Work Text:
Peter's eyes opened, and he glanced around the squalid, disturbingly tidy room with annoyance. Of course, he would get kidnapped. Of course, he would get kidnapped when he was out with his superhero parents. Of course, he would get kidnapped on his birthday (the one day of the year he was happy not to have to go out as Spidey, obviously). Eventually, he assessed his surroundings enough to realise that whoever had kidnapped him was pretty amateur, and he sprung the built in webs from his webs, quickly breaking off the rope and standing. He was about to open the door, when it opened for him.
‘Honey, I’m ho-ome!’ a voice trilled, and, for Christ’s sake, of all the people, standing there was Wade Wilson. Peter resisted the urge to facepalm hugely.
‘Why the hell, Wade?’ The mercenary shrugged, closing the door behind him and sighing.
‘I wanted to celebrate your birthday with you! And I’m the only person who does decent tacos in this district, so I brought you here,’ he grinned then, lifting up the bottom of his mask to do so. Peter relaxed slightly, leaning back into the chair.
‘Did you really have to kidnap me?’ Wade nodded.
‘Here, have a taco!’ The next thing he knew, the greasy Mexican food was being stuck down his throat, and Wade was talking. About
anything.
And
everything.
He ended up responding, of course, and by the end he thought he knew a little bit more about his
childhood hero
(yes, ok, you wouldn’t think it but then again you haven’t read the disturbing fanfic). Wade finished the chocolate pudding he’d randomly acquired, and leaned further forward towards Peter.
‘So, how do you want to get back? I can drug you, you could introduce me as your boyfriend, I can let you go but wipe your mind,’ he ticked off the possibilities on his fingers. Peter mused for a second. The first two options seem appealing. Whoa. Where did that come from?
‘Option 1, please,’ he said simply. A couple of seconds later, the cotton wool was pressed against his mouth, and he was out.
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When he woke up, he was in his own bed, surrounded by remarkably warm sheets. Next to him was a bottle of water, an aspirin, a taco shell and an envelope. Dreading what was inside it, he opened it cautiously. It was a note, plain and simple.
You looked surprisingly adorable in my arms, Spidey-poo. I’ll see you ‘out and about’. By that I mean on the job. Good luck in explaining this to Ironing Board and Bald Eagle!
Okay. That gave a new definition to the word ‘embarrassing’. He attempted to sink through the floor before he heard the call of the dads. What a brilliant, brilliant birthday.