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kquil · 8 months

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REMUS LUPIN | NOT SO SECRET ADMIRER PRT.2

REQUEST. : First I would like to say that I started following you because of Remus' imagine “Not so secret admirer” and my request is like a “continuation” with their first date, if possible ... ⏤ @jennieasfrance

TAGS. : reader is too shy ; but she warms up to things ; bookworm reader ; tutor remus ; puppy love ; remus has love eyes for you ; you have to pass exams ; hogsmeade weekend date with conditions

LENGTH : 1.3k

PART ONE

“Nice try, Moony,” Sirius pats his pitiful friend’s shoulder with an apologetic smile. It didn’t start off like this. In the beginning, when Remus first started trying to approach you, whenever he was able — in the great hall or in the corridors —, Sirius laughed at his friend’s miserable attempts but now… now it was just sad.

“She called me pretty,” Remus sighs sadly, “so why is she always running away from me?”

“Maybe you’re just too pretty?” Peter muses, scratching the back of his neck bashfully, “I know I wouldn’t dare approach anyone I thought was too pretty,” at his comment, James comes up behind the blonde to wrap an arm around his shoulders and give him a comforting squeeze.

“Thanks Pete,” Remus musters a weak smile but it isn’t enough to lift his mood. His focus is nowhere in particular as he contemplates the karmic reasons for his current circumstance in love. It was even more difficult to approach you because you were a year younger and a Ravenclaw, meaning that you already spent little time together atop not being in the same year group.

“At least you two have something in common,” Sirius sighs, his voice straining slightly as he stretches his arms up.

“Yeah?” Remus prompts, flashing Peter a small smile as he watches James ruffle the dirty blonde’s hair affectionately.

“You’re a pair of bookworms,” Sirius points to you entering the library with an impressive pile of borrowed books in your arms. Having followed the direction of Sirius’ finger, Remus smiles fondly at your charming mannerisms. A bookworm chasing another bookworm, how fitting.

Despite his complaints, Sirius became the sole reason Remus spent even more of his spare time in the library — just to catch a glimpse of you. Studying, writing, reading for pleasure or for classes, he’s seen it all and he knows that you know he has.

Ever since you’ve had that run in with Remus in the hallway, where you embarrassingly called him pretty before running away, he’s been appearing everywhere. It was so sudden, you didn’t know what to do. And he keeps making eye contact with you as well. It’s so flustering that you can’t help but run away. In the beginning, you weren’t able to register any of the emotions behind his eyes but after meeting his gaze so often…

“He’s looking at you the same way you look at him,” your best friend giggles into your ear and earns a shove to the shoulder that only makes her laugh even harder. It makes you frown before the librarian makes her way over and quickly reprimands her. Now you’re the one giggling.

Remus sees all this and can’t help but sigh, a dopey smile on his face. You just look— ‘so pretty… I want to make her laugh like that all the time…’ Remus thinks to himself.

“He’s in love…” Sirius gags to his right, his expression pulled into a look of repulsion “it’s so disgusting,”

Remus rolls his eyes and continues to stare at you, “I’m not as bad as James,”

“Hey!”

“True…” Sirius muses and is slowly followed by James grumbling pathetically as Peter rubs his back in comfort.

Just as Remus rolls his eyes and turns his gaze towards you once more, you lock gazes; instead of immediately running away, Remus sees the beginnings of a smile on your lips before your face disappears behind a book. It took an entire month but he’s finally got his foot in the door! He could start singing if he wanted to!

You weren’t running away anymore so Remus had some confidence that he could finally speak to you and have a proper conversation, he just needed to have the right entrance.

“Is this seat taken?” Remus asks, holding his breath as he sees your grip on the book cover tighten. You don’t answer and simply stare up at him with your mouth agape so he sits down anyway, not too close but not too far away, “There weren’t any other seats, sorry,” you look around and immediately notice several free seats that he could have sat at.

“U-Umm…”

“What are you reading there?” If there was one thing Remus learned from Sirius, it was that gentle persistence was key.

“...Standard book of spells, grade 5,” you reply in a soft voice, avoiding Remus’ eyes by focusing on the book in your hands. It seemed like you were both back to square one again since you completely avoided his eyes but he won’t be deterred.

Remus has seen the large amount of parchment surrounding you when first approaching and now that he’s had a closer look, it’s easy to suspect why, “you have exams coming up?” you affirm his speculation with a hum and a nod, “would you like some help?”

Whenever Remus saw you studying at the library, he’d take the nearest available seat and tutor you willingly, never taking ‘no’ for an answer— not that you could ever say ‘no’ to him, he wasn't even coercive; he always addressed you with the gentlest tone and with the kindest, most patient eyes you’ve ever been witness to. You were practically a puddle of gloo in the palm of his hands. That didn’t jeopardise your studies, however; Remus was an excellent teacher, better than half of the teachers in the school put together and your performance in class was skyrocketing.

You saw Remus almost every day for three weeks and your exams were quickly approaching but, rather than become anxious over the approaching dates, you only grew excited at the prospect of proving yourself academically — it was the true Ravenclaw in you.

“Good job,” Remus praises and offers a square of chocolate that you immediately brighten at. These were one of the many highlights of your study dates with the older Gryffindor, he always carried bars of the sweet, creamy treat with him and loved conditioning you into thinking that the taste of academic success was chocolate. You had no complaints, however; you love chocolate and gave it your full, undivided attention whenever given a piece for a job well done.

Beside you, Remus rests his chin on his palm and smiles in adoration of your precious appearance. You look too adorable eating your prized chocolate for Remus to not lovingly stare at you. It makes you all the more loveable to him and he’s grown addicted to the warm, fluttering feeling in his chest whenever you do something so lovably sweet — happily indulging in his many offerings of chocolate were one of those things.

“Your exam is tomorrow, right?” Remus muses as you finish up your square of chocolate.

“Yup!”

“You don’t seem worried,” lifting your gaze up, you find Remus smiling at you with such an admiring stare that you have to look away. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to such affectionate attention from someone that gives you butterflies.

“I’m pretty confident,”

“If you get a good grade, I’ll treat you to a butterbeer in the next Hogsmeade weekend,” his promise catches you off guard; you believed that your little ‘dates’ were restricted to school work only so his proposal and all of its implications warmed your chest like no other, “if not, then I’ll treat you to anything you want at Honeydukes,”

“R-really?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” his eyes told you everything you needed to know to trust in his words.

With a shy nod and a soft, “alright,” the date was set; both of you knew that you were going to pass with flying colours so there wasn’t any need for such a condition — Remus should have just asked you out plain and simple but… he gets shy around you too. In a spontaneous act of courage, however, Remus leans over and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, holding your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger.

With mutually hot cheeks, you two look into each other’s eyes with awe, “I really hope you get those grades,” he whispers just as a small assembly of gasps, encouraging shouts, shoving and hitting could be heard in the background. The marauders sat across from you, on a separate table, and saw the bold move Remus just made. And, of course, it was their job to embarrass him as much as possible by purely uplifting his romantic venture.

“Way to go, Moony!”

“Scored a date, did ya’?! Lucky bastard!”

“Save some forehead kisses for us too, okay?” As Sirius flutters his lashes dramatically, Remus takes the book in his hand and whacks them all upside the head as you remain seated with your racing thoughts and pounding heart.

“Shut your trap, we’re in the library,” Remus scolds, voice stern and eyes cold, a contrast to his usually soft demeanour around you. It was quite attractive seeing a different side to him. And, like clockwork, you begin to daydream of the brunette, eyes still fixed on his tall, broad figure when he turns to face you with a smile, as beautiful as can be.

You really hope you get those grades too…

PART 3 →

A/N : this was highly requested and was also requested for my recent 1k milestone event. i'm sorry this took such a long time to write, the request was for a first date scenario and i suppose the do go on a date (several dates) in this part but it's not official, i think a third part is on its way for their real first date

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @neeezza101 @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @chullu-bhar-paani @rosalyn-s @nottherealslimshady

(again, i took the liberty of tagging people who expressed their interest for a part 2 in the first timestamp - i hope that's okay with you darlings)

#☀︎ : 1k milestone #☀︎ : 1k #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin fic #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus fluff #the marauders #marauders #marauders era

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kreston-kreature · 2 years

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The Google feed really knows how to keep me invested

#no words #ok I lied a few #the kid prolly deserved it #can’t imagine what it’s like to dress up as a character and have to entertain little human spawns #it’s a human zoo kinda #like “MOM LOOK ITS PETER PAN #no that’s an underpaid college student surviving solely on your short term amusement of his average acting skills #he’s trying to ignore the weird smell that’s been coming from his costume all day #google #helluva boss #this reminds me of it for some reason #news #uh #Disney

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raineydays411 · 9 months

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My Fathers' Daughter pt 13

Hello everyone! Can I just say thank you to everyone for the love and support! Thank you everyone for sticking by me while I took a break. Thank you everyone for the kind messages and ideas. I'm the type of person that needs positive reassurance so really, it's you guys that are the reason I returned to writing.

For the first time in months you felt at peace.

Ironically, it was when you were shoved in a stinky backseat of a dirty taxi. But you were in a stinky taxi with people you truly love.

And Dopinder.

But even he's better than being in that house right now. Anything truly is.

"Hey" A soft voice breaks your thoughts, you turn from where you're looking out the window.

Peter was gazing at you with concern in his eyes. He had his own reservations about coming to get you, that's why Wade had decided to kidnap him. But seeing you, practically throw yourself into him and cry?! He didn't need any more convincing than that.

One thing Y/n Stark does not do is let people see her cry.

"Are you okay?" He asks, knowing that you're not but he knows that you won't tell him if he doesn't ask.

You take a look into his eyes, seeing concern. Then from the corner of your eye you see Wade turn his head an inch, trying to subtly listen in without giving away the fact that he cares about you.

"I'm.." You pause, feeling a knot in your throat, " I'm just really craving a burger."

"What the dick?!" Wade screams from the front, startling all of you in the car, and causing Dopinder to swerve, " We came here for emotional support goddamn it, let us support your emotions!!"

You chuckle at the outburst, mood momentarily lifting, " You can support me by getting me something to eat outside this taxi. It reeks back here...no offense Dopi"

"Non taken Ms. Stark, I am well aware of the unpleasant scents in the back."

Dopinder makes a stop at what looks like a local burger joint in the city , allowing you and Peter to take a breath of fresh air.

Or at least as fresh as Gotham city air could be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the Manor, Christine and Bruce are having a long overdue conversation about you and her relationship.

" I just don't understand where everything went so wrong" Christine cried, face held in her hands," I just don't"

"Perhaps when you stopped visiting her when we adopted Dick" Bruce said in a semi sarcastic semi serious voice.

Christine shot a glare to her husband, " I'm glad you find the destruction of my relationship with my daughter funny Bruce, I really do."

Bruce sighs from where he's standing, " I don't find it amusing one bit, but Christine you have to admit this situation is your fault."

