#this was a journey for me... thank you sincerely to everyone who's joined me for the ride 😭

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [5/5]

we made it!!! part 5/5 + a mini epilogue (5.6k words) at long last 🥹 (aka the installment in which i remember that h/c has a c in it in addition to the h, haha.) [part 1] is here!

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

The world comes back to him in pieces—first the wooden panels of the ceiling, the sloped wooden beams. The coldness of the room, the slight, monotonous whir of the air circulating through one of the vents overhead.

He’s leaned up against the wall, seated on the floor in the hallway, and Vincent is kneeling beside him, his eyebrows furrowed.

It takes him a moment to realize where he is. He had been about to head back to the courtyard, hadn’t he? He doesn’t have much memory of anything that happened after, but judging by Vincent’s reaction, he thinks he can probably guess.

“Hi,” Yves says, for lack of a better thing to say. 

He watches a complicated set of expressions flicker through Vincent’s face—relief, first, before it turns to something distinctly less neutral.

“You’re awake,” Vincent says. He turns away, for a moment. Yves notes the clench of his jaw, the tightness of his grip—his fingers white around Yves’s sleeve.

“Was I out for long?”

“A couple minutes.”

Yves wants to say something. He should say something. Anything to lighten the tension, anything to get the point across that this is all just an unlucky miscalculation, on his part. It really isn’t something Vincent should have to be worried about. 

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” he starts. Really, what he means is, I’m sorry for making you worry about me. “I promise I’mb fine.”

The look on Vincent’s face, then, is something that Yves hasn’t seen before. 

“Why do you have to—” he starts, frustration rising in his voice. He sighs, his jaw set. “I don’t understand why you—” He drops his hand from Yves’s sleeve, and it’s then when Yves notices the stiffness to his shoulders, the tension in his posture. He runs a hand through his hair, lets out another short, exasperated breath. “You’re not fine.” 

It’s strange, Yves thinks, to see him like this—Vincent, who usually never wears his emotions on his face, looks clearly displeased, now. 

“Hey,” Yves says, softly. He reaches out to take Vincent’s hand. Vincent goes very still with the contact, but he doesn’t say anything. “I—”

Fuck. His body seems to always pick the worst time for unwanted interjections. He wrenches his hand away just in time to smother a sneeze into his sleeve, though it’s forceful enough to leave him slightly lightheaded. 

“Stay here,” Vincent says, getting to his feet. “Lay down if you get dizzy again.”

Yves blinks. “Where are you going?”

“To tell the others that we’re leaving.”

Yves wants to protest. Dinner is already halfway over. It’s not as if the festivities are particularly strenuous. They’ll probably move inside after dinner, where it’s warmer.

But he thinks better of it. Judging by how exhausted he still feels, how much his head aches, it probably wouldn’t be wise to push it. 

“Don’t tell them about this,” he says.

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“Aimee is going to worry if she finds out,” Yves says, dropping his head to his knees. He doesn’t want to look at Vincent, doesn’t want to know what expression is on his face. “Just—let them have this night. It’s—supposed to be perfect.” I really wanted it to be perfect, he almost adds. There’s a strange tightness to his throat as he says it, a strange heaviness to his chest.

He knows what it means. If, after he’s tried so hard to do his part, their evening still ends up ruined on his own accord, he’s not sure if he could live with himself after.

For a moment, Vincent doesn’t say anything at all.

“Okay,” he says, at last. “Just stay here.”

And then he heads down the hallway. The door at the end of the reception hall swings shut behind him. Yves thinks he should be relieved, but he finds that he doesn’t feel much other than exhausted.

—

The ride home on the shuttle is silent. Vincent sits next to him, even though all of the other seats are empty. Yves thinks the proximity is probably inadvisable. He opens his mouth to say as much, and then shuts it.

Vincent sits and stares straight ahead, his posture stiff, and doesn’t say anything for the entirety of the ride. It’s strange. Yves is no stranger to silence—Vincent is, after all, a coworker, and Yves has endured more than a few quiet elevator rides and quiet team lunches at the office, but it’s strange because it’s Vincent.

Vincent, who usually takes care to make conversation with him, whenever it’s just the two of them. Vincent, who stayed up through the lull of antihistamines a couple months ago to talk to Yves, until Yves had given him explicit permission to go to sleep.

Yves tries not to think about it. Through the haze of his fever, everything feels unusually bright—the interior of the shuttle, with its leather seats and metal handrails.

The shuttle stops just outside the main entrance to their hotel. Just before he gets to the doors, he stumbles. Vincent’s hand shoots out, instinctively, to steady him.

“Sorry,” Yves says, a little sheepishly. It’s not that he’s dizzy. The roads are just uneven, and it’s dark. “I can walk.”

But Vincent doesn’t let go—not for the entirety of the walk through the cool, air-conditioned lobby, through the hallways to the hotel elevators. Not when the elevator stops at their floor, not when they pass by the grid of wooden doors leading up to their room. 

Before Yves can manage to reach for his keycard, Vincent has already swiped them in, scarily efficient. He slides the card back into his pocket, pushes the door open. 

“Thadks for walking me back,” Yves says. “Sorry you couldn’t stay longer. You mbust’ve been halfway through dinner.”

“I already finished eating,” Vincent says.

“Even dessert?” Yves says. “I think Aimee got everyone creme brulee from one of the local bakeries. I was excited to try it. Maybe Leon can save us some.” he muffles a yawn into his hand. It’s too early to be sleeping, but his pull out bed looks very inviting right now.

“Take the bed,” Vincent says.

Yves blinks at him. “What?”

“The bed’s warmer.”

There’s absolutely no way he’s going to let Vincent take the pull-out bed in his place, Yves thinks blearily. He’s spent the past couple nights muffling sneezes into the covers—if there’s anything he’s certain of, it’s that he really, really doesn’t want Vincent to catch this.

“I dod’t think we should switch,” he says, sniffling. “I’ve been sleeping here ever sidce I started coming down with this. I’mb— hHeh-!” He veers away, raising an elbow to his face. “hh—HHEh’IIDZschH’-iEEW! Ugh, I’mb pretty sure I contaminated it.”

“We can both take the bed, if you’d prefer,” Vincent says. As if it’s that simple.

Yves opens his mouth to protest—is Vincent really okay with sharing a bed with him?—but then he thinks about Vincent finding him in the hallway—the stricken expression on his face, then, his eyes wide, his jaw clenched—and thinks better of himself. 

Instead, he lets Vincent lead him to the bedroom. The bed is neatly made—the covers drawn, the pillows propped up against the headboard.

“Lay down,” Vincent says, pushing lightly down on his shoulders. Yves sits. He peels off his suit jacket, folds it, and sets it aside on the nightstand.

“Hey, I kdow that was sudden,” he says, in reference to earlier. “I’mb sorry you had to witness it. I… probably shouldn’t have pushed it.”

Vincent says nothing, to that.

Yves lays down, shuts his eyes. “You didn’t have to accompady me home, you know.”

Silence. He exhales, burrowing deeper into the covers. “It’s not as bad as it looks, seriously.”

He opens his mouth to say more. He has to say something, he thinks, to convince Vincent that it’s really not that big of a deal. Anything, to assuage that look on Vincent’s face.

But he’s so tired. He can feel the exhaustion now that he’s finally let himself lay down. The bed is traitorously comfortable, with its soft feather pillows and its fluffy layers of blankets, and Vincent was right—it really is warmer.

He feels the press of a hand on his forehead, feels the cold, unyielding pressure. Feels gentle, calloused fingers brush the hair out of his face.

“Sleep,” Vincent says, firmly. 

And Yves—

Yves, already half gone, is powerless, when Vincent says it like that.

—

When he wakes, it’s just barely bright outside. He takes it in—the first few rays of sunlight, streaking through the curtains. The bed, a little more well-cushioned than the pullout bed he’d spent the past few nights on—higher up and decisively sturdier. He blinks.

Beside him, seated on a chair he recognizes as belonging to the desk at the opposite end of the room, is Vincent.

Vincent, awake. Yves isn’t sure if he’s slept at all. He certainly doesn’t look tired, at first glance, but closer inspection reveals a little more. It’s evident in the way he holds his shoulders, stiff, and perhaps a little tired, as if there’s been tension sitting in them all night. 

He’s reading a book. Whether he bought it at the convenience store downstairs, or on one of the other days when Yves was busy running errands for the wedding and Vincent was elsewhere, or whether it’d been sitting in his suitcase since the start of the vacation, Yves doesn’t know.

“How’s the book?” Yves says.

His throat is dry, he realizes, for the way it makes him cough, afterwards. Vincent’s eyes meet his, unerringly. He shuts the book, sets it down on the bedside table.

“It’s a little boring,” Vincent says. “How’s the fever?”

Before Yves can answer, Vincent leans forward and presses the back of his hand to Yves’s forehead. His touch is unerringly gentle, and Yves allows himself to look. 

Vincent’s eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, and Yves wonders, suddenly, if he’s been this worried for awhile, now. If he’s been this worried ever since he’d walked them both back into the hotel room last night.

“I’m fine,” Yves says. 

It has the opposite effect he intends it to.

Vincent’s expression shutters. “The last time you said that, you passed out in front of me,” he says, withdrawing his hand with a frown. “So forgive me if I don’t entirely believe you.”

Yves sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. It’s a fair point. “I’m usually more reliable whed it comes to these things.”

“What things?”

“Kdowing my limits.”

Vincent says, “I think you knew your limits. I think you just didn’t want to honor them, because you decided the wedding took precedence.”

He’s… frustrated, Yves realizes. Still. He’s sure he can guess why. Their fake relationship does not extend to Vincent having to look after him, to Vincent having to drop everything in the middle of a wedding, of all things, to take him home. To Vincent having to worry about all this—the fever Yves knows he has, now, and the bed he’s currently taking up—on top of everything else. As if being in a foreign country, surrounded by people he knows almost exclusively through Yves, who, for the most part, converse in a language he barely speaks, wasn’t already enough work on its own.

And Yves gets it. He hadn’t wanted this to happen, either. He’d told himself that if this—this pretend relationship, this pretense—is contingent upon both of them playing their part, the least he can do is be self-sufficient outside of it.

But now—because Vincent is here with him, and because they share a hotel room—all of this is now Vincent’s problem, too, by extension.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks.

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly, as if the answer is evident. 

“You gave up your bed just for me to steal it,” Yves says, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s really comfortable, and all, but I’mb pretty sure they make these kinds of beds for two.”

“Is that a proposition?” Vincent says.

“Maybe.” Yves thinks it through. “Realistically, probably ndot, until I have a chance to shower.” He’s still dressed in his dress shirt and slacks from yesterday, a little embarrassingly—he should probably get changed. “Speaking of which, I should do that soon, so you don’t feel the need to stay up all night reading—” Yves leans forward, squints at the book cover on the nightstand. “—Hemingway? Somehow, I didn’t expect you to be the type.”

“I’m not,” Vincent says. “Victoire lent it to me.”

“Oh,” Yves says, trying to think of when Vincent would’ve had time to ask her for a recommendation. “Yeah. She’s—” He twists aside, ducking into his elbow. “hHEH’IIDzschh-EEW! snf-! She’s quite the literary reader. Is it really that boring?”

“I can see why people think the transparency of his prose is appealing,” Vincent says. “But I’m fifty pages in, and nothing has happened.”

“Isd’t that the sort of thing Hemingway can get away with, since he’s straightforward about it?”

“In a short story, maybe,” Vincent says. Then: “You are trying to make me feel better.”

Ah.

Yves laughs. “Where in the world did you get that idea?”

Vincent just sighs. “I would be exceptionally unobservant not to notice when I’ve seen you do the same thing all this week.”

“What?”

“Telling people that you’re fine,” Vincent says. “And distracting them when they don’t believe you.”

Yves doesn’t think that’s entirely accurate. It’s not like he was trying to be dishonest. It’s just that it was never the most important thing to address.

“Distracting is a bit disingenuous.”

“I don’t get it,” Vincent says, with a frown. “You’re so insistent on putting yourself last, even when you were obviously—” He sighs. There it is—that expression again, the one that makes itself evident through the furrowed eyebrows, the tense set of his jaw—frustration, and maybe something else. “You’re surrounded by people who care about you, so why not just—”

“There are plenty of things more important than how I’mb feeling,” Yves says.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

But of course it is, Yves thinks. A wedding is a once in a lifetime occurrence. An illness is nothing, in the face of that.

“I promised I’d be there,” he says, because when it really comes down to it, it’s true. He had no intention of going back on his word. “I didn’t want to be the one to let them down. Is that so hard to believe?” He reaches up with a hand to massage his temples. His head aches, even though he’s slept for long enough that he feels like it ought to feel a little better, by now. “It’s already bad enough that I had to drag you into this.” 

“You didn’t drag me into this,” Vincent says. “I came on my own volition.”

Yves tries a laugh, but it’s humorless. “I made you leave halfway through the wedding dinner.”

“I’d already finished eating.”

“Ndot to mention, you practically had to carry me upstairs.”

“Because you’re ill.”

“That’s no excuse.” Yves wants to say more, but he finds himself beholden to a tickle in the back of his throat—irritatingly present, until he concedes to it by ducking into his elbow to cough, and cough.

When he looks up, blinking tears out of his vision, Vincent isn’t looking at him.

“You should get some rest,” he says, simply.

Yves can tell—just by the way he says it—that there is no argument to him, anymore. Just like that, Vincent is back to being closed off—poised and perfectly, infuriatingly unreadable, just like he is at work, his face so carefully a mask of indifference, even in the most stressful presentations, the most frustrating disagreements. Yves wants none of it.

 “Hey,” he says. A part of him itches to crack a joke, to change the subject—anything to take away this air of seriousness. A part of him wants to reach out, again—to take Vincent’s hand, entwine their fingers; to reassure him, again, that he’s really fine.

“I’m sorry,” he says, instead. Maybe it’s the fever that loosens his tongue. Maybe it’s just a combination of everything.

He can feel Vincent’s eyes on him, still. Vincent has always held a sort of intensity to him, a quiet sort of perceptiveness. “I’m not sure I follow,” Vincent says.

“This visit was supposed to be fun for you,” he says. “And now you’re here, stuck in the hotel room because of me, even though today was supposed to be for sightseeing.”

It doesn’t feel like enough. What can he say to make it enough? There’s a strange ache in his chest, a strange, crushing pressure. Yves is horrified to find his eyes stinging. He’s held it together for so long, he thinks. Why now? Why, when Vincent is right here?

But a part of him knows, too. Of course traveling to a different country would be more involved than going to a party, or spending an evening at a stranger’s house. But there was a time when he thought this could really just be a fun excursion for the both of them—half a week in his family’s home country, with someone who he thoroughly enjoys spending time with. 

And now, because of this untimely illness—or because of his own short-sightedness in managing it—it isn’t. He didn’t get to stay through dinner, didn’t get to wish Aimee and Genevieve a good rest of their night, like he’d planned to. He has no idea if things went smoothly in his absence. To make matters worse, Vincent is here, having endured a sleepless night, instead of anywhere else.

And really, when he thinks about it, who does have to blame for all of this, except himself?

“I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this,” he says. “So I’m sorry.” He resists the urge to swipe a hand over his eyes—surely, he thinks, that would give him away.

He turns away. It’s convenient, he thinks, that the embarrassing sniffle that follows could be attributed to something else. 

“You’ve been nothing but accommodating to me, this whole visit,” Vincent says. “If anything, I should’ve insisted that you take the bed earlier. You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

He says it with such certainty. Yves opens his mouth to protest this—or to apologize, for all the times he must’ve kept Vincent up, including but not limited to last night—but Vincent presses on.

“You spent all of yesterday morning helping everyone get ready, and when I got back, you apologized for not being around—as if the reason why you weren’t around wasn’t that you were so busy making sure everything was fine for everyone else.” Vincent pauses, takes in a slow, measured breath. Yves is surprised to hear that he sounds… distinctly angry, in a way that Yves is not used to hearing.

“And then you showed up to the rehearsal and the wedding, even though you weren’t feeling well. And you still think you have something to apologize for? Are you even hearing yourself?” Yves hears the creak of the chair as he stands, the sound of quiet footsteps. Feels the dip of the bed as Vincent takes a seat at the edge of it. 

“You know, after you left the dinner table, Genevieve was talking about how much she liked your speech? Do you know that yesterday morning, Solaine told me how grateful she was that you helped her with fixing her dress? Do you know that when I got lunch with Leon and Victoire, they told me how much time you spent preparing for everything—the speech, and the wedding, both?”

Oh. Yves hadn’t known any of those things, and he knows Vincent isn’t the kind of person who would lie about this sort of thing.

“I don’t get it,” Vincent says, sounding distinctly pained to say it. “How could you possibly think that you haven’t done enough?”

Yves finds himself taken aback—by the frustration in his voice, by the fact that Vincent has noticed these things in the first place, by the fact that he’s deemed them important enough to take stock of. He makes it sound so simple. 

“I don’t know,” Yves says, at last. He shuts his eyes. “If it was enough.”

“I’m telling you that it was,” Vincent says.

But Yves knows that he could have done more, if the circumstances were different. If he hadn’t been so out of it during the wedding. If he’d taken the necessary precautions to avoid coming down with this in the first place. If he’d been able to stay through dinner, at least; if he hadn’t needed Vincent to accompany him home. 

“You don’t believe me,” Vincent says, with a sigh.

Yves doesn’t say anything, to that.

“I can’t speak for anyone else,” Vincent says. There’s the slight rustling of the covers as he shifts, rearranging one of the pillows at the headboard. “But I had fun.”

Yves’s heart twists.

It’s sweet, unexpectedly. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better,” Yves says.

“When have I ever said anything just to make you feel better?” Vincent says, with a short laugh. When Yves chances a look at him, he’s smiling down at himself. “I mean it. Meeting your family has been a lot of fun. It’s not often that I get the chance to be a part of something like this.”

