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quickandsilvers · 3 months

Note

Consider: something like this w/Peter.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGed5Ysh5/

Like, Peter gets hurt on a mission and he comes back with just a couple bruises and he's like, "it's just a bruise, I was shot in my costume".

[Cue the touch bit here]

Idk, I'm just,,,,, thinking,,,,, 😳😳😳

A/N- I made this wayyy longer than it had to be but.. sue me? I decided to do Reader/Peter’s introduction too because why the hell not! Also, whats a fic of mine without smut, huh?

Medical Malpractice and Awkward Interactions🔥

Peter Maximoff x fem!reader SMUT 🔥

Summary: Many times Peter Maximoff embarrasses himself in front of you, and one time you patch him up… and screw him against a shower wall. It’s standard first-aid procedure, right?

Warnings: slow burn (kinda), pining, blood, wounds, LOTS of sexual innuendoes, Nurse/Patient role-play, handjob, p in v, oral (Peter receiving), dirty talk, grinding, public humiliation, creampie, shower sex

Word Count: 9905

Taglist: @kaismanwich @evpeters87 @pretzel-bunnie (Please ask if you want to be added/removed!)

—————————————————————————

For most of his thirty plus years of his life, Peter Maximoff considered himself as a relatively easy person to get along with. He had friends who were somewhat happy to have him as company, despite his overly-outgoing nature and lack of social cues.

Magda had raised him to the best of her ability, or at least until the damned speedster mutation kicked in at twelve. After school nights of pretend tea-parties with Wanda or playing kick-the-can with the neighborhood children turned into petty-theft and a challenge of sending poor mama Maximoff on the brink of insanity and financial instability.

So yeah, said mutation sorta sent Peter into a boisterous, thieving tailspin. But hey, at least he wasn’t a complete jackass.

He never smoked, never drank, and since joining the Xmen, Peter only stole things from major companies that wouldn’t notice it was missing in the first place; and occasionally the few Rainbow or Jimi Hendrix vinyls that caught his attention passing by. ‘No one’s perfect, prof!’ Peter would tell Xavier as he returned to the mansion, only to be greeted by an unimpressed shake of the head.

And yes, he did pay back the money his mother paid for the local police to keep the mass amount of snack cakes in his basement under wraps. Once again, Peter wasn’t a complete jackass.

But then, he met you. You were a fellow professor at Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Children, and were renowned across campus - if you weren't teaching music theory, you could either be found giving study sessions for students falling behind or making your famed lasagna bake whenever the Xmen came home from a mission - and you were loved for it.

And you were pretty. Like, shit! Hella pretty. Whether it was your skill at engaging everyone in your lectures or your jaw-droppingly gorgeous face, you held the unofficial record for the most loved on campus. Peter, as the school’s physical education teacher, was second place, and for once he didn't mind getting the silver medal.

He'd heard about you in the staff room one morning. All good things. A real glowing report card. Everyone loved you and for good reason, apparently. But you hadn’t met yet.

That was until Peter realized your class was in the morning and an hour before his PE lesson began, so he decided to snoop around to check out if you were as good as everyone said you were.

Arriving at the back of the classroom, Peter pushed his goggles up to his head, tufts of silvery soft hair coming with it.

And there you were in all your glory, sitting back on your desk and waving to everyone as they walked in, the occasional student getting 'Love your new look, Cynthia!', 'Ready for class, Michael?' or a giant grin and the sporadic finger guns.

Okay, so you were kind too. Kind and pretty. Kind and pretty and obviously smart enough to get a doctorate. Though, how hard was it to get a degree in music; what did you even have to know? Def Leppard formed back in ‘77, Neil Peart is the best drummer of all time, blah blah blah. Pssht, enter Peter into an exam and he’d have a degree in lickedey split!

The fact you had devoted your life to getting a music doctorate compelled Peter to wonder what your taste in said music was. Admittedly, he wasn’t so keen on the idea of you lecturing if Charles had formulated the curriculum himself. What did that old man even listen to? Peter found it hard to imagine his higher up rockin’ it out to Journey.. and God forbid- Black Sabbath?!

Definitely not. Xavier would be limited to the likes of Beethoven. Peter's skin crawled at the thought. Expand your horizons, you powdered-wig wearin’ maniacs!

No matter. If you did turn out to be some kind of sonata orchestral devotee, you wouldn’t be able to resist Peter’s charisma and persuasive techniques. Said persuasion would be helluva lot of nagging in your ear until you subsequently cave; and you would, because everyone does. And eventually you would join the light side of the force, and Peter would teach you the music ‘way of the jedi.’

"Hi! Hello everybody!" You greeted cheerfully and stood up, waving your arms around for emphasis. “It’s great to see you all back looking nice and refreshed!”

Peter normally would have snorted in irony. In most cases, an hour-long lecture at six am in the morning wouldn’t have people ready to learn and raring for the day ahead. In Xavier’s literature lectures, one could easily mistake the students to be flesh-eating, grumbling zombies who hadn’t seen a ray of sunlight in a millennium.

However, as he looked around the room from his seat in the very back, the students filing in had almost cheshire grins on their faces, smiling eagerly at your buzzing figure and sitting up straight in their seats.

Peter’s eyes flitted back to you. The bell bottom jeans you were wearing were dark and fit you perfectly, the flare swishing around as you slowly paced around the room. For the first couple of minutes, he didn't hear a thing you were saying because the swaying was far too distracting.

His eyes trailed upwards. A faux shearling collared leather jacket hung off your frame, belt loose at the hem and clashing against your hip when you took a step. You looked like something straight out of the 60s: and Peter was totally diggin’ it.

The zip was undone, allowing a slither of your t-shirt underneath to show the letters “ardbi” peaking out in a red font. His heart leapt. The Yardbirds, nice, and fitting. Right this second Peter’s walkman hummed the tune of ‘Layla’ by Eric Clapton through his headphones. Quiet enough so he could hear your voice, but loud enough so his head could bop along to the instrumental. Shuffling in his seat, Peter adjusted his RUSH t-shirt, as if wanting him to catch your attention so you could strike up a conversation about it.

What would he say if you did? He needed to impress you, stat; before Scott could find you and chat you up with his extensive motorcycle knowledge that seemed to be all the rage nowadays. Pfft. RUSH was cooler anyways.

