Sunset Lovers || Peter Parker (Soulmate AU)
summary ↠ you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae. ↠ college!soulmate au; gn!reader. warnings ↠ near-death experience (almost traffic collision; no injuries sustained), minor angst. this is very very fluffy on the whole, though. very soft :’) angst w a happy ending, if you will... word count ↠ 6k. a/n ↠ I feel emotional distress for 0.2 seconds and fall back to my 16 year old coping mechanism of fluffy peter parker fic ,,,, :D kinda very happy with how this turned out tbh. I hope you like it :) ++ I don’t like how a lot of soulmate aus are reliant on heteronormative structures and ideals, so I tried really hard to construct this universe in a way that would appeal to any type of person and any form of relationship that might fall under the category of a ‘soulmate’! it’s all world building stuff, but I guess if you’re wondering why I made it more fluid than my previous attempts at this au, that’s why! love is fluid and flexible and I think it’s important to reflect that in fiction!!
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You’re in the college library, staring blankly at an open book, when a warm tingling on your left forearm distracts you from the pages. You’re glad for it, eyes blurry and mind drowsy, willing to take any distraction from the lines of symbols you’re trying to memorise. It’s finals season, and it feels as though the library has become your second home for the last week, your eyes more accustomed to the blank desks than your dorm across campus.
Bunching up the sleeve of your hoodie, you narrow your eyes as you squint at your skin. Gold writing appears, printed to your arm in a shade that’s vibrant against your skin tone. It shimmers slightly as you draw your arm nearer your face.
Where did you go? Are you okay? :(
A tired sigh slips past your lips. It’s as if he can read your mind. You uncap one of your thin-tipped highlighters, and your eyebrows knit together as you write a few words in response.
Library :( I hate studying. Send help please
Wish I could :( What are you studying??
Chemistry :/
:D
Sit my test for me?
I would, but you refused to write my English paper, so…
:(
:D
I hate you >:(
You don’t hate him. You could never hate him. The man responsible for the scribbles over your forearm is your soulmate, and he means more to you than anyone else in the world.
For as long as written history dates back, tales have been immortalised detailing the endeavours of people connected via the link endearingly dubbed the ‘soul bond’. Most souls are partnered in pairs, but, on occasion, there are cases of more than one person being linked together. Some soulmate bonds are platonic, most romantic, but what remains is a close and fulfilling link between the bonded. Soulmates are tied together because they slot together organically, and though love doesn’t come with the soul bond, it’s easy to grow, easy to nurture. You are whole without your partner, just as you are whole with them, but there’s an undeniable thrill associated with spending your lives together.
The main giveaway that someone is your soulmate is the fact that any word, scribble, or picture sprawled across their skin appears on yours a moment later. Phantom writing announces itself with a gentle tingle, and it remains there until the imagery is removed by your partner. They make their mark on you, and in return, anything you write on your body transfers to them, too.
There are a few rules to the link—some pesky parameters set by the universe to balance the system. Regardless of the colour of pen used to communicate, it always comes out gold, tinged in a tone that varies from person to person depending on the depth of their skin tone. Offensive diagrams and harmful words are censored and appear on your skin skewed. Your face is off-limits, but other than that, your soulmate could choose to write on whatever part of their body they desire, and the message would print onto yours. By far, the most annoying twist to the bond is the fact that certain pieces of information are banned. If you try to communicate anything forbidden, the message goes undelivered, and you’re placed on a writing ban for an entire day. A wide variety of topics are ruled out, from things as broad as your name and location to any specific pieces of information that could allow you to be found. Once you’ve met your soulmate, the rule dissipates, allowing the bonded to communicate freely and easily, as the hurdles are only in place to prevent any cheating of the system. The universe wants you to find your bonds organically, and though most people usually do, the uncertainty beforehand is cruel.
Your soulmate, whoever he is, is very cute. You’d grown your link when you’d turned sixteen, back when you were both in high school. The first thing you’d found scribbled on your hand was a series of chemistry formulae, slightly smudged and completely useless to you, but you’d spent hours staring at the loopy handwriting before replying with your own short message.
Back then, you’d used to spend hours talking every night, running through packet after packet of pens as you’d unravelled your soulmate. You’d worked out that he is a man, attending high school at the same time as you. Through the scattered equations and symbols you’d frequently found yourself covered in, it’d been easy to ascertain he’s into science and maths. You can tell, through short messages alone, that he’s smart. His mind moves fast, fingers even quicker, and it’s always a marvel to watch his words appear on your skin, rising to the surface far faster than you could ever scribble.
