Words: 611 Plot:The X-Men buckle up and hit the road for their summer getaway: Jean’s family summer cabin. But will Peter have the courage to tell the girl of his dreams how he feels? A/N: You asked for Friday Can’t Come Soon Enough. The good news is; it’s on its way. The bad news is: I still haven’t seen Apocalypse in a while. Buckle up though, because I’m going to take you on a multi-part series of summer lovin’ feat all of our faves.
The August sunlight filtered through the windscreen as Scott’s car pulled into the driveway; the sound of gravel cracking against the tires jolting Peter out of his tired stupor, his silver hair tossing around as the car mounted the pavement. “Wakey wakey, boys. Looks like the girls beat us to it” Scott announced, pulling the car to a stop and taking the keys out of the ignition. “I told you you should’ve let me drive, numbskull” Warren sighed, his hand already on the door handle. Scott shook his head. “I’d rather take my chances of being late, thanks. Grab your shit, guys.” In seconds, Peter was standing out the front of the summer house. It was huge; Jean’s ‘summer house’ made his suburban place look like a trash can. White slats and big bay windows, with a lake stretching away from the treeline.
Enough room for a bunch of twenty-somethings and enough beer to poison a whole river? Seemed likely. “Peter, which bag was it that was yours?” Kurt asked, huffing as he dragged an awkward-looking suitcase towards him. “I’ve just got the backpack. I travel light.” Peter nodded, slipping his headphones down to his neck. “You guys head in, then. We’ll drag everything else out of the car.”
Opening the front door, Peter found himself in a huge, open-plan area. A modern kitchen greeted him, with a living area and a huge television at the back of the room. The back wall was entirely glass; giving way to the beautiful view of a grassy garden and the lake, glittering in the afternoon sun. A tree swing hung on an overhanging branch, and Peter could swear he thought he saw a hot tub on the way in. Paradise. Sprawled across the sofa, Jean flipped her hair over one shoulder, pooling through a book on her lap. “Sup Jean” Peter waved sheepishly, darting to the fridge and grabbing a cola. “Hey Pete. Was wondering when you guys would finally show up” she laughed, setting her book down in her lap “where’s Scott?” “Getting the stuff out of the-” “It was rhetorical, Peter” Jean smiled, tapping her forehead with her fingers. Peter smirked, sipping the cold liquid as he leaned against the countertop. “She’s gone for a swim with Jube, by the way”. Peter swallowed. “Who?” he asked, his cheeks flushing with warmth. “Who do you think?” she asked, before adding “also rhetorical”. Peter shuffled awkwardly, setting his cola on the table and pushing his hands into his jeans pockets. “Right. I’m off on the tour, then” Jean waved him off, getting up to go and find Scott “Later speedy.”
In a flurry of silver, Peter was outside; the trees dappling the sunlight against his face. The water glittered softly; gentle waves refracting the evening sun. And there they were. Jubilee was to her right; her dark hair pulled back into soft pigtails, sunglasses balanced on her head. She was sipping some sort of beverage from a bottle, her lips pulled back into a smile. (y/n) was silhoutted by the sunlight, golden rays outlining the colours in her hair. Her makeup had smudged slightly from the water; her eyes looking smokey and dramatic. She was leaning against some sort of bodyboard; using it to rest on as she drifted in the water.
“What’s up Silver?” Jube cooed, raising her beer and pressing it to her lips. (y/n) shot up, her eyes falling on Peter’s disheveled appearance. “Hey Pete!” she called enthusiastically, her face flushing with colour. Oh, but she was beautiful. And out of his league. Like; way, way out of his league.
I am lying in my bedroom at night.
I am dry-throated, lipbiting
exhaustion, no one left to fight,
no friends awake to talk to.
It should be just me and the Gods.
Really it should be me and You,
because I knew You first
in the night, in the blue
shadows cast by the stars.
I don’t see You in the moon,
I see You in the way the spruce needles
are silhoutted against the disk
of its face, in the way the owls’ wingbeats pass
and how they call and grow silent
when I step onto wet grass.
I see You in the dew, in cold well-water
as the sun goes down, in the way the deer
come out in the moments between day
and darkness. My father could hear
the silence changing and went out
with a bow at twilight every night
in the fall. I saw You in the way wet grass
shimmers differently when it’s been walked on;
the only part of tracking I was ever really good at.
Now I don’t know where to see You.
I went out into the rain and begged
for Your forgiveness, for Your presence,
for You to hear me at all.
I’m writing for You through a computer screen,
and that feels wrong and I feel very small.
a sad poem for Artemis because it’s late at night // reilly falanx
Piece of a larger thing that might not/probably won’t get written in full. All the necessary context is within. In a world where Robin ended up on the throne of Plegia and Chrom is at a loss with the dwindling responsibilities of the Shepherds, Ylisse and Plegia are in peace talks. The two of them share a talk at night in Ylisse’s castle courtyard. Chrom/m!Robin pre-shipping.
The curtains drifted in the night breeze as Jean leaned out of the window of her bedroom; letting the cool air whip through her red hair. Her room mate lay on the floor, her foot tapping against the wooden floor as she waited for Peter to come rapping on her door. It had been several minutes since Jean had arrived; she had felt (y/n) become more and more distracted, her eyes constantly drifting to their dark panneled door, tying and untying her laces in frustration. Jean rolled her eyes. “He’ll be here. He’s probably gone for more dessert again.”
