╒══════════════════╕
in which he tries to make
promises to her that he
can keep
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wow my title names are SO original and creative lol
also this oneshot sucks and is cliche but im running out of ideas
IM SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG
also second to last chapter of this book :(
★━━━━━━✩━━━━━━★
You blinked and stirred awake, hearing faint voices in the background as you tried to recollect the events from what had happened earlier. All you could seem to remember was something sharp ripping through your shoulder before you passed out cold and someone carried you back to the Quinjet bridal-style in their strong arms.
"Cap? When are we getting back?" Peter looked over towards the super-soldier, the worry clear in his tone as his hand squeezed yours, tight. "If we wanna save her, we gotta do something now..."
"We still have two hours before we touch down at SHIELD's medical facility," Clint replied, his brows furrowing together in concern, "Bruce...can you patch her up?"
"I can," Bruce replied, "but I'll have to do it without anesthesia, so it'll be pretty painful for her..."
"Please hurry," Peter begged, swallowing the lump in his throat, "Please don't let her die."
"She's not going to die," he scientist reassured him. "but we'll need to get this over with, fast. She's losing a lot of blood, and it'll take her at least a few days before she fully recovers."
You heard Peter's chair scrape across the floor of the jet and looked up to meet his concerned gaze, tears stinging at the edges of his eyes. "Peter...?"
"Y/N," he breathed out shakily, his shoulders sagging in relief as you managed a small smile. "You holding up okay? Dr. Banner says he can stitch you up and all, but it's gonna hurt because your wound is pretty deep and we don't have any pain meds..."
"Just go through with it," you kept your voice as steady as possible before groaning in pain when you tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Talking hurt your chest almost as much as the wound itself, and it was also the same arm that barely recovered from being sprained three weeks ago. "I'm not about to die 30,000 feet up in the air."
Bruce nodded once, and brought the first-aid kit over, laying out the necessary supplies onto the table next to your seats.
"Y/N, I need you to stay still for this, alright?" he explained. "Peter, if you could hold her steady, that would help."
You gritted your teeth and nodded, as the boy shifted his chair closer to you.
You felt him slither his free arm under your back as his other hand grasped tightly onto yours. You cried out in pain from the sudden movement of the alcohol-soaked cotton ball making contact with your skin, creating a hissing sound, then the needle piercing through shortly after. Peter then sat behind you, his arm placed securely around your torso so that you could rest back against his chest.
"It's okay, you're gonna be okay," he murmured into your hair. You clenched his hand tightly to the point that your knuckles began turning white from the pressure and his hand was throbbing, but he couldn't care less at the moment.
White-hot pain erupted throughout your entire arm and you glanced over to see deep red blood dripping past your elbow. You tried to hold back the vomit threatening to rise up out of your throat-stitches didn't look pretty whatsoever. You quickly turned back, burying your face into Peter's chest.
His hand moves from resting against your waist to your head and pulls it towards him slightly. He gently brings his lips to the side of your head, and if it weren't for the fact that you were in pain you'd be smiling right now.
"Just a little longer, then we're almost done," Peter reminded you, "I know it hurts, but hang in there, okay? You'll be just fine."
Your eyes squeezed shut and a lone tear slipped past your cheek. He was quick to reach down and gently wipe it away with his thumb, letting it linger on your face for a second before bringing it back down to rest on your back.
It felt like years had passed once Bruce finally finished stitching up your wound, but you were happy that it was over nonetheless.
"Alright, it's over, we're done," he breathed out, wrapping thick bandages around your upper arm. "You did a good job of hanging in there, kiddo."
"Thank you," you croaked out. The scientist smiled and nodded, standing up and putting the kit away and returning to his seat towards the front.
Peter shifts to his left, closer to your seat, so that he can wrap an arm around your waist. It seemed like the right thing to do at the moment. You don't respond and only stiffen at first, but soon the tension in your body releases and you move a bit closer. A sudden leap of faith makes him decide to grab your hand, running his thumb across your palm in a soothing motion. This somehow lessens the pain and you involuntarily let out a sigh of relief.
He rests his head on top of yours, absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair. "Promise me you'll be more careful next time."
"I will," the corners of your lips turned up in a small smile, "as long as you try to be careful, too."
"Don't worry, I will," Peter chuckled.
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Your arm is barely healed by the time you're all sent off on another mission halfway around the world to somewhere in Eastern Europe a week later. Not long before you're planning to escape from the base and head back, Peter's ambushed and impaled by a dagger thrown at him from fifty feet away with alarming accuracy.
"Y/N!"
"What the hell happened?" you yelled over the sounds of bullets whizzing through the air at breakneck speed, ducking around the corner to catch up with Clint and Natasha, "Please don't tell me you were careless and stupid enough to not realize that you've been tracked down by a stream of psychotic agents!"
"Oops, my bad," Peter chuckled, but you could clearly hear the pain laced in his voice as he struggled to breathe properly. "Well, in my defense, I didn't even see where that knife was coming from, and-"
"Like hell you didn't! You need to be more careful and watch your surroundings!" you yelled. "Is Thor nearby to take you back? Dad?"
"No, but Pietro is-"
"Then get back to the damn jet! I'm not about to drag your lifeless body back home!" you ordered, but your tone quickly softened to a whisper. "Please. I can't lose you."
Radio silence.
You would've crumpled to the ground and hit your head against the wall if it weren't for Bucky catching you in time, who carefully scoops you up into his arms and takes you back to the Quinjet.
"Well shit, this is like some cliche badass action-turned-tragedy movie," Pietro snorted as he leaned against the back walls, as everyone finished boarding and Clint went to the front to man the jet. "Except, the heroine refuses to admit her undying love."
