i am starting to believe some of akina's bfs probably told her something along the lines of ' if your daddy issues healed you'd leave me ' and she's never really cared about it but i'm ready to write an essay why you're always with an angry man if you've grown up with an angry man in your house . anyway .
Jesse shut the screen of his laptop, putting it into rest mode and effectively shutting up the incessant notifications of incoming texts he had absolutely no desire to read. He’d been without a phone for weeks now and he had to admit, he kind of loved being hard to reach.
At least, in the one and only case of his father.
Who, if the last few days had been anything to go by, was absolutely the one blowing his shit up now.
Instead, Jesse sighed contentedly as silence filled the room, checking himself out in the full length mirror across from his bed. He tugged at the bottom of his jacket to straighten it out before moving to button his cufflinks. He’d decided the time for wallowing was done. He was bored and itching for a good night. Fuck, he deserved one, didn’t he? It’d been a rough go and no, he wasn’t interested in rehashing how much of it had been directly or indirectly his own fault.
No, he was in rare form tonight, so ready to let loose for one single night before the shitty shit that was his life could crowd him once more.
He ran a hand through his hair, nodding approvingly at his reflection, before he moved back to the cufflinks again. He paused, head canting to the side at the sound of knocking. He was fairly certain all of his dormmates had already left for the night— fashionably late was a choice and he’d made it— so he wasn’t expecting anyone now.
Still fiddling with the stubborn button, he shot himself one last approving look before he exited his room, pulling open the front door, and—
The stoic visage of Donovan Hart haunted his doorway, looking sharp in a perfectly pressed and tailored Armani suit. His hand fell from his unbuttoned cuff as dread lanced through him. “I thought pest control was included in the tuition.”
Donovan’s smile was wicked, obviously pleased at Jesse’s discomfort. “I was just as disappointed when I found out that education wasn’t either.”
“What are you doing here?”
A judgmental eye trailed down the length of him and he felt the gaze like pinpricks. “When my texts and calls went unanswered for weeks, I reached out to the dean. I was... concerned.” The way he said it made it clear he hadn’t been concerned in the least. Pissed, maybe, that he was being ignored. But never concerned. “Imagine my surprise when he filled me in on the goings on around campus. A girl you, apparently, were involved with going missing. Fights. Second interviews with the police.” He took a step forward, lithe movements that held a lethality in them to anyone who actually knew him. Which Jesse would venture was very few. “And then he was nice enough to invite me along tonight and I thought, it’s been such a hard year for my son. It sounds like he might be in desperate need of some... guidance.”
The threat was clear and a muscle in Jesse’s jaw feathered in defiance. “Well consider me guided,” he said, moving to close the door.
His father’s foot slid into the doorway, keeping the door from closing as he pushed back against it, pushing it back open and crowding Jesse in the doorway. His voice was low, uttered through clenched teeth. “I will not be made a fool of. You’re parading around this campus flashing my money like no one can touch you, but I encourage you to remember just how quickly I could make it all go away.” He waved a hand toward the dorm as a whole. “And then where would you be? What would you have? Would anyone be left?” His father smiled, taunting him, stoking the fire he could so clearly see in Jesse and daring him to rise to it.
Jesse didn’t.
Instead, he remained silent while he burned, feeling each word as they landed where he’d intended. Like shoving fingers into festering wounds, he could feel the serrated truth in them. If he had nothing, he would be nothing. He would have no one. It was the universal truth that stared him in the mirror everyday. It was in every swallow of every drink, in every hit, every bump, every tab. And now it was the shape of his own father, taunting him with the very thing he spent his life running from.
Donovan Hart smiled like he knew just that. He clapped him on the shoulder, the gesture condescending. “See you out there, kiddo.”
And just like a tornado, he was gone, leaving the wreckage of Jesse Hart in his wake.
During one of Nicky’s housekeepers deep cleans, she had absolutely reached the end of her tether with all the women’s clothing and items left in his apartment that had no home except stuffed at the bottom of a wardrobe. So, in a bid to appease the woman he paid to terrorise him into being an adult, Nicky had sorted through some of the stuff – realising that he actually recognised a few items of Tala’s… or he was pretty sure of it. It had been a while since he had seen her, but he was 70% sure some of the stuff was hers from when she had last been over to Nicky’s to hang out with him and Charlie.
