Was it his best idea? Absolutely not.

Was he insane? Probably.

But everything would turn out okay, right?

'Merc_wi_a_mouth commented on your post.'

'Merc_wi_a_mouth followed you back.'

Oh, he was definitely fucked.

-.-.-
-.-.-

It started about a year and a half ago. Back then, it was microwave ramen dinners - since he didn't so much as have a kettle to his name - and praying his landlord would fix his radiator. Back then, he had to steal Wi-Fi from the cafe downstairs to finish his college assignments and pull thread from old briefs to repair his suit. Back then, there wasn't really anything good going for him. Besides Spider-Man, that was.

Peter took little comforts where he could. He feasted on gifts from food carts and gratefully accepted crumpled bills from tourists who - admittedly - thought he was some sort of street performer. Sporadically, Wade would find him on rooftops and hurl takeout bags of artery-blocking junk at him. After which Spider-Man would ream his ass about scaring him and almost wasting food. Then Wade would sprawl out on the concrete like a lazy cat to wax poetically about the exciting mission he'd been on for the last days, weeks or months. And, despite how much Peter liked to gripe and sigh about Deadpool's presence, it was one of those comforts.

And... in the early hours of the morning when he couldn't sleep from the cold, Peter took another small comfort. And really, who could blame him for taking advantage of his numb hands?

That's how he found it. It was an accident, really.

Deadpool had been gone for two months at that point and Peter was desperately alone. The last time he'd felt another person's touch was when he'd accidentally brushed his hand against his classmate's. She'd given him a disgusted look for it, which: rude. So Peter kinda-sorta-really needed a pick-me-up right now.

And by pick-me-up he meant finding some nasty-freak-shit online.

So here he was, on a Friday night, alone in his apartment with nothing but a bottle of lotion and the designated cum-rag. Out of habit more than anything, Peter took the time to check that his door was locked and shyly opened a private browser. Now, left in nothing but his briefs and a blanket - it was still cold as fuck - he began his search.

He clicked from tag to tag, waiting for something to catch his attention; waiting for something to help him survive the monotony of his existence. Dopamine. He never intended to click on a cam site.

On the screen in front of him, blinking, were the curvy words:

'Thanks for joining us at Camtoy.tv!
We're a roleplay based cam site with a wide selection of dolls to choose from. Would you prefer to:

Pick a puppet, pull some strings
OR
Join the ToyBox, get paid

Log in or sign up today.'

Below, in a darker box, were the words 'Watch as a guest.'

Peter felt his stomach turn. It felt... wrong? Scummy? These women were being objectified... The icon flashed at him teasingly and he bit his lip. Blunt nails tapped lightly against the hard plastic. It was roleplay, right? The whole point was that they pretended like they were - like - toys or something? Barbies or bunnies or something like that?

And it's not like they weren't getting paid for it.

Hesitantly, Peter opened the site as a guest, mentally preparing to have a screen full of tits and ass. That's not what he got.

His eyes first landed on a redhead, clad in black, form-fitting leather and glaring at the camera. He hovered over the thumbnail, watching as the woman videoed leaned forward and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Holy shit, that's Black Widow. Well, not actually Black Widow, but a really good cosplay. His eyes drifted across the screen, catching glimpses of skin and intricate costumes. Like he guessed, there were a few with painted on doll joints and a couple with bushy tails and ears. For the most part, however, it was characters from movies or games and superheroes. So far, he'd seen Lara Croft, a couple Disney Princesses, Wonder Woman, and one notable Winnie the Pooh Cosplay that featured an ass window.

Male streamers were fairly common, too. One was painted to look like a green army man, another as Han Solo. One in particular made him pause, though. The man had the whole "boy-next-door" thing going on with a soft smile and carefully styled blonde hair. Peter clicked on the stream before he could second guess himself.

The cam boy, username CaptainKodi, was chatting with some of the commenters. He talked about his cat, the workout he did and how classes were going. Then, in an all too casual and well practiced motion: he lifted his arms, clasped his hands behind his head and flexed. And wow... Peter gently kneaded himself through his shorts. His arms were impressive. Even through his suit he could see the way the muscles bulged. And his suit, oh.. it was really well made. Sturdy blue canvas with white paneling and faux leather straps over the shoulders. Peter didn't know whether to drool over his biceps or the craftsmanship.

