Work Text:
The first thing to know about the whole debacle was that, at some point, gig based jobs had quietly trickled away from telephone pole fliers and library bulletin boards, and had instead put down roots in apps and social media. The gig economy was a young person’s world, and Peter Parker was the kind of guy who still remembered Tom from MySpace. And Xanga. This wasn’t normally a problem, but when he was suddenly in need of a temporary job, he found himself smack dab in the thick of it all. Like a frog in slowly boiling water; except the frog was actually Spider-Man and the water temperature directly correlated to the steadily increasing number of pop culture references that were lost on him.
This led to the second thing that was important to know: as always, Peter Parker needed money.
Hunting down actual temporary jobs had turned into a whole ordeal. A bonafide circus of social media usage and apps. As a kid, he had posted fliers around the neighborhood, and made decent pocket money walking dogs. Now it was all Woofr or MyPet or whatever. The cherry on the self-pity cake was that pretty much all of these temporary or gig based jobs required installing some kind of location tracking on your device. That was something Spider-Man just couldn’t risk.
And wasn’t that the root of the issue? It wasn’t like being Spider-Man brought in the big bucks. But he couldn’t exactly drive for Uber without burning his phone down to cinders afterwards, just to be safe. Because he was Spider-Man. So maybe Peter’s life plan was to forever live on a TA’s salary plus whatever spare gigs he could find as the only legitimate sources of income to buffer his scholarships.
Forever.
It was fine.
Sure, he’d started out his academic career with a full ride scholarship to Empire State University and the (naïve) intention of eventually leaving academia. He crammed all the studies he possibly could have managed into his first go around. He’d gotten his undergraduate degree with a double major in Biophysics and Molecular Biology. In his copious free time, he even managed to squeeze in two minors. (Abnormal Psychology and Theatre Technology. For the suit, obviously. He was in the improv troupe for class credit, okay?)
After a month or so of job hunting, he began to catch wise to a distressing life lesson: there was no employer in the entire world that would allow him to keep the weird hours he needed in order to remain Spider-Man. Even worse, there were significantly fewer social events in the professional world where they blatantly bribed for attendance with free food. He’d had to succumb to the dredges of buying all his own food, which made him learn quickly that he would need the salary of a Wall Street banker to keep up with his own appetite. Gone were the days of stealing all the leftover pizzas from lecture events.
That’s the thing: going back to college wasn’t even that much of a stretch. Say that Peter Parker wasn’t actually Spider-Man, right? (Yes, he was Spider-Man, but that’s not the point; follow the hypothetical.) Peter Parker was still, beyond a shadow of a doubt, a giant fucking nerd. Science stuff aside, he was absolutely okay with the idea of being (likely permanently) attached to academia at the hip.
Naturally, that led to the brilliant idea to just… do it all again. Do college again. So he’d managed to do a repeat performance of the full ride scholarship song-and-dance over at one of the city colleges of New York. (Major: Organic Chemistry; Minor: Dance)
Then University of New York at Buffalo. (Major: Learning Analytics; minor: History.)
Then NYU. (Major: Theater (stage); minor: Photography.)
Then briefly, Columbia. (Major: Undeclared, since he got his ass kicked by Doc Ock so badly that he’d had to sit out of the first two months of the semester. Turns out that was frowned upon. The powers-that-be dropped him from the incoming class like a sack of rotten potatoes. Rude.)
Now he was looking at a good six months without the buffer of scholarships or TA work. Peter Parker found himself suddenly in the market for a job. Or something like a job. Let’s say job adjacent. Peter Parker needed--and he could not emphasize this enough, needed--money. Preferably before the end of the month when Columbia was set to kick him out of his dorm room.
Yeah, sure, laugh it up, a grown man in a dorm room. At least no one paid any attention to the weird hours he kept, the unexplained bruises, the bizarre appetite, the fact that he used the fire escape more than he used the damn door, the whole works. That stuff wasn’t going to fly trying to pass as a normal human adult, living in an apartment built by and for other normal human adults.
Peter groaned and flopped lengthwise on the one of the stairs leading up to the Low Memorial Library. He was tucked out of the way, just enough that he could watch the other students hustling their way around campus. They were all so young. So little. So full of passion and bright ideas. It was hard to think of himself as ever being like that, too.
He watched as a student in a cheap Spider-Man suit--a freshman, judging by the abundance of energy--danced around while his classmate filmed him. He shamelessly eavesdropped as the kid prattled on about some upcoming ‘comic convention' and watched curiously as the suited young man pulled back the flimsy mask so he could inspect the video. Something, something ‘tick tock.’ Something, something ‘what my viewers want.’ Was there already something out there replacing Vine? Ugh, trends moved way too fast.
Which brings the story to the third (and possibly most important) factor in this whole comedy of errors. In addition to shepherding in an age of apps and social media platforms, kids these days had also figured out ways to make money just by existing on these platforms.
A lightbulb went off in Peter’s head.
He yanked out his phone and typed in ‘how tio makke mone yfrom tick tock.’
