A Bond Must be Strong
“Pietro!” Your blood curdling screech vibrates through your body in a palpable wave of energy, your (e/c) eyes glistening with unshed tears as the scream pierced the air. Everything inside of you is recoiling, tightening in on itself to try and offset the tearing at your bond as it rips itself apart, dead on one end and ruptured on your side. No. No. No. The thought is a constant, jumbled mantra that pelts through you as you watch the love of your life crumple to the ground after saving Clint and the small boy. It- no- not mine. Not mine. No. No. He can’t be- It’s all too much, energy rippling around you as you hunch over and clutch at your head, another scream belting from you with enough energy and emotion to decay every enemy in your vicinity.
“You are everything to me.” He murmured softly in your ear, fingers tangling in your (h/l), (h/c) locks and guiding your head to rest against his shoulder, your nose subtly burrowing further into the crook of his neck for a small sniff. He always smelled like the wind, pure energy with a hint of his natural spicy musk. It was a rather addictive smell, you could admit to yourself, and Pietro was rather good at picking up on things that you liked before you could try to hide it from him. A little kiss is pressed into your hair, and you close your eyes to drink in the moment that has lasted for the past 2 hours because Pietro is a brat who never wants to do any real work. You may have had some tangible power over time, but not even you could pause it for very long no matter how much you wanted to stay in the moment. Pietro was always shirking off his responsibilities to spend time with you under the excuse that if he really wanted to get things done, he could do it in less than a minute. Totally and undeniably true- but, at least you had a job with Professor X at the academy as a young TA. Therefore, even if he didn’t have a job to do, you still did.
“I love you,” You whisper in kind, face instantly warming at the admission because this is still new to you, still fresh and raw with inklings of fear tethering to each and every nerve in your body. You’ve never done well with relationships before- and it had nothing to do with Pietro’s name draped across your left asscheek like a stamp of ownership (although he was very appreciative of this fact). Hell, no potential ever really paid it any mind when they had a different name on their arm or wrist (and the fact that only two of the many ever got that far. They were far less amused). It was just something that would be left unaddressed because you wanted to make it work, tried to make it work, tried your fucking heart out.
But the truth is that you were just terribly awkward when it came to the idea of being with someone. You kept questioning the universe after a severe string of breakups that left you confused rather than heartbroken. Your parents seemed happy with each other and they were each other’s true Bonds. Your mother lived a modest life in Missouri before her father relocated them to the east coast and then settled in New York because her dad just wanted to try out city life for his family. Your father was a Hell’s Kitchen native and tried to pick up your mom on several separate occasions before she bothered to give him the time of day. At the time, her bond mark had yet to occur, and your father- well- he was too scared to tell your mom that her name was scribbled over his hip like the messy scrawl it still is now. And when hers finally showed up in his equally as unintelligible scratches, it was pretty much settled that they were perfect for each other, handwriting and all.
There was no adversity or anything wrong with you- at least, that’s the way you thought before, when you were, by all intents and purposes, ‘normal.’ But everyone you dated always had something odd to say about you. You were too quiet, too withdrawn, you wouldn’t open up, sometimes you’d vanish for days and you wouldn’t even realize it until you managed to see the plethora of unchecked text messages. You started to black out more often without ever realizing that you had missed something or there were times where you felt like you were suffering deja vu in the very moment only to be sure that it was the first time you were experiencing the memory (it wasn’t). After the first time you actively realized you time jumped, Cerebro easily picked up on your hyperactive X-Genes and Professor Xavier contacted you directly before something disastrous could happen to you or the timeline you kept unconsciously altering slightly each time you set back time.
It was complex and confusing and scary- for a while, you worried over whether this was the reason you couldn’t keep a boyfriend for longer than a few weeks (the longest was a month, but he was a douche so it doesn’t count). It just didn’t make sense. You were pretty (your mother verified it countless times), and you were smart and kind with a backbone. You were strong and driven to always do the very best no matter the adversity. Your parents didn’t care that you were a mutant; they still loved you like it was the first day they had taken you from the hospital.
Back then had been a mess. When you started the academy, you were so shy that it was hard for you to open up and talk about yourself with anyone except the Professor. He helped you, nurtured you from a quiet teen to someone who loved roses and reading books and watching Scooby-Doo on the weekends. He helped you find your place among the Avengers and eventually, that's how you met Pietro- after he was finished being a shitty villian and all.