Probably the biceps.

The cammer snorted at a comment and looked off screen, "well I know we're just getting started and I don't want to spoil anything... but I did prepare a little special something for you guys."

He slipped off the screen and Peter could hear him shuffling around the penthouse. Which, yeah, this guy lived in an actual penthouse. Floor to ceiling windows and all. What did Peter have to do to live in a place like that? He was broken out of his reverie (jealousy?) when the backside of a shield slid in front of the camera.

"Now this, this isn't the surprise; you've seen this part before..." the cosplayer grinned at the camera, slowly spinning the shield, "but I thought of something that might be fun..."

As it turned into view, Peter choked. On the front of the shield, suctioned on the star, was a big, wobbly dildo. The chat started going crazy. Donations started pouring in and damn that was a lot of money. There were suggestions on what to do, how to do it, where to put it.

Peter clicked out of the stream, only then realizing how (ashamedly) hard he was. Surely, if Steve knew what Peter had been watching he'd be disappointed and uncomfortable. But, Peter couldn't help but feel turned on. Those wide shoulders and flirty grin and nice ass and-

Don't get it twisted, Captain America wasn't exactly the kind of guy who got Peter's blood pumping, it was more like what he was reminded of... Strong arms and cocky quips and textured lips and the-

No. He couldn't think of his partner that way, even if Wade's endless innuendos and come-ons were to be believed.

So instead, with a fist full of over-enthusiastic dick, he clicked off the site and chose something else.

-.-.-

He came back to the site the next night.

CaptainKodi wasn't streaming, but there was a different mix of cosplays to choose from. Not that it really mattered, though, since as soon as he realized the Black Widow from yesterday was camming again, Peter opened her stream. Purely out of curiosity. No other motives at all. Yup. It definitely wasn't because her suit was zipped halfway down, exposing cleavage and the dusting of freckles on her stomach.

She held the same uninterested act, quietly reading through the chat and occasionally replying to comments. And, despite the leisurely nature of the stream, the chat was going absolutely wild. Somehow, they were spurred on by her aloof display. Some left donations and some were asking about her life, but the majority spewed increasingly lewd comments.

The cammer, Hourglass, adjusted herself on the bed, the pleather of her suit squeaking. She must've seen something, then, and a teasing smirk fell onto her lips.

And if Peter thought the chat was crazy before, he was obviously mistaken. Hourglass leaned in, hooded eyes and pursed lips, and unzipped the last couple inches of her jacket. Peter leaned in, too, his fingers dipping into his briefs and his mouth dry. He felt like a blushing virgin, again. And technically, he was a blushing virgin, but he hadn't gone bright red at the sight of boobs since middle school. Something about this...

"I think we need to take this somewhere a little more private," she murmured to them, biting her lip and craning her neck. He couldn't look away from her, eyes locked onto her own, stormy and intense.

The feed went gray. 'This stream has become private, become a subscriber or donate to continue watching.'

"Oh, shit." He groaned and released the chokehold on his weeping dick. He just got cockblocked by a paywall. For a moment, he contemplated it, what harm would it be to donate a couple of dollars so he could continue watching? A lot of harm, actually. Mostly to his bank account. And once again, he really shouldn't be thinking of his teammate like this. Fuck, Natasha was intimidating, too. She'd probably clock his pervert energy and bite his head off like an actual spider. Do spiders actually even do that? Either way.

"Shit," he hissed and slammed his laptop closed. "I'm so totally going to horny jail."

-.-.-

Over the next week Peter avoided the website, determined to not spend money or any more time jerking off to his coworkers. But luckily for him, Deadpool was finally back in the city by the time Friday rolled around. As typical of the first Post Mission Meetup, he tossed Peter a big bag of takeout, and then presented him with a smaller, paper bag of "gifts" and a stack of postcards.

"You know the whole point of postcards is to send them through the mail, right?" Spider-Man sifted through, pausing at a note written on one.

