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yourtypicalwriter · 3 months ago

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The Dream Team || (Pietro Maximoff x reader)

GIF Originally posted by @steve-rogers

Words: 2441

Warnings: Some swearing, minor injury.

Summary: You and Pietro went on a mission and had a rough day. Y/n is an agent like Natasha.

Author's Note: I loved writing this one!! Most of the story is a hilarious, action-packed flashback of what happened during the mission. This is my first post and I’ve been working on it since August, so I hope you enjoy it.

-- Christina

➳ ➳ ➳

The file landed on Steve’s desk with a smack.

He looked up and found you and Pietro standing in front of him. “Well, if it isn’t The Dream Team.” He smirked.

The rest of the team coined you and Pietro as ‘The Dream Team’ because of how well you worked together. Yes, you had the occasional quarrel, but ultimately balanced each other out and kept the other in check.

Pietro stood with his arms crossed. “Is that what you wanted?” He asked, flatly.

Steve flipped through the documents. “Yup.” He barely glanced up to thank you. “Great work.”

‘Great work.’ After everything you went through today, he could at least look you in the eyes.

What was supposed to be a simple mission to retrieve intel from a covert HYDRA office in Delaware went completely sideways. It was supposed to be a low-key job: get in, grab the files, and get out, but it turned into a full-fledged, cross-city chase and an overall hell of a mess.

➳

You and Pietro stood about a mile out from where the HYDRA laboratories were located.

Leaning against a tree, you watched as Pietro was kicking dirt, waiting impatiently.

You were waiting to meet up with a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who went undercover as HYDRA personnel a couple of months ago. They were going to get you past security and into a HYDRA scientist’s office so you could retrieve documents.

You jumped when you heard rustling from the trees, making Pietro spin around, too.

“What was that?” Concern washed over your face as branches continued to snap.

Pietro stepped in front of you, fist at the ready.

Emerging from the foliage was a woman in a business suit holding a briefcase.

You both exhaled and looked around.

“Hello, sorry for the scare.” The blonde-haired woman said. “It's a perfect day for a walk."

The both of you stood confused for a moment until you remembered the rest of the code sentence. "Oh right! I hope you brought an umbrella, just in case it rains."

She nodded. "So, you’re the ones I’m supposed to meet with? Agent Y/L/N, Maximoff, correct?

You both nodded.

“I’m Agent 13.” She said, flashing her badge.

She placed her briefcase on a tree stump and opened it to reveal a computer. She began typing away. “Turgeon is on an hour lunch break, which leaves his office unattended and gives you two plenty of time to grab the file."

You could hear the clicking of keys on the keyboard.

“I was able to make a copy of Turgeon’s ID card too, so opening doors won’t be a problem.” Agent 13 continued. “Once you’re past security at the front doors, take the stairs; there’s less of a chance you’ll be recognized. Then, you’ll go to the 9th floor, swing a left, and the office will be the third door to your right. Do not draw attention to yourselves. We can’t risk anyone recognizing you.”

“Got it.” You and Pietro replied.

“Okay, I temporarily shut down their security system, but not for long.” She looked up at both of you. “You’re up. Get in and get out.”

“Ready?” Pietro turned to look at you.

“Ready.” You confirmed.

He scooped you up, and in a second you were a few meters away from the building, hidden behind a white van parked out front.

Pietro smoothed out his shirt, and you fixed your false glasses in the van’s mirror.

You began to worry. “This is stupid. How is no one going to recognize us? We’re literally so recognizable right now. It’s like how no one knows who Superman is, but it’s so obvious.”

Pietro walked towards you and put a hand to your shoulder. “Look at me.”

You were reluctant to, but you did it anyway.

“Take a breath, okay? Don’t worry.” He said calmly. “Just don’t draw attention to yourself, and we’ll be out of there before you know it, m’kay?”

You took a breath. “Okay. Let's do this.” You peeked out from behind the van, and once the coast was clear, you both made your way towards the front doors.

The security cards worked; now you were in the building and headed towards the stairs.

You stopped as a man with a mop and bucket was blocking the doorway to the stairs.

“Sorry. Can't use the stairs. Clean up.” He said flatly.

“Really?” You questioned.

“Seriously?” Pietro rolled his eyes.

The man shrugged and continued mopping the floor.

“Elevator, I guess.” You suggested.

You headed over to the elevator and repeatedly pressed the button.

The elevator doors opened to reveal about 10 people crammed like sardines. They tried to make an effort to shift around to accommodate Pietro and yourself.

You both tried to keep a low profile on the elevator ride. You didn't worry much; everyone was pretty preoccupied with the documents and folders in their hands that they didn't really look up at the two of you.

Once you arrived on the 9th floor, you and Pietro stepped out and made your way down the hall.

You could see agents here and there, popping in and out of offices.

You arrived at Turgeon’s office and walked in. Pietro shut the door and you closed the blinds.

You were looking for information on ‘Project Red Sky.’ Some files were more recent and on a hidden network, so you shoved a USB drive into the computer and began uploading everything. And some files dated back to the 60s, so Pietro went through the filing cabinets in search of information.

“Found something!” Pietro called out and placed the file on the desk.

You looked through it. “Great! Uh… just fold that up and put it in your pocket or something.”

“You’re sure that’s safe?” He questioned.

“It’s four sheets of paper; I think we’ll be fine.” You reassured him.

Once everything had been uploaded, you removed the USB and opened the office door.

With Pietro in front, you walked back down the hall towards the stairs.

Just then, someone bumped into you by accident.

The man who was previously looking down looked up at you, now puzzled.

“Sorry.” You said, head down as you continued down the hall, now a little faster, trying not to be recognized.

You could hear indistinct whispering behind you and felt people’s gaze upon you. You tugged on the back of Pietro’s shirt to give him a signal that you two had probably been compromised.

Pietro fell behind slightly to make sure that you were safely in view.

How nice, you thought sarcastically.

You peered over your shoulder. Not paying attention, you stumbled over a file cart that was being wheeled across the hall. Pietro used his powers to quickly stop you from hitting the ground.

Your arm was wrapped around his neck. “Woah. Thanks.” You said, looking into his blue eyes. Then you snapped out of your daze and realized what he had just done: shown his abilities in a place where that meant trouble.

If the agents hadn’t already noticed you then, they sure did now.

“Hey!” A HYDRA agent called out.

You snapped your heads up.

“It’s one of the Enhanced. And her? She's with the Avengers!” The agent said, pointing straight at the both of you, who stood there like two deer in headlights.

The Dream Team had been caught. And that’s when shit hit the fan.

You and Pietro looked at each other and spoke in unison. “Aw, damn.”

One of the agents shot a device that latched onto Pietro, just as he made a move to grab you and run. The device sent a little shock wave through his body that immobilized his abilities.

“Gah!” Pietro clutched his side.

It seemed to be a power inhibition device.

Alarms began to sound as HYDRA agents poked their heads out from their offices.

He urged you to keep running.

You grabbed Pietro’s arm and pulled him along, down the hall and towards the stairs. You threw the door open and started jumping down the steps as quickly as possible.

HYDRA agents were popping out of doors in the stairwell and joining the chase.

You reached the bottom of the steps and threw the door open aggressively.

“Hey!” Shouted the janitor.

“Sorry!” You yelled back.

“Why must you apologize for everything?” Pietro asked hurriedly.

With Pietro, plus about a dozen HYDRA agents, on your tail, you made it through the lobby and outside. You both stopped and looked around for an escape plan.

“What do we do?” You asked.

“We can’t keep running; they’ll catch up to us. Y/n!” He said hastily as agents approached.

You looked from left to right and spotted the van from earlier, with its back doors open.

“Shut up and follow me!” You said.

Grabbing his arm, you pulled him into the back of the van and shut the doors behind you.

Pietro sat in the driver's seat. “I—uh.” He hesitated, unfamiliar with what he was supposed to do.

“You don’t know how to drive?!” You shouted as you could see HYDRA agents exiting the building from the side mirror.

“Well, I didn’t really need to know how, now did I?” He questioned, making a running motion.

“Get up!” You shouted as you threw him into the passenger’s seat.

You plopped yourself down in the driver's seat and turned the keys that were still in the ignition.

You stepped on the gas pedal and drove into the city, HYDRA agents on your tail in their black SUVs.

“Get Tony on the phone.”

“Wh—”

“Don’t question me; just do it!”

Pietro took your phone out of your pocket, dialed Tony’s number, and put him on speaker.

“Hello?” Tony's voice rang through the phone.

“Tony! We need your help.”

“Y/n? Who’s ‘we’?” He asked.

“Me and Pietro.”

“Let me stop you right there. Speedy’s been on a pranking rampage, hiding my tools, screwing with my tech, and now expects—"

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I don’t give a crap right now.” You said, rushed. ”You can give Pietro shit when we get back.”

A soft “Hey” came from Pietro.

“Long story short," you continued, "we’re on a mission, and we’re on the move in the city. Is there any way you can autopilot the Quinjet to our location?”

“There’s always a way.” Tony reassured.

“There’s no way we can escape them!” Pietro looked back at the black SUVs following you.

“Hold on!” You ordered.

“Whoa!” Pietro shouted as you took a sharp right turn.

And another sharp right just in case.

“Jesus!” He yelped, the phone slipping out of his hands.

“Sorry! You can never be too sure.” You advised as Pietro picked the phone up from the floor.

The black SUVs were no longer behind you, so you guessed they drove right through the intersection.

“Tony, I need an ETA on the jet.” You said urgently.

“Okay,” Tony said, “There’s a parking lot about a quarter of a mile west from your location. I can land the jet there.”

“Perfect. I’ll let you know when we board the jet. Bye!” You said as Pietro pressed the end call button.

You spotted an alleyway and turned into it. The both of you rocked as the van hopped the curb and skidded to a halt.

“Get out.” You said quickly, unbuckling your seatbelt. “What?” Pietro questioned as he unbuckled his.

“HYDRA’s looking for a van, so we’ll be better disguised if we ditch it.” You jumped out of the van and slammed the door, prompting Pietro to do the same.

“Let’s go!” You started on foot.

You and Pietro were running down the sidewalk, people jumping out of your way.

You looked back and saw the black SUVs from before, rounding a corner.

“Seriously!?” You said, breathlessly.

HYDRA caught up to you… again.

Pietro started. “But you said—”

“I know, I know.” You cut him off.

“Can’t catch a break.” He said, as you both began running faster.

Luckily, you were getting closer to the Quinjet.

You approached the parking lot and ran as fast as you could through the loading hatch door.

Once inside, you ran upfront to press the video screen, “Tony, hurry! Start the engines and get us out of here!”

Then you pressed the ‘close door’ button as the SUVs got closer.

