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thewriterg · 11 months

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𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞.

pairing(s): peter parker × fem!reader, peter parker x poc! reader, tony stark × fem!reader, guardians × fem!reader

summary: you and peter always argued about which one of you had to go first when the time came and it was too soon for you to finalize your decision

word count: 3.0k+

warning(s): soulmate au, death, crying, soul bonds dying, pet names, suicidal thoughts, Thanos, injuries, infinity war, descriptions of violence, and language

A/n:—GIFs; @that-bi-multifandom-mess & @galaxygifs— So when I thought of the reader screaming for when she’s in mourning I though of these two audios so use it don’t use do as you please

“You’re much more of a Thanos” You heard Strange say from the dimension he had You, Tony, Mantis, Nebula, Drax, Quil, and Peter in waiting for the opportunity You and the brunette sat close to each other hip to hip hand in hand reading one another’s thoughts without even trying but it was always that way

It’s what happens when you’re soulmates.

“Hey I love you, you know that?” The vigilante spider talked to you through your soul bond something that you had both learned to do a little more in vain than you both wanted

Peter didn’t expect for the first time his soulmate was talking to him telepathically was to be stuck under a pile a rubble in the midst of a panic attack trying to push his was out

“Peter, stop talking like that.” You hissed out loud even though he didn’t take it to heart you were uneasy everyone was but he felt a fraction of it and anyone could visibly see it you’re eyes were flicking a bright white and your hair started to sway softly in different directions

“With all six stones I can simply snap my fingers, they would all cease to exist and I call that… mercy.” The tone the alien of a man had could make anyone shiver instead it just made you angry

“Then you’ll find our will equal to yours” The sorcerer tapped his wrist together his sparking plates coming to form in front of his fist as a deserted and broken down quinjet came crashing from the what seemed to be thin air on top of the purple being

The portal opened as the guardians other than Mantis began to step out of the circle already on defense and as you began to walk up to the sparking source ready to jump out of and iron fist grabbed your arm

“Hey! You’re not going need you for the finale with antennas over here” Tony spoke to you as you snatched your forearm away from his grasp

“You’re insane if you think I’m not going” You seethed at the billionaire

“Mr stark she's my mate she has to come with me” Peter spoke wearily steeping in front of you a little to the side of Tony as you squinted at the pair beginning to take a step in front of them both before an iron hand had you flying backwards until you dropped on your ass and before you could get up your wrist were tied together with sticky web fluid

“No hard feelings kid” The brunette hummed calling back his metal hand as it connected back to his suit while Peter winced at your swearing protest

“Peter, I swear to God when I get ou-!”

“Sorry love!” He had stepped out of the portal before he could here the rest of your threat watching as Tony was forced back by a group of debris and rubble as he swung by his webs using his web shooter to aim at the Titans eye before throwing a punch to his jaw and Drax ran at him slicing the back of his calves with his swords

You groaned while white electricity surrounded you melting the spider fluid around your hands and you felt a hand on your shoulder before you shrugged it off getting back up on your feet hearing Mantis gasp in amazement

“You’re vibrations are so powerful!” The empath stared at you with wide black pupils in awe as you rolled your eyes it what happens when you were eight years old injected with a poison to make your heart pump rapidly while being strapped down to strapped down on a experiment table with hydra scientists thinking it would be a great idea to shock your chemical filled body with a hundred watts of energy

Instead of you heart stopping it just regulated and the electricity mixed poorly with the chemical and suddenly you could draw power from earth's electromagnetic field

You approached the sparking portal and it closed to a small circle in front of you and you tried not to scream in frustration before casting your palm out to it as white strikes of lightning and sparks of electricity mixed with the yellow and orange it rejected it as you tried to force it open to no avail

“FUCK!”

“Fuck!” Mantis repeated carefully clapping her hands together at her success and you were on the brink of whiplash as you turned to look at her with wide alert eyes

“No Mantis don’t say-”

“Fuck!?” Great, you were left to babysit.

“Mantis you don’t say fuck. Fuck is a bad word. You. don’t. say. fuck.” You stated sternly watching as her antennas dropped almost like a puppy’s ears as if it was sad and lost

“Humans way is so complicated” She muttered into the open

“Yea tell me about it” Suddenly the portal opened from under you both and you were dropped onto either one of Thanos shoulders the suddenness of it all shocked you both before you shook the feeling from your shoulders pressing your fingertips onto the titans temple a small gasp leaving your lips as Mantis did the same

Strange had sparking whips around one arm, while one of Peter Qs taser pads kept the same one in place for good measure, Peter Ps webs wrapped around his torso tugging him to his knees extra vibranium spider like legs sprouted from his back helping him stand firmly tugging on the spiderweb that kept the captivator down and Tony struggled to take the garment off his other hand that wasn’t under attack as he screamed continuously in agony before finally falling silent

“Is he under? Don’t let up.” Tony quipped struggling to loosen up the garment and Peter looked at you gaze holding concern as you head slightly twitched while you let out soft grunts and moans in discomfort he hated that you were even that close to this imbecile

“Be quick he is very strong” Mantis answered for the both of you she had more experience in the mind control department than you did but was still uncomfortable nonetheless the brunette couldn’t take his eyes off you however your hair pure white, the air becoming windy around them all, your eyes white with a soft glow behind them while you looked far away in your own mind, electricity sparking all around you but your fingertips were its main source as his soul bond screeched at him to take you far away from there

“Parker hello!? A little help get over here they can’t hold much longer” Peter didn’t waste another second before he was suddenly next his mentor gripping and pulling on the gauntlet with a groan as it loosened little by little

“I thought you’d be hard to catch, for the record this was my plan” The vigilante could’ve rolled his eyes at that You and him made the most important parts of the plan the only thing he made up was Mantis putting him to ‘sleep’ even though she told him it didn’t work that way

“Not so tough now huh? Where is Gamora!?” He questioned glaring at the titan as he crumbled on his knees

“Oh bullshit! Where is she!?” He repeated

“He is in anguish! He mourns!” Mantis whimpered

“What does this monster have to mourn!?” Drax wheezed out Peter‘s gaze immediately shifted from the tin glove to you as you suddenly gasped out of your trance before moaning heavily in pain

“Tony I can’t hold it” You cried out the most vulnerable the billionaire had ever seen you despite his few years of knowing you as he cursed under his breath Peter however couldn’t relate when it came to the subject his grip loosening on the gauntlet beginning to turn towards you

“Shit kid I know just two minutes” The brunette couldn’t tell if he was talking to You or to Peter so he settled on both and Peter was determined as ever to get this the hell over with as he tugged harder on the base of the gauntlet

“Gamora, He came back with the soul stone but she didn’t” Nebula answered suddenly and Quills attention immediately shifted towards her urging her to go on his blood running cold as she finished her sentence

“Okay Quill, you gotta cool it right now You understand? Do not, Don’t engage we almost got this off!” Tony yelled the victory so close he could taste it on his tingue

“Tell me she’s lying. Asshole! Tell me you didn’t do it” Peter screamed Tony’s yelling white noise in the background while Nebula put her head down in defeat

“I had… to” Thanos muttered and the brunettes eyes started to water his voice cracking as he spoke

“No you didn’t, No you didn’t” Suddenly his quad blaster was connecting to the titans temple Tony rushed to his side wrestling his arms above his head You and Mantis both gasped in pain taking your palms away from the beings temples as if you touched a hot eye on the stove before placing them back pressing down even firmer trying not to let the control slip

“It’s coming! I got it! I got it!” Just as the gauntlet sipped from the being fingertips he was out of the mind control head butting you with a sickening ‘crack’ you’re eyes rolling in the back of your head as he then took you from his shoulder with a crushing grip throwing your unconscious body with harsh intentions Thanos than snatched the tin glove back into his grasp causing Peter to repel backwards before quickly getting back onto his feet his senses going off like crazy

“I got you!” The vigilante made a long leap as you flew over his head catching your limp body into his arms his iron spider legs making a cage around you both blocking your body’s from the hard fall he held your firmly his hand resting on the back of your head pressing it into his shoulder panting heavily he watched as suddenly craters of the moon flew down around the both of you too close for his liking before he was back off the ground swinging through mid air fire flying past your bodies burning through old ships

“Come on sweetheart wake up, come on baby” Peter stressed yet his tone still sweet as he made the most out of his one web shooter wrapping up the unconscious guardians in the tacky web fluid one by one you still being pressed into his chest enabling him to use his other arm

“Dammit please, wake up! ” Suddenly you gasped awake lightning striking through the air creating a type of force fields around the abandoned ship Peter had found a temporary shelter for you to all settle on Your eyes and hair were pure white as you sucked in a deep breath pushing off of the brunettes chest standing on your feet tornadoes began to form whirling outside around the makeshift pod surging in the craters and extra pieces of rubble into their harsh winds you closed your eyes focusing on the biggest unfamiliar vibration before finally breathing out and as if it were an explosion Peter watched in awe as the winds traveled blatantly within a blink of an eye across the field into Thanos’s path sending him flying backwards as Tony flew after him he didn’t dawn on the fact too long his eye’s immediately darting back to you as your legs wobbled and before you could fall he was by your side gently lowering you to the ground taking your face into his palms pressing a kiss to your forehead squeezing his eyes shut tight as they watered

“I’m so glad you’re safe, im so glad you’re okay, you’re so strong, I love you, please be okay, please don’t scare me like that again, I love you.” The brunette muttered over and over pressing his chin into the crown of your head and pressing another kiss into your hairline

“I wasn’t strong enough” You whispered and Peter brung his head back to stare at you in disbelief both palms of his hand pressed to you cheeks your nose dripping a bit of blood your body slightly trembling you probably had a concussion maybe even blunt trauma

He wasn’t there in time

Now you were hurt

He failed you

His fault

It's all his fault. It's all his fault. It's all his fault. It's all his fault its all his fault all his fault its all his fault its all his fault its all his fault its all his fault its all his fault its all his fault its all his fault its all his fault its all his fault-

“Peter it’s not your fault” You whispered pressing the palm of your hand to his pale cheek and he kicked himself he hated when you read his mind at the worst time and even more than now because You we’re the one hurt

“Okay, okay. Can you stand?” You nodded shakily and the brunette helped you up to your feet as you looked over to the unconscious guardians taking a small step forward and Peter grabbed your arm

“Hey if you can’t hold it, you let go.” He remarked and with a stiff nod in agreement like a silent promise you crouched down to them all pressing your palm down flat on the ground and Peter watched to carefully as small surges of electricity traveled around the floor surging into their limp bodies causing them to softly jerk until Quill woke with a loud groan his body aching

“Yea you may of hit a couple of things on the way down, not actually my fault your just super heavy” The brunette looked at the teen with an offended look before he was telepathically through across the surface of the making a dent into the metal with another harsh noise of discomfort as you fixed him with a harsh glare

“Yeah probably deserved that one” He wheezed as Drax helped Mantis to her feet and Nebula sat up where she had once lied the rage suddenly hit the Star lord like a bus and in the blink of an eye he was gone his mask over his face the sound of his quad blaster shooting freely

Peter went to wrap an arm around you putting forward his wrist to shoot a web to swing on as the guardians followed you could fly yes but he didn’t want to risk it and when you were up close like this buzzing with electricity he could feel you it gave him a sense of comfort

You all made it to where Tony barely stood injured and Peter landed you both at his side helping him stand up right as the air chilled around you yet you didn’t have a need to start a blizzard

“Somethings happening” Mantis whispered suddenly not more than a second later she faded to dust right next to where Quill stood while Tony took a careful step forward a small gasp resting on his lips Drax was next to go wheezing breathes on his lips and suddenly your heart was slowing little by little beat by beat

“Steady Quill” The billionaire demanded

“Awh man” He whispered before he was gone into the wind as the other and Tony’s eyebrows furrowed his chest beginning to tighten yet not with death he had felt that too many times and this wasn’t it

“Tony, there was no other way” Strange called out until the billionaire looked at him before continuing and once again he was gone

“Mr Stark, I don’t feel so good” It was your turn for you chest to tighten as you whipped around to look at Peter not being able to focus on the dizziness from the sudden movement your soul bond felt weak you couldn’t channel him like you usually did

“You’re alright” Tony said firmly like he wasn’t leaving any room for arguing

“No Peter.” You rushed to his side just as he beginning to lower to the ground you pressed your palms to his cheeks and the brunette felt a small buzz around his whole body while Tony and Nebula watched you both young love wilting to a perish

“Please come on. Don’t- DONT DO THIS TO ME” Your voice raised as the small time frame windows passed you and all the vigilante did was smile at you

“I love you, so much. You have to let go now come on you promised.” You shook your head thick tears rolling down your cheeks your chest tight and aching as you tried to delay death with only your palms

“I can feel you, Peter. I-I can feel you, I can.” He nodded at you in reassurance turning his head slightly to press a kiss to your wrist placing a hand over yours before quickly flinging you arm away as he collapsed to the floor and as you went to rush towards him Tony’s arms were wrapped around you arms and waist as you thrashed around in his hold as you watched the other part of your soul turn to dust and ash before your eyes

“I love you” He whispered before he was gone. Your scream traveled across the field pleading to whatever gods were willing to listen but none did you chest felt empty and your will to live was gone

“Please kill me Tony, please kill me. please” You sobbed and the older man turned you around to press your head into his shoulder his hand rested on the back of your head into your thick hair and suddenly he was holding onto to nothing as you began to fade away your bond felt tighter as if it was resurrected and you took it as Peter calling you home now before you were finally gone

Tony collapsed opening his arms before claiming them back down as if he was trying to grab onto you but to no avail

“Oh kid.”

💌💌💌💌

Honestly not my best work but something to work me out of writers block 😊

maybe a part 2?🤔

For now my request are closed but will open back up hopefully before the month is over

THE NEW SPIDERMAN MOVIE!? LOVE IT. Hobie and Miguel the lomls I can’t wait to write for them

please answer this poll below —if you don’t I will find you 😡👹🔪—

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yes-i-am-happyaspie · 2 months

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⬇ What I've Been Reading Recently! [In No Particular Order]⬇

Rivers and Roads (Rivers Till I Reach You) Series by peterparkersbff @pbpsbff

[Series Description and Notes] Zombie Apocalypse, No Powers AU centered on Peter, Tony, and Rhodey (But if we're being honest, it's pretty Peter-centric)

Updates will likely be posted out of order, but will be reordered so they are in preferred reading order. I'd recommend reading in series order.

