Work Text:
"(Y/N)?"
You jumped, the textbooks you had been holding tumbling towards the floor, bits of homework flying everywhere. And then they weren't. Peter stood before you, biting his lip. He held out the textbooks, now in a neat pile, for you to take back.
"(Y/N), I am so, so sorry, are you okay?"
You grinned, and bumped his shoulder with yours. "Peter, I'm fine. Good reflexes, by the way! How did you-"
"I'm fast." He shrugged, handing you the pile back.
"Hell you are! I didn't even see you move!"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "You...you didn't? Because, like, no-one is THAT fast. That would be ridiculous, right?" He laughed nervously.
"Calm down, Speedy, just because you came seventh last year in the relay doesn't mean you're faster than light."
"Sixth!" He objected, peering into the mirror on the side of your locker and adjusting his goggles.
"Yeah, yeah. Why'd you wear those, anyway?"
"They're cool." He looked hurt for a second. "I though you thought they were cool!"
You smirked, closing your locker with a faint squeal of the ancient hinges. "No, I do. They're even cooler than your hair. Which you refuse to admit is dyed."
"It's not dyed!" He gasped, clutching his heart. He then proceeded to flop down on the floor, gasping like a fish out of water.
You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall to watch the display.
He stuck his tongue out, and twitched. Then his body went limp. You were glad everyone else had already left around an hour ago, Peter had insisted on staying behind to help with your art project. He had just spent the entire time fidgeting and running off to his locker to go get snacks, but it was nice to have some company.
You nudged his shoulder with your toe. "Oh, no. Poor Speedy. Hey, what's this?" You rummaged through one of the pockets of his jacket, and brought out a twinkie. "Looks like I'm just gonna have to eat this..."
He shrieked, and tackled you to the floor. You tossed the bar over your head, it rolled across the tiles and stopped a few feet away, and he lunged for it, groaning when he hit his arm on one of the lockers.
He crossed over to him, and held out your hand. "C'mon, Speedy, the floor's mank. It'll ruin your hair..."
"It's not dyed!" He protested.
He took your hand. You were just helping him up when there was a loud bang, a flash of light, and half the lights in the corridor popped, sending a shower of sparks onto the tiles.
"Holy shit-" you jumped, quickly dropping Peter's hand.
"Does that mean-" Peter's eyes grew wide. He shrugged off his jacket, revealing a very familiar tattoo in the shape of a lightning bolt that started at the top of his wrist and stopped halfway down his arm. It was glowing white-hot.
You gasped, and rolled up your sleeve. You had an identical mark on your shoulder. "Snap." You whispered, still in shock.
You both started at each other for a moment. Then Peter glanced up at the clock on the wall. "We should've been out twenty minutes ago..." He muttered, brushing the hair out of his eyes.
"Yes." Neither of you moved.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
After he'd walked you home, the air thick with unanswered questions, Peter dragged his feet until he reached his own house. Seeing as you lived half a block away from him, it took less than a twelfth of a second.
He paused outside his front door for a moment, wondering what to say. His SoulMark was glowing incredibly brightly after the walk home, you could easily see it through his jacket.
He decided to just run for it.
He pushed the door open, and ran along the hallway, through the kitchen where his Mom was baking, hovered in there for a while to rummage through the cupboards, grabbed a few still-warm peanut butter cookies, and took a deep breath.
"Hey, Mom."
His Mom waved distractedly, frowning at the scales. A large bowl of sugar was balanced precariously on top. She didn't jump when she heard her Son's voice, she was used to him appearing from thin air around the house.
"Honey, you're back a little late. Something happen?" She paused, motioning for him to go over. "Does this look right to you?"
She gasped when she turned around. "Petey! Your Mark!"
"Yes?" he asked nonchalantly, although his heart was turning cartwheels inside his chest.
"It's GLOWING!!! Let me see!!!" she demanded, wiping her hands on her apron.
Peter let an ecstatic smile spread slowly across his face, and rolled up his sleeve for her inspection.