“Hurry.” Pietro waited impatiently, as he watched the agents exit the vehicles.

“C’mon, c’mon.” You whispered as the door closed slowly.

"Got it!" Tony said through the video screen on the dash.

The engines started up, and the plane slowly lifted into the air.

You sighed. “Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem,” his voice echoed through the small screen, “But you’re in for it when you get home, you little bastard.” He pointed to Pietro, and the screen turned off.

Pietro rolled his eyes and plopped himself down in one of the seats, just as you did.

Finally, you both had a chance to exhale.

➳

“Seriously, all of that only for you to say, ‘Great work’?” You questioned Steve.

“What?” Steve chuckled. “Were you expecting a hug?”

“Yeah! Maybe…” You shouted, which made him look at you, confused. “Ya’ know what? A hug would've been nice after the day we just had.”

Steve looked at you with a face that had ‘sorry’ written all over it. “Y/n, you know I was just—”

“Ah ah—” You interrupted him. “Good day, Steven.” You slapped your hand on the desk and marched out of the office as Pietro loosely followed.

You walked down the hallway, thinking about how you definitely reacted too harshly. You knew Steve was joking and didn't deserve that outburst.

After all, he was only doing his job and giving orders. You knew he was busy, and now you felt bad for shouting at him.

It had been a long day. You just wanted to climb into bed and rest your aching body.

You felt someone poke you. As you spun around to face Pietro, he wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your head.

“Oof—” As much as you wanted to resist, you melted into his arms. How could you possibly fight this after the day you just had?

“There’s your hug.” He said with a smile.

“Thanks, Pietro.” You smiled.

“No problem. Also, I'm pretty sure Steve feels very terrible now.”

“Shush,” you tightened your grip around Pietro, “I'll give him his apology hug tomorrow.”

➳ ➳ ➳

↩︎ Back to Masterlist

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ikkyfics · 2 months ago

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Hair Bleach

Pietro Maximoff x f!reader

Summary: He was sitting on the kitchen counter, his long legs stretched out and his messy brown hair already partially covered by the bleach you were carefully applying. “Do you think it’ll look good?” he asked, his voice low and slightly rough, but carrying a playful tone that was so characteristic of him. “You’ve done this before, remember? It wasn’t exactly a disaster,” you replied, trying to focus as you spread the cream through his hair.

Warnings: fluffy, modern!au

Masterlist

Maybe it was the drink you both had earlier – that cheap wine Steve insisted on serving – or maybe it was just the laid-back atmosphere of the party, with Wanda’s laughter echoing through the room and the music that seemed like it would never stop. You weren’t exactly sure what had made you comment on his hair. Maybe it was a flash of memory, a detail lost in time.

“Do you remember when your hair was bleached?” you had asked, both still a little dizzy as you walked down the empty street, heading home.

He laughed, his voice rough and a little drawn out, clearly carrying the influence of the drinks. “Remember? Hard to forget. You loved messing with it.”

“I really did,” you admitted, feeling your face heat up. It was true, after all. Pietro with bleached hair had been almost a comical version of himself – always complaining about the upkeep, but knowing how much you liked it.

“Then why don’t we do it again?” he suggested, that carefree sparkle in his eyes that was so typical of him.

“Now?” you asked, laughing.

“Now,” he confirmed, with an unexpected determination.

And before you could protest, you were standing in front of a 24-hour pharmacy, arguing over which bleach brand would be best while laughing like two teenagers.

Now, in your apartment, the wine had given way to a comfortable sobriety. The apartment still smelled like the party, as if the echoes of the night you’d spent together refused to completely disappear. Dim lights filtered through the blinds, creating an almost theatrical contrast between the dark and the light. You were still in your party dress, a piece of fabric that seemed made for Pietro to look at you like that – his blue eyes sparkling, intense and sweet, as if the thought of looking away was unthinkable.

He was sitting on the kitchen counter, his long legs stretched out and his messy brown hair already partially covered by the bleach you were carefully applying. The black t-shirt was a little askew, revealing the outline of muscles you knew by heart, but that still made you blush as if it were the first time you saw them.

“Do you think it’ll look good?” he asked, his voice low and slightly rough, but carrying a playful tone that was so characteristic of him.

“You’ve done this before, remember? It wasn’t exactly a disaster,” you replied, trying to focus as you spread the cream through his hair.

He smiled, that grin that was a mix of mischief and tenderness, before tilting his head back, looking at you closely. “It wasn’t a disaster because you said it looked good. Everything you say looks good, I believe.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile that slipped out was inevitable. Pietro had that effect on you – an almost magical ability to turn the simplest moment into something that felt extraordinary.

“Stop moving your head,” you murmured, gently pushing his face into the right position.

“Hard to do. You’re here, looking gorgeous like this, talking to me as if I don’t want to kiss you every five seconds.”

“You’re already distracting me,” you shot back, but he didn’t seem in the least bit sorry.

“It’s part of my charm,” he replied before sliding one of his large hands to your waist. The touch was warm, firm, as if he needed to feel your presence there, just to make sure this was real.

“Pietro,” you complained quietly, but your voice lacked any strength. Not when his fingers were mindlessly tracing little circles against the fabric of your dress.

“Just one kiss,” he asked, leaning forward, his short beard brushing your cheek before he reached your lips with his.

It was a lazy kiss, but full of meaning. He had always been like that with you, direct in his feelings, with no room for doubt.

When he finally pulled away, you sighed, but the laughter that slipped out afterward was involuntary. “If I mess up, it’s because you can’t stay still. It’ll be your fault.”

“Then I’ll have to live with a permanently stained head,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But I bet you’d still think I’m cute.”

“Maybe,” you teased, turning your attention back to his hair.

Your fingers slid carefully through the brown strands, now covered by the white bleach cream. The chemical smell filled the air, but it wasn’t enough to overshadow the sweetness that seemed to emanate from the moment. Pietro closed his eyes slowly, as if savoring a luxurious experience and not something as mundane as getting his hair bleached in the kitchen of your apartment. For the first time that night, he was quiet, allowing you to work in peace – at least in terms of words.

His hands, however, weren’t so easily quieted. One rested on your waist, the fingers unaware of the thin fabric of the dress you were still wearing, while the other moved up to your thigh, resting there with familiarity and a touch of affection. He wasn’t exactly distracting you, but he didn’t seem willing to let you forget he was there, that he needed to touch you – as if you might disappear if he wasn’t sure you were real.

The warmth of his touch was something you could feel even through the fabric, a constant reminder that he was near, that he was yours. And as much as you tried to focus on his hair, the bleach, the time it needed to work, it was impossible not to be affected.

“If this keeps up, I’m going to mess up,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

His lips curved into a lazy smile, his eyes still closed. “Doesn’t seem like I’m the one distracting you right now,” he replied, but didn’t move, just enjoying the feel of your fingers massaging his scalp.

The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with the soft sound of his breathing and the sensation of his hair under your fingers. For a moment, you lost yourself, the movements becoming slower and more careful. It was almost hypnotic – the texture of the strands, the warmth radiating from his skin, the way he seemed so absorbed in the touch, as if nothing else mattered.

And then you looked at him.

His face was relaxed, dark lashes contrasting against his pale skin, the stubble outlining the curve of his jaw. His chest rose and fell in a tranquil rhythm, as if he were on the verge of a light sleep, but the smile on his lips was still there, a small curve that seemed impossible to erase.

It was inevitable. You leaned in before you even realized what you were doing, your lips touching his in a gesture as natural as breathing. Pietro responded immediately, as if he had been waiting for this, his hands gently gripping your waist and thigh, pulling you closer.

The kiss started sweetly but quickly turned into something more. It wasn’t urgent, but it had an intensity that made your knees almost buckle. When you tried to pull away, his hands wouldn’t let you, holding you in place as if he wasn’t done yet.

“Wait,” you tried to protest against his lips, but the word came out muffled, without conviction.

It wasn’t until you felt something wet trickling down the side of your face that reality hit hard. “Pietro!” you exclaimed, laughing as you pulled away.

He opened his eyes, confused, but the smile quickly returned when he saw the white stain on the side of your hair and a bit on your forehead. “Well, looks like you’re going to bleach with me.”

You stared at him, open-mouthed. “I told you this would happen! Now my hair’s going to be stained, and it’s all your fault.”

He shrugged, not a hint of regret. “You’re still beautiful. Maybe we should bleach it all at once.”

“No way,” you replied, trying to wipe the cream off your forehead with the back of your hand, only to spread it even more.

Pietro laughed, that warm, contagious laugh that made your heart race. He grabbed a piece of paper towel and leaned forward, wiping the stain off with a care that was completely at odds with the laughter shaking his shoulders. But then he held your face, giving you a look full of affection. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

You blinked, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “I know, Pietro.”

His fingers ran along your cheek. “I want you to know. Really. I don’t care about the hair, or what we do. I just want to make you happy.”

Your heart tightened, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to disappear. “You already do,” you said, your voice softer than you intended, but full of sincerity.

He smiled, that small, genuine smile that was all his. “Good. Because you’re everything to me.”

You felt the words like a hug, warm and full of meaning. He had always been like that – direct, no nonsense, but full of feeling.

“Now stop distracting me,” you said, trying to refocus, but the smile on your face was impossible to hide.

“No chance,” he replied, leaning in to steal a kiss before you could protest.

#pietro maximoff #pietro marvel #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff x y/n #quicksilver x y/n #ao3 writer #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #romance #aaron taylor johnson #atj #fluffy #atj x reader #writing #no use of y/n #modern!au

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tvandfilmarvel · 3 months ago

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AVENGERS: AGE OF ULTRON (2015) dir. Joss Whedon.

#icons #movies icons #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson icons #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff icons #quicksilver #quicksilver icons #age of ultron #age of ultron icons #marvel #marvel icons #marveledit #icons without psd #tvandfilm #cinematv #filmedit #moviesedit

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ch3rikizreal · 5 months ago

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AgauwjbahdaddydinabdkwnabdknenaaIwannahavehischildrenhhahirhiqbdjak

Alright, that’s all I have to say

#aaron taylor johnson #atj #bullet train #quicksilver #HES SO SLUTTY AJSHJAJSJRJAK #pietro maximoff #tangerine #james potter #i love him so much #I NEED HIM SO BAD #someone save him from granny

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avengerscompound · 9 months ago

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Avengers: Age of Ultron

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beyondbellebby · 2 years ago

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I can take them both (not in a fight)

#🤭🤭🤭#aaron taylor johnson #kraven the hunter #sergei kravinoff #pietro maximoff #quicksilver #marvel #i am not immune to atj #kraven the hunter x reader #sergei kravinoff x reader #pietro maximoff x reader

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gingerteafairy · 30 days ago

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𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲, 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱 (𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝘅𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗳𝗳𝘀 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿)

@ikkyfics you match my freak, ily. masterlist

The Maximoffs are chaotic, over-caffeinated tornados. But when they work together? Trouble.

tags n warnings: smut, mdni, therapist!reader, threesome, DUBCON, language, praise/degradation kink, blowjob, cheating, power use, semi public sex (office), p.e., fingering, cum eating, porn with plot, roleplay, dumbification. word count: 3.7k.

