i feel my legs shaking everytime i remember of it. it's the best "headcanon" that peter would use his hands to vibrate in sex 🤤
whoever inserted in the movie script that peter can vibrate his hands.. may your pillow always be cold and have forever lucky and happiness throughout your whole life. i thank you. <3
haiii saie!! 👋👋 just checkin in, how you're doing!? hope life is being kind with you 🥰💗💗
julia!!! I’vehad better days not going to lie, hence why I haven’t been on much :( but it’s okay! just celebrated a birthday, so you know what, I’m telling myself it is going to be my year this year!
What about you? How are you? I saw that you’re trying to get back into writing! DO IT! I can’t wait to read what you put out!!! And I miss our boy Petey! So you should definitely do it!!!
i'll already be having a bad day and then here come the digital streets (twitter) saying that evan peters is playing tate langdon in the new ahs season. right right.
pairing : peter maximoff x reader info : drabble, domestic fluff word count : 474
the room smelled faintly of acetone and cherry lotion, the kind of scent that clung softly to the air after a lazy afternoon. you sat cross-legged on the couch, brows furrowed in concentration as you carefully applied a coat of pale pink polish to your nails. a record spun quietly in the background, fleetwood mac, something gentle to fill the silence.
peter had been pacing earlier, full of restless energy, but now he stood behind you, oddly still. his head tilted just slightly, eyes following the slow stroke of the brush. he didn’t say anything, didn’t fidget or make a joke, just watched like a curious cat.
“you’re staring,” you said without looking up, voice teasing.
he blinked, caught. “no I’m not.”
“you are.” you capped the bottle shut, smiling faintly. “you’ve been quiet for a whole two minutes, which in your case is equivalent to two whole hours.”
he moved to sit beside you, elbows on his knees. “I just don’t get it,” he admitted finally. “you paint over something that’s already… your nails. they’re fine. why mess with them?”
you arched a brow. “why mess with your hair when you put gel in it? same principle.”
he made a thoughtful noise. “touché.”
you reached for another bottle, bright blue, the same color as his jacket, and twisted it open. “come on, just pick one. I’ll do yours next.”
peter’s eyes widened, and he pointed at himself. “mine? you want me to—no way. no, no, I’m not—”
but you were already holding out your hand expectantly, eyes sparkling. “oh, come on. you’ve done dumber things for fun.”
he hesitated, then grinned. “...yeah, fair point. alright. hit me.”
he stuck out his hand, a little awkwardly, and you gently took it in yours. for once, he didn’t make a joke or try to pull away. he just watched as you carefully brushed a streak of color over his thumbnail.
the blue glistened under the light. you blew on it softly to help it dry, and he found himself watching you this time, the way lashes caught the glow, the little crease of focus between your brows.
“there,” you said finally, holding up his hand with mock pride. “don’t give me that look. It’s kind of stylish... and rebellious.”
he flexed his fingers, pretending to inspect it like a piece of fine art with a pleased smirk plastered on his face. “y’know, I could pull this off.”
“you already are,” you said, smiling. “don’t act surprised.”
peter looked at you, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “you make it sound like I’m actually cool.”
you laughed, leaning back against the couch. “you’ve always been cool. you just needed a punky manicure to prove it.”
and for once, he didn’t argue. he just smiled, letting the blue dry between you like a symbol of connection.
a/n: sequel to “five more minutes” but can definitely be read as a standalone !!
peter maximoff x gf!reader
summary: peter being a total freak about how fast he can make you forget your bad day.
warnings: needy pete, make out sesh, oral (f!receiving) , overstim, cursing. heavy praise/dirty talk, workplace stress. teasing. sensory overload ??
rules! masterlist
you’re barely two steps into the hallway when the air shifts. a sudden gust of wind kicks up the mail on the table, and before you can even drop your bag, peter is just there.
he doesn't say anything at first, just hooks his chin over your shoulder from behind, his arms wrapping around your waist like iron bands. he’s warm, way warmer than a normal person and you can feel the restless thrum of his heart beating double-time against your back.
"you're late," he mumbles into your hair. "uh, forty minutes late to be exact."
you sigh, leaning back into him, letting your eyes close for a second. "bianca happened, pete. she spent the last hour losing her shit over some missing files and then dumped all her reports on my desk before leaving early. i'm exhausted."
peter huffs, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear. his hands move constantly, his thumbs rubbing restless circles into your hips. "mm, that sucks," he says, his tone shifting. he pulls back just enough to turn you around in his arms, "she sounds like a nightmare."
"she is," you mutter, looking up at him. "i just want to sit down and not think for like, three years."
he stares at you for a beat, his dark eyes scanning your face with that intense, focused look he gets when he’s actually paying attention. he looks like he’s thinking ten miles a minute. "exactly," he says.
you blink, a little thrown off by the sudden shift. "...exactly what?"
"that’s ‘exactly’ why you should let me eat you out," he says, as casual as if he’s suggesting what to have for dinner.
you can't help it; a loud, startled laugh bursts out of you. "not happening, buddy. i'm gross and i need a shower."
his brows furrow, his forehead crinkling in genuine confusion. he looks almost offended. "woah—wait, why?"
"i just told you," you say, still grinning. "i'm tired. I smell like work. i just wanna rot on the couch."
"so rot," he counters, giving a small shrug. "i'll do all the work. you just lay there. it’s a win-win, really. i get my reward for bein’ a patient awesome boyfriend, and you get to, y'know... vibrate into another dimension for a bit, forget alll about work."
you roll your eyes, trying to sidestep him, he quickly maneuvered infront of you. "pete, c’mon, i’m literally covered in office germs," you groan, though your heart isn't really in the protest anymore.
