#I’ve always had something get in the way of this but now it seems like I might be able to do it

[luveline]

hey love! first of all: i have to admit i started watching criminal minds for the first time earlier this year only bc of your spencer fics! can we get more stripper!reader and spencer? love your writing!!!

thank you!! It’s a slow routine. You begin in a crouch in your underwear, just like at the club. Chest to your knees, arms twisted with the backs of your hands touching. But, unlike at the club, this underwear is comfortable. There’s nobody watching, and you won’t make any tips. You don’t have a pole nor a stage. 

You run through the routine but forgo any pole tricks. You stretch for long, slow minutes, dancing from one space to another. The music in your head isn’t anything you’d play at home, but it works to keep time. You end on your knees again. 

It’s not fun. 

You stretch toward your phone and pick it up. Spencer’s texted you twice in the ten minutes you weren’t on it. 

Hi gorgeous, the first begins, do you want to sleep over? I can make you dinner. 

The second, Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever called you gorgeous before, is that weird? Please come over and pretend I didn’t say that if it was weird

A third pops up while you’re reading. Can I come get you? 

You text him back with pleasure. He’s the only guy in your life who talks to you just to talk, without thinking he could fuck you if he says enough right things, even though he has fucked you. Hi babe you can call me anything it’s not weird, I’ll come over! Not working this week, maybe I can stay two days(?) let me know so I can pack enough clothes 

You can stay all week, if you want to. I miss you 

You imagine him holding his phone, his cheeks pink with blush. 

I miss you too, you text back. 

Just bring what you want to and we can work it out later

Working it out later could mean anything with Spencer. He’s silly enough to try and put you in his clothes, and generous enough to take you shopping if it saves the time it takes to drive you home. 

You’ve packed a bag of clothes and shower things when your phone rings. Spencer’s contact photo covers the whole screen, the two of you together with your face cut out, his smile wide. You were both a teeny bit tipsy. 

“Hello?” you answer, bringing the phone to your ear. 

“Hi!” He sounds nervous. “I’m outside. Am I gonna get towed?” 

“Not if you stay in the car. I’m on my way down right now.” 

“Okay, see you in a second,” he says. 

He never looks comfortable behind a steering wheel. You aren’t sure why he doesn’t sell his car, maybe because it’s dirt cheap to maintain. He never seems happy to be driving is all. 

He smiles when you approach his door, which is better. He rolls down the window. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. You bend at the knees to see him better. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I had a weird feeling about you, like you weren’t alright.” 

You lean down further. “I’m okay.” 

He grins. You’re waiting for a kiss he doesn’t give, finding yourself a subject for his staring, completely still as his gaze follows around your face. He makes no move to kiss you, and for a moment insecurity blossoms. 

“Well, you look okay. Are you getting in? It’s cold,” he says, nodding toward the passenger side.

“No help with my bags?” you ask, closing the door when he tries to open it. “Kidding.” 

You round the hood and climb inside. Then Spencer kisses you, polite but emphatic, one on your lips and another just under your jaw as he squeezes your shoulder. You feed into them lovingly.

“Maybe you can stay at my place forever? That way I can stop missing you all the time,” he says, pulling away slowly. 

“And when the mystery is gone?” you ask. 

“I don’t want mystery with you.” 

Spencer takes your bag from your lap and shoves it into the back seat. You drop the smaller one on your shoes. 

“Do you wanna get pizza or something?” he asks. 

You hold your jaw where he’d kissed you. “Sure,” you say, tingles of his kiss lingering under your hand. 

“Or Chinese? What do you want?” 

You want more kisses, but you love that he always gives you options. “Pizza for sure. Curly fries, too. Hold my hand?” 

Spencer takes it with gusto over the gearstick, and whatever felt like it was missing earlier fills itself in. “Wait,” you say softly, before he can take the car out of park, “just…” You grab his side and drag him toward you for a hug. Holding hands wasn’t gonna be enough —Spencer doesn’t know it yet, but you love him, love how safe he makes you feel, love how fun he makes your life. You can be yourself with him, no matter who that really is.

Spencer holds you, his hand across your shoulder blade rubbing soft lines. 

[dc418writes]

Trial & Error

Summary🪄: Joel tries to help you get some rest

🚨: no outbreak!Joel, minor age gap (reader is late 20s, Joel is mid 30s), AU with no Sarah (pls don’t hate me 🫣) pretty much all fluff💕

A/N🎤: this is my submission to @beefrobeefcal ‘s Married Joel Sat on Me challenge (please check out the other works and/or submit your own if you’d like☺️!), and I hope you guys like what I came up with✨

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest. Although my writings are imagined with a black reader, anyone can read and enjoy😌*

“Baby,” Joel drawls in that deep voice smooth like silk that always makes you melt, “you should be sleeping.” His lips sweetly press against your forehead after carefully tilting your head back so your doe eyes would be on him.

He wasn’t surprised to see your silhouette through the front curtains as his black pickup pulled in the driveway. The living room illuminated with flashes of blue as you watched something he couldn’t quite tell - if he had to guess, probably one of baby Morgan’s favorite shows you tended to play so she could calm down.

It had been a bit of a habit now with your newfound insomnia. And having to take care of a sick five-month-old while being under the weather yourself didn’t help.

“I’m not tired though.” Even upside down, it was obvious to see the exhaustion in those pretty features that had him addicted from the first time he saw you. The darkened puffiness under your eyes. The dull look to your usually bright skin.

“But you need sleep. The past couple days you’ve only been gettin three, maybe four hours.” Although calm, you could feel his concern. Knew he was stressed that his two girls were dealing with things he couldn’t seem to help with. Especially not with this new house taking up all his time.

“I don’t know what else to do.” You sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder as he sits beside you draping his arm around the back of the dark sectional. Any other time, his overall presence along with the warmth emanating from his wood and leather scented skin would have you relaxed enough that you could easily find rest. Now it was just one of a long list of futile attempts.

“Wanna try those sleep gummies again?”

“I think my body’s used to it since it didn’t work that first night.”

His deep hum rumbles under your fingertips on his sternum. “Tea?”

You shake your head, “Being sick made me all tea’d out. Plus I think the chamomile’s gone.”

“Could always try warm milk?,” he suggests with a slight grin. He already knew your answer, but he loved watching your cute, button nose crinkle in disgust.

“I’d rather be knocked over the head,” you answer making your husband deeply chuckle. “Let’s face it, this is just how things are for now. I’ve tried pretty much everything.”

Joel wasn’t one to easily accept defeat though thanks to his stubborn nature.

“I uh was talkin’ about it with a buddy on the job. He mentioned something about a..weighted blanket? Said it works for his kid so I tried to find one at the store, but the lady said they’re all out for now.”

Tilting your head up, a soft smile curls along your lips meeting Joel’s cocoa gaze focused on you. It shouldn’t be anything surprising at this point of your relationship, - being together for three years and married for two - but you can’t help how your heart flutters at how caring he could be. If a certified cure was revealed today or tomorrow, you know he’d make a way to be the first in line.

Leaning forward, you peck his lips once before moving to his bearded jaw, “Thank you for trying.”

His mouth finds yours again easily sliding your hips, with his thick hands, to sit across his lap making you giggle between each nip and press of your lips against his. “I’ll stop by tomorrow to check again. Try that other store across town too.”

As if feeling left out from all the love, Morgan first whimpers then cries from her nursery just off from the living room. You mentally groan dreading how long it’ll take to get her back to sleep.

“I got her,” Joel states leaving a last kiss on your forehead. “You try to rest.”

“No it’s okay, I got her. Plus I’ll have to check her temp-,”

His hands only tighten on your hips preventing you from standing. “Baby I can do it. Relax.”

“What if she’s hungry?”

“I can warm a bottle.”

“I can at least help though,” you pout trying to wiggle free. Instead, you’re manhandled to lie down with your husband sitting on your lower back and butt pressing you into the plush cushions. Turning your upper body as much as you could, your eyebrows slightly furrow in shock and amusement while Joel just crosses his arms as if you’re now permanently part of the furniture. “J-Joel! Wha-?”

“Ya left me no choice. It was the only way I could get you to stay.”

“By crushing me with your big ass?!”

You could be so dramatic. “Hey, this big ass is your fault,” he laughs. “Fillin’ me up with all that food and pastries.”

Marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed overall a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline. His once toned abdomen now a pleasant pouch and thighs a bit thicker causing him to go up a size in his jeans - and even then they still hugged tight.

Not that you minded. You loved Joel’s new ‘dad bod’ just as much as his more slender form. Sometimes even more as you watched him get ready for work or walk around in his sweatpants as he carried and played with Morgan. If it wasn’t for your current situation, you might even be pregnant with baby number two you were so attracted to him.

“Sure, it’s my fault and not that burger and fries you get every day for lunch,” you playfully huff trying to shimmy your way from his hold.

He slightly tilts his head from left to right knowing you had a point, “Alright fair.” Eventually, you finally submit to the fact you weren’t leaving letting your arms extend in front of you. And dare you say, it even began to feel comfortable. “Now, if I get up I trust you’re gonna stay here?”

“Yes seeing that my back is broken,” you reply rolling your eyes. That earns you a warning - yet always playful - smack to the back of your thigh as he stands now leaving you to the cold, open air. “Good girl. I’ll be right back.”

The softest of smiles forms of your lips rolling onto your back to watch him happily stride to tend to his baby girl. “Hey love bug! How ya feelin huh?” Her cries instantly silence into hiccups as soon as she’s lifted to lie on his chest. She even babbles as if having a full conversation while he presses the back of his hand to her forehead. “No fever that’s good.”

A certain, familiar smell clues Joel to what the issue is though. “We gotta get this diaper off you babygirl,” he states moving to lie her on the changing table. “That’ll make you feel better right?” It’s like she understands every word reaching her chubby arms up with a short giggle. They grow into excited squeals as Joel takes turns blowing raspberries onto her bare stomach and tickling that spot under her chin between cleaning her up with baby wipes.

Such a daddy’s girl through and through.

It takes maybe ten minutes more of coos mixed with rocking and bouncing before Joel has her asleep again; carefully lowering her into her crib for the night. ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ playing on a low, constant loop from her star projector to make sure she stays that way as he eases out her room and shuts the door behind him.

His ebony eyes are trained on you now padding the short distance to the couch and leaning over your body. That one curl at the top of his head tipping forward. “Alright, your turn princess.”

You only lift your arms with a smile letting him lift you over his broad shoulder to carry you down the hall to your shared bedroom. Luckily you’re already in your pajamas when you gently flop against the brown comforter. He leaves you to get comfortable - shifting under the covers and wiggling to find that sweet spot - while he discards his clothes in the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth.

In a few minutes, he’s appearing through the misty doorway with wet almond strands still trying to dry and a pair of black boxer briefs over his hips. The little “ooh” that slips from your lips as he slides into bed makes him furrow his brows in confusion while you twist to lie on your stomach reaching back to pat your bottom. “I got an idea.”

“Yeah?,” he smirks wetting his bottom lip. “We definitely haven’t tried that before.”

“Jesus, get your mind out the gutter. I mean crush me again,” you laugh.

Although he scoffs in faux offense, he still does as you say positioning himself so half his body covers yours and long leg nearly straddles your back. His nose mere centimeters from yours blowing steady streams of air as you practically share your pillow. “What’s your plan here?”

“Well, until we find one, I was thinking..maybe you could be my weighted blanket,” you shyly explain. “I know it’s probably dumb, but earlier-,”

“Worth a try,” Joel winks closing the small gap to peck your nose then lips. His fingertips tracing soothing lines back and forth along your neck.

For a while, you both just lied there talking about your respective days or whatever came to mind. Around one in the morning, Joel could see your blinks become slower and slower until it was an apparent struggle to keep your eyes open. Your words even beginning to slur and answers sound like adorable nonsense.

You hadn’t even realized you eventually drifted off until the next morning when you were woken up by Morgan’s cries through the monitor. The sun shining a bright golden hue through the crack in the curtains.

A note on the nightstand is the first to catch your attention - clearly written by your husband from the tilted and slightly mushed together handwriting - making you tiredly smile.

‘Glad to see you got some rest xx’

[rootedinrevisions]

Jealousy in Motion

SUMMARY: Tired of waiting for Damian and Rhea to make their moves, you and Jey decide to stir things up with a little game of jealousy. What starts as harmless flirting at a club quickly turns into a night of heated glances and rising tension.

WARNINGS: Teasing, Alcohol Use

WORD COUNT: 4.9k

TAG LIST: @miss-kuki-nz I @just-another-personal-side-blog I @caramara3 I @yana3sworld I @terrortwinunicorn I @hotwheels1108

The backstage area of the arena buzzed with the usual pre-show energy—wrestlers preparing for their matches, production staff rushing around, and the distant hum of the crowd filtering in through the walls. 

You found yourself leaning against a storage crate backstage, your eyes drifting to Damian as he finished lacing his boots. The sight of him—tall, imposing, tattoos snaking across his arms and shoulders and back to his back—always sent a thrill through you. He was magnetic, and you had been caught in his orbit for months now. But as you watched him, the ache of wanting more twisted in your chest.

"Ready for tonight?" you asked your voice light, hoping to catch his attention. 

Damian looked up, his expression as casual as ever. He offered a half-smirk, nodding. “Always am. You?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool even though your heart wasn’t in it. “Yeah, feeling good. Maybe I’ll catch your match later, see what you beat up Dom.”

He chuckled, that deep, resonant sound that always sent shivers down your spine. “Yeah? I’ll make sure to put on a show for you, then.”

It was the same banter you’d had a hundred times. Light, playful, but never deeper. You’d heard a few people backstage gossip about how Damian seemed to have eyes for you—how he was different when you were around. But standing here now, you weren’t so sure. If he did have feelings, he never showed it in a way that mattered.

You glanced around, checking to see if anyone was nearby. Then you stepped a little closer, just close enough that your arm brushed against his as you leaned in. “You know,” you started, your voice a little lower, “I’ve been thinking...”

He raised an eyebrow, his attention still on you but with the same calm, unreadable expression he always had. “About?”

You hesitated for a beat, trying to gauge his reaction before continuing. “About how...maybe we could hang out outside of work. You know, not just...the usual.”

There it was—your not-so-subtle hint. You felt the tension rise between you, hoping he’d finally catch on.

But Damian just chuckled again, brushing it off like it was nothing. “We hang out all the time,” he said, standing up and stretching his arms. “Just hung out with you last night, didn’t I?”

You swallowed the disappointment that settled in your stomach. Yeah, last night. When he’d snuck into your hotel room after his match, spent the night with you, and then slipped out before anyone could see. The same routine you’d been doing for three or four months. But it wasn’t enough anymore—not for you, anyway.

“Right,” you murmured, forcing a smile. “Just last night.”

You took a step back, crossing your arms as you tried to shake off the frustration that was building. Every time you hinted at the idea of something more, it was like he didn’t get it—or maybe he didn’t want to get it. And now you were starting to think that the rumors, all the whispers about him being into you, were just that: rumors.

It wasn’t that Damian wasn’t kind or caring—he was, in his own way. But you wanted more than secret rendezvous and stolen moments behind closed doors. You wanted to be his. His girlfriend. Not just the girl he came to when he needed to blow off steam.

“You know,” you started again, your voice quieter now, “sometimes I feel like I’m just your dirty little secret.”

Damian’s eyes flickered with something—surprise, maybe. But he quickly masked it with that same casual demeanor, shrugging it off like it didn’t matter. “Come on, don’t say that,” he said, offering you a grin. “You know it’s not like that.”

But you weren’t so sure anymore. You sighed, your shoulders slumping as you realized he wasn’t going to get it—not tonight, maybe not ever. “Right. It’s not like that.”

You turned away, trying to put some distance between you before the sting of rejection hit too hard. You were stuck in this endless cycle—always wanting more, always hoping he’d step up and make things real. But as the weeks that turned into months had dragged on, it was becoming painfully clear that maybe you were just the secret he kept from everyone else.

Damian stepped closer, his hand gently grazing your arm. “Hey, don’t get in your head about it. You know I care about you.”

You nodded, but the words didn’t hit the way you wanted them to. You knew he cared—but was it enough?

With one last glance at him, you gave a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

But deep down, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep pretending that was enough.

The low hum of chatter echoed through the hallway as you made your way backstage after your match. The adrenaline from the night still coursed through your veins, but it wasn’t the excitement of the crowd or the rush of getting another win that had you on edge. It was Damian. Or rather, the frustrating conversation from earlier in the evening that had been bugging you ever since.

As you turned the corner, you spotted your friend Jey Uso leaning against a crate, his eyes locked down the hall where Rhea Ripley was doing an interview with Cathy Kelly. A smirk tugged at your lips as you sauntered over, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Not gonna make your move?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Jey’s gaze didn’t leave Rhea, but he smiled, shaking his head. “Not sure she’s even noticed, to be honest,” he admitted, his voice light but tinged with frustration.

You laughed, crossing your arms as you leaned beside him. “Oh, she’s noticed, trust me.”

His eyebrow arched as he glanced your way, curious. “Yeah?”

You nodded, casting a glance down the hall at Rhea, who was still mid-interview. “We’re close. You don’t even know how many times I’ve had to listen to her talk about you in the last few weeks. Pretty sure she’s more interested than you think.”

Jey’s grin widened, but it quickly faded when his eyes flicked back to Rhea. There was something vulnerable in his expression, like he wasn’t sure if he should believe you or keep playing it safe. You could see why he’d hesitate; he and Rhea had been circling each other for a while now, both giving mixed signals but never making the first big move.

Just then, Rhea’s eyes darted in your direction, and for a split second, you caught the way her face changed. She’d seen you and Jey talking, standing close, and a flicker of something unmistakable flashed in her eyes—jealousy.

A slow grin spread across your face as an idea began to form. You nudged Jey again, leaning closer as you whispered, “She’s jealous.”

He blinked, his focus snapping to you. “What?”

You nodded, motioning subtly in Rhea’s direction. “She sees us talking. I know that look.”

Jey’s eyes shifted to Rhea, and when he saw the way she was glancing at the two of you between interview questions, his grin returned. “Damn, you think?”

“I know,” you said confidently, the idea cementing in your mind now. “You going out with some of the crew after the show?”

Jey smirked, standing up straighter. “You know I keep it lit on the dance floor, baby.”

You laughed at his swagger, but your mind was already spinning. This could work. This could solve both your problems. “I’ve got an idea,” you started, lowering your voice as your eyes flicked back to Rhea and then down the hall where Damian had just passed by, his attention elsewhere.

Jey tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s that?”

You leaned closer, a mischievous smile pulling at your lips. “We’re gonna make them jealous. You and me. A little flirting, some dancing, maybe getting a little too close for comfort. That’ll get their attention.”

Jey’s eyebrow shot up, his smile turning more playful. “You trying to stir the pot, huh?”

“I’m trying to get Damian to step up,” you said, sighing. “He’s been...distant. Or, I don’t know, maybe just not getting the hint. But I know him. He won’t like another guy getting close to me.”

Jey chuckled, crossing his arms as he considered your plan. “And Rhea? You think she’s gonna bite?”

“Oh, she will,” you assured him. “She’s already looking over here like she’s ready to step in. Trust me, once she sees you and me getting close, she’s not gonna let it slide. She’ll make her move.”

Jey thought it over for a moment, the gears turning in his head as he glanced back toward Rhea one last time. Then he smiled, that signature confident grin of his, and nodded. “Alright. Let’s do it. If it gets her to stop playing games, I’m in.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as your plan fell into place. “Good. Pick me up at 11. Room 4112.”

Jey nodded, flashing you a wink before turning to head off, but not before you gave him one last parting shot. “And make sure you bring your A-game, Uce. We’re gonna have some fun tonight.”

He laughed over his shoulder. “Oh, don’t worry. I always do.”

As he walked away, you glanced back toward Rhea, who was still watching. The look on her face told you everything you needed to know. The game had just begun, and tonight, things were finally going to get interesting.

The night air was cool as you walked side by side with Damian toward the parking lot, your boots crunching softly against the asphalt. The energy from the show still buzzed around the arena, but out here, it was quieter. Just you and him, under the soft glow of the streetlights. You glanced up at him, taking in his relaxed demeanor, the way his hands rested casually in his pockets. It should’ve been a perfect moment. But your frustration still simmered beneath the surface, a constant reminder of the limbo you were stuck in with him.

“So…” Damian started, breaking the silence, his voice low and casual. “I heard a few of the guys are heading to some bar after the show.” He glanced over at you, his dark eyes searching yours. “You wanna go?”

You almost smirked, but you caught yourself. Of course, now he wanted to hang out. Now that you were making moves to get his attention. 

Instead, you played it off, pretending to be a little caught off guard as you reached for your keys. “Oh, uh… I’m actually already going with Jey.”

Damian stopped walking for just a second, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Jey? Like… Uso?”

You nodded with a smile, keeping your tone light. “Yeah. He asked me earlier if I wanted to go with him.”

Damian’s expression shifted, just for a moment, but it was enough. You caught the flicker in his eyes, something sharp and possessive flashing behind his otherwise calm exterior. Bingo. Your plan was already starting to work. But you didn’t want to push too hard too soon. You had to play this carefully.

“But maybe I’ll see you there, though?”

Damian’s jaw tightened just slightly, and he gave a small nod. “Yeah. Maybe.”

You could see the tension in his posture now, the way his jaw clenched briefly before relaxing again. This was what you had wanted—Damian’s attention. But now that you had it, there was something almost thrilling about making him stew just a little longer.

You turned to get into your rental car, turning to give him a final smile before you closed the door. “See you later, Damian.”

He nodded again, though his gaze lingered on you longer than it usually did. “Yeah. See you.”

As you pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward the hotel, you couldn’t help but grin to yourself. Damian’s reaction was exactly what you had hoped for. The flash of jealousy, the uncertainty. He wasn’t oblivious anymore.

