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aidanchaser · 6 months

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This fic is owed to @valiantlyjollynightmare for the original and @ladyofthenoodle for a full 3 rounds of beta reading. I haven't had so much redrafting of a fic or intensive beta reader work since I was writing the HP AU. She was truly a phenomenal help, and her work paid off. Please drop her a thank you for organizing the @mlsquaredance event and all her incredible hard work on this one-shot.

Read the original work here.

Read the remix on Ao3 or below.

Marinette left her phone on her bedside table as she trudged downstairs. She was done checking messages and pictures, and she was done with tears.

Luka had made his choice. He was on tour again, probably having a great time without her, and there was no sense scrolling through his posts for any signs that he missed her. She certainly didn’t miss him. She’d spent too much of their relationship missing him. Just because she was a bit horny didn’t mean she had to be sad about it.

But the apartment sure was quiet without him.

The refrigerator’s magnetic rubber seal broke that silence with a reluctant pop, and brilliant white light flooded the kitchen. Marinette squinted at her recently filled shelves.

Alya, Nino, and Adrien had been lifesavers after the breakup. Nino had filled her fridge with fresh vegetables; Alya had stocked her cabinets with bottles of wine. Adrien, whose finances were still a legal mess in the wake of his father’s passing, gave her his time.

She’d seen more of Adrien in the past two weeks since the breakup than she had seen of him in the past year while she had been dating Luka. He’d sat with her through her BBC Pride and Prejudice marathon, through three watches of Pride and Prejudice (2005), and through one watch of Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies. He’d even offered to stay overnight, to keep her company, as if he knew that company was the way she coped, but she’d turned him down.

One of the challenges of being newly single was waking up at midnight with a very strong urge to be dicked down. She appreciated that Adrien was willing to hold her while she cried through romantic movies; she did not need Adrien to see her wrestling with the urge to roll her hips against his thigh, especially when she couldn’t even be sure that it was Adrien that she wanted. Adrien was a friend, and she wasn’t going to use him just to get some temporary fix. Yes, maybe she had liked Adrien once upon a time, but it was all too complicated now. Just creating a friendship with Adrien had been so much work. She didn’t want to mess it up and lose him.

Neither the vegetables nor the wine held any appeal, so she closed the fridge with a sigh. Marinette leaned against the cool silver door while her eyes readjusted to the dark of her kitchen. Maybe a cold shower was what she needed. She usually had no objections to a steamier shower, but she didn’t want to end up crying her way through an orgasm. She was done crying over Luka, she told herself. She was done feeling sorry for herself.

She opened up a cabinet and pulled down a bottle of olive oil and a jar of popcorn kernels. She’d just make herself a greasy, salty snack before setting into Emma (2020).

The stove clicked and sparked until the gas caught and the fire ignited with a woosh. Marinette poured in the olive oil and waited impatiently for it to sizzle with heat. As she picked up the jar of popcorn kernels, a thud on the small balcony patio of the apartment caught her attention, more muffled than the sparks of her stove, but just as sharp and sudden.

Through her gauzy curtains, silhouetted in the dim streetlight, she saw the shape of a person perched on her balcony. She might have been terrified, or at least startled, if it weren’t for the cat ears on the shadow’s head.

Marinette dumped the kernels into the sizzling oil then unlatched the patio doors.

“What are you doing here?” she said by way of greeting.

Ladybug saw Chat Noir for patrol regularly, of course. But Marinette had hardly seen him in the past year. When Luka had gone on his first tour, Chat Noir had held her while she’d cried, but once Luka had come home, he’d disappeared. Did he know Luka was gone again? Did he know that she and Luka were properly done?

“Making the midnight rounds,” he said easily. His voice was low, like a cat’s purr. “A hero’s work is never done.”

Marinette shifted the weight on her feet, unconsciously pressing her thighs against each other. It was irritating that even just the sound of Chat Noir’s voice was enough to warm her core. Maybe Emma would have to wait until Chat Noir was gone and she’d rubbed out the memory of his purr.

Chat Noir paused and his nose twitched. “Are you cooking in the middle of the night?”

“Just popcorn.”

“Midnight movie?” he asked.

Marinette crossed her arms over her chest and used her ankle to surreptitiously scratch an innocent itch on her calf. She tried not to think about Chat Noir on her couch with the low light of a movie and the weight of a blanket draped over them both. She tried not to think about scratching a different itch.

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe I just wanted a snack.”

Beneath his mask, his green eyes glinted with a familiar mischief. One eyebrow quirked. “All for yourself?”

She wondered if he was simply asking if she was alone or if he was implying that he wanted to join her. She couldn’t help the icy edge in her reply as she said, “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”

His perky ears seemed to flatten. It was his turn to shift his stance uncomfortably. He leaned against her patio table, but it wobbled uncertainly and he straightened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you want company?”

There was something delicate in the question. Something in it nagged at her brain, and she recalled the text that Adrien had sent her that morning.

Do you want company today?

Of course she had said yes. She needed noise, she needed distraction, she needed to not be alone with her thoughts. And then she’d sent him home after dinner, because Adrien didn’t deserve to see her like this—sleepless, lonely, and horny.

But Chat Noir wasn’t Adrien.

She pursed her lips and quirked an eyebrow. “I’m certainly in the mood for company.”

His ears perked up again, as if they were perfectly attuned to the purr in her voice. He stepped closer. “And just what sort of snack are you in the mood for?”

“Something simple,” she said as the first kernel of popcorn popped.

The corner of his mouth twitched with a smile, but she thought—maybe she was just projecting her own heartache, but she thought—something in his eyes grew sad.

“I can keep things simple,” he whispered.

She pulled him into a kiss. It was sloppy and wet and she ran her hands through his hair to pull him against her as if she could consume all of him.

It wasn’t her first kiss with Chat Noir by any measure, not as Ladybug, certainly, nor even as Marinette. There’d been kisses done to break curses, kisses done under the weight of curses, kisses done and rejected—and one very wary, delicate kiss on Marinette’s balcony. Chat Noir had told her that he was in love with Ladybug, but, somehow, in the midst of his heartache and her longing, they had kissed. She’d apologized, promised him that it didn’t mean anything, that she was in love with Luka anyway. And a week later, she and Luka had started dating, and Chat Noir had stopped coming by Marinette’s balcony—at least until Luka’s first tour.

He seemed to have an uncanny sense for when she was lonely.

She rolled her hips against his thigh and moaned into his mouth as the popcorn on the stove began to rattle in earnest. His hand trailed down to her waist, but he hesitated as he reached her hip. That wouldn’t do.

Marinette grabbed his wrist and, without breaking their kiss, yanked him into her apartment. She backed into the kitchen counter and guided his padded leather gloves to the elastic waistband of her pajamas.

He took her invitation readily, slipping his fingers inside the soft satin of her underwear and into her damp folds. She hissed like the fire on her stove and moaned with a heat just as warm as his fingers pressed into her clit. She rolled her hips again, but he dropped his other hand back to her waist and held her in place. She whined as he set the pace of her pleasure and whined again as he broke their kiss.

He pressed his lips to her cheek and then to her ear. His hand continued to pump her as he whispered, “You’re letting your popcorn burn.”

She hadn’t noticed that the sound of popping kernels had ceased. She hadn’t caught the whiff of charred popcorn yet. And now that he pointed it out, she didn’t care.

“If you stop, I will kill you,” she hissed into his ear.

His laugh was deep in his throat, another purr of pleasure as he picked up his pace. She gasped and tipped her head back. He responded by pressing his lips against her throat. The sharp canines scraped her neck and she shivered. She was so familiar with those teeth, familiar with the way they scratched her tongue and now her exposed skin. It was those teeth that assured her that she had never met Chat Noir outside of their masks. She would know the shape of those fangs on sight.

If his claws had not chosen that moment to catch on her clit, sharp and poignant, it might have occurred to her that the canines were as conjured as his expressive ears.

Her entire body trembled and she bit down on her lip to hold in her moan, not because she was afraid to be loud but because she was afraid that her pleasure would break her if she indulged it too heavily.

Chat Noir, however, didn’t seem to notice her attempt at restraint. He flicked the tip of his thumb against her clit again and she choked on another moan. One of her hands tightened in his hair, and her other squeezed his waist like she was afraid he would evaporate. He sucked gently on her neck and curled his fingers up into her.

“Chat,” she whined and gasped as her fluids soaked his hand, as her orgasm rippled through her until she was boneless, pinned between him and the kitchen counter, and still he didn’t stop. “Chat,” she cried again, breath hitching as his thumb drew her up suddenly into another tight coil and release. “Chat, please—”

He dragged his lips back up to her ear, and his teeth nipped at her lobe. “I thought you’d kill me if I stopped,” he murmured.

“I think I’ll die if you don’t,” she gasped.

She felt the shape of his grin against her jaw. He pulled his hand out from her shorts and pulled her back into another soft, delicate kiss, just as wary and gentle as the kiss they had exchanged a year ago. Her first epiphany of the evening sparked without warning and she pulled away from him with a start.

He didn’t love Ladybug. He never had.

“You lied to me.”

“I would never lie to you,” he murmured, and moved his kiss down her chin, back to her neck. He nosed against the underside of her jaw like a cat insisting on affection.

“You told me that you were in love with Ladybug.”

His lips went still against her throat. “You said you wanted this to be simple.”

“I want you to be honest.”

He still hesitated. The sizzle of the oil hissed in the kitchen, but its delicate scent was overwhelmed with burned popcorn. If they weren’t careful, the smoke detector would force their kiss apart, but Marinette wasn’t going to let him go without an answer.

Finally, he admitted, “I was in love with Ladybug. Until we kissed.”

She swallowed, painfully aware of the way her throat bobbed against his lips. “And so this past year?”

“I’ve waited.”

“Chat…”

“You’re about to burn your kitchen down,” he murmured, and pulled away.

Reluctantly, Marinette turned off her stove and scraped the black scraps of charcoal that had once been popcorn into the garbage. Chat Noir scrubbed his gloved hands clean.

Hot tears, fueled by frustration as much as embarrassment burned behind Marinette’s eyes as she scraped the blackened mess into the pan. She’d sent Adrien away because she didn’t want to risk her friendship with him, didn’t want to need him in a way he didn’t need her. Now here she was, doing to Chat Noir exactly what she had never wanted to do with Adrien. As much as she might want to give back, as much as she might want to meet him where he was, she couldn’t, and that knowledge hurt.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked. She was glad that her voice was hardly audible over the running water; maybe he wouldn’t hear the bitter anger. It wasn’t meant for him, anyway. It was directed at herself.

She tried to nudge him aside so she could clean the pan, but he wouldn’t budge. Instead, he took the pan from her and picked up a towel. She was forced to watch as he scoured the blackened pan. He looked so intent on the task, she wondered if he had heard her question at all.

Then he turned off the water and said, “You told me that it didn’t matter.”

Her hand was on the pan, ready to take it from him and dry it off, but she froze. Though a protest sat on the tip of her tongue, she couldn’t give it voice. She was the one who had said that their kiss a year ago hadn’t mattered.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, unsure what else she could say.

He shrugged, as if indicating carelessness, but as she took the pan, he anxiously twisted the ring on his finger. Though the green, glowing paw print was dim, it seemed brilliant in the dark kitchen.

“I’m no stranger to rejection.”

Her heart lurched as it occurred to her that his familiarity with rejection was her fault on two counts. But she never knew what she was supposed to do with Chat Noir’s feelings. Somehow she always managed to misunderstand him when he did nothing but lay things bare for her.

“I guess I should make more popcorn,” she murmured.

As she set the pan back on the stove, Chat Noir grabbed her wrist. “Marinette—”

She looked at him—truly looked—at the flat shape of his ears and the slump in his shoulders, haloed by the streetlight flooding through her open balcony. Despite the darkness, his green eyes glinted like his ring and his jaw worked as he worked through his thoughts. He was always so quick with his wit in a fight, but in the quiet spaces like this, when he was with Marinette, when he was asked to be vulnerable, he was always so cautious and careful.

“It’s okay with me,” he finally said, “if this is all it is. I just want to be with you, and I don’t mind if—”

“Chat, I can’t—that’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do.”

