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shrubberylogistic · 5 months

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Waking Up Fat

Dawn’s warm light filtered through the curtains, and Lily slowly roused from her slumber. With a sleepy stretch, she lifted an arm, then her back, attempting to sit up. Her body pulsed with a clammy heat, fixed and unresponsive.

Lily tilted her head, mouth dry. Her eyes fluttered open to the ceiling. Something felt funny. Groggy and disoriented, she gently nudged an elbow over the pillow, reaching for her phone. Her arms were heavy.

Too heavy.

Something was up. Lily’s heart raced, her senses ratcheting. Something wasn’t right. She craned her neck, trying to rouse her legs. Gravity strengthened its welcome. The bed creaked beneath her, and it took all of Lily’s strength to crunch her palms, pressing, hoisting a shoulder to the headboard.

Her movements were wearsome, stunted - strapped down, somehow. Lily felt through her bedsheets, under and around. Layers of sloth shifted with her soft, cumbersome frame. She thrust the duvet off, looked down, and froze.

Her body had ballooned, languid and overwhelming. Lily stopped breathing. Her belly loomed - an immense mass that flopped half way to her knees. Her legs creased together where her bedtime shorts had burst open; too tiny to contain her new curves, the few pink scraps left faltering around a snapped, sunken waistband.

A panicked gasp left her lips. Lily shuffled free, kicking her sweaty covers, her hips spilling to the edge of the mattress. She stroked chubby, fidgeting fingers over the contours of vast, foreign curves. Summoning every ounce of strength, she swung her colossal legs over the bedside. The floor trembled as she stood, gripped by arousal, stunned by the pressure on her muscles. She wobbled unsteadily for a moment before grabbing the dresser for support.

Gazing at herself in the mirror, Lily whimpered. Her face, once delicate and angular, was now round and bloated, framed by a cascade of unruly hair. Her pyjama tee was a strap of twisted, fraying threads, banded around her heaving chest. Lily clapped a flat palm to her mouth, blushing. Every movement was an effort. Her breathing came in frantic, laboured wheezes.

She was massive. Not an inch had escaped change. Lily rubbed her eyes, balking at her reflection. Her slender cheekbones had gone. Her neckline had vanished. She had gone to bed slender, shapely, poised and assured. Yet clear as the crisp sky that stretched above the neighbourhood, she’d woken up a quaking, panting blob, shorn of most what she’d been wearing. Her hefty chest hunkered as she peeled off her shirt, casting a marvelling glance at her adopted form. A deep relish, a groundedness, filtered through her stretching, timid skin.

Lily giggled. Tensing her toes, she gingerly made her way to the bathroom, her footsteps resonating throughout the house, thudding on the hardwood floor. She bit her lip at the swing of her gut, quivering at the way it gently kneaded her thighs. The scale was a challenge to see beneath her paunch. Steadying herself with a shaking hand on the sink, she quietly stepped on, scanning the display and confirming her thoughts with a gulp.

350.8 pounds.

Disbelief rallied, engulfing her. Lily let out a moan. A turgid heat took the space between her legs, her mind spinning, her heartbeat soaring, her feet tingling. She was lardy, for the first time in her life. She was a whale. She rested her belly on the sink and let it drop, hanging in a long and lazy curve that filled the bowl to the taps.

Lily crossed her throbbing fingers. Her face was a picture of intense, awestruck wonder. She knew there was more to discover. The simple act of showering felt like a Herculean task. Lifting a huge leg into the tub, she spread her stance, struggling to balance while she twisted the tap. Hot water flowed down her bulky form - a comfort she clung to as she dreamed of the big, wide world outside. She dried her body and towelled her hair, squeezing her arms into a gown that clung to her like a second skin.

Downstairs, preparing the most important meal of the day became an ordeal. The staircase was a heart-stopping descent, knuckles white with every crunching, undercalculated step. The kitchen was a maze of limitations. Wide and ungainly, Lily struggled to stretch for the cupboards - too big-bellied to climb up on the counter like she used to. Every step, every task took longer.

She watched helplessly, beholden to urges as the cereal box slipped out her grip, spilling across the floor. Her ass clipped the cutlery drawer, wobbling as she seized on a knife and fork. Fishing four thick slices of bread from the packet, she was in minutes munching woozily through a clutch of syrup strewn pancakes and slices of peanut butter on toast, smacking her lips, perched precariously on the edge of her old kitchen chair.

Lily took a long draw of milk from the bottle, head in her hand. Even the motion of eating felt different. Her stomach gurgled, and she found herself groaning, turgid and stiff. Lily swallowed a burp, doggedly reducing her breakfast to crusts and crumbs, slurping and inhaling. Sucking her fingers, she gave her belly a friendly pat. She was still so hungry. Reaching for the remnants of the cereal in the box, she took a pudgy fistful, then another, and another, cramming them into her mouth in peals of indulgent bliss.

The thought of ordering in struck her like a thunderbolt…

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andypantsx3 · 6 months

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INCENDIARY | 8 | BAKUGOU KATSUKI x READER

SUMMARY: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it. TAGS/WARNINGS: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort, themes of discrimination, canon typical violence, smut, aged up characters, fem pronouns + afab reader, 18+ mdni LENGTH: 3k, FIC MASTERLIST

For a few seconds, nothing made sense.

There was a rush of heat over your skin, skin-meltingly hot, and an arm around your waist. Then an explosion blew out all the sound around you. Your ears rang, and your hands scrabbled for purchase in Bakugou’s uniform as you were violently jerked backwards.

A rush of cooler air met your skin, and you realized you’d been pulled out of the car just as you watched it swerve and hit a light pole, the glass of the passenger windows shattering. You couldn’t hear the crunch of metal over the muffled ringing in your ears, but you could see the side of the car wrap around the pole, could imagine the metal squealing and screaming.

You were jerked out of the way again just as another rush of flame went flaring past you, so hot it felt like it had singed your skin, Bakugou’s arm curling around you as he aimed an explosion into the flames to blow you clear.

It was a testament to his strength and control that he was able to maneuver you with one arm, even as the two of you twisted midair, holding you tight against him as he caught his balance, bracing to steady you as you tripped wildly over yourself. He yanked you behind a parked car, blocking any clear shot at you, leveling a hand over the roof. Your hands still fisted in his uniform, you whipped around for the source of the flames—

Only to find him clearly, grinning wildly in the middle of the street, watching you over the top of the car.

Matsui looked just like the picture you’d been shown, all those months ago in the police station. He was plain, with dark eyes, thick dark brows and wisps of curly black hair. He might have been any other salaryman in the country, except for the naked hate that hung off his features as plainly as his clothes from his wiry shoulders.

Your heartbeat thudded against Bakugou’s chest, your nails digging crescents into the material of his uniform as a cold thrill of fear went down your spine.

And Matsui wasn’t alone. A jolt went through you as you noticed another figure beside him—a figure you’d last squared off against over the prickly grass of your campus lawn.

It was one of the QRAs. He seemed to be missing his other friends from that night, as the YouTube video you’d rewatched had made it clear you’d been yelling at three men the evening this had all started. And you were at least gratified to note he looked nervous, small and sweating, but the same hatred glowed clear across face.

It was funny, that all these months later, you had never actually learned his name. He was just some faceless jerk to you, a symptom of a cultural disease.

Bakugou’s voice in your ear, slightly muffled, notified you that your hearing was slowly returning to you. “—eyes on Matsui,” he was growling, and you realized he was speaking into an earpiece. “Some other fucking chump is with him, quirk unknown—”

But you knew it. You remembered from the comments of the video that had started this all: my guy out here with a pencil-sharpening quirk and he thinks he’s genetically superior.

“It’s—he can square the tip off of cylindrical objects,” you said, your voice slightly too loud in your own ears. “He was on my campus.”

A blonde eyebrow went up, but Bakugou quickly relayed the info, his eyes never leaving the pair in the middle of the street. “Get Monoma on the fucking cylinder idiot, I’ll get Matsui,” he finished. His mouth went hard as he seemed to listen to something back, grunting in return.

“Alright brat,” he said, turning to you. His tone seemed just a little bit clearer, the gravel in it pronounced. “Genius Office has a bunch of heroes on the way, not that we’re gonna need them for two fucking idiot civilians. Our backup is just a few streets that way,” he gestured in the direction of Matsui and the pencil sharpener guy. “I need you to get around them and make a run for them while I cover you. Can you do that for me?”

Your heart pounded in your throat, and your legs went weaker at the idea of moving out from behind the car. But Matsui had just torched one car—you were sure he’d be at it again in a minute.

You gathered yourself up, nodding. “Yeah. I can.”

At least Bakugou had been putting you through the paces this week so you had some level of exercise under your belt. You suddenly wished you’d had more, though. “I can run,” you said, to reassert yourself.

“Good girl,” Bakugou said, scarlet eyes flickering down to you momentarily. A little smirk touched his mouth, like he knew what he was doing.

You were embarrassed when a feeling like determination surged through you, your body responding to him even at a time like this. You let go of your death grip on his hero costume, testing your legs out under you. Somehow, the burn of your face was helping distract you from the weak, jelly-like consistency of your knees.

A spurt of flame made you jump, but it was just Matsui shaking out his hands, grinning at you over the roof of the car. He seemed to like that he’d scared you, and the guy with the pencil sharpening quirk laughed, pleasure twisting his thin mouth.