Tonight was only going to get more interesting.

You hadn’t been on the road for more than a few minutes when your phone lit up with Rhea’s name. You smiled to yourself, already knowing where this conversation was going to lead. You had a feeling Damian had talked to Rhea and that was the reason for her call. Keeping one hand on the wheel, you tapped the screen to answer.

“Hey, Rhea. What’s up?”

“Hey,” she replied, her usual confident tone slightly off, a hint of something uncertain hiding underneath. “So, I heard a few of us are going out tonight after the show. You in?”

You bit your lip, holding back a grin. Here we go. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m going. Jey actually asked me to ride with him.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and you could almost picture the way her brow furrowed in surprise. “Jey asked you?”

You made your voice sound casual, as if the question wasn’t loaded with the tension you knew she was feeling. “Yeah. He asked me before the show if I wanted to join him. Sounded fun, so I figured, why not?”

Rhea didn’t reply immediately, and you caught the slightest edge of jealousy creeping into her voice when she finally spoke again. “I thought you were just blowing Damian off when you said that.”

The corner of your mouth lifted as you kept your gaze on the road. “Nope, Jey actually asked me. I mean, Damian hadn’t said anything, and clubs aren’t always his thing. So I figured, why not go with someone else, right?”

You could hear her shift on the other end of the call, probably trying to find the right words to respond without giving herself away completely. “Right... I guess I just didn’t realize you two were, you know, hanging out outside of work like that.”

Your smile widened. She was trying to play it cool, but the jealousy was there, simmering just under the surface. Your plan was working, just like you hoped it would.

“Yeah, well, Jey’s seems fun to hang out with,” you said, keeping your tone as light and innocent as possible. “I guess we’ll see what happens. Maybe I’ll see you there though?”

Rhea hesitated again, and you could hear the unspoken questions swirling in her head. “Yeah... maybe.”

You ended the call and couldn’t help but feel satisfied with how things were playing out. Damian’s possessiveness had already started to show, and now you had Rhea on edge too. The night was shaping up exactly how you planned, and it was only going to get better from here.

The thumping bass of the music hit you the moment you stepped into the club, the energy of the crowd buzzing in the air. You and Jey walked in together, fashionably late, just as you’d planned. You scanned the room, catching sight of Damian and Rhea almost immediately. They were at the bar, exactly where you hoped they’d be. Perfect.

Jey’s hand rested lightly on the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd, both of you pretending not to notice the two people you were trying to get a rise out of. It was part of the plan, after all. You could feel eyes on you—probably Rhea’s, maybe even Damian’s—but you kept your focus on Jey, playing your part flawlessly.

As you reached the bar, Jey leaned in close, his voice low and playful against your ear. But also just loud enough for the two people standing next to you to hear him say it. “What you drinking tonight, baby?”

You tilted your head up, locking eyes with him as you smiled. “Hmm, I don’t know. What do you think I should start with?”

He chuckled, his arm draping casually over your shoulder as he signaled the bartender. “Let’s start with something light,” he suggested, glancing down at you with a grin. “I gotta keep you in good shape for the dance floor later.”

You grin at him and pretend to reach for your purse but he reaches out and stops you. “Nah, I got you tonight, baby.”

You laughed, nudging him slightly. “You really know how to take care of a girl, Jey. That’s sweet.”

The way you said it wasn’t lost on anyone. It wasn’t just a simple compliment, not with the way you let your fingers trail down his arm as you spoke, or the soft smile you gave him as you tilted your head just slightly, enough to let anyone watching see the ease between you two. You could feel the tension coming from behind Jey, the way Damian and Rhea were likely taking in every detail, even if they were trying to hide it.

Jey played along perfectly, his own smile widening as he leaned just a bit closer. “Sweet, huh? Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

You laughed again, the sound light and easy, and let your hand rest on his chest, feeling the heat from his body through his shirt. “Maybe I am.”

As the bartender handed over your drinks, Jey slid one toward you, his fingers brushing yours. You could practically feel the weight of the stares coming from behind you, and it took everything in you not to glance back at Damian and Rhea. But you knew better than to break character now. The game had only just begun.

As you lifted your drink to your lips, you felt Jey's hand lightly graze your back again, the touch casual but deliberate enough to keep up appearances. The warmth of the alcohol mixed with the buzz of the club had you feeling confident, ready for whatever came next. You tilted your head, flashing Jey a smile before turning away from the bar, deciding it was time to up the ante.

With your drink in hand, you turned to leave the bar, making sure to brush close enough to Jey that it would look as if you were moving together. As you did, you caught sight of Damian and Rhea out of the corner of your eye.

Damian’s eyes were locked on you, his brow slightly furrowed, and you could see the way his jaw tightened as he watched you interact with Jey. It was subtle, but you knew Damian well enough to recognize the telltale signs of his possessiveness flaring up. You let your lips curl into a smirk, satisfaction blooming in your chest. The plan was working.

Rhea was standing next to him, drink in hand, but her expression was much less controlled. Her gaze flickered between you and Jey, and there was no mistaking the spark of jealousy in her eyes. Her lips were set in a thin line, her posture stiff as she watched you practically draped against Jey. You knew that look—she didn’t like it one bit.

You exchanged a knowing glance with Jey, and as he flashed you a grin, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of triumph.

Turning back to Jey, he leaned in just a little closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “I think they’re starting to notice,” he whispered, the amusement in your tone unmistakable.

You chuckled, his hand resting on your hip as you reached up on your tip toes to reply. “Told you this was gonna be fun.”

You straightened, taking a slow sip of your drink before glancing back in Damian and Rhea’s direction, letting your gaze linger just long enough to make sure they saw. Damian’s dark eyes hadn’t left you, and Rhea’s fingers tightened around her glass as she muttered something under her breath to Damian.

Satisfied, you turned your attention back to Jey, the smirk still playing on your lips. “Looks like round one goes to us.”

Jey raised his glass in a silent toast, a mischievous grin lighting up his face. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

The tension in the air was palpable now, the game in full swing. All you had to do was keep pushing the right buttons, and Damian and Rhea would break. And when they did, it was going to be so worth it.

After a few more rounds of playful banter at the bar, you felt Jey’s fingers gently brush against your arm, pulling your attention back to him. His smile was easy, mischievous, as if he had something up his sleeve.

“You know what we need to do now?” he asked, his eyes glinting.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “What’s that?”

He straightened up, looking over toward the packed dance floor, where bodies swayed and pulsed to the heavy beat of the music. “We gotta hit the dance floor. I promised you I’d keep it lit, remember?”

You bit your lip, already anticipating what was about to happen. Glancing over to where Damian and Rhea were still standing, you noticed Damian’s eyes briefly flicker in your direction before shifting away, as if he were doing his best to act unaffected.

Perfect.

Jey reached out his hand, palm up in a silent invitation, and without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his. He gave it a slight tug, pulling you closer, and the two of you made your way through the crowd toward the center of the dance floor, where the music seemed to throb even louder.

As soon as you reached the middle, Jey spun you around with a playful grin and pulled you close. Your back pressed against his chest, and his hands naturally found their place on your hips, guiding you in time with the music. The moment you started moving together, everything else seemed to fall away—the lights, the noise, the crowd—it was just you and Jey, playing the game you both knew so well.

Jey leaned down, his voice low and teasing in your ear. “This okay for you?”

You nodded and then leaned your head back, resting it on Jey’s shoulder. There weren’t many guys on the roster you would let hold you and touch you the way Jey was. But you trusted Jey. You knew he wouldn’t push it too far. 

He then whispered into your ear, “They’re already watching. You ready for this?”

You laughed softly, your fingers resting over his hands as you started swaying together. “Oh, I’m ready.”

The two of you moved effortlessly in sync, your bodies shifting and swaying with the rhythm, close enough to leave little to the imagination for anyone watching. The heat from Jey’s hands on your waist and the feel of his body behind yours made it easy to slip into the role you needed to play, pretending to be lost in the moment, when in reality, your mind was focused on one thing—getting Damian’s attention.

Your hands glided up, grazing Jey’s forearms lightly as if you were completely comfortable with his touch. But in reality, you were simply waiting for the exact moment to strike.

With a subtle glance over your shoulder, your eyes scanned the room until they found Damian.

There he was—standing by the bar, his drink forgotten in his hand, his jaw clenched as he watched the two of you. Even from this distance, you could see the flash of frustration in his eyes, the way his posture had shifted from relaxed to tense. The possessive gleam that flickered there was unmistakable, and it sent a jolt of satisfaction through you. He wasn’t liking this at all.

Jey’s hands tightened slightly on your hips, his voice brushing your ear again, a knowing edge in his tone. “Think he’s mad yet?”

You smirked, your eyes never leaving Damian’s. “Oh, he’s definitely mad.”

As the music continued to pound, you took things up a notch. You pressed your body closer to Jey’s, your movements slowing down, becoming more deliberate, more intimate. Your hips swayed against his as his hands followed your lead, guiding your rhythm. 

You let your head rest back against his shoulder, your lips close to his ear as you murmured something irrelevant into his ear, loud enough for Damian to see but not hear. Jey chuckled, playing along perfectly, his lips grazing your ear as he responded, though you didn’t even need to hear the words to know you were in sync.

Finally, you couldn’t resist it any longer. You looked back across the room, and your eyes met Damian’s. His gaze was locked on yours, burning with a mix of jealousy and frustration that made your heart race. His body was tense, his grip on his drink so tight you were surprised the glass hadn’t shattered in his hand.

You smirked, letting him see just how much fun you were having, knowing that this was driving him wild. And it was working. The game you and Jey had started was finally beginning to pay off.

Damian wasn’t going to let this go much longer—you could feel it in the way his eyes bore into you, dark and heated. He was on the edge of stepping in, of making his move. And you were more than ready for it.

Jey must have sensed it too because his grip on your hips tightened slightly, and he whispered in your ear, “Any minute now.”

You nodded, your smirk widening. “He’s almost there.”

As the music pulsed around you, the tension between you and Damian crackled in the air like electricity. You could practically feel his frustration, his desire to intervene, and the satisfaction of knowing your plan was working filled you with excitement.

Before you realize it, Damian is weaving his way through the crowd, his eyes locked on you and Jey. The intensity in his gaze makes your heart race, knowing that this moment is exactly what you had been waiting for. Jey, clearly noticing Damian’s approach, doesn’t hesitate. He steps back just as Damian reaches you, offering a quick nod and a knowing smile.

"Mind if I cut in?" Damian asks, his voice low but commanding, half-expecting Jey to protest. But Jey just motions toward you with a grin, as if to say, “All yours.”

With Jey stepping aside, Damian wastes no time. His hands immediately find your waist, pulling you back against his solid, muscular chest. His grip is firm, possessive, and the heat of his body seeps into you as he takes control of the moment. The atmosphere shifts, and it feels as though the entire room fades away, leaving just the two of you in the middle of the pulsing crowd.

Damian leans down, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. You shiver, the intimate gesture sending a thrill through you, but it’s what he says next that really makes your pulse quicken.

“You let him touch what’s mine,” he whispers, his voice laced with both frustration and desire.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his dark gaze. Your heart skips a beat, but you won’t let him get away with that statement so easily. "I didn’t know I was yours," you tease, raising an eyebrow, the challenge clear in your voice. “I thought we had a casual arrangement.”

Damian smirks, that cocky, confident grin of his flashing as he pulls you even closer, so your bodies are flush against each other. His hands tighten on your waist, his fingers pressing possessively into your skin. "Oh, you’re mine," he says, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt.

You’re about to respond when Damian moves faster than you expect. In one swift motion, he spins you around to face him, his eyes dark with intent. Before you can catch your breath, his lips crash against yours, the kiss deep and hungry. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a claim, a statement to everyone in the room, especially Jey, that you belong to him.

The kiss leaves you breathless, your mind spinning as Damian pulls back just slightly, his lips brushing against yours as he murmurs, "You're mine. My girl."

Your heart pounds in your chest, the words echoing in your ears. His hands don’t leave your body, staying firmly on your hips as if to prove his point. His eyes search yours for any hesitation, but instead of pulling away, you feel a sense of relief, the very thing you’ve been wanting for so long finally falling into place.

In that moment, the game is over. You’re no longer just his secret—you're his, for everyone to see.

As Damian’s words sink in, your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment, you glance over toward Jey. Just in time, you catch Rhea stepping up to him, her arms snaking confidently around his neck. A smirk spreads across Jey’s face, his hands naturally resting on her waist as if they’ve been in this position before.

You watch as Rhea leans in, her lips brushing against Jey's ear to whisper something. Whatever she says makes him smile, his expression softening in a way you hadn’t seen before. It's clear that Rhea’s walls are coming down, just like Damian's did with you.

For a fleeting second, Jey looks up and your eyes meet across the room. There's no need for words—just a shared glance, an unspoken acknowledgment of victory. The plan you hatched together has worked.

You smile knowingly, feeling the weight of success settle in. Damian's grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. Meanwhile, across the dance floor, Jey's hands slide up Rhea's waist as she moves even closer to him, their chemistry undeniable.

Everything has fallen into place.

[pokemonshelterstories]

Hi!! So I have a baby nephew (well, he’s five, but he’s always going to be a baby in my eyes) and he’s generally very good with Pokémon. However, he seems very scared of my Houndour and Nickit, even though they’re both pretty good with kids. Apparently he heard that old “dark = evil” thing at some point. I’ve tried to keep them balled up around him, but I was wondering if you have any advice? Both my boys are very calm and patient, so I really wasn’t expecting this

this is something to talk over with his parents. forcing him to interact with a pokemon he's scared of is just going to reinforce his fears, and you shouldn't do anything without running it by them anyway. you can gently correct him if he talks about dark types being evil, but sometimes it's just a matter of giving kids time and the option to interact with the pokemon that scares them. i was horribly afraid of most pokemon as a kid, but especially of flying types- and now i raise several birds! i just needed to come to terms with my fear on my own time, and it helped that i had a teacher who helped me find books to read, because she recognized that i was afraid of things that i didn't understand. whether his fears are rational are not, give your nephew the chance to explore things in a way he's comfortable with.

one thing you can talk to his parents about is getting a copy of "the honest lie." it's an internationally acclaimed childrens book about a zorua who feels like she has to disguise herself constantly because everyone treats her poorly for being a dark type. it's an accessible way for kids to learn about stereotypes, and while its main purpose is to teach them to be kind to each other, a lot of people have said it helped them learn to like dark type pokemon as a kid.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Omg Ivy I love how well you write your marauders fics! You’re amazing! Specially your wolfstar x reader!!!

Could you write another one, please? Like, reader is Remus’s best friend but she hates Sirius (he’s dating Remus), or she thinks she does, but in reality she’s jealous of him because he gets to touch Remus like she has always wanted to. And consequently Sirius thinks he hates her too, but in fact he’s just trying to hide the fact he’s on his feet for her as well. One day Remus is done with both of them and lock the three of them in a room and spill to them he is in love with both of them and can’t have them fighting anymore. And after that reader and Sirius end up confessing their own feelings for each other and they start dating after many kisses.

thank you so much for the request!! and the idea was so fun to write 💕 ps. i suck at summaries

𝟷.𝟿𝚔 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You thought you were jealous of Sirius for stealing away Remus's attention but maybe you just needed to admit your feelings for both of them.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Wolfstar x Reader

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with life, as usual, but it felt distant to you. You sat slumped on the couch, tapping your quill impatiently against your parchment, though not a single word had been written in the last half hour.

It was him. It was always him. Sirius Black, with his annoying smirk, his too-cool-for-school attitude, and the way he seemed to monopolize every moment of Remus’ time.

It was infuriating.

Remus was your best friend. You’d been through thick and thin together, shared secrets, laughed until your stomachs hurt. Yet now, whenever you were around him, Sirius was there too. The two of them always seemed to be in some intimate conversation or worse—touching. A hand on Remus’ shoulder, Sirius’ fingers threading casually through Remus’ hair. It was like a constant, silent reminder that you were on the outside looking in.

And you hated it. Hated how much Sirius made you feel like you didn’t belong, like you weren’t enough for Remus anymore.

“You know, glaring holes into parchment isn’t going to make it write itself.”

That voice. Smooth, low, with that aggravating lilt of arrogance. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“Go away, Black,” you muttered, still staring at the blank parchment.

Sirius flopped onto the couch opposite you, arms spread wide like he owned the place. “Come on, I’m just trying to be helpful. Your brooding is becoming a bit of a spectacle.”

You finally looked up, your eyes narrowing. “Oh, I’m sure my brooding is nothing compared to the grand theatrics you put on every time you walk into a room.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the verbal sparring. “Theatrics? Or natural charm? It’s a fine line.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Actually,” he leaned in with a smirk, “it’s Remus that helps me sleep at night.”

Your stomach twisted at that, the reminder of their relationship hitting harder than it should have. You hated that it hurt, hated that Sirius knew exactly how to push your buttons. But instead of backing down, you crossed your arms and fired back, “You mean, he puts up with you at night. Big difference.”

Sirius chuckled darkly, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You’re hilarious, you know that?”

“And you’re unbearable.”

“Can’t handle a bit of competition?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly masked it with a sneer. “You? Competition? Please.”

“Oh, but I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Sirius said, his voice lowering. “You don’t hate me, do you? You just can’t stand the fact that I’m the one who gets to touch him.”

You didn't want to admit it, but maybe he was right.

The common room is quiet once again, save for the soft crackling of the fireplace and the occasional creak of floorboards as you shift uncomfortably in your chair. You're supposed to be studying, but your mind drifts far from textbooks and quills. Instead, it wanders to Remus who has somehow slipped from your grasp and into the arms of Sirius Black. Sirius bloody Black.

A sigh escapes your lips, frustration bubbling up inside you. It makes no sense. You’ve never particularly liked him. Sure, he’s handsome in an annoying, arrogant sort of way. With his dark hair that constantly falls into his grey eyes, he has the ability to make anyone—especially you—seethe with irritation. But it’s not just that. It's the way he has Remus.

You throw down your quill in irritation, glaring at your dorm room door. Any second now, Remus will walk in with Sirius at his side, and they'll sit together, talking quietly while you pretend not to care. It’s always like this. The three of you, but somehow, you always feel like the third wheel.

Your dorm door opens, and as if summoned by your thoughts, in walk Remus and Sirius. They're laughing at something you can't hear, and a pang shoots through your chest. You try to swallow it down, but the resentment lingers.

"Hey," Remus greets, his warm smile easing the tension in your shoulders just a little. He's the only person who can do that. The only person who has always been there for you.

"Hi," you manage, avoiding Sirius' gaze.

Sirius flops down onto the bed beside Remus, far too close for your liking. His arm brushes against Remus' casually, and you clench your jaw. He glances at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, his lips twitch, as if he’s about to say something, but he remains silent.

It's like this every time. You can't stand being around them when they're together, but you can't stand the idea of not being around Remus either. The tension builds with each passing day, and it's driving you insane. Especially because you don’t know what to make of the flutter in your stomach whenever Sirius speaks to you.

"Are you alright?" Remus asks, his eyes filled with concern. Of course, he notices.

"I'm fine," you say, a little too quickly. "Just tired."

Sirius snorts from his side of the bed, and you shoot him a glare.

"What's your problem?" you snap.

"My problem?" He raises an eyebrow, giving you that signature Sirius Black smirk that makes you want to smack him and… kiss him? You mentally slap yourself. No. No way.

"You’re being a brat," he says casually, leaning back with his arms behind his head, as though he owns the room.

"You're insufferable, Black," you spit out. Remus looks between the two of you, his brow furrowing. He’s always been the mediator between you and Sirius. But lately, even he seems to be getting tired of the constant bickering.

"Okay, enough," Remus says, his voice tight with frustration. He stands, looking between you and Sirius, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I’m done."

You blink, startled by the sudden change in his demeanor. "What are you talking about?"

"You two," Remus snaps, his eyes flashing. "This—this constant fighting. I can't take it anymore."

Your heart skips a beat as Sirius sits up, his smug expression fading.

"Moony—" Sirius starts, but Remus cuts him off.

"No. Both of you listen." He runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "I can't… I can't do this anymore. I'm in love with both of you, and it’s tearing me apart to see you two at each other's throats all the time."

The silence that follows is suffocating. Your heart is racing, pounding in your chest so loudly you're sure everyone in the room can hear it. Did you hear him right?

"What?" you whisper, barely able to get the word out.

Remus looks at you, his expression softer now but still pained. "I love you both. And I can't stand the thought of choosing between you."

Sirius looks just as shocked as you feel. He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. For once, Sirius Black is speechless.

You stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "You—you love us both?" Your mind is spinning. This can’t be real.

Remus nods, his eyes locked on yours. "Yes. But you both… you hate each other."

Your chest tightens at the way he says that. Does he think you truly hate Sirius? Do you even hate him? You glance at Sirius, and for the first time, you catch a flicker of something in his eyes—something vulnerable.

"I don’t…" you start, your voice wavering. "I don’t hate him."

The room feels like it’s closing in on you. All those moments of frustration and anger, all the times you’ve snapped at Sirius, all the snide remarks—it wasn’t hate. It was jealousy. Jealousy because he got to be with Remus in a way you never could. And maybe, just maybe, because you’ve been denying your own feelings for Sirius all along.

Sirius stands, his grey eyes locked on yours. "I don't hate you either," he admits quietly, his usual cockiness gone. "I… I’ve been lying to myself. Trying to pretend I didn’t… want you."

The air between the three of you shifts, the weight of the confession hanging heavy in the room. You feel dizzy, your heart racing as you try to process what’s happening.

"Remus," you breathe, looking back at him. "I… I love you too. I always have."

His face softens, and he steps closer to you, but before he can say anything, Sirius speaks again.

