And Then I Wrote Marvel

Skittles (Part 2)(Final) (Peter Parker x Reader)

As requested by my cousin, DeathyMallows

"What in the heck are you talking about?" you asked the man interrogating you meticulously. "Why on earth would I know the identity of Spider-Man? Weirdo." You'd fallen asleep last night in your own bed, but woken up with your hands cuffed individually to this surprisingly comfortable chair. Then again, it appeared to be an average classroom chair; you were used to those. The only thing that made you mad about the situation was that someone physically broke into your home.

The other thing was that you definitely knew who Spider-Man was. You'd been dating him for a year and a half. However, this idiot hadn't given you food. You weren't scared of any crap he could come up with right now. He should be scared of you. Scratch that, he should be cowering in a corner, genuinely fearing for his life.

"No, my dear, I feel that you know exactly who Spider-Man is. You will be revealing this information."

"Oh, no," you said, worry creeping into your voice. "This is terrible."

"What? What's terrible?"

"Someone...someone must have falsely informed you...that I care!"

The man slapped you, but you had no regrets. You'd had that line on repeat in your head for the longest time, and you were glad to finally have found a way to use it.

"Insolent child! You are going to tell me who Spider-Man is, or you will die!"

"Say it louder; I don't think the Terra Cotta warriors heard you."

He slapped you again, but again, you had exactly zero feelings of regret. "Sarcasm will get you nowhere in this world."

"I don't know, it gets Spider-Man a lot of fans. People like the sassy quips."

The man let out a cry of frustration.

"Listen, friend, as soon as you're done with your temper-tantrum, I have school to go to. If I'm not there by third period, my friends are going to freak out and probably call the police or something." You stopped, watching him pace as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I could go for some food right now. You know, if you have any. If you don't, my sincerest condolences go to your family."

"You keep talking, and your family will be the ones mourning."

"But I need to talk in order to tell you who Spider-Man is, don't I?"

"I can see why you don't have many friends," he groaned.

"Nah, I have all the friends I want. You're just seeing my hungry side. The hungrier I get, the grumpier I am. The grumpier I get, the sassier I am. Furthermore, the sassier I get--"

"You've proven your point!" he raved. "Just answer my question, and you can have food and go free."

You noticed a window in on an upstairs ledge opening quietly, and a familiar red and blue figure crawling through. You smirked, readying to mentally abuse this guy more while Peter readied himself to strike.

"Just one problem," you said.

"And what is that?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I don't know the answer to your question."

The man pulled a gun from his waistband and aimed it at your forehead. "Yes, I truly believe that you do." He took a step closer.

"Let's think about this logically. No one except for Spider-Man himself knows who he is. He wears this lovely thing covering his face that we like to call a mask. Heard of one?" He clicked the safety back. "Apparently so. You know, I've always wanted to see under that mask. I bet he's really cute. But if you, like, brought Spider-Man to me and let me see his face, then I could probably tell you who he is. 'Course, if you went through all the trouble to get him here just to take his mask off in front of me, why wouldn't you just do it by your--" he lost his patience and shot your shoulder. "Agh! What in the actual heck was that for?"

"You need to stop stalling," he replied simply.

"I told you, Señor Jerk-Face, I don't know who he is! My gosh, do you kidnap random girls and shoot them often?"

"Not unless they have information that I want."

"How about you stop torturing the lady for something she doesn't know," a voice suggested from above, "and just ask me?"

The man looked up to see Spider-Man hanging from the ceiling. Before he could act, Peter descended rapidly to land his foot solidly on his face. He fell to the ground, out cold.

"I certainly got a kick outta that, you?" Peter asked you.

You laughed, then groaned. "Parker, that was terrible."

"You're a sucker for bad puns, (L/N), and you know it." He pulled from your shirt collar the spare bobby pin that you had learned to keep on you at all times and began to unlock the cuffs keeping you in the chair.

"I'm also a sucker for not bleeding out on my favorite pajamas. What do you say we call the police and get me to a hospital?"

"Sounds good. You're going to want food, too."

"As if you have to say that."
--
"How are you so calm about this?!" (Y/F/N) shouted at you. "If I'd been kidnapped, shot, then saved by Spider-Man, I'd be pretty shaken up."

You were sitting in your bed at home, resting. At the hospital, you'd had the bullet removed, and the wound stitched up. You were on a considerable amount of painkillers but despite that, you were pretty clear-headed. Peter was on his way from his apartment with some cookies that his aunt had made for you; Aunt May adored you.

"It could be the painkillers," you admitted, "but even in the situation, I was pretty calm. It's probably because it may be the first time, but it definitely won't be the last."

"What kind of thinking is that? Are you completely insane? I've never been kidnapped before, my parents haven't, and my grandparents, who are also, need I remind you, native New Yorkers, haven't either. Why are you so sure that this will happen again?"

"Eh, like I said, painkillers," you shrugged it off, trying to cover your mistake.

"She's gone mad," (Y/F/N) whispered to herself.

A knock sounded on your bedroom door, and Peter walked in with a plate of snickerdoodles and a package of Skittles. "Present for you," he smiled.

"Aw, Snickers, you shouldn't have," you replied, giving him a kiss on the cheek while he set the cookies and the candy on your lap.

(Y/F/N) squealed quietly, and you and your boyfriend both rolled your eyes.

"(Y/F/N), really, it's been a year and a half. You can stop freaking out," Peter chuckled.

"Time doesn't make anything less cute," she justified.

"Babies. It makes babies less cute," you argued. "Also, flowers, and--"

"Well, if you're just going to be a smart-alec about it, then time doesn't make relationships less cute."