Warning: NSFW, slightly clingy Peter Maximoff, Peter is a desperate and a virgin
Peter was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, his eyes drifting along the details as his hand went over the cold side of the bed where you should be yet you were upstairs. He shouldn't be so clingy but he wants you down here with him, he wanted to pepper kisses amongst your skin.
He feels a bit... frisky today but like hell he would tell you. He was too scared of saying, 'Yo I kinda have a situation. You down to clown?'
Plus his sisters and mother were home, he would die if they came down to the basement and get an eyeful of him fucking you into the mattress.
Peter let out a frustrated whine, snatching a pillow to bury his face in it. He wants to get laid so badly, his batman sweatpants getting a tad but tighter as a tent forms. He didn't want to think about it but hell he thinks you are a banging hot babe. Somehow snatching you up was a feat in his books, he was a horny 20 year old virgin that is too scared to ask if he can fuck his partner of 4 years.
He thought about it, you on top. His hands squeezing your thighs, squelchy sounds as you ride him. He thrusted up a bit getting zero friction as he just subtly humped air. He wanted to just bury himself in you, deep enough to press against all those sweet spots. He could only imagine the sounds that would leave your mouth, he was practically about to make himself cum just thinking about what you would feel like as you unravel all over him.
He has to ask this question before he practically goes insane.
You were just trying to get a snack. That was it. But the moment you stepped into the kitchen, Peter nearly dropped his Twinkie.
"Whoa—" His silver brows shot up as his eyes scanned your outfit. Not in a gross way, but in a "Do I need to start running?" way.
You raised a brow. "Problem?"
Peter shook his head way too fast. "Nope! No problems here. You can wear whatever you want, babe."
Jubilee, sitting at the counter, smirked. "Really? You don’t care?"
Peter scoffed, tossing an arm around your shoulders. "Pfft. Why would I? My girl can wear whatever she wants..." He hesitated, glancing at you and then lowering his voice. "...'cause I'm scared of her."
You narrowed your eyes. "What was that last part?"
"Nothing!" He grinned nervously, stepping back. "You look amazing! Stunning! Fantastic! A completely independent person with great fashion sense! I love that for you!"
Jubilee cackled. "Dude, you are terrified of her."
"Well, yeah," Peter said without shame. "Like, you think I'm about to tell her no? You think I got a death wish? Nah, I value my life, I like my face. I’d like to keep it in one piece."
You rolled your eyes, grabbing a granola bar from the pantry. "Good answer, Maximoff."
Peter sighed in relief. You were scary, but hey, at least you were his scary.
彡Logan彡
Logan had been minding his business at the bar when you walked in, dressed in something that made half the room do a double take.
He noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed. But instead of reacting like some jealous, overprotective boyfriend, he just sipped his whiskey.
It was not until some guy at the pool table let his eyes linger a second too long that Logan made a noise in the back of his throat—a low, rumbling ahem that sent a very clear message.
The guy turned, raising an eyebrow. "What?"
Logan smirked, tapping a single claw against his glass. "Nothin'. Just wonderin' if you're stupid or just feelin' lucky tonight."
The guy scoffed. "Relax, old man, it's just a look."
"Mm. See, I ain’t too worried ‘bout what she wears." Logan tilted his head, eyes sharp. "She can wear whatever she wants… ‘cause I can fight." He flashed his Adamantium claws.
The guy raised his hands and backed off real quick. Logan just chuckled, downing the rest of his drink.
You leaned against the bar beside him. "You always gotta scare people?"
He shrugged. "Ain’t my fault they spook easy."
You smirked. "You are such a show-off."
Logan just grunted, but the way he slid a possessive arm around your waist told you everything you needed to know.
🂡Remy LeBeau🂡
Remy was kicked back on the mansion's couch, long legs stretched out, flipping a poker chip between his fingers. He had seen you walk in, noticed the way heads turned, but unlike the others, he did not bat an eye.
Jubilee, being Jubilee, could not help but stir the pot. "Remy, you just gonna let her walk around like that?"
