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Peter Parker’s Perfect Shot

Chapter Text

The hot splash of blood hit Peter’s face before his spider-sense could kick in. He stood frozen with his camera lifted toward the podium as the person next to him dropped to the ground with a chunk of his skull missing.

“Sorry about the splatter!” Deadpool shouted. He dropped from the rafters above the stage, landing on the ground with a roll. The people on the floor ran out of his way as he walked forward, a large gun still in his hand. He stopped in front of Peter and patted his head. “But a perfect shot is a perfect shot.”

Peter’s hand trembled around his camera.

As many times as he’d met and dealt with Deadpool as Spider-Man, he’d never been up close and personal when the man had been working. The mercenary respected Spider-Man too much to take a life when he was present.

But Spider-Man was not at the press conference.

Peter Parker taking pictures for spare cash wasn’t worth the consideration.

“I can see you’re speechless,” Deadpool said. He brushed his glove over Peter’s hair, like he was flicking something out of it. Peter didn’t dare look to check and see what could be in his hair or he’d be sick. “That is a common occurrence around me.”

Deadpool towered over Peter.

He was only a half foot or so taller, but he was broad and filled out his form in a way that made him large and intimidating. Deadpool took over Peter’s space and senses, pinging his spider-sense on a constant level that never went off when he was in costume.

The mercenary might have been harmless to Spider-Man, but Peter Parker could set him off at any second if he said the wrong thing.

“You okay there, champ?” Deadpool asked. He crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side as he looked Peter over. “You’re the only one that hasn’t run away yet.”

Peter jerked back and dropped his camera. It smacked into his chest, saved from clattering to the ground by the strap around his neck. A glance around the room confirmed that aside from the dead man on the floor and Deadpool, he was the only one left in the large meeting room.

“You might want to leave,” Deadpool said. He moved his hands like he was shooing away a mouse. “I need to cut what’s left of his head off as a trophy for the client and I get this feeling you don’t want to see that.”

“Why’d you kill him?” Peter asked before he could stop himself. He glanced at the body next to him and back up at Deadpool. “What’d he do?”

As far as Peter knew, he was just the next guy in line for the podium to give a short update report. He was a company representative for Oscorp and no one special as far as Peter knew.

“Sorry, but that is confidential,” Deadpool said, bright and happy. The pitch of his voice dropped and he leaned close enough that Peter felt his breath through the mask on his face. “And better if you don’t know.”

Peter believed him.

“Now, get out of here,” Deadpool said, leaning back. He put his finger on the lens of Peter’s camera, smearing it through a glob of blood. Peter grabbed it to hold it still as Deadpool pushed it toward the exit. “I’ve got a head to take and clean up to do.”

The mercenary yanked a sword out from the holster on his back and stepped over the body.

Peter should have left and changed into his Spider-Man costume.

He should burst back into the room and arrest Deadpool for killing a man.

But his feet were glued to the floor and cooling blood itched on his cheeks. His grip on the camera would crack the casing if he held it any harder, but only the reminder that he couldn’t afford a new one kept him from breaking it.

“You are either still too scared to move or you want to see a guy get his head cut off,” Deadpool said. He dropped the sword and the blade rested near the skin of the man’s neck. “Let me know which one, because if it’s the second I can put on a show if you want. I always love an audience.”

“The first one,” Peter admitted. “My legs don’t want to move.”

Deadpool put the sword back in its holster and laughed. “Well, since you’ve given me the courtesy of refraining from taking photos, I guess I can help you out!”

Before Peter could move, the mercenary ducked down just enough to scoop Peter up into his arms bridal style. Peter clutched his camera to his chest and gritted his teeth together as his spider-sense screamed in the back of his ears and gloved hands dug into his legs. Deadpool whistled as he skipped toward the door of the room, holding Peter close to his rock-solid chest.

“Here we go,” Deadpool said. He kicked open a door and dropped Peter on his feet just outside it. He shoved him forward with a hard push and ordered Peter to “Run on home, now!”

The door slammed shut behind Peter and he stared at the closed wood. His heart beat heavy in his chest and his skin still tingled from where he’d touched Deadpool and felt his overheated, uneven skin under the leather of his costume.

When Peter collected himself and remembered that he was Spider-Man, he opened the door again. He kept his back against it and moved it an inch so he could see the situation with a calmer eye.

The room was empty, save for the decapitated body abandoned in the center of the room.


“You didn’t get a single picture!” Jameson yelled, shouting at Peter who sat in the chair in front of his desk. “You were in the middle of the action and you didn’t get the shot when Spider-Man shot a man!”

“It wasn’t Spider-Man,” Peter said. He sunk into the chair and cursed the similarity between his and the mercenary’s costume. “It was Deadpool.”

“Spider-Man. Deadpool. It doesn’t matter! You had a front row seat to a costumed freak and didn’t get the shot!” Jameson shouted again. “And don’t get me that bullshit about danger! You take photos of costumed freaks all the time. It’s your entire career!”

“Give him a break, Jonah,” Robbie said, standing to the side. “Parker was two inches away from a man who was shot in the head. Anyone would have panicked in his position.”

“He had the camera in his hands!” Jameson yelled, yanking his cigar out of his mouth and throwing his hands up. “And it’s on film!”

The man pointed to the the true source of J. Jonah Jameson’s ire in Robbie’s hands: A rival tabloid with a photograph of Peter covered in blood as he walked out of the building plastered across the front page.

The picture was a work of art.

The photographer had captured him on the right step with a serene, dazed look while he cradled his camera against his chest. The blood spatter had a morbidly artistic placement and the entire shot came together with the doves on the steps that flew up at precisely the right moment.

For one day, Peter Parker was more famous than Spider-Man for being the centerpiece of not only a fantastic, artistic photo, but his direct connection to the story of the day when Deadpool showed up in a crowded building full of witnesses to shoot a man.

“Our competitors are profiting off of my photographer!” Jameson shouted. He slammed his hands on the desk and Peter heard his teeth grind. He slumped further in the chair as Jameson collapsed in his own. “You’re going to make this up to me, Parker! You hear me? I want a perfect shot that’ll blow everyone away! I want you at every sighting of a costumed hero, vigilante or villain that makes the news!”

“Yes, sir,” Peter said. On the bright side of things, Peter felt sure that he’d earned himself some job security for the next few months. Jameson wouldn’t dare fire him or stop paying for his photos when the chance of Peter’s fame benefiting a rival paper was a possibility. “I won’t miss the shot next time.”

“As long as it doesn’t put your life at risk,” Robbie said, interjecting with a stern look. He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed. “Jonah hasn’t said it yet, but we are all thankful you weren’t hurt and are still here to take pictures at all.”

“Thank you, sir,” Peter said. “I’m glad to be here, too.”

“Enough of this sap,” Jameson said. He huffed and grabbed the paper off the desk. He tossed it at Peter. “Go take some pictures we can use and get that out of my sight.”

Peter took that as Jameson’s way of letting him have a copy of the photo.

He gladly took the paper before saying his goodbyes and gave Betty one more hug as he passed. She’d been the first to grab Peter and tell him how glad they all were that he was alright after meeting Deadpool face to face.

“Mr. Jameson was more relieved than anyone when you walked out of that building,” Betty whispered in his ear during the hug. “Don’t let him fool you.”

“He didn’t,” Peter said. Jameson didn’t give Peter up when he had been threatened by a super villain—if that didn’t say the old man cared, nothing did. Peter let go of the hug and picked up his camera bag from behind her desk. “I’ll see you later, Betty.”

She waved as Peter got into the elevator.

His stomach growled as Peter left the building and turned toward one of his favorite hot dog stands. He’d get a bite to eat, go home, and crash. He could figure out what to do about the photo situation later—Peter smacked into someone’s chest.

“You might want to look where you’re going there.”

Large hands steadied him and gently held him at arm’s length. Peter tilted his head back and looked into Deadpool’s mask.

Chapter Text

“Now there’s a deer in the headlights look I’d recognize anywhere,” Deadpool said. He stepped back and put his hands on his hips. In the full daylight, his suit nearly glowed in its full bright red glory. “Fancy seeing you again, Mr. Photographer!”

Peter stared into the large white eyes of Deadpool’s mask and his mouth snapped shut.

“Sorry again about the blood thing,” Deadpool said. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a large wad of cash. He grabbed Peter’s hand and opened it, smacking the roll into his palm. “It looks like you could use some therapy. Retail or actual therapy is up to you, but the first round is on me.”

He looked down at the wad of cash and flipped through the ends of the bills with his thumb and gaped at the number of hundred dollar bills in his hand.

“I can’t take this,” Peter blurted. He shoved his hand back toward Deadpool and the mercenary slapped his hand away. “Seriously, take it back.”

“Civilians don’t get to make demands unless they can pay me and I reserve the right to refuse any job,” Deadpool said. He patted Peter on the head and dodged around his hand as he tried to give the money back. “It’s yours now! I don’t care where you spend it.”

Peter clutched the cash and felt the tug of indecision: It was wrong to take a large sum of cash that likely came from the death of another human being, but Peter also needed the money and he technically did not know where it came from.

The people around him and Deadpool backed away as the merc walked down the sidewalk with a saunter in his step and his swords on his back.

After being the center of the news, people knew better than to get into Dead—

“Wait!” Peter shouted.

Deadpool stopped and turned around. “What? You want my autograph or something?”

Shoving the wad of cash in his pocket, Peter stumbled forward and tapped closer to the mercenary. He dug his camera out of his case and yanked it up and blurted, “Can I get a picture for the Bugle?”

“The tabloid that bad mouths Spider-Man?” Deadpool asked. Peter’s spider-sense flared to life in a low buzz in the back of his head, similar to the other night. Deadpool wasn’t a direct threat but he had to tread carefully. The mercenary turned to face Peter and walked closer. “You work for that piece of garbage?”

“I take Spider-Man’s pictures,” Peter blurted. He swallowed and held the camera up. Peter whispered, “He gave permission.”

Deadpool narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. “Did he?”

“Yes,” Peter said, more firm. “He did.”

The mercenary backed up and shrugged. “He deserves better, but that’s his choice.”

“So what about you?”

“Not a chance,” Deadpool said. “I have enough bad press without any help.”

Peter clutched his camera as the mercenary turned and walked away again. The temptation to snap a photo without permission was thwarted by his spider-sense continuing to scream in his ear.

“Please! I really need that shot!” Peter shouted. He ran past Deadpool and got in his path, still holding up the camera. “I just got yelled at by my boss for like an hour for not taking a picture when you shot the guy next to me. I have to get a good shot or else.”

Deadpool tilted his head to the side. “Did you tell your boss that the main reason I didn’t kill you is because you didn’t take a picture?”

“I may have left that part out.”

“But you still know and asked to take a picture anyway.”

“You’ve clearly never met Mr. Jameson,” Peter said in response to that very good point. His spider-sense continued its buzz, but it was a manageable threat. “He scares me more than you and I really need this job.”

His spider-sense went silent.

Deadpool held his stomach and laughed, stumbling toward the wall and smacking the brick with his palm.

Peter took a step closer to the wall to let foot traffic walk around them.

“There wasn’t even a waver in your voice. That was absolute truth,” Deadpool said, wheezing. He leaned against the wall and Peter felt his gaze turn warm as he took Peter in. Deadpool crossed his arms and leaned on his shoulder. “Wow. I don’t know if I should meet this guy or run for the hills to make sure we never cross paths.

“Does that mean I can have a photo?” Peter held his hand up and shook it back and forth. He stopped and dug in his pocket, holding the wad of cash back toward Deadpool. “I would really appreciate it. Much more than this cash you should take back.”

“Nah, at this point that’s just a thank you for making me laugh,” Deadpool said. He used his finger to push Peter’s hand back toward his chest. “And sure, you can have a shot. I’m feeling nice.”