"And I… I love you too," Sirius says, his voice low but filled with emotion. "But it's not just Remus. It's you. I’ve been a coward about it. I didn’t want to admit it."

You stare at him, your breath catching in your throat. His words hang in the air, and suddenly, everything falls into place. The fighting, the tension, the way your heart flips every time Sirius speaks or even looks at you. You weren’t fighting because you hated him. You were fighting because you were terrified of what you felt for him.

"I…" You struggle to find the words, your emotions a tangled mess inside you. But before you can say anything, Sirius takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your cheek. His touch is soft, careful, as though he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

But you don’t. Instead, you lean into his touch, your breath hitching in your throat as you look up at him. His eyes are softer now, the usual arrogance replaced with something raw, something real.

And then, before you can think, before you can process what’s happening, Sirius leans in and kisses you. It’s tentative at first, a question in the way his lips brush against yours. But when you don’t pull away, when you kiss him back, he deepens the kiss, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he pulls you closer.

Your heart is racing, your mind spinning. This is Sirius. Sirius Black. The boy you thought you hated. The boy you thought you could never stand. But now, all you can think about is how right this feels.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, and you look over to Remus, who’s watching with a small smile on his face. He steps forward, pulling you into his arms, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"I love you both," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "And I don’t want to lose either of you."

Tears prick your eyes as you lean into him, your heart swelling with love for both of them. You’re not sure how this will work, or what it means for the future, but in this moment, with Remus’ arms around you and Sirius by your side, it feels right.

You pull back slightly, glancing between the two of them, a soft laugh escaping your lips. "Well," you say, wiping at your eyes. "I guess we’re going to have to figure this out."

Sirius grins, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "I think we’ll manage," he says, leaning in to kiss you again, this time slower, more confident.

[urdreamydoodles]

Wolverine x Fem!Reader

Jealousy

Logan struggles to understand the unfamiliar feelings he has toward you, a kind-hearted and beautiful mutant loved by everyone at Xavier’s School. As jealousy simmers beneath the surface, he eventually realizes that you’ve had your heart set on him all along.

Logan watches you from the corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest, trying not to scowl. You’re smiling, as always, laughing at something Gambit said, your eyes glowing with warmth. It’s a look that seems to be meant for everyone around you—but never for him.

He grunts, glancing away, trying to shake the feeling that's been gnawing at him for days. It’s ridiculous, really. Why should he care that every single guy in the mansion seems to orbit around you like you’re the sun?

You’re a teacher at Xavier’s now, like him. A mutant whose powers are as impressive as they are mysterious, though no one seems to care much about that. The way everyone talks about you, they’re more focused on how sweet you are, how you have a way of making anyone feel at ease, even in a place full of battle-hardened mutants.

And you’re... well, Logan’s never really put much stock into beauty, but there’s no denying that heads turn when you walk into a room. The sight of you, with your gentle smile and graceful movements, draws attention whether you intend it to or not. It’s irritating how many men around the mansion make fools of themselves trying to get you to notice them. Gambit, with his endless charm. Angel, always hovering around with those damn wings. Nightcrawler, with his shy smiles and sweet words.

It shouldn’t bother him. He doesn’t get jealous. He’s Logan, for crying out loud. Wolverine. He’s been through too much, seen too much, to be worried about a pretty face.

But here he is, in the back of the room, glaring at Gambit like the Cajun just insulted him. Which he hasn’t. Not yet, at least.

You say something to Gambit, and his grin grows wider. He leans in closer to you, brushing a hand against your arm like he’s always been allowed to touch you that way. Logan feels his fingers twitch, an unfamiliar anger rising in his chest.

Get a grip, Logan, he tells himself, gritting his teeth.

“Logan?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, soft and warm, and suddenly you’re standing in front of him, looking up at him with those bright eyes of yours. He didn’t even notice you walking over.

He clears his throat, straightening. “What?”

You give him that smile, the one that knocks the breath out of everyone around here. “I’ve been trying to say hi all day. You’ve been avoiding me?”

Logan huffs, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “Ain’t avoiding you. Just busy.”

“Busy glaring at Gambit?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. It’s like you can see right through him, and that makes him all the more uncomfortable.

“I wasn’t—” Logan stops himself. Damn it, you’re too good at this. “What do you want?”

You tilt your head slightly, your expression softening. “You alright, Logan? You seem... off.”

“Off?” He frowns, his brow furrowing. How are you always so perceptive? He should be better at hiding this. Hell, he’s had centuries of practice keeping people at arm’s length, but with you, it’s like you’ve been cutting through that barrier since the day you arrived.

You reach up, laying a gentle hand on his arm. Your touch is soft, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to flinch—not because he doesn’t like it, but because it sends a jolt through him. Like something raw and unexplainable stirring in his chest.

“You can talk to me, you know,” you say softly. “I’m here if you need anything.”

There’s no pity in your voice, no patronizing tone. Just genuine concern, like you actually care about how he’s doing. It confuses him. He’s used to people being wary of him, keeping their distance. But not you. Never you.

Logan shifts, feeling the weight of your hand on his arm, and glances away, unable to meet your eyes. “Ain’t nothing to talk about.”

You give him a small smile, dropping your hand, but not stepping back. “Alright. But if you change your mind, I’m around.”

You turn to walk away, back toward Gambit, who’s still waiting for you. And Logan feels something sharp twist in his gut.

Before he can stop himself, he reaches out, grabbing your wrist gently. “Wait.”

You pause, turning back to him with a curious expression. “Yeah?”

Logan hesitates, his grip loosening slightly. He’s not good at this—never has been. Words fail him more often than not, and emotions? Well, he doesn’t like dealing with those either.

But the thought of you going back to Gambit, of you laughing with him again, letting him get close to you... Logan doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

“I—” He struggles to find the right words, his jaw tightening. What the hell is wrong with him? “I don’t like... seein’ you with all those other guys.”

Your eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

Logan lets out a low growl of frustration, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t like it when they’re all over you. Gambit, Angel, all of ‘em. They act like you’re some... prize or somethin’.”

You blink, clearly not expecting that. “Logan, they’re just being friendly. We’re all close here.”

“Yeah, well, they’re too damn friendly.” The words come out harsher than he intends, and he curses under his breath. He didn’t mean to sound possessive, but that’s exactly what it sounds like. He doesn’t even know why he’s saying this. What’s it to him if you like Gambit or Angel?

But the thought of you being with someone else, of you smiling at them the way you smile at him, makes something ugly twist inside him.

You look at him for a long moment, as if trying to piece together what’s going on in his head. And then, to his surprise, you smile—really smile. Not the polite kind you give everyone else, but something softer, more real.

“Logan,” you say gently, taking a step closer. “Are you... jealous?”

He bristles immediately, his face hardening. “Jealous? Hell no. I don’t get jealous.”

“Uh-huh.” Your smile widens slightly, and for a moment, Logan swears he can see a hint of amusement in your eyes. “You sure about that?”

He grumbles something incoherent under his breath, unable to come up with a proper response. Damn it, how did you manage to get under his skin so easily?

“Logan,” you say again, softer this time. “If you want to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to keep pushing me away.”

Logan feels his heart clench, the sincerity in your voice throwing him off balance. He’s not used to this—to someone actually caring. Especially someone like you.

“I just don’t like sharin’,” he mutters finally, his voice gruff. “That’s all.”

You tilt your head, stepping even closer so that you’re standing right in front of him. “Sharing what?”

Logan swallows hard, his gaze flicking away from yours. “You.”

The word hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, Logan wonders if he’s crossed a line. If he’s said too much. But instead of pulling away, you smile, your eyes softening.

“You don’t have to share me, Logan,” you say quietly. “I’m not interested in Gambit or Angel. Or anyone else for that matter.”

His gaze snaps back to yours, surprise flickering across his face. “What?”

“I’m saying,” you continue, your voice gentle but firm, “if you want my attention, you’ve already got it. You always have.”

Logan stares at you, his mind racing to process your words. You... what? How long has he been trying to figure out what the hell he’s feeling, only to find out that you’ve felt the same way this whole time?

He lets out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You laugh softly, stepping even closer, until you’re almost pressed against him. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, Logan lets his guard down, just a little. He reaches out, resting a hand on your waist, and looks down at you, his voice low and rough. “You sure about this?”

You nod, your eyes meeting his with unwavering certainty. “I’m sure, Logan.”

And just like that, the tension that’s been building between you for what feels like ages finally breaks. Logan pulls you closer, his grip tightening on your waist, and for once, he lets himself be honest with what he wants.

You.

Only you.

[childrenofcain-if]

How would the Ro's take care of an MC who is so sick he can't even get out of bed?

C LACROIX

C stood at the doorway, the faintest crease of worry between their brows as they watched you lie there, your breath labored, eyes half-lidded in a feverish haze. the room felt unnervingly still except for the faint rustle of the sheets when you shifted, too weak to even call out their name when you noticed their presence.

“you look awful,” they finally said, their voice carrying the usual cool indifference, but their eyes flickered, betraying something that wasn’t quite annoyance. maybe concern. but if it was, they didn’t allow it to show.

you groaned and shifted beneath the blankets, feeling like your body was made of lead. “thanks, lacroix. that’s exactly what i needed to hear.”

they rolled their eyes but didn’t leave. instead, they pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room, the sound of their shoes soft against the floor. a strange softness overtook their usually grumpy demeanor as they set down a glass of water and a bottle of medicine on the nightstand. they crouched beside the bed, eyes scanning your face like they were committing it to memory.

“can’t you be sick more quietly? some of us have better things to do than listen to your misery.” C muttered, even as their fingers brushed a damp strand of hair away from your face, a touch that was startlingly tender, especially coming from them.

you made a noise, something between a groan and a laugh. “you could’ve just stayed away,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. the fever was making everything blur at the edges, the room tilting slightly as you blinked at them. “i’m not going to die.”

their expression flickered, just for a second, and then it was gone. “yeah, well,” they muttered, looking away. “it’s not like i’ve got anything better to do.”

that was a lie. C always had something better to do. whether it was running around to find a quiet place to do their assignments or finding ways to antagonize you, their time was precious, and they spent most of it reminding everyone else of that fact. and yet, here they were, at your bedside, pretending like this was the biggest inconvenience of their life when they could’ve just as easily left you to rot in your fevered misery.

their hand hovered near your forehead, as if they were considering whether it was worth the effort to actually touch you. finally, with another sigh, they pressed their palm to your forehead. “bon dieu, you’re burning up.”

“really?” you tried to grin, but it faltered. “i hadn’t noticed.”

C rolled their eyes again, but you could hear the strain in their voice, the way it softened just slightly. “you’re insufferable even when you’re half-delirious.”

they shifted, standing up again with a sort of begrudging purpose, heading for the bathroom. you heard the sound of water running, before they returned, holding a damp cloth in one hand and picking up the glass of water on the nightstand in the other.

“you’re going to drink this,” they said firmly, thrusting the glass toward you, “and not argue with me.”

your fingers barely wrapped around the glass before it was slipping, and C caught it with a swift movement, shooting you a glare that seemed to say are you seriously this helpless? they steadied your hand, bringing the glass to your lips with more care than their expression suggested.

“go on,” they coaxed, their voice softer now, the command tempered by something almost like patience. you managed a few sips before leaning back against the pillows, utterly spent from the effort.

C’s jaw tightened, their frustration evident, but it wasn’t the kind of frustration that came from actual annoyance—more like they were mad at the situation, at you being too sick to fend for yourself, at them for caring when they told themselves they shouldn’t. they pressed the damp cloth against your forehead, their movements brusque but careful, like they were trying to make sure they didn’t hurt you, even though they acted like they didn’t care if they did.

“i’m fine,” you whispered, though even you didn’t believe it.

“no, you’re not,” they shot back, sitting down again on the edge of the bed, watching you with a critical eye. “don’t lie to me. you look like a resurrected corpse.”

“thanks,” you murmured sarcastically. “you’re such a charmer, lacroix.”

they gave a dry chuckle, running a hand through their hair as if they were debating whether to stay or leave you to your fate. but then they didn’t move. they just sat there, silent, fingers tracing the edge of the bedspread, like they were trying to figure out how they ended up in this situation in the first place.

“i’m not even a nursing major,” they finally muttered, though the edge in their voice had dulled. “i shouldn’t be here, you know. i don’t do… this.”

“could’ve fooled me,” you mumbled, eyes half-closed as the fever weighed down your thoughts. “you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“lucas used to get sick a lot,” C admitted almost reluctantly, fluffing your blanket in the process. “father wasn’t exactly what you’d call ‘nurturing,’ and mother stayed in new york for work most of the time. he was fussy and didn’t like any of our nannies either, so i had to step up and take care of him.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke as you take in the bits and pieces of their life that they just shared with you. but still, they didn’t leave immediately afterwards. they leaned back, crossing their arms again as if to make it abundantly clear that this was temporary—that the second you were remotely capable of standing on your own, they’d be out the door.

except, as minutes passed, you realized they weren’t going anywhere. you drifted in and out of feverish sleep, but every time you opened your eyes, there they were, the steady presence you hadn’t expected.

at some point, you felt them shift, and their voice broke through the haze of your fevered state. “you’d better recover soon,” they said quietly, almost like they were talking to themself. “i’m not doing this for the whole day.”

but you knew, despite their words, despite the way they acted like they didn’t want to be here, that they wouldn’t leave. not until they were sure you were okay.

“you care,” you whispered, your eyes half-closed as sleep tugged at you again.

C scoffed, but the sound was hollow. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“you care,” you repeated, a delirious smile on your lips as you felt yourself fading into sleep again.

and maybe you imagined it, but just before you drifted off, you could’ve sworn you heard them mutter, “shut up and rest, you adorable idiot.”

the next time you opened your eyes, the fever had started to ebb, and there they were, asleep, slouched back in the chair beside the bed, their head resting against the back of it, eyes closed, arms still crossed in defiance of the fact that they had stayed.

they hadn’t left you, not even for a second.

V NÆSHOLM

the room was quiet except for the soft rustle of curtains and the occasional muffled cough from you.

V sat cross-legged on the chair, watching you with a kind of stillness that felt like patience but was closer to piety. the pale light through the window seemed colder today, casting everything in muted shades of gray.

you hadn’t moved much, wrapped up in the blankets like a child, too weak to bother with the outside world. your skin was damp, slick with fever, and the effort of sitting up was too much to even consider.

V slipped off the bed and padded across the room, their footsteps silent on the plush carpet floor. they were always quiet, like they thought the world could fall apart with one wrong move. a shadow crossed their face as they looked at you, something between worry and… prayer? maybe. with V, it was always hard to tell where emotions ended and faith began.

“you’re burning up,” V whispered, their voice soft but unwavering. they knelt beside you, one hand hovering over your forehead like they were checking for something sacred. “we should get you some water. you need to stay hydrated.”

you blinked up at them, but the words were foggy, tangled in your fever. you tried to speak, tried to say something witty or sarcastic to brush it off, but all that came out was a low hum.

“shh,” V said quickly, before you could struggle with words. “i’ll do the talking. just—just rest.”

they disappeared into the kitchen, and the sound of water being poured felt too loud for the stillness of the room. when they returned, they sat on the edge of the bed, careful, like they were afraid of disturbing something delicate.

“here,” V said, holding out a glass. “you don’t have to sit up. just sip.”

you gave them a look, weakly lifting your arm, but it fell limp before you could grasp the glass. V’s brow furrowed slightly as they bit their lip. they shifted closer, gently lifting your head with one hand and pressing the cool rim of the glass to your lips. the water was cold, and the relief of it made you swallow too quickly, nearly choking. V pulled the glass back immediately.

“slow down,” they murmured, worry threading through their voice now. “it’s not going anywhere.”

you coughed, sinking back into the pillows, feeling the fever drag you down. V watched you for a long moment, their hand still cradling the back of your head. they were so close you could smell the faint scent of incense and cedar that always clung to them, like a quiet reminder of the prayers they carried around in their pockets.

“i should call a doctor,” V said suddenly, voice low but certain.

“no,” you croaked, the word scraping out of your throat like it was broken. “just... give it some time. it’ll pass eventually.” V shook their head, fingers still threaded through your hair, their touch absentminded.

“you say that, but you can’t even lift your head.” their tone was gentle but insistent, the way they always were when they were right and you were too stubborn to admit it.

you let out a weak sigh. “i’ve been worse.”

“i know.” their eyes flickered, something haunted passing through them before they could mask it. they shifted, leaning in just enough for you to catch their scent again. “but you’re not alone this time.”

the words hung in the air, thick and weighty like a promise. you glanced at V, at the way they hovered close without pressing, their usual distance gone in favor of something quieter, more intimate.

“you don’t have to—” you started, but they cut you off with a small shake of their head.

“i want to,” they said softly, their voice barely above a whisper, like the confession was too delicate for the room to hold. “i’m not leaving you like this.”

there was something resolute in their eyes now, a kind of quiet strength that felt more like faith than obligation. V had always carried themselves that way—like their devotion to you wasn’t something they chose, but something that was simply woven into their soul.

they slipped away for a moment and returned with a damp cloth. without a word, they sat beside you, dabbing at your forehead with such care that it almost felt reverent. the coldness of the cloth against your fevered skin was a shock, but you were too tired to flinch.

“better?” they asked after a long pause, their voice cutting through the haze like a prayer meant just for you.

“yeah,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut. “thanks.”

V didn’t respond, just kept up their gentle ministrations, hands steady as they cooled your skin, movements careful, precise. you could feel the way their presence settled over you like a blanket—warm, steady, comforting.

after a few minutes, you opened your eyes, catching a glimpse of V’s expression. there was something unspoken in the way they looked at you, something tender, like a thread between the two of you had pulled tighter, more fragile.

“why are you being so nice?” you asked, the words rasping out through the dryness in your throat. they smiled faintly, cutting you off again, this time with a look.

“i’m always nice,” they said, their lips curving into something soft. “though this time you might actually need it.”

you laughed, or at least tried to, but it came out as a weak cough. V’s smile didn’t fade, but there was something sad about it now, a sadness wrapped in affection.

“you’re not alone,” they repeated, softer now, like they were saying it more for themself than for you.

and in the quiet of that moment, with the room drenched in the dull gray light, it felt like a promise that would be kept, long after the fever broke.

W OSTENDORF

W hovered awkwardly at the edge of the room, a bundle of blankets clutched in their arms. they stood there for a moment, indecisive, looking between you and the blankets like they were unsure of where they were. the sunlight filtering through the curtains softened their features, giving them an air of uncertainty that was almost endearing.

you could barely move—your body ached, the fever radiating through every inch of you. the world around you felt distant, hazy, like you were stuck underwater and everything above the surface moved in slow motion.

W took a step closer, then hesitated, their brow furrowing. “i—i brought more blankets,” they said, their voice quiet, as if afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile stillness of the room. “you looked cold.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but only a raspy cough escaped. they winced at the sound, their face tightening with concern as they hurried forward, laying the blankets down on the foot of the bed. the gesture was clumsy, unsure, but filled with a kind of tenderness that was so distinctly W.

“you don’t have to stay,” you managed to croak out, though you didn’t really mean it. you didn’t want them to leave.

“i know,” they said, a little too quickly, as if they’d been expecting you to say that. they stood there for a moment, wringing their hands together like they weren’t sure what to do with them. “but i’m going to. if that’s okay.”

you gave them a small nod, too weak to argue, and they seemed to take that as permission. they grabbed the chair from the corner of the room and dragged it over to the side of your bed, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor. they sat down, knees drawn up slightly, their lanky frame awkwardly folded into the chair.

for a while, neither of you spoke. you could hear your own labored breathing, feel the heat of the fever still clinging to your skin. W’s presence, though quiet, was grounding in a way you hadn’t expected.

after what felt like forever, they spoke again, their voice softer than before. “i—i made some chicken noodle soup earlier,” they said, fidgeting with the hem of their plaid shirt. “it’s probably not very good. i’m not great at cooking, but i could… i could heat it up for you. if you want.”

you smiled weakly, the corners of your lips barely lifting. ���you made soup?”

they flushed slightly, ducking their head. “i, uh, tried.”

“that’s sweet.”

they blinked at you, clearly not expecting the compliment. for a moment, you thought they might actually leave the room out of sheer embarrassment, but they just nodded, clearing their throat. “i’ll go heat it up, then.”

W disappeared into the hallway, leaving you in the quiet room, the sound of their footsteps echoing faintly. you closed your eyes, letting the fever pull at you, but before you could drift too far, you heard them return, the soft clink of a spoon against a bowl breaking the stillness.

they sat down on the edge of the bed this time, the chair abandoned. they held the bowl of soup in one hand, the other awkwardly fumbling with the spoon.

“you need to sit up,” they said, though there was no command in their voice, only a kind of quiet concern.

“i can’t,” you mumbled, the effort of speaking too much.

“alright.” they swallowed nervously, then leaned forward, sliding their arm around your back, lifting you with a gentleness that surprised you. “let me help.”

their arm was steady, surprisingly strong for someone so unsure of themself. they propped you up against the pillows, their hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment longer than necessary before they pulled away, reaching for the soup again.

“here,” they murmured, carefully dipping the spoon into the bowl. they blew on it first, testing it like they weren’t sure if it would burn you, before holding it to your lips. “slowly, little at a time.”

you took the spoonful of soup, warm and surprisingly soothing against the rawness of your throat. it wasn’t very good—too much salt, too little flavor, mushy macaroni—but the fact that W had made it, that they were there, meant more than anything else in that moment.

“sorry,” they muttered, noticing the barely suppressed grimace on your face. “i—i know it’s bad. i tried out a lot of recipes and this is the only one which turned out edible. i’ll practice more later.”

