#always some interesting characters downtown

[marie-dufresne]

Starbucks Write Night 06.23.23

Tonight was a tame one.

Characters: Yazoo & Aerith                   Prompt: Arranged Marriage: Royalty

Though dutiful, neither Yazoo Valentine nor Aerith Faremis were blind followers of their parents’ wishes, no matter how beneficial to the empires they would be. They had each requested, in their own ways, to meet their intended. The monarchs agreed, deciding to host a ball to celebrate the coming union of the two kingdoms.

“Mother I…I will be fine,” Yazoo pressed, lifting his mother’s hands from his lapels and gently lowering them to her sides, “I have a valet for a reason.”

“Your valet is an unmarried man who I very much doubt has ever courted a young lady,” Marie sighed, gown rustling as she circled him, adjusting the ribbon that held his hair in place at the nape of his neck, “he doesn’t know what they want to see.”

At his other side, his father gave him a silent once over, a man of few words, and afterwards his eyes followed his wife, flitting and fretting about his son’s appearance.

“The man dresses gentlemen for a living,” he reminded her, “Yazoo is fine.”

“He dresses me for a living,” the prince corrected, “and I’ve never been short on the attentions of young ladies.”

Conceding, the queen stepped back, wringing her hands. They were right. Still, she hadn’t seen Gast and Ifalna in nearly two decades. While they had all remained allies—friends even—neither had seen their respective children firsthand and Marie did not wish to disappoint, especially with this being her first foray into the marriage market as a Mama.

“What if she doesn’t like him?” She whispered, pulling her husband’s arm close as they walked down the corridor, making their way to the ballroom to be announced.

“She’ll like him,” Vincent replied, adding with a mutter, “he’s likable.”

It wasn’t that he thought badly of the other three, but of the three children they had, Yazoo was the most diplomatic, the friendliest despite his initially quiet nature. The least violent.

A few steps behind his parents, Yazoo kept quiet as he so often did, pretending not to hear what they were whispering about him. He knew he had been a tactical choice and he took a slight offense at the idea that Aerith may not be warm to him and not the other way around.

What if she were ugly? Yazoo was not above pretending he didn’t care about such matters. What if she was uneducated or simple? Like his father, he didn’t speak much, but he did converse when he had something to say or when a topic was of particular interest to him.

Worse yet, what if she was like his mother, and spoke too much?

He thought about how boring it would be to have a wife, a princess who bowed to his every whim, a docile mouse of a woman who might jump at his touch. There were plenty of those at court, bending over backwards to please him in the name of loyalty or admiration.

He was a prince. He always got what he want. Nothing was a challenge.

But when he walked into the ballroom, as the party lowered themselves to the royal family, he saw her. She wasn’t kneeling, much (he noticed) to the distress of her parents, not as low as the partygoers, but respectfully prostrate.

She had found her way onto a decorative flower cart, using it as leverage as she hugged one of the marble columns, watching him with a delighted curiosity as he processed into the event. She didn’t make herself known otherwise and the gown, hair, and jewels all perfectly in place suggested she wasn’t trying to make a rebellious statement, but a playful one.

Yazoo was not so bold, but he smiled ever so slightly as he locked eyes before returning his focus to the thrones before him where he was set to perch until he could escape.

She would not be boring. Characters: Cloud & Tifa                 Prompt: TURK AU

A file came across Cloud’s desk, hand delivered by Rude. When the taller man didn’t step away, Cloud looked up, an annoyed scowl across his face.

“Can I help you?”

Rude pushed the folder closer, not saying anything but encouraging Cloud to open it, which he did, with an annoyed huff. What he saw surprised him and he sat back in his chair, staring at the photo of his childhood best friend.

Did Rude know the connection they had? He didn’t have any particular reason to know, but then again, they were TURKs. It was their job to know everything about everyone.

The objective was to simply observe and report, so Cloud tossed the file back onto the stack he was already sifting through and spun his chair away slightly.

“That’s your mission, isn’t it? If you’re looking for a partner, I’m not interested.” Still, Rude didn’t move from the desk.

“I thought you might be…given your history?”

So he did know.

“There’s no history,” Cloud clipped, making a show of pushing the file even further back towards his comrade.

“Inseparable as children is an interesting way to say ‘no history’.”

Why was he pushing this? Rude was the one who made a point of keeping his head down, staying silent and doing his job. He was irritatingly chatty today.

“It’s easy to appear close when there’s like three kids in the whole town,” he replied, brushing it off again. “I doubt she’s up to anything interesting. Enjoy your boredom.”

It wasn’t worth pursuing anymore, so Rude took back the folder and said no more. He had been hoping Strife would be the one to accompany him. He’d independently taken up an interest in Tifa Lockhart, learning about her heritage—and her proximity to Cloud—long before the official request to do so had been issued.

It was Rude’s own misfortune that as much as he frequented this bar of hers, a fondness had grown. He’d allowed it. After all, there was nothing in his job description that said pretty bartenders were off limits.

The paperwork under his arm, however now very clearly stated that the particular bartender he pined for was very much off limits, suspected of involvement with AVALANCHE.

Well wouldn’t luck have it that way. He was 0 for 2.

The problem now…if Tifa really was involved in something sinister, he would have to act against her.

He might have to hurt her.

If Strife would join him…it would be easier. Easier to what, he didn’t know. Easier to look the other way? Easier to sabotage a mission based on personal feelings?

Lowering himself down into his chair, Rude let out a sigh. He’d have to have Reno come. This was the first time he didn’t want to involve Reno and he felt guilty for it, straddling the line of friendship, love, and business all at once.

Was it love? Well maybe he wouldn’t go so far, but he felt strongly enough to keep Reno in the dark about it.

It wasn’t an hour later that a shadow came over his desk, not a particularly large one, but when he looked up, Cloud was there, unsmiling.

“Fine.”

It was all he said, but before he walked away, he swiped up the mission file and Rude felt a weight lift off of his chest. Tifa Lockhart would be safe under their watch, whether she deserved it or not.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Thinking about bodyguard!Miguel O’Hara who was assigned to watch over you from your manager after finally getting your big break with the last movie you starred in. Despite not being the main character, people still adored yours. Your name trending on twitter along with the rest of the cast.

Bodyguard!Miguel who intimidated the ever living shit out of you. Towering over you and your manager at 6’9 as he introduced him to you for the first time. Miguel staring straight ahead as your manager told you his experience, hands clasped behind his back, no emotion present on his face. Not even a crack of a smile when you joked about having scary dog privileges now, just an unassumed grunt and a deadpan glance at you.

Bodyguard!Miguel who would follow you everywhere when you would step out of the house. Never saying anything more than a handful of words, grunting and tsking more than talking, using his body language to communicate instead. Raising a brow is a silent ask if someone is bothering you, scrunching his nose as a way to decline your offer to get him something every time you get a coffee at the studio lot’s cafe. (You’ll still ask him every time despite him always saying no.) The first time he spoke a full sentence to you, you had to resist letting out a gasp.

Bodyguard!Miguel who wouldn’t admit it, but he almost let a smirk surface on his lips when he saw you freaking out over the phone when you were both out. Your manager Jake had called you during your daily walk when he dropped the bomb that you were going to get the female lead for a new movie you auditioned for a few weeks ago. Finding it endearing how you were practically buzzing with excitement on the rest of your walk.

Bodyguard!Miguel who almost beat up some random intern who kept hitting on you, despite you making it very clear you weren’t interested when you had arrived on your first day on set for the table read/ first cast meet up.

—

“Here’s your script, I’ll show you towards the reading room.” Said the young twenty-something old, as he handed you the script before nodding towards the corridor of the backlot, you thanked him and followed behind him, Miguel trailing along as well. Not missing the way the guy had eyed you up and down.

“I really liked you in your last movie, you're really funny.” He quipped as he turned to look over his shoulder to look at you, slowing down his steps until he was matching your pace. You just gave him another smile and took a sip of your iced coffee before speaking.

“Oh, thank you! That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah, um… hey if you weren’t busy after this, I was wondering if you wanted to go get lunch.”

“Oh… um, I’m good, thank you though.” You wanted to be nice, but you weren’t really looking for anything at the moment, wanting to focus on your career. Your response didn’t seem to satisfy the intern though. You can tell by the way his brows scrunched together for a second in irritation before the expression fell back to a nonchalant one.

“Come onnn, I know this really good burger spot downtown-“

“I’m okay-“

“Do you not want burgers? We can get sushi or-“

“Umm-“

“She said she’s good.” Miguel’s hardened voice always sent a shiver down your spine, having to take a step back when he put himself between you and the shorter male, if looks could kill…

“Lo-look man… I-I’m not trying to cause any trouble.” The cocky attitude immediately vanished from the intern, his hands now shaky as they were raised in a defensive manner.

“How about you just show her where she has to go hmm?” It wasn’t a suggestion.

Needless to say he didn’t speak another peep to you the rest of the walk.

—

Part 2<

Not proofread.

Word count: 600

taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @yournextbimbogf (if you want to be added for part two, click here)

[chrollohearttags]

where the heart is • eren x black!fem reader

synopsis: the holidays had never been a great time for you or EJ but that quickly changes when you guys share your very first Christmas together.

content + themes: super sweet fluff, domestic au!,musician eren, him being so in love, mentions of alcohol, very light mentions of angst, lots of humor, all around cuteness ♡♡

word count: 1.3K

📝: just something super short and cute. Realizing I hadn’t written any Christmas fics yet but I might do more with all of my characters if y’all like them!

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰───────✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰────

christmas…the time of year filled with cheer, delight and all things bright. Trees topped with snow, front lawns illuminated in bright colors and inflatable decorations waving about in the cool winds. Not to mention, the overwhelming scents of peppermint, chocolate and apple cinnamon wafting through the air at every establishment. A true sign of the times..of course for others..it wasn’t always the best occasion. For some, it was a reminder of the loneliness that came with being away from family and loved ones. Spending the cold nights by themselves and watching others celebrate the harmonious holiday surrounded by warmth and happiness. For EJ, he happened to be the latter. Always holed up in a studio, chained to his desk as he worked right through Christmas Day without so much as a pause..it didn’t bother him much. He wasn’t exactly close to his family after leaving home years ago and his friends preferred to spend the evenings partying alongside strangers. Not something he had an interest in engaging in. Needless to say, he couldn’t wait for it all to be over. That was until the renowned rapper wound up meeting (y/n)…

“ ‘Rennieeeee! Come dance with me, baby!”

“Princess! Get down from there, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

the ever so lovely and vivacious pole dancer turned influencer who not only took the world by storm but captured his ice cold heart as well. In a couple years’ time, the two of you had gone from perfect strangers to absolute lovebirds, enjoying domestic bliss in the comfort of his spacious three story home as soon-to-be husband and wife. Being in a relationship meant learning about the other person, becoming accustomed to their habits and all of their lovely quirks and in between. That stood true for Eren as well..it wasn’t until the two of you were out on your usual Sunday stroll through the Downtown District of Miami that he’d learn that you were a huge fan of Christmas. Although the warm temperatures didn’t mirror the occasion, shops and streets alike were strewn about garland and ornaments. Snowmen, reindeers, the works..! It was all a little suffocating for the stoic producer but you? You were beaming as bright as Rudolph’s nose! He couldn’t believe it. Seeing those gorgeous brown eyes glowing with excitement at all the decorations and themed treats, it made his chest flutter. Seeing you happy brought him more joy than any cheesy flare and overhyped song ever could. Since childhood, you have adorned the holidays; baking and cooking with your grandma, going to church and of course, opening presents. You loved every aspect and couldn’t wait to celebrate with your own family someday. However, your future husband was a little concerned that you may have been going a bit too far in your celebratory efforts…

“C’monnnn, pleaseeee? You look so cuteee!” Alluding to the reindeer headband sitting atop his brown locks.

“Yes, (y/n). I will dance with you, baby. But would you please get down from that ladder before you fall?!”

the two of you had been living together for some time now and he had grown quite accustomed to your habits. Waking up to warm kisses as he cradled you, getting to spend all this time together and lately..watching you frolic about the living room with knee high socks, shorts and fluffy red sweater with gingerbread men knitted on the front. Your butterfly locs were laced with red bows and scents of sugar cookie body mist radiated from your skin. You had even managed to convince him to partake in the festivities by baking cookies and helping set up decorations. Something he would’ve never done on his own accord. But he’d listen to you recount your holidays growing up and knew that he’d have to help you recreate the magic. You guys would even make jokes about how you’d never experienced a ‘real’ Christmas because there was no snow in Florida. He was absolutely infatuated with you and how adorable you were. Eren had only retreated to the foyer for a moment to grab some more ornaments and such, only to find you dancing atop the ladder; twerking and whining to the music that played and even belting Mariah Carey to the top of your lungs in an off key. He was trying to feign his laughter and keep a watchful eye on you all the same. He knew you were trained to dance and twirl at these outrageous heights but the fact that he had just watched you down four glasses of spiked eggnog consecutively with no pause, had him a little concerned. Knocking them back and becoming quite lively.

“I’m fineee! Now can you hand me those angels, please? I want them up—“

but as you made your way down the rungs and to the floor with only a couple steps left, you’d come tumbling down in a drunken haze and right on top of your fiancé! Who could do nothing but laugh as you immediately ‘sobered’ up upon the sight of seeing him lying flat on his back, covered in glitter. “Oh my gosh! Baby, are you okay?! I’m so sorry—“ cupping those fingers decorated in sparkly red acrylic tips over your mouth as you examined him. Making certain that he was alright but honestly? He had never felt better and in fact..you were utterly confused as to why he was so hysterical. His cheeks were red and he was cradling his stomach as he cackled.

“Yeah. I’m fine, princess..never been better. I’m just really happy.” Which allowed you to breathe a sigh of relief. For the first time in a long time, Eren had felt joy like he had never experienced before. All those years of spending Christmas Eve throwing money on dancers, pretending to enjoy drowning his sorrows in liquor or even mashing away at keys to avoid taking a trip back home to confront his family, none of it seemed to matter at that moment. The realization had hit him that this was his future…he was going to get to spend every day, every year having these beautiful moments and exciting times next to the love of his life. Leaning up, he’d grab your face and place a kiss on top of your forehead. He’d take a moment to examine your gorgeous features and just take in your presence. “Aww! I’m so glad..but why? You just fell.” A little confused by his sudden confession. He found your almost innocuous nature to be the sweetest thing in the world.

“Because..I have you, don’t I? Knowing I get to do this for the rest of my life..I can’t help but to smile..” Out of all the jewels and handbags you had been gifted, this was by far the greatest. Quality time and unconditional love that was priceless beyond comprehension. Moments that couldn’t be bought with the largest of riches, and the two of you were forever grateful for it. “I love you, princess. I really do..” which unironically sent you into a fit of tears and he’d immediately try to console you. “What’s wrong?!” Nearly bursting into overwhelming hysterics. Attributing it to your drunken stupor. But soon, you’d drape your arms around his neck and fling yourself across him with a tight embrace. “I’m sorry—I just—love you too, baby! I love you so much!..you’ve made me so happy.” You honestly never thought you’d have another Christmas like this or truly feel this type of love again but he made it possible. It didn’t matter how far you guys traveled or where your busy lives took you..right here, home and in each other’s arms..

“..thank you for tonight. I’m having so much fun.”

was where his heart heart was!

[honeybleed]

content & warnings: fem!reader, modern au, rockstar!jean, established relationship (reader and jean are married), conflict (is it really a honeybleed jean kirstein fic if they don’t argue) smut (a lot of dirty talk, vaginal fingering, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, horsecock jean supremacy 🤣)

author’s note: happy birthday to my favorite character ever and husband (07/04), i’m real protective over him you know ;-; me against the entire aot fandom for him. he means the world to me and i hope this fic is great for all the jean girls (gender neutral) also, rockstar jean very much inspired by two great series on here! five husbands by @kingkonoha and reverb by @chrollohearttags make sure to check those out!

word count: 3.4k

You first spoke to Jean Kirstein as he manned the counter at a record store.

An uneventful Tuesday evening. You’d always walk around town window shopping straight after work.

You loved the record store, it was always the best place to discover upcoming bands on the board.

The only downside of going there were the chauvinistic creeps who wanted to quiz you if they saw you perusing through vinyls.

The poster behind him piqued your interest.

“Is that you? Your band?” You enquired as you pointed at the paper pinned to the board.

There was a mixture of bashfulness and pride as he answered.

"Yup... that's my band.” He said triumphantly as he turned to tear it off the push pin and hand it to you. The glimmer in amber irises dancing.

“We got a gig Saturday night.”

“Oh really? What venue?” You asked as your eyes scanned the sheet of paper with a black and white photocopied photograph of them.

He had a guitar slung around him as he was in front of the microphone, a guy with a buzzcut behind the drums and a freckled guy with a bass.

“We had a lead singer but he went solo. Dick.” He muttered under his breath.

“Anyways, why you askin’?” He teased as he wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s Mandalay downtown, you lookin’ to go?”

“Maybe if you invite me…” You giggled.

“You get an invite if I get something in return.”

The sexual tension between the two of you was thick.

Jean was tall, towering over you. With warm, sun-kissed tan skin, and veined and rugged forearms, he was your dream man.

“Maybe I’ll throw a bra on stage.”

"Damn, now you've got my attention.” He smirked, leaning his elbows against the counter as he met your eyes.

“There’s a condition. Only if you don’t totally suck. Can you agree on that?”

"That sounds reasonable enough. You got yourself a damn deal." He chuckled as he beamed confidently.

"You'll be surprised. We're gonna tear that damn stage apart."

You weren’t the kinda girl that did things for other people’s approval.

But as you stood in front of your wardrobe that Saturday evening, piles of clothes scattered across your carpet to the point the nylon pink carpet was out of sight.

Close to tearing your hair out, you never cared but for some strange reason, there was a feeling to dress to impress. Jean didn’t seem like a playboy.

But you knew the pits would be chockfull of beautiful girls, and thus the seed of insecurity was planted and sprouting.

You eventually settled on a grey denim miniskirt that was cut up by you, knee-high platform boots and an asymmetrical off-shoulder black crop top that was embellished with rhinestones in the middle with a heart shape.

Not fully satisfied, you had no time. You didn’t want to be late, and you snatched your purse as you bounded out of your place.

Jean kept his promise, and so did you. He told you he was only a rookie group, and they had been desperately looking to be signed.

But from his wide vocal range to his showmanship, you stood in the pit, absolutely enthralled and mesmerised by him.

The trio were truly in sync but it was as if they worked together to propel Jean.

His eyes lit up when he saw you in the crowds. As if the spirit that possessed him during the songs had warded off almost instantly.

You sure as hell weren’t gonna take off and throw a sweaty bra from all the heat in the tight-packed venue.

Instead, you brought one. You noticed there were already a few littered across the stage, particularly around the drum kit.

The set came to an end, and Jean thanked the audience graciously. But he made a gesture at you to head towards where he was going.

“Are you going to give me a name?” He asked as he leaned across the lockers after he tugged you down the winding hallways.

“Might as well. I did promise. Y/N.”

"What if I want to call you something else?" He grinned.

“…Like?”

"What if I wanted to call you... mine?"

“Ew…never say that again.” You burst into hysterics as you shoved your palm right onto his face.

“But I gotta give my best man some ideas when our wedding comes.”

“Wedding…?!” You exclaimed. “What makes you so sure I’m the woman you’ll marry?”