“Thank you!” Peter shouted. He looked around for a good spot to take an action shot of some sort. “We can—”

“Not so fast,” Deadpool said. He slammed both hands on Peter’s shoulders and leaned in. Peter felt his breath through the mask over his face. “You can have a picture, but you’ve got to work for it.”

Deadpool shoved Peter into the wall and sprinted away from him.

“Get the shot if you can!” Deadpool cackled over his shoulder. “Good luck!”

Peter sat against the wall, his camera in hand. He stared at the mercenary running away and pushed off the wall.

“Deadpool doesn’t know who he just messed with,” Peter whispered to himself under his breath. The mercenary had caught him off guard twice and it was his turn to get caught unaware. “I’m going to get that photo, just you wait.”

His stomach growled loud enough to catch the eye of someone walking by. Peter flushed and put his camera away.

“As soon as I get lunch,” Peter said. He squeezed the wad of cash in his pocket and tapped toward the hot dog stand. “That Deadpool is paying for.”

The smell of hot dogs calmed his nerves and he could almost taste it. He’d get a full stomach, get his camera ready, and then he’d hit the streets to hunt Deadpool down while he was still in the city.

“Sorry, we don’t have change for a hundred,” the hot dog salesman said as Peter handed him the bill. “Got anything smaller?”

Peter paused and shoved the bill back into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and bit his lip, seeing it empty.

“I’ll go find somewhere to make change,” Peter said. He left without his hot dog—which was given to the person immediately behind him in line—and adjusted his plans.

Go to the bank and deposit most of the money and breaking a couple hundred into smaller bills.

Eat something.

Hunt Deadpool down and get a shot that not even J. Jonah Jameson could complain about.

Chapter Text

“No, no, no,” Peter said, tapping through the photos on his last batch of shots on the screen. After four days of chasing Deadpool around the city, Peter had a camera full of nothing. “There is no way he dodged every shot!”

And technically, Deadpool hadn’t.

In addition to hundreds of photos of lovely, empty scenery as Deadpool jumped out of frame in the nick of time, Peter had successfully scored: a shot of Deadpool’s hand flipping off the camera that he couldn’t use, a couple shots of the hilts of his katana, and about a dozen shots of the slightest blur of red in the frame.

Deadpool somehow could predict Peter’s every move. It was no wonder the man was so good at his job when he had a better sense of intuition than Peter’s spider-sense it seemed like. But it wasn’t enough to continually stay out of frame, the man had to chat with Peter while he dodged. Having no reason to impress Peter or stay on his good side, Deadpool didn’t bother to hold his tongue and his jabs turned downright mean depending on his mood.

But whether genuinely annoyed insults or friendly teasing, Deadpool’s mockery always ended with a “Good luck, next time, Mr. Photographer!” called over his shoulder as he dashed off and disappeared into the city.

He said it every time.

Peter almost blew his cover and webbed his mask shut on the twentieth exclamation.

The mercenary’s ass starred in Peter’s best shot, but he couldn’t sell that to the Bugle.

Peter hung the—admittedly attractive—picture of Deadpool’s posterior on his wall above his desk to keep himself motivated.

Throwing darts at it helped blow off steam, too.

“Come on, Parker,” Peter said. He set his camera on the desk and glared out the window. “You need one action picture of Deadpool doing something cool. You’ve taken pictures of yourself fighting every major super villain and got through it. Heck, you survived taking pictures of Johnny Storm. You can do this!”

Peter turned the camera off and took out the full data card, sticking it in his storage case. He dug through a small pile of packages on his desk and found a fresh data card. He shoved the new card inside the camera and gathered his things for yet another day trip in the city, hunting down a mercenary.

He locked his apartment door behind him and took to the hallway. Peter considered himself lucky that Deadpool was amused enough to stick around New York after his job was completed. If he hadn’t found Peter’s attempts to take his picture so hilarious, Peter doubted he’d still be in the city.

Deadpool either had faith that Peter would eventually get the shot or he was bored out of his mind and had nothing better to do than laugh at the struggling photographer.

“Enough of that,” Peter told himself. He checked his camera lens and stepped outside of his apartment, joining the foot traffic of the city. “Time to find a man in a red suit that isn’t me or Daredevil.”


“I have to give you brownie points, Mr. Photographer,” Deadpool said, landing behind Peter. He danced around Peter as he turned, always staying out of frame. It took Peter six hours that he could have spent patrolling to hunt Deadpool down and he was getting played with. “I bet Weasel you’d give up on day three, but here we are on day five and you’re still going for that winning shot!”

Peter dared to use a fraction of his spider-strength to spin faster and slammed his finger on the shutter. He didn’t get the shot but Deadpool laughed at the flash. “I’m stubborn. What can I say?”

“How’d that picture of my ass turn out?” Deadpool asked, putting his arms behind his back as he continued skipping a circle around Peter. “That was a gift from me to you.”

“It made a perfect dart target,” Peter said, came to a halt and turned on his heel and threw the camera up. He clicked the shutter and cursed under his breath as he saw the blank alley wall on the preview screen. “I’d say thanks, but I’d rather have a better picture to admire. Care to pose with your swords for me?”

“Do posed shots sell?”

Not as well as the action shots, but they were clearer and good in a pinch.

But Deadpool didn’t get to hear that insider information.

Instead, Peter shrugged with a small grin and Deadpool giggled.

“Oh, you are cute, baby boy.” Deadpool slapped his hands together and pointed at Peter with both hands when they separated. “No wonder Webs likes you!”

The total silence of Peter’s spider-sense told him that Deadpool did, too.

“What can I say? Spider-Man knows good work when he sees it,” Peter said, shamelessly giving himself the praise. He dared any other hero to pull off the self portraits he managed every day. “Don’t you want your picture taken by his favorite photographer? Or are you that shy?”

“There’s nothing shy about me, Mr. Photographer,” Deadpool said. He dropped to the ground when Peter took the next photo and rolled onto his stomach to strike a sexy pose. “But I can’t give the goods away for free! I know what I’m worth.”

“I don’t have the money to pay you,” Peter said. He lowered his camera away from his face enough to make it look like he was taking a break, but kept it at an angle where he could still see Deadpool in the preview screen. “But what if I had something else to offer for a great pose and a few free shots?”

“Like what?” Deadpool asked. He kicked his feet back and forth, staying in his pose. He cradled his head in his arms and laughed. “How easy do you think I am? I’m not cheap. You’re cute, but you’re not that cute.”

Peter swallowed his pride and played dirty: “I can get you a date with Spider-Man.”

Deadpool sat up on his elbows with a jump like a startled puppy. He sat up and stood, right in the center of Peter’s frame. Almost there. Peter could do this. Deadpool stared at the ground and held a hand up.

“A date with Spider-Man? Spidey. The Spidey himself?”

“Yup,” Peter said. He moved his hands as slowly as possible to make sure Deadpool was in the center, keeping the camera near his chest. “He owes me a favor for burning a few old photos that were less than flattering.”

“I won’t lie,” Deadpool said. He took a step closer, putting himself in a better position in the frame. Peter’s finger itched to move, but he couldn’t get greedy. If he moved too fast, so would Deadpool. “That is one tempting offer. You’re not playing fair, Mr. Photographer.”

“I want that picture,” Peter said. “It’s worth hearing Spider-Man complain about a night with you for the next few months to get it.”

Deadpool took a step closer.

His shoulders straightened and his head tilted back in a menacing fashion that was too good to pass up.

Peter slammed his finger down on the shutter button and the flash filled the alley.

He looked at the screen instead of at the mercenary and barked out a laugh as he threw his head back and dropped his hands.

No Deadpool.

“How did you do that?” Peter asked, pulling up the camera. He had a beautiful shot of an empty alley way and Deadpool breathing on the back of his neck. “Is super speed one of your powers?”

“Nope, I’m just good like that!” Deadpool said. He slammed his hands on Peter’s shoulder, gripping hard enough that if Peter was a normal person he supposed it’d be rather painful. “And you’re sneakier than I gave you credit for.”

Peter faked a wince and forced himself to tremble in fake fear as the mercenary loomed over his back. His spider-sense remained quiet, giving away Deadpool’s bluff. Peter bent his knees and curled in as the pressure continued.

“I don’t know what’s worse, Mr. Photographer,” Deadpool said, sending a genuine shiver down Peter’s spine as he whispered in Peter’s ear. “That you tried to bribe me with Spider-Man or that the bribe was a lie to distract me with thoughts of dating Spidey to get the shot.”

“Can’t it be both?”

“The offer is tempting,” Deadpool said. He patted Peter’s shoulders twice, nearly knocking him off with the strength of it. “But I’ll pass. I don’t need you to woo Webs and you just lost your brownie points.”

Peter took a picture over his shoulder without looking.

He got another shot of Deadpool flipping him off, but in better light.

“This was fun, but I’m late for a job!” Deadpool said. He kicked Peter in the back and sprinted down the alley. “Good luck, next time, Mr. Photographer!”

Peter cursed and ran after him and rounded the corner, but Deadpool was nowhere to be seen.

He gritted his teeth and let his camera hang loose around his neck on its strap. Day five looked like another bust.

But he still had night five and it was time to pull out the big guns.

“If Deadpool wants a date with Spider-Man,” Peter grumbled under his breath. He turned and headed back toward home to swap out his gear and clothes for something more form fitting. “He’ll get a date with Spider-Man.”

Chapter Text

“I’m surprised to still see you in the city.”

Is that?

COULD IT BE?

“Spidey!” Wade shouted. He threw his arms up and out in a “I will catch you if you jump to hug me” formation. The arachnid stayed put on the wall with his arms crossed and did not take Wade’s carefully planned hug-bait. “Did you come to see me?”

“Maybe,” Spidey said, confirming that he did indeed come to see Wade. Yay for us! Webs walked over and put his hands on his hips. “You don’t normally stick around after a hit in my town, so I wondered what was up.”

Right.

We killed a guy in Spidey’s town.

He didn’t appreciate that sort of thing.

Oops.

“Well, the thing is I ran into someone,” Wade said. Tell the truth. Spidey will be too amused to focus on our last job. Good plan. We’ll go with it. Go! Wade clapped his hands together. “You know him, actually.”

“Parker.” Webs said, tilting his head down. The man crossed his arms, keeping his shoulders back and head to the side. “He’s mentioned.”

I bet he saw the picture, too.

That was a great shot of the poor, shocked kid!

“Yes!” Wade clapped his hands together. “What are the odds I’d meet your photographer at a hit?”

We weren’t going to bring up the job!

Right.

Too late, now.

Keep talking.

“He’s a persistent guy,” Wade said. Spider-Man continued watching him through the mask with what Wade was sure was a “I’m disappointed in you, young man” frown. Wade shuffled his foot. “Did he uh, tell you about the photo thing?”

“Yes,” Spider-Man said. He dropped his arms and walked closer. He poked Wade in the chest. “And you’ve had your fun. Let him take the photo and get out of town for a while. You’re making the city nervous.”

Ouch.

Webs is kinda ticked about the killing a person thing.

Maybe more than Wade had thought.

His insides deflated. Disappointing Spider-Man never felt good in Wade’s gut. Out of all the Heroes in the world, he was one of the only ones that could twist the last remaining line of thread of guilt in his chest.

Wade shouldn’t have taken a job in New York—Maybe he should get out of town as soon as possible.

But we can’t just let the photographer win!

What he said.

They had a point.

And Wade wasn’t done playing with Mr. Photographer either!

“Aw, but he’s having fun with it, too!” Wade threw his arms out and did a spin. “Do you really want to take away the accomplishment from him? He’s working so hard to get that shot—it’d be cheap to just give it to him.”

“Wade,” Spidey said, his voice taking a sterner tone. He tapped his arm with his finger and shifted—a guilty shift.

Wait.

The gears turned and Wade threw his finger out, pointing it straight at Spidey’s guilty, guilty face.

