Always
Pietro Maximoff x reader
Summary: The Avenger's compound is compromised in the middle of the night. All Pietro can think about is getting to you.
Warnings: mild violence, mentions of blood
A/N: hello, it's been a while. Is anyone still out there? About a week ago, I rewatched AOU and now all I can think about is Pietro. I feel like I'm 15 again, I reread just about every Pietro fic on on this app. Please bear with me because I haven't written anything like this in years.
Your favorite nights in the Avenger Compound were always the quiet ones. The kind filled with shared dinners and easy laughter, where no looming mission weighed on anyone's shoulders and the constant hum of machinery faded into the background. In moments like these, with the team gathered close, the compound almost felt like home.
The tension that commonly resided in everyone’s shoulders had eased just enough for laughter to settle in its place. It was not often that nobody had to watch the clock or wait for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to call everyone back into the chaos of another world ending event.
Rain tapped gently against glass windows, overlooking the still stretch of forest surrounding the compound. The kitchen smelled like garlic, overcooked bread, and something Tony burned before he’d been escorted out.
You sat at the long dining table with your chin resting in your hand while Sam dramatically retold his version of the mission that took place barely two days ago.
“And then,” Sam said, pointing his fork at Clint, “this man misses the target completely-”
“I did not miss.” Clint argued, throwing a pointed finger at the Falcon.
“You were supposed to hit the damn agent. But you took out the only light in the room.”
“It was tactical.”
“Making everybody blind?”
Easy laughter rolled around the table as everyone continued to enjoy their meals.
Across from you, Pietro leaned back in his chair lazily, silver hair still damp from his shower. The soft gray sweatshirt he wore hung loose around his shoulders, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. Every now and then his eyes drifted toward you, studying your reactions to the conversation.
Although you tried to ignore it, butterflies swarmed your stomach every time his eyes found yours. His gaze locked onto you now, blue eyes bright with amusement.
“You are quiet tonight,” he said.
Your stomach betrayed you immediately.
Pietro always looked at people intensely, but when he looked at you, it felt different. Intentional. Like the rest of the room faded away, leaving only you illuminated by a spotlight in the center.
“I’m listening,” you defended yourself, taking another bite of the spaghetti Wanda had prepared for the team.
Pietro shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting instantly. “No no. You are staring off dramatically.” he teased, “Very different thing.”
You kicked his shin lightly beneath the table, earning a victorious grin from the speedster.
The moment lingered for only a second longer before Natasha directed everyone’s attention toward you and Pietro.
“You two are disgusting.” Natasha rolled her eyes.
“What?” You asked, the word falling out faster than you had intended.
Pietro leaned forward, feigning innocence. “We are simply talking.”
“The flirting is becoming unbearable.” Clint chimed in.
“I’m tired of watching these two idiots circle each other. I'm starting to think they're just gonna flirt forever.” Sam muttered.
Wanda, sitting beside you, smothered a smirk behind her glass as she noticed the heat creeping up your cheeks.
Pietro scoffed loudly with a shrug. “There is no flirting.”
The table went silent for a moment as everyone's gaze shifted from Pietro to you, then back to Pietro. A round of scoffs erupted instantly, mixed into teasing laughter.
“You literally carried her to the Quinjet two days ago because she twisted her ankle.” Bruce said.
“It was a long walk.” Pietro argued.
“You also threatened me because I knocked her flat on her ass in training.” Sam added.
“You did too much.”
“You threw Steve’s shield at my head.”
“It missed.”
“THAT’S NOT BETTER.”
Laughter consumed the room again, and the Avengers drifted back into their own conversations.
You tried to hide your smile behind the rim of your cup, but Pietro caught it anyway. His expression softened instantly at the sight of you, amusement melting into something gentler.
You hated when he looked at you like that.
It felt unfair. The way his attention settled over you, as if you were the only person in the room worth looking at. He looked at you like he could already love you, but you knew he didn’t.
