death of a hero. ₂
mcu!peter parker x fem!stark!reader | boy in the bubble part two.
IN WHICH after getting attacked, you find out that your dad & peter have kept spider–man’s identity a secret.
author's note — highly recommend reading part one first!! this cured my writer's block !! part three coming soon!!! :)
WARNINGS (18+ MDNI) — hurt reader [physically/emotionally], swearing, mentions of blood, a flashback to homecoming, lots & lots & lots of angst.
read part one | part three here.
gif found here.
✨masterlist.✨
3.4k.
Never in your life did you think you’d be targeted and attacked, then be smiling by the end of the night. You couldn’t fight the small grin touching your lips, couldn’t stop the butterflies that numbed each wound still scarring your body.
Somehow, despite it all, Peter’s words gave you something to hold onto, something to keep you going—something hopeful. It gave you something to rewrite the painful narrative that your attacker had spat at you just an hour earlier.
“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark.”
“You’ve seen the unthinkable, are still going, and you think you’re weak? Impossible.”
Once you finally got to the stairs to shower, you tried to swing your leg up, immediately met with a harsh reminder of how bad your bruises would be tomorrow.
A wince parted your lips, sparking from the ache in your right hip and the direct strike it sent to the wound on your torso.
Perhaps you needed Peter’s help after all.
Taking a breath, you felt less hesitant than before to ask for help. It wasn’t like you had anything else to hide—you were tattered and torn up, topless and sticky with blood.
Besides, you were used to walking with the weight of the wounds, at this point. You cut the distance to the kitchen in a matter of slow seconds.
“Whoever attacked her tonight planned this.” Peter’s words made you pause just outside the entryway, hidden behind the wall just beyond. You blinked a bit, immediately feeling the weight of their conversation. “It wasn’t by chance, she was targeted–”
“You don’t know that—” Even as he cut Peter off, your dad’s response was cut short.
“And you don’t either!” Both of the boys in the kitchen held something urgent to their words; the same sense of urgency that laced the undertones between them all evening.
Whatever conversation you were overhearing, you knew in your bones that they didn’t want you to hear it.
Sucks for them.
Peter continued: “The way she’s acting.. Something’s off about what happened.” Your blood froze to ice at the sentence. “And I think she deserves to know why I wasn’t there to defend her tonight.”
Thick silence swelled in the room, and you suddenly feared that your racing heartbeat would interrupt it. You had to remind yourself to breathe, and remind yourself to be quiet.
As tempted as you were to step in and ask questions, you knew that whatever they were keeping from you was more likely to be discovered from where you were.
Somehow, this was something they wanted to hide from you. The secret, whatever it was, made the air around you feel slimmer and heavy all at once. It sent your thoughts into a spiral, and an urge to question the two people closest to you.
“Look, kid. I don’t blame you for what happened tonight.” Tony took words from you that you hadn’t even known how to phrase to Peter yet. It sent a twinge to your heart, draped your panic in sympathy for him.
“I know.” You could tell Peter needed to hear the words, even if he didn’t know how to admit it.
“As much as I agree with your conspiracy theories on Y/N’s attacker, I don’t know if coming clean about everything will solve this.”
Something sunk in you, deflated your spirits. It hurt that they’d hid this from you—whatever it was—and had been lying for God knows how long.
You could hear the jab in Peter’s own optimism when he spoke up again. “Then when do you plan to tell her?” At least, he was trying to come clean.
“I don’t know..” Your dad was honest, and sullen about it. It only added to your confusion.
Perhaps, they weren’t going to tell you ever. Maybe if you just revealed yourself and asked your own questions, you’d actually get somewhere.
Peeling yourself off the wall and taking a few steps into frame, both Peter and your dad were completely oblivious to you.
Despite how you stepped into view, they remained focused on the conversation, and your dad continued. “I’ll tell you what: you tell me how you’d suggest telling Y/N you’re Spider–Man, and I’ll consider it–”
The whole world stopped moving.
“Peter’s what?”
You could’ve thrown up at the realization, at how cold and hollow the room suddenly became. The secret was out, and the quick and wide eyes that fell to you told you just how vital this secret was.
Peter was Spider–Man.
