Archive of Our Own

Peter used to fear the day Deadpool would know his name.

The loud persistence of Deadpool's person made it feel like an inevitability, but the unknown of how it would happen ate away at Peter. His sleep was riddled with nightmares, ones where Deadpool hunted him down or stalked him home to pry his secrets from him. He thought of accidents, of ones where his ripped mask would give him away. He thought of bumping into Deadpool at the store, where he'd take one look at Peter and lean down to whisper “found you.”

As time went on, those fears shifted, becoming daydreams where Peter was the one to tell Wade. There were heroic moments, his identity shared after Wade had saved his life or Peter had saved his. He thought about quiet reveals, ones where he tugged the mask off during a late night patrol snack. He thought about it being the last thing he ever said, a whispered confession into the shell of Wade's ear as he took his last stuttering breath and lay unmoving in Wade's arms.

He really should have known better.

The beginning of the end started with the search for a set of keys. A woman had waved Peter down from a rooftop, agitated as she told him about her missing keys. The club she had been at that day had since closed for the night and there wasn’t anyone answering the door. She was distraught enough that she barely even blinked at Wade dropping down beside Peter a moment later.

After getting the gist of it, they entered through an open window on an upper floor and began to trace her steps in reverse, starting from the club’s lounge, eyes glued to the floor. They made their way to the game room where the arcade games glowed in the dark. Peter agreed to one game of air hockey after a lot of needling from Wade.

Peter won, of course.

But with no luck on the key front, they moved further back to her midday activities—notably, a dip in the outdoor pool with her friends.

Which was how they found themselves peeking under lounge chairs and scouring slippery tiles for a circle of keys. Well, at least Peter was—Wade had taken to amusing himself by tossing various objects into the water. He’d thrown at least three pool noodles, a beach ball, and a pair of slippers in.

Peter was in the middle of looking under a pile of folded towels when Wade’s voice rang out.

“Darling! How do I look?"

Peter let out a huff. “Wade, can you please—” Peter broke off, mouth agape.

Because, inexplicably, Wade was standing on the opposite side of the pool, dressed in a skimpy pink bikini.

Where he had gotten it was a mystery, but Peter knew better than to ask. It was over his suit, thankfully, because it looked…ridiculous, of course it looked ridiculous on a guy his size—the way tiny bows held the bottoms together at the hips, the way the flimsy ruffled material of the top stretched over the swell of Wade's chest. And when Wade clasped his hands together in front of him and gave a little shimmy, it—well. Peter tore his eyes away.

“Oh, hold on—” Wade held up a finger and spun around. Peter did not look at his ass. Wade grabbed something off a chair to hold up and it took a moment for Peter to discern it to be a polka dotted bikini set. “These would look exquisite on you. Suit on, of course, unless—well, suit off is how it’s intended to be worn, so…”

“I’m…” Peter cleared his throat. “I'm good, I think.”

Wade shrugged and tossed the swimsuit over his shoulder where it landed in the pool. Peter followed its descent, watching the small splash it made as it hit the water’s surface. It was only then that he realized he had yet to look in the most obvious place.

That was when he made the first mistake. He had been trying to refocus on the issue at hand when he squinted at the rippling water and said distractedly—“I…think the keys might be in the pool, ‘Pool.”

“Heh,” Wade muttered to himself immediately. “‘In the pool, ‘Pool.’”

Peter snorted and carefully lowered himself into the pool just as Wade threw in a caution for a wet floor sign.

“Dude!” Peter said reproachfully. Wade blinked at him.

He gestured to the rippling water around him, agitated by the splash of the sign.

“Ah.” Wade said eloquently and then dropped into the water. They waited for the water to still, but the patterning of the pool floor and the way the lights cast tiny shadows didn't make the search easy. They splashed around in silence for a few seconds, save for the sounds of, well, splashing and Peter had to evade a couple of pool noodles.

Peter was about to call it—wet spandex plastered against his body was truly a terrible sensation, but Wade sloshing around in big boots and a tiny bikini made everything a whole lot more amusing. Wade paused, looking up to meet the lenses of Peter’s mask.

“Call me Wade the way I'm wading through the water right now.”

Peter grinned, delighted. It was even better that with his next step, his foot hit a ring of keys.

—

“What have I said about killing?”

Peter was breathing hard, adrenaline pumping through him. He could hardly be blamed for it though—it was the first time he'd had to really fight Wade after a long time of friendly spars.

The situation had started just like any other—apprehending some wrong-doer. It was a relatively clean thing in this case thankfully—the kidnapper hadn’t gotten that far from the park he'd snatched the girl so it was mostly a matter of spooking the guy into letting go of the kid in fear.

Wade's been good about keeping his fighting clean—well, cleanish, so Peter thought it’d be fine to leave him with the snatcher while Peter brought the girl back to her parents, who were frantically searching for her a couple blocks away. He thought he’d return to see Wade intimidating the guy a bit—he found a morbid sense of amusement in making criminals pee themselves without even taking out a weapon. What he found instead was the kidnapper with bloody lines carved up his legs towards his crotch and a deathly silent Wade reaching into his holsters for a gun, exuding a killing intent.

Peter’s pulse spiked in horror and he yelled out for Wade to stop, but Wade was on a mission. Peter had no choice—in a quick motion, Peter webbed Wade’s gun out of his hand and then placed himself in front of the kidnapper after shooting a few webs to secure him against the floor.

Wade finally looked at Peter then and Peter knew—they were going to fight.

They traded a few blows with Peter trying to bring the fight away from the guy, but Wade kept trying to lunge around him to slice the guy in half. A determined Wade wasn’t great for Peter to be both on the offense and defense against, so Peter had to get creative. With a frankly impressive bit of webbing, he managed to secure Wade for long enough to grab him and launch both of them over the next few rooftops.

Up on the roof, Wade didn't answer Peter's question, scrambling up from where Peter dumped him. He pulled the stringy remains of Peter’s webs from his limbs that he’d already managed to cut through, moving back towards the roof ledge like he was going to jump off and go back.

So Peter yanked him back with a web and reiterated the answer for him.