"I know it is! Believe me I know" Christine shouts, " These last few months, all I've been reminded is that it's my fault!"

"But where is your accountability?" Bruce asks, " I don't hold what you did against you because it's not my place. The kids don't because quite frankly, this hasn't affected them except for Cassie who thinks you're replacing her, and Damian, who sees you sad and believes Y/n is the sole cause of it."

Christine sighs, the few months you have been in the home, she has noticed Cassie's jealousy towards you and the resentment for the situation. She's done her best to reassure her that she has enough love for the two of you girls, but she still insisted on being as far away from you as possible. Damian...Damian is young and perceptive but difficult so she isn't so worried about him.

"If Y/n just spent time with them--"

"It isn't her responsibility to reassure your children that she isn't taking you away from them. Hell Christine, it isn't her responsibility to make anything easier for you." Bruce says impatiently, " I have been holding my tongue because you're my wife above anything and I am on your side. But being a husband and on your side means that I have a responsibility to tell you when you are wrong."

"Then tell me Bruce, tell me what I'm doing wrong. Please beacause every move I make, I just mess things up." Christine cries, genuienly asking for her husbands help

Bruce looks Christine in the eye, " Well first, you have to stop forcing your motherhood on that poor girl"

He holds a hand up before Christine can say anything, " I know that biologically you are her mother, but you know as well as I do that biological relation has no meaning."

Christine nods, allowing Bruce to continue

"The child you knew is not the young lady you want to get to know." Bruce says sternly, " She has life experiences that you were not a part of, and most of all she's not looking for a mother, Christine she has one. It's just not you."

Christine bursts into tears, the weight of that statement hitting her heart. Bruce gathers her in his arms.

"You need to get to know Y/n not as the child you left behind but as Y/n. That's what all of us need to do."

Christine weeps silently in her husbands chest, truly absorbing his words.

She knows he's right. He usually is.

But it hurts her. She truly has to acknowledge the one thing she has ever been ashamed about. The one thing that she has been repressing and repressing all these years.

That she abandoned you.

She abandoned you. She abandoned you when you were six and she didn't show up to the mothers day dance.

She abandoned you when you were eight and she promise dthat she would take you to get your ears pierced and she didn't show up because of a phone call.

And she abandoned you when you were nine, and she adopted Dick.

"What I don't think I understand is why?" Bruce asked quietly.

All these years, she said it was because she was needed more at the manor rather than in New York. But why did she really?

"Why?" Christine repeats quietly, " I..."

Why did she? What on earth possessed her to do the one thing she promised she'd never do the day you were born.

"I don't know." She says, " I.. spent years, hiding this huge secret from you. Years taking back and forth trips from here to New York, pretending she didn't exist or pretending like you didn't. I just..."

Bruce hums, urging her to continue

" And seeing the disappointment every time I left and didn't take her or disappointment from Tony that I didn't choose them. " She teared up, she hadn't even thought about the pain she put that man through, " Then it was the disappointment from Dick everytime I left. It got too.."

"Too hard." Bruce finished for Christine,

" Yeah," Christine sighed, " I just wanted to stop all the lying and the double lives, but by the time it became too much...it was too deep and I was scared I'd lose it all."

Bruce stayed quiet holding his wife, "I would've hoped that you had enough faith in me to tell me"

Christine scoffed, " Please, do you really believe that at that time you would've forgiven me? Before Damian?"

Bruce sighed, " I guess not."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the conversation between Bruce and Christine went on, the kids were having one of their own.

"I don't understand what's so good about her anyway" Cass mumbles, " All she's done since she's been here is cause trouble"

"Yeah like any of us made Ma's life easy since we got here?" Jason spits back defending you, " Dick you didn't even talk to Ma because of your fight with Bruce, I died, Tim didn't even consider her a mother for years, Damian..is damian and hated her for months, plus is a product of Bruce cheating, and you Cass, you almost killed her before you became family."

Everyone stayed silent as Jason basically read them to filth.

"Why?" Damian asks quietly, " Why does everyone like that girl so much?"

"She's just had a hard go of it Damian, just like all of us." Dick said softly, " Think about how you felt when your mother stopped coming around. When you came here and didn't know anyone."

Damian stayed quiet.

"I know you love Mom, I do too" Dick continued, " But the hostility towards Y/n has to end. From all of us."

They stood quiet, letting the words sink in.

"I have been quite pleasant towards her actually" Jason said smugly

"Yeah cause you think with your dick and not your brain" Tim said smartly, only to receive a slap on the back of his head.

"That's my sister you fucking idiot" Jason says angrily.

Dick smiled, glad that at least one person was truly and genuinely on your side in this house, even if it's not him.

" How about we take her out?" Dick says, " Both her and Mom need some space, there's no point in her staying in that room all day and night."

Jason nods," Yeah, that's actually a good idea."

The two oldest sons rise, about to head to you room when Damian speaks up

"You won't find her there."

The boys pause and look at him

"What did you do to her you demon?" Jason says suspiciously

Damian rolls his eyes, " I've done nothing of the sort, but I saw her sneak out and leave in a taxi with an Indian man, a man in a red suit and unfortunate looking face, and a teenager in hello kitty sleeping pants."

Silence.

"Okay, if you're having a stroke please let me know so I can take you to the hospital." Tim said looking concerned.

Damian rolled his eyes again, " She left."

Jason was already barging into your room not even bothering to knock, seeing your room empty and the window open.

"Fuck."

Dick raced in after him seeing the empty room

"Well fuck."

They look at eachother, wondering who was going to tell their mother that you were gone but it was actually Damian that suggested

"Perhaps we should go after her? Mother and Father seemed rather preoccupied at the moment."

Jason looked at Dick and said, " She couldn't have gotten too far."

"Well, it has been a couple hours since she left." Damian adds

"Hours?!" Dick shouts, " Damian why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't like her." Damian rolls his eyes.

"Where's Y/n?" a voice asks

All heads turned to the doorway, seeing their father standing there.

"Um... about that."

"Find her, and you all better hope she's okay."

Everyone scrambled, either to put their suits on or to just make it out of the house.

He said that with his Batman voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back with you and the red team, as Wade took to calling you all, you all were eating burgers in the parking lot of the now closed burger joint.

" So are you going to tell us what happend or what?" Wade ask with food falling from his stuffed mouth.

You and Peter look on with disgust.

"What?" Wade asks, " Go on and tell us about your mommy issues."

You roll your eyes and look away, missing the look Peter gives to Wade for being to crass.

You get lost in thought, the argument still fresh on your mind.

It made you so angry.

Why? Why did she hide those emails?

The one thing you wanted most in this whole situation was to go home. You missed your father, your mother, the team. Your family.

Instead, she made you believe that your father just forgot about you and your family didn't miss you.

While you knew logically that was impossible, you still stood up late at night because of the doubts creeping in. You cried, longing to hear your father croon rock music while he was tinkering with something, or the soft voice of your mother as she handled some business. You missed the smell of the training room and the sound of Steve teasing whoever he chose to tourture train that day. You missed FRIDAY. The tech. Your life.

"What happened in there" Peter asked softly.

You maintain eye contact with him for about a second before looking away, feeling ashamed with your emotional state.

"I couldn't take it anymore" You said softly, "These people...they weren't... they weren't mean to me or anything but I didn't belong there."

You take a pause then continue, " It's like... I had no purpose there. You know? At home, I help dad with whatever he needs, I helped mom with the business, hell I could just take a step outside. But here? I'm either in my room or being snuck out by Jason for a few hours. I can't go into a room without killing the happy family vibe they have going on. I'm just..."

You choke up, the knot in your throat growing, "I'm just a reminder of the past. Of the life she didn't want."

Peter's eyes soften even more, he reached out a comforting hand.

"I have to be there, while she and her family are happy then I walk in and it's like I'm either a ghost or a pest." You cry tears falling from your eye, " I feel so unwanted. I've never felt this way in my life."

"Didn't your mom abandon you?" Wade asks, getting an elbow to the side by Dopinder.

That comment causes you to cry more, but before Peter can make a move Wade actually pulls you in a hug.

"Alright Alright" Wade says, " Look kid, obviously you're happy there, so how about we go find those asshole that are looking for you and take them out ourselves?"

You sniff and look up at him, " What?"

"Yeah. That's the whole reason you're here. So lets kill those motherfucker and you can go home and forget this shit hole of a city. Seriously it's disgusting here."

You chuckle wetly, " It is gross here. I thought New york was bad"

The four of you laugh, the mood finally lifting.

But good moments never last forever.

Peter's head jerks up, face shifting from amusement to concern

"Guys there's something wro-" Peter gets cut off.

"How about we make it easier for you, now you don't have to look for us." A voice says, you aren't able to see it before you feel Wades body jerk and suddenly there's a pain in your arm.

You look down and see a dart, and you're barely able to make out the blue and red dots on the building across the street before darkness consumes you and you hit the ground.

#marvel x reader #avengers x teen!reader #reader insert #marvel #dc comics x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #x reader #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #deadpool #wade wilson #peter parker #marvel comics #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader

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scripted-downfall · 2 months

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It's kinda hilarious how the Lords in Black looked at Ted and went "yeah, no, fuck this one guy in particular" for no real discernible reason. Like, obviously, there's Tinky and his Spankoffski Poké Ball, but then there's Pokey who a) turned homeless!Ted immediately and then had him dance two feet away from his infected little brother and b) passes up on turning anyone with Join Us or Die solely to taunt/beat up Ted with his girlfriend and her husband. And! They all collectively agree that they're gonna try to make Grace/Steph/Peter all think that killing Pete is the way to go, even though they shouldn't really care whether Steph dies or Grace loses her [redacted] because they're all still "things they cherish the most". What the hell made these eldritch beings decide to fixate on fucking Ted of all people??

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cherienymphe · 11 months

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Basic Training VIII (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

You stared at Peter with a slight frown, knees pulled to your chest with your hands clasped together against your skin. He was sound asleep, breathing deep and even while you were so far from slumber. You hadn’t slept good in weeks, not since that really bad nightmare that night, but it had nothing to do with the awful images that had plagued your mind that night…

…and everything to do with the kiss.

You stared at the dark-haired man, watching him sleep and fighting with yourself over feelings you didn’t quite understand. You hated Peter. You absolutely hated him, and why wouldn’t you? He was the sole reason you were even here, trapped and meant to live out this nightmare. He wanted you, and so he took you, and not once had he hinted at a smidgen of remorse for that.

In the same breath though, he was your only source of comfort, and shame tore through you at the memory of allowing him to kiss you. So focused on the foreign feel of his lips on yours, you’d forgotten all about your nightmare, trying to get him off and then…letting him. Again. And again. Peter had kept kissing you until your sobs had mellowed into something much quieter, until your harsh breathing became light.

You hadn’t even remembered turning your head into him until you woke up the next morning with your face in the crook of his neck.

It wasn’t something you wanted to repeat, and you had jumped, hurrying to get started on breakfast no matter how early it was.

