Peter Parker One-Shots

And the Waltz Goes On (part 2 - final)

Summary: Reader and Peter are being held for information. They won't give it willingly.

Word Count: 1734

Warnings: Torture, blood, violence, etc.

Author's Note: :)))))

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You awoke to Peter calling your name, his voice strained. You groaned, you felt like your head had been split open with an ax. You tried to put your hands on your head, to feel if there was a bump, but chains rattled and restrained your movements.

Opening your eyes, you glanced wearily around the new room you were in. It was brightly lit, the white lights reflecting over the clean silver chains hat bound you to the wall. Peter was bound to a block in the middle of the room, kneeling.

Confused, you lifted your eyes to Peter's worried brown ones, who sighed in relief upon seeing you were awake. "(Y/N), are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah." You felt awful. "Where are we?"

"Some hidden room in her house. I don't think my com is working, I got knocked on the side of the head in that fight. I can't hear Tony or Steve or anyone."

You tried to smile. "It can't be too bad, they know we're here," you said. "They should find us pretty quickly right? You've been on this team longer than I have."

He nodded, his eyes looking away briefly. "Yeah."

The sound of a bolt being slid out of place filled the white room you were in. Carrie walked in, a thick bandage around her shoulder. "Oh, look who's awake," she said, crouching down to your level. Her eyes bore into yours, staring at you with a blank expression.

"I think we need to make it a bit more even, don't we?" she said. Confused, your eyebrows knitted together. She stood, quickly pulling out her gun, cocking it, and shooting your shoulder.

You screamed, your back arching in pain. You heard Peter yell, his chains rattling as he pulled against them. Blood stained your cream gown as your shoulder burned. Your scream turned into a groan filled with pain.

Peter was staring at you with wide eyes and wrists raw from the chains. He couldn't believe that Carrie had shot you so carelessly. Tony and Steve needed to get here fast.

"Now," she began. "I want to know what the two of you were doing in my office, and how you got into my house."

You groaned once more, shifting uncomfortably. Panting from the pain, you said, "We were trying to fondue." Steve would murder you later.

Peter wanted to yell at you for being so stupid. Carrie just smiled, but her lips were tight, her eyes betraying her calm exterior. You were getting under her skin quickly, and she was going to do something about it.

Delivering a swift slap to your face, she said, "Try again."

You stretched your jaw, testing the pain. As long as Peter didn't get hurt, you would be fine. Turning to face her, you grinned, your pearly teeth now bloody. "Are you deaf, old woman? Or are you just incompetent? I said, we were going to have se-"

You were interrupted by your own screams. Carrie was now pressing her thumb into the wound on your shoulder, your blood running freely down her hand and onto your arm.

She applied more pressure. "Try again!"

A sob tore through you. "We got in with fake invitations."

She rolled her eyes, but released the pressure on your shoulder. "I could've guessed that already," she ground out.

You slumped forward, loose strands of hair had fallen from your styled hair, framing your face. A thin layer of sweat beaded your skin. Crouched down to observe you, Carrie looked at you thoughtfully.