Chapter Text
Peter was currently locked in a large fighting cage. There was a scared man across from him, his body genetically modified to resemble a cross between a human and a boar. His nose and mouth were those of a large hog, but his eyes and the rest of his head looked human. It was terrifying what science could do. Peter felt awful for him. After all, the scared man-boar also had what looked like a supercharged shock collar around his neck.
Well, Peter had one too, but he could power through the pain. He guessed that winning fights was the only way for the scared man-boar hybrid to find respite.
The scared man let out a few grunts and grumbles. His tusks were large and yellowed. Peter sighed.
“We don’t have to fight,” Peter offered, raising his hands. “I can get you out of here.”
The man-boar’s breaths came faster. He took a step towards Peter, but hesitated.
After all, right now, Peter was Peter Parker. He wasn’t in his suit. Somehow, he’d been plucked from the streets of Queens and plopped into a fighting ring as a “civilian.” They’d hit him with some sort of super-strong paralytic in the form of gas. It scared Peter that whatever they used surpassed his superb metabolism, and while he still sensed it coming, he was unable to avoid the range of the drug suspended in the gas because he’d been trying to drag unconscious street-goers out of the cloud, too.
The man-boar let out a pained roar. He was shocked because of his hesitation. Then, as he came to his senses, the man-boar screeched and charged Peter, who had to dodge like a normal human rather than climb the cage's walls with his impossible grip.
He rolled out of the way quickly, coming right back to his feet behind the man-boar. People in masks, all around them, cheered the fight on.
But when Peter took a few steps back from the man-boar, increasing the space, he almost fell to his knees as a strong shock coursed through him. It was painful, and it felt like it was rewiring his brain, scrambling it. His spidey-sense blared at him, but Peter couldn’t react properly or on time when the man-boar came at him again, goring him through the gut as he lowered his body, opened his jaw, his lower tusks tearing through Peter’s obliques.
Peter didn’t scream. It hurt too much to scream. But he did hear the audience yell and cheer in delight. Well, it was delight at first, and then their yells turned fearful.
Peter could hear them screaming, even as he lay on the ground, gored but slowly healing from the severe wound. He might actually have to stitch this one up later, if he survived this. He’d fought so many strange villains. It couldn’t be the victim of a villain who took him out… that was just upsetting!
He turned his head to the side. Peter’s eyes widened as he witnessed heads flying—literally.
“A decapitation for you, a decapitation for you! Everyone gets a decapitation!” A man in a recognizable red-and-black suit cheered as his katanas slashed left and right.
The masked viewers were screaming as they ran for the exits. Deadpool didn’t bother going after them all, but rather seemed to be carving a path bathed in blood towards the cage. Peter tried to stand, but the paralytics lingering in his system plus his large, gaping wound made it hard to move. His vision was blurry, too. It was then that Peter realized the room had a thin, white haze. More gas.
“Oh! This feels fun,” Deadpool joked. He seemed unaffected by the gas. “Gives me a little tingle. Think I can bring a can home?”
With all the remaining guests either dead or passed out on the floor, Deadpool walked over their prone bodies until he reached the cage. He circled it, looking for an opening. No dice.
“I’ll get you outta there, baby boy,” Deadpool promised, looking Peter in the eye as his vision began to fade. He was headed towards unconsciousness.
“Stop,” Peter managed, “Killing. People.”
Deadpool blinked, his panda eyes surprisingly expressive. Peter had always heard he was quite the character, but in person, he was blown away by how… how…
And then he was gone, out like a light.
˹‼‼‼˼
When Peter woke up, he was being carried by Deadpool. He could feel his large muscles wrapped around him, held in a princess hold, one arm under the shoulders, one under the knees.
“Look who’s comin’ around!” Deadpool cheered far too loudly.
“Ouch,” Peter grumbled. “Headache.”
“Oh, that’s not a very nice thing to call someone who saved you,” Deadpool muttered.
“No. My head,” Peter uttered. It was pulsing with pain.
“About that,” Deadpool said slowly. “How are you alive, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Um.”
Peter didn’t know what to say. He was still struggling to recall what happened.
“Everyone else died in their sleep,” Deadpool explained. “You’re a super, aren’t you?”
“Uh…”
Peter didn’t like where this was going.
