Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After his little vacation to another universe, Peter had become sort’ve fascinated with magic. Most of it made sense to him, of course, but that was half the fun. Currently he was in the New York City Public Library, nose-deep in a book on modern witchcraft and satanism, which made him feel a bit like a ghost-buster. (Absently, Peter realized that with his glasses on he did look quite a bit like Spengler...)

As he flipped through the pages, he was struck by how scientific everything was. Every spell had a counter-spell, there were components and preparations and exacting calculations that needed to be made. Although he didn’t really believe what he was reading was exactly accurate (the whole thing seemed a bit cliche, if he was being honest), it did seem to make sense. Everything abided by the basic laws of physics. equivalent exchange, action and reaction, etc. He could understand how a Doctor could end up good at this stuff. 

Peter began to squint through his glasses (which he still needed to read, despite his spider-powers) noticing a change in lighting. This was making it a bit more difficult to read the messy print of the book, and he grumbled to himself. A cursory glance to the windows explained the change. The sun had gone down.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that the last thing he’d eaten was a bagel for breakfast, not the wisest decision for someone with an over-active metabolism. 

Well, he huffed, now was as good a time as any to take a break. 

Once finished checking out that book on witchcraft, as well as one on ley-lines and another on alchemy, he walked out into the cold winter air waiting for him. Wind bit wherever it was able, and he pulled up his hood in an attempt to at least protect the back of his neck. This was, evidently, a mistake, as it just succeeded in creating a miniature chamber which directed blasts of cold wind directly into his ears. Peter resigned himself to this micro-misery, gripping the strap of his satchel bag. This kind of weather had him craving soup, and it was better than eating microwaved burritos alone in his apartment, so he changed his course, walking towards his favorite little ramen place.

There's something about winter in New York, something in the air completely unique to all other cities during the coldest months of the year. Winds blow harsher, cheeks get rosier, the warmth of your own cosy little apartment seems a bit more alluring... That was something Peter always loved about New York, despite the misery it often brought (Even after his change, he would still, without fail, manage to get the flu at least once a year, always right around Christmas when he was trying to get his last-minute shopping in).  

Entering the warm and cozy restaurant, Peter grinned. The smell of hot broth and pan-fried dumplings, along with the loud and chaotic nature of the kitchen, completely visible from the dining area, should have completely overwhelmed his heightened senses, but instead it acted to ground him. Back before he’d dropped out of college, he used to come here a lot during finals week, and then after that he’d come here after any sort of accomplishment he felt like celebrating. 

“Mr. Parker! The usual?” The only server- his name was Dave- greeted Peter warmly. Dave was a kind-faced med student who took shifts here to help out his budding family while he got his degree. He had just gotten married and his wife had twins on the way. Him and Peter would sometimes talk about bio-mechanics when the place was more desolate, but at the moment it was actually quite crowded. 

With a nod, Peter sat down at his usual spot “Uh, yeah, and can I get some of that hot milk tea?”

Peter tapped the old wooden table with the tips of his fingers rhythmically, punctuating the sentence with a wink and finger-guns. 

Dave nodded back “Cold, isn’t it? The kind of weather that makes you just wanna curl up and hide.” 

“You’re telling me.” Peter grinned thankfully, remembering this morning, when he'd gotten pushed into the Hudson by a would-be mugger “Feel like crawling into bed and never getting back out.”

“I’ll go get that started for ya.” The server smiled kindly. 

Peter was already turning his attention to the books in his bag, “Thanks, dude.” 

As Dave walked away, Peter pulled a notebook, the alchemy book, and a pencil, intending on taking notes. There was a lot of sifting through bullshit he had to do, figuring out what was made up and what was true (If any of it was). He’d noticed that while Witchcraft was a bit like physics, abiding by laws but not having all the answers as to why , Alchemy was more like chemistry, focused on producing reactions. In that sense, he liked witchcraft better, since it required a certain sense of intuition and air of animalism, which he happened to have in droves due to the fact that he did, y’know, have spider DNA. 

A hot bowl of noodles and pork broth was placed next to him, along with some sushi (the spider-man roll, Peter couldn't help himself), some edamame, miso soup, pork dumplings, and steaming tea. He wouldn’t have noticed- too busy figuring out a particular reaction- had it not been for the absolutely delectable cacophony of smells, reminding him just how hungry he was. 

