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xthecyber · 3 years ago

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𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒; (𝟎𝟏).

druig!eternal x fem!reader. ; soulmates!au.

warnings: sensation of loss,

author note: english is not my first language and i did not revise it. this is a short series! i would love a request <3 kisses and hope u guys like it!

summary: a stranger approach you one day, and he is linked to you more that you could imagine.

my mɑsterlist

The breaking dawn was your favorite time of the day. Or the twilight. The shift between moon and sun was mesmerizing; the color changes or the star lights – everything was beautiful. Something… something magic, even. Unreal. It was so wonderful that you were in shock that this happens every day, and most people don’t appreciate that so much like you.

But then real life happens. The tense weight in your shoulders brings you down again to your pathetic and small life. A normal one. Insignificant.

You let a snort of exasperation get out of your lips. The alarm in your phone was ringing for the past 15 seconds, taking you from your dreamy mind. It was time to get back to your work. The papers were waiting.

You get back to the stairs, taking a fast look at the sunset. Taking a deep breath, you closed the door, getting back to the building.

It was silent, like always. You worked at the library, after all, it was your dream job since a teenager; you loved books. The words, the promises behind every line, hiding between the pages. More lives than you ever could have. You visited every corner of a country and an odd land without even stepping out of your bed.

The magic of books was a little more material. More physical than the sky changes. Magic you could reach and touch – could feel.

But besides that, working in a library doesn’t mean so much for everyone. You were just the librarian. A helper. For your parents, was a waste of intelligence. For your uncles, you were the boring cousin. And for every person you could emotionally get attached to, you were just simple.

But don’t get the wrong idea, you loved your job, you just hated how everyone around you had a complete life, but you still feel like something was missing. A single piece, maybe. The last word on the paper. The last dark spot in the sky, missing a bright star.

You felt your life was passing so fast, but you were in the same place every day, and nobody else understands that.

When that type of thing pops up on your mind, you just get a cold tea, put on your glasses again, and start doing your job. Today you were cataloging the myths and religions scriptures shelf of the philosophy section. Like every day, your table was at the back of the library; on the vision camp of everyone that might need help.

But the library was pretty self-explanatory with the plates. You were there for direction help or to find a missing book in the system.

“Hey.” Someone said, laying with their elbows on the high side of the table.

“Hi, what can I help for you today?” You respond, mechanically, in a caring tone, before even taking the eyes off of your books and papers.

“I need that one.” They pointed at the book you were cataloging at the moment. You looked at them: brighter eyes, pink lips, and a distinctive nose. They blinked like they were seeing you for the first time.

“Oh.” You looked down, a little lost for a second. “We have a second copy of ‘The Secret Thoughts of the Universe’ in the 5th hall”.

The stranger chuckled, the leather jacket and their buttons and zippers sounding against the wood.

“I need the original copy, miss.”

You were a little concerned. It was not the first time someone approached you for a book you had taken, but it was a massive library – they had multiple copies of the same book. Nobody has preferences for copies.

“This is the original copy, sir. It’s fragile. You may be not be allowed to take this one.” Your pen rolled down to the book spine, like a sign of a discussion started.

The man just aligned his posture, letting a smile scape between his lips.

“Ok. You can give me the book now.” Their eyes start to shine, like the explosions of millions of little stars. It was a bright hand resting in your soul and pulling you to obey his order. But then you blinked, and you find it totally rude how he has spoken to you.

“I’m not gonna give you the book, sir.” You said, in a more imposing tone.

He gasped, audibly. The genuine surprise was in his face, his blue eyes almost turned gray.

“Why don’t you…?”

“Obey you? That’s a bit rude. Demanding things like it is yours.” You just take a deep breath and picked up your pen. “Can I help you with something more?”

He left before even saying anything.

People suck, sometimes.

Another day, the same routine. Weeks passed, and now you were organizing the shelves by yourself; it was not necessary, your job was only to put hand tags, annotate the devolution of the books, and catalog them on the right hall, but you find it relaxing. It was a bit exhausting, yes, but it was time-consuming. It was a bit of a task break.

The 9th hall was for astronomy and astrophysics. You had a pile in your arms and a full book car beside you. You put the ‘Suns and Water: How Life Can Really Be Around There’ on the shelf and even before you could drop them off, someone reached, touching your fingers and scaring you – you didn’t even hear them coming.

“Sorry.” It was the rude stranger. He lost his confidence. Now he was avoiding your gaze. Maybe he was ashamed of his actions.

You just continued your way and looked for the right spot on the other shelf to put another book.

“What date did you born?” He asked, out of nowhere.

“Excuse me?” You were starting to feel a little nervous.

“I was just… wondering.” He flips through the pages of the book you were handing earlier.

“You don’t even know my name.”

“So, if I ask you your name, you can tell me your date of birth?”

You laughed, nervous for real.

