#pietro

The air in your lungs was being knocked out with every sharp hit on your heel as you ran steadily, drawing in breaths only for them to be stolen the very next second. Your arms were moving lazily in sync—one half forward, one half back, one half forward, one half back. 

Your cheeks puffed with every exhale, nose red as a button from the sharp wind in your face making the run even more draining than it already was.

A fast zip echoed through your hair and clothing slightly, leaving a foggy trail of blue in its wake. Your running slowed, and you let out an irritated sigh knowing the track was no longer yours.

"Maximoff, Steve's gonna kill me if I don't get another lap in." You said, your annoyance clear on your tongue.

He came to a stop beside you, something that in the past would've made you jolt with surprise and even fear—but you were used to that, you were used to him.

Six months since the battle with Ultron had passed, his actions in the goal of "evolution" was turning the city of Novi Grad into a weapon of extinction. Five of those months Pietro spent in physical therapy after his carelessly stupid act of heroism. 

He took several bullets both clean through and more than a few requiring surgical operation to extract them.

The aftermath was a darker period for him, the month following the incident, the month where he was struggling and barely let anyone see. He spent his mandatory week in one of S.H.I.E.L.D's advanced hospitals, the only people who he let in were Wanda and Clint.

Tony tried sending flowers, chocolates, a letter written by someone else—Pietro didn't accept any of it. He still held a hint of resentment for "earth's mightiest heroes," resentment that couldn't be scrubbed away by their actions against Ultron to protect the world.

Because where were the Avengers when his parents were killed? He knew where Stark was, aiding in making the missiles that were dropped on his home and his neighbors' homes.

That kind of resentment can never truly be scrubbed away.

You weren't close with Pietro, his disappearance didn't bother you other than the fact that the Avengers lost their only speedster for a little while, but everyone managed just fine.

Fighting alongside him with the battle of Ultron was easy, he had a goal and he stayed moving, so did you. Whereas now, Pietro doesn't have a goal besides getting out of his invisible chains that other people call physical therapy. 

He was fast at everything, including healing. It was clear he didn't need the mandatory time to heal that other agents did, yet his chains were locked up tight and Fury held the key—a direct quote from the man himself.

"Oh, he'll kill you? Avengers don't do that, do they?" He asked, cocky smirk on his lips and tongue sharper than ever. "Well, not anymore."

He slowed to a normal jog beside you, mocking you without a doubt. You slowed to a stop, still breathing heavy and your face reddened from the cold. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, this is a public use track, Stark said so himself." He shrugged, and you could've sworn you saw him wink in the corner of your eye. "Why, don't want me here?" His smirk only grew, for once his legs were still—but there was a twitch in them, eager to move again.

"That's not what I'm talking about." You said flatly, eyes narrowing in suspicion. There was a whole track, covering an unmeasurable amount of ground tucked behind the compound, yet he chose to run right beside you.

He rolled his eyes, Sokovian language slipping from his lips under his breath. "You are no fun, always just dry, to-the-point. Come on, ever held a conversation longer than this with Stark? Banner? Uhm, the one with the lightning?" 

Your eyes narrowed, this felt more like berating than a conversation. 

"Don't give me that look, it's just… an observation." He chuckled, his arms shrugging with a hint of defense under your intense stare.

"I don't want your observations, Maximoff. If you're eager for conversation there's a room full of Avengers inside." You replied, picking your jog back up as he sighed in slight annoyance.

Pietro was insistent, you've grown to get used to that—and while he was insistent he also surprisingly patient. "You should come in soon too, you'll catch pneumonia." He said, smug gaze following you before zipping away.

The compound was dull, half the Avengers either off-world or on mission. The people that did fill the halls, were staff who kept the compound running—and then, of course, the occasional S.H.E.I.L.D agents passing through. You came back later, cold sweat sticking to your forehead and nose still reddened from the wind that beat against your face. 

You wished you could say no one was around, you wished you could say Tony Stark wasn't walking past you at just the right time to catch you with a file in his hand that was already headed for you anyways.

"Hey Rudolf, out there playing reindeer games?" He asked sarcastically, patting the vanilla folder against his hand, S.H.I.E.L.D logo plastered on the front in bold black ink.

"Hey, Stark." You sighed, the words leaving your lips with a sense of expectancy—you expected a mission from him, from Nick Fury, just not the one he handed you. "You're Fury's letter man now?" 

"If he can't afford me as an Avenger, he can't afford me as his assistant." There was barely a pause, "I already have one, she's gorgeous, you'll have to meet her sometime." He replied, watching you open the folder as he walked alongside you down the hallway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his ridiculously expensive suit, glancing at people passing through.

"Pepper Pots? The one that yelled at you in the public hallway outside of the meeting room for ten minutes straight last week?" You asked, matching his sarcastic tone with your own added dryness. You read through the standard text of the mission details with practiced ease, the folder bending in your grasp. 

"Uh huh, that would be the one." He cleared his throat, checking his ridiculously expensive yet plain looking watch before patting your back once and turning away. "Good luck, kid."

You stopped in your tracks as you finished the file, reading Pietro's name next to yours for who this was assigned to. "Wait, Stark—" But he was already walking down the hallway, people walking by him as the back of his ironed out suit walked further and further down the hall. 

A quiet groan escaped your lips, foot stomping slightly as you walked toward the meeting room, seeing Nick Fury through the clear glass walls that enclosed the meeting room—ones that seemed too clear, as if they were wiped down five times a day, seven days a week.

"What is this?" You asked sharply, interrupting the conversation between Maria and Fury without much care. "I always work alone, why am I getting partner now? Are you dumping Maximoff off on me?"

"Well, good afternoon," He responded, lips quirking up slightly as he announced your last name like he didn't just assign you a solo mission with a partner that was going to just add another shackle you had to worry about.

"If you're pushing him back into the field, why are you pushing him on me?" You asked forwardly, Maria let out a sigh as she gave Fury one last glance silently saying 'this is your problem, not mine' before making her leave.

"Your hermit habits aren't working out well for the rest of the team, this is the Avengers Initiative," He said firmly, followed by your last name. "I brought together a group of remarkable people for a reason, you are a remarkable person—but your solo attitude will not get you far here." 

"You're punishing me for being able to do more work on my own than being apart of your team building exercises? I forget just how little you care about mission success rates in comparison to your Avengers Initiative." You complained, handing him the file with a hardened expression. 

"You keep that file," He said, matching your tone as he stepped forward, hands clasped tightly around his back. "You are going to work with the rest of the team, I don't enjoy dealing with you and your complaints against my direct orders. Do your damn job, and do it with a man who took those bullets for you and Barton." 

He walked past you before you could complain further or retort, leaving you with the mission file, an irritated expression, and a few things to think about.

It was clear in your mind that while Pietro almost died saving you, it was definitely a gesture toward Clint and the child he intended to protect—it was a dirty move from Fury, pretending like Pietro shielded you on purpose, pretending you owed Pietro anything.

It was the morning of the mission, hours before the quinjet was set to be prepared for you and Pietro—you brewed the morning roast on a machine that you only knew three buttons of the twenty displayed, the three being the only important ones to make your coffee in a way that was actually drinkable.

You didn't care, you just needed to run off of something that wasn't spite, something that you could swallow.

"It isn't time to leave yet, what are you doing awake?" Rasped a voice beside you, making you jolt slightly—so maybe you weren't entirely used to his speed, not when it's used to startle you at four in the morning. 

His silver hair was messy, his roots were his natural dark brown, parts of the bleached silver in his face—his shirt was M.I.A, black sweatpants hugging his waist loosely just below his belly button. It wouldn't be Pietro if he wasn't smirking like he knew a dirty little secret every time he was near you, and was ready to make a deal to not spill.

"I'm making coffee, what does it look like I'm doing?" Your voice was a notch above a whisper, despite the thick built walls and the vast distance between people's rooms nearby. 

"Looks like you're suited and up making a take-away coffee because you were planning on doing his mission solo." He called you out, bare thick biceps catching the light of the dimmed lights as he folded his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you as if gathering more dirt to smear you with.

"That's ridiculous." You said flatly, knowing damn well that's exactly what you were planning on doing. "Your speed is half the mission."

He clicked his tongue, "You know, for an Avenger, you're quite the loner." He moved closer, arms still folded as he sat up on the counter a few feet away from you. "How'd you get wrapped into working with anyone?" 

You bit down the inside of your cheek, eyes trained on mixing just enough cream in your coffee. "Nick Fury." You answered, to-the-point.

His lips quirked up, smirk pulling wider. "That's all I get?" 

His accent was almost sinning, especially when dropped as low as he just did. Sokovia sure did bless him in a lot of departments. 