“No shooting, no maiming, no killing!”

Usually, Wade’ll pout a little and try to jokingly antagonize Peter, even if they both knew he’d compromise in the end. This time though, he didn't seem like he was interested in playing nice because he got even closer to Peter, towering over him with a furious air.

“He doesn’t deserve to breathe,” Wade gritted out.

And Peter—he did get it. He’s told Wade as such during a quiet rooftop confession on a slow patrol night, that there were times where it seemed like giving someone a second chance felt like it had taken away someone else’s first. But—

“I can’t let it happen on my turf, Wade,” Peter said tiredly. “I can’t let us be the ones to choose life or death for someone else. That’s not what being a hero is.”

Wade wasn’t having it. “Motherfuckers like that don't deserve a second chance—trust me, I'd know.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Peter admitted. “But it's something I live by—‘with great power comes great responsibility.’”

“Cute,” Wade sneered. “Come up with that all on your own?”

“No, I—” And Peter wanted to sass him right back, but his throat closed. “My uncle used to say that.”

Peter had told Wade about Uncle Ben only once and not in so many details, but he suspected Wade had understood just how much Ben had shaped Peter into who he was now.

“I'm sure he’d be thrilled about the company you're keeping,” Wade scoffed, but there's no bite to it now. “What do you think he'd have to say about me, then? Big bad mercenary abusing all my power?”

Peter rolled his eyes, feeling his body relax. Wade wasn’t going to run off now. “So you're telling me that almost every night I've been imagining that Deadpool helps me stop crime. I thought hallucinations were your thing.”

“Alright, asshole,” Wade retorted, almost fondly. But then he crossed his arms. “You think I’m playing nice out of the goodness of my heart?”

“Yes?” Peter frowned. “You told me you wanted me to teach you ‘Heroing 101.’ Why else would you be hanging around?”

Oddly, Wade seemed to open his mouth, but then glanced at him and shut it. Peter waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't.

“Look,” Peter said, when the weird silence dragged. “It really doesn’t matter why, just—as long as you have that desire to change, it’s all good.”

“And if I can't?” Wade said quietly. “If I’ll always have those angry thoughts, that need to…hurt people?”

“You being here, next to me, is clear proof of my uncle’s beliefs. You’re making the decision to not act on those thoughts, to be a better person, little by little.” Peter nudged Wade’s arm with his shoulder. “Besides, I think I know what he would say to you right now.”

“And what's that?”

“‘Where there's a Will, Son, there's a Way-de.’”

Wade gaped at him and then doubled over, barking out a laugh. “That was so disgusting, what the fuck.”

“That was good!” Peter said indignantly.

Wade was actually wheezing. “That was so fuckin’ good, Webs,” he said and Peter heared the next words ring through him with perfect clarity. “God, I’m so in love with you.”

And Peter—

It was…unfortunate, really, that Peter had to have developed feelings for someone who will throw out flirtations every other sentence.

Nowadays, when Peter daydreamed about revealing his identity, it didn't end there. No, instead, his brain had made the executive decision that it should end with Peter confessing his feelings.

There were moments where Peter deluded himself, pretending like the flirting meant something to Wade, the way it did to Peter. Like Wade wanted more than something superficial, something that went beyond just physical attraction. And the ensuing silence between them, the awkward half breath before Wade inevitably launched back into some ramble, was because Wade was nervous, because he'd actually meant it.

But Peter knew that was just wishful thinking.

So he responded by giving Wade a maskful of webs.

“Wha—hey!” Wade sputtered. He tried to pry the webs off and only succeeded in sticking his hand to his face. “What the hell, I said it was good!”

Peter watched him bumble around a little before sighing and fishing out his little container of web solvent.

—

The steering wheel beneath Peter's hands felt like it was buzzing, but Peter wasn't entirely sure if it was the car that was vibrating or if it was him. Wade was leaning out of the open window, letting the wind whip through the car. Peter felt the sound of it building up as a headache, but he was far more preoccupied with white-knuckling the wheel to pay it much attention.

“Wa—ow, baby boy,” Wade sing-songed. “I didn't know you could drive!”

“I can't—” Peter said and then jerked the wheel, swerving dangerously off the road.

It was hard to say how Peter had gotten here—except, maybe it wasn't.

They'd come across a car with a trunk full of stolen cash through a tip, finding it surprisingly unsurveilled. It was clearly a post operation kind of situation, because it was in a secondary location and like Wade said, “they probably had to take a leak.”

Peter had proposed webbing the trunk shut and alerting the police, but Wade was vehemently against it.

“They’ll just take the cash out by lowering the backseat—you can't web up the whole car,” Wade had argued. He did a half-circle around the car, looking through the tinted windows through the passenger side. “Let's drive it directly to the boys in blue. Look—the idiots even left the keys in the ignition.”

“You just wanna drive the car—” Peter had mumbled, even as he had gone to the driver's side to peek through the window. It was a pretty nice car, he remembered thinking, and it was probably stolen as well.

And that was when every hair on his body stood on end and a bullet whizzed right past his ear.

“Get the fuck away from the car!” The gunman shrieked, but in true Parker fashion, Peter did the exact opposite.

So it really wasn't that hard to explain why Peter was weaving them through bushes as Wade hooted his lungs out in the passenger seat, screaming out the lyrics to ‘Highway to Hell.’ The car shook as the tires treaded over uneven ground, adding a wobble to Wade's already atrocious singing.

Peter was trying to breathe steadily, but it was obviously not working by the way Wade’s singing tapered off. Peter tried to pretend like Wade wasn’t watching him hyperventilate about a seemingly inevitable car crash.

“Haha, Deadpool in a car,” Wade said abruptly. Peter blinked, peeking over to see Wade lounging as if Peter wasn’t driving like a madman. “Having a little carpool.”

Peter half-grinned.

“You know, as much as I appreciate the Fast and Furious thing you've got going on, I'm kind of a safety first kind of driver.”

Peter snorted.