“You’re not that sexy little Spider-thang, are you?” Deadpool asked.
Then, he set Peter down on his feet, holding him and his weak knees up by the armpits. Deadpool examined him, taking in his compact muscles and the lines of his body. He spun Peter around, and Peter couldn’t fight it.
“Oh. Oh. You are, aren’t you?!” Deadpool said, sounding way too excited and way too loud. “I’d recognize that ass anywhere.”
“Deadpool,” Peter managed to say.
“Yes?” Deadpool said, blinking rapidly, as though fluttering invisible lashes.
“Put me down.”
Deadpool looked down at Peter’s wobbly knees. “Nope!”
“Deadpool…”
“What’s your name?” Deadpool asked. “I’ll figure it out in a jiffy, anyway. Oh, and while you’re at it, home address—so I can drop your cute behind off.”
“I’m not Spider-Man, first of all,” Peter tried to deny.
Deadpool’s mask-eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
“My name is Peter Parker,” Peter said honestly, because Deadpool was right; he already had his face, so it wouldn’t be hard to find his name. Hopefully, by telling the truth, he’d throw Deadpool off his correct assumption. “I’m just a college student with two terrible jobs. I wouldn’t have time to be a superhero, even if I wanted to.”
“Then how did you survive the gas?” Deadpool asked rhetorically. He was thinking hard, judging by the fingers stroking his chin. Deadpool was holding Peter up with one arm now. And Peter was blushing a bit, because it felt really good, for some reason.
“Hm. I still think you’re lying,” Deadpool concluded. “But wow, if you’re that stubborn, I suppose I can take you to my place.”
Peter’s heart rate spiked. Maybe he was delirious from all the gas. He felt high. Or, well, what he assumed high to feel like. He’d never smoked weed before being bitten by that spider, and now that he had, he doubted his body would be affected by it at all. But his brain felt slow and sluggish, and everything felt warm, and…
Peter had forgotten. Around his genitals, he was wearing a cock cage. And now, his erection was suppressed by it, settling into a state of arousal with constant pressure.
It was a kink of his, okay? He enjoyed the feeling. Wearing it a few times a week while he performed errands, or at the coffee shop where he worked, or while… well, sometimes he wore it under his dancer’s belt as Spider-Man. Tonight, though, he’d been returning from dropping off pictures of Spider-Man for his secondary job when he’d been gassed.
“You look a little out of it, Petey-pie.” Deadpool pulled him closer, holding him against his much taller body. “Something on your mind?”
Peter gasped as pain set in. His wound was healing slower than usual.
“Sorry!” Deadpool yelped, realizing he’d hurt Peter. He loosened his grip slightly. “Let’s go back to the princess carry, babe.”
“Don’t…” Peter tried to argue, but he was fading fast—again. It was hard to fight the wave of exhaustion washing over him. “No hospital.”
“Hm,” Deadpool hummed sarcastically. “Wonder why! Let’s go.”
Peter passed out again, falling into Deadpool’s arms.
˹‼‼‼˼
When Peter woke up, he was in a bed. It smelled really good, though when he turned over, the white sheets were marred with big splotches of brown, probably from old bloodstains. However, he didn’t mind, because he couldn’t smell any fresh blood.
Wait.
Peter sat up. His side still hurt, but it wasn’t actively bleeding anymore, nor was it open and gaping. He knew that from how it felt, but when he lifted his shirt—or rather, Deadpool’s oversized white shirt—he confirmed what he felt. Deadpool had stitched him up neatly, and the flesh was beginning to mend quickly.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Deadpool greeted from the couch, lifting his head to show it over the back. He was still wearing the mask, but it looked like he was wearing a red hoodie instead of the rest of his suit.
“Morning,” Peter greeted, glancing at the clock. It was 9 AM. And he was going with it, at this point. “Did you have to kill all those people?”
“Oh, are you worried because you’re a goodie-goodie, or because you’re Spider-Man who's all up his butt with morals?”
“I’m not—” Peter argued, and then he realized he should shut up. “Whatever. Call me what you want.”
“Okay, Spider-Man,” Deadpool answered way too jovially. “Call me Wade—Wade Wilson.”
“Alright, Wade Wade Wilson,” Peter replied, proud of his annoying joke.