"That's all you get, blue." You responded, spoon clanking quietly against the mug as you stirred in a few little spoons of sugar. You lifted the mug, fingers gripping the handle as you turned away from him, slowly walking toward the large spaced table. 

"Blue?" He asked, smirk growing amused as his arms unfolded to casually grip the edges of the counter he was sitting on comfortably—something Tony would chew him out for if he saw. 

He had to admit, he was a little offended you weren't looking at him, especially when he was lacking a top—but that was just you, a puzzle he was aching to solve for a reason he couldn't explain, he just wanted you.

You could hear every tap that his heel made against the floor of the quinjet from the rhythm of which his leg bounced. Your face pulled into grimace, glancing over at his uncontrolled knee as he scrolled through his phone.

"Do you always have to be moving?" You asked, not hiding the irritation in your tone. Twenty more minutes until you landed, just twenty, you reminded yourself.

He pulled his gaze up from the screen, taking notice of the subtlety added padded armor of your suit. Pietro couldn't help but tease, "Is that extra padding?" He asked, his voice filled with his obvious amusement. 

"We're dealing with a bombs expert, Maximoff. You should go tweak your suit up a bit too." You warned, his idea of a suit was jogger pants, a compression shirt and sneakers that were bound to just combust in flames one day while he's running.

"I'll be alright, you know me." Pietro responded with a cocky tone, stretching his arm as you rolled your eyes so hard they might hurt. 

"Right, what's another six months on the bench?" You replied sarcastically, admittedly a little mean. You would've saw it in the way his expression faltered if you weren't already walking past him, but he quickly cleared his throat and covered it back up faint smirk.

His back straightened against the cold metal behind him, the rumbling in the quinjet faint from the slight turbulence in the air. He glanced over as you were distracted in conversation with Agent Coulson, who was operating the quinjet. Pietro let out a quiet sigh and popped his earbuds into his ears for the remainder of the ride.

"Honestly, could you be any slower?" He asked through the communications device snuggled into your ear, his tone was clearly teasing, maybe even a little annoyed that you didn't have his abilities.

You were slowly crawling through the vents above, sneakily quiet to not make any denting sounds and draw attention from below. All you saw below you were empty dark halls, faint glows of green from the fluorescent lights that needed maintenance. 

When you didn't answer, when you couldn't answer, he teased more. "You're dragging this out, plant it already." He mockingly groaned, voice starting to static.

You continued to ignore his whining, finally reaching the access point where you could hear people speaking from below.

Scientists dressed in neat white coats, one wearing a patterned button up underneath like he was a pharmacist, and probably carried around pictures of his family in his wallet because the long hours kept him away from them. His hair was brown, balding in the center from stress.

His voice was hushed, as if talking about someone or something he knew was wrong, but only felt safe to talk about it with the other man. The one on the left with pure gray, slicked back hair and a pen hanging loosely from his coat pocket, patted the nervous brown haired man on the shoulder. "Do your job, the sooner we get done with this the better. I'm sure your kids are missin' you, huh? How old is Nathan now, four? Five? Feels like he just had his second birthday." 

It was a threat disguised as small talk, even masked with a gentle parenting sound of voice, something that made a bead of sweat roll down his temple. "Yes, he's four." He answered, nodding as the more composed man walked away with the last word, 

"Don't make me regret adding you this project, William." 

You stared down at the interaction from above, silent and hidden behind shadows and the linear metal bars of the vent. A bad feeling lingered in your gut, and in the back of your mind you knew Fury wasn't being completely straight forward about what type of mission this was. 

It wasn't out of the ordinary for Nick Fury to lie to you, to withhold the truth because you didn't need to know the details to get the job done. All you and Pietro needed to do was plant spyware throughout the building, watch from afar, do not interfere. 

Usually you asked every question you needed to know, but you were too wrapped up in being given a partner—too aggravated that it was Pietro—to grill Fury for the information he withheld from the mission files.

Of course, your entire personality got under Fury's skin—you were direct, quiet, judgmental, distrusting, you needed full files before even touching a mission. Yet you were the only one with mission success rates that should've earned you metals. You were the only one who knew how to get a job done securely, alone.

It started last year when Clint was injured, he went on leave for a few weeks at his farm off the grid with his family—one that was off the books and untraceable, it was safe and secure. Because of his leave, Natasha needed a fill in, Fury gave her you.

It took a good minute, but you were a lot like Natasha, you reminded her of herself in some ways. It didn't take long for you to surprisingly not hate being paired with someone, you and Natasha actually became kind of close after that.

The decision to pair you with Pietro seemed intentional, but reasonable for what the mission actually required—yet the feeling in your gut didn't go away, and the conversation you just witnessed only amplified that.

You bent your knee, moving to turn around once the device was hooked securely into the wall, just close enough to pick up anything in that hall. The vent was small, small enough that Pietro couldn't fit through it, yet alone use his abilities in it. 

You were a bit smaller than Pietro, with the agility and skill set to get in and get out silently without leaving a trace behind except the device. This left Pietro to camp outside, speaking through the ear comm with his impatient rambling that you did your best to ignore.

When you pulled yourself up from the vent and up onto the roof, he was already standing above you with an arrogant grin plastered on his lips. "All done?" 

You stood up, dusting off your legs before locking the vent cover back into place. "Of course it is." You replied quietly, twisting the screws back into place with gloves covering any prints. "You cut out the cameras?"

"Of course I did." He mocked cockily, leg twitching slightly from standing still too long. "And I'll put them back up like nothing even happened." 

"Good." You said, turning to face him. It was done in an instant, his arm under your knees, other arm securing around your torso before you could protest. 

Before you could fully process anything, you were down where Pietro was camped out, away from the building and on solid ground behind a group of trees. You shoved him off, not enough to hurt just enough to separate you. "Don't do that without a warning." You said sharply, your stomach feeling like it just flipped over.

He held his arms up in defense, but his smirk was definitely not apologetic. "You take far too long, I was just trying to speed up the process." 

"Not everything is about speed, Maximoff, especially stealth missions." You warned, eyes narrowing at him as his smirk never faltered.

"I love when you're all bossy."

"I love when you're quiet."

He stared at you for a moment, smirk softening slightly before he pulled his gaze back to the building, "I'm going to reconnect the cameras, stay here." 

Your lips parted, a warning to be careful dying on them because he was already gone—silence swallowing him and leaving a trail of blue in his absence. 

It had been a few seconds, which was already enough for him to do what he needed to do considering his powers. Anxiety started to pool in your stomach, mixed with the former feeling of it flipping from before. 

You started up at the building, looking for any sign of him, any of his blue trail that he leaves behind, but nothing. You reached up to your ear, talking into it. "Maximoff?" You asked.

Nothing. Radio silence.

"Maximoff what's going on?" You asked again, voice growing firmer to mask any shakiness deep within it. 

And that was when the side of the building burst into a hot explosion, the top wing smoking from the flames that formed once you slowly stood back up from your ducted position upon hearing the blast. 

You stared in shock, your heart dropping to your knees and your stomach feeling like a black hole. Despite the frozen and crippling feeling, your feet were moving on their own—running around behind the trees for cover but making your way towards the exploded wing with urgency.

In this moment, Pietro didn't feel like a partner you were forced to have, one that you couldn't care less about—he felt like a partner you didn't know was alive or dead, and it scared the shit out of you.

That's when you saw him, groaning and breathing heavy behind a stump, bleeding from his leg and his suit dusted with explosion residue and various scrapes. 

"You idiot!" You whisper yelled, dropping to his side to help him up as he winced.

"That wasn't me." He breathed heavily, "It wasn't." He said, looking over at you with a form of genuine sincerity you've never seen before. Like he was begging for you to believe him, like he was confused and even scared after almost catching the full impact of that explosion.

You stared at him for a moment, his arm being held over your shoulders to steady him as you supported him. "I believe you." You said after a moment, then moving. "But we need to go, now." 

He was perched up on the stool of the hotel room by the kitchen island, back resting against the wall as you were washing the dirt out of his scrapes and wounds. His compression shirt was off, his pants along with them, both on the coffee table waiting to be stitched up. 

He was in his dark blue boxers, his expression was blank and he wasn't talking to you—something that was unusual and out of character for him. You've always wanted him to shut up for a while, but this was completely different. All you wanted was just one cocky smirk or flirty comment, something normal, something like him—but he remained silent.

Hesitantly breaking the silence, you decided to speak up with a softened tone, treading lightly. "Are you alright?"

Pietro didn't answer right away, just lifting his gaze from your hands patching him up to your face. "I didn't do it." He repeated quietly.

You paused your movements, shifting your gaze up at him. "I know, you said that already." You reminded, swallowing. "I asked if you're alright, Pietro."

