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Found 12 results

  1. From the album: Spectre’s GMod Album

    These superhero costumes are really hard to take off. I don’t blame her for having an accident.

    © Spider-Man

  2. From the album: Omo Drawings

    Saving the multiverse doesn't leave much time for bathroom breaks

    © Spider-Man Into the Spider-Verse is property of Sony Entertainment and Marvel, all rights belong to their respective owners

  3. Hello! I actually don't have a whole lot to say about this except I hope you appreciate the pun(?) in the title. It was either that or Omo-zing Spider-Man. I think Pee-tacular is just a bit more fun. I really hope you enjoy this because I had a lot of fun making it! Buildings race past me; the wind whips against the fabric of my suit and cuts through to the skin beneath. The scent of the dozens of different restaurants, grimy streets, the exhausts of cars gridlocked in traffic, and every other New York odor mingle in the air, and from this height, it almost smells pleasant. Not that I could enjoy it. Well, not completely. It is a little difficult to completely squander the thrill of hurtling through the skyline from twenty stories up. A different sort of adrenaline had my attention now. “Oh, man, I am so late!” I call out to no one in particular. “I can’t believe I’m going to be late on the first day! What happened to this semester being different?” My mind races almost as fast as my body swings through the air. I should NOT have stayed out on patrol so late last night. I completely forgot to set an alarm this morning. Classic Parker luck. Well, on the bright side, nothing quite beats the Spider-express, except maybe whatever Captain Marvel calls her morning commute. Oh right. I guess I should probably introduce myself, right? My name is Peter Parker, and for the past eighteen years, my life has been a montage of getting shoved into lockers, picked on, and uh… well, let’s just say even before I started wearing the red and blue onesie I carried around an extra change of clothes. The bottom line is I wasn’t exactly living the life. Then everything changed over the summer when I got bit by a radioactive spider—and I know what you are thinking, but it’s not because I got super radiation poisoned… venomed? I mean, I did get bit so—never mind! My life changed because I got superpowers! Kind of unbelievable, right? Now I’d love to be able to tell you that I immediately used my newfound abilities to be a hero, but it took losing someone very important to me to learn that with great power must also come great responsibility. Now to honor my Uncle Ben I step up and fight crime as Spider-Man! There’s been a bit of a learning curve, but I feel like I’m really starting to get the swing of being a hero. I’m waiting on that Avengers invitation to arrive any day now. Right now, though? I’m just trying to step it up and make it to school on time. It’s the first day of senior year, and I am determined to turn things around the year. If I can be spectacular as Spider-Man, then why can’t I be amazing as Peter Parker? I mean, it’s not like the muscles the spider gave me are going to hurt my reputation, and the proportionate strength of a spider seems to have completely fixed my other, uh, issue. Yeah, this year is going to be SPECTACULAR! “Hello, Midtown High!” I swing lower and somehow manage to evade anyone seeing me slip in through a bathroom window. Not much time to change. Better just slip in on over the suit and hope Flash doesn’t try to give me a wedgie for old time’s sake. I slip into a stall, thankful that no one was around to see Spider-man sneak into a bathroom. The last thing I need is J. Jonah Jameson spreading that Spider-man is some pervert peeking tom. I kick off my boots, and remove my mask and gloves and tuck them away at the bottom of my backpack. Pulling on my jeans is a bit clumsier in the small space, but the ability to stick to walls comes in handy while I tug them up to my waist. The button-up is a lot easier to put on for obvious reasons, and before long, I go from what some would call a “red and blue eyesore that is offensive to the law it pretends to protect as it is to the eyes” (Thanks for that Jameson) and become just a mild-mannered high school student. Correction, a brilliant and newly super attractive high school student. Of course, it’s only after I’m completely dressed that I realize I haven’t used the bathroom this morning. Hold