Request: anonymous asked: can you do an angsty fic that maybe ENDS with fluff but it’s peter x mj (i’d prefer for it to be mj but you could do reader, and she knows he’s spider-man) and mj gets kidnapped and tortured reallllyy bad (almost dies) and peter almost doesn’t make it in time to save her? (i would prefer for it to end with a lil fluff but you can run with it haha)
Word Count: 2,863 (omg)
Warnings: angst, kidnapping, some torture, blood
A/N: thank you dear anon who requested this, however i’m sorry that it’s not a peter x mj but this is so because I wanted to keep the prompt as accurate as possible and i wanted to stay true to homecoming’s mj and how she ‘doesn’t need to be rescued’ but wow so this turned out longer than expected! I also kept the reader gender neutral so 👍🏼 ayyyyyy. anyway i’m quite proud of how this turned out, even if i haven’t proofread at all (sorry if you see grammar shit)
this is my first angsty fic too, so please feedback is ALWAYS appreciated! ❤️
The branches overflowing with soft leaves bent softly in the cool breeze shaded you as you focused on the book in your lap. The words on the page transported you away from the serene afternoon park setting. So much so that you almost didn’t hear Peter get up from next to you.
“I’m gonna go grab some coffee,” he pointed to the stand that sat yards away. “You want?”
You looked up from your escape. “Uh, yes please!” you replied. How could you possibly pass up an opportunity for free coffee.
“You know it,” your head dropped back down to the book as Peter strolled off, and you escaped this reality once again.
As you turned the pages, the plot thickened and a twist was coming. Your eyes flew across the pages faster and faster, you yearning to find out what would happen next. You grabbed the corner of the page to reveal—
Something clamped over your mouth. You stiffened, eyes shot wide with alarm, jarred back to reality. Dropping your book, your hands clawed at an arm. You tasted faint sweetness from the wet cloth over your mouth as your screams caught in your throat. Your legs thrashed this way and that as you struggled to wriggle from the sturdy grasp. The world started to darken and your eyelids grew lead heavy. You felt oddly tired, and you realized the wet on the cloth was probably some kind of sedative. Panicking, you searched for Peter through your faded vision. You tried to turn towards the kiosk to see if he was still there. Could he see what was going on? Did he know what was happening? Why wasn’t anyone doing anything? Surely someone could see this. Why was nobody helping? Why now? Why me of all— The questions stopped racing through your head as the world faded to black.
Peter was rocking back and forth on his feet waiting for the coffee, when he felt the hairs on his arm stand up. An odd feeling washed over him. Brows furrowed, he swiveled to look back to the tree you had been reading under. His stomach dropped at the sight of a book laying open and the jacket that had been draped over your legs. Peter saw a flash of your red converse disappear behind an battered off-white van hastily parked on the street near the tree. NO! he thought. He ignored the barista calling his name, and instead took off for the van.
“(Y/N)!” Peter screamed. He leapt over a park bench, hardly slowing down. The van peeled away, Peter in hot pursuit. He realized, however, that he couldn’t very well just go chasing after in his current state. Cursing, he briskly fired a tracker at the van, then sprinted towards his apartment.
How could I let this happen? he thought. He was always careful not to reveal his identity when he was out fighting crime. And he was positive that no one had seen you and Spiderman together. Maybe it was random? Maybe it wasn’t because you knew he was Spiderman. But he still felt the guilt gnawing away at his heaving chest.
As soon as Peter got to his room, he threw his suit on and checked the tracker. The van was crossing Brooklyn bridge, headed for Manhattan. He leapt out his bedroom window and swung, hoping he could catch up to it before it stopped. He tried to push the fact that his lungs were burning and his breath felt like fire in his throat out of his mind. He tried to ignore any fears and ‘what if’s that nagged in the back of his head. He only focused on one thing: that he would save you.
Your eyelids felt as heavy as your bag the day before finals. As you struggle to lift them, you felt your wrists squeezed between arm rests and tightly wrapped duct tape. From the way your feet were tingling and slightly numb, you guessed the same had been done to them too. You panicked when you realized you couldn’t open your mouth, and for a second forgot how to breathe. Remembering you had a nose, you started to inhale deeply but quietly, trying to slow your rapid heartbeat.
As you tilted your head up, you glanced around. You were in some abandoned warehouse. How typical. Yellow-tinged windows lined the top of all the brick walls, their hue deepened by the sunset-colored sky. Metal platforms stretched overhead, reaching along and across the interior. On the floor a few feet away from you was a table of instruments.
Your heart dropped to your stomach. Terror clinched your chest. Questions began racing through your head once more.
Shit shit shit shit. This can’t be about Peter right? I haven’t told anyone! And there’s no way we’ve been seen together when he’s Spiderman… right? It’s still light out so I haven’t been out long, I think. But still, how long has it been? Does Peter know? Is he coming? Is anyone coming? Oh God, what are they gonna do?! Who are ‘they’?!