Pietro was naturally flirtatious. He was naturally touchy. He bumped shoulders, stole food from plates, and threw his arm around people without thinking twice about it. He teased everyone. That look meant nothing. Right?
Under the table, his foot nudged yours. Neither of you moved away.
—
Hours later, the compound had settled into comfortable silence.
Music drifted quietly from Tony’s new speakers in the common room, low enough to blanket the evening paired with the rain outside. The lights had been dimmed significantly, casting everything in warm shadows. Thor had fallen asleep in one armchair with a blanket halfway slipping off him, while Clint and Sam quietly argued over a card game at the kitchen island.
You had curled up on the couch sometime during a movie Tony insisted on watching, throw blanket draped loosely around your shoulders. Your head rested against the arm of the couch, eyelids heavy as voices faded in and out around you. Sleep tugged harder on your mind with every passing second.
Across the room, Pietro looked up from where he sat on the floor beside Wanda, immediately noticing you drifting off. His expression softened so quickly Wanda smirked.
“You are staring again.” she murmured.
“I am not.”
“You stare a lot.”
Pietro ignored the violent flip his stomach did, completely fixated on your battle against consciousness.
“She is falling asleep out here.”
“And?”
“She will wake up uncomfortable.”
Wanda looked deeply unimpressed at his logic. “Uncomfortable on the thousand dollar couch. Tragic.”
Pietro shot her a glare, rising to his feet. She waved him off, turning her attention back to the movie.
You barely felt the couch dip beside you before a gentle hand found your shoulder.
“Prinţesă.” Pietro murmured softly as his thumb rubbed a circle into your skin.
The nickname reached you before consciousness fully did. Your eyes blinked open slowly. He was sitting half off the couch, Silver hair messy from running his hands through it all evening. His blue eyes were warm in the low light. He sat enough that you could feel heat radiating from him. You were almost convinced this was a dream. Almost.
“Mm?”
“You should go to bed.” His voice was quiet and warm.
“This is fine.” You mumbled. The chuckle that escaped him did dangerous things to your heart.
“You will disagree in the morning.”
“Feels good now.”
“You are impossible.”
You smiled lazily, enjoying the banter. Pietro’s chest tightened painfully at the sight. He thought you were so beautiful like this, sleepy and soft and comfortable.
Bringing yourself back into the moment, you sat up slowly. The blanket slipped from your shoulders, caught quickly by Pietro before it could hit the floor. He instinctively offered you a hand, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat when your fingers intertwined with his.
The contact only lasted a second as you let him pull you up, but warmth lingered in his palm afterward.
“Thanks, Piet.”
“Always.”
The word came too quickly.
Something flickered across your face before he draped the blanket over the back of the couch and both of you looked away.
—
You walked beside Pietro through the dim corridor toward your room, shoulders occasionally brushing. The overhead lights were brighter in the hallway, perfectly illuminating his messy hair.
You hated how aware you always were of him. His hands, the warmth that radiated from him, the way he slowed his pace to match yours even though he could lap the entire compound in seconds.
“You are tired.” He observed quietly.
“A little.”
“You should sleep more.”
“I’d be asleep now if you left me on the couch.”
“I didn’t want to hear you complaining about your back tomorrow.”
You laughed softly, earning a warm smile from him. He loved making you laugh. He realized this recently as he found himself joking more and more in your presence. He hated the feeling of his heart swelling when you laughed at something he said, but he was addicted to it.
Somewhere between teasing you during training and memorizing the exact sound of your footsteps in the hallway, he had fallen helplessly in love with you. He was completely infatuated with everything about you, and it terrified him.
The walk to your door ended too quickly. The quiet hallway suddenly felt very small, but neither of you moved.
You turned toward him slowly, fingers tugging on the sleeves of your oversized sweatshirt.
“Thanks for walking me back, Piet.”
His nickname in your mouth nearly killed him. He could listen to you speak for hours and never get tired of the sound.
“Always, prinţesă.” The word came softer than usual. He noticed how quickly your breath caught in your throat.
