“(y/n)? Are you awake?”
“Hmm?” you groan, burrowing out your head from underneath the blankets. Blearily, you sit up, and turn the light on with fumbling hands.
You blink your eyes to chase away any traces of sleep, and the first thing they see is Pietro Maximoff bundled in a blanket burrito outside your doorway.
You rub at your eyes furiously. It was probably just Wanda teasing you around with dreams. She’s never stopped ever since you’ve told her your growing affection for her brother.
But when the world grows clear again, the figure of the elder Maximoff remains standing.
He edges a step forward, unsure whether to enter or not.
“May I come in?”
You run a hand through your hair, knowing that it didn’t see a brush in the last few hours. The last shadowy purple remnants of sleeplessness line underneath your eyelids, and you want nothing more than to crash back down to dreamland again.
“Be my guest.”
The Sokovian shuffles forward slowly, dragging the bedsheets behind him. “I couldn’t find a decent place to sleep.”
Despite your weariness, you chuckle, watching his usually agile feet slide this way and that, confused on which direction to move.
“Why not Wanda’s room?”
“She’s not here. Again.” Pietro grumbles, flopping down to sit on your mattress. “That Vision, or whatever he is, he’s making her lose self-control. This isn’t the first time she has snuck out.”
“Mm, you sound like an overbearing mother.” You prop yourself up against the headboard to shake your head at him.
“I’m the eldest!”
“By what, not even a quarter of an hour?”
“Still the oldest.”
“And I’m sure you learned so much more about the meaning of life in that delivery room until Wanda popped out.”
Pietro tries to give you a half-hearted hair flick, but his hands turn back to stifle a yawn.
“Go to sleep.” You order him immediately, bundling the blankets around him tighter.
You sigh, sliding over to the cooler side of the bed to allow Pietro to slip in.
And yet, the kid has the gall to refuse.
“No, no. I’d take too much space, I could kick you when I wake up because I usually don’t…”
You push him down unceremoniously in the space next to you, ignoring his protests. When he runs out of arguments, you fluff his silver-blonde hair and gently place it on your pillow.
He gazes up at you tiredly. “This won’t happen again.”
You cut the apology off with a swift peck on the lips, which effectively shuts him up. Just as quickly, you draw away, hand reaching out to the bedside light.
“Good night, Pietro.”
Crashlanding Protocol - Part II [Pietro x Reader]Crashlanding Protocol - Part II [Pietro x Reader] by katnisseverdeen4life
WARNING: Extreme Age of Ultron spoilers below. For those who have not seen the movie yet, do not read any further than this.
You watch the whole scene unfold into chaos a safe fifty feet up, peering from binoculars.
Loud shouts of alarm fill the air as the Avengers touch down on the snow. Some of the bolder HYDRA agents chase after them, whilst already a dozen others lie defeated on the ground or are disappearing into the trees.
“Shit!” you hear Tony cry out. Apparently his tactic to crash into the HYDRA base failed - not at all surprising.
“Language!” Steve replies, “JARVIS, what’s the view from upstairs?”
“Oh, so I’m just the co-pilot, huh?” You feign hurtfulness, but the end of the question catches in your throat. You clear it to continue. “Go ahead, J.”
As JARVIS rattles off the data - amidst two assassins’ snark that the mission’s taking too long - you spot Steve
Crashlanding Protocol - Part I [Pietro x Reader]Crashlanding Protocol - Part I [Pietro x Reader] by katnisseverdeen4life
WARNING: Extreme spoilers for Age of Ultron. As in, describing-whole-movie spoilers. If you haven't seen it, it's best to watch it first before reading this.
“I’m not paid enough for this.” you grumble as the sirens start wailing in the Tower.
“We’re Avengers, (y/n), we always get the crappiest jobs. Although, I think I might convince Fury to give us some dough...”
You hold up one hand before he goes off on one of his tangents. “Correction: the rest of you are Avengers. I’m only here to man the cockpit and fly you guys everywhere when Maria isn’t here.”
“And where would we be without a handy little drop off?”
“You certainly know how to flatter an agent, Stark,” you smirk, running to the air pad to fire up the hovercraft engines.
It’s only minutes after the whole team assembles in the aircraft that it begins.
“Who’s up for a little game
Pietro x Reader x Peter - Sweet ToothPietro x Reader x Peter - Sweet Tooth by katnisseverdeen4life
Tarte Tatin had become somewhat of a banned dessert, ever since that little run to the cafe.
Now all Pietro wants to do in the afternoon is take you out to some reclusive restaurant, but always with a package of that dessert behind his back.
It comes to the point where you have to intervene with a new dessert, one that’s even older than Tarte Tatin.
“That smells heavenly.”
You smile. “Thanks, Pie. It’s my first time at making this stuff.”
“Well, you could have tricked me.” He swirls his finger on the rim of your bowl, scooping up the golden brown contents, and licks it. “Delicious. Just like in Sokovia.”
