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Found 6 results

  1. Princess Shuri lay fast asleep in her bed in the Royal Palace of Wakanda. She slept there in her satin pyjamas, she was dreaming about her friend Peter Parker. He is her best friend and in the dream he was kissing her and all very bizarre things to her, that he wouldn’t do to her maybe she was dreaming how she wants her future to be like. And then she had the most weirdest thing she ever dreamed about, she was in the entertainment room in the palace and with Peter. Him and her were watching a movie together and it was a scary movie, she didn’t know what one it was maybe it was IT or something. Anyway she got very scared in one particular scene and ended her fear wetting herself and while she was wetting herself Peter couldn’t help but stare at her pee running down her legs of her jeans. Shuri woke up she realised it was a dream but she did get turned on by the dream as she would love to be Peter’s girlfriend. Shuri went back to sleep and she shifted in position. Her hand was now under the bed where her crotch is and was about to give herself an orgasm, but then felt the crotch of her pjs were wet. She must’ve been desperate to pee while sleeping and then had a dream about it. She got up, she tried not to scream as it was 6:00 already. There was a huge stain on her pjs and the bed, she couldn’t believe how she wet the bed and had an accident like baby, she just couldn’t believe it. She took off her wet pjs and went back to sleep naked and hoped she would wake up before her brother so she could hide her accident from him.
  2. Sapphire3619

    malefemale The Stark Internship

    This was another request, this one from @GrangerDanger, and it's set between Civil War and Homecoming (in my head, at least). Thanks for reading! *** The last bell finally sounded, and Peter sprang from his desk. It had been a particularly long and boring day, and he was excited to finally get out and…well, let’s just say engage in some after-school activities. It had been a few months since Peter Parker had been become more than just Peter Parker and just two weeks since he’d returned from a last-minute, wildly exciting trip to Berlin at the request of Tony Stark. Tony Stark. Peter unconsciously shook his head at the most ridiculous of the ridiculous things that had happened to him in the past year. Tony Stark had showed up at Aunt May’s apartment, spewing some bull about a grant. As soon as he’d gotten Peter alone (which, Peter thought distractedly, was even weirder – who else but Tony Stark could just show up and ask to see a teenager boy alone without so much as eliciting a raised eyebrow?), Tony had explained, in characteristically sardonic fashion, that Captain America was trying to help a mass murderer escape, and Tony needed Peter (who he knew was Spider-Man, because Tony Stark knows literally everything) to help catch Cap and the Winter Soldier. The battle had been outrageous, and Peter definitely felt like he’d contributed (after all, it had been his idea to use rope to trip up that guy who’d become a giant for a few minutes), but Cap and his friend got away, so Peter hadn’t technically done what he’d been asked, and he felt terrible for that. All he wanted was a chance to prove to Mr. Stark that he could be better. Every day since the airport fight, Peter had obsessively checked his phone, hoping for another summons, another mission from Mr. Stark. He’d spent his afternoons and evenings slinging around the city, helping people – mostly in little ways, no real big crime stoppage – quietly yearning for some actual excitement, something that would allow him to show Mr. Stark that he wasn’t just a kid. That he deserved to be an Avenger. “Earth to Parker!” Peter looked up. He was at his locker, putting away his last textbooks, and Ned was next to him, apparently in the middle of some story that Peter hadn’t been paying attention to at all. “Sorry, man. What were you saying?” Ned beamed, his good nature entirely unperturbed at Peter’s distraction. “I was asking if you were coming to Academic Decathlon practice today. You already skipped two this year, and Mr. Harrington isn’t too happy.” “Oh, yeah,” Peter cringed. He liked Academic Decathlon (and he definitely liked one particular teammate…), but he had totally forgotten about practice after school. He’d been so much more focused on… Peter’s eyes lit up as he pulled out his phone, not having given Ned an answer. There was a short, exhilarating message on the screen. Tony wants a meeting. I’ll be waiting outside after school – HH “Sorry, Ned!” Peter had to keep himself from sounding too excited. “I have the Stark Internship, and I can’t keep Mr. Stark waiting!” Peter was already dashing down the hallway, throwing his backpack over his shoulder, as Ned called out behind him. “I’ll just cover for you, then! Remember me when you’re rich!” Peter managed a half-wave behind him before bursting through the school doors. Sure enough, there was a conspicuous black sedan parked a few spaces back. Standing next to it was Mr. Stark’s perpetually annoyed-looking head of security, Happy Hogan. “Mr. Hogan,” Peter nodded at the man, trying to come off as mature. Happy opened the back door, not quite scowling, and Peter slid in. He told himself that Happy didn’t mean to shut the door on his backpack strap – he was just in a rush. “So what does Mr. Stark need me to do?” Peter asked as soon as Happy got into the driver’s seat. “Does he have a mission for me? Are aliens gonna attack again?” Happy was wearing dark sunglasses, but Peter didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were currently rolling. “Tony just told me he wanted me to pick you up,” the man sighed. Peter opened his mouth to ask more, but Happy was already rolling up the partition, clearly done with conversation. Only a little chastened – Peter knew that Happy didn’t like these chauffeuring trips – Peter sat back. He knew it would take at least 30 minutes to get to Stark Tower, and it looked like he was going to have to entertain himself. As the adrenaline of the school day and learning that Mr. Stark actually wanted to see him(!) faded, Peter had an uncomfortable realization: he really had to pee. He paused and wrinkled his forehead. He’d never really thought much about it, but yeah, he always went to the bathroom after school. Even after he got his powers, he’d go before changing into his improvised costume. Over the past two weeks, he’d just stopped at the school restrooms on his way out before ducking into some alley to change into the new suit Mr. Stark had made for him. Today, though, he’d run out without even thinking about it; he’d been so excited, and he hadn’t wanted to keep Happy waiting. Peter thought fast. He had to go pretty bad, but he was sure he could make it to Stark Tower, and Mr. Stark was always running behind or doing something important, anyway, so he was sure he’d have plenty of time to find a bathroom before Mr. Stark was actually ready to see him. Peter pulled out his phone and succeeded in partially distracting himself for the remainder of the drive. He never fully lost awareness of his overly full bladder, but he was able to flip through Snapchat with only a few intermittent squirms. By the time Happy pulled into the Stark Tower parking level, though, Peter had to press his thighs together before getting out of the car. He was grateful to finally be in proverbial sight of a bathroom. Without a word, Happy led him to the private elevator. Peter thought better of asking where they were going, and besides, standing slightly behind Happy let Peter shift side to side without being seen. As the elevator doors closed, Happy’s phone dinged. “Tony wants you in the lab,” Happy said tersely, pushing the button for the appropriate floor. “Right now?” Peter asked before he could