He let out a quiet sigh, eyes dropping down to his scrape you were just washing. "I don't know." He answered, his voice was raw and raspy, like for once he was out of that shell of cocky smirks and flirty egotistical comments. He was raw, vulnerable. "I almost died again, not really a great feeling."

A beat of silence passed as you smoothed a bandage over a deep scrape that you just rinsed the dirt off of, then you stood up from your seat and tossed him some pain killers in an unlabeled bottle. 

He raised an eyebrow, staring back at you like you just tossed him something illegal, making you roll your eyes.

"Relax, they're what S.H.I.E.L.D gave me after I broke my leg. They give you more of a supply than regular hospitals, I had some left over." You sighed, seeing him relax a little bit as you turned to put away the aid kit you pulled out for him.

"Easier way to make you an addict." He commented sarcastically, putting the bottle on the table like they were sugar pills. "I heal fast, I'll be fine within a few days."

You inhaled softly, sighing it out as you sat back down in the chair next to him. "I bet a few of our bugs got knocked out, we'll check back in with Fury before moving forward. Especially with that explosion."

"I was running, I didn't hit a trip wire or anything… the whole side wing just blew I couldn't escape it fully." He explained, you could tell in his voice he held a hint a shame in it, being as fast as he is and still being injured was definitely a smack to his ego.

You hummed, chin resting on your fist with a bit of hesitation on your tongue. "I don't think Fury was completely forthcoming about this mission."

His eyes lifted to yours, ears perking up. "What, you're saying he has some ulterior motive to get us killed?" He asked, his expression already growing into a look of betrayal. 

"No," You answered quickly, holding his gaze. "But I don't think everything was as simple as he made it out to be, he has a habit of… not giving you the full picture, giving you just an inch enough to do your job and not ask questions. At least, that's been my experience with him." 

Although his expression relaxed, he was still visibly irritated with the way his vein on his neck was more prominent than it usually is, his eyebrows more narrowed and his eyes holding direct contact with a sense of seriousness you'd never really expect from him. "He sounds like a dick to you."

"You all kind of are." You answered bluntly, "That's what working for S.H.I.E.L.D is most of the time, putting up with dicks."

He let out a breathy chuckle, sitting up slightly to avoid hurting himself further. "I could use a drink while these heal, there's a mini bar downstairs, I saw it on the welcome board." He smirked, feet planting into the ground as he stood tall like he wasn't still actively bleeding into clean bandages. 

You folded your arms, head tilting up slightly to look him in the eye. "I thought you couldn't get drunk, with your powers. Like Steve."

"What? Who told you that?" He asked, his smirk growing cocky just as he always is. "Of course I can get drunk, it just… takes a lot. I'm expensive." He walked past you, snagging his shirt off the coffee table and noticing all the holes and cuts in it.

He muttered Sokovian curse words under his breath, huffing as he set it back down. 

"Use this as a lesson that a set of joggers clothing as a suit isn't practical, Maximoff." You said, teasing him dryly as you walked out of the hotel room and let the door shut behind you. 

You had spent a few minutes alone, you ordered a beer for yourself and found a booth for when Pietro decided to come down, hopefully not still in his underwear. 

When you started drafting a message to Nick Fury, Pietro sat down in front of you with a defeated thump as he connected down on the cushion of the booth. He was wearing a gray hoodie that was a size too big for him, the neck worn and loose showing his collarbones, and then a pair of regular jeans.

"What are you wearing?" You asked, holding back a slight laugh at the image in front of you. 

"Be quiet, alright? This is all I found in the lost and found bin out back. I couldn't exactly come down in my boxers." He gruffed, sliding your beer from you and taking a big sip of it.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes in amusement, smile pulling on your lips as you held back your laugh. Your heard her before you saw her, a younger waitress with her hair slicked in a bun, coming up beside you with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had another person joining you! Can I get you two our couple's special? It's 50% any drinks and your choice of two appetizers." The waitress smiled, holding menu's under her arms as the black apron with a few cleaning stains hugged her waist. 

"Oh, uhm, no—"

"It's okay, my love. Yes, we'd love that." He interrupted, smile on his face as he reached over to place his hand on top of yours with a light squeeze. 

You gave him a confused, irked glance as the waitress nodded and placed menus on the table for you. "I'll let you two look those over and I'll be back in a moment." She said before departing back to the bar.

"Just when we have a friendly moment, you have to ruin it." You complained, pulling your hand away from his as if it burned. He laughed under his breath, genuine but breathy from the pain in his ribs.

"Ruining it by getting us 50% off drinks and a good deal on food? I told you, darling, I'm expensive." He replied cockily, opening the menu and scanning down the options as his tongue darted out to wet his top lip.

You rolled your eyes, sighing under your breath as you finally picked up the other menu and looked down at it with a frown pulling on your lips.

Pietro peeked up from his menu, when you were reading, subtly appreciating the way you pouted a little whenever you frowned, the way your eyes were lazily reading—probably only really looking at the pictures of the food.

Cute, he thought.

Your laugh was unyielding, Pietro clearly drunk on the countless drinks he ordered and rambling on about his little sister's love for classic sitcoms and how it used to annoy him when his parents would indulge her with them over his choice of action movies.

His stories were all over the place, almost incomprehensible the way his mind was moving too fast for his lips to catch up. 

You we're secretly adoring it though, the way he was loose and not masked by his cockiness like he usually was, he was genuinely himself with the aid of alcohol.

There were six empty beers beside you, you drank all of them while listening to him and holding the conversation a little bit yourself—but weirdly enough you enjoyed listening to him, even if there were times you couldn't tell when one story ended and another began.

Then, he let out a long sigh and slumped back in his seat. "I want a dog." He said randomly, making you chuckle under your breath at the pout on his lips. 

"What kind of dog?" You questioned, fingers wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle as you brought it to your lips, taking a smooth swig.

"The little loud ones, the one that looks like a little lion. So cute." He muttered into his own drink, making you press your lips together to keep from laughing as you set your beer down on the napkin in front of you, fingers falling to the bottom of the bottle in a loose grip.

He drew in a breath, sighing it out as he glanced back at the waitress. "It's wearing off, I need another drink." 

"I thought you could drink normally." You smirked faintly, making him chuckle under his breath.

"Alright, smart ass. Maybe I have a little problem with staying drunk for as long as someone like you can." He retorted, head tilting as he focused back on you.

The way the light hit your face, the way the colors and decor in the room made your hair look even more beautiful than it already did. He could stare at you for hours, or as long as you'd let him, really. 

You'd never really let loose like this yourself either, smiling and laughing at whatever thoughts or stories spilled from his lips with help by his liquid courage.

"You're so beautiful." He spoke, his voice a little too quiet to be just another flirty comment.

"You're drunk, Pietro." You countered, holding his gaze as your smirk rested into a faint smile. 

"Maybe, but it's wearing off. You're still beautiful." He looked at you like you were something to treasure from a distance, like he put you in a glass shelf and was just honored to be able to admire you from here.

You inhaled softly, "Maximoff—"

"Don't start that again." He groaned, rolling his eyes as he smirked faintly, looking down at the bit of liquor in his glass. He watched it swirl as he tilted it around, fingers gripping the glass loosely. 

"Start what?"

"Calling me Maximoff. You've been calling me Pietro, and now, you're gonna go back to hiding behind that stoic little voice you do all the time, masking yourself." He said, hitting the nail on the coffin and making you swallow.

"You're looking into it too much." You said, the dryness coming back into your tone.

He sighed, setting the glass on the table after downing the last bit of tequila he was swirling around in it. "Well, game recognizes game." His blue eyes lock onto yours, keeping you here, making you unable to look away and change the subject.

"You don't know anything about me, Pietro. Stop trying to act like you do." You said flatly, taking a small wad of cash from your wallet and tossing it on the middle of the table as you stood up. "Thanks for the stories."

He let you walk away with a quiet expression, not turning his head as you walked past him. He drew in a breath and sighed it out, letting his eyes close as he lightly banged his head down on the table in a defeated, tired gesture. "Great." He muttered to himself. 

Wanda's angry voice overpowered everyone in the meeting room, the glass walls were see-through, but the voices were muffled—the staff outside definitely seeing the argument but not hearing it. 

"You almost got him killed!" She shouted, standing in protest as Steve Rogers nodded silently in support as his were arms folded comfortably in his seat.

"She's right, Pietro could've died in that explosion and you didn't think to mention that you had an inside man go rogue?" Steve added, making Wanda exhale sharply and sit back down in her seat. 

Nick Fury was dead silent, hands clasped behind his back as usual as he stood front and facing the table of Avengers that he was definitely not on friendly terms with at the moment. 