“You had Russian toffee in HYDRA?”
His face hardens. “No. My mother bought some for our ninth birthday.”
Just a year before she died. You don’t say anything, quietly pouring the liquid into a saucepan. The silence in the room vibrates on its edges, just like the creamy substance now simmering on t
Pietro Maximoff (DoFP) x Reader - AHSPietro Maximoff (DoFP) x Reader - AHS by katnisseverdeen4life
Silence in Avengers Tower didn’t happen often. Taking the rare - no, once in a lifetime - chance, you sneakily begin to turn on the TV to watch your favorite show, until…
You turn to the voice’s direction. “What, Peter?”
“Huh.” Suddenly he’s at your side, scrutinizing the glowing screen. “Could have fooled me, with that bowl of popcorn in your hands.”
He’s met with a playful smack on the shoulder, which he smirks against. Without argument, you click over to American Horror Story, something that Peter enjoyed watching, oddly enough.
Within seconds of the opening sequence, he’s starting to squirm in his seat.
When Jessica Lange’s character starts to spite her nemesis, Peter’s near the point of blanching.
“I like the
|Enjoy the randomosity of my mind.|
Warning: Some major spoilers for Age of Ultron below! Read at your own risk.
“(y/n). (y/n). (y/n). (y/n).”
“What, what, what, what, what?” you answer without batting an eye, grabbing his wrist before he can poke you and say your name again. He, on the other hand, blinks, looking impressed that you could catch him before he sped off.
“So am I. Wait ‘til dinner.”
“I can’t wait! There are four hours, twenty-five minutes, and forty-five seconds before it.”
“…are you seriously keeping track?”
“Forty-four and counting down. Forty-three. Forty-”
Might as well give up. “Fine. We’ll go out to the cafe, but if you don’t eat all your dinner tonight, consider yourself starving for the next month.”
“Shut up, I’m just as old as you are.”
Pietro looks straight at you, a unnervingly attractive smirk growing on his face. “Does that not make me your husband, then?”
“In your dreams, Maximoff.” You duck your head so your blush can’t be seen. “All right, let’s…”
A strong pair of arms scoop you up without strain, and you’re already outside by the time you get to finish your sentence.
You yelp, and throw your face into his chest to avoid the air ripping your skin. He chuckles throatily, and the sensation vibrates in your ears as you press against him to block out the screaming of the wind.
Hopefully you’ll survive without imploded eardrums. If he breaks the sound barrier again…
“This is where you want to go?”
The heavy disgust in his voice makes you chance a look to see the secluded cafe in the corner, looking well worn down with its chipped paint and dusty brick walls curving inwards.
You clumsily wiggle yourself out of his arms; a feat easier said than done. “Come on, Pie! They sell homemade pastries. Their Tarte Tatin’s their signature one."
“You’ll be eating your words as soon as the first forkful passes your lips, mister.”
“Mmm.” he groans later, practically sagging into his chair with delight. “Delicious.”
“And you didn’t believe me.” you smugly finish off the last remnants of your own treat - strawberries drizzled with honeyed syrup and midnight chocolate.
“Wherever did you find this place?”
“Natasha.” you simply say, savoring the taste of the fruits by sucking the last juices off their skins. “She spoils Clint’s kids rotten by taking them out to eat, and they occasionally take their trips here.”
“Laura must hate her for doing that.”
“Surprisingly, it’s usually Clint that’s the one throwing a temper tantrum over his kids’ appetites.”
“The overprotective bird parent instincts at work, hmm?”
“Meh. Nothing compared to you for Wanda.”
“You’re not wrong. I am ten times anything the old man’s got.”
You flick the strawberry leaves off your damp fingers after a while, scraping your chair back to get up.
Before you can do so, Pietro suddenly stabs the last bite of his Tarte Tatin with his fork, and leans forward to you. “Open.”
You stare incredulously, watching the caramel gleam on it in the late afternoon light. “Wasn’t I supposed to be the mother in the relationship?”
“Change of heart?”
“Knowing you, you’d yank it from underneath my nose and gobble it up.”
“We’ve known each other since - what, since Ultron attacked? - and you don’t trust me still?”
“This coming from the guy who somehow manages to steal my wallet every Saturday to buy new sneakers that burn out weekly?”
"I always give it back."
"And who forgot to tell us that he 'walked it off' in Sokovia, and triggered a telekinetic explosion from his sister he forgot to warn?"
Pietro twirls the last forkful of Tarte Tatin and examines it mournfully. “Suit yourself. Such a pity that a pretty treat should be gone in a few bites.”
“Pity is never invited at the dinner table.”
“Truer words have never been spoken.” He guzzles down the remains in one huge bite, just before you put a hand on his arm to warn him.
“Careful, you’ll chok-!”
A blue haze flashes by your wrist, catching and holding it up so you’re forced to see his face, which now has an overblown grin on it.
“You better not have swallowed it.” you warn.