on. I haven’t taken a shower either. I sniff at my armpits awkwardly. Oh, thank god the suit masks my scent. I check my hair in the mirror before leaving the bathroom. It’s messy, of course. But honestly? I think it looks a bit better this way. New year, new me. I think to myself as I leave the bathroom. It’s amazing how immediate the reaction to my glow up is. I can feel their eyes on me as they follow me in disbelief. It’s not long before I hear them whisper. “Wait, is that Peter?” “What happened to him?” “Did he seriously get hot?” I can’t even try to hide the smile that forms on my face. It bears repeating: this year is going to be- “Well, if it isn’t Pee Pants Parker.” I know that voice. The smile melts off my face as I turn to face the golden-haired king of the school, my one-time friend, longer time bully, Flash Thompson. Didn’t he use to tower over me? And I swear his arms used to be the size of tree trunks. This is the guy who tormented me? We might be on the same level vertically now, but I can tell that Flash still didn’t see me as anything other than the same pants-wetting nerd he had been shoving into lockers only a few months ago. “Looks like Puny Parker hired a personal trainer.” He sneers. “Hope you got potty trainer too.” He tries to push me. I don’t move. His sneer turns to a grimace. “Well, listen here, you might not be the same scrawny kid you were last year, but you will always be a pants-wetting weirdo.” “Knock it off, Flash.” A lean, dark-haired boy in very expensive clothes calls out. Harry Osborn, my own personal white knight. Ever since his dad hired me to tutor him freshman year, he’s always stuck up for me. Even if I didn’t need him to anymore, I couldn’t help but grin. “Get to class. We’re going to be late.” He ushers the jock away from me, flashing a smile at me as he does so. Flash was wrong. I’m not a “pants-wetting weirdo” anymore. Even if I do kind of have to pee. I’m Spider-Man now, and if I can clean up the streets of Manhattan, then how hard can it be to fix my reputation as a high school student? I mean, that confrontation went OK, right? I stood up the Flash mostly. Yeah, this is going to be easy. By the time fifth period rolls around, I begin to wonder how well the proportionate strength of a spider really applies to holding back a sea of urine. Do arachnids even bother holding back waste? Do spiders pee? All good questions. Perhaps not the best time to ask them. Even thinking about anything tangentially related to using the bathroom is killing me. I’m trying not to bounce in my seat while our history teacher drones on about what we will be learning this year. I promise I am usually a better student but—gah! I can’t take it anymore. “Mr. Maxwell.” I try to raise my arm nonchalantly. “Mr. Parker, what can I do for you.” He breaks from his speech cooly. “May I use the restroom?” I know he’s not an English teacher, but I am not risking getting caught up in the “can I” versus “may I” debate. “You better let him.” Someone jeers from the back of the class. “Never know when Peter might make another puddle.” My ears and cheeks burn at the laughs that accompany him. This year will be different. I try to tell myself. It will be. “That’s quite enough of that.” Mr. Maxwell snaps. “Yes, Parker, you may use the restroom.” He gestures towards the door kindly. “Thank you.” I mutter. I dart out of the room. Maybe a bit too quickly. Man! I’m really not making my case here, am I? No. It’s fine. Just use the restroom. Everyone pees. It’s not a big deal. I take a deep breath to calm myself, but it just seems to agitate my bladder. “Stupid,” I mumble to myself as I stagger to the nearest bathroom. At least no one else is in the hall to see my potty dance. I burst through the bathroom door, dash towards a urinal, unzip my jeans, and—no! My spider-sense blares! I have my stupid suit on! It takes all of my spider strength to keep from unleashing my bladder into my suit. My knees bend to brace myself; I curl over at my waist and tremble, fighting back the flood from escaping. A moment passes, and I manage to collect myself enough to stumble into a stall. Before I can even begin trying to take my suit off, my spider-sense rings again. A couple of seconds later and two boys enter the bathroom. There’s no way I can take off my suit without risking them seeing it. Would it kill schools to build stalls without big gaps under the door and between the walls? Who even thinks that’s a good idea? I sit on the