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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

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A Handmaiden’s Lies: Part 3

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Tom’s honestly shocked when you show up at the camp the next day. It’s quite impressive you were able to find your way back through the thick trees and brush. The girl with the white hair scowls as she trails after you, but you’re back to being a statue as you stride past bigger, bulkier men without batting an eye. They all watch you go with barely concealed resentment bubbling in their eyes. Tom made it clear that you were not to be touched, and nobody’s going to go against Tom, no matter how much a few of them might want to.

Tom won his position as leader fair and square, no matter how bloody. Nobody wants to be the next stain of red on his hands.

The sun is high in the sky and shade hard to find. Scarce a wind blows to challenge the heat. Tom pauses in sharpening his sword and lifts his sweaty curls off his forehead, relishing the feel of fresh air on the overheated skin.

Midday patrol was just sent out, though Tom doubts they’ll find anything. Only other rogues and bandits ever occupy the forests, and most parties know not to mess with Holland’s gang. The rest of his crew mills around the camp. He knows they’re murmuring, resentful he’d called off their crusade of destruction. He tries to keep the majority happy, but they also need to remember that he is leader and that what he says goes.

If they want to challenge him on it, they can.

You don’t gloat or anything when he catches your eye. Without a change of expression, you step over a pile of horse droppings smoothly. Tom appreciates the good grace of that while simultaneously cursing the poop boys for not staying on top of their work. Behind you, the blonde has less grace; her nose wrinkles at the sight of the mess.

You stride right up to Tom. At his side, Paddy tenses. Last night Tom’s inner circle was informed of the situation, and Paddy took it as well as could be expected.

“What do you do for fun?” you ask without preamble. Behind you, the girl rolls her eyes.

Tom blinks. “Pardon?”

“Fun,” you repeat slowly like he’s not right in the head. “What do you enjoy, apart from robbing civilians and destroying property?”

As if he can’t help himself, Paddy has to open his mouth: “Better question is what you do for fun. Watch paint dry?”

Your lip curls as you look at the younger boy. “I’m sure you meant for that to be a much more cutting insult.”

Paddy flushes.

“What I don’t do for fun is insult my friends and family,” Tom says pointedly. Your eyes slide to the ground before snapping up. “And to answer your question, I enjoy riding and dueling.”

Your eyes light up at the mention of dueling and it dawns on Tom that this is your olive branch. He’d nearly rejected it by telling you off but thankfully he’d saved himself.

“Duelling looks like a useful skill,” you say.

Tom nods.

“I was never allowed to learn. It’s considered improper.”

“Everyone should be taught how to defend themselves,” Tom says. “What if you have to protect the queen?”

The girl with the white-blonde hair clears her throat and you kick her. It’s such a moment of warm familiarity that Tom has to smile. “Sorry about Henrietta,” you smile. “She considers it improper as well.”

The girl, who must be Henrietta, casts her eyes to the sky. Tom can recognize the look of someone praying for patience; he’s seen Haz wear that expression often enough to have it memorized.

“Well, you should learn,” Tom informs you.

Henrietta laughs after a brief moment of awkward silence. Your eyes widen a little as you stare at Tom, obviously waiting for him to say something, but his mind is blank. What’s neutral territory here? If he changes the subject it’ll be obvious but not as awkward as the silence. Do you want to continue talking about duelling? Is there a coded message in your abrupt question and trailing sentences? Why are you making Tom’s head spin? He’s never been this nervous around girls before.

Paddy mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Dear Gods.” Then, louder, he says, “Y/N, would you like Tom to teach you how to duel?”

Tom’s eyes widen as you smile and nod—almost shyly? He hadn’t considered you would ever be bashful about anything. “Yes!” he exclaims. “Uh, Pads, take Henrietta to, uh… Zendaya. I’m sure they’ll get along great. And, Y/N, we can go… duel. Together. With swords,” he finishes stupidly, internally cringing but unable to stop himself.

“Mmm-hmm.” You clasp your hands in front of your body and follow Tom to the makeshift armory. Most camp members just carry their own weapons, so the armory doesn’t have a wide selection to choose from. They’re all spare weapons.

Tom picks up a thick sword about the length of his arm and tests it. It’s heavy—probably too heavy for someone that’s never wielded such a weapon in her life. Life in the castle tends to have such perks.

Tom stashes that sword and pulls out a slightly shorter and thinner sword. You should be able to wield it.

Tom unsheathes his own sword from his belt and demonstrates how to hold the weapon. You take his instructions easily and sometimes anticipate them. Your eyes may be untrained in duelling stances, but they’re still sharp, keen to focus on every little difference between Tom’s stance and yours.

You’re not good at duelling. Not at first. Tom can tell you don’t want to admit you’re struggling but the sword trembles when you hold it up. Your muscles obviously aren’t used to such exertion, which makes you slow. Tom suggests a break after a while and you seize the opportunity for a rest. You’re obviously not the type of person to admit to weakness.

After the break you return to practice with renewed vigor. You practice a basic parry in slow motion until you’ve got it and only then do you instruct Tom to speed up.

It takes hours (and a few more breaks) by the time you’re able to parry at a speed remotely close to the speed of duelling, but you look so pleased with yourself Tom can only applaud you.

He can see you applying that unholy determination to any skill in your life. Tom can’t imagine you’re incapable of doing whatever you set your mind on.

“Can all of your men duel like you?” you ask just as the sun begins to set. The trees are already casting long shadows on the ground.

Tom shakes his head. “The skill variety is wide. What swordsmen do reside in the camp are impressive as well, though none have trained as long as I have.”

“Do you not tire of not having a home?” you ask again, reminding Tom of those leading questions about duelling before. He narrows his eyes slightly, wondering where you’re going with this, but replies easily enough.

“I do have a home.” He looks to his tent.

“But a permanent one,” you press. “Your skills—all your men’s skills—are impressive. Surely there are positions for men such as you in the kingdom?”

“What, so eager for me to stay now, is that it?” Tom teases. There was no home for Tom when he was a child here. Why should now be any different?

“Become a soldier for the queen,” you urge.

Tom just stares at you.

“A war is coming,” you add. “The only thing more dangerous than being a group of rogues scant forty men with no allegiances travelling between kingdoms is being the leader of said group whose soulmate is influential in a castle. Your group cannot fight off Thanatoia alone. You’ll be slaughtered. Or worse—you’ll be tortured with the hope that I’ll give up valuable state secrets for you.”

“Yes, because you wouldn’t, would you?” Tom asks bitterly, sheathing his sword.

“I’m trying to protect you,” you snap back, eyes slits of anger. All traces of comradery brought on by sparring are gone.

Tom ponders the treeline until you sigh and dash the sword to the ground, perhaps petulantly. Without even a good-bye, you take your leave.

Tom doesn’t watch as you do.

~~~

He doesn’t sleep.

Is Tom really prepared to serve a kingdom that threw him away as a child? Is he prepared to take a final side in the budding conflict?

Is he prepared to be away from you for a whole year again—maybe longer, if war is declared; barricades can be constructed, hostages taken, innocents murdered.

Is he prepared to leave his men behind?

No, Tom decides in the morning, he’s not. He won’t leave his men. He also won’t leave you without the guarantee that he’ll see you again. If his men truly decide that they would rather wander than enlist, he’ll go with them, but not without you. He’ll kidnap you if he has to. Sure, you’re stubborn and loyal to the queen and you’ll probably hate him at first. But you’ll get over it, and even if you don’t, at least Tom will know that you’re safe.

~~~

“We’ve lived for years like this!” Anthony argues. “Thantoian troops won’t dare to find us in the woods in our own territory.”

“Deesee is neutral in this budding war!” a short, squat boy with a hundred pounds on Tom chimes in. Beady little eyes peer at his leader with resentment from underneath thick eyebrows and a protruding forehead. “Worst comes to worst and we could stay there. They’re not about to drive us out.”

“And hide from the fight like cowards?” Sam argues back.

“It’s not our fight to begin with!”

Tomas swears and spits on the ground, drawing his sword. The familiar shink of metal on metal has everyone backing away. Everyone except Tom. He clenches his jaw, hand resting on his own sword.

“What are you doing, Tomas?” Harrison asks cautiously, one hand held out as if it’ll help diffuse the situation.

“I’ve had enough of Holland’s pansy ass leading,” Tomas declares, leveling the point of his sword at Tom’s chest despite being a good ten feet away. “Fight me like a man, unless you’re too much of a bitch.”

Someone in the crowd laughs nervously.

“Are you sure about this, Tomas?” Tom asks slowly, drawing his own sword.

“‘Course I’m ready,” the other boy scoffs. “Ready to skewer you.”

“I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me,” Tomas laughs, “I won’t be the one getting hurt. And after this, I’ll take the bitch that suggested this stupid idea to my tent.” He leers.

Iron meets iron in a clang that makes a few people flinch. Tom’s eyes narrow at the other boy’s strength as he pushes against Tom’s sword. Tom takes a step back, testing the waters. As expected, Tomas follows him.

“You know what I’m going to do to your bitch, Tommy?” he taunts.

Criminals. Tom keeps the best of them in line, but a few dishonourable rogues find their way into every camp. He grits his teeth and smashes the hilt of his sword to Tomas’ hand, relishing the other boy’s grunt of pain. “I don’t imagine you’re going to do anything to anyone after this, Tomas.”

Tomas lunges, his sword missing Tom’s chest by a hair. Tom barely jumps to the side in time. Before Tomas can rebalance, his arm is gone from his shoulder.

The crowd sucks in a gasp. Tomas screams.

Tom doesn’t like to leave loose ends, so he runs him through with his sword.

“Would anyone else like to complain?” he asks, eyes blazing. Tomas is dead now, but his words—what he’d said about you—they run around his brain, echoing and echoing and he wishes he could kill Tomas all over again for even thinking them.

