The White Pallax (Peter Parker x Reader)

VIII - The Charmer

Tony throws his phone against the wall. Worry tugs at his heart. Something happened to you. He wasn't careful enough. Or he was too careful. Whatever he did wrong, it doesn't matter now. Because something happened to you. And it's his fault. Peter's fault. He should have been there with her!

A myriad of emotions battle for control over him. Anger takes precedence. Tony storms out of the apartment. He's going to find you and kill your captors. And then if he has time, kill Peter.

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When you awake, your head is pounding. For a minute your vision is hazy, but then it comes into focus. You're in a dark room. Well furnished. The floor beneath your feet is carpet. But not the normal kind of carpet. Old lady, orange and black gaudy carpet that's torn up in some places. To your left is a worn wooden table with a lamp on it. That too, is rather garish. Even the hard wooden chair you're sitting on has nauseating patterns etched into it.

You try to move your hands, but find them locked together. Rope digs into your wrists so hard it burns. Fortunately, your feet are free. Not that there's much you can do. Scoot the chair a bit maybe. Where? There's no point. Fear explodes in your chest. You try to break apart the ropes. As if you could somehow summon superhuman strength and just snap them in a single action.

Your lip begins to tremble. Don't cry! You're not going to cry! But a lump still forms in your throat. You can't help fearing that you're going to be here forever.

The door on the opposite end of the room flies open. Harsh light pours into the room. You turn your eyes away.

"She's awake," A gravelly voice says.

"No shit."

You let your eyes adjust to the bright light and take in the faces of your captors. It's the same two who took you on the street. You swallow over the lump in your throat and set your jaw. They will not have the satisfaction of your terror. Faux confidence takes over you. Better than nothing.

One of the men - the clean-shaven one with the dead eyes - crouches down in front of you. Were he not a terrifying emotionless evil man, you might find him attractive. He tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. Your hands clench so hard your nails dig into your palms.

"So you're Y/N Stark."

You say nothing. Only glare. Staring into his eyes is unsettling, but you refuse to relent.

"Not as talkative as your uncle," he muses. "Just as annoyingly confident, though."

Oh so that's working. You're not sure that's a good thing or not. You scrunch your nose in disgust as he trails a finger down the side of your face.

"Oh, come on, Stefan. Keep it in your pants," the older bearded man grunts.

Stefan rolls his eyes. "I'll do what I damn well please, Kent."

"You won't until we get our money."

Still, Stefan doesn't listen. He runs a hand through your hair and gets close enough to your face that you can smell his breath. It reeks of sardines. "She won't mind, right?"

You spit in his face. "Get the hell away from me."

Stefan immediately takes a step back. Confusion crosses his face for a moment, but it's quickly replaced by anger. Before you can even comprehend what's happening, he's punched you straight on in the face. Hot pain erupts in your nose. Iron fills your mouth and scarlet stains your lips. You gasp in surprise.

Kent holds back Stefan's arm. "You dumbass! You can't hurt her! Do you really want to piss off Iron Man?"

"I'm pretty sure you're past that point," you seethe, spitting blood. "When my uncle finds you he'll kill you."