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If you told Peter three weeks ago— hell, even this morning— that he was going to lose his virginity on accident, buried alive in a casket with Deadpool of all people, he would’ve sent you straight to an insane asylum.
Ok, so one part of that isn’t exactly true; Peter’s had the biggest, most embarrassing crush on the mercenary for ages and with the mercenary’s heavy flirting, it wouldn’t surprise him if they ended up between the sheets at some point— but there are no sheets. Just the velvet lining the casket— why do coffins even have that? It’s not like the dead can feel the hard wood. It’s just a waste of money that Peter desperately wishes he had.
It starts out just lovely as always. Fucking Parker Luck.
He was so exhausted last night he just collapsed into his bed and forgot to close the blackout curtains, which leads him to where he is now. It’s not sunlight in his eyes, gods know he’s not rich enough to afford an apartment in a high rise. No, he wakes up to the violent hot pink neon lights of the gay sex club outside his window.
Peter groans and rolls over, smashing his face in his pillow. The heavy club music pulses through everything, synchronizing with his phone blaring out “GET YOUR FUCKING ASS TO THE OFFICE”: his ringtone for work because, once again, he fell asleep before he turned his phone on silent.
Shit.
Peter rolls out of bed so fast that he tumbles to the floor in his scramble for his phone. He turns it on silent— sweet blissful silence— and messages that he’s running late. Again.
He forgoes a shower, even though he once again didn't shower after patrol and probably smells like BO. He spritzs on a bit of extra cologne to make up for it. He pops a piece of bread in the toaster and sets the temperature as high as it can go. A sad piece of charred coal is what pops out. He eats it anyway.
He tosses on the first things he sees in his dresser, which is definitely not making it anywhere near the Top Fashion Trends of 2025. Doesn’t brush his hair, doesn’t do much anyways. Then he’s sprinting down the stairs and the 10 blocks to the Daily Bugle.
When the elevator stops on his floor, the metal doors open, leaving a burning cigar only inches from Peter’s nose. The enraged face on the other side of it is more frightening.
“You’re fired,” Jonah growls out around the thick cigar, smoke puffing out with the words.
Peter flounders, dumbstruck for a solid few minutes (once again: lack of sleep. Damn, seems like there’s a pattern.)
“But I’m the only one who can get pictures of Spider-Man,” Peter squeaks out, while his world comes tumbling down around him. Spider-Man is supposed to be child friendly, but shit. Swear word #3 of the day so far.
“Too bad. We’re rebranding, like what’s her face— Gogo Siwa?” Jonah stubs the cigarette out. “We’ve got someone new to focus on: Deadpool. He seems to be doing good,” he spits out the last word. “But it’s with Spider-Man, and he’s a mercenary! What has the world come to these days, trusting everyone and anybody.”
Peter cringes. Welp, the sex club is always hiring?
“Now go collect your last paycheck and get out of my sight.”
“Wait!” Peter cries out. Jonah turns, an exasperated look on his face. “W-what if I can get you pictures of Deadpool. Better yet! Deadpool killing.”
Jonah narrows his eyes, contemplating. He sighs. “You’ve got one week.”
That’s all Peter needs. Surely it won’t be that hard to frame Deadpool murdering someone. He certainly maims enough.
Right?
-
Peter immediately leaves and changes into his spidey suit in a dark deserted alley.
He starts patrolling, knowing that looking for the mercenary will get him nowhere. Deadpool always seems to be untraceable. He’s always the one to find Peter.
It takes a while. About an hour goes by before Peter smells tacos and gunpowder.
“Hiya, Baby Boy. What’s got you up so early?”
“You, actually.”
Deadpool gasps and winks. “I could take care of that, you know?”
Peter groans. “Not like that. I just… need a picture. Of you. Hurting someone.” He winces. “Preferably me, I guess.”
White eyes blink. “Honestly, I don’t wanna know.” He shakes his head. “But anything for you, Webs.”