Apparently it was spelled ‘TikTok.’ Peter decided immediately that that was dumb. He then determined that, while TikTok allowed you to amass followers pretty quickly, the revenue came from having a linked YouTube account, or Instagram sponsors. He hummed thoughtfully, then flicked through his apps. His YouTube log-in was still good, and sitting alone on his channel was a badly filmed idea where he thought he could teach other students how to make fun and filling meals in mugs and microwaves. Despite the appealing alliteration, it had a grand total of ten views.
It only took a handful of searches to find that not only were Spider-Man cosplayers abundant (with uploads spiking leading up to the dates of conventions), but that they were universally loved. Even sub-par cosplayers got all kinds of views and subscribers for doing stupid stunts while in the suit. Enough subscribers to generate at least a little bit of pocket change, anyways.
Peter scoffed quietly under his breath and allowed himself a moment of pettiness. He did stupid stunts in the real suit all the time but no one bothered to ask for his Cash App or Ko-fi after he, say, saved the city. Again.
Whatever. He was over it. He pushed to his feet and moved over to where the young man in the cheap suit was working up his next masterpiece - a video of himself trying to floss in time to the old Spider-Man theme song.
“Hey,” Peter called out. “Hey, kid.”
The young man stopped, pulled the mask off, and stared at him with wide eyes. He pointed to himself questioningly. His compatriot sullenly lowered his phone, presumably halting the filming. Hopefully.
“Yeah, you!” Peter tried for a friendly smile, but it probably came out more like a tired grimace. He kept his distance knowing that his aesthetic, on a good day, could only be described as Manic Homeless Chic. “What’s your name?”
“Uhh,” the young man glanced at his friend, who shrugged unhelpfully. “Miles.”
“Cool name, Miles.” Peter scratched at his stubble-y cheek. “Where’d you get the suit?”
Miles ran a hand over his floof of hair and looked at Peter like he was about to unhinge his jaw and swallow him whole. “Uhhh... Look, sir, we weren’t meaning to cause trouble or anything! We can move. Even though the campus commons are supposed to be accessible by students to use however they please. ...B-But it’s just a stupid video--”
“Relax, I don’t care,” Peter waved a hand and sourly wished this was the first time he’d been mistaken for a professor. “My uh. Nephew. He’d love one of those suits. He’s real big on Spider-Man. You know, Spider-Man Classic, not like the suit you’ve got on. The new kid in black who’s been running around lately is pretty great and all, but nothing beats the good ol’ red and blue. And it’ll probably be easier to find. More popular. Y’know?”
Miles’ eyes narrowed a little.
Peter held up his hands in defense. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Spider-Man 2.0, don’t get me wrong! The nephew just likes what he likes. Kids, am I right? Hah.”
“I think the new kid also goes by ‘Spider-Man’,” Miles said dryly, and Peter huffed.
“That could get confusing fast, couldn’t it?”
“Sure, but--” Miles started.
Peter cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Whatever. Don’t care. Where’d you get the suit?”
Miles stared at him for a moment longer, then stooped down to dig around in his discarded backpack for some scrap paper and a pen. He looked back up at Peter, motioning him over.. Peter crouched down, mirroring the little imposter. Hah, if only the kid knew.
He watched intently as Miles drew out the familiar city grid and started pointing out streets.
“So there’s this costume shop off of Main in Queens…”
The suit was perfect. It bunched up at his wrists and hung slack around his ankles, but it hugged his hips, thighs, and calves like a dream. Peter knew quite well what the appeal of Spider-Man was for some of his fans. It didn’t bother him as much as it used to, and he sure wasn’t above exploiting it for money.
It was far weirder, in his personal opinion, to be outside in a Spidey suit (not his Spidey suit, but still) without the mask on. Not just outside, but public outside. Like, just standing out there on a patch of grass in Central Park that wasn’t currently taken up by picnicers. That level of public. With his face out and easy to see, in front of god and everyone.
No one even batted an eye at him.
Peter grinned. He loved his city.
After a few minutes of fussing with the ramshackle tripod he’d made, he was ready to make his first clip. He pressed the record button then raced over in front of the camera.
“Hi. My name is Peter Parker. But you probably know me better as…” He paused and pulled the oversized mask on. It sat a little lopsided on his face. “Spider-Man! I’ll be taking requests for what to do while in the suit and all that. The link to my Youtube, Insta, and ko-fi are all in my bio, so like and subscribe or whatever you TikTok-ers say. But for this video I’m gonna teach you whipper-snappers what Spider-Man is really about. Back when I was young and Spider-Man made his first appearance--”
Twenty hits within three hours after uploading his introduction video onto TikTok. Seventy-three after four hours. He broke one hundred soon after that, and fell asleep refreshing his page. It soon rocketed up to a thousand when the first ‘duo’ version came out. Much to Peter’s delight, the ‘duo’ was from Miles, who mirrored his movements and shook his fist in time with Peter while wearing a cheap white beard over the top of the mask.
Miles had also been kind enough to be the first to use the link in Peter’s bio to buy him a ko-fi. The attached note read: For your nephew, right? -- MM
What a punk.