So, Nick had decided to make the drive to her Tala’s home before taking the rest of the women's’ things… and some guy’s things, to the tip. It was a fine idea at first, he had nothing on that day, and he liked Ashmore. The only problem was that he hadn’t visited Tala is so long, he couldn’t actually make heads nor tails of Ashmore. The neighbourhood was too huge, he had even been shoed away from a few houses after driving down their front lawns just so he could check their house number, or mansion number.
Eventually, the wolf decided to pull over and send his pin to Tala, with a sweet and friendly text to notify her of his current situation.
[ TEXT ]: I've gotten completely lost trying to find your place so I can drop off some things thay may or may not be yours. Need a Knight in shinning armour to rescue me 🙏 a Knight with food. Can you drop me your location pls?
Never one to miss an opportunity to be dramatic, Nicky just smirked at the message and hit send. She knew what he was like.
The twenty nine year old then rolled down the window of his brand new red pick up (he had literally just gone out and bought the latest version of his dad’s car, because nothing screams daddy issues like copying his style to instigate a bond that hasn’t been there for over a decade) put his feet up horizontally across the dashboard (he was too tall to do it any other way) interlocked his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes.
For once, the weather was okay, a little warm, and the sun was shining. He figured if Tala didn’t get back to him, he’d at least enjoy a nap before heading to the tip and then hopefully back home to a house keeper empty home.
When you have daddy issues so *you* become the dad. Like I have the dorky dad now energy now because my dad didn't/was angry a lot. I am one the one who tells dorky puns and wears obnoxious button-up shirts and says "are you winning son?". I am my own dad and have decided the role is mine now even though I'm a girl (or enby maybe) and don't want to have children fosbdoabsosnsja
A/N: A Peter Maximoff and Dadneto fic! There will likely be hints of Cherik in here, because I can’t help myself. But I wanted to write a fic on Peter Maximoff, dig into his character a little bit more, y’know? I’ve only watched X-Men: Days of Future Past and X-men: Apocalypse, as well as WandaVision, but that one isn’t an X-men film. So, have some Peter Maximoff with a side of daddy issues. And a dash of historical inaccuracies. The first Walkman was created in 1979, yet Peter uses one in DOFP, which takes place in (mainly) 1973.
Genre: Angst (sorta?)
Warnings: Cursing, daddy issues, hurt and no comfort, anxiety, derogatory thinking, other things of that nature spoilers for X-men: DOFP and Apocalypse
Word Count: 3.7K
Peter Maximoff never really had some place to call his own. It never really bothered him much either. He’d run around, ending up wherever his body decided to take him, only to return to his mom’s basement.
It was never his room. He’d always been the loser who lived in his mom’s basement. The freakishly fast kid with kleptomania. The kid with no dad. The mutant. The fuck-up. And he always would be.
Up until 1973.
The hollow noises of the ping pong ball hitting the table over and over as he rushed from side to side almost drowned out his mother yelling down to him. He just heard the word cops. He paused, but only for a moment.
He left his paddle in the air as he went upstairs, seeing three men beginning to walk into the house.
After a quick pickpocket or two, he found a folded up paper. Unfolding it, he found the car that sat in front of his house was not a cop car, but a rental car from out of town.
Somewhat peculiar for cops to be driving a rental car, right? Especially if it’s from out of town.
He made his way back to his ping pong game, grabbing the significantly lower in the air paddle and continuing to play by himself.
As the three men came down the stairs, he didn’t bother to stop.
“What do you guys want?”
He noticed the first man who had entered the basement was attempting to follow him around, seemingly astonished. He snickered under his breath, but it was short lived as the ball almost bounced a second time on one side.
“I didn’t do anything!”
The other two men who trailed behind the first quickly followed suit, trying to keep their eyes on him. Not like they could.
Peter dropped the paddle and let the ball bounce off the table as he stretched across his couch.
“Been here all day,”
“Just... relax, Peter. We’re not cops,” the first man said, approaching the silver haired teen a bit.
“Course you’re not cops, if you were cops, you wouldn’t be driving a rental car,” Peter said, his hands resting on the back of his head.