Pietro stepped closer without thinking. Not too close and not close enough at the same time. Your thundering heartbeat suddenly became impossible to ignore.
You could see the pale blue of his eyes clearly now. Your eyes drifted to the tiny scar near his jaw, landing on his lips, parted slightly like he wanted to say something. Heat rose in your cheeks again, and you found yourself manifesting he’d say it.
After a moment of silence, fear wrapped tight around your ribs. If you were wrong, if all of this was just Pietro being Pietro, you weren’t sure how your heart would recover.
His hand twitched, rising carefully to cup your cheek. Within the same second, you both froze there. Pietro swallowed hard, realizing he was one breath away from changing everything.
You watched the conflict in his expression shift from wanting to fear.
“Goodnight, draga,” he whispered finally, brushing his thumb along your face gently.
You did your best to conceal the disappointment that echoed throughout your body. He noticed that too.
“Goodnight, Piet.”
Neither of you moved at first.
Then he stepped back, cold air replacing the warmth of his hand. He smiled softly, and walked away.
—
Sleep came slowly for Pietro. He couldn’t lay still. He turned back and forth, settling on tucking an arm beneath his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Your face had burned itself into the back of his eyes. The way you had looked at time outside your door, the way your breath caught when he called you prinţesă, and the subtle disappointed look on your face before he left consumed every thought he had.
He almost kissed you right then. Pietro dragged his free hand over his face with a frustrated groan, calling himself a coward. Eventually exhaustion started pulling him under. The compound had gone quiet around him, the rain outside remaining steady and soft.
Just as he felt himself drifting off, the world exploded.
A blast shook the entire building violently, followed immediately by blaring alarms sounding throughout the compound. He shot up in bed as another explosion echoed in the distance.
Red emergency lights flooded his room. F.R.I.D.A.Y. called out over speakers, voice muddled by the confusion in his mind.
He was moving down the hallway before he realized he’d gotten out of bed, sprinting towards familiar voices echoing throughout the compound.
Smoke had already begun curling through parts of the ceiling vents by the time he reached the common area where the others were gathering.
Steve was barking orders, altering the team of multiple breaches around the east and south wings of the compound. Tony’s armor flew onto him piece by piece. Natasha was already armed. Wanda appeared beside Pietro, red magic glowing faintly around her hands.
“Are you okay?” he asked quickly.
“I’m fine.”
Relief washed through him briefly before he felt his stomach drop in an instant. You were not here. The memory of him leaving you, sleepy and unknowing, in your room flashed across his eyes. Your room was in the east wing.
As if the thought summoned it into existence, another section of the compound groaned violently nearby. Dust rained from the ceiling as part of the eastern hallway collapsed inward.
Pietro’s blood went cold before he turned sharply toward Wanda.
“Have you seen Y/N?”
Her expression shifted quickly, worry flashing across her face. She shook her head, and fear hit him so hard it became hard to breathe.
If a bomb went off near your room while you were in it…
Pietro was running before anyone could stop him. Steve shouted after him, but he barely heard it.
Smoke thickened the closer he got to your hallway. Mercenaries flooded through blown entry points, rifles raised as the compound descended into chaos around him. One caught his arm as he passed and had been slammed into the nearest wall hard enough to crater it.
Another tried to rush him. Pietro twisted violently, disarming the man before driving his elbow into his throat.
He moved automatically and mechanically, his thoughts laser focused on you. He prayed to whoever would listen for you to be alive.
He passed glimpses of the others fighting through smoke-filled corridors. Sam roughly knocking two agents into each other, Clint rapid-firing arrows at every moving target, and Wanda’s powers lighting the darkness as she cleared stragglers.
Pietro couldn’t stop, not while you were still in there, not while every horrific possibility and every regret tore through his mind.
He should have stayed.
Should have kissed you.
Should have told you.
The corridor leading to your room was nearly destroyed. Part of the ceiling had collapsed entirely, flames crawling up broken walls. Pietro’s heart hammered violently as he climbed over debris and furniture.
