quicksilverrwrites

Latest Posts by quicksilverrwrites

Bestie! I love your quicksilver fics! You have filled my heart with joy with each one!! ❤️❤️

aaah thank you so much!! that’s so sweet!! ❤️

reblog this if you’re a fanfic writer & your motivation to write actually increases when readers actually show interest & give you feedback. even just a reblog or a little comment here and there

Drabble Challenge!

Repost this. Followers/Readers send numbers to your Ask. You write a fic/drabble using that line in your piece. Have fun! Expect a ton of requests!! 

“That’s starting to get annoying”

“Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

“You can’t just sit there all day.”

“I’m too sober for this.”

“I’m not here to make friends.”

“I need a place to stay.”

“Well, that’s tragic.”

“You’re seriously like a man-child.”

“You can’t banish me! This is my bed too!”

“The ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”

“Dear Diary, …”

“She’s hiding behind the sofa.”

“I lost our baby.”

“They’re so cute when they’re asleep.”

“I’d kill for a coffee…literally.”

“You’re getting crumbs all over my bed.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“What’s the matter, sweetie?”

“You’re Satan.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuse. You can’t just give me wet-willies.”

“I’m bulletproof…but please, don’t shoot me.”

“Did you just hiss at me?”

“Do you really need all that candy?”

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

“I swear, I’m not crazy!!!”

“The diamond in your engagement ring is fake.”

“No. Regrets.”

“How drunk was I?”

“How is my wife more badass than me?”

“Be you. No one else can.”

“I haven’t slept in ages.”

“I locked the keys in the car.”

“Are you sure that’s the decision you want to make?”

“You work for me. You are my slave.”

“Take your medicine.”

“They’re monsters.”

“Welcome to fatherhood.”

“Why can’t you appreciate my sense of humor?”

“It’s your turn to make dinner.”

“The kids, they ambushed me.”

“Sorry isn’t going to help when I kick your ass!!!”

“Stop being so cute.”

“I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“You need to see a doctor.”

“You’re getting a vasectomy. That’s final.”

“I was a joke, baby. I swear.”

“Dogs don’t wear clothes!”

“I didn’t think you could get any less romantic…”

“Safety first. What are you? FIVE?”

“This is girl talk, so leave.”

“Where am I going? Crazy. Wanna come?”

“There’s a herd of them!”

“Do you think I’m scared of a woman?”

“They’re not your kids, back the f*ck off.”

“You’re a nerd.”

“I’m late.”

“Just get home as soon as possible, okay?!”

“You smell like a wet dog.”

“I could punch you right now.”

“Are you going to talk to me?”

“Welcome back. Now fucking help me.”

“If you can’t sleep…we could have sex?”

“Flea markets don’t carry fleas, you know?”

“Here, take my blanket.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

“How could I ever forget about you?”

“You’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

“Run for it!”

“We need to talk.”

“Not everyone is out to get you. Stop thinking that. It’s annoying.”

“I want a pet.”

“Just smile, I really need to see you smile right now.”

“I’m not wearing a dress.”

“I’m not wearing a tie.”

“Quit beating me up!”

“Please put your penis away.”

“It’s a Texas thing.”

“Don’t argue. Just do it.”

“I hope I’m never stuck with you on a deserted island.”

“Does he know about the baby?”

“Hold still.”

“I just ironed these pants!”

“Enough with the sass!”

“Show me what’s behind your back.”

“I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor.”

“Fine, don’t say anything and make me worry.”

“Stay awake.”

“STOP INTERRUPTING ME!”

“You’re not interested, are you?”

“I’m not buying ikea furniture again.”

“Tell me you need me.”

“Oh honey, I’d never be jealous of you.”

“I’m telling you. I’m haunted.”

“I had a bad dream again.”

“Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.”

“It’s Christmas, don’t be mad at me.”

“You’re not going to starve yourself on Thanksgiving.”

“The store ran out of Easter eggs.”

“How could you forget your son’s birthday?”

“You can only suffer through my whining for so long until you get up and make me a sandwich.”

Visit @prompt-bank for more prompts!!

do you have any headcanons about how peter and the reader bonded when she first came to xavier's school? will we get to see more of that? :)

okay but YES:

charles asks peter to show you around the school because you're both similar ages, jean is in classes all day, and although peter doesn't stay at the mansion, he knows it like the back of his hand already.

charles also thinks you BOTH need friends. he's literally matchmaking platonically.

things between you both are awkward as he shows you around. you're still settling in and peter doesn't know you yet, but you ask him where the nearest arcade is and that's when you find out you both hold a conversation really easily. peter has nothing else to do, so he shows you around town and you two even play a game or two at the arcade.

while spending time with him, you grow less tense. you actually smile for the first time in a while. you typically take a little while to open up to anyone, but peter's high energy fast tracks this. you're kind of terrified of how fast you're growing to like him, especially since you already find him attractive.

you eventually befriend scott, jean, kurt and jubilee too, but it's nothing in comparison to the friendship you have with peter. you seem very similar and very different all at once.

just as you think you understand something about peter, like how he seems to cover up any potential sadness with humour and never seems serious, he changes it up on you. he's confusing and it both irritates and fascinates you. example: he'll be funny with you one moment and then serious when you open up. jokes turn to 'oh, shit, i'm sorry' in a solemn tone. it's a quick back and forth of emotional states.

despite the fact that you often wonder if he's out of your league, you can't make yourself stop wondering whether he might be feeling the same things you are... like something is building between the both of you. jokes on you, because he doesn't wonder whether you're out of his league—he knows you are.

the two of you aren't usually the ones to spend every day hanging out with someone. peter usually spends his time alone in his basement (not out of choice), and you like to spend your time on your own (that is, in fact, a choice). even so, you seem to be hanging out with one another a lot.

he opens up to you and it makes you feel like he trusts you.

he's the first person you open up to about what happened with your father back in england. the accident. the reason you came here.

after that deep discussion, things between you are different. it's like there's a tension between you both, and it's something unsaid: you care about each other. a lot.

peter can't ever seem to keep still, and one day when he stretches out across the floor of your dorm, you follow him to the floor. you rest your head on his chest, your heart beating like mad, and he wraps an arm around you. you've never been held like that before. you're both silent as you wonder whether this is something 'just friends' do.

over the weeks that you spend in one another's presence, people at the mansion seems to pick up on the fact that there's something blossoming between you two. everyone seems to notice it but yourselves.

your first unofficial date that isn't a date is him sneaking you both into the movies. at the end, it's pouring down with rain, but you ask him not to speed you both home as rain is your favourite weather. you can feel the energy building in you as you both make your way back to peter's house.

by the time you get home you're both drenched and he gives you a spare t-shirt and shorts to wear. it's late and peter gives you the bed.

his mom finds you there in the morning when she comes down to do the laundry and gives peter a warning look; she thinks you two had sex. embarrassed, you leave soon after. but that night when peter smells you on his sheets, he knows he has to ask you out.

he asks various people for advice before he asks you, all with varying information. in the end, he decides an arcade date is best... right back where you started. dinner after is an option, but this would feel natural for the both of you.

you don't hesitate to respond when he asks you out, and you think you probably should've taken longer to say yes.

“aw you remembered!” bitch i’m in love with you of course i remembered

16 with Scott Summers?

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: scott summers, reader 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: “I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 646 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, peter x reader implied 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: y/n is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

Scott says this to you across the kitchen counter, and you roll your eyes.