“I am!” Wade insisted. “Seatbelts and everything. If we had the time, I would've drove this beauty just the way she deserved and then you could've been sitting passenger princess, all pretty next to me. Not that I don't appreciate being your princess, Webs, believe me…”

The nerves had begun to ease out of Peter's shoulders at how obviously unconcerned Wade was and even more so when Peter broke through the trees and the wheels rolled over smooth pavement again. He had nearly forgotten this wasn't a random joy ride when a loud car horn blared in his ears.

Peter made a noise of alarm, glancing up at the rearview mirror to see the two cars chasing them had gotten far too close for comfort. Wade glanced at him and then twisted out of his seat to lean out the window, gun in hand.

“Wade!” Peter panicked, car swerving a bit. “Don't shoot them!”

Two shots rang out almost immediately in quick succession and Wade dropped back into his seat. “Calm your tits, baby, I just shot out their tires.”

It was a nail-biting thirty seconds later when Peter miraculously spotted an empty parking spot between two cars. He was never going to make it, but hell, he'd gotten this far, so he slammed the brakes and almost tore the steering wheel clean out of the car trying to turn them sideways. The wheels screeched against the pavement and they were so close to tipping over when Peter hit the curb, but the car wavered and then fell back down.

“Oh my god,” Peter breathed.

Wade was absolutely cackling. “Ooh, perfect parallel parking!” he said, leaning out of the shattered window. “And he said he couldn't drive.”

And if Peter hadn't been riding off a high, he would have most definitely stopped himself from crowing, “Guess that's why they call me Peter Parker! Because I—I’m parking—”

Peter’s head snapped to look over at Wade who turned towards him a bewildered moment later.

“Don’t tell me—”

“I won't," Peter agreed, panic rushing through him.

“You—to make a pun,” Wade wheezed. “Peter Parker—”

“Wade—”

“Hey, hey now, sweet thing,” Wade said, cajoling. He patted one of his handguns. “I’ll forget it if you want me to.”

The terror of that image cut through the panic in an instant.

“No.”

“Ok, I’ll just…uh…” Wade started, unsure. “—not think about it.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Wade deflated. “I can’t…it’s just too good—Peter Parker’s perfect parallel parking.”

Peter blew out a breath too and leaned his head back against the headrest. Wade was looking at him far too carefully, but Peter wasn’t going to let Wade do something drastic over his own mistake.

“I should open up a driving school,” Peter finally muttered and Wade's entire body seemed to light up.

“You can bet that one Wade Winston Wilson will be on the top of that registration list,” Wade said, cracking open his door.

Peter watched him cross over the front and open the driver’s door. “You already know how to drive, ‘Pool.”

Wade pouted at him, leaning down with his forearms braced against the top of the doorframe. “You’re turning away a paying customer?”

Peter snorted and pulled himself over to the passenger seat. It was a bit of a contortion because he had to get his legs out from under the jutting wheel and over the center console. When he looked back, Wade had yet to get in, staring at him.

“Well?”

Wade jolted. “Uh, right,” Wade said and clambered in. “Anyone ever tell you you’re freakishly flexible?”

“I think ‘freakish’ is the more common adjective I get.”

“Damn,” Wade muttered, starting the car. “No appreciation.”

Peter was more than happy to let Wade handle taking them to the nearest police station because after all that excitement, the exhaustion was settling in. Wade did drive carefully, although whether it was because that really was his usual M.O. or if it was for Peter’s sake, he was grateful all the same.

The gentle rocking was beginning to make his eyes droop, but before he completely dropped off, he made Wade promise to wake him up once they got there. He deserved to get an unhindered view of the bewilderment on all the police officers’ faces. Wade murmured his agreement, reaching out to pat Peter’s leg.

“Go to sleep, baby boy,” Wade said, his voice far away. “I’ve got you.”

Peter snuck one last glance at Wade before closing his eyes, pretending like he didn't memorize how Wade looked with one hand on the wheel and the other a warm grip on Peter's thigh.

—

The world, surprisingly…didn't end.

Spider-Man and Deadpool still had teamups where Spider-Man had to, more often than not, be the voice of reason.

It was just that now, Spider-Man knew Deadpool was Wade Wilson and Deadpool…he knew that Spider-Man was Peter Parker. It was an absolute disaster how he had come to know that, but even if Peter was disgruntled about it, he could at least look on the bright side—no one had to die about it.

But even with all this knowing between them, Wade and Peter had yet to meet as civilians.

But…they should, right? It was the logical next step.

It was at least the reasoning he gave himself for why he had picked up his phone—his personal phone, dialled Wade’s number and put it to his ear, all without a plan.

“Who is this?” Wade’s voice was deep, deceptively casual, but there was an edge to it.

Peter swallowed, rubbing his other hand on his thigh. “Um…Wade?”

There was a pause and then Wade’s voice came out cheerfully, but Peter could feel the suspicion deepen. “What a coincidence! My name’s Wade as well!”

“No—!” Peter said, cringing. Of course Wade would be suspicious—this was the number on his business card. “It’s—I’m. It’s Peter.”

There’s an even more pronounced silence, then—

“Peter,” Wade breathed. “Spi—Baby Bo—uh, hey, dude, why are you calling with…is this your personal number?”

“Yes?” God, this was embarrassing, why did Wade sound so shocked? Peter should really have made a plan. “I just thought it would be better to use this number for…” He trailed off, hoping Wade would get the implication—for civilian stuff. When Wade didn’t respond, Peter decided he should just rip the bandaid off. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out. As..us.”

There was a commotion on the other side that Peter couldn't really make out, although it sounded like something had fallen to the floor in a crash.

“Yes,” Wade said a moment later, sounding oddly breathless. “Yes, absolutely, of course.”

“Okay,” Peter said, relieved. “I’ll text you.”

“Yes. You can text me. Please text me,” Wade said. “I wait in bated breath for the next time we meet. Will our gazes lock from across the room? Will our hands brush in barely concealed longing? Will our breath mingle as we lean towards one another—”

“—Alright, freak,” Peter snorted, cutting him off. “Bye.”

