rei17
in
120_minuten
H/C: zu heiß/zu kalt (für mich)
Team: Novalis
Fandom(s): Spiderman, Deadpool
Titel: Seeing the real you (it's not what I imagined) 1/2
Charaktere: Peter Parker aka Spiderman, Wade Wilson aka Deadpool
Challenge: H/C: zu heiß/zu kalt
Wörter: ~1900
Inhalt: Standards - Wade haz them.
Warnungen: Uhm Deadpool. Das ist eine Warnung an sich.
Warnungen, die 2.: Can't ever unsee "superfamily" aka "Steve & Tony are Peter's dad's". x_x Sorry.
Afterwards it was hard to tell what exactly had happened and when exactly Deadpool had appeared (and why he was even here) and how the bomb had come into play.
But afterwards Peter didn't particularly care anymore about any of that, because stuff was exploding and the whole building was coming down around him and he was kind of busy with escaping and trying not to die.
You know. A regular Tuesday night.
He stumbled more than he jumped and eventually he collapsed on a roof - any roof, seriously, he wasn't picky right now, but it was high and secluded and roofs made him feel safer somehow… Everything hurt. He tried to get up again, but failed. He couldn’t breathe and very faintly he thought that couldn’t be good, because oxygen was kind of important for silly little things like brain cells or… other stuff.
And then all of a sudden somebody tore at his face and it felt like they were trying to rip the skin right of his bones. Except it wasn't his face, of course, it was the damn mask…
Peter smelled burning spandex and gagged. He made a painful noise deep in his throat that got interrupted by hacking coughs. His mask came off with a tearing sound that made Peter wince (Sometimes his suit felt too much like parts of his own body too ever watch comfortable how it got ripped to pieces), and instinctively he tried to escape. He didn't get very far, before he bumped into a wall.
He was still coughing; trying not to suffocate had priority right now, so it was difficult to focus on the blurry figure in front of him. It was red and black and familiar and way too close.
"…you need mouth-to-mouth? Because I can totally do that! Even though I‘m probably more of a sucker than a blower if you know what I mean. I like to bite, too, makes the girls go all wild. Do you need mouth-to-mouth? I promise not to bite, except if you want me to. Spidey? You want me to bite you?“
Peter wanted to die.
"…go…-way….,“ he rasped. He lowered his head and pressed his face against his knees.
He could deal with a lot right now, but not with Deadpool. Definitely not with Deadpool.
"Hey come on, man, that really hurt my feelings! Not cool! I was totally doing the heroic thing here and saved your life. “
There was a lot Peter could have said to that, but he couldn’t breathe.
"Bomb…?" He choked out.
"Hey, that one wasn't mine! It was the green dude's! You can't blame me for everything, you know, at least not until you can prove my alleged involvement in the Kennedy assassination."
The Green Goblin. So Peter had been right about the whole thing being a trap.
Great. And it would be even greater if the world would finally stop spinning around him.
A surprisingly gentle hand touched his neck. "I know, they say you should put your head between your knees when you’re about to faint, which is rubbish by the way - I had my head between my knees once and I still felt pretty crappy; but of course I was missing my upper body at that point to that might have something to do with it… where was I? Oh yeah. When you’re about to suffocate it’s probably not cool to press your face against something. Kinda counterproductive if you ask me. So come on. Do your thing. You know. Breathing. Stuff.“
Peter raised his head and squinted at him. Working on it, he wanted to say. What do you think what I’m trying to do here?
But then something in Deadpool’s face…mask…changed, something subtle but there and Peter forgot anything he might have wanted to say.
Because…crap.
Crap!
He felt himself blanche and panic.
His mask was gone. His mask was a burning piece of spandex laying on the ground a few feet away from him. Deadpool wasn’t supposed to see him without his mask. Deadpool wasn’t ever supposed to see his face.
"The fuck,“ Deadpool said slowly. He was staring at him in a way that made Peter feel decidedly uncomfortable, and this was saying something, considering Deadpool had a habit of leering at him at the most inappropriate times.