"Uh huh," Deadpool hummed, mouth full of beans and cheese as he watched with smug satisfaction. Spider-Man grimaced at the shitty crayon doodle. Wade swallowed his bite before replying, "unfortunately, Spidey, I need an actual address to send a postcard."

The vigilante tucked the cards away with a considering head-tilt, and started to sift through the paper bag. "You could just send it to my fanmail box, like everyone else?" He suggested.

Deadpool choked on his mouthful, "Webs! You have a PO Box and you didn't tell me?"

"Honestly?" Spidey snickered and shoved a few napkins his way, only to grimace again when the older man waved him off to wipe the mess with a bloody glove."I was kind of worried you'd abuse it?"

The merc gasped, "I'd never, baby boy! Who do you take me for? Some kind of ruffian? Prankster? Crimi-"

"-'Pool," The hero interrupted, raising his hand in a 'zip-it' motion. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but the 'souvenir' you handed me is just a paper bag filled with loose pasta, a figurine of some pervy old man-"

"Ah, yes," Deadpool cut in solemnly, "the Sheep Worrier-"

"A wooden spoon with something engraved in French-"

"It says 'little sausage'"

The hero paused to look at him, "you speak French?"

"I'm Canadian, Spidey, a fifth of the population speaks French."

Spider-Man filed that tidbit of information away for later, then continued on, "and lastly a handful of coupons for what looks like - are these for an escort service?" He sighed and dropped the crumpled papers, trying not to be disappointed that his crush (nope nope nope. not his crush) friend had them in the first place. "Why would I trust you to not send - I dunno - crates of live crickets to my mailbox?"

"Ooops, I was wondering where those went," Deadpool murmured as he snagged the coupons and shoved them into one of his many pouches. Peter watched on, feeling a small pang of jealousy, and hurt. "Also, is that a hint? Cause I have a jar of dead flies at home with your name on it."

"You also have a jar with a figurine of me in it. You didn't think I would know what that was, did you?"

"Uh, well... It's unused?"

"And thank Odin for that," Spidey muttered and grabbed his own burritos from the takeout bag. The rooftop was quiet for a few moments, both just content to listen to the city and eat.

"Well, I promise I won't send you anything weird. I can't say I won't try to feed you since - well - look at you baby boy, we need you to animorph from twink to twunk," Wade said, patting his thigh and Peter blushed. "Just say the word Webs, and I'll make sure you never have to catch crickets again."

The younger snorted, and hit Deadpool in the head with a burrito wrapper. Which, of course, led to the merc retaliating with his own crumpled garbage. It didn't take long to dissolve into chaos. Trash talking, Deadpool making every innuendo under the sun about balls hitting faces and of course a healthy dose of irresponsible power usage. Deadpool whined after being webbed to the wall and getting pelted by wads of grease paper, and Spider-Man chewed 'Pool out after he avoided getting hit by jumping off the roof, breaking both ankles.

Eventually they calmed back down enough to clean the litter scattered across the rooftop and the street. Now that their impromptu fight had finished, Wade was laying with his head in Spidey's lap, as the other was leafing through the postcards again.
"You missed one more thing in the bag," Wade said, breaking the silence. "It should've been at the bottom."

Spider-Man frowned and grabbed the bag once more, digging into the pasta. Fingers brushed against a textured fabric. He carefully pulled it out with a tug, since he was still going to eat the pasta thankyouverymuch, and admired the intricate lace of a masquerade mask.

"A mask?"

"Yeah, well.. I thought... You know," Wade started awkwardly, hands gesticulating wildly. "There was this cart outside of the opera house with all sorts of superhero themed masks. I didn't see a Spider-Man one, but the lady was happy to make it custom."
Peter sat for a moment, tracing his fingers over the colorful webbing.

"Do you like it?" His patrol partner asked, hesitantly.

"It's beautiful, Wade."

-.-.-

Later that evening, Peter ate buttered pasta while working on homework. And oh god, it was the most delicious thing he'd ever made. Definitely worth the two dollars for the butter. (And now he had leftover butter, too!)