“Did Parker ask you to help him out?” Wade asked. Webs jerked back—Got him! Wade grinned behind the mask and stalked closer as Spider-Man’s face tilted away to face the ground. “I knew it! Parker’s using you to try and win that photo! I knew he was sneaky!”

Spider-Man rubbed the back of his head.

He is so caught.

We caught them mid conspiracy!

“You know I’m right.” Wade crossed his arms and held his own head high. “You don’t care that I’m in town—you want to help your bro without me knowing. Tell me I’m wrong. I dare you.”

Spidey sighed, his entire body dropping in what Wade could only assume was shame.

Frustration is the likelier cause.

Shhh, we’re pretending Webs feels bad for picking Mr. Photographer over us.

Right!

Wade continued his proud pose, waiting for the hero to answer.

“Peter may have been vocal about his plight,” Spidey said, slow and careful. He weighed his words and piqued Wade’s attention further. What was Webs’ relationship with the guy? Spidey cleared his throat. “I figured if he got his picture, he’d leave the subject alone.”

“Parker was annoying you, huh?” Wade asked. He strolled over and threw an arm around Spidey’s shoulder, giving him a friendly shake as he tugged the man into a side hug. “Poor Spidey. You need better friends.”

“My friends are fine,” Spidey said. He didn’t move away, but he did tense. “The part about you making people uncomfortable was also true, though. Your hits don’t always make the front page of the gossip column.”

Wade winced under his mask, biting his lip.

He keeps bringing us back around to that!

We did scare the shit out of Parker and cover him in blood.

Not that it mattered since Mr. Photographer decided to turn right around and chase after Wade with near zero-fear afterwards—so the guy wasn’t too traumatized over the ordeal.

Spidey could be madder about it than Parker was. Friends can be more protective!

Point.

You might want to pay attention. Webs is still talking.

“…I can’t tell you what to do with your life,” Spidey said. Wade drew himself back into the conversation and listened to his hero’s words. “But if you do another job in the middle of a public, crowded area again, I can’t let you stay in the city.”

“That is fair and I hear you loud and clear,” Wade said, glad he heard the most important part of the conversation. That was close. But they would have agreed to whatever he said anyway. Even if we had to figure out later what we agreed to. Wade patted Spidey on the back twice. “No more work in the city! I’ll drag my marks outside the limits if I have to from now on.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t have any marks at all, but I’ll take what I can get,” Spidey said. He picked up Wade’s arm and removed it from his person, stepping a foot away and dropping it. He pointed at Wade’s chest and said. “Give Parker his photo so he’ll stop bothering me.”

“Now that,” Wade said, “I can’t do.”

“Why not?”

“Because while I’m sorry Mr. Photographer is whining to you with his woes, I told him he had to work for that shot, so work for it he shall.” Wade motioned at Spider-Man, starting with his head and going down to his feet in a quick swipe. “Getting your help is clearly cheating.”

“Or he’s using the resources available to him.”

“He tried to bribe me with you,” Wade said, licking his lip. “Did he tell you that part? He promised me a date with you for a photo.”

“And you didn’t take it? Now that’s surprising.”

The laughter in Spider-Man’s voice caught Wade off guard.

Wait.

Parker wasn’t serious was he? Did he have the sway to get Wade a date with Spider-Man? A real one?

We may have made a mistake.

“Come on, Spidey. Parker was all talk, wasn’t he? It’s not like he actually could have set up a date between us.” Spider-Man shrugged and his grin was wide beneath the mask. Wade’s voice cracked. “Would you have done it if he asked?”

“I guess you’ll have to give him his picture and find out,” Spidey said. He turned his head toward a clock on a building and snapped his finger. “Would you look at the time? I’ve got a patrol to finish and you’ve got some thinking to do.”

Wait.

Wait.

“Wait! Spidey!” Wade called as the hero laughed and shot a string of webbing to a taller building. He flew away on his handmade swing and disappeared between the buildings, far away from the man on the roof. “Was Parker serious!”

What if he was?

Do you think Parker annoys Spider-Man enough that he’d go out with us to make it stop?

“But if we give in, then the photographer wins!”

And we get a date with Spider-Man.

Wade sat on the roof.

He’d told Parker that he didn’t need the photographer’s help to get a date with Spider-Man, but now that Spider-Man was aware of the bet, he might say “No” just to spite Wade and side with his buddy.

“Game on, Mr. Photographer,” Wade said. He stood and smacked a fist into his other palm. “You think you’ve got checkmate, but it’s only check. I’m still in this.”

Nice metaphor.

“Quiet,” Wade said. He ran to the edge of the roof and jumped over it, landing on a lower ledge. He continued to drop until he hit the alley floor. He cracked his neck and headed toward a certain photographer’s apartment. “I’ve got a plan.”


He’s not home.

Good for us!

Wade picked the window lock and slipped inside the small, old apartment. He stepped carefully over the chemistry set on the floor, with scattered beakers and chemicals left out. He whistled at the mess before he spotted the stack of textbooks on the desk listing some advanced science subjects.

“Smart guy,” Wade said. He walked past the other signs that Parker was a college student and went for the true goal: The photography supplies. Wade stopped at the desk and snorted. “Is that my ass?”

That is totally our ass.

He threw darts in it.

“That’s adorable,” Wade said. He pulled the darts out and rearranged them into a smily face under the photograph. Wade, proud of his work, whistled as he tugged over the aged laptop and flipped the screen up. “He got closer than I thought with some of these.”

Parker managed to take snapshots of his swords and hands a few times—more than Wade had wanted him to.

We only gave him the ass shot.

He got the rest on his own.

That took some serious skill—no wonder the guy could keep up with Spidey. Who knew what humiliating or blackmail photos he had in stock to keep the hero in line.

Maybe that’s how he was going to negotiate the date.

“We better up our game,” Wade said. He rubbed his hands together and helped himself to a seat in the chair, scooting forward enough that Bea and Arthur had room. “Now let’s see what Parker has we can use. If he’s going to play dirty and use Spidey, we can get our hands messy, too.”

Heh.

“Yeah, I walked into that one.” Wade cracked his knuckles and opened the folders of pictures one at a time. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Parker.”

Chapter Text

Peter stopped dead on the window sill, hand on the wall outside his apartment. Deadpool sat at Peter’s desk, using Peter’s laptop. The mercenary hunched over the keyboard, pecking at the keys and scrolling, oblivious to the company at the window. Peter felt torn that he was both terrified for the sake of his secret identity and wishing he had his camera while the mercenary was distracted.

“Deadpool breaks into photographer’s apartment!” would have been a great headline for Jameson.

He might even tell Peter “Good job.”

But the bigger question—what on Peter’s laptop had Deadpool so distracted he missed Spider-Man landing on Peter Parker’s window?

“Only one way to find out,” Peter said under his breath. He opened the window and shouted, “Deadpool!”

The mercenary jumped and slammed the laptop lid closed. He spun to the side and yelled, “Spidey!”

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, slipping in through the window. He made sure to keep his eyes on Deadpool and to not look around his own home for anything he could have left out that would give him away. If he looked, he might draw Deadpool’s attention to it. He stepped close to Deadpool and crossed his arms. “This is Parker’s place.”

“So it is,” Deadpool said. He held up a finger and paused for a full minute. The man shook his head and continued. “You can’t get mad.”

“And why is that?”

“Look! If Parker’s going to play dirty dragging you into the situation, I should be able to play dirty and look for things to give me a leg up!” Deadpool put his hand on his chest and pointed at the laptop. “Plus, he hinted he had blackmail photos on you. He said he burned them, but do we really know he did that? We should be in this together to take down Mr. Photographer!”

Peter looked at his laptop and crossed his arms. “Did you find any?”

“Yes!” Deadpool shouted, squeeing. He threw himself back into Peter’s chair and popped open the laptop again. Deadpool scrolled through the gallery until he found the one he wanted. He enlarged it and pointed at the screen. “Look at that.”

The photo in question showed a dramatic shot of Doc Oc’s tentacles choking Peter. It’d been one of his closer calls and Peter still remembered the feel of metal ripping through his mask. Peter had hit the camera button in his suit while attempting to get free and taken the unflattering shot of getting his ass kicked after the Doc got a lucky break in the fight.

He’d almost sold it to Jameson one month when he was short on rent.

His boss would have paid triple.

But Peter had snagged a much better shot later of kicking Doc Oc in the face five minutes afterwards that he really wanted to see on the front page. So the strangle shot went into storage and the hero pose made it to the cover. He kept a copy of that issue of the Bugle in his scrapbook.

Deadpool continued to point at the image with a “See? See?” expression that proved his assumptions correct.

“That’s not blackmail,” Peter said, getting his head back into the game. He reached over the bulky man and clicked the image off the screen. He scrolled until he found the photo that was sold. “He submitted that one.”

“But he didn’t delete the embarrassing one!”

“Deadpool, most people know I get thrown around during fights.” Peter closed the laptop before Deadpool could keep scrolling further and find a legitimately embarrassing shot. “Parker doesn’t have blackmail against me and he doesn’t want blackmail against you. He wants a photo to give the Bugle to appease his boss.”

“You are awfully defensive of this guy,” Deadpool said. He drummed his fingers on the table and his mask eyes narrowed. He stood and slammed his hand on his thigh. “Wait. Why are you even here? You said you were going on patrol!”

“Maybe my patrol route involves saying hello to my friend when I pass,” Peter said. He poked Deadpool in the chest. “So the one who shouldn’t be here is you.”

“I don’t believe you.” Deadpool put his hands on his hips. He lowered his voice, and asked in a menacing tone. “Why are you really here?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” Peter said, putting force behind his own voice. It was his apartment. His place. And Deadpool was the trespasser. “You’re breaking and entering in someone else’s home. That makes it my job to drag you out.”

“You’re still defensive,” Deadpool said. He walked around Peter, his gear clicking and rattling with every step. He knocked over a stack of papers on the floor as he got into Peter’s face. “Why?”

“I’m not defensive,” Peter said. He held his ground, refusing to budge as the larger man loomed. “I’m angry you’re in Parker’s place, rooting through his things. What if he’d been home, Wade?”

Deadpool stopped.

He paused, his eyes widening in the mask.

“If you knew he wasn’t home, why’d you stop by to say hello?” Deadpool leaned closer, nose to nose with Peter. “Things aren’t adding up here.”

“I didn’t know he wasn’t home,” Peter lied. He huffed and resisted the urge to lean back. He could feel Deadpool’s breath through the mask across his face. “I stopped by to see if he was here.”

“Now I really don’t believe you,” Deadpool said. He shook his finger back and forth and finally moved away. He looked around the small apartment, scrutinizing it in a way that Peter needed to stop. “You sure you two are just friends?”

“Yes,” Peter said. Or as well as you could be a friend to yourself. “We’re friends. That’s it. Unless you’re planning on posing for him when he gets home, you need to leave.”

“You ever do that?” Deadpool asked, walking closer to the wall. He looked at a framed copy of the Bugle that held the first photo Peter had ever sold to them. He’d had to get the back issue from a store room after the fact, but it was close enough. “Pose for his camera outside of the hero gig?”

“Stop changing the subject and get out.”

Peter would stand firm.

Deadpool matched him.

“You’re the one changing the subject.” Deadpool stepped away from the wall and strolled around the apartment. He picked up one of Peter’s chemistry textbooks and flipped through the pages. “I bet you have posed for the guy in private, huh?”

“Wade.”

“No, no, I’m onto you!” Wade said. He slammed the book closed and put it on the counter. “You’re hiding something and it has to do with our mutual friend, Mr. Photographer.”

“You need to leave, Wade.”

“As much as I love hearing you say my name,” Deadpool said, wandering into Peter’s kitchen. “It’s not going to work. I’m on a mission, now.”

Did Peter have anything incriminating in his kitchen?

He kept his paces even, doing his best to hide the slight panic growing under his skin as Deadpool searched the apartment. Peter did his best to keep his Spider gear out of sight, but he had been careless recently with all his focus dedicated on getting a picture of Deadpool.