You don’t think you’d mind if you met your soulmate and your relationship took the form of platonic adoration. The idea of a perfect best friend, yours for as long as you live, is exciting, thrilling, and often even more fulfilling than a love match. However, there’s always been a small part of you that’s masqueraded as a helpless romantic, and you’d be lying if you said the thought of meeting a romantic partner doesn’t thrill you more than anything else. Sometimes when you lay in bed at night, watching the street lamps paint your walls in shades of burnt amber, you wonder what it’d be like to have your soulmate beside you, curled into your side, or holding your hand beneath the sheets.
Luckily for you, you think your soulmate likes you. Likes you likes you. He’s cute, in a shy, tentative way, but he never fails to drop small compliments into conversations. He memorises everything you’ve said with such clarity that often, you wonder if he’s written down the things you’ve told him. He checks in when you’re silent, gives you space when you need it, never fails to be your number one supporter. It’s cute, but it also makes your heart ache. You want to know him, in real life, want to know his name and be able to touch him, but the stars just haven’t aligned yet.
You’re both nineteen now, both in college. With three years of talking between you, it’s rarer you stay up all night talking in scribbles, smiling at the ceiling. It still happens, but both of you are busy—him especially. Back at the start, there was a period when he’d started vanishing, disappearing for hours and sometimes even days at a time. The change had happened overnight, and it’d puzzled you, but you’re so grateful he’s become more reliant again. He’s still busy—still vanishes most evenings, unresponsive and far away—but he’s yours, and the knowledge that he’s only ever one message away soothes you.
A shallow sigh falls past your lips. As a yawn tugs at your lips, there’s another wave of warmth rippling across your skin.
Are you almost done? You’re tired :(
How do you know I’m tired?
As you wait on a response, you start putting away your things. He’s told you before, but you want to see it again.
Your smileys go really wonky when you’re tired. The eyes are always uneven. It’s cute.
Your heart melts. Instinctively, your fingers curl into fists. Sometimes, he says things so romantic it makes you wonder if he’s even aware that what he’s saying is incredibly endearing. He slots compliments between the lines, applies subtext so minuscule that it’d go undetected to anyone other than you.
You’re cute.
You’re cuter.
Swallowing, you sling your bag over your shoulder.
I’m going home now. Talk soon <3
Be safe! <3 <3 <3 <3
He draws a series of hearts around the final words of warning, and you find your fingertips trailing over the lines as you leave to the library. Outside, it’s late afternoon and darkening, the sun just beginning to set over the city. The cool air of December whips at the tender softness of your cheeks, but the warmth you feel as you touch the words imprinted on your skin makes you feel invincible.
Campus is deserted—eerily so. Craving adventure, you’d purposefully picked the college in New York that it’s rumoured Spider-Man attends, the city’s finest hero. Whether or not he’s actually an enrolled student is disputed, but he’s frequently sighted around campus, and your college has embraced it. There are murals up on the walls and fliers with his mask printed all over them. Your college has claimed him as an unofficial mascot, and you find yourself surrounded by images of his face. It makes you feel a little less lonely as you walk home alone, the streets around you deserted in favour of warm apartments and bustling cafés.
Whistling softly beneath your breath, you find yourself distracted. The sun is setting, and your eyes are easily drawn to the beautiful rays of gold being thrown across the aching city buildings. So wrapped up in your thoughts, you don’t look properly before you try to cross a road, and it’s a mistake that knocks the air from your lungs when you finally glance up at your surroundings.
Everything happens at once: your heart stopping at the sight of an unforeseen bus barreling towards you, the hard screech of brakes against tarmac, the yells of several distant voices. You find yourself frozen, fear keeping you in place like a cold spire, riddling your body utterly immobile. As inertia consumes you, your life flashes before your eyes, memories held in small snapshots that bring a lump to the back of your throat. The amber headlights burn your eyes, and the last thing you know to do is shut them and brace yourself.
Just as you think you’re a goner, there’s a heavy slam into your back. You go tumbling forwards, almost falling, only to find yourself being scooped up a moment later. Shaking, you try to squirm, try to open your eyes, only to feel a strong arm holding your back, pressing you into a figure.
“Stay still,” a kind voice says. “I’ve got you.”
