Pietro Maximoff Fluff Headcanons
I see Evan Peters 👀 , but also I love Aaron as well so here we go! <3
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Let’s just say this right off the bat. You are one of the most important parts of Pietro’s life. Wanda owns half of his fractured heart, but you own the other, and the glue that pieces it all back together into one fragile, but thunderous mess that beats solely for you.
Genuinely, he couldn’t live without you, and he doesn’t know how he has before this. Maybe he never would have become involved with Hydra, never would have had to leave Sokovia, if he had just been able to bear the pain with you.
He’s vowed to prove how much you mean to him for every single millisecond of the rest of his life.
Pietro’s had a hard life: he knows loss, he knows pain, and so he tries to keep up a hard, slightly arrogant shell over himself to stop him being hurt again. Yet whenever you need him, he will always be right by your side. If you phone up Stark Tower in the middle of the night, he’ll shoot straight out of bed and with red, blinking eyes he’ll have answered it without a wasted breath. If you need him to come over, all you’ll feel before his hands wrap around your waist and draw you backwards to flop onto the bed with him, is a slight warm blow of air and a flash of blue.
He loves to spend every free moment of time he has zooming around and taking you to stunning, secluded spots in Manhattan. Gathering up some crisps, some pretzels, whatever chocolate he can grab from Stark’s kitchens, he bites the edges in his mouth before running up behind you.
You can always tell when he’s nearby, because you can feel a low giggle vibrate through his chest and against your back, before his arms grab your legs and pick you up, bridle style. Tucking you tight against his chest, you sigh in bliss as you feel his hand clench against your thigh.
Before you even know it, he’s set you down on the top of some bridge, or in the golden shade of some Norway Maple tree. Little glimmering droplets spray like light spring rain onto your feet from the soaring fountain in the middle of the octagonal square. Pietro lands you down on his lap, placing his head on top of your own.
When you start squirming in protest, mockingly slapping the hands that wrap around your chest and tighten their hold on you, he only makes fake murmurs back that make the both of you laugh.
The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon sitting back against the bark, the dewy grass beginning to stain the underside of your jeans, but neither of you could care less (although Pietro does wrap his legs around your own to try and wipe them off onto you. You scream and try to fly backwards, and end up sprawling the two of you onto your backs.)
After his parents, he just likes to be in wide, open spaces, so sitting with the love of his life and watching the sun set over the champagne horizon just fills him with so much bubbling hope and love.
You’re sitting there, looking up at the sky in wonder, but every time you glance sideways to smile at Pietro he’s still gazing fondly at you. He smirks every time he’s caught, but he doesn’t stop until you start blushing and place your hand over his eyes.
When the sun finally dips below eyeline, and the moon begins to extend her waxy fingers over the shadows filling the park, he gives out a hearty laugh when you lean back and whisper into your ear, ‘you know, you’re staring to disappear. I don’t know where the moonlight begins, and your hair ends.’
Speaking of, he makes this adorable little squeaking noise when you run your fingers through his hair. Bonus points if you scratch his scalp, he’ll burst out in goose bumps.
You can always tell when he wants attention, because you can feel the fringes of his hair tickle your forehead. All of a sudden, his lips will attack your neck from behind, peppering sloppy, warm kisses over every inch of skin he can find before you can shove him off.
He manages to hold onto you, though, until he repeatedly has told you ‘I love you so much, no matter what’, and ‘you are the greatest miracle I could have ever wished for.’
You love to run your hand over his stubble to wake him up during lazy mornings. It’s especially satisfying when it tickles his skin, and he scrunches his chin up and begins laughing against your nose.
‘Good morning, my starlight.’
‘And a very late morning to you, speedy boy.’
He retaliates by rolling over until his arms and legs are lying flat over your stomach, spread out like a starfish so you’re trapped underneath his weight.
He always likes to feel you in some way or form. He knows you’re a badass, and can hold your own no matter the situation, but after missions his heart is racing like thunder in his chest, that he can’t stop his legs from moving until he’s scooped you up in a hug and started spinning you off the ground.
He only places your feet back onto the pavement once Tony spots you and starts fake puking.
Or, during strenuous missions, he’ll stop a bad guy and run over to grab your cheek and bump your forehead against his own. It reassures him you’re alright, but even when he lets go you can still feel his breath tremble against your cheek.
The two of you worry so much about the other one, especially when they get injured. You push him onto the bathroom sink, wrapping gauze around his bloody arm, and he'll pretend to whine the whole time so you kiss him more.
Being really close with Wanda, and often sitting together watching silly comedy or romantic movies together, or going out to diner’s for milkshakes, or going out for strolls along the glow of the night’s lantern lit streets just to see Pietro get jealous and pop out in front of you from behind trees, or running over and stealing the drink out of your hand to tease you.
‘You didn't see that coming?’, becomes your thing.
You say it, in turn, when he's busy talking to Clint or Natasha on some important business, and you come bustling over to stand in front of him. Spreading your fingers over his chest, you can feel it rise sharply against your tips, as you lean up on your tippy toes to steal a kiss from his lips.
Wanda knows that he's in love, because he always gets this crinkly, soft eyed smile on his face whenever you enter a room.
He’s ALWAYS hyping you up because you are just the most amazing, stunning, special thing in the world to him.
Sometimes, late at night, when the moonshine flies through your window and wands of rising branches became dancing silhouettes in the background of your bedroom, you'll catch Pietro leaning over you to press kisses against your shoulder blades. The sheets have pooled like a silvery lake around his waist, his thumb rubbing circles over the small of your back as he hums a cracked, but heartfelt and mellow Sokovian lullaby in your ear.