All in all, you didn't look like the stereotypical lecturer. Your outfit was far from professional attire, but it didn’t matter; the kids loved you.

Peter was addicted to all of you; from the browline glasses on your head to the Mary Janes on your feet. It was comforting.

"I know you’ve all been working so hard this past semester," you began, leaning against the podium casually, your arms folded as you eyed the students. "And the lovely gentleman that is Professor Xavier would never allow this, but I've decided we can allow ourselves a breath of fresh air and watch a film today."

Cheers and excited whispers rang out in the room as the students smiled impossibly harder, rushing to shove their textbooks into their bags so the film could start.

“Now hold on!” Your laugh graced Peter’s ears, holding your hands up to settle the class. “We haven’t yet discussed the film options! How do we feel about ‘Bobby deerfield’?”

Groans and scoffs resonated through the classroom, and a girl with pigtails a few rows in front of Peter spoke out. “You’re not kiddin’ anybody miss! Everybody knows that film is wack!”

You laughed and stood off the podium, moving towards the open window that was letting in a cold draft. “You know me too well, Jubilee. No one likes that film.” You bent over an empty desk to reach over, closing the window and turning the lock to the right “How about The Empire Strikes Back?”

In a moment of total stillness in the classroom, Peter let out a choked-off groan. Whether it was the sight of you bent over a desk or the mention of that god-tier film, he wasn’t all too sure.

Silence.

Peter knew he had royally embarrassed himself yet again when howls and giggles erupted in the classroom, some students convulsing in laughter and others wolf-whistling as you paused, turning to look back at him.

Jubilee turned around in her seat to stare at her PE teacher, ponytails swinging wildly as she covered her mouth with her hand and guffawed. Peter’s cheeks burned.

"Excited for the film are we, Mr Maximoff?" You quizzed, bemused.

Oh, you noticed too. Great. But you knew his name. Cool, less sarcastically speaking. You were both staff members of the same school so it wasn't that outlandish, but Peter’s stomach still flipped nonetheless.

"Yeh.. aha.. Erm- yunno Luke became a Jedi master in this film, right?" Peter blurted out instinctively, his thoughts in overload under your stare. He kissed his teeth and nodded his head in affirmation. “Pretty.. Pretty cool stuff.”

Congratulations, you thirty-somethin’ year old virgin. You have well and truly out-nerded yourself. This chick will certainly be beggin’ for you to burrow yourself between her thighs now.

Peter swallowed, waiting for someone to say something. Literally anything. All he was met with was muffled giggles and snorts echoing around him. He teaches people in this lecture, dim-wit! How were they gonna respect him and do laps in his classes now, O’ Jedi Master connoisseur?

You grinned sweetly, amused, silently waving your hand for your students to quieten down "Thank you for sharing that, Mr Maximoff, truly. Although I have seen this film before." You nodded in acknowledgement to his RUSH shirt and then returned your focus to the class before Peter could word vomit anything else.

You began to ramble on again. It made sense. Why would you pay attention to him when you had a job to do?

What could he do? Embarrass himself further by standing on his desk and demanding that you have a conversation that ends with you saying, 'Wow, Peter, you're so smart and fast and criminally handsome. Would you like to go to a record store so you can continue to impress me with the sheer amount of knowledge you have stored inside that adorable silver-haired noggin’ of yours?'

A mumble still traveled across the class, primarily because one of their teachers is a raging airhead, but you shushed them quickly by clapping your hands together. It was a casual movement, but one that got everyone's undivided attention again.

"Can anyone guess what year it came out?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the blur of a hand go up but you weren’t going to call on them, and so, Peter was left with his palm awkwardly facing towards the stage. You reiterated your question, "Can any of my students take a guess? Mr Maximoff, I'd appreciate it if you could give my class at least 2 minutes so they can discuss the answer."

Peter’s hand lowered slowly and he narrowed his eyes at the person snickering next to him.

“Don’t make me give yer extra laps next lesson, Christopher, the weather forecast ain’t lookin’ so good fer this Friday.”

Christopher abruptly stopped and faced back to you.

Once again, silence met your question until it was broken by a timid voice. A boy in the front row with curly brunette hair was looking at you unsure. You smiled encouragingly and nodded for him to speak up louder.

“1980?"

"Like always, Bobby, you are correct!" You exclaimed happily. Bobby blushed, embarrassed by the attention and compliment but smiling nonetheless as you moved on to another question. "The film came out in 1980. Does anyone know who it starred? Don’t be afraid to speak up!”

The film started soon after and for the entire time, Peter was completely transfixed by you. You leaned against the door and peered up at the projector screen, a smile on your face as you snuck a few handfuls of popcorn out of Bobby’s grasp as he watched the film intently. He now understood the enthusiastic compliments from the staff room, and why you were so loved by everyone. You were infectious.

He couldn't help himself, Peter found his eyes wandering over every part of your body, studying every inch of you before he'd had the chance to properly comprehend that he was being a creep. Appreciating beauty was one thing, leering at women he hadn't met before was another. Keep it in your pants, Maximoff.

As the students piled out of the lecture hall, all chatting loudly as they walked out, Peter waited. A group of girls surrounded you and asked you a bunch of questions, and you answered them all like you were their cool older sister rather than someone who was paid to teach them things. Then they left too, and you were alone.

"Did you enjoy the class, Mr Maximoff?" you asked kindly, a smile tugging at your lips as you turned around slightly. You sat on top of the nearest desk and folded your legs under yourself, resting your elbow on your knee and your head on your fist.

Blinking, Peter froze before nodding vigorously. So vigorous, in fact, that his goggles slid from his head down to the apex of his nose. He huffed in irritation and the exhaled breath fogged up his lenses completely. Peter bets he looks so irresistible right now.

Say something- think of something fast, moron! Isn’t that your whole gimmick? Impress her with your natural God-given charm!

Who are we kidding, this is Peter Maximoff. Master of the Jedi’s and embarrassing silences.

He wiped his goggles with the end of his shirt "I would think a music teacher would be lecturin’ about music, not films.. But yes, yer were- the film was.. very entertainin’."