“Come on out, drunk girl,” Matsui finally crooned, his tone soft and medial. The sound of his voice made your skin crawl, and you suddenly wished for the deafening ring of Bakugou’s explosions again. “You think you’re my equal, don’t you? Weren’t you just on your way to tell the whole world that? Come on out and show me, little girl. Come out and show everyone how equal we are.”

The little pencil sharpener next to him looked smug, as though his quirk was any match up to Matsui’s either. You glowered at him, lip automatically curling.

“Just fucking run, brat,” Bakugou told you. “‘M gonna rip his intestines out right through his asshole, you’re not gonna wanna see it.”

A horrible little gurgling laugh escaped you. It was reassuring, Bakugou’s confidence. Fear still tingled down your spine but you thought if you started, you’d be able to keep running.

“Tell me when to go,” you breathed, testing your step again.

“Start running left as soon as I get out over this car,” Bakugou commanded. “He’s just some overpowered internet troll, he’s not combat trained. He’ll take the shot at me as soon as he sees me move and it’s gonna hit the right side of the car. It’ll block his visibility and you can get behind that bus stand before he’s done.”

You nodded. “And then?”

“As soon as he takes his next shot you keep going and don’t stop. I’ll handle him from there. Monoma’s in range and he’ll get the cylinder fuck as soon as I can get him clear of Matsui.”

You made a noise of acknowledgement, grateful you had Bakugou’s combat experience on your side. “Okay. Okay. I think I’m ready.”

Bakugou’s gloved fingers briefly touched yours and he nodded. Then he shook out his arms, bracing them behind him. “That’s my girl,” he said, sending a devastatingly feral smirk your way.

You had just a single moment for your heart to trip over itself, a flush breaking out across your skin. And then an explosion ripped apart the pavement behind him.

Immediately, a towering column of flame whirled past and you launched yourself out from behind the car just as you saw Matsui’s figure disappear behind it. The heat distorted the air in front of you, shimmering and waving as you threw yourself through it, tearing down the street as fast as you could.

A roaring explosion from Bakugou’s direction drowned out the slap of your feet, and you slid behind the ads papering the wall of the bus stop just as Matsui’s flames dissolved into the air. You heard another volley of explosions, crackling like fireworks, loud and obnoxious and clearly designed to draw attention.

The clatter of loose gravel pinged off of the bus stand, kicked up by the force of Bakugou’s power. Some of it skidded underneath, bouncing off your shoes in a riot of dusty pebbles and chunks.

You peered back out, trying to judge when to make your next move. You caught sight of Matsui aiming another shot after Bakugou, and your grip reflexively tightened on a piece of gravel, the rough, grainy edges cutting into your fingers. You watched as Bakugou dodged some sort of projectile thrown by the pencil sharpening asshole, too, and then maneuvered quickly as Matsui’s flames blazed to life in his hands.

As you watched, a sudden, overwhelming incredulity seized you. Matsui and the little pencil man were so dedicated to the idea of their own superiority that they were willing to risk life and limb against pro hero Dynamight. Their inflated fucking egos surpassed even quirk supremacy—like they thought they needed to feel truly supreme in all things, even against the firepower of one of the most dangerous pros of all time. Even as Bakugou clearly was just drawing attention and dodging until you were clear of the situation. He was so obviously just playing with them.

It was insane. It was stupid—they were so fucking stupid. They were so unbelievably full of themselves, and a white hot feeling choked you, all-encompassing in its intensity.

A certainty gripped you, like the memory of that night on campus when you’d first encountered the pencil sharpener QRA. It was so reductive, the idea of measuring yourself against someone based on arbitrary traits like strength or quirks. It was the ideology of a child, of an idiot, of someone so insecure in their own place in the world that they needed to dig people out of their own places so they could be insecure too.

But people were better than that. People could learn to be better than that, like Bakugou.

If anyone was lesser in this world, it wasn’t quirkless people. It was people who let themselves act lesser like this in their desire to be more, instead of confronting the reality of their own character.

And you had already proved you were not the type of girl who could keep taking things lying down.

Before you knew what you were doing, your grip was tightening on the piece of gravel. Your vision squared in on Matsui and the QRA, and your arm drew back, hefting the gravel in your hand. And then in a wild fit of emotion, you sent it arcing through the air, spiraling tightly, a messy but certainty-fueled throw.

It hit the pencil guy square in the back of the neck, knocking him into Matsui. Matsui stumbled, and the flames at his fingertips stuttered and guttered out.

Even from a distance, you could read the surprise on Bakugou’s face. An ugly, shocked laugh suddenly escaped him. Matsui quickly staggered back to his feet, wheeling on you.

But then an explosion swept across the street, blowing Matsui and the pencil guy right into the side of a building, your distraction the only opening Bakugou needed. They hit the stone with a dull thud, sliding down in a heap together, the pencil guy letting out a groan.

Bakugou and the hero you recognized as Monoma were there in an instant, strapping quirk suppressors right around their wrists, bearing them down to the ground. As soon as they had, a flood of other heroes and officers came washing out into the street, boots quickly scuffling in their direction.

You watched as officers cordoned off the street, ushering curious civilians back into their homes, and began to document the damage Matsui had caused. Several squad cars and an ambulance rolled into view, their lights sending flashes off of the surrounding windows, and Matsui and the pencil QRA were bundled away into them.

An officer came over to take a statement from you, and you fumbled your way through an explanation, mind still churning. You’d ended it. For all the talk about the superiority of their power, all it had taken was a wild throw from you to make both Matsui and the QRA stumble. All it had taken was the strength of your conviction to give Bakugou the opportunity to disable them for good.

Bakugou stalked over as soon as he’d given his own report, tearing off his gloves with his teeth and stowing them on his belt. His hair was a little windswept, and there was soot along the hinge of his jaw, but he was otherwise unharmed, not even a single burn through the fabric of his uniform. He glowed with the flush of a fight, of a job well done, and you thought he had never looked quite so handsome.

“Nice shot, princess,” he told you, flashing you a wicked white smile, sending a searing heat pooling in your stomach. “Thought I told you to run though.”

But he didn’t seem angry, because then his calloused fingers came up to take your chin, and he seized your mouth in a hard kiss.

You felt yourself flush all the way down to your toes, kissing him back eagerly. You were heady with your own success, with the way Bakugou had looked at you.

“We’re gonna be late for the interview,” you said when he finally let your mouth free.

Bakugou looked momentarily like he would rather bear you back off into the safehouse than let you go to the interview. And you did plan to thank him incredibly thoroughly for the save, once you’d made it back into some semblance of privacy together.

But you had things to say, still. Things to say now especially that you’d shut down a couple more internet trolls so handily. Now that you’d proven the ferocity of their ideology didn’t hold up in the real world—not when regular, everyday people like you had something to say about it.

“Always running that fucking mouth, brat,” Bakugou said, but his tone was nothing but appreciative. He set upon a nearby officer with alacrity, commandeering him and his car to shuttle you over to the studio, stuffing himself in after you resolutely.

He kept a hand on you the entire way, and stalked after you down the halls of the studio, sending the hordes of producers and production assistants into a frenzy. When they finally let you out of hair and makeup after scrubbing all the street grime off of you, he watched you carefully, those eyes hot on you as you settled into the chair opposite your interviewer, his mouth quirked up in a ferociously appreciative smirk.

The interviewer greeted you, and you answered her back, feeling safe and warm and secure under your boyfriend’s watch. And then the interview began, and she prompted you carefully, the same questions you’d been running over in your head for days.

“We’ve asked you here today for commentary on the cultural barriers that quirkless people like yourself face, and the National Diet’s efforts in passing a bill that would help tackle these issues,” she said, nodding at you warmly. “Is there anything you think is especially important for people to know about what it’s like to be quirkless in a society like ours?”

You took a breath in, and reviewed your answer determinedly. You’d bash quirk supremacy the way you had Matsui, like it was a neck and you were a bit of gravel, kicked up in all the fighting.

You leaned in and ran your mouth like you always did. This time, with nothing but firm resolution, assurance, and one admittedly hot, supportive boyfriend behind you.

UPDATE: QUIRKLESS LEGEND TAKES DOWN PRO-QUIRK BIGOT | REACTION Mika Reacts · 2.19M subscribers 3 hours ago · 11:24 · 1,006,041 views Description Hey guys, quirkless girl aka “drunk girl” is back on my channel in a jaw-dropping joint takedown by her and pro hero Dynamight. Right before an interview on New Day Japan yesterday… [SHOW MORE]

karma is a rock, karma is the gravel to ur neck on the weekend greenhopp 3 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 900 [Thumbs Down]

omg they gave him the fucken combo!!!! 🪨💥my man got the 10 piece with a biscuit no drink goddamn Hisa Ota 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 600 [Thumbs Down]

yooooooo remember the time i said she didn’t need a quirk to put one of these bros in a coffin?? dm me if u want ur future told. now accepting venmo and cash app. yeetus deletus 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.2k [Thumbs Down]

END NOTES: We finally made it, guys!! Thank you so much for sticking with this series for what ended up being over 1.5 years, my longest fic span yet, and being patient with me every step of the way. I have said it before but this fic especially has been my biggest challenge, and I am so grateful for the support that helped me make it all the way to the end.

