I'd never heard if this one for soulmates before! 22 the one where it’s impossible to lie to your soulmate. Spideypool, especially if they don't figure it out at first meet b/c Spidey's pretty honest even when annoyed and Deadpool distracts instead of outright lying usually (and super-bro-code doesn't try to pry into the secret identity)
The one where it’s impossible to lie to your soulmate.
People say the most outrageous lies when they meet a person for the first time to see if they’re their soulmate. Peter thinks that’s what Deadpool is doing, except the man just keeps on saying the most ridiculous things to him even after their first meeting.
“I’ll give you my entire Dora the Explorer DVD collection if you let me lick your pecs just once!”
“I wanna tongue punch your fart box!”
“Hey Spidey, I dream about your juicy ass at least twice a night, and I don’t need to be asleep to do it!”
“I’d give up saying chimichangas if you go on a date with me, and let me tell you, it ain’t no lie when I say that the word chimichangas makes up like 50% of my diary entries each day so I hope you understand how far I’m willing to go for you!”
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life, and I was at the Super-Bowl when the Janet Jackson nip-slip happened!”
And Peter likes to think he’s a polite dude. He humours Deadpool for a bit, because yeah, he kind of might like the guy, just a teeny tiny bit, and some of the things he says are rather flattering, if vulgar, and Peter doesn’t have the best self esteem in the world. Sometimes it’s nice to hear he has the booty of a Greek God, and that his knees (why knees? Deadpool you are so weird) are totally lickable. But after a bloody and long skirmish with Electro he’s singed and tired and totally knows that the ten block radius of damage that resulted from the fight is going to be blamed on Spider-Man tomorrow, so yeah, when Deadpool shows up out the blue and starts hitting on him Peter kind of snaps.
“No, I don’t want to take a ride on your disco stick!” He growls, “can’t you see that I’m a little tired here?”
“Sorry, Webs.” Deadpool at least has the sense to look a little ashamed under his mask. “Uh, what I meant to say, is that do you want some help getting home? The Dead-taxi is here, at your service!”
“No,” Peter grumbles from his spot collapsed against the fire escape. “I just need some rest, is all. Away from annoying mutants who can’t seem to shut up and catch the hint that I kind of want to be alone right now!”
“...Sorry,” Deadpool whispers, his shoulders sagging. Peter feels a little sting of remorse, and then squashes it down with a surge of annoyance. “Do you want me to leave?”
And Peter’s irritated and sore and bruised all over but the worst thing is he’s mostly annoyed at himself, because there’s a big part of him that wants Deadpool to stay, to pick him up in his ridiculously muscled arms and cradle him against that big broad chest and take him home and cuddle him of all things, and it’s entirely that small part of him that’s prickly and pissed off about having a crush on Deadpool that makes him open his mouth and say “yes.”
But the thing is, he can’t say it. His mouth hangs open and his lips make the right shape but his vocal chords refuse to work and Peter almost had a heart attack when he realises that he can’t lie.
He can’t lie to Deadpool.
“Spidey?” Deadpool sinks down to his knees next to Peter, and his white stupid panda eyes of his mask are worried. “You’re gonna catch flies like that. Unless that’s totally what you’re going for because you’re Spider-Man and spiders eat flies and you’re trying to go for an authentic image?”
And Peter tries to say, “Iggy Azalea is the defining rapper of the generation,” but all that comes out is “Iggy Azalea is the-” and he chokes on the lie. Tries to say “chocolate chip pancakes are gross and I hate them,” and ends up with “chocolate pancakes are- grnf.” And he sits there, stunned, as Deadpool’s panda eyes go from worried to wide with realisation.
“Oh,” Deadpool says, “you finally figured it out.”
And all Peter can say is, “you knew? What? How? When?”
And Deadpool shrugs. “When we first met and I was singing I Don’t Fuck With You because Iron Poop was hanging about and then I saw you behind him and I choked on the line I got a million trillion things I'd rather fuckin' do, than to be fuckin' with you and I’ve never ever gotten the lyrics wrong, not even during Chinese water torture, and that shit seriously fucks with you.”
“That was months ago!” Peter squeaks. “And you didn’t think to tell me that you’re- that I’m your soulmate?”
Deadpool shrugs again. “Just because you’re my soulmate doesn’t mean that you like me. I’d rather us, you know, become friends or whatever because you actually like me, and not because of some stupid soulbond that doesn’t really mean anything except that some higher power thought that we should bump uglies. That shit’s seriously got some underlying non-consensual connotations hiding in there too, like what if I don’t want to have a soulmate and a perfect match or whatever, I could totally be fine on my own, not that I’m saying that I don’t want you because fuckbuckets holy shit I do because you’re amazing and strong and beautiful and good and honest to such a degree that you didn’t figure out that we’re soulmates until now and you don’t like milk either because ew cow titty juice right and you make me want to be a better person and what I’m trying to say is that I’m in love with you not because of some stupid soulbond, but because you’re you.”
And then it’s Peter’s turn to say “oh.” And then it only makes sense to pull his mask off and yank Deadpool close and say, “you should totally kiss me right now,” and Deadpool rolls his mask up so fast he almost takes an eye out and when their lips meet all the hair on Peter’s body stands up and his stomach tightens and something in his chest pulls free and soars.
Later, when they’re in Peter’s shitty apartment and Peter’s lying on naked on Deadpool’s chest in bed and they’re no longer Spider-Man and Deadpool but Peter and Wade, soulmates, he says, “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out faster.”
“Baby boy, you’re smart but you’re also kind of dumb,” Wade grins, and Peter jabs him in the side and the afterglow dissolves into a tickle fight but Peter’s not mad because yeah, it can’t be a lie, he kind of is. But that’s okay because he’s Wade’s and Wade is his and they’re just two dumb dudes dressed up in skin tight suits patrolling the streets of New York, beating up bad guys, telling bad jokes, eating tacos out of questionable food trucks and being perfect for one another.
