late night with deadpool

Imagine being unable to forgive Tony...

A/N: Just a late night drabble featuring a rag tag bunch, Deadpool & Daredevil & Ghost Rider & Ironman kind of.

Warnings: Maybe harsh language, definitely violence and being really pissed at Tony

Originally posted by beigency

Originally posted by fymarveluniverse

Originally posted by agentsofshield

Originally posted by asosyalbey

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“So what’s it gonna be, huh? Long sullen silence or mean comment?”

Since I’m on a superhero kick at the moment and I just got to see Deadpool, have a late night sketch of some Negasonic Teenage Warhead!

lunarshores  asked:

“Slushies aren’t just for kids, fuck society.” and spideypool

slushies are for EVERYONE! 


Peter groaned. He knew that voice. More importantly, he didn’t like that voice. He turned around and saw Deadpool running towards him at full speed. 

“Spidey! It’s me! Deadpool!” he shouted, then spread his arms, looking suspiciously like he was intending to hug Peter.

Peter held up a hand and shoved it into the center of Deadpool’s chest, effectively stopping him before he could succeed with his hug. “Not a chance.”

“Aw, but why not?” Deadpool whined.

“What do you want, Deadpool?” Peter asked, crossing his arms and ignoring his question.

“To hang out, duh!”

Peter rolled his eyes. This happened about once a month. Deadpool just showed up, usually at a very inconvenient time, and refused to go away. He was like the world’s biggest tick. “We aren’t friends.”

“But we could be.”

“But we’re not.”

Deadpool pouted and slumped over. “You’re not fun.”

Peter felt the urge to roll his eyes again. Deadpool really wasn’t capable of not being annoying, was he? “Yeah, I know. Now go away.”

“But I wanna fight crime! Kick some ass!”

“Then do it on your own time.” Peter replied, preparing to swing far away from him. It was around the end of the night anyway; he was planning on just going home.

“That’s boring, spidey! I need some action.”

Peter frowned. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of finding some on your own.”

“Well yeah.” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “but that’s no fun. I wanna fight with you! Alongside the best of the best!”

Peter sighed. He could be here all night telling him why that statement was wrong. “I’m done with my patrol for the night, Deadpool. Go home.”

“It’s not even that late!”

“It’s almost three in the morning. I’m going home, and you should do the same.”

“Go home with you? Hell yes!” he shouted, trying to walk up and hug Peter again.

Peter rolled his eyes and shoved him off. Once again, Deadpool was proving hard to get rid of. Peter still wasn’t entirely sure why he had gotten stuck with him in the first place. “Go home to your own place, Deadpool.”

“You can call me Wade, y’know.”

Peter paused. He’d forgotten that he actually knew Deadpool’s name. “Wade, go home. Please.”

Deadpool–Wade–grinned at him, then said, “No.”

Peter briefly wondered how far he could throw Wade away from him. “I’m going to leave now, and you’re not going to follow.” he said, starting to truly prepare to web away.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Wade shouted, jumping in Peter’s way.

“Wade, move.”

“Can’t we just hang out for a little bit? Pretty pretty please?”


Wade groaned. “I’ll buy you food.”

Peter paused. Food did sound really good. “Really?”

Wade nodded. “Anything from…there!” he announced, looking around before pointing at something over Peter’s shoulder.

Peter turned and saw a slightly-shabby convenience store. He snorted. This was unbelievably Deadpool. “Wow, going all out, are you?”

“Yep.” Wade said, then marched off towards the store. After a second of deliberation, Peter sighed and followed. He was slightly worried that Wade would just steal whatever it was he wanted.

The bell above the door dinged when he walked in, and it looked pretty much exactly as he expected. Bad lighting, lots of artery-clogging snacks, and Wade filling up a cup with every flavor of slushy possible.

Peter watched him for a minute, snorting when Wade started to grab a second cup and do the same thing, but this time in rainbow order. Wade caught his eye on the color green and waved him over.

“Spidey! Want a slushy? I’m buying!”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Pass.”

“What? Think slushies are just for kids? Don’t tell me you conform to society!” Wade teased, waving his cups at him.

Peter laughed, then gave in. “Slushies aren’t just for kids. Fuck society.” he announced, then grabbed his own cup, filling it with cherry.

Wade cheered. “Hell yeah!”

Peter rolled his eyes again and finished filling his cup, topping it with a domed lid and sticking in a neon pink straw. Wade joined him soon after with four cups, then went up and paid for all of them. After, they headed out and started walking down the street.

“Dude, why do you need four? Are you trying to freeze your intestines?” Peter asked, laughing as Wade put two straws in his mouth at once. He had his mask pushed up only enough to get them in.

“Nah, I just like slushies. Who doesn’t?”

Peter shrugged and sipped his own. He had to admit, it’d been a while since he’d had a slushy, and it was good. “Stupid people.”

“Exactly.” Wade agreed.

They walked in silence for a while, until Peter was almost done with his and Wade had moved on to his third.

