The knock came at night just as you were about to turn off the light in the living room.
With your hand lightly touching the switch, you turned a little, looking over your shoulder at your front door. You weren't expecting anyone, especially not this late. It was midnight, after all, and you didn't make a habit out of picking acquaintances from late-night sleepers; so you were confused, and a little startled.
Leaving the light on – turning it off would only gain more unwanted attention and that was the last thing you wanted – you slowly walked to your drawer, quietly opening it to pull out the gun your father 'gifted' to you.
Of course, it wasn't quite like that; your father was the Tony Stark, which meant he was as protective of you as anyone would expect, and as such any weapon he made he forced you to have. You didn't really have a choice when it came to your safety.
In fact, he didn't even like the idea of you living on your own, especially when the location of the flat was quite a few miles away from his own home. You're sure the only reason he even agreed was because, in return, you agreed to have any weapon of his creation in your home.
The number of spy cameras and hidden laser beams in your home was astronomical, truly.
Though it was handy you did agree, for had you not you would not have been given that gun, nor been taught how to use it.
As it was, when the knock came, your mind went straight to that gun – and for a split second, to call your father but your stubborn 'Stark' side won over that one quickly; you weren't about to call for help if it wasn't needed.
You would use it if needed but first, you'd find out if you actually needed to.
Slowly, you left the drawer open, not wanting to cause any noise that'd alert the other to your presence, and stepped over to the door, mindful of the creaky floorboards and the light pouring underneath the door.
You paused just shy of the light and peered through the tiny peephole. There, you saw a young man with white-blonde hair and dark roots. His head was down so that was all you could see, but it was all you needed to, to make a definitive decision on what to do.
After all, why wouldn't you let Pietro Maximoff in?
Stepping back, you unlocked the multitude of locks – your father's idea – and opened the door, only to pause when you saw the state he was in.
Trying to play it off as causal, Pietro was leaning against the wall with his arms over his chest but it didn't take a genius to see he was keeping his whole weight on his right side. There was also what looked to be a dash of blood over his hip that he was trying to hide by turning subtly.
"Pietro?" You uttered without intending to form any other sentence, surprise voicing your thoughts, and almost without meaning to, Pietro looked up.
You just barely held back a gasp. His face was worse, so much worse.
Deep bruises and cuts littered his face, scars – old and new– were open and pouring blood. He looked as if he'd taken a couple of rounds with Rocky Balboa.
What had he been doing? Who's he fought? Why was he fighting?
You combed through your mind, trying to remember any past events that may have caused this; were there any new villains that needed to be dealt with? No, none that you could remember anyway. None that couldn't be dealt with by just one of the older Avengers anyway.
Wanda and Pietro, though on the side of the good, had been carefully watched ever since the incident concerning Ultron, both for their safety and others. Add in the fact that the twins were only twenty and it made for a group of strangely-protective-but-wary superheroes.
So you couldn't see how he'd gotten so injured. Unless your father wasn't telling you something.
You bit off the huff at that thought. You thought you'd finally gotten through to your father about keeping secrets like that; all you wanted to know was when he was going to fight off a super-powered bad-guy, and he had agreed to tell you if such a person ever came along.
You didn't like not knowing the danger your father was in, especially after the first battle of the Avengers. That still haunted you to this day.
Heaven forbid it ever happen again.
Suddenly remembering you weren't alone, you shook yourself inwardly and slipped the gun into the pocket of your housecoat. You could see, out of the corner of your eye, Pietro's eyes moving to watch it almost warily but he didn't say anything.
He knew, besides, you wouldn't hurt him.
"Come in and lay on the sofa," You ordered and with a pained chuckle you chose to ignore, Pietro stepped forward - only to fall forward as if losing all strength to keep himself up.
Fortunately, you caught him before he could crash to the floor. Unfortunately, you ended up crashing to the floor instead, with his heavy weight on top of you.
Briefly, there was a narrow of his eyes and brow before he seemed to realise he'd just fallen, and simply sighed.
You resisted the urge to panic. Sort of. Your breathing hitched and was coming out maybe a tad bit too fast, but you believed it wasn't as obvious as it could've been. Especially when your mind was going a mile a minute and it was suddenly incredibly hard to hear yourself think, let alone not panic.
You weren't sure what to do. Did you call for help, but who? Did you tend to his wounds, but how? Moving would only disturb him, which was the last thing you wanted. However, sitting there wasn't an option either. Sitting there meant he could die and- no.