How funny it was to be complimented by Steve on your initiative when the whole ordeal had been driven by your fear of Peter and what had happened. You hadn’t wanted to see the man, let alone be near him, and so you’d thrown yourself into successfully cooking the few meals you’d mastered in your time here. If Peter noticed your sudden reservations around him, he didn’t voice it.

You avoided his eyes at dinner, and you kept your back to him when you slept. You woke up before him and made to leave him alone, and you at the very least feigned sleep whenever he joined you in bed. There were many nights like tonight where you struggled to sleep and settled for staring into space or watching Peter instead.

Absentmindedly, you reached up to touch your lips, tears kissing your eyes as you did.

Jane had told you that Peter was one of the good ones, and that he’d be good to you…but he wasn’t a good guy. If he was, he wouldn’t even be participating in any of this, or at the least…he’d feel some kind of guilt. He’d try to help you escape, maybe turn everyone here over to some good police. Peter wouldn’t be doing any of this if he was good…

Before you realized what you were doing, the sound of the slap echoed in the room.

You hit Peter again and again, the other man long awake by now, but you couldn’t stop. He was up and facing you and fighting to grab your hands, but you weren’t really hitting him with any rhyme or reason. Your vision was blurry, and you couldn’t see from crying so hard, but that didn’t stop you from hitting him.

“Y/N, stop-!”

“You’re not good,” you sobbed, pushing at him as he tried to restrain you. “I’m here because of you. They’re dead because of you.”

One harsh slap had Peter’s head whipping to the side, and you crawled back away from him. You kicked at his hands as he grasped at your legs. Your foot met his cheek, and you turned on your stomach. You could hear Peter calling your name, but you mistook the concern in his voice for anger, paying no mind to your haste to get off the bed until you were falling off.

The sound of your face connecting with the corner of the nightstand was loud, and you sharply inhaled when you hit the floor. You could hear Peter swearing, and you tasted blood when you licked your lips. You were crying for a whole other reason, now, your hands pressed to your face as you laid on the floor. Even from behind your lids, you knew the room was now flooded in light, and you flinched when you felt Peter’s hand on your shoulder.

“Let me see… Y/N, let me see,” his voice lowered, tone more serious than you’d ever heard him.

He pulled your hands away, and you heard him sharply inhale. Your face felt so warm, and when you peeled your eyes open, Peter was helping you sit up.

“You’re okay,” he breathed. “Come on.”

Your legs shook as he helped you stand, and he forced you to lean against him. The anger that you’d felt moments ago had dissipated into embarrassment. You couldn’t stop crying no matter how much you tried, and when you made it to the bathroom, Peter forced you to sit on the toilet. You could hear him wetting a rag in the sink, and you winced, hissing when the wet cloth met your skin.

Peter sighed.

He didn’t say anything for a while as you cried, just cleaning your face and occasionally running his gaze over it. You couldn’t tell how mad he was, if he was mad, at all, and your lips trembled as you thought about what Steve would do in his shoes. You shuddered at the thought, and again, you found yourself thinking about Jane’s words as she compared Peter to the other husbands.

As if he read your mind, Peter spoke.

“You know I should punish you for that…”

Your head started to fall, but Peter prevented it from doing so. You blinked at the redness on his face.

“…but I think this was punishment enough…don’t you…?”

You sniffed, studying the tiles of the floor.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

You felt crazy for apologizing to him of all people.

Peter didn’t respond, opting instead to stand and wet a new cloth. You could hear him wringing it out, and when he grabbed your arm, you let him pull you to your feet. You stumbled with him, tears spilling over again, and Peter kept his arm around you as he climbed onto the bed. You were crying again, the saltiness of the tears making your wound sting a little, and Peter pulled you against him as he leaned against the headboard.

Peter wasn’t a good guy, and you wanted him to stop acting like one. You wanted him to be mean, to yell at you and punish you. You wanted him to be like Steve, strict and hateful and violent. If Peter was like Steve, this would all be so much easier. If Peter were like Steve, you wouldn’t feel confused about the man who’d kidnapped you. You would hate him and fear him, and there wouldn’t be anything confusing about it.

…but Peter wasn’t like Steve.

Peter held you when you cried, and he kissed you to make you feel better, and he let you talk about things you weren’t supposed to. He’d let you see how your mom was doing, and he cleaned up after you when your body and your mind weren’t in sync. Peter held damp rags to your face even when the injury was your own doing…

…and he kissed it better.

“Once you make it a few times, you’ll barely even have to think about it,” Natasha said, taking the dish out of the oven.

Jane was supposed to help with dinner, but you’d come to find out that morning sickness wasn’t exclusive to just the mornings. The redhead had assured you that the two of you would be just fine, and you’d sworn there’d been a hint of a smile on her face. It wasn’t that Natasha disliked you. At least…you didn’t think so, but part of you felt like she was just as unsure of you as you were of her, and so the sight had given you pause…until you were reminded of the pain in your face.

You gently touched your cheekbone as you looked over the salmon wellington.

“Buck really likes it. He says it’s his favorite thing that I cook, and I guess I was feeling nice today,” she lightly chuckled.

You cracked a smile at that, noting how good it smelled and thinking that you probably couldn’t blame him. The thought of the brunette had it falling some, and you found it hard to reconcile Natasha’s husband with the same man who killed your best friend.

“I don’t know what Peter likes… I’m still just getting the hang of not burning things, so maybe he’ll never tell me.”

Your tone was light, but your frown deepened. There was something in you that wanted Peter to tell you, that wanted to see him smile with surprise as you cooked his favorite meal, and you grimaced. When you glanced up, you could see the other woman briefly looking at your face before looking away, a slight frown of her own on her features.

“Peter didn’t do this,” you suddenly said, feeling the need to defend him.

Peter, like all of the men here, was a lot of things, but he wasn’t that, and you didn’t want her thinking he was.

“You keep looking at it, and I know what you must think…”

She didn’t respond, focusing her attention on the side dish.

“…but I did it. I fell off the bed. I…I’m having a really hard time, and I didn’t want to be around him.”

You weren’t supposed to say that, and you were relieved that Steve wasn’t home yet. You didn’t want to think about being on the other end of his ire if he heard you saying anything less than stellar about your time here and your relationship with Peter. Your gaze found the counter.

“He’s been really…patient with me,” you whispered. “More than anyone else would be.”

Natasha eventually nodded.

“Bucky warned me that it might take a long time for you to adjust. They warned all of us to be understanding with you.”

You didn’t know that, and you blinked.

“It is hard,” she finally said, and you looked at her. “It’s very hard to think about how your friends and your family have to go on without you. To think about what conclusions they’ve been forced to accept about what happened to you.”

Your frown deepened, and as Natasha stared at the mashed potatoes, your mind whirled.

“I can’t say for sure that you’ll ever fully accept it. Some of us have, and some of us haven’t…” it was clear which category she put herself in. “…but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to think that they’ve found some kind of peace with whatever they think happened.”

Her green gaze met yours.

“I tell myself that it’s better they think I’m dead than know the truth.”

You blinked at her, and for some reason, you thought that she knew. You thought they all knew about the details surrounding how you’d gotten here, but Natasha’s mention of ‘friends’ made you think that maybe she didn’t. After all, if she knew that your friends had been brutally murdered in the efforts to take you, that would make her wildly insensitive…and she’d never struck you as the type.

“Did…?”

You paused, opening and closing your mouth.

“Bucky…didn’t tell you…?” you quietly wondered.

You could see the slight confusion on her beautiful face, and now you wished you hadn’t said anything. Before she could respond, you quickly shook your head, turning away.

“Never mind. I… Forget I said anything.”

You were quick to throw yourself into finishing dinner, and you could feel her eyes on you here and there.

Truthfully, you didn’t know why you just assumed that Natasha knew that. After all, that would make the man she laid down next to every night a murderer, and while you’d just assumed that wasn’t his first time, maybe you shouldn’t have assumed that she knew. It was possible Natasha thought that was one line her husband hadn’t crossed, and you didn’t think it was your place to tell her that he’d shot someone down in cold blood.

You didn’t think it was your place to tell her that the man who hugged and kissed her and who she was making dinner for was a killer.

At dinner, you found yourself eyeing Margaret here and there, concluding that if Natasha didn’t know about Bucky, then she didn’t know about Steve. It wasn’t a stretch to think that Sharon didn’t know about Sam either, and in all that, it really just hit you that the other wives probably thought you were just crazy.

As you felt Peter’s fingers graze your hand in your lap, you found yourself thinking that maybe you were.

When you looked at him, you felt your heart clench at the way his eyes dimmed with one look at your face. It wasn’t the worst bruise in the world, but the corner of the nightstand had cut you deeper than either of you thought, and it was more than noticeable. Peter leaned in, and your lashes fluttered when his lips brushed over the bruise. They lingered for a bit, and when he pulled away, he reached up to gently touch it.

You noticed that Peter’s own cheek was still a little red, and when you glanced over, eyes catching familiar blue ones, you wondered if he’d mentioned what happened to Steve. The blonde’s expression was unreadable, but he didn’t look the happiest. However, Steve rarely looked happy, really only when Margaret was smiling at him or when he was with his daughter.

You hurriedly looked away, your gaze resting on your plate, shoulders only relaxing when Peter’s hand met your back.

You shook your head at Peter’s words, fighting back tears.

“We knew this was temporary…”

Your lips trembled, and you looked towards the window, feeling like your stomach had dropped to the floor.

“I only did this to help you adjust better, to get into the swing of things-.”

“I don’t like being here when you’re not,” you tearfully interrupted, struggling to swallow.

“Y/N-.”

“I’ll be alone,” you choked out, and you didn’t look at Peter when he reached for you.

One of his hands was on your arm, the other reaching for your face.

“Hey…look at me,” he softly commanded, and you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. “You won’t be alone. The other-.”

“They can’t talk to Steve like you do…”

You were trying to keep it together, realizing how ridiculous you were acting, but was it crazy to say that had you realized your good behavior would make Peter’s hiatus from work shorter, you would’ve acted differently? You’d grown used to Peter being just around the corner, and the thought of going back to entire hours without him was making your chest hurt.

It was getting hard to breathe.

You could hear him calling your name as you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your chest, but it did nothing. What about the nights where he’d have to stay late, and you would be forced to try and go to sleep without him there? You would be lying if you said that knowing he was just a room or two away didn’t make you feel more relaxed, allowing you to feel more comfortable in the kitchen or cleaning and therefore less likely to make mistakes like you had before.

The threat of Steve just around every corner made your stomach churn. Even if Steve wasn’t here, the other husbands weren’t yours. You didn’t belong to them like you did Peter. They wouldn’t treat you like Peter treated you, and most of all, unlike Peter, they wouldn’t plead your case to Steve should you screw up again. Hell, they might even punish you themselves, and you turned away from Peter.

“Y/N…”

“You c-can’t,” you gasped, struggling to breathe. “I’m going to break something else-.”

“You won’t.”