Even as you stared at him, eyes as wide as his, you couldn’t shake it. Your best friend was Spider–Man, working alongside your father and found family.
The two of you held eye contact, trying to read the other. You could read the remorse and apology and panic swelling in his wide–eyed stare, but you hoped that some of the anger building in your own was silently translated regardless.
Your dad tried to clear his throat, tried to slice through the rousing tension between the two of you, but you didn’t break from it in the slightest.
“Dinner’s ready.” Tony tried to make a joke. To joke at a time like this, as if he wasn’t an accomplice. As if he wasn’t keeping this from you, arguably more than Peter had been.
It was the last straw you’d been offering, swiped from your hands and dissipating with your patience.
You scoffed, tears finally finding your eyes. The heat of them was boiled by rage, and you didn’t have the decency to hide it. “Fuck off.”
The room was too hard to stand in. You walked away, reminded of why you were even standing in the kitchen in the first place.
Pain itched its way up your priority list, but you didn’t care; finding a way up the stairs was the least of your worries. You were more concerned with how quickly you could get away.
Especially as you could hear Peter calling after you, following the path you were carving between you.
“Y/N!” He spoke your name like a plea, like it would somehow apologize for all the dirt you’d uncovered. The sound of his voice, however, only seemed to drive you further from him.
It split your heart into more pieces than you knew how to count.
You already battled the insecurity of being weak. A weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark. With all the time you spent in the compound, with your friends and family, you were one of the only powerless people among them. This whole time, you thought Peter understood.
You thought the insecurity was shared, reciprocated.
Clearly, you were wrong and an idiot. You were the only one powerless among them.
It made you feel so stupid; to see all the inside jokes tossed over your head, to see every stupid excuse he made thrown back in your face, and he had the audacity to be sorry?
Damn right, he should be.
Peter’s touch felt like sandpaper to your skin as he reached for your hand. You yanked it out, not bothering to turn around.
You tried to be strong and suck up the pain, wanted more than anything to run up the stairs and lock yourself in your room—two quick steps up the stairwell and the adrenaline wore off. You slowed your pace, fighting off the wincing, and wanting anything but to ask for help from Spider–Man.
“Y/N, please.” His voice broke, and you felt sinister to think him deserving of it. “Please, I– I wanted to tell you, I promise–“
He must’ve been surprised when you turned around, at the speed you pivoted, at how intense your expression came across, because he startled.
Your eyes held no response to the hot tears flooding from them, only holding space for the anger and hurt you didn’t have the energy to hide from him.
“Promise?” The word came out whispered, threatening to break just as his words did. “You promise, just like how we promised to tell each other everything?” You saw each stab of each word and exactly where it hit on him, especially as your voice grew in volume. “Just like how you promised I wasn’t weak, when clearly, you know damn well how ironic that is!”
Twin tears slid down the length of his face, and you caught the subtle tremble in his bottom lip that he tried so hard to hide. “Please..” Now he was the one whispering, and you wish it sounded as satisfying as you wanted it to.
“Don’t fucking sit there and act like you’re the hero here, Peter..” You couldn’t help the growl, couldn’t help the distaste inking down your body. Sure, you’d been hit with a knife just an hour prior in the evening, but you didn’t feel stabbed in the gut until now. “Don’t act like you understand shit about how I’m feeling right now!”
From just beyond, Tony started walking over, stepping quickly. “Hang on, Kid.” He cut in, stopping just a few paces behind Peter. “Don’t blame Peter for this.” His words practically turned up the heat on your burning rage. It was an effort to keep from boiling over. “I was the one who told him to keep quiet.”
The shakiest breath you’d taken all night forced its way down your throat. You finally pulled your eyes from Peter, watching your own father flinch at just how hurt you were. “No, you were the one who decided to be selfish!”
The room had never been so quiet, even the walls and the city beyond hushed to listen.
“I don’t care who you thought you were saving here, but it wasn’t me.” Perhaps rage wasn’t the word you should use to describe the venom dripping off your words. You were seething, a mixture of betrayal and downright distraught.
“I am not useless.” You felt the need to emphasize; to you, or the two faulty in front of you, no one could tell. “I may be the only powerless person in the fuck ass Avengers, but at least I’m fucking honest.”
