Chapter Text
"So," Deadpool starts, draping one arm over his shoulder and sounding entirely too smug, "When should we have our wedding?"
Peter stops eating his apple mid-chew.
"Th'whuht?" he asks.
"The wedding, lover," Deadpool croons-- which, weird, but Peter doesn't correct him. Mostly because he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about.
"The wedding," Peter echoes. He takes another bite.
"THE WEDDING!" Deadpool bellows, and he does this weird windmilling motion with his arms; pinwheels them until they screech to a halt in front of Peter's face. "It's Greek, baby! I'm Paris Hilton, and you're my goddess of love-- no, wait." He tilts his head to the side. "That's probably wrong. I'm gonna go with it anyway."
Then he's silent, and still; probably imagining it in detail.
Peter crunches.
"Yeah," the merc says, dreamily, "That's hot," and looks wistfully into nothing at all.
"Wedding," Peter reminds him, because he's (unfortunately) used to these tangents by now, and is actually kind of curious about Deadpool's ridiculous reasoning. The man had a knack for awakening morbid curiosity in even the blandest of individuals.
"I THROW THE APPLE AT YOU--" Deadpool booms, in a pretty passable imitation of Thor, if Thor had been gargling rocks beforehand-- and throws his arms into the air. The sunset behind him silhouettes the man's figure as he bounds in front of it. He strikes a coquettish pose, fingers lacing together under his chin; and says, coyly, "--and if you are willing to love me, take it, and share your girlhood with me."
Peter pauses, mouth hovering over his apple.
...The apple Deadpool had tossed to him not one minute ago.
Ah.
No wonder he'd been practically vibrating with excitement watching him eat earlier, Peter realizes, with chagrin. He honestly hadn't thought anything of it.
--And, yeah, before anyone even gets started-- Peter is already painfully aware of how wary one should be when accepting things from Deadpool. Most gifts from the merc tended to be a little, ah, explosive -- (i.e. their first meeting? Did not go well. Peter, to this day, still does not use fountain pens.) --but food had always been generally safe to accept.
Until today, apparently.
Okay. Fine. Maybe he should have been a little more cautious when he noticed the merc had brought him something healthy instead of Taco Bell, or Chipotle, or something else vaguely Mexican. But food's food, alright? And Peter isn't really the kind of guy who's gonna turn down free eats.
Even from Deadpool.
Speaking of Deadpool, the merc is still holding his awkward pose from earlier-- head propped on his fingers, one leg tipped up and his toe pointing to the sky like a classic, swooning princess. Peter would be impressed at his stillness if the other wasn't giving him that smug, expectant look.
He opens his mouth a little wider to tell Deadpool-- well-- No. To inform him that the fact that he thought Peter would take him seriously about this stupid, outdated, and most likely poorly researched proposal was ridiculous; to tell Deadpool to, in the most polite way possible, fuck off --
--and then he closes it.
Because you know what? Maybe Peter's going about this all wrong. Deadpool's insane, sure-- but he's not stupid. There was no way he really believed that Peter would be so dumb as to play into something like this.
Peter's being messed with.
And he doesn't like being messed with.
Okay. Look. Peter's… Peter's in a really good mood, actually. Despite the struggle of keeping both his stomach and his bank account relatively sated, he's been having a pretty freakin' awesome month. He is so on top of everything, you don't even know.
Essay due this week? Already done.
Rent owed this morning? Peter's on that like a fat cat on a balcony.
Plus, due to construction at the main building (he hadn't meant to throw Electro into the Daily Bugle's HQ, he swears), Peter's been doing most of his workload at home-- which means sleeping whenever he wants-- just as long as he meets his deadlines.
Yeah.
Peter got, like, seven hours of sleep today.
Seven.
That's practically normal.
So, yeah. He's maybe feeling a little reckless, a little cocky. And he decides, you know, why not play along this time? Why not give Deadpool a taste of his own medicine? If Peter's wit can go toe to toe with Deadpool's puns, there's no reason he can't hold his own in a game of gay chicken. Right?
Right.
That's clearly how this works.
After a moment of loud crunching (he took a bite of his apple at some point, by the way, mostly to watch the merc squirm impatiently), Peter says, "Okay," and waits.
As expected, soon as he opens his mouth Deadpool's already shouting at him, "--BUT IF YOUR THOUGHTS ARE WHAT I PRAY THEY ARE NOT," clearly not listening, probably assumed he's been rejected outright, "THEN--"Then, it processes. "--wait, hold up."
Peter takes another bite.
"Hold up," Deadpool mimes smacking the side of his head, leaning over like he's trying to get water out of his ears. "Run that by me one more time?"
"I said, 'okay'," he repeats, and the merc just. Stares at him.
To Peter's delight he realizes Deadpool is speechless.
"Um," Deadpool says.
"We're engaged now," Peter replies, and as he sweeps his arms out in a wide, dramatic arc, he tosses the apple core into a trash bin that's maybe ten or so blocks away. Bam. "--thanks to you, and the specific chunk of ancient Greece that actually practiced such a bizarre custom. Please take care of me appropriately."
