#She still has her armband on her left arm cause she is my medic baby

[shinmiyovvi]

wip of Lena's outfit

[ghostprincess]

Sweet Things, Ch. 5 (Mysterio x Reader)

Summary: (This is the final chapter!) Mysterio kidnaps Y/N Parker as leverage against Peter, as well as because he has taken a liking to her. But the longer she stays with him, the more twisted her reality becomes, until it’s nothing but him. Will Peter be able to save her before it’s too late? Dark!fic, Stockholm Syndrome, dub-con, etc.

Warnings: (first and foremost there are scenes that could be interpreted as self harm so trigger warning), ffh spoilers, some sexual content but nothing graphic, emotional distress, blood, violence, mysterio’s just a mess

I lay still on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as I waited for my body to recover. 

What just happened?

It all felt like a fever dream. 

Maybe it was an illusion, I thought. Or maybe it was just a dream, there’s no way he would ever do that, right? 

The shock began to wear away eventually, the pain shooting through my body confirming that it was, in fact, real. It really happened. 

I’m gonna be sick.

I got up and stumbled into the bathroom, falling down to my knees over the toilet just as I began to heave. The lack of food in my body made itself known when the only substances I threw up were bile and vodka, and when the heaving stopped, I somehow felt even worse than before. 

I flushed the toilet and pushed myself off the ground, looking up into the mirror at my naked body. My neck was mottled with red and purple, hickeys and bite marks splotched around like paint on a canvas. My chest had a few red marks and my hips had hand-shaped bruises forming on top of them. The gauze that had once covered my wrists was wrinkled and beginning to peel off from Quentin’s manhandling. 

I ripped the bandages off in anger, throwing the bloodied gauze to the ground. Looking down, I noticed the tears in my skin that had begun to scab over were now torn wide open, the once yellowing bruises now an angry hue of violet.

I heaved again when I finally noticed the dried white substance stained on my thighs and between my legs, tears gathering in my eyes. I collapsed in front of the toilet and threw up again as the weight of what I’d just done hit me. 

I did it willingly. Why didn’t I stop him? 

You love him, a voice whispered deep within my subconscious.

The memories of his hands around my throat and his lips on mine wouldn’t leave and my conflicted feelings were at war. I sobbed into my hands.

Minutes that felt like hours passed, and once I calmed down a bit, I pushed myself up and walked over to the shower. The porcelain of the bathtub was still damp from the bath Quentin had given me earlier, and I shuddered at the memory. I imagined him helping me into the shower, his arms around me under the warm water and holding me close as I cried into his shoulder—

I shook my head, snapping out of the fantasy. He was the one who made me feel this way, so why would I ever want to go to him for comfort? The knowledge that something was very wrong with me ate at the back of my mind but I ignored it in favor of getting clean.

I turned the water on and stepped into the spray, hugging myself. The cold water stung like needles piercing my skin but it grounded me. 

I grabbed the bar of soap from the ledge and began to scrub myself relentlessly. I focused particularly between my legs and on my thighs, and sobbed as I cleaned the evidence from my skin. I felt dirty and used, but even the soap couldn’t make me feel clean.

I ran the soap over my arms, nearly screaming as my wrist wounds were cleaned out. The stinging, stabbing pain was worse than anything I’d felt so far and I nearly passed out when blood began to pour from them once again. 

Too much. Too much blood.

I quickly turned the shower off and scrambled to the cold floor outside, haphazardly wrapping a towel around myself as I opened the cabinet beneath the sink. 

I rummaged around, feeling for any medical supplies, and finally found Quentin’s first aid kit, pulling it out. My head spun from a mixture of seeing my own blood and my ever-present hangover, and I nearly fell over again.

I grabbed the first thing I saw— ace bandages— and wrapped one around each of my wrists tightly. The fabric was stained with my bloody fingerprints and I knew I had not treated the wounds correctly, but I couldn’t bring myself to care as I sobbed on the cold, wet bathroom floor. 