Whether he’s referring to France, or the wedding and the festivities, or being surrounded by Yves’s large extended family, Yves isn’t sure. But if Vincent is trying to cheer him up, it’s working.

“I can see why you like France so much,” he says, turning his gaze out the window, though the view outside is filtered through the semi-translucent curtains. “It’s beautiful.”

“Today was supposed to be the last day for sightseeing,” Yves says, a little regretful. “But you’re stuck here.”

“In a sunny, luxurious hotel room, with a view of the pool and the garden?” Vincent says, with a scoff. “I could think of worse places to be.”

Staying up all night, just to check up on Yves, more accurately. Vincent must be tired, too—yesterday was already tiring enough. And now it’s morning already, and he hasn’t gotten any sleep. 

“Reading Hemingway,” Yves adds.

Vincent looks a little surprised. Then he laughs. “Yes. I guess you’re right. Perhaps it’s an agonizing experience after all.”

The yawn he stifles into his hand, after that isn’t half as subtle as he tries to make it.

Yves feels his eyebrows creep up. “Are you sure you don’t want to get some sleep? There’s plenty of room.” He scoots a little closer to the edge of the bed, just to make a point.

Vincent peers down at the space beside him, a little hesitant. “At 10am?”

“It’d be, what, 4am, back in Eastern time?” Yves says. “By Ndew York standards, you’re supposed to already be asleep.”

“That’s not how it works,” Vincent says, but he dutifully moves a little closer to Yves anyways. He’s changed out of yesterday’s wedding attire, more sensibly, but now he’s wearing a knitted cardigan which Yves thinks looks unfairly, terribly good on him. Yves finds himself marveling at the unfairness of it all. How can someone look so good wearing something so casual?

Vincent smells good, up close. When he lays down next to Yves, pulling the covers gingerly over himself—leaving a careful amount of room between them, but still dangerously, intoxicatingly close—Yves feels his breath catch in his throat.

Vincent is right there, less than an arm’s length away from him, closer than he’s ever been, and Yves—Yves is—

“See,” Yves says, as evenly as he can manage to, in his current state, as if his heart isn’t practically beating out of his chest. He swallows. His throat feels dry. “This bed definitely fits two.”

“I suppose it does,” Vincent says. “Now you can tell me if I’m a terrible person to share a bed with.”

“After everything I’ve put you through,” Yves says, “I think I’d honestly feel reassured if you were.”

Vincent smiles, again, as if he finds this humorous. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine?”

“Positive,” Yves says. “You should sleep. I’ll wake you if I ndeed anything.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Vincent shuts his eyes.

It’s not long before his breathing evens out, not long before he goes perfectly still. He must really be tired, Yves thinks, with a pang.

Yves, for some reason, finds that he can’t get to sleep. He stares up at the ceiling for what feels like minutes on end, shuts his eyes, all to no avail. Maybe it’s because he’s already slept far more than his usual share. Maybe it’s the jetlag. Maybe it’s merely Vincent’s unusual presence—the strangeness of having him so close, in an environment so intimate.

But when he allows himself to look, he sees—

Vincent, his eyes shut, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. From the window, the filtered light gleams unevenly across the crown of dark hair on his head. There’s almost no movement to him at all, aside from the even rise and fall of his shoulders.

And Yves knows what the feeling in his chest is. He’s regrettably, intimately familiar with it.

He just isn’t sure he likes what it means.

—

Vincent—despite falling asleep so quickly—is up before him. When Yves wakes, next, it’s to a hand to his forehead.

“Hey,” Vincent is saying, softly. “Yves. You have a visitor.”

Yves opens his eyes.

He’s feeling—a little better, remarkably. Still feverish, still a little unsteady, but leagues better as compared to yesterday. When he looks over, he sees—

He doesn’t jolt upright, but it’s a close thing. “Aimee!”

He barely has a chance to ask before she’s crashing into him, encircling him in a tight hug. “Yves!” she exclaims, pulling back from him. “How are you feeling? Oh my gosh, when I heard you left early because you were unwell, I was so worried…”

Yves grimaces, turning away. “Sorry, I had every idtention of staying until the end—”

“You came all the way out with the flu!” she says. “I honestly can’t believe you. The fact that you still took the trouble to attend with a fever—”

“It—” Yves starts, but he finds himself twisting away, lifting an arm to his face. “hhEH-! HEEhD’TTSCHH-iiiEEw! Snf-! It’s fide, snf-! I’mb practically recovered already.”

“I should’ve told you not to push yourself when you told me you were coming down with something,” Aimee says, shaking her head. “And you stayed and gave such a lovely speech, even though you weren’t feeling well? When I was talking to Victoire after, she mentioned that you’ve been sick for days and Genevieve—you should’ve said something.”

“I’ll say somethidg next time,” Yves says, a little sheepishly. “Did the wedding go okay?”

Aimee visibly brightens, at this. “It was more than okay,” she says, her eyes gleaming. “It blew every expectation that I had out of the water.”

Aimee fills him in on everything that happened after he left, last night—dessert, the first dance, the cake-cutting; her favorites out of the photos they’d taken after the ceremony (a shot of Genevieve braiding her hair during the cocktail hour; a shot of them leaning in close, for the dance, tired but smiling; a shot of the cake with its multiple tiers, the frosting strung like banners across it; another where both of them are holding onto the cutting knife together and Genevieve looks like she is trying not to laugh; a shot of the bouquet toss, the flowers suspended in mid-air). She tells him about the conversations she and Genevieve had with others about marriage and their futures and their plans for their honeymoon.

Then she lectures him on how he should worry about his health first, next time. She tells him, in no uncertain terms, that she’s fully prepared to give him a piece of her mind the next time he tries to pull something like this. She insists that his health is more important than anything. Vincent stands off to the side the entire time, his arms crossed, passively listening in, but when Yves looks over helplessly, mid-lecture, he definitely looks a little smug. 

All in all, she doesn’t seem disappointed in him at all. And, more importantly, she seems happy. Yves finds himself relieved, at this.

Genevieve stops by, too, a little later, to thank him for the advice he’d given her the day before the wedding. She hugs him too, and she leaves him a bag of tea that she promises “is practically a cure to anything—I hope it makes your flight home tomorrow a little more tolerable.” Victoire stops by, with Leon, and Yves resigns himself to more lecturing from the both of them. It’s humbling, a little, to be lectured by his younger sister and his younger brother, though he concedes that perhaps this time, it might be at least partially warranted.

Then Leon opens their hotel fridge to show him the two creme brulees he and Vincent had missed out on, packaged nicely in small paper containers. (“Vincent told me you were interested in these,” he says, and Yves finds himself slightly mortified—but perhaps also a little endeared—that whatever it was that he’d said last night, offhandedly, Vincent had deemed it important enough to text Leon about.)

Later, after Yves showers and gets changed—when he and Vincent eat the creme brulees at the table in the living room, and Vincent tells him that he’s finished the book, perhaps a little masochistically (“it doesn’t get any better,” he says, sounding a little spiteful)—Yves finds himself smiling.

He’s happy, he realizes, despite everything that’s happened. Even with the slight headache, and the lingering congestion, the fever that hasn’t quite gone away entirely. The revelation comes as a surprise to him, at first. But when he thinks about the people he’s surrounded with, he thinks perhaps it isn’t all that surprising.

—

EPILOGUE

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Vincent asks.

“Yes,” Yves says. It’s not a lie.

This time, he’s seated right next to the window, and Vincent is in the middle seat. Yves had offered to take the middle seat instead, but Vincent had insisted(“If you wanted to sleep, you could lean against the window,” he’d said, and Yves had accepted only because it would be better to fall asleep against the window than do something embarrassing, like fall asleep on Vincent’s shoulder).

“It’s just the annoyidg residual symptoms, now,” he says. “I—”

God. He always has the worst timing. He veers away, muffling a tightly contained sneeze into his shoulder.

“hHEH-’IIDDZschH-yyEW! Snf-! I’mb — hHhEHh’DjjsSHH-iEW! Ugh, I’m fine. I feel better thad I sound.”

“Bless you,” Vincent says, leaning over to press his hand against Yves’s forehead. “No fever,” he says. “That’s good. But you should take another day off when we get back.”

Yves doesn’t think taking another day off is necessary. “I spedt the entirety of yesterday sleeping,” he says. “I think I’ve rested enough.”

Vincent just raises an eyebrow at him. “Need I remind you that someone very wise told you to take it easy?”

“Since when has Aimee been your spokesperson?”

“She made a lot of good points,” Vincent says, deceptively unassuming. “I think you should consider taking notes.”

Yves looks at him for a moment. “You’re laughing at me.”

This time, Vincent smiles. “Maybe.”

Yves leans back in his seat, reaching up with one hand to massage his temples. The changing cabin pressure is not exactly comfortable—his head still hurts a little, but he’s flown enough times to know that it won’t be as much of a problem once they finish their ascent. 

“Thadks again for coming,” he says, unwrapping one of the small, packaged pillows the airline has left on their seats. 

“You invited me,” Vincent says, blinking. “All I did was show up.”

But that isn’t true at all, Yves thinks. Vincent is the one who spent time learning basic French, who met Yves’s family and who spoke with everyone with genuine interest, who bought Yves medicine and water, all while being careful to not be overbearing. Vincent is the one who left the wedding early to walk Yves back to the hotel, who stayed with him the entire day afterwards.

“That’s such a huge understatement I don’t even kdow where to get started,” Yves says. “Thanks for meetidg my family—they love you, by the way. They’re going to be askidg about you every summer from now on, I just know it.”

He can already picture it—June, this year, after busy season is over, if their fake relationship lasts that long. Another flight where they’re next to each other. Another dozen conversations about how they’d met, about what it’s like dating a coworker, about what their plans for the future are.

Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. This was never meant to be a long-term arrangement in the first place. But something about this—about being here with Vincent—just feels so unthinkingly easy.

“It’s no problem,” Vincent says. “The feeling is mutual. I’m glad I got to meet them.”

“Thanks for looking after me, too,” Yves says, with another apologetic smile. “I’mb sure being stuck in a hotel room all day wasn’t how you were planning on spending your last day of vacation.”

“I don’t mind,” Vincent says, sounding strangely like he means it. “I like spending time with you.”

Yves nearly drops the pillow he’s holding. 

When he looks back at Vincent, Vincent looks faintly amused. “Is that so surprising? I think I’d be a terrible fake boyfriend if I didn’t.”

“You make a really good one, as it stands,” Yves tells him, sincerely, and Vincent smiles.

Yves looks out the window—where the city beneath them begins to resolve itself into miniature, where the sky stretches where he can see Vincent reflected faintly back at him, from the glass—and finds that he feels impossibly light.

[reixtsu]

hello! how are you? I dont know if you do multi characters, but if not, then one of these characters is alright! ^^ i like to request wanderer, tighnari, wrio, and neuvillete (separately) witnessing/dealing with nice guy who's hitting on their partner (gn! reader) and what they would do if the nice guy doesn't get the hint that the reader is taken, please. ^^ thank you and have a nice day!

Hi anon! I’m sorry that it took me a long time to respond to this request, and the fact that I’m still working on the second half is kinda bad… but your request will be fulfilled first. Please enjoy!

Wanderer, and Tighnari dealing with a nice guy hitting on their partner.

(Wriothesley and Neuvillette coming soon)

Warnings: jealous boys alert, Wanderer is a tsundere

Wanderer

It’s been far too long now -an eternity, really- of you chatting with some random student from the academy. From his spot in the distance, Wanderer watched in silence, taking slow, deliberate sips from his bitter tea. Each sip did little to ease the tight knot forming in his chest. His frown deepened as he observed the student's overly cheerful demeanor, the way his eyes lit up when you laughed at his every joke. Wanderer’s grip tightened around his cup, the edges of his irritation sharpening with each passing moment.

Wanderer continued to down his cup of tea, one after another, as if they were bottles of beer. Setting his last cup down with a jarring thud, he looked down, glaring at you with his peripheral vision.

"It's impressive that you managed to make the journey all the way from Inazuma to Sumeru, Hajime," you praised the student, your voice warm and sincere as you flashed that irresistible smile of yours. "I'm really glad you're here.”

"Me, impressive? I beg to differ."

"Why is that?"

"Well, you are very accomplished," Hajime said simply. "Helping everyone, so intelligent. You are a role-model for all." he winked at the end.

Wanderer nearly choked on his own spit, his breath catching in his throat. How on earth were you tolerating this man—and giving him compliments, no less? (And why wasn’t he the one receiving them?) His mind buzzed with disbelief and irritation, the questions swirling in his head. What right did this plain, insignificant nobody have to be so close to you? He let out a shaky breath, struggling to silence the spiraling thoughts before they consumed him entirely.

"Aren't you nice," You chuckled.

"Say..." Hajime hesitated, shyly placing a hand on your shoulder. "Would you like to join me at the tavern one of these days, dear?"

Wanderer instantly shot up from his seat, his eyes narrowing into a piercing glare directed at Hajime. How could he? Had he completely lost his mind? The audacity! Wasn’t it blatantly obvious that you were spoken for? His disbelief simmered into a potent mix of anger and possessiveness, the intensity of his emotions threatening to boil over.

You smiled awkwardly, not too sure how to approach the situation. "Um, I'm sorry."

"I know you have a partner, but I heard that he is very rude. Let me treat you for a day."

You chuckled, sweating a bit as you stepped away. "Oh, uh... He's really nice to me though, so there's no need to worry."

Hajime's eyes softened. "There's no need to lie. If a guy is toxic, why stay with him?"

“Hands off,” came a gruff voice, as Wanderer seemed to materialize out of thin air, his presence sudden and imposing. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he leveled a glare of pure disdain at Hajime, as if he were nothing more than an irritating pest. And in Wanderer’s eyes, that’s exactly what he was.

Hajime raised an eyebrow at him, curious as to why he was acting so protective of you. "And you are...?"

"Their partner, obviously," Wanderer spat, his voice laced with venom as he roughly seized your hand, gripping it with a possessiveness that bordered on harshness, as if you were a dog being yanked by its leash. Hajime frowned at the scene, his expression hardening as he crossed his own arms, clearly displeased by Wanderer's aggressive display.

"You're the one who is rude to them, no? Even after all of what they've done for you."

“Don’t talk like you’ve known them their whole life,” Wanderer sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. “Those are just baseless rumors, idiot. You’d have to be a fool to believe any of that.” Hajime’s eyes flashed with irritation, as if the mere suggestion was an insult to his intelligence.

You nodded, leaning your head on Wanderer's shoulder. "Yeah. Besides, Wanderer here is like a black cat. Sure, he's rude, but he actually is really sweet." You kissed his temple for emphasis."

Hajime frowned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish struggling to find the right words, clearly wanting to protest but ultimately deciding against it. With a reluctant sigh, he offered a small, respectful bow before turning away, choosing to leave without uttering another word.

Wanderer let out a relieved sigh, one that was barely audible. "Finally. That pest was getting on my nerves."

You smirked, feeling Wanderer's grip on your arm . You watched as he looked away, a small pout forming on his perfect lips. "Why were you so interested in him anyways? He was a nobody.

In your mind you translated that to 'why were you being sweet to him and not me?'. You smiled, leaning forwards to kiss his forehead. "I was just hearing his stories of his journey here. That's all."

All you heard was a small hmph. "Whatever," huffed, lowering his hat down with his hand. "Let's just go home now."

"Does my baby want cuddles?"

"You goober, I hate cuddles!!”

Tighnari

You and Tighnari were busy gathering flowers for the upcoming banquet in honor of your friend when you encountered a fellow forest ranger. He was tall, friendly, and exuded a natural charm that seemed to radiate from him effortlessly. As you engaged in conversation, everything seemed pleasant—light-hearted jokes and genuine compliments flowed easily. However, the atmosphere took a sudden turn, escalating into a situation that Tighnari could only describe as disgraceful.

"You've actually seen an aranara? That's so cool!" The random guy said, impressed.

"It's not a big deal, really," you said with a touch of humility, though you couldn’t ignore the enthusiastic reaction you’d provoked. With a polite smile, you continued, "By the way, what’s your name, sir?”

"Ah, the name's Arash, but you can call me yours," He winked. "What's your name, lovely?"

Tighnari visibly cringed, his ear twitching and his tail flicking in irritation. He watched with growing dismay as you smiled at the ranger, chuckling at his so-called 'funny' behavior.

"Y/n," You said, extending your hand in the graceful way you always do. "A pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," Arash extended his hand, attempting to shake yours before a hand got in between.

Tighnari had his eyes closed, his ears twitching in annoyance as he wore an irritated smile. "If I may interrupt, my dear here is already taken."

Arash's eyes widened, surprised. "Really? By whom?"

"Me," Tighnari said, his voice firm as he wrapped his tail possessively around your legs. "So enough with the flirting. We were in the middle of picking flowers, so if you have nothing else to do, you may leave." He offered a tight smile, clearly signaling for Arash to go.

Arash looked at Tighnari, at you, then back to Tighnari. "Right. I apologize. Have a nice day." He bowed his head and waved, turning around to leave.

Tighnari let out a sharp breath through his nostrils, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. "When someone starts flirting with you, you should tell them to stop! You're already taken," he said, his tone stern and unyielding.

You chuckled, bringing your hand up to scratch his soft hair. "Ha! Sorry, I just found him interesting."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly displeased by the response. "Excuse me?" he said, his tone sharp.

"Not as interesting as you, of course," You scratched his ear lovingly.

Tighnari, of course, leaned into your touch, a sense of relief starting to wash over him as he subconsciously began to relax.

"...Let's continue picking flowers, shall we?”