Peter grinned at his phone. It was perfect. He could work with that. He launched out of his wobbly dorm room bunk bed and reached for the costume suit.
In his next video, Peter found a replica of the beard Miles’ used and waggled a walking cane at the camera tauntingly. He had a piece of printer paper taped to the front of his costume with ‘Respect Your Elder Spiders’ written on in marker.
“Alright, this one goes out to @morales_of_the_story and all the other Spideys out there: you all talk a lot of shit, but let's see if you can keep up.”
Bearded Spider-Man then flipped and flung the cane at the lightswitch. The rubber end of the stick met its target perhaps a little too hard, and the plastic switch cracked as the lights suddenly went out. There was a soft ‘oh, shit--’ from Peter before the video ended.
He tagged it #SpiderManLightswitchChallenge , #EatYourHeartOutMorales , and #ClassicSpideyRules . It had two thousand views after a couple hours. By the time other Spidey cosplayers were uploading their attempts, Peter had three more ko-fi’s trickle in. Plenty to get himself his very own Double Quarter Pounder With Cheese. The meal, thank you very much.
Peter slurped triumphantly on his coke and watched the next few uploads under the challenge tag. Some of these kids weren’t half bad.
COMMENTS
c-moonmoon
almost stuck the landing! didn’t break the lights tho, @captainquantum1942
captainquantum1942
@c-moonmoon Then you only completed half of the challenge. Try again! 💅💅✨
lunastories
daaang @captainquantum1942, your spiderman might be an old man, but I’d still let him be my ‘daddy’ ;))
captainquantum1942
@lunastories You’re grounded. 🙅🙅😱
He tried to keep it tame for the next few #SpideyChallenges he released. Nothing that a normal, definitely-not-mutated-by-a-radioactive-spider-bite human couldn’t do. For one, he flipped off the bed and landed in his sneakers perfectly. Another, he ate a Dairy Queen blizzard upside down. (Those things really were thick as concrete. He’d never had such a bad brain freeze in his life.) But his most recent one took the cake.
Peter sat down at his desk with a few cheap wrist watches, some silly string, wire, tape, and a soldering iron while he “invented” web-shooters on camera.
Of course Peter actually had invented his own web shooters years prior, and he took great joy in watching other people try and fail to make replicas. He had zero plans to release the blueprints for the web-shooters he currently used. But for the upcoming tricks he planned to do, he needed something that was capable of keeping up with his original shooters--the crappy mark one versions that had gotten him through high school just fine.
The result was nothing fancy. No extra gadgets, no reinforcement. They had to be attached to his wrist and palm over the top of the shoddy costume, and looked clunky. A limited supply of pre-made “webbing” (thin corded industrial wiring with a tiny barbed hook on the end, like the world’s smallest grappling hook) was attached to the plastic look-alike. Still, he felt like a kid again as he whooped triumphantly at the camera when he successfully demonstrated the mock-shooter’s first ever thwip.
Despite the view count rocketing into the hundred-thousands, he still didn’t anticipate hearing his own whoops from Deadpool’s phone on Taco Tuesday. (Deadpool’s treat, as always. He might have been getting Ko-fi donations regularly enough to stay decently fed, but he was never ever going to turn down free food, alright?)
The taco the real Spider-Man held up to his mouth froze in mid-air as he turned his half-masked face to stare at the phone in Deadpool’s hands. Spider-Man continued to watch when Deadpool repeated the TikTok a few times. Watched as the Deadpool’s shoulders shook with laughter in response to the next queued up video. It showed a very much unmasked Peter thwipping at a textbook, only to yank on the line hard enough that the book smacked him dead in the face.
Deadpool outright chortled. Spider-Man was vaguely aware that he was leaning pretty far into Deadpool’s space, but his own eyes were locked on the screen. He was suddenly wrapped up in tight fear that it was obvious. Maybe Deadpool identified him just based on body shape alone. He’d certainly made enough comments about Spider-Man’s--
“Have you seen this guy?” Deadpool asked cheerfully. “He’s leading a renaissance of Spidey cosplayers. The trend died out a few years ago along with Vine--rest in peace--but good ol’ Captain Quantum here is bringing sexy back to TikTok.”
Play dumb, Peter told himself.
“What’s TikTok?” Spider-Man contributed.
He bit back a world-weary sigh. Not that dumb.
“It’s like Vine, but worse.” Deadpool handed over his phone without any reservation. Always so trusting. Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever handed his unlocked phone to anyone.
“Vine?” Spider-Man asked, because in for a penny, in for a pound. He watched himself on the little screen, trying to hang upside down from his bunk bed.
“Wow, maybe you’re a grandpa under that mask, too.” Deadpool snickered.
Spider-Man slugged his arm and Deadpool feigned a wounded cry, falling back onto the roof and draping a limp wrist across his forehead.