(y/n) tapped her fingers against the floor, sighing “it’s not like him to be late” she pushed herself up onto her feet, pulling her hair back over her shoulders. She strode over to the door, pushing it open. Jean heard the shock echo in her head long before (y/n) raised her hand to her mouth; eyes wide. White roses were scattered on the floor outside their door, pooling around her feet. (y/n) reached down and gently took one in her palm, the petals flowing between her fingers, the thorns pressing into her palm. Jean swallowed. “It can’t have been Peter…I would have heard him outside.” Jean added, rubbing her shoulder with her hand. “Unless…” Unless Jean had been too exhausted to be paying attention. “But why would he leave?” Jean pushed off from the window ledge, and (y/n) shot her a desperate look. “He heard us talking. He must have-” (y/n) ran her hands through her hair, staring down at the roses scattered at her feet “I’m going after him”. Jean sighed “good luck”. (y/n) nodded, her face filled with pain. Slamming the door behind her, she bolted down the hallway, in a vain attempt to catch up to the fastest man alive.
Scott jumped up when he heard his door almost being bashed down. He’d fallen asleep sprawled across his bed; his book laying next to his head. “Scott! Scott, are you there?” he heard a muffled voice ask. Scott groaned, pulling himself up from his mess of sheets and hobbling over to open the door. “(y/n)?” he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes “what’re you doing here? I thought you and Peter-” “He’s not here with you?” (y/n) asked desperately, whipping her head over her shoulder to look down the corridor “I think he overheard Jean and I talking. I think he…I think he misheard something I said” she pressed her palm against the door frame “so he didn’t come back here?” Scott shook his head, glancing over at Peter’s bed - it was covered in a pile of clothes and a scattered collection of comic books, but that was typical. Nothing had changed. Wherever Peter was - he hadn’t been back here. “Sorry”. (y/n) swallowed, shaking her head “thanks, Scott. If he comes back - tell him I was looking for him”.
(y/n) burst through the doors of the school, her heart pounding in her head, feeling as though her head might burst. The taste of metal was overwhelming; she’d been sprinting since she left Scott’s room, and had almost run down Jubilee jumping down the staircase. The stars were glittering, the night sky was clear. Moonlight filtered through the trees as gravel crunched under her converses; she wasn’t about to slow down now. He certainly wouldn’t. Veering off of a path, she headed for the treeline. If he needed to get away, she knew exactly where he’d go. She was counting on it. Sketching my godlike figure? If you’d told me, I would have taken my shirt off and struck a pose for you. God? That’s new. I suppose I am a God of sorts. (y/n) dodged through the trees, memories of Peter’s teasing filling her being. Peter made her feel alive; he made her feel human. Whatever had happened, whatever he’d heard: she had to make it right. She had to.
The moonlight skimmed across the water as Peter skipped a pebble across the mirrored surface. It bounced across the water before flying through the air, lodging itself into a nearby tree. Peter grimaced, sniffing. He’d been sobbing quietly for a while; although he didn’t care to admit it, crying helped. It was as though he was letting the pain flow from his body, feeling it move through him. You do make me laugh, Peter. Even if you are trouble. He wiped his eyes in his silver sleeve, clenching his jaw. He didn’t know why this was getting to him so much; she was just a girl. But in the brief moments that he thought about her smile, her eyes, her hair, he felt his stomach turn and his throat ache.
“Peter.” Peter swallowed, feeling his hands shake. When he turned, she was standing before him, grasping her stomach and panting. In the moonlight, her hair silhoutted by the moonlight; she took his breath away. “Go away.” he shook, turning back towards the water, watching the breeze move ripples across the surface. “Peter, please, you don’t understand-” (y/n) begged, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. Peter flinched away “I understand just fine. I get it. Kurt’s a good dude.” he balled his hands into fists, his knuckles turning white “a better guy than I am”. (y/n) stepped in front of him, her eyes heavy “Peter, you absolute idiot.” Peter felt his eyes welling up, choking up “Nice, Kick a guy while he’s down.” “Peter” she breathed, tears staining her cheeks “I care about you. A great deal. A great deal more than anyone I’ve ever cared about. You’re the first person I want to see when I wake up in the morning, and you make me laugh like it’s nothing. Like it’s breathing.” her voice was dropping to a whisper “you misheard me, Peter. It’s you I care for. It’s always been you” she smiled through her tears.
Peter felt his resolve fracturing, like cracks forming over panes of glass. Slowly, gently, the broken pieces of him being pulled together; even if they were still utterly broken. “I…” he swallowed, running a hand through his silver locks. Swearing under his breath, he took a step towards her “I am a colossal idiot.” (y/n) smiled, holding her hands up and shrugging “no arguments here”. “And I don’t deserve you” he breathed his hands reaching up to gently press his thumbs against her cheeks “but if you’ll have me, there is nothing I want more than this”. She crushed her lips to his, and he shattered against her touch.
Peter Maximoff was the boy who was always quick witted and quick to jump to assumptions. But in her arms, he had never been more steady.