#hurt Peter Parker

[possumdrawsstuff]

Pov: u just died like 4-5 times

(MORE DARK MATTER FANART)

[jesmalestiel]

Somewhere to Belong

My latest oneshot is a poolverine fic I wrote as a gift for @terrasilvershade as part of the Deadclaws Ficcord Secret Santa 2024! I hope y'all will check it out and enjoy. Happy Holidays everyoone!!

Rating: M

Summary: Peter Parker was no stranger to strange situations. At this point his normal was abnormal. So when he woke up one day and realized he was in a different universe, he decided it might as well let it happen. What he didn’t expect was the family he found along the way.

Excerpt:

“Who are you?” Peter asked with narrowed eyes. Still, he let himself be pushed back down onto the couch as Logan and Laura worked together to clean and patch up his wounds.

“Oooooh multiversal traveler, interesting. You can tell when I break the fourth wall, can’t you?” Wade winked at the camera that doesn’t exist because this is a fanfic not a movie. Peter shook his head like he was trying to get water out of his ears.

“Is everything you say always so confusing?”

“That’s just Wade, he’s like that.” Laura replied dismissively.

Continue Reading on AO3

—

Thank you to @ineffable-xenanigans and @ethantheannus for being my betas on this fic. Additional thanks Ethan for all your work putting this together, and to X for betaing despite having little to know context about the source material!

[jinxquickfoot]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: "You said you would let them go" Find the fic on Ao3

"You said you would let him go.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut—the only part of his body he can move—at the sound of Tony’s voice. He’s lost track of how long it’s been since he’d woken strapped to this table, the scents of chemicals and ocean heavy in the air.

“That’s when I thought I was ransoming an intern,” Osborn replies, running a finger down the side of Peter’s cheek. Peter manages to glare at him—the most he can do when he’s unable to pull away. “But he’s more than that, isn’t he, Stark?”

“Whatever narrative you’re trying to spin to wring more cash out of me, save it. You have the money you asked for. Now let him go, or I’m going to stop being civil about this.”

“Civil?” Osborn muses. Even from this end, Peter can hear the distortion from the tech Osborn is using to disguise his voice. “Civil would be returning what’s yours, Stark. Which was the plan before I realized that you stole this specimen first.”

“He’s a high-schooler. Only thing he’s been stolen from is gym class.”

Osborn bends his finger, causing the nail to catch on Peter’s skin. “A high-schooler, yet you gave him access to your personal labs. He must be very special.”

“Rumours, and half-baked ones at that. Get better sources.”

“Don’t lie to me, Stark. It wasn’t hard to run some blood work. This kid isn’t human, not by a long shot, so the price just tripled. Have the money in the same account by midnight, or I’m putting him on the black market in pieces.”

“Or,” Tony counters. “I figure out who you are, come pick the kid up myself, and you can face me head on. How does that sound?”

“Is that an UN-approved mission, Stark? Heard you’re on a tight leash these days. Good luck getting a rescue mission signed off in time to save the kid.” Osborn grins down at Peter, the expression all teeth. “Either way, I get paid for him. How much pain he goes through during the interim is entirely up to you.”

“Listen, you do not want to—”

But Osborn has already hung up. “So, Peter. Looks like we have a few more hours together. How do you want to spend them, huh? Shall we have a little more fun while your dashing hero decides if you’re worth paying for?”

Not being able to throw quips at bad guys sucks. Peter tries to move his tongue, but it’s as immovable as the rest of him. When he’d first woken up, he’d been terrified that the paralysis might be permanent. But he regains feeling every couple of hours or so, just enough to strain his limbs against the restraints, which is exactly when Osborn gives him another dose of whatever drug is keeping him immobilized.

“I’ve got all the blood I need,” Osborn is saying, moving over to the table that Peter is trying very hard not to look at. “But if we have time, why don’t we go a little deeper?”

If he could move, Peter would flinch at the sudden whir of what sounds horribly like a bone saw starting up. He might not be able to move his body, but the past few hours have certainly proved that he can feel it.