“I’m down, Webs. Slain. Betrayed. By the very hero I swore my allegiance to--”
“--I never asked you to--”
“--and here I lie, seeing my life flash before my eyes, wishing only to spread the joy of cosplayers on TikTok.” Deadpool pulled in a dramatic rattling breath, and reached out for what was presumably the light at the end of the tunnel. “Comment on it… Comment for me, Webs… Tell Captain Quantum that… Tell him his ass… is bangin’.”
Spider-Man went rigid. “I will do no such thing.”
He squinted at his own ass on the phone screen, trying to figure out if it really was that easy to identify. Maybe he should stop with the TikToks.
“Aw.” Deadpool sat up, injuries forgotten. “Are you jealous? Don’t worry, babe. Even the world’s most bangin’ ass can’t hold a candle to yours.”
He bristled and Deadpool cracked up again.
Peter wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. He could handle Deadpool complimenting some random guy on TikTok, especially if the guy on TikTok was actually secretly him. It was his ass that was getting complimented. Not that it mattered, since he didn’t particularly care what Deadpool fixated on in his free time. He was just used to it being Spider-Man. The real one. That’s all.
Which is why he didn’t sound huffy at all when he said, “I’m not jealous.”
Ignoring Deadpool’s new peals of laughter, he furiously started searching TikTok for Deadpool cosplayers. He picked out one where the guy in the suit was far too wiry to be the real deal, but nonetheless executed a series of rather impressive katana exercises. Spider-Man whistled low and tilted towards Deadpool so he could see the screen. Sure, he was already nudged up against Deadpool’s arm and shoulder but still… he wanted to make sure his friend could see, was all.
“Have you seen this guy?” He passed the phone back to Deadpool. “Impressive stuff.”
Deadpool’s eyes in his mask widened and he immediately scoffed. Spider-Man stuffed his almost forgotten taco in his mouth to prevent himself from grinning triumphantly. Hot sauce dripped down his chin instead. Much smoother.
“Look at his grip! He’s holding it all wrong, like he thinks it’s some kind of bastard sword!” Deadpool protested.
Spider-Man tugged a glove off with his teeth, wiped up the hot sauce with his bare finger and popped it in his mouth in lieu of reaching for napkins. He swallowed the taste down with a gulp of whatever soda it was Deadpool had bought. From what he could gather, it was blue. “Technically, if he’s a bastard and owns that katana, isn’t it a bastard sword?”
“You’re a bastard sword.” Deadpool returned, sounding weirdly hoarse.
There’s a beat. Then Spider-Man snorted. “Not your best.”
“Not my best.” Deadpool agreed.
He tapped the next queued TikTok and they settled in for a few hours, eating an inhuman amount of tacos, and watching dumb video after dumb video. If Spider-Man’s head quickly found itself resting lightly on Deadpool’s shoulder, Deadpool didn’t bother to mention it. And if, approximately thirty-two minutes and fourteen seconds into the hangout, Deadpool shifted so that he was leaning on a hand resting just barely behind Spider-Man’s apparently infamous (but still safely anonymous) ass, then Spider-Man certainly didn’t pay it any particular mind.
Deadpool sent him home with a whole sack of extra tacos and a whimsical excuse about last week’s leftover pizza not only gaining sentience, but developing a rather surprising jealous streak over competing take-out.
Not for the first time, Spider-Man stifled the sudden impulse to lean over and press a grateful kiss on Deadpool’s cheek.
Just like every time before, he chickened out before he had to consider the urge seriously. Instead, he thwipped the bag into his grip, said something disapproving about cleaning habits, and swung off into the night like a spandex-clad coward.
DIRECT MESSAGES
managermark7000: hey spidey!! ur doin good work lol. me n the coworkers love when u drop new vids. #SpideyClassic4Eva !!! r u goin to the con? will u take pics with fans? wat about other cosplayers?? one of my guys does a gr8 deadpool. idk if you know him, @noobmaster69? hes been feelin kinda down lately so itd cheer him up
six-arm-pete666: do you still take requests? cuz spider-man kiss is a classic just sayin
morales_of_the_story: hey man how fast can you learn this choreography? https://www.yout…
With New York Comic Con just around the corner, cosplay TikTok was, to put it lightly, losing its shit. Peter’s videos were whipping up views, and his DMs were packed with some surprising new requests. He was used to polite asks for various kinds of backflips, assorted parkour stunts, and seemingly endless demands for a ‘Spider-Man kiss.’ He did his best to cater to the first two, while he fervently ignored the latter.
The new requests were all… well, for lack of a better term, meet-ups and team-ups.
He’d even gotten (and, surprising even himself, agreed to) a team-up suggestion from that Miles punk.
“Man, anyone ever tell you that you look exactly like your uncle?” Miles quipped from under his black and red Spidey mask, big white eyes and impassive features doing nothing to hide the kid’s obvious grin.
Music blared loud enough from bluetooth speakers to cover up Miles’ teasing and Peter’s responding laugh before any of it could reach the smartphone on a tripod that was responsible for covering their livestream. Miles’ phone--Peter’s was admittedly super old.
“Yeah, whatever, kid,” Peter shot back, grinning. They both turned and clapped in time to the music as if they’d been practicing the choreography for weeks, instead of a paltry forty minutes before going live. Peter sing-songed at him, “Your tag’s sticking out.”