Huh, Peter wasn’t expecting him to actually agree, but then again, it makes sense. Anything to get him closer to getting into Peter’s pants. [Little did they know it would…
-
They make arrangements to meet up the next day and set off to help the Defenders with some criminals illegally harvesting and selling dead human parts. The thought makes Peter nauseous.
The pair didn’t ask for any information after that— what they heard was enough. Which turns out they’ll regret not listening later.
The six of them meet up at the typical villain hideout— a warehouse.
“Spider-Man’s going to hack into their computer system to find their partners and other locations. Deadpool, you’ll cover him in case anybody follows, the rest of us will take down the guards,” Jessica says. “Wait until we have the guards distracted and go through there.” She flicks a finger down a dark hallway visible through the conveniently glass ceiling.
Then Deadpool and him are sitting on the roof alone. The front doors crash open, startling all of the workers inside. They all turn to face the oncoming threat. Peter takes that as his chance and lifts the pane of glass out of its socket and sets it down on the concrete next to him. A grunt is forced out of him when Deadpool jumps onto his back, but Peter doesn’t complain, just rappels them down silently on a web. They land behind a few crates, out of everyone’s sight, without attracting attention.
He loses Deadpool momentarily before finding him holding a— a dildo?
“What are you doing?” Peter hisses, grabbing the mercenary by his katana straps.
“They’re making sex toys out of the dead bodies.” His voice is slightly breathless, whether it’s from humor or disgust, Peter can’t tell. It falls out of kevlar covered hands and lands on the floor with a thwak that will forever stain Peter’s memories.
“Come on.” Peter tugs him down the hallway. The darkness seems to last forever as they descend the downwards sloping path before it finally opens into a computer lab. Peter takes a seat in front of one of the computers, his hands already flying across the keyboard while Deadpool knocks out the other nerds. He shoves a hard drive into the side of the monitor and quickly downloads all of the information on the computer, deleting everything on the computer after it’s transferred. It takes several agonizing minutes before it finally completes. You know that meme where it downloads 70% and zigzags for the rest of the way aka taking forever? Yeah, that’s underground wifi for you.
He doesn’t realize it’s gone completely silent around him until his whoop echoes once it’s finally done downloading.
“DP?” It echoes through the dark, silent cavern without a reply from the chatty mercenary. Peter yanks out the hard drive and stuffs it into his suit before spinning around, bracing himself for whatever danger waits behind him.
He doesn’t even get a chance to make a quip before something slams into the side of his head, knocking him out cold.
-
Peter comes back to himself in bits and pieces. When his eyes flicker open, it’s completely dark and his brain is a throbbing, foggy mess. He blinks and shakes his head a few times before processing.
It’s pitch-black, completely silent except for two heartbeats and breaths. It smells like blood and church fragrances. Something warm and big is underneath him. The skin on skin contact, as well as the velvet pressing into his back is unpleasantly slick from oils and sweat. That’s when he realizes that they’re both completely naked. Peter’s maskless, with Deadpool if the smooth scars are anything to go by. The air is warm and humid from the tight space they were squeezed in and gathering condensation from their breath, which means that there is hardly, if any, ventilation.
Deadpool groans beneath him, just regaining consciousness.
“What the fuck?” He mutters and wiggles, freezing when he realizes someone else is on top of him. “Who the fuck?” He mutters.
So, Peter has two options. A) play civilian and keep his secret identity intact or B) just admit he’s Spider-Man. Option A sounds more reasonable to his concussed brain.
“Peter. Who are you?”
“The name’s Deadpool, darling, but most people call me Wade.” Wade. That’s his name. “Any idea where the fuck we are?”
Peter wiggles around, checking the shape and space they have. Wade’s cock is dangerously close to his hole and they’re slick from the embalming oils that must have just been dumped in with them.
“Feels like a coffin,” Peter mutters.