Peter Benjamin Stark Series by MoonBoo

[Part 1, Stars Align Summary] Pepper is concerned about Stark Industry's image and organizes a tour for a group of orphans. It's during this tour that Tony meets a five-year-old Peter Parker, who is mute due to the trauma of witnessing Ben and May dying in a robbery, and realizes they're soulmates.

Time Brings All Things to Pass by MsWinifredQuale

Tony feels like he's in a good place right now. He's got a great fiancee, a makeshift but settled little family, and he's even in a fairly ok place with the former Rogues.

So naturally the universe decides to throw him some curve balls, when he gets a call one morning from the police claiming they've just picked up Howard and Maria Stark from the side of the road.

And that's not the only time-related event about to unfold.

Tony really hates time travel.

[Also includes de-aged Peter Parker]

Please obey the signs by Bergen

“This young man claims to have been invited by you personally.” Tony has learned to read Happy’s expressions. That one is disapproval, and it’s highly familiar. “Peter is helping me out in the workshop today.” “Why?” “Uh.” Tony has enough presence of mind not to carelessly throw Peter’s alternative identity around. “He won a competition.” Happy’s expression flickers, grows tense. “I did not approve any competition that included a trip to Avengers Tower.” “Okay. Well. If we had theoretically organized a competition, he would definitely have won it.” - Tony’s life lately has been a perfect storm of incompetence. But perhaps he can get some solid spiritual advice from a mischievous teenager with a secret identity he meets by the side of the road one evening, like a lucky little leprechaun. If only Happy would stop being so paranoid about Tony inviting a random kid into Avengers Tower, sheesh.

The Chill Factor by Tashie

5 Times Peter's thermoregulation caused issues +1 Time Others tried to do something about it.

Broken Thoughts (I Remember Everything) by blackwatchandromeda (avenris)

"Peter, who am I?"

He hesitates. "I'm sorry. I... I don't know."

Peter Parker has been missing for thirty-six days. When Tony Stark finally finds him, he's wandering around New York with no memories, unaware of where and who he is. The missing month is a mystery, and nobody knows what happened to him - least of all the kid himself.

Peter, meanwhile, is trying to piece together who he was. What doesn't help is the big secret he's sure Tony is keeping from him, or the way the man is avoiding him.

Nobody notices how the missing month is catching up to them until everything goes wrong.

(Not Infinity War compliant, but takes place after Civil War.)

When spiders tour their houses, chaos ensues by pirateninja9

"I am very pleased to announce that we’ve been invited for an overnight tour at Stark Industries.”

Join Peter and his Academic decathlon team on a chaotic field trip to the Stark Industries. Featuring a bullying teacher and student, a confused tour guide and many Avengers shenanigans. With luck like his, Peter should have known this would be as far from a normal tour as possible.

Mugs Are A Problem (I Do What I Want) by JAWorley

It’s not usually a problem. Tony doesn’t usually have to work so hard to hide it because Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey know. He can be himself around them. Right after the compound had been built, Tony had been worried about moving in with the Avengers full time… worried they’d notice his tics and figure out his secret. Then Germany had happened and the team had split up before they could fully move into the compound. Tony had had two years where he hadn’t needed to worry about it. Now that the Rogues are back and are living in the tower full time, it’s on his mind again and stressing him out. The problem? Coffee mugs. Well… coffee mugs, and other things and the fact that when he’s stressed out, the tics get worse. But mainly coffee mugs. Coffee mugs are the bane of his existence. OR Tony has Tourette Syndrome and he doesn’t want the Avengers (or Peter) to find out about it. The newly returned Avengers think Tony is just being a jerk when he knocks things off of tables and counters, because they think he’s doing it on purpose. Despite the angsty summary, this is all about the team coming back together and Tony learning that the people in his life can’t accept him as he is until given the chance to know him as he is.

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nessieart · 10 months

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A story of finding yourself and finding love and friendship along the way. Navigating a world you've known all your life to a world of superheroes and foes alike.

A Tony Stark x Shifter!Reader story. Supernatural/Soulmates AU

-*- COMPLETED

One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven || Twelve || Thirteen || Fourteen || Fifteen || Sixteen || Seventeen || Eighteen || Nineteen || Twenty .

*-*

Part 2 AoU

One-shots:

What If...?

***

Tony and Poppy will return!

#tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark x shifter!reader #shifter!reader #mcu fanfiction #Peter Parker #Steve Rogers #Bruce Banner #Soulmate AU #Supernatural AU #Masterlist

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starker-sorbet · 1 year

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Tony never really paid attention to the red string attached to his hand. Sure he knew intellectually it was meant to lead to his soulmate but if he was honest with himself Tony wasn't sure how much he believed that to be true. And so he just didn't think about it. That was until one day while walking around the R and D department he was taken to be introduced to his companies latest employee. An absolute genius if the supervisor was right. Now if Tony had paid attention to his soulmate string he would have noticed that he was being led in the direction it went off in and was becoming noticeably more tangible the closer he got. But he didn't. Tony only noticed when he went to shake the younger man's hand and saw his red sting was in fact also attached to the red string on the others hand too. Looking at the younger man his soulmate all he could do was smirk and feel extraordinarily pleased with who fate had lead him to.

'Well, Peter was it, looks like your time at Stark Industries is going to be a lot more exciting than you thought and I for one look forward to it.'

@tstarksbingospectacular fill : N2 - Soulmate au bingo card below

#tstarksbingospectacular #starker #peter parker is over 18 here #soulmate au #moodboard #my moodboard

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winterspiderpurrs · 2 months

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Soul mate marks.

Bucky has a spider located in the same spot where Peter got bit.

Peter who has intricate lines starting from his shoulder down to to finger tips. Matching some of the gold lines from Bucky's new arm.

I wants it!

#writing prompt #winterspider #peter parker x bucky barnes #soulmate au #soulmarks #winterspiderpurrs

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monster-cock69 · 1 year

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I feel like i posted something similar forever ago but anyways

soulmate au where they can be platonic or romantic and Tony goes to a children's hospital for some charity thing and meets terminally ill little kid peter

"You're Tony Stark"

"And you're Peter Parker"

#irondad #soulmate au #platonic soulmates #someone please write this #prompt #iron man #spiderman #avengers #marvel #tony stark #peter parker #peter's gonna die #but it'll be sappy anyways

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indouloureux · 2 years

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my reverie's affinity remains to be you (soulmate!au)

peter parker x reader

summary: in a world where you see ten seconds of your soulmate's life in your dreams, you already knew that spider-man was your soulmate. but what you didn't know, was that you'd be vexed to see who was beneath the mask

word count: 11, 629 (sheesh)

warnings: enemies to lovers, peter and y/n being a huge dick to each other, mentions of violence, angst, fluff, peter being a huge dork and y/n being that different kind of girl again

a/n: this was my first soulmate au and the second longest thing i've ever written. hope you all enjoy!

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

i: when you dream of me, consider it an enormity

You thought soulmates were a myth.

Your whole life, you’ve been told you can love whoever you wanted, for as long as you wanted; you get to choose who you want to be with. Because it’s your choice – your own free will.

But fate had other plans. Fate didn’t want to give that decision to you; fate said fuck you, I choose who you love.

Because now you’re endowed with the worry of who your soulmate is, dreading you won’t love them as much as you wished to adore someone. You’re worried that when you’re in love with someone, they’re not yours to begin with.

Unfortunately, you already know you’re fucked with your soulmate.

Its fate’s rule: you begin at 11. You witness at least ten seconds of their life in your dreams. You don’t see their faces, their relatives. If so, the faces were obfuscated. The only reference you were given were their surroundings – what they liked, what they watched, what room they were in.

You know your soulmate had a mop of brown curls when you dreamt of him in the mirror. His bathroom was blue, his jumper was a darker shade of blue, and he had a weird obsession with Legos.

The first few years, you’d grown fond of the memories you’re given, satisfied with the minuscule albeit consequential fragments. Barring when you dreamt of him at a funeral, and you encounter yourself even closer to your enigmatic man.

Until you dreamt of him swinging around the buildings above the busy streets of Queens the same time Spider-Man started to appear was when you realized there was no fucking way your soulmate was the infamous masked hero.

You’re fucked, you knew it. Though you knew it gave you a better chance to actually know who your soulmate is.

You tried approaching him, calling him. But he was too far away or he pretended to not hear you, straight up ignoring you. Because why would Spider-Man stop his duties for a love-deprived girl?

Every night you dreamt of him – some were the times he swung around the city, or punching people’s faces. Though most of the time you’d dream of him in his bedroom with books and lego pieces scattered around his carpeted floor. If you looked closely, or paid attention to his surroundings, you’d spot a familiar sweater on the corner of his room.

It was enough to enthrall you, to keep you patient. But still, you feel incomplete.

“Maybe he’s closer than you think,” MJ said one time, though suspiciously eyeing the boy across from her. “Maybe you’re just too dumb to notice he’s actually right in front of you.”

You rolled your eyes at her.

But you couldn’t help but think she’s right. Albeit how many boys with a mop of brown curls that you know didn’t hate you, or vice versa?

Three. Two of those were strangers, one of those was unfortunately not.

You observe your graphite stain the paper upon you as you let your wrist cypher your most recent dream – Queen’s sunset. Spider-Man was sitting on the roof, devouring a sandwich, observing the sun vanish behind the edifices. It was a sight to see – a rare one for you because you were consistently busy, so you didn’t pass on the opportunity to sketch and revel in the masterpiece that you seldom encountered.

Peter Parker, the infuriating boy he is, watches beside you with a stare so hard it makes your hand tremble at each breath he takes. And when he continues to watch you you couldn’t help but squeeze the pencil in your hand and sharply look at him.

“Stop staring,” you hiss. Your voice startles him, almost letting out a yelp pass his thin lips.

“Why?” His observing frown turns into an amused one. Placing his elbow on the table, his torso turns so he faces you. “Do I make you nervous?”

“You make me sick.”

“Really? You think I didn’t notice your hand shaking when you realized I was still watching you?”

“It was only shaking because I had to stop myself from punching you,” you snap, leaning closer. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anything, you make me mad. Not just sick. Mad.”

“Madly in love, for sure.” He lets out a teasing scoff. And god if that wink didn’t make the frustrated ache in your chest burst into warmth, you might have stabbed him in the eye.

You snicker. “Oh yeah. Me. In love with Peter Parker. What’s not to love? Your big ears? Your prepubescent voice cracks? Your hairless legs? Your cute curls?”

You mutter the last part and for your sake, Peter pretends to miss it. “Gee. Didn’t know you loved my hairless legs. Would you like to ride my hairless thigh? Make me cry?”

“I’ll give you something to cry about when I shove my foot up your ass.”

Peter gasps quietly, placing a hand over his heart. “No need to be so morbid, Bob Ross. Stop storing your anger in that big forehead of yours.”

“Maybe I could solve my morbidity when I break your nose with my large forehead.” you mock him, the scarce, sweet forced tone contrast to your usual sharper manner.

“Please. The only thing you’ll be breaking is your bruised ego.”

You flick him on his forehead, closing your notebook shut the second the class ends. Peter’s disgruntled by your action and kicks your shin to stumble you over.

His assault taints your shoes, one you recently bought after Peter had “accidentally” spilt coffee over your white sneakers. But this time you were sure he didn’t do it by accident.

“Why, you little-” behind his eyes show no ounce of regret, but rather amusement. Yours, however, possesses its usual burning anathema towards—what you always call him—the hybrid; but this time his stain adds fuel to the fire, your hands reaching out to scorch his skin.

Peter’s hand blocks you by abruptly placing his palm on your forehead, keeping you away by arm’s length as you flimsily try to reach for his collar. His laugh, like a fork on a chalkboard, stings your ears sadistically.

“Come on, Grumpy,” he teases, “you can do better than that.”

Aggravated, your nails scratch on his exposed forearm, scouring them to his skin. Peter yells in shock, declining his hand to probe his mauled organ. You wipe your hand over your skirt as if his skin was the grungiest thing you’ve ever touched (but really, it kind of surprised you how his skin was the clearest you’ve ever seen when his mind was literally a dumpster).

“You little shit,” he seethes, looking down at you. “What was that for?!”

“You stained my new shoes!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Your Majesty. Do you want me to clean your shoes with my tears?”

“I want you to choke on my shoe and die!”

“Hey, that’s enough,” Ned tuts. “Let’s go before the pizza runs out.”

Peter shoots you one last glare before he turns around. It would have been a dramatic exit if you weren’t friends with Ned (plus MJ) and you always sat with them every day for lunch.

“Hey losers,” MJ’s presence surprises you, sitting down on the empty space next to yours. “Hey, (y/n).”

“She’s a loser too, you know,” Peter points out, mouth half full. “She sits with us. So she’s a loser.”

“Yeah but she reads and doesn’t play with Legos like a twelve-year-old.” MJ timidly defends, opening her yogurt. “Get used to it. I’ll always see you as losers.”

“Thanks, MJ,” Ned smiles. Peter gives him a pointed look. “What? I already take it as a compliment. We’ve been called losers our entire lives. It’s like…a specialty.”

“You’re not a loser, Ned,” you awkwardly give him a lopsided smile, fork poking on your plate. “You’re great. You’re fun. You dated Betty Brant!” you encourage. “You also know the entire script to A New Hope. So you’re not a loser.”

“Just a dork,” Peter says. “Take that as a compliment. Also when you’re called a himbo. Everybody loves a himbo.”

You grimace, letting out a silent whine of disagreement.

“Speaking of Betty,” Ned pulls a notebook from underneath the table, slamming it aggressively against the plastic surface. “Guess what I just found out. I dreamt of my soulmate last night, and she was wearing this skirt with like this blue daisy on the corner of the hip.”

He turns the notebook, just enough for both you and Peter to see. Ned had sloppily sketched a pencil skirt in the middle of the plain paper, next to it was a glued printed picture of Betty beside Ned, wearing the same skirt.

“That’s Betty. The same skirt from when we were in Prague. Don’t you think this is it?!” Ned places his hands on Peter’s shoulder, shaking him. “Don’t you?”

“I think it’s just a coincidence,” you murmur, slightly envious and in denial that one of you might have already found your soulmate. Or in this case, already been with their soulmate. “Any girl could have that skirt.”

“Yeah but I saw Betty’s legs in my dream. I know her legs-”

“Creepy?”

“- and she wore this yesterday!” he shoves the notebook near your face. “It’s not just a coincidence, (y/n). It’s fate.”