“A man can dream... and I’m dreaming right now. Besides... you did just throw me your bra. You’re definitely the one.” He cheesed as he gripped onto the lacy black bra for dear life.

He eventually ushered you out of the venue, and there was a sense of pride as you walked hand in hand to the VIP section of the afterparty.

All kinds of people called out his name, the beautiful women you worried about too. But from his actions, it seemed as if he was dead set on you.

It was jumping the gun, for a man you’d only become recently acquainted with to swear you’d be the woman he’d marry.

But in a way, it intrigued you. He had the same passion he had on stage with you.

Things started to become slightly hazy.

The lights in the club were low, you were in a secluded area so the only sounds were muffled music and murmurs of people on the dance floor.

Jean was tipsy from the strong drinks he’d downed at the bar so he kept dipping his head low now and then with a glimmer in his eye. Irises swirling with lust.

He had this effect on you, and he knows how good he does. Eyes flickering looking at your plump and glossed lips with his eyes half lidded.

Moving in closer and closer as if he would throw caution to the wind and ravish your pillowy ones.

He eventually leaned in, his scent aromatic and inviting.

"Do you want me to kiss you..?" He whispered, nudging your head to the side as he inched in closer to the bare skin of your shoulders.

You nodded almost urgently, shuddering at his breath tickling your skin.

"I can't hear you…” He sang as he ran his nose against your jawline.

"Please." You breathed out shakily.

He straightened his posture out and cupped the right side of your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in. He gave you a short and chaste kiss. It was a sweet one, so pure.

It was the beginning of your love story.

“You sure?”

Jean was in Los Angeles and you were miles apart. Or — that’s what you made him think. You were in the same town but you kept it a secret.

“I wanna surprise him.”

“Yeah, but I guarantee he’s gonna be a jackass the entire day if you make him think you’re bailing.” Connie retorted.

“Not my problem.” You said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“C’mon, Y/N! I’ve had a two-week streak here without Diva Kirstein! Do you know how rare that is? And you’re just gonna blow it out of the water and subject me to that?”

“Be a trooper!” You barked as you hung up.

A lot changed in the coming decade. He kept his promise and the two of you wed in a lavish ceremony in the private islands.

Jean was the lead singer and the trio became a quartet with the addition of Reiner Braun, a unique guitarist. So Jean could focus on singing rather than juggling the two.

Jean and Reiner butt heads at first, but bonded eventually. The two men shared a deep love of the blues as they both came from the South.

The rookie band that had to go around handing out CDs were now an established rock group that was fast on their way into going down in history.

Now it was time to break it to him, as you sat in the café of the hotel.

During rehearsals for their show tonight, he practically dived across the room when he saw your contact name flash on the screen.

“Baby, is that you?” He breathed out as he brought it to his ear, clutching onto the phone.

“Of course, it’s me you damn goof.” You snorted.

“Man, it's so good to hear your voice, you have no idea. Got on full on withdrawals without ya, y’know.” He grinned as he absentmindedly ruffled his hair.

“I know, I miss you too. Hopefully you haven’t been giving the rest of the gang a hard time, hm Diva Kirstein?”

“I may or may not be the source of our tech guy's current gray hair.” He responded with an uneasy laugh, rubbing the nape of his neck.

“Take it easy on the poor guy, alright?” You took a deep breath. “I wish I was calling under better circumstances.”

“Uh oh…what’s going on, honey?”

“I don’t think I can make it to this weekend’s show, Jean. I’m really sorry.”

There was a beat of silence on the line before he spoke with an edge to his voice.

“…What the hell is going on?”

“Just work stuff…but it’s really urgent.”

“Okay…and how long is this ‘urgent work stuff’ going to take?”

You winced. It sounded like he was mimicking your words.

Jean had been in the limelight for coming near a decade now.

And as much as you hate to point out his shortcomings, he’s the man you love after all, he’s become rather spoilt and entitled.

His label loved him. Why wouldn’t they? He was their money maker. He got whatever the hell he wanted with the click of his fingers.

“Jean, I can’t hop on a flight across the States in one night…!” You protested.

Even thought you were telling him a white lie, frustration was building in your system from how he was getting.

“We haven’t seem each other in months. And you’re ditching me for work shit? If it were me, I’d cancel these damn shows and run to you.”

“Here we go with the guilt tripping, real mature Jean.” You sighed as you pinched your nose bridge. “Cos I’m not this megaceleb that can click their fingers and change things because everybody worships the ground he walks on! I’m a regular woman with a 9-5!”

“Don’t you dare use that against me.”

“You know what, call me when you stop trying to rip my head off. Happy fuckin’ birthday, Jean.” You said harshly and cut the line.

You felt bad. Because Jean Kirstein is so in love with you. It’s the sort of love you read in epics.

You’d wave a hand dismissively, but he would walk barefoot on hot coals if it meant he could engulf you in a bear hug and shower you with kisses on the other side.

You let out a sigh and looked down at the vibrant hues of the salad in the bowl. After that screaming match, it didn’t look appetising anymore.

Arguing with Jean always made you feel like shit. Married all these years, but it never calmed down. He was lava and you were ice when it came to butting heads.

Neither one of you wanted to back down.

Crowds stretched as far as the eye could see. The opening guitar chords echoed throughout the stadium.

The audience immediately went into a frenzy as the camera focused on him, projecting the handsome face onto the big screen.

He exclaimed, garnering roars and cheers of excitement and delight.

Only the ones in Jean’s inner circle knew his true feelings. There’d been many times where he was furious or heartbroken but nobody could tell.

That’s how dedicated he was. Jean Kirstein to his core was an entertainer first and foremost.

After three hours of renditions from their hits, remixed versions, and intervals with speeches from each member, Jean was more than ready to skedaddle off stage and drink himself to sleep.

He was a wallowing loser without you.

But his ears pricked up when he heard the familiar chords of ‘Happy Birthday’ begin to play from Reiner’s guitar.

The plastered fake smile suddenly morphed into a shocked expression when he saw your familiar figure wheeling a three-tier cake with sparklers towards him.

“Drama queen.” You muttered under your breath as Jean crouched and covered his face.

“What’s the tears for, eh?” You chuckled as you looked down at him, patting his head.

He gave a soft, breathy laugh, trying not to cry. His voice cracks as he manages to speak.

“…I thought that you weren’t gonna be here.”

“Well, I’m here now. Aren’t I?” You teased but were cut off as he rose to his full six-foot stature and lifted you.

By reflex, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he pressed his face into your shoulder.

The crowd chanted his name and he struggled to wipe the huge smile off his face as he held you, unable to believe what was happening right now. Ashamed of how he yelled at you.

Marco, Connie and Reiner took it upon themselves to scoop the cake and begin to smear it on Jean and you.

You both squawked and shrieked, Jean releasing you so he could get back at the rest of them.

“Connieeeee!” You squealed as you draped your arms around him in the hallways of the venue.

“Hey, hey easy!” He whined.

Jean who was rather tipsy from the celebratory champagne leaned in and latched his lips onto Connie’s neck, sucking a purple mark onto the tan skin.

“Get offa me…!” Connie protested as he squirmed in Jean’s iron grip.

“Can’t I show my buddy some love?” Jean chuckled as he wrapped a bicep around Connie, putting him in a headlock. So much so, that Reiner had to pry Jean off.

“Go spend some time with your missus, huh? Since you were sulking all day cos you thought she wasn’t gonna come.” Reiner guffawed, pushing Jean towards you.

You felt your stomach flutter as there was a predatory glint in his eye as he zeroed in on you.

Yanking you into the dressing room, he lowered you onto the plush seating of the velvet couch.

Kissing Jean was an otherworldly experience, especially when he was away from you for months. The way he would explore the recesses of your mouth with his tongue.

Lapping it up, his fingers digging into your skin to grip your jaw. He wanted to devour you whole.

Sometimes, you’d have to grab a fistful of his hair to yank him away to catch your breath.

Lips swollen and bitten, tingling sensations roaming from your mouth to your core, light stubble grazing your soft skin deliciously that would elicit audible reactions.

You whined his name and pulled him away, chest heaving.

“What?” He sulked.

“I need to breathe, y’know!”

“Can't have you dying on me now, can we?” He chuckled darkly as his forefinger curled to run across your jawline.

His fingers slid under your panties and rubbed against your wet folds. As he leaned in closer, his lips brushed against your ear.

"Do you want me to fuck you right here, right now?"

It felt heavenly. His fingers always knew what made you tick. However, your heart pounded at the prospect of the others walking in.

“I do...so much, I missed you so fucking much.” You stuttered, pussy throbbing around nothing as his fingers continued to stroke your slit, purposely teasing and not fully plunging them in.

"Perfect." He said, locking the door behind you. "Let's make some noise.”

“You're so nasty...”

“Let me make you cum." He started rubbing circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb. "We'll see how nasty I can really be."

He revelled in your reactions closely, the wetness of your cunt, the way your body trembled under his touch.

His cock throbbed in anticipation, wanting nothing more than to be inside you. He leant down and bit your neck lightly.

“I want more..mmph…” You said hoarsely as you leaned back to give him more access to the skin of your neck.

"More, huh?" He asks, his voice husky with desire. "I can give you more."

His other hand reached around to squeeze your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple causing you to jolt and gasp into his mouth.

"But first, let's make sure you're nice and wet for me."

“M'gonna cum, Jean...” You whined pathetically as your walls pulsated around his digits. “Gonna cum for you..”

He licked his lips at the sight of your face contorting into expressions of pleasure and need for him.

"Fuck, yes..." He murmured as he felt your orgasm hit. "That's it, baby...cum for me."

You skipped out on the afterparty. People were disappointed since it was the last concert of the long tour but Jean couldn’t care less.

He needed to be buried inside you, as soon as possible.

He didn’t even give you a chance to fully undress and kick off your heels as the two of you walked back into his hotel suite.

“Slow down you idiot, we got all night!” You laughed breathlessly as he hurled you to the bed with Goliath-esque strength.

“Need you now.” He muttered, his face in your neck again as he hurriedly yanked off his belt.

You eventually both undressed, and you gasped out as you felt his erection press against your bare thigh, already seeping with pre-cum.

"Gonna fuck you now..." He whispered, his hands gripping your hips. "I’m gonna make you scream my name."

It’d been too long. And you forgot how you used to stretch yourself out to take his dick. You were already soaked from all the teasing and riling up in the car journey home not to mention the way he finger fucked you in the dressing room.

“Too big...” You whimpered when his fat tip grazed your drenched slit, puffy with arousal. “Not gonna fit..”

"Shhh...I'm sorry, baby. We can slow down." He reassured you as he smooched your forehead tenderly.

"Let me make sure you're okay."

He stroked your hair until your breathing calmed down. When he felt your body relax, he moved back between your legs.

"Let's try again," He whispered as he sucked your neck, teeth grazing the skin. "Spread your legs for me, you want it to fit, don't you?"

“I do...want you in me, Jean...so bad...” You panted, long nails digging into his beefy forearms.

He smirked, feeling a surge of desire coursing through him. He positioned himself at your entrance, teasingly rubbing the head of his cock against your slick folds.

"Good girl," He murmured, his voice husky with need. "I'm gonna take you nice and slow, baby. Just relax and let me in."

With a controlled thrust, he began to slide into you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to his size. He scrutinised your face, gauging your reactions, making sure not to overwhelm you.

"You're so tight around me, baby. I can't get enough of you, y'know that right? My girl." He groaned, his hips pressing closer to yours. "Only my girl knows how to take me in this good...look how that pussy is sucking me in...shit, baby."

His pace became hasty, the sound of your bodies slapping against each other filling the room. He leant down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as he drove deeper into you.

“Cos...it's only for you...” You mumbled, pulling him impossibly close as if your bare chests slick with sweat wasn’t already flush.

You were on cloud nine, the drought was being blessed with thunderous rainfall. And you were beyond grateful, damn near about to cry as your toes curled and your fingers dug into his sides.

The fat mounds of your breasts against his soft pecs, your soft belly against the rigid and taut muscle of his abdomen, the hair slightly tickling.

His sanity was slipping, his restraint shattered by your words. He picked up the pace even further, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he struggled to hold back his orgasm.

"Fuck...that's it...say it again. My girl...my fucking girl..." He mustered out between gritted teeth, feeling a familiar tightening in his abdomen.

His body convulsed as he released inside you, his release mixing with your juices, coating your walls milky white.

He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily, his forehead resting against yours.

"Goddamn.”

“Happy birthday baby.” You heaved out as you leaned in to kiss his temple. “Yell at me again on the phone like that and I’ll ditch you for real.”

He sharply nudged your side, causing you to erupt into laughter.

“Ow…!”

“Well, you lied to me so I’d say it’s even.” He responded as he stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving.

author’s note: omg this is so rushed please forgive me 😭😭 but i wanted to write rockstar!jean for so long anyways. if you enjoyed, please reblog n leave feedback 🥹

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Playing with Fire: The Photobooth

Fandom: Marvel (Dad's Best Friend AU)

Pairing: DBF!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad's coworker and best friend, Bucky, decides to tag along with you on your errands after your boyfriend bailed on you last minute.

A/N: Bucky is in his late 40s, reader in her mid to late 20s. inspo came from these recent pics of seb.

The Book Store

Further into downtown, you stop at another store that sold different types of knick knacks and gifts.

Bucky follows you out of your car and towards the store, "Yelena's birthday is coming up so I figured I can check this place out for some stuff for her."

"I'm following you, sugar," Bucky says as he enters the store and is immediately met with a plethora of color and trinkets.

You zero in on a shelf that displays little crystal figurines. You smile at the ones shaped like animals, some shaped like Pokemon and Sanrio characters.

Yelena always had a thing for elephants so you immediately pick up an elephant carving made from amethyst.

"Those are cute," Bucky says as he looks over your shoulder.

You turn to him with a grin, "Right?! Lena, would love this," you hold up the elephant with a wide smile.

"She likes elephants?"

You nod, "She likes how smart and cute they are."

Bucky watches as you head to the pay counter and ask the cashier if you could place the crystal carving there for now. When the cashier nods, you thank them and head back to Bucky.

"I just wanted to make sure I don't accidentally drop it while I look around."

Bucky continues to follow you around the store until his eyes land on a photobooth in the corner. His eyes brighten, "Oh, hey! Check this out!" He takes your hand and leads you to the booth, "Haven't used one of these since high school."

You scrunch your face up as you think, "I don't think I've actually used one of these before."

Bucky looks at you in surprise, "Really?" You shrug and he opens the curtain to it, "Well let's do one then."

You snort, "Seriously?"

"Yeah, c'mon. Better late than never, right?" He takes your hand again and pulls you in. He sits on the bench and you do your best to squeeze in beside him.

"This isn't gonna work out, here," he has you stand and then he pulls you onto his leg, "Better?"

You gulp, "Y-Yeah."

You try not to pay attention to the hand that rests on your hip as he pays and picks out the amount of pictures and strips. He leans back and points at the screen, "Okay. It's gonna count down for us before every picture. There'll be four pictures all together so be ready."

"Right. Got it. What should we do first?"

"Uuuuhhh happy?"

You giggle and you both smile when the screen counts down to one. You two work quick, "Sad?"

The both of you do your best to look sad. You frown while Bucky straight up looks like he's wailing. When the camera snaps, you lose it. You find Bucky's face absolutely hilarious and he's watching you laugh at him. You're too caught up in the moment to realize that the countdown started and took your picture.

"Oh crap. Uuuuhhh, silly face?" he asks and you nod.

You blow out your cheeks and cross your eyes. He pulls out his ears and sticks his tongue out.

He pulls back the curtain again and has you step out first. You realize how warm you are now so you start to fan yourself. He walks out with a grin, "That was fun."

He leans against the booth while waiting for the pictures to print, "I can't believe you never used one of these before."

"Just never caught my interest, I guess. But I definitely see the appeal now. I'll have to come back with Yelena to use it."

Bucky cocks a brow, "Not your boyfriend?"

Your smile weakens at the mention of your boyfriend, "Oh, um, John doesn't like taking pictures together. He thinks they're dumb."

Bucky's brows raise, "Thinks they're dumb?"

You shrug, "He thinks taking pictures together and posting them is like showing off. So he said he doesn't need to show off our relationship because we both know we're in one. I don't really get it, but I got tired of arguing with him on wanting to have keepsakes for memories," you look down in shame. The only person who knows how John is like is Yelena. When around your dad, John puts up a front. Like he's the perfect guy to you. He's not bad, but sometimes he's not good either.

"And this is the same boyfriend who ditched you today?" Bucky asks with a look on his face you can't even decipher. Is he mad? Annoyed?

"He didn't necessarily ditch me, Bucky. He had a deadline to meet for his capstone project."

"Right and I'm sure he already knew of this deadline and proceeded to procrastinate anyway."

You cross your arms over your chest defensively, "What's your issue with him? You don't even know him, Bucky."

"You're right, I don't, but from just the little information you've given me today, I don't think he's the right guy for you."

"Don't think you have a say in the guys I get involved with, Bucky," you say with a scoff and turn around to walk away but he grabs you by the elbow, "Wait, wait."

You turn back to him and raise a brow, arms crossed over your chest. He sighs, "I'm sorry. I just know you deserve better."

"Thanks but I'll be the judge of that, Bucky. I'm an adult. I'm responsible for my own decisions."

"Yeah. I know, but still. You deserve to be with someone who isn't afraid to show you off, ya know? Makes time with you and does everything to make you happy."

You nod, "I know. Thanks, Bucky."

"Sure," he lets you go to continue to shop for Yelena.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

I love love love your work so much!!! How about a soft!dark!Tommy fic where the reader cheats (she doesn’t love him) and he still wants her back

Warnings: Infidelity, p in v, smut, altered timeline/storyline, cheating, dark!tommy, a singular face slap, relationship problems, mental diagnosis

thank you for the request hope you enjoy!

In the beginning, there was admiration and love, in the end destruction and deceit claimed your lives.

When Oswald Mosley walked into your life, he was a married man as you were an engaged woman. 

His wife was quite beautiful but the attitude and extravagant confidence was all too apparent and took over the room for you to want any friendship with her, to which Tommy respected.

His delicate facial structure swooned many women, similar to Tommy’s yet though he had lingering eyes from time to time, they always seemed to settle upon you instead of his wife.

He took an interest in your life, hobbies, dishing out flattering compliments here and there unlike your fiance whom just seemed consumed with business.

Months carried on, much like the seasons with many interactions involving the charming man but nothing but innocent, friendly banter occurred until the charity event you were attending tonight that Tommy was unable to join as he had a business meeting in downtown London.

Sitting at the bar, you’d run into one of your friends from college, sharing small talk and stories of the adventures you’d endured. Not a singular impure thought had crossed your mind, until an all too familiar voice spoke from behind you.

“Is that the sensational Ms. Y/L/N I see?” The seductive, yet charming voice pulled you away from your drink. Your subtle eyes turning to face the handsome, well complimented man.

Glancing around the room, to ensure none of Tommy’s men were around, you decided what was wrong indulging in an innocent conversation. After all the endless compliments he gave you made you feel good inside, something you hadn’t felt in awhile.

“Where’s Mr. Shelby tonight?”

“He’s um- out of town for business matters.” Pursing his lips together in disapproval, he signaled for the bartender, ordering drinks and somehow managing to place your favorite without even asking.

“A shame, a lovely lady like you. He shouldn’t trust other men to be able to control their arousal looking at such a dazzling woman. Especially with a figure like yours, you can’t find that often Y/N, you’re one of a kind if I’d say so myself.” Your cheeks blushed an amber shade of red, while he smiled slyly. There’s no harm in having a singular drink with a friend, right?