“Aw,” Osborn coos at him, the sound of the saw growing closer. “Don’t be scared, kiddo. You heal quickly enough. And after all, I’m only taking back what was mine in the first place—” He breaks off, turning to a bank of monitors that Peter can just see out of the corner of his eye. There’s a green dot traveling towards them at breakneck speed. “Well, would you look at that? I guess Stark isn’t as stupid as that goatee makes him look.”

A breath punches out of Peter as the saw switches off, hoping Osborn’s words mean the one thing he’s been praying for since he first woke up here. Tony’s coming.

Osborn sweeps Peter’s hair off his forehead in a mock gentle gesture. “Looks like I’m about to have an unexpected visitor, which means I’m going to have to put you away for a while.”

Peter narrows his eyes at him, trying to look as intimidating as possible while unable to move on a surgical table.

Osborn just laughs. “I see. You think he’s going to find you. Ah, Peter—where I’m about to put you? No one will even think to look.”

Somehow, getting cut open with a bone saw might have been preferable to this.

It’s freezing. If Peter’s body was cooperating, he knows he’d be shivering violently right about now. It’s pitch black, the oppressive darkness making him want to scream. And none of that compares to the overwhelming claustrophobia of being chained to an anchor deep, deep underwater.

Peter’s not sure a normal human would have survived the plunge into the ocean’s depths, even with the diving suit Osborn had stuffed him into. He can breathe, at least, but he’d caught a glimpse of the oxygen tank before Osborn had tipped him overboard. It had already been half-empty.

He’s tried to slow his breathing, to make whatever air he has last, fighting the instinct to panic and attempt to strain against the chains. Logically, he knows it’s no use. He’s still paralyzed. Even if the drug wears off, he’s not going to be strong enough to swim to the surface. He’s down here until Osborn pulls him up or until Tony finds him. If Tony finds him.

“Wow,” Osborn’s voice crackles in his ear. The earbud had been jammed in before Osborn had secured the diving mask purely, Peter knows, so that Osborn could keep taunting him. “He got here fast, little spider. Guess he really cares about you. Too bad he’s not going to find you, though.”

Peter closes his eyes, even though it doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference to what he can see. If anyone can figure out where Osborn’s hidden him, it’s Tony Stark.

It’s the thought he holds onto as he hears the distant roar of thrusters, right before Osborn whispers over the comms, “Show time.”

A stomp of boots and the crack of a door being kicked open. “Where is he?”

“Stark. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Osborn. That line about a stolen specimen? I know you have him.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I’ll have you know that there are security cameras all over this boat. It would be a shame if the UN saw the Accords’ greatest defender attacking without so much as a warrant.”

“I don’t need a warrant if I have probable cause of harm.”

A surprised laugh. “Probable cause of harm? I am merely out here alone, enjoying a little me time.”

“Uh-huh. So you won’t mind if I search your toy boat, then?”

“Go ahead.” Osborn is all confidence. “Search away.”

More sounds—footsteps, mostly. The sounds of doors opening. The noise of a search.

Please, Peter sends up to the boat, as though if he projects through sheer force of will Tony’ll hear him. Please think to look down here, Tony. Please.

“I have to say,” Osborn speaks up, and Peter wants to punch him for the undisguised glee in his voice. “You must have lost something very important to go to all this trouble.”

“Don’t play the ignorant card, Osborn. It’s not a cute look on you.”

“Simply making an observation.”

“And you know what I observe? The room you have hidden below the ship.”

Peter’s heart skips. That has to be the room he had woken up in, where the surgical equipment, where Peter’s blood is.

“Not hidden,” Osborn corrects him. “The door is simply an aesthetic design, I assure you. I’d be more than happy for you to take a look.”

A sudden ocean current sweeps past Peter, knocking him hard against the anchor. It steals the wind from him, and there are a few terrifying moments where he can’t catch his breath, he can’t breathe, he can’t—

“Interesting space you’ve got in here. Very… clean.”

