The Hero’s Bodyguard (Peter Parker x Reader [FEDA])
Day two of @spidermanfeda FEDA challenge! It’s late, so technically it’s day three, but I want to try to get these posted even if they’re late. Hopefully I can stick to that….
Summary: Stark is always worried about Peter Parker, so much so that he hires Reader to be his secret bodyguard. (The relationship between Peter and Reader is purely platonic.)
Warning: Poorly described fight scene. (If there is anything you need tagged, let me know. I want you to be comfortable reading my work.)
When Mr. Stark had hired you to look after Peter Parker, you hadn’t expected to actually need to use your particular set of skills.
You were being paid to pose as a student teacher in Peter’s chemistry class, and despite your initial worry about being too unattached to teens nowadays—you were barely twenty, but you had to form some sort of detachment when you went into the bounty hunting business—you seemed to fit in stupendously. The teachers liked you, the kids thought you were pretty cool, and most importantly, Peter didn’t suspect a thing.
Until a Hydra agent wiggles their way into the school system pretending to be a new History teacher.
Mr. Lernaean had been at the school for a few weeks, and despite his best efforts, you were surprised he hadn’t been found out yet. The man was too conspicuous for his own good, much less someone that was supposed to be undercover, and you figured this was his first mission—especially because of how young he was. Nonetheless, you kept a close eye on him, and to your surprise, it wasn’t until his fifth week that he slipped up.
You were helping pass out papers when Mr. Lernaean asked for Peter on the guise of looking over his World War II paper. The request hadn’t seemed suspicious, but the words leaving Peter’s lips as he looked at his friend in confusion definitely did.
“I thought we weren’t starting on that paper until Friday?”
Ned shrugs just as confused, and with a defeated sigh, Peter makes his way out of the classroom. You wait a few beats before supplying the teacher with a flimsy excuse, and then you’re rushing after the boy.
You make it to Mr. Lernaean’s room just in time to see the older man throw Peter into the chalkboard on the wall. A strangled yelp falls from Peter’s lips as he crashes to the floor, and he scrambles to deflect the next attack the agent means to subject him to.
You catch the blow without hesitation before the agent has a chance to step towards Peter, your free hand grabbing the man’s neck in a firm hold.
For a moment, it’s completely silent as the two boys try to process the fact that their little squabble had been intervened.
“Ms. (Y/L/N)?” Peter squeaks finally, breaking the tension in time with the agent’s eyes going dark with rage.
You don’t flinch despite his attempts at being intimidating, only burying your nails into his neck a little deeper and lightly twisting the hand he had tried to use to throw a punch.
“Peter, would you be a dear and close the door?” You ask, your voice soft and sickly sweet.
In his haze, Peter gets up and turns to do as instructed without hesitation.
The second his back is turned to you, you spring into action.
You release the agent’s throat, using the newly freed hand to jam your fist into his solar plexus. Not giving him time to wheeze, you allow the momentum of the previous hit to guide you as you turn to your side with his hand still in your grasp.
As he tries to pry himself from you, you raise your elbow before slamming it down into the curve of his arm until there’s a distinct crack, and your hand slaps over his lips before he has time to scream.
You see the slap coming, but you have no time to react before the back of his hand collides with your cheek. You give a short grunt as you stumble into the flow of movement before you jump at him again, locking your legs around his waist and dragging him to the ground with your body weight.
Your back hits the tile flooring with a loud thwack! and you can’t help but wince in pain. Regardless, you wrap an arm around the man’s neck, using your free hand to hold it securely in place until he stops fighting. After waiting a few more seconds, you release your hold, and he lays limp by your side.
Finally, Peter turns away from the door.
You don’t pay him any mind as you stand to your feet, fixing your messy hair and straightening your clothes. Grunting, you drag the man to the corner of the room before tossing him onto the teacher’s desk, stapling a note explaining the situation and taping the his hands together—being cautious of his injured arm—and mouth shut.
Finally, you turn to Peter, and the tension in your body leaves in a burst of laughter at the utter bewilderment clouding his gaze.
“What the… How… W-Who are you?”
You only shake your head, throwing an arm over his shoulder and grabbing his backpack with your free hand. He lets you drag him out of the door without a fight.
“Come on, spider boy. Mr. Stark will want to hear about this.”
