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washing machine heart by gaystarfishnani
Fandoms: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), Deadpool - All Media Types, Daredevil (TV), Marvel
08 Feb 2026
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Summary
Ahead, the guy at the counter finishes up, spinning on his heel with his laundry bag in hand. Peter freezes as he takes in the man’s face: perfectly chiseled jawline, defined cheekbones, blue eyes, and textured skin that hints at some serious burns. He’s staring, he needs to stop staring at his face, that’s rude. Peter makes the mistake of trailing his gaze down to his arms, which are so muscular. God help him.
He’s so distracted he barely notices the man smiling back, clearly amused.
“See something you like, Bambi?” The low timbre breaks his ogling.
Peter immediately snaps his eyes back up to those baby blues, which was also a terrible idea. Peter needs to sleep, desperately. He’s clearly starting to lose his mind.
“Uhh” He splutters rather eloquently.
The man quirks a non existent eyebrow, but Peter gets the idea. “It’s rude to stare.”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—it’s not that I was staring in a rude way, I mean…”
God, Felicia’s going to roll her eyes so hard when she hears about this, and MJ’s going to laugh until she cries.
“Oh yeah? Then how exactly were you staring?” The man’s lips curl in a playful smirk, which is so incredibly distracting.
Series
- Part 11 of SpideyPool Antics
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Bookmark Tags:
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Bookmark Notes:
Actually screaming crying throwing up I fucking LOVE this, a true reread. It's tender and sweet and lovely dynamic
Did think it would have more Matt tho rip, but still so goodExcerpts:
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“Three exploded zippers, two acid burns, and what may or may not be rat guts! Be gentle with them, Mona Lisa,” he coos to the tired woman behind the counter, who doesn’t even blink.She sighs the sigh of someone who has seen Deadpool walk in every other week with a bag full of horror and still chooses violence by showing up to work. “Back of the line.”
“There is no line.”
“Then start one.”
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His phone chimes an indeterminate amount of minutes later, just as he’s scraping his sanity off the floor and wondering if he should crawl into a dryer and set it to “delicates” just to feel something.
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Peter presses on, frustrated. “And now it’s all, ‘thank you for trusting me’ and ‘good work today, bud.’ I mean, he signed off last night with fuckin’ finger guns? Who the fuck are you?”Felicia bites back a grin. “Someone trying real hard not to scare you off.”
“Yeah, but the guy who once sent me a picture of a burrito labeled ‘me’ and a bag of C4 labeled ‘you’ didn’t seem too worried about that,” Peter mutters, cheeks pink. “It’s like… he thinks he has to be this toned-down, thoughtful version of himself now. Like I’m off limits or something.”
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Peter shrugs, his voice a little softer. “Maybe. But I kind of miss the guy who told me my thighs could deflect bullets if I believed in myself.
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peter parker: Nah, still up 🙂 You good?The response is almost instant.
wade wilson: define good
wade wilson: because I’m currently eating a popsicle I dropped on the floor twice
wade wilson: but I’m also thinking about your thighs so… 6/10?
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How the hell did he not realize? He presses the heel of his hand to his forehead like he can physically slap the realization into place.“I’m an idiot,” he mutters. “I’m actually—like—legally an idiot.”
A woman walking by gives him a sympathetic nod, like she too knows the pain of being an idiot.
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—heat, low light, Wade’s breath warm against his jaw. A lazy grin in the dark, fingers tracing down his spine like Wade had nowhere else in the world to be but here, under Peter’s hands. The sting in his muscles fading into something molten as they caught their breath. Wade had said it then, too, quiet and teasing, like he was proud of himself for pulling Peter apart so thoroughly. Peter hadn’t been able to answer—just laughed, breathless, burying his face in Wade’s shoulder, the words lodging in his chest like they belonged there.
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For a long, brittle moment, neither of them speak.Then:
“I’m sorry,” Wade says again, with none of the bravado Deadpool wraps around every apology like armor. “I’m… I’m so fucking sorry, Peter.”
The sound of his name in Wade’s voice hits Peter like a bruise he didn’t notice until someone pressed it. Peter closes his eyes.
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Wade studies him quietly. Peter drags a hand through his hair, fingers trembling. He needs to get out of here before he says something he can’t take back. Before he does something stupid. Before he tries to fix Wade like Wade is a broken piece of equipment instead of a person.
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He isn’t upset with Wade. Not anymore, really. He should be, probably. Anyone else might be—but Peter’s lost too many people. He’s held too many hands that went cold. He’s kept too many words in his throat until it was too late to say them. He refuses—flat-out refuses—to let that happen again.
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Peter doesn’t hesitate.He steps in and kisses Wade under the open sky—soft and sure and real. Not desperate. Not rushed. Like they’ve already decided something, and this is just the punctuation at the end of a long, unfinished sentence.
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