Peter latches onto the sound of Tony’s voice, using it as a much kinder anchor than the one he’s bound to. He doesn’t know how much oxygen he just wasted. He doesn’t know how much he has left, either. It belatedly occurs to him that if Tony can’t find him, then the more time his mentor spends searching, the longer Peter’s going to be stuck down here.

“I hardly use this space,” Osborn says. “The previous owners used it for fishing equipment, so I had it scrubbed to get rid of the smell and have barely touched it since. And I believe you’ve now seen the whole boat. Satisfied?”

I’m not on the boat, Peter thinks desperately. I’m below the boat.

“Not really,” Tony answers. “So, he’s not here. You’ve got him somewhere else.”

No, no, no, I’m here, come on Tony, please figure this out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Stark.”

There's an ugly pause before Tony says, “Don’t make me make you tell me, Osborn. You won’t enjoy that.”

“Go ahead,” Osborn challenges him. “Threaten an innocent man on camera. Let’s see how that holds up under the Sokovia Accords.”

Peter’s breath catches. At first, he thinks it’s just the tension burrowing its way under his skin from the dark, the cold, the oppressive weight of the water. Then he takes another slow breath. And another.

He’s not imagining it. The air feels a little lighter than before. As though he’s already scraping the bottom of the oxygen tank.

“I paid what you asked for,” Tony snaps at him. “Tell me where he is, Osborn. Now.”

Peter slows his breathing, trying desperately to make whatever is left in the tank last as long as possible.

“How many times do I have to say it? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not leaving here until you tell me. I’ve got all night.”

Barely an hour ago, those words would have been music to Peter’s ears. Now, they’re a death sentence.

“All night, huh?” Amusement radiates from Osborn’s words. “Sure, I’m not busy. Can I offer you a drink?”

“I’m taking a second look around the ship.”

“Please, be my guest. Take all the time you need.”

Peter’s next breath rattles in his lungs. He’s definitely on dregs, and it’s not as though Osborn can pull him up while Tony’s still there. Osborn doesn’t need him alive, either. He’s made it clear that Peter’s body parts will sell just fine.

Peter listens helplessly as Tony continues to search, refusing to leave without answers that Osborn isn’t giving him. This is it. Peter’s going to die down here.

“Sure I can’t get you that drink, Stark? You did come all this way.”

Even over the comms, Peter can pick up Tony’s frustrated sigh. “This isn’t done with, Osborn.”

No, be done with it, Peter pleads with him. Go, Tony. Please just leave.

“I’m not sure what this even is,” Osborn replies, his tone all congeniality. “Of course, you did just invade my private property, which I will have to report. We all have to do our bit to keep the community safe.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Another sound of frustration, and then Peter hears the joyous sound of an Iron Man suit starting up. Tony’s going to leave. Osborn is going to pull him up.

And then cut him to pieces and sell him.

Peter barely has time to register that last thought before he tries to take his next breath, and finds that he can’t.

“Goodbye, Stark,” Osborn is saying. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Peter forces himself not to panic—to preserve the last molecules of oxygen he has left.

“Oh believe me, Norman. I will.”

Just go just go just go just go just go—

There’s silence for far too long before Peter hears Osborn speak again. “Just making sure he’s out of sight, kiddo. Can’t take any chances.”

Peter’s lungs are on fire. Instinct finally kicks in and he jerks in the chains, the paralytic drug wearing off far too late. A very different kind of darkness from the undersea depths is creeping in around him, and he can’t hear Osborn anymore, and the anchor isn’t moving, he’s going to die down here and he doesn’t want to die he doesn’t—

The last thing Peter’s aware of before he passes are strong arms on his, and the sensation of rising, rising, rising…

“Peter? Come on, kid, don’t do this to me.”

When Peter’s eyes open, he doesn’t see darkness. He’s not strapped to a table either. He experimentally shifts his arms and legs, breathing a sigh of relief as they move, only to realize that they’re shaking beyond his control.

“That’s it, Pete. Hey, look at me. Peter.”

The blurry shapes around him finally coalesce into the face of one very worried-looking Tony. “Oh, hey Mr Stark.”