Remy did not even look up from his poker chip. "Remy think his chérie can wear whatever she want," he said lazily.
"Yeah?" Jubilee smirked. "You that confident?"
He flicked the chip up, caught it between two fingers, and finally smirked. "Mm-hmm. ‘Cause she's a houe, and I knew that before we started dating."
Gasps. Laughter. Even Logan huffed out an amused breath from the other side of the room.
Your eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
Remy grinned, finally looking at you. "What? You know it’s true, chérie. I fell for you ‘cause you a heartbreaker. A flirt. A menace." He tilted his head, voice dropping to a lazy drawl. "And yet, here we are."
You crossed your arms. "That does not make it better, you know."
"But it is true, non?" He flashed that dangerous, charming grin. "An’ I do not mind one bit."
You rolled your eyes, but you could not stop the small smirk tugging at your lips. Damn Cajun and his smooth talk.
Jubilee snorted. "I hate that he actually got away with that."
Remy just winked.
Hope you all enjoyed!! Love you all, kits! (houe means hoe in French. Idk what else to put there T ' T)
Heya!! I loved your peter maximoff music fic and if you are back on your peter obsession, can I request something with him and reader going on a date and facing backlash from rude people who don't like seeing a mutant in public?? Make it as angsty or happy as you like! Thank you!!
Silver Blur
Peter Maximoff x f!reader
Summary: “I’m a failure, you know that? I have nothing. Still live in my mom’s basement. I steal stupid shit because, I don’t know, my brain doesn’t know how to work any other way. I’m weird. And, to top it all off, I’m not even really human.” He looked down at his hands, long and nimble fingers, as if they carried something dirty, something that couldn’t be fixed. “And you… you’re everything.”
Warnings: fluffy, hurt/comfort, est. relationship, no use of y/n, prejudice towards mutants, a nasty guy, a bit of 'aggression' (totally deserved), insecure!peter, human!reader
A/N: hey love! i'm glad you liked that fic and i hope you can like this one <333 we have a little bit of angst, but i couldn't make it a tragic ending. and yes, my god, i watched x-men again just to see him and he is without a doubt the highlight of the movie
The diner had a nostalgic feel to it, even though you were too young to be nostalgic for anything there. The neon lights reflected off the chrome counter, the jukebox played an upbeat melody in the background, and the smell of greasy fries and burgers lingered in the air. It was the kind of place that suited him—half retro, half chaotic, a space that seemed to exist outside of time.
Peter sat across from you, silver hair catching the colorful glow, a crooked smile playing on his lips. His silver jacket, an essential piece, gleamed under the fluorescent lights. He was leaning on his forearms, watching you with an expression that made it clear that, if it were up to him, he’d spend his whole life just looking at you.
“You know I’m not supposed to be here,” he murmured, but with no real intention of leaving.
You raised an eyebrow, bringing the straw of your milkshake to your lips. “Peter, you always say that.”
He grinned, and his dimples appeared instantly. “And I’m always right.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through your chest at the sight of him, all soft and melted for you. He wasn’t anything you ever expected to find in life, but somehow, he was everything you wanted.
And then came the first glance.
The one you felt on your skin before you even realized what was happening.
A woman at the table next to you pulled her son closer, as if Peter were some kind of creature ready to attack him. A couple in the booth across whispered something to each other, eyes fixed on him with a mix of disdain and distrust. The waiter, who had seemed friendly until now, hesitated for a second before setting the plates down unceremoniously, as if touching them was enough to get contaminated.
Peter said nothing.
You knew he noticed. He always did.
But instead of reacting, he just drummed his fingers against the tabletop, looking away. His jaw was tight, shoulders a little more tense.
Hate.
People had so much hate.
“Do you want to get out of here?” you asked, your blood boiling.
He finally looked at you. And God, those dark eyes were a damn downfall. There was still a trace of a smile on his face, but it was different now—one you recognized.
The smile that said “it’s fine” when it really wasn’t.
“No.” He picked up a fry, twirling it between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. “If I left every place where I wasn’t welcome, there wouldn’t be much left, huh?”
