Bittersweet Moments
[Peter Maximoff x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: Your best friend (if you’d even call him that), is an annoying piece of work 99% of the time. But that 1%? That 1% is pretty special.
WC: 1513
Category: Fluff, Irritated!Reader, Mentions of Migraines
My first Evan Peters fic? Lets go.
『••✎••』
Being friends with that white-haired speedster meant you never had a moment of quiet. The guy was just so fast that you never had a second to blink without him pulling a prank on you, which is why you were constantly on edge around him. You could never trust him.
But that didn't mean that he didn't have his moments.
You were on the floor, eyes shut, attempting to fade the raging migraine out. You made your room into a dark cave and had been there all day, and yet, the pain in your head only grew.
By the time you heard your door creak open, you already felt the presence and the air in the room shift. It was almost like a ghost was floating through the doorway.
"No." The voice was quiet, and the sound was barely audible.
The soft footsteps stopped, and you opened one eye, seeing the blurred white figure. Your vision was blurry, and everything was doubled, but you could make out the face.
"You locked me out." The tone wasn't accusatory or playful. It was a soft, concerned tone that made your chest squeeze.
You rolled your head back, trying to look up at him.
"Sorry," you croaked. "But I’m also not sorry. I needed the silence."
"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively. He crouched down his hand landing on your arm. His skin was cold against yours. I know you secretly look forward to our little hangouts."
"No, I don't," you grumbled. "And I especially don't right now."
"Can’t even handle my presence without getting whiplash? Man, I must be really awesome."
You could faintly make out his smug smirk, and it made you snort, only worsening your headache.
"Just..." You waved your hand at him. "Get out. Leave."
He, in fact, did not leave. Instead, he stood up and went over to your bed.
You watched him in confusion as he took off his shoes, and then, with a quick flash of light, he was beside you once again, a blanket suddenly wrapped around him.
"Wh-" You were cut off as the blanket was draped around you, and you found yourself pulled up from the ground.
Peter's arm slipped around your shoulders, and he led you over to the bed. He pulled back the covers, and you climbed in, still unsure of what was going on.
Once you were in bed, he pulled the covers back up, and before you could say anything, his headset was ripped from your dresser. He placed them over his ears and lay down beside you.
He looked at you and nodded his head, giving you a thumbs-up.
You just stared at him, completely confused, but his gaze was unwavering. You let out a sigh, deciding to just roll with it. You were too tired to deal with Peter's bullshit anyway.
You rested your head on the pillow and shut your eyes.
A few moments later, a tune started playing, the music filling your ears. Not the loud, classic rock he usually blasted, but a soothing acoustic.
"You’re a fan of the Beatles?" You asked, surprised. You fluttered your eyes only to see Peter's face correctly. He looked like he was in deep thought. And with the soothing music from his Walkman (that he obviously lent to you) and the quiet, you couldn't help but feel a small tug on your heart.
He shrugged. "It just felt like the right song for the mood."
"Meaning… me dying?"
"Oh, stop being dramatic," he rolled his eyes. "Your little brain is just confused from having a devilishly handsome man lay in bed with you."
"You do realize I’ve had this for days now, right?"
"Alright, so, a devilishly handsome man around you. Is that better?"
"I can’t believe I let you in here," you grumbled, closing your eyes once more.
"Don't lie," he said, a little louder than usual since the music was loud in your ears. You know you like my company—that and my box of sweets."
What box of—
Your eyes opened, and you looked up, seeing him holding a box of chocolate-covered almonds. Your heart did a flip.
"Is this... " You reached for the box, and he handed it to you.
"They're the good stuff. None of that cheap candy crap."
"Wow, you eat something other than Twinkies? I'm impressed," you teased, taking a piece and popping it into your mouth.
"Hey, don't hate the Twinkies. You ever try them with ice cream? It's great. It's like cake, but it's not, ya know? They're just so squishy, but the flavor is there."
"Uh, ew?"
"What, are you some fancy girl? Too high class for my delicious desserts?"
"Yeah, that's exactly it," you laughed, shaking your head. You rested your head on the pillow again.
"Whatever," he chuckled. "Eat your expensive ass almonds. I had to pay actual money for those, and I'm pretty sure Hank's going to notice they're gone."
That made you sit up despite the pounding in your head. "You stole them?! Oh my god, what's wrong with you?!"
"What?" he looked at you innocently. So I stole a box of chocolates. Big deal. The guy's rich. He never notices when I swipe his food. He'll just assume he forgot to put them away or something."
"Ugh, you are such an ass."
"You say ass; I say awesome."
"No," you said, putting another almond into your mouth. "Ass."
"Alright, fine. But, hey, look, who’s still eating the stolen chocolates?"
"Yeah, well," you smirked, taking another one. " Technically, I didn’t steal it. You did. So I can have a clear conscience."
"Ah, I see," he grinned. "Well, in that case, have another. Grab as many as you want. My treat."
You stared at him. "Okay, who are you, and what did you do with Peter?"
"What?"
"This," you gestured towards him. "All of this. You're never nice."
"Well, when you've had a migraine that's lasted for three days, you kinda learn to have a little empathy for that person."
"Three days?" you said, shocked. "Wait, how did you know the exact amount of time?"
"Don’t let anyone tell you you’re just a pretty face… I’m an all-seeing god, remember? Nothing can get by me."
"Except when Apocalypse broke—"
"Okay! Okay, I don’t need to relive that, alright? Sheesh, you're worse than Raven."
You grinned, taking another almond.
"Thanks," you said sincerely.
"For what? Comparing you to the blue lady? Anytime."
"No," you rolled your eyes. "I mean, for not pulling a… well, you. I really do appreciate it."
"Does this mean you’re leaving the Batcave? If we're getting sappy, then I should probably head out. I don’t want to risk my rep."
"You and I both know you have no reputation."
"True," he smiled. But hey, a guy can dream, right?"
You laughed, shaking your head. You were about to lay back down when he spoke up again.
"Actually," he said, looking at the ceiling, "there is one thing I'm good at."
"What's that?"
He didn't say anything. He just stared at the ceiling.
"Pete?"
His head whipped around to you, and with the same speed, he was leaning over you, his face inches away from yours.
"Peter, what—"
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your ear, and the comment you were about to say died in your throat.
"I can shut up."
The sound of his voice, so soft and low, sent shivers down your spine. He pulled away and gave you a quick smile.
"Just something to think about," he said, and you could see the red tint on his cheeks. He sat up and stood in front of you before you could say anything else.
"You can give the Walkman back whenever, so, uh, don't worry about it. Anyway, I gotta get going. You know, stuff to do and snacks to eat." He turned towards the door. "Anyway, feel better. Later."
And before you could comprehend what had just happened, he was gone just like the wind.
You sat in your bed, still feeling the phantom feeling of his breath on your ear.
And ironically, the pain in your head was starting to fade.
So, yes. Despite him being an annoying little shit, he did have his moments. Genuine, quiet, caring moments. And it always made you question whether or not he was secretly a clone.
You were still staring at the door, your mind running a mile a minute.
But then, as if he could read your thoughts, he peeked his head back into your room.
"Oh, and if you tell anyone about this, I'll tell everyone you're a huge Star Wars nerd."
He vanished, and a second later, he was back once more.
"Also, I definitely didn’t steal that Walkman from a certain someone, so, uh, have fun with the mixtape!"
With that, he was gone.
You rolled your eyes and laid back down, putting the headphones back on.
"Ass."
You will definitely be visiting the white-haired speedster tomorrow. He may have his moments, but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve some good old-fashioned payback.
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