You sat nearby, silently observing as Pietro was smirking next to Wanda, amused by his sister's outrage and defiance of Fury himself. 

Clint cleared his throat, sitting up slightly to plant his elbows on the meeting table. "He's a quick little bastard, the only reason he even escaped the direct impact of the bomb your guy set off." 

"Alright, firing squad, that's enough" Tony Stark sighed, hand coming off his temple from where it previously rested as everyone got their anger out. "Obviously, this wasn't planned. What I wanna know is why her and Pietro weren't even told about the inside guy."

Nick Fury finally spoke up, when the room was silent and everyone's attention was on him. "There wasn't enough time." He started, making you scoff and roll your eyes from afar.

"That is such bullshit—"

"I'm not finished," He interrupted sharply, his hand holding up his pointer finger in your direction making you bite the inside of your cheek. "He was never an inside man from the beginning, he was a man we were keeping an eye on—someone we thought could be a double agent, he had potential for it. He had he had a good family he was eager to get back to, and most importantly he knew what they were building was wrong. We barely got a response from him before he took matters into his own hands and blew himself up with that explosion."

Everyone was listening intently, your gaze was on everyone else. You knew it had to be the brown haired man you overheard, the hesitation you heard from him, the defeated sigh when the other man mentioned his family. 

"Pietro made it out alive, that's your victory. I'll take care of the rest." Nick Fury said, clearly ending the conversation there as he turned to Maria Hill who switched her tablet to her other hand and opened the door for him to take his leave.

"Dick." Pietro muttered under his breath, standing up as everyone exchanged glances and shrugged—this was over, for now.

You grabbed your jacket from off the back of the chair, standing up and walking out after everyone else who was leaving. Clint and Natasha stayed behind near the coffee pot to talk with each other. 

Before you could grab the door, a flash of blue had already done it for you, standing by the door with a cheeky grin. "After you." 

"Thanks," You said, flashing him an awkward glance before walking out of the room. He followed behind you, just as you knew he would, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"You know, I know this really cool place above the compound where the stars shine even brighter." He offered, his voice almost so eager it sounded sing-song.

"Above the compound? So the roof?" You asked, glancing to your side where he was walking in sync with you. 

"Whatever, english isn't for everyone." He dismissed sarcastically, "Come on, just let me take you tonight, you can rub it in my face if I'm wrong."

You rolled your eyes, faint smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you sighed and nodded. "I guess." You said, making him stop and smile as he watched you continue to walk past him.

"Pick you up at ten!" He called after you, but you didn't turn back, just noted it and continued walking down the hall. 

The sound of running water from your facet filled your room, your bathroom door open as it always usually was—after all you were the only one occupying the space. You washed your face for the night, rinsing off your hands as the water steamed from the temperature.

You stared down at the hot water turning your hands slightly red as you mindlessly scrubbed your hands. When you blinked, for a split second you saw blood on them—a hallucination, making you freeze in place before you realized it wasn't and you realized it was your mind playing tricks on you.

You shook your hands off, letting the drops of water splash on the sink's vanity before picking up the towel and drying your face, hands, then wiping it along the granite surface. 

A silent sigh escaped your lips as you heard the knock, eyes closing in a moment of reluctance to go forward with plans you promised the bleached silver haired man standing outside your bedroom door.

Despite that, you pushed yourself out of the bathroom and opened your bedroom door. "It's not ten yet." You reminded him sarcastically as he just rolled his eyes, eyes dropping to the redness of your hands—well, the one he could see.

"Playing in hot water?" He asked, playful cocky smirk pulling on his lips. You shrugged, grabbing your jacket off the hook and closing your door behind you. 

You followed behind him, hands stuffed into your jacket pockets as you got into the elevator behind him. It was quiet, he had his smile on his face that said 'I'm planning something, you're gonna love it.'

He hummed along quietly to the soft music playing through the elevator. Something that made you let out a breath of amusement, "Since when did Stark add music in this?"

"Since Steve suggested it." He quipped, making you laugh under your breath, "That's why all the songs are… old."

The elevator dinged, reaching the roof as the doors opened and revealed what Pietro was all smiles about.

The walkway was lit with candles, battery operated ones—which you chuckled softly at upon noticing. Flower petals were littered on the ground, leading to a blanket with wine and a small basket of sandwiches and snacks. 

He followed in behind you, purposely moving slow as he watched your expression and movement with a soft smile.

"This… seems like a date." You spoke up, taking in everything he set up, then glancing back at him.

"What? This? No, I do the same for Barton all the time. We have little dates up here every Thursday." He responded sarcastically, making you exhale a breathy laugh, staring down at the flower petals that trailed to the blanket.

"Would it be so bad if it was a date?" He spoke up after your silence, making you glance up at him, your smile faltering slightly when you noticed he was serious. "You know, if I was into you." He finished, walking over to the blanket on the ground and sitting down on it.

You were stunned by the sudden confession, lips almost parting as you stood there with your feet planted in the ground. "If you were?" You asked, swallowing as you forced your legs to move, coming to sit across from him.

A genuine smile pulled on his lips as he was pulling out sandwiches from the basket, glancing up at you as you sat down in front of him. It wasn't cocky, it wasn't egotistical, it was pure admiration and sincerity. "That's my way of saying I'm into you," 

The way your last name fell from his lips was like no one ever said it before, it wasn't formal or used to address you like an agent—it was just your name, from his mouth, in this moment.

"Yeah, I gathered." You responded, masking your internal flustered feelings with humor. "I shut you down last time, at the bar. Why are you still trying?"

He let a beat of silence pass, taking a bite of the sandwich that was cut into a triangle, missing it's crust that was also cut off. He chewed it slowly, as if thinking of a good response. "I have patience." He responded after swallowing.

"No you don't." You replied, a huff leaving your lips as you grabbed the other slice of the sandwich, making his lips pull into a smile. 

"For you, I do." 

Once the words left his mouth it almost knocked the air out of your lungs, he said it like he was so sure, like knew exactly what he wanted. It was almost admirable, his confidence and his determination to have you, yet it scared you at the same time.

You weren't fortunate enough to be sure of your feelings, what you felt for Pietro was different in it's own way, something that also scared you in it's own way too. 

Love was a terrifying thing, and the culprit was sitting right across from you, staring at you with his stormy eyes and soft smirk that was just so him. 

"But you aren't the sentimental type," He muttered softly, "I get that."

You swallowed, staring down at the sandwich you held in your grasp before slowly taking a bite. Your lack of response just made his lips twitch in a faint smirk. 

"And what? You like women like that?" You asked, dryly sarcastic as you chewed your bite, the taste of cheese and ham lingered in your mouth with each slow jaw movement. 

"I like you. I like challenging women." He replied with a cocky smirk, picking up the wine from the basket. "That's why I asked around for your favorite flavor of this gunky grape juice." He said, leaning back after he pulled it out.

You huffed out a laugh, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. "I doubt anyone knows—"

"Mr. Stark did." 

You paused, pressing your lips together softly and looking down at the wine bottle. "You know, you think you're not welcome here, but everyone always speaks with respect about you." He said quietly, his teasing voice softened into sincerity.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, watching him pour some of the wine into a small glass. "Thank you." You said, voice quiet with a hint of softness that made Pietro want to lean into it.

He hummed, setting the wine aside as he moved the basket along with it. He scooted closer to you, picking up a remote from his back pocket to shut off the battery operated candles. Everything was dark around you, making you open your mouth to complain before he chuckled and pointed up at the bright stars above you.

Your lips parted again, out of amazement—he was right, the stars were beautiful and bright, a few patterns in them like clouds. Pietro wasn't really focused on them, he'd seen them before countless times up here—ever since he first moved in. He was focused on you, only you.

And when you finally glanced over at him, his lips were already pressing against yours. Your eyebrows raised, but your eyes closed as you let him kiss you. It felt good—it felt warm despite the night air, his lips felt big against yours, his light facial hair tickled your skin lightly.

Your hand came to the side of his face, kissing him deeper as you pushed yourself closer into him. He hummed into the kiss, like he's living in a dream and he doesn't wanna open his eyes and wake up, risking your disappearance. 

His large hands found your waist, pulling you closer as he brushed his tongue against yours. You pulled apart softly, keeping increasingly close as you crawled on top of him, making him lean back.

"You're so hot above me…" He murmured, leaning up to kiss your again but you stopped, making him pause as well while resting on his elbows. "What? What's wrong?"

"Tell me you want me." You spoke, voice barely above a whisper, something low and sensual that went straight to his cock.

"You're all I want." He replied, all breathy and needy with his touch on your waist and hips.