“What if- what if you’re hurt out there, Pietro… This isn’t a game you can outrun no matter how fast you are and if I ever lost you- I- I don’t think-” It was hard to put in words just how much the man holding you meant to you. It had taken a long time for you to ever be this open with anyone, to trust in one person so much not to break you into pieces. You were afraid about the coming battle, of how many lives would be lost from the civilian and hero sides. It was a scary thought, having your Bonded out on the battlefield because he wanted to be a part of something greater than himself for the right reasons now that he understood Tony was not the blame. You could understand that he wanted to redeem himself, but you didn’t- you didn’t want the risk.
“You worry too much. My little one.” He’s dismissive, accent thick as he grumbles like a petulant child, your petulant lover. Instead, he only wraps you up tighter, soft hands stroking up the dangerous erogenous zone that is your lower back. Your toes curl up instantly as small tremors of pleasure work up your spine, forcing you to curl in closer, a weak hum escaping your parted lips as you trembled lightly.
Bastard.
He’s smiling, you know it, his hands pressing in harsher, nails digging over the soft skin in an attempt to distract you entirely. The worst part is that it only takes two seconds before it’s working- a little too well. His eyelids droop as he inspects your wrecked countenance, murmuring something under his breath as his gaze glides down your heated cheeks to your parted lips, small puffs of air escaping in heated gusts. He’s looking at you as if you are the only thing in the world that can quench his hunger, and with every passing second of his hands on you, you are growing closer to divulging into the begging mess you never knew you had the potential to be.
“W-We’re not finished talking a-about this,” You manage to whimper, fingers clutching at Pietro’s shirt as one of his hands carefully ghost along your side as the other does well in massaging over your lower back, sinking lower to brush over the swell of your ass. God- he’s playing with you, toying with you like a cat with a feather and you love every moment of it, freeing his shirt from your fingers to press in closer. Your bond is sweltering between you and you can feel all of his wants, wishes, how badly he aims to redeem himself and protect you at all cost. Smudging all of those sensations out is the heat rising and how much he wants you out of your clothes. Even if you haven’t begun to beg, your bond is already there, already aching with a need only he can fix.
Pietro is dominating and demanding and bratty and childish- but the moment his hands stroke over your mark with nothing more but your yoga pants separating the two, it’s hard to really hold any of those things against him. He tips his head forward, still gazing at you with a small smirk tugging at his lips as his mouth covers yours in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth whether you want it to or not. Despite his power over speed and how that speed affects his thinking, Pietro tries to be slow when it comes to you. He tries to relax and will away the need to move at the speed of sound, to stay with you and the eternal moments you can create. He loves this, being so close to you and breathing in your smell of vanilla and oranges as his tongue thoroughly brushes across every inch of your mouth before brushing against your own appendage, groaning lowly from the taste of you on his tongue. God, he could kiss you for hours if he had the opportunity (in fact, it was rare that he didn’t find a moment to lock lips with you at the academy or in the tower when Tony needed your assistance).
Sex with Pietro is more than just sex. It is everything, every silent promise of protection, every ounce of gratitude for allowing him into your life and your heart after all of the wrong he’s done. Sex is everything, it is slow, deep, hard, achingly beautiful. He is always torn between gently pushing you onto your stomach so he can palm at the mark, his mark on top of your supple ass as he indulges in every soft keen and cry for more, watching the way his cock slowly drives deeper into your swollen, wet core. His hand always comes down when you’re just about to reach your peak, spanking at your mark to make you howl and clamp down around him, your vision growing fuzzy and white as time stops for a second longer because you are out of control and it feels so good, so fucking good.
Or he likes to plaster himself to you, chest to chest, your legs crushing against his hips to keep him close as he thrusts into you gently, always the teaser, wanting to draw out every moment. You don’t mind it one bit; if he were ever to go faster, you don’t think you’d survive the amount of orgasms he always manages to press out of you until you can barely move your trembling legs, the sheets drenched from your squirting (the first time was embarrassing. He’d been busy lapping at your clit in tight circular strokes, keeping your jittery legs apart and pushed down into the sheets so you couldn’t close them. You were shaking all over, fingers tangled in his sweaty locks and gripping for dear life because no one had ever done this to or for you and his tongue was magic all on its own. The pressure in your abdomen began to build as the tip of his tongue dipped into your drenched entrance, punching a cry from you before everything tilted. Your head fell back as waves upon waves of pleasure struck at you, squirting without even realizing it. The worst part was feeling your Bonded lap at your essence, drawing away when he was satisfied and licking his shining lips with a feral grin.
“You taste delicious.”
And Jesus- he has this thing about cornering you in the worst places just to finger you to completion and leaving before you can be too angry at him about it. Even when you’re already in the palm of his hand, he chases after you and enjoys when you put up a fight.