"Alright, let's try this again. Why are you here?" you asked once more, crossing your legs to steady your notebook as you prepared to take notes.

You checked the clock, fifteen minutes passed and those two didn't even say a word about the occurrence. They exchanged a glare filled with mutual disdain before shifting their eyes toward you.

"This guy is literally stealing my life!" Pietro burst out, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Oh, come on! Everyone knows I’m the better Quicksilver. Stop whining, loser." Peter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

"Seriously, dude? You couldn’t come up with any other powers?" Pietro shot back, leaning forward slightly.

"Oh, you idiot. You’re so jealous you even stole my name." Peter jabbed a finger toward Pietro, who immediately swatted his hand away.

"Funny coming from a kleptomaniac," Pietro sneered.

Peter's mouth fell open before he let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. "At least I didn’t commit identity theft. You literally just translated my name. PI-E-TRO."

"Okay, patriot. Your mom liked the idea when I found out she was pregnant," Pietro mocked, arching an eyebrow. Peter clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his own arms.

"That’s rich coming from you. Speed’s the one thing you’re actually good at, huh?" Peter shot back. “Can’t last longer than 3 seconds at this speed, right?”

That was the last straw. Pietro lost his temper, grabbing Peter by the collar of his shirt.

"You son of a—!"

"Enough!" you sighed, raising your voice a little louder than what was considered professional for a therapist. Taking a deep breath, you straightened your posture and forced a composed, professional smile.

"Now, let’s try this again. Why exactly did you two end up in the police station and get court-ordered to attend these therapy sessions?"

The two Maximoffs tensed at the question, shifting stiffly in their seats on the couch. Though their posture became slightly more formal, their glares and barely contained anger made it clear they’d rather be anywhere but here. A tense silence settled between them as they avoided eye contact, suddenly very interested in every insignificant detail of the office—except for each other.

"Peter?" you called out.

He jerked his head up, looking startled, sniffed, and rubbed his forehead.

"Do I gotta go first?" he groaned, scrunching up his nose like the idea physically pained him.

"You always do when it comes to women," Pietro chuckled, winking at Peter with a mocking charm.

Peter stiffened, his fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to lunge, but he held back, inhaling sharply through his nose.

"Alright… so, uh… you know how me and Pietro are both, like… fast?" He gestured vaguely, his words dragging like he was stalling. "We kinda… got the same powers, so…"

"We decided to race," Pietro cut in, crossing his arms and leaning back like he wasn’t slightly embarrassed admitting it out loud. "For the record—I won."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Peter muttered, his foot tapping so fast against the floor that the whole damn room vibrated.

"Aw, what’s wrong? You mad ‘cause you lost?" Pietro grinned, his voice teasing as he pouted to him.

You shot him a sharp look. He immediately put his hands up. "Alright, alright. My bad."

You exhaled, shifting in your seat. "Okay… Pietro, do you feel like Peter copies you?"

The answer was obvious, but honestly? You were still figuring out how to handle this. This was your first time counseling mutants, and these two? They were like a chaotic, over-caffeinated tornado. But you couldn’t deny it—it was kind of cool.

"Do I feel like he copies me?" Pietro scoffed, tossing his hands up. "Uh, yeah. Dude wants everything I got. My name, my powers, my fights, my women—"

"Wait—women?" you blinked, trying to absorb the nonsense.

"This idiot stole my girlfriend," Pietro accused, pouting his thumb to his side.Peter smirked, then tried (and failed) to hide it behind his hand.

"Peter, is that true?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn’t know she was his girlfriend!" Peter defended, throwing his hands up. "She just ran up, kissed me, and said she always wanted to make out with a Quicksilver." He shrugged. "I mean… kinda funny the whore knowing who's the original."

"And how did that make you feel, Pietro?" you asked, settling back into your chair.

Pietro rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Pfft. Annoyed? But, like—not surprised. Typical little thief behavior."

"I don’t steal anymore!" Peter shot back, smacking his hands against the couch.

"Yeah, but you’re still an idiot."

"Guys, please," you interjected, setting your notebook aside with your lecture glasses. "Look, I’m gonna be real with you. You two? You're some of the coolest mutants out there. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a runner—like, badly. But more than that? I always thought it'd be awesome to see you working together instead of trying to one-up each other. Don’t you think you could take down way more bad guys as a team?"

Unprofessional? Oh, absolutely. But these two were far from typical patients, and something told you this was the best approach.

And, shockingly—it worked.

Peter blinked. Then he let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a crooked grin. "Damn. That was kinda… deep."

"Yeah, uh… wow," Pietro muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "That’s… real different." He exhaled, rocking forward slightly. "Alright, fine. We’ll try to cooperate."

"Yeah. We will," Peter agreed, eyes flickering with something serious for the first time all session.

You smiled, feeling like you might have actually made some progress with the Maximoffs. Which was saying something, considering they’d already burned through four therapists—one of whom straight-up retired after dealing with them. You weren’t exactly sure what worked, but you had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that, deep down, you admired them. Unlike the others, who had only met their sarcasm with eye rolls and thinly veiled contempt.

"I wanna add something to that agreement," Pietro suddenly announced, raising a hand like he was in a classroom.

That actually caught you off guard. Was he… taking initiative?

"Uh—sure, Pietro. Go ahead. This is a safe space," you replied, lacing your fingers together in your lap like a proper professional.

"Yeah, just one thing—no more stealing other people’s girlfriends," he said flatly.

Peter groaned dramatically, throwing himself across the couch. "Dude, get over it already, for the love of God!" He whined, raking his fingers through his silver hair.

"What? Look, I think the therapist is hot, you probably think she’s hot—so you’re not gonna be with her," Pietro said, his voice dropping into something almost threatening.

Peter sat up instantly, staring him down. "No, I’m gonna be with her."

Pietro stood.

Peter stood.

And just like that, they were squared off like two boxers in a ring.

"I’m not gonna be with anyone!" you cut in, standing up too. "Jesus, every time I think we’re making progress, you two find a way to completely derail it!"

"Sorry. I’ll behave," Peter mumbled, looking down like a scolded kid.

"Yeah… my bad," Pietro sighed, hands resting on his hips. He hesitated before adding, "But, uh… what do you think of me—I mean, uh, us?"

"I think I can’t do this. It’s not professional," you said firmly, crossing your arms.

"But what if… I dunno… hypothetically—you could?" Peter murmured, raising an eyebrow at you.

And for a split second, the idea made you waver.

You clicked your tongue, scanning the room as if searching for an escape. "I’m referring you both to another professional," you declared, already walking toward your desk to grab your phone.

"What?! Why?" Peter practically whined, stepping into your personal space, lips curving into an exaggerated pout.

You sighed, setting your phone down again and pressing your fingers to your temples. "Because. When a therapist develops feelings for a patient that cross professional boundaries, they’re supposed to step away. Bringing emotions into it? That can cloud judgment. And that’s not something I’m willing to risk."

For a moment, that seemed to convince him. Maybe even you. But then you remembered something.

When the two Maximoffs worked together?

That meant trouble.

"So… you do feel something for us?" Pietro finally broke the silence, his eyes locked onto yours, dead serious.

Your breath hitched. You clenched your fists at your sides, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Look… admiration is easily confused for lust. It happens all the time—it’s just part of the whole messy spectrum of human emotions."

"Lust?" Peter echoed, one eyebrow shooting up.

You swallowed hard, rolling your shoulders in a weak attempt to shake off the tension.

"Yeah," you repeated, forcing your voice to stay steady. "Which is exactly why I’m giving you two options—either you leave now before this turns into a complete disaster, or you stay and we pretend to make progress for the next 35 minutes so no one gets suspicious."

Pietro tilted his head slightly, his smirk lazy. "No one has to know, doc," he murmured, stepping in closer until he was at your right side. "Unless you tell them."

"There’s, like, patient confidentiality, right?" Peter added smoothly, sliding into place on your left.

Your heart pounded so hard you swore they could hear it. The proximity of your two favorite mutants—two men you’d admired for years—was making your head spin.

"Y-Yeah… there is," you admitted, barely above a whisper. You were trying so hard to keep it together, to act professional, to not look like some desperate needy woman.

"This is a safe space," Pietro teased, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "So go ahead, doc," he murmured, thumb brushing lightly against the curve of your jaw. "Say whatever you want."

Your gaze flickered to the clock on the wall, grasping for anything to ground yourself. "There’s still… 35 minutes left in this session,"

Peter grinned, his hand pressing against the small of your back. "Perfect," he mused. "That’s plenty of time. We’re fast, aren’t we, Pietro?"

"More than enough," Pietro agreed.

Then, he gently tilted your face toward him, his voice dipping lower. "So… what’s bothering you, doc?"

"Nothing," you exhaled, heart hammering, body betraying you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to move his hand away. "This session is about you two, not me."

Peter tsked, shaking his head. "See, that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart." His fingers curled under your chin, tugging your gaze toward him instead. "This session? It’s all about you."

Your breath hitched.

"Tell me something," Peter continued, voice dropping into something warm and coaxing. "You see a therapist?"

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Finally, you whispered, "No…"

A slow, satisfied grin spread across Peter’s face.

"Then this is your chance to let it all out," he murmured, pressing his thumbs lightly into your cheeks. "You're so damn pretty, doc… but you look so stressed. Tell us what you really want."

Your pulse spiked—this was getting out of hand.You pulled away abruptly, stepping back, heading straight for the door.But before you could even reach the handle—

A gust of wind rushed past you.

Pietro was already there, blocking your way.

And another burst of air—Peter had already found the key, twirling it between his fingers before shoving it deep into his pocket. Your stomach flipped as the undesired heat rushed on your core.

"Avoidant behavior isn’t healthy, doc," Pietro teased, smirking. His voice was drenched in that same mix of sarcasm and effortless flirtation.

"Pietro… Peter… please," you whispered. “I won't send you to any other therapist, okay? Just… let me out, huh?”

Peter shook his head, giving you a slow, knowing look. "Nah." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming.

"This session ends," he said smoothly, "when you tell us how you really feel about us, doc. So sit down and relax, you're not going anywhere without proper care.”

