Peter Maximoff X Reader - Blog Posts

Something tells me that Peter (QuickSilver) would love this (he’d steal it)

You can’t tell me he wouldn’t

doggy, missionary, spooning, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, lotus, upside down, inside out, one leg up, two legs up, in public, on a spaceship, in the garden, on the grass, in a car, in the theater, in the jungle, in the hunger games, on a kitchen counter. no lube, no protection, all day, all night, from the back, from the front, upside down, sideways, in a chair, standing up, from the bed to the carpeted floor, from the kitchen floor to toilet seat, from the dining table to the laundry room.

ALSO if you guys love me follow my tiktok 😉

@hollywoodhireholly

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made by me via instagram 😋

#be there or be square

I choked on my grilled cheese reading this plz 💀

Instead of Magneto…

✨vagneto✨

Cause he’s a 🐱🐱 magnet

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.”

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.

Brown Eyes Unsure

Part 2 of ? of How series

Rating: Teen and Up

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,332

Summary: Maximoff is a stranger to this reality. What were your options, and could he be trusted?

Warnings: swearing, slight angst, over thinking by the reader

A/N: I just want to say thank you for all the support and new followers I got after the first chapter was posted. I really fucking appreciate that. This series is gonna take awhile, and I’m not the most consistent author. I’ll be the first to admit that. I am fully online this school year though so hopefully I’ll speed up my updating as finals aproach. Nothing speeds up productivity like procrastination :j

You were right. It was a very, very long day.

You pinched the bridge of your nose as Maximoff let out a belch and wiggled his shoulders back to lean against the wall. Agent Tareen’s upper lip twitched in irritation as she eyed the man child. Plates and cups were laid out on the floor around you.

You glanced to your right and smiled softly to see Agent Iyer starting to nod off. He was sitting awkwardly on a knocked over punching bag, his back slouched completely to keep him from falling over.

Iyer wanted a place away from prying eyes as well as enough room to sit and talk. Unfortunately the conference room was now occupied. So that led to where you four were now. An abandoned training room complete with an obstacle course and gym equipment. While you and your team had sat in a circle on the floor, laptops out, discussing possible places for Maximoff to reside; the man in question seemed to take a kick out of running around the obstacle course and making little games for himself.

The few times you had glanced up, he was standing atop a metal rotating tower and seeing how fast he could climb up and down it, while also programming the tower to shoot foam bullets at him.

You caught yourself smiling as he was hit once and he acted out a Shakespearen death scene with full dramatics.

After a couple of hours you had offered to get food for everyone, something that Agent Tareen jumped at the sound of. She always packed her own food, but she loved the Avengers Compound’s kitchen. Her aunt was a chef and she found the sounds of a bustling kitchen comforting. Well that’s what Iyer told you anyway.

Tareen looked far from the smiley face she usually adorned when going to the kitchen. Instead a scowl was present on her face as you both left the training room.

“He’s a real piece of work.” She said crossing her arms as you two strolled, which you both hoped was casually, down the corridor to the elevator. You tilted your head and nodded slowly.

“I guess. I don’t know, it seems to me he uses humor as a defense mechanism. And being essentially held hostage by a random government agency with three agents around him, dictating his life for the foreseeable future. I would also feel the need to protect myself.” You said lowly, not wanting anyone passing by to hear. Tareen hummed at that and the pair of you fell silent.

It really was kind of amazing that Maximoff trusted your team at all. He had nothing to go on really. You bit your lip as you came to a stop in front of an elevator. Agent Tareen turned to you, making you pause.

“Do you think we can trust him?” She asked, bringing an olive hand up to press the ‘up’ button.

Now that was a question. And one you honestly should have thought over earlier. If you looked at it objectively, there was a strange man with incredible powers, who also had the same name and said power of a superhero that was killed. Also the strange man appeared in a forest and has no idea how he got to this reality. The only thing you could trust was that he was from another reality. According to the lab data, his cells were just slightly off, plus how he talked and acted was very 90’s. But you couldn’t look at it objectively. That would mean that you had to ignore that face he made when you told him the point of this all, was sending him home. It was such intense relief, and then you remembered the way he sat next to you, sitting in a ball next to a stranger and agreeing to trust you and your team.

You weren’t an idiot. You were the founder of a very important sector of S.H.I.E.L.D., and you spent your entire career protecting people who gave you their blind trust. Blindly trusting someone...

Images of machinery and thundering water came to your mind and you shook it off.

That time it was different. You were a child. You were taken advantage of.

You weren’t a kid anymore, you were the one in charge. You could trust Maximoff, because he trusted you.

The elevator dinged open and you were thankful no one was inside. You stepped in, turned around, and crossed your arms, facing Tareen who’s expression was taut, awaiting your answer.

“Yes. We trust him. And if you don’t trust him, then trust me. He’s not a threat.” Your voice was hard and Tareen met your fierce gaze with one of her own. You stared at each other before she broke eye contact by stepping into the elevator.

“I trust you.” Was all she said and she pressed the button to the fourth floor. That was that then. Maximoff had her support.

That’s what led you to now, surrounded by the dishes of your dinner, strained necks, and tired eyes. You glanced to your right again and Iyer had his eyes shut, long legs planted solidly to keep him from doubling forward. His warm deep skin looked shiny from the offensive bright lights as he dozed. You took a mental note to make sure the team had a late start tomorrow.

In front of you, Tareen had her face creased in concentration as she read over something on her laptop. It was placed in front of her on the floor, and she was sitting with her legs criss crossed, left elbow digging into her knee as she propped her head up with her hand.