“God, you’re crazy.”

You just ignored him and go back to your work. You felt him going by your side running a little.

“Ok, sorry, I’m not very good at talking to people, no one is immune to me.”

“Let me guess, your father has political influence?”

“What?”

“Being the son of a rich person can make you a dick. You had everything you wanted for your entire life. You can’t handle someone saying no to you. Is that right?” You asked, obviously, rhetorically.

“No. I don’t have a father though. I’m not even interested in how your society works.”

You stopped by a shelf corner.

“Ok, I should know you were an anarchist.”

He laughed.

“I’m not.”

Looking at your book car, you spotted a book in a pile, but the man got the book before you.

“Stop doing that.” You demanded, trying the hardest not to go fully stressed with them.

“Doing what?”

“The things I’m gonna do before I actually do it.”

Something clicked in his mind. The man didn’t respond. You just pushed the little car and tried to think in a very sweet and colder tea waiting for you on your desk.

It was 10 pm. A little later than usual, you don’t get out of work that time, but today was a busy day. And it was okay, nothing was waiting for you home beside the dirty laundry.

You tried to find the keys to your car in your purse, but like always, it was full of books and stationery you didn’t have time to use.

“Can I walk you home?”

The voice of the stranger man scared you. He was just waiting for you to get out of the building.

“No! Get out, you’re scaring me.”

He signed, exasperated, dropping his shoulders.

“Listen, I’m not a freak. I just don’t know how to talk with you.”

“Stop trying, you’re doing terrible work.”

“A better option, yes.”

But he didn’t move. His eyes were on you yet. They abducted your gaze. Swallowed your attention.

This was a strange feeling. Everything in him was odd, unknown, terribly new, an attention seeker.

He gets a couple of steps to be in front of you. You never noticed how tall he was.

“Show me how.” He said. “How can I talk properly with you without being a freak or… scaring you.”

“You act and talk like you are not from here.” You grabbed the straps of your purse more hardly.

“Maybe I am not, for real.”

“So, where?”

“Olympia.”

Your mouth went shut.

“No, you’re not.”

Even him get out of space with your response.

“Do you know Olympia?”

It was your time to just walk like no one was talking to you.

“Hey! Wait!”

He was really concerned.

You were trying to get refuge in your car but he followed you.

“How do you know Olympia?!”

You tried to open the door but he came in the front.

“Let me in!” You demanded.

“No!” He said, euphoric like you were.

You just breathed, looking at the sky, the empty parking lot. You were exasperated. It was impossible.

“Olympia doesn’t exist.” You said, convicted. At least was what they made you believe. Everyone. Since you were a kid and brought that talk, they made you feel like a fool, a silly kid with a lot of imagination.

“Exist. I came from there. It’s real.”

“No, it’s not.” Some emotional tears came. You wiped them away very quickly.

“How do you know Olympia?” he asked more nicely this time. But you just get on your car – this time he let you do so.

You started the car, the motor, and the radio echoing. You smacked your lips.

He signed again, leaning on your window.

“If you change your mind, I can explain everything to you. Here.” He put a card on your glove compartment.

You let him alone in the parking lot that night.

It was 4 am and you were looking at your adoption papers.

“Little baby [Your full name] found with a fold under a tree close to the orphanage. Workers heard the baby cries late at night.” — the annotations said.

The fold was a very thin black paper with golden scripture. It says Olympia, 01782.

Everyone thought it was a bank account password number or even an address. But since you were capable of doing some research, you found nothing.

Twenty-two years ago. How can now be the perfect time for that?

You just continued to read, even though you memorize that entire document.

Olympia first appeared in your dreams when you were six. You know every detail and every aspect of that planet, but you just learned how to survive with the idea of being a dream because everyone thought it was just imagination.

But in these dreams, a hand appeared. They grabbed you by your little finger, like a silent promise. You never found out the meaning of that.

It was mind-consuming. You need to find answers.

The card he gave you was, surprisingly, a black paper with golden numbers. Just a number, without a name.

[04:57 am — You]: Hi. This is [Your name] from the library.

Not so late after, a response.

[04:59 am — Unknown number]: I finally know your name. Hi. I’m Druig.

You saved his contact.

[04:59 am — You]: K. Hi. Can we talk about Olympia?

[05:00 am — Man from Olympia]: Oh, sure. Not here. Can I meet you at the library during the lunch break?

[05:00 am — You]: Yes. Thank you.

He didn’t respond right away. Minutes passed and the notification came.

[05:10 am — Man from Olympia]: How do you like your tea?

You tried to get scared by his asking, but you just get flustered that he take it so much attention that first time on your desk.

[05:11 am — You]: With ice and sugar.

[05:11 am — Man from Olympia]: Okay. :)

Your lunch break starts now, and you almost run to the parking lot, book on your arms. It was not sunny today, the sky has many dark clouds and the wind was chilling.