As if to answer your question, a truck swerved in through the open gate and screeched to a halt. Five men got out, all wearing masks and shabby all-black clothing. Two walked over to the gate and began to close it. One walked past you, you turned back to see him post guard by a back door. The other two men strolled to the table, and you stiffened in the chair. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
Your knuckles became white as you clutched the arm rests. You slowly inhaled, careful not to make it obvious, as you repeated in your mind: Don’t. Give. Up. Peter.
The shorter of the two men by the table approached you slowly. He glared down at you, smirking slightly, “You’re probably wondering why you’re here, aren’t ya?” You didn’t dare move. “Well,” he sighed, “a little birdie told a little bird who told me that you’ve been seen with that Spider hero dude.” He reached down and ripped the tape off your mouth. Well looks like I won’t need to wax that, you thought as the stinging brought tears to your eyes.
But I fuckin’ knew it! you thought. Of course it’s about Peter, er, Spiderman. You looked at the ground, “Haven’t a lot of people?”
The man chuckled through his mask, “Ah yes, yes. You’re not wrong.” He backed up to the table and picked up a small metal knife. Your breath hitched. “However,” he strolled forward, “you have been seen with him on multiple accounts, young miss.” He squat down in front of you, “So, one can only assume you two’s be knowin’ each other.” The light caught the metal as he spun it between his pointer and thumb.
“Now,” he continued, “I hate to ruin your day any further—it did look like you were enjoying it quite a bit earlier—” Your eyes blazed with anger. “So why don’t you just tell me the name of this fellow, and we’ll be on our merry way?”
Part of you wanted to just make up a name. You knew they weren’t leaving without a name that you weren’t intending to give. But what if someone actually had that name? You’d have just put a target on their back. Stall, (Y/N), just stall. Peter’s coming. I’m sure of it.
“Can I ask why?” you carefully asked.
“Why?” the man repeated.
“Y-y-yeah… Why?” you restated. “I mean why do you want to know his name? You know? Like why not just catch him when he’s out and about doing his, uh, his Spidey stuff?”
“Ahhhh, good point, little miss,” you cringed at his reply. “See, this Spider guy, he messed with some people whom I consider good people, good friends in fact. Well this Spider guy completely ruined their business, even got a few of ‘em sent downtown. Which, well, they weren’t too happy with that, now were they? So—” he shrugged, “—they tell me how they got in there, and how they want this Spider guy fixed up. Eye for an eye kinda thing, ya know? So me being a good friend and all, I say ‘yeah’.
“So you’re gonna ruin his business then send him to jail?”
“No, nonono. More like, hurt him by hurting those he cares about, then send him six-feet under, that kinda thing.”
Breathe you told yourself as dread took ahold of your body. “That doesn’t sound like a very fair ‘eye for an eye’ kinda thing…”
“Quit stallin’, little miss, just give me the name.”
“But what if I don’t know his name?” you challenged, trying to keep your voice steady and calm.
For the millionth time that day, your heart dropped. “I mean, like, yeah I’ve met Spiderman a few times, but, I… I don’t know his name. Like behind the mask. That guy. The guy behind the mask’s name. I don’t know it,” you stammered as smoothly as possible. Good going, idiot. There’s no way that sounded convincing.
The man in front of you slowly nodded his head. “I see…” he responded. He stood up. “Well, young miss, that’s quite alright. Not your fault.” The calm tone in his voice caused you to not be so. “But seeing as he’s quite familiar with you…” Quick as lightning, his hand shoved the knife in the crook of your elbow. You yelped, gasping as the sharp pain throbbed up your right bicep. Shaking, you looked down, trying to register the silver jutting out parallel to your forearm. Your assailant bent down until he was eye level with you. Without moving your head, your eyes glared up at him, furious and fearful. “A little birdie also told me he has super-hearing. So we’ll just draw him here with your screams, how’s about that, little miss?”
Peter was in Harlem when he heard the first scream. Even from miles away, he was able to pick it up, and there was no missing it. When he heard it, he faltered, forgetting for a moment to shoot a web. He fell onto a rooftop, but didn’t even register that pain. The only pain he felt was the guilt and the panic eating away at his chest. He knew it was his fault. The pain he heard was because of him. And it didn’t stop there.
The screams continued as Peter raced with a new fervor. Every time he heard it, he grit his teeth to keep from crying out himself. He flew through Harlem, over the river, through Bronx. Even though he was growing closer and closer to that blinking red dot, the outcries ate away at him more and more.
As you drew in a sharp, shallow breath, you could feel the blood gurgling deep in your throat. With every inhale, the blade in your stomach seemed to dig deeper and deeper. Your heart was racing so fast, like never before. You felt blood dripping down your shin, gluing your shirt to your abdomen, seeping down your arm. Your hair was matted all over your face. You wanted to cry, you wanted to scream, to release your anguish somehow; but you couldn’t do anything but focus on the pain.
You could barely keep your eyes open. All you wanted to do was to sleep. Maybe you could just sleep the pain away. The conscious part of you told you not to; that that would be the end. But most of you didn’t even care. You just wanted sleep.