“no,” you whispered, swallowing thickly. “it’s fine.”

it really wasn’t and it was clear that W didn’t believe you, but they didn’t argue. they kept feeding you spoonful after spoonful, slow and careful, their eyes darting between your face and the bowl as if they were making sure you weren’t going to collapse any second.

“i feel like a child,” you muttered, trying for a joke. it didn’t quite land.

W’s lips twitched in a small smile. “you’ve always been a little stubborn,” they said, their voice nostalgic and soft. “even when we were kids. you never liked being taken care of when you got sick.”

you smiled at that, too tired to respond. when you’d had enough, they set the bowl aside, their hand brushing lightly against yours as they moved back to their chair. you were exhausted again, your body sinking deeper into the pillows, the fever dragging at you.

“you should get some sleep,” W said, their voice a murmur. “i’ll stay right here.”

you didn’t have the energy to argue, so you nodded, closing your eyes. their presence was a quiet anchor, steady and calm, the sound of their breathing a soft, rhythmic reminder that you weren’t alone.

as you drifted off, you felt the faintest brush of W’s fingers against your hand, a hesitant touch, like they wanted to offer comfort but weren’t sure how. their voice, barely audible, floated through the thick haze of sleep.

“i’ll be here,” they whispered. “i’m not going anywhere.”

and somehow, even through the fever, even through the exhaustion that pulled you under, you believed them wholeheartedly.

D DIACONU

D stood in the doorway, the light behind them casting a long shadow across the floor. for a moment, they didn’t move, just watched you lying there, half-hidden beneath the tangled blankets. their expression was hard to read, a mixture of something close to worry but disguised beneath the usual mask of nonchalance.

“you look like death warmed over,” D said, finally breaking the silence with their usual bluntness. they leaned against the doorframe, crossing their arms. “not a great look for you, sweet cheeks.”

you tried to respond, but all that came out was a hoarse croak, your throat dry and raw. the fever made everything feel heavy, like the air in the room was thicker than it should be, and just opening your eyes felt like an effort.

“hey,” they said, their voice softening as they pushed off the doorframe and strode over to the bed, “no smart comeback? must be bad. looks like V wasn’t overreacting after all.”

D sat on the edge of the bed, their presence filling the space in that way only they could. they were close but not touching, their energy restless, as if they weren’t sure what to do in this moment.

“i’ll live,” you rasped, though the effort it took to say the words made you feel like you were lying.

D’s mouth quirked into a half-smile, but it didn’t reach their eyes. “yeah, well, not looking like it from here.”

they stood up, moving to the windows. in one smooth motion, they threw the curtains wide open, letting in a flood of sunlight that made you wince and pull the blankets over your face.

“god, why—” you groaned, voice muffled by the blankets.

“you need air,” D said, dragging a chair over and sitting down next to the bed with a sigh. they leaned back, looking at you like they were trying to figure out how much of this was an exaggeration and how much was real. “or maybe a miracle. i don’t know. you’re not going to get better hiding in the dark like fucking nosferatu.”

“pretty sure the fever’s going to kill me first,” you muttered.

D just stared at you for a moment, their half-lidded gray eyes taking in every detail—the sheen of sweat on your skin, the dark circles under your eyes, the way your breaths came shallow and uneven.

“you’re not going to die,” they said, a little too forcefully, like they were trying to convince themself as much as you. it seemed like they noticed it too because they tried to cover it up with a joke. “i’d kill you first. messy but faster.”

“i’d also suffer less,” you added with a weak chuckle, though it quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. D’s face tightened, and without another word, they were up, rummaging around in the small bag they’d brought with them.

when they came back, they had a glass of water and some pills. “here,” they said, pushing them into your hand. “take this.”

you looked at the pills with suspicion. “do i look like i’m in the state to do drugs at the moment?”

“these aren’t— well, technically medicines are drugs,” they shook their head. “but it’s for the fever. trust me, you need it.”

you stared at the pills for a moment longer before sighing and downing them with the water. D watched you the whole time, their eyes narrowed and making sure you weren’t going to choke or spill the water everywhere.

after a few seconds of silence, they sighed, leaning back in the chair again, but there was a tension in their posture, like they weren’t entirely comfortable being still for this long.

“i’m not great at this,” D admitted, running a hand through their hair in a rare display of vulnerability. “taking care of people, i mean. but you’re not exactly leaving me much of a choice, are you?”

you glanced over at them, trying to muster a weak smile. “the door is that way.”

they snorted, a sound that was more amused than anything. “yeah, well, you’re not getting rid of me so easily, sweet cheeks.”

for a while, D just sat there, tapping their fingers against the side of the chair in an impatient rhythm. the quiet between you both wasn’t uncomfortable, though—it was just... there. it was easy, even with the fever dragging at your consciousness.

D wasn’t the type to hover over anyone, to fuss. they’d never be like that. but their presence was steady, solid in a way that made you feel like maybe you weren’t going to drown under the weight of this sickness after all.

they sighed again, louder this time, clearly irritated with themself. “you know, i should’ve just left you to suffer. would’ve been funnier.”

you rolled your eyes weakly, but there was no real feeling in it. “you’re terrible at pretending you don’t care.”

D’s lips twitched upward, but they didn’t deny it. instead, they leaned forward, elbows on their knees, and gave you a long look.

“you’re not allowed to die on me, okay?” they said, their tone half-joking but their eyes serious. “because then i’d have to explain to everyone why i spent an entire day sitting around and being nice to you. and i’m not doing that.”

“deal,” you croaked, managing a small smile. “i’ll try not to die just to spare you the trouble.”

“good,” they said, leaning back again, looking more comfortable now that the conversation was back in a familiar, light-hearted territory. “because i don’t do hospital visits. or funerals.”

you closed your eyes, the exhaustion creeping back in despite their attempts to keep you awake. their voice, though, kept you tethered to the room, to the present.

“sleep,” D said, gentler now. “i’ll be here when you wake up. but if you die, i’m dialing up necromancers left and right.”

“understood,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you drifted off.

and as you slipped into sleep, you could feel D’s gaze still on you, steady and unrelenting, like they were keeping watch. like they’d fight the fever off themself if they could.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

M stood at the foot of your bed, arms crossed, a look of mild exasperation on their face. the room felt too large and too cold despite the covers you’d pulled up to your chin, and the fever left you tangled in a mix of sweats and chills.

“really,” M said, voice posh and clipped, “you should have called me earlier. this is entirely preventable, you know.”

you tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. “yeah, sorry, i’ll be sure to schedule my illness next time.”

they gave a small, elegant shrug, as if conceding that point, but you could tell they didn’t fully agree. M always had an answer, a solution to every problem, and you being incapacitated by something as mundane as sickness seemed to offend their sense of order.

without another word, they turned and headed out of the room. you stared after them, confused for a moment, but they were back almost immediately, carrying a silver tray with a delicate teacup balanced on it. the sight was so absurdly M—like they couldn’t fathom the idea of handling something as simple as tea without making it an event—that you couldn’t help but smile.

“chamomile,” they announced, setting the tray down on your bedside table with the kind of grace that made the act feel like a theatre performance. “good for your throat, and it won’t upset your stomach either.”

you propped yourself up on your elbows, feeling weak but trying not to let it show. M lifted the teacup with both hands and offered it to you with all the solemnity of a ceremonial ritual.

“drink,” they said. “slowly.”

you raised an eyebrow but took the cup anyway, the warmth of it seeping into your hands. “do you always take care of everyone like this?”

max tilted their head slightly, considering the question. “you’re not ‘everyone,’” they said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “i have standards, you know.”

you sipped the tea, feeling the heat slide down your throat. it was calming, the way chamomile always was, but there was something more comforting about the way M watched you with that inscrutable expression of precision and care.

“i feel awful,” you rasped, your head lolling against the headboard. “why are you being so caring towards me?”

M quirked an eyebrow, their lips curving into that half-smile of theirs—a smile that knew too much. “contrary to popular belief, darling, i am quite capable of kindness when the situation calls for it.”

“thanks,” you murmured, resting back against the pillows. “for, you know, the tea. the care.”

M’s lips twitched, almost like they were amused. “you should know by now that i don’t do things halfway.” they sat down in the armchair beside your bed, the dark leather creaking slightly under their weight. even sitting, they were composed, their posture immaculate as they crossed one leg over the other. “you’re an absolute disaster right now,” they added, though their tone wasn’t unkind. “but, thankfully for you, i’m here.”

you snorted, setting the teacup back on the tray. “a disaster, huh?”

they smiled—a small, subtle curve of the lips. “an endearing disaster.”

you coughed again, this time harder, and M immediately stood up, as if on alert. they moved quickly but with a calmness that made it clear they weren’t flustered by the situation.

“you’re overheating,” they observed, brushing their cool hand against your forehead. “i’ll get you some water.”

they returned in what felt like no time at all, a glass of water in hand. M held it out to you, not so much as letting you struggle to sit up on your own. you managed to drink a few sips, feeling a little steadier as the cold water cut through the fever’s haze.

as you handed the glass back, M’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected. there was something in their eyes—a hint of concern, but deeper than that, something bordering on protectiveness.

you gave them a soft smile. “thank you. your help... it’s appreciated. really.”

“i should hope so,” they replied, straightening the edge of your blanket with a meticulous hand. “you’d better be back on your feet soon. i don’t have the patience to babysit indefinitely.”

despite their words, you could see the truth in their actions—the way they moved so carefully, like every detail mattered. M didn’t deal in overtly emotional gestures, but their care was all the more powerful because of its restraint. they weren’t going to fawn over you or make a scene. but they would sit there, beside your bed, making sure everything was taken care of while you recovered.

and as the hours passed, they remained by your side, the room filled with the quiet rhythm of your breathing, their calm presence a balm against the fever. you could feel their gaze on you even as you drifted in and out of sleep, an anchor to the world beyond the heat of your sickness.

when you woke again, the light had shifted in the room, casting long shadows across the walls. M was still there, a book in their lap, though it was closed, as if they hadn’t actually been reading it.

“you didn’t have to stay,” you said, your voice rough with sleep.

M glanced over at you, their expression unreadable but softened by the dim light. “of course i did,” they said, as if it were the simplest truth. they stood up, placing the book on the bedside table before smoothing down the front of their shirt. “now, rest. i’ll make sure everything’s in order when you’re back to your usual self.”

there was no arguing with them—there never was. and so, as you let the exhaustion pull you back under, you felt an odd sense of peace, knowing that M would keep everything in place.

[engeorged]

Harry's Stag - Part One

As I stepped out of the taxi, the cool Amsterdam air washed over me, and I couldn’t help but smile. The canals, the narrow streets, the lively hum of the city—it was just what I needed. A lads’ weekend with my best mates, a chance to unwind before I marry the man of my dreams.

I glanced at the guys, a wave of affection washing over me. Jim and I had been mates since we were kids, practically growing up together. Tall, lean, with that rugged, outdoorsy vibe and piercing blue eyes that seemed to cut through any nonsense, Jim was the steady one—the rock who always kept us grounded.

Banning and Noel came into our lives during university when we all played rugby together. Banning, with his quiet confidence and sharp mind, was always thinking a few steps ahead. He had this knack for coming up with a plan, making sure we stayed out of trouble and found our way home in one piece. Then there’s Noel—scruffy, blonde, and a bit shorter than the rest of us, but with a cheeky grin that could charm his way out of any mess he managed to get himself into. He was the joker of the group, ensuring we were never bored.

And then there’s me, Harry, the soon-to-be groom, the guy who’s somehow managed to land the most amazing man in the world. Jason is everything I’ve ever wanted—6’5, blonde, and brilliant, working in finance but with a heart of gold. He’s got this mix of confidence and kindness that makes me fall for him all over again every time I see him. I’m the luckiest guy on the planet, and I know it.

But right now, all I want is to forget about the wedding planning and just enjoy this weekend with the guys. We’ve been through so much together—high school dramas, university antics, and everything life has thrown at us since. This weekend is our chance to let loose, to celebrate before everything changes.

The morning light filtered through the curtains as I woke up, feeling the familiar buzz of excitement. Today was going to be one for the books. After a quick shower, I headed downstairs with the guys to tackle the hotel’s breakfast buffet. I’d always seen buffets as a bit of a challenge—something I’d perfected during our rugby trips in uni when the lads and I would try to outdo each other with how much we could eat.

The spread was impressive: stacks of pancakes, sizzling sausages, crispy bacon, eggs done every way imaginable, and fresh pastries that looked like they’d come straight out of a bakery. My stomach growled in anticipation, and I grabbed a plate, ready to dive in.

Jim, always the early riser, was already at the buffet, piling food onto his plate. “Morning, mate,” he said with a grin. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“You know me,” I replied, grabbing a bit of everything and then some. “Never one to turn down a good breakfast.”

We settled at a table, and I started working through my plate, enjoying the food and the banter. Before I could even make a dent in my meal, Noel appeared with a plate stacked high with more food. “Mate, you’ve got to try these pancakes,” he said, dropping them onto my plate without waiting for a reply.

I laughed, not thinking much of it. “Alright, alright, keep them coming.”

Banning, ever the strategist, chimed in as he sat down. “You’re missing out on the scrambled eggs. Here, have some more,” he said, adding a generous portion to my plate.

As we ate, the conversation flowed, and I found myself reminiscing about our old rugby trips. “Remember that all-you-can-eat steakhouse in Leeds?” I asked, chuckling. “I think I put away enough to feed a small army that night.”

Jim nodded, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Yeah, and you still managed to play the next day. You’ve always had a hollow leg when it comes to food.”

They kept the food coming, and I kept eating, not really noticing how often one of them would toss something extra onto my plate. I was too caught up in the nostalgia, the friendly competition from our uni days, and the general excitement of the weekend.

But as I started on my third plate, I felt a familiar tightness in my stomach. The kind that crept in during those old eating challenges when I’d push myself just a bit too far. My belly was starting to feel heavy, the waistband of my jeans pressing uncomfortably against my skin. I shifted in my seat, trying to ease the growing discomfort.

Still, I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge—even a self-imposed one. I kept eating, even as my stomach began to bloat, pushing out slightly against my shirt. Each bite was a little slower, the food sitting heavily in my gut. I could feel my belly rounding out, the once-flat surface curving just a bit more with each mouthful.

“Feeling full yet?” Jim asked an innocent enough question, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

“A bit,” I admitted, patting my stomach, which was now firm and slightly swollen. “But you know me—never one to quit while I’m ahead.”

The guys exchanged quick glances, subtle but not lost on me. I shrugged it off, thinking they were just reminiscing about old times like I was. But deep down, I had a nagging feeling that they were up to something. Still, I was too focused on the food and the fun to really care.

As I polished off the last of my pancakes, the tightness in my belly became more pronounced. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my slightly rounded stomach, feeling the pressure building inside. Regret started to creep in—a familiar sensation from those rugby days when I’d pushed my limits a bit too far. My shirt stretched a little tighter across my middle, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I should’ve shown some restraint.

But then I caught myself. I’d eaten way more than this before, especially during those wild university days. This was nothing compared to some of the eating challenges I’d taken on—and won. A bit of bloat wasn’t going to slow me down. I could handle it, no problem.

With that in mind, I shrugged off the discomfort. It was just breakfast, after all, and we had a whole day ahead of us. “Right, lads,” I said, standing up and stretching, trying to shake off the heaviness in my gut. “What’s next on the agenda?”

Jim clapped me on the back, and I could feel the tension in my overstuffed stomach as he did. “Let’s head out and explore, mate. We’ve got a full day ahead of us.”

I nodded, determined to push through the fullness. I reminded myself that this was all part of the fun, and I could definitely handle more. With one last glance at the table, I followed the guys out the door, ready to see what the day had in store.

As we headed out into the bustling streets of Amsterdam, the food still sitting heavily in my stomach, I told myself I was just being paranoid. These guys were my best friends—they wouldn’t pull anything on me, especially not right before my wedding.

After finishing breakfast, we decided to take in some of the sights. Amsterdam was a beautiful city, and I was excited to explore it with my best mates. The weather was perfect—clear skies and a gentle breeze, making it an ideal day for wandering around.

We started by visiting some of the city's iconic spots, like the Anne Frank House and the Van Gogh Museum. But as we strolled along the canals and through the narrow streets, I could feel the heaviness in my belly from the massive breakfast easing a bit. By late morning, we found ourselves at one of the bustling local markets. The place was alive with vibrant colours, delicious smells, and the chatter of vendors selling everything from fresh produce to local delicacies. It was the kind of place where you could easily lose track of time, wandering from stall to stall, sampling the best that Amsterdam had to offer.

"Harry, check this out!" Banning called out, waving me over to a stall where a vendor was selling fresh stroopwafels, still warm from the griddle. He handed me one, and before I could even think about whether I was hungry, I found myself biting into the sweet, caramel-filled treat. It was delicious, the perfect balance of chewy and crunchy, and despite the fullness I still felt, I had to admit it was hard to resist.

"How about some cheese?" Noel chimed in, appearing beside me with a small platter of local Dutch cheeses. He popped a piece into my mouth before I could protest, grinning as I chewed. The rich, creamy flavours melted on my tongue, and I couldn’t help but smile at how good it tasted.

As we moved through the market, the guys made sure I didn’t miss a thing. Every few steps, they’d find something new for me to try—a slice of fresh apple pie here, a handful of chocolate-covered nuts there. They seemed to be in a competition to see who could find the most delicious treats, and I was the unwitting contestant.

“Harry, you’ve got to try these!” Jim called out, holding up a tray of poffertjes, tiny Dutch pancakes dusted with powdered sugar. He handed me the tray, and before I knew it, I was popping the fluffy little pancakes into my mouth, one after another.

With each bite, my belly grew heavier, the tightness from breakfast now back and mixed with the new wave of food. But the guys kept bringing me more, their excitement and enthusiasm contagious. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, watching as I dutifully sampled everything they put in front of me.

At one point, I realised I was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by it all. “Guys, I think I’m good for now,” I said, laughing nervously as I held up a hand to stop another treat from making its way into my mouth.

“Fuck that!” Banning said, laughing. “We’re just getting started. You’ve got to experience everything, mate!”

Despite my growing discomfort, I couldn’t help but go along with it. After all, this was supposed to be a weekend of indulgence, and I didn’t want to be the one to spoil the fun. So I kept eating, letting the guys guide me from stall to stall, each new bite adding to the growing pressure in my belly.

By the time we were ready to leave the market, I could barely keep track of everything I’d eaten. My stomach felt impossibly full, a heavy, warm weight pressing against my waistband. As we walked away, I noticed the guys exchanging amused glances, but they didn’t say anything, and I didn’t push it.

As we left the market, I was feeling stuffed from all the sampling, but the guys weren't done with me yet. Just as we were about to head back towards the city centre, Banning spotted a stall selling fresh pastries. The aroma of warm, buttery dough filled the air, making my mouth water despite the heaviness already sitting in my gut.

“Hold up, lads,” Banning said, veering off toward the stall. “We can’t leave without taking some of these with us!”

Before I could protest, he was at the counter, ordering a large bag of assorted pastries—croissants, danishes, and something that looked like a massive cinnamon roll, all warm and fresh from the oven.

“Here you go, Harry,” he said, shoving the bag into my hands with a grin. “Something to snack on as we walk.”

I chuckled, trying to hide my unease at the thought of eating anything more. “You sure you guys don’t want to share these?”

“Oh, we’ll help,” Jim said, but I noticed the sly smile on his face. “But you’ve got to lead the charge, mate. You’re the groom, after all.”

With no real way to refuse without seeming like a party pooper, I sighed and reached into the bag. The croissant I pulled out was soft and flaky, practically melting in my hands. I took a bite, the buttery richness spreading across my tongue, and I had to admit—it was damn good.

As we walked, I found myself nibbling on the pastries, more out of habit than hunger. The guys encouraged me with every bite, grabbing a pastry here and there, but always making sure the majority of them ended up in my hands.

By the time we reached our next destination, the bag was nearly empty, and I felt like I was carrying a lead weight in my belly. The waistband of my jeans was digging into my skin, and I subtly tried to adjust it to relieve some of the pressure. The guys, of course, were loving every minute of it, exchanging knowing looks as I dutifully finished off the last pastry. 

I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were up to something, but for now, all I could focus on was the heavy, bloated sensation in my gut. It was hard to believe I could still stand, let alone keep eating, but with the lads around, I knew there was no way I’d get out of it. 

After leaving the market with my belly full of pastries, we found ourselves wandering through the winding streets of Amsterdam again. The city was buzzing with life, tourists mingling with locals, and the smell of food and drink filled the air. My stomach was still groaning from all the food I'd packed into it, but when the guys suggested stopping for some beers, I figured it might help take the edge off.

“Let’s hit up a few local breweries,” Jim suggested, his eyes lighting up. “We can’t leave Amsterdam without trying some of the best beer in the world.”

I agreed, hoping that a few drinks might dull the ache in my overstuffed belly. The first brewery we hit was small and cosy, with wooden tables and an impressive selection of local brews. The guys ordered a round of pints, and I gladly accepted mine, taking a long, deep sip. The cold, bitter beer slid down my throat, and I could feel it spreading warmth through my chest.

The first pint went down easily, and for a moment, I almost forgot how full I was. The alcohol worked its magic, numbing the uncomfortable pressure in my stomach. The guys were in high spirits, laughing and joking as we finished our beers and moved on to the next brewery.

By the time we reached the third stop, I was starting to feel a bit more relaxed. The bloated sensation in my gut was still there, but the beer had taken the edge off. Each point seemed to settle on top of the food in my belly, adding to the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through my body.

The guys were keeping pace with me, ordering pints at each stop and making sure I always had one in my hand. I knew I should slow down, but the alcohol was doing its job, and I found myself caring less and less about how full I was. Instead, I focused on enjoying the moment, the camaraderie, and the laughter of my best friends.