I also want to say thank you again to my sensitivity readers @darkenedniqhts and @cat-slippered for helping me tell this story in the cleanest and most respectful way possible. I would not have tried my hand at anything with themes like these if it wasn't for you guys helping hold me accountable and educating me at key points. I appreciate everything you have done to make both the story and myself better over the course of its telling. I will be forever grateful.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader

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alwritey-aphrodite · 5 months

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hey hey hey!! im definitely back in my hunger games era too— sejanus is literally the love of my life😻 I was wondering if you could write something about snow having to basically force sejanus into asking out reader (shy pookie🥹) and it’s just fluff

if not that’s perfectly fine!! thank you so so much <33

There’s no actual asking out in this one, but I’ll happily write a part two!!

Sejanus Plinth was the closest thing Coriolanus had to a best friend, despite the fact that he’d never admit that to anyone. The boy was kind, thoughtful, smart, a whole laundry list of good qualities that seemed slightly buried under the fact that he was an upstart. Maybe all those good qualities are cultivated in the districts, because Coryo couldn’t think of many other students at the academy who shared Sejanus’s attributes.

Except for you, of course, with your sweet smiles and kind words and exceptional brain, but your cunning and determination to come out on top was all capital. Sejanus was head over heels for you, anyone could see, and everyone did see, if the snickers from Arachne and Festus were to be trusted. Sejanus would never say anything, though, would never make a move, because it seems like his entire brain shuts down whenever you’re near, reducing him to a stuttering, blushing mess.

Coryo had tried his best to let his friend handle it on his own, but there are only so many times he can watch Sejanus’s failed attempts at small talk with you before he considers never coming back to school, if only so he won’t need to pat Sejanus on the back and tell him he did great. After months and months of standing on the sidelines and whispering encouragement, he was taking matters into his own hands.

Walking out of the academy building side by side with Sejanus, Coryo was unsurprised to hear the crunch of footsteps running up behind them, trying to catch up.

“Sejanus!” You called out once you were close enough not to shout for all of the capital to hear, rushing the rest of the way when the boys stop and turn. You're out of breath but grinning, in the middle of shrugging your bag off of your shoulder.

“I found that book you wanted, but I definitely wasn’t supposed to take it out of the library so please be super careful,” you tell Sejanus with a smile, arm outstretched with the aforementioned book in your hand. Your smile falls though as the boy's face clouds with confusion, brows drawing down and a slight pout forming on his lips.

“I didn’t ask for a book,” Sejanus says, too deep into his confusion to be nervous to speak to you and too desperate to remedy the crestfallen expression on your face to realize Coryo was slowly inching away.

“Coryo said you needed it, asked if I could bring it to you,” you explain, the book falling limp in your hand. The two of you turn your attention to the blond boy, who’s only made it a few steps away from you. He shrugs, the picture of innocence and nonchalance, before turning and heading on his way, not even giving you or Sejanus the opportunity to say anything more, let alone goodbye.

“I can take it, though, so you don’t get in trouble,” Sejanus offers after a few seconds of silence, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink from more than just the chill in the air.

“That’s alright, I’ll just bring it back tomorrow,” you stuff the book into your bag before slinging it back onto your shoulders and smiling at Sejanus, grin growing wider when he smiles back.

“Let me walk you home? It gets dark so quickly now and I don’t want you to have any trouble, with the stolen book and all,” he rambles, trying and failing to be casual, but he’s earnest and funny without even trying and really, you’d do anything to spend just a few more minutes with him.

The two of you walk home, hands swinging and dangerously close to touching, and the more you talk, the more Sejanus’s nerves seem to melt away. Sure, he’s still a little nervous and finds you delightfully intimidating, but he’s able to make his way through conversations and he even makes you laugh a few times, a sound he wants to bottle up and listen to for the rest of his life.

Once you reach your door, though, and you press a kiss to his cheek to thank him for taking you home, he’s right back at square one, a blushing mess that takes a minute to process what had happened on your doorstep before he’s able to move again, and all he’s able to think about for the rest of the night is you and what he needs to do for you to kiss him again.

#sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth x you #sejanus plinth fanfiction #sejanus x reader #sejanus x you #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction

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munson-blurbs · 5 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 4 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, lots of crying and worrying, we're basically just an emotional mess, Eddie tries his best

WC: 1.1k

Divider credit to @saradika

April 1999

Emotional is a word you’d previously used to describe yourself in the three or four days leading up to your period. Patience thinner than a thread, eyes misting at movies you’ve already watched a thousand times over—that was par for the course.

And it didn’t hold a candle to pregnancy hormones.

You’re dusting the bedroom furniture, the air fragrant with lemon Pledge. You spray the cleaner onto Eddie’s nightstand, carefully wiping down the wooden surface and twisting the rag over the knobs. Perched in a silver frame is Harris’s school photo from September. He’s sporting a huge grin that looks much different than his current smile; for one, his two front baby teeth are long gone now, his permanent teeth not yet pushing through his naked gums. His hair has grown out from the fresh cut he’d gotten just prior to Picture Day, the curls once again wild and untamed. Though you can’t see it in the picture, you know he’s a few inches taller. Compared to the little boy in the still image, he seems so…grown up now.

Your heart lurches when it dawns on you that you’ll never get those months back. Harris is seven years old now, closer to the beginning of second grade than first. And in just thirty short weeks, he’ll no longer be the youngest Munson.

A single water droplet plops onto the glass covering, magnifying one of his big brown eyes. Another lands on the frame, and then another, and you realize that you’re staining it with your own tears.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” you mumble under your breath, using your shirt’s hem to wipe the glass clean. You see this photo every day, but it suddenly has you choked up, nostrils stuffy as you try to stifle your crying. Thank God no one else is home to witness you being a sniveling mess over something so trivial.

It doesn’t even occur to you that this newfound influx of intense emotions may be due to your pregnancy until a few evenings later when Eddie brings home a VHS copy of The Lion King from Family Video. Your fingers reach for the butter-drenched popcorn, dropping a few kernels in your mouth and crunching down as Scar taunts Mufasa from above.

Harris sits on the sofa between you and Eddie, his hands clamped over his eyes in anticipation of the inevitable wildebeest stampede, as though eliminating his sense of sight will keep Mufasa alive somehow.

Ah, childhood innocence, you think, a wistful smile gracing your lips. You watch as he parts his pointer and middle fingers, peeking between the gaps. One day, he’ll be able to watch this scene without hiding. He’ll be catching movies at the Hawk with his friends, and then on dates, and he won’t want to hang out with his parents anymore…

The tears trickle down your cheeks just as Scar loosens his grip on Mufasa’s paws, watching his brother fall to his death. His brother—what if Harris and the new baby grow up to despise each other? What if Harris resents them for taking the attention away from him? What if the baby develops that younger sibling syndrome where they feel they can never measure up?

“Sweetheart? What’s going on?” Eddie’s concerned voice captures your attention. You turn to him with glassy eyes, noting the amused smile twisting his lips. “Animated lions tuggin’ at your heartstrings?”

Anger surges through you as though a switch has been flipped. You’re bearing the weight of emotion on your shoulders, and he’s on the verge of laughter?

“Is this funny to you?” you snap, rage searing each word. Before he can answer, you’re on your feet and marching into the bedroom, fists clenched at your sides.

Eddie’s right at your heels, one hand grasping at your waist while the other quietly closes the door behind him. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, brushing the moisture from your cheeks. “I’m sorry I laughed at you. I…we’ve seen this movie before, and you’ve never gotten this upset.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you blurt out, prompting a new round of sobs. “It’s sad, but not this sad, and all I could think about is Harris and the baby hating each other like Mufasa and Scar.”

Your husband tucks his lips into his mouth, poorly stifling another giggle. “You…you started crying because you’re worried about a sibling rivalry that doesn’t even exist?”

You can’t help but laugh along with him when he phrases it like that. “Shut up!” you manage through a foreign combination of laughter and tears. “It could happen! They could grow up, become enemies, and—”

“And organize a wildebeest stampede to overthrow the other as King of the Jungle?” Eddie pulls back when your palm meets his chest in a playful shove. “Okay, okay!” he chuckles, holding up his forefinger. “Just one more question: which one of our kids gets trampled?”

“I hate you.” You pluck a Kleenex from your bedside table and dab underneath your eyes, a burgeoning smile quelling your frustration. “My hormones are out of control, and you’re over here having the time of your life.”

He dramatically throws his arms around you, lips pressing to your temple while he chuckles into the kiss. “My emotional little baby mama,” he teases. “Don’t worry, Sweetheart; I think it’s cute. Terrifying, but cute.”

You nod, lacing your fingers with his as he leads you back into the living room. Harris is still laying back on the sofa, fully invested in Timon and Pumbaa’s on-screen bickering.

“Har, where’d your bowl of popcorn go?” Yours and Eddie’s bowls sit on the coffee table awaiting your return, but Harris’ is nowhere to be found.

“Oh, yeah. I ate it all, so I put the bowl back in the sink.”

He says this nonchalantly, eyes never leaving the TV set; regardless, nostalgia washes over you. When you’d first met him, he could barely even reach the sink. Now he’s placing his dishes there on his own without even being asked?

“Don’t worry, Mommy; you don’t need to cry. This is a funny part.” He furrows his brows when your lower lip trembles in response. “You wanna do the breathing?” He inhales and exhales for three seconds each, just as you’d taught him on that fateful Halloween afternoon over two years ago, watching as you do the same. “Better?”

