YOU SHOULD DO PETER AND HIS CRUSH WITH THE “changing in front of them and the back is revealed” BECAUSE COOL PLAYER PETER MAXIMOFF IS A FLUSTERED NERD IT DOESNT MATTER IF YOURE CHANGING BECAUSE YOU HAD A WOUND HES GONNA GET FLUSTERED IF HE SEES YOUR SKIN ESP WHEN YOURE NOT DATING YET PLEASE I LIVE FOR YOUR WRITING AND ALSO SORRY THIS IS ALL IN CAPS BUT IM EXCITED OK BYE YOURE GREAT THANKS

alexsunmners:

“during a storm all the lights went out and now youre in my apartment bc youre afraid of the dark but i want to kick you out again since all you do is keep telling cheesy one liners” with Peter please! Thanks 🙂

‘We keep telling each other pick up lines and I thought this was a funny game, but it turns out you were serious?? oh’ with Peter? Ily 💗

“when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more” with my baby peter maximoff pretty pls 😊 (ps you & your work are gifts from the heaven)

For the drunk friend prompt list: “Did you just call me a dickbag….. in French?” w/ Peter is really funny to me and idk why

Peter Maximoff + this prompt list + this prompt list + this prompt list + this prompt list + this prompt list

A/N: Look. I know this sucks. This started
as convenience or whatever and rapidly devolved into a personal challenge. It
kind of works not really. Just don’t examine the flow of the plot or the
complete lack thereof too closely. Also let my lightweight Peter Maximoff live
he’s a precious bean who’s a complete mess. @kurtwxgners @put-in-writing check out my efficiency also @maximoffsjpeg I used your prompt list are you proud of me

It’s only about nine thirty pm when there’s
a particularly violent crash of thunder followed by a blinding flash of
lightning and then total darkness as the power in your apartment cuts out. And
judging by the muffled but prolific swearing coming through the thin walls
between you and your neighbour, the power is out for the entire building.
Sighing heavily, you reach for your phone torch and find your way to the cupboard
your mum had insisted you keep well stocked ‘for emergencies’ where you kept backup
torches, lots of tinned food, several decks of cards and some poker chips. You’ve
barely gotten the torches set up in strategic positions around your apartment
when there’s a knock at the door, and when you get there, it’s your neighbour,
Peter. He’s holding a bottle of Jack Daniels and looking sheepish as you arch
an eyebrow and wait for an explanation.

“Can I hang out with you till the power
comes back? I’m not-” he pauses, scratching self-consciously at the back of his
neck before continuing, “I’m not overly fond of the dark, so could I maybe-? I
brought this as an offering of gratitude,” He holds the bottle out to you
hopefully and you shrug. You’ve never really spent a whole lot of time with him
before, but he’s come bearing gifts and he seems like pretty decent company and
it’s not like you were looking forwards to spending the night alone in the dark
with limited laptop charge.

“Sure, come in. Careful of the torches,”
you say, taking the offered bottle and set it down on a coffee table before
heading to the refrigerator. “We can watch How I Met Your Mother until my
laptop runs out of battery and eat my ice cream so it doesn’t have a chance to
melt.”

---

If you had known that Peter was both a
lightweight and somewhat less than gifted in the hand eye coordination
department before figuring out a way to pass the time, you would have known
better than to mix drinking, ice cream and low lighting. It takes all of about
three episodes before he’s tipsy enough to accidentally tip half his bowl of ice
cream all down your shirt.

“Shit,” you groan in resignation, setting
your own bowl of ice cream on the coffee table. The alcohol in your system is
making everything feel very unimportant, but you can feel your shirt starting
to stick to your skin where the ice cream was spilled so you haul yourself up
from the couch, walking towards your room to change. Absentmindedly, you reach
for the hem of your shirt as you approach your bedroom door, starting to pull
it up and over your head. There’s a loud thump from behind you that reminds
you, somewhat belatedly, that Peter is still in the apartment.

“Hey (Y/N), are you an astronaut? Because
your body is out of this world,” Peter calls from his position on the couch.
You lean round the door and glare at him, strategically angling yourself so
that only your head is visible.

“Don’t watch me change, connard,” you retort before disappearing
back into your room and rummaging around in the dark for a new shirt.

“I’m-I just google translated-did you just
call me a dickbag…in French?” He asks after a brief silence. You yank a shirt out
of a drawer and pull it over your head, throwing the dirty one into a corner of
your room and rolling your eyes in amusement at the indignation in Peter’s
voice.

