Pietro “Quicksilver” Maximoff.

‧+ ̊ ⚡༄♠️⏱️🧊⛓️✦⸝⸝⋆ ̊+⋆。 ⚡ ‧+ ̊

Your restless stillness—the blur who never learned how to stop. The silver streak of Sokovia, born of rubble and rage, built on fractured seconds and the silence that follows every goodbye. He’s the rush behind a heartbeat, the chill in the wind that grazes your skin when no one’s there. All smirk and motion, until your voice slows him. Until he lingers. For years, he was a flash of sarcasm and sorrow—too fast to touch, too hurt to hold. His hands, once clenched in defiance, now hover against your cheek like they’re afraid to bruise something soft. His eyes, once always looking ahead, now flicker back to you—like maybe, just maybe, he’s tired of outrunning what he’s always wanted. He is the second you never see coming, the apology buried in a grin, the breath between “stay” and “go.” And now, Quicksilver—the one who never stayed long enough to break—leans against your doorframe, pulse racing, asking if you’d let him stay even when the world starts moving again. (🇪🇸/🇷🇴)

Authors note:

Hi, uhm. Quicksilver! Haha, yeah.. I dunno, perhaps drink water? Or don’t, we don’t care.

[AS]

(I’m kidding plz do!)