Miles paused his choreography to pat down his neck for the offending slip, which Peter used as an opportunity to take a running jump and fling himself into a front handspring, launching easily off of Miles’ shoulders. He spun into a somersault before he landed lightly on his feet, continuing the choreography like nothing in particular had happened. Miles sputtered for a moment before laughing so hard he was clutching his stomach. Peter kept on dancing until it was clear Miles wasn’t going to recover from the giggle fit.
“Alright, alright,” Peter tugged off his mask, grinning as he went to cut off the livestream.
COMMENTS
bisexualbarry
awwww, baby spidey and spidey classic!! this is so cute guys @morales_of_the_story @captainquantum1942
morales_of_the_story
ooohhhHHh my goD y’all, it’s just spider-Man and spider-Man!!! No babies, no classic
captainquantum1942
@bisexualbarry gets it! Thank you. --Spidey Classic. 👏👏🙏❤️💙❤️💙
A week before the con, Deadpool died.
Not permanently, but he still died and it was more Spider-Man’s fault than usual. He tended to get cagey about details regarding old nemeses, but the Green Goblin was a whole other level. Because out of all of his villains, Goblin was the closest anyone had ever come to taking Spider-Man out of the picture.
In his right mind, Goblin had figured out who Spider-Man was, or at least as close as anyone had ever gotten. He’d deduced enough to know that Spider-Man cared deeply about Gwen Stacey, and that… that alone was just too much
Which was why Spider-Man knew that Goblin would fixate on him instead of Deadpool long before their actual confrontation. Some part of Norman remembered how close he’d been to being the villain that defeated Spider-Man. Like he couldn’t rest until he’d gotten that same high again. Those bitter memories had warped in his brain so far beyond reality that not even all the king’s horses and all the king’s men could piece Norman Osborn back together again.
Don’t do drugs, kids.
He got a little quiet, a little too far into his head anytime Green Goblin showed up. Not as quick on the draw with his quips. Not as many twirls and flips in the air. It was hard to find the fun in the fight when the green of the mask just reminded him of Gwen’s eyes, permanently frozen in her last state of shock and terror.
He should’ve warned Deadpool, could’ve given him a heads up about how the Green Goblin fought, or… or something. Instead, he’d been silent. Spider-Man hadn’t even planned on asking Deadpool for help, but as always, he showed up anyway.
When Green Goblin smashed bodily into that familiar red and black silhouette and knocked him off the edge of the skyscraper, Spider-Man reacted on instinct alone, diving off the side of the building and thwipping a line of webbing to catch Deadpool around his middle.
A loud sickening crack of Deadpool’s whiplash-snapped neck left Spider-Man momentarily paralyzed. He felt nauseous. He felt overwhelmed with guilt. He felt--
The rest of the fight went by in a blur.
It wasn’t that Spider-Man wasn’t aware of Deadpool’s abilities. Deadpool always came back, always shook off whatever it was that kicked him bodily from this mortal coil. Spider-Man knew that. But he also knew it still hurt. Deadpool would never say as much, but Spider-Man had noticed how his jokes got a little bit sharper when he was biting back the agony of re-growing limbs. He had noticed the way Deadpool laughed from the chest and kept his stomach and shoulders rigid where they were usually so animated. His suspicions were confirmed the first time he’d stayed beside Deadpool, waiting for him to come back to life. Deadpool had muttered the softest ‘thanks,’ without so much as a joke to lighten the weight of it.
He’d stayed by Deadpool’s side each and every time after that.
This time wasn’t going to be all that different, but when Spider-Man picked up Deadpool’s lifeless body to find a more comfortable spot for him to wake up, his gaze caught on the slip of scarred skin between his mask and the neck of his suit. He took in the horrific loose angle of Deadpool’s neck where his head lolled to the side, bobbing with each step Spider-Man took.
His knees buckled, and he tried to set down the dead man as quickly as he could without jostling him any further, carefully stretching him out on the rooftop before allowing himself a small breakdown. He pulled his mask up to his nose and buried his face against Deadpool’s chest with one gloved hand clutched in both of his. He took in deep breaths. The smell of worn-in leather and gunpowder was soothing. He tried not to think too deeply about that.
When Deadpool’s free hand came up to gently stroke between Spider-Man’s shoulders, he realized he might have fallen asleep. The sky was a bit lighter than he remembered it being and the air was morning-crisp. Surely it hadn’t taken Deadpool that long to recover. Spider-Man sat up and tugged his mask back down over his mouth. Yup, there was a little puddle of drool smack dab in the middle of Deadpool’s chest. He stared down at it in mortification.
“You alright, Webs?” Deadpool sounded soft. It wasn’t entirely unlike him. Just rare. It wasn’t something he demonstrated often, and Peter counted himself lucky to be one of few witnesses to Deadpool’s kindness.
Spider-Man nodded. “I… Sorry. This was… This was my fault.”