It really shouldn’t be any different, Peter had thought, meeting up as civilians. They had already been acquainted for so long, with a friendship forged in fights, moral differences, jokes and near-death experiences. They knew each other. Removing the masks that had hidden their faces wouldn’t change that.

And yet—

“Looking for anything in particular?”

Peter peeked over at Wade. He was scrutinizing the selection of chips, but looked over when Peter stayed silent.

Peter cleared his throat and looked down. “Um, no?” He fiddled with a box of crackers. “You?”

“Nah,” Wade said and then failed to elaborate.

It had been like this since this morning. With his name out of the way, his face shouldn't have been that big of a revelation, but the way Wade’s eyes had widened when Peter showed up at the cafe table he'd been waiting at was making him rethink it. Wade had shot up from his seat, throat working like he had swallowed all his words.

“Ha,” Peter said awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “It's not that bad, is it?”

That had thankfully gotten Wade out of his weird silence. “I feel like I should be the one asking that, baby boy.”

And Peter had been called that far too many times to count, but the experience of it coming from an unmasked Wade made it feel new.

So here they were, in a grocery mart because they didn’t know what else to do, tiptoeing around each other like they were strangers.

“Okay—” Peter began, frustrated. He strode up to Wade and stood in front of him, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Stop being weird.”

Wade blinked down at him, eyes wide. “Weird? I’m not being weird.”

“Yes, you are,” Peter insisted, huffing. He racked his brain—he wanted to say something clever to break the ice but his mouth was already running—“Might as well start calling you ‘Weird Wade’ while I’m at it.”

Wade’s lips twitched. “Hurtful. Maybe it’s you who’s being weird. Might as well start calling you ‘Peter Peculiar’ while we’re at it.”

Peter grinned even as he rolled his eyes. Of course saying something stupid would get Wade to relax. Wade ran a finger over the products in front of him. “Oh, but you’re such a nerd. What about Peter…Pen. Peter Pencil? Peter Paperclip?”

This was much better, to have Wade bouncing around like the overexcited guy he was, yammering with no filter. Peter felt his own body relax and he went back to browsing.

“Oh my god,” Wade said triumphantly. He held up a marker. “Peter Marker.”

Peter ignored him.

“Peter. Peter. Pe-eater,” Wade chanted, ambling up behind Peter to tuck markers into Peter's hair and behind his ears.

“Oh,” Wade said suddenly. His voice dropped, low and lascivious. “I see, this isn't the kind of marker you are.”

Wade leaned close, crooning in Peter's ear. “I can help you out, Mr. Marker. I'll let you mark me up, bite me a nice set of—”

Peter pulled away and beaned Wade directly in the forehead with an eraser. He could only hope that Wade didn’t see how flustered he had gotten at the images he put in Peter's head.

Fortunately, it seemed that he didn’t notice, but unfortunately, it seemed like it was because he was too busy finding a pencil sharpener to throw back at Peter. Peter dodged it with ease, incensing Wade into uncapping multiple markers in an attempt to scribble on Peter.

They were promptly kicked out of the store.

“Way to go, Wade,” Peter said, but he was having trouble stifling his grin.

“Oh, you don't get to pin this on me, Mr. Marker,” Wade said, emphasizing his point with one of the opened markers he was forced to buy. “I wasn't the one who threw the first stone.”

Peter was ready to fire a retort back, but there was a frail voice that sounded behind him.

“Oh, pardon me, boys.”

They immediately parted, not realizing they’d been blocking the door. A little old lady shuffled slowly between them, shaking hands struggling to hold on to her bag of groceries.

“Ah—let me help you with that, ma’am,” Peter said, reaching out to ease the weight of it out of her grip. She startled a little but let go, smiling up at Peter.

“Thank you dearie,” she said. “It's just a few blocks down.”

Wade fell into step on her other side. “Are you always carrying groceries home alone?” he asked, clear disbelief written into his tone. Peter wanted to smack him, but the lady only cackled.

“My son will usually help me, but I wanted to try it myself this time. Must have gotten too bold!” She exclaimed. “I had one of those little rolling carts before, but I turned around one day and it was gone!”

Wade stopped in his tracks. “I can get you a cart.”

“Hm?”

Wade spun around, waving his arm at the two of them as he hurried down the street. “Wait a sec, I'll be right back!”

Peter blinked at his retreating form, but there was no reason to worry because it didn't take long for Wade to reappear, touting a small folding cart in tow. It was far too quick, in Peter's opinion, but Wade was already ripping off the tag and grabbing the groceries out of Peter's hands to nestle them into the cart.

“Oh, oh goodness,” the lady said, clearly taken aback. “Let me pay for this, young man.”

“Absolutely not,” Wade said. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lovely lady such as yourself pay? It's a gift.”

“Oh, you've got yourself a sweet talker,” the old woman laughed to Peter, who willed himself not to flush. She turned to pat Wade's cheek as he had leaned down far enough for her to reach his face.

They waved her off and once he was certain she was out of hearing range, Peter spun to Wade.

“You bought that cart, right?”

“Didn’t have to!” Wade chirped happily. “They gave it to me for free!”

Peter stared incredulously at him. “Did you threaten them?”

“I explained to them it was for a very good cause!”

“Did the explanation involve a gun?”

Wade opened his mouth and then scrunched up his face. “Well…all my explanations involve a gun to some extent because I always have a gun on me, you see—”

“Wade—” Peter rubbed his forehead. “Go back and pay for it.”

Wade looked devastated. “Pete.”

“Wade.”

“Ooh, love you saying my name in italics, baby, gets me all shivery.”

“Wade!”

“Alright, jeez!” Wade said, throwing his hands up. He shoved his hands in his pockets and spun around, heading back towards the store. “Can’t even do a good deed around here without Peter ‘party-pooper’ Parker over here pissing on my parade,” he muttered to himself.

“Yeah, well maybe I wouldn't if Wade Wilson wasn't so willing to waste a worthy…deed,” Peter said and then pursed his lips. “Ah, I couldn't think of a ‘w’-word for deed.”

Wade was on the other side of the road by the time Peter was done, but he had spun around and stopped in his tracks with an odd look on his face. A car passed between them as they stared at one another and Wade abruptly muttered something that sounded bewilderingly like “ah fuck, he's adorable,” to Peter's enhanced hearing.