"Is your reaction to everything, Scott,” you murmur, whisking together a bowl of brownie mix, “‘I'll kick their arse'?"

Scott retorts, "I don't say that about everything."

"You threatened to kick a pigeon's arse the other day."

Scott looks to the side as if recalling the memory. “Mm. Yeah. I see your point.”

You grin at him. "I don't think you could kick Peter's arse either way.”

Scott’s mouth falls slack, and it’s as if you’ve said the worst thing imaginable to him. You don’t pretend to understand Scott and Peter’s rivalry; they’re so different and yet Scott loves to rile him up. You don’t even think Scott dislikes Peter, instead seeing him as merely an easy target. He’s the same with Kurt, only he does it less often. Probably because he feels bad for targeting somebody so naive.

You, on the other hand… well. The fact that you’re in the kitchen, baking brownies at three am, says it all. Somehow, despite Scott’s tendency to pick on everybody apart from Jean, you’ve managed to bond.

Scott retorts, “You don't think I could beat Peter in a fight? Peter, of all people?"

“Scott, he literally has super-speed.”

“Without the speedy part, I mean. Like, fists.”

You raise your brows. “Have you thrown a punch? Like, ever? In your entire life?”

Scott opens his mouth to protest, but he stammers. You already know the answer. “I’ve definitely thrown a punch.”

You laugh as you begin to transfer the brownie mix from the bowl to the pan. “Okay, Summers.”

Scott groans as he takes a seat on the stools facing the counter. “I just…” he shakes his head, “I don’t get why you like him so much.”

You let out a laugh, cheeks flushing red. “Jealous, Scott?”

Scott blinks at you. “What? Me? Of Maximoff?” He scoffs. “No.”

You flash a look that reveals that you don’t entirely believe him, your attention averting to the brownie mix below you. “I don’t think you dislike him as much as you pretend to.”

Scott is silent for a minute, which you don’t expect, until— “I don’t dislike him.”

“Then what?”

“He’s just so…”

“So?”

“Carefree.”

Scott’s hands splay to look at his open palms as he continues, “I’ve never been like that. I don’t know how he does it.”

As you look across at him, you think that you get it now. Scott doesn’t exactly bully Peter, but what he does do is bug him because he’s jealous. Is it the confidence he has? You get the sneaking suspicion that while beneath Peter’s cool exterior there’s a lot of pain and longing, under Scott’s cocky exterior, there’s…

Anxiety. And insecurity. And a whole lot left to unravel.

Softly, after a gentle sort of silence has lingered between you for a while, you ask, “You know people here love you, right?”

Scott frowns up at you, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably. “Don’t say that.”

You raise your brows slightly as you look away, beginning to scrape the remaining contents of the bowl into the pan with a spoon. “Alright.”

Silence lingers once more—it’s comfortable but heavy, like a barrier hasn’t been breached but some unspoken words are hanging within it. Scott waits until the brownies are in the oven and the bowl has been put in the sink before he speaks again, the two of you watching the mix slowly begin to transform under the heat within.

“Thanks, Scribe,” he murmurs, stood quietly next to you.

You flash him a soft smile as your arm brushes against his, and you think you’re quite lucky to be able to see this side of Scott—this part of himself that he hides from everybody else.

Scott summers trusts you, and you know you’d never do anything to breach it.

Are you going to write anything other then the scribe reader? IS it a series

do you mean reader x other characters or peter x reader that isn't scribe? scribe will always feature in my peter x reader fics as that's the oc i've built up. i have a non ship related thing in the drafts including scott summers though. if you send in reader x other character requests i may do those if i have the inspo!

my best friend said peter maximoff probably thinks the height of porn is the pizza man ones where the girl has no money to pay the pizza delivery guy and i hate that she's right

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍: peter maximoff ( x-men ) 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader

peter maximoff is the sober friend at parties.

he doesn't like to drink because it slows him down too much. scribe is introverted so she'll hardly drink without a reason to, but when it comes to social gatherings, she won't hesitate to have a few glasses of wine. she loses all sense of self doubt and becomes exceptionally confident, which means that she won't hesitate to fight anyone who tests her or her friends—and this is, of course, something which peter doesn't particularly want her to do.

in fact, most of a night in which scribe and the x-men are drinking would likely consist of peter being the 'sober friend', i.e. making sure his friends don't get hurt; that they don't make dumb decisions; that scribe doesn't either embarrass herself or injure herself or try to fight a dog that's looking at her weirdly, of all things; that scott doesn't impulsively take his glasses of with the promise of no, guys, look, i can control it, see look, and then he can't control it and he sears another tree in half.

peter doesn't mind being the sober friend, either. he gets to see kurt, beaming and purple-cheeked, as he teaches all their friends german words and phrases (albeit while slurring his words); he gets to see jean actually let loose; he gets to see jubilee come out of her shell; he gets to spend time with his friends; take care of his girl; make sure no creeps are picking on her at the bar...

oh, and seeing scott summers drunk? remembering scott summer drunk? being able to use that as blackmail and tease him about it the next day—or, realistically, for the rest of the week?

worth it. worth it every time.

godspeed…

Scott: how long are we going to stand here and let him do that??

Jean: just give him a minute

Peter: *pushing a door that clearly says pull*

I really hope I’m not overwhelming you but I think it’s got a cute opportunity. “Can I do your hair?” with Peter?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: “can i do your hair?” 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 940 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, fluff, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: y/n is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

Sometimes, you think it’d be easier if you were bald. Like Charles.

Your hair is a great source of irritation when it doesn’t go the way you plan. Truthfully, you know very little about hair: you know how to make sleeping in rollers somewhat bearable and you know how to Dutch braid it, but that’s about it. You thought it would be fun to try something new today, something glamorous like the models in the magazines, but it’s not going well at all. Is it the hairdryer? Is it the brush you’re using? Is it the way you’re twisting your hand? You don’t know, and it’s driving you insane.

“Bloody hell,” you grumble, one hand wrapped around the handle of the round brush while you position the hairdryer at the right spot again. “How hard is it to make a curl?”

Peter, laid back on your bed in his leathers and band tee, asks, “Why don’t you—”

The hairdryer whirrs to life again, a loud, obnoxious sound that’s getting on your nerves by now. You can’t hear him over the noise of it. “Huh?”

You squint at him across the room; all that lies between your full length mirror and your bed, pressed against the wall, is the trunk you brought with you to school. Peter has been watching you try to do this for a while now, your frustrations rising, and you’ve only got fifteen minutes left until you’re due to hang out with Jean, Scott, Kurt and Jubilee.

The speedster shakes his head dismissively. He turns to the side and watches you twist the brush in your hand, leave the hairdryer to heat it up, and then when you pull it away—

Limp. It’s flat and downright awful, and your face is going red at the sight of it.

Your fingers clench in irritation as you set the brush down. Peter’s laugh rings out across the room to you. It’s a sound that usually sparks amusement, but right now it sparks vexation.

“It’s not funny!” You fire back at him, frustration evident in your tone.

Peter, however, thinks otherwise. “It’s pretty funny. You’ll laugh about it in a few days’ time.”

You growl in frustration. “Not if I can’t do this bloody hairstyle,” you respond. You throw your hands in the air and bring one to tug at your hair, as if to prove your point. “I might say to hell with it and get a perm.”

Peter’s laugh is filled with amusement, louder than before, as he stands from the bed. “Wanda did that and she came out looking like a grandma. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

You jut your chin upwards defensively. “It’s in fashion right now. It’s the 80’s.”

