"Whoo, I'm beat. Why don't we take five? All this butt-kicking has me thirsty."
He pulls a Capri Sun from deep within the recesses of his spandex tights, kindly offering the first sip to the younger, more child-friendly hero.
Spider-Man™ turns to face the Merc with a Mouth™ (DISCLAIMER: Spider-Man, Deadpool and possibly even the Trademark Symbol©™ itself are officially owned by people with far more money and impulse control than me).
"Wade, why are you talking like that?"
"Like what, web-butt?"
"Like that. You don't say butt, not with double tees. You'd just say ass."
Deadpool gasps, slapping his hands to the cheeks of his scarlet mask in a mockery of shock and horror.
"Petey! How could you taint your sweet, innocent, lush, supple, dreamy, succulent..."
He trails off, imagining what forbidden beauty lurks behind the young adult's (18+, just to be safe) webbed mask. Wade exerts his influence upon the author, hoping to increase the rating to Explicit, but the impossibly boring and generally unlikable creature lurking behind the ever-present fourth wall refuses to write smut, insisting it would ruin the punchline.
Wade's concentration is broken as Spider-Man snaps his fingers. He remembers where he is in the story, and what he's supposed to say next.
"Where was I?"
"Taint."
"No thanks, I'm good."
"What?"
"What?"
The two beloved(?) heroes stare at each other, their expressions unreadable thanks to years spent hiding their emotions.
Their masks help a little.
Peter speaks first, breaking the awkward silence.
"So, why are you editing yourself? Are you feeling okay? Did you swallow an Infinity Stone for a TikTok challenge?"
"Not yet, no. Trust me, bro, everything's fine. I'm cool."
"You've never been cool, but this is different. You're not just uncool, you're... Lame."
"You kiss your Aunt May with that mouth?"
"Seriously, Wade, what's going on? You're never like this. We watched Game of Thrones together and I'm pretty sure you invented a new language made entirely out of profanity when the season 8 finale ended."
"Why wouldn't I? Bran? I mean, talk about lazy writing. Why not John or maybe even Jaime? Hell, they could have gone with that fat kid who makes wolf-themed pies, but Bran? What were they smoking? 'Cause I'm totally willing to go half in on some."
"Will you just tell me why you've been acting so weird all day? You've been saying butt, and darn, and I'm pretty sure I heard you say 'golly' back there."
"Fine, you win, Web-head. I'll smash down that flimsily constructed fourth wall."
"What wall are you talking about? We're on a rooftop!"
"No, we're not. We're in a hastily written fanfic that the crap author threw together on a whim based off a stupid post on Reddit that was copied from Tumblr that was a repost from Facebook that someone dug off their old Dropbox profile that they created back when they still had to learn HTML to pimp their MySpace page to kill time while constantly refreshing Digg!"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the rating, man. This no-talent hack refuses to write anything steamy or gory, and he sure as hell won't let this go past PG-13, which means I only get one fuck-bomb in this stupid, pointless, doomed-to-obscurity story, and I need to save it for the perfect comedic moment!"
He pauses, realizing what he has done. His head droops, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Peter can barely hear the high-pitched tone of the censor bleep as Deadpool quietly whispers to himself.
"F***."