Peter saw his spare camera on the desk.

There was a thought.

He snatched the device as he walked by the desk while Deadpool opened his cabinets. Peter ignored the comment about them being empty and checked the memory card had space before he turned on the camera.

Deadpool played right into his plan as the man walked into frame, opening the fridge door and leaning on it as he rummaged inside.

“Is it just me, or is Parker light on groceries?” Deadpool asked, shaking his ass in the camera’s face. As much as he’d like another ass photo for darts, Peter needed a sellable shot. Deadpool pulled out a bottle of juice and shook it, sloshing the bottom contents. “I mean, the guy’s not starving but this pantry isn’t exactly stocked either.”

Peter clicked the shutter when Deadpool turned to face him, one hand on the fridge door and the other holding the juice.

A perfect shot.

“Webs!” Deadpool shouted, voice aghast. He slammed the juice on the counter. “Did you just take a photo?”

“Yup,” Peter said, licking his lip under the mask. He checked the photo on the preview screen and grinned stepping back. “And if you don’t leave this apartment, Peter Parker is also going to have an amazing shot of you raiding his fridge to sell to the Bugle.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” Deadpool asked. He stormed out of the kitchen heading toward Peter, but he wasn’t fast enough. Peter jumped onto the ceiling and hopped around him to the other corner. Deadpool made a swipe for him but missed. “Give that back!”

“No can do!” Peter said. He shoved the camera under his suit top on his back to free his hands and jumped onto the ceiling. Peter needed to dust his fan—back on track! “One last chance, Wade. Either you leave right now and promise not to bother Parker in his home, or I will give him the photo he wanted.”

“But that’s cheating!” Deadpool whined. “Why do you want him to win the bet so—no.”

“No?”

“You two are sleeping together!” Deadpool shouted. He grabbed both cheeks in his hands and gasped. “That’s why you’re so defensive! That’s why you two are so buddy-buddy! And that’s why he has embarrassing photos of you that you don’t mind him having! You’re a thing!”

Peter smacked his hand on his forehead and felt the groan build in his chest.

How many people in his lifetime were going to accuse him of sleeping with himself just because Peter Parker got photos of Spider-Man?

“Wade, I’m not sleeping with Peter Parker.”

“Lies!” Deadpool shouted. He pointed at the ceiling and laughed. “I have figured you out! I bet you totally knew he wasn’t home and were planning to surprise him or something equally romantic. Like, spread yourself out on his bed waiting to be ravished when he walks in the door.”

“No.”

“Oh man, I bet he takes photos,” Deadpool said. He looked back at the laptop. “Does he take photos? Has he recorded you two having sex? He’s a photographer. That’s a thing they do right?”

“Wade!” Peter shouted. He dropped to the floor and grabbed the mercenary by the arm, dragging him to the window. “You are reading far too much into this. Get out of Parker’s apartment. I don’t want you here when he comes home!”

“Oh, are you jealous?” Deadpool asked, digging his heels into the carpet. Peter was tempted to use his super strength but held off. If he pushed too hard, he’d break his window and the landlord would not be happy about that. Deadpool giggled and clapped his hands together. “He does have a photo of my ass pinned to the wall. Maybe he secretly wants to upgrade from Hero to Bad Boy Mercenary and the only push he needs to convert is finding said Bad Boy draped over his sheets.”

“You shot someone in the head next to him. He was covered in blood.” Peter reached around Wade and shoved the window open. “Parker doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“That’s a jealous declaration if I’ve ever heard one.” Deadpool spun around and grabbed Peter by the shoulders. “But it’s okay, Spidey. I’m totally open to a threesome.”

“Wade! No!”

Peter made the worst mistake: He let Deadpool’s talk get to him.

His moment of panic (and active imagination picturing himself, Spider-Man, and Deadpool trying to fit on his crappy, small mattress) gave Deadpool opportunity.

“Got it!” Deadpool exclaimed, yanking the camera out of Peter’s suit. He dove out of the window, cradling the camera to his chest. “Tell Parker if he wants a photo, he has to take it himself!”

“Wade!” Peter shouted out the window. “That’s Parker’s camera!”

It was his only spare camera and he didn’t know what else was on the card!

“I’ll give it back to him later!” Deadpool shouted. He waved and dropped off the roof on the other side. “Have fun blowing your boyfriend!”

Peter should have slung himself out the window and hunted down Deadpool to get his camera back.

He shouldn’t have made the rookie mistake of getting close to such an unpredictable foe.

He should have kept his cool to better his argument that Peter Parker wasn’t his boyfriend.

Instead, Peter slammed his window shut and made sure to shut the curtains before yanking off his mask and taking a shower. It was Deadpool’s win, but Peter had time to regroup. To plan.

To make sure Jameson had the most embarrassing photograph of Deadpool he could get to run on the front page of the Bugle.

Chapter Text

A pretty blond dominated the photos in the camera’s storage.

Once Wade scrolled past the shot of himself raiding Parker’s fridge, he met a pair of gorgeous eyes, a sexy face, and perfect hair. We used to be that pretty once. He moved to the next shot and saw the same face. Wade had seen that beautiful smile somewhere before. Wade shifted in his seat and kept scrolling through photo after photo of the same smiling blond.

Candid shots. Framed shots. Posed shots.

The mix of photos ranged from shots where the blond clearly knew he was on camera, and others where it wasn’t so clear. They were from a distance. Fond. Taken with the care of someone who wanted to make the subject look good.

Interesting. Maybe we’re not the only ones that Parker is stalking.

Stalking or not, Parker had an entire storage card full of photographs of a pretty face and one shot of Wade raiding a fridge.

“Where do I know that face?” Wade said. He put the camera on the table in his apartment and stood up. He paced the room twice before sitting down again and pulling up the photos. He pointed at the camera screen and growled under his breath. “I know him.”

Look him up.

The technology exists.

Wade printed one of the photos and walked outside his apartment. He stopped the first person he saw on the sidewalk and pointed at the print. “Do you know this person?”

Or you could do that.

“That’s Johnny Storm,” the person said, their voice shaking as Wade held their arm. They swallowed and blurted, “The Human Torch.”

A Hero! No wonder he looked familiar.

“Thank you!”

Wade let go of the random citizen and they sprinted in the other direction. He folded the photo in half and stuck it in the back of his suit belt. Wade continued his walk down the street with the name of the person Parker stalked.

Didn’t we just confirm Parker and Spidey are a thing?

What’s he doing with all those photos of another Hero?

Wade turned the corner, running his finger along the wall as he went. That many shots of a single person showed interest. But was it obsession or just fascination? Wade had familiarity with both, but how much experience did Parker have?

A lot considering how many years he’s been following Spider-Man.

That does require dedication. He started in high school, right?

Their romance was almost cute if Wade put his jealousy aside long enough to appreciate it. Parker and Spider-Man had each other’s backs and Wade could only predict what they acted like in each other’s company.

So why the photos of the Torch?

Was he looking for a new Hero to follow?

Go back to the apartment.

Why?

Check the dates on the photos.

Wade ran back to his apartment and grabbed the camera. He admired the well framed shot of himself in front of the fridge—Spider-Man’s got talent—before going to the next picture. He pulled up the information on the photo and stared at the date.

Four months earlier than our own shot.

He flipped through the next six and saw the same date, but then on the next photograph, the date was much earlier. At least eight photos were in that set. Wade kept scrolling and discovered at least eight photoshoots.

Busy boy.

That’s been going on for a while.

He turned the camera off and set it on the table. First thought: Parker wanted a back up in case his thing with Spider-Man didn’t work out.

Then why are they all photos of the man out of the costume.

Those are intimate shots.

Close ups.

Poses.

Pretty boy is flirting with the camera.

No. Wade licked his lips and swallowed. Pretty boy and Hero Johnny Storm was flirting with the man behind the camera: Parker. Wade slammed his hands on the table. It was all so clear.

The camera had all the evidence Wade needed.

“Peter Parker is cheating on Webs.”


“You have a lot of nerve!” Wade said, throwing open Parker’s window. Mr. Photographer shot up in bed, staring at Wade as he climbed inside. “And to think I thought your blackmail photography was the worst of your sins!”

Parker clutched at his blankets, eyes wide.

That’s right. We’ve got him caught red handed!

Wade stepped over the open textbook on the ground and stood over the bed. He dug the camera out of a faithful pouch and pointed at the most incriminating photo: Johnny Storm without a shirt.

“Do you want to explain this?”

Parker didn’t say anything. He stared at the camera screen and reached for the small device, but Wade yanked it out of reach.

“No, no, no! No chances to delete the evidence!” Wade shoved Parker’s head away, putting his palm across the other man’s forehead. “I may need it to show Webs.”

“Spider-Man,” Parker said. He looked at the camera and back to Wade. “Why would you want to show Spider-Man my photos—wait! Why do you have my camera?”

“Because he should know that you’re cheating!” Wade shouted. He flipped through the photos showing off each and every shot of that smiling, cheating pretty boy. Wade had seen all of them and knew the best ones. “You shouldn’t keep photographic evidence of your affairs. It gets you caught!”

Parker stared at the photo again. “Affair?”

“Do you have any other explanations for an entire camera full of photos of this man?”

“Johnny Storm hires me to take photos of him from time to time,” Parker said. He snatched the camera out of Wade’s hand with a quick swipe of his hand. He’s fast. Parker looked through the photos and stopped on one of Storm before pointing the screen at Wade. “The man loves himself.”

“He’s a famous hero with access to the best press available.” Wade crossed his arms. “Why’d he hire you?”

“Spider-Man recommended me,” Parker said. He turned off the camera and crossed his arms, clutching the device to his hand. “The Human Torch and Spider-Man are best friends and I take Spider-Man’s photos.”

“That’s all?”

“That is all,” Parker said. He glared at Wade and pulled the covers higher to his chest. Aw, he’s shy. Parker cleared his throat and glared at Wade. “Though there is one thing I am still wondering about.”

“What?”

“You didn’t answer my earlier question. Why do you have my camera?” Parker asked. “It was here in my room.”

Webs didn’t tell him we were here.

Oh, we might have gotten Webs in trouble.

“I was raiding your place for your blackmail photos,” Wade said. Stick to the truth and leave Webs out of it. “I saw the camera on your desk.”

“And you took it.”

“Yes.”

Parker covered his eyes with his hand and pulled his knees up under the bed. “Why?”

“To make sure you didn’t get a photo of me?”

“If I took a photo of you it’d be on the front page of Bugle,” Parker said. He covered his face with his hands and sighed into them. “I am not having an affair with Johnny Storm. You got the information you wanted, so unless you plan on posing for a shot, please leave.”

He sounds exhausted.

Wade did accuse him of cheating on Spider-Man. Someone he’d probably be in a relationship for years.

And who could blame him? Webs was amazing.

Maybe we jumped to conclusions.

“I’ll just be out of your hair now.” Wade backed up toward the window. He climbed back out and sat on the window. “Uh, say hi to Webs for me when you see him next!”

Wade jumped out of the window and returned to the street. He tilted his head to the sky and threw his hands out as he walked home.

Well, that could have been more awkward.

At least Parker didn’t deny that he was seeing Spider-Man. Again, who would blame him? Spider-Man was a top-tier catch. Wade scratched the back of his head. So why did Webs deny the relationship?

Maybe Webs was the insecure one since Parker was getting offers from other heroes to take their photos. If he even knew Parker was hired to take those photos. Wade growled and rubbed the back of his head.

Things were getting too complicated.

Why did he even care about Mr. Photographer’s love life?

Because he’s dating Webs.

And he’s cute.

Wade groaned and entered into his own apartment, slamming the door behind him. “Unless Webs agrees to a threesome, it doesn’t matter how cute he is.”

At least we’ll get to appreciate his good looks for a while.