You don't even have the energy to snap back with a sarcastic reply, collapsing in Bucky's arms and knocking out cold.
"...But your daughter is in love with him, correct?" the speedster turned over to Tony.
"Yes...yes, she is."
"And you're not murdering her over that?"
"No, of course not. I've been trying to push them together for the past three years."
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A few days later Peter was jolted awake by someone's aggressive yelling. Quietly tiptoeing forward to make sure he didn't wake Thor up (he learned this the hard way when it rained for four days nonstop because the Norse god hadn't slept in two weeks), he made his way down to the training facility.
He watched you attack the hell out of a poor punching bag that looked as if it was going to cave in and collapse at any moment. It was 3 in the morning, and it was clear that this wasn't the first time you'd done this, judging by the scars and bruises littering your knuckles.
"Y/N."
"The hell do you want?"
"You shouldn't be overworking yourself like this. Your arm is barely healed," he pointed out. "If you keep pushing yourself like this, you're going to tear the stitches and make things even worse."
"Yeah, right," you rolled your eyes, wiping your sweaty forehead with a towel before tossing it off to the side by your water bottle. "You're acting as if you hadn't been impaled by a dagger that was millimeters away from puncturing a vital organ and almost killed you as a result."
Peter completely ignored your question and grabbed one of your hands in his. "See, your knuckles are bleeding. "
"Are you telling me I'm not allowed to train?"
"If it's to the point where you're hurting yourself and losing sleep, then no, you aren't," his brows were drawn together in concern as he observed the fresh bruises beginning to form underneath your skin.
"It's a little painful, so what," you scoffed, but the sarcastic expression quickly turned into a grimace when you tried to stretch yourself out and felt a sharp pain shoot up your arm.
The stinging feeling from your hands that resulted from murdering a rock-hard punching bag for two hours straight was beginning to catch up with you, and it didn't feel pleasant at all.
"Y/N, you shouldn't be pushing yourself so hard," he scolded. He grabbed the roll of bandages from the first-aid kit near the doors and began wrapping your hands up, tightening his grip when you tried to protest. "Why are you doing this, anyway?"
"Why were you so careless out there?" you shot back in reply. "That's more important of a question, don't you think?"
"Y/N, I told you, I'm sorry! I didn't see where they were, okay?"
You shook your head wildly, exhaling heavily to prevent yourself from screaming out all the pent-up anger and frustration built up inside of you, deciding to raise your voice. "Sorry doesn't cut it, Parker. You could've stopped yourself. You could've hidden until the coast was clear to continue moving forward, but you didn't, and look where that got you! I'm scared, no, terrified-that the one person I thought I could trust the most out of anyone I've ever met in my life is going to betray me and stab me in the back as soon as I turn around by breaking my heart. I guess that nightmare became my reality, because that's exactly what you did! I get so afraid that you're going to leave on missions like these that force you to put your life on the line and never come back. And you promised me you were going to be careful, you promised-"
Your sentence was cut off by an involuntary gasp that escapes your lips when Peter's hands suddenly slide up your cheeks and cup your face. He's extremely close to you now, so close to the point that you could feel his warm breath against your neck. You attempt to duck under him to escape but he firmly hooks an arm around your waist to pull you back towards him.
The first thing you realize when his lips meet yours is that you can hardly breathe. It's not because you were terrified, which you were, but because you're surprised and your heart is beating too fast to register if there's any oxygen even going into your lungs. It scares you almost as much as the fact that he almost died, if not more. But at the same time it feels exhilarating, fire igniting every inch of your skin and fireworks coursing through your veins at top speed, the way he makes you feel more alive than you've ever been.
It takes you a few moments to process what even happened and to react to his kiss, but you eventually relax, your arms going around his torso and sliding up his back, firmly planting themselves there. Half of you is screaming at yourself to pull away and let go and punch him in the face for doing something so reckless, but the other half wants for you to never let go because who knows if he's ever going to do this to you again.
"I did what I could to stay alive, you know," Peter breathed out, "while I was also busy trying not to bleed to death."
"And scared the living shit out of me," you shot him a warning look. "If you die, I'm going to kill you."
"Can't kill me if I'm already dead," he smirked.
"Peter!"
"Okay okay okay I'm sorry! I'm kidding!" he held his hands in the air in surrender. "I'm sorry...please forgive me, at least..."
"Okay, I forgive you," you sighed, "but I'm serious, if you pull off any risky stunt that gets you hurt I'm gonna make sure that you'll never walk again."
"Did someone get hurt? Are you two alright...oh."
You both turn around to see a worried-turned-surprised Bucky, and a smirk crosses over his face when he realizes how close together you were standing.
"Hi," you offered a weak smile and wave. Peter looked down, avoiding his gaze as he felt his cheeks burning up.
"You're not supposed to be training for another week, Y/N," Bucky raised an eyebrow in suspicion, "...but since my ship has finally sailed, I can't get mad..."
Sam walks in, yawning and rubbing his eyes and about to launch a speech complaining about how he hadn't slept soundly in forever and so desperately needed his beauty sleep. "Who'd you kiddies kill this time? Come on, guys, it's too early in the day, or midnight, for you to be killing anyone right now, for any matter...oh. Oh. OH! STEVE-"
"Shut up!" you hissed. "If Cap wakes up he's not going to take me to see Hamilton with him on Broadway in three weeks!"
"I'm hungry. Any of you guys want waffles?" Pietro popped in, grinning widely.
"What the hell, it's 3 a.m."
"So?"
"I'm in," you and Peter said at the same time. Bucky and Sam shrugged, following behind you to the kitchen.