You just get in your car and waited. You know he was gonna appear. He needed to.

Five minutes later, Druig knocked on your window, with a package and a teacup from Starbucks on his hands.

You let him in.

“Your tea.” He says like a greeting.

“Thanks.” You don’t know why, but that excites you. Tea was not something people care about very often.

He was with a sandwich. He starts eating and you were… waiting. The explanation.

“And… Olympia?” You said, a little impatient.

“Oh, yes! But first of all, how do you know Olympia?” he asked the same question of the night. He was intrigued. It was like testing you, seeing what would you respond to.

You take a sip from your tea. Looking away.

“I don’t, that’s the story. I never have been there in person, at least not that I remember. I just have dreams. And this.” You handle him the fold. It was so strange, besides you and your parents, nobody’s touched that paper. It was like showing an intimate side of yourself.

He touched that fold with care. Passed the finger through the golden letters.

“That’s impossible.” He whispered.

“What?”

“It’s my identification number.”

He pulls the jacket sleeve, showing a tattoo. The tattoo was golden too, but more ancient, like a scar. In the back of his hand.

“Why did you have an identification number?”

“Every Eternal have one. But they are unique… I mean, until now. We have the same.”

“I don’t have one.” You show him your hands and your arms. Nothing.

“Maybe you’re not born at Olympia, but you were the descendant of a human and an Eternal. Maybe… maybe the dreams you were having it’s not your memories, but of someone else.”

“I don’t know what an Eternal is.”

So, patiently, he explains everything. Every aspect and every detail of his mission here on Earth and why do you feel so unfitting here.

Everything makes sense, and you finally breathed without any weight on your heart. It makes sense to you. You didn’t feel complete because you were not from here.

“Am an… alien?”

He laughed, and you started liking the sound of that.

“Probably, yes. Come have dinner with me. We can talk with Ajak and the others, see what’s really happening.”

You let your hands on the steering wheel and smiled.

“I’m suspecting you are creating all of this just to hang out with me.”

“Oh, that’s a possibility, yes.” He repeated the same words with the same tone, and that made you smile a little.

From the back seat, you take the book. The original copy of ‘The Secret Thoughts of The Universe’ and delivered to him.

“Or maybe this was my initial plan.”

You chuckle.

“Okay, Man from Olympia. I’m gonna have dinner with you tonight.”

Druig took your car and went driving with you on the passenger seat, even though you were against the idea, just because he was literally a stranger and it was driving you somewhere unknown.

But the silence between you two was so comfortable that the paranoia left your mind, even. Both of you were having dinner at some country house, so you were leaving the town behind.

Two hours of road, napping, and listening to the radio later, you finally came to the little cabin. Druig led the path inside.

“Oh, finally! Gilgamesh take it the meat pie of the oven…” Some woman received him with a squeeze on his arm and a caring touch on his chin, like a maternal act. She stopped the greeting when she look at you, concerned. “Oh.”

“Ajak, this is [Your Name].” Druig introduced you, but Ajak don’t seem to listen. She was looking at your eyes, taking deep slow breaths like she was dreaming awake.

She leaned her head to the side.

“I thought you didn’t make it this time.” She says.

You just blinked, and moments later, you noticed that you looked over Druig for some help or a look of affirmation. He nodded very lightly.

“I’m sorry?” You responded, and she get your hands in a squeeze, and her touch was so warmer and welcoming, you didn’t even get shy.

Someone called Druig in the kitchen and he goes that way, leaving only you two.

“Seven thousand of years waiting. You finally find your way back home.”

You didn’t know why, but that gets really deep in your heart. Your vision started to blur.

“Miss, I don’t… I don’t get it, I…” You started to ramble.

She calmed you down with little words and small smiles like you were some scared animal that she was trying to approach.

“Shh… it’s okay. Come to the table. You need to eat first.”

Druig was there with more two people. One big man and one blond woman, she was smiling at the big man, very entertained until she saw you. Her smile died on her lips.

“I remember you.” The woman said.

“You do?” Druig asked, preventing you to do the same.

“Finally the last piece of Druig’s power.”

Everyone went silent, but not the stopwatch, who alarmed and shake it above the oven. The silence was really palpable.

“What did you say, Thena?” The bigger man asked. So it was not everyone in there who knows you and your unknown past – and why you were linked to Druig.

“Did I say something wrong?” She just takes a sip of her drink.

Everyone takes two slices of the meat pie from the bigger man, Gilgamesh. Later you praised him for his culinary skills. It was amazing.

And then the real talk initiated.

“We aren’t humans, he told you that, right?” Ajak hinted at you, and you confirmed. “But we aren’t living things either. Not the biological type, at least. We are… created.”

“With a purpose,” Gilgamesh added.

