Y/N 🍪

_

WHEN YOU WAKE UP IN STICKY STUFF, IT JUST SOUNDS PLAIN WRONG.

No, seriously, it sounds nasty. I woke up sticky. I just—I know it sounds dirty, but I swear it isn't—opened my eyes to find myself wrapped in a bunch of webs. Spider-webs, to be exact. I know this, because I hate spiders with all my heart, and the very sight of that stringy mess makes me want to scream.

So I did scream.

"Bucky on a motorbike!" Luka yelled, running into my room, "who died?"

Two things for reference:

            #1. I probably woke up all of Brooklyn a few seconds ago.

Upon learning that I was wrapped in webs, I let out a loud scream, falling out of my bed and hitting my head on my desk. Dramatic? Hell yes, I had every right to be! I looked like a mummy, and I probably would be one in a few seconds. There must have been a giant spider who did this to me when I was sleeping—

NO.

Don't think about it, [y/n], you'll throw up if you think about giant spiders. You have arachnophobia for a reason, remember, and that's to make sure you stay far, far, far away from all arachnids.

            #2. "Bucky on a motorbike" is a common term in this house.

Not because James Buchanan Barnes was known to ride one, but because Luka (my foster-sibling) has had a crush on Bucky Barnes ever since he ran into him at the grocery store. They were both reaching for the plums. Their hands touched. Bucky, being the gloomy hunk that he is, just took the plum and left. Luka, as expected, fell in love.

But that's all you need to know, let's circle back to the present.

"Yes, someone died," I exhaled, "and that someone is me."

Luka leaned against the doorway of my room, his arms crossed against the 80s t-shirt he was wearing. I knew my scream snapped him out of his daily skin-care ritual, because he had half of a face mask on, tired eyes, and his blue hair was pinned up into a little bun at the top of his head.

"If you're trying to be a rug, it's working," he grinned playfully, "almost didn't see you."

"Shut up," I groaned.

"No, but seriously, what the hell is happening?"

I wish I had an explanation, but I didn't really know how to explain it. I could tell him my hypothesis, but I wasn't sure of that either, so going with the obvious truth was a better option.

"I'm currently tangled up in webs," I hissed, although all sense of anger was muffled by the carpet, "and I can't move."

Luka didn't understand.

He stared at me blankly, blinking every now and then, and scratching his neon blue hair like it itched. I just stared at him with daggers in my eyes. He clearly was taking his sweet time to process my words, but then it all came crashing down.

"Holy Thor, you're seventeen today!" He exclaimed, jumping back from the door.

I groaned again. "Yep."

"It's your red-string day!"

Oh. Right.

It is my red-string day.

I'm not one to care for in-depth explanations, so I'll make it a quick one. A long time ago, some witch-dude cast a spell (yadda, yadda, yadda), and discovered that soulmates are bound together by an invisible red string. Because of that spell, everyone who turns seventeen has a chance to see their string for the first hour of their wake—which often leads to people finding their soulmate.

No, seriously.

89% of people find their soulmates at age 17. The other 11% aren't so lucky. Once an hour passes, the string becomes invisible to you again, and the next chance you have is on your next birthday.

BUT I DON'T HAVE A RED STRING APPARENTLY!

I HAVE A SPIDER-WEB?

I started kicking my legs impatiently.

"Luka, please help me up!" I whined, "I'm freaking out right now, and I'm tangled up in spider-webs that apparently only I can see!"

He paused. "Spider webs?"

"Yes!"

He didn't say anything, but I knew he was dumbfounded. His eyes glazed over when that happened. I didn't blame him, because I was confused too, but I let him hoist me onto my feet. I unravelled myself from the webs (thank gosh), but the end of it was now going out the door, while the other was tied to my wrist.

I exhaled.

"Thank you," I said, sitting on the side of my mattress, "sorry for yelling, but I don't know what's going on."

Luka nodded in agreement. "Are you sure you're seeing spider-webs?"

"Yep."

"Not a red-string?"

"Not a red-string."

A car honked somewhere outside of my window.

Look, I know this all seems so sudden, but I'd tell you the explanation for it if I knew—which I don't. I was supposed to have a red-string that connected me to my soulmate. Instead, I—who has a severe case of arachnophobia, might I add—got spider-webs instead.

If this is the universe's way of telling me that I'm going to end up alone, that's just hands-down cruel.

"Holy Buck," Luke muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the room for the webs (although they were invisible to him), "you're gonna' die alone."

"Hey!" I gasped.

"It's just a thought!"

"Get out of my room, you jerk!" I yelled, grabbing one of my pillows to chuck at him, "I don't need your help anymore!"

Chuckling like the leprechaun from the Lucky Charms™ commercials, Luka sprinted out of the room, leaving me alone just like I wanted.

Just me, my thoughts, and my spider-webs.

ıllıllııllıllı

IT'S BEEN OVER AN HOUR, SO THE WEBS ARE GONE.

It still freaks the heck out of me, though, knowing that they're still wrapped around me even though I can't see them. Of all things, I just had to get spider-webs. And I hate spiders. So, so, so much.

