Collars - Tumblr Posts
There's something so hot about being put on a leash.
Whether it's with the care of a collar being put on with a leash then being attached, or (my current focus) having my top pull out their belt and fashion a leash right there.
Please, fuck, just let me be pulled around. Make it just slightly to tight so that my breath stutters
In Bad Hands
Whumptober, Day 2 (Kidnapped)
AO3 Link
Mr. Stark wouldn’t speak to him --- would not even look at him --- and neither would anybody else as the Quinjet rose above the smoking ruins of the warehouse that he, Peter, and the rest of the Avengers had finished raiding. Peter thought that the sudden silent treatment was wildly unfair, considering that probably for the first time since he’d been going on actual missions with (rather than against) the reassembled Avengers, he hadn’t done anything wrong.
In fact, he’d gone out of his way to do everything right, even though it had meant that Peter had had to hang back and keep on the perimeter. And he hadn’t complained once.
When Tony deliberately angled his face away from Peter’s questioning gaze, Peter set his jaw and stared at the steel floor beneath his booted feet. Impotent anger bucked in his chest, but he tried not to come off as petulant while desperately wishing he could shove on his mask again without looking suspicious.
I wanted you to be better.
Peter felt like he was reliving the aftermath of the Ferry incident, except this time, he didn’t understand what else he could have done. Clearly, he hadn’t done enough.
Peter felt like he was reliving the aftermath of the Ferry incident, except this time, he didn’t understand what else he could have done. Clearly, he hadn’t done enough.
Peter looked up when Natasha lightly sat down on the bench beside him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tony’s eyes flick their way and his fingers twitch like he wanted to do something, say something instead of letting the silence fester, but when Peter glanced that way, Tony was already looking away, toying with a disassembled watch. Peter swallowed and turned towards Natasha, whose face was a little stonier than usual but who was actively not ignoring him.
“What did I do?”
He kept his voice low because he was pretty sure that if he spoke up, he might do something stupid like start crying in front of everybody. Ever since the Ferry, he’d strived to stay on Mr. Stark’s good side. But it wasn’t just Mr. Stark this time. It was Steve, who had marched him up the ramp and told him to sit down right after the fight had come to an early, flaming close. It was Sam, who wouldn’t stop casting him weird glances like he thought Peter wasn’t noticing. He hated letting anyone down, and especially the Avengers. But, he thought again as the disappointment in himself was burned away by angry heat, the least they could do was tell him what he did wrong. He’d take a lecture at this point.
Natasha faced him, and Peter looked up, when he realized she was actually going to answer him --- until Tony, eyes gliding right over Peter, straightened and shot Natasha a sharp look.
“ Nat .”
Well, it was one word more than he had spoken to Peter since they’d boarded, but it may as well have been a whole conversation. Natasha tilted her head, eyes steely, but Tony’s face remained hard until she finally caved. Peter shot her a disbelieving look. Natasha’s lips pulled in a pitying smile.
“You did good today, Peter,” she said finally, patting him on the shoulder gently before standing and moving towards the cockpit.
Peter jerked his head back towards Tony, eyes flashing. “Really?”
But he was already looking away.
Peter bit his tongue so hard he almost drew blood. He levelled his gaze determinedly back at the floor and kept it there until his eyes stopped burning, then for the rest of the way back which passed in tense silence.
As soon as the Quinjet touched down on the landing pad at the Avengers Compound, Tony was on his feet, making a break for the door and almost knocking down Sam in the process. Peter was hot on his heels, heart pulsing. He didn’t want to stay the night at the Compound like he was originally going to unless he got an explanation --- or at least a piece of one.
But he barely made it five yards --- not even through the frosted glass double doors --- before Tony whipped around, stopping Peter in his tracks. Sam and Steve averted their eyes from the silent standoff, going around them to get inside. Natasha cast Tony a warning glance but he didn’t seem to see her.
“I want you to let this go,” Tony said finally, when it was just them.
