then he fastens his seat belt.

Oh man, the silence is super uncomfortable. I turn on the stereo and Stephen Fry’s voice resumes reading. I remain silent for a long moment...

(Like 7 seconds)

... but then my curiosity overwhelms me. I mean, by now I am pretty sure I figured it out, but it’s muuuuch more fun to get him to admit it. “You are a teen so being embarrassed is probably some kind of constant condition for you... but what EXACTLY is embarrassing here?”

His head jerks around and he squeaks, trying to sound outraged, “I am NOT a teenager!” He folds his arms in front of his chest.

I turn my head in his direction and just raise an eyebrow.

He sighs heavily and lowers his arms again, the fingers of his right hand fiddling with the seat belt. “Okay, okay, I AM a teenager. But I guess my crazy teen hormones,“ Is anybody else also picking up a tang of sarcasm here?, “don’t allow me to understand why I am embarrassed.”

“Bullshit!” I chirp.

“ALRIGHT, alright, okay. It’s just...” He literally wrings his gloved hands while trying to man up (omg, cuteness overdose!). “It’s just not easy to admit that.... WHY AM I EVEN TALKING TO YOU ABOUT THAT?” he blurts out. “Okay, you saved my life! But still... It’s none of your business!”

I put on my sexy voice and purr, “But it could be! If you want to. I mean: Obviously you totally dig me and I am crazy wild about you. And the age of consent in Germany is 14. We’re both superheroes. And did you notice that our suits look kinda similar? So I really don’t see the issue here. As Beyonce said: If you like it, then you should put a ring on it. I mean: Life is short, at least potentially even for a superhero seeing that you just almost drowned, but life is also full of cool and sweet stuff. Like for example licking peanut butter chocolate chip ice cream off your abs. So go for it, cheeky! Carpe somethingsomething!”

He stares at his hands for a second and murmurs, “You are so weird...” Then he turns his head and looks at me. I can hear the grin in his voice. “But peanut butter ice cream is just disgusting. I prefer raspberry.”

“So...” Erm, I am confused here. Confused and surprised. This does mean “Y E S”, right? Like in: Y E S, I wanna mingle some limbs?

(So you’re telling me that this was all bravado? You weren’t even sure that he would be “interested”?)

DUH! OF COURSE NOT! HAVE YOU SEEN MY FACE?

(Yes, I did. I created it. And it’s not like in the movie, you know? A lot of knife scars, okay, but you still have your eyebrows!)

Oh, I am just delighted to hear that! Bitch!

(Ey!)

“Ummm, Wade?” Cheeky sounds concerned and... disappointed?

I pull over (we somehow ended up in dead Forest Hills again), stop the engine, get rid of my mask and look at him. “So does raspberry mean yes?”

He fiddles with the seat belt again, looking at me silently for a moment (waaaah!). Then he clears his throat. “Yes, it does.”

BOOYAH! “Sooo, you wanna go to my place? Cozy little apartment in the Bronx.”

The fiddling doesnt stop (it got to the point now where I cant stop thinking about what else he could fiddle. which consequently means that I now have a boner). “I have to be home in like an hour.”

“Wanna make out for like half an hour?” I cock my head to the side.

He clears his throat again and squeaks, “Ye, sure, sure.” But he doesnt move at all (apart from his fingers ofc).

“Relax! We gonna take it easy.” I grin. “This time at least.” I unbuckle his seat belt. “You don’t have to do much if you wanna be lazy. Just pull that mask up a bit.”

Cheeky looks at me and scratches his neck nervously. But then he nods and pulls his mask up so that its just above the tip of his nose. His lips are slightly parted and he takes a deep breath. OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD! It’s really happening!

I think the “Chris Pratt relaxes the raptor”-approach might be the right choice again. Relax the raptor while making physical contact! I place a hand on his left shoulder, all five fingers firmly planted down, then I stroke down his arm slowly. I slowly, veeeery slowly lean over towards him. I hold it there for a moment, looking into his eyes (I guess). Then I stroke his shoulder and arm again and place my other hand on the side of his neck just below the jaw line.

His hands are lying in this lap, the fingertips nervously tapping against each other and his whole posture is more on the rigid side. Like a wood plank or my cock right now.

I give him a moment to acclimate...

(Like 7 seconds)

... and then he breathes in deeply and I take that as a sign that the raptor is A-OK. I lean over all the way, run my thumb along his jaw and kiss him. OH MY GOD! It’s SO good! His softly parted lips are smooth against mine and although he doesnt dare to get involved with his tongue yet, he tilts his head to the side a bit so this kiss can be a REAL kiss. Or in this case: An awesome series of light, quick kisses.

When I eventually lick across his lower lip, he gasps quietly and parts his lips further. Nice! I am definitely not the guy who wastes an opportunity when it kicks him in the nuts, so I slowly slide my tongue into his mouth. Oh! I guess cheeky has the same mentality, because after I’ve done that, IT IS FUCKING ON! He meets my tongue with his, licking the tip, tasting the underside until he has to lean back to catch his breath. And then he goes again, initiating the kiss himself this time. AND IT’S SO GOOD! His right hand grabs my left shoulder and he pulls. Yep, not wasting opportunities here! I climb across the center console, place my knees on either side of his thighs and sit down on his lap. He flings his arms around my back, I cup his face with my hands and we continue our smooching.

After a long, sweet and awesome while (I DONT CARE HOW LONG!) he pulls back and leans his head against the headrest. He is breathing heavily and his lips are red and wet from our kissing (my poor not-so-mini Deadpool is aching, I have to give him a special treat tonight!). “That was... that was awesome!”

I softly pet his cheeks. “Hell yeah it was!”

His hands run up and down my back and he just looks at me for a moment. Then he embraces me again and places his head on my shoulder. “Thank you. That was so cool!”

“Sure thing. My pleasure actually!” I stroke the back of his head.

“I have to get home.” He sighs.

“Do you really have to? My apartment is maybe a bit, hmmm, chaotic, but I have an awesome movie collection and a very cozy couch. Perfect place to snuggle... and fuck.”

He laughs his giggly laugh again. “Yeah, I have to.” He looks up. “But I definitely wanna see that couch!”

“Of course you do! It’s really super cozy!” I VERY reluctantly climb back onto the driver’s seat. It’s REALLY hard to ignore both his and my erection. “Should I drop you off somewhere?”

He tentatively stretches his legs. “No, I think it’s okay again. I have that accelerated healing going on.” He suddenly tilts his head and frowns. Then he giggles. “Did we just make out to Harry Potter?”

“I can see nothing wrong with that!” I grin. Then I remember. Oh yeah! The present. “Wait a second!” I reach behind for the wrapped up gift in the back seat (Winnie Pooh wrapping paper of course!) and hold it out to him. “Open it at home!”

He takes it slowly, but I can sense confusion again. “Do you carry that around with you all the time?”

“No... I just hoped we would meet. And see? WE DID!” I happily throw my hands in the air.

He shakes his head in something that I recognize (barely) as astonishment. “You are crazy!”

“Good or bad crazy?”

“I... I think good. I have to check that out again to be sure.” He grins. “Thanks again!” He looks at me, hesitates for a moment, then he pulls down his mask and opens the door. “Sooo... in order to check that out again I need to know where to check, you know?”

I open one of the pockets at my belt and hand him my card. “Here’s my number. Call and I will tell you were to check.”

He takes it. “You have a card? What kind of superhero are you?”

I let my voice drop an octave. “The sexy, cool kind of superhero.”

He laughs (I really cant get enough of it!). “You are not only crazy, but also absolutely silly.” He glances at the car’s time display. “Oh no, oh shit, I’m gonna be late!” He gets ready to jump out of the car, but before he actually does, he looks back at me and places a gloved hand on my cheek. And then he is out of the car.

Chapter Text

“Listen, listen! I have money! You can have it! Please, please!” Her voice is hoarse cause I punched her in the throat, but her crying is still so loud. It gets louder by the second. So annoying!

I grab her neck with one hand and squeeze. “Shhhh, shhhh, we dont wanna bother the neighbors, right?”

She gasps for air and struggles against my grip on her wrists. When her lips turn a light shade of blue, she finally nods, looks at me with bloodshot wet eyes and croaks, “Okay, okay!”

I ease my hold on her neck, but keep my hand on her throat and her arms pinned to the ground above her head. “Good! Now that we have established that, we can finally talk business.” I shove my face closer to hers. “I talked to somebody who really, really doesnt like you and...”

I fail to get my point across cause somebody grabs me by the back of my neck and hurls me backwards. I crash headfirst into a house wall. “OW!” Gosh, I HATE getting interrupted! Hmm, maybe I should have taken this inside instead of staying in the small alleyway. I unsheathe both my katanas and spin around to face the rude intervener. Oh!

“Hey, Wolvy, fancy seeing you here!” Logan is standing between me and the woman (Carol btw), claws fully extended. Man, this suit really makes him look like some kind of muscular banana. A muscular banana with a three-day stubble and insane sideburns.

He growls in my direction (facepalm!) and gestures at Carol to get lost. She instantly obliges, grabs her purse and runs.

“No, no, stay!” I yell after her. “You still havent revealed your fabulous strawberry-cheese-cake recipe to me!” She doesnt stay. Fuck! I sheathe my katanas again and scowl at Logan. “Why do you always have to meddle in my affairs? What would YOU say if I’d butt in every time you try to save the world? Hmmm?”

His claws twitch, he bares his teeth and grunts, “I would probably just try to kill myself! And I didn’t come here because I like you so much! I was sent!”

I roll my eyes and sigh. “For the last time: Tell Professor XXX I dont wanna join the X-Men tennis club! It’s not...”

He interrupts me yet AGAIN by bodychecking me into the same wall. “FUCKING EY!” He is always so grumpy! Okay, maybe I lay it low this time so we can settle whatever problem he has in a civilized fashion. I lean back against the wall and hold up my hands - Pratt-style. “So what bee got in your panties? I happily assist getting it out again.”

Shit, subpar choice of words apparently. He gets all close and personal by ramming his full bodyweight into me and pressing me against the wall with his lower left arm and elbow. I hear one or two of my ribs crack. Just great! Not only is he always grumpy, but he is also super sensitive.

He growls in my face. “What’s your deal with the kid?”

“Oh, it’s a timeless classic! It blends humor with sentiment. It’s just sooo touching! Weird place really to discuss movies, but how do you like it?”

He presses me further into the wall. “I don’t mean the movie!”

“Huh?” I scratch my head. I have no idea what he is talking about. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen, his arm across my chest makes it hard to breathe.

“Spider-Man!” He snarls in my face like it’s my fault that he cant express himself properly.

“What about him? Is he in trouble?” Please say no, please say no.

“No, he isn’t!” YES! “But why do you want to know?” He narrows his eyes.

What a stupid question! “Well, if he were, I would bail him out of course!”

He growls impatiently. “Why?”

Wow, Wolvy really makes no sense at all today, maybe he drank one too many beers. I talk very slowly so he actually understands. “Cause sometimes, we all need a friend. And even though I know cheeky can defend himse...”

“Cheeky?” His constant interrupting is starting to get to me. So is his perpetual growling. And the lack of air.

Wait a minute! Uh-oh... I feel a great disturbance in the force. I dunno why exactly, but I think I should somehow back-pedal a bit. “I mean... Spider-Man?”

When he makes a sound midway between a growl and an actual hiss I know we reached the next step on the “Logan gets angry”-scale. It has like 5 and we are now on the fourth I think. “What. Is. Your. Deal. With. Him?” Talking slowly is also one of the signs. I hear another rib crack as well.

“I am so confused! Why would you wanna know? Did you talk to him? What did he say? Did he mention me?”

Another snarl. “He told the guy who’s sent me here that he met you. And now the guy wants to know what happened. So I ask you one last time: What’s your deal with him?”

I smile. “Well, peaches, that’s really none of your fucking business!” And then I get ready for pain.

In the second he hauls off with a roar, I push against the arm across my chest and try to knee him in the fuzzy family jewels. But he is far too close. And then his right arm darts forward and he drives his claws through my stomach and into the wall behind me. FUCKING OUCH! I can hear myself swearing incoherently. “Dogfucking sack of irish sheep shit. Scumbag, needle dick, ass clown.” And then I am the one who gets kicked in the nuts. Nice that his claws keep me from collapsing. I pant and try to catch my breath without whimpering.

“Listen,” he grunts angrily in my ear, “I don’t have time for this bullshit.” He pushes my chin upwards with his elbow and wiggles the claws around in my guts. Shit, that fucking hurts. He stares into my eyes. “You stay away from the kid. You got that?”

Apparently I stayed silent for one second too long, cause he growls and moves his hand again, this time slowly twisting. It literally feels like he is winding my intestines on his claws, so I gasp, “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Got it! Stored it safely into my memory!” Then I move my head in a noncommittal gesture that could be interpreted as a nod.

That seems to satisfy him (he is not the smartest to be fair) and he yanks his claws out of my stomach and takes a step back. “Good! Bye...”

I fall down to my knees and press one hand to my stomach so that no entrails get lost. “Ye, bye, have a nice evening. See you next time you try to save the world! Cant wait!” What a disappointment of an evening. I just wanna get home and cuddle with Lola.

---

Home sweet home! I pull off my mask with one hand and check my stomach. The outer flesh has healed up enough so that I dont have to constantly stuff my intestines back in. Oh just great... my shirt is completely shredded! AND the upper part of my pants! Fucking Wolverine! And who the fuck sent him after me? Seems like cheeky has some kind of superhero chaperon. And he still hasnt called although almost 2 days have passed. 2 full days!!! My kissing wasnt good enough. SHIT! Sulkily, I get rid of my ruined clothes and my weapons, go over to the fridge, grab a few beers and plop down onto my couch.