At the fifth brewery, the drinks started to catch up with me. My head was buzzing, and the bloated feeling in my stomach was returning, more pronounced than before. I tried to keep up with the guys, but I could feel my belly straining against the waistband of my jeans, each sip of beer adding to the swelling pressure.

I glanced down at my gut, now noticeably rounder and heavier than it had been earlier in the day. The fullness was almost overwhelming, but the beers had numbed me enough that I could push through it, at least for a while longer.

Jim noticed me looking at my stomach and clapped me on the back. “You alright, mate? You’re keeping up like a champ!”

I managed a grin, even though I could feel the tightness in my belly with every breath. “Yeah, just feeling it a bit,” I admitted.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost done with the tour,” Noel said, raising his glass. “Just a couple more, and then we can grab some food to soak it all up.”

The mention of food made my stomach churn, but I pushed the thought aside and lifted my pint in a toast. As we moved on to the final stop, I could feel the beers sloshing around inside me, mingling with the pastries and everything else I’d consumed that day. 

But the guys were right—the beers had dulled the ache, at least for now, and I was too buzzed to care about what might come next.

By the time we reached the final brewery on our tour, my belly had become an undeniable presence—both to me and, I suspected, to anyone who glanced in my direction. It felt like a boulder, heavy and firm, pressing outwards against the fabric of my shirt. The once-flat surface was now a taut, rounded dome, the skin stretched tight and smooth. Every step I took made it sway slightly, a reminder of just how much I’d eaten.

I rubbed my swollen middle, trying to ease the growing pressure. Suddenly, a deep belch forced its way up, loud and unexpected. The guys turned, grinning, and immediately erupted into cheers.

“There he is!” Noel laughed, clapping me on the back, which only made my belly slosh uncomfortably. “That’s the spirit, mate!”

Another belch rumbled up, and this time I didn’t even try to hold it back. The guys whooped and cheered even louder, egging me on as I laughed along with them.

“Keep ‘em coming!” Banning shouted, raising his pint in a mock toast.

I shook my head, grinning as yet another burp escaped me. The relief was temporary, though, as the pressure inside me continued to build. Every step made my belly jiggle slightly, and I could feel just how bloated I was becoming. The gas from all that beer wasn’t helping, either, making me feel even more stuffed than I already was.

I couldn’t help but enjoy the moment. The lads were loving it, and there was something satisfying about knowing I could still outdo them, just like in the old days. Even if my stomach felt like it was about to burst, the cheers and laughter made it all worth it.

Despite the discomfort, there was a part of me that was fascinated by how much my body had changed in just a few short hours. My normally lean frame had been overtaken by this massive, swollen belly, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer volume I’d managed to pack away.

The guys noticed, too. I caught Banning’s eye as he glanced at my gut, and he grinned, clearly impressed. “That’s one hell of a belly, Harry,” he said, his voice full of admiration. “You’ve really outdone yourself today.”

Jim nodded in agreement, raising his pint in a toast. “To Harry’s belly,” he said with a laugh. “May it keep growing!”

The others joined in, their laughter filling the air as I gave a half-hearted chuckle. I could feel my stomach stretching even more as I took another sip of beer, the pressure building to a point that was almost unbearable.

As we finished our drinks, I leaned back in my chair, trying to find some relief from the tightness. My belly was now a prominent, round sphere, pressing outwards with a fullness that I couldn’t ignore. It was a strange mix of discomfort and pride—I’d never seen myself like this before, and despite the ache, there was something almost amusing about the sheer size of my belly.

By early afternoon, I was starting to feel the effects of our beer-filled morning. My head was buzzing pleasantly, and my steps were just a bit slower as we made our way through the bustling streets. I was thinking about suggesting a quick stop back at the hotel to freshen up, but before I could, Noel was already leading us toward our next destination.

“We’ve got a special lunch spot lined up, Harry,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Proper local place. None of that touristy crap.”

I was too relaxed to argue, letting him steer me down a side street and into a large, rustic-looking restaurant. The inside was all dark wood and heavy beams, with long communal tables and the rich smell of roasting meat filling the air. My stomach rumbled in spite of the heaviness I was already feeling, and I figured a good meal might help soak up some of the beer.

We found a spot at the end of one of the tables, and Noel didn’t even bother with menus. “We’ll take four of your specials,” he told the waitress with a wink, and she nodded, jotting it down before disappearing into the kitchen.

I leaned back in my chair, glancing around at the other diners. Most of them were locals, digging into plates piled high with food, glasses of cider clinking together in toasts. It was lively, warm, and exactly the kind of place that made you feel at home, even halfway across the world.

“So, what’s the special?” I asked, eyeing Noel suspiciously.

“Wait and see,” he grinned, taking a long pull from the glass of cider that had just been set in front of him. “You’re gonna love it.”

Moments later, the food arrived, and my eyes widened as the waitress set a huge platter in front of each of us. There, in the centre, was a whole roasted chicken, crispy and golden, surrounded by a mountain of fresh bread and a full litre of cider.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered, staring at the feast. It looked incredible, but there was no way I could finish all that. “You guys trying to kill me?”

Banning smirked, already tearing into his bread. “Consider it a challenge.”

“Come on, Harry,” Jim chimed in, pulling a hunk of chicken off the bone. “You said you were hungry this morning.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean all day,” I laughed, even as I reached for my fork. The smell of the roasted chicken was too tempting to resist, and I figured I could at least make a dent in it.

We dug in, the conversation flowing easily between bites of juicy chicken and sips of the strong, dry cider. The bread was warm and crusty, perfect for soaking up the rich drippings from the chicken, and despite my full stomach, I found myself going back for more, over and over.

The guys were relentless, though, nudging the bread my way whenever I slowed down, refilling my cider glass before I’d even finished it. Every time I thought I was done, Jim would carve off another piece of chicken and drop it onto my plate, or Noel would push the bread basket back toward me with a grin.

“You’ve got to try this with the cider,” Noel insisted, handing me a slice of bread slathered in the drippings. “Trust me, it’s worth it.”

I took the bread, biting into it with a mix of enjoyment and trepidation. It was delicious, of course, but I was starting to reach the point where every bite felt like a struggle. My stomach was stretched tight, the combination of beer, cider, and food weighing me down.

But there was something infectious about their enthusiasm, the way they kept the mood light and fun, and I couldn’t bring myself to say no. These were my best mates, and they were making sure I had the time of my life. What was a little discomfort in the grand scheme of things?

“Only the best for you,” Noel added with a wink, though there was a glint in his eye that made me wonder just how much more they had planned for me.

After finishing the meal, I leaned back in my chair, feeling utterly stuffed. My usually firm belly was now uncomfortably stretched, the tightness pressing against my shirt. The button on my jeans felt like it was about to pop, and I had to loosen my belt a notch to alleviate some of the pressure.

The full feeling wasn’t just in my stomach but seemed to radiate through my entire body. Every bite of the juicy chicken and every piece of bread had added to the bloated sensation, and the cider had only intensified it. My stomach was protruding noticeably, an unfamiliar softness replacing the tight abs I’d worked so hard to maintain. It felt heavy, like a weight pressing down from within.

I looked around at my friends, trying to ignore the discomfort, but the sight of their grins and the way they patted their own full bellies didn’t help. “I think I might have overdone it,” I admitted with a chuckle, rubbing my distended stomach.

“No way, mate,” Jim said, giving me a friendly thump on the back. “You’re just getting into the spirit of things.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to stay in top form,” Noel added, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You don’t want to be the one to miss out.”

Despite the lighthearted teasing, I could barely move, feeling the fullness with every breath. I glanced down at my bulging belly, the fabric of my shirt straining against the roundness. It was a far cry from the trim figure I was used to seeing.

As we finally left the restaurant, I had to walk slowly, my steps deliberate and careful. Each movement reminded me of just how much I’d eaten, and I knew that if I didn’t get some relief soon, the discomfort would only grow. But with the guys still in high spirits, I knew the day was far from over, and whatever they had planned next, I’d have to muster the energy to keep up.

As we left the restaurant, the afternoon started to blur together. The combination of food and cider had left me pleasantly tipsy, and the usual sharpness of my thoughts had softened. My bloated stomach felt heavy, but the excitement of the city kept me moving, albeit at a slower pace.

After the epic lunch, I was convinced I couldn't possibly eat another bite. My stomach was so full and bloated that it felt like a lead weight was strapped to me, each step making my distended gut jiggle slightly under my shirt.

We started walking again, heading toward the canals for a leisurely afternoon tour. The sun was shining, reflecting off the water as we strolled along the cobblestone streets. I tried to focus on the sights—the charming, narrow buildings, the boats gliding by—but the heavy, stuffed feeling in my gut was impossible to ignore. Every step made me acutely aware of just how much space my belly was taking up, stretching my shirt tight across the firm, rounded expanse.

We hadn’t gone far before we passed a street vendor selling fresh Bitterballen. The savoury aroma of deep-fried goodness filled the air, making my stomach rumble despite the fullness. Bitterballen are traditional Dutch snacks, deep-fried balls filled with a rich, creamy beef or veal ragout, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. They’re often enjoyed with a dollop of mustard.

Noel, ever the enthusiast, was already haggling with the vendor before I could even process what was happening. “Harry’s got to try these!” he said, handing over a few euros and grabbing a serving of the hot, golden balls.

“Mate, I’m so full I can barely move,” I protested weakly, but Noel just grinned and handed me a paper cone filled with Bitterballen.

“Come on, you’ve got room for one more,” he said, winking. “It’s part of the experience.”

I took the cone and popped one of the Bitterballen into my mouth. The crispy exterior gave way to a rich, creamy filling that was both indulgent and comforting. Despite the tightness in my belly, the flavour was irresistible. With each bite, I could feel the food settling heavily on top of everything else I’d eaten, adding to the relentless pressure in my gut.

We continued along the canal, and it wasn’t long before Jim spotted another vendor—this time selling churros dusted with cinnamon sugar. He practically sprinted over, eager to buy a bag for me before Banning could get there first.

“Here you go, Harry,” Jim said, thrusting the warm bag into my hands. “You’ve got to keep your energy up!”

I stared at the churros, my stomach groaning in protest at the mere thought of eating more. But the guys were watching me expectantly, their excitement palpable. I couldn’t let them down, so I forced myself to take a bite.

The churro was crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, and coated with just the right amount of cinnamon sugar. It was delicious, but as I swallowed, I felt my belly swell even more, the tightness becoming almost unbearable. Each bite seemed to expand my gut further, stretching the skin to its limits.

“Harry, you’re a machine!” Banning laughed, clapping me on the back as I forced down the last of the churros. “I don’t know how you’re doing it.”

Neither did I. My stomach was now so full that it was starting to feel rock-hard, a firm, rounded dome that pushed out from under my shirt with every breath. The waistband of my jeans was cutting painfully into my sides, and I could feel my skin pulling tight over the swollen mass of my belly. I wanted to stop, to sit down and let my overstuffed gut settle, but the guys weren’t having any of it.

We passed another vendor, this one selling warm, cheesy croquettes, and before I could even protest, Banning had bought a handful and was offering them to me.

“Last ones, I promise,” he said with a mischievous grin, though I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was far from finished.

I took one, biting into the crispy, gooey centre, and immediately felt another surge of fullness. My stomach was now a tight, distended ball, and each bite made it feel like I was stretching it to the breaking point. But the guys kept egging me on, practically shoving the croquettes into my hands as we walked.

By the time we finally finished the canal tour, my belly was truly enormous—a swollen, overfilled sphere that jutted out in front of me, heavy and round. The tightness was almost unbearable, and I could barely stand up straight, the weight of my gut pulling me forward with every step. 

And yet, despite it all, I couldn’t help but laugh along with the guys, the absurdity of the situation hitting me. My friends were practically fighting over who got to feed me next, and I was helpless to stop them. My once-lean frame had been transformed into something out of a cartoon, my shirt now riding up to expose the pale, stretched skin of my bloated belly.

As we headed back toward the city centre, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. The day was still young, and the guys seemed determined to see just how much more they could cram into me. And as much as I wanted to protest, I knew deep down that I wasn’t going to stop them.

By the time the afternoon sun started to dip, I was struggling. Every step felt like a monumental effort, the heavy, swollen mass of my belly swaying in front of me, throwing off my balance. It had gone from feeling full and stretched to being outright painful, a tight, solid ball that was almost too much to bear. The guys were still in high spirits, laughing and joking as we walked, but I was finding it hard to keep up. 

"Guys," I groaned, finally coming to a stop and placing a hand on my distended gut. "I need a break. Can we head back to the hotel for a bit? Just a quick snooze, let my stomach settle."

I was expecting some pushback, but surprisingly, they all nodded in agreement. Maybe they could see the strain on my face, or maybe they were just ready for a break too. Either way, we turned in the direction of the hotel, and I started to imagine the sweet relief of lying down and letting my poor, overworked belly rest.

But of course, it wasn’t going to be that simple.

As we rounded a corner, we passed a small, bustling shop with a line of people snaking out the door. The smell of fried potatoes and various toppings filled the air, and Jim’s eyes lit up when he spotted the sign.

“Wait a second,” he said, grabbing my arm and pointing toward the shop. “This is the place I’ve been telling you about! They make these famous fries with all sorts of toppings. We’ve got to try it.”

I felt a knot of dread tighten in my already cramped stomach. “Jim, I’m seriously about to burst here. I don’t think I can fit anything else in.”

But Jim wasn’t having it. “Come on, Harry, you can’t come all the way to Amsterdam and not try this. It’s part of the experience! We’ll just get one big platter to share, no big deal.”

Banning and Noel were already nodding along enthusiastically, and before I could argue any further, they were steering me toward the door. Inside, the place was a fry-lover’s paradise—massive trays of golden fries, each topped with a ridiculous amount of extras, from melted cheese to pulled pork, jalapeños, and creamy sauces.

We ordered the biggest platter they had, a monstrosity as wide as the table itself, piled high with fries and every topping imaginable. It was the sort of thing meant for a group of a dozen, not four guys who had already been eating all day. The sight of it alone made my stomach lurch in protest.

I tried to push back. “Guys, seriously, this is insane. I can’t eat all this.”

But Banning grinned at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’ll help, don’t worry. But you’ve got to at least give it a shot, Harry. Think of it as a challenge.”

I knew there was no way out, not with all three of them looking at me like that. So, with a resigned sigh, I picked up a fork and dug in.

The first few bites were delicious, the crispy fries and rich toppings a perfect combination. But with every mouthful, I could feel my stomach stretching further, pushing against my waistband and straining the limits of my shirt. The tightness that had been a constant presence all day was now bordering on unbearable, a pressure that made it hard to focus on anything other than the sheer fullness of my gut.

Still, the guys kept urging me on, and somehow, I kept going. They were making a show of eating their share, but it was clear that most of the food was ending up in front of me. Every time I slowed down, they’d shove another forkful of loaded fries in my direction, laughing and cheering me on like it was some sort of competition.

“Harry’s taking the lead!” Noel shouted at one point, and the others whooped in agreement. 

I felt like I was in a daze, barely able to comprehend what I was doing as I continued to eat. My belly was now so bloated that it was pressing against the edge of the table, a round, firm dome that seemed to be growing larger with each bite. My shirt was stretched tight across the distended curve of my gut, and I could feel the seams straining with every breath.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I dropped my fork, unable to eat another bite. The platter was mostly empty, but my stomach felt like it was about to burst. I leaned back in my chair, groaning as the pressure in my belly intensified. It was a strange mix of pain and satisfaction, the kind of fullness that made it impossible to do anything but sit there and let my body digest.

The guys, of course, were loving it. They were all grins and high-fives, clearly proud of themselves for pushing me to this point.

“You’re a legend, Harry,” Banning said, clapping me on the back with a laugh. “I don’t know how you did it.”

I didn’t either. All I knew was that my belly was now so swollen and distended that I could barely move. It jutted out in front of me like a solid, round ball, the skin stretched tight and smooth over the massive bulge. I could feel every inch of it, the fullness pressing down on my lungs and making it hard to breathe, let alone think.

As we finally left the fry shop and started heading back to the hotel, I could barely keep up, my gait slow and awkward as I tried to accommodate the heavy mass of my gut. It felt like I was carrying a bowling ball strapped to my stomach, the weight of it pulling me forward with every step.

And yet, as uncomfortable as I was, there was a part of me that couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer size of my belly. I’d never been this full in my life, never even imagined it was possible to eat this much. It was almost impressive in a way, and despite everything, I found myself laughing along with the guys as we made our way back to the hotel.

By the time we finally made it back to the hotel, I was exhausted. My belly was so full and heavy that each step felt like a challenge, and the thought of just lying down was the only thing keeping me going. As we entered the room, the guys were still buzzing with energy, laughing and recounting the day’s events, but I could hardly focus on their words. All I could think about was getting out of my too-tight clothes and giving my aching stomach some relief.

I headed straight for the bathroom, barely pausing to acknowledge the banter going on behind me. Closing the door, I leaned against the sink for a moment, taking a deep breath as I let the tension drain from my shoulders. Then, with a grunt of discomfort, I began the laborious task of peeling off my clothes.

First, I unbuttoned my jeans, which had been digging into my sides for hours. The moment the button popped open, my belly surged forward, free from its confines at last. I couldn’t help but gasp slightly at the sensation—the relief was immediate, but the sheer weight of my gut was startling. I tugged the waistband down over my hips, letting the jeans fall to the floor, before yanking off my shirt, which had been stretched to its limits.

Once I was finally free of my clothes, I turned to face the mirror, and what I saw stopped me in my tracks. My belly—normally flat and firm—was now a completely different shape, swollen and rounded out in front of me like a tightly inflated balloon. The curve of it was almost shocking, jutting out so far that it seemed impossible it was my own body. My skin was stretched taut over the massive dome, with the light fur that usually covered my stomach now spread thin and sparse across the smooth, distended surface. 

I reached out tentatively, running a hand over the swell of my gut. It felt solid and unyielding, the kind of fullness that left no room for anything else. My fingers brushed against the fine hair that coated my belly, usually soft but now pulled taut over the curve, emphasising the tightness of my skin. The fur seemed almost out of place on such a massively bloated belly, a reminder of how much my body had changed in just a few short hours.

I took a step back, turning slightly to see my profile, and my eyes widened at the sight. The curve of my belly was even more pronounced from the side, a heavy, rounded bulge that hung low and full. It almost didn’t look real—like something out of a cartoon, exaggerated and impossible. And yet, there it was, a testament to just how much I had consumed.

I stood there for a moment, just staring at myself in the mirror. I knew I’d eaten a lot, but seeing the evidence in front of me like this was almost surreal. I couldn’t believe how much I’d managed to pack away—how much my belly had expanded to accommodate it all. I looked like I’d swallowed a beach ball whole, my normally lean frame now dominated by this massive, swollen gut.

A mix of shock and disbelief washed over me. I’d seen my belly bloated before—college eating challenges had often left me stuffed, but never like this. This was on another level entirely. I could feel the weight of it, the sheer fullness pressing down on me, making it hard to stand upright. Every movement made my gut jiggle slightly, a constant reminder of how tightly packed it was with food.

Despite the discomfort, there was something almost fascinating about it. The sight of my body so utterly transformed, my belly swollen beyond anything I’d ever thought possible, was strangely compelling. It was as if I’d crossed some invisible line, entered a new territory where my body was no longer my own but something else entirely—something massive and insatiable.

I ran my hand over the curve of my gut one more time, feeling the tightness beneath my palm, the way my skin stretched over the fullness. Then, with a deep breath, I turned away from the mirror and headed back into the room, where the guys were waiting. 

I stumbled out of the bathroom, still in a daze from the sight of my bloated belly, and made my way to the bed. My legs were heavy, my body protesting with every step as the weight of my overstuffed gut dragged me down. As soon as I reached the edge of the bed, I let myself fall backward, the mattress groaning beneath me as I sprawled out on top of the covers. The sensation of finally lying down was a relief beyond words. My belly, round and tight, stretched upward, and I could feel the strain in my skin as it tried to accommodate the ridiculous amount of food I’d packed away.

I let out a long, contented sigh, resting a hand on the taut dome of my stomach. It was firm to the touch, barely giving under the pressure of my fingers. My eyes drifted shut, and for a moment, I was lost in the sensation of being so full, so heavy, so utterly stuffed.

The sound of laughter pulled me from my reverie. The guys were still buzzing with energy, moving around the room as they started to get ready for whatever was coming next. Jim was the first to strip off his shirt, revealing a flat but slightly rounded belly—nothing compared to mine, but still showing signs of the indulgence we’d all participated in today. He patted it with a grin, turning to show it off to Banning and Noel.

"Look at this," Jim said, chuckling. "I’m usually flat as a board, but today... man, I’m starting to show a little gut. Must have been all those pastries at the market."

Banning, who was already down to his boxers, laughed and flexed his own stomach, which was a bit bloated  than usual but nowhere near as distended as mine. "Yeah, I’m feeling it too. I think I’m still carrying around half that platter of fries we demolished earlier."

Noel joined in, lifting his shirt to reveal his own slightly swollen belly. "Same here. It’s like we’ve all turned into little food balloons, but I gotta say, Harry definitely wins the prize for the biggest gut." 

They all turned to look at me, sprawled out on the bed with my massive, bloated belly on full display. The contrast between their smaller, slightly rounded stomachs and my own overstuffed gut was almost comical. I looked like I’d swallowed a whole watermelon, while they’d only nibbled on a few snacks.

Jim grinned and gave his own belly another pat. “How are you even still conscious after all that? You’ve gotta be on the verge of passing out, mate.”

I could only groan in response, too full and too tired to form a coherent reply. My belly felt like it was about to burst, every breath a reminder of how far I’d pushed myself today. But despite the discomfort, there was a strange sense of camaraderie in the room, a bond forged through our shared gluttony.