“Alright,” you grimace, pushing the notebook away. “Talk to her. Or text her? No, no talk to her. Ask about her dream last night. Then you can actually confirm it.”

“How are you so sure that’s Betty?” MJ retorts. “Betty has the same legs every white girl has. Also, I could have sworn I saw another girl wear that skirt yesterday.”

“Because she had that scar on her thigh from when she fell on top of Jason Ionello during gym. Not all girls have a scar on their thigh right thigh.”

“I do,” you say, raising your hand. “Remember when you were playing with that stupid Lego set that was too pointy?”

“In our defense, we told you to be careful,” Peter says, looking down on his food.

Ned nods, almost too vigorous as he sits back down. A drunken smile on his face, as if he’s stuck and mesmerized in his thoughts. “I wonder what happens when I find out that Betty’s my soulmate. Do I still get to dream about her?”

“Dunno,” you answer timidly, your bottom lip jutting out the slightest. “Wonder who my soulmate is…”

“I bet yours is probably a pervert staying in his mom’s basement living on Cheetos and old Mortal Kombat video games with a weird foot fetish.” Peter snorts.

“Oddly specific. Sure you’re not describing yourself?” You raise your eyebrow, snarling at him.

“My parents are dead, (y/n),” he says, not at all phased. “I don’t have a mom.”

“And I don’t have enough nerves left for you to fit your fucking huge ears in, Parker.” You roll your eyes. “Besides, I’m in no rush looking for my soulmate. I’m going on a date later.”

MJ stops reading at this. “A date?”

“Yeah, a date?” Peter tilts his head sideways. “Are you sure you’re not just tutoring them?”

“No. It’s a date.” You correct him. “They asked me out on a date yesterday after school ended. I’m meeting them at that new Thai restaurant.”

“The one Aunt May talked to you about?” Peter asks. MJ furrows her eyebrows, pouting at the question.

“Yeah.”

“It sucks there,” he quickly says. “Don’t go to that restaurant. Or better yet, don’t go on that date at all.”

You bite your lip, glaring at him. “Why not?”

Peter’s face drains its colors, stammering on his words. “So you could spare them the bad date. I mean, come on, who would want to go on a date with you?”

“I would,” MJ leered. “I’d go on a date with her. The person who asked her out would go on a date with her.” She turns to you. “What’s their name again?”

“Denver,” you confirmed, pushing MJ’s hair out of her face before turning back to Peter. “See, even MJ wants to go out with me.”

“Would- would you go out with me?” Peter asks MJ. “I mean, do I look like someone you’d go out with?”

“If you were the last person on earth, I would.”

“Aw!” Peter smiles, but disappears the longer he rephrased the answer. “Wait-”

“Hm.”

“But…I’m the only one left…you’re not-”

“Exactly.”

“I’d go out with you, Peter,” Ned interjects. “If I were a girl, I’d go out with you.”

“Aw, thanks,” Peter smiles, blushing. “I’d go out with you, too.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the unusual interaction, you find yourself leaning closer to MJ and whisper, “this feels like I’m watching an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.”

She snorts. “Their life is exactly like Boyle and Peralta.”

But Peter’s words clung to your head much to your dismay. His words invariably went in your ear and out the other – a pattern you’d picked up when his words began to bug you even more and more. But the exit was barred, and it clogged up your already worry-filled mind.

It wasn’t that you aren’t used to Peter’s assertions; however, it stung you narrowly, unlike the vitriols he’d thrown that should have hurt you more.

Because you couldn’t help but think he’s right; who would want to go out with you?

Hell you’re not even sure if Spider-Man would want you. He’s got everything he needs.

Disappointment rims the back of your head, alleviation elusive to claim; its overture still going but alas, for you, its ending remains privy.

ii: his cynical intentions cease the misery to summon

Peter’s envious.

Not because of Ned (if anything, he’s proud of him), but because of you.

It’s no secret to anyone, literally anyone, that the both of you are not very fond of each other. He hates you.

He knows it's because of how reckless you are, how you strut down places presuming like you own them; how you like to gloat about your triumphs, how you have that complacent look in your face whenever Peter gets an answer wrong that you irritatingly correct seconds later.

Adding to his list, he also doesn’t like how you purposely make him feel incompetent.

What he despises the most, however, was how incandescently captivating you look while being a fiendish terror.

Peter can’t deny it, but he admits that you’re beautiful. He thinks that you’re attractive even when you have that deviant gleam in your eyes when you know you’re about to overthrow him, or when you scowl when he gets on your nerves.

It’s the way you toss your hair back that retaliates him to his feet, sowing him down to his foundation for you to amble all over him. Your beaut respites him from your cruelty but pushes him to detest you more a moment later.

Apropos, he’s never really cared about situations that concern you. But the irony fills his boat with holes of jealousy when you pierce his barque with the mention of someone else’s name roll off your svelte tongue.

Yet again, he’s doubtful why he’s envious. But he deludes himself, tells himself repeatedly that he’s jealous because you’re out having a good time when you clearly didn’t deserve it; that you’re out there, being happy and unfortunately in love, while he’s out here sulking around.

It’s the smile on your face when you said Duncan’s name that sets him off, standing tall on his feet.

Denver. He corrects himself. Eh. Why bother?

The envy doesn’t last long. Peter thinks of his soulmate, who he’s pathetically already in love with.

He may have found you beautiful, but her beauty was foremost incomparable to yours. Sure, her face was obfuscated, denoting mystery, but it’s the things she has and does that makes his heart swell achingly with longing and desperation.

Books arranged by author, desk tidied whenever she was uneasy, a portrait on top of her bed that he watched her make in ten seconds, papers pinned against a board chronologically by the events of the short story she’s writing – it all immersed him, made him love her more just by the small details.

Peter knows she’s writing a story about a boy who lost everything for the greater good; its protagonist trying to keep his bitter secret from the person he values the most to protect them as he poises his life and responsibilities. And it’s the most captivating story he’s ever read.

He’s seen her write at least five times – two of those he’s seen her type in an unrelated sentence. It seems that she’s trying to write hello, soulmate on her computer but the dream gets cut off before she could finish the word so.

(Fate’s other rule: you’re unable to send a message through your dreams.)

Guilt pangs his chest, though; he also knows that she knows he’s Spider-Man. Those 10 seconds that both of them see could be taken at any time of their days, but when Peter saw her call out Spider-Man with expectancy in her voice, it was enough to prove him right.

The thing is, everyone calls out to Spider-Man, countless people asking for pictures or for help. So he’s not sure if he’s already seen her, or has, by chance, ignored her at every attempt.

“How’d you meet Denver?” he hears MJ ask you. It makes him look up from his plate, seeing your eyes light up from excitement.

Gross.

“We go to the same art club,” you answer. “They, uh, said I’m cute and asked me out on a date.”

Peter snorts, quick to be covered by a cough. You’re oblivious to his retort, ignoring him. But MJ eyes him disdainfully like she always does, narrowing his eyes before turning back to you.

“Wait, are they that person who walks you outside our dorm every Saturday?”

His ears burn in jealousy.

“Yeah,” it’s unnoticeable, but Peter could sense the heat rise up to your cheeks. “Yes,” you correct yourself with the clear of your throat. “Yes.”

“Oh, I like them. They left a huge tip after Sasha spilt coffee over their shirt when they came to visit the café,” MJ says, sipping on her cup.

“I saw them littering the other day,” Peter butts in, avoiding your annoyed eyes. “Yeah they were like drinking a Capri-Sun and straight up threw it on the ground.”

“Capri-Sun?” you repeat. “They told me they didn’t like Capri-Sun.”

“Well they’re a liar. You obviously shouldn’t go on that date-”

“Why are you so eager to convince me not to go?” leering, you accuse him of his persuasive persona. “Are you jealous?”

Peter’s eyes widen in embarrassment and irritation. “Me? Jealous of them?”

“Not them, doofus,” you say. “You’re jealous because I’m going on a date and you haven’t been on one since Liz and you broke up.”

“Didn’t you date Cindy?” Ned interjects.

“You haven’t been on a date since Cindy,” you’re quick to correct yourself.

“So what if I haven’t been on a date in two years? At least I’m not desperate. I’m just telling you not to go so you could spare the poor person a bad date.

MJ sucks on her teeth. “Nah. Sounds a lot like you’re jealous to me.”

“Michelle, I’m not-”

“Oh, for the love of God,” you clean up your tray, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I’m going to go. I don’t wanna sit here and watch Parker get jealous. It’s sickening.”

“Your face is sickening.”

Your face contorts into a somewhat expression of Peter, though dramatically exaggerated. “Your face is sickening.”

And then you walk away, with Peter’s eyes on you. This time, though, his eyes remain. As if he’s watching you walk away for the first time.

But the thing is, you walked away from his life more than he could count.

He searches desperately for his soulmate.

Peter swings from building to building, arms burning in adrenaline, senses heightened truculently. He yields close alert to her, though he doesn’t precisely know what she looks like even after dreaming of her for at least eight years.

It’s like she doesn’t even look at a mirror.

He’s embarrassed that he’s looking for her after you called him out for being jealous, even though his search for her doesn’t concern you and your date whatsoever.

Albeit it affects his mind and now he thinks he’s looking pathetic for looking for his soulmate while you go out on a date to distract himself.

Though he resents you for your truth, Peter ends up standing at a building across from yours behind the ledge, crouching carefully against the dusted pavement.

You’re by your window, smoking. You don’t tell anyone you smoke but Peter knows you do after catching you by your fire exit during his patrols; he doesn’t call you out for it in front of your friends, but keeps it as evidence for certain situations (cough, blackmail).

Your laptop’s placed on the metal base of the exit, and you’re bedecked up from what he assumes the date. Peter watches you bob your head slightly to the music on speaker, balancing the cigarette between your darkened lips.

If he looks closely, you’re speaking. But Peter realizes you’re reading out loud on your laptop when your eyes dart from left to right, a primitive frown on your face as you do so.

Then your phone rings, making you stand up to your feet, and it’s when Peter sees what you’re wearing.

It’s a simple dress, just above your knees. Its color is a dark shade of blue and it’s decorated by white small flowers everywhere, with the back covered only by two ties.

With your hair down and slightly curled, your ensemble deems you a divine spirit in juxtaposition to your typical vixen mien, hubris amplified in your wanton appearance.

Peter watches you walk to retrieve your bag – that walk that makes his knees buckle, radiating sly innuendos to anyone who watches you.

You answer your phone, holding it in your right ear. “Hey, Karen,” he calls his AI. “Can you help me hear her?”

“Sure thing.”

Your voice fills his ears, like it always does when he’s mask-less. Except this time it’s his choice to hear you rather than suffer in your obnoxiously snobby voice.

“Hey, D,” oh, great. You gave him a nickname. “Yeah. I’m on my way. Just, had to check a few emails, ‘s all. Where are you?”

“On my way,” Peter hears Denver on the receiving end of the line. “It’s a bit of a traffic so I’ll be 15 minutes late to pick you up.”

Always be on time on a date, Peter tells himself. Your fault that you’re stuck in traffic.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just meet you at the restaurant,” dissatisfaction laces in your voice that makes Peter almost huff in victory if he didn’t hate you and have second thoughts on letting you go on the date.

“Just don’t go,” he whispers. “Just stay there. God, fuck, just stay there.”

He doesn’t hear what Denver says next, but your phone closes and he can hear the keys jingle between your fingers while you open your door, closing it gently behind you.

Peter sees you leave the apartment building, which spurs him on to start moving and look for Denver.

He doesn’t know why he’s looking for them. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he finds them. He should be actually looking for his soulmate, who might also be looking for him.

But here Peter is, worried, jealous about your date. And will stop at nothing to do something about it.

He stands from the foundation you tackled him to, and with bleary eyes, he searches for your beguiling hand, trying to pull you away from them.

iii: pretentious hearts make exquisite art, vol 1

They never appear.

You’ve texted and called, none were reciprocated. It renounces you standing outside the restaurant alone with shivering arms, the diluted atmosphere above you rumbling quietly yet the only tears spilt are yours.

Pitying looks is only what you get while you still shelve by the curb with your head hung low. You wait for them still, your heart impatient but understanding. You don't want to prove Peter right – you don’t want him to say ‘I told you so’ the next day after coming home from a bad date.

Or rather, from being stood up.

Ten minutes pass by, and you begin to walk away.

The smell of Thai food makes you uncomfortable now – not because it smelt bad, but because you’ve been smelling it for the past hour and a half while thinking of Denver and the things you’ve done wrong.

Now the smell of Thai makes you wallow in self-pity. And it’s not even their fault.

You walk back to your apartment with your arms around yourself to at least subside the cold you feel. The hushed avenues filled with the soft clicking of the boots you wore, the cars that pass by, and the rustling of the trees.

And you cry.

It’s uncommon for someone to cry while walking down the streets of New York, but this doesn’t diminish the moroseness your heart subjugates, Peter’s veracity angers and saddens you more.

Angry because he’s right.

Sad because he’s also right.

Maybe he’s right – who would want to go on a date with you?

The reasons you list down does nothing to cicatrize the rip in your heart and, even more so, creates a bigger wound. And when you think of Peter, you swore your heart is on the verge of falling apart.

You’re full on sobbing now, and you wonder how the people you pass by aren’t even phased – not even at the snot almost falling down your nose that you keep harshly sniffing, or the heavy heaves you emit like a child, or the hiccups every five seconds.

Your mascara smudges half of your face when you wipe your eyes with the side of your thumb, applying pressure to your red eyeballs. You could hear the faint pings on your phone but ignore it, letting yourself fall in a pit of despair.

Suddenly, a soft thump lands in front of you. The familiar red shoes stop you at your feet.

Looking up, you see New York’s infamous masked hero, looking down at you with his wide, white eyes. You stop crying, jaw slacked.

“Hi,” he says, voice deep, mending into his accent although unusual. “Are you alright?”

Your soulmate’s standing in front of you. You – who’s all snotty and messy and wet from crying – and him – who’s suited up and standing tall in front of you.

You wipe your cheeks with your palm, breathing shakily, and wincing when your voice cracks as you say, “No.”

“Figured.”

You snort.

“I was, uh, watching you walk home because I heard you crying,” He says, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not that loud. It’s just that my senses are kind of maxed out because I drank like three red bulls and I was testing if it would heighten it or just…kill me.”

You say nothing. You’re waiting for that spark to happen – the spark that ignites your chest in warmth that spreads all over your body. You’re waiting for it to alleviate your spirits, but nothing comes.