“I need to stop pulling you out of freezing waters, kid.”

“S-sorry.” Peter can hear his teeth chattering, trying to wrap his arms around himself, only to realize that they’re oddly heavy. He peers down at himself, realizing he’s encased in red and gold metal. “Woah, that’s so cool.”

“Don’t get too excited, the suit’s a loan. Just getting you warm.”

Peter frowns. “Don’t feel warm.”

Tony’s brow creases. “We’ll get there. Don’t want to shoot your temperature up too quickly with your funky thermoregulation. Once you’re good I’ll fly us home.”

“Home sounds good. Away from…” Peter suddenly tries to sit bolt upright. It’s more of a half-sit-up before he collapses back with a groan.

“Woah, kid, take it easy.”

“Osborn, he’s here, he’s—”

“I got him. You’re safe, kid. I promise.”

Peter stills. “Really?”

“Really really.” Tony places a hand on Peter’s forehead, and Peter sighs at the warmth. “Sorry, kid. This one’s on me.”

“But you found me.”

“Yeah, that was one of my better brainwaves. Still, I don’t need villains kidnapping my intern because they think it’s an easy payday. We’ll work on it.”

Peter’s beginning to feel something other than completely frozen, the violent shivers abating a little. He pulls in a full breath, savoring it. “Yeah, that sucked.”

“Agreed.” Tony checks his forehead again. “I think we’re okay to turn it up a bit, FRIDAY.”

Heat suddenly bursts from the Iron Man suit’s interior, and Peter sighs in relief. “Thanks.”

“Any time, kid.” Tony lays his hand on Peter’s arm, finally seeming to relax as Peter’s temperature climbs. “Any time.”

[ddringo]

Becoming A Hero

His brain tells him to get back up. To run. To get away. That the next attack will happen in just a second. That someone will come, and they’ll shoot a bullet through his head. That’s it. End of Peter Parker. But his body doesn’t respond to anything. He can barely lift his arms, because it feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest.

Peter knows this is the end. Knows nobody will get to him in time… he’ll bleed out, in the desert sand. Alone.

His eyes feel heavy and slowly he closes them. Tries to breathe, knowing he can’t. Tries to forget the pain, but he can’t do that either. It digs through his chest, not like a bullet, no… It’s sharp and hard. There’s not one, there are a million. A million little things in his chest. But he can’t see them.

And soon, he can’t see anything, but darkness…

[explosivetangerines]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Avengers Team Members & Peter Parker Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Vision (Marvel) Additional Tags: Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, BAMF Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Irondad, spider son, Tony Stark Feels, Protective Tony Stark, Light-Hearted, Back Pain, no beta we die like peter parkers relatives, Short One Shot, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, a little fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Series: Part 1 of Spider-Man writing practice oneshots Summary:

“Oh my gosh, Mr.Stark, I'm so sorry.” Peter started making his way back to Mr.Stark, all his previous adrenaline sapped out of him, he grabbed the web dissolver out of the little belt on this suit, but a sharp pain made its way through his spine, making him suddenly stop and fall on his back “Owwww.”

Peter gasped as the pain got worse, sinking deeper in his spine.

Mr.Stark carefully ambled over to Peter, web still covering his eyes. “Are you alright?”

[themaidenofwords]

Final bit of art for my story Rats and Rogues. https://archiveofourown.org/works/52451017

Final chapter up now!

[elvenfforestydd]

Pretty Eyes Fetch a Pretty Price

Guys! I've got a new fic out. Please give it a read on A03.

Let me know if you want to be on a tag list.

Have a fantastic day :)

Chapter 1/7 - Read Here

While trying to buy a new comic, Peter is kidnapped and taken to an underground children's trafficking network. With the clock ticking until he disappears into the dark underworld, Bucky will do whatever it takes to find and bring Peter back home.