Peter balked. “Let this go ? Just ignore the fact that for some reason everyone is refusing to talk to me? To look at me? But I should just let it go.” He let out a sarcastic scoff. Tony’s sharp gaze didn’t waver, maybe even grew sharper. “What did I even do, Mr. Stark?”
Tony didn’t say anything for a beat. Then, “We’re not doing this.”
Peter’s jaw almost dropped in angry disbelief, but Tony was already turning around and marching through the doors, calling behind him, “Go check in with Helen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The doors shut before Peter even moved. Then he was angry again, so angry he felt hot, as he followed Tony into the building. His mouth was open, a yell already forming, but then he saw Sam and Steve, eyeing him as he eyed Tony --- who walked past them deeper into the Compound with a fleeting, shared glance --- and Peter snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t want to do this in front of them, especially when they’d already proven that they were going to take Tony’s side.
Casting one last angry glance Tony’s way, he walked towards his room where he had dumped his overnight bag, hands shaking. Peter slammed his hand against the spider emblem on his chest as soon as the door clicked shut behind him, stepping out of the suit and kicking it away when it tangled around his ankles. He had probably never changed into his clothes so aggressively, and even the soft cotton of the gray sweatpants or the faded NYPD hoodie that used to belong to Uncle Ben didn’t make his anger subside.
Peter was lying down on his side on his bed, mindless going through his phone but not quite succeeding in distracting himself. When Tony approached his door fifteen minutes later, Peter tensed and set his phone down, waiting for the knock that came a few seconds later.
“Who is it?” Peter called, knowing exactly who it was.
Tony’s reply was curt. “You never checked in with Medbay.”
“I’m fine.”
Peter waited for Tony’s response which came after a long sigh. “Can I come in?”
“Are you going to talk to me?”
The door opened. Peter sat up, eyeing Tony skeptically. Tony barely breached the doorframe. “Even if you’re mad at me, Peter, you need to go make sure---”
“I told you I’m fine,” Peter said shortly. “And you are the one who was mad at me first. I’m only mad because you won’t tell me why.”
A muscle in Tony’s jaw ticked. “Go check in with Helen.”
“Tell me what happened first,” Peter challenged, clenching his fists.
Tony shot him an irritated glance that Peter didn’t care for. “Peter, I don’t know what to tell you---”
“What happened ---”
“--- except ,” Tony snapped. “That you’re just going to have to trust me.”
Peter shot to his feet. “Trust you? What, trust you like you trust me? Because I don’t think that you’re going to like that particular brand of trust, Mr. Stark.
Tony’s eyes flashed and he crossed his arms. “Watch your tone, kid.”
Peter scoffed bitterly. “You don’t get to tell me what to do if you’re not going to---”
“Don’t I?” Tony countered, livid.
Blood rushed in Peter’s ears. “No. You don’t.”
Tony’s eyes flicked down towards the side of the bed. “I think the suit on your bed says otherwise.”
Peter looked at the suit, crumpled and wrinkled, and when he looked his face set. “You want to hold the suit over my head? When I didn’t even do anything? Then take it.”
Tony recoiled, surprised, but he still caught the suit when Peter thrusted it towards him. “Peter---”
Peter was already whipping around him and grabbing his backpack off the floor, shoving the spilled clothes in it with trembling hands. “I’m going home.”
“Peter, don’t---”
“I’m going home,” he repeated fiercely, jerking to his feet with the backpack on his shoulders and swiping the back of one hand across his eyes. “And you can call me when you want to actually talk. I’m not doing this.”
Peter ignored Tony calling after him as he left the room, chest heaving and eyes burning. He had never meant for either of them to go this far, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
“Peter, head back to the jet.”
“What? Mr. Stark, but the fight---”
A loud explosion --- the warehouse going up in flames. Peter was surprised --- it was supposed to be one of their more simpler missions.
“Is over for you,” Tony finished harshly. “Fall back.”
