The first message Peter Parker ever received from his soulmate came when he was 13.

It appeared on a scrap of paper tucked under his pillow one night, written in a scrawl so messy it was nearly illegible:
"I think this burrito might kill me, but what a way to go."

Peter stared at it for a long moment, utterly baffled. What kind of person said something like that? At first, he thought it was a prank—a weird coincidence, maybe. But when similar notes kept appearing night after night, he realized it was something much bigger.

By the time Peter turned 16, the nightly messages had become a familiar, if bizarre, part of his life. Each one was a single sentence, a snippet of something his soulmate had said during the day. Sometimes they were mundane, like:

"Is it weird to eat cereal at 2 a.m.?"

Other times, they made no sense at all:
"Why are flamingos so judgmental?!"

And then there were the ones that hinted at danger, like:
"Okay, maybe I shouldn't have taken that job after all..."

Peter didn't know who his soulmate was, but he couldn't help worrying about them. Whoever they were, their life sounded chaotic—messy in a way that made Peter's dual existence as a high school student and superhero seem tame by comparison.

Still, he couldn't deny the strange connection he felt. The words, odd as they were, made him laugh when he needed it most. They kept him company on nights when he felt utterly alone.

Wade Wilson first noticed his soulmate messages after his mutation kicked in. He was 18, freshly scarred and trying to figure out what his life looked like now. One night, as he lay on a cot in a dingy safehouse, a small slip of paper appeared on his chest.

"I think I forgot to water my plants."

He blinked at it, then laughed—an actual, genuine laugh that startled him with its rawness.

"What kind of loser soulmate do I have?" he muttered, though there was no malice in his words.

Night after night, more messages came. Some were funny, like:
"If you say 'YOLO,' you legally forfeit your right to speak in my presence."

Others tugged at something deeper inside him:
"I hope whoever my soulmate is, they're safe."

Wade wasn't sure why the notes kept coming, but they quickly became the best part of his day. In a world that often felt bleak, the words were a lifeline—a reminder that someone out there was thinking of him, even if they didn't know who he was.

Years Later

Peter was swinging through Hell's Kitchen one night when his phone buzzed with an alert. He landed on a rooftop, pulling it from his pocket to find his latest soulmate message:

"Is it possible to accidentally adopt a raccoon? Asking for a friend."

Peter sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. "You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered. Whoever his soulmate was, they clearly lived in their own world.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, leaping into the night. The message would have to wait; there was a robbery in progress, and Spider-Man had work to do.

Meanwhile, Wade was finishing up a job at a shady warehouse near the docks. His katanas were slick with blood, his mask slightly askew, but he was in high spirits. As he stepped over a pile of unconscious goons, he felt the familiar weight of a note appear in his pocket.

He pulled it out, unfolding it to reveal the latest gem from his soulmate:
"Are the criminals getting stupider by the day or what?"

Wade chuckled. "Oh, Soulmate, you get me," he said, tucking the note back into his pocket. He didn't know who his soulmate was, but they sounded like a grade-A overthinker. He liked that. A lot.

It happened by accident. Peter had been tailing a gang of arms dealers for weeks, and tonight, he finally caught up with them in an abandoned factory near the river. He wasn't expecting to find Deadpool there, already in the middle of dismantling the operation with his usual brand of chaotic finesse.

Peter landed on a steel beam above the fray, watching in stunned silence as Wade dispatched the last thug with a quip and a twirl of his katana.

"Deadpool?" Peter called, lowering himself to the ground. "What are you doing here?"

Wade turned, his mask tilting as he looked Peter over. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Spider-Man! Fancy meeting you here, Webs."

Peter crossed his arms. "This was my bust."

Wade shrugged and decided to try his luck. "Your bust, my bust—what's a little teamwork between soulmates?"

Peter froze. "What did you just say?"

Wade grinned under his mask. "Soulmates. You know, the whole 'mystical connection, nightly messages' thing? Ringing any bells?"

Peter's mind raced.

"Yup, " Wade said, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "Tonight's was a classic:'Are the criminals getting stupider by the day or what?'Honestly, Spidey, I feel seen."

Peter's jaw dropped. "That wasmymessage."

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of the revelation settling in. Then Wade pulled off his mask, revealing his scarred face and a surprisingly warm smile.

"So," he said, extending a hand. "Guess it's nice to finally meet you, baby boy."

Peter hesitated, then took the hand, shaking it firmly. "Nice to meet you too, Wade."

Over the next few weeks, Peter and Wade found themselves drawn to each other in ways neither of them had expected. They started meeting up regularly—sometimes to fight crime, sometimes just to talk. The messages kept coming, but now they felt more like shared secrets than random notes from a stranger.

Peter learned that Wade's humor was a defense mechanism, a way of masking the pain he carried. And Wade discovered that beneath Peter's quips and bravado was someone deeply compassionate, someone who took the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint.

They balanced each other in a way that felt natural—easy, even. For the first time in years, Peter didn't feel alone. And Wade? Wade finally felt like he had something to fight for beyond survival.

One night, as they sat on a rooftop eating chimichangas, Peter pulled out his latest soulmate message. He held it up for Wade to see:

"I think I might actually like this guy."

Wade's eyes widened. "No way. That's from me?"

Peter nodded, his cheeks turning red. "Yeah."

Wade grinned, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. "Guess that makes it official, huh?"

Peter chuckled. "Yeah. I guess it does."

And as they sat there, laughing under the stars, both of them realized that their connection—built on years of shared words and unspoken feelings—was stronger than either of them had ever imagined.

They didn't just have each other's messages. They had each other.