“…or burn the food again or screw up something like I always do and…”

You were shaking, and you reached up, twisting your fingers into your hair while Peter tried to calm you down. Your head felt too light, and the room wasn’t as clear as it normally was. You thought about the sting of the wood on your palms and the darkness of the basement. You hadn’t forgotten that Steve wanted to put you down there after your outburst that day. It was something you never forgot.

How easily and quickly Steve would’ve forced you back down there if it hadn’t been for Peter.

Peter was right. You had known this was temporary, but you hadn’t allowed your mind to linger on it. You hadn’t wanted to think about the day Peter would decide you were in a better place and he wouldn’t have to be here as much. You hadn’t considered having to function without him.

You were crying, now, and you hated it.

You hated Peter for putting you in this situation. You hated him for deciding you were who he wanted and ruining your life. Peter wasn’t the good guy, he was so far from a good guy, but he was the hand you’d been delt, and you knew that it could be so much worse. You’d seen the so much worse, experienced it, and as much as you hated Peter for who he was, you appreciated him for who he wasn’t. Peter terrified you and confused you, and you grappled with his role in all this…

…but you needed him.

“You can’t leave,” you sobbed, voice unsteady.

“I’m not leaving,” Peter whispered, taking your face into his hands.

“Is this about the other night? I’m sorry,” you hurried to say. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t-.”

“This isn’t about the other night,” Peter softly told you. “I told you I wasn’t mad about that-.”

“Then why? Why?”

You could hear your voice getting higher, but you couldn’t stop it. The thought of being in this house without Peter was pushing you over an edge you didn’t know existed, and you were positive you were going to be sick.

“I have to-.”

“Did Steve tell you you have to? Did you tell him what I did?”

Peter assured you he didn’t, but you didn’t believe him, frantically shaking your head.

“I shouldn’t have hit you,” you cried, pulling at your hair. “I was angry about the kiss, and I was confused and scared…”

The next time Peter said your name, it was stern, his voice hard, and it just made you cry harder.

“This was temporary. You knew that. You know that I have a job just like Steve and the others, and you’re meant to be here at home…”

You fought to get out of his hold, turning away and trying to stumble off of the bed, but Peter wouldn’t let you. His fingers dug into your arms, and he shook you.

“Do you understand?”

Tears spilled from your eyes as Peter held your gaze. The only sound in your ears was that of your own harsh breathing and the occasional sob. You snatched yourself out of Peter’s hold, stumbling to your feet.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you cried. “After everything you’ve done to me…you can’t stay a little longer?”

You watched Peter sigh, and you knew he was gearing up to refuse you again. In a matter of seconds, you swiped the lamp off of the nightstand, the sound of breaking glass reaching your ears. The dark-haired man froze, his face falling just a tad, and you backed up when he stood.

He called your name when you ran around the bed, close on your heels as you grabbed the other lamp. He was calling your name, a warning in his tone as you broke the other. You could feel his hand on your arm, but that didn’t stop you from ripping the covers off of the bed, flinging them around the room in a rage.

You were heading for the bathroom when he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. You hadn’t realized you were screaming until his hand covered your mouth, the room suddenly a lot quieter, and you couldn’t stop yourself from breaking down in his arms. You were a sobbing mess, and you curled in on yourself as best as you could.

Your wails made it past his hand, and Peter shushed you, but you couldn’t stop. You could only think about hours alone with your thoughts, hours without Peter, hours of having to navigate the ticking time bomb that was Steve. You couldn’t do it, not yet, and your head fell as you cried.

When Peter took his hand off of your mouth, his voice was in your ear, softly shushing you. You clung to the arm around you, struggling to breathe, and Peter rocked you with his lips at your ear.

“Y/N…”

“Please, don’t go,” you cried. “Please…”

Your nails pressed into his skin, and you were sure you were drawing blood.

“Please,” you begged him.

You could feel him sigh, and he didn’t say anything for what felt like a long time. Peter shifted so that he was leaning against the bed, and you were in his arms, your head leaning back against his shoulder, his jawline in your vision. He was still rocking you, his free hand smoothing itself over your head. Tears stained your cheeks, and Peter leaned down, pressing his lips into your hair.

“Alright…”

You tilted your head back, staring at him.

“I’ll stay a little longer. I’ll talk to Steve…”

You tightened your hold on his arm, holding him closer.

“You promise?” you forced out, voiced breaking.

Peter looked down at you, his fingers grazing your forehead.

“I promise,” he assured you, kissing your forehead. “Anything for you, pretty girl.”

#dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #dark!peter Parker x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction

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tswhiisftteedr · 3 months

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ANYTHING Lute x Reader, i just need to see more of this perfect gal whose had like 3 minutes total of screentime

Girls ☆ One Shot

☆ Lute x Human Soul!Fem!Reader:

After having met you on your first day in heaven, your life and lute’s would change for the better as you had found your other half despite your original predicaments.

Words: 4228

Warnings: Mature Content, Explicit/Graphic Language, Honestly Nothing Kinky, It’s just plain girl on girl smut. Homophobia. Lute might be ooc. NOT PROOFREAD.

Notes: Okay right off the bat, some bullshit logic about angels being able to tell if someone is queer, also lute is gay but has some major internalized homophobia so for a good chunk of this she’s rude to the reader just because they’re gay.

☆ more under the cut. ☆

Frankly, the scenario felt weird, especially given the fact that both of you were, well, 'you.'

From a logical standpoint, it didn't add up, not in the slightest. However, in the grand scheme of things, ‘does love really need to make sense?’

The response to that question was unquestionably, no, when observing your relationship with Lute.

It all began when your seemingly stable life abruptly crumbled. While crossing the street, mind you, at a red light, fate took a dark turn as a truck with faulty brakes struck you, ending your life on the spot.

There was no reincarnation into another world after this encounter with truck-kun; you were flat out dead.

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself standing before the gates of Heaven, where Saint Peter meticulously inspected his book, akin to the VIP list of an exclusive nightclub – or so it seemed.

However, instead of the typical club scene with artificial lights, drugs, unpleasant odours, drunk individuals, and a sense of desperation, you were enveloped in a heavenly realm. Fluffy clouds, savoury food, sweet fragrances, joyful company, and an overwhelming sense of acceptance surrounded you.

This was truly paradise, and you were relieved that your life wasn't too problematic. After being shown your potential residence—a beautiful house with a spacious garden—and touring 'Heaven city' with a friendly Angel couple, you enjoyed exploring your surroundings.

However, the perfection took a turn when you accidentally encountered the first unfriendly 'individual' in Heaven.

"Watch it," the woman with white hair warned you, and after scanning you from head to toe (much like her golden-winged companion), she remarked, "I guess they really let anybody in these days, even people like you."

With those words, she walked away accompanied by the non-human-looking 'man,' which seemed to be the norm in this place. However, you couldn't shake off the unease caused by her reference to 'people like you.'

Soon, you discovered the meaning behind her comment. Apparently, angels here could distinguish between cis-straight and queer individuals.

The reason of ‘why?’ remained unknown to you, but what became clear was that, in her opinion, you didn't deserve Heaven—not based on your actions but solely due to your sexuality, ‘and that pissed you off.’

You had planned to confront her the next time your paths crossed, and that moment arrived three months later, long after you had moved on from the incident;

Now, you were patiently waiting in line to sample drinks at the recently opened smoothie bar. The atmosphere was serene and heavenly, as expected.

Just as it was about to be your turn to order, you were rudely jolted by the announcement, "Move it, bitches, Adam’s in the houuuse."

You found yourself pushed aside, forced to witness the obnoxious Angel now placing his order.

Midway through his order “Pineapple smoothie with extra pineapple, tapioca, grass jelly, make it an extra-large with extra sugar, then she’ll have-“ it suddenly dawned on you that he was the guy with the white-haired companion from last time. Before you could fully process it, you turned around to find the white-haired woman right beside you.

Upon noticing you, she shot a disgusted glare and 'tsk' your way. Frustrated, you thought, 'That rude bitch- Not only did she cut in line, but she also gave you a look like you were a turd on the incredibly clean streets of heaven!'

This time, you were determined to speak your mind to her;

"Whats your problem?" you question her with frustration evident in your tone.

"Excuse me?" she retorts, disdain dripping from her voice.

"I'm asking, what's your issue with me? Our first encounter, you flat out implied I didn't belong in heaven. Seriously, for what, for being gay? Firstly, that's bullshit because my worth as a person shouldn't be based on my sexuality. Secondly, it's just plain homophobic. Isn't heaven supposed to be all about accepting thy neighbour? So instead of treating me like I'm beneath you, how about an apology for our last interaction, Miss off-brand Kanade?" You lay it all out, determined not to let her disrespect slide this time. She was to blame before, but allowing it again would be on you, ‘and that wasn't going to happen.’

"Oooooh, cat fight!" remarked the golden-winged Angel, treating your dispute as some form of entertainment. Also 'cat fight', was he fucking serious?! That term left you thinking, 'misogynistic asshole!' in response to his words.

"Do you even know who you're speaking to?" the woman questioned, exuding a sense of superiority.

"Yeah, tear that bitch a new on, Lute!" the golden-winged Angel chimed in.

"I don't 'lute,' and if you were truly that significant, I would’ve. But it sure as hell doesn't seem to be the case!" you retorted with a touch of spite, placing extra emphasis on her name.

The shop as a hole gasped at the mention of the ‘H word’.

"I’ll have you on that I hold the title of Lieutenant of— in the Heavenly Army. And as one of God's warriors, I deserve respect from someone of your, let's say, slightly above dreadful mortal soul status," she declares, almost slipping up and inadvertently revealing the existence of exterminators.

"Sure thing, 'heaven warrior.' Firstly, when did we ever need an angel like you? It's been peaceful here. Secondly, I couldn't help but notice that slip-up. I don't know your real occupation, probably still military judging by your mannerisms, but certainly not some simple member of this 'heaven’s army,'" you respond, now sure that she's concealing her true job from most of Heaven's population.

"You insolent, miserable, lower life form! Consider yourself fortunate that your meager good deeds in your pathetic human life landed you here. Otherwise, I would have had the pleasure to—" she began, but was abruptly interrupted by her 'companion' or perhaps 'boss.' "Chill out, danger tits," he calmly stated in a tone vastly different from his earlier goofiness. The shift in his demeanor was genuinely unsettling.

And her attitude swiftly transformed; she composed herself and turned to face him. "I apologize, Adam, sir. I allowed my emotions to take over and stepped out of line," she said, directing her apology not to you but to her boss.

With that, the two individuals departed, leaving you to independently apologize to your fellow angels for the disturbance.

Was that the final occasion you heard or saw them? No, because not even a month later, here you were;

Another fun aspect of heaven was its schools, designed for souls who aspired to study on Earth but lacked the opportunity or had their lives cut too short to complete their educations.

Another facet of this scenario allowed the souls of teachers or individuals aspiring to aid in unfulfilled dreams to volunteer for assisting with the children's education.