Oh hey, Sparkles, nice that youre still here. I could really use a bit of company right now. And you are like the next best thing. We can watch Mary Poppins together. You drink a beer and eat some chips on your side of the monitor and I’ll do the same here on my couch. Further plans for the evening involve distracting Deadpool from the pain and the feeling of guts rearranging themselves. That means furious fapping to Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Hey, dont look at me like that! Check out the red underbust corset Mary is wearing and then ask yourself why you are NOT fapping while watching that! What are you even doing with your life?

I’m one-fifth into the movie (no fapping yet) when my cellphone rings.

“Deadpool’s funeral parlor. How may I be of service?”

“Hey!” OMG, IT’S HIM! “It’s me... uhm... Spider-Man. And I now realize it’s really weird to introduce myself as “Spider-Man” on the phone... I should’ve thought of something else.”

I laugh. “Then you should be glad you didnt call yourself “The Fabulous Tarantula”!” I sip at my beer (not that it does anything really, but everybody needs a habit). “So how can I be of service, hmmmm?” I really hope my sexy purr works.

“Well... I... thought...” he sounds a bit uncertain and reserved. There is definitely something cooking. Something weird and potentially indigestible like Black Pudding. “Okay, so,” he takes a deep breath, “can I come to your place?” After a small pause he adds hastily, “Not for like... you know... just for talking?”

Uh-oh. “Sure! 2022 Benedict Avenue. I wouldnt take the elevator if I were you!”

“Aight. Will be there soon! Bye!” He hangs up.

Guess you and I will both find out shortly what is cooking. In the meantime, I think I should maybe clear up my living room slash kitchen a bit. I mean, all the empty bottles are one thing, but Carrie, my loyal sex doll, sitting in one of the arm chairs is potentially pushing it a bit.

---

Okay, the living room looks more acceptable than it has for years. For strategic purposes, I also put on a pair of jeans. But ONLY a pair of jeans. Listen: “Love overcomes all obstacles” is a nice concept and all and MOST of the times I believe in it. But real talk for a second: a) maybe he doesnt love me (hard to believe, right?), b) I am wild about him, but I cant really say that I’m in love with him yet (brutal, eh?), c) it’s always a good idea to bring my perfectly shaped ass into focus and these jeans are really tight, and d) my body looks like a war zone, complete with trenches and grenade craters, and if he cant deal with that, I wanna know right away so my poor heart gets broken instantly and not after a while of hoping (I know! I am such a softie!). So I better show him by revealing as much of my body as possible without scaring him with the size of my enormous lance.

The raspberry milkshakes are ready and Mary, Bert and the kids are dancing on the rooftops of London when the doorbell rings. HERE WE GO!

I open the door and there he is. Full suit, one hand on his hips in an awkward gesture that says: I thought about this way too hard. AWWW! “Hey, cheeky! Come in!”

He stares at me for a second (and damn do I wanna know what EXACTLY he is looking at), then he clears his throat. “Hey, Wade!” He steps past me and I close the door.

Spider-Man stands there silently with his back to me and basically oozes insecurity, tapping his fingertips nervously on the back of my couch. Poor cheeky! I swear to you I can be sensitive if I want to, so I stroll past him to my kitchen counter and keep myself busy with rinsing two glasses. “I made milkshake and you would validate me emotionally if you took one!”

That gets me a small laugh. “Then I’ll take one of course!”

I really take my time pouring the milkshake into the glasses, scattering chocolate chips on top und putting the straws in. And when I turn around, he is leaning against the back of the couch, watching the last few minutes of Mary Poppins. He seems a bit more relaxed. Success!

I hand him his milkshake and clink my glass against his. “To your health!”

“And to yours!” He peels up his mask a bit and sucks on his straw (and my enormous lance twitches in response). I look at him and make sure to wrap my lips around the straw in the most oversexed way possible. He gasps (that’s right, I got the moves!). “Shit! What happened to you!” He gestures at my stomach (oh..... that wasnt a happy gasp).

I lean against the back of the couch next to him. “I ran into the Big Bad Wolf and he speared me. And not in the pleasant way.” I take a sip of my milkshake.

“What?”

“Wolverine paid me a visit and told me I should stay away from you. He was pretty unequivocal about it. You have one hell of a chaperon, cheeky!”

“HE DID WHAT?!” He starts pacing, gesturing wildly with one hand while still holding the milkshake. “I don’t need a fucking CHAPERON! I’m a goddamn mutant, I am not 12 anymore, I can look after myself. Well except when I almost drown, but that is definitely something else! How does he dare to interfere in my life like that?!” He is breathing heavily. He is so angry. GOSH, its so SEXY!

“Who is “he”? Are we still talking about old Wolvy?”

“NO! We are talking about goddamn Tony Stark!” Now he gestures with his other hand too, spilling Milkshake all over himself and my carpet. “Oh shit, I’m sorry!” He hurries over to the kitchen counter, puts his glass down and picks up a kitchen towel.

When he gets ready to drop to his knees to wipe the floor, I also put down my milkshake and catch his wrist. “Listen, cheeky, this carpet is beyond redemption anyways! It’s fine!” I snatch the towel from his hand and start dabbing his suit.

He looks in my eyes (I’m pretty sure he does). “I’m sorry that you got hurt! I’m really sorry! I swear I only told Tony that I met you. Like I didn’t say anything about the kiss! Cause that’s definitely not his concern! But even if I DID,” he makes another angry gesture, “it’s SO uncalled for to tell somebody - even if he IS a brutal mercenary -,” ohhh, someone did his homework! guess that’s what’s cooking, ”to stay away from me! I decide who gets close to me and who doesn’t! Oh my god, I am so angry!” He lets out a frustrated yell.

His wrist is still in my hand and I pat my way down the side of his body. Then I take a step forward, so getting into his personal space, my thighs are almost touching his. His angry breath gets caught in his throat. “Wasnt the first occasion Wolvy and I clashed. And wont be the last. I’m fine. But I definitely like that youre concerned with my well-being.” I lean forward. There is a bit of milkshake on his neck (so damn convenient!). “And I wont deny that I am a brutal merc, cause I am. I AM bad. But I only kill people that are worse than me.” I put my lips on the drop of milkshake, then I lick down his throat. “So how do you feel about that, cheeky?” I mumble against the goosebumps on his skin.

He sighs (and this time, it’s with pleasure for sure) and turns his wrist in my hand so that he can interlace his fingers with mine. “I dunno.” He shudders. “I googled you and I found bad stuff. But I also found so much good stuff. It’s hard, man. It’s hard to figure you out!”

“I know! Havent been able to do that myself so far.” I let my tongue slide around his Adam’s apple (he gasps!), drop the towel and search for his other hand. When I’ve found it, I slowly peel off his glove. “Touch me!”

The rest of his body is completely still, but his hand obliges and I can feel his fingertips on the rough and scarred skin of my left side. While I softly nibble at his throat, his hand slowly glides upwards across my ribs and then around to my back. His touch is as delicate as the touch of a butterfly’s wing when his fingertips linger on one of my deepest trenches right below my shoulder blade.

I softly suck on the side of his necks (his small moans are driving me insane!), but okay, okay, I admit, I’m pretty strung up. Please dont be disgusted, PLEASE dont be disgusted!

“So many scars,“ he whispers while his fingers slowly stroke over the tissue. “I’m sorry...”

Ladies and gents, I think we are kinda out of the woods! YES! There is a tingle in my stomach and it’s definitely not my healing factor rearranging my intestines. I lift my head and kiss him.

Cheeky is a fast learner. He opens his lips immediately and tilts his head. And while he let me do all the work last time, he now instantly licks into my mouth. I cant imagine that I was so good at kissing when I was his age (whatever it exactly is... not 12 apparently). I moan, he moans and then I wrap my arms around him and pull him to the couch slowly. When he sucks my lower lip between his teeth and starts nibbling, my knees buckle and I let myself fall onto the couch, dragging him with me. We lie there for a moment and kiss to the closing credits of Mary Poppins, him on top of me, straddling my hips, my arms around him.

My erection is getting to a point where I can no longer ignore it, so I eventually unlock my lips from his and look into his eyes. “Okay, so whatever we decide to do exactly, I will get naked now. I feel that in order to avoid an asymmetrical relationship, you should do the same.”

He sits up, his ass pressing against my cock. I moan and he blushes and tries to shift himself into a different position which doesnt help AT ALL. I pant and grab his hip with one hand to keep him from moving further. He clears his throat. “But... but... I wanna stay anonymous. Fly below the radar and all! Only three people know who I am and...”

“Cant I be the fourth?” I lift my other hand and place it on his cheek. “You dont have to tell me your name, cheeky. So I wont be able to find you even if I wanted to. I have no cameras around and what happens in Deadpool’s apartment, stay in Deadpool’s apartment.” I lower my hand again. “I just want to see the look in your eyes. I want to look into them when we fuck.”

“Uhm... err... I think...” He falls silent for a second, then he nods. “I totally get that. Okay, okay, I will,“ he gulps, “I will get naked.”

I softly push him off my lap. “Let me lead by example here!” I get up and wait while cheeky pulls his legs up on the couch and wraps his arms around his knees. I think he is trying to hide his erection from me (ti-hi! cute!). Sooo, I dont have a lot of clothes on me, but that doesnt mean I cant put on a show for him! The whole routine, baby!

When I am sure he is watching me, I start to open the buttons of my jeans, one after the other and veeery slowly. Now theyre all undone. I look at him, grin and push my pants past my hip bones, but only just. Then I turn around and let my jeans drop to the floor. While I step out of them, I hear cheeky groan softly. Finally, I slowly turn around again.

He gasps. “HOLY SHIT!” (I told you it’s enormous, didnt I?) Then he clasps a hand to his mouth and presses his forehead to his knees. He yelps, “Oh my god, I am so embarrassing! Sorry, sorry!”

I cant help but laugh. “I had similar reactions before, but not quite so expressive. Guess you wont be questioning the power of my penis again!”

He giggles and lifts his head to peek at me across his kneecaps. I lean sideways against one of the steel pillars that support the ceiling and put a hand on my hip. He looks at me (or rather: “me”) for another second, then he mumbles, “At least I won’t doubt the size and girth... rest has yet to be decided upon.” And he grins. Holy SHIT! What a grin!

Now I have to clear my throat. “Okay, now you!”

“But... but I can’t strip like that. Like I practice my dance routines in front of the mirror for homecoming like every other teenager, but I never practiced stripping!” His fingers are fiddling with the blanket that covers the couch.

“I’m not asking for a Magic Mike performance. I am a simple guy! Just get naked.”

“Okay, I can do that, I can do that...” He continues mumbling that like a mantra while he gets up. Finally, he takes a deep breath and starts undressing. It’s all matter-of-factly: other glove, web shooters, boots. And then he hesitates, his hand hovering above the spider symbol on his chest. For the first time since he started undressing, he looks at me. He takes another breath, presses the symbol and his whole suit loosens like a floppy sausage casing, the fabric almost gliding off his shoulders.

“Oh, that is so AWESOME! Where did you get that suit from?”

“Stark.” He is still holding up his suit with both hands.

“Oh, niiice! Tell your chaperon I want one too!”

He mewls, “He is NOT my chaperon!” Then he lets his suit drop unceremoniously and reveals his black boxers. And DAYUM, his body is as close to perfection as it gets. Lean and wiry, but with broad shoulders and with abs you could grate cheese on. His skin is slightly tanned and scar-free. Not that my erection made any move to disappear in the last 2 minutes, but there is erection and then there is ERECTION. Now it’s the latter.

I guess I just stared for a moment, cause he laughs nervously and squeaks, “You okay?”

I smile. “Yeah, I am as okay as I can be.” Oh yeah, right, he is a teen. Maybe I should be more reassuring. “I am great actually. Better than great: I am magnificent!”

He breathes a sigh of relief, then he looks at me and says, “Okay, so no photos, no videos, no drawings, no nothing, okay?”

I raise three fingers in the air. “Scout’s honor!”

He nods, peels off his mask and looks at me uncertain with brown puppy eyes.

Woah, déjà vu! Man, he is so CUTE! The rogue eyebrow, the small mouth, his ears that stick out a bit. But he is also just very pretty. Square jaw, strong nose, brown hair that screams “TOUCH ME!” I’m fangirling! And so are you, doll face! Admit it! He is to fucking die for!

Cheeky just stands there for a second, then he crosses his arms in front of his chest, apparently hyper aware of his half-nudity and - judging by the expression on his face (which I can finally see! yay!) - not entirely happy. I push myself off the pillar and saunter over to him. He looks into my eyes, then at my dick, then hastily back into my eyes and when I’ve reached him, I can see that he is shivering slightly.

“Shhhh,” I cup his face with my hands and lean my forehead against his, “relax, cheeky! You are beautiful, you are a master kisser and I have a colossal cock and am the champion of giving head, so it will be great.”

He laughs quietly and whispers, “Weirdo!”

I let my hands glide down his cheeks and the side of his neck so I can grab his shoulders firmly. “This is about having fun together, okay? Just keep it in mind and relax!” Then I push him back onto the couch and make sure that he is lying comfortably by shoving my “too glam to give a damn”-pillow under his head.

I know what youre saying right now: Deadpool, I am astonished by the amount of self-control you are showcasing. I’m surprised that you arent just simply fucking him into oblivion! And to that I say: Shame, shame, shame! (cue bell ringing) I am a great aficionado of the human body and foreplay is the most important meal of the day! Fucking cheeky into oblivion will be even better afterwards!

Just look at him! He is lying there half-naked, his hands resting on his stomach. And when he looks at me now, he gives me just the sweetest smile although there is still a bit of fear in his eyes. He is delicious!

“You gonna stare at me for the rest of the night? I have to be home in 2 hours!”