Shit. Your lip twitched. Did he do somethin’ wrong? Of course he did- he just insulted a Professor’s lecturin’ to their face, ewok!

"You're a professor of...?"

"Err, I teach PE.. yunno.. I just make the kiddos run laps ‘n kick a ball around, basically." No shit, doofus! Maybe stop mansplainin’ what workin’ out is and apologize? “Fuck i’m so sorr-”

You cut him off with a simple wave of your hand, that gorgeous smile of yours decorating your face once again. “It’s alright, honest!” You say, observing his exasperated look as his mouth parts, ready to apologize “Jean told me that your mouth moves faster than your brain sometimes, I don’t take any offense to what you said.”

Peter sighs, relieved yet processing your words. “So, uh..” he hesitated, an awkward yet boastful smirk building then “Yer talk about me? All good things, I hope.”

You felt a heat rising to your face immediately and you looked around the room to avoid his intense stare, your eyes falling to another window you had yet to close. The cogs in your head turn and you whip around to face Peter, fanning yourself with your hand and beginning to shrug off your jacket. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” You faux panted, moving away from him to open the window like you needed a cold breeze.

Peter watched as you bent over, much closer now and able to see you from straight behind. His eyes grazed your body with a suggestive smirk.

“Just you, babe.”

Okay, babe?! Not helping your flushed state, at all!

You muffle your sputter by coughing, turning around once again and sitting on the desk. You watch as Peter walks up to you, standing close enough that his thighs force your legs a little wider around him.

The silence is unbearable, so you break it. “I mean, of course I've mentioned you once or twice, dude!” You chuckle nervously, “It’s hard to miss someone that looks like you speedin’ around the mansion.”

You register the confused shift in his gaze and now it’s your turn to run back on what you said, jumping in realization and your knee knocking into his trouser-clad outer thigh. “Not that you look weird in any way! I just meant the whole ‘silver’ aesthetic is totally bitchin’! And obviously I’ve heard about that whole Apocalypse fiasco in ‘84. It was really brave, what you did, and I can’t help but thank you for savin’ the whole world.. and whatever..”

You trail off as you babble yourself into a frenzy, Peter’s delighted grin humiliating you further as he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Thanks, babe.” You let out a shuddery breath. Again?! Where was this confidence when he was making a fool out of himself not just a minute ago?

Peter gave in at your pleading gaze and stepped back, a sheepish smile on his face as he looked down to the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. He swayed back and forth on his heels. “I better go anyway. Places to be, worlds to save.. Y’know how it is, babe.” The uneasiness on his features left as soon as it came, now replaced with a cocky smirk and a sly wink.

“Well, if you come back in one piece, maybe we could, I dunno, go out for a movie or somethin’?” You ask apprehensively “since you seem to like Star Wars so much.”

“Y-yeah!” Peter said almost too quickly, clearing his throat before gathering his thoughts and masking the elated grin battling to appear. “I mean, only if yer gonna be makin’ that lasagna, right?” He quipped, stomach rumbling at the thought.

You nodded in answer, grinning. “Just come stop by whenever you’re free and we’ll figure out a date, yeah?” Your eyes widened. “I mean date as in time!”

Peter wiggled his eyebrows again, speeding to the door and saluting you before making his way to the training room, fistbumping the air. Fuckin’ score!

For the remainder of the day, Peter couldn’t keep his mind off of you and the promised movie date you were set to have after his mission, uncontrollably vibrating in excitement whilst boarding the X-jet the day after.

“Promise me you’ll stay safe, yeah?” You ask him, standing on the runway as you smooth out the wrinkles in his uniform, your palm flat on his chest.

A broad grin spread across Peter’s face as he placed his own hand above yours, running his thumb smoothly over your skin.

“Don’t worry about little ol’ me, ‘kay? A promise is a promise, sweet-cheeks.”

——————————————————————————

Peter’s not a jackass. He would never intentionally go back on his word.

But that was a pretty damn hard promise to fulfill.

As soon as the jet landed four hours too late, Peter crashed into the living room couch, ignoring any questions of passers by for medical assistance. He practically melted into the linen cushions, exhaling deeply.

The kid previously sitting on the couch scowled as Peter stretched himself across the furniture, waving the younger student off with his hand. “I’m an Xman, I have the authority here.” The cushions muffled Peter’s grumble.

All in all, he wasn’t that hurt. In reality, the mission was fairly easy-going. Peter was barrelling through an evacuated suburban village, rescuing any stragglers that had found themselves lost or stuck under rubble, whilst the other Xmen dealt with arresting the rogue mutant. Blurs of grays and browns passed him at rapid speed as he did one last sweep of the area, confident in the fact that all people had been safely vacated.

Leaning onto a particularly large mound of debris, Peter swung his leg in boredom, waiting on Charles to give him the go-ahead to start the X-jet back to the mansion. The wind picked up, sending his tufts of hair back and away from his forehead.

Abruptly, a flurry of white flew into the air, startling Peter as he whipped around, ready to attack.

The sight wasn’t as menacing as he thought, though. Small seeds dispersed across the terrain, each carrying a bundle of fluffy white bristles in its wake. He looked down to the sparse grass and was met with a patch of green stems, like a blossom without its petals. Peters brows furrow. What a funny lookin’ flower.

Crouching down, Peter plucks the base of a stem with all its remaining puffballs, cupping his hand in the direction of the wind so it wouldn’t fly away. He grinned, standing up again and inspecting it. It looked peculiar, and rather outlandish. Just his style.

He was halfway through tucking the flower carefully into his back pocket before something slammed into him, sending Peter tumbling into a jagged pile of rubble and fragments of serrated wood.

Motherfucker! He groaned, feeling a searing pain shoot through his stomach. A pile of dust shot up into the air almost comically, leaving a tangy taste on his tongue. Bleh. With feeble limbs, Peter lifted himself onto his elbows, looking down from his cracked goggles to shakily unzip his uniform halfway, revealing a hefty patch of crimson fluid staining his white undershirt. Scraps of wreckage tore holes through the fabric, revealing shallowish wounds littering his chest and stomach. Fuck!

Peter blinked slowly, turning his gaze to try and detect who or what had struck him. Just to the right of his aching body, a sizable slab of concrete stuck out of the ground, that had presumably collapsed from a nearby building.