He ate in a blur, barely taking time to breathe, something aunt May chastised him for years about but, well, he was hungry . He’d spent all morning web-slinging, then the rest of the day with his nose deep in a book. Onlookers might forgive him for the intensely sensual noises he was making if they knew of his plight. 

Something Peter wouldn’t forgive himself for, however, was getting splotches of broth on the library-borrowed book. The book wasn’t exactly new- it had several dogeared pages and a notable scribble in one of the pages which combined two alchemy circles into a crudely drawn phallic shape. He hastily dabbed at the pages with a napkin, but the damage had already been done, grumbling under his breath about his hubris.  

Peter closed the book, resolving to not make any more of a mess for the rest of the night. Just as he put the books back in his bag and closed the flap, a loose cartridge of web-liquid exploded with a distinctive hiss. He grimaced, just his luck. 

Leaving payment plus a generous tip on the table, Peter finished the dregs of the tea, steeling himself to go back into the bitter cold that awaited him. He gave a friendly wave over in Dave’s direction (it looked like he needed it, too, he was dealing with a large party full of children), and walked back out onto the street. Walking home, he considered going on another patrol, but he had work tomorrow, and besides, it was Sunday night, not a lot tended to happen on Sunday nights. 

It turned out he was wrong. On his way back to his apartment, he heard the telltale signs of a mugging, and after he’d taken care of that, he noticed a bodega getting robbed. And so his night went, thinking it was over until boom, two blocks later there was something else happening. That’s how he found himself cold and covered in sweat, suit sticking in all the wrong places behind a greasy 24-hour diner. It was somewhere around 1 in the morning, getting a group of stoned guys away from a stray cat. 

Peter had his hands raised, standing between the group and the stray “Hey, come on, guys, it’s just a cat. Go home, it’s late. I’m sure your moms are worried sick.” 

One of the men, a short but muscular guy who, despite looking young, was balding on top, spat at Peter, the glob of phlegm and saliva hitting him squarely in the chest. That wasn't going to clean out easily “Fuck off.”

A tall, lanky guy built more like Peter who had been lurking in the back spoke up, clearly significantly more sober “Come on guys, that’s Spider-man. It’s not like we’re gonna win against him in a fight. He'll probably wrap us up and suck out all our juices or something.” 

“You should listen to your friend, seems smart.” Peter nodded towards the guy. "Except for that last part."

Short guy huffed, clearly still wanting to punch Peter, but slowly backed away after another moment of sizing-up. 

“This isn’t the last time you’ll see us, Spider-Man. I’ll come back, with more friends next time.” 

One of the guys mumbled “Dude, what are you talking about?” as the group slunk off. 

Peter turned around, re-focusing his attention on the stray cat that was shivering violently in the corner behind him. “Hey there, buddy. Those guys didn’t bang you up too bad, did they?” 

The cat, a sleek black thing with a kink in their tail, looked rattled but no worse for wear. Peter had to admit, the little thing was kinda cute, sitting there scared and shivering. 

“Awe… You’re so… gosh darn cute!” Beneath his mask, Peter grinned, unable to help himself. 

The cat tilted its head to the side, eyes wide and adorable. 

Peter shook his head “No I- I can’t. My apartment doesn’t allow pets, I don’t have time to clean a litter box, let alone the money for vet bills…” 

The cat let out a desperate sounding ‘beep’. Peter’s will turned to jell-o. He'd always had a soft spot for injured strays. 

“Okay. Fine.” Peter huffed, defeated. 

And so, scooping up the cat in his arms, he set off towards home, making sure to grab his bag and change of clothes that he'd webbed to a rooftop on the way (he’d made that mistake too many times now to forget). Peter climbed into his apartment through the window, and set down the cat on his bare wooden floor. Pulling off his mask, he inhaled a breath of fresh air. 

“Alright. You stay, uh,… right there-ish. I’ll be right back. Oh, and please don’t piss on anything, these floors absorb every smell.” 

The cat simply sat there. It blinked calmly, seeming to say ‘i’m not going anywhere’. 

Peter strode into his bedroom, not a long trip as his apartment was tiny , and closed the door, dropping his bag on the floor. He spoke to himself as he changed into some more comfortable clothes, something that was frighteningly common for him to do. 

“You can’t just keep a cat here, come on man. I know it’s cute, and helpless, and probably would make you feel less cripplingly lonely, but it’s basically borderline animal abuse. No, you can’t keep it. Stop thinking of cute names, you’re only gonna get-” Peter tripped on his pajama pants, stumbling over himself and almost falling over “oof- attached. How can I… Hmm… Okay. Tomorrow I’ll research no-kill shelters, find somewhere to drop them, and forget about it. Yeah. Good plan, me.”