When you met Peter’s eyes again, you almost couldn’t keep your composure. Maybe he was breaking apart just as quickly as you were, but you didn’t put in effort to hold room for an apology for him. You didn’t see the need to give one at all.
“I’m sorry..” He couldn’t bring his voice above a whisper, above the tremble shaking each breath he took. And watching the way your father’s posture craned in sympathy to it finally gave you a cue to leave. You couldn’t take it anymore.
You glanced between both of them, still ignoring the consistent stream of tears dripping off your nose and chin. “You both fucking should be.”
Holding your head high, you made your way up the stairs, pausing three steps up your trek when you heard a singular step in your direction.
“Don’t fucking follow me.”
And you didn’t look back.
The second you shut and locked your bedroom door, unshakable sobs spilled from your throat and choked you dry. You had never felt so isolated, so alone, and so pained.
Truly, you did not know how it would get better from here, and all you wanted was to be held.
You didn’t even know who you'd talk to about this. This betrayal stretched across every person you trusted, further than your eyesight.
It was stupid, and you blamed yourself, but all you wanted to do was talk to Peter.
Maybe not about it or to confront it right then, but you suddenly missed him and his support. You felt like that had been stripped away from you.
You weren't sure how to trust him anymore, let alone anyone else who hid this from you.
It didn’t help that you replayed countless upon countless interactions—with your father, with Ned, and with Peter Parker Spider–Man himself.
It reminded you of the last time you were mad at Peter, three years prior.
At the Washington Monument.
You remember him flaking on the academic decathlon, and flaking the night before. You were upset because he was obviously hiding something and he wouldn’t tell you what.
“You promised we’d hang out tonight.” You remember calling after him, walking half the length of the hotel hallway after him, too. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week!”
Peter was a pro at walking backwards, then and now, and as you always knew him to be. Even as you knew him as a klutz, even as it led him to keep walking away from you. “I’ll be back soon. I promise!”
It felt unfair to him to get frustrated with him, but you were. You were upset. “What? So your promises mean nothing?”
That got him to stop.
“What? No!” Defense, immediately. His eyes displayed more apology than his lips did, taking steps towards you. “I just.. I have to go, and I can explain it later–”
Your head shook at him. Whatever sparked you to feel upset had been growing for a while. It had been growing since he started ditching you a few months prior. “That’s what you said last time.” There was hurt in your voice, and you know he heard it.
“But I–”
“We promised to tell each other everything.” You recalled your childhood together, your friendship before you started growing up. The two of you had known each other since elementary school, so changes like this was inevitable. It wasn't fair to hold him to the same standards you used to. “But if you want to go, don’t expect me to be buddy-buddy when you get back.”
You remember how it felt to walk away, but you remembered how it felt to hear him leave even more. That was harmful.
He was entitled to grow up, just as you were, but the shifty way he started growing distant from you got you overthinking.
It got you nervous that maybe he was seeing someone, and that hurt more than anything else. Especially that he was hiding it from you.
What sucked the most was that Peter wasn’t back soon, or even that night.
In fact, he wasn’t even at the academic decathlon.
Part of you was relieved to get space from him, seeing how difficult all these feelings were to process; another part worried about him, but every time your anxiety would fester, something would serve a reminder of why you were upset in the first place.
You won the decathlon without him. As you should.
After that, your team went to the Washington Monument, and Ned swore that Peter would meet you all there.
“Look!” Ned tried to convince you, tried to break your unamused expression. “His location says he’s almost here.” And the phone screen he flashed at you proved honesty. Peter was minutes away.
Before you could muster a response, Ned’s screen changed, and Peter was calling him.
There was an awkward exchange of glances between the two of you before Ned answered the call and you walked through the metal detectors.
“Peter, are you okay?” You couldn’t help but eavesdrop. You missed a phrase or two while security patted down your blazer. All you caught was Ned muttering a subtle “I covered for you,” and then Liz Allen taking the phone from his hands.
Something hollow carved into your stomach at the sight, and you began to speculate whether Liz was the girl he was sneaking off with or not.