That's why you found yourself present today, supporting Miss Asiimwe with her fourth-grade anglophone class during a spelling bee. Just as the classroom door swung open, an unmistakably loud and obnoxious voice rang out, "What up turds, big bro Adam's in the house!"

Your day took a turn from a wholesome one contributing to kids' education to a shitty one, because if that ‘pompous jerk Adam was here, she sure would also be—‘ "Oh, it's you again," Lute remarks to you, her voice less harsh than the last encounter but still carrying a hint of bitterness.

Truly, ‘It was a waste for her to be so beautiful with that kind of attitude’. Despite her rude remarks about your sexual orientation, you may or may not find her attractive—perhaps not the wisest choice, and you were aware of such. But hey, after all, dominatrix existed, and they get paid handsomely to insult people. So, ‘is it really that unconventional to be into her?’

Yes, it very much so was. However, before having the chance to delve into those thoughts, Lute abruptly snapped her fingers right in front of your face to divert your attention.

"What are you doing here?! And a quit staring at me like that!" she demanded, replacing her fingers with her face, now uncomfortably close, and you could feel her breath on your face.

"Um, well— I'm assisting this classroom's teacher, something I've been doing since week one in heaven, so you're not kicking me out," you replied with a defensive tone, slightly taken aback by her question but drawing from your previous interactions.

"I never claimed I would, chill out, mortal soul. You shouldn't project the stress of your inadequacy as an inferior being into this classroom's atmosphere. Stress spreads easily, and you wouldn't want it affecting the children," she declares with authority, though her tone and gaze had some gentleness in it.

Truth be told, she might have found herself drawn to you. It was a difficult pill to swallow, given her blatant homophobia and the fact she found the thought of ‘her’ being attracted to a woman absolutely absurd.

Upon initially glimpsing your figure and sensing a certain fire within her, her instinctive response was to be rude to you.

"You mentioned you've been assisting here since your first week. How frequently do you come by?" she inquires, attempting to initiate casual conversations with you. By now, she had acknowledged that you weren't to blame for her attraction. While you might be the source, her draw toward women wasn't dependent on whether she found you hot or not.

"Well, I try to stop by at least twice a week. I believe having familiar faces during learning helps children feel safer and more supported," you admitted, surprised that she's engaging in small talk.

"I completely agree. Having a trusted adult present during learning builds a strong foundation for children's education, especially for the younger ones," she adds, gazing ahead at the classroom where the children have transitioned from spelling to playing with Adam.

"Leave it to the man-child to get along with kids," you joke to yourself, watching how effortlessly Adam bonds with the children. They're engrossed in a game involving knights and kings, with Adam, of course, playing the role of the king.

To your surprise, Lute chuckles at your remark before quickly composing herself. "Well, he is the father of humanity," she states, a faint smile appearing at the corner of her lips.

"I guess I can't argue with facts," you reply, your own face lighting up with a smile at the sight of the joyful children.

After that day, your meetings with Lute became a regular occurrence. Whether it was the joyful atmosphere of children immersed in learning or something else, she grew quite friendly with you over the course of two months. Your interactions even extended beyond the school, evolving into outings to cafes and amusement parks.

Today was one of Lute's off-duty days. You weren't exactly sure why heaven required an army, but you refrained from probing too much, especially during your hangouts, which were focused on enjoying each other's company rather than discussing work.

Currently, you were at CheeLand, the largest amusement park in all of heaven, offering rides for both the faint-hearted and adrenaline junkies alike.

You leaned towards the gentler side when it came to this type of amusement, while Lute embraced the thrill. That's why you found yourself anxiously gripping your seat’s restrains as the cart ascended the rails, anticipating the impending drop.

Your white-haired friend had successfully egged you on, convincing you to join her on the ride. Despite calming yourself in line, once the ride began, all your anxiety rushed back;

Lute, growing excited as the carts continued to climb up, remarked, "This is going to be so fucking fun! Can't believe you were such a baby about it in line." Her teasing tone shifted as she noticed your terrified expression.

Softening, she grabbed your hand and reassured you, "Listen, you'll be alright. The rides are completely safe and secure. Plus, I'm here with you." Her last sentence was emphasized by a comforting squeeze of your hand, prompting you to turn and look at her. "And worst case scenario, you're already dead, so there's nothing to be truly afraid of," she joked, easing the tension slightly.

But then came her next words, reigniting panic. "Okay, get ready, we're almost there." Glancing forward, you realized, "Oh, shit." She was right, and in an instant, the drop arrived. Both of you screamed at the top of your lungs throughout the entire ride…

You emerged from the ride, your head still a bit foggy and your voice hoarse from screaming, with Lute holding your hand.

As you both walk towards a nearby bench for a moment of composure, she remarks, "See, wasn't so bad."

"The fuck it wasn't!" you retort. Just as she's about to tease you for your reaction, you abruptly pull her into a tight hug in a serge of emotions. "But thanks for being with me. I doubt I could have even mustered the courage to join the ride lineup if you weren't here. I'm really grateful you're with me," you whisper softly.

She was startled by the contact, causing her to freeze momentarily. Although her initial instinct was to pull away due to nervousness, she recognized this as a vulnerable moment for you. Awkwardly, she hugged you back and gradually melted into the embrace.

After 5 minutes, the reality of the position hit her, and nerves kicked in. "You're welcome, now get off me, you weirdo," she insists, pulling away from the hug. However, all you can do is smile at her. Despite her attempt to maintain a front, she can't help but crack a smile too. 'She actually enjoyed how close you just were,' but that was something she kept to herself.

At some point in time, you had even overheard her referring to you as her friend to her boss, Adam, who questioned her sudden shift from his side to yours. Her face turned beet red as she defended you—a sight you wouldn't have expected from her at all.

However, that flushed look she harbored became increasingly frequent over time. You had become accustomed to her mannerisms and the way she expressed emotions, often lashing out due to difficulty in self-expression.

You had grown familiar with what brought a smile to her face, what upset her, and especially what left her flustered. By then, you had realized she liked you based on her behaviours, yet it seemed she hadn't recognized the romantic nature of her feelings.

Aware of her confusion, especially considering her upbringing and training, you knew the absence of romance in her education left her clueless about such emotions. Despite this, you chose to let her navigate these feelings on her own. It wasn't your place to impose that you were better aware of her own emotions than she was.

Yet, you played a role in guiding her toward this realization by incorporating more physical gestures, of course, always within her comfort boundaries: holding her hand more often, offering more frequent hugs, ensuring there was some form of touch between you two.

A common occurrence was when you walked together, either with your arm around her or your pinkies linked.

Her flushed face became so habitual that seeing her without it seemed unusual; the red tint became her typical expression when spending time with you.

Take, for instance, that day when you visited the newly opened restaurant on 'Holy Avenue.';

Opting for a Caesar salad, Lute aimed to play it safe in case the other offered dish didn't appeal to her taste. However, as she munched on her food, her gaze kept wandering to your dish, which seemed quite appetizing.

She attempted to deny her desire for a bite, but after spending so much time together, you had become adept at reading her emotions.

Acknowledging her unspoken request, you picked up a small portion with your fork, gesturing for her to join in. Initially embarrassed, she hesitated to refuse, but a single pleading look and she relented.

Her face flushed from the intimate gesture, the question of ‘why was she getting so worked up over your friendly act’ lingered in her mind as she finally took the bite-size food portion. The fact that she found you visually pleasing wasn't the answer she sought. Her feelings were deeper than mere physical attraction.

This realization was further confirmed as she spent the entire night unable to sleep, her mind consumed by thoughts of your hangout and the fact that you had fed her.

Tossing and turning, she found herself questioning the nature of your relationship: were you friends? Yes, that was obvious. Were you a couple? No, definitely not. Did she want you to be more than friends, an item perhaps? "Uuh, fuck," she groaned into her pillow as the realization hit her that she had developed feelings for you.

By now, it seemed like everyone and their mothers were aware of Lute's feelings, evident in her actions toward you. Not only had she begun reciprocating your physical advances, but she also initiated some herself.

Whether it was greeting you with a warm hug after a week apart, including you in her imposed outings with Adam, or playfully wrapping an arm around your waist during these occasions, her actions spoke volumes.

She'd whisper sweet jabs about her boss into your ear, leading to fits of laughter. Adam, in response, would roll his eyes at your intimate gestures, teasing Lute for being too obvious about her affection.

Despite her embarrassment and denials of any romantic feelings, you knew better than to take those at face value.

Yet besides the deep connection you shared, she struggled to express her feelings toward you. Accepting that she liked you had already been a significant challenge. Therefore, the idea of asking you out was currently off the table.

She needed to communicate her sentiments without uttering a word, and that's where today came into play—Valentine's Day.

Lute had dedicated the entire previous day and night to baking the perfect sweet, chocolaty treat for you. Not being accustomed to baking, she faced numerous trials and errors before getting it just right. Now, the moment had arrived for her to present these treats to you.

Having texted you to meet her at 'Wings Caffe' around 10, she patiently occupied a table since 9:30 a.m. following your confirmation text.

Initially, her plan was to simply hand you the chocolate, letting you make assumptions and agreeing when you eventually concluded that she liked you. However, things didn't go as planned, and nerves took over;

"Aww, that's so sweet, Lute. Thank you, really. I didn't get anything today, since y’a know, single as a Pringle," you remarked, pointing to yourself. "These chocolates mean a lot. By the way, they look fantastic. Where did you get them? I'd love to buy more for a snack," you inquired, holding the heart-shaped box.

"Made them," she mumbled, visibly embarrassed by your compliments.

"Really? Wow, I didn't know you baked. Maybe I'll come over to your place more often and have you whip something up for me," you begin. The implication of spending more time together tugs at Lute's chest, but your last sentence hits her hard. "I'm so grateful to have a friend who's skilled at baking and willing to make me things," you say as you start munching on the treats.

'Friends'—that's right, nothing more. It appears she couldn't rely on the heart-shaped box or the chocolate with words of affirmation in pink sprinkles to convey her feelings. If she desired more than friendship, she would have to be honest about her feelings this time.

However, true to her defensive nature, instead of clarifying the true reason behind giving chocolate on the day of love, she merely went along with your characterization of it as a friendly gesture.

"Yeah, I guess you're lucky to have a friend like me, someone so good at everything," she boasted, her voice proud, yet her expression betraying a hint of sadness.

Noticing the inconsistency, you set the box down on the table to free your hands and gently took hers. Meeting her gaze directly, you squeezed her hands for reassurance. "I wanted to let you work things out at your own pace, but we're not making any progress," you began, and she looked at you wide-eyed.

"I like you, Lute, and I know you like me too," you stated frankly. Before she could employ her defense mechanism, you added, "I'm not saying we have to start dating right away. I understand if you're not ready for that. But please keep in mind, as long as you don't outright reject me, I'll keep trying to pursue a relationship with you."

Upon hearing those words, Lute sensed the release of all the built-up stress and fear of rejection.

