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Oh my gosh, he’d just be sitting there hand-flapping and making squeaking noises in the back of his throat, thinking ‘omg what is this what is this omg,’ on a loop for a couple of seconds while his brain takes a moment to process. He wouldn’t even know which to start with, so he’d pick them up one by one just to get the feel of them before immediately setting that one back down again and moving on to the next.
Picking up the puzzle toys and thinking to himself, yes, he’ll have a lot of fun figuring this one out later over and over again until it’s so second nature he could probably beat world records with it. Moving on to the chewable ones and bending them in his hands, measuring how much give they have and estimating how long they’ll last against his sharp teeth before they start falling to pieces, realizing as he does so that Wade got a ton in different varieties of toughness so he can swap out to a softer or a harder one anytime he wants depending on his mood.
Taking several minutes of just–well let’s be honest here, playing–with his new toys before ever realizing he hasn’t even thanked Wade yet, has barely acknowledged his presence at all in fact since this wonderful spread was laid out before him. He immediately drops the last toy in his hand and looks up shamefaced because that is not how you do manners like Aunt May taught him, but Wade is just staring at him with his chin in his hand, clearly smiling through his mask and lost in his own world just watching Peter do the same.
“Can–can I…really?” Pete asks, in disbelief that he can really just have these, which is the only reason he hasn’t squealed his thanks loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear just yet.
“They’re all yours, baby boy,” Wade assures him, then lets out a soft grunt as that answer unexpectedly lands him an armful of spider-babe practically sitting in his lap. It’s funny, how someone supposedly not all that fond of touch pretty much loses all sense of barriers and propriety where Wade Wilson of all people is concerned.
He can’t wipe the dopey grin off his face as Spidey continues to hug him, unconsciously rocking them both now, and mutters, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” like a mantra under his breath into the crook of Wade’s neck. He’ll blow the rest of his income littering all of New York City’s rooftops with stim toys from now on if this is the thanks it earns him.