Sassy! I raise an eyebrow and salute. “No, sir, no! No more staring!” I squat down on top of him without further ado, straddling his hips. His breath catches in his throat and his eyes widen when he feels my cock pressing against his (not fully erect yet, but we will get there!) through his boxers. I take hold of his wrists and softly pull his hands off his stomach. I bend forward. “Dont forget to breathe, cheeky!” I purr and then lick along his ear. I wouldnt mind a second resuscitation, but he actually takes a deep breath.

I proceed to trace the rim of his ear with my tongue and when I nibble on his ear lobe, he sighs and places his hands on either sides of my torso. Not exactly heavy petting from his side, but still nice. He is a virgin after all and... Oh shit, I have to calm down. Think about something else! Quick! I moan into his ear which in turn makes him gasp. Shit, shit! Cold water, Showgirls, kiwis, Megan Fox... Okay, got it! All under control now!

I sit up a bit and look at his face. He immediately returns my look with wide brown eyes and licks his lower lip nervously. Then he whispers, “Kiss me!” And I do. Or rather: I lock my lips with his and let him do all the heavy lifting. He licks, he sucks, he even bites a little and after a while of wild, breathless kissing and mild groping from both sides, his moans start to sound a bit desperate and I can finally feel his full-blown (well, not yet, hue hue) erection pressing into mine. Oh yeah, he is ripe for the picking!

I pull back a bit and smile at him cheerily. “Buckle up, cheeky. Cause this is gonna get messy.” His eyebrows shoot up in an expression of mild concern, but I dont give him time to process what I just said and lean down to wrap my lips and my tongue around his right nipple. He gasps, arches into the touch and clutches my shoulders. Hard. Oh my god, it’s SO good. While I carry on with my tongue on his right nipple, I use my hand to rub across his left. That gets me another wild gasp. Man, this is so rewarding! Let’s push it a bit!

I proceed (after a while I let my tongue swap places with my hand for the sake of variety) and wait til he has gotten used to the unfamiliar, yet hot sensation of another man (or of any human being really) licking his nipples. And then, when he thinks he has seen it all, I bite down lightly and pinch.

He cries out, shivering heavily, and claws his fingernails into my shoulders, then the falls back and mumbles between gasps, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

I look up and grin. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are closed and his lips are parted. Yep, I am pleased with myself. Even more so when he blinks and looks at me eagerly. “Time to get REALLY naked, cheeky!” He nods breathlessly.

I lick across his throat, then I let my tongue slide downwards slowly, tracing the goosebumps across his chest, alongside his abs and around his bellybutton, listening to his sighs until I reach the waistband of his boxers. I shift my position so that my head is at level with his hips and then I get rid of the pesky bit of fabric. His hold on my shoulders is still strong and I can feel his hands tense while I inspect his package closely. “Hmmmm,” I tilt my head upwards and look at him. The expression in his eyes is kinda fearful, yet at the same time, he knows that he has nothing to be ashamed of. Coy little minx! I grin. “On the Deadpool scale of penises, on which Deadpool himself is assigned a 7 - that’s the top of the scale by the way - and 1 means “has none”, I give you a very strong 6!”

He laughs. “I can live with that!” And then a loud gasp falls from his lips cause I open my mouth and take in his number 6. “Oh god, Wade, holy shit...”

Okay, listen, while my self-control is really surprisingly strong, my arousal is rapidly starting to get to a point where I think both my physical and my mental health are at risk. And my mental health is highly questionable already. So I really have to hurry up a little.

The plan is to bring him close to the edge with my glorious blowjob skills, while opening him up and then fuck him BEFORE he is coming. Time to multitask!

I wrap a hand softly around his balls so I can feel if the muscles are contracting (one of the signs, boys and girls!). I lick the underside of his cock and suck his glans. I moan as his fingernails dig deeper into my shoulders. I blindly fish for the cinnamon-flavored lube and a condom with one hand. I know both are somewhere under the couch. Got em! I listen to his loud gasps of “Wade, oh god Wade!” while I slowly ease the considerable diameter of his dick down my throat. Gag reflex? What is that? I manage to get a good amount of lube on the fingers of my left hand. God bless product designers for inventing pump bottles. I pull back a little to catch my breath and look up to him. The ecstatic smile he gives me makes me moan. I spread his legs further with one hand. I brush my fingers over his entrance and feel him tense slightly. I purr, “Relax, cheeky, just relax!” He pants, “I know, I know, I googled that too!”, which makes me laugh. God bless google too! I lick over the tip of his cock and wait til he takes a deep breath. When he does, I push two fingers past the tight ring of muscles. That gets me the loudest moan so far and a series of throaty, quick gasps. Chill out, Deadpool, chill out! You can manage! What I am about to do is potentially jeopardizing my plan. For precautionary purposes, I stop licking his dick. Then I twist my fingers inside him and push upwards. Bull’s eye! He screams as his fingernails claw at my shoulders until they draw blood. His muscles tighten involuntarily around my fingers and then I think about my fingers being my cock and fuck me I will explode if I wait for one more second. So will he apparently judging by the state of his balls.

I manage to pull my fingers out, kneel between cheeky’s spread legs (hunched really, cause he wont let go of my shoulders) and put on the condom in basically one hasty motion. I grab his hips, jerk him towards me and raise his legs so they are resting on my thighs, then I wrap one hand around the base of my twitching cock to line him up. Cheeky is breathing heavily below me, his pupils blown so wide he looks high as a kite, the sheer need in his eyes makes me moan and when he whispers, “Please, just please, okay?” it takes every last bit of my rapidly diminishing self-control to not come instantly.

I bend over him, give him a little peck on the lips and purr, “Deadpool...,” the tip of my dick pushes softly against his entrance, “at...,” I put a little more force behind the push, he takes a deep gasping breath, “your service!” and then I shove into him and moan. Oh GOD, he is so tight, oh GOD, his scream is so sweet, Oh GOD, he will break my collarbones if he grips any harder. Focus, Wade, focus!

Panting heavily in a desperate attempt to not plow into him like a farmer who cant wait for Thanksgiving, I look at cheeky’s face. His eyes are shut tightly and his knitted brows show that he is in pain. His breaths are far too shallow and clipped. And his muscles are clamped down painfully on my cock. I have to do something! He who will plow must sow! No wait, that makes no sense. Whatever!

“Cheeky?” I caress his cheek softly with one hand, while my other rubs his penis with two fingers. “Open your eyes and look at me!”

He blinks and gasps out through gritted teeth, “What?” He sounds like he is close to crying, but his eyes are saying that he wont back down. Mmmmm, cheeky is a fighter!

I kiss the side of his neck and whisper, “You are making this needlessly complicated for yourself. Breathe! Relax your muscles down there or you will rip off my joy stick. I mean,“ I lick his throat and rub his cock more insistently, “that never happened before and it would be interesting to see how long it would take before it grows back. But to be honest,” I nibble at his earlobe, “that’s nothing I wanna find out any time soon.”

He laughs quietly through still gritted teeth and between gasps. “Yeah, I don’t wanna find that out either.” He nestles his cheek against mine and takes a deep, deliberate breath. Then he eases his grip on my shoulders. He takes another deep breath. I can feel the muscles around me relax slightly. Another deep breath. The process is so slow it’s almost unbearable! I so wanna move! And finally, after an eternity of deep breaths and me rubbing his cock and fighting the urge to push in more than just my glans, I get rewarded with a sensual moan. And he nods and mumbles in my ear, “Let’s go!”

YES! I breathe an almost sobbing sigh of relief, turn my head to look him in the eyes and moan “Thank you, oh god thank you!” And then I thrust in slowly, but steadily, bracing myself with one hand on his hips, the other wrapped around his cock. His moans get louder, but those are definitely moans of pleasure, he cries out when my dick slides along his prostate and the tension of his muscles around me is just right when I have finally buried myself inside him completely. I hold it there for a second and pant against his lips.

His hands on my shoulders tense and relax in irregular intervals (like some kind of massage, nice!) and he moans, “Oh god, you are so big, shit, it’s so good.” He kisses me and wraps his legs around my body. “Move, Wade, common, move!”

And that’s what I do. I pick up a slow, but deep rhythm with my hips. And by “deep” I mean that every time I draw back, I almost pull out my cock completely, and when I push back into him, I dont stop until there is nothing left to shove in. After a few thrusts my body remembers that I already was close to coming and picks up speed.

I kiss his neck, I lick, suck and bite, I rub his dick to the beat of my thrusting and he moans and gasps sweet breaths in my ear and pulls me closer with his hands and legs, the embrace so tight I have problems moving my pelvis in any other direction than forward. I’m fine with that!

I lick the sweat off his neck and suddenly, cheeky cries out and arches off the couch, coming on my hand and on his stomach, his arms clutching my ribcage until I can hear the bones creak, but I dont care, cause his whole body seems to contract around my penis. I pant, thrusting one last time against the tension, and then I come, twitching and screaming, shuddering wildly in his grip while I close his lips with mine and gasp into his mouth. “Holy SHIT!” What a fucking revelation! I collapse on top of him.

I have no idea how long we are lying there like this. His arms and legs around me, my soft member still in him, both of us breathing heavily. But cheeky doesnt seem to mind and I for sure dont and so I proceed to lazy smooching until my dick just naturally glides out of him. I lift my head and look into his eyes, smiling happily, and he returns my look and laughs his adorable giggly laugh.

“I like the couch.” He strokes my head.

“It’s great, right? But wait til you have experienced one of the pillars!”

Chapter Text

(Wade, let’s do some straight talking here for a moment. Everything that happened in the last 2 chapters seems really unlikely. You know that, right?)

How would I know what’s likely or not? My whole life is like a parade of bizarre floats, extraordinary costumes and weird music that dont add up. As if the fucked-up mayor of Crazytown decided to throw Mardi Gras, St. Patrick’s and Day of the Dead together in one blender. And then he mixed everything nicely, poured it into a glass and embellished it with a cocktail umbrella and an eyeball.

(Okay, yeah, you got a point there. So nothing that occurred in the last 2 chapters seems off to you?)

No... but I suspect that YOU think something is wrong with the last 2 chapters. Which is really weird seeing that you WROTE them, you know. Lemme use my masterful power of deduction here. Hmm, the only real difference between these 2 and the 3 before is that I got to have a piece of Spider-Man. Thanks for that btw, I really appreciate it. So... I expertly conclude that you are hinting at HIM.

(Yeah! Well, it’s not so much me thinking there is something “wrong” with the chapters, but me wondering if you are ever thinking about the probability of Spider-Man getting “involved” with you. Especially directly after meeting you for the first time.)

You should really learn how to emphasize things properly to get your point across. No need to be courteous when it comes to me, really. What you actually MEANT was: “the probability of Spider-Man getting “involved” with YOU”.

(Okay, you got me there. But it’s not just that. I should have added: “or any men really”. But now, ARE you thinking about it or NOT?)

Nope, not at all.

(What, really? I mean: I know what his motives are. I thought them through, but decided to not give him any chance to spell them out in his own point of view. So you are not surprised that he consents to the kinky stuff?)

Well... to be fair, I am kinda surprised that he’s gotten over my face... so quickly... or at all. But he did. And the rest is as clear as day.

(It is? Care to elaborate for THEIR sake?)

Nah... they either get it or they dont. If they dont, they will either stop reading the story cause it makes no sense to them or just enjoy themselves (I advise you to do the latter btw, princess!). I’m not a literary expert! I cant even stay awake through the first few sentences of “Where the Wild Things Are”. Reading is boriiiiing! And analyzing characters is something that old farts do together in front of a fire place while drinking a fucking Earl Grey or something.

(Hey, watch it! I do analyzing too!)

I know. That’s why I said it. Call it payback. You let me get gutted by Wolverine! So, can we get back to the interesting stuff now? This conversation, inner monologue, manic episode or whatever this is is giving me a massive headache.

(Okay.)

Peachy.

On the first Saturday of every month, I celebrate a ritual, so sacred I would even reject a threesome with Chris Hemsworth and Emilia Clarke to not miss it. Chimichanga & Movie-Night! The ritual is governed by three laws:
1. Thou shalt concoct the chimichanga yourself.
2. Thou shalt leave the movie choice to chance.
3. If it comes to pass that the leading role is a woman, thou shalt drink tequila. In case of a male lead, thou shalt drink rum. If it is balanced, thou shalt pledge with screwdriver.
And next Saturday (tomorrow) is the first Saturday of this month (septemberish I think). So I extended a formal invitation to cheeky before he left. The “formal” part of it being the leaflet with the three laws (I designed it myself! has little chimichanga emojis on the sides). He actually seemed pretty hyped about it, although he mumbled something about alcohol and minors. I called him a teacher’s pet. Maybe that tickles the rebellious teen spirit in him. I dunno what the fuss is about anyways! I mean, he will be under the supervision of an adult!

That was 3 or 4 days ago (I think). Sigh! Shit healing factor deleted all the scratches he carved into my shoulders. But the blanket on the couch is not only spunk-splattered and blood-speckled now, but it’s also saturated with his smell. So if I wanna recall what happened and have a good wank, I can just wallow around in it.

But I did that already 10 minutes ago and I’m still wired up. TOMORROW I WILL SEE HIM AGAIN! WOOHOO! IT WILL BE AWESOME! I’m totally bad with waiting though. Like really not my forte. So I need a distraction. Options for tonight are: a) Visit Sister Margaret’s and ask Weasel for a job I can beat up. b) Play Just Dance on my Xbox and improve my “Hips dont lie”-performance. My hips are still too stiff! c) Listen to my ASMR playlist until I fall asleep or get a surprise boner from all the whispering. I feel like smashing something for fun, so a) it shall be.

Time to get dressed, Deadpool! But first, turn on the stereo. And crank up the volume. “Hip Hop hooray, hey, ho, hey, ho, hey, ho, hey, ho.” Oh, hey pants! “You drew a picture of my morning, but you couldn't make my day (Hey!). I'm rockin' and you're yawning, but you never look my way (Hey!).” Ho, shirt, boots and gloves! “I'm licking down your darlin' in every single way (Hey!). Your funny flow is foreign and a green card's on the way.” Hooray, mask, Kojak, Mildred and katanas!