“What did I do---”
“Damnit, Peter! Listen to me.”
A harsh tone, so cutting that Peter inhaled sharply. But he listened.
And that hadn’t been enough.
Peter was halfway across the wide field in front of the Compound when a car swerved to a halt in front of him --- wrecking the grass in the process. Peter’s mouth fell open as Happy got out of the front door.
“Did you not hear me calling you?” Happy barked, but Peter caught the underlying concern. He shook his head minutely. Happy looked at him and sighed. “I’m not letting you walk home. Get in.”
Peter wanted to argue but that was a long walk, and he was tired, and even if Tony had sent Happy --- which he must’ve --- Peter was willing to overlook it. Plus, he didn’t want to have to fight Happy about it. Happy wasn’t the one flipping out on Peter during missions for no reason.
“Fine.”
Happy glanced at him, almost relieved, before getting back in. Peter cast a glance towards the Compound before sliding into the backseat. He was the one to press the button on the back of the console and put the partition up.
He opened his phone as the car pulled back onto the main road, leaving flattened emerald grass behind it. His fingers hovered over calling May but he decided to text her instead.
Hey May, change of plans. I’m coming home tonight.
Her response chimed in a few minutes later: You just managed to catch me on my break. Is everything okay? I have a double but I can call out and we can hang out tonight?
Peter chewed on his lip. No, I can talk to you later. Larb you.
He could practically feel her concern through the phone but he didn’t let himself change his mind: Larb you honey. Call me if you want to talk earlier. I’ll be back around midnight.
Okay.
He closed the app and shoved his earbuds into his ear, playing some music, leaning his head against the window, and letting his eyes fall closed for a bit. He just wanted the day to be over.
-+-
Peter had expected the apartment to be empty and lonesome when he arrived, but he didn’t expect for the quiet to be so… suffocating. May was gone and Tony would probably continue not to talk to him for the foreseeable future and he was exhausted.
Peter dropped his backpack into his room before reemerging to make some food. As if prompted by the sudden hunger, his head started to ache: low and dull at the back of his skull. And persisting. Two glasses of water and a generous bowl of mac and cheese later, it hadn’t gone away, had maybe even worsened.
Peter wrapped himself up in a blanket and laid on the couch, switching on the TV and switching to Big Bang Theory, something he used to watch with Ben. It didn’t make him feel better, and even though he had been so tired in Happy’s car, it was like he’d just chugged coffee.
But Peter tried to sleep anyways, headache be damned, and he might have succeeded if the blaring sound of his Star Wars theme ringtone hadn’t stirred him out of the uneasy drowsiness he’d managed to achieve. Peter blindly pawed for his phone, accepted May’s call with a blurry-eyed swipe of his thumb, and held it to his ear.
“May?”
“Peter,” May breathed. Peter’s chest tightened and he sat up. Something about her voice made his spider sense go berserk. Peter clutched the phone tightly, flicking his eyes around the shadowy apartment. Searching for threats that weren’t there, at least not disguised amongst the darkness. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, May,” he said slowly, heart strumming. “I’m here. What’s going on?”
She was trying to keep her voice light but Peter knew better, knew his aunt even without his spider sense warning him that something was wrong, something was so wrong, he needed to get to Aunt May. His head started to pound.
“I’m on my way up to our floor,” May said tensely. “I need you to let me in when I get there, okay?”
Peter bit his tongue so hard he almost tasted blood. “Okay. Whatever you want. I’ll do it, just make sure you’re safe okay?”
The message wasn’t for her.
“I’m here.”
On cue, three slow knocks sounded against the front door. The call ended and Peter dropped his phone on the couch. He could hear them --- his aunt just outside the door and two people with her.
“Peter,” his aunt called, voice strained, as if she knew he was hesitating --- or knew what he’d give up to keep her safe. “Open the door, honey.”
He had no choice, but there was a lesser evil --- to let them in and keep her safe, no matter what price he had to pay. Peter opened the door, and the urge to throw up curdled in his stomach.