Biting your lip, you glanced around. Where was your phone? Ah, on your coffee table, just out of reach. What about that wristwatch your father had made for you? He'd given it to you only just a week ago with the statement that it 'may not work properly but that's what you're here for'.
You'd rolled your eyes at him and called it an 'apple watch-wannabe', to which your father had huffed in indignation. You'd laughed at it but now, well, you suppose there's no better time to check it out than with the injured body of your crush in your lap.
A quick glance around brought your attention to the wristwatch, which was on top of the hallway drawer. Now, all you had to do was stretch a...little...just a little bit...more- there! You watched as it fell beside you with a dull thud, and grabbed it.
It was a finicky thing to use, unnecessarily difficult to open but once it was, you quickly opened the contact page, hitting your father's phone number.
"What's wrong?" was the first thing your father said, and if you hadn't been so tired and panicked, you may have rolled your eyes. As it was, you were very tired, which is why, when you opened your mouth, you rambled into panic mode:
"Dad, it's Pietro. He's injured and bleeding and I think there may actually be- oh, no, there's guts. God, I'm gonna throw up. I don't- I need-," You paused, preparing yourself before continuing, "I need your help. I don't know what I'm doing."
There was a moment of silence which lasted too long, and then your father spoke, "Come again."
You huffed. Really, he's going to do that now? He's such a child, honestly.
"Dad, I'm serious," You warned, "I'm scared. He's dying and I don't know what to do."
Your father sighed.
"Try and get him as comfortable as possible. I'll be there as soon as I can." He ordered, "And (y/n)? Try and breathe."
You nodded, and then remembered this was a phone call and he wouldn't be able to see it.
"Yeah, alright. That's a good idea."
"Of course," Your father muttered, "See you soon."
You hesitated. You almost didn't want to hang up, but your father made the decision for you and hung up himself. Alright, it's fine. He's on his way. It'll be fine, everything will be fine.
Pietro groaned and you looked down. Okay, first thing's first, get him into a comfortable position. The couch was comfy and would be a good place to go, but maybe the bed was better. However, it was higher up. You needed somewhere you could drag Pietro to and lift up easily.
So then, the couch it was.
"I'm going to move you, alright?" You whispered in his ear, a little whine the only response you got, "I'll try and be careful."
Carefully, you maneuvered him until you could stand. Placing your hands under his armpits, you slowly began to drag him back, pausing every time he so much as groaned. It took a while but the relief you felt when you finally saw Pietro on a softer surface, outweighed anything else you may have felt.
You looked down. Though you wished you could do something more. His forehead practically glistened with the amount of sweat produced. He was running a fever, and the longer you waited for your father, the worse he was going to get.
Maybe a wet clothe may help. Cool him down a bit, maybe. Something to make you feel useful at least.
So, blowing a piece of stubborn hair out of your face, you ignored it as it fell back into its original position and walked into the bathroom, grabbing a clean flannel and wetting it just enough. Once all the excess water had been squeezed out, you rushed back and knelt beside him, whispering soothing words as he groaned.
Softly, you began to dab the flannel on his forehead and took a moment to take in how tall he was. Almost too tall for the sofa, causing his legs to fall over the side limply. You wondered if you needed to get a larger sofa, but then that led to thoughts of this happening again and those weren't things you wanted to focus on.
One thing at a time.
After a while, Pietro became to cool down, so you decided to go and get your first aid kit. It may help your father, whenever he decided to show up.
Gently laying the flannel over his forehead, you stood and turned, only to stop when a hand gripped yours. You looked down t see Pietro open his mouth, a hacking cough interrupting whatever he was about to say.
You softly shushed him.
"I'm just going to get the first aid kit. I'll be back in a second."
Even if Pietro didn't want you to go, it wasn't as if he could stop you. His hand let go of yours, falling limply onto his stomach, and you watched as it caused a wince to sharpen his face. You turned away, not wanting to see the pain on his face, and rushed into the kitchen this time, slamming open cupboards to try and find your wayward first aid box.
You never knew where it was, despite putting it in the position in the first place. You never went to it enough to really think about it, which was a good thing, obviously but...
It was in the last cupboard you checked, of course. Dragging it out, you winced as a few things fell out of the half-opened bag but chose to clean them up later.
When you arrived back at his side, his eyes were still closed, wince still twisting his features, blood still flowing, except now there was an added furrow of his brows.
God, where are you, Dad?
Dropping to your knees, you tore the bag open, observed what you had, looked up and then remembered you needed to remove his shirt. Using all your strength, you ripped the fabric, which came apart easier than you thought it would (though not quite as easy as the films made it out to be).