“W-what…” you whisper, half at yourself from disappointment that nothing happens, and at him because he just drank three red bulls for a ridiculous theory he made up.

“Just – are you okay?”

“No,” you repeat, shaking your head. “My date stood me up.”

“Oh,” his voice is monotone; nonchalant. “’d you know why?”

You snarl. “No, of course not.” You hiss. “I just got stood up. How am I supposed to know why?”

Spider-Man steps back when you snap at him, hands raising as if you’re about to punch him, but lowers when he sees the tears building again at the corner of your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he tells you, opening his arms. “Need a hug?”

You’re hesitant. You’d just met your soulmate, and he’s offering you a hug. And you wonder if this ignites the spark; if your lit up match meets his candle and lights it all up.

So you hug him. But the match dies before it meets the candle and the spark doesn’t come, disappointing you even more.

So you cry into his spandex.

He’s unhesitant in hugging you back, wrapping his arms around your shivering body. His suit feels uncomfortable against your exposed skin, but it contrasts to the comfort you feel in your chest when he hugs you.

You feel his cheek rest on your head as you hug him in the middle of the sidewalk while you continue to cry, still sobbing. He gently sways you, rubbing your tense back soothingly and shushes your loud sobs.

“I should have stayed home,” you lament into his chest. “I should have stayed at home, should have written, should have listened. Listened to that bastard. That solipsistic bastard.”

You feel his muscles tense, loosing his grip on you slightly as he steps back to look down at you with his hands on the side of your shoulders. “Bastard?” he repeats, something in his tone signifies faux shock, but you’re too sad to notice.

“One of my friends’ friend,” you don’t call Peter your friend. You don’t know what to call him; seems childish to tell (your soulmate) Spider-Man that you’ve got an academic arch-enemy. “He said I shouldn’t go. I didn’t listen because I never do. Now I shouldn’t have gone.

“Now they’re going to ask me about the date tomorrow. I don’t know what to say,” you sniff, rubbing the top of your finger underneath your nose. “I don’t want him to tell me I told you so and prove him right. I can’t just lie, either. Because they’re going to find out either way.”

You don’t realize you’re walking until he places a gentle hand around your waist when you begin to walk sideways to the road, tilting you back to the sidewalk. Spider-Man listens carefully, nodding at each sentence you finish.

“You’re lucky, huh,” you say after you finish your rant, halfway home. “Got no love problems. Only got villains, no?”

Spider-Man chuckles, its sweet sound already marking your heart. “My life isn’t as glamorous as J.J Jameson makes it look like.”

You raise your brow. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah, I haven’t had a good day in a while. Then I realize the bad vibes I’ve been feeling recently are actually severe psychological distress.”

You could see his mask move into a smile when you laugh loudly at his comment, slapping his arm lightly. “People of New York giving you a hard time?”

“Oh, definitely,” he answers. “Never got a break, y’know. Like a proper, relaxing break, never even got the chance to look for…”

He whispers the last part, not enough for you to hear despite being beside him.

“You can take a break,” you offer, hesitant. “I mean. I think New York can survive without Spider-Man for a day. Or for a week.”

“Are you saying that so you can, I don’t know, commit crime?”

“What? No!” You scoff, pretending his accusation offends you. “What kind of crime would I be doing anyway?”

“Being too pretty.”

You can perceive him wince and suffocate at his statement as if it had also caught him off guard. The languidness in his body dissipates, stance turns inelegant and he laughs, mortified, while you stare at him.

You wonder if he knows you’re his soulmate.

“Heh,” you save him the embarrassment when you chortle, continuing to walk. “Is my beauty illegal, Spider-Man?”

He chuckles, scratching over his covered ear. “Yes. I feel like if someone were to die from seeing beauty, you’d be the person of interest.”

“’Person of interest’ is almost too flattering,” you say, kicking a small piece of debris. “Like, if the police were to pound on my door and go, ‘A man has been murdered in your building and you are a person of interest,’ I’d be like ‘Moi? Oh do go on.’”

For the first time that night, Spider-Man doesn’t laugh shyly or chuckles breathlessly, instead, he cackles at your joke that he finds questionably funny. His hand goes to his chest, leaning back, and you can’t help but laugh with him.

“That is kind of true,” he confided.

“The only thing I’ll actually kill are spiders.”

“Ouch?” he touches his heart again. “They’re kind of my cousins.” He says, nudging your shoulder. You feel his hand brush the back of yours, but he pulls away. “Treat spiders the way you want to be treated.”

You look at him, dead on his eyes, or what could possibly be his eyes. “Killed without hesitation.”

“I- n-no…” his voice falters, making you laugh again.

Much to your dismay, you’ve reached your apartment. The smile on your face disappears, and you look at him with a pout.

You nod at your apartment door. “Want to come in?”

iii:pretentious hearts make exquisite art, vol 2

He’s never imagined himself spending his entire night with you.

Peter agreed to join you up the rooftop. But you never let him inside your apartment, telling him to meet you at the fire exit stairs. So he’d only got a short glimpse in your room when you open your curtains with your clothes changed.

Soliloquies after soliloquies, Peter disbursed his hours with you looking out the city, ice cream in hand with his mask pleated underneath his nose. He listened to you – actually listened to you rather than reprimand your words like he used to do when you started to annoy him.

You’ve never conversed in a conversation that mentions his name, merely only your life back in high school, your friends MJ and Ned (he pretends it doesn’t hurt him when you hesitated on his name), why you chose your course, and why you went to MIT.

He wants to know you more, even though he’s had years to do that. He doesn’t actually know things about you when he asks you what your favorite color is, or what flower you liked, or if you enjoyed studying.

Though he feels it’s not enough when you answer his questions with ‘green, sunflowers and lilacs, I’m about to shoot myself in the head, so not entirely’

Peter felt closer to you than he’s ever had half of his life. And he realizes – idiotically realizes – that there’s more to you than he presumes. It torques his heart to you, regarding this impalpable sentiment towards you; at the ridge of your intricate affinity, he considers he became more pseud for you.

But he wants to know more; wants to know what you think about him through his other demeanor.

“He’s, god, I don’t know what he is,” you said to him, waving your hand. “He’s…infuriating. He’s so fucking aggravating but at the same time, he’s so enticing. Like, he’s made my days agonizing whenever I see him but at the same time when he’s not there, I look for him, y’know?

And it confounds me whenever that happens. Like, I hate him, but at the same time, it’s like, seeing him kind of completes my day. I think it’s because he’s always been there every day in my life since I met him. But the thing is, I don’t feel the same for Ned and MJ. So, it’s very, very confusing for me.”

He never thought you felt the same. And it makes him feel guilty for what he’s done that night.

That night, his dream vexed him more.

Peter saw her. She’s on the table, and in those ten seconds, she puts her phone down on her white desk, stands up from her chair, and turns around to her bed where he sees something he can’t fully discern after having only a millisecond glimpse of it.

But it’s the dress that leaves him baffled – aching for her, the truth.

He makes his way towards where MJ works, hopefully neither you nor Ned nowhere to be seen yet. Everything is unusually cold for him but when he touches the doorknob to the café, it burns his palm.

The bell chime is too loud, he can hear every conversation, every word, and he could literally feel the air pushing on his skin – and it hurts.

His senses are overridden.

He’s nervous.

Peter sits down on the chair in front of MJ, where she’s quietly writing. He sees the broken black dahlia hanging on her chest that he got her when he got MJ for Secret Santa last year (the one time he genuinely smiled at him).

“MJ,” he squeaks, voice cracking. She looks up from her notebook, brows furrowed.

“You’re early,” she points out. “And you’re sweaty and you’re voice is cracking. Are you finally going through puberty?”

He huffs out. “Shut up. I’m early because I need your help.”

MJ closes her notebook, placing the pencil on top of her ear. “Is this where you go to walk (y/n) home as Spider-Man and talked to her on the rooftop?”

All the color on his face drains. He feels worse. “What?”

“Oh come on. I know you’re Spider-Man,” she whispers, leaning closer to the point her breath almost fans over his face. “Don’t deny it.”

“I’m not Spider-Man.”

She snorts, leaning back. “Peter, do we really have to do this? I ask – no, tell you you’re Spider-Man, you deny it, and we’re going to keep on talking about it until they come and I won’t have any more time to help you.”

He shakes his head, trying to focus his eyes. “Fine. We’ll talk about it someday with Ned, but right now, I just like really, really need your help”

He never thought he’d give up his persuasion that easily.

“What is it?” MJ leans in again.

“I think,” he falters in his words, thinking before he speaks (something he never does). “I think (y/n)’s my soulmate…”

MJ snorts again, eyes widening as she lets out a comical laugh of relief. “Yeah, she is.”

“I’m serious – wait, what?” he narrows his eyes. “You don’t sound sarcastic.”

“Because I’m not.” Peter pulls his notebook out of his bag, though he doesn’t open it, but carefully places a pen on top of it. “I’m serious, Peter,” she says, shrugging.

“Why?”

“Because (y/n)’s been describing her soulmate to me like every day,” she retorts. “Brown curly hair, plays with legos, notebooks full of weird formulas, small, oh, and he’s Spider-Man.”

“So you knew I was her soulmate because you knew I was Spider-Man, but you never told her?”

“Because I was only 67% sure,” she smiles cheekily, pouring coffee on a cup. “And she needs to figure it out herself. Because where’s the fun in that? The dramatic irony, and all.”

Peter nods, though the frown on his face remains. “I know she knows I’m her soulmate. But she doesn’t know I’m,” he points to himself, “her soulmate. Fuck, why didn’t she say anything last night?”

“Probably because she just got stood up, or she’s wondering why there’s no spark igniting in her chest when she met you.”

“How’re you so sure?”

“I know how her mind works.”

He nods again. “I want to talk to her. Tell her everything. That I’m her soulmate, and I’m in denial about her, and that I’m the reason why she got stood up.”

This, MJ doesn’t know. It’s clear in her reaction when she drops the coffee pot to the table with a slightly agape mouth. “What?”

He blushes. “I was – I was outside her window, and I heard their conversation and, fuck, I just couldn’t sit there and let her go on that date, y’know, so I looked for Duncan.”

“Denver,” she hisses. “Peter! You just hurt her!”

“Yeah but I made her feel better afterwards. It’s the first part of my apology!” he defends himself, taking his cup to take a sip. But MJ takes it from his grasp.

“Nuh uh. You don’t deserve our mediocre coffee,” she seethes, drinking it. “Tell me what you did to them, Peter.”

He gulps, sinking into his seat from her harsh glare. “I looked for their car through Karen, my AI. And they were stuck in traffic. And thank god for Karen because I was thinking of reasons on how to make them miss the date when she told me Denver had like a lot of tickets.”

“So?”

“So I said they're under arrest for not paying,” he sheepishly says, looking anywhere but at MJ. But he can feel her fuming, and doesn’t dodge at her attempt to grab at his ear. “Ouch!”

“Fucking idiot!”

“Stop! I have sensitive ears, please.”

“I’m not helping you,” she steps back, but not without a final flick on his ear. “You solve your problems yourself. You solve this yourself. Fuck. You were like the smartest dude in Midtown. Now your dumb or nothing.”

“Hey,” he’s offended, but doesn’t take her words too deeply. “Please, MJ?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

The bell chiming stops him before he can say another please out of desperation. You slip in past the glass door, Ned behind you with a smile on his face as you laugh. His heart flutters in his chest, torso turning to face you.

What shocks him more is that your smile never leaves even after your eyes meet his for a brief moment before sitting down beside him. “Hey guys,” you greet, placing your bag down the ground.

Ned sits on the other side. “I’ve got great news,” he denotes. “Betty is my soulmate.”

A series of genuine surprise emits from yours and Peter’s lips, while MJ’s was lightheartedly sarcastic, claiming she knew it all along. Peter smiles at his best friend’s triumph, leaning closer and listens to him speak.

“I talked to Betty like you said,” he looks at you, motions his hand towards your figure. “And everything got confirmed when she pointed out that she’d dreamt of Revenge of the Sith like 150 times and when she saw my hat 20 times.”

“150,” Peter hears you whisper. “That’s an unusual amount of times you’ve seen Star Wars.”

“It’s not even close,” he winks. “But anyway. Yeah. Betty and I are soulmates, and we’re having sex tomorrow.”

“Okay! TMI, Ned. TMI,” Peter chuckles nervously.

“I met my soulmate last night, too,” You say, your chin on your palm as you pick up Peter’s pen and open his notebook, writing a small smiley face on the corner of the random page you opened. “He just…doesn’t know it yet.”

“Oh?” MJ’s ears perk up, glancing at Peter quickly before looking at you. “How so?”

Your back straightens, giving MJ a warning look as if to say not here.

Yes here. Peter bemoans on the inside.

“It’s complicated,” you wave your hand in dismissal. “I’ll tell you when we meet again.”

“Wait,” Ned pauses. “Does that mean Denver’s your soulmate?”

Your smile falls, looking down at Peter’s pen in your hand. “No,”

“Aw really?” he gives you a sympathetic pout. MJ gives you a tight lipped smile, pouring another coffee into a cup. “How come?”

Peter’s heart breaks a bit when you spare him a glance, seeing the embarrassment glint in your eyes. He softens, realizing that you’re probably thinking that he’s going to embarrass you.

“They stood me up,” you finally say when you look away from him. At this, Peter feels something burn his fingers. He winces, cradling his hand to his chest as MJ shoots him a glare, followed by an insincere apology as she wipes the hot coffee off the counter.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says.

You look at him, and so does Ned and MJ with stupefaction. He gives you a soft smile albeit it’s loaded with contrite and empathy. For a moment, you determine on giving him a rude comment. But you don’t.

“It’s alright,” you shrug. “Had a good night after, anyway.”

He knows it’s because of him, and it makes Peter smile.

“They don’t deserve you,” Ned says, holding your hand. “You’re really pretty and honestly, they’re kind of mid.”

MJ nods. “Hell, you fix yourself without a mirror and you’re already confident that you look fine. They totally don’t deserve you.”

And then they look at Peter, as if they’re waiting for his words of encouragement. But instead, he sneezes, hard – something he does when he’s really really nervous.

He sneezes and hits his nose on the counter.

“Oh shit!” you gasp, placing an arm around his shoulders, and a hand over his that covers his bleeding nose. “Peter, what the fuck?”

“Sorry!” his voice is muffled by his hand, blood seeping between his fingers. “Fuck. Fuck I sneezed too hard and hit my head on the counter. Fuck.”