You smirked softly down at him, leaning down and capturing his lips in a deep kiss that sucked the breath out of him. A groan vibrated from his throat, his hands running up your waist—pushing your shirt up with it. 

Pulling you both from your heated trance, the door to the rooftop jiggled, someone trying open it but Pietro placed a door stopper directly in front of it. 

"Pietro? Do you have the door stopper in front of this again?" Wanda's Sokovian accent rang from behind the door. He didn't zip away, didn't pull himself from you, just watched with a frown as you straightened yourself up and settled yourself a few feet away from him as if you weren't just on top of him. "I know you're out here, you weren't in your room."

He sighed and zipped over to the door, leaving his usual trail of blue behind him. His cocky grin flashed from the few inches he pulled the door open, not letting her fully see him or the set up on the roof. "Sestra? Need something?" 

Her foot stopped just as it was about to step in, being blocked by him, "Are you alright?" She asked, eyebrow raising. She asked something else—something Sokovian that you couldn't fully understand, but something along the lines of 'The roof isn't your room.'

"Duh, just stargazing. Don't tell Stark, okay?" Pietro grinned slightly, cheek leaning against the doorframe with the door still barely cracked enough for his head to peek through.

Wanda seemed to realize he wasn't alone, and the idea made her groan internally and roll her eyes with a exasperated sigh leaving her lips. She turned around and walked down the stairs, her long black skirt swaying with her steps. 

Pietro had already shut the door, when he turned back to you, you were already standing up as if the date was over. "Woah, where are you going?" He asked, hands throwing up in a half sarcastic frustration. 

"Pietro, if that door stopper wasn't there, Wanda would've walked in on me topping her twin brother…" You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone that slipped from your pocket off of the blanket.

He pressed his lips together, knowing better than to argue when you want to leave. "Okay." He sighed through his nose, his tone wasn't sarcastic or cocky, it almost sounded defeated. "So, you're leaving then?"

You sighed as you walked by him slowly, your hand running up his arm and pulling him along with you so casually it made his heart leap. "No, we're leaving. Show me your room." 

His eyes lit up like a chandelier, the subtle tent in his pants growing tighter at the surge going through his body right now—not one from running or adrenaline, one from excitement and arousal. 

Your back hit the dark blue sheets of his bed, bouncing slightly as he leaned in to tower right on top of you, kissing you slowly with a hint of lust fueled hunger as his hand roamed up and down your side. Your lips parted as he squeezed your ass firmly, giving him an opportunity to push his tongue inside your mouth softly, sensually. 

"Piet." You sighed softly into the kiss, bordering on a moan from how his hands were all over you in ways you've never fully experienced before. 

That fueled him even more, smirking into the kiss as he trailed it down your jaw with open mouthed, needy kisses until he reached your neck. His face buried in it, his hand coming to hold the other side of your neck and face in place as he made out with the sensitive skin.

"I like it when you call me that." He murmured into your skin, making you pull your legs up the bed slightly, your knees bending beneath him. He slowly slid his hand down, pushing your thigh up further as he pulls up off of you for a moment to strip off his shirt.

He felt burning hot under your gaze, those pretty eyes watching his every move with intensity that made his cock stir. You usually had an intense stare, this was different—darkened with lust, clouded with desire.

He leaned back down, head tilting to kiss you deeper while his bare arms were planted on each side of you, caging you beneath his cut, muscular body. You knew what he looked like, you've patched him up before in just his boxers—yet this was different, it felt so hot.

Especially now, when his body pressed firmly against yours, pushing you deeper into the mattress under his weight making you let out a breath of pleasure, legs lifting to wrap around his waist.

Once you got a good leg lock, you flipped him over and leaned up, straddling him as you ran your hands down his chest and ab muscles. He was breathing heavy, lips reddened slightly from kissing—staring up at you with clouded, stormy blue eyes.

His bleached silver hair strands fell in his face, and he lifted his hand to push his fingers through them, guiding the hair out of his eyes as he watched you lean down and kiss on his chest and collar bone.

"I have something really cool to show you," He smirked down at you, eyes following as you sat back up—still straddling his waist with your legs as you hummed, leaning down into him slightly as your arm kept you up above him. "First you gotta sit on my face." He breathed, cocky smirk never leaving his face. 

You huffed out a laugh, breathy and genuine. "If that's what you want, sure." You murmured, lips just barely inches apart as you spoke against them before capturing them again. "

He hummed, kissing you back before sitting up under you and breaking the kiss, his arm snaking to wrap around your waist. "Trust me, I can take it." He whispered lowly, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. "And so can you."

The decision was already made, and you found yourself almost fully naked above him with your lace bra still containing your breasts for now, he was eager to taste you and the bra could always be removed later. 

His biceps caged your thighs down, keeping you from pulling off of him as you hovered above him, glancing down at him once more. You could feel every sharp line in his arm muscles against your thighs, and it was making you wetter—making your slicked cunt shine when it caught the light, something only he could admire and see right under you.

"God, you're fucking beautiful." Were his last words before slowly dragging his tongue up your folds, wetting up his tongue even more with your slick like a sponge. 

Your nails dug into the headboard, forced to stay right where you were from his biceps keeping your thighs down on him. A breathy moan escaped your lips, feeling his tongue drag up and move firm, slow circles around your clit.

After a few more good circles, he let out a satisfied sigh and pulled his tongue away to speak. "Wanna see that cool thing now?" He asked lowly, glancing up at you with a damped lower face and an eager smirk on his slightly swollen lips.

"That wasn't it?" You asked, half sarcastically as he just huffed a chuckle, pulling you back down into him with ease. 

He dragged his tongue up your folds again, dipping it inside you with unyielding firmness. You let out a soft breath, hips trying to grind but he kept your thighs locked in the grip of his big biceps without mercy.

It was definitely something you didn't expect, something you didn't know he could do, or even believe was possible—not until his tongue started fucking vibrating inside of you. 

You gasped, thighs clamping together around his face as a pathetic moan escaped your lips before you could contain it. It didn't feel like anything you've ever felt before, it was pure, raw, fast vibrations of his wet muscle that pushed as deep as it could go inside of you—which was surprisingly deep.

"Oh, fuck, Pietro." You whined, leaning your forehead on your arms against the headboard, hips squirming slightly but Pietro didn't let you go anywhere.

You were exactly where he wanted you, and he wouldn't stop until you came for him again, and again, and again. He wouldn't stop until you were so fucked out, so purely his and adorably drained. He had a strong fantasy of you like that, he needed to make it happen. He needed to satisfy you until every other touch that wasn't his was mediocre and even laughable. 

He glanced up at you, his tongue never slowing, never stopping it's brutal vibrating speed as it pumped in and out of you. 

You lasted all of thirty seconds before you were practically crying, orgasm washing over you with an intensity that you didn't think were possible, thighs tight and begging to squirm away but he kept you right there. He kept you right on top of him, milking you for every last second of your sweet bliss.

Your eyes were embarrassingly watery, you could feel the mess between your legs that soaked the bottom half of Pietro's face—but he seemed to be in heaven, still softly dragging his tongue along your mess to clean you up with a slow, normal speed. 

"Mm, I love sweet tastes." He rasped once his biceps let you go and you moved off of him to collapse beside him, licking his lips as if to savor what he milked from you.

You were still breathing heavy, forehead glistening with sweat as you laid your cheek against the pillow out of pure exhaustion.

He sucked the life right out of you.

"How did you know you could do that?" You asked, watching him get up with ease to grab a hand towel towel from his bathroom and come back out, bare feet on the wood flooring of his room. He wiped his face with a laugh under his breath, walking closer to you. 

"Wanna see what else I can make vibrate?" He asked lowly, dipping his knee into the mattress just below you and crawling up to you. Your eyes followed him, legs closing under him as he towered over you, sinningly sweet smirk always tugging on his lips. 

"What else can you make vibrate?" You asked, voice barely above a whisper as he leaned close into you, lips hovering just over yours. You sounded almost needy for it, in a way that he's never heard you sound before—it only worked him up even more. 

"Anything you want, baby." He answered lowly, capturing your lips in a stimulating and slow kiss, like he was trying to pour his passion into you—his love, even. 

Because Pietro loves you, this wasn't just sex for him, he'd never been more intrigued and eager for anyone's attention as he is with you. He would wait before saying it, afraid to scare you, afraid to force you into a corner with all his affection. 

For now, he'd settle for this, settle for whatever you wanted from him—he'd settle for giving you everything you wanted as long as you kept looking at him like you did when you were fucked out and comically soaked from how many orgasms he could milk from you in a single night.

He adored how you looked in his bed, moaning his name and crying from the pleasure he was able to give you. He never thought his fantasy would come true like this, almost every night he got to have you like this and he still couldn't believe it was real life.