"Are you kidding me?" he eventually gasped. "How OLD are you? Twelve?“
Peter glared at him. Because seriously? That was the issues here?
"I tried to maim you a few times! You should have said something! Shit! Dude! I don’t maim kids. I just shave their heads or hit them with a candy bar, tops. Sometimes I spank them, but only if they deserve it. Scout's honor.“
"You're not even a scout.“
His voice gave out halfway through and more hacking coughs forced their way out of his throat. His head was swimming and his chest constricted painfully; by now he was pretty sure he was suffering from severe smoke inhalation… and wasn’t it fun that this wasn’t even on top of his list ‚Things that really suck right now‘?.
He pressed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on not-suffocating, which yeah, wasn’t working so well for him at the moment.
A hand started to pat back of his head, somewhat awkwardly and way too hard and Peter would have rolled his eyes, except even this seemed like too much of an effort right now. Breathing, he thought dimly. Just…keep breathing.
The petting became gentler after a moment, until it was almost soothing and Peter tried to concentrate on the rhythm of the hand stroking his back. It almost helped.
Breathe in…breathe out…in…out…
Come on, Pete… stay focused… this isn’t so hard…
Strange how is inner voice always sounded a lot like Steve’s Captain America voice.
"Dude,“ Deadpool said after what felt like an eternity. He sounded freaked out. "Should I call your parents or something? Do they need to…I don't know, pick you up?“
"My…? Wha-…?!“ Peter gritted his teeth, feeling slightly insulted. "I’m not twelve. I'm twenty-one!“
Deadpool’s hand stilled for a second. "Yeah right,“ he said. "Wanna try that again?“
Peter sighed. „…none of your business.“
"Look, if you’re really twelve I’m in a shitload of trouble now and I would feel really bad for…well, occasionally trying to shoot you, blow you up and for throwing you off a bride and not to mention the one time where I…“
"…seventeen!“ Peter coughed. "I'm almost eighteen, okay. Now stop it…“
He coughed again and breathing was still a chore, but at least it didn’t feel as if a herd of elephants was dancing tango across his chest anymore. More like a slow waltz.
"Still not cool. I sprang a boner for you once or twice, you know that, and now you make me feel like a dirty old scumbag. I mean, even I have standards; they might be low, but I have them, and kids are SO not on my kink-list…“
Peter groaned. His head hurt. Everything hurt, to be honest and he felt dizzy and nauseated and he was so not in the mood right now.
"…even have to shave? Because, seriously, you don’t look like you do, except for your legs obviously…really, your costume’s so tight that…“
Deadpool was babbling. Somehow Peter knew that was bad. Deadpool always talked and he never stopped, not even when you severed his head from the rest of his body, but this kind of fast-paced, frantic babbling only ever occurred when things were about to go dramatically downhill from here.
"…and what the fuck, why is your costume SO tight, dude, when you don’t want people lusting after you? What’s wrong with you? What were your parents thinking letting you out of the house, looking like a red and black candy stripper…“
"…I think you mean a candy striper and I honestly don't think you know what that is.“
He vaguely did remember Tony complaining about his costume, too, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t about its tightness or looking like a stripper, and more about the fact that it was ‚just spandex?! Are you insane?! It’s not even bulletproof!‘.
Oh god…Tony. His dads…
"Wait a minute…do you even have parents? Do you?…don’t tell me you’re an orphan, please don’t, because that’s so cliché and so fucked up and it makes me feel as if I had napalmed a fucking puppy hospital or something, seriously dude, you gotta…“
"Would you…stop talking?“ Peter asked somewhat hopelessly. "Please." Quietly suffocating sounded like a more and more appealing option right now.
"I wasn’t around for your origins story, so I don’t even know, okay? I’m not even sure which universe this is supposed to be - did I throw you of a bridge?“
"…not that I remember?“
"Okay, not that one apparently.“
Peter tried to get up, probably to get away from Deadpool, he wasn’t really sure afterwards, but any attempt to move was drowned out by the sharp pain spiking in his leg and left side. His vision whitened. He must have blacked out for a second or two, because the next thing he knew was that Deadpool was way closer than he had any business to be and Peter lied on his back, staring up at the sky.
