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Five Times Spider-Man Carried Deadpool and One Time He Didn't

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The first time was an accident.

{A Freudian accident maybe.}

“What does that even mean?”

{How the hell should I know? It just sounded good.}

Whatever. The first time was an accident.

“Watch out, Webs!” Deadpool said, slamming into the bad guy from behind. It made the henchman drop the grenade he’d been holding—with pin still in place, because Wade was amay-may like that—but it left Wade vulnerable for a crucial second.

He got three bullets through the chest for his trouble, and fucking cockhole, mother-humping, shitnugget, one nicked his spine.

He heard the thwip of Spidey’s web slingers right before the grenade went sailing off to who knows where, but then his legs were crumbling beneath him, and two guys were closing in.

{‘Tis but a scratch!}

[Is this really the time for a Monty Python joke?]

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!” Wade yelled in reply, because when wasn’t it time for Monty Python, and he drew his guns, pre-loaded with rubber bullets.

After it was all over, Spidey crouched down next to him and said, “You did good, Deadpool. That grenade would’ve taken out the entire floor.”

“All in a day’s work,” he said, face flushing, although whether it was from Spidey’s words or the view of his crotch, Wade didn’t know.

{Yowza. He can huevo our rancheros anyday.}

[Pfft. That has to be a cup. The bulge is way too round and symmetrical.]

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Spidey said and gently lifted him up, holding Wade to his chest.

Now Wade had been carried by many a person, and admittedly, he’d enjoyed it each and every time, but there was something different about being in Spidey’s arms. Something special.

Maybe it was the way he smelled, sweaty with a hint of fading cologne or deodorant.

{Is it weird that I want to lick his armpits?}

[The fact that you even have to ask that question pains me on a spiritual level.]

Or the way he cradled Wade, curled towards him with Wade’s head pressed against his neck. It made Wade feel protected. Safe.

Which was ridiculous since he didn’t need anyone watching over him. He’d learned a long time ago how to take care of himself.

Or maybe it was just the effortless strength, Spidey’s arms firm but careful around him, not even a hint of a tremble betraying any sign of muscle fatigue. As if he could carry Wade all day and then lift two motorcycles with six USO girls over his head.

Suck it, Captain America!

Whatever the reason, Wade found himself relaxing into it, the tension kind of seeping away from his body, and it was something of a rude shock when he heard, “How are your legs?”

He reluctantly tried to wiggle his toes, only to be disappointed when he succeeded.

“They’re fine.”

{They’d be finer framing your face, though, Baby Boy.}

White started gagging in the background as Spidey set him down, but privately, Wade had to agree with Yellow.


The second time was also an accident.

One word: Doombots. And while he could recover from being electrocuted, it still fucked him up.

Not that he was really complaining, though, considering where he’d ended up, in Spidey’s muscular arms, pressed tightly against his heaving chest, his hip rubbing against something hard—

[I already told you it’s a cup.]

—with every step Spidey took.

Wade squirmed a little, thinking his own cup was getting somewhat restrictive, but immediately subsided when Spidey whispered, “Deadpool?”

Fiddleshits. He … may or may not have been pretending to still be unconscious. But it’d only been for a second or two. Ten.

One minute, max.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he said and tried not to think about the fact his lips were brushing against spandex with every word.

[You wear a mask. Your lips always brush against spandex.]

“Can’t you let me have one good thing in my life?” Wade railed, sitting up in indignation and nearly landing flat on his ass as Spidey tried to adjust for the sudden movement.

“Uh … well, it looks like you’re feeling better,” he said, once he had his balance, and lowered Wade’s legs to the ground. Wade was going to swoon at how easily Spidey could hold him with just one arm.

He blamed that and any lingering effects from the Doombots for stumbling when it was time to support his own weight, which caused him to rock into Spidey's body, forcing him to take a floundering step back. They both tried to compensate, but it was dark, and there was rubble on the ground from the Doombots, and he’d swear on a stack of Bibles it was an accident, but the next thing Wade knew, he somehow had a handful of Spider-ass.

They both froze.

{We touched. The butt,} Yellow whispered, voice filled with awe.

Wade’s hand flexed helplessly.

{We’re never washing this glove again. EVER.}

Fuck, no, they weren’t. Wade was going to sleep with this glove under his pillow—who the hell was he kidding, down his boxers—at night until it was just a patch of faded leather, no longer remotely resembling the glove it was today. He had plans for this glove.

Which meant he had to tear his hand away before Spidey tore his hand away. Literally.

And he tried, he honestly tried, but it. Just. Wouldn’t. Let. Go.

And who could blame it?

Spidey had the ass of a god. Round, and firm, and fuck, so round, and did he mention the firm? Because it was. He had no illusions that it wouldn’t haunt him in his dreams. His very wet, vivid, X-rated dreams.

And Wade knew that Spidey was going to snap out of whatever dissociative state he was in any second now and bring the pain, but.

{Haha, you said “but.”}

It’d be worth it.


Yup, there it was.


So worth it.


The third time was also an accident.

[Keep telling yourself that].

Maybe not quite as accidental as times one and two, but it still qualified. Because there’d been a person behind him in the line of fire. And Wade didn’t believe in letting innocents get hurt. Anymore.

[It was a mannequin.]

“A very human-looking mannequin,” he said in his own defense.

[It didn’t even have a head.]