“Oh…” Wade drawls. “It was probably from those dead prostitute sellers that me and Spidey were taking care of. Wonder what happened to him.”
“Dead prostitute sellers?”
“They were selling dead bodies and taxidermied dicks into sex toys! Ergo, they’re prostitutes!
Peter fakes a gag, which doesn’t take much effort because just thinking about it for the second time makes him nauseous.
“Well… hopefully the Defenders come dig us up before you, sweet thing, run out of air!” Wade boops his nose with awingly precise coordination.
“Or,” Peter grumbles. “We could try breaking out. We don’t even know if we were buried.”
“Oh honey, I know the smell of cemeteries. Did you know that bodies are typically only buried four feet down?”
“Then let’s hope our gravediggers were lazy enough to give us less than that. Especially with all these fragrances, ugh.” With that, Peter starts pressing against the sides of the coffin but can’t get enough traction, just slipping all over Wade. Peter adjusts his body so he’s on his arms and knees and pushes up, not with all of his strength though, or else that’d be suspicious.
“A little help,” Peter grunts.
“Maybe you should stop wiggling so much,” Wade chuckles nervously.
“I’ll stop wiggling once we’re out of here.”
Wade whimpers but braces his feet and pushes up with Peter. The wood groans but doesn’t give. Peter puts more force into it, but his arms slide on the wet velvet and he slips. His body slides down Wade’s hips, his tdick grinding against Wade’s cock in the process. They both whimper this time.
“Fuck,” Wade grits out when Peter adjusts into a more comfortable position again.
“This… edging,” Peter hisses out, “will stop once we get out, so if you have any ideas feel free to speak up.”
“Ugh,” Wade groans, his head thunking back— Peter can tell by the sound of the crushing velvet. “But all the blood is in my dick.” Peter flushes, but yes, he will admit that the embalming oils weren’t the only thing wetting between his legs.
“Just one more try, and then I’ll stop moving and accept my inevitable death.”
“Fine, and I’ll be the first person to die from blue balls.” Wade’s thighs flex around his hips as he thrusts upwards. Peter doesn’t know how to explain what happens next. All he knows is that his knees slipped while Wade thrusts up and everything just aligned perfectly. Everything burns and stings as Wade’s cock barrels balls-deep into him. Wade’s completely still— not even breathing beneath him. Peter hates the small moan that escapes his lips without his permission.
“Are you alive down there?” Peter asks when he can breathe again.
“I honestly don’t know. This doesn’t feel real. Are you okay? Jesus,” Wade grunts. “You’re so fucking tight.” Wade’s chest is heaving beneath him.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’m so fucking sorry this happened. Lemme just,” Wade’s hands slide over the sensitive skin of his hips down to where they’re connected making Peter clench down the little bit he’s able to, stretched as he is. Wade tosses his head back with a painful thunk and a groan. Wade’s fingers clumsily fumble for his dick. He tries pulling out but all the friction does is get him more worked up.
“Stop,” Peter gasps out when Wade’s fingers brush teasingly across his dick for the third time. Wade immediately yanks his hand away.
“I’m so, so sorry. I’ll do anything to make it up for you,” Wade whines. “This is not how anybody should lose their virginity.”
“Anything?”
“Anything,” Wade confirms.
“So if you’re as turned on as I am… would you fuck me and make my first time good?” Wade stops breathing again.
“I am so not alive,” he groans before he grabs Peter’s hips and pins them to the top of the casket before thrusting his hips up. It takes a few times before his super healing takes the pain away and replaces it with euphoria. Small moans fall uncontrollably from his lips and he starts thrusting back to meet Wade’s thrusts.
“F-fuck,” Peter whines when Wade grinds against his g-spot. “Harder.”