With a high-five to himself, he stepped out of his bedroom freshly (well no, not quite freshly, he really needed to do laundry) clothed in an oversized t-shirt and basketball shorts, to see Einstein- no, no cute science-y names- the cat, sitting in the same place he’d left it, calmly licking it’s paw. 

“You hungry?” 

The cat perked up at this, padding up to him and rubbing up against his legs. 

“gah!” The cat had shocked him, like a jolt of static electricity. Hm, maybe it was about to storm, or something. 

Brushing this off, he headed towards the fridge, the cat weaving in-and-out of his legs the entire time. Some sort of… feeling… began to form at the base of Peter’s skull, right behind his eyes. It was like the precursor to a migraine, or maybe he was just getting sick again from being out in the cold for so long. It wasn't quite his spider-sense, that was more like a shiver down is spine. He opened up the fridge, sighing at the meager contents of it. A container of leftover fried rice, a carton of probably-spoiled eggs, a jar of salsa, some matzo-ball soup, a mostly empty sriracha container… Ah! A to-go box of week-old lasagne from Aunt May. Cats could eat lasagne, right? 

Peter opened up the box, breaking off a cold chunk and placing it on the floor for the cat, who rubbed up against him appreciatively. He hungrily began eating the rest. 

The unease at the base of his skull seemed to blossom into full on pain in a matter of seconds, the room beginning to spin around him. He gasped for air, throat suddenly tight. As he clutched his messy kitchen counter, he felt his spider sense go off, far too late, a jolt of white-hot electricity down his spine. Something was wrong, really wrong. Couldn’t’ve been the lasagne, it wasn’t that old. Speaking of the lasagne, he could no-longer hold onto it, and it dropped onto the floor sauce-side first. He’d been tricked, and he didn’t know exactly how, or when, but he was poisoned, or drugged or something, and collapsed onto the floor, his limbs feeling like TV static.  

Looking up through tear-blurred eyes, he saw someone, definitely human-ish with long dark hair and a mischievous air, looming above him, a satisfied smile on their face. He tried to speak, maybe to ask for help, or to demand to know what the hell was going on, but found he couldn’t, the only sounds escaping his lips were strange, strangled, and almost inhuman. 

When he woke up the next morning, everything felt… off.

God, he hated Mondays.

It was like being a teen again, limbs too long and disobedient, clumsy despite his best efforts. His eyes were all blurry, and he couldn’t really make out his surroundings. Gradually, memories from the night before came back to him, and he realized he must be on his kitchen floor, judging by the distinctive sounds of his leaky faucet and loudly gurgling fridge. He groaned, trying to stand upright, but found his balance was terribly off, and collapsed again into a heap. Something was wrong, terribly, utterly wrong, and he needed to know exactly what it was. His eyes felt funny, like they had an extra skin overtop of them. He blinked hard, and the problem seemed to fix itself, although he soon recognized there was a different problem he should probably be paying attention to... 

Everything was huge . Either that, or he’d gotten smaller. The kitchen counter seemed stories tall, and his ceiling looked miles away. His clothes were pooled around him, and he could see all the dust that had built up under all the kitchen surfaces. Peter inhaled a bit too quickly, resulting in a sneeze. 

Screw lizard-men and multiversal travel, he’d just been Honey I Shrunk the Kids ’d, and it was definitely, without a doubt, the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. 

Oh, Peter, you just had to say it, didn’t you? 

With a sudden clarity, he realized what exactly was so off about him. He had a tail . A great big fluffy one, and, observing further, that fluff covered his whole body in a thick layer and- oh, he had paws , and whiskers and his ears were- 

No, no fucking way was this happening. 

He was a cat. Albeit a big one, but still. Big, and fluffy, and orange. Peter didn’t even say it this time, knowing he’d jinx it.

Well, it happened anyway, because apparently the universe is a bitch. The door of the apartment opened and closed with a shick, scrape, CLUNK . 

No, on no oh fuck oh shit. Not now- why did he always pick the worst times? 

“Petey! You home?” 

A pause, a few heavy steps, “I brought breakfast burritos. The kind from that fancy place uptown, bet they don’t even put horse meat in ‘em!” 