The guys continued to joke and laugh, comparing their own bellies and teasing me about mine, but I barely heard them. All I could focus on was the heavy, aching fullness that filled every inch of my midsection. I rubbed my hand over the curve of my stomach, trying to soothe the tightness, but it was no use. I was beyond stuffed, my gut stretched to its absolute limit.

Even so, as I lay there, I couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. I had no idea how I’d let myself get talked into eating so much, but in some weird way, it had been worth it. The guys were having the time of their lives, and despite my current state, I couldn’t deny that a part of me was enjoying it too.

To be continued . . . .

For more of my stories click here

[unluckedtj]

i’ve had an au in mind for a while (quite literally came to me in a dream????), something like a swap au but not quite as your usual tgaa swap au. an au where barok van zieks and herlock sholmes are sent from britain to japan, at the age of 23 and 24 respectively

“ticket swap” au i like to call it

of course, this isn’t just ‘back in time’, there are many things jumbled around such as occupations and ages. and none of this is solid! i’m putting down the ideas i’ve had, and this can very well change overtime.

and of course, a lot of this is going to be me info dumping about this very self indulgent vanlock partners(?) focused au, side of mostly susarei but also asoryuu

ahem! tgaa:tsau cast!

below the line, that is

————————————————

herlock sholmes, (25) who wanted to research in forensic science, follows yujin to his nation to do just that (and preferably solve crime, too)

barok van zieks, (24) who applies to go to japan in hopes of learning more about the laws of other nations (and perhaps, something else) aiming to be a prosecutor like his brother

ryunosuke naruhodo, (33) a writer who had recently gotten into researching true crime. it scares him but he can’t help but think there is something about these crimes that are calling him. isn’t really thinking too much about looking into law (but something might change that…) close friends with kazuma asogi

rei membami, (26) yujin mikotoba’s long time forensics assistant that is working towards becoming a doctor herself. decided to help ryunosuke in his research hobby. (she seems to be interested in this man she sees in the hallways of imperial yumei university while on her way to dr mikotoba’s laboratory) close friends with susato mikotoba

kazuma asogi, (34) a well known prosecutor in japan, it is unknown what changed his decision from becoming a defense lawyer. despite being famous among people in law, there is not much known about him. close friends with ryunosuke naruhodo

susato mikotoba, (26) kazuma asogi’s famed judicial assistant (and as sholmes soon learns, sister). she seems to be taking law classes in yumei university under an alias. a bit of a sholmes fan. close friends with rei membami

yujin mikotoba, (52) sholmes’ friend and partner in (solving) crime of course, but also a mentor, and now that sholmes recently learned, a foster father to kazuma asogi and father of susato mikotoba

genshin asogi, (??) family friend of the van zieks, and relative of the renowned prosecutor asogi. he has gone missing

klint van zieks, (35) well known prosecutor in britain. happily married and has one daughter he loves so dearly, to the point of being a little bit of a helicopter parent in the recent years, but barok can’t quite figure out why. he has kept his daughter a secret from everyone apart from family

iris (wilson?) van zieks, (8) how in the world did she end up in japan?! (i’ll give you the answer; through sholmes’s suitcase, which she mistook for barok’s. there were shenanigans), her parents are in a panic looking for her (barok will get to them asap)

————————————————

i just really wanted something where it’s similar to tgaa 1-1 but younger vanlock without their life altering events (klints death for van zieks and iris adoption for sholmes)

and also just the thought of it and how it would play out; van zieks isn’t even a defense lawyer but was preparing to defend the guy he barely knew on the steamship (who had his niece in his suitcase) that he firmly believes did not commit this murder, but sholmes found out what was at stake (aka van zieks being sent back home for a couple more years if he fails this) and was like “nuh uh i got this im herlock sholmes after all” (he does not got this) (i lied he clutched like he always does)

this is superrrrr self indulgent so i don’t expect this to be perfectly aligned with canon, but i kinda just wanna see if anyone could give me more ideas because i currently cannnnnot talk to my friends about this due to massive spoilers 😔

maybe next time i’ll go more in depth on the group dynamics (specifically ryunosuke, rei, herlock, iris, and barok)

[britcision]

Technically it’s not Wednesday anymore and technically I should only be writing the next chapter, not several chapters down the line, but Jazz grabbed me by the throat so y’all get a rough draft on something that’s gonna be like, 2-3 chapters away 👀

Maybe 👀

Enjoy!

———————

Dan’s lips curled into an unpleasant snarl, pointed fangs suddenly more prominent.

“Oh, really, Danny. Did you think this was going to work? Some stupid illusion and I’d fall to my knees, sobbing for reconcilliation? Or did you bring me the real thing so you could watch me kill her in front of you this time? It might not stick but I’m sure I can try.”

Part of Danny nearly lunged forward, Obsession throbbing down to his core… but he held it in check. After all, this wasn’t the Jazz Dan had known; she wasn’t just a teenager anymore.

And she certainly wasn’t impressed.

“Daniel James Fenton, you know better than to talk about someone when they’re standing right in front of you,” she snapped, her hip cocked out and arms folded in an entirely done big-sister posture that only got scarier with age. “If you have something to say, say it to my face.”

And Dan… froze, for a moment. And Danny knew he’d been right in that second, that microsecond of hesitation. Of inactivity.

Sure, Jazz might be well past six feet tall herself now, but she looked like their mom enough to make his Vlad severely uncomfortable. More than that though… Danny had never gotten over the thought of her dying. Dan had broken the world about it.

And he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye.

It was covered up a moment later, in bluff and bluster as he scoffed and glared in her general direction.

“What, are you going to psychoanalyze me? Tell me how sad and tragic I am too? Give me a break, I’ve got some lovely coping mechanisms,” he snapped, aura flaring in a burst of green fire.

But Jazz had never been scared of Danny’s aura, and frankly? He was the Ghost King. Dan’s was a drip in the bucket by comparison.

She marched straight up to him, ignoring the flames completely, and grabbed him by the chin. Forced him to face her, even as his eyes widened, face freezing.

Danny had never heard her voice so cold.

“Is that supposed to be scary? Am I supposed to be impressed, Danny? Honestly, I’d like to say that must be the Fruit Loop’s influence, but you’ve always been a drama queen.”

And then she twisted him into a headlock, all 6’9 mountain of muscle like he was still a ninety-pound twink, and noogied him.

“You’re such a fucking dork, Danny.” She sounded almost fond now, exasperated, a tone Danny was painfully familiar with. Even knowing she wasn’t talking to him-him, the cringe was automatic.

Dan sure as hell had no idea what to do about it, panic flaring madly across his face and his aura, trailed by a lacklustre attempt at anger.

“Get your hands off me,” he roared, turning intangible and going to jerk himself away… and then Jazz’s eyes flashed teal and she reached after him, her own hand changing to pull him straight back into the noogie.

Something about that broke Dan completely, his entire body suddenly limp and held up only by Jazz’s continued grip on his head. He seemed almost catatonic, completely zoned out… which Jazz completely ignored, grinding her knuckles into the top of his head.

Danny was pretty sure he knew why though; it was the one thing which had always been able to calm him down, back when he was approaching his twenties and the possibility of Dan started giving him panic attacks. Jazz had snapped him out of it in a much gentler way, but it amounted to the same reminder.

Jazz was his big sister. His beloved mentor, his voice of reason, his rock. And after living in Amity Park for almost twenty years, directly on top of the Fenton Portal, she was liminal as hell and about one near-death experience from a halfa herself.

There was just no way he was ever going to lose her, until she decided she was good and ready to move on. It wasn’t possible, and a little thing like dying wasn’t going to slow Jasmine Fenton down.

If it happened before she graduated, Danny was pretty sure she’d rise before Finals Week even if she died the night before.

(And given her self-care habits, he did occasionally worry about it actually happening… but she promised her ghost-envy days were long behind her and she’d never get that bad.

Belief: pending.)

Danny wasn’t actually fully sure if her ghost-grabbing abilities extended to anyone else or if she could just always wrangle him, but he and Dan were the same person; enough so that it sure as hell worked on him.

Dan wasn’t going down without a fight though - Danny was almost a little impressed with how quickly he fought past the blue screen (it might have been Vlad’s influence, given the sudden haughty tone) as he began to shove at her arms, quickly working up to a shout.

“Get your hands off me! Do you have any idea who I am! I am the great destroyer, breaker of worlds, and you will not treat me like a small child!” He bellowed, struggling viciously against her grip.

If they were in the real world, it’d probably have worked. If he had access to any of his ghost powers, it wasn’t a fight Jazz could possibly have won.

But this was a dream, and either Nocturn had a damn good idea what’d happen to him if anything happened to Danny’s big sister in his realm… or he just plain liked Jazz better.

(Most people did. Danny was fine with it.)

Because the more Dan struggled, the more Jazz began slowly increasing in size, getting bigger and bigger until she entirely dwarfed him and had him cuddled like a doll under her arm. Watching him struggle at this point was just a little embarrassing, actually, and Jazz finally took pity on him.

And settled him on her hip like an unruly toddler, grinning down at him.

“Now, do you think you’re ready to actually talk to me?” She asked him gently - and if she found the sight of this full sized man so relatively tiny as funny as Danny did, it didn’t even show.

Dan glowered up at her.

“You may be favoured by the fool who runs this domain, but you will never be my equal in anything but dreams,” his snarled viciously, his anger apparently stoked by indignation.

(Danny made a note. Still definitely some Vlad tendencies.)

Jazz just chuckled softly, bumping him up to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Oh, baby brother, you know that’s never going to be how it works,” she said brightly, then paused, glancing around. “Uh… Danny, we never talk about this again, alright?” She asked, squinting down at him.

Mildly offended that he was about the height of her ankles, Danny raised both hands in immediate surrender.

“Dude, I am not letting anyone try and get freudian on me for Jumbo-Jazz. My lips are sealed from self preservation alone.” And he’d have to make sure to emphasize to Nocturn just how valuable his own silence would be. Vital to survival, even.

Apparently satisfied, Jazz nodded, sitting carefully cross legged and settling Dan in her lap, her chin on top of his head.

“So… you told me about your future once, y’know?” She said slowly, while Dan struggled and once more surrendered to the indignity. “And Danny told me some more later. And, obviously, we all actually know that taking over and destroying the entire world isn’t actually a healthy way to process grief…”

“Fucking spare me,” Dan growled, looking about a minute away from taking a bite out of her hand.

Jazz ignored him.

“But… in spite of all of that…” she paused for a moment, leaning back and smiling down at Dan, who couldn’t quite help craning back to look at her… if only to know where the next attack was coming from. “It’s… really sweet to know that you’d break the world for me, Danny. I just really wish it hadn’t broken you, too.”

And once again, Dan froze… and for the first time, Danny could feel a crack in the impenetrable wall around his core. Between all of the performative rage and theatrics and what he really, truly felt.

Even his rally only managed to produce a vaguely sulky “I’m not broken!”

Jazz sighed softly and turned him gently in her arms, lifting him to hug tightly to her chest. She might have been shrinking now, either by Nocturn’s will or her own, but she held him close anyway.

[penelopepine]

I’m absolutely in love with your writing 💕

I’ve always had this scenario of Phillip and Reader (who are both first time parents) going out with their baby, and Reader having to breastfeed the baby in public and a man tries to harass her about it (telling her she shouldn’t be doing this in public and whatnot) and Phillip stands up for her

Maybe the man tries to harass her while Phillip was at the counter getting them something to eat and he hears what’s going on or something?

(Moms who are alone in public get bothered like this irl by men so often and it’d be so sweet to see Phillip standing up for his wife 🥺❤️)

Thank You!!! I hope that you like this as well!

It's weird that people get so bothered by breastfeeding. Like just let the mom feed her baby in peace.

Mind Your Own Business

Phillip Graves x Fem Reader

With the baby turning six weeks old just a few days ago you and Phillip both felt comfortable taking the baby out to more public spaces. It was a beautiful day out, and that of course led to you both walking around the farmer’s market with the little one in tow. 

Philip had both hands on the stroller while you had one hand wrapped around the crook of his elbow as you both walked around. It wasn’t until half an hour had passed did he insist on sitting down in one of the bakeries for a bite to eat. “Come on, let me treat my sweetheart to something sweet.” 

“I think it’s you who wants something sweet.” You give him a playful nudge as you walk towards the shop. 

“Who says it can’t be both?” Phillip counted your accurate remark. “I’m a man capable of many things after all.” 

Once in the shop looking at all the available options is when the little one decides to make a fuss. Glancing at the time you know she’s probably just hungry since this is about the time you would normally feed her when at home. 

“Oh, are you hungry baby?” You gesture for Phillip to let you take control of the stroller, “I’m going to take her outside and feed her. I saw a shaded bench right outside.” 

It’s obvious he doesn’t want to leave you both alone, but understands that that’s just his protective nature talking. That little voice has been speaking a lot more ever since the baby was born. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes; I’ll bring you one of those chocolate croissants I saw you eyeing too.” 

"I love you so much." You give him a small kiss, and swiftly make your way outside to the bench just as the baby starts to cry.

It only takes you a few moments to get comfortable, grab the now crying baby out of her stroller, and adjust her so that she can easily breastfeed from you. 

You take this time to admire the tiny wiggling bundle of joy in your arms. She truly is the perfect mix between you and Phillip - it almost feels like she’s not real sometimes with just how perfect she is. 

The baby's crying and wiggling finally starts to settle down as she latches on. Just as things seem to settle down you feel a sudden presence next to you. Thinking it was Phillip you look up with a smile on your face which quickly shifts into a frown as you take in the strange man now standing in front of you.

It was the look of anger and disgust on his face that had you gripping your daughter tight to you; trying to decide if you needed to get up, and walk away. Before you can make a move though the man is already practically spitting venom at you. “Do you really think that’s appropriate to be doing in public? Why don’t you go do that in the bathroom like you're supposed to do?” 

“I’m breastfeeding - I’m just feeding my baby.” Is your immediate response to his unpleasant questions. You knew some people didn’t like it when women breastfeed in public, but you didn’t think anyone would actually try and fight you about it. All you're doing is feeding a baby after all. 

“No, what you are doing is purposely exposing yourself to others around you. I mean my god woman could you not have the decency to atleast have a cover on?” 

“A cover? It’s 80 degrees out right now, and you want me to practically put a blanket over her?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing right now. Not to mention that you didn’t like using a cover; all it felt like was another thing you had to pack around and worry about. 

Arguing only seemed to be making the man more upset with you. As if you should be thankful that he was gifting you with his “amazing” advice on how and where you should be breastfeeding your baby. 

Red faced with a pointed finger raised, the man takes a large step closer to you. It genuinely seemed like he would have come even closer if he wasn’t so suddenly jerked away from you. 

“Now what do you think you're doing here bothering my wife and child?” There Phillip stood now in between the man and you. Finally, it felt like you could breathe again knowing that your husband was here to help you. 

Phillip was furious - that much was obvious even from where you sat with his back to you. His shoulders were tense, and his clenched fists looked like they were one wrong move from throwing a punch. 

“That’s your wife?” The man waves in your direction, “How about you tell your wife to cover up while in public.” 

The silence that follows after those words are deafening.

“Phillip,” You softly call out to your husband. As much as you would love to let him do whatever he sees fit you’d rather not have to be escorted off by police. 

You watch as Phillip slowly releases a sigh before he continues with his words to the man, “I'm not going to waste any more breath explaining just how stupid you sound right now. What I am going to say though is that if you don't walk away right now I'm going to beat the shit out of you, and I promise you that is a fight you don't want - not with me." 

The man clearly wasn't prepared for the outright threat of violence against him, and it showed on his now shocked face. People like him are all talk; just wanting to pick on someone seemingly weaker than him, and the second someone stronger stands up to him he's playing the victim. 

"Whatever," the man growls out before hastily turning on his heels and walking away further into the market. 

Phillip doesn't move from his position until the man has completely disappeared from view. When he does eventually turn around he puts one hand on your check and the other one cradles the baby's head before he asks you, "are you both alright?" 

"We're- we're alright. He didn't do anything besides give me a lecture." You're so thankful for that too, and luckily your daughter didn't seem to notice the tense situation that just occurred. "How did you know he was even here?" 

"You really didn't think I wouldn't be watching you while I was waiting inside did you?" Phillip looked much calmer now that it was just the three of you again. "Which reminds me I still need to pick our order up. Now let me help you pack up; there's no way I'm leaving you alone to get harassed again." 

Normally you would have insisted that you were alright to stay where you were, but right now all you wanted was to stay by his side. This encounter has really rattled you more than you thought. 

It only takes Phillip a few seconds to get everything back in the baby bag. The baby is still feeding from you as you both walk back to the bakery. In the silence you can’t help, but ask a question that has been bothering you. “Do you think I should … hide away when I need to breastfeed in public?" 

"Sweetheart, don't let one dumb fucker stop you from feeding our baby when she's hungry. You have the right to breastfeed anywhere you damn want to."

"You're right, you're right," He was right, this one experience shouldn't stop you from going out and enjoying things with your baby.

Phillip reached out and gave you a quick peck as he opened the bakery door, "besides I'll always be there to defend my girls." 

[miserymerci]

Fluffy February Day 11: Quest - The Monkey King and The Monkey

Fandom: Lego Monkie Kid

Characters: Sun Wukong, Nezha, Jade Emperor, MK

(Lots of mentions of MK but actually pops up near the end, Sunburst Duo, Harbinger of Chaos MK, Alternate universe)

Word count: 4971

Summary: (TW: mentions of execution of a child) Takes place after the Samadhi Fire was separated from Red Son. In an alternate universe, Sun Wukong is summoned by the Jade Emperor, who gives him one final task: Wukong is to kill the Harbinger of Chaos before he can lay waste to Heaven— and the rest of the universe. But this has to be a mistake. The Harbinger of Chaos is just a little kid. Wukong’s next decision would be a lot easier if he didn’t want the Harbinger dead, too. (Inspired by The Horse and the Infant animatic)

Wispy indigo reached across the sky; rich, deep, and stunningly royal amongst the full galaxy beyond it. The stars glittered and winked, as if the world’s problems were only a fleeting thing to them. The night slept along. It would have been difficult for it not to, Wukong realized, since the sky in itself seemed to be a lullaby.

He could call it a painting. It had that look after all; like it had been touched up to perfection; like the splattered stars randomly lined up right where they were supposed to be. But Wukong didn’t consider himself an artist. So, then, would it really matter if he thought the night was beautiful or not?

What a strange thing to think. He should be rewarding himself with a good night’s sleep. Instead, here he was mulling over creation. Ridiculous. 

“Wukong, I know I’ve already said this, but thank you,” came a familiar voice.

Wukong snorted to himself and turned to smile at his ex-sworn brother.

“I don’t mind the thanks– this’ll be the only time I get to see this side of you, so I’m enjoying it the best I can– but you were just about ready to go for my throat a few hours ago,” he said.

The Demon Bull King’s sincerity wavered at the tease, but he had always been an honorable opponent. He shook his head to keep the annoyance at bay and titled his broad nose up at the stars.

“This was important to me. Meeting Lady Iron Fan felt like my new beginning– if you’re going to make that face, look at me when you do it. I know you’re a hopeless romantic, simian. Hmph. As I was saying… meeting Lady Iron Fan felt like my new beginning. And now I’m here with it laying in my palms, and I don’t want to hang on too tight or cradle it too carelessly,” said the Demon Bull King. “I want to be tactical with every step I take. The possibility of losing Red Son to the Samadhi Fire… it was… not an ideal thought. I had worried you weren’t taking it as seriously as I was.”

The Mystic Mountain did have a view Wukong could appreciate (when they weren’t in the middle of sealing an inextinguishable fire). But the colorfulness of it all quickly became sorrowfully bland. Wukong frowned at the twisted feeling and eyed the Demon Bull King. He had turned away to somewhere Wukong couldn’t see.

Wukong imagined it would have been where Lady Iron Fan, their son, and the others had spread out their own camps. With the journey too far and the extraction of the Fire too exhausting, it had been a practical decision to stay the night. Even Nezha had stayed; not by any other compelling force other than being a good sport to those who couldn’t simply bounce off to heaven.

The Demon Bull King’s eyes glinted with the surrounding stars. The look on his face was soft, like an old dog born on the streets. 

Wukong remembered distant times where the young Demon Bull King had been eager to crush bones on the battlefield; where he had dreamed of only power and control; when family had been something the Demon Bull King had laughed at. 

He turned away.

“Look at you, being a sap. It’s an… interesting look on you.”

“It’s hardly something I want you getting used to,” the Demon Bull King snapped. “In the morning, we will part ways and carry on with our existences. I have respect for you tonight. But what I do tomorrow and the days after will be separate from your shenanigans.”

Wukong could say a few different things to that. ‘When did things change?’, for one. ‘I can’t understand how you feel’, for another.

“Well said.” he settled on. He picked at a furry knot that had formed on his wrist and then groaned. “It’s not like I’d find any joy being in your inner circle. You’d drive me crazy with your incompetence to boil pasta.”

The Demon Bull King huffed and then grumbled.

“Sorry, what was that?” nudged Wukong.

“It was one time!” 

Wukong’s fur bristled at the tone, but grinned knowingly. This was familiar territory. He was very good at dancing this dance. 

“You boiled it twice as long as we told you to.”

“We put in double the pasta! It should have been double the time!”

“It doesn’t work that way! If you put the pasta into boiling water at the same time–”

“No! That doesn’t make sense. If you cook a thick slice of meat and a thin slice of meat, the thicker slice is going to need more time–”

“–because the heat is spread out! It’s not touching the outside and the inside at the same time.”

The Demon Bull King snorted, glanced back at his family with clenched fists, and then shook them in Wukong’s general direction.

“It is,” he said.

“Okay, it is but the pasta is like a million thin slices of meat so–”

“–it equals one thick slice of meat.”