A newfound confidence surged within her, making her bold enough to grab your face and plant a bold kiss in plain sight for everyone at the café to witness. "Fuck yes, I'll be your girlfriend," she declared as she pulled away.

With a simple "Now, let's get out of here," the two of you stood up from your seats, leaving the café behind as her apartment became your new destination.

Upon reaching her place, things escalated rapidly—like, really rapidly. Mere seconds after stepping through the door, she was all over you.

Passionate kisses, hands exploring every inch of your body, fingers grabbing at whatever they could find. Nails scratching and digging, teeth occasionally biting at your skin when her mouth left yours.

Given the speed with which she undressed you, it seemed like she had envisioned this scenario for quite some time.

Before you knew it, you were lying on her bed, completely devoid of clothing, and that's when she began to work her magic;

Squirming within her grasp, she held your thighs down while eating you out. Breathless, you questioned, "I thought you were a homophobe before we met. How are you so good at this??" The overwhelming sensation of her tongue left you in awe.

You can practically feel her grin against your lips as she responds, "Yep, I was. But after developing a crush on you, I did my homework. Figured it be useful at one point or another. Though, ‘didn't think I'd be that good on my first actual trial.”

"Please don’t stop" you croak out between pants.

“Don’t worry, I won’t." she promised, increasing her rhythm and pressure.

As she continued to please you, you couldn't help but wonder what changed in her. This was way different from her usual flustered self. ‘Was it the time spent together? Or maybe the touch? The combination of both?’

Regardless, you decided to focus solely on the present moment, losing yourself in the sensations coursing through your body. Lute showed no signs of slowing down, proving her dedication to satisfying you.

Eventually, you reached climax, shouting her name as you finally released, your wings fluttered and your essence coated her tongue. Her response? She swallowed it down greedily, moaning around your pussy. When you finally fell back onto the bed, panting heavily, she climbed up beside you, her breasts pressing against your chest.

"That was... intense," you managed to utter between breaths.

"Glad you enjoyed it," she whispered, nibbling on your earlobe.

As you settled down together, Lute traced gentle circles on your stomach before trailing her fingers along your inner thighs. Her thumb brushed against your sensitive folds again, teasingly circling your tight entrance. "Do you want more?" she asked softly, her voice husky with desire.

You nodded weakly, unable to speak coherently yet.

Without further delay, Lute positioned herself between your spread legs again, positioning her own pussy just inches away from where she had been earlier. Lowering herself slowly, she began to rub your clits together, creating a new wave of pleasure that reverberated throughout both of them.

With each thrust of her hips, she increased the pace until you were moving in sync, your moans growing louder as you neared another orgasmic peak.

Your bodies intertwined, united in shared ecstasy, leaving neither wanting nor regretting your decision to explore the concept of a sexual relationship together.

Lute's hands grabbed onto your hips, holding you steady as she picked up speed, driving them both closer to climax. Your nails dug into her shoulders, leaving shallow crescent marks in the soft flesh; evidence of your shared intensity.

You could feel the familiar buildup starting again, your entire body tensing up in anticipation. With one final powerful thrust, Lute groaned loudly, her orgasm crashing over both of you like waves crashing onto shore. In response, you let out a high-pitched cry, joining her in blissful release.

Breathing heavily, you stayed in the same position for several moments longer than necessary, savouring the afterglow of your passionate union.

Eventually, you separated, both panting heavily. Lute rolled off of you, lying next to you on the bed, her chest heaving rapidly.

"That was... incredible," she panted out, reaching over to grab a nearby water bottle and handing it to you.

"Yeah, it was... Although I have to admit, having sex on the first day of making it official is pretty needy," you playfully tease her.

"Oh, shut up," she retorts before planting a kiss on your lips once you've swallowed your sip of water.

This relationship was going to be wilder than what you had anticipated…

Thanks anon for requesting!

©tswhiisfttedr. dn translate, or plagiarize.

Tip Me (Ko-Fi) & And support my art account @maviscarlettie

You can now commission me!

Tag list for Lute: @sunflower-lilly @charlott30045 (I still used your request because it was one that fit with what I had already received)

Reblogs help!!! (Request Are On Pause)

#tswhiisftteedr #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel adam #adam hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lute #lute smut #lute x reader

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me-uglypretty · 3 months

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One of the best prank ever

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: Yelena and Kate fools Peter into a web of lies that eventually creates something more than a mischievous prank. [Loosely based on this incorrect quotes]

Warning: 18+ (G), fake relationships, comedy, pranks, fluff | Word count: 2.9k

| Remember, they’re married! | Notify | Navigation |

A joke was uttered harmlessly into the pleasant space, materialized at a whim, and evolving into something hazardously serious. It was that, neither of them would come to discover who was to blame for such a disobedient indication. If not for the known existence of two culprits, already pattering of their next move, tarnishing what peace that once held—which havoc was meant for outside threats, thus, less nuisance was applauded—and the ones who oath to mischiefs tendencies. An unlikely duo at first glance and the absolute roar of chaos together; Yelena Belova and Kate Bishop.

And alike brilliant ideas, it had begun from a harmless observation. Though, it wasn’t the two friends, a renowned spy, and a witty archer, it was another who had awakened such impish ideas in the head of such operations. It was that voice, an adolescent boy, chattering away cluelessly and who had uttered;

“I saw Natasha in the training room before I came here. She was training with Y/n again— I mean, not in the again, like uh that’s bad, but the— sorry, they’re always training together! They’re such good friends. I like seeing them together, it’s just like me and Ned! We always do things together…our bond is that strong.”

Peter Parker was always mindful of those around, reasonable as he speaks and caring as he offers support without expecting for something in return. He was the youngest among the two friends, often confiding them of his adventures as Spiderman and his ordinary life or merrily gushing about something in the compound. Those known to his behaviour, doesn’t consider more than a young boy’s excitement of working with the Avengers which electrifying high has yet to diminish from his mind.

“I saw them sharing lunch too. But Ned doesn’t really share, he says he will, then he ends liking the food he didn’t order so I end up eating the food that he doesn’t like but ordered…” Peter continued, retelling another tale of his friend from outside the hero business.

He visits the pair occasional, mostly when he had time to spare, since the heavy load of starting university and extended time spend swinging around the neighbourhood. Similarly, they were three the youngest in training and felt more correlating with the other as compared to the older members. If the pair wasn’t there, he occupies his time pestering Tony or exhausting himself with training which had led him to his current position in the kitchen. An hour of training later and he was eager to satiate his hunger.

Yelena and Kate were intently listening to Peter’s usual rambles or more so, exceedingly interested in watching him use his webs to gather ingredients for his sandwich while they sat there, eating their mundane made bowls of cereal. Nods of interest was shared at the one side conversation, till that bubble was popped by Peter’s spike in narration about the two former spies of opposing countries and their incredibly treasured friendship.

His tone resonates of something remarkable about witnessing you and Natasha training together and the murmurs of almost never seeing you both apart. Natasha and Y/n are always together, Peter had acknowledged, tumbling upon more story of the two spies together and the honourable mentions of his own friendship.

At that notable realisation, an idea surface brashly in Yelena’s mind, blossoming sweetly in her broad mind as her lips curls brazenly with a smile at the prospering idea. Peter’s unintentional nature of oversharing at times instigated troubles while some rare moments, a blessing for those around, and it was the sole reason for the fuelling ideas in her head. Those that pleads for her to listen and martialize vague thoughts into brilliant reality, and with that—a story far less innocence than a scene of two friends training together, spending endless time together, and just the idea of them together.

Yelena performed first, conveying the look of disapproval by the shake of her head. Blonde tresses budge at the motion, tickling her cheeks as she brushes strands of her hair away. “Oh no, Peter Parker,” her voice dropped, eyebrows furrowed, and arms crossed, as if contemplating on disclosing a crucial information. “No,” she dragged the word, staring at him like he had candidly shared a confidential information.

This was it, the perfect opportunity, that seldom occasion that roused gleefully in Yelena’s favour and she cherish it, accepting the gracious chance happily. Despite the distinct warnings echoing her head. The voice of her sister, Natasha, taunts her mind with an intimidating glare set on her form and the scolding heard from various voices after. However, the golden opportunity had appeared suddenly, and it offered her a chance of an adventure to prank merrily and verbalizing funny jokes, sometimes far too dangerous too. Yelena rather partakes in activities that wasn’t projected upon her life by other, and enjoy the taste of freedom with it.

It was that, the sweet joy derived from stolen childhood, and the American dream, like those shown on television.

On the other end, Kate was situated in a conflicted position. She wasn’t aware of her friend’s noiseless scheming. Confusion swirls tiresome ideas in her mind at Peter’s tales, the questions of why was stuck at the tip of her tongue, till her gaze flickers to her friend. Those ardent eyes swims in hues of hazel and gleams gleefully, eyebrows quirks and lips pressed together, translating to none other than the common expression of trouble.

The same look that illustrated their ultimate trademark as mischiefs or troublemakers as Clint had proposed, still fuming in annoyance and tired at the unlikely duo of friends.

Conveniently, their shared moniker symbolised the start of their hectic friendship which ensued after the success of their first operation coded as Hawk and Sparks. An apparent dazzling prank involving radiantly colourful glitters and Clint’s most priced weapons, his beloved pair of bow and arrows. The foremost comedic performance or perhaps, scary, depending on who you asked—corresponding to Kate’s rational fear of inciting resentment from her idol and partner—was the exaggerated appearance of said hero’s threatening weapons. A bow glazed in glitters of various hues and each arrow adorned with a specific colour of glitter.

Despite the enrage brought devastatingly upon Clint, the enemies were apprehended swiftly from their bewildered seconds of weakness at witnessing Hawkeye tugging at his weapon and revealing such glowing equipment. It wasn’t the least bit intimidating when sparkling weaponries was their hostile warning.

The wondrous duo of Yelena and Kate, somehow, and frequently, find themselves tangled in one mess after another. It seemed as if, trouble appears on a gleaming golden platter for their joyous consumption.

Only to them, and only for them.

Kate sighed, half concern by the erupt exchange and half struggling to imitate Yelena’s expression. Acting and pretending wasn’t her expertise. “Yeah, very bad,” she pushed, cheeks puffed, and her arms crossed at the scene unfolding before her curious eyes.

It was once terrifying to not know of her friend’s scheming, specifically for someone who had habitually found herself in compromising situations, Yelena’s influence had undoubtedly brewed confidence from being an accomplice to her friend’s ideas. At the stage of their friendship, worry doesn’t itch her throat as she continued her performance to invoke the best realistic lies at every spoken word.

The two friends wordlessly collaborated for their present plan or more so, the inevitable prank, by gazing into each other eyes, the gleaming sort of difference between two, and only known to them as their anticipating mischief. Other had seen this. Peter had watched the scene of them, he was watching them, the exchange and the revelation that came after. Worry looms over him at his friends’ expression. His eyebrow twitches, brains pulling at each thread to recall the decisions he made within the last twenty-four hours.