The wound became visible quickly.
God, you wished you hadn't seen it. There was just so much blood and yeah, maybe even a little bit of guts. You thought you'd been exaggerating earlier, mind in full panic mode, but you were disheartened to realise that no, you hadn't been actually.
The urge to puke was strong but you managed to push past it, to focus on the situation at hand. Deal with this mess first before adding another. Though the more you shifted through the first aid kit, the more you realised maybe you weren't going to have a choice.
Nerves alone were making you feel nauseous.
You didn't know what you were doing. You've never treated wounds like this, never had reason to. Paper-cut wounds were nothing compared to this. This, this was a whole new level, like 'spilling guts all over the floor' type level.
You never thought you'd ever be in this type of situation. It was terrifying, to be honest, which was why, in a way, you were almost glad Pietro was unconscious. He didn't have to see you panic and flail like this.
Or puke, as that's what finally happened a second later.
Turning, you let everything out, nerves finally getting the best of you. It seemed to last forever and you were close to panicking when it finally stopped. You took large gulps of air in, trying to calm your racing heart and wishing you had a glass of water to soothe your sore throat.
God, where is your father?
You fell sideways, leaning against the sofa and let your head fall forward a little. You tried to control your breathing as best you could.
A knock at the window alerted you to your father's presence little more than ten minutes later. You startled, looking up and then instantly regretted it as your head begun to spin. You took deep breathes as you stood, stumbling your way over to the window and pushing it up with a soft thud.
"He told me he was alright. That's the only reason I let him on the mission." Your father told you without prompt. What was he going on about? You knew there'd been a mission, you remember telling your father to be careful during it, but you weren't aware Pietro had been there too.
Were they working together? And since when?
But it wasn't as if you could ask. You knew, if you opened your mouth, you would only be sick again, and your father seemed to realise that.
"Where is he?" Your father asked instead as he stepped in before taking another glance towards you, "Are you alright?"
You couldn't answer, not without possibly being sicker, so instead, you waved in Pietro's general, sweaty, pained direction and let your father handle it. He didn't bother trying to get a response out of you, just walked right over to the young man and began working on him.
About an hour later, your father finally stood up from the sofa. He turned to you, sweat wetting his slightly-furrowed brow but you could tell by the relieved look on his face that Pietro was healed. He was going to be alright.
You let out a relieved sigh and curled around yourself. Your father walked over, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing, making you look up.
"He'll be fine," He reassured with a soft smile. You nodded. Of course, he would be. Your father had just checked him and you trusted your father to know what he was doing. You trust your father a lot.
But that didn't stop you feeling bad. Pietro had been bleeding on the couch not that long ago, dying, from something you didn't know; and you hadn't known what to do. You'd sat there, panicked, puked and then watched as your father did all the work.
It could've gone wrong. Pietro could've died.
"-(Y/N)? Darling, look at me," Tony said and you snapped back to reality. "Come on, sit down over here." He took a hold of your hand and guided you over to one of the armchairs, gently pushing you own into it.
Once you were sitting, Tony disappeared into the kitchen after saying he was going to make some coffee, and you were left alone to stare at Pietro. He was breathing, his chest rising and falling softly but visibly. His lips parted a little.
He still looked to be in a little pain but he was alive. His wound was patched. He was alive. He was healing.
You suddenly felt the urge to grab his hand, to touch him. Carefully, you slid off the chair and crawled over until you could lean against the sofa, head falling onto it. You took Pietro's hand and took a much needed deep breath.
You could feel yourself relax a little now.
His hand was so warm. There'd been times in the past - many times, though you never liked to admit it - when you'd wondered how it'd feel to hold his hand. You'd always pictured it to be like this, warm and soft.
It never failed to bring a blush to your cheeks.
Though maybe you shouldn't be having such thoughts. Pietro was unconscious after suffering a massive injury and here you were, thinking of your crush on him and blushing like a schoolgirl.
Not that you could ever do anything about it. You definitely couldn't tell Pietro. You two were like acquaintances; Pietro treated you as such, anyway. Though you didn't help matters, disappearing whenever he appeared, regardless of what you had been previously doing; and when he tried talking to you, you'd always freeze up and just stare at him, all wide-eyed and silent.
You wouldn't be surprised if you'd freaked him out, even.
Why did you have to have a crush on this one? Why couldn't you have fallen in love wit-...? Love? But of course, you weren't in love. Not like that, at least. It was just a simple crush, nothing more. Just a silly little infatuation. Not...not that.