stop himself, immediately cringing at how childish he sounded. Happy glanced mirthlessly over his shoulder. He didn’t bother to answer the stupid question. Peter inhaled deeply and stood up straight. He didn’t even know what Mr. Stark wanted yet – maybe it would be a two-minute meeting, and then Peter would be sent off to work on his own. Or just back into the car for Happy to drive home. In seconds, the elevator reached Mr. Stark’s lab, and the doors slid open. Happy held his arm across the threshold, and pointed vaguely to the left. Taking the hint, Peter walked around him and headed in the indicated direction. He heard the elevator doors slide shut behind him; clearly, Happy wasn’t staying. Peter couldn’t help but gaze around the lab. Of course he knew that Tony Stark would have nothing but the best tools and tech – higher than top-of-the-line – but it was still so cool to see. Peter knew tech better than almost anyone at his school, but even he couldn’t think fast enough to come up with names for all of the gadgets he was seeing. The room was gigantic, but Peter heard the sounds of tinkering a few yards in front of him. Focusing, he saw Mr. Stark staring at a huge, holographic screen, making rapid adjustments as some of his machines carried out his orders next to him. Peter squeezed his legs together again, determined not to squirm, before clearing his throat. “Uh…Mr. Stark?” Tony looked behind him, hands still flying in front of the screen. “Hey, Pete. Come and stand over here. I’m updating your suit, and I need to get your biorhythms right.” Wide-eyed, Peter walked over to Mr. Stark and stood inside a circle in the middle of some machines, trying to hold his bladder without making any obvious external movements. Tony glanced up, then did a double-take. “No, you’ll need to get out of your clothes to try on the suit,” he ordered. “You are wearing underwear, right?” Blushing, Peter nodded. Tony had developed material that basically shrink-wrapped around him at the push of a button, so he didn’t have to spend time shimmying into spandex. It looked like this new version of the suit had the same capability, so Peter quickly stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt, stuffing his clothes into his backpack and tossing it to the side. Tony held out the prototype, and Peter stepped into it, grateful to find that putting on the suit didn’t require any new knowledge, so he was able to do it right in one go. He pressed the button, and the suit snapped into place around him. Peter shuddered briefly; the sensation shocked his bladder, and he nearly leaked. Thankfully, Mr. Stark wasn’t looking, so he was able to cross his legs briefly, bringing himself back under control. He tried to stand up straight, still hoping that this would be over quickly. Almost as soon as the suit was on, Peter felt a poke on his arm. He clenched his pelvic muscles again as he looked over to see one of Mr. Stark’s robots taking some kind of reading from the suit. Peter felt himself starting to tremble. “M-Mr. Stark?” he asked, hoping Mr. Stark wouldn’t call out the stutter. “What is this for?” “Suit updates,” Tony replied, not taking his eyes off the screens, which now held several different angles and readouts of the Spider-suit. “The one you have now, I just whipped up in a few hours to get you ready for Germany. Now, I wanna make sure you have proper – can you stop moving?” Tony interrupted himself, enunciating the last two words. Peter felt his face get hot; he hadn’t even realized how much he’d been shifting. “Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling more than a little bit of despair. What Mr. Stark was describing didn’t exactly sound like a quick fix, but maybe… “So…what do you need from me?” Peter asked, grasping at a last shred of hope. “FRIDAY needs to create a digital replica of your physiology, so the suit can read your body and respond appropriately to your needs,” Tony explained. “Today, we’re getting a baseline – just standard heart rate, blood pressure, cortisol, EEG stuff, and then later, once I finish some of the programming, I’ll send you around the neighborhood for a spin so the algorithm can build in awareness of what your body does when you’re spider-ing.” Peter felt himself sweating, even though the material of the suit had super-advanced cooling material. Really, what Mr. Stark was describing sounded awesome, but he was a hairbreadth away from losing control, and the thought of wetting himself in front of Mr. Stark was overwhelming his brain and his body… “The program’s pretty intuitive,” Tony was saying, still fiddling with multiple images on the holographic screen, “but it has to get a bunch of data from you to make sure the responses are accurate, so just sit tight, and…” Tony actually turned around this time, exasperated. Peter forced himself to stand still, and felt a warm spurt soak into his boxers for his efforts. “Did you not hear me say the word ‘baseline’?” Tony quirked an eyebrow, and Peter quailed under his idol’s stare. “Just stand there for about ten minutes, so FRIDAY can get all the readings she needs.” Tony turned back to his screens, and Peter felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. There was no way he’d make it ten minutes, plus out of the suit, plus to wherever there was a bathroom in this monstrosity of a building. “I know you’ve got more energy than us old people, kid,” Tony went on, talking to himself as much as Peter, “but surely you have the skills to just chill out for a few…minutes…” Tony trailed off as he actually looked at the biological readings projected on the screen. The kid’s heart rate was well into triple digits, and his cortisol was spiking. Peter, for his part, was crumbling. He wanted to hang on, he had to hang on, but he was leaking almost continuously, and he was in pain, and he couldn’t focus on anything other than desperately, hopelessly trying to hold back the flood without actually grabbing himself. “Hey, kid?” Tony gazed intently at the screen, trying to make sense of Peter’s sky-high stress levels. “Is there anything-“ Tony didn’t need to finish his question, because he turned toward Peter and saw – and heard – the explanation for the kid’s anxiety. Half of Peter’s brain was screaming at him to run, to get out of Mr. Stark’s line of sight, but he was completely petrified, unable to move an inch. His bladder had just started to empty, like a water balloon had popped between his thighs. Heat gushed down his legs, splashing – oh god, it was actually splashing – onto the concrete floor. Tony opened his mouth to say something – his instinctive reaction to any given situation was to say something – but shut it again in an instant. Neurons firing overtime, he decided his only recourse was to avert his eyes. Peter felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. His chest hurt, and sounds were muffled (in space, no one can hear you scream), and he knew he was still pissing all over Mr. Stark’s floor, but he couldn’t feel anything other than blinding humiliation. His eyes filled with tears that he frantically blinked away, even though his face was obscured by the mask. His brain felt like a skipping record, or a car engine that wouldn’t turn over; he knew he had to move, had to apologize, had to do something, but he couldn’t actually think any coherent thoughts. After far too long, Tony heard the overly loud pattering sound fade away. He stood in silence for a few breaths, then spoke, not quite looking at the kid. “OK, just…just take the elevator up two floors, and there’ll be a bathroom down the hall to your right,” Tony instructed, trying to make it sound as if a teenage superhero peeing himself was nothing more than a minor glitch in his plans. Peter pressed his lips together to keep them from shaking, but pressed the button to release the suit. The rush of air