Peter doesn’t reconsider anything else than something he had done. It must had been his fault. He was different like that, so unlike them. Always genuinely polite, and naturally attentive to conversation. Aunt May taught him the best manners which he promised to preserve. The friendly pose he exhibits was always prominent, either as an average boy or a crime fighting hero, and accurately credited as the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

“What’s wrong? What did I do? Please, I can fix it,” Peter expressed worriedly, fingers drumming nervously on the surface of the grey marble counter. His hunger forgotten as he wondered if the kitchen was always unpleasantly humid, the kind of heat that scorches through his suit and formulate a layer of sweat on his skin, or perhaps, his body was simply steaming from feeling anxious.

Yelena surveyed the scene first. “Do you not know?” she asked, feigning disbelief as she steps warily into his space and pressed her hand firmly on his shoulder.

Peter denied, shaking his head at the supposed information, and sharing a look of nervous between the pair. “It’s bad, isn’t it? It’s about Tony, isn’t it? He thinks of me as too much of a son so he doesn’t want me here anymore.”

The ambitious performance halted at such unexpected revelation. Kate’s eyebrows furrowed as her mouth parted in utter shock, and Yelena remained standing there, both glancing at the other, sharing the same perplexed look at their friend’s fumbling state. Kate mouthed something along the line of, “Daddy issues,” and Yelena nodded her head hastily. “So weird,” she had responded in a similar manner.

Pausing for few seconds, Yelena interjected Peter’s tormented mumblings. “No, no, he doesn’t know!” she makes a clicking sound after, her crimson tongue tapping at the roof of her mouth. She wordlessly announced her exit with a final squeeze of her hand over his shoulder and turning away from his doe eyes.

“Wait!”

A smile curls on her lips, kind of worrisome look for those aware of her brashness. Delight stirs in her chest at her quick-witted scheming. Yelena swiftly spins, immediately masking her pleasure with a miserable frown, aiding to her performance and agony that looms on the poor boy’s hunch posture.

Peter fumbled with his agile fingers, pressing them together on the marble counter. It was a stark contrast from his pale skin to the grey shade, then he stared at it enough to agitate himself into clasping his hands together. Ultimately, his arms fell entirely to his side with a defeated sigh. “Please tell me what’s wrong. I will fix it. I swear,” he promised, and instantly stumbled backward into a stool behind him, Yelena’s swift reflex halted his embarrassing fall. “Sorry, sorry, and thank you…” he shyly scratched the nape of his neck, a red rash appearing at the nervous impulse.

Yelena released an exceptionally long sigh and nodded her head, staring ahead at Peter. “Follow me, Spider-man,” she demanded, promptly taking the steps aways from the kitchen.

There, head of blonde locks bounces to a familiar tune that buzzes at her mumbling, and something that sparked Kate’s mind into trying to remember the song. All while Peter trails behind the two friends quietly. The two friends were discreetly observing their surrounding for any sort of unexpected guest or disruption, and exchanging a pleasant nod with the other at their current prank.

Offices and vacant rooms were insignificant as they passed each one, before standing across the merge of two heavy metal doors. It led to an extensive training room, equipped with various gym equipment and an area for sparring. Out of the three, Kate advanced forward, warily peeking through the rectangle window situated on each side of the door. She met sight of the two occupants, former assassins huffing and exerting their strength by sparring together. Both were completely unaware of prying eyes outside or Peter’s feet anxiously tapping the ground, each struck of noise echoes through the hallway.

Natasha was standing in the middle of the navy-coloured rubber mat, graciously shifting between her bare feet, fists raised securely, and an arrogant smirk curls on her lips. It takes a moment, two bodies round the other, before she swiftly pushed you down with a loud thud. Muddled chuckles was heard soon after. A victorious smile appeared on Natasha’s face while you had scoffed, shaking your head at your defeat, then a smile sneaks onto your face as Natasha uttered something.

It was enough proof for Kate to shift her gaze, meeting Yelena’s awaiting answer and nodding her head in confirmation.

Yelena takes the same steps forward, facing the opposite window from her friend. She leisurely taps the glass with her knuckles. “You see them, yes?”

Faith seems eager by her side, easily following through her plan, when they witness Natasha extending her hand towards you. Unexpectedly, your body plummet into Natasha’s body when you had lost your balance, and she swiftly held you, bodies pressed flushed together. The sheer seconds where eyes met, the undivided attention, the touch of skin, the hands that grasps the other, the corners of full lips lifting with a smile, the shared clumsiness which made those smiles widen. It was the perfect moment.

Yelena beams at the sight. She was witnessing you and Natasha like this, so foolishly relaxed, so easily drawing into her plan like there was an understanding on the extend of where her ideas went.

Peter’s eyes widen more after witnessing the exchange. “Yes— I mean, I guess-- they’re really good friends?”

His innocent perception of such scene had nearly influenced her decision from continuing with her vicious plan. Those doe eyes, high-pitched voice, and legs alike a new born reindeer, tripping with his steps or simply falling into her mischief plotting. It almost urges her intuition to end her plan, dust her shoulder off that mischief dirt, and move forward with a different kind of plan which will surely be another prank.

Almost, that word bears a hefty weight, and Yelena is far stronger than some word.

“You are so wrong. Kate Bishop, tell Spider-man that he’s wrong!” she waved her hand, emphasising the mistake made by the boy, and her friend speedily agreed. Both mirrored the look of disappointment to abet their narrative.

“No! I can’t mess this up.” Peter whined, feeling apprehensive at the possibility of being rejected as an Avenger. One mistake and it’s enough to end everything. He can’t afford that.

Kate, the overly compassionate friend between the two, hurriedly comforted him. “Okay, calm down. Peter, everything will be fine,” she verbalized softly, and taking into consideration of his hyperventilating as her hand pressed firmly on his shoulder. “Let’s listen to what Yelena has to say, okay?” she proposed as she discreetly sends a pointed look at her friend.

Out of everything that Kate had learned, either willingly or unwillingly, on the topic surrounding Yelena—the most palpable trait of her friend was her constant desire to dramatized situations with the ultimate purpose of agitating said person. She had mentioned once or twice of how it was amusing to witness people stir by the simple work of her words. However, Kate isn’t too keen about it, the first time she experienced still instigates a chilly feeling over her body.

Yelena groaned at her friend. “Fine. Ugh, so impatient.”

Before disclosing what was presumed as the most significant information, Yelena crossed her arms and straightened her posture, she spared one last look through the window where her sister was training with her partner. Muffled thuds could be heard, then the nervous tapping of Peter’s feet and Kate’s jacket rustling at each movement as she attentively surveys their surroundings.

“They are not friend, Peter Parker.”

The declaration was clear. It wasn’t alarming or thrilling, perhaps, it sparked more confusion than worry on the gullible boy. Peter’s eyes, wide and bleary, darts between the two friends to ensure those words were the climax of a finality that caused him stress. Kate answered his unspoken questions with a lenient nod of her head, enough motion for her brunette hair to drape around her face and shield herself from revealing her lack of understanding on Yelena’s plan, and another, revealing the truth to Peter.

“They are married. Natasha and Y/n are married.”

Kate gasped, slender fingers drawing her hair away like pulling apart curtains, and revealing her expression, mouth gaping and eyes wide open. Two stunned faces stared at Yelena’s knowing façade. The new information was unexpected to them, neither assuming anything close to this.

Your friendship with Natasha was familiar to everyone, one always helping the other and working together fluidly. Marriage, however, wasn’t something that would have been a conclusion to the close relationship.

“Unless you are married to your best friend,” Yelena spoke teasingly, her forefinger pointed at the pair then meeting Peter’s eyes, he denied with flushed cheeks. “They are very close, not like friends...but as a married couple,” she added, nodding her head approvingly at the statement.

They glanced into the training room where you were playfully pushing Natasha’s shoulder as she retaliated with a harsher push. Still, all so unaware of the declared marriage to each other.

With that, the start of a harmless joke turned into a thriving prank by the marvellous mind of Yelena Belova and Kate Bishop.

The mischief duo, after subsiding Peter’s worry, had spent hours narrowing down the best name for their plan. It was accordance to what Yelena had argued as the best, what Kate presume was easier to remember, and the final that would be deemed as; one of the best prank ever.

#remembertheyremarried #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #yelena belova x reader #kate bishop x reader

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oraclesblog · 11 months

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🛑 Major SATSV Spoilers 🛑

I recently saw SpiderMan: Across the Spider-Verse and it was amazing. I love all the hype the movie is getting, but I’ve been seeing a lot of Gwiles (Gwen x Miles) slander for the dumbest reasons ever. So, I thought I would just debunk some of them because it’s clear you antis struggle with media literacy so let’s go.

1. “Gwen and Miles should’ve just stayed friends they were so much better platonic”

Saying this just makes me think you watched the first movie with your eyes closed because in what world were they ever “just friends”.

You can’t say they were better platonic when they were never even platonic to begin with. Both Miles and Gwen had a mutual crush on one another in the first film so they were never “just friends” + the first film was literally building up their relationship.

2. “Gwen betrayed miles in SATSV she’s fake”

No, no she didn’t, Gwen didn’t invent the laws of the multi-verse and she doesn’t run the spider society. It’s not Gwen’s fault that Spider-Man becoming an orphan or half an orphan is a multiversal constant. There’s nothing in her power she can do to change that and Miles being chased by all the other Spider people wasn’t Gwen‘s fault either that was Miguel’s.

Saying stuff like “she should have told Miles about what was going to happen to his dad” again just makes me think you watched the movie with your eyes closed because Gwen wasn’t even allowed to interact with Miles and if she told Miles (A SpiderMan that isn’t even part of the spider society) about what was going to happen to his dad Miguel would’ve found out and would’ve kicked her out of the spider society. She was almost kicked out in the first place for even talking to him imagine what would have happened if she told him about his dad and if she was kicked out she would’ve been homeless because her dad disowned her. She also states in the movie that she didn’t know how to tell him about it which makes sense because she hasn’t seen him in over a year so how would something that big and consequential come up in a conversation.

Not to mention, she’s young and inexperienced as a hero she’s gonna screw up and make mistakes she was put in a completely unfair circumstance by the adults around her and had an enormous amount of pressure put on her shoulders. Blaming the teenage girl for a situation like this instead of Miguel and Jessica or even Peter B is absolutely wild.

3. “They have No chemistry”

Now this one is just completely biased because you know damn well…

These stills alone just prove you wrong because no way you watched the movie, saw the way they looked at each other, and interacted and actually said “they don’t have chemistry”. 💀

4. Lastly I’ve seen people hate on Gwiles solely based on the fact that it’s an interracial relationship and the fact that this is a problem in 2023 is mind boggling. Some of y’all are just racist bigoted people who need to learn how to stfu.