“Uh, no.” Deadpool snorted quietly. “Unless I have a concussion that’s still being worked out, it was the Green Machine that threw me off the building. Not you. Now, I know you’re an Olympic gold medal gymnast in finding new and exciting ways to take responsibility--”
“No.” Spider-Man cut him off, unable to ignore the way guilt constricted around his heart. “The fall didn’t kill you. I...I did. I tried to catch you-- I should’ve known better. Should have learned by now. Should have told you my history with Green Goblin, should’ve asked for help.”
“That’s a lot of ‘shoulds’ there, Spidey-babe.”
Spider-Man could seeDeadpool watching him patiently from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t bring himself to look at him dead on, though. He wasn’t entirely sure he could move without setting in motion an even bigger breakdown that he’d already had.
So instead, he just made a vague, strangled noise and apologized. “Sorry. I, uh… I know I have some trust issues to work through.”
“Like the star of a soap-opera,” Deadpool nodded in agreement and Spider-Man knew he meant it as a joke, but he was still choking back something sharp in his throat at the sight. Deadpool continued. “But you know that’s why I like you, right?”
Spider-Man finally looked at him. “What? My… trust issues?”
“Hah! No, baby boy.” Deadpool smiled under his mask. “Because you’re so clearly the star anywhere you go. I never did get the hang of any inner moral compass, but when in doubt, you just follow the stars, right? And there you are: a guiding light, and all that crap.”
Spider-Man fell still. His heart hammered in his chest and the faces of the people who’d made the mistake of trusting him before whirled through his head like a merry-go-round. Harry. Gwen. Uncle Ben. Guilt tightened its fist on his gut.
“Hey, hey, quit that,” Deadpool pushed himself up into a sitting position and braced a comforting hand on Spider-Man’s shoulder. “I can practically hear your angsty internal monologue. I bet it’s got a whole centerfold spread about far-fetched reasons you’re responsible for a dog pooping on the sidewalk once, or some old lady getting a jaywalking ticket, blah, blah, something, something unworthy, blah.”
A laugh bubbled out of Spider-Man’s chest and he stared at the brick roofing between them. “Yeah, guilty. I saw her, groceries and all, headed straight for the street and I said nothing. I’m basically a terrorist.”
“Your words, not mine.” Deadpool raised his hands innocently and was rewarded with another snicker. “Still, I know people put you so high up on a pedestal that there’s nothing to do but fall short of it. Fuck, I know I’m guilty of it, too. But you’re just a regular-ish, spider-themed, super strong, swoon-worthy guy in spandex. There’s only so much one guy can do. Trust me, the least trustworthy mercenary in the whole wide world: you’re doing enough. You’re enough.”
“I trust you,” Spider-Man blurted. He wasn’t entirely sure why. But the anxiety and guilt in his stomach were churned just right by the laughter that words attached themselves to the butterflies in his gut and made their grand escape. “I know it’s hard to tell. I don’t exactly… give you anything for it.”
He gestured lamely at his still masked face, then himself as a whole. Deadpool’s eyes widened.
“I know it’s probably hypocritical to say that I trust anyone, to be honest,” Spider-Man sighed. “I want to. I really want to. I want to trust you, specifically. You’ve been a… You’ve been--”
He scowled, trying to think of the word.
“An admirable leader to your quest for character growth?” Deadpool supplied.
Spider-Man guffawed. “Nope.”
“A mystery you can’t even begin to solve?”
“Nuh-uh.”
Deadpool tried again, cheerful and undeterred. “A sexual awakening?”
“A good friend,” Spider-Man wheezed out through his laughter, grateful for the super power no one ever gave Deadpool credit for; being able to loosen anyone’s tongue. “And I care about you, so… Thanks. For that. I guess.”
Very smooth, Peter, he thought to himself.
Then Deadpool put his hand over Spider-Man’s, and accomplished something no villain ever had.
He got Spider-Man to stop talking with less than five words:
“I trust you, too.”
Spider-Man blinked down at their hands. At the clear affection there, and the open vulnerability Deadpool offered without reserve. His jaw hung open and he sat there like a bump on a log, thinking furiously that if there was ever a time to make a move, this would’ve been it. The voice screamed at him to twine his fingers through Deadpool’s, to say something sweet, to kiss him, anything, but the other part of Peter’s brain was frozen. He couldn’t parse why he would want to make a move on Deadpool, or why he felt like screaming and tearing his hair out about it.
The moment passed just as quickly as it came, and he’d predictably done nothing at all.
Deadpool stood up, oblivious to the war raging on in Spider-Man’s head, and bid his goodnights.
“Oh, and Webs?” Deadpool’s voice rang out from the fire escape.
Spider-Man’s head snapped up to look at him.
“If I were to ever know any sort of thing that would require your trust,” Deadpool gestured vaguely at Spider-Man as a whole. His voice was low, steady, and serious for once. “For whatever it’s worth? Something that precious… I swear I would guard it with my life.”
There was a beat of silence before Peter Parker ruined everything by shoving his entire foot in his mouth.
“But you can’t die.”
He was rewarded with a gloved middle finger sticking out from over the edge of the rooftop. Spider-Man laughed and the guilt constricting around his guts didn’t feel quite so bad.