A gentle click on the coffee table startled you and you jerked in the direction of the noise, calming down only when you realised it was your father placing a mug down. You sent a confused look his way.
"One of those herbal teas you like. I found one in the cupboard," He explained, "You need rest and I hear this one may actually help with it."
You thanked him with a nod and a smile, and he leaned down to kiss you on top of the head.
"I'm going to get going but if you need me, call me." He ordered and for a split second, you felt panic try and claw its way up your throat. You couldn't be left with Pietro. What if something happened? But all he needed was rest. You could help him now; he was better.
So you nodded, promising you would, and watched him leave with bated breathe. You would be fine.
You looked back towards Pietro. He looked a little better now, actually. Peaceful even, in his sleep. You should get some sleep too. It'd been a...stressing night.
Though you couldn't just leave Pietro here like this. It was quite cold at night, and you didn't want him getting the flu over everything else as well.
There must be some blankets around her- ah! Over one of the armchairs was one, an old-styled thing that was far warmer than it looked. That would do nicely actually.
So, you stood carefully, making sure you were alright to move before doing so and grabbed the blanket. You wrapped Pietro up well, ensuring no skin was visible to the cold, and then, with one more glance over him, you walked off to the bedroom- or tried anyway.
A hand stopped you with a weak grip and you looked down to see Pietro, looking up at you as his hand gripped yours. He was looking up at you, though you weren't sure it was you he was looking at. His eyes were glazed over.
He didn't say anything, just continued to stare. You felt a little nervous.
What did you do? What was he going to do? What if he moved and irritated the wound? You had to calm him before he did, that was obvious, but how? You weren't the best at soothing others, especially not injured speedrunners who didn't even seem to be awake.
Then Pietro blinked and he seemed to gain a bit of recognition in his eyes because he then smiled. You were just about to smile back when instead, you yelped as he yanked you down with surprising strength for one so dazed.
You hit his chest with a harsh thud and winced. Oh god, what did you just hit? You tried to scramble off of him, gently but also quickly, only for him to wrap his arms around you and bury his face further into your hair.
He refused to let you go, even if it meant you were possibly lying on the wound. You almost wanted to smack him for how ridiculous he was being, but then remembered he was probably too oblivious and doped up on medicine to really care.
Still, you weren't comfortable like this and you didn't want to hurt him further, so you gently pushed away from him. He still wouldn't let you go.
"Pietro, let me- god, let me go," You tried, though you weren't sure he even heard, muffled as you were against his chest. You were starting to get impatient because as much as you pictured lying on his chest often, you didn't want it to be like this.
You just wanted to sleep, in your bed preferably, and to deal with all of this in the morning. Pietro also needed rest, a lot of it actually, so he could heal better.
God, why wasn't he letting go? Did he even know you were still here? Had he fallen asleep at some point? Now that you thought about it, his breathing did seem lighter.
Carefully, you shifted until you could look up at him and saw his eyes were shut. He was actually asleep. He'd fallen back to sleep, hugging you like a child to their safety blanket.
You sighed and let your chin fall atop his side, though careful not to put any more pressure on his wound. Well, looks like you're not going anywhere tonight.
So, giving up, you got comfortable, wrapped an arm over his torso and not to feel so guilty that deep down, you were a little happy at the situation. This was the first and last time you'll ever get this close to him, let alone ever have another chance to hug him. You couldn't help but want to take any chance you could get.
And Pietro seemed to relax more when you finally did, his lips quirking a little. He didn't open his eyes though, so you assumed he was still asleep.
Maybe all he wanted was a comfort in his time of pain and discomfort.
Well, it's not as if you can go anywhere, so you're here now. So you closed your eyes and listened to his breathing, letting it calm you.
At some point, his arm slipped off you but you didn't move. You stayed, arm still over him, and eventually drifted off to sleep yourself.
------
You were on the sofa when you woke up, the next day. A soft blanket trapped warmth around you and a quick glance over it showed it was the one you had put over Pietro.
Speaking of... Your mind hadn't quite caught up as you shot upwards, glancing around you to find the wayward speedrunner.
Where was he? Why was he not here? Was last night just a dream? But why were you on the couch then, and not in bed?
You looked down at the coffee table. No, it couldn't have been a dream. The mug your father had made was still there, filled with cold tea, as well as the first aid box. So where was he?
Just then, Pietro came walking in, a wince permanent on his face and holding a cup in his hand. He paused when he saw you and then carried on, practically falling into the armchair as soon as he neared in.