“It definitely didn’t look in fashion on my sister. I teased her about it for weeks.”

You shake your head. You turn to look back at yourself in the mirror, sighing. “What would you recommend, huh? Hair Stylist Maximoff?”

Peter’s brows rise as he takes a few slow steps across the room towards you. “Can I do your hair?”

You frown at him. Your mother used to try to help you when you got like this, except she’d never be able to do it either and you’d just both end up frustrated. You turn back to him, suddenly feeling a little defeated, and sigh at your reflection in the mirror. “What do you know about hair?”

Peter appears behind you at superspeed and places his hands on your shoulders. “You think I go to the little old lady salon and walk in and ask for silver hair? Please. I do this crap myself.”

Peter reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, and you close your eyes at the feeling. His touch is comforting. Teasingly, you ask, “Do you curl it too?”

You open your eyes to see Peter shrug. “Nah,” he answers softly. His gaze follows his fingers as they rake gently through your hair. “But Wanda asks me to get the back for her sometimes.”

You raise your brows. “Really?”

Peter nods. “Dinner on me if I screw it up?”

Your lips quirk up in a small smile. “Deal.”

Peter grins at you, and then in a flash, he’s speeding around the room. You can’t see what he grabs, but you know the rough location of everything he might be grabbing—hairspray, the brush, the hairdryer…

And when he’s done, you’re choking from the amount of hairspray lingering around you. Genuinely choking. Your throat feels like it might give up from the fumes, but when you’ve finally stopped, when your eyes stop watering enough to see—

“Oh my god.”

You look good. Exactly like the models in the magazines. Your curls are voluminous, bouncy, and it compliments the natural makeup on your face almost as if you woke up looking like this. You can’t help but gape at the sight of yourself in the mirror, and you catch the sight of Peter’s grinning mouth as he watches the recognition flash in your eyes.

“Peter,” you breathe, “never mind the X-Men. You need to get a job in a salon.”

Peter laughs. “Personal stylist for the X-Men? I’ve got some good ideas for what I’d like to do to Scott.”

You let out a laugh, your fingers twisting through the ends of your hair. Oh, it’s perfect. “Personal stylist for me, at the very least.”

Peter grins, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “Glad you like it, Y/N.”

“Like it? I love it.”

“Good. Now can we please get going?” Peter begs, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “If I don’t get food soon I think I’ll combust.”

I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what exactly are Scribe’s powers? How did you come up with her name?

i absolutely don't mind! i love questions like this, and it's a valid one since her powers haven't been fully fleshed out yet. i hope you guys don't mind that the reader in my fics has a fleshed out backstory, personality and powers either.

a scribe is defined as follows:

a writer or journalist.

a public clerk or secretary, especially in ancient times.

a professional copyist of manuscripts and documents.

in verb form:

to write or inscribe.

to mark with a scriber.

scribe's name comes from her ability to change her body and abilities through writing. i'll list all her powers below:

atomic manipulation: scribe can change herself in any way she wants i.e give herself another mutant’s powers, but she has done this through writing for so long that she struggles to do it with a mere thought. if she does this for extended periods of time she won’t be able to use her energy powers. little spoiler for the future: when she becomes one of the x-men, hank will make her something to help with this in the same way that he made scott summers his glasses.

energy manipulation: she can lift things with her energy and can fire energy blasts. while you might think this is similar to wanda's powers, they're less ball-shaped and more raw in shape and form. her mind always knows how much force to use and how powerful to make these blasts. they scorch the skin on impact.

portals: she can open portals to other dimensions. all she needs to do is think of what and where she wants and she can summon a portal to it. smaller ones are easier; larger ones drain her power very quickly.

shielding: this power stems from charles xavier & her father since they're twins (i took this from the og movies where he magically has a brain-dead twin brother haha). nobody can hear her thoughts. she can extend this shield to a person or group of people i.e. the x-men she's fighting with, but doing this for other people drains her energy. if she truly focused then she could access telepathy, but that's not something she wants to do.

i hope that answered your question and if you have any more then please do ask and i'll be happy to answer!

X-Men: Apocalypse

I know you think you’ve lost everything. But you haven’t. You have me. You have Charles. You have more family than you know. You never had the chance to save your family before. But you do now. That’s what I’ve come here to tell you. And you?

Drabble Challenge: 1-150

Rules: Followers send a number to your ask and you write a drabble using that sentence/prompt in your piece. Try to keep up! Expect a TON of requests!

“The skirt is supposed to be this short.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid.”

“Who gave you that black eye?”

“You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?”

“I just like proving you wrong.”

“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

“Forget it. You fucking suck.”

“Quit it or I’ll bite.”

“If you use up all the hot water again, I swear to god! You’re on the couch for a month!!”

“If I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Looks like we’re gonna be stuck here for a while.”

“Take. It. Off.”

“Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not.”

“I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.”

“Stop it! It tickles!”

“It’s okay to cry…”

“And that’s how you ruin a life. Congratulations.”

“D..did you just make that noise?”

“He’s a bad kisser.”

“You can scream if you want.”

“I didn’t know we were keeping track.”

“We’re playing checkers. If you don’t like it, leave.”

“One of them’s missing.”

“Save some for me.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“You’re still mad?”

“Come over here and make me.”

“You better watch yourself.”

“Eat your lunch and you wouldn’t be hungry.”

“Why did we have to have kids?”

“Call on Line 1”

“He creeped me out. I’m not gonna lie.”

“I’m done! You can fix it!”

“Can we just watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch?”

“Where did he go?”

“You leave whenever you feel like it.”

“I forgot I was a single parent.”

“Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.”

“You’re going out dressed like that?”

“For the hundredth time, I’m not your babysitter.”  

“Frost the damn cupcakes.”

“Well that’s the second biggest news I’ve heard all day.”

“You look pretty hot in plaid.”  

“I thought you were dead!”

“I thought it was a one-night-stand…and now we’re married…”

“We’ve become the clingy couple that you used to complain about.”

“Quit touching me. Your feet are cold.”

“You know you want it, sweetheart.”

“I’m your husband. It’s my job.”  

“You just wanted them because the light up.”

“That wasn’t very subtle.”

“He thinks he’s a mind reader.”  

“It’s just you and me tonight. I was thinking we could have a little fun.”

“I don’t do hugs.”

“Don’t talk anymore.”

“I’m just a guy with a wife, two kids, and a Harley.”

“How do I even put up with you?”

“I said get rid of it.”

“They didn’t just find out. They already knew!”

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are.”

“Can you just man up and change his diaper?”

“Just don’t buy a goat. I don’t care what you do, just no goats.”

“I have a secret.”

“I won’t let you get hurt.”

“You’re strong, baby. You have to be.”

“He’s four years old!!”

“I’ve had enough! I want to be alone!”

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

“Me and the boys will handle it.”

“You’re competitive and so am I, and it’s going to lead to a fight.”

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“You’re a dork, just like your father.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Daddy!”

“I lost our child.”

“That’s my shirt. So is that..wait?”

“My name isn’t Leslie…who’s Leslie?”

“There’s a surprise upstairs for you.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m not your boss? Well then who is?”

“You can’t eat solids, only liquids until Thursday.”

“Come on, baby, up to bed.”

“They got you a present. Isn’t it sweet?”

“Am I scaring you?”

“Run! You said you’d work out with me!”

“After everything…I’d still choose you.”

“And when did you plan on telling me about this?”

“Trust me.”

“Scoot over a little bit, please.”

