#Pietro smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mintyys-blog · 2 months ago

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BABYDADDY — ex convict! pietro maximoff x reader

WARNINGS: mention of dark themes, prison, crime, implied sex, violence, eventually pregnancy, stalking, blood, murder.

The bar was dimly lit, the scent of liquor and cigarettes clinging to the air. Music pulsed through the room, but she barely registered it over the buzz in her head. She was drunk—recklessly so—but that didn’t stop her from leaning in close to the man beside her, her fingers toying with the rim of her glass.

“Your accent is so hot,” she murmured, her words slurring slightly as she tilted her head to look at him. “Where are you from?”

The man chuckled, a smooth, almost amused sound as he took a slow sip of his whiskey. His blue eyes—sharp and knowing—glimmered under the low lights as he regarded her with an air of quiet confidence.

“Sokovia,” he answered, voice thick with his native tongue, making her shiver despite the warmth of the bar.

“Sokovia,” she repeated, rolling the word over her tongue. “That’s sexy.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he studied her. “You are drunk, printsessa,” he mused, voice laced with something close to amusement. “Flirting with strangers… dangerous habit.”

She smirked, undeterred. “And are you dangerous?”

He leaned in, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. “Very.”

That should have been the moment she walked away. That should have been her warning.

Instead, she grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him into a heated kiss.

She woke up with a pounding headache and tangled sheets twisted around her bare legs. The scent of whiskey and cologne lingered in the air, mixed with something unmistakably him. Her body ached in the best way, a reminder of the night before, of the way his hands had gripped her, of the way he had whispered in that thick accent against her skin.

She sighed, blinking against the morning light as she turned over in bed—only to freeze when she saw him.

Pietro Maximoff.

A man she had only seen in blurry mugshots on the news.

A man who had been released from prison just a few months ago.

Her blood ran cold.

He was sitting at the small table near the window, casually sipping his coffee, shirtless, his silver hair a mess from the night before. His gaze flicked up, locking onto hers with a slow, knowing smirk.

“Good morning, printsessa,” he murmured, voice deep and smooth.

Panic flooded her veins. She sat up too fast, the sheet clutched tightly to her chest. “I—I need to go.”

Pietro’s brows furrowed, his smirk fading slightly. “What?”

“I—I didn’t—” She stumbled over her words, heart racing. Her hands were shaking. How could I be so stupid?

She barely registered the confusion in his eyes before she bolted.

She nearly tripped over her own feet as she scrambled for her clothes, shoving them on haphazardly. Pietro rose from his chair, brows drawing together as he took a step toward her.

“Hey—wait—”

But she didn’t wait.

She ran out of his apartment before he could stop her, barely breathing as she hit the street.

Anxiety twisted in her stomach, bile rising in her throat as she fumbled with her keys, forcing herself to walk fast—faster—until she reached her own door.

The moment she was inside, she slammed it shut, locking it behind her before pressing her back against it, chest heaving.

What the hell did I just do?

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. She had slept with a man fresh out of prison. A dangerous man. A man seeking revenge. And worst of all—he didn’t seem like the kind of man to let something slip through his fingers.

Even if she ran.

Days passed, then weeks. She threw herself into routine, trying to drown out the memory of him. Work, gym, drinks with friends—anything to keep herself distracted.

But it wasn’t that easy.

She still felt him.

The ghost of his touch lingered on her skin, his voice—low, teasing, dangerous—echoed in her mind at the worst moments. She’d catch glimpses of silver hair in crowded places and feel her stomach drop, only to realize it was just some stranger.

And at night, in the quiet of her apartment, she couldn’t stop herself from remembering.

The way he had looked at her across that bar, like he already knew how the night would end. The way he had touched her—possessive, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. The way he had been so calm, so steady, sipping his coffee that morning as if he hadn’t just shattered her world with the simple truth of who he was.

She tried to forget.

But the thing about dangerous men is that they don’t like being forgotten.

It started small.

A feeling. A weight on her shoulders, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as if someone was watching. She told herself it was paranoia. Guilt.

Then she started noticing things.

A familiar scent lingering in places it shouldn’t. Her apartment door locked when she knew she had forgotten to turn the deadbolt. The feeling of being followed when she walked home late at night.

She told herself she was imagining it.

Until she wasn’t.

She saw him.

She had been coming out of a coffee shop when she spotted him across the street, leaning against a lamppost like he had all the time in the world.

Pietro.

He looked different than that night at the bar. Dressed in all black, his hair shorter, sharper. His arms were crossed, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as if he had been waiting for her to notice him.

She froze.

Her breath caught in her throat, heart hammering in her chest.

Then, just as quickly as she saw him, he was gone. A blink. A shadow slipping into the crowd.

She could have convinced herself it wasn’t real.

If it hadn’t happened again. And again.

In the grocery store. At the gym. A flicker of silver at the edge of her vision.

Never close enough to touch. Never close enough to prove it wasn’t just in her head.

But she knew.

Pietro Maximoff hadn’t forgotten about her.

And he was making damn sure she wouldn’t forget about him either.

The first time it happened, she nearly screamed.

She had just gotten home, kicking off her heels with an exhausted sigh, when she saw them.

Roses.

A dozen deep red roses sat in a glass vase on her kitchen counter, the petals so perfect they almost didn’t look real. Her breath hitched, her body going rigid.

She hadn’t bought them.

She hadn’t let anyone in.

With shaking fingers, she reached for the small card tucked between the stems. The paper was thick, expensive. The handwriting was elegant, almost old-fashioned.

Missed you, printsessa. Don’t run next time.

Her stomach dropped.

The card slipped from her fingers, floating to the floor as she stumbled back.

No.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her phone, ready to call someone—the police, anyone—but then she hesitated.

What would she even say?

That a man she had a one-night stand with weeks ago had broken into her home just to leave her flowers? That he hadn’t stolen anything, hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t even stayed to watch her reaction?

It sounded insane.

She forced herself to breathe, pressing her fingers against her temples. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe someone had delivered them to the wrong apartment. Maybe—

Missed you, printsessa. Have you missed me?

Her blood ran cold.

He had been here. In her home.

Watching. Waiting.

And the worst part?

The roses were her favorite.

It didn’t stop there.

The next time, she found another bouquet—this time on her bedside table.

She hadn’t even been gone long. Just a quick run to the store, twenty minutes at most. And yet, when she came back, there they were, the scent of roses thick in the air.

Another note, the same elegant script.

You looked beautiful today.

Her hands shook as she tore the card in half, her breath ragged.

She checked every lock, every window. Nothing was broken. Nothing was out of place.

Except for the flowers.

Except for the knowledge that he had been inside.

And he had taken nothing. Because he didn’t need to. Because he was only leaving things behind.

She tried to tell herself it wasn’t real. That it was some elaborate prank. That it wasn’t him.

Until the third time.

This time, there were no roses.

Just a single black box waiting on her pillow.

With trembling fingers, she opened it.

Inside was a delicate silver necklace. A locket.

She didn’t want to open it. She did anyway.

Inside was a picture. A photo of her—taken at the bar the night they met. Smiling happily at him, while he had his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

She hadn’t known it had been taken.

And underneath it, a second picture.

One of him.

With her, in bed. Her body tangled in his, both of them lost in sleep.

Her stomach twisted.

There was no note this time. There didn’t need to be. The message was clear.

Pietro Maximoff wasn’t going anywhere. And whether she liked it or not— She belonged to him.

She had been feeling sick for days.

At first, she thought it was just stress. The constant anxiety, the sleepless nights, the weight of knowing Pietro was always near—even when she couldn’t see him. It had taken a toll on her body.

Then came the nausea.

She couldn’t stomach coffee. The smell alone made her gag. She barely ate, everything tasting off, her body rejecting even the thought of food.

But the worst part?

Her period was late.

Not just a little late. Three months late.

The realization hit her like a freight train.

No. No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

She counted the days again, fingers shaking as she scrolled through her phone calendar. No. No. No.

Her stomach twisted violently.

A cold sweat broke out across her skin as she stared at the unopened box sitting on her bathroom counter. The pregnancy test felt like a death sentence, the plastic stick inside holding an answer she wasn’t ready for.

But she had to know.

With trembling hands, she took the test.

The minutes stretched on forever. Her ears rang, her vision blurred as she sat on the edge of the tub, knees pulled to her chest, rocking slightly.

She told herself it would be negative.

It had to be.

And then— Two pink lines.

Positive.

Her breath hitched. The world tilted. And then she broke. A sob tore through her throat as she curled in on herself, pressing her forehead to her knees. Tears streamed down her face, her body shaking uncontrollably.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This couldn’t be happening.

But no matter how much she cried, no matter how hard she tried to deny it— There was a piece of him inside her now.

And she had no idea what to do.

She didn’t leave her apartment for two days.

She barely ate, barely moved. The test sat on her nightstand, a cruel reminder of the reality she couldn’t escape.

Pregnant.

With his child.

Terror clawed at her chest.

Pietro wasn’t just a man fresh out of prison. He was dangerous. A ghost lurking in the shadows, watching her, reminding her with every carefully placed gift that he hadn’t forgotten her.

She had been trying to forget him.

And now?

Now she was carrying his baby.

Her stomach twisted violently, and she barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up.

She clutched the toilet bowl, shaking, gasping for breath. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a mistake.

But she knew it wasn’t.

Three missed periods. The nausea. The exhaustion.

The proof was right there, staring at her in the form of two pink lines.

She had to do something. She had to—

A knock at the door made her freeze.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. No.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

The knock came again. This time, softer.

She swallowed hard, forcing her feet to move toward the door. She peered through the peephole, her heart nearly stopping.

Pietro.

He stood there, casual as ever, dressed in all black, his silver hair slightly tousled like he had just run his fingers through it. His hands were in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

She backed away from the door, panic clawing at her throat. No. No. Not now.

But then—

“I know you’re in there, printsessa.” His voice was soft. Amused.

Her stomach lurched.

She didn’t answer.

Her breath was shallow, heart slamming against her ribs as she backed away from the door. Maybe if she stayed silent, he would leave.

But Pietro wasn’t the kind of man who left empty-handed.

“Printsessa.” His voice was smooth, coaxing. “Open the door.”

She pressed a hand over her mouth, willing herself to stay quiet.

Then, she heard it.

The lock clicked.

Her blood ran cold.

The door swung open slowly, and Pietro stepped inside as if he had always belonged there.

“You forgot to lock it,” he murmured, closing it behind him with a soft click. His sharp blue eyes scanned the room before settling on her. His lips curled into a slow smirk. “Miss me?”

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

He looked different up close. Or maybe she was different now. The heat of his gaze that had once thrilled her now made her stomach churn with fear.

His smirk faded slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

She forced herself to stand straighter, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His head tilted, studying her like he could see right through her. “You ran from me, printsessa. That was rude.” He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “I don’t like being left behind.”

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “I—I made a mistake. That night. I just—” She swallowed hard. “I need you to leave.”

Pietro chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You think I’m just going to walk away? After everything?” His eyes darkened. “No, dorogaya. That’s not how this works.”

She stiffened, heart hammering. “I don’t belong to you.”

He exhaled sharply, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “We’ll see about that.”

Then—his eyes flickered past her, to something on the counter. His expression shifted, curiosity sharpening into something else.

Her stomach dropped.

She followed his gaze.

The trash can.

The open pregnancy test box sat right on top, the instructions unfolded beside it. The test itself was gone—hidden in her bedroom—but it didn’t matter. The implication was clear.

Pietro stilled.

For the first time since she had met him, he looked genuinely caught off guard.

Slowly, he turned back to her. His expression unreadable.

“Printsessa,” he murmured. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Her throat tightened.

This was her worst nightmare.

She could see the way Pietro’s entire demeanor shifted. The amusement was gone. The teasing edge in his voice had vanished. What remained was something far more dangerous—stillness.

Predatory. Calculating.

He was waiting.

She could lie. She should lie. But what good would it do? He wasn’t stupid. He had already put the pieces together.

Her silence was all the confirmation he needed.

Slowly, Pietro stepped forward. She instinctively moved back, but he caught her wrist before she could escape.

“Let me go,” she whispered, pulse hammering.

“Let you go?” His grip tightened slightly—not painful, but unyielding. “You’re carrying my child, and you want me to just walk away?”

She flinched. Hearing it out loud made it feel more real.

“I didn’t plan this,” she breathed, voice shaking. “I don’t want this.”

His jaw clenched. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me!” she snapped, trying to yank her wrist free. “I don’t want you involved, Pietro. You—” She exhaled sharply, trying to stay calm. “You’re dangerous. I can’t—”

His fingers caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. His blue eyes burned into hers, something dark and unreadable swirling behind them. “You think you have a choice, printsessa?” His voice was almost gentle, which somehow made it worse.

She swallowed hard. “Pietro—”

“No.”* His voice was sharper this time. “You don’t get to shut me out. You don’t get to disappear and pretend like this isn’t happening.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need you.”

His grip on her chin tightened just enough to make her heart pound faster. “That’s where you’re wrong, dorogaya.”