Wade growls, the sound low and animalistic as he pounds ruthlessly into Peter. They can’t hear the grate of polished wood on cement over Peter’s little ah ah ah!s with each thrust. They don’t realize the coffin is shifting until it is falling. They yelp as it hits the ground with a crash and rolls down a staircase before bursting open. They both gasp at the sting of the fresh, frigid night air that hits them.
Wade sits up and takes in their surroundings. They hadn’t been buried, just placed on an altar of a mausoleum. Once realizing that there’s no danger, Wade flips them over, throws Peter’s legs over his shoulders, and slips in again.
“You’re even prettier than I was expecting, baby boy,” Wade groans. Everything is cast in silvery moonlight coming through the intricate glass windows.
“Wade,” he gasps, throwing his head back. Wade immediately takes the opportunity to suck and bite vicious hickeys into his slender neck. Wade’s fingers stroke his tdick in time with his thrusts. “Fuck, I’m close.”
“Me too,” Wade grunts, his pace becoming more erratic. His core tightens as his orgasm builds like a hot wave before everything gives out and he shudders and spasms through his climax. Wade buries himself as deep as he can before he groans, his cum hot and plentiful as it fills Peter.
“I’m honestly not surprised.” Both of their heads whip around to see Jessica Jones standing at the entrance of the mausoleum with a crowbar dangling from her hand. Peter flushes in mortification and buries himself as deep as he can into the coffin. Her footsteps recede.
“Well, this is not how I expected my day to go,” Peter groans.
“Ditto.” Wade stands up and stretches. “Gotta say… I never thought I’d accidentally have sex.”
“So now how do we get home?” Peter asks, looking around the cold abandoned cemetery.
Wade helps Peter to his feet. “I have a safe house not far from here. We can get dressed there.”
They walk through the cemetery; Wade striding confidently and Peter covering his private bits.
Once there, they take a shower and Wade gives him some clothes to wear.
“Feel free to stay the night.“
So Peter does— how can he say no to this plush couch that just swallows him up? Peter also grabs a piece of paper and writes his phone number down for Wade.
-
The next day Peter reluctantly leaves to head to work, which was surprisingly close to Wade’s apartment. He manages to sneak around without Jonah yelling at him and runs out when his shift is done.
He slips on his suit and heads to the rooftops to wait for Wade. He doesn’t have to wait long though, before he can hear him coming up the fire escape.
“You ready to take some pictures, baby boy? I’d make an inappropriate joke, but my brain’s still too fried from last night. Speaking of, what happened to you?”
“Oh, I just escaped, but all of you were already gone.” Peter shrugs.
“Huh. So you didn’t wake up in a coffin underneath a twink?”
Peter just gives him a look before sliding off the roof into the alley below.
“Hey! I just climbed up here; do you know how much work that takes?” Wade shouts before jumping down next to him.
Peter doesn’t reply and just webs his camera to the before-mentioned fire escape. He backs up to check that it’s positioned correctly.
“I have this button to take pictures. All you have to do is pin me down and look like you’re about to kill me.” Peter gasps when an arm wraps around his waist and slams him against the brick wall. Wade snatches both of Peter’s slim wrists with one hand and pins them above his head. His other hand unsheathes a knife and flips it up to hold it to Peter’s throat. One of his thighs slips between Peter’s legs and it presses right up against his dick.
Peter’s brain… is just gone. His mind blue screens and his knees go weak as arousal flashes through his veins. Peter needs to be rational. Wade’s just doing his part and pinning him down. It’s nothing sexual.
“Webs? The picture?” Reality snaps back into place and Peter stutters for a few embarrassing seconds.
“Right.” He presses the button a couple times and the flash illuminates Wade’s muscular stature. Neither of them move. Panda eyes stare intensely down at Peter as the knife on his neck slides teasingly down the sensitive skin of his torso and hips. The knife settles between his legs.
“Are you turned on by this?” Wade purrs.
“N-no,” Peter stutters out.
“Really,” the knife presses hard enough to slice through some of the spandex fibers. “So if I cut through I won’t find you dripping with arousal?”