"Uh oh. Ah. Ugh. That's not good,“ Deadpool announced. „I don’t think your skin is supposed to come of like that, but then again what do I know…“
Peter swallowed. "Great…,“ he croaked. „Now I’m going to puke.“
A curious black and red mask peered down at him. „Oh. Hey. You with me?“
"Never.“
"Don’t be like that. Pals are nice to each other.“
"… not pals.“ Peter closed his eyes and swallowed against the bile raising in his throat. „How bad…?“
Deadpool was quiet for a split second, but it was enough to make Peter feel seriously uneasy. "Well, chicks dig scars, right? I mean, they dig me and I’m basically all scars, so…“
"How bad?“ Peter repeatedly stubbornly.
Deadpool exhaled. „Dude. Your leg looks like a steak. A raw one. That got burnt. Pretty badly. It’s…really nasty.“
"…Christ…“ He groaned.
That explained the excruciating pain, all right.
He would heal eventually and a lot faster than regular humans, too, but even with his accelerated healing this would take a few days.
He was never going to get home like this. Even the mere thought of bringing himself in vertical position and putting any kind of pressure on his leg made him feel nauseated and sweaty. There was just no way.
"Remind me…not to get blown off again so soon…kay?“ he rasped. "Not…as much fun as they make you think.“
"Yeah. Believe me, I know.“
He probably did, Peter realized. It was a strangely comforting thought.
Deadpool nodded, looking determined all of a sudden which was never a good thing. "Well then…only one thing to do now, right?“ He reached for Peter.
"You going to finish me off now?“ Peter asked, eyes half-lidded and only half joking. "Cause I‘m not going to be able to stop you…“
"Don’t be a dweeb.“ Wade sounded genuinely offended. „Or even more dweeber than usual.“
"That’s…not even a word…“
"Oh shut up. What are you? Captain Grammar? Here to correct your use of the past continuous and stab you in the face with an oxford comma?“
Peter smiled at that.
Then he passed out. Which was probably for his own good.
Part 2
Fandom(s): Spiderman, Deadpool
Titel: Seeing the real you (it's not what I imagined) 1/2
Charaktere: Peter Parker aka Spiderman, Wade Wilson aka Deadpool
Challenge: H/C: zu heiß/zu kalt
Wörter: ~1900
Inhalt: Standards - Wade haz them.
Warnungen: Uhm Deadpool. Das ist eine Warnung an sich.
Warnungen, die 2.: Can't ever unsee "superfamily" aka "Steve & Tony are Peter's dad's". x_x Sorry.
Afterwards it was hard to tell what exactly had happened and when exactly Deadpool had appeared (and why he was even here) and how the bomb had come into play.
But afterwards Peter didn't particularly care anymore about any of that, because stuff was exploding and the whole building was coming down around him and he was kind of busy with escaping and trying not to die.
You know. A regular Tuesday night.
He stumbled more than he jumped and eventually he collapsed on a roof - any roof, seriously, he wasn't picky right now, but it was high and secluded and roofs made him feel safer somehow… Everything hurt. He tried to get up again, but failed. He couldn’t breathe and very faintly he thought that couldn’t be good, because oxygen was kind of important for silly little things like brain cells or… other stuff.
And then all of a sudden somebody tore at his face and it felt like they were trying to rip the skin right of his bones. Except it wasn't his face, of course, it was the damn mask…
Peter smelled burning spandex and gagged. He made a painful noise deep in his throat that got interrupted by hacking coughs. His mask came off with a tearing sound that made Peter wince (Sometimes his suit felt too much like parts of his own body too ever watch comfortable how it got ripped to pieces), and instinctively he tried to escape. He didn't get very far, before he bumped into a wall.
He was still coughing; trying not to suffocate had priority right now, so it was difficult to focus on the blurry figure in front of him. It was red and black and familiar and way too close.