toilet and rest my head in my hands. My luck would be hilarious if it didn’t feel so miserable. I tug down my jeans just enough to create the illusion I’m actually using the bathroom without showing my suit. Literally, being on the toilet is hell! Pulling down my pants just adds salt to the wound. I hunch over and bite my tongue to keep from groaning. My fingers are stabbing into my thighs like daggers. My toes press into the floor hard enough I worry that I might break the cheap ceramic tiles. I feel like I have an ocean inside of me. A stormy, stormy ocean with lots of crashing waves and—stop thinking about water! It takes until I collect myself a bit to realize the boys aren’t even using the bathroom. They are just hanging out at the sink and talking. Did I tell you my luck sucks? Alright, I can take a hint, universe. I pull out toilet paper, feign wiping, performatively flush the toilet and leave the stall. The boys don’t even break conversation while I wash my hands to keep up appearances. This is a terrible idea. I grimace as the hot water splashing off my hands, taunts my bursting bladder. My knuckles are white. I quickly scrub my hands clean and leave the bathroom. My gait isn’t exactly what you would call natural, but it’s maybe passable. This is going to be a long day. Sixth period goes by, and I mostly manage to regain my composure. The desperation ebbs and flows. It hits me like waves—Stop using water terms, Peter! I’ve all but given up using the bathroom. I can’t rely on it being safe, and if I go near another toilet, I don’t think I will be able to recover again. I just need to make it through the day. I bounce my legs underneath my desk like I’m trying to get a high score on Dance Dance Revolution. I hope no one notices. Seventh period, physics, rolls around, and I am assigned at the same table as Liz Allen. Liz Allen! On any other day, I’d be ecstatic to be seated with the girl I’ve had a crush on since freshman year. Not when I’m bursting to pee, though! I sit silently next to her. My face staying completely focused on the front of the room. I feel all my muscles coil up tightly to keep myself still. My fists, which are clenched tight enough to crush coal into diamonds, sit on my lap. Am I sweating? I feel like I’m sweating. I must look like the most attentive student in the class. Too bad I don’t hear a single thing our teacher says. I’m too busy repeating my new mantra in my head on constant repeat. Come on, Spidey. You can do this, Spidey. Don’t wet yourself, Spidey. Come on, Spidey. You can do this, Spidey. Don’t Wet yourself, Spidey. I’ve fought muggers, carjackers, and gang members, but fighting off the urge to pee myself? Now that’s an actual challenge. RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! I made it! I’m free! I can leave! I wasted no time in picking up my books and shoving them in my backpack. I was more than ready to race out of the classroom when I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. I stopped short. “Peter? Can we talk?” Liz Allen’s voice is as silky smooth as her dark hair probably was. Is that how you describe a voice? Is this weird? I turn to face her. Her dark chocolate eyes, her caramel skin, her ruby lips, her—OK Yeah, this is weird. Stop being weird, Peter. Just be normal. Talk to her. “Talk? With me, you wanna talk? Um, I mean sure. What do you wanna talk about?” Nailed it. “I asked Ms. Lydia to sit me next to you.” “You uh, you did? Why?” That sounded kind of rude. Oh great, and now my legs are bouncing. I hope she doesn’t think I’m being impatient. Or maybe I do? At the very least, I don’t want her to think I’m dying to pee. Which I am. Like a lot. “Yeah, I need to get my grades up to get into Empire State’s business school, and I was hoping you could maybe help.” I chuckled despite myself. Really despite myself. I shuffled my feet awkwardly to contain the burst of pee that tried to take the opportunity to escape. “Don’t laugh.” She frowns. “I know it’s not as ambitious as curing cancer or whatever you are going to do, but it’s important to me. I want to be able to change how pharmaceuticals operate—” “No. I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just; you don’t exactly need to be a physics genius to get into business school.” I tried to recover from my mistake. “I’m not asking you to turn me into a physics genius. I’m asking you to help me do well in it. This is an AP course, and the weight will bring up my GPA and help me