“It’s admirable that you’re willing to die on this hill even though you’re wrong,” said Wukong smilingly. 

“You irk me with your breathing.”

The Demon Bull King had obviously chewed more than he could swallow. He didn’t enjoy lengthy conversation to begin with, and had only prepared himself to say thank you and promptly scatter. The more Wukong went off-script, the more frustrated the Demon Bull King would become. 

That was one thing that hadn’t changed about him. Wukong hid a fond smile at the thought.

He coiled and uncoiled his tail, sighed quietly, and then said, “I think I’m getting a little tired,” even though he wasn’t.

“Me too,” agreed the Demon Bull King, even though he wasn’t. 

And that was it for the night– maybe even the rest of Wukong’s life. There would likely be no other times like this; a group of these warriors united under the stars; because the “battle” had already ended, and the rest of their lives readily laid in wait. Could he return to Flower Fruit Mountain and get fat off fruit for the rest of his life? It was what he had wanted, before. But the times had changed, and the desires had changed, and the people had changed… 

But he was alone before he could find the words.

‘And that was just it, was it?’ he thought, watching the Demon Bull King return to Lady Iron Fan’s side with certainty. Things were moving before he was ready. He couldn’t pick up the pieces and place them back like pawns. “Forever” was much too long of a time for him to protect.

The last thought twisted in his belly. It squirmed, hissed, and Wukong suddenly felt sick with anger.

“…The sun, the sun,” Wukong murmured through his clenched teeth. He took a peek at the lazing moon and lashed his tail. “You bring us colorful light. You beautify the lovely flower of our soul.” 

Wukong had believed it to be a lousy lullaby when his Master had taught him it. Tripitaka hummed it to himself first, caught the attention of a curious monkey, and sneakily recited the tune to his hyperactive pupil. Now, Wukong glanced at his sleeping form next to Ao Lie and passed quietly.

“Today we grow under the sunlight,” he mumbled, raising his hands and finding his cloud had obediently appeared at his side. Something twinkled on its surface. Maybe stars, maybe just a trick in the moonlight. He blinked the illusion away and settled into the cloud’s weightless surface.

“Tomorrow we will create a colorful world.”

The sky continued to spin.

“Wukong.”

Wukong’s eyes flung open. He shot frantically to his knees, felt the cloud disperse below him, and in the space between him and solid ground, his tail lashed out and sprung him back to his feet.

Nezha’s serious expression didn’t budge. 

“Come on,” said Wukong, “I still got it.”

“Not if you’re letting anyone sneak up on you like that in your sleep,” replied Nezha, helpfully. He gestured his spear behind Wukong, urging him to look.

Ao Lie smiled a cat-like smile behind him and waved. He looked a little pale and might have been sweating more than usual, but nothing to call for concern. Beside him, Sha Wujing sipped what was probably tea from his chipped little cup. Wukong nodded politely at them. 

On the other side of the site, the Demon Bull family had already left– no goodbyes were exchanged, only an air of respect– and Wukong’s twisting belly threatened to rear its ugly head again. The morning was still pink and yellow, young and new. It didn’t surprise Wukong that two warriors had woken up bright and early for the trek ahead.

“What’s wrong?” asked Wukong. 

Nezha glanced back at the two pilgrims, then lifted his brows. “Private business, meant to be discussed privately.”

Wukong sniffled, but Nezha’s facade left little wiggle room; the poor prince’s fingers tapped anxiously against the shaft of his spear, hidden to the untrained eye, obvious to the Great Sage. Something was brewing behind the scenes. If it had anything to do with Nezha, then it had something to do with Heaven. 

“Go ahead,” said Lie, snapping Wukong out of his thoughts. He smiled at him brightly. “We’re only waiting for the Master… err– Sannnzanggg– to wake up. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I left without saying goodbye, but it was a pleasure seeing you again, Wukong.”

“And Bajie,” added Wujing. The fins along his jaw fluttered as he took another long drink of his hot tea. “He hasn’t woken up yet.” 

Lie huffed humorously, probably thinking over the previous day. He blinked at the snoring pig and then said, “yes, well, but it’s not like he did anything but stare the entire ritual.”

Nezha narrowed his eyes expectantly at Wukong and clenched his weapon. 

“Right, then,” said Wukong, “tell the Master my goodbyes for me. ”

Briskly, Nezha turned and began to stride away from the group.

“Wow! Impatient today, huh?” called Wukong. He picked up into a jog to catch up and slipped in front of Nezha, beginning to walk backwards. “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the pilgrims, but I think you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Missing your holy, phoenix down-stuffed mattress in Heaven? How’re your joints? Stiff?” 

Nezha wrinkled his nose (likely in warning) before finally stopping just underneath a jutted-out slab of stone; a defect in the site’s structure, perfect for a top-secret discussion.

Wukong tilted his head. 

Usually, Nezha was straight to the point. He knew his duties and he knew how to do them, but something had shifted in the air– and Wukong’s worry shifted with it. 

“Something must really be wrong if you look so… dejected. Cheer up, Nezha! It’s not like the world is ending,” he said. 

“The universe is ending.”

“Hhhphhh… rough night?”

Nezha finally ripped his gaze from the stone behind Wukong and glared.

“Yes, actually. Can you stop being a fool for a moment? As you can probably tell, there’s a lot to say about this, and I’m trying to… find the right words.”

“Right,” said Wukong, “then let me help you out. I have a hunch that Heaven needs help from their old buddy the Monkey King to hunt a scary monster threatening to tear down the heavens. How’s that sound?” 

“It’s more than that,” insisted Nezha coldly. He hung his head, sighed, and then steeled himself. “You’re infuriating, Sun Wukong. The only reason I’m before you right now is by orders from the Emperor. I respect you for your friendship with the Great Monk, but I advise you not to test your luck.”

The dawn shimmered against Nezha’s spear as it rocked back and forth from his fidgeting. Just beyond its point, Lie hovered over Sanzang just as he had when the Great Monk was still under their protection. Old habits die hard. Wukong understood the rigid behavior of Nezha when faced with duty and pride.

“I thought I had already served the sentence Heaven gave me.”

“This isn’t a sentence. You are an ally of Heaven,” Wukong made a face at that, and Nezha continued sterner, “and that means that the Jade Emperor may summon you as he pleases. What he may do if you do not answer his call remains to be unseen.”

Now that Wukong thought about it, maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to reminisce over retired warriors. A threat to the universe simply meant another round for the Great Sage. He wouldn’t have to return to Flower Fruit Mountain just yet.

Wukong leaned back on the stone, twirled his trusty tail, then smiled.

“Fine. I’ll take the bite.”

The perfect, crisp air filled Wukong’s lungs and lingered like smoke.

“We have the enemy contained deep in the palace,” one of the guards was saying, probably someone of high-importance, but not high enough to matter, “where the Emperor will be waiting for you.”

“Seems like extra effort to bring me in if you’ve already got the guy,” said Wukong. He sniffled, caught wind of unripe peaches, and rubbed at his nose. 

Heaven never changed much. The scents were the same, the lights were the same, and even the tiniest of pests couldn’t wiggle their way through security. If anything, the number of guards out in the garden seemed to have doubled the last time he was here. 

Wukong smirked and titled his head up.

“While we have the source of the problem, the universe’s destruction has already been set into motion. The Emperor believes that our captive is our only way of discovering how to place everything back the way it was.”

The marble steps of the palace tapped under Wukong’s feet. His eyes peeked down to catch sight of any blemishes on the floor; smudges, cracks, anything out of place really; and only found his reflection.

Really? Were the floors that shiny? What overkill.

“If I’m not supposed to be finding this universe-destroying demon, then what am I supposed to be doing?”

His escort hesitated. He looked up at the heavens for assistance, fixed his helmet, and then continued with a brisk shrug, “uh, not my department. Sorry, sir. Please just follow me.”

Wukong rolled his eyes.

Heaven had plenty of secrets, but only few could really keep their mouths shut about it. Maybe he should have been more on-guard about the whole thing. This could have been a trap to imprison him, or an ambush behind the Emperor’s back. But that didn’t make sense. Nezha might be a strike to the shin, but Wukong didn’t think him to be deceitful.

The air went chilly the further down they went. Something like fog began to build, dewy on Wukong’s fur and itchy between his chest and armor. Marbled flooring twisted to stone; first neatly placed in a silly little flowered pattern, then turning chipped and askew. 

He stepped over a particularly deep hole between two old stones. For a moment, he wondered if the flash of scuttling legs in the crevice were real or just his imagination– but then the smell of mold and dust washed over him.

“What a cruel place to keep your prisoners,” said Wukong, quietly. He blinked at the rows of torches and let the raspberry hues guide his eyes. 

The guard hummed. Maybe he was still flustered about his close-fumble earlier, because he wasn’t making eye contact anymore. 

They passed through the hall. The cells enclosed them from both sides.

“Only the worst of the worst are here,” said the guard. “The ones who have tried to bring down the Jade Emperor directly receive very long sentences. Not all of them live to see the end of it.”

Wukong eyed what looked like splintered bones between some bars. Then, he smiled.

“Ran out of mountains to use?” he asked.

The guard nervously cleared his throat.

Very little signs of life remained in this deep, forgotten prison. The spiders here would die from empty webs. The bones of past sentences were picked clean and likely crumbly to the touch. Only one other being lurked the cells, far against the corner, just before they reached the arch at the end of the hall.

A demon with bright, orange eyes grinned at him in the darkness.

Wukong slowed. He looked over long fangs and slithering hair. With a blink, he quickly caught up to his escort.

“Go in,” said the guard before Wukong could ask about the strange demon, gesturing to the entryway. He shifted his feet. He looked a little like a board; maybe a penguin; antsy and tense in the newest shift in the air. With a deep breath, he announced into the doorway, “Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven!” 

Something rumbled. Fog blew out like a breath and swayed Wukong and the guard.

Wukong frowned, gave the guard a parting glance, and entered.

Wukong enjoyed biting more than he could chew. Not only was it a fun challenge, but the risk kept his muscles used, his mind spry, and his heart young. It was like eating peppers for the spice and suffering the kick afterwards. Wukong could risk it, because Wukong always survived, and death could never claim him.

Despite that, Wukong wouldn’t say he was “getting old”. It was honestly more of being “forever young”. The Great Sage couldn’t just retire. Retiring was for old people and fighting dogs– but he supposed that if he said that, it would mean that the Jade Emperor would have to retire. And soon.

Wukong looked over the blue-purple ombre cuts that were splitting at the seams against an undefeatable entity and instinctively stepped back.

“What happened to you?” he blurted, and then promptly nipped that disrespect in the bud. “Uhhh– errr– hi.”

The cuts– Wukong noticed stars shimmering in them, almost like a galaxy– warbled and sang like a winding clock.

“Hello, Monkey,” replied the Emperor. He said it almost like he was spitting it out, but Wukong tried not to take it personally. There could have been a number of reasons right now why he was being snippy. 

The great force neared from the opposite side of the room. The fog, chilly to the bone, twisted in the space between.

“Hi,” said Wukong again. He blinked and cleared his throat. “So, what’s the problem?” 

“You are here because Heaven needs your personal experience to help get rid of our prisoner.”

“Get rid of?” echoed Wukong.

“It can’t be killed,” said the Emperor, and Wukong’s eyes gleamed, “not in the normal sense. Yet it is too destructive to be imprisoned. Our only choice is to have it eradicated. As an ‘immortal’ yourself, you would know a thing or two about finding the loopholes in such matters.”

Wukong cocked his head and considered that. Killing an immortal? Just about everyone in Heaven was immortal. He had tried once, failed, and paid the price for it. And then he went on an entire quest to learn how to not kill people. 

But this prisoner– this immortal– was immortal in a way that even Heaven couldn’t decipher it, much like how they couldn’t decipher Wukong’s layers of immortality. Except this immortal was… worse? Worse enough, at least, to not risk even the five-hundred-years-under-a-mountain punishment. 

“What have they done?” he asked.

“Their existence is what threatens the universe.”

‘That doesn’t make any sense. Can you stop beating around the bush and tell me what’s really the problem?’ Wukong wanted to say, but the Emperor was brief for a reason, answering only what Wukong asked, and leaving the unknown unknown. Wukong needed to be clever if he wanted the full story.

“Like a harbinger?” 

The Emperor tilted his chin up and said, “what an interesting choice of words. Yes, I like that. It’s a harbinger.”

“What of?”

“Chaos, I presume.”

“You don’t know?”

“I know better than you will.”

“Who sent it?”

“The Goddess Nüwa.”

That startled Wukong’s train of thought. He cringed, shook his head, and settled his hands on his hips.

“The Goddess of creation? She made humanity and now she wants to destroy it?”

“You fail to understand me, Monkey. My problem is not with Nüwa, it’s with her rebellious children. Will you lend me your aid or not?”

This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. The last thing Wukong wanted to be was a pawn for something he didn’t understand. The Master had urged him to think before he got too cocky in combat, and boy was Wukong thinking now– thinking about how much he was likely missing from this narrative. 

‘The sun, the sun’, Wukong thought.

A deep grumble started in the Emperor’s throat, almost debating with itself. Wukong perked up, interested, but tried not to show it.

“I do hope you know,” said the Emperor, “that the Harbinger threatens all life– all existence– including yours.”  

“…I doubt it,” said Wukong. He blinked– because his reply had blurted out of his mouth without much thought– before adding, “What I mean is that I can survive without food, without water, without air, and no blade can ever fatally puncture me. I can’t die; no name in The Book to change that.”

The Emperor quirked a large brow, then asked, “Do you think you’re exempt from the ‘entire universe’?” 

Oh.

Well, maybe not, since Wukong lived in this universe. But he’s always been exempt before. The thought of something Wukong had never even met ending not only everyone else’s existence, but his as well? Come on.

…right?

Granted, he shouldn’t make it all about himself. His mind wandered to the other pilgrims, who didn’t have the mercy of a long life that Wukong (thought) he had. Then, he thought of his old brothers, and found that that had only been a drop of poison for his growing doubts.

This could have been a trick. The Emperor may have just wanted to use him. Something cold traveled up Wukong’s arm– likely the cool fog catching up to him– and his mind turned to the only thing he could think straight on.

Nothing could kill Sun Wukong.

The Staff chimed and twinkled. It extended from his ear and dropped familiarly into his hand. 

“Where is it?” he asked.

The Jade Emperor’s face didn’t twitch. Part of Wukong had expected a look of triumph, or a twitch in his resolve, but that didn’t happen. The Emperor took two or three long strides (or floated, Wukong couldn’t tell), lifted his cape, and swooped it where he stood. In its fluttering wake, a cradle of leaves and moss popped out from the drab colors of this forgotten room.

Wukong, immediately, wanted to drop his weapon.

“No,” he spat, suddenly very angry, “No! Do you think this is a joke?”

“If you think I’m trying to play tricks, then I can advise you to close your eyes, count to ten, and look again.”

“You’re…,” Wukong started. He bared his teeth, taking in the Emperor’s challenging gaze before forcing his attention down toward the Harbinger. 

The little monkey in the cradle looked up. It had been sleeping innocently, and it fluttered its eyelashes at the sudden light. Now, it was blinking those honey eyes at him. 

“Hi,” it said in a tiny voice, fit for such a tiny thing.

The end of Wukong’s staff clinked against the stone floor. 

“What is going on here?” he said, ignoring the child. He could feel his fur prickling with anger at the stale scent of Flower Fruit Mountain coming from it, weak and caked with something earthy and milky, but there.

“Do not forget what I’ve told you. The Harbinger being a stone monkey shouldn’t influence the facts; it’s dangerous, Monkey, and it’ll only grow to be our enemy if you allow your feelings to complicate.”

“A stone monkey!” cried Wukong, “my stone monkey, even! Born on Mount Huaguo! You’ve stolen it!”

“A Harbinger of Chaos!” shot back the Emperor, and Wukong willed himself to stay quiet. The little monkey shivered at the whipping fog. It reached up to Wukong with little hands, but he was quick to dodge them. “I urge you to think straight, Sun Wukong. Your similarities to it may have been the reason I chose you to meet me here, but the similarities end with your ability to change. You had opportunities, Monkey, but this one is doomed from the start. There is no changing what it will become. If you cannot see that, then you are as foolish as you were underneath that mountain.”

That cold, twisting anger curdled in Wukong’s belly. He ached to give the Emperor a piece of his mind. ‘Find someone else to do this’ he wanted to say, ‘how dare you shove the duty onto me’. But a voice, little but powerful, was chanting; ‘this thing will kill you. It could kill you. You need to kill it first’.

Wukong’s mouth went dry.

The little monkey cooed. Wukong, on instinct, tilted his head at it, and found that it was staring intensely at Wukong’s tail. He flicked it nervously. The little monkey giggled at the way it twisted. 

“Mnkey,” it squealed, proudly, “mnkey!”

Wukong could feel the Emperor’s gaze on him. He was in the spotlight now, not the Harbinger, and whatever steps he took had to be perfect. What he wanted and what the Emperor wanted were quickly becoming blurred lines. Did the staff stay or go? Did he swing now or later?

“You want me to kill it?” he asked, stupidly, just to make sure.

“Yes.”

“I…” Wukong quickly tried to pull anything from his head, “I don’t know how, but if I could just have time to figure it out…”

The Emperor’s wounds warbled. Wukong watched one split further, cautiously, and he feared for a moment that he would just have to start lashing at the little thing. How cruel it would be if he had to force himself to stay here until it perished.

But then, the Emperor said, “Make haste, then. We can’t afford to waste the precious time that remains. Take the thing. Bring it wherever you’d like; the middle of nowhere, under the sea, to your mountain; find a way to get rid of it. I will have a member of my court check in on you daily.”

Daily? Eugh. How was Wukong supposed to relax when all he could look forward to was one check after another? They might as well be trapped down here for all of eternity. 

“Right,” said Wukong, looking at the monkey, “yeah, rodger that.”

The monkey– Wukong didn’t want to call the monkey ‘it’ anymore– must’ve liked something that came out of his mouth. They smiled at him with itty bitty teeth, and Wukong felt cold at the way his heart melted.

“Right,” he repeated. He sent a fleeting glance at the Emperor before removing his cape.

The air here was chilly. The monkey’s fur was raised by the goosebumps forming on their skin, so he wrapped the poor thing with his cape and brought them up to his chest. 

Something like a “thank you” mumbled from the monkey’s mouth. They tried to grasp onto Wukong’s fur, but the swaddle was too constricting, and his chest plate blocked any further attempt.

“I expect to see you soon, Monkey,” said the Emperor.

Wukong only nodded. He didn’t want to be in this foggy room anymore.

The Harbinger likely didn’t understand the conversation that had just happened. They looked too young to formulate too many words, much less distinguish between more than a couple– but sensing the tone was probably different. They were blinking at him as if spooked. Maybe they were clever enough to realize that they might have not been completely safe after all.

When Wukong left the room, the first thing he heard was a soft exhale. 

He turned and glared at the prisoner. 

“What?” he snapped, and the little monkey tensed. They cooed, as if trying to calm him down, and he pointedly ignored them.

“Nothing,” insisted the snake demon. But his voice was bubbly– giggly, almost– and he smiled toothily at Wukong. “You’re just an interesting character, Great Sage, just as I expected you to be.”

Wukong frowned. He couldn’t entertain this demon. He, too, had been a prisoner of Heaven once, but this one would likely go mad before he was freed of his misery. Wukong had gotten lucky. Wukong didn’t feel entirely lucky.

“Are you one of Nüwa’s children?” 

The demon tilted his head. There was a hint of surprise that flashed across his eyes, but it may have been more amused than anything else. He tested the weight of the shackles around his wrists. They clinked, scraped against scales, and then settled.

“Aren’t we all?” he replied. 

The Harbinger giggled. They must have thought his striking, glowing eyes were interesting. The snake demon smirked at them in return, lifting his fingers to wave them at the little thing.

Wukong, suddenly remembering that this whole story was lost to him, felt horribly like a pawn. He readjusted the child in his arms and briskly headed toward the stairs.

What would Wukong do? Was he to head back to Flower Fruit Mountain? That might be the best course of action– to regather himself from this unexpected event. Then again, he had no idea if the Harbinger had powers; like laser eyes, or fireballs. Maybe keeping them in a collapsable mountain wasn’t very smart.

“You bring us colorful light. You beautify the lovely flower of our soul,” he murmured to himself. The Harbinger pressed their head against the cool chest plate to listen. Wukong’s chest tightened. “Today we grow under the sunlight, tomorrow we will create a colorful world.”

[sarahwriterx]

☆꧁ⓑⒺẸ’ｓ ＷƗѕ𝒽꧂☆

I took a step back. I could feel the branches and leaves behind me.  I NEVER thought to trapped in a bushes’ dead end in my whole life.

Space grinned, pulling out a gun of his galaxy clothe, looked at me.

“oOoOh gosh! I’m so scared! I need a prince Charming but if you dare to shoot me!” I grinned back and closed my eye.

“HAHAHAHAHA!!! Do you think I’m scared of you, poor star guy? I’ve been waiting…” he laughed loudly.

“I’ve been waiting to get revenge of you… cause what you’ve done with my dear Bee…” He took my chin and looked at me with wild eyes.

“Space!” Now Bee reached to us, shouted.

“Aha! It seems like a big request.  Do you want to wish for it?” I said carelessly.

“HAH- “Space was confused.

Suddenly, Cardamon jump at him and hit him with his hammer hardly, now our Space was dead frog on the floor.

“Go!!!” Cardamon shouted at me.

At that moment, Space dropped his white gun on the ground, it transformed to a wand and he threw Cardamon down by that. His wand this time transformed to a truncheon and they fought to each other.

“ oh yeah? You want me to be a fair-weather friend?” I opened my eye.

“I said, go!” Cardamon kept fighting with Space.