When you open your eyes, a terrified squeak tumbles through your lips. You’re up in the air, flying between buildings, the wind from the speed tousling your hair. You look around desperately only to realise you’re being held, hugged tightly against a figure doused in red and black.
Spider-Man.
The sight makes your eyes widen, still cold and damp from tears. You try to process it, try to string together the bleary series of events, but even as he places you down on the roof of the campus library, your mind is tied in knots.
“Hey, hey, hey, you don’t look so good. Here… Sit down. It’s okay.”
The hero helps you onto a bench. You collapse into it, wide-eyed and nervous, pulling your knees to your chin immediately. After a moment spent trying to steady your breathing, you find the strength to look up.
“Spider-Man,” you utter, not quite believing the words that exit your mouth. “You saved my life.”
He’s leaning up against the railing, elbows hooked over the metal bannister. With the setting sun behind him, the red panels of his suit are flushed bright scarlet, the black plastic a deep, almost shimmering shade. He’s looking at you, expression obscured by the mask brushed over his face, but the way the white eyes contract and expand as he tilts his head to the side makes you aware that he’s looking at you.
“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is pitched higher than you’d expected, but it’s full of warm concern.
You swallow. “Yeah.” Your waist feels a little sore from where his arms had tackled you, but now the most prominent thing you feel is embarrassment. “Shit,” you mutter, briefly hiding your face in the crook of your elbow. “I can’t believe the one time I meet Spider-Man is when I almost get slammed by a bus.” You crack a smile, laughing nervously. “This is so embarrassing.”
Spider-Man laughs. It’s gentle and light, and you know he doesn’t mean it maliciously. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he says. He pushes away from the railing and walks nearer, pausing in front of you. Taking the hint, you slide a little further up the bench, leaving the space beside you empty for him to drop into. “Accidents happen. Just, uh… Maybe don’t try walking out into a road without looking again, okay?”
You roll your eyes, tickled by the cheek in his voice. “Thanks for those words of wisdom, Spider-Man,” you say, teasing him slightly, “I’ll be sure to bear them in mind.”
It’s an odd sight: Spider-Man slumped out on the bench beside you. He has his legs crossed, ankle over thigh, arms spread behind the wood. With the setting sun covering your face, it’s as if he’s doused in gold. There’s a warmth in your chest, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from the sun or the man.
“What’s your name?” he asks. He looks back at you.
“Y/N.”
He releases a small noise from the back of his throat, all chimes and whistles. It draws a large smile to your face.
“That’s a… really nice name,” he replies somewhat awkwardly. His fingers shift down to his arm, padded fingers circling over his wrist. After a moment, he looks back across the skyline. “We’re on top of the college library, by the way,” he adds. “It was the nearest building. Thought you’d appreciate some privacy after… Well, yanno.”
You smile. “Thank you,” you say. “And thank you for saving my life.”
He pulls out the finger guns, clicking his tongue at the same time. “All part of the job, Y/N,” he replies.
Now you’re no longer in fear of your life, your curiosity returns. “Is it true you’re a student here?”
Spider-Man sits up a little straighter. “I can’t say,” he says, and you think he’s frowning. He pauses for a moment before adding, “I like it up here, though.” Extending a hand, he gestures out at the city.
“It’s pretty.” You take a few moments to watch the sunset. It’s almost over now, darkness beginning to dust the skyline. “Peaceful.”
He hums. Side by side, you admire the city. The moment feels special, with warmth held tightly in the centre of your chest. It’s only shattered when Spider-Man releases a short huff before groaning as he stands, stretching his arms above his head as he walks a few paces.
“Well,” he announces, voice quiet, “I needa go. People to see, places to swing.” Spider-Man turns back to look at you, hesitating slightly. “I, uh… I hope you have a good night, Y/N. Stay safe.”
“Thank you!” you call back. You rest crossed-legged on the bench as you watch Spider-Man walk towards the edge of the roof, suit catching glimmers of the setting sun. As he surveys the city, you reach into your bag, pulling out a pen. It’s second nature now to inform your soulmate of anything consequential that happens to you, and you think an audience with Spider-Man might warrant a message.
You’re not gonna believe what just—
You pause halfway through your message when Spider-Man releases a soft noise of surprise. His hand covers his forearm, fingertips rubbing over his suit.
“Are you okay?” you call out, worry flexing your brows.
Distractedly, he shouts back a gentle, “yeah, yeah, yeah. All good, Y/N.” Without looking back at you, he plants a foot on the railing. “Bye!”