MJ’s biting back a laugh, but you don’t – you laugh while holding his hand, feeling the blood stain your palm. She offers you a cold water bottle, and Ned pulls out a packet of tissues from his pocket.

You remove the hand around Peter’s shoulder, making him frown. But he’s quick to comply when you gently remove his hand from his nose and wipe the blood off his skin with the tissue, accidentally smudging your thumb over your drawing on his notebook

He takes the cold bottle from you, placing it on the bridge of his nose.

For a concise beat, he reckons it's only you and him in the café. And you’re preening to his wound, laughing at his vacuity, caressing his nose with such fervency it hurts.

And he looks into your eyes, the first time you peek at the real him without any indignation or wrath that dilates your pupils. The curtains are now open, the window to your soul is seen and he reads it like an open book, leafing through its pages with cautiousness.

And in the end, its ethics are analogous to his – you’re both yearning for the verity. The divulgence of each other.

iv: the truth’s interlude, my pain continues to exude

He’s twitchy.

Peter looks at you, the throbbing ache on his nose now too distant to exist. But you’re not looking at him – you’re laughing at something Ned had said, a radiant smile on your face. (He wishes he's the reason why you smiled like that)

After MJ’s shift, just five minutes after Peter broke his nose, all of you left as soon as she ditched her teal apron, walking home to your place.

It’s the first time he’s seen your apartment adequately. Usually, you all hung out at MJ’s work, or at Ned’s because you all adored his lola's company. But now you’d invited them, and he's hankering to take a look at your bedroom that he's glimpsed almost every day of his life.

His finger twitches and he wonders if you know. Peter wonders, as you sit there, laughing at your young mistakes and mature choices, if you know.

You’re too relaxed – you don’t know.

He’s thinking of excuses that ends himself up in your bedroom (He heard it. That’s not what he meant). Peter just wants to see your room longer than ten seconds, to carouse in the place he’s been longing to be in for a long time.

He wants to feel the pinned compositions beneath his fingertips, glorify your painting, esteem your sterile desk; uncover the pack of cigarettes taped behind your mirror, sit by your window and feel what it’s like to be with you.

But he’s still sitting on your couch, trying to laugh with you. He feels pompous; pretentious – like a liar. But he already is. He’s lying to you, to himself. But who’s he fooling? All he’s done is lie to you about what he felt, about who he is. Why is he so guilty now when he should have been back then?

“He’s like holding my hand and pulling me to his room and he says ‘let’s go to my headquarters,’ and I was like ‘what do you mean headquarters’ and he’s like, ‘oh you know, my blowjob room’”

Peter doesn’t know what’s funny about it, but when Ned laughs and so did MJ, it must have been the jealous that blocks the laughter from leaving him.

“What kind of person calls a blowjob room ‘headquarters’?”

“What kind of normal person has a blowjob room?” MJ grimaces.

Ned nods. “Fair point.”

His eyes meet MJ’s in a call of help. He doesn’t know what to do. He thinks he might be concussed, but he could stand straight and feel things enough for him to feel guilty.

She lets out a long sigh, quickly pulling her phone out, the screen illuminating her face as she types in word after word of execution.

Then she slips it back in, looking at you with feign helplessness. “(y/n),” she pouts. “Come with me to the bathroom? I need to pee.”

You nod, standing up and taking her hand towards where your bathroom is.

Ned’s phone pings, and he looks at Peter before taking a pillow and slamming it on his bandaged nose.

The discomfort outstretches his whole face now, feeling the ache on his eyes and his lips pulsate from the impact, and Peter claims he could feel the blood drip again when he puts his hand over his nose and look at Ned with wide eyes.

“What the fuck, dude?!”

“MJ said to hit you in the nose!” he reasons, putting the pillow down. But Peter picks up the pillow next to him, slamming it on Ned’s face. “Hey!” he shouts. “You asked for help, we gave you help.”

“I don’t think hurting me is helping, Ned!” Peter whines, folding, bending down to place his nose at the space between his knees to alleviate his fatigue. “Fuck…dude…” he hisses. “How is this going to get me alone with her?”

“When she sees that your nose is bleeding again, she’ll take you to her room and fix you up. Then MJ and I will make some lame excuse and leave so we’ll leave you two alone.” He explains. Peter nods in discomfort, pinching his nose. “Honestly dude, I don’t know how to help you if you don’t tell her today.”

“I’ll tell her today.” He says. “Fuck. Hit me again.”

Ned complies.

“Fuck!”

The door from the hallway opens and slams shut, a rush of panicked feet making its way forwards to where Peter sits with his nose hidden in his hands. You look at him with wide eyes, rushing to him with open hands.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, lightly cradling his face in your palms. You’re touching his face – he can discern your skin looming over his, almost abutting. But you don’t and it causes him to wish your tinge wasn’t reluctant. “What happened?”

“I saw a spider on Peter’s face,” Ned says, fast, before tucking the pillow behind him. “I didn’t want to touch it.”

“So you hit his face with a pillow?” scrunched nose, a pout on your lips, and a hint of concern in your eyes. Peter thinks you look cute. “You do know it’s only been an hour since he broke it, right? Jesus, looks swollen.”

Peter lets you grab his hand, putting it down to his lap as your fingers caress the crooked shape of his nose.

“Stay here,” you whisper, turning to your bedroom in quick and short strides. He’s no longer in pain, merely in a daze as he looks between Ned and MJ.

MJ cocks her head towards your bedroom door. He stands up, stumbling his way through the hallway to stand by the doorframe.

His eyes wander around your room.

It’s ampler than he thought – a bit bigger than his room, the walls adorned by a myriad of Vinyl and Polaroids adhered to the wall beside the window to the fire escape; your bookshelf is small averse to the bulletin beside it that’s concealed by hand-written chapters of your book, and the desk he sees are…messy.

It’s not pristine like he expected. You uncluttered when you’re tense or stressed – something he noticed even before he found out you’re his soulmate – so this presumably implied that you’re relaxed because of him.

You look up from the ground, a bottle of antiseptic and cottons in your hand. “What’re you doing here?”

“You were taking too long.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’ve only been gone for ten seconds, you trilobite. Be patient or I’ll slam something harder on your nose.”

There she is.

“I’m in so much pain, (y/n),” he whispers. “Don’t add up to it.”

Through hooded eyes, he can see you squeeze the bag of cotton in your hand and clench your jaw. He’s hit a little nerve, and it makes him smile as you push yourself up the ground and pull him to your bed.

“Sit,” you demand. “Before I knock your head against the wall.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He slurs, smiling lightly.

“Hey guys?” MJ calls from the living room. “We gotta go. My car got towed and Ned wants to watch beastiality!”

“Ratatouille is not beastiality, Michelle-”

Peter grimaces at this. “Ratatouille is beastiality?”

You shake your head, dabbing the cotton on his nose. “I think The Bee Movie is- wait, MJ, you don’t have a car!”

The door slams shut and the ripples of the clangour buzz in Peter’s ears, taking him a moment to acknowledge that it’s just now the two of you. You notice this, too, stability stiffened from your capricious emotions.

Your hand appears spasmodic every time you’re tactile with him; he can sense why – you’re nervous. You’re always nervous around him and who is he to repudiate that he doesn’t deem the same?

Had your eyes always looked this captivating?

The curtains are sealed; earlier, he read you, like a child leafing through a storybook heretofore. But the book’s latched and he can’t thumb through the pages, afraid of tearing your susceptible tale. So he’s left to figure you out, right now, through your opaque, locked eyes.

Peter wants to know why you’re suddenly being nice, even before he’d slammed his nose against the counter, but it’s obvious:

You met him your soulmate last night, even though you were incompetent to tell him who he was to you. And you had someone to listen to you, and you felt good being listened to – he can see it. Which was why you’re being quite nice to him.

But still, he tests the suspicions in the back of his head, pushing it forward to his lips as he says:

“Why are you being nice to me?”

You stop working on his nose, your tongue hiding itself back in from losing your concentration as you scoot back, away from him. Sheepishly, you shrug, looking down at your dingers. “Dunno.” You say. “Just…”

“’s it because you met your soulmate last night?”

You nod your head, looking up. “It’s not just that.” You lean closer. “I…I realized something.”

You’re my soulmate he wants you to say. I lo-

“Yeah?”

Peter smiles as you nod again. “I realized you aren’t as horrible as I thought you were,” you begin, picking at your nails. “That- I based you off my judgements rather than allow myself to get to know you. And I realized last night that perhaps I’d judged you too harshly that I haven’t even realized that it’s doing something to me.”

I hate him, but at the same time, it’s like, seeing him kind of completes my day

He repeats your words at the back of his head like a mantra, your voice filling his every time he tries to think from how many times he’d repeated it.

His movements are slow but when his finger touches the soft skin of your chin, heat radiates off his body. Peter tilts your head upward, eyes meeting yours.

The curtains are open now.

And just when he’s about to read you, his senses knock him back to alertness, mouth ejecting a voice of disdain, irritated from interruption. His peripherals make out the disappointment in your face when he drops his hand to his lap.

Peter stands up from the bed, squeezing his eyes shut from the sudden fatigue.

“I’m sorry,” he says, guilty. “I have to go.”

And what happens? When he leaves you with terse words while you were anticipating something imminent that’s not really there; what happens when Peter refracts at the moment you’re about to obtain what you’ve always wanted due to his insolence?

v: unravel the vindication, remedy is revelation

You don’t know how long time passes – but your eyes never left the screen of your laptop an hour after you woke up. And you’re typing, not baring a single glance down your keyboard as you press letter by letter, forming sentences and metaphors from your ingenuity.

You’re halfway done from what you’re writing, on the verge of writing its denouement.

“Look at me. Open your eyes.” I beg her. “I’m right here in front of you. Notice me. Wake up and notice me.”

It’s functioning, your mind; it’s envisioning scenarios you often wished you underwent. It’s your form of coping when you’re having a hard time – you tatter ruminations, delectable dramas from the remnants of each character’s past, and you fill your book with raucous sections of angst and bond.

And then…your mind stops.

Suddenly, you find it hard to form words in your head and this irritate the living shit out of you. Writer’s block – a pain the fucking ass. They’re like a difficult bottle cap to remove and you’re stuck finding ways on how to open the bottle.

You slam your forehead repeatedly on your desk, hopefully triggering at least some simple words to add to your sentence. Skull on the verge of cracking, your phone pings.

You remember your dream.

In those ten seconds, you see him writing down formulae on his notebook, a scrawny smiley face on the corner of the paper with slightly smudged blood on it. You smile when you dream of him again.

It’s been two days since you met him, but you don’t forget the reason you met him in the first place. So earlier this morning, your eyes aimlessly scroll through the list of contacts on your phone until your eyes land on them.

You text Denver.

‘I don’t know what I did wrong, or what happened, but I would really appreciate an explanation.’ It’s followed by or not, your loss, but your thumb presses the delete button repeatedly until that’s all that’s left on the box before you hit send.

You don’t expect them to reply, but you do it nonetheless.

And then you think of Peter.

Yesterday bewilders you, and the day before, and the days before; every day you spent with Peter confuses you and yesterday was no different – because he left you perplexed, again and again, and again.

It’s beginning to irritate you because you know he has something to say. It’s in the look on his face – the same look he has when you let him too close to you. But he’s being a desirous coward and bails every single time, making you more inquisitive, aggravated, impatient.

Peter’s always underestimating you, saying something to Ned about how you can’t possibly handle what he’s about to tell you.

Your phone pings, disturbing you from the hypothetical murder of Peter Parker

Picking it up, your blurry eyes and dizzy state read the message.

It’s MJ. ‘Peter’s coming over. STAY CALM’

As if on cue, your doorbell rings. You push your chair back and make your way to the door, seeing Peter on the other side with a pint of ice cream inside a plastic bag from Delmar’s.

He’s hear, again, and you don’t know why. You’re confused. Is he here to continue your unfinished conversation, or he’s here to lead you on more before he bails once more?

You opt on snarling at him, but you want to play his game – act dumb and innocent and oblivious like he always assumes you are.

“Hey,” you smile. “How’s your nose?”

Peter lightly touches the purple and yellow bruise on the bridge of his crooked nose. “It’s alright. ‘s healing already.”

“That’s good,” you step aside, inviting him in. “What’re you doing in here?”

“We need to talk,” he places the bag on your dining table, giving you a nervous look. “You need to sit down. I need to sit down – we need to sit down for this.”

He’s quick and eager. Peter’s here to finish what he started.

He doesn’t allow you to utter a single word, tugging on your delicate wrist to lead you to your bedroom, sitting you down on the mattress at the same spot he left you hanging.

Expecting he sits down beside you, he doesn’t. Instead, he kneels between your parted legs, head leveled with yours. Peter looks down on your feet, on the fabric over your knees, on your fiddling fingers in front of him – anywhere but your eyes.

“You alright?” you softly say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Peter nods. “Yes. No. Maybe. I-I d-don’t know…”

“What’s up?”

He lets out a quavering breath, eyes buffing. And the sunlight caroms on his glassy orbs, splitting its diaphanous mosaic. Your chest flutters with trepidation, hands opposing to stay put and stop you from running your hand over his hair and pull.

“I haven’t been…honest with you,” he ultimately looks at you, directly into your eyes, your dry sights deviating to his breaking ones. “And, I want you to know that I’m sorry for what I’m about to tell you.”

The sky outside rumbles, a mild thunder before you hear delicate pattering against the metal of the fire escape, muffled by your window. This doesn’t preoccupy you from looking away from his eyes.

Had his eyes always looked this captivating?

“I’m…” he sighs, closing his eyes, and a lone tear is threatening to spill from his eyelashes. And you wait patiently, for the first time. “I’m…you’re so…I’m the reason why Denver stood you up on your date.”

Your face falls, leaning away from him. “Oh.”

You spent hours wondering what you did wrong and what was wrong with you before you met Spider-Man. And you didn’t realize how quickly you got over the temporary heartbreak. And Peter’s truth doesn’t break your heart again, but rather fill it with disappointment instead.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” you tell him. “Why’re you sorry and why did you do it?”

“Because,” he shut his eyes with a sigh. “I couldn’t just let you go on that date knowing…knowing you’d get hurt one day. And I was…yes I was jealous so I had to do something and I’m sorry because I made you cry and I unintentionally hurt you.”