———

The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled me out of the haze I was in and I barely had time to pull the towel over my body before Quentin walked into the bathroom, his eyes scanning the room quickly. I closed my eyes as he walked over and kneeled in front of me.

“Aw, baby, what happened?” He asked apologetically, and I shuddered. How could he sound so genuine?

“You made a mess, honey,” he continued, and I flinched.

“I— I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to,” I squeaked, finally meeting his gaze, and he grinned. 

“Let me help you,” he said, in the same tone as before, and I broke, clinging onto him and sobbing as if he were some sort of savior. 

He made no move to reciprocate besides sliding his arms underneath me and carrying me bridal style into the bedroom. He sat me down on the bed but my trembling arms were locked around him.

“It’s okay. It’ll all be over soon,” he soothed, and I felt my stomach drop.

“W-what will?” I asked, leaning back and looking at him. He sighed.

“We’re doing an attack on London, and then I won’t have to do as much convincing to prove to the world that I’m the hero.”

“Attack? You’re not gonna k-kill anyone, right?” My teeth chattered from the cold and Quentin seemed sadistically appreciative of my discomfort, twirling a strand of my hair again.

“There’ll be lots of casualties, but more casualties means more coverage.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, and I felt my lips responding, my eyes closing, until he pulled away with a maniacal grin. “Maybe I’ll even let you watch.” 

My stomach felt like it was doing somersaults as I stared at him, contemplating what he had just said. 

I could play along and escape, tell Fury what happened, get Beck locked up. 

But I could just stay here, where I don’t have to worry about anything.

I could rebuild some semblance of a normal life, get my job back, pursue my dreams of becoming—

I don’t want to leave him, I could never do that to him—

“When is it?” I asked. 

———

“Don’t make them too tight. I don’t need anyone seeing cuff marks on her hands after I save her,” Quentin called, his back turned to me as he fiddled with the screen mounted on his left arm. 

It had been two weeks since he had told me about the plan, and I was unbearably, unbelievably tired. My body was sore from Quentin’s affinity for manhandling me, his hands bruised into my hips and neck.

“These are just for precaution, okay?” The man with glasses said apologetically as he clicked a handcuff around my right wrist. I nodded solemnly and he attached the other handcuff to the metal railing. I was sitting on the ground, my back against the wall inside some large overpass structure, overlooking the city. We were in London, I knew that much, and Quentin was stationed in there with me, dressed in a black and grey motion-capture suit and donning a half-helmet that resembled Mysterio’s.

“William, she’s fine, get to your position,” Quentin said impatiently, and the man nodded quickly, disappearing through a door. 

“Just think about it. I’ll be a hero, Y/N. And you’ll be the tortured soul who I healed, the damsel in distress who I saved. It’s so tragic that you lost your family to the Elementals, but think about it! How much better can a story get? I saved you from your own self-destruction, avenged your family for you, and now we’re in love.” He looked at me and smirked, and my stomach twisted. I shakily smiled back.

“You’ll be the best, Quentin,” I said, and he laughed, kneeling down next to me. 

“If you’re good, when this ends, I’ll fuck you good and hard, would you like that?” He murmured, and I whimpered, nodding. I really did want him, didn’t I? Fuck. 

I tried to convince myself that I was just playing along, but it didn’t feel true. My escape plans were slowly dwindling away from my mind as I imagined the life I could have with him.

I had nothing left, what else was there to lose? Could I be selfish just this once and give in to my desire to feel some sort of love? After all, the world had caused both Quentin and I so much pain, the world had killed my family and most of the Avengers, so why should I care what destruction Mysterio would bring to it…?

Focus, Y/N. When he turns, start trying to loosen the cuff. 

Quentin stood up and walked a few feet away, turning his back to me as he began to tap at his armband again.

“Cue lightning,” he said into his earpiece, and a huge bolt struck, shaking the ground. 

