OKAY so my Eddie Brock series will be started once I get Venom and actually own it. Then I will be able to have it on my phone and watch it as I write the series... 

Which is actually going to be made into a separate book! I decided that I had far too much planned for it - including a sequel already. So I can't help but make it a separate book. Details on that will come very soon - including the details I need for covers, if any of you are interested in making me some!

(Let me know if you are!)

This was written for Melonhead15. I hope this makes your day better <3

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It was nearly nine in the morning, and even though you hadn't quiet gotten the eight hours you usually did nowadays, you weren't tired anymore. Feeling restless, and not quite willing to disturb your husband, Peter, who was in a sleep so deep that he was snoring with his mouth open wide, you climbed out of bed, shoved your feet into the pair of fuzzy slippers that he had bought you for Christmas, and quietly left the bedroom.

You wandered into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As it brewed, your stomach growled. You hummed the tune of your favorite song as you rummaged through the cabinets, searching for something to eat. 

As you opened the last one, a box of pancake mix caught your eye. You grabbed it and then glanced at the fridge, where you knew there were eggs and bacon in there.

Smiling to yourself, you started to get all of the ingredients out. You wanted to surprise Peter with a nice breakfast. He had been working hard, the nights of crime fighting were getting longer, and you just needed him to feel that he was truly appreciated. 

You started the pancakes and the bacon, then poured some orange juice and put some toast in the toaster. You made Peter his cup of coffee and added the cream and sugar the way he liked. Several minutes passed, and you were going from pan to pan, taking breaks to pour coffee or set toast on plates or put silverware out.

You smelled it before you heard the loud beeping of the fire alarm.

You yelped, turning around and seeing the black smoke coming off of the pancakes. You ran to the stove, grabbing the dish towel to grab the pan and take it off of the burner. 

"How did I forget the pancakes?" you hissed. "Crap!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa-" Peter came stumbling into the kitchen, half asleep. "____? ___!"

"I'm alright, I'm alright," you coughed, waving your hand in front of your face. "I just burned them, but it's-"

He hurried to you, taking the pan from you in his bare hands.

"Peter!" you protested. You gasped.

He threw the pan into the sink and shut the stove off. "You're gonna burn down the entire kitchen!"

"Oh my gosh! Why would you grab that with you bare hands, you dummy?" 

You didn't care that he seemed to almost be mad at you. You didn't care that he wasn't acting like your typical caring, sweet Peter. He had to be hurt after grabbing that. You grabbed his hands and flipped them over. Looking at his palms, you saw the couple of blisters forming. 

"Peter Benjamin Parker, look what you did!"

He yanked his hands away. "Me? You're the one that-"

You gave him a look. He stopped talking.

"Pete, I really don't care if you're exhausted from working. You are not going to get mad at me for a pancake being burned and you are definitely not getting mad at me because you grabbed a pan from my hands!" You gestured to the table you'd set up beautifully, like you were getting ready for a date. 

Peter saw it and sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. 

You pointed to the table. "Sit down. I'm going to get stuff for your hands."

He went to sit down, but he said, "Don't bother. They're healing already." He held them in his lap.

You nodded and sat down.

After a long minute of complete silence, Peter squeaked, "Are you mad at me?"

"No," you said. "I'm not mad."

"Well, I didn't hurt your feelings, did I-?"

"Pete," you said, smiling softly. "I'm okay."

He nodded. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just-"

"Stressed," you finished. "Exhausted. I know, Peter. You don't want to tell me that you're doing too much at once, but of course I see it. I'm your wife." You got up and crossed over to him. You squatted down in front of him and put your hands on his wrists. "I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. I can see how weak you are. You don't need to put on a show for me, sweetheart. You really don't. I'm not going to think that you failed me because you're tired. Even superheroes get tired."

Peter rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You smiled and kissed his wrists. Then you stood up and he pulled you into his arms. You sat down on his lap and put your arms around his neck. "You'd be in a lot of trouble if it weren't for me," you told him.

"You couldn't be more right," he sighed. 

You kissed the side of his face. "Alright, so I might have blown it with the pancakes, but I still made bacon and eggs and toast. We should eat before it gets cold."

"Okay," he said. "Wait - kiss me first."

You laughed softly and kissed him. He hummed with pure happiness. 

"Alright, let me get your plate," you said.

"You're the greatest," he said.

"I know." On your way to the stove, you turned and winked at him. "I love you, tiger."

He flashed a grin, hearing the nickname you'd given him when you both were teenagers. He really did have the best wife ever. It amazed him how lucky he was. After ten years of marriage, he was still one hundred percent sure that you only got more beautiful as the years went on. And your marriage only got stronger.

And he had the rest of his life to spend with this wonderful, amazing, perfect girl. Whose only fault was that she could never quite get pancakes right.