Another pause, feet shuffling “Shit, what time is- Aw, fuck. He’s already left, hasn’t he… Damn it, capitalism- No, don’t damn capitalism, if it weren’t for capitalism you wouldn’t get to unalive people- Well… Guess I'll have to eat all this all by my lonesome... Ooh!” 

Peter looked up, and made direct eye contact with his apparent burglar. His… well, uh... what were they, exactly? 

For the sake of ease, let’s just say it was Peter’s boyfriend, Wade.

Chapter Text

The first thing anyone would notice about Wade was, when they could see them, the scars. He had them pretty much all over, head-to-toe, in a kind of web of angry tissue. He tried to hide it with hoodies and sunglasses and, more recently, surgical masks, as well as spending most of his time in that god-awful smelling suit (Which, peter noted, smelled even worse with his enhanced cat senses), but he never did tell Peter exactly how that had happened. He figured it had something to do with Wade’s mutation, an incomparable healing factor which meant he could survive pretty much anything. 

The second thing anyone would notice was his almost disturbingly kind smile (Wade claimed it was part of his Canadian heritage), and the third would probably be his morbid and perverted sense of humor (which was of course really just a coping mechanism for all the trauma he’d gone through). He was sweet, and funny, and he and Peter would talk for hours and hours about the stupidest stuff. Wade was the only person who knew Peter’s secret identity. Someone could say this was a messy way of Peter coping with the loss of certain other people in his life, and well, they’d be right, but Peter wouldn’t admit that.  

Wade had taken his mask off at this point, something he only really did when he thought he was alone (despite Peter's complaining). A wide grin spread across his face. 

“Petey didn’t tell me he had you !” Wade gushed “Oh, you’re so… shit you’re so fucking fluffy, I’m gonna die. And that is an accomplishment, just so you know.” 

Peter simply stared at him, unamused. He’d meant to say something like ‘come on, Wade, it’s me! It’s Peter!’ but well, it came out as a string of annoyed mews. 

“Okay, grumpy. I get it, it is monday. Awe, c’mere.” 

Before Peter could protest, although he wasn’t quite sure how he even would start, Wade had picked him up and thrown him over his shoulder. 

“Oof, you’re a dense one." Wade used his free arm to give peter a few scratches behind his ears, which peter totally definitely absolutely didn't like. 

"Hmm… Hold on, big, orange, grumpy and…” Wade toed the now-warm lasagne on the floor “Garfield! That’s gotta be your name, right?” 

He shifted Peter, suddenly holding him reverse-lion-king style, gripping him beneath what were previously his armpits. 

“Hiya, Garfield.” Wade gently booped Peter on the nose. 

Peter felt something building up at the back of his throat, and was unsurprised to learn it was a displeased yowl. He squirmed, twisting and flailing to try and get out of Wade's grasp. Without meaning to, he scratched Wade’s face, causing the man to drop Peter in surprise. 

“Hey! Ow!” 

Peter scrambled out from under Wade and ran towards his bedroom, hoping he could find something there to communicate. It was awkward, running on all-fours, but it was better than trying to stand on two.

Wade called after him, a few thuds accompanying the shout “Come back here, you scoundrel! I’m not leaving until we’re besties!” 

Peter jumped up onto his bed, finding it easier than he’d expected, almost instinctual. In a way, it was probably easier for him, since he’d sort’ve been through this whole acquiring-animal-attributes thing before, although it wasn’t exactly quite as literal last time... That was it! He could feel it, he could still feel the telltale tingle of his spider-sense, and well, that thereness that came with having spider powers. I He could just do a spider thing, and Wade would understand. Yeah, that'd work. for sure. Ok, it wasn't exactly the best plan, but it was the only plan he had.

After more clattering and some concerning crashing sounds, Wade appeared in the doorway, panting and hands outstretched, presumably primed for petting Peter. 

He made direct eye contact with Wade, and, slowly he backed up until his back was at the headboard. 

And then he kept going, up the headboard, and up the wall. 

“... Spider-cat? Okay, this is definitely a new one. Hm... Did Petey like, bite you, or something?” 

Peter continued to stare, waiting, hoping. Fuck, he would never take speaking for granted again. 

“No, that doesn’t make sense, baby boy wouldn’t… Wait!” And there it was, the lightbulb moment “... Petey?” 

Peter nodded. 

“Holy shit! You’re-” Wade snickered “I know it’s not funny but- You’re-” he shook his head and muttered “This is some fanfiction trope shit or something, what the fuck.” 