The irony that she cared too much to do this to him, that she cared but not in the way that he wanted, was not lost on her.

He let her go and turned toward the balcony.

“Chat…” She didn’t mean to call him back, but she didn’t know how she was supposed to let him go like this. “I am sorry,” she finally said.

His hand lingered against her kitchen counter, and his claws clicked delicately against the tile. “Would you trust me if I said that it hurts less to be with you, even if I can’t have all of you, compared with the agony of being apart from you?”

If she was just Marinette, maybe she would have accepted his offer. Maybe she could have trusted him when he said that he would let it be simple, that he’d allow her to use him as she needed without ache or bitterness. But she was also Ladybug, and she knew the way her partner threw himself on swords for others. She could not fight beside him each day while also destroying him each night.

But Marinette couldn’t tell him that.

As he took her silence for denial, his hands flexed and contracted with his unspoken frustration. He managed a rather tight, “Good night, Marinette,” before disappearing into the night.

She swallowed as he left, waited a moment in her dark kitchen as the silence filtered back in, as the quiet settled into her bones and the ache settled back into her heart.

Maybe she did know what he meant about the agony of being apart.

In search of noise and company, she went back upstairs to her phone. Her thumb hovered over Luka’s icon for only a moment before she swiped away. Instead, she snapped a picture of her laptop screen with the streaming page for Emma open and sent it to Adrien. Then she left her phone on her bed and went to take a cold shower.

Adrien would get the picture in the morning. He’d offer to watch it with her again during the day, and she’d accept his offer of company and distraction. Maybe they would watch Clueless after, or even branch out their romantic film subgenres beyond Austen films and try 10 Things I Hate About You.

But when she got out of the shower, there was already a text from Adrien.

I’ll bring snacks.

She was still reading the text, still trying to make sense of it, as she stood in her room wrapped in naught but a towel and her hair still dripping wet, when a gentle knock sounded from downstairs.

A key jiggled in the lock—she forgot that he had kept the key she’d given him to water her plants when she’d gone with Luka on his second tour—and her door creaked open.

Adrien’s voice broke into her dark, quiet apartment. “Marinette? I brought cheesecake.”

She shrieked, “Adrien, I’m not dressed!” and slammed her bedroom door closed.

His laugh was a snort, muffled and distant. Hastily, she toweled and combed her hair and yanked on a fresh, dry pair of underwear and shorts. She didn’t know where her bra was and she didn’t have the time to look, so she simply threw on a t-shirt.

When she came downstairs, Adrien was standing in her kitchen with two forks in hand. She knew she must look a mess, but he beamed at her, despite her own scowl.

“I thought the picture was an invitation,” he said, head tipped to one side.

“I didn’t think you were awake! I thought—I didn’t know—”

He cut her fumbling protests off with another laugh. Adrien settled onto the edge of her couch and opened up a pale pink cake box to reveal a cake with red raspberry swirled into the cream. She wondered where he had gotten a raspberry cheesecake at this hour.

“I’ll go if you want me to,” he offered, “and leave the cake.”

“No—stay.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before Adrien was already pulling off his coat and collapsing into her couch. Beneath his neat black peacoat, he was dressed in his own pajamas, like he had seen her text and merely rolled out of bed and into a jacket.

While Adrien plated two generous slices of cheesecake, Marinette dug through the couch cushions for the remote. She found it wedged between Adrien and the back of the couch, yanked it out, and clicked on the T.V. The pale blue light flooded over the two of them, and when she turned to get cheesecake from Adrien, she found him staring at her with an unfamiliar expression.

He was smiling, eyebrows lifted in his usual fashion, like something between expectation and excitement, but she thought—and maybe she was just projecting her own heartache, but she thought—there was something sad in his green eyes.

Then those strangely sad eyes dropped to her collar and his hand drifted to her neck. His fingers brushed against her skin and lightning lanced through her lungs. A dozen protests bubbled to the surface, all the arguments she had just used with Chat Noir—she only wanted something simple; she wasn’t ready for anything truly intimate after this breakup; things were always complicated with Adrien—but they all died on her tongue, as her words so often did when it came to Adrien.

But instead of pulling her against him like she thought he might, he asked, “What happened here?”

In her haste to dress, she hadn’t bothered to check herself in the mirror, but her heart pounded with the memory of Chat Noir’s lips latched to her neck. Was it only a bruise of blood drawn to the surface, or were there also scratch marks from his canines? Her face was hot with blush, but she hoped in the dim light of the T.V., he wouldn’t be able to tell.

“It—” Her throat lurched against Adrien’s fingers as she tried to swallow down a lie, but she wasn’t sure how to tell him the truth. “I don’t—I mean, it’s only—”

And then Adrien’s fingers curled around the back of her neck and his thumb brushed the underside of her chin so gently, so carefully. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Her heart stuttered with a familiar agony. She had promised herself that she was not going to cry about Luka tonight, that she was done with tears, but they welled up anyway.

She and Luka had tried so hard; they really had. But he always wanted more of her than she had to give. He wanted everything, and Marinette could never give her partner everything—she had too many secrets that she had to keep. She had too many bits of herself that even she was still processing, that were still too raw and rough to share.

She’d tried giving Luka everything that she could. She’d even left Scarabella in charge while she went on tour with Luka once, but nothing had ever made it better. She’d wanted time—they’d needed time—and there had never been enough.

But here was Adrien, offering her the two things Luka never could: her secrets and his time.

The tears she had been fighting all evening finally burst out, and Adrien pulled her against his chest, as he had so many times before. She didn’t want to know how many tears she had soaked into his T-shirts in the last few weeks, how many wrinkles she had worn into his clothes by clutching at them with tight fists, how much of her snot he’d had to wash out of his laundry.

With Herculean strength, Marinette rubbed her eyes dry and pulled away. She fumbled for a tissue, but the box on her coffee table was just inches out of reach. Adrien pressed a handkerchief into her hand, like he had come prepared. It wasn’t fair to him to take so much, but it was so easy when he gave so readily.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Marinette wiped her cheeks and blew her nose. “What on earth are you apologizing for?”

Without her to hold onto, his hands found each other. His thumb rubbed into his palm like he might be able to push his explanation out. Even in the dim light from the T.V. and the street, she could see his jaw working through his words, like he was turning the pages of a dictionary in his head to make sure he picked the right ones.

“I…” He paused again and swallowed. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he finally said, which felt like so small of an apology when weighed against the length of the pause.

“It’s not your fault,” she assured him. “I just…” She didn’t need to explain how lonely she was to Adrien. He’d heard it all before, and of course he must know it, or he wouldn’t have shown up to her apartment in the middle of the night with cheesecake in tow. “I just really appreciate that you’re always there for me,” she finally said, and even though it felt small, it was earnest.

“I would rather be with you than not.”

Her heart fully stopped, and she searched for something in Adrien’s eyes, some clue that the connection between his plea and Chat Noir’s question was more than coincidence, but he was no longer looking at her. His eyes were on his hands as he twisted his ring around his finger. The dull silver still glinted in the dim light from outside.

She felt like she was looking at her Lucky Charm at the moment it fell into her hands, knowing the answer was right in front of her but unable to put all the pieces together. She followed her lucky instinct, though, and placed one hand over Adrien’s hands, forcing them still. The other lifted to the back of his neck and pulled him closer into a kiss.

It was soft, delicate, gentle. It made sense for Adrien in a way Chat Noir’s kisses had never quite made sense for him.

Adrien, who was so willing to give her his time, and Chat Noir, who was always there when the people Marinette wanted weren’t.

Adrien pulled away rather suddenly, like something had yanked him away from her. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t—you don’t want—this isn’t fair—”

It was unusual to watch Adrien flounder for words. Marinette, though, didn’t have it in her to be amused, not with the weight of this secret dawning. She waited a moment for Bunnyx to appear or time to reset, but Adrien continued to struggle his way through an apology, and the T.V. continued to hum its bright blue static glare.

There was no undoing what had been done, and she couldn’t exactly avoid it.

“I think,” she murmured, “that unfair is showing up on my balcony after I told you that I was ready to be alone.”

The panic in Adrien’s eyes was brief as he realized he’d been found out, but he crumpled into himself almost immediately. His hands raked through his hair and Marinette’s first thought was that she could be running her hands through his hair, but her second thought was how utterly broken he looked.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t want it to—I didn’t mean for it to turn out like it did. I just—I was worried about you. You know what it’s like at my house and—I know you think I don’t want to see you sad or something, but Marinette, being with you like this is a hundred times better than being without you.” He kept his eyes on his hands as he twisted his ring around his finger. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he whispered.

Marinette frowned. “I wouldn’t.”

“I mean it—I-I can’t let Ladybug know I’ve broken her trust.”

Marinette bit down on her lip. She wasn’t sure how to say the thing she knew she had to say next. Her throat felt tight with the secret she had kept for so long, that she had finally choked out to Alya after one terrible day.

But he looked so genuinely terrified to think he might hurt Ladybug, and Marinette had the power to assuage that fear. For once, she could offer him some comfort.

Marinette unhooked Adrien’s hands from his neck and pulled them into her lap. Then, she unfastened her earrings and placed them into his palm.

Though he did not move, did not look up at her, she watched the tension in his shoulders shift. His hand closed around the earrings and he felt the shape of them, the warmth from being fastened in her ears and from the magic that pulsed within them.

Finally, Adrien looked up at her. His eyes were still sad, but the longing was so much more prominent. His voice was tight as he said, “Are you… truly?”

She nodded.

Then his shoulders sagged and he looked away. “No wonder you keep turning me down. We have a job to do, and I suppose the job comes first. No sense complicating things, right?”

But Marinette’s need for simple had nothing to do with complicating Ladybug and Chat Noir’s relationship. It had always been about protecting her partner and protecting her own heart. But knowing that the boy she had fallen for long before Luka, the boy who was always there for her, and her loyal partner were one and the same? She was no longer interested in simple.

In fact, she felt like an idiot for thinking she could get away with only displaying the palatable parts of herself to Adrien. He knew her better than anyone, and she knew him, and it was never going to be simple when there were that many fractured pieces stacked together between the two of them.

“Adrien,” she whispered, “I think… maybe without so many secrets, it isn’t all that complicated.”

He met her eyes again and something in his posture perked; she could almost see the cat ears on his head lifting to attention.

“Marinette,” he said, so softly, so tenderly that Marinette could not help but lean in.

She leaned in until their lips were pressed together. The wariness, the gentleness, the tenderness—all of it was cast aside. This kiss transformed into nothing but want and need, as if she could draw all of him up into all of her.

Adrien’s softness and wariness evaporated suddenly. He turned his kiss against the corner of her mouth then to the underside of her jaw. “My lady,” he murmured into her neck, and his voice seemed to reverberate in her chest and curl into her stomach. He pressed her lips against the mark on her neck in a grateful, needy kiss and adjusted to sit on top of her, pinning her back against the couch as Chat Noir had pinned her against her kitchen counter.

Marinette fumbled for the remote and clicked the T.V. off. They didn’t need a movie to carry them through the evening, and they certainly didn’t need the glare of the empty screen. The dark was enough; each other was enough. The cheesecake would wait. Marinette had a much better midnight snack to get to.

#miraculous square dance 2023 #marichat #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfic #ml fic #ml

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erigold13261 · 10 months

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Adding on to that last NSR x Spiderverse ask with the powers and whatnots:

Maybe Miles' invisibility powers come from the Morales side of his family (aka his mom) and the color/spray paint powers come from the Jefferson side of his family (aka his dad and uncle)

Ties in nicely with his whole arc of being the best of them all and how family is what makes Miles strong

also concept: (totally not canon at all) Eve and Pav being distant relatives, hence the powerful mind powers both have

... Pav with the "Diva's realm" powers? Eve's whole theme with that is something akin to Hindu Mythology and Pav has white tusks on his mask that represent Ganesha! Ganesha is the four-armed, elephant-headed god of removing obstacles and bringing in good luck, something Pavitr is definitely good at

Oh neat! That would be a good idea! I was honestly thinking of Miles having only paint powers that he uses to look invisible, think like Randall from Monsters Inc.