Your chest tightened. He said it like it was a joke. Like it didn’t hurt. Like he was used to it.
And maybe he was.
But you weren’t.
You let go of your straw, crossing your arms over the table. “If anyone says anything, I—”
Peter let out a quiet laugh, leaning back against the seat. “You’re gonna defend me?”
“Obviously.”
He tilted his head to the side, silver hair falling over his forehead. His eyes glimmered, and a real smile returned.
“You’re perfect, you know that?”
This time, you were the one to look away, feeling your cheeks burn.
But the discomfort around you was still there, pulsing like a second skin.
Peter played it off well.
So well you almost believed he really didn’t care. That the stares didn’t get to him, that the whispers didn’t burn under his skin. But you knew Peter Maximoff. And Peter Maximoff was many things—fast, chaotic, ridiculously charming—but he wasn’t unbreakable.
You saw it in his eyes.
You saw it in the way his smile started to fade, in the way his fingers traced distracted patterns on the table, never stopping. You saw it in the way he got quieter, like he was disappearing into himself.
And you saw the exact moment he started to think he shouldn’t be here.
Not just in this diner.
With you.
He dropped his gaze to the table, idly playing with the cold fries on his plate. “Hey…” he murmured, without that usual easy, teasing tone. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you were with someone else?”
Your heart stumbled.
“What?”
He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not saying you should, it’s just that… I think about it. A lot.”
You felt a lump in your throat.
“Peter.”
He looked away.
“I mean it. Look at you.” He gestured in the air, like he was presenting you to an invisible audience. “Beautiful, smart, cool as hell—it’s ridiculous. You could be with anyone. Any normal guy.”
“Normal,” you repeated, feeling something simmer beneath your skin.
He let out a quiet laugh, but it was empty.
“I’m a failure, you know that? I have nothing. Still live in my mom’s basement. I steal stupid shit because, I don’t know, my brain doesn’t know how to work any other way. I’m weird. And, to top it all off, I’m not even really human.” He looked down at his hands, long and nimble fingers, as if they carried something dirty, something that couldn’t be fixed. “And you… you’re everything.”
You clenched your fists on the table.
No.
No, you weren’t going to accept that.
“Peter, look at me.”
He hesitated, but obeyed.
“You’re not doing this.” Your voice was firm. “You’re not pushing me away with this bullshit speech.”
He opened his mouth, but you were faster.
“You are not a mistake, Peter. You are not a burden. You are not—” your voice faltered for a second, but you held his gaze, reaching out to take his hand, feeling his long, nimble fingers hesitate before intertwining with yours. “—a monster.”
His eyes widened, like you had just hit him square in the chest. Like he had never even considered the possibility of someone saying that out loud. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, just stared at you, dark eyes filled with something between shock and desperation, like he was trying to understand how the hell you could see all the good in him when he saw nothing at all.
You leaned over the table, completely ignoring the murmur around you, the strangers’ presence trying to creep into the night that belonged to the two of you. Your fingers traced the pulse at his wrist, following the line of a vein that was beating too fast, as fast as his erratic heartbeat. His face was close now, so close you could count his silver lashes, see the reflection of the diner’s neon sign dancing across his dark eyes, hear the way his breath hitched when you squeezed his hand tighter.
“You’re mine,” you murmured, each word sinking into his skin like a promise. “And I’m yours.”
His throat bobbed.
“Did you hear me, Peter?”
He blinked, dazed, like he was processing it slowly, like the idea of belonging to someone—of someone wanting to belong to him—was too distant, too impossible to be real.
So you did something that left no room for doubt.
You leaned in and kissed him.
His lips were cold from the milkshake, but his mouth gave in immediately, warm and intense and tasting like something he never, never believed he deserved. His body tensed for a second, like he was about to run, but then his hand squeezed yours tighter, and he leaned in for more, like he was trying to memorize every detail of the feeling before someone could take it away from him.
But then, the voice came.
Sharp, filled with disgust.
“You mutants never know your place.”
The world froze.
You pulled away slowly, feeling Peter’s skin stiffen under your touch, feeling his fingers turn cold around yours.
