#i just like every version of him and get seratonin from it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunmoonandeddie · 5 years

Text

little ballerina (14/16)

pairing: peter parker x reader

word count: 6,543

summary: After The Snap was reversed and the world went back to normal, Natasha Romanov had one request of her team: to infiltrate and destroy the Red Room.

chapter warnings: Swearing, violence, sexual assault, attempted rape

masterlist

a/n: I just want to warn you all, there is an attempted sexual assault/rape towards the end of this chapter. I'm adjusting the tags because of it but I want to make sure those of you who keep up with this are warned. This one is super long, which is why it took me forever to upload. Let me know what you think. I think there's only going to be one more chapter after this, plus an epilogue.

The nightmares were getting worse.

It had been almost two months since you had started pushing Peter out of your life You were barely sleeping and it was starting to show. Despite the fact that you had gone back to your normal routine (minus your nightly phone calls with Peter or spending weekends with him), you were starting to fall behind. Bucky was beginning to win during your sparring sessions. Natasha, Wanda, and Pepper were hinting that you shouldn't drink so much wine during your girl nights. F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s daily health reports were starting to report that your seratonin levels were low. Brenda had even pulled Natasha and Tony aside when she saw them after your therapy sessions, whispering that you were backsliding and it was making her nervous.

But you refused to budge.

When Peter came home on the weekends, you would either lock yourself in your room or you would volunteer for whatever missions would keep you away from home until he went back to MIT.

Tony was avoiding you at all costs, and anytime he had to be in a room with you for longer than thirty seconds, he would end up sending you dirty looks and muttering under his breath. The others had tried to get him to lay off, but it was no use. It wasn't like you blamed him anyway. You knew that what you were doing was hurting Peter. You just hoped that it would get easier on him as time went on before he eventually forgot about you, just like you figured it would for you.

But it never did.

The pain never went away like you hoped. Instead, it only seemed to get worse. Your nightmares morphed until all of them revolved around the brunette boy. You killing him. Him killing you. It was all the same, just different versions. They all ended with you waking up screaming in the middle of the night.

About three weeks into your self-imposed exile, you were awoken by Natasha shaking you. "Y/N?! Y/N, wake up!"

You bolted up in bed, your chest heaving as you looked around wildly for Peter. Your heart sunk as you realized he wasn't in your room. You gripped your hair in your hands as Natasha rubbed your back soothingly. The clock read 4:21 AM.

"It's okay. I'm here," she said.

You sniffled as you shook your head. "Th-They had him. They had him and they k-killed him and there was no-nothing I could do."

Natasha's heart was breaking as she watched you break down into violent sobs. This was the kind of pain that couldn't be fixed unless you could get over your self-loathing and doubt. All she could do was try her best to help you work through it, so that's what she did. Pulling you into her chest, her fingers ran through your hair. "I've got you. I've got you." You were crying so hard that it shook your entire body, your hands clutching onto her t-shirt. The fabric where your head was resting was soaked with your tears. She fought back her own tears as she rocked you back and forth, humming an old Russian lullaby.

Even after you fell asleep, she continued to hold you while thinking of possible solutions. She knew that she couldn't take away the pain or fix the problem with Peter, but she could at least try to help you get the sleep you so desperately needed.

The night after, you let Wanda use her magic to help you fall asleep. It wasn't a deep sleep, but it got the job done. You still suffered from nightmares, but at least your body was getting what it needed to heal and regenerate.

But a month after Wanda began to help you, you were sent on a mission.

You were sent on a mission with Peter.

You weren't even supposed to be on the mission in the first place, but two days before, the team got a kink in their plans. You were sitting on the couch and working on your online high school homework, when Tony, Natasha, Steve, and Sam walked in. They moved to the kitchen, Tony grabbing food from the fridge as they continued their conversation, not even noticing your presence.

"—can't send Natasha."

Steve looked confused as he sat down at the island. He had clearly just gotten back from the gym, if the sheen of sweat on his brow was anything to go by. "Why not?"

Nat looked pissed off as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Because he knows me. I led a raid on his estate four years ago. We didn't find anything, he got off scot-free, and he knows my face." She huffed as she sat up on the counter. "Plus, he prefers h/c."

"Why can't we just go in guns blazing like we usually do?" Sam asked, watching as Tony threw in a bunch of vegetables into a blender. "It's always worked for us before."