Honestly, what if that was still the case. Like, Miles' maternal family can turn invisible but he can't. He only got his paint powers from his paternal side, but he learned how to "turn invisible" through camouflage to try and make his mom happy. The whole family thinks he has invisibility powers, but in reality he only has the paint powers.

That would kinda relate back to his OG story as Spiderman, having to lie to his parents. Though instead of lying to keep them safe, he's lying to keep them happy. Plus in both situations he's lying so they will keep loving him.

It's also plays into the opposite roles I feel of which parent he is lying for the most. Like in the OG, I think Miles is more willing to come out as Spiderman to his mom since she seems a lot more accepting of Miles overall and also isn't a cop that is hunting down Spiderman. In this AU though, his father would be the one he would come out to of not having invisibility powers because he is afraid to upset his mom and just doesn't know how to tell her.

Onto Pav and Eve now! I do personally like the idea of Pav being like a cousin to Eve (and by extension Remi). I'm of the opinion that Eve got her powers from her mom, and since Remi is born from Eve's dad that means he doesn't have any powers and that Pav would be from Eve's maternal side of the family.

Imagine how siked (psyched?) Pav would be to learn that not only one of his cousins, but two of them, are famous music artists! He would be so happy to learn that just because it is cool. He wouldn't try to get any clout from it, he doesn't seem like that kind of guy, but you better believe he would be very proud of them.

Which also brings into question what exactly this NSR x Spiderverse AU really is lol. Is it an AU where the Spiderverse people take over the roles of the NSR cast, or is it the Spiderverse people are just in the NSR universe as well (then there's also the NSR cast being Spider people, but that's not related to this ask lol).

In the first case, Pav would not be related to Eve because Eve would not exist in this AU. While in the second case it would work because, well, Eve is there. It really just depends on what AU people want to talk about because I can see the appeal in both versions! I actually really like the idea of both casts in the NSR universe with some Spider people elements, but having the Spiderpeople take over the roles of the NSR cast is also a really good idea!

[Also, kinda off topic, but not really. Would having Eve and Pav related be problematic at all? It kinda feels like it might be going into the territory where people ask "you are of _____ race so are you related to ____ of same race?" Which isn't a good thing. Asking legitimately since I don't know if this is actually a problem or if I am just overthinking this way too much].

#spidertalk #nsrtalk #ertialks #noart #asks #gonna use those two first tags now #when talking about s/piderverse and n/sr #so i am not taking over the tag #realized i should have done this earlier #especially with n/sr #i stopped using the full name of the game #when answering asks #because i was flooding the tag with these asks #whoops lol

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julianobungus · 1 year

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Could you talk about which are your absolute favorite TOH ships and why you like them? I find your takes very interesting and it's so cool that you ship so many rare pairs!

That I can do! Thanks a bunch~! I just enjoy coming up with and seeing different dynamics, and some stick more than others or just appeal to me personally.

Luzador (Luz/Alador): I like this one for a couple reasons. Firstly and superficially, I think they look hot together (y'know, big burly man and lithe petite woman), so they have nice physical chemistry. Secondly, I feel like they have pretty similar/convergent personalities, both being socially-handicapped nerds who are considered deviant and who stand out in some way. I feel like they'd bond over that. I also feel like they'd have a fair bit of shared pain as well - with Luz being ostracised for being 'weird', as well as losing her father, and Alador being emotionally abused by Odalia and feeling guilt for messing up as a father because of her.

Huntleb(Hunter/Caleb): This one may be a little out of left field, but it appeals to me too. I've been seeing a few artworks and talk of it, so that's more or less swayed me hehe. To me, Hunter and Caleb are dadson/selfcest coded, bringing in the best of both worlds and being all the spicier for it. I feel like they'd get along well, with Caleb feeling a sense of duty to protect this poor, abused young man, and Hunter projecting onto him as the closest thing he has to a father figure. Couple that with the fact that Hunter doesn't know how to healthily process and disentangle romantic and familial feelings, and how Caleb has been repressed sexually because of his religious upbringing, and you have two young men giving in to their urges.

BumpEda (Bump/Eda): Okay, so hear me out. These two were already acquaintances in canon and actually got along quite well (to a degree at least, hehe). I'd imagine that Eda confided in Bump about the curse and what was going on with her family life, so I feel like he would have been a good confidante. A good reason for strong feelings to develop. And he even kept the Owl House's location a secret! Now that they're both adults, I'd imagine they have more time and confidence to explore the feelings they have toward one another, with what was once platonic friendship becoming something romantic~

We can't forget Lunter, which is definitely up here as one of my favourites. Even in canon they get along so well! I swear to God, if Amity was out of the picture they'd get together and it'd probably work! There's also the themes and symbolism behind it - the parallels to Caleb and Evelyn for example. It's all so juicy.

Beluz makes me pretty happy too. I'm a sucker for hero/villain ships just because of an 'opposites attract' type deal. Philip/Belos is devoted to Luz, and she needs a big strong man who probably understands her better than *anyone else*, or is at least willing to understand her (same vein as Luzador then, hehe).

Guslow (Gus/Willow): So sweet it makes me sick. Classic childhood friends blossoming into sweethearts. There's only a two-year age gap so I don't really know why this is considered proship (if it even is?). They just slot so neatly together: taller buff GF and short meek boyfriend - i.e., that size difference we all crave.

Camiluz (Camila/Luz): If there was another person beside Alador, Philip, and Hunter who would truly understand Luz, it's her own mother. Despite her mistakes, Camila thinks the world of her Mija and wants her to be as comfy as possible. I like to imagine that they discovered their feelings for each other after Luz came home, and have both just accepted the fact that they're now mother-daughter-girlfriends! Despite how much happier they are together, they feel a little bit of shame because they wonder what Manny would have thought of it.

Belunter (Luz/Hunter/Belos): Listen. Belos loves these two so much. They both remind him of Caleb and one of them is a beautiful human girl. He cherishes them even if they don't feel the same way. While you can definitely ponder the darker/dead-dove aspects this would all imply (of which there are aplenty), I'm a sensitive wee soul so I tend to focus on the soft stuff (with only some aspects of DD). I'm still formulating in my head the proper dynamics to fit these three, but trust me: they have all the more reason to love each other. Hunter was raised by him and has an unhealthy view on relationships; Luz has been ostracised for much of her life and is desperate for the company of those who understand and sympathise with her, and Belos? He's obsessed with them.

Lastly, I've recently been thinking of Amity/Edric. Writing those headcanons for them earlier (thanks to the anon who suggested them, btw) has made me a little gaga over them. It's a new and interesting idea/dynamic to me~!

#proship #anti anti #proshippers please interact #proshipper #proship safe #proshipping

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actuallylisteningtolyrics · 27 days

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The Other Side of Me

The lyrics were actually impressing me for a moment there until "GOT TOO MUCH ON MY PLATE".

The rapid rhyming is impressive.

I can actually forgive the confusing shift in perspective because it's a cool concept of singing directly to the audience. I do wish it were a bit tighter.

Ocean Man

The lyrics are playfully strange, but appear to basically be discussing an ocean man who appeals to land folk. I appreciate it.

The Outside

It's a song about how culture changes and it's exhausting trying to adapt to it. It's better to just be yourself, even if it's not what's in. To commit to being on the outside.

Underground

It's a song about how if you're an outcast that's not doing great, the underground scene will take you in. Straightforward, solid. Perhaps it could be more clever but it's fine.

Fascinating that they switch between heavy and happy, implying that both are true.

Safe From Heartbreak

Revisiting this one because I want to note how fascinating it is that she uses the pronoun "if I never fall in love". Everything about the song makes it seem like it's the guy who dumped her is saying that, and that she's impersonating him. And that's my interpretation.

BUT, it could be that she herself is saying that, being impacted by her own heartbreak. I think that's a much weaker interpretation though because the rest of the song really shows how willing she is to love.

And, note that the title itself uses the "you" pronoun! Fascinating.

You Can Make Me Free

It's a song about how he's absolutely in love with a girl and all the ways she'd make his life better, and he's hoping she'll date him one day. Simple but fine!

Come Monday

Another great simple song about missing your girl because you're on the road.

Leatherwing Bat

It's a cute yet downbeat song about how various creatures are dark because of heartbreak.

No Lights on the Horizon

It's a song about how someone feels so distraught from their troubled past and didn't see a future, but feels a ray of hope from someone who loves her.

Feeling Myself

There are two competing philosophies of love. There's getting pleasure for yourself, and giving pleasure to others. The first is easier but more hollow. I believe she's masturbating for him as a means to demonstrate the possibility of pleasure that can be achieved and try to seduce him into unlocking that version of love.

It's especially fascinating because they're still apart. She's demonstrating pleasure but she has to do it on her own.

This stands out to me as a song premise. The last chunk of songs were just fine but this feels especially thoughtful and profound, which is what I'd like to achieve with my songwriting.

It's also just, I dunno. Some topics feel especially compelling compared to others.

I do often find a correlation between strong lyrics and strong composition.

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alice-angel12x · 3 years

Text

☁Alpha!Kirishima x rebellious!omega!reader

Omegas, the lowest rank and the most submissive... Well not all. 1 out of 50 omegas is an omega-R. Or called broken omegas, they have an uncanny ability to ignore an order from an alpha.

An Alpha order is a special ability they have to force submissiveness on the lower ranks, even some lesser alpha. So if an alpha tried to use his Order on an Omega-R, they would not submit. Or at least not very easily, they will feel the urge to obey. But they can ignore it and defy them. Other than that there is no real difference between the omegas.

So you could see why my kind is frowned upon. Not wanted and such. I was born an Omega-R from a pure omega couple, funny enough. Know there is no way to tell if you an omega-R, till some alpha tries to order you into having s@× with them. Then the next thing that alpha knows is that they have a broken nose. Or they do a DNA test to see a small mutation in your omega genes.

News quickly spread about me being an omega-R, while most omegas found it cool with a few exceptions. Other ranks especially alphas did not like this. To them, an Omega-R is something unnatural.

"That's unnatural, such a freak of nature"

"Disgusting, that thing should know its place,"

"Life is gonna crush her spirits soon anyways,"

"I can't wait for her to sent to Omegan school,"

They would snicker those words behind my back. Omegan school is a place to teach Omegas how to please their mate. Being Alpha or Beta, whoever is willing to paying enough to have a 'trained omega' as a mate. I found it disgusting, and many omegas would agree, but in silence. Omegas have the most restrictions, they have curfews at night, only certain jobs are open to them. Or at all if their Alpha/beta allows them. All this to "protect the fragile omegas". Even though I have met many omegas with powerful quirks and skillsets. But are swept under the rug just cause of their second gender.

Despite this, I had one good alpha friend named Kirishima. He was gentlemanly and kind, the only one who treated me like an equal or at least like a person. Know that doesn't mean he was a pushover, he was a pretty formidable Alpha. The only guy who believed I could become a hero.

Many people in society believed that omegas shouldn't be hero's, that is a role only for betas and Alphas, they say. Omegas have only two roles, to be a perfect obedient housewife and used for breeding. Yet what I find only more messed up, is when the education system goes out of its way to try to prevent me from even attempting to get to UA. But thanks to the power of knowing the right people I was able to take the exam. And pass with flying colors, placing in number 6.

Know I have a pretty strong telekinesis quirk. I could crush a large point zero robots into the size of a small truck size metal ball. Yet even in this school, surrounded by good people in class 1A. I still couldn't escape the awful stereotypes. They mean well, but once in and while they would bring up the flaws omegas have, and how they shouldn't be in the hero course. I never told them that I was an Omega-R.

_______

It was a bright day and we were outside doing training. Aizawa placed everyone in one on one matches, chosen by a simple lottery. Y/n was up against Bakugou, a very strong and proud alpha.

He was a little too happy to fight y/n the omega. I wished they would stop referring to y/n only by her second gender. Bakugou never liked Y/n from the start, he believed that she should have gone to Omegan school like she was meant to. The others believed that becoming a hero is not safe for omegas. I just can't help but get pissed off about that, they think they can protect omegas by stripping them of their humanity and rights. Forcing them down a path that leads to them being locked away at home. Only there to please their mates.