He was tired when we left, but he’ll be back to trying to get our photo in the morning.

Wade grinned as he collapsed into bed. It was a good thing that he misjudged Parker’s character, because he would hate to have to put an end to their game—Wade jumped out of bed and grabbed the back of his head.

“I forgot to delete my photo!”

Chapter Text

“I owe Johnny free headshots for a year,” Peter said, grinning at the perfect shot of Deadpool standing in front of his open fridge. “His ego just saved me.”

He’d completely forgotten he had used his spare camera for the last “Johnny Storm photo session” and it paid off in his favor.

“Cheating on Spider-Man with Johnny Storm,” Peter huffed. “As if.”

Johnny would have killed Peter for cheating on his significant other. That guy took romance surprisingly serious—Peter huffed and rubbed between his eyes. Peter couldn’t cheat on Spider-Man because he couldn’t date himself.

“Deadpool’s been hanging around too much.”

He didn’t have time to ponder self-dating when he had a picture to email to the Bugle.

Peter yanked on a pair of proper pajama pants over his costume pants and sat at his desk. He popped the card out of the camera and stuck it into the card reader, grinning wide as his software copied the photos off the card and imported them into his gallery.

The glorious shot of Deadpool’s wide mask eyes stared back at him and Peter cropped the photo just enough to make sure anything personal was out of frame.

“Jameson is never going to run this,” Peter said, cracking his knuckles as he opened his official Bugle email account. It was too casual and not eye catching enough for a front page. If it’d been Spider-Man, Jameson may have considered it, but Deadpool? Peter shrugged. It didn’t matter what Jameson did with the photo. “It’ll be satisfying to send it anyway.”

It might even be better to tell Deadpool “Sorry! Your photo was rejected. I guess you aren’t front page worthy.”

Peter attached the cropped photo and waved at his computer screen as he clicked “Send” and the photo went on its merry way to Robbie’s inbox to approve before sticking it on Jameson’s desk.

He threw his arms over the back of his chair and crossed his legs under the desk at the ankle.

Deadpool crashed into his window a minute later and Peter grabbed his chair, glad he’d put his pajama pants on over his costume.

“I need that camera back!” Deadpool shouted. He pointed across the room at Peter and froze seeing the laptop on. His finger trailed over to the camera on its side and the card reader with the small blinking indicator light. Deadpool whipped his head to the computer, zeroing in on the open email program. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” Peter picked up a dart and threw it at the photo of Deadpool’s ass on the wall. He couldn’t help grinning at the man’s poor timing. He was just a few minutes too short and Peter couldn’t help but mess with him. “I don’t know why you chose to take a timed selfie in my kitchen in front of the fridge, but I appreciate it. Very artistic.”

“I didn’t take that photo! Webs did!” Deadpool shouted. He crawled through the window and collapsed on the floor, twisting as he pulled his legs through. Deadpool marched to Peter’s computer and slammed his hands on the desk. “You just took credit for Webs’ photo!”

Peter pressed his lips together and shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll be cool with it.”

“That photo doesn’t count.” Deadpool pointed at the screen. “It’s cheating.”

“I needed a photo of you to give to the Bugle and I got one,” Peter said. “I win.”

Deadpool grabbed Peter by the arms and yanked him out of the chair. He knocked Peter into the desk holding him up and getting in his face.

“That photo does not count. Webs took it, not you.”

“Put me down,” Peter said. He gritted his teeth together and didn’t have to fake the pain. Deadpool’s grip would have broken a regular man’s arm. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

“Get that photo back.”

“You’re the one that forgot it on the camera,” Peter shot back. He wriggled, but Deadpool only tightened his grip. “That’s your screw up, not mine.”

“But you didn’t take the photo!”

“Does that really matter?”

“Yes!”

Peter winced at Deadpool’s shout and turned his head away. He glared at his computer screen and wondered if he could get away with breaking free of Deadpool’s grip without suspicion—he saw a “New Message” indicator on his screen.

“The Bugle replied to my message with your photo,” Peter said. Robbie must have been working the night shift, or helping Jameson with a late night scoop. “Can I check that?”

Deadpool tossed Peter onto his bed and he hit it hard on his side. Peter grunted and rolled onto his stomach in time to watch Deadpool take a seat at his computer desk. The man leaned his elbow on the desk and clicked on the computer opening the email.

“Peter,” Deadpool read out loud. “Jameson loved the shot, but he refuses to title it anything other than ‘Spider-Man Breaks Into Apartment.’ I’m sorry, but at least you’ll get your regular commission. Thanks, again. Robbie.”

“I should have seen that coming,” Peter said, rolling onto his back. He pinched the top of his nose and sighed. As annoyed as he was, Peter smiled anyway. “Jameson never passes up a chance to make Spider-Man look bad.”

The man’s sheer dedication to hating Peter’s alter ego continued to be endearing in its own way.

Deadpool shut Peter’s laptop and stood, knocking his knuckles on the desk twice. “I’m going down to the Bugle to correct them.”

Peter pulled his hand away from his face and sat up. “That really isn’t necessary.”

“No, it is.” Deadpool tightened his gloves and stepped over a chemistry book to reach the window. “Spider-Man gets enough bad press when people mix us up. You’re right, you know? It was my mistake leaving the photo on the camera so it’s my mistake to fix it.”

“What are you going to do?” Peter threw himself off the bed and ran to the window, throwing himself between the exit and Deadpool. “Jameson’s stubborn and if you make a scene, he’ll upgrade that title to ‘Spider-Man attacks Bugle.’”

“Not if I shoot him!” Deadpool said with a sing-song voice. He pulled out his gun and waved it back and forth. “You would be amazed at how much a bullet to the knee makes people cooperate.”

“If you hurt anyone at the Bugle, Spider-Man will make you regret it,” Peter said, bracing his arms on the window siding. He took up the whole of the window with his chest. If Deadpool wanted to get through, he’d have to work for it. “Just let it go, Deadpool.”

“Maybe he’ll thank me for taking out a garbage paper that does nothing but insult him.” Deadpool leaned further into Peter’s face, shoulders broad. He wasn’t that much taller but his bulk made him feel huge. “And what sort of boyfriend continues to sell his lover’s photos to a rag like that?”

“If you think for even a minute he’ll thank you for hurting Jameson or anyone else at the Bugle, you don’t know Spider-Man as well as you think you do.”

Deadpool remained silent as he considered Peter’s reply.

“Fine,” Deadpool said. He stepped back and stood in the center of the room. “I won’t raid the Bugle.”

Peter relaxed and leaned on the window.

“Alone, anyway,” Deadpool said. He walked over to Peter’s dresser and opened it. He dragged out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a Fantastic Four logo on it. Deadpool frowned a the logo and shoved it back in the drawer, pulling out a red shirt instead. “Put those on.”

Deadpool threw the stack of clothes at Peter and clapped his hands together.

“We’ll compromise. You can be my chaperone to make sure I don’t cut anyone’s head off or shoot anyone in the knee at the Bugle while we correct this grievous error of mistaken identity!”

Peter clutched the clothes to his chest. “And if I don’t want to go? Maybe I want the photo to run. Maybe Spider-Man’ll get a laugh out of it.”

“I can’t allow his reputation to be sullied further by that tabloid,” Deadpool said. He pulled a sword out from the holster on his back and shoved the blade under Peter’s nose. “I am going to stop that photo from running in the paper. Whether I go alone and risk losing my temper resulting in someone dying or if I enter the building with a chaperone is your call.”

“Maybe I should call Spider-Ma—“

“No! Spider-Man shouldn’t have to be pulled from his busy schedule to deal with our petty mistake,” Deadpool said. “This is between me and you, Mr. Photographer.”

“I’ll get dressed,” Peter said, dropping his shoulders. He glared at Deadpool and waved his finger in a circle. “Turn around and don’t watch.”

Deadpool laughed, but turned around and covered his eyes with his hands. “Don’t worry! Your virtue is safe and Webs doesn’t have to worry about me ogling his boy-toy.”

“We aren’t dating,” Peter grumbled, pulling his costume pants off together with the pajama bottoms. He kept Deadpool in the corner of his eye to make sure the man didn’t cheat and sneak a look. “For the record.”

“Sure you’re not.”

Peter pulled on the change of clothes and slipped his camera and a data card into his pocket. If Jameson wasn’t happy with Deadpool raiding a fridge, maybe he’d appreciate a shot of Deadpool harassing the Bugle staff.

Chapter Text

Peter tried no less than twenty times to talk Deadpool out of going to the Bugle on their trip to the office. He was denied all twenty times, even when he brought “Spider-Man is going to be furious at you” into the mix.

“Webs’ll forgive me,” Deadpool had answered with a whistle. “He always does.”

“We’ll see about that,” Peter muttered under his breath. He rubbed between his eyes and followed Wade, ignoring the stares they received on the street. “How did I get into this mess?”

“Because your boss scares you more than I do,” Wade said. “I remember our first conversation.”

“Our first conversation was about you asking if I wanted to see you cut off a guy’s head,” Peter replied right back. “You’re thinking of the second one.”

Deadpool snickered and said, “Such fond memories we have!”

But then dropped the conversation and dragged Peter through the doors of the Bugle. The halls were dim with most of the staff gone for the evening. Deadpool shoved Peter into the lead to show him the way to “This scary boss of yours.”

Peter trudged through the hallways until they reached the elevator and pushed the button. There had to be a way out of this and keep Deadpool from meeting with Jameson or Robbie. He’d get away and then come back as Spider-Man and then stop all of the nonsense.

Deadpool slammed a hand down on Peter’s shoulder and gave him a thumbs up before putting his hadn’t on the gun near his hip.

So much for an exit plan or running around a corner.

Peter stabbed the elevator button and changed tactics. He’d apologize to Robbie for sending the wrong thing. Get it redacted and leave as fast as possible before Deadpool shot someone.

Two lights lit the main office floors and Peter cursed under his breath: Jameson was there, too.

Deadpool took that opportunity to sprint ahead and burst into the main office door with a shout of “Deadpool has arrived!”

Peter ran after him and slid into the doorway, in time to see Deadpool wave his gun around, stomping over to Robbie’s office. Both Robbie and Jameson were standing in their office doors, staring at Deadpool in the center wearing his bright red suit. Peter threw himself between Deadpool and his coworkers, sliding to a stop with his hands up.

“Hey guys! So uh, Deadpool wasn’t happy that I sent in that photo so we’re here to politely ask you to not print it,” Peter said as fast as possible. “Please.”

Wade dropped his gun arm and pouted with his entire body. “I was going to say that.”

“Parker, what’s going on?” Jameson asked, glancing between Deadpool and Peter. He looked ready to deck Deadpool on command with a fist at his side and Peter felt flattered he’d go that far. “Is he threatening you?”

“Yes,” was the correct answer, but Peter forced out a “No” for the sake of peace.

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Peter said. He put his hand on his chest and pointed back at Deadpool. Peter made sure to look Jameson in the eye and did his best to look calm and in control. “I took a photo of Deadpool without permission, and he wants it back. That’s all!”

“Stop lying!” Deadpool pointed at Peter and hissed. “You did not take that photo! Spider-Man took the shot and you stole it and claimed it as your own! Not only are they calming a photo of me is Spidey, but you’re taking credit for someone else’s work.”

Deadpool finished his vent by crossing his arms and glaring down at all of them.

Peter huffed.

“I am here to right wrongs,” Deadpool said. He dropped his pose and pointed his gun back at Jameson and Robbie. “I want that photo back.”

“Whatever you want,” Robbie said. He held his hands up and waved at Peter to come toward him. “Peter, come over here and we’ll work on deleting it from the system.”

Deadpool put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. His fingers squeezed painfully, contrasting his bright and chipper voice. “You can show us both!”

“We’ll delete the photo, but you’re getting out of this building,” Jameson said. He pointed and raised his voice. “And Parker’s staying here.”

