Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider

A/N: Enjoy some sweet, sweet Spideypool softness :3 And smut >:) And other things!

Wade's brain tickles.

It has for a while, ever since he shot at Spider-Man for the first time and the man dodged it with effortless ease. Sure, the superhuman community was ripe with mutants, mutates, and superhumans, with powers that lent them the ability to move faster than a speeding bullet, hold up buildings, and do things otherwise deemed impossible by natural laws. But where Spider-Man is concerned, he was on another level.

Not because of his enhanced senses, per se, but because of his precognition. A tickle down his spine before the trigger pulls, a tap on the shoulder before the knife unsheathes–kind of like future vision if you think about it. Heroes, vigilantes, villains, and lowly thugs alike have bemoaned about how hard it is to lay a hand on him during a fight.

But Wade enjoys rolling it around in his hand, puzzling over how to get past Spider-Man's 6th sense if the circumstance ever arose, and these sessions in the basement were the perfect time to test his hypothesis. Not that it's his entire focus when they're sparring. It's called multitasking.

A few days go by before Wade brings Peter down to the basement again, waiting until he was relaxed, softened putty before deeming it time for phase two. As Wade descends the stairs, Peter fidgets at the top, licking his lips nervously.

"Come on," Wade urges when he notices, holding a hand out to him.

"Are we doing the same thing as last time?" Peter asks, ignoring the proffered hand.

"What do you think?"

Peter jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "How about we just head back to the living room and watch a movie? You can pick, I'll watch anything."

When Wade doesn't respond, Peter sighs, shoulders dropping. "Fine," he slaps his hand into Wade's, allowing himself to be pulled down the stairs.

"Do I need to repeat the rules?" Wade asks once they're situated, adjusting the guns strapped to his hips and thighs.

Peter crosses his arms. "No, they were very clear last time, Daddy."

The little shit.

"Then let's get started." Wade reaches out again, and Peter goes rigid, strings pulling tight like a puppet trying to resist its puppeteer.

"Not again," he bemoans.

"Come on," Wade wiggles his fingers.

"But it's not fair!" Peter whines, all but stomping his foot and throwing his arms around. "Why don't you have to give up your guns and knives?"

"This is all part of your treatment."

Peter holds his wrists away protectively, exhaling harshly through his nose. "What would you know about treatment?"

Wade shrugs. "I've gone to many different treatment centers."

Peter raises an eyebrow.

"Alright, I've been forced to many different treatment centers."

"So, why do I have to do this?"

Wade clasps a hand on both of Peter's shoulders, jostling him a little. "I know you don't like giving up your webs, but it's for the greater good. This is all part of the plan."

"What is the 'plan' anyway? You still haven't told me anything."

Wade waves a hand, knocking the question aside. "Tony and I agreed it would be best to play this one by ear. See how you respond to things naturally."