Taking his seat next to you, your friend whispered a word, ensuring that you’d call her if you were in danger as she had to leave due to an appointment early in the morning.

Motioning that you’d be alright, Mosely smiled widely, insisting on a cheers to the glorious happenings of life.

What was planned to be one drink turned into several as conversation carried on miraculously. He was quite an interesting character unlike his wife whom had left with another man.

“How does your marriage work? There’s no jealousy? Or hatred?” Mosley laughed coyly, simply intrigued by your question.

“Oh we both have the understanding of having a bit of scandalous fun, letting loose. Surely it gets boring looking at the same person all the time. Gives us a well needed break. I can assure you she won’t be telling Mr. Shelby. As shallow as it may sound she only cares about herself. As long as I give her attention when she desires it, then there is really no need to fret.” You clicked your tongue, attempting to wrap your head around that way of life. You had tried desperately to be intimate with Tommy, searching for his attention on a daily basis yet he seemed to not have a care in the world, simply setting you aside.

Maybe there was some truth to what Mosley was saying, but if Tommy really loved you like he claims to, you couldn’t possibly get bored of the person you’re in love with. Now here you were wondering if you ever truly were in love with him.

Reeling you from your thoughts, Mosley spoke confidently. 

“It would probably be a tremendous stress relief for you. I have a room booked just down the avenue all to myself, since my lovely wife decided to spend the night elsewhere. What do you say in indulging in a bit of fun with one another. You always have been quite the spectacular interest to me.” Shaking your head and tracing the engagement ring, you thought back to the beginning. When Tommy put in the effort, was willing to do anything for you.

Surely you shouldn’t just throw it away due to relationship problems.

“We mustn’t. It wouldn’t be right.” Everything in you was fighting the urge to not go against the morally correct thing to do, yet you weren’t exactly saying no, and the liqour was encouraging the impure thoughts of what you’d like to do to this man.

It took you by surprise when he settled his hand upon your thigh beneath the bar.

“Y’know Y/N. Tommy would never have to know, and I must say. I’ve never seen your adoring smile as much before as I have tonight. You should indulge and aim for happiness in life. No regrets, so now I bid the fair question. Are you happy revoking yourself of such spontaneous pleasure and a night of fun or do you want to live in the ill construct of society?” He had caught you completely off guard, your mind was running a million miles a minute. You wanted to be a good fiance, you really did but the convincing, devilishly good looking man had a valid point.

Tommy barely paid any attention toward you, your sex life was nearly non existent, kids seemed to be out of the picture, not wanting to another one after Ruby passed.

If Tommy had taught you one thing, it was how to keep a secret, to move strategically. 

Glancing down in curiosity, your eyes fell upon his semi hardened member in his pants, and the liquor was enough to convince you.

“So tell me in all of your beauty, and immaculate body, what’s it going to be Y/N?”

With questionable eyes, before you answered, you picked up the glass finishing off the sour amaretto, letting the liqour quench your thirst while excitement burned between your thighs.

The risk of getting caught and breaking the rules igniting a flame within your soul.

The next thing you knew Mosley’s hands were holding your ass up against the wall of an expensive hotel room, his lips pressed against yours in a heated frenzy of lust.

Your tongue delve into his mouth, battling for dominance, the sweet taste of rum and coke coating his tongue.

Shedding one another of clothing, you hands tangled with his belt, throwing the leather accessory on the carpeted floor, eager to retrieve his coveted member from his pants.

Oh how he made you want to commit terrible sins.

His cock sprang freely, needing desperately to be in between your soaked folds.

“My, my, what a treasure you are.” His voice was low, and flirtatious, one of his eyebrows peaking in interest at the sight of your breasts hanging freely, nipples already hardening from the sight of his nude body, imagining all the positions he could have you in.

“Take me, fuck me before I have the chance to feel any guilt.” He didn’t need another moment of convincing. Finally happy that he has you all to himself for no one to know, but he was sure of one thing. That this whole damn hotel was going to hear just how much he can pleasure you.

Thrusting inside you, you’d forgotten what it felt like to be so full. It had been months since Tommy had made love to you and being with another man felt terribly wrong but also phenomenally right.

“Oh fuck, how I’ve missed this!” Your fingers laced into his smooth, brown strands of hair as his cock infiltrated your blooming rose that was aching to be pollened. 

He lifted you from the wall, repositioning you onto all fours on the bed.

He drilled into you relentlessly you ass richocheting with each combustive thrust, his balls merely slapping against your skin.

“Fuck, fuck! Don’t stop!” He smirked to himself, hands settling on your ass cheeks as he slammed into you over and over again relentlessly. 

Pulling you back by your hair his lips connected to the warmth of your neck, leaving lavish kisses on your delicate, inviting skin.

You couldn’t help but grind back against him in a melodic rhythm, waves of undeniable pleasure coursing through your veins.

“My darling, we’ve only just begun.” Grabbing your sides and flipping you onto your back, you giggled like a school girl finally feeling happy after so long of being unsatisfied.

It wasn’t until nearly a year later until revelations came to life, a week before your wedding. Tommy had been switching sides unbenknowst to you, yet he allowed the “friendship” to continue on. That didn’t mean he wasn’t hesitant nor idiotic. He paid close attention from afar, deciding he had, had enough when the fourth night a week you hadn’t come home.

Mosley’s visits during the day to your house made him question what he was really there for. The longing stares, the playful insides jokes, the sudden shared interests helped him slowly piece matters together.

Noticing the way you smiled when he walked in the room, the way your eyes lit up like fireworks whenever he’d “accidentally” brush past you. 

Tommy was hurt, hoping that this realization couldn’t be true, that he was over reacting. Yet Mosley’s marriage was far from devotion and true love, considering they each slept around as if it were nothing.

Sitting in the leather chair in the living room, he watched the clock tick. Hours on end passing by until you called at midnight, saying “the car had a flat tire and you’d get it looked at in the morning as you were tired”.

Has it really come to this point? The wedding was supposed to be in a week, yet Tommy hadn’t seen you plan for it one bit.

He began to question all the things that went wrong. He admitted he had put business before your relationship, always expecting you to watch Charlie, hardly having sex due to traveling so much for meetings. Could he blame you? There was only one thing for him to do to win back the love of his life.

Curled against Mosley’s chest, the fireplace was the only light in the room, tucked in the wall near the end of the bed.

He was spewing flirtatious jokes in your ear, making you giggle when suddenly the door flew open, causing you to jolt up, pulling the sheet over you breasts until you recognized who was at the door.

“Tommy?” Mosley rolled his eyes, scooting up from his laying position, reteriving a cigarette from the bedside table.

Tommy stood there as pale as a ghost, feeling guilt, knowing full well this was his fault. He should have been a better partner, he should have at the very least tried and now he was paying the price.

Looking at your nude body, entangled in the satin sheets with the enemy, his mouth was subtly agape, how did he not piece the puzzle together.

“What’s the matter Mr. Shelby? Surely this can’t come as a surprise to you. After all, a woman can only go unloved for so long, and a man can’t expect a woman’s love in return if he doesn’t work toward earning it.” Tommy didn’t know what to feel with both sets of your eyes on him. He was angry, upset, saddened, his heart felt like it was stuck in his throat, beating anxiously fast, as if it were a bomb waiting to burst through his skin.

Instead of speaking a word, Tommy simply exited the room, unable to blame either one of you.

Sighing and shoving the sheet off of you, you gathered your clothes, putting them on hastily in a disheveled manner before rushing out after your fiance.

“Oh let the blimey sap go Y/N, you’re better off without him!” Mosely shouted as you slammed the door behind you, smirking in his success that he had won you over, and had you to himself.

Reaching the stairwell, Tommy was sat on the top step, the smoke from his cigarette travelling into the thin air.

Frowning, you took a seat next to him, crossing your arms in shame and guilt.

“How did you know where I was?” He stared off into the distance, staring blankly at the wall.

“I have eyes everywhere Y/N. Rookie mistake only using this hotel and occasionally his house when the whore of a wife is gone rendezvousing with another man.” You thought you had been extremely articulate and careful, yet Tommy still found a way to outsmart you. Not once did you see any of his men in the same vicinity as you.

“So how long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a few months now. Should’ve known sooner but I guess I’m not home enough or treat you well enough so you go and fuck the fascist.” Scoffing, he turned to you with a look of disapproval, but you weren’t intimidated anymore.

“I never promised you anything. I’ve given you everything for years on end, yet you can’t give me the one thing I’ve asked for.” In a quick, flash of a movement Tommy slapped his hand back against your cheek, grabbing your chin in an angered movement forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“You know I lost Ruby. You know damn well I’ve given you a house to live in. I’ve given you money, food. I’ve taken you off the streets. I’ll be damned if I don’t get a second chance. I wouldn’t be wasting my time here with you if I didn’t care Y/N.” Your eyes were wide in terror as he had never spoken to you in such a way, nor ever layed a hand on your skin.

Part of you wanted to scream for Mosley to come save you but the threatening look in Tommy’s eyes was daring you to do so. The once ocean blue eyes, now a venomous shade of sapphire.

“Tommy you’re scaring me.” He released your jaw, knowing that the impending, serious look on his face was enough that you would not run off.

Running your hand over the merely bruised skin, it was quite clear he held back force from the slap to your cheek, but you didn’t want to know what strength he was holding back. You felt as if you deserved it and wouldn’t deny him of that.

“Love is supposed to be scary isn’t it? You won’t find a man that will fight for you the way I am, not on the streets of Birmingham. I won’t allow you to make a fool of me any longer. Nor will I make a fool of you any longer. I will be there, I will show you affection, and mend my dishonarable traits to the best of my ability but you need to work with me Y/N. How am I supposed to know if you’re upset when you go silent, not voicing your concerns. Instead running to another man for a child.” He had a point but seeing his interactions with others made you believe he wasn’t one to negotiate unless it was on his terms, his way.

“Please, he doesn’t even know about that. I just wanted to feel loved, something I haven’t felt in quite a long time and frankly if this is your way of apologizing for always putting me second you can go fuck yourself because you are not the man that I agreed to marry anymore.” When you stood up to go back to the room, Tommy spoke up, dispelling the cigarette onto the lavish, patterned carpet.

“This ends here and now.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Tommy chuckled darkly, pulling an envelope from his coat.

“Read it.” Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you opened the letter to find he had looked into you.

The paper held addresses of family members, formal documents of taxation, and the history of you medical records. How did he get this?

This was private, and completely out of reach from anyone other than yourself.

“What-what is this?” With shaking hands you skimmed the words, recognizing every piece of information to be true.

“I researched you, something I should’ve done when we first met. Or at the very least taken an interest in, like you’ve said. You’ve evaded paying taxes, you were in a mental health institution for nearly two years for attempting to kidnap your sister’s child because the voices in your head told you the child was yours. A diagnosed anxiety ridden schizophrenic. You were released on May 7, due to good behavior and proper medication. Your family disowned you, but you still check in on them, don’t you?” Tears pricked at your eyelids, feeling completely vulnerable and at his mercy. These were all things you should have told him yourself but failed to do so, and now it’s biting you in the ass

“Give me a second chance and I can make this all go away Y/N. Wipe your file clean, adjust the tax forms without anyone knowing and ensuring your family goes unharmed. If I didn’t give a flying fuck about you, I would’ve just left. Can’t you see I love you, and I am trying. I do care for you, and I want to learn more, be able to help you more. You have to let me in.” A loud bang caused you to jump up from the floor. Glancing down the hallway, there were two men holding Mosely whom contained a bloody nose and a black eye. A gun placed directly beneath his chin, while your hands flailed to cover your mouth in shock and worry. The tears flooding down your heated cheeks.

“He doesn’t care about you y’know? He’s a fascist, looking to take the world for his own, fucking the hard working citizens and low income families. So either you come with me, and see what a good husband I can be, or Mosley here gets a bullet to the skull. After all I still love you even after all of the secrets you’ve kept from me. I suppose we’re even now, eh?” The men lifted Mosley, releasing the safety on the gun, making you wince and coming to an abrupt decision.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll stay with you! Just don’t hurt him. Let him go and we can all move on, okay?! But I swear Tommy, things better be different or I will take the streets over you.” Being satisfied with your answer, Tommy’s men dropped him in the hallway while your fiancé held out his hand, escorting you back home with him where you belonged.

Mosley stayed away to your surprise. Tommy and you coming to an agreement to push the wedding to a further date, mending and working on your issues like you should have done very long ago.

Tommy agreed to give you a child on the condition, that you communicated your feelings to which you obliged once he agreed to be more intimate and loving, coming to the realization business is not always first.

[another-lost-mc]

Thinking about it, in a world with an otaku!MC the brothers are kind of obligated to be nicer to Levi bc any insults towards him would be dragging MC down with him..

A/N: Oooooh. I wrote Player Two which is the brothers basically treating Levi and MC the same (as geeky weirdos) but MC doesn't really care because Levi's the best friend they've always wanted. Thinking about the reverse of that situation is interesting in its own way too.

LEVIATHAN x gn!Reader, 0.6k words, SFW.

Content warnings: some cursing and jealousy.

It started with a pack of candy. Beel picked it up at one of the Devildom shops known for importing human world sweets. You've talked about the brand and he thought he'd surprise you. He would've given it to you in private, but Levi was glued to your hip more often than not these days. He found both of you in your bedroom playing Super Smash Devils.

"Oh...you meant this was for both of us, right?" you asked, glancing between the pack of candy and Levi guiltily.

Beel fumbled through a lie to cover up his mistake and rushed from the room. He makes a note for next time so he remembers to buy three boxes instead of two (one for you, one for Levi, and one for himself).

After he left, you took a piece for yourself and handed Levi the box. You hummed happily around the coated end of your stick candy while you turned back to the screen to select your character for the new match.

Maybe you bought Beel's flimsy excuse earlier, but Levi didn't. Things have been strange with his family lately, but you seem ignorant about the changing family dynamics going on around you.

The other siblings don't tease Levi anymore when he talks about a game he bought or some random gacha toy he managed to get, because you're excited about it too. They don't want to hurt your feelings, so they try to keep their opinions to themselves.

Some of them, like Beel or Mammon, make an effort to surprise you with little gifts: capsules from a gacha machine in downtown Devildom, overpriced knock-off plushies of anime characters at the ghost carnival passing through. Satan surprises you with manga off your Akuzon wish list, and Asmo paints your nails while you watch anime together in your room.

From Levi's perspective, their sudden change of heart about his dorky hobbies is a double-edged sword.

He's happy that they're accepting of you now. When you first arrived, they initially treated you like a weird outcast—the way they used to treat him. You're not as introverted as he is, and they're making an effort to include you both in activities you might actually enjoy.

But on the other hand, part of him wishes they would just fuck off. You're perfect. He knows you've charmed them as much as you've charmed him, but he was your friend first. He thought he was going to be able to keep you all to himself. He knew from the first time you stepped into his room that you were the real-life Henry he's always wanted. He's the one that should be buying you gifts so he can hoard your praise for himself. You should be spending time in his room, or inviting him to yours, if you want to watch anime.

Why are you even giving them a chance? They don't deserve it. They were too stupid to realize how special you were. Don't you realize they're only tolerating the things you love so they can be close to you?

He tries to hide his growing jealousy, but it gets harder as time passes and his brothers keep finding new ways to insert themselves into your hobbies.

You notice Levi's foul mood sometimes when he can't contain the bitterness that laces his voice or the irritation in his glances. He gives you an excuse so you don't worry about him; he doesn't want to taint you with the bitter venom coursing through his veins.

You're finally happy living in the Devildom now that his family seems more accepting of you—of both of you.

He's furious that their acceptance means having to share you with anyone else.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Once Upon a Time 4

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Andy Barber

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your morning begins lazily. You're not used to functioning without a sense of urgency but it's nice. You take your time having your coffee and nibbling on toast in front of the television. You finally find the motivation to get dressed just after eleven, intent on hitting the country store before you let another day off fade into oblivion. You've been saying you'd go for months and it always turns into 'just don't have the energy.'

You take the train downtown then find a bus to the edge of the city, just a ten-minute walk from the country store. The commute alone is an hour, the temperature dipping even lower without the shield of the urban sprawl. You shiver as you finally reach your destination, like a warrior cresting the drawbridge of a mythical castle.

Inside, there's a cozy atmosphere. The smell of cedar wafts through the air as you marvel at the vast expanse before you. As you browse the signs denoting the contents of each aisle, you set off towards the wool section, hoping to finally teach yourself to knit. Just before the confection area, there's a small table set up and woman greets you before you can reach the crafts. She offers you a sample of chestnut cocoa. Sounds interesting, but somewhat unappetizing. The chill in your bones cozens you to the promise of liquid warmth.

You blow over the top of the cup, smiling awkwardly at the employee. The store is somewhat bustling but that area seems to be a bit dead. You taste it and give a wobbly hum. Not bad, actually. You'll at least be able to finish it.

"Oh, it's good," you say.

"If you would like to buy some, you can take a coupon," the woman offers.

"Oh, sure," you accept out of kinship for your fellow retail worker. You take a coupon and thank her again.

"What's this?" A voice has you quickly stepping out of the way as the rattle of a cart rolls close.

"Good afternoon, sir," the woman puts on her best chime, "would you like to try a sample of our hot chocolate?"

"Hm, I guess," the man drones and you freeze in the spot. No way.

You keep your head down as you sidle away but hit the cart parked behind you with your hip. You apologise without looking up but your name reels you back. You cringe at the store and go rigid, slowly turning on your heel to face Andy.

"Oh, hi," your voice piques, "what are you doing here?"

"Shopping," he says as if it should be obvious. He pauses and accepts the small cup from the lady at the booth. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

He tweaks his brow and you look away guiltily, "uh, yeah, actually, I... switched shifts with Chelsea so... yeah."

"Wow, that's... interesting," he says, "well, interesting seeing you all the way out here."

"Yeah, very," you agree, almost genuinely. What are the odds?

"My friend recommended the place," he sniffs the hot chocolate but doesn't drink, "you come here a lot?"

You bounce on your feet impatiently. You glance over at the employee awkwardly watching the interaction. You've been there before.

"First time," you answer, "anyway, I... I'm just gonna keep going," you look at the worker, "I don't want to clog up the area." You wave a palm at Andy awkwardly, "nice running into you."

"You too," he returns quietly.

You swallow and back away. This is so weird. Coincidences happen, sure, but it's not like this place is a Target. You clutch your cup tight as you walk away, keeping your eyes forward as a shudder stays trapped in your ribcage. Something's just not right. Or maybe you're thinking too much.

You veer down the aisle of yarn and blow out the breath caught in your chest. You stop amid the various shades of pinks and purples and peer down into the cup. Your stomach is churning violently and you don't think it's the drink.

You try to shake off the encounter and linger amidst the needles and threads. You wander down the next aisle and browse the paints. You're not very artistic but you could probably manage a paint-by-number. You click your tongue and continue on without purchase. You're not sure you want to waste the money.

You end up near the checkout at the rack of handmade sweaters. You like the patchwork on the one, even if it reminds you of a 90s sitcom. You slowly turn the rack as you weigh the value of the sweater. You peek up and see Andy just on the otherside as he rolls his cart by. Before you can dodge his look in your direction, he waves. You have to wave back but quickly go back to searching the rack.