The voice came again, this time even more venomous.
“People like you aren’t welcome here.”
You turned around.
The man was big, broad shoulders, disheveled hair, his eyes carrying a very specific kind of rage. A rage that didn’t come from anything concrete, nothing he could truly explain. Just pure hatred for something he didn’t understand.
Peter didn’t say anything. He just stared, an eerily serene expression on his face.
His silence only seemed to make the man angrier.
He let out a low, sarcastic laugh, leaning over the table with a dirty smirk. “Look at you. You know you’re a freak, right, kid?”
Your blood boiled.
You didn’t care about the stares, didn’t care about the whispers or the way people seemed to subtly move away from your table, like Peter was a threat, like he was something to be feared. You knew he had dealt with this for years. You knew the words rolled off him like water, that he was too fast to care, that the best response was always a joke.
But not now.
Not when some disgusting man thought he could open his mouth and spew all that hatred like he had any right to.
You felt your chest rise and fall too fast, felt your fist clench at your side, ready to say something, do something—but then you felt it.
His hand. His long fingers slid over your wrist, a steady grip, a silent squeeze that said “no.” Peter held your hand.
And then the man turned to you. And smiled. A filthy, disgusting smile, all yellowed teeth and rotten intentions.
“Bet you’ve never been with a real man. I could show you a good time, girl.”
Peter’s hand slipped away from yours.
It was immediate.
You felt it before you even realized. The air shifted, thick with electricity, like the second before lightning splits the sky.
When you looked at Peter, he still seemed calm. But it was the dangerous kind of calm.
His mouth was still relaxed, his shoulders still loose, but his eyes—God, his eyes—held no amusement now. They were fixed on the man before him, burning like embers, scanning every inch of him like he was deciding the best way to take him apart.
And then Peter smiled. A lazy, lopsided grin, a glimmer of mockery dancing behind the threat.
“Wow.” Peter whistled. “Did you rehearse that in the mirror, or did it just come out like that?”
The man’s face darkened. Peter grinned.
“Because if it just came out like that, congrats. You’re a natural asshole.”
And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Just one second. Just a silver blur.
The man didn’t even have time to react. One moment he was standing—and the next, he was on his knees.
The entire diner went still. Glasses rattled on the tables. The air was split by the sharp sound of impact.
No one saw Peter move.
The only thing left was him, standing in front of the man now kneeling on the floor, fingers delicately gripping the collar of his worn-out jacket, like he had placed him there as easily as setting down a cup.
Peter’s eyes glowed under the diner’s red neon lights, the shadow of a smirk twisting his mouth.
“Let me tell you a secret.” His voice came low, slow. “If you open that filthy mouth again, I’ll make you swallow every word.”
The man froze.
Peter’s smirk widened.
“And trust me,” he slid a finger over the guy’s shoulder as if brushing off dust, “I’m very fast.”
The man tried to move.
Another silver blur.
And suddenly, the guy was sitting on the counter, feet dangling in the air, not even knowing how the hell he got there.
The entire diner gasped.
Peter clicked his tongue, resting an elbow on the counter, relaxed, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
“Need a map, buddy? You look lost.”
The man blinked. His hands pressed against the counter, as if trying to find balance, as if trying to understand.
Peter just smiled, and before the guy could open his mouth, he tilted his face, lowering his voice to something more intimate, almost confidential.
“Let me guess.” He rested his chin on his hand, eyes lit with a cold amusement. “You’re not feeling so brave anymore, are you?”
He snapped his fingers. Another silver blur, and the man was back on the floor.
His breath came fast, erratic.
This time, he didn’t try to speak.
Peter smiled, as if finally satisfied.
You threw a few bills onto the table, not counting, not looking, just leaving them there, as if money had any significance in the middle of that mess, as if it could pay for the man’s discomfort, for the disgusting words he had pretended didn’t affect him.
And then you turned.
He was already waiting for you. His face still slightly tilted, eyebrows raised in a mix of impatience and expectation, as if silently asking if you could finally leave.
You nodded.
And in the blink of an eye, the world disappeared.