You glanced around for Maximoff, only to see him lying on his back, mouth open, dead asleep in the foam pit. You let out a breath of a laugh before your smile fell and you sighed. It must have been around six in the morning. So far, all you and your team had done was place Maximoff in New England.

It had been the obvious choice, seeing as, as soon as the technology was available to send Maximoff home, he was going. The only people with clearance to make such technology were S.H.I.E.L.D. and Mr. Stark. New York was out because that was a little too close to home. Iyer was voting for New Jersey while Tareen wanted Maine. You were still undecided.

You slowly lowered yourself to lying on your back, staring at the ceiling. The fluorescent white lights hummed with electricity and you closed your eyes against them. Your arms were spread out wide and you were thankful for the fact you were in the training room. The cold of the floor embraced you more than a scratchy carpet of a conference room.

You let out a huff as you tried to relive some of the stress knotting in your shoulders. Agent Iyer always made lists when he was stressed; something about seeing everything laid out neatly calmed him. It's never worked for you before, but it was worth a shot.

There were five possible threats concerning Peter Maximoff. You bit your lip and started at the least terrible, moving to the worse. One, S.H.I.E.L.D. is being controlled by Hydra, finds out about him, experiments on him, and either infiltrates a new reality or uses him as a weapon. Two, Maximoff is secretly evil and came to this reality to kill everyone for some evil agenda that he relivels in a monologue. Preferably with sunglasses on and an evil laugh. You think he’d like that.

You smirked, eyes still shut and focused on your task with a shake of your head.

Three, Mr. Stark is actually lying to your team and he wants to be the only person aware of Maximoff so he can conduct experiments on him in the name of discovery. Four, other agencies like S.W.O.R.D. find out about Maximoff, expose him to the public, then the U.S. Government and all its intelligence agencies have a pissing contest to see who can “have” Maximoff for their own twisted agenda. Five, Wanda Maximoff hears about Peter Maximoff, hunts you, Agent Tareen, and Agent Iyer down, and personally rips your organs from your bodies.

You involuntarily shuddered and bolted to sit up. Wanda Maximoff was the most powerful Avenger hands down. You did not want to be on the receiving end of her wrath and grief.

Tareen kicked your foot as you sat awkwardly in front of her.

“We should call it soon. I’m gonna pray, make sure Iyer doesn’t even think about touching my laptop.” She said eying the man to you right. You glanced over, assessing his hunched over form: still sleeping. You raised an eyebrow at her suspicion and shrugged. Iyer did have a tendency to use whatever was available when he had an idea. No one knew when exactly inspiration would strike him. You watched her head out the door closest to the bathroom, before slowly turning to look at Maximoff.

You had to wake him to tell him your team was heading home. You sighed at the task and grumbled curses at Tareen and Iyer for being busy and asleep. Maximoff was preferable when he was unconscious, but someone had to take one for the team and wake him up. Guess that person was you then.

Pushing up from the ground, you walked over to him, trying to seem less dead and more authoritative. After all, you were technically in charge of him.

You trudged up the blue ramp to the foam pit, and peered down at Maximoff. He twitched slightly in his sleep. He was clutching his jacket close to his chest, and you smiled softly at him. He looked much younger when he was asleep, his teenage personality seemed to fit better here. Who was he?

You squinted your eyes as an idea came over you. You suppressed a smirk as you inched closer to the edge of the foam pit. You reached down slowly and grabbed a foam cube with your hand. You let out a breath of air as you aimed it and with no further thought, you pelted his stomach with the cube.

He jumped and tackled you to the ground, Maximoff pinning you down with a fearful expression on his face. You gasped as his long blonde and silver hair created a curtain over his face. His brown eyes were wide and his pupils were blown. He painted quietly and you felt the warm breath on your own mouth. You both stared at each other in shock for a beat before he clambered off of you.

“Oh shit, sorry I-,” he fumbled over his words as he scurried away from you, almost falling into the foam pit again. He crawled backwards, still sitting and you slowly sat up. You blinked and stared at him. He didn’t use his powers on you and he didn’t even realise. His fearful expression echoed in your mind as he continued to stutter out an apology.

What had happened to Maximoff in his reality? Why was his first instinct to fight? He could just escape in the blink of an eye. But he didn’t. He didn’t expose his powers, instead he attacked.

You felt a pang of sympathy and untensed your shoulders. And for the first time in your life, you wanted to show someone. To show that you could at least understand. You didn’t know what his reality was like. You didn’t know how he got those powers or how old he was. But you fucking knew what that was like.

You felt the back of your throat burn and your nose twitched. You didn’t expect to choke down a sob. You thought you were past all this and here this man comes and makes you feel as if you're cowering against your desk. Staring at a cup of water in fear.

Maximoff watched you, his hands raised as he kept talking. Just a non ending stream of excuses.

You surprised the both of you when you put your palm out and stood up. Maximoff watched you, still on the floor. His hair was still covering his face, and slowly put his hand in yours.

You gripped his hand tightly and heaved him up. You stared at each other, your hands clasped, your bodies so close.

How? How did you get here? How did you get these powers? How were you so okay? Your thoughts, directed at him, screamed as you stared.

You forced yourself to still and you took a deep breath through your nose and raised your eyebrows with intent. Maximoff broke eye contact, brown eyes unsure. You breathed again and he copied you this time. Deep breathes filled the sound around you two.

“We’re going to go home soon. I can show you where you’ll sleep?” You offered and gently pulled your hand away. That seemed to shake Maximoff out of his daze and a goofy grin came over his face.