You didn’t wait to find out. You walked right into the elevator, joining the rest of your decathlon group.
You didn’t remember much about the trip up the elevator, all you remember was light emitting out of Ned’s backpack and something radioactive blasting right into the roof of the cart.
Suddenly, with trembling limbs and a newfound panic, your squabble with Peter Parker seemed more than minuscule. Regret was quick to fill that hollowing pit in your gut.
You’d blacked out a lot of those scarce moments in the elevator. But you remembered when it was safe enough to move, the security guard began to open the hatch at the top of the elevator cart, and one by one help your classmates out.
It wasn’t until there were four of you left in the elevator that it finally fell down the shaft towards your demise. There, in that Monument, you would die with Ned, Liz, and your teacher, Mister Harrington, you were sure of it.
You’d never forget the relief you’d felt at the sight of red and blue rushing toward you, plummeting quicker than you were, and webbing your way to safety.
It felt odd to look back on, knowing now that it was Peter who pulled that elevator up to your safety. How you were only concerned then with apologizing to Peter Parker, who glanced at you there from beneath that mask, completely unbeknownst to you.
Once he’d gotten you up to the top of the Monument, Ned was the first to leap out to safety, then Mister Harrington. The two of them helped Liz get out, and to your luck, just as you took a step forward, the webs above you snapped.
You and Spider–Man fell with a blood curdling scream breaking through you.
“NO!!” He called after you, and quickly shot a web up to the roof again. His other arm reached out toward you, webbing your wrist rather quickly, keeping you from falling any further.
“It’s okay. You’re okay– I got you. You're okay..” He told you, his tone as gentle and soft as you knew it to be; yet, not a single thought crossed your mind that it was Peter Parker.
You shakily dangled beneath him as he tugged you up from that web. You fought to look up at him, to keep yourself from looking down; you fought to keep the tears at bay as the shock flooded from your system.
The second your hands touched, he pulled you up and into him. You wasted no time before wrapping your arms around him, hugging him for dear life. And it made sense, now, why he felt so familiar—why his warmth was so comforting, and why his arm around your waist felt like it belonged there.
He held you securely, lulling those reassurances to you, pulling the two of you up to safety at the top of that Monument.
Just before he set you down, you held him tighter. “Pe–Peter!” You gasped, and felt every muscle beneath your hold tense.
Now, you knew why.
You pulled back from his arms, “Peter Parker, my– my best friend! He was on his way over here.” Your voice shook as you explained, but watching him carefully set you on the ground helped to steady yourself a little. “Can you make sure– Could you make sure that he’s okay?”
Looking back, the reason why Spider–Man gaped at you so long must’ve been Peter contemplating whether or not to tell you who he was right then and there. He stared at you, beneath that mask, for what felt like minutes.
He gave a singular, upside down, nod. “I can do that, ma’am.” And his thick, Bronx, accent threw you off more than you wanted to admit.
Then he fell down the empty shaft of the elevator.
You’d never forget the moment he found you after that.
You had just gotten out of the Monument. With a shaky hand, you went through your phone to track Peter’s location. It said he was a matter of meters from you, but you couldn’t spot him in the crowd.
Just as you went to ask Ned, Peter’s voice hollered out, calling your name.
Both of you turned in his direction, the crowd of people parting for him as he ran over to you, catching you in a bone–crushing hug. One of his hands cradled your head into his chest, and the other kept itself snug around your waist, just like Spider–Man had earlier. "I'm so glad you're okay.." He whispered it into your hairline, just for you to keep.
The world washed away in the arms of Peter Parker. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him, too, hugging him effortlessly closer. Apologies from your argument the night before fell from your lips, and he also followed suit.
You recalled that memory as something that defined how you and Peter operated—no matter what, you couldn’t stay mad at him.
You would always find a way to forgive him.
Now, remembering the incident was a bit more haunting. There was no telling how you and Peter would come back from this, nor just how long you’d go without each other.
And you didn't think Spider–Man would get you out of it, this time.
tag–list: @yourfavoritefangirl @inkedeye2345 @wxnterwidow333 @generalmoonpolice @elianamarie-blog
comment for the part three tag list;)
read part three here.
