How fuckin’ embarrasin’! Peter was probably gonna scar from this incident, and he would have to tell people the ‘heroic’ tale of how it went down? That he was assaulted by a chunk of rock? The students barely respected him from the whole classroom debacle with you the day prior; how were they ever gonna treat him with high regard now?

That’s right. You. How were you gonna react when he tells you? ‘Oh, How am i doin’, sweetcheeks? Thank yer for askin’, i got a real wild story fer these battle scars. What was it, ya ask? Hand-to-hand combat with buildin’ material. Sexy, right?’

Yeah, no. He had already embarrassed himself enough around you.

Once he had been strapped back into his seat, with the help of Hank, Peter now had to endure two hours of throbbing pain, and Scott giggling next to him.

Peter slumped into his seat, whining into his dust-cracked hands. “What the fuck am I gunna tell her, man? I can’t keep on embarrassin’ myself like this!”

“Don’t worry too much, dude, you’ll forget about this in no time.” Scott assured, smiling and placing a hand on his shoulder, before screwing his face up and wiping the dust frantically on his sleeve. Peter hummed, albeit confused. When was Scott ever the one to give Peter actual reassurance?

“All in all, it’s just another brick in the wall, man.” Ah, there it was. Peter slowly turned to face Scott, deadpanning and watching the boy’s shoulders shake from silent laughter.

Scott shrieked as Peter shook his head like a wet dog, showering his best friend in a flurry of dust.

Once the flight had come to a halt, Peter limped through the mansion's corridors, hobbling to the living room couch as he was in too much pain to climb the few flights of stairs to his room.

Peter grumbled into the couch, eyes hooded as he melted into the material, ready to fall asleep.

And then you came barreling into the room. Peter sat up as you rushed into the room, nudging him into the back of the couch and placing your knees either side of his quivering hips, clutching his face. Peter really wished he had showered now.

“Take off your shirt.” Come again? Were Peter’s wounds making him hallucinate some filthy apparatition?

He blinked. “Eh?”

“When did you get back? No one told me you got back and I've been worried like crazy. You were four hours late, Peter!” You stressed, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide. “Kurt told me you were injured! Did the mutant hurt you? He said you went flyin’ into rubble and practically got impaled!”

You were speaking in such quick succession that it had impressed Peter by your pace. He merely blinked once more, too caught up with your smooth hands against his cheeks and your frantic words. You were worried about him?

“I’m fine, babe.”

You glance down to his stomach, however you couldn’t see much of anything due to the dark hue of his uniform. “I can’t believe you were impal-”

“Not that I don't appreciate yer concern fer me babe, but 'm fine.” You glared at him “Honest! It’s just a few scrapes. Nothin’ i can’t handle.” he grinned, attempting to ease you up a little.

Despite Peter’s best efforts, you still seem just as on edge as before. Taking your hands off his cheeks, he whined at the loss of warmth, chasing your touch. Instead, you reach down to grasp hold of the zipper at the top of his ensemble, zipping it down to just above his hips. His mouth makes a small ‘o’ before contorting into a lazy smirk, glancing up at you.

“Easy there, tiger.”

A glimpse of his stained undershirt tells you all you need to know. You meet his gaze anxiously as Peter gives you a guilty grin, shrugging his shoulders at being called out. “Okay, maybe it’s slightly worse than i let on but-”

“Take your shirt off.” You urge imperatively, and he flushes.

“I dunno babe, I'm like, supeerrr sore. I don't think I can do it by myself, yer gonna have to help me.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. It was blatantly obvious Peter was flirting, any common idiot could tell. But he looked pretty beaten up, and you were mostly sure that moving him around too much would not feel too great for the speedster, so you obliged.

You lift his shirt up in gradual intervals, keeping your focus on the garment as he grins straight at you, clearly wanting to catch you peeking a glance at his body.

“Normally I'd be buyin’ yer dinner before showin’ off the goods… but-” Peter cuts off as you peel the shirt away from one particularly deep wound, the skin sticking to the material. You whisper apologies, lifting the shirt off his head and discarding it to the side. You glanced back down.

Peter noticed your blatant staring and looked up at you, tilting his head to the side. "So are you goin’ ter look me up and down like that ‘er are yer gunna patch me up?"

“Shush, ‘m not looking at you like anythin’!”

“Mhm, sure yer weren’t sugar.” He beamed. You redden, his thoughts transmitting like a beacon through his facial expression.

“Dont make this sexual..” You mutter, avoiding his gaze as you look around for the medkit you brought with you. Peter follows your movements with his gaze, head leaning back to rest of the edge of the couch whilst you shuffled about the room.

“Now what fun would that be, hm? Can’t I enjoy some attention from a beautiful woman like you?”

With the supplies you return to your earlier position, standing over his shirtless body and desperately trying to keep your thoughts at bay.

Finally taking a closer glance, you see his wounds, shallow, but littering his stomach and chest. There was a fairly large but not too serious cut on the right side of his abs and you lightly gasp, your fingertips reaching for it. “Can I touch you?”

Peter groaned “Ooh, yer can touch me anywhere yer want sugar.”

Choosing to ignore him, you open the first aid box with a satisfying click, taking out a roll of bandages, cotton pads and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, placing it down on the couch next to you. As you do so Peter takes a deep breath, letting him savor the scent of your perfume before the alcohol’s smell eclipsed it.

“So are ya my nurse now?” Peter observes “Kinky. Didn't know yer were into roleplay, but i'm not gonna lie, im kinda diggin’ it babe.”

You choke, smacking his arm. Too far, maximoff.

Peter winces, “Hey! Do ya hit all yer patients? This is medical malpractice right here! I was just sayin- this is like the start to every porno ive ever see-” he hisses as you press down the alcohol soaked cotton pad on his wound.

“Sorry, this may sting a little.” you say half apologetically.

“Well it don't mean anythin’ if yer warn me after, babe!” He whimpers, reaching to grab your hips for support from your position above him. You suppress the urge to rut into his lap, continuing your cleaning as you feel an onslaught of slick ooze from your core. You tried to keep in the sigh, but it fell so easily from your mouth at his touch.