Just as your eyes closed, you heard a crash that sounded worlds away. You winced as gunshots echoed throughout the warehouse. A blurry figure approached you.
“(Y/N),” it murmured. You forced your eyes open, of which they stayed for only a second, but that was all you needed.
“Peter,” you breathed.
“I’m so sorry,” he sniffed. The bounds were ripped off your wrists and ankles, and Peter’s arms slid under your body. You whimpered, as the slightest movement sent waves of agony throbbing through your entire body. Timidly, he removed his arms and you felt his gloved hands cradling your lolling head.
“I’m so so so sorry, (Y/N),” he repeated. “Mr. Stark is coming, I called him a while ago, so he should be here soon. God, I am so sorry—” his voice cracked as he tried to choke back a sob. Warm tears were rolling down his cheeks and he was biting his lip so hard. All he could think was this was his fault. You were dying because of him.
“No,” you whispered. “No no no… Peter it’s… it’s not your fault…” you drifted off closing your eyes.
“No nonononononono, hey, hey, stay with me, (Y/N). Please, please. Don’t close your eyes just yet, lo—look at me. Hey hey hey! Yeah that’s it just look at me—”
“Shhh,” you breathed. Your eyes fluttered, “I just…” you sighed, “I just wanna sleep, Peter—”
“NO!” Peter cried, desperate. “No, no, you can’t. Not yet, ok?” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. It’s warmth spread down to your cheeks, and you let out a sigh. He stroked your right cheek with his thumb. “Just… just uh… just wait for Mr. Stark to get here, ok?”
“Tell him to hurry up,” you mumbled. The only thing you could feel was the jabbing in your stomach and Peter’s hands on your cheeks, and it was getting increasingly harder to even occasionally blink, much less keep your eyes fully open.
“He—He’s here! He’s here, (Y/N)! Just a little longer, ok? Please—hey hey! Mr. Stark!” Peter’s voice rose pitches higher as a low-tuned roaring drew closer.
You couldn’t stand it anymore. You heard the word Stark and you relaxed. Your head went completely limp in Peter’s hands as you drifted off into the sleep you had so craved.
Shockingly bright light slowly seeped in your sight as you blinked awake. You gradually took in the view of the hospital room, and finally noticed the mound of soft brown curls laying next to your right hand. A soft chuckle escaped your mouth, immediately followed by a sharp jab just below your ribs. You winced, taking note to breathe much more carefully. You gingerly brought your fingers up and wove them through the fluffy mass. Slowly, Peter shifted his head to look up at you, confused at first, but then delightedly surprised. He shot up, leaning forward in his chair.
“H—Hey, hi!” he grinned. “How you feeling?”
Your cheeks lifted slightly as you felt a soft smile plaster itself on your face. Seeing him this happy was one of the greatest things to wake up to. Even if you could see the tinge of worry behind those beautiful coffee-colored eyes.
“I’m ok,” you sighed. “Hurts to breathe, to move, to pretty much exist right now, but uh… yeah. I’m ok.”
Peter’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I—” he began.
“No, no, Peter,” you cut him off. “Don’t start with the ‘I’m sorry’s again please? You don’t have to be sorry cuz it wasn’t your fault, alright?” You hissed, voice hoarse, “You’re the one who came for me, who wanted to help me.”
Peter wrung his hands together, “But I—”
You shakily reached down to grab his hands; you could still feel the knife right in the bend of your elbow. “Peter, please. If not for yourself then do this for me,” you laced your fingers through his, eyes pleading to his own. “Don’t kick yourself for this, ok? I will heal, I’ll be fine. We’ll be more careful when you’re out there, make sure no one sees us together, but—”
“See?! It was my fault!” Peter cried. His hands went limp against your own. “This… we can’t…”
“Stop, Peter. I already know where you’re going with this. You’re not gonna bail on me just to ‘protect me’ and crap, alright? Sure, maybe I can’t be seen hanging out with Spiderman as often, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop hanging out with my best friend!”
Peter sighed a deep sigh, “I’m still sorry, though. I feel like I need to do something but I dunno what I can do.”
You gazed at him for a moment, appreciating his worried brows and concerned eyes. Mustering as much strength and effort as you could, you scoot yourself to the left, huffing for a moment as you felt all the pain return back and worse than ever. You nodded your head to the space next to you, “You can just sit here and chill with me.”
Peter slid onto the bed, not once letting go of your hand. You let your head rest on his shoulder, and he let his rest on your head. You both lay there, breathing even, hearts calm, hands intertwined, feeling comfortable and safe with your best friend firmly next to you.
The nurse who came into your room for a routine check in was greeted with the sight of two teenagers fast asleep, faint but tired smiles adorning both faces.
LIZ’S ULTIMATE LIST OF HER FAVORITE MOVIES “Annie and I met up at camp and, and we decided to switch places. I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen you and I’ve dreamt of meeting you my whole life and Annie felt the exact same way about Dad so, so we sort of just switched lives. I hope you’re not mad because I love you so much, and I just hope that one day you could love me as me, and not as Annie. ” (The Parent Trap, 1998)