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Deadpool is… an interesting guy, to say the least. He’s loudmouthed, rude, and endlessly energetic. He isn’t a hero, but he also isn’t a villain. He’s almost constantly poking fun at you or tailing you on your patrols, but you can rely on him if there’s genuine trouble. You’re somewhat forced to collaborate with him these days—he seems to keep popping up everywhere. It’s annoying, especially on days like today, when he just can’t stop chattering.
“Just… stop talking,” you eventually hiss, bringing a hand to your temple as it practically pulses in pain. Deadpool’s constant talking is certainly not helping your headache. He’s not actually saying anything of consequence—he’s been detailing the past few episodes of a TV series he’s watching. You’d been tolerant of it for the first five minutes, but you eventually snapped, of course.
Now Deadpool’s staring at you and whistling exaggeratedly. “Wow, I guess spiders can be cranky,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Are you on your period or something?” he huffs. It’s clearly meant to be a throwaway comment, but you hear yourself respond before you can think better of it.
“Yeah,” you mutter under your breath.
Wade is, unfortunately, observant when he wants to be—and he notices the comment. “Really?” he blinks, tilting his head at you curiously.
“...Yeah.”
“Oh shit!” the vigilante exclaims, suddenly seeming excited. “No way. No wayyyyyy! That’s perfect!”
Well. That’s not necessarily the first reaction you were expecting. “Why is it perfect?” you squint at him skeptically. Being on your period isn’t exactly… fun. So why is his reaction so positive?
Deadpool ignores the remark. “Congrats, I’m giving you the day off from hero-ing!” he says instead, looping an arm around your shoulders.
“What?” you ask incredulously. You’re too tired to push him off of you, instead just valiantly pretending not to notice. “That’s not how it works—”
“You can go home now,” Deadpool responds, making a shooing motion with his free hand. “The city can survive without Spider-Man for a day.”
“Wade…” you sigh exasperatedly.
Wade turns to face you. “Seriously, you look like you’re about to fall over, Webs,” he observes, poking your shoulder.
It’s somewhat true—you’re pretty exhausted. How Deadpool noticed that while you’re wearing your mask, though… you’re not quite sure. You decide not to think about it any longer, because it’ll only make your head spin. “Fine, fine,” you eventually acquiesce. “You win, I’ll go. Just don’t wreck anything, okay?”
“Psh, please,” Wade makes a show of shaking his head. He’s rolling his eyes under his mask, you just know it. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You said that last time,” you feel the need to remind him, “and then you nearly blew up the bank.”
“Hey!” he exclaims. “That doesn’t count. That was the robbers—I was just trying to stop them.”
“And then take the money they stole,” you interject.
“Well, duh,” Deadpool scoffs.
You just take a deep breath. “Never mind,” you say with a shake of your head. You’re not going to deny the opportunity you’ve been given. “I’m going now. Bye.”
“Byeeeee!” Deadpool says with a childish wave. “¡Adios! Au revoir! Sayonara!”
You send a half-hearted wave over your shoulder as you leave. You suspect Wade’s still reciting goodbyes in various languages even as his voice falls out of earshot.
You hate to admit it, but Wade was right. You’d rather die than utter those words aloud, but here in the comfort of your own apartment, you’re willing to acknowledge that internally. It’s a good thing you took the day off, because your headache is persistent and your cramps are returning. Coupled with the mood swings and just general irritability, you figure it was wise to follow his suggestion.
Again, you will never admit that to him. Never.
You’re settled on your couch now, wearing a comfortable shirt and sweatpants. Even changing out of your suit felt like a tedious task today. Everything is just requiring too much effort for your liking. You’re both hungry and nauseous, craving sweet but savory foods. And a lot of minor inconveniences are setting you off.
A blur of motion reaches your peripheral vision and you pause, wondering if you’re imagining things. A few moments pass and you decide to pay a haphazard glance over at the adjacent hall, expecting it to be empty.
You’re very surprised by what you see. “Wade!” you exclaim, your heart racing in your chest at his sudden appearance. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Oops,” he says sheepishly. Since your interaction earlier, he’s changed out of his suit—instead wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. “Your window was unlocked…?” Wade grimaces unconvincingly.
“No, it wasn’t,” you frown, looking over to the window he came in from. The glass is gone—it’s clear he broke it. You must’ve been pretty distracted not to hear that. Then again, you had the TV on at a decent volume—not to mention, your thoughts have been elsewhere today. You suppose you’re lucky the intruder was only Wade.