“Well…you did know I’d get hurt when they stood me up so technically it wasn’t unintentional,” you correct him. “But that’s not the point. And I wouldn’t forgive you if it didn’t hurt me anymore. I’m just upset about it, and maybe mad because you made me miss a date. But guess what? If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have met my soulmate that night.” You smile timidly at him. “Just tell me what you did to Denver.”

Peter sighs again. “I made them spend a night in jail.”

Your eyes widen, letting out a laugh of disbelief. “Peter!”

He laughs lightly with you. “What! I asked Karen for some help and she said-”

“Who’s Karen?”

“-my AI. She said Denver didn’t pay any of the parking tickets so I arrested him!” Peter defends himself. His answer leaves you confused – who’s Karen and why does he have an AI? “Honestly, it’s a good thing I saw you crying home or else-”

Your smile disappears. “What?”

He smiles at you. “What?”

“You said you saw me crying home,” you repeat his words. “Peter, were you following me?” You stand up, stepping away from him. “And you arrested Denver? Peter, you’re not a cop!”

All the color drains from his face, standing up from the ground, wiping his knees though they remained clean still. “I- I think you misheard me-”

“You said you had Karen to ‘help you’,” you point out. “You had Karen, your ‘AI’-”

“AI? Did I say AI. I think I said-”

“Peter.”

“Honestly, (y/n) I-”

You walk away from him, making your way towards your window. Your hands weakly push the exit upwards, lifting yourself up to the exit until you feel the heavy patters of the rain on your skin.

“What are you doing?” Peter shouts over the loud noise. “(y/n)-”

“I’m going up,” you say. “I’m going up the rooftops. And I’m staying there. Because I don’t – I don’t know what to do with you right now because you’re confusing me and I don’t want to be confused right now.”

Your weighty steps stride through the metal stairs, clanging at each stomp. You don’t care if it causes the platform below you to shake, or if it damages your ears. You needed to think about what to do, and what you need to say next to him; you needed to refresh your mind.

Peter follows behind you. “(y/n) get inside! You’re going to get sick!”

“Well, I’m already sick!” you turn sharply, shouting at him. “I’m already sick of you and your lies and your torments and you underestimating me. I’m already sick of your bullshit!”

Peter’s hair is wet, sticking to his forehead. Dismissing the tempest befalling upon the two of you, he steps out into the rooftop to follow you. “Bullshit!” he roars amidst the storm.

“Yeah! Bullshit. That’s what I said!”

He reached out to grab your wrist, wringing you around. You’d been crying, and he hadn’t detected because your tears were combined with the rain simultaneously descending your cheeks. Peter’s face softened, his pique dissolved into the nervous one he felt just before you stormed out.

“Hey,” he pulls you closer to him. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Peter,” you whisper, exasperated. “Just tell me the truth. Please. Please, I’m so tired.”

He nods, hand never leaving yours but the other reaches up to wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’m Spider-Man.”

You stop crying, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Maybe MJ was right – he was in front of you. You were just too blinded by hatred to notice.

It all made sense – the bloody smiley face on the corner of his paper, the lego pieces, the blue sweatshirt, the brown curls, the funeral, everything.

And you’re in denial.

“No,” you shake your head. “No. No, you’re not,” you push him away, digging your nails to his damp shirt and push him away, eyesight blinded by your hot tears and the bright rain. “Why you?”

Peter’s voice snagged in his throat. “I…I don’t know what you want me to say to that…”

“You made my life miserable,” you hiss. “You made my life miserable, and the dreams – your dreams – are the only things that makes my day better. And – fuck, I just unknowingly told you how I felt about you too! I-”

The revelation renders you speechless. The man who stood before you is your antagonist – and your love, your destined love. And you don’t know how to love him; it’s your fear, that you won’t be able to love your soulmate as much as you wish to.

And now it’s happened. And it scares you. Because now you’re supposed to love Peter Parker, after years of hating him.

“You said your days felt incomplete if I don’t show up,” he says softly, loud enough for you to hear amidst the storm. “Maybe it’s because we’re soulmates. And we complete each other.”

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “How am I going to love you like I’m supposed to?”

Peter cups your face, palm gentle against your jawline, thumbs caressing the tears from your cheekbones. And you open your eyes.

His eyes are caring – they mean what they say. And you read his eyes, his soul, like an open book. And as you flip through his pages, there’s a part there; a part that divulges his love for you. And it frightens you. So much

“You don’t have to love me. Not right now. Not immediately,” he says. “You can learn how to love me, (y/n). And I’ll wait for you.”

The words you’ve written earlier, your character’s denouement, appear in your head. “Look at me. Open your eyes.” I beg her. “I’m right here in front of you. Notice me. Wake up and notice me.”

And you look at him. You open your eyes. And Peter’s right here in front of you. But you don’t notice him – not yet.

“I fell in love with you,” you whisper. “But not you.”

He nods, and he’s crying too. “I know.”

“But you complete me,” you tell him, nudging the tip of your nose to his. “I don’t love you yet. But you complete me.”

Love forces you to do ludicrous, heedless things. Whether it was for your good, or theirs. Sometimes you’d have to be stoic to protect something you already have, transgressing the altruistic love you desired to give. Because failing something you worked hard to have will forfeit the trajectory of it all.

It’s what you feel for him – for Peter. And he understands.

“I love you,” he whispers, lips hovering above yours but never touching.

You don’t say it back. You want to, he knows you want to. But understands when you don’t.

You kiss him instead.

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

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unpublishediary · 6 months

Text

You Need to Sleep (Peter Parker)

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ Peter notices that you are stressed out and not getting enough sleep. He becomes concerned and determined to help them through it. (encouraging and eventually forcing you to sleep.)

INTEREST₊˚ Peter Parker X Reader

WARNINGS(S)‧₊˚ implied insomnia, stress

| masterlist | requests open—(PLS REQUESTT) |

“No coffee run today?” Peter questioned with a smirk as he watched you rush towards him. Usually you beat him to the train stop every morning with a steaming cup in hand.

“Nope,” you ran your fingers through your tangled hair, slightly annoyed that you didn't have time to brush it before leaving, “I slept through my alarm.”

“That’s unusual for you,” Peter joked, but his face fell, noticing that your usual enthusiasm wasn’t there, “hey you ok?”

“Yeah,” you looked at him, but it seemed that your mind wasn’t completely there, “just an off morning.”

He thought for a bit, “how about this,” he spoke up, “next time text me and I’ll grab something for you.”

You gave him a tired smile as the train approached in your peripheral vision, “you don’t need to do that.”

He nudged you with his side, smiling back at you, “I know.”

As the week went on, Peter beat you to the stop every day. Each time, you looked more and more worn out and still didn’t bring the familiar coffee cup he’d gotten used to seeing.

The first couple days he noticed your tiredness, he thought it was because of the absence of caffeine, but on the fifth day he beat you to the stop, he knew it had to be more than that.

“I know you didn’t ask, but I stopped by and got you this.” Peter’s arm was extended towards you with a coffee cup from the cafe you haven't been able to visit in awhile. He slightly wondered why you never texted him to grab something after he offered.

Confusion was still apparent through your tired features, “For me?”

His face turned red, “Yeah, I walked by and figured you would want something too.” That was a slight lie, because he woke up earlier on purpose to find the shop you visited.

You looked down to see another cup in his hand, and took the cup he held out to you, “thank you Peter, it means a lot.”

He nodded but he wanted to bring up what he’d been noticing lately. “Have you— um, have you been getting enough sleep?” The hesitation was apparent in his voice, “you just seem more tired lately.” His concern increased when he would see you fall asleep in class.

The last couple days you had been more tired than usual. The stress you put on yourself to manage both work and extracurriculars while keeping your grades up caught up to you. Sleep became a sacrifice in order to keep up. “To be honest I need to sleep more, but with so much to do it feels impossible.”

Peter knew that feeling, sometimes managing everything along with his other identity felt overwhelming. Seeing your energy drain day by day made him feel bad, he never wanted that for you and he wished he could lift all the weight off your shoulders.

That night after patrolling, Peter found himself knocking on your window. He could see you at your desk lit up by the faint glow of your lamp, reading the book your English teacher gave both of you that week to finish.

He knocked again but you didn’t look up, almost like you were stuck in a trance… or asleep? He would’ve left you there if you were in your bed, but the position you were in looked majorly uncomfortable.

Peter was careful to open the window and walk over to you as quietly as he could. “Hey,” he whispered, touching your shoulder, “Hey it’s time to go to your bed.” You were leaned over on your desk, one hand propping up your head. He shook you a little more and you shot up. “It’s ok, it's just me.” He let out a rushed whisper knowing he scared you, “I just wanted you to sleep comfortably.”

You looked around confused for a second until your gaze fell onto your clock, “No,” you let out, standing up to find your backpack, “no no no I fell asleep?” You had so much to do and you were more behind because you decided to ‘rest your eyes’ in the middle of reading.

“You can do it tomorrow,” Peter insisted, he didn’t like the way you seemed to panic about stopping to rest, “you need to sleep.”

“I can sleep after I’m finished with—”

Peter grabbed your shoulders so you would stop. Looking into your eyes, he repeated himself again, this time slowly. “You need to sleep,” he enunciated each word hoping you would understand that keeping yourself up wasn't healthy and that you needed to stop and take a break.

You shook your head, “Peter—”

He didn’t give up, knowing you wouldn’t rest until you did something else productive, he came up with an idea.

You were confused when he took the book off the desk and pulled you along with him across the bedroom. After throwing the book on your bed, he took off his suit and got into your bed, “come on,” he patted the empty space near him.

You lazily slid under the covers next to him, and he opened the book to where you previously had the bookmark.

“Where did you leave off?” His fingers brushed down the page, “Here?” He asked, brushing his fingers through your hair. Once you nodded, he started to read to you with your head on his chest.

Every time he flipped a page, he looked down to see if you were sleeping. With drooping eyelids he could tell you were trying hard to stay awake, but after a while he sensed your slowing heartbeat and quieted breathing. As he drifted off to sleep with you, he decided that tomorrow’s coffee run would be his treat.

masterlist <— for more like this

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 year

Text

My Sky Of Gray - Peter Parker X Female Reader

Title: My Sky Of Gray

Peter Parker X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's mother (Sarah) and Aunt May

Requested by Anon!

WC: 2,191

Warnings: Soulmate AU, slight angst, nervousness, anxiety, crying, heartbreak, mentions of killing, and fluff

Slamming the door shut, you rushed to take your shoes off, stumbling slightly as you made your way down the hall and up the stairs. You slid off your backpack and pushed open your bedroom door before dropping your bag haphazardly and running to your bed. The mattress bounced as you landed on your stomach, pulling your phone out of the back pocket and quickly unlocking it. You ignored the notifications as you tapped open your messages. A smile lit up your face as you saw the new text from your best online friend, Peter. It had been almost a year since you first met him playing video games. You forgot how it all happened but soon enough you were talking to each other in the gamer chats. Which then led to both playing Minecraft together on your switches, and that led to having each other's numbers.

You texted each other almost every day. About everything and anything. Peter would send you funny scientific memes that you didn't understand and even random facts. Most nights you spent hours and hours just talking, whether that be texting or calling. You'd take until your phone was on the brink of death before you would take the time to find the charger. You really liked Peter. He was funny, sweet, charming even. He was kind of a nerd too. His interests consisted mainly of sci-fi and science theories, while yours was more of fantasy RPGs and gaming theory. He had always told you that you were his favorite gamer, which always made you blush. And on especially bad days, he'd always make you feel better. No matter how sad you were, he always made you smile. He'd send you funny videos from Tik Tok, even one time sending you a picture of a duck he saw on a walk home from school. You loved that about him; how caring and understanding he was.

And, against your better judgment, you were falling in love with him. Every day, it seemed more and more difficult to push away the butterflies in your stomach when you heard his voice, and laugh at his jokes. He made you feel happy and safe, despite how strange it felt. He made you want to tell him how you felt, but what if he didn't like you back? What if he wasn't your soulmate? That was another issue, what if he wasn't your soulmate? Oh, how you wished he was. To meet him in real life and look into his eyes, finally seeing color for the first time. You'd wonder what his hair color would be, or his eyes... From the pictures and selfies he'd sent, his hair was a dark gray.

Tapping on his recent text, you sighed happily, gazing down at the words on your phone.

'Hey cutie pie! Just got back from school. You free to play tonight?'

You frowned, turning to see your backpack on the floor, before typing away,

'I can't. I got tonnns of hw but I wanna talk to you.'

You watched with a skip of your heartbeat as the texting bubble popped up before his text appeared.

'Bad day?'

Your fingers trembled as you wrote,

'Yeah. I'm okay tho! Promise. I just hate hw lol'

'ok, do you wanna talk bout it?'

Hunched over his desk, arms acting as a pillow for his head; Peter bit his lip as he stared at his phone screen. There was a lump forming in his throat as he waited for your reply. He hoped that you were really okay and that nothing bad happened. Peter didn't realize until recently that he more than liked you as a friend. Ever since you two started talking online, he found himself spending so much time with you. He never knew he'd grow a crush on you. You; funny, smart, sassy, competitive... You... The thought of something happening to you made his insides squirm uneasily. And the fact that he couldn't be there in person to help you with anything made him even more anxious. He wanted to be there for you. He needed to be there for you. So why did he still feel nervous? Why did it feel like his heart was trying to escape his chest? And why did he keep rereading your message over and over again?

'I just failed my test. Have to come in and retake it Saturday.' You answered as Peter grabbed his phone, staring at the screen.

'That was going to be our game day...' He replied back before adding to that, 'We could move it to Sunday?'

'I can't, mom taking me to Queens sunday, something about visiting an old friend of her from high school...'

Peter frowned, Game Day Saturday was what he always looked forward to, the first being able to hang out with you.

‘oh, ok.’ He sent, before cringing and quickly typing more, ‘do you wanna call? I could help you with your hw if you wany?’