You take the off the bar and dally by the card stand, waiting until you see Andy leave before head up to checkout. You toss your empty cup in the bin at the corner of the counter. You go to the till and pay, taking your time as you dread the walk to the bus.

You accept your bag and receipt and zip up your coat on your way out the door. You check your phone for the bus times. You'll have to move fast to catch the next one or wait an hour for the one after that. You hurry past the parking lot, head down against the cold, and head up along the unpaved path parallel to the road.

As you get to the stop, you tuck your hands in your sleeves and face the road, peering longingly down it. You didn't see the bus drive by so you should be on time. You chatter as you hear gravel mulching in the other direction. There's a honk as the car slows and you grimace as you watch it take a U-turn and come up on your side. You wobble on your legs as the window rolls down.

"Cold out," Andy calls over the empty passenger's seat, "need a ride?"

You shake your head, "no, it's fine. I got other places to go."

"I don't mind. I figure since I'm out here."

"Really, I can't accept," you offer a vacant smile, "thanks, though."

"It's really not safe for you to be out here--"

"The bus is on its way," you argue, a bit more terse than you mean to.

"I know, I'm trying to be nice."

"It is nice, okay? But I don't want a ride."

He idles there, quiet, waiting. You have nothing else to say so you once more look down the road. He sniffs and grips the headrest on the passenger's seat.

"Why not?"

Your smile falls away completely as you look at him. Something about his expression adds to the frigid chill. You wet your dry lips and sway.

“To be honest, I don't take rides with strangers.”

“Well, I'm not a stranger,” he puffs out.

You shrug and shake your head, “I said no thank you.”

“Right, got it,” he huffs, “see ya, I guess.”

He rolls up the window as you stare at your boots. He drives away, swerving to reverse direction once more. You flinch as the gravel mulches and wait until the hum of his engine dissipates.

His last words echo, as much a threat as a promise.

[suddencolds]

Foreign Home | [1/1]

hello!! I am back after 8 months of not-really-writing with an 8k word fic (which I cut down from 9k words). this is another OC fic w/ Vincent and Yves, who were introduced here!

anyways, this is very character-centric and establishes some things I wanted to establish about them / their world... I hope the little detour into character-development territory is okay.

Summary: Yves has told all of his friends that he's dating Vincent, so it's going to look increasingly suspicious if Vincent never shows up. Good thing Vincent is compellingly good at lying. Anyways, what could go wrong at a housewarming party? (ft. banter, fake dating, cat allergies)

—

Yves spends three weeks turning down invitations.

It’s lucky, he thinks, that he’s been able to stay in contact with so many friends from university—that so many of them have settled here, in New York. It’s less lucky considering his current circumstances:

Out of the people who made it to Margot’s New Year’s party, almost all of them remember Vincent. And—even more inconveniently—many of them seem set on inviting Yves and Vincent places.

Yves thinks up a dozen excuses. No, Vincent can’t join on our coffee outing—he’s got an important, un-reschedulable meeting with a client that Saturday. Sunday? His Sunday’s booked through until 5pm. I know, busy season is the worst to plan around. Or, I think Vincent’s going to be out for a business conference that weekend. The 22nd? I can check with him, but he’s taking a redeye flight the night before—I think he’ll be jet lagged.

The number of excuses he is capable of coming up with is unfortunately finite. Perhaps sorry, I think Vincent has an optometrist’s appointment that afternoon isn’t Yves’s best work, but he has to say something.

Really, it’s just more work to invite Vincent elsewhere—to explain that they’ve played their role as a couple a little too convincingly. That his friends all want to meet Vincent, now.

Back during his days of rowing crew, Yves has given out his fair share of relationship advice to the underclassmen, which has unfortunately—according to Margot—“cultivated an air of mystery about his personal love life.” It was always him and Erika, until it wasn’t. (Ex-matchmaker Yves and his mysterious, highly coveted new boyfriend, Leon says, when Yves complains, which is how Yves decides he will no longer be consulting Leon on the matter.)

“My friends really like you,” Yves says to Vincent, offhandedly, when he runs into him on the way back from lunch.

Vincent blinks at him. 

“You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“They really like you,” Yves says. “They want to meet you. They think we’re an interesting couple, and they keep pestering me for double dates and inviting you out to a whole bunch of events. I’m running out of excuses as to why you can’t come.”

“Oh,” Vincent says, deadpan, but there’s a slight twitch to his lips, as if he’s trying not to laugh.

“I’m dead serious,” Yves says. “I told Nora that you couldn’t make it to dinner because of an eye appointment. Now if I want to keep this up I’ll need to photoshop you with new glasses.”

“I am a little overdue for new glasses,” Vincent says.

“Not the point. Regardless, I need to keep this up until we stage a breakup.”

“A breakup?”

“A fake breakup. To our fake relationship.”

“Is there someone else you’re interested in?”

“No,” Yves says. “But I’m preemptively saving you the stress.”

“The stress of playing your boyfriend?” Vincent says. “Last time, that just entailed going to a well-organized New Year’s party. I wouldn’t consider that exceptionally stressful.”

“That’s just the beginning. Don’t tell me you want to be dragged along to every dinner party and every downtown outing and every birthday I go to in the foreseeable future,” Yves says. “On top of working 60 hours a week, you’ll have to say goodbye to your weekends.”

“So that’s why you’re plotting our breakup.”

“Yes,” Yves says. “I’d need to explain to everyone how I dropped the ball.”

“I’m sure those new glasses must’ve been the dealbreaker.”

Yves laughs. Truthfully, Vincent could wear the most terrible, unflattering glasses in the world and still manage to look like someone whom Yves wouldn’t bat an eye at upon spotting at a photoshoot. The fact that his current glasses actually complement him very well, and the fact that he knows how to dress himself is just salt to the wound. “Yes, that’s the entire reason why I dated you in the first place. The glasses.”

“If you wanted to keep our false relationship up for a couple months,” Vincent says, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Yves—who, until now, has been walking in the opposite direction of the floor on which he works—stops walking. “Pardon?”

“I like your friends,” Vincent says. “And more importantly, I don’t think it proves a point to Erika if you’ve just gotten into a relationship you couldn’t keep. So if you wanted to keep this arrangement for a little longer, I would be fine with it.”

Yves considers this.

He’s asked more than enough of Vincent already. But Vincent is right. He’s sure Erika must have her fair share of doubts about all of this—about Vincent, about their fake relationship, about its longevity. She seemed skeptical, when he’d last seen her, that Yves could’ve moved on so quickly. The worst thing about it is that he can’t blame her for that doubt. The worst thing about it is that he’d spent so much time accounting for his future with Erika that he hadn’t seen her start to slip away, hadn’t noticed the first sign of inadequacy, the first time her gaze lingered on someone else, the first time he ceased to be all that she wanted. He hadn’t steeled himself for a future without her, and now, half the time, it feels like he’s still playing catch-up.

If he wants to commit to this fake relationship, he’ll need more than one outing to show for it.

And, despite all odds, Vincent is offering just that.

“Okay,” Yves says, before he can think about how bad of an idea this is. It is really, really inadvisable. He’s sure if he weighs his options for more than a few seconds, he will come to the conclusion that he should be shutting his mouth. “If you’re sure—and only if you’re actually sure—what are your plans after work next Tuesday evening?”

“Nothing as of now,” Vincent says. 

“Great. If you can make it, there’s a potluck. Joel’s hosting. He recently finished moving into a new apartment, so I think it’s something of a housewarming party. He lives a little North, past the stadium, so I think I’ll head there right after work—I can drive you.” 

“That works,” Vincent says. “What kind of food does he like?”

“I’m not actually too sure,” Yves says. “I think he’s a fan of spicy food. But honestly, I think he’ll be grateful if you bring anything at all—which you don’t have to, by the way. You’re the esteemed guest, here.”

“I’m sure Joel’s new apartment is technically the esteemed guest,” Vincent says. “But I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Yves says. “It’s a date. I’ll make it up to you in any way you want, by the way—if there’s ever an instance where you need me to lie for you, I’ll do it.”

“Duly noted,” Vincent says. For what Vincent would ever have to lie about, Yves can’t guess.

More importantly, he has a date for next Tuesday. Something about it is more exciting, even in its dishonesty, than it has any right to be.

—

It’s only a few moments after Yves presses the doorbell that Vincent emerges, holding a couple plates covered meticulously with aluminum foil.

“I haven’t cooked for anyone in awhile,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I hope this doesn’t make a bad impression on your friends.” “Are you kidding? It smells really good,” Yves says, and it does—from the doorway, he can make out the scent of sesame oil, roasted garlic, ginger. “They’ll definitely like it.”

Vincent looks off to the side. “We’ll see.” It takes a moment for Yves to properly parse his expression for what it is.

It never occurred to Yves that Vincent might actually be nervous. At work, it’s rare to see Vincent even remotely out of his element—he always volunteers to take on their more difficult clients, and even on the rare occasion that something falls out of his expertise, he picks things up quickly. Yves has seen him give presentations at conferences without a sweat, articulate as ever. 

If Vincent had been nervous, those times—over prestigious conferences, over negotiations with major clients, over other difficult points of contention—it hadn’t shown. Either he wasn’t nervous at all, or he was just good at hiding it. But he’s nervous now, Yves realizes, which means— 

Vincent wants to make a good impression on his friends. It won’t be his first time meeting Joel, but it’ll be his first time talking to Cherie, Joel’s fiancé, or Giselle, one of Cherie’s friends from work. Mikhail and Nora will be there too. All in all, it’s a decently sized group, but Vincent has talked to larger groups of people before without so much as a shaky voice.

Something about it—about the seriousness with which Vincent regards this whole arrangement—is strangely endearing.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Yves says, and means it in more ways than one.

—

Joel’s new apartment, as it turns out, is already decently furnished, even though Joel had sent out the invitation with the disclaimer that everything is a mess, please bear with us.

“When you said everything would be a mess,” Yves says, leaving his shoes in a line at the door, “I thought your apartment would actually be something other than spotlessly clean and well arranged.”

“It’s easy to make things look neat if you move all of the clutter into the closets,” Joel says.

“It’s just a few boxes,” Cherie says. “But it was tricky to figure out how to place things. It’s a lot more spacious than the apartment we had in college.”

“No kidding,” Yves says. “It’s a seriously nice place.” Back in their last two years of university, Joel and Cherie had gotten an apartment just a few buildings down from the apartment which Yves picked out with Mikhail—they had similar floor plans. Yves distinctly remembers the space: creaky floorboards, space heaters lined up against the walls to last them the winter; decent natural lighting, and never enough kitchen space.

Back then, he and Mikhail had had separate rooms, so their apartment became a spot in which Erika became a frequent visitor, and then, at one point, stopped visiting at all. 

But that’s not the point. The point is, the apartment Joel and Cherie have picked out is much nicer than the one they’d had in college—for one, it’s more spacious, and the entire building has nice facilities and looks newer—and Cherie’s eye for interior design has only helped their cause.

“I’m glad you were able to come!” Cherie says, turning to Vincent. “Yves is always telling me about how busy you are with work.”

“He’s the one putting out all the fires,” Yves says. 

Vincent smiles, extending a hand for her to shake. “Cherie, right? It’s nice to meet you. And you’re—” He turns to Joel, with a slight sniffle. “Joel. I think we met last time.”

Cherie squeezes his hand. Joel laughs and says, “I’m surprised you remember my name.”

“He’s good with names,” Yves says. An acquired skill from all the hours of networking, probably.

“That’s a useful skill to have, especially if you’re dating Yves,” Joel says. “I swear he knows everyone.” He goes on to tell a story about how, back in university, Yves almost accidentally got elected as vice president for a business club he’d only shown up to once.

At some point into the conversation, Yves ducks into the kitchen to help with setup. He sets out the dish he’s brought—salmon sliders with mango salsa—and the beef skewers that Vincent made earlier (he’s not sure why Vincent was worried in the first place, because the skewers look very competently made). After that, he busies himself with finding a way to keep everything temporarily covered until they eat.

Something soft and fuzzy winds around his ankles.

He looks down, and the soft and fuzzy thing looks back at him with pointy triangular ears. This is news to Yves.

“You guys have a cat?!” He shouts from the kitchen, vaguely in the direction where Joel and Cherie should still be standing. “Since when?”

“Since a month ago,” Joel shouts back.

“Her name is Gingersnap,” Cherie adds. “Gin for short.”

“Oh,” Yves says, kneeling down to scratch her behind the ears. His hands are a little calloused from all the snow he’s been shoveling lately, but Gingersnap purrs anyways, evidently unbothered. “What the hell, guys, now I’m never going to be able to leave your apartment. Consider me a permanent resident.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Cherie says.

At some point, Gingersnap gets up, mewing, and heads out of the kitchen, and Yves resumes life as an active contributor to the potluck’s success. When he finishes reheating everything up, setting the table, arranging the dishes, and filling up two pitchers with iced water, he wanders back out into the living room. Vincent is there, alone, except he’s not really alone, because…

Oh.

God.

He’s kneeling down, unmoving, speaking to Gingersnap in a soft, low voice, holding out a hand for her.

She approaches him, a little tentatively, and then nuzzles her orange head into the crook of his hand. Vincent smiles—a soft, private smile. “Hi, Gin,” he says.

There’s the low, lawnmower hum of a purr as Gingersnap rolls onto the ground to let Vincent continue petting her. It’s a heartwarming sight—Vincent, from the office, crouched down to pet a cat that’s smaller than his hand. Yves thinks he might cry.

Then Vincent withdraws his hand, reaches up with an arm to swipe at his eyes. Something jolts through his shoulders, a tremor so slight that Yves wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t already been watching—

“—nGkt-!”

Gingersnap mews at him, perplexed but undeterred. “Sorry,” Vincent says to her, quietly, “I’m not trying— to—” It’s all he can get out before he’s veering away again, this time with both hands tightly steepled over his nose for—

“hhIH’—GKKtt-!”

He sniffles softly, though the sniffle is immediately followed by a small, quiet cough. He reaches up with one hand to rub his nose. Yves watches his expression draw uneven, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“hhIH…”

Whatever sneeze he’s fighting seems terribly indecisive—but terribly irritating—for the way he rubs his nose again, his eyes squeezing shut in ticklish anticipation.

“HhIH… hh… HH-hhH-hHIHh—”

 He cups a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, and not a moment too early—

“—hIHh’iiIKKTSHh-!”His shoulders jolt forwards with the force of it, though it gives him barely a moment’s reprieve before his breath hitches again, sharply, urgently. “IiI’DSZCHuuhh-!”

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent turns to blink at him. His eyes are a little red-rimmed and watering. There’s a thin flush over the bridge of his nose.

“You didn’t tell me you were allergic to cats,” Yves says, rounding the corner to close the distance between them.

“Slightly allergic,” Vincent admits, turning aside with a liquid sniffle. “It’s ndot - hhIHH-! - a big deal.”

“I didn’t know Joel and Cherie had a cat,” Yves says. “I’m sorry. I would’ve told you if they did.”

“It’s fine,” Vincent says, with a laugh. “I like her.”

“You might like her, but your body doesn’t seem to be a fan.”

“It’s a good thing that I have a consciousness, so I can codtinue petting her.” Vincent sniffles again, lifting one hand to rub his nose with his index finger. Yves does not know how to even begin to tell him what an inadvisable idea that is, but either way, he doesn’t have a chance to before Vincent’s eyes graze shut, and he turns to face away from Gingersnap before he jerks forward, catching a muffled - “Hh’GKK-t!” - into a clenched fist.

“Bless you,” Yves says. “You know, you’re really not going to make the situation any better if you keep on—”

“nNGKT-!!”

“—bless you!”

“hh—hHhih’iiKKsHHhUH!” The last sneeze is noticeably harsher than the others—it sounds loud enough to scrape against his throat, which seems to be further evidenced by the small cough that succeeds it.

“I’ll ask Joel if he has any antihistamines,” Yves says. 

“It’s fide,” Vincent says. 

“If you insist on spending time with Gingersnap, wouldn’t it be better to spend it without having to sneeze?”

“I would still have to sdeeze,” Vincent says, as if he’s already experienced in the matter—briefly, Yves wonders how many cats he inadvisably plays with on a frequent basis. “Just less.”

“That would be an improvement.”

Vincent looks away. “Antihistamines mbake me tired,” he says, after a little hesitation. 

“It’s a good time to be tired,” Yves says. “It’s not like you have any pressing work to get done.”

“I want to make a good ibpression on your friends,” Vincent says, wiping at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “That’s ndot going to happen if I fall asleep halfway through dinner.”

“If you did, I’m sure no one would fault you for it.”

“I’ll take something after we finish eating,” Vincent says. “If things haved’t improved by then. ”

“Okay,” Yves relents, and—since it doesn’t seem like Vincent is leaving anytime soon—takes a seat next to him on the rug. It’s a compromise he can accept.

—

Nora gets there next, followed by Mikhail and then Giselle. It’s Yves’s first time formally meeting Giselle, who turns out to be very tall and a little intimidating—she’s come straight from work, so she’s dressed accordingly, and she talks with the sort of quiet authority that Yves knows is usually indicative of years of experience. Right before they sit down for dinner, Vincent ducks out into the bathroom—‘I need to look at least marginally presentable,’ he’d said, seeming like he was in a rush—so Yves saves him a seat at the table. 

“Yves,” Giselle says, taking another salmon slider. “You made these entirely from scratch? This is delicious.” 

“Thanks,” Yves says. “To be honest, it was a bit of a gamble. I wasn’t sure if the sauce was going to pair well with it.”

“Yves is really good at cooking,” Mikhail says. “That’s half the reason why I roomed with him in college.”

“So what’s the other half?” Cherie says. 

“The other half is that he lets me eat his food,” Mikhail says.

Yves laughs. “For a second, I thought you’d have something nice to say about my personality.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Mikhail says. 

“Yves is very good at cooking,” Vincent says, emerging from the hallway. Yves blinks at him. Whatever he’d done in the bathroom has done wonders—he looks remarkably put together. Not a strand of his hair is out of place. His eyes are dry, not red, not teary, not irritated, his collar crisply upright, his voice devoid of congestion. The only telltale sign about his ailment is the slight bit of redness to his nose, but it’s winter—that could easily be chalked up to the cold.

He slips easily into the seat next to Yves, his posture impeccable. Yves does everything in his power not to stare. 

“I think he’s responsible for some of the best hot chocolate I’ve had,” Vincent continues. That remark is surprising, too—repurposed from a memory as it is, it seems almost like something that could be genuine.

But Yves remembers how easily Vincent had lied, back on New Year’s—how easily he’d drawn the fictitious threads between them, almost thoughtlessly, as if they had always existed. 

I could make better hot chocolate, Yves thinks, before he can stop himself. I could really make the best hot chocolate you’ve ever tasted, if I just had time. It’s an absurd thought, and one that he doesn’t have much grounds for. He had been pressed for time, back then—he hadn’t known when Vincent’s ride was going to be arriving—but even if he’d really, properly tried, even if he’d succeeded in making the best hot chocolate he’s capable of making, there’s no guarantee that Vincent would’ve liked it.

He’s surprised by the pang in his chest, now, the desire to make true something that he knows to be false, to be worthy of the compliments that Vincent’s so easily spoken about.

“That’s definitely an exaggeration,” Yves says. “Technically, Mikhail didn’t even know that I knew how to cook when we signed the lease. The real reason why we roomed together is much more interesting.”

It’s a story he’s told before, though Cherie and Giselle haven’t heard it before. It’s easy to fall into it again: Mikhail and Yves met in their first year, over a group project in an intro to finance class. The two other members of their team had been dead weight, and at the time, Yves had thought—incorrectly—that Mikhail was just as bad as the rest of them.