No one says a word.

~~~

You arrive at the camp a little past high noon. You march in with a scowl on your face, obviously ready to fight even if you don’t know how, but what you see stops you in your tracks. For a brief moment, pure shock flits over your face as you stumble and your fists unclench.

The whole camp is silent. Those who had quarreled during the discussion don’t dare to do more than glare after Tom had officially shut down the debate. Little more than ten tents remain erect. All the boys and girls with rolled-up tents sit on their packs, eyes glued to your form.

The winter had been harsh and they’d lost a few men to the cold, not to mention the worry about the upcoming war that had plagued the camp, but Tom hadn’t expected quite this many people to agree to work in the castle. Not a single camp girl refused the invitation. Only the bitter men, content to suffer only to spite the kingdom that threw them out, refused. Anthony, one of them, spit on the ground by Tom’s feet and called him a traitor. It stings.

In the middle of it all is a boy lying face down on the ground. It doesn’t take a genius to tell that he’s dead. You don’t balk at the sight or even doubletake. Your eyes seek out Tom’s and he almost wants to drop the gaze, expecting shame or disappointment, but you’re inscrutable as always.

He almost feels dirty when he remembers what Tomas had said about you. Those words will always be etched into his memory, much as he doesn’t want them to be. What would you say if you knew what one of his followers said about you? What would you do if you knew that some of the men you’re taking in might have been Tomas’ friend?

If you had been expecting more or fewer men, you don’t let it show. You don’t even hesitate before calling out, “In exchange for the queen’s protection, land, food, medicine, and all other services, will you agree to be a worker in her castle? Will you clean, cook, and fight without complaint?”

“Yes,” Tom says after that anticlimactic ending. He’d expected a few more words and you’d even hesitated at the end like you’d been searching for more to say.

Harrison takes his lead: “Yes.” Soon enough, everyone that has packed has agreed and you nod, satisfied.

“The queen will go hungry before you will,” you add. “All she requires is your loyalty.” And with that, you turn to go. Tom scrambles to catch up.

“The queen won’t really…” He trails off awkwardly. That’s simply not how royalty works.

You shoot him a glare out of the corner of your eye. “The queen is connected to her kingdom, Holland. You’ve just become a part of it. She protects her own.”

“But she wouldn’t starve to death to let a soldier eat,” Tom presses. “Not without leaving behind an heir. And she’s younger than me. There’ll be no heir for a long time.”

“She has a younger brother. He’s prepared to take the throne as well,” you point out.

Tom shakes his head. He thinks you’re exaggerating your queen’s greatness a little bit, but he has to trust you. Right?

“You forget the queen’s curse.”

Tom scoffs. “That magic myth? She’s connected to her kingdom or something?”

“Not a myth,” you say softly. “You also forget that nobles are representatives of the areas they govern. Whatever the majority of that area decides on, they must support or be replaced. Marvel is not as Deesee or Thanatoia.”

Tom has to admit he doesn’t know much about how Marvel is governed. He didn’t live in the kingdom long enough to learn. He’d just always assumed it was similar to its neighboring kingdoms. Of course, resentment had kept him from studying Marvel whenever he came to ransack and destroy.

Properly chastised, he closes his mouth.

You sigh dramatically at his side and reach into the pocket of your skirt. Out comes a delicate handkerchief.

Tom’s stunned when you take his face in your hands and wipe it gently. The handkerchief dips down to his neck before you retract, showing off the red smears on the once-white surface before shoving the ruined object back into your skirt.

You say nothing about the blood or the body, but Tom knows that you know what he did. He just doesn’t know how you feel about inviting a killer into your palace. He doesn’t know how you feel about your soulmate being a murderer.

You are frustratingly unreadable.

A Handmaiden’s Lies Taglist:

@andreasworlsboring101 @juliebean247 @lisannehus

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight@andreasworlsboring101

Let me know what you all thought or if you’d like me to put you on a taglist!

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #reader x tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #reader insert #you x tom holland #MCU #mcu fanfic #mcu au #harrison osterfield #au #robin hood au #soulmate au #zendaya

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

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A Handmaiden’s Lies: Part 2

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

About a year has passed since Tom last visited Avenge. He and his men spent quite a fair amount of time at Deesee, a neighboring kingdom known for mining precious jewels. In fact, they spent more time there than they normally did, so Tom cut their visit to the kingdom of Thanatoia short. It’s not like he and his men stick to a schedule or anything; they vaguely circulate between the three kingdoms to escape harsh winters and authority figures out for their heads.

It’s just that… well.

Not a day passed where Tom didn’t think of you. He was anxious and worried that something could happen to you and the way he’d find out is by waking up and discovering that the words on his forearm were gone. Or that you would find someone else and it would just be another cruel joke played by the universe to show Tom yet again that he is unlovable. Or that you would simply forget about him.

“Worrying is normal,” Haz told him again and again. “Soulmates aren’t meant to be apart for so long. It’s like how you would be worried for me if I was lost, only… worse.”

A lot worse, Tom had mentally agreed every time.

But now he’s back. Surely you’ll come to visit, right? You’ll hear about him and his men back in the kingdom you’re so protective of and you’ll come to check on them to make sure nobody’s misbehaving.

Right?

No.

A full week passes and nothing. Tom’s seething. Haz and Paddy let all the horses out of a rich man’s stable four days ago. Sam and Harry robbed a bank at gunpoint three days ago. William stole a carriage and Tomas crashed it yesterday.

Nothing.

And Tom’s livid. It’s been entirely too long and you’re ignoring him and he can hardly march up to the castle and demand to see you, can he? Especially because he doesn’t even know your name.

That’s a big part of why he’s angry. You know his. Tom hadn’t even bothered to ask you what yours is. So, really, if you decide to stay away for life, Tom can hardly stop you, can he?

So that is why he is walking up Iron Street, throwing Molotov cocktails at every carriage he sees.

Well, every empty carriage. You’re already going to be pissed about the property damage. Killing someone might be crossing the line.

Tom cheerfully lights another rag and hurls it at a red-and-gold carriage. How dare these people be wealthy when Tom and his men live in squalor. How dare these families be unbroken when his own parents told him he was unlovable at seven years old and left him and his brothers at an orphanage. How dare these couples be happy when Tom’s own soulmate wants nothing to do with him.

“That’s enough,” Z says at his side. “I’m sure she’ll get the hint.”

Tom snorts as he surveys the chaos. People running and yelling, carriages and carts going up in flames, and no one has the nerve to tell Tom to stop. Everyone knows by now that the Holland gang comes by every spring and they leave when they damn well please.

Someone shoves Tom from behind hard and he goes sprawling.

Already snarling, Tom jumps to his feet and turns around. His hands and knees sting from taking a fall on hard, unforgiving pebbles, and his pride is even more bruised but all that is forgotten when he sees who his assailant is.

“You call this a hint?” you snap at Zendaya with surprising ferocity.

“What’s your name?” Tom blurts out immediately. He might just die if you don’t transfer your attention back to him this very second.

Your mouth drops open wide and you just blink at Tom. Your hair is coming out of its braid and two pink spots of anger have appeared high on your cheekbones. You look simultaneously exactly like and nothing like the statue you’d been when Tom first met you. Finally you say slowly, “You destroy my kingdom with acts of terrorism, threaten my people’s lives, and steal our hard-earned money all because of a hissy fit that you don’t know my name?”

Tom winces. When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound as reasonable as it had been in Tom’s head. “I knew you’d never meet me otherwise.”

“Let’s go back to the camp,” Zendaya suggests. She doesn’t quail under the thunderous look you send her way. “That way you two can talk in private.”

Tom bites his lip anxiously. Thank God, but you say yes, and follow Zendaya as she leads the way out of the partially burnt capital city.

Tom studies your face as he walks. You’re just as beautiful as he remembers—more, even, if that is even possibly. But he also notices dark circles under your eyes, a bandage on your right pointer finger, and shoulders that slump slightly. The clues are faint but there and Tom’s chest floods with rage and concern at the thought of you being anything less than healthy.

“What happened to your finger?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head. “I just burnt it on a candle. It’s not a big deal.” Your hand goes to your skirt. Now Tom sees that there is something in a pocket he hadn’t noticed. He can see its outline as you walk.

His soulmate wouldn’t try to hurt him, Tom reasons. There’s no reason to be worried about something in your pocket that could be, quite literally, anything.

You manage the trek to the camp through the forest quite well, though you are breathing heavier by the time you arrive. Tom hopes he just imagines the condescending look Zendaya sends you. He wants the two most important women in his life to get along.

Haz looks up at your arrival. To Tom’s surprise, his face splits into a great grin when he sees you. You let out a squeak as his arms encircle your body.

Tom tries not to be jealous that his best mate is hugging his soulmate—actually lifting you into the air. He fails miserably and Zendaya snickers as she links hands with George.

“What are you doing?” you manage. Tom gets the feeling you’d be shoving Haz away if your arms weren’t trapped at your side with his.

“It’s a hug,” Harrison replies, setting you down. Confusion flashes over his features. “You do know what a hug is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” you scoff. “But I have no idea who you are other than the boy who tried to choke me last year. So—”

“You’re family now,” Harrison shrugs. For the second time in as many hours, you’re at a loss for words. “I’m Harrison, by the way.”

You ease your hand into his outstretched one and give it a loose shake. Tom doesn’t miss the way you drop Haz’s hand as quick as you can and then wipe your hand on your skirt. “Y/N.”

He scowls. What, you’re too good to shake hands with a criminal now? Your own soulmate is a gang leader.

Then again, he knows your name now.

“Where’s your friend?” Tomas asks loudly. He’d spotted you and, still bearing a grudge from last year when you’d called him some unsavory words, is more than happy to needle you. Unfortunately, his raised tone draws attention. Suddenly there’s a crowd watching your every move, eager to pounce on weakness after that commotion you’d caused last year.

Tom spots Paddy pushing his way through the crowd, eyes fixed solely on you with a thunderous expression on his face.

Shit. He doesn’t know you’re his soulmate. Tom hadn’t told anyone but Haz. He hadn’t really had a choice about that, too; an explanation was necessary when Haz had seen his arm. Something told Tom you wouldn’t want the news spread, considering you wanted him to leave so badly. Judging by your raised eyebrows and head tilted towards Haz, it was the right call.

“I’m quite flattered to see you all remember me,” you say. “I must have made quite the impression.”

Beside Tom, Zendaya snorts. “You’re not going to be able to handle this one, Tom. This is going to be hilarious.” Wait—does she know? Tom looks at Z, who winks. Shit.

“I must be extremely special,” you continue, “for a group of half-witted common thieves to remember me when I can hardly even expect them to remember what they had for breakfast.”

That does it. Paddy lunges at you as people start to shout. Then William, who was still struggling to understand what you said, sees Paddy lunge at you and bawls, “Fight!” He then proceeds to uppercut Tomas right into Sam, and it all gets worse from there.

“Aw, hell,” Tom mutters, surveying the camp full of brawling kids. He sighs and sidesteps around two camp girls who are screeching and clawing at each other. You’re being pinned by Paddy, his arm pressed against your throat. “Paddy, stop!” He orders sharply. His little brother looks up at that, scowling, and you use the distraction to bring your knee up between his legs and bite down on his arm. Paddy spits out some unsavory words and rolls off of you.

“You were goading them,” Tom remarks with a half-laugh as he surveys the camp. You huff, standing up and rubbing at your neck with a vague look of consternation.

“Hardly.” You smooth your hair with one hand. “I’d barely started. One couldn’t dare to call one step a footrace, would they?” Maybe you had more to say, but Paddy lunges for you again.

“Where’re your Chiefs now, handmaiden?” he goads. “Maybe you’re not as important as you think to your—”

Tom steps forward, teeth grinding both at the cynical anger that his brother—his subordinate—is disobeying his orders, and the instinctual rage that someone else is touching you, someone else is hurting you—but he jerks to a halt when an arrow seemingly sprouts from a tree beside Paddy. It misses Tom’s brother by less than an inch.

“I’d say they’re still here,” you grunt from where you are underneath Paddy, “but I think that message has been received.”

“Get off her, Paddy,” Tom orders. For once his brother listens.

How you manage to look dignified as you sit up, Tom doesn’t know. You rise to your feet gracefully, still looking like all this is beneath you even though you’ve got a bloody lip and a skinned elbow. Tom doesn’t think even Zendaya could look so cool under pressure. Then again, Z rarely has legendary, mystical Chiefs guarding her ass.

“What, you need the trump card to win a fight?” Paddy snarls. “Typical. You castle women—”

“Patrick goddamn Holland!” Tom barks. “Listen to me: back. Off. If you can’t listen to my orders then don’t follow us.”

“Where are you going?” the younger Holland asks, the shock of being referred to by his birth name distracting him from the attack mission he’d set himself on earlier. He has the decency to look sheepish when he runs his hand through his hair, transforming from a rabid wolf about to pounce to a curious dog.

“To my tent,” Tom answers, “to talk.”

“Why?” Paddy asks. It’s the straw that breaks the horse’s back. “What could she—”

“None of your goddamn business!” Tom snaps. “Now you fix up this mess you started while the grownups talk!”

A stony expression sets his jaw. Paddy spins on his heel. Tom almost calls out to him, especially when Zendaya remarks that his reaction had been a bit harsh.

“Holland set very clear instructions and the boy failed to follow them,” you counter as Paddy clears up the fighting. “Everyone must learn their place eventually.”

Tom glances at you but your expression is unreadable. It sounded like you were giving him a compliment. Or at least saying that Tom wasn’t in the wrong.

“But Paddy was right,” Harrison admits while holding up the entrance to Tom’s tent and ducking inside. “What is there to discuss? I mean, I’m sure we have extra tents but you’ll probably just sleep in Tom’s, right?”

Tom grimaces. So he hadn’t told Haz about you not being in a particular hurry to get together. The strangled choke you let out while entering doesn’t encourage him at all.

“I did not come here to discuss anything of that sort,” you say primly, making yourself at home by settling down and arranging your skirt. Instinctively everyone else sits down as well. You just have that ‘leader’ sort of aura. Tom doesn’t have to wonder why you’re the queen’s assistant.

“So it’s true,” Zendaya remarks. “I thought so when I saw the words on your arm, Tom, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Who exactly knows about our situation?” you ask with exasperation as you turn to Tom.

“I’m sorry, what’s the ‘situation’ here?” Harrison asks. Tom can see his friend’s face going thunderous but can’t catch his eye to tell Haz to stop, as he’s staring resolutely at you.

“I have a kingdom to run,” you snap. “Once things are calmer then maybe—”

“I’m sorry, isn’t it the queen’s job to run Marvel?” Zendaya interrupts. “You’re just her assistant.”

“I—we—it is a group effort. No man can take on a mountain.” You flick a piece of dirt off of your skirt.

“Oh, honey, you’re still bleeding,” Zendaya notices.

“What?” you put one hand to your lip. Your fingertips come away red. “Oh. I thought…”

“So you don’t care that Tom’s your soulmate?” Harrison interrupts. Zendaya dabs at your lip with one of Tom’s spare shirts she’d found lying on the floor. Tom is too invested in waiting for your answer to be embarrassed by his messy living space.

“Of course I do!” you reply, affronted. Tom sucks in a breath of air that is entirely too ragged and loud. “But as I’ve said before, I have bigger things to worry about.” You push Zendaya away.

Harrison casts his eyes to Tom, who’s sitting subdued in his chair, eyes on the ground. Because Tom sure won’t say it, Harrison tells you that excuse is a steaming pile of crap.

Your lip curls and eyes flash dangerously. Before Tom can say ‘Oh, no’ you’re on your feet. “I don’t care what a bastard reject boy thinks of me or my reasoning. Holland is not the only person whose feelings have to be considered in this situation. I am—”

Harrison spits on your skirt, no doubt regretting the hug he’d greeted you with. You close your eyes and look up, a muscle ticking in your jaw.

“Haz,” Tom warns. He lets the blond get away with a lot more than most, but he’s rapidly approaching a line it would be best not to cross.

“Dude, I cannot believe how bad your luck can be sometimes!” Harrison exclaims. “Typical Holland luck strikes again. Out of everyone in the world, you got paired up with this bitch! What are the odds that you get the worst soulmate—”

“Enough!” Tom yells. It’s too late. Zendaya is already grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the tent. “Nice, Haz.”

Harrison scowls. “Hey, I’m calling it like I see it. There’s got to be a mistake. No way the universe hates you that much.”

“Haz, even we know about the brewing war between Marvel and Thanatoia,” Tom reasons. “Once that’s all over we can be together.”

“Have you seen her, mate?” Harrison demands, snapping his fingers in front of Tom like that’s going to wake him up. “Why would you want to be with that?”

“Because she’s my soulmate,” Tom says stubbornly.

Harrison rolls his eyes. “You poor stupid son of a bitch.”

“Excuse me?”

“Soulmates don’t always work out, Tom,” Harrison points out. “And people marry people that aren’t their soulmate all the time. Just because you’re most compatible with Y/N doesn’t mean you’re not moderately compatible with someone else.”

“She has to love me,” Tom insists. “Y/N’s my soulmate.”

He stomps out of the tent and looks around for Zendaya and George’s tent. If he can just talk to you longer, Tom will be able to convince you to give them a try. He knows he can.

As he draws nearer to the tent, he can’t help himself; he stops outside to listen to the conversation.

“—really very excited,” Zendaya says. “The year was practically torture for him, and I can tell it was for you as well.”

You must shake your head or open your mouth to contradict her, because Z tells you not to lie.