Doorbell rings. Shit! I’m having a musical moment here! “Hip Hop hooray, hey, ho, hey, ho, hey, ho, hey, ho.” Now it rings twice and there’s also some wild knocking. “Oh, COMMON! The music isnt that loud and it’s only 11!” I yell towards the door while pulling the cuffs of my gloves up. “I did your partner cause she's hot as a baker, cause I'm Naughty by Nature, not cause I hate ya! You put your heart in a part of a part that spreads apart and forgot that I forgave when you had a spark.” More ringing, more knocking. GOSH! And there I thought I educated my neighbors to not disturb me! Oh, maybe Ms. Penny ran out of milk. Guess I could help her out. I pull Kojak out of his holster anyways and dance over to the door. “You try to act like something really big is missing, even though my name's graffiti Written on Ya Kitten. I love black women always and disrespect ain't the way.” I rip the door open. IT’S HIM! Full suit again. “Let's start a family today. Hip Hop hooray. HEY CHEEEEEKY!” He starts in surprise and by the way he turns his head I can deduce (masterfully AGAIN!) that he is looking at Kojak. I loop my left arm around his waist, holster Kojak with my right and then I yank him against my chest and boot the door close.

He gasps a yelp, but recovers quickly, wraps his arms around me and nestles his insane body against mine. “Hey Wade! You greet everybody who knocks on your door like that?” He raises his head so he can look into my face (he is like a good 5 inches smaller than me, which makes me feel all manly).

I snag the opportunity and let my hand glide down to cheeky’s ass. MMMM! “But of course! And let me tell you: The alimonies are killing me!” I pull off his mask with my other hand and look into his eyes.

His hair slips into his eyes while he removes my mask. My GOD, these brown waves look so damn touchable! He returns my look, grins and murmurs, “Tramp!” And then he presses his lips urgently against mine. Teenage eagerness! YES! I like where this is going!

I clasp one of his butt cheeks firmly and kiss him back, lips open, fighting his breathless pants with my moans, battling his tongue with mine. Both end up in his mouth so I win! I pull back a little and pinch his ass firmly.

Cheeky squeaks,” HEY!” and tries to squirm free, which doesnt work out at all with my arms around him but has the nice side-effect of his crotch wiggling against mine.

“Language! Watch what you are saying, cheeky, or I have to teach you some manners!” I whisper against his lips and grin.

He blushes heavily and a small gasp falls from his lips. My eyebrows slip up. OHHHH! I see! That’s definitely a territory I wanna explore. To boldly go where no man has gone before! For now I return to slowly petting his ass though. “Sooo, cheeky... you came here to practice your homecoming dance with me? I think it’s September, so that means homecoming is soon, right?” Right on cue, the song changes. Chaka Khan - Aint Nobody. A glorious classic! I will slap you if you say otherwise, gorgeous! “Okay, pretend like you are the grown-up man here for a second. Lay your hands on my hips!” I place my gloved hands on his shoulders and gently sway to the beat of the song.

He scowls at me with his brown puppy eyes, almost pouting (it’s sooo adorable!). “You might be an adult on paper, but you watch Mary Poppins and have a goddamn He-Man action figure in your car! We both have the same mental age!” He puts his hands firmly on my hips and starts moving his body to the rhythm.

“AHA! Jokes on you! I dont HAVE any papers... no wait... shit...”

He laughs, wraps his arms further around my hips while still swaying to the song and tilts his head back a little to nibble at my neck. “You’re so silly,” he whispers against my skin, sounding weirdly happy.

His touch sends a whole army of tingles down my spine (and they say the army is no fun, tsk!). “I see you need little drill on what happens AFTER the dance. But I volunteer as tribute if you wanna keep practicing.” I let my hands slide to the back of his neck so I can run my fingers through his hair while my elbows are resting on his shoulders. Ey, nice, we are actually kind of dancing! Not close enough, mind you, but he makes little steps to the left and right and leads me with his hands on my hips.

“Hmhmmm,” he mumbles vaguely and kisses the side of my neck. Then suddenly, he looks up like he remembered something and says, “But I am not here for dance training. I’m here cause...” he stops dancing and runs a hand through his hair uneasily, “cause I... I can’t come tomorrow.”

“WHAT? NOOO!” I whine and let go of him. I cross my arms in front of my chest. I think now I am the one who is pouting. But I dont care! It’s Chimichanga & Movie-Night! It’s SACRED!

Cheeky hunches his shoulders, looks at me with wide brown eyes and makes a pleading gesture with his hands. “Look, I’m really, REALLY sorry! I really want to come, but I have to go to Washington D. C. tomorrow!”

I turn my back to him and walk over to the stereo to turn down the music. “WHY? Do you have a date with the president or what?” One part of me realizes that my reaction might be slightly overdramatic. But it’s a really small part!

“No... I...” his voice sounds uncertain, “I have to support my school’s academic decathlon team.”

I frown and look at him over my shoulder. “Your what?”

He runs another hand through his hair. At least he looks sufficiently guilty. “The academic decathlon is like a national competition where schools can basically show off how smart their students are. And it’s the final quiz and if we win that, we are the champions!” Cheeky steps closer despite my deep scowl. “It’s really important that I go to Washington!” He’s chewing his lower lip. “Common, Wade, that’s why I came here today! I wanna make it up to you! And then I’ll come next time...” he slowly places a hand on my shoulder, “if you still want me to come.”

I may be crazy, no wait, I definitely am! But I am not stupid. And he is like the worst liar ever. You can bet your bottom dollar and your kid’s college savings that he has another reason to go to Washington. But that’s his business and I’m not his wife (not yet, huhu), so if he doesnt wanna tell me, it’s okay. Still, no reason to let him get away that easily. Where would be the fun in that? And he DID cancel on me and Chimichanga & Movie-Night.

So I turn around slowly. “I hereby formally invite you to the next Chimichanga & Movie-Night.” His face lights up in a smile, but then he sees the expression in my eyes and one of his eyebrows slips upwards in suspicion. Yep, cheeky knows I wont let him off the hook easily. I take one step closer, put an arm around his waist and wrap the other loosely around the back of his neck, slowly and deliberately, not breaking eye contact. He takes a deep breath through parted lips and gulps and since he stares into my eyes as well, I can see the wary expression in them. But he doesnt bail on me. And why would he? There is a bulge in cheeky’s pants that screams: I’m so excited and I just cant hide it.

I grin, then I jerk him against my body, bury my hand in the hair at the back of his head and pull sharply. He gasps as he is forced to tilt his head back and his hands shoot up to my upper arms. I guess his first reflex is to push me away, but I dont give him time to figure out if he actually wants to do it, instead I press my thigh between his legs and my mouth onto his exposed throat and start licking.

Throughout the rest of Aint Nobody and the whole duration of One Way or Another I assault his neck in one way or another (smooth, right?), kissing and licking and sucking and biting until his skin is an exhibition of various hickeys (maybe he carries this souvenir from Deadpool to Washington, wouldnt that be nice?). I rub my thigh against his crotch, my hand firmly buried in his hair and still pulling, and maneuver him over to one of the steel pillars. He moans and gasps and claws his gloved fingernails into my arms (shit gloves, the marks will never last til tomorrow) and I think it’s safe to say that he will NOT push me away.

Helloooooo, party people, the next song up for Spider-Man and Deadpool is Madonna! Secret, uhhh yeaaaah! I press cheeky against the pillar, still grinding my thigh into his crotch. He pants, “Wade, please, common, please!” Guess the prep work is done, time to strike! So I lick my way up to his ear and purr, “Soooo, you wanna make it up to me, yeah? You wanna compensate for not coming to Chimichanga & Movie-Night because of a nerdy quiz. Is that right?” He shivers and nods breathlessly (well kinda since he cant really move his head). I take his earlobe between my lips and nibble on it. “Okay then,” I release his hair from my grasp and look up,” wanna suck me?”

Cheeky instantly lowers his head and looks at me with wide eyes, still breathing heavily. Fucking HELL, he is so pretty. I put on a guileless smile. He presses his lips together and blinks, then he gulps and babbles, “Uh... erm... yeah... I guess I could try.... I mean, I’ve never done it before... of course. I mean, I’ve googled it, “he blushes, “and it doesn’t seem too complicated. And I guess it’s only fair and... and, “ he presses his forehead against my shoulder and confesses with a mewl, “I wanted to try it anyways.”

I giggle and turn my head a bit so I can press a kiss to his head. “What a nice coincidence, cheeky! Or is it fate?” I shrug and grab his shoulders so I can slowly shove him away from the pillar and take his position after I got rid of the katanas on my back. I lean against the steel, look into his wide eyes and cock my head while he wrings his hands nervously. “If the judges give you good marks for your performance, I will award you with the best hand-job you ever had. If you get disqualified, you have to do it yourself.” I smile my most encouraging smile.

He takes a deep breath and visibly tries to relax. Then he grins, “Okay, so I’ve always been the guy that wants the highest marks. Is there a Deadpool rulebook I can consult in this situation? Like do I get top points if I am naked for example?”

“Nah, no tips! You have to figure it out yourself. Only rule is: If you bite, make it all right!”

He rolls his eyes but giggles, then he takes another moment to compose himself while he looks me up and down slowly, standing maybe 2 feet in front of me. Finally, cheeky draws himself up. “Okay, here we go! So I guess you want me naked.” He peels off his gloves, presses the symbol on his chest and steps out of his suit. It’s all still only goal-driven, but I wont complain (this time) cause his body is still lean and muscular and so damn sexy and he might have chosen the red boxers especially for me. This time, he looks much more at ease with his own half-nudity, but the last step is always the hardest (well not for me, but apparently for everybody else). So he licks his lower lip nervously and smoothes his hair with one hand, buying time.

I smirk at him and stretch against the pillar in the most stripperesk way possible, hollowing my back, extending my arms above my head, rolling my shoulders. Guess I can get into the exotic dancer business if I ever get tired of smacking people for money, cause he watches my every move and my little show seems to inspire him to take off his boxers.

Now that he is naked it is very obvious that the prospect of giving me a blow-job is also very inspiring to him. “Nice boner!” I smile.

Cheeky pulls a face and blushes. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Uhm... you gonna stay there?” He looks into my eyes.

I return the look and grin. “Yep.” Nope, not gonna make it easy for him.

And cheeky knows it. He gives me a scowl and clicks his tongue. “Dumbass!”

I smile cheerily. “Ey, careful, I really dunno how the judges feel about swearing!”

“Okay, alright.” He shakes his head and smiles to himself. “Man, you are the silliest person ever.” Then he squares his muscular shoulders, takes another deep breath and one step forward and slides to his knees in front of me, not breaking eye contact. And I would be lying if I pretended that him kneeling naked at my feet is not one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. I moan.

And he knows it and grins (oh my god! he is sooo awesome!). But then he fixes his eyes on my crotch, unbuckles my belt, unzips my pants and pulls them down slowly over my hips. Okay, listen, lambchop, I also wanted to make it hard for him by NOT making it hard for him (if you know what I mean!), but it’s HARD with him being naked and kneeling and fumbling around at my general dick area. So my erection instantly springs free (you didnt REALLY think that I’m wearing underwear beneath my suit, right?).

Cheeky blinks up at me, smiles nervously and looks down again. Then he extends one hand, places the fingertips of his index and middle finger softly on the base of my cock just above my balls and strokes upwards slowly. I take a deep breath. I mean, he isnt blind so he mustve noticed the scars on my pecker. But he decides not to ask which is nice cause it would kinda ruin the mood. Instead he repeats the movement, this time gently rubbing the tip with his thumb. I stretch one arm above my head and grab hold of the pillar while I lower my other hand to pet through his awesome hair. He looks up at me again and this time, he smiles a broad, enthused smile. Yay, he is enjoying himself! Which bodes extremely well for the future!

He licks his lips and lowers his eyes on my cock and what he is doing, which is running his fingers alongside my dick again while carefully fondling my balls with his other hand. Cheeky’s light touches are heaven and fucking torment at the same time. I moan. I want MORE! And maybe cheeky also has some mind-reading abilities, cause finally he inches his face closer to my crotch. I can feel his breath on my naked skin and then he places a hand on my hip and the other around the base of my penis. And then... “Yes, oh YES!”.... he guides my cock to his mouth and licks the tip. My hips twitch in response and I take a deep and moaning breath, let my head fall back against the pillar and close my eyes. I feel his hand on me moving up and down slowly. I feel his tongue licking over the tip again. And then I feel his lips closing around my glans. I pant and let my hand slide down to caress his nape.

Why am I not looking at him? This is the kind of crazy I always try to avoid (not my good kind of crazy, but a bad kind of crazy!)! I open my eyes and lower my head. Yep, completely batshit insane! The sight of his lips around my dick and the spectacle of his muscles flexing underneath his skin are absolutely mind-blowing. I moan and feel my whole body shiver with pleasure. And then he looks up, smiling around my penis... damn, I need a kiss break here!

I bend down and cheeky gets the clue, releases my cock from his lips while still slowly pumping it with one hand and lifts his head. I whisper, “You are awesome, cheeky!” and then I kiss him, hard and wild and panting (cue Prince –Kiss. OMG! Isnt it awesome when a song just happens to randomly fit the situation?).

After a few moments, he pulls back and grins at me with parted lips. “Would you please let me finish here, Wade? I want my award!”

“Saucy!” I return his grin and straighten myself. And cheeky loses no time and wraps his lips around my cock again, picking up pace by bobbing his head up and down while actually sucking softly. Oi, my knees are all wobbly. I run my hand through his hair and groan when he licks the underside of my dick. His hand on my cock matches the rhythmic motion of his mouth and, hmmm, it basically feels like he is deep-throating me (no points deduction there!). And then he moans around me and the vibrations shoot right up my spine. “Oh GOD!”