"Because," Tony said, grabbing the soy milk from the fridge and pouring in a sizable amount into the blender, "it didn't work last time and he's going to be on the look out for that now. He's going to pack up and hide everything at the first sign that we're going to raid him."

Sam waved his hand towards Nat. "And you can't seduce him because he knows you?"

"Exactly."

Steve frowned as he sat there, the others going quiet. "So what are we going to do? We can't send in Nat or Wanda."

You cleared your throat, four heads turning to look at where you sat on the couch. They looked surprised to see you there, as though they hadn't expected you to be out of your room. "What if you sent me?"

Natasha shook her head as she began to walk over. "No, we can't send you in there. You're not a field agent."

Bucky walked out of the elevator at that moment, looking at the redhead in confusion. "What do you mean, she isn't a field agent?" He was ruffling his hair with a towel, smelling of pine and musk, whatever that was.

"She's never been trained to be a field agent," Tony replied, abandoning the blender as he walked to join Natasha. Steve and Sam, not wanting to be left out of the conversation, quickly followed after.

The long-haired man looked at him incredulously. "Did you just say..." He bit his lip, taking a moment before motioning to you. "She received the same training Natasha did, even if it wasn't Avengers-style. Hell, Nat never got that training and she's a field agent. Why isn't Y/N qualified?"

Steve, Natasha, and Sam all seemed to agree with Bucky, keeping quiet as they watched Tony. There was a little bit of tension as the men faced each other. Even though all had been forgiven after the Infinity War, the two weren't as close as the others. It was to be expected, of course, but it still led to a little bit of worry in moments like this.

"She works tech on the plane. That's it." Tony's brown eyes were narrowed, his jaw clenched.

Bucky shook his head as you stood up. "Y/N only works tech because we didn't want to force her into any danger she didn't want to be in. But she's offering to be a field agent. She's ready." He scrutinized the other man, seeming to be much calmer than the billionaire. "Don't let your current personal grudge against her hold the team back. She'd be a great asset. You know this."

That seemed to hit Tony hard as he looked up towards the ceiling. As he pinched the bridge between his nose, he let out a long sigh. "We don't even know if she can seduce him."

Natasha chose this moment to speak up, chiming in, "The Red Room trains you in seduction, in case you've forgotten. She's got this." She looked to you, raising her eyebrows questioningly. "Do you?" You knew that she was just double checking, not wanting to throw you into something you weren't ready for.

You nodded, your hands a little shaky. "I do. I can handle it." You turned to look at Tony as your teeth worried your bottom lip. "I promise you, I won't fuck this up." There was a double meaning there and he knew it. You might've fucked things up with Peter, but you weren't going to let your team down no matter what.

He nodded at you once before walking back to the blender and turning it on. The sound drowned out any chance of further conversation and the others kind of nodded at each other before separating.

You went back to your homework, putting in your headphones with a bit of a smile. If there was one thing you were really good at, it was missions. You got the job done perfectly and efficiently, just like the Red Room had trained you to do. Part of you wondered what Madame B would think if she knew that you were using your training to help the good guys now. She'd probably have a heart attack.

You looked down as your phone dinged, a text lighting up the screen.

Natasha: We're leaving Saturday at noon. I'll come by around eight to help you get ready.

You ignored the texts from Peter, locking your phone once again. He still sent a text every few days. It was usually an update on his classes or a funny story about Ned. You usually waited until you were in bed to read them. That way, you could cry without anyone knowing.

Friday, you watched as Happy's car pulled in right at five, and Peter stepped out of the car. You did this every week so you would know when to lock yourself in for the weekend. It was kinda pitiful, but it was the best you could do at the moment. It hurt your heart to see how sad he looked, though. His shoulders were drooped, his head hanging low as he grabbed his suitcase. His headphones were tucked in. He didn't even say goodbye to Happy as he began to walk towards the front entrance.

Your heart skipped a beat as he looked up towards the compound and his eyes met yours. You quickly jumped onto your bed, away from where he could see you. You were sure that your ribs were going to break with how hard your heart was beating as you said, "F.R.I.D.A.Y., close the windows."

"Are you sure? Your seratonin levels are low and the sunlight will help," her animated voice asked.

Rolling your eyes, you snapped, "Yes, I'm sure." You relaxed a little, falling back on your bed as darkness overtook your room.