As he approached what was left of your room, he heard a struggle. A sharp grunt pushed him to move impossibly faster. Your room was barely recognizable.
Half the wall had been blown open, exposing the dark forest outside and letting the rain fall quietly into the building. Fire licked across ruined furniture while smoke thickened the air.
He spotted you next. You were stuck in a grapple, fighting off one of the agents as blood gushed down the side of your face. Ash and debris scattered across your clothes, painting dark splotches across your arms and legs. One eye had already started swelling from impact.
Your movements were slower than normal, you were disoriented and confused, but still fighting. Alive.
Relief hit Pietro so hard it nearly brought him to his knees.
“Y/N!”
Your head snapped toward him, giving the agent the perfect opportunity to grab your neck roughly. A quiet squeak escaped your mouth as your airflow constricted.
Pietro saw red.
The man’s fingers wrapped tightly around your throat, excessive force instantly pulsing through your ears. Before you could even blink, the pressure dropped along with you to your knees. Pietro had crossed the room, slamming into your attacker with enough force to send him soaring into what was left of your bedroom wall. He didn’t get back up.
A cough tore its way through your throat and Pietro was down beside you in an instant. Shaky hands cupped your face gently, brushing away soot and blood to search for additional injuries.
“Prinţesă-” He choked out, not trusting his voice to speak further.
“I’m okay,” you breathed.
“You are bleeding.”
“It looks worse than it is-”
“You are hurt.” His voice cracked on the last word as the adrenaline rush finally caught up to him.
Pietro looked terrified, silver blue eyes wide and frantic.
His breathing was uneven. His hands trembled against your cheeks. Ash streaked across his clothes and face while panic burned openly in his eyes.
“What’s happening?” You questioned, failing to find your balance. His hands dropped to your arms, steadying you.
“I don’t know. We are under attack. The alarms went off, then the bombs, and the intruders everywhere, and I thought…” He stopped abruptly as his gaze fell.
I thought you were dead.
The unfinished sentence churned violently in your stomach. He pulled you against him suddenly, desperately convincing himself that you were still here. Alive.
You felt his heartbeat slamming against yours as he dropped his face into your hair. He inhaled roughly, holding you like you’d disappear if he let go. Anxiety lodged painfully in your throat.
Beyond the hallway, the compound continued to rumble. The familiar sound of a battle echoed into your room, bringing both of you out of the shared moment.
You slowly pulled back enough to look at Pietro. “I’m okay,” you spoke gently, watching the clouds in his eyes ease just slightly. His lips parted like he was going to argue just before a loud crash echoed somewhere down the hall.
“We have to go.” Your head snapped toward the sound immediately. You pushed against the floor to stand. The second you stood straight, dizziness swarmed your vision and your balance wavered significantly. Pietro caught you, standing on his own two feet now.
“No.” He was firm.
“I’m fine, Piet-”
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m just a little dizzy.”
“You are hurt, draga. You stay here.”
“No,” you snapped, harsher than you intended. “I will go.”
Despite the situation unfolding around the compound, Pietro almost laughed. “Still stubborn, I see.”
You rolled your eyes, steadying yourself against him. He waited patiently for you to breathe through the dizziness. When the room finally stopped spinning, you looked up at him with a determined look.
“We need to go help them.”
Pietro’s jaw tightened immediately. Every instinct screamed at him to get you somewhere safe, away from the disaster and danger consuming your home. But beneath the blood and ash, your eyes were steady and certain. He knew better than anyone that you hated being treated like you were fragile. You were an Avenger. He'd seen first hand the damage you could do with one hand tied behind your back.
Another explosion shook the compound, followed by muffled shouting in the distance. You looked toward the hallway and back at Pietro, coming to a mutual understanding. Pietro exhaled sharply through his nose before nodding in agreement.
“Stay close to me.” The order came out more like a plea. His hands slid down your arms, catching your hands in a firm squeeze before his warmth left you.
“Always, Piet.”
The way you said it made his heart ache all over again.