"…you need mouth-to-mouth? Because I can totally do that! Even though I‘m probably more of a sucker than a blower if you know what I mean. I like to bite, too, makes the girls go all wild. Do you need mouth-to-mouth? I promise not to bite, except if you want me to. Spidey? You want me to bite you?“
Peter wanted to die.
"…go…-way….,“ he rasped. He lowered his head and pressed his face against his knees.
He could deal with a lot right now, but not with Deadpool. Definitely not with Deadpool.
"Hey come on, man, that really hurt my feelings! Not cool! I was totally doing the heroic thing here and saved your life. “
There was a lot Peter could have said to that, but he couldn’t breathe.
"Bomb…?" He choked out.
"Hey, that one wasn't mine! It was the green dude's! You can't blame me for everything, you know, at least not until you can prove my alleged involvement in the Kennedy assassination."
The Green Goblin. So Peter had been right about the whole thing being a trap.
Great. And it would be even greater if the world would finally stop spinning around him.
A surprisingly gentle hand touched his neck. "I know, they say you should put your head between your knees when you’re about to faint, which is rubbish by the way - I had my head between my knees once and I still felt pretty crappy; but of course I was missing my upper body at that point to that might have something to do with it… where was I? Oh yeah. When you’re about to suffocate it’s probably not cool to press your face against something. Kinda counterproductive if you ask me. So come on. Do your thing. You know. Breathing. Stuff.“
Peter raised his head and squinted at him. Working on it, he wanted to say. What do you think what I’m trying to do here?
But then something in Deadpool’s face…mask…changed, something subtle but there and Peter forgot anything he might have wanted to say.
Because…crap.
Crap!
He felt himself blanche and panic.
His mask was gone. His mask was a burning piece of spandex laying on the ground a few feet away from him. Deadpool wasn’t supposed to see him without his mask. Deadpool wasn’t ever supposed to see his face.
"The fuck,“ Deadpool said slowly. He was staring at him in a way that made Peter feel decidedly uncomfortable, and this was saying something, considering Deadpool had a habit of leering at him at the most inappropriate times.
"Are you kidding me?" he eventually gasped. "How OLD are you? Twelve?“
Peter glared at him. Because seriously? That was the issues here?
"I tried to maim you a few times! You should have said something! Shit! Dude! I don’t maim kids. I just shave their heads or hit them with a candy bar, tops. Sometimes I spank them, but only if they deserve it. Scout's honor.“
"You're not even a scout.“
His voice gave out halfway through and more hacking coughs forced their way out of his throat. His head was swimming and his chest constricted painfully; by now he was pretty sure he was suffering from severe smoke inhalation… and wasn’t it fun that this wasn’t even on top of his list ‚Things that really suck right now‘?.
He pressed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on not-suffocating, which yeah, wasn’t working so well for him at the moment.
A hand started to pat back of his head, somewhat awkwardly and way too hard and Peter would have rolled his eyes, except even this seemed like too much of an effort right now. Breathing, he thought dimly. Just…keep breathing.
The petting became gentler after a moment, until it was almost soothing and Peter tried to concentrate on the rhythm of the hand stroking his back. It almost helped.
Breathe in…breathe out…in…out…
Come on, Pete… stay focused… this isn’t so hard…
Strange how is inner voice always sounded a lot like Steve’s Captain America voice.
"Dude,“ Deadpool said after what felt like an eternity. He sounded freaked out. "Should I call your parents or something? Do they need to…I don't know, pick you up?“
"My…? Wha-…?!“ Peter gritted his teeth, feeling slightly insulted. "I’m not twelve. I'm twenty-one!“
Deadpool’s hand stilled for a second. "Yeah right,“ he said. "Wanna try that again?“
Peter sighed. „…none of your business.“
"Look, if you’re really twelve I’m in a shitload of trouble now and I would feel really bad for…well, occasionally trying to shoot you, blow you up and for throwing you off a bride and not to mention the one time where I…“
"…seventeen!“ Peter coughed. "I'm almost eighteen, okay. Now stop it…“
He coughed again and breathing was still a chore, but at least it didn’t feel as if a herd of elephants was dancing tango across his chest anymore. More like a slow waltz.