“How’d you know we got a rental car?” the man with long hair asked, his accent making any “T” he said almost non-existent.
“I checked your registration as you were walking through the door,” Peter replied quickly, almost interrupting the second man. “I also had some time, so I went through your rental agreement and saw you’re from out of town. Are you FBI?”
He stood up, stealing the second man’s wallet out of his pocket and flicking it open.
“Nope, you’re not cops. Hey, what’s with this gifted youngster’s place?”
Just as quickly as he picked up the wallet, he dropped it only to grab a popsicle.
“That’s an... old card,” the second man grumbled, replacing his wallet in his pocket.
“He’s fascinating,” the third man said with a small smile.
“He’s a pain in the arse,” the second man scowled.
Ouch.
Not the first time Peter had been called that. Not by a longshot. But time doesn’t make things hurt any less, now does it?
“What, a teleporter?” the third man asked, looking at the first man.
Peter looked at the first man, who just seemed exasperated.
“No, he’s just fast,” the first man sighed. “When I knew him, he wasn’t so... young,”
Peter sat back down on his couch, the half eaten popsicle quickly disappearing into almost nothing as he spoke, mouth still full.
“Young? You’re just old,”
“So you’re not afraid to show your powers?” the third man spoke, his tone sounding off.
Peter couldn’t say why it sounded wrong, it just felt out of place.
“Powers? What powers, what are you talking about?” Peter asked sarcastically. “You see something strange here?”
The second and third man shared a glance before looking back at him. Peter’s eyes met theirs, almost like a challenge.
“Nothing anybody’d believe if you told them?”
The first man gave Peter a look that made him downright uncomfortable. Once again, a look he’d get from a lot of people. Teachers, the cops, his mother. That slight head tilt to the left, that frown with pursed lips, that furrowed brow. The look he’d grown used to. The look he associated with disappointment, annoyance, exasperation.
To avoid looking at any of the men, he sped off to his Pong machine, playing through the game at a rapid fire pace, the bare popsicle stick dumped in a nearby trash can.
“So, who are you? What do you want?” he asked, his dead expression staring back at him among the ball that danced between the sides of the screen.
“We need your help, Peter,” the first man said.
“With what?”
“To break into a highly secured facility. And to get someone out.”
“Prison break?” he asked with a smirk. “That’s illegal, you know.”
After a brief pause, the first man spoke up again.
“Well, only if you get caught.”
“So what’s in it for me?”
“You,” the second guy began. “You kleptomaniac, get to break into the Pentagon.”
Peter paused, the game frozen with the score at 3 to 2. 5 balls he let slip past himself. He turned to see the three men, glancing at them all again.
The look had disappeared from the first man’s face, all of them looking at him expectantly.
“How do I know I can trust you?” Peter asked carefully.
“Because we’re just like you.”
Peter’s eyes bounced around the three men, none of them looking to have any sort of mutation or remarkable thing about them or their appearance. If all three of them were mutants, why didn’t they at least look the part like he somewhat did?
“Show him,” the second man said to the first man.
Peter looked to the first man, who made a fist and clenched it.
A sickening noise that sounded somewhat like a squelch began a series of bone-chilling sounds as a trio of boney claws sprouted from the clenched fist.
Peter’s breath caught in his throat, looking at the bone sticking out of the man’s fists before meeting his eyes.
“It’s cool, but it’s disgusting.”
Okay, don’t fuck it up, Peter. Don’t fuck this up.
Peter continued to walk through the hallway in stolen garb from one of the guards, holding a lunch tray. A plastic gun stayed attached to his hip as he entered the area with the holding cell.
He looked down through the glass ceiling of the cell, seeing the prisoner asleep on what could barely qualify as a bed, looking a lot more like some sort of folded up blanket.
Peter placed a slip of paper on top of the lunch tray, and slid it through a chute on the floor to give it to the prisoner.
The tray slid down, waking up the prisoner who read the note. He looked up, and Peter gave a grin in response.
Kneeling down by the edge of the cell, he placed his hands on the glass, taking a deep breath. He began to move his hands up and down at an unrealistic pace, the glass shaking underneath his fingertips.