[writing-for-marvel]

Day 31: Breeding Kink

Mob!Bucky's Kinktober Honeymoon

Mob!Bucky Barnes × Wife!Reader

Summary: Bucky gets excited by the thought of becoming a father after your honeymoon.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, creampie, daddy kink™️, a teeny tiny bit of angst/self doubt at the start, reader potentially already being pregnant, lots of soft feelings and pure love

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: we are finally at the end of our honeymoon journey 🥹 thank you to everyone who has read any part of this series throughout the past month. I put so much love and effort into this and I sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have ❤️ dividers by me, please do not use. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

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Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Library | Ko-fi

Bucky hands you a glass of your favourite wine, sitting down beside you and placing a protective hand on your thigh.

“To the last night of our honeymoon.” He toasts simply. But he doesn’t need to add anything else - all other praises, different forms of ‘I love you’, and terms of endearment have already been declared to you during the past four weeks.

You didn’t think it was possible, but after the last month, you feel even more loved by Bucky than ever before.

“And to every night of the rest of our lives.” You add before clinking your glass against his. He swirls the liquid around the glass, sniffing the rich scent before taking a substantial sip. Instead, you specifically chose to place your glass down without tasting the wine.

“Who are you and what have you done with my wife?” He chuckles in that way where you can’t help but smile at the sound. “No wine tonight? Do you want something else?”

You shake your head playfully, the news you need to disclose dry on the tip of your tongue, but the sparkling adoration in Bucky’s eyes is what gives you the surge of courage to speak the words aloud.

“I’m late.” You announce and you can see the realisation play out in Bucky’s eyes as to the implication of what you’ve just disclosed. “It’s only a few days, it could be anything really - the stress of the wedding, the travel… but it’s probably best to be cautious considering how many times you’ve cum in me over the last month.”

“You think you’re pregnant?” His voice sounds breathless and his strong jaw hangs open, as if in pure shock.

“It’s a possibility...” You trail off, unsure if his reaction is due to certifiable happiness or complete dread. Fear sinks in your stomach like lead - he’s the king of a mafia empire, danger lurks around every corner, and has a long list of enemies who would want nothing more than to murder his entire family in cold blood for revenge.

How could you be so stupid to believe he’d be enthusiastic about bringing a child into that environment?

“Did you not want to be a dad?” Your voice comes out weak, almost trembling, and you can see the concern rise in Bucky’s eyes in the time it takes you to blink. His hands cup your face, tender and loving, as he rests his forehead against yours and looks at you like you’re the only thing that exists in his entire universe.

“You are the love of my life, and there is nothing I want more than for us to create a life from that love. The thought of having a little one who is half me, half the woman I love most in the world… that joy is indescribable.”

Bucky once told you that he could not bear to be the source of your pain, that for him hurting you was akin to torturing himself. He has that same wounded look in his eye right now, as if the mere thought of you fretting about his reaction makes his heart crumble into a thousand pieces.

You kiss him this time, as if you are struggling to breathe and his lips are the only source of oxygen, a desperation to convey he will always be the life force that sustains your existence.

With his strapping hands grabbing into your hips, Bucky lifts you from the couch and walks you backwards towards your bedroom expertly while his tongue dances with yours.

In a haze of passion and lust, Bucky strips the clothes off your body, lips following the soft touch of his hands as garnets get tossed around the room. As the air caresses your bare skin, he gently pulls you closer, eyes roaming your body with a fierce thirst that somehow outshines his usual desire at seeing you naked for him.

Your head is almost dizzy from his intoxicating kiss by the time you’re bare for him and he’s laying you gently on the bed, his lips trailing patterns over your stomach as he whispers words of devotion against your soft skin. He doesn’t need to speak them any louder, his whole world is encapsulated in the person laid unclothed and dripping before him.

Rubbing his bulbous tip on your clit, Bucky slowly pushes inside you and then pulls out, slapping your clit again, performing the action over and over until the needy ache between your thighs is almost unbearable. Jolts of pleasure fire up your spine and wet arousal streams out of you as you arch your back and cup both of your breasts, fingers flicking over your hardening nipples.

“Daddy, please.” The name slips from your lips before you have the time or mental consciousness to stop it, but Bucky simply smirks in response, satisfied with just how desperate you are for him, and only him.

“Daddy’s going to give you everything darling, just lay back and relax.” He teasingly draws figure eights with the tip of his dick against your clit, capturing your pert nipple in mouth, tongue circling your tender areola, the combination of his stimulation forging a ardent whine from the back of your throat.

Then, without any notice, Bucky pushes himself into you slowly, lovingly.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so tight. You were made for me, just for me.” He growls in your ear when he’s finally fully sheathed within you.

You let your hands drift over the contours of Bucky’s muscular back, drawing him even closer against you as he buries his face in your neck as his hips begin rocking into yours. Having him hold your upper body with such gentleness all the while having his hips rail you into the mattress feels both exquisitely intimate and downright pornographic.

You’re unsure how Bucky manages to be both concurrently, but he always finds a way.

“Sounds like that feels so fucking good for you, baby. Fucking squelching for daddy.” He’s not wrong, the salacious squelch of your walls fills the room along with your lustful moans with every unrelenting, impaling thrust of his cock.

His pelvis rhythmically meets your ass as he lifts your hips, taking you by surprise and pushing your legs back into your body, testing the bounds of your flexibility. From this angle he can’t help but graze your spongy g-spot with each thrust, over and over and over again. You cry out in pleasure, too overwhelmed by the sensations undulating within you, one moment it’s all too much, the next not enough, to realise your fingernails are digging sharply into Bucky’s biceps.

At this point in your relationship Bucky knows your body better than you do, before you have time to recognise that you’re right at the precipice of a fast approaching orgasm, his nimble fingers locate your throbbing clit, massaging the bundle of nerves in that way that makes a wanton sob bubble up in your throat.

“Look at me baby - keep your eyes on daddy when he makes you cum.” Those dazzling steel blue eyes are your downfall, those same sparkling eyes which have always regarded you with an unparalleled desire and reverence, even from the very first time you met. Those beautifully unique eyes you have memorised the patterns of, committed to memory where each fleck of gold resides and how they seem to shine brighter when you’re the object of his gaze. Those same sincere eyes that filled with tears as he watched you say ‘I do’ and feasted on your body in your white wedding gown until he zipped it off you on your wedding night.

Your high hits you with a magnitude that shakes your entire body, eyes rolling back and has your toes curling. The rest of the world crumbles around you, the only thing your brain can comprehend in this life shattering moment is that Bucky is mercilessly pounding into you, pushing you through a climax that feels like a million shooting stars all exploding at once.

Bucky stills as you tremble around him, coming down from your high with sweat on your brow and a dazed look in your eyes that he can’t seem to get enough of.

His kiss is soft and sweet, but completely life ruining all the same. It takes you back to the first kiss you ever shared, how much outpouring of love you felt when his lips touched yours and you knew for certain you wouldn’t kiss anyone but him ever again.

Bucky’s hips start moving again, slowly at first, building a sensual rhythm of deep strokes which has you biting into his shoulder to prevent yourself from moaning obscenities. You can’t tell where he stops and you begin, your bodies moving together in the heat of passion, euphoria covering you both like a blanket of pure, warm sunshine.

“Gonna breed you.” He growls in your ear with that inflection in his tone where you can tell he’s just as close as you are to coming undone. “Gonna give you a baby. Our baby.”

His words satisfy some primal part of your brain that’s in control now, you swing your legs around Bucky’s waist so he stays exactly where you want him when he cums. His arms frame your head and he gazes down at you as if he’s trusting you to hold his fragile heart in the palm of your hand.

“Give it to me. Please daddy, please give me all your cum.” Your fingernails scratch down his back as Bucky’s cock grazes over the spongy spot on the inside of your walls which makes you see stars. “Put a baby in me.”

Your words only spur him on, thrusts growing sloppy, faltering slightly with a guttural groan reverberating from his chest that is the beginning of the end for you, the pebble which breaks the dam, your release flooding through you in crashing, torrential waves.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m cumming!” You announce and through his panting, Bucky lets out a satisfied hum as you walls clench down around him, triggering his own release right alongside yours. You swear you’ve ascended to heaven, floating on a cloud of pure bliss as the ecstasy of your high radiates like a rising sun within your core.

Bucky stays hovering above you as you both catch your breath, whimsical smiles tickling the sides of your mouths as you simply gaze at each other, the only thought running through your mind being how fucking lucky you are to have someone who loves you like Bucky does, someone who will always put your wants and needs before their own because ensuring your happiness is their happiness.

“Can’t let any go to waste.” Bucky comments as he pulls out of you, fingering his release back inside you so that none spills out, flicking your puffy and sensitive clit as he does so, sending jolts firing up your spine that makes you squirm.

“Well, if you weren’t pregnant before, you’re likely to be now.” Bucky chuckles lightly, his hand brushing lovingly over your stomach as he lays beside you. “And if not, then we’ll just keep trying. We are pretty good at the act of baby making.”

“We certainly are.” You turn your head and capture his swollen lips in a raw, delicate kiss that can convey more meaning than mere words can. “I can’t wait to go back home and spend the rest of our lives together, maybe with some little feet pattering on the hardwood floors too.”

You know Bucky well enough by now to recognise the genuinely content and blissful smile spreading over his features. You crave for him to look at you like this for the remainder of your life, for him to feel so full of adoration for you that he simply cannot be anything other than blissfully happy in your presence. If he loves you even half as much as you love him, you’re positive your love story will be one for the history books.

“Te iubesc [I love you].” He places a kiss to your hairline, and pulls you closer in his embrace where you always feel at home. You’ve never felt as loved and cherished as you do in this moment right here, with your darling husband who you know would go to the ends of the world to ensure you and your possible future child are safe.

“Not as much as I love you.” There’s a sparkle in his ocean coloured eyes as you say these words, a depth of devotion you could drown in.

“That’s impossible.”

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Mob!Bucky’s Kinktober Honeymoon Taglist: @tilltheendofthelinepal13 @kandis-mom @buggy14 @opheliastark @auntiegigi @alovecraft @cinnxbunny @zincxxx @cultofcarter @rose-alyssa @kaitlin013106 @wandas-gurlfri3nd @beautifulrare4leafclover @queenyamimarrero @littlerya @noobzandboobzandhooz @wanda2themax @lonelywolfheart @Kbananaclip14 @depressed-gays-of-marvel @ur--mommy @jollyfirebattrash @lauratang @casa-boiardi @raging-panda @nicoline1998enilocin @melsunshine @stinkerbelle007 @mememe7147 @happycat547 @matchat3a @Sirmeowertheruthless7 @Inlovewithficnalmen @katiemarsblog @irienanicole @buckyisveryhot @littleravengirl @whyamireadingthis @vase-of-lilies @Mrsrogers77 @saltyshluts @Wwhitewolff @buckysdogtagss @mylastnamesyuh @alexandria-fandom @andth3ywereroommates @avalongreene-09 @sargentbarnxes @keira324 @cherryschaos @missusbarnes-rogers @cherriesnwinee @Ellieangelbee @Shirayukiuzukaze @goldylions @elacinnamoon @buckysdollx @mrsmischief209 @capsbestgirl77 @its-just-smut-haha @ironmansson29 @Slutforderekhale @otome-loves-what @jacesswifey @winterslove1917 @black-mistress-of-evil @buckyscumwhore @purple-vegan

[peachesyeo]

The Maestro The Dinner

word count -2k words pairings - seventeen ot13 x fem!oc genre - mature, dark romance, cultish/yandere, mystery , crack

chapter warnings - none

author's notes - Hey darlings! Sorry for the short chapter! I just want to clarify something regarding my story. In this setting, Joshua is not a Christian. Please understand that the characters in my story are not affiliated with their real-life counterparts. Additionally, I apologize for the infrequent updates. Similar to 1117, The Maestro might be updated on a monthly basis. I'm currently studying and cannot write as quickly as I'd like. Thank you for all your support and encouragement. I'll do my best to keep writing.

thank you @sousydive for beta reading!

network: @mansaenetwork

Back to Masterlist?

Dear Residents of the Maestro,

I am writing to express my sincere gratitude for your recent letter. I am pleased to inform you that, thanks to your support, my child was born safely. Although I am no longer directly involved with the Maestro, I remain my commitment.

Yours faithfully,

Kang [REDACTED]

Dinner was fairly awkward.

Wonwoo took the empty seat next to me after carrying out the first dish. I noticed a familiar silver ring on his pinkie and furrowed my brows, trying to remember where I had seen it before. It wasn’t until Junhui passed me a napkin that I realised everyone at the table, except for me, was wearing the same silver ring.

Welcome to the family. I've been hearing this phrase a lot. Joshua, Soonyoung, and Jihoon have all said it. I don't know why, but it just feels… wrong.

“Is everyone here?” Seungcheol’s voice cut through the chattering as everyone stopped and looked at him. “Alright. Let's start.”

Joshua hummed, standing up. I looked around to see everyone else putting their hands together, their eyes closed. Hesitating, I followed their lead, putting my own palms together as I looked at Joshua.

“To his Lord,” Joshua started, his voice soft and calm. “We thank you for the meal you bestow upon us. We thank you for lighting our paths when we need it, and guiding us through the journey of suffering and pain. We thank you for allowing us to live, free of sickness and pain. Praise his Lord.”

I watched as his prayers were echoed by everyone at the table. My mouth felt dry, and I hesitated, unsure if I should join in. The words felt foreign on my tongue, and I fumbled through them softly, feeling a wave of awkwardness wash over me. When we were done, Joshua nodded at Seungcheol before sitting back down. Conversations broke out as the clinking of utensils joined the symphony of noises. I took some of the dishes for myself, digging into them quietly.

As I cautiously finished the food in front of me, I couldn't help but wish I were hiding in my room. To my left, Wonwoo sipped his cup of water quietly, while Junhui on my right stared blankly at his empty plate, absently toying with his fork. The clinking of utensils and sporadic bursts of laughter created a facade of normalcy, but I could still feel Seungcheol's intense gaze burning into me from across the table.

What's his problem? I wondered, trying to ignore the weight of his stare.

I wanted to look up and glare back at him, but something in me warned against it, a voice cautioning restraint. The feeling suddenly dissipated, and I seized the opportunity to lift my gaze. Jeonghan was engaged in conversation with Seungcheol, diverting his attention from me and sparing me from his piercing stare.

In that moment, I felt a surge of gratitude towards him, despite my earlier feelings about him. Suddenly, I heard my name being called.

A plate of pudding was pushed towards me by Chan, who winked and gave me a thumbs-up. I gratefully accepted the pudding, enjoying the sweet taste of caramel upon soft milk pudding.

As the sweetness of the pudding lingered on my tongue, someone tapped on my shoulder. I turned to see Seungkwan looking longingly at the pudding over Wonwoo's shoulder. "Is it good?"

I nodded eagerly. Seungkwan sighed, swallowing. "If only I'm not on a diet…”

“Then don't be on a diet.” Next to Seungkwan, Jihoon interjected, leaning into his palm as he stabbed his food absentmindedly with his fork. “You're not a reporter anyway.”

“Hyung, I look ridiculous in the office photos. Every time I walk past my photos I see a dying whale amongst a crowd of people.” Seungkwan touched his face, frowning. I shook my head. “You're fine, Seungkwan. I agree with Jihoon too.”

Seungkwan made a face. “I have a problem with bloating, Raeyang.” His expression was serious. “It really disrupts my image as a journalist—”

“Don't be ridiculous.” I looked up. Seungcheol was frowning at Seungkwan, while Jeonghan let out a tired sigh. “Kwan, you're fine. You can just go down to the gym tomorrow with Jihoon to do an extra rep.”

“I don't want to,” I heard Seungkwan mutter in reply. Seungcheol opened his mouth to say something, but I quickly cut across him. “You work as a journalist, Seungkwan?”

“Yeah! Oh, I haven't introduced myself formally to you, have I?” Seungkwan’s eyes lit up as he shot me a grateful look for stopping Seungcheol from nagging. “I work as a journalist for the newspaper Carat Daily.”

“Carat Daily!” I repeated, shocked. “That's one of the biggest news companies here!”

Seungkwan looked proud. “Yeah. Wonwoo hyung’s a streamer under their sub-company Campfire Streams. He's a pretty popular streamer too.”

Wonwoo waved his hand. “Nah, I'm still ranking up the charts.”

“Don't act so humble. You were gloating about it yesterday.” Beside Seungcheol, Chan snorted loudly. Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Shut up and eat your food.”

“What about you, Raeyang?” Junhui asked. I looked down at my almost-empty plate. “I'm an interior designer.”

“Woah. That sounds cool.” Seungkwan said. “What's the job scope like?”

“Just providing sketches of designs of rooms to match with my client's ideas. I normally work from home, though.”

“I wish I could work from home.” Jeonghan sighed longingly. “But I'm always needed at the studio. I'm a model, by the way.”

I'm not surprised by that. “I can see that.”

Jeonghan’s eyes glinted. “How?” He asked, leaning in. I took a bite of my food absentmindedly as I replied to him. “Well, you're really good-looki—” I stopped mid-sentence, realising what I was saying. Looking up, Jeonghan looked pleased with himself, his eyes wrinkling into crescent moons as he grinned. “Really? You think that I’m good-looking?”

I mentally face-palmed myself. “Urm… I- Yeah…” Why did I say that out loud?

“Well, Raeyang, Hannie’s going to gloat about this for a very long time.” Joshua said, noticing my embarrassment. Jeonghan rolled his eyes at him. “She’s only telling the truth. Everyone knows that I, Yoon Jeonghan, am the most good-looking resident of the Maestro.”

There was only silence for a while, before Mingyu snorted. “There’s a fine line between daydreaming and deluding, hyung, don’t cross it,” he said, earning a glare from Jeonghan. “If I am a model instead of you—”

“You’ll be endorsing all the underwear brands.” Seungkwan commented as the table burst into laughter. Mingyu pouted unhappily. “Stop laughing. That's not funny.”

“Who do you think is the most good-looking person here?” Chan asked, as everyone’s attention returned to me once again. “Other than Jeonghan hyung, of course.”

Oh, how I wish I could disappear from the face of Earth right now.