I started to twist and wiggle my hand, hoping to loosen the handcuff enough to slip my hand out. He’d be too busy to bother watching me while he orchestrated the attack, and I could slip away, run to safety before he even noticed I was missing.

The handcuff slipped a bit, loosening by a notch, but luckily Quentin spoke again, drowning out the small metallic click.

“Now that is an Avengers-level threat,” he said in awe. A loud roar sounded from outside and I could only see out the tops of the windows, where a large black sky was swirling with lightning, fire, and sand.

BOOM.

Another bolt of lightning struck and I flinched, momentarily reminded of the sound of Peter being shot, falling to the ground…

I need to get out of here. 

I tugged at the handcuff a little more frantically as Quentin’s demeanor unhinged more and more.

“I have drones breaking formation,” he suddenly exclaimed, seeming worried. 

Please, please have the drones fail, or an Avenger stop him, please…

“I’m gonna take a look inside, just to be sure,” he said, then began to swipe on the screen casually, staying calm— he went rigid, staring in anger at the screen, then looking up to glare at the monster.

“Yeah. And I’m gonna kill him,” he said to whoever was on the earpiece, and I craned my neck, trying to get a good look at the screen.

“What’s wrong?” I asked tentatively as he nearly shook with rage. Quentin turned around and opened his mouth to reply, but stopped himself, looking back down to swipe at his screen.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong. I—I’m handling it,” he stammered. 

He’d never acted like that before, so what had happened that he couldn’t even tell me? Me, who would probably never see the light of day again after his public “rescue” of me, who could tell no one?

After a few minutes of pacing and tapping at his screen, he became frantic, turning to me with wild eyes and walking over to kneel in front of me.

“Change of plans. I’ll wake you up when it’s over,” he said, pulling a syringe out of a holster on his belt. Before I could protest, he stabbed the needle painfully into the left side of my neck, beginning to inject me with the same drug he had used before, and the world seemed to spin in slow motion. 

A flash of red and black caught my eye, and I heard the sound of glass shattering as I closed my eyes. The needle was ripped from my neck and I heard the syringe clatter to the ground next to me as I whimpered in pain. I opened my eyes to look down at it; he had only managed to inject half the contents into my bloodstream. 

“Show’s over, Beck!” A similar voice called out, and my heart sank. 

Peter.

Quentin had given me just enough sedative to make me hallucinate, apparently, and I closed my eyes as my heartbreak began to surface once again. 

“This certainly isn’t ideal, but I have contingencies,” Quentin said to someone snarkily. A few more crashing sounds broke through the air and I winced, trying to pull myself away from the noise, but something around my wrist was holding me back, and I couldn’t even cover my ears—

“Stop, too loud,” I slurred lazily, wincing as another crash shook my eardrums. 

“Y/N?” Peter’s voice called out, just like before, he’s gonna die, I screamed and curled into a ball, no more, no more, Quentin please stop—

“What did you do to her?” Peter’s voice cracked as he roared in anger, that was new, is this a new projection, please don’t die this time, and the sounds of fighting rang out once again. 

I drowned the noise out, closing my eyes as sleep pulled at my mind, the stupid fucking drug…

The next thing I heard was loud gunfire, right in front of me, and I jerked up, wide awake. The drones were all in a formation, projecting something as Quentin watched in anger, but the projections concealed whoever he was fighting. 

I looked up at the cuff around my wrist, then began to rip the gauze out from underneath it, exposing the scabbed and stitched wounds from previously, now’s my chance.

I shakily picked up the syringe that had fallen next to me and gritted my teeth, then started to hack painfully at the stitches with the needle.

If I bled enough, I could slip my hand out and run.

The pain was excruciating and I tried to ignore the thought of how ugly the scars would be from repeatedly injuring myself as I mutilated my own body. 

Finally, finally, blood began to drop steadily down my hand and arm; I cried in pain at the stabbing agony, but the blood was working, my hand was slipping out. 

With one final tug, I yanked my hand out of the handcuff, letting out a sob of relief. 