As his side of the bond grows more hungry, you snap out of it for the slightest moment, just as his fingers slip into your pants to touch your bare skin. You swim out of the gutter pull your lips from his addictive pair and pull in a gasp for your dying lungs.
“No- no- Nuh uh- not g-gonna happen. I know what y-you’re doing, you l-little b-brat.” Knowing when he’s figured out, Pietro gently squeezes your ass before pulling his hands from your pants and snorting indignantly, that smile you love too much on his face. He looks so much like a child right now, with not an ounce of fear, hurt, or pain in his eyes. He’s happy, all because of someone like you.
“Ah, it seems you have figured me right out, eh? But what are you to do about it?” He questioned, his speed making you miss how easily he had you pinned to the bed. You blinked up at him a few times, trying to work out how before giving up and squinting.
“You didn’t see that coming?”
As you start to dissolve into your pain, your energy is amplified by your connection to every member of the team, energy waves building up exponentially and wiping across the destroyed streets of Sokovia, ignoring the retreating civilians and instead trampling over Ultron’s forces. It hurts; your pain is tangible, in the air, can be felt by every person close to you and they begin to run away as you lose control of yourself.
He can’t be gone.
He can’t be gone.
No.
It’s too much, too much power that you can’t control, you can see different time streams, and you want to run into any one of them, any way to get back to Pietro, to a time where he is alive, but you can’t be selfish, even if your ruptured bond is like a stab to every inch of you. You have to save these people, his people, and keep them safe. Projecting your energy into a force field, you expand it shakily, holding your hands out to form a partial dome to keep the robots at bay. Everyone is quickly evacuated, just as you reach the end of your power, watching Wanda destroy everything in her path as the light in your eyes goes out and your bond begins to crumple to the broken ground. You follow suit, your field of energy deteriorating as your conscious flew away, back through memories, time, anything to escape.
“What would you say if I wanted to get a ring, a big one, and put it on your finger, My little one?” Pietro whispered in your ear as you both sat in the back of the briefing room. He’d been asking more questions about american marriage customs than normal and you were slowly but surely starting to connect the dots. You turn to look at him, so vibrant and alive that he kisses your forehead because you are too cute.
“W-What’s the ring for?” You sputter, caught off guard completely.
“To marry you? The ring is important, is it not? Or would you rather me get down on one knee in front of everyone here and proclaim my love for you?” You almost think it’s a joke, but a single glance at him makes you realize he’s serious, dead set by the intense gaze in his eyes. You cough, drawing attention to you by Wanda and by extension, Vision.
“P-Pietro. Why are you thinking of this now… We have to-”
“Because I want you, (y/n). Forever. Always. Every day. And when this business with Ultron is finished, I’m going to make you the happiest person in this little universe.”
The ring was still hidden in a cave along the coast of Fiji, made of threaded silver and a dainty diamond because he knew you’d hate a flashy big one from somewhere tacky like Kays or Jareds, kept safe because you could be impatient and he didn’t want you finding out where he’d hidden it.
It’s dark when you wake up, a heavy weight settling deep in your bones that makes it hard to sit up. Your hands hurt the most because you actively pushed energy through it earlier during the battle, and as you realize this, you start to flash back to that moment, that second your world shattered around you. Tentatively, you reach out inside of yourself to feel at your bond-
Tears fill up your eyes quickly as your shoulders shake with a weak jitter. Your bond is not merely severed, it is torn. Severed bonds are done by one Bonded breaking the bond with their soul mate. Severed bonds can be replaced with secondary yet weaker bonds if the person does not die. It is rare that a Bonded survives being pushed away from the person they are destined to be with, but a secondary bond is able to support and ultimately replace the original bond. But a torn bond… is not voluntary. It occurs when there is intense trauma to one part of the bond or a Bonded dies. Torn bonds are riddled with 89% depression, 92% suicide, and 87.2% sickness because the people left behind are unable to successfully replace the destroyed bond. It is not possible .