“Nope,” Peter says confidently, yet avoids all eye contact with the merc. Quicker than Peter can react, the knife skillfully cuts a slit in the spandex right over his hole. Wade holds the knife up between them. The edge is soaked in Peter’s slick.
“Looks like somebody was lying,” Wade says, his voice sing-song. “Tell me to stop and I will,” Wade whispers, his voice suddenly serious. Peter knows he should say no, but fuck—
Peter looks up at him, looking directly into his eyes in challenge. “Do what you want.” His voice is hoarse. Wade grins. Peter gasps when something cold and hard grinds against his tdick, and his eyes flicker down to see the barrel of Wade’s rose gold Desert Eagle pressed between his legs. An embarrassing moan slips out of Peter and his legs slide farther apart to give Wade more access. The gun trails lower until it settles against his hole. Wade slides it through his juices before pulling back to slap his dick with the side of the barrel with a wet smack. Peter gasps, his body jerking away from the impact.
Wade pulls Peter’s leg up with the hand still holding the gun until it hits the wall, leaving Peter wide open and throbbing. Wade presses up closer to pin Peter’s leg in place and the gun returns between his legs, slowly breaching his hole. Peter’s back arches into Wade’s chest and his toes curl in pleasure as it sinks deeper. Wade’s eyes bear into his as the sound of the safety clicking off echoes through the alley. Peter gasps as his climax shoots through him without warning. His eyes roll back as he trembles and shakes in Wade’s hold.
“You like that?” Wade asks as he slowly fucks him through his climax. Peter’s only reply is a whimper as he collapses, only to be held in place by Wade. The gun returns to its hollister and Peter’s weak moans are replaced by the sound of a zipper.
Peter’s mouth drops open in a silent scream as Wade thrusts into him. His fingers flex and he aches to sink them into Wade’s bruised shoulders. Wade sends to read his mind and lets go of his wrists, using that hand to pull up Peter’s other leg to the other side of his head, putting him at the perfect angle to get railed. Wade’s hips shank into his with each hard thrust and Peter’s reduced to a blubbering mess, only capable of moaning Wade’s name and gasping out little ahs each time Wade bottoms out. Then Wade stops.
“No way you sell selfies of yourself,” Wade mutters. It takes a second for Peter’s brain to catch up from where it was left behind with his dignity.
“W-what?”
“Don’t try to deny it. Your little noises last night engraved themselves into my brain. I’ve jacked off 10 fucking times thinking about your little gasps.” Wade slams into him to prove his point, making Peter cry out.
“I-I’m not Peter Parker,” Peter manages.
“I never said anything about him, baby boy.”
Peter just whines pathetically in defeat and churns his hips to chase some friction. Wade just chuckles before starting up again, this time with slow and deep thrusts, his kevlar covered hand coming up to stroke Peter’s dick in time with his thrusts.
“Fuck,” Wade exhales shakily as his thrusts become erratic. He buries himself deep inside him and groans out Peter’s name. Peter whimpers through a second weak climax. Wade’s breath is hot against his neck as they both come down from chasing their highs.
“So.” Peter clears his throat.
“I can forget about all this— your identity, the sex, everything— if you want. Just say the word.”
“What if I want this to be more than just sex?” Peter asks. Wade’s grip around him tightens.
“Then I’d be the happiest man alive.”
Peter pulls his mask up to his nose and Wade takes the hint and pulls his up to. Their lips collide in a filthy hot kiss. Peter has to pull Wade back before round three starts.
“No way I just had sex in an alley,” Peter groans, tossing his head back.
“‘Spider-Man gets railed in a public alleyway for all to see!’ I can see the headlines already,” Wade snickers.
“Gods, I’d get so much money for that.”
“So why don’t you do it? What’s a little dent in your reputation?”
Peter huffs, staring up at the cloudy night sky in consideration. He clicks the button.