Except for those damn stars. No matter how many times you had tried, you couldn't bring yourself to take them off the ceiling. It was the one thing of Peter that you allowed yourself to keep. You had given back all his clothes months ago, leaving them in his room when he was at school and couldn't catch you. You had deleted the photos of him from your phone. You had almost blocked his number, but knew that if you were in trouble and couldn't reach the rest of the Avengers, it could come in handy.

At least, that's what you told yourself.

Wanda came in to do her magic at about ten that night, holding two plates of food. She usually ate with you in your room when Peter was home. Otherwise, you wouldn't eat. Sometimes it would be Natasha or Bucky, but someone always came. She sat on your bed and watched as you pushed the food around your plate. "You should talk to him," the older girl finally said. She took a bite of her khao soi before pointing her fork at you. "This whole isolation thing is ridiculous, and you know it."

Rolling your eyes, you stared down at your pad thai. "Wanda, we've gone over this."

"And every time, I've told you that it's bullshit. Just like everyone else on the team does."

You tried to find something to say, your e/c eyes meeting hers. "I can't be the reason Peter gets hurt."

"That's how I felt with Vis for the longest time. You just have to trust yourself."

There it was. The whole trust thing. "I don't know if I can." Your voice cracked and you squeezed your eyes shut to stop yourself fro crying. You seemed to do that a lot.

Wanda didn't know how to respond, so she just reached over and squeezed your hand tightly. It was an unspoken agreement that no matter what happened, you two would be there for each other.

Even after you had thrown a snow globe at her head.

Saturday morning went quick. Natasha knocked at exactly eight, passing you the protein shake in her hand. "This'll keep you full until after the mission. It's what I drink when we don't know how long it'll take and there's no promise of food."

You took a sip, your nose crinkling in disgust. "Why is it so gross?"

"Because it's got all the nutrients you could ever need and then some and sometimes being healthy sucks."

She had then shoved you into the shower, ordering a Full Shower. That meant washing your hair, exfoliating, shaving, the whole nine yards. You had to be at your peak tonight. When you got out, Nat had unpacked the makeup case she had, everything laid out on the bed. She didn't talk much as she blow dried your hair, letting you just sit at the vanity in your robe.

But once she got started on actually doing your hair and makeup, she didn't stop talking. "Your target's name is Dr. Harry Garner. He's thirty-seven and from Manchester, England." Natasha tapped the curling iron, sectioning your hair off when she realized it was hot enough. "He went to Oxford, because that's where all the pretentious men who turn into evil villains go."

You couldn't help but laugh a little at that, biting your lip. "What exactly is he doing that we're trying to bust him for?"

"He's building weapons of mass destruction," she said nonchalantly as she began to curl your hair. "He's using a combination of nuclear and chitauri power." Seeing your shocked expression, she nodded. "If he continues to make these weapons and then uses them... It won't be pretty."

"So this mission is very important?" Your voice was quiet, your gaze locked on hers in the mirror.

Natasha nodded. Her expression alone told you how serious the situation was. "We knew that there was someone building those weapons and the location. We just didn't know who it was until two days ago. That's when we realized that for one, we couldn't rush the place like we usually do and two, that I couldn't be seen. If I'm seen anywhere near his new estate, it'll be over."

You swallowed thickly as she went quiet, spending another hour curling your hair. By the time she was done, you had large, fifties style curls. Natasha started talking again as she started on your makeup. You kept your eyes closed, listening to the little comments she would make. It was relaxing, and you almost felt like a normal girl. Like you were just getting ready to go to prom.

But this was far from prom.

If this mission went wrong, you could put the entire world in danger and it wasn't even an exaggeration.

"And you... are done," Natasha said as she spritzed some setting spray on your face. "You can get dressed on the plane, when we get closer to the estate. I would just throw on something comfy for now. We have a long flight."

You opened your eyes, and you were surprised at how good it made you look. It was simple, but sexy. She had coated your brows with a gel to keep the natural look, while keeping them in place. The winged liner and false lashes made your e/c eyes look huge and doe-like. The red lips topped off the look and gave it a very classy feel. "Were you trying to make me look like a 1950s starlet?" You murmured as you gently touched your cheek. Your skin looked flawless. "Because I think you succeeded."

Nat smiled as she picked up the makeup case she had just repacked. "Harry likes old Hollywood movies, like Gone With the Wind and Rebel Without a Cause. I tried to channel that a little. Maybe try to bring it up?"