“It wasn’t unlocked,” Wade concedes, casually stepping around a jagged chunk of glass from the window. He senses your staring and rolls his eyes, picking up the glass and casually tossing it out. “I’ll blackmail your landlord into fixing that, don’t worry.” His response is so nonchalant that it almost makes you think you’re the one being unreasonable.
“What are you doing here?” you finally manage to question.
“I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment, dude,” Wade responds with a mischievous grin. Your heart instinctively sinks at the sight. That smirk always means trouble. Sure enough, Wade heads into your living room and props his head up on the back of the couch, looking down at you while batting his eyes. “I’ll be your sexy nurse. Now I just need a slutty costume…”
“Wait, what?” you sputter. “Why? I don’t need a nurse.” And certainly not one in a shitty Halloween costume. You decide to keep that part to yourself, though. A remark like that is just asking for an argument with Wade, and you don’t quite have the energy for that now.
“You’ve saved my ass way too many times now,” Wade answers easily. “I gotta return the favor sometime. Besides, y’know, hurt/comfort, reader-insert, all the good shit.”
…You don’t know what that last part means.
“You’re acting like I’m going to die or something,” you huff, getting off the couch and heading into your kitchen. Wade follows at your heels, idly poking around in your fridge before grabbing a soda. (Secretly, you only buy that soda for him—but he doesn’t need to know that.) Meanwhile, you open one of the cabinets and grab your heating pad, placing it in the microwave and setting it for less than a minute.
“What are you doing?” Wade asks, tilting his head to glance at you as you start the microwave.
“Using the microwave,” you answer matter-of-factly.
“Hey, no, no, no,” Wade chides you, putting his soda down to place his hands on your shoulders. “I’m the nurse here; you’re supposed to sit down.”
“Wade, I’m fine,” you sigh in exasperation, secretly touched by his concern but also embarrassed by the fuss he’s making. “This happens every month, it’s nothing crazy. Relax.”
“Relax?” he says dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. There’s a slight quirk to his lips that tells you he isn’t genuinely offended by the statement. “Me? I could never.”
“But seriously,” Wade continues, looking at you imploringly, “just lemme take care of you, okay?” He sounds strangely earnest—and uncharacteristically sincere. You’re not sure why this is such a sticking point for him. You’re about to argue again, but he keeps speaking before you can. “Come on, Spidey, pleaseeeeee? I’ll be so helpful, I promise.”
You just sigh and head back to the couch, sensing this is an argument you won’t win. Wade lets out a victorious sound at your unspoken surrender. He remains by the microwave until it beeps, before grabbing your heating pad and handing it to you on the couch.
“…Thanks,” you mumble, still feeling a bit awkward about the situation. Then again, Wade quickly literally forced himself into your apartment and took on the role as nurse. He didn’t have to do that. (The question remains, though: why would he do it?) You hold it to your lower abdomen before attempting to get more comfortable.
And then you realize: you haven’t taken any medication to help the cramps. Damn it. You glance over at Wade, who seems otherwise occupied with studying your apartment. You shift and start to get up, only for him to turn around.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides you, stopping in front of you with his hands on your shoulders. “What do you need? I’ll get it for ya.” This attitude of his is almost endearing. It feels weirdly… intimate. You’re not usually this vulnerable with anyone. And while Wade kind of forced his way into your apartment, you have to admit: it’s nice to be cared for.
Plus, you’ve known Wade for long enough to know he’s the most stubborn person on the planet. If he’s committed to do something, nothing will sway his decision. With that in mind, you sigh and consider his question. “Water… and ibuprofen,” you relent. “…Please.”
“Anything for you, baby boy,” Wade responds, sounding far more sincere than you expect him to. He heads back to the kitchen.
“Wanna sit?” you offer when he returns, making sure to thank him once more before downing the pills. You feel incredibly awkward having him around while you rest on the couch.
“Hell yes,” Wade responds enthusiastically, moving to sit on the cushion next to you. You watch the movement for a second, raising a brow.
“I don’t bite,” you huff, watching as he sits a good distance away from you. The remark comes out before you can realize the implications of it.
“Aw, are you touch-starved, Spidey?” Wade grins, looking over to meet your eyes. Damn it, he saw straight through that. “That’s adorable.”
“Shut up,” you scoff, immediately regretting every single action that led to this moment: Wade on the couch next to you, you willingly inviting him to come closer. What is wrong with you?!
Wade isn’t making fun of you for it—not really. He’s the teasing type, of course. But he isn’t genuinely judging you. In fact, since you pointed it out, he’s been slowly migrating across the couch towards you. “Come on, you know you wanna cuddle with me,” Wade continues, leaning closer with a smile. “Besides, you’re all hunched up over there.”