The fight between Bakugou and Y/n was fierce. Every time Bakugou tried to get close to y/n, she'd simply push him away with her quirk. Eventually, y/n was able to pin Bakugou in place with her quirk. He was just a few inches away from the boundary line.

"LET GO OF ME, Omega!" Bakugou ordered.

Y/n trembled at his voice. Bakugou was using his Alpha order to force Y/n into submission. Some of my classmates trembled too.

"This is why an omega shouldn't be a hero. Omegas can't help but obey an order," Mineta said simply.

"It's a sad truth, most villains are alphas. So Y/n could be easily forced to submit by a simple order. Some alphas can break free of order, but omegas can't," Momo added with a sorry look.

"Surrender omega! That's an order," Bakugou said with a cocky smile.

Y/n trembled in place, she was fighting against the order. Then suddenly Y/n started to run full speed at Bakugou. She jumped into the air moving forward from her momentum. She twisted her hip, recoiled her leg, then extended it right into his face. Kicking Bakugou out of bounds. Everyone was shocked, not because this omega bet Bakugou, but because she was able to ignore an alpha order.

"I may be an omega, but I'm not an omega you can order around. And I would never submit to the likes of you," Y/n said with her own piercing glare.

Everyone started to look at her oddly after that. Those Who were nice still talked to y/n, but many just stayed out of her away like the plague.

One night I entered her room, after a hard day she had. She was on her bed sobbing. It has been a rough week after word got out that an Omega-R was in the school.

"Are You alright Y/n?" I asked her.

"No," Was all she said.

I quietly walked over to her bedside and sat on the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong with being what I am?" She sobbed.

"There's nothing wrong, it's just many higher rankings like to be superior. Omega-R's are like a threat to them," I said sadly.

"Do I feel like a threat to you?" She asked as she looked over at me.

"No. But to be honest that's what I like about you. Don't get me wrong having a submissive omega would be nice and all. Yet that thought doesn't seem appealing to me. And my dad would take advantage of his rank all the time with mom and me," I explained

"I refuse to be like him. I... I'm going to be better than him. So I've been wanting to ask you," I hesitated. I didn't know if this was the best time to ask this question.

"What is it Kiri?" She asked as she sat up.

"Will... Will you be my mate. Not as Alpha or Omega, but just as Kirishima and Y/n," I asked.

Y/n was silent for a long time, till I felt arms wrapped around my shoulders.

"I would like that very much, Kiri~," she coed as she kissed my cheek.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero fic #kirishima x reader #bnha a/b/o #omegaverse #Kirishima drinks respect woman juice #Fluff

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helbertinelli · 3 years

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I don't mean to sound like I'm calling someone out because I'm not, but whenever I hear people defending Trophy Husband Anakin, Human Disaster Anakin, Incompetent Anakin, or Pet Anakin, they say it's just a joke.

On its own, it is a very valid reason, but that begs the question: why is it always Anakin?

Why do we never get jokes about Human Disaster Padmé or Incompetent Padmé (or jokes like thst about other characters)? They say that it's because Padmé hasn't done "human-disastery" things, but she has. Padmé is seen by many as strong-willed and courageous for going straight to helping Obi-Wan on Geonosis, but if Anakin did the same thing, he'd be called reckless. Through this, Padmé is turned into a Flawless Queen for doing the same things that turn Anakin into a Human Disaster.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not as mad as you think. This is just an observation of mine.

Maybe I should make a post about it sometime, hehe

I'm as mad as you think, so thank you for sending the ask.

I can't understand how they'd defend Pet Anakin, even as a joke. I mean Anakin started out as a child slave and then you go from that to making him a pet? Yikes.

Human Disaster and Incompetent Anakin have all been made worse by TCW, I bet. Because TCW made sure to portray him as being always kinda incompetent and basically a fuck up. No one respects him in TCW and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka constantly make fun of him, even when he's right. And there's also fanon!Anakin which basically convinced a good part of the fandom that Anakin is stupid and he doesn't even know the colors or how to read, when, you know, in canon Anakin is one of the most intelligent people in the galaxy.

Now, trophy husband Anakin, this gives me vibes of anti-Anidala and somehow Anidala people latched on to it. But its implications are basically that Padme doesn't love Anakin for anything else other than the fact that she can brag about his looks and she can fuck him. If people understood Anidala and understood that Padme loves Anakin (for way more than his body), they'd know that trophy husband Anakin is a pretty disgusting concept as it relates to their relationship. It also means that Padme is superior to Anakin in the relationship, which is not true and has never been true. And it turns Anakin into an object, which again, just like the Pet Anakin, it's really disturbing when you think about it. You're turning the guy who got out of slavery into an object again. Yikes!

I know some Padme fans get mad if someone even says the words Padme Skywalker or if they say Padme wanted to be Anakin's wife, so this whole trophy husband Anakin thing reminds me a lot of those people. It implies that Padme would have never wanted to be Anakin's wife because she loved him, but she would be his wife if it meant she had a toy basically that she can show off. So he's not her husband because she wants him to act like a husband, he's her husband because she wants to tie himself to her and to show ownership over him. It's extremely fucked up. I can't understand how people (especially those who like Anidala and Trophy Anakin) can excuse this or find this appealing for the relationship of Anakin and Padme.

One reason behind all those "tropes" would be that I've noticed that in many fandoms (and some canons... mainly in comics), it's cool to infantilize men and to make them act extremely submissive and harmless (they're incompetent, they're stupid, they're lost without another person to control their every decision and hold their hand at every step). I personally find it extremely disturbing. Was there no middle ground between men not respecting women and treating them as objects AND men acting like door mats and being treated like objects?

You are right about Padme being just as reckless as Anakin. She also jumps head-first into things and she doesn't even have the powers of the Chosen One or Force sensitivity. At least Anakin has something to back up his recklessness. So in a way, Padme is way more of a disaster than he is. But if you start saying Padme is a human disaster or a trophy wife (hell you can barely say she's a wife at all without some Padme fans going like "Anakin mind tricked her, she was only his wife to spy on him, GL was sexist for making Padme fall in love with Anakin"), or a pet people will get mad because they'll recognize how sexist and dehumanizing and disgusting it is to call someone those things now that they are applied to a woman. But if they're applied to men it's fun apparently.

One of the reasons I like Anidala is because they were extremely equal in so many aspects. Padme was a queen and Anakin was a slave from Tatooine, but she never treated him like he was any less than her. Despite their differences in power (Anakin being the most powerful Jedi and Padme being just a normal human), they were both extremely competent at what they did and they both respected each other's actions. And as a couple, they were both completely in love with the other and happy to be married, not because it meant ownership over the other, but because it brought them even closer together. The ROTS novelization puts it very nicely when it basically says that Anakin and Padme were one in the Force and her heartbeat was Anakin's heartbeat too, and they were so close and so in love that even when they were apart they were still like one entity. It's just so beautiful and it's really sad when people ruin their characters and their relationships with things like incompetent trophy Anakin or Chadme (which is the TCW and fanon version of Padme who hates Anakin and only cares about her job and acts like a macho man who just goes around punching everything).

Also, you should make a post about it. The more the merrier. Tag me in it, I’ll reblog it asap.

#anidala #padme amidala #anakin skywalker #anonymous #ask #meta #to be fair i've seen these things said about anakin as it relates to other ships but i don't wanna discuss those #it's even worse in other ships #but i was talking about anidala here because that's the one i'm concerned about #and like seriously anidala fans wtf?

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Text

good eye

part 4 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 3.5k (I’m only 14% sorry about that)

warnings: strong language, extremely mild injury, Benny Miller working out, a little bit of a cliffhanger ending

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

“good eye” is an encouragement for batting players, essentially applauding them for having good judgement when and when not to swing.

In this chapter, the guys becoming increasingly aware of how interesting you are to the whole gang - and what they’re going to do about it.

Bottom of the ninth inning – the end of the game.

Sometimes players fixated on the score, glancing at the flashing lights or acting desperately but for Will, keeping it in his head was just as natural as breathing. Floating around first base made it easy for him to keep an eye on everything, and stay focused under the summer sun. His team was up by two.

The opposition was at bat – their final advantage as the home team. He didn’t feel particularly nervous, but couldn’t breathe easy just yet. They already had two outs, thanks to his little brother’s inhuman speed and some excellent Garcia pitching, and just one more to go before it was all over. Preferably, this would happen before the man on third made it to home base.

There was a bead of sweat rolling down, down, down his temple over his cheekbone, and into his beard. The clouds from the start of the game were long gone – even with his cap, his blue eyes were getting tired.

They were focused on the batter, not even Pope, and never the crowd, since it was always just a blur of noise and rival colors and waving hands. The closer the game came to an end, the more the mass of people writhed with tension. It was better just to ignore it. There was no reason at all, but he looked up just for a split second and he saw a single, tiny form make itself clear, sending a confusing thrill down his spine.

A familiar crack rang through the air and he snapped back to focus. The batter was hurling towards him, the crowd was holding it’s breath as he looked around, almost frantically.

Where was the ball?!

Your form was still in his minds eye, he didn’t understand, but then – there, in the outfield. No, here. Instinct had taken over.

It was in his glove, and his left toe had found first base. Will heard a curse as the opposing player plowed behind him a second too late, a yell from the umpire, and then the satisfying groans of the other team’s fans.

Pope crashed into him first, then whoever else was the closest. It was giddy and triumphant chaos, hands clapping his shoulder, sweaty hugs, slaps, and high fives, and Will barely noticed any of it. Jogging back to the locker room was quick, the crunch of their shoes in the grit of the field like a stampede, impossibly loud. The locker room wasn’t as bad. It would have been louder if they had lost, like they had expected. Something still felt strange in his gut as they changed and rinsed off and packed their things.

You were interesting to him, he liked how real you were. He was normally the one that grounded others, that kept his head, learned his lessons and left the game on the field. It was nice, spending time with someone he didn’t have to do that for – or really anything for. There wasn’t a need to put on a show for you, or be your steady sidekick. It was nice. But it had only been a lunch and a night at the bar, no reason to know the shape of you, much less be thrown off by it.

He was taking extra care to clean his newest tattoo, absentminded, when the locker-talk caught his attention.

This was the first away game they had won this season, and everyone was debating why their luck had changed. Some of them were arguing loudly, ridiculously, and as usual, his friends started gravitating together, interested, but with lower voices and cooler heads.

“Do you think it was because I wore last weekend’s socks, Fish?” Benny was grinning, as his friends eyebrows answered for him. Frankie was superstitious, but in a way he’d gotten from his abuela, not the game. Will had a thought, the confusing last moment of the game clicking into the conversation, his eyes meeting Pope's for a moment.

“Actually, I have a theory,” he kept his voice quiet. If the rest of the team got wind that William Miller was participating in the banter, they’d be all over him, sure he was right only because he rarely cared. His friends looked at him, curiously, and he chewed on the idea for a moment, liking it more and more until he actually believed himself when he told them.

Their good luck charm?

You.

Tom had missed the conversation, occupied with a love-sick staff member in a quiet corner of the stadium.

He would never admit it, but he always needed a distraction when the winning catch had nothing to do with him. And Molly had to travel with the team most weeks anyway, the availability becoming increasingly more appealing than trying his luck with a random fan.

The next day after practice, he found her again and this time, despite the crude nature of the location, he took little more time. It was strange, to grab her without pent up frustration driving his actions, but not an entirely unwelcome change of pace.

He didn’t dwell on it, almost running away, but she did, trailing her fingers over the places his had been as she put herself together again. She wanted to remember each one, to savor them like it was the first time. And maybe it was – the very first time he had even kissed her with no particular personal agenda. Of that, she didn’t feel as guilty about wanting more.

Tom had long since slipped out the door when she finished the process, just slipping on her heels when the someone knocked.

Opening it, she found an eager and awkward shortstop pushing into her office. He seemed nervous, more nervous than she had seen him during photo shoots and press conferences and final innings. It wasn’t what she expected – not the demeanor the players normally held when they asked for favors. Professional athletes were confidant, suave, even. Ben had something else going on, something sweeter, maybe even innocent.

He called her ma’am, and she rolled her eyes when he asked for you number.

“Don’t you boys ever talk?” she was kind of annoyed. Ben was confused, it showed on his face.