#miles morales #gwen stacy #gwiles #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the verse #spiderverse spoilers #miguel o'hara #jessica drew #peter b parker #spiderman #spider gwen #marvel #comics #part 2 of defending my favourite ships 🤞😚#ghostflower #debunking

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chipster-321 · 5 months

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Something I loved about Peter Dinklage’s portrayal of Dean Casca’s Highbottom in “A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes” was that the whole time up until the reveal I was questioning WHY Highbottom was acting the way he was and whether or not he actually wanted the games to continue or not. I just couldn’t get a read on him one way or another. I couldn’t manage to hate him, but his behavior towards Snow definitely rubbed me the wrong way. But he wasn’t outright doing anything against the rules minus doing his best to not give Snow the Plinth prize even if he won. Something I did not understand until later.

One moment he seemed to want to sabotage any chances of the games becoming more successful and continuing. Like he begrudgingly accepted this “Mentorship” idea thinking none of the students would be able to effectively do so, knowing that the Tributes would never be willing to play nice with their mentors and not willing to help them in anyway. Then not moving to save his games with any new and fresh ideas from the most brilliant and smartest student in the class. But then he was clearly doing drugs so it could just be dismissed as the drugs numbing his emotions and drive. Making it so he just couldn’t give a damn to do anything. And sometimes it appeared he did the games to keep going and improve simply by being the credited creator of the games and not caring about the tributes at all.

Once Coriolanus’s ideas began to succeed and raise interest in the games he became more and more hostile towards him and trying to get him removed and disqualified at every possible chance. He was even obviously gleeful when he did manage to oust him by catching him cheating, the doctor couldn’t save him that time. At that point I was reaching the conclusion he really didn’t care one way or another but just hated Snow for some reason.

And then the reveal. He never WANTED the games to exist. He didn’t mean for them to ever happen, it was just angry drunken rambling during the war that had caused so much suffering and death. Only for his “friend” to take that idea that should have never been taken seriously and considered and bring it into fruition, slapping his name on it and cementing his legacy as the creator of the bloody and cruel Hunger Games. He DID want them to fail and end. And Peter Dinklage’s performance absolutely screamed that the whole time while still remaining ambiguous solely because of the character’s reputation as the creator and his blatant bias against Snow (despite the fact we knew who Snow would become).

He hated Snow because of his father, yes, but his blatant hostility and attempts to sabotage him only really started becoming more than an obvious distaste due to his heritage when Snow started to succeed in reviving the games. He knew he could do it, he saw the route he was choosing, so he tried to stop him.

What a shame he failed.

#spoilers #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #a ballad of songbirds and snakes spoilers #peter dinklage #dean highbottom #coriolanus snow #president snow #hunger games

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shayyprasad · 1 month

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Hi, congratulations on reaching over 100 followers! For your event, can you do a fluff imagine between y/n and Peter Parker when they are older? They have just welcomed a baby girl and on the day they take her home, y/n surprises Peter by putting the baby in a spiderman onesie, which Peter gushes over and maybe even cries a little. And after getting home, Peter gives the baby a tour of their place and they end the day all cuddling together.

baby jam | peter parker

thank you for requesting!!! ❤️❤️❤️ i'm sorry this took so long to get to you!!!!!

summary: in which you and peter welcome home a little girl. your little girl.

warning: none just tooth-rotting fluff and sleep-deprivedness

pairing: older!reader x older!peter

word count: 1.5k+ words

you couldn't take your eyes off her. because, god, she was the most beautiful thing ever.

and she was so beautiful because you made her.

you and peter.

may bennie parker, your (as of 12 hours) newborn baby. the last time you'd touched her was to slip on a spider-man onesie to suprise peter. and she looked adorable. like, so freaking adorable.

she laid there in the crib, and you rocked it back and forth gently. you would've had her in your arms, but one; you were beyond exhausted and didn't know if you had the energy to hold her, and two; you were afraid.

and there were so many reasons to be afraid!

what if you dropped her? you couldn't drop her! then she'd be jam on the floor. your eyes widened at the mental image, your soft newborn baby, with her squishy skin, reduced to a pile of—

"hey, angel," peter's voice brought you out of... whatever that was. his hand were slightly wet, since he just got out of the bathroom. peter wrapped his arms around your waist, setting his chin on your shoulder. you rested your head gently on his, embracing his touch.

"wait. nah. wait, wait... is that?" he trailed off.

"a spider-man onesie? yep. it was half-off! isn't it so cute?"

and there he went, bawling again. "do you not like it?" you asked, starting to panic.

"no, no! it's perfect. she's perfect. you're perfect. i love you, i love you so much."

"aw. i know," you gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"isn't she so pretty?" he murmured.

"well, duh. she's my child."

"our child," he corrected.

"mmmm... wasn't i the one who had to push her out?" you teased.

"mmmm... wasn't i the one who put her in there?"

"peter!" you gasped, "not in front of our child!"

"hah! you said 'our'!"

humming, "yeah. she's ours." you heard a wet sniffle, and pulled away, looking at peter.

"are you crying? again?" you asked, recalling how he sobbed when he first saw her at the hospital.

"honestly, i don't think i stopped," peter answered truthfully.

kissing away his tears, you grinned, "that's so cute."

"hm, well, y'know, i'm pretty cute." you rolled your eyes and peter perked up.

"we have to give her a house tour!"

"uh. if you wake her up, she's gonna start crying again. also, i haven't gotten sleep in more than 2 days, so i might start crying."

"that's all the more fun, then."

"what? me crying?"

"no! everyone's better when they're delusional and sleep-deprived."

you considered this, "true."

he scooped her up from the crib, so quickly (and in your opinion recklessly) that you held out your hands just in case.

"relaxxxx, baby momma," you wrinkled your nose at the name, "i won't drop her."

"okay, first, we aren't ever gonna call me 'baby momma', and second, we don't rely solely on the 'peter-tingle' when it comes to may. i don't want jam for a baby."

peter raised an eyebrow at your wording, but corrected you, "'spidey-sense' sounds cooler!"

"'peter tingle'," you whispered sharply.

"okay, buddy."

you narrowed your eyes at him, and opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you. "okay, baby may," he said, pretended to zoom her around, "house tour time!"

seriously, it wasn't that you didn't trust him, but you really didn't want to have to clean up baby jam.

"pete..." you whined, making grabby hands at him, "sleep?"

"but—"

"who's the one who just spent 6 hours pushing—"

"really quick, please? while she's in the onesie?" peter pouted at you, thrusting your baby at you like she was a damn doll.

"be careful," you muttered, "i only like strawberry jam. and sometimes grape," you added after a second.

"strawberry does hit different," he nodded.

you looked back at him, "i told you we needed sleep."

he waved you off, staring at may's squishy, half-lidded eyes, "this," peter declared, "is your baby bedroom. that's your crib," which you've already seen, duh. uh, that's a wall. there are four in this room. by the way, this is an apartment, a really tiny one, we're in because we cannot afford a normal, good one."

peter looked around. "okay, that's it here."

"ooh!" you jumped up, clapping your hand, "show her the diaper drawer next!"

he gave you a look, "why?"

"so she knows where she's taking her dumps?" you said, as if it were obvious.

"actually, why not?"

he pretended to fly here over (two feet) to the the dresser. you pulled it open, jazz handing. "ta-da! diapers."

he nodded in approval, "now our baby knows where she's taking sh-" you gasped, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"taking poopies. and peepees."

"isn't it funny how every poo-poo time is pee-pee time, but not every pee-pee time is poo-poo time?"

"hmm. yeah. oh! we should hit the living room!"

"common room," peter corrected.

"living room."

"no, common room sounds better."

"nuh-uh! living-"

"come on spider-baby, to the common room."

you huffed in defeat, but followed ensuite. "y'know, our apartment is tiny."

"we're broke."

"facts."

"do you think she can tell we're broke?" peter whispered, holding the baby away from him, in hopes may wouldn't hear.

"uh, she literally just got un-womb-ified. i don't think she can 'tell' anything."

"oh. yeah."

"yeah."

he was quiet for a second before pulling may back to him, "this is our very not tiny common room. because we're rich."

"well, don't lie to her!"

"i'm not. i'm sure we are rich. in some universe that's not this one," he added.

"okay," you contemplated it, "okay."

"there's not much here, baby may."

"that's the table. table," you enunciated. "and those are chairs. and that's a couch. and that's a vase. and that's a cond- peter, for the love of god, is that a dirty condom?"

"uh. no."

"is this how you want to raise your daughter?" you scolded, "well, is it?"

"no," he said, bowing his head in shame.

"i mean, what if she gets- like, i don't know, infected? she's got a weak immune system!"

"can you get infected from c-"

"peter benjamin parker."

"sorry."

"mhm. who are you sorry to?"

he faced may, "i'm sorry, dearest may."

"that's more like it," you said, mid-yawn.

"where next?"

"kitchen?"

"sure." he pretended to fly her around, making airplane noises. it was wholesome, but you were terrified he'd drop her the entire time and turn your baby into jam.

you followed after him, leaning against the wall as you watched him try and explain to a half-asleep baby what the difference was between a fork and spoon.

"now, this leads us to the evolution of the spork."

you watched him interact for a moment longer, trying not to fall asleep standing.

"do we need to show her the bathroom, too? 'cause she isn't even old enough to use the toilet," you paused, "or, like, anything in there."

"but it's part of the house tourrrr," peter whined. you sighed, giving in. but, jeez, it was such a long walk. such a long six steps there.

huh, you thought, the apartment was small. you stumbled forward, due to the lack of sleep, to your shared bathroom. peter was already there, educated may on the importance of a sink.

"and that right there, my love, is a toilet."

you teared up slightly, not because of the talk of toilets, but because of peter and may. this was it, this was the family you'd always wanted.

the family you'd always wanted with peter.

because from the moment you saw him, walking down the hall with ned in freshman year, you knew he was the one. (okay, that was a stretch but... still.)

"you take sh- poopies in it. but not right now. right now, you do them in your diaper."

you blinked, something putrid smell that entered your nose. it took you a moment but, "oh, may, sweetie, he didn't literally mean now."

the to peter, "i think you should change her."

"okay!" he sounded very excited to be changing a poopy diaper, but you figured it was the new-fathering. you shook your head, going after him as walked another six steps to the bedroom.

man, screw new york and rent.

you sat down onto the bed, groaning slightly. because, god, soreness. you watched at peter changed her diaper, cooing incoherent babbles to may.

he picked her back up, and you kept your eyes trained on them, "don't drop her, petey."

"ugh, i won't."

"you'll be saying that until we have baby jam stained on our floor," you muttered.

"that was... hmm. now i'm imagining things i don't wanna be. thanks." he placed may gently beside you, crawling under the covers.

"i love you," peter murmured, kissing you softly.

"i love you more."

he smirked, "i love you most."

you frowned, but let it slide. "don't roll onto our baby and turn her into jam."

"for the love of-"

didn't matter, you were already asleep. peter chuckled, leaning over to kiss your forehead, and then may's. he brushed a finger over may's cheek, wiping away a tear of his.

"i love you," and after a moment, "and i'd love you if you were baby jam, too."

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