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her ear. “You need me more than you realize.”*

A chill ran down her spine.

She had been so desperate to avoid him. To pretend that one night hadn’t meant anything.

But now?

Now he wasn’t going anywhere.

And neither was she.

Pietro exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at her again. His expression had softened, the tension in his shoulders easing.

“Listen to me, printsessa,” he said, voice quieter now. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. I know you’re scared. But I’m not going to run from this.”

She swallowed hard, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I want to be involved.”* His blue eyes searched hers, sincere, unwavering. “I want to help. Whatever you need—money, emotional support, anything. I’ll be there.”*

Her stomach twisted.

Pietro Maximoff—ex-convict, dangerous, unpredictable—was offering to support her. To stand by her through this.

But how could she trust him?

“I—” she hesitated, licking her lips. “Pietro, I don’t know.”*

He nodded slowly, like he expected that response. “I get it.”* He sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. “I can’t force you to accept my help. But I want you to think about it.”*

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“I’ll give you time,” he said. “I’ll come back in a few days. You don’t have to decide anything now.”*

Her fingers twitched against her arms. “You’re really going to just leave?”

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “For now.”*

Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

She stood there for a long moment, staring at the spot where he had been.

Then, her body moved on autopilot.

She rushed to her laptop, flipping it open with shaking hands.

Her fingers hovered over the keys for only a second before she started typing.

Pietro Maximoff criminal record.

Her heart pounded as she scrolled through the search results. Articles, court records, headlines—there was so much.

And then she found it.

Her breath caught.

Convicted of first-degree murder.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

The name of the victim stared back at her in bold letters.

His ex-girlfriend.

The woman he had allegedly killed after finding out she was cheating on him with a rival.

Her stomach twisted violently.

He had gotten out early because years later, evidence proved he wasn’t guilty. But the doubt lingered. People still questioned it.

She pressed a hand over her mouth, nausea churning inside her.

What have I gotten myself into?

The days passed in a blur.

She barely slept. Barely ate.

Her mind kept circling back to the articles, the court records, the headlines screaming murderer before whispering wrongfully convicted.

But the world still thought he did it. And maybe—just maybe—so did she.

She had been avoiding mirrors, afraid of seeing her own fear reflected back at her. Afraid of what it meant that, despite everything, a small part of her wanted to believe him. That same part that remembered the warmth of his hands on her skin, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her.

He was so sweet when he left. He gave me time.

But wasn’t that how these stories always started?

A knock at the door sent a shockwave through her body. She knew who it was before she even looked.

Pietro.

She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to move.

Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

He stood there, just as he had promised.

But this time, he was holding a bag in one hand. And in the other— A bouquet of roses.

Soft pink, delicate, freshly bloomed.

Her breath hitched.

“Printsessa,” he greeted, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She swallowed hard, eyes darting to the flowers. “What is this?”

“A peace offering.” He lifted the bag. “And dinner with a little surprise. I figured you weren’t eating well.”

She stared at him, her nails digging into the doorframe.

Pietro sighed, stepping forward slightly—not inside, just closer. “Did you think about what I said?”

Her throat was dry. “I did.”

“And?” His blue eyes searched hers, patient, but there was something else there too—something expectant.

Her mind was screaming at her. Telling her to slam the door. To run.

But instead— She stepped aside.

An invitation. A test. Pietro’s smirk widened, slow and knowing, as he stepped inside.

The scent of warm food filled the air, but it couldn’t fully mask the tension hanging between them.

Pietro set the bag down carefully on the table and pulled out the items one by one. First, a takeout container of Chinese food—her favorite. Then, a medium-sized box.

Her brow furrowed when he placed it gently in front of her.

“What’s this?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“A gift,” he replied, his voice surprisingly soft.

He opened the box, revealing tiny baby clothes, a plush teddy bear, and a baby pacifier. The soft colors of the clothes—a pale blue, gentle green—were undeniably adorable. The teddy bear had a little blue bow around its neck, looking almost too perfect for a newborn.

Her breath caught.

“I thought…,” Pietro started, pausing as he watched her reaction carefully. “I thought I’d start with something small. Something to show you I’m serious about being there for you.”

Her chest tightened as she looked at the items. The teddy bear seemed to stare back at her with its innocent, wide eyes.

She swallowed, trying to steady her nerves. “You didn’t have to do this, Pietro.”

He didn’t respond right away. He just sat across from her, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to unpack the food. They ate in silence, the clink of utensils against plates the only sound between them. The food was comforting, familiar, but it did little to ease the storm raging inside her. The tension in the room thickened as the minutes dragged on.

Then, Pietro broke the silence.

“I know you’re scared,” he said quietly, setting his fork down. “But you have to understand—I’m not like I was back then.”

She looked up, her heart racing. “What do you mean by that?”

He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “I’ve done bad things in my past, I’m not proud of it. But I’ve changed. I’m not the man I was when they locked me up.”

Her stomach twisted. “How can you expect me to believe that?”

His gaze softened, his tone gentle. “I know it’s hard. But I’m trying. I want to be there for you and our child. I don’t want to be some figure from the past you’re afraid of.”

She pressed her lips together, fingers tightening around her fork. “And what if the past catches up with you?”

Pietro didn’t flinch. “I’ll handle it.”

“You can’t just bury it,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You killed someone.”

The words hung heavy in the air, thick with accusation and fear. Pietro exhaled slowly, his eyes briefly flicking to the baby clothes before he met her gaze again. “I didn’t kill her. I was framed.”

“How do you expect me to trust that?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. “How do you expect me to just ignore everything I’ve read, everything that’s happened?”

He leaned forward, his eyes searching hers, almost pleading. “I know. I know it’s hard. But I’ve spent years rebuilding, fighting to prove I didn’t do it.” His voice dropped lower, rawer. “And now, I’m trying to rebuild what matters. Starting with you and this baby.”

Her heart beat faster, her emotions a whirlwind. She had seen the stories, read the court records. The name of his ex-girlfriend—the woman he was accused of killing—haunted her thoughts.

But as she looked into his eyes, she couldn’t deny the sincerity there. She wanted to believe him.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, looking down at the food in front of her, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by it all. “I don’t know if I can trust you with this.”

Pietro’s hand reached out slowly, his fingers brushing hers lightly. “I’m not asking you to trust me all at once,” he said, his voice low, soft. “Just take it one step at a time. Let me show you.”

She bit her lip, torn.

But in that moment, something in her cracked.

Maybe it was the baby clothes. Maybe it was the teddy bear. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her—like he was trying so hard to prove he could be the man she needed.

Maybe it was just the desperation to believe in something, anything, that wasn’t fear.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to be,” Pietro reassured her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

Pietro’s persistence was undeniable, and over the weeks, it slowly wore down the walls she had built around herself. He didn’t push her, didn’t demand answers or promises. He simply showed up.

He brought her flowers—small bouquets of roses, peonies, and lilies, all different colors—sometimes leaving them at her doorstep if she wasn’t home. He took her out to dinners at quiet little cafés, treating her with a gentleness that was so different from the man she had read about. He paid for everything without her protest, despite her insistence that she could manage on her own.

And when she finally told him about the leaking sink that had been driving her mad, he fixed it before she even had the chance to call a plumber. He showed up one morning, toolbox in hand, a quiet smirk on his face as he worked efficiently, making her wonder how many times he had done something like this for someone else.

“There,” he said, standing up from under the sink and wiping his hands on a rag. “All fixed.”

She had stood there, eyes wide with surprise. “You… you just fixed that?”

He grinned, giving her a wink. “A man’s gotta know a thing or two about plumbing if he’s going to keep a place like this running smoothly.”

She had to admit it was the little things that made her start seeing him differently—those quiet acts of kindness that spoke louder than any words he could have said.

But there was still a part of her that held back. The part of her that remembered the past—the one that feared trusting him too fully, too quickly.

Still, she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. Slowly, her walls began to crumble, the icy guard around her heart slipping little by little.

It was a week before her first ultrasound when she realized she couldn’t keep him at arm’s length any longer.

She had been to the doctor alone—sitting in the sterile waiting room, heart pounding, unsure of what to expect. But as the technician applied the cold gel to her stomach and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room, something shifted inside her.

She wasn’t alone in this.

And for the first time, she wanted to share this moment with him.

That evening, after dinner, as they sat together on the couch—him casually scrolling through his phone, her own hands resting on her lap—she hesitated before speaking.

“Pietro?”

He looked up from his phone, his expression soft. “Yeah?”

“I… I have an ultrasound appointment in a few days.” Her voice was quiet, unsure.

His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he leaned forward, placing his phone down on the coffee table. “When?”

“Friday morning.”

“I want to come with you,” he said without hesitation. “If that’s okay with you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words.

“You sure?” she asked, biting her lip. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or… or force you into anything you don’t want to do.”

Pietro’s expression softened, a rare seriousness in his gaze. “I want to be there.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I want to be a part of this, all of this. With you.”

The sincerity in his words made her chest tighten. For the first time, she didn’t feel like he was pushing or trying to win her over. He wasn’t just offering to be a part of her life—he was choosing to be there.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’d like that.”

The morning of the ultrasound, Pietro was waiting outside her apartment, wearing a simple jacket and a soft, concerned look on his face.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice gentle but full of anticipation.

She nodded, taking a deep breath. “I think so.”

Together, they drove to the clinic. Pietro’s hand hovered near hers as he drove, his fingers brushing against hers briefly before pulling away, giving her the space she hadn’t quite asked for but clearly needed.

At the clinic, they sat together in the waiting room. Pietro’s presence beside her was a calming influence—his quiet, steady energy helping to soothe her nerves as she anxiously tapped her foot against the floor.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low as he leaned closer.

She looked up at him, her lips curving into a small, uncertain smile. “I’m just nervous. I don’t know what to expect.”

Pietro reached out, gently taking her hand. “It’s okay to be nervous. But I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

A lump formed in her throat at his words, and she squeezed his hand back, feeling the warmth of his touch grounding her.

When they were called into the ultrasound room, the technician was polite but efficient, instructing her to lie back on the table. Pietro remained by her side, sitting in a chair near her head, watching her with an intensity that was almost protective.

The technician applied the gel to her stomach, and she flinched at the coldness of it.

“It’s okay,” Pietro murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m right here.”

The technician moved the wand across her stomach, and the first image appeared on the screen. The baby was tiny, its heartbeat flickering like a small flame.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she glanced over at Pietro.

His eyes were wide, but there was a softness in his gaze that she hadn’t seen before.

“That’s our baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

She squeezed his hand again, feeling a surge of warmth, of something real between them. And for the first time, despite all the uncertainty, she couldn’t help but believe—maybe, just maybe, this could work.

Maybe they could make it work.

The afternoon sun filtered through the windows as she and Pietro worked together in the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of items being placed on the countertop and stored away filling the air. She had insisted she could handle the grocery bags herself, but Pietro had already been one step ahead, following her around the store and lifting the heavy bags from her hands the moment she reached for them.

Now, as they stood side by side, putting away the last of the groceries, there was a comfortable quiet between them, something unspoken yet understood. She felt his presence behind her, his movements smooth and effortless as he reached for a jar of pickles, his hand brushing lightly against hers.

She glanced over at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. His hair was slightly disheveled from their trip, his jacket now discarded on the chair, and the soft expression on his face made her heart flutter.

“You know,” she said, her voice light and teasing, “you really don’t have to carry everything for me, you know? I can manage.”

Pietro chuckled softly, closing the cupboard door with a gentle push. “I know you can,” he replied, his tone still warm but with a hint of mischief, “but I like taking care of you. It feels… right.”

She turned to face him, her hands still on the counter, feeling a rush of warmth flooding her chest. She could tell he was serious, and his words settled deeper than she expected, stirring a fluttering sensation inside her.

“You’ve been doing a lot already,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “Helping me with… everything. The sink, the baby stuff. You’ve been so patient with me. I… I don’t deserve all of this.”

Pietro’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his body almost in perfect sync with hers. “Don’t say that.” His voice was low, gentle, but firm. “You deserve more than you think. More than anyone realizes.”

Her heart beat faster as his words wrapped around her, and before she could stop herself, she moved toward him. The space between them closed as if pulled by some invisible force, her lips pressing softly against his. It was a slow kiss at first, tentative almost, as if testing the waters—but then it deepened, a quiet tension between them, a sweet release.

Her arms slid around his neck as his hands cupped her face, pulling her closer. She felt the warmth of his body against hers, the soft, familiar weight of him that seemed to anchor her. The kiss was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of longing, something more that neither of them could ignore anymore.

When they finally broke apart, her breath was shallow, her cheeks flushed. They both stood there for a moment, their foreheads pressed together, as if savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

Pietro chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought you’d never make the first move.”

She smirked, her fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “I don’t usually. But you make it hard to resist.”

His eyes glinted with something she couldn’t quite place—a mixture of amusement, affection, and something deeper that sent a spark of heat through her.

“Then don’t resist,” he murmured, his lips brushing lightly against her temple. “I’ll always be here.”

She melted into his embrace, the weight of the moment pressing in on her, but it felt… right. She could feel the warmth of his promise, the unspoken words hanging in the air, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to believe it.