It’s practically a comedy of errors—a series of miscommunications had led them to each finish the project independently. Yves remembers the all-nighters he’d pulled for that, nervous and over-caffeinated, until the day before the presentation, where he found that Mikhail had not—unlike the other members of their group—spent the last few weeks slacking off. 

Beside him, Vincent goes still.

When Yves chances a quick look at him, he sees: a slight, almost imperceptible ripple to his expression, before it smooths out again.

He nearly backtracks—his first thought is that perhaps something he’s said is the source of Vincent’s irritation—but then Vincent turns his face away. There’s the slightest disturbance to the line of his shoulders, and then—

“—gkT-!”

The sneeze is barely audible, stifled as it is into a half-closed palm, though the gesture is subtle, too—easily mistaken as Vincent simply looking away, resting his chin on his hand.

“I can’t believe you guys are still friends after all of that,” Nora says.

“Right,” Yves says. “I was so ready to never talk to him again. But obviously, we still had to give the presentation.”

He talks about how, in a half-asleep effort to salvage the project work, he and Mikhail had found some way to relate their findings to each other, to loosely bind the disparate subjects into a coherent thesis. Mikhail talks, too, about how they’d manipulated their presentation to get their combined work to seem sufficiently on topic.

Mikhail is halfway through his story when Yves sees Vincent jolt forward beside him.

He looks up just in time to catch the tail end of a sneeze—expertly stifled, just like the others—into a clenched fist. This one’s a little more forceful, even in its quietness—it leaves Vincent hunched over for just a moment, his shoulders slightly slumped, before he straightens again, covertly lowering his hand.

There’s a slightly hazy, distant look to his features, as if whatever’s been bothering him hasn’t begun to let up yet.

Yves nudges him with his arm. Vincent doesn’t exactly jump at the contact, but he does freeze, his shoulders stiffening.

“Hey,” Yves says, quietly enough that he doesn’t think anyone else should be able to hear. “You okay?”

Vincent nods.

“You sure you don’t want to take anything?”

Another nod. 

“I can’t tell you how little either of us proofread that paper,” Mikhail is saying.

“I reread it three months later,” Yves admits. “And he’s right. We really didn’t proofread it.” 

But it was a winning proposal, even though they’d both been too tired to realize it then. And still, Mikhail had still managed to hold a grudge against him for two long months. And then Mikhail had run into last-minute problems with his upcoming lease arrangement, and Yves had happened to find a decently priced two-bedroom apartment with no roommate, and he’d reached out half as a joke.

“You know those friends who say they can never room together?” Mikhail is saying. “Like, they hang out all the time, or they’ve been friends for years, or they trust each other with their lives, or whatever. But the second you put their living habits in close proximity, everything goes to shit? I think we were the opposite.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just because you two never had a good enough relationship to ruin in the first place?” Nora says jokingly.

She has a point. Yves is starting to think that all of the formative relationships in his life have all happened by accident.

—

Vincent and Giselle get along very well, Yves notes, listening to the two of them talk. Halfway through dinner, they get into a heated discussion about the more outward-facing expectations at work, as Joel and Cherie exchange knowing glances. Giselle talks about feeling accountable for the team she manages—for knowing that if they don’t perform, she’ll take the fall for them; for being careful not to disperse the stress from higher ups unevenly, for constantly feeling her way through how much work is reasonable to expect of them. Vincent talks about the stress of apportioning work to others—the knowledge in his own competence and the knowledge gap when it comes to how others will handle things, the desire to take on more work alone to make sure everything is accounted for.

Nora, who’d had an internship at a different firm after each year in college, weighs in too on the management styles she’d been under, to what extent the expectations from leadership affected the dynamic between her coworkers.

It’s interesting, Yves thinks, that they all have their own subset of worries, even when they come across as people who are so certain of themselves.

As the others speak, Vincent stops periodically to rub his nose with the knuckle of his index finger—an action that always seems to keep the irritation at bay, but never seems to mitigate it entirely. For a moment, his expression goes hazy, his eyes watering ever so slightly, but it always lasts only a moment.

When Mikhail cracks a joke that has the entire table laughing, Vincent takes the opportunity to cough quietly into an upheld fist. When Cherie talks about her and Joel’s extremely mathematical efforts to fit everything into the car before moving, Vincent turns aside, raising a napkin to his face with a quiet, well-contained sniffle.

It’s difficult to tell, at first. But his attempts to keep quiet, to succumb to his symptoms as inconspicuously as possible, take their toll on him. Every time he jerks forward with a near-silent stifle, Yves can tell, by Vincent’s expression when he emerges, that it’s just short of relieving.  Every sniffle seems to only add on to the mounting congestion, in the long run. It’s a slow, almost imperceptible unraveling.

And yet, when Yves asks about it—when he offers to ask the others for antihistamines, or when he offers to make the drive to a convenience store himself; when he suggests that they go out to get some fresh air—he’s always faced with the same nonanswer, the same dismissive, I’ll be fine. The same persistent, Don’t worry about it.

So Yves doesn’t worry about it, for now—at least, not outwardly.

—

At some point after dinner, they disperse. Yves talks to Joel and Cherie about the apartment, about the pains of moving in, about the other places they’d considered and about why this one had been at the top of the list. Then about the cat— “we had been talking about getting one,” Cherie says. “And then one day Joel was wandering around downtown, and one of the pet shops there was holding an adoption event, and then when I got home there was a cat in the living room.”

“He didn’t call you to come pick out a cat with him?”

“Have you ever heard of ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission?’” Joel says. 

“He texted me before he brought her home,” Cherie says, and scrolls through her phone until she finds a text that says: Would you kill me if I brought home a cat. Just asking for a friend. And hypothetically if we extended this thought experiment it would be an orange cat that’s 2 months old.

“That sounds like a text from someone who’s absolutely decided already,” Yves says. “Ask for forgiveness, huh? So how’s the forgiveness going?”

“I let her name her,” Joel says.

“He’s on litter box duty for the next six months,” Cherie says.

On the other side of the room, Mikhail and Vincent are having a conversation—it could be because Vincent is the person in the room that Mikhail has talked to least, to date, but Yves has a feeling that it’s so that Mikhail can gain embarrassing intel on what Yves has been doing for the past few months.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vincent turn away, his eyebrows drawing together, raising both his hands to his face to catch a sneeze into steepled hands. Then, not a moment later, his shoulders shudder forward with another.

“Totally off topic,” Yves says, to Joel and Cherie. “Do you guys have any antihistamines?”

“I think we have some Benadryl,” Cherie says. “It should be in the bathroom cabinet, behind the mirror.”

He does find it there, eventually—next to a box of band-aids and a small cylindrical container of cotton swabs. Perhaps he’ll hand it to Vincent, discreetly, when he’s done talking to Mikhail. Vincent had said antihistamines made him tired, but now that dinner is over, it shouldn’t be an issue—Yves suspects people will start heading out soon, and he’ll be the one driving, anyways.

When he steps out into the hallway, Mikhail and Vincent are in the middle of a conversation. It’s a conversation Yves has every intention of interrupting, and no intention of eavesdropping on, until he overhears—

“So,” Mikhail says, “When you first started dating Yves, what was it that you saw in him?”

Yves winces. That’s certainly not an easy question to answer—he and Vincent don’t know each other all that well, and any planning they have done on the basis of their fake relationship has been almost entirely centered around logistics—events, important dates, flagship moments in the relationship, trivia-worthy personal details. Not… this.

But Vincent just laughs, seemingly unfazed. “Honestly, if I told you everything I liked about Yves, you’d want to date him too.”

“That’s a tall claim,” Mikhail says. Yves is positively certain that no permutation of words in the universe could make Mikhail want to date him. “You can’t just say that and not give any examples.”

“I guess Yves is a very considerate person,” Vincent says, with a sniffle. “It actually confused me, at first. When I was growing up, after I moved here from Korea, I was brought up in the sort of environment where there was always an expectation for self-sufficiency. It didn’t matter how young I was, I guess—there were certain things I was expected to know, and certain things I was expected to teach myself.”

Something about his expression looks wistful, if not a little sad. But perhaps this is a trick of the light; perhaps his eyes are just watering from earlier. “My parents trusted me with a lot of things, but it was the kind of trust where they weren’t planning on filling in the gaps for me if I fell short.” 

“I know what you mean,” Mikhail says. “That must’ve been difficult.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Vincent says. “But I’m not telling you this because it was a burden to me, or anything. Back then, it was all that I had ever known. It was normal to me, then, because it was inevitable.”

“Yves is a very different person than I am,” Vincent says. “At times, when I was growing up, it felt like kindness was always something that had to be calculated.”

He pauses, sniffling again, before he raises his arm to his face with a forceful—

“hIhh’GKT-! Hh… hh-HHih’NGKktshH!”

“Bless you,” Mikhail says reflexively.

“Thadk you,” Vincent says, sniffling. He lowers his arm. “I was always taught that if you lend a hand to someone else, you have to make sure their success is not the thing that robs you of your spot—that sort of thing. But Yves is kind even without thinking about it. He’s kind even when there’s nothing in it for him.”

“So that was what made you develop feelings for him?” Mikhail asks.

“Eventually, yes,” Vincent says. “At first, I thought that we were irreconcilably different.”

“What changed?”

“Yves is an easy person to like, romantically or otherwise,” Vincent says. “It’s a little disarming to be on the receiving end of his type of kindness. And I think that’s ultimately what made me start liking him. He’s just the sort of selfless person you can’t help but admire, if that makes sense. It’s like—when someone does so much for you out of sheer selflessness, at some point, you start wanting to be a part of their happiness too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yves sees a small orange blur—mostly fluff, on four short white legs, with two pointy ears—bound from the kitchen into the living room.

“I get it,” Mikhail says. “That’s an interesting answer. It makes me hopeful that Yves might’ve stumbled into a relationship that will be very good for him.”

That’s a statement he’ll have to revise, Yves thinks wryly, in a few months, whenever it stops being practical for Vincent to keep up this act.

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking. “What makes you say that?”

“When he and Erika broke up, he was—” Mikhail pauses, briefly, and Yves is thinking about the many embarrassing—but completely, verifiably true—ways he could finish off that sentence. “—he was pretty upset,” Mikhail says, instead, which Yves decides is suitably merciful.

“Look, what’s between them is between them—I’m not going to claim I know all the ins and outs of their relationship. But given that Yves was living with me for much of the time that he and Erika were dating, I’ve seen them interact more times than I can count.”

“I don’t think Erika is a bad person,” he continues. “She’s very ambitious, which I think was good for Yves back when they first started dating. But I don’t think she recognized those things about him—how much he cares for others, how much he gives people the benefit of the doubt, how much he… well, frankly, how much bullshit he’s willing to endure on his end. I think she took his kindness for granted, a little bit, and she certainly didn’t go out of her way to reciprocate.”

“What I’m saying is, I’m glad he met you,” Mikhail says. Beside him, something small and orange hops onto the couch they’re standing next to. “I can tell that what you said was sincere.” 

If even Mikhail thought he was being sincere, perhaps Vincent is a little too good of an actor.

“Obviously, it’s early for me to be saying this, so you can take it with a grain of salt,” Mikhail continues. “But I think you could be kind to him in the way he deserves.”

The sentence feels like a punch to the stomach.

And—well.

I’m glad he met you. I think you could be kind to him in the way he deserves.

Yves has really dug himself into this hole, hasn’t he?

Mikhail thinks that Vincent is good for him—Mikhail, one of Yves’s closest friends, someone who is by no means quick to express his approval over whoever Yves is seeing—which means that when they inevitably stage their breakup, Yves is never going to hear the end of it.

Is it cruel to be taking Vincent to all of these events, to be introducing him to all of his friends, when—after the impending breakup—Vincent might never see any of them again? Is it cruel that Mikhail likes Vincent enough to be hopeful that this is going to last?

Yves doesn’t have time to contemplate it more when three things happen.

One—Gingersnap, who is still perched at the very top of the couch, nudges her face against Vincent’s arm and mews softly at him.

Two—Vincent stops what he’s doing to reach out slowly, cautiously, to scratch gently at the fur under her chin. Gingersnap purrs, leaning her head into his hand.

Three—Vincent withdraws his hand, suddenly, as if he’s been burned, twisting away reflexively. He lifts his hand—the same hand he’s been petting Gingersnap with (probably inadvisably) to his face, to cover a resounding—

“hh—hiHH-hHihh’iIZSChHH-uhh! snf-!”

The sneeze sounds ticklish and barely relieving, as if he’s been holding it in all afternoon. 

It’s only a few moments later that Vincent’s jerking forward with another ticklish, wrenching, “hh… hhiHH… NgKT-!—hh’hiiIIIK’TSCHhuhH! snf-! hiIh… hIIIH-IITSCHh’yyue!”

“Oh,” Mikhail says, finally comprehending. “You’re allergic to cats?”

“Just slightly— hIh… hH- Hiih—hhH’nNGkT-!” Vincent sniffles wetly, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Sorry to - hh-! - cut our codversatiod short - hH… I… hhiHh’IiKSHhuh! Excuse mbe… hH… Hhh-! I’mb going to rund to the bathroom… hh… hhiIh… hh-HIih’iiIK’SHhUHhh!”

Yves ducks out into the kitchen before Vincent has a chance to head his way. He busies himself with removing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water, Somewhere behind him, he hears the bathroom door click shut, hears the slightly muffled sound of a sneeze, then another.

He shuts his eyes.

Vincent had said that it was fine. Should Yves have insisted? It’s Yves’s fault, again, that Vincent is in this situation, but then again, he couldn’t have known—both that Joel and Cherie would have a cat, and that Vincent would like her so much. Either way, Yves can’t help but feel partially responsible.

But would it be strange, now, to offer Vincent something to take for it, to openly acknowledge his affliction? Should he have done something earlier? Or should he wait to acknowledge it after they leave?

Against all doubt, he finds himself outside of the bathroom door.

Yves knocks.

There’s the sound of water running, inside, and then the sound of the faucet being turned to shut. Then there’s a brief pause. Yves is contemplating knocking again when the door opens just a crack.

There, Vincent stands, his eyes a little watery still, his nose just slightly redder than usual, his hair slightly out of place—he’s just washed his face, then.

“Yves,” Vincent says.

“Um,” Yves says, holding out the glass of water and, next to it, the bottle of Benadryl. “Thought you could use these.”

Vincent takes the cup, a little hesitantly, and sets it on the bathroom counter. Then he takes the bottle of allergy medicine, unscrews the cap, and removes two small pink pills.

“Thank you,” he says. Yves thinks he’s about to take a sip when he twists to the side suddenly, his eyes squeezing shut, snapping forward with a loud—

“hIIH’IIKKSHh’hUh!”

The hand he’s holding the cup with trembles a bit with the action, but the water inside doesn’t spill. 

“Bless you,” Yves says, taking the cup from him, before—

“hIHH… hh-Hhih’iISCHhh’Uhh!”

“Bless you!”

The only acknowledgment Vincent gives him is to take the cup back from him, sniffling, and down the pills in one quick, decisive sip.

“They’ll take some time to take effect,” Yves says, though he’s sure that Vincent knows that already, for the way he knew to take two, even without reading the label on the bottle. “Are you okay?”

“It’s been awhile since my last edcounter with a cat,” Vincent says, sniffling. 

“You forgot how bad it was?”

“It gets better with exposure,” he says. And worse without.

Yves says, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I really didn’t know they’d have a cat.”

“Even if you’d known, I ndever told you I was allergic,” Vincent says. “It’s fine.”

“I should’ve thought to check. Seriously, a housewarming party—”

“I told you, snf, I like cats,” Vincent says, clearing his throat. “So it’s fine.”

Yves looks around—at the bathroom, which looks just as pristine as he’d left it earlier, except that the tissue box on the bathroom counter is a little askew. At the slight tiredness to Vincent’s posture, even as he looks off to the side, tilting his glasses up to his forehead to swipe at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Do you want to get out of here?“ Yves says.

“I cad stay,” Vincent says, as if he really is willing to, despite the side effects. “Do you want to stay longer?”

I want you to be comfortable, Yves wants to say. 

Instead, he says, “I think I’ve just about caught up with everyone. Besides, we have work tomorrow, and I think Cherie and Joel do too, so I don’t want to stay too late, you know?”

“Okay,” Vincent says. 

“I’m happy you came,” Yves says, stepping past Vincent to put the bottle of Benadryl back into its original spot, where he found it. He snags the glass from the counter on his way out.

“Your friends are a fun crowd,” Vincent says, following him out.

Yves laughs. “I think just between you and me, Mikhail has been dying to interrogate you about this relationship.”

“He did idterrogate me,” Vincent says. “How much of it did you overhear?”

“What?”

“When you were standing out in the hallway.”

Oh. Well, perhaps he hadn’t been as discreet about eavesdropping as he’d thought. Yves says, “Okay, you got me. I heard a good amount.”

“I don’t think Mikhail noticed you there, if you’re worried,” Vincent says. “In any case, it doesd’t matter if you overheard. It was just the same story.”

They step out into the hallway. Giselle has left, already, to be home in time for a cross-timezone call with a team that works somewhere halfway across the world. Yves bids everyone else a goodbye (Cherie and Joel thank him for coming, and Cherie hugs him and Vincent both on the way out; Nora asks Vincent to send her a recipe to his beef skewers, to which Vincent admits sheepishly that he stole from a cookbook, to which Nora says “making it successfully is half the work;” Mikhail says, “If you and Vincent get a place too, I want to be invited to your housewarming party.”)

On the way out, Yves grabs both of their coats off from where they’re hanging in a closet next to the front door, and hands Vincent’s coat to him. There’s never much street parking by the apartment, so the car is parked a couple blocks down, and it’s cold enough to be worth bundling up.

“You’re very good at lying,” Yves says, when he’s sure that the door is shut behind them.

Outside, it’s snowing just a little. Snow falls from the sky in thick white flakes. Vincent pulls his hood over his shoulders, sniffling a little—though whether that’s from the cold or from the allergies, Yves can’t be sure. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Definitely a compliment. I just mean, you play the part really well.”

“So instead of being a good boyfriend, I’m a good fake boyfriend,” Vincent says, lifting his sleeve to his face to muffle a cough into it. “Somehow, that seems much less impressive.”

“It’s arguably more impressive,” Yves says. “It definitely requires a different subset of skills.”

Vincent is quiet for a moment. When Yves looks over, he sees Vincent raise both hands to his face, steepling them over his nose, his eyes fluttering shut.

“hHh… hHh’iiiIKKSshh’uhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says. 

“Ndot— hh… hHh… done — hH-hhIh’nGKKTsHuuh! hHh-hH’IIZSCHHhhuh!”

“Bless you! Cats, huh?”

Vincent hums. It’s snowed all through dinner—the snow under their feet coats the sidewalk, powdery and untouched. Their shoes sink into it while they walk.

“I didn’t know you used to live in Korea,” Yves says.

“It’s not a secret, snf-!,” Vincent says. “But I ndever found an occasion to bring it up.” 

Yves can think of a hundred things to say—how it’s strange only learning this information secondhand; it’s strange to play the part of someone who knows Vincent and knows him intimately, and to know so little about him, at the core of it. Isn’t it like that, with coworkers? The only window he has to Vincent’s life is made up of the things Vincent has chosen to share with him—over small talk in the break room, or conversationally over their outings, or during longer drives.