“And not so long ago, we find that out. We are created to do certain things on certain planets around the universe. But every time, the story repeats herself.” She looked at Druig and you. “He lives thousand years, and when we are close to the end of the mission, you appear, and you two have just a human life to enjoy yourselves.”

Maybe the confusion was in your face, that Ajak explained better.

“You were created to stop us by him. You were created to be attached to Druig for the rest of your life, and he was attached to yours. You were a natural response to prevent the planet extinction, in every place we go.”

Druig, like you, was wordless. For some reason, you were afraid to look at him and see some kind of disapproval.

“But how can I come from Olympia?”

“An ancient Eternal discovered the intentions of the Celestials. They had you with a human in secret, and put your settings into Druig’s, to follow him every life he had.”

“I don’t know what to say. It’s just… So I just appear when the world is gonna end?!”

“Oh, for us yes, but not for your human generation. Maybe more hundred and fifth years.”

“That’s more comforting, thanks.”

Gilgamesh laughed, but just him find the humor in your phrase.

“Sorry.” He says very quickly.

It was pretty late to get back to town, and Ajak offered you a vague room. But, again, you didn’t want to sleep yet, so you just leave the little cabin, sits on the grass with a blanket over your shoulders, and looked up at the stars.

Your purpose was to prevent the Celestial to born by stopping the Eternals who help the civilization to grow. Just like a spy or an impostor. That leaves a sour taste on your tongue.

You feel very welcome between their four, but it was so strange to you.

Were you really supposed to exist?

“Hi.”

Druig sits on your side, seeing the stars too.

“Hey.”

“It was a thump for me too, you know. I felt really bad at Ajak for hiding this from me the entire time.”

“I think I was going to thank her if it was my case. If she tells you in the beginning, you started to waste your life following someone who didn’t even born yet, and maybe you were able to modify the civilization just to speed up the planet collapse.”

He nodded, and you looked at him. He was still looking at the stars.

“You’re right.”

After a couple of minutes, when the silence started to be awkward, you say:

"So... we're soulmates, right?" He laughed. "What?!"

"The end of the world is happening and what's intriguing you is how you are attached to me to the end of your life?"

You rolled your eyes.

"Oh, you."

"But yes. Soulmates, I guess."

Against your want, you smiled.

"What?" Was his time to ask.

"Nothing, it's just... I can finally call someone mine."

You blushed and started to look at the stars again.

He grabbed your hand.

"Let's start with a date. How does that sound?" Druig squeezed a little, the warmth of his skin embracing yours.

"Sounds lovely."

#druig #druig x reader #druig imagine #eternals #marvel #marvel imagine #request please #eternals imagine #avengers #avengers imagine #druig x you #reader x druig

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xthecyber · 3 years ago

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divine.

to build a home (1)

pairing: tasm!peter parker x witch!reader

tags: angst and fluff, avenger!reader, mentions of stephen strange and wanda maximoff, mcu x tasm crossover, cursing, sadness ensures

summary: you prefer this peter parker’s universe over yours and you want to stay with this peter more than anything. but yet, his love for you and your magic could only go so far in the depths of the multiverse.

note: another series!!!! ty to the anon who gave me this idea! in this fic, the whole “forgetting peter parker” thing doesn’t really exist bc my fragile mind can’t write such a thing!! i apologize for any loopholes in advance <3 happy reading! enjoy chapter 1 :)

missing out? ➤ [my masterlist] - [series playlist]

There’s a constant ringing inside your head. The sound is unwavering and tumultuous — an overwhelming sensation that reminds you of a ticking time bomb. Time. You want nothing to do with it. It is your greatest enemy, and yet simultaneously, a beloved acquaintance. Time is everything and nothing all at once, but it doesn’t exist.

It doesn’t exist as you sit in front of Peter. Not the Peter Parker you knew, but the Peter Parker you loved.

When Stephen Strange had abruptly contacted you about a spell gone wrong, you were confused as to why you were the person he decided to go to when the issue was admittedly much bigger than your abilities could handle. You were concerned that he had even thought about you. Any appearance from you was deemed rare after the events of the Blip. And following that, you had resigned your post as an Avenger, deciding that you wanted to be on your own because working in a team had always brought you bad luck.

And it did.

You knew that Strange had a plethora of individuals who could be of better assistance to his situation with the young Peter Parker — such as Wanda Maximoff, who like you, had also been born with unexplainable forces of magic. She was someone you envied, yet looked up to. Someone who was exactly like you, but better in skill. Her magic was stronger, it was refined. She was smarter, older, wiser. Or so you thought. Apparently, Wanda’s whereabouts were unknown and in fact, Strange theorized that she had gone completely rogue. He suggested that you were his second choice, to which you turned down his plea out of pettiness. You had lived in Wanda’s shadow plenty enough. He had offended you, as if you hadn’t harnessed the same chaos magic as your older predecessor. Although you were weaker, and could only recreate half of Wanda’s extensive mythical capabilities, Strange and the young Peter Parker needed you. You couldn’t say no, especially when you and the boy had bonded in your time as an Avenger.