The week stretched out like an eternity, each day dragging longer than the last. The initial comfort of their connection seemed to fade with each passing moment, leaving a nagging emptiness in her chest.

She had convinced herself that, despite everything, things were different with him—that there was something genuine in the way he looked at her, the way he cared. But as the days turned into a full week with no word from Pietro, doubt began to creep in. She found herself replaying their last moments in the kitchen, trying to decipher if there had been a hint of hesitation in his touch or in his words that she had missed.

Had she misunderstood him? Was it just a fleeting moment, a spark that burned too quickly? Maybe she had been too forward, too trusting. Maybe she had scared him off, and he’d simply decided to disappear without saying a word.

Each time her phone buzzed with a new notification, she couldn’t help but hope it was him, a simple text or call just to check in, but each time, her heart sank when it wasn’t.

She kept herself busy, but the distractions never quite worked. The baby’s movements were becoming more frequent now, a gentle reminder of what she was carrying, what was about to change. Yet, without Pietro by her side, the weight of it all felt so much heavier.

She stood in her apartment late one evening, staring at the phone on the counter, waiting. Hoping. But nothing came.

She thought back to the moments they shared—the way he’d kissed her in the kitchen, the way his words had felt so real, so grounded. But now, standing in the silence of her apartment, the reality settled in. Maybe he’s gone for good.

Her thoughts spiraled, insecurities rising up with every passing hour. What if it was all too much for him? What if, when he realized how real everything was getting, he decided he couldn’t handle it after all?

The self-doubt began to eat at her, the constant questions without answers pushing her to the edge. It wasn’t like him to vanish without explanation. But then again, who was she really to him?

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the feelings as quickly as they came. She had no time for self-pity, no time to dwell on what could be or what might never be.

Yet, in the stillness of the night, the uncertainty clung to her, and the doubt gnawed at her from the inside out.

Days turned into a blur of frustration and restless searching. She’d tried everything—searching his name online, asking around places she knew he frequented, even visiting the few spots he had mentioned during their brief time together. But every lead came up empty. Pietro was nowhere to be found.

She didn’t want to admit it, but the sinking feeling in her chest was growing by the hour. He had simply vanished, like a ghost. And the harder she tried to find him, the more elusive he became.

It wasn’t like him to just disappear. When they were together, there had been something in his eyes, something real. The way he’d looked at her, the way he’d taken care of her—it felt like it wasn’t just for the baby, it was for her too. Or maybe she had just convinced herself of that because she wanted to believe in something good. But now, all that was left was the silence, the growing sense of abandonment that she couldn’t shake off.

Her mind raced, turning over every conversation, every moment they shared. Had she said something? Done something? Was this just his way of letting her down gently? Or had something happened to him?

She couldn’t bear the thought of the latter.

But still, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d just gotten scared. Maybe he realized he wasn’t ready for any of this. For her. For the baby. It made sense, didn’t it? He was a man with a dark past. He was a convict. She knew it was impossible to ignore, no matter how much he seemed to change around her. The weight of it, the constant reminder that he wasn’t just anyone, hung over her every moment.

She found herself wandering the streets late one night, her mind clouded with confusion and fear. The city felt colder now, quieter in a way that matched the turmoil inside her. She stopped at a bar she hadn’t been to in weeks, hoping—stupidly—that he might show up, that somehow, he’d just walk in and make everything feel okay again.

But he didn’t. And after a few more hours of fruitless searching, she was left with nothing but the harsh echo of her own footsteps in the quiet city streets.

Exhausted and defeated, she returned home, her thoughts more scattered than ever. The empty apartment felt so much lonelier without him. It wasn’t just the physical absence—it was the unanswered questions, the fear of being alone again.

She slumped down onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. Her fingers pressed against her temples, as if she could will the anxiety and frustration away, but nothing changed. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. Only silence.

Her phone sat on the coffee table, taunting her, but no matter how many times she stared at it, it didn’t buzz. It wouldn’t. Not anymore.

Her heart raced as the uncertainty began to settle in for good. She had no answers. No Pietro. Nothing.

With a shaky breath, she stood up, staring out the window, her reflection mingling with the darkened cityscape outside. She didn’t know where he was. She didn’t know if he’d ever come back. And that terrifying thought lingered, gnawing at her resolve.

She couldn’t keep waiting forever.

But what else was there to do?

The sound of crashing glass echoed through the apartment, sharp and unsettling, snapping her out of her sleep. Her heart leaped in her chest as she slowly pulled herself upright, eyes wide with panic. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, but it wasn’t there. The silence that followed was almost suffocating, and then—another noise. It came from the living room.

She hesitated for only a moment before her feet hit the cold floor, and she moved toward the sound, every step tentative, a cold sweat breaking out along her skin. Her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob, her mind racing through a dozen possibilities. Had someone broken in? Was it another break-in like the one a few months ago?

As she stepped into the living room, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of a figure slumped on her couch. The room was dimly lit, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. But when they did, her stomach dropped.

There, hunched over and barely conscious, was Pietro.

His once neatly combed hair was messy and matted with blood, his face pale under the soft glow of the lamp. His hand was pressed to his side, but his body trembled with every shallow breath. She froze for a second, caught between disbelief and concern, before the urgency of the situation hit her.

“Pietro?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, her words hesitant but full of desperate hope.

He looked up slowly, his gaze flickering with recognition before his eyes fluttered shut again. She moved closer, hands shaking, before flicking on the light above the kitchen counter.

He hissed sharply, the sudden brightness making him wince, but it was enough to show her the full extent of the damage. Blood was pooling in his side, the dark stain of it soaking through his shirt, and his face was streaked with dirt and something darker—evidence of the violent struggle he’d endured. She gasped in shock, her hands instinctively reaching out to him, but she stopped herself before she could touch him.

“What happened to you?” she asked, panic rising in her chest.

His lips curled into something that might have been a smile if not for the blood trickling from his mouth. “Remember when you said my past would catch up to me?” he murmured, his voice raspy, hoarse. “You were right.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. She knew then—he hadn’t disappeared on his own. Someone had come for him, someone from his past. She stepped closer, her legs shaking, unsure what to do. She knew she should call for help, but the way he looked at her stopped her.

“Pietro…” She crouched next to him, her eyes scanning his face. “Who did this to you?”

He coughed, a sharp, painful sound that made her heart skip. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly, though his eyes were beginning to glaze over. “I’m… I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.”

She swallowed, her thoughts racing as she tried to hold herself together. Safe? How could she be safe now, with him here, bloodied and broken? She didn’t know who had hurt him, but she had an overwhelming sense that whoever they were, they weren’t done with him—or her.

“Don’t leave me, Pietro,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “Please.”

His eyes found hers, dark and haunted, as if he were fighting to stay awake, his expression weary, yet there was still that fire in him, the part of him that she’d come to trust, even if it was complicated. He reached out weakly, his hand brushing her cheek in a gesture that was almost tender. “I’ll be here…”

Her heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, even as her mind screamed that she should do something, anything, to get him help.

She stood abruptly, grabbing her phone off the table and quickly dialing for an ambulance. “Please, please hang on, Pietro,” she muttered, her voice shaking as she gave the operator the information. But all she could focus on was him—his condition, his blood staining her carpet, the way his body seemed to sag further with each breath.

When she hung up, she turned back to him, but he had already slumped over, the tension leaving his body as if he couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Please don’t pass out on me,” she whispered desperately, crouching beside him once again, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Pietro, stay with me.”

But as she watched him fight to keep his eyes open, her own heart began to break, knowing the danger he was still in—and the danger that was closing in on both of them.

He gave her a faint, strained smile, but it wasn’t enough to reassure her. “I told you I wouldn’t leave,” he rasped, but she could hear the weariness in his voice, the exhaustion that made it sound like his words were hanging by a thread.

The sirens wailed in the distance, but even as they grew closer, she felt an overwhelming fear settle into her bones. This wasn’t just about him anymore. Whoever had done this to him—they were coming. And she had no idea if she would be able to protect them both.

The sirens grew louder, their wail cutting through the heavy silence that had settled in the apartment. Her heart pounded in her chest, but it wasn’t the relief she had expected from the approaching help. It was a sharp, visceral panic—like the calm before a storm. She looked down at Pietro, his body barely propped up against the couch, his once-vibrant eyes now clouded with pain and exhaustion.

His breathing was shallow, labored, and his grip on her hand was barely there, but she could feel the faint pulse of his fingers. “Stay with me, Pietro…” she whispered, more to herself than to him, her voice thick with desperation. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”

His lips parted in a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not… leaving you,” he managed to croak, but even as he spoke, his words sounded distant, as though he were slipping away.

She could feel her stomach tighten with fear, but she couldn’t break down. Not yet. Not while he was still breathing. The ambulance would be there soon, but it felt like an eternity. She fought to hold it together, her breath coming in jagged gasps as she knelt beside him, the weight of everything crashing down. The truth of their situation. Of his situation.

This wasn’t just some fleeting moment of chaos. This was real. His past had come for him. For both of them.

Her eyes flicked to the door, her mind racing. Whoever had done this to him was out there—somewhere. She didn’t know who they were or how close they were, but there was a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. The world was closing in on them. And when Pietro had said it didn’t matter, when he’d tried to downplay the danger… part of her had wanted to believe him. But now, it was clear he was just trying to protect her from the weight of his reality.

She looked at him again, trying to find something to hold onto. Some hope. His eyes fluttered open for a moment, and she could see a flicker of something behind the pain, a vulnerability that was almost too much to bear. His hand weakly lifted, brushing against her cheek as if to reassure her that he was still there, still with her.

“I never wanted this for you,” he whispered, his voice barely a rasp. “I thought… I thought I could protect you from my mess.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she swallowed them down, refusing to let him see her break. “You didn’t ask for this, either,” she murmured, her fingers trembling as she cupped his face. “But I’m here, Pietro. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this.”

She could feel the tremor in his hand as it slid from her face, and she knew she had to act fast. She needed him to hold on, needed him to stay awake long enough to get medical attention. The idea of losing him, of him slipping away in front of her, was something she couldn’t even bear to entertain.

Suddenly, she heard a knock at the door. Her heart leaped in her chest, but she didn’t hesitate. She rushed to answer, throwing the door open to reveal two paramedics standing in the hallway.

“We got a call about an emergency,” one of them said, looking past her into the apartment. “Where’s the patient?”

“He’s on the couch,” she said quickly, stepping aside so they could move past her. “He’s been shot. Please, please help him.”

They rushed to Pietro’s side, the urgency in their movements sending a wave of relief through her. She couldn’t breathe until they started working on him, checking his vitals, prepping him for transport.

As one of the medics applied pressure to his wound, she could hear the sound of sirens growing louder. They had arrived, and Pietro was going to be okay. At least for now.

But even as they loaded him into the ambulance, her thoughts raced ahead. What had happened to him? Who had done this to him? And how much of his past was coming for him now? The danger wasn’t over. It was just beginning. And if they wanted to get out of this, she knew she couldn’t hide from it any longer.

Once they arrived at the hospital, she sat in the waiting room, her hands clutched tightly together, her thoughts swirling. She tried to keep her mind from spiraling, tried to hold onto the shred of hope that Pietro would be okay. But as the hours ticked by, the uncertainty grew, gnawing at her insides.

And then, just when she thought she couldn’t bear it anymore, a nurse came out from the back.

“He’s stable,” the nurse said, her voice calm. “He lost a lot of blood, but we’ve got him patched up. He’s in recovery now. You can see him in a bit.”

The wave of relief was almost too much to handle. She let out a shaky breath, a tear slipping down her cheek as she finally allowed herself to relax, just for a moment.

But the question lingered in her mind: What would happen when Pietro woke up?

And what would they both have to face next?

The harsh fluorescent lights above flickered softly, casting an eerie glow over the sterile hospital room. Pietro lay in the bed, his face pale, but his eyes wide open now, the pain of his injuries dulled by the heavy medication. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the water cup beside him, taking a sip, and then he met her gaze.

She had been sitting in the corner, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her mind racing. She had been waiting for this moment—waiting for him to wake up, for him to tell her the truth. But hearing it now, seeing it in his eyes as he finally spoke, felt like it was too much to bear.

“I never wanted this for you,” he began, his voice hoarse but steady, the words coming out as if they had been buried deep inside him. “I thought I could keep you safe from it.”

Her heart sank as she leaned forward, watching him with a mixture of anger and sadness. “What happened, Pietro? Why were you in prison?”

His eyes flickered away from hers for a moment, a shadow of pain crossing his face. He took a breath and let it out slowly, as though trying to find the right words to explain the nightmare he had been living.

“It was her… my ex,” he muttered, his eyes hardening. “She was cheating on me with a man I thought was an ally. A man I trusted. And when I found out… when I confronted her… she tried to leave me for him. I couldn’t stop her, couldn’t fix what we had.” His voice dropped lower, and his gaze became distant. “But within the hour, she was dead. He killed her—my so-called friend—and framed me for it. I went to him to make him pay for it… and I ended up in prison instead.”

