➳ Oh, Well Imagine Marvel➳ FINISHED

•We Don't Have To Dance~Pietro Maximoff•

We don't have to talk.

Midnight or something like that. Everyone around you was wasted. Except for you, kinda. It took more than a pair of shots to make you lose your mind and New York City's alcohol barely had any effect on you anyway. The mundane pleasure of getting drunk was no longer available for you, or at least you didn't feel like it. You had been binging over drinking for a week now after a brutal break up with a boyfriend that you thought was the one, no wonder why you couldn't feel alcohol getting to you.
From the whole week you had been in the bar, a pair of sky blue eyes were glued on you as if you were some kind of... Thing to look at. Like those lights that attract flies and mosquitos. But he was not the only one who did, considering you were trying to get lucky during the first few nights, but nothing ever happened. You stopped trying, it was useless anyway; nothing would take your mind away from the douche bag that broke your heart. Guys stopped looking at you when you became the angry drunk person, but not this guy. He would not stop staring even if his life depended on it.
"Did you lost something, you fucking asshole?" you muttered, holding the glass of whiskey in your steady hand "you've been literally looking at me for like a week and-"
"I was wondering..." he said in a thick –sexy– accent "you've been here exactly a week and the first two or three days you were dressed all... Hot, sexy, mind blowing, but it has decreased as the week went on, why? Why no more short skirts and high heels? Why no more Goth-like corsets? Why just a plain pair of jeans and a hideous shirt, draga mea?"
The guy was hot indeed; long-ish grey hair, a bit of stubble, those bright blue eyes, and the hot foreign accent was all you needed –and the drunken state was of great help, of course– to sigh so tiredly that he even noticed it. His questions were left unanswered, you were not in the mood to talk about your silly, sad life; you never were and never would be.
"Pietro Maximoff" he said, nodding his head and extending his hand to you.
"(Y/N)" you replied sharply, rejecting his handshake.
"So, what is a cutie like you doing in a rotting place like this?"
"I'm not good at small talk, or any kind of talk to be honest, Pietro" you smiled slyly "so let me get this straight, you're hot as hell and I'm sure we could use a good fuck, what'd you say?"
"I'd say yes" he cocked an eyebrow and smirked.
"Buy me another drink then" you spat before letting the remaining whiskey run down your throat.
We don't have to dance.

The Pietro guy was as drunk as you were, and that was saying a lot. His moves were still very graceful and his strong hands held you tightly, keeping you well secured between his body, and the cold door of what, apparently, it was his apartment.
His lips left a sweet, dizzying flavor on yours as they made their way down to your neck. He lifted you effortlessly and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, his tiny ass waist. Letting out a soft moan when you felt his bulge against your wetting core, you threw your head back to allow the foreigner more access to your needy skin. Alcohol was taking the best thing out of you, and now this random guy was taking your clothes out of you.
The first pieces to fall were your jacket and your hideous shirt, exposing a bra that was far from being sexy. He didn't mind, instead, he murmured things you supposed were dirty things in his whatsoever language and then he went back to English for some more boring dirty talking.
"God, draga mea... your skin tastes so good" his words lingered in the air, but you felt tired instead. You were not as good with words as apparently he was "you like it?" you hummed in approval, trying to get your mind into a blank state, but his drunk words were not stopping "you're so hot, I can't wait to fuck you against this very wall, and then on the bed..."
"Pietro" you panted, using one hand to push away some rebel locks of hair from your face and then, propping yourself to hold his broad shoulders "I told you I was not good at small talking... shit" you sighed when his teeth dug on your skin "and that includes dirty talking, so... the sooner you fuck me, the better for both of us" your words were broken and breathy and nothing could make you deny that you wanted him.
You took his shirt off slowly as your back was well supported on the door and he kept his hands on your ass to keep you from falling. Your hips rolled towards his erection as you slid up the soft fabric, revealing a ridiculously defined torso. This guy was in shape and you were enjoying the view. One of his hands snaked its way to your core and teased you.
"Put me down" you demanded; Pietro obliged quickly.
You sank on your knees to free him from the clothing that restrained his girth. It was glorious to say the least; it was so great that you had to take a moment to think about how in heaven you'd put that into your mouth and into your throbbing pussy. You shook the thought away and got down to business. A sweet sigh dripped from his plump lips, encouraging you to keep going.
He helped you up again and hungrily molded his mouth to yours. You unbuttoned your own pants not leaving his lips, your panties were dripping and you wanted him badly, but apparently he had another ideas in mind. He was not looking for a simple hook-up; on the contrary, he wanted to touch you so gently to the point you could beg for him.
Getting on his knees, he left feather kisses down your stomach, his thick fingers found your wet folds and with tender circles, he begun. You threw your head back to the wall, biting your lip to fight the drunk moan that would escape from you sooner than later.
"Don't hold it back, draga mea" he purred "gimme all you got"
You looked up and rolled your eyes and sighed, more in annoyance than pleasure; he was surely taking his time and you were not having it at all. You tried to push his head down to your moist pussy, but he quickly grabbed you by your wrists.
"Pietro, you either fuck me hard right now or I swear to god I'll grab my stuff and flee"

We don't have to smile,
We don't have to make friends

He took you to the bed and gently placed you over the soft bedding. You turned around and lifted your ass. You had no desire of letting him see you, it would be too intimate, too personal and that was the last thing you wanted. His hands grabbed your hips tightly, you could feel his shaft near, and that's everything you craved for. Gripping the quilt and shutting your eyes, you felt your insides filled by the well-equipped Pietro.
"Fuck" you softly said, you hated to admit it, but the guy was great at what he did "P-Pietro... go faster"
He hummed and the sound of his skin slapping against yours became more constant and louder, this was exactly what you wanted. The whole bed creaked as you both moved back and forth. His speed was inhumane, and it was almost dizzying. He continued until you were seeing stars when you climaxed. He rode your orgasm with you, slowing down a little and releasing his load inside you.
It's so nice to meet you,
Let's never meet again.
After coming undone over the bed, you took a look at the clock on the side table; its bright numbers were your cue to flee from Pietro's place. You stood up to grab a hairband from your jacket and headed straight to the bathroom as if nothing ever happened. You washed your face, trying to ignore the guilt feeling crawling up your back. A one night stand was not the problem; it was whom you had the night stand with. He was making it so intimate, so personal, it was not fucking; he made it feel like he was making love to you and you hated it. You did not want love, not anymore.
You came back to the room in complete silence. Your clothes were neatly folded on top of a commode; you started to get dressed as if everything was normal between the two of you before the perplex look of Pietro who was already tucked in the safety and warmth of his covers. For you, everything was normal indeed, it was a plain fuck with a random stranger that picked you at a bar and that was it. To Pietro it was like a dream came true; the intrigue of getting to know you mixed with alcohol and arousal was deadly, and it only made you wander in his mind more and more.
"Leaving so soon?"
"It's quite late" you replied shortly from your shoulder "I have somewhere else to be"
"At 5 am?"
"Yes" you shrugged, finishing your dressing.
We don't have to talk.

You closed the door to his bedroom and as you did the walk of shame, you stopped by the kitchen to grab something to eat and found a magnet with post-it notes and a pen on the fridge. You pondered what to write or why to even write, as it was a simple fuck and you made it clear a hundred times in your mind. A simple message will do, you thought to yourself with a slight smile curving your lips.

"Had a blast.
-(Y/N)

We don't have to dance.

Constructive Criticism please?