You had no options. They were mutants.So, you did the only thing you could do—you walked toward your armchair, ready to sit down and say whatever was necessary to get through this.

But Peter had other plans.

"Uh-uh," he interrupted, shaking his head as he pointed to the couch. "Sofa."

You hesitated, but ultimately obeyed, sinking down between them.

"Good girl," Peter hummed, flashing a smirk as they settled in close on either side of you. "Now… what’s been bothering you?"

Your throat felt tight. You couldn’t look at them, so you fixed your stare on the floor instead.Then, you felt Pietro’s hands on your shoulders. A slow, deliberate massage. Firm fingers kneading into your tension.

"You’re so tense…" he murmured, pressing a little harder. A quiet, unbidden grunt slipped from your lips.

"Running from your feelings is only gonna make things worse," he added, voice low and knowing.

"I… I’m uncomfortable with this," you lied, though your body was betraying you completely—shoulders loosening under his touch, breath steadying, eyes fluttering half-shut.

They noticed. Peter reached for your hands, his touch light but insistent.

"You need to relax," he said gently, voice laced with something syrupy—something coaxing.And damn it, this was relaxing. You’d been working so hard for so long—maybe you did deserve this.

“You seem hurt. Can you tell me where it hurts, doc?”

And somehow, your body listened. Your head nodded all on its own. Peter smirked, palming his hand on your forehead. “Is it here?”

“No…" you murmured, looking between them, eyes soft.

“Uhmm…I see…” he muttered, snaking his hand to your throat, giving a gentle grip that crept a sigh out of you. “Nah… that's not the right place. Should i keep exploring?”

Your body trembled for a moment, but then—slowly—you let yourself sink into the plush cushions, head tilting back, breath evening out.

He kept exploring from your collarbone, shoulders, arms, chest and finally to your belly, just at the hem of your skirt, where he paused and your brows knit together, not wanting them to stop.

“Oh… is it here?” He cooed, his fingers entering on the fabric, playing and testing the softness of the skin.

“No, it's…” you swallowed, regretting telling it, but it was so good. “It's lower…”

Two pairs of sharp eyes watched you, studying every shift, every exhale. Peter licked his lips and unzipped your skirt, downing it, watching you toss it to the ground.

“I know how to make this pain go away, doc,” Pietro smirked, leaving your shoulders and palming the soft flesh of your inner thigh, approaching the heat. He sides your panties, chuckling at the glistening spot. “Look, Peter. Our doc is suffering so much, we need to do something.”

Peter nodded, biting his lip as his cock felt painful on his pants by the sight of your clit getting moist by Pietro's fingers wet with your arousal, massaging the spot.

You shutted your eyes, grinding on his finger light touch to get more pressure. He chuckled, nuzzling his fingers. “Fuck, do that again.”

Pietro grinned, taking the loose hair locks out of your face to see your dizzy expression better. "See? Progress.”

“She's evolving so much,” Peter cooed, approaching his fingers to your slit, teasing the entrance. “D’you think she can handle a little more?”

“Oh, I’m sure she can. She's strong, aren't you, sweetheart?” Pietro pouted, applying more pressure to the vibrations.

“Yeah…” you mumble, whimpering when Peter's finger slipped inside your needy cunt.

“It's sucking me,” he added, curling his fingers teasingly as you moaned slyly. “Shhh. Calm down, doc. You don't want anyone hearing your session, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you whined, digging your fingers on the couch as the both of their fingers vibrated and their gaze lighted you even more as the first signs of your orgasm approached. “I'm gonna cum, m gonna…”

They stopped.

“What? You really did think we’d let you cum easily like this?” Peter provoked, pinching your fold lightly. “What do they say about medication, doc?”

You frowned, licking your lips as you tried to rationalize with your cunt pulsed as it had its own heart. “We need to introduce small doses, that way we can see if the patient is prepared… or ready for a bigger dose.”

“Yep!” Pietro smirked, petting the top of your head as he standed in front of you, unbuckling his belt. “Time for the medicine, doc…”

“Jeez, it sounded cheesy as fuck, dude.” Peter snorted and you relaxed, laughing with him. “See? You made her laugh, clownsilver.”

“Sad you won't get a blowjob, Peter.” He mocked, unbuttoning his jeans and finally freeing his cock from its confinement. “I’m gonna ruin your pretty mouth, is it okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, embarrassed enough to keep you shutted facing his veiny cock. You wrapped your hand on the base, mouth opening to welcome his length on your canal, a ‘pop’ sound coming when you toke it out to lick.

“Fuck, you're even better than I imagined,” he groaned, gripping your hair on a messy ponytail to face fuck you, tears and gags coming as a reflex. “Shit. Check this out, Peter… our little— hmmmghh—slut here is crying on my dick.”

“Don't call her slut,” he warned, cupping your engorged teary cheek, drool coming out. “Shh, my dear. Peter's gonna take care of you after this savage fucks your face, okay?”

“Nah, man. She's fucking loving it,” he chuckled, throwing his head back as his pace got faster, his cock spurting his seed on your mouth. “Yeah… take it… take it, darling. Swallow your medicine.”

You swallowed all, breathing heavily as you recovered. Pietro leaning his body down, cupping your face, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Atta girl.” He whispered, kissing you, feeling his own taste in your mouth. “All yours, quikdick.”

Peter smirked, looking at your disheveled face with flushed cheeks and swollen eyes. “Oh, my girl must be so tired…” he pouted, brushing your hair with his fingers. “C’mere. Quickie’s gonna make you feel good.”

He patted his lap, lips curling into a sly smile as you standed, peeling your panties off your body as you straddled on his lap, unbuttoning your shirt.

“25 minutes left,” you breathed, revealing your breasts covered by your lacey lingerie.

“You're so beautiful, doc.” He praised, surprising you as his hands drove to your chest, cupping the weight. He left your boobs to get his hard thick cock out of his jeans, gripping on your hips to guide you as you sink down on his length. “Shit, you feel so good, suga.”

Pietro sat down on the couch, touching his cock as he saw you starting to move up and down on Peter's fat cock, stretching your pussy, his tip kissing your cervix.

“C’mere, lay down on me,” Peter muttered, pulling you to his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. His feet planted on the ground to support his thrust on you.

“Fuck—yes, yes, yes, Peter,” you cried out, grasping his shirt, your clit rubbing on his abdomen as he turned his head to lick your neck.

Pietro’s cock was already hardened again at the scene, not resisting the urge to adjust his position to kiss you as he pumped his cock. Fuck, you couldn't even think about anything with Peter's cock buried inside you and Pietro's lips.

“Yeah, that's it…” he murmured sweet nothings in your ear, his hot breath causing shivers down your spine as you bounced on him, moans muffled by Pietro's lips, massaging your tongue.

“You taste so good,” Pietro praised, his tone soft, almost whiney-like as his fist rushed it's pace on his cock. “It's so fucking good to see you like this doc —ugh… being braindead… you're so smart and all… and here you are—can’t even say a word.”

“D’ya like this, doc? Being spoiled by two mutants?” Peter grunted, increasing his speed. “Think your greedy cunt want both of us, is it true? Can't —shit—decide between us? We need your judgement, doc. C’mon. Say it.”

“Uhmmm—” you tried to speak, but nothing came. You were seeing stars, no, better, lighting strikes. “Fuck—uhm, gonna cum.”

“Then, cum.” They both said in unison as you came shamelessly soaking Peter's lap, squeaking on Pietro's mid-part lips. He came with you and so did Peter, filling your womb with his thick white ropes as he slowed his rocking hips on you, giving a last one when he finished.

You paused, panting, unable to speak or even think straight by yourself, trying to stand, stumbling on your boneless legs. Both standed to help you, laying you down on the couch.

After the affectionate session, your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep on the couch. Peter narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms, while Pietro tilted his head, planting his hands on his hips.

“I think we overdosed her,” Peter mused, pressing his lips together—a bit ironic, considering he was the biggest culprit.

“Nah, she can handle it,” Pietro countered, flashing you a grin as you began to stir. “She’s our therapist. The smartest of them all. You think just anyone could keep up with our… situation?”

“No one,” Peter added, stepping closer and settling onto the couch. He grabbed your legs, resting them on his lap. Pietro followed suit, lifting your head to place it on his lap, his fingers immediately running through your hair in slow, soothing strokes.

“How much time do you think we’ve got, doc?” Pietro asked, glancing at the clock on the wall before turning his gaze to you.

“I’d say… five minutes,” you murmured, your eyes slipping shut.

Pietro smirked, exchanging a glance with the other Maximoff. “No, sweetheart,” he corrected, pinching your cheek playfully. “20 minutes.”

Frowning, you sat up and checked the clock. They were right. Peter chuckled at your confusion.

“Forgot already? We’re the fastest in the world.”

“No, I am,” Pietro argued.

“No, I am,” Peter shot back.

“No more sessions if you two don’t cut it out,” you threatened, barely suppressing your laughter. Positive reinforcement was, after all, the most effective approach when dealing with the Maximoffs.

113 notes · View notes

mintyys-blog · 15 days ago

Text

THE COOL UNCLE— pietro maximoff x teacher! reader

WARNINGS: implied sex

You were finishing up the last bit of cleaning in your second-grade classroom when the final bell rang, signaling the end of another school day. The sounds of eager children and their exhausted parents filled the hallways as students filtered out, their backpacks bouncing behind them.

Billy and Tommy Maximoff, two of your more… spirited students, had been talking about their uncle all day.

“Uncle Pietro’s picking us up today!” Billy had announced during recess, practically vibrating with excitement.

“He’s way cooler than Mom,” Tommy had added with a mischievous grin, though you knew Wanda would probably beg to differ.

Curious to finally meet the infamous “cool uncle,” you stepped outside with the boys as they ran ahead, scanning the crowd. You had just started to look for their usual pickup ride when a streak of blue zipped past you, stirring the air in a sudden gust.

The next thing you knew, a tall, silver-haired man was standing in front of you, a cocky grin on his face.

“Hey, troublemakers, ready to go?” he asked, ruffling Tommy’s hair as Billy dramatically groaned in protest.

“You must be Uncle Pietro,” you said, raising an amused brow at his sudden appearance.

“And you must be the poor soul stuck with these two all day,” he shot back, his smirk widening. His Sokovian accent gave his words a teasing lilt. “I hope they haven’t driven you to early retirement yet.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Not yet. But they do keep me on my toes.”

Pietro crossed his arms, looking you over in a way that was definitely not just polite curiosity. “And do you keep them on their toes?”

“They wish,” you quipped. “I’ve got eyes on the back of my head.”

“Ooooh,” he dragged out the sound playfully, nodding in mock approval. “Impressive. No wonder they talk about you so much.”

