Peter Parker Oneshots

Peter Parker had always known how to manage his senses. From the moment the radioactive spider changed his life, he’d become intimately aware of every buzz, hum, and pulse that New York sent his way. But it wasn't just the enhanced senses that complicated things—Peter had always been sensitive to stimuli. Long before his powers, he learned to navigate the world through touch, sound, and light, each with their own intensity.

Tonight, the mission with the Avengers was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate an abandoned Hydra base and secure intel. No big deal, right? He’d done it before. But Peter's nerves were already shot from a long day of tests at school, and as soon as he stepped foot into the facility, the flickering fluorescent lights, the echo of footsteps, and the constant low hum of machinery started to press in on him.

"Everything alright, kid?" Tony’s voice came through the comms, calm and steady as always.

Peter forced a smile behind his mask, forgetting for a moment that nobody actually had eyes on him. "Yeah, Mr. Stark. Just… you know. Lots of noise."

"Keep it up, kid. We're right behind you."

Peter nodded, even though Tony couldn’t see him. He tightened his grip on his web-shooters and focused on the mission. He could do this.

As they moved deeper into the facility, Peter could feel his heart beating faster. The lights were too bright, the echoes too sharp, and his suit felt suffocating. His hands twitched, needing something to hold, something to ground him, but there was nothing except for the growing  noise in his head and the incessant noise of Hydra agents' heartbeats filtering through the walls.

His vision blurred for a moment, the overwhelming stimuli pressing harder, suffocating. He stopped, gripping the wall for support. He could feel a meltdown building, a heavy but urgent thing that made him feel as though the world was closing in.

"Kid? Parker? What's going on?" Tony’s voice was louder now, filled with concern. Peter flinched, the coms seeming to send big enough soundwaves through his ears that he could practically feel them hitting his brain.

But before Peter could respond, the floor beneath him dropped–A trapdoor. He tried to shoot a web to stop his fall, but his fingers were trembling so violently that he missed. He crashed into a dimly lit room beneath the base.

Disoriented and with the noise still buzzing in his head, Peter didn't have time to react as Hydra agents rushed in. They seized him, binding his wrists with thick vibranium restraints.

The world was still too loud. Too sharp. Too much.

Through the haze of sensory hell, Peter barely registered the dull, rhythmic throb of his captors' voices, but one thing stood out: they’d found out he was Spider-Man. Oh man, oh this is NOT good, he thought, dread sinking in.

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Peter was strapped down tight, metal restraints biting into his wrists and ankles. His head pounded, each heartbeat crashing in his skull like a drum, syncing with the pulsing lights that flickered overhead. The world was too loud—too bright—and no matter how hard he tried to focus, everything slipped away in the chaos.

"Looks like Spider-Man doesn't like the light," a Hydra agent sneered. He circled Peter like a predator, his eyes narrowing as he observed Peter's every twitch, every flinch. Every few moments, he'd chuckle to himself, running his fingers through his greasy black hair. "Interesting. You’re different, aren’t you? One of those twitchy little mutants."

Peter gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the taunting. He could feel the buildup of tension in his chest, the familiar sensation of pure overwhelm creeping closer. His mask had been ripped away from him hours ago, exposing his vulnerability—his identity—to his captors. He hated it.

“Don't worry,” the man continued, stepping in closer. "We’ll certainly make accommodations to our methods just for you." A little smile etched itself into his lined face.

He barked an order, and suddenly, the lights above Peter began to strobe violently. White-hot flashes shot into his eyes, each one seemingly more blinding than the last. Peter gasped, his head jerking to the side, but there was no escape. The restraints held him in place, trapping him under the assault of light.

"Please-” Peter mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut, but the bursts of light still pierced themselves through his eyelids, creating starbursts of agony behind his vision.

“Hmm, what was that?” the agent leaned in, his voice cold. “Did you say something, o great Spider-Man?”

Peter clenched his fists, trying to focus, trying to push down the rising panic, but it was nearing impossible. The lights were relentless, and just as he thought it couldn't get worse, a high-pitched screech tore through the room. It was a sound unlike anything Peter had ever heard—sharp, shrill, like nails on a chalkboard amplified a thousand times, like dentists drills had been implanted directly into his brain. His whole body jerked, his muscles seizing as the sound drilled into his head. Peter let out a strangled cry, unable to stop it. His chest heaved, the overwhelm of light, sound, and pain crashing over him in waves.