“Is that the scary boss?” Wade mock-whispered, loud enough for Jameson to hear. “The one that wants the photo?”

“Wants a—” Jameson asked. “Did you ask him for a photo because of what I said?”

The older man looked guilty with wider eyes and a half-open mouth. Peter could hear the man shout “I want a perfect shot that’ll blow everyone away!” in his head, and he could almost see the same words on Jameson’s twisting face.

“I asked Deadpool if I could take his picture and tried to win him over with the ‘my boss’ll be mad’ angle!” Peter blurted. “This is my fault. It’s entirely on me.”

“Let’s not place blame,” Robbie said. He remained the biggest voice of reason in the room and kept calm despite the man in the red suit pointing a gun at him. “And explain everything from the beginning.”

“I’d be glad to!” Deadpool said, slamming a hand over Peter’s mouth and pulling him back. Peter could free himself, but that would give away his enhanced strength. He gave a performative struggle before stilling. Deadpool nodded in agreement and walked backwards until he found Betty’s desk. He took a seat and said, “It all started when I shot a man in the head and Mr. Photographer here caught me!”

Peter slumped against Wade and closed his eyes as the man started a tall tale about their “Adventures” together peppered with such wonderful details as “He has a picture of my ass on his wall” and “He keeps trying to hide that he’s having sex with Spider-Man.”

An hour later, Jameson had dropped the guilty look and traded it back for the urge to throw a punch at Wade’s face and Robbie looked annoyed.

“And that’s when he stole a photo, sent it to you, and I set forth to make things right!” Deadpool finished his declaration by standing and hopping off the desk, dragging Peter with him. “So if you’d be so kind as to delete it, I’ll be on my way!”

“Without Peter,” Robbie said. “Correct.”

“Oh, uh.” Deadpool looked at Peter and then back up to the other two. “Yeah. I mean, he’s not a hostage or anything.”

Peter snorted.

Deadpool finally let him go and put his gun back in his holster. He cleared his throat and said, “So uh. We have a deal right?”

“Yes,” Robbie said. At the same time, Jameson shouted “Get the hell out of my office.”

“As soon as I see the deleted file.”

Deadpool, stubborn as ever, pushed Peter into Robbie’s office and watched him type out the redacted memo to the press to pull the photo from print (thankfully it hadn’t gotten far). Jameson paced back and forth in the main office floor behind them, glaring at Wade’s back.

“It’s done,” Robbie said. “The photo’s gone, and Peter’s very sorry he stole…Spider-Man’s photo.”

“Yes,” Peter said. “I won’t do it again.”

“Great.” Deadpool slapped his hands together. “Glad that’s settled.”

He nodded twice before pulling his gun out one more time and shooting Robbie’s window, blowing out the glass. Robbie jumped from his desk and Jameson ran into the room to see the commotion.

“That’s for printing bad stories about the city’s greatest hero!” Deadpool shouted before he ran and jumped out of the broken glass and out into the city. “See you later, Mr. Photographer!”

Peter stood in the middle of the office, staring at the broken glass. Robbie and Jameson crowded him, shaking him to get his attention, but he was too relieved to move.

Deadpool hadn’t shot anyone.

The building was still mostly in tact.

And Peter snapped a photo of Deadpool shooting out the glass when no one was looking that he was more than happy to show Jameson.

Chapter Text

“Notorious Mercenary Deadpool Attacks Bugle Main Office!”

An absolutely gorgeous photo of Deadpool shooting took up the entire space above the fold on the latest issue of the Bugle. We look like an action hero! If you ignored the framing that made him look like a terrifying villain harassing the staff.

The flash of his gun muzzle had been captured at the perfect time, showing off the smoke and light along with the frightened Bugle Staff member in the corner covering his head.

It’s a good shot.

Parker is really, really good.

No wonder Spidey’s sucking his cock.

“He actually got the perfect shot,” Wade said, voice in awe. Wade ripped a copy of the Bugle from the stand and held it in his hand. “Look at it.”

In his attempts to get Webs’ photo back, Wade had let his guard down and forgotten about the competition between him and Parker over the photo—but not Mr. Photographer. He’d stuck to the plan and taken a perfect shot of Wade for the Bugle, just like he wanted.

That’s hot.

Us, Mr. Photographer’s photo, or the fact Parker took the photo?

All of the above.

Wade swallowed and crinkled the paper as his grip tightened. Mr. Photographer got his shot. Their game was over. Wade had no reason to go see him or taunt him about his inability to keep up. The little brat got one over on Wade and now things were over.

They don’t have to be.

We can still go see him.

Congratulate him by sucking his dick!

We can do it better than Spidey I bet.

Wade was not going to seduce Spider-Man’s boyfriend. He had standards. No matter how cute Mr. Photographer was. Or how smart. Or how he kept his cool when being threatened by Deadpool. Being around Spider-Man all the time would raise his tolerance for costumed folks. Wade swallowed. Webs had to have a good thing going with Parker.

He didn’t want to ruin that.

You know.

What?

Peter Parker did keep repeating that he and Spider-Man weren’t a thing.

Spider-Man said it, too.

We mostly just thought it was hot thinking about Spider-Man and Parker having sex.

Wade lowered the paper and stared out onto into the busy street. People walked around him with a wide margin and he bit his lip behind his mask.

Mr. Photographer might actually be single.

He does have our ass pinned to his wall.

Even if it’s for darts, he’s still staring at it every day.

Which meant he must like Wade’s ass.

I bet he’d like to touch it.

Wade folded the Bugle and threw a handful of cash on the newsstand to pay for it. He didn’t want the game to be over. Wade wanted to keep teasing Peter Parker. He wanted to congratulate him on getting a fantastic photograph that made Wade look good.

Maybe we can pay him for an actual photo session like what he did for The Torch.

A naked photo session!

Wade broke into a run.

He didn’t stop running until he made it to Parker’s apartment building. He scaled the fire escape and threw himself into the room, making sure to roll as he entered. Wade landed in the center of the room and looked for his target.

There! In the kitchen!

“Deadpool?” Parker asked around a bite of cereal. He pulled the spoon out of his mouth and pointed it at Wade, taking a defensive stance. “If you’re mad about the photo, that’s fine, but you better know that if you do anything about it Spider-Man will kick your ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, you two are buddies and he’s overprotective.” Wade waved his hand back and forth. “That’s not what I’m here about.”

Parker narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “It’s not?”

He’s even cute when he’s suspicious.

“Two questions,” Wade said. “What are your rates for a photoshoot?”

“A photoshoot?”

“Like what you did for Storm.” Wade held up the Bugle and pointed at the photo. “I have never looked this good. In anything. I need glamor shots for merchandise and you’re the man for the job.”

“Oh,” Parker said. He dropped the spoon in his cereal bowl and set it on the counter. “I don’t have official rates but I can come up with something.”

“Perfect!” Wade said, clapping his hands together. When Parker’s shoulders dropped and he looked relaxed, Wade struck and entered the kitchen. Parker had on an adorable pair of pajamas with spiderwebs that he wanted to strip off. He put his hands on either side of the counter, blocking the man between his arms. Parker held his breath and Wade put on his best seduction voice. “Second question.”

“What?”

“I am asking in dead seriousness and I want a real answer,” Wade said, flexing the muscles in his arms. “Are you and Spider-Man an item or not?”

Parker narrowed his eyes and huffed. “I have told you multiple times that Spider-Man and I are just friends. We aren’t dating and we aren’t sleeping together.”

Perfect.

But double check just in case.

“So you’re single?” Wade asked, lifting an arm to rub behind his head. He casually flexed once more and tracked Parker’s eyes to make sure they were glued on his bicep. “Is that right?”

“Yes?” Parker’s eyes went back to studying Wade’s face. “What about it?”

“You’re super cute and now that I know there’ll be no cheating shenanigans involved, I want to ask you to dinner,” Wade said. He leaned on his elbow, giving Parker more breathing room for a decision while still posing as sexily as he could manage. “Or we could jump straight to a one-night stand that turns into a whirlwind romance of passion. I’m good with either option.”

“Are you asking me out?” Parker pointed at himself. He took a full step back and knocked into his stove. His kitchen is really tiny. Parker’s face twisted in confusion. “What about Spider-Man. I thought you had a crush on him?”

“Don’t get me wrong, if Spider-Man asked me out I’d say yes in a heartbeat but let’s be honest, you are a way more realistic option,” Wade said. “I have like zero chance with Spider-Man no matter how much I flirt with him, and I’ve come to terms with that.”

“Glad to be your second choice,” Parker said, pouting. He put both of his hands on Wade’s back and pushed with a surprisingly amount of oomph behind the shove. “I’ll send you rates for photos, but for now, I’d like you to get out of my kitchen.”

We screwed that up.

Fix it! Fix it! Fix it!

“Wait! There has been a misunderstanding!” Wade shouted. He spun around on his heel and grabbed Parker’s arms to pull them off his back. Bad! Manhandling isn’t going to win him over. Unless Parker was into that—focus! “You are not a second choice!”

“I’m not?”

“No! You are incredibly fun to be around and I really do think you’re adorable,” Wade said. He loosened his grip, but kept his hold on Parker’s wrists. “When I saw my photo in the Bugle and realized our game was over, I had nothing but regrets. Half the reason I’ve been making it so hard for you to get a photo is because I didn’t want to stop seeing you. I like your frustrated faces and your happy faces, and that smug look you get when you think you’ve one-upped me.”

Parker’s shoulders lowered, and he twisted his body in an uncomfortable squirm—but he didn’t try to pull out of Wade’s hold.

“We haven’t known each other long, but I really like you,” Wade said. Is that true? Yeah, it was true. “I’d like to know you better without the photograph thing hanging over our heads.”

Parker looked over Wade’s shoulder, his eyes still narrowed and confused.

We need a more convincing argument.

I agree.

Wade shoved the bottom of his mask up and kissed Parker.

Chapter Text

If you sleep with Deadpool, you’re going to have to tell him you’re Spider-Man.

No he didn’t.

Deadpool wanted Peter Parker, not Spider-Man. He’d said so himself and was proving that fact with his mouth. A one-night stand was not a long-term commitment that required telling people about his secret identity.

Plus, telling his secret identity to lovers had gone bad so many times it wasn’t worth it.

Peter’s back hit the stove again, knocking into one of the knobs as Deadpool deepened the kiss. His torn lips scratched against Peter’s and his tongue was hot and Peter had missed the simple contact of a kiss. Deadpool reached around Peter and turned the burner back off without breaking their connection.

Smooth.

“That might have been a little sudden,” Deadpool said, speaking into Peter’s mouth. “But I’m not hearing you say ’no’, yet.”

“Still thinking about it,” Peter said. He bit his lip and shifted until his back was against the counter and not threatening to turn his stove on again. “To clarify: If Spider-Man was here, would you still be kissing me?”

Deadpool tapped his fingers on the counter and shifted his shoulders.

Peter snorted and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hey!” Deadpool said, pointing at Peter’s face. “It’s Spider-Man we’re talking about! Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about making out with him, too! You spend all your time taking his photos.”

Because Peter needed the money.

And maybe liked to see himself on the front page in cool poses.

But Peter definitely didn’t want to make out with his alter-ego.

“We should stop,” Peter said. He put his hand on Deadpool’s chest and pressed, nudging him back. The man left his space and Peter scooted around him to leave the kitchen. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been second-place to Spider-Man my entire life and I really can’t go through it again.”

The worst of it all, was it was Peter’s own fault.

He’d always prioritized Spider-Man and his work, even when it meant Peter would miss turning in a paper or was late to work. People who liked Peter took second place—and that wasn’t fair to Deadpool either.

Peter couldn’t date Deadpool without telling him he was Spider-Man.

“You,” Deadpool said. His voice held a hint of awe that stopped Peter in his tracks. He turned around and stared into the large, white eyes of Deadpool’s mask. The man had his head tilted and he nodded. “If Spider-Man was right here and I had to pick which one I wanted to be with, I’d pick you—and before you start accusing me of only saying that to get into your pants, I really mean it and it shocks me, too.”

