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Peter finds Deadpool a nuisance, to say the least.
The worst thing the vigilante has ever done to himself was give Wade his phone number. A phone number that could freely be called. That could still take calls for as long as there was a working input source for the caller and a working output source on Peter’s end. A phone number that the spider didn’t know would be absolutely violated at absolutely the worst times for anyone to call.
Wade once called while Peter was getting thrown off a building by a mutant lizard. Then texted him various sad faces when he didn’t reply because he was busy denting the pavement and having to apologize for a nice old lady’s car damage.
And every call was for the absolute least concerning thing that could happen in Wade’s life.
Wade would call, Peter would pick up, and then the mercenary would ask some bullshit question about bullshit topics that Peter could do nothing but give bullshit answers to. Once, Deadpool called while the vigilante was in the middle of a silent stakeout, effectively catching the attention of a room of about twenty concealed ninjas and leaving him half dead in the span of half an hour. When he managed to claw himself out of the abandoned warehouse with his suit in tatters, there had been around twelve missed calls. And counting.
Naturally, that would scream emergency, right?
When Peter eventually called back, Wade was yelling in his ear about what color of Barbie shoes to order off of Amazon for his newest limited edition President Barbie doll. And Peter had to answer sparkly purple while he could physically feel a ninja star stab wound contract in his lower abdomen, or else the mercenary would pelt the question at him over and over and over again like rocks until he was about as stoned by the question as a minimum wage service worker at a local dirtbag diner after shift.
So of course it’s when Spider-Man’s tailing a criminal in broad daylight that Wade calls once more.
He lets it ring for a moment before making the inevitable realization that the mercenary wouldn’t quit unless he picks up, so he does.
“ Hello? ” Peter says exasperatedly.
“Webs.”
This was a rare variation of call that Peter didn’t see coming and wasn’t ready for — Wade’s voice is a rasp, caught in his throat and low and quiet.
And it’s — hot .
Is that what he’s feeling right now? Is it hot in the city? Is the heat getting to him? It was ten in the morning, after all. And temperatures in New York have been on the rise.
An electric jolt chases through Peter’s eardrums and straight down into his stomach. He’s not quite sure what this is.
The spider’s reply is dazed and hurried as he blinks it off. “Uh — yeah?”
“Just wanted to check in on you.” The mercenary practically coaxes into the phone, and it’s the distracting event of the day that Peter absolutely doesn’t need right now, but it’s happening, and it’s sending fireworks right into his brain where coherence used to reside. “Fuck, man, sorry if I sound like I’ve smoked tons of pot right now. I’ve got a sore throat thing. Thought it would just be a case of morning voice, but it’s not gone away, and my healing factor should have cleared the shit by now, but it’s still there. I feel like Kermit after inhaling secondhand smoke at a 1975 concert.”
Oh, if only he knew.
The spider is desperately trying to grasp onto the prospect of the criminal he was chasing — to no success. The more Wade spoke, the more he lost his grasp on his sanity for the fact that there was something about the voice — smooth, low, sending butterflies to the slaughter in his already churning stomach. He’s not sure what to respond, nor is he following anything of the content of Wade’s words, but silently hung on the sound of them flowing out of his phone like an orchestral ballad.
“Uh-huh,” Peter chokes out.
“So, how are you?”
“Uh-huh.”
Wade clicks his tongue from the other end. “Webs?”
“ Uh-huh,”
If his brain could be observant, he would have noticed the faint trace of an amused look in the way the mercenary spoke — clouded, somewhere behind the haze of rasp that Peter silently hoped would last forever. “How are you?”
“Yeah.”
“ Peter.”
The spider chokes on the way Wade says his name, almost dropping the phone smack into the middle of highway traffic. “Yes?”
“I asked how you were.” The mercenary reiterates, and god, if his voice wasn’t absolutely reality shattering, Peter didn’t know what would be. “Does being brutally unresponsive and absentminded mean you’re not doing well? Or does that mean you’re doing so absolutely, mind blowingly, orgasmically good that you can’t put it into words or else you’ll combust? Shit, Spidey, you usually confuse me, but that’s sexually. We’re playing a whole new ball game with this tonal bullshit we’ve got going on.”