Your stomach flipped, and your heart jumped to your throat. It was like being pulled by an invisible force, a train too fast to follow, to process—cold air cut against your skin, sounds blurred into the distance, and then, suddenly, everything stopped.
Your feet touched solid ground. The world stopped spinning.
But your body didn’t know that yet.
You blinked a few times, trying to adjust your vision.
The sky was dark, speckled with stars, the moon casting its silver glow over everything around you. The grass beneath your feet swayed gently with the wind. You were alone, no artificial lights, no whispering voices, no disgusted stares burning against his skin.
Just the two of you.
Just him.
Just Peter, now looking at you with raw concern in his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.
“Hey.” His fingers touched your face with impossible gentleness, pushing strands of hair away from your skin, thumbs brushing slowly over your cheekbones, as if searching for something. “You okay?”
Your breath was still uneven, the adrenaline from what had happened at the diner, from the impossible journey to this place, still rushing through your veins like a reminder of how fast he was.
But he was here. Dark eyes, watchful. Fingers still on your face. His concern hung in the air, dense, almost tangible.
You closed your eyes for a second, inhaling slowly. “Just… a little dizzy.”
Relief flickered across his face. He let his hands slide down your arms, from your shoulders to your elbows, a warm, steady touch, like he was grounding you here, with him. Then he stopped—his gaze shifted.
You felt it before realizing what it was. The wind blew, sharp against your exposed skin, and before you could react, you felt something warm and soft drape over your shoulders.
His jacket.
The silver fabric still held his body heat, still smelled like him.
Peter adjusted it around you, his fingers lingering on your collarbones for a second longer than necessary before pulling away.
The silence between you was different now. Heavy. Charged. You looked at him, and he looked away.
His eyes didn’t meet yours. His jaw was clenched, shoulders tense, fingers idly playing with the zipper of his hoodie—a nervous habit you knew all too well.
Peter was never one to keep things to himself. He filled every silence with fast words and unfiltered jokes.
But now, he was quiet.
And that said more than anything he could have said.
You took a step forward, feeling the jacket move with you, his scent wrapping around you.
He noticed the movement but didn’t move.
Your fingers touched the side of his face, guiding him to look at you.
And he did.
His eyes were dark, deep, filled with something he was trying to hide, but that overflowed anyway.
You knew that look.
It was the look he had when he saw the prejudice he had faced since childhood spill onto you. It was the look of someone blaming himself for something that wasn’t his fault.
You sighed, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw, moving up into his silver hair, threading through the soft strands. He closed his eyes for a second.
Rested his forehead against yours.
Sighed.
“I hate this.”
His voice was low, restrained.
You didn’t ask what.
You already knew the answer.
He hated that you had to hear that kind of thing.
Hated that your name had been spat from the mouth of a disgusting asshole.
Hated that you had been dragged into it.
He hated that the world didn’t accept who he was.
And he hated even more that it hurt you.
You held his face more firmly, forcing him to look at you again.
"I love you."
His eyes shone.
You traced your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, the space between his cheek and that ever-present dimple, the corner of his mouth—mapping him with care, as if reaffirming something he should never doubt.
"I don’t care what they think. I don’t care what they say."
You leaned in closer, and he stayed still, like he was absorbing every word, like he needed to hear them.
"You’re mine, remember?"
Peter swallowed hard.
A muscle jumped in his throat.
His chest rose and fell in a slower rhythm, his breathing heavy.
And then, he moved. His fingers found your face with urgency, his mouth pressing against yours without hesitation.
The kiss was slow, deep. Filled with everything he didn’t know how to say. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you in, holding you like he needed to feel that you were there, real, whole.
When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, his eyes were softer.
The weight on his shoulders seemed a little lighter.
He nudged his nose against yours, a small smile dancing at the corner of his lips.
"I’m yours, huh?"
You smiled back.
And when you answered, your voice was absolute certainty.
"Yes."
Peter smiled.
That smile. The one that was just yours. The one that made his dimples appear, that made his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, that left him looking hopelessly in love. The one you would never get tired of seeing.