Spider-Man swings off before you’ve got even a chance to respond. Sighing softly, you finish off your message.
You’re not gonna believe what just happened! Craziest day ever?!
With the pen capped again, you stand from the bench. After shouldering your bag, you walk to the edge of the rooftop and lean up against the railing. The cityscape beyond is beautiful—lit in dusk shades of deep purple and burnt orange. They’re complemented dangerously by flashing sirens, red and blue, stemming from a disturbance in the distance. When you squint your eyes and lean over the railing, you see the tiny figure of Spider-Man swinging towards the lights.
The smile that curls across your lips is reflexive, and you couldn’t shake it even if you wanted to.
With a final wistful sigh, you turn your back on the city and head back into the library, beginning your walk home for the second time.
*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
Your soulmate is quiet for a few hours, and it gives you some time to decompress.
Back home, safe and sound, you can’t sit still. You feel rattled. Maybe it’s the stress of your near-death experience or the fact that you’d had the honour of meeting such a well-known hero, but you’re on edge and anxious. It doesn’t help that the news headlines show nothing but scenes of carnage downtown. It seems the hero landed himself in a bit of trouble after swinging away from you, and it’s as if you can feel the ache in your arms as you see blurry video clips of him fighting criminals, followed by snapshots of his suit singed and torn.
With shaky hands and a racing heart, you find yourself analysing your connection with the man. You feel worried—truly worried, more than you would’ve done before—and it’s hard to figure out if it’s some form of survivor’s gratitude or something deeper. After a while, you put it down to the stress and shake it off.
When your soulmate eventually responds, it’s gone midnight, and you’re exhausted. The message you’d printed to your arm had vanished after you’d showered, and when he admits that he’s had a rough day, you decide to keep your encounter to yourself. You’d hate to flex your good fortune on someone when they’re down, and, quite honestly, you’re still too baffled by the whole experience to feel comfortable sharing it yet—even with your soulmate, whom you’d normally tell everything to.
Life continues as usual for a few days. You split your time between your friends and your studies, getting a few of your finals done along the way. On a few occasions, you find yourself drawn back up to the library roof, retracing your steps and spending a while sitting on the bench. It’s hard to explain it, but you feel comfortable up there, surrounded by the city and the memories of such a brief encounter. The rooftop itself is usually fairly bare; besides the bench, there are only a few other features. There are a couple plant pots with wilted plants you’ve taken to watering, some old chairs and a humming power generator tucked out of the way. It’s deliberately unattractive to stop students from stomping all over the library roof, but it’s perfect, and it’s almost like there’s an invisible string tugging you back, over and over again.
One day, about a week after Spider-Man saved your life, you find yourself climbing the eight flights of stairs that lead up to the roof. Your bag is heavy on your shoulders, but there’s a smile on your face. You can feel warm words being written over your arm, the messy scrawl of your soulmate’s handwriting taking hold of your skin again. You don’t look at it yet, continuing to climb the stairs until you break through the door and find yourself on the rooftop.
You’re not alone this time.
There’s a boy.
He’s leaning back against the railing, his bag half-open and thrown on your bench a few feet away. He’s clasping a pen in his fingers, and he’s writing over his arm. In the split second that you’re undetected, you clock the chestnut brown hair and a thick navy hoodie and come to the brief conclusion that he looks unthreatening. When the heavy fire exit door bangs behind you, the man startles. Curious brown eyes join the ensemble, along with pale skin and kind features.
The world… stops. It’s like you’re stuck in place, feet rooted to the hard concrete as the sounds of the city fade out. Tunnel vision shrinks the scene around you until you’re aware of nothing but the man in front of you and the pounding of your heart, painful against your ribcage.
You try to stop staring, but it’s hard. He’s looking at you too, inquisitive eyes roaming around your face, your figure, before settling onto your gaze. He raises his chin almost defiantly before his lips pull into an uncertain smile. He has to be the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life, all sharp jaws and cherry-red lips.
“Hi,” he calls out, voice quiet. It feels familiar, and you find yourself stepping forward, your body finally coaxed back to life. “I, uh… I’m Peter.”
You raise a hand, managing a soft wave. Before trying to reply, you have to swallow down the dryness in your throat.
“Y/N,” you say. He looks at you like he knows you. It’s enough to have you adding, “have we met before?”
