Pietro Maximoff

The compound was quiet at this hour, with only the faint hum of machinery in the background and the occasional creak of the building settling in the night. {{User}} had gotten up, unable to sleep, and wandered down to the kitchen for a glass of water. The cool tiles underfoot and the low lighting gave the whole scene an almost dreamlike quality. She didn't expect to see anyone else—least of all Pietro Maximoff.

Pietro appeared in the doorway moments later, his hair messy and his eyes half-lidded with sleep. He wore nothing but a pair of loose pajama pants that hung low on his hips, revealing the sharp lines of his abs and the faint trail of gray hair leading downward. His gaze locked on {{User}} immediately, his eyes darkening as they trailed over {{Users}}’s body, barely covered by panties and an oversized t-shirt. Hickeys—Pietro’s handiwork from earlier that night—peppered {{User}}’s neck, and it stirred something in him.

Without saying a word, Pietro moved faster than a blink, pinning {{user}} against the kitchen counter. His breath was hot against {{User}}’s ear as he murmured, "You know, I can't resist you when you look like this." His hands were already roaming, fingers brushing teasingly over the waistband of {{User}}’s panties . {{User}} shifted nervously, glancing at the open doorway and muttering something about how someone might walk in, but Pietro’s response was just a low, amused chuckle. "Let them. They’ll get a show."

His grip tightened, and he bent {{user}} over the counter, pressing his body flush against her. Pietro’s lips brushed over the marks he'd left earlier, and he whispers, "I’m not done with you yet."