“Tom got it awhile ago,” she started, and he got it, immediately. The older man hadn’t told any of them that you would be at the bar last week. He wondered if you knew he had arranged it. Something felt off but before he could ponder it she finished.

“And Santi got it yesterday.” Actually, she was more than annoyed. You hadn’t seemed special at all when you’d been there opening weekend. Your grandfather was sweet but nothing about that day could explain why three of the players were willing to bend the rules to find you again.

Tom’s voice rang in her ears: he’s got it bad for her. That didn’t quite fit what she was seeing, but she cooled down a little.

She didn’t even have to shoo him away, his thank you, ma’am, sorry to bother you made her feel like an old lady as he turned on his heels and trotted off.

The younger Miller was increasingly thoughtful, but he could feel something shift in the air. Then he shrugged it off. He was sure he’d find out, sooner or later.

“Ben, where’s your brain?” Catfish had caught him making eyes upside-down at the girl standing by the athletic trainer while he was mid workout. He didn’t really need a partner to work out, but they tried to go together, to spot on another and to argue over who could bench press the most.

He watched as his friend’s brain and body scrambled to put down the weights and he stood up too fast.

Across the room, girlish laughter bubbled and Benny blushed, still not attending as he grabbed the water bottle he was being offered and squirted himself in the mouth.

“What?”

Frankie shot him an amused look, gesturing vaguely, his point now proven. This had happened before. The young player was almost certainly going to tell him some random information now to distract him and trying to avoid the inevitable teasing.

“Did you know Tom got her number?”

It worked. There was almost no context, but he knew immediately and there was a twist in his stomach. It was the answer to a question he didn’t know had been on his mind - Catfish fully short circuited.

Redfly got your number? That was why Frankie had found him putting the moves on you before they were scheduled to meet. He was shaking his head, dazed, when Ben added, “And Santi got it a couple days ago, too.”

A moment of silence, and then,

“Fucking what?!”

Heads around the private gym turned.

Ben hissed for quiet as he dragged him towards the locker room, and he found himself allowing it as he heart tried to catch up with his mind. No way Pope was going after you too.

“Weird, right?” Frankie felt like ‘weird’ was putting it mildly.

“I just asked for it,”

“You -"

“- because I wanted to be friends, but,” the younger man was ignoring his sputtering panic. He didn’t know if he should be mad or grateful. “Why wouldn’t they tell us?”

That stopped his racing heart. That was the question, wasn’t it? Frankie dragged his hand down his face, smoothed his mustache, readjusted his hat, trying fruitlessly to ground himself.

He said something noncommittal in response, barely hearing himself as he changed the topic. Ben was watching him, he could tell, but it wasn’t as though he could explain why he had reacted so strongly. He didn’t even know why.

It’s not like the feel of you against his hand was all he had been thinking about for the past few days.

His head was spinning, and not in the same way as when he had heard you were at the last game.

Of course other men had their eyes on you. You were gorgeous. His hand twitched on the locker as an image of him pressing you against it flashed through his mind. Shoving it down, he moved on.

You were smart, too, and kind. Certainly he couldn’t be the only one who liked the way you looked when you were thinking, or the little messiness of your hair, or the curve of your neck and shoulders as you leaned against the table.

There was a flare of something green in his chest. He was thinking about your hand on his arm, the way it made him feel like he was your anchor, the white lines on the ground guiding your feet. That, was his. For a moment, his brain reminded him of your lips on Pope’s cheek, your fingers on Benny’s shoulder, and palm on Redfly’s jaw. The locker door resonated in the quiet room as he slammed it shut. Even your eyes in Ironhead's for just a moment… it made him want to kidnap you, press into your space, surround you with his body until all you could see or touch or think about was him. Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe what he was aching for was for there to be a room full of handsome, athletic, perfect men, and for you to seek him. Find his eyes, and hold them in yours until you reached each other. To choose him.

Either. Or maybe both.

Whatever he’d been saying got lost on his tongue.

Benny was looking at him thoughtfully, and Frankie sighed, his anger slowing to a simmer. It was absurd, he knew that. Knowing didn’t make it go away, but it helped.

Really, he should be lucky he got any of you at all, that alone was a minor league miracle. Hiking his bag up, he clapped his friend on the shoulder and changed the topic once again.

The smell of dirt and grass and sweaty men faded as they walked out of the room, and when someone made a group chat that included you, Frankie remembered that he liked his friends. The bats in his bag clanged like bells, and Ben said something that made him laugh, and he thought he was a fool to have forgotten it.

Santiago was the first one there, over half an hour early, by accident or design you had no idea. He made all of James' things look small, and it made you laugh, because you knew it was only the beginning.

You’d been added to a group chat a few days ago. The list of total bizarre things happening to you was increasing every day of knowing them but you couldn’t exactly complain. It was exciting and honestly, you ached for them in a way you couldn’t explain. Seeing Santiago sent sharp excitement through the anxiety of preparation, but even with the handsome man removing his shoes, you couldn’t help but check behind him for Francisco.

It had been a joke, sort of. They had invited you out and you retaliated by saying you owed them a meal. You should’ve known, already, they weren't afraid to take you up on it, and you’d had to use James as your crutch. His house was much bigger than your apartment, and he was so excited to talk to them it was adorable. Before you’d even turned to Santi properly, they were already chatting, and you watched, smiling.

He looked good. It really was almost as if they actually were family – not physically but you could see it in how they interacted. Santi was more cleaned up than he’d been at the bar, thanking your grandfather like it really was an honor to be welcomed into his home. Jimbo was standing as tall as he could to scruff the younger man’s perfect hair, and you laughed as he clarified that they were always welcome, as long as they helped cook. And when Santi grinned, agreeing readily, the line on his forehead smoothed.

The stress of hosting even such strange guests lessened again, and you slipped back into the kitchen.

Not two minutes later, he found you there, and you could feel him watching you, lounging against the door as graceful and powerful as a panther. Slicing vegetables to grill, you let him, for the time being. He would tell you what he was thinking if he wanted to.

It made you smile again, when his large, calloused hands began to make motions for you to let him take over. Determined or maybe even insistent, but not entitled. He mimicked your cuts, checking silently for your approval, and you saw something in his eyes you hadn’t noticed before.

Over food and drinks he had been smart and clever and passionate – an idyllic picture for over-ambitious fans. None of that was gone, but there was another layer under it, something distinctly humble, and if your dreams hadn’t already been occupied, you might’ve fallen in love with him a little bit. Prepping food to the sounds of quiet music and the rhythmic thumps of the knife against the cutting board felt domestic, but in a familial way. There was no pressure for words, for you, and when he did speak, it seemed as though he agreed.

“This might sound fu… uh, stupid but I’m glad there aren’t bobble heads around.” Of him and his friends, he implied. You wondered if he checked his language for your sake, or out of mindfulness for James.

“He really respects you guys,” you shrugged. “He’s always lecturing me on remembering that you’re human, and not overstepping normal people boundaries.”

Pausing your salad assembly, you stole a glance at him, only to find deep brown eyes looking at you curiously. His hand scraped over the stubble on his jaw, and you could almost see his thoughts, running diamonds in his head.

“Is that why you shot Redfly down?” he wasn’t looking at you, so he missed the tilt of you head. You didn’t need to know the nickname to know what he was talking about, but he clarified a moment later.

You weren't prepared for this to come up, but it shouldn’t have surprised you.

“Yes and no,” was the most honest answer. “He’s already got a girl, whether he knows it or not.” You felt good, talking to him, good like laughing, so you did. It was a strange moment, when the team’s outfield dreamboat had leaned in to kiss you, and you turned him away, but it wasn’t weighing on you at all.

Santiago was grinning at you, hands still, and you wondered if this was the first moment the two of you were seeing each other clearly. Biases and judgement and wariness stripped away easily in the kitchen, like the peels of potatoes.

“So,” his tone and eyes were mischievous, and you had never felt more like an almost stranger was your brother. “If one of the other guys asked you out, you would consider it?”

Face flaring with heat, you barely contained a squawk. He let out a triumphant noise and you shoved him. There was no doubt he wasn’t talking about himself, but you still wanted to melt into the floor.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen –”

“Shut up shut up shut up!”

Both of you were laughing when the other men pushed through the front door.

Santi answered their raised eyebrows by sticking out his tongue.

There was moments all the time in baseball, where when you have the ball and have to choose which opposing player gets to make it safe and who you’re going to try to get out. It’s a split second where you feel torn in two, and that was exactly how Frankie felt now.

When he had seen you, flushed and laughing, part of him wanted to give a damn thank you speech to Pope for helping bless the world with that, and the other part of him wanted to murder his best friend.

They had all pushed into the little home and he tried to focus on greeting James and looking at the cozy, dated furniture, the humble decorations, clearly cleaned just for them. There had been a moment, where you’d waved at what felt like just him, and his heart rate had doubled. He tried to talk with the guys, the friend you had invited, or help grill or set the table or … anything, but all he wanted was to find you again.

Staying by your side the other night felt as natural and the ball hitting the palm of his glove, time and time again. It was exactly where he was meant to be.

And you were so lovely he wanted you to press into him so close he absorbed just a fraction of your glow. He wanted to wrap you up and take you with him wherever he went, or maybe just settle into your shadow, to follow you forever. It felt greedy, which he didn’t really mind, but the problem was that it was unrealistic.

You were working hard to be a good host, floating around, making sure everyone was content, helping, handling things, or happily having heaping helpings of your cooking. There was another game on the TV, and James was telling stories, and his friends had made themselves right at home. In a strange way, it felt like a Sunday with his abuelos, and cousins, casual and comfortable. It was telling, of you, fitting, and he liked that, but it was distinctly missing... you.

Santi found him, listening to James, trying not to look over his shoulder for you, hand twitching to find it’s place on you again. They kept their voices low, trying to be respectful, as they caught up on the last few minutes, hours, days. Frankie felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he had been subconsciously avoiding his friend. There was still some more private communicating they had to do… He offered Pope a drive. That would do it.

There was an understanding as the looked at each other, under the music and talk, and clatter of dishes. Will was making James laugh, loud and care-free. The uneasiness settled in his gut – he trusted Santi with his life. He could certainly trust him now, with whatever this was.

Not long after, Frankie found himself being herded through the little house, around tables with glasses and napkins, and back into the little kitchen. There was a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, and then he was alone with you, for the very first time.

Your eyes were big, staring at him, as you held a pile of dirty dishes.

He wanted to kiss you.

Of course, he didn’t, only cursing himself as he awkwardly offered to help. When you shook your head, your hair fluffed, and with the sunlight through the window, he was having trouble remembering how to function.

Frankie was solid, known for being sturdy and safe. Not like Will was, with his ethics and upbringing like roots into the ground, but that of Atlas, supporting the world on his shoulders.

He was the cornerstone of the team, the background man behind the curtain, with hair and eyes and thighs that Santi swore made women swoon.

And he was doing dishes in the kitchen of your grandfathers house, weak in the knees because you had smiled at him, impressed and grateful. His mind was telling at him to talk to you more, to say something interesting or impressive or to make you laugh when he heard you yelp.

The sound was awful, and adrenaline pumped into his blood as he realized you were hurt. Swinging around he didn’t see you for a moment before registering you had sat down, hard, and were clutching your wrist. There was a thick line, throbbing and an angry red – burnt.

When his knees hit the tile, he didn’t even notice the dull pain. His hands grasped yours as you tried to apologize, explaining the stove was still hot after you had turned it off. Frankie heard you, really he did, but he mind was chanting do something! And stringing Spanish curses, demanding that he protect you, that he fix it.

He didn’t realize how close he was to you until your eyes found his. it crashed into him the realization that if he leaned forward, tilted his head a bit, and sunk a little lower onto his knees, he could have your mouth against his.

Panic slowing, he looked at you. You were so sweet and beautiful, collapsed on the kitchen floor with him like the two of you were the only things in the world, and you were trying to tell him you were fine, that it was a silly accident. Frankie felt ridiculous, caught up in his thoughts, and he just... threw aside logic.