Your stomach did a tiny flip at that. They talked about you?

Before you could ask him what exactly they’d been saying, Tommy grabbed Pietro’s hand impatiently. “Can we go now? We wanna race!”

Pietro ruffled his nephew’s hair again. “Alright, alright. But you better not cry when I leave you in the dust.”

“We won’t!” both boys shouted before taking off toward the schoolyard. Pietro let them go ahead before turning back to you.

“So, Miss (Y/L/N),” he mused, rolling your name around like he was testing how it felt on his tongue. “Are you always this charming, or is it just for me?”

You smirked. “Depends. Are you always this full of yourself, or is it just for me?”

His grin widened, as if he liked the challenge. “Guess you’ll have to see for yourself.”

And with that, he winked and sped off after the boys, leaving you with flushed cheeks and a flutter in your chest.

Well, you thought, school pickup just got a lot more interesting.

The next day, you were barely two steps into the classroom when Billy and Tommy rushed up to you, their faces alight with excitement.

“Uncle Pietro asked about you last night!” Billy blurted out before you even had a chance to greet them.

Tommy elbowed him. “Shhh! You weren’t supposed to tell her yet!”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your bag down. “Oh? And what exactly did he ask?”

Billy grinned. “He wanted to know if you were really as cool as we say you are.”

Tommy nodded eagerly. “And if you had a boyfriend.”

Your breath caught slightly, but you masked it with a chuckle. “And what did you tell him?”

Billy shrugged. “That you don’t, obviously.”

Tommy smirked. “And that you totally like him.”

You opened your mouth, but before you could deny—or confirm—that, the morning bell rang, and the boys scampered off to their seats, leaving you flustered and more than a little intrigued.

The day passed quickly, but you found yourself glancing at the clock more than usual. By the time pickup rolled around, you were acutely aware of your own anticipation. And, as if on cue, there he was.

Pietro appeared in his usual blur, skidding to a stop just outside the classroom door. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Miss me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop your own smile. “You were gone?”

He chuckled, pushing off the door and strolling toward you. “You wound me.”

Before you could respond, Tommy and Billy ran up, already tugging on his sleeves.

“We have to go, Uncle Pietro! You promised to take us for ice cream!” Billy reminded him.

Pietro nodded, then turned back to you. “You should come.”

You blinked. “What?”

He grinned. “Come with us. The boys want you to. And, well… so do I.”

Your heart skipped at the way he said it—so casually confident, but with just enough sincerity to make it clear this wasn’t just a playful tease.

Billy and Tommy were practically vibrating with excitement. “Say yes!”

You glanced between the eager boys and the silver-haired speedster waiting expectantly.

Maybe school pickup had just gotten a lot more interesting.

You smiled. “Alright. But only if you let me pick the flavor.”

Pietro’s smirk deepened. “Deal.”

And just like that, you were swept into his world, laughing as he and the boys raced ahead, the wind at their backs and something new fluttering in your chest.

The ice cream shop was only a short walk from the school, but with Pietro, nothing ever took the usual amount of time. One moment, you were stepping onto the sidewalk, and the next, a gust of wind wrapped around you, and you found yourself standing in front of the shop, your hair slightly tousled from the sudden movement.

Pietro grinned as he set Billy and Tommy down beside him. “See? Much more efficient.”

You gave him a pointed look as you tried to smooth your hair. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss that reaction?” He winked. “Never.”

Billy and Tommy were already racing inside, leaving the two of you standing by the door. Pietro gestured for you to go first, and when you stepped inside, the sweet scent of sugar and waffle cones filled the air.

“Alright, Miss Teacher,” he mused as you approached the counter, “what’s the all-important flavor choice?”

You hummed in thought, scanning the options before pointing to one. “Mint chocolate chip.”

Pietro made a face like you had personally offended him. “Really? Mint?”

You crossed your arms, lifting a brow. “You invited me. My rules.”

Tommy, who had overheard, gasped dramatically. “You like mint chocolate chip? That’s, like, toothpaste ice cream!”

Billy nodded in agreement. “Uncle Pietro, you can’t date her now. This is a dealbreaker.”

You choked on air as Pietro burst into laughter, looking entirely too pleased. “Oh-ho! Date her, huh?”

Tommy groaned. “Billy! You weren’t supposed to say that out loud yet!”

Billy winced. “Oops.”

Pietro leaned against the counter, smirking. “So… dating, huh? You two been planning my love life without me?”

“Duh,” Tommy said, as if it were obvious. “Mom’s too busy, so someone has to.”

Your face was burning at this point. “I think we should focus on the ice cream, not Pietro’s romantic life.”

Billy pouted. “But you like him, right?”

Pietro grinned, leaning a little closer. “Yeah, Miss (Y/L/N), do you?”

You inhaled, narrowing your eyes at him. He was enjoying this far too much. You turned back to the ice cream attendant, pretending to ignore him. “I’ll take a double scoop, please.”

Pietro let out a dramatic sigh. “Avoiding the question, I see. That’s okay. I’m fast—I can wait.”

Billy and Tommy both giggled as Pietro finally ordered for himself, and soon enough, the four of you were seated in a booth by the window, the boys engaged in an intense debate over which superhero would win in a fight.

Pietro nudged you with his knee under the table. “So, you never answered.”

You took a slow, deliberate bite of your ice cream before meeting his gaze. “Maybe.”

His smirk widened. “I’ll take that.”

And somehow, you knew this wouldn’t be the last time Pietro Maximoff invited you out—whether you admitted it yet or not, you were already caught up in his whirlwind.

The afternoon passed in a blur of laughter, ice cream, and the infectious energy that seemed to follow Pietro wherever he went. The boys were in their own world, debating superhero showdowns and occasionally challenging Pietro to speed-related dares—none of which he could actually accept in public, much to their disappointment.

At some point, Pietro leaned back in the booth, arms stretched along the top of the seat, and watched you with a lazy smirk. “So, Miss Mint Chocolate Chip, tell me—why’d you decide to be a teacher?”

You swallowed a spoonful of your ice cream, surprised by the genuine interest in his voice. “I always loved working with kids. Plus, I had some great teachers growing up, and I wanted to be that for someone else.” You glanced at Billy and Tommy, who were still completely engrossed in their conversation. “I like watching them learn, seeing things click in their minds. It’s rewarding.”

Pietro hummed, considering that. “I get that. They do talk about you a lot, you know. In a good way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure? I feel like half the time they’re plotting my downfall.”

He laughed. “Well, yeah, but that just means they like you. They don’t waste their energy on people they don’t care about.”

Something warm settled in your chest at that.

Before you could respond, Tommy suddenly gasped and pointed at the clock on the wall. “Uncle Pietro! We’re gonna be late!”

Pietro checked the time and groaned. “Right. Wanda’s gonna kill me.” He slid out of the booth in one smooth motion and held out a hand to help you up. You hesitated for half a second before accepting, his grip warm and steady.

The boys were already halfway to the door when Pietro turned to you, still holding your hand. “I’d offer you a ride, but I feel like you might need a little more warning next time.”

You smirked. “Next time?”

His expression turned smug. “Oh, definitely.” He gave your hand a small squeeze before letting go. “Gotta make sure you get to know me outside of just hearing about me from these two.”

You tilted your head. “And what makes you think I want to?”

His grin widened. “Because you haven’t said no yet.”

And with that, he zipped off after the boys, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and a smile you couldn’t quite hide.

Maybe school pickup really was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

That night, as you settled onto your couch with a cup of tea and your laptop, you found yourself replaying the afternoon in your mind. Pietro was… a lot. Fast-talking, fast-moving, full of charm and mischief. But there was something else beneath it—something warm, something real.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling you from your thoughts. You reached for it and nearly choked on your drink when you saw the message.

Unknown Number: Guess who got your number from two little troublemakers?

Your stomach flipped.

You: I’m going to assume Billy and Tommy and not some random telemarketer?

Unknown Number: Ding ding ding! Smart AND pretty. No wonder they like you so much.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

You: Pietro, did you really steal my number from your nephews?

Pietro: Steal? No. Persuade? Maybe. I’m very convincing.

You: That sounds like a nice way of saying you bribed them.

Pietro: Tommy cracked first. One promise of a trip to the arcade, and he was singing like a canary.

You laughed, shaking your head. Before you could type a response, another message popped up.

Pietro: So… now that I have your number, I might as well use it. You free tomorrow?

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. You knew exactly what he was asking. This wasn’t a casual “see you at pickup” kind of thing. This was him asking you out.

You glanced at the clock. It was late, but you could still hear Billy and Tommy’s voices in your head—you like him, right?

Yeah. Maybe you did.

You: Are you always this persistent?

Pietro: I’m fast, not patient.

You bit your lip, then typed your response before you could overthink it.

You: Alright, Maximoff. One date.

The reply came almost instantly.

Pietro: Smart AND pretty AND makes good decisions? I’m impressed. Pick you up at 7.

You shook your head, setting your phone down with a quiet laugh. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into—but something told you life was about to get a whole lot more exciting. The next evening, you stood in front of your mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your outfit for what had to be the tenth time.

A date. With Pietro Maximoff.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting when you agreed—something casual, maybe a coffee shop or a quick dinner. But Pietro, being Pietro, had refused to give you any details beyond a vague “Just be ready at seven, I got this.”

Now, as you glanced at the clock, your nerves kicked in. Seven o’clock on the dot.

And then—

A sharp gust of wind rattled your windows.

You turned just in time to hear a knock at your door.

Taking a deep breath, you opened it.

Pietro stood there, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, silver hair slightly tousled from the wind. His usual cocky smirk was in place, but there was something softer in his eyes as he looked you over.

“Wow,” he said, tilting his head. “You clean up nice, Miss Teacher.”

You crossed your arms, feigning nonchalance. “I could say the same, but I’m guessing you didn’t put much effort in.”

He grinned. “Nah, looking this good is just natural.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

“So,” you said, stepping outside and locking your door behind you. “Where are we going?”

Pietro’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “It’s a surprise.”

Before you could protest, he scooped you up in his arms. A startled gasp escaped your lips as the world blurred around you, wind rushing past your skin. You barely had time to register the movement before, suddenly, you were standing on solid ground again.

You blinked, breathless.

The city lights stretched out before you, twinkling like scattered stars. You were on the rooftop of a tall building, high enough to see the skyline, the faint hum of life below mixing with the crisp night air.

You turned to Pietro, who was watching you expectantly. “A rooftop?”

He shrugged. “Figured you spend all day surrounded by kids. Thought you could use a little space. Besides,”—he grinned—“I happen to know this place has the best takeout in the city.”