She squealed, and held out her arms. He let her fuss over him and ruffle his hair, and tell him how happy she was for him.
"This is so exciting! Who is it???" She gasped when she saw his face. "Is it (Y/N)? It is, isn't it!"
He blushed, and nodded shyly. His Mother threw her arms around him again. "I knew it!!! Oh, Petey, I'm so happy for you."
"So am I," he admitted, and then, quieter, so that only he could hear, "She's perfect."
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
The next morning, Peter was outside your house right on time, hands twitching in nervous anticipation.
He beamed when you opened the door. You grinned back at him. "Hiya, soulmate."
This made his smile even wider. "I missed you."
You nodded. "I missed you, too. I think it's the bond's way of making sure you don't run off on me." You smirked. "Is it working?"
He gave you a strange look for a second, as if trying to figure you out. Then he ran a hand through his hair, and smiled down at you. "Maybe..."
He cleared his throat. "Hey, (Y/N), I was thinking..."
"Speedy, that doesn't always have a great turn-out." You deadpanned.
He elbowed you in the ribs.
"Okay, I'll listen now."
"As I was saying-" He glanced around at the empty streets, which were usually crammed with school kids. "-what day is it?"
"Saturday..." you raised an eyebrow. "Why, what day do you think it is?"
"Seriously!? Why were you waiting for me at eight thirty on a Saturday?" He smirked. "And you can't blame it on this!" He motioned to his Mark.
You grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him closer to you. "Maybe it's because I needed to see you, Peter Maximoff. You and your ridiculous goggles and your dyed hair and your over the top obsession with twinkies and the colour silver, and your sexy smile, and your gorgeous eyes-" His eyes widened, and he brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face, and leant a little closer. Okay, a lot closer.
"I have a sexy smile, huh?" he gave you a lopsided grin.
"-Or, again, it might just have been because I wanted to get another record, and I didn't want to wait until the store had closed." You smirked. "Also, to answer your question, yes. Yes, you do."
Peter shrugged. "Well, at least I got something good outta that, right?" He leant down and placed a kiss on your nose, so quick you only realised what was going on after it had happened.
He winked. "What? You didn't see that coming?"
"Damn, Maximoff, you're fast."
"You don't know half of it, baby."
You were walking down the high street now, almost at the shop.
"Don't 'baby' me." You bumped your shoulder into his, in mock horror.
"Why not? You 'Speedy' me. Plus, when you say 'Speedy', it's...y'know?"
"What?" You smirked, and blew him a kiss.
He shot out an arm at incredible speed, and pretended to catch it.
"C'mon, Speedy..."
He rolled his eyes, blushing. "Fine. But don't laugh. Promise?"
"I promise." You said, suddenly intrigued.
"It's hot." He said suddenly.
"What?" You spluttered.
"You said you wouldn't laugh!"
"I'm not laughing!" You protested, but couldn't help but add, "Speedy."
"Oh, shut up." He mumbled, opening the door of the shop for you.
"I thought you liked it...Quickie."
"Now that's just cruel."
You winked at him, and ran through the small store until you found what you were looking for.
Peter came up behind you, reading the album cover over your shoulder. "The Electric Light Orchestra? My SoulMate's got a pretty good taste."
"In music, or in boys?"
"Both."
You nodded. "Have you ever heard this album? It's new."
He shrugged. "What's it called?"
"Out of the blue."
"No." He waved at the man behind the counter. "Mr Lee! Could you play this one for us?"
"Mr. Maximoff!" He cried. "My favourite customer! Your Mother called about the good news. Congratulations! What album would you like?"
Peter thanked him, and passed the disc over. Soon, music filled the shop.
"Damn, that's apt." You smirked, as the first song started.
"Shut up."
"Speedy, relax. You just gotta slow dowwwwnnn..."
"You are evil."
"C'mon, it's a good song. Sir, what's it called?"
Mr Lee examined the back of the sleeve. "Sweet talkin' woman."
"Well," Peter grinned. "I guess it is pretty apt."
"Oh, shut up, Quickie."