“Trust me,” she continues, “I’ve spent enough time away from my soulmate to know what you were going through. You’re tough as hell to make it a whole year but everyone here already knows that. You don’t need to prove more.”

There’s silence inside the tent for so long Tom is about to walk away when you ask, “Can you tell me about him?”

A shocked smile spreads across Tom’s face.

“Well, Tom is a total softie,” Zendaya starts with. “He loves dogs in particular but he likes all animals except birds and lizards.”

You giggle and Tom’s stomach drops.

“And, let’s see,” Zendaya continues. Tom can picture her putting her finger to her chin as she thinks. “He can’t stand blueberries but loves pretty much every other type of berry. And…”

A Handmaiden’s Lies Taglist:

@andreasworlsboring101 @juliebean247

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know what you all thought or if you’d like me to put you on a taglist!

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #reader x tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #reader insert #you x tom holland #MCU #mcu au #mcu fanfic #harrison osterfield #au #robin hood au #soulmate au #zendaya

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

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I desperately need a part two to A Handmaiden’s Lies okay? It’s such an original take and so well written. Please, you got a real talent and I literally can not wait for the next parts

Thank you so much! Your support means a whole lot :) Sorry for the small wait, btw. My cat had major invasive surgery and it’s been a struggle for recovery :(. But seeing this message definitely lifted my spirits!

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

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A Handmaiden’s Lies: Part 1

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Tom is staring moodily into the fire, tossing twigs and stones into it occasionally. Harry and Haz watch him by sneaking glances in his direction and thinking they’re being sneaky. The heat is brutal from where he’s crouching, but he can’t leave the firepit. If he does, he’ll see her. The girl he’s been infatuated with for months. The girl he knew he didn’t ever have a chance with. The girl he just saw kissing George in his tent.

Zendaya.

Maybe they’re doing a little bit more than kissing now, he thinks pissily, flicking his eyes to his friend’s tent before turning around with a firm resolution not to think about Z again—at least for tonight. It’s none of his business, anyway, and he’s never let a hint of what he feels for Z show. It’s not her fault and it’s not George’s either.

He’d never really had a chance. Not really. Not after George and Z had met and their words had burned. He’d known. It was self-preservation that had kept his lips sealed.

It still hurts.

And he knows he’ll see her in the morning, all golden and glowing, and it’ll hurt a bit but he’s her friend so he won’t say anything.

A commotion distracts Tom from his brooding. Everyone looks up at the sound of someone yelling, another sobbing, and other people grunting.

Zendaya and George stumble out of their tent to investigate the commotion. Tom glances at them, sees the way their shirts are rumpled, and can’t breathe until a group of seven people break through the tree line and approach the fire’s circle of light. Five of the men are Tom’s. They’re manhandling two servant girls.

Servant girls. From the castle? What the hell are servant girls from the castle doing in my camp?

“Paddy, what happened?” Tom asks, his voice equal parts amused and worried. His brother’s shirt has a large red stain down the front of it along with the lower part of his face.

“We found these two spying on us,” a boy older than Tom answers. His name is something like Anthony.

“The one with y/h/c hair headbutted him,” another boy, William, explains with glee.

“Got me in the balls too,” a brunet called Tomas adds, prompting a chorus of cries from the scandalized camp girls and both laughter and slight scolding from the boys.

All the while during this conversation, the girl with the palest white-blonde hair Tom has ever seen hasn’t stopped sobbing while the other girl is ramrod-straight. Tom almost likens her to a statue.

“Z, you and your girls get the…” Tom waves a hand limply at the crying servant girl. “All sorted out.” No way she’s a spy; no spy acts like that when they’re caught. She could be acting, but she would have to be a very good actress to do that and women aren’t allowed to act nowadays anyway.

No, the girl Tom is more worried about is the stoic girl who apparently knows how to fight. He beckons for the men to bring the girl closer into the firelight so he can examine her.

The first sight of you hits Tom in the chest like a donkey kick. His men should definitely have warned him about your appearance. You have to be a faerie of some kind.

Luckily, Tom gets his wits about him before he looks like an idiot by gawking at you. When he speaks, he focuses on your ear lest he lost his train of thought by focusing his eyes on your face.

Damn, he got over Zendaya fast. Too bad his men kidnapped you and you’re probably scared out of your mind right now. That’s probably not the best way in the world to start off a courtship.

“Why were you spying on my men?” he demands. Tom can tell you’re staring directly at him.

“To see what they were doing,” you reply. There is no inflection in your voice, nor any emotion in your face. You really are a statue-girl. Tom wishes he could be as stoic as you, but his arm burns and he flinches.

“Well, what did you want from them?”

“An adventure, so thank you for delivering.”

Tom doesn’t know what to say to that. He opens his mouth and closes it, pursing his lips with slight irritation. The blonde’s cries have stopped, leaving only the fire to fill the silence with crackling. Finally he manages, “Why were you interested in my men?”

“Holland and his men have been a thorn in my queen’s side ever since you arrived in Avenge,” Statue replies. “I hoped I could persuade you to leave.”

“Your queen is a joke,” one of Tom’s men calls, eliciting jeers from the crowd of men watching.

“And how do you propose to persuade us to leave before we want to?” Tom asks, amusement curling his lips at the thought of your one-woman army persuading him to leave. Your bravery is admirable but fool hardy, and you will undoubtedly be killed by that trait.

“As the queen’s personal assistant, you can understand why she wouldn’t let me go alone—I am her closest friend and confidant,” you brag. “So I brought with me her Chief of the Mystic Arts, Sir Benedict, and Chief Dame, Lady Scarlett.”

Tom swallows. Everyone has heard of the Chiefs of the kingdom of Marvel, which was why his men had been hesitant about coming to Avenge, Marvel’s capital. It was said they could do things normal people couldn’t. Sir Benedict’s powers were especially mysterious, as disaster could seem unavoidable until he would appear, his necklace would glow, and all threats would disappear, despite no one noticing anything between those moments.

“You think two Chiefs could take down Holland’s entire group?” Haz sneers.

Your lip curls. “A group of reject bastards without a day of training? It wouldn’t even take one,” you spit.

Haz surges forward—his heritage and abandonment have always been a sore spot—but one of the boys holding you tangles his fingers in your hair and yanks your head back. Your hand flies into the air, a closed fist, and Tom recognizes a ‘hold fire’ command.

“I think you’ll find I’m quite unkillable,” you mutter to the boy with his hand in your hair. Despite your low tone, your voice carries. “You, on the other hand, are toeing the line quite dangerously.”

“Let her go!” Tom barks.

“Come on, mate, you don’t really believe she brought two Chiefs with her,” Haz snaps, eyeing you with loathing. You smirk at him.

“Do you really want to risk it?” Tom replies. “She did say she’s the Queen’s personal assistant.”

“An assistant,” Haz repeats. “She could just get another one.”

“I’ll pretend you all didn’t hear me,” you say loudly. “I am unkillable, and you are rapidly approaching the point of no return.”

“Let her go,” Tom mutters.

“What?” Haz exclaims, like he really thinks he misheard him. Like he is allowed to speak to his superior like that.

“Let her go,” Tom repeats, louder. The look you give him does something weird to his stomach but he can’t afford to call your bluff just in case you are telling the truth. Only a Marvellian privileged assistant with two Chiefs at her back would waltz into enemy territory boasting loudly about her connection to the Queen. It paints too large a target on your back.

It’s either you’re telling the truth or a complete idiot. And as Tom meets your steady gaze, shadowed by the dancing flames of their campfire, he doesn’t see an idiot. He sees someone confident, used to getting their way, overzealous and brash, abrasive and aggressive, but he doesn’t see an idiot.

William and Paddy let go of your arms, albeit reluctantly. With a simple flick of your head, you reduce them to less than lumbering bears. Tom marvels at the way his boys aren’t crushed under the weight of your disapproval.

He’s heard this is what it feels like at first, but people disagree about whether or not the feeling gets weaker or stronger over time.

He is so screwed.

“Would you like to go somewhere private?” you ask with an unreasonable expression.

This isn’t what Tom had pictured. He’d pictured saving a girl from some rogues with less morals than he. He’d pictured meeting a girl in a tavern. He’d pictured buying something from a pretty vendor’s stall.

(In most of those scenarios, he’d pictured Z as the girl he flirted with)

But he never pictured her captured by his men and brought to his camp. He never pictured her as a servant in the Marvellian palace.

And yet, for some reason, he’s not disappointed. It does explain the mysterious half-sentence branded onto his right forearm. For years he’d puzzled over that phrase. For years he’s been wondering under what circumstances someone would say that to him.

For years Tom has been waiting for the one person who will love him unconditionally.

He nods and leads the way to his own private tent. Your soft footsteps follow him and he hears you close the tent before he turns around. You’re pulling your tunic away from your collarbone.

The once-black words now shine a glimmering gold in the lantern light from where they sit on the protruding bone. The handwriting is the same, even if the color isn’t; all soulmate marks are written in the same font until one meets their soulmate. That font is the type used in newspapers. It would have changed, except Tom doesn’t know how to write. His education hadn’t lasted that long. If he learns to write, Tom wonders, will the writing change too?

In return, Tom rolls up his sleeve, exposing his forearm and shivering as goosebumps appear. Belatedly, he sees your thin tunic and pants but you don’t seem to be bothered by the chilly night air.

He’d felt the burn but barely bothered to believe it. The once black, uniform letters have changed to a deep rusty red, like drying blood. The font has changed to a neat, small cursive that somehow doesn’t seem like it would be your handwriting. Tom had pictured large, looping letters to match your loud, strong personality, but perhaps that’s what happens when you’re educated in the palace.

He loves it anyway. It’s just another sign that no, Tom’s not unlovable, and the universe cared about him enough to give him someone to love and be loved by.

“It doesn’t matter,” you then say, smoothing the tunic down so the words are hidden again. “My loyalty is to the queen and her kingdom. In this time of political uneasiness one cannot afford emotional connections.”

Tom just beams at you. He can hardly believe the most beautiful girl in the world is his soulmate. And it doesn’t matter what you’re saying right now. Tom would wait a thousand years to meet his soulmate. Waiting until she’s ready for him won’t be (too) hard. He’d certainly comforted Zendaya when she was fretting about George this past week enough to know that there are always doubts. You’ll come around. You’re Tom’s soulmate.

“So tell me before you go,” you say, leaning forward to rest elbows on knees and chin on hands. “What do the foreigners think about my queen?”

Tom looks at you with confusion. “What?”

“It’s best to know what the enemy is saying,” is your stiff reply. “Might as well take advantage of the opportunity.”

“I’ve heard a lot of things about your queen,” Tom replies, leaning back and folding his hands over his stomach. He doesn’t miss the flutter of your eyelashes as you give him a quick once over and satisfaction pulls his lips up into a smirk. “That she’s a child. Weak. Stuffy for bringing back the old traditions.”

Secretly, Tom agrees with those rumors. The new Queen is a year younger than his nineteen years of age. Sure, he’s the leader of his men, but that’s much different than being the ruler of a whole kingdom. Plus, despite how no one has seen her in public for years, she decided to bring back the old Marvellian traditions of wearing a mask and not speaking in public. At this point the kingdom has no idea what their queen looks like despite her more frequent public appearances.

You might, though. If you’re her ‘closest confidant’ and ‘friend’.

“I’ve also heard,” Tom continues, “that she is so frail she sleeps frequently during the day, though I’ve also heard lazy.” He grins, enjoying the scowl that’s creasing your forehead. “And,” he admits reluctantly, “that all Marvel rulers are connected to their kingdoms with magic, and the queen is no different.”

You nod and lean back in your chair. “You and your men are thorns in her side.”

Tom doesn’t know if you mean that figuratively or literally. And frankly, he doesn’t care. He wants to talk more about you. He’d gotten you to scowl whilst insulting the queen, which means you’re not quite the statue he’d thought of you as.

And that means you can smile, too. You can laugh—Tom realizes for the first time what he would do to hear you laugh—and, most importantly, you can love Tom.

“That brings us to the true nature of my visit,” you say with a stern look like you blame Tom for distracting you. “Leave.”

“Wait, but…” Tom sits up straight. “What about…” he touches the words on his arm reverently.

“As I said before,” you say, visibly irritated, “there is no time for that.”

Tom takes a deep breath. “I can’t concede to you. Not without all my men knowing.”

You laugh bitterly. “Oh, how the governed rule the governors. That sounds like your problem, not mine.”

“I will come back,” Tom promises.

Your lip curls. It hurts him more than it should, especially considering he’s known you for about an hour at the most. “Would you really wait if I told you to? If I told you it would be years of loneliness? If I told you we might never—”

“Yes. You’re my soulmate.”

You scowl and turn away. “Hmm.”

“Wait!” he says desperately. “Don’t you… would you like an escort? On your way back, I mean?” Would you like just a little more time together?

You let out another unamused laugh. “Who would escort me? The one whose nose I broke or the one I kicked between the legs?”

“I could—” Tom begins hopefully but you hold up a hand to silence him. He doesn’t appreciate speaking to your back.

“I already have two Chiefs watching after me,” you say shortly. “And I know perfectly well that you and your men pass through this way every year. If you refrain from… Only take from those who can afford it,” you grit out. “Tell your men no destruction. And you may stay for the rest of your visit.”

“Will you be back?” Tom and his men only pass by Marvel once a year. Seeing you, his soulmate, just once, and then leaving for a whole year sounds like hell. “Just once. Tomorrow night.”

You shake your head after a moment of contemplation. Thankfully you’re still turned away so you don’t see the clear disappointment on his face. “That will just make it harder and you know it.”

He does know it. But can you blame Tom? He just met his honest-to-god soulmate.

“Doesn’t this mean anything to you?” His voice cracks.

“I can’t expect you to understand.”

“But I want to.”

“We’re all part of something bigger,” you say quietly. “And I can’t be selfish. Not right now.”

Tom stands. “All right.”

“R-what?” You turn around, pulling your eyebrows together into a frown.

“I’ll be back and you know it,” Tom promises. He brings one finger up to your cheek and barely touches the smooth skin. It feels like fireworks and the tent is suddenly entirely too hot. “And I hope you’ll be sorted out by then.”

“You’ll be better to find another girl,” you say quietly, swallowing noticeably but not pulling away from the caress. “Some camp girl who’s always with you. A girl with a choice.”

“I don’t care about any of them,” Tom insists and you snort.

“What about the beautiful girl with the large hair? It was obvious in the way you looked at her.”

All Tom notices from that remark is that you were watching him closely too, probably studying him as he’d done to you.

“Not a one,” he insists. “And even if I was, she found her soulmate a week ago when he joined the group.” You shake your head a tiny bit, a jerk he would’ve missed if he blinked. “If you change your mind we’ll be here until Sunday.”

“Find someone else,” you repeat, backing away and bumping into the side of the tent. “I won’t—I won’t come calling again. Don’t—” your fumbling fingers finally find the flap in the tent that is its opening. “Don’t get your hopes up,” you conclude, lunging forward at Tom. For one glorious second he imagines you’re going to kiss him, but then you’re tugging his sleeve down to hide his words. “I’ll—I’m not good enough—just find someone else.” And then, cheeks blazing, you slip out of the tent.

Harrison ducks in moments later after seeing both you and the white-haired girl off. Tom greets him with his sleeve pushed up again, fingers tracing over the beautiful cursive words. “Hey, Tom—holy shit!”

A Handmaiden’s Lies Taglist:

@andreasworlsboring101 @juliebean247

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know what you all thought or if you’d like me to put you on a taglist!

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #reader x tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #reader insert #you x tom holland #MCU #mcu au #mcu fanfic #harrison osterfield #paddy holland #au #robin hood au #soulmate au #zendaya

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

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A Handmaiden’s Lies: Teaser

A new almost Robin Hood-esque, soulmate AU, Tom Holland x Reader series with a combination of actor and MCU characters appearing. Some people have magic. Idk how many parts yet. Let me know if you guys would like this!

If you’d like me to add you to my Forever Taglist, Tom Holland x Reader Taglist, or the taglist for A Handmaiden’s Lies, let me know.

“Holland and his men have been a thorn in my queen’s side ever since you arrived in Avenge,” Statue replies. “I hoped I could persuade you to leave.”

“Your queen is a joke,” one of Tom’s men calls, eliciting jeers from the crowd of men watching.

“You think two Chiefs could take down Holland’s entire group?” Haz sneers.

Your lip curls. “A group of reject bastards without a day of training? It wouldn’t even take one,” you spit.

“Let her go!” Tom barks.

“Come on, mate, you don’t really believe she brought two Chiefs with her,” Haz snaps, eyeing you with loathing. You smirk at him.

“Do you really want to risk it?” Tom replies. “She did say she’s the Queen’s personal assistant.”

“An assistant,” Haz repeats. “She could just get another one.”

“I’ll pretend you all didn’t hear me,” you say loudly. “I am unkillable, and you are rapidly approaching the point of no return.”

“Let her go,” Tom mutters.

“What?” Haz exclaims, like he really thinks he misheard him. Like he is allowed to speak to his superior like that.

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #reader x tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #reader insert #you x tom holland #MCU #mcu au #mcu fanfic #harrison osterfield #paddy holland #au #robin hood au #soulmate au