“Why?”

“In addition to all the stuff I said earlier,” Deadpool said, swallowing. He rounded Peter’s kitchen divider and got close again. They were almost the same height, but Peter still felt small standing in the shadow of his bulk. “You still have that photo of my ass on your wall.”

Peter opened his mouth and shut it. He looked over his shoulder and indeed—the photo of Deadpool’s ass was still on his wall.

“Spider-Man has never appreciated my ass like you have,” Deadpool said. “Which pushes you over the brownie point edge and makes me want to kiss you again.”

The laugh burst out before Peter could stop it. He covered his mouth with a snort and pushed his hand across his cheek.

“Wow,” Deadpool said. His entire form stilled and he sucked in a breath. “Now Spider-Man really is in second place. That laugh was. It was—wow.

“You already said that.” Peter’s cheeks hurt, they stretched so wide. “And Spider-Man has bad taste if he can’t tell you have a very nice ass.”

“Please tell me I can kiss you again.”

“Sure.”

“Yes,” Deadpool said, just before he put his hands on Peter’s waist and dragged him closer into another kiss. Deadpool’s lips pressed against his and he hummed into it with a giddy chuckle. “I want to make you laugh again.”

Deadpool stole Peter’s breath with his next kiss, deeper and hotter. His hands stayed on Peter’s waist, but they gripped him tighter.

“And I want you to get mad at me in the morning for stealing your coffee.”

Peter groaned into the next kiss and Deadpool lifted him to press their chests together. Peter held onto Deadpool’s arms and let his legs hang freely.

“What do you want to do? Deadpool whispered into Peter’s mouth. Their bodies pressed together from head to toe and there was no hiding the growing arousal. “Tell me.”

He wanted Deadpool to make him laugh again.

He wanted to get mad at Wade in the mornings when he stole Peter’s coffee.

He wanted to take Deadpool’s picture when he was still sleeping and tuck the photo away for Peter’s eyes only.

He wanted.

Peter wanted something much more than a one-night stand from someone he couldn’t tell was Spider-Man.

A man Spider-Man could not date.

Deadpool killed people for a living—a fact all too easy to forget when Peter whimpered into the next kiss, gentle, needy, and wanting an answer.

“We can’t.” Peter put his hands on Deadpool’s shoulders and pushed him away. His breath felt too heavy and his words caught in his throat. Guilt surfaced as he blurted, “Spider-Man.”

“What about him? You said you two weren’t dating,” Deadpool said. He frowned and his breath hitched. “Was that a lie? Are you cheating on Webs right now?”

“No!” Peter shouted. He stepped back and shook his head. “I’m not cheating on Spider-Man, because we aren’t dating!”

“Okay, then why should he care who you make out with?” Deadpool asked. “He’s not like…your dad or something, is he?”

Peter snorted and covered his face. “No.”

“Oh, good.” Deadpool rubbed his fingers together and pursed his lips. “Peter?”

Deadpool said his name.

Not “Mr. Photographer.”

Not “Parker.”

Not “Spider-Man.”

Just Peter.

“I remembered what you do for a living,” Peter said, reaching up to hold his chest. He squeezed, fighting the tightness. “And I…Spider-Man will probably take issue with his photographer making out with a mercenary that shot someone in the head a couple weeks ago.”

Deadpool rubbed his arm. “So the killing people thing is a dealbreaker?”

Peter snorted and wished he’d remembered that part before Deadpool made him feel so damn good. “Yeah, it is.”

“Then I guess I have to stop,” Deadpool said, his voice slow as he contemplated his own words. “No more killing.”

“You’re a mercenary,” Peter said. He couldn’t have heard that right. “It’s your entire job.”

“I do jobs for hire, I don’t have to kill people to take care of business,” Deadpool said. He crossed his arms and nodded. “You are totally worth rewriting all of my business listings for.”

“You can’t be serious,” Peter said, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t even give up killing for Spider-Man—Your Hero.”

“I know,” Deadpool said. He stepped closer and touched Peter’s cheek. “But like I said earlier, I like you more than him.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know,” Deadpool said. “But the point stands—no killing. I’ll go cold turkey right now if it means you’ll kiss me again.”

Peter grabbed the back of Deadpool’s head and yanked him down to drag their lips together and kissed him hard. The taller man whimpered into the kiss and Peter wrapped his arms around Deadpool’s shoulders, his fingers knocking into the swords on his back.

“If you really mean that,” Peter said, pressing a kiss on Deadpool’s lower lip. “Then you can do a lot more than just kiss me.”

“Just for you,” Deadpool said, his hands touching his waste again. “No more paid hits, or regular hits, or killing in general. I swear on my mercenary honor.”

“Just for me?” Peter felt dizzy. “All for me?”

“Just for you.” Deadpool squeezed his hips and licked his lip. “All for you, Mr. Photographer I met a couple weeks ago.”

“Call me Peter again and you can take me to bed.” 

“And I thought your laugh was music to my ears,” Deadpool said. “Peter.”

“Say it again.”

“Peter,” Deadpool said, a laugh bubbling in his throat. He grabbed Peter by the thighs and lifted him in the air. Deadpool held Peter against his chest as he walked toward the bed. “Just in bed, though. ‘Mr. Photographer’ has a good ring to it that I don’t want to lose.”

He kissed Peter again and sat on the edge of the bed. Deadpool reached down to fumble with his boots and Peter leaned against his side, watching and not bothering to help.

“You have too many belts,” Peter mumbled, resting his cheek on Deadpool’s shoulder. It was the middle of the morning, but he felt tired—exhausted from the emotional rush maybe? Peter didn’t know. “Where do you even get all those pouches?”

“It might be a dealbreaker if you take issue with my fashionable belts and pouches,” Deadpool said, leaning back. “Just so you know.”

“You’d be naked faster if you had less,” Peter said, shrugging. “Just commenting on it.”

Deadpool stilled and stared into the distance.

“I agree,” he said. “You absolutely have a point.”

Peter giggled again and Deadpool whined.

“Ah, you’re really right! Too many belts.”

The mercenary fumbled with his belts and pouches, pulling them off one after another. He dropped his guns and swords onto the pile and kept undressing until his fingers dug under the top of his costume. He lifted it a few inches, exposing the scarred flesh underneath.

He stopped.

“Did uh, Webs tell you about me?” Deadpool said, shifting. “I’ve been so giddy about kissing you that I forgot to give you some warning.”

“There’s nothing to warn about,” Peter said. Something vulnerable snuck into Deadpool’s voice that was all too human—and Peter should probably start using his name, too. “He did tell me your name is Wade, though. Can I call you that?”

“Yes,” Wade said. “You absolutely can, Peter.”

“Then hurry up and get your top off, Wade,” Peter said. He reached over and tugged Wade’s shirt higher with one hand and tapped his skin with the other. The wet, exposed muscle trembled under his hand but Wade didn’t push him away or move. “I want to see  what I’m working with and ponder some ideas for a photo shoot later.”

“Yes, sir,” Wade said. He ripped off his top and threw it on the ground. His mask followed and Peter got a good look at his eyes that were only for Peter Parker. Wade exhaled and leaned closer. “You’re looking at me like you want me, Peter.”

“I do,” Peter said. He did. He really wanted him. Peter pulled off his own pajama top and threw it onto the stack. He sat up and grabbed the waist of his pajama pants. “I want you to start touching me.”

“I will absolutely do that in a second but I need to pause,” Wade said, holding up his hand. He poked Peter’s ribs and dragged his fingers down over his abs. “You are ripped, Mr. Photographer.”

“I spend all my time chasing Spider-Man around for photos,” Peter said, smirking and shimmying out of his pants. He grabbed Wade’s hands and set them on his hips, pushing his fingers into the top of his boxers. “I work out.”

“I have decided that Spider-Man is an idiot for never sleeping with you,” Wade said. He pushed Peter’s boxers down and dragged them off his legs. He threw them on the floor and immediately went for his own costume pants, shoving them off with an urgency that made Peter squirm. “An absolute fool of a hero and it’s his loss because you’re all mine now.”

Wade finished the rushed sentence by tackling Peter into the mattress and kissing him again, this time with the added heat of their bodies touching and hips pressed into each other.

“Yeah, Spider-Mans a real idiot,” Peter said, breathing between each kiss. “He’s missing out from not noticing you earlier, too.”

“Let’s stop talking about Spider-Man,” Wade said. He reached down and grabbed Peter’s ass, digging his fingers in. His skin scratched against him, but the pressure of their arousals pressed together made Peter ignore the way it itched or the wet patches in Wade’s skin. “Because I clearly have the better half right here.”

“Wade,” Peter said. He bucked his hip up and held tight to the other man around his shoulders, puling him down. Wade complied and kissed him again, dropping all of his weight onto Peter. They pressed into his stiff mattress and Peter kissed him harder. “Wade, please.”

“I’m at your command,” Wade said. He kissed Peter’s neck and easily fit between Peter’s legs. He fitted them together and bit Peter’s neck. “You feel so good.”

Peter clung tight and let Wade take the lead. He felt the sheets bunch beneath him and focused on the feel of Wade’s skin and discovering a different twist, wrinkle, and pockmark wherever his fingers touched.

It ended too fast, and Peter’s breath heaved in time with Wade’s as they spread out on his mattress in the morning lighting.

“You going to take a pic to commemorate the best sex I’ve ever had?” Wade asked, mumbling into Peter’s shoulder. “This feels like something we should record.”

Peter reached his hand behind his head and groped around on his desk until he picked up his camera. He held hit up over his head and aimed the shutter at him and Deadpool, both naked on his bed.

He snapped a photo and pulled the camera back around to look at the shot.

“How did you get a picture that good without looking?” Wade asked, reaching for the camera. The shot was warm and close, with both of them in frame. “It doesn’t have one of those screens you can turn around for selfies.”

“Practice,” Peter said. He yanked into his hand and turned on his side. He snuggled into Deadpool’s side and sighed. “Put it back on the desk. I want to take a nap.”

He listened to the small click of his camera on the desk and a large arm wrapped around him, pulling him closer. Peter smiled and didn’t care that there was an unknown puss against his cheek or that Wade’s scars scratched.

I should probably tell him I’m Spider-Man.

He should.

But a part of Peter didn’t want to—and that thought had him pretending to be asleep, instead of truly enjoying a warm afternoon in bed with Wade.

Chapter Text

We hit the jackpot.

Oh my gosh how did we get this lucky.

By teasing and stalking a photographer they covered in blood, Wade somehow endeared himself to the young man. A young man who chases superheroes around and values a photo more than his life. Wade held in the huff and kept his breathing even. He didn’t want to disturb Mr. Photographer’s sleep.

Uh, he hasn’t been sleeping.

Not a wink.

Mr. Photographer’s pretending to be asleep.

Wade had noticed, but it felt rude to call Peter out on it. There were too many reasons he could be faking sleep from the preferred option of waiting for Wade to fall asleep to stab him, to the less ideal scenario where Peter had regrets about sleeping with Wade that manifested after the deed was done.

Is it sad we’re hoping he stabs us?

Maybe he’s so buff because he’s an undercover assassin or something!

Peter Parker: Assassin Photographer—Seduces his prey and stabs them in their sleep!

Hot.

We should role play that.

Wade noted that wonderful idea for later—because there would be a later if he had anything to say about it—and tapped Peter’s head twice in the middle of his thick hair.

“I should warn you, it’s really hard to fake-sleep around trained mercenaries with as much experience as I have,” Wade whispered. He turned on his side, hugging Peter closer to his chest. Ew, we got pus on his cheek. Maybe that’s why Peter couldn’t sleep, but Wade decided to stop assuming and just ask: “Something wrong?”