“Mhm. Better.” You kiss his mussed curls, settling back into your original position to watch the movie; of course, not without sobbing when Simba speaks to Mufasa in the stars.

Note to self, Eddie thinks wryly, rent a comedy next week.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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lazyjellyfish300 · 3 months

Text

Fortune Cookies 🥠🖤

Miguel O'Hara x Reader s/o

Gif credits to @miguelo-hara

Just more pure domestic Miguel fluff in your established relationship with him. 😇🤧 No mention of readers gender but he does use the feminine form of precioso at the end. Enjoy 🖤 word count 1.1k

------

You let out a little belch after you took a generous swig of your Dr. Pepper, relishing in the biting sweetness it left in your mouth. You pushed away the takeout container of lo mein noodles and orange chicken slightly away from you on the coffee table.

"Oh God...I can't. I'm so freakin full..."

Miguel glances over at you, sitting next to you on the couch with his Mongolian beef and broccoli. He smiles as you pull the hood from your oversized hoodie over your eyes and lean back on the couch with more overstuffed groans.

"I told you to slow down a little." Miguel says, spearing a broccoli head with his fork and popping it into his mouth. "You were hungry, huh?" he says slightly amused, trying to keep his mouth closed as he chews.

"Yeah. Was..." You take a deep breath and sit up and reach for the white plastic grocery bag from the restaurant with bold red letters, looking inside.

"Can't forget about these though." You wave three fortune cookies in your hand, setting one of them in Miguel's lap.

Miguel raises an eyebrow. "You actually read those?" He closes his takeout container as well, setting it on top of yours.

You look at him, "Whaaaat. You don't?"

Miguel shakes his head. "Hell no. You realize they're usually the most generic phrases that some factory just mass prints and produces and ships out to random restaurants all over? I'll bet you mine says some corny shit like 'Live Laugh Love'."

"Sir!" You give him a gentle elbow into his side and he gives a little sputter at you calling him "Sir."

"Must you absolutely shit all over every single little thing in life that I find absolutely the tiniest shred of joy in?"

Miguel chuckles and looks at you smug. "Yes."

You roll your eyes.

"I suppose you like Astrology too, huh?" He smirks.

"You know, for a Libra, you're wayyy too logistical."

Miguel groans.

"Shush, mister. Let me have my stuff and I'll let you have yours."

Miguel shakes his head and turns his attention to the fortune cookie you put in his lap, turning it in his fingers, his large hands dwarfing the small pastry. "I don't really care for sweets that much. If I open mine, you can eat the cookie part."

You nod at his bargain and watch him open the crinkled plastic, a few crumbs spilling into his lap as he cracks the shell, his thumb running over the tiny scroll of paper that's partially folded on the inside.

"😊Your charming smile is attracting everyone around you😊"

The deadpan way he reads it out loud matched with his bored expression makes you cackle, giggling hysterically.

"Very funny..." Miguel balls up the fortune and tosses it at your head. You snicker when it hits you. "The thing's bogus. I told you." He gets up and puts your leftover boxes in the fridge.

"Nuh uh! Wait! We still gotta do mine!"

You sit up and tear the soft plastic from your cookie and split it in half with an easy crack. You pop one half of the wafer in your mouth. Light vanilla, slightly stale, the sharp edges poke the roof of your mouth and you squint one of your eyes a little as you crunch down. You pick up your fortune scroll reading it while you crunch slowly.

"A vivid and creative mind is just one of your many great attributes."

You smile, "why THANK you, cookie! Hah!" You pop the other half in your mouth, triumphant.

Miguel leans against the wall to the entrance of your kitchen, crossing his arms. "Hmph, clearly, they made that with you in mind. Told you those things are phony."

You turn around, leaning your chin on the top of your couch, peering over at him leaning by the kitchen. "You're not gonna cancel fortune cookies just because they were slightly off on yours and they nailed mine?"

Miguel chuckles a little and walks back to you, joining you again on the couch and slinging one of his strong arms around you. "I don't give a damn about what a vanilla wafer has to say about me."

You smile and hold up the third cookie. "Well, that means we can see what this extra one says then, since you don't care."

Miguel sighs but gives you a gentle look as he watches you eagerly unwrap the final cookie and snap it apart.

"Your love life will soon be happy and harmonious."

Miguel smiles. "I don't need a cookie to tell me that. Besides, it already is." He gives your shoulder a squeeze.

"Awhhh, you!" You smile at him and cuddle a little closer, leaning into his shoulder. The warmth from his body in tandem with your satisfied belly creates a cozy feeling you could get used to.

"I'm serious." He says, taking one of your hands in his, his fingers stretching out over the back of your hand then locking in between yours.

"I know..." you say softly, giving his hands a squeeze as though to emphasize your statement. Honestly, he was your best friend. You could never get sick of doing these seemingly mundane things with him. You knew you were both well on your way to build something much more serious together. You glanced at your vacant ring finger, trying to picture a ring he picked out just for you wrapped around it. He seems to be thinking the same thing, the way he gently lifts your hand, still locked under his, studying the pattern of your skin.

Miguel doesn't say anything but just lets out a deep sigh, his heartbeat stirring quietly against your eardrums as you just hold him.

"Can we watch a movie?" You ask him, running your fingertips along the soft dark hair on his arms.

Miguel closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the soft way you're touching him. "Course we can."

You smile. "I'm picking it this time. I'm sick of all those nature documentaries you like to watch."

Miguel smiles, now drawing circles on your back with his fingers as you lean forward and grab the remote off the coffee table. "You just get upset because the cute little baby deer gets eaten by the wolves."

"That shit is traumatizing!" You chastise him.

"It's nature." He says with a smirk.

"I don't care, I don't wanna see it." You pout.

He presses a kiss into your forehead. "I know, baby. You're so cute. Your pick tonight."

"Thanks baby." You smile and lean back into him as you click through a wide selection of movie titles on Netflix.

"Always for you, preciosa."

-----

🖤

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel o hara fluff #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara fluff #Spotify

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gimyeongbestboy · 6 months

Text

Paparazzi

Pairings: Actor! Sukuna x Singer! Reader; Actor/Model and Husband! Geto Suguru x Designer Wife! Reader

An: I was supposed have Gojo here too, but I haven't decided what Yn's professional career would be. I have his and Nanami's written later if an idea pops in my head.

Content: Mostly fluff, cheating allegations, reader is fem

Actor! Sukuna x Singer! Reader

[Metrobizz: Long time couple Ryomen Sukuna and Y/n have been completely silent. Though it is nothing new for the couple to be away from the public eye when it comes to their relationship, these days and for the future days to come, it seems that the two are reaching the end of their relationship.

About a year and a half ago, Sukuna was spotted with his co-star Yurozu who allegedly have romantic feelings for the male actor. An inside source shared, “Yurozu actively pursues Sukuna despite his constant rejection.” Though it seems that Yurozu may have succeeded in turning his head away from his long time girlfriend, Yn as he and Yurozu were spotted alone together having a day-out together looking cozy.

Neither Sukuna, Yn or Yurozu have made a statement a year and a half ago regarding the situation and have remained silent since then. However, Sukuna and Yn are being spotted less and less from then till now. These days, you’d rarely see them together out in public. Some fans speculate that the couple have broken up in private and never told the public.]

You scrolled through your phone reading the latest article Metrobizz posted bringing up an event that took place about a year and a half ago. At the beginning of the article shows a picture of Sukuna standing in front of Yurozu who is looking up at him with a soft smile on her face. Sukuna stands turned to the side a couple of steps away from her, drinking a can of something with his free hand inside his pocket.

You hear your four month old son made a tiny noise as though he too is displeased with the article. You put your phone down and admired him sleeping in your arms as he let out a yawn and his nose crunched up. You feel someone’s presence come up beside you and asked, “Metrobizz brought that up again?” Who obviously peered at your screen.

“Yeah. They always do that when they have nothing else to talk about.” You laughed at the ridiculousness of the article.

“‘...his long time girlfriend.’ They think you’re only my long term girlfriend then and now. We’ve been married for four years and have a four month old son— keep up Metrobizz.” Sukuna audibly comments from beside you as he puts the plate of food he’s been holding on the coffee table in front of you. The both of you looked at each other and tried to hold in your laughs that came out as fits of giggles trying not to disturb your sleeping son.

Actor/model and husband! Geto Suguru x Designer wife! Reader

You were sitting in front of your vanity inside the walk-in closet you share with Suguru. You’re checking your outfit and make up in front of the giant full body mirror making sure that everything is perfect before leaving for the event that you’re attending with your husband.

“Hey hun, did you see that new article? Metrobizz is all over on people’s business again.” Suguru asked as he walked in. There is an amusement that accompanies his voice, and you don't have to turn around to know that he has a smile on his face.

“Why? What’s it about?” You asked him with a gentle voice as you turned around to face him.

“You look gorgeous sweetheart.” Suguru compliments you as he walks closer to embrace you. He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek as you gently cupped the side of his face.

“Thank you. You look dashing.” You compliment him back and give him a peck on his lips. “So what’s the article that you find so funny?”

“Here, read it.” Suguru says as he hands you his phone.

[Metrobizz: The multi-millionaire designer Yn has been spotted exiting a club holding hands with an unknown man. Photos given by the source shows the two of them being way too handsy with each other as they dance together at the secluded VIP section of the club. Some sources even said that they saw her making out with him.]