“So, how much time did this buy me with you?” Wade asked, seeming genuinely curious.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a prostitute.”

Wade whistled. “Shame. You would make a killing off that ass.”

Peter smacked him. “Too bad. Time’s up.”

“Aw, what? I bought you a slushy!”

“And it’s empty.” Peter said, showing him the empty cup. “But if you ever wanna buy me another one, let me know.” 

“Aw, Spidey!” Wade whined as Peter turned to leave. “It took so long to find you!”

“Not my problem. See you around, Wade!” Peter called, webbing away.

“Spidey! Spidey!” Wade whined behind him, but Peter ignored him and landed on a rooftop across the street. He prepared to jump off and start heading home, but Wade sounded so pitiful behind him.

He sighed and turned back, where Wade was standing and waving his arms like a lunatic at him. When he saw Peter turn around, he ran over to the bottom of the building.

Despite the fact that it was a bad idea, Peter crawled down the side of the building, stopping about five feet from Wade. “You’re very needy.”

“I get that a lot. Come back down!”

“Nope. Got work tomorrow. But we should do this again.” Peter said, half-meaning it.

Wade grinned at him. “Really?”

Peter shrugged. “Sure. I’m gonna leave now. Don’t follow me.”

Wade seemed to struggle with that idea, but stepped back. “Aye-aye.”

Peter smiled back and went back up, then headed off into the night. 

And maybe he noticed Wade following him for nearly ten blocks, but the guy bought him a slushy, so who was he to say anything?

pancakes and tlc [wade wilson]

wade shows up at your apartment after a rough job, battered and bleeding as usual. you patch him up and he spends the night on your couch.

tagging: @redgillan@mattymattymerduck, @avengerofyourheart, @wakandasoldier@darlingbuchanan@bemystucky, @idorkish, @iwillbeinmynest@aubzylynn, @angryschnauzer, @almondbuttercup

warnings: blood, gore, drugs (pain medication)

additional notes: i love wade and so i wanted to write something for him. i’ve added him to the list of characters you can request from me (when requests reopen, of course). reader is a night nurse like my wife claire temple. their gender is never specified. please tell me what you think, if you think i did wade any justice, and if you want more wade/reader from me!

Originally posted by marvelheroes

It had been over a month since you had last heard from Wade Wilson. Usually your friend texted you periodically, having memorized your work schedule ever since the two of you became official friends, but for the last several weeks you’ve received nothing but radio silence. You knew he must be busy—his job was difficult, after all, even if he did manage to pull through each time—but you couldn’t help worrying about him… or missing him, for that matter.

You and Wade had first become acquainted with each other three years earlier when you found him crashed out on your balcony in a pool of blood, groaning in pain, fully armed and decked out in his red and black spandex number. He looked up at you, appraising your pajama-clad appearance from head to toe, and greeted you with a flirtatious, “Nice stems, sweetcheeks.” Had you not been an ER nurse, you would have fainted at the sight of him, an arm wrapped around his middle as he fought to keep his entrails from spilling out, but your medical training kicked in, and so you went to work dragging him inside, wincing at the trail of blood he left in his wake.

Since then, Wade had considered you his personal medic, always hauling himself to your apartment when he needed some medical assistance (which was nearly every night when he was in town). Most of his visits occurred after your late night shifts—you had come home many times to find a bedraggled Deadpool waiting patiently on your doormat—but despite your fatigue, you were always happy to help, your concern for Wade greatly outweighing any frustration with having to work on yet another patient. You valued him for his humor and for the lighthearted air with which he spoke, and so when he wasn’t present, you missed him terribly. You had plenty of patients with outrageous injuries and stories to match, but Wade had slowly but surely become the most interesting part of your life.

You were lounging on the couch snacking on some Chex Mix and watching some Netflix original your coworker had recommended when you heard knocking at your door. You paused the show, placed the bowl of Chex Mix on the coffee table, and crept toward your door quietly. Your pulse roared in your ears as you wondered who would be here at this hour, your imagination rife with images of axe murderers and thieves. Last year goons had come to your apartment on five different occasions looking for Wade, and after some thought you had armed yourself with an aluminum baseball bat (Wade had offered you one of his pistols, but you didn’t trust yourself with a gun when you still nicked your fingers no matter how careful you were while slicing food). You snatched your baseball bat from your umbrella basket and waited a few seconds before throwing open the door, poised to strike whoever was standing there.

“Hey!” Wade called out jovially, tumbling to the floor in front of you with a pained grunt. Evidently, he had been leaning against your door, and so when it swung open, into your apartment he fell.

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kid-groot  asked:

Finn was 16 now, and going through her more rebellious stages. She would go out without warning and come back at random hours of the night. Lately she had been sneaking into Deadpools fridge and snatching beers, like she was currently doing now.

Deadpool threw a knife that stuck right in the bottle as Finn grabbed it. “Finn! What did I say about drinking?! Or stealing my stuff?!! Or sneaking out to party!!!?”