[magickhajiit]

Sokovia and Spiders (Chapter 1)

Rating-teen and up

All Chapters

Hail races away from the grey clouds above, meeting their mark they feel like freezing bullets when they hit Peter’s suit. There’s an actual bullet heading towards him right now, slicing through the air as a knife would butter. Appearing in the form of a prickle of apprehension his spidey sense warns him of it, giving him enough time to flip out of the way before splashing back onto the gravel. Within minutes of sneaking out of the apartment his suit had been drenched, the colour darkened to navy and blood red. The hail is a hallmark of New York winters right along with freezing breezes and angry people, summers might bring forth warmth, but winters bring a blistering hot derived from the anger of New York’s citizens.

Spiderman had been on his way back home when he heard the commotion, the reason for the noise became quickly apparent as he leaned over the edge of the rooftop. A man was stood there, in one hand he was waved a gun threateningly in the air, in the other he was clutching the coat of a young woman. Despite his words being slurred and the stench of alcohol he was steady on his feet when he demanded her purse. He didn’t seem like the type of guy to use an authentic weapon but Peter was unwilling to take that chance. She hadn’t yet had a chance to react when spiderman leapt from the roof. He braced himself against the impact of the kick that made the assailant stumble backwards. Before he had the chance to regain his footing the woman took the opportunity to escape, heels clicking on the ground mark her departure. The moments distraction provided the criminal with ample time adjust his stance and pull the trigger.

Now there’s a bullet lodged in the brick wall, cracks spiralling from where it imploded, having sailed through the air where Peter had been standing only seconds earlier. Irritated at the murder attempt Peter flicks his wrist, he can just about hear the click of the web shooter mechanism firing before the criminal is secured to the wall.

‘’Hey, hey, hey, this is a new suit.’’ The guy just shouts obscenities at him from his place on the wall, eyes red around the edges, his scowl turning the lines on his face into deep crevices. Peter’s too busy looking at the newly formed hole in the wall, to pay any notice. In his mind's eye he can see what would have happened if the bullet hadn’t missed, metal slicing through spandex and skin before ripping through muscle. Turning his insides into a bloody smoothie. Damp gravel crunching under his weigh as blood loss causes him to crumple. He’d never been shot before, and he’s not adding it to his bucket list any time soon.

Inserting a new canister into his suit, his finger quick to fire. He hoists himself upwards, as soon as the web is secured onto a nearby lamppost, before sending a second. The rain has let up slightly as he swings through the city, no longer feeling like violent needles sticking into his skin.

Peter can hear him before he can see him, super senses allowing him to detect the suit’s inner engines from streets away. Why Ironman is hovering over the city at 11pm on a Tuesday is anyone's guess. Racking his mind for answers Peter theorises that he was after some criminal trading black market Stark tech. This area was halfway to home and a rough area of the city, infamous for its active drug gangs and weapons dealings. Yeah, that made sense.

Still, Spiderman slips into the alley, between two apartment blocks, hoping he'd either fly overhead or spontaneously change direction. He wasn’t hiding exactly, just temporarily avoiding. Ironman ignores Peter's inner prayer and continues onward. Just a couple of blocks away now, Peter can hear another accompanying voice.

‘’Do you have eyes on?’’ The question has a tinny quality about it, undetectable to most, making Peter think there must be a radio installed in his suit relaying the words.

Fortunately, he can’t recognise the voice, meaning Captain America or Thor are unlikely to drop in on him at any moment. Letting curiosity get the better of him he strains to hear more, hoping in this scenario curiosity doesn't kill the cat- or the spider in this case.

‘’No, not yet. Police reports confirm he’s been in this area recently.’’

‘’Maybe he’s already gone.’’

Peter’s stomach tumbles uncomfortably listening to the conversation unfold. They could be talking about someone else. They probably are. They have no reason to be hunting him. Though with Parker's luck there’s a good chance they are.

Still, there’s nothing to confirm this until, ‘’No, the web-slinger might be quick, but he doesn’t have super speed.’’ Unless his brand image has been stolen and there’s another web-slinging hero flinging himself around New York then it’s probably him.

Can I sue if there is? Peter wonders.

To be fair, hunting gangs is more of a Daredevil rather than an avenger thing. Ironman is practically on top of him now, a few more metres and he could look down and see him hanging from the wall uselessly. Futilely Peter shuffles down, wondering if it was better to be discovered or reveal himself. ‘’Hold on. I installed heat detecting sensors last week.’’