Peter’s grin grew massively as the glass shattered, the prisoner shielding himself before pulling himself up out of his cell.
“In three seconds, those doors are going to open. And 20 guards will be here to shoot us,” the prisoner said, looking straight ahead.
Peter quickly ran behind the prisoner, the guard’s hat falling off, placing his hand on the prisoner’s back and head. “I know, that’s what I’m waiting for.”
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m holding your neck so you don’t get whiplash,”
“What?”
Shit, he must’ve spoken too fast.
“Whiplaaaaaaaaaaaash,” Peter drew the word out before turning his eyes back to the door.
The doors opened, several guards appearing with plastic guns. “Don’t move!”
Peter’s grin grew massively as they rushed into a closing elevator. The guard he had left in there still nicely stuck to the wall by duct tape.
The prisoner wobbled a bit, but he was ignored for the moment as Peter got out of the stiff, stolen uniform and back into his stiff, leather outfit.
“You’re good, it’ll pass,” Peter reassured as the prisoner leaned against the wall of the elevator. “It happens with everyone,”
That single beat of silence between the two was too much for the silver haired teen, what with all the questions swirling in his head.
“Must’ve done something pretty serious... what’d you do, man?”
The lack of response from the prisoner only helped Peter gain a more playful attitude toward the whole situation. “What’d you do? What’d you doooooo?~ Why’d they have you in there?”
Before Peter could ask his question yet again, the prisoner spoke up. “For killing the president,”
Peter’s jaw couldn’t decide whether to drop or snap shut, so he just opted to nod.
Wow... shit!
“Everything I’m guilty of is fighting for people like us.”
“You take karate? You know karate, man?” Peter asked, wanting to hop off the subject.
“I don’t know karate. But I know crazy,” the prisoner sighed.
Peter, still hyped up on adrenaline, could only smile and look down at is feet, ignoring the feeling of anxiety beginning to bloom in his chest.
After a while in the elevator, Peter piped up again. “They told me you control metal,”
“They?” the prisoner asked.
“You know, my mom once knew a guy who could do that,” Peter snickered to himself, the elevator rising steadily before coming to a halt.
As the elevator opened, Peter saw the men he learned were Charles and Logan, standing in a kitchen area, absolutely fucking drenched. The sprinklers were going off.
“Charles?” the prisoner asked quietly.
Charles’ face twisted in anger and quickly threw a punch at the prisoner’s face with little to no remorse. The prisoner fell to the ground from the force, Peter backing up.
Why was he punching the guy they were breaking out?! He could kill all of them if he wanted to!
“Good to see you too, old friend,” the prisoner said, moving his hand from his jaw. “And walking.”
“No thanks to you,” Charles spat.
The prisoner stood up, staring Charles down. Peter had no clue what to do, just standing by idly, waiting to see if he or Logan would need to separate the two.
“You’re the last person in the world I expected to see today,” the prisoner said.
“Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to,” Charles voice was stern, like that of a scolding parent. “If we’re getting you out of here, we’re doing it my way: no killing,”
“No helmet,” the prisoner said with a smirk. “I couldn’t disobey you, even if I wanted,”
“I’m never getting inside that head again,” Charles said coldly.
Peter shared a quick glance with the guard taped to the wall before looking between the two men.
“I need your word, Erik,”
The sexual tension in the room is rising faster than I can run, holy shit.
The prisoner nodded before guards burst into the kitchen.
“NOBODY MOVE!”
“HOLD IT, RIGHT THERE!”
Peter followed behind the prisoner and left the elevator, hearing him murmur “Charles,”
“DON’T MOVE! HANDS UP, OR WE WILL SHOOT!”
“Freeze them, Charles,” the prisoner said firmly.
“I can’t,” Charles muttered quietly.
“HEADS UP!”
Items in the kitchen rattled before things flew up into the air.
“NO!” Charles yelled as he placed a hand in front of the prisoner.
Things that were toppling mid air slowed to a near halt, as did the sprinkles and the people.
All except for Peter.
Turning on his walkman and putting on his headphones, he took a deep breath.
A quick crack of the knuckles, and he went off running, going up onto the walls.
If I could save time in a bottle
Wall running was always such an exhilarating experience. One that always got the blood pumping. It never failed to make Peter smile.