made him shiver, rapidly cooling the drenched fabric of his boxers. Despite the highly advanced fabric of the suit, he still felt how soaked the material was all down the legs. “Just…leave the suit here, DUM-E or someone will take care of it,” Tony added, just as Peter was steeling himself to pull off the mask. With that final direction, Peter drew in a deep breath, grasped at the back of the mask, and slid out of the suit, catching it briefly on his foot before he was able to step out of it entirely. He let it crumple in a pathetic pile on the floor, just beyond the reach of his infantile puddle. Peter stood for a second, unsure if Mr. Stark was going to say anything else, but then reached down for his backpack and all but sprinted back toward the elevator, his vision blurry with tears. In the elevator, Peter didn’t even have time to catch his breath. He was done; there was no way Mr. Stark would ever let him join the Avengers now. How could he have been so stupid? The elevator door slid open, and Peter turned right, looking for the promised bathroom. He was just going to change, throw on his jeans, and then get out of here, maybe even – “Peter?” Peter froze. No, he couldn’t take anything else right now, he couldn’t – “Peter, is something wrong?” Pepper Potts, Mr. Stark’s unbelievably glamourous and savvy CEO and girlfriend, was walking up behind him, and there was really no marginally-decent explanation for him standing in his underwear on one of Mr. Stark’s private floors of the tower. “Peter? Honey?” The boy was frozen, so Pepper approached cautiously, not wanting to scare him. She could hear his shaky breath, and, as he was, in fact, in his underwear, she was already forming a hypothesis of what had happened. Sure enough, when she approached him, she saw the dark stain across the front of his boxers and the redness around the rims of his eyes. She felt terrible for the teen, but at the same time, she was intensely irritated with Tony. “It’s OK, honey,” she assured the still-quivering boy in front of her. “The bathroom’s that third door there. You can get cleaned up.” Peter nodded, messily wiping his nose on the back of his hand, but not moving toward the indicated room. “Were you with Tony?” Pepper asked gently. “It wasn’t his fault,” Peter insisted quickly. “I just…I didn’t…it wasn’t Mr. Stark’s fault.” Pepper knew better than to either believe Peter or to push him any further, so she just smiled softly and pointed down the hall. “There’s a chute in the bathroom. Put your wet things in there, and FRIDAY will wash and dry them for you.” “No, I-“ Pepper waved a hand, cutting off Peter’s protest. “It’ll take ten minutes. She’ll be done before you’re out of the shower.” Peter hung his head. All he wanted to do was get the hell out of Stark Tower, but he couldn’t argue with Miss Potts. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, then slunk off down the hallway. Pepper watched the boy close the bathroom door behind him, then turned on her stiletto-ed heel and stalked into the elevator. In seconds, she stormed into the lab. “Tony!” Tony winced at the sound of his girlfriend’s voice. Correctly assuming that she’d run into the kid upstairs, he didn’t even bother with a quip; he just turned away from his screen to face the wrathful Pepper. “What were you thinking?” she demanded. Tony sighed. “He didn’t say anything! How was I supposed to know?” “Did you even ask?” Pepper glared pointedly. “Or did you just jump straight into giving orders, not even bothering to say hello or offer the kid a snack or something?” Tony’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t have to answer; Pepper was right, and he knew exactly what she was implying – who she was implying. He looked up at the woman he loved, the woman who was so much better at virtually everything involving people than he was. “What do I do?” Upstairs, Peter was taking deep breaths, inhaling the hot steam from the shower. He’d briefly considered ignoring Miss Potts’ orders and not putting his soaked underwear in the sci-fi-ish laundry chute, but then he figured that there was bound to be some sort of tracker, so she’d know and yell at him, so he reluctantly did it anyway. He wasn’t really one to take long showers, but the hot water felt good helped erased the horrible feeling of wet fabric sticking to his legs, and what else was he going to do until his boxers were clean, anyway? He hadn’t set a timer or anything, but just as he turned off the water and was reaching for a towel, he heard a ding. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he looked out to see a green light on the laundry chute. He opened it and found his clean, dry boxers neatly folded on a tray. He took a moment to marvel at the technology before his train of thought naturally led him back to the crushing shame of having an accident in front of Mr. Stark. Peter sighed shakily as he pulled on his clothes. He tried to think positively; he could still help the city (would Mr. Stark even let him keep the old suit?), he had technically gotten to meet the Avengers (oh god, would Mr. Stark tell the Avengers that he’d peed his pants?), and… Lost in thought, Peter pulled open the bathroom door, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He had just enough time to start wondering if he even knew his way out of the building when he heard probably the last sound on earth he wanted to hear right now. “Hey, Pete.” Peter stopped and looked up, trying not to raise his head dramatically slowly. Mr. Stark was standing at the end of the hallway, hands in his pockets. Peter opened his mouth, but just like Pepper before, Tony cut him off before he could make a sound. “Don’t apologize, kid. Don’t you dare apologize,” Tony ordered, though he didn’t sound mad at all. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” “But I-“ Tony shook his head, refusing to let Peter talk. “Pete, I’m the grown-up here. And I know that. I didn’t think about anything other than what I wanted to get done today, which means I didn’t think about you at all, and that was really crappy of me.” Peter bit the inside of his lip. Mr. Stark sounded almost sad, and he didn’t want him to be sad, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do if Mr. Stark didn’t want him to apologize. “I know better than that, kid,” Tony sighed. “I know better than that because that’s how I was raised. My old man never asked if I needed anything, never cared about what I wanted. He was all about getting the work done. And I told myself I’d be better than that.” Tony gazed at Peter and shrugged, unable to fully verbalize how awful he felt for what he’d inadvertently done to the kid. “You don’t apologize, Pete,” he reiterated. “I’m in the wrong, here, and I promise, I won’t let it happen again.” Peter tried to smile. He was pretty sure Mr. Stark was just being nice, that Miss Potts had yelled at him or something. Then again, Mr. Stark did look uncharacteristically vulnerable when talking about his dad… Tony was silent for a second, but it didn’t seem like the teen was ready – or able – to speak just yet. That was OK. “Go back down to the parking deck,” Tony instructed by way of ending the obscenely awkward encounter. “Happy’ll take you back to Aunt May’s, and I’ll text you when the new suit is ready, K?” “Okay,” Peter managed to squeak out. Tony nodded and turned away, figuring the kid wouldn’t move unless he felt like he was officially dismissed. Behind him, he heard Peter scramble into the elevator. Tony frowned to himself. Pepper had been right, as she always was – it was totally his fault that the kid didn’t even feel comfortable enough to ask the use the bathroom. He wasn’t sure if his little speech had done the trick, but he’d definitely try to be more attentive in the future. And in the meantime, he’d be sure to add a dryer and a heater into Peter’s new suit.