There was a gun to his aunt’s head.
Peter had never seen his aunt afraid --- not like this. Not like she was then, stuck between two men in dark clothing with a handgun pressed against her temple.
Peter recognized the man on her left, and he wished he hadn’t, because that meant that this was Peter’s fault and Peter didn’t know how he could live with himself if he lost the best thing he had. He wouldn’t let that happen --- one way or another.
Mac Gargan offered him a twisted smile. “Aren’t you going to let us in?”
Peter glanced between May and Gargan and the man who he didn’t know and nodded stiffly. May let out a hitched breath that made Peter’s blood heat as they shouldered her through the door. Peter’s fingers twitched.
“What do you want?”
Peter didn’t recognize his own voice --- stony, cold. He stood as still as marble by the door, praying he wouldn’t set the men off. All he could do was watch as they dragged a chair out from the kitchen and roughly pushed May into it. Peter clenched his jaw shut so tightly he thought he’d break his teeth.
He’d definitely knock out theirs if Aunt May wouldn’t be the one paying the price.
Mac Gargan nodded to his buddy and handed off the gun. Peter watched the interaction, muscles so tense he thought he would snap in half if any of them so much as looked at May the wrong way.
He couldn’t make a move for them --- not yet. Not even as Gargan’s pal kept the handgun leveled at the back of May’s head: May, who was watching him with thinly veiled fear.
May, whose eyes flicked to Gargan who had moved to rummaging through the kitchen and then back to Peter before she said calmly, “They think you’re Spider-Man.”
Peter managed to school his features at the last second, eyeing Gargan with confusion that he prayed looked genuine as the scarred man reemerged from the kitchen with a thick roll of duct tape.
“I’d watch your mouth, Ms. Parker,” Gargan’s buddy threatened lowly. “I’d hate to have to hurt you.”
Peter shot his eyes at Gargan, who was eyeing Peter strangely. Peter wished he could sing his praise to May because it looked like she’d hit on something --- Peter didn’t think she would have said that if Gargan knew for sure.
“I don’t understand,” Peter said.
“You can wait your turn,” Gargan snapped at him before pulling his gaze away from Peter and marching towards his aunt. “We’ll have this conversation once my insurance is… secured.”
Peter made a frantic movement forward that was quickly aborted once the gun hovering above May’s hair was shoved forward against her head --- a clear warning for Peter to back. Peter was helpless, but he backed up.
The duct tape made a ripping sound as Gargan started to unroll it. “Relax, Parker. I’m not going to hurt her. Not a lot, anyways.”
“Don’t---”
“ Peter ,” May interjected, shaking her head minutely.
Gargan scoffed out a mean laugh. “Your aunt’s a smart woman. I’d hate for you to make me do something to her that I’d regret.”
We both know you wouldn’t regret it.
But he stayed still as Gargan rolled the duct tape around and around her arms and her legs and the chair until he was satisfied. Peter wished he would have left it at that because the anger that surged through him when Gargan pressed a strip of tape to his aunt’s mouth made his blood boil.
“There we go,” Gargan said appreciatively, stepping away and throwing the lighter roll of duct tape onto the counter. He faced Peter, eyes growing dark. “And now we talk.”
“I’m not Spider-Man,” Peter said instantly, as Gargan’s pal lazily played with the gun behind May’s chair.
Gargan scowled, sidling up to Peter and running his eyes over his face. “See, your aunt said the same thing, but I think you’ll forgive me for not believing you, yes?” When Peter shot him a hopeless look, Gargan smiled. “I think I’ll have a look through the bedrooms. And then, I think you, me, and Louis will go somewhere more private to talk.”
“Louis,” Gargan continued to the man above May’s head. “You watch him. He makes a move from his spot, you shoot her, understand?” Peter bristled. Gargan noticed and grinned at him. “Just in case.”
