Peter whimpers as he hears Steve slam the door shut in the living room. He’s in a bad mood. That never ends well for the poor omega.
He quickly runs into the living room, keeping his gaze lowered as a sign of submission, hands behind his back. “Alpha,” Peter greets softly.
Steve takes a moment to looks around. Looking for something to yell at Peter for, probably. He won’t have to look long; today was a bad day for the omega. He had to go in early for work today; he left before his alpha woke up. He hadn’t left his alpha breakfast, strike number one. He only got home ten minutes before his alpha, which means several things.
1) He isn’t in his proper omega attire that Steve decided he needed. 2) he didn’t clean. He didn’t do the dishes. He didn’t do the laundry. He didn’t clean. 3) he didn’t make dinner. Dinner isn’t ready. Because he didn’t make it. 4) Steve’s drink isn’t ready for him either.
All Peter had time to do was take his shoes off and take a few minutes to will himself back on his feet after having been on them all day long and mentally prepare his list of chores.
But Peter got home late and Steve got home early. Bad, bad news for Peter.
Steve lets out a heavy breath. “Jesus Christ, Peter. What the hell are you good for? How did I get such a useless omega to be paired with?”
Peter winces like he’s been slapped. He hates being called useless. “I’m sorry, alpha. I only just got home, I-“
This time Peter really does get slapped. He whimpers softly, knowing his alpha hates him being a cry baby. “I didn’t ask you for fucking excuses, you useless piece of shit.”
Peter swallows thickly, tries to breathe. If he doesn’t cry, maybe Steve won’t be as mad. “Yes, alpha. I’m sorry.”
Steve slaps him again for good measure, and then pushes him aside in order to stomp past him. Peter lands on his hip, hissing in pain, but doesn’t say anything.
Peter gets up and starts on dinner, knowing this is what his alpha will need as a distraction while Peter finishes cleaning. His stomach churns in hunger; he hasn’t eaten all day and he knows that he won’t be getting his dinner tonight.
He’s working on something simple and fast to make; the quicker he gets it on the table, the less time there is for Steve to hurt him again.
He decides on a stew. He gets the broth boiling, starts to cook the beef on the stove. Then he starts chopping up the vegetables. He calms slightly as he hears Steve start the shower; he has a little time to himself.
He adds his normal seasoning to the beef and vegetables, stirring them together in the pan. He puts them in the stew carefully, and then puts the lid on top. He can serve it now and risk the broth being extremely underwhelming and under seasoned; or he can wait half an hour for all the flavors to marinate together.
He cleans the meat pan and cutting board while he decides, also cleaning the counters. He goes back to the stove, hesitating.
He hesitated too long.
Steve’s hand grabs his wrist, and forces it into the stove burner that’s still hot from having just been turned off. Peter screams in fear and pain, whimpering when Steve finally lets go ten seconds later.
Peter looks to his hand, blinking rapidly to keep the tears away. It’s blistering, the skin already peeling in some places.
“You’re really just going to fucking stand there and stare at the stew instead of cleaning? You useless piece of shit, you really are worse than worthless! You’re a burden!”
Peter chokes back his tears, whispering a soft “sorry, alpha, yes sir.” And scurries into the living room.
One hand down means it takes twice as long to clean up the living room. He hears Steve pouring himself drink after drink, and he whimpers at each one. The more drunk Steve is, the less nice he gets.
He finally finishes vacuuming, and he’s neatened up the living room significantly. He throws the laundry into the washing machine, before going back to the kitchen.
“Finally. I’m starving, bitch!” Steve slurs. Damn, he’s drunk.
Peter grits his teeth through the pain, needing both hands to pour Steve a bowl. His stomach growls at the smell; it smells amazing.
He moves the pot to the other side of the stove so it will start to cool off so he can put the rest in the refrigerator later. One good thing about Steve being drunk: Peter can get out of bed and come eat later.
While Steve eats and drinks some more, Peter goes to clean their bed room, vacuuming and making the bed, putting some things away here and there.
He then goes to move the laundry to the drier, before going to the bathroom to clean in there.
He hasn’t sat down other than when he was pushed to his hip earlier all day, and his feet are killing him.
He finishes cleaning the toilet and bathtubs just in time for Steve to stumble into the bedroom. “Omega! Come!” He calls.
Peter whimpers and nods to himself, going into the bedroom. He strips quickly, and lays on his back. He doesn’t know why Steve prefers this position when he so obviously hates Peter and his face, but he never questions it.
Steve fucks him harshly, rough and needy and without concern for Peter’s pleasure.
Peter bites his lip, watching Steve’s uncaring gaze above him. “Alpha… will you kiss me please? Just this once?”
Far from showing the affection Peter desperately needs, he grabs onto Peter’s burned hand and snarls “Shut up, omega!” Without pausing.
Peter cries out in pain, eyes screwing shut. He tries not to cry, tries to keep it all inside.
Steve finishes with a whisper of “Oh, Bucky!” Like he always does—Peter knows Steve isn’t cheating on him; Bucky is an alpha, the reason they couldn’t be together in the first place—and a grunt as he knots his omega.
Once it’s all over and Steve has finally fallen asleep next to him, Peter takes a few minutes to cry silently. Finally, he pulls himself up and heads the the bathroom.
Shower always comes first. He wants to get the… out of him, doesn’t want to risk bringing a baby into Steve’s wrath.
Then he cleans his hand and wraps it up after putting a shit ton of Neosporin on it. Hopefully it helps and he won’t have to go to the hospital.
Then he takes the laundry out and folds it, puts it all away where it’s supposed to go.
Once all his chores are done, he climbs into bed and stays as far away from Steve as he can. If Steve wakes up and sees he’s accidentally given Peter affection in the night, he might beat Peter.
He closes his eyes and cries silently. The only time he’s allowed to cry; when Steve isn’t there. He cries about his hand. He cries about getting raped all the time. He cries about the work load. He cries about his feet.
He cries, because he knows no one is ever going to love him.
He cries himself to sleep, so that when he wakes up, he can do it all over again.