“You’re so clingy, I love it.”

“You didn’t just wake me up at 2am because you were ‘in the mood’.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“You’re cute when you’re all worried.”

“Stop being grumpy. It’s lame.”

“I don’t need a hero, I need a husband.”

“Don’t shut me out.”

“You got a cute butt.”

“I just got out of the shower, I can’t dance. What if my towel falls off?”

“Don’t be an asshole. Asshole.”

“Do you really think I could ever replace you?”

“Sharing is caring. Now give me your fries.”

“…or we can chill in our underwear.”

“You can’t make up for it by giving me a tic-tac.”

“Keep pedaling and don’t stop, okay?”

“You, me, popcorn, two liter Dr. Pepper, and a movie. You in?”

“Have you seen my contacts?”

“Life is a highway, and I’m always drunk. So I’m not driving.”

“Quit stalling. Where’s your father?”

“You can’t just hug me and think everything’s okay.”

“Is he coming home?”

“I prefer blondes.”

“No more dogs. How hard it it to understand?”

“I let you win.”

“I broke your nose, and I’m sorry for that. But what you’re doing isn’t fair.”

“Can I do your hair?”

“Your favorite superhero can’t be a villain.”

“I told you not to jump on the bed!”

“He’s pampering me, let him be.”

“Ready or not, here I come.”

“I’m worried about losing my job!”

“Oh, did I scare you, big boy?”

“Happy new year!”

“Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep. Wait…are you…what?!”

“You nap, I’ll stay awake.”

“It’s turbulence. It’s normal.”

“Don’t touch me. We’re fighting.”

“I’ll give you a massage.”

“You fell asleep in the tub?!”

“Are you doodling?”

“We’re not playing strip poker. I don’t care what I said when I was drunk.”

“Slushies aren’t just for kids, fuck society.”

“Are you scared…Then why won’t you look at the screen?”

“Enough with the pillow talk, I’m tired.”

“You had a nightmare, tell me what it was about so I can fix it.”

“We need groceries, not just junk food. You’re worse than the kids.”

“Is this our closet? Or your closet?”

“If I win, you do dishes for a week.”

“Fist bumps are cooler than high-fives…”

“Use your words.”

“Hold my hand so he gets jealous.”

“Ew, your hand is sweaty.”

“Get out of my face before I hit you.”

“I don’t care if your 4 or 40, you don’t hit people.”

“You only care about football, beer, and raking leaves.”

“Look! Fireflies!”

“Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

“I just need ten minutes.”

*Make Your Own*

Happy Writing! Visit @prompt-bank for more prompts!

out of interest if peter maximoff had full control of what he named his son, what do you think he'd pick

Hate to be this person but! REBLOG, COMMENT, AND LIKE YOUR FAVORITE FICS! IT MAKES WRITERS WANT TO WRITE MORE FICS!!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you can’t sleep and neither can peter, but at least you both know exactly how to comfort one another. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, fluff, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: y/n is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

It’s eleven-thirty, and you can’t sleep.

Your thoughts shift to your lessons in the morning; to how tired you’re going to be; to that iced coffee you’d had while getting your assignment done after class; about how that drink was definitely a bad idea considering how you’re lying awake now. It had tasted good then, and it had given you the energy you needed to fire out five thousand words in the span of a few hours… but now you regret it.

Sighing, you roll over. Your eyes glaze over the objects on the nightstand beside your bed. Your alarm clock, rectangular in size and wooden in material, glares at you. Eleven thirty six. Eleven thirty seven. The time seems to spiral, and you realise that you might as well do something with yourself if you’re awake.

You eye the books stacked on top of the alarm clock; you’d been reading one before and it had bored you half to death, so you can’t bring yourself to pick up any again. What else? What else?

Your gaze settles upon the picture frame on the dresser next to your nightstand, and you let out a sigh as you settle upon the silver-haired speedster within it. You’re next to him, a mere blur since he’d sneakily taken the camera from your hand and taken a picture with an expression that radiates cheekiness, but you’d liked the picture enough to keep it.

You’ve got a few more picture frames scattered around your room—photos of you with Scott, Jean, Jubilee and Kurt. Even some of Charles. You might not be close, but he is your uncle, after all. He’s still family.

And yet it’s Peter you keep your eyes on. It’s Peter's mischievous aura which calls to you across the room.

What would he be doing right now? He’s probably playing video games or practicing on one of his guitars. You’d been surprised to see him play well; you’d been surprised to see that he actually had the attention span it takes to successfully learn an instrument. You would know: your mother used to nag you about practicing the piano to perfection. Practice makes perfect, she’d always said, and yet she’d always left out how much energy it took to practice in the first place.

Is it too late to reach out to him? The two of you have a specific way of speaking to one another across distances by now, although even the thought of doing such a thing due to the time seems rude. Your mother had always told you that it was your duty to be polite, and your father had by example. You think you picked it up from him rather than her, but—

Don’t think of him right now. Don’t think of what happened. Don’t.

As if in an effort to push the memory of that night from your head, you move. You pull the drawer attached to your nightstand open to reveal a mess of junk inside, but what you need—and what you spy—is a pen and paper. You pull it from the drawer and slam the nightstand drawer shut quietly, and after, you get to work writing:

Are you up? Can I come over?

Your fingers buzz with azure energy as you feel your mutation working in your favour. A tiny portal of blue opens before you, one you could make larger if you wished but one which you keep small for now. It’s no larger than a letterbox would be, and the faint sound of music from the other side tells you that Peter is very much awake.

You slip the note through the portal, and then you leave it open as you wait.

When you receive no response for a solid fifteen seconds but can hear movement on the other side, you wonder if this was a mistake after all. It’s too late, you scold yourself, mentally preparing for rejection. Oh, god, this is going to be awkward. What if he—

An empty Twinkie box falls at your feet.

You blink at it, momentarily confused, and then you pick it up. You glance about the dessert’s display as you begin to turn the box over in your hands. Nothing on the front, but on the back—

Scrawled in pink glitter pen—probably his sister’s—, the box reads on the back: Yeah. Come through.

You grin lazily as you set the box down on your bed and extend the portal with your fingers like you’re prying open a heavy door. The orange light from Peter’s basement slips through and becomes one with the light of your dorm, which is yellow and warm with your room’s wooden accented walls and flooring. And as you slip through the portal and your bare feet touch the soft tartan carpet of his room, you let the portal shut with a soft shum behind you—

But Peter Maximoff does not look his best. In fact, he looks downright miserable.

His eyes are red as if he’s been crying, his hair is messy—messier than usual, at least—and he’s wearing a band tee and some tartan pajama bottoms that look intended for comfort rather than style. You were about to say hey, but you stop in your tracks. You tilt your head as you look at him.

Peter is still. It’s strange, especially since he’s usually so eccentric. He blurts out, “What?”

You frown, momentarily stuck for what to say. “Nothing,” you respond, but it doesn’t seem right.

Peter stares at you. You stare at him. You’re both quite similar, so it strikes you then that you both know that you’re each not telling each other something.

“You okay?” You ask, suspicion clear in your tone.

Peter shrugs nonchalantly. It’s a rigid movement. “Yeah,” he says, far too confidently to be true. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You narrow your eyes on him. His tone of voice has all but solidified your suspicions. “Okay, first of all,” you say, crossing the small space of the room between you and the sofa, “you use a very distinctive tone when you lie.” You settle down on the sofa as you cross your legs under you. “Second, your eyes are really red. Have you been—?”

