#also if the anon who sent the ask about my panthers blanket sees this

[barkovsasha]

week one of the christmas cal done, i used a 4.5mm instead of a 4mm and... good job this will be a blanket and nothing wearable because i fear the sizings are going to be very off

[whiplashed-maximoff]

Catastrophe

Prompt: Where you’re someone he’s supposed to be fighting and he knows you from his childhood?? and I’m not sure about the mutation but it somehow stops his?? And the reader and Peter are wrestling because he needs to capture you for Charles?? But the whole time the reader is making sexual innuendos and Peter finally can’t help but join in??

Requested By: anon

Editor: @fetus-twink-howell

A/N: Oh my God if this isn’t the best request ever… we may have gotten carried away. Also you can thank my editor for most of the dialogue lines because I am hopelessly awful at coming up with innuendos; Reader can sense and repress the powers of others

  You skid to a halt, balanced in the pitch darkness, listening to the silence. Your heart was pounding, your cheeks flushed from the adrenaline rush. You’d always loved this part, the thrill of the escape, of just barely evading capture, only to fool your pursuers into a trap of your own. You grinned, your hair falling wildly in your face as you focused on hearing. This particular hunt had been fun, though you hadn’t chosen it. You were the prey.

  It was new territory for you; though, perhaps, not as new as one might think. Playing the prey was fun, even if your predator didn’t know you were toying with them. Especially then. You hear it at that moment, the brief warning of feet slamming onto concrete before he appeared. A brief second was enough.

  You were moving through the darkness, your silent footsteps and fluid movements letting you slide further into the darkness before he could catch you. The entire area was saturated in your power, and that made it easy. With the cover of darkness, your silent movements, and your power, you could escape practically anyone. You were a wicked catastrophe of movement and skill, and no one could stop you; not yet at least.

  You listened carefully for his footsteps, trying to predict what he would do. You’d suppressed his powers, there would be no more blitz attacks, no more appearing from nowhere. No more speed. His footsteps echoed through the building, bouncing off the walls and filling your ears. This boy just couldn’t be quiet. A smirk crossed your face as a thought flashed through your head.

  He’s probably louder in bed.

  You shook your head, resisting the urge to laugh at your own thoughts. He was attractive, and you could use that to your advantage. You focused on the room, making sure your power was still blanketing it.

  As your eyes adjusted slightly to the darkness, you searched for the flashes of silver, listened for any movement. This boy believed he could catch the country’s top hunter. Whoever sent him must have either believed your reputation was overblown or their errand boy better. Both were wrong. Wrong and foolish.

  From your perch on one of the large, metal support beams you could see the outline of the room from the pale moonlight shining through the small windows. There you waited, watching, listening. Your strike would have to be quick, decisive, and without hesitation. You almost sighed. It was a pity; whoever this was, he had been fun to run from.

“Can you just come down here and cooperate?” The voice was exasperated, grating, but you recognized it. You knew who this was, which meant he knew you. You grinned.

“Only if you stop being such a tease, baby.” You purr, your voice seeming to come from everywhere at once as it echoed through the room. You grinned, knowing it would fluster him for a minute. He would be shocked by the turned tables; he was the flirtatious one, not you. Then again, you hadn’t seen him for ten years. People change. You, especially, had changed. “Do you even know who I am, Peter?”

  The shocked silence told you enough. It also provided the few seconds of distraction you needed to leap. The time of playing prey was over; now you were the predator, and he the prey. Within a fraction of a second, you’d landed, vaulting from his shoulders and landing with the effortlessness of a trained gymnast. The brief, sharp pressure of your weight caused him to stumble, giving you enough time to drop to a crouch and swing your foot, knocking him off of his feet. He groaned, sighing as he lay on the ground.

“Last time I saw you, you weren’t this skilled.” There’s no anger, no annoyance, just amusement. He clicks something on his wrist, and the bright light of a flashlight burns your eyes.

“People change. To be fair, you weren’t this sexy ten years ago. If I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

  He blanched, his loss for words written all over his face. You grin, eyes glinting. You were, perhaps, too overconfident in this situation, but not under-cautious. You had not made it this far in this life by being arrogant. Confidence in your abilities mixed with caution and intelligence had gotten you this far, and it would certainly carry you to the end. Whenever that was.

  Peter recovered quickly, shaking his head at the tactic he presumed you had chosen to throw him off.

“No.” He launched himself in a leap much like that of a panther as it leaps for its prey, and even though your reflexes were fast, they were not fast enough. You’d almost made it but his grapple caught you in the shoulder, and down you tumbled, the two of you a tangled mess of limbs and fury and confusion. “I’m not some cheap whore,” he grinned wickedly at you, and you could see he was starting to give in to your sexual humor, “you could at least take me out to dinner first.”

“Less talk, more action,” you elbowed him in the stomach, whirling around behind him as he doubled over. “You’re awfully slow, Pretty Boy.”

“It’s only polite for the man to come second,” he said, turning just in time for you to elbow him in the jaw and send him sprawling. He groaned, standing up again.

“Such a gentleman.”

“I’m not gentle, sweetheart,” he said, tackling you to the ground, “in fact, I like it rough.” You grinned at the boy hovering above you.

“Kinky, Pretty Boy. I never pegged you for the rough type.” You tried to bring your knee up, but you weren’t in the proper position to get the hit you wanted. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Eyes on the prize, sweetheart?” You rolled your eyes.

“In your dreams, maybe.” You grabbed his shoulders, wrapped your legs around his waist, and rolled, landing on top of Peter. “If you thought I was going to be submissive, you thought wrong.”

“I already told you I like it rough, baby.” He grinned, grabbing your wrists and vaulting forward, effectively pinning you under him. “And, clearly, so do you.” You narrowed your eyes. He looked too smug for your tastes. So you do what any decent assassin attempting to seduce their prey would do. You bit his neck

  The gasp you received - whether in surprise, pleasure, or both - sent smug gratification surging through you.

“So,” you purred in his ear, “you’re that kind of guy, hm?” He swore, and you leaned back, eyebrows raised. “Is that a yes?” His cheeks flushed and you grinned. You could use this. You shifted, using the distraction to gain the upper hand and pin him down, your knees resting on his chest. “You know,” you said, cocking your head to the side, “I’m not seeing why he sent you of all people. Did that fool really believe that because I knew you that I would come willingly?” You scoff, shaking your head.

“You just found one of my kinks… and you’re asking me about my mission?” He looked almost offended. You stared at his brown eyes for a moment.

“Well I assume you aren’t here for sex.”

“Not originally,” he muttered, and you rolled your eyes.

“Still just as horny, I see.”

“You started it, baby.”

“And now I’m going to finish it.” You’d been ignoring what you’d known was coming from the moment the first words had left your mouth, but there was no ignoring it anymore. You were an expertly trained, professional assassin… and you were still in love with your high school crush. No amount of ruthless training had taken that from you, although you almost wished it had.

  You hesitated. There would be no going back from this. The choice you made here would determine everything. If you kissed him, there would be no returning to your current life. But perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. If you killed him, there would be no redemption. No second chances. Your hesitation gave him just enough time to turn the tables once more, rolling to the side and shoving you off of him, sending you sprawling to the floor. You blinked as his head appeared above yours, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

“Looks to me like I’m finishing it, babe.”

“Shut up.”

“Or what? You’ll make me?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to?”

“I’d like to see you try, princess.” You flashed a wicked grin, and something changed in his face. He knew he’d just fucked up. And he knew he didn’t stand a chance.