He gave a fast karate chop which startled you. “I am so tired. Let’s go Boss.” He cheered and appeared next to Iyer happily.

Your heart ached as you watched him poke the sleeping man. Maximoff didn’t trust anyone here, he didn’t know this place, didn’t know you people, and he was terrified. You felt your hands twitch and your eyes widened in horror as the water bottle by Iyer’s leg toppled over. You hastily shoved your hands deep into your pockets. You watched Maximoff jump happily as he antagonized Iyer, blue haze filling the space as he ran around. His powers on beautiful display, despite his feelings. You looked at him and then back at the water bottle.

You let out a puff of air as you ever so slowly, brought your hands out of your pockets.

Taglist: @daem-o-nium @infinitytitans @loveyou3000-mcu @haileyybird @amourtentiaa

Something Had Happened

Part 1 of ? of How series

Rating: Teen and up

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,700

Summary: As the person in charge of hiding and rehubilitating superheroes, you never expected to be tasked with hiding someone from another reality

Warnings: swearing, bad understanding of how the U.S. Marshal Service works, Tony is still alive :(

A/N: This was inspired by this post, wandavison, and my bullshit understanding of the X-men and the multiverse. This is set a year and a half after Civil War. And 6 months before the events of Infinity War. This fic spans from that time period all the way to WandaVision. So get ready for a slow burn fix-it fic. Because the dick joke was offensive.

Sunlight streamed in from the gaps of your curtains. You sat on the floor, back against your desk as you watched the dust particles swirl around, never settling on your cluttered room. Your head had never felt heavier, but you slowly turned it to stare at the cup of water sitting next to you.

You took a shaky breath and brought your hand up slowly. With a flick of your wrist a perfect circle of water rose up from the cup. You felt tears gathering in your eyes and you had to squeeze them shut to keep from completely breaking down. You heard the water plop back down into the cup as your concentration broke.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” You whispered, bringing your hands to yank at the roots in your hair. You tucked your head into your chest and drew your knees up, effectively turning yourself into a ball. You felt the tears finally roll down your face and you cursed again knowing you wouldn’t be able to stop. Your throat hurt from the sob you choked down and you tore your hand away from your hair and covered your mouth, trying to keep your sobs hidden. They wracked through your body and you pressed your forehead more firmly into your knees.

This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t have powers. Half moon crescents from your nails digging into your cheek, throbbed as you pulled your hand away from your mouth.

In a pathetic fury you lunged for the cup of water and threw it at the wall. It shattered against a poster and the water and glass rained down on your floor.

You sniffled as you stared at the mess you made. Pity and misery washed over you again and you pressed your back, back to your desk.

-Ten Years Later-

You felt your blood hum as you strolled across the little bridge over the man made pond. You smirked as your fingers gave a little twitch, longing to be able to play among the water.

A large rectangular building lay ahead of you and you strode ahead with confidence. Your shoes crunched against the gravel courtyard. The Avengers Compound loomed impressively in front of you. It had been a year and a half since the “Civil War” happened and the compound hadn’t felt the same since. With people like Captain Rodgers, Agent Barton, Dr. Banner, and Thor, on the run or at their homes, nothing felt quite right.

Of course you knew where Agent Barton was, that was your job after all. You worked closely with S.H.I.E.L.D from the United States Marshal Service to utilize the operation, Witness Security Program, or more commonly called, The Federal Witness Protection Program. You were the sole person in charge of the link between the superheroes and the U.S. Department of Justice.

You shifted your briefcase from your right hand to your left and placed your palm on the door scanner. You bounced on the balls of your feet awkwardly as the tech read your prints. You leaned forward to do the same to your eye before the door buzzed open with a welcoming noise.

You strolled into the building with your head high, not wanting to look out of place. Not today. It wasn’t often that you visited the Avengers Compound, but something had happened.

You didn’t know exactly what it was, but your team had all been called in under the instruction of Mr. Stark and Director Mace.

You lamented losing not only Director Fury but Director Coulson, but you shook your head to clear the thought’s away. There were a lot of events to the two of them “leaving” the way they did.

You breezed down the corridors of the compound, wondering idly if your team had showed up yet. Agent Iyer definitely was, there was no doubt about it.

There were two members of your team, excluding you. Agent Iyer and Agent Tareen. You three occupied a very small part of the S.H.I.E.L.D. operations, called H.O.M.E., but the work you three did was top secret. Only the three of you, Director Mace, and the client you were assisting, knew what you did. And the Avengers of course. Just so they knew they had options. You wished more of them would come for help.

You along with Agents Tareen and Iyer worked at the U.S. Marshal Service helping normal people into the witness program. But you three were also available at the drop of a hat to work with S.H.I.E.L.D. and get their heroes in a safe home or witnesses away from supervillains.

It was like your normal job, just a little more extreme.

You rounded a corner and let out a huff once you saw both Agent Tareen and Agent Iyer sitting in the conference room. You checked your watch.

You were twenty minutes early.

Jackasses.

You eyed them through the window for a second, feeling nothing but pride for your team. Agent Tareen was wearing a beige hijab that was intricately wrapped on her head. A power suit adjourning her body. A comfy looking undershirt covered any skin that may be exposed and she looked incredibly bored sitting there. You smiled at her and looked over at Agent Iyer. His dark hair and dark beard matched his suit perfectly. You raised your eyebrow at the vest sitting underneath his jacket, but you weren’t surprised. Iyer would wear a three piece suit to meet with the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. You smiled at your smartly dressed associates and readjusted your grip on your briefcase.

You put on a ludicrous smile and shoved open the door. It banged open and you were surprised to see Mr. Stark standing there with them. You hadn’t noticed him from the window by the door.