You had no idea what you had gotten yourself into.

There wasn’t just one Peter who needed your help, but three. Three different versions of Spider-Man — of Peter Parker. To make it easier for your bearings, you thought of them as brothers. And out of all the three, the middle brother had caught your attention the most.

His kind and soft brown eyes. His mesmerized gaze. His questions about your magic and questions about you.

An instant connection across universes.

You found yourself in love with a Peter that you knew nothing about. And you found yourself inevitably following Wanda’s cursed footsteps once those brown eyes vanished from your life.

Because who wouldn’t be a fool for love?

You had spent weeks studying Wanda’s magic after hearing rumors about her situation in Westview. You had dug through recovered files of the Scarlet Witch from the Avengers’ compound, studying runes and dead languages while grasping at invisible straws. It felt like you were running in circles, as if you were chasing a ghost. Peter’s ghost, or whatever you knew of him. Every lead you had was a bust, and everytime you felt Peter within your reach, you found yourself straying further away from him. On the nights you wanted to give Peter up, the image of his smile and the texture of his lips had given you reasons not to.

You had doubted your own magic immensely, until you found him again. You couldn’t fathom that your debilitating anguish had shattered through the cosmic barriers of reality — like Peter had been living behind a mirror of your world all along. The universe that you had resided in yesterday was a cloud of smoke that disappeared in front of your eyes, and you found yourself in a different New York belonging to someone you loved.

You couldn’t explain how it happened, but it did. Your heart was always stronger than your mind. And for once, you were thankful that your magic was simply a carbon copy of Wanda Maximoff.

A lone hero.

The ringing in your ears comes to a halt when Peter’s voice pulls you back to him. The flame of the melting candle on the table swishes as you look up from your reflection in the wine glass.

“Y/N,” He chuckles, reaching for your hand across the clothed table. You blink rapidly at your surroundings, remembering that you’re here with Peter and far from there. “I asked if you wanted another glass.” He gestures. “Probably not the best idea given you just… blacked-out in front of me — hey, are you listening?”

“What?” You sigh shakily, pressing your fingers to your temple. Peter’s jaw tenses at the motion; he knowingly squeezes your hand with his. You apologize through stumbling words and Peter merely shakes his head at you.

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as if he’s scared that someone is listening to him. His lips are pursed together in worry. “Are you hearing it again?”

“A lot more than usual.” You nod with a gulp, using your free hand to bring the glass of wine to your mouth. You take a generous sip, earning a look from Peter. “I’m sorry. It’s just… sometimes I hear Stephen.”

“Stephen? Like talking to you?” Peter grows concerned and a frown emerges upon him. “I thought he’d left us alone.”

“I thought a lot of people left us alone, Peter.” An uncomfortable silence fills the air. The restaurant feels almost empty, as if you and Peter were the only two who existed. You see the cogs in his brain turn as he looks off into the distance. “Hey.” You squeeze his hand in a similar fashion, assuring him with confidence. “He can’t get to us. Stephen can’t — I’m just stronger, okay?”

“I know you are.” His trusting eyes meet yours, and he plants a chaste kiss to your wrist as he raises it to his lips. “My girlfriend is so strong, not even a cool flying wizard could get her.”

“Well, I’m also a flying wizard.”

“Yeah, but not really.”

You scoff lightly, kicking his shin gently underneath the table. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You can’t fly.” Peter casually laughs, stabbing at his pasta with a fork.

“I mean, I can — well, I can hover.”

“That’s not the same as flying.” He gestures at you with narrowed eyes. “You know how penguins are birds? And birds are supposed to fly but penguins can’t?” He continues through a mouthful of fettuccine. “You’re like a penguin.”

Your mouth falls open. You lean forward in the chair with feigned offense. “You did not just call me a penguin. I am nothing like a penguin!”

“Yeah, you are.” He chuckles heartily. The sound is prettier than the soft piano in the background. “Little flightless bird.” His eyes meet yours in the dim light as your fingertips trace the cracks of his skin. You flick your wrist slightly, conjuring miniscule gold fireworks in the palm of his hand as he watches it in awe. “So beautiful.”

Peter never could wrap his mind around your magic. He knew that superhuman powers like his had to exist, but yours — yours was on a different other-worldly scale. He found you incredible, human or not. When he first laid eyes on you, he couldn’t help but notice how tragically breathtaking you were. The sadness glazing over your eyes, like an emptiness lingered inside you. He knew that feeling all too well. And he connected with you in minutes — the lightest of touches, the pounding of his heart whenever you were out of sight, the sweltering warmth in his chest as he admitted that he felt something for you; no matter how ridiculous it sounded, he figured that if he’d never see you again, he’d tell you how amazing you were. Maybe it was so easy to fall in love because you knew him somehow (or at least, another version of him in your world), but he soon recognized that you treated the youngest Spider-Man differently. You cared for that version of Peter, but you didn’t look at him with the same longing gaze. And whenever Peter was in trouble, it wasn’t the younger one you seemed to search for.