He knows an assortment of trivia, like Vincent’s favorite color (green) or Vincent’s birthday (March 15th) or the number of siblings Vincent has (one), or when he had his first kiss (during his first year in university) or his least favorite chore (vacuuming) or how he spends his weekends (generally at the library downtown, catching up on work or working on his personal projects). But even that was only for the sake of having something to say if his friends asked him—of having a basic understanding of his supposed partner that Vincent could later corroborate.

“Was it very different there?”

“I moved here when I was pretty young,” Vincent says. “But it was very different.”

When Yves looks over, there’s something complicated to Vincent’s expression that gives him pause. “Back then, I was young enough that everything was new to me. So the cultural shift wasn’t as pronounced for me as it was for the rest of the family. I think that’s why they moved back, eventually.”

“Did that happen recently?”

“They moved back just six years after we came here,” he says. “I was in high school at the time, so I stayed with my aunt to continue my education here.”

“Was it difficult living here on your own?”

“Is this useful to you?”

Yves blinks, taken aback. “Sorry?”

“Is this information useful to you?” Vincent says, looking over at him. His glasses have fogged up a little in the cold.  “Do you think your friends are going to ask about it?”

“It’s—not exactly useful in that sense,” Yves says, backtracking. “I just wanted to know. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

That’s right, he reminds himself—he and Vincent are only doing this for appearances’ sake. 

“I got used to it,” Vincent says, finally, which isn’t exactly an answer. “It’s hard to say if—hold on, I— hh-!”

Yves sees him duck off to the side, raising his arm to his face.

“Bless you—!”

“hh-Hhiih’IIZSCHh’uhH!”

The sneeze is muffled slightly into his sleeve. Vincent sniffles, keeping his arm clamped to his face for a moment, in trepidation, before dropping it to his side.

“Apologies, snf-!,” he says, as if he has anything to apologize for. “It’s hard to say if things would’ve been better if I’d gone back with them to Korea. I just know things would’ve been different.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say to that. It feels like something that Vincent has thought about for years, something that Yves couldn’t even begin to comprehend—growing up here, alone. Away from his family, in a country foreign to him, with his family all the way on the other side of the Pacific ocean; staying with a stranger. To say that it had to have been difficult would be a vast understatement. 

Had he doubted himself, then? Had it been his idea to stay here, in the States? Had his parents told him it was for the best? Had he argued with them on the subject? Had they listened?

“Do you think you’re happy enough now to justify that decision?” Yves asks.

Vincent is quiet for a bit. Around them, the snow continues to fall, silent and slow, listing upwards on every updrift. “Sometimes,” he says.

—

When they get back to the car, Vincent is quiet. The car is frigid, the window panes cold enough to fog up when Yves puts his hand on them—he puts the heaters on to the highest setting. If anything, being out of the cold seems to make Vincent’s nose run even more—a fact which he carefully obscures, resting his face on the palm of his hand with a few muffled sniffles.

“Thanks again for coming,” Yves says. “I know I—and everyone else—already said that to you like a hundred times. But I mean it.”

“It’s ndo problem, snf,” Vincent says. “I’ll be sure to avoid putting you into contact with cats in the future,” Yves says.

“There’s ndo need for that.”

“While we’re at it, is there anything else you’re allergic to?”

“Not much,” Vincent says. “Unless you pland on getting rid of the entire season of spring.”

“That’s secretly why you chose an office job,” Yves says. “So you could avoid all the pollen by staying inside all day.”

“Busy season was - snf-! - idvented solely for that purpose,” Vincent says.

It’s barely a couple minutes into the drive when Vincent stifles a yawn into his fist.

“Are you tired?” Yves asks. “I mean, you did say that thing about antihistamines making you tired.”

“Wide awake,” Vincent says, before—moments later—hiding another yawn behind a cupped hand.

“Evidently,” Yves says, which earns him a quiet laugh.

“Tell me if you ndeed me,” Vincent says, leaning his head lightly on the passenger seat window. As if this is work, or something. As if Yves could have any conceivable reason to need him during the drive home.

“Not at all,” Yves says. “As a matter of fact, it’d probably be a good thing if you close your eyes. You wouldn’t have to look at all this traffic.” It’s a little past rush hour, but traffic is only just starting to clear up, and driving in the city at any hour has never been a particularly pleasant experience.

Vincent opens his eyes. “Do you wadt me to help navigate?”

“I want you to sleep,” Yves says. “I’m an expert at handling traffic.”

It’s as if all this time, Vincent was merely waiting for permission. Yves isn’t certain if he’s asleep, but he certainly looks to be—when Yves sneaks a glance at him, his eyes are shut, his shoulders slack, and his breathing has evened out. It’s an image Yves wants to thoroughly take in—the slow rise of his chest, his eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks. 

Instead, he drives. Instead, he stares hard at the rows and rows of cars before him, at every traffic light, and tries not to think about—

Vincent, at the housewarming party, kneeling down to pet a cat smaller than his hand, despite being well aware of the consequences.

Vincent, calling Yves kind even without thinking about it, talking about him—about his best qualities—with near-artful dishonesty.

Vincent, walking beside him in the snow, talking candidly about growing up here; the unspoken understanding between them about how much he must’ve given up.

That Vincent, the same Vincent from work, asleep in Yves’s passenger seat, while Yves drives him home.

Yves can’t help but think that if he caught feelings for someone like Vincent, Erika would be the least of his problems.

[zergula]

Welcome To Sims3City!

They say if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere! Celebrities can be found wandering the shops and giving impromptu performances all over Sims3City. There's live show venues everywhere and it's easy to see why they say this city runs on dreams yet never sleeps!

I found this absolutely gorgeous map: Waterfall Beauty and just had to use it to make my own city world save! This map did come with lots already designated so I filled it up with the best townhouses, apartments, and city life buildings I could find or make to make my own version of a mashup of Starlight Shores and Bridgeport.

INTERESTING CHARACTERS

Every sim comes to Sims3City to make it big! With a performance venue on nearly every corner, you're sure to see:

The Warflowers - These twins started a band and pulled some of their reluctant friends into it. They know once they got here to The City, they would make it!

Chloe and Bob Katt - always on the hustle to make people believe in magic again!

The Myth family is here, of course, living in the spookiest house!

Mirage Sable always seems able to make everyone else's wishes come true, hoping one day her only one will, too!

Candice and Arthur finally made it to The City when Candice got her book deal. Arthur is hoping to make it into the celebrity chef business...with a little help from his friend and now roommate, Derek. This new relationship has a lot of challenges being thrown its way, but this couple is determined to make it here and everywhere!

The Vireowing Fairy Sisters not only have beautiful voices, they love to bestow inner and outer beauty on all of those around them. That's perfect in a city that values beauty!

As with anywhere, crime can be overwhelming in the city but H & H Private detective family, Harmony and Henry, are on the case!

Lots of sims from Starlight Shores and Bridgeport are here: The Drama On TV household, the Crash Pad household, the Atkins Household, the Elson Family, the Sagar Family, the Platt Family, the Hemlock, Schlick and Slayer families, the Belle family, the Art Central household, and the Whitfield family.

AROUND TOWN

38 Community lots

74 Residential lots

This city is ALIVE! Along with all EA rabbitholes, you will find:

CHIPS Casino - a big show venue where you can see the greatest performers and play all games

Across the street, you will find another live show venue - The Locker -

where you can see more live performances. After that, dance the night away at Bubbleworks -

and keep the party going with the late night crew over at The Afterlife Vampire Lounge!

Don't worry about ghosts, though. A recreation of the firestation from the movie, Ghostbusters, is right next door so we ain't afraid of no ghosts! Next to that firestation and hospital emergency center, you will find the Anachronistic Art Gallery and City Hall rabbithole, with some mysterious things to explore in the basement!

In the more affluent area of the city is where you will find the Affluence Golf Club rec park and Tee Off! Sports Bar and Grill -

and some sweet treats at The Big Cheese bakery and shops!

In the center of town, you will find lots of fun for the kids at The Wise Owl Library next to the Aquarium Science Center and the Bright Beginnings Daycare and School center -

Stop by and get some sweet treats at The Plaza Ice Cream Parlor

and then get rid of all of that excess energy at the Big Rock Climbing Centre Gym or The Pac Man Public Pool next to the stadium rabbithole!

Don't forget to visit the Surf's Up Wave Garden at the beach right across the street or the seasonal festival grounds!

Downtown, you can get those extra strings at the DownTown Music Store, play some games at the Laserberry Arcade, and then head over to the Stardust Diner for some drinks and good times!

If you go at certain times of the day to catch a movie at Serena's Community Cinema, you might be able to see some of today's biggest stars working on set! You can pick up whatever you need at the big Sims 3 Market nearby and marvel at all of the old historical residential buildings before you head over to the Double Rainbow Disco Club for more dancing!

For those sims with a more exclusive taste, Club 112 in the historical section is the perfect lounge!

There's The Remaude Coffee Emporium Coffeehouse and Elixir Of Life Coffeehouse and shops for more live venues and fun in Sims3City!

After all of that excitement, the city folks like to visit the Stone Troll Mill Fishing Pond to unwind and maybe catch some dinner if they're lucky!

MORE INFO

This is a world save file. You will need to have the world installed in order to play the save file. In this download, you will find 3 save files and the world file:

Sims3CityCommunityLots - this version of the save is only the community lots

Sims3CityUnpopulated - this is the final version of the save without households

Sims3CityPopulated - this is the final version on the save with all households

I have all expansions, stuff packs, and store content so most of it is probably used in this save. If you do not have the item, the game should generate a similar item. The only expansion not used is PETS so I do not know how this save will run with pets, my apologies. THERE IS ZERO CUSTOM CONTENT IN THIS SAVE. All lots are set as regular lots (not apartments) so if you want to change them for roommates, etc feel free! I hope you enjoy this save as much as I am! Please tag me @zergula or #Sims3City if you share any photos, I would love to see them!

Please check out my other world saves here:

River Falls

Simarellen

Kaodina

Lunestia

Happy simming and green plumbobs for all <3

SIMSFILESHAREDOWNLOAD

[drawingdroid]

Melting Point: Chapter I

A Sculptor Din Djarin x Art PhD Reader Series

Read Prologue

Chapter I: The Artist/Metallike

Summary: Your roommate drags you to an art opening and It'll turn out to be such an interesting night that will leave you dreaming of brown eyes.

Words: 1721

Warnings: This is a slow burn, you've been warned!; a lot of talking about Art and PhD life; Reader is not Grogu's nanny but this is very Grogucentric if that makes sense; And Reader is Din's employee too; Very grumpy and antisocial Mando; Grogu is human but the only thing described are his eyes; Reader appearance is left blank; Age gap of 10-15 years; Fluff fluff fluff

A/N: Hi! I'm sorry for taking forever to upload this after so much teasing! Everything was practically written until Chapter 4, but last month has been a disaster. Hopefully, I'll be able to be back at it now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy Reader and Din meeting with a very Pride and Prejudice vibe.

When you arrived, the place was cramped. Everyone fancied free drinks on a Friday night at Navarro’s downtown, but this was�� excessive for an art opening. After the awful day you’d had, you didn’t feel like squeezing yourself between strangers. You were just about to say to your roommate that you had thought better about it when you saw the poster in the window display of the local.

The Guild Gallery presents:

Mando

The Master of Beskar

15 unprecedented sculptures

Your jaw dropped immediately to the floor. You were so excited you had to grab your roommate’s arm to calm down.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” 

“You just dragged me to an exhibition of my favourite artist ever without knowing?” You were over the moon right now, Mando wasn’t an artist who used social media so it was never easy to come up with his next show. It was all part of the mysterious aura that was around him.

“Rumors say he is based in Nevarro.” One of your roommate’s friends severed, and your eyes sparkled in awestruck.

“Do you think he may come?” You were dying to ask him some questions, maybe even you could arrange an interview with him for your thesis work…

“He never shows up in his own exhibits, so I don’t think he will.” You were a bit disappointed, but it was the truth. No one knew his real name or face, only the generic pseudonym, and his breathtaking sculptures.

“Do you think he makes it in an entitled prick way? Like, to feed the mystery or something and sell more?” You looked at the boy furiously. You obviously didn’t know Mando personally, but you had extensively studied his artwork and could affirm you knew a bit about the psyche that hid behind his artwork.

“What if he’s just shy, or he doesn’t like the attention?” Your mental picture of Mando was the one of a person who struggled severely with emotion and used his sculpture as the only possible outcome. That was one of the reasons why his art moved you so deeply.

Your interlocutor didn’t have the opportunity to respond since it was your turn to enter the gallery. It was luxurious but not tacky, with a minimal interior design that gave the artwork the space to shine. You were mesmerized. Soon you grew apart from the group because they were more interested in the free booze while you admired each one of the pieces. Grabbing your tiny notebook from your purse, you annotated everything about the sculptures that resonated de most with you.

“Breathtaking, aren’t they?” A well-dressed, middle-aged man was standing next to you. He had an air of dignity in him, but also a pinch of mischief in his eyes that delatated his true character. 

“They’re stunning.” You mumbled admiring the hard planes of the sculpture that was standing right in front of you. The same you had been observing for twenty minutes straight: a faceless warrior in a startling fighting pose.

“Mando always finds a way to surprise us.” Then, he extended his hand to you and you squeezed it gently. “Greef Karga, I’m the owner.” He clarified while shaking vigorously your smaller hand. You blushed violently, maybe he had mistaken your interest for being a potential customer? Nevertheless, you offered him a smile and your name too, always wanting to be polite.

“I’m actually a researcher on Mandalorian art, and I’ve been following Mando’s career for a while.” 

“You’re talking to the man who sold his first artwork, sunshine.” He confessed as if he was telling you a secret. The desired effect was accomplished and your eyes were opened wide.

“Really? That’s…that’s…” Your words were betraying you and the man only smiled wider. Then you started a battle with your purse to find the wallet. “I…know he does like to keep his…privacy, but if he is ever interested in an interview I’ll…it will be really meaningful to my research.” You blurted giving him your business card. He observed it and repeated your name to himself.

“I’ll let him know darling.” He then put a friendly hand on your shoulder as a farewell when something heavy touched your foot, making you flinch. You looked to the floor: a metal ball had hit your foot. Looking confused at your surroundings, you crouched to grab the round object when its owner appeared.

“Oh hi, baby!” You cooed, your face brightening when your eyes found the tiny face of a toddler. “Is this yours?” They approached you a bit shyly, looking at you and the ball, as if weighing their options. The baby stared at you, blinking a few times, until they bent clumsily to grab it.

“Patu!” The little one said showing triumphantly the shiny object. The corner of your eyes squinted of the pure tenderness this creature provoked in you.

“Grogu, my little man!” Karaga called, to your surprise. You had to admit: you had forgotten about him for a little moment, but it was great that they knew each other. The toddler squeaked in delight, running to the man’s leg. He certainly looked amused with the encounter, so they were probably close-

“Ah!” The boy babbled cheerfully to you both, showing off his treasure again, and then started patting Karga’s leg.

“Your dad hasn’t got you dinner? Come here, let me grab you a sandwich.” The toddler sounded excited and made grabby hands to the older man to be picked up. Your eyes met with his as he observed you with curiosity. They were dark and huge, almost too big for the kid’s face. You gave him your brightest smile and he did the same in return.

“He looks sharp as a tack!” You praised, giggling a bit.

“You wouldn’t imagine.” 

Both of you laughed together as Grogu started to explain something in incoherent baby language.

“Oh, so you are enjoying the Art Exhibition too? What’s your favourite piece? I see…” You pretended to understand his excited gestures as Karga started to walk to the catering table. “It’s clear you’re such a connoisseur, sir.”

“Could you hold him a moment? I’m making him a sandwich.” Karga’s question took you off-guard, but he didn’t wait for an answer as he placed the toddler in your chest Both of you studied each other's eyes for a moment. You could count the times you had held a little one with the fingers of a hand. But finally, he looked satisfied after scanning your face and squeaked happily, starting playing with your hair and jewellery, even mapping your cheeks and nose with his tiny hands. A warm feeling ignited inside your chest as you replied sweet nothings to his babbling.

“Grogu! Here you are!”

The three of you looked in the direction of the baritone voice who had just called the baby. Between the multitude, appeared a man who stood up amongst everyone. Though he was dressing casually, in full denim, his handsome face and broadness were so obvious. Your mouth went dry. Not only his physical appearance but his gait and the way he carried himself. You weren’t used to meeting men like that. He was borderline intimidating. His scowl while looking at the baby didn’t help with that. Was he angry that a stranger held the boy?

“Din! Good to see you, I thought your son would be hungry.” The gorgeous man huffed in response, looking at the sandwich Greef Karga had just prepared.

“The little womp-rat is always hungry,” he mumbled and started caressing the boy’s head, and the baby giggled. “I asked you to stay there.” He scolded, but the toddler just looked happy to see him again. Din sighed in resignation and finally, it looked like he noticed your presence for the first time. While you still had Grogu between your arms, he stared at you without a word, like you were a sculpture and not a person. You observed him back without shame and he tilted his head slightly while studying you. He looked stiff as a board and didn’t stop frowning all the time.

Weird.

Luckily, Karga spoke after the strange silence between you became too tense.

“Din, this is…” Karga started introducing you after clearing his throat,  but then the little boy interrupted by babbling at you while offering you his ball.

“You want to play baby?” You asked, but you could see his handsome dad pinch his nose. It wasn’t the moment to annoy this stranger who didn’t seem to like you. “Later, ok? First, be a good boy and have dinner.” Your soft voice reminded him of the prospect of food, and now he was twisting in your arms. You let go of him and the toddler ran immediately to grab Din’s calf. The man looked exhausted and 100% like he didn’t want to be there. But when he put the little one between his strong arms his face lightened up in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Without a word, he left towards the catering table. Before getting lost between the multitude, Grogu’s head popped behind Din’s toned shoulder and he waved at you. You needed a moment to recover, having melted like ice cream from the cuteness of the gesture.

What a pair.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, Din can be a little rude sometimes.” You shook your head dismissively in response when Karga excused his friend, even though a little rude was a polite way to say it.

“Don’t worry sir, the baby was so adorable I didn’t notice.” You then offered your best smile before departing. “I leave you to attend the other visitors, it’s been a pleasure.”

Later in your shared dorm, you’d think a lot about the pair you had met. Such a friendly toddler and his dad? He was so attractive and manly you felt dizzy, but he had been so rude to you. What was the problem with him? He looked like he instantly disliked you. Maybe it was your cologne? Was it your outfit? Turning in your narrow mattress, you said to yourself you had more pressing matters to attend to, like how the hell you were going to pay for the semester after your scholarship had been denied. You sighed and closed your eyes, and you dreamt with broad shoulders and bright huge eyes.

Next Chapter

Tag List: @technicallykawaiisoul

[keegansgf]

“logan walker headcanons”

pairing: Logan Walker x reader

tags: Domestic bliss, fluff

A/N: Okay logan girlies here's your meal sorry this took so long I was busy making birthday plans </3

I don't think he has social anxiety per se– he's just introverted. The only people at your house would be his close family. (His father, Hesh, hell– even Riley if you didn't take him before moving in.) His ideal home would be in a relatively small community with forest areas. I don't think he'd stray too far from what his old house was like in San Diego.

I think he's the guy who knows how to do everything house-related. If you ever tell him the pipes are clogged, the walls require a repaint, or the sink is leaking– don't you dare call anyone for that. He'll even teach you how to do a few repairs yourself!