stand out on college applications.” “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m just surprised you’re asking me for help. I didn’t even think you knew I existed.” “Of course, I knew you existed.” She laughs. Right. Of course. Because I am Pee Pants Parker. “You’re the smartest kid in school. Maybe the whole city. You’d be perfect as my tutor.” Wow. “Wow.” I don’t know what to say. “I don’t know what to say.” “You could say yes.” She smiles and makes a playful shrug. “Um, yeah, I can help you out if you really need it.” “I really do! Ms. Lydia said our first assignment would be Friday, so maybe Friday night you can come over to my house, and we can get started then?” “Friday?” Liz Allen wants to spend a Friday night with me? “Yeah, I think I can do that.” “Perfect! It’s a date.” She twirls around on one foot and leaves me in her wake. “Did she say date?” I ask aloud. I wasn’t given much time to process what had just transpired before I feel a sudden rush of gushing warmth fill my boxers. Oh god! Go! Go! Go! I move in something between hopping, dancing, and running through the halls. I push my way through the sea of students who were no doubt amused to see yet another classic patented Parker Potty dance. Finally, I made my way to the roof of the school. No time to get changed. My shirt’s red, my jeans are blue. Close enough. I unzip my backpack and reach for my mask. My legs shook. I struggle to shift through the books, loose papers, boots, and gloves before finally unearthing my mask. I gasp. A hot spurt of pee escapes! I feel it trail down my leg. It doesn’t show through my jeans. I wonder if it showed through my suit? I pull the mask on haphazardly and begin my perilous race through the city. If you ever find yourself bit by a radioactive spider, let me warn you; web-swinging on a full bladder is so, so, so not advisable. I think I can actually hear all the liquid sloshing around inside of me. It can’t just be in my bladder anymore. It’s all inside of me. I’m more urine than man or spider anymore. I don’t think I’ve ever been this desperate before. The proportionate strength of a spider just seems to mean that needing to pee is just more unbearable. I’ll admit it. I think I have a certain style, a certain grace about me when I swing from webs. I don’t think I have any of that style or grace right now. I’m clumsy. Sluggish, during a time that I really can’t afford to be sluggish. My precise movements are now slow, late, missed. I have to compensate for every mistake, and it just feels like a cascade of failures. No. Not a cascade. Something dry. A dry, not at all wet, something of failures. Oh no. It’s a little wet. I grasp at my penis, trying to stop the rush of golden liquid as it spills out of me. The hot pee explodes out of me anyway. It feels like waves of pee crash into me, splatter around my body as my swing throws it everywhere. I feel it gush across my butt and thigh. It creeps up my abdomen and rolls along my hips. It sprays off of me, and golden drops and stream cascade from behind me. I reach the apex of my swing, and with one hand still groping myself, I begin to swing backward, fast enough to catch some of the droplets on my back and feel the stream continue forward, across my legs, and then up to my torso as I begin to swing upwards and backward. And then forward again. Before long, I’m just dangling in place, the last bit of pee trickling down my legs and towards the city below. The shock wears off, and I remove my hand from my groin. My palm is saturated with my own pee, and so is most of the sleeve. My jeans and shirt are almost completely soaked across every inch of fabric. I can feel small pools slosh around in my shoes. I look down and watch a few drops fall from my clothes to the street below. I am SO sorry to anyone below me. I take a moment to process that I just briefly moonlit as a rain cloud. “Well, that just happened.” I take off for home. More than ready to get out of my wet clothes. It doesn’t take long before the warmth wears off, and all I’m left with is cold, wet fabric clinging to my skin. The wind whipping against me doesn’t feel as good as it did this morning. But hey, at least no one at school knows. AND I have a date with Liz! This day has its ups and downs, I suppose. And this year will still be spectacular. I hope you enjoyed. I'm trying a few new things here with the present tense and sort of conversational style of writing So please let me know what you think.