“Huh?” Peter said dumbly.

“I said,” Wade proclaimed loudly. “‘You’re deplorable!’ Your silly alliterations won't sway me, Pete.”

But it was entirely negated by how proudly Wade flourished his receipt at Peter two minutes later, declaring the bill of one cart to be paid.

—

Peter was beginning to regret agreeing to this.

He usually didn’t agree to many things Avengers related, but months of refusing events and team-ups had made him feel bad about saying no when Black Widow had pulled him aside and asked if he was available for a fundraising event. They weren’t trying to unmask him this time, so Peter warily agreed. Besides, it was for charity.

All that to say, Peter was starting to sweat in the suit Tony Stark had outfitted him in, wondering how much longer it would be until the auction would actually start. He could see a number of superheroes mingling among the guests, all who were likely unbelievably wealthy. Peter should probably be doing the same, seeing as one of them would be winning a day to spend with him.

Each of the heroes had put forth a ‘date’ that they would be auctioning off. Black Widow was auctioning off a fighting lesson, Captain America was going with an art gallery lunch, Iron Man promised something probably exorbitantly expensive and Spider-Man was giving out a scenic swing through New York.

The logistics behind it would be a little awkward, Peter couldn’t help but think. He’d have to determine the best way to keep a hold on a person for an enjoyable swing, rather than how he usually handled civilians when saving them. He’d have to ensure this person wasn’t going to try and unmask him while he had his hands full. He was going to have to—

Peter froze.

Wade stood on the other edge of the room, deep in conversation with Hawkeye. Peter knew that he wasn’t here to auction anything off, so he hadn’t expected to see him…Peter let out a breath, unable to focus because what was Wade wearing?

He had the Deadpool suit on, but Wade had outfitted a plunging dress over it and it felt worse than the bikini incident somehow because this dress was obviously tailored to fit him.

The top cut low over his chest, the waist cinched in, and the ruffled length of the skirt ended just above his knees. It was scandalous, particularly when compared to the more austere and elegant full length dresses the guests wore. That wasn’t even to mention the heeled boots he had on that laced up to just kiss the hem of the dress. And when Wade made a big gesture, the dress rode up to reveal his red clad thighs.

And—oh no, Peter’s brain was trying to have the most vivid daydream of Wade wearing the dress, and only the dress, with Peter's hand sliding under that hem and up, up, until—

Peter didn’t manage to pull his gaze away, so it was inevitable that Wade would catch him gaping and all but sashay over.

“Websy! Look at you,” Wade practically purred in Peter's ear, fingers trailing down his chest. “I thought it’d be nice for Deadpool to get dolled up in a dress, but Spider-Man, all sophisticated in a suit, is just…delectable.”

“Thank—thank you,” Peter stammered. “Um, you look…nice too.”

“So, what are we here for?” Wade said breezily, scanning the room. “Hawky invited me last minute because Stark was being stingy about his invitations. I thought it was just a rich person party, but the chairs up front are telling me something different. The Avengers gonna do a panel or something?”

“Oh, it’s for—” Peter started.

“Oh my god, is that Wolvie? What the fuck is he doing here?” Wade exclaimed. He turned to Peter with an apologetic look. “Sorry baby, hold that thought.”

Peter blinked at the bouncing hem of his dress as he flounced across the room. He turned to squint at Hawkeye, but the man wasn’t looking towards him. Black Widow, however, caught his gaze and offered a smug look. Peter’s suspicion deepened. What were they playing at?

He heard, more than saw, as Wade made his way back, but before he reached Peter, he was intercepted by a pair of very broad shoulders.

“Mr. America, sir!” Wade stammered.

“Wilson,” Cap said genially as the Winter Soldier glowered beside him. “Enjoying the party?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Wade said. “I've eaten so many of those little pastry things, I think the total cost of my stomach right now would be enough to buy a Porsche."

“Tony's wallet can take it,” Cap chuckled, looking around the room.“Speaking of Tony, I believe he said we might be getting started soon. Are you here just for the party or were you planning to put in any bids?”

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Bids?” Cap tilted his head. “For the auction?”

“Wait, what are we—what’s getting auctioned?”

“Isn't it obvious?” the Winter Soldier cut in dryly, gesturing around them. Wade actually did look, but it didn’t seem like it provided any clarity. Cap turned to raise an eyebrow towards Peter, so he had no option but to shuffle over.

“I had assumed you were here to support Spider-Man,” Cap said.

“Spider-Man isn't an Avenger,” Wade said automatically, nonsensically.

Captain America, the Winter Soldier and Peter all stared at Wade.

“No. No—what?” Wade choked, finally understanding. “Iron Dick is going to sell you to the highest bidder?”

Peter released a breath. “‘Pool, it's really not like that—”

“He’s getting auctioned off for a date,” the Winter Soldier supplied, and did a perfectly good job at ignoring both the looks Cap and Peter shot at him.

Wade gaped. “Oh my god, some freak is going to rob you of your virtue—”

“It's not a date. I’m auctioning off a swing through the city—”

“A swing? Is that a euphemism?” Wade demanded. “Actually, don't answer that. You can’t.”

“Now hold on, it’s just for Stark’s charity—”

“Of course Stark lured you in with the promise of doing a good deed. I should’ve known,” Wade said. He reached for his katanas. “Where is that hunk of metal? I’m going to strangle that Tin Can—”

“Wilson,” Captain America cut in, seriously. They froze, looking back at Cap’s face. “You need to chill, son.”

Wade gaped at him for the longest time before catching sight of Peter who had absolutely lost it behind the Winter Soldier.

“Pardon us,” Wade simpered, before grabbing Peter and whisking him away into a private corner.

“Two things,” Wade started, holding his fingers up. “First of all, I can't believe you got Captain—fuckin’—America to say that, Peter, you larker,” Wade hissed.

“I didn’t—” Peter gasped, still trying to catch his breath from his laughter. “I didn’t actually ask him to say that.”