Alright, so maybe Peter offered to meet up with a Deadpool cosplayer (@noobmaster69) at the convention.
And sure, maybe he offered to do a Spider-Man kiss.
Maybe it was kinda, sorta related to the surge of confusing feelings spinning around in his chest since their last patrol, like someone had dumped a whole pound of ping-pong balls onto the roulette wheel that symbolically represented his emotional well-being.
And maybe it made sense to tease the upcoming video on his Insta. Not because he was maybe a little bit excited, but because it was good for viewership and high viewership meant more Ko-fi donations.
All Peter was saying was, theories like that were pure conjecture and he refused to offer any official commentary at this time, thank you very much. Which made the private message from Miles all the more unwelcome.
morales_of_the_story: i wouldn’t be surprised if he proposes, tbh. dp’s got it bad for spidey classic
captainquantum1942: nice to see you coming around to ‘spidey classic.’ 💙❤️💙❤️
morales_of_the_story: lollll... don’t say I didn’t warn ya
Peter blinked down at the message, his whole brain coming to a grinding halt. He clicked the button on the side of his phone until the screen went black and flopped back against his pillow.
Pure conjecture.
Peter’s mask was folded neatly and tucked into the waistband of his costume pants, blank white lenses staring out of the alleyway while he fussed with and adjusted the wire cording he’d latched on to a rickety old fire escape. He tugged on it a couple times, making a face at the rusty creak of protest he received for his efforts. In theory, it should be stable enough to hold his weight. It was more a matter of if he could descend from it gracefully enough for the video, but without giving himself away as being actually Spider-Man.
He was mulling it over when he heard a voice from the dark end of the alley.
“Alright, I might’ve been a little bit of sleep deprived and a whole lot of lonely when I agreed to this, so let’s get it over with.” The voice was gruff but clear, and it was a voice Peter was pretty sure he recognized. “But you’re cute as hell, my situation is undoubtedly unrequited, and some people make out in spandex to cope. Ready?”
Coming into view was Deadpool.
Or, presumably, @noobmaster69.
Peter blinked at him. Looked at him from head to toe. Deadpool wasn’t even wearing a costume version of his suit. It was just his normal suit.
“I’m pretty sure they don’t allow real weapons inside the convention,” Peter spoke up before he could think better of it. “But your suit looks nice.”
Deadpool snorted and moved to go fuss with the tripod Peter had already started to set up. “Hah! You’re good. I’m uh. I’ll swap them out for those stupid foam ones. Later. Probably. It’s for the video.”
Peter nodded, pretending to eat up the lies.
Then Deadpool hesitated, turning to look at Peter in sudden alarm. “Oh fuck. I just appeared out of the fucking darkness, armed to the teeth, and with obvious Spidey issues. You’re probably freaking out right now. Are you freaking out right now? I’d be freaking out--”
“I’m not freaking out right now.” Peter said with a surprisingly easy smile.
Deadpool gave him a worried look. “Huh. That’s… I mean that’s great for our purposes, cuz I’m definitely not here to shoot you or stab you or whatever but… Did no one ever teach you about stranger danger? I mean look at you. A sunshiny little twink like you wouldn’t last half a second against someone who did mean to hurt you--which I don’t! I should stop talking, huh?”
“Probably.” Peter scowled. “I’m not a twink.”
“Sure,” Deadpool patted his head. Paused. Leaned forward and sniffed at his hair. “...Are you wearing pomade?”
“Mousse,” Peter replied primly, ducking away to fix the hair Deadpool had ruffled. He pretended as hard as he could that his face wasn’t flushed enough to match the neckline of his costume suit. He almost sounded dignified. “I’m kissing someone on camera, so I want to look my best. Sue me.”
“No judgment!” Deadpool raised his hands defensively. “Just seems a shame to crush it all under the mask, that’s all.”
Peter blinked. That was a good point. He looked at the mask on his hip. Then slowly smiled.
“Nah,” he said to Deadpool. “I’ve got an idea.”
Deadpool leaned against the other side of the alley and crossed his arms over his chest, circling one hand in a ‘continue’ motion. “I’m listening.”
Peter’s heart thumped traitorously in his chest, but he pushed through it. No chickening out this time. He hopped up onto the rungs of the ladder leading up to where the wire was hooked in and discreetly checked that his real web-shooter was attached to his left wrist. He then motioned between Deadpool and where his phone was propped up on the tripod.
“Go ahead and start recording. I’ll clean it up, edit, and add music later.” He tried to sound nonchalant and cool, but Deadpool’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. The perk of being without his mask meant that Peter could give his world famous hybrid of kicked puppy eyes and undiluted confusion. Complete with a little head tip. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Deadpool waved off the concern with a sigh and did as he was asked. “Not used to people clamoring to kiss me, I guess.”
“Really?” Peter made a big show of dragging his eyes up Deadpool’s figure. He let his lips curl at the corners. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Yeah, well,” Deadpool snorted, not missing a beat. “Wait til you see the realistic scarring makeup I have under here. That’ll put you off your lunch.”