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

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Inferno: Part 5 (final)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Your father drops what he’s holding when you literally rip the front door of the compound off its hinges and toss it a few feet away. “Were you ever going to tell me?” you yell, stomping into the room. You know your face is too hot and so are your hands but you can’t be bothered.

To his credit, Tony doesn’t pretend to not know what you’re talking about. He sighs and crosses his arms. “Y/N, calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” you bellow, your eyes stinging with anger. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!”

“I was worried about you—”

“So you sent the one person I hate most to spy on me? To completely invade my privacy? The one person I knew I could trust—”

“Okay,” Tony admits, “so it wasn’t the best idea. And I realized that soon after. But Y/N, what was I supposed to tell you? How was I supposed to tell you?”

“Um, by telling me?” You scoff angrily. “Instead of me going through my former best friend’s texts and figuring it out for myself?”

“Wait,” Tony interrupts. “Peter didn’t tell you himself?”

“Why the hell would he? He’s too busy making fun of me with you!”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand—” Tony shakes his head. “Peter was supposed to tell you in person. I told him to. We figured you’d at least take it better, but no wonder you’re so upset—”

“It wouldn’t matter if he told me in person, in text, or over a goddamn email!” you yell. “You still spied on me—”

“Can we please talk about this?” he pleads. “Y/N, you’re traumatized. You were imprisoned for a crime you didn’t commit. You wouldn’t talk to me and I knew that you and Peter would get along, but after the first meeting it was obvious he needed to wear the mask!”

“I don’t want to talk to you about anything,” you say, disgusted, shaking your head. “I don’t want your excuses. What you did sucked, okay?”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” you bark. “I don’t want to hear anything from you for a while. Just leave me the hell alone!”

You stomp away in the direction of your room and the fire alarm starts to beep.

“Miss Y/N, please cool yourself,” FRIDAY says calmly. “You are reaching dangerous temperatures.”

You scoff. “I can’t hurt myself with fire.”

“No, but you could hurt those around you,” the AI responds. “Including myself.”

“Did you know what they did?” you demand up to the ceiling.

There is a pregnant pause before the AI confirms it.

“Wow.” You shake your head. “Just wow.”

“I was under strict orders not to inform you—”

“Whatever, FRIDAY. I don’t want to hear from you either.” Scowling, you slam your door shut but stop short at the sight of a figure upside-down outside your window.

Spider-man—Peter Parker—taps frantically on the glass, waving to get your attention. You close your blinds and turn your back on the window, but a buzzing in your pocket catches your attention. It’s the boy outside your window. You decline the call. He’s already tried to call fifteen times and sent you 13 text messages.

For good measure, you block his number. Not a second later is he messaging you on Instagram, so you take the next logical step in your mind. You throw your phone out the window so hard it shatters the glass and hopefully hits that lying bastard, too.

You’re out of the room before Spider-man can stick his head out the window, locking the door from the outside using a special program you’d installed in FRIDAY, and decide to sleep in a guest room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thankfully your new phone has a new number that Parker doesn’t know, and you’re pretty sure Tony knows better than to give it to him. You blocked him on every social media platform you have for good measure, although that hasn’t stopped you from noticing him. In fact, you’re probably noticing him more than usual because your two fanbases have come together in a major panic over why Inferno and Spider-man aren’t hanging out, following each other, or even talking anymore.

All your mentions in the past two weeks have looked exactly like this:

just-a-dumbass: @Y/N_Stark plz respond!!!! why are you and Spider-man fighting? he won’t talk about it at all when we asked on his livestream he hung up and hasn’t done another since!!!!

that-one-asian: @Y/N_Stark and @The-Official-Spiderman you guys really need to make up you were my #1 celebrity ship and i dont understand why you broke up

spideyismydaddy: guys you can tell @The-Official-Spiderman is really cut up about this, he hasn’t livestreamed in days or even uploaded a story. @Y/N_Stark you’re a real bitch for breaking his heart

newyorkhoe: guys we don’t even know if @Y/N_Stark and @The-Official_Spiderman were dating. maybe they’re just really good friends that are fighting. either way, you can tell that both are having a rough time. lay off the negativity!!!

wyoming_isnt_real: @Y/N_Stark why are you and spidey fighting? if he hurt you i’ll beat him up :(

spideyinferno: @Y/N_Stark @The-Official-Spiderman

That tweet has a link attached. You click on it out of curiosity only to realize that actual news websites are writing articles about the ‘Feud Between New York’s Hottest Heroes’. You scroll down to the bottom where there are previews of other articles written about this. Is this really the biggest deal ever? Are people really freaking out over the fact that you’re not hanging out with a spying liar anymore?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You should have known. Even at night, civilians are still out and about, and they love to do nothing other than gossip. You’re in Brooklyn, for God’s sake, and they’re still chasing after you with cameras, screaming and asking questions about your relationship with Spider-man. These people have probably never even seen him before. He operates in Queens!

It’s no use. You have to change out of your suit. You’re too noticeable.

You duck into a tourist shop and melt the door handle so the screaming hordes can’t follow you in. “I’m so sorry,” you say breathlessly to the shopkeeper and dig around in your pockets for an empty check. You’ve learned to always keep one on hand. You have one, but you don’t know exactly how much replacing a door costs. “Do you have a pen?” Just to be safe, you write down $15,000 and grab a hoodie and sweatpants while the shopkeeper stares at the check you’d shoved into his hands. You can hear people pounding on the back entrance of the store, too, and you look around wildly for an escape.

Unwelcome, a thought pops into your head: What would Spidey do? How would he get out of this situation?

You look up and smile. You may not have webs but you can jump pretty high.

“Sorry about this,” you say to the shopkeeper again. He gapes as you leap straight up into his ceiling. You take a running leap off the roof and land on the sidewalk a couple hundred feet away. Some New Yorkers spare you glances as they step around and over you, but you don’t mind them as you pull your hood up and start walking.

A familiar thwip, though, has you stop. People start to yell Spider-man’s name and you look up, one hand keeping your hood in place. You duck behind a taller man and peek at your former friend from behind the stranger’s arm.

“Where is she?” he yells, wheezing a little bit. He must have sprinted over. A little part of your chest warms at the thought of him being frantic to see you, but then you realize that his voice really doesn’t change at all when he’s got the mask on. You were just too stupid to notice it.

The civilians start to all shout different things, mostly pointing to the store, but Spider-man waves his hands to get everyone to be quiet. “One at a time!”

“She went into that store but got out through the roof and now we don’t know where she is!” someone shouts.

“What happened between you two?”

You lean forward, holding your breath. Surely Spider-man will say that you overreacted and were the bitch most people on the internet seem to think you are. It’ll cement your belief that he’s a giant jerk and you’ll be able to go about your day feeling a little better about this whole situation.

“I messed up,” Spider-man explains, sounding sadder than he has a right to. “And I don’t blame her for being mad at me. I’d be pretty mad at me, too.”

“What did you do?” someone else shouts.

For a moment, you think Spider-man meets your eyes and you jerk back, accidentally falling into somebody else. It cuts off Spider-man, who was saying, “It doesn’t really matter what I did. I’m just really sorry and I want her to know, even if she doesn’t forgive me—”

“Watch it!” the person snaps, yanking your sweatshirt in anger. The hood slips off your head and their eyes widen. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry—”

“She’s right here!” another person who’d watched the commotion shouts. “Look, Spider-man, you can apologize to her—”

The crowd starts to scream, looking for you, and you shove your hood back up and keep up with the commotion.

“Y/N!” Spider-man shouts, his voice cracking. “Please just talk to me?”

Pull yourself together, you think viciously. You’re acting like a total idiot in public.

And you don’t look back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Y/N, come on.”

“I’m not doing it. You can’t make me.”

“We need you.”

“You have him.”

“Yeah, but we also need you.”

“I have plans for today.”

“Really?” your dad crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “And what are those?”

You cross your arms right back and don’t respond. You both know you don’t have any plans for today, but you’d rather do nothing than go on a mission with half of the team including Spider-man.

“I’m sure he asked you to include me?”

Tony scuffs his foot on the ground.

“Not a chance.” You shake your head.

“Look, is now really the best time to be arguing about this?” Natasha puts in, tapping her foot impatiently. “Parker and Cap are handling this mutant fine at the moment but his friend is coming. They can’t handle two of them.”

You roll your eyes. “You two can go. You’re highly skilled and experienced—”

“And one of them is a lava monster,” your dad interrupts.

“Exactly, so my powers will be useless on it.” You shrug.

“But you also won’t get hurt if you draw its fire. Plus, Nat doesn’t have powers at all. Dealing with human criminals is one thing but mutants are a bit much for even her to handle. No offense, Nat.”

The assassin in question raises one eyebrow and doesn’t agree or disagree with your father’s statement. Privately, you think that Nat really could handle at least one of the monsters on her own, depending on the tools she has to work with. But you digress.

“I hate you,” you try.

“Love you too, honey.” Your dad kisses your forehead for the first time in a month. “Your suit is in the jet. Can we get going, please?”

Okay, you will admit that maybe you underestimated these two mutants. One has heat-based powers, just like you, and flickers between a human form and a human-shaped pile of lava. The other seems merely to have super strength and is trading blows with Captain America like it’s a friendly sparring session.

You narrow your eyes and assess the battlefield from your perch in the jet. “Okay, so we obviously need to get the civilians out of here. Nat, you can handle that, right?”

The red-haired assassin nods her head.

“And I can distract the fire thing,” you decide. Anticipation curdles your stomach though it’s less at the fight and more at the thought of seeing Spider-man again—he is the one fighting that monster, after all, and dodging its streams of fire quite spectacularly, though you’d never tell him so. “We just need to knock it out when it’s in its human form. Dad, you can help Steve, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes you and you roll your eyes. “Everybody ready?”

Butterflies flutter in your stomach as the jet lowers just enough for you to leap out of it, Tony in his suit with Nat clinging onto his back just behind you.

You slam into the lava monster, knocking it off its feet and tumbling a few feet away, your teeth clanking at the impact. Through your earpiece, you hear Cap greeting Nat and Tony, before a significantly higher male voice pierces your eardrums.

“Y/N?”

You wince and look up. Peter’s staring at you, and though his mask is on, you can tell that his mouth is open with shock. Though his exclamation was loud, it was also comforting. You’d missed him more than you care to admit.

“Underoos, pay attention!” your father barks and Peter looks at the lava monster and shrieks (you make a mental note to tease him about that later) before leaping into the air and avoiding a stream of lava that would have melted him instantly.

“Inferno,” the lava mutant hisses, eyes flickering between gaping black rock pits and dark human eyes. Both appearances convey her hatred for you clearly. “You can’t hurt me.”

“Yeah, well, ditto,” you respond. “And, for your information, fire isn’t my only power, thank you very much.”

The mutant holds up her hand and a stream of lava flies toward you, hitting your skin and sliding to the ground before it hardens instantly. “You’re a mutant against your will just like me,” the lava mutant hisses. “Join us. Help us take revenge against those who wronged us.”

Peter shoots a web that disintegrates a foot in front of the mutant. The air around her is so hot it’s wavering like a mirage. Powerless against the mutant, he looks at you.

“Look, I get getting revenge,” you say. You press a hand to your ear and mutter, “Shock web when she’s human.” You continue louder, “I got my own revenge. But I didn’t do it by hurting innocent civilians. In fact, my father did it so Killian wouldn’t hurt anybody else.”

“They don’t understand our pain,” the mutant hisses. She flickers and Spider-man twitches but he was too slow and continues to creep out of the mutant’s line of vision. With her eyes fixed on you, she doesn’t seem to care. “Only we do.”

“I know,” you say soothingly. You hold your palm up to the sky and let a little flame dance over your palm. “I know it hurts. I was in pain for days straight when Killian gave me the serum. But this isn’t the way to get your revenge.”

This time, when the mutant flickers, she remains in her human form for a second longer. You smile smugly.

“We’re the same,” you say soothingly. “I know just how it feels.”

“I can’t stop now,” the mutant hisses. “They’ll lock me up.”

“They locked me up too, and I didn’t even do anything,” you point out. “But when you get out, I can help you.”

She drops the lava monster guise and looks at you wondrously.

You wince when Peter’s shock web hits her in the back. She makes a sort of choked noise before keeling over. Something fragile inside you fractures as you see what you could have been. There’s a little too much of you inside that mutant.

The other mutant roars with anger and you turn, ready to burn it. But its anger is aimed at Spider-man, who landed the final blow, and he sweeps Cap and Tony away, throwing them into nearby rubble.

You dart in front of the monster and ready your fists, even if his biceps are bigger than your waist. He shoves you away and the breath leaves your lungs but you still manage to cling onto his arm like a koala and summon the anger to the surface. Your body goes white-hot in seconds and the second mutant roars with pain and slams his arm into the ground.

You feel your spine crack in multiple places as well as your tailbone—and your neck.

“Y/N!” Peter bellows when you don’t move. “NO!”

Something wet trickles down your neck as the bones arrange themselves back into place and you sit up, tears slipping from your eyes as you do so. Now you’re pissed off.

The mutant’s arm, you can see, has a nasty-looking burn on it in the shape of your body. You relish the sight of it as you take a running start at the mutant, plowing into his back and sending him flying, landing on the ground and skidding a few feet. Since you’re half his height, it must have been a comical sight.

Peter lands in front of you and holds out his hand, which you notice is shaking. “Are you okay?”

You don’t nod your head. You’re scared that just moving it will break your back again. You might have broken your arm and ankle before, but never your neck and back. You’re going to have nightmares about it for weeks to come, you already know.

“You can cool down now,” he says softly. You realize you’re still glowing white-hot.

With a strangled sob, you let go of the anger-heat and fall into his arms, squeezing him so hard you’re sure he would have a few broken ribs if he wasn’t enhanced.

“How bad did he hurt you?” Peter asks, one hand rubbing up and down your back.

“It would have killed anyone except me,” you whisper back. And that’s all you have to say on the subject. You move to step back from him and gasp. The mutant is up and angrier than ever. He’s picking up a chunk of plaster with a few copper wires protruding from its multiple sides. He’s hoisting it above his head. And he’s throwing it at you two.

You hear multiple screams as you shove Peter out of the way, but the ginormous rock hits you in the stomach. As if in slow motion, you flip backwards, the plaster rolling with you, and hit the ground, skidding a bit. The plaster still sits on your stomach, making it nearly impossible to breathe, which means you don’t have the strength to push it off of you.

Oh God. Asphyxiation is one thing the serum can’t help you with. For the first time in your life, you might actually die from an injury.

You weakly wiggle, trying to get the plaster to tip off of you, but that causes a stinging sensation in your sternum that’s almost unbearable. Your back is getting wet. One of the copper wires must have entered your stomach.

You try to suck in a breath but barely get more than a gasp. The effort makes you cough, your throat tasting metallic.

The serum can’t work if I can’t breathe, you distantly realize. It’s a part of my bodily functions now, but my body can’t function at all without oxygen.

So you’re going to die. It’s as simple as that.

This time, when you suck in a breath, you cough on a liquid in your throat, choking as you can’t get any air in and becoming more panicked as your vision becomes more blurry. You try to blow the liquid out of your throat but you don’t have enough strength to blow hard, so all that happens is that you’re completely out of air now. You thrash on the ground but the plaster refuses to move.

Your vision goes dark. Your stomach drops. Is this it? Are you going to die now? You never even got to make up with Peter, which you now realize you’d wanted to do all along.

Then the weight on your stomach lifts and you suck in a shuddering breath that just makes you cough and choke more. The darkness lifts from your vision, making you squint and realize that someone had been standing over you and lifted the plaster from your stomach.

The person turns you over onto your side and you spit blood out of your mouth as the pain in your stomach begins to abate. When you finally suck in a shuddering breath that clears your vision, hands cradle your face and you look up into Peter’s face. It’s a bit screwed up because he’s crying.

You blink slowly at him.

“Oh, my God,” he says as though from a long way away. “I thought you were going to die. Are you still bleeding? Can you breathe? Are you all right? Do you have brain damage? Wait, are you dead? Y/N, can you hear me?” He shakes you. His voice gets higher. “Y/N, you gotta respond to me or I’m gonna think you’re dead! Are you dead?”

You cough, splattering his face with more blood and mucus, and his lips thin as he wipes it off.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Your mask,” you croak weakly. Your eyes widen with realization. “Oh, God, your mask, Peter, people are gonna see you—”

“Thank God you’re all right,” he breathes, gathering you into a tight hug that has you gasping for air. His splayed hands on your back move up and down, probing for holes. “I think you’re okay.” He begins to rock back and forth, still holding you in his arms. “I thought you were going to die.”