It was him.

Peter chivalrously holds the door open for you as you exit the restaurant, hurriedly stepping onto the cobblestone walkway as rain begins to sprinkle from the sky. The exchange of youthful laughter between you and Peter echoes through empty streets as an umbrella produces itself in your hand, and you take advantage of the rain to run away from him.

“Y/N!” He shouts, laughing as he chases after you. Web spurts out from the wristwatch underneath his sleeve, and you yelp as the sticky substance pulls you into his arms. You’re flesh against his chest, breathing heavily and wide-eyed as you stare up at him.

“Classic move, tiger.”

“Oh, shut it.” He whispers.

The umbrella disappears into yellow dust in your hand as he pulls you closer, and you smile against Peter’s lips as rain pours over the two of you. He laughs, blinking away the water from his eyes. You put your empty hands to use, slinging your arms behind Peter’s neck as you stand on the tips of your toes. Your hair becomes wet, sticking to your cheeks and your forehead. You feel the coolness of his breath against your mouth, and he licks at his lips as your eyes flicker up to him. The hue of the streetlights dance over his delicate features, highlighting the roughness of his skin and the healing bruises near his jaw.

His thumb runs across your bottom lip, then traces the shape of your cupid’s bow. The same digit travels up your face, running across the blemishes on your cheeks and ghosting around your shut eyelids.

You feel his gentle mouth against yours. He cranes his neck to kiss you, loosening his jaw as your tongue bumps into his. You giggle into him, and Peter takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss. His hand rubs soothingly across your back, clutching at the fabric of your coat while his other one cradles your face.

Everytime Peter kisses you, he thinks of it as his last. It scares him, as if one day he’ll reach out to touch you and you’ll become nothing but dust.

But your lips on his reminds him that this is real. You are real, just as much as he is to you.

You pull away slightly, letting the button of your nose squish against his cheek before you look shyly at the ground. There’s a honk behind you, and Peter immediately ushers you to the side as a cab passes by.

You both squint through the drops of rain as the taxi disappears into the fog. Peter takes the moment to wrap his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head. There’s a certain softness to his embrace, and you hum in satisfaction as his body envelops yours.

“You’re all I need, you know that Y/N?” His voice rumbles through his chest and vibrates against you. “Just you.”

His words riddle through your bones.

And you feel him climbing inside your heart.

“I love you, Peter.”

He kisses your temple. “I love you, too.” His grip doesn’t waver, but his hand reaches for yours. “Let’s go home.”

You don’t tell him that the ringing in your head reappears when his fingers intertwine with yours. And you don’t tell him that you hear Strange in the back of your mind calling out your name. You ignore the guilt that looms over your head.

You convince yourself that you aren’t a bad person. How could you be? What is so inherently evil about living in a place that was full of love and life and Peter? What is so bad about abandoning a universe that was nothing but cruel, for a universe that showed you how to live again?

If Strange could risk the world for Peter Parker, then how come you couldn’t either?

Was it so wrong to be consumed by love?

Love. It’s all around you as Peter shuts the door to your home (He always assumed that you had bought the house through compulsion and your magic, meaning your moral compass wasn’t completely perfect. But that also didn’t mean you were any sorts of awful — Peter had been helping you realize that in your time spent together). The home is well-decorated, with picture frames on walls and little trinkets atop of the television console. The coffee table is messy; there’s a few crochet hooks and tangled threads resting in a pile because Peter wanted to take up crocheting after seeing someone wear a really cool hat on the street. In all honesty, he sucked at it since his sticky fingers would always interfere with the looping part. It’s a small one-story house with an open kitchen and a round dining table that you and Peter never really used, oftentimes resorting to cereal or bagels on the brown couch.

Peter busies himself in the kitchen, washing a few dishes before you decide to sit on the counter beside him. You poke at his arm, earning a funny look from your boyfriend. “Look at you, all domestic and shit.” You laugh, bringing your knees up to your chest as you lean your head against the kitchen cabinet. “Itsy bitsy spider.”

“Call me that again and I'll burn you at the stake.” He raises his eyebrows at you, and you chuckle loudly at the inside joke between the pair of you. You rest your chin on your forearms, gazing in fondness as Peter dries his hands with a towel. When he’s done, he holds his arms out, and you wrap yourself around him as he carries you to the living room. “Don’t think I’ll patrol tonight.” He mumbles into your hair, brushing it away from your face as you rest your head in his lap. You look up at him, blissfully purring as he combs through your locks. “Seems quiet today. Think I’ll just spend it with you. My beautiful, beautiful Y/N.”