“Agents. Mr. Stark.” You greeted, making your smile seem more charming. Mr. Stark looked up and nodded at you. Agent Tareen shot you a playful glare and you repressed the urge to stick your tongue out at her. You eyed a bowl of peanuts that sat in front of you before you quickly snatched a few and popped them into your mouth.

“Agent Y/L/N I presume. Right, now that we’re all here I’ll start,” Mr. Stark said and clapped his hands. He pulled out his phone and with a few taps holograms burst from it. He tapped around them, you tried to follow what he was even looking at, but it just looked like blue lights to you.

“Here we go, the wonder boy.” He said, dragging a specific picture on his phone to display onto the TV sitting across from you three. You slowly sink into a chair, placing your briefcase down quietly. You wheeled in next to Agent Iyer and looked up with morbid interest.

You really hoped it wasn’t a child.

Instead pictures of a man maybe a little younger than you flood the screen. He had blonde and silver hair, a silver jacket, goggles on his head, and headphones around his neck. He looked peaceful as he laid on the forest floor. You swallowed, not wanting to see a dead body this early in the morning.

Agent Tareen leaned forward in her chair and narrowed her eyes, studying the images carefully.

“A couple of kids found him. They were playing in the woods when they saw a man lying on the ground. They thought he was dead and their parents called 911. Local police and EMTs discovered he was indeed alive. Except he then moved away from them.” You furrowed your eyebrows and nodded along to what Mr. Stark was saying. This was weird right? What did this all mean? Did the kids or their parents need to go into hiding? Why was Mr. Stark the one relaying the information and not your usual boss at the Marshal Service?

“And how is this a concern to us?” Agent Iyer spoke up, resting his chin into his hand. Mr. Stark seemed to light up and leaned forward and popped one of the peanuts into his mouth.

“That’s the thing. He moved three miles away in half a second. Speedy got super speed.” You snapped your attention to the TV screen in astonishment.

“So you found a hero, is that it?” Agent Tareen said, looking almost bored at this briefing.

“No, it gets worse.” Mr. Stark said and clicked on his phone again. He swiped his finger across it and pictures of lab data swirled across the screen.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. did some initial testing on him at the site and apparently he isn’t from our reality. He’s from a different form of Earth. Says his name is ‘Peter Maximoff’ and he’s a member of something called the “X-Men”.” Stark said using air quotations on the word.

“A Maximoff with superspeed. No shit.” You echoed and fell back in your chair. Suddenly feeling like you couldn’t breathe. Mr. Stark grinned with his mouth full and then clicked on his phone again. A side by side of Pietro Maximoff and this Peter Maximoff appeared and you raised an eyebrow. They didn’t look anything alike except for maybe the blonde hair.

“So here’s the thing, Mace doesn’t actually know about any of this. The only people that know about this are me, you three, and a team of doctors. S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t,” he paused and put a hand to his chest. “Pardon my French, know shit and they didn’t do any tests. I did.”

You glanced nervously at Agent Tareen and Agent Iyer. You didn’t want to be involved in any schemes with Mr. Stark. Especially not after the Sokovia accords and the “Civil War”.

Mr. Stark watched as the three of you looked unamused and apprehensive. He sighed and sat at the head of the table, wheeling his chair in close. “Listen, I don't even know if Director Mace is actually in charge. I don’t know where Director Colson is. I don’t know if S.H.I.E.L.D is going to fall to Hydra again. I don’t know if someone’s going to come looking for this Peter guy and be more powerful than anyone we’ve ever seen. I don’t know who to trust here. And to be honest I don’t want anyone experimenting on someone from a different reality. This is the kind of thing we weren’t even aware existed until now. We don’t know what will happen. So for the time being, I’d like you to keep this man safe somewhere that isn’t a jail cell or an experiment lab.” Mr. Stark wheeled his chair closer and turned to look at you now.

“I understand your line of work is keeping superheroes safe and away from super villains or otherwise threats.” He said, raising his eyebrows. “So until we understand more about the multiverse or whatever, keep him safe and hidden”

And with that Mr. Stark wheeled far enough away from the table to stand, tapped on his phone again, and left the two pictures of Peter and Pietro staring at you three. He gave you one last look and left the room with the pictures staring at you.

The briefing room was dead silent before Agent. Iyer put his head in his hands.

“Fuck.” He said and you and Agent Tareen cracked a smile.

Fuck indeed.

“Someone’s gotta tell Ms. Wanda Maximoff,” Agent Tareen spoke up, biting her bottom lip. Agent Iyer nodded and miserably raised his head. He brought his hand up to rub at his forehead. You leaned back in your chair and sighed.

“I know that’s probably the best thing to do. But this is not her twin brother. This is a random person who happens to share her last name and brother's super power. Do you all think that hunting her down and telling her this would honestly be a good idea? To give her such intense false hope before she sees a stranger who has her brother’s name and powers? You don’t think that would be an insult to her twin and only family member since she was a kid?” You ended your statement by gesturing to the TV displaying the pictures of Peter Maximoff and Pietro Maximoff. Agent Iyer sighed as you did so.

You had made your point.

“So we keep it from her? Is that what we’re honestly planning on doing?” Agent Tareen sneered leaning forward in her chair. Her beige hijab shifting around her shoulders at her sudden movement. You turned your gaze to your friend and sighed.

“No I’m not saying we never tell her. When she comes out of hiding, yes I think we should. But now, when we haven’t even met him? That is not a good time.” You stared at Agent Tareen with pleading eyes. You were technically their boss, but the three of you were a team and you did not want to make a decision without all of you on board.