“No.”

Crying, you were about to ask, but he cut you off. You narrow your eyes again.

Peter sighs and averts his gaze, running a hand through his hair. “Tonight’s just… not a good night.”

You press your lips together as sympathy wells in your eyes. “Why not?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That makes two of us."

Peter inhales deeply, and before you know it, he’s sitting on the sofa next to you. You’re used to how fast he moves by now. Something warms your heart in the way he sits with his body angled towards you. Like he’s opening himself up to you.

“Wanna stay here tonight?” He asks.

You glance at the other end of the sofa and then back to him. You’re reminded of how he took the sofa to sleep on that night after you guys got caught in the rain. “Here?”

Peter’s brows rise. “Is my basement not fancy enough for you?”

You know he’s joking even despite the lack of humour in his tone, and you let out a small huff of laughter as you flash him a lazy smile. You sit back on the sofa, reaching out your hand to intertwine it with his. Things between you are still blooming after your first date, but you both feel comfortable enough to do this. Peter’s fingers wrap around yours as he starts drawing patterns on the back of your hand with his free one.

“I just mean,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the backdrop of quiet music, “won’t your mom mind?”

“She didn’t mind when you stayed over last time.”

Your lips quirk upwards in gentle amusement. “That time you slept on the couch. This time I was thinking, I mean, if you want to, then maybe—”

“Oh,” Peter murmurs. His head lifts upwards in a sort of understanding motion. “Yeah, I mean… ah, I can deal with whatever safe sex talk she wants to give me in the morning.”

Your cheeks flush red. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant maybe we could…” Oh, god, embarrassment— “cuddle.”

Peter grins. “Cuddle, huh?” He pauses, until— “Okay,” he murmurs, reaching an arm around the back of the couch to wrap around you. “I guess I could be down for cuddling.”

You snicker softly as you lean into his touch, your head resting against his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me why you looked so upset when I arrived?”

Peter tenses. “It wasn’t because of you, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Mm,” you murmur, “I think I’m confident enough in our relationship to know that your reaction when seeing me is generally excitement rather than the dread that accompanies sad under eyes and red markings around them.”

He pauses for a few seconds before he lets out a long breath of defeat. “That obvious, huh?”

“Mm,” you murmur, looking up at him. “A little.”

His lips twist to the side as he lowers his gaze. “I was thinking about my dad.”

It’s your turn to pause now, looking up at him in a way you didn’t before. You assess every detail of his body again: the way his shoulders slump, the way his head hangs low, the way his hair falls in the way of his view and his eyes are heavy with something you haven’t seen in him before. He’s usually so full of life.

Is this what he’s hiding deep down?

“Tell me about it,” you say softly.

Peter grimaces. “It’s a long story, and the stupid thing is it’s mostly my fault.”

Frowning, you sit up and face him. “I don’t believe that.”

Peter lets out a humourless laugh that might be bitter if he showed a hint of anger, but he doesn’t. “It’s true. The only time I’ve ever been too slow and it’s in finding the most…”

He trails off, pulling his arm away from around you so that they both now rest in his lap. He continues, “It’s a mess.”

“Start from the beginning."

So he explains, if not vaguely: about trying to find his father, about finding a house empty and police arriving on the scene. Peter had fled at the sight of them, and—

“His name’s Magneto,” he admits. “Erik Lehnsherr. You’ve probably… seen him on TV or something."

Suddenly, it all adds up. You weren’t at school to see what happened with Apocalypse, but you’ve heard about it from your friend group. Peter doesn’t talk about it very much, and now you know why; had he been part of that whole adventure because of his father? He hadn’t been involved with Xavier’s School before, that much you know.

You suck in a breath. Okay, Y/N, push the fact that his dad’s a known terrorist aside— “Does he know?”

Peter shakes his head. “Nah. I had the chance to tell him and I didn’t. I screwed it up. And now I’m right back where I was before all of it, because I have no clue where he is and no way of telling him the truth. I couldn’t even do it for Wanda.”

“Hey,” you murmur, your fingers moving to cup his cheeks. “Fight or flight, right? It’s normal. To see him right in front of you—to have to muster up the courage to tell him? Knowing what a change that would be for you? Peter, that’s normal.”

Peter’s eyes well with softness as he listens to you, gazes upon you, and you think you’ve never seen him look so vulnerable as he lowers his head to your shoulder. He takes in a shaky breath; wraps his arms around you; pulls you into his lap—

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your shirt. It’s not his shirt this time; you’re wearing a pyjama set that consists of blue silk shorts and a top. “Not sure I believe you, but thanks, Y/N.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you believe me?”

Peter takes a deep breath. “Aside from mind control? Not sure.”

You press your lips together and begin to stroke his hair. “To be honest,” you murmur, “I’m not sure I’d believe you if you tried to tell me something similar about my father, either.”

Peter lets out a choked laugh. “Maybe that’s why we work together.”

Your lips curve upwards, still stroking his hair. His face is still buried in your shoulder. “Maybe,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

Peter shifts so that he’s leaning against the back of the sofa and you’re in his lap again. You turn so that you’re straddling his waist, but your fingers find his jaw to cup the skin there. Your thumb brushes soothingly against his skin.

“You mean a lot to me,” Peter murmurs, staring up at you. It’s almost as if the music in the room has stopped; it’s almost as if the two of you are the only souls left in existence. His brows are slightly raised and there is awe in his voice as he says, “I don’t really believe you’re real half the time.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Definitely real, Peter. Definitely here.”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone riddled with amusement, “and here of all places. You could be anywhere. You’re like, perfect and—”

“Ssh,” you murmur, pressing a finger to his lips. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you.”

Peter tilts his head up towards you, a silent request for consent, and you kiss him in answer.

He wraps his arms around your waist as he deepens the kiss, your tongue slipping out to meet his own. He makes a low, guttural noise between pleasure and content at the feeling of it, and your free hand clutches at his shirt as your other hand remains at his jaw.

You spend the rest of the evening like that, whether it's on the sofa or in his bed, but in those moments together there’s nothing carnal about it. Your touches are soft and comforting rather than lustful and yearning, and as much as you’ve thought about him that way before, you know that now’s not the time.

Tonight, you both need this. Tonight, your sole purpose is to be there for one another.

“And for the record,” Peter murmurs between kisses, his words random and uncalculated, “I think your tragic backstory’s way worse than mine.”

I look forward to your new piece!! Will it be a Peter Maximoff one?

bestie all of my pieces will be peter maximoff or x-men themed trust me

You’re writing style is amazing <3 really love your word choice for the arcade piece and you have such a pretty way of putting sentences together

thank you so much! that's really sweet of you and means a lot. i'm really glad people are enjoying my writing so far and i hope to publish another today because i literally do not know how to stop lol

*The world literally ending*

My Brain Picking A New Character To Hyperfixate on:

Request for what it would be like watching the Olympics with Peter Maximoff?

It's so funny you mention this....

OKAY SO!

I think Peter is annoyed by the Olympics, since mutants are banned from competing. You put on the Olympics and he is basically vibrating on the couch next to you.

"The least they could do is give us our own category or something."

When any Olympic champion is referred to as the "fastest man/woman/person alive" he gets very grumpy and starts pointing to himself.

"Babe, it's not that important."

"I am literally faster than the speed of sound! I AM THE FASTEST MAN ALIVE!"

When you are watching events that don't involve running, it's slightly better. Then Peter can actually appreciate the talent and dedication.