Your gaze followed his, landing on a small picnic setup at the center of the rooftop—a blanket, a basket, and what looked like steaming takeout containers.

Your heart did something weird in your chest.

“You… set this up?”

He smirked. “What, did you think I was gonna drag you to some fancy restaurant and pretend I know how to sit still for two hours?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Honestly? Yeah, a little.”

“Please. I’m full of surprises.”

As you sat down, Pietro handed you a takeout box and plopped down beside you, stretching his legs out. For a moment, the two of you ate in comfortable silence, the city buzzing below, the wind carrying the faint scent of food and something uniquely him—electricity and warmth.

Then, he spoke.

“So, be honest. What do you think?”

You glanced at him. “Of what? The view? The food?”

He smirked. “Me.”

You pretended to consider it. “Hmm… Well, you’re definitely fast.”

“True.”

“And a little arrogant.”

“Also true.”

“But…” You let the word hang in the air before finally smiling. “You’re not so bad, Maximoff.”

Pietro grinned, leaning back on his elbows. “Not so bad, huh?” He looked at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll take it.”

As the night stretched on, you realized something—

Billy and Tommy had been right.

You did like him.

And, judging by the way Pietro kept looking at you, like he had all the time in the world—despite being the fastest man alive—maybe he liked you too. The night stretched on in a way you weren’t expecting. Time seemed to slow—a rare thing when Pietro Maximoff was involved. You sat together on the rooftop, laughing between bites of takeout, trading stories about childhood, embarrassing moments, and the chaos that came with looking after Billy and Tommy.

“You’ve got no idea what those two used to be like as toddlers,” Pietro said, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Fast, loud, and absolutely convinced they could take on the world.”

You smirked. “So… like you?”

Pietro placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Ouch. That was uncalled for.”

You nudged him playfully. “I’m just saying, I think I know where they get it from.”

He shot you a lopsided grin, the kind that made something flutter in your stomach. “Maybe. But you’re handling them like a pro. Kinda impressive, actually.”

You glanced down at your takeout container, his words unexpectedly warming you. “Thanks. They’re good kids.”

“They are.” He exhaled, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “Wanda did good with them. But I think she worries, y’know? She’s had to be so many things—mom, protector, whatever else. I try to help where I can.”

You softened. “You do more than help. Those boys adore you.”

He was quiet for a beat, then turned his head toward you. “And what about you, Miss Teacher?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes were watching you closely. “How do you feel about me?”

Your breath caught for a second. He wasn’t joking, not entirely.

You licked your lips, gathering your thoughts. “I think… you’re a lot.”

Pietro snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

You smiled. “But I also think… you’re more than what you let people see.”

His smirk faltered slightly, like he hadn’t been expecting that. He held your gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind his blue eyes. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in just a little closer.

“You keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna think you actually like me.”

Your lips curled upward. “And what if I do?”

His smirk froze for half a second—just long enough for you to notice. Then, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Before you could ask what that meant, he suddenly shot up to his feet, offering you a hand. “Come on.”

You hesitated. “Where?”

He wiggled his fingers impatiently. “Just trust me.”

Against your better judgment—but fully against your will—you took his hand. The next thing you knew, he had pulled you up and spun you into him, hands settling at your waist as yours landed against his chest.

Your breath hitched. “Pietro—”

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a little softer now. “You don’t have to overthink it.”

You weren’t sure if he meant the moment, the date, or… him. But as you stood there, the wind sweeping through the rooftop, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm, you decided—

For once, maybe you didn’t want to overthink it.

So, instead, you smiled. “Alright, Maximoff. Surprise me.”

His grin returned, slow and full of something dangerously enticing. “Oh, you’re in trouble now.”

And just like that, he spun you—fast but careful—before pulling you right back against him. The night blurred into something warm and electric, the kind of moment that felt suspended in time. Pietro kept you close as he spun you around the rooftop, not quite dancing, not quite standing still—just moving in a way that felt like him. Fast, unrestrained, but deliberate.

You let yourself laugh, the sound carried away by the wind. “This isn’t exactly what I expected for our first date.”

Pietro smirked, slowing his movement just enough to keep you anchored. “That’s because you underestimated my charm.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. “And here I thought you were just trying to impress me.”

His hands flexed slightly at your waist. “Is it working?”

You pretended to consider it, tilting your head. “Hmm. I don’t know…”

His smirk widened. “Guess I’ll just have to try harder.”

And then—he dipped you.

A real, proper, movie-worthy dip.

You gasped as your world tilted, your fingers gripping his jacket as your hair brushed the wind. He held you easily, steady despite the speed in his veins, his face just inches from yours. His grin was all mischief, but there was something else in his gaze, something real.

You swallowed. “Show-off.”

“Only for you, printessa.” His voice was lower now, teasing, but softer than before.

And, for a split second, you thought he might actually kiss you.

But then—

“Hey! Uncle Pietro, did you kiss her yet?!”

Billy’s voice rang out from the rooftop entrance, followed immediately by Tommy’s loud “You owe me five bucks if they did!”

Pietro groaned, reluctantly pulling you back upright. “Are you kidding me?”

You barely had time to compose yourself before the boys came sprinting over, completely unbothered by the fact that they had just crashed your date.

Billy stopped in front of you, arms crossed. “So? Did he?”

Your face was burning. “That is not an appropriate question.”

Tommy nudged his brother. “Told you. He’s too slow.”

Pietro placed a hand over his chest, looking deeply offended. “Excuse me? I am literally the fastest person on the planet.”

Billy shrugged. “Not where it counts, apparently.”

You choked on a laugh as Pietro pointed at them. “Okay, you know what? I was going to take you for ice cream after this, but now? I think I’ll just take her instead.”

Billy’s eyes widened in panic. “Wait—”

But before he could argue, Pietro had already scooped you up—again—and zipped you down the building, leaving the twins behind with a gust of wind and a trail of laughter.

When he finally set you down, you were still breathless, hair a mess. You swayed slightly, gripping his arm for balance. “You really have to stop doing that.”

Pietro grinned down at you. “Never.”

You exhaled, still half-laughing, half-dizzy. “So… ice cream, huh?”

He smirked. “What, you thought I was joking?”

You shook your head, smiling. “No. I think I’m finally learning not to doubt you.”

His expression softened just slightly, like he was tucking those words away for later. Then, his usual cocky grin returned. “Good. ‘Cause this is only the first of many, Miss Teacher.”

And as he took your hand, leading you toward whatever whirlwind adventure came next, you had a feeling—

Maybe you weren’t just getting caught up in Pietro Maximoff’s world.

Maybe he was getting caught up in yours, too.

The next time you met him—this time for a casual dinner—Pietro didn’t just sit across from you. He made sure you were comfortable in your seat before he sat close, his leg brushing against yours under the table.

At first, it was subtle, just the lightest of touches, but it didn’t take long for it to feel more… intentional. More intimate. You found your thoughts distracted as you ate, his knee against yours, the warmth of his presence settling around you like it belonged.

You tried to brush it off, keeping the conversation light, but it was hard when his gaze kept flickering to your lips every time you spoke.

When the check came, you both stood, and as you grabbed your purse, you felt him move in a little closer—this time, his hand brushing your back in a way that left an electric warmth behind.

You looked up at him, heart racing. “What are you doing?”

He smirked, leaning in a fraction more, his breath just a little too close. “You’re making it hard to think straight, Miss Teacher.”

Your pulse quickened, and you could feel the tension building between you. “I—”

Before you could finish, his hand was at your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel his breath against your skin. The air felt thick, charged. He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

You barely had time to process the words before his lips found yours, soft but urgent, as if he were testing the waters. And when you kissed him back, the world around you melted away, the only thing that existed was the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his hands against your back, and the dizzying sensation of finally giving in to the undeniable pull between you.

It wasn’t a rushed kiss—no, it was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to savor the moment, take his time. His hands slid to your hips, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your clothes. You didn’t stop him.

For a moment, you were lost in it, the overwhelming sensation of his presence, his touch, his warmth. And when you finally pulled back, gasping for breath, Pietro was watching you with a mix of admiration and something more intense.

“I didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” he murmured, his voice rougher than before.

You smiled, your hands still resting on his chest as you looked up at him. “You didn’t.”

He gave you a soft, almost surprised smile before leaning in for another kiss, this time deeper, more urgent. You responded immediately, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened until you could barely remember who initiated it, and all that mattered was the way he made you feel—alive, wanted, and tangled in a web of desire that you didn’t want to escape from.

When you finally broke apart, you could barely catch your breath. Pietro’s forehead rested against yours as you both tried to steady yourselves.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” you whispered, half-laughing, half-breathless.

Pietro chuckled softly, his hands still gently caressing your back. “I know.” His voice was low, almost a growl. “But I think you might like it.”

You smiled, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “I might.”

The kiss that followed was slower, more tender, a promise of more. It wasn’t just a date anymore. It was something deeper, something that neither of you were quite ready to name, but you both knew—whatever it was, it felt real.

The accusations came as a shock. At first, you thought it was a misunderstanding. A few parents in the school were talking—whispers in the hallway, accusations behind closed doors. You didn’t know who started it, but it quickly became clear: some of them believed you were giving special treatment to Billy and Tommy because of your relationship with their uncle.

The whispers grew louder when you received an email from the principal, asking you to come in for a meeting with a few concerned parents.

You couldn’t believe it. You weren’t neglecting the rest of your class. If anything, you had been more attentive, more careful, ever since.

The first time you heard the accusations, it was just a whisper in the teacher’s lounge. You hadn’t thought much of it—teachers talked about their students all the time, especially when it came to things like school events, grades, and behavior. But when a colleague of yours casually mentioned the complaints from a few parents, it hit harder than you expected.

“Some parents are worried that since you’ve started seeing Pietro, you’ve been giving Billy and Tommy special treatment,” your colleague said, her tone almost apologetic. “They feel like the rest of the class is being neglected, and it’s not fair to them.”

Your stomach tightened, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t just about the rumors—it was about your professional reputation, your work with these kids, and everything you’d built up over the years.

But the reality of it didn’t hit you until you heard it directly from a parent at pickup the next day.

“Excuse me, Miss Y/L/N?”

You turned to see one of the parents—Mrs. Stevens, a mother of one of the quieter kids in your class—standing with her arms crossed, a serious expression on her face.

“Hi, Mrs. Stevens. Is everything alright?” you asked, offering a polite smile, but it faltered when she didn’t immediately return it.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” she said, her voice tight. “I’m concerned about how things have been since you started seeing… him.” She glanced at the parking lot where Pietro was waiting by his car, the twins bouncing around him.

Your heart sank. You could already feel where this was going. “I’m doing my best to keep everything balanced, Mrs. Stevens.”