My hips jerk and I pant, “Cheeky, any time now. You better watch out down there if you dont want to swallow. Which is totes fine by my rulebook. Oh DAMN, you werent supposed to get any hints! Forget what I just said!”

He giggles (holy shit!) and his lips let go of my cock but his hand is still pumping me very firmly. My eyes squeeze shut and I groan. I decide that it’s better to abuse the pillar behind me instead of cheeky’s glorious hair, therefore I clasp my hand around the steel. Hey, the energy has to go SOMEWHERE! And this way I can still stroke the back of his head in a civilized manner!

I feel my balls tighten, but try to hold it a bit longer. Just a bit! Oh my GOD, why am I doing this to myself? Then I feel his tongue on my cock again. Moaning and panting, I look down. Regarding self-control, this is a horrible idea! Cause cheeky found a way around the “not swallowing”-thing. His head turned to the side, he uses the pumping hand to angle my penis so that it aims over his shoulder while licking the side enthusiastically. And then he grins and winks at me. That does it! My hand cramps around the steel pillar, my whole body twitches, I moan loudly, “YES, cheeky, hell yeah!”, and then I shoot my honey all across my carpet.

He only stops licking when I let go of the pillar and lower my arm to pet his cheek, still breathing heavily. He looks up at me like a fucking cat that got the cream (well at least figuratively speaking) and smiles. “Sooo... what does the jury say? Yay or nay?” He sits back onto his heels, his thighs spread slightly.

I look at him appraisingly. Yep, he is also breathing pretty heavily and his erection seems to be in dire need of attention. I tap my index finger thoughtfully against my chin, then I grin, kneel down behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. “Almost full marks,” I purr into his ears.

He laughs and lets his head fall back against my shoulder. “I’m happy with that for now. Next time, I will get top score!”

Chapter Text

Today (Sunday) I have to tie up a few loose ends. Yep, it will be a busy day. So I better get a good breakfast (hey, it might be 3 pm already, but breakfast is the first thing you eat after getting up no matter the actual time!). I pour a very generous amount of Coco Pops into the bowl and add chocolate milk.

Okay, rubber duckie, let me think here for a second if there’s anything about yesterday I have to bring you up to speed with (before the German chick chimes in AGAIN!). Chimichanga & Movie-Night was a full success (especially full cause I had to eat cheeky’s share of chimichangas as well, I almost fell into a food coma). The random movie generator spat out “The Terminator” and I drank a whole bottle of rum while watching Arnie stomp, shoot and thrash through the plot. What an awesome movie!

But by far the MOST awesome thing about yesterday in general was that cheeky added me on WhatsApp (yay, now I have his number which he withheld so far!) and started to text me around midday. And he actually uses a spider emoji instead of a name. So fucking cute!

He sent me a bunch of pictures during the course of the day (him in the bus to Washington, a photo of the chimichanga he ate in my honor (awwwww!), him in front of the Lincoln Memorial holding his hands behind his ears with a text saying “I have Abe’s ears!”, a lot of sightseeing stuff I couldnt identify, a selfie of him just smiling broadly) and we both typed like one million messages. In the afternoon, we got into a heated argument when we played “Would You Rather” (he insisted he would rather always feel like he has to sneeze but not be able to than have the hiccups for the rest of his life which is totally crazy cause the feeling of not being able to sneeze is like the worst thing ever!) and in the evening, I used my splendid writing skills (which you can witness in this little story) to lay out a detailed scene of me making him come by using only my right index finger. Sadly, no real sexting followed cause his roommate was present and I was busy with the movie. His last message was a hasty “Gotta go xoxo” at 9.30 pm and since then he hasnt responded to any of my messages. Hmmmmm... guess he is busy with the nerd quiz.

Well, anyways, that’s the recap for you, angel eyes. Now I gotta go do some digging and ass-kicking. Or maybe I gonna mix both, let’s see.

---

One of the benefits of being a guy with questionable morals (a.k.a. bad) rather than the good guy is that you always know where to dig if you wanna find another bad guy. In this case: 4 specific bad guys that tried to rob a bank not so long ago. Well, I wouldnt really call them bad cause what’s a little bank heist amongst friends, but I guess we are not measuring with my scale here. Anyways, after an hour of doing some light persuading in The Jolly Taxpayer (threatening, slapping, buying a round for the right people), I have the address of one of the guys named Marc. The other 3 actually managed to get arrested. Tsk, rookies!

So here I am in front of the door to his apartment, Kojak in my right hand. Let’s dig a bit deeper! I give the door a good old firm kick and it flies open. “Yoohoo, darliiing! I’m home!” Hmmm, empty living room. I saunter inside and boot the door close behind me. “Honeeey! I brought pie!” I look around. Man, Marc is by far the lamest bad guy I’ve ever come across. The living room is full of potted flowers and books and he has a goddamn fish tank on one of his shelves. Uhhh, what kind of fish are these? Theyre pretty! I hear a noise to my left and spin around, Kojak at the ready. I cant see what made the noise, but there is a small corridor with two doors. “Oh, Maaahaaarc!” I hurry to the first door on the right and kick it open. Right in time to get a good view of Marc’s (I guess) jeans-clad ass as he tries to squeeze himself through the tiny bathroom window. “Nah ah ah,” I poke Kojak’s barrel into his butt, “no leaving early! You havent tried the pie yet!”

He freezes in place.

I poke a bit more. “But it’s really gross to talk to your ass! So be a good boy and wiggle your bootie backwards.”

“Okay, okay!” Moaning and groaning, he begins to wriggle himself back into the bathroom.

Meanwhile, I sit down on the edge of the bathtub and cross my legs, Kojak still pointed at him. “Marc, man, I gotta hand it to you, your housekeeping skills are impeccable! This bathroom is more aseptic than the morgue I woke up in recently! The nameplate says that you live here alone. Which means this is all your doing! Respect, bro!”

Marc stops moving. “Uhm, thanks man, err... uhm... I’m stuck.”

I facepalm and roll my eyes. SO lame! “Okay, lemme lend you a hand here.” I deposit Kojak on the wooden bath rack that says “RELAX” on the side and grab Marc’s hips. “On the count of 3! 1...” I plant one foot on the wall next to the window. “2... 3!” I pull and brace my food against the wall.

“Ouch! Not so hard!” he complains with a groan. “But,” I tug adamantly at his hips and push my combat boot harder against the wall, “youre not moving!” For one more second, nothing is happening, then suddenly, the window frame gives way with a loud crack and I fall backwards onto my butt while Marc lands on his stomach between my legs.

I jump to my feet and pick Kojak up. “So that happened... Would you drop the shenanigans now? Cause I’m running out of patience!”

He turns around and his eyes grow wide. “Oh fuck! You’re Deadpool! Please don’t kill me, man! Please!” He scrambles backwards and holds up his hands.

I sit down again and point Kojak at him. “Oh boy, man, common! It’s no fun when you are like that! Appearance-wise, you have this whole thug thing going on! Beard, muscles, you even have fancy jail tattoos! Could you behave accordingly please? I need the stability of stereotypes in my life! GEEZ, are those tears in your eyes?” I groan and shake my head in disappointment.

He just sniffles.

What a let-down... “Okay, listen, being in a small bathroom with a crying wannabe mobster is really awkward, so I wanna make this quick. Answer my questions and maybe I wont kick your ass. Yep?”

He nods and wipes his nose with his hand. EWWW!

“All right.” I cross my legs. “So, a few weeks ago you and your buddies tried to rob a bank, but instead you received a major ass-kicking from Spider-Man. You remember that, right?”

Marc nods again.

“God, you are so boring. Well, anyhoo,“ I gesture with Kojak, “you had these sexy guns. Who sold them to you?”

He leans his back against the wall underneath the window and mumbles hastily, “Guy who calls himself Vulture. I dunno his real name.”

“BUAHAHAHAHA!” OH MY GOD, THIS IS AWESOME! I’m laughing so hard I have problems breathing. “He.... hihihihi.... calls himself....” I double over and hold my belly with one arm. “REALLY?” I gasp. “VULTURE?”

“Yeah, really.” Marc doesnt sound amused which makes no sense at all.

Oh my god! “BAHAHAHAHA! IT’S EVEN BETTER THAN MR FLAPFLAP!” I think it takes me at least 2 minutes to calm down. I actually have to peel up my mask to wipe the tears of laughter. Finally, I take a deep breath and look at Marc. He appears slightly distraught. “Okay, so, how did you get into contact with...,” I feel another laughter bubbling up in my chest, “hihihi... Vulture?”

“We never saw the guy personally. We called a number and said what we wanted. Then we met with 2 of his guys and got the guns.” Marc presses himself against the wall.

“Oh nice, that’s convenient!” I get my Hello Kitty-pen from one of my pouches and look around for something he can write on. My eyes fall on a container of shower gel. Uh, cool, watermelon. I lean forward to hand him both pen and container and he flinches away from Kojak. Sigh, hopeless! “Man up, take it and write the number down. And I want my pen back afterwards!”

Marc takes the pen and the shower gel with shaky fingers, scribbles down the phone number and passes the stuff back to me.

I pack away both and get up. “See? That wasnt so hard, now was it?” I holster Kojak (he breathes a small sigh of relief) and stretch, then I squad down directly in front of him. “Okay, now pay attention!”

He jerks, presses himself further against the wall and nods with wide eyes.

I cock my head to the side. “In your aquarium... what type of fish are these?”

Marc blinks at me in confusion and stammers, “Erm.... uhmm... they’re guppies.”

“Guppies, all right.” I ram my fist into his stomach. He gasps in pain but doesnt dare to move. “Now,” I say cheerily while petting his cheek, “if you ever run into Spider-Man again while trying - and probably failing - to commit a crime, I want you to be very tame and very polite, cause if you lay another finger on him, I will cut your balls off. You got that?”

He groans, “Yeah, got it!”

“Nice!” I sit up and leave.

---

Okay, sweet, one thing to check off. Next on the list is Carol. Still have to get my point across. No digging to do there, cause I know where she is. On my way to her, I try to call Vulture’s number, but nobody is answering. Guess I have to try later.

I park my car one block away from the yoga studio where Carol should be having a vinyasa flow class (dont ask me what the hell that is!) at the moment. I probably wont be shooting, so I dont need my ammo bag and can walk the rest of the way. Okay, since I dont want to be interrupted again, I will be smart this time and just break into her car and hide there until she comes. Then I persuade her to drive somewhere less populated and talk to her in private. Yep, awesome plan!

Luckily, the yoga studio has its own parking lot and I know Carol’s license plate number and that she drives an old brown Buick Regal. And since it’s not fully dark yet, it should be easy enough to find. SWEET, there it is. Conveniently, it’s parked in a shadow of a tree (no clue what kind of tree it is, I’m a merc, not an arborist!). Easy to break in sneakily. The plan is coming along great!

I duck down next to the passenger’s door and start fiddling at the keyhole with my Leatherman. To be fair, I’m not a pro car burglar, but this Buick is fucking ancient... GOT IT!... and so is the lock. DOOR, YOU ARE NO MATCH FOR DEADPOOL!

I open the door and I’m just about to get in the car, when I hear the sound of.... what the fuck? Is that a ROCKET? I turn around and look up. “OH MEH! YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!” IT’S FUCKING IRON MAN SLASH TONY STARK! I throw my arms up in frustration while he is flying at me, rapidly approaching. “CANT YOU FUCKING PEOPLE LEAVE ME ALONE FOR ONE FUCKING WEEK? I HAVE WORK TO DO! SO GIMME A FUCKING BREA...” And then the breath gets pushed out of my lungs when he wraps his arm around my thorax in some kind of fly-by and takes off with me.

I need a second to recover and inhale, then I start struggling against his grip. “OUCH! YOUR FUCKING ARMOR IS DIGGING INTO MY RIPCAGE! LET GO OF ME! I HAVE PLACES TO BE AND PEOPLE TO THREATEN!” His arm doesnt budge at all. Shit technology! “ACT OUT YOUR SUPERMAN FANTASIES WITH SOMEBODY ELSE YOU OLD PERVERT! Oh sorry, wrong franchise! BUT LET.” I knee him in the groin. OW, shit steel jockstrap! “ME.” I head-butt him. OW, shit helmet! “GO!” I try to choke him. SHIT ARMOR IN GENERAL! I stop fighting, hanging in his arm like a meat puppet, and sigh. “Asshole!”

I have no clue where he is taking me and he is not answering any of my questions, so I start singing and enjoy the view. Hey, I have to get something out of this! “I wish that I could flyyyy, into the skyyyy, so very hiiiiigh. Just like a dragonflyyyy.” Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore. We’re in Manhattan. “I’d fly above the treeeeeees over the seeeeeeas in all degreeees, to anywhere I pleeeeease!” Seems he is taking me to the Avengers Tower. “Ooooh, I want to get awaaaay. I wanna flyyyy awaaaay.” It has some kind of huge balcony and when we come in to land, he finally lets go. “Yeaaah, yeaaaah, yeaaaaah!” I land on my feet, bending at the knees to cushion the impact, straighten up and fix my rumpled suit. He hovers downwards until his feet touch the ground, then the annoying rocket sound finally stops. If I got tinnitus from this shit, I’m so gonna sue his company!

I lean against the railing of the balcony and cross my arms in front of my chest. “So, can you finally talk to me and tell me what the fuck this is about? As I said: I have stuff to do! I’m a busy man!”

The front of his helmet opens, Tony (calling him Tony sounds like I know him, which I dont, but I’m for sure not calling him Iron Man!) points a finger at me and says, the expression in his eyes impatient, “Good GOD, do you ever shut up? And what’s with the singing? You sound like a cat in heat!”

“Uh, thanks! I’m glad you like it! I happily consent to serenading you a whole night. But not THIS night! So bye!” I push myself off the railing and try to saunter past him towards a big glass door that leads inside.