But running on a wall and running through droplets of water? That was something else.
The first thing that I’d like to do
A nearby pot was flying through the air, whatever sort of stew in the pot spilling ever so slowly.
Without thinking, he brought a finger up for a taste, water still splashing onto his goggles.
Hm. It could probably use some more salt.
Is to save everyday ‘til eternity passes away
As he continued along the walls, he flicked off the cap from one of the guards, and poked another in the face.
The slowness of everything else around him combined with the speed of the poke was going to make him go fucking flying.
Just to spend them with you
Peter grinned just thinking about it. This was the most amazing experiences he’d ever had in his nearly two decades of life on this Earth.
If I could make days last forever
Peter hopped off the wall, literally dodging a bullet and throwing a plate at the nearest officer.
The plate slowly glided through the air, not even close to making an impact yet. That was going to leave an egg on the guard’s head for sure, probably shatter as well.
Okay, maybe that was a bit overkill.
But then again, he didn’t care. He was having the time of his fucking life!
If words could make wishes come true
Bullets continued to slowly soar through the air as Peter continued fucking with the guards.
He never once thought he’d get into the Pentagon, let alone to absolutely obliterate anyone who was in there!
I’d save every day like a treasure and then
The next guard he saw, he decided to have a little bit more fun.
He took the gun from his hands, and curled his hand into a fist, making it meet his cheek. He wishes he brought a camera with him so he could take pictures of these moments.
Again, I would spend them with you
Two guards who stood next to each other had their arms cross so their guns were in each others faces. And for a extra oomph, he decided to steal a hat.
At least he’d get some sort of souvenir from this event.
But there never seems to be enough time
The guards were all going to be met with a peculiar fate, but there was one thing left in the equation to fix.
The bullets.
To do the things you wanna do once you find them
Peter ran toward the bullets, taking a look at them for a moment.
Maybe if I moved one over there... no, that’d end up nicking him in the neck. Oh, wait, that’ll work.
I’ve looked around enough to know
He lightly nudged the bullets around, making sure that they’d all avoid the three men in the kitchen.
Their aim was absolute horse shit. One or two of those bullets would’ve easily hit Charles if he weren’t there to move them.
If they were aiming for him, that’s one thing. But if they just wanted to hit the prisoner, they would’ve failed miserably.
That you’re the one I wanna go through time with
Peter ran to the other side of the kitchen and stopped entirely.
Time went back to a normal pace around him as guards and food went flying, and the men flinched as the bullets hit the elevator doors behind them.
Peter turned off his walkman and took out his headphones, looking at the astonished trio.
The prisoner and Logan shared a glance, all of them leaving the kitchen slowly
A mere mumble of a “Thanks, kid.” came from Logan as he walked past him, but that was all.
He was too hopped up on adrenaline to care, frankly. At least, for now.
Peter didn’t know.
He didn’t know.
She didn’t tell him.
He should’ve figured it out.
Who else could he have been?
The news said it all, though he really wish it hadn’t.
“Leaders from all communities are urging their citizens to remain calm as police and armed forces are mobilizing to find Lehnsherr before he can strike again. If anyone has information about Lehnsherr or, as he is also known, Magneto, contact your local authorities immediately and proceed with caution as he is considered highly--”
“Peter?”
His mother’s voice calling his name snapped him out of the trance the television had put him in, flicking it to the next channel and going to the Ms. Pac-Man machine in his room.
“‘Sup?” he asked as his mom came down the stairs.
“Just checking on you,” she said calmly, an empty glass in her hands.
How could she be calm about all of this?
Peter’s mind was anything but calm as his wrists flicked the joy stick much more harshly than he usually would, as if it’d release all of the tension building up inside of him.
“I’m good. Playing Pac-Man,” he internally cringed at the way his voice broke when he spoke. He couldn’t play it off as puberty, obviously. He was 27.
He heard whatever bullshit movie was playing on his TV switch back to the news he both did and didn’t want to hear.
“Sure you weren’t watching this?”
He dropped a near silent profanity from his mouth before glancing at the screen.
A picture of Magneto in the top right corner as the news anchor continued reading off of his script. Something about it being ten years since mutants and humankind had reached peace.