He pecks your forehead, and you capture his lips into a kiss before he fully pulls away. “You’re sure? If you need to go, then…”

“No, no.” He shushes you. “Spider-Man is the least of my priorities right now.”

You smile, because you’ve never been a priority to anyone except Peter. You lay there, closing your eyes at the feeling of his fingers massaging your scalp. It feels serene in the orange-hue light of the standing lamp, and it’s almost as if you can feel Peter’s heart bursting from his chest as you fall asleep in his lap.

Closing your eyes was a mistake.

The world spins into darkness, and suddenly, you find yourself falling through the ground. It feels neverending, as if you’re being dragged under a tide that won’t stop pulling you with it. The floors are endless, and there’s a drumming in the distance that gets closer and closer as you fall farther down. Before you hit the ground, a yellow cloud of dust swarms you, then you’re trapped inside a room. Everything turns into mirrors and you can only see yourself. With every turn of your head, your reflection only stares back at you – lifeless and unwilling. It’s you, but at the same time it isn’t. This version of you is dressed in your old suit made by the Avengers– the muted yellow leather, the gold decals of your chestplate, the long hooded cloak that would billow dramatically in the wind as it swam over your corset – she was exactly you, but the look on her face was void of emotion. You can’t help but run your hands down your sides and over your neck, wondering which of the two of you are real.

“Where am I?” SIlence. You spin around on your heels. “Where am I?!”

You deliver a blow to the mirror with your fist, thinking that it would crack under impact. Instead, it warbles and distorts the image of you, just for it to reappear and continue to stare back at you with those same empty eyes. She doesn’t answer, but to your surprise, she walks away. You call out into the abyss once more, but your voice never leaves your throat. Then, your reflection dissipates into mist; you see another variation of yourself with your Peter. That version of you feels more familiar. Her clothes are normal, and so is his. Her smile is genuine, and she’s reaching to kiss him. But her lips never meet him and the glass of the mirrors begin to crack audibly. There’s no escape as the shards of glass begin to fly around, and the ringing in your ears is louder than it has ever been. Your skin stings as the sharp ends bite at your cheeks, slicing just above bone.

“Peter!” You can’t hear yourself, but you can feel the shredding of your vocal chords as you let out a shrill scream. “Peter! Where are you?”

You can’t feel him. The room falls apart completely, and you float into the darkness beneath you. It’s pitch black, and there's soft music that plays from a far distance. Your thoughts only race with Peter’s whereabouts. You can’t feel him. Where is he? Your eyes well up with tears, and your vision becomes spotty as the dark room lights up in a blinding orange glow. You fall to your knees, hoping that the abyss would just eat you alive – but you don’t sink, you don’t plummet, and it feels as if gravity has stopped.

There’s a hand on your shoulder, and you whip your head around at the motion.

“Y/N.” Stephen Strange breathes out your name. His eyes are narrowed, and you can’t tell if he’s even real. “I’ve been trying to find you.”

“No.” You rip his hand away from you. And tears prickle at your waterline as you feel the warmth of his skin. “Stephen… come on.”

He’s reaching for you. In his eyes, you see desperation; it was the same look he had when he asked for help before. “This is an abuse of your powers. You – you have no idea what damage this… what you have caused. Y/N, just come home. Please.”

You step back, curling into yourself. He’s real. God, he’s fucking real.

You shake your head frantically at him, baring your palms toward him. Your hands radiate with a luminescent yellow, and tiny sparks begin to emit as you swirl them together in a pattern. Your laugh is bitter, and it sends a chill down Strange’s spine. “I’m not coming with you.”

“You are being fucking irrational.” He spits out. He mirrors you, activating his powers as well. There’s a safe distance between you and him, but the man knows exactly what you’re capable of. He can’t risk it, knowing that you have the possibility of becoming stronger than him. “Enough, Y/N!”

“I am staying…” You grunt through gritted teeth, pressing the heels of your palms together as a ball of fiery light manifests itself in your hands. “... here.” Your eyes glimmer, and your pupils shift into a milky white for a split second as rage overcomes your body. “With Peter. Leave me the fuck alone, Stephen, or so help me God!” A rune casts over his face. “What? You gonna fight me?”

“If I have to. If you go any further with this — with this Peter.” He hisses. “You don’t belong here, Y/N. You can’t stay no matter how much you use your powers. No matter how much you love him—“

“And what do you know about love, Stephen?”

His face hardens with a scowl.

His hands move rapidly as the runes shift into different shapes, and before he can go further, the ball in your grasp expands as you let out an ear-piercing cry, and an explosion shakes the abyss tremendously.