You sputtered a laugh as you replied,

‘wany? Yeah, i’d like that.’

~~~

You leaned your head against the passenger window, watching as the houses, apartments, and other buildings flew by. You were excited to meet your mother’s friend, but you really wished you could’ve stayed home and spent time with Peter. You wished you were at home, leaned back in your spinny chair, playing Minecraft on your Switch or even playing Bigfoot Multiplayer with him on your computer. But, you know it was the polite thing to do.

Pulling up into a parking spot on the side of the street, you hopped out of the car and stared up at the apartment building in front of you. Your mother led you into the building and up the stairs, where you waited behind her as she knocked on the door. Waiting for a moment, you heard the pitter-pattering of feet before the door opened. There, at the door was a woman, long hair, wearing a cute sweater, you noticed. She smiled, stepping out of the way to let you both in.

“Sarah! Oh, it’s been years! How are you?” The friend of your mother asked, as she pulled her into a hug.

“I am perfect, May. How are you? Are you still raising your nephew?” Your mother asked, pulling back from the hug.

May nodded, gesturing her head to the side, “I’m good. And yes, he’s still in high school, so he’ll be here for a while.” She then turned to you, giving you a caring smile, “And you must be Y/N. You can call me May.” She spoke before pulling you into a hug as well. You awkwardly hugged her back, before she pulled back. “I’ll go get Peter. You and him can talk while the grown ups do.” She spoke, and the moment she said the name ‘Peter’ you froze up. Your heart began to beat and you held onto a sliver of hope that this ‘Peter’ was your ‘Peter’.

Your mother must have noticed your expression as May left because she placed a hand on your shoulder, “Sorry, she’s a hugger.”

You pursed your lips, giving your mother a nod before you clasped your hands together in front of you, fiddling with your fingers anxiously as you waited. Eyes staring to the hall where May had disappeared into. As your heart swelled with anxiety and nervousness, along with doubt that this was your Peter and that he was your soulmate… Your soul hoped that he was.

It was like you were in slow-motion when he stepped out. Donning sweats and a plain t-shirt, hair slightly ruffled as he ran a hand through it. He’s gorgeous, was your first thought. Please, look at me, was your second. Slowly, he looked up, eyes widening as he looked at you. You were ready for your world to brighten. You were waiting for the world to burst into color as you stared into his eyes… But… No… The world around you was still as gray as can be. You felt immediately chest-fallen, you felt as if your soul was snatched from you body, leaving you completely breathless; gasping for air.

He wasn’t your soulmate. Peter wasn’t your soulmate.

You noticed as you stared at Peter, that his eyes seemed to widen as he cast his gaze to the ground briefly. Was he hoping for the same thing you had wished for? No? Maybe? But, it didn’t matter anyway. He wasn’t meant to be yours. You gulped, gaining the courage to speak. You didn’t want things to be awkward. Peter was still your friend. And that was enough.

“Hi, Peter.” You spoke up softly, as May and your mother turned to look at each other confused.

“You know each other?” May asked and Peter nodded, turning to his aunt.

“We met through video games.” He finally spoke up as your mother huffed, crossing her arms.

“Of course,” She rolled her eyes playfully, “She never gets off that Switch thing.”

May gave you and her nephew a smile, “Well, that’s lovely. You two go play some video games then. Your mother and I are going to catch up.”

You gave her a nod before following Peter awkwardly to his room. Shutting the door, Peter shifted his gaze around his room as you stuffed your hands in your hoodie pockets, looking at the floor. The tension between you could have been cut with a knife. The air felt warm and suffocating as you fidgeted in your spot.

“Uh… I…” Peter began, grabbing your attention and glancing up at you. “Uh… So, how are you?”

You glanced around the room, spotting the multiple Star Wars posters and merchandise, “Good.” You said shortly, “Uh, how are you?”

Peter nodded, giving you a sheepish smile, “Good, uh, good. Uh… This is cool… My aunt knows your mom.” He stated and you nodded, finally looking back at him.

“Yeah, it’s… It’s cool.” You agreed, smiling shyly as Peter rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uh, so I’m just going to say this because I don’t know how to say this in the first place and this is already awkward but… We’re soulmates.” He chuckled awkwardly, making you furrow your eyebrows, confused.

“What?” You asked as Peter nodded.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to freak out because my aunt May would make a big deal about it and probably post about it on her Twitter but we’re soulmates.” He laughed out breathily, “I can’t believe it. I mean, I was hoping you’d be my soulmate.” He looked up at you, “I mean, this is awesome. I have you as my soulmate and see colors.” He ranted, making you more and more confused.

“Uh… Peter… We’re not soulmates.” You interrupted him, making him frown as he grew confused too.

“What?”

“We’re not soulmates.”

Peter shook his head, cracking a nervous smile, “No, we are.” He tried to insist.

You shook your own head, “Last time I checked… I still see grayscale.” You sighed and Peter pursed his lips.

“So… You mean… Wait, that doesn’t really make any sense. I can see colors and you can’t? What does that even mean?” He asked as he began to pace his room.

You followed him with your eyes, growing more and more disappointed, “I’m your soulmate… But you’re not mine.” You muttered out, shoulders slumping as you dropped your eyes to the ground.

Peter shook his head rapidly, pausing his pacing to turn to you, walking over and pulling you into a hug. You squeezed your eyes shut, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as you dug your face in his shoulder. You felt the tears well up in your eyes, but you pushed them down. You held onto Peter as if you made one false move you would float away. Like an anchor, he held you down.

“You’re my soulmate. I love you, Y/N.” Peter confessed, shocking you as you felt his tears fall onto your hoodie. “I know I’m not your soulmate, but I just wanted to get this off my chest.” He continued, sniffling as he held you closer.

You let out a sigh, fingers clutching his shirt in a deathgrip, “I love you too, Peter. Ever since I killed you in PvP Minecraft,” You joked lightly, earning a small laugh from him.

“I let you win.” He answered back, “I’d let you win a million times more.”

You laughed, pulling back slightly to look at Peter, his dark gray eyes peered back into yours. You wished you could know what color his eyes were and the shade of his har, but deep down, you didn’t really care. Peter was all you wanted. “We’ll figure something out.” You repeated his words, giving him a smile. “We both aced out Science tests, we’ll do some research.”

“Yeah, maybe this is a crazy once-in-a-lifetime mystical phenomenon.”

You nodded, “That, or the world is messing with us.” You countered as Peter raised his hand to flick your forehead fondly.

“Wanna play some Minecraft? I’ll let you be player one.” He offered as you nodded.

“As long as you’ll be my player two.”

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suspicious-owl-mcu · 9 months

Text

Inspired by the work of @authoressofdarkness and @vaguekiwi

Brushstrokes and Bloodstains

🔥You. Need. Read. This🔥

P.S. Russian translation is also available💜

#starker #ironspider #tony stark #peter parker #mafia boss tony #mafia au #soulmate au #artist peter #moodboard #fanfic

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enderfics · 1 year

Text

The Red String

At 16, Peter cried because the string on his finger didn’t connect with his girlfriends. He cried harder when she broke up with him for being a “liar” who was preventing her from being with her soulmate. He hated the string after that and tried to ignore it. That was difficult though when it was right there. So instead, he tried to avoid looking at his hands, usually hiding them in his sleeves or under the table. It never worked, of course.

At 19, Peter cried because his string suddenly broke. He could see the end of it piled up at his feet, and bawled as he prayed it was just a hallucination. The string began to fade, slowly vanishing into nothing. He had read horror stories of this happening - of people losing their strings - and sobbed harder when he remembered why. He didn’t have a soulmate (anymore). That night, he cried himself to sleep.

When he woke up and saw the red thread tied on his pinkie, Peter didn’t cry. Instead, he quickly ran to the bathroom and hurled last night's dinner into the toilet. What the fuck. He tried to continue with life (focus on school, focus on spiderman duties, focus on paying the rent). He tried to ignore the string that regularly disappeared (and re-appear hours later.)

Whoever his soulmate was, he hated them. He despised them for putting him through this because it wasn’t fair. He tried harder to ignore the string.

Peter tried to ignore how he could see the string even when he was in his suit. Even as spiderman, he couldn’t escape the torment that was his soulmate. The string always felt loose when on patrol, like it wasn't pulled as tight. Something about that made Spider-Man feel sick because something deep inside him knew what that meant. But, it was easy to be Spider-Man. There were so many things to distract him from his soulmate and it was easy to indulge in the excitement of being a hero.

Part of the job was to know the people terrorising New York. It made it easier when Peter eventually fought them. Knowing the bad guys meant he had time to do his research, to find their weakness and use it against them. After all, he was a scientist. Naturally, he had heard of Deadpool. The mercenary was infamous. He was well-known for doing anything for money. It was unethical as fuck and Peter had seen the leftovers of DP’s activities. He remembered the time he had stumbled into a warehouse only to see it littered with dead bodies. Peter had yet to actually meet the immoral vigilante.

Patrol had been particularly quiet that night. For once, the city was asleep. He sat on top of a roof, as he watched the streets. As he swung his legs, and the city remained quiet, he decided he could end his shift early tonight. Peter would go home and catch up on some sleep or finally finish his research paper. He stood up and stretched, closing his eyes to avoid watching the string lift with his arms.

As he turned around, Peter heard a low buzz in his ears. Not now, he prayed. It had been an easy night and he didn't need a criminal to ruin that. The buzzing got louder, shrieking and ringing in his ears. Peter had very little time to react when a tall figure abruptly appeared in front of him. He stumbled back, trying to create space and calm his very overreactive nerves. The person hadn’t moved yet and instead stood staring at the spider. He could see their chest rise and fall with each breath they took.

“It's you.” They finally spoke, voice low and hoarse.

Peter figured they were referring to his suit - his persona - and he finally looked at the man in front of him. White pupils glared at Peter and red leather laid tightly against their body. He took notice of the number of pouches on the man's utility belt and the absurd amount of weapons they carried.

So this was Deadpool.

“I can’t believe it’s you” DP laughed softly. Peter was confused. Was this criminal really that excited to see him? To see Spider-Man?

He took a shaky breath as Deadpool slowly stepped forward. His spidey sense was still on full alert but Peter was thankful that Deadpool hadn’t made any dangerous moves (yet). He was still trying to calm himself down and didn’t feel like fighting tonight.

“You’re Deadpool?” It was a stupid question that Peter knew the answer to.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet.” The guy's voice was smooth and reeked of cockiness, which caused Peter to wonder if that was why people didn’t like him.

(It was more likely that people didn’t like DP because of his career choices, but Peter decided to ignore that)

They continued to talk and continued to ramble. About what? Peter didn’t know. He was struggling to pay attention with the ringing still rampant in his ears, but he did pay attention to how the merc spoke with his hands, dramatically throwing their arms in the air as he babbled about Spider-Man being “ you”. Surely, no one was this excited about meeting the superhero.

When Peter was able to focus on the man's words, he felt uneasy.

“And it's you! And I never thought I’d meet you but here we are! God this is so exciting. I mean it sucks that you’re a do-gooder and I’m…not? But still!”

“What are you talking about?” Peter interrupted quickly, hoping to stop the seemingly never-ending rant.

“You. I’m talking about you.”

This confused Peter more and he tried to ignore the pit forming in his stomach. He wanted to ask why and beg Deadpool for an answer. He didn’t though, in fear of the direction this conversation would take. Peter took a sharp inhale, trying to ignore how his breath hitched. Now, Deadpool stood still, proudly, with his arms resting at his side. It seemed his rant was over and he was looking at the web-slinger like he expected a response.

“So?”

“...Sorry?”

Deadpool laughed at the uncertainty in the arachnid’s voice and once again, inched closer. Now, there was barely any space between the two and Peter cringed at the intensity of the ringing. This was too much to handle.

He was normally thankful for his heightened senses, but right now they made Peter want to scream. He suddenly became hyper-aware of the string he hated so much. It felt so light, like there was no resistance at all. Like it wasn’t being pulled away from him and towards the direction of his soulmate. Peter had gotten so good at ignoring it. He had become a pro at hating the string and avoiding it.

He wanted to throw up. Peter understood what the merc meant now.

It was him.

Peter took a breath. A deep and heavy inhale to try and slow his racing thoughts. He felt Deadpool’s hand land on his arm and almost sobbed when he heard the man ask if he was okay. He tried to nod but everything was too overwhelming and he couldn’t convince his brain to do the motion. He didn’t know when, but Peter had eventually sat down on the edge of the roof, resting his head in his hands.

He hated his soulmate. Peter was embarrassed over how he cried every time the string dissolved. He hated the constant anger he felt towards his soulmate.

Peter Parker hated his soulmate.

Now, his soulmate was crouched an inch away from him, soothingly running their hands over his knee. And he wanted to hate them, wanted to push the merc away and scream about how unfair this was. But god, it felt surprisingly nice to finally have someone.

At 21, Peter cried because he finally saw the other end of his red string (and it hadn’t dissolved into nothing). He finally saw who it connected to and he bawled harder when he remembered how he was supposed to hate them. Peter wanted to ignore how his string - how Deadpool’s string - lay lax at his feet, bundled up into a messy pile. But he couldn’t.

Peter Parker had found his soulmate, and for the first time since he was 16, he didn’t hate them.

#peter parker #wade wilson #deadpool #spiderman #spideypool #wade wilson uses he/they pronouns #theyre boyfriends #soulmates #red string au #fanfic #deadpool is wholesome for once #peter parker has anxiety

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imsebastiansta-n · 9 months

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Hey guys, so my insta imsebastiansta.n was deleted bc I was apparently ‘impersonating’ Seb when I stated many times I was a fan page but it is what it is.

I made a new account, it’s adorablebucky if you’d like to follow me.

Unfortunately though, my acc was deleted before I could save any of my old posts so I have no idea where I left off on my Bucky story 😩

On the bright side, I can start from scratch and I’ll be more active this time round.

♡

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #avengers preferences #marvel preferences #avengers imagines #peter parker #peter parker social media au #marvel #the avengers #avengers masterlist #avengers imagine #avengers #bucky barnes imagines #bucky x you #bucky barnes soulmate au #bucky x y/n

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graceful-starker · 1 year

Text

Unlovable

Warnings: Soulmate AU, self-loathing, angst.

Peter stares at the small mark on his wrist, taunting him. The tiniest little mark, just the barest hint of hot-shot red where his soulmate first touched him.

It used to bring him so much happiness. Even though it’s small, even though it’s barley the shape of his soulmate’s fingertip. Tony hadn’t meant to leave a soul mark, of course. No one ever means to leave a soul mark.

Peter remembers when it happened like it was yesterday. He had been running through the tower like a chicken with his head cut off, bouncing with excitement. All he had wanted was to show his mentor a breakthrough he had made about his web formula. Mr. Stark had seen him first, and reached out in a friendly way, not actually meaning to make contact with Peter’s wrist. “Where’s the fire?” he had joked.