Weakly, you wrap your arms around him and squeeze as hard as you can. You’re already feeling better. “Peter Parker, did you just save my life?”

“Does that mean you forgive me?” He pulls back, beaming at you even though he’s still crying.

“I guess,” you say mock-reluctantly.

“Thank God,” he breathes. “Y/N, I like you.”

“What?” You blink.

“It’s all right if you don’t say it back,” he says, rushed. “Or if you don’t feel the same way at all. I just thought you should know.”

“No, I—”

“Y/N!”

Tony sweeps you off your feet, twirling you in a circle. “Oh my God, baby, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” you reply but don’t push him away. “Peter saved me.”

Tony picks up Peter’s discarded mask and shoves it into his favorite intern’s hands before sweeping him into the group hug too. “Does this mean you don’t hate him anymore?” he asks, beaming.

Peter pulls his mask on and turns away. You glance after him, frowning.

“What?” Tony asks, deflating. “Do you really still hate him?”

You tap Spider-man on the shoulder. Peter shrugs and says without looking back, “It’s fine, Y/N. I shouldn’t have expected anything else, considering what I did to you—”

You spin him around, lift his mask up to his nose, and fit your mouth against his.

When you pull back, his mouth stays open as he gapes at you.

“I never said I didn’t feel the same way,” you say, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“Seriously?” he squeals. Then he coughs and lowers his voice. “I mean, uh—seriously?”

You shake your head and smile before planting your lips on his again. And that’s how the media finds you two. And the internet kind of explodes for the next two hours. It turns out a lot of people have been shipping you two for a while now.

Inferno Taglist:

@paullrud @eridanuswave @loveissupernatural @moistpotatobear @oh-annaa

Peter Parker x Reader Taglist:

@iconicbabesss

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight

23 notes · View notes

roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

Text

Inferno: Part 4

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

“Okay, challenge time!” Spider-man chirps into the camera, grinning brightly. “We’re bored and there’s no criminals out at the moment so we decided to show off a little bit.”

You don’t smile into the camera exactly, but kind of smirk as comments start to roll in from viewers of his livestream. Someone suggests a race.

“We could race?” you suggest, pointing to the far end of the roof you’re on. “There and back?” Though you know it’s fruitless—you and Peter are just about the same speed, though he might be a few seconds faster while you have more endurance—you figure it’s a fun enough challenge.

“You’re going down, Stark,” Spidey says. You can hear the smirk in his voice even though he doesn’t have his mask rolled up at all. You roll your eyes and prepare yourself, muscles tensed in anticipation. The wind whips around you and you spit hair out of your mouth as goosebumps appear on your arms. “On your mark, get set, go!”

You shoot forward as he does, breaths coming in short pumps as you sprint as fast as you can go the edge of the building. You stoop to touch the elevated side and spin. Unfortunately Spidey doesn’t feel the need to stoop and he gains a millisecond lead, laughing at your squawk of indignation.

“I win!” he crows through gasping breaths, delighted. You scowl at him, panting.

“Yeah, ‘cause you cheated.”

“I did not cheat. You didn’t specify the rules.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I didn’t think you were going to cheat!”

Spidey crosses his arms. “You can pick the next one if you want, all right?”

You near the phone and squint at the comments. Someone suggests kissing each other, but you ignore that one even if your cheeks burn; no matter who you hang out with, being a young celebrity means a rabid fanbase that both wants you to be in a relationship with someone and wants you to be available for a relationship with them. You’ve learned to ignore it at this point.

After spending so much time with Spider-man during the past three months, you have to admit that the shipping has become a little out of hand. Especially considering you’re pretty sure you have a humongous crush on the guy based on the butterflies in your stomach every time you hang out (but that might also just be nerves from the height, because he prefers to hang out on top of buildings rather than anywhere else).

Someone else suggests doing a backflip, which you don’t know how to do, but that’s sort of Spidey’s specialty.

“Do a backflip,” you decide, leaning back on your heels.

Spidey huffs. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing this with me?”

“We’re showing off, not competing,” you roll your eyes. “I’ll light myself up like a Christmas tree after you.” You need the warmth after all.

“Okay, here goes.” Spidey plants his feet and executes a clean backflip. You clap a few times. “Your turn, Inferno,” he teases.

You rub your hands together and shiver. Spidey watches you shake your limbs out, preparing to call the heat always under your skin to the surface.

But it’s not under your skin.

Your eyes widen and your heart immediately starts to pump. Adrenaline floods your system. You’d completely let your guard down. There’s no heat.

“Y/N?” Spidey asks. “You good?”

“I’m fine.” You avoid his gaze by staring at the ground and clench your fists. Seconds ago you were shivering, now you’re flooded with heat. It’s never been hard to call the heat back, but it’s also never left you completely before. Within seconds you’re glowing red-hot.

“It’s like standing next to a bonfire,” Spider-man admits to the camera. “Hey, maybe your superhero name should be Bonfire instead of Inferno.”

You relax slightly. Though your hair still waves in the wind, you don’t feel its chill at all. You still feel cold. “Yeah, because that sounds so much cooler.”

Spidey waves at the phone. “Well, that’s all for today because the sun’s setting. See you guys tomorrow!” His phone buzzes in his hand and you resist your curiosity as he taps out a quick message to someone.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” you ask curiously.

“Kind of,” he shrugs. Now that the camera’s turned off, he rolls up his mask to just above the tip of his nose. “But in an hour or so. So we still have time to hang out.” His lips curl up into a lopsided smile. You stop yourself from staring at them for too long. “What are you doing tonight?”

You scowl and turn away from him, shrugging your shoulders halfheartedly. “I think the whole team wants to have a movie night. I wanted to watch Wonder Woman but Wonder Boy is coming over tonight and he loves Star Wars so we’re watching his pick. Just like we have every movie night since I came back.” You sit down on the edge of the building, letting your feet swing a little bit.

“And Wonder Boy is...?” Spidey hesitantly sits next to you. His phone buzzes again. He looks at the screen and shoves it back into his pocket.

“My dad’s favorite intern.” You laugh bitterly. “Heir to Stark Industries at this point, I assume. Dad talks about him more than he talks about his fiancee.”

“Did you tell your dad you wanted to watch Wonder Woman?”

You shake your head. “Why even bother? I stopped trying after the second movie night.”

“Then maybe he thinks you don’t have a problem with it,” Spidey concludes. “I don’t know. I don’t see him that often, but whenever he checks in on me Tony seems kind of cool. He never mentions his intern to me.”

You snort. “You obviously don’t hang out with him that often, then. I don’t think he can go five minutes without mentioning Peter Parker.”

Sounding nervous although you don’t know why, Spidey asks, “And your only issue with this Peter Parker is that your dad—”

��Clearly prefers him over me?” you interrupt. “I mean, I guess. I haven’t really talked with the dude that much.”

Spidey hums.

“What about you, huh?” You side-eye him. “What’s bothering you today?”

Spidey smiles the smile that you know means trouble. Something flutters in your stomach. “My biggest problem today is that this suit is just a little bit too tight around my more, uh...” He clears his throat and gestures at his crotch. “Private areas.”

You laugh, surprised. “You mean compression isn’t a good thing for your, uh...”

“My dangly bits?” he supplies, prompting another shocked laugh out of you.

“Well, it might be uncomfortable with girls’ chests, but that’s the best way for us to keep everything together,” you explain. “I’ll take it’s not the same for you?”

“I think for me it’s a little too sensitive for that,” Spidey grins, nudging your shoulder with his. “But I appreciate your concern.”

Your cheeks flaming red, you change the subject. “That bully still messing with you? You know, I could beat him up for you if you wanted.”

Spidey shakes his head. He sounds sad when he replies, even though his mouth is smiling. “Nah, it’s fine, though. If he stopped picking on me, he’d move on to another target. At least I know that I can take the hints, you know?”

Your chest feels a little warm at that sentiment and you lean your head on his shoulder. “You’re the best, Spidey. If only my dad would take you home instead of Parker.”

“I bet he’s not that bad,” Spidey reasons. “I assume getting to know him is out of the picture.”

You huff at that and sit up. “You’re absolutely right. First off, it would be proving my dad right. He said I can’t make friends without his help, but I’ve got you, haven’t I? Completely without his help.”

Spidey clears his throat.

“Plus, if I did decide to hang out with Parker and Dad, I’d have to deal with their inside jokes all the time as well as Dad constantly praising Parker more than me.”

Spidey shifts uncomfortably and you elbow him. “I’m serious!” you insist. “I walked into the lab when I didn’t know Parker was there and it was insane. He stared at my dad for five seconds, Dad nodded and tossed him a wrench and it was apparently exactly what he wanted. Then later, Dad literally said something like ‘two nine four cat computer’ or some other gibberish and Parker replied ‘Turn it the other way’. It’s absolutely ridiculous. They act more like family than I ever have with Dad.”

“I know it’s been a tough transition,” Spidey starts and you snort, taking your head off his shoulder and looking away. He thinks he makes a great therapist, but he really doesn’t and you’re not really in the mood.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” You perk up. “How’s your Lego friend?”

“Lego fri—oh, you mean Ne—yeah, I know who you’re talking about,” Spidey stutters. “We’ve been busy lately with finals and everything coming up but his parents are going to get him the Millenium Falcon set for his birthday and we’re going to spend the whole day making that together. So that’s really exciting.”

You smile at how excited he sounds.

“Yeah?” he suddenly asks.

You frown. “I didn’t—”

He holds up a finger to shush you and mouths, “Karen.” That is, you know, the name of his AI. He jumps to his feet. “There’s an ATM robbery in progress five blocks away!”

You also jump up. “You want help or something?”

“It’s fine,” Spidey assures you. “You’re not in your suit anyway.” Without warning, he reaches around your waist and jerks you off your feet. You stiffen. If you weren’t such good friends with him you would tug away, but three months does build up some trust.

Still, your heart is pounding by the time your feet touch solid ground.

“Have fun hanging out with your dad and Parker!” he calls, jogging backwards as he adjusts the mask over his face completely. “Maybe he’s cooler when you get to know him!”

You roll your eyes and wave goodbye to him. You’re about to call an Uber when someone calls your name and you look up.

“Y/N Stark, right?” what looks to be the leader of a group of boys asks. You nod. “Can we get a picture?”

“Sure.”

You take the picture and decide against calling an Uber at this time, instead opting for jogging home. Of course, your ‘jog’ could be classified as a light sprint, so you arrive at the compound in only 45 minutes.

“How was hanging out with Spider-man?” your father asks.

You shrug. “Fine.”

“You two are pretty close, huh?”

“We’re friends,” you simply reply.

And nothing more. If there’s one thing you know about Spider-man, it’s that he’s very down to earth. He would never want all the fame that’s associated with dating a Stark. He hardly likes the fame he gets as Spider-man; why else would he keep his identity a secret? Besides, you couldn’t really date someone whose name or face you don’t know, even if they are funny and goofy and sweet.

“I finished upgrading your suit,” Tony adds. “It’s in the lab. I’m having Peter look it over just in case I missed something.”

Oh, so apparently Tony respects Peter so much that he has him look over his own work. You scowl and your palms start to heat up. “I don’t need Parker to sabotage my suit. Thanks, Dad.” You stomp towards the lab.

“Come on, Y/N,” Tony calls with exasperation at your back. “Just give him a chance!”

Sure enough, stupid Parker sits with his back to the door, curls wild. He really needs to get a haircut. He’s staring at a hologram of your suit.

He hardly stirs when you enter the lab, save for examining the right sleeve of the suit where a small flame is embroidered. Somehow, his dismissal of you makes you even more annoyed, so you march over to him and turn off his hologram without a word.

“What the hell, Y/N?” he spits.

“I don’t need you to sabotage my suit, Parker,” you hiss back. “I can look over my dad’s coding perfectly well, thank you.”

Parker rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like messing with your suit is one of my priorities. It would be my greatest pleasure in life to see a criminal stab you because I loosen the weft just enough.”

“Well, considering it wouldn’t hurt me, I doubt you’d be too bothered,” you snipe back.

“It would still hurt you,” Parker points out. “It just wouldn’t kill you. As much as you dislike me, that doesn’t mean I want to cause you harm. Besides, your dad would kill me.”

You snort.

“What, you think he wouldn’t be bothered if his daughter got hurt because of me?” Parker frowns.

You roll your eyes and throw yourself into a nearby chair, pulling up a hologram for a suit upgrade for Spider-man you’ve been considering. Parker chokes. “What’s that?”

“None of your business,” you respond automatically, using your left hand to view the different web combinations you could implement. With your right hand, you unlock your phone and text Spider-man.

@Y/N_Stark: hey, you get home okay? the robbers beat you up too bad?

Your screen shows that he hasn’t read your text yet, so you leave your phone unlocked and on the table, waiting for his response. You highlight his crotch and type an equation to enlarge the area. It’s tricky because it still requires support.

Your phone buzzes on the table and you practically lunge to read his response, which is a little humiliating, but oh well.

@The-Official-Spiderman: yeah, im all good. they were no match for me and my bulging muscles. they didn’t even put up a fight. the second they saw me they gave up

You roll your eyes.

@Y/N_Stark: yes, you’re totally an intimidating figure dressed up like an arachnid and climbing the walls

@The-Official-Spiderman: hey, you love it. its part of my charm

@Y/N_Stark: and you’ve got so much of that don’t you

You glance over your shoulder to make sure Parker isn’t spying on you adjusting Spider-man’s suit. To your relief, he seems engrossed in his phone as he taps away. Thank god for technology. It’s two teenagers that like to ignore each other’s best friend.

@The-Official-Spiderman: uh, yeah, my hordes of female fans would agree with you there

@Y/N_Stark: oh my bad, forgot you were such a big celebrity.

@The-Official-Spiderman: youre damn right it was your bad

@The-Official-Spiderman: hows it going with Parker and your dad?

@Y/N_Stark: oh, you know, the usual, my dad’s letting parker sabotage my suit and trusts him to check his own work and won’t even give me projects to work on because i’m still ‘adjusting’

@The-Official-Spiderman: if you think Parker’s going to do such a bad job, why don’t you work on it with him?

He’s kind of got you there.

@Y/N_Stark: you really think I want to spend more time than is required with him?

@The-Official-Spiderman: i have to go work on hw. i’ll ttyl, ok? just try to talk to Parker, all right? you never know he may surprise you

You opt not to respond to his message and turn off your phone just as the lab’s door opens. “Y/N! Underoos!” your dad calls enthusiastically. You’ve never understood that nickname for Parker. When you asked about it, Peter turned red and stuttered. Your dad, similarly terrible at lying, looked away and muttered something under his breath.

“Oh, look at this,” Tony groans dramatically. “Two teenagers that could be talking to each other ignoring each other on their phones.”

Parker turns off his phone, grinning star-struck at your dad, and you roll your eyes. “Is it time for the movie?”

You roll your eyes and turn back to your work. Problem is, you have no idea just how much you should expand that part of his suit. You’ll have to ask Karen for his, um, measurements next time you get her hooked up. It’s not weird, right? Not if it’s just for suit purposes. Just for suit purposes.

“Almost,” Tony replies. “Episode V, right?”

“Actually,” Peter says slowly. You’re still pretending not to be paying attention, but you watch out of the corner of your eye as he taps his chin. “I know we’ve been watching the Star Wars series in order, but I think Sam’s getting a bit sick of watching it. Why don’t we change it up?”

“What should we watch, then?” Tony leans against the bench with his hip.

Peter shrugs. “Y/N, any idea?”

You also shrug. Sure, you’ve got an idea, but your dad obviously doesn’t want to hear your opinion, so why should you offer it?

“Come on, Y/N,” Tony wheedles. Maybe he’d only just noticed I’m in the room, you think darkly. “There’s gotta be at least one movie you’re dying to see.”

There are quite a few, actually. You have a list of every movie you heard about over the internet that you want to see. You probably could watch them, too, but you’ve never been a fan of watching movies alone.

Your dad’s phone dings. He looks at it and curses.

“What?” you ask, sitting up.

“Ross called a meeting,” Tony grumbles. “For all the Avengers.”

You stand.

“All the adult Avengers,” he corrects.

You sit.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N, but it looks like movie night is going to be postponed.” Tony presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “You can pick next time!” he calls as he strides out of the room, but you know he’s going to forget that promise before next movie night.

“At his office?” you hear your father say just before leaving. “Are you kidding me?”

You clench your jaw, disappointment making your eyes sting. Without taking it in, you sit stiffly and stare at the hologram of Spider-man’s suit. Your dad will never give it to him, you know that. He’ll never even look at the design.

Parker coughs behind you. You whirl, insults on the tip of your tongue, but you’re taken aback when he’s closer than you’d thought. His hands are behind his back and he scuffs his toe on the floor. Is it you, or does he look... shy?

“We could still have a movie night, if you’d like,” he offers.

Your knee-jerk reaction is a firm no. Before it leaves your mouth, however, you hesitate. You’re not sure why.

“Whatever movie you’d like,” he promises, running a hand through his hair. “And I won’t say anything to upset you.”

You frown. Your problem with Parker doesn’t have anything to do with him. It has everything to do with your father. He knows that, right? He’s got to after your very first interaction with him.

You bite your lip, studying his earnest face, his brown curls, his puppy dog eyes. He reminds you of someone. Maybe your father. They certainly act enough like family. Finally, you nod your assent.

The smile that spreads across his lips is blinding. It makes you happier than you feel a right to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You feel lighter today than you have in a while, and so cold you even bought a sweatshirt. Spider-man cracks another joke that makes you laugh, bending over. Your abs have started to hurt.