“No.” he mumbles, mouth still chock full of the tart. “But if I have to eat slowly, then next time, I get first pick on where we go.”
“What, you’re still hungry?”
He finally swallows, directing a cocky smirk at you.
“Not for food, no.”
It May Be (LokixReader) [Valentine One-shot]You sat in your office typing away at some official reports Fury requested. Everyone loved the Avengers and how cool they were, but most people didn’t see the corporate side behind the initiative. There were expenses to be paid, damage reports to be made, then, of course, the costs of keeping each of the Avengers happy. They weren’t by any standards a needy or bratty bunch, they just didn’t realize how much they went through. Tony and Bruce always needed some new scientific equipment, Steve went through at least five punching bags a week, Thor was a bottomless pit of strawberry poptarts, Natasha was always ruining her designer dresses on missions, and Clint’s specialized arrows did not come cheap. S.H.I.E.L.D. had more than enough funding to keep the team happy and busy, but someone needed to keep track of what it cost.It May Be (LokixReader) [Valentine One-shot] by TrippyHippie21
You glanced up when you heard two knocks on your door, and smiled when you saw your good friend Loki standing in the doorway. The God of Mischie
Geronimo! (Eleventh Doctor X Reader)Geronimo! (Eleventh Doctor X Reader) by Miss-Union-Jack
You sighed wistfully, watching Amy and Rory dance. You were pretty good friends with both of them, and someday you hoped to have a love like theirs.
You heard a cough, wheeling around and finding yourself face to face with Amy’s Raggedy Doctor. Your eyes widened, you had seen him when he first appeared in his blue police box, but you hadn’t realized he was so attractive.
“Care to dance?” He asked cheekily, holding out a hand invitingly. You shrugged as you took his hand, smiling as you did so. His other hand moved to your waist, while your other hand placed itself on his shoulder.
You danced with him, twirling and spinning happily. The Doctor was funnier than you expected, jokes pouring out of his mouth.
The Doctor smiled at you, the sweet sound of your laughter filling his ears as he noticed the way your __e/c__ eyes glittered.
After a while, you left the dance floor, sitting down at a table, red faced and panting, but beaming. You two switched to talking then,
|Flawless, breathtaking, inspiring, peculiar, funny, curious, these artworks are one of a kind.|
The scratching of your delicate reed pen drowns out the sounds of your thoughts, a soothing noise that breaks the stifling silence of the room.
“Why would such a child be awake at a starless dawn?”
You do not flinch at the cold tone the voice carries, only keep your eyes fixed steadily on your paper. One jump of the hand, and you could have made an ugly slash across the parchment.
“You should be sleeping, my lord.”
Thranduil glides without a sound into the room, as always, dressed in robes of sewn starlight, with the ever-present crown spined with rowan berries. “As should you. No one should be up so late when the moon dies for the sun.”
The tip of your pen scrawls out a particularly long flourish, a trailing path of glowing ink. “But I am no king of Mirkwood.”
To this, your superior has no answer.
About five minutes pass when he begins to talk again. Thranduil’s bone white fingers dance across the pages, flitting from one parchment to another. An elegant twist of the wrist, and he has one of your written papers in his hands. His eyes scan the ink with the indifferent demeanor he always possessed. “Your writing skills are exquisite. Some creatures’ penmanship - a rare few, luckily - are nothing short of atrocious.”
You duck your head back into the massive pile of documents, trying not to make eye contact with those piercing blue pupils. “You’re too kind, my lord.”
“No, merely speaking the truth.” Thranduil answers silkily, tilting his pale face to you with a unfathomable expression.
A faint smile that doesn’t quite touch your lips forms on the mouth. The smile instantly vanishes as you stab yourself absentmindedly with the pen, puncturing through paper and skin alike.
You exclaim a little, watching small droplets of blood mix in with the handwriting you’ve just so carefully scrawled. A quick glance at your hand shows that your hand’s in no condition to write anymore, expanded twice their size and bitten red. You abruptly wipe away any smears, pressing your palm to the seat, out of sight.
Unfortunately, Thranduil notices this, and his brow furrows slightly.
“How long has it been since you started your work?”
“It is of little importance.” you hastily answer, trying to formulate answers off the top of your head.
Your hand lifts up on on its own accord, and you glance surreptitiously upwards to find the cause; it’s held at the edges delicately by a pair of milky fingers.
“You cannot carry on writing if your fingers are swollen.” the King remarks, and you wince as he presses down on a tender spot on your palm. “Not even an incompetent calligrapher would be able to write this way.”
“I assure you, My King, I am capable of doing my duty. You should not care for such a lesser being than I, least of all a scribe.” You murmur in protest, keeping your eyes fixed at the insurmountable number of scrolls you had left.
Goosebumps erupt over the exposed patch of skin between pen and sleeve cuff. This time, you turn, startled, to Thranduil, who now brushes a bloodless pair of lips across your wrist, looking at you with cool blue eyes.
|Concerning the manner of paper cuts.|