Neither of them had noticed at first. Peter had just grabbed Tony’s wrist fully, smiling brightly with wide eyes. “I did it!” he had exclaimed. And he had pulled his hand away, digging into his backpack. “I did it, I figured it out, it just came to me all at once! Here it-”

Peter had tensed as the feeling sunk in. The feeling of wrong, his spidey-sense. A chill had worked its way up his spine, and had he turned to look at Mr. Stark nervously. He had looked around them, looking for the danger that wasn’t there. It wasn’t until he had looked back at his mentor, sure something was wrong with the older man when he had noticed. “Oh!” Peter had breathed.

Tony had been staring at his wrist. Because in a bright red, the same color as Peter’s suit, were Peter’s fingers. The shape of them, anyway. As if a bruise from Peter holding on too tightly--but Peter would never underestimate himself.

Peter had blinked in awe, at first. Then he had checked his own wrist and--sure enough, the tiniest little fingerprint. The first mark of Tony initiating skin on skin contact.

“You’re my soulmate,” Peter had said when he had finally connected the dots. A giant grin had split across Peter’s face, as the boy was unable to contain his excitement.

That had shakes Tony out of his momentary shut down. Tony had looked up at Peter and grinned back, looking at Peter as if he had never really seen him before. As if Peter was the only person he had ever wanted to look at. “I was beginning to think I didn’t get one,” Tony had choked out.

The two had always felt something between them, before that. But neither had acted on it, because of the way their relationship started. But if the Universe destined them to be together...

They had crushed each other in a hug after that, Peter sniffling slightly, as they both took in the miracle that occurred before their very eyes. Everybody always says finding your soulmate is like finally being alive, like seeing the sun for the first time after living in darkness, like coming up for air when you didn’t realize you were drowning.

They were right.

And for the first few months, it felt like bliss. Being with his soulmate, loving him with his whole heart, giving everything he could to Tony...and knowing Tony felt the same exact way; it was bliss.

Ignorance is bliss.

Now, Peter stares at the taunting red mark on his wrist, accusing it. The Universe got it wrong. It must have. That’s the only explanation. It has to be.

Because if that isn’t the explanation, then that makes Peter truly, completely, and forever unlovable.

It started off slowly. One day, Tony stopped greeting Peter at the door after he got home from college. No big deal, right? Then it was Tony stopped eating dinner with Peter, staying in the lab instead. Okay, that’s fine, Tony’s a busy man. But then Peter went days without seeing his soulmate. Tony would wake up before Peter and come to bed after him.

Which is totally fine. Because they’re both busy. Peter has classes and Tony has work. It’s fine.

But then Peter had summer break. A solid two month period where he could spend all the time he wanted with Tony in the lab. So he did.

And it got worse.

It again started slowly. Just an occasional “Hey, quiet for just a sec, I need to concentrate.” Nothing worrying.

But then it escalated to “Peter I’m working, don’t you have something better to do?” Which hurt, but wasn’t that bad. Peter just found something else to do.

The straw that finally broke the camels back, the hint that finally slapped Peter in the face, came halfway through the summer. Peter had been babbling, talking excitedly about his patrols last night, when Tony had cut Peter off with a loud, annoyed sigh. “God kid, I didn't ask to hear about this!”

Peter’s jaw had clicked shut, and he had held his breath. It was stupid, Peter had thought back then, to get upset over that. So what if Tony didn't want to listen to Peter talk? Peter talks all the time, it must get annoying.

Peter had barley managed to choke out a “sorry,” before he had to look down so Tony wouldn’t see him struggle to fight back tears. The room was tense, and Peter did his best to breathe as quietly and as slowly as he could. He pulled out some random papers from his work pack and pretended to read them, pretended his feelings weren’t hurt. Tony finally just sighed again, and silently went back to work.

Peter had waited for what he felt like was the correct amount of time to not consider his exit ‘running away,’ before quietly telling Tony he was tired and went upstairs.

And Peter had cried himself to sleep that first night. He couldn’t put his finger on it, on what felt so wrong to him. Not that night.

But once he knew it was there, Peter started looking for it. And he didn’t have to look very hard.

Peter would start to tell Tony something, and Tony’s shoulders slumped when he realized it wasn’t a short story. He would start to fidget, start to get restless. Until finally, the familiar phrases surfaced. “Peter, are you almost done?” or “I gotta get going baby, wrap it up for me?” or the worst, he would cut Peter off mid-sentence and say “that’s great honey,” or something.

It was obvious, once he put together the signs. So obvious, that it made Peter feel stupid.

Tony finds Peter annoying.

Before Peter moved into Tony’s room, he was only here on weekends. He had no reason to stay the night, no reason to have a room at all here. Tony was just a mentor, back then. Back then, he had probably thought Peter’s ramblings where cute. He had probably gotten all smitten over the way Peter Ould get so excited, bouncing like a little kid. He had probably felt warmth in his chest whenever Peter greeted Tony like Tony had just come back from war.

But now that he has to live with it, has to constantly be exposed to it...he realized Peter is annoying.

Peter knew he was annoying. He was an annoying child, May had always told him that with a fond smirk and a hug. He was an annoying friend, something he found out when his friends slowly started to distance themselves until Peter realized they weren’t responding on purpose anymore. He was an annoying classmate, based on his peers’ annoyed side eyes whenever Peter knew the answer. He was an annoying student, always asking for clarification and feedback. He was an annoying person.

But he thought, really believed, deep in his heart he believed...the Universe would give him a soulmate who didn't find him annoying. He thought the Universe would give him a soulmate who would love him because of his quirks, not in spite of them. Fuck that. He thought the Universe would give him a soulmate that loved him at all.

But Peter could work with that, he had thought stupidly. No matter how much it hurt that Tony didn’t love him the way he was, he knew he could change. Because he adored Tony. Because he loved Tony enough to counteract Tony’s lack. Because despite how much Tony drinks, or how annoyed he gets, or how often he works; Peter loves him with every fiber of his being.

And the Universe chose Tony for Peter. The Universe decided this is the love Peter deserves. So he has to work with it.

So, Peter had adapted. Every time he wanted to talk to Tony, he forced himself to pause, to remember the impatient look on Tony’s face that was sure to follow. Instead, he just went into Tony’s lab and silently worked beside him.

He had thought it was working, at first.

But then, after a couple weeks of this, Tony found something else to get annoyed about. “Why do you have to leave your shit everywhere? You’re driving me crazy, hon.”

Peter had looked up confused, at first. He never left anything in Tony’s lab, knowing that there was a not insignificant chance Tony might accidentally start a fire or blow something up around his stuff. “Huh?”

Tony had rolled his eyes, and Peter didn’t understand how such an insignificant action could hurt so much. “Your suit is always on the floor, your books and laptop are scattered everywhere around the penthouse, you always leave dishes in the sink--I could go on!” He had said.

“Oh,” Peter had whispered. “I didn’t realize a mess bothered you,” he had said, looking pointedly around the lab.

Tony had gotten a bit angry at that comment. “What I do in my space is my business. But you make messes in our spaces, that we share,” he had explained.

Peter had swallowed thickly, adding another reason Tony doesn’t love him as much as he loves Tony to the list. “Okay,” Peter had whispered He had cleared his throat, looking at the floor. Eye contact feels impossible when someone is scolding him. “I’ll go clean up.”

Then Tony had huffed, slamming his wrench down on the lab table. Peter had frozen, half turned away from the lab to go to the door. “You always do that!” Tony had complained. “I give you a valid reason why something you do stresses me out, and you act like I hit you.”

Peter had felt like he would rather be hit. His body is mutated to handle hits. Hits that come at him way harder than Tony can manage without his own suit on. This is different; he doesn’t know how to handle this kind of pain. “I’m not scared of you,” Peter had tried to explain. “I just don’t like it when you’re upset with me, that’s all.”

Tony had huffed again, grabbing a drink and looking down it. “Whatever, just stop looking like that.”

Peter had simply nodded and rushed up the stairs. He had cleaned the entire apartment until there was nothing left while tears streamed down his face and he silently sobbed his way around the rooms. The penthouse looked damn near un-lived in by the time he was done.

Don’t be annoying. Don’t talk to him. Don’t make a mess. Don’t get upset at anything he does. Don’t look down.

His list of things to do was getting longer and longer.

And everything just kept getting worse and worse.

“Baby, what are you watching? Turn that off, I wanted to read in here.”

“Honey, I don’t care about that stuff. You can’t expect me to care.”

“When do your classes start up again? I can’t wait to see you do something other than play video games or go on patrol.”

“Do you have to breathe so loudly?”

And finally, Peter had simply had enough. He felt like a shell of a person. Everything he did made Tony irritated. Peter was crying now more often than he wasn’t. Peter was alone more often than he wasn’t. Nothing he did make Tony happy. At best, he managed to not piss the older man off.

He sighs in frustration, pushing his hair back from the table and standing up. He’s done staring at his mark, done thinking about everything that’s gone wrong. He put on his suit and darted out the window, swinging without a destination in mind.

He watches the sun set as he swings. He beats up a couple of bad guys, webbing them for the police to find. He swings some more. He finds a nice rooftop to sit on, letting himself take a break. He watches the sun rise, feeling only mildly surprised that he was out all night.

He has always loved the way being Spider-Man made him feel. And not just the adrenaline rushes, or saving people who need saving. But he loves the way he feels like he can be confident. He loves feeling funny when his jokes make people laugh while he’s wearing the mask. He loves that he can be anyone he wants to be, and no will know the difference.

Spider-Man only annoys people he actively tries to annoy. No one else thinks Spider-Man is annoying. No one thinks Spider-Man talks too much, or is too messy, or breathes too loudly. People love Spider-Man.

No one loves Peter Parker. Not anymore. Not since May died and not since Tony realized he doesn’t like Peter.

Peter hadn’t realized he dozed off until the sound of Tony’s repulsers scared him awake. He jumps to his feet, trying to get his heart to slow bak down as Tony carefully lowers himself to the roof top. “Where the hell have you been?” Tony hisses before the face plate is even fully off.

Peter took a deep breath, still willing his heart to slow down. “Oh you know, meeting up with my secret lover. What does it look like, Tony?”

“You aren’t funny,” Tony grouses.

Peter winces, fighting the urge to look at Tony’s feet instead of his face. He takes his mask off, clenching his fist around it. He instantly feels less secure, less confident. “I was on patrol,” Peter amends.

“You were gone all night!” Tony says, stepping out of his suit and stalking towards the younger man.

Peter forces himself to stand his ground. “And?” Peter asks.

“And,” Tony copies sarcastically, “I was worried about you! You weren’t there when I went to bed, and you weren’t there when I woke up!”

Peter can’t help but bark a laugh at the irony. Tony’s face turns furious, but he pushes on before he can be interrupted. “That’s every night for me, Tony,” he points out.

Something that looks like it might have been guilt flashes over Tony's eyes, before he huffs and takes another step towards Peter. “Why?” he growls.

Peter looks down, before he remembers that’s against the rules and looks back up again. “Because I wanted to, I don’t know.” He mumbles.

Tony scoffs, “You wanted to?” he taunts.

And something inside of Peter breaks.

“No, actually. I didn’t want to. I did it because I can’t breathe that penthouse. Because I an’t fall asleep alone anymore. Because I’m so scared of making any sort of noise at all in my own home. Because I needed a break from walking on eggshells. Because the thought of waking up alone again made me want to scream. Because my god-damn soulmate doesn’t love me, and if my soulmate doesn’t love me, who can?” His voice breaks on the second ‘soulmate’, and tears are streaming down his face now. Tony’s eyes are wide, his mouth gaped open. Peter can’t seem to stop now that he’s started.

“I know I’m annoying. I know I talk too much. I know I don’t pay enough attention to my surroundings. I know I like stuff no one else cares about. I know. But you’re supposed to love me! And you don’t!” Peter sobs, feeling the beginning of hysterics start to form as he gasps for air.

“No one else likes me, I don’t even like me! I lived to come to your lab on the weekends. I lived to see your eyes sparkle when I understood something no one else does when you talk about it. I lived to see the look on your face when I rambled on about something no one else cared about. I lived for you! I live for you! And I-” he chokes on a sob, barely managing to keep going. “And I’ve spent the last year and a half watching you fall out of love with me. Watching you realize that I am annoying. Watching you realize you don’t even like me. Watching you realize you wish you never touched me, wish I never grabbed your arm in my excitement that day.

“Every day, I wake up and pray to the Universe that I’m good enough for you today. Every day, I hold my breath and beg that you’ll smile at me, or at least look at me like you’re happy I’m there. Every single day I try my best to follow your rules, to make you happy, or at least not annoyed!

“I worship the ground you walk on!” Peter starts to yell, getting closer and backing Tony back closer to his suit. “I love you. I don’t care that you spend all your time in the lab, I don’t care that you can’t be handed things, I do’t care that you have to have a million cups of coffee a day. I don’t care that you disappear for hours and don’t tell me where you’ve been. I don’t care that you drink all the time. I love you anyway; no, I love you because of all of those things! Everything you do, every quirk you have, that’s who you are and I love you!”

Peter starts to pant, shaking with the force of holding back his sobs. “And you don’t even like me. You’re happiest when I’m not around. Your shoulders slump when I enter the room you’re in. Your eyes dull when they land on me.”

Peter deflates, his momentum gone. He hadn't ever said any of these things out loud before. Saying them makes them feel so much more real, like they’re the absolute truth. A small part of Peter had been holding out hope. It’s gone now.

“You’re right,” Tony says softly, and the words cut into Peter’s heart like a knife. “I don’t like you. And I don’t know why. I know I’m supposed to, I know the Universe chose you for me. But I don’t like you.”

Peter feels his knees give out, and he falls at Tony’s feet. It’s like everything that was holding Peter together fell apart, and he has no chance not to fall apart with them. It’s like a hole is carved in his chest. It’s like death, except when you die, the pain stops. It’s worse than death.

It’s like Tony carved Peter open, took out everything that made Peter who he is, and threw it away. And now there’s nothing left but the body that used to hold Peter Parker.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” he hears Tony say. And he sounds like maybe he’s in a little bit of pain too. Or maybe Peter is still holding on to hope that doesn’t exist.

He vaguely processes that Tony flies away, and that he’s alone now. But he can’t move. He can barley breathe. He lifts his hand up, retracting the hand covering.

Peter stares at the small mark on his wrist, taunting him. The tiniest little mark, just the barest hint of hot-shot red where his soulmate first touched him.

What does it mean when even someone who is designed by the Universe to love you, can't love you?

#angst #tw: angst #starker #tony stark #peter parker #My writing #fanfic #soulmate au #tw: soulmate au #tw: self loathing

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