  3. A short Deadpool fanfic. Features the voices in Wade's head, swearing, violence and mild pre-Spideypool flirting. ————— Wade squats at the edge of the roof, surveying the street below. He needs to piss. For a moment he considers standing up and peeing off the roof, seeing if he can hit any of the poor fucks below. He plays with the thought, turning it over in his head. Spidey wouldn’t like it. And it’s not a very hero thing to do, neither. ‘I fucking know that, shut up,’ he says out loud. The boxes are right, of course. If he’s really gonna try to do the hero thing, peeing on innocent passers by isn’t exactly a great move, hilarious though it would no doubt be. There’s a little less room for mayhem when you’re a hero than when you’re just a merc. He really shouldn’t have had all that Mountain Dew. He stands up, anyway, because squatting with a full bladder is like begging to piss yourself. If he can’t piss over the edge of the roof, maybe he can parkour his way to somewhere he can. Only, he realises, he kind of likes this feeling. Really? This is something we’re into now? ‘Maaaaaybe?’ Wade scratches his neck. ‘Never thought about it before.’ We’ve been into way weirder things, his brain points out. Kind of stuff we do for sh*ts and giggles . . . Hell, this isn’t even a kink by comparison. Ooh, we could experiment! See how long we can hold it! Wade considers this for a moment. ‘I guess what with the healing factor there’s no chance of doing any real damage to my bladder . . . Not that that would stop me. I draw the line at wetting myself, though. This suit’s a bitch to clean.’ Which is really dumb when you think about it, considering how much blood you get on it on a daily basis. Wade is still arguing with himself when someone lands on the roof behind him. He notices at once, but it takes him a while to pay the figure any mind. It’s only when Spider-Man clears his throat that he turns around. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt what’s no doubt a fascinating monologue—’ ‘Dialogue,’ Wade corrects him. ‘Trialogue? Di is for two, but there’s at least three. Sometimes six. Multilogue!’ ‘Whatever.’ Wade is pretty sure that Spider-Man is rolling his eyes behind the mask. ‘I was under the impression that we were hitting that trafficking ring tonight. Only I’ve been waiting for you for about an hour.’ Oh yeah, that’s what we’re supposed to be doing tonight! ‘Oh shit, yeah! My bad, Spidey. Got distracted.’ Thinking about piss. ‘Thinking about—no, shut up. Thinking about you, gorgeous!’ Wade bows with a flourish. Spider-Man’s arms are crossed in the body language of someone who’s entirely unimpressed. ‘Uh-huh. So, you coming?’ ‘For you, baby? Always!’ Spidey doesn’t dignify the double entendre with any kind of response. Instead he turns away and stalks across the roof. Wade follows. A thought strikes him just as they reach the other end of the building. ‘Hey, Spidey,’ he says suddenly. ‘You into watersports?’ Spider-Man halts and turns his head slightly. Wade decides that masks on other people suck. He’d like to be able to read Spider-Man’s expression right now. ‘You mean,’ says Spider-Man slowly, ‘like, surfing?’ Oh-em-gee, isn’t he just precious? Aww, who’s an adorably naïve Spider-Boy! Too cute. Too. Fucking. Cute. I may barf. You know, mentally. Wade swats the boxes away, also mentally. Not that they aren’t right. They are so right. ‘Yeah, something like that. Totally what I meant. So, we hitting that trafficking ring or what?’ And with that he jumps off the roof, forgetting that he’s six storeys up and that landing on concrete really fucking hurts, healing factor or no. ————— Fighting on a full bladder, it turns out, is hard. It’s also kind of a turn-on. Especially when Spider-Man’s leaping around with his hot moves, showing off that pert ass of his. The traffickers put up a decent fight, but nothing the two of them can’t handle, once they’ve released their victims into the night. And Wade tries not to kill anyone, he really does, but it just so happens that blades are meant for stabbing, and his hand-to-hand isn’t as great as Spider-Man’s. Besides, one of them is aiming his gun at the back of Spider-Man’s head while the arachnid’s busy with three others, and Wade doesn’t really have time to think, so he runs the fucker through. He doesn’t feel especially bad about it. By the time the fight is over, Wade really, really needs to piss. All that moving around has shaken his bladder and it’s making it harder to hold it in. Spider-Man makes a disapproving sound once he’s finished webbing the knocked out traffickers together, looking down at the dead guy. ‘What?’ says Wade defensively. ‘He was gonna shoot you! I just saved your life, baby boy.’ He pauses. ‘Do I get a kiss as a reward?’ ‘You really, really don’t,’ says Spider-Man dismissively. ‘Couldn’t you have, like, non-mortally wounded him or something?’ Wade throws up his hands in exasperation. ’Everyone's a critic! I don’t know what kind of bullets you’re used to, sweetcheeks, but the ones I tend to deal with move really, really fast. So, no. I just reacted. You’re welcome.’ He doesn’t look happy, does he? You’d think he’d be a little more grateful to us for saving his life. Spider-Man sighs, his crossed arms dropping to his sides. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. Thanks, Deadpool.’ Wade blinks, not sure if he actually heard what he thought he heard. ‘Am I hallucinating?’ Did he just apologise? Did he just thank us? ‘You’d better get out of here,’ Spider-Man continues. ‘The cops will be here to arrest this lot soon.’ Wade cocks his head to one side. ‘Aren’t you coming?’ ‘Someone’s gotta explain this to them.’ Spider-Man nudges the dead guy gingerly with his toe. ‘I could get rid of the body,’ says Wade without missing a beat. ‘Yeah. No.’ A moment passes. ‘So, you going or what?’ Wade crosses his legs. His bladder feels full to bursting point now. Their conversation was a decent distraction, but now it’s getting almost impossible to ignore. ‘Yeah,’ he says slowly and swallows hard. ‘It’s just . . . kinda hard to move.’ Think of a babbling brook! Or a waterfall! Crashing waves, maybe. Or, you know, just think about piss. ‘Dudes! Not helping!’ Wade growls under his breath. Spider-Man crosses his arms again. ‘Why?’ His tone is skeptical. ‘You injured?’ Wade laughs in spite of himself. ‘No, no. I’m good. Just . . . Kinda really need a piss.’ Spider-Man sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand. ‘What are you, five?’ ‘Fine, fine.’ Wade starts shuffling towards the door of the warehouse. The going is slow, though, and after a few steps he whimpers pitifully and grabs his crotch. That’s right, show Spider-Man how you can’t even hold your bladder. ‘Shut up!’ Wade manages to croak. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ says Spider-Man. He sighs again and steps around Wade to look at him. The faint sound of police sirens reaches Wade’s ears, which means Spider-Man has been hearing it for a good while already. ‘All right. Go hide behind those crates.’ Spider-Man points to the back of the warehouse. Wade turns around and shuffles the other way. He reaches the crates just as the police cars come to a screeching halt outside, and squats down behind them as quickly as he can manage. Bad move, bro. ‘Motherf-aaaahh . . .’ Wade hisses as his bladder begins to void without warning. Peeing has never felt so good. Urine trickles out into his suit, warm and wet. He sits back against the wall, trying not to moan. There’s no point trying to stop it now, he reasons. Thought we weren’t gonna wet the suit. We weren’t, but we did anyway. It’s gonna be hell to clean. ‘I don’t care,’ Wade whispers, closing his eyes in bliss. So, we are into wetting ourselves, then. Good to know. Another kink to add to the list. Beyond the crates, he hears voices. Spider-Man is talking to the cops, but Wade can’t focus on what he’s saying. A minute later he’s still wetting. The piss is leaking out of his suit, forming a puddle around him. When it finally stops, he looks around and it occurs to him to wonder what’s in the crates. The cops are talking loudly enough that he risks pulling one of his katanas and uses it to pry the nearest crate open. It’s like Christmas has come early. The crate is full of weapons. Lovely, shiny handguns, and big, heavy assault rifles. He picks up one of the handguns, trying its weight in his gloved hand. It’s got good heft to it. A new kink, fighting baddies with Spider-Man, and now a brand new handgun? Today couldn’t get better if it tried. Wade pries open another crate, predictably enough containing ammo clips, loads the gun and sticks it down the back of his sopping wet pants. Then, forgetting all about hiding, he stands up and calls, ‘Hey, Spidey! And cops! These guys weren’t just smuggling people, they were smuggling weapons too! You might wanna step carefully back here, though. I just took a piss on the floor.’ Everyone stares at him for a moment. Then five guns are drawn on him, and he puts up his hands. ‘Aw, come on! Help me out here, Spidey?’ Spider-Man just slaps his palm to his forehead and shakes his head exasperatedly. Right about now’s probably a good time to get out of here. There’s a window on the wall above the crates. ‘Okay. I’ll just be leaving now.’ All the guns go off as Wade leaps onto one of the crates, swings up onto another, grabs onto the window sill and hoists himself outside. One of the bullets nicked his shoulder, but it’ll heal. Deadpool vanishes into the night, leaving only the occasional drop of urine behind.
  4. This fic contains a few light references to age regresion/non-sexual age play, so please be aware of that! This takes place, obviously, during the scene in Avengers: Infinity War where Stephen, Tony and Peter are on the ship together. It's literally just unrealistic nonsense fluff of Tony being the most ridiculous and yet best dad ever, and Strange just giving up on trying to understand him. Also, sorry if it reads a little strange, I'm not very good with paragraphs and tend to write everything in one giant block of text... After two hours of flying towards an unfamiliar planet in highly awkward silence - not that Stephen himself minded it, but he knew silence often bothered others - Spiderman's squirming had officially reached the point of 'impossible to ignore'. Stark was utterly absorbed in studying the alien technology of the ship, and didn't seem to notice his young charge's apparent discomfort. This was rather a problem, as Stephen wasn't familiar enough with children to understand what was troubling the boy just from his movements, and certainly didn't feel it was his place to ask - he barely knew him, and most young teenagers would close themselves off around strangers and lie through their teeth about any problems. Stephen watched Peter fidget and wriggle miserably for another half-hour, until finally the boy let out a soft gasp and grabbed himself tight through his suit, and OH, ok, now he recognised those movements..."M-Mr Stark?" The teen squeaked out, instantly drawing the man's attention. The look on Stark's face told Stephen right away that this was not an unfamiliar scenario for them both, as strange (ha!) as it might seem to him."FRIDAY, code yellow" Stark chuckled, shaking his head almost fondly. As soon as he'd spoken the words, the lower half of his suit began to disassemble itself and fold into something else completely, a strange box-like object with a hole in the middle and a back as though it was a chair for sitting on... As the suit did this, Stark walked over to the boy and murmured something to him, deliberately speaking too quietly to be overheard. Whatever he'd said seemed to embarrass his young ward, as the boy blushed bright red and shook his head rapidly, clutching himself even tighter through the metal of his own suit. Stark spoke again, his voice still too soft to be heard, but his tone soothing and sympathetic, and pressed his thumb into a hidden indent in the spiderman suit. In moments, the bottom half of the suit melted away almost as Stark's had, except the metal pieces seemed to disappear instead of forming something else. Peter gasped out a thank you, too desperate to care about being heard, and shamelessly stuffed a hand down his pants to help him hold it better. Stephen politely looked away at this point, focusing instead on Stark, who had picked up the peculiar box his suit had made and was carrying it back over to Peter. It wasn't until he sat it down just behind the boy that Stephen finally worked it out - the box was supposed to be a sort of potty chair for Peter to relieve himself into, though the whole scenario seemed rather undignified for a teenager. Then again, Stephen thought as he watched Stark easily pull Peter's pants and underwear down for him so that he didn't have to let go of himself, perhaps this little one didn't much care about looking undignified or childish - maybe he even liked it, there were certainly people out there who enjoyed being treated a little younger than their physical age, Stephen had read up on it as a type of therapy. As soon as his clothes were out of the way, Peter could finally stop his childish potty dance, and he collapsed straight down onto the potty. The second he was situated was the second that Stark decided to engage Stephen in intricate discussions of battle plans for once they arrived, and Stephen, caught off-guard by the suddenness of the conversation, just went with it. Whenever Stark spoke, it seemed to be much louder than necessary, he was almost shouting for some odd reason... It took Stephen an embarrassingly long time by his standards to catch on to why that was. Stark was attempting to talk over the surprisingly loud sound of water hitting metal to give his ward some semblance of privacy in the open ship, as the child's urine gushed out of him and straight into the suit-turned-potty for quite a bit longer than Stephen expected - just how long had Peter been holding it in? If the quiet gasps of relief were any indication, probably since a good few hours before he'd even gotten into the ship. The doctor part of him yelped that that was NOT healthy, and he was struck with a sudden urge to gently lecture young Peter and ensure he'd never abuse his poor bladder again in this way, but again, that certainly wasn't his place... He'd leave it to Stark, who would no doubt agree with these thoughts even without him voicing them. Once Peter's stream had finally trickled to a halt, and he'd stood up and righted his clothes, Stark ended his previous conversation and wandered back over to the boy. Yet again he kept his voice quiet, but the gentle "good boy" that accompanied a fond tousle of hair was unmistakable. Stark pressed his thumb to the indent of the suit once again to bring it back, and simultaneously nudged a button on the back of the potty chair with his foot. Instantly, the back folded down over the hole and closed it off completely to prevent any spills, then, to Stephen's utter shock, the box rose into the air and flew off towards the spaceship's door. Everyone onboard felt a momentary tug as the door slipped open just enough to allow the suit pieces to exit - presumably to empty its contents into the vacuum of space - then enter again as fast as it had left."Ok FRIDAY, engage suit mode again" Stark said casually, and instantly the pieces of metal - now completely clean with no traces of urine, Stephen noted - reformed themselves around Stark's legs and feet once more, as though they had never left."I know it's embarrassing when there's others around, kiddo, but try and tell me sooner next time, ok? That call was too close for comfort..." Stark whispered to the boy, only just audible to Stephen. Peter nodded wordlessly in agreement, and shyly reached his arms up in a universal gesture that even Stephen could recognise instantly. Stark obliged without hesitation, hugging the small boy as close as the Iron Man suit allowed and just holding him in his arms for a little while, all alien technology forgotten for the time being... Meanwhile, Stephen quietly resolved to never enquire after the nature of Stark's relationship with the boy again. It was far too complicated and confusing...