Agent Tareen sighed and looked away from you.

“Fine. But you will be the one to tell her.”

You nodded at that. That seemed perfectly fair.

You all adjusted your chairs to look at the screen. There was a file folder on the briefing table and you reached for it. You raised an eyebrow as you skimmed the pages.

“Apparently Peter Maximoff is in the building.” You muttered looking up to your team. Iyer raised an eyebrow while Tareen suppressed a smirk. You glanced between the two of them before the three of you burst out of the conference room.

“Where is he?” Iyer said, tucking a long black strand of hair behind his ear. You hastily opened the file.

“He’s in the west wing. Room W17.” You said closing and hugging the file to your chest. Tareen nodded and took off speed walking in the proper direction. You shrugged at Iyer and took off after her.

It wasn’t long before you three skidded to a stop. To your surprise it was a very large room without any windows. The only way to see the man was to go in. Tareen took a step back and put her hand out to stop Iyer.

“Well boss, warm him up for us. Don’t want to freak him out with an immediate power imbalance.” She said smartly, giving you a mock salute. You handed Iyer the file, repressed the urge to huff like a child, and turned to the door again.

You took a deep breath, showed your clearance to the door, and opened it.

Well. This wasn’t what you were expecting. Not even a little.

Mr. Maximoff was lounging back on a bean bag with a Nintendo Switch in his hands. He didn’t even glance up at you as he blindly reached down to his side and brought a Coke up to slurp through the straw.

You looked at him awkwardly for a minute or two before he finally glanced up.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N. Gotta be honest, didn't expect a U.S. Marshal. I don’t even know what that is. You in the military? Cause I don’t really like em, sorry.” He said, cocking his head to the side.

You blinked a few times and looked at him helplessly.

“Um, what?” You floundered before it clicked that Mr. Stark must have told him you were coming. You cleared your throat and crossed your arms.

“Yes I am from the Marshal Service. As Mr. Stark must have said. My name is Agent Y/L/N. I am in charge of the H.O.M.E. sector of S.H.I.E.L.D.” He cut you off by suddenly leaning against the door behind you. You whipped around and stared at him. Eyes wide, not expecting a display of his power so soon.

“Nah I read your ID and then went through your wallet. Twenty bucks is kinda embarrassing. What does H.O.M.E. stand for?” He said leaning into your personal space. You narrowed your eyes as his nose was only an inch away from yours. You were friends with Agent Tareen for fuckssake, you could handle a game of chicken.

You tilted your chin up and looked him in the eyes. They were a deep brown that seemed almost black. It didn’t add to his slightly creepy atmosphere and like he could read your thoughts, his mouth twitched in a smile before he leaned back against the door.

“The Heroes Obscure Maneuver Extension.” You recited making Maximoff furrow his eyebrows. He crossed his arms and stared at you with an incredulous expression.

“That barely makes sense-.” You cut him off with a wave of your hand.

“This doesn’t matter. Mr. Maximoff-,” this time it was his turn to cut you off. He turned his head lazily to the side and frowned slightly.

“Call me Peter.” You stared briefly at the pronounced tendons in his neck before realising what was happening and taking a step back.

“Mr. Maximoff,” you stressed, staring at him intently. He blew some air out of his mouth in a childish horse impression. “It is my understanding you come from a different Earth. I regret to inform you that our faction of government isn’t exactly the most secure at the moment. If anyone finds out where you come from there will be an uproar, and you will be in danger. Mr. Stark has trusted my team to keep you safe until we understand more about the Multiverse to send you home.” You recited thinking back to the first sentence of his file. Objective: Get Maximoff home.

He seemed to ponder this before you blinked and he was missing from in front of you. You sighed and spun around trying to find him in the larger room. The white lights seemed too bright as the only thing really in this room was you two, and the stupid beanbag. You squint your eyes to see him holding the file that you had previously trusted to Agent Iyer.

He sat on the floor comfortably and thumbed through it. Humming every once in a while. You decided to sit down too. Just letting him read the file. It didn’t hold any groundbreaking information, just his blood work and the basic data Mr. Stark and his doctors knew about him.

You stretched out your legs and leaned against the wall maybe five feet from where he was sitting. After he finished looking at the entire thing he placed it down and then appeared sitting next to you. You were starting to get used to the way he could move faster than you could realise. You suppressed a smile.

You turned your head to you right to see him sitting with his knees drawn up.

“Alright Agent Y/L/N, whatever you gotta do. I gotta be honest this version of Earth ain’t so bad. You got cool games,” he gestured to the abandoned Switch next to the bean bag. “I’ll stick around for a while.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and smiled warmly at him. He seemed slightly taken aback.

“Hey don’t go all soft on me, I’m just here for the free house you’re gonna give me. My parents' basement kinda blows.” You raised your eyebrows at him and let out a little laugh.

“You’re lucky I don’t send you to a tiny apartment. Sonic all contained in a cage.” You mused and pushed off the floor to stand. He wrinkled his nose and looked up.

“Don’t quote Sega to me. They ripped off my power. Was a whole lawsuit in my reality.” He explained, his eyebrows raised and a mock serious expression in his face. You arched an eyebrow as he grinned. You didn’t believe him for a second. You glanced at the door again and gestured to the file.

“You wanna meet my team now? We have a lot of work to do.” You asked, making him purse his lips.

“If that’s what the boss lady says.” He shrugged, and he popped up to stand next to you, the file clutched in his hand. You narrowed your eyes at him in a mocking glare and smoothed down your pants.