Gargan disappeared down the hallway and Peter was forced to wait --- wait as he heard their stuff picked at by a criminal. He tried to talk to May in the minutes that followed, but when Louis shook his head, Peter wasn’t willing to test it, knowing that he couldn’t get across the room before Louis could get a shot off --- and it would only take one shot. Peter wasn’t about to let anything like that happen. He settled for flashing May a reassuring smile that she couldn’t return.
You’re going to be fine. I won’t let anything else happen to you.
May flinched when a bout of cursing sounded from his room. A satisfied smile threatened to pull at his lips but he stifled down the urge. Clearly, Gargan hadn’t found what he was looking for --- Tony had Peter’s suit, and the rest of Peter’s tech was either in the ceiling or disguised.
Sure enough, Gargan stomped out of the rooms like a maniac. Peter expected Gargan to go for him, but the man snatched the gun from Louis and waved it in the air like an idiot. An idiot that Peter was still unwilling to cross.
“Where is it?” Gargan demanded.
“Where is what?”
“The suit ,” Gargan spat, face red. “I didn’t lose everything for you to---”
Peter was the one flinching when the gun fired, and for a moment, his heart stopped until he realized that the bullet had gone through the ceiling, a result of Gargan’s wild arm movements. Peter glanced at Gargan in horror, Gargan who was eyeing Louis frantically.
“You think anyone heard that?” Gargan asked. Louis only nodded and Gargan swore. “ Shit. Fine, we’re leaving.” Peter didn’t have a second to be relieved before Gargan’s eyes snapped to his. “You’re coming with us, Parker. Unless you want me to---”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” Peter said instantly. “Just take me, and we can leave, okay?”
He glanced at May, whose eyes were bulging in fear. He could tell she didn’t want him to go with him. He offered her a small smile. I’m sorry.
Gargan fished through his pockets and produced a little vial that Peter couldn’t begin to guess what was. Nothing good, but he doubted it was deadly, even knowing Gargan’s contacts. It would probably put him to sleep for a while --- long enough for them to get him wherever they wanted.
Gargan held it out. “Drink it.”
Don’t be stupid, Parker.
Peter could almost hear Tony’s voice and regret clenched in his chest --- regret that was snuffed out as soon as he saw Aunt May, sitting in the chair, screaming something against the duct tape that made Peter’s heart crack.
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” Peter asked, gripping the vial in his hands.
“I guess you don’t,” Gargan said, but the smile dropped off his face once he saw the look on Peter’s. “I’ll call the police myself. Make sure they know where to find her when I’m gone. When we’re gone.”
It wasn’t much of a promise, but considering that Peter’s options were to refuse and let them shoot May then and there or go with it and do everything it took to make them keep their word, Peter uncapped the vial and held it to his lips. The liquid tasted like battery acid sliding down his throat.
The effects were immediate. Peter swallowed the rest of it and let out a sharp cough. His vision was swimming, head filling with air, knees wobbling, buckling, body tilting forward until he was on his back at May’s feet, gasping for breath as he looked at the ceiling with dimming consciousness.
Gargan and Louis were saying something to each other, but it sounded garbled and far away. Peter felt hands on him, pulling him up up up into the air before his vision collapsed in on itself like a dying star, leaving a black hole in its place which dragged him down… down… down.
-+-
Peter had never drank alcohol before, but he imagined being hungover felt a little like the way he did when he woke up. Peter groaned and lifted his head, instantly aware of the pressure of something thick and cold around his neck. A metal collar with what he was sure were tiny prongs on the inside that dug into his skin.
A collar. Peter felt his stomach flip --- he’d never been humiliated like this.
Peter shifted in his chair, already aware of the cuffs on his wrists that kept his arms behind his back. He didn’t recognize the room he was in. It was dark, and damp, and windowless, like they were underground. Maybe they were --- Peter didn’t remember being moved, where they had taken him.
Taken.
It all came back to him at once: May, Gargan, and even his fight with Tony that almost guaranteed that help would be delayed.