You nodded and she left with a final look at you. You had watched both of those movies in the time since getting out of the Red Room, since Bucky and Steve also had to catch up with the times. They just happened to have a little more to catch up on.

When you got to the hangar to meet the others at 11:50, you were shocked to see Peter standing there with the rest of the Avengers. Even though you were going to be the only one on the ground, it was an important mission. If something went wrong, they were all going to be ready to swoop in. So it made sense that he was there. You just didn't like it.

You were acutely aware of how his gaze bore into the back of your head as you boarded the quinjet. Putting in your headphones, you went straight to the bunk room and climbed into the first one that you saw. You shut the divider to make sure that no one would disturb you before pulling out your laptop. There was no way you were going to be able to survive the seven hour flight if you had to deal with Peter staring at you the entire time.

So you spent the next six hours working on school work. By the time you were done, you were over two weeks ahead of the class schedule, and you had successfully avoided talking to Peter.

But the knock on the divider pulled you out of your concentration. You pulled it open a little, and saw Nat smiling down at you. "Ready to get dressed?" She handed you a black bag and you headed back to the bathroom to get dressed.

When you unzipped it, you stared at the dress for a full two minutes in shock. The dress was beautiful, of course, but it was completely skin tight. Nothing would be left to the imagination. Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you stripped down until you just had on the thong that Natasha had advised you to wear, now knowing why. You pulled the black fabric over your thighs, and as you slipped your arms into the off-the-shoulder straps, you realized that you were going to need someone to zip you up.

You shoved the clothing you had worn on the plane into the black bag, grabbing the heels from the bottom compartment before leaving the bathroom. "Hey, can someone zip me?" You asked as you entered the communal area of the jet, looking down at yourself. You looked up as Wanda moved around you, pulling up the zipper for you. Your eyes met Peter's, who was staring at you with an intensity that you couldn't describe, and you quickly turned away.

You sat down on the couch to pull on your shoes, Tony walking over to you with a case in his hand. He opened it up, first pulling out an ear piece. You tilted your head to the side to let him put it in, listening as he explained. "We can talk to you through this, but the necklace is what you'll be talking to us through." He carefully lifted a diamond necklace out of the case, moving your hair to put it on you. The huge diamonds glittered as it rested against your collarbones. "The microphone is hidden in the setting of this diamond," he said as he tapped the center of the necklace. "If you're in trouble, say... I don't know..." Tony looked to the others, motioning widely with his arms as he thought. "What's a phrase in Russian?"

"Malen'kaya balerina."

You looked over at Natasha, who was smiling warmly at you. You nodded as you turned back to Tony. "Malen'kaya balerina."

He raised his eyebrows, looking at the others. "Alright. Mall-in-kayak whatever it is. If Y/N says that phrase, we go in. No questions asked." He then tapped another diamond in the necklace. "There's a camera hidden in this one here. We'll be able to see what you see and guide you through the house." he stepped back, clapping his hands together. "She's ready."

You pointedly ignored Peter's eyes as Steve stood up. "We've five minutes out. Everyone get ready."

God, just being in the same room as Peter was torture. Even if you couldn't talk to him, you just wanted to look. You wanted to watch the way his eyes lit up and his lips pulled into a crooked smile. You wanted watch him run his fingers through his brown curls and the way his leg would bounce in nervous energy.

No. You couldn't think about that now. You couldn't let yourself be distracted from the mission.

Walking to the back with Natasha and Bucky, you fought the anxiety that was threatening to overcome you. It was a weird kind of anxiety, though. You weren't nervous about Dr. Harry Garner. You could seduce any man you wanted to in your sleep. You were nervous about letting down the team. "Is it normal to be nervous?" You asked as you looked up at your two parent figures.

"I think I'd be more worried if you weren't," Bucky said with a faint smile.

Nat stood on your other side, flicking a piece of hair back into place. "Just remember, we've got your back."

You took in a deep breath as you nodded, before getting into the car that was meant to drive you the remaining thirty minutes to the Garner estate. Vision was your driver, having morphed himself into a random person. If anyone saw him, they wouldn't recognize him as one of the Avengers.

When the back of the quinjet finally opened, Vision put the car into drive and you were off. "I'm sure you'll be fantastic," he said as he noticed the way your hands were fidgeting in your lap. Other than those few words, the two of you didn't speak the entire way back. "I'll be the one who picks you up at the end of the night," Vis added as you got out. He nodded at you once before driving off, presumably to wait a safe distance away.