“Ouch. Ow. Ow, ow oW OW!! Babe?! Does the word ow mean anythin’ to yer? Ye- agh-OW!” Peter shrieks, and you wince at the voice crack “Jesus christ! Who taught yer how to tend to people’s injuries? A construction worker with a jackhammer? OW!”

Despite his clear pain you stifle a laugh, swiping more gently this time. “It’s all part of the process, Peter. I’m trying to help you here.”

“Oh really? Are yer tryna help me or finish the fuckin’ job, babe?!”

A moment of tranquility passes, and just before you think Peter will stay quiet and let you get on with your work his voice drops, a sultry tone now teasing your ears. “I've got ter say babe.. when I pictured ya with yer hands roamin’ my chest, the wound was conspicuously absent.” You failed to keep in your reaction this time, a shuddery whimper leaving your mouth as you tense. Peter bites his lip, grin impossibly wide and his hands snaking around your hips.

You feel him pull you in closer and you oblige, facing him as you sit down onto his lower thighs as carefully as you can, not wanting to cause him any further strain. He grins.

“Okay, one more cut to clean and I'm done, yes? Then you can be bandaged up.” Clearing your throat, you await his response.

Peter inhales, screwing his eyes shut in preparation “M’kay, ‘m ready. Jus- FUCK.” You press the cotton ball onto his wound, watching as his muscles tense up and he grips onto your hips for support. Chewing on his lip in anguish, his head throws back once more. You refrain from looking at his adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat.

His tight grip on your hips loosen after a minute and you hum, proceeding to unravel the bandages and wrap them around his torso.

Peter looks at you seriously for a moment, breaking the silence in a much more apologetic way this time. “ ‘M Sorry about blowin’ the whole movie thing, I know yer wanted to go out after i got back.. I guess this will have to be our version of a first date, huh?” He chuckles half heartedly, but his eyes oozed regret and mourning for your date to the theatre.

You move a slither of hair out of his eyes, smiling. “I don't mind either way, we could always go out another time, yeah? And no one predicted you were gonna get hurt like that, it’s not your fault, Peter.”

“Yeah, thanks babe.” your heart clenches as his dimples show through his toothy smile.

Clearing his throat, Peter’s large hands splayed across the small of your back, sliding you from his lower thighs to be flush against his crotch. He grins cheekily as you gasp, feeling his semi hard cock through the soft material of his unzipped uniform.

Hands laying to rest on his bare shoulders, you smooth your thumb over his collarbone. You move your other hand down from his left shoulder, your fingertips grazing down his arm before reaching his hand. Gently coaxing his grasp away from your hip, you interlace your fingers, clasping them together as his other hand frames your jaw.

“Hey.. uh, I think I might have a little scratch up here on my lip. I don't s’pose yer would be interested in checkin’ it out, doc?” Peter’s sweet, chocolate browns shed a spicier shade when he captures your gaze.

Your body answers before you can talk, tongue wetting your lips, leaving him in suspense for a moment.

You faux sigh in thought, “I guess I can’t leave a patient suffering. It would be medical malpractice, and I always make sure my patient gets the care he deserves.”

Peter’s eyes dilate then, and you begin to question whether or not he was joking about the roleplay kink. Alas, you had no more time to ponder as he didn’t waste a single second, bumping your nose against his before seizing your lips.

Kissing him sensually, your tongue swims smoothly against his as you move to scrape your fingers across his scalp. Whining in response, Peter’s head lolls back at the stimuli as you nibble his lower lip. You could feel Peter’s cock twitch and you grind slowly against it, eliciting a filthy moan from his mouth into yours.

As you swallow and get over the initial wave of adrenaline, a bitter and rather tangy taste invades your mouth, forcing you to pull back as Peter chases your lips. You place a hand to his chest, breathing hard and scrunching your face up. “Bleh!”

Peter’s half lidded gaze snaps back open as he observes your clear disgust, swiping his tongue over his own lips in questioning. “Uh- yer.. yer alright over there? I know ‘m sorta outta practise but-“

You swipe your thumb over your lips, noticing a few specks of dust covering them. Peter notices and brings a hand to his forehead, slapping himself at his idiocy.

“Shit! Sorry, babe. I totally just crashed here when i got back, forgot about the whole.. grime situation.” Peter grimaces, cursing himself under his breath, “Way to kill the fuckin’ mood, Maximoff.”

To his surprise, you only lean in closer, batting your eyelashes at him. “Patients have to be clean before assessments can begin. Standard procedure. I hope you don’t mind if I scrub you down?”

Your sultry voice forces a heat to pool in Peter’s belly, and he chokes on his own groan, pupils dilating further.

Fwip. You don’t even get the chance to scooch off his lap before Peter had you in his bathroom, shirtless and with his navy uniform dangling around his v-line. Another Fwip and Peter turned on the shower before pulling your back against his chest, tugging at your t-shirt as a silent plea of desperation and unbridled horniness.

Your mouth parts as his head dips into your shoulder. You swore you could hear the faintest of whimpers leave his mouth as he tenderly kisses your clothed shoulder, his lips humming small vibrations of aroused distress.

What choice did you have but to comply?

As you turned around, undressing yourself before him, Peter’s eyes drunk you in, his eyebrows twitching and his teeth sinking into his lip at your little strip show. Down to the last few articles of clothing, you removed your underwear slowly, a thread of wetness connecting your pussy with the soaked fabric.

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered, his hands quivering as you then slung your t-shirt somewhere around the room, eager to surge forward and grasp at every part of your body.

You smiled, flattered yet unsure of what to do, your eyes too preoccupied with Peter’s uniform, of which was slowly sliding down his hips, revealing the black band of his underwear.

“So.. nurse, I think 'm ready fer my physical.” Peter chuckled, observing proudly as your breathing sped up rapidly, gazing at his torso.

“Need any help undressing?” You asked, motioning to his bandaged chest and bruised arms. “It must be sore.”

“Yes please, nurse.” Peter replied flirtatiously, maintaining his character as patient. You stalk over to him, getting on your knees as you start pulling his uniform and boxers down as slowly as possible without Peter getting frustrated. As you do so, you notice his painfully hard dick slapping upwards from its confines. Smiling, you innocently glance up at Peter’s blushing state, inching forward as if you were about to…

Peter’s cock twitched and he gasped as you surged forward, only to completely pass where he needed you most as you teasingly peck the inside of his thigh, eyes still boring into his own.