“Wait, really? Captain America’s got jokes?” Wade said, looking mildly impressed. “I don't know if that ruins the fantasy or makes him hotter. Honestly, I’m starting to realize these goody-two-shoe heroes are a lot more conniving than they look. Anyway, secondly—” Wade broke off, a look of realization flitting across his mask.

Peter waited for an explanation, but all he got was Wade spitting out a venomous “Barton,” and then stalking off without another word.

Peter didn’t see Wade again before the auction, but he wasn’t as worried about it as he probably should have been, even though something was going to happen—this was Wade, of course something was going to happen. Cap seemed unconcerned in any case, settling into his own chair for the bidding to begin, so Peter didn't feel all that much apprehension when Wade did make his appearance, claiming a chair all the way in the back row.

When Wade didn't do anything, however, Peter began to get a little nervous. Wade was silent during the bids for Falcon, Widow and Hawkeye and didn't do anything but stare unwaveringly at Peter once the bidding for him began. The numbers began to climb, and Peter did his best not to fidget, did his best not to stare at his lap, did his best not to determine which of the two final bidders he'd rather have win.

It was a close call in the end, but the number was settled by a young woman, the daughter of a big tech mogul. It was a decent number—he had beaten the price fetched by Hawkeye, at least. Peter discreetly let out a breath as the auctioneer called out the final warning. He was already dreading the awkward conversation he knew he was going to have with the woman—

“Twenty thousand.”

All the heads in the room turned to stare at Wade, lounging in his chair with his paddle raised lazily.

Peter gaped.

“Oh god, who invited Wilson?” He heard Tony Stark’s voice come somewhere from the right.

There were murmurs of confusion among the crowd, a vague feeling of unease settling over them. The young woman, however, was quick to get over her surprise, grabbing her paddle from the chair beside her.

“Twenty-one thousand,” she said primly, flashing her paddle.

“Twenty-two thousand,” Wade returned cooly. The murmurs got louder.

The young woman glared at him. “Twenty-four thousand.”

“Twenty-six thousand.”

Hawkeye was outright grinning from beside Peter, who was trying not to melt into his chair out of mortification. This was what Wade was going to do? Peter had expected a little more pandemonium.

“Thirty-two thousand and one dollars,” Wade said after a few more volleys between them. The woman was seething at him. “Let's do it, baby, I can go all night.”

The woman put up a few more bids, but seeing as Wade would not back down, the number ended at a whopping forty thousand dollars.

The auctioneer began to finalize the bid and while Cap didn't say anything from Peter's other side, the look on his face made Peter exceedingly grateful his mask hid his burning face.

The auctioneer made to move on to Cap’s bid, but paused at Wade’s raised hand, prompting the audience to turn to look back at him once again.

Slowly, so very slowly, Wade folded down his other fingers and raised his middle finger directly at Hawkeye, who found that so amusing he laughed himself out of his chair.

—

The date—the ‘not-date’ had been planned for an upcoming Thursday.

It was a day Peter had free, and being in the middle of a weekday meant the probability of having to dump a rich person on a rooftop to go do some superheroing was low. It would be just about the best conditions he could hope for for transporting a civilian around New York.

Not that it mattered anymore, seeing as it was Wade that Peter was on this date—this not-date with.

Peter had worried it might have been awkward again, like it had been when they'd seen each other’s faces for the first time, but Wade had arrived with an entire list of things he expected out of the day. He pulled the paper out of one of his pouches, unfolding it dramatically.

“I spent so much money on this, you have to deliver,” Wade said, waving it in front of Peter’s face.

Peter scoffed. “It's not my fault you decided to make a terrible financial decision. And I mean—you already swing with me for free!”

“Okay, so? It’s about sending a message. I wasn't about to let anyone else ride you!” Wade said indignantly.

“Oh my god, do not say it like that.”

The first thing they did was get the auction requirements out of the way. Peter had promised a swing through the city, initially planning on a modified patrol path. But with Wade, there was a lot more flexibility—they could basically go anywhere. It worked well with Wade's desire to sightsee, so he could knock the first few items off of Wade’s list at the same time.

So for the first few hours, Peter would swing them to a spot somewhere high up, where they’d just sit and talk, pointing things out to each other, laughing at stupid jokes. Then they'd swing to the next spot and do the same.

The day seemed like it was going to go like any other, except…well, except that it wasn’t. For one, they were out in the middle of the day and weren't actually looking to fight crime. On top of that, it was Wade who was calling the shots, which Peter belatedly realized was a very uncommon occurrence.

It obviously wasn't the first time they had enjoyed the view from up on the rooftops, but this time, it felt…different. A good different. Because the focus wasn't Spider-Man and Deadpool versus crime, but just…Spider-Man and Deadpool. Peter and Wade.

Wade didn’t seem like he was feeling any of the revelation Peter was having but then again, why would he? Wade had never drawn as hard of a line between Wade Wilson and Deadpool—Peter wasn’t even sure if Wade had a line.

Peter couldn’t do the same, of course, but perhaps…the line between Peter and Spider-Man could soften a little. Maybe Peter could loosen the rigidity he kept up and enjoy today.

Maybe Peter could do something for himself.

So he let Wade plaster himself against him when he swung, which he allowed all the time anyway, but today, he could just laugh at the way Wade would whoop in his ear. He could just feel Wade against him, reveling in the press of their bodies as the wind whipped around them.

He let Wade twirl him around on the top of a skyscraper, which—maybe he didn’t usually let him do, but the enthusiasm Wade had at their climb up the building was infectious. So Peter just grinned and let Wade muddle them through a dance, tripping over his boots when he attempted to bring Peter through some fancy footwork. He went willingly when Wade dipped him, head thrown back before bringing it up so their masks were centimeters away.

He let Wade sit close when they ate frozen yogurt up on a fire escape. Wade always did, in any case, but this time, Peter could just sit there and feel the warmth of Wade’s thigh, steal glances at him when he wasn't looking and pretend to be mad when Wade stole a spoonful of yogurt from him.

