The concept of soulmates was something Peter Parker had always dismissed as a cruel cosmic joke.

It wasn't the idea of a perfect connection that bothered him—it was the timing. By the time you realized who your soulmate was, one of you had already died. Soulmates' last words to each other were carved onto the other's skin, appearing only after death, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

Peter couldn't afford to dwell on something so heartbreaking. His life was already full of enough guilt, enough loss. As Spider-Man, he carried the weight of protecting everyone he could. He wasn't about to waste energy worrying about who might say their final words to him.

Still, on sleepless nights when the city was quiet, Peter caught himself wondering. Who would it be? Would they be a stranger, a friend, an enemy? Or would he never know at all, leaving their parting words unspoken?

For Wade Wilson, the concept of soulmates was a punchline to a joke he never got to finish.

By the time he'd become Deadpool, Wade had stopped caring about last words or lasting love. His body was a roadmap of scars, his past a tangle of broken promises and missed opportunities. Why should the universe bother pairing someone like him with a soulmate?

And yet, sometimes, in the quiet moments when he wasn't fighting or cracking jokes, Wade let himself wonder. What would his final words be? Would they be snarky, heartfelt, or some accidental nonsense muttered in a fight?

"Knowing me, it'll be something stupid," Wade mused one night, kicking his feet up on a bloodstained coffee table. "Like, 'Pass the guac.'"

Peter and Wade's paths crossed for the first time during a routine patrol that went sideways.

Peter had been tracking a gang of arms dealers in a decrepit warehouse near the docks. He was stealthy, silent as he crept along the rafters, mapping out a plan to take them down. But just as he was about to act, an explosion tore through the room.

"Ta-daaaa!" Deadpool called, stepping through the smoke. His katanas gleamed under the flickering lights, and his mask tilted as if he were grinning. "Hope I didn't crash the party too hard!"

Peter groaned, dropping down from the rafters. "Deadpool? What are you doing here?"

Wade spun on his heel, spotting Peter. "Well, if it isn't New York's favorite bug! What brings you to this fine establishment?"

"I was taking care of them," Peter snapped.

"Your were? Spidey, crime-fighting isn't a solo sport." Wade gestured to the chaos around him. "You should really thank me. I just turned this into a co-op game."

Peter sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't have time for this."

But before he could say anything else, one of the thugs lunged at them. Peter reacted instinctively, webbing the man to the floor, while Wade dispatched another with a swift strike of his katana.

For all their banter, they worked well together. And by the time the last thug was down, Peter had to admit, begrudgingly, that Wade had been helpful.

"Fine," Peter muttered. "Thanks for the assist."

"Anytime, Spidey," Wade replied, twirling his katana.

Peter paused, narrowing his eyes. "Don't call me that."

Wade's muffled laughter followed him as he swung away.

Despite Peter's best efforts, Wade kept showing up. Whether it was an organized robbery, a mutant turf war, or an alien invasion, Wade had an uncanny knack for being wherever Peter was.

At first, Peter found it annoying. Wade's loud personality, constant jokes, and reckless fighting style grated on his nerves. But over time, Peter began to see the man beneath the mask—a broken, scarred soul who used humor to hide his pain.

And Wade? Wade found himself drawn to Peter's unshakable sense of responsibility, his determination to do good even when the odds were against him.

They were an odd pair, but somehow, they worked.

The night it happened started like any other. Peter had been investigating a HYDRA base on the outskirts of the city, and Wade had insisted on tagging along.

"Spidey, you're gonna need me," Wade had said, slinging an arm around Peter's shoulders. "I've got the katanas, the charm, and the healing factor. It's a winning combo."

Peter rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

The mission was supposed to be simple: infiltrate the base, gather intel, and get out. But HYDRA didn't do simple.

Within minutes of entering, the alarms blared, and the two were swarmed by guards. Peter fought like his life depended on it, his webs zipping through the air as he took down enemy after enemy. Wade, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of chaos, his katanas slicing through the fray.

"Having fun yet?" Wade called, blocking a blow with his arm.

Peter didn't answer. His spider-sense flared suddenly, and he turned just in time to see a guard aiming a weapon at Wade.

"Wade, look out!" Peter shouted, shoving him aside.

The blast hit Peter square in the chest, and he crumpled to the ground.

"Spidey!" Wade yelled, dropping to his knees beside him.

Peter's vision blurred, pain radiating through his body. He coughed, blood staining his lips as he looked up at Wade.

"You idiot," Wade said, his voice trembling. "Why'd you do that? You've got a whole city to save!"

Peter smiled weakly. "Couldn't let you die."

Wade shook his head. "This wasn't the plan, Spidey. This wasn't supposed to happen."

Peter reached out, his hand brushing against Wade's. "You're...not as bad as you think you are."

Wade froze, his grip tightening around Peter's hand. "Don't—don't do this, Parker. You're gonna be fine. You've got to be fine."

Peter's breathing slowed, his eyes fluttering shut.

And then he was gone.

Wade sat there for what felt like an eternity, cradling Peter's body. He barely noticed the glowing words that appeared on his chest, right over his heart:

"You're not as bad as you think you are."

Wade's breath hitched as he read the words, his hands trembling. He looked down at Peter, his heart breaking.

"Why'd it have to be you?" he whispered. "Why'd you have to be mine?"

He pressed his forehead to Peter's, silent tears falling as the words burned into his skin like a brand.

Wade carried Peter's memory with him everywhere he went. The words on his chest were a constant reminder of what he'd lost, but also of what he'd gained—a connection that had changed him in ways he didn't fully understand.

He fought harder, lived louder, and tried—however imperfectly—to honor Peter's legacy.

And though Peter was gone, Wade liked to think that somewhere, somehow, Peter's final words were still with him, guiding him toward something better.

Because soulmates weren't about perfection. They were about connection. And even in death, that connection remained unbroken.