“see? I always want to be a good friend but you don’t believe me!” I smiled!

“GO AWAY!!!!” Both of them screamed at me.

I took a deep breath and left them behind, and left the maze, too.

There were so many skyscrapers, so many high speed cars, so many traffic… and so many luxury market too. And I could see Loop, Deckard and Howell in the sidewalk.

“where is Cardamon?” Deckard frowned.

“He’s talking to our dear commander; I guess he’ll be enjoying it~” I smirked.

“huh? W-What do you mean-“Loop were scared.

“well, guys, since Cardamon and I are veryyyyyyyyy close friends so he said that I am the boss now. You will obey whatever I want!” I ignored the Loop’s question.

“NO WAY.” Deckard frowned.

“HECK YEAH! We still in danger about that crazy inventor but a handsome, gay spaceman is fallowing us too for now, so…”

“ RUN!!” I screamed.

We were in surrounding again, so we all ran to some safe place. But where? I looked at the markets carefully. All them had bad smell, like, customary, profiteer and traitor… I could see just one place for a safe hiding and that was a library. A library could save our life’s but the librarian was closing the library. She had a dark skin and beautiful purple hair.

I used my latest power, with help from stars teleported on girl’s body and threw her on the ground.

“H-HEY!” she was terrified.

My friends entered to the library and Loop shout the door quickly, we all dropped in the dark.

“As I was saying, nothing bad happened if you obey me!” I smiled wildly.

“Go away! You are heavy!” the girl punched me.

I laughed, stood up, and walked toward the shelfs. There were too dark but our body have a soft light so we could almost saw around.

 “They will find us They will find us They will find us…” Loop whispered.

I was looking at some books in shelfs, and threw them on the ground.

“Don’t worry, my dumb friend. If they’ll figure out we are here, never coming for searching into a LIBRARY!”

“Hey, keep respect! And, don’t do mess! These books have been entrusted to me!!” the girl frowned too.

“easy peasy beautiful, you have to thanks the stars, your pity miserable life will be blessing!!!” I threw some books again.

The girl looked at me.

“ we can make your wish comes true!” I blinked at her and picked up another book.

“NOT EVERY WISH!” Howell grumped at me.

“But if we can do hers? Owww! This one have pictures!” and I threw it to Loop’s head,

“Y-You mean... my wish… can… comes… true?” she said as I gone toward the librarian desk and was touching every single thing on the desk.

“yep my dear, why not- ouch!!!!” I got my hand. Something sharp scratched my black glove and now it was bleeding some sticky, sparkling liquid.

She came to me and held me back.

“Don’t touch that! This is a cutter! Here. UM... Take my handkerchief!!” she got me a white handkerchief, that has a wired embroidered.

“well… I wishing for my mother come back to me…” she said.

“WOW!! Such a great wish! But, where is she now?” I cleaned my hand with her handkerchief.

“ she passed away.” A big white star went out of her chest and shined.

“well, Hehehehehehe…” I smiled nervously.

The others looked at me angrily.

“You know what? We can’t make it true for now buuuut someday- Mayyyyybe- “ I laughed a little but it warped up with voice of the moomins. “open it! We know you are here!”

“Siffrin!” Loop shouted.

“I’m sorry my lady, but…” I smiled as I holding her wish’s star in my hands.

“It’s time to RUN!!” I crushed it in my hands, it helped us to teleported somewhere far away.

****

“Sasha? Look at me, Sasha!”

Librarian girl was in panic. She was crying, screaming. She couldn’t see anybody else. Mr. Petrikov had bad feeling to left her alone in library. Not for the books mess, just because she was hurted and he was not there to help.

Moomins were searching the library carefully and the First Aid Kit was not going to help Sasha. Mr. Petrikov lost his hope soon and rubbed his head.

“Her wish star is crushed.” A cold voice said.

“Mr. Bird! It’s midnight time! What are you doing here?” Simon stood up respectfully.

“sorry about this mess… the books are everywhere… what a shame…” he looked at around.

“Don’t bother yourself, Dear Simon. I not here for borrowing books.” Bird smiled at him.

He took some step forward; he wanted to touch her but Simon got his arm.

“Sasha. is not good… I don’t know what happened to her…”

“But I KNOW. Let me help you.”  Bird pulled him away.

He bended on Sasha and got her chin tightly, it made her to screaming louder. He feed Sasha some kind of drug that was like a gummy bear. Finally, Sasha gulped it.

She got calm little by little and got deep breath.

“Thank you Mr. Bird…” Simon Said.

Bird smiled and went to the door, but before that held Simon's shoulder.

“I know you like to thank me, Petrikov. If you finds out about that star guys you can tell me first.”

“I’ll asking her, Mister-“

Bird smiled at him and then left the library.

This story continues..

[bigslutr]

Yelena Lock & Ellie Sallow

Prompt?: Darling being sick for around 2 weeks and gets worried before calling an old friend from highschool which is Yelena. But when Yelena takes interest in Darling and Ellie cannot stand.

-_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_--_-_-

It’s been two weeks. Two long, painful weeks of watching my angel struggle. I've done everything I can, getting someone to run to the store for medicine, ordering my cooker to make her soup and staying by their side when their fever spikes. But its not enough. They’re still weak, still not themselves, and my heart hurts everytime they wince or turn away from me.

I hate it. I hate not being able to fix this.

I sit on the edge of the bed, brushing their damp hair away from my worry etched on my face. My angel smiles fainty, it makes my heart race but it was only a shadow of the smile I loved. “You’re doing great Ellie,” They whisper, their voice weak and tied. But i know they’re just saying that to make me feel better.

I bite my lip, feeling the frustration coil tighter in my chest. I need to do something. I can’t lose them. Not to this. I won’t.

That’s when it hits me. Yelena.

My stomach twists at the thought. I haven’t talked to her in years, not since high school. But she’s in medical school now, training to be a doctor. Maybe she’ll know what to do. Maybe she can help.

I glance at Y/N. They’re so fragile right now, so vulnerable. I can’t bear it. I have to do whatever it takes to make them better, even if it means calling Yelena.

I quietly slip out of the room and grab my phone, my fingers trembling as I scroll through old contacts. Her name pops up, and for a second, I hesitate. I’ve always hated how perfect she seemed, how calm, how patient, how she always had this air of control. I know she’ll come in, take over, and make me feel small.

But I push that feeling down and hit the call button. It rings twice before she picks up, her voice bright and warm on the other end.

“Ellie? Wow, it’s been forever! What’s up?”

I forced a smile, even though she couldn't see it. “Hey, Yelena. Yeah, it has. Listen, I... I need your help.”

There’s a pause. “Help? With what?”

I take a deep breath. “It’s my Significant Other. They’ve been sick for a while, and... I don’t know what else to do. Could you... maybe come and take a look at them?”

She agrees almost too quickly. “Of course! I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

I hang up, staring at the phone in my hand. It feels wrong. I’ve always taken care of Y/N on my own. Now, I’ve invited someone else into our space, her and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve made a mistake.

Yelena arrives the next morning, a bundle of energy and smiles. Y/N perks up the moment they see her, which sends a pang straight through my chest. I try to push it down, but it’s hard when they’re looking at her like that.

“I’m so glad you called me, Ellie,” Yelena says, brushing past me like I’m an afterthought. She heads straight for Y/N, checking their temperature, asking them questions, all while giving them that sweet smile of hers.

“Thank you for coming,” Y/N says, their voice so much lighter than it’s been with me. “I’ve been worried, but Ellie’s been great.”

I know they mean it, but Yelena’s eyes flick to me, and I catch the hint of something…pity? maybe? Or is it amusement? I can’t tell, but I hate it.

Yelena quickly takes control, slipping into the caretaker role as if it were made for her, and Y/N lets her. They trust her. Every time Yelena touches them, I see Y/N relax in a way they haven’t with me in days. I can feel the distance growing, as if with every touch, Yelena pulls them further from me. But I can’t stop it. Not when Y/N is smiling, even if it's because of her.

The days blur together with Yelena by Y/N’s side more often than I am. She’s always there, her hand on Y/N’s shoulder, her voice soft and reassuring. I feel like a ghost in my own home, watching from the sidelines while they build something…something I’m not a part of.

During the quiet moments when Yelena leaves to “grab more supplies” or to take a break, I seize my chance. As soon as she’s gone, I slip into Y/N’s room. They’re still lying there, looking pale but awake. I sit on the edge of the bed, brushing their hair back gently.

“Hey,” I whisper. “It’s just us now.”

They smile, a small, weary thing, but it’s still there. I hold onto it, like it’s proof that I still have a place with them. I need that reassurance, even though it feels fragile, like it could shatter at any moment.

“How’re you feeling?” I ask, though it’s a question I’ve asked a hundred times before.

“Better,” they say softly. “Yelena’s really been helping.”

It’s always Yelena now. That name sticks in my throat, the way they say it, like she’s some miracle.

“I’ve been trying, too,” I add, my voice almost too quiet. “I’ve been doing my best.”

They glance at me, their hand reaching out to squeeze mine. “I know, Ellie. You’ve been amazing.”

But it feels empty, like they’re just saying it to make me feel better. I look at them, studying their face. The light in their eyes that had dimmed during those awful weeks is flickering back—but it’s not because of me. It’s because of her.

When I hear Yelena’s voice outside, talking on the phone, probably getting more advice or prescriptions from her colleagues, my body stiffens. I quickly press a kiss to Y/N’s forehead before pulling away. I have to make them remember—it’s me who’s been there through everything.

“I’ll get you some water,” I mutter, retreating before Yelena can walk in and reclaim her spot beside them.

When Yelena’s gone, I fight. I sit with Y/N, talk to them, bring them their favorite snacks, anything to keep them focused on me. But it never feels like enough. It’s like Yelena’s shadow lingers, even when she isn’t physically there. Y/N’s eyes glaze over sometimes, like they’re waiting for her to come back.

The next morning, I wake up early, earlier than Yelena for once, and make breakfast. Pancakes—Y/N’s favorite. I set the table, making sure everything is perfect, hoping for some alone time before Yelena swoops in.

Y/N smiles when I bring the tray to them, but it doesn’t reach their eyes. They take a bite, but I can tell they’re not really hungry.

“This is really sweet, Ellie,” they say, pushing the plate aside after just a few bites. “Thank you.”

I force a smile. “I just want you to feel better.”

As if on cue, the front door swings open and Yelena steps in, holding a bag of supplies. “Morning!” she chirps, her eyes bright and full of energy.

Y/N’s face lights up, and my heart sinks. The food on the table, my effort—it’s like it all disappears the second Yelena walks in. I watch her sit beside Y/N, easily picking up where I left off, as if I wasn’t even there.

Yelena’s laughter fills the room, and Y/N leans into her presence, their mood lifting effortlessly. My throat tightens. I feel like I’m suffocating, trapped in the space between them, like some kind of outsider.

The worst part? Yelena’s so... nice. She doesn’t flaunt her place in Y/N’s life, doesn’t throw it in my face. She’s sweet, caring, patient—the exact opposite of how I feel right now. And that makes it even harder to fight her.

But I keep trying. Every time Yelena steps out, I rush in to take her place. I pour Y/N water, fluff their pillows, brush their hair, desperate to reclaim my spot in their heart. And every time, Y/N smiles, but it feels smaller, more distant.

I can’t stand it.

Late one evening, after Yelena’s left for the night, I sit beside Y/N in the dimly lit room. The house is quiet except for the steady ticking of the clock. I reach for their hand, squeezing it gently.

“Y/N, do you... do you still need me?” The question escapes before I can stop it.

They look at me, surprised, like the thought never crossed their mind. “Of course I do, Ellie. Why would you even ask that?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s just... ever since Yelena came, it feels like... like I’m not enough anymore.”

Their expression softens, but there’s a hesitation that wasn’t there before. “You’ve always been enough. You’ve been taking care of me all this time.”

But it doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like they believe it. And I don’t either.

Because every time Yelena walks through the door, Y/N’s eyes light up in a way they never do for me anymore.

Later that night, I find myself standing in the kitchen, staring blankly at the knife block. I’m not going to do anything, of course. I’m not that kind of person. I wouldn’t hurt anyone... would I?

But the thought lingers, gnawing at me, and when I hear Yelena’s voice from the other room, laughing softly with Y/N, I wonder just how far I’ll have to go to keep them safe.

Because Y/N is mine. And I won’t lose them. Not to Yelena. Not to anyone.

[awkward-walking-potato]

I’m not sure if you do Charles Xavier, but if you could, can you write a platonic Charles x mutant!GN!reader where the reader can block out Charles’ telepathic abilities, and it surprises him at first until he somewhat gets used to it by the day? Thank you!

-💟

Silent Minds

When you first arrived at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, you knew it was only a matter of time before Charles Xavier would reach out with his telepathy. It wasn’t something he did out of malice, just his way of understanding who he was welcoming into the mansion. For many mutants, their thoughts were often loud, brimming with fear, uncertainty, or confusion. You, however, were different.

The moment Charles tried to enter your mind, there was nothing. It was like running into a brick wall — solid, unyielding, and utterly silent.

"Curious," he had murmured, raising an eyebrow when the usual telepathic connection failed to establish itself. The moment passed quickly, and though his surprise was evident, Charles Xavier was nothing if not composed. He simply greeted you with a warm smile, inviting you into the mansion without a word about the mental barrier.

It wasn’t until later, after you had settled into life at the mansion, that Charles asked to speak with you in private.

"Would you mind coming to my office?" he had asked politely, his voice calm and friendly, as always.

You nodded, curious as to what this was about. Once inside, Charles gestured for you to take a seat across from him.

"I hope you don’t mind me asking," he began, his tone gentle, "but I’ve noticed something rather… unique about you."

You blinked, unsure of where this was going. "Unique? How so?"

Charles steepled his fingers, his gaze thoughtful. "My telepathy doesn’t seem to work on you. I attempted to greet you telepathically when you first arrived, as I often do with new students, but I found myself unable to do so. It’s quite rare."

You shifted in your seat, glancing down at your hands before looking back at him. "I can block out telepathic abilities," you admitted. "It’s part of my mutation. I can create mental barriers — not just for myself, but for others too, if needed."

Charles’ eyes widened slightly in surprise, though there was no alarm in his expression, only fascination. "That’s extraordinary," he said. "I’ve encountered telepathic resistance before, but never quite like this. Your mind is entirely… silent."

You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his scrutiny. "I guess I’m used to keeping people out. It’s… instinctive now."

Charles leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips. "I imagine it must be. And quite useful, too, given the nature of some telepathic threats."

There was a moment of silence as Charles studied you, and you couldn’t help but feel a little awkward under his gaze. But then, as if sensing your discomfort, Charles’ expression softened.

"You don’t need to feel uneasy," he assured you. "I’m not offended, if that’s what you’re worried about. In fact, I find your ability quite remarkable. It must give you a sense of control over your own mind that many others don’t have."

You nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. "It does. It’s nice knowing no one can get into my head unless I let them."

Charles smiled warmly. "That’s a gift, indeed."

Over time, Charles grew more accustomed to your mental silence. While he was used to hearing the constant hum of thoughts from those around him, you became a rare, quiet presence in the mansion. It was something he came to appreciate — a kind of reprieve from the usual noise.

Occasionally, when you would join him for conversations, he would catch himself attempting to reach out telepathically, only to be met with that familiar, impenetrable wall. It never frustrated him, though. If anything, it intrigued him more each time.

"You’re a mystery, you know that?" he would say, half-teasing, whenever his telepathy failed him once again.

You’d just laugh and shake your head. "Not much of one, really."

But over time, you and Charles developed a comfortable, platonic bond. He respected your boundaries, both mentally and emotionally, never prying beyond what you offered willingly. And in turn, you came to trust him in a way you hadn’t trusted many people before.

Despite the fact that he could never truly read your thoughts, Charles had a way of understanding you that didn’t require telepathy. He observed the way you moved, the way you spoke, and the way you interacted with others. And in doing so, he gained insight into your mind without needing to delve into it.

One afternoon, after a particularly quiet training session, you found yourself sitting in the study with Charles. He was reading a book, and you were simply enjoying the silence — both the actual and mental kind. After a few moments, Charles closed his book and glanced over at you.

"I’ve been meaning to ask," he began, "does it ever feel lonely? Blocking out everyone’s thoughts like that?"

You considered the question for a moment, watching as a few stray sparks of sunlight danced across the wooden floor. "Sometimes," you admitted. "It’s hard to connect with people when you’re always keeping part of yourself hidden."

Charles nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I can imagine. Though I suppose, in some ways, it’s not too different from my own experience. Even when I hear everyone’s thoughts, there are still things I choose to keep hidden from others. We all have our barriers."

You smiled faintly at that, appreciating the parallel. "Yeah, I guess we do."

Charles’ expression softened, and he placed a hand on your shoulder — a small, comforting gesture. "Just know that you don’t always have to keep those walls up here. You’re among friends."

For the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. Charles didn’t need telepathy to understand you, and that, in itself, was enough.

[thebramblewood]

Apologies if you've answered this before, but I was looking through your asks and couldn't find anything.

Do you have any advice on how you take such good screenshots of your game? You have such a knack for lighting, having variety of shots, and making them immersive.

This is so sweet. Thank you! 🥰

If I'm being honest, it's 90% vibes and gut feelings for me. I don’t have any formal background in filmmaking or photography, and everything I know is by sheer osmosis. There’s a lot of fancy terminology to describe why certain image compositions look better than others. I admire and respect anyone who purposefully keeps that in mind. But I am definitely not that person. I think I’ve watched enough film and TV, though, to subconsciously be doing the "right thing" - or at least what looks right to me.

That being said, I think the best way to improve is practice. If you spend enough time doing something you'll obviously get better at it, even if you don't realize it at first. So the most important thing is to give yourself the patience to grow and the freedom to experiment! At any rate, here are some things I've learned that will maybe be helpful to others.

Camera Tricks: We all know the camera in TS4 can be a little wonky at times. I use Buckley's camera mod. It hasn't been updated in eons but still works as far as I can tell. It gives you more freedom with movement, and I've found it especially helpful for getting shots that are lower to the ground.

Now that I've realized how sneakily useful first person camera can be, I also take advantage of that all the time. There's the trick of making your Sim look in a specific direction. (This works with poses and gameplay actions, by the way! For example, I used it to turn Caleb's head toward Lilith while he was trimming the bonsai tree.) There's the Dutch angle trick explained in this video. This is great for moments of disorientation and unease. I also just straight-up used first person camera to convey Helena's confusion upon waking after being turned.

Also, saved camera positions are your best friends. You can save up to five positions using CTRL+5-9. Then you just click the corresponding number to return to that position. I've used these for so many reasons. By taking two shots in the same position and Photoshopping them together, I've been able to edit Sims in (like Vlad below), fix accessory clashes (the book was in the hat category, so Lilith couldn't actually wear it at the same time as the towel on her head), and to pose Sims in open doorways (Helena had to walk through the door to open it for the Vatores, so I shot both halves separately).

Zoom: I love smashing that zoom button, whether it's zooming way in or way out. Zoomed out shots are perfect for establishing setting or as interstitial shots during a long conversation when you don't want to always focus on Sims' faces. They're also great for the draaama. Extreme close-ups are great for emphasizing emotion or a tiny but significant detail. Playing around with the extremes of zoom is one of the best ways to achieve shot variety!

Focus: I don't think Reshade is a necessity for good visual storytelling, but it does make certain things easier. I rely a lot on depth of field shaders to pull focus in shots. I like using cinematic depth of field especially in conversations to blur some characters while emphasizing others. I feel like this helps ground conversations because it reminds us there are multiple participants instead of always zeroing in on the speaker alone. Another way to play with focus is to allow the angle to mirror the emotions of the conversation. It's an older shot, but I always liked how Caleb seems to cower beneath Lilith's bat form here even though she's technically smaller. And in the recent conversation between Lilith and Helena, I kept the camera to Lilith's back to emphasize her vulnerability and discomfort and put the focus on Helena's reaction to it.

Framing/Angles: I do this by pure instinct, honestly, and have gotten better at getting it right on the first shot over time. I used to take half a dozen shots of the same pose from different angles and choose the best one. Nowadays, I'm quicker to commit and often take only one shot. I've learned that if something immediately tickles my brain, it's usually the way to go. I usually angle shots so that the characters aren't looking directly at camera, as it seems more natural that way. On the other hand, sometimes the direct to camera look can actually work in more confrontational or unsettling moments.

Environment: If I can help it, I don't do my own builds. In some ways, this is a disadvantage because I have to set up the scene within a space that wasn't specifically catered to it. On the other hand, it makes for fun little surprises, like the ability to peek in through a skylight or frame two characters within perfectly placed archways. I like using objects and structures to create interest when I can. I often don't discover things like this until I'm pulling the camera around and randomly happen upon them. I definitely recommend navigating all around to see what you've got to work with before committing to any specific angle. You might find one you didn't even think of!

Lighting: I do what I can with the game's lighting. I avoid placing ceiling lamps or at least turn the brightness down much lower, and I don't usually turn all the lights on in a room at once. I tend to change the color to one of the warmer golden hues to avoid a stark white that washes everything out. I always like when I can get some sources of light into frame because it adds a lot to the ambience. But I've also been using Relight on all of my posts lately. It's an addiction, and it truly makes all the difference. I'll use it to give light sources a stronger glow so they stand out more and also to create shadows on Sims' faces. It's also very good for flashlights and computer screen glow!

After having self-indulgently written all this, I'm not sure how much is usable advice versus rambling musings. I find it hard to give storytelling "tips" because so much of it feels innate and personal and hard to put into generalized terms. I also don't want to imply that every one of my shots is perfect or that there aren't a million other ways to go about achieving good results. But thank you to anyone who's made it this far, and I hope you found it worthwhile. 💕