He would get deeply invested in the sport, even if he knew nothing about it before watching the event.

"Oh my God! Babe! I think he's going to try for the quad axel. BABE ARE YOU SEEING THIS!?"

He would always root for the underdog. Always.

By the time the medals ceremony happens you are too wrapped up to pay any attention to him

When the winner of the 100 meter dash is about to receive the gold medal, all hell breaks lose.

"Oh! It seems the gold medal is gonem Folks we have no idea what just happened. You are watching this live with me. The gold medal just disappeared in thin air. I have no explanation for this."

"Oh my God, Pete-" you look over next to you and see your boyfriend sitting there nonchalantly with a gold medal around his neck.

Peter looks at you and says with a deadpan face: "I don't know what you expected from me."

𝐓𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

peter maximoff x reader oneshots

peter maximoff headcanons

peter x reader oneshots in reading order tba below (once i write more)

about scribe (y/n)

peter x reader ask prompts

scribe ask prompts

peter x reader headcanons

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: it’s your first date with peter maximoff, and the tension between the two of you has been building for weeks. you share a passion like no other, and there's only one place this date can go: the dark back alley of the arcade, a place where no soul dare to go lest they bare the damned title of 'staff'. or quicksilver and scribe, i guess. you pick. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, sexual innuendos, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader (sorry americans <3), make out scene and sexual attraction 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: the character that features as y/n in my fics is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

Your date with Peter comes around the corner faster than you thought it would considering you’re not exactly the typical ‘student’ at Xavier’s School.

You’d thought it would take forever for the week to pass: typically, you spend your time waiting for your friend group to get out of lessons. You’re older, having graduated school when you lived in the United Kingdom, so the only lessons you attend are that of Power Efficiency, Mutant Physiology and Ethics, the latter two being optional and studied merely out of interest. The rest of your schedule consists of a lot of free time. You don’t work—with all the money you have, why would you? Uncle Charles keeps nagging you to do something with your time, something productive, but after what you went through in England with your father…

Making friends here was difficult enough. Dealing with your powers in a new situation—coming to this school—was enough. You’re not exactly an extrovert, either, which is why you’re so surprised that you and Peter click so well.

He’s eccentric and annoying and perfect. Okay, perhaps not perfect in a literal sense, but to you he is. Sure, his leather jacket kind of smells from age and sometimes he talks so fast that you find yourself struggling to keep up, but you find it endearing. And oh, those eyes—you could watch how they light up when he’s super excited about something forever, you think.

He’s the best thing that’s happened to you in a while. You wonder if Charles knew what he was doing when he made Peter your buddy upon your arrival at this institute, but in reality, you know it’s because you’re both the oldest students—almost-students?—at this school. Besides, Charles has seen the two of you work together as a chaotic duo, and you’ve heard the sighs and mutterings of the man when he’s been most exasperated because of the both of you. Why, you think, grinning at your reflection in the mirror, would he ever put himself through that chaos if he could avoid it? The first prank you articulated together was the beginning of many, and you’ve practically been inseparable since you first arrived here.

First it was friendship. Then… yeah, it didn’t take much at all to blossom into something more.

You look good, you think, smoothing down Peter’s Rush tee as it hangs oversized on your body. You look really good. Your style is what would be expected of Charles’ niece even despite the fact that you’ve only ever met him a few times in your life: classy, 10% preppy, academic to a fault. You typically match your clothes to the colour of your powers: blue, but azure in particular. Sometimes pastel blue. You’re particular like that. But tonight you’ve opted for something different. Something a little more… Peter.

Your hair falls naturally past your shoulders, and the cool sleeves of a black leather jacket—your father’s leather jacket, the only leather jacket you own—hang from your shoulders while the jacket itself stops at your thighs. It's too big for you. You’ve paired a black skirt with the shirt, but it’s free flowing and a soft material that practically blends in with Peter’s top. Your boots are chunky platforms, black, and this is the darkest your outfit has been in a while.

It still feels… you, though. It feels right. Maybe because Peter feels right, and you stole this tee from him after you stayed over that night in his basement when it was pouring with rain. You both knew you could’ve opened up a portal to get back to your dorm, but neither of you wanted that.

You both want this, though. You both want each other.

The very acknowledgement of that fact forces you to take a steadying breath in, but the sound of a knock at your door makes your breath stammer. You look at the clock frantically. Is he here already? You both agreed on seven thirty, and it’s only seven. You had a schedule. Arcade, dinner, and whatever was left for after. Maybe a kiss if you work up the courage. Your heart hammers in your chest at the thought. But—

“Ah—hello?” A familiar voice sounds from the door. You breathe a sigh of relief: Kurt. “I came to see if you needed help with anyzi—”

You cross the room to the door and open it before Kurt can finish his sentence.

Kurt grins. As usual it’s a sheepish grin, but there is excitement in his eyes.

“Excited?” Kurt asks. “I vould be if I vere going on a date with ze magnificent Quicksilver.”

You grin at him and roll your eyes, ushering him in the room before you close the door behind you. “Don’t say that in the hallway!” You scold him, not entirely serious. “Anyone could be listening.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “Could it be that you are embarrassed?”

Your eyes widen, brows rising too. “No! It’s just—it’s nice now that things between us are private. And… I want to take things slow. I’ve been on dates before, and when you tell people about it it’s always the same thing: when are you going to do this? When are you going to do that? I don’t want to be pressured. And explaining my reasoning to want to take things slow is almost as tiring as actually working myself up into confidence so that I’m not nervous the entire time—”

“You definitely seem nervous.”

You scowl at your friend. “I am not nervous.”

“Your cheeks are red.”

At that, you know your face is starting to flush as red as a tomato. “You are insufferable sometimes.”

Kurt grins. “A few weeks ago, I vould have been hurt to hear you say this.”

You scoff, batting him playfully on the arm. “Are you going to walk me down to the common room or not?”

Kurt’s face takes on an air of confusion. “Ze common room? Why there?”

You shrug softly. “Peter is meeting me there.”

Kurt’s eyes light up with amusement. “Ah,” he responds, and you know by the exaggerated upwards tilt of his head that the next words out of his mouth are going to be sarcastic. “Very discreet, yes. I bet he will bring flowers.”

You scoff once more, parting your lips in playful annoyance as you turn to leave the room, but Kurt appears in front of you before your hand reaches the doorknob. He opens the door, extends his hand to you when his back is pressed against it, and the bow he delivers is nothing but formal. Gentlemanly. He probably learned it in the circus. You give him a teasingly formal nod as you accept his fingers in your own.

The door closes behind you, locks with a wave of your hand, and with a deep breath, the two of you venture down the halls of the manor.

***

You hear the sounds of people cursing at Peter before you actually see Peter.

You and Kurt turn to look at the double doors which lead into the common room at the same time, but Peter comes to a speedy stop in front of the both of you before you can even track his movements… and Peter’s eyes glaze over your appearance, your outfit, as his face pales.

You smirk at the sight of it. You know he likes it. Likes seeing you in his clothes. He looked at you the same way when you first walked out of the bathroom attached to the basement in his tee and grey shorts after that night in the rain. He had slept on the sofa then, had given you his bed, but he’d mentioned to you a couple of days after that his sheets still smelled like a mix of him and you.

You knew then that he couldn’t get the image of you wearing his clothes out of his head.

His outfit isn’t a change from what he usually wears, but he still looks amazing. Hot. The sight of him takes your breath away every time you see him. Silver-and-black jacket, white tee with a band insignia on it, and leather pants with his silver shoes. You can’t forget the goggles on his head, either. But—wait, no, there is something different. A sort of smell.