You choke on an annoyed groan, struggling to decide your next move. Eventually, you abandon the rest of your dignity and sidle up to his side. To his credit, Wade doesn’t stiffen or flinch—he only pulls you closer and wraps an arm around your waist.
You lean your head on his shoulder and keep silent for a moment, before coming to a realization. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?” you ask.
“Nope,” Wade responds shamelessly, a smirk on his face. “The big bad spider gets all cuddly when he’s tired. So cute.”
“Shut up.” Your default response in this situation is just to brush off his teasing. It’s a defense you’re both familiar with. Wade seems to be expecting you to say something along those lines, because he just laughs.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks sometime later, mercifully letting the subject drop. For a moment, you can almost convince yourself that this is normal. It’s a bit difficult to get over the inexplicable conviction that you should be embarrassed, though.
You forget about Wade’s question until he’s gently nudging you. “Eh,” you say noncommittally. “Tired, mostly.” Emotional too, but it’s usually better not to talk about that. It’s a somewhat unfounded feeling, not necessarily triggered by anything specific. Usually this melancholy comes and goes, eventually fading within a few days. If you keep yourself distracted, you can usually forget about it.
As time passes, you can’t help but relax and lay on his chest. If Wade is bothered by your sudden clinginess, he doesn’t say anything. You’re sure you’ll be super embarrassed by this clingy behavior in the next few days, but right now, it feels nice to have someone next to you. Besides, as much as Wade likes to tease you, he’s still a good guy. He wouldn’t actively try to torment you about this.
Plus, it certainly doesn’t seem like he minds. You suspect, idly, that he likely needs this human contact as much as you do. The two of you don’t get close to very many people, on account of your secret identities. It’s too dangerous. But times like this make you remember the friends you used to have, the people you used to love.
At some point, Wade’s other hand cradles your face, his thumb dancing across your cheekbone before stopping at the scar running down the side of your face. It’s relatively faded now, but from a close distance like this, you’re sure he can see it.
“How’d ya get this?” he asks, his finger tracing the mark back and forth.
“Dr. Octavius,” you answer.
“The octopus guy?” Wade blinks.
“Yeah,” you confirm.
“Huh,” he remarks, studying the scar for another minute. “Thought it’d be a little more… scandalous.”
You blink in confusion, still very much aware of his hand on your cheek. It’s making you feel weirdly nervous. You try to refocus on the conversation. “What, like a suction mark or something?” you huff. “His tentacles are robotic,” you remind him.
“Yeah, a lil’ robo hickey!” Wade exclaims, sounding a bit too excited at the thought. At your disbelieving look, he says defensively, “Come on, that’d be sick.”
You can’t help but laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”
The two of you talk about harmless things for a while longer, before you feel your eyelids begin to burn from fatigue. You’re rather comfortable, your muscles slowly relaxing as you start to lean on Wade. It’s growing more and more difficult to keep your eyes open. The ibuprofen finally seems to be kicking in, which is fighting off the cramps you were feeling earlier. Now, the pain is ebbing away—leaving exhaustion to take its place.
Sensing your tiredness, Wade trails off mid-sentence. Or, at least, you think he does—it’s kind of hard to tell. It’s been weirdly difficult to focus your attention throughout the past few minutes.
“Sorry,” you blink, trying to remember where he left off. “What were you saying?”
“Don’t worry about it, Snorlax,” Wade hums, his hand starting to rub your back.
“You’re not helping me stay awake, you know,” you mumble.
“I know,” Wade responds smugly. Then the smirk on his face softens. “You shouldn’t fight it; you need to rest.”
That’s true, but… “I don’t want to trap you here,” you remark, moving back slightly to glance at him.
“Oh, I really don’t mind, sweetheart,” Wade reassures you, gently tugging you back towards him. “It’s not every day I get a cuddly, cooperative Spider-Man. Gotta take advantage of it.”
You can’t exactly find fault with that, and you’re too tired to argue the point further. Instead, you just lean into him again and close your eyes. Wade’s hand falls still on your back, a steady reassurance of his presence.
“Night night,” he says quietly. (Or, at least, as quietly as Wade Wilson can manage.) “I’ll be here to watch over ya, fight off those birds in your nightmares.” He punctuates this remark with a squeeze to your shoulder. “Birds? Wasps? What are the enemies of spiders? Humans and their shoes…?”
You would roll your eyes at him if you weren’t already falling asleep. Wade shifts, grabbing the blanket and ensuring that it’s fully draped over you. You fade too quickly to notice the fond expression that rises on his face.