Peter Parker had always believed in science. Equations, logic, experiments—those were the tools he trusted to make sense of the world. But when the gods themselves decreed his destiny, science suddenly felt woefully inadequate.
It had started on an unassuming Thursday morning. Peter was web-swinging through Manhattan, on his way to deliver photos toThe Daily Bugle, when a blinding flash of light stopped him mid-air.
"What the—" Peter began, shielding his eyes.
When the light faded, he found himself no longer surrounded by skyscrapers but standing in a vast, marble-floored hall. The ceiling stretched into infinity, painted with constellations that shimmered and shifted as though alive. Columns of gold and silver lined the room, and in the center stood a massive, ornate throne.
"Oh, great," Peter muttered. "Another dimension. Just what I needed."
"Peter Parker."
The voice boomed like thunder, and Peter turned to see three figures seated on the throne. They were gods—there was no mistaking it. One glowed with the warmth of the sun, their golden hair cascading like fire. Another shimmered with the cool luminescence of the moon, their silver eyes unreadable. Between them sat a shadowy figure, cloaked in starlight.
"Uh, hi?" Peter said, unsure if he should bow or start running.
"Do not fear," the shadowy figure said, their voice deep and melodic. "We have summoned you here to deliver a message."
"Right," Peter said, nodding slowly. "Because that's not ominous at all."
The golden-haired god rolled their eyes. "You mortals are always so dramatic."
"Says the literal deity," Peter muttered.
"Silence," the moonlit god said, their tone sharp. "This is no time for jest. We have seen the threads of fate, Peter Parker. Your destiny is entwined with another's—a man named Wade Wilson."
Peter blinked. "Wade? As in Deadpool? You've got to be kidding me."
"We do not jest," the shadowy god said. "Your union is foretold in the stars themselves. Together, you shall shape the balance of chaos and order in the mortal realm."
Peter opened his mouth to argue but was cut off by another flash of light.
When the light cleared, Peter was back in Manhattan—but he wasn't alone. Standing beside him, holding a chimichanga and looking thoroughly unimpressed, was Wade Wilson.
"Oh, hey, Spidey!" Wade said, grinning. "You get zapped by the shiny people too? Cool, cool. What'd they tell you?"
Peter stared at him. "That... we're destined or something."
"Right?!" Wade said, biting into his chimichanga. "It's about time someone acknowledged our undeniable chemistry. I mean, it's practically written in—wait, no, itiswritten in the stars. Literally."
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. "This has to be some kind of mistake."
"Aw, don't be like that," Wade said, slinging an arm around Peter's shoulders. "The gods said it, so it must be true. You and me, Spidey—fate's favorite power couple."
"I'm not a couple with you," Peter snapped, shrugging him off.
"Not yet," Wade said, wagging a finger.
Peter groaned.
Despite Peter's protests, strange things began happening. Everywhere he went, he ran into Wade—at crime scenes, during patrols, even at Aunt May's neighborhood bake sale.
One evening, while Peter was trying to study in his tiny apartment, a knock at the window made him jump.
He opened it to find Wade perched on the fire escape, holding a bouquet of mismatched flowers.
"What are you doing here?" Peter asked, exasperated.
"Following the will of the gods," Wade said, handing him the flowers.
Peter stared at the bouquet. "These are half-dead dandelions and a stick."
"Yeah, well, fate didn't specifygoodflowers," Wade said, climbing into the apartment.
"Wade—"
"Don't worry, I won't stay long," Wade interrupted, plopping onto Peter's couch. "Just thought I'd swing by and see how my future destiny partner is doing. Need help with your homework?"
Peter sighed, rubbing his temples.
One particularly chaotic day, Peter and Wade found themselves fighting a group of heavily armed mercenaries who had stolen experimental tech.
"Duck!" Peter shouted, webbing a grenade out of the air and flinging it into the Hudson River.
"Nice save, Spidey!" Wade called, slicing through an attacker with one of his katanas.
The fight was intense, but they made a surprisingly good team. By the time the last mercenary was subdued, Peter was panting and covered in soot, while Wade was whistling cheerfully.
"Another victory for the power couple!" Wade declared, sheathing his sword.
"Stop calling us that," Peter said, shooting him a glare.
Before Wade could respond, the sky darkened, and the gods appeared once more, their forms shimmering above the city.
"Peter Parker. Wade Wilson," the shadowy figure intoned. "You continue to resist your destiny."
"Resist? Nah, I'm all in," Wade said, waving. "Spidey's the one dragging his feet."
Peter threw his hands up. "Because this is ridiculous! I don't even know what you want from us."
"The threads of fate bind you together," the moonlit god said. "You must learn to trust one another, to balance one another."
The golden-haired god smirked. "And, you know, maybe kiss a little."
Peter's face turned red. "That's not happening!"
Wade leaned closer, grinning. "Don't knock it till you try it, Pete."
"Enough," the shadowy god said. "Your path is clear. Embrace it, or risk unraveling the very fabric of fate."
With that, they vanished, leaving Peter and Wade alone in the wreckage.
Peter sighed. "Why me?"
"Because you're adorable," Wade said.
Over time, Peter reluctantly began to see the truth in the gods' words. Despite his initial resistance, Wade's chaotic energy balanced Peter's methodical nature in a way that was almost... harmonious.
One evening, as they sat on a rooftop overlooking the city, Peter finally admitted it.
"Maybe... maybe the gods were right," he said quietly.
Wade nearly dropped his taco. "Wait, what? Did you just admit I was right?"
"Don't make me regret it," Peter said, rolling his eyes.
Wade grinned, leaning back against the ledge. "You won't regret it, Spidey. I promise."
Peter looked at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. For all of Wade's nonsense, there was something comforting about having him around—something that felt, dare he say it, destined.
Maybe the gods knew what they were doing after all.