“What are you wearing?” You ask, the end of your sentence tinged with laughter.

Peter glances down at his outfit. “What?” He asks, confusion—and the slightest bit of worry?—in his gaze. “What's wrong with this?”

“No, silly,” you laugh, “your aftershave. What is it?”

It’s the very definition of seventies musk. It’s musky, leathery, and there’s the faintest smell of whiskey. He’s put way too much on, but your mother always used to complain about how much perfume you put on, too. You’re wearing it now: it’s sweet with the air of something more expensive. Valentino.

When you asked the lady in the store to let you try the ones which smelled sweet like vanilla, this was the first one she showed you. Out of the eight you had the choice of, you were sold on the very first one. You know that the best way to get a guy to fall for you is to smell sweet like candy—it reminds them of their childhood. Or in Peter’s case, you guess it might just remind him of twinkies. You know he loves those.

Peter’s cheeks flush red, and he lowers his head as he laughs. “Oh, man. My mom was right. I really stink, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh: a genuine laugh, teeth in your smile and all. You stand from the sofa you were sitting on with Kurt, and you realise only then that he’s already disappeared. You feel a twinge of guilt for not noticing earlier, but you forgive yourself for that: it is your date night, and Kurt is forever polite.

“You smell great, Peter,” you say, and it’s not entirely a lie. He doesn’t smell bad — it’s better than the leather jacket smell. “And I’m excited for our,” you glance around, whispering, “date.”

Peter’s eyes light up at that. “Right. Date. You mind if I—?”

He gestures to your neck. Whiplash. Right. You shake your head. “Just don’t mess up my hair.”

He blinks at you. “Do you realise how much of a challenge that is?”

Your smile is sickly sweet and riddled with sarcasm. “You’ll figure it out.”

His expression goes slack. He likes it when you do that; when you’re mean to him. You’re a lovely person typically—you reached the lucky end of the trauma spectrum, the opposite of which being the angry side which could’ve made you an arse—but it’s so easy to tease Peter. You like the power in being able to wrap him around your finger. You’ve never had this power over any man before, and after feeling powerless for so long, it's thrilling.

Peter clears his throat, steps towards you, and you swear he’s trying to use the lightest touch possible as he steadies your neck and places a shaky hand on your waist—

And then you’re off.

The world is barely more than a blur. You can’t keep up. Just as you think you’ve gotten used to it, Peter turns a corner—or at least you think that's what happens, because that’s how you would describe the sensation of being almost jolted to the side. And just when you think you can’t take any more, he stops. You’re in the mall, right outside the blue-walled and darkly lit arcade.

Peter’s hands move gently from your body and you lean your hands against your thighs to try to stop the world from spinning. You’ve gotten used to the nauseating feeling this sort of travel gives you now, but you’re not used to the dizziness.

“You okay?” Peter asks, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that he’s assessing you for any potential damage. His hand hovers over your back as if he’s afraid to overstep his bounds, but you would lean into his touch any day.

“Yeah,” you breathe, slowly easing upwards. “I’m good.”

Peter glances over your face in another silent check before he nods. “You ready to get your ass kicked?”

You gape at him. Yeah, that sarcastic comment has knocked the dizziness right out of you. “Oh, you’re on.”

You’re less confident than you seem, but you don’t think Peter picks up on it as he grins and bouncily makes his way into the Arcade. You follow him, shoulder brushing against his as you catch up to his gait, because luckily you both walk fast. He turns to look at you and smiles, softer this time, and you almost get caught up in the softness of his eyes before your heart stammers, your throat closes up, and—

Oh, god. You’re not good with this. The romance. It makes you tense and nervous.

You turn away from him, hands wrapping around the controls of the nearest arcade game. “I call shotgun.”

Peter laughs and comes to a stop next to you. “I know you’re British and that makes you, like, socially awkward, but that only applies to cars.”

You nudge him in the side—hard, but not hard enough to really do damage. He hisses in annoyance, muttering jeez, lady, under his breath. You ask, “Are you really going to deny me my request on our date?”

Peter grins at you, fingers clenching around the neighbouring controls. “Depends. What do I get out of it?”

You smirk at him, your heart fluttering in your chest. “A kiss or two at the end of this, perhaps.”

You watch Peter’s adam’s apple bob. “Per—perhaps?”

You grin. “Depends how you behave.”

You don’t need to read thoughts like your uncle to know that Peter has to be telling himself to breathe. Because it seems like an awful lot of effort for him to successfully inhale and exhale, and he doesn’t say anything before he slams a coin—a quarter? you don’t understand American money—into the machine and the BEGIN GAME screen buzzes to life.

It’s pretty hard for you to catch your breath as you both play in silence, too.

Eventually, conversation picks back up again. A sarcastic comment. The occasional compliment. Peter’s good at these games, but so are you. Arcade stand after arcade stand, his teasing remarks make your heart flutter… as well as something deeper within you, too. You’ve never felt attraction like this before, and truthfully, it’s driving you wild.

“Dad wasn’t around much back home,” you reveal, your eyes glued to the avatar on the screen as it darts around, “so I had a lot of time to kill. The arcade became my home. So yeah, it’s safe to say I can easily kick your arse.”

“Arse,” he teases, mimicking the way you speak. “Trying to let me let you win with a sob story, Xavier? Nah, not going to work.”

You gape at him, taking your eyes off the screen for a mere second, but Peter takes the opportunity to kill your avatar for good. With mock outrage, you quip, “I was not trying to do that!”

He grins at you, his eyes glowing purple and red in the light of your dying avatar. “Ah,” he whispers, “victory tastes sweet.”

You press your lips together in defeat, and then you sigh as you take your hand in his. “Come on. I want a slushie.”

Peter lets you drag him away, and the two of you settle down at the food stand in the arcade as the lights around you buzz blue and purple.

You like the lighting in here, you think, as you step up to the worker. “Two slushies, please,” you tell him, smiling politely. “One red and blue for me, and Peter—?”

“All of them,” he says, nodding towards the flavours.

You part your lips in surprise. All of them? There are about eight flavours up on that display, and you know it’s all going to melt into a mess of slush that barely tastes like anything other than sugar. But the worker has obviously been asked for worse, because he just shrugs and gets to work. One pump, two pumps, three pumps—he goes through them all with the finesse of someone who has worked at a place like this for far too long, and when he hands you your simple two-flavoured slushie in comparison to Peter's complex one, you feel like a bit of a slushie fraud.

You go to reach into your pocket to grab your card, but Peter pays in cash before you can get it out. The cashier gives him a dollar and seventy two cents change, and your date nods in thanks to the cashier before he turns to you with a grin that’s more genuine than cheeky. “My treat.”

You lower your gaze to hide how wide your smile is as you laugh. “Thanks, Peter.”

He nods, and the two of you stand there awkwardly for a second, you sucking innocently on your straw as he stares at you, before he looks at the table and chairs nearby. He clears his throat. “Wanna sit?”

You shrug politely and he pulls out a chair for you. Gentleman. Did his mother give him a run-down of what to do and what not to do before he came here? Probably. You smile at him, your insides warming as you sit down in your seat. This slushie is good, you think, slurping it up through the straw as Peter takes a seat opposite you.