You see a photo of you busy making out with the man whose face can not be identified. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and your hand tangled in his hair. You’re bending backwards a little bit as the man you’re making out with leans down to kiss you deeper. His arm is wrapped around your waist as his free hand is also tangled in your short hair. Your face remains stoic as you read further.

[Allegedly, Yn has been getting close with one of the male models that she’s working with, and have even been spotted with said model together outside the workplace. It can not be confirmed if the model she’s working with and the same unknown man she was seen at a club are the same person. However, upon inspection of the photos provided by our source, both men seem to have the same build, height and hands.

Could her marriage with the star-actor Geto Suguru be going stale?]

You look at Suguru in the eyes, and he stares back at you. The silence lasted for a second before the both of you started bursting in laughter. You cling onto each other as you both laugh even harder at looking at the photo Metrobizz had attached. You lean forward as laughter echoes out of you— your long hair falling off your shoulders in the process.

“Omg, hun I can’t. Are they serious?” You ask Suguru, still laughing about the article.

“Apparently so. I can’t believe they used that old photo.”

“Wasn’t this from three years ago? When we went to Brazil?”

“Yeah it is. Anyways, shall we go?” Suguru asked, offering his arm as he tries to composed himself.

“Yes, ‘unknown man’. Let’s make another appearance shall we?”

#jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru x reader #geto x you #jujutsu kaisen suguru #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you

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luveline · 10 months

Note

Hi Jade! I love your writings so much. I often keep them as a treat for my way to work - only if I can be patient.

There is a big thunderstorm right now and I rememberd how when I was little my dad took me in his arms and went to the window to show me I don't have to be afraid of a thunderstorm. That got me thinking about Eddie and Roan. I can really picture them doing this. And r witnesses, maybe before the proposal (somehow I mentally devide their timeline in bevor and after the proposal and moving houses).

I don't know if you would want to write something like that. Perfectly fine if you don't.

hi my love, thank you so much for your request!! i hope you like it! eddie and roan —eddie comforts roan during a thunderstorm. 2k, fem!reader

Eddie knows without looking out of the window that the crunching sound outside is the tires of your car as you park. A slamming follows, then your footsteps hurried in the rain bumping up the stairs. You open the door, ushering in a hail of rain and your funny awkward smile he adores so much, like you're surprised to find him in his own home.

"Hi, sweetheart," you say, rain rivulets racing down your cheeks, "it's raining bad."

"Yeah?" he asks, semi-serious.

He's feeling slovenly today (and pretty much every other day too, though he's allowing himself the indulgence of listening to his wants for once) and so he remains laying down on the couch, but he reaches out with two grabbing hands for you, encouraging you in.

You frown at his teasing, slipping out of your shoes and your coat, and letting them fall as you walk toward him. He knows you aren't so rude as to leave your stuff lying around. You're as eager to see him today as he is to see you, because you've been separated for a few days; you've been at work and your own home, Eddie at Roan's art and crafts summer workshop, both slightly too busy to come and see one another without causing upheaval.

You walk into his arms, which is to say you kneel on the couch and then collapse like a dry sand castle into his chest. You're a grown woman with enough weight to make him groan at your sudden landing. Eddie wouldn't change a thing about you, including your roughness, and he takes your hug in stride.

"I missed you so much," you say, kissing his jaw.

You hadn't meant to kiss his jaw; you go in for a corrective peck against his lips, your smile sticky with clear balm and smelling of oranges, peaches. Sweet, citrusy. Eddie licks his lips when you pull away and beams at the transferred flavour.

"Ew," you murmur, wrinkling your nose even as you smile.

"You taste nice, what can I say?" Eddie looks at you through one eye. "You actually got prettier while you were away, didn't you? I missed you so much I made you prettier."

"You have freaky mind powers," you say agreeably, pressing another quick kiss to his cheek. He must shine in the light from all the spread gloss.

"It's really raining out there. Did you get that leak fixed last time?" you ask.

Eddie puts an arm behind his head and looks up at the ceiling. "Ah, she'll be okay. It can't get that bad again, can it?"

You try to cover his mouth and prevent his jinx, but it's too late. Within five minutes, the rain has turned to a hammering spatter against the roof and ceiling of Eddie's home, and the windows shake in their frames as the wind howls.

You ease to one side of Eddie to take your weight off of his chest and the two of you peer out at the quickly darkening sky, perturbed but nothing anymore severe at the suddenness of the weather.

"Maybe that's why it's been so warm," he suggests, trailing a fingertip down your back. "It was waiting to break."

"The heat?" You rub your cheek against his shoulder, and take a sneaky breath in that Eddie pretends he doesn't notice.

"Isn't that what it is, the pressure? Weather systems? Cyclones?"

"Sorry, handsome, buzzwords won't turn me into a weatherologist." You put your hand on his cheek and rub the pale, stubbly skin beneath it with an adoring thumb. "I bet you're right. Do you have enough stuff to survive if we get rained in for the weekend?"

"Sure. Got a whole crock pot of stew going, with tiny carrots and pearl onions and the works. Sautéed, by the way."

"Sounds delicious," you say, smiling down at him like he's hung the moon. He'll never, ever get sick of the sweetness with which you see him. "Can I try some?"

"It should be done now if you want me to fix you a bowl."

You climb off of him as carefully as you're able to, so you almost jab him in the crown jewels. You're sorry kiss makes up for it, and better the little sound of happiness you make from the kitchenette after your first taste of stew. You eat another spoonful quickly, and Eddie's content to let you do as you like as long as you keep smiling like that.

He's thinking Roan's been suspiciously quiet for a while when his daughter miraculously appears. She looks exactly like him, though Roan has a slightly different nose. Her dark eyebrows are pulled down and in, her little pink lip pouted out.

"What's up?" he asks gently, always sorry when she's unhappy. He clambers up into a sitting position and holds out his arms. She rushes forward, burying her face in his KISS shirt without a sound. "Ro, what's wrong?"

He pet's her hair out of her face. She whispers something, but Eddie can't hear her. He ducks his head and whispers too. "What's wrong? I can't hear you, you're so quiet. Shout at me, please."

"I don't like the storm."

Eddie's eyebrows rise in realisation. "Ah, I know. Sorry, baby, I should've come to see if you were okay, you don't like the loud noise, huh?"

"It flashed, dad."

"Did we have lightning?"

"It was really bright, and then the sky cracked."

Eddie rubs the short stretch of her back, her grubby t-shirt bunching under his hand. He decides that's as good a distraction as any he'll get and hugs Roan to his chest as he stands. "Let's put pyjamas on. Wanna say hi to Y/N first?"

Roan perks up when she sees you. You're caught red-handed, still standing at the kitchen eating spoons of stew over your hand, but neither Munson cares. You waylay them with cheek kisses and offer to plate up dinner. Eddie things it's a great idea.

"Before she eats it all," he murmurs to Roan cheekily.

You harrumph, but the emphasis is lost on account of your full mouth. Eddie's kidding, but if you did want to eat that whole crock pot he'd let you, he likes you that much. Or, he'd let you given you save enough for Roan. She loves loves loves pearl onions.

He wrangles her into new pyjamas and brushes out her hair, but Eddie's affection and hugs can't hide bellowing rain and thunder, and by the time he's braided her hair out of her face in loose pigtails she's shaking in his lap.

"It's really scary, is it?" he asks.

"It's so loud," she says, her voice tenuous as a string of silk. Eddie senses a bout of tears approaching. "Daddy, I don't like it, I want it to go away."

Eddie bundles her up into his arms again and carries her slowly back into the living room. You frown at them as they pass the kitchenette, concerned by Roan as she hides her face in Eddie's front.

He pats her back, swaying her from side to side. Eddie can't make the rain stop, and he can't quieten thunder, but he can comfort her. He can explain it so it feels less huge and out of reach.

"Baby," he says, approaching the window. "Have a look. It's okay, I promise, just have a look."

Roan brings her head up reluctantly.

"See all that? It's not scary if you don't want it to be." Rain hits the window, the sound dulled by walls but still abrasive. He turns his body so Roan can see the huge dark clouds above them. "I know the clouds are scary because they're dark, but they're dark because they're full of so much water. The water comes out, and the clouds go white again, that's all it is."

"What about the banging?" she asks, wide eyes glassy as she peers between the window and her dad's patient smile.

"You know lightning, the big white flash? The lightning moves through the cloud so fast that it makes a loud noise, but it's not mean. Think about if me and you were running real fast down the hallway. Our footsteps would be loud, but we'd be having so much fun we don't think it's bad."

Roan looks out at the rainy road and field outside of the trailer window. She's pouting.

"Like a sponge?" she asks quietly.

"Want to go look?"

"Outside?" she asks, shaking her head vehemently. "No, dad."

"No, in the sink! In the sink, I'll show you."

Eddie carries her to the kitchen. You're looking at him with hearts for eyes, and he has no idea what it's for but he sends you a joking wink. He props her on the counter, his hand on her knees to stop any accidental slipping, and passes her the sponge.

"Alright, RoRo, you have the sponge and hold it under the water." He flicks on the cold top. Roan holds it under the water, watching intensely as it starts to darken. "Now squeeze it, all the colour goes away."

She squeezes it. Cold water splashes the side of the empty sink basin and it sounds loud in the relative quiet of the kitchen. "It's like the thunder," she says.

"Exactly!" He rubs her little shoulder. "Wanna try the sponge again?" he asks.