“Oh,” Is all Peter can respond, as Wade’s been speaking the whole time, and each word is an additional five butterflies added to the emporium currently being constructed in his gut. Since the mercenary had to talk way too much, as he always did, the spider could practically feel fluttering wings hitting the top of his pancreas. “Fuck. I’m fine. I’m actually kind of in the middle of something, Wade —”
“Oh. Shitballs. I’m sorry, Webs, do you want me to hang up—”
“No.” He blurts out without thinking. “Yes. No.”
“Yes? No?” Wade rasps, and Peter can still hear the shithead hints of smug amusement in his voice, the sick bastard he is, but the grit overlaying it all makes his head spin and his pulse rapidly increase. He doesn’t even know why, or where the criminal he’s been chasing has gone. Actually, the majority of the sane thoughts in his head have been purged clean, as if they were a fifteen year old boy’s laptop search history. “Waitin’ on a signal here, Spidey. I’m willing to dance all day. Got nothing to do. Can’t even run my mouth off properly ‘cause of this goddamn throat thing.”
“Stay on the line.” Peter puts in firmly. “Please.”
“Well, since you’re asking so nicely, sure.” Wade drawls, and of course the vigilante knows that’s meant to be his country sweetheart impression, but his mind is too far gone to process that. “Well, well, since you want me at this party so bad, I’ll bite the bobbing apple for you, Pete — what’s going on over there? What’s the haps? What did I catch you doing? Cooking? Well, I think you’d be shit in the kitchen, so that’s a no go. Jerking off? Blinding bad guys with that ass of yours?”
“Wade, geez.” The vigilante sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Voice or no voice, some things never change. “No. Absolutely not. For one, I am not that bad in the kitchen. And I don’t even know what the worst part of that sentence was — my ass, jerking off, or the fact that you asked me what the haps is.”
“Hey, hey, I’m hip with the kids. Call me Millenialpool.” Wade says as cheerfully as he can with a dying voice. “Say, why’d you ask me to stay on the line? Usually you’re chewing my ass out because I killed someone or whatever, or you’re telling me that I should hang up since this line is for emergencies only, so this is a change of heart. A welcome one, though — fuck , if I haven’t been waiting for this day. This is, like, a wet dream to me. Just me? Well, I missed you for sure. You miss me too, Pete?”
It’s meant to be a joke, Parker. Whatever stomach-churning mood Wade’s vocal chords are in, it’s a joke, it’s not romantic flirting, it’s delusional to be thinking about this in the first place —
“Uh-huh.” He’s too far into the daze.
“You do?” Wade gasps, squealing like a schoolgirl and quickly regretting it with a fit of coughs. “Oh my god, oh my actual burning flames of hell’s rectu—”
“ No ! No.” Peter shakes out of his daze for a split second. “I mean — I didn’t mean that in, like, an awful way. I didn’t not miss you, Wade. I’m not being offensive here.”
The mercenary sighs. “Another day, another failure. Whatcha doing, then?”
“I’m —” What was he doing? What, deliberately missing a criminal he was staking out because Wade’s voice happened to be an ounce more attractive today? The vigilante sighs, burying his head in his free hand. “Well, I was staking out a criminal. I’m pretty sure I’ve missed them by now. God, this is going badly. What was I thinking, stalking a criminal in broad daylight? And getting distracted, of all things I could do, my goodness —”
He murmurs the last few words, but Wade catches it.
“Distracted? What’s distracting ya, Pete? My charming, I-just-sucked-off-a-ribbed-metal-crowbar voice caressing your eardrums?” The mercenary quips, obviously expecting that not to be the answer — because why would it be? Why would that be the answer of all things — the factor that anyone would think would least be distracting an experienced vigilante on a mission he knew was important and would never get distracted by such a menial, unattractive thing on?
Which idiot would be distracted by this?
Peter presses his lips flat, remaining silent.
He was that idiot, apparently.
“Webs? Are you there?”
The vigilante can’t quite find the words to reply, since he knows Wade has absolutely got it dead on without even realizing it.
The mercenary clicks his tongue on the other end. “C’mon, babe, you ghost me enough in real life and on text and on that Google Classroom I made. Here too? Am I that fucking annoying?”
Peter short-circuits at the term of endearment, short circuits at every word, and straight up malfunctions. Is Wade’s healing factor personally victimizing him right now? Is it really choosing today to not work and not heal that stupid throat problem that was driving Peter insane? Hell, he didn’t even know he might be within the plane of people who have a thing for attractive voices, and this is making him question every weapon he has in his arsenal.