Being able to use his powers to get the girl made Pietro's heart melt, every time you gripped him like a vice when you shook from your orgasm he was pulling out of you with his thick, raw, vibrating cock that was hitting you so fucking deep you were seeing white more than you were seeing his room, or him.

But, again, this wasn't just about the sex for Pietro—despite it being really fucking good and borderline addicting, you both actually managed to come to terms with your feelings for each other. The roof date was just the first, one that kick started the rest like a domino effect. 

Pietro would plan sweet, cute dates—have everything set up within seconds to perfection. When it was cold outside on a walk, he zipped back to the compound and grabbed your favorite throw blanket all within the same minute. He would do anything for you, all you had to do was name it. 

But for him, it was a completely different feeling of melting when you'd surprise him with date. You weren't as fast as him, you couldn't set everything up and plan dates all in the time thirty seconds it took him.

So when you planned things for him, when you took the time and made sure he knew he was loved, it cracked something inside of him in the best way possible, letting out a shining light that filled him with warmth inside.

At times it felt embarrassing, even a little ridiculous just how much he cared for you, how much he loved you, how he noticed every little thing about you and all your tells.

He could tell when you nervous in Avengers meetings, your hands had a slight tremble in them that he'd stare at softly from across the large table. 

He could tell when you were hungry, you would stand and walk around the common area looking like you were getting killing time, getting ready for a mission but really you were just debating on actually grabbing a snack or not.

He could tell when you were lying, you couldn't look him in the eyes for too long and you went back to using that dryness in your voice that you always had with everyone else. 

The other Avengers would play dumb for a long time, knowing damn well you both cared for each other and were involved beyond anything related to S.H.I.E.L.D or the team. It wasn't a secret like you thought it was, in fact it was known but never really spoken too much about.

Not until Vison mentioned something about dating, and asked Pietro for advice as he was busy toasting some bread for a midnight BLT. Vison couldn't outwardly ask about Wanda, he knew that was Pietro's sister, and he would most likely anger Pietro by insinuating he had romantic feelings for Pietro's sister—at least he was being respectful, still learning and all.

"My advice on dating?" Pietro asked, raising an eyebrow, "Why would you come to me for that?" He wasn't glancing back to Vison, just simple spreading his tomatoes along the sourdough bread slice he stole out of Tony's bin in the fridge. 

Vison paused, blinking as if trying to understand why Pietro was blatantly lying. Considering there were no rules or enforcements of dating a fellow Avenger, Vison thought maybe it was more of a moral thing. "Well, because you're having relations with…"

Pietro's hands froze just before smushing the sandwich down to flatten it together, glancing over at Vison with his lips falling slightly parted. "I—What?" 

"Well I thought you must've known that everyone knows about the relationship, I thought… maybe you could help me, with the feelings of it all." Vison said, glancing down occasionally to half avoid Pietro's direct, confused eye contact.

"It's not a secret, no." Pietro answered, a sigh leaving his lips as he folded his arms, his hip leaning against the counter. "But I didn't expect everyone to know about it and just be a coven of silence." He said sarcastically. 

"Know about what?" Clint asked, strutting by into the kitchen in full suit and gear just to grab a muffin off the glass boxed shelf—a small, barely noticeable giddy smile pulling on his lips when he saw there was just one chocolate chip muffin left for him.

"My dating life." Pietro huffed, arms still folded and a small pout on his bottom lip. 

"Did you want a cake and a party for getting a girlfriend?" Clint replied with a widening smirk, watching Pietro part his lips to answer but immediately having nothing to retort. "Should we have all signed a card for you two?"

"No—but, it would've been nice to know I could've kiss her in public and not have tomatoes thrown at me by Mr. Stark." He rolled his eyes, making Clint swallow his bite of his muffin before speaking up again. 

"Has Tony actually thrown tomatoes at you before? Like whole tomatoes?" He asked, clearly poking fun at him, making Pietro groan internally and lazily grab his plate, walking away from them.

You couldn't help but laugh under your breath, continuing to comb through your hair for the night as Pietro laid on your bed like a slumped, defeated child. "They all knew, baby. I could've been kissing you in the halls, fucking you on the roof—"

"Calm down, Piet." You rolled your eyes, sitting up as the comb clanked slightly against the surface of your bathroom sink. "While I find it really cute you wanna do all that, we work here. And that roof top is crawling in dirt and grime, I am not taking my pants off up there."

You walked closer to the bed, his arms opening on their own to welcome you as he sat up slightly. You straddled his waist lazily, comfortably. "Need to keep up your ice queen persona with everyone? Can't let them know you like your boyfriend?" He asked with a slightly playful frown, staring up at you with his chin resting between your breasts.

"It's not that." You muttered softly, hands coming to gently caress his face. "I need them to respect me, I can't let the idea get in their heads that I can't get a mission done if I'm dating someone." 

He hummed, resting his forehead against your chest. "I guess you're right." He replied, voice slightly muffled. You rubbed his back in smooth circles glancing down at the top of his head. 

"At least we don't feel like we're keeping anything secret anymore, because it never really was a secret, they all knew." You chuckled your breath, mostly just air.

He smiled faintly, leaning back to look up at you. His eyes had a glint in them, eyebrows knitted only slightly as if he was admiring you, as if he was looking up at an angel. Then, the three words that were never really fully addressed fell from his lips with the softest of ease. 

"I love you."

It seemed crazy, so many dates and a couple months of going out and yet those three words were never fully said to each other yet—so you paused slightly, still staring down at him and studying the look in his expression as if you were on a mission, forced to read someone's ulterior movies and thoughts. All you read from him was pure love and adoration.

It made you smile softly, leaning in and pressing your lips into his, head tilted slightly to avoid his nose. It was almost still, passionate, and a form of genuine affection. You pulled back after more than a few long seconds, whispering against his lips.

"I love you too."

+ taglist　 @wint3rbarnes @wintersoldiersgfie @slutdier @starfire-irl @imwjon @ncthingaheadofme thanks for reading! lazily edited...

She find you sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor. A puzzle is spread out around you in near-perfect organization. Edge pieces in one pile. Blue pieces in another. Green pieces sorted by shade. You stare at it intensely.

"Hey," Wanda says softly. You don't look up. Wanda crouches beside you. "You've been in here for three hours."

That gets your attention. Your head snaps up. "What?"

"Three hours."

You blink. "Oh."

A familiar feeling settles in Wanda's chest. "Did you eat lunch?" Silence. "Y/N?"

You frown. "I don't know."

Wanda already knows what that meant. No lunch. No water. Probably no bathroom break either. Not because you are trying to ignore those things. You genuinely hadn't noticed. Again.

"Okay," Wanda says gently. "Can you tell me how your body feels?"

You look down at the puzzle pieces scattered across the carpet. "...Normal?"

That answer was about as helpful as she expected. Wanda sit beside you properly this time, crossing her legs. "Any headache?"

You think about it. "A little."

"Thirsty?"

A pause. "...maybe."

"Hungry?"

Another pause. "I don't know."

Wanda smiles softly despite herself. That one usually meant yes. "You know, most people can answer those questions immediately."

You grimace. "I know."

There it was. The frustration. Not at her. At yourself.

Wanda reaches over and nudges your shoulder lightly. "Hey." You look up. "There's nothing wrong with needing to check."

You frown. "Check?"

"Close your eyes." You obey automatically. "Now," Wanda says "does your stomach feel empty?"

You sit quietly for several seconds. "...A little."

"Good. What about your throat?"

You swallow experimentally. "Oh."

"Dry?" You nod.

Wanda smiles. "See? You knew. It just takes a minute."

The tension in your shoulders eases slightly. Ever since you'd come to live with her, Wanda had started doing this. Not telling you what you felt. Helping you figure it out yourself.

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. Sometimes you'd insist you were completely fine before nearly passing out because you'd forgotten lunch existed.

Once Pietro had found you crying because of a paper cut, only to discover you'd accidentally walked around on a sprained ankle for two days without mentioning it. Bodies were confusing. Feelings were worse. Wanda seemed to understand both.

"Come on," she saus, standing and offering a hand. "Food first."

You glance mournfully at the half-finished puzzle. "I'll lose my place."

"No, you won't."

"I might."

"You sorted every single piece by colour."

"...that's fair."

Wanda laughs quietly as you finally take her hand. Halfway to the kitchen you suddenly stop. "What?"

You shift awkwardly. "I think I need the bathroom."

Wanda blinks. "Now?"

"...Yeah."

"How long have you needed the bathroom?"

You consider the question seriously. "I have absolutely no idea."