Peter shakes his head. A soft blush spreads over his cheeks. “Nah, don’t think so,” he squeaks. He pushes away from the railing and crosses his arms over his chest. “We might’ve met in a class?” he puzzles. “Do you do chem?”
You laugh. “No,” you say immediately. Rocking forward on your feet, you walk closer to him. “I’m not really a science person.”
“Ahhh.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes wide and inquisitive. When you meet his gaze and offer a shy smile, he clears his throat. “O-Oh,” he fumbles. “If you wanna be up here, I can go. I just— was here to watch the sunset.” He springs towards the bench and begins to zip up his bag quickly.
“Oh, no,” you say, “you don’t need to go, Peter. I was, uh… also just coming up here to breathe.” You crack a wry smile. It’d be harder to explain your oddly sentimental attachment to this rooftop and this bench, so you say, instead, “this is the best place to watch the city.”
Peter hums. He tentatively gestures at the bench. “We could, um, watch the city together…? If you want?”
“Okay,” you mumble. You feel antsy, but it’s not uncomfortable. Rather, it’s familiar. It’s exciting. The nerves are like the ones you’d felt like that night with Spider-Man.
There just be something about this rooftop that draws out the frantic pump of your heart.
Peter throws his bag onto the rooftop and sits on the bench. You settle beside him, putting a little space between you both before tilting your head to look at him.
“So,” you say, “what’s your favourite building to look at?”
You talk for a while. A long while. The conversation just sort of… flows. Every gap in discussion is quickly patched by a smooth topic change or small joke, and you find yourself clinging to every word he says. Peter’s cute, and there’s something incredibly disarming about the smooth timbre of his voice. It’s expressive, constantly twisting and dancing in response to the things that you say. When he laughs, it’s like a wheeze, and the skin by his eyes puckers into deep ravines of amusement. You love the sound, and you love how quickly you learn that it only takes a stupid pun or terrible joke to draw it out of him. You learn a lot of things, actually, which is saying something considering he’s always pivoting the conversation back to you. How are you doing, how are your finals going, what do you like to do..? He asks, and he listens, peering across at you with those cavernous brown eyes and an equally soft smile.
The sun sinks, and your heart warms.
You don’t realise how long it’s been until you feel a shiver wrack across your shoulders and look out at the skyline to see it cloaked in darkness. The moon is out, obscured behind wispy clouds, but her light scatters constellations across Peter’s face, his cheeks flushed from the cold and the tip of his nose bright red.
“D’you want me to walk you home?” Peter asks, quickly rubbing his hands over his arms. As he waits for you to reply, he reaches down to grab a floppy hat from his bag. It’s very clearly home-knitted—a garish mix of red and blue that fits very loosely over his head. “It, uh… my aunt made it,” he adds, blushing slightly.
You chuckle. “Nah,” you say, a little reluctant, “I gotta get the subway. So, unless you wanna walk for like… an hour, you probably shouldn’t.”
Peter’s eyes light up. “I get the subway too!”
“We could go to the station… together?”
He nods immediately. The chords of his hat shift in the air. “Yeah,” he agrees, “it can be pretty dangerous out there.”
A short laugh gets lodged in the back of your throat. “Sure can be,” you say, briefly thinking about your encounter from the week before. “I’d like that,” you add. There’s a strange sort of electricity that crackles in the air between you, and it makes carrying eye contact quite tricky.
“Okay.” Peter smiles. “I’d really like that too.”
Your arms and elbows brush as you walk down the bustling streets of New York side by side. You take a couple of detours together, leaning into Peter’s suggestion to stop at a kiosk and grab a warm drink. In return, you drag him into Central Park to see the small market that he claims he’s been too busy to stop by.
Peter is very cute beneath the twinkling festive lights. With refractions of green and red bulbs illuminating his face, he feels multi-dimensional and exciting. You try not to admire him too much, guilt about your soulmate jabbing your ribs every time you get carried away. Despite this, somewhere between watching him fawn over the reindeer in Central Park and being gifted a black and white cookie from one of the market stalls, you decide he’s wonderful. Wonderful, like a friend, wonderful… like something else. You tell yourself that it doesn’t really matter, and you try not to stress yourself out about it because he’s so cute, and the heavy trill of his laughs is enough to dull any thoughts of guilt. You don’t really want to say goodbye to him, but when the heavens open and rain begins to splash the sidewalk, you’re forced underground.