“Oh no, what's wrong, little boy?” the agent sneered, his voice cruel and mocking. “Too much? PoOr wiDdle BaBy can’t handle it?” He pulled a leather-bound knife from his belt, and began making thin, consistent slashes across Peter's cheeks.

Peter’s world was spinning, all the input too much for his brain to process. His mind splintered, trying to escape the pain, but there was no refuge. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body twitching uncontrollably as wave after wave of panic swept him further away from the present. The agent’s laugh echoed through the room, a cold, detached sound. He snapped his fingers, and the lights and sound stopped, plunging the room into a tense silence. Peter’s body sagged in the chair, every muscle trembling from the sudden reprieve.

But it didn’t last.

The agent grabbed a handful of Peter’s hair, jerking his head up so their eyes met, contact inescapable. “Oh, we’re not done yet,” he whispered, his voice filled with malice.

Peter tried to pull away, but he had nothing left. His whole body felt raw, every nerve exposed and aching.

The agent nodded to someone in the shadows, and in the next moment, a series of harsh, rough rope-like things were dragged across Peter’s exposed arms. The sensation was excruciating. Every fiber of the rough material scraped against his hypersensitive skin, like sandpaper tearing him apart. No - it was sandpaper, grating on his skin, removing layer after layer in quick succession.

Peter gasped, his throat too dry to form words, his mind too scattered to fight back. It felt like fire crawling across his skin, each rough drag setting off explosions of pain in his already overwhelmed senses.

“I see you're easily susceptible to touch too,” the agent observed, his tone clinical now, as if Peter was nothing more than a broken experiment. “We’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Peter’s vision blurred with tears, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. His body shook uncontrollably, his mind trying desperately to escape the onslaught, but there was nowhere to go. He was trapped, surrounded by light, sound, and pain. Blood poured from the wounds that criss crossed his chest and arms, leaving behind deep lacerations that ached like hell. The cuts on his face stung, but those would heal in time.

The agent leaned in close, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “We’re going to break you, Spider-Man. Piece. By. Piece.” And with that, he abruptly delivered a series of brutal slashes to Peter's wrists, leaving the boy hazy and whining in distress. Peter’s vision faded at the man's last words, his world turning to darkness as he finally lost consciousness. But even in the blackness, the remnants of the torture clung to him—the ghost of sensations that wouldn’t let go.

He couldn't even form coherent thoughts anymore—just fragments of pain and noise, vibrating endlessly in his head—yet somewhere, deep in his mind, Peter knew they were far from finished.

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Tony had been tracking Peter’s movements the moment his vitals spiked. Something had to have gone wrong. Peter's biosignature had gone dark, and Tony was losing patience with even his own creation. He stood in the Avengers’ briefing room, his eyes fixed on the holographic projection of the Hydra base. He'd gone over it a hundred times in the last two hours, analyzing every entry point, every security measure, every possible route to get Peter out. His heart was pounding, though he did his best to hide it. He couldn’t show weakness now, not when Peter needed him.

“Their defenses are tight,” Natasha said, leaning forward, her sharp gaze sweeping over the projection. “It’s a highly secure facility. They’ve got everything from EMP shields to motion-activated sensors. It’s not going to be easy.”

“I don’t care how hard it is,” Tony snapped, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. “We’re getting him out.”

The room fell silent. No one questioned Tony when he was in this state. They all knew how much Peter meant to him. He wasn’t just the team’s secret weapon—he was like a son to Tony, even if the genius inventor never outright said it.

Steve Rogers stepped up beside Tony, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get him back,” he said, voice firm but calm. “But we need to be smart about this. They’re expecting us. If we go in guns blazing, they could hurt him.”

Tony clenched his fists, his thoughts racing. Nobody was saying it, but he was certain they were thinking it - hurt him more than they already have. The numerical evidence of Peter clearly being tortured—his vitals spiking, the signal going dark—had burned themselves into his mind. The kid was suffering, and every second they wasted was another second Peter was in pain.

“I’ll lead the charge,” Tony said after a beat, his voice low and determined. “I can take the brunt of their defense systems. Cap, you and the others provide cover and neutralize the guards. Nat, you’re on extraction. As soon as I clear the path, you get Peter and get him the hell out of there. I won't be far behind.”

“Got it,” Natasha nodded, her expression grim. She’d been through countless missions like this, but even she knew this one was personal. “What about interior security?”

“I’ll handle that,” Tony replied, already running through the possibilities in his mind. “FRIDAY’s analyzing their system now. Once I’m inside, I can disable the worst of it.”