Wanda pinches the bridge of her nose. From somewhere in the apartment Pietro yelled, "AGAIN?"

You immediately point toward the living room. "See? He gets it."

"I do not get it," Pietro call back. "I fear it."

You sit at the kitchen table picking at your dinner while Wanda cooks. Not because you dislike it. At least...you don't think you dislike it. Maybe. The problem was that you can't tell.

Wanda notices eventually. She always notices eventually. "Everything okay?"

You shrug. "I think so."

"Hm."

That was never a reassuring response. Across from you, Pietro snorts into his drink.

"What?"

"You always say that."

You frown. "Say what?"

"'I think so.'"

"Because I think so."

Pietro points his fork at you dramatically. "And then three hours later we discover you are hungry, tired, sick, overwhelmed, angry, or have somehow forgotten you possess legs."

"I know I have legs."

"Do you?" You stare at him. Pietro stares back.

"...Fair."

"Thank you."

Wanda hides a smile behind her glass. You poke at your food again.

The feeling was back. The weird one. The one sitting in your chest. Not painful. Not pleasant. Just...there. You hate feelings like that. At least physical stuff had clues. Headaches hurt. Dry throats felt dry.

Feelings just showed up and expected you to figure them out. "Okay," Wanda says gently.

That gets your attention immediately. Because that was her voice. The one she used when she was helping. "Tell me about it."

You groan. "I don't know."

"That's okay."

"No, it isn't." The words came out sharper than you meant. Immediately guilt twisted in your stomach. Or maybe it wasn't guilt. See? Impossible.

Wanda sits beside you. "What happened today?"

You shrug. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

You think. "...My teacher moved seats."

Wanda nods. "Okay."

"And Sophie sat with someone else at lunch." Another nod. "And gym was loud."

Wanda's expression softens. "Anything else?

You hesitate. "...The cafeteria changed the chicken nuggets."

Pietro blinks. "The nuggets?"

"They were different."

"Different how?"

You throw your hands into the air. "I DON'T KNOW, PIETRO. DIFFERENT."

Silence. Then Wanda seaks carefully. "Did you like the old ones?"

"...Yeah."

"And now they're gone?"

You pause. "...Yeah."

"And your friend sat somewhere else."

You nod. "And your seat got moved."

Another nod. "And gym was loud."

You nod again. The feeling in your chest suddenly seemed a little less mysterious. "Oh."

Wanda smiles softly. "Oh?"

You stare down at the table. "I think..." The words come slowly. Like fitting puzzle pieces together. "I think maybe today was bad."

Wanda reaches over and squeezes your hand. "Yeah, detka."

You sat at the long dining table with your chin resting in your hand while Sam dramatically retold his version of the mission that took place barely two days ago. 

“And then,” Sam said, pointing his fork at Clint, “this man misses the target completely-”

“I did not miss.” Clint argued, throwing a pointed finger at the Falcon. 

“You were supposed to hit the damn agent. But you took out the only light in the room.” 

“It was tactical.” 

“Making everybody blind?” 

Easy laughter rolled around the table as everyone continued to enjoy their meals. 

Across from you, Pietro leaned back in his chair lazily, silver hair still damp from his shower. The soft gray sweatshirt he wore hung loose around his shoulders, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. Every now and then his eyes drifted toward you, studying your reactions to the conversation. 

Although you tried to ignore it, butterflies swarmed your stomach every time his eyes found yours. His gaze locked onto you now, blue eyes bright with amusement. 

“You are quiet tonight,” he said. 

Your stomach betrayed you immediately.

Pietro always looked at people intensely, but when he looked at you, it felt different. Intentional. Like the rest of the room faded away, leaving only you illuminated by a spotlight in the center.  

“I’m listening,” you defended yourself, taking another bite of the spaghetti Wanda had prepared for the team.

Pietro shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting instantly. “No no. You are staring off dramatically.” he teased, “Very different thing.”

You kicked his shin lightly beneath the table, earning a victorious grin from the speedster. 

The moment lingered for only a second longer before Natasha directed everyone’s attention toward you and Pietro. 

“You two are disgusting.” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“What?” You asked, the word falling out faster than you had intended. 

Pietro leaned forward, feigning innocence. “We are simply talking.”

“The flirting is becoming unbearable.” Clint chimed in.

“I’m tired of watching these two idiots circle each other. I'm starting to think they're just gonna flirt forever.” Sam muttered.

Wanda, sitting beside you, smothered a smirk behind her glass as she noticed the heat creeping up your cheeks. 

Pietro scoffed loudly with a shrug. “There is no flirting.”

The table went silent for a moment as everyone's gaze shifted from Pietro to you, then back to Pietro. A round of scoffs erupted instantly, mixed into teasing laughter. 

“You literally carried her to the Quinjet two days ago because she twisted her ankle.” Bruce said.

“It was a long walk.” Pietro argued. 

“You also threatened me because I knocked her flat on her ass in training.” Sam added.

“You did too much.” 

“You threw Steve’s shield at my head.” 

“It missed.” 

“THAT’S NOT BETTER.” 

Laughter consumed the room again, and the Avengers drifted back into their own conversations.

You tried to hide your smile behind the rim of your cup, but Pietro caught it anyway. His expression softened instantly at the sight of you, amusement melting into something gentler. 

You hated when he looked at you like that.

It felt unfair. The way his attention settled over you, as if you were the only person in the room worth looking at. He looked at you like he could already love you, but you knew he didn’t. 

Pietro was naturally flirtatious. He was naturally touchy. He bumped shoulders, stole food from plates, and threw his arm around people without thinking twice about it. He teased everyone. That look meant nothing. Right? 

Under the table, his foot nudged yours. Neither of you moved away.

—

Hours later, the compound had settled into comfortable silence.

Music drifted quietly from Tony’s new speakers in the common room, low enough to blanket the evening paired with the rain outside. The lights had been dimmed significantly, casting everything in warm shadows. Thor had fallen asleep in one armchair with a blanket halfway slipping off him, while Clint and Sam quietly argued over a card game at the kitchen island.

You had curled up on the couch sometime during a movie Tony insisted on watching, throw blanket draped loosely around your shoulders. Your head rested against the arm of the couch, eyelids heavy as voices faded in and out around you. Sleep tugged harder on your mind with every passing second.

Across the room, Pietro looked up from where he sat on the floor beside Wanda, immediately noticing you drifting off. His expression softened so quickly Wanda smirked.

“You are staring again.” she murmured.

“I am not.”

“You stare a lot.” 

Pietro ignored the violent flip his stomach did, completely fixated on your battle against consciousness. 

“She is falling asleep out here.”

“And?”

“She will wake up uncomfortable.”

Wanda looked deeply unimpressed at his logic. “Uncomfortable on the thousand dollar couch. Tragic.”

Pietro shot her a glare, rising to his feet. She waved him off, turning her attention back to the movie. 

You barely felt the couch dip beside you before a gentle hand found your shoulder.

“Prinţesă.” Pietro murmured softly as his thumb rubbed a circle into your skin. 

The nickname reached you before consciousness fully did. Your eyes blinked open slowly. He was sitting half off the couch, Silver hair messy from running his hands through it all evening. His blue eyes were warm in the low light. He sat enough that you could feel heat radiating from him. You were almost convinced this was a dream. Almost. 

“Mm?”

“You should go to bed.” His voice was quiet and warm.

“This is fine.” You mumbled. The chuckle that escaped him did dangerous things to your heart. 

“You will disagree in the morning.”

“Feels good now.” 

“You are impossible.” 

You smiled lazily, enjoying the banter. Pietro’s chest tightened painfully at the sight. He thought you were so beautiful like this, sleepy and soft and comfortable. 

Bringing yourself back into the moment, you sat up slowly. The blanket slipped from your shoulders, caught quickly by Pietro before it could hit the floor. He instinctively offered you a hand, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat when your fingers intertwined with his. 

The contact only lasted a second as you let him pull you up, but warmth lingered in his palm afterward. 

“Thanks, Piet.”

“Always.”

The word came too quickly.

Something flickered across your face before he draped the blanket over the back of the couch and both of you looked away.

—

You walked beside Pietro through the dim corridor toward your room, shoulders occasionally brushing. The overhead lights were brighter in the hallway, perfectly illuminating his messy hair.

You hated how aware you always were of him. His hands, the warmth that radiated from him, the way he slowed his pace to match yours even though he could lap the entire compound in seconds. 

“You are tired.” He observed quietly.

“A little.”

“You should sleep more.”

“I’d be asleep now if you left me on the couch.”

“I didn’t want to hear you complaining about your back tomorrow.”