Looking more into your house interior, it's very cozy. You have a lot of warm-toned lights, comfy pillows, and fluffy blankets. You also have a few game consoles sitting around. Whenever Hesh is over to have time with his brother, you'll run into both of them playing something in the living room. You also play a lot with Logan. I think he's a cozy game enjoyer, so expect to have a shared animal crossing island.

He sucks at opening up sometimes. Usually, it's because he feels he's burdening whoever hears about his emotional mess.

Following up, he's pretty sensitive– even to animals or works of fiction. He doesn't express things the same way as everybody else, so instead of talking out loud, he does a lot of mental analysis' of movies you watch together. (again, he bottles everything up.) You can always tell when he's breaking down the plotline or characters; he always squints and furrows his eyebrows while you're watching something he's interested in.

 He's a big fan of long drives to the middle of nowhere. If you're up late at night with him, he'll ask if you want to go for a ride. He'll even pack blankets, warm drinks, and snacks when you get to some random field or forest to chill and talk– Points if you can see downtown San Diego from where you are.

Poor guy has no idea how to initiate physical contact. He loves cuddling, but he doesn't know how to tell you he wants to. He usually saves it for when you both go to bed.

Logan has some pretty warm hands but he also has cold fingertips. He isn't the touchiest guy in the world, but when he does hold your hand or arm, he always makes sure to go in palm first.

He talks about you to his brother and father, like, a lot. You do a whole lot together, so of course, you're one of his main talking points.

He smiles while thinking about the cute memories you share. They usually pop up while he's doing dishes or just laying down. You're even his lock screen :)

 He probably had some embarrassing photos with Hesh when he was little. His dad showed you a few pictures when you and Logan first got together. As embarrassed as he was, he was happy to see you laugh.

[thewildwaffle]

Tattoo

This was written in chunks of when I actually had any drive to write in the past few months, which wasn't often. I tried doing a bit of editing, but my brain demands to move on to the next short. I'm just happy my brain wants to write again, so who am I to argue?

***

The shop was not as dark inside as it looked. Sillik was glad for that. As a duib, his eyes were well-adapted to the bright sunlit mountains of his homeworld, and he managed just fine with the medium-light of the city that Human Ernesto had been showing him around.

It wasn't the human's hometown, that was on the other side of the continent, and the crew they were both part of only had a relatively small radius to go while on surface leave due to time constraints. Thankfully, it was a city that Ernesto had visited many times before, and so was very familiar with all the best places to eat, relax, and otherwise explore. Sillik, Ernesto, and the others in the group they’d been spending the day with only had a few more hours before they needed to be at the spaceport to report back for duty. With full bellies after having had a delightful meal at a small local cafe downtown, they were in no rush as they meandered down the wide sidewalks lined with flowers and lovely shrubbery.

“Woah,” Sillik stopped walking and nearly got run into by Human Carol who had been walking directly behind him, “what is that building?” He pointed to a small brick building a few doors down from where they currently were. Not very out of the ordinary in and of itself, but it was the decoration of the building that had pulled Sillik's attention. The brick texture of the building was completely covered in a base coat of black paint with complex and intricate white and gray patterns swirling across the structure like they’d been poured on and across the whole of it. The grayscale was interrupted by strategically placed pops of color in the form of stylized animals, flowers, and characters that Silllik did not recognize.

Painting the building, with its brick-and-mortar texture would have been hard enough, but whoever had done it had gone beyond. This? This was beautiful! This was art!

Without waiting for an answer to his original question, Sillik approached the building in an almost reverent state of awe. The closer he got, the more he could make out the fine details the artist must have painstakingly minded when painting. It appeared to cover all the building, or at least all parts he could see from the street. How long had it taken to do all this?

Sillik almost didn’t notice when the rest of the group caught up with him. Someone, probably one of the humans, let out a long arching whistle sound. “Oh my stars! Look at the name!” Ernesto laughed as he walked up to the front door. “Tatu Shop?” Carol followed his gaze to the white sign above the door. “What’s so special about it? They just misspelled tattoo, or what?” “No, it’s a pun.” Ernesto pointed to some of the colorful animals painted around the shop. They had long pointed faces and looked like they were built out of armor. “Tatu is Portuguese for armadillo.” “Punny!” Another human, Steph laughed. “So it’s a pet shop?” Sillik asked. It made sense, he supposed. The art of the building was so interesting and happy-looking, and it was widely known that pets often made humans happy. Ernesto laughed “What? No, they do tattoos here. As in body art? It’s a play on words.” He turned back to the sign above the door and hummed to himself. “I’ve actually always wanted a tattoo. Just a small one on my arm. I’ve had the design in my mind for years.” Steph made a show of checking their comm device. “If it’s not too big of a design, they might be able to do it before we have to be back. We still have four hours, but keep in mind we’ll still need to walk to the spaceport shuttle.”

Ernesto frowned. Normally the look of having a scrunched-up brow and the corners of their mouths turned down means that a human is unhappy - usually upset, worried, or angry. But Sillik had been around Ernesto enough to recognize that this particular frown was one he made when he was thinking very hard about something. If he continued doing it long enough, he might stick the tip of his tongue out of his mouth as well. “I’m gonna do it,” Ernesto finally blurted out. He gasped a bit like he was surprised at his own declaration. “Oh my stars, I’m… I’m gonna do it!” He started walking into the shop, the rest of the group following after shooting each other amused looks. Sillik followed, a bit confused, but happy to see what tattoo Ernesto was so excited about getting.

That was how Sillik ended up in the fairly well-lit tattoo shop. He got himself comfortable in a chair off to the side as Ernesto talked with the tall human behind the front counter. The others joined him, except Carol, who paused a bit behind Ernesto while wearing the same frowny-thinking expression on her face. “Carol,” Steph laughed lightly, “you thinking of getting one too?” “Hmmmm…” Carol tilted her head as Ernesto turned to look back at her, “Uh, maybe not right now, actually.” She shuffled over to the line of chairs as Ernesto followed the tall human behind the counter and to some cushioned chairs where Sillik assumed the body art was done. He watched intensely. Thankfully the shop was small enough that he could clearly see everything. The shopkeeper, who must have also been one of the shop’s artists handed Ernesto a clipboard of papers for him to sign. One of them must have been for him to sketch out the design he had in mind. From the way Ernesto explained it as he drew, it seemed like it was indeed very simple. If the artist had even an ounce of skill that the painter of the building had, Ernesto’s “tattoo” should look lovely.

Sillik spent the next few minutes just looking around at the art painted on the shop’s interior walls. It was the same style as the artwork outside but with different designs. There were a few more of those “tatu” creatures that popped up here and there. It was a fun design overall. He might just look into getting something done himself. Maybe not here, but back home. After all, who knows if the paints they use in a "tattoo" is safe for duib skin?

“So what made you second-guess yourself on getting one yourself?” Steph questioned. Sillik turned back to his companions. Carol steepled her hands to hold them under her chin and sighed. “I want one, but I’m not a hundred percent sure what I want. That, and I really, really don’t like needles, so that’s kind of the big issue.”

Needles? Wait. Not paint? What kind of body art is a tattoo that needs needles?! Sillik’s head shot toward Ernesto and the tattoo artist sat together in the chairs just as a buzzing noise started up. Sillik saw the artist holding a small gun-looking device up to Ernesto’s arm, and Ernesto wincing slightly as the point of the device made contact with his skin. Normally, Sillik considered himself very level-headed, which was a good quality to have when you worked closely with humans on a regular basis. Even still, he felt his jaw drop as shock spread itself across his face. Was there a needle on the point of that gun thing? Had Ernesto been injected with something? Thoughts flashed around his brain as he stared. “Carol, Steph,” Sillik kept his voice from squeaking, “what, exactly, is a tattoo? What’s going on?

“Oh,” Steph chirped cheerily as ever, thankfully unaware of just how distraught Sillik felt at the moment. “Tattoos are ink drawings that are injected into the skin. That makes them permanent.” Sillik stared at her, then over to Ernesto. “But… but doesn’t that hurt?” “Yeah,” Carol looked over to Ernesto like she was searching for something. “He might have given him some lidocaine cream, but I’m not really sure. Don’t a lot of tattoo artists not like using it?” She asked Steph. “Depends,” Steph looked over to Ernesto and the tattoo artist who was already doing good work on the design. “I doubt he bothered, the arm is one of the least painful places to get a tattoo.” “Isn't the most painful place the armpit or something?” “Why would someone get a tattoo in their armpit? What would you even put there?” “I don’t know, I can think of a couple really funny ideas.”

Sillik gaped at them but then turned back to watch the tattoo process again. Ernesto wasn’t crying out. He looked like he was in pain, but he had personally seen the human get injured in what seemed to be much “smaller” incidents and had had much bigger reactions. Like when he stubbed his toe three cycles ago. What is the deal? Humans and how they react to pain in different ways is so weird!

Steph must have noticed his attention had gone elsewhere again and thought it funny to add, “You know, this method of getting a tattoo is much less painful than it used to be, back in the day.” Of course it was, Sillik thought. Still, it was something that he felt needed more of an explanation, so he looked back at her and waited for her to continue. “There were two different ways, at least that I know of. One was with just a really sharp needle dipped in soot or seal oil or whatever and then the person giving the tattoo just poked you over and over and over to get it all under the skin.” Steph enunciated the “over and over” part by miming holding a needling and poking at Sillik like she was an old-timey tattoo artist. “Another way,” she continued, “and in my opinion, this one seems like the most uncomfortable way to do pretty much anything, was pretty much sewing the tattoo into your skin, with a needle pulling along a thread that had been dipped in dye. And again, the dye back then was either soot or seal oil or what have you.”

Thank the stars Sillik had been serving around humans for a couple of solar cycles now. If he had learned all this from the start, he would have thrown up. Though he felt like if he kept watching Ernesto getting his tattoo, there was a good chance of that happening still.

He spent the next hour or so staring at his feet as thought of why humans do the things they do until Steph and Carol decided to take pity on him and offered to take him to look around at the other shops on the street while they waited. Carol put a hand on his shoulder as they guided him out of the shop, “Don’t worry about it Sil, like I said, I don’t like needles either.” Sillik nodded as they stepped back into the sunshine on the street. He didn’t say anything about how he didn’t actually have an issue with needles. At least not for medical uses, for which he was used to seeing them. But injecting ink deep into your skin? Something about the idea just made him shiver. He wished Steph hadn’t told him about how tattoos used to be done. He’d never get that out of his brain.

Why can't humans just do normal, painted-on body art, like sane people?

[ashensgrotto]

A Merfolk's Melody (Part 3)

Characters: Yan!Floyd x Reader, Yan!Jade x Reader, Yan!Azul x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Intro   Floyd Leech Jade Leech (You Are Here)  Azul Ashengrotto Epilogue

Synopsis: The sea always calls to those who feel lost and alone, wanting to fill the empty part of their soul until they are loved and full… and as such, it’s only fair that the strange creatures that live beneath its depths would want the same as well…

Author’s Note: Another 4-part fanfiction courtesy of @merakiui ‘s headcanon of the reader being stuck in a room/wall (I’m sorry, but I just enjoy your headcanons and they always give me these ideas) -> https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/722393818829373440/in-addition-to-being-stuck-in-a-locked-room?source=share & https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/722677892623056896/about-the-stuck-in-a-wall-trope-in-the-oceani?source=share

Here’s how it’s going to work: each character is going to get their own part following the intro. It is going to focus on the Octrio again (bc it’s my current liking, sorry guys). If you want to read a certain character’s part, feel free to jump around and select the one you’re most interested in. 

Again, as stated before, this is a work of fiction; I disagree with any and all behaviors that are represented in this story.

****

During your earlier days in college, you and another of your close friends had once discussed the difference between coral and mushrooms - as there were some fungi corals that lived in the coral reefs, even though they were not classified in the fungi family. You both agreed that fungi and coral played huge parts in their own ecosystems, providing both nutrition and hiding areas for the wildlife that inhabited the area around them. Both were made up of microscopic organisms - as most plants and other wildlife are - but while one shot spores, the other grew polyps on top of each other over time. 

Your friend had asked if you knew if there was a coral reef back in your childhood home - to which you responded that you weren’t sure. You had been told by someone once long ago that beyond the crashing waves of the sea outside of your family’s cabin that there were coral structures the size of Burj Khalifa - the world’s tallest building - and a few that were wider than the Aerium - the world’s widest building. Imagining the depth and how big the ocean was already a monstrous task as it is, but the knowledge that some coral was as large and as wide as two of the world’s biggest buildings was mind-blowing.

Now, a few years later as you dipped beneath the surface as the waves pulled you further into its depths, an amazing sight greeted you.

Colorful coral of all shapes, sizes, and types spread before you - elkhorn coral, fungia and pocillopora corals spread along the ocean floor as pillar and staghorn coral reached for the sky. Sun coral and sea anemones waved with the current of the tide while bubble corals and zoanthids peered out from dark crevices. The colors of neon in pink, green, teal, orange, and yellow shifted together with the darkness of the water here and there, making everything seem like a blacklight room from one of the city’s downtown clubs.

But the coral and plants weren't the only thing colorful within the dark waters.

Bright colorful fish of all shapes and sizes surrounded you from all angles - clownfish peered out from behind the sea anemone as the occasional blue or yellow tang fish passed between the coral walls alongside lionfish and butterfly fish while nudibranch slugs crept along the edges with starfish as seahorses perched among the organ pipe corals and the carnation corals. You saw banded pipefish hidden in the crevices between rock and coral while moon jelly swam out to deeper waters, their nearly opaque bodies hiding their forms in the shifting waters that crashed against the waves. Manta rays swam close to the bottom of the hidden paradise, one occasionally coming up to you and brushing along the side as your light-weight tank top fluttered in the water around you, the feeling of soft smooth skin coated in a slick film surprisingly pleasant.

The colors of the deep dazzled you - pulling you into deeper waters as you held your breath for as long as you could before your lungs would force you to the surface, gasping out deep breaths as you floated above the surface world for a few moments before diving back down to stay for as long as you could in the peaceful paradise that existed beneath the waves, amazed by everything that surrounds you. You swam along the coral beds, fingers grazing over the pieces of coral polyps as you passed - as beautiful as the structures were, you could never break a piece off. The same person from your past had warned of doing such things as a child - breaking off pieces of coral can take years to grow back, and if they are broken off consistently, the coral eventually dies. Seeing the bright beautiful healthy green coloring of the coral beneath you reminded you of that memory - a smile tugging on your lips as you dived deeper. 

Lost in thought, you didn’t even realize you had swam as deep as you did until you felt your lungs struggling to hold your breath until your sides ached. You had traveled between some coral beds and were now surrounded completely by it, the coral twisting around you like thorns on a rose bush and every time you would attempt to get through, the coral would dig into your skin - cuts forming along your arms, face, and legs. 

You looked around desperately - but there appeared to be no way out.

“Poor child…” you heard a voice then, something soft and sickly sweet that tickled your eardrum, “Poor sweet child…”

Your head turned in the direction of said voice, seeing nothing in the darkness. Fear ran along your spine as you did your best to keep calm, the anxiety eating away at you as you struggled to think of a way out as well as struggled to keep yourself from falling into exhaustion from losing oxygen.

A shadow shifted then as a pair of heterochromia eyes - one brown, one gold - peered out at you from the darkness beneath you. You watched as a figure appeared before you, their form coming into the light that shone in between the coral that surrounded you.

The figure was that of a very large creature that was half man and half fish - the pale sunlight reflecting off of his pale teal skin that was the color of sea water; his tail was long, making him approximately six or seven feet in length, and swayed with the water as he propelled himself toward you, slowly and filled with caution while his hands - which you thought may have been webbed - clenched at his sides, the claws digging into the flesh of his palms. His facial features appeared strong and sharp, eyes clear and calculating, as his lips spread in what appeared to be a friendly smile that was anything but; his dark hair - nearly the same color of his body - framed the strong features, though one long strand - nearly the color of deep seaweed green - fell over his left eye as the golden hue began to glow the closer he came to you. 

It was then that you realized you were looking at a mer - a moray mer, to be exact.

Moray eels were known to attack when provoked, but the mers were known to hunt anything that trespassed into their territory - watching from the darkness before striking unexpectedly. You had heard stories about them when you were a child - the locals believing that they typically traveled in pairs, meaning that there was likely a secondary one close by and you had to tread carefully now that one of them had found you.

The mer only smiled, teeth sharper than a shark’s gleaming in the darkness as his body began to glow; the large teal stripes that lined his hips, arms, and face began to glow in the darkness, his left gold eye nearly turning yellow as he gazed upon you.

“You seem to have a very serious problem,” the mer spoke, his voice sounding like sweet honey dripping down from a hive on a hot summer day, “... There might be something I can do to help you.”

You were beginning to slowly lose consciousness, the edges of your vision fading into darkness as you struggled to stay awake - to stay aware. The mer seemed to sense this as he drifted even closer, slipping through the water like a water snake as he stopped in front of you, looking down as his smirk grew wider. The moray mer’s features were now mere inches from your face, his webbed hands closing in to cup your face in between his palms before he pulled your face up to look at him, your body slowly becoming numb as your eyes drifted closed - the oxygen nearly out.

Something soft and surprisingly warm pressed against your lips before a sudden rush of air filled your lungs. 

Your chest heaved as your eyes snapped open to see the mer pressing his lips to yours, pulling the water out and breathing for the both of you as the gills behind his finned ears fluttered with the current. You pressed your hands against his chest, trying and failing to push him away before one hand moved to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him as his other hand tangled into your hair, keeping your head still as he pressed his lips harder against yours - no longer breathing for you, but kissing you. You felt his long tail curl around your legs, keeping you trapped within his hold.

When he pulled away, his pupils had dilated; hunger reflecting within them.

“I saved your life, little pearl,” he whispered, “and now… I will take something from you as payment.”

You struggled, wanting nothing more to do with the mer that now wrapped completely around you.

However, the moray pulled you down into the depths of the coral enclosure, pressing the front of your against a large stone with one hand on your shoulders and the other holding your hands together above your head. You held your newfound breath between your lips before cool lips pressed against the nape of your neck, drawing the skin into the mer’s mouth as he lapped and sucked on it like a newborn babe. You shuddered with every lap of his tongue and whimpered with every nip that you barely registered his hands releasing you before something dug on either side of your neck, deep enough to draw blood.

You cried out, bubbles escaping from your lips before the mer pressed his lips against yours again, breathing for you as he turned you to face him - webbed hands and claws creating small cuts in the fabric of your cotton capris before the fabric was removed along with your bottoms. You threw your head back as one thumb rubbed circles against your entrance - a musty-sweet odor slipping into the salty waters around you before something fleshy and hot pressed against it. You mewled as the mer flicked over your entrance, slipping one, then two fingers within - thrusting them in and out at a leisurely pace as the glowing on his body increased, his eyes never leaving yours. You whimpered softly, one hand reaching out and clasping onto his dark hair, his eyes closing and humming against you as a fire began to build in your thighs and lower belly - threatening to consume you as your body twitched with want.

As he worked you over and over, you shuddered and groaned, arching your back away from the stone as your muscles clenched. He pulled away after a few moments, the loss of contact making your body grasp at nothing. You whimpered in need before something long, thick, and rigid rub between your legs.

“Ah… mine,” the moray mer sighed as he bared his teeth at you in a mocking grin, grabbing a hold of your ankles and pushing them into your chest as he leaned against you, moving his hips and rubbing himself against you, “Mine… my precious little pearl… Do you know what you’ve done to me?”