You gestured to the door and he strolled forward happily. Iyer and Tareen’s heads snapped up as you both exited the room.

“Maximoff, this is Agent Iyer and Agent Tareen, please don’t use your powers.” You said scrubbing your hand through your hair. Maximoff bobbed his head a few times, strikingly resembling a horse.

The four of you decided that leaving the compound was probably a bad idea. The only people in here were Avengers and a few others, S.H.I.E.L.D. had their own building. Hopefully no one would care if two women and two men walked around. You eyed Maximoff’s white sweater and grey sweatpants.

It’ll probably be fine. People actually lived here. Hopefully no one would notice.

“Uh hey do you happen to know where they put my stuff?” Your thoughts were interrupted when Maximoff leaned in close to your ear and whispered. Your eyes widened and you turned your head quickly to stare at him. Agents Iyer and Tereen walked slightly ahead of you. Their own voices quiet as you four strolled through the building.

“Yeah, we can stop by. They’re probably with Agent Haib, she’s a sucker for free shit.” You murmured, leaning closer for Maximoff to hear you.

“Mhm and we’re is she?” He asked tapping a finger to his mouth. You paused for a moment to think.

“Second floor east wing.”

He groaned and in a second was standing next to you with his headphones on his silver jacket and goggles.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I told you not to use your powers,” he grinned cheekily and popped the collar. “That’s the one rule, jackass.” He winked at you and tugged the headphones on cutting you off.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. This was going to be a long, long day.

Like Music?

IMAGINE: You’re fairly new to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters and thanks to past circumstances, you haven’t experienced much as other teenagers have. A certain speedster takes it in his own hands to solve your problem. WORD COUNT: 1,199 WARNINGS: N/A

The music washes over you as you start to dance. The crowd isn't wild as usual, but there's enough spark to start a wildfire. The lead vocalist leans into the microphone, belting out the next lyrics.

A singer in a smokey room. The smell of wine and cheap perfume. For a smile they can share the night, it goes on and on and on and on.

Cheering them on like the rest of the crowd, you continue to sway to the beat until someone grabs your waist.

"Having fun yet?" The owner of the arms asks you, their warm breath hitting your ear.

"Yeah, thanks for getting me out of that house," you reply, grabbing the hands.

Their palms are relatively soft, unlike the fingers which are rough at the tips.

"No problem Y/N."

You're turned around. Chocolate brown eyes stare down at you, full of warmth and pride.

"I knew you'd like it here."

A Few Hours Earlier

"So how are you able to control it?" You ask Hank as he leads you to the Blackbird.

"Awhile back, I designed a serum that briefly treats my genes. When it does that, it allows me to revert to my 'normal' form."

"That's amazing!" You exclaim.

Hank shrugs as if to say 'no big deal' before showing you a half-built plane frame.

"So, what do you need help with?" He points out to various spots and starts to explain the process.

"The jets need to be bolted; the previous ones weren't strong enough."

"The mainframe sitting on the processor over there needs to be re-tuned."

"See that wing? There's a certain section that must be welded up."

Already grabbing a few tools for the job, you're interrupted by a small 'whoosh'.

"Hey McCoy, what'cha doing?" You don't turn around, being too busy in gathering your needed equipment.

"Just showing our new engineer trainee the ropes."

After getting everything strapped to your vest, you turn around and face Hank, who stands by himself. "Wasn't someone just talking to you?"

Another 'whoosh' sounds this time right beside you. You quickly look to your right where a silver-haired man stands, sporting odd gear. Goggles sit on his forehead while clipped earbuds hang around his neck, connected to a SONY Walkman strapped to his belt.

"Yeah, that's me. You look very nice, why haven't we me before? I'm Peter Maximoff but guys around here call me Quicksilver. What's your name?"

He speaks so quickly; you have to ask him to repeat it. When you can properly hear him, you offer a hand.

"Nice to meet you... Quicksilver? I'll have to stick with Peter. I'm Y/N."

Peter smiles at the way you respond to him shyly but doesn't bring it up. "You new here? Never seen you around."

You explain how Charles stumbled upon you about a month ago and offered you a place at the school. You moved in only two weeks back. Hank had recently found about your knack with mechanical devices and technical skills.

Peter watches you the whole time you speak, listening carefully to everything you say. Once you're finished, he asks a random question.

"Have you ever gone to a concert Y/N?"

"No. Never had the time."

He scrunches his brown eyebrows in confusion before shaking his head. "You have really never gone to a concert before?" He looks you up and down, smirking broadly once he does.

"That won't do."

In seconds, you feel all the excess weight from the power tools gone. They're quick to reappear in a small pile at Hank's feet. Peter, out of nowhere, stands by your side.

"Sorry Hank," he starts, already slipping on his goggles. "Your little class with Y/N will have to be postponed. I am going to take her to have the time of her life."

Scrunching your nose up in confusion, you look at him. "Really?"

"Yes." He replies. His hand reaches for the back of your head as you speak.

"And how are you-"

Everything rushes past as Peter grabs your head and starts running. Next thing you know, you're standing in your dormitory.

"-Gonna do that?"

Peter knowingly grabs a small trashcan from the corner of the room and hands it to you. Quickly spitting up the little breakfast you had, you glare daggers at the speedster.

"Give me a bit of a warning next time."

"Oh, I will," he responds playfully. One second he's gone, but quickly returns the next with a small pile of clothes in his arms.

"Put this on," Peter says before tossing them at your face. Catching them with ease, you eye them curiously.

"What's wrong with what I have on now?"

"It's nice but you might want to be a bit more comfortable where we're going."