You wake up as a panting mess in your bedroom with Peter. The curtains by the window are shut, but there’s an unmistakable breeze that passes through the room. You clutch the fabric of the sheets close to your chest, letting it rub against your sweaty skin to remember where you are. Breathlessly, you roll onto your back and find Peter. He sleepily stirs at the movement, and his arm reaches out for you in the darkness of the bedroom.

You can feel him now.

“Hmph, you’re still awake?” He murmurs into the pillow, drool falling from his lip.

“No, baby.” You coo, touching his hair with tearful eyes. “Just… just had a bad dream that’s all.”

His eyes open at the statement. “Bad dream?” He sits up against the headboard when he notices that you’ve been crying. “You wanna talk about it?” You search his eyes desperately, and your whole body trembles until you’re breaking down into his arms. Peter is confused, but doesn’t hesitate to comfort you. He can feel the tears seep through his shirt, and shuts his eyes when your hands claw at him. “Was it about me?”

“It was about everything — about you, about me, about Stephen…” You hiccup. “F-fuck, he was there…” Peter wipes at your nose with his shirt. “He was real, Pete. He was so real and he — I think I’ve fucked up.”

He doesn’t answer, hugging you tighter. He knows what you mean, and he doesn’t feel the need to push you even further down this rabbit hole. He rocks you back and forth until you’re sound asleep in his arms, and he remains awake for the rest of the night. Peter’s mind can’t help but linger at the idea of losing you. As selfish as it sounds, he doesn’t want you to go back home. Even though you have friends and family back there, Peter likes you here — in his arms with your head against his chest. He wants to scream a big ‘fuck you!’ to Stephen and everyone who wants to break the two of you apart. There’s a part of him that knows how wrong this is — to keep you here as if you owed him that. Yet he can’t just let you go. He just can’t. Peter has dealt with too much loss, and he knows that he can’t bear to lose you too.

It would fucking kill him.

In this world, you remained a civilian. You and Peter had a strict agreement about your use of magic in public. This wasn’t your world anymore — there were no Avengers, no aliens coming down to invade Earth, no Thanos, no Ultron. It was like playing pretend, and it felt nice knowing that you could be treated normal for once. You weren’t a science experiment to these people nor a beloved heroine that young women looked up to, you were just yourself — not some mascot for the Avengers.

There was no pressure to be perfect. You could be imperfect here, and you’d still have Peter. And that felt amazing.

In this universe and every other universe in between, you and Peter had built a home together.

And you’d be goddamned if someone took that away from you.

The house fills with sounds from the record player in the living room. There’s a police siren that whirs in the distance, driving past the kitchen window as the bread in your toaster pops up.

Domestic.

Peter has been out the whole morning working for the Bugle, leaving you with the entire house to yourself. You make use of the time to finish a couple chores — making sure his Spider-Man mask is tucked away safely from view, changing out the bedsheets and cleaning the jammed webs in his webshooters. The routine brings a smile to your face. You take his suit out of his backpack, holding it out in front of you. There’s a large tear by the shoulder that makes you frown. With a sigh, you take out your sewing kit and sit by the windowsill in the foyer, stitching the material together. The material of his suit feels like silk under your fingertips, and you run your hand over the spider symbol.

It reminds you of the night you met him.

“An Avenger?”

“Yes.” You blinked slowly at him, as if the answer was obvious. The middle Peter doesn’t continue, mirroring your look of confusion. “What, do you guys not have Avengers? You have Spider-Man but not the Avengers?”

“I don’t even know what that is.” He scoffs through a laugh, shrugging on his labcoat on top of his suit. “They sound… cool, I guess.”

“Well, that’s because they had me.” You smirked cockily, leaning over the table. “Y/N.” You extended a hand out to him.

“Peter.”

“I know.”

He blushed at the familiar statement and his head dipped down, hiding the smile that was forcing itself onto his face. You captured his gaze through the motion, and you found yourself glued to his side the entire time. You studied his mannerisms — not because he was undeniably attractive, but because you wanted to see if this Peter was anything like the youngest Peter Parker.

But you couldn’t hide how beautiful you found him to be: the dimple in his cheek, the moles on his neck and the freckles across his nose that reminded you of constellations.

Peter could feel you staring.

“What, do you not have handsome guys in this world?”

The joke made you speechless, and you bashfully touched your hair as Peter observed you with the same fervor.

“We have handsome guys…” You stepped towards him, bravely smoothing down the collar of his white coat. You couldn’t help but look at the symbol on his chest, and it felt like electricity was running through your fingertips as you had a sudden urge to reach for it. His eyes followed your hands, before they flickered up to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?” His pupils were hopeful.

You bit back a smile. “Just not as handsome as you, Spidey.”

The vivid memory plucks at your heartstrings, and you find yourself grinning at the old interaction. You decide to put the Spider-Man suit back into Peter’s backpack, until something falls out of it and clatters to the floor abruptly.

A little black box.

Curiously, you pick it up and open it.

A ring.

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