“Funny funny,” Wade said drily, but then he grinned underneath his mask, based on how it shifted and how the eyes moved. He stood up and approached Peter, sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was small, since it was a studio apartment. “Feeling better?”
Peter looked up at him. He swallowed and looked away. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“No problemo,” Wade said.
“You told me your name, but you’re keeping the mask on?”
“You don’t want to see what’s underneath here,” Wade said, tsking his tongue. He waggled a finger. “No, no, no. It’s like a jello mold of a human packed to the brim with a ham slurry.”
That was quite the image, but it was honestly the idea of jello ham taste that put Peter off.
Peter frowned. “Alright. But I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”
“It is.”
Sighing, Peter swung his legs off the bed. He wanted to go home.
“Thanks for all the help,” Peter said, “but I have work at 2 PM, so—”
“Mhm. Have fun brewing,” Wade replied. “I’ll see you another day.”
He’d probably looked Peter Parker up. He was a mercenary, after all. And Peter hadn’t told him he was a barista.
“No, you won’t,” Peter responded firmly, replying to his second comment.
“Not even on patrol?”
“I told you, I’m not—!”
“Spider-Man?” Wade said with a tilt of his head. “Yeah, and I’m calling bull. You healed suspiciously fast after the gas cleared from your system. Felt it with my own two hands. And I felt something else, too.”
Peter was frozen in place. “What?”
“You wearin’ a cock cage there, Petey?”
Peter laughed, but the sound was hollow. “No. That’s weird.”
“You must be one weird guy, then. When I was holding you up, I felt it against my leg. At first, I thought you just had a little cock, but then I realized it felt like it had bars. So unless you have a few piercings on your tiny dick, then—”
“Please stop talking,” Peter pleaded. “I don’t—I cannot deal with this right now. I have to go to work.”
His head was spinning. Deadpool, of all people, was making comments about his dick size and his cock cage. Peter knew he was blushing violently, and it probably went all the way from his face to his visible collarbone. The shirt Wade had put him in was large and had a cut-off collar, kind of like what college girls did to their shirts to make them drape off the shoulder. And his pants—
Oh, God.
The man before him had changed his pants. Peter glanced down at himself and saw that he was wearing oversized, black sweatpants with the drawstring pulled tight.
“Don’t worry. I left your underwear on,” Wade said. “I’m not a pervert! Well, I am, but I endorse consent.”
“Good for you?” Peter said weakly, sounding choked. He looked around for his bloody clothes and saw them in a laundry basket, freshly washed and dried. Peter walked over to retrieve them. They felt soft and smelled good from laundry freshener.
Peter sighed. “Mind if I change in the bathroom?”
“In front of me works, too,” Wade said cheekily. He nodded towards the bathroom. “Joking. Go change, Spidey.”
Peter let out a harsh breath. He retreated into the bathroom.
As he was changing, though, he saw the black sweatpants had “Juicy” printed on the back. He sighed. That was very Deadpool of him.
Back in his clothes, which had been completely cleaned of blood, Peter realized his wallet was missing along with his ID, credit and debit cards, and bus and train passes.
“You don’t happen to have a spare bus pass, do you?” Peter asked as he came out of the bathroom. “They kinda… they took my wallet.”
“Well, guess who took it back?” Wade asked with his arms outstretched above his head in a cheer. He pointed his thumbs at himself. “This guy!”
Peter raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
Wade took a familiar brown wallet out of his pocket. “They had a whole stash of them, all packed in a safe. Every victim. Hundreds. It’s done via human trafficking all over the continent, but they got sloppy. They were overconfident. Lucky for me.”
Peter went cold. “How many?”
“I didn’t count.”
Because he couldn’t count them all.
Paling, Peter crouched down on the floor and put his head in his hands. “And that poor man? The one who was part boar?”
“He and the other experiments died from the gas,” Wade explained. “Everyone, up in smoke.”
Peter glared at him. “Don’t make a joke out of this. People died.”
“Yeah, and all of them were either horrible people or torture victims designed to fight for entertainment. Sure, it's a shitfest, but at least they’re out of their misery.”
He didn’t know what to say. What he did know, however, was that he didn’t want to talk to Deadpool anymore.
“I’m going home,” Peter said.
He headed towards the door and made a last-second decision. He’d confirm his identity, but for a purpose.
“And don’t even think about bothering me on patrol!”