You bite back the bile piling up in your throat as tears trickle down your heated cheeks. You were going to get married. He wanted to be with you forever. He wanted you, an awkward mutant with her head in the clouds. He’d seen something beautiful in you and embraced his chance at being happy- it was unfair. You curl up tightly, clutching at your stomach as the torn bond rips through more of your tethers. You want to go too; you squeeze your eyes shut tightly at the thought. Of dying to be with him again. It was brash, thoughtless, but you would do anything to see him again, to see him smile, to watch him- to just-
“(y/n).” You didn’t hear the door open, to stuck in your grief to realize someone grieving even more was by your side. Wanda repeated your name softly, able to see your pain, feel it in small spurts as she quietly took the seat by you crying form. There are parts of her that are gone, very far away, and it is quiet in her head for the first time in a long time. Her powers are weakened by her sorrow, and it is better that way because she could destroy everything in the blink of an eye, the same way she had taken out the robotic soldiers. Her hand reaches out, shaky, to carefully smooth back your hair, the same way she had done time and time again. A soft sob escapes your wet lips as you try to cover up your mouth to quell the noise.
“Cry, little one, cry. I will share pain with you, hurt with you.” She murmurs, brushing her fingers through your hair, “But do not think of going. Of leaving this place to somewhere you do not belong. My- My brother would not w-want you to go, understand, little one?” The nickname hurts. Having Wanda close hurts because she is a part of him. Wanda continues to stare down at you, seeing something that is yet isn’t there. There is a vision drifting over her vision from her connection to you- the vision is beautiful, like a punch to the gut at how lovely it is just to be seeing it, and Wanda peers down at you, gaze stained with new tears, new hopes, new dreams.
“You can’t leave, (y/n), not now. Not ever.” You shake your head slowly, protesting, wanting to disappear into somewhere dark and dank in the past. Wanda projects an air of calm to try and soothe your torn bond, but it isn’t enough when your powers are so out of sync with the rest of you, battling her influence and leaving it futile. The Scarlet Witch opens up her mouth to speak, but the door is steadily opening before she can and a homely doctor hobbles in, his shoulders hunched from old age. He smiles small at the sight of you and Wanda, making his way over carefully and picking up a mirror from his work station along the way.
“Ms. Maximoff, please give me time alone to inspect Ms. (y/l/n).” Wanda nods, giving one last small stroke to your hair before she is standing and making her way out. You feel afraid now, without her familiarity, without her touch, without her binding to him, the person who was once bound to you through some force of the universe.
“You are… by far, one of the luckiest people in the world, (y/n).” He starts with another little smile that you don’t return. You are not lucky. You are alone.
“I ran some tests and despite how much power you used, you didn’t do any irreparable damage to your internal organs, good thing too with the news I have.” Your face scrunches up with confusion.
“W-What about my b-bond?” You croak, shaking from having to say the word.
“Bonds are strange things, (y/n). When bonds are torn, the living person loses the name on their skin because it is no longer useful, no longer able to hold emotions, feelings, or any other bond properties. By this definition, your tattoo should be gone, but-” He gestures to the mirror and for you to try and take a look. You don’t care about some old man seeing your mark or ass as you shove back the covers and lift up your hospital gown. But fuck it’s still there. His name is still plastered to your skin, in his quick fashion, inky dark and bold. You don’t understand. The bond is torn, his name should be gone…
“And on top of that, it seems your powers have been doing a wonderful job of keeping the little one safe.” Little… what? Your hand lets your gown drop back over your naked flesh before it runs up your side and over to your stomach. But you weren’t-
“4 weeks pregnant and sent out to battle? God, you heroes need to get your priorities straight,” Your doctor joked with a shake of his head before his expression falls.
“You didn’t know?”
Your mouth grows dry as a fresh wave of tears cascade down your haggard cheeks, a lump in your throat. Pregnant . Torn . Pregnant . Alone.
You weren’t sure how much more heartbreak you could take. How could everything suddenly fall apart when you were on the precipice of greatness? You didn’t understand, or want to, you just wanted to lay there and spend some time trying to mend, trying to fix the broken, to fix yourself for another little one that would depend on you. You let the doctor's babbling fall into the background and closed your eyes, your powers conjuring up the last moment you saw those blue eyes peering into your soul and trying to tell yourself everything would be okay because he's strong and you're strong and the fact that his name is still inked on your flesh is a sign... a good sign... it had to be.
Wanda takes in a deep breath of fresh air, standing next to Steve and leaning against him gently for the support she admits she needs.
“(y/n) is pregnant… pregnant with Luna. She’ll need us to keep his bond strong, to believe in it, or else the last people in my family will perish.” She speaks quietly as Natasha and Clint listen with mute expressions and Tony takes a moment to try and not crack a joke to lighten the mood.
“We’re a family. No one will forget what he did. Luna will know her father was a brave man,” Steve concedes, fully prepared to piece them back together one by one because it’s not just your family or Wanda’s, it’s his too. His family that he loves.
Bonds are strongest when a pair believe in what they have.
You’d never stop believing.
To be continued.