Fuck , nothing ever goes his way. Parker luck, maybe — or insane, unprecedented, and unexplored feelings.
“Peter?” Wade says his name again, and the spider doesn’t think he’ll make it out alive. His heart is racing, and his brain is telling him to scan for the criminal, but his heart says to listen to Wade’s voice. Listen to how he rasps your name. “Peter, for the love of Dick Grayson, why are you so quiet? For one of my fellow quip-based vigilantes—”
“Wade.” He finally manages to choke out. “Any idea why your healing factor isn’t dealing with this voice thing?”
“Good question.” The mercenary takes it as a serious concern at first.
“Hm. Imagine a white box. Right now, it’s telling me to think of a logical answer to your question — well, White is me thinking about a logical answer. Also it’s telling a yellow box to shut the fuck up. The yellow box, on the other hand, is telling me that you totally find my voice right now, like, really hot and I’m totally distracting you from the mission you’re on, which is why you impulse told me to stay on the phone and are now silently pining and confused over what the #@&! is going on in your own head. In that order of symbols, by the way. “
The vigilante is rendered completely silent. He doesn’t even think Wade realizes just what he said.
“Oh, Petey-pie, I’ve got no clue. Ol’ healing factor is an ol’ cherry picker, I guess. Or maybe it’s a plot thing. You know, for the fanfic.” The mercenary sighs. “You’re quiet again.”
Peter clicks his tongue and opens his mouth to talk, but instead it looks like his jaw has fallen slack since no words come out.
“Peter? This is kind of OOC for you, being totally silent. That thing is still distracting you, huh?”
Stop saying that name, god, please , stop—
Deadpool goes completely silent for a moment.
As if processing.
And then it hits Peter that Wade may have just connected the dots.
“ Peter .” Wade says his goddamned name again, only this time the spider’s stomach does about as good of a flip as he can do. Because it’s said in a way that knows just how destructive it is, said lower and raspier, more aware . And it’s at that exact moment that Peter Parker realizes — he is so utterly and completely fucked. And he is never getting this mission done today for as long as Wade just kept talking, now realizing just what about this whole thing drove the spider into ruin. “Peter, was Yellow right?”
“Was it?” The vigilante squeaks out.
“Oh my god.” Wade chuckles, and there’s obviously more of an effort into the smoothness of it all, and Peter thinks he’ll actually cry, right here on this building ledge. “Peter, do you find me talking hot right now?”
“No?” He tries to lie.
The mercenary clicks his tongue. “Don’t try to lie, Spideybabe. Lying’s bad. Besides, I’m onto you now.”
God, god, no, no, no, don’t make the tone even more distracting than it has to be, please —
“Do I distract you, Pete?” Wade asks, because of course he feels the need to exploit the hell out of anything that dissolves the tough wall Peter’s always put up around him just for shits and giggles. The vigilante’s stomach is churning heavily, eating away at him, preventing him from talking — he really doesn’t think anything coherent and completely unusable as future blackmail can escape his lips, given the current state of being he’s in, and Wade’s newfound awareness isn’t at all helping. “Do you like that I distract you?”
“Wade. Stop. Talking.” Peter grits out. “Look, I don’t know what it is , okay? I just — you called and started talking, and now I don’t even know anymore. Please don’t ever bring this up ever again. This is embarrassing enough as it is.”
“Aw, Petey.” Wade chuckles, resonating from the phone straight into his ear, and it really doesn’t help. “Don’t be so embarrassed. Am I going to use this against you in the future? Probably. Do I hope my voice stays like this so I have an increased chance of making out with you? Fuck , yes. But we’ve all had gay crushes on hot voices. Man, you should’ve seen me when I first heard Christian Bale’s Bruce Wayne on the big screens. It’s your first time, I don’t blame you. And I’m honored that your first time is of me while my throat is in rapid decay.”
The spider groans. “That makes me sound like an awful person.”
“Oh, don’t even worry about it. I’d let you be an awful person to me any day .”
Peter’s stomach churns at the way the mercenary’s voice goes gravelly when he emphasizes words. “This is so weird. This is weird. I don’t like that this is what’s currently happening.”