“Can I see those?” Wade said after a while. He had finished his bowl and was sitting back with his weight resting on his arms. When Peter tilted his head, Wade mimed the way Peter would shoot webs.

Peter took the spoon out of his mouth. “My webshooters?” He asked, examining his wrists. Wade nodded.

It was only with the tiniest bit of hesitation that he extended his wrist out, letting Wade take his arm. Wade rotated his wrist, this way and that, and then ran a finger along the metal band, tracing up to where the button to shoot was. When Peter didn't snatch his hand away, Wade pressed down, aiming a small splatter of web at the corner of the roof.

“Oh my god,” Wade said, utterly delighted. “I want one.”

“‘Pool…” Peter started.

“Come on! All that money for charity means nothing to you, huh?”

“Wade, I can't just give you webshooters—”

“Please,” Wade cried. “Just for today! I only wanna try it out! I pinky swear I'll be very good. And you'll be here the whole time as Spidey supervision—” Wade broke off. “Ooh, what do you call a superhero that's in charge of managing other heroes?”

“What?” Peter asked, exasperated.

“A supervisor!”

Peter laughed in spite of himself. “That was shit.”

“Baby, you wound me!” Wade wailed, hands over his heart. He glanced over then, practically twirling his hair. “So, um, Mr. Spider-visor, sir…whaddya say?”

Peter eyed him. It felt a little too planned to be a spur of the moment request. “...This was on your list, wasn't it?”

“No,” Wade said unconvincingly, swinging his legs. “Hehe.”

Peter sighed, collecting their trash. “Wait here.”

He swung the short distance to his apartment, shoving open the window after checking on his spider-sense. There were older variations of his webshooters he kept under his floorboards that he could outfit with a little packet of webs from his drawers, because he certainly wasn’t going to let Wade destroy his current ones. He jammed the webs into place before crawling back out.

“This is only for practice,” Peter said sternly, when he got back. Wade was practically quivering with excitement. “You have to do exactly as I say.”

Peter’s webshooters were simple enough to use, but it became clear that the motion of pressing with his ring and middle finger didn't come naturally to Wade. Even so, he didn't seem to mind all that much, seeming more interested in just getting to fiddle around with the device.

Peter showed him how to shoot a web and then grab on to it, which was something Wade could do with his reflexes. He had no patience for practice though, so it didn't take long before Wade pleaded to upgrade to swinging. Peter wasn't about to let him turn into paste on the cement, so he clambered on to Wade's back in case he had to take the reins. Wade opened his mouth and closed it a few times.

“God, you have such a dirty mind,” Peter said fondly in his ear.

Wade twitched beneath him. “Ah, you—uh, you know me so well,” he said and then shot out a web in a jerky motion.

Wade made the first two swings, but fumbled with the third, so Peter shot out his own web, letting Wade grip at his thighs before tumbling them down onto pavement. A few onlookers startled at their appearance, but hurried on once it became clear there was no danger.

“Damn,” Wade groaned. “I think I tore my armpit.”

“So I'm guessing Spider-Pool is a no-go?” Peter asked amusedly, arms akimbo.

“Oh, Spideypool is very much a yes-go—” Wade said nonsensically. He peeled himself off the ground to look up at Peter. “But if you're asking about whether I'm going to swap out the girls for webs, it's a resounding fuck no.”

Peter laughed and then hoisted Wade over his shoulder to swing them back up to the relative privacy of the rooftops.

“So,” Peter started. “Sightseeing, food, webshooters—anything else on your list?”

Wade scrambled to pull the paper from his pouch.

“Sights, foods, webs…” Wade muttered to himself, running a finger down. “Uh, thoughts on wrestling? Preferably naked?”

“That is not on your list,” Peter said, snatching it out of his hands. Wade made a noise of alarm and tried to snatch it back, but Peter was already skimming through it.

“...What's a Spider-Man kiss?” Peter asked slowly. If it was just a regular kiss, Peter suspected it wouldn’t have been written in such a specific way.

Wade seemed to freeze. “Would you do it?” He blurted.

“I don't…what is it?” Peter repeated. Wade was staring at him, so Peter huffed and pretended like he was going to leave. “Well, I guess if that’s all, I’ll be heading out—”

“Wait!” Wade said in a rush. “It’s like—you know, when you're hanging upside down by a spidery-thread and I'm right side up, and—BAM! Smooching time.” Wade pantomimed. When Peter only stared back in bewilderment, Wade raised his palms. “Fine, if you insist, I’ll be Spider-Man.”

Peter crossed his arms.

“What, scared?” Wade challenged. “I thought Spider-Man was fearless, but I guess even just a little smooch is far too formidable for him. How disappointing. I guess I'll have to update all the forums informing the fans that their beloved hero really isn't all that heroic—”

“Alright.”

“I—” Wade squinted. “Alright?”

Peter smirked. “Go climb up then—put your new webshooters to use, Spider-Man.”

Wade almost fell over with how fast he tried to climb the structure beside them. He couldn't press out a strong enough web for him to hold, so he got impatient and held himself upside down with an arm, securing his boots in place with way too many webs, making Peter huff a laugh. Once Wade was secured enough to let go, he rolled up his mask and puckered his lips jokingly.

There were probably a number of things that Wade expected to happen. Maybe he thought he might get a mouthful of webs or be left hanging as Peter launched himself to another roof. And truly, Peter might have done either of those if this had been any other day.

But Peter—he was just sick of it. After this whole day of—yeah, of being on a date with Wade, Peter was done dancing around. If Wade was going to be all bark and no bite, flirting with him like it was the easiest thing in the world, Peter was just going to have to make him eat his words. He strode up to Wade and rolled his own mask up. He could hear the sharp breath Wade took in surprise, but Peter wasn’t stopping.

“My hero,” Peter tried to whisper seductively, but his voice didn’t sound as joking as he had hoped it would. He grabbed Wade by the back of his head with both hands and with no further hesitation, pressed their lips together.

The feeling of Wade’s textured lips was odd, but far from unpleasant. Peter considered trying to tilt his head and deepen the kiss, but he kind of wanted Wade to be upright for something more than a chaste kiss, so Peter stepped back, breaking their lips apart.