If Peter had lips, he would’ve frowned. He settled for an unhappy glare and a ‘Mrow’

“I know, I know, very serious.” Wade nodded, clearly holding back a grin through his mask. “So how’d this happen exactly, anyways? Another wizard?” 

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it, realizing he couldn’t exactly explain.  

“Oh, sorry. Forgot, you’re a cat. Okay uh…” Wade looked around the room, hoping he’d find something that could be used to communicate. His eyes landed on Peter’s bag, still on the floor from last night. “Hold on one sec…” 

Peter followed Wade to his desk, where he opened up Peter’s laptop. It was just a bit disturbing that Wade was able to type in his password with ease but, well, it seemed on-brand for the mercenary. A bit of typing later, and Peter realized what was going on.

“It’s not perfect, but uh… it’ll work for now, probably.” Wade gestured to the screen, which displayed a text-to-speech function. 

Peter wondered why he couldn’t just type into, say, a word document, but then he realized that it was one of those celebrity text-to-speech deep fake websites, and Wade had managed to find one for Spider-Man. Peter hadn’t thought to ever mention to Wade that he hated the sound of his own voice (Especially in old clips, which were no doubt part of the speech generator’s database), but, well, there wasn’t exactly a better option. So he got to work, typing exactly what was on his mind. 

‘How long have you been sneaking into my apartment while I’m gone ’ 

Wade blinked “Well it’s not exactly sneaking , I mean, I loudly announced my presence. Pretty sure that’s not sneaky behavior. Speaking of which, are you like… hungry? Can cats even have chorizo?” 

Peter gave Wade a look that said ‘don’t change the subject’. A look that he gave a lot, and was apparently still recognizable in his new feline form. 

“Right uh.. Pretty much since you brought me here that first time, I guess. Mostly so I could, y’know, sniff your underwear and stuff.” 

This was a classic Wade tactic, try to avoid talking about himself with something raunchy and disturbing. It was weird, because Peter did pretty much the exact same thing, except mostly by accident. He wasn’t quite sure why Wade was avoiding it, since Peter couldn’t exactly call him out. Instead, Peter focused his energy on typing. 

‘no idea what happened.  maybe magic didn’t see anything tho’

Peter was having some serious trouble with punctuation. Cat paws were surprisingly clumsy. 

Wade frowned “So you just like… Poof! Catified? No cackling witch flying away on a broomstick, or, I don’t know, radioactive cat bite? No explanation?”

Peter managed a sort of shrug, although he wasn’t really sure if it came across. 

Steepling his fingers, Wade smirked just slightly “So a real mystery, eh? Never you fear, baby boy, for I, the great detective Deadpool, am on the case!” He stood up, posing dramatically with a finger pointed to the ceiling. 

This didn’t exactly engender confidence but, well, it was a bit funny. Peter felt himself wanting to laugh, but ending up making a weird, strangled sound instead. 

“Wow, okay, great vote of confidence, Petey-pie. What, was that a hairball?” Wade rolled his eyes. “And I’m just now realizing I’m gonna have to do the talking for both of us. Not that I’m not up for it, of course, but phew , anyone ever told you that you talk a lot, Petey?” 

‘ Shut up, Wade’ ’ 

Cue Wade’s shit-eating grin “We both know I can’t do that. Also, you’re really gonna waste your precious petey-paws on typing ‘shut up’? Was that really strictly necessary? I mean, you even wasted the extra effort to add a comma . Honestly, I’m flattered.”

Mostly to shut Wade up, and definitely not at all because it looked really really comfy, Peter jumped off the desk and into Wade’s lap. He definitely didn’t find himself purring, absolutely not. 

Wade smiled fondly, scratching Peter behind his ears with a leather-clad hand “You know, you do make a really cute cat.” 

Resigning himself to the rumbling in his chest, Peter felt his claws (holy shit, claws), extend involuntarily, making biscuits on Wade’s thigh. Despite the distinct tensing of muscle signaling discomfort, wade didn’t seem bothered, simply moving his hand lower until it was under Peter’s chin and- 

Oh

Oh this, this was heaven. Everything in his brain was lighting up to say yes yes right yes good . He leaned into the touch, the vibrating in his chest only increasing. It was like… well. Peter wasn’t quite sure of a human equivalent. It was a bit like getting a really good massage, or hitting that specific part of your inner ear with a cotton swab, or stretching an itch you didn’t even know you had. Just pure, simple, bliss. 