  4. Thorn177

    Chapter 3

    Spider-Man doesn’t like us. He didn’t want tacos. Exactly. Who doesn’t want tacos? He hates us, just like everybody else does. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Wade groans, ‘will you quit it with the angsty emo bullshit already? It doesn’t matter! I don’t expect him to like me.’ The chair Wade is sitting in was salvaged from a junkyard, one of the few pieces of furniture in his apartment. It’s full of mystery stains, and all the febreeze in the world couldn’t make it not smell like ass, but it’s comfortable enough. Less so when his mind refuses to leave him alone, though. Face it Wilson. No matter how much we want to be a hero, no one will ever accept us as one. Wade sighs exasperatedly. ‘Seriously, do I have to blow my own brains out to get some peace and quiet around here?’ Probably. ‘Fine!’ Wade stands up from his chair abruptly and stalks over to his weapons locker, next to the mattress he (sometimes) sleeps on. He pulls out the shiny new handgun he lifted from that crate in the trafficking ring’s warehouse, releases the safety, and presses the barrel to the underside of his chin. Really? We’re actually doing this? ‘Half an hour of blissful silence while my brain grows back? Worth it.’ He pulls the trigger. ————— His first conscious thought is that it’s going to be a total bitch to clean the brain matter off the ceiling. The second is that the soreness in his jaw where the bone is resetting feels kind of good. The third is the realisation that it’s light outside, which means he’s been out for a couple of hours. The equivalent of a good night’s sleep for him. He feels strangely rejuvenated as he sits up from where he fell on the floor. Wade feels the back of his head. It’s a little squishy still, but otherwise healed. He gets to his feet with a groan and a stretch and walks to the bathroom. He glances at himself in the grimy mirror, just long enough to see that his jaw and neck are splattered with dried blood. A shower, then. He listens while he gets undressed, listens to his mind. It’s quiet. Wade opens the cabinet above the sink, more to not have to see his own reflection than anything else. He finds a rusted razor blade on a shelf inside. ‘Is it still self-harm if you don’t actually take any harm from it?’ he wonders out loud, picking up the razor blade. There’s no reply. ‘So, my brain’s giving me the silent treatment, is that it?’ He cuts a gash across his chest with the razor and watches it heal over flawlessly, leaving the same scarred and blotchy skin behind. It seems like an oxymoron that his healing factor can heal any new wound he gets without leaving a mark, but can’t put his skin back the way it used to be. Wade gets in the shower. The water shifts between boiling and freezing. Old shitty pipes in an old shitty building. Still, the changes in temperature are oddly stimulating. He cleans off the blood and grime, until the water pooling in the bottom of the tub is rust coloured and opaque. With no one to talk to and no interruptions, Wade’s mind wanders and eventually ends up in the only logical place: thinking about Spider-Man. Wade has seen the lower part of his face exposed, so he knows him to have fair skin and pink, soft-looking lips. He’s even felt that smooth skin under his fingertips, when he changed their costumes around last year. It’s more than enough to work with, and he takes himself in hand. It’s been a while, so it doesn’t take very long, not when he’s imagining Spidey’s pink lips on his body, and he comes with a gasp. Fuck yeah, Spidey, suck my hard cock, bitch! ‘Knew it was too good to be true,’ Wade mutters, cleaning the cum off his hand in the shower stream. ‘And don’t talk about Spider-Man that way, okay? He’s nobody’s bitch.’ Dat ass, though. Dat ass! ‘Dat ass,’ Wade agrees wistfully. He turns off the water and gets out of the shower. If he stays in his apartment all day he’ll just end up blowing his own brains out again, in all its futility, so he dresses in civvies—jeans and a Captain America hoodie to cover as much of his face as possible without his mask—and steps outside into the brisk, autumnal New York morning. Breakfast is definitely the way to go. Preferably pancakes. ————— So, we get off on violence, we get off on the adrenaline high of a good fight. That’s old news. But pain? Dude, pain sucks! ‘Hey, don’t ask me to explain it,’ Wade mutters to himself as he strolls through the streets of Manhattan. ‘I’m not a shrink.’ A few people look at him curiously. (Probably tourists—real New Yorkers are damn near pathological about minding their own business.) In this day and age of bluetooth, you’d think people would be used to other people seemingly talking to themselves. A need to feel, perhaps? A way to battle the boring numbness and repetitiveness of invulnerability. We’re not invulnerable, doofus, we just heal real fast. Wade stops in front of a news stand. The Bugle has a way too good picture of Spider-Man on the front page, under some headline about masked vigilantes and how they’re bad for New York. But giving ourselves pain isn’t really enough, is it? Logical next step: wanting someone else to give us pain. Hence goading Spider-Man into that punch last night. He picks up the paper and scans the front page without really reading. ’A gamble. Either I’d have gotten that kiss, which would have been awesome, or he would have punched me, which, also pretty awesome.’ Wade sighs and puts the paper back, resuming his aimless ramble. ‘Man, I’d like to spar with him . . . If you know what I mean.’ Ooh, we should do that next time we see him! It’s better if it’s natural, though. If we piss him off first so he doesn’t hold back. ‘He’ll always hold back. Hero, remember?’ He stops at a hotdog stand. It hasn’t been long since breakfast, but then again, hotdogs. No other reason needed, really. Setting off again he munches the hotdog happily. Nothing like meat in his mouth to cheer him up. So, if we’re into pain . . . Does that mean when we get turned on after a fight, it’s really the pain that turns us on? Fighting turns us on whether we get injured or not. True enough. Wade ignores his boxes and instead focuses on savouring the taste of cheap yellow mustard. The mustard’s his favourite part. If he adds enough it makes his nose tingle. He takes the subway. Not because he wants to go anywhere in particular, but because it feels like the thing to do. Days are boring. Days usually involve watching TV, but his new place doesn’t have one yet. ‘Maybe I should buy a TV.’ Buy a TV? You mean, spend money on one? Why? Because heroes don’t steal. Duh. Heroes pay for stuff. Seems like a waste of money . . . Wade’s thoughts are interrupted when he hears a scuffle towards the back of a subway car. Three tall, burly teenage boys are surrounding a third, smaller one. One of them shoves the kid backwards into a seat while another cracks his knuckles menacingly at him. By the looks of them, they should all be in high school. Cutting class, no doubt. Wade stands up and saunters over to the group, listening in on their conversation. ‘You either pay up or we take it out in blood, shrimp!’ the closest one growls. ‘B-but,’ the smaller kid stutters, ‘I haven’t got any money! Y-you took it all last week, and I won’t get any more until—’ ‘Shut up!’ the one who shoved him snaps, and lands a punch in the kid’s stomach. The victim lets out an ‘Oof!’ as the air is knocked out of him, and screws up his brown eyes, a few tears streaming down his cheeks. He swats them away with a brown hand. ‘Aww, widdle baby!’ the third of his tormentors taunts. ‘Hey!’ says Wade cheerfully, clapping his hand down on the shoulder of the closest bully. ‘Just a suggestion, but I really think you guys should leave the kid alone.’ ‘Oh yeah?’ The largest of the bullies squares his shoulders. ‘And who’s gonna make us?’ ‘I am!’ says Wade, smiling. ‘You and whose army?’ one of the others asks. Wade drops his hood. Two of the bullies recoil in horror as his bald, scarred head is revealed, but the third, the largest, stands his ground. ‘Motherfucker!’ he exclaims. ‘Did you get hit by the ugly train, or what?’ ‘Oh,’ says Wade, unfazed, ‘you wanna know how I got like this? Let me show you!’ He reaches down the back of his jeans and pulls out his handgun. Without blinking, he releases the safety and presses the barrel to the bully’s forehead. The change is instantaneous. Every hint of bravado vanishes from his face. His blue eyes go wide and scared, and he starts trembling. ‘No! God, please, no, I don’t wanna die!’ ‘Apologise,’ says Wade calmly. ‘All right! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me!’ the boy sobs, real tears streaming down his face. Judging by the smell, he’s already shit himself. The subway train slows, pulling into a station. Wade lifts his gun and says, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ As the bullies run off the train like bats out of hell, Wade calmly puts the safety back on and returns the gun to its make-shift holster. The subway doors close and the train starts moving again, and Wade looks down at the kid on the floor. The boy looks up at him with wide chocolate eyes. He looks scared. ‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t really gonna shoot him,’ says Wade, pulling his hood back up and returning his face to shadow. ‘I don’t kill kids, even if they deserve it. That’s just not me.’ He turns away and starts walking back towards his seat. By the looks of the handful of passengers who witnessed the scene, though, he should probably get off at the first opportunity, before someone thinks to call the cops. ‘Hey,’ says a quavery voice behind him. ‘H-hey, mister!’ Wade stops and turns his head to look at the kid, who’s now picked himself up off the floor and is dusting himself off. ‘Th-thanks,’ the kid stutters, and a blush creeps into his cheeks. Wade is so surprised by this it takes him a moment to find his voice. Once he does, he says, ‘No problem, kid. You, uh . . . You stay in school, okay?’ The train pulls into the next station, and Wade gets off quickly, disappearing into the crowd of commuters.