She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “I’m sure you are. But when we see that Billy and Tommy seem to get all of your attention, and my son’s been struggling, it’s hard not to wonder if it’s affecting your judgment.”

Her words stung, even though she wasn’t being outright accusatory. You had tried so hard to be fair, to give every child in your class the attention they needed.

“I assure you, I treat all my students equally. My relationship with Pietro doesn’t change how I approach my work,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

She didn’t seem convinced, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Some other parents feel the same. If this continues, we might have to take it to the principal.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words hitting you like a brick. Before you could respond, she gave a curt nod and turned, walking away.

The rest of the evening felt like a blur. You wanted to talk to Pietro, but you knew that doing so would make things complicated. He’d probably get defensive, and that’s the last thing you needed right now. He cared deeply for his nephews, but this was your job, your reputation.

The next day, you arrived at school early, standing in front of your classroom and staring at the door like it was a barrier between you and everything you wanted to fix. You knew you had to address the issue head-on—there was no other choice. But how?

The day passed slowly, each passing minute heavier than the last. You interacted with your students as best as you could, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that the eyes of other parents were on you. Every time you saw a parent waiting near the pickup area, it felt like they were silently judging you.

After school, you had a meeting with Principal Carter. The parents had made their formal complaint, and it was time to address it.

You walked into his office, feeling the weight of the situation settle around you like a heavy cloak. Principal Carter, a tall, quiet man who always had a calm demeanor, gestured for you to sit.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he started, his voice even but laced with concern. “I’ve heard the complaints from a few parents about your relationship with Pietro Maximoff and the impact it may be having on your work here.”

You took a deep breath. “I understand their concerns, but I want to assure you, I’ve always treated my students fairly and with respect. My relationship with Pietro has no bearing on how I approach my classroom.”

He nodded slowly, then looked down at a few papers on his desk. “I believe you, but these kinds of accusations are serious, and we have to look at all angles. I’ve arranged for a review of your classroom performance over the past few weeks. We’ll need to ensure that every student is being given equal attention.”

Your chest tightened. “I understand, but I promise this isn’t about bias. I’m fully committed to all of my students.”

Principal Carter studied you for a moment, then sighed. “I know you are, and that’s why I don’t want to rush to conclusions. But this is something we have to address. I’ll schedule a meeting with the parents involved and see if we can come to some resolution.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “I’ll do whatever it takes to clear this up.”

As you left his office, your mind was racing. You couldn’t let these rumors define your career. You couldn’t let anyone question your dedication to your students. You’d worked too hard for this.

That night, you called Pietro, hoping he’d understand the weight of what you were facing. When he answered, his voice was soft. “Hey, what’s wrong? You sound… stressed.”

“I need to talk to you,” you said, leaning against the wall of your apartment. “There’s been some… complaints. From some of the parents about me being biased because of… well, us.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and then his voice cracked through, tense but understanding. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know,” you said, rubbing your temples. “But they’re serious about it. The principal’s even getting involved. It’s just… I don’t want anyone to think I’m neglecting the rest of the class.”

Pietro’s voice softened, his usual confidence replaced by a trace of something deeper. “You’re doing everything right. Don’t let anyone make you doubt that. You care about those kids, and you know how to do your job. Don’t let them tear you down over something that isn’t even true.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling a little lighter just from hearing his voice. “Thank you.”

“I’ve got your back, always,” he said, his tone full of reassurance. “You’re not alone in this.”

You smiled faintly, leaning your head back against the wall. “I know.”

And even though the battle wasn’t over yet, you found some strength in his words. You would clear this up. You had to. For you, for your students, and for the integrity of everything you worked for. The days following your meeting with Principal Carter felt like a pressure cooker. You knew that, no matter how many times you reassured yourself, the accusations weren’t going to disappear on their own. They were lingering, like a shadow you couldn’t shake off, and you had to face them head-on.

The parents’ concerns were valid, even if they were rooted in misunderstanding. It wasn’t their fault that they couldn’t see the entirety of your relationship with Pietro—how it was still in its early stages, how it didn’t affect your work, or how committed you were to your students. But that didn’t matter in the face of their frustrations. They had made their claims, and now you had to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you were still the same teacher you always had been.

You threw yourself into your work harder than ever, meticulously planning lessons, staying after school to help struggling students, and making sure every child in your class felt seen and heard. You made small efforts to engage with the parents as well, inviting them to parent-teacher conferences, offering insights into their child’s progress, and reminding them that you were committed to their children’s education.

Still, you couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that there were eyes on you, judging you, waiting for you to slip. The stress wore on you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Even when Pietro dropped by the school to pick up the twins, you found yourself avoiding him in public spaces, afraid that his presence would give more fuel to the fire.

But that wasn’t what you needed. You needed clarity. You needed a solution.

And so, when the meeting with the parents was scheduled, you braced yourself for it. It was going to be awkward, uncomfortable, and possibly even tense, but you had no choice but to face it head-on.

The meeting room was small, the air thick with tension as Principal Carter sat at the head of the table, flanked by the few concerned parents. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you as you took your seat across from them.

Mrs. Stevens was there, her arms crossed tightly, her expression serious. She didn’t speak to you directly, but you could feel the sharpness of her gaze.

“Thank you all for taking the time to come in today,” Principal Carter began, his voice calm and professional. “We’re here to discuss some concerns that have been raised regarding Miss Y/L/N’s relationship with Pietro Maximoff and how it might be affecting her ability to fairly teach all of her students. Miss Y/L/N, you’ve had the chance to hear the accusations. Would you like to speak first?”

You nodded, standing up and collecting your thoughts. “Thank you, Principal Carter. I understand the concerns that have been raised. I do. And I want to make one thing very clear—I have never, and will never, allow my personal life to interfere with my professional responsibilities.”

You paused, glancing at the parents, all of whom were listening intently. Mrs. Stevens was still holding her arms crossed, but you could tell she was listening. You had to make her believe you. “Billy and Tommy are wonderful kids. I care about them deeply, as I do with every single child in this class. I may be close with Pietro, but that doesn’t change my commitment to my students. I’ve always worked hard to give each child the attention they need, and I’ve never allowed my relationship to overshadow my role as their teacher.”

Your voice remained steady, but inside, your heart was pounding. You could feel their eyes on you, assessing, waiting to pick apart your every word.

“I understand how rumors can create doubts, and I completely respect that you’re concerned for your children,” you continued. “But I want to assure you all that I’ve been giving my best effort, every day, for every student in this class. The twins are not receiving any special treatment. I keep my professional life separate from my personal life, and I always will.”

You exhaled, feeling the weight of your words hanging in the air. For a moment, no one spoke. You couldn’t tell if the parents were convinced or if they were just waiting for you to say more.

Mrs. Stevens was the first to break the silence. She uncrossed her arms, her expression softening just a fraction. “I suppose we didn’t fully consider how hard you’re working to balance everything. It’s just… well, we’ve noticed the boys seem to get a lot of your attention.”

“I understand,” you said gently, nodding. “Billy and Tommy can be… distracting at times, and I do focus on them because of their needs. But that doesn’t mean I’m neglecting the rest of the class. I spend time with every student, not just them. My attention is divided equally, and if I’ve fallen short in any way, I am more than happy to address it and make changes.”

The room went quiet again, and for a moment, you thought they might not be buying it. But then, one of the other parents—a father who had been silent until now—spoke up.

“I’ve seen you with my son,” he said, looking at you. “You’re patient with him. And I’ve never heard a complaint about your teaching before this. Maybe we overreacted.”

Mrs. Stevens shifted uncomfortably, as if she was reconsidering her position. “I know I’ve been hard on you, Miss Y/L/N. It’s just… when you’re involved with someone like Pietro, well, you can’t help but wonder.”

You nodded, acknowledging her concern. “I understand. Pietro’s presence does draw attention. He’s a prominent figure, and it’s easy to jump to conclusions. But I assure you, my dedication to my students hasn’t wavered.”

The tension in the room seemed to ease, if only slightly. Principal Carter looked between you and the parents, nodding as he spoke. “I believe we’ve come to an understanding here. Miss Y/L/N, I trust that you’ll continue to uphold your professional standards, and I hope the parents can recognize that, while your relationship with Pietro is personal, your focus in the classroom remains where it belongs.”

There was a collective silence before Mrs. Stevens gave a small nod. “I think we can agree on that.”

You let out a quiet breath, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. The meeting wasn’t over, but the hardest part had passed.

When the parents left, Principal Carter remained behind, his gaze settling on you. “You handled that well, Miss Y/L/N. I believe the situation is resolved, but keep an eye on it. If any more complaints come up, we’ll have to revisit it.”

“I understand, sir,” you replied, a small sigh escaping your lips. “Thank you.”

As you left the meeting room, you felt a mix of relief and exhaustion. It wasn’t over, but it was a step in the right direction. You were still walking a tightrope, but you had proven that your commitment to your job—and to your students—was unwavering.

Later that evening, Pietro called you. When you picked up, you could hear the concern in his voice. “How did it go? Is everything okay?”

You smiled, leaning back against your couch. “It’s over. I think we’re in the clear.”

Pietro’s voice softened with relief. “I’m glad. I was worried about you. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“I know,” you said, your heart warming at the sound of his voice. “But I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Good,” he murmured. “You’ve got me, always. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” you whispered, closing your eyes, feeling the weight of the past few days finally start to lift. “Thank you.”

The evening after the meeting, the weight of the past few days lifted off your shoulders, but a lingering energy remained. You were finally free from the tension, the accusations, and the self-doubt. You needed to unwind, to relax—and who better to do that with than Pietro?

You picked up the phone, dialing his number with a soft smile, feeling the anticipation of seeing him again after such a long, stressful day. When he answered, his voice was as comforting as ever, though you could hear the faint hint of concern still in his tone.

“Hey,” Pietro greeted, his voice warm. “How did it go? Are you okay?”

You let out a long, relieved breath, sinking back into the cushions of your couch. “I’m more than okay, actually. It went really well, and I think everything’s going to be fine now.”

There was a noticeable shift in his tone, as if the words settled in his chest, making him exhale in relief. “That’s a huge weight off your shoulders, huh?”

You smiled, a little playful. “Yeah, it is. But… there’s still one more thing I need to tell you.”

“Something better than that?” he teased, a smile evident in his voice.

You chuckled. “Well, maybe. How about you come over, and I’ll tell you in person?”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke, his voice a little lower now. “You sure? I’ll be there in five.”

“Can’t wait,” you replied, heart pounding as you hung up the phone.