He blocks my way, arms crossed, looking super resolved and serious. “Uh-uh, pal, not so fast. We gotta have a little conversation about Spider-Man. But first, I have to show you something.” He beckons me to follow him and goes inside.

“If it’s your stamp collection, I dont want to see it! If it’s the suit you made for me, consider me HYPED!” I stroll behind him.

Tony looks at me over his shoulder while opening the glass door. “I stopped making suits for mercenaries a long time ago.”

I shrug and look around. “Dont you believe in furniture? That’s the most depressing living room ever!” And it SO is! There is nothing in it except for one uncomfortable looking chair in front of a small table that has a laptop on it. To add to the gloomy atmosphere, there is only one tiny light on in one of the corners of the huge room. “Is this the moment where you tie me to the chair, tape my eyelids open and try to brainwash me with pictures of cute little bunnies? Cause I’m up for if it means you spare me the chaperon talk.”

Interestingly enough, he doesnt comment on the chaperon thingy, instead he points at the chair. “Sit down, shut up and watch!”

I sit down and cross my legs. “OI! You would really think being a billionaire gives you access to comfy chairs!”

He rolls his eyes while he marches past me (his suit makes low mechanical noises when he moves, which would annoy me to no end if I were him), then he presses a key on the laptop and a video starts rolling.

It’s some kind of news show. I groan. Oh god, so boring! But then...

“BREAKING NEWS: Incident at the Washington Monument!” Okay, so there is the Washington Monument. And there is cheeky in his suit, climbing the side. WOW! The female news anchor says something about a bomb in an elevator inside the monument. Then there is cheeky, trying to break a small window at the top of the obelisk with his feet, using a rope made of web strings to swing against the glass again and again. The anchor babbles on. “Spider-Man saved the lives of a group of students from New York City who had just won the Academic Decathlon.” But my attention is mostly occupied by the high-res pictures of the police helicopter flying above cheeky and the police guys aiming at him, trying to convince him to climb down again. I’m SO on the edge of my uncomfy seat right now! Spider-Man gestures at them and then he pulls off the most AWESOME stunt I’ve ever seen. He pushes himself off the very tip of the obelisk, flies over the police helicopter (the suit has wings, I’m SO jealous!), shoots webs at the landing skids, swings under the helicopter like it’s some kind of trapeze and uses the added momentum to break through the window. “After the dust had settled, Spider-Man was gone. Now only one question remains: Can you stay here in D.C., Spider-Man? We could really use a hero like you!” Wow, even the news lady is fangirling.

I pump my fist. “WOHOOO! You go, cheeky!” I enthusiastically look at Tony who stares at me very gravely. “Man, that was AWESOME! I mean....” I clear my throat, “You go, Spider-Man?”

He closes the laptop with more force than necessary and continues staring at me. “NO! No “go cheeky”! What he did and how he did it was the very definition of “dangerous”! He could have killed himself!”

“But he didnt!”

“He could have been arrested!”

“But he wasnt! And why are we talking about this? You didnt even formally introduce yourself - which is quite frankly just super rude and very insensitive towards my feelings! - and now you what? Wanna discuss your worries with me like I’m your therapist?”

He massages his temple with two of his armored fingers (which looks hilarious!) and sighs. “So,okay... Hello, Wade, I’m Tony Stark! Very pleased to meet you... yada yada... And this is not about me. This is about the kid. And about you. Do you have anything to do with this, Wade?” He taps a finger on the laptop.

I shrug and jiggle my feet. “No.”

Tony throws his arms in the air. “No? Just “no”? You never shut up! And now you just say “no”?”

“Why would I say anything more than “no”? I wasnt even there! No idea how he got into this. And, man, you seriously have to reconsider your communication techniques!” He snorts. This conversation makes my brain hurt! I get up and look around for anything that could possibly entertain me. “First you send Wolverine to question me! Wolvy, of all people! The guy has serious communication issues!” I spot a bar on the other side of the room. OH YEAH! I stride over and Tony follows me like some kind of robo guard dog. “Then you abduct me while I’m on a job.” Shit, nothing on the glass shelves, but maybe in the fridge underneath the bar? “And now you drop nebulous insinuations!” OH THANK GOD! A bottle of beer! I open it with my Leatherman and take a huge swig.

Tony is standing on the other side of the bar and slowly places his hands on the polished wooden surface. “I admit that my approach was somewhat less than perfect. I just thought that you would be more comfortable talking to Logan instead of me seeing that you know each other.” Now I am the one who snorts and he holds up his hands and adds, “I guess I misjudged your relationship.” I nod and open my mouth, but he cuts in. “Lemme finish here, because this is important!” He leans forward (brace yourself, jelly bean, leaning forward is the prime sign for serious shit!). “Spider-Man is a good kid. He is a hard worker, he is enthusiastic, he is smart, he is funny. But he is also an only 15-year old teenager with powers that would be hard to manage even for a grown-up. But there are the hormones and then there is school. And I think I don’t give away too much when I tell you that an aunt is the only family he has. That’s a lot to handle!"

“So? Seems to me that he handles it really well. He just saved a bunch of students without dying or getting arrested!” I take another swig. I think I know where this is going... and I dont like it. Shit.

“That’s unfortunately not the point.” Tony goes around to my side of the bar and looks at me, the expression in his brown (uh, pretty!) eyes serious (uh-oh!). “The point is - and I am sorry that there is no easy way of saying this - the point is that you are a volatile, irrational, crazy, gun-happy, brutal mercenary. I have no idea why he decided that he wants to hang around with you. Maybe it’s because you saved his life - thanks for that by the way -, maybe he has other reasons. I don’t know. But the fact is that you are bad news. You are the last thing he needs in his current situation. I don’t want you - or anybody really - to fuck him up. So I ask you to please leave him alone. Until he is 21 or so.” He gives me a crooked smile. “Sorry to be so brutal. But I really care about the kid.”

Fucking OUCH! It’s one thing to hear the guy in the mirror say similar stuff to you basically every morning. It’s definitely far suckier if another person is saying it. At least Tony doesnt seem to have any idea what cheeky and I are doing when we “hang around”. Otherwise his reaction wouldve been far more dramatic I guess. Yay?

I mumble, “I’m not volatile!” and down the beer.

He remains silent for a long while and just looks at me with a serious, kinda pleading expression. I also dont feel like talking at the moment, so I just fiddle around with the bottle. Finally he takes a deep breath and says, “Do you want a lift?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I put down the empty bottle. “I guess...” Then I walk towards the elevator and leave.

---

It’s 11 pm when I get back home. I get the tequila from the cupboard and sit down on the couch, then I wrap myself in the blanket (still dressed to kill - literally), peel up the mask and start drinking. 5 minutes later, my phone beeps. It’s a message from cheeky:

“Tomorrow. 8pm. You and me. Your place?”
“I think I missed you.”

I pull the blanket closer around me and type:

“Sure!”

Chapter Text

GOOD morning, sweetstuff! How are you doing today, hm? I’m doing GREAT! Okay, I didnt get a lot of sleep. But only cause the POSITIVE energy flowing through my system kept me up all night. I’m happy, I’m cheerful, I’m light-hearted! And I am determined! Tony doesnt know me! So today’s plan of action: Refute his false assertion that I am bad news. I can be a GOOD headline (and if youre looking for me, I’ll be at the cheese counter)!

First step: Get up!

Hmmm, I wonder what time it is. I fumble for my phone that’s somewhere on the makeshift nightstand. 7.50 am. Wow, that’s really early. I mean: Oh nice, that’s when normal people start their day, right? And that’s really the corest of questions for today’s plan: What would a normal man do? Cause normal men are good. And I need a guideline here. I sit up in my bed and switch on the lamp on the nightstand, then I take a look around in my bedroom. Now focus, Deadpool, focus (and dont call yourself Deadpool cause that might be a little off)! What would a normal man do?

I stand up, the blanket from the couch wrapped around my waist, and scan the room intently. I need a starting point. Fuck, my head starts to hurt. A dull pain throbbing behind my temples. Common, starting point! AHA! A normal man would buy a real nightstand instead of using a moving box, right? Okay, good, easy, I can do that! Let’s put down more stuff on the “normal man”-list while doing normal man morning things.

I drop the blanket and go to the bathroom, taking a detour through my living room slash kitchen to get ideas for the list. Yeah, I know, I know, I could just google “What would a normal man do?”, but that would be cheating! I can do this by myself! Think 80s training montage and “Eye of the Tiger”! Ugh! I guess a normal man would take out the garbage and reduce the presence of unlocked guns in his apartment. Also, normal people have dinner tables, right? And they actually make dinner? And they wash their dishes? The throbbing behind my temples gets stronger. The list is already soooo long! Let’s take a piss and shower first!

Also, maybe I should take Marc as an example and clean the bathroom. He seemed normal enough. God, I wish painkillers would work for me. I look at the guy in the mirror and point a finger at him. “And you hold your tongue! Not a peep!” He smirks at me like he knows something I dont. Asshole! I take down the mirror and lean it against the wall, making sure to turn it around first.

---

After the shower, I put on sweats and my “hug dealer”-hoodie and get down to that list. I’m resolved, eyes on the prize (there is a prize, right?), I’m energetic, I can do this! I’m 1 minute into cleaning the bathroom when one thing becomes very apparent: While I am well equipped with one gorgeous tool for doing people, I’m not equipped for doing the bathroom. Like at all. Hmmm, maybe I could use the watermelon shower gel? No, Wade, no, a normal man wouldnt do that! So I jog to the next supermarket 2 blocks down the street and buy an all-purpose cleaner with bleach, a mop and bucket, a glass cleaner (“Citrus Sparkle”), a toilet bowl cleaner, 2 canisters of disinfecting wipes, a pack of scrub sponges, a mildew remover, a red extendable duster, a 6-count pack of toothbrushes and a toilet brush with a flamingo handle.

One hour later, the bathroom is clean and my head is killing me. I hear my stomach rumbling. Oh yeah, didnt eat breakfast yet. But I cant! As the Joker said: “So much to do and so little time.” I have to power through this! Next is the garbage! I need motivational music! I put on “Push it to the Limit”, open the sink cabinet in the kitchen and.... SHIT! I’m out of trash bags. Maybe in the cupboard? Nope... fuck! I press my knuckles against my temples and look around the living room. Anywhere? Please? But no... no trash bags... instead I notice the various blood stains on the wallpaper. Guess I need to put “paint over the stains” on the list.

So I drive to the next paint store and get garbage bags, wall paint (something beigey that will kinda blend in with the old paint) and a paint roller. Back at home, I grab a trash bag and go hunting for empty food wrappers and fast food packaging, old Hustler magazines and junk mail. But I really need Falkor, cause this hunt is a neverending story. There‘s trash everywhere! Under the bed, behind the cupboard, between my t-shirts... OH GOD THIS IS ALL SO STRESSFUL AND EXHAUSTING AND BORING AND... NO! I cant give up! Cause a) that would mean that fucking Tony Stark is right and b)... dont wanna let cheeky down. Really dont. It’s time to channel my inner Brian Adams. Singing loudly, I carry on. “When it’s love you live, I’ll make a stand I won’t break, I’ll be the rock you can build on.”

10 trash bags, 1 light wall painting, around 420 rotations of “All for Love” and 1 apartment cleaning and tidying adventure later, I put the bucket and mob down in the walk-in storage closet at the end of the corridor and check my phone for the time. I have to squint since my vision is swimming, escorted by a headache with a giant inflatable crocodile pool toy. 3 pm. I have to look again cause that seems INCONCEIVABLE. Still 3 pm. “FUCK!” I press my forehead against the edge of one of the shelves were I’ve put all my weapons during my little adventure (the guns are mostly locked now). Cheeky comes at 8 and I still have so much to do!!! But I also need food, cause I think my stomach has turned into the wet version of a Gremlin and tries to claw its way out of my body.

I make my way to the fridge, open it and inspect its contents. It’s so empty. I take a deep breath (making a sound which sounds embarrassingly like a sob and which we will never ever mention again!). I cant eat! There is no time! I still have to fill this fridge with dinner and breakfast and lunch ingredients and I still have to buy a table and chairs and a nightstand. I still have to assemble the furniture and make the fucking dinner. I grab a bottle of Coke and close the fridge.

It’s 5 when I return from IKEA and the supermarket, half an hour later, I’ve carried all the groceries and packed furniture into my apartment. I am standing in the middle of my living room, surrounded by plastic bags and brown IKEA packaging, and rub my bald head with both hands. I’m sweating like a rodeo bull and I have a minor problem with breathing. And now a head-rush joins. Oh heeeey, the room is spinning. The list, Wade, the list, FOCUS! Next step is to prepare the lasagna so I can put it in the oven while I build the... IS THAT A BURGER WRAP UNDER THE COUCH? FUCKSHIT! SHITFUCK! FUCK ME! FUCK..... me..... I... I cant do this...

...

...

(Uhm... Wade?)

We never agreed on a safeword.

(A safeword for what?)

A safeword for getting me out of this first-person perspective.

(There is none! We can’t change the point of view in the middle of the story! That would be artsy bullshit!)

YES, WE CAN! I’m Deadpool. I’m crazy! And speaking of crazy... I think I’m having a tiny meltdown here. So either you take over til I’m back or there will be no story.

(Are you sure? You realize you give me all the control if we change to third-person, yeah?)

Just do it....

---

Wade needs ten solid minutes of kicking IKEA boxes, hyperventilating like he is about to give birth to an “Alien”-alien, before he manages to calm down enough to pick up the burger wrap and throw it in the trash can. Fortunately, the pain in his broken right foot provides enough focus for him to keep going with the list and stifle the feeling of nausea and dizziness that threatens to overwhelm him completely. It’s not like he doesn’t know this feeling. It visits him pretty frequently. The only problem is that it’s hard to control. Even harder when he can’t go out and channel it into gratuitous violence. And he knows that too, so he gives himself a pep talk while preparing the lasagna.