"don't care. i've eaten worse things. i found a three-week-old twinkie behind the dresser yesterday," he chirps, then immediately winces. "okay, actually, ignore i said that.”
he reaches out, his hands sliding back to your waist, pulling you in until your thighs hit his. the restless energy is radiating off him in waves now, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against your skin. he’s been waiting for this all day, and the desperation is starting to leak through his usual smugness.
"hey, pretty please?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, losing the joke for a second. his eyes darting over your face. "i’ve been sitting in this house alone for like, a hundred years. i cleaned the kitchen. i even folded the laundry. well, most of it. i got bored halfway through, but the effort was there."
“plus, you did say once you got back..” he added as if he had just now remembered.
you look at him, at the way his hair is sticking up in every direction and the genuine, twitchy need in his eyes, and you feel your resolve crumbling. "five minutes?" you ask, echoing his words from the morning.
a massive, triumphant grin breaks across his face. "five minutes is like a feature-length film. anddd.. i'm gonna give you the extended director's cut."
before you could even reply with how corny that was, the world blurs. there’s a sharp whoosh of air, a split second of weightlessness, and suddenly you aren't standing in the hallway anymore. you’re flat on your back on the bed, your shoes already gone—god knows where he threw those—and peter is already hovering over you, his hands busy tugging at the button of your jeans.
"see?" he says, breathless and beaming. "ahead of schedule already."
his mouth crashes against yours, tasting like the soda he’s been sipping all day and pure, restless hunger. it’s a messy, open-mouthed kiss that steals the air right out of your lungs, his tongue sliding against yours with a frantic rhythm.
his hands are everywhere at once, his fingers working with that terrifyingly fast speed until he’s stripped you bare. (well, pants–wise..)
he doesn't wait for you to catch your breath. he slides two fingers into your underwear and deep inside your cunt, and the friction is immediate and white-hot. he’s moving them at a pace a normal human shouldn't be able to sustain, a blur of motion that has you crying out into his mouth, your hips jerking up to meet him as he hits your g-spot over and over.
"pete—" you gasp, your head tossing back against the pillow as the friction turns into a frantic, driving ache.
he pulls back just enough to see your face, his eyes dark and dilated, reflecting the silver mess of his hair. he’s breathing hard, —definitely getting off just by hearing your noises, his chest heaving against yours. "jeez," he rasps, his fingers never slowing down, keeping you right on the edge. "we should do this wayyy more often, dont’cha think babe?,"
he stops abruptly, the sudden lack of motion making your head spin for a second. before you can even get a word out to complain about the shift in pace, he’s moving down your body. his mouth leaves searing, wet marks along your throat, lingering over the peaks of your breasts through the fabric of your shirt until you're arching off the mattress.
his hands slide down, certain and heavy, hooking under your knees to hike your legs up. he pauses there, his thumbs hooking into the elastic of your underwear. he doesn't rip them away, of course not. why ruin a perfectly good pair he could use for later?, instead, he just tugs the fabric down a few inches.
"legs up for me, babe" he murmurs, his voice a low, raspy friction against the quiet of the room. he helps you kick them off, tossing the lace aside. "yeah, there we go... let's get these babies off." he stares at you for a heartbeat, his chest heaving, looking at how soaking wet your pussy is for him.
"fuck, you look so good," he mutters, his voice cracking. pete doesn’t waste another second. he leans in, his breath hot against your inner thigh, pressing a quick peck to it before his tongue finally makes contact, slicking over you in one long, agonizingly slow stroke from bottom to top, occasionally glancing up for your reaction.
you let out a broken gasp, your fingers tangling in his messy silver hair, pulling him closer. he groans into your skin, the sound muffled and vibrating through your entire lower half.
your breath hitches, your hips stuttering upward as the friction hits just right. it’s too much—the way he’s looking at you, the heat of his mouth, and the fact that he’s been wound up like a spring all day. before you can even wrap your head around it, the tension in your stomach snaps.
your back arches off the bed, a choked-off sound leaving your throat as you come. your thighs instinctively jerk inward, your muscles tensing and slightly closing around his head as you shake.
pete barely even seems to notice your legs pinning his ears; he’s too busy tracking the way your pulse is thrumming against his lips. he stays right there, his hands tightening on your hips to hold you steady while you ride out the waves.
when he finally pulls back just an inch, he looks up at you with wide, blown-out eyes, a stunned grin slowly spreading across his face. "whoa," he breathes, "already? holy, that was like.. ten.. fifteen seconds, tops.”
"sorry," you blurt out, the word coming out thin and broken. you try to shift, suddenly feeling a little flustered by how fast that just happened and how loud he was being about it. "i didn't—it’s been a long day. i didn't mean to just... go like that."
peter just blinks at you, his thumb tracing a lazy circle on the damp skin of your hip. he lets out a short, surprised huff of a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart skip.
"what’re you apologizing for?" he asks, crawling up the mattress until he’s hovering over you, his arms bracketed on either side of your head. "i take that as a compliment, like... a five-star review. best meal of the day, easily."
you just stare at him for a second, your head thumping back against the pillow as you try to get your lungs to work again. "god, you're so full of yourself," you mutter.
got rejected from like several jobs, thought it was going to be my thirteenth reason. and then an old coworker called about abandoned kittens near them. never kys you could end up a foster mom by the end of the day!
had an idea for a fic a while ago that centered around ralph bohner who is really Peter Maximoff, just pulled from another universe. The dimensional travel some how fucks his memory up, this being why he thinks he’s Ralph. Something something about finding his way back home with the help of the reader, his long term partner. I had a lot more penned out, not literally of course, but I haven’t thought about this in months. Anyways RIP to that idea, you were bigger than the whole sky, more than just a short time. 🙂↕️
yousharknotpass
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
germansingergirl
discoholicmusic