Time stopped, and he kissed the burn.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name

#apparently i like it when big strong men are bad at talking because they're thinking too much #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie x you #frankie x reader #catfish x you #triple frontier #baseball au #triple frontier baseball au #hey batter batter #maybe i don't know people

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jostenneil · 3 years

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do you think that people that praise nobara but bash sakura actually cares about a good written female character in the shonen? idk it seems like ppl attach this title to female characters that have a “no shit attitude” and good physical strength. but what’s wrong with being vulnerable and insecure but having the agency to grow from it? In fact, I would argue sakura has more agency and these traits and complexity than nobara does.

Bluntly speaking? No, I don’t think they do. To me, what’s been so influential about Sakura as a character and her impact on female shounen heroines to follow is the fact that she is very much a product of shoujo tropes and narratives moreso than shounen ones, and that caught people off guard (to the point that it angered them, obviously). I would actually say that what makes her so likeable and relatable to me as a character is that emotionally she’s far more messy than Naruto or Sasuke, who are actually pretty straight laced in the majority of their actions and decisions. They respond very logically to their individual traumas in opposing manners, and that’s what sets the stage for their series-long clash as rivals or something more.

Sakura, in comparison, isn’t someone whose feelings, decisions, or actions are as clear cut. In the beginning, she’s a little bit selfish, a little bit mean, and it takes the range of her experiences during Part I to mold her into someone with a broader sense of empathy and kindness. Sakura is a normal girl living a normal life who just wants to have a normal crush, until she’s thrust into a team of people all traumatized in some of the worst ways possible, and she has to learn to cope with that while maintaining her own sense of identity and purpose. That’s something that especially becomes a focal point of her growth after the time skip, and as a whole it’s a narrative arc very reflective of the classic shoujo. The thing about her story that’s compelling is there’s this constant back and forth between loyalty to love or duty. Sakura is someone dedicated to building up her strength and skill for the purpose of contributing to and supporting her village, but at heart she’s also the same girl from her childhood who just wants to live a normal life, for her friends to be okay, and for the boy she loves to realize that he is someone worthy of love in the first place. The complexity of that interplay over the course of Part II absolutely fascinates me, especially because it’s something she struggles so much with. A lot of people tend to act like Sakura is naïve or blind to the reality of her circumstances, but I would argue that she’s the most emotionally and realistically grounded member of her team. It’s what makes her internal emotional struggle so hard, because she’s fully aware of the realities, but they nonetheless break her heart and she doesn’t actually like having to acknowledge them. It’s an incredibly human response, and why I think her actions during the Kage Summit Arc and even afterward are so understandable, because, yes, there is strife and blood and war, but doesn’t love still mean something in the end? I think shounen fans who tend to hate her absolutely abhor that aspect of her character, because they can’t stand to see someone who would dare go against the grain of what makes battle shounen so addictive and enjoyable a genre. They’re being asked to contend with a character with more complex motivations and feelings, and they can’t stand it, especially because that complexity manifests in the form of a character who doesn’t have the heart to hurt the people she loves, because more than anything, she just wants them to be okay first. It’s not wrong that Naruto’s philosophy with regards to Sasuke is to fight violence with violence, that’s his prerogative, and there’s reasoning behind it. But there’s also nothing wrong with Sakura trying to appeal to Sasuke’s emotional side first, especially since he is someone who has been so thoroughly traumatized into relying on violence as a coping mechanism. That’s something she acutely recognizes, and yet somehow, it’s almost impossible for a good portion of shounen fans to recognize this themselves, and so you have either people who egg on Sasuke’s dismissive behavior with her or people who act like he’s the devil incarnate because his extensive trauma makes him respond non-ideally. There’s no room for nuance, because at the end of the day, a girl who cries over the boy she loves, or who cries at all, is a miserable human being and has no place in a shounen, regardless of her feats otherwise.

And then, we have Nobara, who admittedly is a cool character, too! I like how her back story shapes her philosophy with regards to her admiration of and cooperation with the people around her, and how that mindset of hers grows and changes as she spends time with the other students at Jujutsu High. But, while it does present an interesting premise and fairly logical growth pattern, there’s honestly. . . not much more to it beyond that? Nobara is never paid the same amount of attention by the narrative as are Yuji and Megumi, and then it’s not like challenges to her philosophy are a significant focal point of the story (in the sense that it’s not really like her personal arc majorly shapes the story itself). It shows up where it’s needed, and then it’s more or less pretty neatly resolved and tied up with its own bow within a hundred or so chapters. Could she come back from the “dead”, and there theoretically be more done with her character? Maybe. The recent interview from Gege where he talks about the circumstances of her death was interesting. But something he also talked about in that interview is how the series is more than halfway over, and it’s like, is there really a lot more that he can accomplish with her narrative arc when there’s so much else that’s more important and needs to be resolved? I think people like Nobara because she’s someone confident in her own motives and her own sense of self, and that’s great! I love to see characters like that. But it’s also ridiculous to see her constantly lauded over Sakura when she’s hardly afforded a comparable significance to her own story, let alone an extensive character arc where her own personal development matters and is constantly challenged at large. People are far more concerned with dominant expressions of feminism, and that being synonymous with a “strong” female character, than anything actually bordering on a complex and fully realized character. And I don’t mean this in any sense as a criticism to people who like Nobara’s character. I’m just saying that it’s sad to see shounen fans constantly settle for bare minimum and not ask for more, or seek out more for themselves. Nobara, and several of the other female characters in Jujutsu Kaisen, deserve to have their narratives and characters be fleshed out on par with those of the boys. I wish more people were willing to acknowledge that.

#sakura haruno #naruto #jujutsu kaisen #mine:media analysis #not even going to tag nbr bc frankly her fans are crazy but whatever #i hope if people read this they actually glean something from it #and thank you anon for the question #in short i completely agree with you lol #asks

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 3 years

Note

After that gorgeous sequel rant, would you be willing to share your thoughts on reylo?

Ugh.

Once again, that is the most succinct, easiest, answer I can supply. But it's so short, and that just won't do.

I mentioned in a recent post that Dramione comes in a myriad of disguises. Every fandom usually has at least one Dramione ship, you can usually guess which characters the ship will consist of, and while you might not be able to articulate exactly what about it makes it so damn similar to Dramione you will recognize it on sight.

Usually, to me, a Dramione ship features a strong, independent, female lead who may be varying levels of sexually empowered, varying levels of intelligent (Hermione loves to tell us how smart she is but it's not the heart of the ship), is strong, courageous, and noble who depending on the story du jour might slide into depravity. The real give away is her love interest, always a man, usually a young man of comparable age, who has the bad boy appeal that's not too bad boy where he often is redeemed to the good side for 'reasons' in the course of the story.

Reylo is such a Dramione pairing.

You don't believe me? Look at the authors who write it, I haven't done this too often myself, but I guarantee you that a not small majority of them will either write Draco/Hermione or will have it all over their favorites and bookmarks. It's the same damn pairing.

But worse.

Because Kylo-Ren and Rey aren't really characters.

"Whoa, hold up!", you say, "That's just slander and uncalled for!" Well, change my mind. Rey Palpatine and Kylo-Ren are a series of character tropes and archetypes thrown to us by Disney screaming "LOVE MY CHARACTERS".

Rey is our noble, very Luke like, hero who is a scrappy desert rat with overwhelming mystical powers only acknowledged when the movies feel like acknowledging them (guys, admit Rey kicked Kylo-Ren's ass every time they fought with 0 training, come on, it's not hard).

However, there is nothing underneath her surface. Her hero worship of the resistance feels dull and given to her because it's expected. Of course Rey likes the resistance! The resistance is great! Sign her up! Rey has been living in the desert at the edge of nowhere for presumably 15 years, I'm shocked she's even heard of the new republic let alone the resistance. Despite essentially starving and only having a home that's a broken down old fighter, Rey saves a random droid. We're not really given a compelling reason of why she would do this, that she has a deep respect for droids/is horrified by their use, really really really hates the random trader she sells things to, or really really really hates the empire (if she even realizes it's them behind the bounty). She does it just so that a) the plot keeps moving b) to show Rey is... noble... I guess?

Remember that even Luke (who I have some problems with as a character) started his journey with more backstory and personality than this. Luke loved the empire and desperately wanted to become a pilot. He was very put out that his aunt and uncle kept saying, "Uh, no, bad idea." Luke was ready to skip town and sign on up for flight academy, he just got distracted by pretty women, er, his sister.

So, Rey is never given a compelling reason to do any of the things she does in the series. Just vague feelings of hero worship. And, of course, the drama over her parents. Just... I feel like Disney took out a hat, put a bunch of pieces of paper with words on them, and drew out the one that said "orphan angst about parents" and said "See, now she's conflicted! What a character!"

So yeah, Rey is your cardboard generic hero who is so generic she's not even a person. She has no hopes, no dreams, no fears, just these vague things we're told as an audience she cares about but never shown in any legitimate manner. Rey likes the resistance and rando droids, Rey imprints on Han Solo as the father she never had, Rey has this thing about her parents, Rey is attracted to Kylo Ren.

And that last one, oh boy that last one. It sold me less on the attraction to Kylo Ren than... oh... I don't know... Palpatine's secret Sith planet of doom. I mean, we all saw it coming, The Last Jedi it was very clear where that was going and then Abrams went for it even harder. But what we had was a series of skype conversations where Rey went from "Gr, you killed my pseudo father!" and Kylo-Ren responding, "Yeah, well he was my real father AND HE WAS SO MEAN" to "Oh Ben, I will fly to you through space and we shall save the galaxy together!"

I am given no reason to believe Rey's change of heart. Han Solo's death just suddenly... doesn't really mean much to her anymore (the man was murdered by his son in cold blood so that his son could feel better about himself). She believes Ben Solo is good now because Luke is a dick (never mind that, no matter what a dick Luke is, Ben Solo still murdered dozens of children and then went on to gleefully massacre his way through the galaxy). We're told there's a Force Dyad, which is um... not this thing the writer's made up because they were too lazy to convince me that Kylo-Ren and Rey would end up together in any organic way.

So, yeah, why does Rey like Kylo-Ren? Because the Force told her too? Because it was somehow all Snoke's fault in a way that's never properly described? (Indeed despite us spending quite a bit of time on Kylo-Ren's decision to remain Kylo-Ren being a very internalized thing) Because we saw him shirtless in yoga pants this one time?

It's bad when that last is actually the most legitimate reason I can think of out of the whole lot.

Now let's go to Kylo-Ren. If Rey is boring and nonsensical then Kylo-Ren is a dumpster fire and non-sensical. The guy reminds me a lot of Commodus from the film "Gladiator", the man is cowardly, vile, and murders his father in despair that his father never will be capable of loving him/passes him over for the throne. Kylo-Ren's murder of Han Solo is extremely similar to the murder of Marcus Aurelius in "Gladiator". Han Solo is a flawed father, trying to make his peace with his son, who approaches him unarmed and Kylo-Ren decides to murder him in order to solidify his place in the dark side.

Only, the films never acknowledge that every action Kylo-Ren takes is horrifying.

We're told "oh, Kylo-Ren exists because evil Snoke corrupted him" but also shown repeatedly that Kylo-Ren chooses the darkest path again and again and again. He "struggles with the light" but I don't see it. His opening scene, he has massacred a village and is torturing a man for information (this is presumably a daily routine for him). In the same film he later tortures Rey for information. He serves on a Death Star which wipes out billions in an instant. He murders his father to feel good about himself. He dresses as a man who was reviled and feared throughout the galaxy, a man who murdered countless children, and a man who dressed the way he did because he was barely hanging onto life, because Kylo-Ren thinks it makes him look like a badass. Think about it, this is like if a fully abled Kylo-Ren is wheeling around in a wheel chair, perfectly capable of walking, because he thinks that Professor X is so cool. Now, replace Professor X with Hitler, this is what the movies gave us.

Yet, the films seem to take it for granted that Kylo-Ren is a redeemable character. He's just lost and misguided, he's really struggling with the light and dark side! They don't just tell us this over and over again (which they do) but also just assume we know it.

And base the entire Reylo pairing off of it. Reylo believed Kylo-Ren could be redeemed, they battle Snoke together, then Kylo-Ren stabs her in the back and continues the assault on the Resistance and asks her to be his Dark Queen (TM). Reylo is shocked and appalled, I'm just wondering what movie she thought she was watching, because that was coming a mile away.

