ꨄ tangled hearts • spideypool ꨄ

10 • haunted

He was in love with Peter Parker.

He could pretend it wasn't true, make jokes about it, try to brush it off like it was just another infatuation. But this wasn't that. This was something that dug into his bones, something that made his chest tighten every time Peter was near. It scared him—no, terrified him—because this wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to care this much.

But he did.

It wasn't just the attraction, though that was definitely part of it. It was everything else. The way Peter moved through the world with so much weight on his shoulders and still managed to stand tall. The way he fought for people, for this city, even when it would've been easier to walk away. The way he made Wade feel... like he mattered.

That was the kicker, really. Peter made him feel like he was more than just a screw-up. More than just a man with too many scars and too many mistakes to count. When Peter looked at him, really looked at him, Wade felt seen. Not just as Deadpool, but as Wade Wilson. And that scared him more than anything.

Because what did he have to offer Peter? Nothing. Nothing good, at least. Wade was chaos incarnate, a walking disaster zone, and Peter... Peter deserved better. Wade knew that. But knowing it didn't stop the ache in his chest, the gnawing need to be near him, to hear his voice, to make him laugh just one more time.

"Damn it, Parker," Wade whispered to the empty room, his voice raw. "What the hell have you done to me?"

He stood up, restless energy making it impossible to stay still. He paced the length of his small apartment, trying to work out the knots of frustration and longing that tangled up inside him. But it was no use. Every thought looped back to Peter, to that stupid, earnest face, and that stupid, beautiful heart that Wade couldn't stop thinking about.

He thought about calling him—just to hear his voice, just to feel a little less alone. But then what? Wade wasn't good at talking about feelings. Hell, he wasn't good at feelings, period. And what would he even say? 'Hey, Spidey, guess what? I think I'm in love with you. Wanna grab a pizza and maybe ruin everything we've got going?'

Yeah, that'd go over great.

But as much as he tried to joke about it, the truth gnawed at him. He wanted to tell Peter. He wanted to let him know how much he meant to him, how much he'd come to rely on those quiet moments between battles when they could just be. But Wade wasn't an idiot. He knew how that story ended.

Peter was too good for him. He always had been. And even if Peter might feel something too—some glimmer of whatever this thing was between them—Wade knew better than to drag him into the mess that was his life. Peter deserved someone who wasn't constantly fighting off demons, both literal and figurative.

So, Wade would do what he always did. He'd put on the mask, crack some jokes, and pretend that everything was fine. He'd shove the feelings down, lock them away, and keep Peter at arm's length, even if it killed him a little inside. Because that was the only way to protect Peter from himself.

But deep down, Wade knew that he was only fooling himself. Every time he saw Peter, every time they fought side by side, that wall he'd built around his heart crumbled a little more. And one day, he wouldn't be able to hide it anymore.

Until then, he'd keep pretending. Keep playing the part of Deadpool, the unflappable, irreverent mercenary who didn't give a damn. Even if it meant lying to the one person who'd ever really mattered to him.

As Wade stared out the window, the city lights flickering like distant stars, he couldn't shake the image of Peter from his mind. His face, his voice, the way he made everything seem just a little bit better—those were the things that haunted him. And no matter how much he tried to push them away, they always came back, stronger than before.