Peter Parker stood in front of his closet, staring blankly at its contents. The various shades of T-shirts, button-ups, and hoodies blurred together, none of them feeling quite right for tonight.

Because tonight wasn't just any night.

Tonight, he was going on a date. With Wade Wilson.

Peter's heart thumped in his chest as he pulled out a dark blue button-up and held it against himself. "Too formal?" he muttered, tossing it aside and grabbing a simple hoodie. "Too casual?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Focus, Parker," he told himself. "It's just Wade. It's not like he's expecting—"

The sound of his phone buzzing snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. He grabbed it off his bed and opened the message from Wade.

Wade:"Yo, Spidey! What's the ETA? And more importantly, what are you wearing?"

Peter snorted, typing back."Clothes."

Almost instantly, another reply came through.

Wade:"Boring. Need specifics. This is adate, Parker, not a stakeout."

Peter hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before he could respond, his phone buzzed again.

Wade:"Wear something comfortable. "

Peter frowned. "Comfortable" wasn't exactly helpful. But before he could set the phone down, another message came in.

Wade:"Something easily accessible."

Peter nearly dropped the phone.

An hour later, Peter stood outside the small diner Wade had picked, his palms sweating despite the cool evening air. He'd settled on jeans and a soft gray sweater—simple, comfortable, and hopefully "accessible" enough to satisfy Wade's vague (and highly suggestive) instructions.

Through the window, Peter spotted Wade already sitting at a booth. The mercenary was in his full suit, minus the mask, which sat on the table beside him. He was leaning back against the seat, looking entirely too smug as he scrolled through his phone.

Peter took a deep breath and stepped inside.

"Petey-pie!" Wade called the moment he spotted him. Several heads turned, and Peter felt his cheeks heat.

"Wade," Peter said, sliding into the booth across from him.

Wade grinned, his scarred face lighting up with mischief. "Took you long enough. Thought maybe you'd chickened out."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I don't 'chicken out.'"

"Mm, sure," Wade said, his gaze sweeping over Peter. "Nice sweater, by the way. Very 'I'm your friendly neighborhood boyfriend.'"

Peter ignored the flush creeping up his neck. "What are you wearing?" he asked, gesturing to Wade's suit.

"This?" Wade said, gesturing to himself. "This is my date outfit. You like? It's got stretch fabric. Very...'accessible.'"

Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Why did I agree to this?"

"Because you secretly adore me," Wade said cheerfully.

The waitress approached their table, her expression flickering between amusement and mild confusion as she took in Wade's attire.

"Hi, folks. Ready to order?"

"Sure am!" Wade said, snapping the menu shut. "I'll have a chimichanga, fries, and a strawberry milkshake. And whatever Spidey-heart here wants, put it on my tab."

Peter frowned. "You don't have a tab."

"I do now," Wade said, winking at the waitress.

Peter sighed and ordered a burger and a soda. As the waitress walked away, he glanced at Wade. "Chimichangas and milkshakes? That's your idea of date food?"

"Obviously," Wade said, leaning forward. "What's wrong with chimichangas? They're versatile. Portable. Delicious. Like me."

Peter stared at him. "You're...not portable."

"I can be!" Wade said, sitting up straight. "Throw me over your shoulder and find out."

Peter groaned. "Can we have one normal conversation?"

Wade smirked. "Define normal."

The food arrived, and to Peter's surprise, the conversation settled into something resembling normalcy. They talked about their latest missions—Peter's run-in with a new gang in Hell's Kitchen, Wade's recent job dismantling a smuggling ring in Jersey—and even traded a few jokes.

"So," Wade said between bites of chimichanga, "why'd you agree to this?"

Peter blinked. "Agree to what?"

"This date," Wade said, gesturing between them with a fry. "Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled you did. But you're, you know,you, and I'm...me."

Peter hesitated, his gaze dropping to his plate. "I don't know," he admitted. "I guess...you make things interesting."

Wade tilted his head. "Interesting good or interesting bad?"

"Both," Peter said, smiling faintly.

Wade grinned. "I'll take it."

As the night wore on, Peter found himself relaxing. Wade, for all his chaos, had a way of making him laugh, of pulling him out of his own head. It was...nice.

"So, what now?" Peter asked as they left the diner, the cool night air brushing against his skin.

"Now," Wade said, "we go on therealdate."

Peter stopped. "That wasn't the real date?"

Wade turned, walking backward as he spread his arms dramatically. "That was the warm-up. The appetizer. Now it's time for the main course."

"Which is?"

Wade's grin turned mischievous. "You'll see."

Peter quickly regretted agreeing to the second part of the date.

They ended up in a nearby park, where Wade insisted on taking over a kids' jungle gym.

"Wade," Peter hissed as he perched on the edge of a slide, "we're going to get arrested."

"For what? Enjoying life?" Wade said, hanging upside down from the monkey bars. "Besides, you've got me. No one's arresting Spider-Man's date."

"That's not how this works," Peter muttered.

"Relax, Spidey," Wade said, flipping down to land in front of him. "Live a little. You're on a date with Deadpool, not filling out a tax form."

Peter couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're impossible."

"And yet, here you are," Wade said, grinning.

They eventually settled on a park bench, the sounds of the city humming in the background.

Wade stretched out, his legs sprawled in front of him. "So, be honest. How'd I do?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Do?"

"On the date," Wade said. "Scale of one to chimichanga."

Peter chuckled. "You're not getting a perfect score."

Wade gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "You wound me, Parker."

Peter smirked. "But I'll give you...a solid seven."

"Seven?" Wade said, sitting up. "That's it?"

Peter shrugged. "Hey, it's above average."

Wade sighed, leaning back. "Fine. I'll take it. But next time, I'm aiming for a nine."

"Next time?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wade grinned. "Oh, there'll be a next time. You can count on it."

And despite himself, Peter found that he didn't mind the idea one bit.