"Still not cool. I sprang a boner for you once or twice, you know that, and now you make me feel like a dirty old scumbag. I mean, even I have standards; they might be low, but I have them, and kids are SO not on my kink-list…“
Peter groaned. His head hurt. Everything hurt, to be honest and he felt dizzy and nauseated and he was so not in the mood right now.
"…even have to shave? Because, seriously, you don’t look like you do, except for your legs obviously…really, your costume’s so tight that…“
Deadpool was babbling. Somehow Peter knew that was bad. Deadpool always talked and he never stopped, not even when you severed his head from the rest of his body, but this kind of fast-paced, frantic babbling only ever occurred when things were about to go dramatically downhill from here.
"…and what the fuck, why is your costume SO tight, dude, when you don’t want people lusting after you? What’s wrong with you? What were your parents thinking letting you out of the house, looking like a red and black candy stripper…“
"…I think you mean a candy striper and I honestly don't think you know what that is.“
He vaguely did remember Tony complaining about his costume, too, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t about its tightness or looking like a stripper, and more about the fact that it was ‚just spandex?! Are you insane?! It’s not even bulletproof!‘.
Oh god…Tony. His dads…
"Wait a minute…do you even have parents? Do you?…don’t tell me you’re an orphan, please don’t, because that’s so cliché and so fucked up and it makes me feel as if I had napalmed a fucking puppy hospital or something, seriously dude, you gotta…“
"Would you…stop talking?“ Peter asked somewhat hopelessly. "Please." Quietly suffocating sounded like a more and more appealing option right now.
"I wasn’t around for your origins story, so I don’t even know, okay? I’m not even sure which universe this is supposed to be - did I throw you of a bridge?“
"…not that I remember?“
"Okay, not that one apparently.“
Peter tried to get up, probably to get away from Deadpool, he wasn’t really sure afterwards, but any attempt to move was drowned out by the sharp pain spiking in his leg and left side. His vision whitened. He must have blacked out for a second or two, because the next thing he knew was that Deadpool was way closer than he had any business to be and Peter lied on his back, staring up at the sky.
"Uh oh. Ah. Ugh. That's not good,“ Deadpool announced. „I don’t think your skin is supposed to come of like that, but then again what do I know…“
Peter swallowed. "Great…,“ he croaked. „Now I’m going to puke.“
A curious black and red mask peered down at him. „Oh. Hey. You with me?“
"Never.“
"Don’t be like that. Pals are nice to each other.“
"… not pals.“ Peter closed his eyes and swallowed against the bile raising in his throat. „How bad…?“
Deadpool was quiet for a split second, but it was enough to make Peter feel seriously uneasy. "Well, chicks dig scars, right? I mean, they dig me and I’m basically all scars, so…“
"How bad?“ Peter repeatedly stubbornly.
Deadpool exhaled. „Dude. Your leg looks like a steak. A raw one. That got burnt. Pretty badly. It’s…really nasty.“
"…Christ…“ He groaned.
That explained the excruciating pain, all right.
He would heal eventually and a lot faster than regular humans, too, but even with his accelerated healing this would take a few days.
He was never going to get home like this. Even the mere thought of bringing himself in vertical position and putting any kind of pressure on his leg made him feel nauseated and sweaty. There was just no way.
"Remind me…not to get blown off again so soon…kay?“ he rasped. "Not…as much fun as they make you think.“
"Yeah. Believe me, I know.“
He probably did, Peter realized. It was a strangely comforting thought.
Deadpool nodded, looking determined all of a sudden which was never a good thing. "Well then…only one thing to do now, right?“ He reached for Peter.
"You going to finish me off now?“ Peter asked, eyes half-lidded and only half joking. "Cause I‘m not going to be able to stop you…“
"Don’t be a dweeb.“ Wade sounded genuinely offended. „Or even more dweeber than usual.“
"That’s…not even a word…“
"Oh shut up. What are you? Captain Grammar? Here to correct your use of the past continuous and stab you in the face with an oxford comma?“
Peter smiled at that.
Then he passed out. Which was probably for his own good.
Part 2