So his good vibes™ were only absolutely obliterated when someone pounded on the door. Fucking Parker Luck. There were only two types of people who knocked like that: the police and pissed off landlords... and honestly he didn't know which one he dreaded more.

"Parker!" Came the familiar, smokes a pack of cigarettes everyday, voice. "I know you're in there! You shorted me twenty dollars again!"

Except Peter knows he did, in fact, pay the full amount. After the last two months he made sure to double and triple check his rent. And he'd confront his landlord about it, except (as stated previously) he really needed his radiator fixed. It also didn't help that this little shithole apartment was all he could afford. Better than being out on the streets, at least.

So he stayed quiet, listening as his landlord continued to huff and scream and pound on his door. He eventually left, though. Even if it took twenty minutes.

Peter really needed to get out of this sad little studio apartment.

But did he really have any options?

He was too prideful to move back in with Aunt May, even though she'd never think less of him for it. Not to mention, it was one thing to sneak out of his room as a teenager, but it would just be weird as an adult.

And Peter Parker definitely wouldn't be couch surfing at Avengers Tower.

Technically, he could get an actual job. Besides the Bugle, that is. Unfortunately his previous employers never seemed too thrilled by his constant tardiness and no-call no-shows. And if there was one thing he wouldn't change, it was his commitment to Spider-Man and his city.

He could survive a couple more years, right? In a couple years he'd finally get his PHD and then he could intern at Oscorp or SI or become an independent inventor and sell his creations on Shark Tank or something. Then he'd be rich and have a grand penthouse, with floor to ceiling windows and direct roof access.

Peter blinked.

There was another option, tickling in the back of his head, and it was a bad idea.

With trembling fingers, Peter opened his laptop and navigated to the website he'd visited only twice before. This was a bad, bad idea.

His cursor hovered over the red box. What would it hurt, really? Why couldn't he try this once, fail, and then return to the hungry monotony of everyday life?

Think of the penthouse, Peter, think of the penthouse.

Peter took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. Was he really doing this?

Twenty minutes later he had his answer and apparently was, in fact, doing this. He had to wait for someone to approve his ID (it was a fake he'd gotten for a SHIELD mission, but he was still over their age limit so he didn't feel too guilty) but until then he had time to figure out what his username and shtick would be.

'sweeter-than-peter' was his first choice. It was cute and an innuendo. He seriously considered it until he realized, almost too late, he can't use anything close to his real name for this. Hell, he can't show his face either. Parker Luck would totally reveal his identity just to laugh when Jameson slutshamed him live on television. Definitely a no go. He thought about doing something Spider-Man themed, since yeah: if he had to wear a mask anyway, he was obviously going to wear one he was used to. But what if he had to change his gimmick one day? What if people lost interest in Spider-Man - or didn't like him in the first place? Nah, it was better to pick something generic.

He landed on 'bambi-brown.' Both in reference to his baby-face, and to his forgettable hair and eyes. And being an orphan. But that was more of a personal, dark-humor sort of reference, rather than a share-with-the-people-you're-mastrubating-for sort of reference.

He figured he could capitalize on his flexibility and his muscles. Like some sort of bendy, miracle twunk since, no, he was not a twink - it didn't matter what Wade said.

He couldn't use his current spidey suit, mostly 'cause he'd prefer to not fight doombots in soggy, sticky pants. Instead he pulled out an older iteration which - thankfully - wasn't a onesie and had its voice modulator already removed.

And since he'd encrypted his computer and a Paypal, he was all ready to go.

Now all he had to do was wait.

-.-.-

Starting his first stream was a lot harder than he expected. The confirmation came first thing in the morning, six o'clock sharp and woke him up - even though it was Saturday morning. Didn't they know weekends were a sacred time for sleeping in and having wet-dreams? Then he had to get through a whole day of patrolling. All the while his anxiety was bubbling up - so much so he was planning on just deleting the account when he got home. Needless to say, those plans changed when the landlord caught him coming back from the roof. Cue ten minutes of screaming about the twenty dollars and accusing Peter of being a junkie.

Ergo, building up the courage to go live.

