The White Pallax (Peter Parker x Reader)

XVI - Silver-Belle

You close the door behind you and sigh. For what seems forever, you rest your head there, eyes closed, smiling. After you and Peter had raced out, you'd gone on a real date. Sort of. Not really. You went out for coffee at seven in the evening and ended up running into Ned and Michelle. You're still not entirely sure they weren't just spying on you. You know Michelle could talk Ned into doing that.

And now, at two in the morning, you've returned, the orchid wilting behind your ear, joy pulsing in your veins. It's dark in the apartment. Eerily quiet. Against your better judgement, you peek into your uncle's room. He's not there. He probably picked up and left to Bulgaria or something. You're sure he'll be back in time to send you off to the Silver-Belle like it's the prom.

Exhaustion drowns out your joy from the night. Biting your lip, still smiling, you crash onto your bed, not caring to change clothes. The moment you're down, you're out like a light.

Bright lights awaken Tony. He gasps and sits up - only to a kneeling position. Breathing deeply, he takes in his surroundings. He's in a blindingly white room. Small. Empty, save for a long silver table atop which are trays of what he hopes aren't torture devices, though they likely are.

Heavy metal manacles restrain his wrists behind him. They're connected to a rusting metal chain that's hooked around a ring bolted to the floor. The metal bites into his skin every time he shifts his stance.

There's nothing more to reveal his location. He's alone. Only a terrible pounding in his head keeps him company.

For what seems like hours, he kneels there, trying to find a way out of his chains. But without his tools he can't do anything. Oh God he can't do anything!

Finally, a door opens. In walks one person, dressed in white, face shrouded.

"Hello Mr. Stark," she says, her voice surprisingly warm and honeyed. Tony rolls his shoulders back, and wills himself to look confident. He makes eye contact with his captor. She has strangely beautiful eyes. Not in a human sense. Something ethereal. Brown and alluring, he finds he can't look away.

"Well hey," he finally responds, tearing his eyes away. "How's it going?"

"Quiet," she muses. "I've been a bit bored. But I have a feeling that's about to change."

"For you or for me?"

She laughs. It's almost pleasant. No, it is. Which is almost more terrifying than if it wasn't. "Both, I suppose. But you're probably going to enjoy this much less than me."

The woman selects a small metal rod from the table of torture instruments. At first glance, it's not very imposing. But she pulls the top and extends it to three feet. Electricity crackles around it. Tony swallows nervously. Whatever is about to happen, he can take it. He's had worse.

Moving swiftly, as if she is walking on air, the woman approaches him. She kneels down, and gets so close Tony catches her scent. Sweet, woody. Foreign. Everything about her is so different. "I will give you a chance to tell me what I want to know, before we get messy."

"Only if you tell me your name," Tony replies, his snark surfacing. "And perhaps a number?"

"It's Kalia. And never in a thousand years." She almost seems to enjoy his question. Again, Tony finds himself believing he might actually enjoy her company under different circumstances. "Now, tell me, where have you hidden the device?"

How the hell did she know? Jesus, these people, whoever they are, are fucking good. Tony just chuckles. "Up your ass."

Kalia pulls off the white hood. Thick brown braids fall over her shoulder. And her face is beautiful. Angelic. Like her voice. "Very well. Let's begin."