But besides my own fears, I couldn't help but wonder who was on the other side of my soul. I wondered if it was someone I knew, who turned (or will turn) 17, and looked down at their wrist and saw the same webs as mine. I wondered if they screamed too—I'd hope so, just for the thought of not seeming pathetic.

I wondered if I'd find them, and if they'd like me when they did—

"Sorry!" Someone yelled, before crashing into me like a truck on a slippery highway.

I went crumbling to the floor, papers that didn't belong to me flying around like taunting birds. I felt someone roll onto the ground next to me, but I was too focused on the snickers coming from bystanders in the hallway I was ever-so-peacefully walking in a few seconds ago.

My back hurt. The idiot who barged into me must have dug their elbow into my spine when we collided.

"Are you okay?" I groaned, stumbling onto my feet, "nothing broken?"

The idiot spoke. "Just my dignity, but I never really had any to begin with."

I looked up from the pile of strewn papers, locking my gaze with a set of honey-brown eyes. Unfamiliar eyes. A boy with messy brown hair, a bashful smile, and a pile full of homework was standing right in front of me like he didn't just send me flying across the hallway beforehand.

I looked at him observantly, and he looked at me like I was about to kill him, because as soon as he saw my face, he tensed up.

"Good face—no, goodbye," he stammered, picking up his papers with one swift grab, "gotta' go home, no—room, homeroom—sorry for crashing into you!"

And then he ran away.

What the hell?

Shaking my head, I tried to forget the incident and head to my free-period. I had an agreement with the school principle for science, and he allowed me to take my session in the morning so I could complete my science experiments without blowing anyone up on accident.

Oh, yeah, I should mention.

I'm a scientist, and (as arrogant as this will make me sound) I'm in the process of creating something revolutionary.

YANA, is what it's called, and it stands for YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I do fancy a bit of acronyms here and there, but it fits the product well. I started developing the idea for it last year, and I need to get some recipes right before I start trying to get it produced.

It's a cookie that relieves trauma (or the feeling of emotional pain). When my parents were killed by a rogue Chitauri, I got sent to live in a foster home with Luka, but some nights were unbearable to withstand knowing they were gone. I felt alone, and I felt scared.

Hopefully, when people eat the cookie, they'll remember that they aren't alone.

People said it should come in the form of a pill, but pills can make people feel like there's a problem, and cookies are delicious. Win-win, I tell you. YANA, the cookie that relieves trauma.

I just have to finish making it first.

But before I could start unpacking my tools from the science lab, the door burst open, and Luka came running in at the speed of light. I nearly dropped the beaker in my hand.

"[Y/N]!" He yelled, slapping a picture onto my desk, "look at this!"

"What is that?" I said, not bothering to look at the photograph as I continued unpacking my things.

"Something you need to see," he said, smacking me on the shoulder (ow), "I'm serious, I think I have an explanation as to why you only saw spider-webs."

!

Okay, maybe I should listen to him. Just out of curiosity, that's all, because I'm not admitting that I value my soulmate over my scientific research.

Setting down the beaker in my hand, I spun the picture around, peering down to observe it. A red, blue, and blurry blob was plastered across the ripped-out piece of newspaper, one arm outstretched, while the other clung onto a string of spider-webs.

Spider-Man?

"You're soulmate is Spider-Man," Luka explained, "I can't believe we didn't realize this!"

I scoffed. "You've got to be joking."

"I'm not!"

"Isn't Spider-Man like some 30 year old vigilante?"

"That was just a rumor, and he's probably near our age if he's your soulmate," Luka argued, placing his hands on the desk again, "unless you have a thing for older men."

I ignored that comment. "Just because they're spider-webs, doesn't mean it's Spider-Man."

"You know that super-beings have different red-strings than others," he explained, "remember when that woman matched with Hawkeye, said her red-string mutated into a bunch of arrows, and they ended up moving to a farm and starting a family?"

Oh heck.

"Holy Steve, you're right," I said.

"Obviously, I've been researching super-heroes so I can impress my future husband, Mr. Barnes," he said.

"Hate to break it to you, but we all know Mr. Barnes is taken by Mr. Rogers," I snorted, ducking under my desk to retrieve a sampling vial, "I wonder if Cap' had to follow a string of plums when he turned 17."

Luka took that personally.

"Stop getting distracted, this is serious," he frowned, "you're Spider-Man's soul mate."

I shrugged. "What if I'm Black-Widows soulmate?"

"Oh please, have you ever seen her shooting webs out of her wrist? No, I didn't think so. Her soulmate probably has to follow a line of guns."

"Wow. Spooky. Do not need that thought," I said, shaking my head. Luka was still staring at me in disbelief, so I waved my hand towards the door to shoo him off. "We'll talk about this later, I have work to do."

Knowing better than to argue with me, he stormed out of the room, forgetting to take his newspaper clipping with him. He had to be joking. No, seriously, he had to be. Spider-Man can't be my soulmate, because of two things.

One, I have arachnophobia.

And two?

I don't know who the hell Spider-Man really is.