The estate was fucking huge. You began to go through the breathing technique Peter had taught you, calming yourself down as you walked up the steps to the front door. It was clearly inspired by Greek architecture, with the huge pillars on either side of the front doors. You didn't even know if you could call it a front door. They were huge and had butlers to open the double doors on both sides.

"And we are a go," you heard Tony say in your ear as you walked into the mansion, giving a curt nod to the butlers.

You felt a multitude of eyes on you as you entered the crowded room. It was filled to the brim with rich snobs. "Anyone wanna tell me why I didn't get a fur shawl like every other woman here?" You whispered so only the microphone in the necklace caught it. The slit in your dress went up to a little above your mid-thigh, teasing everyone looking at you with just a glimpse of leg.

"Thought it would cover too much skin," Nat said honestly.

Bucky was the next one to chime in, "Plus it seems a little tacky."

You had to agree with that. Though some of the fur shawls looked classy and sophisticated, most of them looked like they were trying to hard. After all, you were in Costa Rica. Not Siberia. Then, it might've looked better.

As Natasha directed you through the house, you were grateful that only Nat, Tony, Steve, Bucky, and Sam were on the comm. You knew that they could all hear you, since the comm was hooked up to speakers in the communal area of the quinjet during missions, but having everyone be able to talk to you would've been too much.

Listening to Natasha's directions, you headed towards the back of the house, where you found double doors that led out to the gardens where most of the guests had congregated. Two more butlers opened up the doors for you, and you were met with the sound of ocean waves. You hadn't realized how close the estate was to the coast, but there was only a short wall the divided the gardens from the water. As you walked through the garden, you snagged a glass of champagne from a waiter and took a long sip.

"Y/N, go to the edge of the gardens right ahead. The man a few feet to your left is Dr. Garner," Steve said.

Stepping forward, you tucked a bit of hair behind your left ear as you watched Dr. Garner from your peripheral vision. He was deep in conversation with two men, but paused as he glanced your way. You felt a little burst of triumph as he turned back to them before taking a double take. "Excuse me," he said to the couple, before moving the couple steps towards you. "What's a gorgeous creature like you doing out here all alone?"

"Bingo," Sam muttered in your ear.

You smiled coyly at him, turning a little to look at him. "I'm not alone. I have you, don't I?"

You knew you had his interest as he waved a waiter over, grabbing a glass of champagne for himself. "You most certainly do."

Turning to face him completely, you could see why he was getting away with as much as he did. He was actually very handsome, with stormy blue eyes and a full head of dark hair. Plus, the accent. The British accent was an absolute killer. "I'm Y/N. Y/N Moore," you purred as he took your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

If he wasn't creating weapons of mass destruction and threatening the safety of literally the entire world, you might actually be interested. Even if he was twice your age.

"So why haven't I met you before?" The man in front of you asked, swirling the champagne in his glass. "Because I definitely would've remembered you."

Tony had created an entire fake identity for you to use. He let you keep your first name, but the last name was something he had pulled out of his ass. You had studied it for the past two days, until you had it completely memorized. Like it was actually your life. "Well, I'm the personal assistant for Alan Warren, with Warren Tech. He sent me in his place, since he had an emergency come up. He sends his regards and asked me to apologize for him, Dr. Garner," you said. Tony had also set up a website for a fake company, complete with numbers that Dr. Garner could call and an employee directory with your name on it in case he wanted to see if you were who you said you were.

"Please, call me Harry."

You smiled warmly, leaning in a little as though you were entranced by him. "Harry. I love that name. Reminds me of Harry Bailey from It's a Wonderful Life. Or Harry Powell from The Night of the Hunter."

Garner looked at you in shock, delight lighting up his eyes. "You know The Night of the Hunter?"

Nodding, you finished off your champagne. "With Robert Mitchim and Shelley Winters? Of course."

"Nice," Bucky chuckled.

"I have to admit," Harry said as he took your empty glass of champagne and handed it to a waiter before grabbing you a new one, "I didn't expect you to know old Hollywood movies. Especially old Hollywood thrillers."

"Well, what kind of girl do you take me for?" You asked, holding the new glass of champagne up to your lips flirtatiously. You were watching him through your eyelashes, giving a sense of innocence. You could tell that he was the kind of man who would be into that. "Besides," you hummed as you took a step closer to him. "There's something sexy about the old Hollywood movies."