He takes a sip of his drink before he asks, “So the thing about your dad. I know it’s a sore subject considering…” He raises his brows, and you know he means the reason you came here. “But do you mind if I—?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. You have too much slushie in your mouth, though, so your words are slurred and you smile bashfully as you cover your lips. Sorry, your look says, but he just grins at you.

Peter forces himself to look away, to turn serious again, as he scratches at a loose bit of film on the table. “Why wasn’t he around? Like, the deadbeat dad kind of thing, or…?”

You shake your head. This time, when you speak, you’ve cleared the slushie from your mouth. Your voice is a bit hoarse from the cold as you respond, “No. He worked a lot. He was either in Germany or the Middle East or—somewhere. Mom has a temper, so I found the arcade was a better place to be than home. It’s easy to lose yourself in the games here.”

Peter nods slowly, his head tilting up in a way that indicates thoughtfulness. It’s nice that he’s memorising your words. Nice that he actually cares. That means more to you than anything. “Well, that makes two of us. Absent fathers, I mean, and moms…?”

You grin at him. He's talked about his father before, but always in vague detail. You respond, “Almost-there moms. Just emotionally absent, at least for me. Maybe stunted is the right word.”

Peter lets out a sound between a noise like phew and a laugh. “Harsh, Y/N. No sugarcoating it there.”

You shrug softly, lowering your gaze to your drink. “Sometimes I wonder if…”

Your sentence trails off, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Peter tilt his head. But he doesn’t say anything. Just lets you take your time as he continues picking at the table.

You force a breath. “Sometimes I wonder if what happened… happened for the best. Between the three of us, nobody was happy. But then I think of what I did to him and it’s just—”

“Hey,” Peter says, and across the table, his hand reaches out to splay across yours. “For people like us—mutants,” he says, his tone lowering at the end of his sentence, “stuff like this is inevitable. But, uh… Charles has kinda helped me see that it’s the first step towards controlling this sort of thing. The first step to doing something better. And hell, Y/N, you’re already, like, rockin’. So you only have further to go.”

Your brows furrow in surprise at his words, your eyes turning doe-like at his reassurances. “You don’t think I’ve already hit rock bottom?”

Peter laughs. “You’ve got too much money for that. I've seen you blow two-fifty on curtains. Still don't know how I watched you do it."

You let out a laugh, and that’s when you properly acknowledge the skin to skin contact. His touch makes your body feel like it’s on fire. Your shoulders roll back as your thumb brushes against his knuckle, and Peter’s eyes dart down to your fingers before he looks right back up at you. He looks nervous, like his heart is thudding just as hard as yours.

“I like this,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Peter lets out a huff of laughter, though from the sound of it, it’s an attempt to hide his nerves. “It’s only a slushie, Xavier."

Your laughter mimics his own, and you press your lips together as your eyes dart between his eyes and lips. You want to kiss him. You’ve never wanted to kiss somebody more. It’s like you could push him up against the wall and kiss him here and now without caring what anybody thinks, and you’ve never had that feeling before.

Peter’s throat bobs again. He’s staring at you in the same way, and you can feel the tension between the two of you as your chest tightens. But you can’t kiss here—not with the table between you, not when one of you will probably spill a slush puppy or both of them, or—

“Another game?” Peter says, his voice hoarse.

You blink the lust out of your eyes. Another game. Yeah—another game, and your slush puppy will melt between and it’ll be easier to drink, and then—

And then you can both get out of here.

You’ve never wanted to leave an arcade more.

The tension cools down a little as you play more games, but it rises as soon as you make a comment about his frantic button mashing movements; something like—

“I hope that’s not the technique you use in bed,” you tease.

Peter chokes, and needless to say, you win that game.

You keep playing until your slushies are finished. Peter finishes his before you, but he lets you have a sip before in order to try it. It’s just as you expected—a sugary mess with the strongest flavour being lime. It’s disgusting, but Peter merely grins at the sight of your face as you grimace at its sour taste.

You’re well aware of the way his gaze rakes up and down your body as you try to finish the rest of your slushie as fast as you can. You’re lingering now; the two of you want to get out of here, dinner be damned. His gaze hugs the curve of your body and lingers on your bare legs, your skin smooth and shaven, the boots you wear only elongating them—

“You look great, by the way,” Peter comments.

You look up at him while still sipping from that straw, and apparently the motion and the eye contact is too much for him. He looks away and mutters something under his breath, something you can’t hear over the beeping of the games and the music playing over the sound effects.

You slam the slushie cup down on the table next to you both with an air of achievement. “What?” You say almost teasingly. You know you’re driving him insane, and even though you’re hardly doing anything, this has been building up for weeks.

“Nothing,” Peter says.

Before you know it, his hand is at your neck and you’re in a different spot entirely.

It’s a short journey this time so you’re not dizzy. You’re still in the arcade, surrounded by the same blue walls and purple-hued lighting. But this area is darker and tucked away, and there’s a door nearby. Probably a staff entrance. This is somewhere you shouldn’t be, but for once, you’re not afraid of breaking the rules.

“The cups,” you comment teasingly. “We should clean them up.”

Peter lets out a breath. “Y/N,” he says, “I—"

“Kiss me,” you blurt out. “Please.”

Peter wastes no time in fulfilling your request.

He’s on you in a heartbeat, lips pressed against yours as his fingers rest at your neck. Innocent, sweet, and yet filled with a sort of passion that sets your lungs and chest ablaze. You can’t help the noise of content that slips from your lips as he backs you up against the wall, and you can’t help but think that this is so unlike him, but—no. No, this is what he’s been keeping buried down for weeks. It's the same for you, too. This is what he’s wanted to do to you for a while now.

This is only half of what he’s wanted to do to you for a while now.

You gasp as his tongue slips out against yours, and your own darts out in response to the sensation. You press your body flush into his, the both of you heated and warm from the feel of one another, and your jacket is quickly getting too hot to keep on any longer. It’s cool in here with the air conditioning, but even so the two of you are ablaze and alive and—

“Y/N” Peter whispers against your lips, his nose brushing against yours as he pants for breath, “d’you think we could leave dinner for tonight?”

Your body talks for you before your mind can register what he says. "Yes," you breathe, and then you pull him back to you.

His lips are on yours and there is nothing either of you need to say as his fingers roam down your shoulders, your arms, moving to your waist. He avoids your breasts and you’re grateful for that; despite how much your body might burn for him, you know that would make you feel like an object, like he only wants you for sex—like your mother has told you countless times before.

But as you and Peter kiss in the belly of that arcade, you think you might have found the one. The first person you can finally trust.

It might be the first date and you might want to take things slow, but this feels too good to pass up. Too good to lose. And because of that, you don't plan on letting him go—

Not unless he wants you gone first.

Not until a member of staff kicks you guys out, at least.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍: peter maximoff ( x-men )

peter maximoff lives at home with his mother because his mother isn’t exactly great at taking care of his little sister. he knows he’s not the prime candidate for renting or even owning his own place — his mom still does his laundry, he can barely take care of himself, and being a kleptomaniac doesn't help paying the bills unless you know a fence — which peter doesn't. but whenever he thinks about moving out, it’s always the wellbeing of his little sister that stops him from doing so. yeah, he could have friends and the people that he’s come to see as family surrounding him if he moved into the x-mansion, but who would make sure his little sister doesn’t turn out like him? whether it’s keeping her away from his mother’s second-hand smoke, making sure she brushes her teeth or does her homework, peter doesn’t want his absence to be the reason his little sister’s life goes rapidly downhill.

nobody’s told him that her wellbeing isn’t his responsibility yet.