His hands gripped the sheets tightly, his knuckles white. “It was the perfect setup. Everyone believed the lie. I was convicted of murder… for something I didn’t do.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to process what he was saying. The man she had been growing to trust, the man she had started to care for, had been dragged into a nightmare beyond her comprehension. She could see it in his eyes—the weight of everything he had been through.

“And now… now they’re after me. They want me dead,” Pietro continued, his voice filled with quiet rage. “They know I’m out, and they know about you… and the baby. They won’t stop until they’ve destroyed everything I care about. Including you.”

The words hit her like a blow to the chest. Her heart raced, her pulse quickening at the thought of the danger that was closing in on them. She could feel the blood drain from her face, her mind spiraling into panic. She had never wanted any of this. She had wanted a normal life—a life with him, with the baby, away from the chaos. But the reality of his past, of the enemies who wouldn’t stop until they had their revenge, had shattered her peace.

“That’s why I disappeared,” Pietro said, his voice soft but insistent. “I thought if I stayed away, if I kept them focused on me, they wouldn’t go after you. I was trying to protect you, trying to lead them away from you.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and she bit her lip, fighting to stay composed. “You could have told me, Pietro. You didn’t have to disappear.”

He shook his head, his gaze filled with regret. “I couldn’t. You don’t deserve this… you don’t deserve to be caught in my mess. You’re better than this. Better than me.”

But she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. Not now, not after everything he had done for her. He may have been running from his past, but he had been there for her, for the baby, in ways she never expected. She had to believe that the man she was falling for wasn’t the same person he had been all those years ago.

“I can’t just walk away, Pietro,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “You’re in this… and so am I. We’re in this together, whether we like it or not. I won’t let you fight this alone.”

He reached out to her, his hand weak but steady, as he took hers in his. His touch was warm, a silent promise. “I don’t want to drag you into it, but I know you won’t listen,” he said with a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “But I won’t let them hurt you. I won’t let them take you from me.”

A tense silence stretched between them, both of them grappling with the weight of their situation. And then Pietro looked her in the eyes again, his expression darkening with the seriousness of his words.

“They know about the baby, too,” he said quietly. “And they won’t stop until they’ve gotten what they want. So we need to be careful. We need to make a plan.”

She nodded, the fear and anxiety creeping into her chest once more. She didn’t know what their next move would be, but one thing was clear—this was far from over. And now, more than ever, they would need each other to survive.

Pietro was silent during the car ride, his fingers tapping restlessly against his leg as they sped toward a place he never thought he’d return to: the house he and Wanda had once shared. The weight of their strained relationship was thick in the air between them, but he had no choice. He needed her.

She could help.

The journey felt long, each mile adding more tension to the already heavy atmosphere. It wasn’t just the drive that made his stomach churn—it was the realization that he hadn’t spoken to Wanda in years. Not since he’d left her behind when his world had crumbled, when he was locked away behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit. She had no reason to trust him anymore. And he had no reason to expect her forgiveness.

But he had to try. For Y/N. For their unborn child.

When they finally arrived at the old house, the silence inside was suffocating. He had no idea what to expect. The door creaked open, and there she was.

Wanda Maximoff stood at the threshold, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze unreadable. Her hair, now longer than before, cascaded down her back like a dark waterfall, and her piercing eyes locked onto Pietro’s for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Pietro,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if testing the air between them. “You really thought you could just waltz back into my life after all these years?”

Her words stung more than he expected, but he didn’t flinch. He wasn’t here for an argument. He wasn’t here to dredge up old wounds. He needed her help.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said quietly, his voice laced with regret. “I don’t expect anything. But I need your help, Wanda. They’re after me—”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a tight line. She wasn’t going to make it easy on him, and he didn’t expect her to.

“Who is ‘they’?”

“The people who framed me,” he answered, his voice strained, the anger and fear in his chest bubbling just under the surface. “The same people who want me dead. They’ve found me, and they know about Y/N—about the baby.”

Wanda’s posture softened ever so slightly, but she didn’t immediately respond. Instead, she stepped aside and gestured for them to come in. “You’re lucky I haven’t killed you on sight, Pietro,” she muttered under her breath as she closed the door behind them. “But this… this isn’t about us. This is about the people coming after you.”

Pietro nodded, relieved she hadn’t kicked him out. He had expected no less. Her powers were formidable, and if anyone could offer them a chance at survival, it was her.

“Thank you,” he said, though the words felt small compared to the weight of his request.

Wanda walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, staring at them both, as though calculating how much of a risk helping him would be.

“What do you need from me?” she asked, her voice flat but sharp.

Y/N hesitated, glancing between the two siblings. Her heart raced in her chest. She had heard the rumors about Wanda’s powers, but seeing them together like this, seeing the tension that lingered in the air—it was clear how dangerous the Maximoff twins were.

“We need a safe place,” Y/N spoke up, breaking the silence. “Somewhere to hide, to regroup. They know about me… about the baby. And they’ll stop at nothing to get to us. Pietro’s already been shot. If we don’t get ahead of them, it could be too late.”

Wanda’s eyes flickered to Y/N, her gaze softer now, but still calculating. She nodded, once.

“Alright,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “I’ll help. But I want something in return.”

Pietro’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Wanda didn’t look at him, her eyes instead focused on Y/N. “I want you to promise me that when this is over, when everything settles, you’ll both leave. You’ll walk away and never look back.”

The request hung heavy in the air, and Pietro felt his heart drop. He knew his sister was still angry with him, still hurt by the things he had done—but this was different. She wasn’t offering to help just because of the past. This was her way of drawing a line.

“Wanda,” he said softly, his voice laced with desperation, “you know that’s not possible. I can’t walk away from this… from her. From the baby.”

Wanda gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “Then you can’t have my help.”

Pietro swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. The stakes were too high for them to be playing games. “Please,” he pleaded, his voice urgent. “I need you. We need you. And I swear, once this is over, we’ll do whatever you want. Just—just help us now. Please.”

The room fell silent again, the air thick with unspoken tension. And then, finally, Wanda sighed, her shoulders slumping in resignation. “Fine,” she said. “But you owe me, Pietro. I don’t forgive easily. And I will not forget this.”

Pietro exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief flooding through him. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means.”

Wanda looked at Y/N for a long moment before finally nodding in her direction, her expression softening. “You’re not alone in this, alright? We’ll figure it out.”

The weight of everything that had been said settled over them. Pietro knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he also knew he wasn’t alone anymore—not really. They were going to fight. And with Wanda’s help, maybe, just maybe, they could win.

The days in hiding seemed to stretch on forever, each one feeling heavier than the last. Pietro and Y/N spent their time holed up in Wanda’s apartment, waiting for the next move. The silence was suffocating, and though Wanda’s help had given them a momentary sense of security, they both knew it wouldn’t last forever.

Pietro tried to keep his focus, but his thoughts often wandered to the enemies still hunting him. His past was like a shadow that followed him everywhere, always just out of reach, yet ever-present. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—vulnerable. But with Y/N by his side, he at least felt like there was something worth protecting. Y/N, too, felt the weight of their situation. She hated hiding, hated that they were always looking over their shoulders, waiting for the next attack. But every time she looked at Pietro, she remembered why she was doing this. He was here, and she wasn’t ready to lose him. Not now.

“Pietro?” Y/N asked one night as they sat together on the couch. She could sense the tension radiating from him, his muscles tight, his jaw clenched.

“Yeah?” His voice was quieter than usual, though she could tell he was listening.

“Do you ever think about… what happens after this? Once we get through it all?” she asked, her voice a little hesitant. Pietro turned to her, his brow furrowing slightly as he tried to make sense of her words. “What do you mean?”

“Like, after everything is over—will we go back to normal? Will it all just be a bad memory?” she asked, her hands restless as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

The question hung in the air, neither of them sure of how to answer it. He didn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes clouded with his own thoughts. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happens next. I’ve been running for so long, Y/N. I didn’t think I’d make it out of the prison alive, and now, even with everything that’s happened… I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to leave my past behind. But I’m trying. I’m trying for you. For us.”

Her heart tightened in her chest at his words, and she leaned closer to him, her hand finding his. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

Pietro’s gaze softened as he looked at her, his thumb gently brushing over her hand. He wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that they could have a future free from the darkness of his past. But the truth was, he was terrified. What if it was too late? What if their lives were always going to be defined by the things they couldn’t control?

That night, after a long silence, Pietro finally spoke again. “I’ll do anything to keep you safe, Y/N. Even if it means leaving everything else behind.”

Her eyes met his, and she knew what he meant. He was willing to sacrifice everything—to give up his past, his enemies, his freedom—just for a chance at a future with her. And she knew she couldn’t ask for more. A week later, Wanda’s plan was set into motion. It wasn’t much—just a way to get them out of the city, to a place where the people chasing them couldn’t find them easily. But as Wanda had warned, it came with a price: once they were safe, they would have to disappear. No more contact. No more looking back.

The morning they were set to leave, Pietro packed up a small bag of clothes and essentials, and Y/N did the same. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this might be their last chance to really live without fear, but the thought of leaving behind everything they had known was overwhelming.

Before they left, Pietro turned to her, his hand on the door. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be”

167 notes · View notes

sixpounder · 1 month ago

Text

play your part

pietro maximoff x fem!reader

summary: in which you and pietro maximoff go undercover as a married couple, your mutual hatred simmering beneath forced smiles and lingering touches. but when the mission turns chaotic, tension ignites, and in the heat of escape, neither of you can resist what’s been building all night.

warnings: mature content mdni (unprotected sex, oral f receiving) enemies to lovers, language.

words count: 3.3k

lowercase intended

the ballroom was suffocatingly opulent, gold chandeliers glinting off crystal glasses, the murmur of conversation laced with greed and danger. you tugged at the delicate lace of your gown, suppressing the urge to adjust the wedding ring on your finger. it felt heavy, unnatural. and not just because it wasn’t real.

“stop fidgeting, dragă mea” pietro murmured in your ear, his accent curling around the pet name with practiced ease. his hand settled on your lower back, fingers pressing just hard enough to make you stiffen.

you tilted your head up at him, keeping the picture-perfect facade of a loving wife, even as you dug your nails into his arm. “touch me like that again and i’ll break those fingers.”

pietro grinned, far too entertained by your irritation. “that is no way to speak to your husband, love.”

the word dripped with mockery, and you bit back a scathing retort. instead, you let your lips part in a soft smile, eyes heavy-lidded as you trailed a finger down the lapel of his suit. “then act like a husband,” you purred. “and stop eye-fucking every blonde in this room.”

his grip on your waist tightened, just for a fraction of a second. “jealous already?”

you leaned in, so close your lips nearly brushed his. “i’d have to want you for that, maximoff.”

he chuckled lowly, shifting just enough that his breath tickled the shell of your ear. “liar.”

you inhaled sharply, about to throw something equally venomous back, when a sharp ding rang through the room. the auction was beginning.

the act continued as you both took your seats near the front. pietro played the part of the arrogant, entitled buyer well, legs spread lazily, fingers drumming against your thigh as if he owned you. every time you shifted to brush him off, his grip would tighten. a silent challenge. a reminder.

you retaliated with lingering touches of your own, fingertips dragging over the back of his hand as you leaned in to whisper into his ear, voice honey-sweet. “try not to make it so obvious how much you’re enjoying this.”

pietro turned his head, his lips a breath away from yours, blue eyes flickering dark with something unreadable. “oh, i’m enjoying this?” his voice dropped to a whisper, teasing and taunting. “you’re the one breathing a little heavier every time i touch you.”

you scoffed, rolling your eyes, but you knew he was right. the heat simmering between you two had been building all night, long before tonight, if you were honest with yourself.

as the bidding began, pietro leaned back in his chair, arm draped casually around your shoulders. “stay close” he murmured, the romanian words for my wife sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. “wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

“oh?” you mused, turning your head to graze your lips against his jaw, just to see if he’d flinch. “and what idea would that be?”

his smirk was pure sin. “that you belong to anyone but me.”

your heart stuttered. you hated him. hated the way he could flip the game on you so effortlessly. hated that, right now, you weren’t entirely sure where the act ended and something real began.

the auction concluded. the stolen s.h.i.e.l.d. weapon was yours. and then, everything went to hell.

gunfire rang through the ballroom. guests screamed, overturning tables in their rush to flee. you and pietro moved in sync, slipping away in the chaos. he grabbed your wrist, pulling you through a side door into a dimly lit hallway.

he didn’t stop until he had you pressed against the cool marble wall, one hand braced beside your head, the other still gripping your wrist. his breathing was heavy, his body too close, his heat searing against your skin.

you tried to focus, to ignore the way your pulse betrayed you. “you-”

“you drive me insane” pietro growled, cutting you off.

you blinked, momentarily stunned. “excuse me?”

his fingers traced a slow path up your arm, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “you think i haven’t noticed the way you tease me? the way you love making me jealous?” his lips ghosted over your jaw, and you hated how easily your breath hitched.

you forced a smirk, tilting your chin up defiantly. “jealous? please.”

he huffed a laugh, then suddenly, so fast you barely registered it, he grabbed your hand and pressed it against his chest, right over his racing heart. “tell me that’s not the reason yours is doing the same thing.”

your fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt. damn him. damn him for being right.

the tension that had been building between you for months snapped like a live wire.

you surged forward at the same time he did, mouths colliding in a desperate, bruising kiss. it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t sweet. it was a war, a clash of teeth and tongues, hands roaming, bodies pressing together as if you could erase the distance that had existed for far too long.

pietro groaned against your lips, one hand slipping to your thigh, hoisting it up to press closer against him. “tell me to stop” he murmured, but it wasn’t a challenge this time, it was a plea.

your head was spinning, your heart hammering. “don’t you dare.”

his responding smirk was wicked as he kissed you again, deeper this time, slower, because he knew now. knew that, despite all the arguing, despite all the teasing and venomous words, this had been inevitable.

and neither of you wanted to stop.

you pushed him inside the elevator next to you and once the doors closed you blocked both of you inside, so you could have more privacy.

as the elevator doors slid shut, pietro’s back hit the cool metal wall with a soft thud. you pressed against him, your hands tangling in his hair, deepening the kiss. the small space felt electric, charged with the pent-up energy of months of unspoken desires and heated arguments.

your desperation ignited something dark and hungry in him. his hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer as he kissed you back with equal fervor. the elevator walls seemed to close in around you, intensifying the moment.

your body was pressed against his while you pushed him more towards the elevator wall.