Wade didn't say anything for a long moment. The giddy moment turned sour in Peter's stomach.

With no warning, Wade grabbed a katana off his back and cut cleanly through the webs around his feet. Peter made a noise of alarm, but Wade didn't fall on his neck, lowering himself down by a single muscular arm.

“Hey!” Peter said indignantly. “Warn a guy, next time!”

Wade didn't say a word as he dropped to the floor and began to close in on Peter, walking him back until he was pressed against a wall. Peter’s heart was pounding too hard for him to speak, so he let Wade cage him in. When Wade’s gloved hand came up to cup his face, Peter didn’t move away, only tilting his head up and parting his lips under Wade’s thumb.

He waited for Wade to claim his mouth, because surely, surely this meant that Wade was feeling what Peter was feeling.

But Wade didn't bridge the gap.

“Fuck,” Wade whispered and then stepped back, putting five feet between them. “Fuck! I should've realized—”

He paced back and forth once before stopping abruptly and turning to Peter. “I think we should call it.”

“I…what?” Peter's heart dropped at the sudden one-eighty. Wade wanted to leave?

Peter crossed his arms, feeling a horrible wave of regret roll over him. This was why he couldn't flirt back with Wade—he was bound to ruin everything. “You said—the Spider-Man kiss or whatever was your idea!”

“I know, I'm sorry.” Wade didn't meet Peter's eyes. “I didn't realize—I didn't mean to put you in that position.”

He turned around, probably thinking of doing something stupid like throwing himself off the roof, so Peter yanked him back with a web.

“What…Wade, what are you talking about?”

“I should’ve known. You were being way too chill about letting me do whatever.”

Peter pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling like he was following two steps behind. “Wade, what in the world are you going on about?”

“The auction! I didn't realize you had to do whatever the—client asked you to!”

“I don't! I didn't sign my free will away for Stark's auction!” Peter exclaimed. “All that I had to do was take the person on a swing through the city. Anything else would've been negotiable!”

“Then why—?” Wade's voice cracked. “Then why the fuck would you kiss me?”

“Look, I'm sorry! I didn't realize you didn't actually want me to—”

“I didn't—what? It's you who didn't want to.”

“If I recall correctly—which I should, seeing as this happened one minute ago—I was the one who kissed you—”

“Mind control. Coercion. Stockholm Syndrome,” Wade listed off. “Body-swap. Uh…sex pollen—”

“Clearly,” Peter said over Wade. “You're the one that doesn't want to kiss me.”

Wade paused to gape at him. “Are you out of your gourd? I flirt with you all the goddamn time!”

“You flirt with everyone all the time!”

“I—everyone and their grandma knows it's different with you, Webs, wasn't it obvious?”

Peter paused. “...No?”

“Jesus. Why do you think Widow and her little pet bird made sure that I was there at the auction?”

“I thought that was just because you knew I'd be uncomfortable if I had to swing with some random civilian.”

Wade tilted his head up the sky and laughed maniacally. “I thought you were just pretending you didn’t know.”

“Don’t you get it?” Wade said furiously, making a big flourishing gesture. “It’s because I’m so goddamn selfish, Webs. It’s because I want you all to myself. You asked me once, why I was trying to do good deeds. You want to know the reason? It’s you. It’s because if I do, I can have you. I wasn’t going to let anyone else swing around the city for the hell of it—that’s my spot. Everyone else can fuck off.”

Peter floundered. God, had he really not seen any of that? In his effort to not make a fool out himself by reading into things, he must have completely missed everything. “I was just—I didn't know,” he said, hushed.

Wade looked weary all of a sudden. “Look, if this is you wanting to try your hand at flirting or something, I just, I don't think I can help—”

“I used to—” Peter blurted, unsteady. “I used to think about how I'd tell you my identity.”

Wade was staring at the floor, but Peter knew he was listening.

“I really did want you to know, I know you think it happened out of my wishes, but I was planning to tell you. I just didn't know how to do it, but I thought maybe it'd be something heroic or tragic, and then it turned out to be stupid.”

Wade cracked a small grin at that.

“I thought my identity would be the hardest thing to tell you,” Peter continued. “Except, it turns out, the hardest thing to tell you was…I—I like you, Wade.”

Peter swallowed, trying to glean Wade’s reaction from the half bunched up mask. Wade seemed speechless, which was a feat in and of itself, until—

“You know what you've allowed me to do now, right?” He said. “I'm going to be up in every part of your life. Oh ho, ho, you messed up! I was being polite before, you know, giving you your space or whatever—but now, oh, but now. You might as well call me Peter Stalker.”

Peter let out a breathless laugh and wrinkled his nose. “That doesn't work—it'd have to be Peter Starker.”

“Oh hell yeah, I’d love to see Peter Starkers.”

Peter could just about feel the relief flowing through him like it was a physical thing because, oh god, he hadn't messed everything up. He could want Wade because Wade really wanted him too. He didn't have to dream about revealing his identity, or confessing his feelings anymore because he had done it, he had taken the chance.

“I was sure you would've made a Peter's Peter joke by now,” Peter said, aiming for dry, but his voice was too giddy for it.

“Spidey! I didn't know you had such a dirty mind!”

Peter laughed. “I think you're the one that's dirty, ‘Pool.”

“Oh,” Wade said, stepping closer. “‘Pool can get real dirty for you, baby—why don’t you just lay down your ground rules and then I’ll show you how I play?”

Peter flushed at the tone, but took his own step boldly forward. “And how do you play?”

Wade grinned, closing the distance between them to lean down. “I play to win,” he murmured. “That's my middle name, after all. What that looks like, however, I guess you'll just have to find out.”

Peter breathed out. “Alright, Mr. Winston, then maybe I do have a game for you.”

Wade's eyes were on his lips. Peter let their faces draw close, his mouth just shy of brushing Wade's.

“Catch me,” he whispered and webbed himself away.

“Hey—” Peter heard Wade yell indignantly. “Now who’s playing dirty pool?”

“I still think that's you!” Peter laughed and swung off, letting Wade chase him all the way down.