I can’t stop thinking about Peter Parker and Wade Wilson. So here we are again. Getting things out of my system. If all goes as planned, it should be two to three chapters.
Not really any continuity in particular here, but based more on the comics than not. Cherry picking canon from various sources is always fun. Enjoy. XD
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.
I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you for reading!
“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.
Hunt Deadpool down and get a shot that not even J. Jonah Jameson could complain about.
Peter the tabloid photographer has and will always be my favorite job that he’s had throughout all the franchises. There’s just something fun about it (and I love J. Jonah).
Thanks so much for reading!
“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.
“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.”