“fuck,” he gasped against your lips when his back hit the wall, one hand sliding down to grip your ass while the other fisted in your hair. your aggression was driving him crazy. “you’re not very subtle about what you want, are you?” he murmured between messy kisses.

“shut up” you answered, annoyed.

he laughed softly, taking your jaw in one hand and deepening the kiss again. your body was flush against his, one thigh snaked between his legs. he hardened against you, causing you to bite his lower lip.

“damn” he hissed, hips bucking slightly, seeking friction.

in that moment, he flipped the situation. now you were the one pushed against the wall, and he was the one pressing his body against yours. he caged you in with his arms on either side of your head. his kisses became more dominating, his hands roaming possessively over your body. “i think i like when you’re quiet.”

“if you keep talking, i swear i’ll punch you,” you warned him.

he was so annoying, but you kinda liked it. he smirked against your lips, clearly enjoying the fact that you were threatening violence but still keeping quiet.

“oh, how tempting,” he murmured, his hands sliding down your sides, his thumbs brushing over your peaks. “maybe i will make you lose your temper then.”

you found it so frustrating how he annoyed you so much you actually wanted him. you didn’t know what annoyed you the most, if it was the fact he never shut up, or that he kept teasing you, or maybe it was the fact that you loved when he did those things.

he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered teasingly, “you know, for someone who claims to hate my mouth so much, you sure seem to enjoy kissing it.”

his lips quirked into a smug grin as he pulled back slightly to gauge your reaction.

you rolled your hips against his, enjoying how fast this little action made him stop teasing you. you smirked at him.

his eyes narrowed, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin as he realized you were using physical contact to shut him up. he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him again. “you think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“oh yes, i am, basing myself on how quickly it worked and made you shut up” you teased.

he threw his head back and laughed, his body relaxing. his hands squeezed your ass softly.

“you know what your problem is?” he teased back, his voice lowering again. “you either want to kill me or…” he paused deliberately, smirking again. “spread your legs for me.”

“oh shut up, like you don’t feel the same way about me” you teased, rolling your hips against his again.

he smiled widely, pressing against you more firmly.

“of course i fucking do,” he admitted shamelessly. “see the problem here, love? neither of us wants to back down. i spend all day wanting to shut you up, then thinking about shutting you up by fucking you instead.”

“then? what’s it gonna be now? will you make me shut up, or will you fuck me?” you teased with a smirk on your face, getting closer to him.

his pupils dilated at your words, clearly enjoying this little dirty banter between you two. his smirk was predatory now as he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “both.”

his hands snaked around to grab your thighs, holding you up as if you weighed nothing and pressing you against the wall. the only difference now was that your legs were wrapped around him, and also your arms.

pietro’s kiss became harder, more urgent, reflecting your desperation. his hands dug into your thighs as he ground against you, letting you feel just how much he needed this too.

you moaned.

he broke the kiss abruptly, breathing heavily. pietro’s eyes rolled back slightly at the sound of your moan, his grip on your thighs tightening. he buried his face in your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there.

“fuck, i can’t wait to hear how you sound when i’m inside you” he growled.

soft whimpers and little moans kept escaping your mouth because of his actions and words. you never wanted him and hated him this much at the same time. he was making you lose your mind.

pietro smirked against your neck as he felt your body shudder with each nip and grind. he loved reducing you to these desperate little noises, seeing you unravel.

“mmm, you’re so fucking responsive” he murmured, voice low and husky.

“shut up and kiss me” you ordered, crushing your lips against his again.

pietro groaned into the kiss, not needing to be told twice. his lips moved urgently against yours, tongue thrusting past to claim your mouth thoroughly. one hand slid into your hair, tilting your head for a better angle as he kissed you with weeks’ worth of pent-up frustration and lust.

he ground harder against you, his erection pressing firmly against your core. he knew exactly what he was doing, driving you wild with every movement. he broke the kiss just enough to whisper against your lips, “is this what you want? you want me to fuck you right here, right now?”

“yeah” you smirked.

his smirk matched yours, and he pressed his forehead against yours for a moment, breathing heavily.

“fucking hell” he muttered, then kissed you again, even more fiercely than before. his hands gripped your thighs tighter, positioning you so that his erection rubbed against your clit with each movement.

“fuck, there’s too much clothes” you commented, getting back on your feet and starting to undo his tie.

he watched you unravel his tie, then your quick fingers started to unbutton his shirt. he helped you push it off his shoulders, then your fingers moved to his belt.

he smirked. “you’re way too good at this. how many guys have you undressed?” he teased.

you scoffed. “fuck off.”

he chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours as you worked on his belt. once it was undone, he helped you push down his pants. he stood before you, with just his boxers on.

“better?” he smirked, stepping closer to you again.

“much better” you started to unzip your dress.

his eyes followed your movements intently, darkening with desire as more of your skin was revealed. once your dress pooled at your feet, leaving you in just a lacy bra and panties, he let out a low whistle. “fuck, you’re stunning.”

“i know” you sarcastically rolled your eyes, then leaned in to kiss him again, softer this time.

he laughed at your attitude, pulling you close with one arm wrapped firmly around your waist. “cocky little thing, aren’t you?”

his hand trailed down your spine to unhook your bra. as soon as it joined your dress on the floor, he cupped your breasts possessively, palming their weight. he broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, nuzzling between them.

“panties next?” he asked, his voice muffled against your collarbone.

you nodded desperately.

he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. he knelt down in front of you, helping you step out of them. once you were completely bare, he pressed a soft kiss to your pubic bone, looking up at you with a heated gaze.

you looked down at him, the sight was heavenly, his big blue eyes watching you made him look like an angel, but what he was about to do was the complete opposite.

he smirked, knowing exactly what you were thinking. he spread your thighs slightly with his broad shoulders, his eyes dropping to your core. "god, you're already wet."

“oh so now you’re acting like it’s not your fault” you teased.

he chuckled darkly, leaning in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your center. his tongue swiped through your folds, tasting you deeply. He looked up at you with a smirk. "oh no, i know it is my fault. I love reducing you to a needy mess."

you moaned and He licked you again, his tongue firm and purposeful as it glided over your clit. he knew exactly how to touch you to drive you crazy. he kept eye-contact, watching as your eyes fluttered shut and your head fell back, a long, low moan escaping your throat.

he knew you liked it. He could feel your legs trembling as he hooked your thighs over his shoulders, opening you up completely to his mouth. he curled his fingers into your thighs possessively as he continued to lick and suck at your most intimate flesh. "look at me,"

“fuck” you moaned, you were trying so hard to keep your eyes open and look at him, but the pleasure was too much.

he smirked at your inability to maintain eye contact, knowing exactly how good he was making you feel. he slipped one finger inside you, then another, pumping slowly while he licked circles around your clit.

“oh my god pietro” you moaned. you wish you never had said that. you moaned his name. you never called him that, it was always ‘maximoff’ or sometimes to tease him you also called him ‘sonic the hedgehog’, just to get on his nerves, but never pietro.

His eyes snapped up to yours at the sound of his name on your lips. “what did you call me?” A smug smile spread across his face as he continued to finger you slowly, his tongue never stopping its torture on your clit. "again," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. "say my name again."

“pietro” you moaned again.

his breath caught at the sound, and he redoubled his efforts, wanting to hear you say it again. his fingers curved upward to stroke that sensitive spot inside you while his tongue flicked rapidly against your clit. "fucking hell... say it one more time"

“pietro” you whispered into his ear “fuck me… please”

a shudder ran through him at your whispered plea. In one fluid motion, he stood, scooping you up and laying you on the floor of the elevator, over your clothes. he quickly took off his boxers freeing his hard erection. "that's what I like to hear" he growled, positioning himself between your thighs.

his blue eyes were locked onto yours as he slowly pushed inside you, filling you completely. He paused, allowing you to feel the fullness of him inside you before slowly pulling back and thrusting forward again. he kept his pace slow and deep, his eyes never leaving yours.

“fuck-“ you moaned as he pushed into you. he placed a hand on the wall of the elevator for support as he continued to move inside you, his hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm. he leaned in closer, his voice husky as he whispered in your ear. "god, you're perfect."

you locked your legs around his hips, pressing him more againt you, and making him thrust faster. a low moan parted his lips as you locked your legs around him, urging him deeper. he obliged, his hips snapping forward with increased fervor. the elevator shook slightly with the force of his thrusts, adding a thrilling sensation to your passionate encounter. "fuck, yes..."

he was making you a fucking moaning mess, he was hitting every right spot repeatedly, you were trying your best to not scream his name out loud.

he could feel you getting tighter around him as you tried to muffle your moans, his name on the tip of your tongue. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer as he pounded into you, his face burying in your neck. "say it"

“oh my god pietro” you cried out. “faster!”

he growled against your neck, his fingers digging into your back as he picked up the pace, thrusting into you so hard and fast. he could feel you getting closer, your nails digging into his back, urging him on. your pussy started tightening around his cock. his breath hitched as he felt you tighten around him, knowing you were close. he thrust once, twice more, hitting that perfect spot inside you. "fuck, you're going to make me cum..." his voice was ragged, breathless, as he fucked you harder, faster.

with a loud moan you finally came, reaching the high you were chasing, it all felt too good. He let out a deep, guttural groan as you tightened around him, pulling him over the edge with you. he came hard, filling you. he continued to thrust through your orgasm, drawing out every last moment of pleasure for both of you. "holy fuck... ". he collapsed on top of you, his body heavy and sated, his face nuzzled against your neck. he could feel your heart racing against his chest, matching his own erratic beat. he slowly lifted his head to look at you, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "you okay?"

“fuck yeah, more then ok” you chuckled. he chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before rolling off of you and pulling you into his side. "we should probably get out of here before someone catches us”.

“yeah we should, and tony’s still waiting for us…” you said sitting up. he sat up with you, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "damn, tony's going to know something happened” he muttered, buttoning up his pants. "he always does."

a/n: let me know you liked it, and if you did, don't be scared to like, comment or reblog, it would really help me since this blog is new. let me know if you have any kind of request, it can be of any marvel character or more, i'm happy to write them <3

#pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff smut #quicksilver #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver smut #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson x reader #marvel fanfiction #deadpool #x men #age of ultron #smut #marvel smut #x reader smut #x reader

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pietrosbulletsstuff · 1 year ago

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Send in some request while I’m finishing up some fics 🤭

#pietro x reader #jason dilaurentis x reader #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff oneshot #pietro smut

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mementos-of-me · 2 years ago

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Evermore

Chapter 3. Right down the line

Masterlist

Previous chapters: 1, 2

Chapter 3 is here you know what that means - Chapter 4 is Pietro time!

This chapter is more of a Chapter 2 Part 2 where we get a better look at Nadia and Anna’s friendship as well as her introduction to the Avengers [If you are chomping at the bit to get to Pietro you can skip this part, but it definitely adds to Nadia’s lore and there’s some soft Nat content]

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, flashbacks to Nadia and Natasha's past, some platonic fluff

“My love?” Her voice was groggy when the line connected prompting me to check the time on my watch.

“You were sleeping, I’m sorry it’s 10pm here so it’s…”

“3am here.” She laughed. “You never have to apologize for giving me a ring, hearing your voice is worth a little lost sleep.”

I’ve lived here for four years; you’d think I’d be used to the time difference by now. It was still strange to me, living so far from Anna. It was not a simple task to describe what she meant to me. As it turns out, she was not a liar, she did stick by me, Abeni did help me release the red and it was the most terrifying experience of my life. There were weeks when I felt nothing but terror so pungent my body stopped functioning, there was agony for months, I lived inside my mind, within those four red walls, until I didn’t. It was not all at once, a single treatment and I was normal, I’d known nothing but Dreykov and the red room from the age of five, it did not leave so easily; it clung to the very essence of my being and still sometimes I blink and for a moment all I see is red. It stuck with me, every moment of it, I live it and I carry it every day. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be completely free of it, but I am sure, with not a single shred of doubt, that Anna saved me.