It's simple, but it helps her calm down, and his explanation is seemingly good enough. Roan doesn't suddenly start to enjoy the awful banging of thunder or the rain as it batters the metal roof, but she isn't petrified to tears anymore, and after a nice warm dinner she turns too lethargic to worry.

You and Eddie sit together on the couch, Roan in his lap, dozing. You've changed into the pyjamas you keep in his top drawer, the fabric soft against his naked arm. You don't have a designated drawer and Eddie kind of loves it, all your things mixed in with his like you live here with them. You should. He's asked you twice, but you've turned him down gently each time, unafraid to be be honest about how you feel: I love you, Eddie, and I don't want us to rush into things, don't want to be the evil stepmom stealing her space and her dad.

One at a time, then, he'd joked. First we'll get married.

"You did a really amazing job, earlier," you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you've never looked so pretty, not ever.

"When?" he asks, voice warmed by affection, a stickying fondness like the word has been coated in honey.

"When you were explaining the rain to her. You're always patient. You're just as lovely as she is."

He stares at you for too long. Seconds upon seconds, his eyes tracing the cuve of your nose, the bow of your top lip, and the softness of your jaw, up to your eyes again.

"You're the nicest person I ever met," you say.

"Hey, don't go spreading that around," he warns, faux-fierce.

You're answering laugh is like silver sewn into the air, one slow loop of your breath at a time. Eddie can't believe it, this life, his girl in his lap and his love on his arm, warm and cosy and waiting out the storm without any worries at all.

"Luckiest guy on earth," he says, kissing your hairline tenderly. "That's me."

"Luckiest, kindest, prettiest–"

"If you're gonna do this all night me and you are gonna have a problem."

You burst out laughing. Roan rouses on your chest, joining in on instinct, her giggles tiny and tired. "What's funny?" she asks hoarsely.

Eddie scoots forward in his seat to grab her drink.

"We're just happy," he explains.

Super, uber happy, even with the bad weather.

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spockandawe · 1 year

Text

You know what I can't get enough of? Speculation about what the fictional novel Proud Immortal Demon Way says about its fictional author. Because it would be completely possible to make a story like this without that connection. I'm not sure I've read any other transmigration story where the author was a character, so just that addition adds a lot of interesting texture to the situation even without getting deep in the author's head, but it's so interesting how deep I can speculate in so many directions if I think about getting in his head.

And oh man, I could talk for AGES about how Shang Qinghua and his iconic protagonist reflect each other, but a lot of people have written about that already! Including in the medium of fic, which is my favorite way to consume that kind of crunch. So let's talk about familial neglect and mistreatment and the author's favorite character.

Honestly, when I look at how iconic this ship is, I'm astonished there aren't more hit novels where the author gets yeeted into their own book and has to navigate platonic or romantic relationships with their own characters. A lot of the parallels between Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe are about them being alike in ugly and vulnerable ways, ways I don't think either of them likes about themselves, and regarding aspects of their personalities that I don't think they'd be happy discussing period. Like, Binghe very much hates himself, that's right there on the page. And Shang Qinghua is a ridiculous character, he's very funny, but he's also not stupid. He's very aware of who he is and what he is, and makes a decision to behave the ways he does. I'm typing this up because I was scrolling through an old chat looking for something and tripped across a conversation about shang qinghua and fawn trauma response.

He knows he does this thing! He has an easy opening to turbokill Mobei-jun while he's unconscious and decides to go the route of begging for his life and trying to ingratiate himself after Mobei-jun wakes up instead, which is a much trickier process. He says it himself, that Mobei-jun is his ideal, that he embodies everything Shang Qinghua wants to be, that etc. And that's hilarious and all, especially in light of the eventual romance and the clownery it takes to get there, but in classic svsss fashion, it also becomes a lot sadder when you add up all the pieces and see everything Shang Qinghua hates about himself.

In some ways he's an even more avoidant narrator than Shen Qingqiu, he deflects and jokes like a motherfucker, so it really is a matter of assembling all the pieces and seeing where there are gaps. But what really underscored the connection for me was Mobei-jun's reaction to parental neglect. Because that's what pushed Shang Qinghua into being an author in the first place, his parents divorced and remarried and kinda just.... forgot about him.

Mobei-jun's dad doesn't exactly do that, but he is operating without a mom in the picture, and rather than remarrying, he just chooses to ignore the thing where his shitty brother is persistently trying to kill his son. That really sucks! But Mobei-jun never shows the smallest hint of weakness or vulnerability over this, even when it would have really helped to use his words, like 'hi my uncle is coming to kill me and i trust you to protect me.' He's everything cool, aloof, arrogant, proud, all a bunch of adjectives that really do not apply to Shang Qinghua. Mobei-jun honestly looks like a boring character if you just stick to the main story, because he's so self-contained and controlled. Compare and contrast to Shang Qinghua, who accidentally outs himself as a transmigrator like two minutes after showing up and proceeds to be hilarious for the rest of the book.

(Brief aside to say that I don't think Mobei-jun is necessarily a happier or healthier person for all of this, lmao. The conversation that fawn reaction thing came from was talking about freeze (tee hee) versus fawn in response to threats or stressful situations. But that goes along with the svsss theme of people used to engaging with this universe as a fictional property coming to terms with the depth and complexity of other people's emotions and not just seeing them as simplistic not-real characters in a book)

(Additionally, this makes the ship hilarious as a take on 'opposites attract,' but also it gives me actual Emotions that Shang Qinghua's ideal who he wishes he could be, purely incidentally, he is able to value and love Shang Qinghua in a way that Shang Qinghua can't and doesn't seem to totally understand)

And what's very interesting here. Is that Shang Qinghua made these two characters, Luo Binghe and Mobei-jun. His protagonist ultimately reflects a lot of his own vulnerabilities and insecurities (secretly and quietly in pidw, much more.... overtly in svsss), and Mobei-jun corrects for his vulnerabilities and insecurities. He's the person Shang Qinghua wishes he could be, which is basically... the opposite of Shang Qinghua, to an almost comical degree. And he then gives Mobei-jun the VERY BEST plot armor he can devise. It's hard for a male character to exist near a stallion protagonist without getting swept up in rivalries/suspicions/etc and getting killed by the protagonist, but he makes sure that his favorite character is safe from these things. He's protecting the character he wishes he could be from the character whose faults most reflect his own. That is very sweet and weird and sad, and that's very reflective of the svsss experience, I think.

#mobei jun #svsss #shang qinghua #moshang

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carlyraejepsans · 10 months

Note

Oh great The Sans Artist Ever, please give me your wisdom. How do you make Sans look so convincingly middle aged? Try as I might I feel my vibes fall short..

my wisdom, huh? hey, give me some credit. this is highly specialized knowledge, it takes YEARS to master...

just kidding. biscia's middle aged sans guide. attempt numero uno. here we go.

step one. draw sans like you normally draw him. hey, good job. that's a nice picture you have there. but... it sounds like it's not quite hitting the mark, huh? welp. let's set it aside and try something different.

here's some of my "hot tips" for ya

shrink the eyelights, but not the whole 'socket. or, uh, make the eyesockets bigger and leave the 'lights? help me out here.

you see this a lot with official merch art, but they make the sockets droop down at the sides. it's not 100% sprite accurate, but hey, the bloodhound look works pretty well at making him look older. it's not for everyone though, so just give it a shot.

speaking of eyesockets... don't forget your 'bags under your seat. it's funny. with all the time they play that message, you'd figure people would remember, but lots of artists out there leave the eyes at two black circles. who knows, maybe they don't think it's important, but eyebag to differ.

another big thing a lotta artists change is the nose. which is weird, cause technically he doesn't have one. anyway, the ^ shaped ones are nice and all, but they can push the result closer to baby-faced than you intended. pick up the canon sprite again... pretty solid triangle, right? it's also, uh, a lot bigger than most people draw it. maybe try doing that. you might have to space the eyes apart more, and shrink the mouth too. try out different proportions, see what looks best.

make the mouth more angular. trust me, i used to love the bean mouth, but it can shave more than a couple years from his face. that being said, don't forget the cheeks squishing at the corners. not a lot of chances out there to put lines on a face with no skin, but this is one of 'em.

shorter legs, wider shoulders. really get in that pocket sized refrigerator mindset.

now we get to the fun stuff. some people might call this a "beer belly", but actually, it's just overgrown muscles spilling over. huh..? what's that face supposed to mean? it takes a HUGE amount of training to sit at your post and do nothing all day. there's a reason they call it job "crunching", kid. unfortunately, your "mad gainz" aren't counted on your monthly report. don't bother asking. i tried it and they laughed me outta town.

1/4 head to body ratio max. you can push it further, i guess, but it starts to look off pretty fast. when in doubt, go wider, not taller.

welp, that's pretty much it. you're welcome, by the way. let me know how that goes for ya

#answered asks #undertale #sans

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scarlettromanov · 1 year

Text

Business as Unusual - Chapter 2: The Contract

pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanov x Reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings(18+only): brief mentioning of Steve Rogers; eventual kate bishop; CEO! Wanda Maximoff; Brief mentioning of Stephen strange; Jealousy; Dom/sub; Domestic Fluff; Eventual Smut; Hurt/Comfort; Childhood Trauma; Mob Boss Natasha Romanov; Smoking; Food; Caffeine Addiction; mention of drugs; Alcohol; Mentions of Violence; mob wife Wanda Maximoff; Angst; NO CHEATING!; all parties communicate; brief Stephen strange slander

Chapter Two: The Contract

The afternoon sun drapes across you as you lay in bed. Absent-mindedly you flip through a copy of the newspaper. The driver said you could take it. You needed to prove to Wanda that you had read something right? The material is dry though. After flipping past the sports section you quickly look over the business section.

