Ten years had passed since Erik left them. Charles had been injured on the beach by a bullet that left him paralysed. And it changed him. It changed him in a way that the young girl did not like. She had been forced to stay in the manor when they had all left to confront Shaw and his allies. She had remained in the living room, watching the television in an attempt to figure out what was happening - even if she did not understand some of the words that the man on screen was saying. Then, they came home hours later.
It was dark by the time they arrived. She asked what was wrong with Charles before watching him being tak
“And you, [First Name] [Last Name], are an enabler.” He responds, ruffling your [Hair Color] hair. You laugh and stick your tongue out at him, but you don’t deny it. Ever since you realized that Pietro was like you, the two of you have been wreaking havoc together.
Earlier that day, you had been using your power of light manipulation to make a laser pointer and target things for Pietro to take. It started out simple: A pencil on the floor, an eraser at the edge of a desk... but the stakes had slowly been raised. You didn’t think he would actually be daring enough to take something out of a person’s hand! Of course, he proved you wrong. By the time the teacher realized anything was amiss, Pietro had reappeared in his seat and tucked the chalk into his pocket.
Pietro tossed the stick of chalk ont
You don't know it's on fire, but it's on fire. It happens sometimes, when you're stressed, which you are right now, as you're sure you're going to fail this test you’re currently taking.
There isn't really a lot of fire, just the very tips, which flicker every now and then. There isn’t enough smoke to set off the fire alarm, or to even be noticeable, as everyone else in the class is so focused on their own tests.
Except for that guy who sits behind you, who hasn’t even started his test yet, seeing as he knows he can finish it within the last few seconds of the time limit.
Bored as he is, Pietro spends most of the lesson looking around the room dully. When his eyes slide past your head, which is gradually becoming more and more alight, he does a double take, and raises his eyebrows.
After a short pause (so short that no one would have actually realised it was a pause) he quickly (very quickly, given his mutation and all
There were precautions, Nick Fury had told him, right after he whipped someone into another dimension with how fast he ran. Some of those rules included "Don't give them whiplash, boy," and his very favorite, "Please, walk a step every five seconds so that none of us hear a sonic boom right in our backyard."
But those rules never prepared him for this.
You were outside, drinking an ice cold bottle of water, towel around her neck. You were in a tank top and running shorts; you were even sweating, so Pietro guessed you'd been out for a little training around the Avengers tower. No big deal.
He'd used his supersonic powers just to go down and say hello. He was talking a mile a minute, like he usually did, and so his words came out garbled and to you it sounded like he was talking like a baby on a sugar high.
"Slow down, please," you asked, wiping off a drop of sweat from your cheek. "I ju
Quicksilver x Reader
The year was 1973 and summer time had finally approached. (Y/n) and her friends spent the entire day, going to the mall, and buying everything they needed for the perfect house party.
"So who are we going to invite?" Her friend asked as she looked at the list of phone numbers in front of her. "If we call Cindy, she can ask her boyfriend. And said boyfriend, can ask the football team." She giggled. "I know the quarterback has some eyes for you."
(Y/n) rolled her eyes and shook her head. "He doesn't 'have eyes for me'. He just looks at every girl like that." She sighed as she got a drink from the fridge. "But yeah, ask Cindy if she can call people too."
Her friend nodded and dialed the phone, laughing with her friend on the other line; not even watching as (Y/n) slipped out of the room, and the house all together.
She walked down to the mail box and sighed deeply as she looked at the mail in her hands. It seemed like every day, she would get her neighbors
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
Number in series: Four
Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader
Word Count: 895
You sat on Pietro's couch in his basement, listening to what he was saying. He was explaining how he could run as fast as he did, saying how he was a mutant. He then explained how his twin sister, Wanda, had powers as well (They weren't sure about Lorna). After he finished, you began to explain your own story. You explained how you had it since you were little, and that your older brother Shaun had powers as well. Instead of being able to levitate objects, he was able to go intangible.
"I suppose it makes sense that you are able to run like you can. That's how you can steal everything and that's why you are always so jumpy." You said, running a hand through your (h/c) hair. Pietro chuckled and nodded, now being over by and old ping-pong table, playing by himself. You really couldn't see him, only a blur of silver,gray,blue,and red.
"How much can you lift with your
Of course, ‘pacing’ normally invokes an image of a worried, walking stride. When your name was Pietro Maximoff, however, that wasn’t the case at all. ‘Pacing’ was often him moving around the apartment at a speed where one could just barely see a blue and white streak before feeling a sharp gust of wind. It was lucky he had taken the initiative to weight down some of the lighter objects in his home just so they didn’t blow off and possibly break. Otherwise, anyone looking in would have wondered what kind of breeze would have the power to make an apartment’s interior look like a small warzone