The flight part of fight or flight should kick in now, but at this moment, it evades Peter. Leaving him frozen as thin metal panels slide into place in Stark’s suit. ‘’See anything?’’

Ironman ignores the question in favour of hovering a little closer. So, he can glance directly into the mouth of the alleyway. Without the barriers of cloth and metal, Peter is sure they would be making awkward, uncomfortable eye contact right now.

When the silence continues for a beat too long Peter fills it, ‘’Err, Hi? I’m a big fan.’’

[ao3-whump-recs]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson (Marvel) Additional Tags: Summer of Whump, Summer of Whump 2021, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, for warmth, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Ice Skating, Medical Procedures, Hypothermia, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Parent Tony Stark, Tony has a heart condition Peter why are you like this, Fluff, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tony didn’t die because screw that, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker Series: Part 1 of Summer of Whump 2021 Summary:

There’s nothing Peter loves more about winter than spending the entire season ice skating. The fact that Mr. Stark’s lake freezes over so well just gives him the perfect excuse to hang out with his mentor, pseudo-sister and still get to skate for free.

(For the Summer of Whump on Tumblr Day 1 Prompt - Freezing)

[whateverithinkof]

Daily Fanfic Rec (Day 35)

Avengers

5/29/2024

Masterlist

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36026275/chapters/89804641

Title: The Darkest Hour

Author: ephemeralstark

Words: 5,276

Chapters: 4

Completed?: No

"It started with strange, threatening notes from an unknown assailant who knew more about Peter's life than they had any right to.

It didn't mean anything though, or so he told himself as he tried to ignore the problem, that was until the entire situation took a disturbing turn and he realised that maybe he needed help.

Too bad that realisation comes too late."

-- -- -- -- --

A dark uncompleted fic about Peter having a dangerous and mentally unstable stalker. It definitely has scary vibes, but the story is unfortunately not very far into it right now.

[nature-writes29]

A little snippet from the 6th chapter of my latest fic 'A Day of Unfortunate Events'

.....

     He could feel himself slipping away…. His breaths coming in laboured. His whole body was on fire. He could feel his heart wearing down now with all the trauma and blood loss. His eyes were dry now, all of their moisture gone. If he could have, he would have cried now. He had disappointed them. He was a failure, not even being able to override a simple protocol. He hadn’t felt this helpless since the Vulture and Thanos. He still got nightmares from the ordeals. He had finally asked MJ out and it had been a bliss. Everything was now finally falling in their place. But his Parker luck couldn’t take a break right?

      The flashes of his teammates' faces came in front of his eyes. He was disappointing all of them. Not only them, but he was also disappointing MJ, Ned, Pepper and even Tony’s and Pepper’s unborn Baby. He needed to get them out now, at least for their future, a future which he most likely won't be a part of. The burning fire of responsibility and sacrifice was run down to a flicker now. But the flicker of fire was still there. He was spider man, he could do this! And more than that he was a friend, bestfriend, boyfriend, ally, son, nephew and an avenger. He will fulfil his last ever duty. He will stay true to his Uncle Ben’s last words.

      He raised his good hand towards his watch, he could see Bucky and Steve coming towards him from his periphery. He touched the cool surface of the watch. It was still blinking green. His shaking fingers finally able to press the side button three times. A loud Bang sound came and the metal doors started to part. His eyes gazing at the NY sunset. It felt nice, passing away during the Twilight. While his eyes were staring at the playful but peaceful game of hues. He was proud that he was able to fulfil the last of his duties. 

      He was taking his last breaths now. His vision and brain went blank as his last thoughts were filled with his family, the feel of their hugs and love, Ned’s bear hugs, MJ’s lip’s touch on his, her smile…… In the end it was worth it, for him.

.....

Link to the story:

Hope you like it! Any kind of feedback is appreciated.

Have a good day:)

[possumdrawsstuff]

a little doodle of Peter from Dark Matter by Mysterycyclone on ao3!