Agreeing to his terms, the fellow mutant waits patiently as you change, leaving the room while you do like a gentleman. Once you've finished, you call him back in.

"You have nice taste, Peter." You compliment, looking over your clothes in the mirror.

"Nah, you just make it look good."

Fixing your shirt, you dare to ask Peter where you were going in order to hide your embarrassment.

"Have you ever heard of Journey?"

"The band?" You question. "A little. I don't listen to music so their songs are a mystery to me."

"I am trying to develop an interest in you Y/N. Are you trying to turn me off or something?"

This boy was definitely not going to make things easy for you. Feeling your cheeks reddening, you turn to Peter.

"I'm sorry. I don't usually have time to listen to music."

"Well, we're going to change that." He grabs your head once more before rushing off.

Several hundred miles later, the two of you stand on a grassy lawn, surrounded by a scattered amount of fellow teenagers and middle-aged adults, all in ripped clothing. A large stage is settled nearby where a crew sets up sound equipment.

"And now we wait."

-

And so, you did. As the band readied themselves for a performance, you and Peter got to know each other better. He had a twin sister named Wanda and along with his mother, they lived in a house full of stolen goods. He then adds how he once had broken into the pentagon and freed the man who supposedly killed JFK.

With every passing minute you talked, you feel more and more intrigued by him. It was nice, having a guy your own age to hang out with who actually let loose.

Then the lights dimmed down as the music started to pour out of the large speakers. It hit you like a tidal wave and you immediately fell in love with it. You started dancing and laughing, something you rarely did anymore.

As they started to play another song, you allow Peter to hold you from behind.

"This is nice," you tell him, swaying from side to side. "I never thought myself to be a rock kind of person."

You look up to Peter who gazes down at you with affection.

"We never think ourselves to be a lot of things but we're still here."

Things were really looking good now.

Compliment Part 2

Peter Maximoff x Reader

Tagged: @floraroselaughter

It’d been weeks since your rather awkward encounter with Peter, well maybe awkward wasn’t the right word for it. Hindsight had been a bit of an eye opener for you after that day and you had spent that time growing more and more embarrassed with yourself. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of it, not at all, in fact it was more the urge to keep doing it that had caught you off guard. Watching Peter the way you liked to do had revealed he didn’t have many friends and certainly even less compliments. Your one off handed compliment had seemed to brighten his week and as you watched him revert back to his old self you couldn’t help but feel… Sad. Everyone deserved compliments. While you yourself hadn’t been on the receiving end of many compliments that didn’t mean others weren’t deserving of them. Your mother had drilled into your head to be the change you wanted to see in the world and mostly you just wished people were kinder to each other. Especially with all this mutant nonsense that seemed to be cropping up. Perhaps you were tenderhearted with your belief that one should do unto others as they’d wish others would do unto them, perhaps you were overly optimistic in the hope that humans and mutants could coexist. You weren’t sure. 

But you did know that you liked seeing others happy. 

After having worked yourself into an embarrassed mess over the compliment a few weeks ago it took you some time to work up the courage to try it again. This time however you took your time formulating the compliment you wanted to give. It’d be something small, insignificant to most, but something only someone who was watching might think to give. Arguably you knew he was self conscious of certain things. It was quite obvious in the way he acted what made him jittery. So there you were in your shared class with your chin in your palm as the teacher droned on in the background. Peter seemed to be developing heterochromia in his eyes, that pale blue ring to them more visible now than before. But you had already complimented them. You didn’t want to come off as a broken record. Instead you had zeroed in on his hair. Years of watching your mother straighten her own hair had given you a clue what natural straight hair and ironed straight hair looked like. As track season had begun and Peter had taken to it you’d noticed that his hair had gotten almost curly at the roots. Why he’d hide such a thing didn’t make sense to you but you figured that was just something he did. His eyes darted to your own and he tensed clearly not expecting you to be watching, giving him a warm smile you hummed to yourself in thought. The smile was what made him pause. His lips parted to speak and you were reminded that he also had nice lips. They looked soft despite most likely being chapped. Kissable. That particular thought was set aside for later. 

“You’d look nice with curly hair.” You spoke, interrupting him before he could speak himself. The soft incessant tapping of his foot paused. For a moment he merely stared back at you. He blinked the words setting in slowly. But just like the last time you complimented him that barely there blush threatened to rise to his cheeks. His face was more round than other boys, betraying a youth that hadn’t yet left him in favor of puberty. He cleared his throat after a moment, eyes darting nervously around the room to see if anyone had heard or was paying any attention. Or perhaps he was looking to see if you’d been set up by someone. That thought rather hurt. 

“I look weird with curly hair.” He mumbled after a moment. His hand scrubbed over his face and you couldn’t help but smile a little more. 

“I think you’d look handsome.” You shrugged. To your fascination that blush deepened, his face reddened in such a way that you could clearly see the pink. Those interesting eyes darted between you and somewhere off to the side as if trying to think of something to say. Something to refute your claim. But you continued to gaze at him with a warm smile. 

“You have nice lips.” He blurted out your eyes widened the same time his did. That blush now a bright flaming unmistakable red as he ducked his head. “Fuck.” He hissed to himself. 

Huh. You thought past the embarrassment. You tried not to immediately deny the compliment as sudden as it was. Had he been staring too? Your face felt warm as your smile curled a little at the edges with the heat. Going more crooked as the embarrassment set in. Taking a steady breath you willed your voice not to crack. 

“Thanks.” Your voice swelled with that bashful feeling threatening to overwhelm you. Gnawing on your cheek you glanced away. When you glanced back you found him staring right at you, some strange expression on his face you couldn’t place. Unsure of yourself you shuffled nervously in your seat. Strangely enough you could have sworn you saw his pupils dilate but that was silly. 