His laptop sat on his counter, webcam pointed at his freshly-made bed, where he sat squirming. He didn't really have a plan for any of this. He didn't feel comfortable pulling out his dick for the internet to see, but could he actually make money without showing skin? The idea of a private show scared him, but people might get pissed if they donate and he doesn't give them an exclusive performance.

BANG!

Peter jumped as someone two stories up slammed their door.

Well, it wouldn't hurt to try.

He hit the start button and scooted back until his body was fully in frame. With bated breath, Peter waited and waited for someone to show up. He popped his fingers, cracked his neck, and made a game out of seeing how long he could maintain eye contact with the monitor. Just as he was getting frustrated, though, a user popped into the chat.

max-footage93 entered the chat
max-footage93: show fet
max-footage93: feet*
max-footage93 donated $1

Peter stared at the screen blankly. "You want to see my feet?"

max-footage93: pleas
max-footage93 donated $4

With a shrug, Peter pulled off his boots, tossing them on the ground. Five dollars to show off his grippers? Why not?

max-footage93: hott
max-footage93: do they smell?/

Peter laughed a little at that, shaking his head and wiggling his toes a little. "Fresh out of the shower, buddy."

max-footage93: oh
max-footage93: bitch
max-footage93 has left the chat

His giggles turned into full blown laughter as someone new hopped in.

test-pickles entered the chat

After a good five seconds without any chatter in his comments, Peter sat up and crossed his legs under him. Fuck, what was he supposed to say? "You're not going to call me a bitch 'cause I wash my feet, right?"

test-pickles: Nah lol.
test-pickles: Are you new at this?
test-pickles: You have a cute laugh, btw.

"Aw, thanks!" Peter smiled under the mask. "Yes, this is my first time going live. You're the second person here."

test-pickles: Wow, really?

"Yeah, I don't really know what to do," Peter admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm not really sure I want to do the whole-" He gestured to his crotch. "- Y'know? But if you're cool with that I could do something else?"

test-pickles: Fair
test-pickles donated $5
test-pickles: Could you yell at me a little and then start laughing?

"Are... Are you sure?"

hot-boy-smmr entered the chat
test-pickles donated $2
test-pickles: Please? I need it. 0o0
test-pickles: Be mean. Treat me like a villain.

Peter took a second to mull it over. This was - yeah - this was something he could do. He took a deep breath before straightening up, channeling the pissed off energy he shows exclusively to Deadpool - before they became friends, at least. "And why would I do anything for you, huh?" He huffed out a humorless laugh and shook his head. "You've done nothing but cause trouble and now you want a favor from me? What have you done to deserve it?"

test-pickles: moer
test-pickles: plese maam
test-pickles donated $5
hot-boy-smmr: oh wow :o
hot-boy-smmr donated $2

"Shut up!" Peter snarled and jumped up. He stalked the few short steps to his laptop, hands fisted at his sides."Did you think you could talk your way out of this? You're a bad person, you don't get to walk free after everything you've done."

hot-boy-smmr: is weirdly hot?
test-pickles donated $5

"Oh?" Peter hissed, barking out another cruel laugh. "You're into this, are you? I already knew you were fucked up, but I didn't think you were that disgusting."

test-pickles donated $10

-.-.-

By the end of the night Peter had made over a hundred bucks just by yelling at internet strangers for two hours. Was his voice a little hoarse? Yup. Was it worth it? Oh, one hundred percent. Granted, it wasn't a whole lot of money, but it was more than he had before sitting down. With this he could finally be the one to buy food when Deadpool stopped by again.

Strangely enough, it was also kinda nice. Not that he really enjoys screaming at people, but it was almost like a weird form of therapy? He wasn't ever specific about what the viewers "did," but in his mind he was letting loose against all the muggers, rapists and abusers he wanted to rage at in the past. Unfortunately for him, Spider-Man has a reputation and he can't just lose it at any pickpocket, narcissistic ex-boyfriend or stalker he comes across. Even if he'd like to. Bambi Brown on the other hand? No such restrictions.

And, as previously mentioned: Peter is so, so lonely. The roleplay, for some reason, scratched that itch for human interaction. Only a little, though. It wasn't like he'd get addicted to this or anything.