You quickly tidied up, though you didn’t exactly go all out—Pietro had seen you at your most relaxed, and you liked that. You just wanted to be comfortable. When you heard the familiar buzz of your doorbell, your heart skipped a beat. You opened the door, and there he was—standing in the hallway with that trademark smirk on his face, but there was something else in his eyes.

“Hey, Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice teasing as he stepped inside, clearly feeling at ease in your space. “So, what’s the good news?”

You shut the door behind him, turning with a smile. “Come on in. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

As you moved to the kitchen, Pietro followed you with his gaze, leaning against the doorway and watching you with that unmistakable intensity. There was something different about him tonight—something more electrified, charged, like he was waiting for you to make the next move. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was clear that the air between you two had shifted over the last few days.

You turned, offering him a glass of wine. “Everything’s fine now. The parents, the principal—it’s all behind me. I think I’m going to be okay.”

He took the glass from you, his fingers brushing yours for a split second, and you caught the way his gaze lingered on your lips before he met your eyes. “I’m glad, really. I knew you’d handle it.”

His voice was softer, more intimate, and it made something inside you stir. You took a sip of your wine, but your eyes never left his. There was something electric in the way he was looking at you—like the moment was on the verge of shifting into something much deeper.

As if sensing the same thing, he set his glass down on the counter, taking a step closer to you. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this. You’ve been through a lot these last few days.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, the distance between you closing. “I have. But… I think it’s finally over. I just want to enjoy tonight.”

He was barely a breath away now, and the way he was looking at you made your pulse race. There was a softness to his expression, but it was laced with something darker, something that made you feel vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected. His hand found your waist, his thumb brushing against your side gently, and your breath caught.

“I’m glad,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. “But I think you deserve more than just enjoying tonight, Y/N.”

Your lips parted as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I think you deserve to feel more than relief,” he said, and before you could respond, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow at first, careful, like he was giving you a moment to pull away if you needed to. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to. His mouth moved against yours, soft and deliberate, and your heart skipped a beat as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

It deepened quickly, the heat between you both building, and suddenly, everything else—the stress, the accusations, the world outside—was irrelevant. All that mattered was the way his hands moved over your body, the way his lips explored yours with a quiet intensity that made your knees weak.

He backed you up toward the living room, breaking the kiss for just a moment to look at you, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice rough, low, and filled with desire.

You didn’t have the words. You just nodded, pulling him back to you, eager for him to kiss you again.

This time, it was frantic, desperate, as if you were both trying to make up for lost time. His hands slipped under your shirt, the touch of his fingers against your skin sending shivers through you, and you responded by tugging at the hem of his shirt, wanting more. The world outside was forgotten.

He pulled back for a breath, looking at you with heat in his eyes, his voice barely above a rasp. “Y/N… I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Your chest tightened, the truth of it clear in his gaze. “So have I,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again.

This time, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was more. It was everything you had been holding back, everything that had been building between you for weeks. You could feel the tension that had been lingering between you both unraveling, piece by piece, as his lips trailed down your neck, his touch growing more urgent.

It wasn’t just about the good news anymore—it was about something much deeper. Something raw. And it was happening, right there, in the warmth of your apartment, with him, and only him. The heat between you both intensified as his hands roamed over your skin, and you found yourself lost in the sensation of it all. His touch was magnetic, pulling you closer with each passing second. Every part of you seemed to crave more, and with each kiss, each whisper, the world outside faded further and further away.

You could feel the tension in his body, too—the way his breath hitched against your skin as you pulled him closer, the way his fingers trembled slightly when they traced the curve of your back. Pietro, normally so confident, seemed to be just as consumed by the moment as you were, his usually quick movements slowing down, savoring the connection between you.

Your hands worked in sync, tugging at the fabric of his shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. When the shirt finally came off, you didn’t wait, your hands immediately skimming over his chest, tracing the lines of muscle there. Pietro’s breath caught at your touch, and you could see the tension in his jaw, the way he was holding back.

“Y/N…” he muttered, his voice strained, as he placed his hands on your hips, guiding you backward toward the couch. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable, and it made your heart race even faster. “Are you sure about this?”

You stopped for a moment, looking into his eyes, trying to gauge if this was the right moment. But the truth was, you were sure—sure in a way you’d never felt before. There was no hesitation, no doubt in your mind that you wanted this, wanted him. You reached up and cupped his face, your thumb grazing his lips as you whispered, “I’m sure.”

He didn’t wait for another word. His lips captured yours again, this time with a hunger that matched the urgency between you. There was no more holding back. The kiss was frantic, intense, as if you both knew this moment might slip away if you didn’t seize it now.

As you both stumbled toward the couch, your bodies pressed against each other, you could feel the intensity of every touch, every kiss. It was as if the entire world had narrowed down to just the two of you in that space, and nothing else mattered.

Pietro’s hands slid under your clothes once again, his touch making your skin burn in the best way possible. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of fiery kisses in their wake, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your lips. Every inch of you was alive with his touch, every nerve firing with anticipation.

But as things grew more heated, you could feel a momentary hesitation in him, as though he was waiting for you to stop him. The last thing he wanted was to push you too far too fast, and you could see it in the way he was looking at you, searching for your reaction.

You reached for him again, pulling him back into a kiss, and when you pulled away, you whispered, “Pietro… don’t stop.” You could feel the weight of the words as they left your lips—you wanted this. You wanted him.

His expression softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and then he kissed you with a gentleness that made your heart race all over again. It wasn’t rushed, but it was everything you both needed. The chemistry between you was undeniable, and there was no turning back now.

Slowly, almost reverently, Pietro eased you down onto the couch, his body following yours as he hovered above you, his hands never straying far from your skin. You could feel the heat radiating between you, and your own hands explored the contours of his back, feeling the strength there, the steady rhythm of his heart against yours.

Time seemed to slow down, the world outside your apartment no longer existing, as you lost yourselves in each other, each kiss, each touch, making it clear that this was where you both needed to be.

When his lips finally left yours, he trailed them over your jaw, your neck, and down to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. You couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped from your lips, the sensation almost too much to handle.

“Pietro…” you whispered, your voice a little breathless. “I want this. I want you.”

His name, spoken like that, made him pause for just a moment. He looked down at you, his expression softening, and for a moment, you saw something in his eyes—a tenderness that only deepened the connection between you.

“I know,” he murmured, kissing you again, this time more slowly, deliberately. His hands moved to trace the line of your body, and everything felt like it was building toward something bigger, something you both wanted but had held back for so long.

You were done holding back. You both were.

The night stretched on as you finally allowed yourselves to lose the tension, to forget everything except each other. The world outside your apartment was forgotten entirely, the accusations and rumors nothing but a distant echo.

The morning light filtered through the blinds, soft and golden, as you slowly woke up, still wrapped in the warmth of Pietro’s arms. The events of the night before felt like a blur, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations, but in the quiet aftermath, it all felt surreal in the best way possible.

You felt his breath on the back of your neck, his body pressed close to yours, and you smiled softly, your fingers tracing the lines of his hand where it rested on your waist. For a moment, everything was peaceful—no worries about the school, no stress about what anyone else might think. It was just the two of you, existing in this small, intimate bubble.

You shifted slightly, turning to face him, and as you did, his eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a drowsy smile. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep but carrying that warmth you adored. He ran a hand through his messy hair and pulled you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Morning,” you whispered back, your heart fluttering at the simple gesture.

It was a moment of calm, but you both knew that things were far from simple. You hadn’t just spent the night together—you’d crossed a line. One that had been building between you for so long, and now that you’d crossed it, there was no going back.

For a few beats, you simply held each other, basking in the stillness, but then reality began to seep in. The world outside your apartment was waiting—your job, your life. You’d both been through a lot recently, and while last night had been a release, you knew there were conversations that needed to happen.

“I can’t believe we actually…,” you started, trailing off, unsure of how to put what you were feeling into words.

Pietro’s lips curled into a half-smile, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yeah, we did,” he said, brushing a lock of hair from your face, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. “And I don’t regret a second of it.” He leaned in, placing a lingering kiss on your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile against him.

You laughed softly, but there was a quiet tension underneath it. “I don’t either. But… I guess we need to talk about it.” You pulled back just slightly, looking into his eyes, searching for any trace of doubt or regret. But there was none. Only warmth, sincerity, and that same undeniable pull between you.

Pietro nodded, his expression growing serious. “Yeah, I agree. It’s not just about what happened last night. It’s about everything. I care about you, Y/N. More than I’ve let on.” His voice softened as he spoke, and you could feel the weight of his words. “And I don’t want to complicate things for you. I know things are already… messy with the school, with the parents. I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “You’re not complicating anything, Pietro. I want this. I want you. It’s just… we have to be careful. Not just because of the parents, but because of everything else. This is new for both of us.”

Pietro’s gaze softened, and he nodded in agreement, understanding the weight of your words. “I know. I don’t want to rush things, either. I just…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. “I just don’t want to mess this up. You mean more to me than I think I’ve shown.”

You smiled, moving closer to him again, your hand resting on his arm. “You haven’t messed anything up. But we do need to take things slow. We both have a lot going on, and I don’t want either of us to lose sight of what’s important—especially with work and the boys.”

He nodded, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, I get it. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

You both lay there for a while, holding each other, the quiet settling back in, allowing the moment to breathe. But you knew that even though things felt easier now, the path ahead wouldn’t always be clear. There would be bumps, complications, especially with the ongoing scrutiny from parents and coworkers. But there was a newfound clarity between you and Pietro, a shared understanding that no matter what came, you’d face it together.

Eventually, the silence broke, and you both got out of bed, each moving about the apartment with that comfortable familiarity. Pietro grabbed his shirt off the chair where it had been tossed aside the night before, and as he slipped it over his head, he caught your gaze.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his eyes scanning your face.

“Yeah,” you smiled, feeling the warmth of his presence wrap around you. “I’m better than okay.”

He walked over to you, his hand brushing against yours. “Good. Just wanted to make sure you knew that no matter what, I’m not going anywhere.” He gave a playful grin. “Except maybe the kitchen, if you’re making breakfast?”

You laughed, feeling the familiar ease between you again. “I’ll make breakfast, but only if you help clean up.”

“Deal,” he said with a wink, grabbing a coffee mug and filling it with your favorite brew as you began to move around, gathering the ingredients for breakfast.

It felt natural, easy—like you were falling into a rhythm. The aftermath of everything wasn’t a grand revelation; it was just you and him, figuring out how to navigate the new chapter of your lives. The weight of the night before still lingered in the air, but there was a sense of peace between you now, an unspoken promise to move forward together, no matter what.

As you both sat down at the table, laughing and talking about the little things that made you feel at home with each other, it became clear that the path ahead, no matter how uncertain, didn’t feel nearly as daunting as it had before. You had each other. And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

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