Deadpool leans in close. From the way his eyes narrow, it seems like the mercenary is attempting to scrutinize just what is going on in Peter's brain through sheer power of will. Or telepathic eye beams. Whichever works first.
"First off," the merc says, slowly, "Yes, totally, gonna hold you to that later-- but we just wanna make sure you really were seduced by my wiles. 'Cause, uh, Yellow's bringing up a good point, and we're kinda wondering… maybe we managed to accidentally find the One True Apple to charm them all? Did we bewitch everyone's favorite web-head? Please say no. Or yes-- either one is good. And by good, we mean bad, but. We can spin either one."
Peter fights to keep the smirk off his face. He doesn't trust himself to talk just yet.
Deadpool doesn't seem to like his silence. "Helloooo?" he asks, waving one gloved hand in his face. "Spidey? Oh god, he's dead. We killed him. ...Or is he in a trance? Hey! Spides, look-- how many fingers are we holding up?" There's a brief pause. "Wait, no-- how many fingers are we fitting in?"
Aaaaand now he's making vulgar copulation motions with his hands. Okay. Smirk: Officially terminated.
Peter rolls his eyes instead, which is much easier to hide.
"Where'd you buy the apple?" he asks the merc, voice deadly serious.
Deadpool shrugs, three of his fingers still waggling disturbingly within the 'O' of his other hand's finger and thumb. "I dunno? I stole-- I mean, bought it, with my legitimate, American money, over at that stand on the outside of that park with the bridge. It's by that laundromat with the weird green-colored machines no one seems to trust--"
"--WHAT?!" Peter yells suddenly, clutching at his face in anguish, and has to step on his own feet to make sure he doesn't laugh at how Deadpool leaps, like, a foot into the air. He knows that stand, actually-- makes a note to leave the appropriate amount of change for Mr. Roubanis later.
"WHAT!!" Deadpool yells back, startled.
"You bought an apple from the one part-time love doctor in Manhattan!" Peter wails. "I will never be free of this curse! You've bound me to your soul forever!"
"HOLY SHIT!!" Deadpool shouts defensively, his hands stretched out in front of him like he's afraid Peter will jump him at any moment. "I DIDN'T!! I'M-- oh." He puts his hands down. "Oh you're joking, you fucker." A beat passes. Then, uncertainly, "...Aren't you? We can't… tell anymore."
Peter stifles his snort into a noise he hopes sounds somewhat noncommittal.
Deadpool gives him that suspicious look again.
Oops. "Uh, hey! Aren't you forgetting something?" Peter points out, hurriedly. "You're supposed to come with me on patrol tonight. It'll be great, one of those. Betrothed bonding. Things. Yeah."
"Uh-uh," Deadpool says, shaking his head vehemently; his hands are still stretched out in front of him like he's gonna have the hellish wrath of God turned upon him any moment now. "No way, Spidey! You're messing with me, right?! Seriously, you gotta prove you're not, like, at least slightly mind controlled or anything. Do you know what the Avengers would do to me if they knew I accidentally love-charmed their baby boy?!"
Peter's actually a little offended by that. Because he's definitely not an Avenger, and he's most definitely not their baby boy, but thanks for rubbing it in his face / infantilizing him.
He takes note of Deadpool's distress regardless. Might come in handy, who knows?
"No time for love, Dr. Jones!" he urges, bounding off his perch. "We gots crime-fightin' to do!"
Deadpool lowers his arms, looking a little annoyed. "Okay," he says, "This is the wrong fic to be using that refereeeaAEHAHIIEEGHH--"
In an attempt to distract the other man from his moment of weakness Peter sweeps the merc into a bridal carry. Deadpool shrieks, reaches for his katanas instinctively-- and Peter very firmly locks the mercenary's arms against his chest, because, yeah. None of that.
"I'm just practicing," he insists. "I'm the one carrying you over the threshold, right?"
Deadpool makes a weird gurgling noise into his shoulder.
Peter will admit it-- he's kind of enjoying himself. This is the longest he's ever had the upper hand against Deadpool's incessant and obnoxious verbal assault.
"You know, Snooky-pool," he says, "We might be the newest crime-fighting couple in town-- so that means you and I gotta keep it wholesome."
He also adjusts his hold because he's pretty sure the merc just tried to bite at his shoulder for that nickname, what the hell.
"That means leaving any and all love marks in the bedroom where it belongs," Peter scolds, and. Okay. He can't help himself.
He pinches Deadpool's butt.
The mercenary squeaks.
Peter ignores him, taking a step off the building and launching into a swing. "We're gonna start on Fulton Street today, okay pumpkin?" he asks, brightly, taking advantage of the other's stunned silence. "Maybe if you're good, we can take a break and start window shopping for what we want on our registry."
Deadpool jerks in his arms-- like he's finally woken up from whatever brain breakage he was currently experiencing, and regains enough basic motor skills to yell, "WHY THE FUCK," right in his ear.
Peter's too busy laughing to do anything about it.