When I sit with it late at night it is no longer Dreykov’s voice which rings in my ears but Anna’s. It is her telling me I am not alone, that the rage is there but it is not a hindrance, it is powerful, and it is mine.

“I just finished an assignment.”

She hummed. “The arsehole who embezzled foreign aid money?”

“The very same.”

“Top job, Nards.” I was silent then as I picked at a stray thread on the coat I wore. “What is it?”

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water. “It… He… Fury wants me to join his stupid initiative.”

“I heard about that, he’s got some fancy name for it and everything. He’s asked you before, no? There’s something more that’s upsetting you.”

I nodded even though she could not see me. It was uncanny to me to have someone who knew me so well, someone who could almost read me when not a single other soul had ever been able to, well save for one other person, the one I still dreamed of every night. “He told me who was on board, I already knew about Tony Stark, the Captain, Banner and I’d heard rumors about Clint but then he said someone else.” She was silent on the other end, the thing about knowing someone as well as she’d come to know me, is that it’s a two-way street. “You knew.”

“Natasha Romanoff? I suspected.”

“But you didn’t think to share your suspicions?”

She sighed and I heard shuffling on her end, she’d gotten out of bed evidently. “I’m so sorry, Nadia, I didn’t want to keep it from you, but Fury said he wanted to be sure about her joining the team before anything was discussed with other agents.”

“Other agents? Anna, I am not some faceless S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, we don’t keep things from each other.”

“I know that… I know, I hate that I let you be blindsided, I’m sorry but I didn’t want to interfere in all the bureaucratic bullshit. I just wanted to let things be set in stone before I even worried you with any of it.”

I shook my head, beginning to pace the floor of my little studio apartment. “ерунда” Bullshit. “You lied to me!”

“I did not lie, Nadia, I withheld information. It was wrong, I know that I said I’m sor-”

“No, stop, stop apologizing, you never do anything you don’t want to do. Don’t use your semantics shit on me, I’m not your subordinate, we are family, that’s what you said right?”

My stomach was churning, heart thrumming against my sternum. I slide down the wall, clutching at the roots of my hair. “We are family, Nadia.”

“No! You are just like them. That bureaucratic shit, that’s you, Anna!” I was being facetious; I knew that, and I hated it, but I couldn’t stop. It was like there was white-hot venom pumping through my veins where my blood used to be. “We are not family, if we were family, you would not keep something like this from me.”

“Nadia I-”

I cut her off. “Fuck you, Anna.” Hanging up abruptly and throwing my phone across the room.

She called back, repeatedly. I chose to throw myself back into work rather than answer her calls.

Two weeks passed, I completed a new assignment and avoided Fury’s incessant encouragements about me joining the Avengers initiative. When Anna stopped calling, I was initially worried, it wasn’t like her to give up so easily, but then I remembered that she’d told me she’d be away on a weeklong covert assignment. It wasn’t normal for us to go this long without speaking, though I was certainly not going to pick up the phone, not after what she had done. When two weeks turned into three, I wondered if I was even still angry at her, or if I was just being vindictive at this point. I’ve been told I have, rage issues… to put it lightly. On occasion, more frequently than I’d like to admit, I would become so completely encapsulated in my fury that there was no reason in the world that appealed to me. It was as though, suddenly, everything would become so dark and infuriating that not even the brightest light could get through to me. I’d had therapists before, they weren’t particularly effective, not when I didn’t trust anyone enough to explain how that blinding rage which simmered away within me had come to be. Anna and Fury had nudged me to continue attending but I’d found sitting in those luxurious offices whilst having a perfectly polished individual poke and prod at my brain to be more grating than any other endeavor. However, if I wanted to remain in Fury’s good graces, and more importantly in his employ I had to seek some kind of aid to my particular inflictions.

“I was 16 when it happened. I didn’t sleep properly for months afterward, every night I would just lie in bed and picture his face, the blood, I couldn’t focus on school nothing really seemed to matter to me anymore. It was like this huge gray cloud had been cast over everything suddenly.”

Peer support group was my chosen path. Was it infallible? No. Did any of these people have past comparable to mine? Also no. PTSD support group was a complex thing, there were times when it felt undoubtedly pointless to me. How could I relate to any of these regular people or their regular problems, but then I started listening, albeit begrudgingly, yet nonetheless I listened, I heard their stories, and I was no longer so sure of our differences. There weren’t stories of the red room or anything remotely akin to it, however, it was the way that their experiences affected them which stuck with me. The words they were able to attribute to the emotions which lived inside of them that kept me coming back. Despite, my initial reservations, the PTSD group helped, more than anything else I’d ever taken part in. Perhaps it was something to do with the overarching feeling of sitting in that circle, listening to people pour their hearts out, hearing the most painful moments of their existence, and knowing that here, in this old, sordid room, there was an understanding so profound it was almost impossible to describe. For just a moment it was as if you were no longer alone in it all.

“It’s interesting how you describe the gray cloud which was cast over everything. It is common for us to associate our feelings, our pains, with colors. I suppose it helps us categorize the moments. It could be interesting to go around the circle and say what color you see the more painful parts of your past in.”

As each group member shared around the circle, choruses of gray, blue, and black were named. Some people going into slightly more detail as to how things looked to them, I listened to each person intently, taking in their words and considering them. When it was my turn to share, I was almost startled, I realized in that moment that in all the months that I’d been attending this particular group, not once had I shared. Glancing around the circle, a few eyes sat on me, waiting patiently for me to speak up, while others looked elsewhere, alleviating some of the tremendous pressure. I swallowed twice before looking toward my hands.

“No one needs to feel pressured in the slightest to share, this is all at your own individual pace, there are no right and wrong ways to heal.”

I blinked rapidly, wanting this to be over, yet also not wanting them to move on before I mustered the strength to speak. It was hard, excruciatingly so. I felt as though I’d swallowed glass in that moment. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes lightly, gripping the seat of my fold-out chair so tightly I was surprised I didn’t split a nail right to the cuticle. Still, there was silence in the room, still, no one seemed inconvenienced in the slightest. “Red. Everything was red.” I spoke up when I finally manage to find my voice.

Sitting on the steps in front of the building where the group was held, I stared at the screen of my phone, sitting open on the oh-so-familiar contact. The air was glacial around me, winter sitting heavy in the streets of New York, biting at my flesh and reminding me of the much more unforgiving climate I’d grown accustomed to in my youth. The line connected on the third ring. There was silence for a long while, eventually, I could take no more of it. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize, you were right. We don’t keep things from each other, our trust is built on honesty and faith and I will never keep something like that from you again. I was being an arse, I just- and this is not an excuse in the slightest, but I need you to know that I only ever wanted to do right by you, I thought if Natasha didn’t end up joining the team, telling you would have re-opened old wounds for no reason. I was trying to protect you, but I shouldn’t have done it by deceiving you. I am so sorry, Nadia. I mean it.”

She did not need to explain herself, not really. I knew she had valid reasoning; all she had ever done from the moment we’d met was look after me. She had never once lied to me; she was the only person in the entire world I could say that about.

“We are family, I’m sorry I said we aren’t, this is hard.”

“I know.”

I sighed heavily. “You think I should call Nick Fury, don’t you?” Anna’s light laugh filled the line; it was enough of an answer for me. “I do not want any part in his little band of merry men.”

“I don’t think you should do anything you don’t want to, ever. That said, I think this is different to what you’re expecting, Nards.” She paused momentarily, I remained silent, awaiting what she would say next. “You know how I feel about Nick’s initiatives, but this feels different. I think it could be the real deal, admittedly it’s a motley crew, but I see something there, and maybe I’m just an eternal optimist, but I really think it’s something that could change the world.”

…

“I’m glad you came around, Nadia.”

A scoff fell from my lips before I could stop it. “I did not come around to anything, this is a meeting only.”

“Of course.” The glint in Nick’s eye aggravated me immensely as if he knew something I did not. The moment I stepped into the room I was dubious, motley crew was an apt description.

The old war hero who’d been frozen for a lifetime, the meek scientist who on occasion turned green, the renegade madman who decided to don one of his own inventions to fight crime, and two S.H.I.E.L.D agents. I nodded to Clint before my eyes fell on the woman next to him, the woman I had not seen in 10 years, my closest friend in the red room. There was a time when I considered her family, her, and Yelena, it was the three of us together against all else. Now, looking at her had my blood turning to ice in my veins. I did not know what to say to her, she had escaped the red room before me, I was so much younger. There had been a time when I’d resented Natasha for leaving us, for abandoning us in that place. For a while, I blamed her, loathed her for how much worse things became after. The interest Dreykov had taken in my particular potential as a trained killer alienating me as his prodigy, his star pupil. I did not know if I still resented her for it, part of me wondered why she never came back for us, but another part understands more wholly than I’d ever understood anything in my life. In all fairness, I too had left a life behind, Yelena. I thought about her constantly, though, my defection from the red room had not exactly been planned, I believed I was dead, everyone else believed the same. There was no going back for me.

“Team, this is agent Nadia Pimenova. Here at S.H.I.E.L.D, we call her Shadow Singer” The codename made a shiver tremble down my spine. It was not a name that had been earned lightly, not for positive attributes, but one that had been selected after I’d proved through a penchant for psychological warfare, luring out the darkest side of a target to make them confess or simply to win the fight. “I believe Nadia will be an asset to this team, however, she’s not entirely convinced we have much of a team yet, so let’s sell her on the idea.” I rolled my eyes heavily at Fury’s words.

The captain was first to step toward me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Agent, I’m Steve Rogers.” He held his hand out for me to shake, though I simply glanced down at it with an unimpressed look.

“Really? Steve Rogers, I did not know.” A snort sounded, causing my eyes to fall on none other than Tony Stark who sat on the conference table with a cool, disinterested countenance. “Are we not supposed to be somewhat enemies? What with you being Captain America.” I put extra emphasis on his title, splaying my hands out for theatrical effect. “And me being… Well, there’s not an easy way to say this but, a Russian.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “The cold war was a little after my time, kid.” It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “I think you’ve got me wrong. My allegiance to America is to freedom and liberty, not an arms race.” He was exceptionally boring I decided in that moment. Boring but harmless.

“Alright, gramps, I’m pretty sure she was just giving you a hard time.” Stark cut in holding his hand out to me also, I rolled my eyes at the gesture, why do people insist on this menial social behavior of shaking hands? “What? You trying it on me too? I get it, the whole cold and perpetually jaded thing you’ve got going on, honestly it reminds me of me. Which is why, unfortunately for you, it won’t work on me.” I remained silent at his words.

“She doesn’t like being touched.”

My body tensed at the sound of her voice. I remembered when we met for the first time, how could I forget? It had been so terribly cold for hours and I hadn’t the slightest idea where I was, nor where I’d come from. I was sitting in the corner of a shipping container; I suspected that I had been there for days. Days without food, sharing water with other girls who were in there as well. Natasha had come and sat beside me, holding my hand and assuring me it would be alright. She was older than me and while she was afraid, she seemed to know what was coming, a little blonde girl sat on the other side of her, Yelena. I was 5 years old, and I’d never felt fear like that before, but Natasha somehow made me think that just maybe, everything would be alright. She never once let go of my hand.

I could not avoid it any longer, my eyes met hers finally, she looked different, more grown up. She’d been 18 the last time I’d seen her. “You sound different, still you but there’s a little more American there now.”

“You sound the same.”

She smiled slightly at my curt tone, but her expression turned mildly sullen after a moment. “I’m glad you’re here.”

I stood silently for a moment, not quite sure how to respond to her. “And you are the green one,” I gestured toward Banner before continuing, “how lovely we are all acquainted now.”

Fury took the reins then, sitting us all down and giving what I supposed was meant to be a pep talk to promote camaraderie between us. I was still unconvinced that this group would ever be a team. Whether it was sheer morbid interest or some kind of unconscious faith I found myself offering Nick Fury a look that he understood meant, ‘I suppose this will do’.

I leaned against the side of the building; eyes closed as I breathed in the particular smell of New York City. A little acrid with air pollution, and the smell of hot dogs from the nearby street vendor wafting toward me on the icy breeze. There was a dampness that sat heavy around me as the frost melted and drained away into the gutters. The sounds of traffic and the buzz of chatter on the streets anchored me to the city which enveloped me, it was perfect. My eyes opened as footsteps neared me, I could feel her eyes on me long before she spoke.

“This suits you.” I glanced toward her. “New York.” She clarified.

Silence sat heavy between us for a long moment.

“How long have you been an agent?”

“A while… you?”

I laughed dryly. “A while.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw her lips turn up. “Touché.” It was strange, to be standing here beside her under these circumstances. She wore a pencil skirt, and her hair was loose, I wondered if she still had nightmares about the Red Room. “How’d you get out.” Her voice cut through the silence like a knife through paper. I met her gaze, mouth remaining shut. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me. This is weird, I’m not really sure what to say, Nadia.”