He helped out with that, and he realized it after the event had taken place.
And it took him ten years to come to a second realization about his break-in at the Pentagon.
“You’re going after him, aren’t you?” his mother asked tiredly.
“You wanted me to get out of the house more, right?” he asked semi-sarcastically, the flicking of the joystick having calmed slightly.
“I can’t stop you,” his mother sighed. “Nobody can. But trust me, this won’t end well. Nothing does, with him.”
Peter stopped, looking back at his mother. His poor, tired mother, who had to deal with him and his sister. His sister wasn’t the problem in the family. No, that was him.
“I’m not afraid of him,” he said genuinely.
“You should be,”
His mother’s voice barely reached above a whisper, seeming to grow more and more tired of him by the minute.
And with that, she left. She just dropped that final bomb on him, and left.
Was that going to stop Peter from what was likely to be a not-so-perfect reunion? Of course it wasn’t. Like his mother said, nobody could stop him. Especially not himself.
He pulled out the card from Charles, old and worn from years of being put in his pockets or wallet.
Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters
Charles Xavier
Professor
Beneath the name sat the address, only being a few states over. He could get there in absolutely no time at all.
But, today wasn’t the day to do it.
Peter placed the card back, laying on his bed as the news droned on and on. It had moved off the topic of Erik Lehnsherr, which was as much of a blessing as it was a curse.
He needed to know more about him, but it was going to drive him fucking crazy if he heard that man’s name again.
“Fuck,” he hissed, swallowing the steadily growing lump in his throat.
The topic never made him cry when he was a kid. So why was he crying over this now?
He knew crying wasn’t a weakness. He knew it, he heard it, he told that to others when they felt like shit for crying. But whenever he did it, it made him feel vulnerable.
That’s why he always did it alone.
He didn’t want anyone to see how vulnerable he truly was. It was much more of an anxiety issue than anything else. He’d been told things like the usual “boys don’t cry!” sort of stuff.
But things he was told never helped him with keeping true to that statement. And time didn’t make him more mature or calm. He still acted like a child, which he never heard the fucking end of. He was still a disappointment, especially to the Maximoff family name.
His mom worked her ass off to take care of him and his sister, only for him to fuck it all up by stealing and not getting off of his lazy ass and getting a damn job.
“Fuck!”
His nails dug into his palms painfully as he smacked himself in the head with the heel of his palm. He needed to stop thinking like that. He needed to stop thinking. He needed to stop.
A deep breath in.
A heavy, shaky sigh out.
Grabbing his walkman, a hoodie, and his headphones, he left his room.
“Ma, I’m going for a run,” he nearly spat the words out so his voice wouldn’t crack.
He just got a noise of acknowledgment before he left the house.
He needed to get away.
So he ran. He ran nearly across the entire country, landing in Glasgow, Montana.
Most secluded area in the States.
What did he do?
He flipped up his hood and sprinted behind the cemetery. The small town had so much space for him to run around.
Instead, he screamed.
He screamed long and hard until his lungs were begging for him to stop. Until his throat ached. Until he couldn’t hear his brain anymore.
It was stupid. The fact that just hearing his name made him spiral.
His brain wasn’t even thinking about him anymore, all set on insulting the place it was kept.
Bastard.
Mistake.
Fuck-up.
The words that would just repeat over and over until he started screaming again. He wasn’t built to handle that mental pain. He wasn’t built to deal with anxiety. Hell, he wasn’t even supposed to be built.
His father left his mother before he was born because it was an affair. There was no fucking love involved. Just a quick fuck and gone. He wasn’t supposed to happen.
And it was obvious that no one had told his father who he was or showed him what he looked like.
Because when he saved Erik Lehnsherr from the Pentagon, Peter Maximoff didn’t get any recognition from his father.
A/N: Part one has been finished! So, I hope you enjoyed it, because there’s going to be a second and possibly third part to this. There will be more movie based stuff, but once we finish scenes from X-men Apocalypse, we’re ignoring Dark Phoenix and just making shit up. So, for now, have angst. I don’t necessarily have a tag list for my X-men stuff yet, so I’m just gonna tag my beta reader! If you find that you’re interested on being on here, just tell me somehow! I hope you have a good day/night!