His eyes were practically undressing you as he watched you step closer. "Even the thrillers?"

"Especially the thrillers." You were close enough to him that you knew he would be hyper aware of it, and he'd want to close the gap completely. But you needed to put the nail on the coffin. "I think what makes them so sexy is the danger of it all. I mean... What girl can resist a bad boy?"

Harry's eyes were locked on yours. "How would you like a tour of the house?"

"Sounds wonderful."

His hand found your lower back as he led you back into the house, and up the grand staircase that you had seen in the front foyer.

"So, tell me what you do," you said, glancing around innocently. You knew he was leading you straight for the master suite, but you wanted to keep up that facade of innocence. He was old school. He would like to think that you were flirting with him because he was special, or something like that.

There were two butlers at every door in the hallway, and you realized that they doubled as security once you spotted the earpieces and they way that they watched you.

The ones at the last room at the end of the hall opened up a set of ornate double doors, and you had to keep your eyes from getting as wide as saucers as you took in the huge room. It was fit for a king. Truly. You glanced back as the doors shut behind you, and you were alone with Dr. Harry Garner. He took your champagne and set it, along with his, off to the side. "I'm an arms dealer."

"So you really are a bad boy," you giggled as you walked around the room slowly, taking it all you. You found yourself at the entrance to the balcony, the doors already opened.

His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered, "I'll be whatever you wanna be, princess." Wrapping his arms around you, he began to press hot, open mouthed kisses to your bare shoulder. "Alan Warren might want to watch out. I might just steal you away from him."

"Is that so?" You turned around in his embrace so you were facing him. His eyes were locked on the way you bit your lip, your hands resting on his chest. "I don't know if my boss would be very happy about you taking me from him."

You had to fight back from slapping him as his hands moved to your ass, squeezing tightly before one hand moved to the slit in your dress. His calloused fingers ran over your thigh as he pulled your leg up so had to lean into him. "If you were my personal assistant... Well, let's just say I wouldn't be getting much work done."

"What a fucking pig," you heard Natasha mutter into the comm.

Unfortunately, so did Garner.

His eyes narrowed down at you, his grip tightening to the point that it hurt. "So... Who sent you?"

"What do you mean?" You asked, shaking your head. But you knew it would be no use. He wasn't an idiot and no matter how attractive he thought you were, he wasn't going to risk going to jail.

He'd kill you before that.

His nails were digging into your thigh as the hand that was on your ass moved to grip your face harshly. His nails dug into your cheek, and you whimpered as you felt him break the skin, blood trickling down your cheek. "Did I stutter?" You yelped as his hand moved to grab your hair, tilting your head to the side so he could find the ear piece. He grabbed it from where it sat right behind the tragus. Looking you dead in the eye, he crushed it in between his fingers. Like it was a fly. Harry then eyed your necklace suspiciously, ripping it off your neck like it was nothing.

You watched helplessly as he walked over to the balcony and tossed it over into the ocean below.

You were alone with no way to contact the team.

Your heart was racing as the man shut the doors to the balcony before turning back to you, suddenly aware of the fact that he was Very Tall and Very Buff. Even with your training, it would be a struggle to win a fight against him, and the butlers outside.

He was stalking towards you with a predatory look in his eyes. He knew he had the upper hand. "Tell me, Y/N... Why did you have to do this? We could've been so good together..." He seemed to be amused by the panic in your eyes as you backed away from him. Everything you had ever learned about self-defense flew out of your brain, leaving you terrified and helpless.

Back at the quinjet, a panic was running through the team as the signal from your comm suddenly went out. "She's gone," Steve shouted, clicking at buttons frantically.

"Y/N?! Y/N, can you hear me?!" Natasha asked desperately, her hands gripping the edge of the table that held the computer system. The video feed had gone black, and the audio had gone to static. The ping they had on your location was also gone.

Peter ran into the computer room from the communal area, clearly panicking. "What happened?! Where is she?!"

Tony shook his head as he tried frantically to get a signal. "Her comm disconnected. We have no way to reach her and she can't reach us."

"We, We need to go in there! We need to save her!"

The billionaire shook his head at the younger man, who was already hitting the button on his suit that grew his mask around his head. "We need a plan. We can't just rush in there without knowing what were getting into."

"There's no time!" Peter screamed back angrily. He ran out the back, not bothering to wait for the others who were quick to follow.