“Don’t ask that stupid question, Dino-ah.” Soonyoung tutted. “You’re putting Raeyang in a tight spot. Of course, I am the most good-looking one after Jeonghan hyung.”

That caused a commotion of protest from the others. I shot Soonyoung a thankful smile for saving me, as he winked. Seungcheol cleared his throat, causing the chaos to die down. “Alright, that’s enough.” He said, as everyone returned to their food.

“If you’re an interior designer, can I look at some of your samples?” I looked towards Junhui. “I’ve been wanting to redesign my apartment, but Hao’s refusing to help me to design. Said he would rather make a stray dog a home than to help me with my apartment.” He jabbed his thumb accusingly at the mentioned man from across the table.

“Minghao’s a designer too?” I asked, surprised. Junhui shrugged. “I guess. He makes clothes and paints.”

“Sure, I would love to help you…” I said. I have no upcoming projects anyway, so why not help a new neighbour out? “By the way, what’s your job?”

“A boring accountant. I work from home mostly.” Junhui took out his phone. “Can we exchange numbers?” He asked, handing me his phone for me to punch my number in. “My unit’s 303, on the other side of the elevator. You can come up at any time to take a look around.”

“Alright.” I handed him his phone back. “I think I’ll go visit once Jeonghan tours me around the place.”

“Then that's decided.” “What's decided?” Beside Junhui, Seokmin asked.

“Mind your own business.” Junhui picked a piece of cutlet up and stuffed it into Seokmin’s mouth. “Eat your food.”

Nothing else interesting happened after that. When everyone was almost done, I looked up at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see that the time was already nine.

“Who is on dishwashing duty today?” I hear Chan say. Everyone gradually got up from their seats and so did I. Soonyoung and Seokmin came over to me. “Hey, Raeyang! We’ll send you up, Jihoon’s on dishwashing duty today.”

“That reminds me. When you’re bringing Raeyang around tomorrow, show her the roster list,” Seungcheol said to Jeonghan, who waved at me. Mingyu had already disappeared into the kitchen, and Vernon strolled past me with a couple of dirty plates on a tray. “See ya, new neighbour.”

“See you… Thank you for the meal!” I said, as Soonyoung led me to the door. Wonwoo waved as Mingyu’s head popped out from behind the kitchen door.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it! See you tomorrow!”

“Oh, Raeyang!” I turned. Jeonghan was still in his seat, and he gave me a lazy smile. “Nine in the morning, tomorrow.”

I nodded in reply as Seokmin closed the door behind me. Both of them led me back towards the elevator, and Soonyoung turned to me. “How was it?”

“The food’s pretty great,” I replied, smiling.

Seokmin nodded in agreement. “Of course, Mingyu’s a famous private chef for the rich.”

“Really?” I asked, shocked.

Seokmin grinned. “Yeah, so it’s a privilege to have him cooking for us every day. I cook too, if I’m on kitchen duty…”

“Seungcheol mentioned the roster list…”

“It’s the big board on the first level. Jeonghan hyung will bring you to check it out tomorrow. I think there’s going to be a shuffle of roster duties since you’re here,” Soonyoung pressed the button on the elevator. The doors quickly opened and we all stepped in. “It’s mainly stuff like gardening, dishwashing, trash emptying, and grocery shopping. Seungkwan was all about organic food intake, so we grow our own vegetables. Still, we don’t really have a farm, and the meat’s got to come from somewhere.”

“Don’t worry too much about it, there’s fourteen of us to balance the roster anyway,” Seokmin said as the elevator doors slowly opened for us to alight. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Raeyang. Have a good night!” He waved, and I waved back.

“Thank you, Dokyeom.”

“Don’t mention it. See ya, Hoshi.” A big smile hung on Seokmin’s face as he walked towards the opposite corridor of Soonyoung and me. “Bye, Kyeom.”

As Soonyoung and I walked back to our own apartments, he spoke. “If you can’t sleep tonight, Raeyang, you can take the elevator up to the fifth level. There’s a terrace up there. You might meet one of the others if you’re there, though. The stars are pretty clear and obvious over here.”

He pointed up, and I noticed the ring on his finger. “Can I ask you something, Hoshi?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you guys know each other for a very long time?” Soonyoung followed my gaze, looking at the silver ring on his pinkie. “I noticed that all of you wore that ring.”

“Ah.” Soonyoung pulled the ring off his pinkie, holding it out in front of me. “You mean this? Well, you could say that I have known these guys for almost all my life,” he said with a fond smile. “This is a… I guess you could call it a symbol of our family.”

Soonyoung’s initials were carved into the silver ring. I removed my gaze from it, looking at him. “My father had a ring with his name engraved on it too,” I said lightly, missing the way Soonyoung’s shoulder tensed. He cleared his throat, putting his ring back on.

“Well, maybe you'll get yours too. I think Joshua hyung’s asking everyone to vote on the design for the new ring.”

“New ring?” I repeated. “You guys change it often?”

“From time to time. Sometimes one of us gets tired of the design.” We stopped in front of my door. “Have a good night, Raeyang.”

“You too, Hoshi. Thank you for today.” I opened the door, turning to him.

What I didn't know was that as soon as I closed the door, Soonyoung’s smile faded. He clicked his tongue impatiently, staring at the ring on his pinkie as he muttered something under his breath. If I had been there, I would have been shocked at what he said.

My father’s name.

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[markrosewater]

"I talk a lot about how different players enjoy different aspects of the game. What I talk far less about is different players struggle with different aspects. Some can’t handle excessive processing; some have issues with sequencing; some don’t understand the nuances of the rules; some aren’t good with memory..." Hi Mark, I wanted to say I sincerely appreciate the thoughtful, high effort and detailed response to my question and feedback. It really means a lot and sometimes I can't believe I'm talking to the head designer of my favorite game of all time about the specific questions and issues I have with the game. You don't have to do this and it's so amazing that you do, so thank you. I think you make an interesting and probably valid point about my proclivity to value memorizing aspects of the game and mechanics and I understand other people don't have that problem or don't care about that as much. But I think overall, in summary my larger point is for more than 25 years, typically the rule of thumb when it came to Magic the Gathering cards was the adage “Reading the card explains the card” and in just the past few years, that is no longer the case because of the need to have extremely wordy mechanics that need helper/reminder cards to function. People (myself included) often can't remember how these mechanics function, but because they are so complicated, they are constantly referring to the double sided helper token in addition the the card with oracle text and this can slow down game play and feel awkward at times. I want the Magic the Gathering cards to also be the game pieces. With every new set you continue to prove this is possible in the form of brand new mechanics but Magic still insists on making more and more of these mechanics that deviate from that adage. But I acknowledge and respect that everyone doesn't agree with me on that. Part of it is about memory and mental bandwidth, but a larger part of it is about tracking and the logistics of needing game pieces that aren't Magic cards in order to play Magic. This was also a big part of my aversion to cards that require stickers, 12 sided dice, keyword counters, helper tokens, etc. I do look forward to someday seeing some more outside of the game helper token style mechanics that are more simple like Ascend or Monarch, so I will be crossing my fingers for those. Anyways, thanks again for all you do for the community and keep up the great work!

Thank you for the dialogue.

One of the interesting things about doing this job so long is that I get some perspective on larger shifts of the game.

The conversation you and I are having matches a conversation I had with another player fifteen or so years ago. Magic was starting to dip its toe much more into counters and tokens.

The player felt like the core of Magic was the cards, and that a reliance on counters and tokens was pulling away from the essence of what they thought was the core of Magic.

Cut back another fifteen or so years before that. I had just joined Wizards and I was talking to a player at a convention. They were concerned that we’d been going up in named keywords. They felt the core of the game was based on the individual cards and that leaning on named mechanics was adding an element that distracted from the pure essence of the game.

Magic, by its nature, constantly adapts. The designers are always looking for new venues to explore, but there are always players who appreciate the game for what it has been.

That’s the balance that we’re always trying to strike. How do we keep exploring and innovating while at the same time keep true to what the game means to people? It’s challenging as those two forces can pull in very different directions.

I do hear what you’re saying, and we’re always on the look for elegance and brevity where we can find it. Sometimes though that journey requires us to explore a bit into the weeds to learn things that with time and experience we can streamline.

Again, thanks for the dialogue. I enjoy having chats like this with players.

[daryascurse]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 | 𝐒𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐔𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐡𝐚 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

“And I thought you were so hospitable,” Sasuke says.

“You don’t like a little teasing?”

You sit up again, over him, shifting in your state of half-dress. His stare burns, cold moonlight reflected in a prism.

“Who’s really getting strung out?” Sasuke says. His hand closes slowly, hard on the skin, and ending with fabric pinched between his fingers. “You’re wet through your pants, aren’t you?”

It wasn't a question, but the words hang in the air as if expecting an answer. His hand drops to squeeze your thigh, and a moan escapes your throat. He squeezes again. His hand rocks hard and hot through the fabric.

“Take them off.”

ɴꜱꜰᴡ | ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ ✧ pov : second person, AFAB reader, nongendered pronouns ✧ tags: time skip, smut, angst, one night stand, teasing, oraI / bj, fingering, love bites, spanking ✧ word count: ~5.5k ✧ ao3 link ✧ recommended mood playlist: almond cake

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

Author's note: an old fic reposted on ao3 a while ago and I thought - might as well repost here for BIRTHDAY! This piece takes place between Shippuden and Boruto; towards the end of Sasuke’s world travels, and obviously before Sakura joins him... using Reader as a sort of stand-in somewhere on that journey. And obviously, at a point that he's an adult in this pre-Boruto time. And I like the idea that while of course he would be known to those who fought in the war, his story has been kept from the spotlight of “common people” so to speak – and he’s happy with it that way.

You spoke to him three times, and it was enough to fall.

The first was but a brief interaction as he crossed into your village. “I’d like to help,” he’d said by means of introduction. And before the elders and leaders had fallen over their own feet in gratitude and lists of chores, you’d sincerely thanked him. In this slowly-healing world, and especially in this small nameless town, everyone needs all the help they can get.

The second was when he stopped you in the street and asked directions to the bakery, clutching a bag of flour so large you worried it would slip from the one-handed grasp to balance it to his chest. In fact, it was so tall it covered his face, leaving only wisps of black hair spiking around the back when he carefully turned down the street you instructed. You’d watched him go with half amusement and half concern, even though he’d proven himself more than capable in the past few days. Watching him pass it to the old baker was when you realized that you’d fallen for him the way you knew, just achingly knew, that girls in his hometown must have.

The third, he almost smiled when you’d brought him a bowl of noodles out by the gardens and apologized for the dull life of this slow village. “Odd jobs don’t offer much glory,” you’d said looking at the row of freshly planted crops, and he shook his head, the soft turn of his lips twisting wryly. Your heart almost burned out of your chest.

“Trust me. I’m not asking for glory.”

The rumor spreads quickly that he’ll leave at the end of the week. So today all the talk is that the elders are planning a banquet, and something in the way he squares his shoulders tells you - no, he’ll slip out tonight, before he can be crowned with any laurels of glory and gratitude. He had refused offers of lodging in favor of setting up a makeshift camp just outside the village. When night falls it’s where you find your feet wandering.

Of course you don’t startle him, he’s far too perceptive. But he lets you approach with only a slight slide glance towards you as he kneels, rustling with a pack in the grass.

“You are leaving,” you say.

“I was just here to help,” he says, giving those same simple words.

“You’ve done so much for a small town. We really are grateful for all you’ve done.”

He makes a sound that would be a laugh, though it seems somewhat out of practice. “It’s not much,” he says.

“But it means a lot to us. I know you don’t want glory or praises, but you have to accept our thanks. My thanks.”

He turns his head away. You wonder if he’s just barely biting back a rude response, but you continue impulsively, speaking to the back of that black hair melting into the darkness.

“You don’t need to stay for the banquet, I understand that. Let me at least offer you a proper bed for one night,” you say. You shift your feet, glancing back at the village. “Please – it would make me feel better, to give just something back for everything you’ve done.”

You’re prepared for your words to be useless. When you turn back to him, you half-expect him to have disappeared into the forests, but he stands with his pack slung over a shoulder. He regards you with a heavy guarded gaze. It gives the courage to press your lips together and try once more.

“Don’t you have – somewhere – people who care about you, people who’d want you looked after, a roof over your head? Just for tonight?”

His mouth twists again, that same sad smile. You wait for his curt refusal, for him to walk into the woods, but his next step is closer to you. He doesn’t say anything. In fact, neither of you say anything as you turn, heart hammering, to lead him back to your humble quarters.

Inside, he lets his pack fall, slipping his sandals from his feet in easy kicks as you flick on the light. You do the same, feeling a gawky lack of grace in comparison to his fluid motions, even in your own home. He reaches with his long slender fingers to unbutton his cloak as you duck your head and walk around him to the sink. The floor barely shakes below your feet as he goes to the bed.

“Here, have some water,” you say.

You sit slowly on the edge of the bed when you cross back. He only nods in thanks. “How long have you been traveling?” you ask.

He doesn’t respond. Drinks deeply.

You look at the floor, then back to him. “By the way, what’s your name?”

He puts the glass down at the side of the table, and after a moment, his eye flits to you, hair falling before his sharp profile. “Sasuke,” he says at last.

Sasuke. Somehow the name sounds almost familiar.

He doesn’t ask you your name. He might not care if you offered it or not. Sasuke’s gaze is still on you – though distracted, as if looking through you. Or seeing something else. Someone else.

You don’t know what possesses you to do, but with that increasingly ghostly stare on you, you lean forward, and kiss him.

Sasuke doesn’t kiss you back at first. His lips are lightly chapped, dry against your skin when you tilt your head away. He blinks, that gaze sliding back into focus. You meet it. When he doesn’t jolt back, doesn’t stand up, you lean forward and kiss his lips again.

This time, his lips move under yours. Your hands come down towards him on the bed, almost crawling closer, and kiss back harder, more fervent. Your heart drums in your ears. Sasuke lets you deepen the kiss, opening his mouth slightly. You turn your head away hesitantly, and he leans with you. When he presses his mouth back to yours his tongue runs along the inside of your lower lip, and you shiver into him.

You draw your feet up, kneeling toward Sasuke. The mattress dips as his legs shift along the bed. His knee knocks into your hand fisted against the bedsheets. You lift it, coming down in a new hold on his thigh. Your bodies push into each other as you begin to follow him down, elbow bent and shoulders hunching when he lies. His hand comes to the small of your back, your knee slides between his. Sasuke bites your lip, and you moan into his mouth. There’s a fire in the kisses now, something unforgiving and rougher coming to the surface.

“Oh,” you breathe sharply when his teeth come around your lip again and he bites harder.

“Sorry,” Sasuke says after a moment, remembering to apologize.

You sit up, blinking, head reeling to take inventory of this new atmosphere. Yes, he’s on his back on the bed. You’re straddling him now as he lies between your legs. And looking down at Sasuke feels somehow strange, vertigo yawning into an abyss of his whirlpool gaze, the light harsh on his face and casting a sickly shade.

You blink again. Your hands press against his chest, and you watch more than feel them move up across draping fabric to the opening. A sliver of pale skin across his chest trembles with the heavy beats of his heart.

“Light,” Sasuke says. The word rasps out, air fluttering in the hollow of his throat.

“Oh,” you say. You shift your weight from one knee to the other. “Yeah, I’ll – I’ll turn it off.”

Your breath slips from between your lips as your fingers tense, pushing yourself off Sasuke to climb off the bed. Those steps to the switch feel far. The darkness sweeps harsh before you when you turn to make your way back, some shaking fear within you that he’ll have really disappeared into the night this time.

“I’m here,” Sasuke says as your feet slide slowly across the floor, as if he knows.

Though your room, your bed, is so familiar to you even in swimming darkness, it feels that this space is no longer your own when you stretch your fingers blindly forward to climb back up. Sasuke’s ankle rolls, knocks into your hand, and the mattress shifts beneath your knees as he sits up to meet you. His hand is bracing at the small of your back. It guides you up over his lap, and his thumb spreads up to stroke against your rib and forward. He’s warm to the touch, but you still shiver, hips dropping and knees pressing into the bed to straddle him once more.

Sasuke kisses your mouth again, tongue pressing your bottom lip to beg for access faster this time. His hand skates up, rubbing back and forth across your waist in insistent embrace. When your hips twist closer to him, it moves up, fingers spread across your ribcage and searching up in a flat, firm palm. Your own fingers flex in response. One hand anchored against the bed, pressing fingertips into the sheets, your other fumbles forward blindly for his clothes.

It’s almost hard to think of what to do once you’ve pulled them off, his body silently acquiescing. This was unplanned, getting this far in the first place. You break the kiss with a slight shake of your head. His last breath gasps into the room. The darkness is beginning to take form as your eyes adjust. Moonlight slots through the window, casting a pale shadow across Sasuke’s face. He watches you. As your own hands still, wrists turned over the smooth expanse of abdomen down to the waistband of his pants, his hand stops as well in a gentle cup of your breast right under your thundering heart.

“Is…” you swallow, unsure of what to ask. “Is it okay? Can I touch you?”

Sasuke cranes his neck forward just enough to press his cheek next to yours, and the pulse in his throat is warm against the side of your neck. “I want you to touch me,” he says, but something in the words – again – goes past you.

Not I want you to touch me.

But his muscles tense, coiled and lean below your hands, as he lowers himself again. Your hands follow automatically to grip the waistband, sliding your knees further along his body as you pull. Sasuke’s fingers are pressing against you as if he never stopped, fingers closing around your nipple as he finds and just barely pinches. You go cold right where his touch pauses, pinches once more, arching your back and sighing aloud.

“Touch me,” Sasuke breathes in repetition.

His hand opens again, thumb gliding down to cup you in one more gentle squeeze. He turns, grabbing at the fabric of your own shirt, and you pause to help slide it away in sequence. Your limbs shake as you move faster. Returning to his pants, you tug them down and off with panting breath.

