Evan Peters Imagines

Cheater-Peter

Hehehe. The title rhymes.

Gym class. The worst one hour of your day. You don't mind the running or the exercise. Peter, on the other hand, is a complete asshole when it comes to sports.

You see, Peter can run fast, like really fast and he cheats at everything.

You wrapped the belt with the flags around your waist as everyone else did the same. You both occasionally went to the Academy but Charles said you two were pretty good at controlling your powers so there isn't a real reason as to why you couldn't go to a normal school.

You can make anyone do anything You want no matter what they want. A master manipulator, they called you. You rarely ever use it considering that you don't think you should make someone do all your bidding for you. Peter doesn't know exactly what your 'gift' is, but he brags about his too much.

"Ready to lose Y/N?" Peter smirked, taking his position across from you. You don't know how he does it, but he always finds a way to score.

"Not really," you smiled back, "But I bet you a bag of chips that my team will score."

"You're on," He smirked, taking his position.

You concentrated on his feet as the ball flew through the air. You started the perfect play for you. You sprinted as you made Peter lightly jog on the gym floor.

"Throw me the ball!" You shouted, knowing that you were most likely going to get it anyway. You caught the ball, running it into the endzone. Your teammates cheered and whooped.

"I like spicy chips," you smirked at Peter who stood dumbfounded.

You took the spot across from him. The ball was thrown and you began to run only to end up on the floor, your sneakers tied together. You angrily untied them, your breaths shallow in anger. You stood and brushed off my backside.

"Peter," you snapped, pushing him, "you're such a damn cheater."

"I'm just playing the game," He replied innocently, "Maybe you tied your shoes wrong."

You stared him down and concentrated. Peter's face contorted in confusion and you could tell that he wanted to walk away, but you forced him to stay.

"Y/N, what are you doing," He grunted. You let him go and his arms and legs went flying, making him stumble.

"Don't mess with me Peter," you gripped his shirt. The teacher came between us, pulling my hands from his now wrinkled shirt.