You can only quiver in response as he leans close, his nose nearly touching yours as his length continues to tease you, making your insides squirm with anticipation.

“How long I’ve waited for you, little pearl,” he brushes his nose against yours, his voice soft and sugary-sweet, “I’ve waited over six years… six years for you to come back to me. And now that you’re here… I can never let you go.”

Then, you feel him thrust hard and fast inside you, pushing your stomach into your throat as a silent cry leaves your mouth. The mer is merciless against you, pressing you hard into the stone beneath you and keeping a firm grip on your ankles as he pounds into you, each thrust making the precious air that still exists within you leave in the form of tiny bubbles from your mouth and nose. 

He presses his lips to yours again as his eyes close, breathing for the both of you again before pulling away to lavish at your neck, his tongue flicking over the scratches he made as you feel something rise up and down from your skin. Both of your chests heave together, the pounding of your hearts argue in your rib cages as he presses his lips against yours, no longer breathing as his thrusts become more urgent. He releases his grip on your ankles and hauls you up by your waist, moving your position around so you may settle onto his lap, your thighs resting on either side of his hips as he presses deeper into your core.

The change caused you to gasp again, feeling him practically nudge into your stomach. The mer slows, allowing to adjust to this new position as he kisses your features - your forehead, your nose, eyelids, brows, cheeks, and lips - as if he is completely worshiping you.

“Sweet, precious little pearl…” he whispers, snapping his hips in urgency against you after a few moments, “Let me lay you… keep them safe for me, for us…”

You whimper softly, a name long forgotten now bubbling forward, “J-Jade…”

Jade lets out a low growl in response, thrusting hard and fast against you, “That’s r-right, little pearl… my precious (Y/N)...”

You let out a cry as your entrance grips onto Jade’s member, the muscles in your lower body spamming wildly as something thick and heavy slips between your legs.

Jade presses his forehead in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his breath caressing your skin, billowing the tank top you’re still wearing, gasping, “...not enough, little pearl. Not enough, yet…”

***

Jade has carried you to his corner of the shadows, curled beside you as you laid on his bed of seaweed surrounded by coral. His hand cups your cheek and follows the curve of your cheekbones before pressing another kiss to your lips and resting his forehead against yours. 

It had been years since he had last seen you - the two of you plus his twin had been thick as thieves, frolicing along the shore lines and had taught you to swim. He had gathered many pieces of coral during that time and presented them to you when you all met up each and every day - the giggles that slipped past your lips making him smile with pride and puffed out his chest like a seagull. Eventually though, those days of spending time with one another along the shores became fewer and fewer. 

Floyd had moved on, now more interested in antagonizing Azul verses waiting on the rocky shoreline for you to come out to play - but Jade was more patient than his twin, his tail swaying with anticipation along with the tide as he watched from his spot on the rocks, his heterochromia eyes never straying from the shoreline. Eventually, his patience thinned to the thickness of a thread, going to Azul to test out his latest potion that would allow him to take on the form of a human for an hour. He headed into the village, searching high and low for your family. One of the village members had been kind enough to explain that your family had moved to the nearest city where you had been accepted into college.

Jade felt his heart break. There was no way he could follow you - and even if he did, how would he find you?

Azul noticed his sour mood upon his return, the typical Jade he knew would never lounge on the rocks among the coral like his brother did unless something happened. Jade had stayed silent about what he had heard on the surface above - merely going through his life day by day as the heartache festered and grew within, making him irritable - once snapping at Floyd which made the younger of the two surprised. It didn’t take long after that incident that Jade decided to move away to another part of the coral city, hiding within the darkness of the crevices as thoughts of you consumed him day and night.

He was about ready to give up on himself when you came swimming back into his life - quite literally. 

Jade tucked his head under your chin, arms wrapping around your waist as he hummed. Tomorrow, he would go to Azul to find a potion to make you more like him… even threaten the octomer with becoming fish bait if he refused.

But, for now… Jade was content to have you in his arms, back in his life. His precious little pearl…

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello! I read through the Wicked Ones rpg and really enjoyed it. Do you have any recommendations for games where you play as the bad guys? Preferably larger books.

THEME: Bad Guys

Hello friend! From monsters to villains to just plain ol’ bad dudes, let’s see what we got. I tried to stay away from one-page RPGs, but I can’t guarantee how long some of these books will be.

SLA Industries, 2nd Edition, by Nightfall Games.

In the World of Progress, the corporation SLA Industries rules all. Employing Operatives to enforce, extend and maintain their power base, SLA controls a multitude of worlds - industrial, franchise and resource - with planet Mort at its core. As Operatives execute the company’s will, new threats emerge through the cracks of the city walls, turning Downtown into a battleground.

You, the SLA Operative, are fighting for fame and fortune against a backdrop of a crumbling reality. Operatives feed the always-on televisions with a gaudy media of wall-to-wall death and dismemberment. Operative life is all about climbing the corporate ladder and earning sponsorship deals and notoriety along the way.

In SLA Industries, you’re not exactly villains, but you’re not good people either. You work for an evil corporation, in a world of evil corporations, and you’re extending their reach for a chance to climb the corporate ladder. SLA Industries is reminiscent of trad games in terms of its complexity; character creation consists of spending points to improve abilities, and you can improve some of your character abilities by introducing flaws in other areas. Because of the roots in its game design, I’d expect a longer book to read through here.

If you want to learn more about this game, you can check out the game review for it on Cannibal Halfling Games!

Seven Deadly Sirens, by Litza Bronwyn.

In this game, you play one of seven types of mermaids and roll with seven deadly sins to power your basic and special moves in order to summon ships, lure men to you, devour their hearts, and collect their treasures. Fun, flirty, indulgent, and a little chaotic, this game is perfect for a night of raucous debauchery or an afternoon of silly adventuring.

This game is definitely on the shorter side, but I really really like the idea of using seven deadly sins as your source of power. This game is Powered by the Apocalypse, so expect something interesting to happen even with every dice roll. Unlike common PbtA games, you pick from a communal list of moves to define your character, rather than picking a playbook. The core loop of this game will involve luring men off of boats, killing them and raiding the boats for treasure.

Here, there be Monsters! By Wendi Yu.

here, there, be monsters! is a rules-lite response to monster-hunting media from the monsters' point of view. It's both a love letter and a middle finger to stuff like Hellboy (and the BPRD), the SCP Foundation, the Men in Black, the World of Darkness games and the Urban Fantasy genre in general. It is an explicitly queer, antifascist and anti-capitalist game about the monstrous and the weird, in any flavor you want, not as something to be feared, but to be cherished and protected.

Play as a diverse crew of monstrous, anomalous or just generally odd beings, fighting against those who would use, abuse or even annihilate you. Create and populate your own supernatural underworld, abnormal gang and extra-dimensional haven. Hunt monster hunters! Punch nazi occultists! Eat the rich! Protect each other! Fight back! Here, there, be monsters!

This is 164 pages of monstrous fun, in which your characters are likely treated like bad guys by the society around them, even if they’re not really villainous themselves. It gives you a chance to revel in your monstrosity, with 100 pre-made character backgrounds for you to peruse. One content warning: there is quite a bit of art revolving about bodies, in various forms (this is a monster game, after all). This isn’t meant to detract from the work - in fact, it perfectly communicates the tone of the game - but it is something you should be aware of before you buy.

Blood and Sacrilege, by Tom Clark.

In a Dark Fantasy setting based on the Early Middle Ages of England (The Dark Ages), you play as a brood of vampires bent on toppling the humans’ reign over Brackenstow. Here you'll find a country ruled by mortals, with vampires lurking in the shadows of society. It wasn’t always this way though; vampires founded Brackenstow and after a hard fought war, lost it to the mortals they once enslaved. 

Nearly a century after the vampires were defeated, legal rights to the kingdom are still squabbled over by the country's self-proclaimed leaders while bishops and ministers fight for their own influential positions. The vampire threat looms on the horizon… But the power vacuum left by a leaderless kingdom has taken it's toll on the stability of the land, leading to civil unrest and the more immediate danger of war. 

Now, with humans on the brink of societal collapse, the vampires peer out from the dark, and the broods that have laid in wait for so many decades start to execute their long-laid plans.

This looks like a game still in the works, but it sure looks promising. As long-defeated creatures of the night, you see a chance to take back a kingdom you once owned. Forged in the Dark games are all about projects that the group has to work consistently at in order to succeed, so expect plenty to read, especially if it’s inside such an established setting.

Villainous Fucks, by Keganexe (@keganexe)

Villainous Fucks is a tabletop roleplaying game designed for 2-6 players, about doing petty crimes as The League of Villainous Fucks, and ruining the day of Superheroes and Cops alike (and truly what's the difference). Villainous Fucks runs on Spencer Campbells incredible LUMEN System, and is inspired by the best Villains across media. LUMEN is designed for quick, tactical combat, and Villainous Fucks dials it up to 11 for the best in zany comic book style action.

If you are interested in ruining the day of do-gooders in over-the-top comic book action, and if you like your combat to be satisfying and punchy, you want Villainous Fucks. Instead of skills, LUMEN uses approaches: how your character does something is more important than what exactly they do. Is your villain Brutal, Cunning or Quick? My favourite little tidbit from Villainous Fucks is the characters’ stance on Cops. Villains believe that All Cops are Bastards, and All Superheroes are Cops. If you like revelling in doing crimes, then this is absolutely worth checking out.

Games I’ve Recommended Before

Monsterhearts 2, by Avery Alder. (Teenagers with great monstrous potential)

Spire: The City Must Fall, by Rowan Rook & Decard. (You’re sympathetic terrorists, but you’re still terrorists.)

This former request that asked about playing mind flayers and similar monsters.

[abellalu]

Adventures on a Foreign | Chapter 3

Summary: After narrowly escaping Thanos, Loki is given a chance for a new life. The Avengers allow Loki to live in New Asgard with his brother, Thor. However, The Avengers are not quick to put their trust into Loki. SHIELD Director Nick Fury recruits an Agent who was once said to be one of the most promising SHIELD Agents, to follow Loki and ensure that he has no plans to harm Earth. Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader Word Count: 2k A/N: Welcome back everyone. Hope you all had a happy holiday(s). Lots of interesting conversations in this chapter and setting up a (hopefully) interesting journey for these characters. [ Previous Part | Masterlist | AO3 ]

The sun had only started to emerge when Loki decided to visit the downtown of New Asgard. He knew someone was watching him as he walked down the cobblestone path covered by overgrown grass. There was no point in glancing back and he knew it was you following him.

It had only been a few days since the two of you arrived in New Asgard. For most of that time, he stayed in Thor's house only adventuring as far as the garden. Today, Loki decided it was time to see more of what was supposed to be his new home. He knew there were whispers among the city about his arrival. 

Loki had assumed that his visit was early enough that most of the city would still be asleep and the streets would all be empty, giving him the chance to explore without the staring gazes of others. What he didn’t account for was you knowing that he would be up so early. 

Did this woman sneak a tracker on me in the middle of the night? He wasn’t sure he could ever get used to your ever-existing presence, but for now he continued on,

As Loki continued to walk through the town, he heard footsteps approaching him. At first he assumed it was you, but as he turned around he was greeted by a different presence, “Valkyrie, I'm surprised to see you wake this early,” Loki said quietly.

“I could say the same to you Prince Loki. I haven't seen you explore at all since you and your Agent arrived,” Valkyrie said as she continued to walk to Loki’s side and smiled at him. “She’s quite pretty isn’t she.” 

Loki rolled his eyes, “Don’t you already have a lover. I don’t think she would be interested anyway, she is taking her job of observing me far too seriously.” Loki looked around him trying to find where you were hiding.

“Don’t underestimate me Loki, I could seduce her if I wanted to,” Valkyrie laughs to herself, “But you’re right. I do already have plenty of lovers that need my attention. That and I have a city to rule.”

“Yes, I sure hope your lovers don’t distract you from your work.”

“I’m fully capable of multitasking.” She signaled to Loki to follow her “Tell me what do you think of this city, Prince Loki.”

Loki looked closer at the buildings, many of which still had not turned their lights on yet. People seemed to be settling into their homes and building their new lives. There aren’t many businesses in New Asgard, or at least not as many as there were on Asgard. It was becoming a functional city and even some novelties were appearing, namely the new library featuring both Midgardian books and the copies of Asgardian books that were managed to be saved. 

“You are doing a good job my King, the Asgardians deserve a new home and you are providing them a beautiful one,” Loki earnestly said. 

“There’s lots of work to be done Loki.” Valkyrie smiles softly, “But I do appreciate the sentiment, especially from you.”

Loki tensed. “And why do you need my opinion?”

“Because you are a Prince, it was your home too that is now gone,” Valkyrie asserted. 

Loki stopped walking and Valkyrie looked back towards him. “No matter how many times you call me a Prince, it doesn’t make me one. Not anymore.” Loki wasn't sure if he was ever truly a Prince of Asgard. If anything, he was the heir to Jotunheim. Thor was the only Prince that Asgard ever seemed to need.

“These will always be your people, Loki. I know what it’s like to try and abandon them to create a new life. But I was miserable, I didn’t feel like myself again till I helped fight during Ragnarok. I know you felt a similar way. You could have run away and left them to die, but you didn’t. You felt good fighting for your people and can continue to serve them now.”

“I think you put too much faith in me,” he said gravelly.

“Maybe,” Valkyrie shrugged. “But I also know you want to be more than the villain in stories. This can be a new start for you and your relationship with the people of Asgard, just like me.”

Loki turned away and began walking back to Thor’s house. “Goodbye Valkyrie,” he murmured. 

Mission Report for Director Nick Fury

Loki Laufeyson is…

You've been sitting at the kitchen table for over an hour, desperately trying to find the words for your mission report. 

This morning you heard Loki get up, having always been a light sleeper. It was useful for the job though, as it helped you stay aware of his every move. That's all how all your time has been spent in New Asgard: listening and waiting for Loki to make his move.

For the most part, Loki kept to himself. The change of routine today, made you assume that it was the start of some malicious plan. But when you followed him into town, he did nothing but observe the city until he had a conversation with the King of New Asgard, Valkyrie. 

Having no more time to procrastinate on your mission report, you decided to give Loki some space for a few hours. As you stared at the blank page on your laptop, you heard the door to the house creak open soon followed by a boisterous voice.

“Soon we shall need a celebration, but for now-” Thor entered the kitchen, the large smile on his face somehow grew bigger. “Hello our dear Lady, how is your day so far?” Following behind him is Korg, a tall rock-made creature with an ironically soft disposition. 

“Hello Thor,” you smile back at him. “My day has been well though now I’m just trying to get my mission report for Fury done.”

“How is your mission going so far? Are you taking time to explore and enjoy the city like I suggested?” Thor asked.

You sighed, “My work is my top priority Thor, I haven’t had much time to explore. But I will eventually, I promise.”

“My brother has been too difficult to work with, has he? Because I promise, I know he wants to change and work with-”

You cut him off, “He hasn’t been too much trouble. He’s just been… distant, I guess. It’s hard to fully know he’s goals and ambitions when he always tries to keep to himself.” Thor frowns at first, but then he slowly smiles again. 

“Well you must talk to him then! Loki has been reclusive, yes. But I swear that if you try to reach out to him, you can see him for who he truly is.”

You stay quiet for a moment, before Korg speaks up. “We just saw him, he was looking over the water on the edge of the hill.”

You looked at Thor's hopeful gaze as he anticipated your response. “I'm hoping you're right, Thor,” you said as you stood from your chair.

Loki was far away enough from the city that all he could hear was the crashing of the waves below him and the calm wind moving through the tall green grass.

After this morning running into Valkyrie, he needed time to himself. Instead of going back to the house, he found this spot. A place where he had a birds eye view of the water, but was still surrounded by the rugged mountains. 

“It's beautiful here,” you interrupt his thoughts. 

“It's nothing like what Asgard was.”

“It was glorious wasn't it,” You said softly as you walked up next to him. The proximity makes him uncomfortable. “I'd never been to Asgard, you'd have to describe to me what it was like.”

“It was,” Loki quietly looked down. “But it doesn’t matter now that it’s gone, we simply have to move on.”

“How do you plan to move on Loki?” What are your goals here on Earth?” It came out more accusatory than you meant, but you couldn’t resist. You know so little about this man that you are required to watch for most of the day. 

“Trust me, I am not going anywhere and I already tried world domination. Now if you’ll leave me be.” Loki said as he walked back towards the city.

“There is another title you are referred to as Mischief. God of Lies, is that correct?”

Loki paused. You were correct, there are many names referring to Loki. Many of the names now have negative connotations even if they just started as a descriptor. But the God of Lies title was always said with malice. 

“Well you’ve created a problem, see, I could admit to being the God of Lies but that could be a lie or I could say I’m not and that could also be a lie. No matter what, you are not closer to the truth.”

But to Loki’s surprise, you laughed. “Maybe, but here's the thing, Loki.” You walked closer to him. “But I still like to know more about you, if you could-” you think to yourself for a moment. “If you would talk to me, I’d greatly appreciate it. I hear so many different stories about you.”

“And which ones do you think are the most accurate?” Loki asked, looking directly towards you.

“I don’t think any of them are fully accurate, some yes, have more truth to them. But I want to have my own perspective on who you are. I think that’s how I’ve lasted so long as a SHIELD agent,” You laugh quietly. “It gets me in trouble often, especially with Fury, but I know I need to trust my instincts and not assume everyone around me has the right answer. I need to discover for myself.”

“Fury certainly made an interesting choice sending you here.”

“Oh absolutely, do you know what he said to be when he assigned me this mission? ‘Loki annoys the hell out of me and so do you,’ In his mind it’s the perfect match I guess.” You try to hold in your laugh, but Loki just scoffed. 

You continue, “We’re stuck with each other for who knows how long, Loki. We have to find a way to make it work.” You look up at him, focusing on the sharp angles of his face. 

“I suppose so,” Loki begrudged. 

After a few moments of silence, the two of you walk back to the house. You excuse yourself to work on your mission report and Loki goes upstairs to his room. He closes the door softly behind him and lays on his bed, his hands covering his eyes. “Norns, this woman will be the death of me.”

At the same time, on a far away planet called Chitauri Prime. 

The Chitauri, tall gray monstrous creatures, are yelling at one another. In months since they lost their army leader, Thanos, they argued back and forth on how to move forward as species. 

“We must continue to fight!” one Chitauri yells. “We will avenge our leader and kill anyone who ruined his plan!”

“Our army is weak now and there are too many that were against Thanos!” another yells. “We can not rush into battle, we have to be strategic about our first attack without our leader.”

“Then we will get a new leader.” Soon everyone turned to the older Chitauri, one who stopped fighting battles many years before Thanos was killed. “There is an option, one that we have not been ready for, but now it is time.”

Chitauri looked at each other, confused by what this elder was saying, but he continued, “We will have our leader, he is known as Warlord, he ruthlessness and brutally made us put him into hibernation. But we always knew there would be a time where he would need to fill a role no one else can.” The elder Chitauri walked up the stone steps to the platform, the Chitauri all stared up at him.

“And I know exactly where our first war will be. The downfall of Thanos is all due to one man, the dark prince of Asgard. He was the one that failed us, he is the reason Thanos never got the infinity stones. We were promised Earth if we helped Loki.” The Chitauri cheered, captivated by his speech.

“We will kill Loki and destroy Earth, to avenge our leader and bring honor back to our species.”