“What, you don’t like finding me irresistibly hot? Ouch. Stings like a stake through a vampire’s heart.” Wade sighs dramatically, and the spider rolls his eyes. He can practically see how the mercenary’s probably just collapsed backwards with his hand on his head without even actually seeing him. “Hold on. Wait a sec. OMG. Is my voice right now how the smut writers imagine it to be when I fuck people? It’s always written, like, octaves low and gravelly, which, under normal circumstances is bullshit, but—”
“Wade. Mission.” Peter reminds him, unbelievably pink as Wade just keeps on talking and he can’t quite restrain the butterflies flooding his stomach. Really, it doesn’t even matter what he’s saying anymore, he just sounds so — good . “Please. Talking doesn’t help me focus.”
“Right, right, you want to fuck my voice right now.” The mercenary states, clearly still amused by that whole ordeal, and Peter grimaces at the reminder that he actually admitted that. “Should I hang up?”
The vigilante thinks about it for a moment — and he hates that he thinks about it, even for a moment.
Peter clicks his tongue. “Yes.” But he doesn’t sound very sure at all.
“You don’t want me to hang up, do you?” Wade remarks, the big smile on his face evident by just his tone of voice.
“ Wade .” The spider murmurs through gritted teeth. “I literally just said hang up, man, what do you want from me?”
“I just want to let you know — and believe me this is important, given our current situation —” Deadpool begins. “I am very into phone sex. Very, very into it. And with you especially. Hypothetically, of course. Unless?”
“ Wade !” Peter pinches the bridge of his nose between his index finger and his thumb, heat crawling up to his face. God, did the universe really have to make this happen with the only person Peter knew that would never stop talking no matter how much anyone tried to get him to? “That’s not something you just say out of nowhere right now. Not to mention I am in broad daylight on top of a low building. Please. We’ll — I’ll call when you’re — well, overall less —”
“Sexy?”
“ Distracting .” The spider corrects sternly. “Please hang up. For my sake.”
The mercenary clicks his tongue. “O-kay. If you say so, Webs. If that’s what you want —”
“I — yes. Yes. That is very much what I want, so do it now, please.”
And so Wade hangs up.
And the world goes kind of — weirdly empty.
It was in a way that Peter’s never experienced, only comparable to the feeling after being gut punched by several villains at a united front over and over again and starting to lose sight in your left eye. He’s staring at the road now, only it’s like his worldview has gone from completely technicolor back to the dull, grayish tones the world normally has, and it’s — well, the ambience is empty. He groans, burying his head in his hands. Seriously, what is going on with him?
Does he want to hear Wade’s voice again that badly?
He thinks about that for a moment. Ponders real hard on it.
Yes, he does. Honestly, yes he does.
“Goddamn it.” Peter mutters to himself, stepping further back onto the rooftop exasperatedly. He stares blankly at the phone that’s still in his hand, watching it carefully as if it is his greatest enemy right now. “No. No, I am not giving in to you. This is an important mission, and I do not have the time to be exploring newfound attractions to irritating people’s voices. I am not calling Wade back. That’s stupid, I literally told him to hang up.”
He’s really only trying to convince himself at this point.
Nothing is stopping him.
“Oh, to hell with it .” He whisper-yells, swiping aggressively through apps and redialing Wade’s number. One side of him — the responsible Spider-Man side, perhaps — is berating him, reprimanding him for not doing his duty to the city and catching this criminal. The Peter Parker side of him, however — who will not be left hot and bothered — is reprimanding the responsible side of him and adamantly telling him to shut up. Unfortunately, irresponsible Parker wins. After just two rings, Wade picks up.
He was anticipating this.
“Knew it. You didn’t want me to hang up.” The mercenary rasps into the phone.
“Don’t talk about it. Ever.” Peter murmurs, embarrassed. “Seriously, Wade.”
“Oh, baby boy,” Wade sighs, and again starts up the rapid fluttering of the vigilante’s stomach. “You know I will.”
“Fuck you, Wade.”
“I know you want to! Well, right now, at least.” The mercenary remarks cheerily, and Peter would swing over to his Manhattan apartment right now and snap his neck — not that it would work, just for good measure — if he didn’t think Wade was right in the deepest corner of his destroyed soul. As he stays on the phone, hopping off of the rooftop, completely forgetting about what his mission was supposed to be in the first place, Peter can’t help but spiral into thinking.
What is going on with him?