Thor stepped forward, his hammer resting casually on his shoulder. “And what of the Hydra vermin? Shall we show them the might of Asgard?”

“We hit them hard and fast,” Steve answered before Tony could respond. “No mercy.”

The plan was laid out in less than fifteen minutes, but to Tony, it felt like an eternity. He needed to move, needed to get Peter back. There was no room for error, and even Steve clearly knew that - mercy was his whole thing. The quinjet hummed as it flew low over the forest surrounding the Hydra base. Tony stood at the open hatch, already in his Iron Man suit, his eyes narrowed in determination. The Avengers were positioned around him, ready for action.

“ETA two minutes,” Natasha called from the cockpit.

Tony’s pulse quickened. Hold on, kid, he thought, his heart heavy with guilt and fear. We’re coming.

The moment they touched down, Tony shot out of the jet, his repulsors blasting him into the sky. The Hydra base loomed in the distance, a fortress of steel and concrete hidden beneath layers of security. But none of that mattered.

“FRIDAY, disable their external defenses,” Tony ordered, his voice cold as he descended toward the base.

“Already on it, boss,” FRIDAY responded smoothly.

A series of explosions echoed in the distance as Tony’s systems overrode the base’s shields, creating a massive hole in their outer perimeter. It wasn’t subtle, but subtlety wasn’t the plan tonight. Steve, Natasha, Thor, and Bucky followed closely behind, their movements swift and precise as they took down the Hydra soldiers guarding the base.

Inside, Tony’s heart pounded louder in his ears. He flew through the corridors, blasting open locked doors and incapacitating anyone who got in his way. His HUD tracked every heat signature in the building, searching desperately for Peter’s.

Finally, he found it—deep in the heart of the base, far below ground level. He frowned, seeing Peter's temperature was registered to be lower than normal.

“I’ve got his location!” Tony barked through the comms. “Nat, Steve—get to sublevel three. That’s where they’re keeping him.”

Natasha and Steve were already moving, their footsteps light but quick as they tore through the base, avoiding Hydra patrols and setting off smoke bombs to obscure their movements. Tony was barely aware of the chaos around him. His mind was laser-focused on getting to Peter, on finding him before it was too late. Natasha reached the door first, crouching low as she bypassed the electronic lock. 

“I’m in,” she whispered through the comms.

The door slid open with a faint hiss, revealing the cold, sterile room beyond. And there, in the center of it, was Peter—bound to a vibranium chair with his head hanging low, his body trembling violently, scars already forming on his cheeks and blood pouring from his wrists and chest.

“Oh маленький паук, (little spider)” Natasha whispered, rushing forward.

Peter flinched at the sound of the door opening, his body instinctively trying to curl in on itself, but the restraints held him down. His breathing was shallow, ragged, as though he had been fighting to survive for hours.

“Peter,” Natasha whispered, kneeling beside him, her hands working quickly to free him from the restraints. “It’s me. We’ve got you.”

Peter’s eyes flickered open, glazed over with pain and exhaustion. He looked at Natasha, his lips trembling, but no words came out. He was still lost in the aftermath of the torture, his senses frayed and raw.

“It’s okay,” Natasha murmured, her voice gentle as she freed his broken flesh from the wrist restraints and pulled him into her arms. “We’re taking you home.”

Tony landed beside them just as Peter’s head slumped against Natasha’s shoulder, his body limp and unresponsive. For a moment, Tony couldn’t move. He just stared at his kid—the kid who’d been through hell and still always tried to hold it together.

“Peter,” Tony whispered, kneeling beside him, his gauntlet brushing against Peter’s cheek. “Hey, kid. Can you hear me?”

Peter didn’t respond, his eyes drifting closed. He was alive, but barely hanging on.

“Let’s get him out of here,” Steve said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Tony scooped Peter up in his arms, cradling him against his chest. The kid was so light, so fragile. And the sight of him like this, broken and beaten, twisted something deep in Tony’s chest. He swore to himself then and there, as they made their way back to the quinjet, that no one would ever hurt Peter again. Not as long as he was around. The Avengers moved swiftly, making their escape before Hydra reinforcements could arrive. The base was a wreck, no information had been gathered, but Tony didn’t care. All that mattered was the boy in his arms.

As the quinjet lifted off, Peter’s head rested against Tony’s shoulder, his breathing almost nearing a normal rate. Two people dressed in scrubs approached, and gently aided in sliding the boy's limp form onto a stretcher.

“I’ve got you,” Tony whispered, his voice soft as he held Peter's hand and the jet's medical team swarmed him. “You’re safe now.”