Peter straightened, resisting the urge to snap his cuffs --- he was pretty sure he could, but Peter didn’t want to show his hand just yet: not if Gargan hadn’t made up his mind. As if summoned by Peter’s thoughts, Peter heard footsteps. Voices. Gargan and Louis, close by and getting closer:
“You didn’t find the suit?” Louis.
“I ransacked the bedroom, and nothing,” Gargan seemed pissed. Peter vaguely wondered how long he’d been out --- how long Gargan had had to fester over the truth. “ It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out. One way or another, the kid will talk.”
Louis let out an exasperated breath. “I didn’t get into this for you to not be sure. ”
A tense pause. “Are you questioning me, Louis?”
“ I’m not--- look. I need this money, okay? We can’t hand over the wrong person, Gargan.”
“Then trust me, Louis. This is the right guy. I’ve heard his voice.”
“He’s just a kid, though.”
“He’s old enough to know when to quit. Instead, he stuck his nose in places it didn’t belong and now he’s paying for it.” A pause. “He got me arrested, ruined everything for me. And he was there, at the warehouse when it was destroyed. My whole team scattered, man. You’re the only one I’ve got.”
“I know, ” Louis breathed, and the footsteps were picking up again; they were getting closer. “ What do we do if we’re wrong?”
Gargan stopped, probably mulling it over. “Give him back to his aunt. We can’t have the feds on our backs anymore than they are. If he gets returned, we find Spider-Man, get the money, and get the hell out of here.”
May was okay. Peter had never felt relief so potent --- so Gargan had left her. How could he return Peter to his aunt if she was dead? He couldn’t have. Peter seized the thread of hope and latched onto it. He could get through this.
“I’m guessing you have a plan, then?”
“ Always. Follow my lead. ”
The door swung open. Peter pretended like he had just been sleeping and eyed them with bleary eyes.
“Good morning, Parker. Or should I say, Spider-Man?”
Peter tried to look confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gargan nodded at Louis, who slipped his hand into his pocket. Peter didn’t understand what was going on until the collar around his neck came to life with a surge of electricity that had pain searing his neck. Peter’s muscles were frozen --- he couldn’t scream, could only writhe violently in his chair before the current stopped.
“You like it?” Gargan asked, sounding far away. “I got it from my old friend. The Shocker. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
Peter sagged backwards in his chair, head thrown up to the ceiling as his breaths came in short pants. Gargan kept speaking.
“What about my question? Did that refresh your memory?”
Peter eyed them harshly. “I’m not---”
He cut off with a jagged gasp, seizing up again, feeling his brain melt from the pain that took his breath away. Gargan glanced at Louis, who pressed something that halted the electricity. Peter’s eyelids fluttered, already tired.
“I don’t know how much you know about me,” Gargan said lowly, next to Peter’s ear. “But I don’t like liars.”
Peter managed to roll his head so he could glance at Gargan. “Why are you doing this? I’m not---”
Gargan’s face reddened and before Peter could blink, a fist was slamming into his jaw. Gargan must have been wearing some sort of rings that Peter hadn’t noticed because it felt like he had been clobbered with a brick.
“I’ll ask you again---”
“I can’t---”
Peter saw stars. His lip split and his jaw ached. Peter took a second to breathe harshly through his nose. Gargan grabbed his chin and forced them to face each other. Peter just glared.
“Tough kid,” Gargan said with a sinister smile. “But everybody breaks. Let’s see if you like knives any better.”
Peter set his jaw, refusing to give in, as Gargan stood and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. It wasn’t like he could do much --- Louis was watching him, one hand clutching a remote that Peter knew would activate the collar.
When Gargan raised his hand, it was to extend the blade of a foldable pocket knife that he threateningly waved in Peter’s direction.
“Save yourself, kid,” Gargan advised, dragging the flat of the blade along Peter’s cheekbone. “We can end this right now, alright?”
“What do you want Spider-Man for so bad?”