The windows rattles as rain pinged off the glass, the air was balmy, humid as summer bared its teeth. It was my first time in Portugal and my body was unused to the heat. I focused on what I could hear around me, rain, thunder, wind whistling, and running water. There was an artificial yellow glow streaming out through the crack in the door, beneath it stood Natasha, her red hair pinned neatly behind her ears as she wrung out a cloth in the dingy old sink. I pressed my hand harder to my leg, the once white towel turning crimson, today was my 13th birthday and I’d never been shot before. I had been punched, slapped, kicked, even stabbed but never shot. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, and not at all how I’d expected it. I remember the first time I shot someone, I was 11 and I’d thought it would be just the same as shooting a target; it wasn’t. Having watched others get shot and having pulled the trigger before myself I thought I knew what it would feel like to receive the bullet.

At first, I hadn’t felt anything. In training, they tell us even when there is pain you must keep going, you must finish the mission. Pain is temporary, pain is weakness leaving the body, that is what they say in the Red Room. I wondered if maybe the pain had waited for my signal to begin, waited until the mission was done to claw its way to the surface and make its self-known. Now there was nothing but pain, it burned like fire licking at my flesh and tendons.

“Don’t pass out.” Natasha pressed the cool, wet cloth to my forehead that was beading with sweat. She watched me cautiously for a moment before moving to my leg. I flinched when her hands landed on the side of my leg. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you, but I need to bandage your leg, so you don’t bleed out.” I lifted the towel to see the hole in my suit that revealed a dark circle of marred flesh. “It’ll be okay, I think the bleeding’s stopped so that means it hasn’t hit anything too bad. I’ll just take the bullet out and we’ll wrap it up, when we get back, they’ll stitch it properly.” She pulled out some tweezers from the first aid kit she’d found going to work on getting the bullet out of my thigh. I gritted my teeth as the sharp metal scraped my wound. “It hurts, I know. Don’t worry I’ve done this a couple times before. So, where are you from?” I glanced up at her, my chest rising and falling rapidly as pain seared through me. “As in, where did you come from before you got taken to the Red Room with Yelena and me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh… I don’t really know where I’m from either.” Tears gathered in my eyes as I watched her, it felt like the burning would never end. She met my eyes for just a second. “Have you ever been to America?” I shook my head at her. “Yelena and I were there for a little while, it’s so weird. They eat this food that’s like these little fried potato balls, they call them tater tots.”

She did not seem even slightly bothered by the stickiness of my blood that now coated her fingers. “T-tater tots?” She nodded.

“And they have these little cakes that come in plastic wrap and they’re like sticky and beige, guess what they're called.” I shrugged as best I could. “Twinkies.” It was a strange concept, a beige cake in plastic wrap. “But that’s not the best part, inside of them is this super sugary sweet cream. They are disgusting and delicious all at once.”

I felt my lips upturn as she spoke, a sound like a laugh leaving me. When I looked back down, she was almost finished bandaging my leg, the bullet laying on the white towel beside me, a sheen of my blood gleaming in the light. “That… that sounds good.”

She nodded, meeting my eyes once more as she finished tying the bandage. “It was.” Her hand was only slightly larger than mine as she squeezed around my fingers. “And one day… we’ll both get to have Twinkies.”

“And tater tots too?” I could feel liquid streaming down my cheeks as she nodded, in that moment it was hard to tell if it was tears or sweat but it didn’t really matter.

“And tater tots too.”

I rolled my neck, exhaling heavily, my air came in a white puff into the street before me. “You were right.” My eyes fell to my feet as I spoke, her gaze burned into the side of my head, but I chose not to meet it. “Disgusting and delicious… all at once.” For a beat, there was silence between us again.

A gentle laugh filled my ears then. “Fucking Twinkies.” Another beat passed between us.

“They think I am dead.” I finally said.

“You faked it.”

I shook my head, running a hand through my hair. “Not on purpose.” Finally, I met her gaze. “I thought I was too.”

“I’m glad you’re not.” There was an expression on her face that I did not understand, sadness, perhaps. “I’m sorry.” Guilt, I realized.

I shook my head again. “It was death… The Red Room. Don’t apologize for living.”

There was a tear streaming down her cheek when I looked at her again. “But I let you die.” I watched her, I wondered if this were just something she needed to say, something that had occupied her mind for a long time. It was hard, almost impossible for me as I reached out, my hand hovering over her shoulder. I had been punched, slapped, kicked, even stabbed… and shot, yet this was what terrified me. Slowly, cautiously, hesitantly, I let my hand fall to her shoulder, squeezing for just a moment before I pulled away and walked back toward the building where Fury was waiting.

Just to note: There won't be a chapter on the events of the winter soldier movie as I don’t feel that it progresses this story very much – there will, however, be flashbacks in later chapters referencing the events of Winter Soldier but there will not be a full chapter dedicated to it.

Thanks for reading

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year ago

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I remember you mentioned a couple times that Pietro was into cockwarming. Honestly, that sounds sooo amazing. Like after we both cum, he’ll stay inside me for a while longer. He’d pepper my face and neck with kisses while still nestled comfortably between my legs and I’d be filled by him, tracing the stubble on his face and the muscles on his back. We’d probably be so spent that we’d fall asleep with him still inside of me. 🤤🫠💓

(In case you’re still doing requests, pretty please? 🙏)

-🐬

so so yummy and the details you gave are so tasty. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

BIG SPOON, LITTLE SPOON.

pietro maximoff x fem!reader — smut & fluff

word count. 273 (sorry it’s small)

warnings. 18+ small detail at start of sex, implied creampie, cockwarming. minors dni

Pietro's trusts falter with his release, the irregular wind of his hip gradually halting from behind. You're laid in front of him, back to his chest with his cock snug inside - spooning you in bed.

His harsh grip on your hip loosens, soothing circles of his palm on your curve replacing the feeling with something far more tender. His other arm underneath you —the one sandwiched between you and the mattress— also relaxes, his body going limp in the same way as yours.

"Love you," he murmurs into the back of your neck, his face buried in that patch between your shoulder and neck. "Love you," he repeats, tone airy as he peppers kisses up the sides of your throat and over your cheek.

You drop your head back into the pillow, repositioning and twisting to face Pietro, your hand reaching up to push his hair aside - strands dishevelled and covering his forehead. You look up at him in awe, completely fucked-out from your lengthy session.

"Not gonna say it back?" he weakly chuckles, littering your now fully exposed face with kisses. "Don't you love me, draga?" he teases, resting his thumb on your chin, his fingers skimming under your jaw. He leans in for a kiss, lips brushing yours softly.

You hum, eyes closing from the exhaustion that's begun to creep on you. You adjust yourself to your prior position, your back nestled into Pietro's chest. "I do," you sleepily mumble, wrapping his arms around your front - holding him tightly.

His fingers entwine with yours, holding your hand as you both doze off to make up for lost energy.

#🐬#pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff smut #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro smut #pietro x reader

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thewritersaddictions · 2 years ago

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(R) Drabbles: Pietro Maximoff- Tonight Your Mine

The knock on your hotel room door is not unusual considering tonight is the last night of your free life. Sounds dramatic but you’re getting married tomorrow morning and everyone has been stopping by to make sure you’re absolutely ready.

Your body is running high on anxiety and excitement. You don’t bother to look in the peephole of your door assuming it’s someone with important things for you. You swing open the door, you don’t even bother to look up at who’s there. You just walk in allowing that person to follow behind you.

The sound of the door clicking makes you turn around. You stand in shock at your ex, that ex you hadn’t seen in years. And now like no time has passed he’s right back in front of you staring at you as he did with those blue eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Your question comes out to wobble at the start. You’re getting married tomorrow, you can’t be dealing with this shit tonight. “Pietro I can’t be dealing with you and your shit tonight get out of my hotel room.” You try, pushing him out of the room.

Your wedding dress is hanging on the back of the door. In a plastic bag that makes a rather loud crinkling when Pietro’s back ends up hitting it. “Why, I’m just here to wish the bride to be a good day tomorrow.” He’s lustfully looking at my lips. “Thought you needed a good night before you ruin your life with that fucking idiot.”

You scoff, him… calling you… “You’re a fucking asshole you know that.” Somehow you’ve managed to get closer to each other, Pietro doesn’t mind that you’ve pushed him into the back of the door, or how close you are to touch him.

Your bathrobe is white and the word ‘bride’ is sewn into the fabric. “What… you need to leave!” You’re trying desperately to stay strong “I love my husband very much and don’t need you ruining more of my life Pietro!” It’s the end of the conversation as I try to grab onto the door handle.

With a quick motion, I’ve been rotated on my heels. Picked up and moved towards another more flat wall. “You were saying?” He questions you. You roll your eyes at his words. But something changes quickly as always with Pietro. You wear nothing under the soft white robe. His breath is close, fanning across your skin. Causing goosebumps to come across my skin.

He’s kissing my neck before I can protest. His groin is pressed hard into my uncovered pussy. I can’t help but let my head fall backward, giving him more access to the skin he’s already kissing, lapping his tongue over the sweetest point of my neck. I moan and bucks harder into me.

He drops me rather quickly. My heart is racing faster than I can remember. “Pietro?!” A yearning question is biting at my lips, I want him more than ever, more than I want to kick him out of my room. More than I want to get married tomorrow. “Y/n?” He echos back. “Please? Just… Just fuck me yeah… I promise I’ll do anything for you.” A begged mess I have become all because I let him into my hotel room.

He grins in happiness and picks me up dropping me on the bed before ripping the robe off my naked body. “Finally, I’ve waited too long for this again.”

Completed on: 04/22/23

Posted on: 05/13/23

The Bad-

#pietro smut #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff blurb #pietro maximoff x you #pietro maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff drabble #fem reader #pietro maximoff smut #requests #requests are open #requests open #open requests #requested

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heroesuncovered · 2 years ago

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Pietro Maximoff (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) fake nude edit

Uncensored versions on Patreon.

#aaron taylor johnson #quicksilver #pietro marvel #pietro smut #pietro maximoff

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domxmarvel · 2 years ago

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Rules

Prompt: Blowjob

Pietro x Female!Reader (Wandavision)

"Y/N" His hand reached for your hair,but you stopped him.

"I didn't give you permission to touch me" Pinning his hand above his head,tightening your grip on his wrist. As your hand wrapped itself around his cock you let go and moved your head to where your hand was. The first lick made him jump,thrust into the air as his back arched. Softly pushing him down before taking him in your mouth,he thrusts into your mouth. You pushed him down yet again,your fingers grazing the trail of hair that he kept surprisingly well maintained. It was only a few minutes since you took him into your mouth but you could already feel him twitching,he was close.

"Please Y/N please let me cum,please" You loved hearing him beg,you hadn't even had the chance to ask. Your lips let go for a moment to speak. "Please please" Your hand moved faster.

"Cum for me" He did just as you said,but you kept moving your hand until he was begging you to stop. You gave him a break,running your hand all over his body,until you reached his face. Cupping his cheeks as he looked up at you,kissing all over his face. Leaving no part un kissed. He looked tired,calm as if he could fall asleep any second. "Don't tell me you're already done. Cause I'm not done with you,not in the slightest" Trailing kisses down until you took him in your mouth again,his moans quickly filled the room,his hands tangled in your hair but you didn't care anymore. His tights on either side of you,your hand on his stomach. But that didn't stop him from thrusting into your mouth,until he came. It wasn't until he came down from his high that he realized he hadn't even asked.

"Y/N" he sat up

"You didn't even ask"

"I'm-"

"It's fine,but I'll make you regret that tomorrow"

"I can't wait"

"It's not really a punishment if you want it"

#sub pietro #pietro smut #pietro x reader #pietro maximoff #peter Maximoff smut #peter Maximoff x reader #wandavision #sub peter Maximoff #quicksilver #quicksilver smut #sub quicksilver

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mementos-of-me · 2 years ago

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Evermore

Chapter 2. Back to the old house

Masterlist

Chapter 1 here

This is chapter 2 friends, thank you so much for reading <3

Chapter 3 will be coming shortly and then its Pietro time!!

There is a super fun scene in this very heavily inspired by one from Charlie’s Angels (2019)

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, Nadia just needs a friend

"You’re so wrong dad, she’s obviously a blonde just like mom.”

Another voice responded. “No, much too dark to be blonde, she’s a brunette, like her father.”

There were no clear people speaking, only blurs of flesh and clothing and hair.

A gentle laugh filled the room with warmth. “You two. She’s neither blonde nor brunette, she’s exactly in the center of the two. Too light for brunette, too dark for blonde. She’s all of us combined.” The blurs became sharper then, but it was only a hand, delicate silver jewelry, and manicured nails, smooth flesh dancing across my cheek and shoulder. “She’s just right.”

When my eyes opened once more, I was surrounded by sterile white, a beeping sound echoing through the room. There was no more pain, and I was more aware than I had been for days, more conscious, more alive. When I processed what the source of the beeping was and noticed the needle in my hand, attached to the tubing and machinery, my heart began beating so quickly I was sure it would jump right out of my chest. I leapt upward, pulling at the cords that entrapped me.

