Rundown (Spiderman x Reader) (II)

51. Stick To Your Guns

Well, you know that I been through it
I got the scars to prove it
Fight hard and the battle is yours

Five months later and they hadn't found 'what to do with me'. To make things worse, my (f/c) dyed hair had faded. Back to my normal, boring hair. Typical prison stuff, yay!

There's my weekly checkup, of course, that reminds me when Wednesdays arrive. Never do I get the results of the checkups. Given my recent luck, they're storing my information for future blackmail. And depending on my behavior I would either get extra food or a charge of electric shocks.

Every day that passed by I would think of Peter. Was he happy? Was he doing okay at school? Did he miss me at all? Did he text me and frown when I wouldn't respond? The mental image of kissing him again made me wanna fight through one more day.

I was peacefully sleeping until someone pressed the annoying alarm button. "What the fuck?! What was that for?" Usually, they let me sleep in, and they're way calmer on the volume department.

"You have a visitor," the same agent I've been seeing for ages groaned. If I'm honest, I've grown fond of her, but I don't think the sentiments reciprocate. She was whispering information about me to an unknown man on her left.

The so called 'visitor' had a suit in blue, white, and red colors. It seemed to be an alternate version of Steve's suit, which made it very trippy for me. Last I heard, he had gone back in time to put the stones back on their place and he had returned a grandpa. Then he gave the shield to Sam Wilson, a.k.a. Falcon.

I grabbed my hairbrush and used it to rapidly wrap my hair in a ponytail. "Nice Halloween costume, dude. Weird. I thought it was spring...?"

The blond stretched out his hand, but realized a little too late that the glass would not block the handshake. "I've heard a lot about you. My name's John Walker, the next Captain America."

"Oh, so it's April Fools already! Hahaha, you guys got me good." I snorted while the others gave me odd glances. "What a weird sense of humor the FBI has."

The agent quirked her eyebrow, a common mannerism she did when my... let's say... creative comments went a little too far. "(Y/n), do we look like the type to joke around?"

"We need you for a mission, that's why we're here," the guy insisted.

I placed my hands on my hips. "Okay, now I'm lost."

"He's going to be announced to the public tonight and afterward he's taking you for missions."

"Oh my god. No, no, no. Just straight up no. Miss Twinkie, please, there's gotta be something else." I haven't learned the name of the agent— no matter how much I insist she denies telling me, so I call her Miss Twinkie because of her platinum blonde hair.

"We're not asking, (Y/n)," John scolded. There's something about him that's giving me bad vibes. I can't tell exactly what it is. Perhaps it is the unnatural squared chin...?

Miss Twinkie fakely helped with a, "And you are in our control. You have no choice but to obey."

"I'd rather stay here. Or— or have an arrow shot at me. Thanks for the offer, but I'm not in the mood for going out."

The agent was losing it. "We're not debating, dammit! It's an order."

"I don't work for him. Or you. I'm not a slave or an object... or a criminal, for that matter." I slowly walked up to the glass, imagining myself strangling them on the other side. "Not technically at least."