It’s only when you’re on the subway, gazing forlornly out the window, that you realise you never got his number.
Later, when you’re home and sullen, you bring yourself to read the words inked across your skin, lingering from before you stumbled across Peter.
The sunset looks really pretty tonight. Can’t wait until I can watch it with you! <3
*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧
It takes a few days for you to get over the whole situation. In all honesty, even when you eventually forgive yourself for failing to get the guy’s number, you still find yourself trying to make it up. You continue going up to the rooftop, now drawn back for Peter instead of Spider-Man, but finding it equally as bare as it usually was. If anything, it only seems to get colder every night as you become used to seeing the rooftop alone.
In all honesty, you hadn’t expected to see Spider-Man again. You’d buried the encounter in a box entitled ‘weird things that hurt too much to think about’, slotted just beside the warm encounter with Peter from the week before. So it’s incredibly surprising, borderline shocking, to burst up onto the library roof following your last final to see the masked hero sitting on your bench, staring out pensively across the skyline. He hears you the moment you step through the door, reflexes sharp, and if he’s surprised to see you, he doesn’t show it.
“We gotta stop bumping into each other like this!” he calls out, voice light and friendly.
Your brows crease as you walk over to him, releasing a nervous laugh. “What do you mean?” you ask. “I’m not about to be killed.” You pause for a second, feigning shock as you glance around. “Am I?”
Spider-Man goes very quiet for a second. “Oh— y-yeah,” he says, voice lower. “Sorry. I, uh… Yeah. Ignore that.” He takes a second to think before bouncing back, words instilled with enthusiasm. “Y’wanna sit down?”
You nod wordlessly, a lump in your throat. This is Spider-Man, and this time, you don’t have adrenaline to rely on. It’s hard to know what to do and how to act with your brain whirring as slowly as it is. It feels as though you’re on fire as you walk over to the bench, simmering with nerves and something unidentifiable.
A silence settles between you. You rest with your hand on your knee, bouncing as you tap your leg softly against the ground.
“Um… How— how are you, Y/N?” Spider-Man asks, breaking the silence tenderly.
Trying not to get overwhelmed by the knowledge that the vigilante remembers your name, you manage to reply. “I’m doing okay,” you say. “Finished my finals today.” A smile breaks across your face at the words, and it grows when the gloved hero gives a polite clap of his hands.
“Well done,” he says. He presses his elbow into your side very gently. “They go okay?”
“I think so?” you wonder. “They were okay. I’m happy they’re over.” You sit back, slowly feeling your nerves fade away. As your eyes flutter shut, you let the dying rays of the day flitter over your face. “I was really stressed about them.”
Spider-Man hums. “Finals suck,” he agrees. “I finished mine today too.”
“A lot of people did,” you say, thinking about how your soulmate also had his final exam today. “Are you doing anything to celebrate being done?”
He laughs softly. “Nah,” he says before gesturing out at the city. “I got work to do. Are you?”
You shake your head. “No,” you say. You join him in pointing out across the skyline. “Just thought I’d come and watch the sunset—”
“What is that?”
Surprised at the intensity that seeps into his tone, you turn to look at Spider-Man. “What’s what?”
He leans closer, pausing with his gloved hand just beside yours. “Can I— can I touch you?” he asks, voice hoarse.
“Yeah.”
Spider-Man gently takes your hand in his, bringing it towards his face. He squints at your fingers, examining your hand before poking very gently at the sight of a smiley face drawn along the intersecting line of your thumb and index finger.
“That,” he clarifies, poking it again. He traces it a second later, the latex of his gloves soft against your skin.
“Oh,” you say, laughing slightly. “It’s from my soulmate. He… Well, it’s kinda embarrassing, but we do this thing… When one of us is stressed about something, we leave smiley faces as little reminders to stay cheerful.” You look at the lines fondly. You’d found it during your exam, and the reminder that there was someone in your corner had kept you from despair.
“Holy shit,” Spider-Man mutters. Before you can question it, he drops your hand and tugs off his glove. The shock that you feel in response to seeing the pale skin of the hero fades as he thrusts his hand in your face.
There’s a smiley face on his hand, mirroring the one of yours. The only difference is the colour—where his appears in black pen, yours is illustrated as a golden copy.
“Wait…” you say. Your head hurts. You look between his hand and yours, distracted as Spider-Man rummages through a bag with his free fingers. “Wait, do you think…?”
Is it possible that Spider-Man is your soulmate?