“Close enough,” you quip, re-emerging and scooping
your laptop up off the coffee table to check the battery. It’s about two
percent away from dying so you reluctantly shut it down. You glance over at
Peter, about to ask him if he has any ideas about how to pass the time when the
mischievous grin he’s wearing makes you pause.

“No really, you’re smokin. If you were a
fruit, you’d be a fineapple.” There’s
a momentary silence as he awaits your reaction expectantly and you don’t quite
manage to hold back your eyeroll as you reach for the bottle of Jack again. “Or
maybe you’re a magician, because abraca-damn.”

“Peter, these are terrible. Please stop.”

“But I gotta know. Are you god? Because you’re
the answer to all my prayers,” He asks, giggling and you groan.

“Are you just gonna keep doing this for the
rest of the night,” you ask, and he just shrugs.

“I mean, I wasn’t but now that you mention
it, If I had to rate you from one to ten I would rate you a nine, because I
think I’m the one you’ve been missing,” he quips and you throw a pillow at him
in response. “Okay fine, fine you’re
a ten, I was lying.”

“You’re a terrible liar with worse pickup
lines but I can beat that. Some guy at a bar once came up to me and said ‘what’s
your favourite silverware? Because I like to spoon’ so if you can beat that,
then I’ll be impressed,” you retort, taking another sip of the alcohol. Peter
gives you a grin and chuckles.

“Is that a challenge? Because I’ll take
that challenge,” he asks and you laugh.

“Y’know what? Why not. Yeah, this is a
challenge. Whoever comes up with the worst pickup line wins something from the
loser. Winner’s choice,” You say, holding out your hand for the two of you to
shake on the agreement. Peter takes your hand with a smirk.

“If you were a chicken, you’d be
impeccable,” he quips and you stifle a giggle.

“You look great and all, but you know what
would look really good on you? Me,” you counter, passing the bottle back to him.

“Hey baby, wanna sit on my lap and we’ll talk
about the first thing that pops up?”

“Is your name google? Because you’re
everything I’m searching for.”

---

The pickup lines vary from the absurd to
the obscene, and between the two of you, there are significantly more of them
than you though were possible to come up with.

“Okay, okay, okay. Are you ready? Cause I’m
about to win this entire thing. Fucking brace yourself,” Peter announces,
already laughing even as he sets up the pickup line. You take another gulp from
the now significantly depleted bottle on the couch between the two of you.

“Bring it on, Maximoff.”

“Are you my appendix? Because you’re giving
me a funny feeling that’d I’d like to take you out.” Peter is all but doubled
over, wheezing with laughter as he finishes the joke and it’s so awful that it
actually takes you a couple seconds for it to sink in before you’re laughing
too.

“Jesus that was fucking awful. I concede.
You win. Pick your reward. Not even my Netflix password is off limits,” you chuckle,
holding your hands out in a sign of defeat, the alcohol in your veins
registering as a pleasant buzz at the back of your mind.

“I was,” he starts, flushing bright red and
not quite meeting your gaze. “I was thinking more like a date,” he continues, you
let out a short laugh, not immediately registering what he meant.

“Dude, that’s not even a bad pickup line,
and besides you’ve already won-oh. Oh, wait you were serious about-oh,” You slowly trail off as you realise
what he meant, studying him thoughtfully. You’re not at all opposed to the idea
of going on a date with him, in fact, it’s a fairly appealing suggestion. It
takes you a couple seconds to pick up on the fact that Peter’s still talking.

“I mean, you don’t have to-it was a dumb
idea, I’m sorry-I shouldn’t have-I’ll take your Netflix password instead-” he’s
babbling nervously, and you make a split second decision, reaching out to grab
the front of his shirt and hauling him in to press his lips to yours to cut him
off. He tastes like chocolate ice cream and Jack Daniels as you shift closer to
him on the couch. He pulls back after a couple of seconds, eyes wide with
surprise. “I’m-wow-I’m sorry, are you sure?” he whispers almost nervously and
you don’t even think about it, you just pull him in to kiss him again, one of
your hands carding through his hair as you pull him in closer. Peter’s reaction
is immediate, his arms going around your waist and hauling you into his lap as
his lips move insistently against yours. His fingers are digging into your hips
as one of your arms hooks around his neck, pressing him into the back of the
couch. His teeth graze tentatively over your lower lip, making your grip on his
hair tighten reflexively, and Peter lets out a startled gasp against your mouth
that makes you giggle. Pulling away, you start to press kisses down along his
jaw and neck as one of his hands starts to drift idly up and down your spine
and then suddenly he laughs, making you pull back and look at him curiously.

“What?” you ask and he gives you a smug
grin, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair away from your face.

“It may have been a terrible pickup line,
but it worked on you, apparently.”