The Stark curse

1.7

Pietro POV

In the stillness of the night, when the world slumbered in peaceful oblivion, Pietro found himself restless, his mind tangled in a web of thoughts and emotions. Sleep eluded him, and with a sigh, he rose from his bed and padded silently towards the kitchen. The soft glow of moonlight spilled through the windows, casting ethereal shadows across the room. Pietro's footsteps echoed softly on the cold tiles as he reached for a glass, filling it with cool water from the faucet. As he took a sip, he leaned against the kitchen counter, his mind drifting to the complexities of his life.

Thoughts of his past, the trials he had endured, and the battles he had fought resurfaced in his consciousness. The weight of his experiences bore heavily upon his shoulders, and a flicker of vulnerability danced in his eyes. Moments of pain and loss flashed before him, reminding him of the scars he carried, both visible and hidden. But his thoughts quickly shifted to Cassidy, the woman who had captured his heart and ignited a fire within his soul. Concern for her welled up within him, intertwining with the love that coursed through his veins. He wondered about her well-being, her dreams, and the battles she fought in the depths of her own mind.

Restlessness gnawed at his core, the need to do something, to channel his frustrations and pent-up energy. And so, he made his way to the gym, a sanctuary where he could unleash his inner turmoil. The sound of his own heartbeat filled his ears as he pushed his body to its limits, each punch, kick, and movement a manifestation of his unspoken frustrations.

In the solitude of the gym, the sweat-soaked air became his confidant, absorbing his silent screams and absorbing his anger. The rhythmic thud of his fists against the punching bag echoed through the empty space, a cathartic release of the emotions that threatened to consume him. As exhaustion began to creep into his muscles, Pietro found solace in the physical exertion. It was a reminder of his own strength, his resilience in the face of adversity. In those solitary moments, he reclaimed a sense of control, a momentary respite from the chaos of his thoughts.

With each punch, he exorcised the demons that haunted him, freeing himself from the shackles of his own doubts and fears. The intensity of his movements served as a testament to his unwavering determination, a declaration to himself and the world that he would not be defeated.

As Pietro's fists collided with the punching bag, his mind lost in a whirlwind of emotions, he was unaware of the presence that silently observed his relentless assault. But as the echoes of his strikes faded, a familiar voice cut through the air. "You know, Pietro, if you hit that punching bag any harder, it might just explode into a million pieces. Then what will you do with all that pent-up anger?" Bucky remarked, his voice carrying a playful yet brotherly tone.

Pietro turned to face the intruder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, well, if it isn't the Winter Soldier himself. Shouldn't you be brooding in the shadows somewhere?" Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, thought I'd come out into the light and see what all the noise was about. Seems like you've got some pent-up energy to release."

Pietro's smirk widened. "Oh, Bucky, you know me. Always full of energy. Can't let these super-speed powers go to waste, can I?" Bucky crossed his arms, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Just make sure you don't accidentally vibrate through the floor. We've had enough structural damage around here." Pietro feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Now, now, Bucky, you wound me with your lack of faith in my control. I'll have you know that I'm a master of precision."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk curling his lips. "Right, just like that time you accidentally ran headfirst into a wall." Pietro's confident façade faltered for a split second before he recovered with a dismissive wave. "That was a minor setback. We speedsters have our moments too, you know."