When you look up, he’s staring at you. You color. “What?”

“N-nothing,” he stutters, making a move as if he’s going to push hair out of his face but his mask covers all of that so he just looks like an idiot. “It’s just... you’ve gotten a lot happier than you first were when you were released from the Raft.”

Self-conscious now, you adjust your hoodie and look away.

“Shut up,” he says aloud.

“What?” You know he did not just tell you to shut up—after you didn’t say anything, no less.

“No, Karen,” he explains. “She keeps telling me to...” He shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”

Despite yourself, your heart rate picks up. “What?”

“It’s just...” Spider-man’s fingers twiddle together in his lap. “I’m not a very impulsive person. You know?”

You laugh. “You’re Spider-man. A radioactive spider bit you and you decided the best thing to do was become a vigilante. You throw yourself into danger every night without a second thought. I’d say you’re pretty impulsive. At least as Spider-man. I don’t know about your secret identity.” As always, you raise your eyebrows at him in silent question, curiosity burning like the fire under your skin. Though you don’t outright ask him what his secret identity is anymore, it’s no secret you’re curious about it.

Spidey’s lips twist into a bitter smile. “When you put it that way...”

You laugh softly and turn your gaze back to the skyline. You can still sense his eyes on you, though. When you turn to look at him, something in the air crackles. He’s staring at you wordlessly. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard.

“Y/N...”

“Yeah?” Your throat is suddenly extremely dry. Is he going to...

“Can I have your credit card?”

It feels like a kick to the gut.

“What?”

“I’m gonna go buy churros,” he explains. “I’ll pay you back. But I know that you carry your credit card and I can’t exactly carry mine in my suit, so...”

“Yeah,” you respond faintly, already digging in your pocket for the plastic. “Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks.” He smiles at you. “Hey, I bet I can do a triple flip before I land.”

“I’ll take a video so you can post it,” you suggest. “If you make it.”

“Oh, I’m gonna make it,” Spidey vows. He unlocks his phone and hands it to you, pulling his mask down in the process. “Just watch.”

You click record and point it in his face. “You’re not gonna make it.”

“Oh, I’m gonna.” Spidey jumps up and down like an athlete preparing for a race. “Here I go!” He takes a running start off the roof, sending a web to a nearby building. The web’s slack catches him just feet before he touches the ground—you gasp despite yourself—and slingshots him into the sky where he easily flips three times in the air and lands in a crouch.

You end the video and cheer. Spidey shouts and raises his arms in victory. “Did you see that?”

“That was awesome!” you shout down at him.

“Told you I could do it!” He waves. “I’ll be right back, all right?”

You wave back and click on the video to rewatch, your heart still racing after that scare. He may have advanced healing, but he’s not as indestructible as you and sometimes—like just then—you’re extremely aware of it.

His phone buzzes in your hand as someone texts him. You mean to swipe the notification up, not wanting to intrude on his privacy, but accidentally click on the text.

It’s from... your dad? You blink.

Mr. Stark: are you still with Y/N?

He won’t think it’s too much of an invasion of privacy if you only respond with a simple yes, right? It is only your dad, after all, and you’re not going to read any of the other texts.

Spidey’s so easygoing, you reason. He’ll be fine with it as long as I tell him right as he comes back.

You type out a quick yes and hit send.

You can’t stop your eyes from straying up slightly to the other texts Spider-man apparently shares with your father. Even though he says he doesn’t hear from him often, it looks like he’s been texting him... all day?

Your brows furrow as you read their conversation just from today.

Mr. Stark: Y/N’s been working on your suit for days. I noticed she had to expand the crotch... what’s that all about?

Me: ok so it is a little tight but it’s not a big deal and I didn’t think she was actually listening to me when i said that

Mr. Stark: you could have told me at any time, kid

Me: I didn’t want to bother you

Mr. Stark: you’re never a bother, Underoos

Me: I’m still on for Saturday, right?

Mr. Stark: Of course. Y/N said Wonder Woman, right?

Your hands are shaking, vision blurring as your eyes burn. Why is Tony calling Spider-man Underoos? Why is Spider-man coming over on Saturday to watch Wonder Woman if Saturday isn’t even scheduled to be a movie night?

Your stomach hurts.

You have to read more. You scroll up. Up past the constant texts where Spider-man texts your dad about where you are, how happy or sad you seem, if you got any injuries while fighting crime.

A drop of liquid splashes onto the screen. You scrub furiously at it and then at your eyes, continuing up. Up past the constant texts that aren’t even about you; about building suits together and movie nights and nicknames and gifts that Spider-man is so, so grateful for.

Up past the texts where Tony calls Spider-man Underoos, and kid, and Spiderling, and—

You stop when you see what you were looking for; (your thumb hurts. How long does it take to get churros?) proof that your father and Spider-man have been spying on you, making fun of you behind your back, invading your privacy, lying to you—the list goes on and on.

Mr. Stark: Hey, Parker, thanks again for agreeing to approach Y/N as Spider-man. It makes me so much less worried to know that she’s got a friend and someone to look out for her.

You don’t bother to read Spider-man’s response. No, Peter Parker’s response.

Much gentler than you thought possible, you turn the phone’s screen off and place it down on the ground, remembering just how many times Parker must have been laughing at you behind the mask. When you told him you can make friends without your father’s help. When you told him he’s your best friend. When you told him about your mother. When you told him what the Raft was like, something you hadn’t even told your father.

You’d spilled your entire life to him and he was just acting the whole time. Making fun of you the whole time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out that climbing up buildings with churros in each hand is difficult. Peter transfers both to one hand, but climbing with one hand is still hard. Eventually he rolls up his mask and places them delicately in his mouth, making sure his mouth is only touching the wrapper and not the actual delicacy.

Thankfully, he reaches the top of the building without dropping the churros or biting through them. He proudly displays them, looking around for you. “So climbing is a lot harder with no hands than you’d think—” He notices his phone, locked in the center of the roof, and stops abruptly. “Y/N?”

He sets the churros delicately on the ground and scoops up his phone, unlocking it automatically. When he sees what you were looking at on his phone, his stomach drops.

“Oh, shit.”

Inferno Taglist:

@paullrud @eridanuswave @loveissupernatural @moistpotatobear @oh-annaa

Peter Parker x Reader Taglist:

@iconicbabesss

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight

#peter parker #Peter Benjamin Parker #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #reader insert #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #reader x peter parker #you x peter parker #tony stark #stark!reader #reader x spiderman #spiderman #spiderman x reader

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

Text

Inferno: Part 3

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

God I love Peter Parker so much. Anyways, he’s a dork even when he’s Spiderman. This is so fluffy I’m gonna get cavities. I have so many great ideas for next chapter! Also, I lied; there’s gonna be at least 5 parts.

You’re thankful for your fans. You really are. A good majority of them are sweet, caring individuals completely appalled at the blatant lies the American government sent out as a reason for your arrest. It’s nice to see people promoting positivity.

Unfortunately, being rich and having fans can sometimes lead people to hate you for no other reasons. You’re not saying there are rich people that don’t deserve to be loathed. Of course not. And maybe you do deserve to be hated. You’ve certainly done enough questionable stuff.

But at this point scrolling through your notifications feels like playing Russian Roulette with every chamber loaded.

cap2n/merica: Hey @Y/N_Stark, just do us all a favor and turn yourself into the authorities before you start melting people again.

bigbossbitch: @Y/N_Stark is another case of gross celebrity misconduct. Yes, her jail time was wrong, but now that she’s been released she’s just another spoiled celeb kid born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She gets away with murder just like her father does because of their wealth and it’s a sign of the American government’s (1/2)

You don’t feel like finding the second part of that tweet.

givemebackmymeat: @Y/N_Stark is an ice bitch

Stacey-Toland: yeah it’s great and all that New York gets Spiderman and @Y/N_Stark , but if they really cared about people they would branch out and help people in cities with a lot more crime. New York doesn’t need the Avengers, Spiderman, AND Inferno!

just-a-dumbass: y’all Inferno is the dumbest superhero name i’ve heard in a long time @Y/N_Stark

With a sigh, you turn your phone off. The public outcry will quiet down after the official statements are released. Everyone needs some time to cool off.

The pesky bandages on your hip crinkle as you sit up. You rip them off without looking. Tony insisted that you wear them last night after Helen Cho fished the bullet out of your hip. There’s no pain this morning, and you don’t even need to check to know there’s no scar.

The temptation is too great. Maybe you’re a masochist. You grab the phone before sitting down on the toilet, determined to find at least one positive comment about you in your feed. You try Instagram instead of Twitter this time. Since your public appearance last night, comments on your last post about a year ago have been flooding in.

spideyismydaddy: hey @The-Official-Spiderman what do you think about @Y/N_Stark? She invading your territory or what?

You click on @The-Official-Spiderman. It’s got to be a spoof or fan account, right? Sure enough, the account isn’t verified. You almost swipe out of it but your eyes catch on some of the photos he’s got uploaded. Either he’s super good at photoshop, or...

Is this really Spiderman’s account?

The photos look exactly like the crime-fighting spider you’d encountered last night. He doesn’t have a recent story that you can watch, but he does have a highlight story that you click on. In the first one, he does a backflip. The second clip is of him racing a train and winning. The third one is a pretty picture of the sunset.

You rest your hand on your cheek. Before you know it, you’ve watched his entire highlight story and wasted fifteen minutes sitting on the toilet.

“Miss Stark, your father wanted me to inform you that breakfast is ready,” FRIDAY says, making you jump a little bit. At first it had been a struggle to stop talking to her. The amount of times you’d say, “FRIDAY, turn off the lights,” or “FRIDAY, what time is it?” is a little bit embarrassing. No doubt how many times she’ll startle you will be embarrassing too.

“Sure,” you grunt, throwing a MIT sweatshirt on and shoving your phone in its pocket. “Coming.”

“Morning, sweetie,” Tony says cheerfully, attempting a smile when he looks at you. “I made your favorite—waffles.”

“Great.” You try a smile yourself. “I haven’t—that’s—thanks, Dad.” You’d been about to comment that you haven’t had waffles for over a year, but that would probably bring down both your spirits.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” You take a big bite of waffle and look as innocently as you can at your father. “Just peachy.”

Tony gestures to his own hip. “No... pain? Bleeding? Scar?”

You shake your head and shrug. “Healed overnight.”

“Good.” Your dad actually fiddles with his fingers as you take another bite. “I, um... I don’t know what you want to do.”

I want to spend time with you is the first thing that crosses your mind but it sounds way too sappy and weak. You settle on a shrug. The familiar fire under your skin wavers and you scowl to bring it back to a simmer.

The next time they try to take you away, you’ll be prepared. Even if you have to take out thousands of agents. But you can’t let go of your anger for even a second.

“I have an idea,” you say after another awkward silence, struck with a great idea that would involve time with your dad but doesn’t involve actually asking for it outright. “I couldn’t keep up with all the new shows and movies that came out. Maybe we could get Disney+ and, I don’t know, watch The Mandalorian? I saw a lot of Baby Yoda memes online and it looks like a cool show.”

“That’s the new Star Wars show that came out, right?” Tony checks. “With the ugly green baby?”

“Hey! He’s not ugly!”

“Well,” he starts. You already know he’s about to suggest a bad idea. “Star Wars is probably Parker’s expertise. Considering both of us won’t know what’s going on, maybe we should call him and have him here? Just to translate the nerd stuff to the non-nerds?”

The hand holding your waffle clenches. You should have known that Tony would try to involve his precious Peter Parker so he wouldn’t have to spend time alone with you.

The waffle starts to smoke and you drop it with disgust. “I’m going to the training room.”

“Come on, Y/N—” Tony starts but you stomp off. Why won’t you understand that he just wants you to make a friend? He’s not trying to replace you with Peter—he’s trying to get you to replace Tony, at least a little bit, with Peter.

Tony eyes the waffle you hadn’t finished. A clear outline of fingers is burnt onto its surface.

You stalk through the compound angrily, halfway expecting a team member to jump out at you. You were the last one to be released, after all. Then again, they’re all under house arrest or on the run. But what about the ones that had sided with Tony? “Where are they?” You’d love to run drills with Nat or talk with Rhodey.

“Tony cleared his schedule for the next week,” FRIDAY informs you. “He wanted this to be a more relaxed homecoming so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed before more enthusiastic well-wishers arrived.”

“He cleared out his schedule for everyone except Peter fuckin’ Parker,” you mutter. Jesus, how important is this kid to Tony? First he never stops talking about him to you, takes him to pick you up from jail, and now he’s banned everyone but him from the compound?

For lack of sparring partners, you decide that lifting weights and running on the treadmill wouldn’t be too bad. Thankfully your muscles didn’t atrophy too much while you were locked up, though you rarely mustered the energy for exercises. You left the heat simmering under your skin at all hours. Judging by how many times you woke up to singed blankets, you started doing it in your sleep too.

No doubt due to the Extremis, you can lift every weight in the weight room—together. It’s too easy, so you move to the treadmill.

Your feet pound on the track. With every step, another thought bombards your mind: Peter Parker smiling, how you spent three months in the cage before they consented to giving you a plant, the cell smaller than your whole bed, you never even saw the sun for months, Tony coming to brag about Peter fucking Parker—

Only when your foot hits the ground do you realize that you’re running hot. “Shit,” you mutter, reaching for the ‘off’ button. Your whole body is glowing bright red and instead of turning off, the keypad melts at your touch just like how your shoes had melted off and how the track is hardly more than a melted pile of goo around your red-hot feet. The poor treadmill gurgles unhappily and its gears stop churning.

“Miss Stark, you are not wearing your fireproof clothes,” FRIDAY points out.

“Yeah, I got that, FRI,” you respond through gritted teeth, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You need to calm down before your clothes burst into flame.

The red hue to your skin fades slightly.

You need to get your excess anger out. And you know exactly how to do that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some guy swings a metal bar into your face. Something definitely cracks but heals within seconds, so quickly you almost don’t register the pain. It doesn’t slow you down, anyway, and you grab the man’s arm before he can whack you again with the bar. You slam his head against the side of a brick building and he slumps to the ground. If he doesn’t wake up in thirty seconds, you’ve either given him brain damage or flat-out killed him. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Before you can turn around, your back burns. Not the comforting burn of your anger, but a stinging burn that takes your breath away.

You turn around slowly. The man’s partner backs away, his hands in the air as a scared expression takes over his face.

You reach behind you. Your hand hits something hard that makes the pain in your back worse. It’s the handle of a knife, you presume. With a wince, you pull it out of your back. The blade is dark with blood that you already feel dripping down your back. The wound will knit together, scab, scar, and fade. A body’s week- or month-long process of healing occurring in seconds.

You’re not thinking when you brandish the weapon, but thankfully a weird thwip sound interrupts you. The man’s raised hands find themselves stuck against a wall by a white, sticky substance.

“Shit!” a vaguely familiar voice hisses after a second thwip. “Oh Jesus! You killed him!”

You turn around. The man you’d knocked against the wall still hasn’t moved, but there’s a dark puddle spreading around his head. Spider-man takes a quick look at him, shakes his head, and looks at you.

“And you got stabbed!” Sounding sort of like a smothering grandmother, he spins you around and lifts up your shirt. “Oh, shit, that’s a lot of blood...”

“The wound’s probably closed by now,” you mutter. The ground sort of leans away from your feet and strong arms wrap around your waist as something swipes at your back.

“I don’t see an opening.” He gingerly takes the knife from your hand places it on the ground. Then you find that the ground is underneath your butt. Spider-man’s mask swims in your vision.

“I killed him?” you ask blearily. Shit. You can’t afford to be murdering people not two days after being released from prison. They’ll send you back. They’ll lock you in that cage! Is Spider-man here with them? You smack his hands away. He’s here to get you, he’s here to take you—

“Whoa, whoa, let’s calm down a little bit,” Spidey says beseechingly. “You don’t have any wounds, but you lost a lot of blood.”

“It’ll replenish soon,” you mutter. After some sugar. Sustenance. That would help. As if he’d heard your thoughts, Spidey waves something in front of you. It takes a hot second for your eyes to focus on it, but when you realize it’s a churro your mouth waters.

“I did not mean for this to go this way,” he mutters. Almost shyly, he thrusts it at you, saying, “Here. I got it for you.”

You’re not one to refuse free food. If he’s poisoned it, chances are the poison won’t affect you much, anyway. You’ll take your chances.

You wolf the churro down in record time. Now that you’re feeling less woozy, knots are starting to form in your stomach. Spider-man, a superhero largely known for helping people out, just witnessed you accidentally murdering someone.

And you just murdered someone. You need to take that knife and burn it in an alley far from here and toss it in the trash.

Heat rises in your cheeks, but it’s not anger-heat that can be used as a weapon or self-defense. Letting Spider-man see you like that is embarrassing.