“So, okay, Wade. Panic attack? So not manly! I bet Steven Seagal doesn’t have panic attacks. And Jean-Claude Van Damme doesn’t have panic attacks for sure. And can you imagine Sylvester Stallone having hallucinations? See? I thought so! And do you think Ellen Ripley would cry into the baking pan? Certainly she wouldn’t! Cause it’s awkward. Also, it might taste weird. So get a grip!”

Wade sprinkles a smiley on top of the lasagna with the mozzarella cheese and covers the dish with aluminum foil, then he shoves it into the preheated oven, burning his fingers because his vision is blurry. Which is fine. More pain to focus on. He smiles when he remembers to set the timer to 30 minutes. “Don’t you worry, baby lasagna. I won’t let you get burned. Normal men don’t do that!”

When he checks the time, he sees that it’s already 7 pm. “SHITFUCK!” The knot in his stomach tightens and tingles unpleasantly. He knows that it’s super unlikely that he will be able to assemble three chairs, one table and a nightstand in one hour and a small part of him realizes that he could just settle for the table and two chairs for now. But Wade is really bad at compromising. Generally and in every regard. Even when it comes down to IKEA furniture. “I will make this right!” So he opens the packaging of the light turquoise MALM nightstand with his combat knife and grabs the instruction.

Wade surprises himself by completing the MALM one minute before the lasagna is finished. It smells good. Garfield would be proud. With a broad smile on his face, he reduces the temperature of the oven so the lasagna will stay warm until Spider-Man comes, then he turns towards the black BJURSTA table. Everything’s fine until he opens the assembly instruction. But then his eyes fall onto a pictogram on the first page. On the left, there is a single unhappy looking person with a hammer in front of a pile of boards. This picture is crossed out. On the right side are two people smiling in front of the pile, one with a hammer, the other with a pen behind his ear. No crosses here. Wade stares at the picture. “Guess you need two to be normal.” And then, all Deadpool breaks loose.

---

Peter decides to take a cooler entrance to Wade’s apartment this time and climbs the facade to reach the living room window. Okay, granted, not the most reasonable idea seeing that his whole body is still pretty bruised from falling down into an elevator shaft just yesterday, but he really wants to see the look on Wade’s face when he knocks on the window. Around the level of the second floor, his nose picks up the faint smell of something really delicious and it gets stronger the higher he climbs. A low rumble in his stomach reminds him that his healing factor works much better if he eats a ton. Maybe Wade has some leftover chimichangas from Saturday he can snatch.

He has almost reached the window when he notices that the smell now has a chemical edge to it. It reminds him of going to the swimming pool. He crawls next to the window and realizes that Wade’s apartment is actually the source of the smell, also, the window is slightly ajar. He peeks into the living room and frowns. His spider senses don’t go off, but something is definitely weird. Peter opens the window further and climbs inside, balancing across the kitchen sink on his toes and fingertips.

He remains there for a second, crouching on the balls of his feet on the kitchen counter, and looks around the living room. He cocks his head to the side. What he sees is so off. The apartment is silent and Wade isn’t here. Instead, there is a bunch of IKEA packages scattered across a new rug with grey stripes. One large package is open and it looks like somebody threw its contents – parts of a dining table by the looks of it – around the room. There is a dent in the wall where the table top has crashed into it. Also, the wall is covered with fresh patches of paint, but the color doesn’t match and it looks like somebody tried to create modern art. The kind of art where nobody understands what it’s supposed to mean.

Peter slides down the kitchen counter and peeks into the oven. It is on low temperature and there is a baking pan with some sort of dish with meat, tomatoes and basil that smells really good. But the room is also filled with the stench of wall paint and bleach and fake citrus scent. He looks at the windows to confirm his suspicion. You can actually see through the glass now. Yep, seems like Wade cleaned his apartment. And that somehow worries Peter to no end, because that’s really out of character.

He tiptoes around the kitchen island and inspects the pile of packaging and furniture debris more closely. “Oh shit,” he whispers when he sees the blood dotting the brown cardboard. Peter sneaks to the front door to check for any signs of forced entry, but there are none. So he turns towards the narrow corridor that branches off the living room.

The first door on the left is wide open, the one on the right slightly ajar. He turns to the open one first. In the light of the ceiling lamp, Peter can see that the room is a windowless bathroom. It’s also spotless and smells of bleach, but when he pokes his head further inside, he sees that somebody finger painted a sad smiley on the crooked mirror above the sink and crossed it out. The color is red and looks suspiciously like blood, which isn’t really encouraging. He takes a shaky breath.

Peter tiptoes over to the other door and peeps through the crack. He can only see a dark wall and the flickering light of an unknown source, but he has plenty of other senses. He hears low, trembly panting and smells more bleach, this time mixed with the metallic scent of blood. On the one hand he doesn’t want to disturb Wade’s privacy, on the other hand he is really worried and also curious. So he gives the door a small shove and slips into the room.

His eyes immediately adjust to the low light and he can see Wade now. He is lying in his bed, wrapped in the blanket from the couch, facing away from him towards the window. He is panting heavily, eyes fixed onto the screen of his phone in his right hand, headphones in his ears. And Peter knows this kind of breathing. Sounds exactly like May’s panting when she had the panic attack after Ben’s death.

He doesn’t want to startle Wade more than necessary, so he remains where he is and just clears his throat. The reaction he gets is not at all what he expected, because Wade doesn’t jump out of his bed and/or try to attack him, instead he pulls the blanket over his head hastily and groans, “Oh, shit on a stick...”

“Uhm...” Peter taps his fingertips against his thigh, then he reaches out to switch on the hula girl lamp on the turquoise nightstand. “I came in through the window and then I saw the IKEA stuff and the blood. What’s going on, Wade? Are you okay?”

The blanket shivers, Peter hears another pant and then Wade says with a voice that is beyond shaky, “I tried to assemble the BJURSTA and I tell you... IKEA is some demonic shit! Right when I opened the instructions, I had a brutal flashback of the day I found out they canceled “Firefly” and it went all downhill from there.”

Peter sits down onto the mattress next to Wade, cross-legged, and pulls off his mask, combing his hair with one hand so it doesn’t stick out in all directions. “I mean, I totally get why you would be devastated about that day,” he softly places his hand onto Wade’s shoulder, “but I call bullshit.”

“You know “Firefly”?” The voice under the blanket sounds surprised.

Peter feels a tremble running through Wade’s body and he starts to slowly stroke his shoulder. “Of course I do! I’m not some half-assed nerd! I know my classics!”

Wade makes a noise that sounds like it got stuck halfway between a sob and a laugh. “Man, you are by far the coolest 15-year old I ever met. And I got the comparison of Lucy, the 15-year old cashier, who I became acquainted with today at the supermarket. She just wouldn’t accept the coupons I got last year. Just plain rude and super uncool.”

Peter’s hand stops moving. “How do you know I’m 15? I never told you.”

The muffled voice shakes again. “I had a talk with Tony Stark. Wasn’t really the pep talk variety, but very informative.” Wade adds quietly, “Could you maybe continue with the hand? Does wonders for my post-flashback self.”

Peter resumes the movement of his hand. “Uhm... when did you talk to him? And why?”

“Yesterday evening. And it was not so much me talking to him than him talking to me. A lot. And very seriously. Was no fun at all.” Once again, Wade makes a low noise that sounds disturbingly like a sob, but at least he is not panting anymore. “You made it into the news with the Washington Monument elevator rescue thingy yesterday, cheeky. And while I deemed it mighty cool and heroic, Tony got scared. He said he cares a lot about you. Sounded pretty convincing to me.”

“Well, I HAD to rescue them. I didn’t have a lot of choice, did I?” Peter says defensively.

“Hey, you don’t need to tell ME. I think it was awesome and the baddest of ass! Tony is the one who worries.” Wade shifts a bit underneath the blanket so that the small of his back touches Peter’s knee.

Peter pulls a face, combs through his hair again and sighs. “I really don’t want to talk to him about that...” He strokes slowly down Wade’s back. “But why did he talk to YOU about it? You weren’t even there!”

Wade sighs as well. “Yeah, well, that’s what I said, too... but... but it goes a tiny step further than that.” He takes a deep breath. “On second thought: Huge step actually.”

Peter frowns. “What do you mean?”

The blanket trembles again. “He’s afraid I’m gonna run you over with my monster truck of craziness and brutality.” Peter makes a sound of protest, but Wade mumbles, “And he is right. My truck has no brakes. I really tried today. I tried to be normal and good. But I can’t. I’m crashing into myself with my own monster truck. Which should be impossible, right? But it isn’t.”

Peter tugs at the blanket and after one second of resistance, Wade lets go of the fabric so that Peter can pull it down to his hips and look at him. He is still lying on his side, his face and eyes turned away. There are no visible wounds, but his scarred torso and face are covered with smears of blood and speckles of wall paint. His cheeks are wet and every now and then, a tear rolls down his temple onto the pillow. Peter pokes one fingertip softly into Wade’s shoulder. “Look at me!”

Wade turns his head a bit and looks at Peter with wet, desolate brown eyes. “I’m sorry! I look like Sally in “When Harry met Sally” when she finds out Joe’s getting married. I bet my eyeliner’s all smeared.”

Peter grins, then he places his hand onto Wade’s shoulder and shrugs. “You might have a monster truck. But I can stop a bus with my bare hands.” Wade frowns, so he adds, “That’s a metaphor and it also applies to monster trucks.”

“Could you explain the metaphor? I’m usually a tiny bit quicker, but the day was super stressful and I haven’t eaten yet. And I think I inhaled too much chlorine gas while cleaning my bathroom.”

“Uhm, okay, so...” Peter unfolds his legs and stretched his right across Wade’s hips so he can straddle him. He gets the idea and turns onto his back. Peter sits down on the other men’s hip and raises his right hand while looking into his eyes. “So, I know that you’re crazy.” He holds up his index finger. “I appreciate your kind of crazy.” He adds his middle finger. “I’m strong enough to handle your kind of crazy.” He extends his thumb. Then he holds up his ring finger and pinky. “I’m not some stupid damsel in distress that lets herself get pushed around by some dude. I make my own choices. And I choose you!”

Wade looks into Peter’s eyes silently for a moment, then he wipes his cheeks with the back of a hand, smiles and says, “Smooth Pokémon reference there. 10 out of 10!”

Peter grins broadly and leans down to press a quick kiss onto Wade’s lips. “You won’t run me over, cause I won’t let that happen. I seriously feel super flattered that you cleaned your apartment and painted the walls and all to be... I dunno... a better man for me. But it’s so not necessary!” He nestles his cheek against Wade’s. “Do you feel better now?”

Wade wraps his arms closely around Peter and presses him softly against his chest. “Yeah, a lot. Not fully there yet. But much better. You definitely beat my Walt Disney playlist that I tried to calm down with.” He gestures towards his phone.

Peter looks up and smiles. “Great! Can we eat now? Cause this is torture! Whatever you made just smells too good. Also, I wanna take a shower with you afterwards!” He jumps out of the bed and grabs Wade’s hand, giving it a soft pull.

Wade sits up and bows his head. “As you wish!”

Chapter Text

I’m back now. Well, kinda. I still feel like I went out to the movies to watch the original Godzilla, but instead I got the Matthew Broderick version with the iconic “That’s alotta fish”-line. You know, you are still enjoying yourself, but at the same time you are disappointed? Also, it’s not really Matthew’s fault but your own since you didnt check the program right? Yeah, dumpling, that’s how I feel. But moping when cheeky is around is impossible. He is just too awesome. And we gonna see about that whole “I’m gonna stop your monster truck with my bare hands”-thingy.

BUT I DIDNT GET ANY! We ate the lasagna (which was a culinary pleasure if I may say so myself!) and he helped me assemble the rest of the satanic IKEA stuff. But then, well yeah, while he was working on the last TOBIAS chair, I took a tiny time-out and laid my head in his lap. 5 seconds later, I was out cold. Next morning, he was gone. Cheeky somehow managed to stuff a pillow under my head without waking me up. And he also covered me with the couch blanket. Which is SOOO adorable! BUT I DIDNT GET ANY!

So yeah, I’m sexually frustrated now. And cheeky is busy with some kind of lame ass school project this week! Just great! I told him I can help him make a volcano of a different sort! But he declined. Rude!

Then again, it’s hard to call somebody rude who wiped the bloody smiley off your bathroom mirror while you were asleep and replaced it with a little drawing of a cobweb with a smiling spider. So while I’m brushing my teeth right now, I look at the happy spider in the top right corner of the mirror and grin. Doesnt help with the sexual void though. And our next date is not until Sunday. And it’s fucking Wednesday!!! 4 DAYS! MEH! Shit waiting again! So I have to keep myself busy, starting with that damn Carol-job that I’m still working on. I wonder who will interrupt me this time. My bet’s on the Human Torch, cause we havent had any of the Fantastic Four in the story yet (he also has this boyish charm I wouldnt mind seeing in action).

A little bird told me that Carol will be home alone this evening, which is super convenient. Seeing that I failed twice to get her outside, she will be on guard now I guess. So ambushing her at home is the only way. In the meantime, I will try to call Vulture again, rewatch Firefly and then get a drink at Sister Margaret’s.

---

I down my Sex on the Beach (only sex available to me at the moment apparently) and nod to Weasel. “Okay, bro, got a job to finish now. Seeya on Friday for poker night.” I push myself off the bar and turn towards the exit.

“Yeah!” he yells after me. “Dont forget this one’s Maverick-themed. So remember to bring a cowboy outfit and a revolver!”