A picture of Natasha and Wanda stares up at you. Natasha’s arm wrapped around Wanda’s waist. Wanda wearing a red turtleneck sweater underneath a black blazer. Her hair is curled perfectly. Natasha wears a black jumpsuit, a deep v extenuating her figure. Their wedding bands are clearly visible. Wanda is staring lovingly at Natasha, and Natasha is staring straight at the camera with a small smirk. As if to say “don’t you wish you were me?”

Maybe- yes you would like to be Natasha, or Maybe you’d like to be Wanda. Both women clearly had an effect on you, but you couldn’t deny the small twang of jealousy as you stared at Natasha's hand wrapped around Wanda’s waist. You wished that she would hold you like that.

You sigh, and briefly skim the article. Sales were up 75% from the last year. You knew this. You crunched numbers for Steve all day. Although your salary was subpar, you felt a sense of pride knowing you worked for a successful company. After perusing a few more articles you flip to the funnies, and laugh at the latest Garfield comics. Truthfully, you wanted to look at the comics first, but you couldn’t report to your boss that you read The Song of Achilles for the fifth time. The business section seemed like the next best option.

The rest of the day goes by slowly. Your nap is cut short since you are unable to stop replaying the events of the morning in your head. Tossing and turning, you day dream about the way her fingers brushed against your cheeks. Running clumsy fingers over the bandage on your chin. It’s not until you wince from the residual pain that the daydream ends.

After failing to sleep you take a walk in the park, like Wanda told you to. The feeling of the sun hitting your cheeks has you feeling light on your feet. You really can’t remember the last time you took a leisurely stroll. If you were being honest with yourself, your life had become train ride after train ride between work and the city. Ever since your breakup six months prior, the weekends felt like long gaps of time filled with binge watching shows, and going to the laundromat. Speaking of which, you desperately need to do a load of laundry this weekend. You finish up the day with a good old fashion bowl of Ramen Noodles, and then settle into bed. The small dragonfly night light in the corner of your bedroom helps calm your nerves, as you drift to sleep.

The next morning you are dressed, and about to head out the door when the buzzer to your apartment goes off. You wonder if you should answer it, but decide against it. Absolutely not wanting to be late to see Wanda this morning. The elevator is out again, so you take the stairs two at a time down the 8 flights.

Stopping dead in your tracts you notice the very expensive Rolls Royce parked outside.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” A man in a suit asks as you attempt to sneak your way past him. Skidding to a halt, you turn and look at him. He wears a pair of ray bans that hide his eyes. His expression is unreadable.

“Depends on who’s asking?” You ask giving him the side eye. The dark haired man is about six feet tall, but you gazed up at him unafraid to back down.

“Ms. Maximoff ordered the car.” He says shrugging, jerking his thumb back at the Rolls Royce Phantom behind him. You peer around him at the sleek black car. Not comprehending what exactly was going on here.

“Wanda what?” The words falling from your lips in disbelief.

Just then your phone buzzes in your pocket. Instinctively you reach for it.

From: Unknown

Public transportation is unsafe for a good girl like you.

See you soon. Let me know what to have MJ pick you up from Russo’s. - W.M.

Your mouth falls open as you look up from your phone at wannabe Men In Black. Wanda ordered a driver to get you to work this morning? Swallowing, you try to find your voice, attempting to muster up some kind of confidence.

“Tell me your name.” You tap your phone against his chest lightly. He doesn’t seem phased by your nosiness. His medium length brown hair is scraggly at his shoulders. It doesn’t quite fit the rest of his persona at the moment.

“James.” He quirks a half smirk.

“James, thank you. Cars make me nervous, please get me to Wanda safe.” He fully smirks at you now, looking over the tops of his sunglasses. Revealing a set of sparkling blue eyes.

“You got it, Ms. Y/L/N”

He opens the door for you, and you slide in with ease. The smell of leather fills your nostrils. James ignites the engine, and pulls away from your apartment. Staring at Wanda’s message. You type one reply. Delete it. Type another reply. Delete it. Finally you hit send.

Not even a minute later your phone buzzes again. Your heart does a kick flip in your chest. Wanda sent another message.

You let her last message sit out in limbo. It wasn’t that you didn’t like breakfast. It was the fact that eating with Wanda made you feel like there were golf balls in your stomach. Resting your head back, you just hope that Wanda didn’t have pancake breakfast waiting for you.

Half an hour later, James pulls up outside of the office, and turns to look at you. He removes his sunglasses and gives you a smile. He’s pretty handsome.

“Have a good day, Y/N. Have Wanda call me if anything comes up.” You thank him, and open the door. You had to admit that you sort of felt cool rolling up to work on time in a fancy car. Co-workers probably thought you were ubering to work.

If only your clothes matched your little fantasy. Quickly you make your way into the building. Ignoring the anxiety that you felt knowing you were working directly with Wanda. You let the giddiness wash over you. Without hesitating you hit the elevator button and take the ride up to Wanda’s office. The doors of the elevator open, and you step out with more pep in your step than you felt in months. Absent-mindedly you chew on your lip from the subtle anticipation.

MJ was already at her desk, her brow furrowed as she squinted to read her computer screen. Her glasses sit perched on her head, and you wonder for a moment if you should tell her. She looks up at you, and her smile lights up.

“Good Morning, Y/N,” Her voice sounds chipper enough for 8:45 a.m. on a Thursday. Either way you are glad to see your potential new friend.

“Morning, MJ,” You smile back at her as you approach Wanda’s door.

“You take bright and early very literally,” She giggles, and you nod your head giving her a sheepish smile.

“I am a very dedicated employee,” You mumble, followed by a small laugh, before reaching up to give Wanda’s door 3 small knocks. Your skin is buzzing in anticipation. Heart sitting in your throat as you hear the clicks of Wanda’s Heels heading straight towards you. The door swings open, and her green eyes meet yours.

“Good Morning, Y/N. Come in,” She’s pleased with you being early. She gestures for you to enter. From behind you Wanda lifts the straps of your backpack from off of your shoulders, and lowers it to the floor next to her desk. Before you sit down at the desk, you hear Wanda’s heels retreating towards the coffee table and sofa. So you turn to follow her. She sits in the armchair opposite of you, and you eye up the array of fruit and croissants. Silently, you thank her for not getting pancakes. Attop of of a small black and red coaster you see it. Your black coffee. You lick your lips as you can smell its aroma in the air. Was it obvious to Wanda that you were a caffeine addict?

“How was your ride into town? Cozy?” Wanda asks with a smile. Her red lipstick looks fresh, and you wonder what brand she uses. The drugstore brand that you used on special occasions rubbed off almost immediately.

“Yes! Thank you again. You definitely did not have to do that,” You blush as her actions mean more to you than you think she realizes.

“Like I said, public transport isn’t safe. It gives me peace of mind knowing you’ll arrive here every day.” She crosses her legs, flipping her hair over her shoulder again. You notice that she does this whenever she wants to come across as nonchalant. You ignore her attempt to set you at ease. You desperately want to know why she cares this much about your well-being. For now though, you nod your head, and grab a few pieces of sliced kiwi from the tray. Wanda’s eyes light up seeing you attempt to eat.

“Is this alright? I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat in the mornings.” She gestures to the trays of food.

“Oh. Y-yeah. I’m not much of a breakfast person. I love fruit though,” You pause, and grab a croissant from the tray, placing it onto your plate, “And croissants actually are my favorite pastry. ” You smile, breaking open the pastry to reveal the dozens of layers of butter and pastry. They were fresh, and you could tell. Wanda eyes you with a warm smile. She reaches for her drink, and takes a sip. She closes her eyes, and you can tell that she’s enjoying this moment of bliss.

“What kind of drink did you get?” You ask when she opens her eyes again. To your surprise her cheeks turn the slightest tinge pink. Wanda Maximoff, embarrassed? You silently bask in how cute she looks when she blushes.

“Would you judge me if I said a lavender oat milk latte?” Wanda says, looking away from you. You giggle, it should have been obvious to you that she was drinking a beverage so queer coded.

“So you are judging me.” She quirks an eyebrow at you, and you try to stifle your laughter.

“No! No! I just should’ve known,” You wave your hands trying to let her know that you’re being playful.

“I’m confused,” Wanda’s Sokovian accent bleeds through for a moment, and you notice. Ignoring how adorable she’s being, you attempt to explain,

“It’s… you know… queer.” You do a little flick of your wrist. Hoping she understands the gesture, and that the age gap between you two isn’t going to ruin the moment. You take a sip of your coffee now feeling just how dry your mouth felt from the nerves.

“Well that would explain why I've had people slip me their number after I’ve ordered this drink.” You inhale suddenly from the way her words throw you off. Unfortunately you had been in the middle of sipping your coffee. Immediately you choke on the liquid. Wincing at the burning sensation in your throat. This is what you get for attempting to drink a scalding hot drink without waiting for it to cool. Wanda jumps to her feet to help you. You hold up a hand.