  5. Thorn177

    Chapter 1

    Wade squats at the edge of the roof, surveying the street below. He needs to piss. For a moment he considers standing up and peeing off the roof, seeing if he can hit any of the poor fucks below. He plays with the thought, turning it over in his head. Spidey wouldn’t like it. And it’s not a very hero thing to do, neither. ‘I fucking know that, shut up,’ he says out loud. The boxes are right, of course. If he’s really gonna try to do the hero thing, peeing on innocent passers by isn’t exactly a great move, hilarious though it would no doubt be. There’s a little less room for mayhem when you’re a hero than when you’re just a merc. He really shouldn’t have had all that Mountain Dew. He stands up, anyway, because squatting with a full bladder is like begging to piss yourself. If he can’t piss over the edge of the roof, maybe he can parkour his way to somewhere he can. Only, he realises, he kind of likes this feeling. Really? This is something we’re into now? ‘Maaaaaybe?’ Wade scratches his neck. ‘Never thought about it before.’ We’ve been into way weirder things, his brain points out. Kind of stuff we do for sh*ts and giggles . . . Hell, this isn’t even a kink by comparison. Ooh, we could experiment! See how long we can hold it! Wade considers this for a moment. ‘I guess what with the healing factor there’s no chance of doing any real damage to my bladder . . . Not that that would stop me. I draw the line at wetting myself, though. This suit’s a bitch to clean.’ Which is really dumb when you think about it, considering how much blood you get on it on a daily basis. Wade is still arguing with himself when someone lands on the roof behind him. He notices at once, but it takes him a while to pay the figure any mind. It’s only when Spider-Man clears his throat that he turns around. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt what’s no doubt a fascinating monologue—’ ‘Dialogue,’ Wade corrects him. ‘Trialogue? Di is for two, but there’s at least three. Sometimes six. Multilogue!’ ‘Whatever.’ Wade is pretty sure that Spider-Man is rolling his eyes behind the mask. ‘I was under the impression that we were hitting that trafficking ring tonight. Only I’ve been waiting for you for about an hour.’ Oh yeah, that’s what we’re supposed to be doing tonight! ‘Oh shit, yeah! My bad, Spidey. Got distracted.’ Thinking about piss. ‘Thinking about—no, shut up. Thinking about you, gorgeous!’ Wade bows with a flourish. Spider-Man’s arms are crossed in the body language of someone who’s entirely unimpressed. ‘Uh-huh. So, you coming?’ ‘For you, baby? Always!’ Spidey doesn’t dignify the double entendre with any kind of response. Instead he turns away and stalks across the roof. Wade follows. A thought strikes him just as they reach the other end of the building. ‘Hey, Spidey,’ he says suddenly. ‘You into watersports?’ Spider-Man halts and turns his head slightly. Wade decides that masks on other people suck. He’d like to be able to read Spider-Man’s expression right now. ‘You mean,’ says Spider-Man slowly, ‘like, surfing?’ Oh-em-gee, isn’t he just precious? Aww, who’s an adorably naïve Spider-Boy! Too cute. Too. Fucking. Cute. I may barf. You know, mentally. Wade swats the boxes away, also mentally. Not that they aren’t right. They are so right. ‘Yeah, something like that. Totally what I meant. So, we hitting that trafficking ring or what?’ And with that he jumps off the roof, forgetting that he’s six storeys up and that landing on concrete really fucking hurts, healing factor or no. ————— Fighting on a full bladder, it turns out, is hard. It’s also kind of a turn-on. Especially when Spider-Man’s leaping around with his hot moves, showing off that pert ass of his. The traffickers put up a decent fight, but nothing the two of them can’t handle, once they’ve released their victims into the night. And Wade tries not to kill anyone, he really does, but it just so happens that blades are meant for stabbing, and his hand-to-hand isn’t as great as Spider-Man’s. Besides, one of them is aiming his gun at the back of Spider-Man’s head while the arachnid’s busy with three others, and Wade doesn’t really have time to think, so he runs the fucker through. He doesn’t feel especially bad about it. By the time the fight is over, Wade really, really needs to piss. All that moving around has shaken his bladder and it’s making it harder to hold it in. Spider-Man makes a disapproving sound once he’s finished webbing the knocked out traffickers together, looking down at the dead guy. ‘What?’ says Wade defensively. ‘He was gonna shoot you! I just saved your life, baby boy.’ He pauses. ‘Do I get a kiss as a reward?’ ‘You really, really don’t,’ says Spider-Man dismissively. ‘Couldn’t you have, like, non-mortally wounded him or something?’ Wade throws up his hands in exasperation. ’Everyone's a critic! I don’t know what kind of bullets you’re used to, sweetcheeks, but the ones I tend to deal with move really, really fast. So, no. I just reacted. You’re welcome.’ He doesn’t look happy, does he? You’d think he’d be a little more grateful to us for saving his life. Spider-Man sighs, his crossed arms dropping to his sides. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. Thanks, Deadpool.’ Wade blinks, not sure if he actually heard what he thought he heard. ‘Am I hallucinating?’ Did he just apologise? Did he just thank us? ‘You’d better get out of here,’ Spider-Man continues. ‘The cops will be here to arrest this lot soon.’ Wade cocks his head to one side. ‘Aren’t you coming?’ ‘Someone’s gotta explain this to them.’ Spider-Man nudges the dead guy gingerly with his toe. ‘I could get rid of the body,’ says Wade without missing a beat. ‘Yeah. No.’ A moment passes. ‘So, you going or what?’ Wade crosses his legs. His bladder feels full to bursting point now. Their conversation was a decent distraction, but now it’s getting almost impossible to ignore. ‘Yeah,’ he says slowly and swallows hard. ‘It’s just . . . kinda hard to move.’ Think of a babbling brook! Or a waterfall! Crashing waves, maybe. Or, you know, just think about piss. ‘Dudes! Not helping!’ Wade growls under his breath. Spider-Man crosses his arms again. ‘Why?’ His tone is skeptical. ‘You injured?’ Wade laughs in spite of himself. ‘No, no. I’m good. Just . . . Kinda really need a piss.’ Spider-Man sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand. ‘What are you, five?’ ‘Fine, fine.’ Wade starts shuffling towards the door of the warehouse. The going is slow, though, and after a few steps he whimpers pitifully and grabs his crotch. That’s right, show Spider-Man how you can’t even hold your bladder. ‘Shut up!’ Wade manages to croak. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ says Spider-Man. He sighs again and steps around Wade to look at him. The faint sound of police sirens reaches Wade’s ears, which means Spider-Man has been hearing it for a good while already. ‘All right. Go hide behind those crates.’ Spider-Man points to the back of the warehouse. Wade turns around and shuffles the other way. He reaches the crates just as the police cars come to a screeching halt outside, and squats down behind them as quickly as he can manage. Bad move, bro. ‘Motherf-aaaahh . . .’ Wade hisses as his bladder begins to void without warning. Peeing has never felt so good. Urine trickles out into his suit, warm and wet. He sits back against the wall, trying not to moan. There’s no point trying to stop it now, he reasons. Thought we weren’t gonna wet the suit. We weren’t, but we did anyway. It’s gonna be hell to clean. ‘I don’t care,’ Wade whispers, closing his eyes in bliss. So, we are into wetting ourselves, then. Good to know. Another kink to add to the list. Beyond the crates, he hears voices. Spider-Man is talking to the cops, but Wade can’t focus on what he’s saying. A minute later he’s still wetting. The piss is leaking out of his suit, forming a puddle around him. When it finally stops, he looks around and it occurs to him to wonder what’s in the crates. The cops are talking loudly enough that he risks pulling one of his katanas and uses it to pry the nearest crate open. It’s like Christmas has come early. The crate is full of weapons. Lovely, shiny handguns, and big, heavy assault rifles. He picks up one of the handguns, trying its weight in his gloved hand. It’s got good heft to it. A new kink, fighting baddies with Spider-Man, and now a brand new handgun? Today couldn’t get better if it tried. Wade pries open another crate, predictably enough containing ammo clips, loads the gun and sticks it down the back of his sopping wet pants. Then, forgetting all about hiding, he stands up and calls, ‘Hey, Spidey! And cops! These guys weren’t just smuggling people, they were smuggling weapons too! You might wanna step carefully back here, though. I just took a piss on the floor.’ Everyone stares at him for a moment. Then five guns are drawn on him, and he puts up his hands. ‘Aw, come on! Help me out here, Spidey?’ Spider-Man just slaps his palm to his forehead and shakes his head exasperatedly. Right about now’s probably a good time to get out of here. There’s a window on the wall above the crates. ‘Okay. I’ll just be leaving now.’ All the guns go off as Wade leaps onto one of the crates, swings up onto another, grabs onto the window sill and hoists himself outside. One of the bullets nicked his shoulder, but it’ll heal. Deadpool vanishes into the night, leaving only the occasional drop of urine behind.
  6. Thorn177

    Chapter 2

    Wade stares out the window of his NYC apartment. It made sense to get a place, now that he’s working with Spidey so much, learning to be a hero. He considered living it up in swanky hotels, as it’s not like he couldn’t afford it with all the cash he’s got stashed away in offshore accounts, but in the end he’s never felt at home in places like that, not really. So he found himself a slummy apartment in the Bronx. Bare brick walls, damp and dry rot are more his style. Down on the street below, an old drunk has just pissed himself. Not in the fun, sexy way, but in the stinky, passed-out-and-drooling way. A scabby stray cat is sniffing around him in mild interest. It’s that nice and quiet part of the evening, after curfew for most kids, but before hard-core crime starts happening. ‘So, what are we doing today then, Brain?’ Wade asks the quiet. Same thing we do every day. Mayhem! No, we’re helping Spider-Man with— Mayhem!! Yeah, okay, mayhem. ‘Mayhem it is.’ Wade turns his back on the scene. Time to get suited up and head out there. Admittedly, after the other night, mayhem might not be the best way to win Spider-Man’s approval, but what’s life without a little risk? Plus, a good fight might be fun. ————— ‘You idiot!’ Peter’s fists are clenched at his side. He’s fighting the urge to punch Deadpool in the nose. It’s not going very well. ‘Do you have any idea how close you came to blowing the whole thing?’ ‘Hey! How about giving me some credit for once?’ Deadpool yells, talking over him. ‘I didn’t kill anyone! Well, except for that one guy, but he was about to shoot you in the back. Those cops shot at me, and I didn’t fire a single bullet at them!’ Peter shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You’re asking for credit for not shooting any cops? Are you insane?’ ‘Since you’re asking, yes, clearly!’ Deadpool shoots back. ‘Duh!’ There’s a pause, during which Deadpool begins pacing back and forth, and Peter is conflicted between anger and pity mixed with guilt. After all, he knows Deadpool isn’t all there, and in spite of that he still somehow trusts him to have his back. Deadpool’s muttering to himself under his breath now. ‘I fucking know! But how am I supposed to—Shut up!—Does it actually matter anyway? Not like this plot is going anywhere . . .’ Peter sighs heavily. ‘Look. Wade.’ The sound of his given name causes Deadpool to stop pacing, and he turns his head to look at Peter. ‘I just need you to understand that you messed up, okay?’ ‘Okay! Fine! I’m sorry I alerted the cops to my presence, blah blah blah. I’m not sorry I killed that trafficker, though, cause he was gonna kill you, and I won’t let anyone kill you.’ If Peter wasn’t so annoyed, he’d be slightly moved by this. As it is he feels mostly uncomfortable. It’s not the first time Deadpool exhibits protectiveness over him. ‘Whatever,’ he sighs. ‘Just . . . Try not to do it again?’ ‘I’m always trying.’ Deadpool takes a step forward. ‘So, does this mean we’re amazing friends again?’ Peter doesn’t know how to respond to this. He wouldn’t exactly call Deadpool his friend. But the merc’s voice has a hopeful note to it that puts Peter in mind of an over-sized puppy, and so he says, ‘. . . Sure. Yeah.’ He wasn’t expecting Deadpool to hug him, but that’s what happens, so against his better judgment he pats him awkwardly on the back. Deadpool hugs him tighter. ‘Kiss and make up?’ he murmurs in Peter’s ear, and to his own great surprise Peter feels something flutter in the pit of his stomach. ‘No,’ says Peter softly. ‘Aww, come on!’ Deadpool’s embrace tightens further. ‘I said, no!’ Peter’s anger flares up without warning, and before he has time to register what he’s doing, the movement his fist was preparing for earlier just kind of happens, and he punches Deadpool square in the jaw, sending him sprawling. ‘Ooh, good one!’ Deadpool pants, sitting up. ‘Do that again?’ Realising he just gave Deadpool exactly what he wanted, Peter feels his face heat up, and he’s grateful for his mask, not for the first time. He tries for aloofness. ‘Just get up. We’ve got work to do.’ ‘I love it when you take charge, baby boy,’ Deadpool purrs and gets to his feet. ‘So, what’s the plan? Any Spidey-senses tingling?’ Peter rolls his eyes. ‘That’s not really how it works. But, this is New York City. We head off in a random direction, and sooner or later someone will shout for help.’ Deadpool puts a hand on his shoulder, and Peter thinks better of shrugging it off. ‘Well, what are we waiting for, then? We’ve got crime to fight!’ says Deadpool cheerfully. ————— But, this isn’t mayhem! ‘What do you mean? This is an awesome fight!’ Wade cries happily, beating a mugger over the head with the flat of his blade. The man drops like a tonne of bricks. His partner is running in the opposite direction. He’s dropped his knife. Fucking amateur. The traffickers were more fun, his brain informs him matter-of-factly, while Spider-Man leaps after the other mugger. ‘Yeah, but get a load of Spidey’s ass!’ ‘I’ll thank you,’ says Spider-Man, shooting a web at the escaping mugger, tripping him up, ‘not to comment on my anatomy to . . . whomever it is you talk to.’ Note to selves: do not talk about Spidey’s ass out loud when he can hear. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Wade grins. ‘Hey, you okay webbing these guys up on your own, Spider-Man? Gotta take a leak.’ Spider-Man makes a non-committal noise as he shoots another web to cover the mugger’s babbling mouth; something about ‘please don’t kill me I’ve never done this before’. As if we’d waste a bullet on the likes of them. Gotta be honest, though. Kinda jealous that Spidey isn’t shooting great loads of white stuff at us. Wade chuckles as he wets up against a nearby dumpster. He’s been holding it in again, and it comes in a hard, yellow stream, but the holding wasn’t as much fun as last time. Mostly he was just starting to feel annoyed. Of course, if Spider-Man were less busy tying up criminals he’d probably be upset with him for, like, littering or something. Public urination? Indecent exposure. ‘Whatever. Not like anyone would notice. Like wetting in the sea.’ He tucks himself back inside his pants and turns around to find the criminals all webbed up and hanging from a lamp post. ‘Where next, Spidey baby?’ Spider-Man scratches the back of his neck and looks up at the barely visible night sky. ‘I think maybe we should call it a night. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’ ‘Doing what?’ Wade takes a couple of steps closer, head cocked to one side. ‘Nothing important.’ Spidey shakes his head. ‘Hate to say it, Wade, but you did pretty good tonight.’ Wade blinks. A warm feeling seems to spread from somewhere in the region of his solar plexus, via his chest and stomach and out into every limb. A warmth that has nothing to do with, say, grave injuries or cancer. He praised us! Did he praise us? He did, didn’t he? He praised us! We did good! ‘I . . . It was no big deal.’ Yeah, it was, it was a huge deal. Take a compliment like a man, Wilson! ’Shut up!’ Wade mutters. Then he clears his throat. ‘I mean, yeah, thanks. Hey, we should get tacos! Or, or something else, but, like food!’ Spider-Man shifts slightly, and once again Wade wishes he could see his face so he could guess at what he’s thinking. In the comics, the mask has facial expressions. This isn’t the comics, though. Man, I don’t know what this is. ‘I dunno, Deadpool. Maybe some other time. I’m kind of beat.’ Wade tries not to let his disappointment register in his voice. ‘Okay, yeah. Some other time.’ He checks his weapons absentmindedly, making sure they’re all secured and where they’re supposed to be. With slightly exaggerated cheer he says, ’Guess I’ll see you soon, my amazing friend!’ Then he sets off out of the alley at a trot. Spider-Man’s voice follows after a slight delay. ’See ya.’ ————— Heading home in the wee hours of the morning (once he’s sure Deadpool has done the same and isn’t following, because he still doesn’t trust him with his secret identity), Peter wonders vaguely if there will come a day when he and Wade Wilson won’t be at odds with one another. He’s agreed to help him, agreed to let him join him on his nightly patrols, and for the life of him he’s been unable to figure out why he agreed in the first place. He talks to himself, his incessant flirting makes Peter deeply uncomfortable, and he needs to be told not to kill people. That’s not exactly hero material. Deadpool is dangerous. Peter knows that. He’s unpredictable and a complete liability. There are several (really good and compelling) reasons why no one in the superhero community will work with him. For all that, though, he seems earnest, like he really wants to be a hero, even if it’s for the wrong reasons (and at this point Peter isn’t sure they actually are the wrong reasons—after all, does it really matter why you do good as long as you do it?), and Peter is unable to turn his back on that. Not to mention his efforts in helping Peter fight the Chameleon last year. How messed up is it that Deadpool was the only one Peter could really trust then? The only one who could help . . . He shakes the thought, swinging from one building to the next. This arrangement is working. That’s the only thing that matters. Wade didn’t even mortally wound anyone tonight. As much as he shouldn’t deserve credit for that, he kind of still does. He’s doing a good job. He’s learning. In the end, isn’t that all Peter can ask?