Knowing you had to at least try, you bolted for the bedroom doors. You yanked on them harshly and began to shout as you realized that they were locked. You even went as far as to try banging on them as hard as possible. But it didn't work.

"Those doors are enforced with steel. The only way for you to get out is for me to let you." The way that Harry was stalking towards you just made you panic even more. His movements were so languid and relaxed. He knew he had you trapped, and he could do whatever he wanted.

You pressed yourself back against the wall as he came closer. If you were going to make it out of there, making him think that you weren't going to fight was the best way to catch him off guard. When he began to reach for you, you hit him with a roundhouse kick. What you weren't expecting, however, was for him to grab your ankle and flip you so that you fell onto the ground with a resounding thud. Your head hit the corner of the wall and your kicks grew slower and disoriented as he dragged you towards him.

"Come on, darling, I don't want to mess up your pretty face, but I will if I have to," he snarled. He let go of his grip on you, and you tried to stand, but he grabbed you by your hair before you could. "There. Now there won't be so much kicking."

Tears were beginning to stream down your face as he dragged you a few feet further by your curls. You began to scream again as he lifted you, tossing you onto the bed like you were a rag doll. You scrambled backwards, kicking out at him, but he just dragged you back. He seemed to be more animal than man as he grabbed at your dress, ripping it in multiple places. His hands were all over you, ripping the slit even further before dragging your underwear down. His nails dug into your skin as he held your wrists above your head, the other moving to undo his pants. You squeezed your eyes shut as you shook your head. You began to pray to whatever God there was, hoping for some kind of rescue.

The sound of broken glass was the response.

Harry turned to see what had happened when a familiar superhero dragged him off of you. Spider-Man—Peter—was pummeling the man to a pulp. The beautiful doors that led out to the balcony were busted, glass covering the floor.

You let out a cry of relief as Tony landed on the balcony in the Iron Man suit. "I've got him," you heard him say to Peter, taking Harry and slamming him up against the wall.

But you were too focused on Peter. Peter, who was suddenly running to you, picking you up and holding you against his chest as you cried. Peter, who was whispering in your ear, "I'm here. I'm here. You're safe. I've got you," as he hurried to the balcony doors. "It's okay. I've got you." Peter, who was scaling the side of the mansion while holding you flush against him.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, sobs still wracking your body as he carried you onto the quinjet. He tried setting you on the gurney in the medical bay of the jet, but you clutched onto him, refusing to let go. The dress was barely hanging off of you, your shoes having fallen off when Peter was carrying you to the vet. There were cuts and scrapes all over, not to mention the dark purple bruises that were forming where his filthy hands had been.

So Peter held you to his chest, glaring at anyone who dared try to come close. He rocked you softly as he kissed your hair, murmuring, "It's okay, angel. I've got you."

The others were sitting close, but far enough away that you weren't aware of their presence. When you eventually fell asleep, Bruce cautiously walked over to the two of you. "Peter, we need to get her into the medical bay."

Before he could protect, Tony added, "You can stay with her there."

All Peter gave him was a curt nod, carrying you to the medical bay. He was careful not to wake you as he set you on the hospital bed, clutching onto your hand tightly in his as the plane made it's way home.

#peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic

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genderfluidmorningstar-blog · 7 years

Text

On Mental Health, Treatment, and Drugs

You know, I was talking to my grandmother about the use of medication today, and it made me think of one of my favorite stories about therapy that gets passed around every so often in the psych community:

There was a woman with OCD (or anxiety, depending on who is telling the story) who's main obsession involved intrusive thoughts about a curling iron being left on and setting fire to her house, resulting in a compulsion to constantly check it, preventing her from getting a job. This woman goes in to see a therapist because its ruining her life and she needs help. Now all of the therapists colleagues want him to medicate the crap out of her, put her in a mental hospital, really intensive therapy, all of that stuff that therapists would usually do for a woman with severe OCD. But this particular therapist doesn't do that, and the woman still gets her life back. What did he do?

He had the woman take the curling iron to work.

Now this story is pretty much the psych community's version of the ham story or the story about the one olive saving money that gets passed around the business community so often. It's oversimplified and used for a good moral that nobody really listens to or follows, let alone really causes any changes.

But I have been recently thinking about the psych community, and the health community in general, and really sorta.... figuring out where I stand on certain topics. There's this idea in the psych community, and our culture in general really, that anything at all mentally abnormal or unusual needs to be given a diagnosis and "fixed" through medication and therapy and whatnot.