Later, when Kylo-Ren is redeemed, we're never given a reason why it happens. Leia just gives him a nagging, one word, phone call and then Han Solo shows up to go, "Ben, are you going to do the right thing?" and Ben goes, "Mumble, grumble, fine" because there's only an hour left in the last film.

Kylo-Ren, like Rey, is the writers' desperate attempt to create a compelling anti-hero with all the anti-hero sauce we love. They just won't admit they made an overgrown genocidal toddler.

Wow, this turned into why I hate both Rey and Kylo Ren, but, uh, back to the ship. Basically, the films give me 0 reason to ever believe it, and even if I wanted to, even if I said "Alright brain, let's make these characters real people for once", I still wouldn't like it. Because the ship itself is just as flat as the characters. It's spicy but not too spicy bad boy gets together with strong female lead.

I know a lot of people enjoy this, and I won't say it's any less legitimate than any of the weirdness I ship, but I'm not one of them. And the whole thing just makes me go "ugh".

#ask #anon #anti reylo #anti kylo ren #anti rey #anti star wars sequels

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wendimydarling · 3 years

Text

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112 gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira for betaing!

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death.

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.”

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already.

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet.

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me.

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls.

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

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ohgodmyeyes · 3 years

Text

Hot Wax (Like A Band-Aid)

Luke Skywalker x Reader, 2k words. Modern AU? Mature, but no sex.

Summary: Your infallibly sweet husband, Luke, helps you wax your pussy because you’re too pregnant to do it yourself.

...

"I— um, I'm not sure about this anymore. This stuff is hot."

"Come on, Luke! You promised you'd help!"

Luke looked up at you from between your legs, desperation writ on his face. He had to peek around your belly to do it— you were about eight months pregnant right now, which was why you'd enlisted his help with this in the first place. He might have been nervous, but you weren't about to let him back out now... especially given the fact that it was his baby whose steady growth was preventing you from performing your usual hair-removal ritual.

"I just— I mean, I don't want to hurt you. And anyway, you know I don't care whether or not you—"

"I care," you interrupted him, from your spot on the living room couch. "I like how it feels with no hair down there, and anyway, you've already trimmed everything down to the right length— you don't want to quit with the job only half-finished, do you?" Appealing to Luke's sense of duty, you thought, was the most effective way to get him to do something he didn't really want to do.

"Trimming it was easy," he mumbled, seemingly to himself, as he peered back between your legs as if to examine his own work. "This seems... I don't know, dangerous." He paused. "...You didn't really used to do this by yourself, did you?"

"Of course I used to do it by myself," you told him. You weren't crazy about the idea of a stranger removing the hair from your vulva; you'd always shaved or waxed it yourself. Now that you couldn't see the area in question well enough to perform the task, Luke was the next best option— whether he thought he was or not. "Now, hurry up and start putting it on before it gets too cool. The sooner you get to it, the sooner it'll be over."

Luke sighed in defeat. He was sweet, you thought— sometimes almost too sweet. When you'd told him you needed help with something, he'd agreed right away, before even asking what it was you needed him to do. He was probably thinking, now, that he'd made a mistake; however, you knew that with the right amount of reassurance, he'd do a fine job of grooming your pussy. Luke was good at nearly everything he tried, and you were sure this would be no exception.

"...Alright," he conceded. "Alright, fine. But if I screw up, you're not allowed to get mad, okay?"

"You won't screw up! You'll do just fine." You spread your legs as widely as you could, and went on to instruct him, "Just gather some of the wax up on the little stick, and spread it into a line wherever you want to start. Leave it for a minute or two, and once it's hard enough that it makes a noise when you tap it with your fingernail, it's ready to be pulled off."

"Won't that hurt?" he asked, the concern in his voice coming through loud and clear.

"Of course it'll hurt, but only for a second."

"What if you yell? What if there's blood? ...Wait, this can't hurt the baby, can it?"

"I might yell, but there won't be any blood," you told him. "And no, there's no way this can hurt the baby." You placed a hand gently upon your stomach and smiled. "I think she's asleep right now, anyway," you added. "She won't even notice."

He laughed despite himself. "Still think it's a girl, huh?"

You hadn't opted to find out the sex of your baby; you'd both agreed a surprise was a lot more fun. You had a feeling you were carrying a girl, although Luke happened to disagree.

"I do," you said. "It's just a feeling I have, though— we'll find out soon enough."

"I still can't believe you're doing this for us," he said, peeking around your belly and back up at you one more time. "You're going to be a fantastic mom, you know."

"I'm glad you think so... but you wanna know what I think?"

"What?" he asked, flashing you one of his loveliest smiles.

"I think you're going to be a fantastic esthetician. As long as you don't let the wax get too cold."

"Okay, okay! You just want me to start, then?"

"That's exactly what I want."

He shook his head and sighed again, but that sweet smile didn't leave his face. "Okay. I'm going to start at the bottom, and work my way up. Does that sound alright?"

"Sounds fine to me, Luke. Don't worry, it'll be over in no time."

He went to work, after that— just like he said he would, he started at the bottom, with what felt like an appropriately-thin strip of wax in just the right position. He was quiet while he waited for it to harden, and so were you. Your hand stayed on your belly; the baby still seemed to be asleep.

Luke was going to be a wonderful dad, you thought absently as you waited for that first strip to cool— he'd proven to you over and over throughout the course of your relationship that he was willing to do just about anything for the people he loved. Waxing your pussy was just the most recent manifestation of that willingness, and you appreciated it... especially considering that he didn't care whether you were fuzzy down there or not.

"Okay," he said, after a couple of minutes had passed. "I think it's ready. What do I do now?"

"Can you tap it with your fingernail?" you asked, just to confirm that it was, in fact, time to pull it off.

"Yeah, I can. Do I just... pull?"

"Hold the skin right below the edge of the wax so it's super-tight, and then rip it off as fast as you can."

"'Rip it off'?"

"Yep— just like a band-aid."

You heard him take a deep breath, and then he did exactly as you had told him: He held your skin tight with his fingertip, and proceeded to wrench the strip of wax right off of you. You shrieked, partly because you weren't the one doing it; partly, too, because it stung. It would have stung no matter who'd been doing it.

"I'm sorry!" he said. "Are you alright? I didn't mean to—"

"I'm fine," you laughed. "Actually, it felt exactly the way it's supposed to. How does it look?"

"Like your pussy has a bald spot."

"Well, then you'd better get started on the rest."

Having taken on a more serious expression (Luke always looked quite serious when he was hard at work on something), he glanced up at you, nodded, and went on to complete the task of rendering your pubic area perfectly smooth.

You didn't speak anymore so as not to distract him; he didn't say anything else either, except to confirm, periodically, that you were still alright. Every time you squeaked or squealed or otherwise showed even the slightest hint of discomfort, he looked up at you with concern; however, he didn't deviate from his task. By the time he'd worked his way up to the spot just beneath where your belly bulged out, he seemed as though he'd grown quite comfortable with the process.

"Looks like I'm just about done," he said, as he spread one last strip across your mound. "How do you feel?"

"A lot better," you answered, and that was the truth. Not being able to do this job for yourself happened to be one of your least favourite parts of being heavily pregnant. It was worth it, of course; you'd always wanted a family with Luke... but carrying a child did come with its fair share of frustrations and inconveniences. You were glad to have someone like him, who was willing to help you with whatever you needed, whenever you needed it.

Luke, you mused, was an infallibly sweet man— you'd always considered yourself very lucky to have him, and the fact that he was willing to do this for you only served to drive that point home.

By the time you'd finished contemplating how wonderful he was, he'd warned you that he was about to pull off the final wax strip. You told him to go right ahead, and so he did— and with one final pinch (and shriek), the task was complete.

"You have a pretty pussy," he said admiringly, running a finger along the edge of your outer labia. You looked around your belly and at his face; he was smiling again. It made you smile, too.

"Only thanks to you," you said. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you helped me with that— it was driving me nuts."

"It wasn't as hard as I thought it'd be," he admitted. "I just didn't want to hurt you— you, or the baby."

"You didn't," you said, heaving yourself back up into a seated position (Luke, being the gentleman that he was, helped you by taking your hand and giving it a gentle tug as you did). "We're both just fine. Although I do think I might have woken her up with all my yelling."

"She— I mean he— woke up? How do you know?" He got to his feet, and then sat down beside you on the couch, eyes trained on your stomach.

You gave him a look, and took his wrist in your hand. "She's kicking," you told him. "Right about... here." You placed his palm on the upper part of your belly, just a few inches above your navel. You couldn't actually tell if the baby was kicking or punching right now, but she was certainly doing something, and you had no doubt that her father would want to feel it, too.

He waited a few moments, staring curiously at his own hand. Then, all of a sudden, a broad smile completely overtook his features.

"Feel that?" you asked, with a grin of your own.

"Yeah— yeah, I did feel it!"

"Strong, isn't she?"

He appeared to think for a moment. "...Maybe you're right," he said. "Maybe it is a girl."

"What makes you say that?"

"All the strongest people I know are girls. You, my sister— my mom, too, from what my dad always tells me." He took his hand off your belly then, and leaned in closely to offer you a kiss. "Do you know how proud I'll be if our baby turns out to be even half the person you are?"

You looked into his eyes, which were absolutely brimming with love. Yes, you thought— you really were very lucky to have somebody like Luke to share your life with.

"Whether it's a boy or a girl," you said to him, "I hope they turn out to be just like you— kind and loving, and always willing to help anyone who needs them... even if the thing they need help with is kind of awkward." Like pussy-waxing, you thought. "You know that's why I fell in love with you in the first place, right?"

He blushed, which he'd always been prone to doing. "You're too nice to me," he said. "I just didn't want to hurt you— I wasn't going to tell you I couldn't do it without at least trying first."

"That's why you're a perfect husband, Luke... and it's why you're going to be a perfect dad, too."

You put your arms around him after that, and drew him in as closely as you could to give him a tight squeeze. He hugged you back, and went on to whisper something into your ear... something about heading to the bedroom, for the purpose of more thoroughly checking his work.

With a giggle, you nodded emphatically, and watched as he stood up. Once he'd deftly helped you to your feet, you sauntered off together hand-in-hand, down the hallway and in the direction of your favourite place to spend time together.

All of your 'spending time' together might have been the very reason you couldn't wax your own pussy today... however, not being able to see between your own legs for a few months was a tiny sacrifice, given all of the wonderful things that came with being tied to somebody as kind and generous as Luke.

#luke skywalker #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker x y/n #fanfic #star wars #pregnant #pregnancy #pregnant reader #pussy wax #waxing

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dragon-ball-meta · 3 years

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It's amazing how the very things some 'fans' dunk on Krillin and Chi-Chi for and wonder why their significant others chose them are the very things that 18 and Goku love about them. I.E his gentleness and good heart and her tough as nails strong willed nature etc.