“But I didn’t realize that at the time! In the heat of battle you have to make split-second decisions—”

“Okay, okay,” Spidey said, sounding amused, thank goodness, and Wade might’ve gotten a fear boner when he’d first seen him after Buttageddon—because fear and intense arousal had become intrinsically linked together after seeing Spidey go all rawr at him—but now he was just getting a regular boner.

{There is no “just” anything when talking about our man-meat.}

“You know, Wade—”

{Our dickimus maximus.}

“—there’s been something I wanted to tell you for a while now,” Spidey, shifting him slightly in his arms, and Wade would swear he was embarrassed.

[Our tower of power.]

{Look at you joining in! Get down with your bad self.}

“These past months have been … illuminating.”

{Our ba-donk-a-donk.}

“I feel like I’ve gotten to know you a lot better.”

[Our truncheon of love.]

“And I’ve been ...” As Spidey searched for the right word, he pressed Wade a little closer to his chest, and Wade sighed happily and rubbed his head against his shoulder

“Our everlasting gob-dropper,” Wade whispered.

“What?” Spidey asked, his mask squinting down at him.


“Did you—say something?”

“Nope, please, do carry on.”

“Um … alright. Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say that … I’m really proud to be working with you,” Spidey said not once in his life, ever, and Wade hit the side of his head with the heel of his hand.

“Sorry, I must’ve taken a shot to the head as well without noticing. What did you say?”

He could almost see Spidey roll his eyes. “You heard me. I’m proud to be your partner, Wade.”

“You are?”

[He is?]

{He is?}

“Yeah, and I hope … we get to do it a lot more,” Spidey said, looking down at him, and Wade thought he could gaze into his reflective lenses forever.


The fourth time was on purpose.

Wade saw the bad guy du jour pulling something out of a van from the corner of his eye. They’d already beaten almost everyone else, and it’d been almost two weeks since the last time he’d seen Spidey.

He missed him.

So instead of taking the guy out or moving out of the way, he turned his back to him.

[Wait! What was that noise? It sounded like—rocket launcher!]

{You fucker.}

“Oh shi—”

Spidey carried him around, just like the other times, but it wasn’t the same when he was carrying parts of Wade and then arranging the ones that seemed to fit together.

He did keep him company, however, the whole time Wade was healing the damage. Still, Wade pouted for days.


The fifth time was also on purpose.

“You’re just doing this on purpose now, aren’t you?”

Wade gasped. “How dare you, sir!”

He hadn’t actually gotten hurt this time around. Oh, he’d been about to be stabbed, but Spidey had swooped down on his web in the nick of time and whisked him to safety.

It wasn’t the typical carry, but since he was pressed chest to thigh against Spidey, Wade wasn’t really complaining.

“You know, if you want me to hold you, you could just ask,” Spidey said as he set Wade down on a roof—

It was like taking that first breath after having his brains blown out. It was that disorienting.

{Did he just say what I think he said?}

[I … think so.]

“You just—you can’t—did you—you can’t say something like that and then swing away!” he yelled at Spidey’s retreating back, kicking the side of the building in frustration.

He heard Spidey’s faint laugh. “I just did!”

Wade took two steps toward the side, then three steps away, then couldn’t contain it anymore and shouted in a not-at-all desperate tone of voice, “Call me!”

He doubted Spidey could even hear him at that point, and that was just so not fair.

He couldn’t just drop a bomb on him like that and then leave. What did he even mean anyway? Was he just offering Wade hugs?

{I wuv hugz.}

“Who doesn’t love hugs? But that is so not the point right now. The point is that Spider-Man just told us he wanted to get married, get two cats, and adopt 1.4 kids together, and then he ran away. Like a pussy!”

{I do not think it means what you think it means.}

“Shut up!”

[Are you having a heart attack right now?]

“Maybe!” he said in a shrill voice.

[Oh. Well, you do realize there are still bad guys down there, don’t you?]

Wade stopped his frenetic pacing. “No. No, I did not.” He gathered the tattered shreds of his dignity around him and took the fire escape down to the street.


Wade wasn’t expecting the knock at the door. Which is why he answered said door in just his boxers, a T-shirt, a frilly apron, and his mask, a mixing spoon in hand.

Whoever dared to bother him while he was stress baking deserved what they got.

He really, really wasn’t expecting some young and weirdly handsome guy to be standing outside in his hallway with his hipster glasses and his hipster clothes and his rolled up sleeves and damn near edible forearms and … and his whole …

{Oh no. He’s hot.}

[Whatever. I give him a 7. Maybe 7.5]

That made Wade realize he was staring and being stared at, and he glared ferociously. “What?” he barked.

“Um … you told me to call,” the guy said, and ohhhhhhhh fuck, Wade knew that voice. He knew that voice! “I thought … maybe it’d be better if I came over instead. Hi, my name’s Peter.”

He held out his hand, which Wade numbly took.

“Nice boxers by the way.”

Wade glanced down at his Spider-Man boxers and frowned, trying not to blush. “You little shit,” he said and dragged Spi—Peter inside.

Peter laughed.

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So this isn't a real chapter, but I won Sciderman's offering for marveltrumpshate last year, and they drew TWO pieces for me, because they are completely wonderful and amazing. You can find the gorgeous art for this fic here at Sciderman's tumblr. Please give it all the likes and reblogs!!!