Now I'm going to throw away any pretense of politeness in speech and say, fuck you, that's bullshit.

Traditionally, there has been this idea in psychology that a disorder is only a disorder if it causes distress or dysfunction in a patient. If we are honest with ourselves, that idea has never really been listened to, outside of the cases of maybe not pathologizing religion, culture, and people in bad situations. If we are honest, that last one still happens, but I digress. The issue is that we treat any divergence from the norm as a pathological issue, and we shouldn't. It may be that I am neurodivergent myself, but if certain things are unusual, but don't cause issues, why should we try to change them.

And I do take this idea to the logical extreme. If a person hears voices in their head or sees things that aren't there, but is not bothered or inconvenienced by them (maybe even reassured or comforted by them being there), why do we need to slap a diagnosis of schizophrenia on them and give them psychotropics? Or another instance, if someone has multiple personality disorder (which is now called Dissociative Identity Disorder) and has two or more distinct personalities with their own separate thoughts, memories, and lives, why do we need to combine them into one, so long as the system functions on a meaningful level? Sure, it's fucking weird, but some estimates put 1% of the population as having DID, about the same amount of people that have autism, and it could seriously be just another, granted unusual, "operating system" of the brain. Speaking of Autism, if flapping and communication aids allow them to function in the work place, who gives a damn if they use them, if they do the job?

Our society has an issue with accepting the unusual, even to the point of pathologizing it. In psychology, humans are said to have a logical fallacy or bias towards believing that others have the same thoughts and opinions as ourselves, and I truly believe that this a culturally acceptable and encouraged form of it. I think that our cultural also encourages a negative view of neurodivergence, and that encourages social dysfunction, which is further demonized and ends up snowballing into an endless cycle of suffering.

I support and will forever encourage neurodiversity to be accepted and accommodated.

But I'm also not a completely optimistic fool, and I know that there are those who do need help.

And in such cases where the person can't function, where they can't handle the voices in their head, where personality two and three get in the way of things, therapy, medication and treatment need to be there to help.

But besides getting them help, we should not judge what helps them. For some people, their depression is helped by getting out in nature, fresh air, and eating better. For some, it's one of the dozens of varieties of therapy. For others, those simply will not work and they need to be medicated for whatever reason. I will never understand or sympathize with those who shame medication. The way that meds work is literally the same way that any other hormone or neurotrasmitter in your body, and the purpose of medication is to replace neurotransmitters that are deficient or reduce and block the ones that are overproduced. I almost want to compare them to game exploits allowing for gold farming, but unfortunately, good mental health will not get you that +5 longsword.

An example of a medication that is easily explainable is Prozac, a SSRI. Prozac is a brand name for the chemical fluoxetine, which in the body is metabolized, or literally changed by the body, into norfluoxetine, which prevents your nerves from reabsorbing seratonin, a chemical that makes you feel happy, and so you feel happier for longer. There is literally a hormone in your body that does that naturally, this is just the storebought version for people who need it, like buying eggs to make a souffle, even though you have chickens in the backyard.

St. John's Wort also does the same thing (I'm pretty sure that they affect the exact same variant of the exact same hormone group, but i don't have that kind of time for that level of research), but the particular chemical found in that plant may not work for all people that Prozac does, and vice versa. This is why there are so many different forms of SSRIs (anti-depressants that work by the method described above) alone, and not all depression is caused by lowered serotonin levels, requiring additional classes of drugs. Yes drug companies are money hungry scum, but humans are also just weird like that.

There are also meds that do things that cannot be replicated in nature. Anti-psychotic medications are necessary, and though certain plants and minerals found in nature can help, I'm sorry, Quetiapine works better in almost all cases.

That being said, there is an issue with overmedication in the western world, especially the US, probably tied to the obsession with pathologizing everything, and it needs to be fixed. Most of the statistics I can find say that most Americans have some sort of prescription (though the numbers I find include non-psychotropic meds, a rant for another day), which is an issue that needs to be tackled, but not by shaming or shunning medications. Not immediately turning to medication would be a good first step, but if meds are necessary, only using them for as long as needed is also a good step. For some people, that is literally the rest of their life. We need to accept that, and stop shaming people for taking medications.

#mental health #psychology #med shaming #ableism #schizophrenia #did #ocd #fire tw #drugs tw #fight me helen

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