“Personally?” Gargan asked. “Revenge. But you would already know that wouldn’t you?”
“Who are you trying to give him to?” Peter asked, titling his head. “Who’s your contact?”
Gargan’s face darkened. “Time’s up.”
Peter tried not to flinch as he dragged the knife down, not putting quite enough pressure to cut until he got to Peter’s jaw. Peter tried to jerk his head away from Gargan’s hands but Gargan grabbed his hair with one hand to keep him still before using the one holding the switchblade to slice a line across his jaw.
Peter’s nostrils flared in his last second attempt to keep himself from making any type of noise. Gargan watched the blood drip down Peter’s face, eyes flinty and sadistic.
“Parker.”
“I- I can’t---”
Gargan sighed and eyed Peter piteously. “I tried to warn you.”
He shoved the knife into Peter’s shoulder.
This time, Peter couldn’t cage the pained shout that it drew. Pain like white hot fire had him viciously straining against his bonds. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to suck in air as Gargan ripped the knife out. Peter tried to breathe but his lungs were working too fast and every hitched breath he took seemed to do nothing.
“Gargan,” Louis said quickly. “Look. His face.”
Peter’s eyes blew wide with horror. He realized what Louis had seen before Gargan did. Peter couldn’t bear to look at the man as he felt the cut on his face slowly stitch itself together --- so superficial that it took seconds.
Gargan stepped back with an exhilarated laugh. “Holy shit. I was right.”
Peter’s face was burning now, red with humiliation. His secret had just been spilled, and his act had been shredded to pieces. And now he was at the mercy of a psychopath unless he could get the damn collar off but he didn’t think he could get it off before they fried his brain.
Gargan patted his shoulder roughly and Peter stifled a yell, eyeing him coldly. “You put up a fight kid, I’ll give you that.”
Peter closed his eyes, breathing hard. When he opened them, Gargan was wiping his knife on the thigh of his jeans. Peter laughed through bloody teeth.
“You’re going to pay for this.”
It was simple --- a plain fact. Gargan knew he had Spider-Man, and that meant that he got everything that came with it. But Gargan didn’t seem to get it --- didn’t seem to hear what Peter did, what was Gargan’s doom. Gargan sauntered forward, eyeing Peter with amusement that Peter couldn’t wait to see wiped off his face.
Peter only wished he could be the one to do it.
“You think so, Spider-Brat? And how do you intend to make me?”
“I don’t intend to make you,” Peter said quickly, snapping his cuffs behind his back. Gargan didn’t seem to notice. Peter jerked his head to the door that Gargan had emerged from earlier. “That’s what they are for.”
Realization settled on his scarred face too late. Peter had enough sense to close his eyes as Iron Man blasted through the door with a repulsor blast strong enough to warp steel --- and then some.
Peter was on his feet as soon as Gargan wasn’t, catapulting himself towards Louis. He was a split second too slow. He collided with Louis at the same time that Louis slammed his thumb down on the remote.
Peter hit the ground like a rock dropped into a lake, clutching desperately at the collar as he heard Tony shout, “ Stay down !” at Gargan, somewhere far off. Natasha yelled something too, dropped to her knees beside Peter whose eyes were rolling up as agony encompassed him.
The pain stopped --- and not because they had found the remote. Peter hadn’t even seen Steve, but when his proper awareness was restored, Sam and Natasha were helping Peter upright while Steve threw aside the collar that he had managed to rip in half directly off of Peter’s neck.
Peter took a deep, shuddering breath. He had thought he was done for.
“Peter.”
Peter rolled his head towards Tony, who was sprinting towards him --- the suit disassembling around him as he ran. Peter swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” Peter blurted, still trying to even out his breaths. “I had to give myself up, they were going to---”
“Peter, hey, calm down kiddo,” Tony breathed, but Peter could hear the tension in his voice that probably wouldn’t fade until Peter was delivered back to the Medbay in one piece. “May told me what happened. I’m not upset --- how could I be?”