  5. 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?
  6. 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.
  7. On the Europe school trip, which was six years later after the Blip and on this trip Peter was drawn to Michelle’s bathroom habits. Throughout the trip he discovered that he realised he had a crush on MJ. Before the snap or which some people call the blip happened, the same thing happened towards another girl at his school and that was Liz Toomes. He started to notice Liz’s accidents and this unlocked a bit of a secret to him, which made him attracted to a fetish that consists of wetting and desperation of girls. One thing he hoped for is that MJ would be exactly like Liz a sexy girl with a small bladder. To Peter the reality of this trip came true, which was that MJ would exactly be like how he remembered Liz by her accidents. Peter Parker’s favourite part of the trip was the flight from New York to Venice and to tell you why, we’ll it’s darn simple. Pete went to use the airplane bathroom and when he opened the door stood MJ looking like she needs to go so bad. Parker quickly shuts the door and starts pretending to clean the toilet seat, as a way to make MJ wait longer. Michelle was getting frustrated she quietly spoke in an angry voice “Peter please hurry up I’ve got go!” There was no reply back from Peter and this infuriated MJ. It was just in a matter of seconds when Michelle Jones first felt a squirt escape her and immediately looked around, no one was awake so that was great she could grab herself like a young girl without anyone looking at her. She bent over slightly and jammed her hands into her crotch, she grabbed her crotch area of her black jeans and started doing the pee pee dance. The thought of a 18 year old acting like a little kid was embarrassing to herself and aim to get a stronger bladder. She now was feed up with Parker and banged on the door and quietly said “Hurry up Peter... please.” Again no reply but inside that bathroom Peter was getting all excited about this, but the one who he is getting excited for isn’t too happy with this predicament. Just then another wave hit Spidey’s crush and made her scream a bit, Miss Jones was getting scared about wetting herself now because it was on its last legs. She couldn’t use the bathroom behind her because some person has been in there since the start of her desperation and she wouldn’t make it if she walked to the other bathroom where Pete and Ned were originally seated. She was not one of those girls who would rush back to their seat and use something else as a toilet, she would definitely not use the sick bag as a device to pee in nor will she use the blanket the plane provided to pee on. There was no other choose, but the option she definitely does not like, and that was wetting herself right now and having a so called “accident”. She took a deep breath in and with out any hesitations she started peeing, her golden stream bolted out from her pussy and ran into her pink panties and which soaked both the front and the back. She couldn’t help it but she moaned softly about her accident, the only person who heard it was Peter and by the sounds of MJ made him sexually attracted to her, which made Spider-Man quite aroused. The stream died down shortly after that and she actually enjoyed being wet after the embarrassment she took upon. Luckily her jeans were black and didn’t show much of the accident, but can you imagine if she wasn’t wearing black jeans and everyone would make fun of her but not the one who forced her to do this. The wet MJ went back to her seat and smiled to herself because of what Mr Parker did to her and after her enjoyment, Mr Parker left the bathroom leaving Brad to go after him. To Be Continued...