Peter tapped one of Wade’s skin tags and picked at it. He pulled off a flake of dead skin and sat up, fiddling with it between his fingers. That’s either gross or adorable and I can’t tell which right now because he’s frowning. Wade crossed his hands over his stomach and watched the young man’s smooth chest move as he breathed.

“How serious are you about all this?” Peter asked. “Is the stuff you said before we slept together still true?”

Wow. He sounds insecure.

Like we’re the hot catch and he’s the loser.

“Of course, I’m serious!” Wade sat up and touched Peter’s cheek, pulling his face toward him. “I don’t make promises to give up killing for a one night stand—or at least not without telling you. I’m in this for the long haul as long as you are.”

Peter leaned into Wade’s hand. Good sign! Then he smiled—An even better sign!

“I believe you.” Peter gently took Wade’s hand and pulled it back. “Which means I have to tell you something.”

That line has never led to anything good.

Ever.

“What?”

“Something important,” Peter said. He rubbed his face and pulled his knees up. Peter groaned and crossed his arms over his knees, dropping his head into it. “I know I should tell you, but it’s not something I share with many people.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I killed people for a living,” Wade said, proud he remembered to keep his profession past tense. “You sound ashamed of something but I can’t think of anything worse that would scare me.”

We can, though.

We’re just smart enough not to tell him.

“It’s not really a thing I’m ashamed of,” Peter said, turning his head to look at Wade with a smirk. “It’s just something I've always kept a secret. In fact, even Johnny doesn’t know—and thinking about it, I’m sort of an asshole for not telling him.”

Peter fell back and spread out on the mattress again, covering his eyes with a laugh. “In fact, I’m probably going to go tell him immediately after I confess to you because he’s already going to be ticked you found out first.”

What is he talking about?

We are very confused.

Not noticing Wade’s questioning held up finger, Peter continued jabbering.

“Though Johnny might give me a pass since we slept together,” Peter said, nodding his head back and forth. “I mean, that’s fair right? You tell the lover before the best friend?”

Just agree with him.

It’s always the best move.

“Yes,” Wade said. “And I will back you up with whatever it is you are going to tell me if he gives you trouble.”

Peter laughed again and Wade wanted to hear it forever again. We have got it so bad. Peter rubbed the side of his eyes and sucked in a breath before he exhaled.

“I hate asking again, but it’s really important before I tell you,” Peter said. He sat up and leaned against Wade, resting their arms against each other. “You’re done with killing people for money, right?”

“Yes,” Wade said. Aw, he clarified the ‘for money’ part! Peter was already preparing for accidental deaths with his line of work. “I promise.”

Peter licked his lip. “And you’d pick Peter Parker over Spider-Man.”

He seems pretty stuck on that.

“Yes,” Wade said. He dropped his head to lean on top of Peter’s and reached over to pat his thigh. “Spider-Man’s my hero and I won’t lie I’ll be begging for a threesome if he ever turns my way, but I’m not planning to cheat on you. You got there first, so you’re the winner.”

“I really hate to destroy your dreams of a threesome,” Peter said, “but if we’re doing this long term, you really should know that I’m Spider-Man.”

Say again.

“Repeat that last line.”

Peter grabbed Wade by the waist and lifted him over his head. He held Wade up without so much as a tremble in his limbs as he lifted a man twice his bulk.

“I’m Spider-Man,” Peter repeated. He set Wade back on the bed next to him and pulled his knees up. “And yes, I do sell my own photos to the Bugle for a living.”

Damn. That’s kinda hot.

Go back to the main point: Holy shit.

We slept with Spider-Man.

“Wade?” Peter asked. He he looked to the side and winced. “You’re not mad are you?”

It’s a miracle.

The “I have to tell you something” line was something good!

World shaken.

“Still processing,” Wade said. He understood why Peter Parker didn’t say anything about being Spider-Man earlier. That was a big secret and Wade was still a mercenary But one thing still bugged him: “Why did you keep asking if I liked Peter Parker more if you’re Spider-Man?”

“Because everyone loves Spider-Man. Most people I know would much rather spend time with Spider-Man over Peter Parker,” Peter said, “I can count on one hand the number of people who like Peter Parker more than him, and the top two are my aunt and J. Jonah Jameson.”

“Family and a scary boss,” Wade said. He poked a copy of the Bugle hanging on the wall. “No wonder you didn’t want me to shoot him.”

“Yes, I would appreciate it if you don’t shoot my boss,” Peter said. He leaned over and kissed Wade on the cheek. “Believe it or not, Spider-Man does in fact get a kick out of seeing his photo in the Bugle on a regular basis.”

He’s a masochist.

We are totally going to get to role play fun things.

No threesome though.

Pity—but at least it’s fun going through all our interactions with this new knowledge!

“I thought you were sleeping with yourself,” Wade said. “And Johnny Storm.”

“I won’t lie, I’m flattered you thought I could seduce the spectacular Spider-Man and famous fashion model and Hero Johnny Storm.” Peter dropped his face onto Wade’s arm and relaxed. “Puny Parker isn’t really on their level.”

“Is the no killing thing only for money?” Wade asked. “Because I think whoever got you to talk about yourself that way needs a bullet to say hello to their heads.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Peter said, patting Wade’s arm. “My high school bully has really grown up over the years. We hang out when he’s in town, so I’d be upset if you shot him.”

“You hang out with your old bullies and work for a guy who hates your alter ego.” Wade crossed his arms and tilted his head back. “Are you actually a masochist? I had suspicions earlier, but I’d like to clarify.”

“No,” Peter said. He shoved Wade in the shoulder and scooted to the end of the bed. He grinned over his shoulder and shrugged. “I’m not a masochist, but I am very fond of giving people second chances—it’s worked out pretty well so far.”

“You think?”

“I wouldn’t question it too much when you’re getting the same second chance,” Peter said. He stood and poked Wade in the nose. “We met because you shot someone in the head next to me.”

He has a point.

Smartass.

“Are you going to hold that over my head through our entire relationship?” Wade asked, licking his lip. “Because it feels like a challenge to do something more outrageous for you to complain about.”

“You can if you like,” Peter said. He held his hands up to mimic a camera over one eye as he backed up toward the shower, naked and handsome. “But I’ll be there to take a pic and sell it to the Bugle.”

“Deal.”

Wade laughed and got off the bed, following Peter into the shower.

Chapter Text

“I am learning so many things I never could have predicted in a million years,” Wade said, hanging a framed copy of the photo Peter took as Spider-Man. The “Deadpool Raids Photographer’s Fridge” photo had remained their favorite, even after Peter filled two more SD cards with Deadpool’s figure for his requested photoshoots. “Spider-Man sews his own costumes! Who would have thought it?”

Peter huffed and inspected the latest tear to his suit—it was on the seam at least, so he wouldn’t have to redo the entire thing. Somehow after a month of dating, Deadpool had never noticed Peter’s sewing kit under the bed or the small stacks of fabric in the bottom of his linen closet hidden under the towel he loved to use when he came over.

“Where else would my suit come from?” Peter said, reaching for the blue thread. He shifted the fabric over his knee and threaded his needle before tending to a rip. Peter let the familiar stitches fall into place as his hand moved. “A super hero costume store?”

“I didn’t think you got it from a store, but I did assume you had it commissioned,” Wade said. He straightened the frame and hopped back, spinning the hammer in his hand. “I mean, I pay Weasel to make my costumes and order all my equipment.”

“There is a key word in that sentence that would make it impossible for me to do the same,” Peter said. He pulled the string tight after a knot and cut it before putting away his sewing kit. “You had to pay for those suits—with money. Something that I’m sure you have noticed I am in short supply of.”

Wade plopped onto the bed next to Peter and stretched, before rolling over and hugging Peter around the waist. He nuzzled Peter’s back and grinned into it through the fabric, leaving tiny wet spots from his open wounds.

“Hypothetically speaking, if you could have a suit commissioned by a top-tier weapons dealer and armor designer, what would be on your wishlist?” Wade asked. He lifted a section of Peter’s shirt and kissed his hip. “Assuming money was not an option.”

“You are not buying me a new suit, Wade.”

“Maybe I was planning to get you a new one anyway before I found out you handmade all of them and this is your only chance to have a say in the details.” Wade pushed more of Peter’s shirt up and kept placing kisses on his spine. “Maybe it’ll be black and red, so I get to see how awesome Peter Parker looks in my suit.”

Peter twisted so he could look down at Wade, who adjusted accordingly and pressed kisses against his stomach in place of his back.

“I could just wear your suit if that’s what you want,” Peter said, poking Wade in the head. “That’s not an extreme request.”

“My suit doesn’t fit you,” Wade said, sitting up and ripping Peter’s shirt with it. He tossed it aside and put his hands on either side of Peter’s waist—his fingers almost met. “You are like half my size. It’s not sexy if you’re drowning in the fabric.”

“It’s not like I’d be in it for long, anyway.”

“That is not the point!” Wade sat back and dragged Peter into his lap. He hugged him close and sunk against the wall, snuggling Peter like one of the giant stuffed animals in Wade’s apartment. “It’s got to fit you and hug every single, highly defined curve.”

Peter patted Wade’s chest and rested their heads together. “How about this, you can buy me a form-fitting version of your costume as a present, as long as you don’t try and buy me new Spider-Man gear.”

“What if I want to do both?” Wade whined and dragged them both over to bounce on the mattress. “I have the money, and I still have more coming in—it’s not like kills were the only mercenary work I did—or do—the end point is I’m still working and still bringing home that bread to spoil my loved ones with—which is you. You’re a loved one.”

“A loved one who has a job and is happy to make his own clothes,” Peter said. He kissed Wade on the lips and crossed his arms on the man’s chest. “You are not the first loved one in my life to have money. I have a lot of practice of turning it down, so be glad I’m letting you buy the one costume for the bedroom.”

“But that’s only for me!”

“Which is why I’m letting you have it,” Peter said. He kissed Wade again and hummed into it. “But I won’t complain if you want to buy groceries or something. I don’t like being spoiled, but I won’t turn down a full breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pancakes every morning.”

“Good,” Wade said. He grabbed Peter’s ass and pulled him closer together. “Your fridge is still way too empty anyway.”

Peter bit his lip and laughed. “You know, if my fridge wasn’t empty, I never would have gotten my perfect shot—so maybe it was a good thing my finances were tight.”

“The fridge shot was your perfect shot?” Wade asked. He licked Peter’s neck and placed another kiss there. “That one? I know it’s our favorite, but I figured that was for the story around it’s sake—not the actual shot. That one of me shooting the glass for the Bugle was way better.”

“Nope,” Peter said. He sat up and straddled Wade’s waist, happy to see him more than ready to go as they pressed together. “That was the perfect shot for J. Jonah Jameson. Peter Parker’s perfect shot is the one he took while you were completely unaware it was Peter Parker taking the shot.”

“Is that so, baby boy?”

“Yup, and I won’t accept any arguments about it,” Peter said, leaning over to kiss Wade. “The face you made when you realized what I did was the best. I’ll cherish it in my memories forever.”

“I had my mask on.”

“Your mask is very expressive.”

“It is!” Wade laughed and bucked his hips up. Peter grinned and pushed back down, grinding them together. “I can’t wait to see the expressions it makes when you’re wearing it.”

“You’ll have to take pictures,” Peter said, kissing Wade one more time. “So I can see it, too.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun.” Wade pushed Peter’s hair back and left his hand on the side of his head. His skin scratched against Peter’s face, but he’d come to love that feeling. “Maybe I’ll capture a perfect shot of my own.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” Peter kissed Wade again and reached for his camera sitting on the window. He shoved it into Wade’s hands and sat straight up, connecting them together. He stared down at Wade and licked his lip. “You could even start right now, if you wanted.”

Wade smacked Peter’s ass to pull out a laugh before he pressed the shutter and filled the room with flash after flash.

Peter couldn’t wait to see the final results, and the many photos they’d take together in the future, too.