OK... I have a take on this that may be a tiny bit controversial, but I feel it needs to be said. The reason Krillin and Chi-Chi are dunked on for their personalities, especially in a series where characters with similar ones are loved, is not because of their personalities. ...it’s because they’re not seen as sexy. Both in terms of appearance and personality. No, you didn’t read that wrong and I’m going to explain to you why. Chi-Chi is seen as bitchy, bossy, always trying to have things her way, “forcing Goku to do things he doesn’t want to do” like... get a job or spend some time doing normal family stuff. How awful. The thing is, there’s another character in this series who had similar personality traits dialed up to freakin’ 11. And that character is Bulma. Bulma was always very bossy. She was borderline abusive at times (if you look at that outside the context of comedic overreactions, at least), she would throw a fit over other girls talking to Yamcha and accuse him of cheating, she would demand attention, she would turn on a dime and flirt openly with anyone she found attractive, and even when on a mission to revive her boyfriend whom she had wept over, she... found herself thinking of other men and even trying to throw tail at Zarbon (in her anime depiction at least, but in the manga she was still dazed by his good looks). She was selfish, would slap, kick, punch, scream, etc. But she’s never really considered to be a shrew, or a “bitch”, or what have you because... well... she’s sexy. She shows skin, shows cleavage, flaunts her curves, is fashionable. She’s seen as a sort of “sex symbol” for it rather than in any sort of negative light. And yes, Bulma does change and grow up as the series progresses, but there are still elements of this present in her, and even when she hadn’t? She was still loved by the fandom. And to further illustrate this, not only does Vegeta acknowledge that’s part of what he finds attractive about Bulma, a la Goku with Chi-Chi, but even in the fandom itself, when there are fan works or figures sexualizing or “sexing up” Chi-Chi in the same way as Bulma? They are RIGHT there lining up to drool. The same dudes who say they can’t STAND her will sit there and WISH she would wear that in the show, act like that in the show, etc. They openly bemoan that she stopped wearing the barbarian bikini armor and started dressing more conservatively. And on the flipside, some also bemoan that she, unlike Bulma, is a more traditional housewife, happily. Bulma’s out there running a whole company, y’see, so any of these other women being more traditional wives or mothers? That’s a negative. And since Chi-Chi is the epitome of that, SHE is bad while Bulma is good. (To be clear, there’s a whole other discussion to be had there as to whether some of that is a valid series criticism to some degree, but I’ve seen people take that wayyy too far with Chi-Chi.) They say she was hindering Goku by trying to hold him responsible, they say that she “ruined” Gohan by FORCING him to study instead of fight, and ignore that Gohan himself preferred it. (He’s a SAIYAN, y’see, he HAS to like fighting, it’s in his blood. Chi-Chi just choked it out of him, that’s all!) Ridiculousness of that sort. And on the Krillin front... well.. just look at Gohan. Gohan and Krillin have shockingly similar personalities. They’re both dorks, they both have a corny sense of humor (in a loveable way), they’re both a bit socially awkward with the opposite sex, they both love and dote on their families and adore their daughters, both even get back into martial arts for the sake of their families but put their jobs and roles as family men and breadwinners first and foremost. But for some reason, you see Gohan with these ridiculous, over-the-top harems and Krillin the victim of NTR by pretty much every character in the entire franchise at this point. Some people actually even ship 18 with Gohan over Krillin because they think the “take-charge dominant woman x nerd” dynamic is better when that’s the same dynamic that exists with her and Krillin. Why? Well... because Gohan is sexy. Gohan is powerful, traditionally handsome, tall and muscular. Krillin is... short. Missing a nose. Comparatively not powerful and not as muscular. His gentleness is seen as weakness, not kindness. He doesn't have his badass moments of beating the snot out of the main villain while glaring and making women swoon and men jealous. Ergo, he is bad. He is a beta male. He is a “cuck”. He doesn’t “deserve” his wife, he doesn’t “deserve” to be anything but a joke. 18 “settled” for him, and thus their relationship is “toxic”. I even once saw someone say that she settled in a series where “the men are ranked by actual, literal numbers (power levels)” and that 18 thus “not only settled, but sank to near the center of the earth” with Krillin. I’ve seen people say that since Toriyama said in interviews outside the series that he partly let Krillin have his dream of getting married because he felt bad for always writing him having bad things happen to him, that their relationship is bad because that also means 18 got with him out of pity or obligation and teaches that “women are rewards” when the manga itself shoots that whole idea down. These are all real takes. Make no mistake, Gohan will sometimes be bashed by those who have toxic ideas of masculinity as well, but he still gets an overall pass because of his cool factor and... well, sex appeal. Even straight dudes find him cool enough to project onto, and others just lust after him. Plus, if push comes to shove, just imagine that Gohan became “badass again” in fanfic land. Much harder sell with someone like Krillin. The fandom has a very, very nasty case of double-standards throughout, however. This is just the tip of a very unfortunate iceberg.

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fangirlovestuff · 4 years

Text

Child’s Play - Chris Evans x reader

a/n- Hey lovely people! the movie in this is completely made up with excessive use of random plot/name generators lol. also, the Melissa I mention is Melissa Fumero who I love and plays Amy on Brooklyn 99, and Anthony is Mackie who we all know and love. Enjoy! <3

Summary: You’re a director and you finally got to direct your husband chris in a movie. Now you just need to get through the press tour...

Word Count: ~1,780

Warnings: none that i’m aware of

You stepped out onto the stage when the interviewer called your name, waving at the crowd which was cheering and clapping.

"And without further ado, let's give a round of applause to Captain America himself, Chris Evans!"

Chris lightly stepped onto the stage, waving at the screaming fans as he took his place next to you. He reached out and squeezed your hand in his, and you returned a squeeze. You both tended to get nervous at these press panels and interviews, even if this one was one you were lucky enough to do together.

"It's so great to have you all here today! The entire cast of the hit movie The Invisible Lights!" the interviewer started and the crowd applauded once more. "First off, I want to start with a question for Chris," she said. He smiled and nodded at her to continue. "Your character in this movie, William Brown, is a sorcerer, but in a casual way, that's like his thing. For you, who, I believe, have never played a character with outright magic powers before, how hard was it to find a window and relate to him?"

"Yeah, it was actually kinda easy, even easier than some other characters I've played, because—"

"He's a wizard guys, it's not that complicated," you cut in and Chris laughed.

"Almost," he says and smiles, "but what I was gonna say before my lovely wife here interrupted me," you made a kissy face at him and he chuckled once more, "was that Will is actually just a nice guy, he experiences everything with the same compassion and excitement and fears just like us normal human beings do, and magic is just a cool bonus to that. So no, I wouldn't say relating to him was any more challenging than to any other character."

"Thank you, Chris, that was a great answer," the interviewer smiled. "Now Melissa, I actually have a question for you too," she turned to her, "we all know and love you as Amy Santiago, who is a very comedic character, so what drove you towards this part of Nancy, who's just a normal person who's trying to do her job and doesn't get to make as many jokes in this movie as other characters do?"

"Well, I think Amy and Nancy are similar in a lot of ways, you know, they're both very dedicated to their job and are very rational women, but what drew me to this was actually the differences between them. Nancy is less type A, she's a bit more unsure of herself and is more of a "normal person" whereas Amy is more the "nerd" type. Getting to play someone like that just appealed to me a lot."

The interviewer asked you a question next. "So how was directing this movie for you? What's it like directing your husband in a movie?" the audience cheers a little at that.

"Well, I gotta say it's one of the most fun sets I've been on, and not only because Chris was there," you smiled. "I was obviously a huge fan of Melissa and I was stoked she could do this movie with us, and really the whole set was very upbeat and just fun, especially the scenes we shot with the kids, who were lovely. The lead actor was… a bit much honestly. He's just…" you shook your head, sighing, and Chris laughed. "He's just too handsome for his own good. It's terrible really," you laughed.

"No, but honestly, working with him was so much fun. I've always known the talent he has, but being able to really witness it firsthand and going through the whole process of making a character and a movie with him was wonderful. "

The crowd "awwww" ed at that and the interviewer continued. "Would you say directing him was harder or easier than someone else, someone you don't necessarily know?"

"Listen, directing Chris… well, it's not that different than what I do every day," you shrugged and turned to Chris, "you do need a lot of chaperoning babe," you smiled. He laughed and reached for his chest like he always does. The crowd laughed as well and you gave a little giggle as well.

"It's true," Chris smiles and says, "she's always like, 'Chris do the dishes,' and 'Isn't it your turn to walk Dodge today?'"

"That is not true Christopher!" you put your hand to your chest as if offended. "Besides, that was a terrible impression of me, I can't believe you do this for a living!" you threw your hands up and shook your head in disbelief and you all laughed.

"Um, but to give a more serious answer," you turned to the interviewer once more, "I think in every movie you direct, you get to form a connection with the people you direct. The fact that Chris and I already have that connection is both a blessing and a curse because on the one hand, we're more comfortable trying new things and taking risks, but on the other hand that means it's easier for us to get off track and just kinda goof around instead of doing our jobs," you chuckled. "But I do think we handled it pretty well," you smiled.

"Well that leads me to my next question, which is for the rest of the cast who aren't you and Chris," the interviewer smiled, "how did they do with keeping it professional on set?"

Everyone laughed and you and Chris smiled at each other.

"Terrible," said Anthony, who played David, a police officer in the movie who was good friends with Chris' character. "Well, no, when we were shooting the actual scenes, they were fine, but every single break we had, these two-" he looked over at Chris and you, "look at them! They're making heart eyes at each other right now!" he rolled his eyes.

You and Chris looked away from each other and smiled while the crowd cheered a little.

"I think we were totally fine," said Chris while he took your hand in his.

"Well, I guess they weren't that bad," Melissa said.

"I have one more question for you guys and then we're gonna take some fan questions. So, what was it like working with the kids on set?"

"They were really cute," Melissa said, "so I had a lot of fun working with them," she shrugs and smiles.

"Speak for yourself," you said. "Well, okay, they were very cute and it really was a blast having them on set. We basically said for people who have relatives who were about the age we looked for that they should bring them because we needed a whole class. So my niece was there, Chris' niece and nephew, Mel's kid… we had a lot of fun, but in terms of production time, kids are kind of difficult. Not to say it's the kids who were there, because they were truly lovely and it's like that with all kids. So yeah, working with them was a really good time but also cost quite a bit of time and we already were short on time, so it was definitely a challenge."

You all took some questions from the audience and then the interviewer said, "Alright guys, we have time for one last question, who's next?"

A girl who was a bit younger than you came up to the microphone. "Hi! First of all, can I just say I'm such a big fan of all of you guys," she seemed nervous and you all smiled at her. "So, my question is a spin on an earlier question and it's for Chris – You've spoken a lot in the past about the importance of a strong-willed director to really bring in the movie nicely, so how was it having your wife direct you in a movie?"

"Wow, you're really setting me up to fail here, aren't you?" he laughed and you turned to look at him, an interested look in your eyes.

"Sure, well, I really can't say enough good things about her. Both as a director and just as a person, she's got a real talent of making people feel very comfortable and that definitely comes in handy on a movie set. She knows really well when she wants to listen and get ideas from us and when she needs to steer the ship herself a bit more, and I think I'm speaking for everyone here when I say that with her, the vibe on set is always a good one. She's very attentive to things that I would've never thought about that really make the movie what it is and she's very capable of standing at the helm of a movie and saying 'okay, this is what needs to happen and this is how we're gonna do it.' If I already thought the world of her before making a movie with her, I can't really tell you how much I admire her now. It's an embarrassment of riches really," he smiled at you and you returned it.

The audience "awwww"s once more. "Anything else you'll be making soon?" someone shouts suddenly. Everyone on stage laughs, but the interviewer starts talking so you don't have to answer the question.

"Sadly, that's all the time we've got, so give it up for the cast of The Invisible Lights! It was a pleasure having you here today, thank you so much!"

You all got up and waved at the audience before walking off stage.

When you left the stage, Chris came up behind you, circling his arms around you and splaying his palms on your belly.

"That was a close call," he said softly in your ear.

You hummed and leaned back into him. "Yeah, we're lucky the bump isn't visible yet," you smiled and craned your neck in order to kiss him properly.

"You know if it gets too hard, we can cut the press tour short right?" Chris says, looking at you with a worried gaze.

"If you keep saying that after every interview I'm gonna start thinking you don't want to be here," you laughed. "It's fine, really," you reassured him.

"Okay," he smiles and leans down to kiss you once more.

"Hey lovebirds! Didn't we just agree you were professional? Don't ruin that image!" Anthony yelled at you. The rest of the group has already continued, leaving you a little behind.

"Coming!" you both yelled and laughed.

"Can you believe in seven months we're gonna have the most perfect kid on this planet?" Chris asked while he moved to stand next to you and take your hand.

You simply beamed and squeezed his hand in yours. You couldn't wait.

Chris Taglist: @swatson06 @horny-nd-bored @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds @phoebe-21-99 @wintersoldierslut @iceebabies @wanessalopesueiros @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree @kaitcordx25 @bequeening @steve-barry-damon-logan @itscrazycherryblossomcollection @hollandxmarvel @darkwitchfromthesouth

if you wanna join / be removed from the taglist, comment/message me! this is a taglist for Chris and his characters. much love <3

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #director!reader #anthony mackie #melissa fumero #mcu #husband!chris evans

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