“Didn’t know this was such a sensitive spot for ya, baby boy.” Wade commented, although Peter hardly registered his voice, too engrossed in the bliss of his current situation. 

He was drawn out of this trance-like state by a sound coming from outside his bedroom window. Ears swiveling to hear better, he jumped up, suddenly alert. When he saw what it was, a pigeon landing on the fire escape, he was, to say the least, embarrassed, and shook his head, trying to get back some sense of control. Peter jumped back onto the desk, ignoring Wade’s disappointed sigh. 

‘ Need to fix this. soon ’

With a reluctant nod, Wade agreed “Okay, so what do we know? Think back, what happened before, y’know…” He gestured to Peter’s current state. 

Peter tried to remember, although his brain was annoyingly fuzzy. He remembered leaving the library, and eating, and… What happened after that? Judging by the bunched up suit on the floor he’d gone patrolling, but he had absolutely no memory of it. Now that was weird. He liked to pride himself on his memory, and though it wasn’t eidetic, he had a knack for remembering faces and names, and especially criminals. 

‘ Don’t remember ’ was all he could think to type.

Wade frowned “What, nothing? ‘Cmon, promise I won’t laugh if it’s embarrassing. Well. No, not promise, but I’ll try.” 

Peter shook his head, sending the message again. 

“Seriously, if you wanna fix this you’ve gotta share.” 

Trying valiantly to get his point across, Peter just stared at Wade, not quite sure what else to try.

Wade huffed “Okay, so… you don’t remember. What about before before?” 

‘ Library, noodles. Books in bag.’ God, typing with tiny little paws was exhausting. 

“You…” Wade swiveled around, eyes returning to Peter’s bag. He strode over, plucking up the book on witchcraft, expression souring. “ Please don’t tell me you actually tried this shit, Pete. I thought you were supposed to be smart .” 

Peter shook his head because, no, of course not. Even though he didn’t remember everything that happened last night (Everything after he got back to his apartment was a complete blank), he was fairly certain he wouldn’t just try a spell without a lot of precautions. 

‘ Looked interesting. Might help? ’

Warily, Wade inhaled through his teeth “Fuck, I hate magic.”

Peter gave him a look that simply said ‘tell me about it’. Jumping down off the desk, he padded over to his bag, still not quite used to walking on four legs. He had to use his teeth, as well as some of his super-human (super-cat?) strength, to pull his notebook out, which luckily was open to a page of his notes. He cringed at the fact that it was slightly broth-stained (the smell wasn't anywhere near as pleasant as it had been last night), but elected to ignore it. 

“Are you sure you didn’t try to cast a spell, petey-pie? Because it seems like that’s exactly what you did. I mean, it’s not like you haven’t done your research.”

Although Peter was beginning to doubt himself just a bit, he shook his head again. No way, absolutely not. 

Wade looked at him skeptically, picking up the notebook and leafing through it “If you say so. Or-  well, not say, you get the point.” 

The two of them spent the rest of the morning pouring over what they had to try and find, if not some answers, a way to fix the problem. Wade sat cross-legged on the floor, burrito in one hand and book in another. Peter kept hopping back and forth between the floor and the desk to type messages (some important, most not). Somehow this was surprisingly exhausting and, without meaning to, he found himself stretched out on the floor, a patch of sunlight warming him. Wade, seemingly finding something interesting, turned to say something. 

“I think I might’ve-” He stopped, heart melted by the sight in front of him. “Awe…” 

Peter, too blissful to care, simply stretched himself out even further, stomach towards the sky. Wade couldn’t help himself. Peter wasn’t technically an actual cat, and this was probably the best chance he’d get. Carefully shifting himself into a kneeling position, he stretched his arm over Peter, and lowered his hand. 

There were a few moments where he actually got to stroke the silky smooth fur of Peter’s orange-white tummy, before his gloves were getting pierced by tiny little teeth and claws. Peter had constricted around the hand, a growl emerging from the back of his throat. It took every ounce of Wade’s very limited supply of willpower to not fling his boyfriend across the room in surprise.

 Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough, and Wade did, in fact, fling his boyfriend across the room in surprise.  

Also unfortunately, on the other side of the room was a window. 

Also also unfortunately, the window was open. 

Peter yowled as he flew through the air, twisting wildly in an attempt to stop himself on the windowsill. Despite his best efforts, he only succeeded in slamming his paws into it, and tumbled headfirst out the window. 

“Ah, fuck.” Wade sighed.