Adjusting your knees brings you back up on either side of his porcelain thighs, shattered pottery with battle-torn scars. Sasuke’s hand comes back to your waist, but this time his stroking, circular motions go up your back as you bend down.

His breath comes short, the guiding motion of his hand coming faster up to your neck. Between your legs, he shifts his own, coming higher and higher as he knocks into your thigh. And your breath is impatiently quick too, anxious to snatch this moment.

Sasuke cants his hips, sliding his leg higher up. You roll against it as you lean forward. He presses back, your muscles tensing when he lowers the leg back to the bed. You rock your hips down into him, forgetting yourself for the moment to grind against him.

“Come on,” he whispers, and the thick grating of his voice makes you want to tighten your muscles, clenching desperately over nothing.

But you bend all the way down and part your lips, your hand opening around the base of his half-hard cock. Your tongue meets the head in a flat, pressing circle, and he jerks up – again, come on, come on. Obediently, you slide your tongue faster around him, dipping down at the vein already coming harder at the underside. You stroke with the side of your thumb, tracing down lightly to soft skin, gripping the sheets with an anchoring second hand just as Sasuke’s hold tightens at the back of your head.

You can’t take him in slowly. He doesn’t allow for it, with his hips curving higher, hand keeping you above him, and your throat tightens. Your lips close around the growing swell of his cock. He’s heady in your mouth, salty enough to coax saliva. Your cheeks hollow and the next slurping breath is a lewd smacking sound.

“Ah…”

Sasuke’s hips shift in restless agitation, coming higher, and your tongue reaches further down along him. Your fingers dance lightly, down to stroke against his balls, heavy and rolling in your palm. Back up to that base your throat can’t quite swallow enough of. You press the underside with your tongue and feel for that hardening line again. It makes your mouth water even more.

You keep your lips together this time; no sharp pop, no burst of wet gasping, just his cock filling your mouth. Heavy on your tongue. Its twisting and lapping grows fainter as the bobbing motions of your head take precedent action. Up and down, up and down, with Sasuke’s fingertips pressing at you. He exhales again, reminding you of your own need to breathe.

Air catches in the back of your throat, thick from your already-running nose. The slick of your own saliva and Sasuke’s precum rises against your curled fingers, and it lets you slide over him more, no longer whispering touches. His hand tenses, and he groans. The fingers press into the back of your head and fall with the insistent scrape of a fingernail running cold as ice down the top of your spine.

Eyes straining and weeping with unbidden tears, you roll your eyes up to him. He’s blue in the night, the moon catching some strands of colour in his hair and ghosting down across his face. His brow is knit, his eyes screwed tight, the shadow of his nose melting into his twitching jaw as his lips part. Sounds die in his throat, his lower lip just barely moving, mouthing words unseen to you.

You moan, the sound husky and muffled over his cock, and more saliva glides from your aching, drooling lips when you pull your head away again.

“Fuck!”

It’s sharply audible. Between your legs, he quivers.

His hand slides further, down your back, and you wash your tongue over him again. Your jaws are spread as wide as you can as the motion slows. With the next upward move, you let him go in a breaking gasp. It’s hard not to heave for air as you release your fist from the anchored hold of the sheets. Fingers trembling, you wipe the back of your mouth and hide a desperate breath.

The sensation of your still partly dressed state comes to you with the acute sensation of your pants, uncomfortably thick, hot, heavy. You roll your hips down against Sasuke’s leg, taking another moment to catch your breath. You stroke his cock. Still wet against your fingers, his hips buck up in shuddering human instinct.

“And I thought you were so hospitable,” Sasuke says above, his voice strained.

“You don’t like a little teasing?”

You sit up again, over him, shifting in your state of half-dress with his cock in your hand, still slowly stroking. His stare burns, cold moonlight reflected in a prism.

“Who’s really getting strung out?” Sasuke says. The bead of sweat running below his jaw betrays the haughty tone, but he grabs your thigh. His hand closes slowly, hard on the skin, and ending with fabric pinched between his fingers. “You’re wet through your pants, aren’t you.”

It wasn't a question, but the words hang in the air as if expecting an answer. His hand drops to squeeze your thigh, and a moan escapes your throat. He squeezes again. His hand rocks hard and hot through the fabric.

“Take them off.”

Even sliding off the bed is enough to make your legs shake, that yearning heat between your legs burning as your thigh muscles tense. The clothes practically peel from your skin. The cool air doesn’t help calm. Neither does Sasuke’s gaze, so glassy as you raise a knee to straddle his thighs once again.

Sasuke doesn’t sit up to meet you this time, but he grabs at you, demanding against your back to pull you over him. He kisses you without caring for his taste on your tongue, and he kisses desperately. It’s sloppy now, with his own saliva wetting the corners of his lips. When you lift your head and blink to readjust over him, his eyes are still closed.

“No,” he says, opening his eyes just as you wrap your fingers around his cock again to bring him to you.

“And you were so eager a minute ago,” you say, still on your knees on either side of his hips. You pump your hand up, down slowly, and Sasuke’s stomach rises with a conspicuous breath.

“And you’re so eager now. Your turn to wait.”

He’s at your leg, and the open-palmed squeeze is so much sharper against your bare thigh. Your hand falls open, away from him. It almost brings you down with a whimper as the side of his fingernail grooves along your skin again, and he moves higher, higher. You let out another short gasping whine, feet flexing into the sheets as Sasuke traces your inner thigh right where skin turns to velvet. Your hips shake, forward to meet him, and he draws back, tracing endless circles and invisible sketches.

You open your mouth to protest, and instead judder out a shaking “oh” when his finger skips up and returns in multitudes to stroke you. Reaching backward, you grab your calf, your ankle, in frantic balance as Sasuke caresses your cunt, gathering slick on his fingers and smearing it against you with each movement.

“I knew it,” he says.

All you can force is a sigh that becomes a vocal moan as that scooping, fondling hold moves further back, and one finger slips inside you. Easily.

“Easy,” Sasuke says.

“Oh…”

The first pump is slow, relaxing, teasing, a far cry from his eager motions. Your back is arched into his hand, eyes hazily fixed on the shadows of moonlight on the ceiling, but you swallow, finding the roof of your mouth dry when you look down at him again. Sasuke’s face is placid, lips parted with the puff of his breath, but his neck muscles are strained taunt. Black shadows enunciate the pulse shuddering in his throat, the cut of his jaw. His eyes are beyond you, but at your next moan, he comes back. He slides a second finger inside and spreads you.

“Oh,” comes again in a whine. You let go of your leg to stroke against your own skin, touching your lower belly with delicate fingertips, as he begins to push some electric sensation higher inside you with each curl and pump. He moves no faster, but your hips rock even more urgently, eagerly. “Sasuke…”

He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deep with your call of his name, and opens.

Your own chest is heaving hard as his curls come stronger, reaching deep inside you. Your fingers drop lower, finding with natural ease the tense tender nub of your clit. Rubbing yourself feeds some of that desperate, slow agony Sasuke is teasing from you with those strong, slender fingers. When you fix your eyes to him, his own are direct on you, with his chest rising and falling in barely controlled breath.

“Fuck me,” you whisper hoarsely, as you press your hand against your clit in hard circles.

Sasuke curls his fingers into you before withdrawing, cutting your word off in a sharp inhale as the emptiness strikes you. Without his fingers, your hips roll back, knees hard on his thighs, hand falling away. But the next sensation is so promising that your feet shift, toes pointed and pressed hard into the sheets, when the head of his cock slides right against your teased and sore folds. You rock forward to help him guide himself to your entrance.

The moans from both of your lungs hang resonant in the air when you meet, your own body sliding down against his cock just as Sasuke jerks his hip upward. His hand comes to your thigh again and pulls at the back of your leg, squeezing at the muscle to urge you closer, closer.

You can’t move beyond his commanding motions as you clench around him, so tight, so full inside you, even better when you roll circles to grind him against you right at that angle that makes that core at the bottom of your belly go hot.

Sasuke’s head tilts out of view, but his jaw slacks as his lips part in another groan. His hips rock back, pulling almost completely out of you. When he thrusts up, he’s slick with your own arousal, cold on your skin from the air. His breath is heavy, and your hands climb up across his lean chest for a steady support against pale pectoral muscles.

And he’s deep, he’s fucking you deep as hard and fast as you fuck him right back. You roll your eyes at the sensation, pure pleasure dancing through you and leaving your very skin electric. Your gaze goes up, down at him, and down further, to the flush of his stomach as his own boiling blood rocks new life through him. And lower, to the tremble of his hips twitching off the sheets, to where your cunt is spread swollen over his cock.

“Fuck,” you whimper, the word rising high and jagged out of you as your voice shakes with the movements. His hips roll up, even deeper. Your head snaps back up, and your sigh is a soaring cry.

You ride him with fervent, kneeling muscles, just as much as he lifts to meet you. Each thrust is deep, so fucking deep, that your elbows go weak and you lower yourself to Sasuke’s chest. Rocking back and forth like this – yes, “yes, like this, right there, fuck,” – is that perfect angle. The shivers shooting down your thighs are enough to keep your hips shaking right where he grinds up into you. His hand squeezes, moves up hard against your hip.

His fingers flex, pushing into your skin, grabbing you and letting you go before returning in one sharp, open-palmed slap. Your sigh breaks into a yelp, the breath catching at the back of your throat. He does it again, and the sting radiates from every finger into your skin. You’re completely against his body now, head pressed into the pillow behind him, whimpering as his cock just barely whispers in and out at this angle, clenching your muscles where you feel him.

“Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke,” you moan again and again, the most delicious name on your lips as your mouth rubs on his skin. His shoulder is muscular, the sweat beading from him earthy whiskey against your tongue. You open your mouth with just a little more purpose and close your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks to suck here anew, a ferocious bite.

He gasps, some sound, some word you couldn’t make out getting cut off, and he lifts his hand from your ass to slap you again. You moan into his clavicle.

“Wait,” Sasuke groans, and his heart shudders below you. “Wait, wait – ”

You lower your hips, feeling him swell and throb inside you just as you clench. You whimper into him, gathering strength as he swallows and his skin dips below your lips. He seems on the verge of saying something else –

But he doesn’t know your name, now.

“S…Side,” he whispers. “Turn.. on your side.”

His cock is so heavy, so hard, resting inside you, and you roll in soft circles, not wanting to pull away. Sasuke’s hand rubs right over the smarting skin of your ass and slaps you once more.

“Do it,” he says, his voice tense.

So you do so with a groan, nonverbally voicing the displeasure and discomfort at feeling him slide from you again. You push yourself onto the bed as gracefully as you can, curling your legs up and away. You turn your head up, about to ask, but Sasuke’s knee between your thighs forces your leg straight as he shifts behind you. He presses his chest to your back, a layer of slick sweat keeping your body from sinking into the comforting cuddle of this position.

“Keep your legs apart,” Sasuke says, and his chest breaks away from your body as he rocks onto his shoulder. You curve your hips back, feeling him, resisting the urge to slide your leg down to him and grind over his thigh. He slants forward to meet you, something more teasing than satisfying as you tremble, empty.

“Sasuke!” Your voice breaks as his hand rubs over your ass, the beating, hot skin where he’d spanked you burning under his touch, and even worse when he comes to your overstimulated and sore cunt. He rubs against your slit to find your entrance, leaning fully away.

His cock is hard and wet with you, and he easily slides back inside you with one smooth thrust. Your legs splay, the nudge of his knee keeping your thighs from squeezing together, and the press of his body into yours restricting the motion of your fervently rolling hips. You rut into the mattress and back against him, with a ragged moan coming louder than you expected it to.

In response, Sasuke’s lips find your throat, down into the curve of your shoulder, and scrapes his teeth in a mirroring bite of your own. His tongue runs over your skin so lightly that you shudder. You buck into his body. His hand comes to your waist, pressing you down.

“Fuck,” the breath comes, and it’s him this time, the word hot into your neck.

You groan, letting out another whimper when his tongue brushes over your shoulder again. He tilts his head forward and parts his lips just a little more, enough to make your head writhe and turn back into the pillow when he begins to suck a love bite.

These thrusts are shorter, faster, but as the two of you desperately fuck, it’s perfect, just perfect. The burning flashes of hunger in your kissing and touching and sucking comes to a head here.

Your elbow bends back to let your fingers knot into his hair and tug him closer to you still. Sasuke’s lips move from your throat to your jaw and to your cheek, coaxing your own to meet him in ravenous, loud kisses. His groans mix with yours, and his hand rides down your body with the motion of his thrusts. He rests down, lower on your belly, right where the muscles below your core flutter with each clench and responding stroke of his cock.

“Oh!” You break from his lips, from the twists of his black hair, to moan and clutch at the pillow once more.

And when your agitated shifts against his hand grow too erratic, he pauses, sliding his hips higher up to you as his chest presses hot and sweaty. His cock slams in at a new angle, just as quick and sloppy as his kisses had been. His hand sinks lower still, and while it takes a second to find your clit, his finger presses and rubs with such precision it’s the final push that hotness behind your stomach needed.

“Sasuke - ” you whine again.

“Fuck,” he groans, and as your face presses into the pillow, his lips come right behind your ear, kissing and whispering nonsense as he pushes frantically into you. You reach down to grab at his wrist, and you moan as everything begins to go static.

“I’m – oh – fuck! Coming!”

You come, clenching and weak over his cunt, hips rocking haphazardly into whatever pressure from any angle as you ride the orgasm out. It hits so hard that you feel your pulse behind your eyes, even as you squeeze them shut. Your body shakes with the force of it as everything cramps and releases. Your thighs lose all strength. It rushes, beating slick and throbbing over his cock as Sasuke continues, chasing his own climax down.

His senseless, jagged moans begin to break through your haze, his insistent hand on your clit beginning to feel more painful than pleasurable.

“Sorry.. I’m sorry… I love… I love you.. I’m… so…sorry.”

You tighten your hand on his wrist, about to pull him off, but with a harsh, gasping cry of his own that rocks through your back, Sasuke comes. He lifts his hand and grabs at the sheets, your fingers skating down to close over his fist. His hips crash into yours as he comes, so hard that he almost pushes you onto your stomach. Your ribs contract, the air trapped right in your lungs as he rocks forward, sliding his knee into the back of yours. It beats hot through you, and you automatically feel yourself flutter and tighten around it, weak though the motions are. He sighs, breath hot on your shoulder, the last word of his rambles breaking into something totally unintelligible.

It takes him a moment to relax, for his fingers to flex under the ginger blanket of your own hand. He rolls away, lips just barely wisping off your neck in a motion almost like a kiss, but without the follow through. You raise your hand to the spot, feeling the remnant, tacky stick of his saliva, and trace your fingers down to where the love bite will rise navy blue tomorrow morning.

Sasuke is silent. You turn on your stomach, feeling something drip and dry down to your inner thighs. He’s fallen onto his back, that glazed, half-open stare stuck to the ceiling. You breathe, heavier than you wanted, but he doesn’t shift his gaze to you.

“Um.” You clear your throat, and sit up, stroking gently along his calf as you scoot to the edge of the bed. “Do you want another drink?”

“More water would be a good idea,” Sasuke says after a moment. The “yes, thank you” following feels forced, remembered too late. He’s settling into that distant nature with ease, as the aloof traveler you met and fell in love with only days before.

Your legs shake as you walk to the sink. The only sound is the rustle of the sheets as Sasuke slides them down, making room for the two of you to properly sleep. In the moonlight your body casts a long shadow swallowed by the darkness beyond the window’s frame. The bed and Sasuke are just as hidden, but his pale hand extends for a sip of the glass, a beacon as bright as the moon itself.

Tucked once more into the curve of his body, this time the touch of his chest at your back is soft, gently coming to and against your skin with each settling breath. “When’s the last time you slept in a bed?” you ask drowsily, not expecting an answer. Sasuke doesn’t offer one.

He shifts, arm coming up around you to pull the blanket higher. It slithers over your skin. His fingers drop and drum softly against your arm. Exhaustion begins to melt you into the bed, and you reach, groping in the darkness to find his hand and entwine your fingers in his. You’re overwhelmed with a sudden desire to cry, a pain in your throat dropping to your heart. You close your eyes, turning into the bed, bidding the tears to go, not to spoil these last moments.

“Have a safe journey tomorrow,” you whisper into the silence. You wonder if he’s already asleep, but his fingers flex in your hold, slanting lightly, squeezing you in turn.

“Thank you.”

Sleep comes now, in a spinning hold pressed into you as warm and comforting as his embrace.

When you wake to streaming sunlight, the bed is empty, and Sasuke is gone.

fin.

[jennay]

Honey Bee

An: I think this is the end for Honey Bee. Thanks to everyone who went on this journey with me. I'm sad but happy and I'm sure I'll update with new chapters periodically maybe showing glimpses into their future if you guys would like that

parts: 1/2/3/4/5

Master List

Tags: @blackveilomens @xxrainstorm @somewhere-diamond @cookiesupplier @blacksoul-27 @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @jadert15 @an-insane-day

You sank into the plush cushions of the couch, captivated by the bright TV screen, where Noah was immersed in a game he swore was fun. You had no clue what he was doing, but it was amusing to watch him. You had spent the previous night binge-watching movies with him, and after a few glasses of wine, he persuaded you to stay over, saying it was too dangerous to drive.

You agreed without a second thought since his bed was the most heavenly you had ever slept in. You felt like you were floating in a cloud of softness and warmth.

You just wanted to chill until your head cleared, and you felt more alert. You weren't hungover, but you could feel the weight in your eyelids. Noah offered to make breakfast, but you declined, toasting a bagel and spreading some cream cheese. You thought it was perfect for a lazy morning.

The front door squeaked open - and your muscles tensed. Your stomach twisted as if you had been hit. Your eyes darted to Noah and back to the opening door. Jolly. He wasn't supposed to be back this early. Noah promised that Jolly wouldn't be home until midnight. So why - why was he standing there?

Your eyes widened, and you leaped from the couch - your heart hammering and your palms clammy. You felt your food rising in your throat. You had tried hard to hide your feelings like this, but you were caught off guard and had no time to brace yourself.