“I doubt it.” Peter snickered quietly.
“What?” Deadpool turned to look at him, suspicious again.
Peter blinked at him innocently and lied through his teeth. “I said ‘tap the center button.’”
“Right,” Deadpool’s eyes were still narrowed. “Alright, c’mon, Captain Not-A-Twink. Let’s get this show on the road before your buyer’s remorse sets in.”
Peter nodded and pulled out his mask. He rolled it on easily, pleased that it hid the grin he’d been biting back for a while now. “You get in front of the camera, then I’ll lower myself down to you. I give you permission to go ahead and take off my mask, fix my hair if need be, then kiss me. Alright?”
“Weirdly formal way of putting that, but okay,” Deadpool shrugged and moved to stand where he was supposed to.
Peter disregarded the wire webbing, and instead shot his own at the top level of the fire escape. He flipped upside-down gracefully, and descended slowly until he was face to face with Deadpool. He tapped on his friend’s shoulder, relishing the little intake of breath he got in response.
Deadpool turned to face him and if Peter had tried to say that being upside down was the reason his pulse pounded in his ears, he would have been lying. No, it was the gentle, reverent way that leather gloved fingers slipped underneath the edge of his mask. It was the hesitation in the movement, waiting for the tiniest nod from Peter before he continued. It was the slow pull of the fabric coming up over his chin, his mouth, his nose, and almost stilling before finally uncovering his eyes. The mask fell away to the dirty alley, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to care. He watched, heavy-lidded and breathless as Deadpool’s eyes roamed his face, taking in every detail.
“God, you’re perfect, baby boy. You have no idea.” Deadpool muttered and Peter felt his heart in his throat. He clenched his jaw and tried to swallow it back into his chest, but gravity wasn’t on his side.
So he watched transfixed instead as Deadpool rolled up his own mask. Just to his nose, to Peter’s great disappointment, but the sight of the familiar scarred lips were still soothing. The blindingly bright grin that came with them even more so. Peter couldn’t help but mirror it.
Then, Deadpool’s lips were on Peter’s, so he closed his eyes and lost himself to it. Cradled a palm against Deadpool’s jaw, keeping him close, and demanding that the kiss stay slow and sweet. Encouraging Deadpool to stay right where he was, even though Peter could feel his pulse bursting up into the sky. Could feel the tension in his shoulders like he expected to run, or expected retaliation. Instead, Peter parted his lips and deepened the kiss.
When they finally pulled away they were both breathless. Unable to look away from each other.
“Wow,” Deadpool breathed. “You’re… You’re something else, huh?”
“Merc with a mouth is speechless?” Peter teased. “I’m flattered.”
“Oh, baby boy,” Deadpool chuckled. “Don’t tease me like that.”
Peter hummed thoughtfully and a glint returned to his eyes. “Mm. As fond as I am of that endearment, you can call me Peter.”
Before Deadpool had the chance to respond, Peter flattened his free hand against Deadpool’s chest and stuck to it. He clicked one of the controls on his web-shooter that reeled in the line, launching them up towards the roof of the building. Deadpool lifted off the ground with a yelp and Peter just laughed. He pivoted in the air gracefully along with the increasing momentum, gently guiding Deadpool’s figure into his arms before landing easily on his feet.
Deadpool sputtered at him.
Peter might’ve maybe looked awfully smug as he set the much larger mercenary down without so much as breaking a sweat.
“You’re--” Deadpool gaped. “Hold on, you’re actually--?”
Peter put a finger to his own lips, winked, and fell backwards off the roof into the alleyway. He landed easily and swept up both his phone and tripod. He stopped the recording, but still took a moment to smile at the thumbnail appreciatively. He shoved it into his suit pocket, then looked up at the half-masked face still gawking down at him. So he grinned and cupped a hand around his mouth to shout.
“No real weapons in the convention, Wade. There are kids there.” It was a Spider-Man statement through and through, and it seemed to drive the point home since Wade promptly swooned and fell out of his line of sight.
Peter laughed and replayed the video as he walked towards his next meet up spot. He watched as he kissed Wade, felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and thoroughly enjoyed the full percussion set that his heart was replicating in his chest.
Maybe the kids these days weren’t so wrong about TikTok.
COMMENTS
managermark7000
@noobmaster69!!! costume looks gr8 wade. v realistic!!! did u do ur own makeup?
c-moonmoon
awwww spidey deserves more love!! this is cute guys. @captainquantum1942 @noobmaster69
morales_of_the_story
dude how’d you get the webbing to look so legit? did you actually lift him off the ground?? @captainquantum1942 @captainquantum1942 @ captainquantum1942 check ur DMs!!!
lunastories
n i c e
noobmaster69
You’re the light of my life, @managermark7000. Psst, @captainquantum1942. I never got your number--you still down for Taco Tuesday? My treat
captainquantum1942
@noobmaster obvs. same time, same place? its a date
noobmaster69
@captainquantum1942!! O, be still my raging boner; it’s a DATE!!!!