I love him so much ❤️❤️❤️

[tldrthor]

promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.” 

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

================================================

“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence. 

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other. 

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors. 

================================================

A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

================================================

When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again. 

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them. 

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

================================================

Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again. 

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response. 

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all. 

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation. 

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough. 

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign. 

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused. 

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking. 

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. 

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible. 

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face. 

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing. 

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

================================================

TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

[ddringo]

Written in the scars

“Peter, could you tell me about what’s going on in that head of yours?” Sam tries to distract from the stitches, from the necessary work, that would allow the wound to heal. But he also needed to know what had happened, why it had happened, how he could help, how he could prevent it from happening again. “I can see the gears ticking in there. What has you so wound up?”

“I-“ Peter stops himself. Sam watches carefully as Peter takes a deep breath, giving the kid space to center himself, to calm himself. “I… I didn’t mean to,” Peter stammers out, eyes still glued to the floor, “I just, but then… I-“Then the first sob echoes from him, and tears stream down his cheeks, leaving wet trails behind. “Please, I… don’t tell dad… don’t tell Tony I-“

“Hey, hey” Sam snaps his fingers in front of Peter’s face, attempting to get him to look up at him. Meeting him at Peter’s level. “You did nothing wrong, okay? You’re okay. No one blames you for this, it’s okay. You are safe here. Alright?”

Prompt: Nervous Breakdown. @badthingshappenbingo

**Trigger warning: Self-harm**

[moonstruckme]

James Potter or tasm!peter parker fluff or comfort?? I dont mind whatever you write ill love 🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting :)

cw: implied past abuse

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Peter’s having a rough week. These things always seem to happen to him. He’s got a big presentation at work on Friday, by which time the project he’s been underfunded and understaffed for has to be finished. His Aunt May has been busy with work, too, so either you or Peter is at her place most nights trying to help out, except she seems to think when it’s Peter it’s familial responsibility but when it’s you it's an unfair burden, so it’s mostly been Peter. There’s also an impressively organized cell of criminals he’s been trying to investigate before they blow up a bank or something. So of course, he’s sleep deprived to boot. 

And while you know the rough edge of frustration in his voice isn’t meant for you, hearing it makes your skin tighten nonetheless. 

“How does a person run out of salt?” Peter stalks through the front door and straight into the kitchen. “Or maybe the better question is, why does it take going to three bodegas to find one with salt in stock?”  

He’s soaked from the rain, and you feel guilty for being all cozied up on the couch while he’s been running around the city. Maybe it’s irrational, but you feel sort of like you should have been stressed out and cold all night, too. In solidarity. 

“May didn’t have salt?” you guess as Peter opens the fridge, stooping low to peer inside. 

“You should see her pantry, babe. It’s like everything either expired at the turn of the century or got bugs in it. Hey, did you make anything for dinner?” 

“No.” You hesitate. “You told me you wanted to eat at May’s, so I had the leftovers from last night.” 

“Shit.” He closes the fridge, resting his forehead on the door. “You’re right. I totally forgot, I only made enough for her.” 

“I’ll make something now.” You stand. Peter gives you a look that conveys both apology and gratitude as you join him in your small kitchen. “You feel like pasta?” 

“Thank you,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly. 

“Course,” you murmur. Really, it feels like the least you can do. “Would you mind chopping up some basil?” 

“For my own dinner?” Peter teases. The levity in his voice is obviously forced, and the air between you heavies as he realizes you’ve heard it too. 

You almost don’t want to ask, but you do want to be a supportive girlfriend. You can lend him a compassionate ear. “How was work today?” 

He sighs, grabbing the cutting board from a cabinet near your feet and shutting the door with perhaps a tad too much force. 

“It was…ahh.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, stooping again into the white fridge light to find the basil. It casts dark shadows underneath his eyes. “You’ve gotta be sick of hearing about this.” 

“It’s okay. Unless you don’t feel like talking about it.” 

