Five Increasingly Clichéd Meet-cutes, Plus One Not So Cute-meet

#4 Happens Because, Of Course, They Live in the Same Building

The fourth time they met, Peter was in the middle of pulling a giant box out of a moving truck and setting it on the curb with all of the furniture May hadn't wanted to keep, trying to make it look like he was struggling even though he could carry twenty times that. It was four months after their last meeting.

In that time, Peter had helped May pick a low rent place and helped her move in. He had found a tiny apartment for himself that wasn't in the best neighborhood, but it wasn't the worst, either (he was Spider-Man, so he could take care of himself, and he was also a poor college kid, so he didn't have much by way of possessions). His new place was also much closer to school without being as cramped as his dorm, and cheaper too because someone (or someones, judging by the multiple russet splatters on his puke green walls) had been killed there.

Even though he'd quit the internship at Oscorp, paranoid Harry was keeping tabs on him, and had accepted the assistant position at Stark Industries, which actually paid, it still didn't give him enough to cover his tuition, rent an apartment, buy groceries, and still have money to repair his Spider-Man gear, not in New York City at least. So, he kept his other job at the Bugle where they slandered his good name (well, not his, but he was Spidey, so it counted) just so he could get some quick cash for the pictures.

He heard a cat-call presumedly directed at him, considering he was the only other person on the street, just as he bent to set the box down on the concrete sidewalk. Peter scowled, stood, and turned around ready to chew out the asshole who'd whistled when he locked gazes with the white eye-holes of a Deadpool mask.

"Wade?" Peter asked incredulously, stuffing his hands into his pockets for lack of anything better to do.

Peter's eyes were arrested by the bulky figure Wade cut in his form-fitting jacket and worn jeans. It was December and Wade wore his ever-present combat boots. His double layer of a red wool jacket and hoodie over a tight black Rent t-shirt made Peter's fingers itch to touch the jacket's fleece inside, to see if it really was as soft as it looked—it definitely wasn't because Peter wanted to run his fingers over Wade's muscular chest or washboard abs (if his spandex suit was to be believed), no sir.

Wade carried an armload of paper bags filled with groceries and when he shifted them for a better grip, Peter could see a shoulder holster with Wade's favorite Desert Eagle pistols (Wade had told him through text one day that their names were Bonnie and Clyde and his beloved katanas were named Bea and Arthur, in honor of his love for Golden Girls) nestled next to his side. Peter was suddenly reminded that Wade could very well kill him without blinking, should he choose to do so. He was an interesting juxtaposition of danger and boy-next-door that had warm feelings fluttering in the pit of Peter's stomach at just the sight of him.

He ignored the little voice in the back of his head that told him that was exactly how he'd felt about Gwen, and more recently, Liz Allen. But the thing he'd almost had going with Liz had blown up in his face when he'd taken her to the homecoming football game as their first date (personally, Peter kind of hated football because Flash, who'd bullied Peter all through high school, had been on the football team and ruined the sport for him—Liz, however, had been really into it, and Peter was nothing if not a giver). He'd found out the man he'd been investigating for illegal arms dealing and weapon manufacturing, the man who went by the codename "Vulture," was actually Liz's father. So, yeah. You can imagine how that played out once Vulture was finally arrested.

Then Liz decided to move.

Even worse, he'd needed Iron Man's help during one of the battles before he was able to put Vulture away. Thus, Iron Man had even more ammunition to throw at Peter for why he wasn't allowed to join the Avengers since he couldn't even "take down a lowly arms dealer, Spider-kid." And the rest, as they say, was history.