Jolly smiled, unable to act like he wasn't happy to see you, and opened his mouth to say something, but you glowered at him. You took a deep breath and walked past him without a word, pretending you didn't see his confused expression.

You felt his hand try to touch your arm, but you shook it off. You dashed up the stairs, your breath ragged and your heart thumping.

You locked eyes with Noah over the side rail - he looked stunned as if he didn't expect you to react so strongly; he thought you would've at least kept your cool. You gave him the finger, your face flushed and your eyes blazing. You barged into his room, slamming the door behind you.

"Shit, well, I tried," Noah says as he springs to his feet, joining Jolly at the door. He folds his arms over his chest and says, "Dude, please just go talk to her."

Jolly's eyes widen - if he was sleepy before, all the noise woke him up. He looks at you and then at Noah, confused. "Why is she acting like that?"

"I might have lied about when you were coming home. I'm sick of being in the middle of this. I just wanted to help." Noah laughs, unfolding his arms and slapping Jolly's shoulder. "If you would've just asked me, I would've told you I don't have feelings for y/n." He confesses, his voice sincere. "It's never been like that for us. We're just friends." He bites the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should reveal more. It couldn't hurt if he told Jolly how you felt; maybe it would give him the courage he needed. "She wants you, man. And it's been like this for years." He says, his voice dropping to a whisper. He feels a relief wash over him as he finally lets out his secret.

Jolly's eyes bulge in disbelief. "For years?" He repeats, dropping his bags on the floor with a loud thud. He felt like his ears were deceiving him.

Noah shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, "She hasn't said that directly, but if you're not a complete idiot, which you clearly are, you can see it." He growled, his voice dripping with sarcasm and annoyance. Noah wanted to slap some sense into Jolly's thick skull.

"You think I should go up there?" He asks nervously, rubbing his stubble, "It seems like she doesn't want to see me." He murmurs.

Noah shakes his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips, "I think my antics caught her off guard, I'll probably have to apologize to her later." He says. "She's been putting up with my shit a lot lately, man. Usually, she can get away from me by going to you, but lately, it's just been her and me." He chuckles, "I know I'm a pain in the ass."

Jolly shook his head in disbelief. "You are." He said, heading for the stairs. His feet felt heavy and sluggish as he climbed the stairs like he was walking to his execution.

Noah followed him, hoping to give him some encouragement. Noah watched as Jolly gently knocked on the door, waiting for a reply.

When he heard nothing, he cautiously opened the door - and as soon as Jolly was in, Noah dashed to the door, slamming it shut behind him and locking it from the outside.

Your throat clenched, and your lungs gasped for air when you saw Jolly standing there; you felt like a fish out of water. You jumped off the bed with a huff and ran to the door. You grabbed the handle and turned it. Shocked when it didn't budge. "Noah!" You yelled. "What the hell…"

You heard Noah laugh from the other side of the door. "I switched the lock last night, you fell right into my trap like I knew you would." He said, sounding smug.

You wanted to escape, away from Jolly, away from Noah, away from everything. "I'll unlock it when you two sort out your feelings." Noah said, sounding relaxed and indifferent. "And I have all the time in the world, so don't bother rushing." You heard his footsteps receding from the room.

You turned around to see Jolly standing there, his eyes full of guilt and sadness. He looked conflicted between wanting to comfort you and fearing your reaction. His nervousness was tangible, and you wondered what he would say.

You walked back to the bed and sat down, avoiding his gaze. You felt a knot in your stomach and a storm of emotions in your heart. "Shit." You whispered, closing your eyes and lying on your back.

You covered your eyes, wishing he would leave you alone.

You felt the mattress sink as he sat beside you and heard him exhale deeply. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but there are some things I think I should say." He said, sounding more assertive than you expected. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He added softly, his voice full of regret.

You let out a scornful laugh, cutting him off. "Well, you did." You snapped, feeling bitter.

"I tried to call you, and I tried to text you. You kept avoiding me and not giving me room to explain!" He says slightly, raising his voice.

You sit up, eyes landing on him with anger and disbelief. "What was there to explain? You led me on, made me think you were into me, and when I acted on it, you rejected me? You fucked with my head, Jolly!" You say, matching his tone, "Yes, I ignored you because it hurt, I still can't even think of you some days, but you're always fucking there!" You whine, standing up and pacing the room. "I wanted you; I tried showing you; I tried explaining that there was nothing with Noah. I came to Sweden FOR YOU."

Jolly stares at you, a sarcastic smile on his lips, "And then you called me and said you just wanted to be friends while I was trying to figure out how to make it up to you! I tried telling you the day you decided to fly back here, but you wanted to leave, and I know it wasn't a work thing; it was because you were mad at me and needed fucking Noah! You're always running to Noah. Do you see why I might be confused?!"

You run your hand down your face and sit in Noah's computer chair. "Do not try to put this on me, Jolly. I have been putting myself out there for years, hoping you'd take a fucking hint." You say through clenched teeth. "Why couldn't you just trust me? Instead, you made me question everything I felt for you." You say, your voice trembling with anger and pain. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, and you wish you could calm down.

"I didn't trust myself!" He exclaims, raising his hands in frustration. "How could I trust you when I was so confused about my own feelings?" Jolly shifts his position, crossing his legs and leaning back. He doesn't look away from you, and you see the conflict in his eyes. "I tried, okay? I tried to trust you, but I just…I couldn't understand it. I thought you and Noah were perfect for each other. I saw how you two have always clicked, how he made you smile, how he always had your back. I felt like I didn't measure up. I let my fears overpower your words." His voice is at a mere whisper toward the end of his sentence. He senses your silence and goes on. "I want to fix this, but I need you to tell me what you want." He pauses, "We've been sending mixed signals, and I think it's confusing us both." He says, looking into your eyes, searching for a sign.

You rise from the chair and walk over to Jolly, sitting beside him on the bed. You lower your head, feeling hopeless. "I don't know how to fix this. I can't pretend to be just your friend. I've moved past that, but I'm afraid to jump into a real relationship with you." You say softly, your voice steady. "I'm scared that I'll do something that triggers your insecurities, and you'll assume someone else is better for me. And when I say I love you and only you, you won't believe me. I don't want those doubts in your mind to win and destroy what we have."

Jolly's lips curl into a small smile. "Love me?" He repeats, his tone curious.

You move closer to him, taking his hand in yours, "Yeah." You whisper, gazing into his eyes, "Because I do." You say, your voice is shaky. You squeeze his hand. "I need you to show me it's safe for me to be in this with you. I don't want to walk around on eggshells expecting the worst to happen. I want to wake up knowing we made the right choice." You say, your voice firm and serious. "Can you do that?"

He leans in, eyes locked onto yours, and gently cups your face with his other hand. His thumb caresses your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. You feel his warm breath on your lips as he whispers, "I can do that." He closes the gap between you, and you feel his soft lips press against yours.

The kiss is gentle and sweet but enough to make your heart flutter. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and deepen the kiss. You feel his arm around your waist, holding you close, and you melt into him. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, smiling and panting. You look into his eyes, and they shine with love. "I'll never get tired of that," he says, his voice filled with sincerity. He pauses, "I brought something with me." He pulls away from you and digs in his pocket, opening a small box to reveal the opal ring he'd given you before. The ring sparkles in the light. "I wanted to give it back, and this time, I want to give it to you as a promise ring. Because I promise to be here for you, to keep you safe, and to make you feel loved and secure." He holds the ring out to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "But most of all, I promise to trust you." His voice is so sincere; you can tell he means every word. You can't help but smile. You let him slide the ring back on your finger, which fits perfectly. You look at the ring, then at him, "I was hoping I'd get this back," you say, your voice soft and sweet. You lean in and kiss him gently, feeling his lips curve into a smile.

You whisper, "I'm glad you're home."

He sighs, but it's not a sign of annoyance or anger this time. It's a sound of pure bliss and relief. "Should we text Noah?" He asks, his voice soft and content.

You nod your head and pull out your phone. You type a quick message: Can you let us out now? We had wild sex on your bed and made up.

You hear a loud laugh from the hallway. "Yeah, right." Noah's voice echoes in your ears, and you see the door handle turn. "I've been sitting out here the whole time." He says, opening the door. He grins as he sees the two of you standing, Jolly's arms wrapped around your waist and holding you close, a smile on your face. The air feels lighter, and Noah is happy for you.

"I heard you leave…" You say, chuckling. "You mean to tell me you came back and eavesdropped on everything?"

"How else was I supposed to know when to let you out?" He asks, acting like you're stupid. "Let me see the ring." He says, walking over to you and grabbing your hand. He examines it, nodding his head in approval. But instead of saying anything nice, he says, "Should we order food and watch a movie? I'm emotionally drained, and I wasn't even in here." He jokes.

You and Jolly follow Noah down the stairs and into the living room, where you find a cozy spot on the couch. You cuddle up to Jolly, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arms around him. He kisses your forehead and holds you close, making you feel safe.

Noah makes a disgusted noise and says, "Gross. Now I'm the third wheel." He flops down on the other end of the couch and grabs the remote. He asks what you want to watch, hoping to distract himself from your lovey-dovey display.

"You know I'm always up for a murder mystery or a horror movie!" You say, raising your voice to annoy them.

Noah shakes his head, "Don't make her mad, Jolly. You'd be shocked how much she knows about disposing of a corpse without leaving a trace," He jokes.

You lift your head from Jolly's chest and give Noah a menacing look. "I'll strike when you least expect it, Noah. No one is safe from me. Not even you." You say, putting on a sinister tone.

Noah throws you the remote. He wonders if you're serious sometimes. He looks at Jolly and says, "And you're willingly choosing this psychopath?"

Jolly laughs at his remark, "Yes because she's my adorable little psycho." He says, squeezing you tighter and making you giggle. "And if she chooses to murder me someday, at least I'll die happy."

Noah rolls his eyes, not impressed by Jolly's comment. "I'm gonna order Chinese food. Do you guys want the usual?" He asks, getting up from the couch.

You nod, and Noah heads to the kitchen. Jolly takes this chance to ask you something that is on his mind. "Let me take you on a real date tomorrow." He whispers in your ear, making you shiver.

You pull back, looking into his eyes, smiling as you nod in approval. "I'd love that." You say, leaning in for a kiss. He kisses you back, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer.

You hear Noah clear his throat from the kitchen, and you break the kiss, laughing. "Sorry, Noah." You say, feeling a blush on your cheeks.

Jolly smiles at you, "He'll get used to it." He says, kissing your cheek. "He has to cause I don't plan on letting you go." He says, making your heart flutter.

"And now I'm back to hating both of you, this time for all the PDA, how the tables have turned."

You throw a pillow at Noah when he sits down. "It could be worse. We could be screaming at each other still."

Noah nods and playfully rolls his eyes, "Shut up and pick a fucking movie." He rubs his temples, "I will separate you two!"

You pick up the remote and browse through the movie options. You see an horror movie and ask Noah if he's up for it.

He nods and says, "Sure, why not? Maybe it'll scare some sense into you two." He jokes, grabbing a pillow and hugging it.

You press play, and the movie starts. You watch the screen but sneak glances at Jolly, who smiles at you and kisses your hair. You know you've made the right choice. You're glad you gave him a chance and excited for tomorrow's date. You don't know what the future holds, but you know you want him to be a part of it. You squeeze his hand and whisper, "I love you."

He smiles, whispering back, "I love you too, Honey bee."

[telomeke]

EUGENE LEE YANG IS LEAVING THE TRY GUYS

Eugene talks about how he's currently too stretched creatively, and is leaving the Try Guys to focus on his other projects. (He has two films in production, as well as a queer fantasy novel and a graphic novel in the works.) His departure does not appear to be happening with any rancor, but what he says about the difficulty in keeping up a public, onscreen persona is also very heartfelt and moving. Nonetheless, he's also kept the door open for guest spots with the Try Guys in the future. And he's only leaving after the current season, so we can still catch him in Try Guy videos for now.

Full transcript of the audio follows, if you'd like to speed read through:

- [Rachel] You ready? (Eugene sighs) - Dear friends, well, it's my time. I've wanted to have this heart to heart with y'all for quite a while now. It is with immense gratitude and unconditional love for Zach, Keith, our partners, our staff, and all of you who have supported us that I'm announcing my official departure from The Try Guys. After 10 profoundly impactful years, my time here on YouTube has come to an end. There's no version of this announcement in which I can properly express how emotional this moment is for me, how hard it is to close such a meaningful chapter of my life. But in the spirit of so much of my digital work, I'm gonna give it one last try.

I want to preface this by giving my heartfelt thanks to Zach and Keith, my bespectacled baby brothers, my tall and tiny nerd. I have no idea how we ended up on this wild journey together, but I couldn't have asked for better, smarter, weirder, funnier, and above all kinder individuals to have ridden alongside. It's been a great irreplicable honor that I will always treasure. And though our time in viral videos may be over, our friendship is forever. Even if I'll hate it when your spawn call me Guncle in the future, I shall train to become the best goddamn gay uncle in recorded human history.

Keith, you are such a shining light, truly the most physically gorgeous specimen alive with those long legs and huge mouth. After today, you are undeniably the hottest Try Guy. Zach, you're an absolute rock star. Every opinion you have is 100% correct, and I want to proclaim on record that I am the Letty Ortiz to your Dom... Guys, come on. I'm not saying all of this. - No, this is so much better than I ever imagined. Keep going, keep going. - Yes, the more emotional you get, the more everyone's gonna be okay with it. - Can you cry on cue? That would be so good for this. - Oh my gosh. Crying in the thumbnail. That'd be tits! Give it to us! (everyone laughs) - Rachel, will you please make them stop? - Yeah, you can't do this. It's a sincere video. You can't make him fake cry. - Okay. - Make him take off his shirt so we can objectify him one more time. - You being naked would be tits! (Zach laughs) - If y'all are gonna keep doing this, then just come over here and join me in presenting a few points. - Okay. So should we do the whole three guys one couch? - Absolutely not. - Dang. - Kind of invented the couch, but, okay, whatever.

- That being said, the three of us have always held a mutual, empathetic understanding about when the right time was for me to take a bow. - Some of you may have seen this coming for a while, as Eugene's schedule has gotten busier over the past few years. We thank you for your patience regarding a formal clarification. We wish we could have told you sooner, but certain circumstances outside of our control kind of challenged the three of us to come together in solidarity, and I'm very glad that we did. - Me too. So I'd like to reiterate, in case anyone misinterprets this as some kind of interpersonal ill will, that this is the furthest thing from drama. We have been through the worst version of that together. And all of my decisions have been made in consideration of what we built. And these two will always have my undying support, even if it happens to be from afar. - As you've witnessed with other notable goodbyes this year, there's a myriad of motivations for YouTubers to step away. Some are retiring, others are burnt out. Many have issues with the platform itself, as you've heard us talk about before. But again, our shows, they're not leaving YouTube at all. - Yeah, we're staying. I mean, he's leaving. - He's leaving. - I'm leaving. They're staying. But it's still a very personal decision for me, which I'll expand on later in this video. Rest assured the three of us have been discussing and planning these major changes together for a very long time now. - Of course, there's really no perfect time for this. This was always gonna be bittersweet, and we know that. We agreed though that now makes the most sense considering all the exciting new things that are happening at the company and in our lives. - Speaking of which, I just wanna say that I'm so, so, so proud of these two and our staff for your vision. Did I just elbow your stomachs? - Yeah, elbowed my belly. - I'm trying to express affection. - It was good. - You're almost there. - What do I do instead? If I go down... - If you go down it will be less affectionate or more affectionate, depending on the type of affection you like to give. - You were telling us how proud you are. - I was. Okay. Speaking of which, I am so, so proud of these two and our staff for your vision and hard work for the next era of 2nd Try. Now one of our long-term goals has always been to use the privilege of our platform to expand into a wider cast of diverse voices. - So we like to think that we're not really losing Eugene, but we're gaining so many more perspectives that deserve the opportunity to shine. However, we cannot let Eugene go without filming one last season of classic Try Guys videos. - And you can watch those episodes starting tonight at 2ndtry.tv. They're also gonna be here available on YouTube for free at a later time. Either way, I'm gonna miss you, buddy. - Yeah, 'cause, you know, we love you. - Oh. I love you all too. Come here. Come here. - Okay. - Come here. - Let's go for it. - This is a real one. - This is nice. - All right, now, if you would be so kind, I'd like to spend my last moments here with our beautiful, incredible audience. - Makes sense. - Cool. - [Zach] Okay. - I... (Keith and Zach giggle) - [Keith] Wee! - [Zach] Woo! Where do you wanna get lunch? - I'm the one leaving. This doesn't make sense. - [Zach] Oh, it's so bright. - [Keith] Oh my god. - It's fine. Okay. I'll wait till their bit's done. How are they gonna get back inside?

I want to be fully transparent about my reasons for leaving YouTube. And some of these have been difficult for me to find the confidence to express, but y'all deserve a comprehensive explanation. Well, first, in regards to my time, which is the primary issue we've cited, yes, I have become enormously inundated with work. I'm the busiest I've ever been in my entire life, and I'm so, so thankful to be committing my blood, sweat, and tears into projects that mean the world to me. Projects that have been in rigorous development for many years, which I'll elaborate more on in a bit. Now, as you know, once they required my undivided attention, I couldn't appear as often as I used to in videos. And it hasn't gone unnoticed how much my gradual withdrawal has upset some of you. And I am truly sorry for that. To express this as simply as possible, working full-time here became untenable, and it's evident that I can't continue keeping one foot in. So this amorphous arrangement where people end up asking the very fair question, "Is Eugene even a Try Guy anymore?" that will only disappoint all parties involved, especially you, the viewers who have stood by us. So for clarity's sake, we've decided to establish a clean break because clean breaks are ultimately better for the healing process. And I sincerely hope to guest star in future videos, and I don't wanna risk them being tainted by any embitterment. I want us to collectively look forward to those reunions with joy.