“I’m fine- I’m fine!” You assure her, but the look of worry doesn’t leave her eyes. Clearing your throat a few times, still trying to push down the giggles

“Is it that funny to believe that someone would hit on me?” Her voice is completely serious. Heart sinking into your ass and you fall silent. Giggles long forgotten. With burning cheeks you look down at your hands again. This is it, she’s going to fire you for being an asshole. You think to yourself. Shame filling your thoughts.

You bite your bottom lip, and then reply, “No, I can believe it.” Meaning it since you know you would hit on her if you had an ounce of confidence (and obviously weren’t already her employee).

“I’m screwing with you, Y/N.” Wanda’s replies, a smile in her voice. When your eyes meet she winks at you. Of course she’s screwing with you. Wanda always found a way to make you squirm. A small part of you knows that she loves to see you flustered. Your brain couldn’t help but short circuit when she would wink at you; make a joke at the copier, or by making faces at you during staff meetings ( when you both were clearly not listening ).

“Relax, Sweetheart.” Taking a few deep breaths you feel the blush disappear from your cheeks.

“So now that we’ve established that my drink is extremely gay. Let’s get to business.”

You nod, and stand to grab a piece of paper and a pen. Wanda reaches down to her bag, and pulls out a stack of documents. She leans forward, and places the document gingerly into your hands. It’s a nondisclosure agreement . Your eyebrows knit together, and you absentmindedly sit back down on the couch.

“Wanda, why am I signing an NDA?” Wanda places a few pieces of fruit onto her plate, and plucks a grape in between her thumb and forefinger. She eyes you with a look that you can’t quite understand. Her tone is serious when she replies,

“Do you trust me?”

You don’t hesitate before replying, “Absolutely.”

“Sign the document,”

You stare down at the stack of papers, and flip through it. Once, and then again for good measure.

“Always crossing your t’s and dotting your i’s. Very thorough,”

You didn’t know how to tell Wanda that your dad is an attorney. Growing up, despite his general dislike of you, your Father made sure to stress the importance of reading a document before signing it. Right now though, you push his words out of your head. Clicking your pen, you sign on the line above your name.

“Thank you,” Wanda says before taking the document to her desk. You can feel the questions dancing behind your lips, and she notices.

“You are my personal assistant, and data analyst for Natasha and I’s affairs.”

You raise your eyebrows. If you were Wanda’s personal assistant, what did that make MJ? That poor girl probably needs this job more than you do.

“What about MJ?” Your voice is full of worry.

“MJ is my company secretary, you will be filling in the gaps for any other needs Natasha and I have.”

Natasha? Your heart rate speeds up at the thought of Natasha telling you what to do, and when to do it. You mull over her words, honing in on her choice of words. MJ was her company secretary, does that mean your work was outside of company limits?

“What are my hours?” You ask, running a sweaty hand through your hair. Your palms are clammy, but you don’t want to jump to conclusions.

“You will be on call for me and Natasha. When we call, you answer. This isn't a company position, Y/N. You do understand that, don’t you?”

Does this mean you were fired from your old position? Picking at your cuticles, You cross your legs, squeezing them together. Feeling hot tears well in your eyes. You blink them away. No, not here, not in front of the one person you so desperately wanted to impress. She could not see you like this.

“I can’t believe I got fired.” Your voice is full of emotion. Self Deprecation setting in quickly. Wanda shifts in the arm chair across from you. You refuse to look up at her sudden movement. Your cuticle begins to bleed as you pull on a hangnail. The world grows smaller as you retreat into yourself. Wanda moves to the seat next to you. She places a reassuring arm over your shoulders. She smells of vanilla and honey. Her closeness comforts you.

“You’re not being fired. You have a choice. You can continue to work for Steve,” Wanda pauses, giving your shoulder a squeeze, “or you can quit and work for me and Nat. The choice is yours, dear.” You lean into her with a bit of your body weight. She doesn’t shy away from contact. If anything, the grip on your shoulders tightens. A choice between crunching numbers all day for Steve Rogers, possibly never moving up in the company. Stuck under someone else's thumb. This offer from Wanda felt like a step up somehow. And despite not being much of a materialistic person, you cannot deny that a chance of a raise sent a thrill through you. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, feeling the slow rush of excitement setting in.

“I choose you and Natasha.”

“Good choice, honey.” She winks at you again before turning to wrap her arms around you. Your head rests briefly on her shoulder. Wanda pulls away, her hands resting on your upper arms, thumbs stroking back and forth. Your eyes lock for a brief moment, as you smile at each other. Wanda’s mouth hangs open the slightest bit with a smile.

Wanda’s office door opens, and you jump in your seat. It breaks you out of your trace, but Wanda doesn’t move. Her fingers are still stroking your arm.

“Good Morning, my love,” Wanda’s voice is full of love as you both look over to see Natasha. She is breathtaking in high waisted black trousers, and a low cut satin white blouse. The clicks of her stilettos barely audible as she moved. Her curly red hair pulled in a braid down her back. For a moment you felt like the world stopped as you took her in. Sure, Natasha had hired you. But if you were being honest, when you knew she was going to be in the office you would purposely stay glued to your desk. Steve would have meetings with her in his office, and she would always be sure to say hello to you.

“Good Morning,” Natasha’s voice is always throaty and low. She pauses before making her way over to you and Wanda, “I see that you’ve already started, I’m sorry for being late.” She leans down, and kisses Wanda. You divert your eyes, not wanting to seem like a pervert.

Wanda said nothing to you about Natasha being here this morning. Natasha settles herself in Wanda’s arm chair. Carefully she takes a manicured hand and picks up a strawberry from the fruit platter. Her cherry red lips wrap around the berry, and she hums in delight. Your hands, which are still on Wanda’s arms, tighten as you watch Natasha. She pats your arms with her hands, and releases you.

“Let’s get the paperwork together, and then we’ll get you settled.” Natasha sets the leaf of the strawberry on a napkin. Before sitting back in the chair. Her arms resting lazily on the arm rests, as she looks at you. Meanwhile you have a death grip on your thighs. Wanda holds up the signed NDA, making it clear to her wife that your lips were legally sealed. Natasha nods her head with a smile.

“So Y/N, how does it feel to be free of grandpa Steve?” Wanda stands, and passes by Natasha. Wanda ran a love hand up Natasha’s extended arm. You stare at Natasha, convinced that your face is the color of a cherry tomato. Her eyes clearly amused at your flustered state.

“Well, I don’t think I’m going to have to teach either of you how to work Excel. So it’s definitely a step up.” You mutter.

Natasha lets out a low chuckle. She is the picture of ease sitting in her chair. Her confidence radiates off of her, and part of you feels a bit envious.

“You’re right, Wands,” she says before taking a sip of her own coffee, “she is funny,” Wanda hums in response, as she carries another stack of documents over to you. She sits down next to you. Your legs brushing up against each other lightly. To your surprise it’s Natasha who speaks next. Your eyes lifting to meet her green orbs. Her features have gone completely neutral. So different from the playful woman who sat before you just moments before. Wanda lays the contract on the coffee table at your knees.

“Read the contact over, carefully,” Natasha waits for you to nod your head before continuing, “Your salary, living arrangements, days off, are your decision. However, I will not pay you over $150,000 a year, and you cannot take more than 3 months off a year. Your choice of apartment must be within two blocks of Wanda and I.” Natasha’s voice hangs heavy in the air. Has the room always been this humid?

You think you’re going to be sick from the rush of adrenalin. $150,000 a year and moving? You were barely making $40,000 in your current position, and your lease wasn’t up for another six months. Wanda notices the shift in your body language, and places a gentle hand on your back. Her thumb rubs circles into a knot in your lower back, and you fight the urge to squirm under her touch.

“Read it over, dear,” Wanda’s voice is soft in your ears, and obediently you pick up the contract.

This agreement establishes The Terms of Employment between the following parties:

Wanda Maximoff-Romanov and Natasha Romanov (Referred to as Party 1)

And

Y/N Y/L/N (Referred to as Party 2)

Party 2 is herein referred to as a “The Assistant’’ and is set forth to be available to Party 1 on a 24 hour; 365 day basis.

The parties hereby agree to the following provisions as the terms and conditions of The Assistants Employment :

The Assistant must live within walking distance of Party 1’s home apartment;

Party 1 is to help The Assistant settle into her live quarters under the terms of the contract;

Neither party may discuss the contents of the contract with any unapproved persons;

The Assistant is to keep all personal matters which involve Party 1 confidential unless Party 1 approves of the individual ;

Clothing

Food

Material Indulgences

Affection

Open Communication

You continue to flip through the Agreement, digesting that you will have to move in order to fill this position. What will your father think? You wonder briefly before you remind yourself that if your father wanted to have an opinion on your life then he would have to be an active participant. Rather than a judgmental asshole who swoops in to kick you when you’re already down. The reminder of his very existence has you grappling for a pen.

“Where do I sign?” You say with an air of confidence looking up at Natasha. Her red lips pull into a smirk. Her eyes darken, and she leans forward in her seat. Her elbow resting on her knee, and a hand holding her face. Wanda's thumb stills on your back, fingers tightening. You fight the urge to lean further back into her touch.

“Last page, sweetheart,” Natasha’s tone is warm, and you feel your insides fuel with excitement as you sign your name above the dotted line. The details could be sorted through later. Right now, all you could think about was the thrill you felt under Natasha’s gaze, and Wanda’s hand on your back.

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