“Maybe,” he mutters. He procures a pen before looking at you. Though the mask obscures him, you can sense the mix of nerves and excitement. You feel it reflected in you. “Y’wanna test?”
“Yes.”
You watch as Peter pushes his suit up an arm and starts to write something, the position of his hand preventing you from reading the blocky words. As it turns out, you don’t need to wait long to find out; your own skin begins to tingle, and you gasp as you shove your hoodie out of the way. Sparkling gold clings to your skin. It feels brighter than ever before.
It’s you.
You exhale, then thrust your arm towards the vigilante. “I can’t— believe this. It’s… you…?” Happiness chokes in the back of your throat, and tears reflexively spring to your eyes.
“It’s you,” he repeats, his voice far away. He stills for a second, then clears his throat.
Just as you think you couldn’t get more shocked, Spider-Man reaches up and pulls off his mask. As familiar brown curls reveal themselves to be accompanied with a slightly guilty, very enamoured face, your confusion intensifies.
“Wait— Peter?” Your fingers dig into your temples, your brain moving slowly as you try to comprehend this series of complicated events. “What— H—How—?”
Spider-Man, or Peter, or your soulmate, looks up at you, glassy-eyed and flushed. You reach out towards him, and he links your fingers together, palm against palm, warm and soft. The contact has you sighing. You fall closer, being tugged by his hand until you’re hugging him, your face couched in the gentle juncture of his neck as both of his arms hold you close.
With your eyes closed, you inhale his scent of fresh bubbles and popping candy. Your mind spins as you struggle to unite three separate people into one individual. Not only have you finally found the person you’ve been bound to for three years, but he’s Peter, and Peter is Spider-Man. It’s a lot to take in, but it feels right; his hand on your back feels right, his lips brushing over the top of your head feels right, his soul wrapped around yours feels right.
When you pull back to look at him, you’re laughing.
“We’re so dumb,” you must. Peter quirks an eyebrow, and it’s cute. “I’m dumb. What the hell.” You click your tongue. “Actually, you’re dumb,” you decide. “How did you not— think..?”
Peter’s cheeks blush. “I, uh… I dunno.” He shrugs. “Felt too good to be true, I guess. ‘N I meet a lot of people when I’m working.” A coy smile springs across his lips. “I’m happy, though. Real happy.” Warm hands squeeze your waist. “Been dreaming about this for so long, Y/N, and, honestly… I kinda had a huge crush on you. I felt drawn to you, I guess. That’s why I kept coming back here.”
“Me too.” You can’t stop looking at him. Can’t stop counting his freckles.
“Do you wanna come back to mine?” he asks, voice gentle.
You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your eyelids flutter shut as you hum gently. “In a bit,” you say, “I’d love to. Just…”
“Hm?”
You lean up to press a very light, very gentle kiss to the side of his neck. The blush that tickles over his cheeks in response makes your heart skip a beat.
“It’s beautiful out here,” you say, begrudgingly shifting your eyes away from him and back towards the skyline. With your temple resting against his shoulder, you look at the buildings doused in gold. “Do you wanna watch the sunset with me?”
He coos softly. “You’re so cute,” he says breathlessly, then tries to cover the exhalation with a cough that makes you giggle. “Yeah,” he adds. Peter loops an arm around your side and coaxes you closer, a warm hand resting against your side. “There’s nothing I wanna do more than that.”
“I can think of maybe one thing that’d make this better,” you whisper.
Peter raises a brow. “Uh-huh?” He looks at you. Deep eyes flutter down towards your lips before returning to your eyes, false coyness in his expression. “What’s that?”
“I think you know,” you tease. Your tongue skims over your lips as your smile widens.
“I think I do.”
You kiss with the sun setting in the distance. His lips taste like warm honey, and they slot between yours like they were crafted with this goal in mind. One of his hands cups your cheek, and yours move to both his shoulders as your eyes drift shut.
And the sunset may be very beautiful, but nothing rivals the warmth that consumes you as you connect with your soulmate. Nothing compares to the gentle cradle of your face in his palm, nor the dopey lovestruck expression he pulls away from you wearing. Nothing compares to him.
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:’) well ! that was my annual peter parker fluff fic hfkjdhfdkj. i hope that you liked it! fun fact: i wrote most of this in april but finished it today. it was fun trying to blend it all together :’)
please let me know what you thought!!! rbs appreciated; askbox open! <3