Now onto what I've been working on. My primary passions are writing and directing in the film and literary spaces. And my focus has always been on fiction, behind the camera and the pen. And that has never changed. And to hope to achieve any success in those spaces, gosh, it requires a lifetime of commitment. And first, my feature film. I've been writing and developing what will be my directorial debut for some time now. And we are in the active stage of packaging, and I am thrilled to be bringing it to life. The incomparable creatives at Killer Films believed in my script and have been working tirelessly with me for the past few years to get to this critical point. And I can't share more yet, but believe me when I say that it is the unbridled expression of my soul, and I have never been more determined and inspired. Now if you're unfamiliar with the industry, it's an exceedingly rare and blessed opportunity to be able to, one, get a movie produced at all, and two, gain the trust of others as a filmmaker. It requires 110% of my investment, both physically and emotionally. And I'm finally at a place in my journey as an artist to tackle this with unwavering conviction in my vision. And on top of that, the same can be applied to the literary world. I hold tremendous reverence for the writing process and am committed to proving myself as an author. So many aren't afforded this extraordinary opportunity, and I really don't want to squander it. As some of you know, I've been hard at work writing my novel, which is the first in an epic queer fantasy duology with the brilliant folks over at Macmillan and Feiwel & Friends. Due to certain unforeseen circumstances, we've had to push the release date. So you can expect it to be available next year in 2025, and I cannot wait for you to read it. Separately, I've also been writing my first graphic novel with Vault Comics, a twisted horror fantasy musical titled "Buckaroo". And you can expect more news about that and many other developments I can't mention yet in the very near future. My devotion is to creating original stories that will fundamentally thrive in other mediums.

This all brings me to a crucial message that I humbly want to emphasize. While yes, these projects are time consuming, I haven't necessarily prioritized them because I view the digital space as somehow beneath them. No, no. I have worked here online proudly for a decade and will always champion how profound and spectacular this medium can be. But after this past decade of work, of being invited into your homes, of having the privilege of getting to know so many of you, I've come to terms with the fact that this simply isn't the right space for me. The internet can be a fun, rewarding, fantastic place where many creatives shine, including my colleagues who are so, so talented at what they do. In truth, more often than not, I've experienced the opposite effect and leaving will be the best decision for preserving my mental health.

Now it makes me wildly uncomfortable to divulge all of this as I don't want to come off like I'm complaining. I can never stop repeating how deeply fortunate and thankful I am to have ever, ever been on this platform. But I'm going to try to open up as eloquently as possible because I really do care about all of you watching who might have come to care about me. I was always a private person, which has continually been at odds with the demands of being an online personality. Relatability, vulnerability, accessibility, all keywords you're familiar with about what makes a great YouTuber. Unfortunately, these weren't second nature to me, even though I tried my best. I really tried. I already contend with a complex relationship with my identities, so to have to casually discuss and publicize them at length, often in a positive and humorous manner, was exceptionally tough. This is an unscripted comedy channel after all, and that is why I removed myself completely from podcasting. I was trying to find ways to set boundaries and protect myself. But as someone who heavily saturated your screens for so many years, it might have come off as me growing distant and disinterested.

And if you have ever felt that way and if my colleagues have ever felt that way, then please know that that was never ever my intention. In all honesty, I was enduring more anguish, especially after involuntarily going viral for something so agonizing and demoralizing. Demand for my openness only grew. Strangers have been quick to tell me that I owe them my feelings and that I owe them my time to appear in content and that it's all just part of the job. Now contrary to the brave face I try to put on, I've always been profoundly aware of others' expectations. And if I'm unable to satisfy those expectations while staying true to myself, then maybe it's just not right. And many of you watching have probably experienced something similar in your own lives, that poignant moment when you know deep down that it's time for a change. Even if it hurts and even if it's hard, you know what? That change can be wonderful for everyone involved. And that is why I know that this simply isn't the right space for me and that that should be okay. I sincerely hope that it will be okay for all of you. And how I best express myself has been through narrative projects and ones that I can be fully immersed in, ones that can be guarded and intentional, long-term and precious, because that's where I'm most comfortable and energized, when I'm translating my identity, cultures, family history, and demons into work that can be dark and radical and strange and provocative. And while I also have made so, so many memories here that I'll always cherish, in the end, I can't stay. I wish I could be better at all of this for you and for my friends here at 2nd Try. I wish I found an alternative way to make this work because many YouTubers manage to flourish while protecting their peace. But the best, brightest version of myself is the me that can disappear behind my work, and that should be okay.

I chalk some of that up to how I've always had to navigate my privacy and presentation, which tends to be an integral part of the queer experience. It's why I've always relished experimenting with fashion as it's a way for me to transform into an alternate higher version of myself that's dazzling and powerful and self-possessed. You witnessed me learning how to paint my fantasies through clothing in real time. I bring this up because I don't want the summary of my issues to diminish the countless occasions where I have genuinely felt growth, connection, and happiness. A vital aspect of my time with y'all online was my coming out journey. That was undeniably raw and real. And I have grown so much louder and prouder about such a controlled, buried part of myself that was largely due to how emboldened I became because of so many of you out there, and I am eternally grateful for that.

I've also become uncompromisingly secure and appreciative of my representing of Asianness, of my Asianness. So much of that is thanks to the climate I was incredibly lucky to be a part of online where we carved out spaces to show more multifaceted, nuanced aspects of our unique backgrounds. To even be considered a voice in our community is an honor I hold dear every waking moment because I was someone who had always felt so voiceless before.

Fuck! I'm not supposed to cry. Overall, I've undergone an invaluable kind of education that could only happen through social media. It's inspired me to champion progressive values even when the world tries to stamp them out. I fully embrace the power of activism, and I'm more dedicated than ever to lead projects that explore and employ underrepresented talent. My time here with you has helped shape those principles, and I aim to never ever lose that energy. And although I've confessed the more stressful facets of my 10 years on YouTube, if I ever happened to make you smile or laugh or cry, then please know that you were instrumental in keeping me going 'cause you inspired me. Because regardless of the platform, to be able to share essential parts of myself, to garner an emotional response, and to have a spirited discourse, all of that qualifies as art. It constituted a meaningful relationship between us. And it ended up making me learn how to smile and laugh and cry too. And you, my dear friends, have my profound thanks for the opportunity and privilege to have been a part of your lives. Thank you, thank you, thank you. In conclusion, I want you to take away this one incontrovertible truth. You, all of the fans, and everyone here at 2nd Try could never be the reason I left because you were all the reason I stayed. Well, that's it. I hope y'all enjoy my final season of videos ahead, but this is my official sign off from the internet for the last time as a Try Guy. And as a guy who still has much to try, I know we'll meet again. Love, Eugene.

- That's a cut and that's a wrap on Eugene Lee Yang. (everyone applauds) Wait. Come hug him. - No! - [Rachel] Yes! - [Keith] We did. - No. - We didn't order you a lunch though. Are you cool with that? - One last time. - Taco salad. - Congrats. - I love you all. Now just the hugs to the camera. (everyone laughs) - [Rachel] Miss you most of all. - [Eugene] I'll miss you most of all.

[womenwwe]

Xia Li Released By WWE:

Xia Li has been released by WWE. The news broke following Xia issuing a statement on her social media accounts, posting:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Xia lee (@xialiwwe)

It has been over seven years since I joined WWE, and as the first female Chinese superstar, I feel incredibly proud! I am sincerely grateful to @wwe and @tripleh for welcoming me into this big family. During this valuable time, I have not only grown tremendously but also learned countless invaluable experiences. Thank you for your trust and the opportunities you have given me to break barriers and set an example.

A special thank you to all the coaches, colleagues, and staff who have helped me along the way. Your support and assistance have made me feel at home in a foreign land.

I also want to thank all the WWE fans! Your cheers not only motivate me but also make me feel endless love and support. Your backing is my strength.

This journey with WWE has been wonderful, and I sincerely thank everyone who has been a part of it. This is not the end but a new beginning! Let’s embrace more exciting moments together!

Xia Li first joined WWE in 2017 and competed in the inaugural Mae Young Classic. She also competed in the second Mae Young Classic and joined NXT in 2019. She moved to SmackDown in 2021.

WWE have also released Veer Mahan, Sanga, Jinder Mahal and Xyon Quinn ahead on the 2024 WWE draft.

[bengiyo]

Jack o' Frost Ep 6 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Last time, things finally came into the open, and Ritsu made the only choice he could: he ended things with Fumiya. Still, the birthday scene that led into the couch make out was incredible. This show is the first time I've ever enjoyed an amnesia plot, and I'm excited for this finale.

The little brother is very attractive.

The leads are playing the tension of this separation so well. Fumiya being considerate just doesn't land after everything that's happened, and looks like the last hope it is.

Of course the neighbor knew about their problem, and she is here to meddle!

Wanting to forget a relationship because it was painful is relatable, but the experiences we've had with others are part of who we are.

I like that everyone around them roots for their relationship. It makes everything Fumiya did a little bit easier to accept, because you know that there was a time when they were really good.

I love when we pan the camera to see characters just missing each other. It never gets old.

I like how Ritsu hasn't been center framed in a while. Makes it feel like he's a bit off. Meanwhile, Fumiya is centered because he knows what he needs to do.

I really like the style of art Ritsu makes.

Oh look at that. Ritsu moved into the center frame as he started to remember his history with Fumiya.

I don't care that the frost is fake. It's used perfectly.

Okay, but Ritsu remembering their actual first meeting that Fumiya didn't is actually so romantic.

"Thank you for remembering," also got me. Goddamn.

I'm really loving the way they use the lighting every time they go to this diner.

What a gentle finish for this show, and maybe the MBS BL Project.

Final Verdict: 10, Highly Recommended. I've been giving out a lot of tens lately, but so many shows have completely delivered on their premises! This show actually made me appreciate the amnesia trope (one I usually loathe) by combining it with something I've been begging for: stories about queer people staying together. Ritsu and Fumiya had some pretty big problems, but they cared about each other so much that their own community wanted them to try to figure it out. That's just so lovely.

I'm beyond thankful that we completed this year of BL by focusing on a couple that worked out after starting off at a crisis moment. I sincerely hope this isn't the last we see of BL from MBS, because I've enjoyed this experiment in Mr. Unlucky, Senpai, Takara and Amagi, Eternal Yesterday, Candy Color Paradox, and Jack o' Frost. With the bonus content from Utsukushii Kare, MBS gave me so much to enjoy

While I admittedly was harsh on some of these shows, I am so glad we went on this journey. Thank you all for joining me.

[psychics4unet]

Hello, may I join your free chakra reading?

I'd like to ask please about how A truly sees and feels about me. We have been online friends for almost 6 months and we live from different countries far away. And what's in store between us or the soul of our connection. I have this indescribable feeling about our connection like there's an important reason as to why we connect. His energy draws me in like we've known each other in past life.

Thank you so much!

Sending you 💛✨💫

M.L.

Free Chakra Psychic Reading! ✨💫

I’ve connected with your Heart Chakra for this reading, which governs love, relationships, and deep emotional bonds. 💚 Here’s what I’m receiving about A and your connection:

First message: There is a sense of familiarity between you two, like your souls recognize each other. 🌿 This could very well point to a past-life connection, where unfinished business or lessons may have brought you together in this lifetime.

Second message: A feels a strong sense of warmth and admiration towards you. 🌸 Though the distance may complicate things, their energy is genuinely caring, and they see you as someone special in their life.

Third message: The future of your connection feels significant. 🌀 Whether it develops romantically or stays as a deep friendship, there’s something meaningful that you both need to experience and learn from each other. This bond is important for both of your spiritual journeys.

In summary, your connection with A is deep and soulful, with potential ties to a past life. Their feelings toward you are sincere, and this relationship holds purpose, offering growth and meaning on both sides. 🌟💫

Got questions or need some insight into your life? I'm here to help with personal psychic readings! For just $7, you can get answers to up to 7 questions! More info at:

In case anyone else here on tumblr would like a free psychic reading, Click the link and follow the instructions (I answer only to those who follow the instructions, thank you):

[acourtofladydeath]

3 Jewels in the Hewn City: Epilogue

In this chapter, the boys have brunch the next day and discuss the prior evening. Which really means they badger Azriel about how the fuck long *THAT* has been going on. Eris joins the sisters for quite an interesting brunch of their own.

And with this, my first Hewn City smut fest comes to an end. Thank you to everyone who has joined me on this journey! I sincerely hope you stick along for more.

Read the entire chapter here on AO3, and catch an excerpt under the cut!

Cassian’s arms curled reflexively around his mate as she stirred in his embrace. He nuzzled into the waves of her hair cascading between them and inhaled deeply, memorizing her scent before it hopefully changed. Nesta turned to face him, fitting herself tighter against his body as she wrapped her arms beneath his wings. For a few blissful minutes, they continued to hold each other, basking in their shared warmth in a pile of limbs and long hair that never ceased to find a way to tangle. 

Before the morning could continue in the way they were wont to do, especially with their new frenzy-like state, Cassian felt a slightly annoyed talon down his mental shield. Letting him in, Cassian spoke before Rhysand could get in a word. “I haven’t forgotten about breakfast…just give me 5 more minutes dad .” 

Looking up, Nesta noticed the glazed look in Cassian’s eyes as he spoke to his brother. “Do you have to go?” she asked, curling tighter against him, despite knowing the answer before he spoke.

“It’s time for the post mortem brunch,” Cassian said with slight exasperation, although he couldn't deny his curiosity about Azriel’s situation. 

She groaned and rolled out of his hold and started to prepare for her own day.

“How much are you going to tell them this time?” Nesta stood at the edge of the bed, legs still slightly unsteady after how many rounds they’d gone throughout the night. Cassian rolled onto his side, resting his smug face on his hand with his elbow propped on the bed. “Well Nes, you’ve gotta tell me your boundaries there, because I’m ready to tell them everything, which you know very well by now.” 

Nesta sighed, pulling on her favorite gray dress for the day. As she moved, Cassian watched. He was constantly amazed at her body, the strength and poise she carried herself with. It was even more remarkable to watch with the knowledge he’d bent her in half more than once the night before, pounding into her relentlessly well into the night. 

Nesta felt her sister approach her mind, and opened a small antechamber for them to talk. They’d started doing this more frequently, growing closer as they continued to open up to each other. I’m not sure what Cassian has told you, but Rhysand and I are already here. He’s so worked up about talking to Azriel this morning he barely let me sleep past dawn. 

Nesta allowed a small smirk to cross her lips as she responded to her sister. Did you get any sleep then, sister? 

I still probably got more than you two. It absolutely reeks in here. 

With that comment, Nesta laughed out loud as she made her way over to the mirror, unknotting her tangled hair from the night before as she talked to her sister. 

That’s what you get for coming over to the House at the crack of dawn the morning after we all  planned a sex marathon. You knew what we were going to do just as much as I know what you were up to.

Any luck yet? Feyre’s voice in her mind was hopeful, eager to check on their previous plans Nesta turned and looked over her shoulder at her mate, who was laying on the bed watching her dress with his head resting on his palm propped up on an elbow. A concerned, imploring look played across his face as he took in Nesta’s sudden change from joviality to caution. He propped himself up completely on his arms, but not fully sitting. He paused as if he wanted to move toward her in protection, but kept himself back.

I don’t think so. Cassian keeps smelling me. He thinks he’s subtle about it, but you and I both know the poor male doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body. He didn’t react this morning, but it may still be too early to tell.

Nesta could feel her sister’s wordless support in her mind, thoughts of hope and trepidation lingering after she shared that last thought. This journey had brought them both closer together, and she was eternally grateful that with all they’d lived through, they would get the chance to share this process. She reached out to her sister once more, any luck on your end?

Nothing yet, Rhys is already restless. It took us longer than this for Nyx. I never realized how impatient he could be! Feyre sent that last comment to Nesta jokingly, almost as if that last bit of their conversation had been shared with the High Lord as well. As if on cue, Rhysand knocked on Nesta’s already open mental shield asking for permission to join the females. 

Afraid of missing out on something important, love? Feyre asked Rhys from the antechamber of Nesta’s mind, and the two began to playfully snipe at each other while she listened.

As they joked, Nesta’s shoulders relaxed and she let out a small chuckle. Cassian finally sat up fully in the bed, grabbing at Nesta’s waist as she walked by to go join her sister and brother-in-law. With a raised eyebrow, Cassian squeezed her waist and looked up, face a tailored expression of faux sadness. “Mind letting me in on the conversation you three are having without me, or am I just going to be kept in the dark?” 

Nesta looked down at her mate, taking in his teasing smile as she grasped his face between her hands, rubbing her thumb across the stubble that perpetually peppered his firm jaw. Thankfully their sheet still lay draped over his toned thighs, and her favorite bit between them, or Nesta may have been further waylaid. Instead, she felt a smirk spread across her face as she responded to her very distracting mate.

“Maybe you could join the conversation yourself if you were actually ready for breakfast. Rhys and Feyre are already here waiting. Apparently he’s quite anxious to talk to Az this morning.”

Cassian’s posture straightened at the reminder of the revelations brought to light during last night's game about his brother and his brother’s red haired High Lord of a mate. In a blink, he’d released Nesta’s waist, leaving her slightly off balance, and began to rush around to get dressed for the day. “Tell them I'm on my way,” he said as he wrestled his way into a pair of pants.

Nesta did so, but instead of words, she allowed Rhysand and Feyre to watch Cassian through her eyes as he hopped around on one foot, trying to put on his shoe and nearly falling over in the process. They didn’t need the mind connection to hear Feyre’s laughter echoing down the corridor. Moments later, Nesta and Cassian joined Rhys and Feyre where they waited on the balcony by the main dining area. 