  8. Author’s note: This story takes place after Michelle Jones’s omorashi story. When the news of who is Spider-Man and it exposed that Peter Parker was in fact the friendly neighbour Spider-Man. Years passed and people bullied him based on his secret identity because of J Jonah Jameson’s remarks on him as a menace. He couldn’t take it anymore because the whole world knew who is was, but the webhead was ment to be a secret with only a few people who knowing his identity. Peter did know that everyone knew who Tony Stark really was because he wanted to, but Peter wasn’t ready for this. Peter had a wonderful idea he should live in Wakanda, where the whole world thinks it is a small province of Africa and very poor, but it ain’t. He called up Black Panther to tell him, that he wants to live there for a while and King T’Challa agreed that he could come. T’Challa said that he will come to pick up Peter at 2 o’clock and the current time is 1:35 in the afternoon. He waited for the arrival of the vibranium jet, where it will take him on a journey he would never forget, the jet appeared a bit early than expected at 1:53. He grabbed everything he packed and raced downstairs to aboard the jet plane, this was the best day of his life, but then he remembered that he never told his girlfriend that he is going away to protect himself, but she could make it out and realise that it was for the greater good. While in Wakanda lay an embarrassing moment with the princess of Wakanda in her bed. Shuri loved to sleep naked, but it wasn’t due to the heat waves in Africa, but it was more a liking from her. The sheets aren’t covering her whole body because it’s so hot and it exposes her breasts and a bit of her ass. Anyway let’s get onto the embarrassing accident she had, yesterday she drank so much water and went to sleep with it stored in her system and now it made it into her bladder and now she desperately needs to pee, but Shari hates getting out of bed to go use the toilet because she finds she can’t sleep again after emptying her bladder. So she decided that s would wet the bed because of her hatred for using the toilet when she’s trying to sleep. It was only a matter of seconds when her bladder gave up and she could hear hissing noises and moaned softly when she could feel the bed getting wet. She got up and put the sheets in the washing machine to pretend her naughty accident did not happen, when the washing was finished she could hear the voice of her brother outside and she rushed to her bedroom and locked the door. She made up her bed and put a dressing gown on to hide her nude body. She went outside to find her brother with Spider-Man right next to him and the king spoke “Shuri, this is Peter Parker of New York he will be living with us for some time.” “Peter Parker, this is my sister Shuri.” And after that Peter said in the most romantic way to Shuri “Nice to meet you Shuri.” She gave him a cheeky smile maybe a sign of love or that she wanted to have sex with him. Black Panther told Parker that there was no place to sleep and he was fine with it and said “It’s fine, I’ll probably sleep in your sister’s room if that’s the only place to go.” “Yes there another bed in the bank of the room or you can choose to sleep with her because her bed is a queen bed.” Peter nodded his head in a yes and T’Challa left leaving Spidey and the princess alone. Anyway they both went to the vacant room and Peter went to get changed in the bathroom into his pyjamas and came out to see Princess Shuri laying naked on top of the bed exposing all of her private parts. Peter was loving this probably taking mental notes for Michelle back at home and probably imagining her exposing her whole body to him. He decided where he was sleeping and went into her bed and she slid in and they looked at each other as they fell in love and both fall asleep. Peter woke up later from a terrible dream and it woke up the princess and he found out he was sleeping naked, he asked her and she did it and she told him that she wanted to have sex with him, but Peter declined because of his relationship with MJ. Shuri went back to sleep but Spidey bet that she would try to use things to manipulate him to doing it. To Be Continued...
  9. 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.
  10. Alas, this doesn't involve actual wetting, but I just stumbled across this when I was reading today and thought the second to last panel might be relevant to someone's interests. The idea of Peter Parker desperate to piss in front of Iron-Man and Captain America is the stuff of dreams. Obviously, not my own work and the credit goes to writer Dan Slott and the artists and editors listed here. My apologies if this isn't the correct place to post this.
  11. 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.
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