“FIRE ALL THE DRONES NOW!” Quentin suddenly screamed.

He looked up at me in shock and anger, walking quickly towards me, and I whimpered in fear, please don’t hurt me—

A final loud crash and the sound gunfire began again, causing me to flinch and cover my ears. Quentin suddenly screamed and I looked up just as a huge blow ripped into my stomach, slamming me back against the wall. It felt like a punch to the gut, but as I looked down, I saw the red soaking my shirt, then felt the pain. 

I’d been shot, and instead of panicking, a part of me felt relieved at the idea of not having to deal with the pain anymore.

I collapsed to the ground on my side and looked up at the scene before me. All the projections were gone from the drones, Quentin lay collapsed on the ground, and— Peter?

I didn’t realize I had spoken until his head whipped towards me and he scrambled to help me up, tears pouring down his face. 

“Y/N,” he sobbed, pulling me into a tight embrace, and I lethargically rested my head on his shoulder. Is this Heaven? Is he here to reunite with me and lead me into the afterlife?

Please be real, I thought, and closed my eyes in acceptance.

“I trusted you, Beck, and you lied to me,” Peter said, turning away. He rested me down on the ground again and I opened my eyes as he walked towards Quentin angrily.

“I- I know. That’s the most disappointing p-part,” Quentin replied. 

He was covered in blood, clutching his stomach, and I felt my heart drop as I realized what had happened to him.

Tears blurred my vision and I struggled to wipe them away, but suddenly a loud BANG sounded. 

Peter was holding Quentin by the wrist, a gun pointing up to the ceiling, and the gun clattered to the ground unceremoniously. Peter ripped the glasses off of Quentin’s face and began to speak, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Quentin. 

His face contorted in agony and we made eye contact, his eyes softening as he scanned my body and realized what had happened.

Neither of us spoke, just stared at each other in an eerie silence, punctuated by Peter’s frantic yelling as he tried to take back control of the AI. 

“Y/N? Y/N, wake up, are you with me?” Peter said, suddenly kneeling over me, tears pouring down his face. I rolled my eyes up to look at his face and smiled weakly at his attempts to put pressure on my wound.

“I’m ready now,” I said. “I missed you.”

“W-what? You’re ready for what? Y/N?” He screamed, shaking me back and forth. I closed my eyes and slipped into nothingness, and felt no pain. 

———

A bright light was shining through my eyelids and I groaned, lifting my arm to cover my eyes.

The window in Quentin’s room was directly in the path of morning sunlight, and after waking up to it for two weeks, I’d had enough. 

“Y/N?” A voice called beside me, and I jumped, my eyes shooting open. 

I wasn’t in Quentin’s dull, grey room; this room was all white, a steady beeping noise sounding from behind me, a blue curtain to my right, Peter to my left.

“P-Peter?” I whimpered, and the beeping noise began to become more frantic as my heart rate spiked. “You’re alive?” I gasped, tears pouring uncontrollably from my eyes, and I reached out for him. He immediately reached back and I pulled him into my embrace, ignoring the pain in my abdomen as I hugged him tightly and sobbed. 

I ran my fingers repeatedly through his hair, he’s real, he’s really here, I can feel him.

The rest of the day consisted of Peter catching me up on everything that had happened while I was held in captivity. He’d finally started dating MJ, May and Happy were dating, Peter was alive.

I couldn’t contain my joy until Peter told me what had happened on the bridge.

“He- he’s not dead.” I shook my head frantically, feeling panic creep up my spine.

“Y/N, don’t worry, okay? He is. I asked EDITH—“

“Y-you don’t know what he can do,” I gasped, becoming hysterical. “He faked it, Peter, he’s not dead.” 

Two nurses came running in as the heart monitor began to beep frantically, one trying to hold Peter back and talk to him while the other fiddled with my IV to sedate me. 

“Don’t believe what he makes you see,” I said, and then the drugs pulled me under.