“C’mon babe.. That ain’t playin’ fair.” A mix between a whine and a growl left Peter’s throat as you stood up to face his pleading eyes. Taking his face in your palms, your soft lips tease him by brushing against his lips, but not yet giving in to kissing him.

“I think It’s best if I check your temperature orally first.” You mumble. Capturing his lips roughly, your kiss turns into a wet, dueling passion. As you battle for dominance, Peter kicks off the clothing pooling around his ankles, guiding you backwards and into the awaiting shower.

Hot water cascades over you as he pulls you close again, diving in for another heated kiss that you’re all too eager to return.

You have no idea how long your tongues swirl around one another, but eventually a hand grips your wrist and tugs you away. You go easily, and when you look up at Peter, he grins giddily and places a bar of soap in your hands. You lick your lips, this time no longer unwelcomed by the taste of dust and plastering, but of Peter.

The room becomes stuffy as the water from the shower starts to get hot. You sigh as the hot water caresses your skin, or maybe it was from Peter running his hands over your body. They stop on your breasts before gently squeezing them, looking down at you with a dopey grin. You throw your head back as the water runs over your chest.

As Peter prodded and squeezed your tits like they were some new gadget you began the slow, worshipful task of running your soapy hands across his chest, making sure to leave the bandaged areas alone.

"I would really appreciate it if you communicated every ache, any pain that needs tendin’ to, sir." You say, moving to whisper the words in his ear sweetly, the filthy undertones dripping from your tongue.

Peter pauses briefly before managing to regain control over himself, grabbing your arm and pulling you impossibly close. He nuzzles into your neck as he whispers back in a playful manner. "I've got one in a specific place. Maybe yer could help me by usin’ those magic hands of yours, doc?"

"Mhh, or do you need me to kiss it better, Peter?" You tease, licking your bottom lip suggestively before biting the plump flesh with a wink.

Peter’s face turns into a huge blush and his heartbeat starts accelerating even more as he watches you move in close, staring into his eyes. His mind goes absolutely blank and he can only stare at you in shock. His breathing becomes heavier as he looks at your lips and how you bite them; and with that a strange flurry of stammers leave his mouth.

“Nghnaawhaaaaat?”

"Peter? Can you show me where it hurts, honey?" You continue to tease him with a pout. God, you were such a fuckin’ brat.

He can't help but feel both embarrassed and surprised at how forward your question is. He clears his throat "Uh... R-Right here, doll..." He says in a nervous manner as his blush deepens even more, then he points at his twitching cock. You follow his line of sight and smile, watching as beads of pre-cum drizzle out of his tip.

"Aww, poor baby. How long has it been hurting?" You furrow your brows, a mischievous look in your eyes as you place your hands on his chest, traveling downwards.

Peter looks at you with a shocked expression for the fifth time that night, tilting his head much like a puppy as he watches you in awe.

Shiit... Are you really doing this? It’s a good thing you didn’t fully embrace the doctor-patient performance with a stethoscope and all, because you’d certainly be worrying about the freakishly-fast roadrunner beat Peter’s heart was jammin’ to. Fuck.

"Do you want me to kiss it better, baby?" You quiz sweetly.

Peter starts to feel his breath getting heavier as his heart is racing faster, wayy too fuckin’ fast. "Ah... Y-Yeah..." He replies softly, still feeling his face turn into a brighter red as he slowly nods.

Every nerve in his body went on high alert as Peter watched your fingers close around his aching cock and move over the swollen flesh. A tortured gasp escaped his lips, and he threw his head back against the shower wall, panting; it felt so good, your smooth palm creating a delicious friction. He thrust forward into your hand, wanting you to continue, his shame at being naked and aroused gone entirely.

Your face was still close. Close enough to observe his face, fascinated at the raw sensuality flickering across it. Drops of water freckled Peter’s cheeks and forehead; you weren't sure if it was the spray from the shower or his own sweat. His mouth was open slightly, and his rough breathing was causing yours to speed up as well. You smoothed your hand back down his wet length and drew the other hand down to cup his balls.

Peter hissed loudly and pushed his hips forward again, cursing. You couldn't tear your eyes from his profile; he was flushed, his lips dusky and moist, the silver of his eyelashes standing out against his fevered cheek. Simply delectable, and you wanted to have a taste.

The touch of your lips on his neck brought Peter to the surface as you pressed your breasts to his chest, your lips everywhere. They ghosted over his collarbone, shoulder, neck and jaw before closing over his earlobe. He moaned, turning, seeking out your lips.

Peter's eyes opened as you released your hands from him. In no time Peter had locked lips with you once more, in a clash of teeth and moisture; whether it was spit or water you weren’t entirely sure. He raised his hands to your breasts at the same time your tongue parted the seam of his lips, and the two of you moaned together before fusing your open mouths.

Your eyes fluttered closed as Peter ground the raised centers of your nipples into his large palms, then rubbed a thumb over each in rhythm. Your initial intentions were to tease the ever-loving shit out of the speedster, but you couldn’t but melt into a puddle at his tender touches.

Peter’s erection was pressing into your belly, hard as steel. You ground against it, wanting it lower and inside, quickly losing your intention to mess around. Abruptly breaking the kiss to breathe, you quirked an eyebrow at Peter. "So, have you made up your mind?"

"Wha-?" He was adorably confused, his pupils dilated in the shadowy light. You grinned and reached between yourselves to stroke along his cock lightly, picking up the trickle of pre-cum on his cockhead and rubbing it around the smooth, ragingly red area.

Lightly pushing Peter back under the full spray, you sank to your knees in front of him. Handling him gently, you sucked the tip of him into your mouth, savoring the much nicer tangy sensataaion.

"Oh Fuck," The speedster moaned on a sharp inhalation of breath. This was progressing past the realm of sweaty-palm fantasies and straight into the embodiment of every pornographic dream he'd ever had; only those dreams had never felt quite so hot.

Your mouth was liquid fire over him, your tongue circling and teasing, making him grow even larger.