There was an almost heavy silence, though maybe that was just you. What did you say? Did he even remember last night? Oh god, what did he think when he woke up to you hugging him? He must've felt so awkward. Though why hadn't he left? Well, he was injured. Maybe he needed help. But why hadn't he woken you up then? God, you felt so awkward and confused right now. What do you do?!
Well, maybe you should start by apologising to him, about the hugging first; and if he remembered last night, about not being able to help him too. He'd trusted you and you had panicked. Yeah, apologise and then... then something. You still weren't sure.
So, coming back to reality, you turned- and immediately froze when you realised just how close Pietro was. How had he gotten here so fast? Oh, wait. Speedrunner.
Though he shouldn't be moving so fast, he was still in pain. And why was he so close?!
You jumped when you felt a calloused thumb slowly dig into your bottom lip, pulling it down until it came free from the teeth biting down on it. You hadn't even realised you were biting it.
Pietro seemed enraptured by it though, eyes seemingly stuck on your lip and his thumb, and you blushed. Now, what do you do? Did you push him away? Did you want to? Maybe you should. He probably didn't even realise what he was doing.
You moved back, only to freeze and watch as he followed. You let him carry on with his inspection without even meaning to. Why did he look so fascinated? It was only your lip.
After what felt like forever, he finally moved away and you released a breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding- only to gasp when his lips crashed into yours. It wasn't a graceful kiss by any means but god, did it feel like fireworks had suddenly gone off.
You would've kissed back if you hadn't short-circuited. What was going on? Was he really kissing you? Since when?! Why?! Did he know what he was doing? Because you couldn't think of a reason as to why he was doing it in the first place.
Pietro kissed deeper and you realised that yes, he did know what he was doing. Very much so actually.
Hesitantly, you kissed back. It was as if your lips had gone numb, moving them felt awkward but Pietro didn't seem to mind. Which was good because as you slowly gained more confidence, so did the kiss until you were suddenly in his lap.
You weren't sure when he'd even sat down, let alone when you had moved. You didn't care though. Things were heating up and you didn't want to break it.
Hands trailed along any bits of naked skin, though remained mindful of any wounds. Lips latched onto a lightly-stubbled chin and lean neck. You could feel his back arch as you sucked at a certain spot- and then he hissed.
And you realised just what you were doing.
Gasping, you fell backwards, barely missing the coffee table. You quickly scanned him, checking to see if the wound had bled through his bandages and shirt. It didn't look like it but you didn't want to go near him again, just in case. You looked up, eyes wide.
"I'm so sorry! I forgot about your wounds, I wouldn't have carried this on if-." Pietro stopped you with a quick peck on the lips. You felt a little dazed as he pulled away and he chuckled at the dreamy look on your face.
"It's fine, really, (y/n). If anyone's at fault, it's me for starting it." He reassured. "Though, that's not to say I didn't like it."
One of his eyebrows raised suggestively and you blushed. You playfully glared and stuck your tongue out.
"So, um," You hesitated.
So now what? Did that kiss mean something? Did you just go about your life and forget it ever happened? You weren't sure you could but you would try if Pietro wanted that. Should you ask? You did need to know after all, but did you really want to know? Maybe he's just delirious from the medicine and the pain. Just ask, and if it does turn out to be a random kiss.... oh well.
"Um, so I-I-" You paused, controlling your breath. Don't stutter! "- I was wondering, um, what- ugh, what I'm trying to say is - well, ask - is, um-."
At this rate, you weren't going to get anything out. Why was it so hard to just ask a simple question? Thankfully, Pietro stopped you with a finger to the lips.
"Yes." was all he said.
What? Yes what? Pietro smiled in exasperation. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulled you closer.
"Yes, you are my partner." You gaped, seemingly unable to close it in your shock. You were- you were really- so this wasn't a joke? Wasn't a pleasant dream you're about to wake up from? You were his partner, Pietro Maximoff's partner. He really wanted you. You practically beamed at the thought, and yet still, a mischievous side - the Stark side of you - decided to make an appearance.
Finally closing your mouth, you crossed your arms and jutted your chin a little. "And if I don't want to be?" You teased with a little grin. He chuckled and leaned in carefully. There was a little wince still there on his face but the pin didn't stop him from pecking you on the lips.
"Everyone wants to be with me." He cheekily smirked and you smirked, unable to disagree. You leaned in, breath teasing his skin.
"You cheeky arse." You muttered and Pietro chuckled.
"You love me really."
"Yeah, I do."