“Are you feeling better? I can get you another churro, if you’d like, or maybe a burrito, I think I have enough cash for that...” Spider-man reaches into his back pocket, but maybe his tone is too light, maybe he’s not being nice and he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of safety.

Quick as a whip, you take the knife and hold it in Spider-man’s direction. The superhero falls back, his voice cracking as he exclaims, “Hey! Whoa! Please don’t stick me with that! Do you have any idea the potential ramifications of mixing blood? Not that I think you have STDs or something, but still, I could still get alien bacteria in me! The Extremis is still in your system, right? Well, of course it is! I really don’t need that in me because it might make me blow up! Please—”

You blink. He sounds like a kid. Like someone your age. He’s in no way your father’s age. And he’s definitely not a threat. “Relax.” You close your fist around the knife and channel your anger into that extremity. It melts within seconds and drips to the ground. You shake your hand of the last bit of molten metal and allow the flesh to return to regular temperature. “You’re not going to hurt me for killing him?” Your heart still races in his presence, but it’s starting to calm down.

“I saw everything.” Spider-man stands up awkwardly, especially for someone that can do backflips and crawl up walls, and points up to the top of a nearby skyscraper. “They attacked you. It was self-defense. Besides, these two killed a bystander in a shootout recently. I’m not saying they deserved it, because that would be really mean to say, but I’m also not saying that you’re a terrible person. You know?”

“You certainly talk a lot,” you comment. It’s amusing.

“Do you want me to stop talking?” Spider-man rubs his neck. “I know it can be annoying. My friends—”

You shrug. “Why were you watching?”

“Well, last night you got shot, right? And I see you out again fighting crime. So I’m like, ‘Holy crap, is she in pain, she’s probably not all right, maybe she’s getting mugged because she slept on the streets because I didn’t help her when she got shot in the hip and then you slammed that dude against the wall and I saw the other dude stab you and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the point.” You stuff your hands in your pockets. “It was my fault, anyway. If I was wearing my suit the knife wouldn’t have gotten so deep in. It probably wouldn’t have gotten in at all.”

“Why are you just wearing a MIT sweatshirt and sweatpants, by the way?”

You shrug. “Couldn’t be bothered to change.”

“Well, I think you’re going to have to now. There’s a big hole in your sweatshirt and your whole back is bloody.”

“Shit,” you mutter. “But that’ll lead people back to... him.” You shoot a glance at the dead man. “And he’s going to snitch on me.” You shoot a nervous glance at Spider-man. You have no idea how he’ll react to you considering a tied-up would-be mugger.

Spider-man shakes his head. “People will see my webs. They’ll blame me.”

“So we’ll both be blamed,” you say grimly. “Great.”

“Yeah, The Daily Bugle is going to have a field day. But we should get out of here.” Spider-man puts a hand on the small of your back (right where you’d been stabbed) and gently applies just enough pressure to get you moving. Shocked at the gentlemanly gesture, you take a few steps before remembering your bloodstained clothes. “I’ll get you new ones,” Spider-man says grimly when you voice your concern. “But then I won’t be able to get you a burrito.”

The sweet concern is touching. “It’s really okay,” you say. If you had your credit card, or any cash on you, you’d buy the poor boy as many burritos as he wanted. “You gave me your churro. You’ve done more than enough.”

“Well, I wanted to make a good impression!” His voice cracks again.

“Really?” you shoot him a glance out of the corner of your eye. “Why?”

“I don’t know a lot of other teenaged superheroes,” he shrugs. “I thought we could be friends.”

See, Dad? You think viciously. I can make friends without your interference. I’ve found a friend loads better than Peter Parker. “Get me a change of clothes and we’ll talk.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A radioactive spider, huh?”

“Yeah. And I know all about the Extremis. Killian.”

“Yeah. He murdered my mother and then tried to blow me up but my body didn’t reject the serum.”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Your mother’s death is like a bruise; tender when you poke at it but livable with. “What about your parents?”

“Oh, they’re both dead.” Spider-man gives you a half-shrug. “I live with my aunt. My uncle used to live with us until he died.”

“Shit, dude.” You lay down on the skyscraper, hesitant, and fold your hands together over your stomach clad in the I <3 NEW YORK sweatshirt Spider-man bought you. Goosebumps rise on your exposed legs, courtesy of the NEW YORK sleep shorts he’d barely had enough money to buy at that sleazy mart. What would you want someone to say to you?

“Like you said. I’ve dealt.” Spider-man lies down next to you, watching the sun set.

“I guess we kinda have to be friends, right?” You say after a brief pause of silence. “We got all the heavy stuff out of the way.”

“Sweet!” His phone buzzes. He pulls it out and types a quick text to someone. You presume his aunt, considering that’s the only family he has. Or one of his friends.

You can hear the smile in his voice and it makes a smile spread across your face too. For the first time you feel the wind whipping and realize you’re not angry. You call the heat back immediately, both to warm yourself and to protect yourself. What if—?

“Can I do a livestream?” Spider-man props himself up on his elbow and holds up his phone, which displays his Instagram page.

“Sure?”

Spider-man rolls up his suit to just under his nose and starts recording a video. You notice he lowers his voice slightly, probably to make himself seem more mature, and roll your eyes. “Hey guys! You’ll never believe who I’m with right now.”

Immediately comments start to roll in and people start sending emojis, mainly hearts.

You wave at the camera before unlocking your phone and following him on Instagram, now that you know it is actually him. A minute ago you’d gotten the notification he’d followed you, so you figured it was only fair.

Spider-man starts to do a run-down of his day, leaving out the man you’d killed. “Then I gave Inferno here a churro and we went shopping because we’re besties.” He nudges you with his arm. “No, but seriously, we had to burn her clothes. I can’t believe that dude threw her in the dumpster. It was disgusting.”

You wrinkle your nose at the camera, actually enjoying playing along. It does make you wonder exactly how much he says on his social media is a cover-up of some sinister stuff. He seems perfectly fine at lying about why you needed new clothes.

“Okay, now I’ll answer some questions...” Spider-man browses the flood of questions. “Okay, well, you guys know I can’t just tell you my name. No, I haven’t seen Iron Man recently. No, I’m not an Avenger. Still. And no, I do not have a girlfriend... Why is everyone asking if Inferno is—no, she’s not!” His voice cracks again and you glance curiously at him, tucking your wild hair behind your ear. The wind is whipping it everywhere.

“What?”

Spider-man just waves a hand at you. “I can’t tell you guys my schedule, either, because the bad guys will take advantage of it. You guys know that. Sheesh. Okay, well, since you guys are being jealous and immature, I’m going to log off now. Bye!”

“Let me guess,” you say sarcastically. “Mostly female fans, huh?”

“It’ll be such a shock when they all find out I’m gay,” Spider-man jokes. At least, you think he’s kidding. After a beat, he clarifies. “I’m not. By the way.”

You shrug and transfer your gaze back to the skyline. The sky is starting to turn orange and pink. “I wouldn’t really care if you were.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Hey, you know what isn’t fair?”

“What?”

“You obviously know who I am. Everyone does.” Not to sound conceited or anything, Y/N, good going... “But the only thing I know about you is that your parents and uncle are dead and you got your powers from a radioactive spider.”

So what, you’re curious about who’s under the mask. Sue you.

“My middle name is Benjamin,” Spidey suggests. “But I’m not going to tell you the rest of it.”

“So I should refer to you as Benjamin?” You don’t take your eyes off the horizon, not wanting to seem or sound pushy.

“Please don’t.” You giggle as he pretends to gag. “You can call me Spidey. I know Spider-man is a long title. As long as I get to call you Y/N instead of Inferno.”

“Sure thing... Benjamin.”

“I should not have told you that,” Spidey sighs. “Um, what else... I, uh, go to high school.”

You nod. “I should still be in high school.”

“You graduated high school when you were fifteen and went to MIT, same as your dad, for two years, same as your dad, and graduated college summa cum laude...”

“Also same as my dad.” You sigh.

“Sorry. I’m just... kind of a fan.”

A weird warm feeling spreads in your stomach, but it’s not Extremis-heat. “That’s okay.”

“And then you were arrested.” Spidey’s tone turns a little bit dark. “You turned eighteen in the Raft.”

“Happy birthday to me,” you sigh.

“It was shitty what happened to you.”

“I’m out now.”

“Still,” he persists. “It sucks I can’t make it better.”

You laugh. “What would you do? We only became friends maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

Spidey sighs. “I know. It just sucks, right? All these powers and we still can barely make a difference in the world.”

You sit up halfway, propped up by your arm. Desperate to make the subject lighter, you say, “Speaking of powers. I know you’re sticky and all. What else?”

“Fast and strong.” Spidey shrugs. “Not much else.”

“Wanna race?”

Inferno Taglist:

@paullrud @eridanuswave @loveissupernatural @moistpotatobear @oh-annaa

Peter Parker x Reader Taglist:

@iconicbabesss

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight

#peter parker #Peter Benjamin Parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #reader insert #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #reader x peter parker #you x peter parker #tony stark #stark!reader

23 notes · View notes

roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

Text

Inferno: Part 2

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

I’m not sure how long I’ll make this... maybe three or four parts?

If you’d like to be added to my Peter Parker, Marvel, or Inferno Taglist, let me know!

You storm into the compound, not even noticing the ground cracking where you stomp your feet, and fling your bag, which is filled entirely with clothes, away from you with so much force that it hits the concrete wall and makes a dent.

“What the hell was that?” your father slams the door shut.

“You know exactly what!” you yell back, pointing a finger at him when he takes an angry step forward. “The boy you spend my entire captivity gushing about—the boy that’s never been to prison, the boy that hasn’t killed anyone yet—you bring him with you to pick me up? Me, your biological child—”

“I wanted you to be friends!” Tony roars. “God forbid I try to put you out of your comfort zone, Y/N! I get that you’re angry, and I’m sorry you were stuck in that awful place for so long but I was fighting the whole time for you to be free!”

“You took me nowhere when I was free!” you scream back, feeling your fists heat when you clench them and your face heat as well. “You bragged about me to nobody because you’re ashamed of me, and don’t admit it! Now you’ve found the perfect straight-A kid and what, you bring him everywhere? I bet he’s gone on vacation with you to Hawaii, right? You even brought him to pick up your delinquent child like you’re showing her off like a prize pony at a show!”

Tony kicks a chair. It skids across the room and into the far wall. “I wasn’t showing you off at all! I wanted to help you adjust after a year of captivity! I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think about me!” you bellow. “You never have, because I wasn’t something that you got to choose, but you chose precious Peter Parker and that makes him perfect, huh? I bet you take Peter Parker on vacations and talk about him to all your rich friends and you never mention poor charity case Y/N Stark, the criminal vigilante!”

His face red, Tony roars, “Do you want me to talk about you with my friends? What do you want me to talk about, Y/N? ‘Hey, Rhodey, let’s talk about Y/N, whose mother kept her a secret her entire life—’”

“Don’t you dare talk about my mother!” You point a flaming finger at him, not even recognizing the heat. You suppose that’s what happens after a year of numbness. All the emotions come rushing out at once.

“I am not replacing you with Peter Parker, Y/N,” Tony says, softer now, and it makes you even angrier. What right does he have to be quiet when everything inside of you is raging?

“You’re right,” you say sarcastically. “He’s not my replacement. He’s your do-over. Well, have fun with that, Tony,” you spit. “I’ll get my delinquent ass out of your hair. Maybe I’ll go meet up with Cap, won’t that be fun?” It’s an empty threat; Cap doesn’t like you after you’d almost torched his ass for beating up your father in Siberia and you don’t like him that much either. He’d always been too... uppity.

I bet Peter’s uppity, you think derogatorily, and almost feel bad. It’s not Peter’s fault that your father’s an ass.

“Do you want me to talk about you?” Tony asks, a little desperately. “I’ll talk about you right now. Do you want me to use the Instagram you made me? I’ll put it on a story right now.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you hiss. “I want you to leave me the hell alone. God knows I heard enough talking from you from the past year to last me a lifetime.” You storm out of the room. For some reason your eyes are stinging.

“Do you want me to take you on a trip?” Tony calls after your retreating back. “We can go anywhere, Y/N! Please, come back and we can talk about this!”

That was definitely one of the worse fights you’ve had with your father. He wants so badly to please, but he’s also prideful and stubborn, and so are you. You’re bound to clash heads a few times. And shoving you into a loud, cramped helicopter after about a year of almost solitary confinement didn’t help matters.

You didn’t want to be angry with your father. You wanted so bad to be happy to see him, because you do know that he feels bad that you were locked up and he couldn’t do anything about it. And you do love him. But you haven’t been anything but angry ever since you realized that they were locking you up unfairly. And now that you can’t get in trouble for heating up, there’s no reason to bottle your anger up.

You’re going to catch a few criminals.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know who Spider-man is. Obviously. You weren’t allowed to log into your own social media accounts, but you weren’t completely cut off from the world. So yes, you’ve heard all about the masked web-slinger, even if he’d only barely emerged before Germany and hadn’t operated in your same area of New York. You’ve seen videos of him doing his thing on the internet. He seems like a cool dude, if a bit naive. He takes churros from old ladies and helps people recover their stolen bicycles. He says hi to people and does backflips to show off to those who ask for it. He seems like an all-around upstanding guy.

You weren’t expecting to see him, although perhaps you should have anticipated that after the initial hordes of fans excited to see that you’ve been released. You’re sure there will be thousands of theories floating around the internet until your father releases the initial statement. Maybe they’ll think you escaped from the prison. Maybe they’ll think you killed all the guards in order to escape. Maybe they think you’re on the run now.

Besides, he seems to operate in the skies, and you prefer to keep your feet on the ground.

Either way, Spider-man stands in front of you now, extending his hand. You reach out to take it back but he recoils and you see why; you’re still glowing with heat.

Your face goes red (with a blush, not heat) as you shake out your hand and then take his firm grip.

“Are you good?”

You take a look around at the various bodies on the ground and shrug. What was sure to be a gruesome scene is still a gruesome scene, but in a different way. The bodies of four men lie on the ground. Spider-man took out two of them with his webs and you took out the other two by shattering one’s kneecap and severely burning the other’s arm after he shot you. You’d already been having a bad day, so who can blame you for grabbing him with a red-hot hand?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say briskly. The wound hurt for barely a second before your skin closed around the bullet, as it tends to do. Walking back to the compound will surely be a pain in the ass, and so will doctors cutting you open to fish around in your guts for the metal bullet, but it’s better than bleeding out. You quickly pull your shirt up, exposing unmarred skin. “See?” You tap the tender bump near your hip bone and grit your teeth with pain. The bone must have stopped the bullet. “It’s right there.” If only you’d had enough warning to harden your skin.

“Thank you so much,” the girl you’d saved says breathlessly. She clutches her purse to her chest and, despite what had nearly happened to her, seems no worse for the wear. To the contrary, she looks at you and Spider-man with a near-hero worship. “I can’t believe I just got saved by Inferno and Spider-man.”

“Do you want an escort home?” Spider-man asks, making you blink with surprise. You’d never thought before to walk the people you save home. He really is a nice dude.

The girl shakes her head. “My Uber is here.” She points behind her. “Thank you so much again, though!”

You wave good-bye to her and take a step back, ready to start your trek back to the compound, but the bullet grinds against your bone and you grit your teeth to keep from screaming.

“I’m pretty sure that having a bullet in your skin is not ‘fine’,” Spider-man says gently. “I’ve got a first-aid kit back at my place, if you want—”

“Really, I’m fine,” you wave him off. You’ve had worse. Much, much worse. “It was cool to meet you, though.” You awkwardly dip your head at him. “You’re pretty cool, Spider-man.”

Spider-man snorts.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just...” he brings his hand up to his mask and almost looks like he’s going to pull it off. “Well, if you knew who I am under this mask, you wouldn’t say that.” His hand drops back to his side.

You shrug. “Then keep wearing the mask. I doubt I know you, anyway; New York is pretty big. You might know my identity, but I’m not pressed with burning curiosity to know yours.” At least, you hadn’t. If running into Spider-man becomes a regular occurrence, you might become more curious. “Besides, I think I’d still think you pretty cool. You’re a superhero, aren’t you?”

“Look, I really don’t feel cool with you walking home on your leg—”

Your voice has a hard edge when you insist, “I’m fine. Really. But maybe I’ll see you around?” There is a disgusting hopeful note when you ask that, and you curse yourself for sounding desperate.

“Definitely.” Spider-man nods and you’ll be damned if you can’t hear a smile in his voice. He takes a step back and trips over a trash can, landing hard on his ass, and you cover your smile with your hand in order to preserve his dignity. “I—I’ll just—I’m going.” He flips to his feet and waves like a dork at you. You wave back and he jumps onto the side of the building to your right. It takes you aback; seeing his powers on YouTube is very different than seeing them in real life.

When he’s at the top, Spider-man peers over the edge of the building and waves at you a second time, making you realize that you’d been watching him climb. “Are you sure—”

“Bye!”

Inferno Taglist:

@paullrud @eridanuswave @loveissupernatural @moistpotatobear

Peter Parker x Reader Taglist:

@iconicbabesss

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

Text

Inferno: Part 1

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (sort of)

