A/N: Yeahhh, I know. It’s Pietro x Reader, just like everything else. But get used to it, my darlings (used jokingly, of course. I love you), because that’s pretty much what I do. Also, I used Romanian as the Sokovian language is currently unknown, even though in the story it’s described as Sokovian. Heh. Sorry.
I awoke to a hand running through my hair, and warm arms wrapped around me. My face was buried in someone’s chest. I was warm, and covered in quite possibly the softest sheets I had ever witnessed. They were light blue, and decorated with silver scripty patterns. That reminded me of Pietro. Mmm…
Then I remembered everything that had brought me here. I remembered everything that had happened at the dinner party, and I remembered the way Pietro had looked at me, and I remembered the way his hand hadn’t left my shoulder. I remembered how bright a blue his eyes had been, in contrast to the dark shade of his jacket. Wanda, of course, had looked fantastic too, but I hadn’t really been paying attention. I had been more focused on the way that Pietro’s hair had fallen against his eyes, veiling the blue in a shelter of wavy blonde tangles.
More than anything, though, I remembered the softly spoken Sokovian compliments murmured in my ear all through dinner, the gentle brushing of stray locks away from my face, and the way our eyes met in the moonlight, green against black. I understood the modern phrase ‘eye contact,’ now, because it truly was a clashing of wild colours and feelings, meeting in the air above the champagne, and the food, and the talking. It had brought feelings to my mind that were impossible to find words to describe, though Pietro had seemed to find the the perfect ones in Sokovian, and delivered them in such a way that I would never repeat, for they formed perfectly on his tongue, and his alone.
Yet I still haven’t explained why I was sleeping in his bed.
Nothing had happened, other than what had happened before: kissing, running fingers through hair, trailing hands against backs, and talking quietly. The only thing different was that I had stayed overnight, and shared a bed with him. And I was in an oversized shirt of his. And his legs were tangled with mine. And he was simply wearing boxers and a t shirt. And, well…okay. It sounded quite a bit worse than it was.
“Buna dimineata, iubirea.” His voice was deep, raspy, and heavily accented. Is this what he always sounded like in the morning? I wanted to hear this far more often. Though I didn’t understand the words, the meaning was clear. Good Morning.
“Good morning to you, too,” I replied, running my hand through my blue-black hair. “What time is it?” I asked, turning over to try and find a clock. He glanced behind him at his nightstand, reading it off.
“10:23 A.M.” He said matter-of-factly. I groaned. He tilted my head up and gave me a questioning look. “Why? What time do you want it to be, dragul meu?”
“Not this early, that’s for sure.” I replied, sighing. “Wait, what did you call me?” His face turned slightly red.
"N-nothing.“ He said quickly. I knew little to no Sokovian, and he was trying to teach me, though I’m pretty sure that probably wasn’t the first thing he wanted me to learn.
"You can tell me, Pietro. I won’t make fun of you.” I replied, brushing a wave of blonde curls away from his face. But alas, a smile was already curling my mouth. He flushed further, glancing out at the door.
“’Dragul meu’ means…” He started, before smiling nervously and looking down again.
“Yes?” I led him onward.
“It means 'my love.’ I’m sorry, it just sort of…slipped out, I guess.” He apologized awkwardly, shifting his eyes away from mine as my mouth opened slightly. Had he really just called me his love?
“I get it if it’s weird. I’m sorry if it’s too early, or something. I didn’t really mean to, it just was, you know, how I felt. I can understand if you don’t–” he stammered, before I cut him off by pulling him down towards me and kissing him. He made a somewhat surprised noise in the back of his throat, before leaning into me, sliding one hand down to my waist.
“I love it, Pietro. It isn’t weird. I love it.” I replied, tracing his jaw with my pale fingers. They must have been cold, too, because he shivered and pulled me closer.
"Și eu te iubesc, draga mea.“ He replied, kissing my head.
"What did you just say?” I asked.
“Nothing!” He stammered, all too quickly.
A/N #2: Written to Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years, and I think reading it to that might make it cuter.
Buna dimineata, iubirea.- Good morning, love.
dragul meu - my love
Și eu te iubesc, draga mea - And I love you, sweetheart.