He kissed your forehead, slow, his lips lingering a little longer than necessary before pulling away.
And then he laced his fingers through yours, holding your hand firmly, like he knew that even without words, that touch said everything he wanted to say.
A/N: i am detrimentally ill rn so expect spam while im ill !! tysm anon for requesting this mwah ily, everyone feel free to hit up my inbox
SFW !!
➳ If he sees things he thinks you'll like, he definitely buys steals them for you
➳ I think hes the type of person that dapples in all the love languages, however i can see him being big on words of affirmation
➳ Like, is the type to tell you how much he loves you/how pretty you look/how much he appreciates you ALL THE TIME. probably accidentally just slips it out sometimes, just says it as soon as he thinks it
➳ Definitely down to do anything you want to do, just say the word and he'll speed you wherever whenever
➳ Type to give you loads of little kisses all over your face while you're both giggling over it
➳ Dates with Peter can vary between big movie marathons/game nights with an abundance of snacks that he eats most of, to him speeding you over to places you'd brought up that you'd wanted to go to
➳ Imagine breaking into an indoor playground/softplay with him after hours (COULD write a fic ab that lmk if u guys want that)
NSFW !!
➳ DEFINITELY uses his powers, human vibrator guys HUMAN VIBRATOR
➳ That being said, DONT use a vibrator if ur horny, just give Peter a call, he'll be right there
➳ DEFINITELY a switch, subby Peter is so dreamy and its canon u cant tell me its not, but if u wanna sub he's down for that too
➳ If he's sub, HES SO WHINY, this man is loud he will not hesitate to tell you how good you make him feel
➳ DANGEROUSLY GOOD WITH HIS TONGUE.
➳ If you're needy for him, he'll eat you out and finger you, and he wont stop unless you ask him to, he definitely gets insanely pussy drunk
➳ aftercare king, ESPECIALLY if you've safeworded him this man will be making sure you're the most comfortable you've ever felt in your life
High and scared moment - Pietro "Peter" Maximoff x reader
hello friends!! ive finished a whole year of uni isnt that cool? i think it is. anywho!! i hope you enjoy, this has been in the drafts for a bit. also i feel like i kinda flip flopped between pietro and peter cause it feels natural to me. But he does speak russian and i imagine him with a bit of a russian accent. when you have so many hcs about a guy i think it makes it hard to write him in a canon compliant fashion...
warnings // drug use, nothing else im fairly certain
y/n's phone buzzed once with a text, then again, and then four more times before they finally rolled over to their side table to see who needed your attention so badly at oh-my-god o'clock. they flip over and unlock their phone to be met with the following
y/n sighed deeply, sitting up a little to answer Kurt
y/n made a face at their phone. of course he was. cause what else did Pietro and his best buddy do when they were left unsupervised other than get way too high? maybe it was rude to loop Kurt in with the rapscallion currently keeping him awake at 2 am on a thursday. they rolled out of bed, snappishly kicking on their slippers before trudging out of the room in the direction of Kurt's to collect their boyfriend-puddle.
y/n knocks gently on kurt's door, pushing it open when they heard a soft "yah?" on the other side. the door opens to reveal the following scene
Pietro, laying on his stomach on a beanbag chair, babbling incoherent nonsense at nobody. a South Park ash tray with like a cool inch of ash. and poor poor Kurt, trying to convince Pietro to drink some water
"..pete?"
y/n asked gently, walking inside. they crouched down to beanbag height. Pietro (with great effort) turned his head in the direction of their voice, face quickly going from pissy to sooo dopey and disgustingly joyful.
"y/nnnnnnn!! y/n oh my god....you....yh....hi"
He babbled, his words slurring like he was speaking in cursive font. He reached up for them without actually getting up, so he was just kinda extending his arms upways at them. y/n just sighed.
"hey, how are you feeling?"
they said softly, reaching down to move his hair out of his face.
"goh..yes!"
he nodded very enthusiastically. Y/n looked up and met eyes, very tired eyes, with Kurt.