“No, it’s just, how do they expect us to stick to their tight schedule when half of my lab is being pulled away to other projects all the time?” Peter’s knife slices through the basil, hitting the cutting board with a sharp thunk. “Today, we were down one intern who caught the stomach flu, and it set us way back. One intern shouldn’t be that crucial to a big project like this!” 

You hum, ignoring the way the back of your neck prickles. The tension emanating from Peter is completely valid, your reaction a bothersome, purposeless souvenir from an old life. You find yourself staring into the pot of water and waiting for it to boil. 

“And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but all the rest of us are working extra hours to try and get this done in time.” 

Small bubbles in the bottom of the pot, rising tentatively to the surface. Peter’s knife thunks a quickening rhythm on the cutting board. 

“If they’d given us the money we asked for, we could have hired more people, been working with better equipment, but instead—” The water starts to rumble, steam warming your face. It’s thick in your throat. “—it’s like we don’t even work for a top-notch lab. Like, do they think we really believe they don’t have any resources to spare?”

Peter’s voice is rising, irritation sharpening his words. You reach to turn down the stove when big bubbles reach the surface, splattering hot onto your wrist. You ignore the sting. 

“My boss keeps talking about how important this presentation is,” Peter goes on, opening the cabinet next to your head and reaching inside, “but if it were really important, he’d have—” He slams the cabinet door. 

You both freeze. 

To anyone else, it would look like nothing—the way your expression stays perfectly still, your muscles stiffening just slightly, the invisible pause in your heartbeat. But Peter knows you. 

“Sorry.” He sounds as breathless as you feel. “I’m sorry. You okay?” 

“Mhm.” Despite your best intentions, your voice comes out pitchy. You can’t make yourself move in a way that feels natural, so you stay not moving at all. Steam wafting warm up onto your face. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Peter says, tone softer than you’ve heard it in days. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to yell.” The roiling pot has calmed to a gurgle. You can see him swallow in your peripheral vision. “Can you look at me?” 

You take in what you hope is a subtle breath, turning to your boyfriend with a wan smile. “Sorry,” you manage. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

“It’s okay,” he says, brows bunched in the middle. Brown eyes like a puppy’s. 

He shifts his arms, a question, and you step into them. You do it more for him than for you, but the second Peter’s arms wrap around your back the last of the tension shudders out of you. You hug him back, rubbing between his shoulder blades reassuringly. 

“I scared you?” he asks, still in that soft voice like he’s afraid of startling you. It’s not really a question. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to get so mad.” 

“You’re allowed to be mad,” you argue weakly. There’s an embarrassing blockage in your throat. “It’s not your fault if I freak out, you should still be allowed to vent.” 

“No, but I know how you are.” Peter squeezes your shoulders. “I can vent without slamming things. It’s not nice.” 

You don’t have much of an argument for that. Still, “You really shouldn’t be the one comforting me right now,” you point out. 

A light hum. “Says who? I’m feeling a lot better already.” His hand climbs up to cup the back of your neck, his face turning down so his lips rest on your head. “Should’a just gone straight for the hug when I got home. Might have saved us both a lot of ranting.” 

You push your face into his sweatshirt, mindless of its dampness. He smells like rainwater. You don’t know how you could ever have thought, even for a second, that someone like this could be capable of hurting you. 

“I’ll make a note of that,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, please do,” Peter teases, pressing a kiss to your head. He pulls away and sets two still-chilled hands on your face. “Are you really okay?” he asks sincerely. “I know how scared you get, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I did that to you.” 

“You didn’t mean to,” you tell him, “and it wouldn’t be your fault anyways. I’m really okay.” 

Your boyfriend nods, but he still looks troubled. “Another hug for good measure?” 

“For you or for me?” 

A corner of his mouth kicks up. “Does it matter?” 

It doesn’t really.

[themaidenofwords]

Even more art for my fanfic Rats and Rogues https://archiveofourown.org/works/52451017

Am I drawing instead of writing? Yeah, kinda.

I wasn't super happy with this, but hey, I acknowledge that my crappy mechanical pencils can only get me so far sometimes, and that's ok.