☑ THE SHADOW | Peter Maximoff

t w e n t y - f i v e

~ 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 ~

Peter's thoughts were absolute mayhem. They were battling with each other so aggressively a headache slowly pounded his skull, but there was nothing he could do to get the thoughts to stop.

He raised his hand to lean his palm against the side of his freshly shaven face (well, as fresh as he could make it with the broken razor and milliliters of shaving cream he found hiding at the bottom of a drawer) and stared down at the cracks of the brittle wooden floor.

Peter knew what he wanted. He knew exactly what he wanted, especially since he had finally been able to get a taste of it. But he didn't think it was a good idea for him to get it.

He didn't deserve to feel her touch, to feel her around him, no matter what form he got it in. Whether it was a simple hand hold like the one she had given him those couple days ago, or something so much more.

He didn't deserve it. Not after all of the shit he's pulled for the past year, and not for the lack of shit he helped with during their time in captivity.

He wanted to feel her touch, though. He wanted to have her with him all the time, despite all of the lies he's been spewing to her the entire time he's known her. There wasn't a single ounce of truth in any of his past comments. He wanted to show that to her, and he wanted to tell her that he was an oblivious idiot. That he hated himself more than he could describe.

But he had to stop himself.

He had to stop himself in that shower since he became way too lost in the way she cradled his head and grasped him tighter as their cool, slick skin moved them even closer together. Her kiss made him woozy and desperate for more, and the desire he had for her rose too rapidly. And he had to stop himself.

This wasn't exactly a new feeling for Peter.

He had dreamt about having her perched in his lap before, his arms wrapped securely around her as she read her book, or highlighted her school notes, or fiddled with the Atari he knew she kept in her room.

He had envisioned her walking over to him from her little corner on the couch to straddle his hips and kiss him senselessly, his hands grasping her tightly as his lips left marks on her skin and she whimpered his name into his ear.

He had small hopes of how one day, when they were spitting out venomous remarks in each others faces and throwing each other against random walls, he could shove her into the nearest room and fuck her so relentlessly their legs would turn to jello while the only thing he could possibly think about was her as his lips let out the endless cries of her name.

Her name.

Amara. Her name was Amara.

Not Aya.

Aya was the girl he loved to hate. The girl he enjoyed pissing off. The one who made every attempt to get as far away from him as possible, and the one he always made sure could never be in a happy mood.

Amara was the woman that was able to get the both of them out at the blink of an eye. She was the woman that could crush the organs of anyone she merely blinked at and keep them hidden enough that no one would be able to find them. The woman that kept the both of them alive and secretly, though she didn't seem to want to admit it, was caring, and kind, and... broken.

She was lost. She was scared. She was hurt.

She was alone.

And Peter wanted nothing more than to make everything better for her. He wanted to kiss away all of the scars on her body and pull her into his arms where, even though she was very capable of protecting herself, he knew she was safe.