Feyre already had a cup of tea in her hands, while Rhys paced, agitation evident in every move of his body. His wings twitched as Cassian approached. “Good morning, Nesta,” Rhysand said, inclining his head toward her as she walked in before turning abruptly to his brother.  “Cassian, you ass. I’ve been waiting for you.” His snide, yet affectionate comment barely hid the unease Rhys had in anticipation of the brunch conversations that would occur with Azriel. 

“Rhys, breakfast doesn’t start for another hour. Why are you here so early?” Cassian spoke with slight exasperation laced with genuine confusion. 

Rhysand rolled his eyes, running down a mental list of all the things he thought were obvious that had gone right over Cassian’s head.  “We need to talk before Azriel arrives. He’s mated to another High Lord. What does that mean Cassian? I mean, what am I supposed to DO?” 

Feyre met Nesta’s eyes behind her mate’s back, raising her eyebrows pointedly as if to say, ‘you see what I have to deal with?’ before she spoke into her sister's mind. He’s been like this all morning. Mother save Azriel from this breakfast…

**continued here on AO3

[thegreatcaptainusopp]

The Seer

Ao3 Link

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Epilogue: The Pirates Are Coming

They drop Ace off at Sabaody.

Most of their guests disperse the instant they dock. Buggy had, according to Nami, found a crew of his own and stolen another ship back at Marineford. The Baroque Works group leave together except for Bon Clay, who joins Ivankov, excited and starry-eyed.

“We have work to do,” Ivankov had said, deliberately mysterious. “I’ll see you, Straw Hat. I guarantee it.”

Luffy, not opposed to the idea, had nodded with a grin. “Sure! See you around.”

Jinbe had stepped off too, face solemn but reassuring. “Any family of Ace is family of mine,” He’d boomed out, giving Luffy a very sincere handshake that made him flop up and down. “It’s been an honor to fight by your side. I hope to see you again very soon.”

Ace, though. Ace hadn’t left the instant they docked at Sabaody. He hadn’t emerged from the medical bay since they’d brought him on, to Chopper’s worried glances and whispered concern.

Luffy hadn’t been worried, though. Not really.

“He’ll be okay,” He’d repeated, over and over again on their journey to Sabaody. “He’s Ace. He just needs some time.”

And, well, if he needed Luffy to sit with him and talk for hours, he could do that too. And he did.

That’s why Luffy wasn’t surprised when, a few minutes after their last guest had departed, Ace had stepped out the medical bay and onto the deck.

The crew goes silent, stepping back to the side to give him and Luffy some room. Ace has dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept at all during the journey. His shoulders are slumped, his mouth pulled into a thin line.

His eyes, though, are fiery with promise.

“Hey, Luffy,” He says. “Let me off here, okay? I have work to do too.”

Luffy hops over to him. “You don’t wanna stay with us?” He asks, vaguely hopeful.

Ace flashes a smile like it’s a gift just for him. “Nah,” He says. “I have things I need to do. Just like you do. We’ll meet up again though, okay? I promise. Just…reach out whenever you need me.”

“You too!” Luffy says, putting his hand up behind his hatless head, answering grin on his face. “I can save you too, you know.”

Ace gives a small laugh. “I guess you can,” He says. “You’re all grown up now.”

Luffy’s grin dims slightly. “Hey…what’re you going to do now? Where do you want to go?”

Ace looks out into the island, thoughtful. “I want Whitebeard’s memory to live on,” He says. “I want to keep his family together. I want to find everyone who’s still left, and rebuild. And together, we’ll decide what that means.” He looks back at him. “You know, the offer’s always open. I know you and your crew won’t take it, but it’s still always open.”

“I know,” Luffy says. Like a reflex, he jumps towards Ace, throwing his arms around him. “Promise I’ll see you soon?”

Ace hugs him back just as hard. “Promise,” He says. He gives him a tight squeeze once, twice, before distangling himself and stepping back. “Hey. I have another Vivre card for you. Take it, okay? I’ll feel better if you know how to find me.”

Luffy reaches out and takes the piece of paper. “Yay! Thanks!”

Ace looks up at him with a faint smile and a nod He looks like Luffy’s big brother. But he looks like more than that, too.

“Okay,” He says, stepping back. “I’ll be heading out from here. Rebuilding. I’ll see you around,” Here, he looks to the rest of the crew. “All of you. Continue looking after my brother for me, will you?”

They all chime in with various versions of yes, of course, and Ace’s eyes land on Usopp and stay there.

“Usopp,” He says. Usopp’s head snaps to Ace’s general direction, looking bewildered. “You helped me, huh? You warned Luffy about something? I think I owe you my life.”

Usopp’s hand travels back up to Hat. “No,” He says. “I just…I just spoke, is all. Everyone else did the heavy lifting.”

Ace’s smile crinkles his eyes. “It’s true that I owe you all my life,” He says. “But I mean it. Thank you.”

Usopp worries at Hat’s rim. “Don’t mention it,” He says.

Ace turns back towards the dock. “Alright,” He says. “I’m heading out. See you all on the other side.”

And with a final wave, he’s gone.

-

“Are you sure, Luffy?” Nami asks sourly as they trudge through the island.

“Um,” Luffy says, scratching at his head. “I think so? This was the direction we were going down when we saw old man Raleigh.”

“No it wasn’t,” Zoro mutters.

Everyone ignores him.

“Hey, Chopper,” Usopp grumbles, hanging onto Franky’s wrist. “When can I get these bandages off? They itch.”

“Just for a bit longer,” Chopper pipes up, bouncing around near Robin. “We need to make sure everything’s healed up before we move on to the next stage.”

Usopp tugs onto the bandages. “How much longer?”

“Stop playing with that!” Chopper snaps. “Soon. We can replace them with sunglasses for some extra protection first.”

“Yohohoho!” Brook exclaims. “We should get you something to assist with your walking as well!”

Usopp sighs. “Yeah,” He says. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“Hey,” Luffy says, looking around the clearing they were in. “Does this look right to you? Is this the right direction?”

“Yeah,” Sanji says.

“No!” Zoro snaps.

Luffy laughs. The sun feels really good on his face. “Let’s keep going,” He says. “Maybe we should just yell his name til he shows up.”

“Hey, Luffy?”

Luffy blinks, then turns to see Franky and Usopp right behind him. “Oh! Hi!”

Usopp lets go of Franky and reaches out cautiously to grasp Luffy’s shoulder. “Hey,” He says again, as they keep walking. “We had a deal.”

A smile spreads across Luffy’s face. “Oh, yeah!” he says. “We did!”

“So,” Usopp says, and takes off Hat. “I think I have something that belongs to yo-”

They’re interrupted by some more yohohohoing. “Friends!” Brook says, skipping a few steps before pulling out his violin. “I say this calls for some music!”

“Hey…” Usopp says, nervous. “What’s..”

“BROOK!” Zoro yells.

Brook jumps, interrupting the music. “Wha-”

A hulking figure appears right behind Brook, Luffy’s eyes widen-

And then, Brook vanishes.

It happens so abruptly that Luffy can’t tell what he’s seeing at first. One second he’s there, and the next, gone. The first notes of Bink’s Sake are still floating in the air.

And right behind where Brook had once been stands Bartholomew Kuma, arm extended, face completely blank.

Nami screams.

Luffy barely hears her over the pounding in his ears. “Brook?” He asks. It leaves his mouth in a whisper.

Zoro roars, snapping Luffy out of his stupor.

“What did you do?” Sanji yells.

Kuma reaches into his pocket, and slides something onto his palm. He remains silent.

“Hey! You!”

And there’s Franky, arm extended. “Over here!” He yells. “Fight someone your own size!”

Luffy runs before he knew he was moving “Franky!” He yells, fist extended. “Move!”

Franky shoots his arm rocket out, which barely seems to phase Kuma. “Everyone!” Franky yells. “Get-”

Poof.

And then, he’s gone.

“Franky!” Luffy yells again. Two down. He’s two down in seconds.

“Franky!” Chopper screams. He digs through his bag, face terrified but focused.

“You…” Zoro growls, leaping forward. “You…”

Kuma waves his swords aside like they’re nothing. Zoro, caught off balance, falls.

Luffy shoots forwrd, body undulating as his rage takes over. “Hey!” He yells, fist revving up. “Gum gum…pistol!”

His fist bounces off Kuma’s chest, and Kuma’s hand goes up to push him away. He flies back, hitting a tree and collapsing back to the grass. He hears Kuma’s heavy steps get closer.

He hears someone yell “Luffy!” and there’s Robin, screeching to a stop in front of him. He can only see her back, and her arms are crossed in front of her. “Go!”

“No!” Luffy stumbles back to his feet. Hands sprout on and around Kuma, trying to hold him back. “Wait-”

“Robin-Chan!” Sanji screams, running forward.

Kuma waves a hand and Robin gasps, tripping back. She clutches her arms, face screwed up in pain. “Luffy-”

“No! Robin!” Luffy screams, reaching to her, and then-

Poof.

His arm goes through nothing and he crashes back to the ground.

Three down.

“Robin-Chan!” Sanji screams again, like he’s dying. “No!”

“Stop it!” Luffy yells. “Stop!”

His fist rockets out again but hit nothing. Kuma’s vanished, and Luffy looks around frantically for him.

He hears a monstrous groan and whirls back around, only to see a huge, hulking figure appear above the treeline. Kuma stands below, looking up at it placidly.

He hears Nami, barely a whisper: “…Chopper?”

Luffy sucks in a gasp. “Chopper! Don’t…you don’t have to…don’t!”

Chopper roars, monster figure turning towards the sky. He winds up, descending onto Kuma below, who pulls a hand back.

“Chopper!” Luffy screams, running forward, Zoro right in front of him…

Poof.

Chopper’s huge hulking shadow vanishes.

Four down.

Four. It’s just Luffy and four of his crew left.

Luffy’s fist slams into the ground. “That’s enough!” He shouts, feeling a strange echo behind it. Wind whips around his hair. “Gear second!”

Kuma vanishes again, appearing right in front of him, and then-

A rock bounces off Kuma’s head. Then another. Then another.

Kuma pauses, like he’s confused. Luffy takes advantage, shooting forward, fist out-

Again, he hits nothing, and again, he crashes into the grass.

He looks up just in time to see Usopp, arm out and shaking, hand full of small rocks.

“Stop!” Usopp says, firm but trembling. “Stop!”

Kuma halts in front of him. His arm comes up.

“No!” Zoro yells, running forward. Luffy follows suit, heart pounding.

Sanji gets there first.

“Oi!” Sanji yells, jumping between Kuma and Usopp. “I’m gonna kill you!”

“Sanji!” Luffy screams. “Don’t!”

“Cook!” Zoro yells.

“Sanji-” Usopp reaches out, stones dropping from his palm. But Sanji jumps, leg extended, going right for Kuma’s face…

Poof.

Five down.

“Sanji!” Nami screams, and it echoes everywhere in Luffy’s head.

No more. No more.

“Run!” He screams. “Everyone run! Get out of here!”

Kuma’s still in front of Usopp. He takes another step forward.

“Usopp!” Luffy screams. “Turn around! Run!”

Usopp looks to his direction, one hand still clutching Hat. The expression on his face, the turn of his mouth, breaks Luffy.

Zoro runs forward, face crazed. Luffy follows, and there’s something coming off of him in waves, something desperate.

Usopp’s back straightens, and he sticks his trembling chin out, before-

Poof.

Six down.

Zoro roars again. Luffy feels beyond words, beyond sound.

“Nami!” Zoro shouts, and Luffy snaps back to her. She’s closer to him and he instantly shoots to her, before Kuma has a chance to move.

Nami runs, and Luffy follows, desperately trying to shield her. “Go!” He yells. “Keep going!”

Nami shrieks, skidding to a stop, as Kuma appears in front of her. “Luffy!” She screams, hand reaching back. Luffy leaps, reaching back. “Help m-”

Poof.

Seven down.

Luffy’s legs give out. He collapses onto the grass.

“Why?” He gasps. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

Kuma doesn’t answer.

“Luffy!” And there’s Zoro, swords out.

Zoro.

One to go.

It sends a shock up Luffy’s body.

“Zoro!” He yells, struggling up to his feet. “Run!”

Zoro pauses.

“Zoro!” He says. “Captain’s orders! Run!”

Something in Zoro’s jaw jumps. He doesn’t move.

“Zoro!” Luffy screams. “Listen to me!”

“Shit!” Zoro swears, then turns. He moves, but his swords are still out. “Luffy! Don’t make me do this agai-”

And there’s Kuma with his arm and there’s Zoro with his swords and there’s the arm coming down and there’s Zoro’s fighting stance, ready to go swinging…

Luffy doesn’t make it in time.

“Zoro!”

Poof.

All down.

Luffy legs give out again. This time, he can’t get back up.

He should feel something. Anything. But he’s just…numb.

He sees a shadow loom over them. It doesn’t really register.

“Why,” He whispers. “Why…what…why…”

The shadow gets darker.

“You’re not ready,” A voice mutters above his head. “You had to see. You’re not ready. This will make you ready.”

The words don’t make sense.

“I…” Luffy says. “I…I couldn’t save any of them. Not one. Not a single one.”

“Exactly,” the voice says. “You’re not ready.”

The feelings come back full force. Luffy struggles back to his knees, barely functional. He keens, tears flying from his face, limbs flopping uselessly.

“My…” He gasps. “They’re all…they’re all…”

“Monkey D. Luffy,” The voice rings out. “We will not meet again. Goodbye.”

Luffy’s world goes black.

[softietrait]

THE FINAL. ‹𝟹

mt komorebi trip: the first thing they do after getting to their rental is eating hot pot!! and during the group conversation, sadie said something terribly awkward to oliver, but he took it well. he just knows sadie has no filter :p taking advantage of the one day trip, they don't stop! they ride up to the top of the mountain and try….skiing!! kaleb was having the time of his life, oliver was kinda just vibing with it sorta and sadie and silas were struggling hard. lmao. a full afternoon of skiing ended with a movie night together. sadie was feeling a bit homesick so they ended the trip early and went back to the house. last two go home: oliver ends up getting a rose and we say goodbye to kaleb and silas. sadie was sad when they left the house - ending up being best friends with them, as well as everyone else. but ultimately, she realized really quickly that oliver is who had her heart. ‹𝟹

thank you all for joining me on this.. Short...Sorta...Journey ! EEEEK. i have lots of things in store for Sincerely, Sadie. so i hope you guys come along for the ride~

thank you @jazzytrait & @simsbitchbells for kaleb and silas. seriously, sadie adores these two and always chat with them on the phone. they're also such characters that i enjoyed playing with! <3 so thank you,

and @aniraklova thank you for blessing sadie (AND ME) with oliver. I ADORE HIM SO BAD. their relationship is really cute and i hope you like their updates in the future and follow him along with sadie in Sincerely, Sadie. <333 mwah mwah mwah!! <3

[titular-twins-tournament]

Hooo boy, you want propaganda? I'll do it. I'll do it for my boys: Lucas and Claus propaganda, big time. Thank you for sending me into a passionate typing frenzy.

(Mother 3 spoilers ahead. Of the massive kind. Obviously. And also, a wall of text.)

So I was reading the tags and yeah, yeah the other two suffered and one died. Okay, but that's also true for Lucas and Claus. I think you really need to hear the full plot to understand exactly what went down here and why they've suffered enough to deserve the win.

They were happy boys. They were. Claus was the more energetic and spunky of the two while Lucas was a little timid. Claus would often encourage him to play in the more reckless ways he did and you can see from the opening "name your character" sequence that Claus has a lot of love for his family, enthusiastically dragging their mom, Hinawa, along to join them, always with a big smile on his face.

Okay, so that's great and all. But where's the pain? Oh. I'm getting to that.

The town they lived in, Tazmilly was rural and idyllic, no need for an economy or struggles really. Everyone was friends and things like farmers or builders. Until the Pigmask army. Now long story short, these guys were led by the frustrated secondary antagonist of the previous game who could time travel and stumbled upon Lucas and Claus's timeline. The guy was into messed up genetic experiments and might have let some loose around the forest surrounding Tazmilly while they set it aflame.

But Lucas and Claus were not there. No, they were across the forest with their mom while their dad, Flint, stayed behind. Having only received one last letter from Hinawa, Flint tries to reunite the family, but in the end, Hinawa dies to one of the monstrosities let loose (a corruption of a once nice creature the boys used to play with) and Claus, reckless as ever, vows to avenge Hinawa and fight the creature. But he loses and is presumed dead.

Afterward, as Lucas has to learn to grieve alongside his father (btw the scene where Flint learns of Hinawa's death? Oof.), it turns out that Claus wasn't actually dead, but gravely injured. Unfortunately, the people who found him was not the villagers of Tazmilly who could take him back home, but the Pigmask army. The baddies. And what did they do? Make him a cyborg. Remove most of his will. Create him as the ideal child soldier to their cause and after all that. After all that. After Lucas's journey to defeat the Pigmasks from ruining his home, who else is the final boss who has been in their way the whole time, but his OWN BROTHER.

Yes.

The final battle of Mother 3. Is against your own twin brother.

And here's the kicker. Here's the kicker, right?

Lucas can't stomach fighting him. No matter what. He can't. It is only when a final reminder of their mother hits Claus, is that when he remembers who he was. And in his incredible guilt over what he had done and burning desire to see his mom again after all that, he realizes. Lucas has since gained the ability to automatically reflect lightning. And Claus has lightning powers. So....

MAN

THIS IS THE WORST PART. He purposefully aims a bolt and Lucas to where it bounces back and hits HIM and he dies. He dies, to his own attack. On purpose. To see his mom again, to punish himself for what he had done, whatever it might have been, AUGH

(i am in pain)

So anyway, TL;DR this is one of the most tragic stories in gaming ever and that's why you should vote for Lucas and Claus. They need something good in their lives for once.

Sincerely, The Mother fandom

👀👀👀

[mendedserpent]

have officially been on tumblr for 10 years lol 👍 a deep and sincere thank you everyone who has joined me on this wacky journey. thank you for your kindness and your strangeness and everything else. much love, be well <3