“I’d NEVER forget! So wanna wear my latex chaps!” I exit the bar, walk to my car and steer it towards Queens (cause that’s where Carol’s home is). Man, I never wouldve expected that Queens would ever become somewhat relevant to me. First the sexy weapons and cheeky, now Vulture and Carol. But speaking of Vulture: I actually got a hold of one of his henchman and I’m meeting up with him on Saturday. Why you ask? Cause a) I want more sexy weapons (who wouldnt!) and b) I wanna put a stop to Vulture’s game to prove my untiring heroism and manly, yet cool bravery to cheeky. Guns and cheeky! What can go wrong with that, right? Nothing, exactly!

Carol lives in a semi-detached house on 44th street, so I park my car a bit down the street. BEFORE I get out of my shoebox, I wind down the window, poke my head out and check the surroundings for any sign of superhero activity. No Iron Man in the skies, no Wolvy hiding behind the next tree, no Human Torch trying to set me ablaze. Seems safe to go to work. But hey, that actually raises the question: How the fuck did they even find me? Oh well, guess I have to look into that later, cause now it’s SHOW TIME!

Another of my unfairly overlooked talents is my ability to actually shut up and be quiet when necessary (most of the times, it’s not). So silently, I amble over to the brown brick house, covered by the darkness of 10 pm. Conveniently, it’s surrounded by a waist-high thick hedge. I look around again for superheroes or other common pedestrians and when the coast is clear, I hop across the hedge, duck down and crouch my way to the back of the house. There is a garden with well-cut apple trees, evenly mown grass, a swing and symmetrically arranged flower beds (most boring garden ever except for the swing). Also, a door leads inside into the kitchen. Sadly, it’s closed. But maybe it isnt locked.

I sneak over and twist the doorknob. Shit! Locked. But now I can hear the sound of a television and then... yay! footsteps! And theyre approaching the door. Maybe I get lucky (now and on Sunday!). I duck down behind a bush next to the door and wait. There is some rustling inside, then a key gets turned and the door opens. SWEET! It’s Carol carrying a trash bag, wearing grey sweatpants and a pink t-shirt.

I dont waste any time, but practically jump into her face, clasping one arm around her back and upper arms, trapping them so she cant punch me. I press my other hand against her mouth, but she still manages to get out a small yelp before I can shut her up. The trash bag falls to the ground while I shove her inside and boot the door close.

Good god, this kitchen is right off the set of “Pillow Talk”. Everything is pastel blue and light pink. All that’s missing is Rock Hudson singing “You are my inspiration” (and wouldnt that be GREAT!). I press Carol against the kitchen counter and look into her blue, widened eyes. “Okay, sweetheart, I just wanna have a nice, quiet talk with you. You think you can manage that without screaming? Cause like a puppy, I get all excited when someone squeals at me in a high-pitched voice. And you know what happens when a puppy gets too excited? Yep, they pee.”

She nods.

The instant I lower my hand, she shrieks the most painful, shrill scream ever. Fucking HELL, she could burst glass with this voice! So I immediately clamp my hand down on her mouth again and knee her in the solar plexus. She gasps against my hand and would double over if I wouldnt hold her upright with my arm around her back. I whine, “WHY? I just wanna talk to you. Why do you have to flip your shit every single time?! Would you just relax?”

And then several things happen at once (order is from OK to OMG!):
Carols eyes roll back and she goes limp in my arm. Guess I found her solar plexus on first try.
Pretty much out of nowhere, Queens’ “Dont stop me now” pops up in my head.
The fruit bowl with 3 apples, 2 bananas and 1 pineapple (guess you didnt expect me to be that observant, sleeping beauty, right?) falls off the kitchen counter and shatters on the baby blue tile floor.
The door leading to the garden gets pushed open and I turn my head.
OMG IT’S CHEEKY (Spider-Man cheeky to be exact)! WHAT ARE THE FUCKING ODDS????

He freezes and stares at me. I freeze and stare at him.

Cheeky wins the recovery war. He throws both of his arms forward, middle and ring finger curled, index finger, pinky and thumb extended. Thwip. Thwip. One second later he pulls at the web strands that stick to my shoulders and I let go of Carol cause I dont want to give her whiplash. And FUCK cheeky is strong! He yanks me backwards and I practically fly through the door into the garden. I land on my butt in a flower bed of forget-me-nots.

I look at cheeky who is standing in the doorway, hands in fists at his sides. “It’s not what it looks like!” I have no idea how it exactly looks like, but I feel the very strong urge to explain myself.

“So you didn’t just punch a woman unconscious?” Shit, he sounds angry.

“No, no! That’s not what happened! I KNEED her unconscious!” I make a move to get up.

He throws his arms in the air (yep, he’s definitely agitated. FUCK!). “THAT’S SO BESIDE THE POINT! AND YOU STAY THERE!”

I sigh and cross my legs while cheeky goes back inside to check on Carol. Through the open door I can see him feel her pulse and put her into the recovery position, meanwhile I pick a small bouquet of forget-me-nots. Then he comes back out, closes the door and stomps past me. “She’s coming around. Where’s your car?”

I get up, mumble, “Not far down the street,” and trot behind him, fumbling with the flowers. Okay, I admit, I feel a bit guilty. But only a bit and honestly: Not sure about the reason.

We get to the car in silence and when we’re inside, cheeky just mutters, “Your place.”

“Why my place?”

“Cause I wanna talk to you in private and not on the sidewalk or in the car.” How can someone with such a cute voice sound so serious and grave? He crosses his arms over his chest. UNFAIR! Man, I feel so bad. I put the flowers on the backseat and start the engine.

I manage to stay silent for 1 minute. Then it gets really uncomfortable and I turn on the stereo and press play. “... read by Stephen Fry. The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive.”

10 minutes later, I cant stand it any longer. “Okay, so I feel we should really address the big, fat elephant in the car before it explodes and ruins the cushion with bloody extremities.” I cast him a glance. He is staring straight ahead. “First off: This was a job. I didnt knee her for fun!”

Apparently he cant stand it any longer too, cause he immediately retorts sharply, “What kind of job requires you to knock a woman unconscious?”

“Well, technically speaking the job description didnt say “knock her unconscious”. It said “threaten her”. I only had to pacify her cause she has this annoying habit of screaming. I just wanted to talk!”

His head jerks around and he snorts. “Yeah, ”pacify”, sure... What kind of person gave you the job anyways? Why does he want you to threaten her?”

I sigh and mumble, “I cant tell you. That’s classified information. The privacy of my customers is inviolable. But this specific customer has a damn good reason to hire me.”

He makes a wild gesture with both of his hands and exclaims angrily, “So you just expect me to trust you on this?”

I look at him. “Yeah.”

He returns my look and falls silent.

---

Another 20 minutes later, we are standing across each other in my living room, still in full suits. He stares at me for a moment, then he takes a deep breath and says with a sigh, “Okay, uhm, so... I think I do trust you on this. And I’m sorry for yelling at you. I do punch people too if necessary, so it would be a clear case of double standards if I was angry at you for doing the same. Or for doing it to a woman.”

I nod vigorously. “The woman part is confusing, right? But, cheeky, I’ve been doing this job for a while now, so I’m speaking from experience when I say: Some women are just mean bitches.”

He shrugs helplessly. “But my problem is that I don’t know what she did to deserve the threatening thing!”

I peel off my mask so I can look at him with my most serious expression. “What she did is bad! Like Mount Everest proportions of massively bad.”

“Will you go to her again and finish your mission?” He taps his fingertips against his thigh.

“Yep. It IS my job and she SO has it coming.”

Cheeky sighs unhappily, goes over to the table and plonks down on one of the TOBIAS chairs. Then he leans forward, presses his forehead against the table top and groans. “Shit, never expected superhero ethics to be that tricky.”

“Hmmm... So I guess youre not sure if you wanna keep me from completing my job or not, right?”

He nods without lifting his head and mumbles, “I really trust your assessment that she is bad, so that’s not the reason. But punching someone in an acute situation somehow feels different than threatening someone in advance.”

“I know what you mean, but some people dont change without a strong incentive. They just continue to be evil assholes. And I am the boss of being a very strong incentive.” Cheeky groans again. That’s when a brainwave suddenly hits me. OH, this will be FUN! I sit down on the edge of the table and cross my legs. “Do you know what a “wager of battle” is?”

He looks up. “Yeah, I think so. A duel and whoever wins is right?”

“Exactly! So let’s do it! Good old-fashioned brawl. No weapons, no webs and whoever manages to pin the opponent to the ground for... hmhm... let’s say 5 seconds wins! Easy way to settle this pesky ethical dilemma.”

Even with the mask, I can see cheeky frown. “And if I win, you leave her alone?” he asks slowly.

“Yep! And if I win, I can finally do my job.” I grin at him. Oh man, I’m HYPED for this! “And so I ask you on this fateful day: Are you in?”

He jumps to his feet and I can hear the grin in his voice. “Bring it, tiger!”

I put my mask back on.

---

We push all furniture in my living room against the walls and roll up the rug. Our arena is prepared! We are standing maybe 5 feet apart, fists and legs and everything else ready to face each other in maybe the most epic of duels ever to be put into words. And we are looking damn sexy in our suits too!

But in front of punching the WWF gods have put taunting. “Do you want the lady treatment? Cause I can hold back if you want me to!”

He shrugs. “Nah, I’m good. Give it your all. You have no idea how to treat a lady anyways!” Not missing a beat, he jumps up with stretched arms, somehow clinging to the even ceiling of my living room by his fingertips, gains momentum by swinging back once and then he kicks me square in the chest with both feet and I fly backwards and crash into the wall.

OUCH! I shake my head to get rid of the slight feeling of dizziness. “FOUL PLAY!!!! I wasnt ready!” Cheeky giggles, still hanging from the ceiling. I push myself off the wall and come at him with raised fists. But in order to punch him, I have to actually reach him. And that’s easier said than done when he pulls up his legs and crawls along the ceiling like it was solid ground.

“Did you lose your contact lenses up there or what?” I jump up in a weak attempt to grab him. But that’s too undignified even for me. Guess I have to adjust my tactics. If he wants to win, he has to come down eventually. I take several steps back to get some distance.

“I have 20/10 vision. I can basically see into the future. And you know what I see there?” He detaches his feet from the ceiling and swings again. “I see your defeat!” He lets go of the ceiling and catapults himself at me feet first.

Yep, I KNEW it! I jump to the side and bring my elbow down on cheeky’s chest when he flies past me. That literally knocks him out of his stride. He lands on his feet shakily and groans, slightly hunched. Oh shit, maybe that was too brutal! “Cheeky? You okay?” I get a step closer.

He lifts his head and I can see his grin despite the mask. That’s when I know I fucked up. In one fluent motion he slides past and behind me and knocks my legs out from under me by kicking me in the back of the knees. I completely lose my footing and hit the floor face-first, my nose making intimate contact with the wooden planks.

Cheeky jumps on the small of my back and grabs my right arm. “I told you I don’t want the lady treatment!” Then he pins my arm behind my back.

“Damned be my chivalry!” Now, cheeky literally is a lightweight, so it’s not his bodyweight keeping me down. But when I make a move to wiggle free and get up, he twists my arm upwards just the tiniest bit. My shoulder joint protests. I make another valiant effort by bucking underneath him, more insistently this time, but he clings to my back like a bur and twists my arm a bit more. A searing pain shoots through my shoulder and arm and I somehow have no doubt that he would actually break it to win this wager. It’s weirdly sexy... DONT JUDGE ME!

Okay, so... Of course I could still get up. A broken arm and a dislocated shoulder are things I can definitely endure. What I couldnt endure however is how cheeky would react if I let him break my arm. Really dont think he would enjoy that. So I guess this ethical problem is solved. “Okay, okay, you got me! You win!”

“Woohoo!” Cheeky releases my arm but doesnt get off my back. Hey, no complains here!

I turn around underneath him and pull off my mask to get a better look at him. He’s sitting on my hips, his posture super relaxed, knees bent, hands resting on his thighs, a certain air of smugness floating around him. DAMN, I know I’m repeating myself, but he is so awesome. I smile and place my hands on his hips. “I honorably accept my defeat of course and acknowledge that I’m at your mercy, but can I wish for something anyways?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Uhm... depends on what it is.”

I extend my arm and peel off his mask. I look into his brown puppy eyes, run my hand through his tousled hair and then let it slide to the back of his neck so I can pull him down towards me. Cheeky complies with a smile, bracing himself with one hand on the floor next to my head while he reaches out with the index finger of his other hand to softly trace my cheekbone.

I smile and shiver cause this feels SO nice and then I stretch my neck and bring my mouth close to his ear. “Would you kindly do me the honor of entering my castle?”

That knocks him out of his stride again (this time figuratively). Cheeky bolts upright and looks at me with wide eyes, blushing heavily. “Erm... what? I mean... what?” His voice breaks. He licks his lower lip nervously, places his hands on his thighs again and starts tapping against his kneecaps aimlessly.

I sit up, wrap one arm around his waist and look deep into his eyes. “Fuck me.”

He returns my look and I can see his brown pupils dilate even further. Yep, somebody is definitely excited (apart from you and me ofc, sugar)! He stares at me with parted lips for a second, then he takes a deep breath and regains his composure. Okay, his smile is still a bit shy, but he doesnt look shocked anymore. “I...,” he croaks and clears his throat, “I... yeah, I really want to!”

“HOORAY!” I press him against me while I let my hand slide to the spider symbol on his chest.

Cheeky catches my hand before I can actually press the magical button of Spider Man undressing. “Not now!” He leans back and looks at me while I start to pout. “I have to get home and into my bed!”

I let my head fall back. “BUT WHYYY? I CANT WAIT TIL SUNDAY! THAT’S JUST CRUEL!”

He laughs his giggly laugh. “Drama queen! But I tell you what.” He cups my face with both hands and forces me softly to look at him. “I’m almost done with the project, so I have a little time tomorrow. I can be here at 4pm. Deal?”

I feel my face light up. “Deal!”

And then we seal it with a kiss.