He cleared his throat suddenly and flipped erratically through the book you were supposed to be reading for your class. Taking that as your cue you opened your own book and flipped to where you’d marked the pages. Self consciously your fingers trailed to your lips. You couldn’t help but let out a silent huff of amusement at what an awkward pair the two of you must have made. As the teacher continued to talk you glanced shyly back up at him and found his eyes. 

“I like your jacket too. It’s cute.” 

He shuffled around in his seat, teeth digging into his lower lip. A pretty deer in headlights. 

“I like the little hearts you doodle in your notebook.” He blurted and then flushed red yet again. It was clear he hadn’t meant to say that either. The confession caught you off guard, you didn’t think anyone noticed the little absentminded doodles you drew when you were struggling to focus. Much less noticed enough to realize what they were. Which meant that somehow Peter had been watching you like you had been watching him. All without you having noticed at all. The heat in your face returned but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. 

“You do?” You asked, unable to hide the bashful tone of your voice. Those wide eyes skittered across your face and you wondered what he could possibly be thinking. 

“Yeah.” He answered plainly. “They, uh, they’re cute. I mean…” He trailed off clearly trying to think of something to say and grasping at straws. Taking pity on him and on yourself you found yourself stretching your leg out to rest your ankle against his. The featherlight touch had his foot immediately stilling, freezing him momentarily in place before he swallowed so hard his adam’s apple visibly jumped. 

“Thank you.” You told him genuinely. It was strange how that was the compliment that caught you the most. An unwitting admittance to being perceived by someone else. You had gone to pull your leg from his when his leg suddenly twisted to lock yours into place. Shifting so that the back of your ankle was pressed against the front of his. A new, surprising, development. Did Peter… Like touch? Did he want it? In all your time observing him you hadn’t noticed a preference for or against it. But if he wanted touch… You forced your leg to relax against his. Letting it rest there as if it were the most natural thing in the world as you turned back to your book. For the rest of the class period the two of you stayed like that. Ankles locked together harmlessly under your desks.

Compliment

It wasn't often that you got to stare at your classmate, he was usually nearly constantly moving around. But for the past ten minutes he'd been glaring down at his essay in concentration. His fingers carded through white hair as he tapped his pencil at a near rapid rate. Pale eyelashes nearly hiding the dark brown of his eyes as they flitted over the words he'd already written. Looking at him this closely you could see a faint indent on his nose as if he'd been wearing goggles. Eyes trailing over his face you watched as his eyes caught yours. Brows furrowing as a slight frown tugged at his lips- you couldn't look away. The light from the windows caught his eyes turning them a coffee brown instead of the nearly black color they were. Caught up in staring at them you were surprised to see the slight sliver of blue ringed around the brown. Gone in an instant as his eyes darted to the side and then back to yours.

"What are you staring at?" He hissed defensively, shoulders drawn up almost to his ears. You blinked at him as his words caught up to you. Months of watching him in your classes had taught you the best thing to do was to catch him off guard with honesty before he actually got angry and so you blurted the first thought that had crossed your mind.

"You have nice eyes."

He blinked clearly not expecting it. Perfect. His shoulders dropped from their defensive posture as he stared at you, face smoothed out in surprise. Again his eyes searched yours for answers that you didn't technically have. They dropped back down towards his paper as his pencil resumed its rapid tapping- just slightly harder than before. If you hadn't been watching him so closely you might have missed the slight flush that creeped across his face and towards his ears. Deciding to cut your watching short you looked back down to the book you were citing for your own essay. The compliment was small, something you'd tell any of your friends. You felt little shame or embarrassment in saying it. It was true, Peter had lovely eyes. Out of the corner of your eye you caught him biting his lip to hide a smile. You didn't bother to hide yours as you highlighted a quote. As the class crawled by slowly you watched the way his fingers kept coming up to rest just beneath his eyes and the way his lips would twitch with that almost smile. As if the compliment had been more than just simple observation on your part.

When class finally did end he was the first one out the door as usual. Always in a rush to get to the next thing. It hardly mattered to you, you only knew Peter as a hyperactive classmate. The two of you weren't friends and the most you'd ever talked to each other was during group projects. As you made your way out of the class to head to your last one of the day your mind was already wandering to the next assignment you'd be doing and the other classmates you'd be dealing with.

You almost missed the person who fell into step with you. But it was hard to miss his usual strange sense of style and that white hair. He seemed jittery as his attention darted from one thing to the next. But it was unmistakable that he was walking with you and not in the general direction you were going. He walked nearly in your own personal bubble seeming to step in and out of it as if unsure of what he was doing. It was cute. As you arrived to your next class your eyes caught a bit of string clinging to his jacket as he went to turn and walk back to his own class.

"Peter?" He froze mid step as you stepped closer to him. Plucking the string from the lapel of his leather jacket you took a moment to even them both out. "You had some string stuck to it." You explained simply. He continued to stare at you mutely- a rare thing from him. Usually he had a witty reply for everything. You watched in fascination as his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. By now people usually called you a creep and tried to put distance between themselves and you. Instead Peter flushed in that interesting hardly noticeable way of his and cleared his throat.

"Cool." And as if he were never there in the first place he was gone. Frowning you glanced around the hallway, only seeing other students you hardly knew. Shrugging it off you went to sit down in your science class, hoping it'd pass quickly so you could go home. If it was another thing you'd learned in the months of sharing classes with Peter it was that you'd never understand him.