He resisted the urge to grab your head and thrust into your mouth like he had seen in the pornos, giving you free reign over his pleasure. Instead Peter coursed his hands through your damp hair, giving you wordless pats of praise when you traced up a particularly sensitive vein.

Already weak at the knees from your mouth, Peter nearly shot when he looked down and caught you watching him with feverish eyes. The image was so blatantly erotic, he couldn't help but complete it by curling his fingers deeper into your hair.

The slight jerk of his hands on your scalp told you that Peter was close to going completely out of control. His slight grunt and increased participation, in turn, increased your enthusiasm. Releasing your grip around the base of his cock, you tried to take him deeper. This you had tried before with varying amounts of success, usually gagging as the overzealous recipient tried to choke you.

However, with an untried Peter, you were having a great deal more success with the technique.

After figuring out how to time your breathing with the motions, you crept forward and began in earnest, taking Peter in until your nose touched his silvery pubic hair. His hands tightened again, and this time his whimper of pleasure was louder, needier.

He was so close, water pounding his chest, blood pounding in his ears, lips, tongue and friction at the center of it all.

Nearly mindless now, searching for that sweet release, Peter thrust forward a bit, searching for the movement that would send him over the edge. When he encountered no resistance from you, he thrust his hips in rhythm with your mouth until he could take no more.

You could feel Peter's flesh tightening and knew he was ready to blow a load. He tried to push you away before he let go, but you gripped the back of his thighs tightly and sucked hard, an explosion of cum shooting down your throat and tongue.

You gagged a little when the first stream hit the back of your throat, but you recovered enough to hear the incoherent whines Peter made. Another grunt escaped from him as you rubbed your soft tongue over the underside of his dick, moving over the pulsating veins there.

It was all Peter could do to keep from crumpling as he shot harder than he ever had in his life, knees weak from the sheer force of it.

If you hadn't been there to maintain the grip on his legs, he would have melted into a pile of jelly at your knees.

Once you had ridden out his orgasm and released him you stood back up, pushing back the soaken strands of hair that hung off his forehead. Peter grinned, chest heaving as he watched your tongue come out, licking a spot of his release you had missed on your lip.

“Feeling any better, sir?”

Again, Peter felt tongue-tied. He wasn't sure what to say or do. Even though he'd had the most soul-sucking orgasm of his life, his dick was still half-hard. Typical speedster sex drive.

The water was still hot, yet wouldn’t be lasting for much longer. He had to make this count.

Your breasts brushed his chest again when Peter leaned in to capture your lips with his. A slight squeak of surprise escaped you when he separated the seam of your lips with his tongue and pushed forward aggressively. Your tongues duelled, battling for position. Peter could taste the musky odor of his own arousal on your lips, strangely exotic. His hands were tender when he lifted the weight of your breasts in his hold.

Nothing in his fantasies matched the feel of your nipples as he circled over them. Softly puckered flesh dragged under the smooth calluses of his thumbs, causing you to moan softly and push your torso against his.

Straightening up, Peter grasped your waist tightly and with a smirk, swiftly spun you around, pushing you forward into the shower wall.

You let out a hiss as your nipples came in contact with the cold tiles, them becoming painfully hard. Peter gently pushed your hair aside before placing a chaste kiss on your neck; you moved your head to the side, allowing him better access.

Peter rested his forehead between your shoulder blades as the water ran down his back. He took a deep breath in, trailing a hand down your back before pulling back and slapping your ass. The loud moan that fell from your lips made him chuckle, "You've done yer job doc, now yer need payment.”

You nodded your head as you whimpered, feeling yourself become more and more turned on and unbelievably wet. You feel Peter’s tip rubbing your folds, spreading your moisture around as you whimper in anticipation.

You looked back over your shoulder to Peter glancing down at where you two meet. Raising an eyebrow, you went to say something but Peter's quick thrust into you made all the air in your lungs escape. You were wet enough that it didn’t hurt, but the delicious stretch it provided you made your eyes roll back into your head.

Hands slipping as you try to hold onto something, your breasts bounce into the wall as you whimper, legs spreading further so Peter could fully enter you.

Without stopping and with a thoughtful hum, Peter reached up towards the detachable shower head and flicked the setting to a steady stream of fast water, pulling it down.

You could hear him doing something and looked back over your shoulder to see him messing with the shower head, "Are you about to-" You let out a cry as you felt the pressure from the water on your clit, "Shi- shit! Peter!" The pleasure making your eyes roll back.

You attempt to snap your thighs shut, trying to escape the intense pressure on your bundle of nerves. Peter, however, had other plans as he huffs breathlessly, lips dragging up the sensitive skin of your neck. He nips at your ear, using a free hand to spread your legs apart.

“Yer need to keep ‘em spread for me. Y-yer can do that fer me, can’t ya, babe?” He grunts into your ear. You whimper, nodding.

“That’s a- f-fuck.. good girl.”

In a carnal rage, a clatter sounds as Peter drops the shower head, gripping your hips with both hands as he fucks up into you, leaning his bodyweight onto yours to give him more leverage. The faster he fucked into you, the faster the feeling of your climax crested. This one felt different, more intense, and you both knew it.

You make a pitiful noise, again and again as Peter drives his cock into your cunt, hitting your G-spot every single time.

“Therrre she is. Is that it, yeah? That spot feel good, honey?” You could feel Peter’s grin against your throat. “Yer squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. Can yer hear that?”

The slick sounds of his cock fucking into you was loud over your pants for air, and you nodded weakly. You felt slick and pre-cum run down your thighs as Peter moved in and out of your heat in rapid succession, much like an animal in heat. "I think yer might even squirt fer me, doc.”

A shuddered moan fell from your lips before you agree. Sharp, white hot pleasure tore through your body, from head to toe, and you keened as Peter forced himself deeper. "Yer pushin' me out, babe-lemme in, need to feel it," he moaned. "Fuck, yer so pretty; that's it, that- Fuck!"

You felt the dampness of your thighs before you could comprehend the heightened pleasure, and you glanced down to watch Peter’s lower half become soaked from your climax. "Oh-" You turned your head as much as you could to face him, eyes half lidded.

From his position behind you, Peter crashed his lips to yours and forced his tongue into your mouth, fucking it languidly while his hips stuttered in their rhythm. You panted as he pulled back, his breath fanning over your spit-slick lips.