You laughed softly, earning a warm smile from him. He loved making you laugh. He realized this recently as he found himself joking more and more in your presence. He hated the feeling of his heart swelling when you laughed at something he said, but he was addicted to it. 

Somewhere between teasing you during training and memorizing the exact sound of your footsteps in the hallway, he had fallen helplessly in love with you. He was completely infatuated with everything about you, and it terrified him. 

The walk to your door ended too quickly. The quiet hallway suddenly felt very small, but neither of you moved. 

You turned toward him slowly, fingers tugging on the sleeves of your oversized sweatshirt.

“Thanks for walking me back, Piet.”

His nickname in your mouth nearly killed him. He could listen to you speak for hours and never get tired of the sound. 

“Always, prinţesă.” The word came softer than usual. He noticed how quickly your breath caught in your throat. 

Pietro stepped closer without thinking. Not too close and not close enough at the same time. Your thundering heartbeat suddenly became impossible to ignore. 

You could see the pale blue of his eyes clearly now. Your eyes drifted to the tiny scar near his jaw, landing on his lips, parted slightly like he wanted to say something. Heat rose in your cheeks again, and you found yourself manifesting he’d say it. 

After a moment of silence, fear wrapped tight around your ribs. If you were wrong, if all of this was just Pietro being Pietro, you weren’t sure how your heart would recover. 

His hand twitched, rising carefully to cup your cheek. Within the same second, you both froze there. Pietro swallowed hard, realizing he was one breath away from changing everything. 

You watched the conflict in his expression shift from wanting to fear. 

“Goodnight, draga,” he whispered finally, brushing his thumb along your face gently.

You did your best to conceal the disappointment that echoed throughout your body. He noticed that too.

“Goodnight, Piet.”

Neither of you moved at first.

Then he stepped back, cold air replacing the warmth of his hand. He smiled softly, and walked away. 

—

Sleep came slowly for Pietro. He couldn’t lay still. He turned back and forth, settling on tucking an arm beneath his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Your face had burned itself into the back of his eyes. The way you had looked at time outside your door, the way your breath caught when he called you prinţesă, and the subtle disappointed look on your face before he left consumed every thought he had. 

He almost kissed you right then. Pietro dragged his free hand over his face with a frustrated groan, calling himself a coward. Eventually exhaustion started pulling him under. The compound had gone quiet around him, the rain outside remaining steady and soft. 

Just as he felt himself drifting off, the world exploded.

A blast shook the entire building violently, followed immediately by blaring alarms sounding throughout the compound. He shot up in bed as another explosion echoed in the distance. 

Red emergency lights flooded his room. F.R.I.D.A.Y. called out over speakers, voice muddled by the confusion in his mind. 

He was moving down the hallway before he realized he’d gotten out of bed, sprinting towards familiar voices echoing throughout the compound.

Smoke had already begun curling through parts of the ceiling vents by the time he reached the common area where the others were gathering. 

Steve was barking orders, altering the team of multiple breaches around the east and south wings of the compound. Tony’s armor flew onto him piece by piece. Natasha was already armed. Wanda appeared beside Pietro, red magic glowing faintly around her hands.

“Are you okay?” he asked quickly.

“I’m fine.”

Relief washed through him briefly before he felt his stomach drop in an instant. You were not here. The memory of him leaving you, sleepy and unknowing, in your room flashed across his eyes. Your room was in the east wing. 

As if the thought summoned it into existence, another section of the compound groaned violently nearby. Dust rained from the ceiling as part of the eastern hallway collapsed inward.

Pietro’s blood went cold before he turned sharply toward Wanda.

“Have you seen Y/N?”

Her expression shifted quickly, worry flashing across her face. She shook her head, and fear hit him so hard it became hard to breathe. 

If a bomb went off near your room while you were in it…

Pietro was running before anyone could stop him. Steve shouted after him, but he barely heard it.

Smoke thickened the closer he got to your hallway. Mercenaries flooded through blown entry points, rifles raised as the compound descended into chaos around him. One caught his arm as he passed and had been slammed into the nearest wall hard enough to crater it. 

Another tried to rush him. Pietro twisted violently, disarming the man before driving his elbow into his throat.

He moved automatically and mechanically, his thoughts laser focused on you. He prayed to whoever would listen for you to be alive. 

He passed glimpses of the others fighting through smoke-filled corridors. Sam roughly knocking two agents into each other, Clint rapid-firing arrows at every moving target, and Wanda’s powers lighting the darkness as she cleared stragglers. 

Pietro couldn’t stop, not while you were still in there, not while every horrific possibility and every regret tore through his mind. 

He should have stayed.

Should have kissed you.

Should have told you.

The corridor leading to your room was nearly destroyed. Part of the ceiling had collapsed entirely, flames crawling up broken walls. Pietro’s heart hammered violently as he climbed over debris and furniture. 

As he approached what was left of your room, he heard a struggle. A sharp grunt pushed him to move impossibly faster. Your room was barely recognizable. 

Half the wall had been blown open, exposing the dark forest outside and letting the rain fall quietly into the building. Fire licked across ruined furniture while smoke thickened the air.

He spotted you next. You were stuck in a grapple, fighting off one of the agents as blood gushed down the side of your face. Ash and debris scattered across your clothes, painting dark splotches across your arms and legs. One eye had already started swelling from impact. 

Your movements were slower than normal, you were disoriented and confused, but still fighting. Alive. 

Relief hit Pietro so hard it nearly brought him to his knees.

“Y/N!”

Your head snapped toward him, giving the agent the perfect opportunity to grab your neck roughly. A quiet squeak escaped your mouth as your airflow constricted. 

Pietro saw red.

The man’s fingers wrapped tightly around your throat, excessive force instantly pulsing through your ears. Before you could even blink, the pressure dropped along with you to your knees. Pietro had crossed the room, slamming into your attacker with enough force to send him soaring into what was left of your bedroom wall. He didn’t get back up. 

A cough tore its way through your throat and Pietro was down beside you in an instant. Shaky hands cupped your face gently, brushing away soot and blood to search for additional injuries. 

“Prinţesă-” He choked out, not trusting his voice to speak further. 

“I’m okay,” you breathed.

“You are bleeding.”

“It looks worse than it is-”

“You are hurt.” His voice cracked on the last word as the adrenaline rush finally caught up to him. 

Pietro looked terrified, silver blue eyes wide and frantic. 

His breathing was uneven. His hands trembled against your cheeks. Ash streaked across his clothes and face while panic burned openly in his eyes.

“What’s happening?” You questioned, failing to find your balance. His hands dropped to your arms, steadying you. 

“I don’t know. We are under attack. The alarms went off, then the bombs, and the intruders everywhere, and I thought…” He stopped abruptly as his gaze fell. 

I thought you were dead.

The unfinished sentence churned violently in your stomach. He pulled you against him suddenly, desperately convincing himself that you were still here. Alive. 

You felt his heartbeat slamming against yours as he dropped his face into your hair. He inhaled roughly, holding you like you’d disappear if he let go. Anxiety lodged painfully in your throat.

Beyond the hallway, the compound continued to rumble. The familiar sound of a battle echoed into your room, bringing both of you out of the shared moment. 

You slowly pulled back enough to look at Pietro. “I’m okay,” you spoke gently, watching the clouds in his eyes ease just slightly. His lips parted like he was going to argue just before a loud crash echoed somewhere down the hall. 

“We have to go.” Your head snapped toward the sound immediately. You pushed against the floor to stand. The second you stood straight, dizziness swarmed your vision and your balance wavered significantly. Pietro caught you, standing on his own two feet now. 

“No.” He was firm. 

“I’m fine, Piet-”

“You can barely stand.”

“I’m just a little dizzy.”

“You are hurt, draga. You stay here.”

“No,” you snapped, harsher than you intended. “I will go.” 

Despite the situation unfolding around the compound, Pietro almost laughed. “Still stubborn, I see.” 

You rolled your eyes, steadying yourself against him. He waited patiently for you to breathe through the dizziness. When the room finally stopped spinning, you looked up at him with a determined look. 

“We need to go help them.”

Pietro’s jaw tightened immediately. Every instinct screamed at him to get you somewhere safe, away from the disaster and danger consuming your home. But beneath the blood and ash, your eyes were steady and certain. He knew better than anyone that you hated being treated like you were fragile. You were an Avenger. He'd seen first hand the damage you could do with one hand tied behind your back. 

Another explosion shook the compound, followed by muffled shouting in the distance. You looked toward the hallway and back at Pietro, coming to a mutual understanding. Pietro exhaled sharply through his nose before nodding in agreement. 

“Stay close to me.” The order came out more like a plea. His hands slid down your arms, catching your hands in a firm squeeze before his warmth left you. 

“Always, Piet.”