If anyone would like to be added to my Peter Parker, Marvel, or Forever Taglist, let me know. Also, if you’d like this to be made into a series, tell me. I quite like this idea.

Peter strolls into the compound quite happily, actually. Flash hadn’t bothered him at all that day and he and Ned have plans to see the new Star Wars movie over the weekend. He’s also, like, ninety percent sure that he completely aced his Spanish quiz. The drive over was nice—the sky is clear and it’s not too cold, and Happy actually seemed pretty happy to see Peter.

All in all, a pretty good day.

That is, until he hears the screaming.

His heart drops. Peter drops his backpack and sprints in the direction, already equipping his web shooters. “Mr. Stark! What is it?” He bursts into the room, which happens to be a private conference room of Tony’s, and, panting, demands, “Monsters? Aliens? People with guns?”

Pepper and Tony separate and stare at Peter, shocked. Apart from them, the room is empty save for a table, six chairs, and a TV screen. A TV screen that displays the picture of James Rhodes.

“There’s not a threat, is there?” the teen asks flatly, a little embarrassed with himself that he’d overreacted. He relaxes and takes off the webshooters, stuffing them into his back pocket. “Why were you guys screaming?”

“It’s just so wonderful,” Pepper gushes, her hand on her chest. “After so long, Y/N’s finally going to be released and pardoned.”

Peter gasps. “Inferno? She’s going to be released?”

Tony smiles. “I take it you know of my daughter.”

“Not a lot.” Peter rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. “She’s kind of a mystery, honestly. I felt really bad when she got arrested. It sucks that she hasn’t been allowed out or even on social media. I follow her! I have for a while.”

“Maybe I should tell you about her,” Tony says, rubbing his chin. “So you know what to expect.”

“Y/N’s kind of a shock to the system,” the picture of Rhodey chimes in, and Peter realizes that it is not a picture but a video call with the colonel. “Smart and abrupt.”

Trying not to look too eager, Peter nods. “She just sort of appeared in 2012. Did you know she’s a little more than a year older than me?”

“Yes, I did, Peter,” Tony replies, amused.

“I’ll get you guys some food.” Pepper drops a kiss onto Tony’s forehead and pats Peter’s shoulder as she passes. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

“Wait, are you going to pick her up now?”

“In an hour,” Tony repeats. “Would you like to come with us?”

“Is that even a question? Inferno’s only the coolest person ever. She inspired me to be Spider-man, you know. I had no idea what to do with my powers until I realized I could do what she did! She’s so cool.”

“Believe it or not, Y/N wasn’t born with her powers.”

“Really? I always thought that her mother must have been superpowered or—or maybe she was exposed to radiation when she was a baby!” Peter gushes excitedly. “Ned thinks she was thrown into a radioactive volcano. MJ thinks she’s an alien!”

Rhodey snorts and covers his mouth with his fist.

“Will you tell me?” Peter asks, a little shyly.

Tony smiles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Tony was younger—almost twenty years younger, when he was still young and carefree—he met a woman at a party. They had a nice talk with each other and they parted ways.

Okay, so they did more than talk. Whatever. And sometime in the next year, 2000, the woman gave birth to a little girl named Y/N Hansen. Her mother, Maya Hansen, decided not to tell Tony that she gave birth because she wasn’t sure if the child actually was his.

There weren’t a lot of other men that could be the child’s father, but Maya hoped any one of the few were the one over the famous playboy billionaire philanthropist.

Fast forward twelve years and Maya Hansen is working with Aldrich Killian, who promises that they will be the heroes of this generation. He promises what they are doing will cure everything. He promises a lot of things.

And then he kills her. And he gives little motherless Y/N a twisted version of the Extremis, a kind that wraps itself into her DNA so tightly it could never be ripped out, a kind that is designed to hurt her and those around her until it fully attaches, if she doesn’t die in the process. Why, you ask? Because he knew fatherless Y/N wasn’t actually fatherless. He knew that Maya Hansen knew her father was Tony Stark. If Tony Stark isn’t going to help him, if Tony Stark isn’t going to cooperate, then he’ll hurt Tony Stark’s kid.

He wasn’t counting on two things: Tony Stark not knowing who Y/N Hansen is except that she must be Maya’s child, and Y/N’s body not rejecting the Extremis, though whether that is because she is so young or because of the twisted Extremis, nobody knows (and if Killian lived longer, he would have started injecting younger children to see if they are more flexible because he really wasn’t right in the head).

But Tony Stark takes the child and leaves her at Harley Keener’s house.

Killian finds the child. It’s not hard, with how loud she’s screaming (and the tracking device he’d injected under her skin). Tony Stark isn’t with her. He leaves the screaming child for dead and he kidnaps Pepper Potts and injects her with the regular version of the Extremis, hoping someone that Tony knows is connected to him will convince the genius to stabilize the serum.

Pepper kills him. Tony reverses the procedure. He removes the shrapnel from his heart and throws the arc reactor into the ocean. He even tracks down little Y/N when Harley calls him, saying that the girl he’d dropped off is still in pain, and he even is contacted by a lawyer that tells him everything.

So now he has a daughter. A superpowered daughter.

A superpowered daughter that the government wants their hands on, especially when she starts to run around as Inferno, a superhero name that Tony relentlessly teases her for. She doesn’t hide her identity, taking after her father, and she’s got quite a following on Instagram and Twitter. The government doesn’t like vigilantes. The government especially doesn’t like when vigilantes start injuring property and people, even criminals.

She’s not even in Germany when the fighting happens, but somehow they find a way to frame her (the fake witnesses end up dead in the hours between the faux-trial and her arrest). Y/N Hansen-Stark is arrested for something she was not involved in and thrown into an underwater ship along with a funny man that makes her laugh at first and Wilson, who tells her that her uncle was hurt.

Not even her father’s influence and the internet’s outrage that there is obvious proof she was not in Germany can protect her, but it upgrades her cage until it’s basically a home-away-from-home, except she’s being held captive and isn’t allowed to access her social media at all. She can merely browse, watching the outside world without being a part of it.

Tony can visit. He visits a lot. He talks a lot. He replaces her with a boy called Peter that he’s sure she’ll like, but Y/N’s sure she won’t.

The other prisoners escape. Y/N doesn’t. She could have already the moment she entered this cage, but unfortunately she’s a well-known public figure and going on the run would be quite inconvenient, especially once Tony’s smoothed everything over and she’s allowed out.

Y/N has to believe that she’ll be allowed out, that her father will save her, because even if he’s replaced her with Peter Parker, the public hasn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even though you’d spent the better part of a year underwater, it certainly hadn’t felt like it. Now, when you stand on the Raft’s surface and stare out at the endless sea, it hits you for the first time. Maybe if your mother hadn’t taught you to love the ocean, you would have been more scared, but you love to swim. You’d love to jump into the water right now and swim in any direction if you could, but there are guns still trained on you, despite the official pardoning. Being shot a few times would certainly put a damper on the day, even if it wouldn’t kill you.

Besides, your father is coming.

The air stirred up by his helicopter smells like sea, and you inhale the scent, eyes closing as you fill your lungs with air that hasn’t been processed for the first time in forever.

“That was quite an extended vacation,” is what you first say to your father as a free woman. “If the food hadn’t been so excellent, I might have been put out that my vaca was so... cramped.”

You accept Pepper’s hug graciously and peer behind her at the puppy-eyed, curly-haired boy standing at the back. He’s obviously a fan. He shifts his weight between his feet and waves at you shyly and you, despite yourself, wave back and smile. He’s quite cute.

Damn, not even fifteen minutes as a free woman and you’ve already found a crush.

“This one of your interns?”

The moment the words come out of your mouth your stomach drops because you know who this cute boy is. You know exactly who this boy is, because just your luck; the cutest boy you’ve seen in a year is also the boy you’ve sworn to yourself to dislike.

“He’s not just an intern,” your father says—proudly, like he’s never spoken of you.

The boy steps forward, thrusting his hand at you and beaming in the way only someone who’s never seen anything horrible could. He must spend his days rolling around on the ground with puppies and kittens.

The innocence might have been endearing two seconds ago. Now you resent it.

“I’m Peter Parker,” he squeaks. “It’s so cool to meet you. You’re, like, my—”

You eye the extended hand with disgust. “I know who you are, Peter Parker. You’re my replacement.”

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

Note

I just finished Hacked and wow i love CRYING. But on a serious level i don't understand how you have so little notes?? Like wtf your writing is bomb????

Awww thank you so much, and yes sometimes it can be a little discouraging that I get few and varied amounts of notes on my posts but I hope that my followers will become more active eventually :))))

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

Text

Insomnia

Request: can you do a peter parker one where it’s him and tony’s daughter (she’s not an avenger) and just cute things like he catches her with his mask on or tony finds out they’re having sex and stuff

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

If anyone would like, I can create a Peter Parker x Reader Taglist. Tell me if you’d be interested in joining it! Or if you’d like to be added to my Forever Taglist. Or any Taglist, really!

Enjoy!

Being a Stark comes with a lot of perks. There’s the money, the influence, the brains, the technology... so basically everything.

Unfortunately, everything also includes insomnia.

It’s 3 a.m. and you’re still awake, though that may be because you’ve been on Instagram for the past four hours (yes, it’s a little pathetic, but guess what? Another thing you’ve gotten from your father is the mental issues so sometimes you need a little me time). But you would have put your phone down if you were starting to get tired. Besides, while some nights you’re able to fall asleep if you stay still enough for long enough, other nights you’re too restless to fall asleep quick enough and other times your brain simply refuses to turn off.

It’s easier to distract yourself with the memes.

Your boyfriend, Peter Parker, lets out a soft snore next to you and you freeze for a second. Thankfully he’s such a deep sleeper that your restlessness doesn’t usually bother him. Not that Tony would be happy to figure out how many nights you two spend together, but come on, you’re nineteen and can make your own decisions. It’s not like he behaved any better when he was your age.

You’d been surprised Peter was such a light sleeper considering his Peter-tingle, but as he reminds you over and over again (just like he reminds you not to call it the Peter-tingle but his spider sense) it only works for threats and apparently he’s decided you’re not a threat.

He really is gorgeous. You roll over and pillow your arm under your head, looking at him sleep with a small smile on your face. His floppy curls are definitely your favorite aspect of his appearance. But then again, his jawline is pretty great. And so are his cute brown eyes—when they’re open, of course. And even when they’re closed you can see how thick and long they are, resting on his cheeks.

There’s not really a way for you to pick a favorite feature of Peter’s. He’s just so perfect.

You reach out, fingers hovering over his cheekbones, before retracting your hand and huffing, rolling onto your back. Even though his Peter-tingle might not alert him to you being awake, touching him might still wake him and he hasn’t been sleeping like he should recently. He’s got so much college work and that on top of his patrols exhausts him. Whenever he’s in his bed he’s so tired he falls asleep instantly. It’s a quality you both admire and resent a little bit.

Before college, during the summer, Peter would stay awake until you were asleep on the nights you slept at a normal time. When you sleep you don’t move around and he can spoon you. Unfortunately, if you’re still trying to sleep you move around quite a bit, trying to find the perfect position, and it’s uncomfortable for him to be holding you as you toss and turn every few minutes. So, for the past few—you frown. How long has it been? Days? Weeks? Months? You haven’t been able to hold him and Peter hasn’t been able to hold you, at least while sleeping.

Muttering curses under your breath, you sit up and ease off the bed, watching Peter anxiously for the faintest sign that he’s woken. You don’t want to be the reason Spider-man can’t go on patrol because he’s too tired. You don’t want to be the reason Peter sleeps instead of going to his nine a.m. class. Most of all, you don’t want to be the reason Peter Parker gives up on his life because he’s too tired.

Your right ankle cracks when you take the first step and you wince, craning your neck to see if Peter’s awake. He doesn’t appear to be and you tiptoe out of the room with relief, completely unaware that Peter has been awake since your first sigh of annoyance.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes, when the door closes, and stares after you, a sleepy pout puckering his lips.

You know where everything is in the compound. You live here, after all. Therefore, lights are unnecessary as you pace down hallway after hallway, too far inside the building for windows to let in moonlight to assist in your endeavor. Nevertheless, you find yourself in front of the workshop in the end.

You’re not an Avenger. Much as you’d like to be one, you weren’t specially trained and you don’t have superpowers. You’ve never had the right temperament for it, anyway; quick flashes of temper would more often than not land you in more trouble than you’d like and your inexperience could render you useless when it comes to more complicated, sometimes inhumane, situations. Not that you’re useless in a fight; you can hold your own, ever since Nat took you away for that week-long ‘girl’s retreat’. Tony hadn’t liked it, but it was necessary.

He still thinks of you as his child and you haven’t been a child for a very long time, unfortunately.

Speaking of Tony; he, too, is in the workshop, sipping a cup of coffee. His hair is a mess. The brightness inside makes you squint. “Hey, Y/N,” he greets. “What, are you turning in? What time is it, 10?” He checks his watch without waiting for your response and tilts his head when he sees that it is exactly 3:12 in the morning. “I guess I got a little caught up in my work, huh?” He brandishes the wrench in his hand and sets it on the table. “What about you? Spiderling keeping you awake?” He winks.

You grimace. “Gross, Dad. You’re not supposed to talk about that stuff with me.”

Tony nods. “Yeah, I felt ridiculous just saying it. But I’ve gotta keep up with the times, you know? I’m still a cool kid.” He huffs a small laugh again. “Besides, I’d rather it’s Spiderling than anyone else, really.”

“No, I just... couldn’t sleep.” You raise one shoulder, voice light. “But you should get to bed. You have work in the morning. I can sleep in.”

“You really should try to stay on a better schedule,” your dad reminds you. The brief moment of conventional parenting doesn’t surprise you, but it is uncommon. Your dad always was the cool parent. Not that you had an uncool parent, after all; it was always just you and Tony.

Until Pepper. You like Pepper. She’s nice but strict—probably the epitome of the ‘uncool’ parent. But you’re already enough of an adult that she doesn’t mess with your life too much.

“I know,” you say heavily, kissing his temple and shutting down his project behind his back. “I’ll try, Dad. Good night.”

“Good night, honey.” Tony stands up and exits the workshop, leaving you alone in the quiet, too bright room.

You sigh again. Maybe you’re nocturnal and that’s why you never can fall asleep at the right time. “Hey, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Ms. Stark?”

“Could you pull up designs for Spider-man’s next upgrade?”

“Certainly.”

The computer in front of you lights up and a 3D rendering of Peter’s next suit rotates once. You’re not an Avenger, but you can make their suits. It’s easy enough. It’s nice to be able to help out, anyway. And you’re never going to let Peter live down that he accidentally called his dick the ‘ol’ webshooter’ when, flustered, he told you it was a little tight in the crotch area.

Absently, you pick up one of the many masks Peter has gone through. It’s lying on the table next to the computer, the eyes shattered from a collision with a street sign. Without even thinking, you slip it over your own head. The material melds to the bone structure of your face, so comfortable you don’t notice but if it was made of anything else you’d feel suffocated.

“Why are you still awake?”

You jump and turn. Peter stands in front of you shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, curls tousled and—stop, you mentally berate yourself. You can’t afford to get too excited right now because you know Peter won’t refuse you and he has class tomorrow.

Peter’s lips twitch when you pull the mask off your head hastily. “Why are you awake?” you accuse. “You have class tomorrow morning. Go back to sleep. I’ll be there in a few.”

Peter’s hands slip around your waist. You aren’t taken completely unawares; he’s headstrong and sometimes telling him to do something can make him want to do it even less. “The bed’s too cold without you.”

You sigh. “Oh, did I wake you up? I’m sorry. If you want, we can start to sleep in separate rooms again—”

“What? No!”

“—just on the nights you have stuff to do in the morning, because God knows I’ll keep you awake most nights anyway—”

“I have stuff to do every day, and—wait, most nights?”

“I’ve just been busy recently, Pete,” you mutter, relaxing into his hold and resting the side of your face against his warm, solid chest. “Can’t always turn the Stark brain off.”

Peter huffs a little bit. “Between you and Mr. Stark I’ve definitely got my hands full, huh?”

“Maybe when I become president I’ll convert the U.S. so that we’re nocturnal,” you suggest, giggling a bit. Peter plants a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’m sure you will. Now, come on,” he wheedles, “let’s go to bed.”

“Just a few more minutes—” you try, pushing away from his embrace, but unfortunately your boyfriend is a superhuman and doesn’t even budge. Instead, he keeps you caged in his arms and walks backwards, letting your legs drag behind your body.

“No,” Peter says firmly. He drags you all the way out of the room, turns off the light, and shuts the door before finally letting you go. “Now are you going to walk with me or do I have to carry you?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

He grins down at you. “You love me, though.”

“Do I?” you tease. Peter’s lips press against yours, a gentle peck, and he pulls back and rubs his left eye.

“You need sleep,” he reminds you. “So do I. Come on.” And then he starts down the hallway, pulling you along. And maybe you yawn. Either way, he ends up as the big spoon and you don’t even toss and turn all that much.

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey

188 notes · View notes