"he has not moved for half an hour, i am afraid"
"yeah, me too"
y/n sighed under their breath, looking back at peter. they ran a hand over his forehead, brushing his bangs out of his face. and this moron is just gagging.
"yy/nn!! huii"
Pietro murmured, finally getting a hold of their arm and tugging them down ontop on him. y/n made a noise of protest, trying with all their might (not really) to free themselves from his grasp.
"n-no, pete cmon. we need to get up. you need to go to your own room. you cant stay here"
y/n explained, trying to remain gentle instead of flicking him in the forehead like they really wanted to. Pietro was not cooperating.
After a short tussle and some help from Kurt, Pietro was on his feet. well thats an exaduration, Pietro was partially being dragged down the hall by y/n to his own dorm. He was slumped against y/ns side, face smushed into the crook of their neck babbling nonsense.
"and then we....we played tomodatchi, the old one, on his DS...it was really fun. i made you"
"yeah?"
"yeah but...you didnt fall in love with me, you were into fuckin' Neal Peart"
y/n snorted. "Neal Peart from-"
"yes the drummer from Rush, Neal Peart. you digged Neal Peart"
The pout in their boyfriend's voice was palpable. they pat his shoulder in a comforting fashion and choke back a laugh as they both come to his door. nearly fumbling his key (that Kurt so kindly kept until you got there so they wouldnt have to search through the thousand pockets of his cargo pants) and unlocking his door. The two of them get inside and Pietro stumbles onto his bed with all the grace of a newborn dear, almost army crawling to get under his sheets. y/n sighed for maybe the 45th time.
"Pete,cmon you need to change"
"noo..no im happy here"
"but is tomorrow pietro gonna be happy if he wakes up in the same gross clothes hes in right now?"
Pietro sighed pathetically, lifting his head up and looking at y/n with a disgustingly sweet smile.
"help me?"
He said with a pathetic dopey smile. y/n was already on it, grabbing him some sleep clothes from his drawer. a pair of soft pants and a worn cotton band t-shirt. they help him to undress and re dress while laying down, because they had no faith in his ability to stand up and not immediately fall back down. they help him into bed, tucking him in and brushing his fringe out of his face. Whatever he did, no matter how fuckass and dumb, they couldnt help but feel any and all irritation melt away when they looked at his stupidly sweet face.
"are you too cold? or too hot? i can get you a compress"
they fussed quietly as to not make his headache, that would certainly manifest if it hadnt already, any worse. They were met from the same dopey smile from Pietro.
"no..im alright"
he responded, same dopey smile adorning his face. y/n returned his smile, slowly pulling away from his twin bed before a hand grabbed onto their top.
"are you leaving?"
Pietro asked pitifully, a soft almost pout replacing his sleepy smile. he became suddenly much more lucid at the prospect of his love leaving him alone at that moment.
"you need to sleep,my love"
"Милая...please"
(rom - milaya, meaning darling)
He murmured, tugging on their shirt. y/n looked down on their pathetic puddle of a boyfriend with a pensive expression. Pietro's pout deepened.
"just..just until im asleep"
he all but begged.
"please" he added on in a whisper so soft y/n almost didnt catch it.
so like a lawn chair, y/n folded. they nodded, sliding onto his bed beside him. not under the sheets, trying to hold on to the pipe dream that theyed be able to go back to their own dorm at some point tonight.
but who were they kidding, they thought as they glanced at pietros bedside alarm clock. it was nearly three in the morning, and he was already pulling them into his personal space. they werent leaving anytime soon.
ty for reading!! this wasnt really inspired by one thing, more a collection of experiences. one specific thing i can point to however is the bit about tomodatchi life, real actual horrors my boyfriend experienced when the mii he made of myself fell inlove with mii peter parker. poor guy..
also do any of you ever feel sick after getting stoned or am i allergic to pot. im starting to think thats the case cause ill always fall asleep and then wake up feeling like ive caught the flu
last thing, what do we think about the texts is that stupid. i have a soft spot for smaus and kinda want to write one but idk...
^ Kurt to Peter after half an hour of gently suggesting he should gtfo