Peter nodded, but before he could say anything else, Steve shot them both a glance. “The FBI’s on their way in. Peter doesn’t need to be here.”
Tony offered Peter a strained smile. “Right as rain, Cap.” He reached down and squeezed Peter’s hand. “The Quinjet awaits, kid. Let’s get you out of here.”
Peter was too relieved to do anything but nod.
-+-
Peter didn’t need Tony’s arm to be wrapped around him, helping him down the Quinjet ramp, but he didn’t complain. Not after the hellish experience he’d just endured. Not after he’d finally gotten Tony to explain to him what had gone down after the raid on the warehouse --- the warehouse that had apparently been inhabited by a sister group of Toomes. The place was full of salvaged Chitauri tech and was mainly operated by Gargan --- who Tony assured him had a special cell awaiting him back on the Raft, as well as a wealth of inmates that Gargan hadn’t taken with him with some righteous bones to pick.
But that wasn’t why things had hit the fan afterwards.
“There was a lab,” Tony had explained tensely. “A research lab. And it was full of pictures of you --- of Peter Parker and of Spider-Man and a few other leads they were following. They were hunting you down, kid. I was worried. Christ, I was scared out of my mind. But I never should have taken that out on you.”
“No,” Peter had agreed softly, leaning his good shoulder against Tony’s. “Mr. Stark, if I am ever in danger like that, you have to promise you’ll tell me.”
Tony had hesitated, so Peter sat up and faced him, eyes pleading.
“I should know,” Peter said. “Promise me you won’t hide it from me. I can’t--- I can’t be out of the loop. Not like that.”
Tony hadn’t looked happy about it, but he’d promised. Peter settled back down, tension easing slightly. He ignored the small itch in his brain that made him wonder if Tony was just saying that to make him feel better. Peter would just have to trust him. Both of them would have to trust each other.
May was waiting for him outside of the Compound, and Peter finally let himself relax once he saw her. Immediately his eyes burned, and he was too relieved that she was okay they hadn’t hurt her he had his aunt back to be embarrassed about it.
Tony let him go so that May could hug him tightly, and Peter had forgotten about the half-healed knife wound in his shoulder. “I larb you, Peter, you know that?”
Peter sniffed. “Of course I do, May. I larb you too.”
She smiled and it was a watery smile but they were both okay and alive and it didn’t matter. She leaned back and brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face. Peter watched her, pinpointing exactly when she noticed the electrical burn marks around his neck. Her fingers hovered above the marks that Peter hadn’t himself caught a glimpse of before she glanced at him with a tight smile. Peter wondered when he’d have to tell her about what had happened --- he didn’t like scaring her, but he doubted he’d be able to get out of this one.
“I guess we should get you down to Medbay, huh?” she asked lighty, stepping further away.
Peter shrugged. May raised an eyebrow and Tony stepped beside her, already shaking his head.
“That wasn’t a question, kid,” he said. “Helen’s probably lost her mind already. You’re a popular guy, you know that?”
Peter eyed him, unimpressed, but allowed both of them to drag him inside, towards the Medbay that he was way too familiar with for his own liking. Truly, he’d rather sleep in his own room at the Compound (maybe not the apartment just yet) or grab some food, but Tony could always be counted on to sneak him the latter and May always knew how to make him feel comfortable even in the chemical-smelling, bright, often loud (for Peter) Medbay.
After that, well. Peter could roll with the rest of the punches.
Peter Parker is initially targeted as a means to ensure cooperation by Tony Stark. This eventually spurs into something different, and the spider is caught by someone much worse than his original kidnapper. Peter's a very popular target when it comes to kidnapping, and somehow, Tony Stark must find a way to get his kid back after multiple subsequent kidnappings.
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kids who had an "I'm an animal", cat girl, or puppy boy phase are either... autistic, an osdd/did system, a furry, or like being collared in bed. sorry, i don't make the rules.
.....you're probs lgbtq too.
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