"I need ter cum, baby-" he pleaded, thrusting deeper.

"Please, please-lemme cum in-"

"Yes," you rasped, nodding. “Please- i need you to cum in me so bad-”

Peter groaned and shuddered. He lowered his head to your shoulder and rested his forehead on vour collarbone. You could hear him panting over the slapping of skin and slick noises of his cock in your cunt, and you matched his thrusts in an attempt to bring him closer to the edge.

"Oh, fuck," he rasped. Each thrust sent a shock of pleasure curling up your spine, but you brushed it off, intent on making Peter cum - you squeezed around him and circled your hips. The whimpery noises he makes only make you clench harder, wrapping him in a vice you never want to let go of.

Suddenly, the hot spray of water turns cold and you gasp, arching your back and clamping yourself down on Peter’s cock with all the strength you could muster, tipping him over the edge.

“I-ngh.. Shit!” Peter panted and his hips faltered, a warmth soon blooming in your cunt, filling you up to the brim and leaking out of your quivering body.

The slow, rocking rhythm Peter set with his hips soothed you, bringing you slowly down from your high while he descended from his. "Fuckin' hell, babe," he murmured, and he kissed you on the lips, then the forehead.

The room is full of the scent of arousal, and it makes you feel high up in the clouds, filling your head with the syrupy-sweet fuzziness of speedy contentment.

You must have zoned out for a little bit, because the next thing you’re aware of is the sound of the shower being turned off, and strong yet shaking arms scooping you up off your feet. You were deposited outside the walls of the shower, and then a soft towel is being worked around your body, collecting the droplets of water falling off your hair and frame.

"Let's get yer warmed up, babe."

Before long, you’re bundled up in a bathrobe, hair perfectly brushed out, and being placed gently onto the couch you had been making out with Peter on not too long ago. The volume of the TV had been lowered, allowing you to hear Peter's soft mumblings of praise in your hair as he lays below you, arms cradling you to his chest. His sweatpants feel comfy against your bare legs, and your palms rest on the cotton of his white t-shirt he had changed into.

“Can we watch The Empire Strikes Back?” Peter murmurs into your hair, making you grin as it takes you back to the day you met him in the auditorium. Humming contently, you fish your hand down the side of the sofa in search of the tv remote. You furrow your brows however as you feel something rather furry brush against your fingertips.

Pinching it between your two fingers you pluck it out of the couch, inspecting the small… seed?

Peter’s eyes follow your gaze as he gasps softly in remembrance, craning his head to the side to see an abundance of dandelion seeds littering the couch. Peter frowned. He had forgotten about the strange flower he had plucked due to the abrupt slab of concrete disrupting his day. The seedlings must have fallen out of his uniform when you were tending to his wounds.

“Shit! That was meant ter be a surprise, babe.” Peter frowned sulkily, plucking the puffball from your fingertips. “I found these weird lookin’ flowers on the mission and wanted to show them to yer. Thought i discovered a new species er somethin’.”

Despite your heart warming at the kind yet failed gesture, you laughed. “Peter, honey, they’re dandelions. Weeds.” You grinned, watching as his mouth forms an ‘o’ in realization.

“But.. at least they’re rare, right?”

You thin your lips out into a line whilst shaking your head, trying not to laugh as the speedster groans, throwing his head back.

“Ugh, I could’ve totally avoided that wall if it weren’t fer these fuckin’ things,” Peter drops the dandelion seed, letting it float to the polished wooden floor. “All that fer nothin’!”

You snuggle further against him, grazing around his bandages with a confused expression. “I do appreciate the gesture, but I thought you got these from the fight? Not from.. A wall?” You appear more perplexed as you try to imagine the scenario. “Did you.. run into it or somethin’?”

Peter sighed. Another point to add too his ‘you royally suck, dude!’ tally chart. How many times had he embarrassed himself before you now, five?

“No, it-” He grimaced “-it slammed into me.” He watched as you squinted your eyes, picturing how it went down. “Don’t fret though, babe, I totally showed it who’s boss. Knocked some sense into it.” He grinned, stroking your drying hair.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” You grin, tracing further down the trail of wounds and scratches. “Seems like it knocked more sense into you, though.”

Peter scoffed, waving his hand in dismissal before looking down at you, smiling lopsidedly. “Do I get a lolly fer bein’ so brave, doc?”

He smirks at your flushed expression and you still for a moment, before reaching into your bathrobe pocket and pulling out the panties you had strewn across the bathroom earlier. Peter's eyes widen.

“Here, take these.” You say simply, lazily dropping the material into his hand. Peter beams, face dusted pink. He’ll find some use for those, you’re sure. It won’t be a surprise if you find them framed up in his room, next to his Greta Van Fleet poster.

The next morning you change, treading down the corridor into the living room. Scott is slung across the sofa’s armrest watching the news as Jean sits on the other end by his socked feet, reading a book. Kurt and Ororo share a large armchair nearby, also watching the TV as Peter leans against a wall, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. Not like he needs it anyway.

As you walk in Peter raises his mug at you, nodding and grinning toothily as you greet him back. You silently hope he hadn’t mentioned the prior events to the others.

You ask Scott to turn the volume up and he groans tardily, reaching down the back of the sofa to fish for the remote. You go into shock, however, when he furrows his brows, pulling out a lacy pair of underwear instead. Your underwear.

Scott holds them up in the air with his index finger and thumb, flushing wildly and looking around the room in search of answers. Jean lowers her book, giving you a disapproved stare before continuing her new read of the day. Ororo squeals in laughter and Kurt goes a deep shade of bluey purple, his gaze anywhere but your panties.

“Well, what do we have here?” You could hear the smugness through Scott’s voice as you look wildly across the room to Peter. He only hums, as if in question, no doubt reminiscing on the memories of last night as he sips his coffee, pleased.

You meet his eyes, desperately searching for something to say as he winks at you, strolling up behind the couch to inspect your underwear like he didn’t know whose they were.

Sighing in relief, you thought you were going to get away with it, the embarrassment slowly ebbing out of your head; that was until Peter’s voice piped up.

“Babe, I swear those are your panties, right?”

Okay, maybe Peter was a little bit of a jackass.

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