The sound of a door opening filled my ears and I shut my eyes tightly. “Нет, нет, не здесь” No, no, not here.

“Natalie, calm down. it’s okay, you’re alright.” The words continued and I leapt over the bed, pressing myself up against the far wall to escape the voice. I slid down the surface, head in hands shielding myself from it all, I could not see the red again, it was too bright, too bloody. “Natalie, open your eyes.” I did not but she was persistent, I opened my eyes just to get her to be quiet. “You’re okay, you’re in the hospital.”

I stiffened. “Why, why not leave me to die in the street, it would have been the merciful act, no?”

Anna touched my shoulder, I wretched away from her grasp. “You are afraid, I understand, but you needn’t be. You needed medical attention, but no one here knows who you are, nor will they question you. I’ve taken care of that, and as long as you don’t intend on waving knives around at me again, you have nothing to fear from me.”

“How kind, so you actually are a saint.” I spat, coldness seeping through every syllable.

She ignored me. “You lost more blood than what is consistent for a class four hemorrhage. That is more than enough to kill a healthy adult, healthy meaning someone not even half as malnourished as you. Yet evidently, here you are. I need you to tell me who you are right now. Let’s start with your name.”

“I already told you.”

“You told me your name is Natalie, all things considered I’m having a hard time believing that. So, let’s try again, what is your name?” I watched her in stoic silence. She sighed. “I’m not going to ask you where you came from because I think I know the answer to that.” I narrowed my eyes at her words, there was a glimmer of something in her eyes that I could not decipher, it was almost sympathetic. “Since you seem hesitant to share, I’ll start. My name is Anna Prentiss, I was born in Rochester, Kent, it’s about an hour out of London if traffic is decent. I’m 28 years old and I’m an agent with Mi6. I have dedicated the last 4 years of my career to finding and helping girls like you. I do want to help you, kid, truly, but you have to be honest with me.”

In the Red Room we spoke of people like her, the girls, and I, never the supervisors; they would have beaten us black and blue if they heard a murmur of that talk. I remember one of the elder girls speaking of what they called doves, agents of some organization or another who wanted to liberate us from the red room. When I was little, I liked to imagine it was true, that one day a glittering force would break through the door and carry me out into the sunlight. However, after twelve years there, twelve years of his voice, his fists, bruised ribs, broken bones, and so much blood; I stopped hoping.

“Alright, how about this… just… tell me a color.”

She could be a double agent or just a liar, she may report back to him. It was probable that this was all an elaborate trick. There was something which Dreykov called переломный момент, the breaking point. It was his personal mission to bring every girl under his advisement to this place, where they were so fractured, he could forge them into whatever he wanted with the leftover shards, I was one girl he’d struggled to push toward it, or more accurately he’d struggled to find mine, whether he did in the end I still didn’t know. I wondered if this was another way to nudge me toward переломный момент. Anna’s eyes were soft and almost pleading and I decided in that moment, irrespective of her end goal, there was nothing else left for me either way.

Finally, I spoke again. “Red.”

Anna closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, there was once more. Then she opened her eyes and nodded. “Thank you.”

There was much time that passed then but Anna took me from the hospital soon after she’d spoken those words, she did not leave my side once. She quickly realized that I did not respond well to touch nor to much at all. We stayed in a small apartment where she fed me strange foods that made me feel as though life was curling around me and freeing me of the exhaustion that had laid heavy in my bones. She took me to a gym after hours where she’d help me keep my muscles limber and she would guide me to the boxing bag where I would punch and punch until the exhaustion returned.

She told me she understood. She said that the rage that simmered within me was not a curse and that I was allowed to feel it, she told me it was mine to have. I did not know if I trusted this woman, nor did I know if I particularly liked her, but when she told me that, for some reason, I believed her.

It was mid-April when I met Abeni for the first time she brought with her technology and tactics which she said would release the red. I did not know what that meant but I let her strap her various things to me as I sat on the makeshift hospital bed. “You will not be restrained, ever. If at any time you wish to stop just let me know, love.” Anna’s voice was gentle as she appeared in my line of site. She laid her hand flat on the bed next to my own, I could feel the warmth radiating from her flesh, but she did not so much as graze me, my eyes stung for a moment. I exhaled deeply as I moved to lay back on the bed, my eyes shot open and there was red everywhere, Anna and Abeni were dappled crimson, as were the walls and the furniture. With tightly clenched fists I glanced at Anna once more.

“Restrain me.” She opened her mouth to protest but I cut her off. “I know I am free. I am asking you to restrain me.” Wordlessly she moved to cuff one wrist and attach it to the railing on the side of the bed, she did the same to my other.

“I think this will be very frightening, it will not be comfortable, nor easy. I’m sorry for what you have been through, and I am sorry for what you are going to go through. What I promise you above all else is that I will not leave you at any point, you will not be alone in this, you have my word on that.”

There was a lump in my throat but in that moment the vulnerability of laying, restrained on that gurney was the last thought on my mind. “Nadia.” She raised her eyebrows at me questioningly. “My name is Nadia.”

“You are going to be just fine, Nadia.”

{6 years later}

New York City, 2012.

I rubbed the arch of my foot over his thigh, smiling pleasantly at him. “I think I know what I like.”

“Women always say that.” His teeth barred at me when he smiled, running his hand over my foot, coming to unbuckle the strap at my ankle. “They like to think they know what they like but really they’re all just creatures in waiting.”

“What are we waiting for?”

“Someone to tell you what to think, how to feel, what to want.” I watched him intently, studying every imperceptible movement, the inflections in his voice. “Where’d you go, baby? I hope that wasn’t too honest for you.” I realized I’d remained silent for too long, though it was interesting to me that he only wanted my words when he was convincing himself he was right, that he had said something intelligent.

The smile on my lips grew tenfold, bright, and blinding. I bit my lip, popping a cherry into my mouth, holding the stem, and twirling it over my tongue. His gaze on my lips did not skip my attention. “I’m right here.”

“I see.” He leaned forward, caressing my jaw. “I hope I didn’t offend you, beautiful. I just meant-”

“I know what you meant.” My tone remained sweet. His expression faltered at my interrupting his words, I stood then, moving toward him. The silk of my mini dress grazed his shirt as I stood between his legs. “Maybe you should tell me what I like.” I breathed into his ear. His hands came to rest on the backs of my exposed thighs, stroking the flesh there. The cretin before me was so self-absorbed I wasn’t concerned he’d question my antics.

He looked up at me. “You seem like the type of girl who says she doesn’t need anyone.” I raised a solitary eyebrow, smile still very much present as I swung a leg over his, coming to straddle his lap. His hands sat at my hips as he continued. “But like most, you just want to be looked after.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, humming as a sign for him to continue. “Is that what you want, baby girl? You want to be pampered? I could do that, I could look after you really well, sweetie.” His hand slipped under my dress as if to punctuate his words. I threw my head back as a giggle escaped my throat.

“I don’t think you can give me what I want,” I responded, licking my lips enticingly.

His smirk widened in response. “I don’t think you know what you want, but I can tell you.”

“What do I want?”

His hands were all over me, though, I barely felt his touch. A long time ago I’d learned how to become a separate entity, not one in body and mind. “You want me to take care of you, and I will. If you were my girl, you’d never want for anything. You could me my girl, if you wanted.”

“How?”

He gathered my hair behind my head, holding it in a makeshift ponytail emphatically. “Well, there’s more than just one step but you seem smart enough, I think you can figure out the first one.”

“I am a smart girl.” I murmured, lips grazing over his ear once more. “Do you want me to tell you what makes me so smart?” He nodded. “I can read people, really, really well.” With each word my hands moved into position. He furrowed his eyebrows at my words, though it was evident that my sweet smile reassured him.

“Can you just? Well, what exactly have you read from me?”

I hummed. “You’re very sure of yourself.” His smile grew. “But it’s just a façade. You like to feel powerful, so you sit in your overpriced suits, and you tell women how you know better than them because you know if you give them a chance to think for themselves, they’ll realize what a pathetic prick you really are.” He attempted to stand then, though my grip on him prevented it. I pushed my foot off of the ground so that the chair fell backwards, his now trapped beneath me. “You think you’re a big man because you have all this money, all this power. What good does it do you now?” He called for his guards but I simply pressed the button on the bangle that hung from my wrist, and they were convulsing and falling to their knees, unconscious in minutes. I jumped to my feet swiftly. “They can’t help you, sweetheart.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“What do you mean, baby, I thought I was your girl.” He stood to his feet, and I quickly dodged the hit he attempted to throw at me. “Does this mean there won’t be a second date?” I kicked him in the stomach, dodging each attack he launched and landing hit after hit of my own. His nose was bleeding, and he was panting by the time he threw all caution to the wind and lunged at me. I spun, delivering a roundhouse kick to his face, landing him on his backside.

“What, are you going to kill me? You really think you’ll get away with this you psychopathic whore? Because you won’t!”

I threw my head back, letting out a breathy laugh. “Men tend to think that don’t they?” I kicked his arm out from under him as he attempted to get back up. “Always overestimating your importance.”

“Why are you doing this?!”

“With so many possible options, which one could it be?” I tapped my chin in feigned thought. “Perhaps I have qualms with being spoken over? Or told I need someone to tell me what to think. Or maybe, just maybe it’s something to do with the billions of dollars you stole from those charities you plaster your name on.”

He scoffed, attempting to crawl away from me. I followed him slowly, sipping from my champagne glass. “It’s called embezzlement you stupid bitch, and you’re the one overestimating, you really think you’ve got what it takes to kill someone?”

“Oh, embezzlement, that sounds fancy…” I grabbed his arm, pulling it up behind him before stomping on the outside of his elbow, bones crunching under my skilled limbs. “Don’t worry,” I spoke loudly to be heard over his cries of agony. “I’m not going to kill you, silly. Actually, I’m not even really here for you, I just really don’t like you.” He choked on the cries being ripped from him. “But please, do correct me again, I have a feeling it’ll bode well for you.” At some point, he fell unconscious from the pain, and I skipped off toward the room hidden behind a large, luxurious bookcase. Fluttering my fingers over the array of books I finally found the one I was looking for and pulled down, triggering the door to open. I leaned against the frame and watched the accountant cower in the corner. “Hey, sailor.” I beamed at him as I strode into the room, he pressed himself as far back against the wall as possible.

“Please, please don’t kill me, I swear I’m just the numbers guy, I don’t know anything.”

I giggled at him as I collected the items named in the file. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” I sung gesturing for him to follow me, he did. “Now I do apologize sincerely, for all this mess.” I nodded toward the unconscious bodies of the guards and his employer before turning back to him. “Oh, and sorry about this next part to.” I added, grabbing him and swiftly hitting him in the exact place in his neck that would signal his brain to send him unconscious. When that was done, I unlocked the hotel room door for the other agents to enter and take him and his boss into custody.

Tightening the stolen coat around my scantily clad body I finally made it to headquarters. This assignment had been a particular pain in my ass, weeks of excruciating work leading to this very evening. I tossed the bag of documents and various items from the list onto the desk before me, gaining Fury’s attention.

“Well hello to you too.”

I sighed exasperatedly, draping myself over the lounge chair in his office. “That guy was disgusting!”

“My sincerest apologies that you weren’t tasked with taking down some kind of prince charming.” Rolling my eyes at his tone I dragged my fingers through my windswept hair. Nick looked through the items in silence as I awaited his dismissal. “Not bad, kid.”

“Not bad?”

He sent me a sharp glare. “You know you’re a good agent, don’t be a dick about it.” The corners of my lips turned upward. I leaned back onto the headrest, shutting my eyes as he continued. “Speaking of, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” I raised my eyebrows. Eyes still shut tightly. “We’ve discussed in the past my idea for a task force… or rather initiative.”

My eyes opened once more. “Absolutely not.”

“Excuse you, you don’t know what the hell I was gonna say.”

I met his eyes then. “You want me to join your little boy band, with metal man and American dad.”

“Cute. It was a complete oversight to ever introduce you to American television.” I scoffed at him, cracking my neck. “It’s not just Stark and Cap.”

“Ah yes, how could I possibly forget the green one, quite the entourage you’ve culminated.”

This was not the first time Fury had mentioned his little gang, nor was it the first time he was prodding me to join it. “It’s not just them, Nadia. I wanted people on the inside that were a little less… unpredictable. I’ve got two agents joining as well, I trust you and I’d really like to make it three.” I shrugged with a quiet sigh. “Don’t you want to know who the agents are?”

“There’s nothing I’d like to know more.”

He chose to ignore my insolence, as he often did. “Clint Barton, who you’ve met before, and Natasha Romanoff. Another familiar face to you if I’m not mistaken.”

It was as though for a moment all of the air was sucked from the room. I had not heard that name in a very long time. Whether my feelings were evident on my face or Fury had merely known that this would be a sobering piece of information to hear he chose to leave the matter there. Before I left his office, he told me to sleep on it before making my decision, I barely heard him.

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